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Angel City
by Barbara Sheridan
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Romance

Linden Bay Romance, LLC
www.lindenbayromance.com

First published in www.lindenbayromance.com, 2006

NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

ANGEL CITY

Published by Linden Bay Romance, 2006

Linden Bay Romance, LLC, U.S.

ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN 1-905393-27-X

Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):

PDF, PRC & HTM

The work is protected by copyright and should not be copied without permission. Linden Bay Romance, LLP reserves all rights. Re-use or re-distribution of any and all materials is prohibited under law.

This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or business establishments, events or locales is coincidental.

Edited by B. Perfetti

Cover art by S.L. Carpenter

ANGEL CITY

BARBARA SHERIDAN

Chapter 1

“You want me to do what?!” Carol Bakker asked. Her eyes opened wide in disbelief. She hadn't heard her friend correctly. She couldn't have heard correctly.

Terry Wallach splashed cold water on her pale cheeks. “I want you to fill in for me tonight,” she repeated before another spasm contracted her stomach. She slowly straightened, grimacing as her stomach began to ache again.

Carol licked her dry lips, then handed Terry the packet of Pepto-Bismol tablets she carried in her purse. “I can't do what you do. I only serve drinks. I don't strip,” she said quietly.

Patting a stray strand of hair into place, she leaned against the small vanity table near the sink, afraid that her knees were going to give out and send her toppling off her stiletto heels.

“I wouldn't ask if there was anyone else, but you know that two of the girls are out with this flu already. One is away on vacation; and Suzi and Arizona are working on the big stage out front tonight. There's no one else here to go on in my place."

“But—"

“There is no ‘but',” Terry said. “Vince won't call in a replacement. He won't trust any stranger with this gig."

“I can't dance and take my clothes off in front of people.” Carol tugged on the hem of her short uniform skirt, praying that Terry would drop the whole idea. She didn't want to have to choose between loyalty to her best friend and her dignity, because she knew that dignity didn't stand a chance against a friend in need.

Terry looked at Carol again. “You won't be working out front with four hundred beady eyes gawking at you. It's a small bachelor party. There will be two dozen guys there, tops."

Carol winced. “Two dozen? That makes only forty-eight beady eyes, right?” She looked down at the checkerboard floor tiles.

Although she hated to admit it, she was tempted to act as Terry's replacement because she envied the way the dancers could lose all inhibition and become different people while on stage. The sizable tips they earned during each brief shift weren't too shabby either. Still, it was out of the question. She simply couldn't do it.

“Think of it this way,” Terry said, leaning back against the sink. “Those beady eyes will belong to Boston's upper crust. This party is for Bradley Davis.” Terry grinned when Carol's eyes opened wide.

“Bradley Davis, the writer?"

“That's him.” Terry paused. “Interested?"

Carol tugged on the hem of her skirt again. “I don't think so, Ter. I don't dance that well and—"

“Your dancing is just fine,” Terry interrupted. “You've practiced with me, you know the moves. Just pretend that you're cleaning up after those rugrats of yours. The only difference will be that the music is coming out of three foot high speakers instead of those little headphones from your CD player."

Carol's jaw dropped, but only for a second. “The only difference will be that I'm naked in front of a roomful of strange men."

“Don't worry, you won't have any complaints."

“No, Ter, I can't.... “Carol's voice trailed off as Terry bent over the sink again. Her face was paler when she recovered from this spasm, and Carol felt her dignity fray around the edges.

“You have to do this for me, Carol. This gig is such a big deal for Vince and I can't go out there, heaving my guts up.” Terry looked at herself in the mirror. “I look like a red-headed specter of death, not every bachelor's dream."

Lowering her gaze, Carol tried not to remember the times Terry had helped her out when she needed it. But she couldn't repay the kindness now, certainly not like this. She hated wearing her skimpy waitress uniform, how could she reveal even more in public? She looked up, planning to put a stop to this nonsense once and for all, but the silent plea in Terry's bleary eyes prevented her. “Vince can book another ritzy bachelor party."

“Not for the likes of Bradley Davis,” Terry said, enunciating the name slowly. “If Vince can start pulling in a high class clientele, it will be good for all of us."

Carol sighed, knowing that she was defeated. “I guess I could do it just this once,” she said miserably, while a flood of doubts and fears deluged her. She almost ran for safer ground when Terry went to the dressing room to get her a costume, but her sense of loyalty kept her feet firmly anchored.

The blood drained from Carol's face when Terry returned carrying an evening gown. A vibrant red, it was covered with countless sequins and bugle beads and sported a slit from the hem to hip on the right side.

“This will knock their socks off for starters,” Terry said, moving the gown back and forth, up and down so that it caught the bright bathroom lights and reflected dazzling scarlet shimmers in the mirror.

To Carol it was a warning beacon. “Please tell me I don't have to take it all off."

“Vince would say you do, but he's not going to be there, so...” Terry produced the minuscule red bikini she'd been holding behind the beaded gown.

Carol took the hanger and held the bikini in front of her as she turned toward the full-length mirror. It was more string than bikini—a lot more string than bikini. “Terry, maybe..."

“I don't even wear that much by the end of my routine, and you know it.” Terry gave her friend a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “You'll come through it with flying colors."

Staring at the tiny bikini's reflection, Carol prayed that her alarm clock would ring and wake her from this insane dream.

* * * *

The time before the party flew by, and Carol felt like a kid wired on chocolate the day after Halloween. She paced, she sat, and she stared at herself in the mirror. She checked the pound of make-up one of the girls helped her apply, fingered the beads on the gown and prayed that the triple knots in the string bikini held.

At nine Carol forced herself to walk the narrow corridor between the dressing rooms and private room. She nervously ran her hands through her hair, hoping that the temporary dye Terry gave her wasn't rubbing off onto her sweaty palms. She gulped down the glass of ice water one of the waitresses brought her from the bar. It did little to take the dryness from her mouth. Hopefully it would stay in her queasy stomach.

She looked in the mirror. The beaded gown was shimmering like mad in the vicinity of her shaking knees. She couldn't do this. She couldn't. You can, Terry's voice echoed inside her brain. All you have to do is be someone else. You're not Carol anymore. You're a woman who fears nothing, you're a woman who can have every man in that room trailing behind you on a leash...

Carol closed her eyes, took several deep breaths and heard the music of Terry's favorite routine in her head. She pictured her friend and then herself swaying in time to the beat.

She'd always loved music and dancing and the feeling of freedom that surrendering to it gave her. The D.J. poked his head backstage and whispered that it would soon be time.

She stood behind the curtain waiting for it to rise. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.

Oh great. Now she was turning into the little engine that could ... strip.

She concentrated again on the music within her. It was everything. It clouded her mind; it pulsed hot and steady in her veins. It freed her soul.

Her knees stopped shaking. She took another calming breath, closed her eyes and waited.

* * * *

R.J. Mansfield sipped his champagne before looking at his platinum wristwatch. He'd been at this bachelor party for over an hour. While it felt good to relax a little and see some of his old friends, he knew that he really should head back to the office. He needed to go over the labor contracts for the firm he'd recently acquired. He looked up when Bradley Davis called to him. It was obvious that Brad had been making the most of his last night as a single man.

“Drink up, celebrate! You're going to be my best man, at leas’ have the decency to share my hangover!” Brad drained his scotch and soda then leaned on the edge of the small round table for some much-needed support and called for the waiter to bring two more drinks. R.J. signaled for the waiter not to bring anything.

“I'll stay with this glass of champagne, old man. One of us has to be sober enough to get you to the church on time."

Brad broke into an off key rendition of an old show tune that made R.J. burst into laughter, drawing the attention of a number of acquaintances shocked to hear that sound from R.J. Mansfield.

Brad poured some of the champagne from R.J.'s glass into his empty one then gulped it down. “You're too straight-laced, R.J., you always were. But I'm glad you're here.” He helped himself to the rest of his friend's drink. “I have something to get your mind off the stock market. C'mon. Let's get a front row seat."

Reluctantly, R.J. followed, helping Brad mount the small stage. It would be a major accomplishment on both their parts if the groom showed up coherent for the noon wedding tomorrow.

Brad swayed from side to side as he called for everyone's attention. “I wanna thank you for being with me on my las’ night of my freedom.” He paused as the assembled guests made various comments, most of which bordered on the obscene. Brad laughed. “To show my appreciation for your ‘good wishes', here's a li'l treat for you, but mostly for me.” He left the stage, falling down two of the three steps.

R.J. seated his friend then looked at his watch as the house lights began to dim. Hopefully this sordid spectacle would be over soon. He stepped aside as the other men began crowding around.

Whistles and wolf-calls mingled with a sultry jazz tune when the stripper strutted out onto the stage. Idle curiosity drew R.J.'s attention and he quickly took note of the woman's attractiveness. Waves of glowing copper hair framed her delicate oval face. It was the prettiest face he'd seen in quite some time, with gray eyes, a gently tilted nose, full red lips, and a chin that hinted at iron determination. The dancer's scarlet gown clung to her modest curves.

R.J. was entranced by the multitude of beads, which shimmered and shifted with each of her movements—graceful, erotic movements.

Wrapping her arms around the metal pole rising from the stage, she clung to it like a lover. She slid herself up, then down the rigid shaft, then swung free. She crouched down, nimble fingers trailing the length of glorious thigh exposed by the slit in the gown's side.

A rare surge of blood to his lower extremities forced R.J. to turn his attention back to the half empty glass on the table in front of him.

After a time, R.J. looked to the stage. His brow furrowed. There was something wrong. No, not wrong. There was something different about her. Gazing up into her wide set eyes, R.J. realized she seemed startled when Brad called out rude suggestions as she reached behind her back to loosen the zipper on her dress. He felt the flicker of fear he'd glimpsed, and he wanted more than anything to take that fear away.

Perplexed by this sudden swirl of emotion for a total stranger, R.J. slipped away to the back of the room. He stared down at the red tabletop, his thoughts drifting to the contracts he had been negotiating earlier in the day. There were a few points that needed further clarification, but for the life of him he, couldn't remember what they were.

He looked toward the stage again, his eyes softening at the sight of the dancer who stared over the tops of her audience's heads. Her gaze met his, and it seemed as though she wished she could whisk herself away from the gaggle of lust-filled expressions, lewd remarks, and groping hands. For the first time in his life, R.J. was ashamed to call these men his friends.

* * * *

She was on stage alone with a full audience. She grabbed the pole more for support this time, her back to them, her eyes closed. Carol willed the music to fill her again so she could finish.

She nearly screamed when Bradley Davis shoved a folded twenty-dollar bill into the waistband of her bikini, and then tried to pull the bikini bottom off. She backed away and kept dancing, letting the other men who reached out get only close enough to put their tips into her hand. At long last, the final song of the torturously long set played its closing bars and Carol sought out the only man who had not been part of the rowdy mob crowding the stage.

She squinted against the spotlight trying to make out his features, but they were a blur. She pretended not to hear the calls for her to “come and join the party” as she left the stage and walked toward the door leading to the sanctuary of the back hall and dressing rooms. A hand grabbed her upper arm.

“Not so fass, honey."

Carol spun around. It figured. Bradley Davis, the guest of honor and the most obscene of the lot. Some upper crust. This man was nothing but pond scum in human form. He grabbed for her again and she shook his hand off. He reached for her a third time, but was stopped. Carol looked past the drunken writer to see the only guy who hadn't ogled her. He was definitely upper crust, from his classically handsome face to, his impeccably tailored charcoal gray suit.

“The young lady would like to go home now, Brad, and so should you."

There was a silken thread of warning in his deep voice.

“Is’ my party, I don't wanna go,” Brad protested as his knees began to buckle. Carol watched the man hold portly Brad upright with the barest hint of exertion as he called for another friend to lead the author away. She clutched Terry's dress in front of her body when the man turned his attention back to her. “I apologize. Brad isn't usually so obnoxious."

“For some reason, I find that hard to believe,” Carol muttered. She regretted the sniping comment when the warm look in the man's dark eyes cooled, but said nothing. She held Terry's gown closer to her half-clad body.

He reached into his jacket for his billfold and removed two crisp hundred-dollar bills. He slipped them into her hand. “You shouldn't do this. It doesn't suit you."

Carol's embarrassment turned to indignation. “I appreciate the concern, but I don't need your advice or your charity.” She stuffed the bills into the man's breast pocket then pushed past him and shoved open the steel door leading to the corridor. She shivered once the door shut behind her with a sound thud. She kicked off the uncomfortable stiletto heels and made her way to the dressing room with slow, tired steps.

It was over. She'd gotten through the ordeal with most of her dignity and nerves intact, and now she could go home and forget all about it.

She put Terri's costume away then changed into the jeans and button down shirt she'd worn to work, put her waitress uniform in her backpack, and then headed to the bus stop.

* * * *

She'd been standing there a few minutes when a silver sports car slowed as it reached her. She averted her eyes. It was probably one of those guys from the bachelor party looking for a private lap dance. She should have taken the time to wash out the temporary hair color and remove the abundance of make-up before leaving. Then they wouldn't have recognized her.

The car stopped and Carol heard the power window slide down.

“Excuse me, Miss?” a soothing deep voice called.

Carol glanced down the block hoping to see the bus. It was nowhere to be found. She kept her gaze averted and slid her hand into her jacket pocket to grab the can of police grade pepper spray her sister Kim had given her.

“Excuse me, Miss. You're the girl from Brad Davis’ party, yes?"

Carol glanced to the car, but was unable to make out the driver's face. “If you want a private party, I'm not interested, okay?” She turned and began walking toward the stop on the next block. The car door closed and she slid the pepper spray from her pocket.

“Miss, please. I simply wanted to apologize again for Brad's behavior."

Yeah right, she thought, her finger sliding to the canister's spray trigger. She turned, her arm lifting to strike. She froze when she saw that it was the guy who'd stopped Davis’ drunken advances. “You don't need to apologize,” she said, lowering her arm, but keeping the spray ready just in case.

“I think I should apologize since I doubt Brad will remember anything through the headache he's certain to have."

The guy offered Carol a warm inviting smile that made her realize just how long it had been since she'd paid much attention to a man.

“Please allow me to give you a lift home."

“No thanks. My bus should be here soon.” She slid the pepper spray back into her pocket and noticed a police car pulling up alongside the guy's empty sports car. She gestured. “You'd better go before you get a ticket."

He rushed away and began talking to the female officer. His expression changed to one of exasperation and he reached into the car under the watchful eye of the officer whom Carol recognized as one of her sister's friends from the police academy. She walked toward them.

“I don't know where the registration went. It should be here,” the guy said. “I can assure you that this is my car. Let me show you my license."

“Keep your hands where I can see them and step away now, sir,” the officer said before she radioed for a tow truck.

“He's okay, Sue,” Carol said. “Mr. uh-Manson—."

“Mansfield,” he interrupted.

Carol blushed. “Sorry. Mr. Mansfield just parked to offer me a ride home."

“All right, let's see the ID anyway...” Apparently satisfied, she handed it back. “I'll let it go this time, but in the future obey those no parking zones, okay?"

“I will,” he answered in a clipped tone.

The officer looked at the elegant car, then to Mansfield, then Carol, and winked.

The bus passed by without slowing and Carol groaned.

“Do you think you might reconsider about that ride, Miss?"

“Bakker. Carol Bakker.” She cleared her throat. “I don't want to inconvenience you."

“I imagine at this hour of the night another bus might not appear for some time."

“True,” Carol said, trying to ignore the butterflies that had resurrected themselves and were fluttering in her stomach. “All right, but I'll be happy to pay you."

Mansfield dismissed her offer with a casual wave. “Think nothing of it."

Carol licked her dry lips and clutched the straps of the book bag on her lap as the car purred to life and pulled smoothly from the curb. This was nothing like riding to work in Terri's clunker.

“May I ask how you came by your current line of work?"

“I needed a second job with flexible hours."

“Ah."

Carol's jaw sagged open when she realized they were on two subjects. “Stripping is not my part time job. I'm only a waitress. I was filling in for a sick friend."

Mansfield glanced over. “I see."

“No, really."

He kept his eyes on the road. “No need to explain."

Carol decided to bite her tongue lest she make a bigger fool of herself.

“Turn left here, please. My house is in the middle of the block."

Mansfield stopped the car. Carol fumbled trying to locate the door handle.

“Please, allow me,” Mansfield said, getting out and coming around to open the door for her.

Carol smiled as she got out of the car, amazed by how attractive Mansfield looked in the flickering yellow glow of the nearby street lamp.

She offered him two dollars. “Please let me repay you."

He closed his hand around hers and smiled.

“The pleasure was mine I assure you. Good night, Miss Bakker."

“Good night,” Carol whispered, unable to speak through the swirl of invisible butterflies still jostling her insides.

The telephone began ringing as soon as Carol entered her house. Sensing whom the call was from, she took her time crossing the small living room, not wanting to disturb the four cats sprawled in various poses on the old brown rug. She sat on the worn, plaid sofa and put her feet up before answering. With her free hand she petted the aging cocker spaniel that climbed up onto her lap.

“Now why is my big sister picking up strange men in flashy cars at two a.m. Hmmmm?"

“I was not picking up men, Kimberly Louise. It was a guy from the club and he offered me a ride home."

“What the hell was a guy with a Porsche doing at Angel City?"

“He was at a bachelor party. Terri got sick and couldn't dance and I filled in for her."

“What?"

Carol groaned. “Look, it's not like that. I didn't take it all off. It was over in fifteen minutes and I made some nice tips."

“How much?"

“One hundred and fifty bucks. It could have been three-fifty, but I gave two hundred back."

"You did what?"

Carol sighed again as she petted the kitten that jumped onto the back of the sofa. “It was a crazy thing to do, but I couldn't take money from that particular guy.” She told Terry what occurred with Davis and how her mystery man, Mansfield, helped her out. “He didn't say it, but I know that he was giving me the money because he felt sorry for me."

Kim laughed. “Men flashing c-notes can feel sorry for me any time."

“I'm serious, Kimmy. Out of all those beady eyes, his were the only ones to see a person and not just exposed skin. It's as if he knew that I hated dancing tonight."

“That bad, huh? I'm sorry."

“It's okay,” Carol answered, not wanting to acknowledge the thrill she'd first felt. “The looks weren't so bad, I'm used to that and the comments from waitressing, but being so exposed and having them try to touch me was disgusting. I don't know how Terri can do it topless every night."

“I imagine it's because taking her clothes off a few times a night for close to a grand a week is way easier than working sixty hours a week for a fraction of that like you do."

A full smile found its way to Carol's lips, for there was a certain satisfaction to be found in the long days and nonstop duties.

“Are you being paged?” Kim joked as the cats began to meow one after the other. Carol laughed and petted each one as it jumped up onto her and the dozing spaniel. “The herd awaits its bedtime snack. Did I tell you I found a new kitten?"

“Just what you need. You're like Mom taking in all the pathetic strays that cross your path."

“They're helpless and they need someone."

“And that's the attitude that got her stuck with our loser of a father, and we know how that turned out."

“The next time a stray, alcoholic gambler follows me home I'll remember that. Good night Kim."

The cats’ meowing became louder and the spaniel woke and joined in by barking.

While Carol poured dry food into the dishes lined along the wall near her back door, she thought again of Mansfield.

He was etched in her mind like a fine work of art despite the fact that she'd been near him such a short time. He was tall and well built like an ageless marble sculpture. His lightly tanned skin accentuated the depth of his warm brown eyes and a part of her imagined that those eyes showed more than a hint of interest in her.

A forgotten cat's meow drew Carol back to reality. She filled the last dish then took a quick glance around the old but functional kitchen. This room was once a haven for her and her younger brother and sister. She wouldn't trade the countless memories for anything. The sight of the wooden table, its top whitened from years of scrubbing, the huge dented stove that had been old when she as a teenager, and the avocado green refrigerator that wheezed like a septuagenarian on a hazy summer day, made Carol painfully aware that the idea of Mansfield showing interest in her was just that, a fantasy. The odds of ever seeing him again were slim and none.

Chapter 2

Terry plopped herself down on the plaid sofa between a sleeping cocker spaniel and a spotted kitten. A brown tabby with half a tail sauntered along the back of the sofa then made itself comfortable using her shoulder as its pillow. Terry scratched the cat behind the ears. “Man, am I beat. I haven't shopped that much since Christmas,” she said as Carol handed her a can of soda.

Carol smiled then sipped her soft drink. “It was fun. Did you notice that I didn't even gag when we passed by the big display for Bradley Davis’ new book?"

Terry nearly choked. “You're never going to give that guy a break, are you?"

“No,” Carol answered flatly. The high image she once carried of Bradley Davis would be forever marred by his behavior. The thought of Davis made Carol think again of the mysterious Mr. Mansfield. She wondered what he was doing now, where he was, who he was with...

“Earth to Bakker—Earth to Bakker—Please respond—Over."

Carol's cheeks reddened and she forced the image of her classy gentleman from her mind. “I'm sorry, Ter. What did you say?"

“I said that I'm still ticked off at you because you didn't buy anything for yourself."

“I did so. I bought these sneakers at that clearance sale and two used CDs."

Terry reached for one of the bags and took out the receipt. She waved it in the air. “Big deal, Carol. You spent a whopping fifty bucks on yourself. The other hundred went for dog food, cat food, kid food, and toys."

Carol shrugged, then sipped her cola. “You know that I'm not big on having a lot of new things.” She stood and began picking up her bags. “Get up off your lazy butt and help me take this stuff across the street."

The neighborhood children who were playing in the day care center's small playground gathered around when they saw Carol coming. Their faces lit up when she showed them the packages of paints, crayons, toy cars, colored paper, and chewy fruit snacks.

“I wanna paint!"

“Can we make paper flowers, Miss Carol?"

“Now we can use the old crayons to make those melty pictures!"

“Sorry guys, but I can't afford to use the electricity on Sundays. You'll have to wait until tomorrow."

Grudgingly, the children went back to the games they'd been playing while two little girls stayed behind. They hugged Carol's waist and smiled brightly.

“Thanks, Miss Carol. These toys are nice."

“Real nice."

Carol returned the girls’ hugs and kissed them before they ran off to rejoin their friends. She turned to Terry, her face showing total contentment. “They couldn't be that happy if I'd bought those clothes you wanted me to get."

Terry shrugged. “Well, I guess you can't compare designer jeans with happy rugrats."

Carol smiled as she listened to three of the girls excitedly making plans for the new playthings. “I'll take those hugs and smiles every time."

* * * *

R.J. exhaled a slow breath as the wife of an old family friend lectured him in the cavernous vestibule of the church where Brad Davis was about to be married.

“What have I done that was so terribly wrong, Cynthia?” He raised an eyebrow at the unaccustomed expletive she muttered.

“You abandoned your daughter in London!"

“I did no such thing. She'll be flying in to Boston in a few days time. I wanted to get things settled with the condo before I sent for her."

“Sent for her, not picked her up in person."

R.J. breathed an exasperated sigh. “I don't mean to be rude, but the ceremony is about to start and I am the best man."

“What exactly is your definition of best, R.J.?"

R.J.'s response was a chilling look that elicited a triumphant smile.

* * * *

The groom's sister, Briana, sidled up to R.J., who'd found himself a quiet corner in the reception hall following the ceremony. She smoothed her hands over her clinging silk sheath then leaned against the table, nonchalantly stroking R.J.'s shoulder with one perfectly manicured fingertip.

“My, my, my, and what exactly brought you back across the pond to grace these fair shores? A new lady perhaps?"

Briana laughed at R.J.'s sullen expression and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “If you'd like to pick up where we last left off..."

“I'll keep that in mind, Briana. Would you excuse me? I see someone I need to speak with."

R.J. slipped out of the hotel ballroom and went to the public bar. He sat at a back table nursing a glass of wine and idly scanned the room wondering what was the matter with him. He'd been feeling restless since dropping that woman off after Brad's party last night and hadn't been able to sleep a wink. He was almost tempted to take Briana up on her offer if only to pass the time in a bit of physical oblivion, but somehow he suddenly doubted if even that would help.

He glanced at his watch. He'd fulfilled his best man duties when he gave the speech before dinner and he decided that he might as well head back to the condo and get some paperwork done before tomorrow when he took full control of the small electronics firm he'd purchased here in Boston. Arnco was poised to make a nice name for itself and a tidy profit for him with a bit of tweaking and a sound financial base.

Running his fingertip along the rim of the wineglass, R.J. realized that the factory wasn't far from the home of that dancer. Not that it mattered, of course. He and a woman like that had absolutely nothing in common. And yet he was intrigued with her. Despite the circumstances, there was something oddly wholesome and sweet in her bearing, and he couldn't imagine how she'd ended up on that stage prancing about in next to nothing.

Not that there was anything wrong with that, he mused while the image of her lithe body filled this mind.

He shifted in his seat and finished the rest of his wine in one swallow. He wasn't going to see that woman, that—Miss Bakker again, so there really wasn't any point in dwelling on the matter, not when he had pressing business to tend to.

R.J. left a modest tip for the waitress, made his apologies to Brad, then went back to his condo to work.

The following morning he received an unexpected and most unwelcome phone call shortly after arriving at Arnco.

“Cynthia, this really isn't a good time."

“Don't try to give me the brush-off, R.J. Mansfield. I fully intend to box the ears attached to that thick skull the next time I see you."

“What have I done now, Cynthia?"

“You abandoned your daughter in London as I recall."

“We went over this yesterday. Alexandra will be here in a matter of days. Now if you'll excuse me. I have important business to tend to."

“More important than your only child? Your motherless child?"

“Alexandra means the world to me and you know it."

“Then prove it.” With a harsh click the line went dead.

After tucking the phone into his breast pocket, R.J. continued his walk through the production area of Arnco.

The employees were entering, many directing cold stares his way. Clearly the grapevine was in early bloom. They'd undoubtedly heard that he planned to freeze wages and limit benefits, despite the agreement they'd made with the previous owner. As unfair as it might seem to them, it was a solid business move. He wouldn't honor an asset-consuming agreement no matter how unpopular the decision was.

Stopping to look over a sheaf of invoices the department supervisor handed him, R.J. couldn't help but overhear a snippet of conversation between two female employees.

“I hope Tommy settled down by now."

“Before you know it, he'll think of the day care center as his second home. Some days my Jeanie hates to leave when I pick her up. Besides, you can go over on your lunch hour to see him if you want to."

Cynthia Harris’ words echoed in R. J.'s mind, but he pushed them aside, then went up to his office.

* * * *

“With the freeze in wages and cuts in the percentage of the health benefits you pay, it will enable you to convert the old warehouse on Hemsdale Street into an expanded packing and shipping facility, with little impact to the expected rate of profit for the coming fiscal year."

Standing with his back to his assistant, R.J. nodded. “Is the size of this warehouse sufficient to contain the operation? Won't it require extensive renovation?” He asked, continuing to stare out the small window as the factory employees returned from their lunch break.

“It will require some renovation, Mr. Mansfield, but nothing major."

R.J. nodded again. Expansion without reducing cash flow was perfect. He could use the savings to have this office enlarged and redecorated. He liked seeing first hand that his goals were being met, or better yet, exceeded. It would be less time consuming to conduct the bulk of his daily business here, rather than shuttling back and forth between this new venture and his corporate office in the center of town. He turned. “Get the car, Martin. I want to see what this building needs for myself."

* * * *

“What do you think, sir?"

“I imagine it will suffice,” R.J. said as he walked around the dirty top floor of the old warehouse, which had clearly seen better days and fewer vermin. “It's structurally sound.” He opened one of the large windows and looked out.

The working class neighborhood had passed its prime many years ago, but still clung to shreds of respectability. Aging but decently maintained houses held their own against the boarded up businesses and shabby apartment buildings, which loomed over them in the distance. The neighborhood's brightest spot was a school of some kind on the adjacent block. A rainbow of budding tulips surrounded the chain link fence and acted as a divider between a play and picnic area and a compact basketball court.

At one end of the grassy yard, two young women were playing a makeshift game of soccer with a group of small children, while at the opposite end, a single woman was clearing away the remains of lunch from some brightly painted picnic tables.

That must be the day care facility he'd heard those women speak of this morning.

Three little girls brought a portable cassette player to the woman cleaning tables. She took a tape from the rear pocket of her faded jeans, put it in the player then switched it on, and set it on one of the picnic tables.

R.J.'s mouth lifted in a rare smile and he watched the woman begin to dance. Although her little routine contained no formal ballet steps, she moved with a natural grace that captivated him. He laughed quietly when the little girls attempted to imitate their teacher. She seemed even happier than the children did as she encouraged them and led them back toward the unadorned cement block structure, adding other children and teachers to their line along the way. When the woman disappeared into the building, R.J. focused on the hand-lettered wooden sign above the entrance.

He lowered the binoculars, then turned from the window, glancing at his watch. “I'm meeting with people from Multicorp this afternoon, so we'll head back to the downtown office. While I'm out, I want you to check into the Hemsdale Day Care Center."

“Sir?” Martin asked, clearly puzzled.

“The Hemsdale Day Care Center,” R.J. repeated slowly, annoyed that he had to repeat it at all. “Have the report on my desk the first thing tomorrow.” He gave his assistant the binoculars then strode past him to the elevator.

Cynthia Harris had no reason to criticize him now. Those children had seemed positively buoyant at their little school, and Alexandra would, too. Add to that the fact that he could pop over and see her at any time during the day clearly showed that he was a concerned parent despite what Cynthia Harris thought.

* * * *

R.J. leaned back in his tufted leather chair, his fingers steepled in front of him. “What did you find out, Martin?"

His assistant sat opposite the Chippendale desk, and opened a manila envelope, withdrawing a few sheets of typed information.

“The Hemsdale Day Care Center is owned and operated by Miss Carol Bakker..."

Carol Bakker? R.J. repeated to himself. That was the woman from Brad's party. An odd little twinge hit him low in the stomach as Martin handed him a small photograph. He never thought he'd see her again and he'd been rather disappointed at the notion. But now...

He reined in his straying thoughts, then concentrated on his assistant's words. He was quite anxious to know more about Miss Bakker.

“Miss Bakker has been connected with the center for close to fifteen years since her junior year in high school when she began to work there on a part time basis. She was made a full partner in the center five years ago, and assumed sole ownership upon the accidental death of Mrs. Sheila Jackson, the center's founder.

The day care center is an important part of the neighborhood, especially to those employed at Arnco. Miss Bakker provides ten hours of care and three meals five days a week, and an additional six hours care and two meals on Saturdays.

Her fees for these services are unprofitably low, keeping pace with what her clients can comfortably afford to pay. The center is state certified and has had no complaints filed against it in its history. Clients of the center have nothing but glowing comments for Miss Bakker and her staff."

David Martin returned the report to its envelope then gave it to his employer.

“Martin, when you meet the architect at Arnco later this morning, I want you to register Alexandra in Miss Bakker's day care center.” He turned his attention to a sheaf of computer printouts to his right, but looked up when he did not hear the office door open. “Get going, Martin. I don't pay you to stand there gawking at me."

“But ... but, sir.... Are you certain that you want your daughter there? It is not the best neighborhood."

“I'm perfectly aware of that, Martin. You gave me that information before I purchased Arnco. I plan to spend a good deal of my time on site, restructuring that company and I would like to have my daughter close by."

“But surely, Mr. Mansfield, a private nursery school—"

R.J. dismissed him with a wave. “I told you what I want, Martin. See that it gets done."

* * * *

Carol leaned against the battered oak desk in her cramped office, her arms folded in front of her. “How old is your daughter, Mr. Martin?” she asked, hoping she was concealing her surprise. Most of her clients were single working mothers, not well-heeled business types.

“She isn't my daughter, Miss Bakker. Alexandra is the only child of my employer, R.J. Mansfield. I'm sure you've heard of him."

Carol simply nodded. It couldn't be, could it? It couldn't be that Mansfield. But it had to be. Carol willed her mind to stop racing and nodded.

“The Mansfield name is familiar.” She studied the man before her, sensing his unease behind his affable expression. “I may be speaking out of turn, Mr. Martin, but I have the feeling that you don't agree with your boss's decision to have his daughter enrolled here."

David flashed her a benign smile. “I hope you won't take this the wrong way, Miss Bakker, but Alexandra Mansfield has spent her four and a half years in the care of a highly trained nanny. She isn't used to being in the company of other children."

Carol gritted her teeth. She didn't need a master's degree in early child development to know that a highly trained nanny wouldn't isolate a child from her peers. “What you mean is that Alexandra Mansfield isn't used to being in the company of poor or minority children."

David Martin took his time in answering. “Frankly, yes."

Carol frowned. “There's no point in going further with this. I have a lot of work to do."

“Please, Miss Bakker. I didn't mean to offend you and I assure you that the opinion was solely my own. In fact, Mr. Mansfield was quite adamant that Alexandra be enrolled here. He has business in the area and caught a glimpse of you and your charges. Apparently, that was all the recommendation he needed to make his decision."

Carol didn't offer a reply. She couldn't if she'd wanted to; her thoughts were a blur and part of her felt strange, almost disappointed. “I'll have to speak with one or both of Alexandra's parents, Mr. Martin,” she said finally. “There are forms to fill out, fees to discuss, that sort of thing.” Carol went around to the back of her desk and rummaged through one of the drawers.

“I have the authorization to enroll Alexandra. Mrs. Mansfield was killed in an auto accident three years ago and Mr. Mansfield is a very busy man."

Carol looked up. “Too busy to meet with the person who will taking care of his child?” She frowned when David Martin nodded in reply. “If Mr. Mansfield can't take twenty minutes to fill out a few simple forms and—"

“I believe I have what you need, Miss Bakker."

Carol took the papers the dark haired executive produced from his leather brief case. The information she needed to enroll Alexandra Mansfield was there, and then some.

There was a release form for outdoor activities, a permission slip valid until the end of the year for any off campus field trips, a detailed immunization report and personal health record, and a record of the child's current daily routine, along with a brief developmental evaluation. Each page had been notarized, witnessed, and bore the bold signature of R.J. Mansfield.

Carol set the papers down, glad that she hadn't brought out the simple photocopied forms she generally used. Next to these documents they looked like discarded facial tissues. “I would like to discuss the fee with Mr. Mansfield.... “Carol's voice trailed off as David Martin withdrew a blank check and a gold pen from the inside breast pocket of his silk suit.

“I've been instructed to give you a month's payment advance in addition to any flat registration fee you might have.” David set the check on his brief case. “Name your price, Miss Bakker."

Carol sat in her squeaky swivel chair. “I usually base my fees on the family's income and expenditures, but I think it's safe to assume that Mr. Mansfield is above the top end of the scale. The most I've ever charged was five hundred dollars a month, although I know of other centers that charge quite a bit more.” She paused. “I'd like eight hundred dollars, but I'm willing to negotiate."

“Eight hundred, per month?"

Carol frowned and came around the front of her desk. “Some of my parents are lucky to get that much in their take home pay, but if you think it's asking too much—"

David Martin laughed and quickly made out the check. “Forgive me. We rather expected you to charge more considering Mr. Mansfield's financial position."

“I have no intention of gouging your boss because he can afford it, Mr. Martin,” Carol informed him before taking the check.

“I'll be sure to tell Mr. Mansfield of your integrity,” David said as he stood. “Someone from the office will be in touch about the exact day Alexandra will begin. She flew in from Europe just last night and I'm sure it will take a few days for her to adjust to the time change."

Carol walked David Martin outside to his waiting limousine, a myriad of doubts swirling around her head. There was something very strange about all of this and yet, she was already looking forward to welcoming a new child into her “family".

And getting that chance to meet Mansfield again? A tiny voice asked from deep inside. Carol ignored it and cleared her throat.

“It might be wise for someone to stay with Alexandra the first day or so. Some children are a little afraid to be in a large group until they get used to the other kids. Perhaps her father—"

“I doubt that Mr. Mansfield will be able to take time away from his business affairs. Alexandra's nanny will no doubt accompany her.” David waited until the chauffeur opened the door for him.

“Please tell Mr. Mansfield that I need to meet him personally as soon as possible. I make it a point to know the parents of all the children in my care."

“I'll give Mr. Mansfield your message, but..."

“He's a very busy man,” Carol finished, as the chauffeur closed the door. David Martin nodded through the tinted window.

Carol watched the limo pull away as she began to form a new opinion of R.J. Mansfield. It was much less pleasant than the first.

* * * *

The color drained from Terry's rouged cheeks, and Carol immediately felt her friend's forehead. “You aren't sick again, are you?"

“No, but do you know what you just said?"

Carol tugged on the hem of her skimpy waitress uniform. “I said that I'm getting a new kid at the center. Her father is some big-shot businessman named R.J. Mansfield."

Terry shook her head in disbelief and cleared some discarded clothing from a vinyl chair. “R.J. Mansfield isn't just a big-shot, he's one of the biggest big-shots of all, my dear.” She pointed to the chair. “Sit."

Carol sat while Terry began rummaging around the communal dressing room. One of the other strippers came in.

“Hey! That's my stuff! What are you doing?"

“Stealing your padded bra,” Terry quipped as she stood on tiptoe and began to search the closet shelf. “Do you still have that magazine with the ‘Sexiest Men Alive’ article?"

Suzi picked up the magazine, which was on the floor at Terry's feet and covered by a pair of lacy panties. “Time to put on the bifocals, granny."

Terry grinned. “Thirty-six is closer than you think, babe.” She thumbed through the magazine until she found the page she sought, then walked over to Carol. “Has Wall Street's boy genius rebounded from the tragic death of his wife to regain his place at the top of the American corporate ladder, or is R.J. Mansfield a has-been at the age of thirty-nine?” Terry gave the magazine to Carol. “It's from last year, but he probably hasn't changed that much."

Suzi looked over Carol's shoulder. “Hey, I know that guy."

“So do I,” Carol said quietly. “He's the guy I told you about, the one from the bachelor party. The one who tried to give me the two hundred bucks."

“And you didn't take it! That's chump change to someone like him!"

Suzi nudged Carol. “This guy is out front. He wants to see you. That's what I came in here to tell you."

Carol gasped. He was here? To see her? “No, no, no. Tell him I'm not here."

Terry pulled Carol to her feet. “You get out there, girl. Now!"

“But, but—"

“But nothing. Go!"

Terry shoved Carol out the dressing room door and latched it from the inside.

“He's at the bar!” Suzi called through the door.

Carol swallowed hard, uncertain of what to do.

* * * *

R.J. stared into his glass of club soda, trying to banish the imagine of a dancing Carol Bakker from his mind until the blaring music changed from rock and roll to the sultry jazz tune that had been her closing number at the bachelor party. His body responded and he gulped down his water to quench the fire smoldering his blood.

This entire idea was foolhardy. His daughter had a perfectly capable nanny to look after her. She didn't need to be enrolled in a common day care center at all. He was not neglecting his child in any way despite Cynthia Harris’ concerns, and it was positively ludicrous to subject Alexandra to the company of a band of roughnecks, all for the sake of getting close to Carol Bakker once again.

This fascination that had been brewing within him was madness. He needed to stop it at once. He needed to get out of here asap.

Here goes nothing, Carol thought as she threaded her way through the rows of circular red tables. She silently rehearsed greetings, rejecting one after the other. Why did she feel so incompetent all of a sudden? All she had to do was say hello. One simple word.

Just as she reached the bar, Mansfield stood and turned, bumping into her. She clutched his upper arm to keep her balance. Hard muscle was beneath the fine fabric of his suit jacket. She willed her fingers to let go and offered a sheepish smile. “Mr. Mansfield? Hello."

“Miss Bakker. How nice to see you again.” He pulled out the stool adjacent to the one he'd been on. “Please."

She shook her head, noticing the way his gaze shifted to the low vee of her uniform top. “Can this wait until another time? My break is over. I really need to get back to work."

“You told my assistant you needed to speak with me about Alexandra,” he said, his deep cultured voice slicing through the din.

“This really isn't the time or place. If you come to the day care center tomorrow I'll be more than happy—"

“That simply isn't possible, Miss Bakker. I'm flying to New York in the morning."

He reached into his jacket for his billfold. “I'll be happy to compensate you for your time this evening."

Carol simply stared. “The other girls are getting behind. I can't stick them with my customers."

“When are you done here?"

“Midnight, why?"

“I'll give you a lift home. We can talk on the way. Will that be convenient?"

Entranced by his warm brown eyes, Carol simply said, “I guess it's okay. I'll see you then."

Mansfield flashed a radiant smile. “I'm looking forward to it.” He handed the bartender a twenty-dollar bill to cover the cost of the club soda he'd barely touched. “Goodbye, Miss Bakker."

“'Bye.” Carol watched him go, chiding herself for being so taken by his good looks and captivating presence, and yet she made no move to resume her duties until he'd exited the front door.

* * * *

Terry whistled when the silver Porsche pulled up outside Angel City. “Why did I have to be sick Saturday?"

Carol laughed. “You're just lucky. Oh, that's his assistant."

“Can I be your assistant and fill in for you?” Terry asked, her gaze riveted to the black-haired man approaching them.

Carol tugged on the hem of her skirt; uncomfortable by the way David Martin casually studied her legs.

“Mr. Mansfield was unable to keep your appointment and he asked me to pick you up.” He gestured to his car. “Shall we?"

“Thank you, Mr. Martin, but I'll ride with Terry like I usually do."

“No, no, no,” Terry said, giving Carol a gentle shove in the executive's direction. “I won't let you pass up a ride in a Porsche with a gorgeous man for me and my crappy Buick, I'll call you tomorrow."

Carol took a deep breath as Terry strode away. She was certain that David Martin had no desire to do this. “You'll have to excuse her, Mr. Martin. She tends to speak her mind."

“It's quite all right. Let me take you home. You seem to be rather cold."

“It is a bit chilly,” she mumbled, trying to rub the gooseflesh from her thighs.

* * * *

Terry came into the day care center as Carol was making breakfast for the children. “Well, what happened?” she asked excitedly, helping to spread the slices of toast with peanut butter and applesauce.

Carol cut the toast into quarters, then began placing them on small trays along with glasses of juice and milk. “What do you mean, what happened?” she asked without looking up.

Terry looked heavenward and shook her head. “Did you get driven home in a Porsche by a gorgeous hunk or am I dreaming?"

Carol began to pass out the trays. Terry followed. “David Martin drove me home, so what?"

Terry nearly dropped the two trays she was holding. “So what? Details is what. What happened with you and David Martin?"

“Nothing,” Carol answered icily as she took the last tray to be served. “He drove me home and said that Alexandra Mansfield will be starting here tomorrow."

Terry shook her head as she followed Carol back to the compact kitchen area. “I don't believe you. You had one of the most gorgeous men I have ever seen within arm's length, and on your doorstep, and you did nothing about it?"

“No, I didn't do anything about it," Carol's tone was hushed but forceful, her face tight with strain. She turned her back.

“You can't tell me that David Martin and Mansfield don't turn you on."

Carol roughly twisted the lids back onto the jars of applesauce and peanut butter. “Of course I think they're good looking, but I don't even know them and I don't think I want to.” She put the jars into the refrigerator, shoving the door shut and faced Terry again.

“They have entered your life, my dear, and you'd be smart to take advantage of everything that comes your way."

Carol folded her arms in front of her. “What makes you think that anything will come my way?"

Terry touched her index finger to her temple. “Ah, Madame Teresa knows all. It has been too long since Carol Bakker has looked at a man.” Terry dropped her Gypsy-like accent. “Face it, that ride home last night was the closest thing to a date you've had since Bill was killed."

Carol was dealt a blow by her friend's remark and she simply stared at the tile floor, haunted by too many memories while Terry continued.

“Look, Bill wasn't the last good man on earth and you'd better pry that armor away from your heart before it rusts shut.” She paused. “Fate has dropped two handsome, wealthy men into your lap. If they show interest in you, don't let them get away."

Carol took a deep breath, her body growing tense. “Don't you have something else to do?” she snapped, wiping the clean counter top.

“Nope. Today is Tuesday. It's my day to help out with the rugrats, remember? I'll be here all day."

* * * *

R.J. cursed under his breath as the freeway traffic slowed to a standstill for the second time in sixteen minutes. He should have taken the corporate helicopter to the airport, but had decided that driving would be quicker than waiting for the helo to arrive. He picked up the cell phone and dialed information for the number of the Hemsdale Day Care Center

“Hello. I'd like to speak with Carol Bakker. This is R.J. Mansfield.” He winced when the woman shrieked.

“Yes!” She lowered her tone. “She's outside, but don't hang up. I'll get her."

R.J.'s expression softened when Carol's melodic voice greeted him.

“Mr. Mansfield?"

“Yes. Tell me, who was that woman who answered?” He pictured Carol's pretty face as she laughed.

“That was my friend Terry. I heard her all the way outside. She gets excited easily."

“So I gathered,” he said dryly. “You weren't busy, were you?"

“No. I was just wiping down the picnic tables. I let the kids eat outside when it's warm."

R.J. imagined her, as she'd been the other afternoon, dancing and then playing with those little girls. He smiled to himself, feeling his pulse quicken. “I wanted to touch base and see if Martin drove you home."

“Yes, but you didn't have to send him, though."

“Of course I did. I promised that you'd get a lift. I'm sorry about being called away. I did want to speak with you."

“Can you come by this afternoon? I don't have to be at my other job until 6:30."

“I'm not in Boston. I'm stuck in traffic on the way to LAX. I'll be heading to Chicago for a meeting later today."

“Oh. Well. I'd better let you go then,” Carol said. “This is probably costing a fortune."

“Think nothing of it, Miss Bakker. We'll set up a meeting asap."

“Sure. Fine. I'll talk to you later."

* * * *

The children at the day care center gaped open-mouthed when Alexandra Mansfield entered the following morning, accompanied by her very proper British nanny. Accustomed to seeing children clad in jeans and sneakers, Carol herself was startled by the sight of R.J. Mansfield's daughter, who wore a tailored coat of burgundy velvet with a matching bonnet. The nanny took the child's coat revealing a white organza dress with a very full skirt made up of tiers of ruffles. Alexandra's long chestnut hair was pulled back from her face and secured with a fluffy bow, the ends hanging down in sausage curls.

Overcoming her shock, Carol approached and extended her hand to the nanny. “Hello. I'm Carol Bakker."

“Moira Dickson. Mr. Martin said that you would like me to remain here for a few days."

“Yes. It helps the children if a parent or someone can stay close by at the beginning to ease the transition."

The nanny's expression was indulgent. “Miss Alexandra adapts well to change. I don't anticipate any problems. She began attending nursery school in London a few months ago."

Bending down, Carol greeted Alexandra. “I'm Carol. I'm going to look after you while you daddy is working.” She called over the two young women assisting her. “This is Lisa and Casey. They help me."

Alexandra bobbed a half curtsy. “I'm pleased to meet you."

Carol and her assistants shared a look of surprise. “Do you want to have breakfast with us, Alexandra? We're having fruit, cereal, and juice."

“Just juice, please, ma'am,” the girl said quietly.

Carol got the juice, then introduced Alexandra to all of the children before leading her to a seat between two of the most outgoing girls. She made it a point to give Alexandra most of her attention and was glad that the girl warmed up to her quickly, for she knew that the center was a world apart from the child's usual environment. At the end of the day she suggested to Miss Dickson that Alexandra dress casually to make her feel more at ease.

The end of the week found Carol's hopes for Alexandra's acceptance dashed. She nudged a cat off the kitchen counter as she poured coffee for herself and Terry. “I don't know, Ter. I tell Miss Dickson every day to dress Ally in normal kid clothes but she brought her in like a princess again. She said that Mr. Mansfield orders Alexandra's clothes from some London dressmaker, and that those frilly things are all she has."

“Have you tried to talk to Mansfield about it?"

Carol sipped her coffee. “I could probably get an audience with the Pope quicker. I left messages with secretaries and David Martin, but it's useless."

Terry petted one of the cats that rubbed against her leg. “You could just get her some things to wear at the center yourself."

Carol hit her forehead with the palm of her hand. The answer was so simple, why hadn't she thought of it? She looked at her watch. “We have over an hour before we have to get to the club. We can stop at that resale shop on the way. Something else has been bothering me, though."

“What?"

“Ally is so shy she reminds me of a frightened little kitten."

Terry snickered. “The poor kid is probably in deep culture shock."

Carol shook her head. “It's more than that. I noticed it the other day. When the other kids were picked up at the end of the day and their parents fussed over their drawings and those little Popsicle stick boxes we made, she got this really sad look in her eyes. She dropped her box in the trash, then sat in the corner until Miss Dickson came for her."

“You mean the box she made that's on your desk? That thing was great considering her age. I'd be proud to show it off myself."

“I called Jimmy. He's been working in the pediatric unit. He said that since most of the kids just live with their mothers that Ally might be reacting to her own mother's death even though it happened when she was just two."

“It makes sense,” Terry said, finishing her coffee.

Carol wasn't convinced. “I suppose.” She took her own cup to the sink, having an idea of what troubled Alexandra Mansfield. It was not a pleasant idea at all and she hoped that she was mistaken.

That evening when she took a break, Carol telephoned the Mansfield condominium. As usual, Mr. Mansfield was not at home. She asked to speak to the nanny. “Miss Dickson, I was wondering how much time Mr. Mansfield spends with Ally—Alexandra."

“That is a rather unusual question, Miss Bakker."

“Yes, well, I received funding from the state and sometimes they ask me to take these strange surveys,” she said coolly, hoping to ease the other woman's suspicions.

“Mr. Mansfield is extremely busy with his business ventures but he manages to have dinner with Miss Alexandra at least once a week."

Dinner? Once a week?

Her grip tightening on the telephone receiver, Carol swallowed her anger. “Yes. Tell me, does Mr. Mansfield spend any other time with his daughter, playing games, tucking her in, talking to her about her day?"

“Not as such. Miss Alexandra dines with me and is usually asleep when Mr. Mansfield returns from the office."

Carol clenched and unclenched her teeth. “Thank you, Miss Dickson. Please tell Mr. Mansfield that I'd like to speak with him as soon as possible."

“I'm afraid that he's in New York. He won't return until next Tuesday."

Carol's jaw grew tight. “Give him the message as soon as you can. Thank you."

Setting her boss's telephone back in its cradle with a heavy hand, Carol cursed R.J. Mansfield under her breath. While he probably didn't blow rent money at the craps table, he was no better than her own father had been. No wonder Alexandra looked so longingly at the other children with their parents. Couldn't that man see that he was treating his only child with less courtesy than he would a business associate? Didn't he realize that fine, lacy dresses, and high-priced nannies couldn't compare with a few hours of his time?

Reluctantly, Carol returned to work, vowing to show Alexandra Mansfield the affection her father denied her.

The extra attention paid off sooner than Carol expected, and by the end of the following week, Alexandra had to be coaxed into leaving the day care center when Miss Dickson came for her. The girl's enthusiasm pleased Carol, making her unprepared for the reaction of Alexandra's father.

Carol had just arrived at Angel City Saturday night when the call from R.J. Mansfield came. “This really isn't a good time, but I did want to talk to you about—"

“Changing my daughter into a noisy little vagabond?” he shouted.

“What?"

“What have you done to Alexandra?” he demanded. “When I sent her to you two weeks ago she was a beautifully dressed, well-mannered child, and now she's behaving like—"

“A normal, happy little girl,” Carol broke in. “Listen to me, Mr. Mansfield. I may not know about stocks and bonds, but I do know children. You can't dress a girl up like a doll, and set her on a shelf to be looked at or paid attention to when Daddy is a little bored, or has nothing better to occupy his time."

“Of all the gall. Are you insinuating that I do not love my daughter?"

Carol curbed her indignation. How could anyone so obviously intelligent, be such a dunce when it came to his own child? “I'm sure you love Ally a great deal, but you have to show her. She needs your attention."

“I am a very busy man, Miss Bakker. I sit on the board of a multinational corporation. I own a controlling interest in over a hundred companies worldwide. I give Alexandra as much time as I can."

“Well, I suggest you give more time to your daughter, if you want her to grow up to be a happy, well adjusted person. Surely, Ally's emotional health is more important than soybean futures or whatever you deal in."

There was a harsh silence. Finally Mansfield spoke in clipped tones. “I have another call. Good evening, Miss Bakker."

Carol let out a cry of frustration when the phone clicked in her ear. It was obvious that R.J. Mansfield possessed a sense of compassion or he wouldn't have offered her that money at the bachelor party, but the way he relegated his daughter to employee status infuriated her.

How could she ever have been attracted to that man?

Chapter 3

R.J. leaned back in his desk chair, fuming over Carol Bakker's impertinence until he realized that she might have a point. He hadn't been spending as much time with Alexandra as he should these past few months. He would change that at once.

Well, not at once, but as soon as he closed the latest negotiations on the Rome deal tomorrow. He certainly would not be like his own parents, who'd shipped him off to boarding school at the age of seven. His daughter was living under his roof where she belonged, and he was going to be an involved parent. That was what truly mattered.

Of course the Wolsingham negotiations might take a bit longer than expected...

* * * *

“Nanny will take you to the zoo in the morning, Alexandra,” R.J. told his daughter two Saturdays later. “I have a very important meeting tomorrow."

“Okay,” she said sadly, not looking up from the picture she was coloring.

R.J. bent down. “What is that you're drawing?"

“Miss Carol. She showed me an’ Keshia how to dance."

“How nice,” R.J. said as he looked at the drawing. It took him a few minutes but he was able to see the resemblance of Alexandra's crude figures to human beings. “Perhaps you should make Miss Bakker larger. You've drawn her the same size as your friend and yourself."

Alexandra ignored the comment and began to color Carol's hair a bright orange yellow.

R.J. corrected her. “That's not the proper color. Miss Bakker's hair is more like this, he said choosing what he found to be the appropriate color crayon. To his dismay, Alexandra crumpled the paper.

“I don't wanna color no more."

“You don't want to draw any more.” What was happening to her grammar lately? Had it anything to do with her dressing so casually during the day?

Alexandra shrugged, then took a stuffed cat from her toy box and began singing a new song she'd learned.

R.J.'s face lit up as he watched her cradle the toy. It seemed like only yesterday that she was born and he'd held her that way.

“Did you like my song? Miss Carol teached it to us."

“Taught it to you,” he corrected automatically. “It's a lovely song, Alexandra, but you've got the words wrong. You're saying fleas was white as snow when you mean fleece."

Alexandra shrugged off her mistake and began the song again, singing it her way. Again, her father corrected her, this time explaining the difference between the words.

She threw down her stuffed cat.

Shaking his head, R.J. looked at his watch. He gave his daughter a perfunctory kiss on the forehead. “Nanny will tuck you in. Goodnight."

“Night."

* * * *

By the middle of the following week Carol noticed a definite drop in Alexandra Mansfield's level of participation. She began spending more and more time alone in the reading corner, quietly staring at the assorted picture books, instead of joining in with the other children to sing and dance as she'd begun to. Could the center's simple activities be boring her so soon?

Carol knelt next to Alexandra and felt her forehead. “Don't you want to sing today? You're usually the loudest one."

The girl managed a fleeting smile. “I don't feel like it."

“We're going to do finger paints soon,” Carol said, easing the book from the girl's hands. “Come on and help me get them out."

With a sigh, Alexandra got up. “Okay, but I don't think I wanna paint either."

“But you love art time.” Carol's heart ached when Ally shrugged, and trudged over to the supply cabinet as though she was heading toward a punishment. Perhaps she was a little out of sorts. She'd be herself once she sat down to paint.

Smiling, Carol walked around the tables marveling at the children's enthusiasm and bright color choices. Her smile dimmed as she watched Alexandra use a crayon to painstakingly sketch people then color them using drab grays and browns.

“Do you want to tell me what's wrong, Ally? Do you feel sick in any way?"

Alexandra shook her head. “I'm okay."

At the end of the week Carol passed out the children's art projects and was troubled when Alexandra refused to take the two pictures she'd been coaxed into making that morning.

“Don't you want to show your daddy? They're the prettiest ones you've ever done.” She held out the drawings. Alexandra still refused them.

“He doesn't like them,” she muttered.

Carol felt the pain visible in the child's pretty blue eyes and she lovingly stroked Alexandra's hair. “I'm sure he'll love them."

Alexandra's frown deepened. “No. He says it's wrong to have purple trees and orange hair and dogs that fly."

Carol looked at one of the drawings. It showed what appeared to be a girl with a large round face that had a big letter u for a smile, green zigzags for hair, no body and long stick legs with oval shaped feet. There were also enormous blue flowers and tiny yellow trees. “This picture is beautiful. Can I hang it near the rest corner so everyone can see it?"

Alexandra's expression brightened. “Okay."

Carol let Alexandra tape the picture up. “If you don't want to take the other one to your daddy, can I take it home? I'd like to put it in my kitchen."

Alexandra's smile grew wider still. “You can have it!” She held her arms out. Carol picked her up and hugged her. “I love you, Miss Carol."

“I love you, too, Ally,” Carol said, wishing that she had a daughter like Alexandra. “We'd better get your jacket. I can see Miss Dickson's car outside."

After closing the center for the day, Carol tried to get in touch with Alexandra's father before going to work at Angel City. It was quite a surprise when he personally answered the telephone at his office.

“Checking up on me, Miss Baker?” he said lightly. “I assure you that I have been spending more time with Alexandra. In fact, I was about to finish up here and go home to have dinner with her."

For a fleeting moment Carol was tempted to be pushy like her friend Terry and invite herself to join them, but dropped that foolish notion. “I won't keep you, but I would like to speak with you about Ally. Can we set up an appointment?"

“I can meet you later when you're done with your evening job."

“Later tonight will be fine,” Carol said.

“Later it is, and I promise that I will not stand you up."

Carol hung up the phone, missing the cradle twice before she got the receiver situated properly.

* * * *

Terry whimpered when the long black limousine pulled up in front of Angel City precisely at midnight. “I'm starting to feel like a pauper."

“We are paupers,” Carol reminded her.

“Play your cards right, kiddo, and you won't be for long."

Before Carol could respond, Terry trotted toward the parking lot, whistling the Wedding March.

Dream on, Carol thought.

R.J. got out of the limo and held the door for Carol. She gaped at the car's interior as she settled back into the glove-leather seat. The rear compartment of the limo held a television, bar, telephone, and laptop computer with printer, which R.J. returned to its concealed spot.

“Your car is furnished better than my house."

R.J. laughed, as if totally missing the despair in Carol's voice. “I spend rather a lot of time here traveling to and from airports, though less than I used to. I've been following your advice to the letter, Carol. You don't mind if I use your given name, do you?"

Carol shook her head, unable to get her mouth to work properly. She could just sit and listen to that smooth, deep voice for hours. He could probably read the phone book and make it sound sexy. “Should I call you R.J. or whatever the ‘R’ stands for?"

R.J. grimaced at the mere thought. “Please, use the initials. I was christened with my grandmothers’ surnames Royce Jensen."

“Oh,” Carol said. “My mother named me after the actress. I changed the spelling on my own. I hated writing Carol with two R's and two L's."

R.J. smiled, charmed by her simple, unaffected manner. She was quite a refreshing change from what he was used to and he had the unaccountable urge to kiss her. He cleared his throat. “You wanted to speak to me about Alexandra, is that correct?"

Carol nodded, wondering how best to phrase her concern. She disliked scolding people even if they did deserve it. “It's wonderful that you're spending more time with Ally, but she said something that's been bothering me."

“And what exactly is that ‘something'?” he asked, thoughtfully stroking his chin.

The unconscious gesture struck Carol as so sensual that she lost her train of thought for a moment, plucking at her frilly hem of her short skirt to organize her thoughts. “She didn't want to take home the drawings she did today because you criticize them."

“I don't criticize her,” R.J. said quickly. “I merely try to guide her in the proper direction."

“That's fine, but young children like to experiment with colors and shapes. They're exercising their creativity and imagination. Ally is most likely showing her independence by making her own decisions, even if they're sort of—weird to us."

R.J. inclined his head, captivated by the passion with which she spoke. “I suppose that belaboring the difference between fleas and fleece is also an insult to her new found decision making skills?"

Her voice edged with tension, Carol responded, trying not to meet the financier's gaze for more than a second or two. “Children also like to experiment with their language skills, rhyming, inventing nonsense words, and such, but correcting her grammar is all right, as long as you don't go overboard."

Irritation crossed R.J.'s face and sharpened his tone. “Perhaps I should have dropped out of Harvard Business School and taken up child psychology."

A scorching look was Carol's first reply. “I didn't plan to offend you, I only wanted to help. Ally thinks you don't like her. If you tell your driver to stop, I'll catch a bus the rest of the way."

“You'll do no such thing.” R.J. paused and moved closer. “Forgive the sarcasm. I'm not accustomed to being dressed down."

“Especially by someone from the wrong side of the tracks?"

R.J. gave a start of surprise. “Whatever made you say such a thing?"

“I don't know.” Carol stared down at the dark floor. “I still can't figure out why you're sending your daughter to my day care center."

Moving closer, R.J. reached out and turned Carol's face toward him with a gentle pressure. “I chose the center because of you. You truly care for the children. I know that Alexandra is happier with you than she was at the expensive nursery school she attended in England."

Carol smiled, comforted by the sincerity of his words and the press of his fingers on her chin. “I'm glad she's happy.” Her skin cooled when R.J. lowered his hand.

“She talks about you constantly. Its ‘Miss Carol said this’ and ‘Miss Carol does that'. You've made quite an impression upon my daughter.” His steady gaze traveled over her face and searched her gray eyes, rejoicing in the unspoken invitation that drew him like a magnet. He reached out, slowly pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Almost of their own accord his fingertips brushed her earlobe, trailed down to stroke the side of her neck. Though she shivered he felt her skin warm to his touch. He leaned in, brushed his lips tentatively against hers then slipped his arm around her to pull her against him. The feel of her soft lips was a delicious sensation that sent heat spiraling out in every direction, converging deep within his body.

It was a soul searing, magical kiss that transported Carol into the enchanting place of her adolescent fantasies, where she was a dazzling princess, complete with her own Prince Charming. Absentmindedly she stroked his muscles, firm beneath the soft silk fabric of his imported shirt. She couldn't believe she was kissing a stranger, couldn't understand how incredible it felt as if she were being kissed for the very first time.

The kiss ended far sooner than she would have liked, but Carol held on for one last, wondrous second before loosening her grip on R.J. Mansfield.

Raising his mouth from hers, R.J. brushed the back of his hand across her cheek. “Did you mind?” he asked.

“No,” she answered softly, allowing him to draw her to him once more.

This was crazy, totally crazy, and though Carol's practical side tried to make her pull away, her body wouldn't let her. She was more attracted to R.J. than she'd been willing to admit even though he aggravated her with his business-before-family attitude. That she was sitting in his limousine—kissing him—was insane, but for just this once she'd let Terry's “go for it” motto be her guide.

Too soon, reality crashed down as the driver slowed the limousine in front of Carol's modest house. Not wanting to leave her, R.J. walked Carol to her front door, his hand firmly clasped around hers. She fit perfectly, her slim fingers curving in his.

“Are you free tomorrow night?” he asked as they ascended the few steps outside her door. “I have tickets to the ballet."

Carol's eyes widened and her keys rattled in her hand.

“Do you mean that special performance for the opening of the new Hawthorne Center?"

“Yes. My father contributed heavily to the building fund and has given me the dubious honor of representing him while he and Mother ski in Austria."

She exhaled a wistful sigh. “I...” The sight of a piece of chipped paint on her front door hurtled Carol out of this new fantasy. “I would love to, but I can't. I have to work at the club tomorrow."

R.J.'s brown eyes were arrogant and he slid his hands into his trouser pockets. “Surely they can carry on without you for one evening."

They certainly could, but Carol's mind reeled with a million doubts. She couldn't represent the Mansfield family. She couldn't be with R.J. in his privileged world. His kind would spot her for the impostor she was in a second.

She fumbled with her key chain. “That flu bug is still going around, and we've been short one waitress all week. I would really love to go but—"

“Duty calls,” R.J. interrupted. “Another time, perhaps,” he said in that same tone.

The impeccable courtesy left Carol with a painful knot of disappointment. There would never be another invitation from him. She opened her mouth to speak, but the chauffeur's appearance stopped her. “Mr. Mansfield. Mr. Martin is on the phone. There's been a fire at the Paris office. He needs to speak with you immediately."

“Duty is calling you, too."

“Evidently. I'll be in touch, Miss Bakker.” He took the cellular phone and strode to his waiting limousine without so much as a backward glance.

With a wounded look Carol watched the limo drive away into the darkness of Hemsdale Street. She let herself into her house, regretting her decision to refuse the invitation, yet knowing that she'd done the only sensible thing. How could she possibly fit in at the special, invitation-only black-tie affair? She couldn't. It was as simple as that. She belonged with the other “have-nots” watching the ballet highlights on the late news.

“But it would have been nice,” Carol whispered to the tabby who climbed up on a table to get her attention. “It would have been very, very nice to go to the ballet with R.J. Mansfield."

Chapter 4

Terry phoned Carol at the day care center the next morning. “Can you leave one of the girls in charge? Vince wants us all to come down to the club by noon."

“Why doesn't he just talk to us tonight?"

“I don't know any more than you, my dear. I'll be by in an hour."

As soon as Carol got into the car, Terry grilled her.

“So, how was the ride home last night?"

“It was okay,” Carol said as she set her hand on the Buick's fabric upholstered seat, unconsciously comparing it to the soft, supple leather of the Mansfield limousine. She relived the pleasure of being in R.J.'s arms until Terry's groan curtailed her musing.

“You rode in a limo bigger than my living room, with a guy who is to die for; and it was okay?” She turned the ignition key, her car sputtering to life with numerous squeaks and rattles. “Surely it was more than just okay."

Carol smiled to herself. “He did kiss me—twice."

Terry nearly collided with a car that was parking. She returned the driver's choice words then drove around him. “So, what was it like? Did he taste pricey, you know, like gourmet chocolate?"

Carol laughed. “A kiss is a kiss, Ter."

“Two kisses,” Terry reminded her. “Anything else?"

“He did ask me to go to the ballet tonight, the one opening at the new Hawthorne Center."

Terry turned to Carol as she stopped for a red light. “So, what are you wearing?"

“I'm not going."

“What?"

Terry grumbled as the driver behind her honked. She glanced at Carol again as she continued through the intersection. “Why aren't you going? Just last month you said you'd do anything short of kill for tickets to that opening benefit."

“Face it, Ter, I don't belong. There will be nothing but the ‘rich and famous’ there."

Terry shook her head. “If R.J. Mansfield wants you there, then you belong."

Carol stared out the window, not bothering to reply. To Terry, everything was black and white. You did something or you didn't. If only it was that simple.

* * * *

Vince Capaldi taunted his employees as they ambled in, their eyes bleary, their expressions sullen. “What's wrong, kids, not used to seeing the light of day? Maybe you're all vampires."

“What's this all about, Vince?” Carol broke in, not in the mood for chatter.

“Why can't it wait until tonight?” one of the bartenders asked.

“Because we're not going to be open tonight.” Vince paused as his employees made various comments and asked questions. “If you all can it for a minute, I'll explain,” he said, smoothing down the ends of his pencil-thin mustache.

“We're going to be closed for two weeks because that's what the owner wants."

“You are the owner, Vince,” one of the strippers said. “What gives?"

“Former owner,” he corrected. “I got an offer at seven o'clock this morning that I could not refuse.” He ignored the assorted rude comments then continued. “No, to all of the above. Some lawyer from New York called and offered me nearly three times what I paid for this joint. I had a cashier's check in my hands two hours later."

“So where does that leave us?” Carol asked loudly, her brow knit with anger. “I need this job."

The others agreed.

“Quiet down,” Vince told them. “The guy who brought the check also brought along a list of what the new owners want.” He removed a folded sheet of paper from his rear pocket. “We're supposed to close for two weeks while they finish up the paperwork. Get this—anyone who wants to stay on the payroll will be paid for the time off at your newly raised salaries,” he said emphasizing the last few words.

Suspicion clouded Carol's face as her co-workers cheered and whistled. Vince elaborated.

“The dancers get a 30% increase and you waitresses and bartenders really clean up. Your pay is being doubled from the minimum wage.” The cheers began again.

Carol stood up. “Why?” She demanded above the din. “Who in their right mind is going to pay three times what this place is worth then give us all raises and time off with pay? It makes no sense."

“Who cares?” Terry chimed in.

“It's too weird,” Carol said again.

“It may be weird, but as long as the checks don't bounce, so what?” one of the other strippers called out.

Vince produced his bulging wallet. “Their paper is good.” he said passing out the checks he'd received that morning.

Carol shoved hers into her purse. “There is something wrong about all of this,” she mumbled.

Vince sat on one of the small round tables. “The lawyer told me he works for some conglomerate with offices in New York, London, and Tokyo and a couple other places."

One of the bartenders spoke up. “Maybe it's that bunch of Japanese businessmen who were here a couple months ago. They had one wild time."

The waitresses and strippers groaned as they remembered the less than gentlemanly behavior of the foreign visitors. Carol slipped out of the club as her friends continued to speculate on the identity of their new employers. She stopped at the bank to deposit the check Vince gave her, wondering just what the intentions of Multicorp were.

She stopped wondering about the reason for Angel City's unexpected buyout as she walked from the bus stop and saw a limousine traveling in the opposite direction. She paused as the car parked across the street from her. Her mood brightened as the tinted rear window lowered to reveal the handsome face of R.J. Mansfield.

“Would you like a lift home?"

Carol shook her head. “It's only a block and a half."

R.J. got out of the car and crossed over to Carol's side of Hemsdale Street. “Would you mind if I walk with you, then?"

“Not at all,” Carol said, feeling her cheeks flush. She inhaled the fragrance of R.J.'s cologne that wafted to her on the spring breeze. She longed to throw herself into his arms and feel his lips on hers again, but she curbed the impulse and began walking. “So, what brings you here?” She glanced over secretly hoping that he'd say “you".

“I just came from my new factory. I wanted to see how the renovations were coming."

Carol stopped short. “You're the person who bought Arnco?"

“Yes. That's why I chose your center for Alexandra."

Carol began walking again. “I don't know why I never connected that with the sale of Arnco. I feel pretty foolish for not realizing it sooner. Why else would a man like you be around this neighborhood?"

It was R.J. who stopped this time. He gently took hold of Carol's arm and turned her to face him. “What sort of man do you see me as?” he asked, his dark eyes boring into her.

“A man who's too classy to be in this part of Boston without a good reason.” She toyed with the shoulder strap of her black vinyl purse as she watched the coldness creep into R.J.'s warm brown eyes.

They walked the rest of the way in silence. By the time they arrived the limousine was waiting in front of Carol's house. She took her keys from her purse and gave R.J. a fleeting smile. “I'd ask you in for coffee, but I'm sure you have a meeting or something.” And I don't want you to see my cruddy old house, she added silently.

R.J. nodded. He turned to leave then turned back, catching Carol off guard. “Might you reconsider about the ballet? I dread such affairs, but if you'd accompany me, I would actually look forward to it."

“Of course, I'll go,” Carol blurted, the words not sinking into her brain after she uttered them. She bit her lower lip feeling both glad and terrified.

Taking hold of her hand, R.J. beamed. “Wonderful. Tell me, what changed your mind? Was it my irresistible charm or the chance to get a close look at a dozen male dancers in tights?” Having no idea Carol pretended to debate it. “Well...” R.J. laughed and gave her hand a squeeze. She felt her skin tingle and again suppressed the urge to throw herself into those strong arms of his. “Actually, I don't have to work tonight. Vince sold the club this morning. We've all been given paid vacations for two weeks."

“Bradley isn't the buyer, I hope."

Carol groaned inwardly. “I hope not. It was some conglomerate based in New York."

R.J. let go of her hand. “I have to head back downtown. I'll pick you up at eight. The performance begins at eight-thirty."

As if sensing that she ached for his touch, R.J. pulled Carol to him, moving his mouth over hers, tracing the fullness of her lips with his tongue, and sampling them like a fine wine.

Unused to the burning desire she roused in him, he forced himself to end the kiss, silently ordering his hands to let her go. “I really should get to that meeting..."

“Okay,” she said lazily, backing away, still wrapped in the heavenly cocoon of his kiss. She stood on the stoop, waving as the limousine pulled away, then went inside, ignoring the hungry meows and barks of her pets. She headed for the bedroom.

Her euphoric cocoon shattered like broken crystal as her gaze fell on her open closet door. Bitter tears filled her eyes at the sight of her few dresses, three of which were her waitress uniforms. She couldn't go to the ballet. But she had to go to the ballet. She wanted to be with R.J. Mansfield tonight.

She wiped her face, catching sight of her watch from the corner of her eye. She couldn't stand here feeling sorry for herself. She had to get over to the day care center and finish out the afternoon.

* * * *

Carol had just closed the center when Terry pulled up across the street. She called out as Carol crossed the street and approached her house. “Hey, you want to go spend that pay raise?"

“No,” Carol said miserably, unlocking the front door of her house.

“What happened? Your check didn't bounce did it?"

Carol shook her head and led her friend into the house. “R.J. Mansfield asked me to that ballet again and I accepted."

Terry beamed a smile. “So why the long face? You're not Cinderella. It doesn't have to end at midnight."

Carol pointed to her bedroom door and her two best dresses, which were lying across her bed. “I can't go. I have nothing decent to wear.” She plodded to the kitchen to feed her pets. Terry followed.

“The guy isn't stupid. He had to realize that you don't have a closet of couturier originals when he asked you.” She looked at her watch. “What time is he picking you up?"

“Eight,” Carol mumbled looking at her own watch. It was five-thirty. She filled the last pet dish and reached for the wall phone. “I'm going to call him and tell him to forget it."

Terry snatched the receiver. “You are not going to back out of this. This is the chance of a lifetime and you are going to take it."

“No! I'm not going to embarrass myself or him by showing up looking like some country bumpkin."

“You are every bit as classy as those society babes, you just don't have the bank balance to back it up. I'd lend you something of mine, but they're pretty gaudy. We can hit the mall if we hurry. You can use my credit card and pay me back whenever."

Carol shot the idea down. “No. I can't go."

“You will,” Terry said, taking her by the hand and leading her to the bedroom. She discarded Carol's outdated green knit dress and held up the long sleeved black crepe de chine she'd given her as a Christmas gift. Of good quality, it was a simpler version of a costly designer dress they'd seen at a boutique on Newbury Street.

She held the dress up in front of Carol. “Take a nice long bath, Cinderella, while your fairy godmother runs back to her apartment for a few things."

“Do you really think this will be okay?” Carol asked, taking the dress.

“I know it will. And keep away from that phone!"

By the time Carol was toweling off, Terry had returned and had set out her wares in the bedroom. She gave Carol a mini facial and manicure then did her hair and make-up.

“Voila,” she said giving Carol's upswept hair a final spritz of styling spray then stepped back.

Carol stood and looked at herself in the full-length mirror on her closet door. Was that classy woman really her? Wow. “Thank you, Ter. Thank you so much."

“Don't get sappy and cry on me!” Terry said, rushing forward to daub the corners of her friend's misting eyes, keeping her mascara from running. “That was close, kiddo."

Carol smiled and looked at her reflection still not believing that she was seeing herself. Terry had done her hair and make-up as well as a professional and had given her rhinestone earrings, a simple matching necklace and bracelet, along with a pair of black heels with tiny glittering accents that matched the small clutch handbag. “I love it. What do you think?"

“You look fantastic is what I think.” Terry packed her make-up and accessories. “Prince Charming will be here any minute, so I'm going to get going. Call me the first thing in the morning—unless you're otherwise occupied."

“Terry!"

“You never know,” Terry teased as she left.

Carol's self-confidence waned when she opened the door to R.J. He had been impressive in his business suits, but the sight of him in the finely tailored tuxedo only emphasized the fact that her own dress paled in comparison. Butterflies swarmed through her stomach as R.J.'s gaze traveled over her from head to toe. “Am I dressed all right? I don't have an evening gown."

“You're beautiful,” he said sincerely, taking her hand in his. “Shall we go?"

The limousine slowed in front of the Hawthorne Center, which was thronged with photographers and reporters from newspapers and television stations, both local and national. Carol forced herself to smile and held tightly onto R.J.'s arm as they crossed the red carpet, praying that the cold sweat on her palms wasn't staining his tuxedo sleeve.

There were politicians and celebrities galore around them, and they all acknowledged R.J. with nods and smiles. And, Carol imagined they were sizing her up in the bargain.

She was relieved to enter the gaily-lit lobby until Bradley Davis called to R.J. from across the way. Luckily R.J. pretended not to hear and ushered her further into the crowd. She tried to appear as comfortable and nonchalant as the women around her as R.J. escorted her upstairs to his family's private box.

The Hawthorne Center was the most magnificent place Carol had ever been to and she tried to take as much in without obviously gawking.

It was cavernous with classical murals decorating the ceiling, from which hung gold trimmed chandeliers whose crystal prisms sparkled like glittering stars. The walls were painted off-white and decorated at intervals with crystal wall sconces and intricately carved gilt moldings. The thickly padded seats on the main floor were upholstered in crimson brocade, as were the seats in the Mansfield box.

Carol felt like a queen sitting so far above everyone else, and she was proud to be R.J.'s companion when the center's director singled them out due to the “Mansfields’ exceptionally generous donation and strong support of the arts".

R.J. leaned over to her as the house lights dimmed. “I'm so very glad you changed your mind and came with me."

Carol smiled. “So am I. Thank you."

“You're welcome,” he answered, stealing a quick kiss.

Carol was enthralled by the ballet, which was a compilation of excerpts from a number of upcoming productions.

R.J.'s attention was more on Carol than on the stage. He was happy to watch her watching the dancers. She swayed ever so slightly to the soothing strains of the music as her eyes caught every movement on the stage below. He placed his hand on hers. Entwining her fingers with his, she gave him a look that sent his pulse racing faster than a runner on the floor of the New York Stock Exchange at the closing bell.

He regretted the misgivings he'd had this afternoon, afraid for a moment that Carol might wear something like the sequined dress he'd seen her in that first night. She was underdressed in comparison to most of the women, but her natural grace and poise more than compensated for the simple attire.

After the performance Carol turned to him, her face alight with joy. “That was wonderful. I've always dreamed of seeing Alexi Petrov in person."

“I'll bet you have,” R.J. teased. “I knew you came for the men in tights.” Carol's blush warmed his heart. “Would you like to stay for the champagne reception and meet him?"

“Yes!” Carol cleared her throat, ordered herself to remain calm. “I'd love to, if you want to that is."

He didn't, but he would, for her. “Of course we'll stay."

The reception was a dream come true for Carol until Bradley Davis sought them out, cornering them in an alcove.

The woman with Davis and his bride embraced R.J. tightly.

“Why, Royce darling. How good it is to see you again. Bradley told me that you were here and I simply had to stay and meet your charming companion."

R.J. took hold of Carol's hand. “This is Briana Wade, Brad's sister—"

“Younger sister."

R.J. smiled indulgently. “Of course. Briana, allow me to introduce Carol Bakker. She is the headmistress at Alexandra's nursery school."

“How quaint,” Briana said. “You must be quite fond of children."

“Yes, I am."

“I'm sure that Alexandra is the apple of your eye.” Briana turned to R.J. “Could your bringing Miss Bakker this evening be a hint at future plans, darling?"

“If I make any personal plans, Briana, you'll be the very first to know."

“A nursery school,” Bradley Davis broke in, turning to Carol. “I knew you looked familiar. For my last book I interviewed a number of women at a luncheon for school administrators."

Carol remained calm although her stomach was twisting in knots. “I'm sorry Mr. Davis. You must have me confused with someone else."

Brad shook his head. “I know you from somewhere."

Carol's heart skipped a beat. “No. I—"

“Perhaps it was at your February signing, Brad,” R.J. said. He turned to Carol. “I believe you mentioned attending that."

She gave him a grateful smile. “That's right. That must have been it."

“Maybe...” Davis mumbled.

R.J. took the untouched glass from Carol's hand and handed it to a passing waiter. “I hate to cut this short, but Carol and I must be going. There was a fire at the Paris office and I have a million things to sort out. If you'll excuse us."

Disappointment settled over Carol as R.J. led her outside to wait as the limousine was brought around. She'd had her wonderful evening. It was childish to think that it might last forever.

“Would you like to get a bite to eat?"

Carol's stomach gave a resounding yes. “You have business to attend to. I'll get something at home."

R.J. grinned. “Business has been the furthest thing from my mind all evening. I wanted to spare us the ordeal of getting an invitation from Briana and Brad because I don't want to share you."

Dizzy with joy, Carol climbed into the limo.

“Where would you like to eat?"

“Anywhere at all,” she answered, a little embarrassed that she didn't know any appropriate places.

R.J. whispered something to his driver before getting in the limousine. He turned the radio on and slid his arm around Carol's shoulder. She settled back, closing her eyes as the soft classical music surrounded her. In her mind she was the one on stage performing the intricate ballet as she dreamed of so many nights when she was young.

Carol might have made that dream a reality if she'd been able to accept the scholarship one of her teachers recommended her for in the fifth grade. Embarrassed by her family's inability to afford the required leotard and shoes, Carol had lied and told the teacher that dancing was just a hobby, one she was losing interest in.

The memories drifted off when R.J. kissed her. Inner peace replaced the old pain and the physical pleasure was like a heavenly reward she'd been coveting for years. R.J. released her as the car slowed and Carol's eyes opened wide. She gave R.J. a questioning look. “We're at the airport?"

“You said that you didn't mind where we ate, so I had the driver call ahead and have the jet cleared for take off. We're going to New York."

“New York City?"

Chapter 5

“Don't you like New York?"

“I don't know. I've never been there. I've never even been on a plane."

“Never?"

R.J.'s disbelief caused Carol to feel as inadequate as she had earlier in the day. “The furthest I've traveled from Boston was when I went to my brother's graduation at Georgetown, and we took the bus...” Her voice trailed off as the limousine pulled to a stop near a sleek, silver Gulfstream jet. “You own your own plane?"

“Yes,” R.J. said as easily as he would say his own name. “I bought it after Alexandra was born. I didn't want her traveling on commercial flights."

“That makes perfect sense,” Carol said quietly as the driver opened the limo door. R.J. helped her out and slid his arm around her waist as the pilot came down the short flight of steps.

“I have clearance from the tower, sir."

“Make it a smooth trip, Phil. This is Miss Bakker's first flight in a small plane."

“Will do, Mr. Mansfield,” the pilot answered, stepping aside for R.J. and Carol to go ahead of him up the stairs.

Carol's gray eyes widened in awe as she looked around the jet's sumptuous interior. This wasn't an airplane. It was a home, a home nicer than her own. There was a dark plush carpet, white leather sofas, a television, stereo, telephone, and fax machine, a fully stocked bar, and curtained windows. Her attention was drawn to the seat belts on the sofas and single seats. They were gleaming gold and she knew that they were real gold, not the inexpensive plating that covered her wristwatch.

“This is certainly something,” Carol said, buckling herself in. She sat stock-still, her knees clamped tightly together, her hands clutching her small purse.

R.J. suppressed a grin as he watched Carol after the pilot's voice came over the intercom telling them that he was preparing for takeoff. She was smiling valiantly, trying to conceal her terror. She might have succeeded were it not for the trembling of her left foot, which vibrated her entire leg. She pressed her purse against her thigh, obviously exerting a great deal of pressure.

He'd never realized that something he took for granted could overwhelm anyone else. She gasped when he unfastened his seat belt and stood. “Would you like a drink, Carol?"

“Don't you have to stay in your seat until we take off?"

“We have taken off.” He gestured to the window behind her, laughing to himself when she sucked in her breath as she watched the lights of Boston growing smaller as the jet gained altitude. “Would you care for a drink?"

Carol nodded vigorously.

It was R.J.'s turn to gape when Carol gulped the Napoleon brandy he poured for her. He sipped his slowly then set the glass on the ebony table to the left of the sofa. He sat next to her, tracing the outline of her jaw with feathery brushes of his fingers. “I was right about you."

“What do you mean?” she asked, wondering if it was the brandy or his touch that warmed and relaxed her so swiftly. She set her own glass aside.

“The moment I saw you on that stage at Brad's party I knew that you didn't belong there, doing that sort of thing."

That sort of thing.

The words grated her ears despite the agreeable tone of R.J.'s voice. “Terry was supposed to dance that night. I thought I mentioned it."

“You did, but I don't quite understand why you even work at that place. You aren't like those women at all."

That place. Those women.

Telling herself that she was reading more into the words than was meant, Carol shrugged. “The work isn't all that difficult and the tips can be pretty good—"

She was silenced by the press of R.J.'s lips, but for some reason the kiss felt flat, and although her practical side told her to let it go, the distasteful edge with which R.J. spoke of her job and friends continued to bother her, even as he nuzzled her neck.

“Why did you tell your friends that I was the headmistress of a nursery school?"

“You are,” he whispered, nipping at her ear.

She pulled away, mistaking the look of annoyance she saw in his eyes. “I run a day care center. I'm not a teacher or school administrator."

“Technically you are. You teach Alexandra all sorts of things and do those educational projects—"

“It's not the same. You wanted them to think I was more than I am, didn't you?"

“No,” he asserted.

Carol saw the truth he tried to hide. She should have known that tonight was too good to be true. She pulled away when he tried to embrace her and stared over at her empty glass. She looked back at him, her head held high, her back straight. “I'm proud of what I do at the center, and I like my night job. Terry and Vince and the others are my friends. I'm not ashamed of them or of the fact that I don't have the benefit of a Harvard degree."

R.J. moved to the other side of the sofa and sipped his brandy. He certainly wasn't going to apologize for his education or business acumen, or for trying to help her blend into his social circle. Perhaps it was for the best that she'd voiced these feelings, however inconvenient the timing.

At least he knew where things stood between them. Yes, this turn of events was quite fortunate for it had been pure folly to pursue her. Ignoring the odd sinking feleing deep within him, R.J. allowed his practical side to remind him that being “besotted” wasn't like him at all and there was certainly no point in giving in to the baser instincts she roused in him. It wasn't prudent to act on these physical feelings he had for Carol. If he did, it would undoubtedly upset the orderliness and control of his life.

He stood. “I'm going to have Phil turn back to Boston. I've lost my appetite."

“Me, too,” Carol said as R.J. went up front to the pilot's compartment.

She looked at her watch when the jet touched down. The second hand wasn't moving. She tapped the crystal and held the watch to her ear. It began ticking. She asked R.J. the correct time when he came to open the door.

He glanced at his platinum Rolex. “It's a few minutes past midnight."

“Pumpkin time,” she muttered, following him out of the jet.

R.J. pulled out a lap top computer when they entered the limousine, and withdrew into his work. Carol stole glances at him during the long quiet ride. She remembered the wonderful feel of his arms, and the intoxicating taste of his mouth when he kissed her, and part of her wished that none of it had happened, then she wouldn't be missing it so much.

She thanked R.J. for taking her to the ballet when the limousine stopped in front of her house, but he said nothing. She watched the limo drive away and for the first time in years she regretted having been born into such an undistinguished family.

* * * *

Carol was returning from mailing a thank you letter to R.J. when Terry drove up the following evening.

“I've been trying to get a hold of you all day. Where have you been, with Mansfield?"

“No,” Carol said flatly.

“Oooh, I don't like the sound of that."

Terry followed Carol into her house. She nudged the sleeping cats off the couch and sat, patting the cushion. “Sit down and tell me all about it."

Carol dropped down into the vinyl recliner opposite her friend. “It was great at first. R.J. was so handsome in his tuxedo and we had a perfect view of the ballet from his private box.” Breathing a sigh she paused. “After the show we stayed for a champagne reception and I got to meet the dancers and the governor and the president of Harvard..."

Terry waited for Carol to continue. She didn't. “I saw you two on the late news. You looked fantastic together, just like you'd been doing the high society bit your whole life.” She frowned when a wounded look came over Carol's face. “What happened?"

Carol's voice was distant, dull. “He took me to his private jet. We were going to go to New York for a late supper."

“But?"

“But he started talking about the night I filled in for you, and how I didn't belong at Angel City with people like you and Vince."

“And?"

“And I told him that I'm not ashamed of my job or by the company I keep, and that I didn't appreciate the way he told his friends that I was the headmistress at Alexandra's nursery school."

“Don't dump him on my account,” Terry said. “A lot of men don't like their women working in bars, and so what if his friends assume that you run some fancy schmancy kid school."

Carol shook her head. “Maybe what he thinks of my job shouldn't matter, but it does. I was flying high all night, but the way he said those few sentences made me feel that I was some poor little street urchin that he took pity on."

“You must have cried your eyes out when you came home."

“I started to, but then I realized that I can't change who I am or where I come from."

Terry nodded. “I hear you."

Shrugging the hurt away, Carol propped her feet up on the scratched coffee table. “At least I have some nice memories of being Cinderella for a night."

Carol's fond memories of R.J. began to sour when Alexandra did not come to the day care center the following day or the next. Wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt, she phoned the condominium.

“Miss Dickson this is Carol Bakker. I know you were taking Ally for a check-up yesterday morning but when you didn't bring her in yesterday afternoon or today I started to worry. Is she all right?"

“Alexandra is in fine health, Miss Bakker. Mr. Mansfield asked me not to take her to your center until further notice. He said that it wasn't necessary to phone you about it. Would you like me to have him get in touch with you?"

“No,” Carol said. “Give Ally my love. Goodbye.” She scratched her cocker spaniel behind the ears after hanging up the telephone. “You know something, Misty? For a classy guy, R.J. Mansfield is quite a louse."

Carol tacked a few other, more graphic terms to that statement later in the week after speaking with some of the mothers who worked at Arnco.

“Get a load of this memo, Carol."

Carol couldn't believe her eyes. “This is ridiculous. You guys have a contract. You were promised that you'd get back the wage concessions you gave up last time."

One of the mothers pointed to the last sentence. “This Mansfield character didn't make that promise so he says he doesn't have to make good."

Carol waved the memo. “But if you hadn't taken a cut in the first place, the other owner would have gone bankrupt. There wouldn't have been an Arnco for him to sell or Mansfield to buy."

“We know that, but Mansfield doesn't."

“He knows, he just doesn't care,” another mother chimed in.

“Really,” a third added. “They've been making improvements to the plant left and right. First it was the old warehouse being turned into a high-tech packing and shipping building, and now the boss's old office is being totally redecorated. Can you believe it?"

The first woman spoke again. “I have to go home and eat on a table with a phone book holding up the broken leg, and the guys in the silk suits get oak paneling in their john."

“I'd like to tell them a few things."

“Tell me,” Carol said.

* * * *

R.J. stopped reading the report in front of him when his daughter padded into his study late Saturday night. She was wearing her nightgown and holding a blouse and pair of denim coveralls. “What are you doing awake, Alexandra? It's eleven o'clock."

Alexandra held her clothes out toward her father. “I wanna see my friends. I wanna see Miss Carol. I wanna go to school."

R.J. came around the front of his desk and picked his daughter up. “It's very late. Carol and the children are home sleeping."

“Tomorrow?” she asked in a plaintive voice.

“Tomorrow is Sunday. No one will be at the day care center."

Tears formed in Alexandra's brown eyes. “Please?"

“There won't be anyone there tomorrow,” R.J. said heading back to her room. She began to cry. “There isn't anything I can do. I'm sorry."

“Read me a story, Daddy?"

R.J. put her into bed and tucked her in, and reached for the dog-eared picture book he'd purchased before she was born. Afterwards he dimmed the bedside lamp and kissed her forehead.

“Can I go back to school?” she asked, rubbing her weary eyes.

“We'll see."

R.J. would have ignored his daughter's request completely but the following morning Miss Dickson received an urgent message from her family.

“I don't know when or if I'll be back, sir."

“I understand, completely. Pack your things and I'll phone my pilot."

After making the nanny's travel arrangements, R.J. stared at the telephone, his jaw set in a stubborn line. He had to go Europe himself the first thing tomorrow and he couldn't very well take Alexandra. He certainly couldn't secure another nanny in time. It galled him to ask a favor of anyone, but what else was there to do? With a muttered curse he picked up the phone. Carol answered on the third ring, the tone of her voice becoming lighter when he introduced himself.

“Did you receive my letter about the contract you're offering the Arnco employees?” Carol asked.

“I received it, but that isn't why I'm calling.” He paused. “I'd like to ask you a favor if I may."

“What is it?"

“Miss Dickson has to return to England. Her parents were in an auto accident. Tomorrow I have to leave on an important trip."

“You need a baby-sitter, right?"

He gritted his teeth. “Yes."

Carol pictured R.J., his pride horribly bruised. She should leave him in a lurch just to teach him a lesson but then she thought of Ally. “Yes."

“Pardon?"

Carol shrugged at the tabby cat jumped on the table and seemed to be saying I knew you'd cave. “I'll watch Alexandra as long as necessary."

“I don't want to impose, you understand, but you mentioned that your nightclub will be closed."

“When do you need me?"

“I can send my driver over for you this afternoon."

“Can Ally stay here? It will be easier. We won't have to travel back and forth. You can bring her favorite toys or blanket."

There was a pause.

“All right. What time would be best?"

“I'll be here all day. It's your call."

“Thank you, Carol."

“No problem."

R.J. hung up the phone. He told Alexandra, who literally jumped with joy, then went to his bedroom and packed the few essentials he would take tomorrow. He glanced at the wide bed and felt the briefest twinge of regret that Carol had wanted to remain in her own home.

She might have chosen to stay in here instead of the nanny's room. He might have come home unexpectedly and found her asleep. Stifling a groan and forcing the strong mental picture to fade, he zipped his leather flight bag and went into the adjoining office, needing to put his energy to positive use.

When Carol opened the door Alexandra jumped up and down. “Daddy says I can stay here!"

“You sure can,” Carol said, scooping her up, not minding the constricting hold Alexandra had on her neck. She set the child down and took the suitcase R.J. set on the floor beside him, trying not to acknowledge the faint scent of expensive cologne around him. “Make yourself at home while I put this away."

R.J. sat on the sofa surveying the parlor. Although lacking in the physical refinements to which he was accustomed, R.J. found a certain friendliness to the room.

“Look, Daddy! A doggie an’ kitties!” Alexandra squealed as a cocker spaniel and a handful of cats sauntered in from the kitchen. She giggled as the cats rubbed against her bare legs and the dog licked her outstretched hand.

“Be careful, Alexandra. Leave them alone."

“It's okay,” Carol said coming up behind him. “They're used to the neighborhood kids."

“You certainly love animals,” R.J. said, as she came around the sofa, sitting in the vinyl recliner opposite him.

“I have a soft spot for strays,” Carol admitted. “Misty, the dog and Sam, the fat brown cat came first, and the others wandered by for a quick meal and never left. I'm not sure who adopted who, or whom."

R.J. smiled. “I'd like to thank you again for looking after Alexandra."

“I don't mind at all. How long will you be gone?"

“I'm not certain. The head of my Paris office is unable to locate the microfilm copies of some documents that were destroyed in the fire.” He took his billfold from the inside pocket of his tweed sport coat. “Shall I pay you in cash or would you prefer a check?"

“You don't have to pay me. Keeping Ally will be no trouble. In fact, it will nice to have some human company around here in the evenings."

R.J. replaced his wallet. “If Alexandra needs anything, contact Martin, he'll advance you the funds or reimburse you."

Carol nodded. The silence was strained. “This morning you said that you read the letter I sent you about Arnco."

R.J. shifted uncomfortably. “I understand your reasoning, but—” He stopped when a full figured blond woman entered the house.

“Who owns the flashy car?"

“Don't you ever knock?” Carol asked, her annoyance obviously forced.

“I left my manners in my other pants.” She looked at R.J. offering her hand. “Hi. I'm Kim Bakker. And you are?"

“Not one of your usual suspects,” Carol broke in. “This is R.J. Mansfield. I'm watching his daughter for a few days. End of interrogation. Check your badge at the door."

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Kim said sitting down when R.J. moved to the right. She looked out the window.

“Kim's a cop,” Carol told R.J. “And mentally trying to run the license plate on your car even as we speak.” She gave Kim a stern look when she turned from the window. “Here comes Jimmy with the food,” Kim said, hurrying to the door.

“I should be going,” R.J. said, standing up.

“Don't,” Carol said. “You're more than welcome to eat supper with us. It's nothing fancy, just take-out chicken and homemade potatoes and vegetables. There's more than enough."

“I'd love to,” he said sincerely, pleased by the way Carol instinctively lifted Alexandra when she came over and grabbed onto the hem of her T-shirt.

“Hey, who owns the Ferrari?"

Laughing, Carol shook her head. “R. J. does. This inquiring mind is my brother Jimmy."

R.J. followed the Bakkers into the roomy kitchen, sitting across the table from Carol's brother while the sisters and Alexandra brought their meal to the table. He thoroughly enjoyed himself as part of the family gathering, and it was clear that Alexandra enjoyed it even more, giggling with joy as Carol's brother and sister teased her by tugging the ends of her pigtails and pretending to steal her plate while she looked the other way. This was delightful and so unlike his own upbringing, where infrequent mealtimes with his parents were as lively as a funeral.

The alarm on Jimmy Bakker's watch sounded and he jumped up. “Game time!"

Carol finished clearing the table as her siblings hurried to the living room. “Do you like basketball, R.J.?"

“Yes,” he said simply, not bothering to mention that he was a part owner of a professional team. “I take it that all of you get caught up in ‘March Madness'."

Carol's brother began to whoop in the other room. “You could say that,” she answered with a grin.

After giving Alexandra permission to play with her friend from the day care center who lived next door, R.J. followed Carol out of the kitchen. He was about to sit on the sofa between Jimmy and Kim when Carol stopped him.

“You don't want to sit between them. It's like the Hatfields and McCoys when Georgetown plays Boston College.” She motioned for him to take the reclining chair then sat on the floor between the chair and the sofa.

Again, R.J. took pleasure in the company of the Bakker family, laughing at the good-natured bickering of Carol's brother and sister. He laughed louder when Carol joined in the fray as her brother cheered on his alma mater in the closing seconds of the first half.

“Go for the three pointer!"

Jimmy yelped when Carol hit him from behind with a small pillow.

“Three pointer?” she said. “A three pointer when there's an open man practically under the basket? What were you taught?"

“Basketball-is-a-team-sport-being-a-showboat-is-not. Being-a-team-player-is-the-goal-showboats-get-noticed-they-do-not-get-respect."

“Professor Larry's law of athletics, beaten into Jimmy's pointed little head on a daily basis,” Kim Bakker told R.J.

“That lesson was accompanied by a large foot in the backside if I recall,” Carol added to her brother's chagrin.

“A very large foot, eh, Jimmy boy?” Kim teased.

“Ignore the ridiculous women,” Jimmy said to R.J.

“Drop your drawers and show R.J. that hall of fame footprint on your skinny little butt,” Kim said, getting up from the sofa.

“I'm saving myself for marriage,” Jimmy shot back, beating her to the bathroom.

Laughing as her sister threatened to shoot her brother's aforementioned butt with her service revolver, Carol picked up the pretzel and popcorn crumbs scattered on the floor.

“May I ask what that was all about?"

Carol blushed, a little embarrassed by the silliness she took for granted. “It didn't look like Jimmy was going to get a college scholarship on his brain alone. So I encouraged him to go out for basketball, but he wasn't so hot at that. Since I had a concession job at the old Boston Garden, I snuck Jimmy in to watch the Celtics practice. He got to be a kind of gopher for them. He picked up a lot of pointers from the guys and was recruited by Georgetown."

R.J. handed her the small wicker wastebasket near the television. “I'm impressed."

“Don't leave out the good part,” Jimmy said, taking his seat again.

“I'm old enough to hear all the gory details now,” Kim chimed in.

“No,” Carol said giving her siblings a harsh look that R.J. couldn't see.

“I'm intrigued,” R.J. said, leaning closer to Carol. “Tell me."

“Simply put,” Jimmy said despite the evil look Carol gave him. “We'd all be sitting on easy street now if our esteemed sister would have dropped her high standards long enough to catch one of the many passes the future Great Larry G. threw her way."

“Many passes?” Kim asked, wide-eyed.

“Oh yeah.” Jimmy grinned at Carol. “You thought I was really sleeping on those rides home after the games, huh?"

“No comment,” Carol said coldly, turning up the volume on the television as the basketball game's second half began.

R.J. had said those very words a great many times over the course of his business career, and yet, hearing Carol say them now in a personal context with a man he knew, was as bothersome as a full scale audit on April 15.

Chapter 6

Carol shook her head while closing the door on her brother and sister who were still squabbling over the outcome of the basketball game. “They've been doing that since they were this high,” she said, gesturing with her hand. “I hope we didn't bore you to death."

“I had a wonderful time,” R.J. replied, helping her to clear away the empty glasses and snack bowls. “Tell me, was it true? Did you and Larry Gardener really practice off the court?"

“A lady does not ‘practice’ and tell,” she said, crumpling the pretzel bag and shooting it like a basketball from across the kitchen. “Two points."

Standing in the doorway to the living room, R.J. shot the popcorn bag he'd been holding, two glasses still in his other hand. “Three points."

“Is that a challenge, Mr. Mansfield? I helped Jimmy train. I can play basketball."

“I'm rather good myself. In fact I played just the other day—with professionals."

Carol's heart raced, partly because of R.J.'s attractiveness, partly because she wanted to prove herself. She took a basketball from the pantry cupboard near the sink. “Care for a little one on one?” she challenged, spinning the ball on her index finger.

R.J. placed the glasses in the sink then leaned back against the counter. “It wouldn't be quite fair."

“You're right. You're not dressed for it, so I'll give you fifteen baskets. The first to get thirty wins.” She tied her hair back with one of the rubber bands she had hanging from a hook over the counter.

“You're on,” R.J. said, cuffing up the sleeves of his silk shirt. “I'll try not to ‘showboat'."

Carol's reply was a sly grin.

At first R.J. held back when they began the impromptu game on the asphalt court at the rear of the day care center, but when he realized how good Carol was he showed no mercy and still lost by four baskets.

Carol bowed to the crowd of teen-aged boys that had gathered to cheer her on. She tried not to laugh out loud when R.J. doubled over to catch his breath. He straightened, looking incredibly sexy with his hair curling on his forehead, his damp shirt clinging to the muscles of his chest and abdomen

“We should have played for money."

“Thank heaven we didn't,” he said, still struggling to breathe.

“Care for two out of three? I'll give you an extra couple baskets."

“I think not,” R.J. said, his ego shorn to the roots. He wiped his sweaty brow with his forearm, and was pleasantly surprised when Carol took hold of his hand, tossing her basketball to the boys looking on.

“You'd better wash that egg off your face before it dries."

He chuckled, curling his fingers around hers. Being bested had never felt so good.

After washing, R.J. put on the old flannel shirt that Carol gave him and gulped the glass of ice water she offered. He sat next to her on the sofa, confused by her bemused expression. “What is it?"

She shook her head. “I was thinking that you look classy even in that ratty patched shirt of Jimmy's."

He straightened the cuffs. “Breeding will tell,” he said lightly, regretting it when Carol's expression fell. He moved closer to her, curving his fingers beneath her chin. “It was a joke. I'm sorry."

She removed his hand. “It's true, though,” she said quietly. “You're all class and breeding and I'm just...” Her voice trailed off as she gestured around the modest room.

“Far richer than I can ever hope to be,” he said.

Carol gave him a sideways glance. “Oh, sure."

“I'm serious. You have no idea how envious I felt watching you and your brother and sister this afternoon. I've longed for a family like this my entire life."

The flickering smile she offered set his heart pounding faster than it had on the basketball court, and he took her in his arms, savoring the taste of her lips and mouth as the kiss deepened.

Her fingers wove their way through his hair, urging him on, and R.J. felt his blood heat like never before. This feeling of desire was unimaginable and so unlike what he was used to that he wasn't quite sure how to handle it, so he brought the kiss to an end.

“That was nice,” Carol said, her cheeks flushing a deep pink.

“Yes it was,” he agreed, settling back against the couch, his arm around Carol's shoulders. She snuggled close, her head resting against his chest, her right arm draped lightly across his midriff.

They sat in comfortable silence, and R.J. found himself thinking of his late wife and how much closer he felt to Carol than he ever had to her. His marriage to Clarice had been expected, their parents having been friends for decades. Though friends and lovers, his union with Clarice had been devoid of passion or even true devotion. Their lives were lived separately for the most part; their strongest tie had been Alexandra. But a relationship with Carol Bakker would be something entirely different, disconcerting perhaps.

R.J. shifted slightly, unaccustomed to the pulsing physical need he was experiencing as Carol traced the lines of the plaid shirt with her index finger.

A faint smile played upon Carol's lips as she listened to the quick, steady beat of R.J.'s heart. She hadn't been this close to a man in years, and yet it felt so natural being in his arms, his quiet strength surrounding her.

She glanced up. R.J. was staring at the far wall, lost in his thoughts. She sat up and stroked the cute cleft in his chin to get his attention. “What has you so preoccupied? Some incredible, one-in-a-million business deal?"

“Something like that,” he answered, smiling over at her.

The mention of business reminded Carol of something that had been lingering in the back of her mind all day. “Before I forget, I wanted to ask you about Arnco. You said that you got the letter I sent."

R.J. pulled away. “I did. It was quite clever of you to have a policeman hand deliver it."

Carol grinned. “I knew that if anyone could get to see you it would be ‘Big Mike',” she said lightly, never noticing the uneasy look in R.J.'s eye. “So what did you think?"

R.J. cleared his throat. “I studied your proposal and will bring it up with the Board if necessary."

Carol frowned. “What do you mean, ‘if necessary'?"

He moved further away. “I will consider discussing your ideas with my Board of Directors should they show an interest in altering the labor agreement."

Carol's jaw dropped. “You'll bring it up should they show an interest? The people at Arnco have been getting the same measly hourly rate for the past three years. They were promised a pay increase."

“Not by me,” he said flatly. “Arnco was teetering on the brink of insolvency when I took over, and it still is. I can make it one of the foremost producers of small electronics components in the country, but I will have to expend a large amount of capital to do it. I can't expand and increase wages at the same time. I have a responsibility to my stockholders."

Carol shot to her feet. “As an employer, your first responsibility should be to your workers."

R.J. also stood, returning her cold look. “I have been in business for twenty years. My decisions are based on experience and practicalities. I cannot be held accountable for the life of thousands of employees world wide."

Incredulous, it took Carol a moment to respond. “Doesn't it bother you that the average Arnco worker's monthly salary is probably less that what you spend on one of your fancy suits?"

“I am a businessman not a philanthropist,” he told her.

Carol's hands clenched at her sides. “Of all the insensitive—” She broke off as Alexandra rushed in the back door.

“I made mud pies!” she shouted, her hands dripping on the beige linoleum, her clothing terribly stained.

“What have you done to yourself?” R.J. shouted.

Alexandra shrank back.

“It's only dirt, R.J., it will come off."

Carol stroked the frightened girl's head. “Let's get you into the tub,” she said gently, grabbing a dishtowel to blot off some of the excess mud. She looked at R.J. whose expression was as forgiving as stone. “We'll be back in a few minutes."

He was gone when they returned to the living room. He left behind a note saying only that he would be in touch.

Carol ran her fingertip across the bold handwriting. How foolish she'd been this morning to think that he'd turned to her out of some burgeoning feeling. She was a convenient baby-sitter and nothing more. He probably hadn't even liked spending the afternoon here despite his kind words.

But the kisses...

The kisses were best forgotten.

“I'm tired,” Alexandra said, rubbing her eyes.

Carol let R.J.'s note flutter into the wastebasket then held out her hand. “We'll get you settled and I'll read you a bedtime story."

Alexandra smiled.

It was R.J.'s smile.

Chapter 7

Terry rolled her eyes as she helped Carol prepare lunch at the day care center.

“Why are you looking at me like that?"

“You answered that yourself.” Terry paused as she turned on the blender to mix the last of the children's milk shakes, continuing after she poured the shakes into small paper cups. “You had R.J. Mansfield alone for a potentially romantic evening and you blew it."

“I didn't blow anything,” Carol grumbled, slicing the last two cheese sandwiches.

“You blew it royally, my dear. And don't give me that ‘he only hung around to be polite’ jazz. No man is polite enough to put up with Jimmy and Kimmy Bickerson for an entire afternoon and then let you trash him on the basketball court and still stick around for more.” She paused as Carol averted her eyes. “Why did you bring up that Arnco business?"

“Because it's important,” Carol said flatly as they served the children.

Terry revived the conversation once they were done. “Call me a cold-blooded wench, but I think R.J. is right. Business is business, and his business is to make money. Maybe he can afford to up the Arnco paychecks, and maybe he will in time, but if he doesn't, you can't mount a personal crusade to make it happen."

“But—"

“But what? Am I a bad guy because I make a lot more at Angel City than you do?"

Carol shook her head. “No. It isn't the same thing."

“It's close enough,” Terry said. “Your heart's in the right place, but R.J. Mansfield is attracted to you, and you'd be a fool to let anything screw that attraction up before it has a chance to take off."

Carol remained silent. There was truth in what her friend said, and yet...

* * * *

R.J. couldn't concentrate on the sheaf of papers before him. He looked over at the telephone. It was foolish not to have called Carol to check on Alexandra, but he knew that speaking with her would have distracted him more than just remembering her. Mental photographs of her kept popping into his mind. He saw her laughing with her siblings, grinning at him as he missed shot after shot on the basketball court, holding Alexandra in her arms as though she were her own child, a child conceived with her after an indescribable night of passion...

Get a hold of yourself, man, he ordered his wandering mind. You've barely been able to get an ounce of work done all week, and you nearly cost yourself the Rothschild loan by gaping at the blond secretary whose eyes were so like Carol's.

Looking at his papers again, R.J. tried and failed to make sense of the legal phraseology. It was useless, utterly useless. He removed his reading glasses, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath. But instead of getting his thoughts back on track, his mind filled itself with more images of Carol. Images that became more distinct once a soft jazzy tune came from the radio on the corner of his desk.

The song's beat was similar to one of the tunes she danced to at Brad Davis’ party and R.J. couldn't help but remember how incredibly alluring she'd been. He remembered the movement of her hips, the teasing way she pulled down the zipper of her gown, holding it in place as she moved across the stage, allowing the gown to slide down her lithe body by fractions, her gaze riveted in his direction...

R.J. embellished the fantasy.

This time, instead of wearing the tiny sequined bikini, Carol was naked. She beckoned to him as the other men disappeared. He climbed onto the stage, his eager hands traveling the length of her satiny body. Suddenly he was naked as well, his manhood expanded to the limit. His imaginary Carol smiled and moved against him, her feminine curls nearly taking him over the edge.

R.J.'s eyes snapped open. He gulped the cup of cold coffee to his left, hoping that it would do something to extinguish the inferno boiling his blood. He ran his fingers through his hair, ordering his heart to slow its frantic pace. This was madness. Total madness. He got up and took his trench coat from the closet near the office door.

The security guard in the lobby snapped to attention when R.J. stepped off the elevator. “Shall I have your car brought around, Monsieur Mansfield?"

“No,” R.J. replied sharply as he buttoned his coat.

The guard looked out the glass doors then back to R.J. “But, monsieur, it is raining. Heavily."

“Obviously,” R.J. mumbled, exiting the building.

He walked along the banks of the Seine, his head bowed against the rain, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat. The rain fell harder; and while others dashed for the cover of taxis and doorways, R.J. walked slowly, hoping the Parisian downpour would do something to quell this unfamiliar desire within him.

* * * *

Carol accidentally stepped on the tail of a sleeping cat in her haste to reach the ringing telephone. “Sorry, Sam."

“Carol. This is R.J. Mansfield. Did I call at a bad time?"

“No. I was in the basement doing laundry.” She sat on the sofa and fanned her strangely warm cheeks. “I was wondering when you'd call."

“I'm sorry about that. Things here have been ... hectic. Is Alexandra behaving well?"

“She's great. I'd let her talk to you but she fell asleep. Terry and I took her to the museum today,” she said, picturing his dreamy brown eyes. “I think you have a future paleontologist in the family. She was pronouncing those dinosaur's names like a pro. Even the museum guide was impressed."

Carol felt R.J.'s gentle laugh all the way to her toes.

“She's been fond of dinosaurs since she was two. She has a set of scale models from the British museum in her bedroom.

Carol groaned. “And I bought her a set of cheesy rubber eraser ones from the museum gift shop."

“She'll treasure them because they came from you.” He paused. “Alexandra adores you, Carol."

“I'm crazy about her too.” Carol smiled to herself then cleared her throat. “Will you be coming home soon?"

“Actually that's why I phoned. There's been a problem here. The police feel that the fire at my office was caused by arson."

“Why would someone do that?"

“Industrial espionage is the prime motive."

This was like something out of those spy movies her brother liked. “Please be careful."

“Don't worry. I have my security people—"

“That reminds me,” Carol broke in.” You should have told me about the bodyguard you had sent for Ally. I had my sister arrest him when I saw him hanging around because I though he was some potential child molester."

R.J. chuckled. “Forgive me. I should have had Martin warn you. It's just a precaution until the investigation over here is cleared up. I would rather be safe than sorry."

“Of course,” Carol said simply.

“Would it be possible for you to keep Alexandra for a few more days, possibly a week?"

She ignored the slight sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Sure. I have some vacation time coming from the club. You'll be back by the sixth, won't you? Of course you will. It's Ally's birthday."

“It hardly seems five years since she was born."

Carol heard the shuffling of paper.

“The sixth is eight days from now. I should be home by then."

Carol frowned. Should be, not would be. “Okay,” she said in a dull voice. “I'll tell Ally you called. You'll call again, won't you? She misses you."

“Of course. I have to go now. Goodbye, Carol."

Carol stared at the telephone receiver after she hung up. R.J. wouldn't think of missing his daughter's birthday.

When that day came and went, Carol knew that he hadn't bothered to think at all.

Carol gave Alexandra an extra hug before tucking her in that night. “I'm sorry that your daddy didn't get back in time for the party. Maybe he had to take a different plane or something."

“It's okay,” the girl said, sadness in her eyes. She smiled. “I liked my party. It was fun."

“I'm glad you had a good time. If your daddy comes back while you're sleeping I'll tell him that he can't eat the piece of cake you saved him until you wake up."

“Okay. G'night."

“Goodnight, honey,” Carol said gently, kissing Alexandra's forehead before dimming the lamp. She exited the bedroom quietly, containing her anger until she reached the kitchen where Terry was placing the leftover cake in the freezer.

“I cannot believe the nerve of that man!” Carol threw the forks and serving knife into the sink. Turning the faucet on full she squirted in the dish liquid, cursing under her breath. She washed the utensils with a heavy hand. “How could he miss his daughter's birthday? She was looking forward to his being here."

Terry threw away the last paper plate. “She wasn't the only one looking forward to it.” She did not react when Carol shot her a vicious look. “I guess it was coincidence that you went to the health center for a checkup and Pill prescription the day after R.J. called."

“It was a stupid thing to do,” Carol muttered.

“No it wasn't. You have feelings for the guy. It's not stupid to want to make love with him. You haven't let yourself care about any man for a long time. Too long."

“With good reason,” Carol said, rinsing the silverware. “Men can't be trusted and R.J. Mansfield is no exception. He's as bad as my own father was."

“R.J. Mansfield does not take the food out of his kid's mouth to gamble and get stoned."

Carol frowned. “Maybe not, but he's never around when his child needs him, is he?"

Terry didn't argue.

* * * *

After closing the day care center the following evening, Carol decided to phone R.J.'s assistant.

“As a matter of fact, I spoke with Mr. Mansfield a short time ago. He was on his way from the airport and I imagine that he's at the condo by now."

Carol's mood brightened. Maybe she'd overreacted. Maybe R.J. hadn't been able to fly out sooner. She called to Alexandra who was building a puzzle. “Your daddy came back from Paris. Do you want to go surprise him?"

The child's face lit up. “Yeah!"

The private elevator in R.J.'s building went directly to the penthouse condominium, opening onto a foyer. Carol's eyes swept over the pale marble floor and the collection of hanging and potted plants that would be the envy of any horticulturist. She couldn't imagine what the apartment itself looked like.

Taking Alexandra by the hand, Carol crossed to the condo's wide front door and rang the bell. There was no answer. She rang again then glanced down at R.J.'s daughter. “Maybe he isn't here. He might have gone to the house to surprise us—” She stopped short when the door opened.

“Carol. Alexandra—"

“Surprise!” Carol said brightly, her pulse quickening as her eyes scanned R.J. His hair was tousled and he was wearing only a pair of dark blue pleated trousers. She stayed the urge to reach out and touch his broad chest.

Alexandra hugged her father's legs. “I had the funniest time, Daddy. I had two parties, an'—"

“That's lovely, dear,” he said nervously, shifting his position, pulling the door behind him. He looked to Carol. “Perhaps it would be best if you two waited down—"

“Royce, what's keeping you?” a woman's voice called from inside the condo.

Carol turned a cold eye on R.J. She stared over his shoulder to see Briana Davis Wade appear at the end of the condo's entrance hall. She was wearing nothing but one of R.J.'s silk shirts, her red lips twisted with a malicious smile.

“Forgive us for interrupting,” Carol said. She picked Alexandra up, silencing the girl's protest with a terse, “Your daddy is busy with someone important. We'll come back later.” She headed for the elevator.

He shouted at her to return. She ignored him.

R.J. arrived at Hemsdale Street within minutes of Carol and Alexandra. Carol sent the girl to her room before admitting him.

A vein pulsed at his neck as his angry eyes assailed her. “You had no right to take my daughter."

Carol glared back, folding her arms across her waist. “Did you expect me to just leave her there to hear you and Briana screwing around?"

R.J. sucked in his breath, his expression becoming harsher. “You cannot keep Alexandra. I shall have you charged with kidnapping."

“And I'll have neglect charges filed against you."

R.J. snorted his contempt. “Neglect? That child has the best of everything. The best clothing, the best home—"

“Emotional neglect,” Carol told him. “How many times have you held her in your arms? How many times have you just sat by and watched her play? How many times have you told her that you love her?” She pointed her finger. “You couldn't show up for her birthday, damn you, but you have time to—” She stopped short as Alexandra ran into the room and clutched at Carol's leg.

“Get your things, Alexandra,” R.J. ordered. “We're going home."

Tears filled the girl's eyes. She hugged Carol tighter. “I don't wanna!"

“Alexandra!” R.J. barked, reaching down to grasp her arm. He let go when she screamed.

“No! I want my manna! I want my Carol!"

Carol scooped Alexandra up, holding closely as the girl buried her face in her neck and sobbed uncontrollably. R.J. stepped forward. Carol backed away. “You can't take her like this,” she said calmly. “Let me get her settled first. Please."

He stormed out, slamming the door shut.

Carol carried Alexandra to the sofa and sat, gently rubbing her back and stroking her hair until her crying subsided.

“I don't wanna go home,” Alexandra said in a choked voice, sniffling. She rubbed her eyes with her chubby fingers. “I wanna stay with you! I love you.” She hugged Carol tightly and cried again.

“I love you too, Ally, and so does your daddy. He's just upset because we bothered him when he was having a special meeting.” The words turned her stomach but what else could she call it?

* * * *

Briana was still at the condo when R.J. returned.

“I told you to leave."

“Yes, darling, but I hoped you might have changed your mind.” She got up from the leather sofa and came to R.J. “We didn't even get the preliminaries under way earlier..."

R.J. pulled away from her embrace, his expression brooding. “I'm not interested. I never was."

Briana shrugged her thin shoulders, smoothed the front of her silk dress and picked up her fox jacket and purse from the sofa. “You're much better off with me, darling. You never know what you might catch from some sort of people. Page me if you change your mind."

When she left, R.J. stepped out onto the balcony, adjacent to the living room. He leaned against the patterned brick wall, staring down, but not seeing the congested street twenty stories below. He was unaccustomed to the feeling of guilt which tore at him like a spiteful imp. He let his annoyance at Carol's impertinence drive it away.

How dare she accuse him of neglecting Alexandra? Though he didn't shower her with the saccharine affection that Carol displayed for her siblings, it certainly didn't mean that he had no love for his daughter. She was an intelligent child; she knew that she was loved. Frequent physical displays weren't a necessity. After all, he'd grown up without them and had turned out quite well.

* * * *

Carol was gazing at the television without really seeing it when the doorbell rang later that evening. She peered out the small diamond shaped window, surprised to find R.J.

She took a calming breath, telling herself to stop behaving like some jealous schoolgirl lost in her first crush. She opened the door.

“Did I wake you?” he asked, indicating her terry robe with his hand.

“No. I was just watching an old movie. Come in."

R.J. stepped inside. Carol sat on one end of the sofa, R.J. on the other.

After a few minutes of uneasy silence Carol spoke. “I had a talk with Ally. She'll go home when you want her to. She's asleep, but I'll get her—"

“Let her sleep."

The silence fell again.

“I want to explain about Briana."

“You don't have to. It's none of my business.” Carol looked down at her hands, folded in her lap.

“There is no relationship between Briana and myself."

Carol looked up, openly skeptical.

“I won't deny that we've been intimate in the past but it's been a long time since then and we have no emotional ties."

The corners of Carol's mouth turned down. He was so businesslike about it. How could anyone make love without sharing any feelings?

“I assure you that nothing happened between us today."

Carol's back stiffened, her eyes narrowed. “She was damn near naked, R.J. You were halfway there yourself."

Running his hand through his hair, he got up and switched off the droning television. “I ran into her at the airport. I was going to get a quick shower then give her a lift home before coming to pick up Alexandra."

Carol lowered her head and stared at her hands again. She knew that his story was possible and she also knew that it was ridiculous to feel so slighted. She spoke without looking up. “Like I said, it's really none of my business."

“I admit that I was tempted, but only because you're the one who's been on my mind."

R.J.'s deep voice sent invisible tendrils out to wrap themselves around Carol. She looked up, almost afraid to ask the question. Licking her dry lips, she forced the words out. “You've been thinking about me?"

“Constantly,” he admitted. He slipped his hands into his trouser pockets. “I haven't been able to focus on anything else for more than a few minutes at a time, and to be quite honest, it worries me. I've never felt this way about anyone before...” His voice trailed off and he ended the sentence with a shrug.

Carol's heart seemed to have stopped beating but then it pounded wildly until the blood roared through her ears. She stood, her knees slightly shaky. “It's been the same for me ever since that bachelor party."

“Really?"

She nodded, stepping closer. She reached out to caress his cheek. It was slightly scratchy with beard stubble. “I heard about the changes in the Arnco contract today. You didn't have to make them."

“It was a solid move,” he said, taking her hands in his. “Employee morale has a direct effect on productivity which in turn—"

Suppressing a smile, Carol silenced him with a quick kiss. “I also heard that you personally surveyed some of the workers about the amount of their take home pay and their living expenses."

He averted his eyes for a moment.

“You should let your sensitivity show more often, R.J."

He let go of her hands, returning his own to his trouser pockets. “It isn't ... it wouldn't be..."

“Businesslike? Masculine?” Carol offered. She stared deeply into his brown eyes. “You are a talented businessman and incredibly masculine. Showing your feelings once in a while won't change either of those things."

Propelled by her own feelings, she twined her arms around his neck, tingling inside when he settled his hands around her waist and pulled her closer, so close that she could feel his arousal. His kiss was passionate, hungry, but he ended it far sooner than she expected. “What's the matter?” she asked weakly.

His breathing was quick, his eyes anxious. “Perhaps I should leave.” He tried to pull away. Carol wouldn't let him.

“Please stay."

“You're sure?” he asked.

“Oh yes,” she sighed.

Bending to nuzzle the soft skin of her neck, R.J. inhaled the mild scents of soap and baby powder that clung to her skin. She murmured in his ear, murmur changing to a faint moan when he tugged loose the belt of her robe and slipped his hands inside to stroke her back though the thin nylon of her nightgown. His fingers trailed down to cup her rear.

He kissed her neck, her ear, her lips, while his hands continued to explore her body, lingering on the soft globes of her breasts with their pebble hard tips straining toward his touch. His own body strained against his constricting garments, driven into a frenzy by the tiny cries escaping Carol's throat. “I need you desperately."

Carol opened her eyes, a tiny part of her uncertain until the respect in his eyes vanquished her fear that his need was purely physical. “Love me, R.J."

“Always,” he promised, sweeping her into his arms for a mind-numbing kiss.

He let her lead him to the bedroom, entranced by the unconscious sensuality of Carol's movements as she quietly shut the bedroom door then touched the base of the glass-shaded lamp, bathing the small room in a warm glow. She let her robe slip from her shoulders and his temperature rose as the lamp behind her silhouetted her body through the pale nylon nightgown.

Shrugging out of his jacket he let it fall behind him then reached for the top button of his shirt.

“Let me."

Carol undid the mother-of-pearl buttons with excruciating slowness, then skimmed her fingertips across his skin. He closed his eyes when she caressed his shoulders, running her hands down over his chest until she reached the waistband of his trousers. She felt him tremble when she pulled down the zipper.

He pulled off her nightgown.

“I've never seen a more beautiful woman,” he said, a little surprised by the huskiness of his voice. He swept her up and carried her to the bed, taking a moment to feast on the pale beauty of her. He ached to bury himself within her hot depths, knowing that his life would never be the same once he did.

Carol gasped when R.J. knelt beside her, his hands and mouth canvassing every inch of her. Her breasts grew hot beneath his lips and she squirmed when he settled himself over her, nudging her thighs part with a gentle prod of his knee. He cradled her face in his hands, showering her with loving kisses. “You're making me crazy,” she said in a ragged whisper.

“You're scaring me to death,” he confessed, tracing the side of her face with his index finger. “I've never felt this way,” he said, unused to the swell of emotion washing through him. “I never wanted to feel this way, until I met you. I love you."

He kissed her slowly, and she felt life seep into places she didn't know she had as unbridled joy misted her eyes, and rendered her speechless. She smiled when he ended the kiss, and she rose up, drawing him inside her, savoring the excitement that steadily grew with each thrust of his hips.

She moaned his name when her passion peaked, her body quaking with one delightful spasm after another. She shook again when he climaxed, the pulsing of his shaft like nothing she'd ever felt. “Is this what you learned at Harvard?” she wondered out loud, feeling giddy from the pleasure.

R.J. chuckled, moving off her. He pulled her close, his hand tenderly brushing back the damp hair from her forehead. “Harvard offers a great many things, but...” His voice trailed off into an indistinct sound as Carol's lips covered his.

Chapter 8

“It's time to arise, Sleeping Beauty."

Carol murmured as R.J. woke her with a kiss. She could taste the coffee he'd had and the extra warmth of his tongue sent a shiver through her. Lazily, she opened her eyes. “Good morning."

“Good afternoon, actually,” he corrected.

Carol gasped and jerked her head to the side to see her alarm clock. She hadn't set it. It was twelve-thirty! She tried to push R.J. aside. “Please move! I have to get to the center!"

“The center is in perfectly good hands,” he assured her, moving just enough for her to sit up. “I phoned your friend Terry this morning. She's tending to things."

“But—” Carol was silenced with a kiss. “I really need to get over there,” she said weakly when the kiss ended. “Terry isn't used to it...” Her feeble protest died the instant R.J. tugged away the thin blanket and suckled her breast. Responsibility fell by the wayside once his hand touched her skin. The world and its responsibilities fell away, leaving only them and this glorious feeling.

R.J.'s generous mouth curved into a loving smile as Carol settled back against the pillows, relinquishing herself to him. He watched intently as she responded to his intimate touch. He was fascinated by the flush of her skin, the heat of inner flesh, and the soft mewling sound she made as she arched her hips. She clutched at the bed sheets when she hit her peak and moaned his name as she had last night. He reveled in her passion and felt his spirit soar when she opened her eyes and gazed at him with inexpressible devotion.

He'd never been a religious man, but he knew that at this moment he was blessed. Carol was a treasure, and she was his. She would have everything she wanted, everything she needed.

* * * *

“I really should see how Terry's doing,” Carol said halfheartedly once they were spent.

“And I need to get down to the corporate office to meet with the head of my European publishing firm.” He paused and picked up Carol's robe from the floor. “However, I believe we have time to sample the brunch I had sent over."

* * * *

As soon as Carol entered the day care center, Terry Wallach fell to her knees and looked heavenward. “Thank you! Thank you!” She gave Carol a hug as she got to her feet. “You owe me big, girlfriend."

Carol looked around. The children were napping and the two teenage assistants who worked in the afternoons were relieving the morning volunteers. “It couldn't have been that bad."

“Oh no?” Terry turned around to reveal to green, red and orange handprints on the rear of her designer jeans. She turned. “I got clay stuck under my nails, gum in my hair, and that Szarmack kid lobbed a spoonful of paste down the front of my sweater—twice."

Carol laughed and hugged her friend. “I really appreciate this. Why don't you go home?"

“Oh, no, no, no,” Terry said wagging her finger under Carol's nose. “I go no where until you tell me all about you and R.J. Any man who can lure you into bed and keep you there until past noon is someone I have to hear about."

Carol blushed, glad that the children were asleep. “There's nothing to tell. We were negotiating a merger."

“A merger, huh? You mean...” Terry finished her sentence by whispering a few good-natured vulgarities in Carol's ear.

Carol blushed again. “That's one way to put it.” She grew serious. “R.J. wants me to go back to his condo with Ally after I close up here."

Terry leaned back against the desk. “I don't like that tone. Tell me you didn't refuse."

“I didn't."

“But?"

Carol looked down at the floor. “I can't do it every day.” She looked up, nervously chewing her bottom lip. “I used up my vacation from the club, plus yesterday and today and—"

“And nothing, girl.” Terry pointed her finger at Carol. “Don't ruin the greatest chance for happiness that ever came your way. The job at Angel City is not important. If R.J. doesn't want you working there, then don't."

Her back rigid, Carol shoved her hands into the pockets of her faded jeans. “I may have fallen in love with R.J. Mansfield, but I didn't lose my senses. We come from different worlds. This might not work out in the long run."

“It will work if you want it to."

Carol's uncertainty colored her expression. “I really do, but R.J. could change his mind.” She paused. “He loves me right now, but I can't give up my measly job or anything else until I'm absolutely, positively sure that this will last, that this isn't just some fairy tale romantic encounter."

Terry frowned. “Carol—"

Carol shook her head. “I have to wake up the kids."

* * * *

R.J.'s housekeeper was waiting by the elevator when Carol and Alexandra arrived at the condo. She took Carol's overnight bag and led the way into the condo's main room. “Mr. Mansfield would like you to phone him at his office, ma'am,” she said gesturing to the cordless phone tucked into a niche in the wall. “I'll take your bag to the bedroom."

“Thank you,” Carol said, looking around the living room. It was as big as her whole house. The walls were painted white in contrast to the expansive black marble fireplace. The floor was of black marble as well, accented by Oriental carpets beneath the sofas and chairs. The furniture was a fabulous mix of modern and antique, the likes of which she'd never seen outside of the ritzy catalogues Terry liked to collect.

She tore her attention away realizing that Alexandra was tugging on the hem of her flannel shirt.

“Come see my room!” she said excitedly, pulling Carol by the hand toward the hall to her right.

“Oh my,” Carol whispered as Alexandra threw open her door. This was every little girl's dream, all peach and white with a frilly canopied bed, a five-foot long dollhouse and wall hugging shelves with every toy imaginable. There was even a compact stereo system, television, VCR, and a personal computer.

“Wanna play?"

Carol smiled, despite her unease. “I have to call your daddy, but I'll be back in a few minutes, okay?"

Alexandra's face was bright. “Okay!"

The receptionist put Carol's call through to R.J. immediately.

“What do you think of the apartment?"

“It's something."

“Don't you like it?"

“Of course I do,” Carol said sincerely. “It's going to be hard living on Hemsdale Street after a night here."

“It doesn't have to be only one night. Will you marry me?"

Carol's knees began to shake. “We don't have to talk about this right now, not over the phone."

“True. Have you seen the master bedroom?"

“No. We just got here."

“Look at it now. It's at the very end of the hall."

“All right,” Carol said. She paused with her hand on the brass doorknob almost afraid to enter. Stop acting so weird, she told herself.

“Did you find it?"

“Yes. I'm going in now."

It was like something from her dreams. Airy and bright, the neutral walls set off the rich colors of the flowered rug and gleaming mahogany surfaces of the carved Victorian furniture.

“What do you think?"

“It's beautiful,” Carol said quietly.

“And it's all for you. It was all flown over from London. I arranged it through my British assistant last night after you fell asleep."

“Why?” Carol asked, somewhat confused.

R.J. cleared his throat. “At the risk of sounding foolish, I felt that I had to. I acquired those things after my wife died. I've never shared that bed with anyone.” He paused. “Are you crying?"

Carol wiped her eyes. “A little. I can't believe you'd do this for me."

“I would do anything for you.” He paused again. “Oh damn. I have a call on the line from Paris. I'll be home around eight-thirty. I thought we might have a late dinner after Alexandra is asleep. Is that all right?"

“Of course. I'll see you then."

“Wait. I'd like you to wear what's in the box on the bed. Do you see it?"

“Yes.

“Wonderful. I'll see you soon."

“Bye."

Although uncomfortable with the thought of R.J. buying her things, Carol nonetheless made a beeline for the gold wrapped box in the center of the wide bed. Like a child on Christmas morning she tore off the heavy wrapping paper and bow, faltering when she recognized the name of the famous designer embossed on the lid of the large box.

“Wow,” she said, lifting out the beaded white strapless gown. It was heavier than Terry's beaded costumes and she knew from the sparkle alone that these were fine crystal beads, not the plastic she was used to seeing at Angel City. There was a pair of white pumps in the box as well, and although the thought of wearing something so ritzy was intimidating, Carol took the evening gown and held it in front herself as she crossed the room to the full-length mirror.

“When in Rome,” she told her reflection before carefully laying the gown across the bed and going to play with Alexandra as she'd promised.

After two games of “Old Maid” and seeing that Alexandra got a hearty snack to supplement the dinner she'd had before coming home, Carol let Ally select a favorite video to watch while she indulged herself with a soak in R.J.'s sunken bathtub.

She put on the beaded evening gown and pumps, marveling at the perfect fit and then went to tuck Alexandra in for the night.

“You look like Cinderella."

“I feel like Cinderella,” Carol said with a smile. She hugged Alexandra and kissed her forehead, enjoying the maternal feeling this little ritual had roused in the days they'd spent together. She looked around the palatial bedroom a final time before closing the door, remembering her humble childhood and the sound of her mother's muffled crying night after night as she prayed for the strength and resources to get through each following day.

Carol scanned the fine paintings in the hall and the priceless antiques in the living room. She ran her finger across the smooth polished mantle, glancing at the photographs of R.J. and people she'd only glimpsed on the national news.

How easy it would be to leave Hemsdale Street behind for all of this luxury. How great it would feel to not have to scrimp, save and sacrifice to keep her day care center open. She could live the life of a queen if she married R.J. Mansfield or even just lived with him, but what then? What if the novelty wore off and he decided that she wasn't what he wanted or needed? How could she ever stand losing him and Ally?

“Ma'am?"

Carol gave a start then turned toward the sound of the housekeeper's voice.

“It's nine o'clock. Shall I keep the dinner warming until Mr. Mansfield arrives or shall I serve you now?"

“I'm not very hungry. It will keep, won't it?"

The older woman smiled. “I've been with Mr. Mansfield long enough to learn not to make anything that can't be reheated or kept warm for an hour or two."

Carol phoned R.J.'s office. There was no answer. Perhaps he'd gotten stuck in traffic. She sat on one of the leather camel backed sofas opposite the fireplace and tried to look through the large art book on the Chippendale coffee table. She closed the book quickly, uncomfortable at the sight of two of R.J.'s paintings. She needed air and was grateful for the large balcony. She went to the closet in the entrance hall where the housekeeper had put her and Alexandra's jackets earlier. She took out R.J.'s black trench coat, soothed by the lingering scent of his cologne on the collar. She hoped he would be here soon.

She walked the length of the balcony, which went all the way to the master bedroom, accessible by another sliding door. She peered out over the Boston skyline as she made her way back around. It looked so different from this height. Hemsdale Street seemed so far away and it was hard to believe that Angel City was just across the Charles River.

She glanced down at her beaded evening gown and the way it glimmered in the silver moonlight. Glancing back toward the Charles, she thought of the book one of her day care volunteers was reading for school—Caught Between Two Worlds.

She exhaled a pensive sigh then gasped when R.J. enfolded her in his arms.

“I didn't mean to startle you."

“It's okay,” she said, settling back against his solid chest, her hands atop his. The chill within her dissipated when R.J. tightened his grip, his lips skimming the side of her neck. “You're late,” she said quietly, turning to face him.

“I'm sorry. I needed to ride to the airport with my European Board of Directors."

Twining her arms around R.J.'s neck, Carol brushed her fingers through his wavy brown hair. “Did you get your business deal settled?"

“Not quite. My nemesis, an old barracuda by the name of Malcolm Simmons, and his cronies bought up fifteen percent of my stock and want me to step down as CEO of the Oxford Publishing Group.” R.J. sneered. “Those subsidiaries were drowning in red ink ten years ago, and I've built them into the most solid organization in Western Europe. I will never step down."

“They can't impeach you or anything, can they?” Carol asked, wanting to share or at least understand this important part of his life.

R.J. smiled indulgently. “I doubt it. Simmons’ prime directive is to annoy me. I'll pay him a king's ransom in greenmail, put the stock into friendly hands and tell him precisely what he can do with his proxies."

“Oh,” Carol replied simply, embarrassed to ask what he was talking about.

R.J. cupped her face in his hands and gave her a leisurely kiss. “Enough of business and barracudas. Shall we go?"

Carol's temperature soared when she removed the trench coat and R.J.'s eyes swept over her. He took her by the hand and escorted her to the dining room.

As with the living room, it was enormous with a long ebony table set with picture perfect china, sterling, and crystal. The housekeeper set the serving platter near R.J.'s chair at the head of the table.

“The roast is a tad past medium, Sir, but the broccoli, carrots, and the potatoes have just been steamed."

R.J. smiled as he poured the red wine. “I apologize for holding up your dinner yet again, Mrs. Porter. That will be all for tonight."

He carved the roast while Carol spooned the vegetables onto their plates. “What do you think of the condo?"

“It's incredible. It reminds me of the stories my mother told us about the house on Beacon Hill she used to clean...” Carol sipped her wine then changed the subject to Terry's trials at the day care center.

“Young Scott sounds rather libidinous for a four year old.” R.J. joked when Carol told him about Terry's derriere handprints and the paste down her sweater.

“His uncle is quite a fan of Terry's. I suppose it sort of rubbed off.” Carol said before taking a bite of her filet mignon. It nearly melted in her mouth, and was a far cry from the bottom round she treated herself to once in a while. She glanced up. R.J. was staring intently at her, gingerly sipping his wine. “Did you say something?” she asked, a little embarrassed by her preoccupation with the food.

“I was simply thinking how remarkable that gown looks on you."

Carol smiled. “Thank you. It's the fanciest thing I've ever had, but you really shouldn't have."

He leaned over, trailing his finger along her bare arm, grinning when she shivered. “I want to make you happy"

“You do that all by yourself."

Carol's sincere words wrapped themselves around his heart, and he silently praised the Fates for bringing her into his life. He watched her finish her meal, imagining many more late suppers and leisurely breakfasts in bed. He pushed his plate aside, his desire for her supplanting his appetite.

“Are you done?” she asked, indicating his plate. “I can bring in the dessert. Ally helped Mrs. Porter decorate the cake."

R.J.'s eyes lingered on Carol's ivory shoulders, his mouth watering as he remembered the delicious taste of her skin. “With all due respect to Alexandra and Mrs. P., I was thinking in terms of a different type of dessert,” he drawled, getting up from his chair.

Carol giggled when R.J. began to nibble on her neck, the giggle changing to a soft moan as his large hands cupped her breasts through the beaded silk of her gown. He coaxed her to stand with the gentlest pressure and she melted against his chest, her body throbbing for him. Chills raced the length of her spine when his kisses moved from her mouth to her shoulders.

“Let me clear the table—"

“Leave it,” he whispered against her ear.

“But it will go bad—"

“Leave it."

It didn't seem right, but she bowed to his wish, a prisoner of the smoldering passion in his eyes. He lifted her off her feet and carried her to the bedroom. A single lamp burned and a fire had been lit in the hearth, the yellow flames coloring the white marble of the surrounding fireplace.

“I have another gift for you,” R.J. said when he set Carol on her feet.

She shook her head. “You shouldn't have. The dress is enough. More than enough, and the shoes—"

He silenced her with a swift kiss before removing the slim leather box from inside his suit jacket. He opened the box, smiling as Carol's gray eyes grew wide and her mouth fell open. “Diamonds are a girl's best friend, aren't they?"

Carol's mouth moved but no sound came out until she touched a shaking finger to the choker made up of blue white diamonds. “It—it's fabulous, but I can't accept it. There must be a zillion carats here."

R.J. chuckled and removed the necklace from the box. “It's a mere 16.8.” He let it dangle and catch the light, loving the way Carol's eyes were riveted to the necklace as if she'd never seen a diamond sparkle. He stepped behind her, fastening it around her neck. “What if I told you they were cubic zirconium?"

Carol gave a nervous laugh, her head tilting down to look at the box he'd dropped to the floor. “From Cartier? I don't think so,” she said.

He lead her to the full-length mirror across the room, wanting her to see how breath-taking she was in it “How can I ever thank you?” she asked softly.

He hesitated. “Would you dance for me?"

She nodded, unpinning the bun at the nape of her neck so that her hair hung freely as it had the night of the bachelor party. She turned from the mirror, waiting patiently while R.J. programmed the CD player concealed in the black walnut cabinet near the balcony doors. He drew the curtains, switched off the lamp, then sat on the padded bench at the foot of the bed and watched Carol bring his Parisian fantasy to life.

* * * *

Later, Carol sat cross-legged on the rug in front of the fireplace, naked beneath the lace-trimmed coverlet she'd taken from the foot of the bed. She stifled a yawn, pleasantly exhausted from R.J.'s lovemaking, yet unable to sleep.

“Is something the matter?"

Carol glanced over her shoulder. “I'm not tired. I'll go sit in the living room if I'm bothering you."

“Stay there,” R.J. said coming to sit next to her. He smiled when she draped half the blanket over his bare shoulders. He pulled her onto his lap, delighting in the skin to skin contact. “You never answered me earlier,” he said quietly. “Will you marry me?"

Biting her lower lip, Carol laid her head on his shoulder to avoid having to look into his eyes. “I love you, but it's awfully soon and marriage is a big commitment..."

“It's a commitment I have no qualms about making, but I won't pressure you."

They sat quietly for a time until R.J. spoke again. “Will you consider moving in?"

“I don't know.” She sat up and looked into R.J.'s eyes. The hint of pain she saw stabbed her like a knife. “You must think I'm thirty-two going on twelve,” she said trying to lighten the strained mood. “It's just that I've never been involved with anyone. I dated and I did have one close relationship, but it only lasted a year and a half."

“Did he leave you for another woman?"

Carol shook her head. “He died. He was Kimmy's training officer. They thought they were making a routine traffic stop but..."

R.J. hugged her close, and stroked her hair. “We'll take things one day at a time then, shall we?"

Lifting her head, Carol gazed upon his handsome face. She knew that he was used to getting what he wanted when he wanted it, and that made his offer truly poignant. “Thank you,” she whispered, leaning forward for a kiss.

* * * *

“Why, if it isn't her royal highness, come to grace us all with her presence,” the stripper who called herself Arizona said when Carol walked into the dressing room at Angel City the following evening.

“Shut up you old hag,” Terry said, as she came from the bathroom.

Arizona mumbled an obscenity, pushing past her to grab a feather boa. She went toward the door, stopping long enough to give a contemptuous look as her eyes caught sight of Carol's choker. “I guess sleeping your way to the top ain't only in Hollywood."

“What was that about?” Carol asked as the stripper left, slamming the door behind her.

Terry shrugged and adjusted her G-string before slipping into her costume. “Who knows? Maybe she thinks you finally gave into Vince's propositions—” She broke off when she noticed Carol's necklace. She whistled, running her fingernail over the diamonds. “This is no piece of crud Vince could afford. Don't tell me let me guess—you found it in your corn flakes."

Carol laughed. “R.J. gave it to me last night."

Terry zipped up her gown. “That might have been mine, if I hadn't missed that bachelor party.” She cursed herself when Carol paled. “Hey, I was kidding. R.J. Mansfield would not give a gift like that to just anyone. That guy is crazy about you."

“I know,” Carol answered, fiddling with the hem of her waitress uniform.

“Then what's the problem? Why are you even here, anyway?"

Carol shrugged then leaned against the edge of the long vanity table. “I have to work. I almost went crazy last night rattling around that condo waiting for him to get home.” She paused. “He asked me to marry him."

Terry gasped. “You didn't say no. Tell me you didn't say no."

“I told him I needed to think about it.” She looked at the floor when Terry gave her a scolding look, then marshaled her courage and looked her critical friend in the eye. “He said it was all right. I was thinking of moving in with him, but I have my pets and—"

“And you had better stop worrying about the world's strays, taking care of other people's kids, and trying to help everyone and their mother solve their problems. It is okay to be selfish once in a while."

“I have to get to work,” Carol said.

By ten o'clock Carol was tired. Tired of waiting tables, tired of being hit on by tipsy customers, and especially tired of the attention R.J.'s necklace brought her. Most of the comments were jovial, but Arizona and two of the other waitresses were hostile enough to cause Carol to end her shift early.

“Do you need a ride?” Terry asked, handing Carol her jacket.

“No. I called R.J. His housekeeper will keep an eye on Ally while he picks me up."

“Are you going home with him?"

“Yeah.” She managed a smile when Terry held her thumbs up.

R.J. studied Carol's face as he opened the rear door of his limo for her. “Are you ill? You don't look at all well."

“I'm okay. It's been a very long night, that's all.” She got into the car and leaned against R.J. when he got in the back seat beside her. This was wonderful, comforting and stimulating at the same time. She murmured when he unpinned her hair and combed through it with his fingers.

“Are you sure you're feeling well?"

“Uh-huh. I'm just a little down. Arizona, one of the dancers, and a couple of her friends were giving me a hard time about the necklace you gave me. They think I slept with our boss to get it.” She regretted saying anything when she felt R.J. tense. She lifted her head to look at him. “There's never been anything between me and Vince."

“Of course not. I detest the thought of anyone annoying you."

Carol settled back against the solid warmth of R.J.'s chest. “It's nothing, really. I shouldn't have mentioned it."

“I'm glad that you did,” he said in an icy tone she failed to notice. He wrapped his arms tighter around Carol and gazed out the tinted window, his eyes cold, his face taut. It was an expression his business adversaries had come to dread.

Chapter 9

“Alexandra, would you please get my briefcase out of the study? You may have to hunt for it, like in Hide-and-Go-Seek."

“Okay, Daddy!” she said happily, clambering down from her chair.

Carol gave R.J. a questioning look. “You put your briefcase on the little table near the hall closet."

“I know,” he said, pushing aside his half eaten breakfast. “I wanted to speak with you privately before I left for the office. I realize that you rely on your income from Angel City to supplement the day care center, but I would be more than happy to cover the difference or offer you a part time position at a higher wage. You're adept at bookkeeping. You can handle Arnco's accounts receivable in the evenings. We can transfer the data to my computer or install one at the center—"

“No,” Carol said forcefully. She got up and walked over to the wide picture window, struggling to keep her temper in check. She resented his offer and resented herself more for wanting to take it. It would be so easy to accept and let him give her the money to make the day care center what it should be. “I know you don't approve of Angel City, but—"

“It isn't that at all,” he interrupted, coming up behind her. He rested his hands on her shoulders and massaged the back of her neck with his thumbs. “You don't need to work alongside people who belittle you for no reason. You can't deny that those women's petty jealousy is still bothering you."

Exhaling a defeated sigh, Carol turned, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I'll live. They'll probably be over it by tonight anyway."

“And if they aren't?"

“I'll ignore it,” she said confidently, knowing that it would be very hard to do so.

She relished R.J.'s long kiss, allowing it to bolster the part of her wounded by Arizona's rude taunts.

R.J. held Carol close after the kiss ended, rubbing his cheek against her silky hair. “Please think about moving in,” he whispered in her ear. “I love waking up next to you. Perhaps one of your neighbors can look after your pets."

Before Carol could answer, Alexandra ran into the room, playfully scolding her father for forgetting where he put his briefcase.

Carol smiled when R.J. lifted his daughter to his shoulders and carried her out to the elevator. It would be great to wake up in his arms every day, and although Carol's heart urged her to be old fashioned and marry R.J., she couldn't take the chance that the novelty would wear off for him and he'd become bored with her or worse.

“You'll think about what I said?” R.J. asked as he stepped into the private elevator.

“I'll think about it."

He smiled. “Call me if you decide."

She nodded.

The smile fell from R.J.'s face the instant the elevator doors closed. He reached inside his coat and pulled out his cellular phone. “Martin, there are a few things I need done asap."

* * * *

The flashing lights of the police car drew the children to the day care center's windows. They chattered like magpies when the uniformed police officer got out of the car and walked through the front gate.

“Go back to your finger paints, guys,” Carol said, gently ushering them away from the windows. “It's just my sister coming to say hello.” She asked her teen-aged assistants to keep an eye on things and went out to greet Kim, bracing herself for her little sister's interrogation.

Kim looked her over from head to toe, her blue eyes narrowed. “Are you all right?"

“Yes. I'm fine, now go out and arrest some bad guys,” Carol said lightly, making a shooing gesture with her hands. Kim stood her ground.

“I'm not going anywhere until you tell me why there's a vandalism report down at the station with your name on it."

Carol led the way across the street to her house. “It's no big deal, Kimmy. I shouldn't even have reported it. It's just a broken window,” she said as they rounded the side of the house.

Kim picked up the broken red brick that was on the outside windowsill. “It is a big deal. What if this thing popped you in the head?"

“I wasn't here. I spent the night at R.J.'s.” She felt her cheeks burn when Kim broke into a wide grin.

“Way to go, big sister. I didn't think you had it in you.” Her eyes grew wide when a shaft of sunlight struck Carol's diamond necklace. She tugged on the collar of Carol's cotton blouse. “That's one hell of a morning after present."

Carol sucked in her breath and pulled the edges of her collar together, hugging her arms across her chest and walked away. Kim followed, apologizing.

“I was just teasing, okay?"

Carol stopped short, spinning to face her sister. “No, it is not okay. Why does everyone keep treating me like some cheap hooker for accepting a gift from the man I love?"

Kim grabbed the tail of Carol's shirt when they crossed the street. She let go and leaned back against her patrol car when Carol stopped walking and turned to face her. “You listened to enough of my problems. You want to talk about it?"

Carol told her what had happened at Angel City the previous night, then removed a slip of paper from the rear pocket of her jeans. “This was wrapped around the brick."

“Too bit whore?” Kim asked.

“Spelling is not one of Arizona's strong points."

“You could file charges."

Carol waved the idea off and crumpled the note. “I'd rather just forget it.” She paused. “We both have work to get back to."

“Wait a minute,” Kim said. “This is a bad time to ask for advice, but I'm going to be working overtime the rest of the week. There's a girl who lives over on Darlington that I'm worried about. She's seventeen and never been in any trouble until six months ago when her parents split up. I never set eyes on this kid, and now half the calls I make involve her and her so-called friends. She hasn't been charged with anything, but I can see her getting in deeper and deeper. How can I help this kid get turned around?"

Carol shrugged, a part of her wanting to help, another part tired of becoming involved in others’ problems. “I don't know, Kimmy."

A call came for Kim over the police radio. “I have to go. I'm sorry for bringing you down with this. You worry too much as it is.” She reached in the patrol car's window and grabbed the radio to respond to the call. “What you need to do is blow off Angel City and go snuggle up to that gorgeous hunk of yours."

Carol pondered that suggestion until later that morning when an attorney from a prominent Boston law firm came to see her.

“Am I being sued or something?"

“Not at all. I'm representing the owners of Angel City. I've come to discuss personnel changes with you."

Carol swallowed. “Personnel changes?"

“Yes,” the attorney answered as he opened his briefcase and withdrew some papers. “My clients have decided that retaining Mr. Capaldi has not worked out as well as they expected."

“You fired Vince?"

“He received a generous severance package,” he said shuffling though his papers.

“Give me my pink slip and get it over with,” Carol said, holding out her hand. “I have to make lunch for my kids."

The attorney shook his head. “You misunderstand, Miss Bakker. I've been instructed to offer you the position of General Manager of Angel City."

Carol gaped. “Me? Why not Frank, the Assistant Manager?"

“The decision was made in New York, but I imagine they reviewed the personnel records and found that you own this business and have the necessary experience."

Carol felt her mood brighten. “The offer is tempting, but I have to be here from six in the morning until six in the evening Monday through Friday, and I'm open until noon on Saturdays. I really don't have the time."

“Actually, Miss Bakker, you may find that this position better suits your schedule. Your duties will consist mainly of basic record keeping, ordering supplies, making bank deposits, and hiring new personnel when necessary. Most tasks could be handled by phone or fax. Your salary will be adjusted accordingly, with the addition of full benefits of course."

“I'll do it,” Carol said, giving in to impulse.

“Excellent. My clients will be pleased.” The attorney handed Carol a few papers. “If you'll sign on the marked lines, I'll have these sent to our bank and have your name placed on the Angel City checking account."

Carol walked the lawyer out. “Thank your clients for me."

“The pleasure is theirs. By the way, the club will need to be closed this evening while the locks and security system are replaced. I've taken the liberty of having my secretary phone the other employees. You'll all be compensated."

Carol was clearing off the small plastic picnic tables in the day care center's yard when her brother arrived in his pick-up truck, the bed of which was filled with an assortment of boxes.

“Toss me your house key, Sis,” he said miserably. “I need a place to crash. I've been on call for thirty-six hours and I'm due back in the ER at midnight."

Carol fished her keys out of her jean pocket. “Did something happen to your apartment?"

“Damned if I know. My roommates evicted me. I came home and found my stuff in the hall and the locks changed. They gave me back my share of the rent, but it still sucks. Kim doesn't have enough room and she snores anyway. I'll look for another place if I ever get a decent hour off.” He crooked his thumb at the boxes in his truck. “Can you give me a hand with this?"

“Sure,” Carol said before leaving the children to play tag with her teenage assistants.

“What is in here, Jimmy?” she asked, coughing as the odor of the last cardboard carton got to her. She dropped the box on the front step. “That is not coming into my house. Did something die in there?"

“It's my laundry. I sort of forgot to do it."

“For how long?"

“A month?"

Carol grimaced. “And you wonder why your roommates tossed you out."

Jimmy put his arm around her shoulder and kissed the top of her head. “But that won't be a problem now that I have my favorite big sister to take care of me."

She moved his arm away. “I'm your only big sister and I'm not washing your shorts, pal."

“I'll leave them in the bathroom."

“You do that,” Carol said, taking her key ring from him. Giving into impulse again, she removed her house key and handed it to her brother. “Since you're a poor, struggling resident, you can stay here rent free. All you have to do is take care of my dog and cats, pay the utility bills, and stick my mail in the box at the center."

Jimmy cocked his head. “Are you moving out?"

“Yes."

* * * *

She phoned R.J. before returning to the day care center. He left a meeting to take her call.

“Fate smiles upon us,” he said when Carol told him all that had happened. “And here I was wondering how I could ever persuade you to move in with me."

Carol laughed. “Jimmy's smelly socks kind of cinched that.” She paused. “I do have one condition. I want to pay my share of the household expenses."

“That isn't necessary, Carol."

“It is to me. I've been supporting myself since I was old enough to work. I can't be your ‘kept woman', R.J."

“I want you to be my wife."

Carol's buoyant mood faltered. “I need some time."

“And I promised to give it to you. Do you still have that dress you wore to the ballet?"

“Yes. Why?"

“Your promotion deserves a celebration. I'll have Mrs. Porter pick Alexandra up and take her to the condo. I'll meet you at the day care center at six-thirty."

He hung up before Carol could ask what his plans were.

R.J.'s limousine pulled up at precisely six-thirty. When the chauffeur got out to open the door, she assumed that R.J. was going to be late and was pleasantly surprised to find him inside, uncorking a bottle of vintage champagne. He handed her a fluted glass and a long stemmed red rose.

He poured the champagne, then raised his glass in a toast. “To the astute owner of Angel City for giving you the recognition you so richly deserve."

Carol sipped her champagne, her pleasant expression wavering as she lowered her glass. “You said owner."

“What?"

“Owner,” she repeated. “You said the astute owner of Angel City, not owners."

R.J. made a vague gesture with his free hand. “I don't understand."

Carol shook her head, chiding herself for the sudden feeling of suspicion that had overcome her. “Forget it. I probably never mentioned that some group of businessmen bought the club."

“I don't believe you did,” he said sipping his champagne.

Carol raised her glass to her lips, wondering if she was imagining the tension coming from him. “Where are we going for dinner?"

“Carnegie Hall.” He thumped Carol on the back when she began choking on her champagne. “Are you all right?"

She coughed. “I think so. Did you say Carnegie Hall?” He nodded. “Carnegie Hall?” she asked again, pronouncing each word slowly.

Smiling, R.J. set his glass down and took Carol's from her hand. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her neck. “It will make perfect sense once we get there."

Carol was even more puzzled by the time the private jet reached New York and the waiting limousine took them to the darkened concert hall. “It's closed. There isn't anything going on in there tonight."

R.J. chuckled as the limo turned the block and pulled up to the stage door and traced the outline of her bottom lip with his thumb. “You are a treasure."

“A confused treasure,” she mumbled, following him out of the car and into the deserted concert hall.

“That you, Mr. Mansfield?” a man's voice called from the shadows of the backstage area.

“Yes it is."

The lights came on one by one and Carol felt a chill of excitement wondering what surprise R.J. had up his sleeve.

The security guard appeared and showed them to a spacious dressing room. Each available surface held a crystal vase each containing a dozen long stemmed roses in every shade of pink, yellow, and red.

“The stage is ready when you are, sir,” the guard said, quietly exiting the room.

Carol walked over to the nearest vase and ran a finger over one of the velvety pink blooms. “Just how much champagne did you have today?"

R.J laughed and swept her into a crushing embrace, his mouth coming down hard on hers. He pulled back, his brown eyes glowing with the love he felt for her. He let her go, taking hold of her hand, then led her to a red divan across the room on which rested a large white box. “Open it."

“You don't need to give me things...” Carol's voice trailed off as she saw how important this was to him. She sat on the edge of the divan and untied the white ribbon then lifted the lid and moved aside the fluffy white tissue paper covering the contents. The box contained an ivory leotard, matching tights, long tulle skirt and ballet slippers. She looked up, too stunned to speak.

He reached down and caressed the side of her face. “You danced for me, now I want you to dance for yourself. I remember how entranced you were that night at the ballet and I saw you one afternoon at the day care center dancing with some of the little girls.” He bent down and gave her a gentle kiss. “I'll wait outside while you dress."

Carol pinched herself to make certain that this wasn't a dream. The pinch hurt and she fell deeper in love with R.J. Mansfield for allowing her to make a lifelong fantasy a reality. Sniffling back happy tears, she donned the ballet costume.

The large stage was bare with the exception of the grand piano on the right side. R.J. escorted her to the center of the stage, then sat behind the piano and began to play the opening bars from “Swan Lake". The heavy curtain rose slowly and Carol was bathed in a pale pink spotlight.

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and curtsied to her imaginary audience before beginning the ballet routine she'd carried in her mind since childhood. She danced until her muscles ached, perfectly executing the pirouettes she practiced when alone. She made a final, graceful leap and landed center stage in a split, her arms raised in triumph. She could swear that she heard real applause.

R.J. helped her to her feet, presenting her with an enormous bouquet of red roses. “You were magnificent. Truly magnificent."

She smiled brightly, struggling to catch her breath. “Thank you. I'm exhausted.” She gasped when he swept her off her feet and carried her back to the dressing room where a tuxedo clad waiter stood next to a small round table.

He seated them, then uncovered the dinner plates and poured the wine before discreetly leaving.

Carol gazed lovingly at R.J. “I'll never forget tonight. I don't know how to thank you. I don't know what to say."

“You don't have to say anything,” R.J. answered softly, feeding her a chocolate covered strawberry. He let out a groan when she took hold of his wrist and sucked the chocolate from his fingertip.

* * * *

“Hey girl! Can I come in or don't you associate with the hired help?” Terry joked the following week when she entered Carol's office at Angel City.

“You're not the hired help. You're my best friend."

“In that case,” Terry sat in front of the desk and put up her feet. “I think I need a vacation to recover from my vacation."

Carol laughed and turned around as something came through the fax machine on the low filing cabinet behind her. She showed Terry the silly animal drawing from Alexandra.

“That's cute. What's that one?"

Carol folded the second fax, tucking it into the pocket of her slacks. “That one was from R.J."

Terry grinned. “I called you when I got in last night. Jimbo said that you don't live there any more."

Carol blushed. “I decided to move in with R.J."

“Oooh,” Terry teased before turning serious. “I'm glad. I was afraid that you'd waffle and blow it because it wasn't proper or respectable."

“I almost did,” Carol admitted. “I'm still a little afraid, but being with him and Ally feels so right. I just hope it lasts."

“It will.” Terry sat forward in her chair. “Vince and me go back a long way, but between us, I'm glad that you're going to be running the show from now on. The air around here is a lot cleaner since you gave Arizona and her buddies the heave-ho."

“I didn't fire them. I came in the other night and there was a note saying that they'd quit."

Terry shrugged. “It figures. She's always been a liar and she was pretty hammered when I ran into her over in Jamaica Plain. Those new girls seem pretty nice. I get the idea that the customers aren't too crazy about the new waitress uniforms you picked out."

Carol got up from her desk and took one of the roses from the bouquet R.J. sent her. “You and the other dancers show enough skin and those spiked heels were murder. I think the lower shoes and the little extra material gives the place a bit of class, don't you?"

Terry stood and put her nose in the air. “You are turning us into a most classy establishment, my dear. Now if you'll excuse me, I simply have to go out and shake my classy little a—"

“Get to work, Ter,” Carol interrupted, giving her friend a playful shove toward the door.

* * * *

“You should have demanded to see the manager and had the woman dismissed,” R.J. said to Carol as they soaked in his Jacuzzi a few days later.

“Kimmy said the same thing, but I couldn't,” Carol replied, massaging R.J.'s broad shoulders. “Having a bowl of Irish Stew dumped in my lap was no picnic, especially since that pantsuit cost me seventy-nine bucks on sale, but I felt responsible. Becky said that she might lose custody of her little boy because her ex found out how much less she's bringing in without the tips she was getting at Angel City. She wasn't a bad waitress. And she accused me of firing her."

“Disgruntled former employees are a breed unto themselves, Carol,” R.J. said in a dull tone. “You must learn to ignore them."

Carol frowned. It sounded more like an order than a suggestion. She increased the pressure of her hands, as R.J.'s shoulders grew more tense. “But it doesn't make any sense for her to say that I fired her from Angel City. Terry said that Arizona said the same thing to her."

“Obviously they need to blame someone for their own shortcomings."

“It's weird,” Carol said. R.J.'s muscles were knotting beneath her fingers. “You'd better lie back and let those shoulders relax or you're going to be needing a chiropractor."

R.J. turned in the tub and pulled Carol onto his lap. “What I need is for you to stop worrying about former employees and kiss me."

While she was only too happy to do the latter, it was difficult for her to do the former. However, she did forget the incident in time as she grew a little more comfortable as part of R.J.'s world, though his business dealings were still something of a mystery. He tried to explain the workings of the stock market and encouraged her to take his advice and invest in some new companies on the rise and a few that seemed to her to be on the decline.

“But what you're saying doesn't make sense,” Carol said pointing to the newspaper. “Those shares of ComLink you told me to get have been going up a little each day since I got them and you said that you heard they're working on some kind of new super computer chip or something."

R.J. smiled indulgently. “I said that rumor has it that they might be developing such a chip and even though the rumor mill might drive ComLink up an entire point within the next month you really need to get out now and put the proceeds into Pencomp."

Carol's jaw dropped and she riffled through the business section of the Boston Globe until she came to a small article that had caught her eye earlier. She showed the article to R.J. and read the opening aloud. “Pencomp, the ‘granddaddy’ of the home personal computer has seen a steady decline in its client base and an increase in its use of red ink. Experts agree that Pencomp founder, Rex Pendleton, has in effect sunk his own ship by continuing to rely on the designers and engineers who helped him reach the top, designers and engineers who seem to have given all they have to offer in the way of cyber space innovation.’”

Folding the newspaper into neat quarters, Carol set in on the Chippendale coffee table. “I don't think I need that fancy MBA of yours to know that I should stick with a winner."

“Once a winner, always a winner,” R.J. said, stroking the side of Carol's cheek with his fingers. “And Pencomp's people are hungry to be a winner again. Do you remember last Thursday when I was late getting in from that meeting in Chicago?"

Carol nodded. “You said that you gave an old friend a ride back in your jet."

“That old friend just happened to be Rex Pendleton's soon to be ex brother-in-law and I couldn't help but overhear him on the phone urging his sister to demand an extra block of stock as part of her divorce settlement."

“So?” Carol asked.

R.J. smiled. “So, my friend happens to have been one of Rex's top engineers until the marriage problems began. Pencomp is on the verge of a major comeback. I can feel it."

“I don't know. It sounds risky even if I do only have a few hundred bucks on the line."

R.J. popped open the top button on her flannel shirt. “No risk, no reward.” He opened the next button and the next.

“Are you allowed to do that?"

R.J. leered, sliding his hand inside her shirt to cup her breast. “You've allowed me to for the past eight weeks."

Carol sighed as her nipple puckered beneath the satiny material of her bra. “I mean the stock thing. I saw a movie once where the villain got information from someone who worked at an airline or something and he ended up going to jail."

R.J. removed his hand and gave her a cool look. “I am not dealing in ‘inside information’ if that is what you mean. It's all supposition on my part, based on Pencomp's track record. Would you like to call the SEC and verify it?"

Carol began to button her shirt. “I just wondered."

R.J. placed his hand over hers. “I'm sorry for snapping at you.” He began undoing her shirt buttons again. “No more business talk tonight."

Chapter 10

R.J.'s hunch about the computer company paid off and Carol used her meager profits to treat the day care center children with a trip to the zoo and a pizza party at the bowling alley where the police league played.

Carol stayed in the children's area while her sister coaxed R.J. into a practice game in the main room.

“The game over so soon?” Carol asked when R.J. came back a short time later.

“Apparently I wasn't enough of a challenge,” he said, pushing up the sleeves of his Harvard sweatshirt. He sat next to Carol. “I thought I did rather well for a novice.” He paused when Alexandra ran over, thrusting her score sheet at him.

“I got a nine seven, Daddy! It's my turn again!” She ran back to her friends.

Carol grinned as R.J. winced and took a sip of her soda. She ruffled his hair. “Maybe you should pretend that the pins are little IRS guys trying to tax your socks off."

“Now there's an idea,” he said, pulling her onto his lap. He smiled at Alexandra, who was jumping up and down after making another strike. “This is more fun than I thought it would be. Shall we come back tomorrow evening? Alexandra can invite one of her friends."

“That would be great, but don't you have some business dinner to go to?"

“I'll send Martin in my place."

Carol smiled, joy flowing through her when R.J. leaned in for a kiss.

She settled back in R.J.'s arms and watched the children finishing their game, debating over whether she should bring up something that had been troubling her for a few days. “Do you remember that movie I told you about, the one that reminded me of your Pencomp deal?” His light grip on her waist tightened.

“Yes,” he said his eyes firmly glued to his daughter.

“I saw part of it the other night.” She paused. “You're sure that it was okay for us to buy that stock? The guy in the movie was arrested.” She regretted bringing it up when he gave her a long, searching look.

He dropped his hand to his side. “I wouldn't have invested one hundred thousand dollars if it wasn't ‘okay'. And I'll wager that the movie character's being arrested was the perfect way to tie up loose plot ends."

“It was,” Carol said, sliding from R.J.'s lap to the bench. He reached over and took hold of her hand.

“I shouldn't have snapped at you. I'm sorry."

“I shouldn't have doubted you,” Carol said.

R.J. let go of her hand and stood. He gestured to the children. “I believe I'll try my luck with the other beginners."

* * * *

“Trouble in Paradise?"

Carol turned to frown at her sister.

“I didn't mean to eavesdrop,” Kim said. She held up her hands in a gesture of submission. “Okay, I confess. I didn't go out of my way to not hear, but Carol, the guy is nuts about you. To be honest, Jimmy and I both think that you're crazy for not taking advantage of it."

“Kim."

Kim held up her hands again. “I didn't mean it like that and you know it. You don't have a money grubbing bone in your body, but use that logical brain of yours. That man has things that we never even knew existed. He'll share if you let him, and I don't mean for me or Jim. You deserve everything he has to offer, Carol and I know that marriage is one of those things."

Carol gave her another harsh look. “Has Terry been blabbing?"

“No, but R.J. asked me earlier if you'd said anything to me about his proposal. What are you waiting for?"

Carol got up and walked toward the refreshment stand. Kim followed. “I'm afraid, all right?” Carol said in a terse whisper after she paid for her soda. Kim followed her back toward the lanes.

“He's not Daddy."

Carol stopped in her tracks. “Maybe not,” she answered in a whisper. “But from what I've seen with you and Terry and some of the mothers of my kids, I get the feeling that there's a part of our father in every man out there."

Kim shoved her hands into her jean pockets. “It seems that way, but remember, we've been picking from the low end of the food chain, while you've landed yourself in a whole different kind of pond with a new breed of fish."

* * * *

Carol pondered her sister's analogy as she dealt with the problem of her own pride after a severe thunderstorm damaged the roof of the day care center a few days later.

“If you read that estimate one more time, I believe the numbers are going to fade right off the page,” R.J. said lightly, setting aside the newspaper. “Alexandra told me that you've been carting it around the center with you all week."

“I can't help it. Mr. Washington patched the roof for now, but if another big storm hits, I'll be ruined. The insurance won't pay for the repairs because they said it was ‘An Act of God', and two parents are threatening to sue even though none of the kids were hurt. They told my liability carrier that their sons are suffering from traumatic stress because they saw that piece of plaster fall and now they're terrified of water.” She got up and paced the living room.

“I was hit in the foot with a piece of the stuff. It's too bad I can't sue myself and settle for enough to repair the damage.” She picked up the repair estimate again and bit her lip in an effort to contain the tears of frustration that had been dogging her since the storm.

She'd been working herself ragged to keep that business going and now she faced losing it, all because the wind shifted and brought the tail end of a hurricane to her front door.

She looked up when R.J. got up from the sofa and came toward her, her mouth tightening into a thin line when she saw the slight smile he made no attempt to hide. Waving the wrinkled estimate in front of him she stepped away. “I don't think this is funny! I'm going to lose everything!"

R.J. took the paper from her hand, ignoring her gasp when it tore. He held her back when she lunged to retrieve it from the floor. “You're overreacting,” he said softly.

Carol jerked away. “Overreacting? How dare you? Just because you probably have the ultimate in coverage for every business of yours—” R.J. silenced her with a kiss that she broke off. “Stop that! I have a serious problem here!"

“A serious problem that has an incredibly simple solution.” He came forward again, taking hold of her hands. “I can repair the roof. I can build you an entirely new day care center if you'll let me."

“No.” Carol jerked away and walked out to the balcony.

She couldn't take his charity. She wouldn't. This was just like the year her father left, and a lady from their church brought a stack of Christmas gifts because they felt sorry for her and her brother and sister. She'd hated it then, and she wouldn't have it now.

“Carol, be reasonable."

“I am,” she said tersely, refusing to look at him.

“Hardly. At least give me a reason."

“I won't take a hand-out, especially from you."

“That's a statement, not a reason for refusing my offer.” He paused. She did not reply.

“Having birthday parties at the day care center is a hand-out. Allowing your brother to live in your house rent-free is a handout. Keeping Alexandra the time I was in Paris was a hand-out."

Carol turned. “It's not the same. Having birthday parties for children and doing favors is not giving charity."

“Neither is helping someone you love in a time of need."

Leaning back against the balcony wall, Carol folded her arms across her middle. “I can't take your money. I'll feel like a gold digger."

R.J. sat on one of the wrought iron chairs. “Did you feel like a gold digger when you took out a second mortgage?"

“Of course not."

“Well then, let me refinance your mortgage. We'll draw up a repayment agreement—"

“But for what my building is worth, what's the point? It needs a lot more work than just the roof. I've been nickel and diming it for years. I can't possibly afford what the payments would be to cover an improvement loan that size."

“Let's see,” R.J. said going to his study.

Carol followed and stood behind his desk as he took a calculator and recorded the figures on a legal pad.

“I'm prepared to extend the loan to what we can assume will be your retirement age and lower the interest to the current prime rate. If we factor in the balance of your current loan and add enough to make the necessary improvements, using the discount I get from my local construction contacts, I estimate your monthly payments to be this."

Carol was impressed. “It's only a hundred dollars a month more than what I'm paying the bank for a ten year loan."

R.J. smiled up at her. “See how much you save when you eliminate the middle man?"

“It would have to be a real loan, with collateral."

“I'll expect the deed to your property when we close the deal. And if it makes you feel better, I am prepared to turn you over to a collection agency if you fall into arrears."

Carol grinned and sat on his lap. “It works for me."

* * * *

As Carol's long time worries over the day care center were eased, she began to realize that Kim and Terry had been right all along. It was foolish for her to be afraid that R.J. was anything at all like her father, or the men of her acquaintance who'd left their women the moment “something better” came along.

R.J. Mansfield was one of a kind, and she allowed herself the luxury of living the Cinderella life he offered, as spring became summer. She even took a page from his romantic notebook and made secret arrangements for his birthday at the end of August.

R.J. looked up from his paperwork, obviously annoyed that his assistant David Martin had entered the office without being announced.

“Mr. Mansfield. There are—people—here to see you—"

Before he could finish, he was shoved aside by Jimmy and Kim Bakker, both clad in black pinstriped suits, with black shirts, white neckties and black fedoras pulled low over their faces.

“Da Boss wants you should come wit us, Mansfield,” Jimmy said in an atrocious Bronx accent.

Kim sat on the edge of R.J.'s desk, cracking a wad of chewing gum. “And ya better come along peaceable like or we'll have to muss ya up. And in case youz feel like putting up a fight, we gots your little princess as collateral. She's spending the night wit Terry the Spangle."

R.J. burst into laughter, laughing even harder when he realized that his assistant was taking this seriously. “Don't worry, Martin. Alexandra and I will be fine."

“S-should I phone the police, sir?” Martin asked in a whisper as R.J. passed him on his way to the door.

Kim reached into her pocket and produced her badge. “I am the police, big boy."

R.J. laughed again when Kim gave Martin an openmouthed kiss that left him looking faint.

As R.J. suspected, “Da Boss” was waiting for him in his jet.

“Thanks, fellas,” she drawled in a Mae West voice. “Stop by and see me sometime.” She escorted them out, then used the intercom to tell the pilot they were ready for take off.

R.J. let out a sigh that was half pain, half pleasure when Carol straddled his lap, the hem of her beaded black sheath rising high on her thighs. “Happy birthday, Mr. Mansfield."

“I'm sure it will be,” R.J. answered, surrendering himself to her kiss. “I take it that this is what all the whispering was about after last Sunday's dinner."

“Yep.” Carol ran her fingers through his hair. “Did you get the present I had delivered this morning?"

Grinning, R.J. untucked the tail of his silk shirt and pulled up the waistband of his undershorts. “I've never had Snoopy boxers."

“I dragged Terry through the mall for three straight hours last week, saying,'what do you get the man who has everything'?"

“I couldn't have made a better choice myself.” He kissed Carol again and wondered if they had enough time to celebrate a bit more intimately. “Just where are we going?"

“It's a surprise. And you'd better get that leer off your face, because we'll be there before you know it.” She playfully ruffled his hair. “You'll have to wait until after dessert."

“Another surprise?"

“Yep."

Carol received a surprise of her own when the waiter at the posh New York restaurant brought the dessert she'd ordered when she'd made the reservation.

“Why does my chocolate mousse have a cover over it when yours doesn't?"

“I have no idea,” R.J. said innocently. “However it might have something to do with the stop your ‘muscle’ allowed me to make on the way to the airport."

“What did you—” Carol gasped when she removed the small silver cover to reveal an opened ring box. “I ... oh ... wow ... I..."

“I've decided to accept that marriage proposal?” R.J. offered, reaching across the table to place the oval solitaire on Carol's shaking left hand.

“Royce, darling! Can congratulations be in order?” Briana Davis Wade said loudly as she approached the table followed by an older gentleman.

R.J. gave Briana and her companion a cold stare. “As a matter of fact congratulations are in order, Briana. Carol and I going to be married."

Briana looked down her nose at Carol. “You're the nanny, aren't you?"

“I own a day care center,” Carol corrected.

“Of course.” Briana bent and kissed R.J. full on the lips. “Good luck, darling."

R.J. turned his attention back to Carol.

Briana's companion cleared his throat. “Won't you introduce me to your lovely fiancé, Mansfield?"

“Shall we go?” R.J. asked Carol.

“All right..."

The gray hairdo man R.J. was trying desperately to ignore seized Carol's hand. “Congratulations on your engagement, Miss..."

“Bakker. Carol Bakker."

The man chuckled. “Carol Bakker. How charming. I am Malcolm Simmons. You've undoubtedly heard R.J. refer to me as ‘the old barracuda'."

Carol pulled her hand away seconds after the man kissed it. He'd flicked his tongue across her skin! “He may have mentioned you. If you'll excuse us,” she said flatly, moving to R.J.'s side.

“Are you all right?” she asked once they were outside.

R.J. nodded as he held the taxi door open for Carol. “I'm sorry they ruined the wonderful evening you planned,” he said getting in beside her.

Carol snuggled close to him. “They didn't because I won't let them."

“Neither will I,” R.J. answered, trying vainly to silence the nagging voice which tormented him on the way back to the airport.

What is Simmons up to now and why is Briana helping him?

Chapter 11

“I can't wait until we get upstairs,” Carol murmured in R.J.'s ear before teasing him with the tip of her tongue. He shivered as he always did, but when she kissed his mouth his response was lukewarm at best. She pulled back and felt his forehead. “What's wrong?"

“It's nothing."

Carol followed him out of the private elevator and to the door of the condo. “Maybe it's dinner. You really shouldn't eat your steak so rare."

“Perhaps that's it,” he said, unlocking the door. “It will pass."

“If not, you're seeing a doctor,” Carol said, catching sight of the note the housekeeper had posted to the mirror just inside the door. She handed the square of yellow paper to R.J. “It looks like someone sent you a present while we were gone. Maybe it's from your parents or sister."

R.J. answered with a pained smile. “I doubt that. My father e-mailed the office yesterday with his greeting, such as it was."

Taking the note from his hand, Carol let it flutter to the floor then loosened his tie and pulled off his suit jacket. “Why don't you see what it is while I slip into something more comfortable?"

R.J. nodded, forcing a smile, angry with himself for his inexplicable lack of desire. His loud obscenity a few minutes later brought Carol rushing through the door which connected his study to the bedroom.

“What happened?"

R.J.'s brown eyes were blazing as he held up the thing he'd unwrapped. It was four-foot long barracuda mounted on a wooden plaque, the words Matrix International written in white paint on the fish's side. “I'll get Simmons for this!"

Carol stared at the fish as R.J. reached for the phone. “Matrix is that electronics company you were talking about a few days ago, isn't it?"

R.J. ignored the question. “Martin, Simmons knows about Matrix. Find out how,” he said, grinding the words out. “As soon as the Market opens get the rest of the stock we need to take control. I don't care how. Put it into off-shore accounts if you have to. Just do it!"

He slammed down the phone and knocked the stuffed barracuda to the floor, then sat behind his desk and punched information into his computer.

Carol stepped closer to the desk. The abbreviated company names and fractional numbers he called up made more sense to her now than they had a few months ago. “You're selling off your stock?"

“I'll have to. I need capital to get control of Matrix before Simmons does.” He punched more keys on the computer. “I'm going to purchase shares of Matrix in your and Alexandra's names."

Carol watched silently as he typed in the names of her brother, sister, and Terry along with figures. “Using us to buy more shares of stock and that business about off-shore accounts is illegal, isn't it?"

R.J. looked up. “I have to, Carol. I have to do what it takes to beat Simmons on this."

“Even if it means breaking the law?” Carol asked weakly, rubbing her bare arms. “What if you lose? What if you get caught?"

“I won't,” R.J. said, turning his attention back to his monitor. “What I'm doing isn't morally wrong. I can be good for Matrix. To Simmons, raiding corporations is a hobby. As soon as he gets control he'll liquidate. He doesn't care about the business. I do and I'll have it, whatever it takes."

“Whatever it takes?” she repeated quietly, rubbing the goose bumps from her arms.

“Yes,” he hissed. “Why don't you get to sleep? I'll be here for some time."

* * * *

Dawn broke over Boston and Carol watched the shifting light patterns play against the sheer bedroom curtains. She'd been up all night, too anxious to sleep. R.J. was still at his desk and she could hear the steady click of the keyboard keys coming through the partially opened door.

Laying her head upon his untouched pillow, she stared at the engagement ring he'd given her and hoped that the gentle, caring man she loved so deeply was not turning back into the ruthless industrialist who put business affairs before all else, her and Alexandra included.

* * * *

R.J. glanced at the photograph of Carol and Alexandra on his desk, and realized that he couldn't remember the last time he'd tucked his daughter in or made love to Carol. In fact, he's spent so many nights here or on the couch in his study that he couldn't even recall the last time they'd slept in the same bed. He broke off from his thoughts when his secretary buzzed the intercom.

“The car is waiting to take you to Mr. Simmons’ house, sir."

* * * *

“And to what do I owe this honor?” Carol asked, switching on the bedside lamp.

R.J. let the sarcasm pass and dropped his jacket and tie to the padded bench at the foot of the bed. He unbuttoned his shirt. “I made a deal with Simmons,” he said, untying his shoes. “It cost a small fortune, which I'd planned to use to build Matrix up and I'll have to find a way to recoup the loss.” He finished undressing then climbed into bed. “It's two in the morning. Why are you awake?"

“I haven't been sleeping well lately."

R.J. caressed Carol's cheek, his heart breaking as he noticed the dark circles under her eyes. “I'm sorry for neglecting you and Alexandra, but it couldn't be helped. Am I forgiven?"

“Yes,” Carol said softly, laying her head upon his chest.

Carol feared that she'd been dreaming when she woke in an empty bed. The door to R.J.'s study was ajar and she heard him at the computer. Maybe it had been a dream. Maybe these entire eighteen days had been a dream.

R.J. stopped typing at the sound of Carol's voice.

“I thought that business with Malcolm Simmons was over."

“I'm just clearing up a few details.” He gestured to the printer she was standing beside. “Could you grab that for me?"

Carol glanced at it before handing it over. “Profit figures for Arnco?"

R.J. took the paper. “Yes. I may have to sell. Simmons put me in a real bind. I'd hoped to combine the two companies, but..."

“Arnco has been doing so well. How can you sell? What will happen to the plant, to my friends?"

R.J. gave her a questioning look. “Whatever happens will depend upon the new owner."

Carol followed when he went to the bedroom. “Three weeks ago you were talking about expanding."

“It's out of the question now. I need to rebuild my cash reserves,” he said calmly, taking a suit of clothes from the closet.

Carol nervously twisted the engagement ring on her finger. “How much money is enough, R.J.? Will you sell other companies?"

“If I have to."

“You say that as if it means nothing! We're talking about people's lives, not figures on paper or stock quotes on a computer. What will happen to the people you employ if you sell with no warning? What will they do if new owners decide to pull up and leave or let the businesses deteriorate?"

“At this moment, I don't particularly care."

He showered, dressed and left for the office without another word and Carol felt herself falling into a cold dark pit.

“I admit I'm jealous of the way he's been pushing me and Ally aside for business lately, but that's just part of it,” Carol told Terry that evening at Angel City. She twisted the diamond on her finger. “The R.J. Mansfield who nearly snapped my head off this morning is not the man who made love to me last night or who rented me Carnegie Hall."

She got up from the vinyl chair and walked across the dressing room. “I don't know if I can ever marry him, Ter,” Carol said in a voice thick with emotion. “I thought the differences in our background were going to be the problem. How can I spend the rest of my life with a man who thinks nothing of the people who depend on him for their livelihood? It's just not right."

Terry came toward her and gave her a stern motherly look. “Don't make any quick decisions, Carol. You are so close to having it all—a man who adores you, a great kid and maybe some of your own—don't throw it all away over a few lousy jobs."

Carol recoiled as if struck. “A few lousy jobs?"

“You can't be responsible for each and every person he employs. If R.J. didn't buy Arnco, for example, those people would have been out on the street months ago. People take pay cuts; people lose their jobs. That's the way life is. Think before you ruin your life. Do you honestly believe that anyone outside of me and your family is going to lose sleep over you breaking up with R.J. Mansfield?"

“That's not the point."

“It is the point, Carol,” Terry asserted. “Kim, Jimmy, and me love you to death, but even if it was our jobs on the line, I'd tell you to stick by R.J."

Carol shook her head. “You're on in ten minutes and I have a lot of paperwork to do."

“Don't do anything until you think,” Terry called.

Carol spent the next few hours thinking but still could not find the answers she sought.

“You're certainly working late tonight."

Carol looked up, startled to see R.J. standing in front of her desk. She glanced at the ledger book before her. “I still can't figure out what you find so fascinating about it all."

“Touche'.” He came to sit on the edge of the desk. “You've been on my mind all day."

“I've been thinking about you, too,” Carol said without looking up.

“Unpleasant thoughts, I'm sure."

Carol looked up expecting his expression to be hard. It was unhappy, as if he knew the track her own thoughts had been on. “R.J.—"

“Hear me out,” he asked, reaching down to take hold of her hand. “I've been a selfish S.O.B., and I apologize. I'm not terribly proud of the way I beat Simmons, but I won't make matters worse by allowing innocent people to suffer.” He paused.

“I put a few personal assets on the market to recoup what I lost on the Matrix deal. No one will lose their job."

Carol gripped R.J.'s hand. “You'll never know how much that means to me."

“I think I do, and I'd like to explain if I could."

“You don't have to."

“I do,” R.J. said. “The trouble between myself and Malcolm Simmons goes back a long way, and the scars run deep.” He let go of Carol's hand and stood, his hands in his trouser pockets.

“Simmons was my mentor at one time. He taught me the ins and outs of Wall Street and helped me get where I am, but a few years ago it changed. He kept one step ahead of me, cutting me out of deals, sabotaging others. He nearly bankrupted me, and I couldn't figure out how. I had no clue as to where he'd gotten his information until the night he invited me to his penthouse in Manhattan.” R.J. paused and began to pace the small office.

“He gave me a small tissue wrapped package, and asked me to pass it on to my wife. I thought nothing of it until she opened it and her wedding ring fell out. She'd ‘lost’ it after Alexandra was born, and I believed her when she said that it had fallen off while she was bathing, although I never understood why she didn't want me to replace it."

Carol got up from her chair. “Your wife was Simmons’ spy?"

R.J. nodded. “She didn't even try to deny it. She was on her way to see him when her car went off the road.” He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “I despise that man, Carol. That is why I've been so driven these past weeks. I never meant to hurt your or Alexandra, but I couldn't help myself.” He paused and took hold of her hands.

“He may very well do this again and I can't guarantee that I won't do everything possible to stop him. I love you, Carol, but I realize how uncomfortable I've made you.” Dropping her hands he turned away. “I'll understand if you want to end our relationship."

“I thought I did, but now that I know the whole story...” Carol shrugged when he turned back toward her. “I love you and that's all that really matters.” R.J. scooped her up and his kiss banished that chill that had been surrounding her all day.

When the kiss ended, R.J. kept his arms tightly around Carol. “How would you feel about a short vacation? I'd like you to meet my family. My parents and sister are at the house in Palm Beach."

“After all the rain and cloudy days we've had this week, a few days in the sun sounds great,” Carol said.

* * * *

“Will you hang up the phone already?” Kim scolded her sister. “I hear R.J. calling you. You're going to miss your flight."

“We can't miss a private jet,” Carol said. “Are you sure you can handle the day care center while I'm gone? You need a real vacation more than I do. I can postpone this until Jimmy or Terry can cover for me."

R.J. came on the line. “Goodbye, Kim. We'll see you soon.” He hung up the phone. “Shall we go? Alexandra is already waiting by the elevator."

“Let me make sure I turned the iron off."

“You haven't used it."

Carol looked around the room for something amiss.

“You're afraid to meet my parents, aren't you?"

Carol nodded. “I'm terrified. What if they don't like me?"

“They will,” R.J. said, gently escorting her out the front door.

“Of course they will,” Carol mumbled, trying to convince herself.

Chapter 12

The Mansfield's house was cold, and the air conditioning had nothing to do with it. It looked like something out of a magazine, perfect and light and devoid of any sense of family.

R.J.'s condo was picture perfect as well, but it had personal touches, photographs, a few strategically placed mementos, but this house had nothing that couldn't have come from a museum or furniture showroom.

“That's the whirlwind tour, I'm afraid,” R.J. joked, taking Carol by the hand and leading her down the curving staircase after showing her their room. “My parents are waiting for us on the verandah."

Alexandra ran ahead, and Carol was struck by the fact that R.J.'s parents made no move to hug or kiss her, despite the fact that they hadn't seen her for over six months. The only sign of outward affection was the half smile Elizabeth Mansfield gave.

“My, but you've grown, Alexandra."

“I'm Ally now."

“Royce, why on earth are you calling her that?"

“It's a diminutive of her name, Mother. It was Carol's idea and it really is much more fitting for a small child."

“How quaint.” Elizabeth turned her cool brown eyes toward Carol. “It's a pleasure to meet you, my dear. Royce went on and on about you when he phoned to tell us you were coming for a visit."

Carol gave the older woman her brightest smile. “I'm delighted to finally get to meet you, and you, too Mr. Mansfield.” She waited for a response. He simply nodded. Carol cleared her throat. “R.J. said that your daughter and her family live nearby. I hope I'll have a chance to meet them as well."

“It's no loss if you don't,” R.J. whispered.

Carol cleared her throat again and managed a nervous smile. She looked toward R.J.'s father when he spoke.

“Perhaps you and Alexandra would like to take a walk on the beach before dinner."

“An excellent idea,” R.J. said, picking his daughter up.

“I need to speak with you about the Matrix deal, R.J."

Frowning, R.J. let Carol take Alexandra. “I'll join you in a few minutes."

“All right.” Carol drew comfort from R.J.'s slow kiss until she saw the disapproval on his parents’ faces when they parted.

Carol and Alexandra were looking for seashells when a maid appeared from the direction of the house. “Mrs. Mansfield suggested that you and Miss Alexandra freshen up for dinner."

Carol sensed that it was more an order than a suggestion but she took Ally by the hand and followed the maid nonetheless. She gave Ally a quick bath and had her change into a gaily-colored sundress before taking her own shower and dressing in a silk shell and linen blend skirt with heeled sandals.

She watched cartoons with Ally and waited until R.J. came to get them.

“Is it time to eat, Daddy? I'm hungry."

R.J. scooped Alexandra up. “Rosa will bring your dinner up in a few minutes, then Carol and I will be back up to tuck you into bed."

Ally's happy expression fell as R.J. set her down. “I'm not ‘llowed to eat at the big table here."

R.J. knelt down and gave her cheeks a playful pinch. “But you get to eat with your fingers and slurp your milk through a straw while Carol and I have to sit up straight and be nice to cranky Aunt Jacqueline and Uncle Skyler."

Ally giggled and hugged her father then stood on tiptoe until Carol bent down for a hug of her own. “Don't forget to tuck me in and read my book."

“We won't,” Carol promised. Her pleasant expression faded once she'd followed R.J, out into the hall. “Weren't you and your sister allowed to eat with your parents when you were small?"

“We were always at boarding schools, except for the holiday break when we had a Christmas Eve buffet with my parents’ friends and business associates."

“Oh,” Carol said, no longer surprised that this house was so lacking in warmth. And it was little wonder that R.J. changed the subject whenever she asked about his family.

R.J.'s sister and her husband were even more aloof than R.J.'s parents, and Carol was content to blend into the neutral background. It came as something of a shock when Jacqueline Mansfield Westcott spoke to her.

“What will you be wearing to the party, Miss Bakker?"

Carol looked at R.J. who seemed as surprised as she was. “I don't think we received any invitations, did we?"

“Should we have?” R.J. asked his sister.

“How could you forget about our parents’ wedding anniversary?"

“The same way you forgot about my birthday?"

“I didn't forget. I chose to ignore it,” Jacqueline answered with what could only be called a “killer” smile.

Carol bit her tongue to keep from grinning. What a leap this was from her own siblings heated bickering.

“If you haven't anything suitable, I'm sure Jacqueline will be happy to take you to her couturier,” Elizabeth Mansfield said.

Carol took a sip of her wine trying desperately to ignore the snub she knew she hadn't imagined. “I'm sure that won't be necessary. I brought a black dress."

Even R.J. noticed the covert look his mother and sister exchanged, and he reached over to give Carol's hand a squeeze, unaffected by the disproving look his father gave him. He set his damask napkin on the table. “Excuse us."

“They don't think I'm good enough,” Carol said as soon as they'd exited the dining room.

“Nonsense,” R.J. said, averting his gaze when Carol gave him a harsh look. “Would you like to go back to Boston?"

She did but realized that sooner or later she would have to socialize with R.J.'s family and their friends. “No. I suppose I should see what a society party is all about if we're going to be married. I'm sure you'll want to entertain business associates or friends at least once during the next fifty years or so."

R.J. laughed and swept her into a crushing embrace.

After going up to tuck Alexandra in, they went for a walk along the private beach, and Carol forgot everything the moment R.J. pulled her down to the warm sand.

“You shouldn't do that,” she protested weakly when he reached for the side zipper of her skirt. “We're outside. Someone might see. Your parents—"

“Could probably use the lesson,” he finished before cutting off the feeble protest with a searing kiss.

“I-I think I saw a boat...” This objection became a moan when R.J. undid her blouse and unhooked the front clasp of her bra, taking one pebbly nipple into his hot mouth.

“Would you feel more comfortable inside?” R.J. asked in a husky voice while he still had control of his senses. That control drifted out on the next wave as Carol reached between them to undo the fly of his trousers.

The combination of the warm sand, the tropical air, and R.J.'s burning desire sent Carol to new heights of pleasure that shook her again and again, and left her gasping for air.

“Can you ... buy ... us a beach house?"

R.J. chuckled, kissing the perspiration from her forehead. “How about an island?” he teased. “There'd be so much more beach to make love on."

“Whatever..."

* * * *

But Carol's euphoria was gone before she'd eaten her breakfast the following morning.

“Jacqueline and I will take you shopping at 10:45,” Elizabeth Mansfield said in that precisely modulated tone of hers.

“That really won't be necessary."

“I insist,” R.J.'s father said, sipping his coffee. “Alexandra will be visiting with her cousins, and I need to appropriate my son for a meeting with Senator Craig to discuss his successor at the end of his term next fall."

Carol tried to lighten the tense mood by teasing R.J. “Are you going into politics now?"

“Not that I know of,” he said glancing to his father, his mouth tensing.

“It bears consideration,” Mr. Mansfield said.

Carol had the unmistakable feeling that the choice had been made, and that R.J. would go along with it. She pushed her chair back. “Please excuse me. I'm not very hungry this morning."

She went up to the bedroom and stood out on the balcony overlooking the ocean, barely seeing the boat anchored some distance out. She wanted to go home, to retreat into the cheery, insular world she, R.J. and Alexandra shared in Boston. Her thoughts broke off when R.J. came up behind her and enfolded her in his arms.

“Are you ill?"

“Not really.” She turned, lightly clasping her hands behind his neck and exhaled a quiet sight. “I suppose I have to do the shopping thing, but I only have fifty dollars on me and a credit card that's maxed to the limit."

“How many times have I told you not to worry about such things?"

“A lot, but the thing that bugs me is the assumption that I'm going to embarrass you all by dressing in some thrift store relic or something."

“I don't think any such thing and you know it."

“That makes one of you,” Carol said, backing out of his light embrace. She leaned against the iron balcony railing. “What was that business about the Senator from Massachusetts?"

“He's planning to retire early next year, although no formal announcements have been made. My father plans to hold a summit meeting of sorts at the anniversary party this weekend to gauge the amount of financial and political backing we could expect from our associates."

Carol was openly surprised. “I had no idea you were that interested in politics."

R.J. slipped his hands into his trouser pockets. “I've always been interested. In fact I'd considered entering the political arena after college..."

Carol listened as R.J. spoke of his ideas for the future of Massachusetts in particular and the country in general, and wondered why she hadn't known any of this. While this new facet of him was exciting, it was also a little frightening, coming out of the blue as it had.

* * * *

“And how are things in Palm Beach these days?” Terry asked in an exaggerated cultured voice when Carol called the day care center to check in the following day.

“It's okay. How are things there?"

“Uh, uh, kiddo. No subject changing. What's R.J.'s family like? Are they nice?"

Carol toyed with the diamond choker she hadn't taken off since R.J. had given it to her. “They're not so much nice as polite. They are very, very polite."

“And you're complaining?"

“Not really, it's just that being around them makes me feel so—poor. Like yesterday. I got pushed into going shopping with R.J.'s mother and sister to get a dress for a big party they're having this Saturday."

“And?"

“I felt like they just wanted to make sure that I had something they considered suitable for when I meet their friends. You should have seen their faces when I looked at the dresses in that ritzy boutique and asked them where the price tags were."

“No price tags?” Terry asked. “Even Saks has price tags."

“Well this place made Saks look like a five and dime. It's owned by some little old French lady who was apprenticed to Coco Chanel."

Terry whistled.

“They have no mannequins or racks to look through. You tell ‘Madame’ if it's formal or informal, and she has live models come out with the clothes she feels will suit your shape and coloring."

“Oh man."

Carol grimaced. “You mean ‘oh brother'. The dresses were beautiful, but no matter how many times I tried to ask and put it as tactfully as I could ‘Madame’ would not tell me how much anything cost, and R.J.'s mother sort of leaned over and let me know that R.J. had a standing account, that anything I chose would be fine."

“So what did you get?"

“The plainest one, which I hope means that it was the least expensive. It's dark blue and strapless with a tight fitting top and a tea length skirt. R.J. got the bill this morning and he gave me this goofy little grin but wouldn't let me see how much it cost."

Terry laughed. “Go with the flow, girl. You'll be a knockout."

Carol breathed a weary sigh. “Yeah, well. I have to go, Ter. Mrs. Mansfield invited some of her friends for lunch and I think I'm the main course."

“Carol—"

“I'll see you soon. Hug the kids for me."

Hanging up the phone, Carol looked at her watch. There was still enough time before lunch to take a quick walk around the property. She stopped on the beach, and waved at R.J. and Ally who were going to spend the afternoon on the Mansfield's yacht. It was wonderful to see how close R.J. and his daughter had become in these few months, and she looked forward to the day that she would have children of her own.

There would be no boarding school or meals alone for her children. No holidays spent as window dressing to impress business associates or influential friends. She and R.J. would give their children the greatest gift of all—themselves.

Carol's wistful smile and thoughts for the future evaporated like a puddle in the sun when she strolled around the side of the house and overheard her name mentioned by Jacqueline and Elizabeth Mansfield who'd gone out to the tennis court for a quick set.

Curiosity kept Carol rooted to the spot behind the eight-foot hedge. The voices became more distinct as the Mansfield women approached the marble bench on the other side of the hedge.

“...I can't help but wonder if she's right for Royce, Mother. She's pleasant enough and Alexandra dotes on her, but she isn't at all like Clarice."

“True. Clarice was perfect for your brother, socially. She had the consummate knack for knowing whom to invite to parties and how to entertain them to Royce's advantage."

If you only know how she entertained that Simmons character, Carol thought. She took a step away from the hedge, stopping again when R.J.'s mother continued.

“The party this weekend will be a fine test. At least we'll know if she will be able to fit in."

“And if not?” Jacqueline asked.

There was no audible reply, and Carol counted to twenty-five before turning and walking back to the house as calmly as possible. She wrote a note for R.J.'s mother apologizing for not being able to join them for lunch after all, then spent the remainder of the afternoon in the bedroom telling herself that none of this mattered. That they didn't matter. The only people who mattered were R.J. and Ally, and she knew where she stood with them.

R.J. knocked once on the bedroom door then entered. “Carol? Are you ill? Mother said that you weren't feeling well."

Carol opened her eyes. “I'm okay. It's just a slight case of ‘future-in-law-itis'."

Grinning, R.J. sat on the bed. “Love me, love my family."

“Love you to death. Your family...” She made a so-so gesture with her hand. R.J. laughed and pulled her on top of him. She traced his lightly tanned jaw with her index finger. “I guess I need practice in dealing with new people."

R.J. smirked. “You are a terrible liar."

“And I suppose you're an expert?” she asked. “Of course I guess you'll have to become one if you plan to enter politics."

R.J. slid his hands up and down her back. “I believe you and my father will get along famously as time goes by. You both have a certain cut to the quick cynicism."

“Who would have thunk it?"

Laughing, R.J. moved his hands up under Carol's blouse. “Ally is taking a nap and there are at least four hours before dinner. However shall we pass the time, Miss Bakker?"

Carol scratched her head. “I suppose we could start planning your campaign strategy just to get a head start. Let's go look for your father.” She pretended to get up, but R.J. held her back and rolled over, pinning her beneath him.

“Let's not and say we did."

* * * *

While Carol dozed peacefully, his bare chest her pillow, R.J. stroked her silky blond hair and gazed at the shaft of sunlight reflecting off the bureau mirror. His life was perfect, absolutely perfect and, once he and Carol married it would be that much better. And he could hardly wait to embellish his perfect life with more children and perhaps a long-term seat in Congress. Perhaps a run at the Presidency.

He smiled down at Carol, wondering what she would say when he told her that his long range plans included making her the First Lady of the land. His smile broadened as he imagined appointing her brother the Surgeon General and perhaps her sister the Secretary of Defense. For Terry Wallach it would have to be—

His playful thoughts skidded to a halt as his father's words of yesterday hit him head on. We both know that the shenanigans of Eddie Craig and his hormone driven family have turned off enough voters to swing Presidential elections into the next millennium. Before we get too far into the man's political bed, I need to know if we have any problems to worry about with you. Have you any dirty paper trails that need burying or any obscene skeletons rattling about in some closet I don't know about? If so, tell me. Let's get the damage control groundwork in place now.

Really, Father. Do you think so little of me? There isn't anything at all that I regret having done.

Chapter 13

“Ta da!” Carol exclaimed, twirling around as she exited the mirror-lined dressing room adjacent to R.J.'s bedroom. She stopped, her bright smile falling when she saw the way he was staring blankly. “You hate it, don't you? They charged way too much, didn't they? I'll take it back. You go to the party. I'll just stay up here..."

R.J.'s attention snapped to her. “I'm sorry. I didn't hear you.” His gaze swept over Carol, the tenseness drifting from his body as he stood. “You look fabulous."

“Don't I always?” Carol's momentary joy faded again when she saw that his thoughts were drifting off once more. She came forward, touching the back of her hand to his forehead. “You look like you're going to be sick. Should I call a doctor?"

R.J. shook his head. “I was just thinking about the party and meeting with Senator Craig and his people."

“Is something wrong? Do you want to talk about it—"

“You look fabulous,” R.J. repeated, ending the discussion. He reached into his tuxedo jacket and removed a small jewelry box. Handing it to Carol, he reached out and took the gold ball earrings from her ears, slipped them into his pocket, then opened the box she held.

She gasped at the sight of the diamond stud earrings. “Oh, R.J., you can't keep doing this. First the necklace, then the engagement ring."

“Inexpensive baubles,” he said, sliding the earrings into her ears. With a gentle prod, he turned her toward the bureau mirror. “Perhaps a bracelet next."

Carol pulled his hands around her waist. “You have to stop spoiling me like this."

“Never. Making you happy is too much fun.” R.J. turned her for a kiss. “I suppose we should get down to the party.'

“I suppose,” Carol said, her lack of enthusiasm echoing his. She let him lead her to the door, stopping on the threshold. “You're not worried that I might embarrass you in front of your friends and family are you?"

“Of course not. Whatever made you think such a thing?"

Carol shrugged and held his hand tighter. “You seemed so preoccupied a few minutes ago and I wondered."

“The people you're going to meet are just people. There are no ogres waiting in the wings—my sister the obvious exception."

Carol laughed and followed him out of the room, giving him a puzzled look when he stopped suddenly. “What is it?"

“Speaking of ogres reminded me that Malcolm Simmons was the best man at my parents’ wedding. They've undoubtedly invited him."

“It's a big house. I'm sure we can avoid him,” Carol said hopefully.

R.J. sighed. “I doubt it, especially with Eddie Craig coming. He and that old barracuda practically run politics in Massachusetts. How could I have forgotten?"

“Because you were too busy thinking sinful thoughts about me?” Carol teased, wanting to lighten his mood.

R.J. managed a small grin. “Exactly.” He took a deep breath, slipped her arm through his then continued toward the stairs.

Carol clung to R.J.'s arm as they descended the curving staircase, very much aware that she was “on display” as the first guests arrived.

“Your knuckles are turning white."

“I can't let go. My knees are shaking so bad, I'll probably bounce myself across the room."

R.J.'s burst of laughter drew even more unwanted attention Carol's way.

“And you must be the young woman R.J. has been raving about."

Carol looked at the tall, silver-haired woman who'd come up beside them. “I suppose,” she said quietly, liking the woman immediately when she gave R.J. a playful punch in the arm.

“Have you been pulling my Johnny's leg? I thought your fiancé was vivacious, with an infectious laugh, a devastating smile, and so on and so forth.” She turned back toward Carol. “Don't be shy. Introduce yourself. I'm not some sharp-tongued harpy like other women of my acquaintance, who shall remain nameless,” she said, indicating R.J.'s mother and sister with an exaggerated nod of her head. She smiled brightly and waved when they noticed.

Carol relaxed, feeling as though she'd just met Terry's long lost mother. She shook the woman's hand. “I'm Carol Bakker and I'm usually not so nervous."

“I'm Cynthia Harris, bon vivant, jetsetter, major stockholder of R.J.'s conglomerate, and the wife of his most loyal board member, not necessarily in that order.” She turned back to R.J. “Let me educate this innocent child in the wicked ways of our set while you, my husband, and that single-minded father of yours go cut your nefarious business deals or whatever it is you have planned this evening."

She turned back to Carol. “Rule number one—there is always an ulterior motive for a society party—two motives actually—money and power. Of course, they are two halves of the same coin."

Carol allowed herself to be swept away by Cynthia Harris. She thoroughly enjoyed her wry observations of the other party guests, such as the woman in a black velvet dress who was certain to sit quietly in a corner with a single glass of champagne like some ancient sentinel.

“No one ever issues Emma an invitation, she simply materializes, but only at the very best gatherings. If she fails to make an appearance, you are deemed a crashing bore, and cut out of the loop until she deigns to grace you with her presence."

Cynthia gestured toward a man across the room who was deep in conversation with a stunning young woman. “Whatever you do, don't let old Norton corner you after he's had a few. He seems to have a nasty habit of spilling his drink down at least one woman's cleavage and is only too eager to help dry with his ever ready handkerchief."

Thanks to Cynthia Harris’ bubbling personality, Carol was more at ease as the party progressed. These people were just regular people after all. They had the same quirks, and ranges of individuality as anyone else she'd met. By the time R.J. reappeared, she was as comfortable here as she was at home.

“You're certainly enjoying yourself."

“Thanks to Mrs. Harris—Cynthia."

R.J. slid his arm around Cynthia's waist. “I owe you."

“When haven't you?” she joked, giving him a playful swat. “I've pulled your keister out of the fire so many times you owe me well into your next three incarnations.” She took his arm and draped it around Carol's shoulders. “Why don't you young lovers go find a dark corner and neck? Better yet, give her a big wet one while your mother is looking. It will get her really p.o.'d."

R.J. took Cynthia up on her suggestion, sweeping Carol into his arms for a fiery kiss much to his mother's chagrin.

Carol was breathless when they parted. “People are staring."

“Let them,” R.J. said, leading her toward the French doors and out to the verandah.

Carol's happy mood waned when Bradley Davis approached them some time later.

“Congrats, old man. Briana told me that you're engaged. When is the big day?"

“We haven't set the date yet,” R.J. said, putting his arm protectively around Carol's waist as Briana and Malcolm Simmons came out onto the terrace with his parents.

Briana rushed over, kissing R.J. on the mouth. “Congratulations, darling. I just heard the news today."

Carol and R.J. exchanged a puzzled look before he responded.

“Unless my memory is failing, Briana, you were the first to know. You arrived on the scene as I was giving Carol her engagement ring."

She sidled up to him. “I don't mean that, silly. I'm talking about your latest business coup."

R.J. cast a sideways look at Malcolm Simmons. “Surely you've heard about Matrix before today,” he said crisply.

R.J. tensed as Simmons laughed. It was a loud, spiteful laugh that drew the attention of everyone on the terrace, and Carol had the feeling that was just the way it was meant to be.

“Don't play coy, son,” Simmons said. “You know she doesn't mean Matrix. She's talking about that sleazy little strip joint you bought in Boston this spring. The one Brad had his bachelor party at."

Bradley Davis pointed at Carol. “That's where I know you from! You're the stripper!"

Carol felt the blood drain from her face, the life seep from her bones, as all the little pieces fell into place in agonizing slow motion. “Oh, Dear Lord,” she whispered, trying to force her gaze away from the triumphant gleam in the eyes of Brad Davis’ sister. The woman looked like a circling shark closing in on its prey inch by inch.

R. J. touched her arm. “Carol—"

Briana Davis Wade drowned out R.J.'s choked voice. “A schoolteacher by day, a prostitute by night. Oh, R.J. whatever were you thinking?"

Carol slapped Briana's face. “I was a waitress, not a prostitute and I only danced that one night because my friend was too sick to perform."

R.J. tried to take hold of Carol's arm. She jerked away, leveling him with a vicious look. “Don't touch me!"

Struggling to keep hold of her composure and the last shreds of her dignity, Carol stepped defiantly through the murmuring crowd and descended the steps to the beach. She kicked off her high heels and strode as far from the house as she could, knowing that she wouldn't be able to contain her tears much longer.

What a fool she'd been! How could she not have seen it? It was all so obvious—Angel City's sudden sale, Vince and Arizona's firings, her too-good-to-be-true promotion to manager, Jimmy's being thrown out of his apartment for no reason—

Oh, but there was a reason, wasn't there? The same reason that all these things had happened—for the convenience of R.J. Mansfield.

“Oh, Lord,” Carol whispered, the tears beginning to stream down her burning cheeks. Briana was right. She was no better than a prostitute because R.J. had bought her lock, stock, and barrel, for his pleasure.

She cried until there were no more tears, unaware that R.J. had found her until he tried to comfort her.

“Don't touch me!” She screamed, scrambling to her feet. “Go away! I hate you!"

“Carol, please. You must let me explain—"

“What is there to explain? You bought Angel City so I could go to the ballet. You fired Arizona because she figured out the truth I was too stupid to see. You fired Vince and gave me his job to keep me home at night and give me more money. And you even had my brother evicted so that I would move in with you. Didn't you?"

“I did it because I love you."

“Love?” she asked. “You used me. You used my friends, my family.” She took off her engagement ring and shoved it into his hand then did the same with her necklace and earrings. “You hate Malcolm Simmons so much, and yet you're even more underhanded than he is. You buy and sell people just for the hell of it. You disgust me."

R.J. lowered his head. “I disgust myself."

“Now why do I find that hard to believe?” Carol asked sharply before walking away.

She went into the house through the kitchen, all too aware that the gossip had spread to the servants. She went up the back stairs, then changed into casual clothes, throwing the remainder of her things into her suitcase. She stopped in Alexandra's room before leaving.

“I love you, Ally. I'm going to miss you so much,” she whispered, bending down to plant a tender kiss on the sleeping girl's forehead.

Like a zombie, Carol walked out of the house, going until she found a pay phone to call a taxi. In a fog, she entered the airport and overcharged her credit card to get a one way ticket back to Boston.

At Logan she phoned her brother, sister, and Terry, but no one was home. She couldn't go back to her house because Jimmy had her only key and she'd given the keys to the day care center to Kim. The condo was definitely out of the question. There was only one place left to spend the night. The place this nightmare began. Angel City.

Chapter 14

The assistant manager was closing the club when Carol arrived.

“You're not supposed to be back for four more days,” he said unlocking the front door and reaching for her bag.

Carol let him carry her suitcase to the office. “It's a long story, Frank.” She flipped on the desk lamp and dropped into her chair, cradling her head in her hands. She looked up when she did not hear Frank leave.

“Can I get you a drink or something? You look like you need one."

“I'll be fine. You'd better head home. You know how your wife worries."

He nodded. “If you need me..."

“I know,” she said, sickened that this man whom she barely knew outside of work, was more concerned for her well being than the man she'd so foolishly fallen in love with.

She laid her head on the desk and when a knock sounded on the office door she didn't look up. “Please go away, Frank."

“It's not Frank,” Terry said, coming inside. “I thought that was you getting out of the cab so I came right back.” Her jaw dropped when Carol looked up. “Is it R.J.? Ally? What happened?"

Tears trickled down Carol's cheeks. “It's over, Ter. It's all over."

* * * *

The last party guest had just departed when R.J. returned to the house. He asked one of the maids if she'd seen Carol come in. “I searched the grounds twice, I checked the yacht—"

“She left."

R.J. turned at the sound of his mother's voice. “Evidently, she packed her things and returned to where she belongs."

“She belongs with me."

Elizabeth's Mansfield frowned. “Hardly."

“Oh, Royce, how could you?” his sister Jacqueline asked coming into the entrance hall. “How could you bring that sort of person here?"

R.J. advanced upon his sister, his fists clenched at his sides. “For your information, Carol Bakker is the sort of person who loved me for who I am, not the size of my bank balance. She is the sort of person who cares what I think and how I feel."

“Don't take that tone of voice with your mother and sister,” R.J.'s father said, coming in from the verandah.

“Then I'll take it elsewhere,” he grumbled, grabbing a half-empty bottle of champagne from the hand of the maid he passed on his way to the stairs.

In his room R.J. sunk down to the edge of the bed, picking up the blue silk dress Carol had laid across the coverlet. “It wasn't supposed to be this way,” he whispered, rubbing the material across his cheek. A part of him died inside when the delicate scent of her perfume drifted toward his nose. And he cried for the first time in his adult life.

* * * *

Carol dropped a cup of apple juice when Alexandra ran in the door of the day care center Tuesday morning.

“Can I stay? Daddy said I had to ask first to make sure. I don't wanna go to ‘nother school. Please say yes."

“Of course you can stay."

Alexandra ran back outside. “She said yes, Daddy!"

Carol stood at the side of the window and watched as R.J. knelt and hugged his daughter. Ally ran back toward the door as he stood. Carol stepped back, her heart breaking when his ashen face scanned the front of the building before he got into the waiting limousine.

Her heart ached even more when a florist's van pulled up as she was serving the children a picnic lunch outdoors.

“The jerk is gonna try to soothe you with every flower in Boston,” Terry grumbled watching the driver open the back doors. She grumbled again when the driver presented Carol with a single yellow rose. “So now he plays Mr. Modest."

“Shut up, Ter,” Carol said quietly, as she read the small card attached to the flower. It said simply, “I'm so sorry."

“Want me to pitch it?” Terry asked, holding out her hand.

“Not right now."

* * * *

Carol was holding the rose later that evening when Terry phoned from Angel City. “That reporter that was hanging around last night is back. He wants to film inside. Frank wants to know what we should do."

“I don't know,” Carol said. “I quit, remember?"

Terry let out an exasperated sigh. “What would you do?"

“I don't know, Ter,” Carol answered sharply. “What's it for?"

“It must be some documentary. The guy is some stuffy British type. He looks kind of familiar. I think he's on the level."

“I guess you can let him in, but maybe you should get permission. Call R.J. or his assistant."

“As if,” Terry mumbled, hanging up.

* * * *

R.J. glanced from the small calendar on his desk to the photograph of Carol and Alexandra then back to the calendar again. She'd been gone from his life for two weeks. Two weeks of sleepless nights, half-eaten meals and wildly fluctuating emotions. Emotions which ran the gamut from anger at Carol's failure to grasp the entire scope of what he'd been trying to accomplish, to a deep self-loathing he'd only sampled in the wake of Malcolm Simmons’ revelation.

There was no way to atone for this. Carol would never forgive him. Although he'd been trying to deny it since the beginning, her humble origins and what had seemed to be a lack of refinement had put off a part of him. He'd told himself that it was in Carol's best interest to elevate her position at Angel City, to give her a small “push” so that she'd leave behind her inadequate home and surround herself with the luxury she so richly deserved.

He hadn't seen anything wrong in using her name, or that of her siblings to secure his own victory in the Matrix incident, despite the fact that they would undoubtedly be brought into the Security Exchange Commission's investigation he'd gotten wind of this morning.

“It wasn't supposed to be like this,” he whispered to the photographic Carol. “I'd change it all if only I could."

* * * *

Across town Carol was sitting at her old kitchen table, petting the calico kitten on her lap, trying not to feel the harsh stares of her sister and best friend who'd come across the rose she'd been keeping in the back of her freezer.

“Tell me you're not thinking of going back to that jerk."

“Seriously,” Kim agreed, sitting down. “Forget him and forget everything I said about him being a different kind of man. He's a user, plain and simple. You don't need that. No one does."

“Exactly,” Terry said, dropping Carol's rose into the trash can beside the sink.

Her unusually pale face tight with strain, Carol set the kitten on the floor and retrieved her flower, returning it to its place behind the ice cube trays. “It still takes two to tango, people. I'm just as much at fault. I should have seen it. You did,” she said, turning toward Terry.

“Not really. I thought it was kind of weird about the club and Vince and all, but it was just a feeling."

“A feeling? If anyone should have had a feeling that the pieces were going into place too easily, it should have been me.” Carol paused and saw the unspoken agreement on the faces of her sister and friend.

“I still don't trust him,” Kim said, getting up. She put an empty glass in the sink. “I told you what my friend downtown said."

“Oh, come on,” Carol said sharply. “R.J. Mansfield has better things to do than set you up for something. Why would he even think to do such a thing? Do you think he's some crazed leader of a drug cartel?"

“Hey, the guy has worldwide connections."

Terry let out a shrill whistle. “Whoa and back it up. What are you talking about?"

Carol shook her head and got up to feed her pets. “It's crazy."

“It's not,” Kim asserted. She leaned against the sink and filled Terry in. “I have a friend who is a secretary down at Internal Affairs, and she said she heard some undercover type mention me to one of the headhunters in connection with kickbacks, and money laundering. You tell me what that sounds like."

“A set-up,” Terry said quietly.

Carol felt their eyes boring into her back. “Be serious! He would not do that!"

The strained silence that followed was broken by the sound of Carol's brother. “Carol, come here. On second thought. Stay put."

Carol rushed to the living room just as Jimmy was hitting the power button on the remote control. She turned the television back on. A commercial was playing. “What was it?"

“Nothing,” Jimmy said flatly, trying to reach for the remote.

Carol snatched it away as the commercial ended and the tabloid news program began.

“I knew I saw that guy before!” Terry shouted. “That little sleaze—"

“Sssh,” Carol said, turning up the volume.

R.J. Mansfield, the billionaire industrialist rumored to be the handpicked successor to Senator Edward Fitzpatrick Craig, has always been thought of as a ‘white knight’ on Wall Street. But it appears that this ‘knight’ has had some considerable tarnishing of his armor in recent months. For the details we go to Brian Haver live in Boston.

The reporter was in front of Angel City standing before a gaudily colored poster, advertising nude dancing. It was a poster Carol thought she'd relegated to the trash bin.

Ever since their arrival on the Mayflower, the Mansfield men have taken great pride in selecting their wives from families with blood every bit as blue as their own. However, the latest male of the line has chosen to use a different definition of blue.

The camera cut to a film shot inside the club. Terry was in her glory, clad in little but a sequined g-string and a black censor strip across her bosom. She was sliding her body up and down the metal pole at the center of the stage.

This is where Royce Jensen Mansfield went shopping for a prospective bride.

Carol, Jimmy, Kim, and Terry gasped in unison as a hazy videotape appeared. A videotape shot at Brad Davis’ bachelor party.

* * * *

“Really, Father. I have important things to do than watch some television—"

“Do it!” R.J.'s father ordered.

R.J. turned on the television in the bedroom and flipped through the channels until he reached the cable super station owned by Malcolm Simmons.

“Royce. Royce."

R.J. let the phone slip from his hand when he saw Carol. “Damn you, Simmons,” he hissed, his eyes fixed to the screen as the video showed money being shoved into the waistband of Carol's bikini bottom, the tape carefully edited to leave out the look of shock that had been on her face.

The tape cut to the seconds following Bradley's attempted molestation of her, closing in on the moment when R.J. handed her two hundred-dollar bills. It ended before she returned the money, resuming with the tabloid reporter speaking over a shot of the day care center.

A stripper by night, a surrogate mother by day. These are the two sides of Miss Carol Bakker whose inborn drive for success matches that of her intended...

The camera cut to file footage of a Boston housing project.

It was on these means streets of Dorchester that Carol Bakker acquired her own business savvy which she used to pull herself and her siblings out of poverty following the desertion of her father and the death of her mother.

The reporter was shown talking to an elderly woman identified as a former high school teacher.

Carol was an excellent student but always preoccupied. She worked part time and eventually dropped out before graduation. She said that she would do whatever it took to get a better life for herself and her brother and sister.

Another hazy videotape was shown. It was dark and the scene was of a couple on a beach. A couple undressing and laying down on the sand.

The reporter was outside Angel City again.

Whatever it takes has remained Miss Bakker's motto.

A woman whose face was masked by a grayish blob was shown and identified as a former co-worker.

I guess her and Mansfield were partners. She went home with some guy he sent once before buying the club. She started going to Mansfield's house after we closed, and the next thing you know she shows up wearing diamonds galore. Me, and a couple other people were fired the next day and she took over managing Angel City. Go figure.

On the screen appeared still photos of R.J.'s condo, which had appeared in a leading architectural magazine some years earlier.

Whatever it takes has also driven Royce Jensen Mansfield from his days at prestigious European schools to the top of the business world, a world which is having its foundations shaken since the takeover of Matrix International

“We'll sue the bastards,” Terry said, clicking off the television. “We'll sue for libel or slander and whatever else there is."

Jimmy and Kim echoed the sentiment.

“No,” Carol said quietly.

The other three fell silent. “What?” they asked in unison.

Carol looked up. “I said no. I can't sue them because it's all true."

“True?” Kim asked. “True?"

“Are you nuts, Sis?” Jimmy said.

Terry threw up her hands. “True? They implied that you've been working on your back since you were a kid just to get ahead in the world."

Carol shuddered. “That may be what people think, but they never said it. I did dance at that party. A man did put money in my bikini. R.J. did try to slip me those bills. He gave me the diamonds. He bought the club, he fired the people who were giving me a hard time...” Her words dissolved into a sigh.

She blinked back tears of frustration. “It's true. It happened. All of it. R.J. and I made love on the beach in Florida..."

* * * *

“What do you mean I have no grounds for a lawsuit?” R.J. bellowed at his lawyer. “Why is innuendo not an issue? It's the entire issue! They're implying that I planned to marry a prostitute. Carol will be crushed by this trash! Her family will be hurt! Can't she sue? I'll pay for it, just name her as plaintiff—"

R.J. stopped as his lawyer went on with the legal precedents. “What? Yes the business with Matrix is true. I've heard that an investigation is underway—You'd prefer not to handle that type of case?"

R.J. tensed. “Oh, that isn't your area of expertise. Well, of course I understand,” he muttered before throwing the cordless phone to the floor.

Stifling an embittered growl, not wanting to wake Alexandra, he went out onto the balcony, cursing under his breath. He cursed himself, his actions, but most of all he cursed Malcolm Simmons for hurting Carol further.

Perhaps she hadn't seen the report. Perhaps—

He got up, his groan drifting on the fall breeze. This type of filth would get to her and it would hurt her even worse than he'd hurt her. He leaned over the balcony wall, feeling as if he would throw up.

“Don't jump—yet."

R.J. straightened and looked at Cynthia Harris. “What do you want?"

“To save that adorable keister of yours—again,” She gestured to the wrought iron chair pushed under the small glass-topped table.

With a frown, R.J. pulled out the chair for her.

“Thank you,” she said calmly. “First of all, I think you should pay the price for that Matrix mess. You know how I feel about that type of thing."

“Cynthia, please—"

“But,” she said, cutting him off. “I was given a private screening of that piece of tabloid trash, and I cannot sit by and watch that sweet girl be dragged through the muck with you..."

* * * *

Carol stopped and stared at the ringing telephone, as she was about to leave the day care center. She'd let the machine get it.

“Carol, I know you're still there,” R.J. said. “Please pick up the phone. Just for a moment. Please."

Carol bit hard on her lower lip. He sounded as hollow as she'd been feeling.

“Carol? Please?"

With a sigh she picked up the receiver. “I know you didn't mean for this to happen but—"

“No apology will ever be enough, but could I see you? Just for moment. I'm right outside."

“No. I don't think so."

“Please? For a moment? I just need to see you once more. Just once."

Carol struggled with her emotions. “Just for a minute."

“Thank you."

Carol hung up the phone and leaned against her desk. Her mouth was filled with invisible sand and her knees were shaking worse than they'd been the night of his parent's anniversary party. She clamped her eyes shut, trying to hold the tears in check.

“Carol?"

She looked up, a tiny gasp escaping her. “You look awful,” she whispered, taking in his beard stubble and the wrinkled condition of his jeans and sweatshirt.

“I could say the same."

In the silence that followed, Carol considered throwing herself into his arms if only to cry on his strong shoulder, but then her practical side reminded her that if it wasn't for his actions she wouldn't have the urge to cry.

R.J. cleared his throat. “I do love you, Carol, and I only wanted the best for you."

“The road to hell, etc.,” she said, tearing her eyes away from his drawn, handsome face.

“It's a road I've come to know quite well,” he said, offering a feeble smile when she looked up. “It has been a most unpleasant week."

“Tell me about it. I hope my fifteen minutes of infamy are about up."

“I'm sure they are."

She turned and began to shuffle some papers on her desk. “If you're here about this month's loan payment, I planned to mail it tomorrow. Terry is lending me the money until I can get another part time job."

“If you find something soon, perhaps you could see if they have an opening for me."

“Please go,” she said miserably.

“I'm serious. I really do need a job."

Carol turned, her expression a mixture of doubt and concern. The doubt evaporated when she saw how shaken R.J. was. “What are you saying?"

R.J. stepped closer and was relieved that Carol did not move away. “Did you know about the SEC investigation?"

She nodded. “Kimmy thought she was being investigated but then it just stopped. I guess they're going to come after me—"

“No. The investigations have stopped. I made a deal."

“You're going to jail?"

“No, but I have fines to pay. Many large fines to pay.” He paused. “In essence I'm broke. My Board of Directors has graciously given me a severance package payable within five years, but my other assets, the condo, the London house, the jet, the artwork, everything but Alexandra's and my clothing is going on the auction block next week.” He paused, shaking off the chill that his reversal of fortune caused.

He looked at Carol, truly realizing what she'd spent a lifetime dealing with, and more than ever he admired her inner strength and prayed that she would help him find his own.

Pulling out one of the small wooden chairs the children used, he sat and stared down at the floor as the gravity of the situation finally hit home. “What will I do? How will I raise Ally? We have no home. Cynthia Harris offered to buy the condo and let me use it, but it's her influence and contacts that are keeping me out of jail. I wouldn't feel right taking more help from her."

Carol stepped away and busied herself with straightening the shelf holding craft supplies. R.J. took a deep breath and watched her, waiting for her to turn around and respond. He should have known better than to come here. He should have known better than to turn to her. She had every right to hit him with the cliché I told you so and chuck him out the door. He was certain that's what she intended to do when Carol at last stopped with her busy work and approached

His fear began to dissipate when she turned and walked over to kneel in front of him and took hold of his hands.

“The time the roof fell in over there,” she said pointing toward the day care center's new addition. “A wise man told me that even serious problems could have simple solutions."

“A wise man?” R.J. asked, smiling when she made a “so-so” gesture with her hand. “What might that simple solution be?"

“For you and Ally to move in with me."

“You're sure?” R.J. asked, certain that he was dreaming. Carol gave him a smile that restored the wealth of happiness he'd lost the night she left him on the beach. “I hate to be a burden, but I have a feeling that my father plans to hold up my first severance payment to teach me a lesson."

Carol laughed, really laughed. “I've watered down the spaghetti sauce before, and I think the pets can switch to the store brand food for a while. And if you're thinking that this is a hand-out, that allegedly wise man also told me that there's no shame in being helped by someone who loves you."

R.J. stood, pulling her with him, his hands circling her waist. “He was a wise man."

“And handsome. And unless I'm mistaken he was a very good kisser.” Her blood raced when R.J. covered her mouth with his and she knew that the past was just that, the past, and that all the happiness in the world awaited them as long as they had each other.

R.J. pulled back, his arms still holding Carol tightly. “The condo is mine until Sunday. Shall we make the most of it?"

“I thought you'd never ask."

Epilogue

Carol helped Ally adjust her tights and the frilly layers of her dress in the ladies’ room outside the banquet room of the bowling alley where the small wedding reception was being held, then laughed as Ally charged out to rejoin her little group of friends. Carol smiled to herself, still not quite believing that this was real.

She'd been so worried that the culture shock of going from living in a million dollar condo to her little house on Hemsdale Street would be too difficult for R.J. and that his family's shunning him when he announced their engagement might make him change his mind about being with her. Carol curtailed her thoughts when a familiar friendly voice called her name.

“Thank you so much for coming to the wedding, and here,” Carol said. “It means a lot to R.J. And to me."

Cynthia Harris laughed. “I never pass up a free meal or drink.” She took hold of Carol's left hand and stared long and hard at her engagement and wedding rings. “I hate to tell you this, honey, but that is the most pitiful diamond I've seen in forty years, second only to this."

She held out her own left hand. Nestled in between two diamond encrusted anniversary bands was a minuscule diamond set in a worn gold-plated mounting. Cynthia laughed at Carol's puzzled expression. “Now you know why R.J.'s mother never liked me. I'm from the wrong, wrong side of the tracks and I still cling to my past.” She looked around the room."Now where is that husband of yours?"

Spying him, she dragged Carol over, slapping her own husband on the back when they crossed the room. She turned back to Carol. “I told you. These investor types hear the word party, and the dollar signs swim before their eyes."

“Now Cynthia,” R.J. said, slipping his arm around Carol's waist. “I was just telling John my idea for a new venture. In helping Carol with the Hemsdale center, I've come to realize the need for high quality, low cost day care, not only in Boston, but also across the country. With Carol's knowledge of child care and my managerial skills, we'll turn a profit in no time, we'll expand, perhaps franchise—"

Cynthia put her hand over R.J.'s mouth. “This can wait until next Monday at Johnny's office. Why don't you kids cut the cake, catch a taxi to the airport and go make whoopee in Aruba?” she said, pulling two airplane tickets from the breast pocket of her husband's suit and placing them in the breast pocket of R.J.'s tuxedo.

R.J. tried to give the tickets back. “We can't. You've both done enough."

“More than enough,” Carol agreed.

Cynthia opened her mouth to protest but her husband grabbed an hors d'oeuvre from the table behind them and stuck it in her mouth. “Take the honeymoon. Enjoy yourselves. When you get back, stop at my office. I'll have a check waiting to get you started on making that first million all over again."

“Thank you,” R.J. said simply, knowing in his heart that he was already the richest man alive.

The End

Award winning novelist Barbara Sheridan lives in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, with an unruly menagerie including two children, an older brother, a bird, a turtle that thinks it's a cat, and five cats—one of which “sees things” and has a mad crush on a Japanese musician. Is it any wonder she writes to escape the daily madness we call life?

barbara.sheridan@lindenbayromance.com

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