Harlequin Shorts Online Part 07

255 onwards…

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Diamonds and Desire Cop Next Door Melting the Ice Queen The Texas Bride Rescue Me Seduced By the Dark Stranger Surprise Wedding Zombie Midnight An Impossible Mission Return to Love Her Unexpected Cowboy Scandal at the Balfour Ball Dangerous Secrets A Forever Love Daniel's Gift Kiss Me Goodbye Hostage in Copper Lake Snow-Kissed Reunion Haunted Last Chance Café His Perfect Neighbor Midnight Propositions Naughty is Nice Dark Rider A Cowboy's Promise His Stand-In Bride The Bodyguard's Bride Worth the Risk Caught The Royal Cousin's Revenge Ryan's Hope Remember Me, Cowboy Sworn to Protect Punishment Close to Home The Bull Rider's Surrender

By Sarah Morgan By Julie Miller By Ann Christopher By Mary Burton By Jeannie Watt By Various Authors By Julie Leto By Lori Devoti By Kathryn Shay By Fiona Lowe By Trish Milburn By Michelle Reid By Shirlee McCoy By B.J. Daniels By Wendy Warren By Maggie Shayne By Marilyn Pappano By Melissa McClone By Jordan Gray By Amanda Stevens by Heather Reed By Jean Brashear By Tawny Weber By Caroline Burnes By Linda Ford By Michelle Styles By Brenda Harlen By Sarah Mayberry By Kimberly Kaye Terry By Catherine Mann By Patricia Rosemoor By Donna Alward By Delores Fossen By Joshua Corin By Emma Miller By Marin Thomas

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Tie Me Down, Cowboy! Set Me Ablaze A Forever Mother Soul Mates The Perfect Girl The Devil of Rancho Diablo

By Isabel Sharpe By Isabel Sharpe By Laura Abbot By Lisa Childs By Alison Tyler By Tina Leonard

810 868 895 924 947 970

Till 296…

* eHarlequin, US

^eHarlequin, Aus

** others

#India

rest of them Mills and Boon, UK

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Diamonds and Desire by Sarah Morgan Alexandros Kozanitas built an empire from nothing, and along the way he learned that he could trust no one. Too bad his little sister, Eleni, is so naive she’s letting her new best friend take advantage of her wealth and generosity. In order to prove that “Madame Rostropov” is a fortune hunter, not a fortune teller, Alexandros plans to tempt the gold digger with a better offer, convinced she’ll ditch Eleni without a thought. Lauren Banks never could have predicted she’d end up substituting for the missing fortune teller at a glittering celebrity fundraising gala, but it’s either that or get fired from her much-needed job. Not one to believe in fate or fairy tales, Lauren is skeptical when a tall, dark, handsome man enters her tent and offers to shower her with diamonds and desire! Still, the very real heat between them has her deciding to indulge in fantasy, if just for one night…

Chapter One “I can’t take the place of the fortune teller!” Lauren Banks’ knees shook under the ridiculously short waitress uniform. “I’m sorry she’s let you down at the last minute, but please don’t ask me to fill in—I’d be useless.” “Not as useless as you are as a party organizer!” Lauren’s boss waved a sheaf of papers angrily. “This list you made is completely wrong—the names are all mixed up!” “That’s because everyone was rushing me. I’m dyslexic,” Lauren said. “I told you that someone should check the list.” “I just addressed a prince by the wrong name,” Gillian shrieked. “We’re in Monte Carlo, not Manchester. This party is the most important celebrity event for a decade. My reputation is on the line.” “Everything will be fine. I’m going to meet and greet and—” “How can you meet and greet when you don’t even know who they are? This list is total garbage.” “I’m good with faces. I just get mixed up when I write things down.” And when people lost patience and shouted, it made things worse. School, she thought with a shiver. Teachers. Gillian ripped the list in two. “I want you where you can cause the least damage. All you have to do is tell people they’re going to live happily ever after. Even you can manage that.” “I don’t believe in happily ever after,” Lauren muttered. “Life is hard. It’s unfair to mislead people.” “Life is going to be even harder if you don’t do this.” Gillian’s face was scarlet. “Do you want to keep your job?” Lauren bit her lip. She hated her job. Even this glamorous weeklong trip to Monte Carlo was turning out to be a nightmare. But life was no fairy tale, was it? She didn’t have anyone to turn to for support when things went wrong. She didn’t have family to run to. She had no one. “What do you want me to do?” “The real fortune teller calls herself Madame Rostropov—” Gillian virtually dragged her through the floodlit grounds, pushed her way into a small tent and picked up a costume. “Here—put this on while I try and untangle the mess you’ve created. As if I haven’t got enough on my plate, Alexandros Kozanitas is flying in tonight, which means the place will be crawling with press.” “Who?” Barely listening, Lauren gazed at the outfit in disbelief. “Half the fabric is missing.”

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“You’re supposed to look mysterious.” “It’s indecent.” “Wear it,” Gillian snapped. “And the fact that you’ve never even heard of Alexandros Kozanitas is another reason for you to stay hidden in this tent. I don’t want you putting your foot in it.” “He’s important?” “He is an ice-cold, ruthless heartbreaker, but he’s also rich and powerful and if he arrives at your party, you’re made.” Lauren wriggled into the outfit and winced. “I think the real Madame Rostropov must be flat-chested.” She stared down at herself in dismay. “I look like a hooker.” “Good. The men will write bigger checks.” Gillian sailed out of the tent and Lauren plopped down onto the chair, wishing the real fortune teller hadn’t picked this particular night to go off sick, and trying to work out how she could predict a happy future for anyone when her own life was such an utter disaster. *** “She is not a scam artist, Andros, she’s my friend. That’s why we’re going away together. She doesn’t have any money and I do! Why shouldn’t I treat her?” Absorbing that naive question with incredulous disbelief, Alexandros ground his teeth and wondered what sin he’d committed to end up with responsibility for his sister. “Your fortune-teller ‘friend’ is a leech, Eleni, who is using you to get a free holiday in New York.” “You’re wrong. And I’m not a child anymore. I’m seventeen. Stop protecting me!” Alexandros strode away from the helicopter, flanked by his security team. Eleni was his only family. He was hers. Because he’d always protected her, she had no idea what people were like. “If I’m wrong, she won’t accept the alternative I’m about to offer her.” “Alternative?” “An evening with me. She’s supposed to leave the party before midnight to catch a flight to New York. If she accepts my offer, she’ll miss it and that will tell us what we need to know about Madame Rostropov.” “You’ve flown to Monte Carlo to seduce her?” “I wasn’t planning to go that far.” “But you’re going to invite her on a date.” His sister exploded. “That isn’t a fair test—women never say no to you. They take one look at you and go stupid and brainless. If you hurt my friend I’ll never speak to you again!” Alexandros gave a grim smile. “If she’s truly your friend then she’ll turn me down. She won’t want to miss that flight.” “I hate you!” “No, you don’t.” Ending the call and pocketing his phone, Alexandros strode through the high-profile celebrity crowd, wishing that teenage girls came with an instruction manual.

3

“Alexandros—” His hostess hurried towards him. “We’re so honored.” How people change, he thought. Ten years ago this society hostess wouldn’t have given him the time of day. Money talked. He glanced around the grounds of the hotel, which had been transformed into a glittering paradise. “Impressive party.” “We have fire eaters, magicians—even a fortune teller.” Alexandros gave a cynical smile. Fortune hunter. “I’d like a private audience with your fortune teller.” “Surely you already know your future…” His hostess laughed flirtatiously. “Global domination?” “Definitely domination,” Alexandros said silkily. “Although tonight what I have in mind is more one-on-one than global.” “She’s in the tent behind the jugglers.” The woman pointed. “Go. Discover what your future holds.” He knew what his future held. He was going to meet a manipulative woman, keep her by his side until Flight 741 to New York had taken off, and prove to his sister that the woman’s friendship was motivated by greed. Alexandros lifted the flap of the tent and ducked inside. The interior was draped in a rich red fabric and it took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light and ghostly shapes created by a lava lamp which sat in the centre of a small table. And then he saw her. “Welcome.” Above a flimsy veil, huge blue eyes met his and Alexandros felt his body tighten in a reaction so basic, so fiercely primitive, that it was as if centuries of civilization had been stripped away in one single glance. The air heated and hummed with a tension that was as unexpected as it was unwelcome. Outside, fireworks erupted to cries of approval from the guests. Shrieks of laughter mingled with strains of music from the band. Inside the tent there was a taut, tense silence—a shocked, shimmering awareness spun from invisible threads of chemistry that held them both transfixed. With iron self discipline, Alexandros hauled his feelings back inside himself and ruthlessly crushed that primal, prehistoric part of himself that threatened to explode to the surface. She was far younger than he’d expected. It was easy to see why his sister had been so easily duped. This woman didn’t look capable of swatting a fly, let alone planning and executing a complex scam. And then his gaze dropped to her lush breasts, barely contained by the straining dress, and he reminded himself that innocent blue eyes and a delicious body were a woman’s most powerful weapon. “Madame Rostropov?” “Er—that’s right. I’m—Madame Rostropov.” Her voice was smoky soft and slightly hesitant. “I can see your future.” Alexandros gave a sardonic smile. He could see hers.

4

And it wasn’t looking good.

Chapter Two “You seek knowledge of your future.” Lauren looked at the man over the top of her veil, wishing she’d never agreed to take the place of the fortune teller. “Sit, and I will tell you what I see.” Women tripping over themselves to climb into your bed, she thought dizzily. Broken hearts leaving a trail behind you. Reaching into his jacket, he removed a check book. “How much do I pay for the privilege?” “I do not take money for my craft,” Lauren warbled, improvising frantically. Why had Madame Rostropov, the real fortune teller, picked tonight not to turn up? The last thing she needed was to spend the evening sitting here, spouting rubbish. “The money is a donation to the children at the hospital. Give what you can. Sit. I must look into your eyes.” She wasn’t sure that was such a good idea given that her body still hadn’t recovered from the sizzling eye contact they’d shared when he’d first walked into her tent. But what was she supposed to do? As he moved, the light from the lava lamp illuminated his face and Lauren suddenly felt shaky. He was handsome, yes. But it was a hard, cold handsome. From the razor-sharp perfection of his bone structure to the firm lines of his deeply sensual mouth, every one of his features had been designed for strength. Reminding herself that exceptionally good-looking men were never interested in her, Lauren placed her hands on the lava lamp and then pulled them away sharply as she burned herself. Ouch. “I see a bright future for you,” she droned, trying to remember what her vile, bullying boss Gillian had told her to say if a man came into the tent. “You are going to be rich and successful.” A slow, deadly smile touched his mouth and he scrawled on the check with a bold hand. “I’m already rich and successful, agape mou. Tell me something I don’t already know.” Lauren looked at the check he handed her and almost passed out. It had to be a mistake. She counted the zeroes carefully. Six. “One million dollars?” “You told me to give what I can.” “To most people that means about ten dollars.” “I’m not most people. I’ll do a deal with you, Madame Rostropov.” The way he said the name made her shiver. “What deal?” “If you correctly guess what the immediate future holds for me, I’ll write you another check for the same amount.” “In that case I think your immediate future is going to involve resuscitating a shocked fortune teller.” Lauren fanned herself with the check and then tucked it into the bodice of her dress for safe keeping. If she lost it, Gillian would kill her. “Thank you. That’s going to make a big difference to the children.” “So now we’ve established that I’m rich, tell me what you see.” I see a man who knows everything there is to know about women, Lauren thought weakly. In the small, claustrophobic tent, she could feel the power and energy pulsing from him. “I see that you are going to meet a beautiful woman.”

5

She felt a stab of envy for the nameless woman, thinking what it would be like to be this man’s date. “You’re going to spend a wonderful night together.” That was a pretty safe bet, she thought. There was no way this man would kiss a woman goodnight at her front door. “Go on.” He gave a slow, seductive smile that made her bones melt and sent her brain spinning away into a different universe where impoverished party organizers masquerading as fortune tellers ended up with billionaires. Except that sort of thing never happened, did it? Lauren brought herself back down to earth. “I expect this woman will fall in love with you,” she said gloomily, “and then you’ll probably dump her and ruin her life.” He raised an eyebrow. “Are you telling her fortune or mine?” Lauren froze. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.” “Perhaps,” he drawled softly, “rather than ruining her life, I’d give her the night of her life. Have you considered that?” Without warning he reached out and tugged at her veil. The soft, filmy fabric floated to the ground but neither of them gave it a second glance. Trapped by his dangerous dark gaze, Lauren felt vulnerable and out of her depth. Beneath the perfect cut of his dinner jacket he was all raw power and hard muscle and her heart stuttered like a car engine on the blink. “That veil was my disguise.” “You’re admitting you’re a fake?” Was there any point in denying it? “I’m a complete fake,” she squeaked. “But it raises money for the children.” And if I don’t do it, I’m fired. “So you don’t really have a clue what my future holds?” What would the real Madame Rostropov say to that? “I’m sure it will be something incredible,” Lauren said feebly. “You look like one of those people who skate through life without hitting any of the bumps.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “And there are bumps in your life?” “My life is one giant bump.” “So how many unsuspecting victims have been on the receiving end of your clichéd predictions so far this evening?” “Not many. I suppose in the current economic climate even A-list celebrities don’t want to think about the future.” Lauren fiddled with the lamp. “Or maybe I was telling them the wrong thing. Possibly.” A ghost of a smile touched his hard mouth. “What were you telling them, Madame Fake?” She hesitated. “I told the first woman that she was going to meet a tall, dark, handsome man.” “And she wasn’t pleased?” “She was delighted. Unfortunately her short blond boyfriend waiting outside the tent wasn’t too thrilled. He shouted at me—” Lauren inhaled deeply. “After that I decided to be nonspecific. I mentioned diamonds to one or two people. I waffled on about dreams.” Feeling guilty, she studied her bitten fingernails. “I got a bit carried away once and talked about desire. Basic fairy-tale rubbish.”

6

“You don’t believe in fairy tales?” “No. Although life is so exhausting I do sometimes think that pricking my finger and sleeping for a hundred years would be nice.” A muscle flickered at the corner of his mouth. “And then you’d be woken by a kiss from your prince?” “In my life the prince would turn out to be gay because gorgeous men are either gay or married.” She pulled herself together. “Sorry. You didn’t pay to hear this. But to be honest you don’t strike me as the sort of guy who lets anyone else dictate his future.” He exuded confidence and authority and Lauren couldn’t imagine anyone telling this man what to do. Watching her, he leaned back in his chair. “You’re not what I expected.” “Well you don’t exactly look like the average visitor to the fortune-teller tent, either.” Not that she’d know, given that she wasn’t the real fortune teller. “Do you want a refund?” “No. I want to tell you your fortune.” “That’s easy, I’ll mess up.” Lauren heard an explosion of fireworks and wondered if it was coming from outside the tent or inside. The way he was looking at her drove the breath from her body and the sense from her brain. “I always mess things up.” “Not tonight. Tonight you are going to meet a tall, dark, handsome, rich man.” In the dim light of the tent his wicked eyes gleamed dark and dangerous. “You’re going to spend the evening with him and he is going to make your every wish come true. Dreams, diamonds and desire all in one evening. Welcome to your future, Madame Rostropov.”

Chapter Three Alexandros watched the fortune teller through narrowed eyes. His burning anger had been replaced by another intense, sizzling emotion. Raw lust. The fact that she’d obviously chosen a costume that was too tight for her did nothing to cool his libido. Incredible body, he thought. Shame about her morals. He had no doubt that her sudden friendship with his teenage sister was driven by the lure of money, and to prove his theory he was about to throw temptation in the fortune teller’s path. If she was as genuine as his sister believed, then she’d refuse him and leave before midnight so that she could catch her flight to New York for a weekend of girl time and shopping. Alexandros had too much experience of the corrupting effects of money to believe she was genuine. He’d never yet met a woman who could resist the lure of wealth. “So?” He moved round the little table and pulled her to her feet. “How does an evening of diamonds and desire sound to you?” “Completely ridiculous!” Her voice was smoky soft and her eyes were laughing. “Apart from the fact I don’t even know your name, I’m the fortune teller. I’m part of the fundraising for this evening. I have to stay here until midnight.” And then she’d be on a flight to fleece his sister. “How much are you hoping to raise?”

7

“Er—a lot? The ball is raising money for a new scanner at the children’s hospital. We’re grateful for anything.” “How much is the scanner?” She gaped at him. “I d-don’t know. More millions than I can imagine.” “But not more millions than I can imagine,” Alexandros purred. “I’ll buy them their scanner. Then you can close the tent. From this moment onwards, the fortune teller is off duty. You’re all mine.” She looked dazed. “You’ll buy the scanner? You’re kidding.” “It seems like a good way to spend money.” “It is, but—wow. That’s so generous of you.” “And now you have no reason not to spend the evening with me. Just for a few hours,” he drawled, mentally calculating the exact time by which she would have missed her flight. “It seems unfair for you to spend your evening trapped in here when there is so much going on outside.” She looked at him closely. “Have you been drinking the champagne?” “Not a drop. Why?” Her expression was wary. “Because guys who can buy a scanner without even checking their bank balance aren’t usually interested in girls like me.” Alexandros looked down at the soft swell of her breasts, barely contained by the flimsy outfit. “You’re stunning.” Her lips parted and then she glanced over her shoulder, as if she was looking for someone. “Me?” “We’re the only two people in this tent.” Eyes wide, she stared at him. “Are you trying to make someone jealous or something?” Alexandros sighed. “No. I’m trying to compliment you. I didn’t realize it would be so hard.” “Well, rich, good-looking guys don’t usually just come up to me and tell me I’m stunning, so forgive me if I’m suspicious.” Intrigued to meet someone as wary as he was about people’s motives, Alexandros smiled. “Perhaps you need a mirror.” “Perhaps you need a better light.”’ She pushed her hair away from her face in a haphazard way that told him she had no idea where it was ending up. It made a refreshing change from his last girlfriend who had refused to travel without a hairdresser in tow. In fact, if it weren’t for the fact she was fleecing his sister, he would have liked the fortune teller. “I have excellent night vision,” he drawled, and she rolled her eyes. “I just bet you do. I bet you’re extremely practiced at seeing in the dark.” “I use all of my senses. So—are you going to spend the rest of your evening alone in a tent, or are you going to live life to the full?”

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Her gaze slid to his and Alexandros recognized in her the same air of watchful distrust that characterized his dealings with people. He wondered who was responsible for the veil of caution she held between herself and the world. Ironic, he thought, that he should be trying to expose someone who appeared to share much of his own view of human nature. She licked her lips. “You’re seriously asking me to spend the evening with you? This isn’t a joke?” Alexandros, who had never had to ask a woman out twice, was thrown. “It isn’t a joke.” For a moment she looked at him and then she shook her head. “No. Sorry. You must have brought someone with you. A guy like you has to have some gorgeous skinny woman waiting for you somewhere.” “No one is waiting for me. At the moment I don’t have a partner, but I’m hoping to remedy that situation any moment now.” Instead of falling into his arms, she stepped backwards. “You’re smooth and I don’t trust smooth men.” Someone had hurt her, he thought. Badly. “I’m not smooth.” Alexandros thought about the years he’d spent sweating his way to the position he now held. “I’m definitely not smooth.” “But you’re ruthless.” “Only when the situation demands it.” He smiled. “Otherwise I’m a pussy cat.” “Technically, so is a tiger.” Her gaze was faintly mocking. “You’re no more a pussy cat than I am a fortune teller.” Entertained, Alexandros reached for her hand and drew her towards him. “Spend the evening with me.” “Why?” “Because I want to get to know you better.” And not just because of his sister. He wanted to know what had happened in her life to make her so cautious. He wanted to know how she’d met his sister and whether she needed money for a reason. Was she in some sort of trouble? Or was she just greedy? She tilted her head. “All right.” If it weren’t for the fact that she was letting his sister down without any visible signs of hesitation or regret, he would have liked her enormously. Contemplating his sister’s impending disappointment, Alexandros decided to give her one more chance to do the right thing. “If there is somewhere else you need to be this evening then I don’t want to stand in your way.” Her hesitation was so brief it was barely discernable. “Well, I’m supposed to be working, but given that you’ve just paid a small fortune—” “And after work?” “I’m not doing anything important.”

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Hearing her plans with his sister dismissed so carelessly, Alexandros felt a momentary flash of anger. “Good decision,” he said calmly, scrawling a note. It didn’t matter what had happened in her life, he told himself. He wasn’t interested in why she was so wary. His responsibility was to his sister, not this woman. She looked at the note. “‘Fortune teller gone to seek her fortune’?” “Pin it to the tent. Then no one will come looking for you.” Laughing, she did as he suggested. “This is crazy. I have no idea why I said yes to this. I don’t even know your name.” “You can call me Andros,” he said silkily. “And you’re about to have an evening you’ll never forget.”

Chapter Four “I’ve never been a guest at a party like this one.” Lauren felt as though she was walking through a fairy tale. The hotel grounds had been transformed into a magical, twinkling paradise, a million tiny lights illuminating the trees, fireworks lighting the sky with a thunderous explosion of color. She felt disorientated. One moment she’d been trapped in a tent, posing as the absent fortune teller, the next she was on the arm of a man so lethally handsome that her body was on fire. The whole thing was like a dream. It was too good to be true. “Lauren! What do you think you are you doing?” Her boss’s voice cut through her daydreaming like the blade of a knife and Lauren woke to find her fantasy floating to the floor in tatters. Definitely too good to be true. “I was—” She was going to be fired. She’d risked everything for a few hours with this man. How could she have been so stupid? The cold wind of reality slapped her in the face and she tried to step away, but the man hauled her against his side with a powerful arm. “She’s with me.” His voice was hard and unapologetic, a verbal challenge tossed carelessly at the feet of her apoplectic boss. Pulled into intimate contact with his muscular frame, Lauren made a pathetic attempt to free herself, breathlessly conscious of his hard thigh pressed against hers. Sensation spread like fire through her belly and she heard him curse softly under his breath. “Stop wriggling.” Face flaming, resigning herself to her doom, Lauren froze. “Gillian, I can explain—” “Mr Kozanitas?” Gillian made a choking sound. “I didn’t recognize you in the dark. I—I’m so sorry to have intruded on your evening.” Kozanitas? Lauren gaped up at the man who now held her in an iron grip, suddenly understanding why Gillian was squirming. “I have kidnapped your fortune teller.” Layers of easy charm covered an interior of solid steel. “Is that a problem?”

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“No problem.” Gillian grimaced. “I’m delighted you’ve found—entertainment.” She backed away, tripping over two security men in her haste to depart. “She makes a Rottweiler seem like a cuddly toy.” Lauren watched her go, feeling numb. “I guess I need to find another job.” “If she fires you, let me know.” His tone was ice cold and even though she knew that being fired was the likely outcome, a warm feeling spread through her body. He’d stood up for her. No one had ever done that before. She was used to fighting her way through life. Alone. “Thanks,” she said gruffly and he pulled her against him in shockingly intimate contact. “Why do you let her bully you?” “Because she pays my salary.” “You should get another job.” If only it were that easy. “Spoken like a billionaire.” Lauren gave a shaky smile. “You told me your name was Andros.” “Short for Alexandros.” “Ah. So you’re the scary Alexandros. Kozanitas.” He gave a sardonic smile. “Am I scary?” “Spelling your name is scary,” Lauren muttered under her breath, remembering the problems she’d had with the guest list. “Everyone is jumping around because you’re here tonight. My boss is demented.” And she was demented too, agreeing to spend an evening with a man like Alexandros Kozanitas. What was she thinking? “I can’t just leave without another job to go to. Not that I’d expect someone like you to understand that.” “I do understand.” The laughter in his eyes had been replaced by a flinty hardness and a chill that froze her blood. Flustered by the change in his expression, she looked away. “I can’t imagine you ever being poor.” “That’s because I’ve done everything I can to make sure it is never going to happen to me again.” And now he was worth a fortune. As they strolled through the grounds enjoying the entertainment, she couldn’t help but be aware that every woman in the party was sending her jealous looks. “What on earth are you doing with me?” Lauren jumped as an explosion of fireworks sent a million tiny stars cascading through the sky. “You should be with someone draped in diamonds.” “I agree.” He gave a slow smile. “So let’s drape you in diamonds.” Taking her hand, he led her towards a heavily guarded tent which housed an exclusive range of exquisite diamond jewelry from the world’s top designers. “Don’t be ridiculous.” Lauren stopped dead. Looking into his eyes, she felt her mouth dry. They were in a crowd of people, but she was aware only of him. As he pulled her against him, his thigh brushed hers and heat flashed through her, scalding her senses. The chemistry was more powerful than anything she’d ever felt before. The frantic ache low in her pelvis intensified and she sucked in an uneven breath.

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Confused, dangerously fascinated, she stole a glance at his mouth and suddenly knew that she wanted something much, much more than she wanted a diamond. She wanted him to kiss her. Even without testing her theory, she knew that he was a man who would know exactly how to kiss a woman. And she wanted to be that woman. As he lowered his head towards her, Lauren started to tremble. “Are you ready to be draped in diamonds?” His voice was thickened with the same shocking awareness that held her breathless, and her heart stuttered and stalled. “I’m ready—” *** This was all too easy, Alexandros thought to himself, watching the glow in her eyes as he fastened the diamond necklace around her throat. There was no outward evidence that the fortune teller was battling a moral dilemma. She was apparently only too happy to ditch an all-expenses-paid shopping trip with his sister in favor of a more lucrative evening with him. Contemplating the distress her greed was going to cause, Alexandros felt a flicker of anger. The fickleness of human nature was a hard lesson to learn, he thought grimly, but the sooner his sister became more cynical, the less protective he would need to be. “I can’t accept this.” Smashing his preconceptions into the ground, the girl lifted her hands to the back of her neck and tried to undo the clasp. “It isn’t right.” “You don’t like it?” “I don’t mean the necklace, I mean the fact that you’re giving it to me. Gifts like this come with a price tag,” she said gruffly. “And it’s going to be too high for me.” “Leave it.” Alexandros gently removed her hands from the necklace and turned her to face him. “It looks good on you.” “I cannot possibly accept it and even if I did, where would I wear it?” In bed with me, Alexandros thought immediately, shocking himself with the thought because ending the evening with this woman had not been his original intention. “I will take you somewhere you can wear it.” And suddenly he wanted to do that. He wanted to take her away from this ridiculously public charade and unwrap her in private. She looked up at him for a long moment then lifted her hand and slowly trailed her fingers over his cheekbone. “What do you want from me?” Staring down into those wide blue eyes, Alexandros felt a sharp stab of guilt. He’d wanted to prove to his sister that her new best friend was a greedy fake. But suddenly his priorities had changed and he wanted something else entirely. “What do I want from you?” Without hesitation he slid his hands into her silky hair and brought his mouth down on hers in a hungry, demanding kiss, answering her faltering question with a searing explosion of raw passion.

Chapter Five

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Lauren moaned against the skilled assault of his mouth, aware of the gasps from the people watching but too wrapped up in the moment to care. All she cared about was the fact that Andros was kissing her and her entire body was melting in the almost intolerable heat created by his sure, skilful touch. His body was hard against hers, his hands firm on her head as he held her still for a kiss loaded with sexual promise. Through a haze of desire she heard a clock chiming somewhere in the distance and he lifted his head slowly. “Midnight.” The way he said the word made it sound as though the hour had some significance and Lauren wondered if she was missing something. “What happens at midnight?” There was a long silence and he was unnaturally still. “We leave.” There was a collective sigh from the watching women as Alexandros locked his fingers with hers and led her out of the tent. “Where are we going? I’m still wearing the diamonds—” Lauren stumbled as she tried to keep up with his long stride. “I don’t want to be arrested for theft.” “The necklace is yours.” “It can’t be mine. I didn’t pay for it.” Her hair flew into her eyes and she anchored it with her hand, laughing as they ran across the grass, dodging celebrities who were enjoying everything the ball had to offer. “I’m a very good customer.” Skewered by sudden doubt, Lauren stopped running. “I’m not sure I wanted to know that. What am I doing with you? I’ll be fired for this. I must be completely crazy.” Andros looked at her through hot, sexy eyes. “Not yet, but you will be soon, agape mou. Once we are back at my house and we have privacy, I will drive you completely and utterly crazy. That’s a promise.” Lauren knew she was in trouble. Her mouth dried and nerves exploded in her stomach, creating a more spectacular display than any of the fireworks that exploded around them. “We’re going back to your house?” Here, in the relative safety of the exclusive hotel, surrounded by partygoers, she felt secure. It had all been a bit of light-hearted fun. The thought of going with him alone to his house created a completely different sensation in the pit of her stomach. Not safe, she thought to herself. And not light-hearted fun. Deadly serious. Alexandros Kozanitas wasn’t some good-natured young boy who would be prepared to flirt and end the evening with a chaste good-night kiss. He was all man—strong and powerful, sure of what he wanted and completely ruthless about achieving his goals. What he wanted, he took. “I gather your house isn’t in Greece.” He smiled. “I own a villa down the coast in Cap Ferrat. It’s closer than my home in Greece.” He had more than one home. Of course he did. Lauren bit back a hysterical laugh, thinking of the room she rented in the roughest part of London. “Any minute now I’m going to wake up back in my boring life.” “To wake up, you first have to sleep and the one thing I can promise you we won’t be doing is sleeping.” Everything about him was blatantly sexual—from his searing glance to the dangerous curve of his beautiful mouth, and Lauren knew she was lost. “Maybe we should just stay here.”

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“Coward.” “Yes.” Lauren gasped as he lowered his mouth to her throat. His breath was warm against her skin and she closed her eyes, shaking with sensation. “If I wasn’t afraid, I’d be stupid.” And maybe she was stupid, standing here wearing this man’s diamonds when the whole thing could only end one way. Wound as tight as a spring, she jumped as another firework exploded and he gave a low laugh and took her hand again, leading her through the glittering throng of people. “Let’s get out of here. I’d rather you didn’t die of a heart attack before we reach the good part.” A delicious panic swallowed her whole. “My things are back in the hotel. I don’t have anything to wear except this stupid fortune-teller outfit.” “You have the diamonds, agape mou,” he purred, urging her aboard the sleek, dark helicopter that bore his logo. “That’s all you’re going to be wearing for the foreseeable future.” Lauren clutched her seat as the helicopter rose like a bird into the darkness of the night, leaving the glittering party far below them. Diamonds and desire, she thought. But at what price? *** His villa hugged the hillside overlooking the bay. Still holding her hand, Alexandros led her through fragrant gardens, past a fountain spilling water and a blue-lit infinity pool and through open glass doors into an elegant bedroom. A four-poster bed dominated the room, framed with filmy white drapes and covered in silk cushions. Lauren stood, listening to the soothing hiss of the waves on the beach below, her tummy clenched in a knot of helpless desire as her mind raced ahead, conjuring up images of what it would be like to make love on a bed like that. With a man like him. The moment stretched, the anticipation almost agonizing. “Andros—” His hand slid round her waist and he pulled her hard against him as he took her mouth in a hungry kiss. “Lie down, Sleeping Beauty,” he murmured against her lips, “and I’ll kiss you for a hundred years until a spinning wheel comes and pricks your finger.” Lauren gasped as he swung her into his arms. “You’re mixing up your fairy tales.” “It doesn’t matter. You don’t believe them anyway.” She was starting to. She was starting to believe in happy ever after and happy endings. With him holding her she could believe in anything. She felt sexy, irresistible and feminine. Captivated by the dark, dangerous gleam in his eyes, she held his gaze as he lowered her gently onto the pile of soft cushions and came down over her in a smooth, decisive movement that left her in no doubt as to his intentions. “You’re wearing too much.” His voice thickened, he lowered his mouth to the swell of her breasts exposed by the flimsy outfit. “Sorry about this—” Without further warning he ripped the dress from neckline to hem, swiftly dispensed with her underwear and then cupped one swollen breast with his hand. “That’s better.”

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The heat in the room was stifling and hot tingles slid down her body as he stroked a leisurely hand over her stomach, and lower still. When his fingers eased between her thighs, Lauren tensed and then moaned against his mouth as he touched her with unerring skill and lethal accuracy. Feverish and desperate, she wrenched at his shirt, exposing hard muscle and raw male power. Dark hair grazed the peaks of her nipples and Lauren arched her hips, pressing into his hardness, driven wild by the sensations he spun inside her. Her fingers dragged down the warm, sleek skin of his back and then slid round, over his abdomen until she covered him with the flat of her hand. The size of him shocked her and she felt a sudden flicker of apprehension that he might be too big. “Relax, erota mou.” He murmured the words against her mouth, his tone gentle. “Trust me.” His kiss was slow and sexy, building the need in her, creating a storm of sensation that built to a screaming peak of desire. She was dimly aware of him reaching for protection and then she felt the hard ridge of his erection against the smooth skin of her inner thigh. “Now,” she whispered, her fingers digging hard into his sleek, muscular shoulders. “Please, now…”

Chapter Six Lauren stared into his eyes, her heart pounding. It was going to be now. With this man. She should have been thinking why him? Instead she pressed her lips to the sleek muscle of his bronzed shoulder and thought yes, him. She wanted him in a way she’d never wanted a man before and every slow, sensuous kiss, every slick touch, made her burn for more. Heat shot through her body and she rocked her hips against him, feeling his powerful erection brush against her thigh, wondering briefly whether she should mention she hadn’t actually shared this degree of intimacy with anyone before. Probably not, Lauren thought dizzily as he pushed her hair away from her face and kissed her with more skill and knowledge than one man should have accumulated in a single lifetime. Her eyes drifted shut and she moaned into his mouth. If she’d known it felt this good, she would have done it before, but she’d never allowed herself to get that close to anyone. She’d always protected herself. Feeling light-headed, Lauren tried to work out what was different about this time but her thoughts were spinning and disjointed and just as she tried to open her mouth to tell him not to stop, he was inside her, his thrusts slow and smooth as he eased himself deep. He was hard and hot and she could feel the delicious pressure of him all the way through her body. Too much, she thought wildly and then he lowered his head and kissed her again, the teasing seduction of his mouth melting away her sudden tension and sending her excitement levels into orbit. Showered by sensation, aching for him, Lauren wrapped her legs around him, urging him on. But instead of responding to her feverish encouragement, he lifted his head and looked down at her, questions simmering in the dark depths of his eyes. And she didn’t want to answer those questions. Not here. Not now. “Andros,” she whispered, conscious of his velvet hardness deep inside her, and of the intimacy of that single look. “I want this. I want you.” She arched against him and he gave a low groan and then cupped her bottom and thrust deep, his movements infinitely gentle as he locked their bodies together, introducing her to an entirely new level of intimacy. He was all silk and virile heat, the power of his invasion driving the breath from her body. Pleasure clawed at her, raking through control, creating sensations she’d never imagined existed.

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Alexandros locked his fingers with hers and kissed her, the skilled stroke of his tongue intensifying the excitement as he found a perfect rhythm, each powerful thrust sending excitement rushing through her. The room shimmered with heat, the bed bathed in a glow of light that came from the floodlit pool on the terrace beyond the open doors. “You’re beautiful.” His voice was husky, his eyes a menacing black, and Lauren arched against him, drawing him deeper still, feeling nothing but hot, pulsing pleasure as he drove into her. The muscles of his shoulders rippled under her fingers and the heat spread through her body like a drug. It was the most sensual, erotic, overwhelming experience of her life, each plunge taking her deeper into paradise, until with a final thrust he sent both of them rocketing skywards. Wave after wave of the most intense pleasure erupted and Lauren dug her fingers into the sleek muscle of his shoulders, her body contracting against the powerful force of his as they were both flung into a vortex of sexual ecstasy that she knew was going to change her life forever. As they surfed the wave of extreme pleasure, he took her mouth, he took her body—he took everything she offered. Including her heart. *** It was the phone that woke him. Dragging himself from a sex-induced slumber, Alexandros rubbed his fingers across his face and checked the number on his phone. It was his sister. Swearing softly in Greek, he sank back against the pillows. Not now. He wasn’t prepared to have what could only be described as a delicate conversation. His sister was no doubt waiting at the airport in New York for her “new best friend” who had, unfortunately, been all too willing to accept a better offer from him. Reluctant to expose her as a greedy opportunist, he glanced down at the sleeping girl in his bed, realizing that he’d just made the situation a thousand times more complicated. “Eleni—” “You owe me an apology.” Alexandros shook his head, trying to concentrate through the fog of sleep. “I apologize,” he said gruffly, keeping his voice low so that he didn’t wake the woman next to him. “You’re right, it was the wrong thing to do.” “No, it wasn’t. I’m glad you did it!” Failing to make sense of that comment, Alexandros frowned. “You’re glad? You’re not upset?” “Why would I be upset? I was right. You were wrong.” His sister sounded impossibly smug. “It’s the first time in my entire life I’ve known you to be wrong about anything so I’m going to make the most of it.” “Eleni—” “It must have totally ruined your evening when you realized that my fortune-teller friend wasn’t even at your stupid party. She decided that the timing was just too tight so she pulled out of the job and by the time you were landing your helicopter at the party in Monte Carlo, she was already at the airport!”

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Alexandros stilled. “She can’t have been at the airport.” At midnight, Madame Rostropov had been with him. “Well, she was. I was so thrilled when she arrived in New York on time. Andros? Are you there? What’s the matter with you?” Alexandros licked dry lips. “She arrived on time? She didn’t miss her flight?” “No. She’s here now. And I know you’re going to tell me that she’s just interested in my money, but that isn’t true. Do you want to talk to her?” Alexandros closed his eyes. “No. You’re right. It’s time you learned to make your own judgments about people, Eleni.” He had enough problems of his own. If the greedy fortune teller was living it up in New York with his sister, then who had he just spent the night with? Who was lying in his bed?

Chapter Seven The days that followed were a haze of pure sensual bliss. They rose late, ate breakfast on the terrace and then explored the beaches and small Mediterranean towns around the exclusive peninsula of Cap Ferrat. But Lauren’s favorite place was the stretch of private beach that nestled below his villa. “I can’t believe you have this all to yourself.” She stooped and picked up a shell, frowning as she heard a buzzing from his pocket. “Aren’t you going to answer your phone?” “No.” He caught her by the waist and hauled her against him. “I’m with you.” It was a heady feeling, being wanted by a man like him. “You’re so lucky, being the boss. No one can fire you. What do you do, anyway?” “I design computer software.” Lauren pulled a face. “You must be very clever. Computers hate me.” Smiling, he tightened his hand on hers. “Lauren, computers don’t have feelings.” “That’s where you’re wrong. They’re vengeful. They wait until you’re doing a really, really important piece of work and then they gulp it down and you never see it again.” “It’s always possible to find lost files.” “Not if you’re me,” Lauren said gloomily. “I’m utterly rubbish at anything like that.” He slid his hands into her hair and lowered his mouth to hers in a teasing kiss. “But you have remembered the name of every single person we have met over the past few days and charmed each and every one of them. My staff think you walk on water and my finance director wants to marry you after a thirty-second phone conversation. You are a very special person.” “Ordinary,” Lauren muttered and he gave a slow smile.

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“Not from where I’m standing. That bikini suits you. You look good in hot pink.” “The clothes are fantastic.” Still self conscious, Lauren looked down at herself. “You shouldn’t have bought me so much stuff.” “You couldn’t spend the week in your fortune-teller costume.” “It wasn’t even mine! The real fortune teller is obviously much smaller. And I’m sure she’s better at seeing into the future than I am because I certainly never saw any of this happening.” Not even in my wildest dreams. Lauren slid her arms around his neck and then frowned. “Are you all right? You’ve gone all tense.” “I’m fine,” he said smoothly. “And it’s lunchtime. Let’s go and eat.” She wondered if she should remind him that she had a flight booked out of Nice airport in less than twentyfour hours’ time. He’d said nothing about his plans, had he? But she knew he couldn’t carry on ignoring his phone and burying himself in this Mediterranean paradise. He had a life to lead and so did she. And their lives didn’t overlap. As they walked back along the water’s edge, Lauren glanced over her shoulder, watching as the sea washed away their footprints. A cloud slid over her happiness and she shivered. It was as if they’d never stood there—never kissed. A brief fantasy moment that was already a memory. Reality crashed into her mind, sending her dreams spinning. There was such a thing as too good to be true, and this was too good to be true, wasn’t it? Things like this didn’t happen to people like her. “Do you know the story of Icarus?” He glanced at her as they took the path up to the villa. “Of course. I am Greek. He flew too close to the sun, burnt his wings and fell to earth.” The higher you fly, the harder you fall. Cupping her face in his hands, he lowered his head. “That isn’t you, Lauren. I’m not going to let you fall.” “I’ve used up all my holiday. I have a flight booked tomorrow.” “I’m not letting you go,” he murmured against her mouth. “You are going to stay here with me.” Lauren felt her tummy tumble. She couldn’t stay, could she? She had a job. On the other hand, was she really going to give this up? *** They were eating lunch on the terrace when there was a sudden noise from inside the villa and a pretty, dark-haired teenager appeared on the terrace. “Andros?”

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Seeing the immediate tension in his frame, Lauren at first assumed that this had to be an old girlfriend. Feeling slightly sick, she put down her drink and stood up. “Sit down,” Alexandros said quietly, his expression obscured by sunglasses. “Lauren, this is my sister, Eleni.” “Your sister?” Shocked to realize that she didn’t even know he had a sister, Lauren stilled. “Oh.” There were plenty of reasons why he might not have mentioned his sister, she reasoned. Eleni bounced up to Alexandros and poked a finger into his chest. “So your little plan backfired. You flew all the way to that party to seduce a fortune teller and she wasn’t even there.” Lauren’s mouth dried. “S-seduce a fortune teller?” “My friend is a fortune teller. I’d invited her to New York with me.” Oblivious to the impact her words were having, Eleni was grinning at her brother. “But Andros was sure she was only interested in my money and to prove his point he decided he’d make her a better offer. Unfortunately he never got the chance because she didn’t show up for work that night. She was already waiting at the airport for me. So my over-protective big brother had a wasted, boring evening.” Alexandros removed his sunglasses with a hand that wasn’t quite steady. “My evening wasn’t boring.” Lauren’s mouth was dry and there was a sudden roaring in her ears. Feeling disconnected, she stood up, her sudden movement rattling the cups on the table. Despite the heat of the day, she was suddenly icy cold and the ache inside her was so acute that she almost gasped. “Excuse me.” Her voice sounded strained. “I’ll call a taxi.” And that would wipe out all the extra money she’d earned working overtime for the ball. Serves you right, she told herself, for allowing yourself to get dreams mixed up with reality. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.” Guilty, Eleni glanced at her but Lauren was already halfway across the terrace. Behind her she heard Alexandros explode in a tirade of angry Greek and she swallowed down the lump in her throat as she pulled out her mobile phone and dialled the number of a taxi firm. “Lauren—” Alexandros stood behind her, his voice strangely uncertain. “It isn’t how it seems.” “You’re saying you didn’t invite me to spend the evening with you because you wanted to prove I was greedy?” She was shaking so much that the phone slid out of her hand and crashed onto the floor. “That is why I invited you to spend the evening. Initially.” His truthful response shook her and Lauren retrieved her phone, wondering how it could still be intact after a collision with a hard surface when her heart, which hadn’t been dropped, felt as though it had splintered into a million pieces. “Tell me one thing. When exactly did you discover I wasn’t your fortune teller?” “The first morning.” “And you didn’t say anything?” “It wasn’t relevant. That wasn’t why I brought you here.”

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Lauren wouldn’t let herself listen. She didn’t trust herself around this man. She’d allowed herself to be drawn in—to believe and dream. She’d allowed herself to feel. How was that possible after such a short time? “Sometimes when something seems too good to be true, it’s because it is. You can’t buy a future. You can’t buy a relationship.” Desperately hurt, dying inside, Lauren unfastened the diamond necklace and pushed it into his hand. “It wasn’t dreams, diamonds or desire, Andros. It was despicable.”

Chapter Eight Alexandros pounded on the door with his fist, indescribable tension driving away his usual cool. What if she no longer lived here? What if— Lauren tugged open the door and her eyes widened. “Wh-what are you doing here? I’m waiting for my taxi.” Alexandros noticed the dark shadows under her eyes. She was as stressed as he was. “You gave me the diamonds back.” No woman had ever done that before. “I didn’t like what they meant. I see my taxi—” “It can wait.” Alexandros closed his hand over her arm. The scent of her hair drifted through the air and he clenched his jaw, resisting an almost overpowering temptation to haul her against him and just kiss his way out of trouble. “It’s true that I kept you at the ball until I thought you’d missed your flight,” he ground out. “I won’t apologize for that because I was protecting my sister, but everything that happened after that was about us. It had nothing to do with anything else.” “You slept with me thinking that I was a greedy, gold-digging woman. What does that say about you, Andros?” He felt his gut twist at the pain in her voice. “It says that I’m not great at trusting people,” he said hoarsely. “It doesn’t come naturally to me. From what I’ve seen, it doesn’t come naturally to you, either, so you ought to understand that. If you trusted easily, you wouldn’t have walked out so readily.” She stood still. “How did you find me?” “Your boss.” “Ex-boss.” “She fired you?” Alexandros felt red-hot anger spear his body. “I will have you reinstated immediately.” “I wasn’t fired,” she said quietly. “I resigned. You told me to stop being afraid and you were right. If I’d stayed with her any longer I would have lost all my confidence.” “I’ll look after you.” Alexandros glanced past her into her cramped flat, hating the thought of her living alone. Struggling. “You’re brilliant with people. I’ll give you a job.” “I have a job.” There was pride in her voice. “Remember that woman with the blond boyfriend? Turned out he wasn’t that nice to her. After she left my tent, she ditched him and offered me a job. She’s Gillian’s biggest competitor.” Alexandros noticed the suitcase behind her. “You’re working?” “Believe it or not, she’s throwing another party in Monte Carlo.” The look in her eyes told him it was the last place she wanted to be. “Why are you here, Alexandros?” He’d been asking himself the same question. “Because I want you to understand why I did what I did.”

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“You don’t have to—” “After our mother died, our father was persuaded to invest all his savings in a scam by a clever, manipulative woman. He lost everything. He drank.” Alexandros sucked in a breath. “Eleni was six months old when he died.” There was a long silence and then her fingers found his. “I’m sorry.” “I was sixteen. I was determined that we wouldn’t be separated but it was hard.” It was something he never talked about. Something he’d never shared. “You have no idea how hard. And then suddenly I started making serious money and everything changed. I saw the worst side of people.” “Your sister is lucky to have you protecting her.” Lauren looked up at him. “Was the real fortune teller taking advantage of her?” "No. Turns out she was genuine. I need to learn not to be so overprotective." “You don’t have to apologize for protecting your sister.” “You don’t have family.” His attempts to track her down had revealed that she’d been brought up in a children’s home, abandoned as a child. “No.” That single, lonely word told him everything about her life, and when she tried to remove her hand, he tightened his grip. “I love you, Lauren.” The words he’d never spoken before proved surprisingly easy to say. “Marry me.” For a moment she didn’t speak. Then she drew in a jerky breath and gave a little shake of her head. “Don’t be ridiculous.” “I love you—” Her chest rose and fell as she breathed. “It’s impossible.” “—and I know you love me.” She gave a twisted smile. “Perhaps I don’t. Perhaps I’m just interested in your money.” Her voice was thickened with tears. “If I married you, you’d never really know, would you? You’d never be sure. Your life is a fantasy, Andros, but mine is reality and I’m already late.” Without looking at him, she dragged her hand away from his and slid into the waiting taxi. *** Lauren circulated among the guests, wishing her first job with her new company hadn’t been in this location. It was a cruel twist of fate. She flinched every time she saw a tall, dark-haired man in a suit and every firework was like an explosion in her heart. “You’re brilliant, Lauren.” Her new boss, Daisy, caught up with her halfway through the evening. “Can you do one thing for me? Pop into the fortune teller’s tent and check she’s doing all right?” Lauren paled. “No, I—” But Daisy was already sprinting away to rescue a waitress who had spilled a tray of glasses. Resigned to her fate, Lauren pushed aside the flap of the tent and walked inside.

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“Hi. Everything all right?” The girl looked at her over the top of her veil. “You’re going to meet a tall, dark, handsome rich man—” “Stop.” Lauren held up her hand. “I’m just here to check on you. I don’t want to know my future.” “—and he’s going to give you a diamond ring.” Lauren felt a flash of exasperation. “And how can you possibly know that?” “Because he’s standing behind you—” the deep male voice slid across her nerve endings “—waiting to put it on your finger.” Lauren turned slowly and the smiling fortune teller discreetly left the tent. “Alexandros…” Dark and impossibly handsome, he took her hand. “This is yours.” He slipped the ring onto her finger and Lauren stared down at the twinkling diamond in stunned silence. “And this…” He fastened the diamond necklace around her neck. “Sell both of them and you’ll be a rich woman. So now money is no longer an issue, you have no reason not to marry me.” Hardly daring to breathe, Lauren looked up at him. “But—” “I love you and I know you love me.” Her heart thudded. “This can’t be real. It doesn’t feel real.” He lowered his head and kissed her until she felt light-headed. “How does it feel now?” “Like a fairy tale,” she whispered. “And I don’t believe in fairy tales.” “This isn’t a fairy tale, agape mou.” Alexandros cupped her face in his hands. “This is real life.” “Not my life.” Lauren thought about who she was and who he was. “I can’t marry you. I’m ordinary. And dyslexic. I can’t even spell your name.” “I don’t care.” Still, she couldn’t allow herself to believe it. “I can’t give you what you want.” “You haven’t asked me what I want.” He rested his forehead against hers. “I want to spoil you, protect you, love you as you’ve never been loved before. That’s what I want. You said you didn’t like what the diamonds meant, but they meant love.” Looking into his eyes, happiness blossomed inside her. Love, she thought. The best fairy tale of all. “Perhaps we should check our future with the fortune teller.” “I can tell you what your future holds. Diamonds and desire, agape mou,” he drawled softly. “Diamonds and desire. For as long as we both shall live.”

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Cop Next Door by Julie Miller As Justin Grant, a tactical officer with KCPD's bomb squad, delves deeper into the gang world to find who’s responsible for the bomb threats plaguing Kansas City, he must also ensure the safety of the woman he has involved…the woman he is falling for.

"Hold the elevator!" Detective Ethan Cross stomped the snow off his black leather boots and strode across the worn tile floor of the Mercantile Plaza apartment building. Located just a few blocks from the Missouri River in downtown Kansas City, the old brick conversion structure had seen better days as a textile warehouse in the early 1900s. The crumbling historic architecture might be more unique than comfortable, but to Ethan's empty stomach and weary bones, it was home. And after two and a half months of living a lie, it felt mighty good to be home. "Hey! I said--" He caught a glimpse of silver-blond hair and a black coat before the person he'd called to slipped inside the elevator and the doors began to close. "Damn." He was too tired to mess with this. Ethan's shoulders lifted with a frustrated sigh beneath the army castoff trench coat he wore. He sprinted the last few feet, his long legs beating the rickety pace of the sliding doors. He jammed his palm against one door and wedged his forearm into the closing gap. The combination of his considerable bulk and fraying patience gave him the strength to push the doors open and step inside. "Thanks." For nothing. Sarcasm eclipsed the easy pitch of his voice as he moved past the woman standing at the elevator panel. Her black-gloved finger was still pressed against the 'Door Close' button. But she quickly snatched it back into a fist and curled her arms across her middle, clutching her bag to her chest and assuming the classic protective posture of a woman alone at night in the big city. Late at night. Trapped with a stranger. Instantly, Ethan regretted his cold tone. Hell. He was one of the good guys. She had nothing to fear from him. "Sorry." He let some laughter slide into his voice. "I just figured two in the morning was late enough to be getting home as it is. I didn't want to wait another ten minutes while this old contraption went up to your floor and came back down to get me." Nothing. No acceptance of his apology, verbal or otherwise. Her only acknowledgment that he had even spoken was to clutch that bag even more tightly. Ethan rubbed his jaw, letting his fingerless gray gloves absorb the melting January snow that dripped through the scruff of his beard. He froze with his hand on his chin as his fingertips clued him in to the image he must be projecting. An angular jaw that needed a shave was nothing compared to six-foot, three inches of a man built like a linebacker dwarfing the confines of the ancient elevator. He'd gone out of his way to fine-tune this particular streetwise look. He'd let his curling, coffee-dark hair grow down to his shoulders. Errant strands, moist from the snow outside, clung to his cheeks and forehead with the abandonment of a man who didn't care. He'd chosen clothes to emphasize his bulk and mask the gun he holstered beneath his left shoulder. The jeans were expensive, but well worn. The boots tough, but functional. The trench coat formed an ominous silhouette and had secret pockets sewn inside where he stashed his badge and his back-up weapon.

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The mute woman over in the corner barely came up to his shoulders. She had every right to try to steal a safe, solo ride on an elevator without the likes of him along for company. Other than the fact she'd been out in the city at two a.m., she was smart enough to have her self-preservation instincts in place. Admiring her already for that quality alone, Ethan redoubled his efforts to put her at ease. "You're new here." He made the observation as matter-of-factly as possible. Her shoulders hitched with a deep breath and she rolled her neck as if standing in that hunched position was growing uncomfortable. But she didn't speak. She continued to stare straight ahead at the button panel. He tried again. "I've been gone for a couple of months. But welcome to the Mercantile. Hopefully, the super, Mr. DeMarco, got that leak in my bathroom sink fixed while I was away. Usually, he's pretty good about repairs. But as he gets closer to retirement, I think his arthritis--" She finally turned. "What do you want from me?" What did he want? Green eyes snapped at him. Ethan straightened at the verbal attack, but managed to keep what he hoped was a gentle smile on his face. "Well, for one thing, you could stop cringing in the corner like I'm going to take your head off. Or worse." If he introduced himself, he wouldn't exactly be a stranger anymore. "My name's Ethan Cross. And you're . . .?" Pretty, round cheeks, whipped to a rosy color from the cold outside tightened along with an equally pretty mouth as she articulated her response. "Mind your own business." She turned her back on him, resuming her closed stance in the far corner. So much for his first attempt to return to the real world. He'd spent the past ten hours typing up reports and debriefing this last assignment to his boss at the precinct office. He wasn't ready to think about the twenty-four hours before that. Sure, he felt good about busting up a local drug syndicate and getting hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of speed off the streets. But one man was dead. And another was in the hospital with a slug from Ethan's own .9 mm wedged inside his gut. He could still see the man's rheumy eyes, glaring up at Ethan from the floor of the bar where the final sting had taken place. He could still feel the man's spit, hitting his shoulder and condemning him. He could still hear the man's words, accusing Ethan of betraying his trust. How he'd counted on Ethan to protect him like a brother. Ethan had wiped off the spit, ignored the accusations and read the man his rights while the paramedics were loading him onto an ambulance. Oh yeah. This woman wanted nothing to do with a big, bad cuss like him. A kind word or a welcoming smile were more than he could ask of her. Of anyone until he got this damn bust and the part he'd played so well out of his head. The woman dashed out, her bag clutched to her chest like a life preserver, her key already in hand. Her skittish maneuvers to avoid any contact with him made Ethan feel both curious and guilty. He was even more surprised when she stopped at the door right next to his. They turned and looked at each other -- he, mildly curious; she, almost in shock.

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The nameless blonde with the shoulder-length tousle of hair finally initiated a conversation. It sounded more like an accusation. "That's where you live?" "I guess that makes us neighbors." Ethan grinned at the coincidence. The effect of which sent her into a panic as she rushed to get inside. He heard not one, but three locks slamming into place once the door closed behind her. Ethan shook his head and let himself into his cold, lonely apartment. So much for a warm “welcome home”. But Ethan Cross wasn't a detective for nothing. He liked a good mystery. He especially liked solving one. Thoughts of finding out what made his reclusive new neighbor tick kept him awake until nearly dawn. Callie leaned back against the locked door and sucked in a cautious breath. Had he found her? Her feet and back ached from the long hours of her shift at the Shamrock Bar. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the overwhelming panic that burned inside her chest. The man in the elevator -- Ethan Cross, he’d said his name was -- had been so big. So male. So dangerous. He looked tough enough to shoot two men in cold blood. Callie closed her eyes and saw again the image of her boss, Michael Revere, as she’d last seen him slumped in his chair, blood turning the front of his crisp gray suit a dull red. Twin gunshots reverberated in her memory as clearly as they had that night outside Michael's office. The argument she'd overheard had been so vile, so full of accusation. And then the gunshots. She'd hidden behind a desk in the reception area when the door opened and one of his business associates, Russ McDowall, walked out. He'd straightened his jacket as if cleaning up from an ugly fight, then exited through the main doors. She'd assumed she'd just I.D.ed the murderer. One glance at Michael's body and she'd run to call 911, then stayed hidden until the police arrived. But when the cops showed up there was no body -- no blood. And then they found Russ dead . . . She wasn't crazy. She wasn't! The notes and phone calls proved that. The man next door could be the killer. Even though she'd cut her hair and changed her name and job, he could have found her. He'd be waiting for the right opportunity to silence her. That was it! Callie clutched her stomach and breathed easier, sagging with relief. If the man next door was the murderer, he would have killed her already. He'd had ample opportunity on that interminable ride to the fifth floor. She still didn't think she should trust him -- but he hadn't hurt her. Despite his temper when he'd forced his way onto the elevator, he'd tried to strike up a friendly conversation.

25

To tell the truth, she'd been unexpectedly intrigued by the fresh scents of winter and man that had filled the elevator. And the articulate sound of his low-pitched voice had challenged her attempts to ignore him. Under other – safer -- circumstances, she might have found the easy timbre of that voice comforting. "There are no other circumstances," she reprimanded herself out loud and forced herself away from the door. She couldn't afford to be interested -- even remotely curious -- about her neighbor. She needed to be on guard at all times. Out of habit, she reached inside her purse to the one thing that offered her any semblance of security. Her fingertips touched the cold, flat plastic of a computer disk. She'd been on her way to Michael's office to ask him about the numbers that didn't add up when she'd overheard the horrible accusations being flung back and forth behind the closed door. The accounting on the disk might be nothing, or it might provide a motive for Michael's murder. But until she could figure out what the discrepancies meant, she intended to keep the information to herself. She'd already been dismissed by the police once. She wouldn't go to them again until she had proof of a crime. With the disk safely tucked away in her purse, Callie tossed her coat over the back of a chair and stripped off her waitress uniform. Padding into the bathroom in just her underwear, she turned on the faucets in the tub and let the water run hot. While she waited for her bath to fill, she made cocoa in the microwave. She cuddled the mug between her chilled fingers and sipped the sweet, creamy liquid, savoring its warmth from the inside out. Though the hour was late, she knew sleep would be an elusive thing. If nightmares didn't keep her awake, then sheer worry would. So she was still soaking in the tub, letting the moist heat ease the stiffness from her muscles, when the telephone rang in the living room. Despite the temperature of the water, goose bumps pricked her skin. She clutched her arms around her knees and curled into a ball, suddenly feeling ice cold. The only person who had her new number was her manager at the Shamrock. Before Callie decided he might be calling to ask her to work an extra shift, the answering machine clicked on and a voice, altered by some device to give it a robotic tone, began to speak. "I saw you at the bar tonight, Miss Smith. Got your number from the schedule in the workroom. Changing your name won't hide you forever. "But don't worry. It's only a matter of time before I hunt you down." "Morning." Callie jumped inside her coat at the smooth sound of the cheerful male greeting. She overrode the instinct to bolt back inside her apartment and pocketed her key. Her behavior last night had probably already drawn unwanted attention to herself. This was a normal, human voice. Warm and a tad breathless. Not mechanical. Not threatening. She inhaled a steadying breath, wrapped her scarf around her neck and headed for the elevator without responding. Ethan Cross pulled off a stocking cap and gloves and unlocked his door. He was coming back from a morning workout, judging by the gray sweats he wore. The narrow hallway filled with the warmth and honest sweat emanating from his big, rangy body. His heat and scent assailed her as she neared him, reaching out to her like a peace offering, or even a hug. Callie slowed as she walked past, savoring the sensation of human contact, even if it was limited to her imagination. Last night's phone call had left her chilled to the bone. She'd left her family and friends behind when the first warning had arrived, and she'd been hiding out ever since. She was beginning to wonder if she'd ever be able to trust anyone again -- to touch them, be held and touched by them. She wondered if she'd ever feel warm again.

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For a moment, the loneliness and longing got the better of her common sense. She tipped up her chin. She didn't speak at first, she only looked. The fatigue and polite distance in her neighbor's amber eyes tugged at her heartstrings. Surely a man that weary with the world lacked the strength or compunction to hurt her. "Good morning, Mr. Cross." His solemn expression melted away into a gorgeous smile and Callie felt her own mouth stretching into a matching curve. "Hey, you remembered my name." That such a little thing could make his day seemed to be an inordinate bit of power to have over a man. Over the past two weeks she hadn't dropped her guard enough to worry about making anyone's day. It felt good. "I didn't catch yours, though." "Callie S-- Smith." She'd almost slipped and said Sullivan. But if he picked up on her hesitation, he didn't let on. "Do you always work the late shift at the bar?" he asked instead. "What?" That warm feeling of connectedness vanished in a heartbeat. "Seems we're the two night owls around here. Thought it might be good to be familiar with each other's schedules. Provide a bit of neighborhood security. Water each other's plants. You know." "How did you know where I work?" she demanded, hearing the threat of unwanted familiarity in his voice instead of the promised protection. She hadn't told him where she worked. She hadn't told him anything. "I don't." He shrugged, drawing her attention to just how much bigger, stronger he was than she. "Your coat smelled like smoke, but you've got a beautiful smile, so I figured it wasn't you. Plus, you wore the standard black support shoes." His unshaven, angular face creased with a sheepish grin. "I notice things about people." Callie retreated a step. "Don't notice anything about me. Please." "Too late for that. I already took note of how your green eyes get little flecks of blue in them when you lose your temper." His smile vanished. "And how you're scared to death of me." "I'm not --" "Please. I'd rather you ignore me like you did last night than tell me lies." His broad shoulders sagged with some unseen weight. "If you want your privacy, you got it. I've dealt with enough lies lately to last me a lifetime." With that cryptic comment he dismissed her and turned to open his door. She should be relieved that he was walking away, but instead, she was genuinely curious. "What is it you do, Mr. Cross?" "I'm a cop." Callie had dashed to the elevator without looking back or saying goodbye. She hopped a city bus to the nearest library branch and paid some of her precious cash for a half hour on its computer. But she couldn't focus on the lists and numbers on the Revere Imports disk she had tucked into her purse. A cop? After all her efforts to hide herself from the world, she'd moved in next to a cop? She'd never been one to believe in destiny, but she seemed to have a knack for ending up in the wrong place at the wrong time. She'd seen Michael dead. She'd seen Russ walk away from the scene.

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She'd seen the looks of suspicion and outright pity in the eyes of Kansas City's finest. Are you sure about what you saw, Miss Sullivan? Yes! Michael was at his desk. He wasn't moving. There was blood.… But when the cops arrived, there was no Michael. No blood. They'd taken pity on her then, tried to keep her hysteria at bay. She'd been so insistent about the argument she'd overheard that the police had driven her to Russ McDowall's house. They'd found Russ sitting in his car in the garage. Very bloody. Equally dead. How well did you know the deceased, Miss Sullivan? Did you argue with him? No! He argued with Michael. Russ said he'd kill him! Then where's the body? I don't know! Callie buried her face in her hands, unable to shake the voices and images inside her head. If she hadn't been with the police at the time of Russ's murder, she'd be their prime suspect. As it was, they'd taken a phone number and thanked her for her time. They focused their investigation on Russ's transitory past, telling her they'd call if they had any more questions. The only one who'd called since had been that sick, mechanical voice. I saw you at Revere's office. I saw you at McDowall's house. I don't like seeing you so much. Would Ethan Cross report her whereabouts to his fellow officers? They'd probably share a good laugh over the crazy lady who had moved into his building. If the police could track her down, that meant Michael's killer could, too. Hell. He'd already found out where she worked. He knew her phone number. It was time to move on. Callie removed the disk and hid in one of the stalls of the public rest room to count her money. Forty-six dollars. She'd emptied her small savings to buy a month's rent on her apartment. She'd have to go to the Shamrock and pick up her paycheck, or rather, convince the manager John O'Herlihy to pay her early. Hopefully, she'd earned enough for a new place. Twenty minutes later, Callie stepped off the bus, wrapped her scarf up around her neck and walked into a stiff, damp wind a block and a half to the Shamrock Bar. Feeling safe enough in the light of late afternoon, she cut across the near empty parking lot to the back entrance closest to John's office. "John?" She rapped on the locked metal door and waited. "John?" The dampness in the air took shape and turned to wet, heavy dollops of snow. Shivering inside her coat, Callie knocked again. "John? It's Callie. I know I'm early, but may I come in?" No answer. Callie looked over her shoulder and scanned the parking lot, double-checking that she'd passed John's green pickup. A twinge of concern had her looking around in every direction, making sure that she was alone.

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Maybe it was the cold creeping under her skin. Maybe it was the paranoia of the past two weeks, but Callie had the distinct impression she wasn't alone. Twin pools of imaginary heat scorched her back. Someone was watching. "John?" She didn't bother with knocking this time. She reached for the doorknob and twisted it. The door sprang open. Callie paused, peering into the darkness of the interior hallway. Something was wrong. "John?" Before she could react, a figure dressed in black hurtled out of the shadows. He plowed into Callie, knocking her down onto the asphalt. Pain shot through the back of her head, spinning her vision out of control. She was vaguely aware of her attacker pausing, then running away. But she noticed nothing more. As the winter slush soaked through to her skin, Callie's world faded to black. "I don't need an ambulance." Callie repeated herself, appreciating the uniformed officer's earnest concern for the knot on the back of her head. His height and broad shoulders reminded her of her neighbor, Ethan Cross. But there the similarities ended. Though they were both cops, Josh Taylor wore his blond hair short and neat, and his blue eyes were filled with kindness. Ethan emanated something wilder, more on the edge. His sad eyes had wanted something from her. Something she'd been too frightened to figure out. Something she had neither the time nor the liberty to give. And while she might take comfort in Officer Taylor's concern, she couldn't forget that he was a cop. And cops ran checks. And if his check turned up a Calista Smith in the state ID system, her picture wouldn't be the one beside the name. This interview needed to end before he asked to see her crudely forged I.D. card again. She rose from the leather barstool, hiding her shaky legs by bracing her hand on the bar's brass trim. She offered him a reassuring smile. "I'm fine, Officer Taylor. If there's nothing else -- ?" "Callie? What are you doing here?" John, her manager, dashed in through the back entrance. His black hair was plastered to his head with melting snow. He butted past Josh Taylor and squeezed her shoulders. His native brogue was in full force. "The officer outside said we'd been robbed." He released her and turned to the uniformed officer. "I just stepped out for a few minutes. Ran my receipts up to the bank. Thank God the register was empty. Thieves cleaned me out big time last year." He spun back toward Callie, pulling off his black leather gloves. "He didn't hurt you, did he?" John was just now making his bank deposit? Why hadn't he done it after closing last night? Like he had every other night she'd worked. Callie shook aside the speculation. John was a rock when it came to running his bar and protecting his employees. But he was hopelessly absentminded when it came to numbers. She forced herself to smile. "A bump on the head is all. I didn't get a good look at the guy. He was wearing black, from his stocking mask down to his boots." "Mr. O'Herlihy?" Taylor reminded John of his presence. "If you could do a walk-through with me? Make sure nothing's missing?" "Of course." As Officer Taylor pocketed his notebook, John took Callie by the shoulders again. The pleading look on his face put her on guard. "I know it's been a rough afternoon, but can you work ’til close tonight? Angela called in earlier with the flu."

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This morning, she'd wanted nothing more than to leave this place. Someone -- a patron, a coworker -- had gotten her phone number at the bar. Maybe instead of running away from the danger, she should use this opportunity to track down the connection between the Shamrock Bar and the mechanical voice on her machine. The police didn't want to help her. Maybe she could do more than just study that disk to help herself. "Callie?" John prompted. She weighed the heavy pounding inside her skull with the light weight of her wallet and the opportunity at hand. Practicality beat out comfort. "Sure. Let me get some aspirin and dinner in me, then I'll start setting up the bar." "You're a peach." He leaned in and gave her an unexpected peck on the lips. He thumbed over his shoulder at Officer Taylor. "I'd better go talk to this guy." *** Ethan propped his feet up on the chair next to him and settled in with his cup of coffee in the Fourth Precinct's break room. He'd been catching up on paperwork all day, getting up to speed on the precinct's open cases, paying particular attention to anything related to his last drug bust. "Hey, I heard Josh Taylor talked to the crazy lady." "Who's that?" Ethan couldn't help but eavesdrop on the two boisterous uniforms who had walked into the break room. "You know, that lady who said she witnessed a murder, but there was no body." The two laughed and traded tall tales about her version of the crime scene and what the cops actually found. Nothing. "Today she reported a robbery. But there was no money missing." "What was her name?" Ethan tuned in with a sudden, unexpected interest. "Callie." Callie hung up her apron in the back room. She didn't know which hurt worse, her feet or her head. She'd worked eight hours straight -- skipping her break in order to keep an eye on the bar's clientele. All the regulars had been there -- the two Freds who always started with whiskey shots and ended with beers and lecherous come-ons; Hank, the poor old man who sat by himself at the end of the bar; a coed bowling team that came in promptly at nine. Had one of them snuck into the workroom to find her number? There were new faces, as well, men and women she recognized but hadn't put a name to. Maybe one of them had stopped by the night before and she'd just been too intent on keeping to herself to notice a particular interest in her. And what about the part-time bartender, Seth? Or the other waitresses? Did Angela really have the flu? Or had she betrayed Callie to the man with the mechanical voice? Could she trust any of them? She slipped her card into the time clock and punched out. There was her name, penned in John's clear, precise handwriting, followed by her phone number. Easy enough for anyone to slip into the back room to find.

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Though the damage had already been done, she pulled a pen from her pocket and crossed out the numbers. She'd get her phone changed tomorrow and ask John to keep the new information to himself. The caller hadn't found her apartment yet. Or so he’d said. "Callie?" She jumped at John's voice in the hallway. He popped his head around the corner and smiled broadly. "Good. You're still here. Here's a little something extra for your tip jar." He slipped a $20 bill into the front pocket of her jeans, then let his hand linger a moment at her waist. Callie found herself backing away from the familiarity of his touch. Maybe his guilt had given their working relationship a more personal interest. "Thanks for helping out tonight. I can't tell you how sorry I am about the break-in. You probably saved me a fortune." Callie slipped her punch card into its slot. "I thought you took the deposit to the bank this afternoon." "From last night, yeah, but I keep cash in the safe for emergencies. Thanks to your timely arrival, the thief never found it." She pulled her coat and scarf and purse from its peg and dressed herself for the cold outside. "I'm just glad no one was hurt. I was worried you were inside." "You're such a sweet girl." John's Irish brogue teased her ear a moment before his hands closed around her shoulders. "I know you were in trouble when you came to me. I don't want to add to it. If there's anything I can do to help – " "Thanks." Callie scooted away from the oddly uncomfortable sensation of his touch. Still, she knew his heart was in the right place. So she could smile as she faced him. "Right now, all I need is the job." Outside, Callie breathed deeply, filling her head and lungs with the biting, refreshing air. She pulled her scarf around her ears and gazed up at the harsh circle of light that illuminated the back entrance. The snow had softened to crystalline flakes floating down to earth. But it wasn't the crisp winter wonderland that enthralled her. It was the knowledge that just beyond that circle of light lay 30 feet of pitch-dark parking lot that she had to cross before she reached the nearest streetlight. Once she got to the street there'd be enough light to reach the bus stop. As long as the weirdos weren't out. And the 1:20 bus was on time. It was just those first 30 feet… Making a mental note to add a can of Mace to her meager shopping list, she stepped from the light into the shadows. The parking lot was deserted except for John's truck and a black sports car. Normally, she walked straight from the door to the sidewalk. But even before Michael's death, she'd been trained to avoid walking too closely to unknown vehicles. So in her swift, determined stride, she headed for John's empty truck. She skirted the front fender and swung around toward the streetlight. And screamed. A tall, dark figure emerged from the shadows and reached for her. She lunged with her fingernails and pounded with her fists as powerful hands wrapped around her arms and pulled her toward the bulk of a man's chest. "Callie, it's me." Curling dark hair and the khaki-green trench coat finally registered. Callie froze, lifting her gaze to patient amber eyes framed by rich brown lashes. "Ethan?"

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He was so big up close like this. So masculine. He smelled of clean winter air and faint male musk. Callie breathed in the comforting, tantalizing scent, orienting herself to the idea that he hadn't hurt her. But she couldn't afford to savor the fleeting sensation of inexplicable safety. She thumped his shoulder one last time for scaring her so before twisting free of his unresisting grip. "What the hell are you doing here?" An amused smile split the shadowed contours of his jaw. "I'm headed home. You need a lift?" "I can get home just fine by myself, thank you." "It's after one in the morning. Do you know what kind of loonies are out this time of night?" She briefly wondered if he counted himself among the strange creatures that lurked in the city after midnight. "This parking lot is a crime just waiting to happen. You're female. You're alone. Why invite trouble?" "You're the only trouble I'm dealing with right now. If you'll excuse me." She gripped her collar edges together at her throat and circled around him, leaving behind a frisson of electricity that had started with fear, but continued with an awareness of him that could only bring her trouble. "I know about the attempted robbery this afternoon. I know you got hurt." Callie halted in her tracks. Though he made no noise, she felt the heat of him moving in behind her. "You told the officers on the scene your name was Callie Smith. But that's a lie, isn't it?" She remembered his words outside their apartments -- and his sad, weary eyes when he said he preferred her silence to her lies. But how could she tell him the truth? How could she risk telling another cop the truth? "You're the crazy lady people are talking about down at the precinct. Callie Sullivan." "You're quite the detective." Her sarcasm faded on a twinge of panic and she turned. "You won't tell anyone, will you? Especially Mr. DeMarco. I registered the apartment under Smith. I can't afford to move yet." Tiny lines formed beside his eyes. "Why do you have to move?" He might have guessed her name, but the secret threats she would not share. "I have to go now. I'll miss the bus." He caught her by the elbow and stopped her. "I'll drive you home." Callie jerked away. "No." "We're going to the same place." A third voice cut short their argument. "Callie, is there a problem?" Great. John was still in his caretaker mode. Now she had to steal away from two overprotective males. But before she could make an excuse, Ethan had spun around. He had a good three inches of height over John, and he used it to full advantage as the two men sized each other up. "I'm Ethan Cross, K.C.P.D. Who are you?" "John O'Herlihy." He had to shift a step to the right and look around Ethan to make eye contact with her. "I run the Shamrock." He slowly drew his focus back to the cop. "Is this about this afternoon?" "Do you always let your female employees walk alone at night?" "What?"

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Enough. Callie moved between them, waving John back to his truck. "Everything's fine. Ethan is my neighbor." "Yeah?" The two men continued to watch each other in silent male posturing. One accusatory, the other defensive. She didn't need this kind of attention. Neither man moved until she opened the door of the black car. She finally conceded to Ethan's will. "He's giving me a ride home." Ethan guided his Thunderbird through the deceptively quiet streets. Just like the woman sitting in the seat next to him, he knew mysterious and possibly dangerous secrets were hidden behind the silent facade. "You are the unfriendliest woman I've ever met." Callie crossed her arms and clutched her leather purse to her chest. "Take the hint." He didn't know whether to laugh or rail at the dismissal in her closed posture. He opted for a rational argument. "All right, then. So I'm driving you home. I'm a cop doing my job. To serve and protect." "I don't need your protection." He noted the nervous sweep of her tongue across her lips, and the way her blue-green eyes darted his direction, watching him even though she kept her face glued to the front windshield. "You need something, lady. You're so keyed up with guarding your back and every word you say, you can't think straight." He took a fortifying breath and turned into the Mercantile's parking garage before he continued. "I work under cover. I recognize the signs. The strain of pretending to be somebody you're not." She reached up with trembling fingers and tucked a lock of what he'd privately dubbed that “just had sex” hair of hers behind her ear. Though he braced himself for the denial that was sure to follow, he let himself enjoy the image of her silver and gold tresses falling about her face with the abandon of a woman who'd been thoroughly kissed by a man and didn't want to erase the imprint of his hands on her. Such wanton abandonment would seem to be an alien concept for his tightly controlled neighbor lady, but he nevertheless allowed himself a moment to fantasize that he was the man who had kissed her so well and loosened that cautious reserve of hers. After he'd pulled into his parking space and turned off the engine, she finally scooted a quarter turn in her seat. Here it came. "Is that why you look the way you do? To work under cover? I mean, those clothes, and your hair -- and always looking like you need a shave." Okay. Not what he expected. Where was she going with this? "Something wrong with the way I look?" "No, it's -- it's scary. You look…like you could kill a man." The observation struck home, nagged his conscience. For a few moments he fell into the pit of defensive guilt he warred with whenever he came off an assignment. It was his job to get close to people and then betray them. He felt the guilt rising to the surface, tensing his expression, coloring his words. He quickly climbed out of the car before he gave vent to his churning emotions. Before he forgot his efforts to assuage that guilt by

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doing something as simple and honorable as giving a lady a safe ride home. Giving her the benefit of the doubt when office gossip had labeled her unbalanced and paranoid. Then he realized what had just happened. Callie Smith -- correction, Callie Sullivan -- had just shared an honest opinion. Voluntarily. For the first time, she'd trusted him enough to speak her mind. He might look the part, but maybe he wasn't such an ogre, after all. Ethan circled the rear of the car, instinctively checking his surroundings for any sign of a threat. Callie already had her door open, but he reached for her hand and helped her out of the low-slung car. He paused, unable to hide the hint of a smile on his face. "Thank you." Her sweet green eyes frowned in confusion. "That wasn't much of a compliment." "But it was an honest answer." Fantasy and reality mixed together inside his head. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. His nose sifted into the golden tendrils of her hair, filling his head with the pungent aromas of smoke and alcohol she worked with, as well as the fresh citrus scent that was her own. "Thanks." She brushed her gloved fingertips against her cheek as he pulled away. "I'm never going to understand you, am I?" In her hushed voice, it wasn't much of an accusation. Ethan locked the car and took her by the elbow, escorting her safely into the lobby of the Mercantile. "I suspect you and I have more in common than either of us realizes. I do have one question for you, though." "What's that?" "Why are you lying to the police?" Why? The man had the audacity to kiss her and then ask why she lied? Oh, I don't know. Maybe to save my life! She didn't for one moment think Ethan was talking about the attempted robbery. He'd heard about her “supposed” murder case. Callie wished she had taken the stairs. Surely, they'd be faster than this damnably slow elevator. At least she'd be able to put some space between her and Ethan. Her skin still tingled where his lips had touched her. She could still remember the gentle tugging along her scalp where his beard had tangled with her hair. She could hear the whiskey smoothness of his voice thanking her. And her heart still burned with the swift expansion of tender feelings that had engulfed her when she saw the light of interest and life click on in his warm brown eyes. She'd moved to the opposite corner, but the air in the tiny elevator seemed to consume itself with the heat from their bodies. She'd been so stupid to drop her guard. To give in to curiosity. To even think about turning her head as he kissed her cheek so she could taste his lips on hers. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. She whirled around, giving vent to her temper. "The only thing I lied about was my name. I heard two gunshots. I saw Michael's dead body."

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"I read the case report. The CSI team found no evidence of foul play in Revere's office." "Then they didn't do their job right!" Callie spun back around, pushing at the doors as they slid open. She stalked down the hallway ahead of Ethan, digging through her purse for her keys. Her head throbbed, her ego stung, her thoughts swirled in confusion. She hadn't expected Ethan to believe her, but she'd never expected him to use chivalry or a wounded heart against her. As she fumbled blindly through her oversize purse, she dumped out a lipstick that rolled across the floor. When her fingers finally found the keys, she grabbed and pulled. Clunk. Callie froze. Ethan bent down and picked up the unmarked computer disk before she reached it. She knew her sudden nonchalance didn't fool him for a minute. Her reaction had already given her away. "It holds the work schedules from the bar. I forgot I had it." "Callie?" "Go away and leave me alone." She snatched the disk from his hand and stormed into her apartment. She tripped over the sofa cushion that had fallen to the floor. The shredded sofa cushion with its foam stuffing scattered across her living room rug. And the broken floor lamp that lay on its side. And the dresser drawers turned upside down and tossed into a pile. Callie hugged her purse around her middle, backing away from the man-made destruction of her temporary home. She must have cried out. She hadn't heard the noise through her shock, but she must have screamed. Because suddenly Ethan was there, gun drawn. The long black barrel swept across the room. He curved his arm around her shoulders and positioned himself between her and the violation of her apartment. When he would have moved away, she turned her face into his chest and snatched up handfuls of his soft canvas coat. "Don't leave me." "Okay, babe." Her arms moved around his waist and he tucked her closer to his body. His warmth and strength breathed security into her. But then he pushed her away. He apologized with a gentle touch upon her cheek. "I need to check the other rooms." He moved stealthily through the kitchen, bathroom and, finally, her bedroom. Each room had been completely and utterly destroyed. Her intruder had been searching for something. But Callie knew he hadn't found it.

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"There's a message on your machine." Ethan's arm was around her again. His firm voice coaxed her out of her stupor. "I need to listen to it." "No – " But he had already tapped the play button with the tip of his gun. That all-too-familiar, chillingly nonhuman voice filled the air. "I saw you at the Shamrock with your boyfriend tonight." Her boyfriend? Did he mean Ethan? Or had he spied on John O'Herlihy's attempts to get friendly with her? Oh, God. Could it be John himself? "If you want to keep a man, you have to give him what he wants. If you want to keep me happy, you have to give me what I want." Callie hovered in the doorway, watching the tall, blond man in the black K.C.P.D. jacket standing in the middle of her apartment. Ethan had called a friend, CSI Investigator Mac Taylor, to survey the crime scene personally. And though her landlord, Mr. DeMarco, had offered to put her up in another apartment, or come spend the night with him and his wife, Callie had declined. She needed to be here. She needed to find answers. She needed this senseless stalking to end. Mac stood in the center of her living room, the gray eyes behind his gold-rimmed glasses seeming to be the only thing moving as he studied each nook and cranny from ceiling to floor. Though impatient with the lack of activity, Callie held her tongue. She hugged her arms around herself, shivering despite the fact she had Ethan's big trench coat hanging around her shoulders, covering her down to her ankles. It wasn't winter that left her cold. Crime doesn't happen here, Mr. DeMarco had insisted, appalled that one of his tenants had been violated this way. It isn't the best neighborhood, sure, but crime doesn't happen in my building. But it did. Callie shivered again. All at once, Ethan, who'd never been far from her side since discovering the break-in, was right there, spreading his hand at the small of her back. "Are you okay?" She stifled a desperate laugh. "Sure. I'm the crazy lady, remember? Everything you see here didn't really happen." Mac finally looked her way, his eyes narrowed with curiosity at her sarcasm. "Any idea what he or she was looking for?" "A computer disk." Ethan answered the question before Callie had a chance. "She had it with her in her purse." She didn't appreciate him giving away her secrets so freely to strangers. "How d -- " "Am I right?" There was no smile on his face. "This is the time for the truth." Callie's flash of temper dissipated on her next breath, leaving her weary right down to her bones. "It's an accounting record from Revere Imports. The numbers and inventory don't add up. I was taking it to Michael when I heard him arguing with Russ McDowall, one of our customs brokers. And then there were the gunshots and..."

36

Ethan's arm slipped around her waist as her voice trailed off. He pulled her to his side, sharing his uncompromising strength. She held herself stiff for only a moment, then surrendered. Accepting the support he offered, she softened against him. "I was working late, trying to make the numbers balance," she continued. "Somebody was stealing from the company. If Michael found out..." Mac didn't need her to spell out a motive for murder. "I'll want to see that disk." Callie nodded. Mac knelt beside one of the shredded sofa cushions and resumed his inspection. "This was cut with a short, dull blade. Probably a pocketknife." "In the wrong hands, a pocketknife can do as much damage as a stiletto." Ethan's observation wasn't reassuring. Now Mac was sniffing a scrap of the faded upholstery. "What is it?" Ethan asked. "Spice and alcohol." Callie straightened when Mac's intelligent, all-seeing gaze settled on her. "Do you wear perfume?" "Not anymore. I didn't bring much with me when I moved in here. I do use scented shampoo and body wash." Mac shook his head. "Not strong enough. Since you live alone, I'm guessing what I smell is the perp." Callie frowned with confusion. "This isn't how -- " She clamped her mouth shut, stopping herself from sharing her confusion. Mac was the expert here, not her. "What?" Ethan prompted. "This isn't how the investigators checked Michael's office." "What do you mean?" Mac stood, focusing his curiosity on her once more. She'd wondered at the bustle of activity she'd seen that night, but the officers on the scene had shooed aside her questions and sent her back to her office. "They moved things around, put black dust over almost everything, took lots of pictures." "The dust is to lift fingerprints," Mac explained. "What do you mean they ‘moved things’?" "They opened drawers, moved his desk and chair, lifted the plastic pad protecting the rug. I guess they were looking for -- " Callie trembled, leaning back against Ethan's arm, " -- bloodstains." "But they didn't find any, did they?" asked Mac. "No." Callie looked from Ethan to Mac and back to Ethan. Their indulgent expressions patiently waited for her to explain the impossible. "I saw blood on Michael's clothes and his chair. But when I went back to talk to the investigators, there was nothing there. Nothing. "How does a dead body just get up and walk away?" "Do you know the Michael Revere case, Mac?" Ethan asked.

37

Callie watched Mac Taylor's gaze drift a million miles away, as if checking an internal catalog of information. He startled her when he blinked. But he had clearly tapped into the info he'd wanted. "The scene was clean. One of my assistants, Jeff Ringlein, headed up that investigation. He told me the place was spotless. No evidence of a crime." "That's old news." Ethan's smooth voice provided a defense before she could react to the unintentional gibe. "I believe Callie when she says she heard gunshots and found her boss's body. Trashing her apartment like this should prove she witnessed something." An unexpected burden seemed to lift from her shoulders and she breathed deeply for the first time in weeks. She hadn't realized how badly she needed someone to believe in her. Heartened by Ethan's support, she reached for his fingers at her waist and wrapped them up in a tight grip of her own. Mac nodded. "Callie, this is important." She lifted her chin, wary, but ready to answer a serious question about Michael's death. "Did the investigators move the furniture before or after they dusted for prints?" Callie thought back to that awful night. "After. Why?" "Clean I can handle. Spotless makes me suspicious." "What does that mean?" she asked, catching the knowing look Mac exchanged with Ethan. "It means when I'm done here, I'll call the judge and see about opening Revere's office for another inspection." She frowned, still not making the connection. "But the other investigators didn't find a body, blood, or prints. What would you be looking for?" Mac smiled smugly. "Cleaners." "Huh?" Ethan's deductive skills were working in time with Mac's. "Once you discovered Michael Revere's body, did you stay with it?" "No." A chill rippled down her spine, flashing back to when she'd opened that door and found all that blood. She squeezed her eyes shut, but the image became more vivid. Suddenly, a pair of warm, firm lips pressed against her temple. A rasp of beard caressed her cheek and her eyes fluttered open. The horrific image vanished in the reality of Ethan's warm brown gaze washing over her. "It's okay, babe. Take your time." She didn't want to look away. But something about brawny Ethan's surprisingly gentle care gave her the strength to continue. "There was too much blood. All over Michael's suit and chair. I couldn't stay. I went down the hall to my office and used the phone there to call the police. That's where I stayed until they arrived." "How long was that?" Mac asked. "Twenty minutes." Ethan nodded. "That's plenty of time to clean house. Especially if the killer planned ahead."

38

At last Callie understood. The possibility of finding a clue to prove she hadn't imagined the whole thing suffused her with energy. "You should be able to find traces of cleaning compounds where the killer scrubbed the chair and the floor pad underneath. Right?" She cringed at the chaos surrounding them. "So why didn't he clean up after himself here?" "We'll find that out, too." Mac pulled a camera from his metallic bag and moved to specific locations in her apartment he must have pinpointed earlier. Now he worked with swift efficiency, jotting notes and snapping pictures. "Physical evidence doesn't lie." "C'mon, babe. You must be exhausted." Ethan’s arm tightened imperceptibly around her, pulling her into the hallway. "Let's let Mac do his job." "I'm not ti -- " She punctuated her excitement over Mac's determination to find the truth with a big yawn. "I saw that." Ethan touched his fingers to her chin and turned her face up to his. His amber eyes gleamed with a searching light that took in the droop of her eyelids and her self-conscious smile. "I want to know if he finds out anything." "It'll be a few hours yet. All we could do is watch right now." "But -- " He pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her weak protest. Though his gaze never left her face, he spoke to Mac. "Do you need me for anything else, Mac?" "Not right now. I'll stop in if I do." "Knock first." Mesmerized by the intensity of Ethan's gaze, Callie couldn't look away. "I'm putting Callie to bed." Taking Callie to bed had been a rhetorical phrase. But as the warmth and scent and feel of her at his side breathed life into his weary senses, the idea took on a literal appeal. Callie Sullivan was a smart, pretty woman. Her vulnerable situation pricked at all his protective male instincts. And when she looked at him -- really looked at him -- out of temper or curiosity or concern -- he felt connected to life in a way he hadn't for a long time. They had enough in common that he understood her guarded defense. But there was something more than a kindred spirit at work here. Her fragile trust touched his lonely heart. She needed him as a cop, sure. When he'd heard her scream, years of training had poured adrenaline through his veins. He'd become one of those fabled blue knights, living up to his vow to protect the innocent. She'd thrown herself into his arms then, clung to him for security when she'd been too frightened to do more than react. But later, after she'd conquered her fear and insisted on watching Mac Taylor's investigation, she'd reached for his hand. She'd sought out the simplest of contact with him. Callie also needed him as a man. It was a tempting thought. But he'd felt the goose egg on the back of her head. He'd seen the size of her yawn.

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Finding his way back to the real world in Callie's arms would have to wait for another day. Ethan sat Callie at the kitchen table and pushed up the sleeves of his brown sweater. Considering recent events, he left his holster strapped across his shoulders with his gun in easy reach. Then he washed his hands and rummaged through the cupboards and fridge. He'd hardly earn a spot on his own cooking show with his bad-boy-in-the-kitchen look, but he could get the job done. "I'm fixing some cocoa. You've been wearing a coat all night. I figured you could use something to warm you." "You have cocoa?" He laughed at the childlike interest that perked up her expression. "Yeah. I make it the old-fashioned way my mama does." He measured out powdered cocoa, sugar, and milk and heated the mixture on the stove. Later, as they sipped their drinks, Callie relaxed and they chatted about mundane things, like the snow and aching feet and whether or not the Royals could ever put together another championship team. Ethan's apartment seemed cozy for a change -- with Callie sharing the space with him. He had to admire her stamina. She'd been the victim of not one, but two break-ins in the past 24 hours. And though she hadn't really talked about it, he suspected that message on her answering machine hadn't been the first threat she'd received. She didn't complain. She endured. Against serious odds she kept her head, her conviction, and even brightened his world with an occasional smile. They ended up sitting side-by-side on the couch. When the cocoa was gone and the warmth had finally left her mug, Callie handed Ethan the cup and he set it on the coffee table beside his. The conversation had ended, but there was no awkward silence as Ethan slipped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his side, where she seemed to fit so perfectly. He chuckled softly at the goose bumps dotting her forearms beneath the elbow-length sleeves of her pearl gray sweater. "Don't you ever get warm?" "August." She treated him to one of those rare smiles. "That's the one month of the year I don't wear socks to bed." There was the bed thing again. Ethan's body was suddenly generating enough heat for both of them. He needed to move before he overstepped the boundaries of their neighborly relationship. "Callie -- " "Don't." He made a valiant effort to move away, but she turned, bracing one hand on the burning hardness of his thigh, and cupping his cheek with the other. "I feel it, too." At this angle the rounded swell of her breast pressed against his chest. But it was the raw need shining in her sweet green eyes that sucker-punched him right in the gut. "I don't know if this is the right time or place, but – " "I want you to kiss me. For real this time. On the lips." Ethan had no intention of denying the lady's request. Catching the tip of her chin with his finger, he angled her mouth toward his. He meant their first kiss to be gentle and reverent, a patient learning of each other's shape and style. But something sizzled at that very first touch. Her lips parted beneath his, binding her to him with a mad electricity that arced between them.

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Ethan speared his fingers into her silver-gold hair, taking special care to avoid her injury. The citrus-scented tendrils fell like silk between his fingers, a sensuous counterpoint to the electric heat meeting his tongue as he swept inside her mouth. He tasted the sweet chocolate on her breath and reveled in the sweeter taste of Callie herself. God, he hadn't kissed a woman -- hadn't loved a woman -- for real, not as part of some sting, for so long. This was real. Callie was real. His hard, hungry response to her willing kiss was equally real. And in his feverish brain he was cogent enough to recognize that he wasn't the only one with this fiery need to connect. Callie's fingers had twisted into his hair, tugging his face to a spot where she could graze her lips along his jaw, nip at the point of his chin. He slid his hands down her back and tormented her with the same scudding exploration of her soft, sensitized skin. Ethan…" His name was a breathy plea that scorched him clear down to his groin. Her hands circled his head, clutched at his shoulders as she tried to align herself in a less awkward position. Again, Ethan obliged the lady, slipping his hands beneath her bottom and lifting her onto his lap. In just reward, Callie curled her arms around his neck, rubbing her pebbled breasts against the frictional plane of his chest. Her mouth opened beneath his in a combustible mix of demand and surrender. Ethan groaned at the sensation of being consumed by Callie Sullivan's fire. He wanted her. Now. He needed the release of healthy, normal life he'd find buried deep inside her body. But he couldn't. It was too soon. First kiss. He forced the words into his rational mind, taking control of his body's instinctive desire. "Callie." He slid his hands to the more neutral position of her waist, but still found her curves hot to the touch. He tipped his face to the ceiling, purposefully moving his mouth beyond the temptation of hers. She nuzzled the pounding pulse in his neck and Ethan fought the urge to reconnect the powerful current still sparking between them. "You're tired, babe." He kneaded her shoulders, pushing a bit of distance between them. "You've been through too much today to deal with this." "No, I -- " A yawn, bigger than the one that had clued him in to her fatigue earlier, mocked her protest. As exhaustion overwhelmed her own desires, Ethan cuddled her close, adjusting her weight in his lap so his own body cooled. She pulled her arms to the front of his sweater, but in an unspoken gesture of trust, made no attempt to move away. "I'm warm," she whispered against his neck. He felt her smile on his skin like a tender caress. "I'm finally warm." The side benefit of their unexpected flare of passion amused him. But she allowed little time to enjoy the humor of the situation. Moments later, Callie had dozed off against his shoulder. Her soft snore was too sweet. A swell of tender responsibility eased the unfulfilled heat of his body. Ethan carried her to his bed. He removed her shoes and belt and unsnapped her jeans before tucking the comforter around her.

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Ethan's professional instincts reawakened. Had the delay been intentional? Had someone planned a phony robbery to keep her away from her apartment so he or she had ample opportunity to ransack it? Or was Callie the break-in's intended victim? The coincidences didn't sit well in his stomach. He brushed a kiss across Callie's cheek, then went to the couch and tried to make his long body fit there. He needed some sleep to keep his senses sharp. Tomorrow, he was going to pay a visit to the Shamrock Bar. Ethan awoke with a crick in his back from trying to fit his long form on the short couch. But the stiffness faded as other observations touched his senses. He heard the sizzle of food frying in a pan. And the tantalizing smells of maple and cinnamon teased his nose and whet his appetite. With a shot of adrenaline he was suddenly wide-awake. He swung his bare feet to the floor and checked his holster beneath the pillow he'd used. Then he shoved his fingers through his hair, combing it into a semblance of order, as he snuck out to the kitchen. Thank God. Callie was safe, in one piece, and apparently cooking up a feast. "’Morning, neighbor." Her body jerked as if he'd startled her. But the smile she greeted him with indicated it was a pleasant surprise. "Good morning." Ethan questioned the rush of pleasure and serenity that swept through him at the homey picture she created. Was this what real life was like? Waking up to a beautiful woman? Sharing simple things like breakfast and bed-head hair? He sniffed the golden slices of bread she lifted from the pan. "French toast?" Callie turned off the stove and carried two plates to the table. "I may not make it the way your mama does, but it's edible." "It looks delicious." She looked even better. Though she wore the same jeans and sweater as yesterday, her hair had been freshly washed, giving the ash-blond strands a distinctly silver glow as they dried and poufed around her face in that sexy disarray he found so irresistible. "Mac slipped a note under your door. I put it on the table." Ethan finally tore his gaze from her delightful morning vigor and read the note. "He thinks your break-in was an impromptu search. The perp wanted to find you as much as that disk. He doesn't advise you being alone until he can get into Revere's office and pinpoint a suspect. He must be on to something." His words doused the energy in the room, plunging it into silence. When he looked up, Callie was hugging her arms around her waist again, in her habitual posture of self-defense. She shouldn't have to be afraid like that. She shouldn't have to protect herself against every curveball life threw her way. "Why is this happening?" "I don't know. But I want you to understand that you're not alone anymore. I'm here with you. And I'll stay as long as you need me." "As my friendly neighbor?"

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Blue flecks danced in her green eyes and he lost himself in the vulnerable need he saw there. "Neighbor. Protector." Something more? He kept the newly formed wish to himself and opted for the chance to make her smile. "Think of a cop next door as a cheap security system." The expression in her eyes changed, but she didn't smile. "You're more than that, Ethan." She cradled his jaw between the palms of her hands, letting her fingertips stroke the hills and hollows of his craggy face. "So much more." She rose up on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his. "Good morning, neighbor." "’Morning." He kissed her then, wrapping his arms around her, tenderly consuming the welcoming sweetness of her, wishing he could start every day of his life in the reviving heaven of her arms. Moments later, Callie broke the kiss. She slid her arms around his waist and snuggled against him. "Thank you." Ethan willingly held her close, rubbing his chin at the crown of her head. "For what?" "I was so tired last night, so crazy with everything that's going on -- " He felt her cheek flush with heat against his neck. " -- I was afraid I'd only dreamed about kissing you. I wasn't sure even -- " she tried to scoot away, but he wouldn't let her leave the circle of his arms " -- if we made love." "Don't worry, babe." He heard his own voice drop to a husky pitch. "You'll know when I make love to you." Callie trembled at his promise. She leaned back against his arms and looked him straight in the eye. "Then show me."

Callie absorbed Ethan's possessive kiss. She wrapped her arms around his daunting shoulders and buried her fingers in the sable waterfall of his hair. He challenged her to open up her mouth, her body, her very soul -- and accept the healing power of a man and woman sharing their most elemental needs. He held her with such tender care, kissed her with such feverish desire. She wanted to lose herself in this incendiary passion, rediscover her feminine strengths after so many days of doubting her own sanity. She wanted to show Ethan that she trusted him. And she sensed that this brave, dangerous man needed to be trusted. Just as she had needed someone to believe in her, Ethan needed someone to believe in him. Callie lifted herself into his kiss, stretching her body along his, savoring the delicious differences between his hard angles and her soft curves -- and how she blossomed and heated in all the places that he touched. His callused hands slid beneath her sweater, skimming circles along her skin like the ticklish rasp of a cat's tongue. Goose bumps prickled her flesh. The rich sound of his laughter tickled her ears and seeped into the barren confines of her heart. "You're cold again," he teased. "I'd better see what I can do to warm you up." She didn't correct him about her sensitized reaction to his needy touches. He cupped her bottom and lifted her up to his budding heat, matching that most tender part of her to that most masculine part of his. His smooth voice had grown hoarse with desire. "Are you sure about this?"

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In answer, she wrapped her legs around him. "It may be the only thing I'm sure of." With her ankles linked behind his waist, he carried her into the bedroom. Callie took no heed of the chill in the air as they stripped each other of their clothes, stealing precious moments to greedily explore each new treasure as it was exposed. Impatient heartbeats later he was on top of her, covering her with his hardness and heat. He pulled the comforter around them both, cocooning them in a haven of longing and need. "I want you now," he whispered against her breast before closing his hot, moist mouth over the straining peak. Callie nearly buckled beneath him right then. But she remembered the haunted look in his eyes, the soul of a man who needed to find his way back to the world. In the ultimate gesture of her trust, she opened herself and invited him deep inside her. She wound her legs around his hips and hugged him close to her heart. "Now, Ethan. I'm yours now." With one powerful thrust, she shattered all around him in a fiery conflagration that drained them both. And when Ethan collapsed beside her and swallowed her up into his arms, she sensed the winter had forever melted from her lonely heart. *** "There are advantages to being night owls." Ethan's voice was laced with humor as he whispered against her hair. Callie sprawled beside him, his shoulder serving as her pillow. With their legs entwined and her arm thrown across his chest, she felt deliciously warm and thoroughly loved. "What advantages are those?" she asked, kissing the sensitive underside of his chin. She felt the answering tremor dance along his skin. He hugged her tighter. "We can stay in bed all day making love." "Ethan." She swatted playfully at him. He kissed her passionately in retribution. Callie suddenly stiffened. The entire day? She sat up, clutching the comforter to her chest, sweeping the hair from her eyes and scanning the room for a clock. "What time is it?" "4:10." "I have to be at work by five!" She slipped from the bed and started to dress. Ethan sat up in bed. "I don't want you back at the Shamrock. Not until we know who tried to rob the place, not until we find out who's after you. I know how a killer's mind works. He'll be watching you." She hooked her bra, then whirled around, indignant at his imperious command. "Just because you're some kind of supercop, you can't tell me what to do." His mouth thinned in a grim warning. "Wanna bet?" Callie poured three rum and colas, sparing a glance for the man who shadowed her before picking up the tray.

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Ethan had nursed the same beer all night back at the corner table, watching her movements as she served drinks. He sat with his long legs sticking out from under the table, forcing passersby to walk a wide berth around him. He needn't have bothered. With that bulky trench coat and tough, unshorn face, he exuded an aura of lethal power that demanded caution and distance, if not respect. But what frightened Callie most were his eyes. The laughing amber gaze that had darkened like fine cognac when passion overtook him had been replaced by cold, soulless eyes. Eyes that showed no connection to the world around him. Was this the real Ethan Cross? A dangerous, closed-up undercover cop? A man who controlled his world -and the people in it -- wherever and however he could in order to survive? Maybe she could trust such a man with her life. But it didn't seem wise to trust her heart to someone who could turn his emotions on and off. A man who could turn a day of fragile trusts into a night of distant guardianship. She walked past Ethan's table, feeling his deceivingly nonchalant stare on her. Guilt warred with anger and regret inside her. As much as she resented his high-handed tactics, she had used those very same strengths and skills to find comfort and security. Her time with Ethan had been a beautiful illusion. But she wasn't safe. Not yet. She wasn't free to love. And he didn't seem able to love. She might have surrendered her body to him, but she hadn't surrendered her spirit. With her temper brewing, she set the glasses on the table with more force than necessary, sloshing one drink over a customer's hand and earning a teasing flirtation. "You're gonna have to do more than get me wet if you want a tip, sugar." "Drop dead." Callie walked away from the leering taunts that followed, disgusted with the controlling tactics of men in general. When could she have her old life back? The one where she was in charge of her own destiny? Case in point. As she reached Ethan's table, he stood, unfolding himself to ominous proportions and blocking her path. "They may be drunken jerks, but they're harmless," she defended the insulting patrons, thinking Ethan had gone on alert to protect her. But he had no comment about them. "You close in less than an hour. Don't go anywhere without me. I'm going to have a little talk with your boss." "Take all the time you want. I'll find my own way home." "You're not going back to your apartment alone. Either you ride home with me or I follow the bus." Callie opened her mouth to challenge his perfunctory order. But he strode away, turning down the hallway to John's office. She clamped her mouth shut, angry with herself for overreacting. He was just doing his job. Maybe that was all he could find it in his heart to do. ***

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Ethan found John O'Herlihy in the stockroom, cutting open boxes of hard liquor. With a pocketknife. He'd never liked coincidences. He didn't think he liked a man who took so little responsibility for his female employees' safety, either. "That blade looks pretty dull," Ethan observed, watching O'Herlihy saw through tape and cardboard. "It gets the job done." He set six bottles of Irish whiskey on his cart, then reached for a box marked “Imported Rum.” He responded to a question Ethan had asked earlier. "I usually take the deposit in after we close at night. But Angela had gone home sick, and we worked extra late closing the bar. That's why I waited until the next day." "Do you always leave your back door unlocked? There were no signs of forced entry." O'Herlihy straightened his shoulders in a huff. "If you're suggesting my carelessness is what got Callie hurt, think again. I've got fond feelings for that girl. I locked the door when I left." Ethan wondered if O'Herlihy possessed enough Irish charm to lie to his face, or if the man was telling the truth. "Then who else has a key to the building?" Callie grabbed on to the door handle while Ethan steered the Thunderbird through the quiet streets of Kansas City at two in the morning. His sharp turns and rudimentary stops were the only indications of his temper. His voice was smooth and even as always as he talked into his cell phone. "Sorry, Mac. I know it's late. Or early. Can you meet me at Michael Revere's office? Bring your report." He punched the phone off and jammed it into a coat pocket. "Can you still get onto the computers at Revere Imports?" Callie thought he'd forgotten she was in the car with him. His sudden interest, even if it was professional, surprised her enough to answer. "If the passwords are the same, then yes. I didn't think it was safe to go there, though." "I'll watch your back. You pull the information off the computer." "What are we looking for?" "The names of whoever runs your liquor shipments through customs." "Why?" He swerved around another corner. "Your new boss's spare key belongs to his liquor distributor. In case they have to make a delivery to the Shamrock while he's gone." "Is that unusual?" He finally spared her a glance. "It is if your distributor is owned by Revere Imports." *** "Oh my God." Callie sat at the receptionist's computer while Mac Taylor walked Ethan through his findings in Michael's office. Russ McDowall.

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The man who'd argued with Michael just before the gunshots. "What is it?" Ethan, tall and dark, and Mac, tall and fair, hurried over to where she sat, framing her on either side like handsome bookends. She downloaded her disk and matched up the account numbers before she made her final pronouncement. "Russ McDowall was in charge of the liquor shipments. To a subsidiary company called U.K. Spirits. That's one of the accounts that I found with a second set of books. Either they're losing money or -- " "Someone was siphoning off funds," finished Ethan. Ethan gripped the back of Callie's chair and shifted it back and forth. "But you said the killer switched Revere's chair with a duplicate?" Mac explained Ethan's question. "I should have found something on Michael's chair. If not blood or cleaning solutions, at least fibers from his clothes, or a follicle of hair to prove that was the chair he used." He thumbed over his shoulder. "That chair in there is clean as a whistle." "So Russ switched chairs," Callie reasoned. Ethan shook his head. "You told me you hid behind this desk until McDowall left the office. Did you mean this receptionist's office, or the main reception by the outside doors?" "The outside doors. I didn't want to take a chance that he'd see me." "So you heard two men arguing. You heard gunshots. You hid and waited for McDowall to leave. Then you went inside and found Revere?" She nodded. "You went to your office to use the phone and 20 minutes later the cops arrived." Mac adjusted his glasses. "That's not enough time for McDowall to come back, remove the body, and clean up the place. McDowall's not our man." "But the gunshots -- " She could hear them as clearly in her head now as she had that night. Ethan's expression lit up with possibilities. Were they about to uncover the truth? "McDowall wasn't working alone. Someone else must have been here that night." Callie picked up his train of thought. "Then his accomplice killed McDowall. So who else was here?" Mac put his hand on her shoulder and gave her an apologetic squeeze. "You were." She shot out of the chair and turned on Mac to defend herself. But Ethan beat her to it. "I don't believe she's involved in this for one minute." "She could have staged her attack and the break-in. Sent those messages to her machine." "No! I -- " "You can't fake fear like I saw in her eyes, Mac." Ethan's hand at the small of her back soothed her as much as the conviction in his voice. Maybe he did care. On some level. "She's the victim here, not the perp." After a moment's hesitation, Mac took Ethan at his word. "All right, then. You have any other suspects?"

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"One." He pulled away from Callie. She turned to face him, already reading the doom in his expression. "But you're not going to like it." "Right, Mac. As soon as I drop Callie off I'll meet you at the precinct." Ethan punched the phone off and buried it in deep in the pocket of his coat. "You think Michael staged his own murder?" Callie paced the tiny confines of the Mercantile's elevator. "Who else has a motive for killing McDowall?" "His accomplice. The one who wants that stupid computer disk." "Think about it, Callie. What if Michael was the one stealing from Revere Imports? McDowall was on to him, maybe even blackmailing him. How do you get out of that kind of trouble? You fake your own death. A dead man has a perfect alibi to commit murder. He can get rid of McDowall and skip the country. Who's gonna look for a corpse?" She retreated to one corner, hating the detached sound of his voice. "What he hadn't counted on was you finding a second set of books. Or showing up to witness the ‘murder’ that night." She shook her head at the incredulous theory. "You're grasping at straws, trying to play he-man for me again. I want the truth, not an excuse to keep throwing myself into your arms." The elevator's atmosphere subtly changed. "Was that such a horrible place to be?" She couldn't lie about that. "No. But yesterday was a moment out of time. This is reality. I haven't done a very good job of pretending to be somebody I'm not." She hugged herself tight, willing him to understand that this wasn't easy for her, either. "I have to find out the truth so I can go back to my world. And I'm not sure a man who can become someone else so easily has a part in that." His amber eyes sparked to life. "I care about you." "But can you love me? Can you give me your heart and trust me to keep it safe?" He didn't answer. The bell for the fifth floor dinged and she turned to leave. Ethan grabbed her from behind, turned her into his arms and covered her mouth with a hungry, desperate kiss. He lifted her off her feet, pouring out his hurts and frustrations and raw desire in one all-consuming embrace. Then he let her go. Tears stung her eyes, mourning the loss of what might have been between them. "Goodbye, Ethan." She dashed through the elevator doors, taking note that he stood fast and watched her until they closed. *** Callie let herself into her apartment before the ache in her heart had her running down the stairs to catch Ethan. He'd seemed so alone. But Michael had been her mentor. He wouldn't put her through this. She had to prove Ethan wrong.

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The DeMarcos had cleaned the apartment while she was at work. There was already a message blinking on her machine. She debated about calling Ethan. As a cop, he'd want to know about it. But she had just burned that bridge. Bracing herself for the mechanical voice, she pushed the play button. And breathed a sigh of relief as John's Irish brogue spoke. "A man left a message for you here. Since you're not on the schedule, I thought I'd pass it on. He says he can help with your computer problem -- don't know what that's about. He says he'll be here around five if you want to meet him. I'll be here, too, if he turns out to be some kook." There was one friend who hadn't let her down. *** By the time Callie stepped off the bus, the snow was falling in earnest, giving her a white crown when she entered the Shamrock Bar. "John?" She brushed the snow off her hair and coat. "Right here." Her smile of greeting vanished as she stared into the barrel of a snub-nosed revolver. "Sorry about the lump on your head. I didn't mean to hurt you. You were only supposed to be detained by the police." "You attacked me?" "After the robbery last year I would have lost the business if he hadn't bailed me out. I had to do what he asked." "Who?" The scent of spicy cologne stung her nose. She understood why John had betrayed her before she turned around. "Michael." "Hello, Callie." His gun looked equally deadly. "I wish you hadn't been such a dedicated employee. I always thought Russ was the only one who knew I'd doctored the books." "Was he blackmailing you? Is that why you killed him?" Michael slipped his arm through Callie's and pressed the gun against her ribs, leading her out to the parking lot. "I paid him off for the last time. With you I think I'll skip the pay-off part and simply get rid of the trouble. A dead man can get away with murder as many times as he needs to." As they led her outside to a black sedan, Callie had two thoughts. The first? Ethan had been right about Michael. The second? She loved Ethan Cross. But she would never get the chance to tell him. Ethan eased up on the accelerator and swore, cursing the deteriorating weather. If anything happened to Callie… The red light on top of his Thunderbird spun candy cane patterns on the wall of snow that limited his vision to only a few feet. Backup was on the way. But calling Mac Taylor about the message on Callie's machine wouldn't do him a bit of good if she'd already fallen into Revere's trap.

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Damn her quest for the truth! He'd never liked coincidences. Learning that the Shamrock Bar was tied to Revere Imports should have put him on alert. But the Irishman had been so open. He hadn't lied about the key. Ethan should have recognized that the best way to lie was to blend it with a little truth. O'Herlihy had probably been recruited by Revere. But he'd been too confused by his feelings for Callie to put it together. Can you give me your heart and trust me to keep it safe? Why hadn't he been able to take that leap of faith? Was it so hard to shake the trappings of undercover life that he couldn't accept the beautiful possibilities of a life with her? He needed a second chance to make that leap. But he had to save Callie first. He spotted the black sedan a block north of the bar and gunned the engine. He'd know that shock of justhad-sex hair anywhere. Through the back window, he could see the black-haired man sitting with her. That must be Revere because O'Herlihy was driving. Ethan fishtailed around the corner and floored it. O'Herlihy spotted the lights and took off. But before the Irishman could get away, his wheels hit ice. The sedan careened out of control and slammed into a light pole. Ethan skidded the Thunderbird to a stop behind them and jumped out. O'Herlihy was out cold. But Revere had Callie by the hair, dragging her out of the backseat. "You've ruined everything!" he accused. Callie kicked and screamed, refusing to surrender. "I got rid of McDowall's blackmailing behind. But I couldn't leave the country. You had proof of what I'd done! "Give me the disk or I'll kill her!"

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Melting the Ice Queen by Ann Christopher Alicia Carroll and Scott Armstrong have the perfect “no-strings attached” relationship. Sizzling sex is always okay, but sleepovers are only for weekends, and emotions are strictly forbidden. As a divorce lawyer, Alicia knows better than anyone that relationships never last, so it’s better to avoid commitments at all costs. No matter how warm and safe she feels in Scott’s arms.… A lawyer himself, Scott respects the rules Alicia has set in place. But after two years as part-time lovers and best friends, Scott can no longer pretend their relationship is merely casual. He wants more from Alicia than just her body—he wants her heart, forever. But first he’s going to have to melt the ice that’s protecting it!

Chapter One Mmm. Alicia Carroll stretched and sighed, winding her body more closely around Scott Armstrong’s, and relaxing into the melted tangle of their arms and legs. Beneath her fingers, she felt the vibrating purr of his satisfaction rumble in his chest, and she grinned. He grinned, too. She felt the curve of his cheek against the top of her head. Just for fun, she ran her lips and then her tongue over his flat nipple, absorbing the sudden catch of his breath into her body. When she nipped, he shuddered, and the cycle began again. Like the rising of the sun in the east and its setting in the west, or like her need to breathe in and then out again, when she and Scott touched each other, that desire burned again. Hotter. Always hotter. It never seemed to cool, even minutes after they’d just come together. Even after two years together. A niggling reminder wormed its way into Alicia’s contentment, returning her to earth with a nasty thud. They were together, yeah, but they weren’t together together. They were lovers, but not mates. Friends, but not partners. Friends with benefits, maybe, but that was a juvenile term. Meant only for kids who used text messages to arrange their hookups. She and Scott weren’t kids. They were adults, lawyers who understood each other perfectly. She helped people get divorced, and he sued people and corporations who needed suing. Their agreement going in was that they’d keep it casual—no expectations, no pressures and no hard feelings. No commitments, ever, because if there was one thing she’d learned as a divorce lawyer, it was this: relationships never worked, and marriage was as inevitable a recipe for disaster as a bleach-ammonia broth. Hell, she’d learned that lesson in the nursery. Thankfully, they were on the same page. Having both survived law school, they respected rules and boundaries. Their non-relationship had several—all of which were clear and simple. Sex was always okay, but sleepovers were only for weekends. Dinners were better delivered rather than eaten in a syrupy romantic setting, but if there was an acceptable reason to celebrate—such as, say, a thrilling court victory— then a small but elegant night out was fine. Birthdays, Valentine’s Day and Sweetest Day were to be firmly ignored. Spending Thanksgiving and Christmas together was fine, but only if their families were out of town. Their conversations also had to be strictly monitored: no emotions allowed. Talking about feelings in the context of a powerful movie they’d just seen? Fine. Sharing memories about things such as, say, her parents’ horrendous divorce? Uh-uh. Phone calls and texts during the day were no problem, as long as there were legitimate informative or housekeeping purposes behind them (What time will you get here? or: Guess what? We settled the case!), but out-of-the-blue I missed you communications were out, as she had quickly reminded Scott the time or two he’d tried that nonsense. It worked beautifully because they followed the rules and didn’t rock the boat.

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And that was why it was time for her to go home. She felt too wonderfully drowsy in Scott’s arms, too warm and safe. Too delicious. But the rules were clear. No exceptions—period. No sleepovers during the week, and this impromptu Tuesday night visit was only because she’d won a huge appeal and wanted to tell him. Time to go. Moving with more reluctance than usual, she disentangled her body from his, which took a little doing because she felt so mellow, and she only ever felt that way with Scott. Which was another reason to leave. “Uh-uh.” Nailing her with that wicked gaze, he grabbed her wrist in a gentle but unbreakable grip. “I’m not done with you yet. Not even close.”

Chapter Two “I’m not done with you yet. Not even close.” That sleepy-hoarse voice of Scott’s always made need tighten Alicia’s skin, and she foolishly glanced over her shoulder at him. Big mistake. He’d levered up on his elbows, which caused the sheet to shift lower across his notched hips, down into the danger zone. Oh, man. It was hard to keep her wandering gaze north of the sheet, but she tried. She didn’t need to know what was going on under there, even though her greedy body was beginning to crave him again. Focus on something else, Alicia. The stern warning didn’t help, which wasn’t her fault. The problem was, with Scott, there was no safe place to look—he was that amazing. Above the sheet was a rippling hard belly, and above that was a muscular chest-shoulders-arms combination that rightfully belonged on an oversized Calvin Klein billboard in Times Square, selling briefs. At the top of all that gorgeousness was another red-hot danger zone: his face. He had long-lashed brown eyes that burned with intensity whether he was cross-examining a witness, scrambling eggs or making love; brows that were straight and heavy, and could quirk with amusement or lower with irritation; a straight nose, lush lips, and the kind of chiseled jaw that inspired lesser men to spend thousands on plastic surgery. Even his wavy black hair, cut severely short, was sexy. How did he manage that? A street litigator of the worst kind, Scott knew how to get what he wanted—how to win—and he wasn’t above playing dirty. Case in point: he trailed his fingers up and down the sensitive inside of her arm, turning her bones to ropes of taffy. “Come back here.” A slow half smile eased across his lips and crinkled the edges of his eyes, making him irresistible. As always, her body responded, from the tingling awareness of her over-sensitized skin down to her curling toes. “I’ll try to make it worth your while.” It was tempting. Staying strong and disciplined was always harder with Scott than with anyone else. Before she could slam the door shut on her overactive imagination, she saw herself straddling him, or maybe diving under the sheet to explore that charming bulge she’d been trying to ignore. But this was how problems started. You bend the rules on one tiny thing, relax your oversight, it snowballs, and the next thing you know, chaos reigns.

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Well, not her. Control was her middle name, motto and mantra. “Not tonight.” She kept her voice crisp and her face unsmiling lest he realize she was waffling. “No sleepovers on weeknights.” His gaze, so warm a minute ago, chilled by several degrees, making it a good time for her to stand up and find her bra and panties. Ah. There they were. “Why not?” “It’s a rule, Scott. We decided up front that we’d—” “I’m sorry. Is there a written contract somewhere that I don’t know about?” Though his eyes were unreadable, there was a new edge to his voice that threw her off. If he was unhappy with their arrangement, this was the first she’d heard of it. “We agreed, Scott.” “You pronounced. I chose not to argue.” She blinked. “I have more work to do.” “Do it here. I’ve got work, too.” Stymied, she emerged from pulling her dress over her head and stared at him. There was something dark and disquieting in his expression, something new. “What’s gotten into you?” He hesitated, looking grim. Then he stood, yanked the sheet free and tied it around his waist as he stalked closer. “I’m glad you asked.” Whoa. He reminded her of a lion on the hunt. “There are a couple of things we need to talk about.”

Chapter Three Why did that make her so anxious? So Scott wanted to talk about something; big deal. People talked all the time. On the other hand, when had a pleasant conversation with a happy ending ever begun with the words, “We need to talk?” Never. That’s when. Was this it then—the end? Had he found someone else? Or was he just sick of her? That familiar feeling of icy aloofness settled over her, the way it always did when she was uncertain about something, providing a nice layer of protection and the illusion of control. When she was in control, she didn’t get hurt. So she stared at Scott with all the haughty coolness she could manage. “What is it?” He adjusted the sheet around his hips, clearly not ready to spit it out yet. “You don’t need to look at me like that. It’s nothing bad.” Oh, yeah? Tell that to her frantic pulse. “You’re stalling.” “You’re not making this easy.”

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“I don’t bite.” “No,” he agreed. “You just freeze me out whenever I get too close.” She was well aware of that. Not that she wanted to admit it. How could she be anything other than distant when she spent so much time struggling to hide all her neuroses? It took a lot of energy to maintain this Super Woman façade. If she let him—or anyone—get too close, they’d see that it was all a lie. “I don’t know where this conversation is headed.” Finished with her clothes and shoes, she marched down the hall to the living room, where she hoped to find her purse and get the hell out of there. He stayed right on her heels, his long strides eating up the distance between them. “But I don’t have time—” “Brr.” In an Oscar-worthy performance, he wrapped his arms around that chiseled torso and shivered as though he’d done a lap in the Arctic Ocean. Defiance flashed in his dark eyes, as though he was happy to get this discussion started at last and didn’t give a damn what she wanted. “Is it cold in here to you?” Okay. That was a low blow, and he was coming dangerously close to accusing her of cowardice. Maybe she was a coward, but damn him for pointing it out. She’d picked up her purse, but now she tossed it down and decided to face him like the woman she pretended she was. “Fine. You want to talk? Spit it out then.” That brought him up short, and he flushed. With a low growl of frustration, he turned away and ran his hands over the top of his head. Finally he turned back, his expression resolute but otherwise blank. “I don’t want to do it like this, Alicia, not with anger—” “Spit it out.” “Fine.” That dark gaze trapped her in its unyielding depths. “I’m in love with you.”

Chapter Four I’m in love with you. Scott’s words hung in the air, gathering strength like a Caribbean hurricane and threatening to knock Alicia flat. Love? How was that possible when they’d designed and nurtured the perfect no-strings-attached relationship? When she’d sworn never to get too close to anyone? When the people who’d used the dreaded L-word with her had always been the ones who’d hurt her the worst? The silence expanded, engulfing them both in a nerve-stretching tension that threatened to snap her in two. Neither of them seemed capable of either speaking or looking away. They might have stood there until the apocalypse, but something in his expression softened and warmed into a glow of adoration she didn’t deserve. Taking his time about it, he eased closer and cupped her face in one gentle hand. She wanted to run…to hide…to melt into his arms and believe. Paralysis kept her from doing anything. “I’m in love with you,” he said again. That did it. Her body gave an involuntary jerk back and away, as though she’d grazed the blue fire of her stove and blistered her thumb. “I heard you the first time.”

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“Say something.” Jesus, she couldn’t breathe. “I don’t know what to say.” “How about the truth?” “And what’s that?” “That you love me, too.” It wasn’t a question, which was good because she didn’t have an answer. All she had were denials, rebuttals and the rules, which had clearly been broken. “This is a casual relationship—” His lips thinned with intransigence. “It was. Now it’s not.” “—and we’re both focused on our careers. We don’t have time—” “I want to make time. My career has already taken up enough of my life, thanks.” “—and I just don’t understand why you’re breaking the rules—” she continued, her rising desperation making her shrill. “Screw the rules,” he said calmly. That sent her right over the edge. How could he be so matter-of-fact when she was falling apart? “Where is this coming from? What’s it about?” They were exactly the wrong questions. Catching one of her hands, he pressed a lingering kiss to her palm and held on when she strained away. And, oh, God, he stared at her with those gleaming eyes until she couldn’t turn away. She had to remind herself that men could never be trusted, not even this one, no matter how earnest he looked right now. He pressed her hand to his bare chest, letting her feel the relentless pounding of his heartbeat. “This is about me missing you when you’re gone. This is about me wanting to come home to you every night—” “Don’t, Scott.” “—and eat dinner with you and brush my teeth at the sink next to yours. I want to call you during the day just to say hi, and I want to know what the hell happened to you when you were a kid that makes you so afraid now.” She shook her head and kept shaking it. No. Not that. Never any of that, especially that last thing. Unbelievably, he wasn’t done with her yet. “I want you to move in with me.” He took a deep breath. “I want to marry you.”

Chapter Five Hold up.

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Scott floundered, wishing he could cut out his tongue and then swallow it whole as protection against any other impromptu confessions. Had he actually said that aloud? That he wanted to marry her? Brilliant, genius. This whole night had been a disaster from beginning to end. Well, except for the explosive sex. That had gone well. But then he’d started talking, shooting his best-laid plans straight to hell. To think that he was a tough litigator feared far and wide for his sharp mind, keen analytical skills and uncanny ability to talk juries into agreeing with anything he wanted. He could almost snort, it was so funny. Ten seconds with Alicia and he became a blathering fool with uncontrollable diarrhea of the mouth. He’d meant to start slow. Why hadn’t he started slow? He knew she was skittish. Wasn’t that one of the basic principles of practicing law: know your opponent? Not that they were opponents, but still. He knew that her parents had a terrible marriage. He knew her defense mechanism was to hide behind a layer of ice. He knew she needed careful finagling. And had he kept any of these key pieces of information in mind just now? Hell, no. He’d been so relieved to finally reveal his feelings that he’d lost his freaking head. They should do the world a favor and revoke his law license now. He was clearly too stupid to be a lawyer. Time to mitigate the damage. “Alicia—” “I can’t marry you.” “Not today, no.” “Not ever.” She didn’t mean that—not really. That was the thing about Alicia, one of the reasons she was so endlessly fascinating to him: what you saw on the outside wasn’t what you got. On the outside, she was a cool beauty with a bombshell’s body, wary and prickly, her amazing gray cat’s eyes on the lookout for trouble and her lush mouth slow to smile. But when she warmed up—and make no mistake about it, he knew exactly how to warm her up, both in bed and out—she was the sun, the moon and the stars, her laughter an amazing gift and her spirit as loving and generous as any he’d ever encountered. As long as he didn’t get too close. Only now he wanted—needed—close, and so did she. She just didn’t know it yet. “You never want to get married?” “I don’t want any kind of serious relationship.” “Well, here’s a news flash, Alicia. We’ve got a serious relationship. One developed while you weren’t looking.” “That’s not true—” Lord, was this woman in denial. “Who do you tell about your courtroom battles? Who do you spend every weekend and holiday with? Which two people that we know took care of each other last month when they had the flu? Who makes you scream and shout in bed? Who do you have the most fun with in life? Answer me.”

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She didn’t. She couldn’t. He’d pushed her too far tonight and, like an overtired two-year-old, she now refused to go any farther, preferring instead to turn her stony face away and stare across the room. He let her stew. Finally, she turned back, her expression carefully neutral and all her emotion locked away behind her eyes, where he couldn’t access it. “I can’t give you what you want.” Like that was the end of the matter. Didn’t she know him better than that? He nodded somberly. “I understand.” Her breath hissed out in a rush, and her face brightened with hope. “You do?” “Yes.” “Then…we can go back to the way we were?” He opened his arms and she all but fell into him, clinging and burying her face in his neck. Running his hands over her back to bring her closer, he felt the frantic heat of her skin and the violence of her pulse. And she claimed she wasn’t in love with him? Bullshit. Pulling away, he pressed his lips to her forehead for a lingering kiss. Then he walked her to the door, opened it, and gently pushed her out into the hall. “But—” she sputtered. “Goodbye, Alicia.” He had to clear his hoarse throat and force the words out as he closed the door in her bewildered face. “Have a wonderful life.”

Chapter Six That was how long it’d been since Scott had seen Alicia’s face, a period that felt like the unfortunate collision between infinity and eternity. They hadn’t communicated in any way—he hadn’t even bumped into her in the hallway at the courthouse, for God’s sake—and he had no idea how she was, whether she hated him, or whether she was, in fact, still alive. The distance was all part of his plan, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t killing him. He slumped in the chair behind his huge desk, planted his wing-tipped feet on top of the draft motion for summary judgment he was supposed to be reviewing, and pressed his skull between his hands. If he crushed it like an overripe cantaloupe until his brain oozed through his fingers, it would kill the splitting headache behind his eyes, right? And if he leaned the chair back just a little farther, crashed through the window and fell twenty-five stories to his death, it would feel better than the crawling-out-of-his-skin agitation that’d plagued him since he kicked Alicia out, wouldn’t it? No. It probably wouldn’t. Alicia.

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How about if he switched to thinking about something else for a minute? That’d be a nice change. He gave it his best effort for ten seconds…and nope. Couldn’t pull it off, which was a sad commentary on her superhuman powers over him. They’d met two years ago, in court, when they tried to settle the world’s nastiest divorce case—between a millionaire and his wife, a pair so thirsty for each other’s blood that they’d made the couple in The War of the Roses look like cooing peace doves. Their meeting had been plaguing him lately, big time. Maybe because that was the exact second his life changed forever, and he’d known it on some instinctual level, even then. “Scott?” He’d been sitting at a table in the attorney’s conference room the day Alicia dazzled him for the first time, and the last thing he’d expected was for a woman to march in and turn life as he knew it upside down and inside out— “Scott? Snap out of it!” He started, coming out of the sweet memory with a crash. Cindi Kelly—an old law school friend who recently moved back to town and was now working at the firm—stood to one side of his desk, looking bemused. He was not in the mood for teasing. “What?” That made her laugh. “You’re in bad shape.” No shit, Sherlock. What an insightful commentary on his precarious mental state. He tried to flatten her with death rays shot from his eyes, but she seemed impervious. “Are we still on for the Barrister’s Ball Saturday night?” she asked. The local bar association’s yearly shindig. “Absolutely.” “Are you sure this is a good plan?” “It’s a great plan,” he said, infusing his voice with much more bravado than he felt. Cindi looked dubious but didn’t argue. “If you’re sure then. Oh, and I’d better get out of here before Alicia comes up and sees us together.” “Bye,” he said dully. Hang on. Alicia? Did Cindi just say that Alicia was here? He tried to play it cool and not let too much of his wild hope show in his eyes. “Don’t mess with me,” he warned. Cindi grinned with utmost glee and mischief. “Oh, didn’t I mention? I was just at the receptionist’s desk where a woman named Alicia Carroll was asking for you.”

Chapter Seven

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Scott refused to pace while he waited for Alicia to arrive. So he made due with planting his elbows on the desk, clasping his hands together and praying his tense body didn’t snap, rubber band-like, and ricochet off the walls. He’d lost his head with her the last time, and couldn’t afford to do it again. He had to be smart— had to stick to the plan. How else would he land her for his wife? By asking nicely and giving her a pretty ring? Hell, no. Alicia didn’t work that way; things couldn’t be that easy with her. No, he had to rock her world, jar her out of her comfort zone and make her realize how much more they could be together, if only she’d give them a chance. For God’s sake, how long did it take to ride up in an elevator? All right, man. Chill. Occupy yourself. Closing his eyes, he let his thoughts drift to the sweet memory of the day they met.… He was sitting at a table in the attorney’s conference room, waiting for the case to be called, reviewing the couple’s financial information and cursing the twist of fate (a sick partner) that’d landed the stupid case in his lap. He hated divorce work, hated the whining husband client, and wasn’t looking forward to this pointless settlement conference with the opposing attorney—Alicia somebody. He needed to be back at the office working on— Someone rapped on the door and, without waiting for any answer, marched inside. Glancing up from the file, he had a startled impression of a woman in a dark suit bringing the faint scent of expensive perfume with her. Christ, she was gorgeous. He knew that: a) his jaw had dropped into a gape; and b) it was rude, but he couldn’t stop staring because his circuits were now officially scrambled. Freaking gorgeous. This little honey had toned legs, flaring hips that gave way to a tiny little waist, and the additional flare of a generous pair of breasts. A perfect hourglass. Though he couldn’t see it now, he’d bet a month’s pay that she had a juicy ass, too, nice and round. She was curvy then. Curvy was good. He lived for curvy. She also had a stunning face that could stop traffic a mile back. Framed by shoulder-length brown hair, it was heart-shaped, with a pointy little chin, arched brows and heart-stopping gray crystal eyes that were unfortunately narrowed with annoyance. Oops. Had she caught him ogling? Bad boy. Shame on him. She called him on it, too, and he liked her ballsy-ness. “Seen everything?” she asked tartly, clicking the door shut behind her. He took a minute to appreciate the view. Yeah. There was that tight ass. “Can we get down to business now?” He stood, forgetting everything but her. Case, client, possible settlement, his name—all of it scattered to the four winds. “By ‘getting down to business,’ do you mean having wild sex on this conference table, or trying to settle the case?” That was when he first broke through her brusque façade. Pausing in the middle of unpacking her briefcase, she looked at him. Really looked at him.

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It was a long moment, filled with surprised chemistry, unwanted connections and the unspoken inevitability of something developing between them. Those wide eyes were cool and businesslike the whole time, refusing to crinkle or soften with a smile. She was good at hiding her feelings then. But not good enough at managing the sudden flare of heat that deepened her eyes to a stormy blue-gray. Luckily for him, he played poker and was good at catching giveaways; hers were her amazing eyes. Recovering, she stuck out her hand across the table. “Alicia Carroll. I’m not going to have a problem with you, am I, Scott? You are Scott, right?” He took that smooth hand in his, holding it tighter and longer than he needed to. His skin sang with the contact. Honest to God. He would have sworn such a thing was impossible—the mere idea was ridiculous— but that was the only way to describe what happened when he touched her. “I am Scott, and we won’t have any problems. As long as you understand that as soon as I give this case back to my sick partner and there’re no ethical issues, I’m going to ask you out.” She blinked. Another tell. But then she recaptured what he was beginning to realize was her usual briskness, and tried to put him in his place. “I’m going to say no.” Yeah. He really liked this one. So much that he couldn’t stop the slow smile that crept across his face. “We’ll see about that, Alicia.”

Chapter Eight Alicia sat in the elegant lobby of Scott’s firm, ostensibly checking her phone for messages while she waited for the receptionist to buzz him and see if she could come up. In reality, she was punching random buttons and wondering how conspicuous it would be if she bolted, screaming, for the elevator. Would that cause a scene? Or what if she vomited on the floor? The way her nerves were fraying, either scenario seemed like a distinct possibility. This was such a bad idea. B-A-D. She shouldn’t have come here, but she had to pass his building on her way to her own office from court, and the urge to see him had been overwhelming. The sad fact was, despite her rules and restrictions, all of which were designed for the sole purpose of keeping him from creeping into the shriveled shell that passed for her heart, she…missed him. Almost…needed him. So much for being a self-sufficient island unto herself, needing no one. He’d said he loved her. Wanted to marry her. Had he meant it? Where could things go between them? Nowhere. Hadn’t she told him that from the start—from the very first day they met—that the answer was no? That was the thing about Scott, though. He never listened. He outstrategized her, ignoring her myriad issues, hang-ups and rules. And he usually got his way. Like he had that first time.… “What’s this?” she demanded. “Dinner,” he said. Yeah, she could see that. The cozy little conference room at his law firm—where they were supposed to be meeting to hammer out a workable custody arrangement for the divorce clients from hell—had been turned into a bistro for two. Complete with a white tablecloth, miscellaneous breads, cheeses, lamb chops, wine, some pink gourmet cake thing and—no kidding—candles.

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Astonished, both at his thoughtfulness and his presumption, she put her briefcase on the nearest chair, jammed her hands on her hips and refused to be impressed. “I didn’t come here for dinner. I came here for a conference.” Amusement lit his dark eyes as he skirted the table and came closer. “There’s been a slight change. I’ve handed the case back to my partner, so you’ll need to talk to him. Meanwhile, you don’t want to force me to eat all this food by myself, do you? Think of my waistline.” This was not funny. She’d told him no dinner before, and now he was plowing ahead, ignoring her wishes. She didn’t like being handled and didn’t like being out of control on any little aspect of her life. With a man like Scott, control would always be a mirage, especially given the way he made her heart pound. “I told you no,” she reminded him. “Ah.” Way too close now, close enough for her to see the splintered shards of gold in his eyes and the tender curve of his lips, he settled his hands low on her hips—like he owned her!—and reeled her in. She stiffened and gasped, but she didn’t stop him. “But you didn’t mean it, did you, Alicia?” He leaned in to kiss her, and she tilted her chin up to let him. But her stubborn streak kicked in and she turned her head at the very last second. Ignoring her body’s desperate thrum, she eyed the food. “Is that raspberry?” A quick grin cracked Scott’s relentless intensity. Still holding her tight—his one hand seemed to be inching perilously close to cupping her ass now—he reached out, swiped two fingers through the cake’s icing, and, staring her in the face, held them up for her to taste. This was a line, she knew. A choice. She could push him away and go home to her lonely apartment where only the fish in her tropical tank cared whether she lived or died, or she could do what she did: Sucked Scott’s fingers into her mouth, scraping them with her teeth. A strangled sound rose from his throat, part triumph and part raw lust. Pulling his fingers free, he clamped his hands on either side of her face, angled her head way back, and licked his way into her mouth. The kiss was urgent and deep, his tongue hot and slick, and her response uncontrollable. When he broke free, she was the one who caught his lips again and nipped. She was the one who dug her nails into his nape to anchor him close. He ended it again, his expression glazed and wild, his determination absolute. “Say yes,” he commanded. “Say it—” “Ms Carroll?” The receptionist’s shadow fell across Alicia’s phone, hurtling her back to the here and now whether she was ready or not. “Scott said to come up.” Trying to control her heart’s relentless thud and the tremor in her knees, Alicia rose and grabbed her briefcase. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Nine God, her heart was going to give out, Alicia thought, staring at Scott.

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Nice, huh? After gathering all her nerve and showing up here at his office, she would collapse and die before saying what she’d come for. Not that she knew what she’d come for, other than it’d been two weeks since she’d seen him and the growing emptiness inside her was threatening to swallow her whole. It was against her rules to miss him. Other violations she’d committed recently? Losing sleep, not eating, and generally feeling as though she’d been locked in a glass cell where the exit should be obvious, but she couldn’t find it. Oh, and making the first move when he hadn’t called or apparently thought about her this whole time. That was a big no-no. Still, here she was, drinking in the sight of him like a dry sponge soaking up a water spill. The receptionist left. Alicia sat in one of the guest chairs, crossing her legs and smoothing her skirt because she had the uncontrollable fidgets. Scott resumed his seat behind his desk, looking formidable in his red tie and rolled-up shirtsleeves, and not at all happy to see her. “Hi,” she said when they were alone. “How are you?” “I’m good. You?” I’m terrible. I feel like I’m coming unglued. I don’t know which way is up. “I’m great. Is this a bad time?” “No.” Leaning back in his chair—so unreachable on the other side of that tennis-court-sized slab of glass that he may have been the sun—he rested his hands in his lap. “What brings you here?” he prompted. Right. She could do this. State your case, Alicia. You’re a lawyer. Make your argument. “You caught me by surprise the other day,” she began. “Oh, yeah?” “Yes. I had no idea you were unhappy or wanted more of a relationship, and I didn’t know what to do.” “Uh-huh.” “But now I’ve had time to think about it, and I think we can reach a compromise.” “Aha.” He stared at her, waiting, with no particular interest on his face. Here she was, baring her soul, and he— what? Had she interrupted his pre-lunch nap? Was that it? Was he going to leave her dangling? “So what’s the compromise?” he wondered. “There’s no reason why we can’t—” God, this was hard “—spend nights together, you know, during the week, and we can talk about where we want the relationship to go from here. That could work, right? And if you, I don’t know, wanted us to take a vacation together or long weekends here or there—”

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“Let me get this straight,” he interrupted, and there was an edge to his voice now, a subtle hardening that hadn’t been there before. “I want to marry you, build a life with you and have children with you, and you want to…what? Give me a space in your toothbrush holder?” She frowned. Why was he saying it like that? Naturally it sounded lame when he said it like that! Couldn’t he see she was trying? What did he expect her to do? “I’m trying to negotiate with you—” He snorted. “Negotiate, eh?” “Yes, and you know I don’t handle feelings well—” “This is you, handling feelings?” “Yes.” For the first time since she got here, something sparked to life behind his eyes, as though they had, finally, arrived at the part of the conversation that mattered to him. “And what are your feelings? For me, I mean. You haven’t said.” Horrified paralysis clamped her mouth shut. She knew this was important, knew she was blowing it, but she just couldn’t force her mouth or brain to work. The words—whatever they were—remained in lockdown somewhere between her throat and her lips. The light in his dark eyes went out, leaving impenetrable blackness. With a choked and bitter bark of laughter, he scrubbed his hand over his chin and stood up. “Thanks for stopping by, Alicia. You wasted your time, but I do appreciate the effort.”

Chapter Ten Having thus dismissed her—apparently from both his office and his life—Scott sat, picked up his stupid little red pen and flipped to the next page of whatever he’d been working on. She, meanwhile, stared at the top of his bent head and started to get pissed off. The normal cool disdain with which she chopped people down to size deserted her for once. Something bubbled inside her, churning its way to the top. And it felt so scorching hot that she could almost hear the tips of her ears sizzle. That was when she, Alicia Carroll, who always remained calm, always kept an iron lid on her emotions, and always one-upped the other guy, both in the courtroom and in life, lost her freaking mind. Lunging to her feet, she snatched the paper from under Scott’s hand, resulting in a slashing line down the middle of all his big and expensive legal words. Oh, well. Too bad. “Are you kicking me out again?” He deigned to look up, all polite puzzlement at her unnecessary and unprecedented rudeness. “I’m not kicking you out, no. I prefer to think of it as encouraging you to leave at your earliest possible convenience.” “Because I can’t tell you I love you on your schedule?” Wrong word choice. Those eyes sharpened down to the intent brightness of the North Star. “Do you love me? Why not just go ahead and admit it and get it over with?” The question all but choked her.

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Tossing his pen down again, he stilled, managing to radiate both bored indifference and seething anger. Or maybe it was frustration. A crooked smile twisted one side of his mouth, making him into someone she’d never really seen before, and had certainly never understood. “You see the irony here? I tell you I love you and I’ll bet you can’t even say you’ve missed me these past couple of weeks. That kind of makes me look foolish, eh? You’ve got yourself so locked down in protective mode, I can’t get anywhere near you.” “Can’t get anywhere near me? You’ve had me!” He shrugged as though their two years as lovers was as meaningless as a used paper towel. “I’ve had your body, yeah. I want your heart.” “Since when?” she cried. “The day I met you.” This was too much. It was like a pet cat had unzipped his furry suit to reveal he’d been a dog all along. Clamping a hand on her head, she tried to stop its relentless spin. “You never—” He snorted. “Of course I never. Why would I do that and chase you away?” “Then why now?” “Because I’m tired of waiting for you to wake up and see what’s right in front of you. I’m tired of pretending it doesn’t matter that I only see you a couple nights a week, when really I count the seconds until I see you again—” “Don’t say things like—” “You see?” He flapped a hand at her, as though she’d just proved his point beyond any doubt. “I’m tired of you shutting me down. I’m tired of pretending it doesn’t hurt. I give up.” Dread slithered to life and wrapped around her, tightening her in its coiled grip. “You…give up?” The words shouldn’t devastate her, but they did. No doubt it was her painful history of her father walking out on her that did it. “What does that mean?” “It means—” he said, calmly lobbing that cannonball right between her eyes “—that since you can’t be the kind of woman I need, I’m going to find someone who can.”

Chapter Eleven “So you’ve…met someone?” Scott’s gaze never wavered. “Yes.” That would have been a great time to shut up, gather the remnants of her pride around her and go home, but no. Alicia blundered along like an elephant on a midnight stroll through a flower garden. “It’s serious?” “It could be.” That anger surged again, blacker than before. “Does she know you wanted to marry me a few days ago?” “She knows I’m coming out of a relationship, yeah.”

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Wow. Coming out of a relationship. So there it was. And yet… Something nagged at her. “You’re bluffing,” she said, because Scott never gave up and certainly never went down without a fight. “You’re trying to back me into a corner and—” He whistled softly and one of his heavy brows slashed toward his hairline in open mockery. “Have you been feeding that ego steroids—” She shrank away from his scorn, which had a knife’s sharp edge and a hammer’s driving force. “—or is it that you think you’re the only interesting woman in the world?” What was there to say to that? “Unless…” he began, and let the word hang in the tension between them. “Unless what?” “Unless you think there’s any chance of you dealing with your feelings for your father—” “He’s dead.” “—because I think there’s a connection between what happened with him and the way you keep me from getting too close.” Amazing. And here she’d thought this conversation couldn’t get any more painful. Luckily, this mention of her so-called father finally snapped her out of the tormented misery she’d been feeling these past couple of weeks, leaving her icy and detached once again, just the way she liked it. A new stillness settled over Scott, except for his head, which tilted as he studied her and waited for her answer. “Is there?” he prompted softly. “A chance? A connection?” Yes, screamed the damaged and hidden corner of her soul that she usually ignored. “No,” she said. “Right.” His face and voice hardened. “I didn’t think there was.” That was it. To summarize, then: she’d put aside her nameless fears, swallowed her pride, came here to his turf to make a peace overture because he meant something to her…and he was now laughing in her face. She got it. It was all perfectly and painfully clear: he didn’t want her, after all. No one ever did. Standing, she managed a smile, because once that sense of aloof peacefulness hit her, she could wear any mask and pretend anything—even that her heart wasn’t shredded like coleslaw cabbage. “I understand.” He blinked. “You do?”

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“Yes. And I hope you’ll be very happy.” This last part wasn’t really true. A more accurate statement would be that she hoped he and his new girlfriend would be hit by a speeding bus, dragged a mile or so and then dragged another mile in reverse while the bus driver tried to figure out why the road was so bumpy. But she wasn’t going to say that. She’d never say that. Because she may be unwanted and empty, but she still had her pride, and her pride demanded that she never show anyone that she could be wounded, or that she bled. Nothing got to her, and nothing ever would, she swore as she walked out of his office. Not even Scott.

Chapter Twelve The next day, during the fifth mile of her second treadmill run of the day, someone pounded on Alicia’s front door, ruining the Scott-free endorphin high she’d finally achieved. Relentless exercise had, lately, become her only respite from her nonstop thoughts of Scott and her father, which were somehow becoming intertwined. And she bitterly resented the interruption. Cursing, she hopped off, swiped her sweat-slicked face and hair with a towel, and tromped down the hall from her TV room to the door, which she swung open. It was Krista, her younger sister (yawn), with her precious four-month-old daughter Grace (yay!). “What are you doing here?” Relieving Krista of her adorable bundle—baby powder sweet with her bright brown eyes, downy fuzz and velvety cheeks—Alicia stepped aside to let her sister in and ushered her into the kitchen. Krista’s hello smile faded into consternation. “Hello? It’s Friday night. You said you’d watch Grace while we went to a movie.” Alicia blinked. What the hell was she— Oh, God. Oh, no. “I forgot. Sorry.” This confession prompted Krista to take a closer look at Alicia, and then the kitchen, which was looking a little, ah, less than immaculate for once. Dishes piled in the sink, an empty pizza box on the counter, and a case file from work essentially exploded across the table next to her laptop. Krista’s wide-eyed gaze swung back to Alicia, concern written all over her face. “What’s happened to you? Are you sick?” Alicia opened her mouth and out came the standard response: “I’m fine.” What else would she say? The truth? That’s right, sports fans. Welcome to the mess that’s become my formerly disciplined life since Scott dropped his bombshell on me. No, thanks. She had enough on her plate without Krista, who had a perfect marriage, home and child, feeling sorry for her. Krista snorted. “Right. You’re always fine. You could be fired, car-jacked and sued all in the same day, and you’d be fine. Whatever.” Without warning, Alicia crumpled, and the lurking tears that had been following her around all day spilled down her cheeks in an embarrassing stream. Trying to get it together, she pressed her quivering lips to the baby’s forehead and snuggled her close, wishing she had a daughter like this and a happy home and, hell, just one day out of life that didn’t include that nameless and oppressive fear beating down on her. “Scott asked me to marry him,” she confessed. “Honey, that’s great! Why did that make you unravel like this?”

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A semi-hysterical laugh erupted from her throat. “Like I know.” Another lie. Maybe she should work with the truth, just this one time. See where it led. “How do you make marriage work when our parents were the poster children for the abusive alcoholic and his enabler? Why aren’t you scared like I am?” Krista smiled with complete understanding and gave her answer without hesitation. “Because they taught me everything to do when you want to destroy a marriage. And I’m never going to do any of that. And because Daddy already ruined enough of my life, and he’s not going to take one more thing from me.” Wow. That sounded so normal—and so possible—when Krista said it like that. Alicia stared at her, sniffling her tears into submission. “Why didn’t you say so before?” Krista grinned. “All you had to do was ask.”

Chapter Thirteen This was, quite possibly, the craziest thing he’d ever done, Scott thought as he knocked on the door of the cozy little cottage at seven-thirty Saturday night. Dressing up. Elaborate make-believe scenarios with scripted parts. Covert operations. Somewhere along the line, he’d gotten trapped between a high-school theater production and a CIA special op. But it was all part of his plan to break through the last few protective layers around Alicia’s heart. And if the end result was a wedding with a happily ever after, then it would all be worth it. Meanwhile, it was time to tap into his inner Denzel Washington. The door swung open, revealing his great friend Colleen, who had one of the twins—he thought it was Bruce, but it was always so hard to tell—slung over her hip and chugging from a sippy cup. “Well, look who it is.” Smiling, she pulled him in for a hug and tipped her cheek up for his kiss. “Trouble himself.” “I resent that implication.” Laughing, he relieved her of the toddler and followed her down the hall to the living room. Bruce was now grinning and offering him a taste from the cup. Scott studied the little guy’s face: darker blue eyes; dimple in the left cheek; curlier hair—yeah, this was Bruce. “How you doing, Bruce? How you doing?” “No!” said Bruce happily. “No! No, no, no!” “Introducing Bruce’s first word,” Colleen informed him as they settled on the sofa. He acted disappointed. “I thought you were working on Scott as his first word.” “Nope. Sorry.” “It’s okay.” He pretended to enjoy Bruce’s drink, to much delighted laughter and squeals. If they kept this up, he’d probably wind up with cranberry juice all down the front of his tux, but he couldn’t say he really cared. Any time he could spend a few minutes with a great kid like this was fine with him. “Thanks for letting me borrow Cindi for the night.” Colleen scowled, but the amusement in her eyes gave her away. “Yeah, well, I’m not happy about it. A few hours with you and she’ll probably end up batting for the other team. I mean, look at you. I half want to do you myself.” That made him chuckle. “I’m desperate. I need all the help I can get with Alicia. And don’t forget my promise: free babysitting for four Saturdays. I mean it.”

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“We’ll hold you to that. I’m going to go check on Cindi. She was changing Bryan into his jammies. I’ll be right back.” “Thanks.” Bruce plunked down on his lap and, as always, grabbed at his watch. An activity that’d keep him occupied for hours. And Scott let his mind drift. For the billionth time, he second-guessed every move he’d made with Alicia, from the beginning up until now. Especially the beginning, which had included a significant lie by omission on his part. He hadn’t told her the truth, that first time they made love. Not even close…

Chapter Fourteen During their dinner in the conference room, they’d talked for hours about every topic under the sun—except for details about Alicia’s unhappy childhood, which she’d parsed out like Scrooge parting with his money. That had lead to two more dates, including a movie. Now here they were, on the porch outside her house, where he devoutly hoped he’d be spending the night because, God, he needed to be deep inside this woman as soon as possible. The kicker was, it wasn’t really about the sex. Although, okay, he wanted to get naked and nasty and then sweet and slow with her every night forever. It was about uniting with this beautifully wrapped and unspeakably sexy package that contained the other half of himself. Romantic nonsense like he’d never spouted before, yeah, but it was God’s honest truth. They were both lawyers, both clever, ambitious and hardworking. They both loved sushi, Winston Churchill biographies, and the electronics section at Wal-Mart. Their mutual favorite movie? The Godfather. Favorite book? To Kill a Mockingbird, although they’d both awarded honorable mention to The Bonfire of the Vanities. Was the growing connection between them scary? Hell, yeah. He hadn’t been looking for a relationship and hadn’t thought he’d wanted one. And an introductory, getting-to-know you period was always prudent, except when the inevitability of taking things as far as they could go was as plain as the full moon overhead. Telling himself to go slower, he leaned a shoulder against her front door and faced her. “What are we doing, Alicia?” he asked softly. She looked up from rummaging for her keys in her purse, her eyes reflecting the moonlight and a heartbreaking combination of toughness and vulnerability. “Well, I thought we were saying goodnight, but if you’d like some, ah, coffee or—” “I’d love some coffee when we wake up in the morning, yeah.” So much for taking it slower. “I don’t—” she began. Yeah. He knew about all her various don’ts. “Give me the key.” To his astonishment, she handed it over after only a slight hesitation, whereupon his hands acquired a bad case of the trembles. On the third try, he got the door open, pulled her in behind him, and kicked the door shut again.

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They stared at each other in the darkness of her foyer, with only their ragged breath to break the silence. The gleam in her eyes was unreadable, even if he’d had enough wits about him to try. She’d done this to him. Alicia had reduced him to burning blood, humming skin and frozen indecision. Now that he was here, he was afraid to touch her because he couldn’t handle her rejection now. Not now. This might have gone on through the next presidential administration, except that Alicia surprised him by revealing the woman he’d always known she kept locked inside that distant façade. “Touch me,” she whispered. That was all the permission he needed. Lunging for her—yeah, he just couldn’t manage gentle right now— he anchored his hands on her ass and kissed his way into her mouth. She was right there with him, matching him need for need, sucking his tongue into her slick warmth and crooning with a fantastic mix of relief, enthusiasm and encouragement. He lifted her skirt up her bare thighs, his urgency making him crazed. Her panties were skimpy little things, which was great because they didn’t give him any trouble when he jerked them down her legs and threw them to the floor. She laughed. Was that funny, what she did to him? What about if he stroked her there, right there in that slick cleft between her legs—would that make her laugh, too? “Oh, God.” Clamping her hands on his shoulders, she held herself up when her knees buckled. “God, Scott, what are you doing to me?” “I hope I’m driving you out of your freaking mind.” With no further ado, he collapsed onto a little bench against the wall and pulled her around so she knelt over him, straddling his legs. He reached for his zipper, but apparently moved too slowly because she knocked his hands away and unzipped it herself, kissing him the whole time. And when he was free she took him into her hands, stroking and squeezing him to the point of heart failure. “Now,” he said after a minute of this torture. “Yes,” she agreed. “Now. No wait.” Christ. No waiting. No waiting. “What? Tell me.” “This is casual, right, Scott? I don’t handle relationships well.” “You’re handling this one just fine.” “I just…I just think we need to agree about what we’re doing.” The first spark of dread pierced his sensual haze. “And what’s that?” he asked, thinking that acceptable answers included anything from forming a committed relationship to moving in together. “Having fun while it lasts,” she said, slicing his heart in two. “Enjoying each other and agreeing that we’ll still be friends when it’s over.” Friends? The no was right there on the tip of his tongue; he wanted to shout it through the streets. Hell, she didn’t even believe this nonsense herself. From what she’d told him about her parents’ ugly divorce and her own sporadic dating history, she and casual sex went together like lit torches and haystacks or polar bears and walrus pups.

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He hesitated wanting clarity on this point. But this was her defense mechanism, his gut told him. Fear was in her eyes, buried deep but still visible when he looked closer. This was how she kept from being hurt again: she built walls and guarded them with automatic weapons and pit bulls. He could tell her he loved her, but she couldn’t handle that information now, and he’d lose her. And he couldn’t lose her. Not when she was so hot and passionate in his arms, and her body was poised one inch from his, honey-slick and ready. A better man would have told her the truth. He looked her in the face and lied. “Casual’s fine with me.” Disappointment flashed over her features, telling him he’d been right. She felt something more for him and was too scared to admit it, but it was gone in a heartbeat and he couldn’t wait another second. Gripping her bare hips, he positioned her— “Scott? You ready to get this party started?” He blinked, looking around to see Cindi standing there, dressed and ready for tonight’s charade. Smiling, he planted a kiss on Bruce’s head and handed him to Colleen. “Let’s do it,” he said.

Chapter Fifteen “Thanks for being my plus-one.” Alicia and Krista paused in the lobby of the ritzy hotel where the Barrister’s Ball was held, getting their bearings. The ballroom looked like a summer fantasy, with flowing fabrics in mint, ivory and gold, fat white candles atop thin candelabra, and overflowing bouquets of roses and English ivy as the centerpiece of each table. “I hate coming to these things by myself.” “Are you kidding?” Krista hitched her shawl over her shoulder, draping it for maximum effect. “Anything to dress up like an adult and get out of the house for a while.” Alicia led the way through the crowd, anxious to get this night over with as soon as possible. But then she saw the bar in the corner and veered sharply. “Two pomtinis, please,” she told the bartender. A nice pomegranate martini would go a long way toward making this evening of awards and dull speeches more palatable. “So have you given any more thought to our conversation the other night?” Krista asked. “Yes.” Alicia accepted the drinks, paid the bartender, and took a sip. Ooh. Nice. “I’m working on my anxieties.” They dove into the crowd again, heading for their table. “Good. What’d be so terrible about spending your life with a sexy man who’s crazy about you? Where’s the hardship?” This was a question Alicia had asked herself repeatedly. How could she explain to Krista, who was as mentally healthy as they came, that the thought of telling Scott what he meant to her and giving him that kind of power over her made her stomach drop? That the part of her that loved freely and freely accepted love in return had shriveled and died when Dad left the family? “I don’t expect you to understand,” she said.

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“What if he found someone else?” “What?” “Don’t look now.” Krista fixated on something over Alicia’s shoulder, her brows doing a slow creep toward her hairline. “But he and his date need to get a room.” Horror hit Alicia like a two-ton satellite falling out of the sky, paralyzing her for one uncomprehending moment before she whirled around to see this abomination with her own two disbelieving eyes. Oh, God. There he was, sitting on a stool at another bar across the room with a little hottie perched next to him. They were chatting it up, laughing and flirting, oblivious to the crowd around them. With Scott in his tuxedo and the hoochie in a designer red dress that showed about four feet of bare thigh and surely allowed a significant draft to cool her privates, they looked sexy and sophisticated together—as though they’d just stepped out of an ad for luxury living. Alicia stared, her jaw on the floor. It got worse. The woman, tossing a head full of sleek curls, leaned in, resting her hand on Scott’s thigh. Oh, but there was more. Oblivious to all standards of decency in civilized society, that slut whispered something in his ear and then nipped—nipped!—his lobe as she pulled away. Oh, no, she didn’t. Krista, probably sniffing danger in the air, tried to keep things calm. “Alicia—” Alicia flashed her a look that had Krista backing up a step. “Shut. Up.” Krista shut up. Alicia knew that she had now, officially, lost her mind behind this seething red haze of jealousy. She knew that she’d rejected Scott’s proposal, told him she couldn’t be the woman he wanted, and wished him well. But that was then, before she’d begun to face and tackle her anxieties and think about a future with Scott. This was now. After finishing her drink in one sinus-clearing gulp, she shoved the empty glass at her stammering sister and marched over to greet the little lovebirds, who looked around with surprise at her arrival. Scott, the bastard, gave her the basic smile, filled with pleasant indifference, with which he might have greeted any passing acquaintance. “Alicia. I didn’t know you were coming tonight.” “Hello, Scott.” Flashing her brightest smile and extending her hand, she turned to the sex kitten. “I haven’t met your new friend. I’m Alicia Carroll.” The woman, in a transparently possessive move ripped straight from the halls of seventh grade, put that damn hand back on Scott’s thigh, flashed her own grin, and shook with her other hand. “Cindi Kelly.” “That’s a beautiful dress, Cindi,” Alicia said. “It’s Herve Leger, isn’t it?” “Well.” Cindi shot Scott a bewildered glance but quickly recovered. “Yes.” “Love it.” Alicia looked the woman right in her lovely eyes and kept her gracious smile in place. “Oh, and Cindi? If you don’t get your hand off Scott’s thigh, I’m going to hurt you.”

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Chapter Sixteen “Ex-cuse me?” Cindi cried. Scott held up a hand, silencing Cindi. All his attention focused in on Alicia with the intensity and precision of a surgical laser. But beyond that, Alicia couldn’t read his expression. “This is my date, Alicia. I told you I was dating someone else now. You don’t care about that, do you?” Alicia’s heart, which had been pounding out a jealousy-driven tattoo, now switched gears to a fluttery, nervous beat. Her cheeks, meanwhile, burned with the fire of ten lava-filled volcano craters. She could hardly get the words out, even now, when her entire future hung in the balance. But she would find the courage to do this. “Of course I care.” Scott shrugged, looking doubtful. “That’s news to me.” It was news to her, too. Well, no, not exactly. She’d known that Scott was her best friend and that his touch was magic. She’d known that his throaty laugh made her happy and his advice—on matters both professional and personal—got her through many difficult days. Life was more fun when Scott was around. She’d known that, too, and that he’d one day make a wonderful husband and father. She’d just chosen to ignore what all those separate pieces added up to. Now it was all out in the open where her emotional baggage couldn’t block it out, and her rules couldn’t protect her. “In fact—” Scott continued “—I’m thinking this is just a jealous temper tantrum that you’ll regret tomorrow. So maybe you should go home before you say anything you’ll want to take back.” God, she wanted to touch him. Could she risk it? Feeling like she was jumping out of a helicopter to ski down an avalanche-prone mountainside, she cupped his hard jaw in her hand. It was the right thing to do because the shock of the skin-to-skin contact made him shudder, and that gave her courage. “The only thing I’ll regret—” she told him “—is letting some other woman take my place in your life.” Krista, ever the peacekeeper, arrived just then looking worried. “Everything okay over here?” They all ignored her. Especially Scott, whose unblinking gaze had locked on Alicia’s face. “And what is your place in my life, pray tell? Just…out of curiosity.” Alicia stepped closer, magnetically drawn to him in ways that defied the laws of physics. But then she remembered their rapt audience. Krista and Cindi stood there, listening intently. Any second now they’d flag down a passing server and see if they could order popcorn to go with the show. “Do we have to do this here?” Alicia asked. “Yeah,” he said. But to her immense gratitude, he grabbed her hand from his cheek, kissed it, and squeezed it with his strong fingers. “I’ve waited so long for this, I feel like I need witnesses.” Krista and Cindi tittered at that, but forget them. “I’m in love with you,” she told Scott helplessly. And with the words came a soaring, joyous relief. It felt so good, in fact, so incredibly freeing, that she had to say it again. “I’m crazy in love with you.”

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Chapter Seventeen Jesus. Had those precious words finally come out of Alicia’s mouth? “You’re in love with me?” Scott had to maintain his tough single-minded focus here. But man, it was hard when all he could think about was folding her into his arms and never letting go. He softened his words with another kiss to her hand, and prayed she’d come just a little farther with him. “Since when?” “I don’t even know.” Choked with emotion, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears, she pressed her free hand to her heart and made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a repressed sob. “All I know is I’ve been coming out of my skin the last couple of weeks. I have to be with you. I don’t even know myself when you’re not there.” “Aww,” cooed Krista and Cindi, who were now hugged together, looking misty. Scott gaped at Alicia. This was freaking unbelievable. Success beyond his wildest dreams. Almost everything he’d hoped for. Almost. Don’t cave now, Armstrong. You’ve almost got the brass ring in your hot little hands. “You ‘have to be with me?’” he echoed. “What does that look like? Because we’ve done the weekend lover thing, and that doesn’t work for me.” “God, Scott.” Looking up, possibly praying for divine intervention to save her from this interrogation, she swiped at her eyes. “You just won’t stop until you take everything, will you?” Did she expect him to apologize? “I have to, Alicia. When it comes to you, I need everything.” That made a couple more tears trickle down her cheeks, and seeing those tears cracked his control right in two. He’d had a plan to get to this fantastic breakthrough, yeah, but this wasn’t a game. The woman he loved—a person who kept her feelings on maximum security lockdown whenever possible—had just admitted, in front of witnesses, that she loved him, too. He couldn’t let the moment pass without kissing her; forget playing hardball. Planting his hands low on her hips, he pulled her up against him. “Say it again. It’ll get easier the more you repeat it.” “I love you. Happy now?” Hell, yeah, he was happy. Too happy to speak, in fact. Instead, he lowered his head and kissed her until they were both breathless. “Well,” said Cindi. “I guess we’re not needed here, are we?” “Guess not,” answered Krista. Scott and Alicia broke apart, but he held her hugged up to his side. “Hey, Krista.” He’d always been cool with Alicia’s sister. “How’s your night going?” Krista smirked with open delight. “Not as well as yours, apparently.”

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He laughed. “Can you do me a favor and take my friend Cindi home? Alicia and I have some, ah, stuff to take care of.” “Stuff.” Cindi beamed. “Right.” Alicia clapped a hand over her mouth and looked to Cindi with regret written all over her face. “Oh, my God. I can’t believe I threatened you like that. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it—” “Oh, you meant it,” Cindi said. “But you’re welcome to him, so please don’t rip my face off.” Alicia’s brow furrowed with what looked like bewilderment. “You’re very gracious.” Cindi’s gaze, mischievous now, flicked over to Scott. Uh-oh. Cindi wouldn’t spill the beans to Alicia or anything—Hey, guess what, Alicia? I’m a married lesbian friend of Scott’s who was basically hired to make you jealous tonight; isn’t that funny?—but he knew she wasn’t above needling him about this episode for the next twenty years or so. Time to go. “We’ll talk to you two soon, okay?” he said. Without waiting for any answer, he took Alicia’s arm and steered her through the crowd, desperate to get his hands on her.

Chapter Eighteen Scott took her home, to her house. They didn’t talk in the car. The things they still needed to discuss couldn’t be said while hurtling down the highway. As though he knew this intermission would allow her anxieties to bubble inside her, gaining strength, he held tight to her hand the whole time. And she clung to him, knowing that with Scott, if no one else, she didn’t have to be afraid. With Scott she was, finally, safe. The huge tank of tropical fish glowed a soothing blue as they turned into the bedroom, illuminating her giant four poster with its downy pillows and duvet. All she wanted was to be in there, with him, forever. But she knew she hadn’t earned that right quite yet. Wrapping his strong hands around her face, he massaged her nape, melting away what she really hoped was the last of her inhibitions. In a clear effort to make it impossible for her to do anything other than relax, he rested his lips against her forehead and murmured to her in a calming voice that was like the stroke of velvet across her skin. “Tell me again,” he said. “I love you.” It was so much easier like this—with whispers in the shadows, the gentle glide of his hands down the curve of her spine, and the warm satin of his flesh beneath her fingertips when she untucked his shirt and undershirt and reached for his skin. “I love you.” Those tender lips of his began a slow descent, running from her temple to her cheek, across the bridge of her nose, and finally, sweetly, to her lips. Angling his head just enough, his growing desire rumbling deep inside his chest, he tasted her with his tongue. Just a little. Just enough for her spiraling lust to collect in the tips of her swollen breasts and curl into the farthest depths of her belly. Clenching her thighs together against the insistent ache, she surged into him, but he pulled back. Distracting her with his busy hands, which squeezed the halves of her butt together, rubbing her against an erection so hard and thick she doubted she could handle it all, he zeroed in for the kill.

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“Why is it so hard for you to give me that? Don’t you know how happy it makes me? I would do anything for you.” Another stroke of his hands…a thrust of his hips…a lick of his tongue against her mouth and… Oh, God, he was going to make her come before they’d even taken off their clothes. “Anything. Why can you give me your body but not your feelings?” Pausing in her desperate quest to undo all his buttons and get this shirt off him, she waited for her throat to close up. It didn’t. Together with him, like this, it was impossible for the fear to get her. “Because,” she said helplessly. “I drive men away. If I love them, they leave me. And I never want you to leave me.”

Chapter Nineteen Was that it? Was that, in twenty-five words or less, the fanged and poisonous dragon that’d kept him from getting too close to Alicia this whole time? Something as simple—and ridiculous—as that? The belief was real, though. He could see the living proof of it in her troubled eyes as she awaited his judgment. He wanted to laugh, it was so crazy, but that wouldn’t give her the reassurance she needed. So he focused instead on finding the zipper at the back of her sexy black dress and sliding it down. Only when he’d slid the silk off her shoulders and to the floor, revealing all her glorious brown skin and the bounty still hidden by a black strapless bra and lacy black panties, did he speak again. “Who, baby?” He traced lazy circles with his fingers, running them between her shoulder blades, down her back and up her sides, enjoying the curves of her wide hips as they narrowed to her waist. “Who leaves?” “My father left. He went to the bar for a drink one day and never came back.” “What made him leave?” He pressed this whispered question directly into her ear because it was too absurd to say aloud. Anyone who voluntarily left Alicia was clearly insane, and that was the end of the matter as far as he was concerned. “I think I had something to do with it,” she confessed. “I know it’s silly, but I loved him and I drove him crazy because I was a handful—” “Shh.” He’d meant to let her get it all out, but it was so patently illogical on so many levels that the lawyer in him just couldn’t take it. “So, I remind you of him? Is that it? I’m just like him?” This caught her by surprise. “Of course not. You’re nothing like—” “Exactly.” She blinked. “Wasn’t your father a raging alcoholic? Wasn’t he divorced three times? Isn’t it possible that he was the problem, rather than you?” She almost smiled. “Of course, Johnnie Cochran. When you say it like that—” “Good girl.” Now she was starting to understand. “Can I tell you what I love about you?” Alicia stilled. Maybe she couldn’t believe there was anything lovable about her, and for that he hated her father for the damage he’d done.

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“I love this.” He tapped her temple, behind which sat her clever brain. “I love this.” Smoothing her plump lower lip with his thumb, he stole another quick kiss and then ran his tongue down the smooth column of her neck while she moaned and tipped her head back for him. “I love these.” Unhooking her bra, he let her breasts bounce free. They were full and heavy with desire, just the way he liked them, her nipples jutting and dark—perfect blackberries waiting for his mouth to suck, and suck hard. Squeezing them together, he traced one areola with his tongue, then the other, driving her higher until with a hoarse cry, she grabbed his head and pulled him closer. Was that a request? He sucked each one in turn, popping them out of his mouth after just enough of a scrape with his teeth to make her gasp his name. “I love this.” He palmed her ass, grinding his erection—God, he was dying here—against that sweet spot between her legs. Were her panties still on? Time to change that. Taking all the time in the world, he slid the lace down those shapely legs and helped her step out of them. Then, while he was stooped over, he rubbed his face against that black triangle of springy curls, enjoying her helpless arch against him. “I really love this,” he murmured. The delicious musk coming from that slick cleft made him run headlong into his limit. He had to get inside her. Just as soon as he told her this last thing. “You know what else I love?” “No.” She shook her head, those crystal tears sparkling in her eyes again. “I love it that you actually believe your rules and fears and doubts would ever keep me away from you. Or that I’d ever let you go and try to find someone else. You don’t really believe that nonsense, do you?” He stared, unsmiling, into her face, and waited for her to get it. Comprehension dawned. With one surprised “Oh,” she smiled and cried at the same time, letting one perfect tear slide down her cheek. He licked it away. Then he swung her off her feet and carried her to the bed.

Chapter Twenty That was it for the talking. Thank God. Alicia was pretty sure there wasn’t an unexposed corner of her soul left. Scott ripped the linens back and laid her on the bed, where she settled her head against the pillows and stared at him. Never looking away, he shrugged out of his shirt and yanked the undershirt over his head. There he was, as perfect a male as she could ever hope to see, and she’d missed this view. Though he wasn’t too bulky, he had the squared, hard shoulders of a man who paid his dues at the gym. His arms were cut, the slabs of his chest defined. His belly was toned and flat. One of these days, when she had time and wasn’t blinded by lust, she’d have to count and see if he really did have a six-pack. Bending at the waist, but still maintaining eye contact, he shoved down his trousers and boxers to reveal a thatch of black hair and a jutting, ruddy erection that made her hips squirm with impatience. “God, Scott,” she breathed. “Take it easy on me, okay?”

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A wicked light sparked to life in his eyes. “You did this to me.” Taking himself in hand, he crawled over her, eased between her thighs and yanked her down with his free hand until she was flat on her back. “Besides.” He dipped his head to bite her, hard, on the curve of her neck and shoulder, making her cry out with delight. “You don’t want me to take it easy, do you?” “No.” With that, she wrapped one leg around his waist, spreading herself open wider, and he took full advantage. Rubbing the head of his penis through her hot juices, lubricating them both, he thrust inside her, filling her to a breaking point that teetered between sweet friction and delicious pain. Then he stilled, making her pant and writhe. “Don’t.” Digging her nails into that high, round ass of his, she demanded more. Now. The swelling ache between her thighs demanded it. “Don’t tease me. You know I need it hard.” “Maybe.” A tremble began in his arms as he settled over her. “Please.” She raked her nails up his back. “Please.” That did it. With a raw groan, he began to work her, thrusting deeper and deeper. With each sharp pump of his hips, he hit the exact right spot, harder and harder, and she swiveled her own hips in a frantic counterpoint until… “Scott.” The rippling pleasure began in her belly, mushrooming to a piercing crescendo that made her spine arch backwards even as she held him in a death grip with her legs. “Ah, Scott.” He was right there with her, shouting out his release after another punishing thrust or two. His body turned to warm marble in her hands, rigid and unmoving for several luscious seconds. And then he collapsed on top of her, threatening to crush her with the slick deadweight of his sweaty body. She loved it. “Mmm.” Against her neck, she felt the curve of his cheek as he grinned. Then he lifted his head to pin her with that gaze, which was a little glazed but otherwise as sharp as ever. “You never answered my question.” “We can’t possibly have anything left to talk about.” “Don’t try to evade. Back at the party, you said you had to be with me, and I asked you what that looked like. You never answered.” Taking his beloved face between her palms, she gave him everything. “It looks like you and me getting married and having children. Okay?” He grinned with such utter happiness that he almost glowed. “Hell, yeah, it’s okay. It was all part of my plan.”

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The Texas Bride By Mary Burton

Chapter One Finding her brother in jail wasn’t the homecoming Emily Hanover had pictured. These past four years, she’d been living back east with her grandmother. This three-week trip was her first and likely her last visit home. She’d dreaded coming home and facing painful past memories, but she’d come because she sensed David was in trouble. It appeared she’d arrived just in time. Emily stared at the torn welcome banner and ruined buffet table, destroyed by her brother, David, just minutes before her arrival. Turning from the mess, Emily reached for the rusted door handle of the jailhouse. She ignored the cramp in her foot caused by shoes designed for fashion not comfort. Pushing open the door, she stepped into the dingy jailhouse. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light. When it did she saw her brother sitting on the stained cot in the single cell, his head cradled in his hands. “David,” she said, moving toward the cell. At the sound of her voice, he lifted his head. He stared at her a moment before he smiled. “’Emily, you look so different. You look like a real lady just like Ma always wanted.” Emily jerked off her laced gloves, unreasonably annoyed by the compliment. “You haven’t changed a bit.” His smile vanished and he moved to the bars. “I’ve done it this time.” The strong scent of whiskey and urine drifted from the corner of the cell. “You certainly have. I hear you got drunk, rode through town on a stolen horse, knocked an old man down, and injured the mare you stole.” He closed his eyes. “I didn’t steal the mare, I just borrowed her. I only wanted to ride out and greet your stage. But the mare was too much for me to handle.” “Why’d you try to jump the buffet table?” He laid his forehead against the bars. “That was the mare’s idea, not mine.” The part of her that had been tamed by life back east worried about scandal. The wild Texas rose she’d been before she left Upton, Texas, only wanted to make things right. “When are you going to grow up, David?” His expression grew mutinous, as if he were a child and not a man three years older than Emily. “You know I hate this town, Emily. I don’t belong here.” “That’s no excuse.” He managed a feeble grin. “I don’t know why you’re so upset. Everything will be fine once you pay off the old man.” “I’m not made of money, David,” she said tersely. “And you’re lucky he wasn’t seriously hurt.” “Can’t you fix this? Please. I don’t know how to get out of this one.” “What about the owner of the horse?” He shrank back a fraction. She stepped closer to the bars. “Whose horse is it, David?”

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David dropped his gaze. “Jake Lazarus’s.” Emily felt the color drain from her face. “Jake Lazarus.” “I know you two got history.” History. There’d been a time when she’d loved Jake with her whole heart. But her parents had shipped her back east before they could marry. David offered a tentative smile, the same one that had coaxed her into trouble in the past. “Can’t you just pay Jake off?” “He’s the last person I want to see.” The door to the jailhouse closed with a bang. “But you’re gonna see him.” The deep voice came from the doorway and Emily recognized it immediately. Jake. She’d forgotten he could move as quietly as a mountain lion. Turning, she found him by the door. Six feet, he was all sinew and hard muscle and his shoulders still filled a doorframe. Faded denims molded his powerful thighs. Dust covered his white shirt, scuffed leather boots, and low-crowned Stetson. His range coat hung open, the right side tucked behind his pistol. A chill snaked down her spine. Emily lifted her chin. “This is between my brother and me, Jake.” He jerked off his hat. His hair, as black as coal, brushed the top of his collar. “Not when it involves my mare and my cook, Emily.” Emily tilted her head back so that she could meet his gaze. There’d been a time when she could read his emotions. Now there was a wall between them. Her skin grew hot under his gaze. “Jake, I’m prepared to pay for the damages.” Emily’s fingers trembled as she snapped open her purse. “I’ll pay you enough to hire another cook, plus ten percent for your trouble.” She quickly calculated the price. She’d be nearly penniless when she settled this mess. Distaste flickered in his eyes. “Money isn’t going to fix this one, Emily. It’s time David grew up and took responsibility for his actions.” “David has to be back at the ranch for the evening feedings.” Jake lifted an eyebrow. “And I got a ranch full of hungry hands and a cook who’s laid up for at least a week.” “You’ll make more money this way.” “You’ve been back east so long, I suppose you’ve forgotten how we do things here.” His words stung. “I’m trying to make this right.” “This is your brother’s mess, not yours. David injured my man, so the way I see it he can cook for my men.” David gripped the bars. Fear flickered in his pale green eyes. “I’m not working his ranch! Jake Lazarus is trash, just like Ma and Pa used to say.” Jake’s jaw tightened. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and menacing. “You will work for me if you don’t want me to press charges. They hang horse thieves in this state.” David’s knees nearly buckled. “I didn’t steal the horse. I was just having a little fun.”

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Jake leveled his gaze on David. “You took my horse without my permission. And thanks to you she’s got a sprain that’ll take weeks to heal. That adds up to jail in these parts.” David looked to Emily. “Tell him I wasn’t stealing. I didn’t mean to hurt the horse. He’s just crazy enough to see me hang!” Emily summoned all the diplomacy lessons she’d learned in school. “Jake, you know my brother can’t cook and he has to work the Double H. Isn’t there some compromise we could reach?” Jake’s eyes narrowed. “I need a cook. No compromise.” It would be easier to move a mountain than to get Jake to change his mind. He’d not leave here today without a cook. “Then take me instead.” Jake looked genuinely shocked. Boldly his gaze traveled from her green hat with the jaunty peacock feather, over her velvet traveling suit, to the pointy tips of her kid shoes. “You even remember how to work a cookstove?” His bold appraisal had her temper rising. “I’ll manage.” “’Emily, don’t!” David shouted. “Ma and Pa would have hated the idea of you working for him.” She didn’t take her gaze off Jake. “You can’t go to jail, David. That ranch was Pa’s dream and I won’t see it lost.” Jake shook his head. “You look like you’d blow away in a stiff breeze.” “I won’t.” For a moment, he said nothing and she thought he’d reject her offer. “We work sunup to sundown on my ranch.” “Understood.” Something akin to approval flashed in his eyes. “For two weeks.” The way he hovered close made her hesitate. “Yes.” He tugged off his glove and held his hand out to her. Automatically, she took it. He wrapped his long, calloused fingers around her small, soft hand. “You haven’t done hard work in years.” “My grandmother would be pleased to hear you say that. She’s worked hard to erase my years in Texas.” “I never did like society types.” Fire flashed in her eyes. “Then I suppose it’s going to be a long two weeks.”

Chapter Two The wheel of Jake’s wagon hit a rut in the dusty road and his shoulder brushed Emily’s. The simple contact should have meant nothing. But it stirred fire in his blood. Annoyed, he tightened his hands on the reins. He’d done a lot of dumb things in his life but hiring Emily won the prize. He needed experienced hands to work his spread, the Two Rivers ranch, not a woman he’d loved and never been able to forget. He’d first met Emily when she was sixteen, and he twenty-three. It had been love at first sight for both of them and he’d asked her to marry him. Emily had agreed to be his wife, but when she’d told her parents, they’d shipped her off to boarding school.

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Jake hated seeing her go, but he had always figured she’d find a way back to him. Even when she’d not answered his letters, he still had hope. Then her ma, and soon after, her pa, had died. They would have been free to marry then, but she didn’t return. Months turned into years and finally he’d given up. He should have walked a wide circle around her and kept his distance. But the minute he’d seen her climb off the stage, he’d known he’d never be able to stay away. There were just too many unanswered questions. Cool and proper, she wasn’t the girl he remembered, but a fancy lady who likely hadn’t gotten her hands dirty in years. He stole a glance at her. She sat up so straight he figured her spine would snap if he shouted, “Boo.” Still, under all the finery, she was about the prettiest little thing he’d ever laid eyes on. Blond curls ringed her oval face. That fancy dress molded her slim waist and full breasts as if it were a second skin. And her blue eyes still sparkled with a quiet intelligence that made him want to learn about everything she’d been up to these past four years. It had been a long time since his heart had felt like a sledgehammer in his chest. Damn it all, he was already falling under her spell. He didn’t want to feel anything for her. She was poison. A siren. Only in the past year had he stopped wishing she’d return. Yeah, he should have stayed clear, taken the money Emily had offered, and been done with the Hanovers, but lust and pride had overruled good judgment. David Hanover and men like him had been a thorn in his side since he could remember. The young rancher was sitting on rich, fertile land. He had water rights to last him a lifetime. But instead of taking care of what he had, he was letting it all go to waste. The Double H ranch was headed to ruins and David didn’t seem to care. What he’d cared about was making trouble for Jake. David had never challenged Jake outright but he’d made him pay dearly for access to the water on the Hanover land and had dropped hints that Lazarus horses were inferior when buyers were in town. Yep, men like David Hanover didn’t have the sense to run their own place, but they were more than happy to make trouble for men like him who wanted to build something out of nothing. Jake wasn’t going to back down. He’d fought too many renegades and gone without for too long to scrape together the money for his spread. And if Emily Hanover wanted to take her brother’s medicine, then so be it. Like it or not she’d stick out the next fourteen days. Even if it killed him. *** Neither spoke the remainder of the journey and Emily was glad. She wanted to forget about Jake and savor the quiet beauty of the landscape and drink in as much of it as she could. She only had three weeks in Texas before she had to return to Virginia and no one was going to ruin this time, not even Jake Lazarus. But no matter how she tried to ignore Jake, there seemed to be no escaping him. His large muscled frame ate up most of the buckboard’s seat. His scent, a mixture of leather and fresh air, enveloped her. Every rut in the road sent her shoulder bumping into his no matter how straight she tried to sit. She may have pushed him out of her thoughts these past couple of years, but her body hadn’t forgotten him or his touch. She stole a peek at him and glimpsed the hard set of his jaw. He’d grown even harder looking. There was no hint of the young man who’d whispered words of love in her ear or spoke of his dreams of building a fine horse ranch.

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To her relief they arrived at his ranch twenty minutes later. Grateful to put some distance between them, she swung her skirts around, ready to hop down off the buckboard as she’d done a thousand times as a child on her ranch. But the folds of velvet twisted around her legs, slowing her down just long enough for Jake to reach her side of the buckboard. He frowned at the rich fabric as he wrapped his long, leather gloved hands around her narrow waist. As if she weighed no more than a feather, he plucked her from the seat and lowered her slowly to the ground. The contact was too intimate and sent an old, nearly forgotten heat through her body. But before she could react to it, he broke away and moved to the back of the wagon to remove her black steamer trunk. “I’ll stow your gear in the house. You can change inside. My hands will be back at sunset and they’ll be expecting supper on the table.” Without another word, he carried the trunk into the house, leaving her to trail behind him. Jake’s home had changed since she’d last seen it. No longer a rough dugout, it was a white frame house with a porch that stretched across the front. It reminded her of a house she’d once seen in a magazine and had described to Jake on one of their lazy afternoon strolls. But unlike her dream house or the houses in Virginia, there wasn’t a blade of grass within fifty feet of the foundation. The porch wasn’t furnished with rockers to sit in and savor the setting sun or to relax after a long day of work. Instead, it was piled high with barrels and bags of feed. It was all business, just like Jake. Emily paused at the threshold, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim light. The single room was long and narrow and looked more like a barn than a home. Bales of hay were stacked in one corner and more feed sacks in another. A large cookstove dominated the other corner. Near it sat the room’s only furniture - a single chair, table, and a small cot covered with rumpled blankets. She glanced at the simple staircase. “Is my room upstairs?” “There’s no furniture upstairs. Only supplies.” “Where do you sleep?” He shoved her trunk against the wall by the large stone hearth. “The cot here suits fine.” “You built this big house and you still sleep on a cot?” “I spend most of my days working. I don’t have time to worry over luxuries.” There was no hint of apology in his rough voice. “For the next two weeks, the cot is yours. I’ll move my gear out to the barn.” Stunned, Emily moved toward the stove and noted a washtub filled with dirty dishes. “What do you expect me to do with this mess?” His gaze, full of challenge, didn’t waver from hers. “Clean it.” Her temper, so carefully tamed by her grandmother these past four years, ignited. “You’re joking.” He flexed his long fingers. “Serious as a snakebite.” She turned from the sink too disgusted to think about washing the caked-on bits of food. “This place isn’t fit for pigs.” He stiffened then took a step forward. “Break our deal and your brother goes to jail.” Emily stared at the grim lines etched in his tanned face. She had no doubt that he’d do exactly that. He jabbed his thumb toward the door. “So what’s it gonna be, princess. Are you staying or going? I’ve burned half a day and have nothing to show for it.” She gritted her teeth. “You’ve changed. And not for the better.”

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“I could say the same to you.” He looked almost bored. “Staying or going?” If he expected her to crumble, he was going to be one disappointed man. She’d work as his cook, even if it killed them both. “Staying.”

Chapter Three Bone weary, Jake leaned on the corral fence and stared with pride at the seven horses prancing the ring. He and his four hands had spent the better part of the afternoon rounding up the horses they’d turned out on the north ridge last spring. As wild as the country, the spirited animals had fought tooth and nail for their freedom. It had been one long damn day, and it would have been satisfying if not for Emily. Thoughts of her had lingered in his mind and more than once he’d wondered what she was doing - if she’d just up and left. Just knowing she was on his land and in the house he’d built for her was enough to resurrect feelings in him he’d worked so hard to bury. Damn Emily. He wished he’d never laid eyes on her. Isaac Ralston, a grizzled cowhand who’d worked the Double H before joining him three seasons ago, hitched his boot on the bottom rung of the fence and leaned forward. “You got a lot to be proud of, Jake. Not many men could build up a spread as fast and well as this.” Jake allowed a small smile. “This place has sweat everything it could out of me, but it’s been worth it.” He took one last glance at the ponies and turned toward the house. Instead of being dark and cold, the place was lit up like a firefly. Emily’s slender frame passed in front of the window and Jake found himself letting out a relieved sigh. She hadn’t left him. Yet. Isaac scratched his chin. “Who the devil’s that woman in the house?” Jake tensed. “Our new cook.” “What’s wrong with Fred?” “Got hurt in town today. He’s laid up for a good week.” “Who’d you find to cook?” “Emily Hanover.” Isaac pressed his hand to his ear. “Say that again. My hearing’s failing me.” Jake ground his teeth. Isaac knew his history with Emily. “You heard me.” “You have lost your mind.” “I know.” “Why’d she come back?” “Don’t know.” “How long she staying?” The thought of seeing her go again tore at his gut. “I don’t know.”

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Isaac’s eyes narrowed. “One last question and I want you to think long and hard about the answer. Are you going to let her leave this time?” *** Emily smoothed her hands over her stained skirt, and then pulled the hot biscuits from the stove. She needed to hold on to her anger. There was so much to dislike about Jake Lazarus and this situation. But as hard as she tired, the hard emotions kept seeping away. She was in Texas - in the wide, sweeping land she loved so much and it seemed such a shame to waste what precious little time she had left here. In three weeks, she’d move back east, where the buildings were too close and the air thick. She’d walk away from the Double H ranch and the wild lands that she loved so much. She’d finally do as her mother had always wished - honor her memory in the only way left to her. She’d marry a fine, respectable city man. Richard Danvers, the man who would become her fiancé once she accepted his marriage proposal, would have been a dream come true for her mother, if she’d lived to meet him. But each time Emily thought about him, the familiar tightness returned to her chest. Her intended wasn’t a bad man; he simply didn’t love the things she loved. He hated the outdoors, feared horses, and had never been west of the Shenandoah Valley. He tolerated her spirited nature and openly spoke of the woman she’d become when they married. She looked at her dress, now soiled by the afternoon’s chores. If anything, the restlessness inside her had grown. “Richard would be appalled,” she whispered as she stared at the black smudge splashed over the periwinkle skirt. A wicked smile curled her lips as she thought of his face turning red with disappointment and then anger. She knelt in front of the stove and using a checkered cloth she’d found in a drawer earlier, opened the cast iron door. She pulled out the second tray of golden biscuits, set them on the dinner table and closed the oven door. She brushed a stray curl from her flushed forehead and studied her handiwork. The table was scrubbed clean and the kitchen dishes cleaned. It was all she’d had time for this afternoon before she’d had to start supper. If Jake thought working a ranch was punishment, he was wrong. This was the kind of work that filled her soul, gave her a reason to get up in the morning. And as long as she kept her feelings for Jake in check, she’d be fine. She started when the door banged open and a grizzled cowhand stepped into the cabin. He stopped instantly when he saw her. His mouth dropped open. “I hope you’re hungry,” she said easily. A handful of seconds passed before he snapped his mouth closed and mutely nodded. “Miss Hanover?” Her smile widened. “Isaac.” He yanked off his hat. “You remember me?” “Of course I do. You taught me how to rope a calf when I was twelve.” Etiquette kept her from hugging him.

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Too familiar, her grandmother would say. “Grab a plate. There’s no room to feed you inside but the evening’s nice and there’s room now on the front porch.” Another cowhand shoved the old man. “What’s taking you so long, Isaac? I’m hungry.” Isaac stumbled forward toward the table, and the other cowhand, like him, stopped in his tracks when he saw Emily. All the men had the same reaction. Emily was finally forced to make plates for them, shove them in their hands, and send them out the door. One reed-thin cowhand glanced at her over his plate piled high with food. “God bless you, ma’am.” As the last man filed out, Jake entered the room. His wide shoulders chewed up the space in the small cabin. He glanced at the table. Surprise flickered in his eyes as his gaze lifted to Emily. He picked up a biscuit as if to prove it was real. One bite and his eyes closed, as if lost in a moment of pure pleasure. “There has to be poison in this.” She savored his shock. “It was tempting.” He finished the biscuit then looked at her. “How’d you do that?” “Do what?” “Cook.” “I was raised on a ranch, remember? I know my way around a kitchen and a barn.” He studied the stains on her dress as if seeing her for the first time. “I figured you’d forgotten.” “I haven’t forgotten anything,” she whispered. He kept all traces of emotion out of his voice. “You come back to Upton for good?” “No, just a visit.” His jaw tightened “Why leave? You’ve got a spread just aching for someone who gives a damn to run it.” She dropped her gaze to the now empty serving plates and started to pick them up. “I’ve obligations.” He leaned closer, his gaze searching. “What could be more important than saving the Double H?” “Lots of things.” “Name one,” he challenged. “Marrying Richard.”

Chapter Four Marrying Richard. Jake drove the ax blade into the log and split it in one swipe. He picked up the splintered wood and tossed it onto the growing pile by the back cabin. He’d been chopping wood for a good hour in the hot midday sun and had worked up a fine sweat. But he refused to stop until he was so tired he’d forget about Emily’s parting words to him last night. Marrying Richard. Who was he kidding? The words had stalked Jake like a half-starved prairie dog all night and into the next day. Lord knows why he should care who Emily Hanover married. She’d left him four years ago for another life. And he’d made peace with that.

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He had. At least until he’d walked into his home, and seen Emily standing by the stove barefooted, wearing that fancy dress dusted with flour and ashes. Stray curls had escaped that tight bun and framed her face, hinting at the woman he’d once loved so much. If she’d just stayed wrapped in her laces and silks and behind the wall of ice she’d erected, he could have walked away. But she hadn’t. The old Emily was peeking out. And he wanted her. He centered another log on the chopping block and pulled the ax blade over his head. As he swung forward he heard the footsteps behind him. “You think you’ll really need that much chopped wood this summer?” Isaac grinned as he leaned against the side of the barn. He reached in his vest pocket and pulled out his tobacco pouch. “Memory serves, it gets a might warm around here in July and August.” Jake drove the blade through the wood. “What do you want, old-timer?” Isaac chuckled. “You’re prickly today.” Jake wiped the sweat from the back of his forehead with the back of his hand. “What of it?” “You were in a good mood when you rode into town yesterday.” “That was yesterday.” The old man sprinkled tobacco on rolling paper, expertly rolled it into a cigarette, and then twisted the ends closed. “Before you saw Miss Emily Hanover again.” He shot Isaac a sharp glance. “My mood doesn’t have anything to do with her.” Isaac cackled. “And pigs can fly. Not one man in that bunkhouse got a wink of sleep last night. Emily Hanover is pretty enough to tempt the devil himself. Always was, always will be. Hell, if I were five years younger I might toss my hat in the ring.” Jake tossed the ax aside and grabbed his shirt, which he’d hung on a nail. He wiped the sweat from his face, then his bare muscled chest. “I’ll give you that she’s a fine-looking woman.” “Damn, damn fine,” Isaac muttered. Annoyed, Jake jerked his shirt over his head. “What’s gotten into you, old man?” Isaac laughed. “I might be old, but I ain’t dead.” A smile tugged the corner of Jake’s mouth. But the good mood faded as quickly as it came. “She’s changed.” “Maybe her clothes are fancier, but the gal I saw standing by that stove, was the Em that used to ride the meadows bareback at lightning speed.” Jake closed his eyes summoning the memory. He’d been in Upton less than a month when he’d first seen her riding that pony of hers along the bottomland that separated his property from hers. She’d been a wild filly, so full of spirit and life. “I always thought she’d come back.” “We all did. But I reckon her ma knew what she was doing when she sent her east. Likely those greenhorns got their hooks into her somehow. You know how loyal she is to her kin.”

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“She’s a grown woman. Her parents are dead. She can make her own decisions now.” “Family’s a powerful thing, Jake. Don’t underestimate it.” “How can I fight what I don’t understand?” Isaac struck a match against his boot and lit the tip of his cigarette. Smoke swirled around his head. “The way I see it, Emily Hanover owes you thirteen more days of cooking. That’s a good bit of time.” “She said yesterday that she’s returning to Virginia to marry some fellow named Richard.” Isaac snorted. “Emily is as much a part of Texas as the Red River. She’d wither and die back east. And I know she couldn’t love no East Coast dandy.” Jake closed his eyes. “Why didn’t she come back sooner? Or write? One letter would have been enough to keep me going.” Isaac studied the tip of his cigarette. “Ever thought about asking her?” “No.” Isaac studied Jake an extra beat. “Maybe you’re right to leave well enough alone. You don’t need trouble like Emily.” His throat tightened. “Right.” “Fact, why don’t you go on down to the pond? That quiet place you like so much. You look as if you could use a dip in cold water.” Jake shoved out a sigh. “You’re right.” Determined to put Emily out of his thoughts, he swung his shirt over his shoulder and started down the path that led to the stream. The pond was brimming with clear, cool water now but by mid-July it would be all but dried up. He pushed through the tall brush ringing the muddy bank. The secluded area suited his foul mood. The last thing he wanted now was conversation. He pulled off his boots and stripped off his pants. He rose, savoring the mild breeze against his hot skin, then waded into the cold water. Jake dunked his head and body under the water. For a moment he paused, enjoying the way the waters lapped around his body. He rose up out of the water in time to hear a woman’s shriek. Jake turned and on the opposite side of the pond he saw a very naked Emily. She must have waded in while he’d been underwater. Her attention was riveted to the bank as if she feared someone would come over the ridge. She didn’t know he was behind her. A slow smile curled his lips. Her backside was as pale as the moon, as ripe as a fresh apple. He saw the hint of her full breasts as she raised her arms and unpinned her hair. She tousled it, letting the rich curls spill past her shoulders before she dipped her head under the water. Even in the cold water, he grew hard. He couldn’t decide if the gods had cursed or blessed him. He waited until she’d rose up out of the waters and slicked back her hair with her fingers before he spoke. “Afternoon,” he said.

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Chapter Five Emily screamed and covered her naked breasts with her hands. She lowered her upper body under the water, careful to keep her back to him. “Please tell me this isn’t happening.” “You think I like my privacy interrupted?” The laughter in his voice was proof he didn’t mind having her here one bit. “The last person I expected to see in my private watering hole was you.” Honestly, this week couldn’t get any worse. “I don’t suppose you’d consider leaving, Jake?” Water splashed, a sign he was enjoying this. “I was here first. You leave.” She clenched her teeth. “I can’t. I’m not properly dressed.” “So I noticed.” What she wouldn’t give for a blanket. “A gentleman would leave.” “I’m no gentleman.” More water splashed, but this time ripples of water drifted toward her. He was moving closer! Emily moved toward the bank but the water level was quickly becoming too shallow to cover her. She was forced to stop. “Don’t you come a step closer.” He chuckled. “I won’t bite.” Her gaze shot heavenward. “At least tell me you have pants on.” “I have pants on.” “Really?” “No, not really. I’m naked as a newborn babe.” She groaned. “Then I’m not turning around. “ “Chicken?” he challenged. “You are enjoying every minute of this, Jake Lazarus.” “That doesn’t change the fact that you’re too scared to face me.” She muttered a very unladylike oath. “I’m not afraid of you or anything.” “You’re afraid. Fact, I think living back east has run all the gumption out of you. Yellow.” Nobody called her yellow. Lifting her chin, she faced him. Her mouth dropped open. The sight of him left her too stunned to speak. Beads of water dripped from the dark mat of hair covering his muscled chest and dripped to the water’s edge, which lapped against his flat belly. His black hair was slicked back and accentuated his raw-boned features and tanned skin. He looked like one of those Greek gods she read about in school. Only he wasn’t marble, but flesh and blood. “Better close that mouth or you’re gonna catch a fly.” Jake’s rich voice warmed her skin like the sun. Mortified she’d been gawking, Emily snapped her mouth closed. “I - I - I...didn’t mean to stare. It’s just that...”

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A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Like what you see?” Color burned her cheeks. Yes. “No!” He scooped up a fistful of water and let it trickle through his long fingers. “Maybe I’ve spent too much time alone. But I could have sworn I saw lust in those pretty blue eyes of yours. The east might have stripped your courage, but not the woman in you.” This whole situation was spilling out of control. “Ladies don’t succumb to the baser emotions.” Jake inched closer. “That so?” Emily glanced over her shoulder at her skirt and blouse, which she’d just hung neatly on a branch. There’d be no reaching either without giving Jake a first class view of her derriere. “The expression on my face was one of shock not lust.” “There was a time when I could make you crazy with wanting me,” he said in a low voice. “That was a long time ago.” Despite her best efforts, the years dividing them were melting away. The twinkle faded from his eyes. “I remember every detail about the time we spent together. Fact, I’ve relived every moment so much I’ve about worn holes in them all.” His words raked her soul. The thought of him hurting stung. But the fact remained he’d never come after her. He’d let her parents drag her away from everything that she loved. She tightened her arms around her chest, as if somehow she could protect herself from old feelings. “I don’t want to talk about the past.” “I remember that last night in the barn.” Emily closed her eyes, trying to forget. On that long ago night Jake had slowly unfastened the buttons of her bodice and kissed the white mounds of her breasts rising above her chemise. Her body had throbbed with wanting and she’d been ready to surrender completely to him. Jake had been the one to stop their lovemaking, saying he wanted to wait - until their wedding night. But when they went to speak to her parents, nothing had gone as they’d expected. Her parents had thrown Jake off their land and locked Emily in her room. Two days later, her mother caught her trying to sneak out to see Jake. The next morning she found herself headed out of town on the eastbound stage to her grandmother’s. She had hoped and prayed for him to come save her, but he never came. She never saw Jake again. Until yesterday. She steeled herself against the pain. She’d never let him know how much he’d hurt her. “You haven’t forgotten,” he said. All traces of humor had vanished from his eyes. “No.” “There’s a lot that’s gone unsaid about that time.” Hurt. Abandonment. Loneliness. The memories were too painful to voice. “I always figured you’d come back to me. No matter how far they took you away, I thought you’d come back.” His voice was little more than a hoarse whisper. She froze. “Why didn’t you come after me?” His eyes narrowed with surprise. “I wanted to.”

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“But you didn’t.” “Your ma said if I loved you, I’d give you the chance for a decent education. I didn’t want to rob you of that. They said you’d be back in a year. But you never came.” She felt dizzy. “You spoke to my mother.” “The day they shipped you off, I came looking for you. I was set to ride after the stage when your ma stopped me. I could honor her decision because I believed you’d be back in a year.” “I never knew.” She rubbed her temple, which had started to pound. “I wanted to come home but Grandmother always had a trip planned or she’d be sick.” “Always something else more important.” Bitterness dripped from his words. “It wasn’t like that.” He held up his hand to silence any more excuses. Suddenly, she felt so utterly defeated. Uncaring about her nudity any longer, she whirled around and hurried up the bank. She snatched her clothes off the tree limbs. Dressing quickly, she ran all the way to Jake’s house. She stopped on the top step of his porch, pressing her fingers into the stitch in her side. “How am I ever going to get through the next two weeks?” Numb from the flood of old emotions, she moved across the porch to the front door. Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t see the letter wedged between the door and doorjamb until she opened the door and it fluttered to her feet. She picked up the letter. Immediately, she recognized David’s handwriting. “Now what?” she whispered. She pulled the cream-colored letter from the envelope. Emily No matter how hard you or I try, I’m not meant to be a rancher. Ranching was Father’s dream, not mine. Now that he and Mother are gone there’s no more reason to pretend. This land is killing me by inches and I can’t take it any longer. I’m leaving Upton and headed east. I’ll contact you when I’ve settled. Enclosed is the signed deed to the Double H. Sorry for everything. David

Chapter Six David was gone. Hot tears burned Emily’s eyes. She tipped her head forward, letting the tears spill down her face. She’d have let out all the hurt and anger, but the crunch of boot on gravel had her straightening. She wiped the tears from her face and turned. Jake. The last man she wanted to see. “I need to start supper.” Instinctively, he understood something else was wrong. He closed the distance between them in quick, even strides. “What is it?” She managed a half smile and handed him the letter. “David’s left.”

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He read the letter, then folded it carefully and put it back in the envelope. “It’s for the best.” “He’s giving up!” she said. “He’s walking away from a wonderful life.” “It was a life he hated.” He handed her the letter. “Sounds like David might finally be growing up.” She hugged her arms around her chest and walked to the edge of the porch. A gentle breeze brushed the top of the tall grass and rustled the trees. David had given up on their parents’ dream, but that didn’t mean she would. Her parents had wanted her to be a lady. Marry a fine respectable man. David had failed them. He’d walked away. But somehow she’d find a way to realize their dreams for her. She brushed the tears from her face. “With David gone, there’s no more reason for me to stay.” “What about the Double H?” His voice was tight, tense. “Keep it.” A bitter laugh rumbled in his chest. “And us?” She turned toward the cookstove. “There is no us, Jake.” *** Thirty minutes later, Jake guided the saddled horses to the front porch. He tied their reins to the hitching post and headed inside to find Emily. He had learned a lot in the four years since Emily had left. He’d learned a good bit about ranching and raising colts into fine horses. Hell, he’d forged friendships in town and won the respect of the other ranchers in the area. But today, he’d learned his greatest lesson of all. Emily thought he’d abandoned her four years ago. He knew now he shouldn’t have waited for her return. After her year of schooling, he should have gone looking for her and brought her home as his wife. Pride and youth had gotten in his way three years ago, but not today. This time he was going to fight for Emily. The way he saw it they’d lost four years and they weren’t going to lose a minute more. As he’d expected, Emily stood by the sink, peeling potatoes for supper. In two days, she’d already changed the serviceable cabin into a home. The homey scents of fresh bread and cinnamon cookies always filled the cabin, five years’ worth of dust had vanished, and a dented tin cup full of bluebells sat on the windowsill. Jake was more convinced than ever. This was where Emily belonged. He closed the door. Emily’s shoulders stiffened. The bond between them was fragile, but it was still there. Still, she did not turn around. He picked up a cookie and took a bite. “These cookies are just as good as the ones you used to bake for me. Remember how you’d wrap them up neatly in a napkin and bring them to me in that dinted tin pail?” She tossed the freshly peeled potato into a large pot on the stove. Her eyes were full of regret and sadness, but she kept her voice even. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Won’t say a word.” Her eyes narrowed as if she waited for him to bring up what had happened at the pond. When he didn’t, her shoulders relaxed a fraction.

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Emily dried her hands on a towel. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to ride over to the Double H. I’ll be back in time to put supper together for the boys.” “Sounds good to me.” Tossing the towel aside, she tried to move past him. “Then you’ll let me borrow a horse?” Jake blocked her path. “I’ve got my horse and one for you saddled outside already.” “How did you know I wanted to go?” “I can still read you like a book.” She jerked off her apron and threw it on the kitchen table. “You don’t have to come with me.” “I want to go.” “That’s not necessary.” “There might be animals that need tending,” he said, thinking quickly. “Who knows what shape David left the place in.” She opened her mouth to protest, but seemed to accept his logic. “Fine, but no talk of the past. What’s done is done.” “Sure.” He cradled her elbow in his hand and guided her through the main room of the cabin. He paused by the front door and plucked an old floppy hat from a peg. He punched out the dented top before he settled it on her head. “To protect that lily white skin of yours. I’ll bet it hasn’t seen sun in four years.” Self-consciously, Emily touched her cheek. “Sun is unbecoming on ladies.” Jake jerked the door open. “That grandmother of yours sure does have a lot of rules. You ever get tired of following so many rules?” “It’s what I’m supposed to do.” He pulled her outside into the bright sunshine. “Well, today is gonna be about doing things you’re not supposed to do.” She hesitated. “What are you talking about?” “Riding. What were you thinking about?” Jake loved the way color stained her cheeks when she was nervous. Hell, she’d turn as red as a strawberry if she knew the true direction of his thoughts. Visiting the Double H was about the last thing he wanted to do with her. If he had his way, he’d bolt the front door and make love to her all afternoon. Still, he hid his thoughts. She was skittish and ready to bolt. He needed a little more time. Emily needed to figure out that Texas and ranching was just as much a part of her as flesh and bone. Once she rediscovered herself, she’d find her way back to him. “You’ll like the horse I picked for you,” he said. She tore her gaze from him and settled it on the mare. Despite her melancholy, her eyes sparkled with joy. She moved past him and went to the horse to pat her nose. “What’s her name?” “Rosie.” Emily nuzzled her face next to the horse’s. “She’s a beauty.” Jake untied her reins and handed them to her. “You still know how to ride, don’t you?”

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“Watch me.” Despite her full skirts, she swung into the saddle as if she’d been born in one. Quickly, he took his own reins in hand and climbed into his own saddle. “Remember the big oak near the pond?” “Sure.” “I’ll race you.” She lifted an eyebrow. “I’ve not raced in years.” He shook his head, feigning a look of pure pity. “Forgot, I suppose.” Challenge sparked in her delicate features. “I could always outride you.” “That was four years ago. You’re out of practice.” “Don’t count on it, Jake.” Even as she spoke, she was goading her horse forward. In seconds, she and the mare were streaking across the yard toward the stand of trees near the pond. “That’s exactly what I’m counting on,” Jake murmured as he took off after her.

Chapter Seven Horse hooves thundered behind Emily. It didn’t take a glance over her shoulder to know Jake loomed behind her. She could always outride him over wooded, hard-to-maneuver land, but in the straight open fields, his power and speed gave him the advantage. Girlish excitement bubbled inside her as she looked ahead to the stand of trees they were racing to. She had never felt more alive as she did racing across the meadow. She’d forgotten just how fresh the air was and how blue the sky. One hundred yards from the trees, Jake passed her. He tossed her a quick wink but did not let up until he reached the trees. He reined in his horse and faced her. His hat set low on his head, shadowing his eyes, but she could see the arrogant set of his jaw. “You always did like winning,” she said good-naturedly. Out here with the horses and the warm sunshine it was hard not to be happy. She slowed the pace of her mare as Jake approached. He drew his horse up beside hers and they continued over the stream up the hill toward the Double H. “Never developed a taste for losing.” A gentle breeze carried Jake’s scent of leather and man. Her heart tripped a beat as she glanced at him. He sat so tall and held his shoulders back like a man comfortable in his own skin. Seeing him now, she realized how much she’d loved him. Her throat tightened. If not for her parents, her life would be so different. She tipped back her head, refusing to let tears spill. She’d cried enough these past four years to last a lifetime. They moved along the edge of the pond, riding until the horses cooled. They dismounted and let the animals water by the stream. Silently Jake tugged off his gloves as he stared at her. “Let’s take a walk.” “Where?” He was already moving, pulling her behind him. “You’ll see.” He took her to the place that had been solely

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theirs - the meadow where the old oak tree stood. She stared up into the leaves rustling overhead as she moved to the tree and the initials - EH + JL - that she’d helped Jake carve into the thick bark. Reverently she traced the scarred wood with her fingertips. “I must have dreamed about this place a million times since I left.” Jake laid his hands on her shoulders. “After you left, I’d come here at night. I felt closer to you here. Sometimes, I’d sit up all night staring at the hill, praying you’d ride over it.” The hope in his eyes squeezed her heart to the breaking point. He reached out to her, but she stepped back. If he touched her she’d shatter. He fisted his hands at his side. “You can’t live out your ma and pa’s dreams any better than David. He belongs on a ranch as much as you belong in a city.” “I’m stronger than David.” If she said the words enough, maybe they’d be true. “Even iron breaks, Em.” Before she could respond, Jake pulled her in his arms and held her tight. If she’d been wise she’d have pushed him away. But his embrace filled the void in her soul that had plagued her for years. In his arms, everything felt right. There was no one but them. “It’s not too late, Em.” She didn’t want to think about the future. She wanted to feel. Looking up into his dark eyes, she saw the passion and love. She forgot about Richard. Her family. Obligations. She only wanted him. As if reading her mind, he lowered his head to kiss her. His kiss was tentative, as if he wasn’t sure she was real. But when she slid her arms around his neck and pressed her breasts to his hard chest, he banded his arms around her narrow waist and hauled her against him. His second kiss wasn’t gentle. It radiated four years of wanting and waiting. Desire flooded her limbs, making her body weak, boneless. A groan rumbled in his chest as if he were a man half-starved. He drove his tongue into her mouth, exploring, plundering. Mewing, she gave in to the passion. Jake scooped Emily up in his arms and laid her on the soft patch of grass. Quickly he straddled her and covered her body with his. As he shrugged off his shirt, he seemed to savor everything about her - the rose scent of her hair, her petal soft skin, the spray of curls framing her face. She moistened her lips and slid her hands up his jean-clad thighs to his flat belly. “I’ve wanted this forever.” Needing no other encouragement, he trailed kisses from her lips and the hollow of her neck. Her fingers bit into the tanned flesh of his back. Nimbly, he unfastened the buttons trailing between her breasts and pushed her shift open. Beneath her silky chemise, hardened pink nipples strained against the fine transparent fabric. Greedily, he lowered his mouth and suckled her nipple though the delicate gauze. She arched and laced her fingers through his hair. “Jake,” she whispered. The urgency in her voice made it almost unrecognizable. He trailed kisses over her breasts, making her hiss a breath between her clenched teeth. Years of wanting and waiting exploded inside her. His hand slid up under her skirt and cupped her buttock. A fever pounded in her veins. She pressed her hips against his erection. Jake tugged the strings of her pantaloons free and slid his hand to her moist center. When he touched her

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tender flesh, her head fell back. “What are you doing to me?” “You like it?” “Yes.” “Want more?” “Yes,” she whimpered. He stripped off his boots and pants, and then pushed her skirts up to her waist. Poised to enter her, he said, “I love you.” She didn’t have time to speak before he drove into her, tearing her maidenly barrier. For a moment, desire vanished and she froze. Jake kissed her lips, not moving inside of her, waiting for her to become accustomed to him. Slowly, pain gave way to passion. She tilted her hips up, accepting all of Jake. He started to move inside her, slowly, easily at first. She dug her fingers into his back as the embers in her veins heated. He began to trace small circles around her center. The wanting built to a fever pitch and when she thought she could take no more, she climaxed. “Jake!” Her surrender sent him over the edge. His thrusts became hard, more insistent until he spilled his seed into her. He collapsed against her, his sweat-slicked skin molding against hers. Emily wasn’t sure how long they lay in the grass, under the warm sun with their bodies spooned together. As the passion cooled, Emily’s senses started to clear. Suddenly, the realization of what she’d done struck her like a bolt of lightning. She rose and started to right her skirts and button her blouse. “There’s no rush,” Jake said lazily. “I have to take a walk.” The stiffness in her voice had him rising up. “What’s wrong?” She fastened the pearl buttons trailing between her breasts. “We shouldn’t have done this.” His eyes narrowed. “I love you, Em. And you love me. I know it or you wouldn’t have responded like that.” “I have responsibilities.” “To who?” “To my family!” she shouted. “What about you? Don’t you care about your happiness?” “Like David always cared about his own happiness?” Bitterness dripped from her words. She started to brush the grass from her skirt. “He may have let our parents down, but I will not.” Jake jerked his pants up and stood. “So you’ll give up your entire life for a dream that means nothing to you.” He stabbed his fingers through his hair. “I want to marry you. I want us to have a family.” She stared at the distant meadow, her face of sadness and worry. “I have to go.” “You’ll wither and die back east. It’s not right for you. I’m right for you. Texas is right for you.” “You think you know me so well.” He snatched up his shirt and put it on. “I thought I did, but maybe I don’t. If you’re too blind to see what is

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good for you then maybe you’re not the woman I need.” She stepped back as if he’d slapped her. Jake mounted his horse and rode off.

Chapter Eight Devastated, Emily went to the one place she’d always felt safe. The Double H. From the crest of the hill, she scanned the valley where her childhood home set nestled. Everything looked fine at the ranch, and it gave her hope that maybe David hadn’t done such a bad job with the place. But as she moved closer she could see the place was in near ruin. There wasn’t an animal left on the property. The corral fence was broken, green slimy water filled the horse trough, and a broken shutter on the house banged open and closed. “I never realized it was so bad,” Emily whispered. She knew David had been selling off his livestock for some time, but she hadn’t realized he’d cleared all the animals out. Guilt washed over her. The place was testament to David’s misery. She climbed down off her horse and tied its reins to the hitching post. Slowly, she walked toward the house. Sagebrush tumbled over the dried floorboards of the porch. I should have come sooner. Tears choked her throat. She climbed the sun-bleached steps and pushed open the front door. The rusty hinges groaned just like they had since she was a girl. She smiled. How many times had her pa said he’d oil them? The braided rug her ma loved so much still warmed the floor in front of the now cold, soot-stained hearth. A thick coat of dust covered every square inch of the long room. Nothing had changed and yet everything had changed. From the corner of her eye, she saw a note leaning against a coffee tin. She recognized David’s bold script. It read: I knew you’d find your way home. Emily smiled at the note. She closed her eyes and inhaled the scents of home. Home. A slow smile curved the edges of her lips. In that instant, she knew. This was where she belonged. She couldn’t live her parents’ dreams. She had to live her own. *** Jake strode past Isaac toward his barn, ready to unsaddle his horse. His mood was as black as coal and all he wanted was a quiet corner and a bottle of whiskey. “You look fit to be tied,” Isaac said. Jake reached for his saddle’s cinch. “Go away.” “Nope,” he said sauntering toward Jake. “I’ve a mind to stay.” “I’m in no mood for this, old-timer.”

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Isaac leaned against the corral fence and stared at the frown lines etched in Jake’s face. “She left you again.” “That’s right,” he ground out. “What you gonna do about it?” Jake’s head snapped up. “What the hell am I supposed to do? She left me.” “Go after her.” “Like hell,” he growled. Isaac rubbed the back of his head. “She’s had a lot to take in a short amount of time. Lost her parents. Her brother. And my guess is that you want to make another change. Like marriage.” Jake shoved out a sigh. “What’s so bad about that? I love her.” “Then go and tell her so.” “I did.” “Then do it again. And again. And again until she hears it.” Jake stopped unsaddling the horse. “She’s supposed to marry another man.” “She ain’t married to no one yet. But she will marry him if you don’t do something about it.” Isaac put his hand on Jake’s shoulder. “You have been kicking yourself all these years because you didn’t go after her the last time. Don’t make the same mistake twice.” Jake retightened the cinch. Isaac was right. He’d fought for everything he ever had and if he had to fight for Emily, then so be it. He mounted his horse and rode like the devil himself was on his heels all the way to the Double H. He dismounted and stormed into the house. “Emily!” There was no answer. He strode through the rooms calling her name, but he didn’t find her. She’d gone. *** Emily stood at the stagecoach stop in Upton. She felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders as she posted letters to Richard and to her grandmother. She imagined Richard would be secretly relieved when he received her polite refusal to his marriage proposal. He wasn’t a bad man but he wanted different things from life. If they’d married, they would spend the rest of their lives trying to change the other into the person neither could be and each needed. Her grandmother was a different story. There’d be hell to pay when her grandmother found out she wasn’t returning. But Emily didn’t care. She was home. Where she belonged. She’d been telling herself for weeks that she’d come back for David. But the truth was she’d returned to Upton for herself and Jake.

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She’d not taken five steps from the coach stop when she heard his voice. “I’m prepared to hog-tie you if you plan to get on that stage.” Jake. She smiled and slowly turned to face him. His hair was windblown and his face flushed. There was a hint of desperation in his eyes. He looked a decade older. “Mighty bossy, aren’t you, Mr. Lazarus.” He shoved out a sigh and strode toward her. “I didn’t go after you the last time but I will this time.” She closed the gap between them and placed her hand over his heart. It raced like a stallion. “I’m not going anywhere.” He clamped a gloved hand over hers. “What are you saying?” She gazed up into his proud handsome face. “I love you.” “What about what’s-his-name back east?” “I just posted a letter telling him I won’t be coming back.” “And your grandmother?” She grinned. “Grandmother is going to put up a fight. She wants me living in Virginia.” He brushed a curl from her face. A ghost of a smile touched his eyes. “I bet I could take the old woman.” Emily laughed. “Don’t bet on it. She’s mighty tough.” They stood there an extra beat, just happy to be close. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I was scared, confused.” “Sounds like you’re thinking pretty clearly now.” “Very.” She took his hand in hers. “Jake Lazarus, will you do me the honor of marrying me?” He took her hand and started walking briskly down the boardwalk. “That’s my line.” “I can be a bit independent minded.” He chuckled. “So I noticed.” “So is that a yes or a no?” He stopped in front of the justice of the peace’s office. He swept her up in his arms and kissed her for so long she was breathless. “That’s a yes.”

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Rescue Me by Jeannie Watt Dana Prescott has retreated to her family’s cabin in the mountains of Nevada to prepare for an upcoming job interview—a job she desperately needs after being out of work for six months. The last thing she expects is to open the door to her high-school nemesis, Seth Marcenek, now a Search and Rescue volunteer sent to escort her back to town following a landslide in the area. But an accident on the hike back turns the tables, and soon it’s Dana that must rescue Seth. Spending so much time in close quarters with Seth fills Dana with guilt, remembering the one time she didn’t do the right thing. Seth hasn’t forgotten, either—or forgiven her—and he wants an explanation. Complicating things even more is the very real chemistry crackling between the old physics rivals. And as it turns out, Seth is competing for the very same job, making them rivals once again.…

Chapter One Dana Prescott jumped at the sound of the knock on the cabin door. The last thing she expected in the middle of nowhere was a visitor—or so she thought until she pushed aside the curtain to see who was there. Actually, the last thing she expected was for that visitor to be Seth Marcenek. She opened the door so he could come in out of the rain and hoped she didn’t look as guilty as she suddenly felt. Ten years had passed and she’d yet to come to grips with not doing the right thing. There’d only been one time in her life when she hadn’t, and here was the walking, talking reminder of her lapse, staring at her with cold blue eyes. “This is a surprise,” she said, stepping back. “I imagine,” Seth replied with a touch of dark irony. He was taller. His face was more angular and his blond hair darker. If possible, he was even better looking than he’d been back when they’d butted heads in physics class on a daily basis. “Just happen to be in the neighborhood?” Which was miles from anywhere. She’d come to her grandfather’s mountain cabin to prepare for her job interview—and to escape her father’s dissection of where she’d gone wrong career-wise when she’d gotten laid off from her last job. She knew exactly where she’d gone wrong. She’d trusted her supervisor. Now she had a shot at a job that would save her in more ways than one—overseeing the renovation of the long-neglected schools in her hometown. She was going to get that job, and convince her father that she hadn’t screwed up her engineering career forever. And, more than that, she’d pay her bills. “No,” Seth said. “I came to tell you there’s a landslide blocking the road. The county crew won’t be able to clear it until the rain stops.” Dana’s heart lurched. She had to be in town tomorrow. Missing the interview was not an option. “When your parents heard about the slide, they contacted the Search and Rescue volunteer corps, so I’m here to get you safely back to town.” He spoke in the faintly mocking tone that had driven her so crazy years ago. They’d never gotten along, she and Seth. In school, he’d been the charming troublemaker and she the overachiever. They’d had classes together, in which Dana had answered questions and taken part in discussions, while Seth had always managed to make the one off the cuff, yet on-target remark that either infuriated or delighted the teacher. It wasn’t until physics class their senior year that real trouble between them started. Seth was a natural at physics, while Dana had to hit the books hard to keep up with him. It didn’t seem fair that he should do so

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effortlessly what she was working so hard at—especially when he didn’t take school seriously. Oh, Seth was intelligent, but he wasted his intellect screwing around and that also annoyed Dana. “So…what now?” “If you want to get to that interview your parents are so worried about, then you’ll have to hike out with me.” She could do that. It’d been a few years since she’d hiked, and heaven knew she didn’t have the proper shoes, but she had to get back to town. And Seth was going to take her there. *** She hadn’t changed much. Same dark hair, only it was twisted into a knot at the back of her head instead of pulled back in a barrette. Same know-it-all expression, although it’d wavered when he’d told her about the landslide. The glasses were gone, so he could see her eyes. Even when she’d been driving him insane in physics, trying to prove she was smarter than him, he’d noticed her incredible green eyes. “I’ll get my stuff together.” “How much stuff?” “My laptop. My papers.” “Your laptop? It’s wet out there.” “I’ll wrap it in plastic.” “Whatever, and no hurry.” “Why?” “The storms are coming in series. After this one passes, we should have an eight to ten hour window before the next.” He glanced down at her shoes. Running shoes. “Why can’t we go now? I don’t mind walking in the rain.” He summoned a patient expression. It wasn’t easy. “This is the most rain we’ve seen in two years. There’ve already been two landslides and a flash flood. We’ll wait.” “So we’re just going to hang out here?” “See any other option?” Unfortunately, Dana did not see another option. She was stuck here with Seth until the rain let up. She forced a tight smile, determined to keep things polite and distant—as if that was possible with Seth. She didn’t like the way he was staring at her. “Thanks for hiking in to get me.” “I was the only SAR guy available for a nonemergency.” He shrugged out of his rain jacket. Puddles had formed on the floor where he’d stood. He hung it on the hooks next to the door. “Nice place,” he said. It was a nice place. Dana loved it. She was the only one in the family who loved it, who relished the solitude, the opportunity to sort out her thoughts without phones or television or any other distractions except for the occasional visit by local wildlife.

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“Thank you. My grandpa put a lot of time and TLC into the place.” “It shows.” He walked to the window and looked out at the weather. “How much longer until we can leave?” “It’s starting to let up. I’d say an hour, maybe.” He looked back at her. “Do you have a backpack?” She shook her head. “Suitcase.” A corner of his mouth tightened disparagingly. “Hey,” she said, the old Seth-inspired defensiveness coming to life. “I didn’t know I’d be walking out.” He seemed satisfied at finally sparking a response, which made her all the more determined not to give another. “I was about to eat lunch. Do you want something? Or will you be rehydrating a packet of survival food?” He fought a smile. “What are you having?” “Peanut butter and jelly.” “Sounds good—if you don’t mind making two sandwiches.” “Not at all.” “It’s been awhile,” he commented as he followed her into the rustic kitchen. He leaned against the counter. “The last time I saw you, you were heading off to Europe for a graduation trip.” Her nerves were humming, but she focused on smearing peanut butter on bread. She was not doing a very good job of it now that he’d brought up the past so pointedly. “And me…I was about to spend the summer on detention work crew for blowing up Principal Domingo’s car.” “It was more of a fire as I remember it,” Dana said without looking at him. “No explosion.” Her cheeks were so damned hot, but she did her best to speak casually. “Lot of fun, being on work crew in Nevada in the summer. And you can imagine how much my dad enjoyed seeing me in an orange jumpsuit.” John Marcenek had been sheriff at the time and, yes, it must have been embarrassing to have his son on work crew. Dana stubbornly kept her back to him. He knows. He wouldn’t be doing this if he didn’t. The knife kept moving back and forth. For all she knew she was buttering the counter. She jerked when his hand came over hers, stopping the motion. “Why didn’t you tell the truth?” “What?” Her eyes flashed up to his. He was so close. “Why. Didn’t. You. Tell. The. Truth?” Dana swallowed hard. His eyes were like ice.

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“Why didn’t you?” Her words came out on a whisper.

Chapter Two Seth pulled his hand away and stepped back, as if he couldn’t stand touching her any longer—which was fine with Dana, because every nerve in her body was on red alert. “What proof did I have?” he asked. “An argument in physics class that no one else heard? Who was going to believe that Dana the Brain blew up a car?” “It was a fire. It was an accident. And I didn’t know you would spend the summer on work crew.” Great excuse for not doing the right thing, but it was all she had. “What the hell did you think they would do to me?” Dana made a frustrated gesture with the knife. Seth leaned back out of range and she forced herself to place the utensil on the counter. “I thought you would get off. As usual.” It had been a reasonable assumption, since Seth always managed to slip out of trouble, due to his ridiculously charming personality. He was charming to everyone, except for her. “I mean…you weren’t guilty. I didn’t think mere circumstantial evidence—” “Well, I didn’t get off. Apparently mere circumstantial evidence is plenty when dealing with an enraged principal and a highly embarrassed father.” “I’m sorry.” The words were pathetically inadequate. Seth said nothing, so Dana had no idea if her apology was accepted, or if he was simply disgusted with her. Disgust seemed the most likely option. She wanted to explain the hows and whys, the paralyzing fear of disappointing her parents—valedictorians simply did not blow up cars—and the heavy burden of living life for a dead brother. Oh yeah. That would make a difference. Bottom line…she’d screwed up and Seth had suffered. “How about I make the sandwiches?” he finally said, nodding at the semi-mangled bread. “No. I’ll do it.” Seth studied Dana as she finished the sandwiches with quick, jerky movements, wondering what he would have done had positions been reversed. Easy. He would have come forward with the truth, rather than flying across the ocean before the situation was settled. He couldn’t have lived with himself if someone else had been punished for something he’d done. Dana was different. She’d planned to be valedictorian before the rest of her classmates knew what the word meant, and obviously wasn’t going to let a momentary lapse in judgment and a potato in a tailpipe stand in her way. She’d already been showered with scholarships, which she would have lost. He knew—he’d lost his. Maybe she had believed he’d slip out of trouble, but that wasn’t a strong enough reason to let bygones be bygones. She turned and offered him a sandwich, neatly cut into triangles. “Perfect,” he said. She got the jab and flushed slightly. Everything Dana did was perfect. Except for that honesty thing.

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“I’ll get my stuff together.” “Do you have any other shoes?” “Flip-flops,” she said on her way out of the kitchen. Cool. Dana was going to have wet feet by the time they got back to where he’d parked his truck on the other side of the landslide. Well, wet or not, he’d get her back to town, to the interview and out of his life, because Dana Prescott was not getting that job. *** The rain stopped and they set out a half-hour later—a long, silent half-hour, during which Dana packed and avoided Seth. The hike was not difficult, since they were walking downhill on a muddy road. It was the company Dana could do without. There was no way to make up for what she’d done to Seth. No way to escape the guilt. And she had a sneaking suspicion from his uncharacteristically harsh expression that her apology had not been accepted. She didn’t blame him. Dana shifted the canvas bag carrying her plastic-wrapped laptop and a few items of clothing, and concentrated on Seth’s back. He’d filled out since high school. He’d been lean and mean back then, but now he’d developed a rather impressive set of shoulders and had grown another two or three inches. Dana dropped her eyes and focused on the muck she was picking her way through rather than the guy she had no right to ogle. But her gaze flashed up again when Seth rounded a corner and then stopped short. A thick jumble of rocks and mud, at least ten yards across, blocked the road. It was still oozing mud along the sides. A rock bounced down the slope and landed on top of the slide. “I take it that wasn’t there when you came in,” Dana said, coming to stand beside him. “No.” She had the feeling he wanted to add “duh” to the end. “What now?” “The only safe thing is to go up and around.” The top of the slide was lost in the wispy fog on the mountainside above them. “Couldn’t we just pick our way over it?” He turned on her. “Look—you may think you know everything, but maybe, just maybe, there are a few things in this world that I know more about than you. Like what happens when you put a potato in a tailpipe.” Dana’s chin jutted out slightly. “You said it would make the car backfire and lose power as Pete drove away. I said it wouldn’t even start due to lack of compression.” “Well now we both know that if the car has faulty fuel lines, it catches fire.” Seth gave her a dark look then started up the brush-covered mountain slope along the edge of the slide. “Stay there,” he ordered as he disappeared into the fog. “Great,” Dana muttered. It was hell to argue when you were at a distinct disadvantage. It took a lot of the fun out of it. How long was she going to have to stand there, in the mud, with her freezing feet, and wait? Not long. Seth’s shout startled her. And the silence that followed was worse. “Seth?” Her voice sounded thin in the foggy air.

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She was answered with a string of faint curses. Okay. He was alive. She cautiously started up the wet slope, grabbing bushes growing on the side of the hill above her for support. “Where are you?” “Here.” He sounded both angry and resigned. A second later she saw him, several yards above her on the hill, lying on his side and trying to free his leg from where it was trapped between two large rocks. “This is why you never hike alone,” he said through gritted teeth as she approached. “Good tip. I’ll remember that.” She drew in a breath, knowing better than to ask what happened. It was obvious that he’d stepped on a rock that had shifted, slipped and jammed his leg between the other two granite slabs as he fell. The question now was how to get him out.

Chapter Three Seth tried to remember the last time he’d been so pissed off and embarrassed. It had to be when he was on detention work crew ten years ago. Dana Prescott was a jinx. Pure and simple. Now, how the hell was he going to get out of this jam? He did not want to send Dana for help. She slowly circled him, sizing up the situation. Seth dropped his chin to the damp rain slicker covering his chest. “Ideas?” he asked, knowing full well she probably had several. He hoped none of them involved sawing off his leg or leaving him to die. “I need to go get something for leverage. Be right back.” Seth made one last awkward and futile attempt to free his leg, and then he punched the rock in frustration, scraping his knuckles through his glove. Crap. A few seconds later, Dana came back up the hill with a thick branch, scrambling with amazing agility for someone who probably didn’t spend nearly as much time in the hills as he did. Her hair had come loose from the knot, and fell around her face in long, loose, damp curls. He closed his eyes. Dana said nothing as she started prying stones out of the rock pile several feet below him. “Don’t bring the whole mountain down.” “I’m an engineer.” His eyes came open. “I thought you were an architect.” “Architectural engineer.” So how did that qualify her to assess rock stability? And how was this unexpected bit of news going to affect the outcome of the interview? Could it be that once again Ms. Perfect had the edge? Seth gritted his teeth. His foot was jammed between the rocks at an odd angle and weird pains shot up his leg.

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“If I can just get this one out…” Dana skidded down the hill as the rocks shifted en masse and Seth felt one of the slabs holding his leg give slightly. He was more concerned about his rescuer. He twisted his body to try and see where she’d landed. “Hey, Engineer. Are you all right?” “Yeah.” She picked herself up and climbed back up to him. She once again assessed and then carefully pried one last rock loose. The granite slab shifted just enough to allow him to pull his leg free. Dana helped him limp clear of the rocky area. He sank down onto the sodden ground, massaging his numb thigh. His ankle was already swelling over the top of his boot. He glanced up at Dana who regarded him coolly, dark curls sticking to the sides of her face. “What now, Mr. Search and Rescue?” Seth was torn. Dana could see it in his face. He clearly wanted to say, “I’m fine, we keep walking,” but he wasn’t fine. From the way he flinched every time he moved his ankle, she suspected it was either broken or sprained. “I think we’d better go back to the cabin,” he said. A very un-Seth-like choice. Could it be he’d changed over the years? She held out a hand and helped him to his feet. Once he was up, he balanced on one leg. “Are you going to make me ask?” she inquired flatly. Seth’s mouth tightened until his lips were white. From pain or male ego, Dana had no idea. “My ankle isn’t one-hundred percent.” She refrained from rolling her eyes. “What percent is it?” “Thirty.” “Don’t you mean ten?” She’d gotten used to the ways of men during engineering classes. Seth snorted disdainfully before putting a hand on her shoulder and limping heavily as he regained balance. “Maybe fifteen,” he admitted. Dana took hold of the back of his coat, thinking she’d never in her life thought she’d be this close to the man. Even through the rain gear she could tell he was all muscle and, heaven help her, he smelled good. What on earth was with her, noticing things like that about Seth Marcenek? *** By the time they reached the cabin, Seth’s forehead was beaded with perspiration. His freaking ankle was killing him. He just hoped they could get the boot off. After Dana had helped him onto the sofa, Seth pulled up his pant leg and grimaced. So did Dana when she saw how his ankle puffed over the top of his boot. She knelt down, undid the laces and then eased the boot free. Seth sucked in a breath, squeezing his eyes shut. Damn, it hurt. “I’ll get some ice.” She returned from the kitchen a few seconds later with a bag of ice and a bottle of ibuprofen. Then she disappeared into the bedroom. When she came out again, she was wearing a dry coat a couple sizes too big for her.

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“Where are you going?” She’d insisted on hauling the canvas tote with the laptop while she’d helped him the two miles back to the cabin, so she had nothing to retrieve. “To get help.” Seth stared at her. “Did you not notice what just happened to me?” “You need medical attention, and I need to get to my interview.” “Nothing “medical” can be done until the swelling goes down, and I think they’ll probably postpone the interview.” Dana frowned fiercely, disbelievingly. “Why?” Seth carefully peeled off his sock. “Because there are only two candidates.” “So?” “I’m the other one.” For the second time that day Dana hoped her jaw didn’t drop. “You?” “Don’t sound so astounded.” “But…” “What?” He shot her a challenging look. “How are you qualified?” She hadn’t meant to sound so arrogant. “Do you mean how did I manage to educate myself after losing all my scholarships because of a gross misdemeanor? I went into debt.” “What did you get your degree in?” “Welding. And then I worked my way up through the ranks at the mine until I became a maintenance supervisor. The qualifications for the school district job are either a degree, or ten years of experience and a professional engineer license. I have the experience and the license.” Seth propped his foot on the lodge pole coffee table and settled the bag of ice on it, wincing as he did so. “Are you employed now?” Dana asked. He nodded without looking at her. There were two main sources of employment in Wesley, Nevada—the school district and the mines. Seth was wise to switch if he was looking at longevity. She had no doubt she was more qualified—in the design part, anyway—but Seth had never left town. He was part of the good old boy network. “Why do you want the position?” he asked her. “I plan on specializing in renovation. It’s not an easy field to break into. I, uh, need more practical hands-on experience.” She also needed to pay her bills. She’d sent out over fifty resumes after being laid off, and she had not been picky. If the job involved engineering, she’d applied, and from those fifty plus resumes, she had garnered this one interview—quite possibly because she was a native, and Wesley was so isolated few people wanted to move there. “What if you don’t get the job?” he asked.

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“I’ll get it.” “But just for argument’s sake…?” “I’ll apply for other positions,” she snapped. Starbucks. McDonald’s. She’d been without work for six months now. Her nest egg was gone. This job had been a godsend. Experience and financial salvation rolled into one. She needed this job. Seth already had one. In fact, she’d bet dollars to donuts that he’d only applied because she had. Well, bring it on. She was more than ready to show the committee who was the better candidate.

Chapter Four Seth slept on the sofa in his thermal bottoms. He’d wanted to strip down, but it hurt too damned much pulling the tight cuffs over his ankle, which was throbbing and keeping him awake, so he’d left them on. He stared at the dark ceiling, listening to the coyotes, and wondering if Dana was asleep. She hadn’t said a word about the interview after learning that he was the other candidate. There wasn’t much to say, really. He had every intention of landing the job, which would allow him to remain close to his father and brothers and still make a decent wage. All he had to do was get to the interview. The road crew would rescue them. Eventually. The other SAR members knew he intended to wait out the storms before walking Dana out, so he figured they wouldn’t look for him until after the rain stopped. They knew he could take care of himself. So had he—right up until he’d slipped. Man. What an eye-opener. It was close to midnight when he gave in to the pain and reached over his head for the ibuprofen bottle on the end table, promptly knocking the ceramic lamp to the floor with a loud crash. Great. The bedroom light snapped on an instant later. Dana appeared in the doorway, wearing a long T-shirt that did little to hide her curves, her hair loose around her shoulders. “Sorry,” Seth muttered as he awkwardly tried to reach the lamp from the sofa. “Hold still.” Dana crossed the small room to pick up the lamp and set it on the end table. “I was reaching for the ibuprofen.” “You scared the crap out of me.” “Sorry.” She pressed the ibuprofen bottle into his hand. “I’ll get you some water.” Her face was pale. He really had scared her. She took a couple steps toward the kitchen, then stopped and knelt down to gingerly pick up a curved piece of frosted glass. The bulb had broken. “Be careful,” he said automatically. “Thank you.” Her voice was emotionless.

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“Hey,” Seth said after she’d collected several pieces. When she looked at him, her eyes were level with his and he was struck as always by how beautiful they were. Green and dark-lashed. She put the glass pieces on the table. “Were you asleep?” he asked. “No. I was lying awake feeling guilty.” He hadn’t expected such a candid reply. “Yeah?” Her mouth tightened as she nodded. “I spent a lot of nights like that after I got back from Europe.” “If you felt so guilty, then why didn’t you do something about it?” “I was afraid, all right?” Dana Prescott. Afraid? He hadn’t thought she was afraid of anything except for a grade lower than an A. “Of what? Being human?” “In a way, yes.” He propped himself up on his elbow, and Dana’s eyes strayed down to his chest as the blanket fell away. “In what way?” he asked. She focused on the floor then, pressing her lips together momentarily before saying, “My brother, Brock, was brilliant.” Okay… “I see,” Seth said slowly. He hadn’t realized she had a brother. Or that her brother even figured into the story. “He died of leukemia. The year before we moved to Wesley. He graduated high school, had all these scholarships. He, uh, never got a chance to use them. He died that summer. Then it became my job to do the things he never got the chance to do.” Seth was shocked. “Your parents told you that?” She shook her head. “No. Not in words. But…I felt the need to make up for what they’d lost when Brock passed away.” “That wasn’t your job. You had a loss, too.” “I know. He was four years older than me, but we were close. He’s the reason I wanted to be an engineer.” She pressed her lips together again. “After the car fire, I knew I should tell, but my dad was so happy that I was valedictorian. And it was the first time he’d been happy in so long.” One corner of her mouth tightened. “I honestly thought you’d weasel out of trouble. As always. It wasn’t until I got back that I found out what had happened to you.” “And you still didn’t come forward.” “No.” The word came out on a whisper. “I’m not proud of it, but it’s what I did.”

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“For your dad.” “Yes.” Seth held her eyes for a minute, thinking how that brief explanation made so many things fall into place. “I am sorry,” she said softly. “Yeah.” This was the most vulnerable he’d ever seen Dana. It was obviously hard on her, so he did her a favor and changed the subject. “Well, I think we can agree that neither of us is sorry about Pete Domingo losing his car.” Dana gave an unladylike snort. “Considering how he got the car in the first place? No. The fire seemed like poetic justice.” “Harley certainly thought so,” Seth agreed. Harley was the school janitor, and had given Principal Domingo the title to his beloved classic Mustang as collateral for a personal loan to pay medical bills. Due to yet another medical emergency, Harley had fallen behind on the payments and Pete had taken possession of the car. He’d then refused to sell it back. There was a reason few people in Wesley liked Pete Domingo. Dana studied him for a moment, making Seth wonder what was going on in her head. “I have a question,” she finally said. “Shoot.” “Did you apply for the school district position because I did? To get back at me?” “No, but I did appreciate the irony.” He adjusted the blanket as her eyes drifted back to his exposed skin. She was checking him out. He wondered if she was even aware of what she was doing. When her eyes came back to his face, he said, “I bet you never thought we’d compete for the same job?” “Never.” Her quick, adamant reply made him smile, bringing back memories of high school. Even then, he’d sensed there was more to Dana than she allowed people to see. But, whenever he’d tried to scratch the surface, she’d gone all prickly on him. Like now. “I didn’t mean that quite like it sounded.” “I think you did.” She smiled, a real smile, and Seth felt his body stir in response. “No. I didn’t.” He reached out to trace the tips of his fingers down the side of her face. Her lips parted slightly as her eyes held his. “Come here, Dana,” he said softly, threading his fingers through her hair, gently cupping the back of her head and drawing her mouth down closer to his. Her hand settled on his chest, her fingers splayed wide over his bare skin, as their lips met. Briefly. Before he could really kiss her, she drew in a sharp breath and pulled away. “Why did you do that?” she asked.

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“I was curious.” He’d been curious about her for years—first as a teen, wondering what she was really like behind that know-it-all exterior, and then as an adult, wondering why she’d hung him out to dry. “Satisfied?” One corner of Seth’s mouth curved up as he reached out to gently touch his forefinger to her full lower lip. “Not even close.”

Chapter Five Seth limped into the kitchen the next morning as Dana was making coffee, looking better than any guy should after sleeping on a too-short sofa. She’d tried to give him the bed the night before, but he’d refused, saying he wanted to keep his ankle elevated on the sofa arm. She really wished he’d taken the bed. Then he wouldn’t have knocked the lamp onto the floor, and she wouldn’t have made her late-night confession. He wouldn’t have kissed her. She still hadn’t figured out what that was about. Curiosity, as he’d said? A power play? Or just plain lust? It had been lust on her part, and she was still feeling the tingle. Crazy. “How’s your ankle?” she asked, focusing on measuring the coffee grounds. The air practically snapped with electricity with him in the room. She felt it. Did he? “About twice its normal size.” She glanced over at him then and saw the smile in his eyes, which beat the heck out of yesterday’s ice, but was threatening in its own way. “I think I should go for help.” I think I should get away from you. “I think you should stay here.” “You just don’t want to be rescued by an amateur.” “I want you available in case I slip in the bathtub.” His eyes crinkled at the corner. “Got an extra towel?” “In the hall cupboard.” After Seth had bathed, they ate a not-so-hearty breakfast of cereal and coffee. Seth gestured at the top of the fridge. “Is that a cribbage board?” “Yes.” “Do you play?” “I do, and I’m good.” After five games, she gave up. The man had incredible luck. She didn’t. She gathered the cards and wrapped a rubber band around them. The rain had stopped early that morning and she was going to hike out, whether Seth liked it or not. What was he going to do? Chase her down?

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“So, Dana,” Seth said, leaning back in his chair. “Tell me about the potato.” Her stomach knotted in, but she owed him an explanation. “Well…it was a Winnemucca russet.” “So you went with a locally grown spud,” he said, nodding his head with mock approval. “Excellent choice.” “It was the perfect shape. I thought if I put it in the tailpipe, when Pete left early for lunch, as he always did— ” “While we watched out the window during the world’s most boring physics class—” “That I would prove to you exactly what happened when a tailpipe was blocked.” “Didn’t work out as planned.” “Uh, no.” She got to her feet and put the cribbage board and cards back on top of the fridge. “They cancelled class for the graduation photo shoot, remember? I was upset because I’d taken a huge risk and it wasn’t going to pay off. Then I about died when Len Brown came running in and said that Mr. Domingo’s car was on fire.” She pushed both hands through her hair. It had been horrifying. The one time she’d stepped off the straight and narrow and she burned up a car. Seth shook his head as Dana sat back down. “It took me a while to figure that it had to be you, because I didn’t know what caused the fire until I got blamed for it. Someone had seen me hanging around Domingo’s car that day.” “Were you?” “No more than anyone else. It was the only parking lot at school.” “Did you try to tell anyone it was me?” “My dad. He didn’t believe me.” Seth twisted his mouth sideways. “My own fault. I’d been caught in the occasional ass-saving lie before that, but you know what? I never lied to the old man again.” “Why was Mr. Domingo so convinced it was you?” Seth shrugged. “I guess because I told him what I thought of a man who took advantage of a friend and hijacked a car from him. And I may have mentioned he didn’t deserve to own such a car.” “You did?” “Pete Domingo and I had many run-ins. By my senior year we were on a first-name basis. He really wanted to see me on that work crew.” “And I gave him the opportunity.” “Yeah, you did.” One corner of his mouth quirked up. “And even though I was royally pissed, I was also impressed at how well you set me up to take the blame.” Great. She’d impressed him with her criminal abilities. She resisted the urge to reiterate that she hadn’t purposely set him up. Instead she said, “So why did you kiss me last night? I obviously messed up your life.” “Do you have to analyze everything?”

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“Yes.” Anything to maintain the illusion of control when she felt so totally out of control. He studied her in a way that made her nerves hum. “Well then, Dana Prescott, analyze this. I was attracted to you in high school. You might say I had a crush on you.” “Right.” “It’s true.” Dana got to her feet, then wished she hadn’t, since it felt awkward standing. “Because I was one of the few girls who didn’t throw herself at you?” “Partly,” he said. “You didn’t respond like everyone else. You seemed impervious to the dazzling Marcenek charm.” His gaze traveled over her. “You didn’t look like the other kids, either. You always dressed so nice.” She’d dressed to keep her parents happy. No teenage rebellion for her. They’d had enough to deal with. “You stood out in the crowd—beautiful face, a smoking body and a superior, touch-me-not attitude that both attracted and put off more than one guy.” Dana exhaled heavily. “I’m sorry if I frightened you.” He smiled. “Oh, I wasn’t frightened. I was challenged.” “Is that why you argued with me full time?” she asked in a clipped tone, wishing she hadn’t opened this can of worms. “Yeah. It was.” She gave him an eloquently disbelieving look. “It’s true. I was young and you weren’t falling for the usual stuff. Besides…it worked.” “How so?” she asked suspiciously. “During those arguments, you’d get so ticked off that you forgot your persona.” “What persona?” “Perfect Dana Prescott.” She smirked at him. “I was perfect.” “How about now?” “Now I’m out of work.” “Want to tell me about it?” “No.” “I want to see you after we get back to Wesley.” Her eyes widened. “Are you nuts?” It took her a moment to realize that this was Seth. “I don’t see it happening,” she said stiffly. “Why?”

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I blew up a car and blamed you. “Because it doesn’t make sense to see each other.” “But it could feel good.” “I don’t do things because they feel good.” The humor died from his eyes. “More’s the pity.” She took a quick step back, then turned and walked out of the kitchen. She came back a few seconds later wearing her coat. He raised an eyebrow. “Where are you going?” “I’m walking out. Just because you fell into a hole, doesn’t mean I will.” Dana zipped the coat with a quick vicious motion. “Be careful.” Thank goodness he wasn’t going to try to stop her. “Please remember who you’re talking to.” He limped to the door with her. “Dana.” When she turned toward him, he took her by her shoulders and kissed her—hard—scrambling her senses to the point that all she could do was blink at him when he pressed a set of keys into her hand. “You might need these if you’re going to drive back to town. I’m parked on the other side of the landslide.”

Chapter Six Dana picked her way up the side of the mountain and around the top of the landslide that had been Seth’s undoing. Two hours later she reached the original slide, which the county crew was clearing. She told the road boss what had happened and he grinned. “So you rescued Seth, eh?” “I guess I did.” Rescued him. Kissed him. All in a day’s work. His smile widened. “I’ll have some fun with that.” On the drive home, Dana called her father, who had one question: What about the interview? Dana told him it would be rescheduled, although she had no idea if that were true. She hung up, exhausted. She didn’t want to endure another career-planning session—which was why she’d escaped to the cabin in the first place. Her father meant well, but couldn’t grasp why she was out of work. Dana understood perfectly. The company had been overstaffed and had needed a scapegoat after going over budget. She was an easy target when older, savvier engineers needed to save their butts in a rotten economy. They’d thrown her to the wolves…and she’d done the same to Seth after she’d destroyed Pete’s car. Dana had a late-payment warning for her car loan waiting for her when she got home. “We’ll lend you the money,” her father said after she’d called the bank and managed to defer payment for a month. She’d already negotiated an extension for her student loans.

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“No. You won’t.” Her parents’ business was struggling. Depleting their funds was not an option. Fortunately, the committee had agreed to reschedule the interviews pending Seth’s return, so Dana hoped she’d be able to start paying back her loans soon enough. Oddly, she spent more time thinking about Seth than she did about the loans. He’d had every reason to hate her and he didn’t—not unless he kissed his enemies. He’d said he wanted to see her again. Well…she wanted to see him, too. It made no sense, really, but he was the closest thing she had to a friend in town. And for once in her life she seemed unable to squelch that part of her that wanted to toe up to the figurative edge and see what was on the other side. Dana returned Seth’s truck as soon as he returned to town and got the keys to her Jeep, which he’d driven back from the cabin. “How was the hike?” he asked. “Long.” Too much time to think. He leaned against the door frame to his house. “Thanks for rescheduling the interview.” “No problem.” Dana met his blue eyes. “I’m touring the Barlow Ridge School tomorrow. They have some problems with—” “The roof and the basement.” “Do you have solutions in mind?” “I do.” “Me, too.” His mouth curved in that way she’d always found so fascinating. “Want to share?” he asked. “Maybe. Do you want to go with me?” “Why?” “So that we’re on even footing at the interview, of course.” He grinned. “You want to pick my brain.” That wasn’t all she wanted to do, but she thought she’d best keep that to herself. “I’ll return the favor.” But when she met his eyes, she knew that he was aware that it was more than that…she had a curiosity of her own. About him. *** Seth drove to the historic rural school. He enjoyed having Dana with him, even though he knew how temporary this situation was. There’d been more layoffs at the mine while he’d been gone. His job was edging closer to extinction, and he needed to land the school district position if he was going to stay in the area. According to his brother, Garrett, he had to stay in the area. It took more than one man to look after their stubborn father.

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The teachers at the school were happy to point out the building problems they dealt with on a daily basis. There was much to be done in the way of renovation and maintenance. When they finished the tour, he and Dana sat on the playfield swings, neither in a hurry to go home. He was surprised at the camaraderie between them. Apparently, all that fighting years ago had provided a stable base upon which to build a friendship. Or more. “When I went into engineering, I thought I’d be secure,” Dana said musingly. “Now I have the bank breathing down my neck.” “So if this doesn’t work out…” “I’ll be heading to a place with more employment opportunities—of any variety. One of my ex-roommates has a job lead.” “Tell me about your old job,” he said as they walked back to the truck. His ankle was better, but he still moved slowly. Dana shrugged. “Not much to tell. I did calculations.” “That’s it?” “I got laid off.” He imagined that had been an eye-opener for her. “Do you like calculations?” “Not really. That’s the attraction of this job. There’s history involved and—” she smiled slightly “—noncalculating aspects.” “If you hadn’t become an engineer, what would you have been?” “A lawyer,” she answered without hesitation. “I love to argue.” “I noticed. And you’ll also go to great lengths to prove your point.” She smiled at his touché. “I wanted to go to Yale, of course.” “Of course. So…why the change in direction?” She frowned. “Engineering was a better fit.” *** It was illogical to keep seeing Seth, but Dana ignored the voice of sanity—or at least muffled it while she was with him. They toured the elementary school that needed an extensive addition the next afternoon, and then she went to dinner with him that evening—if one could consider take-out in the park dinner. He’d made her shudder describing a cliff rescue in which he’d belayed down a sheer rock face to an injured hiker, and she’d made him shudder with a story of a six-inch binder filled with calculations. The incident reminded her of how different they were—he lived life on the edge, while she preferred a carefully planned existence—but she couldn’t deny the attraction between them. He was maddeningly sure of himself, and Dana had no idea why that made him so irresistible, but it did. Two days before the interview, her father mentioned that she was seeing a lot of the competition.

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“It’s not hurting anything,” Dana said, wishing he’d realize she was almost thirty. “It’s your life,” he replied, giving Dana the oddest feeling that it wasn’t. Okay…maybe she was indulging herself—for the first time ever—using Seth to get through the stress of not having a means of support, of watching her precious career flounder. He was a distraction. Was that fair to him? The next day they took their final unofficial school tour. It was an unusually silent affair. “What’s going on?” Seth finally asked after he’d walked her to her door. “Maybe I’m facing reality, Seth.” “How so?” “The past few days have been fun but—” “You don’t do things because they feel good?” “We have nothing in common,” she corrected. He stepped closer, trapping her against her own front door, the hardness of his body making her want nothing more than to devour him. “Other than turning each other on and competing for the same job?” “Exactly,” she said huskily. “I did time for you on work crew. How can you say we have nothing in common?” “I—” He interrupted her with a kiss, and the fire ignited deep inside. He continued to kiss her, her back pressed up against the door, his hands on either side of her head. He nuzzled her ear and then whispered, “Come home with me.” “That’s crazy.” “Crazy is what I do.” “It’s not what I do.” He took a step back. “Somebody put a potato in that tailpipe.” He wasn’t strengthening his case. The one time she’d gotten into trouble, Seth had been involved. Was she going to let that happen again? She didn’t have a chance to find out. Seth’s cell phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and frowned. “Yeah. Dad.” He listened for a moment, his frown deepening, and then said, “Be right there. Do not try to drive yourself…damn it, just stay put!”

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Chapter Seven Seth raced to his dad’s place, where he found the old man sitting at the kitchen table, fighting for breath. “What the hell? Did you go off your meds again?” John shook his head, and for once Seth believed him. His father had been fighting blood-pressure-related health problems for years, but after a scare six months ago he had started taking the condition seriously. Seth took his father’s vitals, more than a little disturbed when the old man didn’t try to fight him off, then called the doctor and his brother. “I’m taking him to the ER. Meet me there.” Garrett arrived shortly after Seth escorted John into the ER. “Did he go off his meds?” Garrett asked. “Not this time.” “Then what?” Garrett took a few paces. “I called Nate.” Their brother in Seattle. “I told him not to hop on a plane just yet. And I met Dana in the parking lot. I told her there was nothing she could do here, and that you’d get in contact with her. Tomorrow.” Seth shot his notoriously over-protective brother a sharp look. “Is that all you told her?” Garrett scowled at him as the nurse came in with the paperwork. It wasn’t until ten minutes later that Seth realized he hadn’t gotten an answer. *** “You’re home late,” Dana’s father commented when she walked past his home-office door. He had no idea how late she’d almost been. “Seth’s father had to go to the hospital.” “I’m sorry to hear that,” he answered automatically, looking up from the papers he was studying. “Your mother and I were talking earlier and we hope you’re not getting too serious about this guy.” “Why?” “He doesn’t have a formal education to speak of. The committee is only interviewing him as a courtesy.” “I hear he’s good at what he does.” “So are you. He can apply for the job once you leave.” “Yeah,” Dana said stonily before going to her room. If he was still around. She’d learned a few things from Garrett when she’d run into him in the hospital parking lot. She’d been under the impression that Seth was securely employed, and that applying for this job had been a whim. No. He was due to be laid off in a few months. According to Garrett, this job was his chance to stay in the community, where he wanted to be. Where she didn’t want to be. So here she was—in a position to screw him over again. But she needed this job, too. What now?

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She was going to see Seth and hammer out a few things. As she left the house, the demon logic whispered that she was making a mistake. Well, if she was making a mistake, it was going to be one she remembered for the rest of her life…kind of like Pete’s car. *** An hour after John had arrived at the ER, the brothers learned that it wasn’t lack of medication that had caused the problem—it was too much. John had taken a cold medicine that wasn’t compatible with his blood-pressure medication. John refused to stay in the hospital a moment longer than he had to, so Garrett drove him home and Seth returned to his house. The last thing Seth expected was to find Dana waiting on his porch. “How’s your dad?” “He needs a keeper,” Seth said gruffly as he climbed the porch steps. “How are you?” “Better. Now.” He stopped a few inches away from her, but didn’t touch her, much as he wanted to. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to be laid off?” “Something miraculous might happen.” Dana cupped his face in her hands and kissed his lips, gently at first, then with more heat as his arms wrapped around her, lifting her off her feet. “Stay here with me?” he asked softly. “This one time.” She emphasized the word one, but Seth decided to explore the logic behind that later. He would have carried her into the house had his ankle been one-hundred percent. It wasn’t, so he took her hand and led her inside. He locked the door and once again pulled her close, trapping her hands against his chest as he kissed her, trying to convey without words just how glad he was to be with her. She pulled her hands free and started unbuttoning his shirt. Soon there was a trail of clothing leading to the bedroom he wished he’d tidied up that morning. Fortunately, she didn’t seem particularly interested in the décor. She was focused on him. Neither of them spoke as they kissed, caressed, explored. Dana’s body was as perfect as he’d always imagined, but more than that, she responded in a way that made it almost impossible for him to hold on to his control. Dana could let go, in a way that surprised both of them. And damn but he loved being along for the ride. Later, when they were lying in the tangled sheets, which, truthfully, had been tangled before they’d started making love, Seth said, “Can you spend the night or would it shock your parents?” She shook her head and he could see that his lovely Dana had been hit by a wallop of post-coital sanity. “Does this have to be a once-only deal?” He thought now that she’d seen how good they were together, she would change her mind.

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She moved to put some space between them. “This was…spectacular. But?” She propped herself up on her elbow. “Would it go anywhere even if we continued to sleep with each other?” “Maybe.” “How?” He frowned. “By you and me developing a relationship?” He didn’t like the way she drew back even more, as if protecting herself. “We’re too different, Seth. I mean, honestly. We are.” “How so?” She frowned at him. “You live life hanging off the edge of the cliff.” “I rescue people. Is that so bad?” “It is for a person who needs stability.” “I’m not unstable, Dana. I think you know that.” And he wasn’t going to let her sidestep the issue, which was exactly what she was doing right now. “I need to get home,” she said. She got out of bed and reached for her jeans. “Why’d you come here tonight?” “Your dad had that attack, and then I found out that you were close to losing your job.” “You came here because you felt sorry for me? Funny, but I wasn’t getting a big sympathy vibe from you a while ago.” She stopped dressing and stood beside the bed in her jeans and bra, her shirt in one hand. “Okay, I came because I wanted to make love to you…but now I realize…I know you won’t understand, but I have this plan. I need my plan. For this past week, I’ve abandoned it and without it, I feel…lost.” “Lost.” “Not anchored. As if…” She gestured helplessly. As if she hadn’t expected to enjoy making love to him so much. As if it threatened her. “When did you stop having your lawyer dream?” Her eyes met his. “That was just a kid thing.” “When?” “It doesn’t matter.” “It matters to me.” She drew in a breath, but before she could speak he said, “Dana, abandon the plan. Be yourself. Find your own dream.” “I am myself,” she said so fiercely he wondered who she was trying to convince.

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“No. You’re living someone else’s life for them because they can’t.” Her face went pale, but she didn’t say another word. Less than a minute later the front door slammed shut and Seth sank back onto the bed.

Chapter Eight Dana was at the top of her game during the interview and could sense that the committee—which included Pete Domingo—was impressed with her responses. She should have felt great as she drove home to wait the two hours until the regular board meeting, when the decision would be announced. She did not feel great. She hated competing against Seth, hated needing this job. And she wasn’t looking forward to facing him after storming out of his bedroom because he’d had the gall to tell her the truth. Dana let herself into the house, glad that her parents were at work so she had some time alone, to get a much-needed grip. She went into her father’s home office, where Brock smiled at her from the graduation photo on the desk. Perfect Brock, who wasn’t able to make mistakes. Well, she was making enough for both of them lately. Seth was correct in that she shouldn’t be living Brock’s life for him, but that didn’t mean she didn’t need a plan. Plan, plan, plan… She drew a blank, until an errant thought occurred to her—did plans have to be risk-free, with a dependable safety net? Could she have an iffy plan? Such as, what if she temporarily abandoned engineering? What if she tried law school? Even for a year? She could defer her loans by going back to school. She could sell her car and live like a student for a while. She could make her own plan, not her brother’s or her father’s. And who knows? Maybe engineering really was her calling. But she needed to know for sure. She closed her eyes. The idea was taking hold. Sprouting. Like a voracious weed, in fact. Was it too late to turn things around? Follow an iffy plan and be a bit more like Seth, who certainly seemed happier than she was? Dana did not see Seth until they took their seats in the front row of the school-board meeting room. The rest of the chairs filled behind them. Dana knew her father would be there, ready to celebrate easy victory. “How’d it go?” she finally asked Seth, who’d yet to speak to her. She was concerned about Pete Domingo. He obviously wouldn’t favor Seth. “Good.” He didn’t look at her. After the board members took their seat, Seth rose and walked up to the podium microphone. He cleared his throat. “Before you officially start, I just want to say that I’m withdrawing my name.” Dana jumped to her feet. “No you’re not.” He glanced over his shoulder at her, his expression steely. “Yes, I am.”

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Dana walked up to the microphone and tilted it in her direction, her eyes fixed on Seth. “I would like to make a confession.” Seth clapped his hand over the mike. “Are you nuts?” he whispered. “Totally.” Dana drew in a deep breath, faced the board and announced, without benefit of amplification, “I put the potato in Mr. Domingo’s tailpipe ten years ago. I made his car catch fire.” “What?” Pete Domingo jumped to his feet as quickly as a man of his bulk could. “You!” “Me. I let Seth take the blame. I let him spend the summer on detention work crew while I toured Europe.” It sounded just as awful as she’d intended. She just hoped her father didn’t have a heart attack behind her, but the truth was the truth. “Why are you doing this?” Seth demanded, his hand still over the mike. “You know why.” His expression shuttered. “You want to get away from me this badly?” His hand fell back to his side. “No, you fool.” Dana’s voice boomed through the room. She reached out and hit the microphone on/off switch. “I want you to have this job.” “So you can leave town.” “So you can stay here. Near your dad.” She looked up at the ceiling. “Maybe we could discuss this elsewhere.” “Good idea,” he said grimly. He put a hand under her elbow and then paused to address the board. “We have some stuff to work out.” The chairman made a sweeping gesture. “Go. By all means.” They’d barely taken two steps when the chairman said dryly, “Mr. Marcenek? Ms. Prescott? You will inform us of your decision?” “You bet,” Seth said on their way out of the room. Dana had barely shut the boardroom door behind her when Seth demanded, “What in the hell are you thinking?” “Me? What about you?” “I’m thinking that if you got the job, I’d have some time to convince you to alter your carved-in-stone plan.” “And I’m thinking that I need to rescue myself from an overly planned, unsatisfying life.” Seth’s eyebrows rose. “Come again?” She took a few slow steps towards him, her gaze locked on his. “I might need your help.” He studied her for a moment, as if ascertaining whether or not she was the real Dana. “How?” “Take this job so I can try law school.” She settled her hands on his shoulders. “Help me loosen up. Talk me down when I start freezing up. Be there for me and I’ll be there for you.”

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He smiled that wonderful crooked smile of his. “I give great moral support.” “I know.” Dana went up on her toes to gently kiss his lips and then Seth leaned his forehead against hers. “So what now? Do you think they’ll have either of us?” Dana laughed, feeling freer than she’d felt in years. “Maybe we should go see.” Six months later: Dana tried to check her watch, but it wasn’t on her wrist—part of her weekend freedom plan. She studied Monday through Friday, but at 5 p.m. Friday afternoon, the watch went into the drawer next to her bed and soon thereafter, Seth would knock on the door. He worked nine hours a day at the school district Monday through Thursday so that he could work half a day on Friday and drive to Vegas, where they would spend the weekend simply being together. It had been an adjustment for Dana in the beginning. No watch. No schedule. But she was getting the hang of it, and she really wished Seth would get here. Now. When he finally did show up, Dana hauled him inside her tiny apartment, kissing him passionately. It wasn’t easy being apart four days a week, but they made up for it on the weekends. “Whoa…” he said, pulling back with a laugh. “Your mom sent cookies. Don’t want to crush them.” Her parents hadn’t embraced her new life plan immediately, but they’d come around. Seth had talked to them, even though she’d asked him not to. And her Dad had finally come to see that Dana wasn’t Brock. His dreams weren’t hers, even though she’d pretended they were. In fact, for the longest time, she’d believed they were. It had taken her over ten years to admit the truth, so she didn’t blame her parents for needing some time to adjust. “What did they send?” Seth opened the paper bag and she looked down into it, then back up at him. “Wait a minute. This is your favorite cookie. Not mine.” Seth shrugged and set the bag aside with a crooked smile. “What can I say?” “Say that you love me.” He pulled her into his arms and held her against him before whispering in her ear, “I love you.”

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Seduced By the Dark Stranger by Various Authors A free prequel to the Silk & Scandal miniseries, by authors Julia Justiss, Louise Allen, Annie Burrows, Margaret McPhee, Gayle Wilson and Christine Merrill! To Miss Felicity Morville, in London visiting her friend Lady Honoria Carlow, nothing could be more delicious than a rendezvous with a handsome stranger—sans chaperon! But when Honoria’s brother Hal realizes what Felicity’s been up to, he enlists the help of his friend and fellow Dragoons officer Benedict Ranworth to distract the young lady from the rogue by wooing her himself! Ben reluctantly agrees in the name of protecting Felicity’s virtue and reputation, but he doesn’t expect to enjoy his duties half so much. And soon, he finds himself more interested in seducing Felicity than in saving her!

Chapter One By Julia Justiss Catching up the hem of her riding habit, Felicity Morville glanced behind her toward the bedchambers where the Carlow family lay sleeping, then tiptoed down the hallway. She’d almost reached the landing when a tap on her shoulder made her jump and utter a stifled shriek. “Hush!” her best friend, Lady Honoria Carlow warned. “If you wake Verity, she’ll have Miss Price on us in a twink.” Clutching Felicity by the arm, she dragged her a few paces back down the hall and pushed her through the door into her bedchamber. “Now, talk to me! Where are you creeping off to at this hour? ’Tis barely past dawn!” “Just back to the Inner Temple gardens to collect more of the herbs Mama asked me to send.” “Sounds like a perfectly dull errand,” Honoria said, wrinkling her nose. “Oh, well, give me a moment and I’ll ride with you.” Felicity tried to imbue her tone with the right note of nonchalance. “’Tis far too dull to drag you out. Besides, after dancing until dawn at Lady Ormsby’s rout last night, I thought you’d wish to stay abed later.” Honoria laughed. “Me, fatigued by dancing late? Surely you know I’m not such a poor—” She stopped suddenly, her eyes narrowing. “All right, you can drop the ‘help poor Mama’ charade. What are you really up to?” “No, truly, I’m going to the gardens,” Felicity replied, hoping the absolute veracity of her answer would convince her suspicious friend. “And I should like to be there and back before our day’s activities begin, so I really must be going.” She stepped toward the door, but Honoria caught her by the sleeve, halting her while she studied her face. Feeling her cheeks heat, Felicity damned the fair coloring that accompanied her auburn hair. “That blush says you’re up to something. Tell, tell! You can’t really mean to have an adventure and not let me share it!” Knowing Honoria was unlikely to let her go without a full confession—and that if she delayed much longer, she might miss her rendezvous entirely—Felicity capitulated. “All right, but you must promise not to breathe a syllable. And I must leave within the next few moments, or all will be lost.” “Explain while I get into my habit,” Honoria ordered. Felicity smiled dreamily. Had it been only a week since she went there the first time…and met him? “As you know, Mama feared the girls might be scarred after the chicken pox. Before she sent me away to London,

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she asked me to search the physic gardens and send some comfrey back to Morville Hall, as Nurse swears ’tis the best restorative. Your Mrs. Hoby recommended the Inner Temple gardens, so I rode there last week. I was clipping herbs, putting them into my basket, when a sudden gust of wind blew some out of the basket and down the pathway. When I scurried to catch them, I ran slap into a gentleman who’d just rounded the corner!” Honoria grinned. “A gentleman, eh? A handsome one, I’ll wager!” “Indeed.” Felicity couldn’t prevent a sigh. “He’s quite the most handsome gentleman I’ve ever met. Elegant and immaculately dressed, with the most elaborate cravat and boots of such polished beauty, I swear my brother would kill to possess them. Tall of frame, his brow brushed by thick, wavy dark hair that makes one’s fingers just itch to comb through it! A strong jaw, classic nose and dark eyes with a gaze so intense, when he helped me to my feet, I could scarcely draw breath! He instantly apologized, though the collision was entirely my fault, then gathered up the herbs for me.” She sighed again. “He moves with such a lithe grace, ’tis a pleasure to watch him.” Honoria turned her back to Felicity and motioned for her to do up the buttons of her habit. “Who is he? Some law clerk or barrister?” “I don’t think so. His voice is quite cultured, with an intriguing lilt, and he speaks in the most quaint, courtly manner! I believe he’s Russian, attached to the emissaries sent to coordinate the campaign against the French.” “You believe,” her friend repeated as she pinned her hat in place and snatched up her gloves. “But you don’t know? What is his name?” “He wouldn’t tell me. He said that since my chaperon wasn’t there to properly make the introductions, he would remain, for a time, just my…friend and admirer.” Honoria’s eyes widened. “Oh, Felicity, he sounds completely ineligible!” Felicity laughed. “I know. Isn’t it delicious?” Honoria laughed as well. “One can hardly fault you for seizing this opportunity to have an adventure with a dark, mysterious, handsome stranger!” “Indeed. I’ll have to return to the safe, dull country soon enough.” “Does he know your name?” “No, but I told him I was staying with the Carlows. At first, he seemed much struck, but when I asked if he knew your family, he apologized and said he hadn’t yet gone about much in English society.” “We’d best make haste, or you’ll miss your rendezvous.” The girls hurried from Honoria’s room and hastily descended the stair. “You will stay well back, won’t you?” Felicity whispered. “If he sees someone with me, he may not approach.” Honoria giggled. “Not English, but intelligent enough to know that meeting a young maiden without her chaperon isn’t at all the thing. Is he a rogue, do you think?” “I don’t know that I could tell. He’s certainly charming.” “Well, even if he is, he can hardly do you much harm in the middle of the Inns of Court, with solicitors and barristers and such passing back and forth. How many times have you met him?”

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“This will be our third rendezvous.” Excitement and anticipation rose in Felicity at the thought of meeting her mysterious admirer again. “He’s agreed to look for me there each morning. I hope Robbie gets the horses saddled quickly. I can’t wait to see him again!” “Nor I, to view this paragon!” “From a distance,” Felicity said. “Promise me!” “Oh, very well,” Honoria said. “From a distance.” A short time later, the girls entered the maze of narrow streets that made up the city, then wound their way through to the Inns of Court. Stationing the groom with their horses at the entrance, they slipped inside, Felicity carrying her basket. They halted at the edge of a small knot garden surrounded by walls and hedges and accessed through an archway. “Stand just beyond here, and you’ll be able to peer through the shrubbery,” Felicity told her friend. She took a deep breath, eddies of excitement fluttering in her belly. “Wish me luck.” She’d completed two circuits of the pathway when from the same direction in which he’d emerged the first day, the dark-haired young man rounded the corner. Seeing her, a smile lit his handsome face and he paced quickly toward her. “Mademoiselle! My most beautiful and charming mademoiselle!” he cried, making her an elaborate bow. “My life has been a desert of desolation since last we met!” He held out his arm. “Walk with me, that I might nourish my starving soul upon your loveliness.” If Mama ever learned she’d snuck out to meet an unknown young man, full of flowery speech and lacking any legitimate credentials, she’d be locked up for a month on bread and water. But it would be worth it, Felicity concluded, the titillating lure of the forbidden sending little eddies of delight through her as she laid her hand on his outstretched arm.

Chapter Two By Julia Justiss “You’re sure you saw your sister?” Lieutenant Benedict Ranworth asked his friend and army mate, Lieutenant the Honourable Hal Carlow, as they guided their mounts through the crowded city street. “You did imbibe rather freely whilst winning that last round from Charnsworth.” “I’m not too disguised to recognize my own kin,” Hal retorted. “No, it was Honoria, and she had that friend of hers with her—the one who’s staying with us while her siblings recover from measles or chicken pox or some such ailment. Felicity Morville. You know, you met her when you came by last week.” Ben had a vague memory of a petite lady with auburn hair and striking green eyes. “I suppose so. As a rule, I try not to look too closely at young ladies of marriageable age.” “Good strategy,” Hal approved. “Well, it was them, that’s for certain. Though what in blazes they could be doing, heading off into the city at this hour, I can’t imagine. Why, it’s practically still night!” “Well, no, it is in fact several hours after dawn—even if we are just now returning from our revels,” Ben corrected. Hal waved a dismissive hand. “Since it’s Honoria, I’m betting they’re up to some scheme or other. I’d best make sure they don’t come to harm.” “You, protecting a maiden’s virtue, rather than trying to seduce her out of it?” Ben gave a crack of laughter. “Now, that’s a new role!”

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“It’s my sister we’re talking about,” Hal said severely. “Watching over the girls would be my elder brother’s problem, but Marcus is out of town. Though I don’t mean to interfere, if it’s just good fun. Honoria used to tag along with me when we were growing up, always game for any lark. It’s hard on her, being a young lady now and confined by all those rules.” “Thank the Lord I’m a man,” Ben agreed with a shudder. As they neared the Inns of Court, Hal pulled up. “Look, over there,” he pointed. “That’s our groom, Robbie, tending the horses. They must be nearby. We’ll have to continue on foot.” “You don’t think they’ll see us?” Hal shook his head. “If we can sneak behind French lines to reconnoiter Soult’s positions, two English schoolgirls aren’t going to catch us.” Gesturing to one of the urchins loitering in the street, Hal dismounted and handed the boy his reins. “Watch our horses,” he instructed, tossing the lad a coin. “There’ll be another copper for you when we return.” Using the passage of a heavily-laden wagon to shield them, they skirted the waiting groom. “As I recall, there’s a sort of garden in the center, behind those shrubs and that wall,” Hal said. “Let’s make our way to the other side.” Beginning to enjoy the game, Ben followed his friend. During their stealthy trek around the enclosure, Hal silently pointed out his sister, Honoria, who was peeking around a large shrub into the courtyard within. Taking up a position far enough away so as not to excite her notice, Hal and Ben leaned down to peer over the stone wall. Inside was a knot garden of assorted herbs surrounded by gravel paths. Strolling down the farthest path, arm-in-arm with a well-dressed, dark-haired man—and gazing raptly up into his face—was Lady Honoria’s friend, Miss Morville. “Who’s the man?” Ben asked in an undertone. “Devil if I know. It’s too far away to see his face clearly. But damn and blast, what’s he doing, handing my sister’s friend down some deserted pathway, and no chaperon in sight? I swear, I’ll rip his arms off!” Hal leapt up, looking as if he intended to do so this very moment. “Wait!” Ben said, snagging him by the shoulder. “What do you mean, ‘wait?’” Hal retorted angrily, trying to jerk free of Ben’s grasp. “It’s as plain as ears on a mule, that bounder is making up to Miss Morville!” “Are you sure he’s a bounder?” At Hal’s withering stare, Ben said, “Yes, right: no chaperon, odd location far from fashionable London, bleeding edge of dawn; he’s a bounder for sure.” “Are you going to let me go, or come with me?” “What do you expect to accomplish, charging in there?” Ben asked. “Think, man! Most likely the blackguard will scarper off and the two will just find a way to meet again somewhere else. After all, that’s what I would do. Couldn’t you talk to your sister, persuade her that cozying up to some Macaroni merchant in the park ain’t a wise idea?” “Since when did Honoria listen to any warning I delivered? Especially if I’m trying to talk her out of doing something outrageous.” Hal gave a rueful shrug. “She’s too much like me.”

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“Well, how about if you distract Miss Morville,” Ben suggested. “An officer in the 11th Light Dragoons is far more dashing than some civilian.” Ben’s disdainful tone conveyed exactly what he thought of those lacking the daring and courage necessary to join Wellington’s army. “Why don't you woo her? Not seriously, of course. Just turn her head long enough for her to forget about the bounder." “It could work,” Hal mused. “Except…knowing my views on marriage, Honoria would never believe I’d seriously pay attention to a proper young lady. But she doesn’t know you that well.” Grinning, Hal looked over at Ben. “Why don’t you bewitch the girl out of her attachment?” Alarm bells, louder than the bugle call to charge, rang in Ben’s ears. “I wouldn’t want to arouse expectations I had no intention of fulfilling.” "Don't you think you're clever enough to entice her without making any promises, and avoid being caught in a compromising position?” Hal demanded. “What kind of dragoon are you? Where’s your resourcefulness? Your ingenuity? Your, ah, gallantry toward a damsel in danger?” “I didn’t say I couldn’t,” Ben replied stiffly. “I just don’t much like the notion.” “It was your idea,” Hal pointed out. While he cudgeled his brain for some equally effective countermeasure, Ben turned to stare at the distant couple in the garden. At that moment, the man lifted Miss Morville’s hand to his lips and kissed it fervently. Both men uttered a snort of disgust. With no better plan presenting itself, Ben said reluctantly, “Very well. I suppose I shall romance Miss Morville.”

Chapter Three By Louise Allen “I have no invitation,” Ben protested as Hal waved the valet out of the door. “Have mine. Lady Collingbridge will be just as happy to see you at the dance.” He studied Ben’s dress uniform. “You’ll do. Don’t know what it is about a uniform, but it’s magic with the ladies.” “It’s a dance? I don’t like dances.” “Yes you do. And, anyway, all you need to do is romance the girl, not stun her with your magnificent cotillion.” “I suppose so,” Ben grumbled for the sake of it. The idea of romancing Miss Morville, who Hal accurately described as a tidy armful, more than made up for the thought of an evening on the dance floor. “Now, what you need to—” “Carlow.” Ben flung up a hand for silence. “You may be the worst rake in the 11th, but I am perfectly capable of flirting without your guidance.” He considered tactics. “How am I going to get rid of Honoria? She’ll be sticking with her friend, won’t she?” Hal grinned. “Honoria will be flirting with all the most ineligible men, drinking champagne or doing something outrageous. Mama will be trying to watch her: she’ll be only too glad to see Felicity with a respectable man.” Ben ignored the teasing sneer on respectable. “And what’s your excuse for dodging this?”

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“An injured friend, as far as Mama is concerned. A new opera dancer called Mirabelle with a sprained ankle, for your ears only. Have a good time.” He went out and then put his head back round the door. “Don’t overdo it—being a best man is such a bore.” Hal ducked laughing as Ben lobbed a shoe at him. The last thing he was going to do was get himself caught in parson’s mousetrap by a curvaceous red-headed minx.… *** But she was a very attractive minx, he decided later, watching the ladies come down to the hall in a flurry of gauzes and fans. Lady Narborough smiled. “So kind of you to accompany us, Lieutenant Ranworth. Hal would have come, but he is engaged with a wounded friend.” Ben controlled his grin. “Lord Narborough’s health does not permit evening excursions.” “Yes, thank you.” Honoria opened wide blue eyes at him and fluttered past on a wave of scent and illicit face powder. He bowed to Miss Morville who lowered her lashes. Pretending butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth he thought, and was rocked back on his heels when she looked at him directly with clear green eyes that sent a frisson of awareness right down his spine. Hell’s teeth. “Lieutenant?” He dragged his gaze away with an effort, but not until after he had seen the way her pupils had widened. He was not sure what had just happened, but it boded well for the evening. “Ma’am.” He offered his arm and helped his little party into the carriage. *** “A waltz, Lieutenant Ranworth?” Felicity bit her lower lip and saw him watching her mouth. “But I haven’t been approved by the Patronesses.” And the waltz was so new, and so daring. “But you have danced at Almack’s?” His dark eyes were as intense, as mesmerising, as the ones that tormented her dreams. And Lieutenant Ranworth was even taller and broader than her secret friend from the garden. But not, of course, so romantically exotic. “Oh yes. But not waltzes!” He tucked her hand under his elbow and strolled in the direction of a sofa. “We can pretend: after all, who will know?” “You, Lieutenant Ranworth, are a dangerous, bad influence.” Felicity tried to sound reproving, but suspected she merely appeared flustered. “Dangerous? Of course.” He looked at her with a thrilling intensity. Yes, definitely flustered. But it was a delicious feeling to be sitting here at a grand Society ball with a handsome man who was intent on flirtation. What excitements she was having—her secret friend was mysterious, Lieutenant Ranworth was dangerous.… “But only a little,” he said, smiling at her in a way that made his eyes dance with mischief. He took her dance card and pencil. “Now then, that is the next set, the supper dance and the seventh set.” “But those are all waltzes!” “And I am the only man who is approved for dancing them with you.” A gentleman approached and Ben smiled at him. “Miss Morville’s card is full, sir.”

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“It is not,” she whispered as the man looked at Ben, then swallowed, bowed and removed himself. “Lieutenant Ranworth—” “Ben.” “Ben. This is most improper! And besides, what am I supposed to do when I am not waltzing with you three times—which is quite shocking—if you are going to scare all my other partners away?” “Talk with me, walk with me and flirt with me?” he suggested. “And I did not scare him off.” “Yes you did,” she retorted, looking up at him. “You are so…tall, and in that uniform there is such a lot of you!” “There’s a lot of me out of it,” he remarked. He seemed amused at her blush. Felicity tipped her chin and sent him a challenging look. “What are you up to, Ben?” “Entertaining myself with one of the prettiest girls here and, I hope, entertaining you, too. But if I am not, I will remove myself and leave you free to dance with all these fellows. Perhaps you fear a few wagging tongues. Forgive me for I thought you were like Honoria, a brave free spirit.” “I am certainly as brave as she!” Felicity retorted, stung. “Why, I am meeting… I mean, I do as I please.” “Then let us dance.” By the third waltz Ben was only vaguely aware of the other people in the room. His attention was fixed on a red-headed pocket Venus who laughed at his sallies and made him laugh at her own ready wit: an intelligent woman who argued with him about poetry over supper, her face alight as she countered his aversion to Byron with dramatic quotations, and whose dancing made him want to hold her far closer than propriety demanded. “No one has noticed us,” she said as he led her onto the floor. “Yes, but they might.” Ben swirled her round, closer to the windows onto the terrace. “We’ll be safe out here.” And before she could protest they were out in the cool air, flagstones under their feet, the light from the ballroom creating mysterious shadows. Dancing was all very well, but there was nothing like kissing to make an impression on a girl. And he wanted to kiss her very much. “Ben, why are we out here?” The breathy catch in Felicity’s voice told him she knew why. “So that I can kiss you,” he said, sweeping her behind a large shrub. He was going to enjoy this, he thought, bending his head as he pulled her close. Her mouth was soft and sweetly innocent under his, and he moved his lips gently so as not to frighten her. Then she gave a little gasp and opened to him, not wantonly, but so naturally that it took his breath. She tasted of cherries and a little of champagne. She smelled of roses and woman. Her hands slid up to his neck and he forgot to be careful, forgot everything but the need to kiss and be kissed, to learn her mouth, to discover her. He was aroused, hard and aching, but all he wanted was this moment, this kiss and the trust she was giving him. Shaken, he lifted his head at last. “Felicity?” He touched her cheek.

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“Oh my,” she said faintly. “Oh my goodness.” Oh my goodness, indeed, Ben thought. That was not the plan at all.

Chapter Four By Annie Burrows The plan, he thought, taking a deep breath. Remember the plan! Which was to fascinate her to the extent that she would forget all about that rogue she had been stealing away to meet in secret. He cleared his throat. “Miss Morville, I think…” he managed to say, before realizing that he had no idea how he meant to finish that sentence. The sight of the tip of her pink tongue, darting out and wetting her lower lip had chased all coherent thought from his mind. “That is I want…” Lord, how he wanted! The most inappropriate things, considering the lovely young woman he held in his arms was a complete innocent—and living under the protection of one of his closest friends. Heavens, thought Felicity. What was it about men with dark eyes? The way he was looking at her was making her insides melt, her heart beat fast, and her clothing feel much too tight. She had thought him very dashing the first time she had met him, in the company of Lady Honoria’s brother, Lieutenant Carlow. When he had come to escort them to the ball tonight, in his dress uniform, her heart had given a strange little flutter. And when he had smiled into her eyes, she thought for a moment it might have stopped altogether. Waltzing with him had been one of the most thrilling physical experiences she had ever had—until he had kissed her. “What is it you want?” she heard herself breathing in helpless response. She had the feeling that whatever he asked, if he kissed her again, her morals would melt away to the point that she would be unable to do anything but breathe, “Yes!” He made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, and took a half step away. He reached up and took hold of her hands, which had been clasped about his neck, an apologetic look on his face. “Gad, Miss Morville,” he said with a wry grin. “But you almost make me forget myself.” As soon as he put that tiniest bit of distance between them, Felicity became aware of sounds coming from the ballroom—the faint strains of music, a tinkling laugh, the soft footfall of somebody walking past the open window that led out to this terrace. Heavens, how could she have behaved with such abandon? If anyone had caught them, her reputation would be ruined! Ben saw her dart a wary glance in the direction of the house. She was on the retreat! He could not let her slip through his fingers now. Hal was going to get his brother’s tame Bow Street Runner to find out just who and what the fellow was, but until then, it was his duty to prevent her meeting him again. “Having an attack of nerves?” he taunted her.

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“Of course not!” She lifted her chin. “You said I would be safe out here with you, Ben. And I trusted you to keep the line.” He caught her round the waist, and drew her close again. “I have done nothing truly terrible, have I?” Her moral code was crushed by the thrilling proximity of his body. “No, not terrible,” she managed to say, though her voice was very breathy. Kissing Ben had been completely wonderful! The only trouble was that it was just a bit too wonderful. It made her crave more. Made her crave…things she was quite sure she ought not to even know about! “B…but it is time to go back inside now.” She raised her hands to his chest, to push him away. But instead of doing anything so resolute, her palms flattened against his coat, then spread to either side, reveling in the broad expanse of masculinity. “Not just yet,” he said coaxingly. “We have not arranged a time for us to meet again.” “I am going to Mrs. Leeming’s rout tomorrow night. I shall see you there.” Ben lowered his head as though going in for another kiss, and then, at the last moment, he pulled back. To his delight, Felicity made a moue of disappointment. She had wanted the kiss he had teased her with, at least half as much as he wanted it himself. “Tomorrow night?” He shook his head, then, slowly, lowered his head again, this time bypassing her mouth and pressing his lips to the side of her neck. She made a sound of helpless surrender, tipping her head to one side so that he could explore the delicious length of creamy skin. “That will be no better than this!” he said between kisses. “A dance, a few snatched kisses… I want to be able to…talk to you, Miss Morville. Really talk to you.” It was no less than the truth. The time he had spent in her presence had all been sheer delight. “No…” she moaned faintly. “No?” “I mean, yes…” “Where then, and when?” he said, pressing her for a rendezvous whilst she was so befuddled she hardly knew what she was saying—and while he still retained sufficient self-control to remember the whole point of this exercise. “Wh…when?” She looked up at him, her glorious green eyes dazed with passion. “When what?” “When will you meet with me, so that we may explore more deeply—” he said, trailing hot kisses down her neck “—what we have begun here tonight. Can you get away tomorrow morning, early?” He knew damn well she could. He had seen her with his own eyes in the Inns of Court garden with that other fellow! She stiffened in his arms, a look of consternation on her face. “I cannot. Not in the morning…”

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“I thought you said you were as brave as Honoria,” he taunted her. He felt something inside him twist into a knot. But he had to do it. It was for her own good! She had to meet him in the morning, not that other fellow! Her chin went up. “I am every bit as brave as Lady Honoria,” she said defiantly. “It is just…” She bit down at her lower lip. He groaned. And did what he had to do. Kissed her again. This time, with no holds barred. He held her tight, and applied every bit of his expertise in seducing her mouth. He did not stop until she was clinging to his neck, her whole body trembling in his arms. He swore he could feel her heart pounding through the flimsy silk of her gown. Or was that his own heart? Damned if he knew anymore. “Miss Morville,” he groaned. “Yes…” she breathed, her eyes closed, her head tipped back. She was limp in his arms. “Yes, I will meet you…in Green Park.” “Thank God,” he murmured into her ear, clasping her to him in relief. Much more of that sort of persuasion, and she would be in as much danger from him as she could ever be from the dark stranger! He had been on some dangerous missions in his time. But this one was growing a bit too hot, even for him. “We had better return to the ballroom before somebody misses us,” he said. “No, wait!” Felicity could not believe she had just agreed to a secret assignation with Ben. What had come over her? She had given her word to another, but one kiss from the dashing Lieutenant and all her moral values had flown straight out of her head! She would have to tell him that she could not go after all. That she had only said yes because… And there her thoughts ran aground. She had known she would say yes to anything if he kissed her too often. And she dare not tell him that. What a spineless creature he would think her, to have her thoughts completely addled by what, to him, was probably nothing out of the ordinary. He had probably kissed dozens of girls. He must have done, to have become so good at it! But he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, and tugged her out from behind the cover of the shrub. And somehow they were walking across the flagged terrace, and back through the doors. And she had not managed to frame one coherent sentence. “Until tomorrow.” He grinned at her as they stepped across the threshold and into the glaring brightness of the ballroom. And then he was gone, swallowed up by the swirling throng of people. Giving her no chance to tell him she’d had second thoughts. And she was left standing by the window, dazed, bemused, and more than a little vexed.

Chapter Five By Annie Burrows “So, how did it go? The opening sally of the Morville campaign?”

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Ben had to stifle a spurt of anger before he could answer Hal’s jocular remark. It was bad enough having to toy with her feelings, let alone hearing his friend making a jest of it. “Waltzed with her three times, whisked her out onto the terrace, and arranged to meet her tomorrow morning in Green Park without her chaperon,” he reported succinctly. “Even you would agree that could be regarded as a victory.” Victory at what price, though? He felt a twinge of guilt. He had pushed her into doing something that she would never have done, had he not deliberately got her so befuddled that she hardly knew what she was saying. It was small comfort, now, to remind himself that he had agreed to this charade to protect her. That romancing her was protecting her. “Hang on, hang on.” Hal’s blue-grey eyes clouded. “You intend to meet her without a chaperon? Are you sure that was a wise move?” “You had better explain exactly what you mean by that,” he said coldly. How dare Hal suggest he would do anything, anything at all, which would cause Felicity any harm? Hal had his head lowered as he unbuckled his cross belt, and so remained impervious to Ben’s annoyance. “The whole point of this exercise—” he said, tossing the belt onto a table “—was to distract the girl. You know, dazzle her with your wit and charm,” he said in an ironic tone. At any other time Ben would have risen to the bait and thrown something at him. Tonight, his friend’s attempts to tease him into that kind of retaliation fell completely flat. “The last thing you want is to get into some compromising position where you might end up obliged to make an offer for the chit,” Hal finished. Ben’s chivalrous instincts surged to the fore when Hal referred to Miss Morville in such a derogatory manner. He was on the point of insisting his friend moderate the way he spoke about her, when it struck him that Hal had a point. Ben was already aware how dangerous she was, having just got into a very compromising position with her. When he looked back now on how far gone he had been… At one point, anybody could have walked smash up to them, and he would not have noticed. He had been so deeply entwined with Miss Morville, a whole troop of cavalry might have charged through the grounds and he would not have noticed. So he laughed it off, saying, “Do you think me incapable of handling one small female?” And then almost groaned. It was a mistake to make use of the word “handling” in connection with Miss Morville. Lord, how he wanted to handle her! He did not want to restrict himself to just sliding his arm about her waist, or holding her hand. He wanted the right to explore those luscious curves. To pull all the pins from that mass of intricately arranged hair and sift it through his fingers. Bury his face in it. Spread it out across his pillow, and… He came to himself with a start to realize Hal was looking at him oddly. “I would have thought you would have been pleased—” he said, rallying swiftly “—that I have managed to prevent her from meeting that other fellow tomorrow, at least! You told me to use my ingenuity. Be resourceful. And you must admit that if she is meeting me, then she can’t be meeting him!” “There is that, I suppose,” Hal conceded. “That Hawkins chap—you know, my brother’s tame Bow Street Runner—he has not been able to find a single clue to tell us who the man might be. And that, in itself, makes me suspicious. Surely, he ought to have been able to pick up some trace of where he comes from? It is almost as though he is deliberately covering his tracks.” Hal looked at him hard. “You are right. She will undoubtedly be better off being romanced a little by you—a little light flirtation, a stroll round the park, and no harm done.”

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Ben had no intention of wasting his stolen hour with Felicity in mere flirtation. He had every intention of kissing her senseless! From what he recalled of the layout, there were some benches, and a stand of quite mature trees at one end of the park—enough greenery to afford at least a little cover from prying eyes. “But for the Lord’s sake—” Hal warned him “—don’t take any risks. In fact, now I think of it, since you had her promise to meet you well away from the Inns of Court garden, there is no need for you to actually turn up!” “Nonsense,” he snapped. He had arranged to meet her, and he would go, whether she managed to nerve herself to attend the assignation or not. He could not bear the thought that she might sneak out, at his instigation, and hang around in the park, growing more and more upset. For him not to show would humiliate her! “I fully intend to go, and take advantage of the hold I have over her to coax some information out of her.” It was better Hal think him a bit ruthless than totally smitten by Miss Morville. “Hawkins can discover nothing, you say. So I simply have to find out exactly how much she knows about the bounder. That would give Hawkins something to work on.” “Interrogation by seduction, you mean?” Hal’s mouth curved into a wicked grin. Once again, Ben got an almost overwhelming urge to obliterate that grin by planting Hal a facer. His hand had already curled into a fist before he thought better of it. “It is for her own good,” he said, as much to remind himself why he was doing this, as Hal. “It is better for her to fall for me, than that rogue, is it not?” “Oh, indeed.” Hal chuckled. “Besides being a positive pleasure, I would have thought, to have the excuse to dally with that tidy little piece.” “Quite,” admitted Ben through gritted teeth. “Besides having given my word to do what I can to make sure she is not disgraced whilst living with your family,” he pointedly reminded Hal. Hal punched him playfully on the shoulder. “That’s the ticket. Just don’t disgrace the 11th by getting yourself caught in parson’s mousetrap!” “As if I would,” he replied, baring his teeth in a semblance of a smile. “Good chap! Knew you would not let me down.” It was not only Hal he did not want to let down in the completion of this mission. But Felicity, too. As he turned on his heel to leave Hal’s room, he wondered what he would do if she did not show? What then? The thought that she might go to the garden in the Inns of Court, instead, gave him a sick feeling. He shut the door behind him, and leaned back against it. He had planned to kiss her senseless.… What might that other chap do if he got his hands on Felicity? He could hardly believe the bounder had not taken ruthless advantage of her trusting nature already. His face turned grim. If she did not show up in the morning, at least he would know where to look for her. And if he caught that other fellow kissing Felicity… His lips twisted into a snarl. He just hoped the man knew a little about swordsmanship, that was all. Otherwise, it would be a case of cold-blooded murder.

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Chapter Six By Margaret McPhee The excitement was dancing in Felicity’s stomach as she slipped down from the saddle and left the mare with the groom. Ben was already waiting by the benches at the far end of the park. The early morning sunlight burnished a mahogany lustre to the darkness of his hair, and he looked so tall and handsome and dashing that she could not help but remember again the feel of his lips upon hers last night, and the overwhelming sensation of it that had knocked every last sensible thought from her head. Her heart was thudding as she walked towards him. “Miss Morville.” She looked into those dark mesmerising eyes with all of their tenderness and forbidden promises and could not, despite her guilt, regret being here with him rather than in the Inns of Court gardens with her mysterious admirer. “Lieutenant Ranworth…Ben.” She tried to appear as if she had not spent the previous night sleepless with anticipation. He smiled at her, and the thrill rippled through her as he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “It’s a beautiful morning.” “All the more beautiful for your arrival.” She blushed. “You’re flirting with me.” “What gentleman would not?” Her pulse leapt as she saw that he was leading her behind the line of trees, where they would be hidden from sight. “I worried that you would not come.” “You were most persuasive of the importance of this meeting.” Her cheeks heated at the memory of just how very persuasive he had been. He stopped walking and turned to her. “Of critical importance, I assure you,” he said, his voice low and seductive. There was only the sound of birdsong, and the whispering of the breeze through the leafed canopy above. Felicity did not notice the cloudless blue of the sky, or the way the sunlight lit the dew upon the grass. She did not notice anything except Benedict Ranworth and the smoldering intensity of his eyes. She stared and could not look away. His face lowered towards hers. She reached her mouth to meet his. And when their lips finally touched, it was everything and more than she remembered.

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His kiss was gentle at first, his lips teasing lightly while he enveloped her in his arms. The clean scent of soap and cologne filled her nose. The taste of him tantalised her tongue. He kissed her, and she could think of nothing else. There was only this moment, only this man. Beneath her palm she could feel the fast, hard beat of his heart. “Felicity,” he murmured, and his hand wove a magical caress against her back before sweeping down over the curve of her hip. He held her to him, so close that their bodies seemed to merge. The kiss intensified, so that he was kissing her harder, intimately, urgently. When his thumb brushed against her breast, she gasped at the sensations that shivered through her. Ben stilled, suddenly aware that he was seducing Miss Morville with all the thoroughness of a rake. He looked at her, and standing there in the pale morning sunlight, all flushed and breathless with passion, she appeared to Ben a most glorious vision. He did not need to hear that his breathing was heavy to know how close he had come to losing control. He was all too aware of that fact. “Forgive me,” he murmured, feeling ashamed of himself. “I should not have, but you are like no other woman.” She glanced down, suddenly shy and embarrassed. And he remembered how young and innocent she was, and the danger the stranger posed. Protectiveness surged through him. He should be quizzing her on the man, but he could not bring himself to spoil the moment. “I will meet you tonight at Mrs. Leeming’s rout.” He stared down into her eyes, and she stared back with equal intensity. The gallop of hooves sounded in the distance; a group of horsemen racing their mounts across the turf towards them. “I should go,” she whispered. He stood where he was and watched her walk to her horse. One final lingering look and she rode away.

*** Several hours later Ben was sitting with Hal in the Carlow’s library. “How goes our campaign with Miss Morville? Managed to romance the girl enough to stop her sneaking off to meet with that bounder yet?” Ben watched Hal decant the brandy and gauged how best to answer without revealing the extent of his feelings for Felicity. “It is progressing,” he said cautiously. Hal’s eyes brightened. “That’s a blessed relief.” He passed a glass to Ben. “Means you can ease up on feigning an interest.” Ben forced himself to amend the words that would have betrayed him. “The job is far from done; I have not yet discovered anything of the man from her.” Hal sipped at his brandy. “Then by all means engage in a bit more flirtation and a few waltzes, but no more meetings alone. After all, you don’t want to find yourself forced to take a trip down the aisle with the girl.” Ben thought of Felicity’s hair glowing red in the sunshine and the sweetness of her lips. He thought, too, of her vivacious energy and her courage, and he could not help but smile.

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“Ranworth?” Ben glanced up to find Hal peering at him. He tried to frown. “The important thing is that we keep Miss Morville safe.” “Quite.” Hal nodded. “A gentleman’s duty and all that. Now drink up. Thought we’d nip to the club for a few hours.” Neither man noticed the slight creaking that sounded outside the partly opened door. Ben thought again of Felicity. Hal’s advice might be sound, but Ben had no intention of following it.

*** Felicity was trying to decide which dress to wear that evening. She was humming as she ran her fingers over the silks, and feeling joyful enough to burst when Honoria whirled into the bedchamber and plumped herself down on the bed. “They are such beasts!” Felicity hurried to her side. “Who are beasts?” “Men!” Honoria’s eyes flashed. “Or more specifically, my brother and Lieutenant Ranworth.” A whisper of foreboding rippled down Felicity’s spine. “I happened to overhear their conversation and it’s all of it a ploy to steer you away from your secret admirer.” Felicity felt the blood drain from her face. “A ploy?” she uttered weakly. “They decided that Lieutenant Ranworth would feign a romantic interest in you in order to protect you!” Felicity’s stomach plummeted. She sat down on the bed beside her friend. Honoria looked round at her, and her gaze seemed to see too much. The fury had gone and in its place was concern. “I’m sorry, Felicity. I didn’t realize that you liked him.” And even though Felicity was hurt and outraged and humiliated, she drew herself up. “I’m not such a ninny to be taken in by Lieutenant Ranworth’s games. I knew very well what he was about. And if he thinks for one minute that he’ll prevent me meeting with a certain gentlemen then he’s much mistaken.” She forced herself to smile. “I don’t think that I’ll go to the rout, after all. I’ll need a good night’s sleep if I’m to be up early to fetch some more herbs.” Honoria grinned. “That’s the spirit.” Felicity smiled again, but inside her heart was breaking. And she did not let herself think, not once, of Ben Ranworth.

Chapter Seven By Gayle Wilson

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The following morning, Felicity hurried toward the herb gardens and the assignation with her dark admirer— a meeting that would never have taken place had she not learned of Ben’s duplicity. The memory of his betrayal brought such a wave of despair, her vision was momentarily affected by welling tears so that she literally ran into someone bending down to gather herbs. “Forgive me,” Felicity stammered as she caught the woman’s elbow in an attempt to steady her. “I haven’t hurt you, I hope.” The hood of the cloak her victim wore fell back, revealing a wrinkled visage and two dark eyes that studied Felicity’s features intently. “My basket,” the old woman commanded, finally breaking the spell that had held Felicity motionless. “Fetch it for me, if you please.” Felicity hastened to comply, sweeping up the herbs that had spilled out before she presented their container to its owner. As she did, she realized from her dress that the old woman was a Gypsy. All the frightening tales she’d heard about these mysterious people raced through her mind. But before she could make her escape, the woman captured her hand, turning it to examine the lines on her palm with the same intensity she had just focused on her features. “Tell your fortune, my lady?” “No, thank you,” Felicity managed, pulling her hand from the woman’s gnarled fingers. “No charge,” the Gypsy beguiled. “I’ll read your palm in return for your kindness.” “I don’t want my fortune told.” “Everyone wants to know what their future holds.” The Gypsy again considered her face. “Yours isn’t what you believe it to be. Not now.” Meaningless mumbo-jumbo, Felicity thought. How, ever, do they convince people to pay for this nonsense? “And this one—” the old woman continued “—is not for you.” At that moment, Felicity became aware of what the Gypsy must already have sensed. The exotic stranger she had come to meet was striding toward them. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. For a moment Felicity thought he was addressing her. Then she realized his inquiry had been directed at the Gypsy. “Plying my trade,” the old woman answered. “As are you, I see.” “You don’t belong here,” the man responded, grasping the Gypsy’s elbow to turn her away. “Nor do you.” She pulled free of his grip, clearly not intimidated despite his obvious anger. “Don’t hurt her,” Felicity begged, putting a restraining hand on his arm. “She only came to gather herbs.” Her suitor ignored Felicity’s defense to again berate the crone. “I’m warning you. Keep out of my affairs.”

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“Then conduct them with more care. This girl—” the Gypsy lifted her chin toward Felicity “—shouldn’t be part of them.” For the first time the stranger’s eyes focused on Felicity. Something about their intensity nagged at her, like a melody she’d once heard and couldn’t quite remember. “I’ll be the judge of that,” he said, returning his attention to the old woman. “I swore I would help you,” she said. “But this…this is beneath you. Beneath the Rom Baro.” The last phrase seemed to infuriate the stranger anew. He pulled the old woman around and put his hand between her shoulders to propel her away. “Go back where you belong.” “Will you come with me, chaveske chav?” she asked. “To where you belong?” The stranger made a menacing move, his hand raised. With a laugh the Gypsy continued down the path he’d set her on, disappearing as it curved deeper into the gardens. The stranger turned to smile at Felicity, his features all amiability once more. “I was beginning to worry that whatever prevented your coming yesterday might keep you away again today.” To avoid the painful subject of why she hadn’t met him yesterday, Felicity asked, “Do you know her?” “That hag? What have I to do with her?” he responded with a laugh. “Let me look at you. You’ve grown even more beautiful since last we met.” With one finger he traced slowly down the curve of her cheek. When he reached her chin, he tilted her face upward as he smiled down at her. That strange sense of déjà vu troubled her again. As if she had peered deeply into these same eyes before. The feeling jolted, causing her to step back. “Is something wrong?” he asked. Something was wrong, Felicity realized. Very wrong. Despite the pain of Ben’s betrayal, she couldn’t become involved with this man. A man about whom she knew nothing. Except the way he had treated the old Gypsy, who obviously cared about him. “I must go.” “But you’ve just arrived,” the stranger protested. “And I’ve been dreaming of this meeting since we parted last. It’s as if you’ve cast a spell over me.” He smiled as he said the last, slipping his arm behind her waist to urge her closer. Without a conscious decision to do so, Felicity placed her hands against his chest to push him away. “I shouldn’t have come.” “But of course you should. This was meant to be. We both felt it.” She shook her head, realizing what a mistake she’d made. “You must know I’m in love with you,” he avowed softly. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”

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Shocked, she looked up into his eyes, her lips parted to protest. Before she could, his mouth descended over hers. Although she twisted and turned, trying to free herself, he was too strong. As he deepened the kiss, she began to be afraid, remembering how deserted the gardens were at this time of day. Suddenly, the arms that had captured her released their hold. The stranger was jerked backward, and a fist at the end of a uniformed sleeve connected with his chin. Ben. And despite what he’d done, Felicity had never been so glad to see anyone in her life. Having lost the element of surprise, her rescuer was now being forced to grapple with an assailant who seemed more than capable of holding his own. A quick twist of the stranger’s body took him out of the way of Ben’s next blow and allowed him to land his own facer. Then Ben’s knuckles merely grazed his opponent’s cheekbone as the dark man ducked at the precise moment they should have smashed against his nose. He exploded out of his crouch to drive his head into the soldier’s midsection. Ben held on to take them both down as he fell. Panicked by the thought of once more being subjected to the stranger’s unwanted advances, Felicity grasped his shoulder, trying to pull him off her rescuer. But he pushed her aside. Her efforts did allow Ben to regroup. He managed to get his feet under the stranger’s body to throw him off. With an audible crack, the back of that dark head connected with one of the stones outlining the path. Ben sprang to his feet. Fists raised, he stood over his opponent as if daring him to rise. With one hand the stranger wiped blood from the corner of his mouth, his dark eyes never leaving the soldier who’d felled him. “Tell Carlow this isn’t the end.” “Carlow?” Ben repeated in confusion. “Do you mean Hal?” The stranger whose elegance Felicity had once admired struggled to his feet. His pantaloons were marred with dirt, and at some point in the brawl, his cravat had come undone. Despite his dishevelment, he still managed to look as if he believed he was in charge. “Carlow and his accursed line.” The stranger’s eyes left Ben’s to find hers, his face relaxing into a slight smile. “It seems my grandmother was right. This was not meant to be.” With a boldness that took them both by surprise, he stepped forward to catch Felicity’s hand, bending over it to bestow a lingering, and far too intimate, kiss. When he lifted his head, his eyes reflected only amusement. “I wish you joy of your soldier, my dear.” With that he turned on his heel and strode off along the same path the old woman had taken, leaving Felicity alone with her rescuer—the same man who had so cruelly and despicably betrayed her affections.

Chapter Eight By Christine Merrill Ben was looking off down the path after the retreating man, his fists still clenched and his muscles flexing under the tight wool of his coat, as though ready to fight for her again. “There. That has settled him. He will not be bothering you again, I am sure.” Felicity tried to restrain the sense of relief she felt to be free of the stranger’s attentions, because it had taken only a moment to remember how thoroughly she had been duped by the man who remained. “I do not recall requesting your assistance, Lieutenant Ranworth,” she said coldly back to him.

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And for a moment, Ben looked just as he had when the stranger had struck him—dazed with sudden shock. To hide his confusion, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face, and stared down in disgust at the traces of blood and grime from the fight. “I assumed you were in need, since no decent young lady would allow herself to be mauled by a stranger, in a public park.” “What you saw was a kiss. Nothing more,” she said. “And less than you attempted yesterday, I am sure.” His head snapped up, his eyes bored into hers. “That is not the same at all,” he argued. “I never would have gone farther than a few dances, if I hadn’t thought—” And now the brave young dragoon looked quite uncomfortable, and seemed overly preoccupied with seeing that his handkerchief was returned to the correct pocket. “—that what I was doing was in your best interest.” “You thought it was in my best interest to lead me away from propriety?” And now she turned away from him, so that he couldn’t see her flush of excitement when she thought of it. “The gentleman today at least had the decency to proclaim his love for me before taking such liberties.” “He declared his love?” Now Ben looked properly stricken again. “Felicity…” He swallowed hard, and then corrected himself. “Miss Morville, when Carlow expressed his concern that you were forming an unwise attachment, I agreed to help prevent it. But I had no idea that it had developed to such an extent.” “So you admit that you attempted to trick me into losing interest in the gentleman.” “That was no gentleman,” Ben blurted, and then struggled to contain himself. “But neither was I. I had no idea of the depth of feeling involved. I thought it to be much less than it actually was. And so I sought to insinuate myself into this assumed gap to separate you.” “You felt, on the basis of a very limited acquaintance, that you could pretend affection—” “It was not pretend,” he blurted again, and then stared down at the toes of his brightly polished boots. “When Hal set me to this task…which is not to say he is in any way to blame. If you have been hurt, I take the whole fault upon myself. I should have had the sense to stop before I’d begun.” And he looked up at her, into her eyes. And as he gazed deep, he seemed to lose his way, and his eyes wandered to her lips, staring with such intensity that she could feel them starting to tingle. He looked away suddenly, back at the ground, and found his voice again. “I had no idea that the job of distracting you was likely to be distracting to me as well.” “You find me distracting?” she said, not quite sure what to make of the admission. “Or that I would find myself quite so thoroughly in the thrall of someone whose heart might be otherwise engaged.” “In thrall.” And now, she had to struggle to stifle her smile. He looked at her with all seriousness, his deep brown eyes locking to hers, after only the briefest fortifying glance at her mouth. “I regret that I was not honest with you, from the very first. Then I could have put you on your guard against the man you have been meeting. No matter how he treats you, or how sincere his feelings might be, I fear that he is up to no good.” He glanced down the path that the dark stranger had taken, and muttered, almost to himself, “And if he means to make trouble for the Carlows, then I had best warn Hal.” In thrall. While the rest of his speech sounded very much like an apology, she could not seem to get her mind past those words. “But if you had been honest, and I had listened to your advice, then you would have had no need to kiss me,” she said, thinking that they both could have escaped this embarrassing misalliance—and suddenly finding that she was very glad that he’d tricked her.

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He was looking at her lips again. “Oh, I suspect the need to kiss you would still have been there. But I would not have been able to lie to myself about the meaning of it.” She shivered as she thought of the delicious moments they had already shared. And then again as she thought of how different it had been to be kissed by the other man, and the strange and frightening things he had said before leaving. “If that is how you feel, then it might interest you to know that while the gentleman who left here claimed to feel strongly for me, my opinion of him was not nearly so pleasant.” And now the other man was forgotten. For she was looking at Ben’s lips, and remembering how they tasted when they touched hers—and hoping that she would know their flavor again, very soon. “Then it is not too late for me?” He wasted no more time, and placed his hands upon her shoulders, pulling her close. His kiss was as she remembered it, hot and demanding, stealing her breath and then giving it back again, infusing her with the desire he felt for her. His tongue touched hers, stroking with increasing force until she clung to the facings of his coat, too weak to stand without him. Sensing her submission, he seemed happy to be her support. His hands moved from their innocent positions until one pressed against her breast and the other rested on her hips, pulling them gently against his to show her how right it would be when they were joined. And today, instead of gasping, she sighed in delight, and broke the kiss so she could whisper, “Lieutenant Ranworth, have a care for my reputation. If we are discovered, you will be forced to offer for me.” His next kiss was like a smile upon her cheek. “I am afraid I shall have to do that in any case, darling. For I mean to do things much more scandalous than this before I am finished with you. If you value your honor, we had best get the banns read quickly.” He was nuzzling her ear now, making her giggle. And then, the feeling changed, moving deep into her body. And it did not make her feel like laughing at all. Instead, she was imagining the feel of his hands on her skin, and the way his bottomless dark eyes would look when they were alone in the candlelight. “Before you came—” she whispered “—an old Gypsy woman told me my fortune.” He laughed, and kissed her again, this time on the side of her throat. “You do not believe such nonsense, do you?” “But I think she was trying to tell me that you are my future.” And Ben did not hesitate in the least at the thought. Instead, he said, “Then I was wrong, and she was very wise, and you should most certainly listen to her.” And then he stopped his progress down her throat, and smiled up into her eyes in a way that she was sure was a challenge. “But enough talk of our future. This morning, I will make it so you cannot think further than the present.” And he took her by the hand and led them off the path to a place where they could be delightfully alone.

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Surprise Wedding by Julie Leto Cooper Rush and Bianca Brighton have been inseparable ever since they met back in college. It’s been ten years since Coop popped the question and Bianca accepted his ring. But thanks to their globe-trotting lifestyle and demanding careers, they’ve never actually managed to stand still long enough to exchange vows despite pressure from family and friends. When business and pleasure finds them in Costa Rica, Coop decides he’s finally done waiting. He is ready to make Bianca his wife—right here, right now. After all, if she’s as committed to growing old together as he is, how could she possibly object?

Chapter One Cooper Rush gazed across the turquoise blue water of the Costa Rican mountain pool, and spotted the woman in the black bikini whose curves stopped his heart. The blood pumping in his chest rushed south so that his lower body seized with a deep-rooted desire. Her thick dark hair streaked down her back, the ends lust-tipped arrows pointed at her luscious backside. He had to have her. He dove into the pool and swam, torpedo-like, through the strangers in the water, honing in on her. When he popped through the surface, he had eyes only for her. A body only for her. A heart only for her. “Marry me,” he said. She tossed a coy glance over her shoulder, her honey-brown eyes wide, as if she didn’t understand the simple request. “Excuse me?” She did not turn to face him, so he slid his hands around her waist and tugged her tight against his chest. She didn’t resist, but instead, curved her body against his so that her buttocks cradled his lengthening erection. “You heard me,” he said. “Marry me.” The beautiful siren closed her eyes, tilting her head back in sweet, but incomplete surrender. He splayed his hands across her middle and toyed with her diamond-studded belly ring, practicing the precise flick and swirl he knew she loved—especially when applied much lower down her body. “Okay,” she replied, sighing contentedly. And therein lay the problem. As much as they might have loved playing “strangers in the pool” games from time to time to keep their sex life exciting, Coop knew Bianca Brighton better than he knew anyone else in the world. For ten years, they’d been nearly inseparable—first through college, then grad school, then on their seemingly endless travels either to satisfy the requirements of her job as a translator or his job as an international software designer. For the past month, they’d lived and loved all over Costa Rica, in-between canyoneering the lush tropical rainforests and Bianca’s assignment to assist the attorneys for an American real-estate investor sorting through contracts drafted in Spanish. The activities had ranged from wildly exciting to untenably boring, yet never for an instant had Coop lost interest in his ultimate goal—convincing Bianca, finally, to marry him. Because while he’d asked her a dozen times this year alone, she’d yet to walk down the aisle with him.

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For too long, he’d accepted her excuses. They were too busy. Too far away from home. Too obligated to her mother’s lavish plans for a show-stopping ceremony, or too wrapped up in their own adventures to stand still long enough for a clergyman or judge to say, “I now pronounce you husband and wife.” Well, Coop was done waiting. And he was done allowing his lover to play the clever mouse to his determined cat. He was going to marry Bianca Brighton. And he was going to do it today.

Chapter Two Coop twirled Bianca to face him, his hands hugging the muscled curves of her arms. If she refused to make this ultimate step in their relationship, could he let her go? He’d asked her to become his wife—the first time—over a decade ago. Though she wore his ring, called herself his fiancée, showed him that she loved him in a thousand different ways, they’d yet to say, “I do.” He had no idea why this chafed at him so much lately, but it did. Maybe he was just getting older. Maybe he wanted to settle down, have a family, and put down roots. He hadn’t given the matter as much thought as it deserved, which was probably how he’d ended up in this fix in the first place. Up until very recently, he’d focused only on ensuring that once he had sorted through his contradictory desire between traveling the world and finding a place to call home, he’d have Bianca at his side. Each time they’d gone to visit their families in their hometown, they’d renewed their marriage license. And yet, he’d never once forced the issue of actually going through with the wedding. Until now. “Okay? Okay?” he asked. “That’s the answer I get to a heartfelt marriage proposal delivered in one of the most beautiful places on earth?” Bianca pressed against the curve of his erection, hidden by the water from everyone but her. “Actually, when you say, ‘Marry me,’ it sounds more like an order than a question.” She’d been spending way too much time with her attorney client if she was going to nitpick or look for loopholes. But this time, her attempt to divert his attention would not work. “So the question has been asked and answered, counselor,” Coop said wryly. “And yet, I continue to ask.” “And I continue to say yes!” she said, lifting her hand so that her diamond engagement ring twinkled in his peripheral vision. “Actually—” he said, tilting his head so he could nibble on her chin “—the first time I asked, you said something like, ‘Of course, now grab that zip line and let’s go!’” She laughed as she returned his kisses. Her free-spirited, unbridled explosion of happiness infected him, instantly filling the void that seemed so wide and so deep every time he caught a glimpse of the engagement ring on her finger. Sometimes, the damned thing glittered like the sharp edges of a broken promise. Other times, it reminded him that though he’d asked her to marry him, he hadn’t exactly pushed for a short engagement. He blamed himself. He’d started the whole thing off wrong in proposing just before they flew over the treetops in Maui. Maybe if he’d asked the first time when they were on solid ground, they would be married by now. “Let’s get married here,” he suggested. She sighed with exasperation. They had, after all, had this conversation before.

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“Coop, our parents would kill us if we eloped.” “I’m willing to take that risk…are you?”

Chapter Three Desperate to escape this conversation, Bianca threw herself backwards into the water, enjoying the momentary disorientation of falling beneath the surface. In the cool, churning waters, she didn’t have to remember how long her mother had dreamed of Bianca wearing her vintage couture dress, or how her father waxed poetic about walking her down the long aisle at their family’s church. Then there was Coop’s family. In light of his sister Annie’s divorce, the Rush’s had lately taken to speaking about little else but the grand party they wanted to throw for Coop’s trip to the altar. They were sure, since Coop and Bianca had been inseparable for ten years, that their marriage would last a lifetime—as marriages were intended. She couldn’t argue. She had every intention of growing old with Coop. But why did she have to do so as his wife? Why couldn’t she just be his lover, his helpmate, his best friend? Why couldn’t things stay exactly as they were? As far as she was concerned, the rope that bound her to Coop had been twisted into an irreversible figureeight since the moment they’d met. What did it matter if they had a legal document to seal the deal? She supposed a ceremony might be nice. Great clothes. Fabulous party. A honeymoon trip to top all their adventures. But then, in the end, they’d be married. Their perfect relationship would face an irrevocable and inexorable change. Why mess with perfection? Emerging from under the water, Bianca waylaid further discussion with a long, luxuriant kiss. Inch by inch, she maneuvered him closer to the hidden cove they’d discovered a few days ago, where none of the tourists would follow. Between the dappled sunlight, the churning water, the wild jungle and their insatiable passion, a quickie remind would show him how little a wedding would impact their lives. “You’re trying to distract me,” Coop said, his mouth descending to her neck even as his magic fingers untied the back of her bikini. “Guilty,” she confessed, hissing with pleasure as he circled her nipples with his thumbs, sparking a need that made the water unequal to the wetness within her. She wanted him. And for over a decade, he always wanted her. None of the married people she knew were still hot for their partners as rapaciously as she was for Coop. Every nerve ending in her body craved him. How could she give that up simply to satisfy someone else’s idea of commitment? “I still want to marry you,” he said. “I know,” she murmured, concentrating on the feel of his mouth on her earlobe, down the tendons of her neck, across her collarbone. “Then let’s do it today,” he demanded. She tugged at his swim shorts until she had access to the part of him she wanted more needfully than any piece of paper that declared them wed. “Yeah,” she said. “Let’s do it.”

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He’d misinterpret her meaning, but she’d deal with that later. Much, much later.

Chapter Four But not as much later as Bianca thought. After making love in the cove, they drove back to their hotel in San José, hardly talking. Did Coop’s disinclination to speak stem from his suspicion that any discussion would lead to the subject of marriage and more excuses about why they shouldn’t? Or was that only her fear? She’d agreed to a wedding, but only so he’d make love to her. A glance, a touch, a laugh—the littlest thing made her hot for him. She had the same sway over him. Their mutual attraction was powerful stuff—and she didn’t want to lose it. She’d seen lots of successful marriages in her lifetime. Her grandparents, married for sixty years. Her parents were closing in on anniversary thirty-five. Even Coop’s parents, who had dated since middle school, were inseparable. And yet, when she looked closely, she didn’t see sparks. She saw love, yes. But lust? Not so much. Women’s magazines, late-night comedians, girly tête-à-têtes all claimed that marriage killed the sex drive. That wasn’t acceptable. Every single day Coop made her feel beautiful, cherished and wanted. His appreciation for her intellect, her love of fun and adventure and yes, her body, had not wavered since that first moment they’d met at a fraternity-sponsored road rally. She was all for jumping out of airplanes and surfing mammoth waves, but when it came to risking the bedrock of her relationship with Coop by shifting the foundation, she wasn’t ready to take the plunge. Annie, Coop’s sister, was the perfect example. Before she got married, she jetted around the world as a sought-after photographer. She regaled Bianca with tales of wild adventures and exciting affairs. After one such trip, she’d talked about a devilishly handsome, sweet-talking corporate shark who’d swept her off her feet. Too bad she landed with a thud the minute she’d married him. Annie’s post-marital transformation had reinforced Bianca’s fear that marriage might not be the right path. Annie stopped traveling, taking pictures and seeking thrills. She’d settled into a life of dirty diapers, car pools and Little League. Not that Bianca had anything against Coop’s nephews—she loved kids. But she didn’t necessarily want to give up her free-for-all lifestyle to have them. Coop never pressed the subject, but he floated the idea now and again—always after prefacing his hopes and dreams with, “After we’re married.” So to avoid conflict, she’d simply avoided matrimony. Up until now, the diversion had worked. She’d anticipated that she could pull off at least another five years of avoidance. And by then, she’d figure out how to reconcile her fears that they’d lose their mutual attraction when bound by marriage. At least, that’s what she’d thought until Coop pulled up in front of a quaint mountain chapel, hopped out of the Jeep and opened her door with a bow. “Your castle, my queen.”

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“Coop?” “We’re going to get married. Today. Right now. You always want to live in the moment, Bianca. Well, now’s your chance.”

Chapter Five She couldn’t speak. He took her hand and gave a little tug, his roguish grin faltering when she resisted. “Bianca?” “I—” Her continued hesitation wiped the smile from his face. Before disappointment clouded his twinkling darkgreen eyes, she’d caught sight of his pure, unbridled excitement. He was jumping into this marriage with the same enthusiasm as he did a base dive off steep cliffs. Coop craved adrenaline, but he existed on faith. Faith in life. Faith in her. Her foundation, however, had rocked to the core. Fear of crashing to a bottomless pit of loneliness or disappointment paralyzed her so that she could not even manage to take his hand. “I made the arrangements this morning,” he explained. “I wanted to surprise you.” “Oh,” she said, gulping air. “I’m surprised.” When he leaned forward, his magnificent arms braced on either side of the door frame and his face inches from hers, her heart seized. “Bianca, do you love me?” “Oh, God, Coop. This has nothing to do with love.” “You’re not answering my question.” “Yes, I love you.” Each word cost her. Her lungs squeezed inside her chest and sweat beaded on the back of her neck. “I’ve never loved anyone else. I plan to spend the rest of my life with you.” “Just not as my wife,” he guessed, anger simmering through his words. She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t find anything worthy to say. Coop cursed and threw himself away from her. The action was so foreign, so shocking, that he was fifty yards down the unpaved mountain road before she fully realized he’d left her behind. “Coop!” She tumbled out of the car, barely maintaining her balance. She glanced back inside the Jeep. He’d left the keys inside the ignition. Should she drive after him? Pursue on foot? She was dizzy, nearly blind with his abandonment. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d been apart for more than a few hours, and in the few moments since he’d left her, a lifetime elapsed. He’d never walked away from her before. Never. They’d had a few impressive rows over the course of their relationship, but each one had been followed by incredibly hot make-up sex. As Coop became smaller as the distance between them increased, Bianca couldn’t remember what a single argument had ever been about.

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“Coop, wait!” she cried, tearing around to the other side of the car to retrieve the keys. A woman had come out of the church, her head covered with a shawl and her eyes wide with surprise. She called Bianca’s name, but more as a question—as if she wanted to know if the woman screaming for the man who’d nearly disappeared around a curve in the road was the bride she’d been expecting—the bride who’d had no real intention of ever getting married. Not even to the man she would certainly lose if she did not find a way to walk down the aisle.

Chapter Six In nearly every aspect of life, she and Coop saw the world through nearly identical filters. They’d always wanted the same things out of life. Love. Adventure. Excitement. Thrills. Until now. He wanted marriage. And despite how desperately Bianca needed him—perhaps, precisely because of her soul-deep love—she did not want to ruin what they had by getting married. Settling down. And yet, what was she doing to their relationship by refusing to be his wife? She could no longer see him on the curving mountain road. As he was going downhill, she figured she was better off using the car to catch him. Just having him out of her sight, left her feeling as if she was the last person remaining on a barren, desolate earth. Coop never left. Not during their most heated arguments. Not when she was being utterly and completely irrational. He reasoned and cajoled and sometimes—though rarely—outshouted her until his point was driven home. But turning his back on her and walking away? Never. She jumped into the driver’s seat and eased the vehicle onto the unpaved road, wondering how long it had been since she’d sat behind the wheel of a car. Coop always drove. She always navigated. He had quicker reflexes and she seemed to have a GPS coded into her DNA. Together, they could find any location without more than a few garbled directions or a landmark. Together, they made the perfect team. So why was he so intent on changing perfection? She slowed down as she approached the curve, sure she’d see Coop just on the other side. But he wasn’t there. She rounded the next curve and again—no Coop. With no one else braving the treacherous route, she stopped and got out of the car. “Cooper Rush!” Birds flocked out of a nearby tree. In the distance, she could hear a waterfall. They weren’t exactly in the middle of nowhere—she could see San José from the ridge—but she heard nothing that indicated where he’d gone. Was he hiding? Ridiculous. Coop might have been too angry to share a ride with her back to the city, but he wasn’t the type to skulk or hide to avoid confrontation. He probably picked up a ride with someone going down the mountain. He was likely on his way back to their hotel now, stewing over her refusal to make good on her promise to marry him—maybe even hating her for the first time since they’d met.

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Behind her a dilapidated truck honked, forcing Bianca back into the vehicle. She had no choice but to return to their hotel and pray that when she arrived, Coop would be there waiting for her—though for the life of her, she couldn’t imagine why he would be.

Chapter Seven Coop’s hand hovered over the door handle to the hotel room. For the past month and a half, this had been their home. They’d played house all over the world. How stupid was he that he only realized now how little that game meant to her? The sheer terror in her eyes when he’d opened her car door in front of the chapel punched him in the gut. For the first time he could remember, she’d refused to take his hand. How could he be so confused by a woman he’d always thought he’d known so well? Turning, he walked away from the door and leaned his forehead against a cool glass mirror hanging on the wall, careful not to look at himself. Humiliation was never fun to see. He’d actually believed Bianca when she’d said yes to his proposal. Why wouldn’t he? They’d been constant companions since college, sharing everything from their intense love of travel and sports to tastes in music and food. And when their preferences did diverge, they usually did so in complimentary ways. He didn’t like pickles on his hamburgers, but she liked extra ones. She abhorred dark meat on chicken or turkey and he couldn’t get enough of the stuff. In a thousand little, insignificant ways, they were two pieces of the same whole. Why then, was she so reluctant to officially join her life with his? She hated the idea of divorce. So did he. The strong desire to make sure they were compatible in every conceivable way before they officially exchanged vows had been the reason they’d had such a long engagement. They lived together long enough to experience both good times and bad. Heck, after ten years, they’d even confronted the possibility that they’d tire of each other eventually. Which they had not. After five years, Coop had known that if they hadn’t broken up by then, they weren’t going to. From that point on, he’d figured that with the right timing and circumstance, they’d seal the promise they’d made to each other in the Hawaiian treetops. He’d waited for his bride to take charge of wedding preparations, but he had made sure they renewed their marriage license every time they went home. And yet, something inevitably came up to waylay a ceremony. Between his family, her family and their extensive network of friends, the opinions on precisely how he and Bianca should tie the knot had ranged from the romantic to the ridiculous. Then he’d get a new assignment or she’d take a job halfway around the world and instead of dealing with dress designs, cake flavors or honeymoon destination brochures, they’d jet off to their new temporary home—never once considering their relationship anything less than permanent. But he’d been wrong. Because while he saw his future inexorably intertwined with Bianca’s, her visions were nowhere near as clear. If Bianca wanted him in her future, she would have married him. Today. On the mountain. But she hadn’t. Which meant he no longer had any reason to stick around.

Chapter Eight

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“Coop!” Bianca’s voice scraped through his insides, hollowing out his chest so that his heartbeat echoed with emotions he couldn’t bear to acknowledge. His anger refused to be denied, so he remained silent and continued tossing his belongings into his duffel. He heard her tear across the living area of their suite, then stop in the doorway. She breathed his name with relief, but he refused to turn around. “I thought you’d left,” she said, panting. A bitter retort pounded on his teeth, but he kept his mouth shut. When she rushed forward and wrapped her hand around his arm, however, he couldn’t help but yank away. She gasped. She was surprised? Really? How much did she think a guy could take before he said, “Enough,” even nonverbally. Speaking could only make the situation worse. Brutally honest words—words that would rip and tear at the foundation of all they’d had together—wouldn’t do either of them any good. As angry as he was, as humiliated and confused, Coop couldn’t bear to piss on the relationship he’d invested his heart and soul into for ten years. He loved Bianca. But he was going to have to learn to live without her. “Coop,” she begged. “Let me explain.” He spared her a glance. His chest squeezed tight at the sight of her red nose, tear-stained cheeks and her red-raw lips. Bianca rarely cried. Only death of a loved one or the desperate children they sometimes met on their travels ever evoked her tears. Like so many other things, her penchant for stoicism came in handy since he was such a self-proclaimed softie. He squelched down the instinct to open his arms so she could rush into his embrace, where he could soothe away her sadness. He couldn’t fix this for her. He couldn’t fix it for himself. Their relationship was irrevocably broken. The best they could both do was walk away. “There’s nothing to explain. You don’t want to get married.” “But I still want you,” she said. He scoffed. “That’s nice, but what if I don’t want you, anymore?” “You have to,” she said. She hesitated then attempted to press her hands to his shoulders. Though it wretched his gut, he tore away from her touch. “Don’t.” “I can’t not touch you, Coop. I love you. This is killing me.” “You’re kidding, right? The woman I’ve worshipped for ten years, the woman I’ve followed around the world to the depths of the ocean or the heights of mountains, just refused to marry me and you’re the one who’s dying?” She yowled in frustration. “You have to listen to me! You have to understand!” Coop threw down the pair of jeans he was about to shove into his bag and swung around to face her.

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“Okay. Explain it, then. I’d love to hear how you’ve rationalized not marrying me. And think hard before you answer, because if you can’t make me understand, we’re through.”

Chapter Nine “I can’t marry you because I love you.” As she expected, Coop scowled, then stretched for the jeans he’d thrown across the room. “I’m serious.” She grabbed for his arm, but again, he yanked out of her grasp. He shoved his shaving kit on top of his clothes, and tied his bag closed with so much force she thought the cords might rip. “Apparently, you’ve never been serious,” he said. “Not about us, anyway.” “How can you say that?” “Um, I don’t know…because you refused to even get out of the car when I suggested we get married in a charming church in the mountains? Because you’ve been making excuses for not marrying me for years, but I was apparently too whipped to realize it? I bought all your excuses, Bianca. I believed you because I never had any reason not to. But now I do. Damn, do I ever.” He shrugged the duffel onto his shoulder, and Bianca knew it was now or never. She couldn’t let him leave. She understood his fury, his hurt, his disappointment. Her instinctual action to preserve their relationship exactly as it had been that morning when they’d made love in the cove had shown him the depths of her selfishness. She had to own up, be honest and hope that he’d understand. “I’m afraid,” she confessed. He stopped at the doorway. “Of what?” She shook her head. She didn’t know how to put it all into words. As he always did, he tried to find them for her. “Afraid that I’ll leave you? Or that I’ll hurt you? I’ve never done either in ten years. Why would you think—?” She covered her face with her hands, willing her brain to work overtime. “No, I’m not afraid you’ll leave. Well, I am now,” she said, gesturing toward him standing in the doorway. “I’m terrified of it.” She stepped forward, but when he countered her move by retreating backward, she stopped. The emotional distance between them already spanned the same distance as the rims of the Grand Canyon. More physical distance was more than she could stand. From the moment she’d refused to get out of the car, she’d severed the most crucial part of their relationship—mutual trust. She never would have cave dived without knowing he was her partner—without having faith in the fact that if anything went wrong, he’d do everything in his power to save her, probably before he saved himself. And vice versa. She knew that what they had was rare and precious…so why couldn’t she do the one thing he needed her to do.

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In her entire adult life, she’d never shied away from risk. Maybe it was finally time for her to take the ultimate plunge. But first, she had to find out if he still wanted her.

Chapter Ten When Coop dropped his bag, Bianca let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. The action did not release the tension in her chest—the tightness born of fear that she was about to lose the man she loved so deeply—but it allowed her to form the words she needed to say. “Make love to me, Coop.” His shoulders dropped. He reached for the duffle, but she sprang forward and stayed his hand. “Wait! I’m not saying this right.” “You’re not saying anything at all,” he snapped. “I know we’re great in bed together, Bianca. We always have been. Even the first time.” She choked on the emotion of the memory. For college students, they’d held out longer than most. But with her in the sorority house and him in a dorm, privacy came at a premium. It wasn’t until she’d gone home to look after her brother during one of her parent’s vacations that they’d carved out a special night to make love. And he was right—it had been magical. Nothing as furtive or risky as today’s interlude in the mountain pool, but they’d indulged in a sweet night in the pool house with candlelight and rose petals and soft, romantic music. Looking back, the evening had been a glorious cliché. She only wished she could bring that atmosphere back here, and erase the damage she’d done by acting on her fears instead of her love. “Why do you want to marry me?” she asked. “Because I love you.” “Don’t you love me the same now that we’re not married?” He pondered her question for a minute, then scowled. “Don’t put this on me. I can twist questions, too. If you’re fine with living with me and being faithful to me, then why will marriage change anything?” “Because it does. Marriage means settling down, having a family, changing our lives so drastically, it’ll trickle down into every aspect of our relationship.” “Maybe it’s time for our relationship to change,” he reasoned, and she breathed a little easier as his tone lost the gruff edge of anger and resentment. He was still frowning, but not with quite as much malice. “I love our relationship precisely how it is,” she insisted and this time, when she stepped toward him, he didn’t back away. In fact, he remained perfectly still as she wound her arms around his neck and speared her fingers into his hair, still a little damp from their morning swim. “Life changes,” he countered. “We’ve never stayed in one place for more than a couple of months. You thrive on change.”

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She placed a tentative kiss on his chin, heartened when he didn’t move away. “I don’t mind when the world around us changes, Coop. I just don’t want us to change.” She scooted forward until their bodies were flush. The feel of his sex hardening as she pressed against him accelerated her heartbeat. If he hated her, he wouldn’t respond. At least, that’s what she hoped.

Chapter Eleven Addiction was a powerful thing. No matter how loudly he told himself he should resist until this matter was resolved, Coop couldn’t help but open his mouth the moment Bianca’s lips approached his. He needed to taste her, feel her heat, experience the delicious eroticism of her tongue tangled with his. And once they were kissing, he couldn’t remember why he’d been so angry, why he’d entertained—even for a split second—leaving her behind. He was addicted. She was his drug. He wasn’t sure he could live without her, and had no clue why he should even try. The hollow sensation in his chest refilled with each stitch of clothing they removed. He tore the straps of her dress off her shoulders, smoothing his hands over her skin so that his palms drank in every curve of her sun-drenched skin. She ripped through the buttons on his shirt then tugged her fingers into his chest hair, the pain mirroring her need to hold tight and never release him. By the time they were naked on the bed, he couldn’t wait to drive inside her and meet her wet warmth as if he were a man who hadn’t made love to a woman in recent memory. But he had made love recently—barely an hour ago. In that pool, barely hidden from the people chattering and splashing only yards away, he’d imagined himself the happiest man on earth. Buried inside the woman he adored, he’d contemplated—albeit briefly—a lifetime of access to intimacy so intense, he sometimes forgot where she started and where he ended. Since then, so much had changed. And nothing had been resolved. He did not break away from her, but he leaned back so he could see her face, which was wet with tears. “Why are you crying?” he asked, trying to ignore the exquisite fit of his body within hers. If he moved, if he surrendered, the buildup of need that made him so hard and hungry would find its release. He needed it. Needed her. “I thought I’d never feel this way again,” she said, curving her hands around his buttocks and pressing him inside her more deeply. “You fill me.” Unable to resist he pumped into her, though he kept the thrusts measured, even and calm. The sensations clouded his vision but his mind remained, for the moment, clear. “This is just sex, Bianca. I want to fill your soul.” A sob caught in her throat, and the moisture welling around her dark lashes flooded down her face. “You do!” “Then be my wife.” “I am,” she said. “In every way that matters.”

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She wrapped her legs around his waist, nearly knocking the last of his clarity into the clouded vortex of pleasure, sensation and need. “Then take the vows. Say the words. I need this,” he confessed. “I need you. Whatever you’re afraid of, we’ll work through.” He made the promise, fully intending to keep it. The question remained as to whether or not she could do the same.

Chapter Twelve Coop tried to tame the tempo of his thrusts, but the speed seemed to build of his own accord. When Bianca arched her back so that her breasts crashed against his chest, he couldn’t focus on anything but hearing her cry out in orgasm. He kissed her, coaxed her, cajoled her. He kissed her mouth until her lips swelled pink, then did the same to her nipples. He rode her until the pressure was unstoppable, yet when he came, he knew he crested alone. He reached between their bodies to provide the completion she needed, but she pleaded for him to stop. Though she did not push him away, he rolled off her and she didn’t fight for him to stay. Once his senses cleared, he realized she was crying in earnest now, sobbing and weeping as if she’d just learned of a death. Confused, he watched her for a few minutes before realizing he should do something. He grabbed a blanket from the foot of the bed and draped it over her body, then snagged her pillow and coaxed it beneath her head. “Bianca? Baby, what’s wrong? You don’t cry. Not like this. Come on, honey. You’ve gotta stop. You’re freaking me out.” Despite her misery, she laughed. He grabbed a box of tissues from the bedside, which she used as he stroked her hair and placed feather-light kisses on her cheeks. He wanted to reassure her that they could solve whatever had thrown her into this tizzy of emotion. But after what had happened this afternoon, he wasn’t sure that would be the truth. And if they needed anything to repair the damage to their relationship, it was the truth. “I’m sorry, Coop. I never meant to hurt you. To hurt us.” “I know,” he assured. “But I think both of us have built our relationship into something that it’s not.” She sniffled. “What does that mean?” “You thought things were perfect between us just the way it was. But it wasn’t.” “Because we’re not married.” “No, because no relationship is perfect.” “We’re close,” she insisted. He smiled. Yeah, they were that. “And yet, we’re at a crossroads right now—just as winding and steep as that mountain road. We both have needs that aren’t being met.”

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Her face paled. “I don’t know why—” He cut her off with a kiss. “I do. You thought sex would solve our issues. When it didn’t, you couldn’t let your body go the distance. I suppose I should have the same emotional depth. But the fact is, you’re the hottest piece of ass on God’s green earth and I can’t resist you, even when I should.” As he intended, her smile broke her face into a contradiction of pieces. Sad eyes. Flushed cheeks. Kissbruised lips. “You know me better than anyone ever will.” “That’s true.” She grabbed his cheeks and pulled his face so close, he could follow the path of desperation in her eyes straight through to her soul. “Then tell me why I bolted today. Tell me why I couldn’t marry you.”

Chapter Thirteen If she’d asked him the question an hour ago, he wouldn’t have had a clue how to answer. He still wasn’t sure of the true reasons—she’d have to figure those out on her own. But he could, he hoped, offer her a way to get there. Because that’s what they did for each other. Since the very beginning when they’d participated in the road rally—ostensibly to raise money for some worthy charity, when in truth it was an excuse to drive fast around campus and then to drink heavily at the celebration that followed—Coop drove and Bianca rode shotgun. He’d been struck from the start by how in-sync they were. After less than an hour in each other’s company, he finished her sentences and she laughed at obscure film references that no one other than his sister had ever understood, much less appreciated. Over the years, they’d refined their unique method of communication. But today when he’d surprised her with a spontaneous wedding, and she’d shocked him by balking, their connection had broken. But not, he prayed, irretrievably. “You said it yourself,” he answered. “You’re afraid of marriage. I’m not sure why. The only marriages you’ve ever seen have been happy ones.” “But how happy?” Now it was her turn to catch him unaware. “Our parents have both been married for over thirty years. Do you stay together that long unless you’re happy?” “I guess that depends on your definition of happy.” The air-conditioner kicked on, giving him an excuse to slide under the blanket with her. He propped the pillows against the headboard and then curved his arm around Bianca’s shoulders so that she could lay her cheek on his chest. “Do you think your mother still has the hots for your father?” she asked.

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He nearly choked. “I don’t really want to know the answer to that question.” “Why not? You weren’t exactly born of an immaculate conception.” “No, but that doesn’t mean I want to think about my parents’ sex lives.” “But it’s important. Our sex life has always been important. I expected that after ten years, some of the appeal would have worn off a little bit. It hasn’t.” He snorted, which judging by her scowl, wasn’t the right response. “Are you saying you don’t want me the same way you did when we first met?” she challenged. “Are you nuts?” he said, chuckling. “How many times have we had sex today, keeping in mind that we also had the biggest fight of our relationship?” “Then why’d you snort?” “Because while I might want to have sex a lot—and so do you, I might add—we don’t have it as much as we used to.” She glanced up at him, her eyebrows scrunched quizzically. “Yes, we do.” “No,” he contradicted. “We don’t. Care to do a play-by-play of the past month?” She frowned, but after a minute, gave a nod. He held in a chuckle. If breaking down Bianca’s barriers meant reliving precisely all the times they’d made love over the past thirty days, he was game.

Chapter Fourteen Bianca stared at her left hand. She’d started counting on her right, completely convinced when they started this game that she’d have to use her toes to tally up the times that she and Coop had made love since their arrival in Costa Rica. But as Coop predicted, not counting the two times they’d had sex today, she still didn’t need more than one appendage to keep an accurate calculation. “You’re sure?” she asked. “You were there, too,” he said. Her stomach dropped. She scrambled from beneath the blanket, and after hurrying into the shiny silk robe Coop had bought her in India, went to the bathroom. “Bianca?” She was tempted to lock the door behind her to keep him out, but her brain was too scrambled to figure out even that easy task. When had she and Coop become like an old married couple, too busy with work or too tired from a day out exploring to enjoy the rapturous delights of each other’s bodies? And if they weren’t getting it on as often as she’d thought, was she then ready to walk down the aisle? Coop knocked lightly on the door before cracking it open. “Are you okay?” “No! We’re not having enough sex! Why didn’t you tell me?”

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His burst of laughter made her realize that she sounded like a maniac—a sex maniac, first and foremost, but a certifiable nutcase nonetheless. She folded her lips together and pushed past him, giving the mirror a cursory glance on her way out. She thought she still looked pretty good. She was, after all, only thirty-two. She exercised, ate right. And though she was curvier now than she had been in college, Coop had sworn up and down that her fuller figure turned him on. But how turned on could he be if they’d made love only slightly more than once a week since they arrived in a tropical paradise like Costa Rica? “Bianca, honey, you’re overreacting.” She spun around, but cut her denial off before she’d formed the first word. She was overreacting. But in her crazy mind, she had good reason. “I thought that marriage would dull our attraction to each other,” she confessed. “The fact that I still want you and you still want me after all this time is something I thought was really special about us—the thing I didn’t want to change by getting married. I don’t know a single other couple who has been together ten years and still can’t keep their hands off each other. Now I’ve just come to the realization that not only can we keep our hands off each other, but we have! And I haven’t even noticed.” Coop had the decency to stop laughing at her. But the twinkle in his eye told her his thoughts were not on the deeper problems beneath the fact that they hadn’t been having sex with regularity. And judging by the way he licked his lips, he wanted to make up for lost time. Starting now.

Chapter Fifteen She expected him to pounce. The heated look in Coop’s eyes—the one that made her insides instantaneously liquefy—usually preceded hot-and-heavy, against-the-nearest-hard-surface sex. Instead, he snagged the belt on her robe and reeled her slowly until her nose brushed against the tip of his chin. “Let’s get one thing straight right now,” he said, gently kissing her forehead. “The fact that we haven’t had sex that much lately has nothing to do with how much I want you.” She inhaled. His scent penetrated the last of her defenses. “You know all my insecurities.” “I should,” he said. “Just the same way you know mine—and my biggest one is losing you.” She tilted her head so she could brush a kiss along his jawline. “I’m not going anywhere, and I’m sorry for hurting you today. I should have trusted you. I should have at least gotten out of the car.” “Yes, you should have. You would have found a chapel filled with flowers, and that street corner guitarist you like would have played you down the aisle.” While they talked, he’d worked the knot out of her belt and brushed the robe off her shoulders, so it pooled around her ankles. He wore jeans, but hadn’t zipped or buttoned them, so that his erection pressed against her belly when she snuggled closer. “I’m sorry I didn’t see it,” she said honestly. Maybe if she hadn’t allowed her fears to waylay her, the atmosphere would have swept her up and she’d be Coop’s wife right now. But she couldn’t imagine feeling closer to him as she slid his hands up her body, caressing the undersides of her breasts in that teasing way that drove her mad with want. “Me, too.”

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He nibbled her lips, coaxing her tongue with kisses that might have been made of heated air. His thumbs brushed over her nipples, but at the very moment that her nerve endings sparked with need, his touch was gone. His sweet torture made her so dizzy that she didn’t dare move for fear of falling—for fear of missing out on his subtle seduction of her body, mind and soul. “Coop,” she started, unsure what she should say—only minutes before their relationship had been on the line. She’d rejected him in the cruelest way possible. And yet, here he was now, making love to her with the most exquisite attention to detail. The way he suckled the tip of her ear, licked along her shoulder blade, then dropped to his knees to blow a cool breath at the hottest part of her body. “Coop, I—” she repeated, still incapable of forming a coherent thought, particularly when he was nuzzling her stomach or fluttering kisses across her thighs. “Shh,” he instructed. “Making up for lost time requires intense concentration.”

Chapter Sixteen His erection was pressed against the teeth of his unzipped jeans, but despite the pain, Coop concentrated solely on Bianca’s pleasure. With feathery touches and kisses that barely registered the taste of her skin, he’d heightened her awareness of her lower body to such a concentrated force that when he finally flicked his tongue against her sex, she nearly bucked out of her skin. He hummed his appreciation against her. So what if they’d succumbed to the married couple’s affliction of ignoring their sexual needs more than they should. However much Coop liked a good, old-fashioned dose of quantity, he appreciated quality, too. If he lost Bianca tonight because they couldn’t agree on marriage, he wanted to go out knowing that the last time he’d made love to the woman he loved, he’d made it count. He savored her flavors on his tongue. He registered the accelerating sharpness of her breath and the increasing pressure of her hands on his shoulders. By the time she had her orgasm, his senses were enraptured by the woman he needed to have in his life forever. He lifted her into his arms; she curled into him, breathless. He unfolded her across the mattress, but before he could press inside her, she placed her palm flat against his chest. “Stop,” she said. Her mouth curved into a wicked grin. “My turn.” She guided him onto his bed, then returned the favor of pleasuring every inch of his body with her mouth, teeth, tongue and hands. She left very few crevices and appendages unexplored and once she’d wrapped her delicious mouth around his sex, he’d forgotten everything but the bliss only Bianca could bring him. She sucked him to the brink of orgasm and then pressed on the magic spot that kept him from falling over the edge. “Bianca, you’re killing me,” he groaned. She chuckled. “That’s not my intention.” “Let me come, honey,” he begged. “Not until you’re inside me,” she countered. He wasted no time, flipping her onto her back and burying himself to the hilt. The glorious sound of her pleasured cry fired his synapses so that he could think of nothing else but rocking into her until they came.

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“I love you.” He gazed desperately into her liquid amber eyes—willing to drown if that was the only way to reach her. He could never walk away from her. No matter how it hurt him to not marry her, it would kill him to leave. “I love you, too,” she promised. “Don’t ever doubt that.” “I won’t. And you don’t have to marry me, Bianca.” Never since that treetop proposal had he imagined he’d speak these words, but he didn’t have a choice. Between disappointment and destruction, he knew which to choose. “We don’t have to mess with this—with us. Marriage is just a piece of paper, right? What we have is so much more.” Smiling, she touched his cheek and in that moment, he knew he’d said the right thing. What he didn’t know was if he really meant it.

Chapter Seventeen “Coop?” Though Bianca awoke with Coop’s name on her lips, she knew immediately that he wasn’t there. Their hotel room echoed with emptiness, the only light streaming in from the window, the curtains open since this afternoon. She rolled over toward his side of the bed and found her cell phone. He’d typed a message onto the screen that informed her he’d gone to pick up some dinner since he wanted to spend the rest of the night in bed. Her body thrummed in anticipation. She snuggled deeply into the sheets, inhaling his musky scent, and then checked the time. He’d only left ten minutes ago, so if he was heading over to their favorite restaurant for sea bass ceviche, he’d be gone at least another twenty. Once he returned, she had to make her choice. He’d given her an out. They could continue their relationship as they had for all these years—no rings, no wedding, no promises beyond loving each other until the day they died. While his offer was tempting, Bianca realized they couldn’t go backward anymore than they could remain stagnant. It was time to raise the bar. Jump from a higher height. Surf a more ravenous wave. Complacency had never enriched her life. How could it possibly grow their love? With her cell phone in hand she dialed her best friend, Jessie, needing to hear a familiar voice. Engaged three times and yet still unmarried, Jessie wasn’t exactly a fan of the institution. But she was dead honest and innately fearless. If anyone could push Bianca those final few inches to the edge of the matrimonial cliff, it was Jessie. Only Jessie didn’t answer her cell. Well, it was a Friday night. She was probably out, couldn’t hear the ring. She tried her boss, Mallory. They’d long ago given up trying to keep their business and personal lives separate. They had a video conference scheduled for tomorrow. But as another woman who’d recently had her heart trampled, Mallory might provide some insight into Bianca’s troubles that she wouldn’t get from anyone else. But she’d likely tell Bianca to count herself lucky to have someone as wonderful as Coop and not a cheater like her ex. She did not leave a voicemail.

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Instead, she called the only person who had the slightest chance of sympathizing with Bianca’s dilemma. Luckily, her mother answered on the first ring. “Bianca, is something wrong?” “Does something have to be wrong for me to call my mother?” “No, no,” her mother said, sounding distracted. “Where’s Coop?” “Getting dinner. Mom, can I ask you something?” Bianca needed to get this out while she had the chance. “Of course, honey.” “Why haven’t I married Coop?” Her mother spluttered. “What? What have you heard? Why are you asking this now after all this time?” Bianca had imagined a few reactions, but not this one. It was as if she’d just caught her mother red-handed in some sort of conspiracy. “Mom? What’s going on?”

Chapter Eighteen “I don’t know what you mean,” her mother insisted. Alina Brighton was a lot of things—a caregiver, a philanthropist and the classiest woman on earth. But she was also a terrible liar. Maybe that’s why Bianca called her. If she wanted the unvarnished truth about why she was not committing to Coop, her mother would tell her. “We don’t talk on the phone that often, Mom. When I call, I normally get your full attention.” “I have people over, sweetheart,” her mother said in an unconvincingly breezy voice. “Let me find somewhere quiet.” After her mother fumbled with the phone, Bianca found herself muted. She was surprised, but once Alina got back on the line, Bianca had more important things on her mind. She couldn’t keep Coop from being truly happy on account of her hang-ups. She needed to face her ultimate fear. “Now what’s this about you not marrying Coop?” Alina’s voice had a curt clip that caught Bianca unaware. “Are you mad at me?” Flustered, her mother babbled, “No, dear, of course not. I’m confused.” “Tell me about it,” Bianca said. She explained about the chapel in the mountains and Coop packing to leave without her. “But he stayed?” her mother spluttered. “Everything’s okay between you?”

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“He said we didn’t have to get married, but mom, it’s not fair. Why should Coop put his dreams on hold just because I can’t commit? I thought I was just afraid that we’d stop having sex, but—” “Excuse me?” Bianca couldn’t believe she was having this conversation with her mother, but her two best friends were unavailable and she had to talk this out. Maybe she should have called Annie, but discussing her sex life with her fiancé’s sister was somehow worse than talking to her mother. “Married couples might not have sex every five minutes,” Alina declared. “But if they’re happy, they make each time count.” “I know that now,” Bianca conceded. “So why am I still confused? I love him. I can’t imagine being with anyone else.” “You’re overthinking, sweetheart.” Alina’s compassion softened her tone. “You and Coop live in a world of flux—always doing new jobs, going new places.” “But he’s my constant! Why wouldn’t I want to make that permanent?” “I can’t imagine,” her mother replied. “After ten years, you can’t be afraid of losing him.” “No.” “Of settling down?” “That’s part of it,” Bianca admitted. “I don’t see myself staying in one place, raising kids and driving carpool.” Her mother’s laugh was like an explosion. “Honey, no one who knows you would ever expect those things. How could Coop when he knows you better than you know yourself?” Bianca’s heart lifted. Her mother was right. Coop understood Bianca like no one else. From the start he’d known what was in her heart, underneath all her anxiety. She said she loved him. Now she had to prove it—in a way that he’d believe. And after what she’d put him through today, convincing him might not be an easy task.

Chapter Nineteen Coop balanced the bags of food in one hand and flipped open his ringing cell phone. “I know you’re hungry, baby, but I’m only a block away.” “Please don’t call me, ‘baby.’” Surprised by the male voice on the other end of the phone, Coop took a second to register that it was his best friend, Leo Sharpe, not his fiancé—or former fiancé. He still wasn’t clear on if they were engaged, anymore—or if they even needed to be. “My mistake,” Coop said, chuckling. “I thought you were Bianca.” “She’s not with you?” “I’m picking up food. What’s up?”

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“Wanted to check in. A bunch of us thought we’d get together Saturday night at the pizza place, to welcome you guys home.” Coop stopped walking. As often as he and Bianca flitted in and out of their friends’ lives, they’d given up welcome-home parties a long time ago. “Why?” he asked, suspicious. “Are we so old now that we need a reason to party?” Coop resumed his walk to the hotel. “We’re certainly not getting any younger.” “Too true. So, are you guys in or what?” “I don’t know. I don’t know what Bianca has planned. Let me run the idea past her.” The minute the words left Coop’s mouth, the foreign sound struck him. How could he not know what Bianca had going on? They hadn’t kept a single secret from each other for ten years. They’d shared the same space, the same priorities—hell, the same friends. He’d cherished the simplicity of their symbiotic existence. Now, he no longer trusted her not to have secrets. If she could go so long hiding her fear that marriage would destroy their relationship, what else didn’t he know? “Something wrong?” Leo asked. Coop forced a laugh. “Everything’s cool.” “Bullshit,” Leo countered. Coop cursed, not surprised Leo had picked up on his troubled vibe. They’d been friends since high school, and pledging the same fraternity in college had literally made them brothers. He’d been Coop’s wingman the night he’d met Bianca and had always been the strongest advocate for their marriage, even going as far as offering to plan the whole affair if it meant getting his two best friends down the aisle. Coop wondered what Leo’s take on Bianca’s reluctance was, but he didn’t ask. He’d told Bianca that she didn’t have to marry him for them to be together. He would keep his word. “Just anxious to get home,” he said. Surprisingly, Leo didn’t argue. “Then I’ll assume we’re on for Saturday unless you say otherwise, okay?” Five minutes later, Coop walked into the hotel room and set the food bags down by the door. He quietly padded to the bedroom, determined to wake Bianca gently. But the minute he saw the empty bed, his heart stopped.

Chapter Twenty Though the bed was empty, Coop couldn’t see the sheets. Every inch of the mattress was covered in bright pink and orange orchids. Bianca stood at the windowsill, lighting candles she’d lined up on the ledge. “That’s a lot of flowers,” he said. She blew out the match. “The hotel diverted a delivery meant for a wedding tomorrow. I promised I’d pay double if they could find replacements before morning. I don’t want someone else’s ceremony ruined because I wanted to make a grand gesture. I’ve messed up my share of weddings today.”

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Since he’d told Bianca that she didn’t have to marry him, his chest had felt hollow. So far, that had not changed. He’d do anything not to lose Bianca, but he did not want her to change her mind out of some misguided sense of obligation. Or worse, guilt. “Bianca, sweetheart—” She held up her hand to silence him. “No, Coop, you need to listen.” She crossed the room and slipped her hands around his waist, arching her back so that he could see her face, pale gold in the light from the candles. “I love you.” “I know,” he said. She punched him softly in the shoulder. He supposed now wasn’t the time to quote movies, but the tension between them was disconcerting. It wasn’t a bad tension, necessarily, but intense. As if she was about to reveal some great secret to him—and frankly, he’d had more than enough privy time with her closeted inner workings to last a while. “I made too many excuses for not marrying you. But in a way, I’m glad we got it all out in the open. None of my stupid fears held up to the light of what we have together. You know who I am, better than I know myself. You’d never expect anything from me that I couldn’t give.” “I don’t have any expectations,” he assured her. “Well, you should,” she said, rising on her tiptoes to place a chaste kiss on his chin. She stepped back, took his hand and dropped to one knee. “Bianca,” he pleaded. She’d taken the preferred posture for a proposal—one, come to think of it, he’d yet to try—but he was supposed to be the supplicant one, not her. “Shh,” she chastised. “You’re already my soul mate and my best friend, but we won’t be complete until you’re my husband. Cooper Rush, will you marry me?” He knelt, intoxicated by her honesty. He kissed her with the ferocity of a man who’d just fallen in love for the first time. And though he still did not have his fill of her—and doubted he ever would—he broke the kiss to ask the question that was crucial to their future. “When?” She laughed. “Now if you want.” “We’re going home tomorrow, and the first and only task on our list is to plan a very fast and very long overdue wedding.”

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Zombie Midnight by Lori Devoti Having seen her brother’s life ruined by addiction, teacher Lexi Thompson refuses to sit idly by as her students get seduced into the drug scene. She’s even willing to follow one teen in the hopes of finding—and exposing—his dealer. What she doesn’t know is that the “zombie” the kids are whispering about is not merely an illicit substance.… Her quest is about to lead her into a terrifying world she never could have imagined! Bryce Menard is a member of the covert Fringe—a group of vampires dedicated to policing their own kind, to the exclusion of all else. Nothing will stop him from completing his latest mission—not even a beautiful human who gets between him and the undead teen he hopes will lead him right to his maker!

Chapter One Bryce Menard had never failed before. The Fringe—his brother vampires who had joined together over a hundred years ago to police their own kind—wouldn’t take kindly to him doing so now. Their numbers were small; each had to do his part. No one believed or supported that more than Bryce. He would jam the ceremonial blade of disgrace in his own heart if he failed. But it was too early to start planning his own death. He had only been tracking the Zombie Maker for three months, having taken over from one of his brothers who had failed. And Bryce had a lead. Feet shuffled to his left. He sank back against the side of the building and disappeared into the shadows. A human boy, no more than sixteen, shambled past. His gait was no different than that of a thousand other apathetic teens, but his scent—stench to Bryce’s vampire nose—was pure rot. A zombie. He had been turned—Bryce inhaled—but recently. He waited another two minutes for the boy to be within easy reach, then sprang from the darkness and grabbed the walking corpse by the neck. His fingers pressing into the boy’s throat, his face against his ear, he whispered, “What are you worth to your maker?” *** Lexi Thompson hurried down the quickly darkening street. Mitchell was a block ahead of her now. She couldn’t lose him, couldn’t stand the thought of her student becoming another victim of the drug epidemic that was claiming her brother. She knew what Mitchell’s shuffling steps, the flat deadness of his eyes and the undeniable odor of his breath meant. He, like Tony, was addicted. She’d heard the kids whispering about some new drug—zombie. She didn’t care what they termed it; she wouldn't lose a student to it. If the police wouldn’t take her calls seriously, she would take care of things on her own. They might be able to ignore her pleas to help one strung-out kid. But if she had the name, even the face, of the dealer to give them, how could they ignore that? They couldn't. She’d make sure of it.

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Determined and convinced she was doing the right thing, the only thing she could, she stepped out of her heels and left them lying forgotten on the sidewalk. They were only slowing her down. Then, ignoring the cold concrete beneath her bare feet, she hurried her steps. Her sacrifice paid off. Another ten feet and she caught sight of Mitchell again. She let out a tension-filled breath, but she was only allowed that one tiny moment of relief before a new anxiety wrapped around her. A man jumped from the shadows and grabbed the teen around his neck. Strung out as he was, Mitchell didn’t struggle. He stood in the man’s grip defenseless…lifeless. A memory of her brother lying pale and near death on his bed, a needle protruding from one arm, flashed through Lexi’s mind and crowded out everything else, every sense of personal danger she had ever held. She raced forward and threw herself on the man’s back.

Chapter Two The attack came from nowhere. One minute Bryce had the zombie in his grip, squeezing him into submission, and next a body of sweet-scented curves had landed on his back. A forearm pressed into Bryce’s Adam’s apple. “Run, Mitchell!” a woman screamed in his ear. His fingers still gripping the zombie’s neck, Bryce spun, but the woman held tight. With his free hand, he reached behind him to jerk her off his back. “Run, Mitchell!” she repeated. At her second call, the zombie’s head tilted. A bit of recognition, humanity even, flashed over its face. The woman rose higher on Bryce’s back and slapped her hands over his eyes. At that moment the zombie twisted from his hold. With a curse, he reached over his shoulder and tossed the female who had cost him his quarry onto the concrete. She fell hard. He moved to step over her, but she rolled to a crouch and grabbed him around the thigh. Then she screamed. The zombie was already disappearing into the gloom, leaving the female to receive Bryce’s wrath. He wrapped his fingers around her upper arm and hauled her to her feet. She was maybe six inches shorter than his six-foot-two-inch frame. She only had to tilt her head a bit to meet his gaze with hers. After her bold attack, he’d expected to find defiance and challenge in her blue eyes, but fear and desperation met him instead. The intensity of it caused him to pause. “The school knows I’m here. Knows Mitchell is, too. There are others following.” She took a step to the side, trying to follow the zombie’s example and twist from Bryce’s hold. But he was ready this time. He gripped her by the other arm and pulled her against his chest. She smelled of baby powder and permanent markers. The mixture was disconcerting, soft and harsh. Just as contradictory as her actions were to the fear he saw in her eyes. Her hands spread over his white cotton shirt. Her fingers were stained with blue and green ink—the markers.

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He didn’t bother glancing around for the saviors she claimed were coming. He could see by the way her gaze darted, the words were a lie. She jerked against his hold, but he held tight. “Why?” he asked. Sweat beaded on her upper lip. She dug her fingers into his chest until he thought her nails would poke through the fine woven cloth and scrape his skin. He yanked her closer, until there was no room between them for her to even bend her fingers, much less continue her attack. “Why are you following him? What do you know?” “I…” She threw her head back, baring her neck. Bryce froze. Her throat was long and pale. Her pulse beat wildly under the skin. He could see the rapid twitch at her collar bone, could smell the blood now. The need to taste it, fed by the adrenaline ripping through him, almost overwhelmed him. He lowered his head. She jerked again. His lip rose, and his fangs descended. A snarl broke free from his throat. He had never wanted anything as much as he wanted to taste this woman’s blood. He dipped his mouth toward her neck.

Chapter Three My God, what was happening? Lexi had clawed at the man, tried to force him to free her. But as he bent closer, lowered his head toward her, she found herself clinging to him, instead. Her heart beat as if it might fly from her chest. Her instincts shrieked danger, but her body defied all the warnings. Her knees bent, pushing her even closer to the man she’d seen attack Mitchell, until she could feel his breath dance over her skin and her breasts flatten against him. “What…what are you doing?” The words were no more than a whisper. She stared up at the strange man who was making her body react in an even stranger manner. His eyes were dark…dilated to the point she couldn’t tell their real color. His black hair was tousled, falling over his forehead and brushing one cheek. She wanted to push the strands back so she could see him more clearly. She straightened her head, trying to see his whole face; his lips and chin weren’t visible at this angle. He stared back at her and something clicked in his eyes. A circle of gray appeared, telling her their color. Then with a curse, he shoved her to the side. For the second time that night, she hit the ground. Her phone, which she’d tucked in the pocket of her slacks, fell too. She dove toward it, but the man reached it first. He lifted one foot and stomped her lifeline to others into nothing but tiny bits of plastic and wires. Then he kicked the remnants across the ground and spun toward her. “Stay away from me.” And with those words, little more than a growl, he raced down the street. Away from her and toward Mitchell. No phone. No way to call for help.

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She had no choice but to follow. *** Bryce cast the woman aside, cursing himself for what he had almost done. He’d lost focus, forgotten his hunt and become ensnared by the scent and feel of her. It had never happened before. He couldn’t let it happen again. With that thought pounding in his head, he took off after the zombie. Within seconds, the undead teen was back in sight. The boy was squatting in the middle of the street. He seemed to be prying the lid off a manhole. Bryce slowed his steps. The zombie slipped from view, disappeared beneath the street. The only sign he’d been near was the clang of the manhole cover falling back into place. Bryce didn’t pause. He jerked at the manhole cover, but the thing wouldn’t budge. He glanced over his shoulder. The woman was kneeling in the road, holding the remnants of her phone. Her gaze was on him, but even from here he could see her hands shaking. With the death of her cell, she’d lost her bravada. Not that her cell would have done her any good where he was going. Another sharp tug and the cover pulled free. He slipped through the opening and pulled the cover back down into place. Even if the female’s bravery hadn’t been false, she wouldn't follow him here.

Chapter Four Lexi’s feet were numb and her skin clammy, but she didn’t have time to worry about either. The man who had attacked Mitchell was getting away. Without her phone to photograph him or call the police, she had to follow, had to see where he went so she could tell someone, so she could save Mitchell. As she raced forward, he was already disappearing, but in an impossible way. He seemed to be lowering his body into the street. She stopped, stymied. The sound of metal hitting metal broke through her confusion—a manhole cover. He was going into sewers. She licked her lips and looked back the direction she had come. Now would be a good time to leave and find a phone. Going underground would be insane. She had no idea where the tunnels went. She took a step back toward the school. But a new thought stopped her. She didn't know where the sewers went, which meant she didn’t know how far away he could get and how quickly. He could leave the tunnels through some other route and be gone for good. She turned back around and scanned the street. A few feet to her right lay a strip of metal, fallen from some ramshackle car. She grabbed it, then scurried forward. Not giving herself time to rethink her decision, she slipped the metal strip under the edge of the manhole cover and pried at the disc. Then sucking in a breath, she lowered herself through the hole.

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Above her the lid clanked closed. She was left in complete darkness.

*** Twenty feet away from the manhole he’d entered through, Bryce froze. He knew that sound. Someone had followed him. The woman. A gasp, followed by a soft cry, confirmed the guess. His first instinct was to keep going, to let the idiot female figure her own way out of whatever problem she’d landed herself in. Tiny whimpers echoed through the concrete passageway. He thought of the duty assigned him, or tried to. His mind floated instead to an image of the female’s face, lost, afraid and determined. His teeth gritted, he stalked back to the sewer entrance. The underground tunnels were black as death. Lights hung from the ceiling, but none were operating. The darkness didn't bother Bryce. He and his kind thrived in the dark, but it was obviously an issue for the female. She clung to the ladder that led from the street, as if she were dangling from a rope over a sea filled with sharks. Of course, unknown to her, the monster she dangled over was much more dangerous than any shark. He swallowed, his mouth dry, his body aching. She was built like women of his youth when breasts and buttocks were celebrated, not starved away. Her hair had fallen into fine waves atop her shoulders. His fingers opened and closed. The locks would be soft to his touch, would wrap around his fingers and trap him like cotton candy. And her taste—his tongue moved over his fangs—like the candy, would be sweet and addictive. He should walk away. But he couldn’t. His fangs heavy in his mouth, he took a step forward.

Chapter Five Lexi stabbed at open air with her bare foot. Her hands and fingers ached, but she was afraid to lighten her grip on the cold metal ladder. She knew there had to be ground below, but she couldn’t see it, having nothing to reference where she was but the ladder. Panic engulfed her. Her world seemed to be collapsing, invisible walls pressed in toward her.

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She gulped for air, but none made its way into her lungs. Below her something hissed. She jerked and turned. Her body swayed to one side and finger by finger her grip on the rungs loosened. Then she fell. *** The female dropped from the ladder like a bird shot from the sky. The fall was short, less than twelve feet, but her landing, on concrete, would be hard. With the speed of the preternatural beast he was, Bryce rushed forward. With an umph of exhaled air, she landed into his arms. He held her, cradled against his chest, unsure what to do next. Mind and duty said to drop her, but his arms curved around her and didn’t seem to want to let go. The sweet scent of innocence broke through the dank air of the sewer like a fist punching through a wall. Bryce grasped her tighter against his body. “What…?” She pulled in a stuttering breath. Her hand reached out, grasping blindly in the dark, feeling for who had saved her. Her fingers found his face. Bryce held still, not even his chest moving with breath. “I fell.” A pure statement of fact that in Bryce’s mind required no response. “You caught me.” The words were soft, filled with disbelief. He had. He hadn’t meant to, but he had. He was as surprised as she was. The realization only increased his need to be with her, to discover her. His face lowered until her breath danced across his skin. He pulled it into his lungs, tasted it, tasted her…wanted more. His groin tightened. Tension flowed from her body like water from a spring; he could feel it. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back as if relaxing in an easy chair. She felt as comfortable in his embrace as he felt embracing her. The thought flitted through his brain, but briefly. His attention was too focused on the column of skin her movement had bared, her throat, pale and perfect. The tiny steady throb of her pulse called to him. He brushed his lips over her collarbone, and tried to remember who he was, the duty he was sworn to complete. Tried to think of zombies and vampires drunk with their own power, but all he could see, all he could feel at that moment was her. She was everything, and for the first time in his long-dead existence, he was powerless to resist. He opened his mouth and sank his fangs into her.

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Chapter Six The stranger’s lips brushed over Lexi’s throat. Some tiny bit of sanity told her this wasn’t right. But as quickly as the thought flickered to life, she knocked it aside. Her hands moved to the man’s chest, touching material so smooth and fine it could have been silk, except it wasn’t, she knew that. She recognized the expensive cloth beneath her fingers, having felt it only moments earlier when she had grappled with the man who had attacked Mitchell. Reality smashed into her like a bucket of snow to the face. But before she could react, or even tense, the feel of lips hovering over her throat was gone, replaced by a pain that jerked her breath from her chest. Then just as quickly the pain was gone, too. Her mind swirled and her body ached. She shifted in the man’s arms, knowing somehow he was providing the intense feeling of pleasure that surrounded her—knowing, too, through him there was much more to be had. A moan left her lips and her hands rose. She wanted to touch the man, pull him even closer. Her fingers wove through his hair. Her body arched. He murmured something and she murmured in return, nonsense words, noises of pleasure and desire. She hadn’t felt this way, forgotten herself this way for years. Her job and constant struggles to save Tony from himself didn’t allow time for anything personal. Tony. Her eyes closed and tears pressed against her eyelids. Disassociated as she was, distant as the world seemed right now, his situation felt more desperate, hopeless. The moan she’d been about to release changed to a sob. *** Bryce felt her tears on his cheek, inhaled their salty scent. Lost as he was in the pleasure of feeding on her, the unexpected emotion cut through the fog that surrounded him. His mouth still pressed against her throat, the truth hit him. He had forgotten his hunt, given in to the most base of vampire desires, fed when he should have been caught in the chase. He pulled his fangs from her throat, but couldn’t bring himself to let her go. “Who are you?” he whispered, his lips still pressed against her skin. *** Lexi’s feet hit the ground slowly, the man loosening his hold, releasing her while still keeping her close. It was the perfect time to jump backwards, proclaim her shock and anger at being taken advantage of and touched when she was at her weakest. But outrage would have been a lie. And Lexi didn’t have it in her. “Lexi,” she replied. She searched his face, wishing she could see him better in the dark. She needed to see him, to understand how someone she didn’t know could strip away the barriers she’d built around herself so completely. She could feel his stare, thought for a moment he wouldn’t say any more.

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“Bryce.” His voice was rough, gave her the feeling his offering was made grudgingly. But still knowing his name was better, reassured her he was real and not some panic-induced dream. “Thank you,” she murmured. He’d saved her from her fall; he deserved her thanks. The other, how she had reacted to him…she dropped her gaze to the ground. She wouldn’t think about that.

Chapter Seven “I…I have to go now.” The woman placed a shaking hand against Bryce’s chest and stepped backwards, but Bryce didn’t release his hold on her. He kept her trapped within his arms. She closed her eyes and took a breath. When she raised her eyelids something had changed. She had changed, hardened. “You attacked Mitchell,” she muttered. “Mitchell? The zom…boy?” he asked. He kept his voice calm, conversational. She, he realized, might know something he could use to find the zombie and thus his maker. It was an excuse, a reason to keep her with him. But one he could justify, to himself and the Fringe. “Zombie. You were going to say zombie. You gave it to him, didn’t you? You’re his pusher.” She jerked against Bryce’s hold again. He had no idea what the woman was rambling about. “Pusher?” he asked. She stomped down on his foot and kicked his shin; with her feet bare neither had any affect. “Yes, pusher. You gave him the drug. How many others have you supplied?” She wrenched side to side. He held firm. “I haven’t supplied anyone with anything,” he replied. A rough laugh left her throat. “Then why did you grab Mitchell? Why did you come down here?” She glanced around. “Why did you?” he asked. “I was following you, trying to save Mitchell.” “And I was following him, trying to find his…pusher.” There was a scuttling up ahead. Both Bryce and Lexi stilled. “Mitchell,” she murmured. Bryce inhaled. The telltale scent of rotting human flesh assailed him. Zombies were just ahead, waiting for them. “You have to leave.” He took a step toward the ladder, signaling for Lexi to follow him. She stood poised like a wild animal startled by a light. Then she ran. ***

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Her hand trailing over the concrete wall for reference, Lexi ran as fast as she could through the darkness. Racing forward blindly was like being caught in a nightmare. The sound of her bare feet slapping against the cold floors echoed through the passageways. She wasn’t sure why she was running. She had believed Bryce when he said he was hunting Mitchell’s pusher. Maybe that was why…. She shouldn’t trust him. The fact that she did, so quickly and so thoroughly, terrified her. Her footsteps rang through the sewers and her breath came in puffs. She could hear little else, couldn’t tell if the man was in pursuit or not. But before she’d run, she’d heard something else. It had to be Mitchell; who else would be in this tunnel? Once she found him, she would leave. She would let Bryce—if he was telling the truth—continue the hunt for the pusher. But she couldn’t leave without her student. Ignoring the panic that threatened to overtake her again, she raced forward. Then with no warning, the wall she’d been following disappeared. Her hand hit open air and her foot slipped to the side. She teetered, and for the second time that night, she was falling. And also for the second time that night, an arm wrapped around her waist.

Chapter Eight “Stay here.” Bryce shoved Lexi against a wall. Then he was gone. She threw out her arms and hugged the concrete behind her. On her left, her hand touched cloth, and on her right, open air. She spun and grabbed the material with both hands. Holding it like a lifeline, she realized it was clothing. She groped more and found a helmet with something round mounted onto its top. She released a breath—a light. Her fingers numb and her heart racing, she fumbled with the tiny knob she found protruding from the side. There was a click and a yellow glow blazed to life, blinding her. She pulled the helmet to her chest and flashed the light around her. She was in an intersection of old and new. The passage she had run through ended three feet from her current location and broke instead into three arched tunnels constructed of brick. The wide ledge she’d been walking on ended, too. In the older passages there was no more than an inch of flat brick on each side of the channel, which carried runoff and who knew what else. She stared down at her bare toes and swallowed. Then remembering the clothing, she spun. She shoved what she now saw were gray coveralls aside. Sitting beneath them, toes out and lined up nicely, were three pairs of green waterproof boots. A moment later, the helmet strapped to her head and her feet swimming in a pair of oversized boots, she moved forward. It had been dark when Bryce left. She had no way of knowing which direction he had gone, or what he had been running toward. But she knew Mitchell was still here. If Bryce was chasing his pusher, she had a chance of finding her student and getting him out of here before everything went to hell. With nothing to go on but gut instinct, she took a step toward the archway on her right. She had taken one more decisive step when she heard sounds coming from the tunnel on her left. “Miss Thompson? Are you there?” Mitchell. He was okay and looking for her.

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With her neck bent to keep from hitting her head against the ceiling, she shuffled into the tunnel. “Mitchell?” she stage-whispered. “Don’t move. Stay where you are. I found a light.” *** The older tunnels wove around and ran into new ones, formed a maze under the city that few knew of and fewer had visited. How the zombie managed to navigate it so quickly, Bryce didn’t know. He’d thought he had the creature once, smelled it and known it was close, only to hear a whisper of new movement farther away, or in a new tunnel. Finally, tired of the game, Bryce stopped. Water trickled along the ground, echoed until to Bryce’s sensitive ears it sounded like a waterfall. He blocked the noise out and searched for something new, more subtle. Somewhere behind him, or beside him in another tunnel, there was shuffling. He edged forward, slower this time. He focused on the noise. At the next intersection he sank back against the bricks. The noise was growing louder; the zombie was moving closer. Fainter, he heard something new—breathing. Zombies didn’t breathe. Vampires didn’t breathe, not unless they were pretending to be human. “Mitchell? I found you.” The relief in Lexi’s voice was evident. Then she screamed.

Chapter Nine Something had grabbed Lexi. She had heard Mitchell’s voice and been walking toward it when a cold clammy hand dropped onto her neck. With a scream, she bolted. It was hard to run in the boots. For one fleeting second she considered dumping them like she’d dumped her pumps, kicking the cumbersome male footwear to the side. But then she’d remembered the thin but steady stream of sewage running over her feet and she'd kept them on. When she looked ahead and saw the outline of Mitchell’s body she was glad she had. The sewers had made her jumpy when she needed to be strong. Relief and a bit of giddy embarrassment washed over her. She slowed her pace and smiled, tried to look like the confident in-control adult Mitchell needed right now. His arms rose and dropped around her, capturing her in an awkward hug. She hesitated, feeling both uncomfortable with such intimate contact and glad that he was happy to see her. She murmured something reassuring and tried to step back. Her hand hit cold dead flesh. Startled, she looked up into glassy unseeing eyes. Her heart shuddered. Mitchell was dead—except he couldn’t be. He was still standing, still watching her. “Mi…Mitchell?” she asked, her voice breaking. “Miss Thompson,” he acknowledged, but there was no recognition in his eyes. There was nothing in his eyes except cold unmistakable hunger.

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He opened his mouth and lunged toward her. *** A second scream—this one louder and more shrill than the most practiced of horror-flick shrieks—tore through the sewers. Bryce didn’t stop to think. He just ran. Rounding the corner, he found his prey. The zombie was silhouetted in an almost blinding light, his arms upraised and his body bending forward over someone. Lexi. Bryce hissed and leapt. Hampered by the close walls, he did his best to propel himself in a straight trajectory. He didn’t need to hit the monster. He just needed it to turn its attention away from Lexi and give her a chance to run. The zombie staggered to the side, its head twisting toward Bryce as it did. Lexi stood behind it, her face drawn. He yelled at her, told her to run. But just as quickly he realized the zombie wasn’t alone. It had friends, other zombies waiting no more than twenty feet away. Lexi was trapped between them. His body struck the first zombie. The creature swung at him. Its fist made contact with Bryce’s head. Bryce’s fangs extended and his shoulders widened. He forgot that he had wanted the creature mobile and able to lead him to his maker, forgot everything except destroying the shell of what had once been a teen. The monster's hands clamped on to Bryce’s arm; its teeth followed. Bryce extended his arm so the creature’s head smashed into the low ceiling. The zombie didn’t flinch; it bit down harder. Bryce laughed at the zombie’s stupidity. You couldn’t turn what was already dead. Just like Bryce couldn’t kill what was already dead. But he could stop the corpse from walking. Stop it from attacking Lexi or anyone else ever again. He wrapped his free hand around the creature’s throat and squeezed. Seeming completely unaffected, the zombie tilted its head side to side. Then Lexi screamed again. The other zombies had joined the fight.

Chapter Ten Bryce dropped the undead teen onto the ground and reached into his coat where he kept the silver and iron stake every member of the Fringe bore. Its end was sharpened and its handle bound in leather. It fit in Bryce’s hand like it had been made for his grip, which it had. The swordsmith who crafted it had watched Bryce fight a hundred other vampires, memorized his strengths and weaknesses, then crafted the stake for him and him alone. There was no other like it. It was almost sacrilege to use it on an opponent as unworthy as a zombie. But it was the only weapon, aside from Bryce’s own fangs and strength, he had at hand. Almost.

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Lexi stood pressed against the wall. The other zombies reached toward her, their mouths open and hunger reflecting from their dead eyes. He spun, grabbed the boy he’d first followed and tossed him toward the pair. All three fell. Bryce leapt and landed on the pile. He shoved the blade into the base of one zombie’s skull, severing the spinal cord and destroying the brain stem. The zombie, a female, crumpled. Behind him, Lexi squeaked. Blade still in his fist, his fangs still extended, Bryce spun directly into the blazing light and Lexi’s gaze. Another zombie stood behind her, its undead fingers clamped into the curly strands of her hair. But her eyes were focused on Bryce. She’d seen him, and she knew what he was. *** Bryce was a vampire. It was the one clear thought Lexi had before she was jerked backward by her hair. With a scream, she grabbed at her scalp. Bryce was a vampire. Mitchell was a zombie. And now something had her by the hair and was pulling her through the sewers. Her hip hit the ground. Her body bounced from the walls to the floor. Pain shot through every inch of her, until she could feel it in her teeth. She screwed her eyes shut and tried to push down panic, but it wasn’t working. She was going to die. There was no way around it—no one to save her. “Lexi!” Her name blasted into her mind. She saw and felt it as much as heard it. “Lexi!” Bryce calling her. No, ordering her, reminding her she wasn’t alone. But Bryce was a vampire, a monster. She couldn’t trust him, didn’t want him calling her, saving her. If she didn’t want to die, she had to save herself. She stiffened her body and jammed her heels onto the bricks. One of her boots caught on a crack and was jerked from her foot. Her bare heel dragged over the rough floor until it was bloody and raw. The creature who had grabbed her, an undead teen like Mitchell, didn’t slow. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. She’d come into this sewer hoping to save her student and she’d failed, just like she had failed her brother— just like she was failing herself.

Chapter Eleven “Lexi!” Bryce again. Calm settled over Lexi. She could do this. She had to do this. She inched her hands from her scalp to the cold fingers that were looped through her hair. She clawed at the skin. Gouged and stabbed with her nails.

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“Lower your hands!” Bryce again, still ordering her, this time to stop her attack. His demand went against all logic. Holding on to her scalp was all that saved her from the pain of having her hair ripped from her head. But then, if it was torn from her scalp she would be free, wouldn’t she? Desperate, she dropped her hands. A weight landed on her and she was pinned to the ground. For a second the pain of her hair being pulled quadrupled. Air swooshed past her face. There was another tug on her hair, this one even more violent, jerking but different. As if her hair was breaking strand by professionally-colored strand. Then without warning her skull clunked onto the hard ground. She lay there dazed and unsure what to think or do. She was alive. It seemed impossible, but she was alive. Soaking in that unlikely reality, she shut her eyes. When she opened them, she remembered she still wasn’t alone, still wasn’t safe. The weight that penned her to the ground was Bryce, the vampire. *** The zombies were getting away. Yet another chance at finding their maker was getting away. But Bryce couldn’t seem to move, couldn’t do anything but stare down at the woman trapped beneath him. He lowered his hands until one was on each side of her face, and dropped what he had held—his blade and the length of her hair he had chopped free of the zombie’s hold. What would the Fringe think of how he had used their blade tonight? What would they say if they knew he was laying here staring at a human female while their prey fled through the sewers? That he wasn’t fit to bear the stake. That he was close to becoming one of the hunted instead of the hunter. He knew that, could hear their censure. Knew, too, that he was about to cross a line. But damn everything including his own existence, he couldn’t stop himself. He lowered his body to Lexi’s and captured her lips with his. *** Bryce’s lips brushed over Lexi’s. Her first thought was vampire, her first instinct to scream. But as Bryce slid his arms beneath her and pulled her up against his chest, gentle and protective, she knew no monster could act like this. She had to have been mistaken, crazed by what had been happening and everything she had endured. She opened her lips and let his tongue slip inside her mouth. Her hands moved to his arms. Even through his leather coat she could feel his muscles. Stubble on his chin rubbed against her cheek. With her eyes closed, she was able to forget where she was. Forget everything and live in the moment with Bryce.

Chapter Twelve

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Lexi inhaled. The stench of the sewer was gone, replaced with the masculine scents of leather and spice. Bryce held her carefully. The dank tunnel disappeared. All she saw, smelled, sensed was Bryce. She felt safe, more than that—cherished. She needed the feeling. She was tired of being strong for everyone, of protecting everyone. Bryce’s tongue slipped into her mouth; she met it with her own. A tingle swept over her, through her. His fingers ran along her scalp, gentle, but firm, replacing the pain that had been there earlier with pleasure. He slanted his mouth to the side, changing his kiss to tiny bites that caused her to shiver and cling to him tighter. Her head fell back. He kissed and nibbled down her neck. Then he paused. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Something was happening, was about to happen. She didn’t know what, couldn’t put a name to it. But she could feel the air around them shift, could feel her own pulse quicken. Her fingers dug into his arms as she waited. Then pain shot through her, fleeting and quickly replaced by pure addictive joy, but not so quick that it didn’t cut through the dream she’d created, didn’t remind her of everything she’d been trying to forget. Tony. Mitchell. The sewers. And Bryce. Bryce, the vampire, was feeding on her. She should care about that, should be screaming and fighting. But she wasn’t and had no desire to do so. In fact, all she wanted was to stay where she was, exactly where she was forever. *** Lexi’s blood filled Bryce’s mouth sweeter and more intoxicating than a century-old wine. Beneath him, she moaned. He stroked the side of her cheek, brushed the skin where he’d seen tears before. He wanted to hold her, keep her safe, stop those tears from ever returning. He wanted everything he had thought he could never have. Everything the Fringe would say vampires couldn’t have. The Fringe. Thoughts of his brothers chilled him. His fangs still in Lexi’s throat, he froze. He had fallen off the path, broken almost every rule they had tonight. Lexi moved, grabbed him by the back of the head and pressed his mouth more tightly against her neck. Her blood flowed again, into him, warming him. But the dream was gone, reality had returned. She might be willing now, but the bite did that to humans, made them meek, eager even. But Lexi was different. She’d seen him fangs extended. At some point, she’d remember that. And then she would run away screaming vampires were real, endangering everything he had vowed to protect.

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He couldn’t let that happen. The Fringe wouldn’t let that happen. *** Lexi shuddered, but not with revulsion. The idea of being with a vampire, being with something powerful and mythic excited her. She wove her fingers into Bryce’s hair and pulled his mouth tighter against her throat. Her body tensed. She wanted to strip down and be with this man, this vampire. She reached for his jacket. He pulled away.

Chapter Thirteen Lexi felt cold and abandoned. She stared at a button on Bryce’s shirt and placed her hand over her neck. There was no wound, no sign at all that the skin had been punctured, but that didn’t shake her certainty that there had been. “You know,” he murmured. She could feel his gaze on her, encouraging her to look at him. She turned to the side and stared at the wall. The light she’d been using was still on. It cast enough light, even not directed at them, to allow her to see. And seeing reminded her where they were. How pathetic was she that she’d been willing to strip to nothing here in a sewer with a man she’d met only hours earlier? Worse, what did it say that knowing that he wasn’t really a man, was actually a vampire, excited her? She couldn’t look at him. Was only glad they were alone and no one else was here to witness exactly how lonely and desperate she had become. “You know what I am,” he repeated. There was no hint of a question in the statement, but Lexi answered anyway. She nodded. “Yes.” But did she, really? People pretended to be vampires, didn’t they? She’d always thought it a strange fetish, but—again her hand went to her throat—now she understood. Despite his rejection and her subsequent humiliation, she looked at him. “You’re real aren’t you?” She knew the answer deep in her core, but she had to ask. *** Real? Was he real? Bryce had wondered the same thing himself often enough. It was a question most people never had to ask themselves. But existing as he did, in the shadows, a creature no one truly believed existed, he had lost track of what was real and what wasn’t. It was one of the reasons he had joined the Fringe. With them such cerebral questions had no importance. They existed to police, to kill. Their life was simple—black and white. No thinking on your own, no wondering about your place. You just did as you were told. Simple as that. Staring into Lexi’s wide blue eyes he realized now would be the perfect time to lie to her, to tiptoe into her brain and plant just enough doubt she’d think what she’d seen and felt was hysteria brought on by her time in this sewer.

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Bryce had never held someone in thrall. He wasn’t like the Zombie Maker. He despised what that vampire had done. To survive, Bryce might steal human blood—but he had never stolen their will. Still, it was the only way, the only solution. He cupped Lexi’s face in his hands, closed his eyes and prepared to make her forget. *** There was a tickle in Lexi’s brain, like a feather drifting over her temporal lobe. She frowned and blinked. Bryce’s fingers were warm against her cheeks. Vampires were supposed to be cold, dead, and scary. But Bryce was none of these things. She smiled. “I’m glad,” she whispered.

Chapter Fourteen The tickle stopped. “Of what?” Bryce asked. His voice was rough. Lexi looked away, embarrassed. He turned her face back to his. “Tell me.” She couldn't. Instead she looked over his shoulder to where she had stood with Mitchell. Her stomach clenched. Mitchell. He’d tried to kill her. Bryce touched her chin, tipped her face up to his. “The boy. You’re thinking of him. He attacked you, but it wasn’t his fault. His actions aren’t his own.” “The drugs…” she murmured, but she knew that wasn’t right, knew Mitchell wasn’t like Tony. Mitchell’s issues weren’t as simple as drugs. She winced at the thought—drugs simple. They weren’t, but whatever had happened to Mitchell went beyond even the horror of her brother’s existence. “I can’t save him,” she added. “No. You can’t.” Bryce’s voice turned cold. His jaw was hard, tense. Made her realize perhaps what he’d said earlier was true. Perhaps Bryce wanted to stop whoever had brought Mitchell to where he was, as badly as she did. Her hand rose to touch his. As her fingers brushed his skin, she hesitated. Vampire. For a moment she’d forgotten what she’d seen. Maybe that was for the best. It allowed her to cope. Bryce seemed to sense her second of uncertainty. His hand forming a fist, he lowered his fingers away from her face. “I thought he was taking a new drug—zombie, the kids called it.” She spoke quickly. It felt good to tell him, to have a real conversation, made him seem real. “No drug.” Bryce stood, withdrawing physically and emotionally, leaving her alone on the cold brick. She felt naked and exposed, wished she had something to wrap around herself. With nothing else, she folded her arms around her body.

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He stared down at her. “You thought I was selling him drugs.” She looked around, saw for the first time how completely insane her situation was. A tremor shook her. She hugged herself tighter. “Zombie isn’t a drug. It’s what he—” Bryce nodded in the direction Mitchell and the others had fled “—is.” Zombie—the walking dead. It was how after seeing Mitchell up close Lexi would have described him. But the way Bryce said the word she knew his meaning was much more literal. And Mitchell hadn’t been alone. Her gaze wandered down the tunnel. It was empty, or seemed that way. Unwilling to think too much about where the others had gone or when they might come back, she looked back at Bryce. “How?” He flicked his gaze back at her. “How what?” “Everything. How did Mitchell become a zombie? How do you exist? How am I believing you? None of this should be real.” She waved her hands in front of her face. Bryce walked to her helmet and picked it up. With its light blazing up at the ceiling, he replied, “Somewhere somehow he made a fatal error. He trusted a vampire.” The light flowed upward over Bryce’s features, twisting his high cheekbones and full lips into something dark and horrifying. She placed her hands on the ground behind her and edged her body backwards. “He trusted a vampire?” she repeated. “That’s right. And that vampire turned him into a zombie.”

Chapter Fifteen “Is that what vampires do?” The acceptance Bryce had seen on her face faded, replaced with uncertainty. “Is that what you did to me?” Her voice trembled. She pressed her fingers against her chest. She was standing now; apprehension was clear in how she stood, as if unsure which direction to run. He hadn’t meant for her to believe he’d been turning her into a zombie. But then if she believed that, if she hated him, walking away, returning to his life with the Fringe would be that much easier. “Not all vampires,” he replied, but he punctuated his words by lowering his head and staring at her, unwavering. “Not all…” She took a step back. His deception was working. She was retreating; the light in her eyes was gone. The shift was good, needed. “And Mitchell? Is there no pusher? Did you do that to him?” she asked. “Turn him into a monster?” She still hadn’t run. Why? What kept her here? He needed her to give up whatever thoughts she had that made him seem acceptable, but he couldn’t answer her, couldn’t lie to her outright. He stared past her, at the wall. “Did you believe in vampires before tonight? Did the thought of someone feeding on your blood excite you?”

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“No.” She shook her head, violently. The motion cut into Bryce. Of course she hadn’t. What sane human would? “So why did you let me bite you, not once, but twice?” He looked back at her, then ran his thumb and index finger along the sides of his mouth as if wiping away her blood. It was blatant and ugly, but seemed to accomplish his goal. Her eyes rounded; her chest rose and sank. She wanted to scream; he could see it building inside her. He pushed his advantage. “That isn’t something you would do, is it? Or do you always throw yourself at men?” “No!” She turned away, but damn it, Bryce had miscalculated. There was nowhere for her to run. They were too far from the sewer entrance; he couldn’t let her run blindly away from him, risk her encountering Mitchell or another zombie. He grabbed her by the arm. She stared at him, her eyes wide and damp. “You loved your student, didn’t you? You wouldn’t want what happened to Mitchell to happen to anyone else.” The fire came back to her eyes. She pulled her body straighter. “I’d do anything to stop that.” “Then do as I say and I’ll make sure it doesn’t.” A line formed between her brows and for a second, Bryce thought he’d said too much and made her doubt what he’d just suggested. “I do as you say and you won’t do whatever you did to Mitchell to anyone else,” she clarified. “No one else will become a zombie,” he replied. She glanced to the side, as if still considering bolting. “And you won’t play with my mind? Won’t make me think things or feel things?” Feel things. What had she felt? Bryce wanted more than anything to ask her. “I’ll stay out of your mind. I won’t make you feel or think anything.” Her lips pressed together. She folded her arms over her chest and nodded. “It’s not like I have many choices.” She had zero choices, but then Bryce didn’t have many either. He’d made it possible for her to walk away, run away from him and look back only with loathing and fear. But there was no one to give him that gift, no one to make him forget the feelings she’d stirred in him. They would stay with him forever.

Chapter Sixteen Bryce retrieved her boot, the one that had been jerked from her foot as she was dragged through the passage. Then they walked for what felt like hours in the dark. One of Bryce’s first demands had been for Lexi to turn off her light. Remembering her promise, she’d agreed, but she hesitated when he reached for her hand.

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“Can you see?” he asked. She bit her lip. He sighed. “The Zombie Ma—” He cut off whatever he had been about to say. “The zombies will know we are coming, but they will know more quickly with that light heralding our arrival.” What he said made sense, but she was still reluctant to slip her fingers into his hand. She didn’t want to touch him. No, that was a lie. She did want to touch him, but she didn’t want to be constantly reminded how good his touch felt. She needed distance, but he didn’t relent. “I can see in the dark. I can lead us both, and all of this will be over faster.” Over faster. That was what she wanted. She laid her fingers onto his outstretched palm. His fingers folded over hers and for a moment neither moved. While Lexi’s breath and heartbeat seemed to echo inside the close tunnel, there was no audible sound that Bryce was by her side. It was unnatural, but then vampires and zombies weren’t natural. At least not in the world she knew. A fist squeezed her heart. All of this was becoming more and more real, too real. “Let’s go.” His voice was harsh. For a second she wondered if he’d read her thoughts. He moved ahead quickly. So quickly that Lexi stumbled and almost fell, but Bryce was there, catching her. He pulled her close; his arm wrapped around her waist. Her nose pressed against his jacket. She inhaled leather and her mind flashed back to lying beneath him, wanting him. “I’ll go slower,” he whispered. Embarrassed again, she nodded. Her face brushed against his shirt. She stilled, then realizing what she was doing, pulled back as if electrocuted. Despite knowing he’d manipulated her mind, made her accept and want him, her body and heart didn’t seem to care. She couldn’t force her brain to remember that Bryce had played with her and destroyed Mitchell. She needed to go back and relive this night from the beginning, see for herself what Bryce had done to her. Maybe if she could, she’d be able to accept everything. But like vampires and zombies, traveling back in time was only possible in fiction. A quiet laugh escaped her. Bryce froze. She waved her hand, motioning him on. “I’m fine. Let’s go.” Yes go, come to the end of this fantasy wrapped in a nightmare. Come to the end of this damned sewer and go back to her simple life where zombies and vampires were only pretend. But could she? Could she forget Mitchell, Bryce, any of this? As she took another step, listened to her boot slogging through the liquid that coursed through the bottom of the tunnel, she knew that she couldn’t. No matter what happened when they reached the end of this journey, her life would never be the same.

Chapter Seventeen

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Bryce smelled the zombies one-hundred feet before the tunnel he and Lexi crept through came to an end. The last ten feet or so, he pulled her close, kept her body tight beside his. She didn’t object or shrink away. Then they were in the room. It was dimly lit, but huge. Rock music pounded off the concrete walls. Pipes with metal wheels ran along the ceilings and walls. They were at the hub of both the sewers and the zombies. The place was packed with bodies—most alive, but a few not. “What is this? A rave?” Lexi whispered. They were the first words she had uttered since she’d agreed to turn off her light and depend on Bryce to lead her through the tunnel. “The Heart,” Bryce murmured and he didn’t mean the term figuratively. Messages the Fringe had intercepted from the Zombie Maker had mentioned The Heart as his place of recruitment. “They’re all young.” Bryce could tell the realization bothered Lexi, but age made no difference to a vampire. His gaze slid across the pulsing bodies. Behind him, Lexi cried out, “Kayla and Nicole.” She grabbed Bryce by the arm. Her grip was tight as she pulled his face down to hers. “Tell me the truth. What is this? What is happening here?” He knew he should lie to her. Fringe business was sacred—a secret so closely guarded the only exit from the group was a walk into the sunrise. But the intensity of her gaze was too much. “Recruitment. It’s a recruitment party. I don’t know if the party goers realize it, but that’s what it is.” “For what?” He held her gaze this time, made sure she understood. “Prey for a vampire—the Zombie Maker.” “Prey…?” Her hand went to her throat. He wasn't sure she even realized she had made the gesture. “But there are so many. Surely, one vampire can’t feed on all of them.” “It isn’t their blood he wants. Oh, I’m sure he takes that, too. But the Zombie Maker wants more than that. He hungers for blood, as we all do, but he also hungers for life.” “Life? He steals their lives. You mean he kills them?” “Not outright, little by little. He turns them into zombies by holding them in thrall, stealing their memories, their emotions, everything they hold dear. He bleeds them of those things until they are nothing but walking shells—zombies.” Caught up in his impassioned monologue, Bryce forgot that he’d let Lexi believe he was responsible for Mitchell’s state. She shook her head. “But why would they let him do that? Why would they come here?” It was the opportunity Bryce had been waiting for. As they had stood there talking, he’d been watching the flow of teens coming and going from the room, knew now where the exit was. He just had to get Lexi to go through it, to leave the sewer and him forever. “Because it feels good, letting little bits of yourself drift away. It’s addictive, an out of body experience, a high.” She was still wearing her helmet. The light was off, but the ridiculous oversized hat was still on her head. He tucked a bit of her hair up into it. “You know how that feels, don’t you, Lexi, to be held in thrall?” Her hand rose to her mouth and she took a step back.

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He gestured to where the teens entered and exited the room. “It’s been fun, but now I have work I really must do.” Then he looked away and he didn't look back, not as she stumbled into the crowd in her borrowed boots, not as she disappeared in the crowd. There was no looking back when you were a member of the Fringe. There was nothing but the Fringe.

Chapter Eighteen Bodies knocked against Lexi. She walked blindly, staring into faces, looking for signs that the teens they belonged to were already gone—zombies. Bright excited eyes stared back at her, happy to be here— walking willingly to their fates. Just like she had walked willingly into Bryce’s arms and thrall. She was no stronger than any of them, no stronger than her brother. The realization hit her hard. All her life she’d thought she was different—the strong one, better even, but now she knew how untrue that was. Another wave of teens flowed into the room. The helmet was jarred from her head. “Excuse me.” She bent to pick it up. A girl with tiny silver balls decorating her natural dimples kicked the headgear and sent it spinning into the crowd. Without thinking, Lexi turned and ran after it. Another girl, this one with braids wrapped around her head Heidi-style, scooped the object up. Lexi stopped. “Bethann?” “Ms. Thompson.” Bethann glanced around, guilty. The helmet forgotten, Lexi grabbed her student by both arms. “You have to leave. You don’t know what’s happening here.” The girl stared at Lexi’s hands gripping her. “I’m okay. I’ve been here before. But you shouldn’t be here. Adults aren’t allowed here.” “You have to leave!” Hysteria raised Lexi’s voice. She knocked the helmet from Bethann’s hands and pulled the girl toward the door. They hit a wall of bodies. Lexi pushed her shoulder against them, trying to go against the tide and pull Bethann with her. But no one stepped aside, no path through was offered. If anything the bodies moved closer together. She glanced at the closest face, ready to beg the boy to give way. She stared into the dead empty gaze of a zombie. It was then she realized the bodies weren’t coming or going. They were waiting…for her. *** Bryce prowled through the throng listening and sensing. Lexi was gone. He hadn’t seen her leave, but he knew she was no longer in the room. He could forget her now, finally concentrate on his task. And when the Zombie Maker was dead, Bryce could return to his life, return to the Fringe, get a new assignment, hunt another vampire, and do it all over again. Except this time there would be no slips, no failure, no Lexi. His gut twisted, like the stake he carried had been shoved into his own side. He tightened his jaw and tamped the feeling down. Lexi was gone—time to forget her and remember who he was, what he was.

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Resolute, he shifted his attention back to the room. Zombies were everywhere, roaming through the crowd, blending with the kids. He saw the two who had attacked them in the tunnels, but neither approached him. Perhaps their brains were so gone they didn’t recognize him or didn’t see him as a threat, but Bryce doubted that. He suspected something else was to come, something big. But zombies weren’t the only brain-dead creature here tonight if the Zombie Maker thought tricking Bryce would be that easy. He held the stake hidden against his thigh and continued his trek through the press. He’d circled the room two more times when the music stopped and the chant began. “Zombie, zombie, zombie.” The crowd parted. Two zombies, pulling a wagon, staggered out of a tunnel and into the center of the room. A man stood on top of the rolling platform, his feet splayed and his arms raised overhead like he was reaching to the heavens, making some offering. Bryce’s gaze shifted to the Zombie Maker’s feet. Lying between his ankles, her face pale and her wrists bound, was Lexi.

Chapter Nineteen The wagon jerked. Lexi rolled to the side. The zombies had dragged her out of the room. She’d fought but it had been a useless effort. There were too many of them, too focused on the task they had been given by— she stared up—the man, vampire, Zombie Maker standing above her. He held himself like a king, seeming to thrive on the mindless worship of the teens he had destroyed. Lexi coughed and gagged. She’d always hated the faceless drug pusher who had supplied her brother with the poison that taunted him, but even in her darkest moments she hadn’t imagined anything as vile as the creature that stood above her. He tweaked a finger and the teens scurried toward him. She had no doubt they would kill her, no doubt they would do anything he asked. The wagon jolted to a stop. Lexi rolled again, this time onto her stomach. Her bound hands beneath her, she tried to push herself up. She needn’t have bothered. The Zombie Maker grabbed her by the hair and jerked her to a stand beside him. “Your master is nothing to me.” He spat onto the bed of the wagon, next to her feet. Lexi twisted and swung her arms, tried to swipe at the monster. He jerked her close and she saw his fangs, his eyes and the crazed glow behind them. His mouth inches from her throat, he muttered. “Not yet lamb. You haven’t served your purpose yet.” He looked into her eyes and something slithered into her brain, like a snake coiling around her free will, cutting it off. She knew immediately what was happening. This was thrall. And just as clearly she knew Bryce had never done this to her, would never do this to anyone. What she’d felt when she was with him wasn’t forced on her—it was real. So real she had felt it despite knowing he was a vampire. She had been an idiot to doubt it. But Bryce was gone and she was going to die, or worse, be turned into a zombie. ***

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The Zombie Maker had Lexi. Rage wrapped around Bryce. “Vampire, vampire, I have your toy. Come out and claim her, or I will,” the Zombie Maker taunted. He, like all of the Fringe’s targets, was ignorant of the secret group’s existence—ignorant of their pledge to sacrifice everything, anything to complete their missions. He thought Lexi belonged to Bryce, was his doll, a human who ties herself to a vampire and survives under his care. He thought Bryce would step forward to save her. But the Fringe didn't keep dolls and they didn't save anyone at the risk of losing their prey. The Zombie Maker trailed his tongue down Lexi’s neck. Bryce’s hands clenched into fists. If the other vampire bit her, he would bleed her dry. His game would be for nothing otherwise. But that was good. That moment, right before the last bit of Lexi’s blood had flowed from her body, would be the best moment for Bryce to attack. Even the oldest of vampires couldn’t ignore the euphoria that much blood brought, and the last drops from a human’s body were the sweetest. It’s what kept the Fringe in business—too many vampires with a taste for those final remaining drops laced with life. So, as the Zombie Maker’s fangs sank into Lexi’s neck, Bryce knew what he should do. Wait for Lexi to die.

Chapter Twenty When the vampire’s teeth sank into Lexi’s neck, there was no thrill like there had been with Bryce. Just pain and the full awareness that she couldn’t pull away, couldn’t do anything to stop what was happening. She was trapped in a body and mind that seemed to belong to someone else. Her knees collapsed. Only the Zombie Maker’s arm behind her back and his fangs in her throat kept her from falling. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. She’d told Tony he had the strength to change his fate, to fight, had judged him for being weak. But here she was, hopeless and spent, just waiting to die. “Cut him off,” Bryce’s voice, yelling at her…inside her mind. She stiffened. She wanted to tell him she couldn’t, that the Zombie Maker’s hold was too strong, but then she thought of Tony. She had told him time and again that he had to stop the drugs. He had to make the choice. She realized now how true that was. She couldn’t do it for him. She couldn’t save him. He had to save himself. And she had to stop this. She stepped into the pain, embraced it. The snake that had coiled around her will was still there, its head bobbing side to side, taunting her. She gritted her teeth and hardened her determination until it was razor sharp, until the snake bled. Then she twisted and jerked her neck from the vampire’s bite. Shock pulled at his features. She staggered to the side. He reached to grab her, but his fingers never made contact. Air and spittle, colored with her blood, bubbled from his lips. His mouth fell open and his hand rose to his chest. Then he fell—and with him, his zombies. They crumpled like broken dolls. It was the last bit of proof she needed to know Bryce hadn’t been involved in their creation.

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The teens who were still alive screamed and ran for the exit. The place was chaotic, pulsed with confusion, but Lexi had never been clearer about anything. Her gaze shifted to the vampire standing behind the Zombie Maker’s fallen form—Bryce. A silver stake was in his fist. He slipped the weapon into his coat and held out his now empty hand. Ignoring it, Lexi fell against his chest. “You lied to me,” she whispered. His hand dropped to the back of her neck. “I never lie,” he replied. “I am a vampire.” She balled her hands into his shirt. “Say it then. Say what I felt in the tunnels, for you, wasn’t real. Say you didn’t feel it, too. Say you held me in thrall, that you did this to them.” She gestured to the fallen zombies. He closed his eyes, but not quickly enough. She saw the truth. She pulled on his shirt. He placed both hands on her hips and stared down at her. “I’m not what you need. My existence, it isn’t normal.” Glancing at the empty room, she laughed. “And mine is.” “I’m a vampire. I don't walk under the sun.” She smiled. “I have a full-time job. My days are booked.” He shook his head, but his words came out softer, less determined. “I work with a group.… They won’t approve.” Her hands slipping around his neck, she pressed her lips to his. “Then don’t tell them.” Then she kissed him and he kissed her back. *** Lexi didn't understand, couldn’t. But maybe that was for the best. Maybe Bryce knew too much, thought he knew too much. Maybe it was time for a change, for him and the Fringe. Maybe to save lives, it was time they lived a little of their own. And staring down at the woman in his arms, he knew he was ready to try.

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An Impossible Mission by Kathryn Shay Logan Kane stared over the rim of his coffee mug and smiled at Molly Kimball McKay. She often came over to lunch at his restaurant, Kane’s Table, the business next door to her nature store. He loved keeping her company while she devoured what he put in front of her. She caught him staring and blushed. “I’m really pigging out, aren’t I?” “Just eating for two.” He nodded to her protruding belly. “How’s the little princess?” “Kicking up a storm. Her daddy spoils her already.” “As he should. He’s got a lot to make up for.” Molly’s chestnut eyes twinkled at him. “You don’t fool me. You were the one who was responsible for getting us together.” Well, that was true. Molly and her now-husband had been on an emotional merry-go-round and Logan had been the one to force Jase’s hand in claiming her. If the guy hadn’t, Logan would have married Molly himself- not that he loved her that way. He just had a thing about protecting pregnant women and babies. When Molly finished and stood up, she arched her back and was silhouetted against the April sun coming in from the window behind her. At one time there had been another woman Logan had wished with all his heart to see pregnant like Molly. And it would have been his kid she carried. But that woman was nothing like Molly; she was taller, more slender- and a lying, devious bitch who would never, after what she’d done, have his child. “Logan, are you all right?” He stood, as well, to get out of the fantasy. “Sure.” “You looked sad.” He ruffled her hair. “You always tell me that.” “Because you always look sad. But today, just now, there’s a sort of wistful sadness in those green eyes of yours.” Thankfully, his cell phone rang. Molly glanced at her watch. Kissing him on the cheek, she headed for the door calling her thanks out to him. “Kane here.” “Logan, it’s Jake.” Speak of the devil. It was through this man, Jake Kirby, that Logan had met Isabelle Sachetti. He’d never forget it... She’d come on to him right away. I think we’re going to be really good together, Kane. Hmm, I like the sound of that, Sachetti..

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They had been good together- in bed, where they’d ended up the weekend after they met. And in the field, too, until she’d not only almost gotten Logan killed, but had also broken his heart in a way that he hadn’t really recovered from in the full two years since leaving her in that hospital room in Barcelona. “Hey buddy, how you doing?” Jake was also his close friend. Outside of Logan’s half brothers and Molly, his best friend. “Don’t ask. Nothing goes right.” A pause. “I need you, bro.” Damn it. “I just helped out a few months ago. You said it would be a while before I heard from you again.” “It should have been. Phil Alderman was shot yesterday.” “What? Is he all right?” “Yeah. It wasn’t even in a sting. He was in the wrong place, at the wrong time- a drive-by.” “Give him my best.” Logan waited. “Let me guess. He was scheduled to go out.” “Yep.” Jake wasn’t a man of many words, much like Logan himself. “When?” “Next week.” “Hell, I can’t learn an operation that quickly.” “It was one you helped sketch out a while back.” Mentally Logan flipped through the menu of what he’d worked on in the planning sessions he’d done with Jake after he “quit.” The immigrant smuggling in Mexico. The jail drug deals in Indonesia. The baby kidnapping ring in Italy. Oh, hell, don’t ask me to do that one, Jake. “It’s the baby kidnapping ring.” Logan remained silent. “I know this conjures demons for you, buddy.” “Still, you ask me.” “I’m stuck or I wouldn’t.” And, of course, Logan would never say no to Jacob Kirby. He owed the guy. Logan had been undercover in a Belfast jail when all hell had broken loose and the prison had been taken over by the inmates- a very violent riot. Posing as a guard, Jake had gotten Logan out- but in the midst of their escape, Jake’s leg had been ripped apart by barbed wire. As a result, Jake’s retirement from active duty had come early, and his marriage had ultimately ended. Now he just ran The Organization. They all got a kick out of the name of their rogue agency. And out of the way they got their orders- real Mission Impossible style. Funded by the U.S. government, The Organization took on foreign assignments that Uncle Sam couldn’t get involved in publicly for various reasons; Washington also vowed to deny its existence should they ever be caught, just like in the movies. Logan expelled a heavy breath. “When?”

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“You leave Monday.” “What do I do?” “Come to New York tomorrow. I’ll brief you, then you can get things in order at home.” “All right.” Logan hung up before asking who would be on the mission with him. Hell, it didn’t matter so long as Isabelle wasn’t involved. But Logan knew he didn’t have to worry about that. No matter how desperate he was, Jake would never pair them up again. Because not even for Jake Kirby would Logan work with her again.

*** “You didn’t tell him, Jake.” “No, I didn’t.” Belle sat back in a chair in Jake’s office and stared at the phone. “You know he won’t work with me.” “He will, once he gets over the shock.” “Best friends don’t do that to each other.” Jake slapped his hand down on the desk. Only her training in nonreactive techniques kept Belle from jumping. Jake Kirby almost never lost his temper. “Don’t you think I know that?” From his desk drawer he fished out photos and tossed them across the surface. “Look at these. Then tell me you wouldn’t move heaven and earth to help.” Bracing herself, Belle picked up the photos. The Granger baby smiled innocently from the first picture. The next was of the baby’s parents, a young couple whose world was wrecked when some psycho snatched their child out from under them when they were in Rome on a holiday. “What’s her name?” “Susie.” Belle’s hand slid to her stomach. She must have paled. Jake swore vilely. “Look, I know this hits close to home. But I have no choice. You’re the best operatives I’ve got.” “He’s an ex-operative.” “Don’t I know it.” Jake studied her. “Do you miss him?” She pictured sage green eyes, a thick shock of dark hair and a body to die for. “It’s been two years.” “You were closer than any couple I’ve ever seen. Always on the same wavelength. Never fought.”

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The possibility of an argument was why Belle had been afraid to tell Logan she was pregnant. She’d kept the knowledge to herself when she’d gotten the news- and had sealed their fate in the process. Jake was watching her closely. “Don’t think about what happened with your pregnancy, Belle. It won’t help.” She stood and smoothed down the straight black skirt that she wore with a black cotton sweater and lowheeled leather shoes. Logan had always teased her about her penchant for dark clothes, calling her his Black Magic Woman. “I won’t. But I suggest you tell Kane I’m in on this before he gets here.” “I can’t do that.” “Your funeral. You want me here when he comes tomorrow?” “Yes.” “See you then.” She got to the door of the office before he called to her. “Belle?” Flipping back her ropelike braid that Logan used to wind around his fingers, she looked over her shoulder. “Hmm?” “I’m sorry.” “Yeah, me, too.” She made it out the door before she let herself react. Once in the hallway, she leaned against the wall, and closed her eyes. “You have no idea, Jake,” she whispered, “how sorry I am.” *

*

*

Logan smelled her perfume as soon as he neared Jake’s office. Momentarily, he was assaulted by it. He stood stock still, staring at his best buddy from just inside the doorway. Finally, he managed to get out, “You didn’t.” “I did.” Jake rose and circled the desk. His limp was noticeable, reminding Logan of what he owed this man. “I had to.” Old debts aside, Logan glared at him, then turned on his heel. He was back marching out toward the elevators when he heard, “Logan.” That one word halted him. Her voice was something out of a wet dreamhusky, always a bit amused, snaking out of his memory bank at the oddest times. Logan, love, touch me there...Logan, thank God you’re all right...and the last time on the answering machine, when he wouldn’t see her or talk to her or open her emails...Please, Logan, I made a mistake, forgive me. He couldn’t force himself to leave the building. For two years he’d wondered how she was, what she was doing, if she still wore that glorious black hair long so that it would spread across his belly like velvet. He turned around. She’d always been strikingly beautiful, but he’d forgotten the vibrancy of her presence. Those dark eyes had a snap in them, the same luscious mouth, a body taut as a whipcord and capable of taking a man down- or inside it- so he’d never forget her. Standing just outside of Jake’s office, she gave him a half smile. “It’s good to see you.”

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“I can’t say the same.” Jake shifted behind her and leaned on the door frame for support. From there he said, “Come back and we’ll talk.” He turned, making his way back to his desk. Out of a sense of duty to Jake, Logan strode toward the office. She didn’t move out of his way so he was forced to brush up against her. Her arm swiped his sports coat. He thought he could feel the heat of her skin. The feel of you is intoxicating. Good, I’ll keep you drunk and under my spell. How about if I keep you under me? Whatever. Just so long as we’re together. They’d been so good talking in bed, but not outside of it. Hell, he didn’t care until the end, until that last assignment where he’d felt the need to confess what he was truly feeling for her. And she’d gone ahead and did it, anyway. Now, as they sat opposite each other, Logan tried to keep his mind blank and not remember. Jake handed him some pictures. He took them, and felt the familiar kick in his stomach. This was the baby they were supposed to rescue. “You don’t play fair.” “Neither do the monsters who took her, and will take others unless we stop them.” Logan traced the child’s nose and the soft curve of her chin. He glanced up and found Belle staring at him. “Does it have to be with Sachetti?” he asked, talking to Jake but not releasing her dark-eyed gaze. “It has to be. Otherwise, I would have done it differently.” There was a long moment of taut silence. “Fine. I’ll do it.” She didn’t look away, either. “Jake, could you please leave us for a minute?” Jake left saying, “Don’t storm out, either of you. We got details to cover.” When the door closed, Logan lazed back in his chair. “What do you want?” She bit her lip, a truly uncharacteristic move for Ms. Tough-As-Any-Man. “I...thought we might make a truce.” “No.” “Logan, it’s been two years.” He lurched forward and grabbed her shoulders roughly. “What did you think, sweetheart. That I’d forget, in two years, that you killed our baby?”

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Asleep, she curled into Logan like a longtime lover and buried her face in his shoulder. He would have thrust her away, but he didn’t want to wake her up because the plane ride was bumpy as hell, and he knew how she hated to fly. It was the only thing she was afraid of. He also didn’t know if they were being watched on the flight to Rome. The powers-that-be warned them to expect constant surveillance as a test period of sorts on this mission. To distract himself from the feel of her body, he reviewed in his mind what else he’d read in documents that had been destroyed as soon as they memorized the contents.

Names: Logan and Belle Kane Residence: Upper East Side, Manhattan Ages: 38 and 34 respectively Status: happily married for ten years, irrevocably infertile Purpose of trip: private adoption, contracted on the Internet, no lawyers involved, instructions to be given to agents when they arrive in Italy Provider’s MO: to watch the couple for an unknown time- usually a few days, no longer than a week. Make sure they’re who they say they are. Agents must pretend to be a loving couple, wanting a baby that no other source would provide because Mrs. Kane is in remission from breast cancer. Couple should assume they’re followed everywhere except inside the hotel room. The Hotel Cavalieri will not be bugged as dignitaries and heads of state stay there and rooms are equipped with internal detecting devices for surveillance hardware. Logan’s hands curled into fists. He couldn’t believe he’d allowed himself to get drawn into this. But the thought of other people losing their child, as he’d lost his, compelled him to comply. He’d suffer proximity to the beauty next to him- hell, he’d have worked with Satan himself- to stop this ring. Still, he berated God and The Organization and life itself until they finally landed in Rome. Time to play loving hubby. “Sweetheart, wake up.” His nemesis, coming awake. He used to do it...uniquely. What are you doing? Waking you with a kiss. She’d arch against him. This is more than a kiss. Now, in the airplane, she stirred. Huge eyes opened. They always looked like melted chocolate first thing in the morning. “Logan.” She smiled, forgetting where she was, he guessed. She burrowed into him. Then she glanced down at her clothes and scowled. “What?” The pink linen suit was high-end and pretty but the real Isabelle Sachetti would never wear something like it. She brushed the thick skein of her hair out of her eyes and met his gaze. “Oh.” The agent fell back into place. “Good morning, darling.” Because he had to, not because he wanted to, he hooked a hand behind her neck and kissed her nose. “Morning,” he said huskily. He busied himself getting their carry-ons, helping her out of the seat, deplaning. Once they hit baggage claim, customs and immigration, they found their driver- who could have been one of the bad guys- and headed out of the airport.

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The day was still cool as they rode to Rome. She asked the driver, in fluent Italian, if the weather had been good. Logan didn’t understand the response. She was the language expert. The driver kept glancing back at them, so Logan was forced to slide his arm around her. “Excited, honey?” She melted into him. She always did. He used to tease her about it. You can’t stay away from me. You want me bad. I could, she’d said honestly. But why should I? We’re soul mates, Kane. He’d joked, like one of them always did when the other got serious. Body mates is more like it.

They took the twenty minute trip to their hotel, cooing to each other, touching each other. At last they pulled onto the hotel grounds, full of spring vegetation, waterfalls and service people at their beck and call, befitting the 1,000 euro nightly price tag. And Logan wondered how he was going to survive a week pretending he was in love with this woman when he’d spent two years trying to forget that fact. *

*

*

Her body humming from Logan’s ministrations- albeit for show- Belle struggled to keep her head as she closed the door to the hotel room. At least here, they wouldn’t have to pretend. Her goal was to make some peace with Logan, but she didn’t exactly know how to begin, and now that they were alone, she was nervous and needed some distance to collect her thoughts. She opened the wall of glass doors and stepped out on the balcony. Rome, in all its ancient splendor and modern progress, sprawled before her. “No matter how many times I come here, I’m awed by the city.” Logan came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She startled. He whispered, “Binoculars, sweetheart. They could be watching us.” So much for distance. She leaned back into him and he nuzzled her hair away. Put his mouth in a favorite spot. Your neck is an erogenous zone, Sachetti. Everywhere you touch is an erogenous zone, Kane. He kept up the ruse for a minute then finally stepped back. “Let’s go inside. They’ll think we’re making love if we close the blinds.” “Fine.” Once in the room, she pressed a button by the door. A curtain of vinyl blinds descended, plunging them into darkness. “Wow, that’s cool. Remember the time in Paris when we-” He held up his hand, his eyes an icy green. “Don’t. No reminiscing.” She watched him walk to the dresser and remove his wallet, coins and other belongings from his pockets. “I’m going to shower.”

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“Logan, please, can we talk?” She’d taken a seat in one of the three plush chairs in the sitting area. He slid off his belt. “About what?” She tapped her foot. “This forced proximity. How are we going to handle it?” His shoulders tensed beneath the suit he wore. He looked ready to spring. “Like we always handled ops. We play the part.” His gaze lasered her. “Even if we can’t stand each other’s company.” Raising her chin, she said, “I like being with you again.”

He plopped angry fists on his hips. “Don’t you dare use this situation to manipulate me. I never wanted to see you again. I have nothing to say to you.” Clearing her throat, she summoned her undercover cool. She stood, stalked to him and got in his face. “Well, I have a lot to say to you.” “Tough.” He started away. She grabbed his arm, holding him back. “Six months before that last mission in Barcelona, I had a pregnancy scare.” “I know that. We talked about it.” “You implied, strongly, that you wanted nothing to do with children.” His color rose and his eyes seared her. “I never implied that.” “Of course you did. You said it was for the best that I wasn’t knocked up- your term, by the way. And that if I ever thought I was pregnant again, to tell you right away. We’d take care of it.” “I don’t want to talk about this.” He ripped off his suit coat, tossed it on the bed and headed for the bathroom. She followed. “I thought you meant we’d get rid of it.” In the huge gilded bathroom, mirrors surrounded them. She watched him at the sink in front of one. He said nothing, unbuttoned his shirt and took it off. His chest was covered with perfectly placed dark hair. “I didn’t want to get rid of your child,” she continued. “So I didn’t tell you when I was pregnant.” He wet his face and lathered on the shaving cream. Ludicrously, she remembered one time in Vienna when she shaved him. “Logan, I wanted that baby. I know you think I wouldn’t have gone into the operation if I did, but you’re wrong.” He whirled on her then, grabbing her by the arms. “You forget one little thing, Sachetti. I told you I loved you before we left. I told you I wanted our children and when we got back, we needed to talk about the future.” He swallowed hard. “And you went, anyway. You went into the most dangerous sting we’d ever taken on knowing you were pregnant and risking our child.”

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“I didn’t know what else to do. That op was important. I was afraid it would distract you if you knew I was pregnant. A lot was at stake.” “What was at stake was our child. Which you risked, hotshot agent that you are.” He shook her. “And your luck ran out when that bastard cornered you in a warehouse and threw you over a railing twenty feet above the ground.” “That wasn’t my fault.” “The hell it wasn’t! If you weren’t there in the first place, you wouldn’t have lost the baby.” And almost lost her life. She remembered he’d stayed with her in the hospital until he found out she was going to live. “Now get out of here and let me shower. The sight of you makes me ill.” Slowly, Belle turned and left the bathroom. She raised the blinds, opened the door and walked back out to the balcony. Shaken, she breathed in the beautiful spring morning and forced down the emotion she felt rising inside her like a tidal wave, threatening to drown her. It took ten minutes before she was back in control. *

*

*

Puffing on his cigar, he stared down at the chess board and pressed the record button on the tape recorder. “Time, 17:00 hours. Subjects in hotel room. First assessment: affectionate, somewhat tense. She speaks Italian. He’s smitten. All is well.” He pressed the stop button before reaching out and moving his pawn, then laughed aloud. Pawns- all of them. And he was the Chess King, manipulating them to his will. As well it should be. “Time for another move,” he whispered into the semidarkness.

“Take the picture, darling. I can’t hold the pose much longer.” Logan shook his head at the understatement he’d just voiced. He couldn’t believe he had to hold the pose, so to speak, for days with her. They’d been in Rome four hours and already had one blowout. His only hope for sanity was that they’d make their contact, get the baby quickly and be done in much less than a full week. God, she looked gorgeous when she was angry. This morning, in the hotel room where she’d cornered him, her dark eyes had snapped fire and her words had cut him to the quick. He’d been unable to push them out of his mind all day long... I thought you’d want me to get rid of it. Hell, that couldn’t possibly be true. He’d confessed his feelings before they left because he’d become aware of the acute danger that they would face in Barcelona. I didn’t want to distract you. That op was important...so much was at stake. Damn it, she just shouldn’t have gone! She knew that. She was playing him again and he wouldn’t allow it.

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Finally, she snapped the picture and crossed to him. The Colosseum loomed behind him, and she stared out at it. Again they were dressed in character: she in a gauzy yellow dress and a straw hat, he in a golf shirt and Dockers. The outfits were so not either of their styles, it was almost laughable. But then, neither of them was the person they used to be. “It’s hard to believe they kept slaves and animals and gladiators down there in those small tunnels,” she said, pointing to the lower level of the historic site. Her voice was sad. “Man’s inhumanity to man always surprises me, I guess.” He turned to look at the ruins. Parts of the top two levels of the structure were missing, having been pillaged during the Renaissance, the stone used for other buildings. The floor of the famous arena had been partially restored so tourists could see how those tunnels she hated were once covered with wood, blocking out sunlight and air. There were platforms that raised and lowered through trapdoors to allow the entertainment and sets to rise out of the depths. The guide had told them that the inhabitants were going to die, anyway, so no one cared what it must have been like to be down there. Because they were ordinary tourists, he slid an arm around her waist and pretended to care that she was feeling bad. As normal as breathing, she leaned into him for comfort. Damn, it was so easy falling into the role of a loving couple. I feel as if I’ve always known you, Logan. Me, too. Maybe in a past life. Oh, I like that. Anthony and Cleopatra, do you think? Nah. More like Samson and Delilah. You have power over me, woman. It had taken him two full years to rid himself of that spell. Giving her a perfunctory kiss on her cheek, he straightened and took her hand. “Come on, love, let’s go get your picture with the gladiators out in the square. That might cheer you up.” She laughed; man she was good. Instead of sultry Isabelle, she was innocent Belle Kane. She even batted her thick lashes at him. “Oh, Logan, should I?” “When in Rome...” he quipped chuckling. But that suggestion, too, was a mistake. While he took the picture, she posed as if she was having such a good time with the handsome gladiator that Logan could almost forget what was between them and remember days that were filled with fun and frolic. When the guy slid his hand to her fanny, Logan did forget his real role and fell into the pretend one. He drew her away like a jealous husband. “Hands off, paisan,” he said dramatically. Arms linked- this constant touching was killing him yet he couldn’t stop it- they walked out of the square and took the cobblestone streets to a small outdoor café called The Miraggio. She sank onto a chair at a table in the shade and sighed. “Feet hurt?” he asked. She’d worn sandals and they’d walked all morning. Reaching for his hand across the table, she smiled. “A bit.” “Slip off your shoes. I’ll rub them while we wait for service.”

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She tossed him an isn’t this carrying it a bit too far? look. “Like any loving husband would, honey.” He felt bare feet plop into his lap. Under the tablecloth, he put his hands on her. Her sole was soft, supple. No calluses. No dead skin. He knew she loved pedicures and manicures and massages. Hell, he’d loved pampering her and had searched for new and exotic ways to do so. He rubbed her instep, and watched her eyes glaze over. A lot like they did during sex. “Ahhhh,” she whispered, and he felt his body respond. Damn it. He was grateful when the waiter approached them. “Bounjorno,” the dark-haired swarthy server said, smiling. “Signor, Signora. Come sta?” “Bene, grazie,” she replied. He asked about drinks. “Vino Rosa. Two glasses of your house.” When the waiter was gone, Logan opened his menu. “Hmm,” he said aloud looking down at the small white envelope inside it. “Looks like the games have begun.” * * * Later that night they took a cab to the Piazza Navona, as was instructed in the terse missive, and found a table in the outdoor area of a wine bar. It was 7:00 p.m., and most people were just coming out for the night so the place had some empty seats. They sat close to the edge of the big square, the perimeter lined with old stone buildings, with a fountain at one end. They ordered espresso and took in the sights and sounds of Roman nightlife. “Why do you think it said to go there?” she’d asked when they’d gotten back to the hotel and could discuss the note. “Cat and mouse, I guess. I studied the theories Jake came up with. Whoever it is seems to need control and likes to play games with his victims.” “You were always so good with their minds.” “I have a degree in psychology.” Then he added meanly, “Too bad I didn’t figure you out sooner.” Now, he stared at the square, which was filled tonight with vendors, performers and stalls selling souvenirs and paintings of the city. Faint smells of baking pizza dough and flowers just blooming in boxes along the windows of the buildings filled the air. In the open space in front of the restaurant, a mime was preparing his act. As they waited, she made small talk, intimate and wifely, in case there were eavesdroppers near. “What did Mike have to say on the phone?” His brother hadn’t called, of course, but he always liked talking about his family. All three of his half-brothers held a place in his heart. “Gearing up for next year.” Mike Kingston was a coach for the Buckland Bulls, a football team housed about a hundred miles from Hyde Point, where Logan had grown up with his mother. After his father had died, she’d married Jim Kingston. They’d moved south, but now resided in Buckland where Mike coached the team.

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He recounted his pretend conversation, filling her in on Mike’s life with a half smile and twinkle in his green eyes. He didn’t ask about her family, though, which was another distancing maneuver. Ludicrous, she thought, to be disappointed. But Logan had related better to her protective dad than any other man in her life. I like your father. He likes you. He asked me my intentions. Oh, God, I’m sorry. Then Logan had whispered naughty things in her ear that he pretended to say to her father, making her blush. She remembered now how she’d wished he’d be serious. Wished he’d told her father his real intentions. She’d been falling in love with him at the time. They held hands during the show, laughing at the mime- until he brought little children into his act. Then Logan’s fingers disengaged with hers. Toddlers of about two and three joined the show. Belle was mesmerized watching them, though regret swelled inside her. One of them could have been their child. She could have had Logan’s two-year-old, and maybe an infant, too. Her throat closed up. She felt his arm go around her and pull her close. In her ear, he whispered mockingly, “Nice touch. The sad woman yearning for children. If they’re watching, they’ll fall for it big-time.” “It’s not an act,” she said achingly. “Spare me. I’m not believing anything this time around.” Still, she laid her head on his shoulder. She needed the comfort. He let her stay that way until a woman approached them. “Scusi,” she said in Italian. “For you.” Logan’s whole body went on alert. “Who gave this to you?” “Non cabisce,” she said, shrugged and walked away. He opened the note and Belle read over his shoulder. Friday, was all it said. She stared down at the paper. Damn it. Friday was five days away. Could she possibly endure Logan’s contempt that long, while he touched her and hugged her and pretended to feel as he did before? His constant attention, his demonstrativeness, only served to remind her of what she’d lost because of one mistake. “Well, sweetheart, looks like we’re in for a week of fun.” He whispered the words in her ear, so that only she caught the underlying sarcasm in his voice. She remembered real vacations where he’d wanted to be with her... In Venice...Isabelle, do me the honor of a gondola ride down the canal... In London...Oh, Logan, you got tickets to that play I wanted to see?

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In Spain...Don’t close your eyes during the bullfight, love... The memories made Belle want to cry. Angered by her reaction, she stood, but he tugged her back down and grabbed her close. His hand bit into her arm and she realized she wasn’t the only one affected. “Do not, under any circumstances, blow this because your temper is sizzling.” When she said nothing, he gripped her harder. “I mean it,darling.” He was right. She had to get control of herself. So, like the good agent she was, she leaned her body into his. He stiffened, which gave her a good deal of satisfaction. Smiling seductively, though she wanted to rage at him, she said sweetly, “Oh, I can’t wait to spend the week with you.”

The next night, Logan’s feet pounded on the treadmill as he tried to blank his mind. He’d had to get away from Belle. He couldn’t stand being with her so much, staying in the same room, sleeping in the same bed. Even the familiar, sexy scent of her had gotten to him. He was going crazy- and it had only been two days. Friday couldn’t come fast enough. His mind whirled with a thousand things, so he tried to focus on the assignment and how the operation would go down. It was simple, really. Their job was to get the baby back. The money, now in a safe-deposit box in the hotel, could be traced, and other operatives would be in place to follow the drop man. Logan and Belle were to absorb as many details as they could about the people involved, but ultimately they were to keep the child safe. That alone was an awesome responsibility. He hoped nothing went wrong. He still remembered how bad the last mission with Belle had gone. He ran faster, trying to block out the memories, but he could see it unravel in his mind... They’d been in Barcelona three days and were good to go. They’d arrived at the warehouse separately. Belle was the plant, the one to meet with a man who claimed to have access to guns being smuggled into the U.S. from a remote area of Spain. Logan was hiding behind gallons of fuel in case anything went wrong; concealed from the bare lights glaring overhead, he could smell the stink of oil that permeated the cavernous space.

“Up here, senorita,” the man had said when Belle entered through the door and stopped on the first floor. The smuggler she was to meet had been reputed to be ruthless and very good at keeping his activities quiet. Belle was dressed in a plain blue suit, with all that hair pulled back in a knot at her neck, having taken on the identity of a rich businesswoman from Italy who wanted in on the action. Slowly, she’d climbed the steel steps, briefcase in hand. It contained half-a-million dollars in marked money. From his vantage point, Logan saw the guy come toward her. He’d never been more proud of her- her head was high, her shoulders set, though the situation was critical. Still, it was hard for him to let her do this by herself; he’d wished he was making the deal instead. She met the guy midway between the two ends of the second floor, and he could see them above the railing. She spoke to him in Spanish. Then, all hell broke loose. Someone burst in downstairs- not one of Logan’s people. Almost in slow motion, he saw the guy on the second floor lunge for Belle. Bolting out of his hiding place, Logan was halfway up the steps when Belle pitched over the rail. He’d never forget that heart-

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stopping moment of seeing her fall twenty feet to the floor. She’d ended up with a broken leg, a concussion and some internal injuries. One, in particular... I thought you’d tell me to get rid of it...I didn’t want to distract you... None of it mattered. Not even the realization that he’d already been unduly worried about her when the sting went down. If he’d known she was carrying his baby, it would have distracted him. Damn it, he had to stop this. Nothing could make him forgive her. She’d been careless and cavalier with his child and he’d never be able to accept that. Sweating badly, he wiped his face with the towel. Through the glass surrounding the work-out room, he saw a young Italian woman smile at him. She gave him an appreciative once-over. Hmm...was she someone putting the moves on him? Or someone trying to confirm his cover? If he was the sappy husband he pretended to be, he’d never look twice at her. Not that he had the slightest urge to take her up on an offer, anyway. There hadn’t been one single woman he’d met in two years who held any allure for him. Like Delilah had done to Samson, Belle had ruined him. He admitted he couldn’t stay in the gym any longer. It was already 22:00 hours. If he was who he said he was, he’d be anxious to get back to his loving wife. To her bed.

Son of a bitch, he thought winding down. He had to go upstairs. * * * In satiny red pajamas, Belle scanned the room for something to do. Trying to amuse herself while Logan worked out, she’d done her own calisthenics, some pushups and Tai Chi in the space she’d cleared of furniture. Given her new identity’s health, fragile Belle Kane wouldn’t run or work out, so she was forced to stay in the hotel room. When Logan still hadn’t come back after ninety minutes, she was starting to get pissed off at him. It didn’t take much. Spying his notebook computer- which he locked securely in the safe when they were out of the room- she decided to play some poker until he returned. She settled down at the desk in front of the machine, and waited until it booted up; the instant messaging system came on screen first. She thought of turning it off, but she craved knowledge of his life, wondered what he’d been up to, who he communicated with routinely. So she studied the buddy addresses. TheKing- his brother. JK007- Jake. They’d teased their commander about his screen name. Several more buddies but she couldn’t decipher who they were. Just then, one cha-chinged on. M&MSweetie. What the hell? The dialogue box came up and typing appeared. Hey, Logan. So glad I caught you online. All’s well. Closing Kane’s Table while you’re gone has everybody coming in here asking about you. Don’t worry. I’m taking care of everything. The baby’s getting bigger...you should feel her inside me...I think she misses your attention.... Spots swam before Belle’s eyes as she slammed the cover of the laptop computer down. Oh my God...oh my God...oh my God... Why hadn’t Jake told her? Why didn’t she know this? She threw back the chair and paced; then she strode to the balcony. It didn’t help. The fresh air didn’t allow her to breathe better and the lights of Rome twinkling up at her didn’t calm her. The pain was so sharp, so acute, she doubled over with it. No, no, please don’t let this be true. The stark fact stayed in the forefront: some other woman was pregnant with Logan’s baby. Belle straightened. Be sensible, she told herself. What did you think, Isabelle? That he’d mourn the loss of you and your child forever? No, of course not, but it hadn’t been that long. And she

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hadn’t let another man touch her, ever, since Logan. That he could sleep with someone else, love someone else enough to create a baby with her...oh, God... Unable to deal with the slicing pain, she let the anger come; it was easier to channel. Damn him. Damn him. Well, so be it. She straightened and went back into the room. Tearing off her pajamas, she fished in her drawer for sweatpants and a T-shirt. She put them on, then her sneakers. It was late, and unlikely that anyone was watching the hotel. Tucking her hair into a baseball cap, she decided no one would recognize her even if they were out there. It didn’t matter, anyway. She had to get out of here. She had to burn off this anger, this hurt, or she’d never be able to complete the mission. To that end, she let herself out of the room. * * * He knew she was gone when he opened the door. He could always sense her presence. The feel of Isabelle in a room was tangible. And she wasn’t here. He checked the balcony and the bathroom to be sure. Stay calm, he told himself. She could take care of herself. Had someone discovered who they really were and gotten to her? With a keen eye, he studied every detail of his surroundings. There was no sign of a struggle. And Belle would have struggled. Okay, don’t worry. She wouldn’t desert a mission. After all, she’d jeopardized their baby for one. The job was too important to her. Still, he checked the closet, the drawers. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found that her clothes were intact. On top of that, he took deeper breaths to quell his anger...and his fear. He paced. He went out to the balcony. What to do? Would she have contacted Jake? Coming back inside, he crossed to his computer. He went to boot the machine up, and discovered it was humming. Belle must have used it earlier. Maybe there’d be a message on it for him. Or some clue to where she’d gone. It seemed like forever for the hibernation to end. The screen had just materialized when the hotel room door opened. For a minute, she stood in the entryway; he could see she’d been running, as she was sweaty and red-faced. She stared at him, then she slammed the door. Without saying a word, she strode to the bathroom and slammed that door, too. What the hell? He heard the shower go on and bolted off the chair, infuriated that she offered him no explanation. He’d be damned if he’d be kept waiting. She’d left a secured situation to do what? Exercise? He stalked to the bathroom and whipped open its door. Steam had already begun to fill the space but he could see her clearly enough. She was naked, and about to step into the shower. His mouth went dry, despite the moisture in the air. For two years, he’d forced himself to forget what she looked like naked. Only in his dreams had he touched her silky skin, traced her generous curves, tasted her sweet warmth. Eventually, he’d even quelled those nocturnal memories. Now, faced with the reality of her, he saw how his dreams had paled. Every inch of her was perfect. Her breasts were firm and high. Her waist and hips voluptuous. Long lean lines everywhere. He couldn’t tear his gaze away. Instead of being embarrassed, she threw her shoulders back and her dark hair fanned her like a cape. They’d gone to the Ufitzi Museum today, and he’d come across some of Titian’s paintings that reminded him of her. Tonight, she outshone all the masterpieces. “See anything you like?” she asked silkily. He couldn’t quite decipher her mood. He chose anger to be his. Stalking over to the shower, he yanked the faucet to Off. Then he picked up a towel and tossed it at her. “Cover yourself up.” “Who the hell do you think you are?”

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He grabbed her naked shoulders, which was a mistake. Her skin was damp from her run and it glowed. It was slick with perspiration, reminding him of the times he’d made her sweat during sex. “Your loving husband,” he said shaking her, “who right now has every right to be ticked.” Her eyes sparked. Not so much in anger. But in challenge. In desire. His body went granite hard. Some of their best sex had been after- or during- an argument. When she just stood there, he grabbed the towel from her. She arched a brow, and lifted her arms. Roughly, he wrapped the cloth around her torso and secured it in a knot between her breasts. Her eyes flared. He knew his did, too. She met him face-to-face. He was breathing hard. But somehow, he managed to back away. And like always, Belle got the last word. Or gesture in this case. Slowly, she raised her hand and undid the knot; the towel dropped to the floor. With a Mona Lisa expression, she closed the distance between them. His back hit the wall just as she hit the lights, plunging them into deep and dangerous darkness. * * * He moved the King. Then the Queen. He laughed and sipped his expensive brandy. Savoring it, he leaned back, pleased with himself. Apparently, his own little king and queen were having a spat. The report just came in. Trouble in paradise. The husband was working out downstairs like a man on fire; the wife left the hotel room in a huff. She came back even angrier. Bet sparks were flying in that bedroom right about now. He smiled into the darkness. God he liked upping the pressure, making people act on tension and nerves. Before he was through, they’d bark like dogs if he wanted them to. Ah, it felt good to be so powerful. And to have so much control over other people’s lives. That was why he kept doing this over and over again.

Belle had no idea what she was doing- in the bathroom of the Hotel Cavalieri, for God’s sake. All she knew was that finding out another woman was carrying Logan’s child made her furious and hurt and left her wanting revenge. Not that this was the way to get it. Who the hell cared? She was on him in seconds. “Belle, what the hell...oh, God, Belle, what are you doing?” She didn’t answer. It was pitch dark in here and they couldn’t see each other, but they could feel. His hands at her waist...to push her away? No, he wasn’t resisting, he was participating. She captured his mouth, took it, devoured it. After only a moment’s hesitation, he kissed her back mercilessly. She dropped one hand to his crotch. “You’re hard for me,” she taunted against his mouth. “What else is new?” His breath was coming in gulps. His hands were all over her. One grasped her butt, another teased her nipples. When his mouth replaced his fingers, she tried to crawl up him. He reversed their positions, pressed her naked back to the wall. She could feel his sweatshirt, soft knit but abrasive, on her heated skin.

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Once again he suckled her. She moaned, tunneled her fingers through his hair to keep his head there. When his hand went lower she groaned. “Oh, God, yes.” “Yes,” he said gruffly and delved two fingers inside her. In only seconds she climaxed, sobbing, calling his name. When she came back to reality, she felt his body grow harder, tauter. Reaching inside his shorts, she grasped him. “Logan,” she murmured. His response was a grunt, a groan, swearing. She slid to the floor and buried her face in his groin. Yanking down the shorts, she massaged him, licked him, then took him in her mouth. He, too, spiraled in seconds.

It was all over in just minutes. She was still on her knees when he edged back, dragged up his shorts and said, “Well, now that that’s over, mind telling me what brought all this on?” * * * She was shaking uncontrollably. Logan couldn’t take it. He grabbed a robe off the hook on the bathroom door and pulled her up. Bundling her inside the white terry, he led her out to the room and sat her on the bed. Kneeling in front of her, he took her hands in his. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” She just stared at the floor, shivering. He rubbed her arms up and down. “What did bring it all on, Belle? You’re compromising a mission by going out? The anger?” Clearing her throat, she glanced over at the computer. Tears sparkled like tiny stars in her eyes. “You got an IM from your...” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “Did I just do that with somebody’s husband?” “Husband? What are you talking about?” “There was an instant message from M&MSweetie. She said your daughter was doing fine.” Now Belle started to cry. “Oh, Logan, why didn’t you tell me there was a woman in your life? That someone else was having your ba-by.” Her voice broke on the last word. He could lie. It would distance her. And hurt her like she hurt him. But the sobs coming from the woman in front of him, whom he’d once loved to distraction, tore at his heart. He tried to take her in his arms. She resisted. “Not if you’re married. Don’t touch me if you’re married.” “I’m not.” She looked at him with bleak, red-rimmed eyes. “But you’re having a baby.” “No.” “I don’t understand.”

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He explained the situation to her. “Molly must have been updating me on her and Jase’s child.” Belle’s whole body slumped. He caught her in his arms, sat on the bed and pulled her close to his chest. “I don’t understand something,” he said after he felt her calm. “What?” “Why this reaction?” He was glad to see the color return to her face when she drew away. “You’re kidding, right?” “I never felt less like kidding in my life.” She grabbed his arms. “I can’t stand the thought of you with someone else. Having a child with another woman. I wanted to be your wife. I wanted your baby!” By God, if he wasn’t tempted to believe her. Could she be faking this? Why would she? Did it even matter? “Belle, we can’t go there. We’re over. What was between us died two years ago in a cold warehouse with our baby.” She seemed to take that in. “Then just tell me you believe me. You don’t have to forgive my mistake, but tell me you believe I wanted that child.” His mother had taught him to examine his heart. When he did, tonight in the dim hotel room, he realized he could believe what Belle was saying. She’d simply made an irrevocable, awful decision. It made no difference with what had happened, but she was telling the truth. “I believe you. But it doesn’t change anything between us now.” Finally, she said, “I can live with that.” She put her head on his shoulder. And despite the fact that he knew damn well no one was watching, he held her close and kissed her hair. * * * “Oh, babe, look at that.” Logan had reverted to old habits and didn’t even realize it. Don’t you dare call me babe. It’s sexist and insulting. I think it’s sexy and intimate. She’d come to love the endearment. He was also holding her hand like he used to, fingers linked, binding them together. He pointed with his other hand; she looked up at the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. She’d been here before, but he hadn’t.

“That’s my favorite part of the ceiling.” And everyone else’s, too, evidenced by the T-shirts and ads that focused in on God creating Adam, their arms outstretched, their fingers almost but not quite touching. “You like seeing man created?” She leaned into him. “No, look under God’s arm. That’s Eve. Art historians say the panel shows that God always had Eve in mind as Adam’s mate.”

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Glancing down at her, he smiled. “And? I know this has a punch line.” “I think it means God created Eve first; this view confirms the creation of Adam second.” His laugh was hearty, though soft. Every ten minutes a guard asked for quiet in the long, high room. “Well,” he said glancing back up, “the result’s the same. Man and woman were made for each other, like it or not.” “I like it,” she whispered. If he heard her, he didn’t respond. They took seats on one of the benches that lined the perimeter, except for the front altar. A guide happened to be standing in front of them, and as Logan listened to him talk about “The Last Judgment,” which covered the entire front wall, Belle leaned back against the padded cushion and closed her eyes. She was tired today. After the emotional wrenching of last night, she hadn’t slept well. Logan had finally turned toward her, dragged her to him, and held her the rest of the night. Only then did she catch a few hours. They’d made a truce after the debacle with the instant message, Belle’s run and then, of course, having sex in the bathroom. Though her body tightened at the memory of them together again, she was also sad about it. Hers and Logan’s sex life had been the stuff of dreams- hot, wet and sweaty. But there had always been an underlying tenderness in what they’d done together; they’d cherished each other’s bodies. What had happened in the bathroom had been missing that quality, and Belle felt bad about that. She opened her eyes and peered over at him. Today he wore a black and gray shirt over gray slacks. His hair was a little long; she remembered cutting it for him, then he’d return the favor and trim her halfway-down-the-back hair. They’d insisted each other be naked, and it invariably turned into fun.

”You okay?” he asked. Gone was the angry man, but his resigned tone hurt almost as much. “Yes, I was just somewhere else.” She kissed his cheek, not for show, not to taunt him. “Logan, do you think after...” His hand came to her lips. “You know that isn’t going to happen. But at least we aren’t sniping at each other. Be grateful for that.” Again he laced her fingers with his and led them into the crowd. * * * Logan was trying hard to keep them busy. Keep their minds off each other. This new, emotional tangle wasn’t good for the operation; they both knew it, which was why their truce last night had been a good thing. Now, if only he could forget the mind-blowing sex in the bathroom, and how it felt to hold her during the night. “Let’s get some gelati,” she said as they left San Pietro’s Basilica where seeing Michelangelo’s Pietà made her teary-eyed. Though it was behind glass, on an altar twenty feet away, the muscles and veins had almost pulsed with life to any viewer. “You’re on.”

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There were numerous small ice-cream stores lining the streets of Rome, though ice cream was a poor description of the creamy, custardlike confection. Since the closest had a long line, Logan led her to one down a side street that appeared less crowded. When they got their treat, they began walking back to the church’s square, which was really a circle, enclosed by pillars. It was almost deserted this time of day. A few monks milled about; one approached them as they went to look at the center monolith from which radiated several markings on the cement pavement. “We need to talk,” the monk said. Logan recognized him right away. He didn’t ask what was wrong. Something had to be a big deal for Jake to fly down to a mission. He never came into the field anymore. “There’s a problem.” Jake drew them off to the side, but far enough away from the Swedish guards who stood at attention near the Pope’s quarters. He gestured toward the Basilica as he spoke to Logan. Periodically, he’d throw in a tidbit about the church’s history more loudly in case anyone was watching. “We’ve got a line on the King Pin, or rather the Chess King, as he’s called.” “The guy running this?” Belle asked.

“Hmm. His name is Diego Martini. He’s wealthy, bored and ruthless. Seems he likes playing with his prey. Mr. and Mrs. Logan Kane are his latest.” Jake pulled out pictures from his pockets. “You need to look at these. This is what he does to anybody who crosses him.” Belle gasped as she took in the mangled bodies. “Oh, dear Lord.” Logan swore vilely. Jake said simply, “I think we should abort the mission.” “Just because he’s ruthless?” Logan asked. Shooting a glance at Belle, Jake faced Logan. “No, because one of his henchmen had a brush with Belle in Russia. He could recognize her.” Logan nodded. “Well, that’s it then. We’re done here.”

Belle grabbed his arm. “Not so fast,” she said.

Belle undressed slowly in the half light of the hotel room. Her mind was still whirling from the news they received from Jake earlier this evening- the identity of the kidnapper and the possibility of her being recognized. She’d won her argument to finish the mission, but both Jake and Logan were unhappy. “In Russia I wore a short red wig,” she’d said calmly. “Remember, Logan?” He’d thought she looked sexy as hell. “Not once did I take it off in public.” “I don’t care, it’s too dangerous.” “Jake?”

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“I know about the wig. My opinion? It’s not worth the risk.” “Tell that to the Grangers, who won’t get their baby back...” The men had both cursed, but eventually had agreed. Logan came out of the bathroom, dressed only in black boxers. He took in her hot pink tap pants and camisole and his eyes flared. He was such a guy. She crossed to the mini bar and took out a bottle of wine. “Want some?” “Yeah, sure. Out here,” he said and headed for the balcony, where he braced his arms on the railing and stared at the twinkling lights of Rome. Belle poured two glasses of merlot and followed him outside. The sultry night air caressed her bare arms, raising gooseflesh, and the soft breeze ruffled Logan’s hair. He faced her when she held out a glass and he took it. “I don’t like the turn this has taken, Belle.” “You agreed.” “I did. But you could be in danger.” He brushed his knuckles down her cheek. “I hate when you’re in danger.” He didn’t always. The first year they were together, they’d gone undercover in Paris at an opera house that was supposedly a front for the Parisian mob. The operation was dangerous, as Belle was to be the bait for the young mob boss’s son... Nervous? Logan had asked the night before. No, enervated. You? Excited. Is there something wrong with us, Logan, that we thrive on this? Who cares? We’re in it together. That’s all that counts. He’d laughed. That and how we help other people, babe. But things had changed the third year they were together, when they started worrying about each other. They’d tried to hide it from each other, and never talked about it. She wondered if they should have. She had so many questions about her past actions. She grabbed his hand and kissed it, then turned to look out at the city. “Why didn’t we ever quit The Organization and make a real life?” she asked.

He waited a very long time before he answered. “I was going to talk to you about that when we got back from Barcelona.” “I figured as much. It’s odd, isn’t it? If we’d talked sooner, we could have redirected our whole lives. We could be married now, with a child.”

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Reaching over, he palmed her stomach. She could feel his heat through the silk. “Likely with another on the way, if I know us.” “Probably.” Setting his glass down on a small table, he disposed of hers and stood over her in the moonlight. The stars seemed to kiss his hair, sparkle in his eyes. “This operation just turned a lot more dangerous.” His fingers gliding up and down her arm made her shiver. “Because I might be recognized?” “No, because of Martini. Jake gave me a file on him. He takes no prisoners. He’s also playing with us.” Feeling an adrenaline rush, she smiled. “We’re up to the challenge. We’re a good team, Kane. We can take him, or anything else thrown our way.” “God, Sachetti, you’re beautiful when you get that gleam in your eye.” She remembered something then. The night before a mission, they’d always made exquisite love. He said, “You remember, don’t you?” “Yes.” He moved in close. “I want you, Belle. More than I want to breathe.” “I want you, too.” “But-” She put her hand to his mouth. “Shh. No buts. I know it doesn’t mean you want me back in your life. I don’t care. Let’s be together, like we used to be, not like we were in the bathroom.” The corners of his mouth turned up. “Oh, I don’t know, the bathroom was pretty damn good.” She laughed, then sobered. “I want to make love, Logan. Not have sex.” He smiled. “You’re on, babe.” Gently, he swooped her up into a carry and headed into the room. He waited while she pressed the button, plunging them into semidarkness. “I want to see you tonight. All of you.” She kissed his neck. “Me, too, love.” They undressed slowly, facing each other. Watching. His hand fumbled on his shirt buttons while she wrested off her camisole. He dropped his shorts. She lost her tap pants. They stood naked, not touching, just absorbing. Logan had a scar on his left shoulder. She moved in close and brushed her lips over it. She had one on her biceps. He kissed that. Battle wounds, she’d always thought. With pure Logan tenderness, he eased her onto the sheets that the maid had folded down. She stretched out like a cat. He lifted her arms over her head. He’d always done that, so he could look his fill, touch his fill- foreplay which drove them both crazy. “You are so lovely,” he said, gliding his hand over her throat, her breasts, down to her thighs. “I’ve dreamed about doing this again.”

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After a few moments, she whispered, “Logan, love. That feels so good.” Staring down at her, Logan’s heart swelled at being able to touch her after all these months of sensual starvation. He reveled in it, continued the exploration, until she tugged on his arms. “Logan!” She was breathing fast, her pupils were dilated and a rosy blush had spread everywhere. Finally, he released her. She pressed him back into the mattress and took the reins. Closing his eyes, he let himself feel her fingers glide over his chest, her lips tease his nipples, her lower body meld into his. Her ministrations went on a long time, until he angled her around to face him, both of them on their sides. He suckled her breasts. She massaged him. He ground his hand against her. She moaned. “Please, now.” When he slipped inside her, and it felt like coming home, he panicked for a second. But he was able to force the feeling back. He began to move; she helped him, arching her hips, taking him deeper. They came together, like always, in a cataclysm so binding it blew him away. * * * “Who was the monk?” he asked impatiently, staring at a frozen frame of the videotape he’d just received. The shot showed the Kanes talking with the good priest. Seemingly innocent, but still... “Just a monk,” the underling on the other end of the secured line said. “Telling them the history of the church.” “Hmm.” Martini wasn’t sure. He looked down at the knight on the chess board. Tried a few different moves until he got what he wanted. “I don’t like this. Stay where you are. I’ll be in touch.” For a long time he stared at the screen and thought about changing his strategy with the couple who longed for a child. To that end, he picked up the phone. * * * Logan pretended to read from the guidebook, but he kept getting distracted by her. She was even more beautiful today; she always was, after a night of lovemaking. He tried to curse himself for what he’d allowed to happen, but he couldn’t regret it. When this mission was over, he’d have that memory of her, minus the bitterness. It would be better all around for both of them to part friends. “It says here that most people think the Trevi Fountain was always in Rome. But it wasn’t. It was built by-” “Honey, stop.” She was fishing in her purse for coins, as water from the huge fountain splashed and plopped around her. “You’re taking the romance out of it.” He continued to read. “Throwing coins in it assures your return to Rome.” She stamped her foot. “It does not. It means your wish will come true.” ”That’s not what the book says.”

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She laughed. “Come over here. I have a coin for you.” She held out a quarter. He took it and kissed her. Hard. Meaningfully. Then he turned, wished and threw the coin in the fountain where Neptune, flanked by two tritons, spewed water. Closing her eyes, she held on to her own quarter, wished and tossed it in the water. He was just about to ask her what she wished for when a shadow fell over them. And just like that, Logan knew they were in trouble. “Plans have changed,” an ominous voice said. “Do exactly as you are told, and you will get the baby.” “It’s two days early.” Belle made her voice shake. At least Logan hoped it was intentional. “Did you not know, Signora? Babies always come early.” The man’s laugh was menacing. Logan glanced at her. She stared back at him. We can do this, his look said. I know, hers returned. He was glad they were in this together. It didn’t hit him until they were in the black Mercedes, destination unknown, that he and Belle had made love last night and hadn’t used condoms. Deja vu, he thought ruefully. Once again, Belle could be pregnant with his child while they headed into a mission impossible situation that- given this new development- could very well go way south.

Belle called on every bit of expertise she had to sit still and pretend to be the pampered, suburban housewife who just wanted a baby. She worried the strap on her purse, bit her lip and fidgeted just the right amount. The man across from her in the Mercedes stared hard at her. She said to him, “A-are you sure the baby’s well?” Dressed in a baseball cap and sunglasses with a beard that covered half his face, the guy growled. “You will see soon enough, Signora.” She watched out the window as the city scrolled by. They were down in a section of Rome near the Vatican and took the winding roads, lined with big concrete buildings, at a fast pace, like all the Italians drove. Once she and Logan had been overtaken at the Trevi Fountain, the men had driven them back to the hotel and were mercilessly silent the entire way, until they reached the circular drive. Get the money. The guy handed Logan a sheet of paper. Meet us at this café. We will have the bambino. Come on, honey, Logan had said, holding out his hand. Per favor, signor. She stays with me. Not on your life. Then no trade.

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She’d scowled at him. He knew he had to leave, but his face told her that was the last thing he wanted to do. Bending over, he’d kissed her on the mouth. I’ll be there soon. Scared? She didn’t have to fake the answer. Yes. I love you. I love you, too. The car pulled to a stop in front of a huge warehouse. Oh, hell, just what they needed- more reminders of Barcelona. Her escort opened the Mercedes door, jumped out and drew Belle up by the hand. The nervousness came easily. “Where...where is she?” “Inside.” The man grasped her arm and led her through a solid steel door into the semidark interior. It took her eyes a while to adjust. The space was filled with boxes. It had three stories and smelled like seaweed. Then she saw something about twenty feet away- over in the corner; a baby carriage. “Oh,” she said clapping her hand over her heart. “Can I see her?” “Si.” The man led her to the carriage. Belle’s heart practically stopped when she looked down. Cuddled in a nest of blankets, the baby was sucking on a pacifier. She had beautiful blue eyes. When she saw Belle, she waved her arms and kicked. The cover came off, to reveal a pink one-piece suit and small pink booties. “Oh, darling, aren’t you beautiful.” She bent over and took the chubby six-month-old out of the carriage. The child smelled like baby powder and milk. Tears- real ones- fell from Belle’s eyes. “Someone’s been taking good care of you, haven’t they?” Another man came out of the darkness, but was still semi-concealed in the shadows; he stayed there so she couldn’t see his features very well. “Mrs. Kane. Good to meet you.” His accent was Italian. Could this be Diego Martini? Belle couldn’t believe he’d be in on the actual drop. Her agent’s mind superceded her maternal instincts. She told herself to memorize details. He was over six feet. On the heavy side. Dressed in a suit. God, if they could catch the top man.... She hugged Susie tighter. No one would ever have to suffer the loss of a child at his hands again. Demurely, Belle lowered her lashes and nodded. “T-thank you for giving us this baby.” You swine, she added mentally. “Prego.” He tipped his chin to the man in the baseball cap. “Her husband? He knows what to do?” “Si. He will have the money. He will bring it to the café across the street.” Martini looked at her. “You will have the baby. We will have you. When he brings us the payment, we will go. You will stay in the café for one half hour.” All in a public place, Belle knew, so neither party could renege. All safe. God, she hoped so. She hugged little Susie so tight she began to cry. Belle forced herself to relax. Martini glanced at his watch. “It is time.” Placing the baby back in the carriage, Belle circled behind it and began to push. She and the bearded baseball cap guy stepped out into the sunlight and the other man remained in the warehouse. Belle had no doubt he was watching them.

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The carriage snagged on the cobblestone Roman road and the baby whimpered. Belle said, “Shh, sweetheart, pretty soon you can come home with mommy and daddy.” The outdoor section of the restaurant was like most others in Rome- crowded tables, the bustling of waiters and even at midday, the sounds of an accordion down the street. Belle and the man found a table on the perimeter of the dining area, near the alleyway. Stupid move, she thought. If they were inclined, which they weren’t, the alley presented myriad opportunities to disrupt the trade. But Belle and Logan’s orders were clear. Get the baby safely. Agents who may or may not be in the area, now that the instructions had changed, could attend to the capture of Martini and his men. When Susie began to cry, Belle picked her up and cuddled her to her chest. “Shh, sweetheart. In a few minutes, it’ll be all over.” * * * His heart beating like a drum, Logan grasped the briefcase which held a million dollars in marked money and drew a few bills out of his pocket. “Grazie,” the cab driver said when Logan told him to keep the change. As soon as he exited the taxi, he saw Belle.

For a moment, he was overwhelmed with relief. She sat primly in her little Chanel suit, holding on to the Granger baby like she’d been taking care of children all her life. Ruthlessly, he shoved the notion out of his mind. He needed a clear head here to keep all three of them safe. He was smiling like a goofy dad when he approached her. He merely glanced at the man sitting next to her. Diners around them paid them no notice, but Logan knew they were the key to safety. A simple exchange would be made. No one would be hurt. He would have preferred this to go down with both him and Belle armed- he had his Glock secreted away in the waist of his pants; but changing the time hadn’t allowed her to get her gun. This surprise meeting, sooner than anticipated, could work against them. “Belle, sweetheart, are you all right?” he asked when he reached them. Leaning over, he kissed her head. “Oh, Logan, look at her.” Logan smiled down at the baby. God, she was beautiful. “Hey, little one. How you doing?” Innocently, Susie batted his arm. Simultaneously, the henchman stood and took his briefcase from his hand. “Stay here, Signor, with your family, and no one will be hurt.” “Of course.” Logan sat down next to Belle. She was breathing fast, but that could be explained to the kidnappers as excitement. She laid her head on his shoulder as he slid his arm around her. “I can’t believe it, Logan. Finally, we have a baby.” “It’s a miracle.” Lowering his head, he let the child take one of his fingers and pretended to ooh and ahh over her. All the while, he observed... the man with the money got back into the Mercedes; they stopped in front of the warehouse and picked up someone else. Then the car sped off.

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Still he and Belle needed to play the part. They weren’t home free. Belle put her lips to his. “Martini was there, I think,” she said into his mouth. He kissed her lightly. “Damn, I want him.” Looking down at the baby, she cooed. “Me, too.” She sighed. “At least we’ve got her. Don’t we, Susie?” Belle played the loving mother as they stayed the requisite half hour. Finally, it was time to go. They stood, placed the baby in the carriage and headed out. The taxi ride back to the hotel was uneventful; they took turns holding Susie as they packed quickly. In under sixty minutes, they were headed to the airport. With any luck they’d be on a plane out of Italy inside of two hours. They chuckled over the baby as they made arrangements at the airport, cognizant that someone could still be watching them. Relief seeped into both of them as they got tickets to New York, and found the right gate. Belle smiled at Logan when they reached the waiting area. “I think she needs to be changed.” “Go ahead.” Logan sat with the luggage as he watched them walk to the women’s room. Now that most of the danger had passed, he allowed in the thought he’d been keeping at bay- he wished like hell that Belle really was his wife, and the child was indeed theirs. Chiding himself, he picked up his newspaper. And, for some reason, felt a chill go up his spine- the kind that he and Belle often experienced in the past when they had worked together. Something was wrong. Ignoring the “don’t leave your luggage unattended” rule, he stood just as Belle disappeared into the lady’s room. He strode to it, stared at the Signora on the entryway, thought, “What the hell?” and went inside. He was just in time to see the employee who’d been mopping the floor bend over and take something out of her bucket. It was a gun, and before he or Belle could react, the woman raised it and pointed the barrel directly at Logan. *

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In the glass mirror ahead of her, Belle saw Logan stride into the ladies room. Puzzled, she pivoted to face him. His look told her something was wrong, so she clutched the baby to her chest. Before she could speak, the door to a stall opened and a small dark haired woman came out of it. She looked behind Belle and shrieked, “Oh, my God.” Belle pivoted fast. The cleaner had dropped her mop and now held a black Beretta; it wasn’t trained on her and the baby, though; it was aimed at Logan. It all happened so fast. Belle thrust the baby into the poor spectator’s hands and the woman shrank back into a stall. Logan yelled, “Belle, don’t!” Belle lunged for the cleaning woman. A blast rent the air. The baby and the woman screamed.

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Logan swore. And pain exploded through Belle.

“You are the most maddening man I’ve ever met in my life.” At the insult, Logan looked up over the bar to see Molly practically waddling toward him. He’d been back from Italy for two weeks; in the interim, her belly had popped out considerably. ”What’d I do now?” She sat down and he put a glass of milk in front of her. “Just get more and more miserable. Tell me who she is. Tell me what happened. I can’t stand it anymore.” Stripped of his control, of his willpower, by nights of sleeplessness and worry, he said to Molly, “I’ll tell you some.” He kept washing glasses; it was easier if he didn’t have to look at her. “For the past several years, I worked at...somewhere I can’t share with you. You don’t need to know what it was, anyway.” Molly looked puzzled, but she nodded, so he continued. “I quit two years ago, but I still help out occasionally because a good friend of mine named Jake runs the place and I owe him. There was a woman, Belle, involved in the whole thing. When I went back this time, I saw her again and it was hard to leave her.” Molly touched his hand over the bar. “Why did you?” Jake had asked himself the same thing. He’d spent agonizing hours in the hospital with Logan, waiting for Belle to come through the surgery. The bullet had torn ligaments in her shoulder. And they still had no idea how their cover had been blown. What with Belle under the knife, Jake had put that on hold. At least Susie was safe and returned home to ecstatic parents. “I’m not sure why I left. She did something and it made me angry.” Damn her- she’d saved his life! He was furious with her for that. The bullet she’d taken had been meant for him; she’d stepped in front of it on purpose, and Logan didn’t know what to do with all that.

Molly’s amber eyes danced. “Is she a good match for you?” “She was.” He swiped a towel over the bar. “Too much has happened between us.” Molly rubbed her stomach. “She’s the one with the baby. The one you had experience with.” “Yeah. That makes it even more complicated.” He told her about the IM debacle. “Well, nobody knows as well as I do how complicated a relationship can get. And look what happened to me.” Molly grinned. “Happily-ever-after.” He leaned over and ruffled her hair. “For that, I’m grateful.” The door to the bar opened and a woman entered. For a minute, he thought it might be Belle. But then he caught her profile and smiled. “Your sister’s here.” Jill Sullivan, two months further along than Molly, gracefully walked into the bar. Damn, he was surrounded by pregnant women. “Ah, there you are.” She smiled over at him. “Hi, Logan.” Then at her sister.

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“Ready to go shopping, sis?” “We’re picking out baby furniture.” Molly rose. “The guys are meeting us at the store.” Logan gave them a perfunctory smile. He was jealous as hell. Molly leaned over the bar. “Life’s so short, Logan. Don’t waste it.” She kissed his cheek and was gone. Damn it. Nothing was right without Belle now. In the last two years, he’d found a way to live without her. Forced himself to forget her. But seeing her again, thinking about how she closed around him when they made love, how she took him into her body and soul, shot his discipline to hell. He couldn’t forget her again. He picked up the phone and called Jake. “Kirby,” a clipped voice answered. “Hey, buddy, it’s Logan.” A hesitation. “How you doing?” “I’m fine. Um, how is she?” “She’s pissed as hell you left her in the hospital. A second time.” “She’s healing well?” “Hmm. She’ll be good enough to go out again in no time.” ”Oh, that makes me feel better.” “You got it bad, buddy. Better do something about it or another guy’s going to scoop her up.” He chuckled. “Maybe me.” Logan told Jake to do something anatomically impossible and hung up. His bartender came on a few minutes later; Logan changed and decided to go for a run, trying to chase away the demons. Why had he left her? he asked himself as he hit the pavement. Was it still the old stuff- losing his baby? No, he could forgive that mistake now. How could he not? She’d taken a bullet for him, and might have gotten killed in the process. He sighed. Was it because she could have been pregnant when she did it? Had she knowingly jeopardized a child of theirs again? He stopped abruptly. What the hell was the matter with him? What were the chances that she was pregnant? And what kind of fixation did he have on this, anyway? Isabelle Sachetti was a female agent working for The Organization. She was simply doing her job. This time and last. Hell, he wondered as he started to run again, why couldn’t he have seen that before? Maybe because he didn’t want to. Maybe he just wanted to nurse his hurt and strike out at her because he couldn’t do anything about fate, which had taken their child. And if that was it, he was a shit. He wondered now if she could ever forgive him for it. * * * “What did he say?” “He wanted to know if you were all right.”

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Belle massaged her shoulder over the sling. “Like he cares. He left me.” She kicked the wastebasket. “Just like before.” Jake stood and came around the desk to lean on it. “You are a pair. I’ve never met two people who belonged together more, or who were more stubborn and single-minded.” Belle swore at him over her good shoulder. Then she felt a hand on it. “Did I ever tell you why my marriage broke up?” Startled, Belle turned to him. “No, you’re as closemouthed as he is.” Jake’s blue eyes were sad. She always thought he was ruggedly handsome, yet so soft inside. “I blew it with my wife. I let the job come between us. She left because of that, and then, when I got hurt, and lost the job, I had nothing.” He ran his hand down her cheek. “Don’t let that happen to you and Logan, Belle. This Organization isn’t worth it.” “It’s all I know. All I ever wanted.” Which wasn’t quite true. After this last brush with death and with the underbelly of the world, the job didn’t hold as much allure. Still, she was furious at Logan. After what they’d shared, after saving his freaking life, he’d left her! Jake’s cell phone rang before she could say any more. “Kirby.” He waited. “No kidding? Yeah, thanks, I’ll tell them both.” She arched a brow when he clicked off. “What?” “They know how your cover was blown.” “Really, how-” A second ring cut her off. He rolled his eyes and answered, “Kirby.” A scowl. “Um, yeah, I guess.” He held the phone out to her. “It’s for you.” “Logan?” Jake shook his head. “No, somebody named M&MSweetie.” *

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*

After sulking for two more days- when had he become such a whiner?- Logan dropped down at his desk chair in his office and picked up the phone. He was going after Belle. He’d call the airport and get a flight out to...oh, great, he didn’t even know where she was living. He’d never let himself find out. Damn it, now that he’d decided, he wanted to get to her right away! There was a knock on the door to his office. “Go away,” he shouted. Nothing was more important than this. The door swung open. Who the hell? Molly stood there, smiling her happy grin. “Mol, this isn’t a good time.” “Too bad.” She stepped aside. Belle stood behind her. She was dressed in her usual garb- long black skirt, pretty spandex top with beads on it, though there was a black sling over it, and earrings that he was pretty sure he’d

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bought her in Dublin. “Hello, Logan.” Oh, hell. That look, combined with that sultry voice was gonna kill him. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to play this out. “What are you doing here, Isabelle?” He glanced at Molly. “And what do you have to do with it all?” Molly smiled, scooted to him and kissed him on the cheek. “Just returning the favor.” She squeezed Belle’s arm on the way out and closed the door behind her. “I understand you had something to do with getting Molly and her husband together,” Belle said. Logan nodded. “How did she find you? I just realized I didn’t have any idea where you were living.” ”Trying to get in touch with me?” Her eyes danced. “I like hearing that.”

“Maybe. Molly?” ”Seems she commandeered your cell. Called Jake, since you’d mentioned him by name and had him in your speed dial.” Waiting, he leaned on the edge of his desk, tucking his hands in his armpits to keep from reaching for her, especially when she moved closer. Her perfume pulled at him. She reached up and straightened the collar of his green shirt. “Our cover’s blown.” “Really? Did somebody recognize you?” “Not me. You. Seems there’s some kind of international bad-guy network that passes pictures around on the Internet to all the sleazebags. Somebody fingered you. From there, they caught on to me. So, I’m blown, too.” “I’m sorry if you’re out of a job,” he lied. She shrugged. “Your fault. Got any ideas for employment?” “Employment? No.” The saucy look faded from her face. “I see.” He grasped her waist and pulled her back. “But I have lots of ideas for your future.” “Oh, yeah.” Tears sparkled in her eyes. “Like what?” Hell, he was done dancing. “I love you, Belle. I never stopped loving you in two years. I want you to marry me, have my babies.” He pulled her closer. “I don’t want a life without you.” “Oh, Logan,” she said achingly. “I love you, too. I want a life with you, too.” They held on to each other. He reveled in how right she felt in his arms. Finally, he set her back. “Won’t you miss the excitement of the chase?” She shook her head. “I’ve had enough of the chase, thank you.” Again her eyes twinkled. “But I guess you’ll have to provide some kind of excitement for me.” He grinned down at her. “I think I can handle that.”

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She grinned up at him. “I know you can. But just to be sure, let’s give it a try.” “Here?” he asked, already reaching behind him for the remote that locked his office door. “Here, or anywhere in the world,” she said, smiling when she heard the lock click into place. “We’ve had enough of the world together, babe.” He lowered his lips to hers. “We don’t need it anymore.” “You’re right. You’re my world, Logan. You have been since the day I met you.” “And you’re mine. Now and forever.” Then, to seal the deal, he kissed her.

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Return to Love by Fiona Lowe Dr. Louise Kershaw never expected her life to turn out this way. She wasn’t supposed to end up on the verge of divorce, juggling her work at the hospital with motherhood, and dropping too many balls. But it’s been a year since her marriage to Dr. Paul Kershaw broke down, and Lou has to accept that the father of her two young sons is never coming home. So when she shows up for her shift at the A&E, she’s thrown for a loop to find herself working side-by-side with Paul for the first time in years. As consummate professionals, and with nearby bushfires filling up the hospital, the two must put aside their personal differences for the night. But with questions left unanswered, and passion still simmering just below the surface, Paul and Lou will be forced to face the issues that drove them apart—and decide if they still have a future together!

Chapter One The children need to be dropped off at my mother's. The commanding words washed over Louise Kershaw and she closed her eyes against the deep voice, which had changed so much in the past year. Pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, she forced down the instant, resentful retort that burned the back of her throat, desperate to be spoken. Instead, she thought of the rainforest and the soothing sounds of water, and tried to sound calm in the burning February heat. "Paul, this is your weekend with the kids and we agreed that meant time staying with you at your place, not at your mother's." His sigh ricocheted down the line, all disapproval and barely leashed frustration. She could picture his square jaw rigid with tension and his left hand plowing through his salt and pepper curls. Curls that had been inky black when they'd first met ten years earlier. "Lou, I'm not trying to be difficult, but sometimes things happen and this is one of those times. Please drop them off at Mum's." He sounded tired. "I'll call them to explain." Explain it to me. But she knew that wasn't going to happen. Ex meant no longer being part of explain, and legally separated couples didn't have to give each other anything more than the bare details of their plans. After years of sharing everything, she found this part of separation very difficult. "Fine. I'll take them to your mother's." *** "Backpack, water bottle, bathers for the pool…" Louise checked her sons' backpacks, a smile fixed on her face because, no matter how hard she found this fortnightly ritual, the boys loved spending time with their father, as Paul did with them. On an intellectual level she knew these visits were so important, but that didn't stop her missing her sons, or the sorrow that their family life had been truncated. Pushing her pain and heartache down deep, she strived to be neutral in front of them. "What else do you need to take to Dad's?" Sam, her six-year-old, put a box of LEGO into the backpack. "Dad and I are going to make this and put it on the shelf he built us in our room. It's gonna be awesome." Keep smiling. "That's great, sweetheart." She turned to her younger son, who sat at the kitchen table clutching a toy orangutan the same color as his hair. "What about you, AJ?" "I want to take you."

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Her heart spasmed so hard she found it difficult to breathe. "Everything you take has to fit in the backpack, honey, and I'm too big to fit in there." She bent down and gave him a hug. "Besides, you'll be too busy swimming in Nana's pool and building LEGO with Dad to miss me. Even if you weren't going to Daddy's, you wouldn't be seeing me because I have to work, remember?" Her three-year-old's bright blue eyes, so similar to his father's, stared at her. "Can I take Tall Tales?" It was AJ's favorite book and they were reading a chapter a night. Snuggling down next to her little boy, all fresh and warm out of the bath, was a time of day she looked forward to. A time of day when she could pretend that her life was what she'd planned and not what it was—a single woman juggling work and kids, and dropping far too many balls. "Sure, Daddy will love reading it to you. Go grab it and get into the car." Half an hour later, she checked the mirror inside her hospital locker door and groaned at her pale face and the grey rings under her eyes that seemed now to be a permanent part of her. Her mother had always said, "Lipstick is vital or you'll look sicker than your patients." Paul had disagreed. Your lips are divine the way they are. Then he'd kiss her hard and fast or long and slow, and remove half her lipstick in the process. But it had been a long time since he'd said or done that. Refusing to let her mind go there, she whipped off the cap, defiantly swiped berry-red lipstick across her lips, threw her stethoscope around her neck and slammed the locker closed. It was a hot Saturday afternoon in A&E and anything could happen. A thrill of anticipation ran through her as she pushed through the double doors and then the noise hit her. An early drunk loudly demanded to see a doctor, a child whimpered in the arms of his mother, and the scream of an ambulance's siren pierced the air. The unit manager greeted her by pointing to the full board. "It's frantic, Louise, but I've got you some help. Start in Trauma One." "Thanks, Keri." She walked briskly through the door backwards, pulling on a gown as she went. "So gang, what have we got?" "A bloody mess." Louise froze as the words—deep and resonant as a bass saxophone—washed over her. Please, no. She turned slowly, her heart beating as fast as a hummingbird's wings, saw the blood on the patient's arm, and then looked beyond and up into vivid blue eyes tinged with a coolness that used to be heat. Eyes that had once loved her. Be a grown-up. She tilted her head in greeting. "Dr. Kershaw." Salt and pepper curls nodded curtly in reply. "Dr. Kershaw." Heaven help her. Working with her estranged husband meant it was going to be a very long and difficult shift.

Chapter Two “Craig is a twenty-three-year-old male who put his arm through a plate glass window.” Dr Paul Kershaw sounded professional, but he was swearing on the inside as he concentrated on inserting a central line while his estranged wife ordered blood gases. When the hospital administrator had called him in to work on his weekend off, it hadn’t occurred to him to ask the name of the other attending doctor. After all, the hospital knew they no longer lived together. Knew they no longer worked together and for a year, with

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the help of the scheduling secretary, they’d managed to studiously avoid each other—until this stinking hot summer’s day. “His BP’s stable for now.” Lou snagged her cherry-red bottom lip with her teeth. Paul’s gaze immediately zeroed in on her mouth. She chewed her lips when she was nervous. She’d done it the first day they’d met, and the moment he’d seen her do it he’d wanted to haul her close and kiss away her lipstick there and then. An unfamiliar flicker of something akin to heat trickled through him; something he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Disconcerted, he instantly disconnected from it because he no longer had any claim to those gloriously pillow-soft lips. “Me arm’s killing me, doc.” Craig lay pale and sweaty on the narrow gurney. “I can give you something for the pain—” They spoke at the same time, her soft yet husky voice rolling over his bass before abruptly falling silent. Once they would have laughed, loving the simpatico. Today, her left shoulder rose slightly and her mouth quirked up to the side as if to say, “That’s embarrassing because we’re no longer a team.” They had been once, though. A hell of a team before everything had fallen apart. “I don’t care who gives it to me.” Craig moaned. “Just do it.” “Ten milligrams of morphine.” Paul snapped out the order and immediately regretted his tone as he saw the young nurse’s expression, clearly labeling him as old and difficult. Hell he wasn’t old. He was in the prime of his life. Forty was the new thirty. Yeah, right. Tell that to your sore knee. Tell that to the St. Stephen’s hospital board. “Theater’s ready.” Keri stuck her head through the door. “I’ll take him up.” Again their voices merged, this time both edged with the desperation of people wanting to avoid each other. Keri shook her head. “I need you both down here.” The orderly and a nurse wheeled the patient through the door leaving Paul alone with his wife. She stripped off her gloves with a snap and dropped them neatly into the bin, but all the while her grey eyes spoke volumes of disapproval. Disapproval of him. He made a preemptive strike. “I had no clue you were on duty today.” Her shoulders squared up. “I’m sorry it’s an inconvenience to you.” He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “That’s not what I meant.” “Really? I think if you’re honest with yourself, had you known you’d be working with me, you probably wouldn’t have agreed to come in.”

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Her words stung because they were true and he hated that. “Oh right, and if the shoe had been on the other foot?” “I never had a problem working with you, Paul.” The softness in her tone ate at him. “No, it was living with me that was the problem.” A tremor vibrated through her from the top of her blond head to the tip of her size nine feet. “No, Paul, it’s you who has trouble living with yourself.”

Chapter Three "Still reading the self–help books I see." Paul's eyes flashed with shards of navy as he strode toward the door. "There's no point in us having this conversation, Lou. We've had it too many times already and it doesn't change a thing." Then he disappeared through the door, leaving Louise locking her knees to try and stop herself from shaking. Her once laughing, loving and happy husband had buried himself under a ton of impenetrable protective armor and nothing she could say or do could reach him. That hurt beyond pain. He'd separated himself from her physically and emotionally and the gulf between them was now so great that not even the world's longest bridge could span it. They could manage their shared custody, discuss their children's needs and arrangements with strained politeness, but if their conversation strayed beyond that, the massive fissures in their relationship opened wide and Louise found herself sucked down into a vortex of hurt and overwhelming sadness. Don't go there. Just work. She headed back to the central desk and picked up a patient history when Keri shook her head and said, "We've got firefighters from the Warradale Fires arriving now and I've put them in the procedure room so you can treat them all together." The Country Fire Authority had declared the day's fire risk as extreme and bushfires had flared with the strong, northerly winds. Even though Warradale was thirty kilometers away, the pall of smoke hung in the air making everyone fidgety with the adrenaline of being on standby for casualties and the constant fear of possible tragedy. "On my way." She grabbed some large bottles of saline and headed in. Six firefighters sat in chairs, their distinctive yellow protective coveralls bright against their soot and ash– blackened faces and red–rimmed eyes. "You're a sight for sore eyes, doc." Louise smiled. "Sore eyes I can fix." Volunteer firefighters or "Firies" as they were affectionately known, were special men and women who risked their lives to save their communities. They shared a camaraderie with other medical personnel, probably because they faced down nature's fury and human despair, and many had a wicked and laconic sense of humor. With the help of a nurse, Louise saline–washed eyes free of grit, checked for foreign bodies and listened to chests for signs of smoke inhalation. Despite her concentration being one–hundred percent on her patients, her heart suddenly kicked up and she knew without looking up that Paul had just walked into the room. His distinctive scent of fresh soap and strong spice underpinned with a hint of soft amber was burned into her

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olfactory nerves. She was as intimate with his scent, his taste and touch as she was with herself although it had been a long time since she'd experienced the latter two. Scent and sight was all that was left to her now. Stop it. You've moved on and he's moved on. Paul commenced examining the two firemen who'd just arrived and she refocused on her patient, concerned about his air entry. "Can you please take off your shirt so I can listen to your chest?" "Hey, Gazza, you don't get an offer like that every day," one of his mates teased. Gazza grinned up at her. "You just want me for my body, don't you, Doc?" Louise gave a good–natured chuckle. "I'll let you know after I've seen it." "Gaz, she's far too much woman for you." The captain, a good–looking guy in his late thirties with dancing eyes, gave her a wink. "A beautiful woman like you needs someone with maturity." The teasing went out of his eyes, replaced by something more serious. "When this fire's out, can I give you a call?" The invitation caught her off–guard, but before she could reply Paul suddenly had his hand firmly on the Captain's shoulder. "You're chatting up my wife and I suggest you stop."

Chapter Four "Sorry, mate, but perhaps you need to ask her to wear a ring so there's no confusion." The fire captain met Paul's eyes, his expression a mixture of begrudging apology and calling him on his claim. My wife. Paul caught the shocked surprise on Lou's face and knew it matched his own. The unbidden words had shot out of his mouth on a green flame of proprietary, of age–old ownership. My wife. My woman. Except she wasn't his woman because he'd forfeited that right last year when he'd dived into a river of misery. Louise gave a strained laugh. "I'm flattered, Captain. Truly. Thank you for the invitation." Hell, did Lou want to go out with this guy? The thought sent acid scouring the lining of his stomach. Separated couples date other people, you moron. He realized with a gut–dropping start that he'd never really thought about her dating. He'd been out with friends in groups but he'd never dated per se because he hadn't been interested. But just because he hadn't dated, didn't mean Lou wasn't doing it. Not wanting to think about that possibility, he signed off on the remaining firemen, wishing them well as they returned to fight the blaze. The nurses drifted away to other patients, and he walked toward the door to head back to pick up his next case. "My wife?" Lou, eyes blazing with righteous anger, shot between him and the door. Somewhere deep down inside him he knew he deserved her wrath, but no way would he admit it. He shrugged. "In the eyes of the law you're still my wife."

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Her arms flew up into the air. "Oh, this is really rich especially coming from you, Paul. We live separately, our finances are separated, we parent separately and divorce papers are being drawn up, but you're citing a technicality?" Then like a balloon deflating, her anger suddenly seeped out of her and her clear grey eyes— like pools to her soul—filled with unutterable sadness. "I really don't understand you." His heart cramped. "I'm not sure I do, either."

Chapter Five "He can hardly breathe!" Louise heard the distraught mother's voice, and with Paul ran from the treatment room, her emotional confusion boxed up and stored away to be dealt with later. "I'm a doctor, give him to me." Paul held out his arms and received the young child from the mother. He immediately strode into Trauma Two but Louise was there a beat before him, hauling the oxygen mask off the wall and setting up the salbutamol nebulizer. "It's the smoke from the bushfires. Jack's asthma's been bad all morning and now his puffer isn't working." The mother wrung her hands in helplessness. "Please do something." "We're doing everything we can." Paul reassured her as Keri arrived to guide the mother from the room. "Jack, I'm going to put this mask on your face, sweetheart." As Louise put the green elastic around the boy's head she met Paul's eyes, recognizing the same emotion in their outback–blue depths that she knew shone in hers. Jack was the same age as their AJ, and fighting for his young life. Paul examined the limp Jack, his apprehension etched on his high cheekbones. "He's severely broncho– constricted with limited air entry." Louise watched the exhausted child trying to move air in and out of his rigid lungs. The monitor beeped quickly as Jack's heart rate thundered far too fast. Propped up on pillows, the child's color was as pale as the scratchy hospital linen. Paul pulled his stethoscope out of his ears. "He's not responding to the nebulizer. We need to step up treatment." "He's too sick for oral steroids." She cupped the child's small, thin arm with a tourniquet and slid in a butterfly needle. He nodded. "IV methylprednisilone." She murmured her agreement, administered the drug and waited, watching Jack's labored breathing deteriorate before their eyes. He was so small and exhausted and unless he responded quickly, the next step was intubation and mechanical ventilation. "ICU consult?" She'd always found reassurance in working with Paul and bouncing her ideas off him. "Agreed. Ring them." Paul bent his head again, the strain clear on his face as he listened to Jack's air entry. The monitor started beeping wildly and Louise grabbed the pediatric laryngoscope and ET tube, expecting Jack to crash any second. With her hand on the back of the trolley ready to drop it flat, she heard the beeping start to slow. Jack's color pinked and the furrow on the bridge of Paul's nose faded.

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"Want…Mummy?" The faint and muffled question could just be heard over the whoosh of the nebulizer. "She'll be back in a minute, mate." Paul gave Jack's leg a gentle pat and called in a nurse to special the little boy. As they walked out of the room together Paul grinned and raised his hand in a high five, the way he'd always done in the past when they'd made a good save. "That was touch and go." His smile raced through her, warming her in a familiar and yet foreign way, and sending trails of longing along a well–worn path of heartache. She raised her hand and returned his smile. "But we did it." "We did." His palm connected with hers—hot and strong—and then his fingers laced through her fingers, gripping her hand in a gentle but firm hold. His unexpected touch created havoc inside her as confusion warred with need, wanting debated common– sense and as desire flared, logic wailed in frustration. He said he didn't want you.

Chapter Six Louise's brain seized as Paul's heat rolled through her. The next moment he tugged her towards him, into an empty cubicle and into his broad and solid chest. With hooded eyes, he lowered his lips onto hers and all the confused noise in her head stopped. His taste of coffee, almonds and chocolate filled her, taking her back to happier times when she could claim his mouth whenever she pleased. She claimed it now. She revisited it like a parched man chugging water. She took her share of its wondrous taste and touch—the feel of his tongue, the light graze of his stubble on her chin, the weight of his hand in her hair, and the pressure of his lips branding her as his own. Her blood pounded through her, vibrating every cell with the wonder of the kiss, and she heard herself moan as every part of her opened up to him. The sound shuddered through her, bringing reality back with the devastating power of a tsunami. I don't want our life, Lou. Right then, logic drew a circle of ice around her heart. Paul heard Lou's husky moan and stars danced in his head as all his blood thudded to his groin. She kissed like every man's fantasy; open–mouthed and giving, and he couldn't get enough of her. His tongue thrust deeply into her hot and welcoming mouth as his body demanded he bury himself in her, absorbing all her sweet taste and fiery heat. His hands, filled with her silky hair, tilted her head back so he could kiss more of her; trail kisses along her jaw and down her slender neck. She'd always melted in his arms when his lips and tongue had done a long, slow trace from her ear and down along her neck, and he was returning to familiar territory. His tongue savored salt on her jaw, sandalwood on her neck, and anticipation rushed through him because he knew intimately the bounty that waited nestled between her breasts. The push of her hands flat against his chest hardly registered and he pulled her closer not wanting to feel any space between them.

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With a gasp, she tore her mouth away from his. "Stop it." The roar of lust in his ears vanished as the words stung like a bare–handed slap. He pulled back, his eyes slow to adjust to sharp focus through lust–hazed lenses. Fine strands of blond hair lay in disarray against her usually smooth bob. Her chest rose and fell quickly, pushing her breasts against her shapeless scrubs, and she stared at him with eyes filled with hurt, confusion and anger. "What the hell are you doing, Paul?"

Chapter Seven Her accusatory tone riled him. "Me? I think you'll find that we were kissing each other like sex–starved teenagers." "Speak for yourself." She tugged at her scrubs straightening them—regaining control by putting things in order neatly and tidily as she always did when she was rattled. "I am." Her eyes widened. "I find that hard to believe when there are so many women in this hospital who'd fall over each other to date you." He thought about the last year. "Perhaps I don't want to fall over them." Louise had the distinct sensation that she was sinking in quicksand. Nothing about her interpretation and understanding of the past year and the man in front of her was making any sense. "On December 31, over a year ago, you told me that you weren't happy and that you hadn't been for a long time." His eyes flared with something she couldn't entirely decipher. "That was the truth." Her world—their world—had crumbled into dust that night, leaving her second–guessing everything about her life and wondering if anything was real. In an act of self–preservation, she'd never asked him if he was seeing another woman because she'd hardly been able to stay standing when he'd packed an overnight bag. Being told he was leaving her for someone else would have completely unraveled her. Now he'd just kissed her as if his rejection of her fourteen months ago had never happened—kissed her so thoroughly that she'd melted into a puddle of need and undone months of hard–fought equilibrium. He'd just gone and changed the goalposts. Again. Well, she wouldn't let him. Couldn't let him. The boundaries had to stay where they were so she could survive. She tilted her chin. "Just because you're having a dry spell doesn't mean you can kiss me. I'm not interested in being an ex–wife with benefits." He paled under his tan and deep lines bracketed his mouth. When he spoke, his words came out stiff and formal. "I don't want that and I wouldn't presume to even suggest it." She hated that his abrupt dismissal of her still hurt her so much.

Chapter Eight As Paul stitched the leg of a cyclist who'd come to grief in a ditch, he couldn't stop thinking about the kiss or the pain and hurt in Lou's eyes. Guilt stabbed him like the sharp point on a bayonet. What the hell had he not been thinking when he kissed her?

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But with the euphoric rush of a good save and the shared joy of a job well done, kissing her had seemed the most normal and natural thing in the world. The sort of thing they'd done all the time until AJ's difficult first year. God she'd felt good in his arms again. Warm and soft and— He realized with an excruciating jolt just how much he'd missed holding her. No. No way. It couldn't be true. He refused to believe that. He'd been the one to leave, so missing her was out of the question. He snipped the black suture thread and placed a clear adhesive dressing over the top. "Keep it dry for a few days, see your own doctor in ten to fourteen days and don't simultaneously text and ride again." The cyclist gave him a sheepish look. "You sound like my wife." Paul gave a wry laugh. "I think I sound like mine." "That's a worry, Doc." Paul shook his head. "Not in this instance. It's sensible and sound advice." You're so lucky to have Lou. The voice of his best mate, Dan, blared in his head. She's so organized, sensible and unflappable. A woman like that can make a man very happy. So why then had a dark emptiness filled his soul and not moved on? … The late afternoon heat had pushed the mercury up to forty–four degrees Celsius, and the large ceiling fans stirred and distributed the air cooled by the air conditioners. Outside, the hot northerly wind still gusted, and constant updates on the bushfires crackled over the emergency radio. Keri glanced up from a mound of paperwork. "We're quiet on the trauma front so can you give Paul a hand in general clinic. It'd be good to clear that in case the fire–front changes and the worst happens." Louise gave a tight smile. "Sure." She hadn't seen him for an hour and found him walking toward chairs with a stack of charts in his arms. She held out her hand. "I'll go halves." "Thanks." He passed three of the grey folders to her and then stood back to allow her to pass through the doorway first. He'd always had impeccable manners. She'd remarked on it early in their relationship, and he'd looked surprised for a moment before telling her that his father had drummed them into him from an early age. She'd laughed and said, "Thanks Prof Kershaw." Paul hadn't laughed with her. A group of six people in their early twenties sat slumped in the chairs with glazed eyes, wet hair plastered to their heads and bright red skin. Louise glanced at the top chart. "Jason Coghlan." The young man rose unsteadily to his feet and then crashed sideways to the floor. A girl screamed. Another vomited.

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As Louise sank down beside the unconscious man, her fingers searching for his carotid pulse, his mate tried to stand up and he collapsed, as well. "Everyone stay seated." Paul reached for the wall phone. Louise rolled her patient onto his back and called out to Paul. "Call a code red. I can't find a pulse."

Chapter Nine Louise counted compressions and breaths, while chaos loomed around her. She heard a thunder of feet and Paul calmly and decisively directing the emergency while two other people started vomiting. Paul had the heart of a caring physician and the organizational skills of an administrator. A nurse knelt beside her, attaching monitor dots to the man's chest and a moment later Louise saw a wobbly heartbeat trace across the screen. She breathed a sigh of relief as she inserted an IV. "He's back." "Going on what his girlfriend said, you'll need to pump his stomach as soon as we get him into trauma one." Paul and an orderly lifted the man onto a gurney. "Chances are it's pure vodka." Ninety minutes later, having performed two stomach pumps and treated six cases of severe sunburn and dehydration, Louise walked to the staff lounge hoping to find something to eat. She opened the fridge and stared at the meager contents, her stomach groaning in protest. "I thought you might enjoy one of these." She turned to see Paul dropping two white bags onto the table and opening an icy bottle of mineral water. The aroma of spicy lamb filled the air and her heart hiccoughed. Souvlaki. Her favorite take–away food and one they'd often shared when they'd worked together. "Thank you." He gave her a hesitant smile. "I rang Theo's while you were taking Jason to ICU and he delivered." She sat down, bit into the flat bread and sighed with delight. "This was a great idea. I haven't had one of these since—" She stopped herself, realizing she was about to say, "Since you left," and there was no point bringing that fact up again. While they ate, the edgy silence that had enveloped them for over a year faded into a strained but companionable hush. Paul wiped his mouth with a serviette before crumpling it onto the white bag. "Jason was damn lucky he collapsed here. I can't get over the stupidity of those kids." Louise raised a brow. "They're university students, Paul, and I think you've got forty–year–old selective memory loss." His head shot up, his expression affronted. "My memory is just fine, thank you." She leaned forward. "So you've jettisoned the memory of the night I officially became a doctor and you got your registrar's position? We finished our late shift, left the hospital at nine and went to your father's shack at Portsea." "Ah, Portsea." His eyes flared with warmth and memories.

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"Yes, Portsea. We surfed under a full moon and then lay in the dunes gorging ourselves on fish and chips and drinking champagne straight from the bottle. Somehow we got back to work for a seven a.m. start and managed a full shift without causing death or disability to our patients or having our degrees revoked." His head had leaned forward, too, and the edge of one of his curls brushed her forehead. "You're forgetting what else happened in the dunes." She shook her head slowly. "No, I remember that very clearly. It was the night I realized I loved you." "Was it?" She bit her lip at his unexpectedly forlorn expression. "Of course it was. I've told you that." He leaned back and shook his head. "I wouldn't have forgotten something as momentous as that. I remember exactly when and where I told you for the first time that I loved you." Her mouth twitched into a small smile. "Hospital service elevator three." "That's right and I told you every day after that." "Until you stopped." Pain slashed his face. "But at least I started, Lou." She stared at him, her heart thumping hard as his words hammered into her rock–solid belief that their marriage had floundered only because of him.

Chapter Ten Louise tried to think back through a decade of memories. Laughing with Paul, kissing him, grabbing his hand to hold, always determined to show him she loved him because she'd grown up in a house devoid of any physical displays of affection. Her parents had shared a house, not a marriage. Cool and indifferent, their lives had become one of individual pursuits and constant sniping. Love and other positive emotions had never been spoken of. As a doctor and a professional, talking about feelings was something she encouraged other people to do. But when it came to herself, she'd always found it difficult—exposing. She remembered the first time Paul had told her he loved her, and she'd been thrilled and overwhelmed yet slightly uncomfortable with the emotional declaration, having never heard anyone tell her she was loved. To hide her confusion she'd kissed him. Over time she'd gotten over her embarrassment, and she'd adored it when Paul told her he loved her—and she'd missed it dreadfully when he stopped. Her breath stalled in her chest. With dazzling clarity she realized that from his very first declaration she'd always responded by kissing him. She shredded the edges of the white paper bag, her throat tight. "Haven't I ever told you that I love you?" "Not in words, no." His sadness permeated the air around them. Her heart wept and she reached out, lightly touching his hand. "I'm sorry. I think I was so focused on showing you that I didn't realize I wasn't saying the words." Then her defensive self rushed in. "Why didn't you say anything?" He tugged at his hair and then let out a long breath. When he spoke there was no defensive edge, just tiredness and regret. "Because the first time it became really important to me was when dad—" he hesitated

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for a half beat before continuing "—when we were both struggling with AJ, with his reflux and constant screaming, his lurch from one viral illness to another, coping with next to no sleep and Sam's toddler tantrums. I'd arrive home exhausted to find you either asleep or on a domestic binge, working madly through one of your lists so you could cope with the following day. No time was ever a good time to bring it up." She remembered those dark and difficult days. AJ had been born ten weeks early, the complications of prematurity dogging the first year of his life. In the middle of all that worry Paul's father had died, adding another layer of stress and grief. He had a great relationship with his mother, but not with his high–flying father whose praise was sparse and affection not easily given. She'd tried to help him grieve, but he'd turned it all inwards. If she was honest with herself, she'd probably had a mild case of depression at that time. "I used to think the fact we survived all that meant we'd get through anything." She raised her gaze to his. "Was that the start of things going wrong?"

Chapter Eleven Paul thought about the past few years when life had gone from shiny prospects to wading through mud. He traced the rings of condensation that had pooled under the cold glass of water. "Do you ever feel that you've missed out?" She tilted her head, her eyes filled with questions. "Missed out how?" He threw a hand up in the air, her gaze making him uncomfortable. "Like stuff we had on our five–year plan. Travelling on a moment's notice, and that research job you wanted but gave up because you fell pregnant with Sam four years earlier than planned." Two creases appeared at the top of her nose. "Plans change, Paul. The moment I had Sam the plan became dusty, and when AJ busted out early I knew the plan was obsolete." He'd always envied the way Lou had embraced motherhood—almost like a calling. He loved being a father, but it was only now that the boys were older that he really felt like he was coming into his own as a parent. Before that, Lou had played a bigger role. He thought about his jobs—the ones he'd had, the one he'd wanted and the one he'd been offered. "You don't regret losing that job?" "I honestly don't. That job wasn't ever going to be family friendly and I enjoy the work here." She suddenly rolled her shoulders back. "You have to admit that it worked well for both of us for a while." He remembered the conversation they'd had about him being home the two shifts a week she was working because AJ wasn't robust enough for childcare. He'd agreed only because if he hadn't, Lou wouldn't have gone back to work and she'd needed to get out of the house and work even if she hadn't known it at the time. "It didn't work for me." Louise pinched the bridge of her nose as the sensation of her world being tilted on its axis swooped in. A sensation she hated because it was never accompanied by good news. "But you agreed to it. It meant one of us was always home with the boys while the other was at work." His shoulders slumped. "Exactly, and that's when things started to unravel." AJ had been eight months old when she'd come back to work. Paul had insisted she work a couple of shifts a week and it had really helped her find her feet again, getting her out of the house and the world of young children, and back into a world where she was an adult. "I don't understand." His eyes implored her. "We were living parallel lives. I came home, you went to work, and vice versa. I made up my missed hours across the week, which meant I was home less. The renovation of the house and the kids filled up our days off, and then we started again. We lost 'our' time."

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She wracked her brain, not certain his hypothesis was true. "But before the children, we didn't always have time off together." "But we worked together a lot, and I don't think we realized how much we shared when we did." He reached out his hand and slid his fingers between hers. "I've missed working with you, Lou." His touch burned into her, sending her confusion rolling over and over like tumbleweed and making her body hum with need. "Yes, but have you missed me?"

Chapter Twelve Have you missed me? Paul heard Lou's question and the answer should be easy, but it wasn't. Yes, he'd missed her. Of course he'd missed her. But everything had gotten so messed up between them in the past three years that he sometimes felt like he'd been missing her for years. His fingers laced over hers. "I miss you. I miss seeing the kids every night. I miss what we had." "Hey, Paul." Rob Anderson, the radiologist, stuck his head into the lounge. Paul stifled a groan at the interruption. "Hey, Rob." "I just wanted to say well done on getting the Sydney job." Every part of Paul tensed and he wanted to yell, "Shut–up, Rob." Louise stiffened, her fingers taut under his. Rob continued. "I gave you a great rap so let's hope—" He suddenly stopped talking, a streak of embarrassment crossing his face. "Oh, G'day Louise. Sorry, I didn't see you there." His hand slapped the architrave. "I'll catch you later, Paul." Louise pulled her hand out from under his, her expression stony. "You've got a job in Sydney?" He hated the way she was looking at him as if he was pond scum. He stood up to leave. "Head of A&E at Central." Her voice rose. "That's six hundred kilometers away from your children." Did she think he didn't know that? He stepped out into the corridor and heard her feet fast behind him, and all the time his father's voice mocked him. Son, by the time I was your age, I was head of St. Stephen's Emergency and lecturing at Melbourne University. He stepped into the elevator, but she dived through the closing doors. "Why Sydney?" "It's a good job, Lou. It's a job I can do, a job I'm qualified for and a job I deserve." He hated the cool, analytical distance in his voice, but he didn't want to have this conversation. Especially not in a steel box he associated with kissing her more than ever talking to her. Her throat convulsed, and he saw the flash of shared memories in her eyes before she pressed herself hard against the lift wall, putting as much distance between them as possible. Probably a really good idea. "Work with me here, Paul. A minute ago you told me you missed me, yet you're planning to move interstate. I don't get it. You've always said your goal was to be head at St. Stephen's." He glanced to a spot slightly left of her hair. "Like you said, Lou, five–year plans change."

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But even he knew he sounded too defensive, and her gaze zeroed in on him, all keen observation. "I never understood why you didn't apply for it a year and a half ago when Amos retired." The elevator doors opened and he stepped through turning left, and Louise matched his stride. "I told you why, Lou." Liar. "It probably got lost amongst the detritus of our conversations that had come down to who was taking the kids to swimming and who was doing the grocery shopping." "That's nonsense and you know it." "Is it? We stopped talking, Lou." She positioned herself between him and a door. "Did we? I remember it being you who stopped talking, and I eventually stopped asking." She leaned slightly left and pressed down a door handle, her floral scent swirling around him. Then she stepped in close. He stepped back needing distance, and suddenly found himself in the on–call room. Louise followed and locked the door behind her. "But I'm asking now. Why didn't you apply to St. Stephen's?" Every part of him wanted to flee as his pride ducked and weaved, not wanting to be shot down again. Don't tell her. He looked down into her beautiful eyes and searched for censure. But despite all that had happened between them, the pain he'd caused her, all he could see was love and concern. Pride took a mortal blow. "I did apply and they passed me over."

Chapter Thirteen Louise heard the wounded pride in his voice, and saw the humiliation on his strong face as she realized the full implication of his words. His dream job had rejected him and her husband was hurting. Badly. So badly that he'd never told her. Without thinking she wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder, needing to show him some support. "That sucks." His arms tightened around her. "Tell me about it." She wanted to stay snuggled up against him, wanted to breathe in his scent of musk and sweat, feel his heat mixing with hers and forget that they were no longer a couple. But at the same time she wanted to yell, "Why did you shut me out? Why didn't you tell me?" She raised her head and stared into his troubled eyes. "How about you tell me about it?" Lou's words seared him as her body caressed his, her heat easily penetrating the thin cotton barrier that scrubs provided. The craving he'd had for her all shift exploded inside him and he buried his face in her hair, needing the contact, gulping in her intoxicating aroma of vanilla and mango, feeling the softness under his cheeks and wanting so much more—wanting to forget the gut–wrenching disappointment that his career had faulted, and that his marriage had failed. That he had failed. He wanted to bury himself in her and forget like he'd done so many times in the past.

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His hands cupped her cheeks, his thumbs gently caressing, and he tilted her head until her soft grey eyes met his. He scanned past the bewilderment, her questions and her hesitation, and zeroed in on her undiluted desire. Pure lust. Raging need. She wanted him, too, and that was all he needed to know. His lips plundered hers with the knowledge of what she adored, and she immediately pressed herself hard against him, her arms coming up around his neck and her own mouth hungry for his. His hands dropped to the hem of her top and he tugged the shapeless garment over her head, dropping it quickly to the floor. Two exquisite creamy breasts lay nestled under turquoise lace. He groaned. "This has to go." With the flick of his fingers the lace gave way, and first one hand and then his mouth, captured their softness. Louise cried out as Paul's mouth suckled her, sapping her self–control and howling down the sensible voice in her head telling her to stay strong. Instead, it tapped into the well of need she'd tried unsuccessfully to bury. Like a geyser, the well exploded, surging through her, hot, demanding, and divinely delicious, and she had no power to withstand its onslaught. Her knees sagged, her body opened and she tugged them both onto the narrow bed. "I want to see all of you. Feel all of you." He raised his head and through the haze of desire she saw down deep into his soul, and glimpsed the man she'd fallen in love with so long ago. "Sweetheart, it would be my pleasure." Their clothes tugged, snagged and finally fell into blue puddles on the floor. Hands and mouths explored, bodies glistened, slick with need, until the ache couldn't be withstood a moment longer and she guided him into her. With a cry as old as time itself they shattered—her first, him a moment later—spiraling out together, united for a moment, before falling to earth on separate trajectories.

Chapter Fourteen With her arms and legs tightly wrapped around Paul, Louise opened her eyes as the last ripples of her orgasm faded. Paul's eyes shimmered the brightest of blues and he gave her a long, lazy smile. "We always got this part of being married right." A small smile curved on her lips and she thought about their sex life. Paul had always been an enthusiastic and generous lover, and even in the tough year with AJ and his father's death they'd still come together in sex. Paul rolled away, sat up and reached for his pants. A ripple of discontent wove through her pond of loneliness, and she rested her arm against the corded muscles of his back. "What are you doing?" He dropped a kiss lightly on her forehead. "We have to get back before they miss us." She rose up on her elbow. "They know to page us when the lull is over and right now we need to talk." He stilled and then rolled back toward her, his hand on her breast and his lips on her mouth. Delicious tingles fizzed inside her and she felt herself arcing up toward him as she fell again into a pool of sensual delight.

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We get this right. Paul's murmured words scorched her brain and the haze of need cleared. If they'd gotten sex so right, if they'd connected so well in such an intimate way, why had they separated? With a gasp of comprehension, she pulled her mouth away from his, her breathing ragged. "Did you hear your pager?" Paul had been so lost in Lou's lush mouth he'd be hard–pressed to hear a fire alarm. She shook her head and frantically started pulling on her clothes. A kernel of worry nibbled at him. "What then?" "I've just realized that you use sex so you don't have to talk about your feelings." A rush of agitation tore through him. "That's insane." She tugged her security lanyard over her head. "Is it? Think about it, Paul. Ten minutes ago I asked you to tell me about what happened with St. Stephen's, and you kissed me like a drowning man and then we had sex." He trailed a finger down her cheek. "Sensational sex." But she wouldn't be distracted. Her hand curved around his, dragging it away from her face. "You're doing it again. A moment ago I said we need to talk, and you had me flat on my back in ten seconds." She dragged her fingers through her disheveled hair. "And I've just worked out you've been doing it for a long time and I've never realized. We've been having great sex, but it's given us a false closeness because really, you've been shutting me out for years."

Chapter Fifteen Louise faced her husband across the small on–call room, deliberately keeping a distance so they could have the conversation they had to have no matter how hard it would be. "Why didn't you tell me about the job?" Paul folded his arms across his chest. "Why, so you could make a list and try and fix it?" She felt the barb enter her, but this time it had no sting, although she filed it away to talk about later because obviously her jump to "fix" things was a bone of contention. "No, so I could have shared your disappointment." His mouth tightened into a thin line. "Don't you mean your disappointment in me?" If he'd hit her she couldn't have been more shocked. She slid down into a chair. "That's what you think? That I would consider you a failure because you didn't get one job?" "One job?" He started to pace, all tension and attitude. "Come on, Lou. We used to talk about how we'd move out of the cottage and get a bigger place. You read the real estate section of the paper every weekend, and we started going to auctions. Without that job, none of it could happen." She shook her head so hard it hurt, and she tried to slow down her thoughts so they didn't rush out as accusatory. "I remember it differently. I remember you talking about a bigger house and suggesting we get a feel for the market, which is why we went to the auctions. We always had vague plans. I remember once

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thinking about moving to the country and joining a practice there, but we didn't act on that, either." She tried to catch his gaze. "I didn't need a bigger house, Paul. I love the cottage." His nostrils flared. "Lucky that, seeing as it's yours now." She counted to ten, knowing he was hurting so much—that his role as the provider had taken a battering. "I also have the mortgage because you told me you didn't want the cottage. You also told me you didn't want our life together, but the one thing you never told me was what you really wanted." Paul shuddered as Louise's words released a cocktail of emotions, and he slammed his hand flat against the wall. "Damn it, Lou, I wanted that job. I'd worked towards it from the moment I met you and it had my name on it." "I totally get your disappointment." Her compassion enveloped him and his hurt poured out. "I wanted it so much. I wanted it for me, for you, for the kids—" "And for your father." He spun around. "Dad has nothing to do with this." She sighed and looked utterly weary. "Your father wanted you to have that job. Every time you talked to him, he would bring it up." Her face clouded with memories. "In fact, he mentioned it the very first time I met him and although I never told you, he spoke to me on our wedding day and told me to support you in your goal." An irrational need to defend his father stirred. "St. Stephen's is his alma mater and he'd held that job for five years." "Sure, but this is your life, Paul, not your father's. Is this why you've applied to Sydney? To prove something to your father?" "He's dead, Lou. I don't have to prove anything to him." Her well–shaped brows rose. "Death doesn't mean you stop seeking approbation." He hated her insightfulness. "All Sydney means is there's no top A&E jobs on offer in Melbourne." She stood up as both their pages started beeping. "The children and I don't care what job you do as long as you're happy." Her luminous eyes fixed on his face. "Are you happy?" He watched her at the door; his beautiful wife, the mother of his sons. Even when he'd left, he'd never stopped thinking about her as his wife. He hadn't been able to offer her what she deserved, and he'd thought leaving would stop their pain and end their misery. But the darkness that had filled him hadn't lifted, and it still ate away at him. "I don't know what I am."

Chapter Sixteen "It's very, very late, gorgeous boy, and it's time to go back to sleep." Louise pressed the phone to her ear as she said goodnight to Sam for the second time that night. "That's what Daddy said." "Well, he's right." Paul's mother always let them stay up far too late, but then again who could sleep in this heat? And a night swim would have been a special treat.

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"Daddy said he liked working with you. Do you like working with Daddy?" Louise closed her eyes at the loaded question, and took in a deep breath. "I do." "So if you like working with Daddy why does he live at the flat?" Her heart cramped as she heard her name being called. "I'll explain it all again in the morning, sweetie. Night–night." She snapped her phone shut and turned her attention to the emergency briefing. The wind had changed. Fireballs had encapsulated towns and roared through them as if buildings were mere kindling. People were dead. Many more were severely burned, and the first casualties were expected within the hour as the CFA battled fires and the SES tried to open roads blocked by fallen and smoldering debris. The television news pictures showed a hell on earth—blackened earth that glowed red. For the hospital staff, now was the calm before their coming storm. Louise automatically prepared the trauma rooms, checking machines, supplies and oxygen, but all the while she kept hearing Paul's desolate voice. I don't know what I am. Tonight had been a revelation. So much had happened in the past few hours, she felt like a limp rag that had been forced through a mangle. It was like all the wonder, pain, joy and heartache of her marriage had been compressed into twelve hours with spotlights beaming sharply onto both the good and the bad. She now saw that faults lay squarely on both sides. Both of them had unwittingly hurt the other. How had she not known he was so miserable? He'd never wanted to talk about his strong–willed father when the man was alive, and yet he was letting the Professor control him from the grave. I don't want our life, Lou. She realized with a gut–wrenching spasm that those words translated to I don't like my life. He'd fallen off his path and she hadn't been there to catch him because she didn't know he'd been falling. Despite all they'd been through she still loved him, and she sensed that he loved her, but he was so consumed by his own unhappiness he couldn't see that. She didn't want to believe he'd move interstate and become a long–distance father, but she'd seen his raw shame at not getting the St. Stephen's job. In his head that position had been more than a job to a man who'd spent his life trying to get praise rather than criticism from his father. He'd accept the job in Sydney because he believed it would reclaim his shattered pride. Her heart ripped in her chest. He might have held her in his arms, made exquisite love to her, but she'd lost him a long time ago and no matter what she did or said, he wasn't coming back.

Chapter Seventeen Paul triaged the burns victims. A&E was literally directing traffic. Severe cases went direct to ICU or the operating room, superficial burns were expertly treated by the nurses, and he and Lou caught the rest. For three hours straight no one had stopped to even use the bathroom. As he stared at the full board of admissions wondering where he'd put another patient, he knew going on bypass in a state emergency wasn't an option. All the hospitals in Melbourne worked cooperatively to deal with the crisis, and now the first rush had faded, it was time to reassess and give the staff some breaks. Part of him gave thanks he'd been so frantically busy as it gave little time to think, but Lou's perfume lingered on his skin and every time he breathed in he was reminded of her. Reminded of everything he'd lost, and of everything he'd never had. It ate away inside him like acid on paper.

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"Hey, doc." An ambulance officer extended his hand. "Ian Saunders. I'm looking for a Mrs. Flanagan to transport back to Cumberland Bay." Paul frowned, even though he could do with a spare cubicle. "She's eighty and asleep. It's a bit late for transport, isn't it?" "Yeah, sorry." Ian grimaced. "We got diverted to the fires." "How's Cumberland Bay?" "We were lucky. The wind change that took out the towns to the north of us actually saved us. It leaves you with a combination of relief and guilt." Paul knew exactly what he meant. "I'm glad it's safe. I spent my honeymoon there. It's a pretty town and I remember it had a small hospital on the hill and a great view of the southern ocean. Not a bad place to get sick." He and Lou had loved their two–week sojourn in the coastal town, and he wondered now why they'd never gone back. You always went to Portsea because Dad held court there in the summer. Ian's reply broke into his thoughts. "It's in a great position, but you wouldn't call it small now. The area's been in boom for the past few years. First it was discovered by the trendy Melbourne set for weekend getaways, then by the retired grey power as a place to escape to and now young families are moving in, wanting the beach lifestyle. The hospital's flat out keeping up with demand, and the board's advertised in today's paper for a new doctor." Ian glanced around. "So where's Mrs. F because I'd really like to get home before dawn." Paul directed him to a nurse and then orchestrated the first wave of staff breaks. As he grabbed a sandwich and a much–needed coffee, he absently flicked through the paper and then turned to the jobs section. Looking for a Seachange? Cumberland Bay offers a relaxed coastal lifestyle with top medical facilities. Doctors experienced in GP work and emergency Medicine are encouraged to apply. Visit us or telephone to see why Cumberland Bay is the place to be. A phone number followed. St. Stephens or Melbourne Central are the only two hospitals in the state worth considering, son. Everything else is second–rate. He closed the paper and heard the wail of an ambulance. His break was over. Running feet sounded down the corridor, and a nurse called out, "Dr. Kershaw, come quickly. Your mother's being admitted."

Chapter Eighteen "Daddy!" Two little boys broke from the ambulance officer's side and threw themselves at Paul's legs as he was striding towards Trauma One. Paul bent down hugging both of them, loving the way they cuddled in close. No job is worth losing this. Sydney meant risking his relationship with his children. He swayed as the jolt of realization hit him. His father had been "at work" for much of his childhood, and that had culminated in an unbridgeable distance between them. He didn't want that to happen with his sons. He didn't want them thinking they had to jump through hoops to get his attention and approval because work always came first.

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He kissed the top of their heads and looked up at the ambulance officer. "Thanks for looking after them as well as my mother." "No worries, all part of the service." "We had a ride in the ambulance." AJ clutched his teddy bear, his eyes wide with a combination of excitement and fear. "I rang the ambulance." Sam spoke proudly. "Nana hurt her leg and called and called until I heard her." "Paul?" Lou hurried around the corner. "Boys? What's happened?" The boys broke free to hug their mother and Paul stood up. "You stay with the boys and I'll go and find out." He opened the door just as the nurse was leaving and he accepted the chart. His mother, who always looked so full of life, lay pale and still on the narrow gurney. "Mum?" She extended her hand. "Darling, I feel so stupid. It was so hot and I got up to get a glass of water and I didn't turn on the light, totally forgetting the boys had been playing with the train set. The next minute I was on the floor." Paul kissed her cheek. "Where does it hurt?" She pointed to her hip. "The old nurse in me thinks I've done the neck of my femur." Paul lifted up the sheet and saw the classic fore–shortening and rotation of her left leg. "You're probably right, but we'll X–ray it to confirm. You know what this means, don't you, Mum?" "The OR and rehab." She sighed and patted his hand. "I'm glad you're here. Your father would have been busy blustering at the staff." Paul tensed. "Yes, well I don't quite wield the same power as Dad, much to his disappointment." His mother frowned. "Paul, you manage to balance your work here with spending a lot of time with the boys. Your father spent far too much time trying to run our home and our lives like his beloved departments, and as a result, he missed out on so much." Paul stared at his mother, never having heard her speak so frankly. "Sadly, I've only just worked that out." She let out a long shuddering breath. "I loved your father dearly, but he couldn't separate work from family. He did love you, you know, he wanted the best for you." This is your life. Lou's words reverberated in his head. Are you happy? God, no, he wasn't happy, but for the first time he had a clue to this darkness that had invaded his soul. He'd spent his adult life trying to please a man with a misguided vision for his life. "The problem is, Mum, I've just realized that what Dad thought was best for me isn't what I needed or wanted." His mother's gaze rested on his face. "I hope what you've realized is that you need Louise. Your father might have made a lot of mistakes, but he and I both agreed you leaving her was the dumbest thing you've ever done."

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"Mum." He growled out her name in a warning as the familiar jet of defensive anger about his marriage squirted up inside him. But instead of it burning him, it fizzled out with a pop, taking the darkness with it and leaving behind a light of illumination and understanding. He'd gotten it all so terribly wrong and lost sight of what his life was really about. Leaving Louise had been the stupidest thing he'd ever done. Getting her back would be the hardest job he'd ever undertaken.

Chapter Nineteen Louise stifled a yawn as dawn's rays started to filter through the high windows of the department. She'd never treated so many burnt hands and feet or heard as many terrifying and courageous stories as she had tonight. Then again, she hadn't worked a seventeen–hour shift for years, either. "One skinny cappuccino with extra foam and a chocolate chip muffin." Paul dropped a bag into her lap as he handed her the steaming, white disposable cup and sat down next to her. His handsome face was drawn, and black stubble covered his cheeks. Her heart turned over that he'd remembered her muffin addiction. "Thanks. How's your mum?" "Out of the OR and sleeping." He pulled the top off his drink. "Where are the boys?" "Asleep under warm OR towels in the on–call room. It's been a big night for them." "It's been a big night for all of us." His gaze caught hers and for the first time in a long, long time, she saw a flicker of something that wasn't sadness. He put his hand on the couch next to hers, a tiny space between them. "It's been a night of revelations for me." She knew what he meant. "And for me. I'm sorry I had no idea you were so devastated and miserable." He shook his head. "Lou, I'm the one who should be apologizing. How could you know? You're right, I stopped talking. I wanted to prove to Dad I could cut it in A&E just like he had, and I wanted you and the boys to benefit from the income a top job like that garners. I couldn't tell you I'd failed." She touched his hand. "You've never failed in our eyes." A tremor ran through him and into her. "But I've hurt you so much." She put her hands in her lap, unable to think clearly when he touched her because she just wanted to throw herself into his arms. "Yesterday I would have agreed with you because I believed I'd been the one hurt the most, but over this long day and night I realized I've hurt you, too. We're both to blame for our relationship failing." She bit her lip and pushed on. "We're good doctors, Paul, and we're great parents, but along the way we forgot to spend the same amount of time and care on us as a couple and we lost what we had." Tears threatened to spill, but she was determined to get through this without falling apart. "I hope Sydney can make you happy, Paul. Good luck." He put his coffee down and turned to face her. "I'm not going to Sydney."

Chapter Twenty

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"I don't understand. I thought the job was yours?" Paul's heart cramped and swelled at Lou's confused and distressed expression. The fact that she could be upset for him had to mean something good. He picked up her hand, sending up a heartfelt wish because he knew given all that had gone down between them, what he was about to ask of her was huge. "Lou, I don't want that job. Tonight's opened my eyes to everything that's important to me, and that job doesn't come close. Not by a million miles." She pulled her hand away, wrapping her arms around herself as if to stop from shaking. "What is important to you, Paul?" "You. The boys. Us." He stroked a rogue strand of her hair back into place. "I love you, Lou. I always have and I always will. Leaving you was the dumbest decision of my life. Will you give us a second chance?" I love you. Louise tried to breathe in deeply, but her breath came in short, sharp jerks. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck, hold him tightly and never let go, but something held her arms by her side because he'd once vowed to love her and had left her. "What about work, Paul? It's a huge part of who you are and we won't be happy if you're not content with your job." "Work is a big part of who we both are." His eyes sparkled with excitement as he picked a newspaper up from the coffee table. "You know how I wanted St. Stephen's so we never acted on your idea about living in the country?" She nodded mutely, wondering where this was going. "Cumberland Bay needs doctors." "Cumberland Bay where we honeymooned?" Her brain struggled to keep up. "How do you know?" He pointed to the advertisement and grinned sheepishly. "I rang the CEO at 5 a.m. After her initial surprise she filled me in, and the once sleepy hollow is now part of the growth corridor, and has a thriving community with a newly equipped hospital. It needs one–and–half doctors to join the two already there." "And would that job be enough?" "If I had you and the boys by my side it would be the best job in the world." He dropped the paper and picked up her hand. "It means I work full time, but we work together two days a week. We work one weekend in four and have the rest home with the boys. We'll have work time, family time and 'us' time." Her heart sang. He truly loved her. But she still had one hard question. "And when things go wrong as they do in life, how will you handle that?" He closed the small gap between them, his eyes filled with sincerity and love. "I'll talk to you. I'll tell you how I'm feeling and we'll find a way through it like we have tonight, because if I've learned anything it's that you and the boys are the most important thing in my life." She swung her arms up around his neck ready to kiss him, but suddenly stopped short. "I love you, Paul." He dropped his head into her hair and hugged her more tightly than he'd ever done before. Then his mouth found hers and he sealed their future with a long, bone–melting kiss. He slowly raised his head and looked down at her, his face filled with love and eager anticipation. "Let's go wake the boys and go home for breakfast." She traced a finger down his cheek. "It sounds wonderful, but where's home?" "Wherever the four of us are together."

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Then he laced his fingers through hers and they walked out toward their future.

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Her Unexpected Cowboy by Trish Milburn After the tragic deaths of their parents, Madison Gray had to become a mother to her fourteen-year-old brother, Jason. But the boy's grief has led him down the wrong path, and Madison will do anything to steer him right. So she takes her friend, Elly Cody, up on her offer to visit her family in Wyoming, hoping a dose of ranch life will do them both good. The last thing she needs is the kind of complication that comes in the sexy form of Elly's cousin, Callum!

Chapter One Madison Gray had to fight tears as she drove up the long road leading onto the Cottonwood Ranch. Tears of relief, tears of hope, tears of frustration, fatigue and loss all pooled together, but she held them at bay. Beside her, her fourteen-year-old brother, Jason, still sat quiet and sullen. To him, this trip to Wyoming was akin to being banished to the dark side of the moon. To Madison, it represented a grasping at straws. Elly Cody, her good friend from college, had insisted she and Jason come for a visit. She’d said that a good dose of ranch life, far away from Phoenix, would be good for Jason, hopefully set him on a different path than he’d been traveling lately. Madison prayed Elly was right. Otherwise, she didn’t know what to do with or for her brother. “Here we are,” Madison said as she parked in front of a rambling wood-frame house. Jason just grunted and stared out the passenger-side window. Madison bit her lip and shoved herself out of the car when she spotted a gorgeous blonde running down the home’s front steps. “You made it.” Elly smiled wide then pulled Madison into an enthusiastic hug. “It’s been too long.” “It has.” Elly stepped back and directed her gaze at Jason, who was now standing outside the car. “And this must be Jason. Welcome to the Cottonwood Ranch.” “Thanks.” There, in that one word, was a glimpse of the boy Jason had been a year ago, before he and Madison had lost their parents. It took so little to make her hope flare to life. When Madison returned her attention to Elly, she noticed a trail of men coming out the front door onto the porch. She recognized Dusty Cody, Elly’s brother, and assumed the others were the rest of the large Cody clan. They were all definitely cowboys in their prime, and all strikingly handsome. When her eyes met those of the only cowboy wearing a T-shirt instead of a western-style button-up, her breath caught in her chest. He was simply gorgeous, with dark blond hair and a physique shown off to mouth-watering effect by his shirt and jeans. “Madison, Jason, this sorry lot goes with the place,” Elly said. “Walker’s still in Iraq, but that’s Jesse.” She pointed to the man on the far right. “Next to him is Dex. Madison, you’ve met Dusty. And that’s my cousin, Callum.” Callum. She liked that name. It fit him. Before any of the other guys could make a move to do so, Callum was already halfway down the steps. “Let me help you with your bags.”

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Madison managed to pull herself out of her stupor of male appreciation to speak. “It’s okay. We can get them.” By now, his long legs had brought him close enough that she could see he had green eyes and a nice tan. “No, I insist. You’re company.” This close, she could also see the words on his T-shirt. “Prepare to give me all your money?” He smiled, and she darn near swooned. “It’s poker night,” he said. “It’s a heads up to my cousins.” A bit of ribbing sailed back and forth between the guys as Callum strode to the trunk of her car. She popped it open, and he lifted out their two large bags as if they weighed no more than two sticks of cotton candy. She wondered what it would be like to be held in those arms. As soon as the thought popped in her head, she scolded herself. She wasn’t here, hundreds of miles from home, to get involved with some cowboy. She had more than enough on her plate without taking on one more complication. For however long they stayed, she had to focus all of her attention and energy on Jason. Find a way to make him see that while he had the right to grieve, the way he was doing it was destroying their lives. “We appreciate you letting us stay here,” she said to Elly. “Are you kidding? I’m just thrilled to have another woman here. I sometimes think I’m going to drown in testosterone.” Elly glanced at Jason. “No offense.” “None taken.” When Madison looked at her brother, the familiar anger wasn’t there. Could it be that things were already changing? She was afraid to hope it could be that simple. “Where to?” Callum asked. Elly motioned for them to follow her. “They’re at the end of the hallway.” Jason quickly fell into step behind Elly, leaving Madison to follow with Callum. She glanced over at him, and he nodded ahead. “Ladies first.” Wow, he had a deep, sexy voice, too. If she found out he was wickedly smart on top of the rest of the package, she might be in trouble. *** Callum felt like he’d taken a jolt from a cattle prod—and liked it. He’d seen his share of pretty women in his time, had dated more than a few. But nothing had prepared him for the moment when he’d first seen Madison Gray. And to say he was surprised would take the grand prize of understatements. Normally, he liked curvy women with long, wildly bouncing hair and even longer legs. But even though Madison was petite, built like a tennis player and had a short blond bob, he couldn’t deny the instant, powerful attraction. And the view from behind her wasn’t bad, either. “Jason, you’re in here,” Elly said as she pointed to the room on the right at the end of the hall.

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One look at the poor kid revealed he was already besotted with Callum’s cousin. He remembered being that age, hormones raging and not really being able to do much about it. Well, maybe he’d focus on his crush instead of all the reasons his big sis had whisked him out of the city for the summer. Callum placed the lighter of the two suitcases in the boy’s room. “And your sister will be right across the hall,” Elly said. “Great,” Jason said under his breath, sounding like he didn’t think it was great at all. Callum found himself wanting to call the kid on the disrespect, but it wasn’t his place. Instead, he carried the remaining suitcase into the other room and placed it on Madison’s bed so she wouldn’t have to lift it. She looked tired, like she had driven straight through from Phoenix. “You all must be starving,” Elly said. “I’ll go fix something to eat. Just come on into the dining room when you’re settled.” “Thanks,” Madison said. As soon as Elly retreated toward the kitchen, the door across the hall closed more loudly than it should have. Madison jerked at the sound. “You okay?” Callum asked. “Yeah.” Madison nodded without moving any other part of her body. Something about how she just stood there broke his heart. Elly had shared a bit about what Madison had been going through—losing her parents to warring factions in Africa while they were on a mission trip, getting custody of her brother, Jason acting out by drinking and getting in trouble at school. He found himself wishing he could do something to make it better, to lighten the load. He took a couple of steps toward her. “You need anything else?” She spun toward him, like she was surprised by how close he was. When she did so, her balance faltered. Without thinking, he reached out to steady her. Their eyes met, and there went that cattle prod again.

Chapter Two The dizziness dissolved as soon as Callum's strong hands gripped Madison's arms. But on its heels came embarrassment and she pulled back, breaking the contact. "Sorry about that," she said. "Guess I'm more tired than I thought." "Looks like you need a hot meal and a good night of sleep." At the mention of sleep, the craziest image of curling up next to Callum flitted through her mind. To hide the new wave of heat invading her cheeks, she turned and went to stand next to her suitcase. "I think you're right. Thanks for helping us with the luggage." "Anytime."

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When Callum didn't make a move to leave, she couldn't help looking up at him. When their eyes met, he seemed to come out of some sort of trance and moved toward the door. "I'll leave you to get unpacked. Maybe we'll see each other around." She smiled but didn't voice the thought that she would like that. When he disappeared down the hall, she stood listening to the thunk of his boots until they faded. Only then did she sink down onto the bed. She lifted her palm to her forehead to see if she was running a fever, because she was feeling way warmer than the weather could account for. But she knew it wasn't a fever. It was a blazing hot attraction for a man she'd met not five minutes ago. She'd never experienced such a visceral reaction to a man, but she couldn't have picked a worse time to have it slam into her. She lay back on the bed, wondering what else could possibly add to the out-of-control maelstrom her life had become. *** All the way from his home on the Pebble Creek Ranch between Markton and Cody to the Cottonwood the next morning, Callum tried to think of some plausible reason why he would be visiting the ranch again so soon. If he didn't come up with something, there would be no end to the teasing his cousins would shoot his way when they realized the real reason was so he could get another glimpse of Madison Gray. He still hadn't come up with anything when he parked next to the ranch office in the converted bunkhouse. As he slipped out of his truck, Elly stepped out the front door of the office. "I wondered how fast you'd be back over here," she said, that expected note of teasing in her voice. "What, a man can't visit family?" She snorted. "Don't waste your effort. I've got eyes. I saw how you were looking at Madison yesterday." "I was just being neighborly." "Oh, please." She nodded toward the house. "You're out of luck, though. She's still not up. She fell asleep without even eating last night." "She looked exhausted." "Not a surprise. She's been through a lot lately." Elly crossed her arms. "Which is why I don't want anyone hurting her." He met his cousin's gaze. "I'm not planning on it." "Good. Because, cousin or not, I'll take it out of your hide if you do." *** Madison dragged herself out of the deep well of sleep. It felt like she was swimming up from the dark bottom of the ocean. She blinked several times, her mind trying to make sense of the light flooding the room. Gradually, reality coalesced in her brain. She was stretched out on the bed, still in the clothes she'd worn the day before. At some point, she'd pulled the comforter over her. Her suitcase still sat beside her, waiting to be unpacked.

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She managed to move her head enough to see the clock on the nightstand. It was after eight o'clock. She'd slept for more than twelve hours. Pure and utter exhaustion had finally won the battle. The sound of voices outside caught her attention, spurred her to slide off the bed and dig for some clean clothes in her suitcase. Never had a hot shower felt so good, easing her aching muscles, ones that felt as if they'd been tensed from the moment she'd received the news of her parents' deaths. The only thing that made her get out of the shower when she did was the persistent growling of her stomach. When she reached the living room, Jason was parked on the couch in front of the TV, flipping channels. She braced herself for hostility right before she spoke. "How did you sleep?" Jason just shrugged. Madison fought the urge to reprimand him. After all, it only made things worse. Everything she did seemed to make things worse. "What would you like to do today?" "Go home." Madison sighed. "We just got here. Give it a chance. It's beautiful here, don't you think?" Jason spun toward her, anger in his eyes. "Then you stay out here in the middle of nowhere. Let me go back. I can stay with friends." "Your friends are part of the reason we're here in the first place." Jason tossed the remote control on the coffee table and stormed toward the door. "Where are you going?" "Out." She followed, but by the time she reached the door he was already down the steps and making long strides down the driveway. When she opened her mouth to call him back, nothing came out. The hope she'd felt the day before dissolved into utter hopelessness. "Don't worry, he'll come back when he's hungry." The deep, sexy voice had Madison turning toward the end of the porch. Callum Cody sat there in a rocking chair, today looking every inch the cowboy in scuffed boots, faded jeans, a blue snap-up shirt and a black cowboy hat. "I should go after him." Callum nodded toward Jason's retreating form. "No need. This place is huge. He can walk all day and not leave Cody land." "He could get a ride on the road." "Honey, around here anyone picks up a stray kid is going to make darn sure he gets back where he came from."

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Something about the absolute surety in his voice eased her worry. But that "honey" he'd uttered and the way it made her heart race—that she didn't know what to do with. "I heard you got that good night of sleep," he said. "I can't remember when I last slept that long." "It's the clean air and clean living out here. We all sleep like babies." A little laugh slipped out of Madison, surprising her. She'd feared she had forgotten how to laugh. "Now why do I doubt that?" Oh my, was she flirting with him? Had she totally lost her mind? "I have no idea," he said, all feigned innocence. She rolled her eyes. "You forget I went to school with a lot of cowboys." "I feel like I ought to be affronted on behalf of cowboys everywhere." Again, she laughed a little, then glanced down the driveway. Jason was growing smaller with each passing moment. "So, what's a city girl do when she comes to the country for the summer?" Callum asked. Good question. "I really don't know. I guess I didn't think much beyond the actually getting here." "How about you let a cowboy take you out?" If possible, her heart sped up even more. As appealing as that sounded, she couldn't allow herself to give in to the temptation. She couldn't handle one more thing, couldn't even think about getting attached to someone else who wouldn't be there in a few weeks. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but I can't. It's just…not a good idea." Callum stood and took a few steps in her direction. "Well, at least let me make you breakfast. I make a mean omelette." As if to betray her, her stomach let loose with an audible growl. "I guess that's my answer," he said, laughter in his voice. He started past her then stopped so close she swore she could feel the warmth of his body. "And just so you know, I don't agree. I think us going out is a very good idea."

Chapter Three It took a few stunned moments for Madison's brain to kick-start again after Callum's comment on the porch. He'd disappeared inside the house before the message from her head made it to her feet and she moved to follow. When was the last time a man had made his interest in her so obvious? Had any ever done so? She was certain none had her contemplating giving in to temptation quite so thoroughly. But this situation won the award for bad timing. Even so, she didn't say anything else to deter him. She tried to convince herself it was because she was so hungry and he was cooking, but her eyes kept straying to how snug his jeans fit him as he stood at the stove. She nearly fell out of her chair when he flipped the omelette onto a plate and swung toward her in one fluid motion, nearly catching her ogling his backside.

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He hadn't been lying. He could make a mean omelette. "This is delicious." "Delicious enough to let me take you out?" She ignored the little pang at how she had to answer. "I'm sorry, but no." Callum shrugged. "Can't blame a guy for trying." And trying. He flirted with her so much during the rest of breakfast that she felt on the verge of giggling at some points. Despite her marathon sleep session, she must still be tired. "Well, if you change your mind and suddenly can't bear not to see me, call the Pebble Creek Ranch. I'll be here in a flash." She did laugh then. "You are, perhaps, the most persistent man I've ever met." He smiled, making her heart go wild in her chest. "I do my best." … Callum tried to refocus on the work he had waiting for him as he drove toward home, but that was difficult when all of his senses were still focused on Madison. He couldn't get her out of his mind, not since the moment he'd first seen her. Having his concentration shot wasn't smart when working with bucking horses, which was what he was heading home to spend the rest of the day doing. As he topped a hill, he spotted someone walking along the side of the road. Almost instantly, he recognized the jeans and red shirt. Damn, the kid had gone farther than he thought he would. He didn't like the idea of him causing Madison to worry more, making the dark circles under her beautiful blue eyes even darker. Maybe he could do something about that. He slowed as he pulled up next to Jason. "Out for a walk or running away?" He saw a sliver of concern pass over Jason's young face before recognition hit. "Just walking." Callum wondered if Jason had entertained thoughts of running away, but something told him the boy didn't quite have what it took to go through with the deed. He might be angry with Madison, but he'd bet good money that he loved his sister beneath all that misplaced anger. He pointed toward the passenger door. "Get in." Jason just stared at him. After all, he really didn't know him. He was just the cousin of his sister's college friend. "I'm headed down the road to my family's ranch. Going to work with some bucking horses today if you want to hang out and watch." Jason hesitated a moment more before opening the door and slipping into the passenger seat. Callum didn't force conversation on the boy. He figured he'd talk when and if he got ready. When they turned into the ranch's entrance, Callum started pointing out things—fire tower on a distant ridge, a few guest cabins along Pebble Creek, the main house where his parents lived with his sister, Regina, and brother, Baker.

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"Our oldest sister, Natalie, lives in Cheyenne with her family." "You all sure like big families out here," Jason muttered. Callum laughed. "Need a lot of kids to fill up all this land." From who knew where, an image of himself as a father with his own kids formed in his mind—kids who looked remarkably like Madison. He shook away the image. Yeah, he was attracted to her, but why was he having serious thoughts like that when he hadn't even known her a full day? He parked next to the barn that held his office and apartment and connected to the outdoor arena where he worked the bucking horses with the hands. When he got out of the truck, Jason followed without a word. Callum gave the boy a quick-and-dirty tour before he got to work. On the way out the back of the barn, he texted Elly to tell Madison that he had Jason with him so she wouldn't worry. As Callum talked with Harry Wurton, his most trusted hand, about their newest horse's progress, he glanced toward where Jason was leaning against the back of the barn, trying his teenage best not to look interested. Callum had to laugh because he probably looked like that at fourteen, too. "Who's the kid?" Harry asked. "Little brother of Elly's college friend." "City kid, huh?" "Yeah. One who's had a tough time of it recently." "That explains the visible chip on his shoulder." Callum nodded. "He and his sister needed a break from each other." And better the kid was here than finding whatever trouble he could. Callum didn't make it obvious he was keeping an eye on Jason, but he had to admit some satisfaction when the boy showed a bit of interest. As Harry pulled himself up onto Jumping Bean, Jason pushed away from the wall of the barn. By the time the large chestnut horse bucked Harry into the dirt, Jason was near the fence watching every move, a hint of light in his eyes. Callum casually strode over to stand next to Jason. "This one's been a bear to train, but I think we've got him just about ready." "For what?" "The rodeo circuit." "Oh." Jason watched as the hands led the horse out of the arena. "That's what you do, train horses to buck?" "Yep. Used to ride them until a particularly nasty fellow named El Diablo bucked me right into a fence during a rodeo and knocked me out cold." "You couldn't ride anymore?" "Not the bucking stock. Doc said one more concussion might knock my brain right out of my head." Jason laughed, and Callum wondered when he'd done that the last time because the kid looked surprised that it had happened.

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Not that he'd had a lot to laugh about. Callum looked toward the house and couldn't imagine losing his parents, especially not at the same time. And not when he'd been fourteen. … Even though she knew where Jason was, Madison fretted about him all day. She'd gone on a ranch tour with Elly, had lunch with Elly's parents, J.W. and Anne, in their gorgeous showplace home, and tried to read a novel. But she kept asking herself what Callum had been thinking taking her brother to his ranch, wondering if Jason was behaving or causing trouble. She hated having to worry about her brother's actions, but he'd been a different kid during the past several months. She closed the book she couldn't concentrate on when she noticed a familiar pickup coming up the long drive from the main road. Nervousness twisted her stomach, and she had to admit it wasn't all because of Jason. Part of it was because she was about to see Callum again, and she was scared by how giddy that made her. When the two of them got out of the truck, Callum touched the front edge of his hat. "Madison." Her skin heated at the mere sound of her name on his lips. She figured if she ever let herself get too close to him, she might very well go up in flames. And she wasn't at all sure that was a bad thing.

Chapter Four Madison forced herself to look away from Callum and his sexy grin and focus on her brother. She took a breath and ventured a question, hoping it didn't ignite another of his volatile responses. "Did you have a good day?" He gave her one of his familiar shrugs, only this one wasn't as dismissive or tinged with anger. "It was okay." He looked over at Callum. "Go on, ask her," Callum said. Jason swallowed and met her eyes only for a moment. "Callum said he'd give me a job if it's okay with you." "A job?" This was the last thing she'd expected, and suspicion flared that Callum was using her brother to get to her. But when she looked at him, he didn't seem to be in full-on flirt mode. "I told him that I had to start working at fourteen to save up enough for a down payment on a car. Took me every bit of those two years to do it, too." That surprised Madison. She knew that Elly and her brothers all had jobs on the Cottonwood and Callum worked on his family's ranch, but she would have expected the well-to-do Codys to provide vehicles for their children. That they hadn't, at least not for Callum, spoke volumes about how they'd raised their kids. It made her feel better about having Jason around Callum. If she couldn't get through to her brother, maybe a man could. That thought made her heart ache, but that was less important than getting her brother back on the right path. "What would you be doing?" "Glamorous things like mucking out horse stalls, " Callum said with laughter in his voice.

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When she glanced at Jason, he was looking at Callum with admiration in his eyes. As much as it hurt to acknowledge that a stranger might be able to do what she'd failed at for months, she nodded. "Okay." "Dex and Dusty should have some old stuff you can wear to work," Callum said. He nodded toward the collection of barns behind the homestead. "I bet you can catch one of them before they call it a day. I'll be by to get you at seven in the morning." Jason just nodded and took off around the house. "I can't believe he didn't moan about the time. He usually sleeps half the morning." "He probably will complain in the morning. I still do." Madison looked back at Callum, who'd come to stand next to the porch, propping his outstretched arm against one of the support posts. "Thank you, for whatever you said or did." "Wait until he's shoveled some horse poop before you thank me. He may decide I'm the devil tomorrow." "But for now he seems to be interested in something other than going home and hanging out with the wrong people." "Well then, you're welcome." "Did…did he say anything to you?" "Not much. He's not much of a talker, at least not yet." "He used to be." Madison gripped her hands in her lap. "Before our parents died, he was such a bright, happy kid, always talking about something new he'd learned or e-mailing me funny YouTube videos. But when they died and he had to come live with me, he just…" She shook her head. "He changed." Callum sat on the edge of the porch and propped one leg up on it. "People deal with grief in different ways. I know it's hard now, but I have a feeling he'll get past it." "I hope so. I'm out of ideas of how to help him." "Maybe he's to the point where he needs to help himself." She met his gaze. "Or have someone new try." "I'm not really doing anything, Madison, just giving him something to do, someplace to go so he has something else to focus on. You know that's what all the bad stuff probably was, him trying to find something to make all the hurt go away." "Deep down, I know that. I just feel like I've failed him." Madison didn't realize how close Callum was sitting to her until he reached out and took her hand in his. She didn't pull away. His big, warm hand felt too good. She felt so much support in that touch that she nearly gave way to the tears she seemed to always be holding back. "I think this job might be good for you, too," Callum said.

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"How so?" "I'm guessing you haven't had any time to do your own grieving, or healing. Take it now, when you have the chance." Madison squeezed his hand in return. "There's more to you than meets the eye, Callum Cody." "That's what I keep telling everyone," he said and winked at her. She laughed and shook her head. "That's a pretty sound, you laughing." Madison blushed and gently pulled her hand away. It would be oh so easy to fall under Callum Cody's spell, to believe that there could be something between them. But she didn't think she could handle any more heartache, and that's what she'd get if she gave in. Because maybe sooner than she'd like, she'd be headed back to Phoenix, back to preparing lesson plans and working on academic papers on westward expansion, back to staring into the eyes of the college students in her classes instead of those of the most handsome, intriguing man she'd ever met. "One of these days, you won't pull away," he said. When she looked up and got caught in his gaze, she was afraid he was right. … The next morning, Madison was up at the crack of dawn. She used the items she'd gone to the grocery to buy the night before to make Jason's lunch and a batch of cinnamon apple muffins for her brother and Callum. She felt she had to do something tangible to show Callum how much she appreciated what he was doing, even if he did brush it off as no big deal. To her, it was a very big deal. When she heard Jason coming down the hallway, she turned and was stunned to see her brother looked like a real cowboy. "Well, you look ready to ride the range." "I'm just doing grunt work," he said. He noticed the paper bag on the kitchen island. "You made me lunch?" She smiled. "Yeah." He stared at the bag long and hard, and it finally dawned on her what she'd done. Every morning, her mom had made lunch for her father and had it ready for him in a paper bag when he'd headed for the office. She opened her mouth to say something, but the sound of a vehicle outside drew her attention. "That's Callum." Jason grabbed the bag and headed out the door. Madison stood in the kitchen for several seconds before she picked up the container of muffins and walked outside. "I thought you might be avoiding me," Callum said where only she could hear him when she walked up next to the truck. "No."

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"Hey, what's wrong?" He reached for her hand, but she lifted the muffins to provide a buffer between them. "What's this?" "A thank you." "That wasn't necessary." "It was for me." Callum placed his fingers beneath her chin and lifted it, forcing her to look him in the eye. "Are you okay?" "Yeah. I just did something that reminded Jason of Mom and Dad. Long story." "Then when I bring him back this afternoon, you and are I are going for a long walk." When she started to object, he wouldn't let her. "No arguments." Her heart beat a couple of times. "Okay." As she watched Callum and Jason disappear down the drive, she was already looking forward to that walk even though she dreaded the conversation.

Chapter Five Madison still had the image of Callum at the forefront of her thoughts when she walked back inside the house and found Elly sitting at the kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee. She must have come in the back door from the training arena. Elly was making a run at the National Finals Rodeo in barrel racing, and she spent a good portion of her days practicing. "You like him, don't you?" Elly asked, startling Madison so much she stopped in the middle of pouring herself a cup. She grasped for some type of reasonable response. "He's nice. And I appreciate what he's doing for Jason, giving him a job to keep him occupied." "But it's more than that, right?" Madison finished pouring her coffee and joined her friend at the table. "I'm attracted, yes, but I can't act on it." "Because you're going home eventually." "Yes. And I've got to focus on Jason right now." "You deserve to focus on yourself, too." Madison looked up at Elly. "You sound like him." "We Codys, we're a smart bunch." Madison smiled. "Modest, too." "Sometimes I think Callum and Dusty are competing to see who can be the biggest flirt in the family, but they're both good guys under all that." Elly traced the rim of her coffee cup. "I can't believe I'm going to say

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this, but maybe you should go out with Callum. Just for fun, nothing serious. It could be exactly what you need." "I've already told him no, twice." "If I know my cousin, he'll ask again." Madison suspected Elly was right. Would she be able to say no a third time, particularly when her friend thought it was a good idea to say yes? "So, how are things going for you at work?" Elly asked, steering the conversation a different direction. "Good. Busy, of course." "You ever find a book project?" Madison had told Elly how much she wanted to write books about her specialty, the settling of the West. "Not yet. There never seems to be time to work on it anyway." "You've got time now." Elly looked around the great room for a moment. "And I just had an idea for a topic." "Oh?" "You know my family was some of the first white settlers in this area. What if you worked on a Cody family history and how it figures into the settlement of Wyoming?" Elly leaned forward, excitement lighting her eyes. "This would be great for our family, and it could launch that part of your career. I know Mom and Dad have tons of old documents, photos." Madison itched to get a hold of those pieces of the past. "What would your parents say?" "Are you kidding? They'd love it. Come on, we'll go talk to them now." As Madison followed Elly to her truck, a spark of the hope she'd been losing flickered back to life. Jason, Callum, this chance to do what she really wanted—it felt like things were looking up. She just hoped fate wasn't being cruel and teasing her. … Callum didn't know quite what to make of the jittery feeling in his stomach as he drove onto the Cottonwood Ranch at the end of the day. It'd been a very long time since a woman had made him feel like this, like he was living in a state of constant anticipation. He refocused his thoughts on the boy sitting on the other side of the truck. "Harry tells me you did a good job in the barn today, particularly for someone who's never worked on a ranch." "Thanks." "You're a man of few words, aren't you?" Jason glanced at him before turning his attention back to the road in front of them. "Just don't feel like talking much." Callum nodded. "I understand. Sometimes a man's just got to be alone with his thoughts."

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"Madison wouldn't agree with you." Jason sounded one part frustrated, one part defeated. "She thinks I'm just a kid, that I need her hovering over me all the time." "You given her any reason to think that?" Callum sensed a heated denial coming, but then something seemed to shift in Jason. His shoulders slumped. "Maybe some." "You want to know what I think?" Jason looked at him, silently giving his answer. "I think your sister is hurting just as much as you, maybe more. Only she has to be the strong one and can't show it." "She say that?" "She didn't have to. Just look at her and you'll see it. What happened to your parents isn't her fault." Jason turned to stare out his window at a portion of the Cottonwood's cattle herd. Callum left him with his thoughts the rest of the way up to the homestead. Madison was nowhere to be seen when he parked. Maybe he should leave, give Jason a chance to talk to his sister. But when Jason slipped out of the truck, he headed straight for where Elly was walking Jasmine, one of her backup horses. Ah, poor kid. That crush didn't have a chance in the world, especially since Elly was a decade older than Jason. He could drive away, but he didn't. Instead, he headed up the porch steps, paused to knock on the door before pushing it open. "Anybody home?" "Callum." Madison spun in her chair at the table, surprise making her eyes wide. "I didn't realize what time it was." She looked back at the stacks of papers and photo albums strewn across the table. "What's all this?" he asked as he crossed the distance between them. "Cody family documents and photographs. Elly convinced me to work on a family history of the Cody family in Wyoming." "Really?" He sank into the chair beside her. "Yeah, it's something I've always wanted to do." "My family's history?" "No, write books about the settling of the West. It's my specialty, what I teach." He leaned a bit closer to her. "So, found any impossible rogues in the family tree?" She laughed. "Just you." Callum shifted closer still. "So, Madison Gray, do you like rogues?" Madison met his gaze, and he realized just how close they were to each other, close enough to feel her warm breath. "Maybe," she said softly, sounding dazed and unsure.

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"Let's find out." He captured her delectable lips in a kiss.

Chapter Six All thought of pulling away from Callum fled Madison's mind the moment he kissed her. This might not be a good idea, but it sure felt good—skin–tingling wonderful, to be exact. He lifted his hand and placed it against her cheek, so gently her heart swelled. She wondered if he would be a tender lover or wild enough to make her totally lose her mind. The sound of the door opening caused common sense to come rushing back into her brain, and she jerked away from him, turned toward the materials on the table. But the silence that followed told her that whoever had come in wasn't fooled. She glanced toward the door and saw Jason and Elly. Her friend was trying to hide a smile, but Jason looked confused. Before she could speak, he turned wordlessly down the hallway. At least he didn't slam his bedroom door this time. Elly strolled toward the refrigerator. "I was coming in to see if anyone wanted dinner, but looks like some people skipped right to dessert." "Elly!" Madison's face flamed in embarrassment. "This isn't funny." "I agree," Callum said. Madison looked at him, and what she saw in his expression wasn't amusement. It was desire. And she wasn't at all sure he couldn't see it on her face, too. But he also must have seen the concern for what Jason would think, the worry that she was doing the wrong thing, because he gave her an understanding smile and stood. "See you all tomorrow. I've got a lot of neglected paperwork waiting for me at home. We'll take that walk some other night." As she watched him walk out the door, Madison pictured herself glued to the chair so she wouldn't run after him and finish what they'd started. … Callum noticed Jason was even quieter than normal the next day, and not just on the ride over to the ranch when he was still half-asleep. He kept it up all day, even when he was out by the practice arena watching his and Harry's every move with the horses. But despite the silent treatment Callum figured was a result of Jason walking in on him kissing Madison, he was beginning to see something else in the boy's eyes. Interest. If Callum wasn't mistaken, the boy was at the earliest stages of catching the rodeo bug. Toward the end of the day, he was on the phone in his office arranging for the sale of three of his best bucking horses to a rodeo stock contractor when he noticed Jason hanging around outside the door. He motioned for him to come in and have a seat while he finished up the call. When he hung up, he leaned back in his leather chair. "What's on your mind?" Jason bit his lip for a minute before answering. "Can I learn how to ride the horses?" "You mean Tulip Sue?" Callum asked, referring to the oldest, slowest mare on the place, the one used to teach toddlers how to ride.

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"No, the bucking horses." "You ever been around animals much? And I don't mean cats and dogs." Jason shook his head. "Well, then, Tulip Sue it is." Jason looked about to argue when Callum raised his hand. "Listen, you have to start at the bottom and work your way up. I don't think your sister would take kindly if you break your neck under my watch." "Do you like her?" "Yes, I do." Callum didn't believe in beating around the bush with the kid. "Are you going to ask her out?" "I have, twice. She said no both times." Jason's brows furrowed. "But…I thought maybe she liked you, too." "I'd say she does." If the way she'd responded to his kiss was any indication. "Then…" Jason shook his head. "I don't understand girls." Callum laughed. "You and every other male on the planet." He sat up and leaned his forearms on his desk. "I'm going to be straight with you and hope she doesn't skin me for it." "Okay." "Your sister is mighty afraid of doing anything that's going to hurt you any more than you've already been hurt." "How would her going on a date hurt me?" "She's got it in her head that she has to focus solely on you, to help you get past whatever has been happening with you the past few months." "She's not my mom." Jason's voice held a thickness that conveyed clearer than words how much he missed his mother. "No, but she's been put in that role now, as unfair as that is to both of you. She doesn't have the luxury of being just your big sister anymore." Jason stared down past his knees to the floor. "I guess I've been horrible lately." "Don't think there's any guessing about it, bud." The silence stretched for a few beats before Jason met Callum's eyes. "It's okay with me if you take Madison out." "I'm not the one you need to tell." …

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Madison spent the entire day talking with J.W. and Anne about their family tree, all the stories they could remember being told about their ancestors. Before she knew it, it was past time for Callum to bring home Jason. "I'm sorry I've taken up so much of your time," she said as she rose from the overstuffed chair in the Codys' living room. "No need to apologize, dear," Anne said. "We're excited to have you doing this. Elly has had nothing but wonderful things to say about your work." "I hope I can live up to your expectations." And she hoped they'd understand if somewhere along the way she found some scoundrel or scandal in the Cody past and was obligated to include that as well. By the time she reached the homestead house, Callum's truck was already parked outside, but there was no sign of him or her brother. She stepped inside to find Callum waiting for her, dressed in clean jeans, boots that weren't scuffed and a white shirt with black embroidered scrollwork near the shoulders. "Little dressy for dropping off the help, isn't it?" "Yeah, but not for taking a pretty woman out to dinner." Her heart jumped at the thought, but she reined it in. "Callum, I…" "I told him it was okay." Madison turned toward where her brother stood at the entrance to the hallway. "You did?" He nodded. "You heard the man," Callum said. "I'm afraid you're not going to be rid of me until you say yes." Madison stared first at her brother, then Callum—two against one. She guessed she was going out with Callum Cody.

Chapter Seven Madison retreated to her room to change–and try to get her racing heart under control. She was going out, on a date, with Callum Cody. She wondered if she had enough willpower to keep her hands off him at least until after they ate dinner. She stifled a giggle and got to work looking for something date–worthy to wear. Needless to say, dinner with a gorgeous man had been the farthest thing from her mind when she'd been packing for this trip, but she finally managed to come up with some nicer jeans and a purple top with a hint of ruffle. She added some silver jewelry and some purple espadrilles to complete the outfit, and brushed her hair. When she walked back into the living room, more Codys had appeared—Elly and her brothers. A whistle of appreciation drew her attention to Dusty. "I think I'm in love," he said. "I'd hate to have to teach you some manners," Callum said, sounding possessive, but not in a scary way. No, that hint of "my woman" in his words made her go all warm and eager all over. Laughter filled the room, and Dex punched his twin, Dusty, playfully in the arm. "Ignore these idiots and go have fun," Elly said. "We'll keep Jason busy."

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Madison scanned the room and noticed the cards on the dining–room table. "What's going on?" With all Jason's issues the past several months, the last thing he needed was to start gambling. "Don't worry, we're playing for peanuts," Elly said. "Literally." Dex held up an industrial–size can of peanuts. Callum placed his hand on her back and urged her toward the door. He leaned close to her ear. "Stop worrying. He won't get in any trouble." Madison took a deep breath and gave herself over to a night for herself. Callum held her hand in the dark of the truck's cab as he drove. She hoped he couldn't feel how rapid her pulse was. It had been so long since she'd been out on a date. Since her parents' death, she'd had no time for anything but Jason and work. It felt so good, so right to have a night where she could indulge in what she wanted. And she wanted Callum Cody. As they rolled into Markton, the tiny town nearest the Cottonwood Ranch, an odd sense of rightness came over her. This couldn't be any more different than Phoenix, and yet it called to her. Maybe it was that the quiet, laid–back, peaceful atmosphere was such a balm after the past tumultuous months. Callum pulled into the crowded parking lot next to the Sagebrush Diner. "Here we are, Markton's finest dining. Unless you want to go into Cody for something a little nicer." "No, this is great." Callum looked across the truck at her. "You do know I'm going to kiss you again before this night is through, don't you?" Anticipation surged through her body, tempting her to tell him they should just skip dinner and go right to…dessert. Feeling a bit braver than she had in a long time, she leaned toward him. "I'm going to hold you to that." Then with a laugh she pulled back and got out of the truck. He caught up with her before she stepped up on the wooden porch of the restaurant. He wrapped his arm around her waist before opening the door for her. "You have to let me get doors for you or they'll take away my cowboy chivalry badge." "Well, we can't have that." A smile seemed to take possession of her face, and she welcomed it with open arms. After they slipped into a booth, Madison looked around at the rustic, western décor. The obvious locals hanging out at the square bar in the middle of the restaurant. "I know it's not fancy like what you have in Phoenix," Callum said. "Are you kidding? I love it. It's got way more personality than some fancy place." When the waitress finished taking their order, Callum reached across the table and took her hand. She let him, loving the feel of his warm palm, the roughness of his honest work calluses against her skin. Her face heated when she thought about those hands running over other parts of her body.

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"What are you thinking about?" he asked. He didn't miss anything. She shook her head. "Nothing." "I don't believe you." She met his eyes and got the distinct impression he was thinking about the same thing. Suddenly, it was very hard to sit still, to not squirm. Even when she'd been on dates before no one had ever affected her the way Callum did, and not so quickly. Something about him made her believe being cautious wasn't always a good idea. … Somehow he would make it through this dinner despite the fact all he wanted to do was take Madison back to his place and make love to her all night long. He'd never been one for romantic notions, for believing in love at first sight, in settling down and having a family. But Madison Gray had changed all that, had him thinking about things like happily ever after. He was falling for her, and falling hard. Not smart when she wasn't staying. Unless he could convince her to stay. "How's the work on the book coming?" he asked. "Great. I'm really getting excited about it. There's such a rich history there." "I bet there are lots of things you could write about around here." She met his eyes, and it was so good to see they were bright with excitement instead of filled with hurt and exhaustion. "You're probably right." Throughout dinner, they talked about his days riding bareback on the rodeo circuit, her teaching, how Jason was getting the hang of ranch life. "I can't thank you enough for whatever you've done," she said. "I'm just stunned by how quickly I've seen a change in Jason. I mean, I don't fool myself. We still have a long way to go, but at least he's not biting my head off anymore." "Maybe it's just timing. One of those steps in the grieving process." "Maybe." She stared down at her empty plate. "You know, I can still remember every word of the phone call when I found out Mom and Dad had been killed by the thugs of some warlord. They were there trying to help feed people, and they were killed over a few bags of grain." Callum squeezed her hand but didn't know what to say to make it better. Maybe nothing would. "I'm sorry." She shook off the melancholy. "At least they were doing what they believed in. That gives me some comfort." Madison squeezed his hand back. "I'm in the mood for a walk. Want to give me the grand tour of your metropolis?" He paid the check and escorted her into the cool night. When she rubbed her bare arms, he went to the truck and retrieved his denim jacket for her. "Thanks."

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He took her hand because he couldn't bear not touching her. By the time he'd shown her everything Markton had to offer, holding her hand wasn't enough. He tugged her off the sidewalk into the darkness next to the closed Markton Feed and Grain store. "If I don't kiss you, I'm going to explode." She looked up at him and smiled. "Then kiss me, cowboy."

Chapter Eight Madison stood in the dim light of Callum's apartment at his ranch and began unbuttoning his shirt, her heart rate increasing with each button released from its confines. "Are you sure about this?" Callum asked. "Yes." He slid his hands along her jaw and lifted her face to kiss her. And kiss her, he did—thoroughly. The rest of their clothes joined the pile on the floor. "You're beautiful," Callum said. She ran her hand over his sculpted chest. "So are you." They fell onto the bed and into each other's arms. All her worries, all her questions about the future faded away as Callum Cody, her most unexpected cowboy, made love to her. … Over the next week, Madison and Callum spent every evening together after he brought Jason home from work. Once, she cooked for the entire Cody clan. She loved seeing the attention the family showered on her brother, watching him coming out of his dark hole. Another night, Callum helped her organize documents for the book project. They went riding and talked about her parents. But no matter what they did, the evening always ended with her in his arms, most often just kissing. But they did make love on a blanket beneath the stars during a break in that ride over the Cottonwood. "You're in love with him, aren't you?" Madison looked up from where she was making a surprise lunch for Jason and Callum to take to Pebble Creek. Elly had come in from her morning practice session and was leaning against the kitchen counter. "Yeah, I think I am." "Are you going to stay?" "I don't know. I mean, my whole life is back in Phoenix." "No, it's not." Elly extended a copy of the Cody Enterprise. "Maybe this will help you make up your mind." When Elly headed for her room, Madison looked down at the paper, at an ad circled in red. "Opening for a high–school American History teacher. Apply at Cody High School." …

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"This one's got the devil in him," Harry said as he tried to get one of the bucking horses to cooperate long enough to usher the animal from his stall to the arena. About the time he said it, the horse jerked in the opposite direction and headed straight for where Jason was standing at the entrance to the barn. "Watch out!" Callum called. The horse snorted and kicked, barely missing the boy. Jason was smart enough to get out of the way, though, and dived for the dirt to the right of the doorway. "You okay?" Callum asked when he made it outside. Already, Jason was standing and dusting himself off. The kid had the makings of a good cowboy. "Yeah." An anguished cry and movement beyond the barn caught their attention. Madison dropped a picnic basket and raced to her brother. "Are you hurt?" She tried to search his body for injury, but he stepped out of her reach. "I'm fine. Stop worrying." Madison rounded on Callum. "This is what you have him doing? Working around dangerous animals?" "No, he has orders to stay away from the bucking stock." "That's not what it looked like. Jason, get in the car. We're leaving." "No." Madison jerked her attention to Jason. "What do you mean, no?" "I mean, I'm not leaving. I like working here. I'm learning to ride, how to run a ranch. I want to ride in a rodeo at some point." Madison looked like she was going to have a stroke. "Jason, go on in the barn so I can talk to your sister." Madison looked like she might cry as her brother did Callum's bidding and not hers. "I know it might not look like it now, but we take really good care of him here. I would never put him in harm's way on purpose." "Isn't that what encouraging this rodeo nonsense is doing?" "Rodeo is what finally set me straight when I was as wild as a buck," he said. "And I think it's also going to do that for Jason." When she looked up at him, there were fat tears in her eyes. "He's all I have left. I can't lose him, too." Callum couldn't stand seeing the hurt back in her eyes, so he pulled her to him, surprised she let him. "You won't. I promise." …

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Madison didn't sleep all night. The part of her that wanted to protect Jason kept up a constant wrestling match with the part that wanted to make him happy again. She slipped out of the house just as the barest hint of daylight was making its appearance, and took a long walk around the ranch, imagining herself living in Wyoming permanently. If she could get the high–school position and Jason didn't need so much supervision anymore, maybe that would leave more time for writing books. As she returned to the house, she found Jason sitting on the top of the front steps waiting for Callum. She sank down beside him and counted it a victory that he didn't move away. "I'm sorry," he said out of the blue. "For what?" "Everything. Being so awful since…Mom and Dad died." Tears pooled in Madison's eyes. "I know it's been hard. I'm sorry I couldn't make it better." "You did." He reached over and took her hand. Madison pulled her brother into her arms. "I love you, Jason. I just want to see you happy again." "I love you, too." He pulled away. "And I am happy." She looked at him. "Here in Wyoming?" He nodded. "You really want to try rodeo?" "I think so. Callum says it'll be awhile before I'm ready to even try, but I'm willing to wait." "You really like him, don't you?" "He's cool. And he likes you." "You think?" Jason rolled his eyes. "It's obvious. You're both kind of sickening about it." Madison laughed and ruffled her brother's hair. Her heart swelled with happiness, and it was all because of the man driving up the ranch's entrance road. … Madison could barely contain her excitement as she drove toward the Pebble Creek Ranch later that day. She couldn't wait until Callum brought Jason home to share her news. Within ten minutes of walking into the office at Cody High School, she'd had the job as the new American History teacher. She didn't even look at it as a demotion from her college position because it was going to allow her and Jason to start a new life, one she hoped would include Callum Cody. When she reached the ranch, she went straight to the barn and found him alone outside the stalls. She didn't stop as she walked into his arms and kissed him with all the energy surging through her body. "Nice to see you, too," he said on a laugh when she finally ended the kiss.

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"Do you think you can train Jason to be a rodeo cowboy?" "Yes." "Good." His eyes narrowed. "What's going on?" "The permanent population of Park County just increased by two." "You're not going back to Phoenix?" "No." He smiled. "Then I guess I don't have to convince you to stay before I do this." He dropped to one knee and pulled something out of his shirt pocket. When he opened the velvet box, she gasped. "I know it sounds crazy, but I've fallen head over heels in love with you, Madison Gray. And you'd make me very happy if you'd be my wife." "I love you, too. Yes!" Callum got to his feet and slid the ring on her finger. "It's an antique, originally sold to finance a family's trip along the Oregon Trail." "It's perfect." She looked up at him. "You're perfect." He pulled her close. "You, me, Jason. We'll make the perfect family." Of that she had no doubt.

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Scandal at the By Fiona Lowe Balfour Ball by Michelle Reid After barely a year of marriage, Alessandro and Meredith Ferrera’s relationship is already strained by careers that force them to live in different countries for weeks at a time. So it doesn’t take much to raise Alessandro’s suspicions about what his bride is up to with his best friend Marco when he’s not around! Meredith Ferrera doesn’t know what’s gotten into her husband. When she calls him in Milan to tell him some important news, she’s discouraged by his surly attitude and veiled accusations. And when he fails to show up in London to escort her to the ball hosted by her illustrious Balfour relations, she quickly discovers the room is abuzz with rumors about the state of their marriage…

Chapter One Alessandro Ferrera lay stretched out on the sofa in his Milan apartment with a glass of malt whisky balanced on the flat wall of his stomach and his eyes grimly shut. Maria Callas wept soulfully in the background, filling the room with a tragic aria that thoroughly suited his mood. For beside him, tossed down on the low table like an insult, lay the letter he knew he should not have opened because it was not the first piece of poison he had received over the last few trust-whittling weeks. The molded line of his mouth gave a twitch of contempt at his own lack of willpower. If he'd utilized a fraction of the tough mental strength he was known for out there in the business world, he would have binned the letter unopened with the dismissive disdain it deserved. He had discovered, however, that mental strength and emotional strength were two separate disciplines, especially when applied to his beautiful, hot-tempered, infuriatingly independent, sensationally sexy redhaired witch of a wife. He took a slug at the whisky. "Si, Signora Ferrera had lunch with Signor Valente at his London apartment." His mind fed him the confirmation he had received the only time he had sought to check out the poison. "Si, their meeting took up most of the afternoon." "Si." When he'd asked her, Meredith freely admitted it to him. "We were brainstorming his next UK marketing campaign before I let my team loose on it." That conversation had taken place four weeks ago, and she'd looked and sounded so convincingly innocent. His exquisitely put-together bride of almost a year had mapped out her afternoon spent discussing business with his best friend Marco, while she'd undressed him. Made love to him. She'd crawled all over him and blown his mind and his wild suspicions apart with her smooth silky body and warm busy kisses and the kind of loving that made him feel like a real jealous rat for even questioning her loyalty to him. So why was he questioning it? Because Marco and Meredith had been an item before Alessandro had come along and grabbed her for himself. Meredith had called them just good friends and business colleagues. Marco had not been so quick to agree. But he was recalling Marco's response with hindsight—a lousy place to revisit something when the letter was sitting there doing its damndest to poison him. He took another slug at the whisky. Meredith was still living in London, setting up the final stages of the Valente campaign. In the last two weeks they had managed to snatch one night together—one short, angry, very passionate night before he'd had to fly back here to Milan. They'd fought—about whose fault it was that they spent so much time apart. They'd made up and made love then fought again. Then he'd left. That was

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five days ago and if the letter had not arrived today, he would have been ready to crawl on his knees— where she liked him—to make his peace. Now—? *** In a flurry of near-mindless panic, Meredith rushed out of the bathroom and almost tripped over a huge black fluffy dog. "Do you have to lay across every doorway, Mutt?" she muttered. The animal didn't bother to comment. He just watched her as she snatched up her cell phone and accessed Alessandro's number, then dropped down on the side of the bed to fret on her lower lip while she waited for him to pick up. She actually felt dizzy with shock. She did not know whether to be happy or horrified, excited or scared. She needed to hear Alessandro's reaction so she could— "Ciao si—" "Alessandro—" shooting back to her feet "—it's me!" she announced breathlessly. "I know it is you," he growled impatiently. "What do you want, Merry?" What do I want? Thrown by the hard edge to that question, Meredith remembered too late that they'd had a fight that last time they'd been together. They'd had several fights about the usual thing—her refusal to cut back on her workload to accommodate his. Her too-gorgeous-to-live husband was an all-powerful, all-arrogant, totally self-centred, spoiled Italian male who liked to be in full control of every aspect of his life. Because she refused to let him control her life, too, she got to be spoken to like that. "You're still mad at me," she said heavily. "I am not mad at you." "Then why do you sound so horrid?" "My apologies. It is very late and I was—working." From being high on shock and scary elation, Meredith now felt more like a burst balloon as she sank back down on the edge of the bed. He was clearly in no mood to receive the kind of news she had been about to blurt out to him, she thought, staring down at the slither of white plastic she held clutched in her trembling fingers. It wasn't even trying to be subtle. No maybe. No perhaps. Just the downright certainty printed on the slender LCD screen. Pregnant, it stated, 4-5 weeks. A wild kind of quiver took hold of her stomach. She had to work at holding in a fluttery little sob as she searched for an alternative reason for calling him up. As if she should need one, a little voice told her. "I was calling to find out what time to expect you tomorrow," was all that she could come up with.

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"Tomorrow—?" Staring at the poisoned letter on the table, Alessandro's mind had gone a complete blank. "For goodness' sake, what is the matter with you?" his wife shrilled out. "Are you drunk or something? We are attending the Balfour Charity Ball tomorrow evening. I've bought this fabulous dress! And—and I have something really important I need to tell you before—before…" That was the point when the Callas aria reached its crescendo. Meredith responded to the sound with a strangled choke. "You're listening to Callas. Why are you listening to Callas? You never play Callas unless you're…" As she stopped speaking in mid-sentence, Alessandro teethed back a filthy curse, understanding exactly what was going through her head. They made love to Callas, preferably in a darkened room with the air-conditioning switched off and the atmosphere sultry and hot. He could even see the two of them lying stretched out on their bed with her glorious hair spread out around her and her full soft passionate mouth parted to welcome his— Marco Valente's face suddenly muscled in on the image, pushing Alessandro to his feet as his whole body clenched up. "Are you suggesting something specific here?" he raked out. "No," Meredith mumbled. "Grazie," he responded. Meredith pulled in a breath. "Look, I know we argued before you left here but—" "We did not argue, we fought, cara. You threatened to leave me and I invited you to do so." "So, are you happy or disappointed that I'm still hanging on in here?" "I will let you know when I know." "Well, you just do that." She cut the connection, then just sat trembling like mad. How had things become so bad between them that they even fought over the telephone now? Hot tears burned the back of her eyes and her throat. "Oh…" She choked, and turned to throw herself face down on the bed as the first wretched sob escaped. Her phone burst into life. It had to be Alessandro! Scrambling up on her knees, she pushed her tumbling mane of hair back from her face. "I love you so much!" she sobbed out. "Molto grazie, mia amore," a completely different Italian man responded dryly. "Marco," Meredith mumbled in crushing disappointment. *** Alessandro cursed. Meredith's phone was busy.

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Who was she talking to? She'd been upset. He'd heard the quiver in her voice before she'd rung off. Now he felt like the worst kind of suspicious rat. Who would she call up for sympathy? The answer that hit him clenched up his muscles as he phoned Marco Valente's number. The line was busy. He stood for a minute, trying not to draw the obvious conclusion, but then his eyes drifted down to the letter again. The poisoned letter. Picking it up he let its noxious words screw up his insides, then fisted it into a ball and hurled it like a missile across the room. Next he snatched up the remote and switched the music off. As silence fell around him like a chilly ice-front, grim clarity wiped the emotional mists from his head. Recovering his phone again, he connected with his security chief.

Chapter Two "Don't ask silly questions," Meredith flicked at her curious cousin. "Of course our marriage isn't in trouble." "Where is he then?" Cindy quizzed. "I don't see him dancing attendance on his new bride." Well, you won't when he obviously wishes he did not have a wife, Meredith thought dully. "He was delayed in Milan." She trawled out the excuse she had been repeating since she'd arrived at Balfour Manor, having driven herself here because Alessandro had not turned up at their London apartment, and she would have rather cut her own throat than to call him again to find out where he was. Hot tears of hurt scorched her aching throat. He hadn't even bothered to call her. He'd just sent a message via his PA. Alessandro is stuck in a meeting. He said to tell you he will be late. "You have a very strange kind of long-distance marriage, Merry," Cindy observed candidly. "If I was married to a tall, dark, handsome hunk like Alessandro, I would not let him out of my sight." It didn't help Meredith to know that Cindy was right. "We're working it out," she said, then quickly changed the subject because she did not want to discuss Alessandro with anyone—not even with herself. "What is going on with everyone here tonight? Every Balfour is walking around as if they're expecting to be shot in the back." "Haven't you heard? Delicious scandals circulate," Cindy confided in a hush-hush kind of voice. "Apparently, all that glitters is not gold in Balfour world right now." "Oh, don't be mean." Meredith frowned at her pretty blond cousin. "They've just buried poor Aunt Lillian—" "Then Uncle Oscar promptly produced an illegitimate daughter old enough to tarnish his squeaky clean marriage to poor Lillian," Cindy pointed out. "Emily went to pieces and ran away—" "I know about all that but—"

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"That scared-looking creature standing over there with all of that fabulous black hair is the one," Cindy whispered with drama. "Uncle Oscar is not happy about his beloved Emily disappearing. His daughters are not happy about anything as far as I can tell, even while they do flash around here looking the perfect princesses for him. Then there is you, dear cousin." Cindy turned her sharp tongue on Meredith next. "You turn up here without your husband and looking all pale and tragic." Having to fight not to lift a revealing hand to her stomach, Meredith said, "I am not looking pale and tragic." Just feeling it, she silently tagged on. "So, the rumors circulating about you and Marco Valente are untrue?" Meredith froze. Rumors? What rumors? Was Cindy saying what she thought she was saying? "What the heck are you talking about now?" she said in bemusement. "Oh, come off it, Merry." Cindy sighed. "Everybody out there is aware that the two of you have become very…cosy." Cosy…? "Is this just one of your not-very-good jokes? I work with Marco and that's all I do!" "Meredith…" Cindy's blue eyes began to sparkle. "Well, just look who we have here," she drawled, turning to look at the tall, dark, pretty good-looking figure of Marco Valente before she returned her gaze to Meredith's slowly flushing face. "Me thinks, you do protest too much, Merry," she confided softly before strolling away. Meredith was starting to feel queasy, sending her eyes on a wary scan of the glittering ballroom feeling suddenly as if she were a target for wolves. The press were absolutely everywhere. Had they heard the rumors? "Are you feeling okay, Meredith? You look…upset." Upset did not cover how she felt. "Have you heard the rumors?" she demanded outright. Sending her a frown, Marco looked as in the dark as she was. Then a camera flashed right in front of them and she grabbed Marco's arm. "Come on," she said. "You and I need to talk, in private." Still frowning, Marco slipped a hand around her waist and turned them towards the open terrace doors. Outside the night air smelled sweet of cherry blossom. Meredith let him guide her down the steps and out into the garden, off to one side of the twinkling fairy lights strung along the boarded walkway that led the way to the huge dining marquee. The musical strains of an old-fashioned waltz struck up as he drew to stop on a shadowy part of the lawn. "OK, tell me what's going on?" He turned her to face him. "But before you do that, tell me why Alessandro is not here with you tonight?" He looked so stern Meredith suddenly wanted to break down and weep. "We…we had a fight over the phone last night," she confessed. "But I still can't believe he could let me down like this."

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"I don't know what's got into him recently," Marco said tightly. "I cannot say a word to him without him biting my head off." "You, too?" Lifting her glistening eyes up to meet his perplexed ones, she went on. "I thought it was just me he was being like that with." "No. It's been going on for weeks. You don't think he's got mixed up with some—" He cut the rest off, but not before Meredith had guessed what he had been about to say. He was wondering if Alessandro had got himself mixed up with another woman. The very idea sent her legs weak. "Twist that thought on its head," she suggested. "From what Cindy tells me, it's you and I who are doing the mixing." "Are you kidding me?" Fighting back the tears, Meredith shook her head. Oh, what was going on? Why was everything in her world suddenly so bewilderingly topsy-turvy? A muffled sob broke free from her throat. "No, don't cry." With a soft curse Marco drew her closer. "I will talk to him. We can soon sort this craziness out." "You think?" she said hopefully. *** Alessandro stepped onto the terrace in time to witness this wife move into the arms of his so-called best friend, and felt his heart turn into a frozen lump in his chest. They looked like a pair of star-crossed lovers lit by the silvery moon above. They made a perfect heart-shaped silhouette. As he watched, he saw Meredith lift her face up and say something to Marco that made his ex-best friend lower his dark head and kiss her on her soft parted lips. A rising red mist of murderous rage sent his mind a perfect blank. He did not remember breaking free from his frozen stupor. He did not recall the long strides it took for him to reach them or the way he speared a strong arm between the two of them and pressed his wife to one side. He did register her breathless, "Alessandro!" He registered Marco's look of shock just before his clenched fist connected with his chin. And he registered the hot feeling of raw satisfaction as he heard Marco moan out a pained grunt before he collapsed in a huddle on the grass. "Oh!" Meredith shrieked. *** She tried to go to Marco only to find herself blocked by a strong arm holding her back. Dressed in full tux and standing a good head and shoulders taller than she did, Alessandro was so physically superior to her in every way that she did not stand a hope of breaking free from his grasp. "Oh, how could you do that!"

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"Easy," Alessandro answered through seething white teeth. Clearly, everything inside him was seething, and he snarled something in Italian that spurred Marco into moving and set the hairs on the back of Meredith's neck on end in alarm. "No! Please don't hit him again!" Twisting around against the solid force in Alessandro's arms so she could appeal to him, what she saw stamped into his angry features closed up her throat. Every hard-boned angle had turned white along the taut ridges, washing the usual bronze from his skin. He possessed the most beautiful dark-chocolate eyes, which could melt her bones when she looked into them. But what she saw glinting in them right now would have had her backing away if she'd had the legs for it. A thick whimper broke from her. She knew—just knew—that he'd heard the rumors and he'd seen the kiss!

Chapter Three "It was not what you're thinking!" Meredith rushed into urgent speech. The sneer that arrived on Alessandro's wide sensual lips made her shudder. He looked so dangerous her heart leapt to her throat. And he wasn't even looking at her-had not looked at her once since he'd arrived out of the darkness. His full attention was fixed on Marco as he uttered a curse in Italian. He didn't even growl it; the ice in his voice was a chilling threat in itself. Marco, who was wisely staying put on the ground gingerly feeling his jaw, said nothing. Meredith was clutching at Alessandro's jacket lapels now, and she was trembling so badly he had this vague concern that she might just faint. The noxious words in the poisoned letters were swimming in front of him. Meredith with Marco...his wife and his best friend. With a gut-sinking burn filled with the kind of emotion he could not even put a name to, Alessandro turned his arm into a clamp around his wife's tiny waist and swung them both back towards the house. "Will you stop tugging me about!" Meredith protested. He barely heard her. "It was not what you think!" He damn well heard that! "Shut up," he bit out. "No, I will not!" Meredith pulled to a stop at the top of the shallow steps, which led up onto the terrace. With a tug she managed to wrench herself free from his iron-hard grasp. "I am not your possession! You do not have the right to body manhandle me as if I am! And if you dare to tell me to shut up one more time I will-I will-" She ran out of words.

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Twisting round to face her, Alessandro felt as if he had punched himself. She was so beautiful it hurt to look at her. He watched her tense fingers clench and unclench. He noticed the sparkling ball gown for the first time, with its crystal-crusted bodice clinging to the creamy slopes of her heaving breasts. Her pearly pale skin shone in the moonlight. Her fabulous, flowing hair shimmered like fire. Her soft mouth was trembling uncontrollably, her beautiful eyes glistening with tears. A roar of something primitive rose up inside him. He wanted to gather her up into his arms and show her who it was she belonged to, but he did not dare let himself go that far because he just couldn't predict what else would take hold of him if he did! And there was no way he was going to let himself fall apart here on this terrace with her lover looking on. As if she caught what he was thinking, he watched her angle a helpless glance back across the lawn. Something else grabbed hold of him. Fear. He recognized the stark chilling sensation. He was scared she was going to walk away from him and back to Marco. Still functioning on pure instinct, he reached out and captured one of her hands and tugged her back into movement. Meredith stared helplessly up at his hard grim face. "Alessandro, for goodness sake," she begged. "We can't go back in there like this!" "We are going back in there," he determined grimly. "And you are going to play the adoring wife to me to the hilt." "Y-you misunderstood what you-" "I did not misunderstand anything." He stopped walking long enough to swing around on her. "You were kissing him in full view of anyone who cared to watch you!" "No!" she denied. "I w-wasn't kissing him. He-" "Pull yourself together." He started walking again. He just did not want to hear her excuses. As if on cue, the moment they stepped into the ballroom the band struck up another waltz tune and Alessandro swung her into his arms. "Smile." He gritted as he swept her into the dance. Meredith had to cling to him just to keep herself upright. Her legs had turned to jelly and her head was filled with"He was just being-" He swung a glinting look down at her. "Do you really want to do this right now?" "I...no." She didn't. For everyone was looking at them. "Then just dance," Alessandro said roughly, drawing her closer to his hard-packed angry body. "Pretend you still love me."

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"I do love you," Meredith choked. "When you feel like it." She drew in a strained breath of air as his hard cynicism cut through her like a knife. "I was surprised as you were when Marco-did that." He said nothing. "Y-you had stood m-me up and I was upset, and I had only just heard about the horrible rumors-" "Poor neglected Merry." "I am not neglected," she flared up with a hot whisper. "But you didn't bother to come to London so I thought-" "So you thought you would get your lover to bring you here, instead." "He did not bring me and he is not my lover!" Tossing back her head, Meredith fired him a furious look. "How dare you say that? When have I ever given you cause to even think it?" How dare I say that? Alessandro locked the brooding dark glow of his eyes with her angry sparkling eyes and it was like instant mortal combat. He'd never felt so dangerous in his life. There wasn't a bone or muscle in his body that wasn't hard and honed to the kind of primitive instincts he never knew he possessed. He loved this woman to distraction. She made him dangerous. And Meredith felt the danger in him. It throbbed from him like an electric storm, and the shocking thing about it was that her senses were responding to it like fizzing fireworks charging up towards the moment when it all blew up. His eyes were as black as midnight, the lean symmetry of his face washed of its beautiful bronze lustre and taut, like the molded line of his mouth. He was beautiful and gorgeous and-she tugged in a frail kind of breath in the hopes it would help calm her ravaging senses. The tips of her breasts touched the hard contours of his body lurking beneath his dress shirt, and the frail breath turned into a terribly stifling gasp. The fire of knowledge put flames in his eyes, and she quivered. Alessandro swung them deftly around a threatened collision and wished he could ease the tension gripping them both. He had thrown them into this dance because he'd thought it was the easiest way to get them across the ballroom to the great hall without needing to stop and talk to people. Now he wished he'd just hauled her over his shoulders and carried her caveman-style around the outside of the house! Dio, and she looked so beautiful, even in her distress. The dress was fabulous, as she'd told him it was, the kingfisher colour sparkling with crystal water drops, which matched the tears sparkling in her eyes. He looked at her mouth, her wide soft trembling mouth and something inside him just shattered. That something was another man's kiss glossing its passionate pink surface. His nostrils flared as he attempted to take in a calming breath. The tension in them vibrated. He could feel her heart fluttering wildly in her breast, and his own heart was hammering so loudly he could hear it pounding in his head. "I love you, Alessandro. What you saw out there was just a silly sympathy kiss!"

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He just stopped dancing. Right there in the middle of the Balfour ballroom he pulled them to a dress-swirling halt, then lowered his dark head and covered that lying, cheating, beautiful mouth with his own hard, hot, passionate mouth. It was like taking a ride on the crest of a fiery wave of helpless fervor and burning anger. It was all Meredith could do to hang on in there and ride along with it-because she really could not help herself. Her fingers clutched at his muscled shoulders, his arms held her crushed against his full taut length. And the burning heat of his passion just drowned her in Alessandro-the only man ever to make her feel like this. He lifted his dark head and looked down at her-at her sultry eyes turned exotic and deep. Then he looked at her softly parted and trembling lips, which were wearing the bloom that he had put there. "That-" he said roughly "-was a kiss, mia moglie." Lifting up a set of smooth gentle fingers, Meredith laid them against his lips. "Exactly," she whispered back.

Chapter Four The rippling shimmer of applause broke through their absorbed concentration on each other, followed quickly by the embarrassing knowledge that they were the target of a couple of hundred amused smiles. Taking hold of her hand, Alessandro lowered her fingers from his lips and switched on a lazily rueful smile. He saw Oscar studying them with a satisfied smile, and Meredith's many beautiful cousins looking relieved. Rumors killed stone dead, he noted, though that had not been his intention when he'd kissed Meredith. He saw Marco then. He was standing over in a corner watching them through cold hard eyes. A set of fingers lightly touched his jaw where Alessandro had hit him, and returning the cold look, they both knew that the fight wasn't over between the two of them. He turned his attention back to Meredith, who was still clinging weakly to him. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes shyly hidden-the sudden need to be completely alone with her roared inside him. "Let`s get out of here." With the controlled, casual moves of a man aware of every camera flashbulb, he fed her beneath his broad tense shoulder, and somehow he managed to play it sardonically careless as he fielded myriad teasing comments. He moved them off the dance floor with his fingers a possessive clamp at Meredith's waist, and her fingers clinging to the back of his shirt beneath his jacket because her trembling legs could no longer hold her upright without his support. Meredith glimpsed Cindy watching them with a rueful little smile, and she sent her cousin a fierce challenging stare, which Cindy responded to with a moue of apology. As a cover-up, the passionate kiss had worked like a dream, she recognized, though it did not detract from the unpalatable fact that it was only a cover-up. She and Alessandro had some serious issues to deal with, not least the shock she still had to deliver. And just thinking about that now, with all of this other ugly stuff, was churning up her system. Eventually, they made it into the grand hallway. Alessandro stepped to one side to use his mobile telephone, while Meredith said her farewells to a multitude of Balfours gathered together like a group of enchantingly beautiful, exotic flowers. The twins, Olivia and Bella, were both stunning blondes, but looking unusually strained and subdued for them. They belonged to Oscar's first wife who sadly died giving birth to Zoe, their baby sister. Then there was Annie, Sophie and Kat and their mother Tilly, Oscar's second wife, who still lived on the Balfour estate

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even though they had been divorced for years. And, of course, there was Mia, the newest of Oscar's eight beautiful daughters. Meredith wondered fleetingly who her mother was, but did not dare to ask. The missing Emily was Oscar's youngest daughter and belonged to his last wife, Lillian, who had passed away so recently. And, finally, there was her dear Uncle Oscar himself, who drew her into his fond embrace. "Are things okay between the two of you?" he enquired gravely. He'd heard the rumors, Meredith realized. "Just a few marital teething troubles," she said with a reassuring smile. "If they get out of hand I know who to come to for advice." Oscar kissed her nose. "You do that, my darling. You know my door is always open to you." "Yes." Meredith did know. Since her mother and father-Oscar's younger brother-had been killed in a car accident, Oscar had always been there for her. He'd supported her through college, and even invested in her company when she'd decided to strike out on her own. When she married Alessandro, it was Oscar who had proudly walked her down the church aisle. She loved this big complicated wonderful family. Each and every one of them meant the absolute world to her. But as she turned to look at the man she had married just under a year ago, it hit her hard that he was her whole world now. Her heart swelled and fluttered. For the first time since she'd rushed to ring him last night in a state of shocked panic, she became acutely aware of what was happening inside her own body. A baby... Alessandro's baby... Suddenly, marvelously, it was real. Sensing her focus on him, Alessandro turned. Without knowing he was doing it, he closed his mobile. Without knowing he was doing it, his eyes lost that hint of hardness he had not been able to control. As if the altered look was all it took to draw her, Meredith walked towards him. The very air around her seemed to shimmer with electricity as she moved. He held out his hand and she slipped her fingers into it. Okay, Meredith told herself, so she'd caught herself a wildly good-looking, hot-tempered and temperamental Italian. But he was hers and she was going to hang on to him no matter what problems they had. She sent him a tense little smile. "Let's go now," she whispered. That smile almost did it for him. Alessandro could not quite find a smile to offer her by return, but he tightened his fingers around hers. "Come on," he responded huskily. Outside, on the sweeping front that spread down to the lake, an area had been cordoned off to allow helicopters to land. His helicopter was waiting there for them, and it took only minutes to board it and lift off. He still held claim to Meredith's hand, his fingers absently stroking the set of rings he had placed there, his anger cooling a bit more. "I'm going to have to come here tomorrow to get my car," Meredith murmured as they swung away and over the top of Balfour wood. Turning his head, Alessandro frowned. "Why, where is it?" "Down there," she indicated. "I drove down here and parked on Tilly at the gatehouse so I could get changed."

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Alessandro parted his lips to say something then changed his mind. After a minute he said levelly, "I will send someone to collect it tomorrow." Meredith turned her head to look at him. "I did not have Marco bring me." The threat of hurt tears was back, and it sounded in her voice. "I don't know how those rumors started, but there is not a grain of truth in them and it hurts that you don't trust me enough to believe that." He studied her in the slow thickening silence, her strained pallor and the shimmer of hurt sincerity in her beautiful eyes. Her soft mouth was trembling, and he could see the quickened speed of her pulse beating at the side of her slender white neck. Tension throbbed between them, and it wasn't all due to the silence he was allowing to stretch. He wanted to believe her. He wanted to reach out and draw her against him and at least pretend he believed her-put the whole lousy episode behind them and just kiss her like he had never kissed her before. His expressive mouth curled at the depth of his own vulnerability. She must have sensed it because she tightened her fingers around his and slid across the seat so she could press a gently clinging kiss to his lips. Like a man suddenly shorn of his armor, he lifted his free hand to thread his fingers into her hair and took the kiss over. Somewhere inside her a little voice was telling her that he had given in too easily, but Meredith just didn't want to listen to it. She was here in his arms, right where she wanted to be, and those sweet little frissons of pleasure were stirring inside. She leant further into him, felt the accelerated beat of his heart against the electric sting of her nipples as the tips came into contact with his front. Whatever else they had to sort out between them, there was no denying that this was what they both hungered for. She could-she would deal with the rest. The helicopter settled down on the roof of their penthouse apartment. Alessandro raised his dark head. "I have proof about you and Marco," he said.

Chapter Five It was like receiving a hard slap in the face. Meredith gasped and jerked away from him. He had done it on purpose-kissed her like that to bring her defenses crashing down just so he could stick his knife in her chest. Aware that the pilot was waiting for them to disembark, Alessandro turned away from her shaken expression, opened the door and stepped out into the mellow dark night. Meredith walked off ahead of him with her slender white shoulders stiffly set and her hair a streaming river of fire down her back. He grimaced as he followed at a slower pace. By the time he entered the glass atrium, which formed the entrance to their apartment, she had already disappeared in a whisper of silk organza down the stairs. A huge black dog sat at the stair head, its shaggy black tail bashing the floor. A glimmer of a smile softened some of the sternness from his face, and the moment it did so the dog pounced with a husky woof. "Okay, you stupid dog," he said fondly. "You don't need to ruin my suit." The dog wasn't just stupid, he was deaf to any vocal censure and refused to stop jumping up at him until he'd been petted and stroked.

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Alessandro heard a door shut downstairs, and he straightened, the smile dying from his face. The dog finally took the hint and sat. "So, where did she stalk off to, Mutt?" he queried grimly. Mutt loped off towards the stairwell then paused to wait until Alessandro arrived at his side. Perhaps, the dog was not so stupid, he mused grimly because he let out a whimper before he shot off down the stairs. Alessandro followed and was eventually guided into the master bedroom. He stopped on the threshold, watching as Mutt slunk up to Meredith, who was standing on one foot as she slipped off a shoe. The dog nudged her hand and she almost toppled over. "Oh, thanks, Mutt," she murmured. "I think he is trying to warn you I am here," Alessandro provided. Meredith froze for a throbbing crush of a second then bent to snatch something up off the bed. It was something white, like her mobile phone, Alessandro saw in the split second before it became lost in the folds of her flowing skirts. Had she been intending to call up her lover before he walked in here? Was Marco that important to her that she could think only of him? A stream of acid jealousy poured into his bloodstream. As she lifted her chin to him, he saw the defiance on her pale face. Tension shot between them like an electric current. It infuriated Alessandro that it attacked every erogenous zone in his body, accompanied by flash lightning images of him declaring to hell with it and tossing her down on the bed. He wanted her. It was like a growling animal inside him. His wife. His woman. It felt that primitive. As if sensing the lurking intruder in their midst, Mutt let out a warning growl. Alessandro looked down at the dog standing there at the ready to defend his mistress and felt like growling himself. "Out," he instructed the dog. "Don't you take your filthy mood out on Mutt," Meredith said shakily. "Out," he repeated, spearing out an arm indicating towards the door, and Mutt, big though he was, surrendered to a greater power and slunk out of the room. Alessandro closed the door then turned back to Meredith, who was in the process of wrapping her arms across the front of her sparkling bodice. The aroused animal inside of him honed onto the creamy lush slopes of her breasts the action had highlighted for him like a taunt. Her soft full mouth pursed for a second then parted as she took in a short breath. "Okay." She tossed her head up. "So show me your proof." Vaguely surprised that she had thrown down the first challenge, without a word he walked over to the television set mounted on the wall opposite their bed and switched it on. Puzzled as to what was going on, Meredith watched as he used the remote. A picture of their apartment block and its car park flicked up on the screen. Alessandro walked away to remove his jacket while she watched Marco's silver Porsche drive into the car park and stop. "CCTV recording," he provided as Marco climbed out and strolled towards the building. "Keep watching and you will see him enter one of the lifts."

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Not understanding where this was leading, Meredith turned her questioning gaze on Alessandro who was loosening the black bow tie around his neck. Squared chin lifted, sleek golden skin stretched taut, his eyes were cold beneath the heavy veil of his eyelashes. "Is this supposed to mean something to me?" she asked him. "Still playing the innocent, Merry?" He threw her a grim smile. "You have been lovers for weeks-maybe longer." He extended with a shrug that coincided with the undoing of his shirt collar. "Who the hell knows how long you've both been cheating on me." "We have not been cheating on you!" Merry protested stiffly. "Marco and I work together-and he's supposed to be your best friend!" "And I need a drink." The way he strode to the door and pulled it open left Meredith gasping in shock. Mutt was lying across the opening. Alessandro stepped over the dog and headed down the hall. Meredith, bewildered as to what had made him just walk away like that, stepped over Mutt, too, as she tagged on behind. He was in his study pouring himself a stiff drink. When he heard her come in the room, he announced coolly, "I called you back last night after you rung off. You were talking to him." Opening her mouth to deny the charge, Meredith thought about it and closed her mouth again. "No smart comeback?" Alessandro mocked. "He-he called me," she confirmed. "I thought it was you." "And having assured yourself that I was still safely out of the way in Milan, you invited him around here to keep you company?" "What are you getting at now?" she cried out. Those lustrous green eyes did bewilderment so well, Alessandro saw bitterly. The way she was standing there in her ball gown looking like a princess with her hair a veil of fire around her smooth pale beautifully innocent face. "You have just watched him arriving here, Meredith. Stop playing the innocent." "You-you mean that recording was made last night?" Her delicate eyebrows drew together. "Well, whoever it was he was visiting it was not me," she declared outright. "Is that all the proof you've got that I'm cheating on you?" she then thought to ask. "Do you really want me to produce more?" he derided. "If you have it-yes!" she heaved in a taut breath then let it out again. "And I want you to know that I don't like what it is you're trying to pin on me here." "You think I do?" Her temper growing thinner with her deepening sense of injustice, Meredith stalked forward and took the glass out of his fingers just as he was about to drink from it. She slammed it down on the nearest surface then spun back to flare him a look. "Marco did not visit me in this apartment last night and I expect you to believe that!"

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"You want to return to the bedroom and watch him get out of the lift on the floor below then head for the stairwell?" Alessandro threw back. "You want to make me take this all the way to the bitter end before you will stop lying about it?" "There are twenty other floors beneath this apartment, most of them with several apartments on each! He could have been using the stairs to walk down to any of them!" "If that was the case, why not use the lift?" "I don't know!" This was beginning to turn just a little crazy in Meredith's opinion. The whole scene felt like a nightmare that refused to make any sense. "If the CCTV system is so clever, it should tell you exactly where he went!" "He came to see you." Meredith balled her hands into two angry fists. "I'm warning you, Alessandro, if you keep insisting on that, I will supply you with real proof just to shut you up!" "You did that, in the garden at Balfour." "With a stupid sympathy kiss?" His jaw line clenching, he turned away from her. "Guilty lovers stealing a clandestine moment," he described. "It was very...touching." No it wasn't. She could tell by the way he had said it. And nor was it sufficient proof that she had betrayed him. "Please, Alessandro, just think about it," she urged him. "Why would I want to have an affair with anyone when I'm so in love with you?" As if she'd delivered him the worst kind of insult, he moved violently, swinging round to stride to his desk. A few seconds later he was coming back to her holding a thin wad of notepaper, which he offered for her to take. Flickering him a warily questioning glance, Meredith saw the ring of fierce tension compressing his mouth and the granite hard cast in control of his face. As she took the paper from him, he spun away to go and recover his drink.

Chapter Six Silence fell behind Alessandro, if he did not count the sound of rustling notepaper. Tension crept all over his skin. Closing his eyes he visualized her scanning the pages of poison, and felt muscles all over him twist. He was already regretting giving in and letting her see the poison. He felt strangely like a man standing on the bow of a sinking ship. He did not know why he felt like that, unless it had something to do with the way she was maintaining this long throbbing silence. Then it came, the frail breathless quiver of her voice. "But...this is terrible..." Alessandro turned to look at her. She seemed to shimmer the way she shook so badly. Her lovely fair skin was as white as alabaster against the shock of her fire bright hair and the sparkling blue of her dress. Only her fingers moved, trembling like the rest of her as they sped back and forth through the wad of notes. The scrunched one came to the top and pale lips parted to release a broken choke. "You believe this?" She looked up at him suddenly, glistening green eyes piercing into him, stark with shattering shock.

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He did not answer. But then he did not need to. The fact that he had produced the poison had spoken for him. Meredith wrenched her eyes back to the letters, then with a sudden jerk she let them fall to the floor so she could lift her hand up to cover her mouth. "Oh, what am I going to do?" Guilt, those had to be words of guilt. "Why don't you just tell me the truth and get it over with!" His sudden burst of blistering fury made her flinch. The truth? Meredith echoed. He wanted to know the truth? Feeling as if she was trying to walk in a rumbling earthquake, she crossed the floor towards him and took hold of his hand. "There is your truth," she shook out, and placed the slither of white plastic in his palm. "I hhate you now. You-you've just spoiled everything." With that, Meredith turned and fled. Alessandro stood staring down at what she'd given him. Having never held such a contraption before, he needed to read what was written on the tiny screen half a dozen times before its meaning finally began to sink in. Pregnant, it told him, 4-5 weeks... Pregnant... A baby... An icy chill crept over his flesh. Like a man about to confront the biggest mistake he had ever made in his life, his eyes drifted to the letters where they still lay on the floor. That sinking ship feeling returned as he walked over to them and bent to gather them up. As he straightened up again, for some unaccountable reason his mind honed in on Marco-his best friend. A guy he would have staked his life on being the best kind of friend a man could have. The same guy he had snatched Meredith away from because he'd seen the two of them as just friendly business colleagues-as Merry had always stated. Marco had told it differently... Marco had implied that he and Meredith had been lovers, yet Alessandro knew-had received irrefutable proof that he had been her first lover. Her only lover. The clearly defined shape of their tri-friendship began to blur as if its sharp corners had been rubbed out. He remembered Marco had been angry with him for muscling in on Meredith, though he'd tried to cover his anger up with sarcasm. Marco should have been his best man at his wedding, but cried off at the last minute, claiming he had caught the flu. Marco was always laughing with Meredith, flirting with Meredith when they were all in each other's company, and he'd always dismissed it as a man thing, the desire to tease and provoke. And Marco had always been conveniently there for Meredith when he was not around-like this evening at the Balfour

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Ball, holding and kissing her on the lawn without a care as to who might catch them doing it despite all the rumors flying around... He looked back at the letters held in his long tense fingers. You stupid fool, Alessandro, he cursed himself angrily. Marco still wanted Meredith for himself. "Madre de Dio..." he breathed. What had he done?

Chapter Seven Meredith was so sick she feared she was not going to be able to stop. Her world had turned hazy. Butterflies were flying around in her head. She tried a wary sip of water only to have it come back up. I want to die, she thought pityingly and flopped with her cheek resting against cold ceramic, feeling prickling hot yet shivering cold at the same time. Tears bulged in her poor abused throat and she set them free with a pathetically weak sob. Married for barely a year and her husband thought she could happily indulge in a raging affair with his best friend. I so hate him now for believing that. I am never going to forgive him, she vowed as she tried-dared-to raise herself upright, though still sitting on the tiled floor with her sparkling dress spread out around her like an icy cold lagoon she could just as well let herself drown in. And he hadn't even bothered to follow her. He was probably too busy talking to his lawyers, finding out how quickly he could arrange a divorce and rid himself of a wife who could be pregnant by another man. Meredith burst into a wild flood of hot tears right there on the bathroom floor in a pool of kingfisher silk. *** He wasn't an absolute fool. Alessandro sent the dog in first, opening the bedroom door just enough to allow Mutt to slink through the gap. When no sound greeted the dog's arrival, no broken sob as she fell on her most precious friend, he dared to widen the opening and step into the room. All was in darkness except for a beam of light filtering out from her dressing room. As he trod silently towards it, Alessandro saw her and stopped dead. She was lying on their bed in a huddle of snowy white toweling, and the way Mutt had settled down on the rug beside her with his nose between his big front paws, told Alessandro that Meredith was fast asleep. His eyes drifted to the dressing room. The hard thump his heart gave him happened because he could see the suitcase lying open on the floor half packed. She'd been packing to leave him. Who could blame her? He supposed he should feel grateful that exhaustion had gotten the better of her and sent her into that huddle of white toweling on their bed.

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He pulled in a breath and with a silent gesture he called to the dog. Getting up reluctantly, Mutt came over to him and looked up. Something strange must have been in his expression because the dog gently nuzzled his hand and Alessandro felt the first ever burn of moisture attack his eyes and his throat. "Come on." Turning away, he urged the dog out of the room with him and spent a few minutes settling the animal in his bed made up of several giant cushions and an assortment of stolen clothing. "It is going to be okay," he promised those big brown eyes looking so limpidly up at him. Though as he straightened, he wished he could be as certain about that as he'd sounded. *** Meredith came slowly awake to the strangest feeling that something so dreadful had happened she would have been better off staying asleep. Maria Callas was playing softly in the background. She flicked her eyes open, suddenly so wide awake there wasn't a chance she was going to be able to sink back down into blessed oblivion. "Marco wrote the letters." Stung by surprise at the sound of Alessandro's voice, she flipped over onto her back. He was lying stretched out beside her on top of the covers as she was herself. And he was wearing a bathrobe the same as she was. "What?" she husked out. His eyes were shut. He did not bother to open them. "Marco," he repeated. "I got him to confess a couple of hours ago." Marco? Still not fully catching on to the import of what he was saying, she frowned. "You've been out?" Alessandro nodded. "I called him first to warn him I was coming." An odd kind of wry smile twitched his mouth. "We met up halfway between here and Balfour Manor-think guns drawn at high noon-only this was more like midnight." Intrigued despite not wanting to be, Meredith asked, "You had another fight?" "I would have enjoyed it, but he did not want to fight." Raising his lazy long eyelids, he turned his head to look at her through the sultry dimness of a morning half light. "He'd decided to surrender before we even met up. He witnessed the Balfour ballroom kiss, you see. It told him that no matter how much poison he fed to me about you, I was not going to give you up." At last it began to dawn on her. "You mean...Marco wrote those awful letters?" "Every single one." "How did you find out?" "Now the answer to that is...complicated," he murmured very dryly. "And I'm afraid I don't appear in the good light."

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Becoming confused again, Meredith tried to lift a hand to push a tumble lock of hair out of her eye only to choke out a shocked gasp, instead. She could not move her hand! Or at least she could move it, but only with the weight of Alessandro's hand firmly attached to it! Staring down the length of space between them, she shot like a rabbit into a kneeling position and stared at the binding wrapped around their two wrists. "You've tied me up!" she shrieked. "No," he denied. "I have tied me up." "What's the difference?" Her free hand was plucking at the binding, and she realized he had tied them together with his black silk tie. "This is the difference." With a tug he brought her toppling down on top of him. She found herself staring directly into his dark chocolate eyes. "Where you go now I have to go," he explained quite calmly. "As my ex-best friend discovered tonight. You've got me, Merry. Tied, bound, trussed and labelled. Possession of Meredith. So the next time you pack a suitcase, make sure that you pack one for me at the same time." "You're mad," she gasped, trying to push up again. No chance-his superior strength kept her flattened against him with the help of their bound wrists. "Crazy," he agreed. "About you. Mad. In love. Punch drunk on it. Scared witless by it. Jealous of any man that looks at you-no, don't pull that sneering face." "Let me go," she demanded, yanking hard on the black silk tie to no avail. "I am not into bondage!" "Marco has always wanted you for himself. When I grabbed you for myself, he let his jealousy and resentment build until it twisted up his head." Heaving out a sigh, Meredith gave up on the uneven battle to get free. Feeling her slump, Alessandro flipped her over and beneath him then covered her mouth with a short, deep, very possessive kiss. "It takes more than resentment to write the kind of poison in those letters," Meredith said when he gave her the chance to speak. Alessandro nodded in agreement, his expression turning bleak. "He wanted to hurt me with them enough to make me want to walk away from you so he could step into my place." "And you believed what was written in them." She was not prepared to forgive him for that. "Not at first," he denied. "But eventually they started to get to me. There was just enough truth in them to make them start to make a sick kind of sense." "I don't do that kind of sick!" Meredith objected. "I meant the times, the dates-the smaller details. And Marco always featured high in your phone calls when we were apart." Flushing a little as if she knew he had a point there, she defended herself. "I've been working with him."

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"And you laugh with him a lot-" "Because he has my sense of humor-" "And I don't?" Ooh, that was a flash of green-eyed jealousy. "No. You're a bad-tempered moody devil. Maybe I did marry the wrong Italian." She gave a useless tug at her wrist to show that she meant it. "No, you did not-and stop fighting me," he snapped. "Because I have something important I need to tell you." "Well, if it's about stupid letters and CCTV spies, you can just keep quiet. You've been h-horrible to live with recently, and if you think I'm going to-" "You want children," he interrupted. "You've always said you want a big family...." Remembering the baby, Meredith tensed and went still, ready to hear fresh accusations start flying. But, instead, Alessandro delivered the biggest shock of all. "Marco can't have children, cara. He is sterile."

Chapter Eight "What?" Meredith gasped in disbelief. "He has known since he was an adolescent." Alessandro revealed his once best friend's deepest darkest secret. "Oh, that's terrible..." "Well, don't start to feel too sorry for him," Alessandro advised her cynically. "He might play the charmer and the best friend to both of us, but underneath it all he has a very bitter and twisted view on life." "But...sterile, Alessandro...you can almost understand why he feels that way." "That he was willing to wreck what you and I have going together so that we don't achieve what he cannot?" "What?" "You heard me." He sighed. "He's that twisted up, cara. He told me to my face, too." It was only when she saw the bleak look enter his eyes that she realized how hurt he was feeling by Marco's betrayal of their long friendship. Reaching up with her free hand, she was about to tenderly push a stray lock of hair away from his brow and say something soothing when a sudden thought hit and her fingers stilled a half inch away from their target. "You only decided to believe I was telling you the truth because of the baby!" Losing the bleak look, Alessandro honed his sharpened gaze on paling her face. "No," he said quickly. "No, Merry..." Catching hold of her hovering fingers, he crushed them into his. "This is the point when you have to place your trust in me. I did not come to my senses because I linked your

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pregnancy with Marco's sterility-what difference would it have made to the two of you having an affair?" he pointed out. "Then what did change your mind about me?" "Madre di Dio," he groaned. "This is going to sound no better when I tell it to you!" Then she didn't want to know! "Get off me." She gave a push at his shoulder. "You were a virgin," he husked out. "I was your first lover. When I first met you, Marco had told me that he was your lover, but I laughed him off because you didn't behave like lovers-" "I told you we weren't!" "But I only remembered that conversation with him after you shocked my jealous head into thinking clearly again-tonight!" As she tried again to push him away, he growled something not very polite about stubborn women and pinned her clenched fist to the pillow beside her head. "If he could lie to me about that, Merry-" he persisted "-it hit me that he could lie about other things, and it suddenly came to me that Marco had written the letters." "Too convenient." Meredith denounced his logic. "The last thing it was is convenient. You had just handed me a pen thing, which was telling me you are pregnant. We should be celebrating that, bella mia, not fighting about him." Meredith knew he was right, but it did not stop the tears from flooding her eyes. "I was so shook up when I called you up last night to tell you about the baby. I wanted you to jump on a plane and come home to mme." "But you got my bad temper, instead." With a growl of remorse, he claimed her full soft mouth. "I'm sorry," he husked between brief hot kisses. "I was very unhappy." He was really going for broke now, Meredith noted. "I pretty much hated myself for suspecting you." She nodded her head in encouragement between kisses. "If I could take the past twenty-four hours back I would consign them into oblivion. But I cannot, so you are going to have to forgive me-what would our baby have to say if you did not?" Oh, that was so very sneaky. Meredith drew back from the arrival of the next kiss. "I love you quite pathetically badly." His luscious dark eyes tried to eat through the sparks in her eyes. "You are my life, and I am going to prove how sorry I am for doubting you." "How?" Alessandro apparently couldn't help it. He grinned. "Stupid question, Merry mia." As her cheeks turned pink, he moved their bound hands to rest them on her flat stomach. "But first I am going to acquaint myself with this tiny miracle about to happen," he murmured. "This really clever bit of mixing of the best of you and me..."

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Meredith squirmed a little when he fed their hands inside her robe and felt instantly drenched in the silken heat of his gentle touch. He moved closer until his face was all she could see, and she knew he was going to kiss her. "I still have not forgiven you," she warned him a trifle breathlessly. "I promise to work hard on making you forgive me," he vowed and claimed her mouth with his again. Not hard and hot and passionate as he had kissed her in the middle of Balfour's ballroom, but slow and soft and so sensationally tender, Meredith shifted restlessly as she began to melt. "Untie us," she whispered, needing her hand free so that she could touch him. But Alessandro just shook his head. "I like being bound to you, it makes me feel safe." Safe...there was nothing whatsoever safe about Alessandro when he started caressing her the way that he was doing. With the deft moves of a man who knew all about seduction, he slid their bound hands up her body and made sure that it was his fingers that closed around one of her breasts then he deepened the tender kiss, dipping carefully between her parted lips and gently kneading her breast. "Oh," she breathed as the silken heat inside her gained momentum. Her fingers strained in an effort to reach up and touch his lean hard cheek. As if it knew it had to do it, the binding slipped its knot and suddenly she was free to do as she wished. "You tie really bad knots," she whispered. "Perhaps," he conceded, running the tip of his tongue along the ultra-sensitive wall of her abdomen. "But I am really good at doing this..." He was, too. It was a long time later when Mutt woofed at their closed bedroom door and Meredith stirred lazily. "He wants to go out." He's your dog," Alessandro reminded her without a hint of conscience. "But I'm in a delicate condition..." Wrapped very comfortably around her, Alessandro lifted his head up, dark hair a cute rumpled mess and his chocolate eyes so languorously sleepy, Meredith wriggled a little because he was just so sexy like this. "You blackmailing witch." Her green eyes looked back at him with perfect innocence, and her even white teeth plucked at her full soft lower lip. Maria Callas still played softly in the background. The dog woofed again. Drowning, gorgeous tension was trickling through Meredith and she moved ever so sensually to it. "I love you so much, Alessandro," she told him softly. "And I am never-" she slid her arms around his neck "ever going to let you spend more than one tiny night away from me again." "You will move to Milan?" She nodded. "No one would have had the power to cause trouble between us if we'd lived and worked out of the same city, could they?"

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The tears were back. Alessandro lowered his mouth to lick them away. "It won't happen again, Merry. I won't be such a fool as to let it." "And I'm having a baby." She sighed with all the blissful wonder of it. "Our baby... I feel...magical." She looked it, too. "Beautiful, magical, wonderful..." Mutt woofed again. Alessandro's answering growl could have beaten any the dog might want to demonstrate. He eased inside her with the quick hard satin sureness of a man sure of his welcome, and a low and huskily delivered, "Mutt is going to have to wait...."

Chapter Nine Striding back into the bedroom, Alessandro dropped the morning newspaper down onto Meredith’s lap as she was easing herself up the pillows after a long blissful sleep. Pushing her tumbled hair from her face, she blinked. "Read," Alessandro instructed as he removed his robe. Yawning as she glanced down, Meredith almost choked on a dismayed shriek. "Scandal!" the headline shouted. "Illegitimacy Rocks the Balfour Legacy…There is No Balfour Blood Flowing in Zoe Balfour’s Veins!" "Oh, dear God," Meredith exclaimed, snatching up the newspaper to stare wide-eyed at the huge photograph accompanying the shocking headline. "Just look at the twins trying to pull each other’s hair out!" "I seem to have married into a bucket of scandal," Alessandro drawled lazily as he climbed back into bed. "’The truth was revealed by the beautiful Balfour twins, who were caught in the midst of a blazing cat-fight last night, over whether to tell their baby sister about their shocking discovery,’" Meredith read out. "At least our brewing scandal has been well and truly buried in favor of this bigger one," Alessandro pointed out. "As if I care about that," Meredith chided. "I’m more concerned for poor Zoe. What a terrible way for her to find out! Just listen," she instructed. "’This is the second illegitimate family member to be outed in as many months—first Mia, now Zoe. It seems that this super glamorous dynasty has skeletons none of us dared imagine. Could there be more…?’" "Intriguing proposition," Alessandro murmured, sliding an arm around his wife to topple her backwards so he could come to lean over her. "I am sure we will find out soon enough, but for now…"

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Dangerous Secrets by Shirlee McCoy After a busy week at school, teacher Shauna Trenton is looking forward to her days of rest. The fact that she has no one to share it with doesn’t bother her in the least—after all, she doesn’t need to have her heart broken yet again. But her uneventful life is turned upside down when upon arriving home, she’s held at knifepoint on her own front porch! When he hears screams coming from his new neighbor’s home, Levi McLeary doesn’t hesitate to investigate, managing to scare off the attacker in the process. Recently returned to Deer Park, Washington, the last person he expects to find living next door is Shauna, the girl he left behind. And when it appears that the attack was not simply a random mugging, Levi begins to wonder if God has brought him back to his hometown for a reason.…

Chapter One The porch light was out. Shauna Trenton made a mental note to change the bulb as she pulled into her driveway. One more thing to add to her ever-growing Saturday to-do list. And she'd better not forget to do it or she'd hear about it on Sunday. Her day of rest. More like a day to listen to her mother explain all the reasons why Shauna needed a man in her life. As if having a boyfriend or fiancé or husband would solve all of life's troubles. Shauna nearly snorted at the thought. Matthew sure hadn't done that. All her former fiancé had done was cost her a boatload of cash and a broken heart. Not the first time her heart had broken, but it would be the last. She grabbed her book bag and purse from the passenger seat and opened the car door. The cool November day had turned into a cold, dark night while she'd met with parents and discussed their children's progress. At least tomorrow was Saturday. No parents. No students. Just a whole day puttering around the house, catching up on chores. Exciting. "Pitiful is more like it," she muttered as she fished keys out of her purse and jogged up the porch steps. A soft sound carried through the darkness. Footfall on grass, fabric rustling as someone drew near. Shauna stiffened, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. She glanced over her shoulder, her heart leaping as she saw a shadow moving across the lawn. Medium height. Heavyset. Face hidden in darkness. A neighbor or a stranger? "Can I help you?" She kept her gaze focused on the approaching figure as she shoved the key in the lock and tried to turn it. It stuck. Of course. Fixing the old lock was another to-do list item. She wiggled the key, her palm sweaty and slipping on the metal door handle. "Come on!" The key turned, and she shoved the door open as the figure sprinted forward, pounding up the stairs behind her, slamming into her with enough force to send her flying into the door frame. She screamed, her purse and book bag dropping as she turned to fight. Screamed again as she caught sight of a faceless, featureless person. An inhuman creature. No. A human wearing a mask. Carrying a knife! A knife pointed at Shauna's heart.

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"Whatever you want, you can have it." The door was right behind her. Another step and she'd be inside. If she didn't get a knife thrust through her chest first. The knife-wielding lunatic snagged the book bag and purse, the knife grazing Shauna's brand-new pants and slicing a neat hole in them. At least it hadn't sliced her leg, but it might if she didn't get her head together and move. "Everything okay over here?" A masculine voice broke through the darkness, and Shauna's attacker turned toward the sound. This was her chance, and Shauna took it, jumping back and slamming the door, her fingers shaking as she tried to turn the lock. It finally slid home. She pressed her back against the door, her heart beating so hard she thought it might burst from her chest. The doorbell rang, the lilting chime making her jump. "Who's there?" "Your new neighbor, Levi McLeary. Is everything okay?" Levi McLeary? As in sinfully handsome, darkly compelling Levi McLeary? Shauna's first date, first kiss, first love? No way. It couldn't be him. She peered out the peephole, searching the darkness and finding a tall figure standing on the porch. The tilt of his head, the confident ease of his stance…they were hauntingly familiar, and her breath caught, her pulse raced. It was him. After twelve years, Levi was back. Shauna didn't know if she should open the door, or run and hide. "Ma'am?" He called out, and she knew she had no choice. She took a deep breath, braced herself and unlocked the door.

Chapter Two Levi didn't know who he was expecting to see on the other side of the door, but he knew who he wasn't expecting to see. And there she was. Silky red curls shining in the light from the foyer, blue eyes hidden in shadows. Shauna Trenton. Just as beautiful as she'd been the day he'd walked out of her life. "Levi! What are you doing here?" She sounded as surprised as he felt, and her hand shook as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I heard someone scream. I thought I'd better come check things out. Is everything okay?"

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"Someone came at me with a knife. Took my purse and a book bag filled with paperwork, and then ran off when he heard you coming. I need to call the police." "Tell them the guy headed east on Arden Street. Dark colored car, older model Chevy or Ford station wagon." "You saw him?" Her voice trembled, and she scanned the area beyond the porch. "I almost caught him. He was getting in the car as I crossed the yard but drove away before I could reach him." "Did you get a license plate number?" "If the car had one I didn't see it. But he did leave his knife behind, and that might help the police find him." "His knife?" "It's over there." He gestured to a butcher knife lying a few feet away, and Shauna's eyes widened. "He must have dropped it when he heard you coming." She crouched, and reached toward the knife. "Better not touch it. There might be prints on it." Levi grabbed her hand, nearly releasing it again as heat raced up his arm. Twelve years apart and a simple touch still shook him to the core. If Shauna felt the same, she didn't show it. Just tugged her hand away. "You're right. I wasn't thinking. I'd better call the police now. The sooner they start looking, the more likely it is they'll catch him." She hurried into the house, and Levi followed, ignoring the frown she shot his way as she lifted the phone and dialed. Despite her seeming calm, her hand still shook and her eyes were filled with fear. She was terrified, and there was no way he planned to leave her alone. Not with a potential killer on the loose. Shauna met his eyes, the wariness in her gaze unmistakable. He should step away, give her some space, but he hadn't expected to see her his first night back in Deer Park, Washington. Now that he had, he couldn't stop looking. Couldn't stop remembering the way her arms had curved around his waist when they were teenagers, the way she'd shared her dreams so willingly. Small-town dreams that he hadn't wanted for himself. He'd told her that the day he'd walked out of her life. He hadn't regretted it, though he'd always regretted hurting her. Maybe that's what he should say to her when she hung up the phone. She frowned again, turning her back on him. Or maybe not.

Chapter Three Shauna hung up the phone, shooting Levi a look that told him exactly how she felt about having him in her house. Not happy. And he couldn't blame her. They hadn't parted on good terms, and that had been all on him. She'd wanted to compromise, find a way to work things out. He'd wanted a fresh start with nothing to hold him back from pursuing his dreams. No one to hold him back.

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"The police will be here in a few minutes. If you want to go back home, I'll give them your contact information, and they can let you know if they have any questions." Shauna was hinting broadly that she wanted Levi to leave, and if he'd been another kind of man he might have. But he wasn't. When he started something he finished it. He'd run out of his house when he'd heard her screaming, planning to do whatever it took to help. He wasn't going back to his house until he was absolutely certain he had helped, that Shauna was safe, and that there was no danger of the knifeman showing up on her doorstep again. "I think I'll stick around until they get here." He dropped onto the sofa, ignoring her irritated scowl. "I really don't think that's necessary." "Because having me here makes you uncomfortable?" "Why would it?" "I'm not sure. Maybe you can fill me in while we wait." "You're as exasperating as ever, Levi. You know that?" She sat on the edge of an easy chair, her cheeks pink. "And you're as lovely as ever." "Still a shameless flirt, too? Why am I not surprised?" "Actually, I gave up flirting years ago. What I just said was a compliment, pure and simple." "Then I suppose I should thank you." "But you won't?" "I'm way past the days of enjoying childish games, and that's what this conversation feels like." She frowned, crossing the room and staring out the window. "I apologize. That's not what I intended it to be." She sighed and shook her head. "I'm the one who's sorry. After what just happened, I'm on edge, but I shouldn't take that out on you." "You're not." "I was, so let's not argue about it." She smiled, rubbing the back of her neck. "Deer Park is supposed to be— " The sound of sirens filled the room, cutting off her words. "It sounds like the police are here." She hurried from the room, and Levi followed, waiting a few feet away as she opened the door. Cold air drifted in, carrying the scent of pine needles and rain. They were the scents of Levi's past and, for better or worse, his future. His uncle's illness had forced him back to a place where he'd never thought he'd be. And dropped him back into Shauna's life. There was a reason for that. Levi believed that as surely as he believed that God had led him back to Deer Park, back to the life he'd once turned his back on. Maybe, eventually, God would see fit to fill him in on the

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reason for that. Until then, Levi would just have to go with the flow and pray he didn't make as big of a fool of himself at thirty as he had at eighteen.

Chapter Four Footsteps sounded on the porch and a uniformed officer appeared in the doorway, his gaze jumping from Shauna to Levi and back again. "Heard there was some trouble here, Shauna. What's going on?" Levi stayed silent as Shauna filled the officer in. Her face was pale, her hands fisted. Still, she managed to sound calm and composed. That was something he'd forgotten about her, the way she faced troubles with determination and strength. He'd admired that as much as he'd admired her easy-going nature and loving heart. What he hadn't admired were her small goals, her little dreams. He'd told her that the day he'd broken up with her. Not one of his finer moments, but, then, he'd been young and foolish and sure God had more in store for him than work at his family's contracting company and marriage to a woman who wanted nothing more than a teaching job and a big family. "Levi McLeary, right?" The officer took a step toward him, his words pulling Levi from thoughts of the past. "That's right." "I thought I recognized you. It's been a long time." "Twelve years," he responded, but couldn't quite place the man's deeply tanned face and dark brown eyes. "Bet you don't remember me. We didn't exactly hang with the same crowd. I'm Richard Anderson. We were in English composition together our senior year." "Nice to see you again, Richard." "Shauna said you got a look at the perp's car?" "It was American. Chevy or Ford. Big. Looked like an old model station wagon. Dark color. Black or blue." "Sounds like you got a pretty good look. That should help us find the guy." "I hope so. I don't think I'll feel safe again until I know he's behind bars." Shauna spoke quietly, her gaze on Richard, and Levi had the impression that she'd rather stare at the officer all day than look his way. "We'll do everything we can to make sure that happens. In the meantime, if you remember anything else, give me a call. Levi, do you mind giving me your contact information. I may have some more questions for you after we're finished here." "Sure." He rattled off his new address and phone number as Richard scribbled in a small notebook. "So, you're right next door?" "That's right. My uncle is undergoing cancer treatment, and I'm taking over at his business until he's ready to return. Since he owns the property next door, he's letting me use the place while I'm in town." "The Harrison property?" Shauna sounded surprised and maybe a little alarmed. "That's right."

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"It's been on the market for months. Your uncle didn't mention that he bought it." Or that you were going to be living there. She didn't add the last, but Levi was sure that's what she was thinking. "He didn't mention that the two of you were friends, either. But, then, that's how Uncle Jack is. Only gives out information on a need to know basis." And he probably hadn't thought either Levi or Shauna needed to know that he was arranging for them to be neighbors. "I'm still surprised he didn't mention it. I've had his grandkids in my class the past couple of years, and we've gotten to know each other pretty well." "So, you really did become a teacher." "I'm afraid so." She smiled, but there was no hiding the bite in her words. "Mind if we walk outside for a minute, Levi. I'd like you to show me where the car was parked," Richard broke in. "No problem." Levi followed him out to the porch, but he'd rather have stayed. Shauna, on the other hand, seemed more than willing to watch him walk away.

Chapter Five It was pitch black outside and cold, and Levi told himself he was anxious to answer Richard's questions and get back to his warm house. The truth was a little more complicated. The truth was that he wouldn't have minded going back into Shauna's house and spending a few more minutes with her. Catch up a little more. Find out how she'd spent the last dozen years, what had become of her dreams of having an old Victorian house with a big family to fill it. Little dreams, he'd called them just before he'd told her he had bigger dreams for his life. Big dreams that he'd fulfilled. Lately, though, he'd been thinking little dreams weren't such a bad thing. When he looked at Shauna, he couldn't help wondering if he'd passed up on the one dream that he really should have fulfilled. A wife. A few kids. A nice home. A few years ago, he'd thought he would have them all. Instead, he had a thriving business and a penthouse apartment in downtown Seattle. He frowned, not liking the direction of his thoughts. He was content, happy even, but something was missing, and maybe his uncle knew it. Maybe that's why Jack had bought the little house right next door to Levi's high-school flame. "So, where was the car parked?" Richard asked, and Levi gestured to a spot across the street. "It was under the tall pine. I noticed it because it wasn't there when I arrived this afternoon. That would mean the driver parked there sometime between three and six."

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"And the car was a dark-colored station wagon?" "It looked like it." "But you didn't see the driver?" "Just a glimpse as he was running to the car. Not enough to give a description." "Too bad. That might have helped us find the guy." Richard turned on a flashlight and aimed it at the knife that was still lying on the porch floor. "I'm going to have Shauna turn on the light out here. Maybe our perp left something besides that knife behind." He knocked on the door, pushed it open, obviously familiar enough with Shauna to walk into her house without an invitation. Why that bothered Levi, he didn't know. Or maybe he did, and he just didn't want to acknowledge it. "Can you turn on the light out here, Shaun?" "The bulb is blown. I noticed it when I got home." She appeared in the threshold, her face pale. "Blown? You're sure about that?" Richard's flashlight beam landed on the fixture beside the door, and he leaned close, frowning. "What else would it be?" "Looks to me like there isn't a bulb in the fixture at all." "Of course there is. I leave the light on so the porch will be lit when I get home every night." "Take a look for yourself. There's no bulb." "I don't understand. There was one there this morning." Shauna stepped out onto the porch at the same moment Levi took a step forward. They collided, his arms going around her as hers wrapped around him. Without any thought at all, his arms tightened, his hand smoothed down her back, and he felt what he hadn't thought he could—as if he were finally home.

Chapter Six She should not be standing in Levi’s arms. Shauna knew it, but for a moment she didn’t care. What harm could hugging an old friend do? What harm? You could have your heart broken all over again, that’s what harm! Right. And she did not want another broken heart. She stepped back, her cheeks heating as she met Richard’s gaze. What was he thinking? That she was falling for Levi again? She wasn’t. She wouldn’t. "There was a bulb in that fixture this morning, Rich. It was on when I left for work."

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"You’re sure?" "Of course." She sidled past Levi, doing her best not to come in contact with him. She didn’t need any more reminders of how good it felt to be in his arms. "There isn’t one now." Rich removed the fixture cover. He was right. No bulb. "That’s strange." "Looks like we’re dealing with a premeditated crime. Have you had any trouble at work? Any run-ins with the neighbors?" Richard seemed more intense than he’d been when he first arrived, and his concern only added to Shauna’s fear. "Of course not." "How about an ex-husband or boyfriend?" Levi broke in, and Shauna had the urge to tell him she had a hundred ex-boyfriends pining for her love. Unfortunately, her love life had been pretty dull since Matthew stood up in front of their wedding guests and proclaimed his love for another woman. "None that would be holding a grudge." "What about Matthew? I hear he’s back in town." Richard looked up from the notebook he was scribbling in. "He called a few times, but I didn’t have anything to say to him. And I didn’t return the calls." "I think I’ll give him a ring. See what he has to say." Richard tucked the notebook in his pocket. "In the meantime, keep your doors locked and your eyes open. If anything comes up, call me. You have my cell phone number, right?" "Yes." "And I’ll be right next door." Levi offered as if they still had the kind of relationship that would make her want to depend on him. "I’ll be fine. Thanks." "Probably, but in case you aren’t, I’m a lot closer than the police." Shauna didn’t think she needed a reminder of that. All she had to do was look out the kitchen window and see the lights from the Harrison place, and she’d know Levi was there. "Thanks." It was the only response she could manage, and Levi nodded, said a quick goodnight to Richard and jogged down the porch steps. Shauna watched as darkness swallowed him, remembering all the times she’d watched him walk away when they were teens. Remembering the last time he’d walked away. "Strange, isn’t it?" Richard asked, and Shauna forced her attention away from the past. "What?" "That Levi is back. He made it pretty clear he wasn’t a small town guy." "Jack needs help. And Levi is family." "True, but maybe there’s something else to it. Maybe he’s tired of big city living, and he’s finally ready to come home."

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Shauna doubted that, but she saw no sense in arguing the point. She and Levi had cared about each other once, but that was a long time ago. "Do you think you’ll find prints on the knife?" She changed the subject, turning the conversation back to the real problem. "I hope so. I’ll give you a call one way or another. In the meantime—" "I’ll keep the doors locked." She walked into the house, offering Richard a quick wave before she closed the door.

Chapter Seven The house seemed too quiet after Richard left. Shauna went into the kitchen, filled the tea kettle and set it to boil. It had been a long day, and the night stretched out in front of her, dark and quiet and lonely. Lonely? She wasn’t lonely. She poured hot water into a cup, dropped a tea bag into it, her gaze caught by a light shining from a window of the Harrison place. A shadow crossed the light. Levi moving through his kitchen. Maybe making a cup of coffee or unpacking his things, going about his life just as he had for over a decade. Shauna was going to go about her life the same way. There’d be no renewal of friendship or dating or anything else. Two broken hearts in a lifetime were two too many, and there was no way she was going to risk being hurt again. She brought the tea to her room, turned on the small television and tried to lose herself in mindless sitcoms. But her thoughts kept circling back to Levi, their conversation replaying itself over and over in her mind until she finally drifted off to sleep. The television was still on when the phone rang. Shauna sat up quickly, her heart pounding, her mind still foggy with sleep as she grabbed the phone. "Hello?" "Shauna? It’s Krista Mallory." "What’s wrong?" Shauna glanced at the clock. Three in the morning wasn’t a normal time for her boss to be calling. "There’s been a break-in at the school." "When?" "Less than an hour ago. I wouldn’t have called, but it’s your room they broke into. The police are asking if anything is missing, and I’m not sure what to tell them." "Do you need me to come in?" "If you can." "Give me ten minutes, and I’ll be there." She hung up and dressed quickly, the last vestiges of sleep gone, her mind racing with a million thoughts. The fact that she’d been accosted at knifepoint hours before her classroom was broken into couldn’t be a coincidence. Someone had something against her, and she had no idea who or why. That scared her more than she wanted to admit. For the first time in a long time, she wished she had a man around. A big strong burly guy who could walk out to the car with her, make sure no knife-wielding lunatic was waiting to pounce.

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She scowled, frustrated with her thoughts. She’d spent the two years since her wedding day humiliation convincing herself that she was more than happy to live life alone. One run-in with a maniac, and she was ready to throw in the towel and hunt for a man. "But you don’t need a man. And you don’t want one. So walk out the door, get in your car and go!" The pep talk got her to the front door, and she paused there, hand on the doorknob as she tried to convince herself that no one was lying in wait outside. But she couldn’t. She’d been on the wrong end of a butcher knife just a few hours ago, and there was no way she was walking outside unprotected. She grabbed the fireplace poker, and carried it like a spear as she jogged to her car.

Chapter Eight The night was silent, the darkness deep black as Shauna shoved the car keys into the lock. Her hands were shaking so hard she could barely turn the key. She thought about putting the poker down, but anyone could be watching from the shadows, waiting for an opportunity to strike. The thought made her shiver. "It’s a little early in the morning for a drive, isn’t it?" The voice was so unexpected, Shauna screamed, swinging the poker, ready to bring down whoever was behind her. "Whoa! Careful with that thing, Red. I’m not in the mood to take a trip to the emergency room tonight." The poker was caught mid-swing and yanked from Shauna’s hand. Red? There’d only been one person who’d called her that—only one person that she’d ever allowed to call her that. Levi. Anger flooded through her, replacing fear. She clung to it as she snatched the poker from his hand and threw it into the car. "If you don’t want to make a trip to the emergency room, then you shouldn’t sneak up on people in the dark." "I wasn’t sneaking. I was walking across the yard, and I wasn’t being all that quiet about it." "Who walks across his yard at three in the morning?" "Apparently, both of us." "Someone broke into my classroom at school, and my principal wants me to come in to see if anything is missing, so I’ve got an excuse." "I was working and saw your lights go on. I thought I’d better come by to make sure everything was okay, so guess I’ve got an excuse, too." There was a smile in his voice, and if she looked hard enough, Shauna was sure she’d see him grinning through the darkness. She wasn’t going to look.

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"I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine. If you’ll excuse me, I really need to get going." She knew she sounded stiff and formal, and she didn’t care. She got in the car, grabbed the door handle, started to close the door, but Levi held it open. "It’s probably not a good idea for you to drive over there by yourself." "Why not? I drive to the school by myself every day." "This isn’t every day." "It doesn’t matter. I still have to go to the school." "So, why not let me come along? If anyone is waiting on the road, hoping to catch you out alone, he’ll be disappointed." "Thanks for giving me more to worry about." "That wasn’t my intention." "Then what was?" "To keep you safe." "That’s not your responsibility." She shoved the key in the ignition, but didn’t bother putting the car in drive. There was safety in numbers, and she’d be foolish to turn down Levi’s offer just because they’d dated years ago. Just because he’d broken her heart years ago. "Go ahead and get in." There. She’d said it, and it hadn’t been nearly as difficult as she thought it would be. Levi was an old crush. Nothing more. As long as she kept that in mind, she’d be just fine.

Chapter Nine Levi rounded the car and got into the passenger’s seat, the scent of his aftershave filling the car as he closed the door. Closed the two of them in. Together. Maybe letting him escort her to the school wasn’t such a good idea. Shauna pulled out of the driveway, anyway. What else could she do? Admit he made her uncomfortable and kick him out of the car? That would be the same as admitting he still had a hold over her, and there was no way she planned to do that. "Don’t look so scared, Red. I don’t bite." "I’m not scared, and stop calling me Red." She took the turn onto the main road a little too quickly and forced herself to ease off the gas pedal. "Why? I’ve always called you that." "You called me that a lifetime ago. We’re different people now."

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"If you’d said that to me a day ago, I would have agreed. But right now, sitting in this car with you, it feels like we haven’t changed at all." "We’ve changed plenty." But the way her pulse raced, the way every nerve went on high alert when Levi was near, that was the same. Too much the same. And it really did scare her. "Shauna—" "I didn’t let you come along so we could discuss the past and how we have or haven’t changed, so how about we drop the subject and move on to something else?" "Like what?" "Like why you were up working at three in the morning." "I’m running my uncle’s business, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still have fingers in my own." "Jack said you’ve got a large architecture firm in Seattle. I guess it’s not going to run itself." "No, but I’ve got good people in place. I was just checking over a few things they sent for approval." He leaned forward, switching the radio station without bothering to ask permission just as he had when they’d dated. Classical music filled the car. His favorite. "You could have asked before you switched stations." "Sorry. I guess that’s something else that hasn’t changed." "I thought we agreed that we weren’t going to discuss the past." Her fingers clenched around the steering wheel, but she absolutely refused to lose her cool again. "Then I guess it’s my turn to choose a different subject." "Like?" "Matthew." "What?" She sputtered the word, too surprised to do anything else. "Who was he?" "That’s part of the past, and not open for discussion." "I see." "You see what?" "He either broke your heart or—" "Levi, if you don’t drop the subject right now, I’m going to pull the car over and walk to Deer Park Elementary. Alone." "Wouldn’t it be easier to kick me out of the car?"

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"Knowing you, you’d refuse to go," she said without thinking of how it sounded, of the way "knowing you" made it sound as if she did know him. As if the past twelve years hadn’t changed anything between them. He chuckled but didn’t say another word about Matthew or anything else—which was fine with Shauna. She preferred the silence. She really did. Still frustrated, she switched the station back to the one she preferred, let the upbeat music fill the car. It did little to ease her irritation. God had a reason for everything. That’s what she’d always believed, but Shauna couldn’t think of one good reason why Levi McLeary had walked back into her life. And, as far as she was concerned, the sooner he walked back out, the happier she’d be.

Chapter Ten Deer Park Elementary School hadn’t changed much since Levi was a kid. Tile floors still gleamed beneath overhead lights. Student art work still decorated walls. The scent of cafeteria food and bleach still hung in the air. "You can wait here. I shouldn’t be long." Shauna pointed to a bench outside the principal’s office, but Levi had no intention of sitting on it. He’d done his time when he was a trouble-making kid. "I’ll come with you." "That’s not necessary." "Shauna! Thanks for coming." A dark-haired woman hurried toward them, interrupting any further argument. That was fine with Levi. He had no intention of arguing. He was simply going to stick with Shauna until she was locked safely in her house again. "No problem. Is there much damage?" "It’s more of a mess than anything else. Hopefully, it won’t take long for you to put together an itemized list of what’s missing. I’m sure you and your friend have better things to do with your time than hang out here." "We’re not friends. Levi is my new neighbor. Levi, this is Krista Mallory. She’s the principal here." "Nice to meet you, Ms. Mallory." Levi offered his hand, but his attention was still on Shauna. She’d already started down the hall, her ponytail swinging with every step. She was as slender as she’d been when they were in high school, but she carried herself with more confidence. Not a kid, anymore. A woman. And a beautiful one. "So, you’re Shauna’s neighbor?" Krista asked as they followed Shauna down the hall. "That’s right." "You must have moved into the Harrison place." "That’s what I’ve been told." A few yards ahead, Shauna stepped into her classroom, and Levi and Krista followed behind. The room had been trashed, and two police officers stood beside a broken window near the back of the room. Shauna was at her desk, sifting through piles of school supplies. Despite the chaos, she looked at home there. Levi couldn’t help remembering how often she’d talked about being a teacher, talked about having a classroom filled with children and a house full of the same. Even as a teen, Levi had known that Shauna was the kind of person who’d make her dreams come true. He’d been afraid he’d become part of them, be locked into small-town life and never escape.

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Right now, watching her gather papers from a desk littered with debris, he wasn’t sure what he’d been so determined to escape from. She looked up, meeting his gaze, her eyes a darker blue than he remembered. He could get lost in them if he let himself, could look into their depths and imagine he was seeing more than the present. That he was looking into the past, looking into the future. Maybe that should have scared him, but it didn’t. He’d dated plenty of women over the past twelve years, had toyed with the idea of marriage once or twice, but no one had ever touched his heart the way Shauna had. The way she still did. That was something worth fighting for—something worth giving up city life and big-time dreams for. He’d been too foolish to realize that when he was a teen. But he knew it now, and he had every intention of doing what he should have done twelve years ago. He was going to offer Shauna everything she’d once dreamed of, and he was going to pray it was enough to win her heart.

Chapter Eleven "Anything missing?" Levi asked as he approached Shauna’s desk. She didn’t look up. Maybe she was afraid of what she’d see if she looked in his eyes. "It’s hard to tell." She scooped up a handful of pencils and dropped them into a metal pencil holder. "Want some help cleaning up?" "What I want is to go back in time and start yesterday over." She picked up a broken ceramic mug, righted the trash can and threw the mug into it. "So you could do things differently and prevent this from happening?" "So I could pull the covers over my head and stay in bed. Maybe it wouldn’t prevent this from happening, but it could help me avoid some other unpleasant things." "Are you talking about the armed robbery or seeing me again?" "Both." "I hope seeing me doesn’t rank as low as being accosted at knifepoint." "You’re a few steps up from it." She offered a brief smile and handed him a half-dozen bottles of glue. "Since you offered to help, how about putting these in the supply closet across the room?" "Is that your way of getting rid of me?" "If I wanted to get rid of you, I’d have asked you to leave." "How is it going, Shauna?" One of the officers approached—a young woman, maybe in her mid-twenties. "I’ve had better days." "I guess so. I just spoke to Richard Anderson. He said there was trouble out at your place last night." "That’s right." "It doesn’t seem like this can be a coincidence, does it?" The officer gestured at the vandalized room.

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"I wish I could say it did." "Have you had any run-ins with your students? Is it possible one of them did this?" "I teach third grade. My students are still babies." "Third graders are capable of breaking and entering." "Most aren’t capable of driving cars, though," Levi cut in. There was no way the person he’d seen running from Shauna’s house had been a third grader. "That doesn’t mean the knifeman wasn’t connected to one of Shauna’s students." "I have a really sweet group of kids this year. I can’t believe any of them would be part of something like this." "So you don’t have any loners? Maybe a kid who doesn’t quite fit in?" "I have a new student. Nicolas Samuels. He’s quiet and keeps to himself, but that’s because he’s still trying to find his way." Shauna threw papers into a box and lifted a pink jacket from the floor. A brown purse lay open beneath it, chap stick and a wallet on the floor beside it. "What in the world? Where did this come from?" "Is it yours?" The officer asked, and Shauna nodded. "It’s the one that was stolen earlier. Why would someone take it and then break into my classroom and leave it?" She looked scared and vulnerable, and it seemed natural to put an arm around her shoulders and pull her close. She fit perfectly there, just as she had when they were teens. If they’d been alone, Levi might have slipped his other arm around her waist, pulled her in for a hug. She met his gaze, her lashes long and golden and shielding whatever was in her eyes. Even without makeup she was beautiful. And looking down into her face, Levi couldn’t remember why he’d ever believed that she wasn’t the kind of woman he’d want to spend forever with. "We’ll have to take it in for evidence." The officer lifted the purse and put it in an evidence bag, her words seeming to break whatever spell had held Shauna in Levi’s embrace. She stepped away, put a few feet between them. "No problem." "Aside from finding the purse, is there anything else that you’ve noticed? Missing items? Things that don’t belong?" "Some of my students’ folders are missing. I keep them in the bottom drawer of my desk, and I’d say a good third are gone," Shauna said, leading Krista and the officer to her desk and fanning out a pile of folders. Levi stayed where he was, giving her the space she seemed to want, knowing that pushing Shauna too hard would only drive her away.

Chapter Twelve Monday morning came too quickly, and Shauna barely managed to drag herself out of bed and into the shower. It had taken most of Saturday to right her trashed classroom. Sunday had been church, dinner with the folks and fielding questions about the break-in at school, the armed robbery and Levi.

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Levi. She still couldn’t believe he’d moved in next door. Couldn’t believe that her heart still skipped a beat each time she saw him. Couldn’t believe how right it still felt to be in his arms. "Enough! He’s just an old friend," she muttered to herself as she grabbed a can of diet cola from the fridge and hurried outside. The police had returned her purse the day before, and she pulled her keys out as she jogged down the porch stairs. Things had been quiet since the break-in at the school, but she still felt uneasy and anxious. Someone had an ax to grind with her, and Shauna wouldn’t feel completely safe until the police found out who it was. "Looks like we’re both starting our days early." Levi’s voice carried across the yard, and Shauna turned, her heart doing exactly what she knew it would when she saw him—skipping and dancing and celebrating. Fickle foolish heart. "Jack must be a real task master for you to be out and about before seven. The way I remember it, you didn’t believe in opening your eyes before eight. How many first period classes did you miss in high school?" The question left her mouth before she could think it through, and she blushed. She should not be bringing up the past when she was trying so hard to forget that she and Levi had shared one. "More than I want to admit." "You still managed to pass every class." "I had a good tutor my senior year." "Not that you ever really needed one." She’d tutored him in calculus the year they’d dated. She didn’t remember much teaching going on, but he’d somehow managed to ace every test. "I needed you, and you were a great teacher, Shauna. I don’t know why I ever tried to convince you to do something else with your life." He smiled, walking toward her, his suit perfectly fitted, his face clean shaven. He wore the past twelve years well, fine lines at the corners of his eyes giving him a look of maturity he hadn’t had when they were dating. It appealed to Shauna in a way she hadn’t expected and didn’t like. "You didn’t want to be limited by my small-town dreams." That’s what he’d told her the day he’d said he was going to Seattle to attend college and to create a new life for himself. A new life that didn’t include her. "I should never have said that. I was young and—" "It was meant to be, Levi. We weren’t. There’s no sense in rehashing it all." She opened the car door, would have gotten in and driven away. But Levi put a hand on her arm, the heat of his touch shooting through her. "I was young and foolish. I’m older now and hopefully a little wiser." "Meaning?" She knew she should pull away, but his touch was familiar and new all at once, and she couldn’t make herself break the contact. "There were better ways to say goodbye, and I wish I’d taken them." "But you don’t wish you hadn’t said it?"

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"I had to leave, Red. If I hadn’t, I’d never have learned what it was I was missing." His hand slid up her arm, rested on her shoulder, his fingers playing with her hair. He’d done the same dozens of times when they were teens, but it was different now—more compelling, more deliberate. He knew what he wanted, and he knew how to get it. And if Shauna wasn’t careful, she’d fall right into his plans.

Chapter Thirteen Breathless, Shauna pulled away and got in the car, anxious to put some distance between them. Even then, she could feel the warmth of his hand on her shoulder, feel her heart’s shuddering response. That wasn’t good. It wasn’t good at all. She grabbed the door handle, but Levi put his hand on the window, his grip light. She could have closed the door if she wanted to, and she knew it. So why didn’t she? Maybe it was the way he’d looked at her when she’d stood at her desk early Saturday morning. She’d seen things in his eyes that she’d never seen before—understanding, respect, admiration. And she’d responded in a visceral way that had made her want to turn tail and run. But she hadn’t. And she wouldn’t. She wasn’t a teenager, anymore. She was an adult, and she’d act reasonable and in control no matter how muddle-headed she felt when Levi was around. "I need to go. I’ve got a classroom to get ready." "I guess we both have busy days ahead of us. How about we have dinner together? We can finish our conversation then." "We are finished." "Then let’s just have dinner." "I don’t think so." "Why not? We’re old friends. What could possibly be wrong with us having dinner together?" He made it sound so reasonable that for the life of her, Shauna couldn’t think of one reason why they shouldn’t. "Give me a few hours. I’ll think of something." He laughed, and Shauna couldn’t help smiling in return. "You’re laughing, but I’m not joking. I can’t have dinner with you." "Why? Are you dating someone?" "I don’t date." That, at least, was the truth.

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"Since when?" "Since my fiancé announced that he was in love with another woman and left me at the altar." "Let me guess…. His name was Matthew." "Good guess." "And that was how long ago?" "Two years, and I haven’t been sitting around pining for him, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just don’t see any reason to get involved in another relationship." "Actually, what I was thinking was that any man who was fortunate enough to be engaged to you would have had to be an idiot to walk away." "He’s not the only one who walked away." The words slipped out and she immediately wished them back. "I was an idiot, too. And if I had another chance, I’d never walk away." "You’re flirting again." "I’m way past flirting, Shauna. I think you know that." He spoke quietly, his eyes burning into hers. And she was breathless again, lost in his gaze and in all the things they’d once shared, lost in dreams that she didn’t dare allow herself to believe in. Lost and completely helpless to do anything about it. Forget reasonable and in control. She needed to leave before she threw herself in his arms and begged for a second chance at love. "I really do need to go." She yanked the door closed, and this time he didn’t try to stop her as she shoved the keys in the ignition and drove away.

Chapter Fourteen Shauna had always loved teaching, but, by the time she walked into Deer Park Elementary, all she wanted to do was go home and go back to bed. Her head was pounding, her nerves were shot, and in less than two hours, twenty-eight kids would walk into the room. She only hoped she’d have enough energy to keep up with them. At least the room was clean and in order again. She had yet to find the missing folders, but everything else had been accounted for. She pulled out her plan book and took a long sip of diet cola, the silence of the room settling around her. It would be an hour before most of the other staff members arrived, but Shauna had always liked getting to school early. There was something about an empty classroom that appealed to her—so many possibilities waiting to be discovered. Even now, her run-in with Levi fresh in her mind, she felt herself relaxing. Everything would work out. It always did. She just had to trust that God was in control and let Him lead where He would. As long as where He was leading didn’t bring her back into Levi’s arms.

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She frowned, opening her plan book to the last page where she’d jotted notes about each child. A few came from difficult family situations. Others were struggling academically. And then there was Nicolas. Quiet and shy, he had an anxious quality that made Shauna wonder what his home life was like. She’d asked him a few questions, but he wasn’t quick to share, and she hadn’t learned much more than what his paperwork said. He was from a single parent home, and his mother was a nurse who worked at a local convalescent center. Nicolas had said a few other things in passing. That he’d lived in many different places and that he’d once had another name. He’d even drawn a picture of himself and labeled it "Eli." When Shauna showed the drawing to his mother at Friday’s parent-teacher conference, she’d laughed and said Nicolas had always had a good imagination. Maybe he did, but the drawing still made Shauna uneasy. The sound of footsteps on tile drifted in from the hallway, and she tensed. There were other people in the building. The kitchen and custodial staff had arrived before her, and she was sure a few other teachers were working in their classrooms. Any one of them could be walking through the hall. She stood, anyway, moving across the room and grabbing a pair of scissors from the supply closet. They weren’t much in the way of weapons, but they were better than nothing. The footsteps drew closer, then stopped outside the door. Shauna’s grip tightened on the scissors, her heart beating a hard, jerky rhythm. Was it possible the person who’d held her up at knifepoint and trashed her classroom was standing on the other side of the door? Was it possible that person had more than a theft on his mind this time? Maybe he had a gun or a— The door swung open, and Shauna shrieked, jumping backward and stumbling over a chair. She landed with a painful thud, but she didn’t have time to catch her breath. She was on her feet in seconds, the scissors in hand, ready for an attack.

Chapter Fifteen "Shauna! What in the world are you doing?" Maggie Tennyson stood in the doorway, her eyes wide with surprise. A teacher’s aide working toward her teaching degree, Maggie had been assigned to Shauna’s classroom at the beginning of the year and had proven a valuable asset. "I could say the same about you. You’re never here this early." "Ms. Mallory called me Saturday and told me there’d been a break-in. I thought I’d come in early in case you needed help setting up for the day, but it looks like you have everything under control." Maggie dropped a pile of college textbooks on a table at the back of the room. She looked pale and tired, her eyes deeply shadowed. Apparently, Shauna wasn’t the only one who’d had a rough weekend. "For now. Are you okay? You look tired." She put the scissors back in the closet, her hand shaking. She really needed to pull herself together and stop jumping at shadows. "College is kicking my butt this semester. You know how that is." "I remember. If you need the day off—" "Are you kidding me? Thanksgiving is just a few days away, and we have tons of projects to do before then." "I can manage, Maggie. If it’s the difference between you being exhausted and not—" "Really. I’m fine. You’re the one who probably needs time off. I heard you were nearly killed by a guy with a knife this weekend." "Who’d you hear that from?"

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"My landlady. She has her ear to the ground and knows everything that goes on in Deer Park." "Well, she has the facts wrong. I wasn’t nearly killed. My purse was stolen." And then returned, but that wasn’t something Shauna wanted to talk about. "It must have been really frightening." "It was, but I’m over it." Almost. "Good. How about I start writing the warm-up on the board?" Maggie grabbed a piece of chalk and set to work, her presence a nice distraction from Shauna’s worries. By the time the students arrived, she was feeling more herself, and the first hour of class went off without a hitch. When Krista appeared in the doorway and gestured for her to come out in the hall, Shauna gave the students their assignment and walked out of the room. "What’s up?" "I need you to have Nicolas Samuels gather his things and bring them down to my office." Krista spoke quietly, her voice belying a tension that was unlike anything Shauna had seen in her before. "What’s going on?" "I’m not at liberty to say. Just have him get all his things. I’m not sure he’ll be returning." "What—" "Shauna, I can’t tell you any more than that. Just bring him to my office." She turned and walked down the hall before Shauna could ask more. Nicolas sat at the back of the classroom, his head bent over the math book. He looked up as she approached, his freckled face tense with worry. "Hey, Nick, I need you to get your things together. We have to go to the principal’s office." "Am I in trouble?" "Of course not." "Then why do I need to go?" "Principal Mallory will explain everything when we get there, okay?" She helped him gather his books and put them in a worn backpack, her heart thudding uncomfortably. Something was wrong, but she had no idea what. All she could do was pray that everything would be okay as she walked Nicolas down the long corridor to Krista’s office.

Chapter Sixteen A good day’s work was a good day’s work no matter where it was done, and Levi was feeling more content than he had in a long time as he pulled up in front of his new home. The sun had already set, and he could see lights on in Shauna’s house as he got out of the car. He knew he should ignore them. Ignore her. But he couldn’t help imagining her sipping a cup of coffee, relaxing after a long day, her hair spilling over her shoulders in silky curls.

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"Forget it, and keep walking. She’s made it very clear she wants nothing to do with you." But even as he muttered the words, he was walking toward her house. They were neighbors, after all, and they had been friends. Was it really so wrong to check in with her, make sure everything was okay? He hoped not, because that was exactly what he planned to do. He rang the doorbell then stood so that Shauna could see him. "Who’s there?" she called out as she had the previous night, but this time her porch light was on, and he was sure she already knew. "It’s Levi." There was a heartbeat of hesitation before she responded. "What are you doing here?" "I just thought I’d stop by to say hi. Isn’t that what neighbors do?" "I don’t know. It’s been a while since I’ve had a neighbor." The door opened and Levi’s breath caught, his heart skipping a beat. Shauna wore faded jeans and an oversized T-shirt, her hair a mass of wild curls, her face free of makeup. And she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Too bad she was looking at him like he was slime. "Hi." He figured that couldn’t get him in too much trouble, and Shauna rewarded him with a smile. "You’re incorrigible, you know that?" "I’m enchanted. You look beautiful, Shauna." "Flattery again?" "The truth. Again." "I thought you just came to say hi." "That was before I realized how beautiful you look in jeans and a T-shirt." "How about we change the subject?" she responded, her cheeks bright pink. "To?" "Whether or not you came over here to convince me to have dinner with you." "I know you well enough to know that you don’t change your mind very often." "You knew me, but that was a long time ago." "Does that mean we are going to have dinner together?" This time she laughed, stepping aside and gesturing for him to enter. "I guess as long as you’re here, I may as well feed you. Unless you’ve already eaten." "I was planning on making myself a sandwich, but whatever you’re cooking smells a lot better."

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"Chicken stew with dumplings. It’s my grandmother’s recipe. Pure comfort food." "Has it been the kind of day deserving of comfort food?" "It was an entire weekend deserving of it, and today wasn’t any better." "Want to talk about it?" "I want to eat. Then I’ll decide if I want to talk." With that, she turned on her heel and walked into the kitchen.

Chapter Seventeen Levi followed, inhaling the rich aroma of chicken stew and the subtle scent of vanilla that seemed to cling to Shauna. "Did you just get home?" she asked as she pulled bowls from a cupboard. "Yes. How about you?" "I’ve been home a while. This kind of food doesn’t happen in a minute." She smiled as she spooned stew into a bowl, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "Here, let me do that." He took the bowls from her hands, filling them quickly and setting them on the table. "Thanks. I feel like I’m moving in slow motion today." Shauna pulled silverware from a drawer and sat at the table, her face pale, her eyes shadowed. "You had a long weekend." "And a horrible day." "You were going to tell me about that." "Was I?" "Why not?" "I’m sure if I think about it long enough I’ll come up with a reason." "Don’t think. Talk." "Fine. Krista came into the classroom and asked me to have one of my students pack up his things and then bring him to her office. When we got there, the school counselor was there with the sheriff and a couple of people I’ve never seen before." "The sheriff? Sounds like your student got himself into trouble. Maybe he had something to do with what happened to you this weekend." "Nicolas is a shy, sweet little boy. I don’t think he has a mean bone in his body." She stirred her stew, but didn’t eat any. She’d said she’d changed, but she’d done the same thing when she’d been a teen worried about friends or grades or parent trouble. Picked at her food and mulled over the problem until she’d found a solution to it.

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And Levi found himself doing what he’d always done, reaching across the table and covering her hand with his, smoothing her knuckles with his thumb. "Did you ask Kristen what was going on?" "She just told me that it would all come out eventually. I’m sure Nick will be fine, but he looked so scared. I felt like I was throwing him to the wolves." "You were doing what you had to. No one can fault you for it." "Maybe someone does. Maybe that’s what everything that happened this weekend was about." "What do you mean?" "It can’t be a coincidence that Nick was pulled from my class days after I was robbed and my classroom was trashed." She stood, walking across the room and staring out the window. "You think someone wasn’t happy with how you were treating him and decided to lash out?" "I don’t know what I think. I just know that my life was predictable and easy, and now it’s pure chaos." She turned to face him again, leaning her hip against the counter, her red hair falling over her shoulders just as he’d imagined it would, her eyes deep sapphire blue. She was breathtaking. Levi stood, crossing the room without thought, without any real plan. "Am I part of that chaos?" His hands slid around her waist, and her pulse raced in the hollow of her throat. If she’d told him to leave, he would have. If she’d pushed him away, he would have gone without an argument. But she did neither. "I wouldn’t call you chaos. I’d call you trouble," she said, but there was no heat in her words. He leaned down, did what he knew he shouldn’t, his lips touching hers. And it wasn’t nearly enough. She sighed, pulling him close, and he was lost just as he’d been when he was young and too foolish to know a good thing when he found it. A phone rang, and Shauna pulled back, her eyes wide with surprise, her cheeks pink. "I think you’d better go." "Because we kissed?" "Because I need to answer the phone. I’m sure you can let yourself out," she said, and then turned and ran from the room.

Chapter Eighteen Levi had kissed her. Worse, she’d kissed him back. Shauna paced her bedroom, her mind racing with a million thoughts—none of them pleasant. If the phone hadn’t rung, would she have had the good sense to throw Levi out? She wasn’t sure, didn’t dare to speculate. She wanted to blame stress on her lapse in judgment. But the truth was, Levi had a way of making her forget all the reasons why getting involved with him wasn’t a good idea.

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"Just give me a clue, God. That’s all I want. Some hint that will help me understand why You’ve brought him back into my life." But God didn’t work that way, and all Shauna got was more silence. Frustrated, she walked to the kitchen, leaving the light off as she grabbed a bag of cookies from the cupboard. Light was showing from the Harrison house again—from Levi’s house. If she were a little braver, she’d turn on her light. Let him know she was awake, too. But she wasn’t brave. She was a big chicken. A chicken eating chocolate chip cookies at midnight because she was too afraid to admit she was falling for a guy who’d already broken her heart. "You are not falling for him," she hissed, tossing the cookies onto the counter, disgusted with the train of her thoughts. Three days ago, she hadn’t even remembered Levi existed. Okay. She’d remembered him. But she hadn’t spent any time thinking about him. Much time thinking about him. Now it seemed she couldn’t keep him from her thoughts. Something scratched against the back door, the sound so unexpected, Shauna froze. It came again. This time more defined, as if someone were working at the lock, trying to open it. Was someone out there? Maybe the same someone who had held a knife to her chest and trashed her classroom? She wasn’t going to wait to find out. She grabbed the phone, lifted it to her ear and heard nothing. The line had been cut, and whoever was outside was still working at the lock. Scratch. Scrape. Scratch. How long would it be before he made it in? Did she have time to get her cell phone from her room? Was it even charged? Something slammed into the door, and nothing mattered but getting out. Now. She ran for the front door, heard wood cracking behind her. She should have grabbed a knife, but it was too late. She could feel cold wind blowing in from the back door, could feel terror clawing up her throat. She didn’t dare scream, didn’t dare do anything but race across the living room. She’d left the fireplace poker in the car, and her keys were in her purse in her room. There was no time to get it. No way did she want to be trapped in her bedroom with a madman. She fumbled with the lock on the front door, managed to open it on the first try, and threw herself out into the cold black night.

Chapter Nineteen Shauna’s feet slipped on the porch boards and she nearly fell.

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Stay on your feet. Keep going! The thoughts shouted through her mind as footsteps pounded on wood flooring behind her. Her pulse leaped, adrenaline spurring her on as she jumped down the porch steps, stumbled again. She had to go faster, had to make it to Levi’s house. She could feel her pursuer closing in, feel his hot, panting breath on the back of her neck, and her hair stood on end. She screamed, all the terror she was feeling spilling out as someone grabbed her shirt and yanked her backward. She jerked free, screaming again, her body cold with terror. "Shut up!" The words hissed out as Shauna was yanked back again, the sound ugly and mean and feminine. A woman. Shauna didn’t have time to wonder what that might mean, didn’t have time to think about who it could be. Levi’s house was just yards away, and she ran toward it, desperate in a way she’d never been before. Please, God, let me reach it. Something slammed into her side, the force so great, Shauna flew sideways. She tried to scream, but the sound caught in her throat, pain searing through her, making it difficult to breathe, to think, to fight. She fell, barely feeling the ground as she landed. And then the woman was on her, pressing something against her throat. A piece of wood? A baseball bat? Shauna tried to claw free, but the first blow had knocked the breath from her lungs and darkness was already edging in, stealing her away. And she knew she was going to die. Right there in her front yard, just feet from safety and from Levi. Someone shouted, but Shauna could barely hear past the pulse of blood in her ears. There was a flurry of movement, a muffled scream, and she was free, air flowing into her burning lungs again. She coughed, gagging as she tried to sit up. "Stay down, Red, until we know what’s what." Levi pressed her back, his touch gentle, his voice tight. "Where is she?" "The woman who was trying to choke you with a baseball bat? Out of commission." "You killed her?" "Knocked her out. She didn’t give me a choice." He brushed hair from Shauna’s cheek, and she was sure his hand was shaking. She grabbed it, squeezing gently as she struggled to a sitting position. The woman lay a few feet away, a baseball bat on the ground nearby. Her face was familiar. Not a friend, but someone she’d seen recently. Someone who’d sat in her classroom just a few days ago. Shauna leaned close, sure she must be mistaken, that the woman unconscious on the ground wasn’t the same one who’d told her how much her son enjoyed being in Shauna’s class. "Do you know her?" Levi asked, the sound of sirens nearly drowning out his words. She did. What she didn’t know was why Nicolas Samuels’ mother wanted her dead.

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Chapter Twenty Levi had never been good at waiting, and waiting for the doctor to finish examining Shauna was torture. He glanced at his watch, frowning. She’d been in triage for a little over an hour. What was taking so long? "Levi?" He turned, saw Shauna walking through the double wide doors that led from the treatment area. She was parchment pale, dark bruises on her neck standing out in stark contrast to her pallid skin. "You should be in a wheelchair, Red." He crossed the room, pulled her into a gentle hug and was surprised when she burrowed close, resting her head on his chest. "That’s what the nurse said, but I didn’t want to wait around for her to bring one." "Sit down. I’ll get one." "Don’t. It’s been a long night, and I just want to go home." Her voice was raspy and worn, and he didn’t bother arguing. Just wrapped an arm around her waist and led her out to the parking lot. He didn’t release his hold as he unlocked the car door, didn’t want to let her go. Didn’t want to imagine what would have happened if he hadn’t heard her scream. Would he have walked outside in the morning and found her lying dead on the lawn? His arm tightened around her waist, and she looked up into his face, pressed a palm to his cheek. "Don’t look so grim, Levi. I’m fine." "If Lily Samuels had had her way, you wouldn’t be." He helped her into the passenger seat of the car, brushing his knuckles down her cheek. Her skin was warm and silky, life pulsing through it, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever been more thankful for anything in his life. "Richard came into triage while the doctor was waiting for x-ray results. He said the police have been looking for her all day." "They knew she was after you?" If they had and had let the woman slip through their fingers— "No. She was wanted for something else. He couldn’t tell me what, just that they have enough evidence to put her away for a long time." "Is she talking?" "All she’s said is that I told her something during parent-teacher conferences that worried her. She wanted to make sure I didn’t spread it around." "So she thought she’d terrorize and kill you?" "She’s insisting she wasn’t trying to kill me. She just wanted a drawing Nicolas made. I showed it to her during the conference, and she wanted to take it home. Since they were part of his class portfolio, I told her she’d have to wait until the end of the year." "What could a kid possibly draw that would make his mother stalk and attack another person?" It had to be something life altering—something that could have caused her serious trouble. "Richard wouldn’t say, but I think I know."

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"Yeah?" He walked around the car and got into the driver’s seat. "The kids drew self portraits for an art project. They all wrote their names at the top. Nicolas didn’t. He wrote ’Eli.’" "Eli?" "Yes. And he refused to change it. He kept saying it was his real name. The one his father gave him. I told his mother that at the conference, and she laughed, but now…" Her voice trailed off, and she shrugged. "You wonder if he was telling the truth." "I don’t wonder. I know." "Did she kidnap him, then?" "I asked Richard that, and he wouldn’t comment." "Eventually, he’ll have to." Levi pulled up in front of Shauna’s house and turned to face her. "Eventually. For now, I’m just happy that Nicolas is in safe hands, and that I’m alive. Thanks to you. This is the second time you’ve saved my life." She lifted his hand, pressed a kiss to his knuckles, the heat of her lips stealing his breath. "I’d do it a million more times if I had to. You know that, right?" "Let’s hope you don’t have to." She opened the car door. "I’d better get inside. It’s late and both of us start our days early." "You’re planning to work tomorrow?" he asked as he cupped her elbow and helped her up the porch stairs. "A couple of bruises aren’t enough to keep me from my students." "Why doesn’t that surprise me?" "Because you really do know me. Even after all these years." She smiled, and Levi’s heart leaped. "Does that mean you might be willing to have dinner with me tomorrow night?" "It does." "And the night after that?" "Probably." "Since you’re feeling so generous, maybe I can convince you to have dinner with me every night for the next fifty years." He pressed a hand to her back, urging her close. "You know, I don’t think it’ll take all that much convincing. I’ve been thinking that God had a reason for bringing us back together." "Yeah? What’s that?"

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"To show us both that it doesn’t matter how big or small our dreams are as long as we’re dreaming them together," she responded, and then she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled his head down and offered a kiss that required absolutely no convincing at all.

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A Forever Love By B.J. Daniels It's summer, 1954, and the woman who will one day become Pepper Winchester of the Whitehorse, Montana, Winchesters is sixteen. Traveling the West with her father, a carnie, Pepper's job is to entice young men into losing all their money playing the carnival games. But the moment she lays eyes on Hunt McCormick, she knows the young man is so much more than just another mark. She also knows that getting close to him could put them both in grave danger….

Chapter One Summer, 1954 The moment she saw him, he became more than a mark. He was young and green, clearly asking for it. He had a cocky walk that made him stand out and his hand in his pocket—another dead giveaway. She knew she had to move fast, once he… Too late. She saw that the others had spotted him and were moving in for the kill. Behind her, she heard her father's voice calling to customers over the roar in her ears. She quickly moved through the crowd. The boy was tall and broad-shouldered even though he couldn't have been much older than she. That he was handsome was the least of it. There was something about him that had drawn her attention, something that she felt in the tremor of her body and the pulsing of her blood. Snagging his arm, she knew what she had to do and hated it. "Feeling lucky?" she asked in the breathless way she'd been trained since she was old enough to talk. He grinned at her and said, "I am now." What he didn't know was that his luck had just taken a turn for the worse. *** The moment Hunt McCormick saw her, he was lost and he knew it. She was more than beautiful. There was something saucy about her, the way she flipped her long raven hair over her slim bare shoulders, the way her dark eyes shone as if she held a secret only he could unlock, the way her lips quirked up on one side with both humor and challenge. "I've never felt more lucky," he said with a laugh as her warm fingers caressed his bare suntanned arm. "What did you have in mind?" He'd barely noticed that she'd steered him out of the throng of people toward a game booth. The man inside was smiling and motioning to him. "Step right up, young man," he called as she led him over to one of the many games of chance along the midway. He felt intoxicated, drunk on the summer night and the girl on his arm. The warm summer breeze smelled of corn dogs and cotton candy and the sweet light scent of the girl's perfume. Around them music played, people shrieked and laughed as the rides clanked, and men called from booths and sideshow exhibits. He loved the cacophony of carnival sounds and smells and that feeling that anything could happen here tonight. "Win a stuffed animal for your little lady," the man in the booth said, and handed him a baseball. "Three balls, three tries, win big."

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Hunt glanced toward the metal milk bottles stacked three high, then at the young girl at his side. He would have won her the moon if she'd asked. He'd never felt more alive. "What's your name?" he asked as he turned the baseball in his hand, unable to take his eyes off her. "Pepper." Her dark gaze fired defiantly, as if she expected him to make fun of her name. "It fits you perfectly," he said. She was a spicy one, this one. "I'm Hunt. Hunt McCormick." "Twenty-five cents for three tries," the man said, holding the other two balls in one hand. "What would you like, pretty lady? A big stuffed teddy bear?" She glanced toward the large stuffed animals along the top ledge of the booth and nodded. "A teddy bear." Then she looked over at Hunt, challenge in her gaze. "Well, let's see if your boyfriend here can get it for you," the booth operator said. "Can you win the little lady a teddy bear, son?" Hunt grinned and, shifting the ball to his other hand, dug in his pocket for his money, the money he'd earned at his last job. Money that would take him at least partway to where he was headed. His money was gone.

Chapter Two "Don't make a scene," she whispered, gripping his arm tightly. Don't make a scene? She'd just picked his pocket. If she thought he was leaving here without his money, the girl was sadly mistaken. Hunt was on his way to see the world and make his fortune, and he'd made it this far by thumbing up from Texas, picking up jobs along the way. He'd been forced to stay at his last job for a couple of weeks to get a stake large enough to make it this far. Now that money was gone—and since he'd had it in his pocket just moments before… She started to move away. He tossed the baseball to the man in the booth and grabbed the girl's arm. "You aren't going anywhere." "Let go of my daughter," the man in the booth said and reached under the counter. He came out with a baseball bat. Hunt could feel others moving toward them. "Meet me tonight behind the haunted house," she whispered and pulled free. It was the pleading in her gaze that made him hesitate. She quickly stepped away from him and began calling to a group of young boys. "Move along," a burly-voiced man said behind him. He could feel the man's sour breath. Another man had joined him. Hunt had been around enough to know that if he put up a fight it would go badly. He raised both hands and took several steps back. His gaze went to the girl. She was flirting with the boys, moving them toward her father's booth. Still aware of the men just waiting for him to try to cause a scene, he turned and walked down the midway. Other game booth operators called to him, sideshow talkers offered him sights like none he'd ever seen, all of them after his money. But it was too late, a beautiful girl with dark hair and eyes had already fleeced him.

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He kept walking and didn't look back. He could feel the men watching him. If he hesitated it would go badly. He'd known the risk he was taking when he was dropped off on the outskirts of this small North Dakota town and saw the lights of the carnival. The music, the sights and smells had drawn him toward the mobile community that had sprung up in a large field just outside the city limits. The moment he'd seen the girl, he'd been glad he walked all the way out here. Now the music, the smells, the shrieks coming from the rides made his stomach roil. Common sense told him to keep going, forget the money she'd stolen from him and get on down the road. As he walked away, he knew the way he was feeling had little to do with the money and a whole lot to do with the girl. Going back to the carnival tonight was probably the craziest and most dangerous thing he could do. But he knew, however it went down, he'd be seeing her again tonight.

Chapter Three The music stopped first. Then one after another, the lights of the carnival blinked out, the open field just outside of town going dark. Hunt had gone back to the large tree in sight of the carnival where he'd left his duffel bag earlier. He had curled up next to it to wait. He knew he'd dozed off, because he awoke to the sound of vehicles leaving and the smell of dust on the night air. Now, he watched the last of the rides go still. A weighty silence filled the dark night as the carnival turned into a ghost town. As he rose and headed toward the hulking shapes of the deathly quiet carnival lot, he kept an eye on the caravan of trailers and tents at the edge of the field. The scents of the carnival still carried on the breeze as he made his way toward the back of the haunted house. He knew he was probably walking into a trap. But she'd already stolen his money. He didn't think she planned to have him beaten up, too, but you never knew. She'd warned him earlier not only with her words but her eyes. They had pleaded with him to leave quietly because she'd known what would happen if he put up a fight. At seventeen, he hadn't known that many girls in his life. None had turned his head the way this one had. He knew it was crazy. But he believed that fate would take him to the place where he could make his fortune— just as fate would throw him together with the woman he would love. And somehow, fate had put him here. The breeze stirred the tall grass as he neared the silent carnival. It appeared like a lost city out of the darkness, the silence eerie. He caught the scent of the diesel fuel used to run the rides and heard the breeze sing softly in the guyline cables anchoring the steel structures of the rides. He knew he was on a fool's errand. Did he really think he was going to get his money back? Or that the girl would even meet him where she said? Hunt stopped to glance toward the tents and old small trailers. He could see a campfire, several men huddled around it, and the flicker of lanterns inside the trailers. The big generators on the back of the semi sat silent. He knew they would have someone watching the carnival lot. He didn't see anyone but was careful to keep to the dark shadows.

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The haunted house was a wide trailer with one door toward the front for visitors to enter and a door at the rear where they could leave. The side of the trailer was painted with a scary looking house: dark bats flew in a stormy sky and a witchlike woman peered from one of the house's windows. Pepper was nowhere in sight. Had he really expected her to show? With a start, he caught the scent of her perfume on the breeze and turned, hoping she was alone and that he hadn't made the biggest mistake of his life by coming back here.

Chapter Four Pepper came out of the darkness like a ghost from the haunted house, giving him a start. "Here's your money," she whispered, pressing a wad of cash into his hand. "You don't have to count it." "Don't I?" She made a disgusted sound. "Just go." "Not until you tell me why you took it," he whispered back. "And why you're giving it back." "My father would have taken all of it from you in the game. I saved you. Just be thankful." "Why would you do that?" She shook her head as if she regretted it. He smiled. "Well, at least tell me this. How old are you?" "Sixteen." She glanced toward the caravan of tents and trailers in the distance. "Please, you have to leave before the lot man sees you." He knew he couldn't leave until he did the one thing he'd been wanting to do since the moment he'd first seen her. He took her by the arm and turned her to him. For a moment, their eyes met in the darkness lit only by the starlight. Hers shone with a fire so like her name. He thought she might slap him. Or scream for help. But when he kissed her, her lips parted and he felt as if the earth beneath his feet had fallen away. Her mouth was warm and sweet, her lips full and soft, and he knew he would never in all his life forget this kiss. As he drew back, her eyes again sparked as if with anger, but she hadn't moved out of his arms and he could feel her trembling. "If my father saw you do that, he would have you killed," she whispered. "I saved your life once. I won't again." She broke free and, before he could stop her, she ran between two of the amusements and disappeared into the darkness. He stood there until he felt he had his feet under him again. It was time to hit the road and yet he hated the thought that he would probably never see the girl again. As he started to leave, he heard the low growl of a dog and saw a man coming through the darkness toward him.

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Chapter Five Pepper moved through the darkness, not daring to look back. She couldn't believe she'd let him kiss her. She'd been warned not to get too close to the boys who came on the lot. She knew the danger. "They will play you, just like we play them," her father had warned her. "With us all they lose is their money. With them…well, my beautiful daughter, you will lose much more." She'd taken a terrible chance tonight even meeting him alone the way she had. She'd been lucky all he'd done was kiss her. So why had she taken the risk? Because something told her he was different from the other boys. The greatest risk she'd taken was that her father would find out. She crept between two trailers, the smell of the campfire in the air and the sound of murmured voices rising up from the camp. As she slipped into the small trailer and the bed at the front, which her father had made for her, she held her breath for a long moment, afraid he'd heard her sneaking out and in again. Finally, she quietly released the breath and tried to still her pounding heart. "I know what you did tonight." Her father's voice from the back of the trailer made her start. She said nothing as she touched her fingers to her lips. He had no idea. Or did he? "Don't ever do it again." Pepper closed her eyes. "I won't, Papa." The young boys who came to the carnival with coins jingling in their pockets had always been fair game. It was how she and her father survived. Her job was to lure the young men to her father's booth and encourage them to try their luck. They always lost. A few would cause trouble. Sometimes her father would give them another chance and see that they won something to settle them down. Usually they were satisfied with a cheap stuffed animal from under the counter. No one ever won the large stuffed teddy bears along the top of the booth. The rule was: Never let a beef leave your awning. Those were the ones who caused trouble. Still, a few would have to be escorted off the lot. Often, whatever the boys won they would try to give to her. She didn't take the prizes because then they would expect something in return. "It's all a game," her father had explained to her. "We just play it better than the townies. They think they're smarter than a bunch of carnies." He would shake his head, smiling in amusement. "It's just the way it is." Just like the bagman going into town ahead of the carnival to bribe the sheriff. That way there wasn't any trouble even from the ones who did have a beef after it was all over. Pepper felt ashamed for what she'd done earlier tonight. Hunt McCormick's money should be in Papa's locked metal box, which was bolted to the floor under his bed at the back of the trailer. They would need it when the season ended and they headed south again. She'd cost them money tonight and all because she'd taken a liking to some boy. The worst of it was, she had no regret that she'd let that boy kiss her. She just hoped he'd gotten off the lot without getting caught. But as she closed her eyes, she knew she couldn't save him again tonight.

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Hunt McCormick was on his own.

Chapter Six Hunt saw the dark figure of the man, the growling dog pulling on the leash and heading in his direction. He quickly slipped under the haunted house trailer and scrambled to the other side. Checking to make sure the coast was clear, he moved quickly through the dark midway, keeping to the shadows of the booths and watching out for other security. Once out in the open field, he took off at a run through the tall grass, headed for the tree and his duffel, then to a truck stop he'd seen along the highway. It wasn't until he was safely inside the truck stop café that he pulled out the wad of money Pepper had given him. To his surprise every dollar of it was there. He ordered a cheeseburger, fries and a cola and sat looking out the window toward the field and the dark skeleton of the carnival, thinking about the girl and the kiss. Grinning to himself, he knew he was going to have to spend another night here. He had to see her again. *** "We're making a jump?" Pepper asked in surprise as she heard the men tearing down the carnival before daylight. "Light take last night," her father said. "We're going on up to Williston and hoping it will be better." Like everyone else on the lot, she went to work getting ready to hit the road. Pepper was used to constantly being on the move during the season. Usually, because they were a small carnival, they moved every couple of nights. Sometimes setting up only to break down the next day to move to another location if the money was poor. She couldn't help but wonder if this had anything to do with her—and the boy she'd lured to the lot last night. He hadn't gotten caught, had he? As her father tore down his booth and loaded it on the back of their trailer, Pepper moved through the camp listening for any gossip about an outsider being caught last night around the equipment. Her heart was in her throat because she knew what could have happened to him. To her relief, she heard nothing. While no one talked about the weather, because it was bad luck, she knew everyone was worried. She'd seen the storm clouds on the horizon. Carnies were a superstitious bunch. They didn't talk about weather, they considered yellow bad luck and they never carried pennies in their pockets, believing pennies attracted more pennies. Still, if they got rained out in Williston, they would all lose money. The hope was always for warm clear-skied evenings and townies who wouldn't turn out to be lot lice—the name they had for people who just came to gawk and not spend. Practiced in moving quickly, the small nomadic city didn't take long to pull up stakes. As her father drove their truck from the grassy field and onto the highway, they fell in line behind the others. Pepper checked the road sign back into town. She always wanted to remember Dickinson, North Dakota, and the boy and her first kiss—and never make the mistake she'd made last night. That's when she saw him standing at the side of the road ahead. Hunt stood with his thumb out, his Western straw hat shoved back so there was no mistaking that handsome face of his. He was watching each carnival rig roll past. With a start, she realized he was looking for her.

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She checked her expression and stared straight ahead as if she didn't see him as they drove past, but she knew she hadn't fooled Hunt McCormick—or her father. When she dared steal a glance in her side mirror, she saw—to her horror—that the last carnival rig had stopped and Hunt was climbing into the passenger side of one of the ride jock's pickups.

Chapter Seven Hunt couldn't believe his luck as the last truck in the long line of trailers, equipment and big rigs wheezed to a stop. The man behind the wheel motioned for him to hop in. "Where you headed?" the man asked. He wore stained overalls, a battered straw hat and a sleeveless Tshirt. His arms were heavily tattooed and thick as a cottonwood tree limb. "Wherever fate and fortune take me." The man laughed a nearly toothless laugh. "You intend to get there on your thumb?" "Why not? All kind of possibilities are open to a man nowadays." "You're an interestin' fella, that's for sure. Name's Ollie," the carnie said, darting him a look that said he wasn't so sure this boy was yet a man. "Hunt," he said and shook the man's big soiled hand. "You looking to make a little money on your way to fame and fortune?" Ollie asked with no shortage of amusement. Hunt thought about Pepper riding in a truck with her father a half dozen vehicles ahead of this small moving city. "Might be interested. What did you have in mind?" *** Pepper did her best not to watch her side mirror. Her only hope was that when they stopped for gas up the road Hunt would hitch another ride out of town. The last thing she needed was for him to show up on the lot again. She knew her father would be watching for him. As she leaned back and let North Dakota roll past the window, she felt relieved that Hunt had gotten off the lot last night without any trouble. He had looked as handsome as ever beside the road—what she'd seen of him from the corner of her eye. For a moment, she let herself fantasize about Hunt McCormick and a different life than the one she now lived. What would it be like to live on one of these ranches, she wondered. As her father turned on the radio, got mostly static and finally settled on one station that wasn't too awful, she came out of her daydream with a thud. This was her life, she told herself as she listened to the tires humming loudly on the pavement of the two-lane road. Someday, she promised herself, she would leave the carnival, settle down and never move again. She smiled to herself, liking the idea of planting roots. Of course there would be a man in her life. She closed her eyes and the image of Hunt McCormick appeared. She quickly opened her eyes and sat up to glance back in her side mirror. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her father do the same.

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Chapter Eight All the time she was helping her father put up their canvas-and-wood booth, Pepper kept an eye out for Hunt. They'd stopped in a huge open field outside of Williston, near the Missouri River. It was a hot summer day and she couldn't wait to go down to the river and cool off. But first she had to make sure Hunt had gotten another ride when they'd stopped miles back to get gas. "Is it all right if I go down to the river?" she asked, mopping her brow as they finished their work. The carnival wouldn't open for several hours. Her father glanced down the midway and for a moment she saw his face darken. "Just be careful and don't be gone long. Make sure you are back in plenty of time before we open." "I will, Papa." She smiled at him, hating that she wasn't being completely honest with him. He was a good man who'd done his best to raise her after her mama died. Some days she knew he hated this business as much as she did. But he'd been born to it. She found Ollie's truck. He'd already set up his ride and there was no sign of him. Maybe, like the others, he'd headed for the river. Or into town to hit the liquor store. As she made her way to the river, she saw many of the others gathered on a small grassy spot above the water. Farther downriver, an older girl was wading at the edge of the water. Joanna Alonzo. Joanna saw her and motioned her over. "Did you see the new roustabout?" she asked, smiling as she lifted her skirts to keep them from getting wet. Pepper knew at once who she must be talking about. "Where?" she asked, looking around, panicked that Hunt might approach her in front of Joanna, who was a terrible gossip, second only to Anastasia, the carnival palm reader. "He's mine so keep your hands off him," Joanna said. She had a reputation on the lot because of her behavior with men. It was one reason Pepper's father didn't like her spending time with Joanna. Unfortunately, she was the only girl other than Pepper traveling with the carnival right now. "Did you hear me?" Joanna repeated. "I heard you. You don't have to worry. I'll keep my distance." But would Hunt? She had a bad feeling the reason he'd taken the job had something to do with her.

Chapter Nine Hunt couldn't remember the last time he'd worked this hard. Helping set up had given him a whole different perspective. He tried to imagine Pepper's life with this traveling circus-like menagerie of sword-swallowers, fire-eaters and knife-throwing, whip-cracking performers. He couldn't wait until the carnival closed so he could sneak down to the river and bathe. Setting up the ride had left him dog-tired and filthy. The worst part was that he hadn't seen Pepper, and Ollie had roped him into running the ride all night. Probably just as well he hadn't seen Pepper, given how he must look. As the ride jock, he'd been taught by Ollie how to run a "shake." "The object is to make sure whatever coins they have in their pockets fall out during the ride," the older man had instructed. "When we close, I will collect the coins. You best sleep down by the river. Some of these carnies, well, they don't like outsiders. Keep your distance and just do your job. I'll pay you in the morning

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after I get my take tonight. There could be a bonus in it for you, depending on how much you can shake out of the ride." When the lights at the front end of the horseshoe-shaped carnival lot blinked out, Hunt finished up the ride and headed for the river just as Ollie had instructed him. The moon was only a sliver in the starry sky as he reached the riverbank and stripped down. The water felt cold at first. With the bar of soap from his duffel bag, he washed, then dove deeper into the river and let the current take him a ways downriver while he stared up at the stars. As tired as he was, he couldn't remember being this content. Now if he could just find Pepper tonight. He knew it was risky going back to the lot, especially after Ollie had warned him to stay away, but if he'd been smart he would have kept on going down the road and not looked back. He had to see Pepper one more time. He rolled over and swam back upriver against the current. As he started to come out of the water, he saw the silhouette of a young woman etched against the distant lights of the town. She was standing on the bank, waiting for him.

Chapter Ten To her relief, Pepper hadn't seen Hunt all night. She'd worked hard, bringing in as much money as possible to please her father. She'd seen him earlier, talking to several of the other men, and worried that he'd been asking about the new roustabout Ollie had hired. She was determined not to give her father any reason to think she hadn't learned her lesson last night. As the carnival closed down, she went to their trailer. "I'm going to turn in early," she told her father. "I'm tired." He'd only nodded, watching her as if he thought she might be thinking about sneaking out. She went to her bed and lay staring up at the ceiling, tired but too restless to sleep. Her fear had been that Hunt might come looking for her tonight. She feared her father had been expecting the same thing. But moments ago, she'd heard Joanna singing softly outside her window. She'd looked out to see the girl sneaking down to the river and had known where she was going and why. Pepper had smelled the reek of too much perfume on her, seen the glint in her eyes as she'd sashayed past, and realized Joanna had wanted Pepper to see her, wanted her to know. She heard her father stir in the next room, then a few minutes later he began to snore. No wonder he could sleep. He knew who Joanna was meeting, might even have had a hand in it. Pepper felt sick. She told herself Hunt McCormick meant nothing to her as she squeezed her eyes shut around the sudden flow of tears. *** Hunt was almost to the riverbank when he caught a whiff of the girl's perfume and slowed as he realized it wasn't Pepper waiting for him. His disappointment was palpable. "Shall I bring you your clothes?" asked the girl. "Or shall I take mine off and join you in the river?" He was closer now and he recalled seeing her earlier. She was one of the carnival workers. He wondered who'd sent her. Would Pepper do such a thing as a message that she wasn't interested? "I don't believe we've met," he said as he took his clothes from her and pulled them on.

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Her laugh was harsh. "My name is Joanna and I brought us something to drink." She held up a bottle of wine. "Since you aren't interested in swimming with me, I will take it as an insult if you don't at least have one drink with me."

Chapter Eleven Pepper couldn't remember getting a minute's sleep, but she must have dozed off because she woke with a start to realize the trailer was moving. She sat up, blinked at the bright daylight coming through the window and realized that for the second time, they had pulled out before daylight. That usually meant trouble with the locals in one way or another. Her heart began to ache as she remembered last night and Joanna headed for the river to no doubt meet Hunt. It was for the best, she told herself. She just hoped he would move on now and that she would never have to see him again. Pepper groaned at the thought that she would have to see Joanna, though. And knowing Joanna, she would have to brag about last night. When she heard the grate of the truck's brakes and looked out, she saw that they were pulling into a gas station on the edge of some town. The towns all looked alike to her, all running together in a blur of heat and dust. She quickly rose and dressed, not surprised later, as she came out of the gas station bathroom and climbed into the cab of the pickup, to see that her father had made her a sandwich earlier. It was wrapped in waxed paper and sitting on the seat for her. He hadn't said anything else about her letting the mark go two nights ago. Now he smiled at her as she thanked him for the sandwich, and she saw that the tension in his face was gone. That must mean Hunt McCormick was gone, as well. *** Hunt woke with a killer headache to the blaring bright morning sun. He tried to sit up and felt his head swim. Lying back, he checked his watch. It was gone. Swearing, he forced himself into a sitting position. From the angle of the sun, it was late. He turned to look back toward the field where he had helped set up the carnival last night. It, too, was gone. The only sign that it had even been there was the trampled grass— and tire tracks where the rigs had pulled out. "Son of—" He lay back down and tried to remember last night. The carnie girl. She'd insisted he have some of the wine. It was the last thing he remembered. He quickly checked the place where he'd hidden his money. Gone. She'd taken everything. And on top of that, Ollie had worked him all afternoon and most of the night and then skipped out without paying him. He got up and pulled what was left of his belongings together. Let it go. Like hell. He was going after his money. All of it. And he was going after Pepper. If she'd had anything to do with this…

Chapter Twelve All day Pepper had watched her side mirror as well as the road ahead. She couldn't help thinking she would see him. But by late afternoon, when they pulled into Miles City, Montana, she knew he was gone. They had

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dropped down southwest of Williston, North Dakota, and would be making a circle of the west before fall hit and they headed back to Florida, where they wintered until the next season. Her father did odd jobs while she went to school. "I want you to have an education. I want you to have options," he told her. "I don't think this is the life for you." No, it wasn't, she thought as her father pulled the trailer through the empty field and she climbed out to help set up. Sometimes she felt as if she were sleepwalking she'd done this so many times. Then she spotted Joanna heading in her direction. She'd been surprised when the girl had avoided her. What was that about? It wasn't like Joanna not to want to brag. A cold fear settled just south of her heart as Pepper wondered what had happened last night on the river with Hunt. *** Hunt realized he didn't know which direction the carnival had gone—or how far. He could only guess. The next large city was Billings, but on a hunch, he walked into town to a 24-hour truckstop. "Did the carnival come through here either last night late or early this morning?" he asked. "Early this morning," the clerk said. "Did they happen to say which direction they were headed?" The clerk looked him over and Hunt knew he must look bad. "What did you do, miss your ride?" "I had too much to drink last night and, if I don't catch up before they set up in the next town, I'll be fired. I never thought to ask where we were going next. All the towns look the same to me." "I hear ya. All I can tell you is that they headed south." "What's south?" Hunt asked. "Sidney, Glendive, Miles City." The clerk pointed out the window at a road sign. Highway 58. "But if you're hitchin', you could be standing beside the road for a long time. That road doesn't get much traffic." The clerk had been right about that, Hunt thought three hours later. He'd walked a good ten miles but hadn't seen a vehicle other than a couple of cars that sped past without giving him the time of day. He found a creek and cleaned himself up a little before going back up to the road. The sun was high in the crystalline blue sky and, like the land, seemed to go on forever. He began walking again, thinking about Pepper—and the woman who'd drugged him last night. He couldn't wait to see both of them again.

Chapter Thirteen "I need to talk to you," Joanna whispered as she pulled Pepper behind one of the carnival booths. "I just overheard a couple of the men talking about stepping up security tonight." Pepper felt her heart drop. "What kind of trouble are they expecting?" In some towns it was locals looking for a fight after too many beers at the bar. In others it was the law. Miles City had always been wide open, and she couldn't imagine that the carnival bagman hadn't gone ahead and taken care of the "payoff" as usual. Sometimes that meant hiring local deputies. Other times it was just cash to the sheriff or police chief as assurance that the carnies wouldn't cause any trouble.

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"They're expecting that boy to come back," Joanna whispered, looking around to make sure no one was listening. The carnival had eyes and ears like any small town. Pepper didn't have to ask which boy. "Why would they think—" "Ollie pulled a red light job on him." Worked him then promised to pay him in the morning only for the carnival to skip out. Joanna didn't meet her gaze and Pepper knew there was more. "They sent you to the river last night," she said. "What did you do to him?" "I just put a little something in his wine so he would sleep. That's all." Pepper hoped that was all that had happened last night, but she wasn't about to ask for more details. She had a pretty good idea of how Joanna operated. "You took the rest of his money, too, didn't you?" "He's a mark, sucker, a clem. He knew what he was getting into. He should never have followed the carnival." Her gaze was pointed as a knife, putting the blame on Pepper for enticing the boy to follow them. There was a rule in the carnival: always leave a mark with money for gas to leave. Joanna had broken that rule and they both knew that could mean trouble. But Joanna wasn't the one to blame for this. Pepper cursed that moment of weakness she'd had the first time she'd seen Hunt McCormick. If she had let him lose his money that first night, none of this would be happening now. All she could hope was that he wasn't fool enough to come after his money again.

Chapter Fourteen Pepper began to relax a little by the time the awnings on the booths were dropped that night and she hadn't seen Hunt McCormick. Because it was the weekend, though, they were spending two days in Miles City. She wished they were moving on, putting more distance between them and Hunt. Hopefully, he hadn't known which direction they'd gone when they'd left Williston, North Dakota. Now that they were in Eastern Montana, with the towns miles apart, even if he followed them, maybe he would tire of this and give up. If only Joanna hadn't taken all his money. She couldn't wait until the day she could leave this life. As she walked through the dark toward her trailer, the whisper of the Yellowstone River called to her in the distance. The moon and stars lit the way as she walked down to the river's edge. It had been one of those hot July days, and the feel of the cool water as she took off her shoes and waded in soothed some of her worry. The water lapped at her ankles. She lifted her skirt higher to wade a little deeper. "I hope you know how to swim." The sound of the male voice made her jump. Her heart took off at a gallop as she spun around, almost losing her balance on the river rocks. "You shouldn't be here," she whispered, and looked down the river, afraid there might be others out here tonight. "Where should I be?" he asked as he walked into the water, fully clothed, including his boots. "What are you doing?" "I'm going swimming. With you."

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She shook her head fiercely and started toward the shore, but he caught her, holding her shoulders as he walked her back toward the deeper water. "You never answered me," he said, so close she could feel his warm breath fan her cheek, just a whisper away from her lips. "Do you know how to swim? I sure hope so," he said as they were suddenly in deep water.

Chapter Fifteen Pepper was struck with fear. "What are you going to do to me?" He pulled her to him, pressing his body to hers to keep them both afloat. Her wet clothing clung to her curves, leaving nothing to the imagination. She saw his gaze lower to her small, firm breasts. "What should I do with you?" he whispered. She shook her head, unable to find her voice as they floated downriver, away from the carnival. "I know what I'd like to do to you," he said, his voice rough with emotion. She shivered and he drew her intimately closer, keeping her head above water until they were around several bends in the river. "If you're after your money, you have the wrong girl," she said, finally finding her voice. He shook his head. "I have the right girl." His gaze flashed. "I don't know what she told you, but I wanted nothing to do with her and she knew it. That's probably why she drugged me and took all my money." "I can try to get some of it back for you." She knew that would be impossible, but she had a little of her own saved from salvaging spare coins from the lot after they closed. "Do you really think I'm here because of the money?" he asked as he swam them toward a secluded riverbank. Pepper swallowed thickly. She knew she should be afraid. They had floated far enough away from the carnival that if she screamed for help no one would hear her. Why hadn't she screamed the moment she saw him standing on the bank? She feared the answer as she stood, still locked in his arms, the water moving around them. Her gaze met his and she shivered at what she saw in his eyes, what she felt when she looked at him. Heat radiated from his strong, solid body and yet her nipples ached from the cold and the heat of his look. He laughed softly as he drew her over to the edge of the bank until they could both stand out of the current in a quiet eddy. His gaze locked on hers. "Do you really think I would risk my life for money?" he asked. Pepper shivered as his gaze moved to her mouth. She felt her lips part, her breath coming faster as he slowly lowered his head to brush a kiss over her mouth. "No, Pepper," he said. "I came back for you."

Chapter Sixteen Hunt kissed her, wondering what it was about this girl that had stolen not only his heart—but his senses. He had taken his life in his hands by coming back here. The other night, the drugging, had been a warning. He had no doubt that warning had come from Pepper's father.

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If he were caught with her now… "Run away with me," he whispered as he drew back from the kiss. "You talk foolish. You are just a boy." He raised a brow. "I might be only seventeen, but I can assure you, I am a man and from the feel of your body against mine, you are definitely a woman." He felt her tremble in his arms, well aware of how her wet clothing clung to her curves and of her desire. It shone in her eyes. "I'm not leaving here without you." He swung her up in his arms and carried her to the bank, where he gently lowered her to the grass. "I want you. Do you want me?" He saw her swallow, her slim throat working, then she put her arms around his neck and slowly pulled him down. *** Pepper had never known such tenderness. She would always remember the sweet smell of the grass, the soft starlight twinkling overhead and the murmur of the river the night Hunt McCormick made love to her on the banks of the Yellowstone. Later she would tell herself that it couldn't have been love. They were too young. But in her heart she would always know the truth. That night she'd fallen so deeply and completely in love no man would ever be able to take Hunt's place in that secret part of her heart. "I mean what I said," Hunt said as they lay in each other's arms afterward. "Run away with me."

Chapter Seventeen Pepper shook her head slowly. "You know we are both too young and I can't leave my father. He needs me. When I'm older…" "I will come back for you then," Hunt said, rising up on one elbow to look down into her face. "I promise. I will go make my fortune and then if I have to search the world over, I will find you and make you my wife." She smiled up at him, touched, but knowing he would soon forget her, while she would never get over him. He was a dreamer, something she'd never let herself be because her life was so rooted in reality. "Here," he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a gold chain with a tiny gold heart hanging from it. She recognized the cheap jewelry. It was something he must have won at a carnival booth before she'd met him that first night. "I know it's nothing," he said as he put it around her neck, "but one day I will replace it with real gold and diamonds. You have my word." She kissed him, then got up hurriedly to collect her clothing, realizing that in her desire for him she had endangered his life. "You must go now," she said as she pulled on her damp clothing. "Promise me that you will never come near the carnival again." He looked sad but resigned as he rose and dressed. "I promise. As long as you promise to wait for me." She nodded, fighting tears. "Now go."

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He kissed her and she felt herself melt against him for a long moment. Then she jerked back as she heard the crack of a twig in the pine trees behind them.

Chapter Eighteen "Get out of here," Hunt whispered, and pushed her toward a game trail along the edge of the riverbank. "Go." She ran, knowing it would be bad enough if they caught him, but if she was with him… One look at her and they would know what had happened between the two of them. Pepper worked her way back to where she'd left her shoes on the riverbank, but they were gone. She felt sick to her stomach as she saw a lantern light on in her trailer. Her father had awakened and found her gone. What had he thought when he'd discovered her shoes and nothing else on the riverbank? Hurrying, she ran through the darkness toward her trailer and was almost there when a hand grabbed her arm and jerked her back into the shadows between the trailers. "Shhh," Joanna warned. She studied Pepper for a moment in the dim light, then sighed as if seeing everything in her face. "I tried to find you and warn you," she whispered. "When your father discovered you gone, they came looking for you. They found that boy's footprints in the soft earth by the shore. They know." Ice filled her veins. "They'll kill him." Joanna drew her farther into the shadows. "There is nothing you can do. Go back to your trailer. Your father is very upset and has gone with the other men to look for you." Pepper swallowed, fingering the tiny gold heart dangling from her neck, sick that she had upset her father and worse, that he would know what she had done and never forgive her. Maybe what made it worse was that she wasn't sorry about what had happened between her and Hunt. She could never have dreamed of a more perfect first time. "I have to help Hunt," she cried. "I love him." Joanna scoffed. "Anything you try to do will only make it worse." "If you hadn't taken his money, he wouldn't have come back." In her heart, she knew that wasn't true. But Joanna didn't. "Because of that, you're going to help me."

Chapter Nineteen The men came out of the darkness so quickly Hunt didn't have time to react—even if he hadn't been outnumbered. Nor did he put up a struggle. Not that it stopped them from beating him up. When they finally stopped, he thought it was over but realized they'd just been taking their frustration out on him. They had something else planned for him as they grabbed him and hauled him back toward the carnival lot. He told himself being with Pepper had been worth it. No regrets. Tonight would last him a lifetime—if it had to. "Take him to Chester," one of the men said. Hunt felt his heart drop as he remembered that Chester was billed as "The Man-Eating Crocodile." The night before he'd met Pepper, he had seen one of the carnies throw chunks of raw meat into the pit where the croc was kept. He shuddered.

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He'd expected the men to beat him up. He hadn't expected them to kill him. Worse, he realized they could make it look like an accident. He'd come on the lot after hours, possibly to steal something, and had stumbled into the crocodile pit. The pit was a wooden box that Hunt realized could be his coffin in a few minutes. He struggled but there were too many of them, and they were strong as bulls from all the heavy lifting they did on a daily basis. "You don't want to do this," he said. "You're the one who shouldn't have done what you did," said one of the men. He recognized the voice as Pepper's father's and knew nothing he could say would save him now. Hunt could hear the croc in the pit begin to thrash around in expectation of a meal. The thrashing increased in volume as two of the men slid off the heavy boards on top of the pit. The other men lifted him, carrying him toward the pit where the man-eating crocodile waited expectantly for him. *** Joanna's blood-curdling scream seemed to freeze in the summer night air. She screamed again, the terror now real. Pepper held her breath. She had seen the men take Hunt into the tent and knew what awaited him inside there. Tears and pleading would not save him. She'd had to resort to more drastic measures once she realized her father was in that tent with the other men. Pepper knew her father. He was a good man—until he was crossed. Every man on the carnival knew not to come near his daughter. Hunt had crossed a line that could not be uncrossed. There would be no mercy. She couldn't even imagine what her own punishment would be. Right now it didn't matter. She had to save Hunt, Pepper thought as she peered into the dark tent. Joanna's screams had stopped the men. Several of them had gone to the door of the tent and looked out. "Waldo escaped!" Joanna cried, with a choking sound that made it clear that the huge snake was already wrapped around her. "He has me. Help me!" The men immediately dropped Hunt to the ground and took off running toward her, yelling for others to come help. Pepper knew she had to move fast.

Chapter Twenty "Waldo's escaped and he has me." That was all Hunt heard before he was dropped to the dirt an instant before the men all went running outside. He tried to get up but fell back in pain. Several of his ribs were broken. He rolled onto his side, the pain nearly making him black out. As he tried to get onto all fours, he felt a hand touch his shoulder. "Here, let me help you," Pepper said. "My ribs," he ground out. "Just let me lean on you."

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Together, they managed to get him on his feet and out the back door of the tent. She led him to an old pickup. "The keys are in it. The minute you start it, they will hear the engine. Drive as fast as you can. Leave the truck up the highway on the way to Lewistown. As long as they get it back, they won't come after you." He touched her face with his fingertips. "What will they do to you?" "Don't worry about me," she said with a lift of her chin. "I can take care of myself." He shook his head. "I can't leave you." "You can't help me. Not in your condition. The best thing you can do for me is to get out of here now." "I'll find you after I make my fortune." He leaned toward her, kissed her softly, then painfully climbed into the pickup. She closed the truck door quietly and realized she was crying. She couldn't bear to see him so hurt and knew that more of it was worry about her than the pain from his beating. She clung to the edge of the open window, her feet on the running board as she leaned in to touch his face before she hopped down. "Go," she cried as she heard a commotion in the tent behind them. "Hurry!" "Wait for me!" he said as he turned the key in the ignition. The old pickup motor rumbled to life. Hunt popped the clutch and the truck lunged forward across the open field, roaring away as the men came racing out after him. The last thing she saw was the pickup's taillights as Hunt swerved onto the main highway. And then he was gone. She swallowed back her tears as she felt her father's large hand grip her shoulder. He didn't say a word. He didn't need to. She saw both his disappointment and anger in the hard glint of his eyes. Pepper lifted her chin. Just as she'd told Hunt, she could take care of herself. Whatever happened now, she wasn't worried. She'd known true love. A part of her would always be waiting for Hunt McCormick to come for her. In her heart lived the belief that one day Hunt would find her and they would be together. She held on tightly to that as daylight broke on the horizon and the sound of the pickup's old engine died off in the distance.

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Daniel's Gift by Wendy Warren Elliana Goldman has always longed for a big family of her own. Though a man to love was always part of the dream, at the age of thirty-five, with no prospects of romance looming, Elliana is ready to create life, not wait for it to happen. She’s not against using an anonymous donor, but she’d rather handpick her baby’s father. And something tells her former classmate—and one-time crush—Daniel Bowman is the right man for the job. Daniel has a reputation in Honeyford for being unwilling to commit to anything more than breakfast, but the truth is a little more complicated than that. He’s not a man who takes family lightly, so he’s floored when Elliana asks him to father a child, no strings attached. And he’s even more surprised when his growing attraction to her has him tempted to agree to make a baby—the old-fashioned way!

Chapter One Elliana Goldman remembered several things about her mother: The way Laurel had sung, "I love Ellie in the springtime" when she’d tucked her daughter into bed at night; the fact that she had always worn pretty shoes; and how her soft arms had smelled of white ginger and vanilla bean and hugged Ellie as if they would never, ever let go. Even though Laurel had been an exceptionally beautiful and genial woman, she had not minded that her only child required glasses as thick as flapjacks, or that Elliana seemed more comfortable with books and music than she did with people. "Every blade of grass has an angel watching over it, whispering, ’Grow…grow.’" Laurel had painted the quote from the Talmud on the wall above Elliana’s bed, and sometime later, beneath it, she’d added, "Growing things take time." When Elliana was seven, her mother had gotten cancer, shrinking to the size of a child herself before she’d passed on. In all, Laurel and Elliana had spent fewer than two handfuls of years together, but in that time Elliana learned it was possible to be loved fully and completely, for being nothing more than herself. Twenty-eight years later, she was ready to admit that her chances of being loved like that again were slim to none. And she was prepared to do something about it. Bowman Gas and Auto Repair. Trust your car to us. Standing outside a worn building that housed one of the two filling stations in Honeyford, Oregon, Elliana read the blue-lettered sign above the mechanic’s office. Like the rest of the dull exterior, the sign showed neglect, with most of the letters scratched through in spots, and she had to remind herself not to judge the mechanic by the building. She had reason to believe he was responsible and good at what he did. He’d better be. She was about to trust a lot more than her car to Daniel Bowman. "Hello!" Giving three firm raps to the aluminum trim of the open garage door, Elliana peered inside the dark space. Early June sunshine and the serviceable straw hat she wore made it difficult to see very far into the garage. But as her eyes adjusted, she spied Daniel standing beneath a pickup truck that was hoisted atop a hydraulic lift. Clad in grease-stained denim jeans and a T-shirt that stretched across his broad chest and shoulders, he looked like a teenage girl’s daydream—the rebel who would ride up to her house on a motorcycle and whisk

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her away while her father yelled, "Stop!" In fact, if rumors could be believed, Daniel had done exactly that— with more than one girl—in high school. Now, sixteen years past his teens, he was still as handsome as sin. With Bruce Springsteen playing on a boom box, Daniel appeared not to have heard her. Administering several staccato taps to the aluminum, Elliana raised her voice. "Excuse me! May I come in?" Ducking his head between his raised arms, Daniel squinted against the daylight. Elliana raised her hand and waggled her fingers as he looked toward the front of the garage. Giving something on the car a final twist, he shoved a tool into his back pocket and pulled out a rag to wipe his hands. As he walked toward her, his stride long and lazy, Daniel’s sky-blue eyes maintained contact in a way that was effortlessly sensual. "Blue Ford Focus. Bad water pump. You brought it in last month. Right?" His velvety baritone settled over Elliana like a blanket. They had lived in the same small Central Oregon town for much of their lives, yet their paths had rarely intersected. Four weeks ago, she had brought her car in as an excuse to see him up close. He had been distant and professional, and she hadn’t expected him to remember her today. Now she felt the appalling urge to giggle. For a woman who was tall and sturdy with average looks and a practical nature, giggling over a man seemed ridiculous. She offered a brisk nod, instead, and tried to sound matter-of-fact. "Yes, in May. I’m not sure I formally introduced myself at the time. I’m Elliana Goldman. We attended the same high school." His slow, amused smile revealed teeth as white and shiny as snow in the sun. "I know who you are. You sat up front in Mr. Young’s biology class and raised your hand every time he asked a question. Got all the answers right, too." He crossed his arms and grinned. "You were a hard act to follow. Any problems with the pump?" He remembered her from high school. "The pump?" she murmured. "No. No problems at all. You did a fine job. Very timely and reasonably priced." "Good… So why was that the first time you brought your car to me, Elliana? You still live in town, don’t you?" "Yes, I do, but…" Caught off guard, she stammered. "I often work in Bend, and I do some of my business there, so…I’ve always heard you were an excellent mechanic, it’s not that—" He reached out, lightly touching her shoulder. "Hey, relax. I was teasing." Elliana’s shoulder tingled until he dropped his hand and returned the rag he held to a back pocket. "So, what can I do for you? I’m running a brake special if you need one." She wagged her head. A brake special was not even close to what she needed from him. "I think my brakes are all right, thank you." Perspiration began to dampen the armpits of the pale green sundress she’d donned for this meeting. "My business is of a more personal nature, Mr. Bowman, if you don’t mind taking time from your workday?" "I don’t mind, but if this is about the auction for Honeyford Presbyterian, I already donated a lube, oil and filter—" "It’s not about the auction." Elliana twined her fingers, wondering how on earth was she going to broach the matter she’d come to discuss. She’d rehearsed in her mind and even in front of the mirror for the past several weeks, but that had been poor preparation for facing the man in person.

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Introverted by nature, she had discovered long ago that being plainspoken and as direct as possible served her well. Hoping that would hold true today, she took a deep breath. "Even though you remember me from school—" she began "—I realize we don’t truly know each other. What I’m about to say is sure to come as a surprise." Daniel’s expression slipped into confusion. "I’m thirty-five years old. I’ve never been married, and I don’t expect that to change in the near future. But I do want children." Obviously growing wary, he shrugged. "Okay." Checking his watch, he jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Listen, I’ve got to finish this transmission by noon, so—" "Of course." She shook her head. "Let me just get to the point then." Trying to sound as confident as she’d felt when she’d planned her course of action, she said, "Please understand I’ve given this matter a great deal of thought. I don’t want to wait any longer to have a child. I need someone to help me accomplish my goal, and I’d rather not go to a total stranger. I don’t expect—or want—an ongoing relationship, but I would like to know who the father of my child is." Daniel’s intense blue eyes nearly disappeared beneath the swoop of his jet-black brows. Reminding herself not to gauge his response until she’d said everything she’d come to say, Elliana plunged on. "Mr. Bowman…Daniel… After much thought about the kind of man I need, I’m wondering…hoping…" Daniel’s eyes widened. "Will you help me have a child?"

Chapter Two Pulling his jaw up from the concrete floor of his gas station garage, Daniel searched for a response that would adequately convey his reaction to what Elliana Goldman had just proposed. "Are you out of your ever-loving mind?" Elliana was tall for a woman, only a few inches shorter than his six feet, but the brim of her ugly straw hat hid her eyes. "Take that hat off," he ordered. "I want to see your eyes so I’ll know whether you’re kidding or not." "I most certainly am not ’kidding,’ Mr. Bowman. This matter is far too important to me to joke about." More quietly, she added, "I told you my request might come as a surprise." "A surprise?" Daniel stared in disbelief at the woman he had known only peripherally. He could use his fingers to count the words they’d exchanged prior to last month, when she’d brought her car to him. Yet she’d somehow decided it was reasonable to waltz in here today and ask him to—he could hardly think it, much less take her seriously—father her child. "Let’s take this one step at a time," he said, praying no one pulled up to the gas station while they were having this conversation. "First, you just asked me to have unprotected sex, so don’t call me ’Mr. Bowman.’ Second—" "I did not!" Her head shot up so fast it looked as if she was going to snap her slender neck. "I did not ask you to have unprotected sex…or any sex! I asked you to be a sperm donor."

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"What?" She nodded furiously, flapping the brim of the straw hat in his face, then admitted, "I suppose I didn’t get to the sperm part yet— I mean, I didn’t explain that specific detail, but I was getting there. Good heavens, you didn’t think I actually wanted to—" Her lips opened in an affronted O. "I barely know you." Daniel shook his head in disbelief. "I fell down, didn’t I? I have a concussion." He felt his head. "My skull is fractured. It’s got to be that, because nobody conscious would be having this conversation." "Mr. Bowman—" "I said, do not call me Mr. Bowman. Only people who have never asked me to donate sperm call me that. And take that damn hat off so I can see your face!" "I’ll keep my hat right where it is, thank you," she said stiffly. "Responding with a simple no would suffice, but your meaning is perfectly clear. I won’t trouble you any further. Good morning." Unbelievably, she turned to walk away. "Oh, no you don’t," he said. Without asking this time, he pulled the hat off her head. A burst of outrage turned her ivory skin as red as her hair. Even though they’d run in completely different circles in high school, Daniel remembered a couple of things about Elliana Goldman, including the impossibly thick red hair she’d wrangled into tight braids. These days she was abusing it by scraping the mass into a bun on top of her head. Then and now, several wavy tendrils refused to behave, springing wildly around her face and softening her sharper, more angular bone structure. The other thing he remembered was her inherent decency. Once, a new girl in their biology class had fumbled during frog dissection, spilling amphibian guts and formaldehyde. The other kids, his friends included, had laughed. Unbidden, Elliana had rushed forward to help, reassuring the tearful girl and matterof-factly disposing of frog parts. The incident stood out because her action had made him—the star of every local sports team and the homecoming king of Lewis and Clark High—feel small and petty by comparison. The fact was he’d admired Elliana from that day forward. Because of that, he decided to talk some sense into her. "Look, what are you planning to do?" he asked, feeling her arm muscles flex beneath his fingers as she tried to pull away. "Run all over town until you find someone willing to be recruited?" "Of course not!" Her hazel eyes narrowed in displeasure. "You keep jumping to conclusions. There are sperm banks, you know. The donor doesn’t have to be someone I’ve met face-to-face. I merely thought I would prefer to know the father of my child. And you…" "I, what?" "You…suddenly popped into mind." She was a bad liar. Her chest turned pink all the way up to a pair of elegant collarbones. "That’s bull," Daniel countered. "You said your regular mechanic is in Bend, yet you brought your car in here last month. You’ve had this planned at least that long. Why me?" "Because I’m intelligent and practical, and you’re attractive and social. And it’s a proven fact that pretty, gregarious people fare better in the job market and other venues." She shrugged. "I thought you’d balance the gene pool."

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Incredulous, Daniel let go of her arm as if it were hot steel. "That’s a little clinical, don’t you think?" Shrugging once more, she plopped the ugly, eye-shading hat onto her head…but not before Daniel noted the shine of tears. He felt a corresponding wave of compassion. "Look, right now you may think you need to have a kid this way, but give it some time." He offered an understanding smile. "You’re around my age, right?" he asked. "Thirty-five, you said? You’ve still got time to meet someone who wants kids. Why sign up for single parenthood? When the crap hits the fan—and it will—you’ll be glad you waited until you’ve got a partner." "Stop. Right now," Elliana interrupted him, auburn brows lowered, aristocratic nostrils flared with ire. "Do you think this is a whim? That I haven’t thought my decision through completely?" "I’m sure you have. Theoretically. You’ve obviously given a lot of thought to gene pools and sperm banks. But what do you really know about raising kids?" Shaking his head, he ran a hand through his hair. "It’s a lot more complicated than most people think. You know, some people live perfectly good lives without having children of their own. Maybe you ought to step back a couple of paces. Forget about how you’re going to go about this and reconsider why—" "I came here to ask for your help, not to be given a lecture on the advisability of having a child in the first place!" she interrupted, frustration oozing from every pore. Elliana was so upset that Daniel reached out to squeeze her elbow, but she jerked away. "Wait a minute! Now I get it." Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears. "It’s not that you won’t do it; you can’t do it." Her eyes went big and round. "What are you—" "I know some men have that problem—rarely when they’re as young as you, of course—" "What the hell—" "—and I had heard rumors. I just didn’t believe them. Oh my, I’m sorry if I touched on a sore spot. Don’t worry, though, because I’m sure…well, pretty sure…no one else has taken the rumors seriously, either. Well, good luck." Turning with her nose in the air, Elliana Goldman sped out of Daniel’s garage. He caught up with her just as she reached for the handle on her car door. Slamming his palms on the hood of her blue sedan, Daniel trapped her between his arms. Releasing an uncharacteristic squeal, Elliana whipped around. Fairly certain he had never wanted to win any point more in his life, Daniel loomed over her, his heart hammering close to hers, their lips nearly touching. "Darlin’, I am perfectly capable of giving you what you need." Speaking low and intently, he wove his words around her like a snake. "But when I do that sort of thing, I do not do it into a cup."

Chapter Three Elliana’s heart beat like hummingbird wings. She knew when she was blushing, and she figured her skin was currently the shade of strawberry jam. The moment she had decided to ask Daniel Bowman to be her sperm donor was clearly the moment she’d gone completely insane. As a naturally cautious person, she thought she’d explored her plan to have a child

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via artificial insemination and her decision to request Daniel’s help from every angle. But she hadn’t imagined that his refusal would spark such grief and embarrassment inside her, or that her wounded feelings would egg her into suggesting he’d refused because he was impotent. "Darlin’, I’m perfectly capable of doing what you want. But when I do that, I do not do it into a cup." His comeback had sparked the heated blush presently infusing her neck and face. All she wanted now was to escape from his gas station, lick her wounds, and possibly move to another country to minimize the chances of ever having to see him again. "We seem to be back at the beginning," she pointed out, her voice pinched as she struggled to remain calm with Daniel’s muscular arms bracketing her against the side of her car, their bodies almost touching. "One of us is talking about creating a life and one of us is talking about sex with a stranger." "Your sense of propriety is inspiring." One of his dark brows arched. "I’m going to ask you one more time: Why me? And this time, don’t screw with me, Ellie. I want a real answer." Ellie. Few people other than her mother had ever called her that. With most people she remained too formal to inspire a nickname. "I did give you a real answer," she insisted. Maybe she’d prevaricated a little, but when she’d told him he possessed a number of the qualities she did not—extraordinary looks, superior physical coordination, the ability to make friends and converse easily—she had meant it. "It’s not that I want a designer baby," she hastened to assure him. "It’s simply that certain qualities make life easier for a person. I think it’s only natural to want one’s child to have an easier time in life. Don’t you?" His eyes narrowed, perhaps because he didn’t like her answer, or perhaps because of the sun that was beating down on them. Elliana could see the sheen of perspiration beginning to cover his biceps as they formed a frame on either side of her head. At five-feet-nine inches tall, she was not a petite woman; Daniel Bowman was possibly the only man she had ever known who made her feel small. Without responding to her question, he asked another of his own. "What made you think I’d agree to help you? It’s a big leap from ’How’ve you been since high school?’ to ’Want to help me have a baby?’ And you wouldn’t have asked if you hadn’t assumed I’d say yes." When she hesitated, Daniel growled, "I can see the wheels turning in that busy brain of yours. Just give it to me straight. " Given the way he’d been reacting this morning, she sensed he wasn’t going to like her answer, but since she had nothing left to lose, she took a deep breath and said in a rush, "I heard you’re a ladies’ man and that no woman is ever going to get you to settle down, so I thought you might be willing to have a child if you knew in advance that no responsibilities would be required of you." There was a moment’s quiet. Then thunder roared beneath the clear blue sky. "You what? You thought I’d agree to be a stud service?" Elliana winced. Put that way… Seated in the stylist’s chair at Delilah’s Hair Hive, Honeyford’s premier beauty salon, Elliana had been listening for years to local gossip. Daniel’s name popped up occasionally, usually with a couple of women complaining that Daniel was great for a date, but nothing more. Nori, a stylist with a tiny diamond in her nose and a shiny gold ring in her belly button, complained, "I can’t get him to commit to anything more than breakfast." "Actually, I thought you might want to be part of bringing a new life full of hope and promise into the world," Elliana told him, opting for the positive approach. "Ellie." His brows dipped further in warning.

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Right. He wanted it straight. "I heard there was an incident the summer before you went to college." Every muscle in Daniel’s body tensed. With his breath coming more rapidly, he said, "Gossip, Ellie? That’s what you based your decision on?" Well, partly. Indignation rolled off Daniel like heat waves. Extricating herself from the situation seemed like a better idea all the time. "This car is getting a little toasty against my back. Would you mind stepping away, please?" In lieu of complying, Daniel bent his elbows, bringing his face even closer. "Yes, I do mind. I need some more time to think this situation through. See, my brain doesn’t work as quick as yours, what with you being intelligent and full of values and me being brawny and morally bereft." He blinked. "Hey, ’bereft.’ I’m surprised I knew that word." "All right, very funny. You’ve made your point. Now if you’ll please—" "You know, you’re not half bad looking…when you’re not wearing that ridiculous hat." He glanced down leisurely, where her scoop-necked sundress revealed the fair, freckled skin of her chest and made perfectly evident the fact that although she wore a bra, nature had not endowed her with enough raw material to truly require one. Bending an elbow on the roof of the car, Daniel rested his temple in his palm and murmured, "By damn, why not? What’s more important than bringing hope and promise to a troubled world?" He nodded decisively. "Honeypie, consider this your lucky day." His heavily lashed lids lowered partway, turning his sharp blue gaze into liquid bedroom eyes. "I’ve changed my mind. I’ll be happy to give you your heart’s desire." Sneaking beneath the brim of her hat, he got so close that his lips brushed her ear, and despite the day’s mounting temperature, goose bumps raced along Elliana’s arms. His voice was a lion’s purr when he added, "But we’re going to do it the good old-fashioned way." Elliana’s heart slammed against her chest. She turned her head so fast her hat flew from her head. Her nose skimmed across Daniel’s cheek, and her mouth, opened in a broad soundless O, aligned perfectly with his. Close enough to kiss, his lips curled in a beautiful, ironic quirk. "What’s the matter, Ellie? All of a sudden you’re real quiet." Before she could collect the thoughts that were scattering like field mice, a police car pulled into the gas station, rolling past the pumps and coming to a stop thirty feet from where they stood. Daniel glanced over his shoulder. When he saw the vehicle, he straightened away from her, his shoulders squaring, his back ramrod straight. He inhaled sharply then appeared to hold his breath. Elliana watched an officer emerge from the driver’s side, cross around to the rear passenger door and open it to emit a stocky teenager with thick dark hair and an expression that said he’d like to challenge the world to a pissing match. Daniel did release his breath then—on an explosive, under-his-breath curse that Elliana hoped only she heard. And then he whispered in a fervent prayer, "Dear God, not again."

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Chapter Four Putting away the dinner she had barely touched, Elliana wiped her kitchen counter with the calm precision she had lately begun to think of as fussy. A dull grief had settled over her since she’d left Daniel’s, around noon. Asking him to help her have a child had seemed like a good idea—a brave idea. But she had approached him based on what she thought she knew about him. The fact was her life hadn’t changed all that much since high school, and she had made the mistake of thinking the same might be true of him. Now she knew she’d made a horrible mistake. When her doorbell rang, she said a silent thank you for the distraction, hoping one of her neighbors had decided to drop by for a chat so she could stop thinking about Daniel for five minutes. She hurried to the door, but when she opened it, the hope of reprieve fled. Daniel stood on her doorstep, tall and handsome. He had showered and changed since this morning, but appeared exhausted. "I looked up your phone number and address in my records. I probably should have called, but…" He shrugged. "May I come in?" One look at his face—beautifully sculpted, serious, concerned—and her heart thumped with foolish emotion. She’d stayed at the gas station long enough this morning to hear the police officer explain that Daniel’s younger brother, Chad, had been caught with marijuana at his high school. Though Daniel had clearly been surprised by the allegation that Chad was doing drugs, his reaction—furious, frustrated and righteously indignant—told her it wasn’t the first time Chad had gotten into trouble at school. It told her, too, that Daniel was responsible for his brother, a fact of which she’d been entirely unaware. "Sure." She stepped back as he entered the living room of her modest bungalow. "Pretty," he said, acknowledging the pale-colored slipcovers, the vases of flowers from the garden and the carefully arranged knickknacks. Elliana wondered whether he saw what she did: A single woman’s tooperfect attempt to create home. This morning he had asked her why she had come to him with the request that he help her have a baby. She’d offered a couple of answers, but had left out the most compelling one: the fact that she’d had a huge crush on him in high school. Who hadn’t? But for Elliana, the crush wasn’t only about his wonderful looks or his success on the football field. She had loved the way he spoke to people—with kindness and his full attention. She hadn’t fooled herself that they would ever date, but Daniel Bowman had become the epitome of the man she’d hoped to find someday. Now he was in her home…and he looked miserable. Running a hand through his wavy hair, he said, "I owe you an apology. You asked me to help you, and I responded like a juvenile delinquent. My only excuse is that I was caught off guard, and my life lately—" "Don’t apologize!" she interrupted. "Please don’t. I’ll just feel worse than I already do." Twining her fingers, she said, "After I saw you with your brother, I realized I’d misjudged your situation, Daniel. Misjudged you. The truth is, I owe you an apology. I asked you for help based on preconceived ideas when, really—" she shook her head slowly "—I don’t know you at all." He watched her a moment without speaking, then murmured, "’Preconceived ideas.’" Ever-so-slowly, he hooked a brow at her. "Do I want to know what they are?"

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"Probably not." "Well, that settles it." Crossing to the sofa, he sat, folded his arms across his chest and stared up at her. "Let me have it. You mentioned a rumor from several years ago. I’m sure I know what it is, but I’m curious about how it’s morphed over the years. What have you heard, Ellie?" Seeing him on her sofa, curiosity and even amusement now underscoring the fatigue, Elliana relaxed a bit. With nothing to lose, she admitted quickly, "I heard that when it comes to women, you won’t commit to anything past breakfast, and even then it has to be instant." He slapped a hand over his heart. "Wounded to the quick." She started to apologize, but the corners of his lips twitched, and he asked, "Anything else?" Elliana hesitated, but she was already in for a penny. "The summer after our freshman year of college, I heard that a girl you were dating got pregnant and begged you to marry her, but you refused. According to the rumor, she had the child on her own and wore him around campus in a sling. I admit to believing the story at the time, but after getting to know you…I’m guessing it was heavily embellished." Uncrossing his arms, Daniel braced his hands on the sofa like an eagle spreading his wings to claim all the airspace he could. The twitch of amusement previously on his lips turned into a scowl. "I was slapped with a paternity the second semester of my freshman year at Montana U," he said, cutting to the chase. "I did have sex with the girl who claimed I was her baby’s father, but I’d used a condom, and the timing seemed off. My first year of college was earmarked by blood tests and talks with lawyers, plus her angry parents, and my disappointed ones." He leaned forward and spoke so fervently Elliana felt chills along her arms. "I wasn’t the baby’s father, Elliana. If I had been, I would have stepped up to the plate. I do not take the creation of a life lightly, and that experience made me doubly careful. I haven’t been accused of fathering a child since." Elliana nodded. Daniel’s eyes narrowed. "You thought I might be willing to father a child and walk away, because you believed I’d done it once before." A shame-filled blush filled her cheeks. "Guilty. I’m very sorry." Rising, Daniel turned to gaze out her window. "Once I saw you with your brother—" she continued "—I realized the old story wasn’t true. I already knew you had a brother, but I didn’t realize he was so young. Or that you were responsible for him. Have you been his guardian for a long time?" Daniel’s nod was barely perceptible. "Since I was twenty-two. He was a change-of-life baby for our parents, and they were thrilled. He was supposed to be my brother, not my son. Chad was three when they died in a car accident. Hit-and-run. For all of us." She watched his broad shoulders tense, and wished she could rub the hurt away. Before she said anything, he turned. "It’s true about breakfast, you know. When I spend the night with a woman—which is rare these days with a teenager around—but when I do, I’m gone way before sunrise." He shrugged. "Once when Chad was at outdoor school, I stayed for a bowl of raisin bran. No coffee." Elliana smiled. "Good coffee does require a time commitment."

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Daniel smiled, too, then sobered and turned toward her fully. "I can’t help you, Elliana. Not by donating sperm, and not…" By doing it "the old-fashioned way," she thought, hearing his words again in her head. "Any other way," he concluded. She nodded. Emotionally, she’d been on her own a long time. She knew how to be strong when she had to be. Giving Daniel a reassuring nod, she said, "I know. So it’s back to plan A. I phoned the Northwest Fertility Center this afternoon and told them I’m ready to get started." "Northwest Fertility Center?" She smiled as brightly as she could. "A.K.A. sperm bank. If everything goes well, the next time I see you I could be pregnant."

Chapter Five Silhouetted by evening light streaming gently through the living-room window, Daniel stared at Elliana. "You’re going to go through with it?" "Of course." A bubble of frustration rose inside Elliana, but she quickly popped it. "Not doing it isn’t a consideration." Using a sperm donor to get pregnant was a controversial issue, and she hadn’t discussed her plans with many people. But now she felt an urge to make Daniel understand. Walking around the chair she’d been standing behind, she sat and looked up at him. "I lost my mother when I was ten, Daniel. I never knew my father. My great-aunt Lillie raised me, and she was a doll—loving and kind—but it was just the two of us. It got lonely. I must have dreamed my whole life of a big family. A man to love was part of that dream." She shrugged, half philosophical and half frustrated. "It hasn’t happened, and I’m tired of waiting for something that may never come. I want to create my life, not wait for it." He nodded. "All right. I can understand wanting to be proactive, but you’re young," he said. "Plenty of people find their life partners in their mid-thirties." She started shaking her head before he finished. "I’m not going to pin my dreams on a maybe. When I sit at that table—" she nodded toward her dining room "—I want to see little people looking back at me. Even if they’re complaining about every bite they eat and talking with their mouths full and kicking the chair rungs. I want to cut peanut butter sandwiches into star shapes, and read Goodnight Moon until my eyes cross, and find one more hug inside me even when I’m dead tired and wondering how to pay the mortgage." She raised a hand toward him. "You became a father to Chad so young. I can’t even imagine how difficult it must have been for you, and I realize it may be hard for you to empathize with my feelings. But believe me, I’ve thought this through. Over and over. I’m not going to change my mind." Speaking out loud about the thoughts and feelings that had been swirling inside her made Elliana feel stronger. She could see Daniel struggling to understand and liked him better for it, but disappointment pinched her heart nonetheless. If he’d been able to assist her, if he’d agreed to help her become pregnant, she might have had a friend along for at least part of the ride. The urge to change his mind came on strong, and she knew what she had to do. Forcing herself to smile, she stood. "Thank you for coming over, Daniel. I truly appreciate it."

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"Thank you for coming over…and goodbye," Daniel thought, understanding that Elliana was inviting him to the door. It was an invitation he should have jumped at. But as she’d stated her case, she’d looked beautiful, her refined face and hazel eyes alive with passion. He realized he couldn’t argue, not with a word of what she’d said. He dropped to her couch, watched her eyebrows rise and gave her a level look. "Before I came home to take care of Chad, I had my future planned out, and it included a family. I wanted kids, Elliana." His neck seemed to have developed a permanent ache, and he rolled his shoulders back. "I’m doing the best job I know how with my brother, but apparently it isn’t enough." She’d made it clear that her decision to have a child was none of his business, but he couldn’t leave without making her understand how damned tough it was to parent alone. "’Difficult’ doesn’t begin to describe this past year with my brother. Being single means I’ve got only one set of shoulders to carry the burdens. I’m thirty-five, and I feel like I’m a hundred." On the verge of escorting him out, she wavered, her features softening, and finally she asked, "What kind of problems are you having with Chad?" Daniel gave a huff of humorless laughter. "You name it. First it seemed like normal rebellious teenager stuff. Then he began cutting school on a regular basis. He used to be a great student. Now he’s getting C’s and D’s. He’s got to get a scholarship if he wants to make more of himself than I have, but the odds aren’t good. You saw what happened today. Caught with marijuana on school grounds and escorted home by a cop. He says he hadn’t smoked it yet." Daniel passed a hand over his forehead as perspiration began to gather. "I thought the preschool years were hard. They’re nothing compared to sixteen." A timer began to beep, and Elliana glanced toward the sound, obviously needing to head to her kitchen. "Something smells good," Daniel commented, realizing for the first time that she was baking. He sniffed the air, detecting aromas that rarely wafted through his home. "I’m keeping you," he said, standing. Knowing he’d said all he could…or should…about her pregnancy plan, he moved toward the front door, but couldn’t resist asking, "Chocolate?" "Yes." She smiled as she fell into step beside him. "My famous brownies. Once a week, I bake and take the results to work." Daniel grinned, grateful that he felt like smiling, however briefly the feeling lasted. "Famous, huh? I wish you hadn’t said that. Brownies are my favorite food group." They were facing each other at the door, with only a couple of feet between them. Reaching out, he touched a smear of what appeared to be cocoa on her green sundress. The leaf-green dress and her red hair made him think of poppies. Lightly, his fingertips grazed her stomach. "The brownies must be homemade." Elliana glanced down, and they both seemed to realize at the same time that his fingers were touching the area of her body that would soon, if she was successful, bulge with someone else’s baby. Daniel felt a sizzle of electric energy up his arm. He let his hand drop. On the way up to her face, his gaze noted the quick intake of breath that made her chest rise and fall. He had never considered himself a freckle man, but the smattering of gold dust across her collarbone could easily convert him. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe, and he wanted, despite the chaos in his life and the impending complications in hers, to kiss her. Obviously, it was time to say goodbye. Instead, he heard himself say, "Where do you work?" Elliana blinked as if she didn’t understand the question. When her voice emerged, it was hoarse. "Twice a week I work at The Learning Center in Bend. That’s where I’m going tomorrow. The rest of the time I work

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for an online school." She cleared her throat. "I’m a teacher, Daniel. Kindergarten through twelfth grade." She hesitated a moment and then said, "If Chad needs a tutor, that’s my specialty." Daniel felt his pulse speed up. "What Chad needs and what Chad will do may be two different things." "I’ve worked with rebellious teens before. In fact, ’compliant’ and ’teenager’ is usually an oxymoron. So, if you think tutoring will help, I’m available some evenings and every Sunday afternoon." "How is it that a woman like you is available in the evenings?" Daniel meant the compliment, and she blushed. He felt a welcome surge of pleasure and the first kernel of hope he’d felt in some time. "What do you charge?" Elliana pressed her lips together. "Actually…" Daniel could see that the wheels of her mind were turning, and he waited expectantly for her answer. "Actually—" she repeated "—I was thinking we could do a trade."

Chapter Six "Ball four in the back pocket," Elliana announced just before she gave her cue stick a shove that sent a billiard ball ricocheting as if it were a pinball. Careening over felt, it landed somewhere opposite its intended destination. "Did I say that right?" she asked, straightening, her cue stick perched on her arm like a shotgun. "’Ball four in the back pocket?’" Daniel rubbed his temple. "I wouldn’t worry about the vernacular right now. Want to take a break and get something to drink?" Elliana smiled brightly. "Okay." Daniel had been an incredibly good sport all evening, even when she’d tossed a dart that accidentally bounced off his hip. Setting her cue stick in the holder against the wall, she said, "This is so much fun. I’ve always wanted to know what a night in a tavern is like. It’s very entertaining!" "Yup." Daniel rested a guiding hand on the small of her back as they made their way to Tavern on the Highway’s lounge, which boasted red leather booths, a juke box and a long bar crowded with patrons. "I wasn’t very good at pool. Or darts," she said happily enough. "No, you did great." "Daniel." Elliana looked at him from beneath her lashes. "I know when I’m good at something and when I’m not. But it was fun to try, and with practice I think I could get the billiard ball to go in the correct direction." He laughed. "Fine. Just warn me the next time you attempt darts. I’ll wear armor." He pointed to a booth in the rear of the lounge. "There’s an open table." "Oh, let’s sit at the bar!" Elliana forged ahead. "I see seats available at the very end."

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Making a beeline to the two available barstools, she felt a smile that started in her chest. When Daniel agreed to a trade in return for tutoring his brother, she had known immediately what she wanted. A night out, doing something she hadn’t done before and wouldn’t do when she was a single mother. "What’ll it be?" Daniel asked, looking, she thought, confident, relaxed and ridiculously handsome in a green button-down shirt and dark jeans. He had already drawn several greetings from females of all ages at the popular bar. Elliana had gone out earlier today and purchased new skinny-legged jeans, a sleeveless gold top she’d tucked into the pants with a loopy metallic belt, and gold cowboy boots. This might be the only time she ever wore the outfit, but the surprise on Daniel’s face and his low whistle when she’d opened the door had been worth every penny she’d spent. Now she grinned at him and said, "I rarely drink anything more than a glass of chardonnay. Tonight I want one of those drinks called a slippery navel…or a fuzzy nipple?" Daniel wagged his head, his cheeks showing dimples as he suppressed a smile. "You mean, a fuzzy navel or slippery nipple." "Yes, one of those. Which do you recommend?" Daniel didn’t dare voice his recommendation. He’d been thinking about navels and nipples all night—not necessarily fuzzy or slippery, but definitely Elliana’s and most certainly naked. Waving the bartender over, he quietly placed their order while she craned her neck to look around the lounge. She’d shown up at his garage three days ago and had been surprising him ever since. "Tell me again how you got Chad to sit through a physics lesson today." She turned toward him, her face animated. "I didn’t. I taught him how to play basketball. I think he had a fine time." Understatement. Chad’s attitude after spending a couple of hours with his new tutor had been far, far better than Daniel had anticipated. But now he felt his brows pinch together, and he had to struggle to contain his shock. "Chad’s lettered in varsity basketball three years running. He knows how to play the game. Sports aren’t his problem." "He has trouble with his jump shot, though." She reached past Daniel to snag a pretzel from a bowl on the bar. Her fair, freckled arm smelled like…Daniel wasn’t sure what it smelled like, but it smelled amazing. He struggled to remain focused. "Ellie, the point is Chad has to learn physics, not basketball. He’s got to pull decent grades this year if he wants a crack at a good college." Nibbling the tip of the pretzel stick, she nodded. "He also needs to understand that physics—all school learning—can be useful in the real world. Otherwise, he’s not going to retain anything he’s learned, and you’ll be dragging the proverbial horse to water, Daniel. Have I told you I like it when you call me ’Ellie?’ My mom used to call me that." Her eyes and smile exuded sweetness. Gentleness. Love. Ellie was right when she said she was filled with feelings she needed to give away. Daniel’s mouth went stone dry. He had the nearly overwhelming urge to pull the pins out of the bun she was once again wearing and to plow his fingers through those thick, fire-red waves. "Basketball and physics," he murmured.

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She smiled, pleased. "Yes. Using the laws of physics, it’s possible to make your jump shot every time." "Every time?" "With practice." "You’re one surprise after another." The bartender placed their drinks in front of them, and Ellie’s eyes lit up. "Which is this?" she asked Daniel. "Fuzzy navel or slippery nipple?" She put her lips around the skinny red straws and took a sip. "Neither," Daniel responded, watching her. "It’s a screaming orgasm." Vodka, amaretto, coffee and Irish Cream liquor splattered delicately onto the bar as Elliana coughed. Pulling the cocktail napkin from under his glass, Daniel handed it to her and patted her gently on the back. Elliana said, "Oh," as if she hadn’t just coughed up her drink. Daniel grinned, she blushed, and the back pats turned into long, slow circles. She’d told him she wanted this night out, because she understood that her opportunities would be limited once she had a child to take care of. Ellie Goldman would be a good mother, Daniel realized. A stellar mother. His own upbringing had been as close to idyllic as he figured anyone’s got, and suddenly he felt happy for the baby she wanted so badly. "I wish I’d given Chad a better childhood." He surprised himself by blurting the thought that came to mind. Her face sobered into the gentle understanding he was coming to like so well. "He’s a good kid," she said. "Although he puts too much pressure on himself." Her fair, slender hand reached out and curved around his forearm. "Maybe like his big brother does?" "Ellie," he said, his voice hoarse and his heart suddenly too heavy for his chest. "I know you wanted a night at the Tavern in return for tutoring Chad, but… Can I give you a rain check for tonight?" "Oh!" Caught off guard, she tried to mask the disappointment that swiftly clouded her eyes. "Sure." She glanced at their drinks. "Do you want to leave right now?" With the hand that was tracing slow circles over her back, he reached up to curve his fingers around the nape of her neck. "Yeah. Right now." He lowered his voice, couldn’t have raised it even if he’d wanted to. "Because I’m sitting here, wondering what your hair looks like down. And if I can’t take the pins out of it soon, I think I may go crazy."

Chapter Seven They made it inside Elliana’s front door before Daniel turned her to face him and began to pull the pins slowly out of her hair. The summer evening was hot and thick, but Elliana shivered as the tight bun released and fiery red locks cascaded around her shoulders.

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Daniel exhaled. "I’ve been wanting to do that all night." He delved his fingers into the unruly waves she’d spent a lifetime trying to control. He wound a thick curl around his index finger. "Are you sorry we left the tavern?" At this particular moment, Elliana wasn’t sorry about anything. She felt confused by the surprising turn of events, but excited and dizzily happy. "It was a good evening," she assured him. "I got to play pool." "You wanted to try karaoke and dance, too," Daniel murmured. Elliana shrugged. She couldn’t imagine either of those activities being more interesting than what was currently taking place. "I can’t do much about the karaoke, but I bet we can manage a dance." Daniel glanced around her living room. "Where’s your stereo?" "The cabinet on the left, next to the fireplace." Transfixed and rooted to the spot, Elliana watched Daniel find the CD he wanted, pop it into her player and then walk toward her as music poured into the room. Smiling, he took her in his arms. "Daniel." She shook her head. Even as her body relaxed into him, her mind tensed. "What are we doing?" When he’d said he wanted to leave Tavern on the Highway to be alone with her, a chorus of hallelujahs had gone off in her head. Every moment she spent with him had reassured her that her initial impulse to ask him to father her child had been a good impulse. A wise impulse. Daniel Bowman was every bit as wonderful— as kind, as witty, as intelligent and as filled with integrity—as she’d imagined. He was also adamantly opposed to her having a child via artificial insemination—with or without his help. "You haven’t changed your mind about…helping me. Have you?" she asked. Daniel stopped swaying to the music, but didn’t pull away. Dark lashes shaded his blue eyes. "Something’s going on here. Between you and me. I want to explore it. Do you?" He didn’t answer her question, but on the other hand, she’d never heard such a straightforward appeal. Immediately, Elliana realized she could answer wisely or honestly. She chose the latter. "Yes." The hand he’d placed on the small of her back pressed her closer to his hard body. She was tall, but he was taller, and she liked the way they fit together. "We’re a good match," he murmured, reading her mind. "You’re a striking woman, Ellie Goldman." She appreciated that he said "striking" and not "beautiful" or even "pretty." "You dated cheerleaders in high school—" she reminded him, pointing out "—I’m a far cry from that." "Always have been," he agreed. They swayed to a few bars of music. "But I grew up a long time ago." The soft reminder tickled her ear. "I haven’t dated a cheerleader since Marci Dehlringer challenged Lolly Falco to naked backflips at the graduation party in my parents’ backyard." Elliana giggled, leaning back to look at him. "I heard about that. I thought it was a Honeyford urban legend."

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"Nope. It happened." He pulled her even closer than before. "I haven’t dated much at all in the past few years," he confessed. "For some reason, it started to seem pointless." They swayed some more. "How about you?" "I’ve never done a naked backflip." "Pity." He nuzzled her ear. "But I was talking about dating." Tilting his head, he considered her. "You must have had opportunities to get married, Ellie. You want a family, you’re intelligent, and you’re lovely. How is it that you’re still single?" Pleasure warmed Elliana down to her toes. "I was engaged once. But when push came to shove, the magic wasn’t there, and we both decided we wanted more." "Good for you," he murmured. "Think so? Sometimes I wonder. If you wanted to get married, would you wait for ’magic?’" The question shot through Daniel like an arrow. Once upon a time, he had believed in good fortune…the alignment of the stars…soul mates. But that was when his life had spread before him like a canvas waiting to be painted, and he’d imagined using every color in the rainbow. Career, travel, marriage, kids…he’d intended to have it all until life removed the brush from his hand and created a landscape he had never envisioned. "I don’t know what I’d do," he admitted softly. He wasn’t sure what he believed in, anymore, save for putting one foot in front of the other. "I suppose it would depend on my goals, and…" Tension squeezed his throat as he looked into Elliana’s eyes—so trusting, so warm. So willing to believe in the best. The practical words died in his throat. "Yeah," he whispered. "I’d wait for the magic." He lowered his head and kissed her, with no premeditation at all. As their lips moved and their arms found their way around each other, Daniel was damned sure he was more blindsided than she by the heat that mushroomed between them. They kissed through an entire song on the CD he had chosen…and then through another. When Daniel lifted his head, he felt drunk. "Ellie Goldman," he whispered roughly. "You act like an angel, but you kiss like a witch. What else don’t I know about you?" She gave him the blush-cheeked smile he had come to look forward to. Her slender hands rested lightly on his biceps. "You have no idea that I have a bottle of champagne in my refrigerator. And, that I’ve been looking for a good excuse to open it." For some reason, he was surprised at that. "Let’s get it." It might give him a chance to cool off. Pulling out of his arms, Elliana walked through the living room and into the kitchen. Daniel followed, trying hard—and without much success—not to have a one-track mind, because all he could currently think of was Ellie, naked and willing. He pushed a hand through his hair. He hadn’t wanted a woman this badly in…hell, he couldn’t remember when he’d wanted a woman this badly. He’d hungered for someone to sleep with before, but this time he wanted more of all of her—more of her smiles, more of her blushes, more of everything she was, and definitely more of her soul-twisting kisses. By the time he was in the kitchen and she was reaching into the refrigerator for the champagne, his body was as ready for action as his mind, and he knew he had to calm himself down.

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"I deprived you of dinner when we left the tavern," he said, clearing his throat when his voice cracked. "I make a mean sandwich. If your refrigerator is full, I bet I could come up with something to tempt you." Elliana turned, a champagne bottle in her hands. Irony and humor sparkled in her eyes. "Tempting me isn’t something you need to work very hard at right now." She bit her bottom lip, a glorious picture of uncertainty and hope. She raised the champagne. "I thought, actually, that we could take this upstairs." He held her hand as they made their way to her second-floor bedroom, and that’s when Daniel shocked the devil out of himself and Elliana by finally answering her question. "Maybe I am changing my mind about helping you have a baby."

Chapter Eight Elliana had stopped believing in fairytales a long time ago, but in the two weeks since she and Daniel made love, she felt as if she were living a sweet daydream. Daniel had become her friend, her lover and, most surprising of all, a willing participant in her plan to have a child. There was a perpetual smile in her heart. "My brother’s in a good mood for the first time in freakin’ forever." Chad Bowman reached for one of the marionberry muffins Elliana had set out for their Saturday morning tutoring session. This was the fifth time she’d worked with Daniel’s younger brother, who was proving to be a bright and interested student. "I know Daniel is really proud of you for acing your chemistry lab," she said. "You should do just as well on all your finals. You’ll be able to pick your university when the time comes." Inexplicably, Chad’s mood nose-dived. Setting the muffin, untouched, onto a cloth napkin, he rose and shoved his hands in his pockets, looking so much like Daniel that Elliana felt her heart tug. "What’s wrong?" she asked. "This is the second time you’ve reacted negatively when I’ve mentioned college." "Maybe I don’t want to go." Surprised, Elliana sat back. "What do you want?" In lieu of a direct answer, Chad asked, "How well do you know my brother?" Unsure of exactly how much Daniel had told Chad about the two of them, Elliana responded diplomatically. "I know he loves and wants the very best for you." Her answer made Chad wince. "Do you know he was headed to med school, but had to come home to take care of me? Do you know he’s a mechanic in a broken-down garage so he can support us? I suppose everyone knows that." He slumped back into his chair. "At night, he reads medical books like novels." All of this was news to Elliana. "So you think if you go to college—" "He’ll be paying for me until he’s an old man! He’ll never get to do anything he wants." Chad shoved the muffin into his mouth. Elliana was about to educate Chad with regard to scholarships and student loans when the impact of what he’d told her hit like a locomotive.

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Daniel had dropped everything to raise his brother after their parents’ death. His life had been on hold for over a decade so that he could parent a child he hadn’t asked for. If Elliana got pregnant, he would stand by her side, by their child’s side, all the way. The very act of helping her have a baby was a decision to continue their relationship in the event that she got pregnant. He was open to a future with her, which should have made Elliana ecstatic. Instead, distress simmered in her blood. Daniel was willing to help her achieve her dreams, because he had given up on his own. With difficulty, she focused her attention on the young man at her table. But in the back of her mind, she saw herself and Daniel and the impossible path they were on. Two hours later, after Chad left, Elliana was sitting on her couch, listening to the phone ring every half hour and letting the machine pick up Daniel’s messages. "Hey, aren’t we supposed to have a date today?" he asked. "Call me." When her doorbell rang, she rose stoically to answer it, having decided her course of action. Daniel stood on her doorstep, his arms full of grocery bags and a look of curiosity on his face. "Phone out of order?" Elliana stepped back to let him in. He walked to the kitchen to unload a paper bag from Honey Bea’s Bakery. "Sandwiches and cookies," he said. "I thought we’d have a picnic." Leaning against the counter with a fist on his hip, he asked, "What are you thinking?" Elliana thought he looked liked a fantasy come to life. She felt her heart breaking. "You never told me you wanted to be a doctor," she said, knowing she had to get to the point quickly, before she cried. His eyes narrowed. "That’s old news." "You still read medical books." Responding to his look of surprise, she told him, "Chad and I had a talk today. His behavior—sloughing off at school, getting caught with marijuana—stemmed from his guilt over your having to postpone your dreams so you could take care of him." Daniel inhaled sharply. "He loves you. He wants you to go back to medical school, like you originally planned." Elliana paused briefly. "So do I." Daniel held up a hand, clearly overwhelmed with the information she was giving him. "Wait. I’ll talk to Chad. I haven’t been able to get even that much out of him, and I suppose it makes some sense, but—" He shook his head. "I’m not going back to medical school. That was another life." She’d expected him to say that. "I hope you change your mind." She strove to remain far calmer than she felt. "In any case, I’ve been giving a lot of thought to my future and I’ve decided it will be best—for everyone involved—to go back to my original plan. When I first decided to have a child, I intended to do it alone, and…that’s how I want it to be again." "You do." "Yes. It will be better if I have only me and the baby to worry about." She took a deep breath. "I know exactly what I want my future to be, Daniel. But do you?"

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Lowering his head, he pushed a hand through the dark waves, his customary expression of agitation. "I was going to wait to talk to you about this, but…" He shrugged. "I am going back to school. I want to use my interest in medicine to become a pharmacist." Walking forward, he took her by the shoulders and looked at her soberly. "I’d intended to wait until Chad graduated, but meeting you changed my mind. I don’t want to postpone my life. I sent for the application a couple of days ago. I’m going to work and go to school at the same time. I’ll be busy nonstop." Elliana felt her heart pound. He had decided to move on before she’d said a word today. "I can complete the program online," he continued. "Here in Honeyford. I should have discussed it with you first, but I was afraid I’d talk myself out of it. It’s going to be nutty for a while. There’ll be lean years. There’s no way I can give you all the attention you deserve. But—" his fingers squeezed her shoulders "—I’m hoping you’ll go along with me for this ride, Ellie. An insanely busy partner isn’t in your plan, I know, but—" "Yes!" Shock, relief, joy and the feeling of living in a fairytale spread through Elliana. She threw herself into Daniel’s arms. "Yes, yes, yes!" Kissing him until they were both dizzy, she paused long enough to assure him. "I’ll wait to have a baby, Daniel. It’s fine. One dream at a time." "Whoa." He held her back when she would have kissed him again. "No. Absolutely no ’waiting.’ There’s been enough sacrifice around here. Let’s go for it, Ellie. Life’s messy. Why fight it?" "You’re serious?" "I’m serious about you." He grinned. "And about making life as full as we can. Right now. What do you say?" "Every blade of grass has an angel watching over it, whispering, ’Grow…grow.’" The quote Elliana’s mother had painted above her bed so long ago glowed in her mind now like a ray of sun. "I say, my angel’s working overtime." Holding Daniel’s face between her hands, she kissed him, smiling at their future with endless love and all the hope in the world.

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Kiss Me Goodbye By Maggie Shayne All her life, Dawn had lived in fear of the gift she'd inherited from her father—the ability to see and talk to the dead. The voices had slowly driven her father insane. And eventually, to kill. Mordecai Young had died a monster, hunted and hated. A fate that Dawn dreaded would await her, too. But five years have passed since she's seen a ghost. She's married to the man she loves, and she and Bryan are blissfully happy. Until the ghost of her father appears in her bedroom. Now, Dawn must not only deal with the return of her horrible gift, but she must also rely on Mordecai—the homicidal maniac—to help her. While Bryan's life hangs in the balance…

Chapter One Dawn awoke, grinning even before she was fully conscious. She loved that feeling, of being so completely fulfilled that she woke up smiling every morning. All because she woke up with him. Sighing in utter newlywed bliss, she rolled closer, nuzzling his shoulder. Her husband wrapped his arms around her, returning the affectionate snuggle before slipping back into sleep again. But the contentment of the moment died as a chill, like an icy finger, dragged up her spine and into the nape of her neck. Someone else was in the room. Her eyes shot open. Mordecai Young stood on Bryan's side of the bed, so near his legs would have been touching—except that he didn't have any. Ghosts, after all, don't have bodies. From the waist up, though, he could have been solid. Flesh and bone. Her father's eyes as they bored into hers were as vivid and clear as they had been when he was alive. His lips moved as if he were speaking, but no sound emerged. And then he was gone. Dawn sat up, blinked, rubbed her eyes, praying that what she'd just seen had been only a nightmare, that she'd still been sleeping. "Babe?" Awake now, Bryan frowned up at her. He slid his hand around her shoulder, caressed her neck, and then paused. "Hon, your heart's racing. What happened?" She was still staring at the spot where her father had been, but there was nothing there now. "Bad dream," she said softly. She didn't want to tell Bryan, her husband of two whole weeks now, that she had just seen her first ghost in five years. It would freak him out if he knew. After all, her "gift" was the very thing that had driven her out of his arms long ago, the thing that had frightened her so badly that she had run away and tried to hide from the ability she'd inherited from her father. Her father the homicidal maniac. Mordecai Young had been able to speak to the dead, too. But he'd been unable to distinguish which voices were coming from the ghosts, and which were coming from schizophrenia. Eventually, lost to his madness, he'd gone on a killing spree and had died a hated and hunted criminal.

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But he'd loved her, she was sure of that. Though she'd barely known him before his tragic end, he'd loved his only daughter, as much as he'd loved the God he'd honestly believed he'd been obeying. He'd been sick. Insane. Driven that way by the curse he'd called a gift. With that kind of legacy, inheriting his gift had been the last thing Dawn had ever wanted. And by ignoring it for five years, she was relieved that it had seemed to die of neglect. Until now. There was no doubting it, no questioning it—her curse was back. She knew what it felt like when the dead were in the room with her. She'd felt it before and it hadn't changed. Mordecai had, though. In that brief glimpse she'd had of his spirit, she'd felt…something like serenity. Or was that just wishful thinking? "Are you sure you're okay?" Bryan asked quietly. Looking down at her beloved soul mate, Dawn tried to quell the lingering panic in her chest. "Yeah, fine. We should get up, shouldn't we? Big day ahead." He cupped her nape, and tugged her to lie beside him. "There's no hurry." "You have a 10:00 a.m. flight." "I don't want to leave you." He kissed her nose. "It's only for a couple of days." She tried to sound confident, but inside, she was dreading the separation, too. An accused bank robber had jumped bail and had managed to hop a flight to their town of Shadow Falls. He was being extradited straight back to Alaska. But someone from the Shadow Falls PD had to escort him home. Bryan had drawn the short straw. "You need to pack," she whispered, burrowing closer. "I did it last night so we'd have more time this morning." His lips slid over her neck and she shivered. "I was going to make a special breakfast." "You are my special breakfast. You feed my soul." "I love the way you love me, Bryan." "Then shut up and let me," he said with a mischievous smile that made her forget everything else. They didn't get out of bed for another hour.

Chapter Two Dawn stood at the airport's observation windows until Bryan's jet was out of sight, her eyes burning with completely ridiculous tears. Her phone rang. She answered without looking, glad of the distraction. "Crying yet?" Bryan asked.

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She brushed a tear from her cheek. "No," she lied. "Why would I cry? You'll only be gone a few days." "Four. I feel like crying, too. And I found the little trinket you left in my carry-on. The wooden whistle. What's that about, hon?" She smiled. "It's the only thing I have of my father's. And for all the bad things he was, he wasn't a fraud. He had a direct line to…something bigger." "I saw it for myself. But—" "He said it would protect me. I don't know why I put it in your bag, it just…felt like the right thing to do." "I'll bring it back safe and sound." "Just bring you back safe and sound." She lowered her head so everyone in the airport wouldn't see her tears finally spilling over. "I didn't expect it to be this hard." "We'll have to stick together from now on, 'cause…hell, Dawnie, I don't ever want to miss you this much again." She laughed softly, tears still rolling. "It's a deal. We're pretty pathetic, aren't we?" "Pretty lucky," he corrected. "I'd better turn my phone off before they throw me off the plane." "If they do, I'll catch you," she said. "I love you, Bryan." "I love you, too, Dawn." "Call me when you land." "For sure." Dawn pressed her fingertip to the screen, ending the call, then looked up at the windows again. But instead of the clear blue sky, she saw her father's face. He stood behind her, shaking his head sadly. With a surge of panic, she whirled to face him, ready to tell him to leave her the hell alone, once and for all, to take his so-called gift with him and go away and never come back. But there was no one there. And her phone chirped again. She grabbed it with shaking hands and touched the screen. "Bryan?" "No, honey, it's Olivia. Are you okay?" She deliberately did not sniffle. "No. No, Liv, I don't think I am." "I knew it," her friend said. "So I take it Bryan's plane got off all right?" "Yes, and I'm miserable already without him, but it's not just that. It's…it's my father, Olivia." There was a long moment of silence, then, "Your dead father?" A pregnant pause, and then, "Are you saying… Dawn, are you seeing ghosts again?" "Just the one…so far."

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"Oh, God. But…you knew this might happen, right? You and Bryan have talked about it?" "Yes, but I know it still scares him. This curse is the whole reason I ran away five years ago—" "And that's why he's still afraid of it, even though you haven't seen a ghost since. Until now, I guess." "Right, but Bryan's been afraid of this all along. Deep down, he thinks I'll take off if they come back. But I won't. I won't leave him, not for anything. If the dead are going to start talking to me again, then…then I guess I'll just have to deal." "How?" Olivia asked. "How do you intend to deal with it?" Dawn let that question swim around her mind for a while. She knew why Olivia was asking. Because Dawn had already tried every possible way to deal with it except for one. And that one seemed to be the only option left to her now. "I've got no choice but to listen to what they have to say." "Even to what he says?" Olivia asked. "Yes," Dawn said, and even though she couldn't see him, she felt her father's presence like a cloak of ice.

Chapter Three "Any ghosts yet?" Carrie asked. Dawn shook her head in response to her friend's question. "No, nothing. Look, maybe I should just go home. Maybe he wants to talk to me alone." She was sitting between her two best friends on Olivia's redwood deck. They'd insisted she spend the day with them, and even Liv's pony-sized mastiff seemed intent on cheering her up. Currently he was on the lawn, bucking like a bronco while chasing his own tail. Cute trick for a two-hundred-pounder. Of course, Freddy could only sustain that much motion for a minute or two before collapsing in the cool grass for a breather. Olivia came onto the deck with a pitcher of iced tea and began refilling their glasses. "Anything?" she whispered. "Not yet," Carrie replied. Dawn sighed. "You guys don't need to babysit me." She got to her feet, inwardly terrified at the thought of the lonely night ahead. And yet she hoped it would be lonely. If she couldn't have Bryan, she'd just as soon no one else showed up. No one without a body, anyway. "We don't want you to go through this alone," Olivia said. And just as she said it, Freddy shot to his feet, and the hair along his backbone bristled upward. "Freddy, what—" "It's him," Dawn said, fear turning her blood to ice. "It's Mordecai." Olivia put the pitcher down hard. Carrie rose to her feet, and both women stared at the spot on the lawn where Freddy was focused. The spot where Mordecai Young stood looking just slightly less solid than everything else in the physical world. If there had been any doubt in Dawn's mind that he had really returned to her, it vanished now. Freddy could sense him, too.

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But her initial fear began to ebb as she looked into Mordecai's eyes. They were different somehow, every bit as compassionate and intensely loving as before, but something was missing. She didn't see the insanity that had always been there in life, even at his most lucid. It had burned, an inner fire that just couldn't be contained. It had been powerful, too powerful even for him. And he'd been a very strong man. "I don't suppose either of you can see him?" Dawn asked. "No," Olivia said. "But I think Freddy can." The brindled dog had positioned himself right between Dawn and the ghost. She stroked his bear-sized head. "You're a good friend, pup." And then she focused on Mordecai again. Taking a deep breath, she decided on the direct approach. "So what is it? What do you want?" He moved his lips, but she couldn't hear his words. Frustration boiled up in Dawn—this had always been a problem with her gift. Hearing what the dead wanted from her had constantly been a challenge for her. Not that she'd ever wanted to. "I can't hear you. Could you…?" He nodded at something beyond her. Dawn tried to follow his gaze, only to see a big, very familiar man coming around the side of Olivia's house. Chief MacNamara, Bryan's boss. She was instantly relieved, not only because she'd grown to adore the crotchety old cuss, but because this meant a reprieve. Her dead father and any ghostly messages he cared to deliver would have to wait. Smiling past her nearly shot nerves, she waved. "Chief Mac! I didn't expect to see you tonight!" He lifted his head, with its messy white shocks of hair, and met her eyes. She went utterly cold at what she saw in them. "What's happened?" she asked. Olivia and Carrie came to stand on either side of her, and Freddy sat on her feet. And then came the words that she could not endure. "I…dammit, I don't know how to do this other than just to say it. Bryan's plane—it crashed. I'm sorry, Dawn. So very sorry."

Chapter Four Bryan didn't think it was quite normal to feel the way he did almost from the second he'd boarded the plane. Bereft. Heartsick. Lonely, as he'd never been lonely before. It wasn't as if he and Dawn hadn't been apart. God, she'd broken his heart when she'd left him. But that had been years ago. They'd barely been out of their teens, and she had just discovered that she'd inherited her criminal father's ability to talk to the dead. It had terrified her. He didn't blame her. The "gift" had probably been a contributing factor to her father's insanity and the violence that had surrounded him all his life. The man had left a path of destruction behind him wherever he went. All because of the voices, not all of which were the pleas of the dead. So Dawn had run, all the way to the West Coast, where she'd medicated away her abilities and denied them until, finally, they had seemed to die off. She'd been grateful until a few months ago when he'd been suspected of murder. That was what had finally brought her back to him again, the notion that if she could just speak to the victims, she could help Bryan clear his name. It hadn't worked. Oh, they'd cleared him, nearly got themselves killed in the process. But they'd done it without any help from the dearly departed.

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Dawn had made peace with the fact that her strange abilities were gone. But she'd promised him that even if they returned she would never leave him, that they would deal with it together this time. He believed her. Or he'd thought he had. But now, faced with the reality… He'd seen the telltale look in her eyes when he'd awoken this morning. It was a look he hadn't seen in five long years. She'd been pale, terrified, wide eyed, staring at a spot of emptiness beside the bed. And he'd felt the chill in the room—an unnatural chill. And he'd known. It had nearly destroyed him when she'd left him. For five long years he'd ached for her. And finally, they were together again. But he was scared. If the dead were back—was she strong enough to keep her promise, to stand by him? And why was it so hard now, to leave her for a routine four-day trip? The answer came when the seat in which he was sitting suddenly seemed to try to launch him through the top of the airliner. The seat belt bruised his hipbones but held him in place. And then his entire body was dropped into a twister. His head jerked in one direction, his shoulders in another. There was noise, a roar and the screams of the other passengers, and then a whooshing sound that drowned out everything else. So much wind in his face he couldn't see, and the brief glimpses he did manage were of papers and pieces of luggage flying around his head. And snow against the gray, roiling clouds. Jesus, he was outside of the airplane! And then the gray clouds parted, and he saw the glacial white ground hurtling up to meet him.

Chapter Five It was Carrie, a doctor after all, who knelt beside Dawn, waving smelling salts under her nose and saying her name. Dawn pushed her friend away, struggling to sit up. She hadn't really passed out, just sort of…melted. "I'm okay, I'm okay." She sought out the chief. He looked worried. "Tell me everything you know as quickly as you possibly can." He nodded, reaching out a hand. Dawn took it and let the big man pull her upright and help her into a chair. She fought to hold it together long enough to get the facts. "The plane disappeared from radar in heavy weather, less than twenty minutes from Juneau." "So they haven't found it yet?" "No, not even close. Dawn, they went down in some of the roughest country in Alaska. The wilderness. It'll take some time to—" "I have to go," Dawn said, getting to her feet, searching for her purse, her keys. "Maybe you should stay here with your friends tonight, instead of going home alone," the chief suggested. "Home? I'm not going home, Chief. Except to pack." She looked beyond the chief, back to the lawn where her father had been standing. But he was no longer there. Had he been trying to warn her? Would he help her now? Could he? Did she dare even trust him to try, when he'd never done anything but harm her, all her life? She'd been convinced he would rather have her die with him than let her live while she

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rejected his legacy. But he'd never been malicious, never cruel. Always, he'd believed he was doing the right thing. Always. And she had never doubted that he had loved her, in his way. Didn't they say all a person's wounds and flaws were healed when they crossed to the other side? Did that include mental ones? The chief nudged Carrie. "Maybe you ought to…give her something?" "I don't need a sedative. I'm going." "I really don't think you should go home alone." "She's not going home," Carrie said softly. "She's going to Alaska. Aren't you, Dawn?" Her friends would try to stop her; the police chief might have enough pull to actually do so. "Before I go anywhere I have to go to Bryan's dad and my mom. I have to be the one to tell them. Unless someone already has?" "No," the chief said. "I came to you with this news first." She nodded. Then, impulsively, she leaned up and hugged the chief around his neck. "Thanks. I know you're devastated, too." "I have a soft spot for the rookie," he muttered. "And he has one for you. Just don't give up on him yet, okay?" She looked at her friends, and had no doubt they knew exactly what she was planning. "If you need us—" Olivia began. "I know, and that means the world to me, believe me." "Please, for the love of God, keep us posted." "Absolutely." Dawn yanked her bag off the glass table and hurried away. She wanted privacy for the emotional breakdown that was storming the gates. And she had to make a phone call—to book the next available flight to Alaska. Bryan's dad was a former ATF agent. He could cut through any red tape necessary; he had the connections. He could get her onto the helicopter with the rescue team. She had a connection or two of her own—to the dead. She'd do whatever it took to find Bryan. Even if it meant accepting help from a man most people thought of as the devil himself.

Chapter Six Somehow, Bryan didn't lose consciousness while his body felt as if it were being torn apart. Then there was a bone-jarring impact. Only he was still falling. As the snow razed his skin and the icy ground battered his body, he realized he was tumbling down a hill at breakneck speed. The scenery spinning and whirling past him was a gray-and-white blur.

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He thought he would never stop falling. And then, when he finally did, there wasn't a part of his body that didn't hurt. He lay very still, almost afraid to move as he tried to take stock. What was broken? What was bleeding? Amazingly, there didn't seem to be any serious damage. Nothing life-threatening, anyway. That was when the roar caught his attention. He looked up fast, and at first had no idea what he was seeing. A wall of snow and rock came crashing toward him. It reminded him vaguely of winter snow being pushed to the side of the road by one of the giant snowplow blades of the Shadow Falls Highway Department. And then the single horrifying word rang through his mind. Avalanche! The plane's impact, or maybe his somersaulting down the mountainside, had triggered it. He rolled up with the intent of springing to his feet and running like hell, but Bryan was stopped short by a stabbing pain in his side that felt exactly like a knife being driven deep into him. Into his lung, he thought. Broken rib. Punctured lung, maybe. The ground began to shake. He had to move. He took one lurching step and his shin folded where it was never supposed to, with excruciating pain. Broken leg, too. Never mind. Keep going. He gripped a tree limb high above his head to try to pull himself clear. Then the wall of snow engulfed him, pushing him down. Desperately, he clung to the limb, but the force of the snow was too strong. It ripped his palms from the limb and pounded him flat, facedown, covering him, rendering him completely immobile. When the roar stopped, he was buried alive. Panic rose, making him want to kick and thrash. But he beat it down hard. Just take a second, figure this out, don't freak out. I'm buried alive! I'm going to die. Seems like a damn good time to panic, if you ask me. He shook his head very slightly against the snow all around his face. Think of Dawn. Dawn's face appeared in his mind's eye. They couldn't have found each other again, after all that time apart, only to have it end like this. No way. He couldn't die. It would devastate her if he did. Especially if she'd started seeing ghosts again. Even if her gift drove her to run away—hell, he'd go with her this time. If she'd let him. She needed him. He had to survive. For her. For the only woman he'd ever loved. For his wife. He would stay alive, no matter what.

Chapter Seven "The earliest flight leaves tomorrow morning," Dawn told her mother. "I'll be in Juneau by 7:00 p.m. I'll phone when I get there." She paced across the spacious living room of the Blackberry Inn, aching as she saw the pain in the eyes of her mother, Beth, and Bryan's father, Josh. They had fallen in love late in life, when Dawn and Bryan were about to start college. But they loved each other's child as much as if they'd given birth to them.

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"I have to do this," Dawn whispered. "I don't want you to go, Dawn, but I can't argue with you, either. I love Bryan, too." She nodded, knowing it was true. Even though she and Bryan had been adults by the time her mom had married his dad, both step-parents had taken their roles to heart. Dawn and Bryan had never had any doubt that they were utterly adored. She gazed from the worried eyes of her mom to the almost unbearable anguish on the face of Bryan's dad. "Are you okay, Josh?" "I want to go with you, dammit." As he said it, he backhanded the cast on his right arm. "The timing of this, it's—" Beth moved closer to her husband, sliding a hand over his strong shoulder, squeezing him. "Maybe it happened this way to keep you from trudging through the Alaskan Wilderness on your own and getting yourself killed, Josh." "Yeah, but who's going to stop this one from doing the same damn thing?" he asked, with a pointed look at Dawn. "I'm not going to do anything stupid, Josh. I have to be alive…to put my arms around him…" A sob choked off the rest. She lowered her head quickly to hide her tears. Josh came to kneel beside her, resting a comforting hand on her knee. "Well, let's get you packed and ready, then," Josh said. "If I have one thing, it's plenty of cold-weather outdoor gear." Then with determination he said, "You might as well get on the phone and get another ticket for that flight, because I'll be damned if you're doing this alone. I'll arrange to get us onto the rescue helicopter." "Josh, you're in a cast." Beth wore a look of absolute horror, probably because she knew there would be no talking either of them out of this. "This is my son." Beth couldn't argue. Bryan had followed in his dad's footsteps by going into law enforcement. Josh had been an ATF officer, as well, though he'd traded it more than five years ago for a peaceful existence as a smalltown innkeeper with his adored bride by his side. But he was still the man the whole town came to in times of trouble. He was a hero. His son was just like him. Thank God. "I'll watch out for him, Mom," Dawn promised. "And I'll watch out for her," Josh added. They hugged each other hard, not shedding a tear. They were keeping a brave face for her sake, Dawn understood. Suddenly she became aware of her father's ghost watching them. She felt no fear this time, as crazy as that was. "Tell me I'm doing the right thing," Dawn whispered. Beyond Josh and Beth's soft reassurances, her ghostly father nodded.

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"Is he still alive?" she mouthed to her father, not daring to speak the words aloud. Anxiously, she waited for his reply because, insane or not, she'd never doubted his gift. And it should be even more reliable now that he was on the other side. He mouthed something back. She couldn't hear, but almost felt his answer: For now.

Chapter Eight Bryan could breathe. Miraculously there seemed to be a natural air pocket around his face. At least he wouldn't suffocate right away. He couldn't feel his left leg at all anymore, which might very well be a good thing. At least there was no more pain from it, but the stabbing sensation in his side was worse than ever, and he was pretty sure his breathing was more shallow than it should be. Then again, he had a mountain of snow crushing his chest. And it would get heavier as his body heat melted it. A lot heavier. He couldn't see. It was pitch dark when you were buried alive, he discovered, even when the stuff burying you was white. He was cold, but he realized he would be much colder when he dug himself out. Not if. When. Because he had no doubt he was going to get himself out of this mess, somehow. Or die trying. It would take more than a few tons of snow to keep him from going home to the woman he loved. So he began moving his fingers. He stretched his arms out and up. His palms, scraped raw by the tree limb, were soothed by the icy snow. He wiggled his fingers—bending, straightening, bending, straightening. Soon he'd freed up enough space so that he could use his hands. The snow kept falling down as he scooped it away. But what fell was light, and as he worked, steadily but with aching slowness, his hands inched upward. At this rate, he thought, he should be free of the snow in, oh, three or four days. Not good enough. He'd be dead in three or four days. Not gonna happen. Got a gorgeous woman to get home to. A great job. Great life. Babies to make. Dig. Dig. Dig. As he worked, the snow around his face melted further, giving him more breathing room. Though not necessarily more air. He wanted to yank his arms toward him, to begin clawing the snow away from his face. Hell, it was everything he could do to resist the compulsion. But he forced himself to keep burrowing upward instead, until his arms could reach no further. Okay, now, turn the hands, and begin inching them back this way, he thought. He had to be careful. The hole he was creating could collapse in on him at any moment. And God, it was taking so long. Or was it? He had no sense of time. He kept going. He thought of home, of Shadow Falls. He thought of his father and how much he'd learned from his dad's training and experience. Josh had always insisted on teaching his son everything he knew. Everything. He thanked his father for that now.

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By inches, no, fractions of inches, he twisted and maneuvered his hands backward, toward his body. At the same time, he got the notion to start using a foot, too—the one he could still feel, his right. It barely moved and it was slow going. Then again, he had time. He had nothing but time. He tried not to think about how quickly it might be running out.

Chapter Nine The sight of Juneau, a small city tucked into a pine-green embrace with the giant, hulking glacier at its back, took Dawn's breath away. Even with the fear that weighed heavy on her heart, she admired the natural beauty of this place. And while the very precipice of the highest peak around Shadow Falls was a dwarf compared to the peaks in the distance, there was something about Juneau that reminded her of home. Probably the way the glacier cast its endless shadow over the city below. Just the way the falls kept her town in shadow, and provided its name. And just the way an unspeakable fear cast its shadow over her heart right now. She hated the fear. She hated acknowledging the possibility that she might lose the only man she had ever loved. So she simply refused to. Josh closed his hand around hers as they stood side by side, staring sightlessly at the bags moving along the luggage carousel. "We'll find him." "He's still alive," she said. "I know it, Josh." He met her eyes, staring hard. "Can I ask how?" She swallowed hard. "My father told me." His eyes widened. "You saw him? Dawn, I thought that…that ability had gone away." "I thought so, too, but so far it's just been him and…I think this was why. I think he was trying to warn me. But I wouldn't listen." Her voice broke, her head bowing. "Dammit, he warned me rejecting my so-called gift would have consequences, but I never imagined—" "Don't. Don't blame yourself for this. Don't listen to him, either. He was evil, Dawn." "He was sick. But he loved me, and if he were capable of helping me, I know he would want to." She met Josh's eyes. "There's a different energy about him, Josh. It's…peaceful." Before he could reply to that, they were interrupted. "Mrs. Kendall?" Dawn turned, seeing several men in differing types of uniforms walking forward to greet her. She addressed the one closest. "Yes?" "Rodney Chambers, Chief of Police, ma'am. I'm so sorry to meet you under such dire circumstances. May I—" "Are the search parties still out there?" she asked. "Yes, of course. And we're organizing more as we speak. We've closed in on the beacon, it's just a matter of getting there."

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"Why?" "It's difficult terrain, ma'am. You've no idea—" "Where, exactly?" The man frowned. He had a straw colored brush cut, and brows so pale they were almost invisible. "Pardon?" "Show me where my husband's plane went down, where he's already been stranded, dying perhaps, for more than twenty-four hours." Even as she spoke, Dawn was staring out the nearest set of windows at the towering forest and the even higher peaks where nothing grew at all. He pointed far to the left. "West of the city, far above the tree line, as near as we can pinpoint it." She stood staring out at the desolate, barren face of the glacier. And she imagined she could see Bryan, talk to him. Vaguely, she heard Josh introducing himself, and the other men doing likewise. Information was being exchanged, but Dawn couldn't hear anything but her own inner voice, which she tried to make loud enough for Bryan to hear…somehow. I'm here, my love. I'm here, and soon I'll be out there with you. I'm coming to find you, darling. I swear I am. Please hold on for me. Please, please hold on for me. I'm so close to you now. So very close. Hold on, Bryan. Hold on. In the glass, then, as if from nowhere, and not at all like a reflection this time, she saw her father's face. Just his face. His lips moved to form the word Hurry.

Chapter Ten Bryan had no idea how long he'd been digging. It had been hours, that much he knew. He knew it because he'd stopped shivering. Shivering was good; it was the body's effort to survive by generating heat. But now his body was trying to shut down instead. It wanted him to go to sleep, to let go. And if he did that, he would die. He wasn't going to give up. Not without the fight of his life, because he just plain and simply had too much to live for. He had Dawn waiting for him to come home to her. He prayed he still had that. Because if the ghosts had returned… He remembered the pain, the hurt she'd inflicted, leaving him with barely a word. A note that said nothing. Leaving him to run away from her ghosts. And if they were back… He forced his brain off that track. She was older now, wiser, and their love was so much deeper than it had been before. It wouldn't play out the same way this time. She'd turn to him rather than away. God, he hoped so. His eyelids started to sink and desperately he clung to the image of Dawn's face. He even thought he heard her voice. I'm here, my love. I'm here, and soon I'll be out there with you. I'm coming to find you, darling. I swear I am. Please hold on for me. Please, please hold on for me. I'm so close to you now. So very close. Hold on, Bryan. Hold on.

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"I hear you, baby." He knew it wasn't real. Couldn't be. She wasn't a telepath, she was a medium. Unless they were just that connected. Bryan started moving again. He'd made good progress with his hands, numb with cold by now. They felt thick and awkward. Sometimes he wasn't even sure they were responding to his commands. But clearly they were because the snow and debris kept giving way, and then… Oh, God, relief! His hands were beside his head. Near his body. He managed to bring them close to his chest, arms folded, hugging them to his own chest. He forced himself to shiver, to try to warm himself up. But not for long. If his hands lost their numbness, he was going to be in for a world of hurting. He'd prefer to be out of this living grave by then. Mustering every ounce of will—because it was all he had left—he got to work again. A narrow tunnel lay open where his arms had been stretched out. It angled forward and upward because he'd been holding on to that branch. His best bet was to try widening that area enough to squeeze his body through it. He had no idea how much snow there was above him. Or how many hours he'd already spent beneath it. But he hadn't run out of oxygen, and he took that as a good sign. He threw everything he had into the effort, though his hands felt like boxing gloves, pulling the snow back into the hole his body had made. To distract himself from the pain, he remembered his wedding day. Half the town had turned out. Fortunately there was plenty of room. They'd used the park, near the base of the falls. A beautiful setting. The photos had been breathtaking, but he'd been aware of only one vision. Dawn, her hair piled high, ringlets spilling down. Looking like an angel to him in her simple white gown. Tears glistened like diamonds on her lashes. He felt again her hands in his, saw her eyes staring into his soul and filling him with more joy than one heart could possibly contain. And with that image in mind, he found the strength to keep on moving.

Chapter Eleven They were being taken by helicopter to the ranger station nearest the crash site, at least that's what Dawn thought was happening. She'd been told the plan several times, but she really wasn't absorbing much. Not from this world, anyway. Chief Chambers sat beside the pilot in the cockpit of the chopper, and she and Josh occupied the seats behind them, piles of supplies stacked everywhere around them. But they were not the only passengers on the plane. Dawn's long-dead father kept coming and going, blinking in and out, intent on rushing her. Urging her to hurry with his eyes and a silent energy she could only sense and not fully describe. And there were physical sensations, too, more real than anything else around her. Cold. Shivering, bonedeep cold. Followed in short order by racking, white-hot pain in her chest and a duller throb in her leg. She held Mordecai's expressive eyes and gasped as she felt it. And then he was gone, and the hurt and cold left with him. Josh was shaking her shoulder. "Hey!" he said, as if he'd been trying to get her attention. The chopper blades were deafening, but not entirely the reason she hadn't heard him. "Dawnie, what is it?" "Nothing." "Bull. Was it your father?"

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"No, it's Bryan." She looked at the chief, forgetting his name, and not caring what it was, anyway. "Bryan is hurt badly. Broken ribs, and his left leg. We have to hurry. Are we almost there?" "There's the station, dead ahead," the chief called, shouting to be heard above the helicopter blades. She spotted a lone building made of rough timbers, standing alone amid the pines. The sheer face of the glacial mountain was so steep there seemed no level ground anywhere else. "How far?" she shouted. "From here to where the plane went down? How far?" "Hold up." He pressed one hand to the headset he wore, then looked at the pilot and gave a nod. Immediately the chopper swung around, pivoting forty-five degrees and heading away from the unimpressive station she'd only just glimpsed below. "What's going on?" she shouted. "Why are we turning?" "They've found the plane," he said loudly, shifting in his seat to speak to them. "But there's weather moving in. If we don't beat it out there, it could be days before we can try again." Dawn looked at Josh and wondered why he wasn't saying more. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to speak the question most on her mind. "Were there any survivors?" The chief met her eyes. "It was only a flyover. Small plane. No one's on the ground yet. Nowhere to land out there. Pilot couldn't be sure of anything from the air." He averted his eyes. "Go on," she said. "Go on, tell me the rest of it. I can see there's more." The chief nodded reluctantly. "The pilot said there were no signs of life. All he saw…were bodies." Mordecai appeared right beside her, speaking only with his eyes. She'd never asked him for anything in her life, had sworn she never would. He had been a killer and a monster. But she asked now. "You've got to help me. Help me find him, please?"

Chapter Twelve It was working! Bryan could barely believe it, but it was working. He was wriggling his way through the opening he'd dug, using not just his hands, but his entire body. He burrowed and shoved the snow down his front, undulating like some Arctic earthworm, moving snow with his shoulders, with his right knee, shoving it lower until he could push it behind him with his foot. Then, suddenly, his hands hit something different. Harder. He couldn't tell what exactly, as his hands were numb, but as he traced its shape, he realized it was a limb— maybe the very limb he'd been holding on to when the avalanche had hit him. Had it been broken from the tree, or was it still attached? He tried to remember the exact moment when the mountain had plowed into his back. The roar had been so loud he wouldn't have heard the limb break. But it had been big. Heavy. And he did remember the feeling of his hands being ripped from it. It hadn't come with him. Maybe it was still connected to the tree, and if it was, damn, he must be near the surface, right? That limb had been eight feet off the ground. The snow couldn't be deeper than that. Could it? Did it matter? He had to keep digging, no matter how much snow remained above him. But the notion that he was close gave him renewed vigor, and he shoveled faster, harder, his body using hope for fuel.

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He focused on steadily getting into the area beyond the limb—only to find still more snow above it. And his hope died. "Damn!" There could be twenty more feet of snow. There could be fifty. He went still, hugging himself, his mind slipping toward the bliss of unconsciousness. His body was shutting down. Everything was numb. Sleep was so tempting right now, calling to him like a siren's song. Just give in. Just close your eyes and sink into warm, soothing slumber. Just let go. It would be so much easier to just let it all go. His eyes started to fall closed. His body began to relax. "Bryan!" The shout made his eyes pop open again. It was Dawn's voice. "Dawn? Dawnie?" His own voice was weak. She would never hear him. He tried to make it louder. "Dawn! I'm here! I'm…" And then he stopped, realizing that her shout had been in his head, not his ears. He couldn't have heard her. Not really. She was far, far away. He was only hallucinating. Poor Dawn. She must have gotten the news by now that his plane had never arrived in Juneau. She must be devastated. There were probably search parties out scouring the glacier. But they wouldn't find him. He'd ended up far from the rest of the wreckage. He wondered if anyone else had survived. The pilot. The nice couple who'd been sitting behind him. The three young men out for adventure. Were their families going to be getting grim news, just as Dawn was? Would they all be planning funerals, maybe some of them without even a body to bury? No, he couldn't put Dawn through that. Drawing a breath, he resumed his work. He wasn't dead yet, dammit. And he wasn't going to give up until he was.

Chapter Thirteen "There!" The pilot spoke loudly, pointing as he did. Dawn looked below. It wasn't hard to spot the wreckage. Bits of charred metal were strewn across the mountain and flashes of color contrasted with the white of the snow. Seconds later, she realized those flashes were clothes. Worn by people. Dead people. Her hand shot to her lips as she racked her brain to recall what Bryan had been wearing. His uniform. Yes. And his parka had been in the carry-on, hadn't it? She hoped so. He'd be so cold if he didn't have… There was a dark blue shape on the ground, and she strained to see, even as she shook her head slowly and whispered the word No.

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Josh's hand closed on her shoulder, but she took no comfort from it. She couldn't take her eyes off that blue suit. Then the helicopter began to descend, and its blades blew up a miniature blizzard, blocking everything from her view. The helicopter settled onto a relatively flat spot on the treeless glacier, and the chief got out first, then helped her down. She didn't wait for Josh, didn't wait for permission, either. She ducked low and ran clear of the chopper blades, heading in the direction she thought the wreckage had been. An arm snapped around her waist, jerking her to a halt so hard she almost lost her footing. The chopper was shutting down, the blades slowing to a halt. And the snowstorm they'd stirred up slowly died. Dawn found herself standing only a few feet from the edge of a precipice. The fall would have been the end of her. All right, then. Lesson learned. She looked at the chief, who still held her, and she realized he was pale. "Thank you," she said. "That won't happen again." "If it does, I'm sending you back to Juneau. Assuming there's anything left of you to send." He turned. "The crash is this way." She followed, zipping her parka against the cold and staying behind the chief this time. Josh followed more slowly, holding his casted arm close to his chest. But the cast wasn't what slowed him. It was dread. She knew it, she felt it, too. She picked her way through the rubble; her entire focus was on the body in blue. God, it was a uniform! "It's not him," she whispered, over and over, hurrying closer. "It can't be him." It was the pilot. Or the top half of him, anyway—everything from the hip down was gone. She turned her head quickly, clutching her stomach as she retched. "Are you all right?" Josh asked. "Maybe you should let us do this part, Miz Kendall," the chief suggested. "We'll tell you what we find." She shook her head and forced herself back to the carnage, her eyes scanning wider now, seeing two more broken bodies, one of them burned. "Something's already been here. Look how the snow is all trampled down around the bodies." "Those are animal tracks," the pilot said. "Wolves, most likely." The chief elbowed him, but it was too late. Dawn's blood had turned as cold as the glacier beneath her feet.

Chapter Fourteen Bryan felt the limb carefully, measuring its girth, trying to determine in which direction it was larger—and hopefully in which direction the rest of the tree was. Assuming the limb was still attached. The task was almost impossible with his clublike hands, but eventually he thought he had figured it out. He put everything he had left into moving his body through the snow and in that direction. If the tree hadn't been snapped in two by the avalanche it might be his best hope.

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It was, if nothing else, a new notion. So he worked, wriggling, writhing. And weakening. He was weakening by the minute. He was hungry, and he was thirsty. He didn't dare eat the snow to assuage those conditions. That would lower his body temperature further, and he would die even faster. God, it was tempting, though. The honeymoon. Think about the honeymoon. It had been heaven. He hadn't really cared where they went, but he'd had a preference for privacy and solitude rather than parties and people. Dawn had wanted sunshine and sandy beaches. So they'd rented a beach house in Hawaii and spent a glorious week there, basking in the sun, in the surf and in each other. It was beautiful. He remembered the day they'd hiked up Kilaweha, and how they could feel the heat from the volcano on their skin even before they saw any sign of lava. From a high spot, they'd looked far below to where lava spilled into the sea, sending up thick plumes of hot steam as it cooled. The island was growing right before their eyes. They had been staring into the face of creation. But the part he loved best was Dawn's excitement and wonder. He'd enjoyed her reactions more than the sight of the volcano. He imagined he could feel that heat on his face now. He imagined the delight in her eyes, which warmed him further still. "I'm trying, Dawn. I'm trying." And then he realized his hand had come to a stop. He'd found the tree trunk! He dug upward now—or what he thought was upward. He only hoped his instincts were on target. But he couldn't be sure at all. He no longer had any sense of space or time. He was in a twilight zone where those things didn't exist. The tree might be lying on its side. He might be upside down. And yet he kept moving, kept digging, because what the hell else could he do? But he knew he couldn't even do that for much longer. Every movement now was taking every ounce of effort in him. And then, without any warning whatsoever, he realized that his hands were grasping at nothing. He was…at the surface!

Chapter Fifteen "He's not here." Dawn had searched the burned-out plane and wandered the crash site and had found no trace of her husband. Then she glimpsed her father's ghost. Mordecai stood far to the right with his arm outstretched and his forefinger pointing downhill to the pines far, far below. She turned to meet Josh's eyes, her own hopeful. Josh didn't look as positive as she felt, and when she saw the chief, she understood why. The man looked grim.

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"I'm sorry you came all this way only to learn there were no survivors, Miz Kendall. I'm even sorrier for your loss. And for yours, Mr. Ken—" "Loss? There's no loss," Dawn interrupted. "Bryan's not here." The man only looked at her with sympathy, and she swung her gaze from his to Josh's and back again. "I'm telling you, he's not here!" "Naturally it'll take several days to positively identify each individual, ma'am, with the bodies being in the condition they are. Particularly the ones inside the plane where the fire…" He ended the sentence with a sigh and a helpless gesture. "Surely it's clear, even to you, that there were no survivors." "There was one survivor, Chief. My husband." "Rod, that storm is moving in." The helicopter pilot was back in his seat, headset in place, calling to the chief from there. "We need to get back. Base says it's expected to clear enough so we can begin recovering bodies in forty-eight hours." "All right." The chief put a hand on Dawn's upper arm. "I know it's difficult to leave him like this, but—" She jerked away. "I'm not leaving." "Ma'am—" "I'm not leaving." She strode back toward the chopper. "I want our gear, and I want it now." "Miz Kendall…Dawn, I can't let you—" "Dawn, are you sure?" Josh asked, cutting him off. Behind them, her father still stood there, pointing. "Bryan survived," she said. "He headed downhill. That way," and she indicated Mordecai's direction. Josh searched her eyes for reassurance, and without a word she told him that she knew. He wouldn't second-guess her. Josh turned to the chief. "If she says my son went that way, he went that way. I'm staying with her. We've got plenty of cold-weather gear, and I've had some experience in the Arctic." "You've only got one good arm!" The chief sighed. "And as for you, you can't possibly understand—" "He must have left tracks." "It's been snowing on and off ever since they went down!" "Just look. Please. For the love of God, don't leave him out there to die in the cold." She willed him to listen. Pressing his lips tightly together, the chief nodded and started trudging through the snow. Dawn ran ahead. But there was nothing where her father had been standing, nor in the direction where he'd pointed. No tracks in the snow. No sign of anything. "I'm sorry. No one walked away from this site, Miz Kendall. No one." The chief took her arm and started leading her back to the chopper.

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Chapter Sixteen Bryan dragged himself out of the snow, not stopping until even his feet were free. Then he allowed himself a moment to relax and relish his triumph. "I did it," he whispered. "I did it, Dawn. I got out." Sitting with his back against the tree trunk, he took stock of his situation. He was no longer buried alive, but it was far colder outside his snowy grave. And as he slowly blinked his vision into hard-won focus, he saw that he had emerged into a very strange world indeed. There was very little light. And the snow was never ending. It rose up, as far as he could see. There was some space around the tree trunk, but only a couple of feet of it, and then that towering wall of snow. Holding his breath, he gazed behind him. It was much the same, only this wall had a top to it—he was at the bottom of a lopsided funnel. Despondency threatened to set in, but he convinced himself that this was a good thing. He had to keep climbing, yes, but he could see the sky! Things could have been worse. The avalanche must have been losing speed as it hit this area, or it would have taken the tree right on down the mountainside with it. He looked directly above him, and realized with a grim sense of foreboding that the limbs that had probably saved his life were blocking any sight of him from anyone flying overhead. He would have to climb to the top of the tree to be seen. And he was so tired. His left leg was badly broken, but didn't hurt. His extremities were numb, which would make climbing a sentinel pine nearly impossible. Imagine Dawnie waiting at the top. That made staying where he was even more impossible than the climb he faced. He couldn't wait to find his energy, didn't know how much longer his vital organs would keep on functioning. He figured he was getting close to death from exposure by now. He pushed his palms against the trunk, and though they felt nothing of its rough texture and sticky, fragrant resin, he managed to get upright, his weight on the right leg. He grabbed hold of the highest limb he could reach, and did the toughest pull-up of his entire life. When he got waist-high, he leaned over the limb, hauling himself slowly, inch by inch, onto it. Standing on that limb, he stretched up for the next one he could reach. As he was levering himself up onto it, his mind played another trick on him. He could have sworn he heard chopper blades in the distance.

Chapter Seventeen Dawn planted her feet in the snow, refusing to budge. "I won't leave him. I just won't, I can't." "Dawn, listen, there comes a time when you have to face reality—"

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"Not this reality," she insisted. "I'm going down there and I'm going to find him." Tearing her arm from the chief's grasp, she raced to the wrecked plane and, quelling the nausea, the gag reflex, the horror, she walked right up to the mutilated body of the pilot and said, "Tell me where he is, dammit! Tell me!" "Oh, God," she heard the chief mutter. "She's having a breakdown." "No, she's not," Josh said. But no spirit appeared. No one answered her. Dawn tipped her head up to the sky and shouted, "All right! I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry I turned my back on the gift you gave me. I won't ever do it again, I promise. Just talk to me now. Come to me and I'll listen. I'll never stop listening again. I swear it…on the life of my husband, I swear!" When she lowered her head, the pilot was standing in front of her, intact, his suit clean, his face peaceful. "The plane broke up before we hit the ground. He could be anywhere. But he's not here. I mean, where we are." She could hear him. Clearly. As she'd never been able to before. God, she never thought she'd be this glad to have the gift she'd called a curse working once more. "We?" He nodded past her, and Dawn turned to see the others, all of them. There were three young guys, wearing jeans and long "emo" haircuts, backpacks in place, hiking away toward the glacial peak. She ran after them. "Hey! Hey, wait up. Have you seen my husband? He was the cop on the plane with you." They pointed down the hill. "But there are no footprints…" she said. Shaking their heads, they resumed their journey, intent on it. She frowned and returned to the spot where her father had been standing. But it was getting dark. "Bring me a light!" She shouted, holding out a hand. When no one replied, she spun around to see the police chief and the pilot staring at her as if she'd lost her mind. And no wonder, she'd been having a whole conversation with people they couldn't even see. "Yes, I'm talking to you now. Bring me a flashlight. Hurry, if you want to get out of here before that storm." The pilot jumped out of the chopper with a light. To the chief, she said, "How many were on board?" "Six passengers, including your husband. Pilot and copilot make eight." She nodded and took the light from the pilot as Josh hurried closer, hope lighting his face. "You got it back, didn't you? All of it?" "Full throttle," she told him, smiling as she said it. For the first time, she appreciated being able to speak to the dead. It came in damn handy when you needed something from them instead of the other way around. "And what did they say to you?" "He's down that mountainside…somewhere." She shone the light down.

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Josh met her eyes, then he cupped her face between his hands and kissed her forehead. "Thank God you married my son," he whispered. Then he turned and yelled to the searchers. "We're going down there!"

Chapter Eighteen The chief, under heavy pressure from Josh, radioed base and asked for men on snowmobiles to be dispatched to the scene, a direct contradiction of his own earlier orders that the searchers stand down until the coming storm passed. "We've got two hours until this storm hits," he told Dawn. "And my men need to be well on their way back to base by then. I'm not risking their lives." "It'll be enough," she said. "Please understand that I can't wait." "You get lost out there, you're on your own, Miz Kendall." "That's fine with me." She started down the steep, steep slope, flashlight in hand, Josh following close beside her. "Beth would kill us both," she said to him. "Nah, she'd be leading the way." He was right, and Dawn knew it. She had her mother's stubbornness, and her loyalty, as well. They fell silent as they trudged through the snow. It felt as if they walked for miles, through ever increasing darkness and deepening snow. They could hear the snowmobiles approaching now. But they didn't let it slow them down. As they went, Dawn noticed rough-looking patches in the snow and peaks on the drifts that were not smooth like the rest had been. "Why are the snow patterns different here?" she asked. Josh followed her gaze but hesitated before answering her. And that made her worry. "What, Josh? What is it?" "There's been an avalanche," he said softly. "God, he must have been right in the middle of it…" Dawn shivered and aimed her flashlight farther down the slope. She saw a mountain of snow, piled up unnaturally right where the trees began. The backs of the pines had bowed under the snow massed against them from the higher peaks. "He's down there, somewhere." "Lord, how are we going to find him in all that snow?" Josh stood beside her, searching with his eyes. And then her father was standing on her other side. He's still alive. Dawn gasped and whispered, "I heard you that time, Dad." Because you're finally listening. Dawn, I was confused when I was…as you are. I didn't know what was right and wrong, I didn't listen to myself, only to the voices. That's where I got off track, you see? There were just so many of them, and I was so determined that I could help them that I stopped hearing my own voice.

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Don't let that happen to you. Because that one voice, that one way down deep inside you that tells you what's right, what you really believe…that is the true voice. Listen to it above all else. And know that I love you, Sunny. I always have. She blinked, her eyes burning at his use of the name he'd given her at birth. "I never doubted that." I'm glad. And good thinking giving him the whistle. You were listening then, too. Dawn tilted her head. "You made me do that?" But there was no reply.

Chapter Nineteen He was on the fifth limb and nearing the very top of the snow funnel when he spotted the last thing he expected to see. It was hanging from a branch three boughs up, waving back and forth in the night wind. Like a charm or a decoration. It was manmade, he was certain. Ah, God, he was probably hallucinating. The mind did odd things when it started to shut itself down. And yet, he kept seeing it. Though he rubbed his eyes, tried looking away and then back again, over and over, it was still there. It was about the size of a sausage link—he would think of food—dangling from the end of a cord of some sort. Hallucination or not, it gave him a short-term goal to reach for. He would focus everything he had on getting to that odd little item and figuring out what it was. He climbed one more limb. Stood on it, and stretched. He could almost reach it. Almost… His foot slipped and he went down, barely grabbing a skinny branch in the nick of time. Breathless with fear, his heart pounding from it, he got himself anchored again. He gazed up. The little thing still swung, teasing him like a carrot on a stick. There I go with another food analogy. When I get to the top, I'm going to eat a pine cone, I swear to God. Didn't I read somewhere that they were edible? He moved closer to the trunk again, and reached for the closest limb he could. The object was on the branch just a little higher. And with what he was sure had to be the last ounce of strength remaining in his body, he pulled himself up. Lying on his stomach over the limb, he panted, done. There was just no more. He was spent. He couldn't hold on anymore. "I'm so sorry, Dawn. So damn sorry," he muttered. At least see what the thing was. You made it all this way, you can't just die without at least looking…. He listened to his inner voice, and lifted his head even though it was as hard as hoisting a truck would have been. Hands on the tree's strong trunk, he inched upward until he was sitting. Then he braced his one good foot tightly between the upturned limb and the tree's center so he wouldn't fall again, and with a will that felt it was made of rice paper, he straightened that leg, inch by agonizing inch. Until, at least, he stood. With a sigh of relief, he stretched out his hand and closed it around the object, then brought it close to his face to examine it in the feeble starlight.

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Yes, starlight, he realized. He'd cleared the branches. And the bit of wood in his hand looked for all the world like a whistle. Dawn's whistle. The one she'd said would protect him. But it couldn't be… Could it? He brought the object to his mouth and blew with all his might.

Chapter Twenty The sound cut through the night. Shrill and high pitched, it made her jerk her head up and look around. And then her eyes met Josh's. "What the hell…?" "It… It can't be." "Can't be what, Dawn?" Josh gripped her shoulder. "Just follow it. Follow that sound!" They ran together through the snow. And every time the whistle trilled, they stopped, honed in closer and moved again. Until at last they spotted someone, way up in the top of a giant pine tree that was nearly buried in snow. "Bryan!" Dawn called. "Bryan! Bryan!" He said something back, she thought, but his voice was too weak to distinguish the words. It didn't matter. It was the most beautiful sound she'd ever heard. *** Dawn called his name and then he passed out cold, having used up everything in him to survive up to that point, and knowing that somehow, it was okay to let go. His angel was near. By the time he opened his eyes again, he was no longer in the tree, nor in the cold. He was warm and indoors, in a soft bed. And she was right there, staring into his eyes. The relief he felt was so damn powerful that his vision blurred with tears. "Dawnie, is it really you?" "Yeah, it's me." She was crying, too, and then her hands were on his face, her mouth on his mouth, her tears mingling with his. "You're okay, baby, you're okay." "I am now." "You've got some frostbite, but they're pretty sure they can save both hands. And your leg is broken pretty badly, but—" "I don't care, Dawn. I don't care about my hands, I don't care about anything but the fact that you're in my arms again. Damn, honey, let's not be apart again." "Not ever. Not ever, my love."

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He kissed her, long and slow, and as he did, his mind put the pieces together. He was in a hospital, and the view outside his window was an unfamiliar one. Beyond a jewel-like city was a forested mountain and a glacier. "How did you do it, Dawn? How did you find me?" She sniffled and held up the whistle. "I told you it would protect you. It was my father, hon. He had a hand in this." She lowered her head. "You were the only survivor…but the others are all okay. You know?" He blinked, his face, he was sure, showing his deepest fear. "You…" "I got my gift back. And I think… I've made peace with it, Bryan. After all, it led me to you." He sighed, relieved that the thing he'd been long fearing had happened and she was still by his side. Thank God. "Are you sure you're okay with it?" he asked. Dawn shrugged. "I'd better be. I've been warned there is a long line of spirits eager to talk to me when we get home. They need help, and I can give it. It's my calling. My gift." She lowered her head. "I've kept them waiting a long time, I guess." "Yeah, well, you're going to have to keep them waiting a little bit longer, because I intend to keep you busy welcoming me home, just as soon as I'm able." "Who said I could wait that long? Shove over," she told him. "I do not intend to spend another night without your arms around me, Bryan Kendall." "Damn, woman. I am one lucky man." "Lucky to be alive," she teased as she slid into bed beside him. "Lucky to be with you, Dawnie. Lucky to be with you."

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Hostage in Copper Lake By Marilyn Pappano Libby Maxwell had left her hometown of Copper Lake to go to college, believing that the world was at her feet and her fiancé, Pete Petrovski, would always be there when she decided to come back. Now, ten years later, Libby is far from that naive girl. After all the things she's done, all the pain she's caused, she doesn't expect a warm welcome when she returns to the small Georgia town. Especially from Pete, the one person she most regrets hurting. But neither did she expect to become a hostage in a bank robbery. With Pete.

Chapter One The clock outside the American Federal Bank showed three minutes until six when Pete Petrovski pulled into a space right out front. He left his helmet on his bike and crossed the sidewalk to the glass door. An unsmiling man inside opened it for him then twisted the lock as soon as the door closed behind him. "Looks like I made it just in time," Pete commented. The man's only response was a grunt as he closed the blinds that hung from the top of the door. Pete took half a dozen steps inside before the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. The two tellers behind the counter were both pale and wide-eyed, and the only other customers, a man and a woman, were standing in a funny-looking embrace in the middle of the room. Grateful he'd changed from his uniform but wishing he still had his gun, Pete took a few more cautious steps inside. "We're clear," the guy at the door said. The man in the center of the room turned, pivoting the woman with him, giving Pete three shocks in one. He'd walked in on a bank robbery. The guy was pressing a gun into the woman's rib cage. And the woman was Libby Maxwell. What the hell was she doing in town? She'd left ten years ago and had never come back—not for the visits she'd promised and certainly not for the wedding they'd half-planned since high school. "Nice of you to join us," the man with the gun said. "If we get into trouble, four hostages are always better than three." Addressing the rest of the frightened hostages, he said: "My name is Ben, I'll be your bank robber for this evening. Do what I tell you and no one will get hurt." He gestured with the .45 to Pete then gave Libby a shove. "You two, go over there and sit down." Damn. Pete had been with the Copper Lake Police Department for five years, and none of his training had covered what to do when you surprised bank robbers in the act. He followed one general rule when things exceeded his expertise: call Tommy Maricci or AJ Decker. He was pretty sure, though, that the guy with the gun wouldn't like it if he said, "Hold on while I call my bosses at the police department." Hands held loosely at his sides, Pete walked to the narrow table close to Libby and sank to the floor at one end. Libby did the same at the other end.

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She'd given no hint of recognizing him. Was it possible that she didn't? That he had meant so little to her that after ten lousy years she didn't even know his face or his name? She hadn't even officially dumped him, he thought with a trace of bitterness. She'd just stopped taking his calls and blocked him from her email. When he'd flown all the way to San Diego to find out what was going on, he'd discovered that she'd moved months earlier without telling him. Just remembering the pain and frustration from all those years ago made his gut twist into a knot. Why had she come back now? Suddenly Ben was hauling Libby up and dumping her beside Pete. He grabbed her arm and clicked a handcuff on her wrist, then slapped the other end onto Pete's. Ben smiled at them. "I need to go talk to those two ladies over there about a vault. You two play nice. You might be together awhile."

Chapter Two "All right, ladies." Ben smiled at the two tellers. "Which one of you has the combination?" Libby shifted uncomfortably. How did he do that? Smile so innocently, so nonthreateningly, when he was holding a pistol in his hand? There was a name for that, wasn't there? For killers who could charm others into doing what they wanted them to do. Sociopath? Psychopath? Evil? The young-looking teller—Amy, Libby gathered from her nametag—fluttered her hands as she looked anxiously from Ben to the other teller, Audra, then to Pete and Libby. The poor kid wanted so badly to shout Audra does! but couldn't be quite that cowardly. Calmly, her voice steady, Audra spoke. "I do." "Then come over here and open these bars for us. My boys would like to get started. They've got plans for tonight." "To drop dead, I hope." Audra's words were no more than a mutter, but they made Libby smile. That's what she hoped, too. Audra opened the barred door without a hitch then returned to the counter, sliding one arm around Amy's waist. The girl leaned heavily against her. "Why are you here?" Pete hissed at Libby. Libby turned her head just enough to catch a blurred glimpse of him. "I had business in Charleston. I thought it would be nice to take a leisurely drive home, so I cancelled my flight and rented a car instead." "But why are you here?" Here in the town where she'd lived two-thirds of her life. Back when she was a kid and believed anything was possible, she'd thought she would be married here, raise her kids here. Be perfectly happy for all her days and die in this little town. God, she'd been naive. Though it seemed chances were good she actually might die here. "Just a drive through Copper Lake for old time's sake," she said. "I stopped to get some cash, but the ATM was broken so I came inside." "You weren't going to call any of your friends?"

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By friends, she figured he meant himself. He must know she'd cut off contact with everyone else in Copper Lake at the same time she'd stopped talking to him. She'd isolated herself out of shame and fear and what little bit of pride she'd held on to, but it had been hard. Everything about her life then had been so damn hard. Especially losing Pete. The only man she'd ever loved.

Chapter Three "What kind of business are you in?" Pete asked when it became clear she wasn't going to tell him why she hadn't called up any of her old friends—namely him—when she'd decided to drive through Copper Lake. The bank robbers were preoccupied inside the vault. "Oil." "In Charleston?" "The man I was meeting was there on vacation." "Where do you live?" "Oklahoma. Tulsa." "Are you married?" His tone was getting sharper with each question. Her answers were annoying him, and Libby couldn't blame him. If the situation were reversed, she'd be angry with him, too, for living a normal life after breaking her heart. "I was. It didn't last." Three weeks. That was how long it had taken for both of them to sober up and realize what they'd done. It had taken longer to undo than to do, and she'd never heard from him again. A muscle clenched in Pete's jaw, forcing him to bite out the next question. "When?" "Eight years ago." It had come after her second stint in rehab for alcohol addiction and led her to try again. Third time's the charm, and all that. She'd been sober seven years, nine months and seventeen days now, but sometimes she still felt as vulnerable as the day she'd started to seriously drink. The day she'd found herself all the way across the country from everything she knew and everyone she loved. She'd been so afraid, so alone, and alcohol had been her parents' solution for everything, so she'd tried it. And liked it. Her mouth was watering, and she swallowed hard. Being held hostage during a robbery wasn't going to tempt her. Neither was seeing Pete again. She was stronger than that. She was. But if she was going to die here… She shut out the ugly voice with a shiver and started to fold her arms across her chest before a jerk reminded her that she was handcuffed to Pete. She rested her hand on the marble tile and settled for a onearmed hug, all too aware of the heat radiating from his body. So close, but so far. Could she close some of that distance if she gave him the explanation he'd asked for? It was number eight in the twelve-step program that had kept her clean and sober: making amends to the people she'd harmed. It was the only step she'd never fully accomplished. Coming back here, facing everyone she'd let down, facing Pete in particular—she hadn't been that strong. But in her current situation, what did she have to lose? They might never make it out of this bank…

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Quickly, before she could lose her nerve, she said, "I was in rehab. When you went to San Diego. That's why you couldn't find me." Slowly he turned his head to look at her, his gaze flat and unblinking. "Rehab," he repeated. "For what?" "Alcohol." Her chest ached, so she took a breath to ease it. "I'm a recovering alcoholic, Pete."

Chapter Four I'm a recovering alcoholic, Pete. She couldn't have surprised him more if she'd said I'm a vampire, Pete. Sure, they'd done some drinking in high school. There was always someone older around willing to buy booze for the parties, and failing that, his parents had kept a fully-stocked liquor cabinet. And, yeah, they'd gotten drunk a time or two or…well, more than they should have. Including the first time they'd spent the night together, he realized now that he thought about it. They'd had a few drinks, made love, had a few drinks more, and he'd awakened in the morning on the couch, her body still wrapped around his. But to go from weekend partying to full-blown alcoholism in a couple of months? When he didn't reply to the bomb she'd dropped, she looked away, staring at the paneling that fronted the teller counter. "I had a problem when I left here. I never drank without getting drunk. Remember that?" He did remember. He'd thought she just couldn't handle her liquor—a surprise given that her dad could drink everyone else in town under the table, and her mother was no slouch in that department, either. She didn't wait for him to answer, though. "When I went to San Diego for that college program, I felt lost. I was sure I'd made a huge mistake going there, and I was so homesick. I drank myself to sleep the first night. And every night after that. By the time classes started, I was in sorry shape, either buzzed or hungover all the time. Within a month, I'd stopped going to class at all. Not long after, I got booted out of the dorm for getting caught with booze too many times. I stayed with a friend or two, begged money from my parents, looked for a job and kept trying to drink away my troubles. Then…" Her voice had gone practically inaudible, her expression stark, her fingers knotted. If she dreaded the next part so much, then he sure as hell didn't want to hear it. He should put his fingers in his ears, change the subject, do something to draw Ben and the goons' attention their way. But he didn't speak. Didn't move. Didn't breathe. Very deliberately, carefully, she went on. "I woke up one morning in an alley in a part of the city where I'd never been. I couldn't remember anything beyond the first drink the night before. I found a payphone down the street and called the student advisor from the dorm. She hooked me up with a school counselor, who helped me get into a program. That's where I was when you went out there." She hesitated. "But there were darker days to come."

Chapter Five Libby—an alcoholic, going into rehab, married to some other man… It had been ten years since they'd been together, but still, it landed a punch in his gut. She'd been a virgin the first time they'd made love—hell, so had he! He'd been glad to be her first, had thought he'd be her only. Until she'd gotten far enough away to forget about him.

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They'd been engaged. They'd been in love. And she'd turned her back on him, cut him off and eventually married another guy. She'd betrayed him. Though some small, rational part of him pointed out that part of the blame rested on the strength of her addiction. Booze or drugs could drive a person to do things they would never ordinarily do. If the lure were easy to resist, it wouldn't be an addiction. That didn't make it hurt any less. Unable to look at her, he stared at a patch of stone, forcing his lungs to fill, empty, refill. It had been a long time ago. She'd had at least one other man in her life. He'd moved on in his. It was an old betrayal that shouldn't—couldn't—hold power over him now. It would only matter if he hadn't gotten over her, and he had, damn it. He thought of Libby in rehab. She'd been only eighteen when her drinking had become uncontrollable. His cop side knew that age had nothing to do with it; he'd picked up drunks as young as twelve and as old as ninety-four. But Libby…cheerleader, honor student, good kid. She was the last person he would have expected to have a problem with anything. The last person he'd thought would break his heart. She glanced at him—he saw the movement peripherally but refused to meet her gaze—then looked away again. "I was there for ninety days. By the time I got out, my parents had moved to San Diego, too. They had a big dinner to celebrate my release, complete with wine. I managed to resist for six days, but then I fell hard. My second shot at rehab didn't work, either, but the third time… I got out on my twenty-first birthday, and I've been sober since. I…I'm so sorry, Pete. Can you forgive me?"

Chapter Six Pete didn't know what to say. He'd imagined a lot of things coming between them, but alcoholism, rehab hadn't been among them. When Libby'd gone away to college in San Diego, he'd pictured her meeting new guys, having more fun, making a new life for herself that didn't include anyone from small-town Georgia. He'd thought she might have fallen in love with one of those guys, one who wouldn't make her live in Copper Lake, who could give her excitement and new experiences in new places. But this? This had never occurred to him. "Why didn't you tell me? We could have dealt with—" Libby's withering look cut his words off short. "Tell you? When? After I got kicked out of the dorm? When I woke up in an alley with no memory of the night before? When I'd finished rehab the first time? The second time? The third time?" "Before you took that first drink. You should have called me." "And say that you were right? That I'd made a mistake? I couldn't handle living that far away?" It was the only thing they'd fought about that last summer: her decision to go to school in California. He'd wanted to change her mind. He'd warned her she would be isolated. He'd told her it wouldn't work out. She'd insisted she would be fine. They would be fine. And that the highly-specialized program she'd been thrilled to be accepted to would keep her too busy to be lonely. She'd been wrong. And it had almost killed her. "You should have told me," he repeated stubbornly.

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"I'd lost my scholarship, my sanity, my sobriety, my dignity. All I had left was a little bit of pride. I had to hold on to that." His first thought was to scoff, but he reined it in. After all, she wasn't entirely to blame. He could have tracked her down if he'd tried. He'd had enough money of his own to hire a private investigator. He'd had friends who were cops. He could have found her…but pride had held him back, too. He'd thought that she was done with him, and he'd be damned if he was going to force his way back into her life. Sometimes pride was all you had left to keep you feeling like a man. But now, seeing her after all these years with a little perspective, it didn't seem all that important. He was staring at her when suddenly a pair of black boots and jean-covered legs stopped right in front of him. Tilting his head back, he found himself looking down the barrel of Ben's gun, pointed right between his eyes. "You Petrovski?" Oh, God. Had Ben figured out he was a cop? "That's me." "Stanley Petrovski," Ben said quietly. "Let's talk."

Chapter Seven Tension vibrated off Pete and seeped into Libby as her gaze skittered from one man to the other. Pete's expression was totally blank, Ben's was expectant. Why had he called Pete by his father's name? "Get up," Ben ordered Pete. Slowly, carefully, Pete stood, offering Libby a hand so her arm didn't have to dangle in air. She stayed close to him, wishing she could ease behind him. Even though as kids they'd never faced any risk more serious than getting caught drinking or making out, he'd always made her feel safe. She really wanted to feel safe right now. "There's a door down the hall with your name painted on it. Opens up to a fancy office, cushy furniture, lots of money on the walls and the floor. That your office, Stanley?" "Stanley's my father. I'm Pete. And I don't work at the bank." Ben turned to the tellers. "That true, Amy?" She bobbed her head. "His dad's the president. Pete's a—" Pete stiffened even more, and Audra jabbed her elbow into Amy's ribs, urging her to be silent. "Pete's a disappointment," the older teller said. "He used to work here, but he didn't last long. Stan tells anyone who asks what a letdown it was." The way she repeated the insult struck Libby as cold, but it eased a bit of Pete's agitation. The clench of his jaw relaxed, and his shrug looked totally natural. "I always told him I didn't want to work in the bank."

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Ben stepped back to lean against the teller counter. Behind him in the vault, his crew was making steady progress on the safe deposit boxes. A pile of canvas bags just outside the door held the goods they'd already amassed. "So you're the bank president's son. You know, that might make you worth more as a hostage. Despite his disappointment, does Daddy put any value on you?" "You'd have to ask him that. But if you're thinking of asking for ransom, you're already cleaning out the vault. What would he have to give you?" "I'm sure other banks in the area would be willing to help him put together a bit of money. Besides, I'm not greedy. I'll be happy with what's here. I was just thinking about ensuring a safe trip out of town. Does Daddy have any pull with the local cops?" Again Amy started to speak, but Pete tensed and Audra did something to stop her, this time eliciting a grimace of pain. What were they hiding? "He's a bank president. He has money. His brother-in-law is the mayor, and he's probably bought enough politicians to start his own government. You might call it pull." Ben nodded, satisfied enough to lower the weapon. "Good to know. Go ahead. Sit down."

Chapter Eight Libby didn't need Pete's help to sink back down to the cold floor, but she was grateful for it. Just his hand was on her arm, nothing more, but it helped quell the shivers rocketing through her. As soon as they settled on the marble, he let go, drew his knees up and rested his free arm on them. He was frowning now, his gaze narrowed, as he watched Ben return to the vault. "That's good news, isn't it?" she murmured. "That he's giving some thought to getting away?" "Depends on whether he intends to let us all live, kill you guys and take me along, or kill us all." His mouth thinned. "I had plans for tonight, and they don't include being used to provide safe passage to a bunch of bank robbers." "What plans?" She couldn't help it. The question just popped out, utterly inane, absolutely irrelevant—they were talking about dying, for God's sake—but there it was. He thought it was inane, too, judging by the way his brows arched. "A date. With Sophy." The name gave her a jolt. She and Sophy had been friends from first grade until the day she'd moved to San Diego. They'd taken all the same classes, joined all the same activities, double- and triple-dated. They'd even worked at the same summer jobs—lifeguards at the country club pool. And now they were involved with the same man. Not that Pete and Libby were involved. She'd never gotten over him, though. Never met a man she didn't compare to him, never thought of him without a pang for what she'd lost. Though she'd never said the words, not even to herself, she'd never stopped loving him. Despair washed over her, making her hands tremble and her stomach knot. She knew hopeless causes when she saw them, and any feelings she still had for Pete were definitely hopeless. Sophy was so pretty and funny and nice. He would probably fall in love with her, if he hadn't already, and they'd get married and have that wonderful perfect life he and Libby had thought they would have. Except that she'd hurt him and become an alcoholic. Not exactly the girl you bring home to Mom.

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Which left her with the grim future of being alone and lonely in Tulsa. Then from somewhere behind the teller's desk, the phone rang.

Chapter Nine When the phone rang, Pete's gaze shifted automatically to the big clock on the wall at the opposite side of the lobby. 6:20. He figured one of the hostages had been missed, and his gut said it was him. The good thing about a terminal case of punctuality: it didn't take long for people to notice something was wrong. Ben's head swiveled around to stare at the phone, and the men inside the vault stopped their work to look. Any call after closing time was suspicious—a call to the tellers would have been made to their cells—and it ratcheted up the nerves in both rooms. After the fourth ring, Ben gestured with the pistol to Audra. She managed to sound pretty damn normal when she answered. "American Federal… Just a moment." She put the call on hold. "It's for Pete." The gun shifted in his direction. Not knowing how good a shot Ben was, Pete wished Libby wasn't so close. Hell, he wished she was safe in her rental car, speeding along I-20 to Atlanta. "Who would be calling you here?" He put a few inches of space between Libby and him. "I'm late for dinner with my girlfriend. It's either her or my buddy. We were going out together and I told them I had to stop by the bank first. They probably figured I was delayed by my dad." "What will happen if she tells them you're not here?" He shrugged. "I told you, they know I'm here. And my bike's parked out front." Ben considered it a moment then ordered, "Put it on speaker." Audra did so as Pete, pulling Libby after him, got up and walked to the counter. "This is Pete." "Where are you, man? We've been waiting over at Sophy's for ten minutes." The male voice sounded mildly irritated, but it didn't sound a thing like his friend Ty Gadney… Because it was one of their bosses, Tommy Maricci. Relief flooded through Pete. Ty had seen his bike and known something was wrong. Whatever plans Ben had, now the best cops in Copper Lake were plotting to thwart them. "Come on, man. Have you forgotten who you're talking to?" Pete said, thinking fast. "I don't consider myself late until at least forty-five minutes have passed. I thought I'd hang out here and walk Audra and Amy to their cars once they've closed up. Wouldn't want anything bad to happen to them." "So thoughtful," Maricci said sarcastically. "I'll be sure and tell your girlfriend." "Yeah, you tell her, and Sophy, too. Tell them I'll be there four—nah, make it five minutes after Amy and Audra are done here." "We'll believe it when we see you." Maricci hung up, and Audra did the same. Pete glanced at Ben. The guy didn't seem overly suspicious. Granted, the clues Pete had tried to give were piss-poor, but without planning and with everyone listening…

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Still, Maricci and Ty were the best. They'd figure it out. They had to.

Chapter Ten Once Libby and Pete were sitting on the floor again and Ben's attention was back on the work inside the vault, Libby gave Pete a sidelong look and murmured, "You're never late." "Maricci knows that." "Tommy Maricci? Didn't he become a co—" She bit off the word, but her eyes widened and she quieted her voice even further. "You talked about something bad happening, and you told him which employees are here. And you acted like Sophy isn't your girlfriend. To let him know someone else was a hostage?" Easy enough for her to figure out when she knew what was going on. Still, Pete felt damn near clever for a moment. "Will he call the FBI?" He scowled at her. "There's no FBI within an hour of here. Besides, CLPD is good. They don't need the feds." She scowled back, her blue gaze narrowing. Then, suddenly, her expression cleared."That's what Audra was trying to hide a while ago, isn't it? Why you both got so tense when Amy kept talking. You're a cop, aren't you?" He just continued to glare at her, but that was the only answer she needed. "Wow. This is Ben's lucky day. A hostage who happens to be the bank president's son and a cop. I don't suppose you have any expert cop ideas on how to get us out of this." Hearing the hopeful tinge to her voice, Pete winced. "I wear a uniform. I take calls, write traffic tickets, break up domestics. Sorry to disappoint you." It took a moment to find her voice, and when she did, it was all soft and sad. "You've never disappointed me, Pete. All the disappointment's been my fault, and I'm more sorry than I can ever say." He held her gaze a moment, for the first time without hostility, then pointedly looked away. Stifling a sigh, she tilted her head back until it hit solid wood and stared into the distance. Pete a Copper Lake cop. That was a surprise. He'd been groomed since infancy to take his place in the family business, but he'd lost interest in the idea by the time he was eight. His mother must have been so smug when he came to the bank after college…and so dismayed when he quit to become a cop. When Mareta Petrovski wasn't happy, no one was happy. Yet clearly he'd stood his ground. Just as he had regarding Libby back in high school. Mareta hadn't liked her; her son should have been dating someone who belonged at the country club, not someone who worked there. She'd made her disapproval clear, but Pete hadn't backed down. He'd never been ashamed of Libby, never let her believe she was in any way inferior. But Mareta had been right. Libby had been inferior. She hadn't deserved Pete. She still didn't.

Chapter Eleven "Excuse me, Ben." Audra shifted anxiously from foot to foot. "Amy and I both need to go to the bathroom."

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"I—" Amy winced at some unseen pain and gave Audra a baleful look. The poor kid was going to be blackand-blue before this was over, and none of it from the hostage-takers. Chastened, she mumbled, "I do. Really bad." Ben rolled his eyes. "Jeez. Jerry, take the tellers to the head. What about you?" he directed at Libby. "I'm fine." Jerry traded his tools for his weapon and came out of the vault, gesturing the two women to go first. As they disappeared around the corner into the hall, the phone rang again. Ben pointed the gun at Libby. "Get over here and answer." She stumbled to her feet, bumping against Pete. His free hand closed around her upper arm, steadying her. When he let go, he didn't break contact completely but twisted his right hand until his fingers wrapped around hers. The touch made her feel very warm and safe. "American Federal," she said almost cheerily. "This is Libby." "Hello, Libby." The caller was male, his voice husky and tinged with an Oklahoma/Texas drawl. "This is Lieutenant AJ Decker with the Copper Lake Police Department. Everything okay in there?" "As okay as it's going to get." "Put it on speaker," Ben ordered. She mouthed I don't know how, and Pete reached across to punch the right button. "Who's in charge there, Libby?" Decker asked. Figuring that the lieutenant wouldn't have identified himself unless they had a plan, she said, "That would be the man with the gun. He calls himself Ben, and he's listening now." "We know you've got accomplices inside the bank, Ben, and hostages—" "Including the bank president's son," Ben pointed out. "In fairness, we should let you know what we've got outside: just about the entire police department, the sheriff's department, a few state troopers and a half dozen GBI agents who happened to be in town for the weekend. Every street out of downtown is blocked off, every bank exit is covered. You're not getting out of there." "Oh, I think that's negotiable." Ben drew the barrel of his gun along Libby's jaw. She clenched her teeth together and practically bit off her tongue to keep the revulsion from showing. Beside her, Pete squeezed her hand tighter, but his expression remained blank. "Like I said, I've got the bank president's son." "Yeah, I heard that. If you're counting on Stan Petrovski's help after you've cleaned out his vault, you're greatly overestimating the father-son bond." Ben glared at Pete. "You said your father has pull with the cops." Pete's shrug was tight and small. "I didn't say he would use it for me."

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Lieutenant Decker drew their attention back to the phone. "It doesn't matter who you've got, Ben. We're not negotiating anything until the hostages have been released. In the meantime, maybe this will help you make your choice." The phone line went dead. And an instant later, so did the lights.

Chapter Twelve As the lights went dead, curses came from the vault, along with distant shrieks down the hall. Making enough racket for a dozen people, Jerry dragged the two tellers back to the counter before demanding, "What the hell happened? Who was on the phone?" "The freaking cops. What the hell do you think happened?" Jerry started cursing again and shoved the two women behind the counter before making his way toward the other goons. One of the thieves in the vault turned on a handheld spotlight, emitting a powerful beam, but little of it came through the doorway. It was directed at the safe deposit boxes the men were still working on. "Mind if we sit down?" Pete asked. "Libby's a little unsteady on her feet." Never slow to take a hint, she immediately gripped the counter for balance. "Sorry. I don't do well with stress. It makes my blood sugar drop, my blood pressure follows and before long, I drop, too." "Sit," Ben growled before stalking off to the vault door. Instead of heading back to the table, Pete sank down on the floor right where they were. With their backs against the teller counter, they couldn't see what was going on, but on the plus side, they couldn't be seen, either. Pete leaned close until his mouth brushed Libby's hair. "Are you still as flexible as you used to be?" "I used to be seventeen. Depends on what you have in mind." "My keys are in my right pocket. Can you get to them?" She wiggled her right hand into his jeans pocket, her fingers nimble and swift. He closed his eyes, remembering other times when she'd reached inside his clothing—and not for keys—and grew hot just from the thought. They'd had so much fun together, been so good together. Losing her had been bad enough, but not knowing what he'd done wrong had just about killed him. Even ten years later, when he couldn't sleep at night he wondered how and where she was, if she was happy, if she was with someone else. Every time he went out on a date, he compared the woman to Libby and found her lacking. Every time he thought about his future, he saw himself alone, still wanting her. Still loving her. Wasn't that pathetic? Ten years after she'd cut him off without so much as a word, he still loved her.

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Chapter Thirteen Libby eased the keys out of Pete's pocket without so much as a clink and pressed them into his hand. He liked that she was smart and quick-thinking and didn't ask questions when he told her to do something. He couldn't ask for a better person to be taken hostage with. He knew some cops—Sophy's friend Kiki came to mind—who would have freaked out if a bank robber shoved a pistol into their rib cage, but not Libby. For a recovering alcoholic—for a person in general—she'd been damn calm and collected. He fingered the keys in the dark, finding the short odd-shaped one he was looking for. He slid it into the lock on the cuff around his wrist, clicked it open and slipped his hand free. After undoing the lock on her hand, he leaned close to Libby again, the sweet familiar vanilla scent of her hair tickling his nose, and whispered. "You remember the layout of the bank? Around the corner and down the hall is the door to the back parking lot. Go." "And leave you here?" And now she asked questions. "I can handle the situation." "So can I." "Yeah, but I'd feel a whole lot better if you weren't here. I can't stand the thought of you being hurt." She stared at him, so close, blurred shadows in the dark. "But, Pete—" He laid his fingers across her lips. "Please, Lib. Trust me." Her fingers curled around his, cool and shaky, holding on tightly for a moment before she whispered, "What if they—" Kill you. She couldn't say it, and he didn't want to think it. He would have liked to believe he was prepared for it—he was a cop, after all—but the idea scared him silly. But not as much as the idea of Libby dying beside him. "Please," he repeated. "Go." She stared at him a long time, barely breathing, clinging to him, before finally she nodded. It seemed she had to force herself to let go, one finger unfolding at a time, and he had to force himself to do the same. At last she drew a breath, shifted onto her knees and silently disappeared into the shadows.

Chapter Fourteen "Please, go." Pete had begged Libby to try and escape, and she'd gone. But as she made her way to the exit on her hands and knees, Libby's fear came back full force for the first time since she'd seen Pete standing just inside the doors. Her tremors made her as shaky as a baby learning to crawl for the first time, the depth of the darkness ahead disoriented her and worry about Pete and Audra and Amy tugged at her.

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But somehow she made it to the end of the counter, where a weak bit of light shone on the floor. She stopped, easing ahead far enough to see around the corner. Ben still stood in the vault doorway, talking to the men above the whine of drills and saws. Amy was sitting on a stool in front of a table, head resting on her arms, hair spilling to hide her face. Audra sat on the floor a few feet away. Libby hustled across the opening then looked back, catching Audra's attention. The other woman didn't hesitate at all when she spotted Libby, immediately starting to crawl across the floor and heading straight for the hallway that promised freedom. Libby tried to get Amy's attention, but the girl's eyes were closed and Libby couldn't wait. Audra passed Libby but stayed close enough that Libby could catch the occasional gleam from the rhinestones that decorated her shoes. Without the lights Libby was a bit disoriented, but she kept one hand against the wall to direct her and followed the gleam of Audra's bedazzled shoes. That gleam was growing duller, though, until there was simply no light for the stones to gather. She heard a click ahead of her—Audra unlocking the door?—then a panicked voice from behind. "Audra's gone!" Amy shrieked. "She's trying to escape!" "Run, Libby!" Pete shouted.

Chapter Fifteen "She's trying to escape!" Libby heard Amy's warning to the bank robbers. Desperately, she looked to where she'd last seen Audra. Miraculously, Audra already had the door open. She surged to her feet and disappeared outside. Libby jumped up, too, lunging for the door as footsteps pounded down the hall, the beam of a flashlight bouncing crazily off the walls. She was mere inches from freedom when a large hand grabbed her hair, stopping her momentum and throwing her half a dozen feet back down the hall. Every part of her body that came in contact with the floor suffered impact shock. Her forehead was already swelling, she saw bright silver and gold fireworks even though her eyes were open, and her lungs were bursting with the need to regain the breath knocked out of her. The door to the parking lot slammed shut. Then a beefy hand yanked Libby to her feet. Jerry dragged her back to the lobby even though her feet weren't completely under her, they just sort of stumbled along behind. He bypassed Ben, holding his gun on Pete, and shoved her down again. "The other bitch escaped." Pete caught Libby, softening her landing. He looked so grim, almost angry again. Because she'd disappointed him yet one more time? "Why do you have a handcuff key, Pete?" Ben asked softly.

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She answered before Pete could do more than open his mouth. "It's mine. When you're on vacation, it never hurts to be prepared for anything." From above them, voice floating over the counter, Amy said, "He has it because he's a freaking cop! I've been trying to tell you that ever since he walked in the door! For God's sake, Ben, even she knew that him and Audra were keeping me from saying something. How could you be so stupid?"

Chapter Sixteen Anger flashed across Ben's face at Amy's words of criticism, but then he dismissed them with a shrug. "Wouldn't have changed anything, except I would have handcuffed him to his daddy's desk or something." "It cost us a hostage!" "We've still got her," he said, indicating Libby. "And now we've got the bank president's son, who happens to be a cop." Ben grinned. "And, of course, you." On the floor, Libby rested her head back against the counter, hoping that Amy and Ben would forget about her and Pete while they argued. Gently, Pete pulled her head onto his shoulder. Libby thought about the girl. Amy—young, inexperienced, scared out of her mind, poor kid—had been Ben's partner all along. If Libby walked out of this building, she was going to wring the "poor kid's" neck. And maybe give ol' Jerry there a kick to the testicles as payback. If she walked out. If they didn't kill her where she sat. Pete's jaw throbbed where Ben had punched him when he'd jumped to his feet to go after Libby. The blow hadn't put him back down on the floor, but the pistol in Ben's other hand had. Oddly, he hadn't been scared, thinking that Libby had been safe. But she wasn't. She'd paused long enough to get Audra's attention, and that had been enough to end her hope of escape. That, and Amy. He should have suspected her sooner, should have wondered how Ben and his crew knew there would be a hell of a lot of cash inside the vault over the weekend. But from the little he knew of Amy, she'd seemed like such an empty-headed kid, more interested in makeup, clothes and guys than anything else. "We're done in here, boss," one of the men in the vault called. "We're gonna be rich." "We're gonna be broke and in jail," Amy muttered. "How the hell are we getting out of here? The cops have us surrounded." "With our hostages." "Lieutenant Decker won't go for that," Pete said mildly. "Sure, he will. They talk tough, but they never choose to let a hostage die. He'll call in a few minutes, I'll tell him to pull everyone back or we'll shoot Libby here. And he'll do it." On cue the phone rang, but Ben ignored it, instead sticking out his hand. "Give me your keys." Pete handed them over. Another ring.

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"Now put these back on," he said, handing Pete the handcuffs. Third ring. Pete took the handcuffs dangling from Ben's finger and snapped one around his wrist, the other around Libby's. Fourth ring. Unsatisfied, Ben ratcheted them tighter until the metal was cutting into their skin. Mid-fifth ring, Ben picked up the phone and put it on speaker. "What do you want, Lieutenant?" Then the room exploded.

Chapter Seventeen An explosion of blinding light and ear-splitting sound shook the bank, the concussive wave washing across the room. Despite Pete's squeezed-shut eyes and even with his head ducked down, brilliant patterns slashed across his eyelids and his ears throbbed, unable to isolate any particular sound. But he could distinguish some things—swearing from Ben and crew, an alarmed shriek from Amy. The kicking in of doors and pounding of feet as cops entered the building. Thank God, they'd been rescued! Then from beneath him he heard the rapid, raspy breaths of hyperventilation. He smoothed Libby's hair back from her face and whispered in a voice he couldn't even hear himself. "It's okay, Libby, it's okay. We're all right." Her eyes fluttered open, staring up at him, damp and startled and, for the first time, panicked. The blast had deafened her and she couldn't hear any of his reassurances. So he skipped the talk and covered her mouth with his, kissing her long and hard and hungrily. God, after ten years he was so hungry for the taste of her. She kissed him back, just as hungry, just as needy, nipping at his tongue, raising her hands to cling tightly to him. She'd come home again. And so had he.

Chapter Eighteen Libby was pretty sure that given all the rushing and roaring in her head, her ears had suffered permanent injury from the explosion, and her vision—if she opened her eyes—would be forever blurry. But for the moment, she didn't care. She wrapped her arms around Pete's neck and kissed him, pulling him closer, letting his heat and arousal chase away all the cold, fear and hurt. How many times had she wished for one more of his kisses? Thousands. How many times had she dreamed of being back in his arms? Tens of thousands.

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Even if this meant nothing to him, even if it was post-traumatic-stress relief, it meant the world to her. Dimly she was aware that people filled the room, barking out orders, taking the robbers into custody. She didn't care. As long as Pete kissed her, held her, even just touched her…nothing else existed. She needed to cherish every moment of this before life went back to normal and she went back to Oklahoma. Alone. The first sound she could actually distinguish was someone clearing his throat nearby. Pete reacted first, ending the kiss and lifting his head even though she tried to stop him. She opened her eyes to see a gorgeous man with a smile that could flutter hearts everywhere crouching beside them. "Tommy Maricci," she said, her voice a faint echo in her ears. "Libby Maxwell." He grinned. "You grew up good." "So did you." Pete eased off her and sat up, then gave her a hand to do the same. She dragged her fingers through her hair, suddenly self-conscious. It wasn't the first time Tommy had caught them necking where they shouldn't, but they'd been kids then. They were adults now, and she'd betrayed Pete in so many ways. And he was dating Sophy. "We're gonna need a statement from you two and the tellers. We have Audra at the station now," Tommy said. "Save a pair of handcuffs for Amy. She was in on it with them," Pete said. Then he looked at Libby. "We'll meet you at the station…eventually."

Chapter Nineteen Tommy shook his head regretfully at the news about Amy being an accomplice to the bank robbers. "It's always the pretty ones that surprise you. Pete, your folks are out front, so you might want to take Libby and head out the back way. See you at the station." Pete nodded and stood as the other man walked away. Libby, still attached to Pete with the handcuffs, got up with a sigh. She didn't blame Pete for not wanting his parents to see her. They hadn't liked her before she'd broken his heart; they surely wouldn't want her near him now. She didn't blame him, but it hurt. Taking her hand, he led her through the lobby and down the hall to the rear exit. The parking lot was filled with official vehicles. Someone in uniform offered them a ride, but Pete shook his head. Another guy offered a handcuff key, but Pete shook his head again and kept walking. The night was cool, the air heavy with smells from the Gullah River a couple blocks away. The police station was in that direction—through the alley, down about a half block and they'd be there. Instead, though, Pete turned to the north, toward the town square, and she followed—as if the handcuffs gave her a choice— happy to extend this time together.

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They were near the gazebo in the center of the square, streetlights shining on them, noise filtering from the restaurants around the square, when he stopped and stared down at her. "I was so angry with you, Libby…and so hurt. All these years I wondered what I did wrong, why you had stopped loving me." Tears dampened her eyes. "Pete, I never—" He laid his fingers over her mouth. "I hate what happened, but it's in the past. Everything's in the past…except how much I love you. I never stopped, Libby. I never will." She went all soft and warm at his words. "I never stopped loving you, either," she whispered. He laid one hand against her jaw, gently stroking, sending warm shivers through her. "Give us a chance, Libby. Let me—" Breaking off, he swallowed audibly. "Let me be there for you, Lib. Let me be a part of your life."

Chapter Twenty She was quiet for so long that Pete's heart just about stopped beating. Then, suddenly, she sniffed and a tear slipped down her cheek, dampening his hand. "A part of my life?" she whispered unsteadily. "You've always been the best part, Pete. I've never met anyone who can compare to you. Not a day has gone by that I didn't think of you. Miss you. Regret what I'd done to you. But what about Sophy?" Tenderly he wiped the tear's track dry. "Sophy and I aren't actually dating. We were going to dinner, but just as friends. There was never anyone but you. I wish you had told me what you were going through back then. You could have called me anytime, Lib. You could have come home." She shook her head. "You wouldn't have been happy to see me. You weren't happy to see me." "You can't blame a guy for holding a bit of a grudge." He grinned ruefully. "But there's nothing like having a .45 caliber pistol pointed right between your eyes to make you realize what's worth holding on to and what you should let go. And you, Libby, you are definitely worth holding on to." He kissed her again and she tasted sweet, familiar, hot, perfect. Like home. On the street nearby a patrol car eased to a stop and DeLong, Pete's occasional partner, called, "Hey, Pete, the lieutenant would like to wrap this statement up so he can go home to his wife. You think you two could save the smooching for later?" Despite his partner, Pete took his time ending the kiss, then replied without looking at her. "We'll be there in a couple minutes." Wrapping his fingers around Libby's, he started walking back the way they'd come. "Just how attached are you to your job and Tulsa?" "The job's just a job, and Tulsa's a nice place to live, but it's not home. Copper Lake is. You are." "Good, because I don't want a long-distance marriage." She smiled, and together they walked forward.

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Snow-Kissed Reunion By Melissa McClone Cocoa Marsh had resigned herself to giving up her dreams. She might never be a competitive snowboarder again, but at least her job as a designer for Hughes Snowboards gave her the opportunity to ride whenever she wanted. And as for that pesky hope of a happily ever after…well, the love she'd felt five years ago for snowboarding superstar Rex Billings hadn't been real, anyway. He'd proven that when he'd left and never spoken to her again. Until now, that is. Because Rex Billings was back, and looking more devastating than ever. Not that she was going to let herself fall for his charm and knee-weakening smile again. Even if he seemed more grounded, more committed, more…like a dream that might actually come true….

Chapter One At the high point of her jump, Caroline "Cocoa" Marsh grabbed the snowboard between her feet. Cold air hit her face as she flew through Timberline's terrain park. She landed smoothly and carved her way down the hill. Her boss, Sean Hughes, had hugely improved the performance of this prototype freestyle snowboard. Light. Snappy. She couldn't wait to hit another jump. Today reminded Cocoa why being a graphic designer at Hughes Snowboards was the best job in the world. Season passes were only one of the employee perks. She could ride year-round on Mount Hood. And like this bluebird Monday morning in November, she often got paid to do it. Cocoa eyed a tabletop jump. Her pulse quickened. She rode up the ramp with enough speed to clear the flat top and land on the downward slope. Soaring into the air, she opened her shoulders into a Frontside 3, a.k.a a 360. She spun, feeling exhilarated. Her heel edge caught. Cocoa's back slammed into the snow. Air rushed from her lungs. She slid down the transition until she came to a stop. She lay momentarily stunned. A quick inventory confirmed she wasn't hurt. Fresh snowfall from last night had softened the crash, but she might have a bruise or two. Showboating had caused her to come up short, not the new board. The balaclava keeping her face warm muffled the sound of her laughter. A glove-covered hand reached down. She grabbed hold of it and was pulled upright by someone in a plaid jacket, the kind worn by the coaches at the Hood Hamlet Snowboarding Camp. She didn't recognize him, but even with goggles covering much of his face, she thought he looked familiar. "Thanks." Cocoa brushed snow off her pants and jacket. "Spotting for your crew?" "Making sure the landing is clear." Goose bumps prickled her skin. He sounded like Rex Billings, but the snowboarding star would never take time out of the spotlight to coach. She slid away from the landing area. The guy followed her and waved to the riders waiting above. "Nice take-off, but you came up short." She grimaced. "Yeah, dude, I know what I did wrong."

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"You've got real potential." Cocoa didn't know whether to be annoyed or amused. She'd been pegged to bring home the gold in 2006. Instead she'd watched the games from a hospital bed. "Real potential, huh?" He raised his goggles onto his helmet. "Definitely." Staring into oh-so-familiar piercing blue eyes, she sucked in a sharp, cold breath. Oh, no. Cocoa had looked into those eyes before. Kissed those lips, too. Unwanted tingles filled her stomach. Rex. It was him. Figured he didn't recognize her. Okay, she was wearing goggles and a face mask, but he'd proven years ago that their time together had meant nothing to him. He went through women like popcorn. She'd been nothing but another kernel in his bucket. Friends had warned her about his reputation, but she'd been young and stupid and in love. "Rex Billings." He nodded, as if he were used to being recognized. With snowboarding movies, prestigious medals, his own clothing line and other endorsements, he was. Rex stared at her. "We've met." Gorgeous, but still a player. "Years ago." "You must have been a kid." "Old enough." For him to kiss until she couldn't breathe and fill her head with the dream of a happily ever after. She'd thought they'd connected and shared something special. She'd been wrong. She pulled her balaclava beneath her chin and lifted her goggles onto her helmet. His blue eyes widened. "Cocoa." Having the upper hand with him for once felt pretty darn good. "Hey." Rex's breath hung on the cold air. "I'm an idiot." "You said it, not me." He half laughed. "I didn't recognize you." "Otherwise you wouldn't have stopped." "Huh?" "The U.S. team trains on Mount Hood every summer, but we've never bumped into each other," she said. "That takes some effort."

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Not that she'd looked him up, either. His lips curved into a killer smile. "It's good to see you now." Cocoa disagreed. She wanted to feel indifferent to him. But her pulse raced. Butterfly wings waged war in her stomach. The freezing temperature did nothing to cool her down. "I thought you'd be training, not coaching." "I'm a guest coach for a couple weeks." Two weeks sounded about right for someone who never stuck with anything—or anyone—for long. A teenager in lime-green pants and a colorful jacket flew off the jump. He came up short, bounced off the flat of the table and landed in a heap. She winced. "Ouch." "Duty calls," Rex said. "Catch ya later, Cocoa." Her muscles tensed. He'd said something similar at Mount Bachelor, right before the crash on the half-pipe destroyed her dreams and changed her life. She'd never heard from Rex again. Catch ya later, Cocoa. Not if she had any say in the matter. *** "Good speed, dude," Rex said to Liam, a talented kid who needed to learn patience. "But that's what you get for being a guinea pig." "A what?" "The first person to hit a jump," Rex explained. "Now that everyone's seen you go, they can adjust and hit it right. Next time let someone else go first." He glanced over to where Cocoa had been. Only tracks in the snow remained. Not that Rex had expected her to hang around. That had been…uncomfortable. Another kid, Travis, overshot the jump and butt-checked, bouncing his rear on the snow before standing up on his board. "No worries," Rex reassured Travis. "You regained your balance and didn't revert." This was why Rex enjoyed coaching. He liked giving back to the sport that had given him so much. Bekah went next. She flew into an Indy Backside 180 and stuck the landing. He whistled. "You stomped it." She grinned. "Thanks, dude."

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Yeah, dude, I know what I did wrong. Cocoa. She was pretty as ever and could still ride. He remembered riding with her. Talking and kissing, too. Really hot kisses. But once she'd told Rex how she felt about him, he'd known it would never work. Cocoa didn't want a fling. She wanted forever—marriage, house, kids—something not on his radar. He would have only hurt her more if he'd stuck around. Leaving before things got too heavy, too serious, too emotional had seemed like a good idea. So after his event at Mount Bachelor, Rex had kissed her. The sweetest, most memorable goodbye kiss of his life. He'd made his way toward the parking lot so he'd be gone by the time she finished her final run. A collective gasp from the crowd had made him turn around. He'd stared at the big screen and saw Cocoa lying motionless. His chest had tightened. He'd struggled to breathe. Tears had stung his eyes. He'd rushed to the hospital, but she'd been unconscious, looking so hurt and vulnerable. Unfamiliar emotions had overwhelmed him. Scared him. He'd cared more deeply for Cocoa than he ever imagined. But he couldn't stand feeling so useless, so helpless, so lost at the thought of her not surviving. He'd wanted to run but stuck around instead. For over a week. Until he'd had to leave for the last Grand Prix qualifying event. He'd soothed his conscience by saying Cocoa would have wanted him to compete at Mountain Creek. Truth was, Rex didn't want to care about a woman that much. A serious relationship would be an impossible distraction from his bid to get to the top. So he'd left and avoided her ever since. But five Grand Prix seasons later, Rex hadn't forgotten her. Now that he'd seen her again, he had to wonder… Did Cocoa still kiss as well as she rode?

Chapter Two The next afternoon, Cocoa had almost put seeing Rex Billings behind her. Emphasis on almost. She focused on the mechanical—a full-scale version of her latest snowboard graphic—in front of her. The 3D effect had turned out better than she'd hoped. Next step…films that separated the colors into layers. "Cool design." Taylor, a twenty-three-year-old coworker, leaned over the cloth-covered cubicle wall. His long brown hair swung forward. "Boss-dude wants to see you in his office. Pronto." "Thanks." Cocoa left her desk and wove her way toward Sean's office. Telephones rang. Keys clicked on keyboards. Framed, poster-sized photographs of Hughes Snowboards' sponsored athletes covered the wall. Sean's office door was ajar. He sat on the edge of his desk, looking more like a model from an outdoor magazine than a successful entrepreneur and volunteer mountain rescue team leader. With hazel-green eyes, a ready smile and thick brown hair, Sean had a reputation around town as a heartbreaker. But Cocoa would trust him with her life. In fact, she had. She tapped on the door. "Taylor said you wanted to see me, boss." "Come in." Sean stood. "I want you to meet someone."

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Inside the office, she saw a man sitting in a chair. Not just any man. A total hottie wearing a long-sleeved button-down shirt with a T-shirt underneath and a pair of faded jeans. One of her boss's climbing partners or… She did a double take. "Rex?" "Cocoa," he said at the same time, sounding as surprised as she felt. Rex had looked good on the hill yesterday, but today… Smokin'. She fought the urge to fan herself. The ends of his sandy-blond hair brushed his shoulders. She'd never seen his hair this short before, but she liked it. The lines at the corners of his eyes added the right amount of maturity. Not that he was old—at thirty-one he was six years older than she was. His full, soft lips kept his chiseled cheekbones and straight nose from being too rugged. He wasn't a pretty boy, but he was pretty darn perfect. If you liked that type. Okay, she did. But experience had made her immune to Rex's looks, charms, kisses… Stop thinking about him! Only heartache lay down that path. She looked at her boss. Sean smiled. "Guess the two of you have already met." Heat rose on Cocoa's cheeks. "Years ago." "On the circuit," Rex added. "That will make things easier." Sean sounded pleased. But Cocoa was seriously considering running out of the room and coming back once Rex was gone. Her stomach was twisting itself up in knots with each passing second. "Easier how?" Sean motioned to the empty chair next to Rex. "Have a seat. I'll explain." Cocoa didn't want to sit. She wanted to get away from Rex so her heart would stop pounding. But Sean had given her a job even though she'd had zero experience. He'd never once compared her to the rider she'd been before the accident. He'd made her feel valued when she had no idea what she would do with her life. She wouldn't repay him by acting like a spoiled brat who wanted to get her own way. She sat. Sean handed her a folder, then leaned back against his desk. "The Hood Hamlet Snowboard Camp wants us to design a line of snowboarding gear." Cocoa paged through the material in the folder—specifications, logos, mascots and colors. She pictured the plaid jackets the coaches wore. "Sounds like a fun assignment." But she couldn't imagine why Rex was here. He wasn't a camp staff member. She closed the folder. "Johnny requested you be involved on this project, Cocoa," Sean said.

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She smiled. "Anything for Johnny." Johnny Gearhart owned the camp. He was one of Hughes Snowboards' biggest supporters and had introduced her to Sean when she needed a job. "Johnny also asked that Rex be the camp's liaison," Sean said. Oh, Johnny. You should have known better. Rex wasn't the kind to see things through. Her shoulders sagged. "What about the rest of the camp staff?" "They're focused on the new high school academy," Rex explained. "That's one reason Johnny asked if I'd guest coach." "Rex has been through this design process before with his clothing line and boards," Sean explained. "His experience will complement yours well. You'll be a great team." "I've never been much of a team player," Rex admitted. "But I know this is important to Johnny, the camp and you, Sean. I'll do whatever I can to make it a success." "Me, too." If Rex could handle working together, so could she. Cocoa straightened. "We won't let you and Johnny down." Sean glanced at his watch. "I need to head next door to the factory. Feel free to stay here and put together a game plan." As soon as he left, silence weighed heavily in the office. Cocoa needed to push her anxiety aside. She wasn't the young up-and-comer with a huge crush on the superstar anymore. She was a professional now with no romantic feelings for him. She turned in her chair to face Rex. The folder slid off her lap and hit the floor. Leaning over, Cocoa reached for it. He did, too. Their hands touched. She jerked her arm back, as if she might get burned. Too late, her skin tingled at the point of contact. The folder remained on the floor. She extended her arm again. His hand brushed hers. More tingles erupted. Cocoa blew out a puff of air. "I've got it." Rex picked up the folder. "Here." She took it. Before she could thank him, Rex's gaze locked on hers. Cocoa's heart jolted. He made her feel as if she were the only woman in the world. His world at least. Look away. She couldn't. No one else had ever made her feel this way.

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The room sizzled with awareness. Attraction. No matter what had happened in the past, the chemistry between them hadn't changed. So not good. "I wasn't expecting to see you here," Rex said finally. She clutched the folder. "Same here." A beat passed. And another. "It's been too long, Cocoa." Five years in January. His appreciative gaze raked over her. "You look…great." Her pulse skittered. "You, um, too." What was she doing? This was Rex. Flirt. Player. Bad boy. She grabbed a pen off Sean's desk. "Let's get started. With the project," she clarified, not wanting to give him the wrong idea. "What's your daily schedule like?" "I'm with the kids until two-thirty." "We can work around that." "What about your schedule?" Rex asked. "I'm…flexible." "Flexible, huh?" Interest sharpened in his eyes. "I never got to see that side of you." Cocoa tightened her grip on the pen. "Has the staff given you input?" "Yeah, the kids, too. I coach an awesome crew." The excitement on his face gave her chills. He'd never paid attention to kids unless they were fans. Had Rex…changed? "I never imagined you coaching." He shrugged. "I liked it enough to get certified. Now that I'm retired from competition—" "What?" The news shocked her. "You're still placing. Winning." "Perfect time to exit," Rex explained. "Keeping up with the new generation of riders and their massive tricks isn't easy for an old man." "Yeah, you're so old." "I feel old after two decades of training. Competing. Even my aches ache." "That's what massages are for."

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He raised a brow. "You offering?" "In your dreams, dude." Cocoa needed to get them back on track. "So the project…" Rex looked around Sean's office. "I prefer to work someplace more casual." "My cubicle—" "The Hood Hamlet Brewpub. Tonight. Five-thirty."

Chapter Three Snow fell from the darkening sky. Rex stood outside the Hood Hamlet Brewpub. This was his favorite place in the Alpine-inspired mountain village. Good food. Excellent beer. Friendly crowd. But tonight he stared at the entrance with mixed emotions. Telling Cocoa to meet him here hadn't been one of his smartest moves. He didn't know what had gotten into him. Strike that. He knew the reason. Cocoa. She'd walked into Sean's office with a bounce to her step, a smile that lit up her face and her usually straight blond hair all curly in loose spirals like one of those naked girls from a museum oil painting. His blood had boiled but his brain had frozen, as if he'd taken a face-plant in two-foot-deep powder. All he'd wanted to do was spend time with her. Not working at the office. Out having fun. Just the two of them. Stupid considering how hard she'd fallen for him before. He didn't want to hurt her again. "Hey, Rex." He turned toward the sound of Cocoa's voice. She crossed the street. Snowflakes hung on her jacket, beanie and long hair. Damn, she looked good. He stared into her chocolate-colored eyes and opened his mouth to speak. No words came out. "Rex?" she asked. What the hell was wrong with him? He was acting like a kid with his first crush. Cocoa was dangerous. Rex couldn't remember when he'd felt such a strong attraction to a woman. "Hey." He forced the word from his dry throat. "Looks like fourteen inches of fresh tomorrow." A grin curved her lips. "I can't wait." Rex wished they could ride together, but he was at a crossroad with his career, his life. This wasn't the time to change his relationship status from "single" to something else. Not until he figured out what he was going to do next—sport action films, or something completely different.

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Tonight he needed to get into that pub, brainstorm ideas and get out. Thinking about whether Cocoa's lips tasted as sweet as they used to wouldn't get the job done. "Ready to work?" She patted her messenger bag. "Everything I need is right here." He held open the door and followed her inside. The smells of hops and French fries lingered in the air. Rock music played from speakers. A fire burned in the fireplace. "Hey, Jake," Cocoa said to the brewpub owner behind the bar. "How's Carly doing?" "Busy decorating the nursery." Jake Porter filled a pitcher with beer. "There are empty tables toward the back. That might keep the fans away, Rex." "Thanks, dude." Rex followed Cocoa. He liked how her jean-clad hips swayed as she walked. He didn't like how other guys in the place watched her. She wasn't his, he reminded himself. No need to get territorial. They hung their jackets and hats on hooks next to a corner booth in the back. Rex slid into the seat across from her, trying not to notice the way the fabric of her sweater stretched across her chest. Focus, Billings. Just not on her breasts. "So…" "Ready to shred the gnar?" a man in his late twenties interrupted. The guy was dressed in jeans and a longsleeved T-shirt. He stared at Cocoa as if he wanted to ride her. Every one of Rex's nerve endings went on full alert. "You know it, Bill," she said. "See you on the hill tomorrow?" "I'll be there." The guy walked away with a wide smile. Rex's jaw tensed. It was none of his business who Cocoa hung out with. Still, he couldn't keep from glancing at Bill, who now leaned against the bar. "Friend of yours?" "Bill works with my roommate, Leanne. He's a firefighter and she's a paramedic. They're with Oregon Mountain Search and Rescue, like Sean and Jake." Curiosity got the better of Rex. "Dating a firefighter, huh?" "What?" she asked. "You and Bill." "Who I date isn't relevant to the project." She glanced at the bar with a thoughtful expression. "Though Bill is pretty fun to climb with. We ended up spending the night in a snow cave last year and had to keep each other warm." Rex swallowed around the icicle-sized lump in his throat. "You, um, climb?" Nodding, she leaned forward over the table. The neckline of her sweater gaped, giving him a peek of ivory skin and black lace. "I do a lot of things I never used to do."

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Cocoa had never wanted to go further than kissing with him. Images of the two of them together formed in his mind. He shifted in his seat. A female server, dressed in black, passed out menus. "The usual, Cocoa?" She nodded. "A pitcher and two glasses. We'd also like a basket of fries and an order of pretzels." As the server left, Rex stared at Cocoa. She seemed so different from the girl he'd known. She'd been confident about her snowboarding abilities, but not so much off the snow. She'd also been totally in awe of him. He'd liked the hero worship then, but he preferred the take-charge attitude now. "You've changed." "A lot's happened since Mount Bachelor." Since the accident. The words were unspoken, but understood. "I'm older now," she said finally. "Except for the perm, you look the same." "No perm," she said to his surprise. "After my head was shaved in the hospital, the hair grew back curly." The server set down glasses and poured soda into them. She placed the pitcher on the table. "Enjoy the root beer." "Root beer." Rex laughed as the server walked away. "Maybe you haven't changed all that much." "This is a working meeting." Cocoa raised her glass. "Taste it before you say another word. Jake brews tasty beers, but his hand-crafted root beer is the best." Rex took a sip. "You're right." "Told ya so." Cocoa had always reminded him of a spring coiled too tight. Now she seemed more laid-back, content. If he knew she was up for something casual, he'd be all over it. Her. "You're happy here." "I am." Her smile reached her eyes. "I've got a great job, a fantastic boss, good friends and I can ride yearround." "You were tearin' it up yesterday." "It took time, but I can do most everything now. Well, except the half-pipe." "You must miss it." "Not like I thought I would." She sounded sincere. "I mean, I had to relearn how to walk. The doctors weren't sure if I'd ever ride again. I go to the backcountry now. Find new lines. I'm happy I can do that." Rex respected what she must have been through during her road to recovery. It must have taken persistence, perseverance and a whole lot of patience. "You've come far." She nodded. "But it was still nice to hear I had potential. Real potential."

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Her lighthearted tone told Rex she was teasing, but he felt like a jerk in more ways than one. Guilt coated his mouth. He shouldn't have avoided her all these years. "Cocoa—" "I'm kidding." "I know, but…" He wasn't used to apologizing. "I'm sorry." "You didn't know who I was." "Not just about yesterday." Rex stared at the condensation on his glass. "I never said goodbye at Mount Bachelor." "I was in a coma. I wouldn't have heard you." "You deserved a lot more than I could give you." "Yeah, I did." His insides twisted even though he knew she was right. Rex had only thought of himself back then. He took a swig of his root beer. Maybe he could make it up to her. Maybe… "So I've been wondering." Her warm, clear eyes locked with his. "If I hadn't gotten hurt, would you still have left me?"

Chapter Four Cocoa waited for Rex to answer the question that had been weighing on her mind for nearly five years. If I hadn't gotten hurt, would you still have left me? She toyed with the napkin on her lap. His gaze never wavered from hers. "You really want the truth?" A kaleidoscope of emotions swirled through her. Cocoa had no memory of the time right before the accident. Or after it, either. She only knew what friends had told her and what she'd written in her journal about being in Bend, Oregon, and nearby Mount Bachelor for the third of five Grand Prix qualifying events. Her words, full of gushy emotion and love, made Rex sound like her Prince Charming and their being together a very special relationship. But when she woke up at the hospital, he wasn't there. She'd waited for him to call. He never did. The sense of abandonment had hurt as much as her injuries. She'd ended up convincing herself Rex had left her before her accident happened. That even with his reputation, he wouldn't leave a woman because she'd been seriously hurt. Self-preservation? Definitely. She didn't want to be wrong about Rex. But her doubts grew, making it difficult for her to trust. Did she really want the truth? If Cocoa was ever going to risk having a lasting relationship, she needed to know the truth. Her heart pounded like a bass drum. "Please." "Your accident didn't change anything." Rex's voice sounded hoarse. "Kissing you before your final run….that was my goodbye. I was heading to the parking lot when you crashed."

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She'd been right. But resentment immediately overcame her relief. Cocoa released the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "I guess I should be happy you didn't break up with me before my run." "Not my M.O. I never wanted to hurt you. We had a lot of fun together." Rex had been a player just as she'd been warned, but she'd believed things would be different with her. How could she have been so naive? "I liked hanging out with you, Cocoa, but you wanted something serious. The opposite of what I was looking for," he continued. "Making the U.S. team was my priority." "I wanted to make the team, too." But Cocoa couldn't deny what he said. She'd found "Mrs. Rex Billings" doodled in her journal. Her entries made it sound as if he'd felt the same way about her. She stared into her glass. "I just thought we…" …had something special. Lasting. "It doesn't matter," she said instead. "Leaving you without an explanation was wrong. I just didn't want the drama of a breakup with so much at stake." She looked up at him. "The gold." "Yes. But I wasn't a total dirtbag. I hung around the hospital. I didn't go anywhere until I knew you'd be okay." A muscle throbbed at his jaw. "I was stupid. Selfish for running out the way I did. I hope you can forgive me." Maybe what she'd written in the journal had been nothing but girlish fantasies. Maybe she'd misconstrued his feelings and exaggerated her own. Except, she'd seen pictures of them together. They'd looked like a couple. Still, he sounded genuine and contrite. Cocoa couldn't forget her role in this. She'd ignored her friends' advice. She had to take some responsibility for getting involved with him in the first place. "Forgive, yes. Forget, not likely." Cocoa passed him a menu even though she'd lost her appetite. "The appetizers should be here soon, but you can order something for dinner." "That's it?" Rex let go of the menu. "Don't you want to curse or hit me?" She drew back, offended. "What kind of women do you go out with?" The server arrived before he could answer. She set two small plates, a basket of fries and a tray full of hot pretzels and containers of mustard and cheese dipping sauces on the table. "Enjoy." "I try not to go out with psycho-chicks, but occasionally one slips through," Rex said as the server walked away. "Seriously, though, I just thought you'd be upset over how I treated you." "I am upset, but this is a very small town." Cocoa recognized at least half of the faces in the brewpub. "Making a scene here isn't going to solve anything. Once I get home, I'll rail on you to my roommate, and she'll agree what a jerk you are." "Was," he corrected.

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"That remains to be seen." She glanced at the French fries, but was no longer hungry. "I appreciate your honesty, though." Rex leaned forward over the table. "Cocoa—" "No worries. I could have found you if I'd really wanted to. But now that I know what happened, maybe I won't be so gun-shy about relationships in the future." "That's all good," Rex said. "But there's nothing wrong with dating casually." "Of course not. It's just that I'd like…" A boyfriend for the holidays. She couldn't say the words aloud. Rex reached across the table, laid his hand on top of hers and squeezed. "Tell me." Cocoa liked how good his warm skin felt against hers, but knew she shouldn't. She tugged her hand from underneath his. "It's embarrassing." "Admitting what I did to you wasn't?" "True." The tenderness in his eyes took her breath away. "Trust me." Rex had always been so easy for her to talk to, but he was the last person she should trust. "Maybe I can help," he offered. "You up for playing matchmaker?" she joked. "What?" "I'm kidding." She couldn't ask him to introduce her to men. "It's…well… Thanksgiving is at the end of the month, then Christmas. I'd rather not be alone again for the holidays." "Get a cat. Or a dog," Rex suggested. "Dogs do better in the snow." A good thing she hadn't seriously asked him for help with this. "Dogs can't talk back." "No, but dogs can wear a pack," he said. "Carry food and water. Keep you warm. Love you." "A boyfriend can do all those things, too." "A boyfriend, huh?" "I don't really need a boyfriend." Though it would be nice. "I'd settle for someone to hang out with over the holidays." His brows furrowed. "What about friends?" "I have great friends, but the holidays can still be lonely when you're on your own."

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Rex studied her with an odd expression. "If you just want to hang out, I know the perfect guy." She raised her glass. "Who?" "Me." Cocoa nearly spit out her root beer. She choked it down instead. "Mr. Love 'em and Leave 'em?" He frowned. "Not any longer. I got tired of the lifestyle, which is another reason I retired." That piqued her interest. "Ready to settle down?" "I wouldn't go that far," he admitted. "I still prefer casual to serious, but I'm not anti-relationship." Maybe Rex was different now, but it didn't matter in the long run. "You're only here for two weeks." "If I had a reason to stay, someone to hang out with, in Hood Hamlet through the holidays…" He smiled. She smiled back. An invisible thread seemed to connect them. It was…nice. Cocoa imagined sitting in front of a twinkling Christmas tree with Rex. The scent of fresh pine would fill the room. The fire in the fireplace would crackle. Holding mistletoe over her head… Stop daydreaming. If she put her hand into the fire, she was going to get burned. "No, thanks." "Don't you remember how much fun we had together on Mount Bachelor and in Bend?" "Actually, I don't," Cocoa admitted. "My memory is a complete blank from a few days before the accident." Rex's devilishly charming grin made her insides quiver. "Then allow me to remind you."

Chapter Five It's better for everyone if we keep things…professional. Rex couldn't believe how fast Cocoa had shut him down. He hadn't asked to be her boyfriend. Just to hang out. Keep her company through the holidays. And show her what she couldn't remember. Still, he'd agreed. Each afternoon he showed up at Hughes Snowboards to work. He was the epitome of professional. Good behavior might change Cocoa's mind. But days of all-work-and-no-play dragged Rex down. The tight confines of Cocoa's cubicle increased his attraction. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her. When he wasn't with her, he couldn't stop thinking about her. He even dreamed about her. Something was going to have to change. Soon.

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Thursday morning, Rex sat on the chairlift with two of the kids. Muscles burned and snow dumped, but everyone wanted to keep riding. He was stoked to see the kids' progression. "Dudes." Liam pointed. "That babe rips." Rex looked off to his right. He recognized the jacket. Cocoa. His heart rate picked up. She flew off a jump, hit a 360 with a Stalefish grab and stomped the landing. Liam whistled. "Sick!" "Rad!" Travis leaned forward over the safety bar. "That girl's got some steez!" Rex grinned. Cocoa was stylish. Not to mention beautiful and smart. They'd come up with killer concepts. Her creativity amazed him. She could take an idea, even a sketch on a cafeteria napkin, and turn it into a work of art. Cocoa glanced up at the lift. She saw him, smiled and waved. A funny, unfamiliar feeling started in the pit of his stomach. All he could think about was Cocoa and her great qualities. She really was the perfect woman. "Whoa," both of the boys muttered as if in awe. Rex flashed her the thumbs-up sign. She laughed. The sound carried across the snow and up into the air until it touched him like a caress. The feeling in his gut intensified. Ignore it. But he didn't want to. Rex knew exactly what she was thinking—real potential. He smiled. Cocoa was never going to let him forget that. "Can we watch you hit on her?" Travis asked. Liam nodded. "We want to pick up some pointers from a pro." "I'm retired," Rex said. "Let's focus on your 1080s." They groaned. But both kids needed to work on the trick. He might have some work to do himself. His "Be Professional" approach with Cocoa wasn't giving him the desired results. Time to shake things up and, as he'd told the kids earlier this morning, go for it. *** Thursday night, Cocoa put away the groceries with her roommate. The weekly ritual gave them an opportunity to catch up with each other. Leanne finished telling a funny story about a call she'd responded to yesterday. "So how's your new project at work coming along?"

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"We're ahead of schedule." Cocoa placed the vegetable broth in the cupboard. "Rex is so focused and hardworking. That surprised me until I saw him coaching. He shows the same enthusiasm and positive attitude with the kids. I'm…impressed." Leanne arched a brow. "That's a big step up from his being the lowest form of pond scum known to mankind." "Maybe he's only the third-lowest form." Holding on to a block of cheddar cheese, Leanne laughed. "Has he made another move?" "Nope." "Bummed?" "I shouldn't be. Rex is doing exactly what I asked him to do. Work." He made Cocoa feel intelligent. Important. Competent. Too bad she yearned to feel attractive, feminine, desired around him. "I just wish he'd be less…serious. He was so playful and fun before." "You like him." She shrugged. "He's a nice guy." "You know what I mean." Cocoa did. She arranged green apples in the fruit bowl. "Do you think it's possible for guys like Rex to change?" "I think it depends on the guy." Leanne closed the refrigerator. "Look at Jake Porter. He and Sean were about tied with the number of hearts they'd broken until Carly came back to Hood Hamlet. Now Jake's happily married with a baby on the way." "That's true." "As for Sean," Leanne said. "I doubt there's a woman alive that could tie that man down." "Or one his dog, Denali, would approve of." Cocoa picked up a bag of coffee. "I wonder who Rex is more like—Jake or Sean?" *** Sitting in her cubicle on Friday morning, Cocoa stared at the image on her computer monitor. She couldn't wait to show Rex the design. Too bad he wasn't coming in this afternoon, but he had something to do at the camp. Her telephone rang. She picked up the receiver. "This is Cocoa." "It's Rex." Hearing his voice made her feel all tingly. "I was just thinking about you," she said. "Your suggestion about adding an image of Mount Hood is spot on. It brings the whole thing together." "Can't wait to see it." He paused. "Want to get together tonight?"

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Darn, she should have worked later last night or come in early this morning to get this done. "I'm not finished with all the changes we talked about yesterday." "This isn't work related," he said. "I'm asking you out." To hang out or go out on a date? Her stomach churned. "Pick you up at seven?" Say no. Going out with him probably wasn't a good idea. But she so wanted to see him. "Sure. I'll text you my address." *** The pub was jam-packed. Not that Rex minded when he was crowded next to Cocoa at a table, or had to bump into her near the dartboard. He liked touching her even if it was accidental. Practice for what he hoped would come later, he thought as he helped her into his car at the end of the night. "Thanks for such a fun evening," Cocoa said as he drove out of the parking lot. "You showed real potential playing darts." She'd won every match, much to his chagrin. "You're a total ringer," he joked. "I never said I couldn't play." She winked. "I said I didn't mind playing." Her smile pleased him. "Well, I fell for it." Like he was falling for her. It felt…good. Rex didn't want the night to end. He parked his rental car in front of her two-story townhouse, practically holding his breath. "Would you like a cup of coffee?" she asked. Score! Now to snag a kiss. "Yes." Rex followed her up the snow-dusted driveway. Only the porch light was on. "It doesn't look like anyone is home." "Leanne's working at the fire station." Tonight was looking better and better. Inside, Rex looked around. Clean and comfortable. Photographs of mountains and snowboards hanging on the wall kept it from being too girly and coordinated. "Nice place." "Thanks." The way she tilted her head with her slightly parted lips made him think of kisses. Desire rocketed through him. "Would you like regular or decaf?" she asked. "What I would like better is to kiss you."

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Cocoa wouldn't meet his gaze. "I don't think so." "We've kissed before." "Look what happened with that." Rex strode toward her. "We're not the same people." She stepped back until she bumped into the counter. "You could break my heart and sour me on relationships for good. Then I would be forced to appease my loneliness with young riders like some arctic cougar." "I don't want to hurt you." He wanted to kiss away the fear in her chocolate-colored eyes. "Anyway, those young riders aren't going to mind." "I'm serious." "So am I." Rex stalked closer, stopping just shy of touching her. She licked her lips. Her pink tongue left dewy moisture behind. He shivered with need. "One kiss, Cocoa. What do you say?"

Chapter Six Cocoa swallowed. Hard. Her insides trembled with a mix of apprehension and anticipation. One kiss, Cocoa. What do you say? She knew the smart answer. Instead Cocoa rose on her tiptoes and crushed her lips against his before she lost her nerve. She tasted salt, heat, Rex. His scent surrounded her, making her feel as if she'd drunk more than root beer tonight. An unfamiliar hunger drove her. Rex kissed her back with an equal fierceness, as if making up for lost time. Strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer until her chest pressed against his. She wove her hands through his hair. The shoulder-length strands sifted through her fingers. Their tongues tangled. Sensation pulsated. One kiss. It would never be enough. Not when his kiss made her feel so special. So desired. So…loved. Cocoa jerked away. Not loved. She'd jumped in heart first with him before. Doing that again would be stupid. Passion gleamed in Rex's eyes. He traced her lips with his fingertip. Delicious tingles shot out from the point of contact. She quivered. "Thank you," he said.

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Gratitude was the last thing Cocoa felt. She stared, turned on and confused. Her swollen, throbbing lips begged for more kisses. Her heart, too. "One kiss isn't going to be enough," Rex continued. Oh, no. She'd thought the exact same thing, but she didn't dare risk another. One kiss and she'd started thinking about love again. Rex had some sort of weird effect on her. That much hadn't changed over the years. You wanted something serious. The opposite of what I was looking for, he'd said. She couldn't be certain he'd changed that much. Best to end this now. Cocoa raised her chin. "One kiss has to be enough." "Sure about that?" His suggestive tone hinted of things she'd only dreamed about. Heaven help her, but she was tempted. "No. I mean, yes." "I'll take that as maybe." "No!" "So you aren't sure." His smile weakened her resolve and her knees. "That means more kisses." Her frustration rose. "That's not what I meant." "What did you mean?" She was afraid to say anything. "What do you really want, Cocoa?" Rex asked. She wanted him to kiss her senseless. She wanted him to show her how much he wanted her. She wanted him to…care. If Cocoa allowed herself to be charmed by Rex, she'd have an amazing time while it lasted. But she had no idea what shape her heart would be in once he left. No thanks. She looked him straight in the eyes. "I want you to go." *** Rex spent Saturday trying to get Cocoa off his mind. He couldn't stop thinking about her. About how much he liked, respected and admired her. About how much he wanted to kiss her again. He didn't feel like eating or sleeping or doing much of anything. Habit forced him back on the hill Sunday, even though the kids had the day off. Rex hoped to see Cocoa, if only at a distance. When he glimpsed her lower on the slope, he bombed the run to catch up. "Single," she called out in the lift line.

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Rex slid up next to her and swiped his hand across the ankle and toe straps of his binding. He slipped out his foot. "Single." Pressing her lips together, Cocoa didn't say a word as they loaded onto the chairlift. She scooted to the far side of the quad chair even though they were the only two people sitting on it. The chair pulled away from the lift operator and up into the air. Rex started to speak twice, but stopped himself both times. Patience, Billings. Let her say something first. Finally she turned toward him. "Is our being on this lift together a coincidence or have you resorted to stalking?" Angry or amused? He couldn't tell. But he wasn't about to blow this opportunity by lying. "Coincidence, though it took a little effort on my part," Rex admitted. "Everything good in my life has practically fallen into my lap. I'm lucky that way." "Your luck may have changed if you expect to find me on your lap anytime soon, dude." Cross out amused. At least Cocoa couldn't get away from him. Not until the chair reached the top of the lift. Better make the most of his captive audience. "I'll settle for having you at my side." She tilted her chin. "What do you mean?" "I really like you. More than I've liked any other woman before." Cocoa pursed her lips. Rex wished he could see her eyes more clearly through her tinted goggles. But he had no choice but to continue being honest. "I get why you're worried, and I won't push things. I'm thinking of staying longer in Hood Hamlet, and I want to hang out with you." "As friends?" He would have preferred Cocoa throwing herself into his arms and kissing him hard on the lips like she had Friday night, but he'd meant what he said. "If that's what you want." "Seriously?" she sounded doubtful. Rex didn't blame her. He was realizing he would rather be with Cocoa than without her. "Yeah." Her lips parted as if surprised, but she recovered quickly. "If you stick around through November, you're welcome to come to Thanksgiving dinner." Cocoa's invitation surprised him. A satisfied smile settled on his lips. "That would be great. Thanks." "You're welcome." The chair approached the lift shack. He didn't want to part ways when they reached the top. "Ride with me." ***

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Riding with Rex was one of Cocoa's best days ever. She lost count of the number of laps and how many times they'd laughed. They finished the day at Timberline Lodge's Ram's Head Bar, drinking hot chocolate topped with cream and English toffee bits in between Rex signing autographs and posing for pictures. When they said goodbye, he didn't try to kiss her. Instead he thanked her for spending the day with him. A new Rex? Only time would tell. But he made Cocoa feel…special. They hung out after work every day. He was a complete gentleman. Cocoa liked being with Rex. Still, she couldn't help but be wary and wonder if she was setting herself up for another fall. They were just friends, she rationalized. Her heart was safe. One morning, Cocoa saw Rex at the half-pipe, instructing the same kid in the lime-green baggie cargo pants who'd wiped out on the tabletop. She dug her downhill edge into the snow so she could stand more easily and not get her butt wet sitting while she watched. Rex dropped into the pipe. He did an air to fakie, landing opposite his normal stance. He traveled up the other side to hit a switch cork 1080. The board looked as if it were spinning like a corkscrew. The teen followed Rex's path and did the same tricks perfectly. He stomped the landing. Rex whistled and clapped. His smile lit up his entire face. The kid raised his hands in the air. The two gave each other high fives. Cocoa's heart melted. She'd had many coaches in her day. Some good, some bad. Rex had what it took to be a great one. Johnny must have seen the potential when he asked Rex to guest coach. Hood Hamlet would be a great place for him to pursue a career in coaching. But if Rex stayed, what would that mean for them? Spending time with him in the short term was one thing. Did she really believe he'd changed enough to move beyond being just friends? And if he hadn't, was she ready to say goodbye?

Chapter Seven Sitting in the conference room with Cocoa at Hughes Snowboards, Rex scribbled notes on the various setups. The scents of vanilla and cinnamon drifted across the large table. The words blurred. Leave it to Cocoa to smell so good he couldn't think about anything except how she tasted. He didn't dare make a move. Wrong place and time. Rex didn't want to let Cocoa down. She made him want to be a better man. He refocused on his notes. Sean poked his head into the room. "Great job on the layouts, guys." "Thanks." Cocoa arranged the mechanicals on the table. "How's your new binding design coming along?" "The prototype should be ready to ride by Thanksgiving." Sean glanced at the table. "Keep up the good work."

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After Sean left, she sighed. "I can't believe we're almost finished." "We're a good team. That's why Sean and Johnny put us together." Rex owed both men. Working with Cocoa had allowed him to see a different side of her—the creative, dedicated Cocoa. Riding with her had shown him another—the fun-loving, free-spirited side. Hanging out with her gave him a third view—the woman he was starting to fall for. His respect for the graphic designer, the rider and the woman had grown these past two weeks. So had his attraction. She looked so sexy in her long brown skirt, pink striped sweater and boots. His pulse kicked up a notch. Rex reminded himself not to stare. He kept waiting for a sign from Cocoa that she wanted to be more than friends. So far, nothing. But he wouldn't give up. His thinking about Cocoa was shifting from short-term to something…else. He'd even turned down a spot in a snowboarding film. Rex wasn't ready to leave yet. "What are you going to do once the project is over?" she asked. "I really like coaching." "You're great at it." Her smile made his breath catch in his throat. "I saw you this morning. Nice switch cork 1080." Rex liked knowing she'd taken the time to watch him. "You should see my double cork." "Is that the boarder's equivalent of a man asking a woman up to see his etchings?" she teased. "Only if you're Shaun White." Cocoa laughed. Shaun White was a world-famous snowboarder. "You have a way with kids. If you're looking for something to do now that you're retired, you should become a full-time snowboarding coach." "Do you really think so?" "I have no doubt." "I put out some feelers before, but for temporary gigs." "You could always talk to Johnny about something more permanent," she suggested. Rex liked the idea of staying in Hood Hamlet near Cocoa, but coaching full-time required discipline, a set schedule for much of their year and responsibility for others who would depend on him. Nothing like the life he was used to living. "I do enjoy coaching, but that would be a big change for me." "I thought you wanted a change." "I do, but…"

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The full-time coaching path felt like the beginning of settling down. The thought startled him, but didn't make him want to run like it once had. Hmm… Rex looked at Cocoa. "You would be a great coach," she encouraged. "One of the best." Her confidence made him sit taller. "I'll touch base with my contacts. Make a few more calls. Talk to Johnny." "You should." Saying it out loud, Rex realized that he did want to make those calls. He wanted to please her, make her proud. "I…will." He would do anything for Cocoa. The realization should have scared him more than it did. Somewhere along the line, his life had started revolving around her. If only he knew whether Cocoa's life would start revolving around him, too. *** A few days later, Johnny approved their work on the camp's new line of snowboard gear. Cocoa wondered what that meant for Rex. She didn't want him to leave. She kept hoping he would talk to Johnny about staying on at the camp, but she was afraid to wish and even more afraid to ask Rex about it. Don't think about that. Cocoa had invited Rex to dinner to celebrate the end of their project. Tomorrow and the future didn't matter. Only tonight. Music played from Cocoa's iPod. Snow fell outside the windows. Leanne was at the fire station working a shift. Typical for a night spent at home in November, but everything else felt…different. Rex leaned against the kitchen counter, looking more gorgeous than ever. She stood at the stove, stirring the sauce for the pasta. The scents of basil and garlic and the bread baking in the oven drifted on the air. But the one thing her senses seemed most aware of was Rex. He crowded her space, so close the warmth from his body heated her more than the hot oven. "What can I do?" "Mix the salad." She handed him an empty bowl. "Everything's ready to go, just pull it out of the fridge and toss." They were preparing dinner together. Like a couple. She'd been telling herself they were just friends, but more and more it was becoming something else. Watching him mix the ingredients into the salad bowl made her feel all warm and fuzzy. This domesticity was foreign, yet felt so right. This was what she wanted. She wished… He sprinkled freshly grated Parmesan cheese on the salad. "What do you want done next?" "The wine, please." She reached for the bottle opener on the counter. So did Rex. His warm hand covered hers. He seemed in no hurry to let hers go.

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Cocoa's pulse skyrocketed. Touching him felt so good. Perfect, in fact. She looked up at him, her gaze resting on his lips. One kiss, Cocoa. What do you say? Yes. She brushed her mouth across his. Temporary insanity, probably, but she didn't know how much longer Rex would be around. Maybe he'd changed, maybe not. But a part of her wanted to make the most of his being in Hood Hamlet. "Thanks for making the salad." "You're welcome." His smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. "I make a pretty mean PB&J, too." The way he stared at her made Cocoa feel like the center of his universe. Her temperature shot up. An ache built deep within her. She'd been young and naive before, but she knew better this time. Rex could still break her heart. Resigned to not having what she craved, she pulled her hand away. He held on and laced his fingers with hers. "Not so fast." Cocoa stared at their linked hands with a longing so powerful she couldn't breathe. She'd thought not kissing him this past week would keep her safe. But it hadn't. She'd still caved like a cornice. Kissing him just now only reinforced what she'd been trying to deny. She'd already fallen for him—again. So much for older and wiser. "Rex—" "It's my turn." He lifted her chin with his fingertip so she was looking at his face. "Thanks for making the pasta." Rex lowered his mouth, pressing his lips against hers. Gentle, slow, perfect. Like the sauce in the pan on the stovetop, the kiss quickly began to simmer, bubbling as it heated up. He deepened the kiss, exploring her mouth with his tongue. She eagerly returned his kisses, moving closer until she could feel the beat of his heart against her chest. The oven timer buzzed. Cocoa drew back, reluctant to let go. "The bread." "No worries. We've got time." Rex tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, and the gesture tugged on her heart. "I'm not going anywhere." Cocoa wanted desperately to believe him. Even if believing him wasn't the smartest option given the past. She removed the bread from the oven. The crust was golden brown, just right. Unlike her. She was going to get burned. The question was when. She'd fallen for Rex all right. Fallen head over heels in love with him. And she had no idea what to do about it.

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Chapter Eight After Rex and Cocoa kissed in her kitchen, hanging out turned into dating. Rex couldn't have been happier, but he wasn't rushing things—at Cocoa's request. That was okay by him. He just wanted to be with her. Only her. But did she feel the same? A full moon illuminated the night sky. A chill hung in the air. Rex walked hand in hand with Cocoa along the sidewalk on Main Street in Hood Hamlet. Miniature white lights twinkled in a few storefront windows. "Right before Thanksgiving, the town lights up like a Christmas tree." Excitement filled her voice. "Wait until you see it." Rex took a deep breath. The cold air stung his lungs. "I'll probably be gone by then." "That's it?" Lines creased her forehead. Her smile disappeared. "You're leaving already?" "I'm not just taking off." He didn't like how tense she looked. "I followed up on a full-time coaching lead. They want to interview me." "Sorry." Her facial features relaxed. She hugged him. "Congrats." "Thanks." Holding her felt so natural, but he let go. Now came the hard part. "The job's in Stratton." Her eyes widened. "Vermont. Your home turf." Rex would have been excited, but he was too nervous about what he was about to say. "Come with me to the interview. Yo