Blogger Bundle Volume I:
Dear Author Selects Unusual Heroines

Arm Candy
Just Kiss Me
Obsession
Code of Honor

Table of Contents

Arm Candy
By Jo Leigh

Just Kiss Me
By Kathleen O’Reilly

Obsession
By Kay David

Code of Honor
By Kathryn Shay

Dear Readers:

At Dear Author, we are big fans of the series romance. We know that fitting a convincing romance into a small package takes special skill.

When Harlequin came to us to ask if we would like to put together a bundle of out of print romances to share with other readers, e were thrilled (I had a grin on my face for at least a week).

We chose these titles because they feature a slightly unusual, out of the ordinary heroine. Jo Leigh’s Arm Candy features a mathematician (take that, Math Barbie); Kathleen O’Reilly’s heroine is a lawyer who falls for an auto mechanic (kind of a reverse take on the rich man, poor girl story, which we also love); Kay David’s Obsession tells the love story of a former drug addict, and Kathryn Shay’s heroine is a firefighter.

We hope you enjoy these books at least as much as we have.

Jane and the rest of the crew at DearAuthor.com

ARM CANDY

Jo Leigh

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

1

JESSICA WAS SECONDS away from a clean getaway. At a quarter to midnight on a Thursday night, she figured everyone else had left Geller and Patrick, Inc., and she could simply go to the elevator and make it to the street and a taxi without interference. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

Owen McCabe, her boss, her former mentor and current major pain in the butt, popped out of his office one second before she pressed the down button. Not only did he scare the bejesus out of her, but he also made her drop her portfolio, which gave him an excuse to rush over and help her pick up her papers.

“Burning the midnight oil, Jess?”

“Yep, and now I’m exhausted, so if you’ll just give me the—”

“I know,” he said, handing her the prospectus on the new eyeshadow line, “why don’t we go get ourselves a nice nightcap. That’ll help you get right to sleep.”

She took a deep breath as she slipped the papers back into the portfolio. “Thanks, Owen, but I don’t need any help. Just a taxi.”

“I’ve got my car right downstairs.”

“No, that’s okay. You go on home. I’m sure Ellen’s worried that it’s so late.”

“She went to bed hours ago,” he said. “The boys had track today and they wore her out.”

“I understand how she feels.” Jessica pressed the down button again and silently prayed for the elevator to arrive.

“So,” Owen said, leaning against the wall in a not-so-casual effort to appear relaxed, “you all set for next week?”

“Pretty much. Just a few more odds and ends. We’ll be fine. It’s going to be a huge success.”

“Yeah, yeah, it will. Mostly due to your efforts.”

“Nonsense. Everyone’s been working like dogs.”

“With you as captain and commander.”

Six months ago she would have been thrilled by the compliment, but things had changed.

Somewhere along the way, her boss had gotten the idea that the two of them could be more than co-workers. Despite the fact that he was married with twin boys. Despite the fact that she’d never given him a smidgen of encouragement. Despite the fact that he knew she had no time or desire to date anyone, period.

She’d given the situation a lot of thought. She could complain about harassment, make a stink, but for all practical purposes, she’d ultimately be the loser. No matter the outcome, a suit would put a very large dent in her career plans. Instead, she’d decided to deal somehow with Owen until the new line was in place, then, with that success under her belt, make her move. Revlon had expressed interest in her, and she was pretty sure there was going to be a shake-up at Clinique. All she had to do was get through the next two weeks without a major fiasco, and she could write her own ticket.

“Sure I can’t persuade you?” Owen asked as the elevator doors hissed open.

“Not tonight. Thanks anyway, I appreciate it.”

He touched her arm as she walked into the car. “And I appreciate you.”

She smiled until the doors closed, then she let out a loud groan. God, what a nightmare. And it was only going to get worse.

In four days, the new line would be launched with one of the most elaborate campaigns and media focus in cosmetics history. A solid week of high-impact promos featuring A-list celebrities, all taking place in Manhattan with locations from the Rainbow Room to Central Park, and she was in charge of seeing that nothing went wrong. Luckily, her team was top-notch, especially her assistant, Marla, which meant she could concentrate on putting out fires rather than concerning herself with the details. Unfortunately, the biggest fire she’d have to put out was in Owen’s pants.

To make matters worse, they were all staying at the Willows hotel for the duration, and Owen had booked her a suite right next to his own. Undoubtedly with connecting doors.

Something had to be done. Something that wouldn’t get her fired. Something that would show Owen once and for all that she wasn’t available.

The elevator stopped in the lobby and she nodded at the security guy as she headed for the street, her heels clicking on the marble floors. Once she was outside, she stood still for just a moment, letting the cool air of the early-fall evening refresh her. This was her favorite time of year, especially in New York. The whole city seemed more alive. The humidity and heat of summer had finally passed, and the promise of brilliant holidays shimmered just around the corner.

She stepped to the curb and hailed a taxi. In another ten minutes or so, she could take a nice warm shower, crawl between her Egyptian-cotton sheets and forget about Owen, makeup and ad campaigns until five-thirty, when it would all begin again.

The cabbie was mercifully silent, and Jessica leaned her head back on the torn seat. There was so much to do before the premiere, and she felt guilty about leaving work at all. Ridiculous, but nonetheless it was true. Her job was everything…No, that wasn’t true. Her career was everything. Nothing, not even Owen and his out-of-control libido, was going to stand in her way. She would be an executive VP before she reached thirty, or die trying.

But that meant fending off Owen’s advances until the campaign was over. The only thing that would keep Owen away was her having a boyfriend. But he knew she didn’t have one, and how in hell was she supposed to come up with one in the next week?

Her gaze flickered over the staccato images flashing by the window as the taxi zoomed toward Chelsea. At the corner of Seventh Avenue and West Twenty-first, she saw a billboard for Angel’s Escort Service.

Jessica smiled as she stared, the entire plan falling into place with a sweet little plunk. An escort. Of course. She could say it was someone from Harvard, someone she’d been with before. It would be a simple enough thing to hire a man for the job, someone sophisticated enough to play the part, handsome enough to look good in the inevitable photos, and someone discreet enough not to blow the whistle on her.

Glen. Her best friend. Of course. God, why hadn’t she thought of this before? It was so obvious. The only person in the whole office who’d even heard of Glen was Marla, and Marla was the soul of discretion. She’d call him tomorrow. He’d love a week at the Willows. And Owen McCabe could take his advances and shove them right up his Armani.

“LOVE TO. Can’t.”

Jessica blinked, not wanting to believe the words. “Glen, no. Please. Maybe you don’t understand the seriousness of the situation. He’s relentless. He’s everywhere. I need you.”

“I know, Jess, but I just can’t, I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“Well, for one thing, I’ll be in California for four of the days.”

“You can’t cancel? Reschedule?”

His deep baritone filled her ear and made her clutch the phone with a desperate fist. “No, I can’t.”

“Dammit, dammit, dammit. This was the perfect solution.”

“So, find someone else. Surely I’m not the only guy you know.”

“No, but you’re the only guy I know well enough to ask. Come on, Glen. You’re perfect.”

“Ah, you say the sweetest things.”

“How about a friend? You have friends. Lots of friends. I’ll pay. Well. But he’s got to be discreet. If anyone finds out…”

“I think I might know someone.”

“Really?” She grabbed her Mont Blanc, the pen she’d gotten as a graduation present from her aunt Lydia of Belgium, and twirled it between her fingers.

“Yeah, but I’ll have to convince him.”

“Do it. Please. I’m begging.”

“Hey, I’ll do my best.”

She could picture him sitting in his gallery, underneath the Jean-Michel Basquiat collage, wearing something fabulous that flattered his blue eyes and dark, dark hair. “Thank you.”

“Just a thought,” he said, “but have you tried telling your boss you’re not interested?”

She laughed, which she hadn’t done in quite some time. It wasn’t a good laugh, though, and she thought of the many, many times she’d told Owen straight out that she had no intention of stepping over the line with him. “He has selective hearing. And don’t tell me to file a suit. I’ve thought this through and I’m going to bail when the time is right.”

“I figured. You’re nothing if not thorough.”

“You make it sound like that’s a bad thing.”

“Make that thorough and paranoid.”

She smiled. “When this is all over, I’m going to buy you the most decadent meal in Manhattan. You say where and when.”

“Deal. Now let me go see what I can do.”

“Go!” She hung up, then leaned back in her chair, consciously relaxing her shoulders as she sank into the kidskin leather. Glen would come through, she had to believe that. If not, she’d just plain hire someone from an escort agency. She’d heard of it being done, although she’d never met anyone who’d used the service. But she hoped she didn’t have to resort to that. This was too important.

A knock on the door brought her back to the business at hand. “Come in.”

Marla Scott, Jessica’s assistant, walked in, her arms filled with magazines. She came over to the desk, put them down carefully, then rubbed her hands together. “I’ve marked all the ads. Check out The New Yorker. There’s a column raving about the budget and our conspicuous consumption. It’s great.”

The stack was huge, and this was only the beginning of the blitz that would blanket newspapers, radio and billboards across the city. By the end of the campaign there wouldn’t be a man, woman or child in the country who wouldn’t know about the New Dawn line.

Marla sat down in the chair across from Jessica. “So are you up to your elbows?”

“Yes, but talk anyway.”

“Okay,” she said, flicking a strand of her long red hair away from her face. “So I went out with this John person last night. The one from the Starbucks? Who got the last oat scone?”

Jessica remembered. Poor Marla. Shy as a butterfly, and so lonely. She was the best assistant Jessica had ever had, completely on top of the job, no nonsense, but also generous and funny, and she had the absolute worst luck with men. “He’s the tall one, right? NYU?”

Marla nodded. “Lookswise, scrumptious. Datewise, disastrous.”

“No.”

“Yes. He took me to a play. Off-off-Broadway. More like performance art, really, with this one woman complaining about her period while this other woman pretended to masturbate. It was very high on the yuck factor.”

“It wasn’t his fault it was terrible.”

“True. Very true.”

“So?”

“So it turns out the woman pretending is actually his ex-girlfriend, only by the time we’re backstage schmoozing with the cast and fans, they’re not so ex, if you know what I mean.”

“What?”

“Complete with kissage. I mean, they moved behind a poster of The Vagina Monologues, but I could still see them all over each other.”

“Oh, God.”

“He didn’t even pay for the taxi home.”

“Bastard. He deserves someone who pretends to masturbate onstage.”

“My sentiments exactly. Only…” She looked down at her lap, to the hunter-green skirt she loved so much. “…he made me laugh at dinner. And I was so…I don’t know.”

“Yeah.”

Marla smiled purposefully. Adamantly. “No big. I’ll just keep, you know, trying. Never give up. That’s my motto. Not till you’re old and toothless and have all the cats that can fill an apartment.”

“I’m sure it won’t come to that.”

“Probably not. But it’s good that I’m not allergic. To cats, I mean.”

Jessica shook her head, and wished she had something akin to a social life where she might be able to meet someone right for Marla. But since her entire entourage consisted of Glen, who was gay, her mother, who lived in Cincinnati, and her landlord, who made an art out of complaining while not actually doing anything, there didn’t seem to be much hope.

“If there’s not anything else,” Marla said, “I’m going to call the Zephyr agency and double-check on the models.”

“No, that’s good. Thanks.”

Marla stood up, and headed for the door. But before she went out, she turned back. “Do you think we have a chance of getting Shawn?”

Jessica leaned back in her chair. “Who knows. We’re certainly offering him enough money.”

“Can you imagine? Shawn Foote in the same room? I’d get all swoony, I just know it.”

“He may be hunky, but he’s just a guy.”

Marla leaned her head to the right and quirked her lips. “Just a guy? I think not. He’s…he’s…”

“The Uberhunk. I know.”

Marla nodded. “I’ll report back.”

Jessica looked down at the spreadsheet on her desk and forgot all about male models, dating fiascos and even her own personal problems. Seconds later, the world outside her office could have crumbled and she wouldn’t have noticed.

DAN CRAWFORD WAS at sixes and sevens. Which was an interesting expression he’d just looked up on his computer. Seems it came from an old French game called Hazard, and had something to do with difficulty in shooting dice. But knowing what the term meant didn’t help the situation. He had to make a decision, and neither of the two immediate options appealed all that much.

Okay, so he could take the job in Botswana. He liked Africa, and hadn’t been there for almost fifteen years. It would be a challenge, and the company, an international trading firm, had been after his consulting services for a long time. But it would mean a commitment of almost a year, which seemed excessive.

On the other hand, he could partner up with Zeke on the Baja 1000 race, but that would mean a whole hell of a lot of training, getting the car up to specs, moving down to L.A. until the race, and, of course, being with Zeke, who was a great guy unless he got too drunk, which he did whenever he raced.

Dan’s gaze moved next to the fireplace, to the glass cabinet where he kept his mementos. The large second-place trophy from the Baja three years ago taunted him. Then he looked at the bookcase, at the pile of papers and articles he’d collected, everything from the psychology of racing to the topography of Baja. Damn, he’d put in a lot of manhours on winning. So why wasn’t he more interested? Zeke wasn’t that bad. And if Dan supplied the booze, he could maybe rig it so his buddy couldn’t get so much of it.

He got up from his desk and walked over to the window. From the fifteenth floor he could see the bookstore on the corner, Villard’s Books, big, independent and as quirky as his own tastes. The staff there indulged him and his projects, the more obscure the better. In fact, between the New York Public Library, Villard’s and the Internet, he could research anything to his heart’s content.

Maybe he’d go down now, browse through the travel section, have a cup of coffee. Come up with something new to discover, or as his mother would say, bury himself in a new obsession.

He headed for the bedroom, but before he made it there, he got buzzed from the lobby. Crossing to the door, he answered the intercom. “Yeah, Jimmy?”

“Someone to see you, Mr. Crawford. Glen, uh, what’s that?”

Dan heard a mumble in the background. Then, “Glen Viders.”

“Great, send him up.” Dan let go of the buzzer, curious. He’d known Glen for about a year, mostly as someone who kicked his ass regularly at racquetball. He liked Glen, liked his sense of humor and his taste in art. He’d bought a Lichtenstein from his gallery and he’d paid a good price for it. But they’d never really socialized, except for the occasional showing invitation. What could bring him by?

Dan opened the door and invited Glen in.

“This isn’t a bad time, is it?”

“Not at all. I was just going to make some coffee. Would you like some?”

“Sure.”

Dan led the way into the kitchen, where he pulled the beans out of the fridge to begin the process. “So, what’s up?”

“I have a proposition for you.”

Dan stopped short. “Oh?”

Glen laughed. “Not that kind of proposition. This one should be more to your liking.”

Smiling, and a touch relieved, Dan continued with the coffee making. “Intriguing. Do go on.”

Glen leaned against the kitchen door, crossed his arms over his chest and smiled. “I have this friend. Her name is Jessica Howell and she’s got a problem.”

Dan worked on the coffee while Glen filled him in on the situation. His first instinct was to say no and be done with it, but the more he heard about Jessica, the more an idea began to germinate. “So she’s brilliant, huh?”

“Top two percent of her class at Harvard. She’s razor-sharp, and too damn articulate for that foolish job she’s got.”

“Workaholic?”

“Beyond belief. I don’t think she’s been on a date since she moved to New York six years ago.”

“And I’d be with her. In her room for the whole week?”

“Yeah. Well, wait. I’m not sure about the ‘in her room’ part. But you’d have to stick pretty damn close.”

“Hmm.”

“Who knows? Things could go that way, if you play your cards right.”

“And what did you say she looked like?”

Glen smiled. “I didn’t. But now that you ask, she’s a babe. A little thing, but a powerhouse, if you know what I mean. Auburn hair, blue eyes. Really striking. She could have the men lining up, but—”

Dan nodded, pleased, but not all that concerned. Her looks were incidental. Her mind was what interested him. She was willing to pay to have an escort. He didn’t need the money, but he did have something he wanted to bargain for. “Tell you what. Set up a meeting. Whenever it’s convenient for her. We’ll talk.”

“She’ll be thrilled.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

Glen pushed himself off the wall. “What are you plotting?”

“Quid pro quo, Glen. With some very exciting potential.”

Women…

If you praise her, she thinks you’re lying

If you don’t, you’re good for nothing

If you talk, she wants you to listen

If you listen, she wants you to talk

If you visit her often, she thinks you’re boring

If you don’t, she thinks you’re cheating

If you’re jealous, she says it’s bad

If you’re not, she thinks you don’t love her

If you stare at other women, she accuses you of flirting

If other men stare at her, she’s flattered

If you want sex, she says you don’t respect her

If you don’t, she thinks you’re gay.

Source: Thomas, Megan “Men are Marvelous Creatures.”

http://www.cs.berkeley.edu/~mct/funny/woandmen.html

2

GLEN STARED AT HIM for a long moment, clearly trying to figure out whether or not he would move forward. “I’ll call her tonight,” Dan finally said with a slow grin.

“Great.”

The coffee aroma filled the kitchen, and Dan got down two mugs. “Can I ask how come you’re not the one who’s stepping up to the plate?”

“Hey, I’d do it in a minute, but I have to be in L.A. Besides, I think this will work out better.”

“Oh?” He got out the cream from the fridge, took it and the mugs to the butcher-block table. He nodded for Glen to take a seat, and made a pass at his pantry. He brought out a couple of boxes of cookies. By then the coffee was ready, so he carried the pot over and poured.

“Jessica and I go back to college, and I’d say I know her pretty well. Inside that ambition is one hell of a good woman. She just has to take off the blinders. See something of the world around her. From what I’ve heard, that seems to be your specialty.”

Dan sat down. “Curious perspective, and I suppose reasonably accurate.”

“Yeah. You two will be…interesting.”

“I wonder why she hasn’t just put the kibosh on the boss. Doesn’t he know there are laws?”

“According to Jessica, she doesn’t want the hassle. She’s planning a move upward after her campaign is a raging success.”

“Got it. Always looking at the next step, eh?”

“Never misses the details on a spreadsheet.”

“But almost gets hit by the bus?”

Glen grinned, and lifted his coffee mug. “To new adventures.”

Dan clicked his mug but, instead of taking a sip, he said, “Hey, why don’t you give Jessica a call now? See if she can meet me for a drink tonight.”

Glen pulled out his cell phone and dialed. By the time he hung up, the arrangements were made, and Dan had two hours to put together his counterproposal.

If it worked, it was going to be one hell of a lot more exciting than any race.

JESSICA CHECKED OUT her appearance in the window of the bistro. The weather had been kind to her hair, she’d reapplied lipstick in the cab, and her Donna Karan suit looked as if she’d put it on a half hour ago. Not that it mattered. She was the one doing the hiring, but still. The situation was just awkward enough to have a built-in nervousness factor of ten, minimum.

Dan Crawford. She’d done an Internet search on him, and what she’d seen had taken her utterly by surprise. The man was a very highly paid computer consultant and had worked for some of the biggest financial institutions in the world. His prices must be astronomical, causing her to call Glen back and make sure he hadn’t promised she’d pay the man her entire yearly wage. Glen had assured her that if Dan Crawford did this, it wasn’t going to be for the money. Which begged the question…

Why? Why would he give her odd little proposal a moment’s thought? What could he possibly get out of it, if not money?

She was about to find out. If she could get her legs working and walk inside. After a deep breath and a little pep talk, she yanked on the hem of her jacket, pushed her handbag strap up on her shoulder and walked inside.

Dorian’s was an upscale Wall Street bar. Martinis of all flavors dotted the tall tables in the bar, hoisted by the young and the restless go-getters in their Prada and Emporio Armani. Not much laughter, but a lot of chatter, caromed off walls decorated with three-dimensional art, mostly in shiny metals or rusted copper. It worked, especially with the oak bar and tables.

She walked a little farther, until she was midway between the door and the bar itself, then did a quick perusal. No one looked like Dan Crawford, although one young man to her right bore a marked resemblance to Colin Firth. She kept scouting.

Her reward came seconds later. At the far right edge of the bar, a man, alone, saving a seat, looked up expectantly. He was pretty damn close to Glen’s description. Around thirty-five. She couldn’t tell if he was six foot three, but he had that tall, lanky look about him. Dark hair, smooth, shiny, thick, parted on the right. Wide eyes, generous mouth, and a nose just a wee bit big for his face. Altogether a striking combination. A little too striking.

Glen hadn’t said anything about him being gorgeous. The word hadn’t come into play once. And she knew from experience that Glen knew gorgeous. So maybe it wasn’t Dan.

The man in question waved, quashing her doubts. He stood. Yep. Six-three at least. Smiling, too. A great smile. A smile that multiplied the gorgeous by a factor of six.

She pasted her own smile on her face and made her way through the crowd. He manfully held on to the two bar stools, chasing away a blonde with boobs the size of grapefruits.

“I really hope you’re Jessica Howell,” he said as soon as she was in earshot.

“I am.”

“Good because this is the only empty seat in the place. Guess I should have suggested somewhere quieter.”

“There isn’t anyplace quieter. Not around here at least.”

He held out his hand. Long, supple fingers, strong grip. Warm, but not at all damp. She felt her cheeks heat just from the touch, which wasn’t like her. Not at all.

“Sit. Let me buy you a drink.”

“I should be the one buying.”

“Next round, if you want,” he said. “What’s your pleasure?”

“A Merlot, please.”

He nodded, then turned to get the attention of the bartender as Jessica climbed up on the stool. Being so short, it was always an iffy proposition, but she didn’t flash anyone on her way up. She put her handbag on her lap and glanced at Dan. He was even better-looking close up. It was his lips, of course. Pouty, full, but incredibly masculine. Laugh lines etched on each side. If Marla were here, she’d wax rhapsodic about their kissability. Their smoochiness. Ah, that Marla. She had a way with words.

Dan put his credit card on the bar when the drinks arrived. He’d ordered a German lager, and he didn’t bother pouring it into the iced stein. Instead, he took a long pull from the bottle, giving her an enticing view of his Adam’s apple.

Her gaze moved down to his shirt. White oxford, well tailored, silk, she’d bet. It fit him beautifully, and she liked that he’d rolled up the sleeves a couple of turns. His jeans surprised her, but then she realized he wasn’t tied to a company, and he could wear any damn thing he liked. The jeans got her vote. They were good old-fashioned Levi’s and they fit his tall, yummy body like a glove.

He coughed, and she almost spilled her wine in an attempt to get her gaze up and away from where it’d been focused. Again with the blushing. Good God, what was the matter with her? She must be getting her period. She was never this…aware.

“Glen filled me in on your dilemma.”

“So he said, but I want to make sure you understand completely before we go any further.”

“Absolutely.”

“It’s really an acting job. I assumed he’d know someone out of work who could use the money. I can’t imagine why you’d be at all interested.”

“I’ll tell you. But first, let me hear what you expect.”

She sipped some wine, felt it melt all the way down, easing a bit of her nervousness. “I’ve got a boss who’s completely out of control, and I need someone to pretend to be my lover for the week. We’re launching a line of cosmetics with a huge press bash and back-to-back junkets. Whoever I hire is going to have to be available for any or all of the events. For meals. For anything, all the while acting like we’re the couple of the decade.”

“Yep, that’s pretty much what Glen said.”

“Okay, so why would you be interested? I have to tell you, I almost didn’t come. He twisted my arm, made me promise to see you. But I don’t get it.”

“Well, Jessica, I think there’s something we could do for each other. I see your problem, and while I’m not an actor, I think I could play the part. I’m a quick study, and I have no social ties that would interfere.”

“But?”

He smiled with those lips of his. She almost giggled like a coquette.

“Here’s what I want,” he said, studying her eyes. “I want access.”

“Access?”

He nodded. “To you.”

“Pardon me?”

“To your thoughts.”

She opened her mouth, but the only thing that came out was a kind of cluck.

“All of them.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

He laughed. The sound was rich and deep and almost enough to make her stop questioning his sanity. Almost.

“Okay, let me explain.”

“Please do.”

“I’m a curiosity junkie. Can’t help it. It’s a long, long story, full of interesting tidbits about my eccentric upbringing and my parents’ radical philosophy, which I’m sure we’ll discuss in detail over the next week, but the upshot is, I live to get answers to the big questions. I studied physics with some of the greatest minds on the planet, and theology in Rome and Israel. I’ve challenged my senses, my abilities, and always attacked the major problems of my life head-on. I might quake in my boots, but I do it until I’m satisfied. Which doesn’t mean I’m always successful. But I never wonder what would have happened if only I’d dared.”

“And what has that got to do with pretending to be my boyfriend?”

He laughed again. “Everything. Because what I want from you is answers.”

“To what questions?”

“All of them.”

“Excuse me?”

“All of them about women.”

“I don’t know all the answers about women.”

“But you know the answers for you.”

She gave him a long look.

He grinned back at her. “No, I’m not certifiable. Nuts, yes. But not quite at the padded-room stage.”

“You want answers about women?”

He nodded.

“What does that mean?”

“It means, I get to ask you anything. No holding back. No thinking twice about propriety. I ask, you answer. Honestly. To the best of your ability. All the questions I’ve wanted to ask but haven’t dared.”

“You’ve never dated?”

“Oh, I’ve dated. Many times. I’ve had relationships. All of which have failed. Mostly, I fear, due to my fumbling. My lack of understanding. Seriously, I don’t get it. Screw physics and the Big Bang theory, the great imponderable isn’t God, it’s women. Who are you people? The books are useless. Believe me, I’ve read them. Everything from Men are from Mars to Dr. Phil. And I still don’t get you.

“Every time I think I’ve figured you out, I’m totally thrown for a loop. Take Tamara. Great gal, an incredible dancer. I was crazy about her, and she swore she loved me. We lived together for two blissful years. So what happened? Right after I proposed, and we’re talking days here, she moved in with a drug addict who beat her for a hobby. And she’s just the tip of the iceberg. I ask other men, and they either throw up their hands or give me advice that lands me in the doghouse. It’s nuts, and it’s crazy, and dammit, what I want is to once and for all get it.”

Jessica heard what he said. She was a little taken aback by his earnestness and enthusiasm, and completely certain this wasn’t going to work at all.

“Oh, no,” he said. “Don’t make up your mind yet. Please.”

“I just don’t think—”

“Look, I know it sounds crazy, but really, it’s not. It’s like a research project. An in-depth study. Think of me as an anthropologist. It won’t be scary, I promise. And I won’t use the information to hurt you or anyone else. But come on. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I’d never get this kind of access. In real life, I’d be too afraid to ruin a relationship. Or if I paid for it, I’d never really be sure I was getting the real juice, you know? But this way, when we both can win, and there’s no feelings to hurt or wound, then, well…

“Not to be immodest, but I think I can convince your boss or anyone else that I’m your man. I won’t embarrass you. I know my way around the press, and I won’t cost you a penny. All you have to do is answer me honestly. If you don’t know the answers, great. No sweat. But if you do know, then I want them. No political correctness. No shading or hedging. Just what’s what.”

“What’s what, huh? Well, I know one thing.”

“Go on.”

“I need a much stronger drink.”

Dan held his grin steady, and made sure not to look too satisfied. She was gonna go for it. A minute ago he’d thought all was lost, but now? She was intrigued. From what Glen had told him about her, he’d hoped she’d be curious. “What kind of stronger drink?”

“A whiskey sour, please. Make it a double.”

“Good choice.” He signaled the bartender again, and while he waited his turn he took his time looking her over. He’d been so busy studying her body language that he hadn’t properly appreciated her body.

She was little, but not girlish. In fact, if he’d had to describe her, the word that would fit the bill was vamp. Sort of a throwback to an older age, Rita Hayworth, say, or Veronica Lake. The red hair had something to do with it, maybe the soft way it curled on her neck, or the swoop over her right eyebrow. Her lips, too, seemed naturally full, not collagen-injected like so many of the tonier crowd. And if they had been helped? Who cares. She was lush and her skin seemed silky, and the intelligence so clear in those blue eyes made him want to start his week tonight.

Not that he was going to actively pursue more than his stated objective.

“What’ll it be?”

He started at the bartender’s voice, ordered her drink, and himself a single-malt scotch, neat. When he turned back to Jessica, she pushed her hair back behind her left ear. Her hand, neat, tiny, feminine, captured his gaze and held it. He watched as she put her fingers around her wineglass. Rubbed the rim lightly.

Okay, so maybe he would pursue something more. Hadn’t Glen said she’d been solo for quite some time? Hadn’t he himself been entirely too celibate for longer than was healthy?

“Dan?”

“Yes?”

“What are you going to do with this information, assuming you get it?”

“Use it.”

“For a book? A degree?”

He shook his head. “I hadn’t thought of that, but I wouldn’t rule out the idea. Actually, I’m doing this for my own personal edification.”

“Meaning you’re looking for a wife?”

“Wife, lover, significant other. Yeah.”

“I’d think women would be banging down your door.”

“Not the problem. Quality is the issue. I’m looking for what my parents had. Which, in my naiveté as a young man, I figured all parents had.”

“A good relationship?”

“Much more than that. My folks were, and you’ll pardon the cliché, two halves of the same whole. They were married thirty-nine years, and were more crazy about each other when my father died than the day they met. That’s what I want. A partner. A best friend. All of it.”

“Tall order.”

“Don’t I know it. Hence, the quest.”

She gave him a half smile. “I’ve never been part of anybody’s quest before.”

The drinks arrived right then, and Dan handed the whiskey to Jessica. “So you’ll do it?”

She took the glass, sipped, closed her eyes, opened them again. “I’ll do it.”

He toasted her, the clink ringing clearly against all the muddled noise around them. “Fantastic.” He brought his own drink to his lips, then hesitated. “So when do we begin?”

“Monday.”

“The Willows?”

She nodded.

“Great. I’ll check in that afternoon.”

Jessica’s eyes widened. “Whoa, cowboy. Check in?”

He downed his scotch, ready for this. “Well, sure.”

“No, no, no. You’re not staying there. Just appearing when needed.”

He gave Jessica his most innocent, sincere smile. “That would be a royal pain in the ass for both of us. Much simpler to be there. But don’t worry. You have nothing to fear. I know the suites there and I’ll sleep on the couch.”

She gave him an “I don’t know” look.

“Check with Glen. He’ll tell you I’m harmless. Besides, I don’t want anything getting in the way of the research. And sleeping together would really screw things up.”

Her eyes softened. The internal debate went on a few more seconds, then she sighed. “It would keep Owen off my back.”

He nodded. “This is gonna be great.”

“That is highly unlikely. I’ll be happy if it’s survivable.”

“Come on. You’ll knock ’em dead.”

Jessica shook her head, causing her hair to shimmer in the lights. He hadn’t lied when he’d said sleeping with her would screw things up. But maybe he could ask all his questions real fast.

Five things you’ll NEVER hear one guy say to another guy:

1. Does my butt look fat in this?

2. I’m tired of beer.

3. Yours is bigger than mine.

4. You know what always makes me cry? Those long-distance commercials.

5. Our team lost 10–1. But we tried our best, and after all, that’s the important thing.

Source: Thompson, Dave “Things You’ll Never Hear”

http://www.ijmc.com/archives/

3

“DANIEL, HONEY, I love you, but isn’t this just a bit nutso, even for you?”

Dan smiled up at his mother. “Probably. But then, it’s your fault.”

Colleen Crawford put down her mug of coffee and gave him a look. “And how did you arrive at that conclusion?”

“If you’d just talk to me, I wouldn’t have to hire myself out to strange women.”

“We’re talking right now.”

“But not about what I want to know.”

She took another sip and leaned back in her beat-up old director’s chair. They were on her balcony, looking out over her garden, the pride and joy of her life. Aside from him, of course. She grew all her own vegetables, flowers, anything she took a fancy to. For the most stubborn, there was a small greenhouse. The rest just gave in and grew, somehow knowing his mother wouldn’t let up until they sprouted. HGTV had done a profile on her green thumb. Of course, it hadn’t hurt that she was so well-known for her books, but still. The show had been about the garden.

“We’ve discussed this,” she said. “Some things have to be discovered. Not taught.”

“Even when I’ve got the inside track on one of the world’s leading experts right here?”

“There are no experts on relationships, pumpkin. Only wild-ass guesses.”

“I suppose that’s what you teach at NYU?”

“Precisely.”

“So if there are no answers, what’s the use of searching?”

“Because the only answer is the search.”

“Right.”

“You’ll see. Eventually, you’re going to meet someone who will turn your world upside down, and then you’ll understand.”

He leaned forward, so frustrated he could spit. “Understand what?”

“That you don’t need to understand.”

He raised his hands as if to go for her throat and growled at her. “You are the most obstinate woman.”

“I’m a cupcake, and you know it.”

“Fine. You’re a cupcake. I just hope you know that when I end up old and alone, a bitter, senile octogenarian, you’ll be to blame.”

“Yes, dear. So tell me about her.”

He smiled, remembering his meeting with Jessica, the look of her. “She’s a fine-looking woman. Kind of exotic, but in an old-fashioned way. Like a Renaissance painting.”

“Reubens?”

He shook his head. “No, more like a Botticelli. Complete with red hair, pale skin. Damn.”

“Okay, so we know you like that part of her, now what about the part above the neck?”

“That part’s just as intriguing.”

Her eyebrows went up. “Really?”

He reached over to the little hand-painted table where, next to the fruit bowl, he found a lemon muffin. Homemade, of course. His mother loved to cook what she grew. After an enormous bite and some coffee, he said, “She’s bright. Running a media campaign for a major new cosmetics firm. She’s all career, and determined to top out at CEO.”

“And that’s intriguing how?”

“Come on, Mom. Not everyone can be as well balanced as you.”

“No, but they can be a little balanced. I already assumed she had no real life. If she had, surely she wouldn’t have had to hire the likes of you.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty focused. But that works in my favor. I figure she’s not going to get coy with me, or have a secondary agenda. I’ll ask. She’ll answer.”

“And what if she doesn’t have the answers?”

“I’ll keep looking. But I’ll have tried.”

Colleen sighed, as she ran her hand through her softly graying hair. “We always encouraged you to go out into the field, to learn from experience. Just don’t let your hopes get too high, okay?”

“Look, even I know there aren’t going to be pat answers. But there are going to be clues. Directions. Hints. I think, if I can just talk about it with no games, I can move to the next level.”

“Don’t you need someone on this level to be able to move on to the next?”

“I’m hoping it will help me find the kind of woman I can move on with. Even you have to admit I’ve done a lousy job in my previous selections.”

“Oh, honey. Lousy is being kind. But that’s mostly because you let your little head do your thinking for you.”

“It’s a good thing I ceased being embarrassed by you years ago.”

“I know. And I appreciate your indulgence.”

“So, you’ll take care of Mercy?”

“The cat hates me, but yes, I will.”

He leaned over, kissed her cheek, then went back to his muffin. “Great.”

“And you’ll tell me what you’ve learned?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Oh, goody.”

He stood. “I’ve got to run. If you need me, I’ll have the cell.”

“Okay, sweetheart. Take some muffins.”

He grinned. “I planned to.”

“Take some vegetables, too.”

“In your dreams.”

He squeezed her hand and headed for the kitchen, where up above the sink was a picture he’d taken years ago, of his father and mother. They looked so damn happy.

THE HOTEL SUITE was straight out of a Fred Astaire–Ginger Rogers movie. It was all silver, white and high deco, right down to the crown molding. Huge by any standard, but especially for Manhattan, it had to be priced to the sky. If she’d made the reservations, she’d have been several floors down in a single, but that wouldn’t have been the perfect setting for a seduction, would it?

Owen definitely had a screw loose, and for the first time since she’d met with Dan, she felt fine about the devil’s bargain she’d gotten herself into.

Her basic premise still held true—that if Owen saw she was involved, witnessed it with his own eyes, he’d back the hell off. What was new to the equation was Dan’s “quest,” and worse, her attraction to the man.

She waited while the bellman put her big suitcase on the stand, then she tipped him outrageously, fully expecting to have to tax the hotel staff to the limit during her stay. He thanked her, gave a slight bow and left her to unpack.

Once alone, she fought the temptation to lie down on the puffy white comforter, to bury her head in the assemblage of pillows and sleep for three days. Instead, she unzipped her bag and went methodically through the contents, storing them in her typically organized fashion. Halfway through the job, she remembered that she was going to be sharing the space. Not only did that make her pause, it led her to open the door to the minibar and pull out a small bottle of Chardonnay.

Sharing a room with a total stranger. That had to be right up near the top of her own personal list of idiotic moves. Okay, so Glen vouched for him, but what did that mean? This was the most important week of her life, and she couldn’t afford to move her eye from the ball. So what did she do? Hire the most attractive man she’d met in years to pretend to be her lover. No distraction there. No, sir.

The problem was, he fit her criteria to a tee. Which was unprecedented. She’d never seen a man who had it all: the looks, the brains, the wit, the strong hands, the taste in clothes. Her only hope was getting to know him. No way he was everything he purported to be. Impossible.

He was undoubtedly narcissistic. Given his quest, probably chauvinistic, too. All she had to do was play it cool until he let his true colors shine, and voila, the problem would be solved.

It’d better be solved.

She poured her wine into one of the crystal glasses set on a silver tray by the wet bar, then sank down into the white-satin chair next to the window. Her view was of Central Park, but she stared without seeing it as she thought of the daunting tasks in front of her.

Tomorrow started the festivities, beginning with a makeover party for ten lucky radio listeners, to be held at Bloomingdale’s. All using New Dawn cosmetics, of course. Tomorrow night was the grand-opening party at the Panorama, the newest and most highly sought-after nightclub in the city.

Then there was the dessert-and-jazz party at the Rainbow Room, an evening cruise on the Hudson River, Geocaching in Central Park, and finally, the banquet right here at the hotel. By the end of this little adventure, she’d be ready for the funny farm, but in the meantime, she had to make sure the media was happy, the models showed up and acted like civilized human beings, the celebrities were catered to, and that every detail of every event was taken care of with no muss and utterly no fuss.

Thank God for Marla. And Marla’s troops. Jessica was really lucky to have them. And she mustn’t forget that every event had a professional planner in charge of it. Which did comfort, but didn’t assuage, the final responsibility, which lay directly on her shoulders. Sure, it was Owen who signed the checks, but everyone in the business knew who was really in charge.

This was her ticket. Her chance to soar. If she blew it, she doubted her career could recover. If she succeeded, she’d be well on her way to the dream.

Which meant there was no room at all for Dan in any other capacity but paid help. Maybe it wasn’t too late to tell him she’d changed her mind. She could call up an escort service and hire some lovely hunk of maleness, preferably someone gay, who would be silent for a fee.

She’d put Dan’s phone number in her purse, and as she rose to fetch it, there was a knock at the door.

She crossed the white marble floor, then looked through the peephole. Owen. Dammit. After a deep breath, she opened the door, but not very far. “Owen, hi. What’s up?”

He smiled at her. That goofy, love-struck grin that made her want to bitch-slap him silly. “How do you like it?”

“The suite is fabulous, but too extravagant. My God, it must cost a fortune.”

“Two fortunes.” He stepped closer, clearly expecting her to let him inside. “But you’re worth it.”

“Thank you,” she said, using the one technique that had merited any success. A simple response. No embellishment. Owen had some difficulty coming up with original thought.

“We need to talk about tomorrow.”

“We do?”

He nodded. She spied little drops of perspiration beading his forehead where his hairline used to be. At least he didn’t do the comb-over thing. That would have been the icing on the cake. As it was, he wasn’t bad-looking. Slightly pudgy, not too tall. She used to find him vaguely handsome, until he’d changed from Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Horny Hyde. “Yeah, you know. The details.”

She gave him her most reassuring grin. “That’s why you hired me, Owen. To take care of the details. So you don’t have to worry in the least. The makeovers are going to be a smash, and so is the opening party. All you have to do is show up at Panorama at eight tomorrow night. Which reminds me, I have to go make a couple of calls—”

“Jess,” he said, planting his foot firmly in the door and using his shoulder to ease himself in. “I have some concerns about the party.”

She wanted to shove him right back outside, but thought better of it. This would all come to an end soon, and then she wouldn’t have to worry anymore. In the meantime, however, she wanted to maximize the distance between them, so she closed the door and walked over to the wet bar. “Soda?”

“No thanks,” he said, his glee at gaining entrance far too evident on his face.

“You have concerns?”

He immediately adopted an air of thoughtfulness as his gaze shifted to the bedroom door. “What’s our TV coverage on this thing?”

She’d told him before. Written him memos. But she said none of that. “Entertainment Tonight, E!, Access Hollywood, MTV, VH1, and three cable shows.”

He nodded. “Good, good. And what about celebrities? Are they all verified?”

“We’re sending twelve limos, but most of the crowd is arriving on its own.”

“Who, exactly?”

She bit back a sigh. “Julia Roberts, Keanu Reeves, Reese Witherspoon, Sarah Michelle Gellar, Freddie Prinze Jr., Nicole Kidman, and oodles more. Should I ask Marla to come up with the list?”

“No,” he said too quickly. “That’s great. Just great.”

“But it won’t be just great if I can’t make the calls I need to, so…” She headed toward the door. He didn’t follow.

“I’m sure the calls can wait a few minutes.”

“No, Owen, they can’t.”

The expression on his face changed again. This time to lovelorn puppy. “Jess, can’t you see what a team we make? Isn’t it obvious?”

“Yes, absolutely. The next week will prove it. We’re going to make New Dawn a household name.”

He walked toward her, holding his hands out as if he meant to grasp her, which was simply out of the question. Only, he was blocking her easy exit. In order to get around him, she’d have to practically leap over the chaise. “That’s not the partnership I’m talking about.”

“There is no other partnership, Owen.”

“But there can be. Should be.”

“You have a partner already.”

He shook his head as he took those last steps, angling himself so that now she truly was caught. His right hand touched her forearm. “I don’t. Honestly. I’ve told you before. Ellen is a great mom—”

“I’ve got a partner, Owen.”

He stopped. Blinked. Kept his hand right where it was. “What?”

“A partner. A man. I have someone in my life.”

First, a flash of hurt, then confusion, quickly followed by doubt. “What are you talking about? You don’t date.”

“I don’t talk about dating.”

“You’re always at the office.”

“No, I’m not. I do have a life. Which is private. But there is someone, and it’s serious.”

Doubt became out-and-out disbelief. “Who?”

“You don’t know him.”

“What’s his name?”

“Not that it matters, but Dan.”

“Dan what?”

The annoyance factor was starting to shift into the furious factor. “Crawford.”

“Never heard of him.”

“Exactly.”

“How did you meet?”

“In school. Ages ago.”

“And he just showed up again?”

“That’s right. He showed up, and the old flames were rekindled.”

Owen finally removed his hand from her arm. “Where does he live?”

She stepped back, grabbed the door handle. “I don’t see why that’s important.”

“It is.”

“Why?”

Flustered, he looked around the room as if searching for a clue. “Because I care about you. I don’t want you to get in with the wrong sort of man.”

“He’s not. I assure you. He’s a very good man, and I care about him.”

“This is pretty sudden.”

“Actually, it’s not.”

“Marla knows about him?”

“No, she doesn’t.”

His mouth thinned. “Why not?”

God, she wanted to throttle him. “Because it’s no one’s business. I keep my private life private.”

“Right.”

“Owen, I have to make some phone calls.”

“Uh-huh. Dan Crawford, right? What does he do? Is he in marketing?”

“No, he’s not.” She opened the door. “Please, if you don’t mind. I have work to do.”

He made a move toward the door, but before he crossed the threshold, he turned to face her, his determination a bit daunting. “Come on, Jess. Don’t forget who you’re talking to. I know your hours. I’ve called you at home at 3:00 a.m., at five. You’re either there or at work, or in transit. So where did this private life come from? What, did you rub a bottle and he popped out?”

“No,” came a voice from just behind her. “She won me in a poker game.”

She whirled around to see Dan, bags in hand, staring past her. She’d never been so grateful to see anyone.

The small gurgle behind her made her turn back to Owen, who looked decidedly greenish.

“Owen McCabe,” she said, “this is Dan Crawford. “Dan, this is Owen.”

Dan put down his bag, put one arm around her shoulder and swung her into his arms. Then he kissed her. Kissed her as if he owned her. Kissed her until she thought her knees would give out.

Not just lips to lips, but teasing tongue, hot breath, intimacy that made her clench her fists so she wouldn’t push him away. Then his tongue slipped between her teeth, and he was inside her. This man she didn’t know. Her hired escort. And, good God almighty, her entire body went ballistic. Everything from goose bumps to hard nipples to curling toes.

She heard Owen cough, but that was somewhere out there, and she was busy. She tasted him back, rubbed her unclenched hand over the breadth of his shoulders.

Finally, when he was well and truly finished, he let her go. She gasped for breath, sure her face was aflame, her arousal as clear as the blush.

Dan smiled too knowingly, turned to her boss and grabbed his hand. “Nice to meet you, Owen. Jessica has told me a lot about you.”

HOW TO IMPRESS A WOMAN

Wine her and dine her. Listen to her. Laugh with her. Buy her flowers. Go shopping with her. Don’t stop reminding her she is beautiful. Console her when she is down. Rejoice with her when she is up. Read romantic poetry to her. Tell her you love her.

HOW TO IMPRESS A MAN

Arrive naked. Bring beer.

Source: Borja, Greg “How to Impress a Woman”

http://www.buzzle.com/

4

DAN FOCUSED his whole attention on Owen McCabe. Not just because he wanted to gauge the man’s reaction to his rather spectacular introductory move, but because he didn’t dare think about that kiss.

Holy shit. He hadn’t expected anything like that. Not that he hadn’t had great kisses before, but this was…he wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe because he knew he was going to be spending so much time with her, talking about such intimate things. Or maybe because he’d been thinking so much about her. On the other hand, it might just be that the woman turned him on like a light switch.

Owen’s face had shifted from bright red to a subtle pink, but his eyes were still wide with shock, and his hand, still in Dan’s, gripped him so hard it hurt. Dan coughed, and that got Owen to let go. “I’m just glad I get to be around for the big doin’s,” Dan said, all bonhomie and good grace.

“Around?”

“Didn’t Jessica tell you? I’m going to stay for the campaign. Lend a hand when I can. Watch my girl in her hours of glory.” He turned a beaming smile on Jessica, who looked just a little freaked. He eased his arm around her shoulder and gave her a squeeze. “It’s going to be great.”

Owen looked as if he’d been stabbed repeatedly with a small knife. “You’re staying the whole week?”

“Yep. But don’t worry. I won’t interfere. I’ve been given the rules, which I intend to obey to the letter.”

The pink in Owen’s cheeks got a little darker. “But I, uh…”

“Jessica has told me how great you’ve been, and how much she’s learned from you. I’m impressed.”

Again, Owen blinked. Rapidly. “Impressed.”

“You bet. She’s so damn bright, I never expected her to find a boss who could keep her on her toes. But you sure have.”

Now it was Jessica’s turn to clear her throat. “Owen was just leaving,” she said, “because I have calls to make. You know, uh, business calls.”

“Right,” Dan said. “Well, great meeting you, Owen.” He picked up his bag. “I’m sure we’ll see a lot of each other. I look forward to it.”

Owen’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Dan didn’t wait for words. He just walked to the door, held it open for Jessica, then closed it behind them.

As for Jessica, she walked straight to a white chair by the window, picked up a glass and swallowed the contents.

“Pretty slick, eh?” he said, heading toward the closet. “I think he bought it.”

“I think we almost had to call the paramedics.”

Dan chuckled. “I figured why not go for it? Give him both barrels right from the get-go. Give him something to chew on while he sits it out in his suite.”

Jessica studied him with a bit more wariness than he cared for. “I don’t imagine he’ll need another demonstration that’s quite so vivid.”

“Maybe not. But as you’ve said, he isn’t one to grasp the subtleties.”

Her eyes widened. “That was about as subtle as a Sherman tank.”

“And fun, too. How about that?”

Jessica put down her glass and crossed her arms. She looked terrific in her cream jacket and slim skirt. Those high heels made her seem taller, which, he supposed, was the point for her, but they made him itch to run his fingers down the long line of her calf.

She did do a pretty good job of looking stern and no-nonsense, he had to give it to her. “About the fun part,” she said, her tone keeping pace with her scowl. “This is a job, and I have no intention of letting it get even the slightest bit out of hand. If it becomes necessary for you to put on a show of affection, I insist that you take the minimum step, not the maximum, and that you always keep in mind that it means nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

He nodded, trying to match her seriousness. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made any reference to my enjoyment level. It was unprofessional. I’ve never been a paid escort before, so you’ll have to forgive me. I’ll do better in the future.”

He could tell she wasn’t sure if he was mocking her, and for a moment he thought she might really let into him, but she didn’t. She just uncrossed her arms and went to the coffee table, where she got her phone from her purse. “Feel free to put your things away. This couch opens up into a bed, so you can plan accordingly.” Then she started punching in a phone number.

He took her at her word and unpacked. He’d brought a wide selection of clothes, from city casual to black-tie, not knowing what kind of events he’d be expected to attend. When he stashed his night kit in the bathroom, he thought it prudent to keep the condoms tucked away with his razor and shaving cream.

When all was stashed, he poured himself a soda from the bar, got his notes from his briefcase and sat down at the corner desk.

He listened to Jessica for a few minutes while he pretended to read. And while the conversation about overtime for models didn’t interest him in the least, the way she carried herself did.

Glen had been very accurate when he’d described her as a powerhouse. She conducted business from a position of strength and confidence, and even though he only heard her side of the negotiations, he could tell she was going to get her way. There was no doubt in her mind, and it was only a matter of time before she’d convinced the model’s rep of the same thing.

Good. His instincts had been right on. This wasn’t a woman who was going to get all shy and giggly when he asked her about clitoral stimulation. He studied his notes, scanning the outline he’d made the night before. It wasn’t complete, but he figured the dialogue would suggest other topics and tangents.

He wished they could start right now. Looking at her again, leaning back against the satin chair, her auburn hair shimmering against the white background, her skirt mid-thigh, her ankles crossed, he wondered what he would ask her first. He’d led with the most obvious question of all, at least in his notes. “What do you want from a man?” But now that seemed the wrong approach. Because if he asked her something like that, she’d give him a quick answer, undoubtedly correct, but limited in thought and perspective. By the time he got to that question, he wanted her to have lived with him for a while, with the concepts he was exploring. He wanted an answer that was as complex as the woman before him, nothing less.

So what would start the dialogue? He was hoping that her answers would provoke and startle him, get him thinking in new arenas.

He’d read all the books that were currently in vogue, but none of them had given him precisely what he was looking for.

When he’d been in the few relationships that had lasted any time at all, there had been something illusive, something “other” about the women he cared for. Something that had doomed them, he was convinced, from the start.

His father had clearly understood his mother, because they had been like two sides of the same coin. They had a shared language, reserved only for the two of them. Unfortunately, he hadn’t thought of asking his dad about his secret while he’d had the chance. Not that he hadn’t talked to other married men, but they’d all said pretty much the same thing: listen to her. Put her first. Don’t try to solve all her problems, just pay attention and only make suggestions when asked. Which was all fine and good, but it didn’t get to the essential mystery. At least not for him.

It had occurred to him that while he might be bright as hell when it came to computer software and basic research, maybe the missing ingredient was in him, not in the information he was lacking. But this experiment was designed to bring that flaw to the fore, should that be the case. He wouldn’t be pleased to know it, but at least he’d stop trying so damn hard.

No, this was worthwhile, and he couldn’t do anything to muck it up. Jessica had all the qualities of a perfect research subject, and he was privileged to have the opportunity.

So the best thing to do was forget about any libidinous side trips. This was a field study; no fraternizing with the natives.

“Just to warn you,” Jessica said, standing and putting her phone back in her purse. “My assistant is on her way up. I’ll introduce you, but she won’t need any convincing. Okay?”

“Right. I’ll be the perfect gentleman.”

“That’s fine. We’re going to be a while, though, so if you have something else you want to do.”

“Nope. As long as I’m not in the way.”

She headed for the bar and got herself a soda, loading up her glass with ice. “I don’t think you will be, but please don’t take offense if I ask you to take a walk or something. This is all new to me, too.”

“No problem.”

She sipped some soda, then got a tan leather briefcase from the bedroom before she settled once more on the white chair. A moment later, she was taking notes, and had forgotten him.

He watched her for a long time as she worked. He liked her hands, the way they were so small, but so definite in their every move. Her nails, while polished a nearly flesh-colored pink, were short and serviceable. Like everything about her, they were meant to do the job, not to interfere. Unlike so many women he’d known, she wasn’t constantly flipping back her hair, or tossing it aside. Although her rich auburn locks were smooth and silky, and moved along with her head, there were no strays in her eyes, or on her cheeks.

Her makeup was like that, too. Subdued. Practical. He knew a little about that, having lived with Tamara. She’d always gone for extravagant makeup, the darker, the more dramatic, the better. But that was very high maintenance, whereas Jessica looked as if she could get out of the bathroom in ten minutes. Of course, he could be wrong. Maybe looking that natural took hours, but he doubted it. She had things to accomplish, none of which would happen until she was on her way.

What made her so driven? He wanted to know everything about her background. Only child? That would be his guess. That or eldest. But he’d bank on only. Successful father, someone to live up to. She probably didn’t have a lot of friends, as those were distractions, too. No pets. Okay, maybe fish, but then no. He doubted she’d want to worry about anything like that.

The only other woman he’d known well that was as driven had been Kathleen Butler, an arbitrage banker he’d met at Mulloney’s one night. They’d played pool, and although he was decent, she’d kicked his ass every game. Then she’d taken him to her apartment where they’d had really kinky sex. She’d wanted to be dominated, tied up. Owned. He’d gone along with it, and in fact had enjoyed himself a lot, but he hadn’t called her again. The domination thing was fun for a night, but not a steady diet.

He wondered if Jessica would be like that. In charge totally when it came to work, and wanting none of that in bed. The idea appealed, but maybe that’s because anything to do with sex and Jessica appealed.

He jotted down some notes about it, fully intending to ask her.

By the time he’d finished, there was a knock at the door, and Jessica opened it to reveal another redhead. This one was younger by several years, just out of college, he guessed. She was pretty, with a quirky little mouth and enormous eyes. The look she gave him was all wonder and curiosity, but it didn’t compare to the look she gave her boss.

He stood up for the introductions. Marla shook his hand, but her gaze was still on Jessica. Talk about dumbfounded. Okay, so what Glen had said was true—Jessica didn’t date. Or at the very least she kept her private life private.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asked, remembering his manners. Even though it wasn’t Owen, he was still supposed to be the dutiful boyfriend.

“Sure,” Marla said. “I think I need one.”

“Soda? Wine?”

“Soda, please. Wine later. Work and all. I can’t afford to get all woogy.”

“Woogy?”

She nodded. “All alcohol brain. There’s so much going on. Tomorrow there are the makeovers, and then all the models and stuff. Busy, busy.”

“So I heard. You must be excited.”

She smiled beguilingly, the lovely pink of her cheeks aglow. “I am. I’m learning so much.”

“She’s saving my ass,” Jessica said. “And I’d love to go on and on about it, but I think having a good night’s sleep is in our best interest, so what do you say we get to it?”

“Absolutely,” Marla said, and she ensconced herself on the couch, folding her legs beneath her.

Dan got her a soda, put it within her reach, then settled himself back at the desk. He intended to take notes, think more about the whole domination thing, but he got wrapped up in the dynamic of the two women, and didn’t move until 9:40 p.m., when Jessica called it a night. The hours had sped by, and he’d learned a thing or two about his subject. Mostly, that he liked her style. A lot.

JESSICA CLOSED the door behind Marla, and fought the urge to rest her head against the cool wood. She was tired. Not just because this was D day minus one, but because of the man sitting in the corner.

She’d had to use all her powers of concentration to ignore him. She never got distracted. A damn hurricane could be blowing outside, and she’d never raise an eyebrow. But he’d pulled at her ever since he’d walked down the hall.

She’d thought about asking him to leave, but figured she’d get over the awareness with time. It hadn’t happened. She was just as interested in him now as she had been, more so now that they were alone.

What had he been writing? And how could he have sat and listened so quietly for all those hours? She couldn’t imagine he was interested in New Dawn cosmetics.

This whole project of his confused her, and his behavior tonight hadn’t cleared up a thing. He seemed like a very bright man. In fact, after doing a little more checking up on him since their initial meeting, she’d discovered he was brilliant. A self-made millionaire, owner of a consulting firm that designed revolutionary computer systems, currently in use with, among others, the FBI, the IRS and the DOD. Not too shabby.

She turned to see him stretching, arching his back so his shirt rode up, revealing a tiny little patch of skin by his belt. She closed her eyes, although she couldn’t have said why, and when she opened them again, he’d brought his arms down. “I still don’t get it,” she said. “I can’t imagine what questions you think I can answer for you.”

“That’s okay. I can. I have a lot of them written down in my little notebook.”

“For example?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Not yet. Right now, I think the important thing is food. I’m starving and you must be, too.”

She looked at the bedroom with longing. That’s what she really wanted. Sleep. But he was right, she hadn’t eaten since her power bar this morning. “I could use some dinner.”

“Great. Why don’t we just go downstairs. They have great steaks and a good wine cellar at Gigot.”

“That sounds fine. I want to freshen up first, though.”

“You go ahead. I’ll call down.”

She went to the rest room, a little startled to see his things next to hers on the counter. It was only a leather shaving kit, but still. She tried to remember the last time she’d shared a bathroom with a guy. College. And not that often.

Her gaze went to her reflection. She didn’t look as frazzled as she felt. The important thing was not to let this arrangement get to her. He was just a hired hand. Someone doing a job. She’d done research in college, and she understood how it worked. He’d ask, she’d answer, and the rest of the time, she’d work. Simple, and yet…

She was so aware of him. Of his broad shoulders, his slim hips. The way his hair fell across his forehead. That nose of his that was too big, and yet exactly right. The way he kissed.

She sighed, slumping her shoulders and staring blindly at the sink. That kiss had knocked her for a loop. It had caught her completely off guard. Not just that he’d kissed her, but that she had reacted so fiercely. Her toes had curled. For God’s sake, that didn’t happen to her. Not ever. And it wasn’t going to happen again. This was her moment, and nothing and no one was going to get in the way. If she had to, she’d fire him.

HE ORDERED the 1999 E. Guigal Châteauneuf-du-Pape, which Jessica happened to know was the Wine of the Year for 2002 according to Wine Spectator. This to go with the filet mignon she’d ordered, and the T-bone he’d asked for.

Normally, she wasn’t big on steak, but tonight it felt right. As did the small salad with the unbelievably good balsamic vinaigrette, the roasted red potatoes and the sourdough bread that was way too good. Of course, the wine made everything sheer bliss. It was perfect. The meal, the atmosphere, which was dark but not too dark, cozy, quiet. The waiters didn’t hover, but were never out of reach. And she even liked the painting on the wall behind Dan. It was modern, no real subject, but nice.

They’d talked a lot about his mother, of all things, during the meal. Jessica had heard of Colleen Crawford, had even read articles by her. It seemed the two of them had a terrific relationship, and according to Dan, his parents’ marriage had been ideal. But it begged the question “Why don’t you ask her these questions that have you so confused?”

“She won’t answer me.”

“What?”

“She won’t. She tells me I have to learn some things through experience.”

“But you don’t believe her.”

“I don’t disbelieve her, but I think she’s been spoiled by her own relationship. I don’t think she sees the dilemma.”

“Frankly, I don’t think I do, either.”

“You will, the more we talk.”

“Don’t be so sure. I’m not terribly bright when it comes to men. I’ve never been in love or anything remotely close to it.”

His eyebrows came down for a moment, and he sipped some more of his wine. “I don’t think that’ll matter.”

“No?”

“My questions are about you. About what you want. What you need.”

“I can tell you that in about two sentences.”

“I’m sure. But I hope you won’t. I want you to answer my questions in the order I’m going to ask them. Not before.”

“Fair enough.”

He smiled.

She ate the last piece of bread on her plate. After she’d swallowed, she tapped the table. “Well?”

“What?”

“Ask.”

“Oh, no. Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m having a really good time.”

She laughed. “And questions will spoil it?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Just how offensive are these questions?”

It was his turn to laugh. “Not at all. Although, they are personal.”

“So I’d assumed.”

“We’ll start later.”

“When, later? I’m exhausted. All I want now is bed. I have to be up at five.”

“Which means I have to be up at five, right?”

She shook her head. “Nope. Tomorrow morning is makeover day. I’ll be at Bloomingdale’s. Owen won’t be.”

“So when do I report for duty?”

“Tomorrow evening. It’s the big opening party. I’m afraid it’s black-tie.”

“No problem. I’m all set.”

“Okay, then. Just be available from about five on.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She knew he would handle the party well. He was every bit the sophisticate, although not in the least obnoxious about it. The conversation had flowed with surprising ease. But still. “No, it’s not going to work,” she said.

He immediately sat forward. “What?”

“I’m never going to get to sleep wondering what the hell you’re going to ask me. So you have to. Ask. At least one question. Dinner’s about done, so it can’t ruin much.”

He leaned back, not looking pleased. “All right. If you insist.”

“I do.”

He looked down for a long moment, long enough for her to grab her fork so she could stab him with it if he didn’t for Pete’s sake say something. Then he lifted his head and his gaze met hers. “Do you like being tied up for sex?”

Five things you’ll NEVER hear one woman say to another woman:

1. Oh, look, that woman and I have the same dress on! I think I’ll go introduce myself!

2. His new girlfriend is thinner and better-looking than I am, and I’m happy for them both.

3. I’m sick of dating doctors and lawyers! Give me a good old-fashioned waiter with a heart of gold any day!

4. He talks our relationship to death! It’s making me crazy!

5. Why can’t I find a guy who’ll have a wild carefree night of sex and then just go his separate way for once?

Source: Thompson, Dave “Things You’ll Never Hear”

http://www.ijmc.com/

5

JESSICA STARED at Dan, the words he’d spoken echoing in her head. He sat languidly against the dark brown leather, his right arm on the seat, his left still on the table. “Do I what?”

“Like being tied up for sex?” He leaned forward, moving both hands to his wineglass, his eyes dancing with the light from the flickering-candle centerpiece. “You know, being dominated. Letting yourself be taken, giving the control over to your partner.”

She took her own wine and drank it all, then put the crystal goblet down carefully. “You said you wanted to ask questions about women. Not about sex.”

He shook his head. “Sex is part of it. A big part of it. Of course, it’s true, I hadn’t planned on opening with this question, but evidently it was on my mind. So, what the hell.”

“What the hell?” She crossed her legs, folded her hands on her lap. “I know I agreed to be candid, but for God’s sake, Dan, this is a bit much.”

“Oh,” he said, surprise evident in his voice and his expression. “I thought you understood. It’s all going to be personal. Intimate. That’s the point.”

There was still a bit more wine in the bottle, and she poured it all in her glass. If it wasn’t for the day she faced tomorrow, she would have asked for another bottle.

“I’m not asking to make you uncomfortable. Honestly. I just need to understand you.”

“And whether or not I like being tied up is going to give you special insight?”

He nodded. “Maybe not special, but insight, definitely.”

“Why would you even think—”

“Because you’re so strong,” he said. “I watched you work today, and you’re a woman who likes to be in control. At least in the workplace. Which made me think that in other areas, you might find it a relief to give up that control.”

She’d heard that, herself. Actually read about it. Mostly in regards to powerful men, who went to expensive sex clubs where a dominatrix would put them through their paces. After another sip of wine and a deep breath, she met Dan’s gaze. “Well, I’ll tell you, Dan. I’ve never been tied up for sex, so I can’t honestly say I like it or I don’t.”

“Ever thought about it?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“Now that’s not going to work. Either we’re doing this thing, which I now doubt, or we’re not. If we do proceed, you’re going to have to believe me, or what’s the point?”

“No. I didn’t mean I doubted your word. I meant—”

“Okay, then. And yes, really. I’ve never thought about it.”

“I see.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“I’m not. Well, maybe a little.”

She laughed, more out of surprise than anything. “You’re a very unusual person. You know that, right?”

“Unusual? That’s a nice way to put it. But yes, I know. I’ve been that way forever. Probably because of the way I was brought up.”

“Which was?”

“My parents didn’t believe in traditional education. I didn’t go to school.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I was homeschooled. But even that wasn’t done in the traditional way. My parents were devotees of a man named John Holt. He believed that children are sponges, and that curiosity is innate. Given the opportunity, kids will explore every subject they can. But most kids aren’t afforded the luxury of being able to learn freely. I was.”

“How did you decide what to explore?”

“Whatever caught my interest. I liked bugs, so I went out and caught all kinds of bugs. I read books on entomology. I went to museums in Africa, Asia and right here in New York. So I know a lot about bugs.”

“But that supposes you knew how to read. That you knew what to look up.”

“Right. My folks taught me to read and write. Very early, evidently. And I went to libraries and museums before I could walk.”

“And that’s how you learned everything? What if you’d decided you didn’t like math?”

“That’s the whole point. Anything can be interesting if it’s presented with passion. I saw early that money was a powerful tool, so learning how to count it came as a natural consequence.”

“But there were subjects in school I hated.”

“I’ll bet your teachers had a great deal to do with it. Remember, the key is passion. It’s infectious. You want to participate when someone’s having a blast. My parents made sure I was exposed to people who loved what they did.”

“My God. How did they know you’d be well rounded? What about college?

He smiled. “I didn’t go. The way I see it, I’m still in the university. Remember, learning isn’t really about rote memorization, not even close. It’s about understanding. Not that I understand everything I tackle, but I get close. I mean, I get the basics of quantum physics, but that’s it. On the other hand, I know quite a bit about computer software.”

“So I read.”

He raised a eyebrow. “Read?”

“You didn’t think I was going to let you stay in my room without doing some research of my own, did you?”

“I didn’t think about it, but now that you mention it, smart move. What did you discover?”

“That you’ve got a highly successful software consulting business, and that you weren’t kidding when you said you didn’t need my money.”

“That’s it? All you found out was about my business life?”

“I looked on the Internet, not into a crystal ball.”

His laugh made her smile. The conversation made her dizzy. He was like no one she’d ever met. The sex question had thrown her for a loop, and she still wasn’t sure she wanted to bare that much of her life to a stranger, but on the other hand, my God. He was fascinating. She hadn’t been fascinated by a man in…forever.

“Well, next time, go beyond Google. I’m in there.”

“What would I find?”

He shook his head. “Nope. I’m not going to tell you. I don’t want to be the only one who’s surprised during our time together.”

“I think that ship has sailed. I’m surprised. Trust me.”

He leaned over so his mouth came very close to her ear. So close, she could feel his warm breath. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” he whispered.

“No,” she said, her voice just as soft, although she couldn’t fathom why. “I imagine I haven’t.” After she cleared her throat, uncrossed her legs and checked the time, she turned to him again. “But let’s try not to shock me out of my wits, shall we? This week is awfully important.”

“I can’t make any promises,” he said. “But I’ll try.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s time to hit the sack. Unless you want dessert?”

She shook her head. “I need sleep. As much as I can steal.”

“Then let me take care of this posthaste.”

He was true to his word, and in short order they were back at the suite Owen had so kindly provided. The first thing she saw when she turned on the light was a basket of inordinate size sitting on the coffee table. She crossed the room and plucked the card from the wrapping. She read:

Jessica, I loved the gag. Let’s talk. Breakfast tomorrow before Bloomingdale’s? I’ll be in the coffee shop at six.

The note wasn’t signed, but of course she knew who it was from. At least she knew she’d be having breakfast in the suite.

“Cool basket,” Dan said. “From Owen?”

“Yep.”

“I see chocolate. I see champagne. Excellent.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s worried. By the time the party’s over tomorrow night, he’ll be totally convinced.”

“I hope so.”

“Trust me.”

She tossed the card on the table and looked into Dan’s eyes. “You know what’s completely weird?”

“What?”

“I do.”

MARLA CHECKED her clipboard for the fiftieth time in the last hour. Everything had gone like clockwork at the makeover, which made her very nervous.

All ten of the lucky winners had been coiffed, massaged, facialed and made up with New Dawn cosmetics, and they all looked fabulous. Pictures had been taken, the media had been cooperative, and all in all, the first leg of Operation New Dawn had been a smashing success.

Now, while Jessica was doing her last-minute thing at the Panorama, Marla was in charge of collecting the models and getting them spruced up and prepared for the night’s soiree.

No problem. Except, of course, for one thing. In Marla’s not-so-humble opinion, the model, no The Model who was the star of the campaign wasn’t Sheree O’Brien, although she was making almost five million dollars a year as the New Dawn woman. The real star was none other than Shawn Foote. He wasn’t as famous as Sheree, but he was much, much better-looking. In fact, he was the single most handsome man on the face of the earth. Marla knew this, because she’d seen a lot of people, and none of them came close to Shawn’s gorgeousness.

Just thinking about him made her palms all sweaty, which sucked because she might get to touch him, and she didn’t want him going “Ugh” first thing. First impressions, and all.

But, oh, he was so…She sighed. His hair, honey-wheat and thick, tumbled around his face in the sexiest possible way. His brown eyes were sweet and soulful. She sighed. She was going to be a gibbering idiot when she met him, she just knew it.

Checking her watch again, she saw the models were due in, like, two minutes. They had taken over half the salon at the hotel, and cordoned it off. A whole lot of lookie-loos were standing outside the barricade, waiting to see what was going on. Also some paparazzi, but she wasn’t worried. Publicity was the name of this game.

All she had to do was not trip or throw up or something. Act like a professional. Act like Jessica. She could do it. At least she could try.

A limousine pulled up under the awning, and a uniformed bellman went to the door. Marla’s heart started thumping in her chest and she wiped her hands on her skirt. Pasting on a smile, she walked to the curb, but it was just Sheree. Of course, the throng went a little nuts, and the flashbulbs exploded all around, but she’d met the supermodel before, and Sheree even remembered her name. Marla escorted her to the waiting stylists, made sure she had coffee, then skedaddled back outside.

Two more models showed up, and Marla hustled them inside, and then, it happened. He arrived. The only male model, there to show off Daybreak cologne, he stepped out of his limo wearing worn jeans, a Joe Boxer T-shirt and scuffed Skechers. Her heart skipped, jumped, leapt as he turned her way and smiled. Oh, God! That smile. That face. That hair. She couldn’t take it. She was going to die, right here, and that would be okay because Shawn had smiled at her as if she was a real person or something.

“You must be Marla,” he said.

His voice. It was just as she’d imagined. Soft, low, perfect. She managed a nod.

“Great to meet you. I’m Shawn.” He held out his hand.

She panicked. Sweat. Ugh. But she couldn’t wipe it again. Not while he stood there. So she just swallowed hard and stuck it out there.

His grip was gentle, but not wussy. He hesitated for just a few seconds. She knew because she counted every heartbeat. Then he let her go, at least her hand. Not her gaze. That he held, and she was lost. Lost.

“Where to?” he asked.

“I don’t…Oh. Uh, this way.” She spun around, almost losing her footing, but she didn’t fall, thank God, and she somehow walked him past all the photographers and gawkers until he was inside the salon.

Terry, the lucky dog, was going to put on Shawn’s makeup for all the pictures and stuff. There were going to be tons of TV cameras and photographers. But he didn’t seem to mind. He just sat down, grinned and said, “Have at it.”

Marla watched as Terry put a big cape over his body, then ran her fingers through his hair.

That was it. All Marla could stand. If she watched for another second she would expire from the sheer magnificence of it all.

She tore her gaze from the mirror, then from the back of his head. She forced herself to take a step, then another until she was around the corner. She slumped against the wall, desperate to get her breathing back to normal. She still had a lot of work to do. But for the moment, while she recovered, she could think about the way he’d smiled.

She sighed. It was going to be a weird and wonderful week.

1. Why do men get married?
So they don’t have to hold their stomachs in anymore.

2. What are a woman’s four favorite animals?
A mink in the closet, a Jaguar in the garage, a tiger in the bedroom and an ass to pay for it all.

3. How do you get a man to do sit-ups?
Put the remote control between his toes.

4. What’s the difference between men and government bonds?
Bonds mature.

5. Why are married women heavier than single women?
Single women come home, see what’s in the fridge and go to bed. Married women come home, see what’s in bed and go to the fridge.

Source: Thompson, Dave “More Dumb Men Jokes”
http://ijmc.com/

♥ Uploaded by Coral ♥

6

DAN LOOKED at himself in the mirror, and straightened his tie. He liked the Armani tux and thought it worth the extravagant price he’d paid. The tailoring was so fine he felt completely at ease and ready for the night ahead.

He expected to find Jessica waiting for him in the living room, but the bedroom door was still closed. She’d gotten home an hour ago, given him a brief report on her day, including Owen’s insistence that Dan wasn’t really her boyfriend, and then she’d closed herself in to get ready for the gala.

He’d stared at the door for a long time, aware of the urge to walk in on her, to watch her as she dressed. In his mind’s eye he’d imagined her sorting out her things, preparing herself layer by layer. Dressed in nothing more than a long royal-blue kimono, she’d passed by on her way to her shower. When she reappeared, her hair was fixed in a sensual updo and her makeup made her blue eyes seem startlingly vivid and her full lips moist and ripe as just-picked strawberries.

She’d disappeared again, leaving him to get dressed, and he’d taken his time. They were to be at the party a full hour before the first guests should arrive so that Jessica could take care of any last-minute details. Marla had called once, and Jessica had taken it in the bedroom. Other than that interruption, he’d been left to his own thoughts, which had gone in one very narrow direction.

Last night, after Jessica had gone to bed, hadn’t been a restful one. The question he’d asked her had tormented him, giving rise to image after image of him tying her to his large four-poster. In some scenarios she was naked, but in most she wore something. A bra and panties, white lace or black. A bustier complete with garter and dark hose, and as he’d tied silk scarves to her graceful ankles, he studied her four-inch stilettos. Still another version had her in business garb, a slim skirt he’d hoisted to the junction of her thighs, the better to spread her legs. Her demure jacket unbuttoned and open, revealing a thin teddy that couldn’t hide the hard buds of her nipples.

In each of his mental movies, she’d begun with hesitation and not a little bit of fear. As the scene progressed, he’d toyed with her, teased her into a writhing frenzy of lust and desire. In the end, he imagined her cries of release.

The only way he could get himself to sleep was to vow, quite sincerely, that before he’d said goodbye to Jessica, after this charade had ended, he would have her in his bed. And he would let loose the sensual creature he saw just beyond her cool facade.

Morning had come too quickly, and with it, her departure. After she’d left, he’d gone over his notes. The questions he’d written just the day before no longer felt probing enough. He was after something ephemeral and he wasn’t certain yet what tack to take.

The frustration had mounted until he’d had to escape the suite. He’d gone to the hotel gym and worked himself into exhaustion on the treadmill and then on free weights. He followed his regular routine, except at home his run was by the Central Park Pond, and when he did his weights, he didn’t do as many reps. His muscles still ached, but pleasantly.

Back at the room, he’d showered, dressed and discovered Jessica had returned to the suite. She had been in the bedroom for an hour now, but she would have to come out soon if they were going to be on time. Jessica struck him as someone who would be appalled at tardiness. He thought about having a drink but he wanted to be on his toes to assess the situation at the party. Later, if things went smoothly, he’d indulge in some champagne, but for now, he poured himself a glass of water and settled on the couch.

He didn’t have to wait long. The bedroom door opened, and he stood before he turned. What he saw made him swallow hard. She looked like the woman from his fantasies, all of them, wrapped into one. Her sleeveless gown, a deep scarlet that matched her lips, hugged her bodice, lifting her lush, pale breasts into perfect mounds. After tapering at her waist, the material flowed past her hips to swirl around her feet. He could just see the pointed tip of one shoe, the color an exact match to the dress. Simple, elegant, she was everything beautiful and sinful about a woman. The long curve of her neck, the perfection of her shoulders…“Amazing,” he said, his voice rough and quieter than he’d intended, the word inadequate by a mile.

Her lips curled into a slow smile, and her cheeks turned a fetching pink. “Thank you. You’re pretty amazing yourself.”

He grinned. “This old thing? I wear it to pick apples.”

He was rewarded with a laugh. He liked the way her eyes crinkled when she let go like that. He liked a lot about her.

“Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

He held his arm out for her. “The chariot awaits, my lady.”

“Chariot, my behind. All I want to do is get through tonight with no major disasters.”

“It’s going to be an unqualified success,” he said as she walked up to him. He hadn’t noticed before, but she held a small bag in her right hand, scarlet, to match her shoes, glittering to match the magic of her eyes. “The only problem you’re going to have is that all the other women will be green with envy.”

She touched his arm softly. “I can’t believe you don’t understand women. You’ve certainly mastered the art of flattery.”

“You think that was flattery? Wrong. Just stating the facts, like the research stud I am.”

She laughed again. “Just do me a favor. Keep Owen off my back tonight. Then I’ll call you any kind of stud you want.”

He waggled his eyebrows as he led her to the door. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

“That’s fine, hold me.” Her step faltered. “To it,” she rushed to add.

He didn’t say anything, just enjoyed that he could fluster her. Discretion being the better part of valor, he decided to rescue his maiden from further embarrassment. “Tell me more about Owen. Did he find you?”

Her stride evened as they approached the elevator. “Yes, he did. He laughed a lot, like we were sharing some colossal joke. He asked if you were that gay friend of mine.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That I should have mentioned you before, because things were getting pretty serious, but that I work hard at keeping my private life private.”

“Nice. And his response?”

“I don’t know. I was saved by the bell. Marla called, and I went outside to talk to her.”

“Better and better. But have no fear. Tonight we’ll end his doubts.”

The elevator arrived and she led him inside. A man in a rumpled suit rested against the back of the car and the way he stared at Jessica made Dan want to wash his mind out with soap. Dan positioned himself between Jessica and the lecher, putting his arm around her shoulder as the doors whispered closed.

She looked up at him sharply. “Rehearsing?”

He smiled. “You never know who’ll be on the other side of those doors.”

She didn’t seem convinced, although she didn’t move away. “Anyway, about tonight…”

“Yes?”

“What is it you’re planning? The star attraction tonight is New Dawn. We’re going to have a lot of celebrities and I don’t want any of the focus of the evening to be on me. Us.”

“My only target audience is Owen.”

Her furrowed forehead hadn’t smoothed. “Just how vivid is this demonstration going to be?”

“Don’t worry. It’s going to be great. I may not have gone to college but I do know how to behave among them hoity-toity folks.”

She smiled, and he felt her shoulders relax. “I trust you. I think.”

“You just concentrate on the work,” he said. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

WHEN THEY GOT to the Panorama, the valet opened the limo door, and Jessica stepped onto the pavement, her gaze automatically checking to make sure that the guard ropes held back the gathering paparazzi on either side of the entrance. The bouncers were impeccably dressed in tuxedos, and the klieg lights were sweeping the night sky. All seemed well, and when Dan took her hand to lead her inside, her nerves eased perceptibly. She’d been to lots of events like this—movie premieres, awards shows, restaurant openings, but she’d never been in charge of anything this large before. She took comfort in the strength of her team and the fact that she’d been obsessive in her attention to detail. However, things could still go wrong.

For whatever reason, Dan’s hand made things better. His presence radiated confidence that she was able to tap into. Rationally, she should have been more nervous, not less. God knows he sent her thoughts skidding into the danger zone, but maybe that was the key. A large chunk of her fear was siphoned off into sexual awareness. Sure. It made a world of sense. And at least for tonight, she felt grateful.

Inside, the club looked sensational. Festooned with peach and lavender balloons, custom-made to match the New Dawn colors, She’d been afraid that it would look like a sixteen-year-old’s bedroom, but the sophistication of the flowers, the artwork and the sheer drapes made it seem more like something out of a beautiful dream. The decor worked, and when the dance floor was packed and the music filled the air, the atmosphere would transform into something sensual and steamy, exactly what she was going for.

Marla waved from the bar and headed their way. She looked fantastic in her simple black gown. With her hair pinned back by a diamond clip and the small diamond studs in her ears, she seemed radiant.

“Oh, you’re so gorgeous!” Marla walked a complete circle around them. “Va-va-voom! Both of you.”

“Look who’s talking,” Dan said. “You’re going to have every man in the place begging for a scrap of attention.”

Her cheeks got hot pink and she looked at the floor. “Oh, right.”

Dan lifted her hand. “Hey,” he said very softly.

Marla lifted her gaze, but not her head.

“In a very deserted jungle, deep in Costa Rica, I watched a caterpillar turn into a monarch butterfly. The transformation took my breath away, and when I tried later to tell a friend about the beauty of the butterfly, words failed me. Now all I would have to do is point to you, and he would understand.”

Marla’s blush deepened and her eyes grew moist. “I don’t…”

Dan leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Knock ’em dead, gorgeous,” he whispered, just loudly enough so that Jessica could hear.

Her attention shifted from her assistant to this odd man she’d hired to be her escort. How could he have known that Marla had been struggling to transform herself from a somewhat geeky youth into a confident young woman? That this dress, this whole approach to her looks was new and untested? That what she needed most was a man, particularly a good-looking, confident man, to affirm that she was beautiful, that she could relax into this new phase of her life?

Marla practically floated away with a vague promise to check into something, leaving Jessica alone with Dan. Well, as alone as one could be while waiters and team members scurried about straightening this and adjusting that. He smiled at her, but not in a self-satisfied, gloating way, which she had sort of expected. He’d made the night for Marla, and most men she knew would have worn that triumph like a trophy.

“May I get you something to drink?” he asked. “Or maybe there’s some work I can do? I’m pretty handy with a hammer or even a dish towel.”

Jessica shook her head. “No, thanks. I think we’ve got it under control, but if you’d like, you can come with me while I do a final check.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

AFTER A GOOD HALF HOUR talking with the deejay, checking on the liquor and the hired staff, Jessica led Dan back into the main room of the club. Marla was stationed at the door, welcoming the first of the guests. From this distance Jessica couldn’t see who it was. As they walked across the dance floor, she felt Dan’s hand slip from her shoulder to the base of her neck. His long fingers felt warm and a bit ticklish. Her first reaction was to cringe, but she mastered herself quickly. She’d never really thought about all the places a man touched a woman that went beyond casual boundaries. An acquaintance could certainly touch a hand, an arm, even a shoulder. But a touch to the neck or face carried with it an unspoken message: I’m entering into the land of the private, here. You’re allowing me to. That means we’re more than friends, and if you let my hand linger, it means we’re heading for intimacy. Jessica hadn’t let anyone into her privacy in years, and she wondered if she’d been on a date with Dan, would she have cringed? Or would she have welcomed his touch?

As it stood now, she couldn’t very well shake him off. He was simply doing his job. Making it clear to all and sundry that they were a couple. She didn’t dare tell him to back off in case Owen was in sight, because Owen could be anywhere at any time, watching for just this kind of thing. In fact, she slowed her pace, looked up to meet Dan’s gaze, and slipped her hand around his waist.

“Hey there,” he said.

“You’re good at this,” she said.

“I’ve been on dates before.”

“This isn’t one.”

“Not technically, no. But why let a little thing like a pesky, oversexed boss get in the way? I’m going to enjoy every minute of tonight, and I hope you are, too.”

“It’s not important that I enjoy myself. I can’t afford to forget I’m working.”

“Who says the two are mutually exclusive? You can be observant, take care of business, and still have a blast.”

She stopped him short. “What planet are you from?”

He shook his head, his expression puzzled. “Why on earth would you want a career that isn’t fun?”

“Fun? Fun isn’t the issue.”

“Why not? What better criteria are there?”

“Money, power. You know, the things that make the world go round?”

“So you get off on power, do you?”

“Sure.”

“You say that like it’s a given.”

“It is. Power is what it’s all about.”

“Why?”

“Come on, Dan. Look around. Those who have the most power win.”

“Win what? What’s the prize?”

She looked over at the front door. More and more people were arriving, and she shouldn’t leave Marla to face the crowd on her own. “Let’s talk about prizes later, shall we? I need to get over there.”

“Of course. But I’m not going to forget where we were.”

“I’m sure you’re not.”

They reached the entrance and Marla stepped to her side. “Donna Karan is here, and so is Kate Spade. The limos are starting to pile up.”

“Great. Do me a favor, go ask Eddy to start the champagne and hors d’oeuvres. Have you seen Owen?”

“He got here a while ago. He asked me where you were.”

“I’m sure he’ll turn up.”

Marla gave Dan a big smile, then headed off for the kitchen. Jessica turned to find Donald Trump at the door with his latest girlfriend. She settled in for a long hour of greetings, aware the whole time that Dan was close by.

When the bulk of the crowd had arrived, Dan led Jessica away from the door into the heart of the party. The music, an eclectic mix by one of the most popular deejays in the city, was just loud enough to make conversation difficult. Drinks and food flowed at the hands of the ever attentive staff, and everyone seemed to be having a hell of a good time. He hoped to make that true for Jessica.

She’d handled the introductions like a pro, but when he touched her he could feel the tension in her muscles. Owen had come by briefly, pretty much ignoring Dan, but the crowd had been such that he had to leave Jessica be. Now that they were out in the open, so to speak, Dan felt sure Owen would make his move.

They were in the middle of the dance floor, Madonna singing a techno-song with a strong beat. Dan grabbed Jessica’s hand and spun her around to face him. “Let’s dance,” he shouted.

She shook her head no, and tried to turn away but he stopped her.

“Come on, one dance. It’ll do you good.”

She closed the distance between them and he bent at the waist so his ear was near her mouth. “I don’t know how.”

“Ah,” he said. “Then I’ll wait for a slow song.”

“Dan, I have work to do.”

“What work would that be? Everything’s going great.”

“I need to make sure it continues.”

“It will. Look around.”

She did, with a slow arc, turning around until she’d seen the whole room.

“See? These people know how to party.”

She nodded, but seemed captivated by something in a dark corner. He followed her gaze to find Marla standing with Shawn Foote. The two were huddled close as Shawn talked to her.

“Is something wrong?”

Jessica shook her head. “No, it’s fine. It’s just that Marla has a—”

He lost the tail end of her sentence. “What?”

She stood on tiptoe and cupped her mouth. “Marla has a huge crush on him. I’m proud of her.”

“Ah. Good for her.”

The song ended and another fast number took its place. “Is there somewhere quiet around here?”

“The only place I know of is the bathroom.”

“No good.”

“Oh,” she said. “There’s the roof.”

“Perfect. Where’s the door.”

She pointed toward the kitchen. “At the back, to your left.”

He laughed. “You’re coming with me.”

“No, I can’t.”

“You can.” He grabbed her hand and led her through the press of bodies. It took a while, but they got past the dance floor. He’d even managed to snag a glass of champagne on the way.

The kitchen bustled with activity, but Dan didn’t let her stop to investigate. He just kept leading her toward the door. When they reached the exit, Jessica put on the breaks. “Dan, I can’t.”

“Five minutes. We’ll get some air, have a drink. Then we’ll come on back and get as serious as you want.”

“That’s not the point,” she said, clearly not ready to give in. But just then Owen McCabe saved the day. He was on the far side of the room, but he’d spotted them. His voice, calling out Jessica’s name, was barely audible over the din.

“Uh-oh,” Dan said. “Owen, six o’clock.”

“Damn.”

“Come on, before he gets any closer.”

She let him pull her out the door, onto the metal steps leading to the roof.

They were in Midtown, on East Fifty-third between Lexington and Park, and when they’d climbed the two flights of stairs, they walked into a night filled with magic.

They weren’t high enough up to have an unobstructed view, but what they did see was incredible. The Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building, lights blazing, made incredible exclamation points on either side. They were just high enough that the noise from the street was more of a whisper than a roar.

“There,” he said. “Isn’t this better?”

“Still, I should be—”

“You should be right here.” He handed her the champagne. “Drink,” he said. “Breathe. Relax. If nothing else, we need to make Owen wonder what we’re doing.”

She looked at the bubbly Dom Perignon, then back at him. “Okay. Five minutes.”

“Is that all? Boy, you don’t have very high expectations, do you?”

She seemed puzzled for a second, then she snorted in a very ladylike way. “You think Owen thinks we’re out here having sex?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Oh, that’s just silly.”

Now it was his turn to be skeptical. “You don’t think that’s the first thing he’d do if he had the chance?”

She paused. “Owen? Yes, you’re probably right.”

He stepped closer to her, touched her arm. “You don’t think it’s the first thing any man in that room would do if they had the chance?”

“Oh, please.”

He pulled her close so he could feel her against him. “Do you have any idea how desirable you are?”

“Owen isn’t here now.”

“And for that, I’m truly grateful.”

She finally met his gaze. He didn’t hide his thoughts at all. And when he saw her touch her upper lip with the tip of her tongue, he bent down for the kiss that had beckoned all evening.

He wrapped her in his arms, not willing to chance her getting away, but from her response, the move was probably unnecessary. She opened her mouth just enough for him to fully taste her, to linger in that wet heat. She moaned, and he pressed against her, letting her feel what she did to him. Her little gasp told him he’d succeeded.

“I’ve wanted to do this since you walked out of the bedroom tonight,” he whispered.

She responded with her lips, bringing him down again as she teased him with her tongue. His whole body tensed with the feel of her, with the electricity coursing through him. His hand moved slowly over the bare flesh of her back, the softness enough to drive him over the edge.

When he felt her fingers grappling at his back, he was the one to moan. He wallowed in her taste, moving his mouth to get her from every angle, to touch her completely and thoroughly, to possess her.

Pulling her tighter, closer, the party disappeared, the rest of Manhattan faded away, until all that existed were the two of them.

He rubbed against her, hard and anxious, letting her know that all she had to do was say the word—

“Jessica.”

Owen’s voice stopped them cold. She jerked back, pulling away as if she’d been burned.

“Hey there, Owen,” Dan said, disliking the man more and more.

“Jessica,” he said again, ignoring Dan. “I was looking everywhere for you.”

“I was just taking a little break,” she said. “Is there a problem?”

“ET wants an interview, and I thought you should get out there.”

“I thought they wanted to talk to Sheree and Shawn.”

“They do, but I think we need to have a presence.”

“Okay, sure. I’ll be right down.”

Owen gave Dan a look that would singe the hair off his eyebrows. “I’ll take you to them. They’re not in the building.”

She reached out and took Dan’s hand. “Okay, let’s go.”

When Owen saw Dan was joining them, he wasn’t pleased. The rest of the night was all business, but her thoughts never strayed too far from that kiss.

FIVE WORST GIFTS TO BUY A WOMAN

1. Never give a woman any kind of household appliance or something that is going to make “housework” easier. For instance, a blender, a toaster, a new vacuum, anything in an infomercial.

2. Any sharp objects made by Ronco that slices or dices, or a set of Ginsu knives. These may one day be used as a weapon against you when you come home with lipstick on your collar after a “night out with the boys.”

3. Any lingerie made of flannel. It gives her the idea that you do not consider her the sexy woman that she is. Take out that wallet and buy her something sexy from Victoria’s Secret.

4. Any type of cubic zirconium jewelry you see on a home shopping channel.

5. Please do not buy her clothes because you think for one minute you have good taste in woman’s clothing. Believe me, she’ll smile and say it’s beautiful, while choking back tears and mumbling under her breath, “Where the hell would I ever wear this outfit without being arrested for bad taste?”

Source: JokesMagazine.Com “Ten Worst Gifts To Buy A Woman”

http://jokesmagazine.com/frontpage.asp

7

THEY LEFT THE PARTY at a quarter to three, the quiet of the limo startling after so much noise. Jessica seemed pleased and exhausted. From what he could see, the event had been every bit the success she’d been hoping for. It hadn’t been as victorious for him, however.

The kiss on the rooftop haunted him. He’d felt something powerful up there, something that hadn’t stirred in him for a long, long time.

Jessica leaned back on the black-leather seat and closed her eyes. His gaze lingered on her face, memorizing the lush curve of her lips. He wondered how much of what he felt was primal, and what part of it was his excitement at having someone with such an agile mind as a sparring partner.

The last woman he’d been involved with hadn’t been nearly as bright as Jessica, although she was by no means dull. Lily had been an intoxicatingly beautiful woman and, had she tried, she could have done something with her life. She’d been preoccupied with her beauty, however, and spent inordinate amounts of time primping, shopping, anointing. In the beginning of the relationship, when it was filled with that first blush of excitement, he hadn’t minded a bit. Eventually, though, he’d grown tired of it, preferring the company of his friends. She’d broken up with him, which had been a relief. That was over a year ago, during which time he’d had only one brief encounter, and that was with an old friend who’d visited from Oregon and had left after three wild days.

It wasn’t a stretch to place his ardor for Jessica on the doorstep of lust. And yet, he was just as eager to talk with her as he was to make love to her. Well, maybe that was stretching it pretty thin. He definitely wanted to sleep with her, to explore all of her fantasies. In fact, that was something he intended to pursue as soon as he could. She’d sworn that she would tell the truth, and he was going to press her as far as he could. Get her to open up as no woman ever had, at least to him.

What did she fantasize about? It wasn’t being tied up, that much he knew, but what? In her dreams, was she holding the reins? Or did she yearn for something sweetly romantic? God, he had to know.

She turned her head and opened her eyes just enough so she could see him. “Are we there yet?”

He looked out the window, recognizing the deli on the corner. “Soon.”

“I don’t think I have the energy to get out of the car.”

He scooted over a bit, slid his arm in back of her so her head rested on his shoulder. “You can lean on me,” he said.

She shifted a bit, getting comfy. “You were great tonight. Owen was only a minor nuisance.”

“My pleasure.”

“Sorry we didn’t get that dance.”

“I’m not worried about it. We’ll have our chance.”

She didn’t say anything, and a few moments later her breathing was so slow and even, he thought she must be asleep. They’d be at the hotel in five minutes, so he’d have to wake her, but in the meantime, he enjoyed the feel of her resting against him. She was so warm, so delicate. His fingers brushed her shoulder, amazed at the softness, the creamy texture of her skin. Then his gaze moved down to her breasts, the tantalizing view a little too enticing.

It wasn’t a wise thing to get all heated up, not tonight. She needed her sleep and he needed to get himself back on track.

The truth was, he didn’t want to rush this thing. He wanted to complete his research, and do right by her. There was no rush. She wasn’t going anywhere.

The limo turned the last corner and pulled in to the hotel. She woke when it came to a stop, sitting up with a little shake of her head. “We’re here.”

“That we are,” he said, sorry that the ride had ended.

The door opened, and Dan got out, offering Jessica his hand. She took it and smiled as she got out. He tipped the driver, then put his arm around her shoulder as they made their way inside.

She didn’t say anything on the ride up, and he felt just as comfortable in the silence. After a slow walk down the hall, they entered the suite. She stood quite still while he turned on some lights. When he walked back to her side, she reached out and grabbed his lapel, pulling him down to eye level. She kissed him softly on the lips, just a peck, really. “Thank you,” she said.

He wanted more, but all he did was smile as she let him go. “You go ahead and use the bathroom first,” he said. “You need to get to bed.”

“I have to be up at seven,” she said.

“Ouch.”

“I’ll say. But the only thing I have to do tomorrow is a photo shoot. Shouldn’t be too bad.”

“That sounds interesting.”

“It won’t be. But you can always watch the models change if you’re bored.”

“I’d never be that bored.”

She gave him a half smile. “That’s it. I’m falling asleep on my feet.” She headed to her bedroom, weaving a little.

Dan watched her until she shut the door, then he reached up and undid his tie. He was glad the pullout bed was comfortable, because he needed his beauty rest, too. His jacket came off next, and then his cummerbund. Although he felt like tossing them all on a chair, and worrying about it in the morning, he hung them up like a good little guest. By then, Jessica had appeared in her kimono and hurried to the bathroom.

He stopped on his way to making his bed, staring at the bathroom door. Was she naked underneath that robe? He could picture her so clearly it was painful. He wanted to walk in on her, lift her up and sit her on the edge of the counter. Spread her legs apart and stand real close, so that the heat of her could warm his already hot body. Kiss her until she forgot about sleep, forgot about work. Run his hands over her stunning breasts, feel the heft of them, the rigid peaks of her nipples. He’d take his time tasting her, sucking each nipple until her fingers clawed his back.

And then he’d get on his knees, pulling her forward until her hot center was open before him. He’d work his tongue slowly, teasing all around her clit until she begged, and then he would be relentless. To make her come until she couldn’t stand it another second. When she was almost to the point of madness, that’s when he’d stand up. Hold her right there at the edge, and he’d enter her in one hard stroke, filling her, making her come yet again.

The bathroom door opened and he spun to his left, acutely aware of the bulge in his tuxedo pants. He didn’t want her to think sex was all he ever thought about, although with her, that was mostly true.

“All yours,” she said, and she made her way to the bedroom.

“Thanks,” he said over his shoulder. He didn’t relax until he was alone, and then, the relaxation only went as far as his shoulders.

He grabbed some pajama bottoms, which he didn’t much care for. He slept in the nude, but his mother had gotten him the blue cotton pair two Christmases ago and he figured it was only right to put them on now.

Once in the bathroom, he turned on the shower, peeled off the rest of his clothes and stepped inside. He probably should have made the water cold, but that idea seemed excessive when there was a perfectly acceptable alternative.

He grabbed the soap and after a quick wash, he took matters into his own hands. Well, hand. Eyes closed, he thought about picking up where he’d left off, but he’d liked the foreplay too much. The venue changed to the living room. Right out there, with the couch already made into a bed. And Jessica wasn’t in the kimono. No, she was wearing that incredible scarlet dress. He placed her in front of the sliding glass door. Behind it, Manhattan glittered like a jewel, but his gaze would be squarely on her reflection, so clear he could read her eyes as he stood close behind her. Close enough to nibble on the soft curve of her neck, right where it became shoulder. He’d run his fingers softly over the expanse of her back, giving her goose bumps, making her quiver. Then he’d find the soft little lobe of her ear and run his tongue up into the shell, then nip again at the lobe as he grasped her zipper and pulled it down, down.

His breathing got heavier as the images spilled in front of him, each more erotic than the next. But he didn’t want it to end, not yet. There was still too much to see.

JESSICA SPREAD her legs, and ran her hand down her stomach as the images in her head went from hot to scalding. She’d tried to sleep, but it was useless. Not while Dan was on the other side of that door, and not with the memory of his kiss still on her lips.

My God, what he’d done to her. It was crazy. She hardly knew him, and she wasn’t one of those fickle females who’d drop her panties at the first sight of a good-looking guy. Okay, so Dan was more than good-looking. He was incredible, and the way he kissed.

Her fingers found the fold of her sex, and she didn’t waste any time going for the magic. She’d learned years ago to take care of her own needs, and saw nothing wrong with it. In fact, her ability to pleasure herself had kept her out of trouble on more than one occasion. Tonight, for the first time she could recall, she felt how incredibly lacking it was. Not that she couldn’t get herself off, that was just a matter of imagination and persistence, but oh, how she wanted to feel him next to her. To see his body, to see what he would do with her.

His creativity, she felt certain, ran to more than just computer software. No, this was a man who would take his time. Who would use everything at his disposal to bring her pleasure. His kiss had told her so much…too much. And she wanted more.

She fixed an image in her head while she increased her speed and pressure. Dan, walking in right now, naked, hard. Big and hard. So hard. Throwing back the covers, catching her with her hand in the cookie jar. Giving her that wicked grin of his. Climbing onto the bed, pulling her hand away. Telling her to relax, and let him do the driving.

Her nipples hardened as she pictured him taking each one between his lips, circling, sucking, while his hands explored her body. She’d reach out and find that hard length of his and do her own exploration. There was something so intoxicating about the softness of the flesh encasing something so rigid. She loved playing with penises, although she didn’t often get the chance.

But then she’d let him go as he slid down, licking her every inch of the way from her breastbone to her nether lips.

Oh, God, she had to slow down…If she didn’t she would…

…COME. He wasn’t ready yet, but dammit, the picture in his head! He had her up to the glass, so cold she’d cried out when her naked back had pressed against it. His hands holding her ass, holding her up so that her body was perfectly aligned for his entry. He’d taken her mouth with his, and kissed her deeply, and then he’d thrust inside her so hard he’d nearly lost it that second.

But he’d held on and now, in a picture so vivid he could practically taste her, he continued to thrust, pretending it wasn’t his hand.

It was too late, he couldn’t hold back another second. He pumped, fast, and his pelvis pushed involuntarily until there…there…“Jessica!”

“OH, GOD, Dan!” Jessica pulled her hand away and buried her head in her pillow. She’d been so loud, she’d probably wakened him, and that would be a disaster. She shivered as an after-thrill took her, then squeezed her legs tight as she tried to slow her breathing.

The door was thick, he probably hadn’t heard. Or thought it was the TV. Or something. She couldn’t worry about it, not when it was so late and she had to get up so early.

She fluffed her pillow, straightened the blankets and closed her eyes. And immediately pictured Dan. Naked.

This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all. She reached over and grabbed the remote, turning the TV onto a late-night black-and-white movie. She turned down the sound so it was just loud enough that she’d have to struggle to make out the words. That should do it. She hoped.

MARLA LOOKED at the clock on her bedside table. It was almost four, and she wasn’t the least bit sleepy. She couldn’t stop thinking about the night. About Shawn.

Oh, God, he’d talked to her so much! Every time he wasn’t having his picture taken or doing some other work stuff, he’d come right back to her and just picked up the conversation as if it had never been interrupted.

It was simply too much. How she’d lived through it without doing something fatal was beyond her wildest imaginings. Shawn Foote. He’d laughed at her jokes, and most people didn’t because her humor was, well, different, but he’d gotten her jokes, and it turned out his humor was also odd, and even though they were different odds, they still kind of matched, which was…Better than anything.

They’d talked about his work, and how he wasn’t crazy about being a model, but they paid him so much money that he couldn’t turn it down, but now that he’d invested a good portion of it, he was going back to school to study animal husbandry because what he really wanted was to have a big ranch in Montana with lots of horses and great fishing. And he wanted to have a whole bunch of cabins on his property so he could invite all his writer and artist friends to come and visit and stay as long as they wanted, which was the most wonderful thing she’d ever heard.

He’d asked all about her, too, and she’d told him about college and how cool it was to work with Jessica, and that she wasn’t quite sure she wanted to stay in marketing, but she felt as if she had time to figure it out.

While she stood talking with him, a billion movie stars came to talk, and Shawn introduced her to each one as if she were the celebrity, which kind of made her nervous, but then it didn’t because he was so relaxed about the whole thing. She’d met Drew Barrymore, Josh Hartnett, Hugh Grant, Gwyneth Paltrow and so many more, they blurred in her mind. All of them were so good-looking it made her feel lumpish, except Shawn was by far the best-looking guy there. She could tell that people were wondering what he was doing sticking by her all night, but she didn’t care. Nothing could have been better than her night, not one thing.

Except perhaps the last few minutes, when Shawn had held her hand and had smiled that incredible smile that gave him dimples to die for, and this one lock of hair had been over his eye, and he’d said he had a really good time and he was glad the job wasn’t over.

With the memory shimmering in her mind, she turned over, punched her pillow and started all over again from the beginning.

DATING TIPS FOR MEN

There are lots of ways to ruin a date. Here are a few things NOT to say on a date…

1. I really don’t like this restaurant that much, but I wanted to use this two-for-one coupon before it expired.

2. I used to come here all the time with my ex.

3. Would you excuse me? My cat gets lonely if he doesn’t hear my voice on the answering machine every hour.

4. I really feel that I’ve grown in the past few years. Used to be I wouldn’t have given someone like you a second look.

Source: Thompson, Dave “Things Not to Say on Your Valentine’s Date”
http://www.ijmc.com/

8

JESSICA WOKE to the annoyance of the alarm after what felt like ten minutes of sleep. She’d had a dreadful night, filled with sexual dreams, all of them starring Dan Crawford. Today was going to be relatively calm, and she felt sure he was going to start questioning her in earnest, which made her downright nervous. She was already too intimate with him, and answering him truthfully was going to be tricky. Maybe he wouldn’t ask her anything that would betray her feelings toward him. Although, aside from wanting to sleep with him, she wasn’t sure at all what those feelings were.

It shouldn’t matter. She’d set her course and nothing was going to make her stray, not even a man as fascinating as Dan.

As she gathered her clothes, she thought about Carrie Elward, her roommate in college. Carrie had been a brilliant girl, top of her class. At graduation she’d already accepted a top-paying position at IBM, having had to choose among a host of equally enticing offers. That first year, she’d distinguished herself, saving the company several million dollars with a new program she’d developed, and her future seemed paved with gold. Then she’d met Alex, a stunning charmer from Canada who ran a small but successful dotcom. Within six months, Carrie had lost her luster, and at the end of the year she’d quit IBM to help Alex run his company. The bottom had fallen out shortly thereafter, and Carrie had been reduced to taking a position at American Standard for half the pay.

It was a lesson Jessica took to heart. Not that it was fair. Men didn’t seem to have the same difficulty mixing love and career. But no one had said life was fair. If she wanted to have the kind of security and power she dreamt of, there was no way she could get herself involved in a serious relationship. Later. All that was going to come, just not for a few years. Once she had a vice presidency, she’d be open to more, but until then, she’d be a fool to let her emotions ruin her future.

Maybe, if she was lucky, Dan would still be available, although that was a long shot. She was amazed he wasn’t already married. But, he’d said he hadn’t had much luck with women. She couldn’t see it, unless he was sabotaging himself in some way. That was an all-too-common problem, easy to see in others, invisible to the one most affected.

It did feel weird helping a man she found so attractive gain the skills necessary to find another woman. But she’d promised, and she was a woman of her word.

She had all her things together and she left the safety of her bedroom to head for the shower. Her gaze went immediately to the table by the wet bar. Dan was dressed handsomely in a gray oxford shirt with casual jeans. Her blush spoke as much for her troubled sleep as it did for her immediate and powerful reaction to seeing him. The man was a walking pheromone.

“I hope you like it,” he said.

She followed his gaze to the table, spread out with a large and abundant breakfast array. The plates were domed, so she couldn’t tell what he’d ordered, but she could see orange juice, coffee, toast and a syrup container. “What’s all this?”

“I figured we’d get a quiet meal in before we had to do the photo-shoot thing.”

She headed toward the table, touched at his thoughtfulness. “It looks great.”

“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got some of everything.”

She uncovered a plate of scrambled eggs, then another of pancakes. The scent reminded her of her hunger and she set her clothes on one of the chairs and sat in another. “This is very kind.”

“No sweat.” He sat opposite her and started to prepare his plate. Eggs Benedict, crisp bacon, hash browns. She took the scrambled eggs, sausage and the other half of the potatoes. For a while, they ate in silence, drank juice, prepared coffee. Then she noticed his silence, not of word but of gesture, and caught him looking at her with an expression she couldn’t quite name. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said, attacking his food again.

“Come on, I know you want to ask questions. It’s okay. Ask.”

He finished chewing, then stared at his fork for a minute. When he looked up, she found her tummy was tight.

“Why don’t you want a relationship?”

She relaxed. This was an easy one. For the next few minutes she laid out the argument just as it had come to her such a short time ago. He didn’t interrupt, just listened attentively, taking the occasional bite or sip. When she’d finished, she drank some coffee, debating the wisdom of having some pancakes.

“I know women with strong, successful careers who are married.”

She knew it couldn’t be that simple. “I’m sure there are, although I don’t know any. The myth is that women can have it all. It’s not true. Something has to give. I don’t want to have to choose between my career and a man.”

“I don’t blame you. That would be tough. But I don’t believe the choice would be difficult between a career and love. I think you can have both. In fact, I think that with someone there in your corner, someone who cares about you and what you do, the career would change into something much more meaningful. And, at the end of the day, you wouldn’t be alone for your victories. Or your defeats.”

“Being alone doesn’t bother me. And, I might add, for a man your age, you certainly have an idealist view of relationships.”

“Believe me, I’ve thought a lot about that. You’re right. I am being idealistic. But I lived my whole life with two people who loved and respected each other. Watching them together made it impossible for me to settle for anything less.”

She put down her cup. “I’m sorry for you.”

His eyebrows rose in surprise. “Why?”

“Because what you saw with your parents is the exception to the rule. I don’t know a single couple like that.”

“I not only saw it with my parents, but several of their friends.”

“You were lucky.”

“So you think I should just give up? Settle for someone mediocre?”

“No. I don’t think you should settle. Maybe adjust your expectations.”

“To what? What are your expectations?”

“I’m not sure how to answer. I haven’t thought about it that much.”

“Seriously?”

“No. I’ve been pretty focused on what I’ve been doing.”

“But surely you’ve thought about getting married. Having a family.”

“Only in the vaguest terms.”

“What was your family like?”

“Nothing like yours, that’s for sure.”

“Tell me.”

She glanced at her watch. “I still have to shower and dress.”

“We won’t be late.”

She supposed she owed him this, although it wasn’t her idea of a good time. “My parents married young, after my mother got pregnant in high school. She ended up with her diploma, but only by the skin of her teeth. My father did two years of college, but never had the life he’d hoped for. He wanted to be a chemist, but he ended up settling for a job as a salesman for a pharmaceutical company. My mother had two more children, both girls, and then she and my dad divorced. My mother worked for years as a legal secretary, which she hated. Most of the people I grew up with came from similar backgrounds. No grand passionate love affairs that lasted past the seven-year itch.”

“Wow. It makes sense that you’ve focused on your career.”

“Yes, I suppose it does. But that doesn’t mean I’m not happy.”

“Are you?”

“Yes. I take a great deal of pride in my accomplishments. I’ve already got a nice portfolio started, and by the time I’m through, I expect to be very comfortable.”

He leaned forward in his chair, which made her aware of her own body; leaning back, crossed arms, crossed legs. She made an effort to loosen up, but the best she could do was hold on to her cup of coffee.

“All on your own, right?” he asked.

“Exactly. I learned very early on that there isn’t a knight in shining armor out there waiting to rescue me. If I want security, I’ll have to earn it myself.”

“That’s wise.”

“You agree?”

He spread his hands. “With the knight theory? Yeah, I do. I don’t think it’s good for anyone to wait to be rescued. It puts too much pressure on the rescuer. It can only lead to disappointment.”

“But isn’t that what you’re hoping to do?”

“No, not at all. I expect the right woman for me will have found what makes her whole and happy. I want to share in that, just as I hope she’ll share in my life.”

“Don’t you read? The statistics alone tell you that you’re dreaming.”

He frowned. “God, I hope not.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to rain on your whatever. My experience has clearly been different than yours. You’ll probably find just what you’re looking for.”

“I’m going to try,” he said.

“Your parents, what do they think of this research project of yours?”

“My father died two years ago, but my mother thinks I’m nuts.”

She smiled. “That’s got to be hard about your dad. It sounds like you two were close.”

“Oh, yeah. I’m sure he would have shared my mother’s sentiments, but he would never have discouraged me. Mom, either. They believe in life by trial and error.”

“So far, you seem to have done well.”

He smiled. “No complaints. I’m about as happy as a man has a right to be.”

“The statistics on that are pretty daunting, too.”

He got a piece of bacon from his plate, ate it slowly. “I wonder why that is,” he said. “So much angst. It never made sense to me.”

“Speaking of angst, I’d better get my act in gear. We have to be at the shoot in less than an hour.”

“Don’t want any more breakfast?”

“Yes, but I’d better not. It was great. Thank you.”

He smiled before he sipped some coffee. She gathered her things and headed for the shower, wondering if she had left because of the time or the conversation.

As soon as she was naked, her thoughts went to last night. The strength of her want of him. Breakfast had been terrific, but not filled with that same lust, although she still found him completely yummy. This was different. She’d never experienced this kind of balance before. Her past flings, and she knew that’s all they were, had been like Roman candles. Brilliant flame, but short-lived. She’d felt that same intensity last night, but now the fire was banked, smoldering, while her focus had been on the conversation.

She climbed in the shower and began her regimen, all the while chewing on the situation.

DAN FOUND HIMSELF a director’s chair and settled in for a long day. They had set up camp in a relatively quiet section of Grand Central Station, cordoned off from the public. The photographer was some big shot with a bunch of major campaigns under his belt, and the models were in the super category, including Sheree O’Brien and Shawn Foote.

It was interesting watching Marla around Shawn. She was clearly smitten, and he seemed interested right back. Surprisingly, Dan was worried for her. Even though he was staunchly in favor of tasting all that life had to offer, he liked Marla and didn’t want to see her get hurt. Although he wasn’t acquainted with Shawn, he had known some male models and actors, and those hadn’t exactly been the brightest or the kindest people he’d ever met. Mostly, they’d been so obsessed with themselves, there was no room for anyone else in their lives. But, he’d give Shawn the benefit of the doubt. For now.

His gaze shifted to Jessica as she spoke with the photographer. Owen hovered, but so far he hadn’t been a real pest. Jessica was in her glory, planning, arranging, making things happen. He liked watching her work. She wore her confidence like a comfortable sweater, and it made her even more beautiful. Today she had on pants, khaki colored, with a cream top and a matching jacket. The outfit would have looked plain on another woman, but it made her hair a more vivid auburn, and it complemented her skin.

He kept wanting to touch her. On the way down to the taxi he’d put his hand on the small of her back. She’d reacted with a little twitch, which was interesting, but her blush was more telling.

There was definitely something between them, the attraction wasn’t one-sided. He saw a lot of the signs, the fidgeting with the hair, the sideways glances, those telltale blushes. Tonight, if they finished the shoot at a reasonable hour, they would have the evening free. He was going to take her to dinner, and he felt certain that he could steer the conversation into one of two directions. He could keep it intellectual, or he could just as easily swing it to the hot and heavy. Given free rein with the questions made either option viable. Of course, what he should do is stick to the plan. But the plan hadn’t taken into account how much he wanted her.

“Do you mind?”

He looked up at the voice, startled. Standing close to his left was Sheree herself. She was dressed in a large, white, man’s shirt with bicycle shorts peeking from the bottom. Her shoes were slip-ons, the better to change into whatever wardrobe they had planned for her.

Her hair was up in very large curlers, which didn’t distract in the least from her astonishing good looks. Naturally, her makeup was heavy, but still, he could see the perfection of her face, the pure symmetry that was so prized. Her smile, however, suggested that her want of a seat wasn’t just about available chairs. There was an invitation there, or at the very least a question.

He stood and held the back of the second director’s chair. “Please, sit.”

She did, and her smile broadened. “I’m Sheree.”

“Dan Crawford.”

“I saw you last night,” she said. “But I didn’t have a minute to come over and introduce myself.”

“I’m sorry for that, but pleased you have some time today.”

“God, I’ll have gobs of time. I have four changes, and no one can decide where to start. It’s always like this. They should just shut up and let the chick call the shots.”

“You mean Jessica?”

“Yeah. At least she’s got a plan. But everyone wants to be the boss.”

“I suppose so.”

“What’s your role in all this?”

He nodded at Jessica, who had turned to watch him and his new friend. “I’m with the chick.”

“Oh.” Sheree studied Jessica for a long moment. “You two serious?”

“Yeah, pretty serious.”

She turned back to him. “You fool around?”

He laughed. “Thank you, but no. I don’t.”

She shook her head, then lifted her hand to examine her nails. “Bummer.”

He laughed again, but his attention was on Jessica. She wasn’t looking happy. Just then, Owen came up behind her, and even from Dan’s seat he could see the hand inching around her waist.

Jessica stepped back as Dan rose. He headed straight for the pair, making sure his smile wasn’t forced. All he had to do was mark his territory, get Owen to back off. He was a little surprised at how his animosity toward this prick had grown. He didn’t want him touching Jessica.

“Morning, Owen.”

Owen’s expression said it all. He wasn’t pleased to see Dan. Not even amused. “Yeah. Morning.”

Dan walked straight up to Jessica and said, “Honey, you’ve got a little something right on the corner of your mouth.” Then he touched her there, rubbing nothing, but making sure Owen got the point.

He seemed to. The hand that had been on Jessica’s waist was now at his side. His unsubtle scowl reminded Dan of a kid that lived in his building. Spoiled rotten, and not afraid to show it.

Dan leaned forward and gave Jessica a little kiss. Icing on the cake. This was supposed to be all for show, but the moment his lips touched hers, he forgot about Owen and everything else. It didn’t last long, but the kiss had repercussions. His whole body reacted, came to attention. Not just the lower half, either. It was like touching a live wire.

Well, that answered his question about how to approach tonight. He was going to bring out the heavy artillery, the more intimate, the better.

Sex wouldn’t ruin the project. It would just change it. He could deal with that.

QUOTES FROM WOMEN

1. You see a lot of smart guys with dumb women, but you hardly ever see a smart woman with a dumb guy.
—Erica Jong

2. I’m not offended by all the dumb-blonde jokes because I know I’m not dumb…and I also know that I’m not blond.
—Dolly Parton

3. I’ve been on so many blind dates, I should get a free dog.
—Wendy Liebman

4. In politics, if you want anything said, ask a man; if you want anything done, ask a woman.
—Margaret Thatcher

5. I have yet to hear a man ask for advice on how to combine marriage and a career.
—Gloria Steinem

9

ONCE THEY WERE FINISHED with the shoot, Jessica let out a deep breath, and all her tension and stress with it. No work lay ahead of her until tomorrow afternoon, when she’d have to go to the Rainbow Room and make sure the party coordinator was moving apace. There would be a dessert-and-jazz evening starting at nine, with the guests being more of the celebrities, models and media. She stood under an archway just outside the terminal as Dan hailed a cab. As soon as one pulled up, he opened the door for her and she made her way through the ever-present crowd to climb in.

Once Dan was settled in next to her, he asked, “To the hotel first, or dinner?”

She hadn’t thought much about eating, but now that he mentioned it, she found herself ravenous. “I’d like to change, get freshened up.” She looked at her watch, and it was just past six. “Maybe we could find something at seven?”

“Sure thing.” He told the driver where to take them, then he pulled out a cell phone and dialed a number. It was a while until he spoke. “Andy? It’s Dan Crawford. Can you find a table for me and a friend at seven?” Nothing for a minute, then he smiled. “Great, see you then.” He hung up, his grin looking mighty self-satisfied.

“Where?” she asked.

“You’ll see.”

“You’re not going to make me dress up, are you?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Okay, then.” She settled back for the ride home, twice as long with the heavy traffic.

Soon the sounds outside the cab window ran together and faded as her tiredness took over. She barely stirred as Dan closed the gap between them and snaked his arm around her shoulder. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to rest her head on his shoulder, to feel the warmth of his breath on her temple, the gentle brush of his fingers against her arm.

He’d been the perfect escort, everything she could have wanted for the job. Owen had been kept at something of a distance, although every chance he got, he cornered her and grilled her about her relationship with Dan. It had been almost too easy to answer his questions, and by the end of the day she figured she’d made significant headway. The only thing that had bothered her, aside from the attitude of the photographer, had been her reaction to the models. Not when they’d been working, but when they’d hovered around Dan. All of the women had, at one time or another, sat with him, talked with him, laughed at his jokes. It looked as if Dan had been enjoying himself immensely, which shouldn’t have mattered a whit. But it did. She had found herself more than once walking over to him, touching him the way he touched her when Owen was near.

Dan was a free agent, and after this campaign was over she had nothing on him. He could date whomever he wished, and my God, those women were about as stunning as women get. Who could blame him for snapping up the bait. Each one seemed more eager than the last.

Finally, she’d asked Marla to go sit with him, even though the request was selfish, as Marla was all twittery about Shawn. He seemed like a good guy, and from what Jessica had heard of their conversations, he’d been really sweet when it came to Marla.

Jessica just hoped her assistant didn’t get her hopes up. This was a job for Shawn, just as it was for Dan, and when it came to an end, they would both walk off into their normal lives with nary a thought about the two redheads.

She’d said as much to Marla, but it wasn’t any use. The girl was smitten. Shawn was spectacularly good-looking, and any woman would have been flattered at the attention. But Marla was a little too sweet and innocent for her own good, and Jessica was sure she was going to pay.

But even that didn’t seem so important, curled up in the comfort of Dan’s arm. He smelled wonderful, clean, but with a hint of spice. His breath was sweetly cinnamon, and it made her think of the gentle kiss he’d given her earlier.

It hadn’t been much of a kiss, nothing compared to the earthquake of last night, and yet she’d been thrilled by it, and for a long time after, her heart pattered fast in her chest.

Clearly, this attraction wasn’t going away. In fact, each new day it grew deeper and more insistent. She felt quite sure, despite his protestations about his research, that something had to give, and give soon.

She sighed, and he hugged her to him. It felt as if she belonged there, as if she was safe. She tried to think if any man had made her feel like this, and came up blank.

Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing to let nature take its course. Unlike Marla, she was a realist, and she knew that nothing was going to happen between them that would have a lasting impact. She wouldn’t allow that. But at this stage of the game, not sleeping with him was probably going to cause her more stress and grief then just giving in.

So give in she would.

THE RESTAURANT was packed, with a long line out onto the street, just as Dan had anticipated. But Andy, the maître d’, was an old friend, and had never made him wait. Once the cab dropped them off, he took Jessica’s hand and escorted her past the line all the way to the dining-room entrance. There was Andy, looking damn fine in her black dress and fancy hairdo.

“Dan!”

“Hey, Andy.” They kissed in the European tradition, with a little American hug thrown in for good measure.

“It’s such a treat to see you,” she said. “You have to try the salmon tonight. It’s a new recipe, and it’s heaven.”

“Will do.” He introduced Jessica, and then Andy led them to a quiet booth in a cozy corner. It was perfect.

After they were settled, and drinks had been ordered, Jessica turned to him. “Ex-girlfriend?”

“Who? Andy?” He shook his head. “Old friend. She used to be my ex-roommate’s ladylove. They broke up a year ago, and I ended up getting closer to Andy than Gordo.”

“So that’s how you can get a reservation at Biggalow’s? Last time I heard, you had to be at least an A-list star to get that kind of treatment.”

“Just the luck of the draw. I don’t have many connections in the city, and most of them are pretty obscure, but there are a few that have earned me major brownie points.”

“Tonight, for example.”

He just smiled. She looked so pretty in her pale green blouse and slacks. Like the restaurant, she wasn’t fancy on the outside, but she had the real goods. She’d handled the day like a pro, and though he couldn’t pass any tests on fashion photography, he thought it had gone well.

“Are you going to try the salmon?”

“If Andy recommends it, you can bet it’s the best.”

She closed her menu and leaned back on the soft leather seat. “Okay, then.”

As if signaled, the waitress came to the table and wrote down their orders. All Dan wanted was to be left alone with Jessica. Now that he had his wish, he hesitated. Instead of just coming out with his questions, he drank his scotch and scanned the crowd. A lot of celebrities were in attendance, and he thought a few of them had been at the party last night. God, New York was a tiny place. Especially when it came to the places that were “in” like Biggalow’s. Personally, his favorite restaurant was a little Italian joint three blocks from his place, and there was never a wait to get in.

“I’m surprised,” Jessica said.

“About what?

“I figured you’d have asked me at least one embarrassing question by now.”

“I’m going to. I’m trying to decide how deeply to embarrass you. I mean, we don’t even have our salads yet.”

“So it gets worse by the course?”

“Worse? I’m not trying to torture you.”

She looked at him warily. “Right. Asking about my deepest, darkest secrets is just a pleasant way to pass the time.”

“Well, it sure beats idle chitchat.”

“I don’t know about that. We could talk about the weather.”

“Boring.”

“Sports?”

“Unless I’m participating, I don’t care for them.”

“Not even baseball?”

“Yawn.”

“Okay, how about the women in your life. That seems juicy.”

“About as dull as golf, I’d say.”

“I doubt it.”

“You’d be wrong. But now that you bring it up, what about your love life?”

“What love life?”

“Nothing? Ever?”

“Passing phases, none noteworthy.”

“Hard to believe.”

“Intentional. You know—”

“Career above all.”

“Damn straight.

“But that doesn’t mean you’ve stopped having urges. Thoughts.” He leaned over, moving close enough that he could almost touch her ear. “Fantasies.”

“Ah, here we go.”

“Damn straight.”

She sighed as if it was all too mundane, but even in the dimmed lighting at their booth he could see the hint of pink on her cheeks.

“What,” she asked, “do you want to know?”

“Let’s start out with urges.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Meaning?”

“Are they frequent? Do they come in cycles, like your period? Does something you see or someone you meet spark them?”

“Phew,” she said. “Here I was worried you might get personal.”

He grinned. “You have to admit, it’s an intriguing way to get to know someone.”

“I think I’ll do some research of my own. Start asking you questions.”

“Fire away. But only after you’ve answered me.”

She sipped her drink, a whiskey sour, scanning the room all the while. Finally, just as he was going to nudge her, she faced him again. “The urges come and go, and I’ve never really thought much about what sparks them. They do seem to be cyclical, but some months are worse than others. And yes, sometimes I’ll see a movie, or meet someone who will be the catalyst, but it’s nothing that can’t be controlled.”

“What do you do about them?”

“Oh, God.”

“Come on, Jessica. It’s just biology.”

“Dissecting a frog is biology. This is torment.”

“Have another drink. Then give.”

“All right, all right. I…” She cleared her throat. “I masturbate.”

“Excellent.”

“I didn’t know I was going to be graded.”

“You’re not. It’s just that I figured you’d be in charge in that area, as well.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re a pretty together cookie, and you’ve made some tough choices. I couldn’t imagine you not handling your sexuality in the same manner.”

“Thank you. I think.”

“Definite compliment.”

“My libido thanks you, too.”

Dan moved his leg so their thighs touched. She sat up straighter, but didn’t shy away. Which meant he wasn’t pressing too hard. Yet. “Do you use a vibrator?”

“Jesus, Dan.”

“Don’t start. You knew what you were getting into.”

“Wrong. But okay. I’ll answer, but only because I made a promise.”

“Good. So, vibrator? Hand? Showerhead?”

“Yes, yes and sometimes.”

He nodded, trying to give himself an air of a professional researcher and not a horny bastard who had a hard-on that could pound nails into plywood. “Any preference?”

“It all depends on the circumstances. When I just want to get off and get to sleep, I use BOB.”

“Battery-Operated Boyfriend?”

She nodded.

“And when you want it to be more sensual? To last?”

“I pleasure by hand.”

“Those are the ones I want to talk about.”

“Of course.”

He leaned closer, resting his elbows on the table. “I want to hear about those fantasies. The ones that keep you up for hours.”

“I don’t know, Dan. Yes, I promised to be frank, but I’m not sure I can be this frank. This is private stuff.”

“That’s the point.”

“Still…”

Dinner salads and bread arrived, giving her a reprieve, but he wasn’t about to let her off the hook. He could tell she was feeling more than discomfort, that the conversation, if played well, could lead to much pleasurable mischief. He intended to play it for all it was worth.

They ate for a bit, and he didn’t push, but when she’d eaten her second piece of warm sourdough, and had just a few bits of arugula left in her bowl, he figured it was time. “You want another drink?”

“Yes,” she said too quickly.

He ordered them both a refill, waited for the plates to be cleared, then turned just enough in his seat that she had his whole attention. “Shoot,” he said.

“If only I could.”

He laughed, but he didn’t budge. “Tell me about the most frequent fantasy. The one you come back to the most often.”

“I’m afraid you’ll find it terribly pedestrian.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just tell me the truth.”

“Fine. But if I burst into flames, you’re explaining to the fire department.”

“Deal.”

He leaned back, making sure she couldn’t see his crotch from where she sat. She didn’t need to know what kind of reaction she was getting. At least not yet.

“I suppose the most frequent fantasy is the one where I’m alone in a cabin in the woods. It’s dark, and the winds are strong outside. I have a fire roaring in the fireplace.”

“What are you wearing?”

“A robe.”

“The kimono?”

She looked at him as if he was getting close to some imaginary line. He leaned back an inch, put his hands by his sides.

“Sometimes. Sometimes it’s another robe.”

“Okay. Sorry to interrupt.”

“It’s your nickel.”

“Right, but I’ll try to be quiet.”

“Okay, so where was I?”

“Alone. Cabin. Wind. Robe.”

She frowned at her drink. “I’m warm, and grateful to be out of the cold. I lie down on a big fur rug in front of the fire, and I’m kind of mesmerized by the flames. Before I know it, I’m touching myself.”

“How?”

She glared once, then went back to staring. “Slow, sensual. I’m in no rush. The crackling of the fire makes me drowsy, but not sleepy. My hand moves down until I find…”

He nodded.

“Then I close my eyes, and as it gets closer…”

He held his breath, praying she wouldn’t stop.

“…I hear something. I open my eyes, and there’s a man standing right next to me, watching me.”

“Who is he?”

“I don’t know. He’s just a man. Dark, big, well-muscled. I don’t know how long he’s been there, and I’m not at all embarrassed at what he’s seen. I just keep touching myself. He takes off his shirt, then his boots. And then he reaches for his belt.

Dan had to have a drink. He wanted to place the glass of ice on his erection, but he thought that might be a little blatant.

“He undoes his fly, and slowly takes off his pants. He’s, uh, hard.”

Dan coughed.

She glared again.

“Sorry.”

“This is hard enough.”

“I’ll say.”

That got him another glare. But it didn’t stop her. She just found that fascinating glass again, and went on. “Once he’s undressed, he lies down next to me. We kiss. For a long while. Then he starts touching me in the same places I touched myself. First, my breasts, but it’s different because his hands are so large and rough. It’s a totally different experience. He tells me to stop. To touch him instead, and I do. Then his hands move down my body until he, you know.”

“Yeah.”

“And he starts rubbing in small circles, the pressure is just right, not too hard or soft, and he keeps rubbing, and I let him go and I start getting closer and closer, and then I come like gangbusters, howling, and he climbs on top of me, spreads my thighs with his legs and he slams into me like he’s found the mother lode.”

Dan exhaled a breath he’d held forever. Jessica slugged back the rest of her drink. The waitress coughed, put their drinks down and backed away, her face as red as the cherry in her whiskey sour.

FIVE FACTS YOU SHOULD KNOW ABOUT MEN

1. Men like to barbecue. Men will cook if danger is involved.

2. Men who have pierced ears are better prepared for marriage. They’ve experienced pain and bought jewelry.

3. Marrying a divorced man is ecologically responsible. In a world where there are more women than men, it pays to recycle.

4. All men hate to hear “We need to talk about our relationship.” These seven words strike fear in the heart of even the strongest male.

5. Men have higher body temperatures than women. If your heating goes out in winter, sleep next to a man. Men are like portable heaters that snore.

Source: Hope, Paco “Facts About Men”
http://funnies.paco.to/factsOnMen.html

10

MARLA LOOKED in the bathroom mirror and held back a grin. About ten minutes ago, she’d covered her face with a bright green herbal mask, one she’d found in Cosmo, that was purported to make her skin positively glow. She’d also conditioned her hair with mashed bananas, and timed it so that she could wash the whole mess off at once. But that wasn’t for another fifteen minutes. In the meantime, she’d pulled out her razor and shaving cream and sat herself on the bathroom counter to start the long and tedious process of removing all signs of hair from the neck down.

Of course, her thoughts were on the day, on the incredible time she’d spent with Shawn. Yeah, yeah, she knew it didn’t mean anything, but he’d been so extraordinarily nice to her, it seemed like a dream.

They’d talked about his childhood and hers, which weren’t so terribly different. She’d been the youngest of four, he of five. She’d gotten a strange sort of encouragement from her parents to stretch herself and accomplish, where he’d had the faith of his mother to buoy his spirits. Where they differed most was that Shawn’s father was a dour and uncompromising man who had believed Shawn’s looks automatically made him suspect, and he’d tormented his son constantly, accusing him of being a “fag” and of having feminine ways. His father’s treatment had been terribly hard on Shawn, who was a sensitive boy, and had caused him to be wary of every emotion.

Finally, in college, at the University of New Mexico, Shawn had had a revelation: he wasn’t gay, wouldn’t turn gay, and whatever anyone else thought of the situation was their own problem. From then on, it was easy to accept the modeling jobs that had been offered. He’d left school with two years to go when the offer of riches became too great to ignore.

He’d moved to New York four years ago and had met with success he could never have imagined. He’d been in countless magazines, on television, on billboards, including one so famous it had become something of a risqué icon. It was simply him in a pair of boxer shorts, and people from as far away as China recognized him instantly. Fame had its drawbacks, however, most of which centered around lack of privacy, but he’d said he figured there was always a price to pay for the kind of life he was living, and he’d grown accustomed to it.

He’d gone back to school against the advice of his agent and manager, but he didn’t lose any sleep over it. He had a plan, and it promised him a wonderful future.

Marla had told him of her college days, and how she never truly fit in with any crowd she’d found. She wasn’t as silly as the beer-drinking kegger lovers, and not so serious as the math geeks, but somewhere in between. She’d had a few good friends, but mostly she stuck to studying and listening to music. After she graduated, she’d researched the market carefully and had been offered four excellent jobs, but it was Jessica she wanted to work with. She’d never regretted the choice, although she didn’t see herself following Jessica’s strict “work-only” ethic. Marla still loved music, mostly classical and oldies, with some musicals, particularly those of Stephen Sondheim, to round out her tastes. That’s when Shawn had smiled that unbelievable smile at her. “I know him,” he’d said.

“Stephen Sondheim?”

“Yes. He’s a friend. I could introduce you.”

She’d been dizzy with the joy of it. To meet Stephen Sondheim would thrill her to her toes, but to have Shawn introduce him! It was simply over the top.

She finished shaving the one leg and picked up the canister to get the other one creamy, when the phone rang. Marla climbed down from the counter and hurried to the other room, a combination living room, kitchen and bedroom, to get the phone, fully expecting the call to be from Jessica.

It was Shawn. His sweet low voice took her breath away, and she didn’t say anything for a minute after his hello. He repeated the word, and she remembered how to talk. “Hi.”

“Am I bothering you?”

“Oh, no. No bothering here. In fact, the opposite of bothering which would be, uh…I don’t know what the opposite would be but you’re doing it. Nope. No bothering.”

He laughed, which made her all smiley and giddy. She sat down on the edge of the couch, crossed her clean-shaven leg over the hairy one.

“What are you up to tomorrow?” he asked.

“We have the dessert-and-jazz party at the Rainbow Room.”

“That’s tomorrow night.”

“I know, but I’ll have to go there in the afternoon to make sure all the decorations are up and stuff like that.”

“Ah, what time would that happen?”

“I’m not a hundred percent sure, but probably around two.”

“Which would mean you would be available if, say, someone wanted to take you to brunch?”

That feeling swamped her tummy again, the one where the butterflies all took off at once and did the waltz. “Brunch?”

“You know, the meal that’s not quite breakfast and not quite lunch.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve had brunch before. Once when I was eleven, we stayed in Las Vegas and we had brunch every day for a week. I ended up overdosing on pancakes and cheesecake.”

“So, is that a yes?”

“Yes!”

“Good. How about I pick you up at ten?”

“Pick me up? You don’t have to do that. I’m not at the hotel. I’m at home because I had things to do, and I’m sharing the room there with this other girl, you met her, Vicky, she’s got brown hair and wears tights all the time, and anyway, she has all this stuff in the bathroom, which is fine, really, but hard to get around, so I decided to come home tonight to do all my girlie stuff…” She sighed. “Too much information, huh?”

“No, not at all. However, I did know you went home.”

“You did?”

“I called you, remember?”

“Oh. Yeah. How?”

“On the contact sheet from the agency.”

“Oh.”

“So I’ll pick you up, if, that is, you tell me where.”

“Oh, okay.” She gave him her address, and midway between her explaining where it was, he interrupted to tell her he already knew.

She closed her mouth, afraid it would start babbling on its own if she opened it even a bit. But then, he said, “See you at ten,” and she said, “Okay,” and then he hung up. She leaned her head on the phone for a second, wondering what she’d done in a previous life that could give her this in the present one. Whatever it was, she was grateful for it.

When she replaced the phone on the hook, it was mushed with lots of green gook from her face. After cleaning the receiver, she rushed back to the bathroom to finish shaving so she could take a shower. It was well past the time she should have washed off, so her face would be extra glowy. Which was nice, because then it would match how she felt.

JESSICA DIDN’T SAY anything for a long time after the waitress made her getaway. She was embarrassed, sure, but not terminally. She just wasn’t certain what to say next. How does one follow that?

Finally, she looked over to see Dan, who was laughing. His face was kind of scrunched up, but on him it looked good. She smiled, appreciating the joke, but also a little concerned. The telling had taken a toll. The erotic frisson had dissipated somewhat, but there was a lingering sensation in her lower parts that made her shift on her seat. He stirred her up, this man. Something fierce.

Yes, she’d decided to go with the flow, so to speak, and scratch her proverbial itch. But something else nagged at her, and it was a little voice in the back of her head that said this wasn’t all about sex. And if it wasn’t just about sex, then having sex might not be the right way to go. Having sex might lead to wanting more, and more was what she shouldn’t have.

All she had to do was think about the end of the campaign and the potential jobs that waited for her. On the other hand, the distraction of the attraction was quickly becoming too much to ignore, and that could easily lead to disaster.

“Now, that was a moment I won’t soon forget,” Dan said, wiping the corner of his eyes with his napkin. “The look on her face. Five’ll get you ten, we have another waitress serving us the rest of our meal.”

“I won’t take that bet.” She sipped her new drink, careful not to down too much, as she was hungry as a hound and the liquor would hit too hard. “I think they’re probably all pulling lots to see who has to serve us.”

“You certainly took it all with a grain of salt.”

She shrugged. “Not much I could do about it once it was done. Why fret?”

“Why, indeed?” He held up his glass. “To stoicism.”

She clicked her glass to his and took another sip. “I hope they don’t haggle too much. I’m starved.”

“Me, too.”

They both turned toward the kitchen, but no waitress appeared, so they settled back to wait.

“That was great, by the way,” he said. “Just the kind of thing I was looking for.”

“But aren’t there a whole bunch of books that detail women’s sexual fantasies? Couldn’t you just read them?”

“I did, and they didn’t work. Anecdotal evidence from a cross section of anonymous women is fine, but it doesn’t get to the heart of what I’m looking for. I’m thinking that if I can understand one particular woman, you, then I’ll see all women in a new light.”

She shook her head. “Hasn’t every man since Adam tried to figure us out, and failed?”

“Exactly what makes the research so interesting.”

“You know what I think?”

“What?”

“I think you’re a closet voyeur, and you’re getting your jollies asking me all this embarrassing stuff.”

Instead of the laugh she expected, his eyebrows furrowed and he frowned. “It’s possible that’s true, although I haven’t sought out voyeuristic situations in the past.”

“I was kidding.”

“I know. But I don’t think it’s something I can simply dismiss out of hand.”

“What?”

“I have to be honest with you, Jessica. I’m not the model of stoicism you are. When you were recounting your fantasy, it wasn’t all science and note-taking here.”

“It wasn’t?”

He shook his head. “No. There was a decided uprising, if you get my drift.”

She hid her smile behind her whiskey sour. “Oh, dear.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, maybe we should call it off? The research, I mean.”

He hesitated, but not for long. “No, I don’t think so. I think we should press on.”

“But what if there’s another ‘uprising’?”

He scooted a little closer to her. “It’s a very real possibility.”

“Oh?”

He nodded, moved closer still. “However,” he said, keeping his voice low, unreachable to any nearby waitress, “I believe that my reaction is an important factor in the project.”

“How so?”

“If I wasn’t turned on, then you wouldn’t be the right subject.”

“Hmm. So it’s not any particular woman. It’s a particular woman you’re attracted to.”

“Exactly. And it’s equally important that the woman—you—be attracted to me.”

She frowned. “Oh, dear.”

The look on his face was priceless. Total shock. She hadn’t thought of him as egocentric, and he certainly hadn’t behaved like one of those guys who think they’re God’s gift, but it was clear he’d sensed the heat between them. She decided to be kind, and let him off the hook. “Kidding,” she said. “I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t so.”

He relaxed visibly. And touched the back of her neck with his fingers. Her reaction was instant and intense. Heat, moisture, rapid breathing, a flush to her cheeks.

He evidently saw the signs, and probably suspected the rest. But just then their food arrived, via a waiter this time, and they both dug in like starving sailors.

After the initial emergency was over, and they could stop to savor the delicious meal, Dan touched her thigh. “You don’t have to do anything else tonight, right?”

She shook her head.

“Great.”

“Why?”

“I’m not close to being finished with my questions.”

“I do have to get a good night’s sleep.”

“You’ll sleep.”

“Promise?”

“You bet. My job is to help you with your campaign, not hurt it.”

“True.”

They ate again, the rest of the night swimming with possibilities, stirring the air between them. When Jessica hit bottom and pushed away her plate, he dropped his fork and called for the bill. The waiter asked if they wanted dessert, and they said an abrupt “No!” at the same time.

“Not that I’m anxious,” he said.

“Of course not,” she agreed.

But he paid in record time, leaving a generous tip, while she hailed a taxi.

They didn’t say a word as they headed toward the hotel. Not one. But she heard him. His intentions, his curiosity, his desire. She felt him, too, although all he touched was her shoulder, briefly.

By the time they reached the Willows, she was at the end of her rope. The elevator took forever, he fumbled with the key, and then finally, thank God, they were inside, the door was locked, and they were in each other’s arms before she could say, “Take me, you fool.”

Dan pulled her tight against him as he moved her toward the bedroom. Everything in his body cried out for being naked. Now. But he didn’t know how Jessica would react to making love on the carpet, so he focused the one tiny section of his brain that wasn’t completely fogged over with sex and manfully pressed on. She stumbled over something, and he realized it would have been a good thing to have turned on the light, but he wasn’t about to let go, or God forbid, stop kissing her, not when her tongue was so busy exploring every inch of his mouth, and certainly not when he’d already managed to unbutton half her blouse, but then he almost tripped over the coffee table, and he said, “The hell with this,” and he lifted her into his arms as if he was Tarzan or something, and not giving a damn what he tripped over, he made it to the bedroom and more importantly, to the bed.

Once he had her safely down, he reached to the side table and turned on the light. He wanted to see her. All of her. Every step of this glorious dance.

She lay panting, her blouse half-open to reveal a peach lace bra that couldn’t hide her very erect nipples. The sight spurred him into action, and he ripped at his own shirt.

That got Jessica moving, too, and they raced to shed their clothes as if they were on fire. Which, in fact, they were.

By the time he got completely undressed, she’d reached the last stage—her panties. He held out a hand. “Stop.”

She obeyed, her gaze moving down his chest, his stomach, finally his erection. He’d never been harder, of course she couldn’t know that. But from the look on her face she wasn’t displeased.

“Why am I stopping?” she asked, her gaze never moving up, even an inch.

“Because if we keep going at this pace, it’s going to be a very wonderful yet very short experience.”

“Short, my ass.”

He laughed. “Thank you, but not what I meant.”

“Oh. Right.”

“So let me just appreciate you for a minute.”

“Appreciate, how?”

“Looking,” he said, climbing onto the big white bed. “And touching,” he said, while his hand went to cup the most beautiful breasts he’d ever seen. When his hand came to rest on the perfect bosom, he nearly came, which would have been oh-so-unfortunate. The clever thing to do would be to think about baseball scores or perhaps mealworms. But he couldn’t. All he could think about was how stunning she was, and how lucky he was, and how to be inside her was perhaps the most important thing in his whole life. He wanted it to last forever. He knew that couldn’t be so.

“Dan?”

“Yes?”

“May I make a suggestion?”

“If it’s about stopping this, no.”

“On the contrary,” she said, moving her lips very close to his. “I was thinking that we don’t have to do this only the one time.”

“Good, good.”

She sighed into his mouth, making his cock twitch. “You’re not getting it. First time fast. Second time slow.”

He blinked, leaned forward and kissed her hard. “Jessica, you’re a genius.”

“Yes, I know.”

MORE FACTS YOU SHOULD KNOW ABOUT MEN

1. When four or more men get together, they talk about sports.

2. When four or more women get together, they talk about men.

3. If a man says, “I’ll call you,” and he doesn’t, he didn’t forget…he didn’t lose your number…he didn’t die. He just didn’t want to call you.

4. Getting rid of a man without hurting his masculinity is a problem. “Get out” and “I never want to see you again” might sound like a challenge. If you want to get rid of a man, try saying, “I love you…I want to marry you…I want to have your children.” Sometimes they leave skid marks.

5. Men forget everything; women remember everything. That’s why men need instant replays in sports. They’ve already forgotten what happened.

Source: Hope, Paco “Facts About Men”
http://funnies.paco.to/factsOnMen.html

11

PLEASED WITH HERSELF, and even more pleased with the man on top of her, Jessica smiled slowly, watching him watching her. He clearly liked what he saw, finding wonder in whatever his gaze caught, as if each square inch held new delightful surprises. It made her feel beautiful and desirable and it stirred the pit of her stomach, no, lower.

She ran her hand down the length of his arm from shoulder to wrist, softly caressing, pleased with the suggestion of corded muscle and the silky softness of hair. When she paused, she tried to circle his wrist with her thumb and index finger, but she couldn’t. She stared at him all the while, noticing a tiny twitch of his right eye, the way his nostrils flared, and his white teeth, not perfectly even, but made endearing by slight imperfections. It was as if her vision had gone far beyond the traditional twenty-twenty into a new kind of sight. Not just because they were so close to one another, but because a veil of ordinariness had been lifted. She could read him like a book, his need, his tension, his excitement and his pleasure. More than simply observing, she was empathically connected to him, feeling the very things she witnessed on his face. She wanted him inside her, to make the connection stronger still. Something way beyond the five senses was at work here, and the closer they become the stronger it would become.

She shifted beneath him, him so still and watchful, and she lifted his large wrist, moving his hand to the lower regions of her stomach. His eyes widened, dilated so that there was only a thin circle of hazel left.

He leaned forward, near enough that their breath mingled, but she didn’t close her eyes. Enraptured by his face, his scent, she met his gaze only inches away from her own. She expected a kiss, but instead, he licked her lower lip with his tongue, like a mother cat to her kitten. His hand inched downward, underneath her panties, until she felt him in her thatch of curls, and then, his fingers touched the upper folds.

He moaned very deep in his throat, using his talented tongue to taste her upper lip as he dipped inside her.

She closed her eyes, not because she wanted to but because the sensations were too strong. Her poor little brain couldn’t process so many stimuli at once, so feeling won out over sight.

Her legs parted farther and he explored the soft, wet flesh between, inching down with the pads of his fingers, gently stroking as if she was skittish and he needed to calm her.

She didn’t want to be calmed. When he plunged inside her using two fingers, she moved those last inches that separated their mouths, kissing him hard, sucking his tongue as if it would save her.

He moaned again, and she felt the vibration in her lips, her chest. She bucked against him, forcing his fingers deeper.

He pulled back, both finger and tongue, leaving her, she prayed not for long.

He got to his knees, straddling her. She wriggled a bit and got a smile in response.

A tearing sound distracted her and she looked down to see him pull a rolled condom out of a silver packet. She watched, engrossed, as he unrolled it over his thick flesh. Then his hands moved to her hips where he grasped her panties and pulled them slowly down.

He ran into a snag where his legs and hers touched. Instead of moving, he grasped one edge of her bikini panties in both hands and tore them apart. The sound, the rip, louder than their breaths combined. He looked exceedingly pleased with himself as he dropped the ruined material. Patiently, slowly, he lifted one knee and moved it inside the V of her legs. Then he moved the other until she bracketed him. But it was clear his hold was superior as he pushed her knees apart, wider and wider until he was satisfied. His gaze wandered down from her face to her chest to the view he’d just created. His breath quickened, his chest expanding and contracting like a runner’s, his lips parted, his hands fisted at his sides, then opened with effort.

She felt exposed, more naked than naked as he looked at her with his raw hunger, and she wanted him to enter her, to take her now.

Just as she opened her mouth to beg, he leaned down and braced himself with corded arms on either side of her. He shifted his weight to the left as he used his right hand for guidance.

As she felt the tip of him touch her lips, he whispered, “Jess,” forcing her gaze to meet his.

The connection was electric and wondrous as he slid into her wet folds inch by slow inch, filling her with his body, becoming something greater than him and her.

Both arms now flexed on either side of her as he balanced on hands and knees. The tension in his body was like a bowstring, bunching tighter and tighter, even the cords in his neck. He stared at her, his intensity making her tremble as he thrust in, pulled out, thrust in again. She grasped the comforter in both fists, pulling the material up from the bed. Her hips rose to meet his challenge, and they found a feral rhythm that linked bodies and heartbeats.

There were no words for the feel of him inside her, only grunts and moans, primal and exotic.

Dan’s eyes closed as his thrusts quickened, and her body responded in kind. It was coming, the coil of tension deep in her body like a spring pulled taut. Her mouth opened and she heard her own high keen as if from someone else, someone far away, and then the sound changed and it was her again, as the last bit of tension snapped with an orgasm that started between her legs and spread like a raging fire throughout her body.

He grimaced, arching his neck, his head thrown back with a roar. One final thrust, so fierce she was pushed up the bed, and then he froze, straining, and she trembled as another wave of pleasure burst inside her.

The room darkened around her, her vision narrowing to the circle of his face, still strained to the edges of endurance, his lips curled back, his chin jutting out, his Adam’s apple too large in his throat.

A moment passed, another spasm racked her, and then she felt her hands and her hips, felt the air in her lungs, heard him take a ragged breath as he relaxed.

He looked down and gave her a slow smile. “Holy shit.”

“I concur,” she said, surprised her voice sounded so normal.

“So it wasn’t just me?”

She shook her head. “Nope.”

His smile broadened. “Cool.”

Raising her hand, she brushed back his hair from his forehead, enjoying the silky texture between her fingers. “Does that blow your whole project?”

“Project? Oh, yeah. No. Not at all. I’m thinking it’s a good thing.”

“Oh?”

“Uh-huh.” His smile faded. “I don’t want to but I have to.”

“What?”

“Move.”

“Ah.”

He slipped out of her and rolled to her side. For a moment, her gaze rested on the rise and fall of his chest, then she looked up. “How is it a good thing?”

“For one thing, I can maybe think a little more clearly.”

“How so?”

“Wanting you was kinda filling up all the synapses.”

“I see.”

“And also, I’m thinking we’ve shared something pretty damn intimate, so that it’ll be easier for you to answer my questions.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“You don’t think this was intimate?”

She gave him her “Well, duh” look. “I’m not sure what this new level of intimacy will do. What if I’m shier?”

Having quieted his breathing, he rolled over on his side, holding his head up with one hand. “Let’s test it. What’s the most wicked fantasy you’ve ever had?”

“I thought we’d covered fantasies.”

“Nope. Barely scratched the surface.”

“Oh.”

“Come on. I’m looking for the filthiest, most disgusting thoughts you’ve ever had. The one that would get you arrested in every state but California.”

She laughed. “Like I’d tell you.”

His mouth widened in mock dismay. “You promised! You gave me your word.”

“Some things are better left a mystery.”

“No way. Uh-uh. I can’t believe you’re wimping out on me like this. I thought I knew you, but clearly, I was sadly mistaken.” He let his head drop to the arc of his elbow. “After I’ve given you the best days of my life.”

“Oh, please.”

“No, no. Don’t try to make it up to me. The tie between us has been broken irrevocably.” He put his fist on his chest. “I’m wounded to the core.”

“All right, tell you what. You tell me your most disgusting fantasy, and then I’ll tell you mine.”

His head was up in a second, resting once again on his hand. “Really?”

“You are nothing but a scoundrel, that’s all.”

“True, but an earnest one.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Answer me this. Even if you do tell me something vile and disgraceful, how will I know it’s the worst you’ve got? Maybe you have a whole trove of disgusting things, and you’re telling me some old run-of-the-mill horrifying perversion.”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

“I have no idea.”

“The answer is no. I have never. And I will never.”

“So you say.”

“Maybe this is just your way of chickening out?”

“Maybe it is.”

“No fair.”

“Ah, Danny boy, I hate to have to tell you, but no one said life was fair.”

He got that shocked look again. “What? Say it ain’t so.”

“So.”

“I hate that.”

“Me, too.”

He looked at her for a long minute. “You know what? We’re going to have to postpone this chitchat for a minute. You wait right there. Don’t go anywhere.”

She crossed her heart. “Promise.”

He climbed off the bed and headed for the bathroom while she shamelessly stared at his cute butt. When he was out of range, she let her head fall back on the pillow and closed her eyes.

It was without doubt the best sex she’d ever had. By a lot. There had been moments…Incredible. But also scary.

When he’d pulled away, she’d felt as if she’d lost some part of herself. Surely that wasn’t normal for casual sex. Always before, even with men she’d really liked, there had been a slight feeling of relief when it was over. She’d never been the cuddling kind, and had been accused of being like a guy when it came to this sort of thing. That’s why she didn’t bring men home. Because she needed to make a quick getaway. But with Dan, all she’d wanted was to stay close. She wouldn’t have objected to a cuddle here and there. Weird. Dangerous.

Her gaze moved to the door. The most worrying thing about him wasn’t this, although it came close, but the fact that try as she might, she couldn’t find anything wrong with him. No one was perfect. No one she’d ever met was near perfect. So what was his flaw? Did he hide behind his research? Was he commitment phobic? Did his relationships really end because they weren’t meant to be, or did he change when he fell in love?

It was something to think about. Not that it mattered all that much, because there was no way in hell she was going to get involved with him, but still. It was a puzzle. Perhaps, if it were another time in her life, she’d want to get to the bottom of it. As it was, she’d better keep a clear head. Sex was sex. Even great sex. Not one thing more.

She sat up, looked at the torn Victoria’s Secret panties bunched around one leg. Pulling them free, she tossed them into the wastebasket as she went to the closet and got her robe. It was late. She’d better get to sleep. Tomorrow was going to be a busy day.

DAN RAN HIS HAND through his hair, anxious to get back to Jessica, whether it was for talk or something more personal, although the discussion so far had certainly piqued his interest. He couldn’t get over what had just happened. Jesus, it was the most intense encounter he could ever remember. Maybe it was the extended days of foreplay, but he doubted it. Something was happening between them, although he wasn’t about to try to define it. What was needed here was further investigation. Some hands-on research. His favorite kind. He hadn’t lied when he said this was a good thing. With Jessica, the exploration into her psyche, her sexuality, her modus operandi, would certainly be illuminating. Revelatory. Fascinating. He couldn’t wait to dig in, and not simply with questions about her fantasy life, but her motivations, her perspective on the male of the species, the why and wherefore of her very being.

To know someone that well would, he felt sure, be life-changing. He’d known some women pretty well, Tamara and Kathleen to be sure, and yet neither of them had spurred this level of interest. By some wild fluke of fate, he’d been given access to someone who not only stirred him intellectually, but emotionally and physically as well. It was like discovering Tutankhamen, a perfect, untouched cache of incalculable worth, ready to be examined piece by piece, treasure by treasure.

He crossed the dark living room, his pace quickening as he neared the bedroom. Only, when he got to the door, he saw the empty bed. A flash of blue caught his eye and he turned to find Jessica standing by the closet, her kimono belted tightly at her waist, her arms crossed over her chest. The vibrant open woman he’d left on the bed had disappeared, replaced by someone he didn’t know. Closed, reticent, distant. What in hell had happened in those few minutes he’d been away?

She smiled, but there was no pleasure in her eyes, only wariness.

“What’s going on?”

“I saw what time it was. I’m not going to have many nights where I can get a good night’s sleep, so I’d better take advantage of it.”

Even her voice sounded unfamiliar. He felt naked and vulnerable standing in front of her, so he went to the pile of his clothes he’d so mindlessly tossed at the edge of the bed. He pulled on his pants before he turned to her, using the time to put together his thoughts, pushing his anger back so he could try to understand this strange twist.

When he faced her again, it dawned on him that she’d felt the same astonishment he had, and this was her way of dealing with it. Of course.

“What’s that look?” she asked.

“Nothing. I’m thinking you’re right. That you should get your rest.”

Her shoulders relaxed. “Not that I didn’t enjoy—”

“I know. Me, too. You’re amazing. But the priority is the campaign, and I’m here to help. So why don’t you go do whatever voodoo you do in the bathroom, and we’ll call it a night.”

“Oh, okay.” Her smile wavered, and for a moment he thought she was back, but then she straightened, avoided his gaze. “Thanks.”

“No sweat.”

She walked past him, not too closely. And then she was gone.

More disappointed than he cared to admit, he got his shirt, shoes, socks and headed for the living room. His gaze moved to the closed bathroom door. He tossed his clothes to the floor beside the couch and threw the pillows on top of them. He yanked the bed out so roughly the whole couch moved, but he didn’t give a damn.

Okay, he’d let her off the hook. She was scared. He got it. His mother would be proud. So why was he so pissed off?

He’d been cheated. Even though he saw the reason, saw the fear in Jessica’s body language, it didn’t matter. He’d been happier than he could remember just ten minutes ago, excited as a kid with a brand-new bike.

Which had just been taken away.

He got undressed again, waited a moment to see if she would come out of the bathroom, and maybe…But the clock kept ticking, and soon he wasn’t particularly interested in whether she came out or not.

He crawled under the sheets and beat his pillow into submission. He heard the bathroom door open, saw the light behind his eyelids dim as she flipped the switch, heard the soft footpads as she crossed the carpet to her bedroom. Even though she tried to keep it quiet, he could hear the click of her door as she shut him out.

Sleep didn’t come for a long, long time.

DIFFERENCES

In arguments a woman has the last word. Anything a man says after that is the beginning of a new argument.

A woman worries about the future until she gets a husband. A husband doesn’t worry about the future until he gets a wife.

A woman will dress up to go shopping, water the plants, empty the garbage, answer the phone and read a book. A man will get dressed up for weddings and funerals.

Source: Orton, Joe “Men and Women Compared”
http://www.orton.demon.co.uk/ff/

12

JESSICA STARED at the ceiling, more precisely at the dark area above her bed. For all her protests that she needed a good night’s sleep, she certainly wasn’t getting one. The last time she’d looked at the clock, it had been two-fifteen. She kept closing her eyes, doing relaxation exercises, but her thoughts kept returning to Dan and how she’d left things.

She could tell he was angry. Not that she blamed him. Talk about doing a one-eighty. The poor guy hadn’t had a lick of warning. On the other hand, it was probably best that she’d nipped their little boink-fest in the bud. It didn’t feel best, but that’s only because it had been such a long time since she’d made love. So long, in fact, that she’d forgotten how much she liked it. If she didn’t know better, she’d have sworn making love with Dan was a whole different experience than anything she’d done before, but that was silly. The conversation at dinner, the suite, the atmosphere, all had conspired to transform the night into something magical. And face it, she really did like Dan. He was a terrific guy, and had it been a different time in her life…

Blah, blah, blah. She turned over and punched her pillow. It didn’t help. Even she couldn’t believe her own excuses. She liked the guy. She’d loved making love with him. She wanted more. Was it really possible to have Dan and her career? Could she have missed something along the way that would indicate she’d been all wrong?

She tried to think of one person, one woman who’d had a satisfying love life in combination with a powerhouse career. Nothing off the top of her head, and when she finally did think of someone, an ad exec she’d met at a Woman in Marketing meeting, she remembered Estelle and her significant other lived in separate cities, her in New York, him in Los Angeles. Maybe that was the key—distance. Maybe she could set that up with Dan. If not actual distance, perhaps they could make a deal not to see each other but once every few months.

Turning over, she felt the first hope of the long night. That just might work. As long as they agreed not to call one another during the downtimes. Pretend that they honestly were separated by miles and miles.

The more she thought about it, the more it appealed. He would be a treat, a vacation, a reward for hard work. He could dive into his research projects, or take consulting jobs and not have to worry about a girlfriend. She could focus completely on her career moves and not be distracted.

She smiled. This just may be the best idea she’d ever had, better even than the concept for the New Dawn campaign.

Talk about having her cake and eating it too. This could solve everything.

The urge was to get up that second and rush into the living room. But she wasn’t about to wake him. Besides, it was probably too soon to present the scenario. He might not see the beauty of the plan. She’d wait, see if the two of them continued to click as they had. But at least she didn’t feel she had to keep him at arm’s length. In fact, the more they bonded now, the easier it would be to get him with the program.

She sighed happily, found a comfy position, and let her mind drift. Life was good, and so was sex. Amen.

IT WASN’T THE LIMO Marla had expected. Instead, Shawn picked her up in a Yellow Cab, which was perfectly fine with her. He could have ridden up in a Rent-A-Wreck, and she’d have been happy.

He looked yummy in worn jeans and a kind of Mexican shirt, brown with white trim. His hair was a tiny bit damp, but still looked tantalizingly touchable. Marla pulled the door closed, and when she turned to him, his smile made her feel as if it was all her birthdays rolled up into one. And he was the present.

“You look wonderful,” he said.

She rolled her eyes, even though she’d tried on every single item of clothing she owned before deciding on the forest-green jumper with the yellow-and-white blouse underneath. She didn’t want to wear any of the fancy-shmansy clothes she’d bought for the parties, but she didn’t want to be in torn jeans and a stretched-out T. “I wasn’t sure where we were going,” she said.

“You’re perfect.”

Her blush, she felt sure, was only the first of many. She couldn’t help it. Blushing had always been her curse. Her face, it seemed, tried hard to match the exact shade of her hair. So far, she’d come darn close.

“So, uh, where are we going?”

“A deli I know. It’s not fancy, but it’s good.”

“Ooh, yum. I love bagels and cream cheese.”

“Great.”

“And lox. Sometimes. As long as I don’t put on too much. But just enough is great. With tomato and red onion.”

“That’s the way I like it, too.”

“Really?”

He nodded.

Just then, the cabbie turned a corner, fast, and she fell right into his arms. Flustered, she tried to sit up, but found she couldn’t.

“Don’t move,” he said.

When Marla looked up, it was right into his face, only inches away. “But—”

“I’ve been wanting to do this for a while,” he whispered, and then he leaned down until his lips touched hers.

For a bit, all Marla could do was hold her breath and blink. But then the flashbulbs in her brain stopped, and she actually felt his lips, his gentle breath, his arms holding her close.

Her eyes fluttered shut as she abandoned herself to the moment. Sure, it was like someone else’s life, but as long as she was borrowing it, she might as well enjoy herself.

Holy-moly, she’d never had many boyfriends before. Her geekdom in high school and college had assured her lack of dates. One time she’d been asked out by a drunk guy at a fraternity party who, it turned out, thought she was someone named Cristy, and that night ended with him throwing up all over her brand-new Skechers. As far as memories went, it pretty much sucked.

Now, this was truly the stuff memories should be made of. Shawn Foote, who was sweeter, smarter, funnier than she could have ever imagined, holding her. Kissing her.

She gasped as she felt his tongue swipe her front teeth, The gasp gave him the opening he was looking for, and in a moment that was seared into her brain for eternity, she tasted him. A hint of coffee, a little mint, and oh, God, Shawn!

She could die right now, and it would be fine. In fact, she kinda wished she would, because there was no possibility her life could get any better.

“Marla?”

She jumped just a tad when she saw he’d pulled back and was looking straight at her. “Hmm?”

“Is everything all right?”

She nodded. Three times.

“Just checking.”

“No. Good. Happy.”

He smiled. “That’s excellent. But now we need to get out of the cab, because I think he’s getting a little impatient.”

They’d stopped, and she hadn’t even known it. Oh, God. She sat up, ran a hand through her hair, cleared her throat, tried her best to climb down from the clouds that had carried her away.

By the time Shawn had paid the driver and gotten out, she was relatively together. Not Jessica together, but not her normal Marla self, either.

He took her hand, another keeper memory, and led her into the unassuming deli. She hardly felt the sidewalk beneath her feet.

DAN WOKE UP to knocking. Loud knocking. He’d slept like crap, and waking was no easy task. His gummy eyes refused to open, his legs were all tangled in the sheets, and whoever was knocking was about to die.

“Hold on,” he said, but he doubted the knocker heard him.

Finally, Dan made it to his feet. He headed for the door, careful not to bump into anything. A swift glance to the bedroom door let him know that if Jessica had heard the door, she wasn’t in any hurry to answer it.

Dan leaned forward and looked through the peephole. As he’d suspected, Owen, the bastard, was the one making all the racket. Just as Dan reached for the knob, ready to let Owen know exactly what he thought of him, he remembered the pullout couch. Shit. “Hold on,” he said. “Just a second.”

Dan raced to the bed, tossed the pillows to the side and shoved the bed back into the couch. It stuck, of course, just long enough for Owen to get impatient and start knocking again. The bed succumbed to brute pressure, and then he piled the pillows in random order. It was good enough. He leapt over the coffee table and made it back to the door before Owen beat a hole in the center. He jerked the door open. “Did you need something, Owen?”

Owen’s unhappy gaze took in Dan’s bare feet and boxer shorts. “I was hoping to speak to Jessica,” he said, his words clipped tight.

“She’s sleeping.”

“She’ll want to get up for me.”

“I doubt it.”

Owen sighed, shifted his stance so he was halfway to getting inside. Dan wasn’t about to let that happen.

“Look, Owen, as soon as she’s up, she’ll give you a call.”

“It’s important.”

“I’m sure it is. But we had a pretty rough night, if you know what I mean.”

That got a reaction. Red-faced, Owen looked past Dan’s shoulder, trying to see the bedroom door.

That was it. Not caring what he hit, Dan pushed Owen’s shoulder with one hand while he closed the door with the other. “She’ll call you.”

“Hey!”

“I promise,” he said as the door finally clicked home. “Jeez.”

He turned around, not in the least happy about having to remake the bed. But man, he was still really tired. He’d left his watch on the coffee table, but he felt sure it was just past dawn.

Turned out it was almost noon, but hey.

“Was that Owen?”

Jessica’s voice startled him, and he spun to find her standing by the open bedroom door. “Yeah.”

“What did he want?”

“You.”

“Oh.” She hid a broad yawn behind her hand as she walked, kimono flaring behind her, to the bathroom.

Dan reacted to the sight in a way that belied his last encounter with her. Damn, she was so beautiful. Even with her hair all messed up, and makeup giving her that ever popular raccoon look. He wanted her just as she was. Well, okay, he could wait until she brushed her teeth, but barely.

He wondered which Jessica he’d be talking to this morning. The woman afraid to step a foot outside her comfort zone or the passionate creature he’d made love to. Maybe wishing real hard would help. Which is just what he did as he straightened up the pillows and gathered his clothes together. He stared at his robe for a long time, but he didn’t put it on. If it was the passionate one, he wanted to be ready.

Talk about hopeful. She’d made it pretty clear last night that she wasn’t terribly comfortable about testing the edges of their very personal envelope. He could either go along with it, be the nice guy he liked to think he was, or…

One thing of which he was quite sure: When they’d made love last night, Jessica had been right there with him, breath for breath, touch for touch. She’d come alive in his arms. God, it had been like nothing else. He wanted that woman back. He wanted to take that woman to the moon.

So much for Mr. Nice Guy. From this moment forward, he had a new project.

JESSICA HAD STARTED the shower the moment she’d stepped into the bathroom. She hadn’t gotten wet yet, however. She’d dawdled over brushing her teeth, her hair, washing her face with New Dawn Creamy Facial Whip. She’d even taken off her robe and stared at herself in the mirror. All the while the hot water poured. She supposed she’d better make a decision. In or out.

One more critical view of her naked self. Not too shabby, although she could lose a few pounds, especially around her middle, but the personal trainer had been a great investment. She paid a fortune to her, but the money was excellent motivation. Now, if she could quit eating the damn desserts at every meal, maybe she’d get the body she should have.

It wasn’t going to happen in the next five minutes though, so she’d better get on with it. She’d dawdled so long, Dan was undoubtedly dressed, but that was no matter. She’d never met a man who wouldn’t strip at the drop of an innuendo.

After turning off the shower, she donned her robe, put her hand up to her mouth and blew out a breath, just to make sure, then went out to begin what she’d coined Project Dan. He wasn’t the only one with a plan and a goal. And Jessica had always been great when it came to achievement. Give her a challenge and she was hell on wheels. So watch out, Mr. Research. The tide was going to turn, all her way.

“THIS IS THE BEST DELI I’ve ever been to,” Marla said. “Except now I’m stuffed to the gills.” She wiped her mouth with her napkin. “I never thought about it before, but that’s about fish. Stuffing them, I mean. Otherwise it would be stuffed to the neck or the head.”

Shawn put down his coffee cup and smiled at her. “I believe you’re right. Never thought of it, either.”

“Kind of disgusting, though.”

“But it gets the message across.”

She nodded. “How did you find this place?” It wasn’t a big place, in fact it was not much more than a storefront. All the tables were taken, mostly with elderly folks, but by far the most popular area of the deli was the counter. Behind the glass were wonderful things, from fresh-baked bagels to homemade knishes. Having grown up in a primarily Jewish neighborhood, she was intimately familiar with the delicacies. If she didn’t have to go back to the hotel tonight, she’d buy a bunch of goodies.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Kishke.”

He laughed out loud, and the sound made her all twitchy inside.

“What?”

“Not what I expected.”

“But look at all the yummies,” she said, pointing to the counter. “I can’t believe I’m so full. I mean, when’s the last time you saw such a beautiful black-and-white cookie?”

“You’re right. A work of art.”

“Don’t make fun.”

His eyes widened as if he was wounded. “I’m not. Not in the least. I love the way you think.”

She frowned. “I think just like other people. Don’t I?”

“No.” He took her hand in his. “Not at all. Which is terrific, so you’d better not get all worried about it.”

“How can I help it? I mean, I know I’m not the brightest person in the world, but I never thought I was that different.”

“Different is only awful when you’re a kid.”

Shawn ran a single fingertip up the back of her hand, making her whole body quiver.

“As soon as you’re out of that wanting-to-be-like-everyone-else phase, it’s what you look for in new people. The unique things. Good or bad, it’s always interesting.”

“Well, psychos are different.”

“Yeah, you don’t want to go too far, but I can’t think of anything worse than being just like everyone else.”

“You’re not. You’re the most gorgeous guy on earth.”

Shawn burst out laughing, while Marla turned three shades of red. She couldn’t believe she’d said that. If she could have found a hole to crawl into, she would have.

“Oh, babe, don’t be embarrassed. That was totally sweet. And yeah, I did win the biological lottery, I’m aware of that. It’s okay as long as I don’t take myself too seriously.”

“That’s the thing, though. You don’t. I never expected you to be so nice.”

“Thought I’d be all stuck-up, huh?”

“Sure. I mean, beautiful people can get whatever they want. It must be easy to get sucked into that.”

“Do you get whatever you want?”

“Me? What do you mean?”

He nodded. “You’re incredibly beautiful.”

“No, I’m not.”

He leaned back to look at her sternly. “So I’m sweet, but I’m a liar?”

“No!”

“Then you’ll just have to deal, won’t you?”

She had no idea what to say. Not a clue. She was Alice Through the Looking Glass, Dorothy on the Yellow Brick Road. She felt sure she was going to wake up and realize it was all a dream, but she prayed it wouldn’t happen yet. She was having way too much fun.

“Hey,” Shawn said. “I have this party to go to tonight. At the Rainbow Room. How would you feel about being my date?”

“I have to go…Oh.”

His slow smile made the whole world sunshiny. Her spot, especially. “I’d love to.”

“Great. What time do you have to be there?”

A cloud appeared. “Early. Like two-ish.”

“Ah. So how would you feel about starting this date around seven? When I get there?”

“I feel very, very good about this.”

He leaned over and kissed her gently on the cheek. “Remember,” he whispered. “The first dance is mine.”

Marla melted into a puddle of goo. Right there in front of the kosher dill pickles.

POINT OF VIEW

An English professor wrote the words “A woman without her man is nothing” on the blackboard and directed the students to punctuate it correctly.

The men wrote: “A woman, without her man, is nothing.”

The women wrote: “A woman: without her, man is nothing.”

Source: Meissner, Dirk “Punctuation and Phenomenal Women”
http://www.dirkmeissner.com/chauvi0001.htm

13

SHE HADN’T GOTTEN dressed. A good sign. And she was smiling. Yet another favorable omen. But she also had a strange glint to her eyes, as if there was something wicked going on inside that formidable brain of hers.

“How’d you sleep?” she asked.

“Great. Never better. How about you?”

“Good, good.”

He nodded, smiled. Not terribly sure what to say next, which wasn’t something he was used to.

She walked over to the couch, sat on the opposite end. Crossing her legs, she let the robe fall so that her thigh was exposed. He couldn’t tell if she had anything on beneath it.

“I can’t believe Owen,” she said. “He doesn’t give up easily, does he?”

“Nope. He seemed pretty anxious to talk to you.”

She frowned prettily. He liked her without makeup. It made him remember the feel of her skin.

“I’d better call him.” She lifted the hotel phone, put it in her lap, then dialed his room number.

As she listened to her boss, she swung her upper leg, and his gaze traveled down to her feet. He wasn’t exactly a foot man, although he knew at least one among his friends, but the way her toes looked with the red polish, the graceful curve of her arch sent some pretty interesting messages to the lower regions of his body.

He crossed his legs, regretting that he hadn’t put on a pair of jeans. He’d never really thought about how vulnerable it could be to be dressed only in boxers. Nice boxers, to be sure, silk, bought by his ex-girlfriend at Barney’s, but still, they didn’t leave a lot to the imagination.

“We’ll be there at two,” Jessica said, “and I’m sure that Theresa can fix everything. That’s why we hired her. Nothing will go wrong tonight, I promise.”

Dan moved his gaze from her feet to her ankles, trim and pale, up her well-shaped calf to the expanse of thigh. Somehow it was sexier than if she’d been completely undressed. Maybe not. The idea of her naked, sitting so casually on the couch, talking to that bastard of a boss, made his problem infinitely worse. He hoped she didn’t ask him for a pen, or water, because standing would be mighty awkward.

“Dan was only thinking of me,” she said. “He knows what a rough week this is, and how much I need my rest. I’m sure if your wife were here, she’d do the same.”

He looked up to see Jessica smiling at him, a conspiratorial grin that made him think she’d gotten over her fear from last night. Perhaps he was too optimistic, but he didn’t think so. It was an intangible something, along with the robe, the thigh. It added up.

Being the man of action that he was, he boldly scooted over on the couch. Not enough to actually touch her, but their hands could have met in the middle.

“I’ll call Theresa, and I’ll let you know if there’s a problem, okay? If not, I’ll see you at the Rainbow Room.”

She hung up the phone and put it back on the coffee table. “Sorry about that.”

“No sweat.”

“I wanted to talk to you about last night.” She paused, looked at her knee, then back at him. “I really had a great time.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

“But I was a little frightened, too. I wasn’t expecting it. You. It’s been a long while since I…”

“I understand.”

“I hope so. Because I wouldn’t want you to think it was anything you’d done.”

“Thanks.”

“I’d like to buy you breakfast. What do you say?”

“Great. Where?”

She paused again, but this time she didn’t look away. “Here.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t have to be anywhere until two.”

“Great.”

Her smile turned up the heat about twenty degrees. “Maybe, after we eat, we can have dessert.”

He tried to respond with something witty, but his brain had stopped functioning. Dessert. Oh, yeah. Maybe he could convince her to have dessert now and eat later.

PLEASANTLY FULL on eggs, bacon and toast, Jessica watched Dan take his last bites of Belgian waffle, wondering what she was going to do next.

The meal had been secondary to the mating dance they’d started just after she’d ordered from room service. Every word had been rife with meaning, and she couldn’t help noticing that while Dan’s boxers were a wonderful dark blue silk, they didn’t do much to hide his enthusiasm. For that matter, her robe couldn’t disguise the state of her nipples, brought to her attention by Dan’s frequent stares.

The truth of the matter was that she was as excited as she could ever remember, her mind taking off in flights of erotic fantasy that grew more exotic as each minute passed. She was glad, however, that she’d insisted they eat. Not only was she fortified, but the tension had mounted and mounted. Now it was her turn. She giggled.

His eyebrows rose.

“Nothing,” she said. “Just random odd thoughts.”

“You don’t want to share?”

She got up from the table and walked around in back of him. “I do. But not my silly thoughts.”

Although he’d put on a bathrobe for the waiter, he’d taken it off as soon as the man had left, so he sat virtually naked. With so much wonderful flesh to explore, she wasn’t sure where to start. Deciding at last, she ran both hands down his chest as she leaned forward, her breasts just touching the back of his head as she closed her eyes and let her fingers do the walking.

His sharp intake of breath was her first clue that she’d done good, and his pebbled nipples her second. She’d be willing to bet that his shorts were quite tight as she circled his nubs. She’d noticed last night that he was very sensitive there, something she could completely relate to.

“Jessica, my God. What you’re doing to me.” Dan’s voice was hardly more than a growl as he stopped her torment by grasping her hands. He stood, turned around, put those same hands on either side of her face and came in for a long, slow, wet kiss.

He tasted of maple with a hint of coffee, and she felt sorry that she hadn’t eaten something more exotically sweet. He didn’t seem to mind.

With the satisfaction of her plan to bolster her courage, she opened her mouth freely to let him in, and in return she grew daring with her own ministrations.

He moved closer to her, rubbing against her, letting her feel what she was doing to him. It was amazing to know what was rubbing against her, to anticipate a rematch, this time with nothing to rein in her abandon.

Wanting Dan was a new experience, why exactly, she couldn’t say. A combination of things, she supposed. His looks were but a small part of it, a delightful benefit. Mostly, though, it was the man himself, his unique approach toward life, his strength, his passion.

As she thought the word, Dan moved his hands down to her belt and loosened it, letting her robe fall open.

It felt daring and wild to be naked like this. It wasn’t the bedroom, and it wasn’t at night, and his hands touched her breasts, cupping them gently, stealing her breath away.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered just before he nuzzled her ear. “So incredibly beautiful.”

“So are you,” she said, hardly aware of the words when her senses were under such sweet assault.

He kissed down her chest until he reached her right nipple, which he took between his teeth, not biting, just holding. Then his tongue flicked very fast, like a lizard’s, focusing on the incredibly sensitive flesh, and she arched her neck with pleasure.

Her hands went to his hair, raking her fingers in the soft strands, gripping him to hold herself steady as he moved to her left breast to repeat his torment.

Then, just when she thought she couldn’t stand another minute, he fell to his knees in front of her.

He kissed the flat of her tummy, then just below. His hands moved to her thighs, applying gentle pressure so she spread them. Knowing what he was about to do made her quiver with anticipation, but he was not to be rushed. He continued his slow descent, swirling his tongue on her bare skin, tasting her, nipping her with his teeth.

All she could do was moan and hold on as he reached her lips. Kneeling there before her, she gasped as his wicked tongue entered her, taking long, slow licks, his own moan merging with hers.

He didn’t dawdle; instead, he found her clit and mimicked his trick with his teeth, taking the tiny bud with infinite care, then flicking, flicking, giving her goose bumps, making her tremble, coaxing loud gasps as he went on and on, unrelenting until, in less time than she thought possible, she cried out with an orgasm that shook her to her toes.

So violent were her spasms that he lost his grip, and when she finally opened her eyes, still gulping great drafts of air, she found him staring up at her, watching as if it was the most fascinating and wonderful thing he’d ever seen.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. Her body continued to shake, and she realized with a guilty start that she still had his hair in her fists. She let go, but before she could apologize, Dan was on his feet. The next second, he ran his hands down her sides until he cupped the back of her thighs, then she was up in his arms, her legs wrapped around his back, her arms hanging on to his neck.

He kissed her as he walked her backward, the taste of him her taste, sultry, dark, erotic.

A moment later and her back hit the wall, cold even through the silk of her robe.

He looked at her, his eyes smoky and dangerous. “Come again,” he whispered. “Let me watch you. Come.”

Then she felt the hard pressure of his penis as he searched for her opening. When he found it, he thrust in so hard, her head hit the wall, but she didn’t even feel it. She was too busy gasping at the incredible sensation of fullness, of perfection.

Then, bracing them both, he started his assault, slowly at first, building in speed and pressure. The way he rubbed her, by some delightful fluke of nature, his length slid over her swollen clit, in seconds wringing out another climax, stronger, if possible, than the first.

His gaze never wavered, his eyes never closed, and she struggled to keep from closing her own. They stared into each other’s souls as he pushed into her over and over, faster and faster, until finally, he cracked, and every muscle in his body, in his face, tightened to fever pitch, and then he cried out, a long, low guttural cry of release.

After several quavering breaths, he opened his eyes again. He kissed her, the fever still in him, but waning. She could feel his trembling as much as her own as he stepped back, guiding her to her feet.

She wasn’t terribly steady. Holding on to his arm, he walked her over to the couch, where they both sat, catching their breaths.

He held her hand. The simple gesture struck her as impossibly tender. They didn’t speak, didn’t need to. A single thought repeated over and over in her mind. Perfection. Her plan was perfect. She could live a long time on memories of this. Anticipating this. When they finally did get together, it would be fireworks and earthquakes. Yes, it was the very essence of perfection.

She lifted his hand to her lips, kissed him gently, and whispered the word aloud.

HE’D SPENT the afternoon taking a long nap. It was hard to believe she had to work. If she felt anything close to what he did, she must be a wreck. After that earthshaking encounter after breakfast, they’d showered together, and things had led to things. He was pretty damn proud of himself. Tired, but proud.

He’d decided to eat some dinner at a nearby Mexican joint, careful not to dirty his tuxedo. Afterward, it was a quick cab to Rockefeller Center, and the hoopla at the Rainbow Room.

The guests wouldn’t begin to arrive for another thirty minutes, so it was a little tricky getting past security, but finally they paged Jessica, and she came down to meet him.

Stunning again, this time in a dress that was to his eye pink, but she informed him it was actually ashes of roses. Whatever. She looked like a million bucks, and he felt like the king of the world walking into the venerable old club.

Some things never change, and for that he was grateful. The Rainbow Room still had that thirties art deco look, with a revolving dance floor, killer views of the city, including the Empire State Building, and the best damn bands the country had to offer. Tonight, one of his favorites: Harry Connick and his Big Band. Gotta love it.

“I’ve missed you,” he said as soon as they were out of earshot of any roving workers.

She smiled. “Believe me, I would have preferred to stay at the hotel.”

“Uh-oh. Owen?”

She nodded. “He’s shadowing me, regaling me nonstop with tales of your unbelievable rudeness. He suggested most strongly I should break up with you. Actually, I think he wants me to dump you in the East River with a block of concrete, but breaking up would suffice.”

“I have to say this for him, he’s consistent.”

“That’s for sure. I just wish he would stop being such a consistent jerk.”

“I’ll do my best to keep him off your scent, but it’s not going to be easy.” He leaned forward and nuzzled her neck. “You smell so damn good.”

She ran her hand down his neck. They turned at the same moment to meet in a kiss that reminded him just how lucky he was.

“How long do we have to stay at this shindig?”

“Till the bitter end.”

“Suppose anyone would notice if I, say, hit the fire alarm in about an hour?”

“Cute.” Jessica kissed him quickly on the mouth. “Very cute. But I need you to be a good boy. Go find my boss and neuter him, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll find you when I can.”

“Oh, goody.”

She sighed.

“One thing, though. You owe me a dance. I didn’t get the last one, and I won’t leave without it tonight. Especially on that revolving dance floor.”

“All right. I promise. Now I have to get back to work.”

“I know. But think of me.”

Touching his sleeve lightly, her expression grew sad. “That’s all I’ve been doing. Which isn’t so good. I need this week to be perfect.”

He touched her chin, lifting her face until her gaze met his. “We’re fine,” he said. “So you can safely put me on the shelf until it’s convenient to bring me out again. I won’t mind. And I’m not going anywhere.”

“Thank you,” she said, and he could see she meant it. “I’ll try. But you’re not that easy to forget.”

“I’m trying hard to see how that’s bad. No, I’m kidding. I mean it. The place looks fantastic, you’re the most beautiful woman in New York, and everyone in America and beyond is going to rush out and buy New Dawn cosmetics. So just go with the flow, my love. You’ll be perfect.”

Jessica kissed him one more time, only this time she lingered. When she walked away, he had to fight the urge to follow.

Better instead to use this energy to find Owen. The little weasel.

JESSICA STOOD at the edge of the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, but her gaze wasn’t on the spectacular view. She watched the dance floor, the banquet tables, the bars, as the crowd enjoyed the festivities. Even she had to admit, this was one hell of a bash.

The room, maybe the most elegant in Manhattan, sparkled. The walls and floors had a rich and subdued color scheme with full-length mirrors between narrow wall panels covered in brown satin. The emerald-green carpets blended perfectly with the jade-green leather-upholstered chairs. Mirrors, crystal, especially the magnificent chandelier above the dance floor, made everything and everyone in the space radiant.

The slide show, running continuously on the wide screen above the bandstand, was the best she’d seen of its kind, worth the incredible hours of hard work she’d put into it. New Dawn was having one hell of a send-off, and the movers and shakers of Manhattan were all in attendance.

From where she stood, she could see Oprah, John Travolta and his beautiful wife Kelly Preston, Chris Noth, Barbara Walters, Kate Hudson, Gwen Stefani, Marla and Shawn, and a host of InStyle magazine regulars. But none of them held her attention; she only had eyes for one man.

There he was. At the edge of the bar, staring right at her. The sexiest guy in the room.

He lifted a martini glass in tribute, drank a bit, then put it carefully on the bar behind him. Then he headed toward her, artfully dodging dancers, drinkers, models, reporters, waiters. The nearer he came, the faster her heart beat. Everything about him, the way he looked in his tux, the insouciant lock of hair, the very way he moved, all grace and raw sex appeal, made her feel as if this was her first date. It was crazy, really, for it to hit her so hard, so fast, but it was utterly undeniable.

He passed the last barrier to join her by the window. He lifted her hand and kissed the back. “I believe we have this dance.”

She glanced at the bandstand. “There’s no music.”

“There will be.”

She couldn’t say no, but she did hope real hard that she wouldn’t make a complete fool of herself. She had a seriously limited sense of rhythm. She could keep the tempo of anything by John Philip Sousa, but beyond that, she was rather hopeless. Dancing was mostly to be avoided. But tonight she wouldn’t dream of it.

Because the band had taken a break, they were alone on the dance floor. All around them, the room buzzed with conversation and laughter. None of it penetrated their cocoon.

He put his arms around her, drew her to him. Her cheek went to his chest as she snuggled close. They stood quite still while she counted his heartbeats, and in an act of magic, her rhythm became his rhythm, her breath, his.

To complete the moment, to honor his promise…music.

The song was that lovely Hoagy Carmichael tune “The Nearness of You,” so romantic that it carried her on wings. He led, she followed, and together they were exquisite grace.

When she lifted her chin to look at him, she realized he was singing, very softly. That he knew every word. Not just that, oh, no. She knew that every word was meant as a promise from him to her. For this dance. For this night. For…

Why Men Are Happy To Be Men

1) Phone conversations are over in thirty seconds flat.

2) A five-day vacation requires only one suitcase.

3) You can open all your own jars.

4) If you are thirty-four and single, nobody notices.

5) Same work…more pay.

Source: PLiG “Being a Bloke”
http://plig.org/things/beingabloke.html

14

TOO TIRED TO MAKE LOVE when they got back to the hotel at three, Jessica did pull him with her into the bedroom. “Is this okay?”

He nodded. “More than okay.” He kissed her, then brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “Go do your stuff,” he said. “I’ll wait.”

She smiled with an effort, not because she didn’t appreciate his gentlemanly behavior, but because she was just too exhausted.

When she got back from the bathroom, Dan had stripped down to his shorts, a nice silk plaid. She thought about the last time she’d seen him in boxers. They certainly hadn’t fit him that loosely.

How was it possible to feel so aroused when she was ready to drop. Strange, strange.

By the time he got back to the bedroom, she was tucked beneath the comforter, wearing nothing at all. Normally, she slept in a nightshirt, but she wanted to feel Dan next to her.

God, how he’d made her feel tonight. Like a princess. Like the luckiest person in the world.

She’d seen how the women at the party had looked at him. Enviously. Greedily. Even the most glamorous and celebrated of the party guests had coveted her.

In one way, it made her feel smug, powerful. But the attention was also a bit intimidating. When people looked at them, she wasn’t who they were looking at.

“Hey,” he said as he crawled in beside her. “Did I mention how much fun I had with you tonight?”

She nodded. “A few times.”

“Did I forget to say that you were the most beautiful woman there?”

“Uh, nope.”

He turned on his side, putting his arm around her waist. “How about that I’ll never forget dancing with you? That you made me feel like Fred Astaire?”

“Me? You’re the one who can dance. I can’t believe I didn’t step all over your feet.”

“Nonsense. You were an angel with wings.”

“And you’re full of baloney.”

He got that shocked look on his face. “You wound me.”

“You’ll survive.”

His eyes softened as he leaned forward to kiss her chin. “You should probably know that if I had an ounce of energy left in my body, I’d be ravaging you about now.”

“And you should know if I could stay awake, I’d be letting you.”

“Okay, then.”

“Right.”

He kissed her again, but not on the chin. This one lasted a lot longer, too. But finally, he pulled back, she settled down, and they slept, their bodies nestled together like spoons.

MARLA WALKED into the hotel pressroom to find Jessica talking with the editor in chief of Glamour. Listening without looking like an eavesdropper, she couldn’t help admiring Jessica’s aplomb, her ease, her wit. Marla still wanted to grow up to be just like her. But before she got all adult and stuff, she was champing at the bit to tell her boss everything that had happened in the last few days. Not the work stuff, because Jessica knew all that, but the Shawn stuff.

In the meantime, Marla checked in with Cord Wilson, who, with his team, staffed the press booth. They were in charge of tonight’s shindig, a press party aboard a boat that would cruise along the Hudson River. Marla was going, of course, and so was Shawn.

Just thinking his name made her sigh.

“What’s wrong?”

Marla spun around to find Jessica right behind her. “Oh, I thought you were with the Glamour editor in chief.”

“We’re finished. Why did you sigh like that? Are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah. Very, very okay.”

Jessica smiled. “I gathered that last night.”

“Really? You saw us? I mean, you saw he was, like, talking to me, and we were kinda together. Like a date?”

“Yes, I saw. Now, we must go to the bar and discuss this situation, yes?”

Marla nodded. “Oh, yes. Definitely.”

DAN FINISHED checking his phone messages, then turned on his computer to retrieve his e-mail. He’d have a ton of it, but most was probably spam.

As his computer downloaded, he got the phone and called his mother.

She answered with her typical cheer.

“Hi, Mom. How’s it going?”

“Your cat peed in my shoes.”

“Really? I’ve been training her for months. Be sure and give her an extra treat.”

“Ha, ha. Now, how are you, and how is the big experiment going?”

“Great and great.”

“No kidding? I figured she’d get tired of you and throw you out after the second night.”

“Gee, your faith in me is touching.”

“Only you would think prying into some strange girl’s private thoughts is a romp in the park. Private thoughts are private for a reason. Wasn’t it Oscar Wilde who said, ‘There is hardly anyone whose sexual life, if it were broadcast, would not fill the world at large with surprise and horror’?”

“No. It was Somerset Maugham. However, I don’t find anything Jessica does horrible. Surprising, yes, but not horrible.”

“Oh, my.”

Dan realized he couldn’t do the e-mail and talk at the same time, so he brought up his solitaire game. That he could practically do with his eyes closed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve fallen for her. Three days out of the gate, and you’re in love.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not in love.”

“You are. And she’s going to break your heart.”

“She is not.”

“Aha!”

“Don’t aha me. She’s a very bright, very insightful woman, and she’s illuminating the subject in a way I never anticipated.”

“Which means,” his mother said, her voice dropping an octave, “that you’ve stopped asking questions and are just having sex as often as humanly possible.”

Dan opened his mouth to protest, when it occurred to him that his mother was right. He hadn’t asked Jessica anything for what, twenty-four hours? “Shit.”

“Oh, honey. What can I tell you? Your intentions are always so good, but when it comes to women…”

“What?”

“Let’s just say that famous scientific detachment comes unglued.”

The solitaire game forgotten, Dan leaned forward in his chair. “You don’t understand, Mom, she’s different.”

“Right.”

“No, really. She’s doing a bang-up job on this marketing campaign. She’s focused but not obsessive, and she’s been unbelievably honest with me. That’s why it seems like it’s moving so fast, because we’re smashing through all the typical getting-to-know-each-other bullshit.”

“I understand.”

“I know that tone of voice,” he said, getting a little fed up. “You’re assuming a hell of a lot.”

Silence on the other end of the line. Then finally, just as he was going to apologize, his mother did.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I have no business judging you like this. For what it’s worth, sweetheart, I hope she’s everything you ever dreamt of.”

“I’m not saying she’s that,” he said, hating the defensiveness he heard in his voice. “I’m just saying she’s, you know, great.”

“Good. And when am I going to see you?”

“After it’s all over. Next weekend, I guess.”

“So your cat will have every opportunity to pee in all the rest of my shoes.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I also trained her to pee in your sock drawer.”

“Daniel!”

“I love you, Mom. Talk to you soon.”

He hung up to the sound of her sputtering. His smile didn’t last, however. He stood up, went to his window and stared at the street below. Was he rushing into this? Was he making Jessica into something she wasn’t? Or was this excitement that he’d felt since that first day something real, something he could count on?

So he hadn’t asked any questions. That was just a matter of timing, nothing more. He’d ask. He had by no means abandoned his project. On the contrary. Knowing her this well was a stunning revelation. Hadn’t he been spot-on about her fear after that first time? By giving her space, she’d come around by the next morning. That proved that he was starting to understand women!

And he also understood that he’d better get his ass in gear if he wanted to get dressed and make it out to the boat by five.

MARLA SIPPED her mocha Frappuccino noisily as she hit bottom. For the last forty minutes, she’d been talking a mile a minute, telling Jessica every last detail about her and Shawn. Jessica had never seen Marla so animated, so over the moon. There simply wasn’t a way to stay passive in the face of so much happiness.

And still, Jessica couldn’t help wondering what was going to happen when the week was over. Shawn was a famous man, with a whole world full of women to choose from. While Jessica thought Marla was one of the best, brightest, and certainly sweetest, did Shawn Foote really want her for keeps? Watching Marla talk, with her extravagant gestures and her totally unique vocabulary, all Jessica could think was if Shawn hurt Marla, she would chase him down and cut him where it hurts the most.

“And he said that he wants me to come with him to Montana. He’s thinking about buying the ranch that’s right next to Harrison Ford’s. I mean, can you imagine? ‘Uh, Harrison,’ she said, lowering her voice in an approximation of no one in particular, ‘May I borrow a cup of sugar? Or maybe an Oscar?”’

“Did Harrison Ford win an Oscar?”

“I’m not sure, but I don’t think we’ll be borrowing it anyway.”

“True.” Jessica sipped her plain old coffee. “Montana, huh?”

“What’s not to like?” Marla said. “I mean, trees, horses, cows. Woodland creatures. Bunnies!”

“Right. Deer.”

“Bambi!”

“Oh, does Shawn hunt?”

Marla looked stricken, but only for a moment. “Don’t know. Can’t imagine. He’s too sweet to shoot anything. I think he fishes, though.”

“Fishing’s okay.”

“Yeah. As long as, you know, you eat them.”

“Right.”

“And you don’t have to look into their eyes.”

Jessica nodded, understanding completely. In fact, she understood a lot about what her assistant was feeling. More than she liked to admit.

What Jessica had that Marla didn’t, however, was her plan. Even though she hadn’t stopped thinking of Dan since this morning, that wasn’t because she was getting all “gooey” about him, as Marla would say. She was simply reacting to the novelty of such great sex.

“Aha!” Marla said, pointing straight at Jessica.

“What?”

“I knew it. You’re also sharing this wonderfulness with your handsome Dan. It’s happening to us both!”

“Wait a minute,” Jessica said, feeling her cheeks heat and fighting the urge to bolt. “It’s not what you think.”

Marla’s eyes widened and Jessica realized what she’d almost admitted.

Marla leaned forward. “He’s not really a boyfriend from college, is he?”

She kept her expression completely neutral, despite the blush she couldn’t hide. “Of course he is.”

“Oh. I thought he was someone you brought to get Creepy Owen to back off because, well, you not having a life and all.” Now it was Marla’s turn to blush. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

“It’s okay,” Jessica said. “I’m not offended. I work hard at maintaining that image.”

“Why?”

“Because personal lives get so messy.”

“Hmm.”

Jessica hated it when Marla did that. Got all quiet and wouldn’t look her in the eye. “Come on. Out with it.”

“Well, it’s only my opinion.”

“Yes?”

“Doesn’t it make your happiness dependent on your job? And wasn’t it you who told me, early on, that companies have no loyalty to anything but the bottom line?”

“My career doesn’t depend on one job.”

“True, but it does depend on some job. And that’s not very comforting, is it?”

“Marla? Go buy yourself another Frappuccino, would you?”

“Okay. But then we have to go get dressed. It’s boat time tonight.”

“Yes, it is,” Jessica said, amazed she hadn’t blown it. At least not completely.

“Dan will be there, right?”

She nodded.

“Oh, goody. You’ll have fun.”

Jessica said nothing, not as Marla got up, or even when she put her hand on her shoulder. It did occur to her that in all the time they’d worked together, it was the first time they’d actually touched like that. Jessica couldn’t help wondering if it was because Marla had changed, or she had.

THE NICE THING about the boat trip was that someone other than Jessica was in charge. Which didn’t mean she could just sit around and drink mai tais, but she wasn’t responsible for the whole gig.

The bad thing about the boat trip was that Jessica wasn’t exactly the warm bubbly woman he’d kissed on his way out this morning. It wasn’t like that first night, when she’d gotten so scared. But she also wasn’t the open book.

For his part, he was pretty determined to get back on track. Not that he wasn’t going to continue to make all that hot monkey love to her, but he was going to refocus on the project.

Once she came back from talking to some People magazine bigwig, he would ask away. If he could figure out what to ask, that is.

“May I refill that drink?”

He looked up into the pretty eyes of the cocktail waitress. She was the opposite of Jessica in almost every way, from her blond hair to her tall, too-thin body. But her smile was nice and friendly. “Yes, please. And bring a whiskey sour, would you?”

“Of course, sir.” She headed off, but he found her looking back at him twice.

It hadn’t skipped his notice that ever since he’d started this job, women had been coming on to him. A lot. Way more than normal. In fact, he could go weeks, months, without being the recipient of that kind of smile. But every time he was with Jessica, he was a babe magnet. What was with that?

“Hi.” Jessica sat down across from him. She breathed deeply then exhaled as she pushed her hair behind her ear. “That woman is a barracuda,” she said. “It’s like she wants New Dawn to fail. Maybe she doesn’t like cosmetics. Or maybe she just doesn’t like me.”

“That’s absurd. How could anyone not like you?”

Jessica looked at him a long time. In fact, he was getting a little worried when she finally said, “I don’t care.”

“What?”

“I don’t care if people like me. I don’t understand why I even said that. I need them to buy the product I’m selling, that’s all. Or promote it, or whatever else they need to do for me to succeed. Liking me has nothing to do with it.”

He wasn’t sure what brought this on, and decided to keep his mouth shut.

“I don’t want people to hate me, either. What I mean is, it shouldn’t matter. I’m not in a popularity contest. What she thinks of me is no concern of mine.”

“Okay.”

She looked him in the eye critically. “Do me a favor, would you, Dan?”

“Anything.”

“Let’s cut the intimate act when we’re in public, unless Owen is right there, okay? I need to keep my eye on the prize, and that’s not going to happen if I’m dancing with you all night.”

Her words hit him like a blow. All he could do was nod, smile, act as if it meant nothing. As if this was just another day at the office. As if what she felt about him was no concern of his.

Top Five Things Only Women Understand

5. Fat clothes.

4. Cutting your bangs to make them grow.

3. Romantic stuff like mushy cards and flowers.

2. The inaccuracy of every bathroom scale ever made.

1. Other women!!!

Source: Dobhran “Top Ten Things Only Women Understand”
http://www.dobhran.com/humor/

15

JESSICA COULDN’T believe it. Here she was, in the middle of another tremendously successful party, getting raves from everyone from E! to W, accolades up the ying-yang from the folks at New Dawn, the wink-wink-nudge-nudge from Revlon, Chanel and Estée Lauder, and all she could think about was Dan.

She’d hurt him, which she hadn’t meant to, but now that it was done, and the repercussions were in progress, maybe she had meant to hurt him, to send the whole business back to square one. She wanted to start over, to put on the brakes well before she’d become entranced, definitely before they’d become intimate. But some things can’t be undone, can’t be unfelt.

She looked over at Dan, standing by the bar, toying with his drink. He’d had a few, more than was probably wise, but she wouldn’t dream of saying a word. He’d taken her at her word, and he’d backed off completely until Owen had approached. Then it was as if nothing had changed. Dan had become affectionate, endearing, territorial. She had to admit it had felt incredibly good, which was, of course, the problem.

She’d felt so sure about the plan of hers, to see Dan every few months, wear each other out in the bedroom, then do it again in another few months. It still felt as if that was the way to go. But talking to Marla had put a kink in the works, and Jessica wasn’t quite sure why.

The only way the plan was going to work was if she and Dan didn’t expect too much from each other. It totally depended on the focus being sex. She didn’t want more than that. In fact, she wasn’t even sure at this stage of the game if she could handle that much.

She wasn’t sure why, but sex always seemed to be more than sex for women. Men usually had the right idea, but women wanted more. Romance, security, love, commitment, a future. Why? Why wasn’t it okay to want sex for its own sake?

It would be enough for her, but only if there were no expectations of anything else. No hoping, no plotting, no daydreaming. All her thoughts needed to be on work, and her creativity, too. She wanted to rise to the top of a very competitive market, and to do that she needed focus, focus, focus.

How could she do that when she was worried about Dan’s feelings being hurt? Maybe if she just explained things to him, set it all out like the business proposition she had in mind, he’d sign on, and they wouldn’t have to continue to go through this emotional crap. It was too draining. And too distracting.

She simply wouldn’t worry about him anymore tonight. Tomorrow, when they had some privacy, she’d lay out the ground rules and see if he wanted to play.

“UH, DAN? Is everything okay?”

He looked up from his drink to see Marla standing to his immediate left, so pretty in her sailor dress, complete with a little blue boat pin on the collar. “I’m fine,” he said.

“Not that we know each other that well or anything, but that’s a total lie.”

He had to smile. They hadn’t spent a lot of time talking, but he was enchanted by the way she spoke. “Not a total lie. Just a partial lie.”

“Which part?”

“Just the part before the period.”

“Ah. Anything you want to talk about?”

“No.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Except, maybe you can help me.”

She moved next to him, putting her right elbow on the bar, her left foot on the rail, mimicking his stance exactly. “I’ll do my best.”

“What is it with women?”

She raised both eyebrows, pursed her lips, but at least she didn’t burst out laughing. “I don’t know. Can you narrow that down any?”

He sipped his drink, surprised yet again that he wasn’t drunker. Usually his limit was two, on a bad night three. This was his fourth screwdriver. He remained disappointingly sober. “Narrow it down? Okay. Let’s try this. Why do women think it’s perfectly fine to change their minds every twenty seconds? First it’s yes, then it’s no, then it’s maybe, then back to yes, then damn no. Are you starting to see the drift here or should I continue?”

“Perfectly clear,” Marla said, nodding so her red hair flowed down past her shoulders, then back up. “I’m familiar with the pattern.”

“So? What’s the deal? Why can’t women say yes and mean yes?”

“Sometimes they do.”

“When? When exactly do they do that? What in hell does it take to make a woman mean what she says? I don’t get it.”

Marla patted his shoulder. “It must be frustrating. But it’s not personal.”

“It sure as hell feels personal.”

“Personal is usually when she says no and means no.”

“You’re saying rejection is final.”

“Almost all the time.”

“Almost?”

“Yeah, see, because there might be new information.”

“I’m not talking about court proceedings here. I’m talking about—” He stopped, unwilling to get more detailed about the situation. He was still working for Marla’s boss.

“It’s tricky when you’re talking about…stuff. Because with…stuff, there are a lot of factors. When women do say yes, they usually mean yes forever, so there aren’t many casual yeses. And sometimes women can think that they’re saying yes to one thing and then realize it’s a completely other thing they’ve said yes to, and then they’re not sure about the yes, so that’s when the maybe comes into play. But the no, that’s typically pretty clear, except when the no is because the woman is frightened about a new situation, and so she says no, but that really doesn’t mean no, it’s mostly a maybe, but the man, he needs to give her time to see that there’s nothing to be afraid of, and that she won’t ruin her career because she falls in love.”

Dan blinked twice. Shockingly, he’d understood everything Marla had said, specifically that last bit. “Okay, so let’s say some men get it about the being afraid part, and some men make allowances for that which seem to work but not really. Then what?”

“Keep trying?” she asked, her voice going way up high.

“But when is it real stupid for a man to keep trying? How does a man know when no is no and yes is yes?”

“That one I can sort of help with.”

“Oh?”

She nodded. “There’s a yes that when you hear it, you know that it’s a forever yes. It’s different from a maybe yes, and definitely different from a no yes.”

He looked at his vodka. Maybe he was drunk. “You’re sure about this.”

“Absolutely. So don’t worry about it. It takes time to get to the forever yes.”

He didn’t dare look at her, so he kept studying his drink. “What if I’m not sure I’m ready for a forever yes?”

“Then it’s good that it’s not here yet. Just be patient.” She touched his arm with two fingers. “She’s worth it.”

He met her sympathetic gaze. “Am I?”

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I’d like to think so. But only you can answer that question.”

“Where’s your guy?”

Her face changed completely, lighting up from the inside. “He’s busy with one of the photographers, but he’s going to come get me when he’s done.”

“You seem pretty happy with him.”

“I am. He’s so wonderful. And interesting, and funny. Sweeter than anyone, and I love that he’s so much more than just his looks, you know? Not that his looks aren’t incredible, but he’s so much more than that. He’s got all these plans for the future and he doesn’t buy into all the artificial junk about modeling and stuff. I don’t know, he’s just…”

He smiled, happy for her. “Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“I want to say be careful.”

“Careful? How is that possible? To be careful means not caring all the way. Not opening my heart. Then you wouldn’t know. And it would be too easy to miss out on the one thing that could be the most important thing of all.”

The band started again, playing “String of Pearls,” a Glenn Miller tune, as Marla walked away. Dan wished the boat ride was over. He needed time to think. He liked so much about Jessica, but was it love? Was his mother right about him? He’d always been a romantic and it had gotten him into trouble time and time again. Maybe this was just the same old, same old. Maybe he wasn’t really seeing Jessica for who she was, but as some amalgam of who he wanted her to be.

For sure, he’d never experienced anything even close to the experience of making love to her. And when they talked, there was a rightness to the conversations. He felt good with her, wanted to know more about her.

Maybe backing off was the right thing. Goddamn it, this was crazy. He’d never equivocated like this, not over any woman. Not over anything for that matter.

He no longer wanted to find out what women wanted. He wanted only to find out what one specific woman wanted. The question was, how?

THE NIGHT ENDED, at least for Jessica, just after midnight. Because she wasn’t officially in charge of the event, she didn’t have to stay to the bitter end.

Owen had hovered, of course, when she’d said good-night, and Dan had risen to the occasion once again. Attentive, respectful, charming. Everything she could hope for in a date, real or not.

They walked down to the pier, arm in arm, smiling, their bodies touching with each step. She felt the same shimmer of excitement that had been the constant since that first day. It was as if when they touched, they completed an electrical current. No one else did it to her. She’d never known it was possible.

They reached the street and got in line to wait for a cab. She turned to him. “What is it that you like about me?” she asked.

The question clearly took him by surprise. “Is this a test?”

“No. Think of it as research. Come on, what appeals?”

“There are a lot of things.”

“Name five.”

“Okay,” he said, stretching the word. Let’s see…”

“Nothing? Not one thing comes to mind?”

“No, no. Oh, God, no. Give me a second to get my thoughts together, that’s all.”

“And it can’t be about sex.”

His face fell. “Oh.”

She elbowed him. “I can’t believe—”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Come on. You’re…”

She stepped back, waiting.

His eyes softened and he touched her cheek with the back of his hand. “I like your drive, your intensity. You’re honest, and you make no bones about who you are and what you want. You certainly come up with creative solutions to your problems.” He nodded toward the boat. “This whole campaign is brilliant.”

Jessica frowned. “That’s it?”

A laugh escaped. “That’s it? I’ve just described an amazing woman.”

“But what about me?”

“I don’t understand.”

She turned, embarrassed by the sudden rush of tears. “I like to think I’m nice. That I have a sense of humor. You know, human things.”

“Oh, Jessica,” he whispered as he pulled her into his arms. “You’re all that. Funny and nice, and so much more. Marla adores you and wants to be just like you. I see how people talk to you, with respect, with ease. You don’t intimidate, you make people feel welcome and comfortable. Even that first time we met, at the bar, you were so willing to dive into my insane scheme. Willing to open yourself to a stranger. Don’t you see how remarkable that is?”

Her head rested on his chest, but she shook it anyway. “I was so mean to you tonight.”

“No you weren’t. You were just honest.”

“It’s not your fault. You’ve never pressured me, or made any demands.”

“Oh, but I have. And I’m going to demand more. I’ve decided we need to go back to our original agreement. I ask you questions, and keep Owen at bay. You answer questions, and you concentrate on getting through this week with all your energy and strength. Whatever I can do to help, I’ll do. If that means leaving you the hell alone, then fine. Just say the word.”

Now she lifted her head to meet his gaze. Amazed, once more, at this odd, beautiful man. Unlike anyone in her experience, and yet she felt as if she’d known him for a long, long time. She rose on her toes, stretched her neck, but she couldn’t reach him. He smiled slowly and leaned down until his lips touched hers.

The shock of his kiss swept through her again, and for once in her life she turned off that part of her brain that analyzed everything, weighed every move. She just kissed him. A boy, a girl, a moonlit night.

A long, sweet, melting kiss.

THEY RODE BACK to the hotel in silence, comfortable, touching.

Dan had meant what he said, that he would step back, not make this more complicated than it needed to be. Jessica had enough on her plate without him adding to it.

There would be time, later, to explore the connection, the desire he felt for her. For now, he would appreciate what he had and not beg for more.

Once inside the suite, he guided her to the bedroom, then shut the door behind her. Knowing she would be a few minutes, he undressed quickly in the bathroom, brushed his teeth and cleared out. She tiptoed past as he made the couch into his bed. Despite his intentions, it wasn’t fun when she waved good-night and closed the bedroom door behind her.

But it was better this way. He needed to figure out what he wanted, and so did she. The sex, while fantastic, made things difficult, confusing.

He turned off the lights and climbed into bed. Putting his hands behind his head, he stared up at the ceiling for a long time, seeing nothing but dark. His thoughts went in circles, always coming back to being inside her. Why was it so unique? She wasn’t shaped differently, she hadn’t come up with some new and wild technique. Yet with her it was…

Shit. He didn’t know what it was. Great wasn’t the half of it. It changed him. How, he couldn’t explain. But it was true nonetheless. If it was still so after this week, then he could take the time to fully explore the reasons. As for now, he had to forget about making love to her. If he could. It was certainly asking a lot.

He closed his eyes, needing to sleep, knowing sleep was going to prove elusive. But he tried.

The moments ticked on, the night grew still and vast. He listened to the sound of his own heartbeat, trying to slow it down, but having no success.

Then he heard a new sound, the bedroom door opening. Whatever progress he’d made with his heart was shot to hell as his hopes rose. She was probably just going to the bathroom, nothing more. Besides, hadn’t he just gone on and on about stepping back? Putting sex aside?

Her footsteps were lost in the thick carpet, and he couldn’t place her in the room. That is, until he saw her shadow on the wall.

He turned his head, and there she was, made somehow silver by the light of the moon. She approached the bed slowly, quiet as a mouse, until she stood not a foot away, right next to the bed.

He could just see her expression. Worried. In fact, she was chewing on her lower lip.

Dan threw back the covers. Jessica sat down, making the slim mattress curve under her weight.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she whispered.

“Lie down.”

“You said you didn’t want to.”

“I know.”

“I said I didn’t want to.”

He smiled, knowing she couldn’t see him. “I know.”

“But here I am.”

He reached out with his hand, grasped hers and squeezed. “Come,” he said.

“Are you sure?”

“No.”

“What if it’s a huge mistake?”

He gave her a little tug. “Then let’s make it together.”

She nodded, then slowly stretched out next to him. He closed his eyes, achingly aware of the softness of her skin, of the way her hip felt against his, of her closeness, her scent.

“You know there’s a basic problem with your project,” she said.

“What’s that?”

“The premise. How can you ever understand women, when we don’t understand ourselves?”

He turned over on his side, and looked down into her shadowy face. “I don’t believe it. I think you understand every mystery in the universe. That you know all the secrets of the heart. You just have to listen to your own wisdom, that’s all.”

Her hand moved up to the back of his neck. “Is this wise?”

He answered her with a kiss.

What Women Really Mean

1. Do what you want—You’ll pay for this later.

2. We need to talk—I need to complain.

3. Sure…go ahead—I don’t want you to.

4. I’m not upset—Of course I’m upset, you moron!

5. You’re certainly attentive tonight—Is sex all you ever think about?

Source: Gallant, Jim “What Women Really Mean”
http://www.galisteao.com/gallant/humor/

16

THE MOMENT THEIR LIPS touched, Jessica’s fears drifted away, and she was right there, right then, and there was nowhere else on earth she’d rather be.

His hand moved to her sash, which he opened effortlessly, then he slipped inside to touch her bare flesh. It felt as if he belonged there, as if without his touch she was incomplete. Everything that had troubled her diminished to insignificance as she explored his mouth, his taste, as he stroked her stomach with infinite care and respect.

As for her, she had her own tasks to complete, getting him naked first on the list. She got hold of his boxers and tugged down, but she was only able to get so far. Whispering a soft apology, he left her momentarily while he yanked the shorts off, and as long as he was in position, he spread her robe completely open, and when he lay down again it was flesh to flesh.

He lowered his head until he kissed her once more, but only a peck. Turning so he could nibble the edge of her chin, he whispered, “I don’t understand this. How I feel when…”

“I know,” she said. “It’s crazy. But, oh, God.”

“Uh-huh.” He licked, then nibbled, then moved to her neck, kissing, murmuring sweet sounds that had no words, just the heat of his breath, the wet of his tongue, the sharpness of his teeth.

Distraction came when he cupped her breast, using the flat of his palm to circle her nipple, brushing against it so lightly it was as if she imagined the caress.

Everything in her wanted more. “Please,” she begged, pressing herself into his hand. “Don’t make me wait.”

He lifted his head and stared down at her. It was too dark and his face too shadowed to see him clearly, but the length of his pause made her think he could see her.

He said nothing as he moved on top of her, spreading her legs with his knees to nestle between them. Once settled, he found her hands, and slid his fingers between hers. He lifted both hands until they were above her head, brought them both together, then using one hand, so much larger than hers, he grasped both wrists tightly. When she tugged, he held her fast, immobile.

“What—?”

His low chuckle did all sorts of interesting things to her body. She tried to wiggle, but the way he held her captive, she could hardly move.

Spreading her legs farther, he touched her with his free hand, and after getting the lay of the land, he thrust a finger inside her, making her gasp with the sudden intrusion. The next second his mouth covered hers, swallowing her surprise as his finger plunged inside her.

There was nothing gentle or gentlemanly about anything he did. His tongue and his finger worked in rhythm, each taking her roughly, giving her no option but to surrender to the pleasure, to abandon herself to whatever wickedness was in store.

His body tensed as he ravaged her mouth, his fingers thrust inside her once more and then were gone, replaced quickly with the full length of him, filling her completely, making her gasp and arch her back.

He took her, plunged into her over and over roughly, the gentle man she’d known replaced by this animal presence, this predator.

She writhed beneath him, so awash with awareness and excitement she could hardly breathe. She heard herself moan, although the sound was unlike any she’d made before. Her hands struggled to break free even though she didn’t want to be free. Her body was more hers than ever before, even as her moves were unfamiliar and jerky.

“Mine,” he whispered gruffly, the tone brooking no quarter, taking possession of her body, her mind, her soul.

She wrapped her legs around his hips, meeting each thrust with one of her own, two bodies crashing together like waves to a craggy shore.

Her orgasm came quickly, with such ferociousness she could only cry out, inarticulate, trembling. She squeezed him both with her legs and with her inner muscles, and he went over the edge, too, his cry and hers twining like their bodies.

When it was over, he released her wrists, collapsing on top of her in a heap.

She didn’t mind. She wanted to feel his chest rise and fall. She still had him inside her, and that she wasn’t willing to relinquish.

Dizzy from the exertion, her body continued to spasm in echoes of the fierce climax, and every time she did, he answered in the same way.

Finally, long after the main event had ended, he sighed deeply, then kissed her. Gentle Dan had returned, but now she knew that there was another side to him, darker, rougher, and she wasn’t sure which she preferred.

“I hate it,” he said, “but I have to.”

She whimpered. “Please, no.”

“I must. Cramp in my leg.”

She kissed his cheek. “Poor baby.”

“It’s your fault.” He rolled off her, leaving her empty and chilled.

“How is it my fault?”

“You make me crazy. I have no self-control when I’m around you.”

“That’s not me. That’s you.”

“Nope. I know it’s you.”

“How?”

He turned his head to look at her. “Because it doesn’t happen with anyone else.”

“Oh.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

“Me, neither.”

“I keep thinking the best thing is to leave you alone. Go back to square one, and focus on the research. Get possessive around Owen, then back the hell off.”

“That sounds right.”

“But then we’re alone, and I can’t think about the research at all.”

“I have no thoughts to spare. I have two more days of this campaign, and I can’t let down my guard. It’s everything I’ve worked toward and my future is tied to the outcome. So what do I do? I spend every free second thinking about you.”

“It’s a problem.”

“No kidding.”

He turned onto his side, propping his head up on his hand. “What are we going to do?”

“I have no idea.”

“We could try again. Going back to the original deal, I mean. Look, but no touch. Questions, answers.”

She nodded. “It won’t be easy.”

“Granted. But we’re both adults. We should be able to curb our animal instincts for a couple of days.”

“Right. Especially now that we’ve, uh…”

“Yes. Gotten our ya-yas out, so to speak.”

“Well said.” Jessica grinned. “So that’s that. We’ll be grown-ups. You’ll sleep in here, I’ll sleep in there. We’ll talk. It’ll be great.” She turned onto her side, facing him, mimicking his posture exactly. “We’ll be models of decorum.”

“Platonic.”

“Yet caring.”

He frowned. “But you know, we’ve already kind of ruined tonight.”

“Technically, you’re right.”

“So what I’m thinking is, let’s just get all this sex business out of our systems. You know, boogie till we drop. Then it’ll be easy to be paragons of virtue.”

“I can see why you’re so successful in business. You look at the big picture.”

“Right. The kit and the caboodle.”

“I figure,” she said, “after I get a little water, maybe have a piece of fruit, we could meet in the bedroom.”

“Ah, a change of venue.”

She grinned. “Well, we wouldn’t want to leave out anything.”

“Wise, wise woman.”

“Okay then. I’m going to drink and eat.”

“I’m going to go to the bathroom, then join you.”

She leaned over and kissed him. “Oh, goody.”

“Amen to that.”

HE WOKE UP to a note on the pillow instead of Jessica.

*I’ve gone to Rockefeller Center to get ready for the Geocaching. I should be back by one.*

That was it. Short and sweet and no mention at all of the night that had ended when the sun peeked over the skyscrapers.

He lay back down, debating the merits of really getting up, deciding in the end to stay put and order room service.

He knew Owen would be with Jessica at Rockefeller Center, but given the shape Dan was in, he wouldn’t be much help until he got his act together.

Jessica had told him about the all-day stunt that would begin just after eight this morning. All the winners from a write-in campaign, almost a hundred of them, would be given portable global positioning systems and a map. Their task was basically a treasure hunt. Locate one Manhattan landmark by the longitude and latitude, find a clue to the next location, then the next, finally ending at the Central Park Pond, where one lucky winner would receive a full makeover, using New Dawn cosmetics, of course, a new wardrobe and a cruise for two to Jamaica. All of which was going to be recorded by as many entertainment-news organizations as Jessica could entice to be there.

It was quite a brilliant idea, really, but the logistics had been a daunting task. He knew for sure that all the clues were in place, and had been since last week. The grand prize had been buried last night.

At least the whole publicity monster would be over in a few days. He’d promised Jessica he would be there as her arm candy until it was finished, and he would. As for his own research project, he was more confused about women than ever. What was worse, none of his prepared questions seemed the least bit germane. He had no idea what to ask her, what would help him understand her. It seemed an unbridgeable chasm, his feelings, her feelings, their relationship, if he could even call it that. Perhaps if he knew what he wanted from her, it would help, but he didn’t.

Okay, he knew some things: he wanted to see her again. To see her often. To pursue this—whatever it was. To make love to her. To see where she lived, how she lived, to learn about her past.

Shit, he wanted a lot, and almost none of it was directly related to his project.

Bottom line? No way he could walk away from her. She’d become important to him. Vitally. When he thought about a future without her he felt indescribably bleak.

Jessica had awakened something inside him that had been dormant. No other woman had affected him this way, and he had a sinking feeling that no other woman ever would. She was the spark that lit his fire. Maybe that was the whole thing about love. That you wander around until your dormant heart is awakened by the one other person on earth who matches some very specific requirements.

He winced as the full impact of his thoughts hit home. Love? He’d only known her for less than a week. Not enough time, surely, to go out on that limb. And yet, if it wasn’t love, what was it? Lust didn’t cover it. It was involved, but not the whole of it. He’d lusted often before, sometimes to the detriment of his health, his sanity. But that was child’s play compared to his feelings now. He couldn’t abide the thought of Jessica moving through life without him. But he had the distinct and uncomfortable suspicion that she didn’t feel the same way.

Which basically meant he was screwed. Unless he could figure something out. In the next two days.

Right.

“ON YOUR MARK, get set, go!”

Jessica watched the contestants sprint across the Rockefeller Center Plaza, heading east toward the site of the first clue. The whir and click of hundreds of cameras sounded like a swarm of insects as journalists from around the world captured the moment. She’d gotten word early this morning that the sale of global positioning systems throughout the Greater New York Area had tripled in the last four days, and that all Manhattan was engaged in the largest treasure hunt in the city’s history.

By all accounts, the event was a triumph. The name of New Dawn had saturated the market on every level, print, radio, television and most importantly, word of mouth. Already Bloomingdale’s, Saks, Barney’s and hundreds of other retail stores were reporting record sales for a debuting cosmetics line. Everything Jessica had worked for over the last year was coming together in a beautifully wrapped package, and she knew that next week she was going to have to weigh offers from marketing and cosmetics firms from around the world.

She should have been floating on cloud nine. Instead, she had a king-size headache and a mad desire to steal the grand-prize cruise to Jamaica for herself.

Marla leaned against the brightly painted New Dawn pressmobile, arms crossed, a worried frown making her look younger than her twenty-four years. “Want to talk about it?”

Jessica shook her head. “I don’t think so, but thanks.”

“What time do we have to be at the park?”

“The soonest anyone can get there is four-thirty, so we’ll set up at four.”

Marla nodded. “Okay, see you there.”

She didn’t leave, however. She just kept staring.

“Marla, it’s okay. I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“Don’t let the New Dawn people hear you say that. I’m wearing all their best stuff.”

Pushing herself off the van, Marla came to her side. “It’s about Dan, isn’t it?”

She was surprised by Marla’s question. In all the time they’d worked together, Marla had never really asked her anything personal. Jessica hadn’t allowed it. She’d realized when she first came up with this plan that things were going to change, but she’d never bargained on the major earthquake that had shaken her to the core. She sighed deeply and said, “Yeah, it’s about Dan.”

Marla took her by the elbow and led her toward a coffee kiosk. “I’ll buy,” she said. “You talk.”

But Jessica didn’t. Not until they had their drinks and found a table near the exit. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “Things are getting really complicated.”

“How?”

Jessica studied her assistant, and it occurred to her that Marla could have been so much more than that. She could have been a friend. Her career wouldn’t have been threatened, the campaign still would have been wildly successful. The only difference would have been that Jessica wouldn’t have been so incredibly alone. “Obviously,” she said, “this goes nowhere, but you were right about Dan. He isn’t my old college boyfriend.”

Marla didn’t say anything. She just put her paper cup down on the table.

“He’s a friend of a friend. I hired him to act like my boyfriend. You already figured out why.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Only now, you’re kind of wishing he really was your boyfriend.”

Jessica winced. “I’m not. At least I don’t think I am. No, I’m not. I can’t get involved. It goes against all my better judgment. Every woman I know in business has had to choose between love and real success. I don’t want to have to make that choice.”

“Love?”

Jessica felt the heat in her cheeks. “It was rhetorical.”

“Right.”

“No, I don’t love him. At least, I don’t think I do. It’s just…”

“You can’t stop thinking about him? You feel like you’re a completely different person when he’s near? You want to share every new sight and taste and sound with him? The whole universe has come into focus and you didn’t even know it’d been blurry?”

She chuckled. “Something like that.”

Marla leaned forward and touched her hand. The small gesture was completely foreign to their previous relationship, and yet at this moment, Jessica welcomed the kindness so much she actually teared up.

“Jessica, jobs come and go. But to lose someone like Dan…”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It can be. If you let it.”

Jessica stared at her coffee, feelings she never would have imagined stirring deep inside, confusing her as nothing in her life had before. “I don’t know. I think I might know a way to have both him and my career.”

“Then go for it,” Marla said. “You deserve happiness, Jessica. Not just success.”

“I always thought success was happiness.”

“Oh, man,” Marla said, leaning back on her chair. “That’s, well, kinda sad, isn’t it?”

Jessica didn’t answer. Not out loud, at least.

Top 5 things men know about women:

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

17

JESSICA’S PACE down the hotel hallways slowed to just above a crawl as she approached her suite. Yes, she wanted to see Dan, but she still hadn’t figured out the perfect way to ask him to be part of her grand plan.

Casual was the way to go, but not too casual; she didn’t want him to feel peripheral, as if any man could do the trick. But she also didn’t want to sound desperate and needy. If the plan was going to work, they both needed to want it. It would take some amount of coordination, and the whole scheme would crumple if Dan ended up feeling as if he wasn’t getting enough of her time, or attention, or whatever. She had to be passionate about the benefits of the intermittent affair. He could feel completely unencumbered when he went off to do research or consulting, or climbing Everest. She would never be jealous or possessive. He could do as he pleased, as long as he was careful, and when they both deemed it time, they’d come together in what she fully expected to be a mind-blowing week of unadulterated bliss. Then they’d go to their separate corners until the next time.

Think of how much they would have to tell each other if they didn’t see each other day after dull day. It would be like Christmas four times a year. Everything would be new and fresh and thrilling. In the downtimes, they could enjoy the benefits of singlehood, like not worrying about what time dinner was, or having to go to mind-numbing client parties.

To her mind, the arrangement was the best of all possible worlds. She just hoped like hell she could convince him. No. She would convince him. She was in the process of getting the whole world slathering to buy New Dawn cosmetics, and according to all reliable sources, she’d done just that. If she could convince a whole country, convincing one man would be a snap.

She finally reached her door. She slipped in the key card, turning the little light green, and went inside. “Hello?”

No answer. In her note she’d said she’d be back by one, and it was almost two. Dan had probably gotten bored and gone off for lunch.

Her shoulders relaxed as she put down her briefcase. What she wanted now was a bath. A big, long soak-extravaganza that would prune her skin and ease her aches. A nap would have been even more perfect, but she’d never trust herself to get up again. So a bath it would be.

She went to the bathroom and started the water in the big Roman tub. No jets, but plenty of room to stretch out. There was even a terry-bath pillow provided, along with two lilac-scented candles.

Her robe still hung on the bathroom door from this morning, so she didn’t have to fetch that. She did, however, need to get her cell, despite the fact that if anyone had the nerve to call her, she’d cheerfully wring their necks. But she was technically on call, so…

Undressing slowly, she got all the way down to panties before pinning up her hair. She thought about applying a mud mask, but what if Dan came back? She didn’t want to look like a Kabuki dancer.

The thought of him joining her in that great big tub gave her a little shiver, although really, she needed the rest. She’d decide if and when. No need to stress about it, or anything at the moment.

Peeling down her panties and tossing them in the corner, she lit both candles, turned off the lights, then turned off the water, pleased at the billowing bubbles that she had brought forth. Already sighing, she tested the water with her big toe, then her foot. Satisfied that she wouldn’t be scalded, she climbed into the tub, letting her body adjust in stages, until she lay neck high in happiness.

It took a couple of tries to get the pillow in exactly the right position, but it was worth it. She sighed one more time as she closed her eyes, her body floating, her mind at peace. All was right with her world.

She must have fallen asleep, because the sound of the door opening woke her with a start. She smiled, sinking down a little deeper into the water. Clearly she hadn’t been out for long, because the water was still toasty and the bubbles hadn’t dissipated.

“Hello,” she said, her eyes still closed. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Dan didn’t say anything, but she could hear the soft plop of shirt and pants hit the tile.

She squirmed under the soft cover of bubbles, anticipating the wonderfulness of Dan plus bath plus soap plus her. It added up to one spectacular experience with the extra-added bonus of not having to clean up.

His feet hardly made a sound as they crossed the room. She opened her eyes languidly, focusing in on his good parts.

With a flash of horror, she realized they weren’t his good parts at all.

It was Owen, wearing nothing but a pair of way-too-tight red bikini briefs, his chubby middle sticking out over the top. He smiled at her as if he were Brad Pitt, and if she hadn’t been so damn frightened she would have laughed out loud.

She put her left hand over her cell phone and without even looking at it, pressed speed-dial five. Then, very calmly, she said, “What are you doing, Owen?”

“I know all about your boyfriend.”

“Oh?”

He moved over to the side of the tub, and for a horrifying minute she thought he was going to climb in with her. Instead, he sat on the edge, casually crossing his legs as if they were at the Manhattan Ocean Club instead of her bathroom. “Oh, yeah. I know it all.”

“What do you know?

“That you hired him. He’s an actor. He doesn’t mean a thing to you.”

“Why do you think I did that, Owen?”

“Because you’re afraid.”

“Of what?”

He leaned slightly forward. “Of us.”

“And why would I be afraid? Because you broke into my room, and came into my bathroom while I was taking a bath?”

Owen laughed.

She blessed New Dawn bubble bath for the lasting coverage as she prayed her ploy had worked. She’d never realized Owen was this far gone. Did he actually think she wanted him? That showing up in his underwear was going to do the trick?

“I know you’ve felt this…thing between us,” he said. “I know you think it wouldn’t work because of my wife, but you have to understand. I’m in love with you. Sure, my wife is great, she’s a terrific person, but love? That hasn’t been there for a long, long time.”

“Does she know that, Owen?”

“Of course she does. She’s very happy being a mother, being at home. She doesn’t care what I do with my free time. In fact, she’d be delighted to get me out of her hair.”

“So you’ve told her about us?”

“Sure, sure.”

He stood, making her heart hammer in her chest. Maybe she should scream, but who would hear her if her cell phone call hadn’t connected? This hotel was built when walls were walls and bathrooms were private. “Why don’t we talk about it, Owen. In the living room. You go on out there, and I’ll follow in a minute. I just need to freshen up a bit.”

“You don’t, Jessica. You’re perfect the way you are.” He sat again, his hand moving below the bubbles right into the water.

Jessica scooted all the way over, but if he made one more move, she’d have to do something. Screaming was out, but maybe she could take one of the candles and hit him in the head with it.

She glanced at the door, willing it to open.

“I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood something, Owen,” she said. “Where did you get this wild idea about me hiring Dan?”

“This morning, when you were having coffee with Marla. I heard the whole thing.”

She laughed, but it sounded unbelievably phony. “You heard things out of context. I didn’t—”

“I heard every word. He’s a whore, that’s all. A gigolo. You don’t feel anything at all for him. I heard you say it.”

Just then the bathroom door swung open, and there was Dan, flanked on either side by two burly men in dark suits.

“Funny,” Dan said. “I don’t feel like a gigolo.”

Owen sprang up from the side of the tub, crossing his hands in front of his privates like some kind of cartoon character. “Hey, what the hell?”

Dan held up his cell phone. “We heard it all. Especially the part about you breaking into her suite and her bathroom. You, sir, are about to find out how popular those red briefs are going to be on Rikers Island.”

Owen blinked as though the whole thing was a bad dream. The two men, security for the hotel, walked over to him. It was clear they weren’t interested in anything but removing Owen before there was a scene.

Dan stepped away from the door. “Don’t worry, baby. The police are downstairs.” Then he turned to McCabe. “I can’t wait to see what the New York Post has to say about all this.”

“My clothes,” Owen said as each man took an arm. “At least let me get my pants. Do you know who I am? I’m a very important man. I can show you my ID if you let me get my—”

Dan swung the door shut behind them, then turned to her, his face creased in worry. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, although her whole body shivered uncontrollably. It felt as if she was in a tub of ice.

Dan got a towel and held it out for her. Jessica stood shakily and let him wrap her up. He held her close and tight, warming her as much from his concern as his body heat.

“I heard everything. I was downstairs in the café,” he said.

“Thank God. For all I knew, you were in Hoboken.”

“That bastard’s gonna fry for this.”

“I don’t care about frying, but I’ll make damn sure the president of the company hears about it. I just feel sorry for his wife and kids.”

Dan pulled back for a second to look at her. “He didn’t touch you, did he?”

She shook her head.

He smiled, kissed her, then pulled her back into his embrace. “I’m glad you trusted me to help.”

She didn’t answer, but the violent tremors had eased, and that was enough. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you in bed. You need to warm up.”

“I can’t. I have to go to Central Park.”

“Marla can’t handle that herself?”

“Not with Owen out of the picture.”

After transferring the towel to her hands, he reluctantly let go. She shouldn’t have to work now, not after that. Dan figured he’d call the police while Jessica got dressed and find out what they needed to do to press charges. Son of a bitch. He was almost sorry he’d brought the security men with him. He’d give anything to have five minutes alone with lover boy.

JESSICA WENT to her bedroom, a little surprised at how she was still shaking. Nothing had happened, except that Owen was no longer a problem. She hadn’t been hurt, he hadn’t even seen her naked. She’d have preferred not to have seen him in his underwear, but she doubted that would cause permanent trauma.

She was also surprised at how grateful she’d been to see Dan, and she wondered if she would have been just as happy to see anyone come to her rescue or if it was specifically Dan.

As she dressed, she ran her plan over one more time. The more often she heard it, the more logical it seemed. And now she knew that if all went according to plan, Dan was someone she could count on even if it wasn’t one of their designated weeks. Good to know.

She’d had to count on herself alone for such a long time, she had mixed feelings about having someone else to turn to. Her father had died years ago, and her mother had never been someone to rely on, so it had all fallen on her shoulders. Getting into college, finding her first apartment, investing…she’d researched everything on her own. In that way, she supposed, she and Dan were alike. Although from what he’d said, he had his mother. She envied him what sounded like a great relationship. Although her lack of closeness with her family had given her free rein to pursue her own path with no interference whatsoever.

That was one of her fears about getting too involved with Dan. With anyone, for that matter. She didn’t play well with others, never had. Her goals were always to be the leader, the field marshal, the captain. Never a follower. That’s what made this job so important. After this, the real perk she’d receive in her new position, whatever it may be, would be freedom. She would be able to negotiate herself into a position of real power. No more Owens to contend with.

It was a solid plan, and given her success so far, it was going to turn out beautifully. It would be fascinating to see what came down about Owen. Geller and Patrick might just ask her to take his place. If they paid enough, she’d jump at the chance. There were so many things she wanted to implement in the company.

Dressed, she checked her look, ran a brush through her hair, and went back to the living room. Dan was just hanging up the phone.

“I’m going to the police station when you leave for Central Park. How long do you think you’ll be?”

“God, hours. We have to wait until the last person checks in. It could be really late.”

“What about dinner?”

“I’ll send someone to pick up a pizza or something.”

“Okay, I’ll call before I join you, and see if you need food.”

“Great. Thanks.” She looked at her watch and saw she was late. Marla was probably pacing downstairs. She caught Dan around the waist, gave him a quick kiss, then said, “That thanks was for more than the offer of dinner.”

“I know.” He kissed her back, and then she was out the door, heading toward the elevator. It wasn’t until the red light dinged that she realized she no longer needed Dan’s services. Without Owen, she didn’t need an escort at all.

IT WAS JUST AFTER nine-thirty when Dan left the police station. He made sure Owen wasn’t going to walk away from this unscathed. In fact, he wanted him scathed to the max.

He held his arm out for a taxi as he dialed Jessica’s cell phone. She answered after the fifth ring. Her hello was brief and harried, setting the tone.

“You want pizza?” he asked.

She paused.

He waited.

“Yes, please. Four or five big ones. A couple of just cheese, two pepperoni and one vegetarian.”

“Got it. What about drinks.”

“Don’t worry about it. There’s a vendor here.”

“I’ll be there in about forty-five minutes.”

“Great. Oh, and Dan?”

A cab pulled over and he opened the door. “Yeah?”

“You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“I know. Now get back to work. I’ll call if I’m going to be late.”

“Okay,” she said, then she was gone.

He gave the driver directions to his favorite pizza joint, which was pretty close to Central Park. He had the number in his phone book, so it was an easy matter to call. By the time he arrived, he could tell the cabbie to wait. If traffic were better, he could have had the whole thing taken care of in a half hour.

Leaning back, he took a long, deep breath. Ever since he’d gotten that weird call from Jessica, his heart had been pumping and he’d been wired. Totally ready for a fight, which wasn’t real smart, because he’d gotten mighty testy with a cop at the precinct, and it was a very near thing that he wasn’t keeping Owen the Rat Bastard company for the night.

He watched the passing people as they maneuvered through traffic, thinking how lucky he was to be heading toward Jessica. Someone had already won the cruise, he was sure. Maybe she would like to do that with him. Take a cruise. He hadn’t been to Alaska in a long time. Or maybe she’d like to do a barge trip on the Seine.

He didn’t give a damn, as long as it was with Jessica.

Tonight had made him more sure than ever that they needed to be together. She might be a tough cookie when it came to business, but she was still a woman, and he was still a man, and despite the incredible lack of political correctness, every instinct he had was to protect her, to care for her, to make sure no one would ever hurt her. He wanted to go to sleep with her right next to him. In fact, having her there felt like the only way he’d sleep well.

If Owen had hurt her…

Dan sighed. All was well, and Owen was safely out of the picture.

He swallowed hard as he sat up straight. “Shit,” he whispered. He finally understood what Jessica meant when she said he “didn’t have to.”

He was officially out of a job.

Female Intuition

One day, three men were trekking through a jungle, when they came across a violent, raging river. They had no idea how to cross. So the first man decided to pray:

“Please, God, give me the strength to cross this river.” Immediately he grew enormous muscles in his arms and legs, and he managed to swim across the river in a couple of hours, nearly drowning twice.

The second man saw this and he prayed, “Please, God, give me the strength AND the tools to cross this river.” A boat appeared from nowhere, and he battled across the river in an hour, nearly capsizing twice.

The third man saw this and prayed, “Please, God, give me the strength, the tools AND the intelligence to cross this river.”

Immediately he turned into a woman. She looked at the map, walked upstream a hundred yards and crossed over the bridge to the other side.

Source: Thompson, Dave “Female Intuition”
http://www.ijmc.com/archives/

18

THE LAST OF the contestants found the Central Park Pond at 11:53 p.m. Jessica had let Marla and Shawn go home hours ago, the same for the rest of the support team. She gave the final couple their New Dawn gift basket and assured them that they could, indeed, keep the GPS.

Five minutes later, Jessica and Dan headed slowly toward East Fifty-ninth Street. She hadn’t said anything to Marla about what happened with Owen. Her assistant would find out soon enough. In the meantime, she kept wondering what she should do about Dan. Ask him to leave?

The thought was far more upsetting than she ever would have imagined. She’d grown used to him being there for her.

All she wanted was to go back to the suite and crawl into bed with him. She could so readily imagine the comfort of his arms, and while she’d kept it together in front of the crowd, she felt very much in need of Dan’s strength.

There wasn’t much traffic at that time of night, including cabs. But Dan found them a ride, nonetheless. A hansom cab, complete with top-hatted driver and dappled-gray horse, and because of the hour, he arranged for the carriage to take them to the hotel.

Dan got in first, then held out his hand, which she took before she climbed up to the leather seat. He put his arm around her just as the horse lurched forward. It was late enough for the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves to echo down the long street, broken from time to time by the roar of a speeding car, but those moments in between made Jessica feel as if she was somewhere else, someplace magical.

What in the world had happened to her in these few short days? Something magical? When was the last time she’d thought of anything so fanciful? Not since she’d been a girl, that’s for sure. Her mother used to claim she was the dullest girl in all of Tulsa. The appellation made her cry the first time she’d heard it. But by the time she’d gotten her full scholarship to Harvard, she’d worn it as a badge of pride.

“Do you find me dull?” she asked.

His sharp bark of a laugh made her feel instantly better. “God, no. Why?”

“I was accused of dullness as a child. No one’s ever made me feel it wasn’t true, except you.”

“I’d never call you dull. Driven, yes. Focused, absolutely. Obsessive—”

She put her fingers to his lips. “I got it. Thanks.”

He captured her hand, kissed the back gently. “Are you all right?”

She nodded. “I wasn’t, though. I was really shaken by Owen’s intrusion.”

“No wonder. It was a violation of your privacy, your trust.”

“I think I would have handled it a lot better if I hadn’t been naked.”

“And I wouldn’t have wanted to kill him in quite as many ways if you hadn’t been naked.”

She giggled. Something else she hadn’t done since forever.

“I like that,” he said, then he rested his head on hers.

“Like what?”

“The sound of you happy.”

“I seem to make that sound a lot when I’m with you. Which is odd, since I’ve spent the last five years trying very hard to be the toughest chick in the whole city. I’m with you four days, and I’m a giggling, sentimental fool.”

“Excellent.”

She turned to look at him, dislodging him from his odd little perch. “Why is that excellent?”

“Because you befuddle me, too. It’s nuts. But for the first time in years, something has become more important than my research projects. I didn’t think it could happen.”

“Is that why you haven’t asked me any more questions?”

The carriage turned left and they both leaned into the side door. When they straightened, Dan cleared his throat. “Actually, there is one question I’d like to ask you.”

Jessica sat a little straighter. “Only if you let me ask you something.”

“You first,” he said.

“Really?”

He nodded.

She took a deep breath, not sure at all her timing didn’t suck. But he didn’t have to stay, and she didn’t want him to leave, so…

“I was thinking,” she said, “about the end of all this. I mean, now that Owen’s no longer a problem, the deal is pretty much null and void.”

“Uh-huh.”

She felt his hand on the back of her neck, just resting there. Long fingers, gentle pressure. It was a possessive move without being pushy or domineering. Perfect.

“I was thinking that we might like to, well, continue to see each other.”

“Ah,” he said.

“But not in the traditional sense. What I want to propose is something a little more unique.”

His hand came off her neck, and she missed it. Looking up at his face, she knew she had to explain fast because his eyebrows had furrowed something fierce.

“Hear me out before you decide.” She shifted so she could see him more clearly. “It’s been, I think you’ll agree, a most remarkable week. It’s obvious that the two of us have a special connection, that we mesh, sexually. We both have busy lives, we’re both independent and not at all needy.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I think we should get together a few times a year. I was actually thinking four times a year. For a week each time. We’d go somewhere no one knows us. Make love until we drop. No muss, no fuss. Just fun and sex and the delicious anticipation of doing it again in another three months.”

“I see.”

“You’re not looking like this is a wonderful idea.”

“No, no. I can certainly see where it would be quite advantageous.”

“You hate it.”

“Not at all. It makes sense. For you.”

“But not for you.”

He smiled, but the expression was more sad than anything else. “You know what my question was going to be?”

She shook her head, even though she was pretty sure she did.

“I want you to marry me, Jess. Not immediately, but not years away, either. I love you.”

“You do?”

He nodded.

“But it’s only been four days.”

“I know. Doesn’t matter.”

“How can it not matter?”

“I’ve never experienced anything like what happens when the two of us are together. The reason, aside from my complete distraction, that I haven’t asked you more questions, is that for the first time in my life, I prefer the mystery. I like not being able to second-guess you. It’s not frustrating at all, which I never would have believed. On the contrary, not knowing every little thing about you makes the days fascinating. I can’t think of a better tomorrow and tomorrow than to unravel the mystery of you.”

Hot tears sprang to her eyes, and she blinked them back, turning her head away so he couldn’t see. His words confused her more than any flat refusal. He wanted to marry her? It was everything she was afraid of, yet she was touched in a way that stunned her.

The idea was crazy, of course, but also kind of wonderful. “Dan, that’s crazy.”

“I know.”

“The whole reason I hired you was because I didn’t want any kind of commitment. Now that Owen’s sure to be fired, it’s all the more important that I stay clearheaded and focused. When I’m with you, I can’t be all work. It’s almost impossible to be any work at all.”

“But that would change once we knew it was forever.”

“Oh, really? Is that a promise?”

He looked at her for a long moment. “No. The truth is, I imagine you’ll distract me forever. Not that I won’t get anything done. It’s just that you’ll be there, too. You’ll be there first.”

“Which is just what I can’t give you. Please, Dan, I swore I wouldn’t put myself in a position where I had to choose between work and love. Don’t make me go there. Take me up on my offer, okay? At least try it. We can meet in exactly three months. You pick the place and I’ll be there. Whatever deal I get, I’ll negotiate time away that week.”

She touched his hand as the carriage pulled to a stop in front of their hotel. “Please, Dan?”

He took her by the shoulders and kissed her once, briefly. “I’ll think about it.”

“You’re coming up tonight, right?”

“Yes, of course.”

She exhaled with relief. She really didn’t want to spend the night alone. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to ask. You need me, I’m there.”

She smiled, afraid to ask if he meant just for tonight, or for always. Surely he could see that it was not only premature to talk of marriage, but that marriage itself implied that the relationship was the most important thing in the world, which she couldn’t, just couldn’t agree to. Not when she was this close.

The doorman helped her down from the carriage. She hurried to the hansom driver to pay him before Dan climbed down. The tip was excessively large, but she didn’t care. The deed was done by the time Dan joined her.

He smiled again, that strange edgy smile that made her nervous, but she didn’t press him. If she just gave him time…

They walked hand in hand to the elevator, and she tried to read his expression in his reflection on the elevator door, but she couldn’t.

Once in the room, he walked right over to the couch, pulling it out to make the bed.

Her heart sank. If he wasn’t going to make love to her, then he certainly wasn’t going to agree to her plan. She’d been crazy to hope.

“You don’t really have to stay tonight,” she said, passing him on her way to the bedroom. “If you’d rather be in your own bed, I understand.”

“No, I’d like to stay. You had a rough day.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?”

“I have the feeling I’m going to be discussing the New Dawn account with the president of the company. Then there’s the cocktail party here at the hotel.”

“That’s right. You’d better hurry then, get to bed. Best be on your toes when they start offering you the farm.”

“I wish.”

“They will,” he said, his voice filled with confidence. “You’re everything a company could ask for. They’d be insane not to give you the position.”

“Thank you, Dan. That means a lot to me.”

“It’s simply the truth.”

She turned, walked over to him, stood on her toes, and kissed him on the lips. “You’re welcome in there,” she whispered, nodding toward the bedroom.

“And for that, I’m most thankful, but it’s probably better that you get some sleep. We don’t tend to do that when I’m in there.”

She sighed. “You’re right. I’ll be done in the bathroom soon.”

“Take your time.”

She wanted to say more, to add to her pitch, but she held back. Tomorrow. She was one hell of a marketing executive. He was only one man. She could change his mind. She had to.

DAN LAY AWAKE hour after hour, thinking about what Jessica had proposed. The plan was stunning in its simplicity, and on the face of it, the idea made perfect sense.

Oddly he hadn’t considered the possibility at all, not even once.

So much about this week had been strange. His distraction, his attraction to a woman he’d barely spent time with, and yet it was all strangely familiar.

Because, he realized with a jolt, it reminded him so much of his parents.

They’d been with each other two days before they’d known. Actually, his mother had known the moment she met his father that they were going to be married. His father had taken an extra day because it was the night of an eclipse. A dumb excuse, but one he’d used since their wedding day.

Did he want this marriage to Jessica because he wanted the happiness his parents had found? Was he exaggerating his feelings for her?

He didn’t think so. If there was one thing he was, it was self-critical. But this time, he just couldn’t be sure.

There was only one thing to do. Agree to her plan until he was sure. If he still felt this way in three months, then there could be no doubt.

JESSICA WATCHED Dan from across the room. The cocktail party was the final event of the promotion, and everyone from the president of New Dawn cosmetics to the CEO of Time Warner had shown up. She was the darling of the marketing world and had received a dizzying array of offers. The most tempting, at the moment, was to take the executive vice presidency of Geller and Patrick, not replacing Owen, but in effect running the entire marketing and promotion for the global company. The money they’d offered her was in the astronomical range, and that had been the opening bid. When they got down to the nuts and bolts, she’d be talking six figures, penthouse apartment, use of the company jet and all the company penthouses around the world. She’d have more than she could have hoped for, her dreams exceeded.

Now, if only Dan would agree to her plan, her world couldn’t look rosier. Unfortunately, he’d been vague about his decision. She wasn’t sure what she had to do to convince him.

He laughed at something Marla said, and despite the crowded ballroom, his voice rose above the noise. It wasn’t that he was so loud, just that he was so distinctive. At least to her.

Everything about him was unique. His attitude, his honesty, his style. She didn’t want to lose him, and that was her biggest fear. If he didn’t agree to their quarterly liaisons, what would she do? Say goodbye and never look back? How could she? On the other hand, how could she agree to a committed relationship when her career had to be her number one priority?

New Dawn was only one account, and it had swallowed up a year of her life. She couldn’t count the nights she’d worked past midnight. She hadn’t ever taken a full weekend off, not even during the holidays. How could she give him time where there was none?

Shawn, looking gorgeous in a dark gray Versace suit, joined Marla and Dan. He put his arm around Marla and they kissed briefly. He smiled at her, she smiled back, and even from this distance it was clear the two of them were in love.

They, too, had met this week. Marla had told her this afternoon that Shawn had asked her to accompany him on a trip to Montana, and that she’d accepted. While Jessica was happy for her, she wasn’t certain that the two of them would work out. Sure, he seemed perfect, he seemed to care deeply for her, and Jessica felt certain that in his heart Shawn believed they were meant for each other. But how could they know? It was crazy for anyone to think that, after a few wild, exceptional days, love could happen. Real love. Not lust, but love.

Her gaze moved back to Dan. How could he know? It didn’t make sense, it wasn’t logical, and it wasn’t even smart.

Love was hard enough when all the circumstances were perfect. Her mother’s best friend had been married over forty years, then found out her husband was having an affair. Their divorce had been a nightmare of bitterness and acrimony.

Jessica’s aunt had been madly in love with an artist and had left her own career as a chemical engineer to follow him to Costa Rica. A year later, he’d spent all her savings and dumped her for a nineteen-year-old swimsuit model.

Sipping her martini, she headed toward the threesome, even though she should be schmoozing with the heavyweights all around her. At the very least she should be making nice to her boss.

“Hey, it’s the woman of the year!” Marla said, grinning broadly. “Is it true?”

“What?” Jessica asked, her gaze skittering from Marla to Dan and back again.

“That you’re going to be the new executive V.P. at Geller and Patrick?”

“Maybe. We’re talking.”

“Cool.”

Jessica smiled. “If I do, that’ll mean a hefty promotion for you.”

Marla’s grin flattened and her gaze moved away. Shawn tightened his hold on her, which she acknowledged with a nod. No way this was going to be good news.

“The thing is, Jessica…” Marla cleared her throat. “The thing is, I’m not sure I’m going to come back to work. After my vacation, I mean. Not that I wouldn’t love to work with you again, but I might be, you know, moving. To Montana. With Shawn.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. It’s kind of sudden and all, but see, he’s been planning this for a long time, and there’s this ranch for sale. It’s like his dream place, and there’s no guarantee anything better would come along, so he’s thinking that he might, well, take it.”

“And you’ll take him.”

Marla nodded, looking horribly guilty. “I’m positive no one better is going to come along.” She kissed her guy.

“I don’t want to move without her,” Shawn said. “I’m crazy in love, and I want to start our new life away from all this madness.”

Jessica leaned over and kissed Marla on the cheek. “I’m happy for you.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

Marla’s grin lit up her face. “What about you and Dan? Are you two an official item?”

Dan laughed. “No, more of an unofficial item. Your soon-to-be ex-boss has some intriguing ideas about the future that I’ve decided to look into.”

Jessica swung around to look at him. Was this really his answer? “Seriously?”

He nodded. “Seriously.”

She felt giddy with relief. “That’s wonderful.”

He walked closer to her, slipped his arm around her waist and kissed her on the lips, then he moved his mouth close to her ear. “It doesn’t change how I feel,” he whispered. “I love you. I want to marry you. But I can wait. At least for a little while.”

She closed her eyes, wishing she could be more like Marla, but she wasn’t. She was Jessica. Dull, obsessive, workaholic Jessica. She simply couldn’t be another way.

A Real Man Would Do
These Things For His Girl

- Call her the next day.

- Always laugh at her jokes.

- Tell her (truthfully) that he can’t wait to see her again.

- Offer her a back rub without asking for one in return.

- Call her just to say you were thinking about her.

- Slow dance with her (not only on a dance floor).

- Bring her flowers for no reason.

- Tell her something about you that no one else knows.

- Remind her that you still think she’s beautiful.

- Never stop trying to impress her.

- Tell her you love her.

- Give her great big hugs for no reason.

Source: Bernard, Laura “How Men Could Win!”
http://www.angelfire.com/me/laurabernard/

19

DAN THOUGHT about letting his answering machine get the call; he was late for his mother’s and he had serious penance to pay. His cat, the one he’d foolishly saved from a life on the streets, had not simply peed in her shoes, she’d left other…interesting…gifts in assorted drawers and cubbyholes. The mouse had been particularly odiferous, but the lizard had been the single biggest surprise. It had been a week since he’d taken the devil cat back, but his mother was still quite testy.

On the other hand, the phone call might be something important. He slammed his front door and dashed across the wooden floor to the phone, picking it up seconds before the machine would have kicked in.

“Dan, here.”

Nothing. No breathing. Odd.

“Hello?”

“Hi.”

Oh, shit. Dan stumbled back to his chair and sat down carefully. She wasn’t supposed to be on the phone. They weren’t supposed to talk for at least a month. Her rules. “Are you all right, Jess?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good.”

She cleared her throat.

He wondered where she was. He could go look at the caller ID but he didn’t. Given that it was only seven-thirty, she was undoubtedly still at the office.

“How are you?” she asked.

He had to smile. The woman was hideous at small talk. “I’m fine, Jessica. I’m great.”

“Super. I’m glad.”

He decided to wait. Something had to be going on for her to break the rules. It could be that she’d decided that the whole quarterly sexathon was a foolish notion. During the long week since they’d said goodbye, she could have come to her senses, realized that he was nothing but a nutcase.

On the other hand, maybe, like him, she’d realized that three months was an incredibly long time to wait. That the only time they had was now. That love could, indeed, happen in an instant.

“I took the job at Geller,” she said finally.

“Fantastic. Tell me all about it.”

“I want to, but not on the phone.”

“Oh.” His stomach sank. So it was the former, not the latter. She wanted to end it.

“No, oh, no, don’t think that.”

He frowned. “What?”

“Everything’s still a go. It’s just that, well, I miss you.”

He grinned. Big-time. “That’s excellent. I’ve missed you, too.”

“So, uh, how about tomorrow? Lunch? One o’clock?”

“Yes, great. Sure. Anywhere.”

“My assistant will call. I have to run. See you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he said. “I love you.” But she had already hung up.

JESSICA JUMPED out of the cab and adjusted her skirt as she hurried toward Dan’s apartment. She was late. Again. Poor Dan. So patient. And he hadn’t once gotten on her case for tossing out her master plan like so much dross. In the last three weeks, she’d gone from seeing him once a week to twice a week to four times this week alone.

They’d grabbed a sandwich in her office. Eaten hot dogs from a pushcart. He’d cooked her dinner at her place twice, followed, of course, by two breakfasts.

He’d never said a word. Whenever they got together, they talked about her work, his work, Marla and Shawn, Owen’s disgrace, his family, her family…and the odd thing about it was that her work hadn’t suffered at all. In fact, if anything, he energized her. Unfailingly supportive, he understood the pressure of her new position, and he never complained when she had to take calls or change the schedule.

He’d gotten involved in a new project himself, which was as fascinating to her as it was to him. The new topic was the resurgence of subliminal advertising, debunked years ago, only to surface again in the age of the Internet.

She smiled at the doorman as he let her into the building, and took the slow elevator up by herself. Her heart beat faster as she reached his floor. But then, she’d come to expect that. Seeing Dan was the highlight of any day, of any night. She felt like a schoolgirl with a major crush every time she saw him, and tonight was no exception.

He opened the door with a smile so welcoming it gave her the shivers. God, he looked good. White oxford shirt, rolled sleeves, khaki slacks. His hair slightly disheveled and sexy as sin. She loved the way he looked at her. And when he kissed her hello, it was the same old thing: fireworks.

“You’re stunning,” he said, leading her into the apartment.

She smiled again as she saw the table, set beautifully with china plates, a hothouse gardenia floating in a brandy snifter and shimmering candles. “Thank you.”

“Success becomes you,” he said, folding her into his arms.

She rested her head against his broad shoulder. “It’s not success yet. But give me time.”

“Nonsense. No matter what happens at the job, you’ve already won. You’ve gotten what you wanted, and done it through hard work and brilliance. What’s not to like?”

She laughed. God, how he made her laugh. “I heard from Marla today.”

He pulled back so he could see her face. “Oh?”

“She and Shawn set the date. They want us to come to the wedding.”

“In Montana?”

She nodded. “Next month.”

“Should be fun. Can you get away?”

“For a couple of days, sure. I wouldn’t want to miss that.”

“Great. I can make it, too.”

“I haven’t told you the date.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. He folded his hand over hers. “I’m there.”

She sniffed the air, fragrant with the scent of rosemary and cinnamon. “What is that?” she asked. “It smells heavenly.”

He pulled out her chair, waited until she was seated, then headed toward the kitchen. “Chicken. One of my mother’s special recipes. Why don’t you pour us some wine while I get the food.”

She did, enjoying the mellow Pinot Gris. He came back quickly, carrying a covered casserole, which he put in front of her. When he took off the lid, she sighed with contentment. “It looks fantastic.”

He leaned over until his mouth was very close to hers. “So do you.”

She kissed him back, and before she knew it, she was standing again in his arms and the enticing dinner wasn’t nearly as appealing as getting her hands underneath his shirt.

He had his own agenda, and his was the more daunting task. She had on a jacket, a blouse, a bra, skirt, slip, panties. And yet, somehow, by the time they’d shuffled into the bedroom, between kisses, giggles and gasps, she was down to bra and panties while he still had on his pants.

His hands moved toward her bra clasp but she sidestepped out of his reach. “Wait,” she said. “I want—”

He stopped her with a kiss. A long one, full of exploration and teasing. Distracting her just enough to undo her bra and slip the straps off her shoulders. It fell to the floor to join the rest of her strewn clothing, leaving her in high-cut bikini panties and black two-inch heels.

Dan stepped back, eyeing her from head to toe and back again. “Nice outfit.”

“Thanks,” she said. “How come you’re still wearing pants?”

He looked down, feigning surprise. “Damn. I wondered why I was feeling so constricted.” With a flourish, he undid his belt, his zipper, and after he stepped out of his jeans, he kicked them across the room, leaving him in a pair of silk boxers.

“That’s quite a tent you’ve got there, mister.”

“I’m a big believer in camping. Now, why is it that you still have clothes on?”

“Ah, so it’s not just any camping. You like nudist camping.”

“And I’ve got all sorts of activities planned.”

She glanced at his big bed, which looked terribly inviting with the fluffy green duvet and the overstuffed goose-down pillows. “Basket weaving?”

He stepped closer to her as she slipped her panties down until they pooled on her bra. “Naw, too corny. I thought we’d learn about tying knots.”

Her head snapped up. “Oh?”

With a wicked grin he moved over to his nightstand and opened the drawer. He brought out two lengths of white rope. “Uh-huh.”

“Wait a minute…”

“You remember that question I asked you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I was going to do this after dinner, but I’m flexible.”

Her gaze stayed on the rope. It looked soft, but ropes? Being tied up?

He’d moved right in front of her, and his arms slipped around her back. “It’s going to be wonderful,” he whispered. “All you have to do is lie back and relax.”

“I don’t know about this, Camper Bob. I like to use my hands.”

“Which is a good thing. Just not tonight. Tonight, you’re going to be the pleasuree. Nothing but incredible things are going to happen to you. I promise.”

She looked up into his eyes, but she already knew that he was telling her the truth. He would never do anything to harm her. On the contrary, he was the most considerate lover she’d ever dreamt of. Which didn’t mean he couldn’t get all caveman on her. She liked that a lot. He was spontaneous and thoughtful, and man, he could go the distance. “All right,” she said, running her fingers down his back. “I’m yours. Do what you will.”

He tried for an evil laugh, but the effect was ruined when he kissed her. She felt the tent pole against her hip and it occurred to her that they probably should hurry.

He must have thought the same thing, because he led her over to the bed. She went to sit on the edge, but he stopped her, opting instead to lift her into his arms and place her carefully in the center of the king-size mattress.

Once she was there, naked, vulnerable, he lifted her arms out to her sides, toward the posts.

Her heartbeat quickened as he tied her wrist, making sure that the bond wasn’t too tight, but that she couldn’t escape. She tested it a few times, almost told him to forget it, but then she decided she had nothing to lose by experimenting.

As he tied her other wrist, she realized there had never been anyone in her life she’d trust to do this. And certainly no other man had made her this anxious and wet. She squeezed her legs together, but it didn’t help. Only one thing would.

She writhed on the comforter as he walked to the end of the bed. Smiling, taking her helpless body in with obvious delight, he shed his boxers. The “tent pole” was as stiff as she’d ever seen it, and she felt sexier than ever that she could have this effect on him.

Then he climbed onto the bed.

Her pulse raced, and despite her eagerness to try something new, her hands tugged at her bonds. It was impossible to simply lie still, especially when he lifted her right leg in his two hands, and kissed the top of her foot.

“Shh,” he said. Then he kissed the top of her ankle, and with infinite patience and great care, he moved slowly up her leg, kissing, nibbling, licking.

She’d never thought of her leg as an erogenous zone, but clearly she’d been misinformed. Because every touch, every swipe of his tongue, every caress, made her insides go all gooey.

“Be still,” he said.

“I can’t.”

He stopped moving until she met his gaze. “You can.”

She understood what he was doing, and it excited her. Tonight, it was his ball game, not hers. Of course, she was the sole recipient of his total attention, which wasn’t exactly a hardship, but still, she wasn’t used to relinquishing power. In fact, her days were pretty much designed around the concept of gaining power.

Okay. She could be still. For now.

Once she acquiesced, he still didn’t resume his ministrations until she’d lowered her gaze. Interesting. A little odd, but nice.

Especially nice because he moved more quickly up her thigh, kissing, sucking her flesh. All the wonderful things a mouth and tongue can do.

But that was only a prelude. The main action came a few moments later. His hands spread her thighs. She felt super-naked, unbelievably open, and a wee bit shy about it until she saw the hunger in his gaze.

That’s all it took. That and his masterful tongue, of course. He knew exactly what to do, exactly how hard to push, when to slow down. He teased her until she begged, then rewarded her with the focus and attention of a Zen master.

She didn’t come just once. Oh, no. If she’d had her hands free, she would have shifted, treated him to something devilish. But that wasn’t what he wanted. And, in the end, it wasn’t what she wanted either.

She came, crying out so loudly they probably heard her in the Bronx, three times. He just didn’t let up. Not until she was so wiped out, her vision faded and her voice cracked.

Then he sat up. She managed to open her eyes enough to see his satisfied smile. But the biggest surprise was when her gaze moved down past his waist. He wasn’t hard anymore.

He noticed her confusion. “Uh, the duvet is washable,” he said.

Then she got it. He’d come without the slightest touch. He’d come because he’d made her crazy. Because he’d made her weep. Because he…

“Oh, God,” she said, resting her head on the pillow. She still gasped for breath, and her body continued to shiver and quake as residual effects of her workout built and released. She felt sure that whatever pleasure sensors she had in her body were totally used up, completely empty of stores. Which was a good thing, indeed.

Somewhere out there, she felt him untie her wrists, and then he was next to her in the bed, with his arms and one leg around her. He nuzzled her neck with his soft lips, and she purred her satisfaction.

“So what did you think?” he asked.

She laughed. Well, as much as a laugh as she could muster. “Couldn’t you tell?”

“Yeah, but I want to hear you say it.”

She turned her head until her eyes met his. “You are an amazing man. I’d sign up for your camp any day.”

“So the tying-up thing works for you?”

She nodded. “Maybe not as a steady diet. But the occasional dessert…”

“Or appetizer.”

“Exactly.”

“Oh, goody.”

She giggled. “Dan, what am I going to do with you?”

He lifted his head. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

She thought for a long second, the butterflies in her stomach fluttering just enough to make her quite aware that she knew what he was going to say. But she nodded anyway. “Yes.”

“You can marry me,” he said. “Jess, I want you. I want to go to bed with you every night. I want to wake up to you every morning. I want to pack your lunch, and pick out china patterns, and I want to hear everything about your day, each day.”

She studied his handsome face, the earnestness shining in his hazel eyes. He loved her. There was no doubt about it. He’d shown her in every way possible.

What he didn’t know was that she’d been doing a private research study of her own, which had nothing at all to do with work. She’d been reading about love. About marriage. About what makes it work.

What she’d discovered was that there is no magic answer. Just as Dan couldn’t hope to find the secret to understanding women, she couldn’t find the slightest hint of a happily-ever-after formula.

There were no rules to follow, no game plan to stand behind. The only guidelines she had were her own. What did her heart tell her? What were her instincts about this man, this future?

She shifted a bit, raised up on one elbow. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“Here’s what I know. I’ve never loved anyone before, so I have no clue if I’m doing it the right way. I’ve certainly never trusted anyone with my heart. You’ve seen what I do, what I need to do, and all I’ve gotten from you is love, support and confidence.”

“But…?”

She smiled as she leaned forward and kissed him gently on the lips. “So what do you say, Dan Crawford, that we go up to Montana on our honeymoon?”

For a moment, his expression didn’t change. Nothing. Then he smiled. Oh, what a smile.

“You’re sure?” he asked.

She nodded. “Are you sure about me?”

“I told you once that I want to spend the rest of my life discovering the mystery of you. I haven’t changed my mind.”

She sighed. Turned once more so she was safe in the cocoon of his arms. His breath caressed her cheek. As she closed her eyes, she felt something new, something foreign. A second later it came to her…She was home.

JUST KISS ME

Kathleen O’Reilly

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Epilogue

1

BACK ME UP ON THIS, PLEASE!

Joe Barrington refocused on the tiny letters that were precisely inked into the cocktail napkin, working to scramble the letters into a happier meaning.

Well, she’d actually done it. After twenty-one years of fighting her own battle in futility, she had decided to ask for his help. He should tell her no.

His mouth even formed the words, but when Joe looked up and stared into the fathomless blue eyes of Amanda Sedgewick, he knew he was as perfectly cooked as the Manhattan restaurant’s world famous pâté de foie gras.

Damn. Well, he wouldn’t go down without a fight.

“No,” he mouthed the words. He shook his head, just in case she missed what he was saying.

“Please.” Amanda mouthed back him, shooting one of those helpless female looks that under different circumstances might have worked wonders on him.

However, he’d never been one of those knights who rode around saving damsels in distress. Nope. Not even close. There were chinks in his armor. Big chinks. Huge chinks.

With a heavy sigh, he stared across the pristine tablecloth at the proud visage of Dr. Avery Barrington, III, his big brother, who was currently studying the wine list like it was the Wall Street Journal. And there sat Joe’s biggest chink.

Avery. The whole world revolved around Avery.

Before Avery had reached the advanced age of eight, he had mapped out his entire future. Mainly because in elementary school, life really sucked for guys named Avery. First, he was going to become a doctor in order to get rich just to spite those bullies who picked on the Averys of the world. And second, to further their torment, he was equally determined to marry the most beautiful girl at Neil Armstrong Elementary, who just happened to be—Amanda.

It was a simple plan, and Joe applauded his brother’s single-minded pursuit of his goals. He’d achieved them all. Avery was a wealthy plastic surgeon, the bullies from grade school were gas attendants with beer bellies, he graduated at the top of his class from Columbia, he drove a German car, but for Avery there was still one big fly stuck in the soup.

Amanda.

The last time Joe had seen her was Avery’s high school graduation. Tonight he had been surprised to see she had developed a maturity that had been missing before. She was still gorgeous, but now there was a confidence in the way she held herself and the way she talked. Just like Avery.

Which brought Joe right back to the plea for help on the cocktail napkin. Well, whatever she wanted him to back her up on, it wasn’t going to happen. Joe firmly believed that Avery’s love life, sterile and lifeless as it was, was none of his business.

“Not my problem.” Joe stated his case categorically, meeting her eyes so there was no misunderstanding. For twenty-one years he had stayed out of the whole thing, listening to Avery rhapsodize about Amanda’s porcelainlike features, and thinking yeah, she was okay if you liked cool blondes with impeccable fashion sense.

But Joe liked his women with fire in their blood and sin in their eyes. He smiled, fondly reminiscing about his last date. Sometimes it was hard to believe he and Avery shared the same genes. Maybe they didn’t. It would explain a lot. Why Joe hadn’t got into St. Alban’s preparatory school, when Avery had. Why Avery wanted to make people well, and Joe just wanted to be around planes.

The wine steward came to the table and wisely, Joe and Amanda let Avery make the selection. Amanda shot Joe another meaningful look. “Please,” she mouthed again. Then she lifted her palms, a suffering angel. Right.

Avery placed the order, and then turned back to Joe. “What were you saying?”

“I was telling Amanda that, no, I’m not going to do anything with her cocktail napkin. Thanks very much for offering.” He passed the white paper back to her, wondering why she had even agreed to go out to dinner with Avery in the first place and even more mysteriously, why she had wanted Joe to come along.

Amanda smiled politely, took the napkin in her perfectly manicured hands and sat her water glass down top of it. Amanda never gave anything away. She was the perfect complement for his brother, the liberal sophisticate.

Everything except that mouth.

In a face composed of high cheekbones and un-blinking eyes, her mouth was wild and wicked. Full, red lips that curled up slightly at the corners, as if she had a secret and you knew that no matter how you tried, you’d never discover it.

Joe knew Amanda had secrets, that there was a hidden piece of her that she never showed, and he didn’t know whether it was the poised exterior or the promise of that mouth that inspired his brother.

But that was none of his business.

Finally, she raised one eyebrow, a challenge. Then she turned to Avery, and brushed her hair back on her shoulders. Very smooth. Of course, Amanda was a lawyer, and she knew all the moves. “It’s not going to work,” she said.

Huh?

Amanda picked up her glass of wine and watched Joe, her mouth curving ever so slightly. He shifted, not liking that provocative smile blasting in his direction. She turned to Avery. “It’s time I was honest with you.”

About time. And that sounded like his cue to leave. Joe stood. “Excuse me. I’m sure you two need a little privacy. I’ll just take a train home.”

“No!” All traces of steel vanished from her voice, her blue eyes soft and pleading. Avery heaved a theatrical sigh.

Surely she didn’t expect Joe to stick around while she had The Talk with his brother? Not that Joe thought it would do a bit of good. Avery would never give up. He could bulldoze the entire third world if he put his mind to it, and Joe gave Amanda high marks for managing to escape un-dozed. So far.

“I think we need to tell your brother this together.”

We? There it was again. The whispered tone, that intimate look. Like lovers. A guy could get really used to that look.

And then it all clicked. Joe. Amanda. Lovers.

Holy Cow.

“Uh, no, I don’t think so,” he answered, every cell in his body flashing red-alert. There were some cells that were flashing more enthusiastically than others, and Joe shifted uncomfortably. He tried for a paternally disapproving voice. “You should have talked to me before you decided to bring this up.”

And still she stared at him, and he almost forgot his good intentions. He almost forgot Avery. Which was a hard thing to do.

Thankfully, the wine steward came, and placed the bottle of wine on the table, waiting for Avery’s approval. Then the ritual began. Avery sniffed, whirled, sipped and finally nodded. The steward poured everyone a glass and then departed in silence.

“What did you want to tell me, Amanda?” Avery asked.

Amanda shot Joe one last pleading look. He almost caved. He’d pretty well figured it out. Joe and Amanda, pretend lovers. Absolutely without question, the most harebrained scheme she’d ever had to get rid of Avery. Of course, Amanda didn’t do harebrained well, and Avery wasn’t very cooperative as a dumpee.

“Avery, I’m in love with Joe.”

Her harebrained skills were improving by the minute.

It was a valiant struggle not to spew cabernet all over the pristine, white tablecloth, but he managed. He’d thought she was proposing an affair, but no, this was Amanda. Of course the lawyer would want it all. She’d say she was in love. With Joe.

Was she nuts?

He took another hasty swallow of wine. He had really underestimated her this time. Who knew that beneath that cool exterior lurked Lucille Ball? No foul though, because, of course, Avery would never believe it.

Feeling rather confident of his prediction, Joe turned to Avery. Three. Two. One.

“Joe?” Avery spluttered, predictable as always. “You can’t be serious! He’s an airline mechanic.”

And so it goes. Joe sighed and began to butter his bread. “Thanks, Ave. Love you too, bro.”

But Amanda wasn’t done yet and if Avery wasn’t blood-kin, Joe would have felt sorry for her. “I am serious, Avery. It’s something I’ve been fighting for a long time.” She turned to Joe, her wicked mouth trembling. “Something we’ve been fighting for a long time. I can’t let you ruin this for me, Avery. I won’t let you ruin my one chance at happiness.”

Avery’s face was all screwed up and confused, not a pretty sight. “But why Joe?”

Enjoying himself now, and feeling quite safe, Joe took a bite. He couldn’t wait to hear the answer to this one.

She pushed at her perfectly coiffed hair as if a strand had fallen in her eyes, which of course, it hadn’t. “Because I’m tired of being restrained and constricted and having to iron my clothes.” She took a deep breath, the neckline of her white linen dress rising discreetly. “I want to stop worrying about what I say, and who I have to meet and whether my nails are done.”

Oh, she was good. If not for the plea for help on her napkin, he might have believed her. He wasn’t going to back her up on this tale, though. Avery might be pompous and stubborn and a little bit weird, but he was his brother. And if Joe had been named Avery, he might have turned out just like him.

“I don’t understand the connection between your nails and Joe.” Avery frowned and rubbed a finger against his brow.

“There isn’t one. There doesn’t always have to be a reason or an explanation. Sometimes things just are. Joe doesn’t worry about having to be something, he’s just happy being.”

Avery assumed his doctor face, which looked so much like their father’s. “Sounds damned irresponsible to me.”

It sounded pretty irresponsible to Joe, too, but he was impressed that Amanda had enough depth to figure that part of him out.

“It’s not irresponsible, it’s serenity,” she said.

He almost laughed out loud at that. Serenity? Sounded more like New Age crap. He wondered if he should interrupt now and put an end to the whole nonsense. He wouldn’t have his brother hurt. Though it pricked at him that Avery acted more appalled than spurned. Just for that, Joe leaned back and folded his arms across his chest.

He’d stop it in a minute.

Avery smoothed out his napkin, then began folding it into precise triangles. “Serenity? You’re spouting that mystic mumbo jumbo, next you’ll be telling me you’ve decided to go off on some mission to find yourself. Amanda, you’re a beautiful woman. Be happy with who you are.”

“Avery, you’re a wonderful man, and I do love you in a special way, but I will never love you like that.”

“Well, of course you will. In time you’ll see sense.” Avery rummaged through his pocket for the package of stomach medicine he carried with him. He swallowed two white tables and turned on Joe, obviously deciding that Joe was somehow responsible for this. “You’ve seduced her, haven’t you? I should call you out.” Always the dramatic one—he got that from their mother—Avery stood and slapped his napkin on the table.

“Now, Avery, sit down. There’s no need to make a scene.” Amanda put a hand to his arm.

Magic words to Avery who despised making a scene. He obediently sat.

“Nothing has ever happened between the two of us.” She cast a calming smile in Joe’s direction. “Joe is much too honorable to do anything while you are so, um, fixated.”

Avery shot a questioning glance in Joe’s direction, and Joe nodded. Damn straight.

Amanda cleared her throat and squared her shoulders and pierced Avery with a steely gaze. “However, I think it’s time that you stepped aside, and let me and your brother be happy.”

Joe watched her, silently applauding her acting skills. It was easy to imagine her in the courtroom. “And for his considerable pain and suffering, my client deserves nothing less than ten million dollars….”

However, Avery, who never got picked for juries, still wasn’t buying it. He turned to Joe, using his doctor face again. “Is this true?”

Joe looked from his brother, who looked just a little smug, to Amanda, who looked just a little desperate. It was a tough choice and his conscience even tweaked him a bit. Avery’s dedication to Amanda wasn’t exactly fair to her, but Joe stood with his brother. Now and always. He might be irresponsible, but he was loyal to a fault. “Absolutely not. She’s lying. Don’t believe a word of it.”

Amanda twisted the spoon between her fingers, that one little move giving her away. She was ticked.

“Avery, can I talk to Joe alone please? He didn’t want to do this tonight.” She shot Avery a pleading look. “Just a few minutes.”

Avery frowned, looking displeased with the idea, but he was too polite to stay, so he stood, and stuck his hands in his tweed jacket. Looking as dignified as always, he scanned the dining room. “Well, it looks like Mrs. Hoyton-Spenser is awaiting her dinner companion. I suppose I should go say hello.”

AMANDA STUDIED her nails to buy precious time, and wondered if she shouldn’t have talked to Joe in advance. Of course he would have said no, which was why she had taken the coward’s way out and waited until he couldn’t say no. It was such a brilliant plan, though and she told him so.

“It’s brilliant. Why don’t you admit it?”

“You’re insane! What happened to telling him you’re not interested?”

Joe and Avery didn’t look a thing alike. Joe was dark. Dark wavy hair, tanned skin. Avery was golden. Fair hair and a determined gleam in his eyes. The blue eyes were similar though. Except Avery’s were placid and calm, like a cool, mountain lake. Joe’s eyes were exotic and dangerous, like the waters of the Caribbean.

“Do you know how many times I’ve told him that? You’re his brother, you know how he is. I can’t divert him.”

Joe pulled at his tie and leaned forward, elbows on the table. “But this is ridiculous! Every other female in America knows how to dump a guy.”

“Joe, I’ve been dumping your brother for,” she looked at her watch, “twenty-one years. I like him. He’s sweet in a stuffy kinda of way. I’ve returned his gifts, made up excuses, gone out with other guys. Heavens, this is the first date I’ve been out on with him, and I made him bring you.”

“It’s the second. You went to the junior varsity football game with him at St. Albans.”

When did his memory get to be so good? “How did you know?”

“Avery talked about it for weeks. That night he was the envy of every guy who had ever beat him up. You always were doing nice things for him.”

“He didn’t deserve to be bullied like that.”

“No.” Joe stared off at his brother.

Amanda adjusted her forks. They were getting sidetracked. Both of them cared for Avery. “My point being, you’re the only way I know of to get him to move on with his life.”

Joe looked at her and raised his brows. “Get another guy.”

There’s the rub. Oh, she’d tried, but every date she’d ever been on could be summed up in one word: boring. Honestly, she was afraid she was boring. She didn’t want boring. She wanted Coney Island, with someone to teach her how to really live. She wanted a man who ate his jalapeños whole. And she’d found him. “Joe, I’ve tried dating other men. Nothing changed.”

Joe sighed. “Get married, then. I bet he’d get the message.”

“I’m not getting married just to get rid of Avery.” Marriage? She wasn’t ready to get married. Heck, she didn’t even want commitment. No, she wanted an affair, with a capital A. And she’d found just the guy. The perfect guy for a no-strings-attached, screaming good time. And the best part? Finally, Avery would leave her alone. Just thinking about an affair with Joe made her smile. They’d spend Sunday mornings lazing in bed, reading the paper, making love. She closed her eyes, feeling tiny tremors dance across her skin.

That wouldn’t do; she needed to stay focused. She opened her eyes and folded her hands in her lap. “Let me explain. What if we pretend to be passionately in love for say, two or three months? That’s all. I have tons of friends that I think would be perfect for him. I’ll fix him up, he’ll move on and then I’ll be free.”

He didn’t look convinced; really more skeptical than anything. “Why do you think he’ll move on?”

Why were men dense at the most inopportune times? “Joe, for you, he would step aside. It’s the noble thing to do. And Avery is nothing if not noble.”

Joe shook his head mutinously, as stubborn as Avery at times. “He’ll never forgive me.”

“In a few years, he’ll thank you.” She was completely wrong for Avery; they’d bore each other to tears. “Imagine this. We’re on a double date. I have a veritable cornucopia of sorority sisters who would enjoy the company of a prominent plastic surgeon. We’ll go to dinner and Avery acts rather dejected. She asks what’s wrong. He tells her he’s been betrayed by his brother and that his one true love is no longer true. He would love it!”

Joe raised his dark brows. Oh, he had such a great face. All lines and angles and a nose that he’d broken not once but twice. How could a woman not lust after a guy who’d actually broken his nose?

There she was, getting herself distracted again. She got back to the subject at hand. “Okay, so maybe I’m overstating things a bit, but you must admit, it has a certain Shakespearian flair that Avery would enjoy wallowing in for a while.”

“I don’t know.” At last, progress. He was beginning to waver.

“Joe, I’m not going to break down after twenty-one years and suddenly fall in love with him. It’s time for everyone to stop pretending that my future is preordained as Mrs. Avery Barrington.” She stared at her hands, nine perfectly polished fingernails and one that was short and ragged. She allowed herself one nail, but never more.

“Avery would never believe this. We have nothing in common. Hell, I haven’t seen you in ten years before tonight.”

“Avery doesn’t know that and besides, we spent our formative years together. That counts for something.”

“Going to the same church for ten years does not count as the basis for a relationship.”

“Opposites attract.”

“You’re not my type. Avery does know that.”

Ah, he’d overcome the emotional issues and was now moving to the logical. She had prepared her arguments for both.

“As it stands now, you’re right. But I think it’s time to live a little. Let my hair down, metaphorically speaking, of course.”

He drummed his fingers on the table and she studied his rough and callused hands, imagining what it would be like to feel their touch. The tremors began again. Joe was the kind of guy who inspired tremors, and fantasies. Wild, wanton fantasies that involved motorcycles and possibly leather.

Well, today she was going after her fantasy. “Joe, in the long run, this is the best thing for him. This can’t be healthy. He should be married, populating the world with little Averies that he can train in his image. I’m not the woman for him.”

“I don’t know. I think you both are perfect for each other.”

That’s what everyone else said, too. Frankly, she’d grown tired of it. “Then you don’t know me.”

“Guess not.” He cocked his head, studying her, and she wished he could see more inside her than just the facade. “Not going to do it, Amanda. I won’t hurt Avery.”

“Joe, you’re doing him more harm letting him waste his prime dating years stuck on me.”

“It’s wrong.”

“Joe, Avery is thirty. How many dates has he been on?”

Joe thought for a minute. “A handful, I think.”

“How many girlfriends?”

“Besides you?”

She dug her nails into her palms wanting to scream. “I don’t count!” Still, a few people stared.

“None.”

She lowered her voice. “Joe, Avery is probably still a virgin.”

Joe laughed. “Uh, no. There was this…” He cut himself off and cleared his throat. “But that was a long time ago and it’s none of my business.” He took a sip of wine. “I’m not going to do it. There’s got to be a better way.”

There was no other way. “Fine. Name it. You give me some idea of how I can get your brother to move on with his life, and I’ll forget all about the idea. One. Just one little thing I can do.”

Joe sipped his wine, stared at Avery, shaking hands across the room, and sighed in defeat. “Pretend dating, huh?”

Finally. “More than dating. He’s got to be convinced it’s real, passionate, something that will make him think he doesn’t stand a chance. A torrid affair.” She loved the way the words sounded, coming out of her mouth.

He turned pale. “Torrid?”

She nodded. “Torrid.”

Awareness flared in his blue eyes and all that exotic fire shot in her direction. She struggled to breath. He smiled. “Princess, I don’t think you can do torrid.”

“Is that a wager?” she managed.

As quickly as it came, the fire was gone. He was back to looking at her like everyone did. Avery’s girl. “You think this plan of yours will really work?”

“I’m willing to bet on it, aren’t I?” She held out her hand across the table, waiting. “Are you in?”

He stared for a moment, and her heart began to pound. He had never touched her, in twenty-one years, never once. She had dreamed, imagined, fantasized and now she was going to discover how his skin felt against her own. He wrapped one rough, calloused palm over her silky smooth hand and the tremors started in earnest.

“I’m not going to hurt my brother,” he said, his voice sounding faraway because he was still touching her, and her entire nervous system was threatening to explode.

She swallowed. “I don’t want to hurt him either, but I’m not about to marry him just because I think he’s a nice guy.”

He stayed silent for a moment, then dropped her hand. “I’m not going to rub his nose in this.”

Under the table, where he couldn’t see, her fingers traced the spot where Joe had touched her. “Rub his nose in it? You saw him. He doesn’t even believe it. Yet.”

“So, what do we do?”

“Well,” she pretended to think about it for a moment. “We go out on a few dates. Maybe he could catch me over at your apartment a few times…What does Avery usually know about the women you—date?”

Joe smiled, satisfied and smug, obviously recalling past—dates. Amanda wanted to smack him. Not jealous, not jealous, not jealous.

Thankfully, she saw Avery heading back, arrogant and harmless. Why couldn’t Avery be a jerk? It would make things so much easier. Instead, he was like a full-grown puppy dog. She sighed. “Look, Avery’s coming back. Tonight we’ll ease into this thing and just see what happens. Maybe it’ll be easier than you think.” Amanda doubted it, but miracles could happen.

Joe shook his head. “If he gets extra weird, I’m bailing, Amanda. I can’t see how this can be a good thing.”

At last. Acceptance. “Okay, okay. Just let me do the talking.”

He spread his hands wide. “You’re the shyster.”

Oh, fudge, this was going to be harder than she thought. “Cut the cracks. Remember we’re supposed to be deeply in lust.”

Joe just laughed; obviously thinking such an idea was ludicrous. Just you wait, Joe, just you wait.

WHEN AVERY RETURNED, he looked calm as ever. Which could only be a good thing, Joe thought. Somebody needed to be calm. Joe sure as hell wasn’t. Insane was the actual word that flashed in Joe’s mind.

With surgical precision, Avery placed his napkin in his lap; a graceful gesture that was obviously for their benefit. First Avery looked at Amanda and then back to Joe. “Well?”

Amanda began first. “As I said…”

Avery held up his hand. “No. I want to hear what Joe has to say.”

Damn. Joe had never been prepared at school, that’s why he’d been exiled into public education, and he certainly couldn’t win at a debate with his brother. He kept it simple. “She’s right.”

Avery leaned forward and Joe got that awful spider-in-the-web feeling. “Joe, are you really in love with Amanda, or are you just after a temporary diversion that is several plateaus above your normal standards?”

What was he supposed to say? Avery was his brother. He stalled, not quite ready to commit himself yet. “Avery, if I were in love with Amanda, what would you do?”

Avery took a sip of water. “And she was in love with you?”

Joe nodded.

Avery stroked his chin. “If the two of you were truly in love, I couldn’t interfere.”

Amanda shot Joe her female “told-you-so” look. “However,” Avery continued, “I fully expect this little walk on the wild side to run its course after a short time. A very short time.”

Avery lifted his glass and swirled the wine, but Joe wasn’t fooled. This was serious to Avery. “Are you in love with her, Joe?”

He didn’t like lying to his brother; there were better ways of ducking the truth, but maybe Amanda had it right after all. Joe clinked Avery’s glass with his own and nodded.

Instead of dejection, Avery’s smile was full of that same smug confidence that had got him accepted at St. Albans, a scholarship to Columbia. “Then may the best man win.”

Joe closed his eyes and sunk into his seat. No way. Why hadn’t he seen this coming? He was not going to enter into some hellish competition with his brother. When it came to Avery, Joe always lost.

Amanda poked him with her fork under the table and he shot her a dirty look. He didn’t deserve that.

But he’d gotten himself in too far. She’d sucked him right into her little pact with the devil, and so he just smiled weakly. “Yeah.”

This was such a bad idea.

2

IT HAD ONLY BEEN ONE DAY. Amanda traced the white petals of the orchid with her finger. Orchids of all things. She glanced about her office, for the first time hating the stark white modern décor that she herself had picked out two years ago. White art deco chairs, an uncluttered glass desk and unadorned soft white walls. In New York City, everything was a fashionable black or a muted gray, and she had always liked white. It was clean, pure and now unfortunately, her office was more like a hospital. Cold. Like the orchids.

Mentally she gathered her courage, lifted the receiver and dialed Avery’s pager. She followed the computerized instructions, entered her phone number and made notes on how she would redecorate her office.

A few minutes later, Grace, the latest temp, walked in, wearing her new Statue of Liberty sunglasses. Secretarial temps were usually ghosts that flitted around the office, not wanting to be noticed at all. Grace was different. She was a perpetual tourist trapped in the body of a temporary secretary—proof that God had a sense of humor. “Dr. Barrington for you, Amanda.” She lifted her shades. “Should I make an excuse?”

“No, thanks, Grace.”

“Whatever you say, boss.” Grace left Amanda alone with the blinking phone line.

Amanda stared at the flashing light and then picked up the phone. Saying “no” to Avery had never come easy to her; perhaps secretly he had sensed that. Whatever the reason, Amanda still hated discussing it. One day. Hopefully soon.

“Avery?”

“Yes? You paged?”

“Why did you send me orchids?”

“Did Joe send you orchids as well?”

Amanda sighed heavily into the mouthpiece, making sure he heard it. “No.”

“Well, there. Your beauty calls for a rarer flower. Something long and delicate. Wasn’t it Robert Frost who said, ‘Sometimes I wander out of beaten ways, half looking for the orchid Calypso.”’

“Avery, that’s very pretty, but I told you, I love Joe.” Saying the words gave her a wicked thrill. Okay, it was lust, not love. But the lust was beginning to feel rather overpowering.

As usual, Avery ignored her. “I’ve been offered two tickets to The Producers for tonight.”

“I’ve already got a date.”

“With Joe?”

“Yes.”

“Where’s he taking you? I hope someplace that epitomizes a marvelous dining adventure. Have you tried that new French bistro on the Upper East Side? Très Appétissant.”

“We’re staying in tonight.” She maintained a meaningful silence, hoping he’d think that she and Joe would be having wild, passionate sex. She hoped that they would be having wild, passionate sex. Probably not yet, though. It was too soon. But when?

Avery coughed.

Enough about sex. “We’re renting a movie. Popcorn. Butter.”

“How bourgeois. I’m sure if Joe could afford better, he’d take you there.”

“Don’t be a snob, Avery. Everyone is an adult here.”

“I’m sorry, Amanda. I’ve never been a graceful loser. Not that I think the war is over, not by any stretch of the imagination. I have not yet begun to fight.”

That’s what she was afraid of. “Avery?”

“Yes?”

“I have a deposition to go to. I’ll talk to you later. No more flowers, hmmm?”

She hung up before he could reply and immediately dialed the airport. “Joe Barrington, please.”

In the background, she heard the thunder of the planes, pounding tools and voices yelling, with a particular New York flavor. La Guardia. Laughing, she took notes, learning a few new fun words. Finally, Joe picked up. “Barrington.”

“Joe? It’s Amanda.”

“What’s up?”

“I told Avery we were watching a movie tonight.”

“Yeah? What’s that got to do with me?”

She gritted her teeth. “I think we need to watch a movie at your apartment.”

“No offense, Amanda, but I’ve got a date tonight.”

A date? “You’re still dating?”

“Yeah.”

“Is this serious?” Nervously, she twisted the barrel of her ballpoint pen back and forth.

“Define serious.”

“How long have you been seeing this person?”

“I met her two nights ago.”

“Joe! What do you think your brother will do when he finds out? He’ll think you’re cheating on me!”

“He won’t know.”

“Joe!” She picked up her pen, jotted a few more choice words on her notepad and then crossed them out again. “You want this to work, right?”

A power-drill whirred in the background. “It’s not going to work.”

“It won’t work unless you have a positive attitude and a celibate existence.”

“You didn’t tell me this was a requirement last night.”

She didn’t reply.

“You’re killing me, here.”

“Joe, doing without sex will not kill you.”

“But it can make a man awfully grumpy.” Thankfully, he acquiesced soon enough. “All right. I suppose Monique will understand.”

Monique? Trust Joe to pick up girls named Monique. “For the duration, Joe. It’s going to take several months for this to work.”

“Several months? Are you serious?” A pause and then his voice dropped. “Look, I can keep my private life private. Avery will never know.”

“Joe.”

“I’m not a monk. I’m not even a monk wanna-be. I don’t do monk.”

“Joe. He sent me orchids today. Orchids! With poetry.”

To further her fury, he laughed. “All right, all right. You win. You don’t know what you’re asking.”

She knew exactly what she was asking. Hopefully, they could all muddle through this and live happily ever after. Right now she just wanted to focus on one day at a time, and getting Joe in her bed. “It’s for a good cause.” After all, she didn’t want Joe to turn into a grumpy monk.

“Right,” he said, sarcasm oozing over the line.

“See you tonight, Joe. I’ll bring the movie.”

He sighed like he was already missing Monique. “Yeah. See you then.”

THAT EVENING, she brought an indie-flick and wore her shortest skirt. If he noticed anything at all, he hid it well. Joe’s apartment was exactly as she’d pictured it. There was one overstuffed couch, a leather chair and a coffee table that had never seen a coaster in its carefree existence. No Pottery Barn here. She thought of her own pristine white loft, and sank happily onto the faded cushions. This is what she wanted to understand. How to have a messy life and not feel guilty about it.

“Want something to drink?” He had a beer in one hand, and his shirt hung unbuttoned, as if he had just shrugged into it. She declined the drink and instead handed him the videocassette, secretly studying the chest that he exposed so casually. He was strong, she knew that. He had to be to work on the planes. All muscle, but not bulky. No, long and lean. Bottled energy. When Joe walked, he exuded that energy. She lusted after that energy.

He looked at the tape, a sultry film noir that she thought would be perfect. The sexiest movie she could find that wasn’t porn. “You’re not going to make celibacy easy, are you?”

She brushed her hair back, and smiled. “Just for a few months. Surely it won’t kill you.” If she had her way, it’d only be a few weeks. Maybe days. She looked at her watch. Maybe hours.

Joe sank into the big leather chair across from her. Chair and owner immediately became one. She laughed aloud.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “So tell me what you find amusing?”

“I like your furniture.”

“Not what you’re used to, is it?” There was a defensive note in his voice that she had heard when he was near Avery. He’d never used it around her before now. It hurt her to hear it now, with her.

“Joe, I was being honest. I do like this.” She waved her hand around the room. “All of it.” A painting hung over the coach and she twisted around for a better look. A naked lady, tastefully done, she’d give him that, but still a nude. She pointed at the pouty raven-haired siren in the picture. “Except for that.”

Joe shrugged. “All the blondes hate her. It’s art.”

“Well, yes, but if you had other pictures…” She stopped and looked around the room. There were other pictures. Some landscapes, some portraits and one airplane. “You like art.”

“Sue me—” he stopped and held up one hand. “It’s only a figure of speech. I never dated a lawyer before. Jeez, I need to watch my mouth.”

Still shocked that he liked art, she wasn’t even mildly annoyed, only curious. “You don’t like lawyers, do you?”

“If I say ‘yes,’ you’ll take it personally, right?”

She nodded.

He thought for a minute, his fingers silently drumming on the chair arm. “Well, you’re okay, but you have to admit, most of the personal injury barracudas are annoying as all hell in the commercials.”

She agreed with that, but just like everything else, there were good lawyers and there were bad lawyers. She wanted to be one of the good ones. Heck, just two years out of law school and she was one of the good ones. “I’m one of the good guys. Truth, justice and corporate responsibility.”

“Yeah, but does the job ever get old?”

Sometimes she worried she worked too much. That she was missing something in her life, but her work was important. “Joe, people get hurt every day from things that aren’t supposed to hurt them. It’s my job to see that not only are people compensated, but more importantly, that corporations change their behavior and that nobody gets hurt anymore.”

He smiled. She liked his smile. It was never a grin, but a mere lifting of his lips at the corners. Very Joe. “You’re going to be on 60 Minutes someday, aren’t you?”

“I’d like to.” She stared at the airplane on the wall. It was an old picture. “It’d be nice to be known for making a mark.”

Joe went silent, and too late Amanda realized that she might have said the wrong thing. She changed the subject. “So I’m thinking Avery will show up at nine. What do you think?”

Joe looked silently relieved. “If he shows up, it won’t be until after E.R. It’ll take him twenty minutes to get over here, so 11:20.”

“Eleven-twenty? Avery’s too conscious of appearances to drop in that late, especially unannounced.”

His eyes were full of confidence. “Eleven-twenty. Trust me. You can really set your clock by Avery. I figured that you’d know that by now.”

“I’ve tried to live my life as Avery-free as possible.”

“Sorry about that. I’ve no choice in the matter. But he’s okay when you get to know him.”

Amanda traced the soft weave of the couch. “It’s really not awful. It’s not like Avery is a vile parasite. It’s just—” she struggled to explain something she didn’t understand herself “—I have to be me. Out of everybody, you should understand that best.”

He studied her over his bottle. “Who are you?”

Tough question. “I don’t know the answer to that yet, but I’m not happy with who I am now.”

He took a sip and swallowed. “Thought you’d be over the moon. Making the big bucks, an upstanding young doctor who wants to marry you, you’re smart and beautiful. What’s not to be happy about?”

“How did you learn to be happy with who you are?”

He did grin this time. “You mean, me, the poor airplane mechanic?”

Oh, right. “You’re not poor.”

“Maybe not poor, but I don’t make half the money you do, honey.” He didn’t sound like he was joking.

“Really?” She shook her head, not letting him divert her. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Why do you think I know the answer?” he shot back.

“Because you do. Aren’t you happy with who you are?”

Joe shrugged. “Most of the time.”

Most. Surprise number two. She leaned forward, wanting to pry, and he shook his head and picked up the tape. “So, are we really supposed to watch this?”

The easy contentment was back, that quiet peace that made her want to see if his heart was still beating, if his blood could still run so hot. “Unless there’s something else you want to do?” She looked at him, trying a sultry, provocative stare, but ended up blushing furiously. Darn. She did not blush well.

Joe watched her for a minute, and tension snapped in the air. Finally he stood and slipped the tape in the VCR. The clock on his VCR was not blinking. She was impressed.

“You sure you don’t want something to drink? Water, beer, cola.”

Amanda started to refuse, but then changed her mind. “Beer.” After all, the purpose of this exercise was to let her hair down a bit. She put a hand to the clip at the back of her head and pulled it free, trying to get eliminate that little bump you get with clip-hair.

Again Joe watched her. Finally he nodded. “I’ll get your beer.”

While he was gone, she kicked off her sandals, and curled up on the couch. Okay, this was neat. When she was a kid and lived in Queens, she could lie down on the couch. But that all changed after her Dad’s big promotion. Her parents now lived in an old renovated farmhouse in Vermont with antiques. No lying down on those things.

A few minutes later he appeared and placed the beer on the coffee table in front of her, and then looked rather determinedly at the television.

“Could you dim the lights a bit?” she asked.

He jerked his head in her direction, and she shrugged apologetically. “You know, in case Avery shows up.”

He stood, flipped the light switch, the room turning a deep shade of indigo, the last bit of sun long gone. Joe sat down, looked more determined than ever.

Progress. She crossed her legs at the ankles.

The movie was good. A great mystery, and some very steamy love scenes. She wasn’t brave enough to stare meaningfully at Joe during the intimate moments, but she did peek out of the corner of her eye. His jaw looked pretty tight, and there was a bead of sweat on his upper lip.

She shifted a little on the couch, and crossed her legs a little tighter.

When the intercom buzzed, they both jumped. Joe shut off the TV quickly and the room went dark.

Amanda looked at the clock. Eleven-twenty? Already? Gee, time flew when you were watching smut, um, art. “That’s Avery, isn’t it?”

“Probably,” Joe answered.

Avery. Show time. Amanda looked at Joe, shirt untucked, chest untouched, and she glanced down at her own still-ironed look. Even the couch, with all its comfortableness, couldn’t lose the starch.

Great. “We don’t look like we’ve been doing anything.”

Joe cut his eyes towards her. “Usually women just get this look. Some sort of aura.”

She wanted to laugh, but darn it, she needed to think. This was important to get right. “No. Joe, remember this is supposed to be torrid. You need to look like you can’t stand one minute without touching me. Remember,” she stressed the words, “Avery needs to think he doesn’t have a chance.”

The doorbell rang and Joe lowered his voice to a furious whisper. “This was your idea. What are we supposed to do? Get a little down and dirty on the carpet and just let Avery walk in?”

She looked at the carpet and got a nice visual and decided right then and there that someday indeed she would indeed get down and dirty on the carpet with him.

The doorbell rang, longer this time.

“I’m coming. Just a minute,” Joe yelled, still standing several feet away from her, looking completely untorrid.

Amanda took a step toward him. “Look, if this were a real date, what would Avery expect to find?” She wanted to know exactly what was the current fashion for flagrante delicto.

His smile was slow, but smoky. “Babe, if this were real, you’d be lucky to have your socks.”

She drowned in the absolute hedonistic waters of his eyes and forgot all about her socks. Socks. Heavens. She looked down at her bare feet. She didn’t have on socks, did she? She shook her head free of lust. Not now. “Okay, here, let me button my shirt up wrong.”

She attacked her buttons, Avery now knocking politely but firmly at the door. Well, he could just wait. Very efficiently, she undid the tiny pearl buttons, popping them free. She pulled the stiff cotton material free of her skirt and made the rather huge mistake of looking at Joe.

Her fingers froze. His eyes were leveled on the black satin bra she wore underneath her shirt. Okay, her chest was a little small, but she liked to think of herself as pert.

The way Joe was looking right now, as if she were edible, she was beginning to like pert. Okay, she was beginning to love pert, but she really did need to move her fingers. Unfortunately, every bit of her was paralyzed.

Joe found his tongue, his voice a little hoarse. “You need to button up some of those buttons. I don’t think Avery needs to see you looking like that.”

She almost reminded him that that was exactly the point, but decided now was not the time to argue. She fumbled for a bit, but the button-loops had mysteriously shrunk two sizes too small, and her hands had grown much more clumsy.

With a muttered curse, he brushed her hands aside and began the task himself.

“Joe, you’re buttoning them up right!”

His hands froze. Right on top of her breasts. Oh.

He swore again. One of those fun New Jersey expressions, and then began muttering to himself. “Joe, concentrate. Joe, your brother is at the door.” His thumb brushed against her skin.

She jumped. “Joe, you’re talking to yourself.”

The doorbell rang, longer this time.

Joe looked up, eyes bright with lust. “Don’t talk to me right now. I need to just button these damn buttons. What do you have, a million of these tiny things? I told you I don’t handle celibacy well.”

“How long has it been?” she asked, trying to distract both of them.

“A week.”

She groaned.

He gritted his teeth and his finger brushed against her nipple.

She gasped.

Her nipples grew even perkier, clearly visible under the black silk. Joe’s breathing turned shallow.

Oh.

Not knowing what else to do, she apologized. “I’m sorry.”

He stopped messing with her buttons and focused on her face. A flush ran under his skin, and she noticed where the shadow of whiskers clung to his jaw. Her fingers lifted, wanting to touch.

“For what?”

She started to explain that she was apologizing for her nipples and his breathing problem, but realized this was not what a sultry, provocative seductress would do. That is, here she stood, her breasts in his hand, well, almost, and surely she could think of something.

And so she kissed him.

SHE WAS TRYING to kill him. All that silky white skin. And her mouth. Now he knew exactly what that wicked mouth tasted like. Sex. Damn, but if she didn’t kiss better than the best sex he’d ever had. He pulled her down on the couch and took over, letting his tongue explore the inside of her mouth. It was like a drug in his head, and he couldn’t breathe. His hands fumbled with the clasp at the front of her bra until it broke and feverishly he touched her bare flesh. He was going to die. He had to—

“Oh, Joe,” she sighed in his ear, and he was eternally grateful that at that moment he was named Joe and not—

The doorbell rang, accompanied by loud knocking. “Amanda! Are you all right?”

Avery.

Joe lifted his head. “Avery, go away!” He stared at Amanda’s face. Fine bones, so delicate. What was she doing with him?

Rational thought returned.

Avery.

He still couldn’t look away. She looked almost shocked, her blue eyes still off somewhere about two minutes ago.

He had so needed her to be the sane one. With her body underneath him—how had that happened?—he didn’t want to be the sane one. It was physically painful to move off her. “Amanda.”

She smiled a little crookedly and sat up. “Joe.”

“Amanda, we need to fix your shirt. Avery. I’m sorry.”

The fog in her eyes cleared, her focus getting sharper. “Oh.” She looked down at the bra now hanging uselessly, then looked up at him and grinned. “Tell you what—” he watched as she pulled the scrap of silk through her sleeves like a magician “—looks better without it anyway. Don’t you think?”

Her fingers recovered nicely and she buttoned up a few strategic buttons, but now the bright blue material covered places that he had just seen, conquered.

Unable to do much else, he sat.

Amanda walked to the door, but he ran after he and caught her before she could open it. This was important. There was one question he needed answered.

“Amanda, why did you kiss me?”

“Because…” She hesitated for a long moment and looked over her fingernails. Finally she looked up at him, eyes big, wide and full of desire. “Because I wanted to.”

The doorbell rang and Joe flung it open. Mad at his brother for interrupting, mad at Amanda for starting it and mad at himself for thinking the thoughts that were running in his head. Now he’d really messed up. Now he wanted her.

He look through the open doorway, not really caring about appearances anymore. Avery stood, elegant in a polo shirt and canvas slacks, looking ready for a day on the links. Next to him, in a tight leather miniskirt, scarlet fingernails, stiletto heels and a wisp of a blouse, stood Monique, looking ready to blow.

3

“HELLO AVERY, MONIQUE. I see you two have met.” Joe felt like he had an Aerobus engine lodged in his throat.

Avery glowered, a ruddy flush coloring his face. “Joe, I’ve been waiting ten minutes.”

“You’re lucky it was only ten,” Joe replied testily, then shrugged. Now wasn’t the time. “Well, come on in.”

Monique seemed to be carrying a pot of something that smelled pretty good, and although she tilted her chin in the direction opposite Joe, she followed Avery into the apartment, which seemed to be getting smaller by the minute.

Amanda curled up on the couch again, looking mighty comfortable. Avery sat next to her, and Joe noticed his eyes drifting toward Amanda’s cleavage every now and then. If not for Monique, Joe would have kicked him off the couch and told him to get his mind out of the gutter. Unfortunately, Joe had gutter thoughts of his own, and was in no position to throw stones.

He watched as Monique flopped into his favorite chair. With no other alternative, Joe opted to lean casually against the wall.

There was a long silence, Avery harumphing every now and then, his eyes still darting to Amanda’s shirt. Finally, Joe couldn’t stand it anymore. “Stop it, Avery.”

The remark seemed to work and Avery took out his handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead.

Amanda held out a hand to Monique. “Hi, I’m Amanda.” Apparently that was more than Monique could handle.

“Joseph, you told me you were ill. You sounded so sick on the phone, all the coughing and sniffling. I thought I’d find you here, curled at your toilet, miserable, and dying.” She held up her pot. “I even brought some of Grandma Steinowitz’s chicken soup. It’ll have you off your ass in less than twenty-four hours.”

“Joe, you cad!” Avery burst out, obviously believing that Monique was not capable of raking Joe over the coals alone.

Joe turned to Amanda and waited. She just sat quietly, holding her tongue. Smart girl. This was her doing. Well, okay, he shouldn’t have told Monique he was sick, but how do you call a girl two hours before a date and say, “Um, I’ve met the woman of my dreams and I won’t be seeing you for one hundred and ten days, and about eight hours.” Illness seemed so much easier to explain. Of course, he could have told Monique the truth, but what female in their right mind would buy that? Hell, he was a guy, and he wouldn’t have believed it.

Joe looked at Monique with a fond sadness. She was nice. He had had high hopes for her, and damn it all, the soup smelled really good. But there was Amanda looking sexy as hell, and a little bit miffed, and he really didn’t have a choice. “I’m sorry about this. I should have told you the truth.” Joe glared at Amanda at this point. Understanding his message, she slunk a little lower. “To be honest, I just started going out with Amanda and well, it’s been something of a shocker.” Especially that kiss.

Monique sniffed.

Avery was not so shy. “Joe, how could you do such a thing?” He pointed at Amanda. “Are you sure you want to remain in such a shallow relationship? One day, and already he’s unfaithful. How could you tolerate such a philanderer?”

Amanda sat up straight, her blouse becoming somewhat less revealing. About time. “Technically, he’s not a philanderer.”

Monique flipped back a long, brown curl. “Maybe not to you, honey, but you just wait. The girls in Terminal C warned me about this one. Said he was as bad as a pilot working international. And you know how they are. He don’t have no money, neither. Mechanics never do.” She pointed a scarlet-tipped finger at Amanda. “You’ll be next, honey. Guys like this—” she clucked her tongue “—worse than rabbits.”

Avery patted Monique’s hand. “You poor girl. Amanda, if you’re ready to leave this little love nest, I’d be more than happy to escort you home.” His cool blue gaze cut back to Amanda’s cleavage.

Joe allowed himself one proprietary smirk. Not in your dreams, buddy.

“I’m not leaving,” Amanda stated, in a dreamy voice that reminded Joe that they still needed to lay out a few ground rules before she did really leave. That one kiss might cause him to lose a few nights sleep, but there were some lines he wasn’t about to cross. He thought of the kiss again and corrected himself. Okay, he wouldn’t cross them more than once.

“Joseph, have you got any brewskis here?” Monique stood up, and pulled at her skirt.

“Amanda, you really should…” Avery began, but then pulled his pager from his pocket. “Blast. I have an emergency at the hospital.”

“An emergency?” Amanda asked. “I thought you did mainly cosmetic work?”

Avery puffed up a bit. “Mrs. Corrigan. Dear old lady, but likes to invent a crisis so I can come and chat.”

Monique laid a hand on Avery’s sleeve. “You’re a doctor? So, do you think you could drop me in Astoria on your way? The midnight train is so unpredictable, and those little punkers with the nose rings…” She shuddered.

Joe watched his brother. Avery in Astoria? Yeah, that’d be the day.

“Why certainly. You’re in such a fragile emotional condition and you don’t need to be subjecting yourself to the rigors of public transport.”

Well, well. He glanced over at Amanda. Tonight everybody was somebody new.

Monique fluttered a hand over her heart. “It shows? You know, you are such a perceptive man. Most of the guys I’ve dated just miss a woman’s little signals. Have you read that Mars Venus book? I just dragged myself out of my well just yesterday.” She glanced over at Joe and sighed. “Now, I think me and my well are going to be reacquainted.”

Avery took her arm and glared at Joe. “Now look what you’ve done.”

Monique fluttered her lashes at Avery. “Do you drive a Jag?”

“British?” Avery scoffed. “Bavarian Motor Works,” he said, opening the door for Monique.

She followed him out, high heels clicking. “What’s that?”

“BMW.”

Her appreciative “oh” echoed as they walked down the hall. “Like a Bond car.”

“One and the same.”

“Wow. The girls are never going to believe this….”

Joe heard the tap-tap of Monique’s heels as they started down the stairs. One problem solved. Now to tackle the other one. He shut the apartment door and turned to Amanda. “Now, about that kiss…”

AWE-INSPIRING was the first word that came to Amanda’s mind. She already felt like he had ruined her for other men, and she was only thirty. Maybe she’d tire of his kisses in time. She studied his mouth, wondering where he’d learned to kiss like such a professional. “What about it?” she asked, not sure where this conversation was headed.

Joe sat down and rubbed his eyes. For the first time she realized that he looked tired. She resettled herself back on the couch, which was quickly becoming a favorite. Maybe she could give him a massage. Or a hot bath! Amanda loved bubble baths.

“There’ll be no more kissing.”

That probably meant the bubble bath was out as well, but Amanda wasn’t ready to throw in the towel. “You’re going to have to kiss me. Avery will think something is wrong if you don’t even touch me.”

“Avery wasn’t here,” he replied, easily defeating her best argument in defense of kissing.

“Technically, he was here.”

Joe glared. “In visual range, Amanda.”

Amanda adjusted the empty beer bottles on the coffee table. “Semantics, semantics. You will have to kiss me again, or Avery will never be convinced.” She narrowed her eyes as another thought struck. “And why did you tell Monique you were sick? Were you planning on cheating on me?” That thought really hurt. It hurt a lot more than it should. After all, she only wanted an affair.

He leaned forward in the chair. “No, I wasn’t planning on…” Then he caught himself. “Damn it, Amanda. This is only pretend.” His eyes leveled on her chest. “And button your shirt. Avery’s gone. Go home, Amanda. I’ll call you a taxi. I need sleep.”

Slowly, she buttoned up her shirt, tucking in her shirttail and smoothing out all the wrinkles. Nearly midnight and already her ballgown was transforming back to the norm. She sighed. Well, this was only Day One. And what a day it was.

She gathered up her bag and rummaged until she found her keys.

Joe looked in amazement. “You drove?”

Amanda nodded.

“Where’d you park?”

“Down on Riverside.”

“Riverside? That’s four blocks away. You shouldn’t be walking by yourself at night.” He stood and stretched, the muscles in his stomach lengthening and flexing. She watched the movement with fevered eyes, wanting to touch. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

“Thanks.”

Neither said much on the walk to the car, and Amanda was happy for the silence. Although his street was anything but—kids were playing basketball, somewhere in the distance a TV was blaring, the sidewalk vibrated from the heavy bass of a nearby low-rider. Two old men were sitting on the stoop, sharing complaints about the neighbors and a bottle in a bag.

The older man was wearing a white undershirt, with tufts of gray chest hair poking out from its edges. His shorts were black polyester, with matching black socks. He took a long swig, and then drew his hand across his mouth. “I was telling the super about that Blazejewski boy just the other day. Remember back—always in trouble that one, I thought he’d never amount to anything. But you know, I saw him yesterday. You’ll never believe—he’s on the force.”

“No! Get outta here,” the younger man said. He must have been about seventy and was mostly bald, with a fringe of black circling his head like Friar Tuck.

The old man lifted his right hand. “I swear it’s the truth. He had a badge and uniform. Even letting the neighborhood kids fool with the squad car’s siren. You should’ve seen it.”

Friar Tuck winked at Amanda. “Good evening, Joseph Barrington. Aren’t you going to introduce us to your lady-friend?”

Joe waved them off. “Not tonight, guys.”

They joined together in a chorus of catcalls. They looked like such nice men, and Amanda thought it might be rather fun to share a stoop at midnight with Joe.

“Could we sit for awhile?”

Joe’s eyes widened. “You want to?”

More than she wanted to go home and be alone. “Sure.” She stuck out her hand to older man. “Amanda Sedgewick.”

“Vincent D’Antoni,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it.

Friar Tuck smiled, exposing sparkling white teeth. How did he manage that? “Bernie Zaluski.”

Amanda nodded politely, still wondering about the teeth. Were they dentures? “Very pleased to meet you.”

“Charmed, I’m sure.” He held out the bag. “Thirsty?”

Amanda glanced over at Joe, who settled himself two steps below the men and shrugged. “Thank you.” She sat down next to Joe and took the bag, swallowing one mouthful, and then nearly choked at the chalky liquid. “What is this?”

“Maalox and Schnapps. At my age, you want to save all the time you can.” Bernie patted his round stomach.

Joe started to laugh.

“Bernie, mind your manners. A lady is on the stoop tonight.” Vincent sighed, wiping his forehead with his handkerchief. “Looks like it’s going to be a hot summer.”

Bernie handed him the bag. “One of the worst. Remember ’83? Oy. And the brownouts. I went to bed every night knowing that I’d died and gone to hell.”

“If I was married to Edith, I’d think I’d died and gone to hell every night, too.” Vincent scratched his chest hair tufts, sighing with satisfaction. “You know, my first child was conceived during those brownouts. God bless her.”

“Elizabeth.”

Vincent nodded. “The very one.” He still had a smile on his face when he turned to Joe. “How’s La Guardia Treating you? Where’s my Lincoln?”

Joe reached into his wallet and handed over a five-dollar bill. “The actuator. I can’t believe you were right. I thought it was the coupler.”

“It does my heart good to know an old man can still take advantage of you young whipper-snappers every now and again.” Vincent winked at Amanda. “I worked at La Guardia for forty years. Finally retired when Reagan was elected. Joe tell you about his lessons?”

Joe hunched his shoulders over. “Not now, Vincent.”

“You haven’t told Ms. Sedgewick about your career ambitions?”

Bernie cuffed Vincent on the shoulder. “Vincent. Sshh.”

Amanda’s ears perked up. “What career aspirations?”

“It’s nothing. Vincent,” Joe glared meaningfully.

Amanda wasn’t going to let Vincent off that easy, though. “Please tell me.”

Vincent pursed his lips. “Nope, my loyalty is to Joseph. If he says it’s his personal business, who am I to argue?”

Amanda pulled out her wallet. “Vincent, I’d like you to meet Mr. Lincoln.” She held out a five.

“Amanda. Put that away.” Joe tried to pull her purse away, but she held tight.

Vincent was a tough customer. “Please, miss, listen to him and put that away. I wouldn’t rat on our Joseph for anything less than Mr. Jackson.”

Everyone laughed.

Amanda looked at Joe for a minute, but he was just watching her. This was a test. She put the money back into her wallet. “Sorry, Vincent.”

But then Joe surprised her and told her anyway. “I’m working to get my pilot’s license.”

She looked at him, amazed. Her hand landed on his knee. “That’s great.”

“Don’t say anything, okay. It’s slow going. The hours don’t come cheap and it’ll be a few years yet before I can fly solo.”

He wanted to fly. She shouldn’t have been surprised. She had vague memories of Joe as a kid, a toy airplane in his hand.

But he hasn’t a kid anymore. Somehow he had grown up and no one had noticed.

Joe stood, tall and capable. Avery had always been the smart Barrington boy, hadn’t he? She wasn’t so sure now.

Vincent stared up at the looming buildings and incandescent streetlights, looking as if he was contemplating the universe and then he gave a heartfelt sigh. “And what do you do, Amanda?”

“Amanda’s a lawyer,” Joe answered.

Bernie nudged Vincent. “You don’t say? You hear that? She’s a lawyer.”

Vincent’s reply was a noncommittal grunt.

Bernie shook the bag in his hand, pointing it at Amanda. “I’ve been telling Vincent he should find a good lawyer. Like one of them on TV.”

Amanda turned to Vincent, intrigued. “For what?”

“I’ve been having trouble with my lungs and now nobody’s ever said anything, but back when I was on the line, they used this engine cleaner that—well, it was strong stuff, see? They didn’t use it very long, but a couple of other guys who did some of the same work at the same time I was there, well, we’re all in the same boat.”

Bernie sniffed. “They probably knew exactly what they was doing to their employees, but just didn’t care. Corporate America. But that’s what the legal system is for, to keep them greedy ganifs in line.”

Vincent looked at Joe. “What do you think?”

Joe shook his head. “You want a lawyer? You’re going to need one of the best for a thirty-year-old case.”

Amanda opened her mouth, ready to defend her legal skills.

But there was no need. Joe took care of that. “That’s Amanda. Nobody better.” His smile was real, but a little sad.

For a moment she just stared. He didn’t know what a gift he’d just given her. She should say thank-you, or kiss him, or something, but he had a “hands-off” look. Disappointed, she handed a business card to Vincent. “Call me first thing in the morning. I’ll do what I can.”

Joe yawned. “Well, I’m sorry to chat and run, but I need to get Amanda back to her car and me to bed.”

“Sure, sure,” Bernie said as he helped Amanda up from the stoop. “You’d better go. Congressman Lewis is speaking at P.S. 41 tonight on the new park plans and they’re still not done debating the location. Four hours! Can you imagine? Plant a tree, four flowers and put a swing set in the middle. It’s a park. What? They need a committee to figure this out? When he finally lets them out, traffic’s going to be nuts around here.”

“Amanda, it was a real pleasure. Good night, Joseph. Come down tomorrow,” Vincent said.

“Working midnights tomorrow. Can’t do it.” Joe stuck his hands in his pockets and turned right at the corner, his stride more a run than a walk.

Amanda waved to the old men and then hustled to keep up. “Joe, wait. Why didn’t you tell me about the flying lessons? That’s so great.”

He stopped, his eyes hard. “Look. Nobody knows. Okay. I don’t know if I’ll be able to finish or not. I don’t know if I want to finish. It’s a lot more than I can handle.” He pointed to the row of cars parked on the street. “Which one is yours?”

She almost didn’t tell him. “The Mercedes.”

He just shook his head and laughed. “Yeah, why didn’t I guess?” She unlocked it with her remote, and he opened the door for her.

“See you around, Amanda.” He started to turn away.

“Wait.” She leaned against the cool steel door, shutting it. “What do we do now?”

“We’ve already done too much.”

In Amanda’s mind, they hadn’t done nearly enough, but she kept her mouth shut. “I’m talking about Avery.”

“Why don’t you marry him, Amanda? I’ve never seen two people more perfect for each other. My parents would be thrilled.” He actually sounded serious.

Why couldn’t anyone understand? “My plan is working. Avery really believes we’re having an affair. Just a little while, Joe. Give it a chance. I need your help.”

“Amanda, you don’t need anyone’s help. Least of all, mine. You could do anything you set your mind to.”

She didn’t want to see him go. Not yet. “Please? I know this will work.”

Joe looked up at the streetlights and closed his eyes. “Why would Avery ever believe this?”

It was the sarcastic tone that made her angry. “Look at me. I have put up with Avery Barrington for twenty-one years! That’s longer than most marriages. For the first time, Avery is actually entertaining thoughts of other women. Did you see him with Monique? That is what I was trying to tell you. This is going to work. It’s got to work. I don’t know what else to do.” To her chagrin, she felt tears pricking at the corner of her eye and she dashed them away with the back of her hand.

Joe swore, lifted a hand to touch her, and then stopped. “Don’t start crying. Look, if you want me to help, I’ll help.” He pushed at his dark hair with an unsteady hand. “But nothing else, Amanda. I don’t know exactly what you’re thinking here, but he’s my brother. Nothing is going to happen between us.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and took a step back. “Nothing.”

Amanda knew when it was time to pull back. She opened the car door, and settled in the plush, leather interior. Why couldn’t she drive a Volkswagen? He shut her door and saluted. Completely unaffected by what she considered was certainly a defeatist attitude, Amanda rolled down the window and waved. “You work on Sunday? We can go dancing.”

Joe put a protesting hand on the car door. “What if Avery won’t show?”

That she ignored, pulling away from the curb, honking her horn. Just to make sure he understood, she stuck her head out the window. “I’ll be by your place at eight o’clock to pick you up. Don’t be late.”

She glanced in her rearview mirror and watched Joe get smaller and smaller as she drove away. Well, their first date had gone surprisingly well, considering it was a disaster.

Sunday would be their Day Two. She touched her lips, remembering his kiss…touched her breast, remembering his touch, and then smiled to herself. He inspired such passion in her. Passion she’d never felt before. And who would have thought that Amanda Sedgewick would be out at midnight, sitting on a stoop in the heart of the city? It felt good.

An affair with Joe would be all that she imagined. And more.

4

AT JOE’S INSISTENCE, they took a cab. Some termed a New York cab living dangerously, however Amanda had always secretly loved it. Their cab driver was Armando Cruz, licensed since August 31, 2001. His Yankee’s cap was turned backward in what Amanda termed the doofus look.

“Where to, man?”

“137 Eighth Avenue. Brooklyn.”

Armando looked at Joe in the rearview mirror. “You’re sure about that?”

Joe nodded.

The cab lurched forward, pealing away from the curb. “Brooklyn it is.”

Amanda found herself flat against the seat and laughed in delight. “Step on it, Armando.”

Joe’s blue gaze flickered over in her direction, and she felt a fresh burst of heat wash over her skin.

He liked her dress.

Oh, he hadn’t said a word, but the banked appreciation in his eyes spoke volumes. Every now and then, they would drift in her direction, as intimate as a touch.

She shivered.

“Cold?” he asked, glancing at her chest.

She fought the urge to cross her arms over her breasts, and instead smoothed the red silk material lovingly over her thighs. She watched with smug confidence as he turned a little paler. “No, thank you for asking.”

The cab lurched left again, spoiling her moment.

The deserted midtown streets slid by, although every now and then an evening jogger or dog-walker would appear. Amanda checked her watch. Eight-thirty. If she was back by one, she could finish going through the articles she’d found on industrial cleaning solvents and their side effects. She’d agreed to take Vincent’s case almost immediately after they talked on Friday, and after two solid days of research she knew she was on to something.

And Joe didn’t miss a thing. “Got someplace else you want to be?”

She smiled and shook her head. He was exactly what she needed. Dressed in slacks and a plain cotton shirt, his hair slightly mussed, and a wicked gleam in his eye, he looked—perfect. “No. Tonight I’m going out on the town. It’s playtime.”

His eyes locked with hers for a moment, and then he turned away, looking out the window instead.

Chicken.

As they drove through Little Italy, there were pasta shops everywhere. She could imagine the smell of freshly baked bread and sauce simmering in garlic. Under the shimmering glow of the streetlights, two young lovers walked hand in hand. Amanda sighed, the long-forgotten echoes of Frank Sinatra playing in her head.

The cab screeched around a corner and Amanda slid into Joe. Mysteriously, her hand found its way to his thigh. Not so mysteriously, her hand worked its way up his thigh.

Joe didn’t blink. “You don’t want to be doing that.”

“Oh, yes I do.” He sat straight, taut, very unlike the easygoing man she thought she knew. Amanda plunged forward. “You’re attracted to me.”

He shrugged. “You’re a female. You’re alive. I’m easy.”

A headache throbbed right between her eyes. She had known he was stubborn. Had always thought his “stick-to-his-guns” trait was appealing, attractive even. She was an idiot. She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “We don’t have to pretend, Joe.”

“Yes. We do.”

She flashed him a gentle, comforting smile. “No. We don’t.”

“Yes. We do.”

Amanda moved in closer. “We could do torrid, you know.”

“No.”

“Hot.” She licked her lips, getting into this femme fatale persona. The courtroom had never been this exciting.

“No.” The denial sounded a little strained.

“I could make you forget your name.”

“You’re Avery’s girl. That’s all I need to remember.”

The mood shattered. “I’m Amanda Jocelyn Sedgewick. Daughter of Richard and Leona Sedgewick. Graduate, magna cum laude, of Columbia University, and Cornell University law. I’m my own person. Not Avery’s girl.”

They drove over the Brooklyn Bridge, and Joe looked away staring at the dark waters of the East River. The full moon cast a silver glow over the bridge’s spider-webbed cabling. “He’s in love with you.”

“Fixated. Avery’s love affair with himself is bigger than me, bigger than both of us.”

He turned back towards her and smiled. “Yeah.”

“You’re stubborn.”

His smile turned cocky and sure. “Just like my big bro.”

Her leg began to shake. She’d never quite been able to conquer the spasm of agitation, but she could hide it. She leaned back against the seat, tucking one ankle behind the other. Her voice was not all fun and games. “Why did I ever have to meet the Barringtons?”

“You’re cursed,” he replied, looking completely serious.

“You think Avery will be there tonight?”

“Yeah, I told him we were going dancing. He knows where I go.”

The driver turned his head and winked at Amanda. “137 Eighth Avenue. Twelve dollars and seventy-five cents.”

Joe fished in his wallet and paid the driver, and then held the door open for Amanda.

But Armando wasn’t done. “Hey if my girl looked like she does, and if my girl wanted to dance with me like that, I wouldn’t be in no cab. I’d be giving her the Armando Mambo. You’re a loser, man.” He pointed a finger at Joe to emphasize the words.

Amanda winked at the cabbie. “He’s not really a loser, just a little hesitant.”

“Lady, you need a real man? You come to Armando. I’ll treat you good.”

“Get out of the car, Amanda.”

She emerged from the cab, haughty and professional. “You are no gentleman, Joe.”

“Nag, nag, nag.” He slammed the door behind her.

Her heels sounded as she made her way down the street. “But I’m still gonna make you forget your name.”

THIS CLUB has always been Joe’s favorite place. Unassuming and out of the way, no one ever made judgments. The music was dark and sexy, just like the air. Blue Velvet was a throwback to days gone by, and for Joe, it was the best place to meet women.

But tonight, he was playing white knight for Amanda. And he wasn’t a loser. That one remark from Armando had hurt more than all the digs against his testosterone levels. He had spent his life not measuring up to Avery, and eventually he stopped trying. But with Amanda? Damn. For her, he wanted to try again. Those thoughts of material success were weaving a spell in his head.

Joe leaned back against the stuffed cushions of his seat. He sipped his beer and let the music wash over him. He’d already played that game once. Not again.

Not even for Amanda.

He watched as she moved on the dance floor. The red dress billowed out and then flowed back as she swayed to the sultry sounds of Nina Simone.

What was she doing with him? Why this sudden desire to walk on the wild side? Amanda was a high-society type. About as stuffy as Avery and just as polished and refined. That’s what prep school did to people. Probably was a good thing Joe didn’t go. He didn’t want to be polished, didn’t want to be refined.

His eyes narrowed, watching her move. Maybe not so stuffy after all.

He should be dancing with her. Instead, like a big jerk-off, he’d said no. And now, she was swirling on the dance floor with four guys flocked around her like an entourage in a music video.

Way to go, Joe.

He looked at his watch. Ten-thirty. Avery would be here soon. Joe would have to hold Amanda close, kiss that mouth again, kiss all that white silky skin.

Why did he ever agree to this?

Because you wanted to, sap, a voice whispered in his head.

One of the big bruisers pulled Amanda closer and Joe put down his beer. He stalked out on the dance floor, grabbed Amanda, and spoke very clearly to all the hulking members of her entourage.

“She’s mine.”

Amanda’s body locked up against his and he sucked in every molecule of oxygen, causing his head to spin.

She looked up at him, lashes fluttering, red silk barely covering the shadowy cleavage he still remembered touching. Her eyes were dancing with misguided hero-worship. He definitely wasn’t a loser. Not tonight.

“Is Avery here?”

“No.” Joe moved his feet, found the slow, throbbing beat, and maneuvered her around the floor.

She perked up. “You did that on your own? Because you wanted to?” Her hands curled into his hair. “Maybe you should kiss me, too.”

He wanted to do a lot more than kiss her. He wanted to take her home, peel the red silk from her skin, bury himself inside her for days. He looked up at the door, saw the full frontal protrusion of Avery’s jaw, and smiled tightly. “Maybe I should.”

He stopped moving, and met her waiting lips. He had hoped, he had prayed that his memories were faulty, that he’d built her up to be some sort of fantasy, but when he felt her lips melt under his tongue, he realized the reality was even sweeter. She tasted so good, so exotic, so ripe. Her tongue mingled with his, moving back and forth in his mouth, making love to him with her mouth, all in time to the music. He drew her closer, until their bodies merged together. For a moment, he let himself forget, but only for a moment. He drew back, stared into her eyes, wanting to understand her.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because I like you,” her lips nuzzled his jaw, “you’re sexy as hell,” her hands skimmed his back, “and I desperately want your brother to leave me alone.”

He took her hands in his, needing to have her stop touching him. He couldn’t think. “It doesn’t have to be real.”

That sultry smile could have overheated any engine. He didn’t even want to think about what it was doing to his own less-stablized anatomy. “I want it to be real.”

He locked his hands behind his back. Much safer. “Why?”

“I want to feel. I want passion. I want…more than what I have now. You could teach me.”

Fantasies popped into his head. Vivid portrayals of naked flesh, long blond hair and her mouth. On him. Oh, God. Could he teach her? He coughed, his desire to breathe momentarily forgotten. He had to get control of the situation. He was losing it. “There’s at least four other guys, five if you count Armando, who would be more than happy to teach you how to have passion in your life.”

Her gaze was only for him. “And what about you?”

“I can’t argue with any lawyer.” He stepped back away from her, before he touched her again. Before he forgot all about why they were doing this. Before he forgot all about Avery.

Those eyes that had flashed hero-worship before now flashed with anger and she grabbed his arm. “Now’s not the time, Joe. There’s Avery.” She tilted her head toward the door. “At least pretend.”

Pretend. He could do that. He watched as his brother found a table and ordered a vodka martini—shaken, not stirred. Joe knew the drill. Joe pulled Amanda close, smelled her perfume—what was she wearing?—and saw his brother’s eyes narrow.

What was he doing?

Amanda pulled away and danced a tight circle around him, teasing, taunting, pursing her wicked mouth, sending him imaginary kisses. His body was not happy with imaginary; it wanted the real deal. He looked at Avery, who had now looked away.

Damn.

Amanda was just Amanda. This wasn’t supposed to hurt Avery. Hell, nothing hurt Avery. At least not anymore. Avery had done all he set out to do, except for one thing. Marrying Amanda—the most amazing woman that Joe had ever met.

Her hair swirled around her, brushing his arm, his face.

Suddenly Joe didn’t want to do this. He just wasn’t that low.

“I can’t.”

Her smile turned slow and confident. A seductress. She took his hand and pulled them off the dance floor. They walked a few steps to the narrow hallway where autographed pictures of old musicians hung in tribute.

In the dim light, her smile lost a little wattage, became a little less sure. “Joe, you’re the only one who can fix this.”

“Find some other way. Did you see the way’s he’s looking at you? I’m not like you. I can’t ignore that. Talk to him. Dump him yourself.”

“I’ve tried.”

“Try harder.”

They could have heard her snarl in Jersey. “If I talked to him, and he still believes I’m his soul mate, then will you agree?”

“How will I know you’re really trying? I don’t trust you, Amanda.”

She threw up her hands and he caught a glimpse of a white breast, the shadow of her nipple. God, how he wanted he wanted to touch her.

“Listen. Decide for yourself. I’ll invite Avery over for drinks after work on Monday, and you can hear the whole thing.”

“Eavesdrop?” He frowned.

“You said you didn’t trust me.”

“I don’t.”

“Do you see another way?”

Joe wished for a flash of inspiration, but in the back of his mind he wanted nothing more than to see her tomorrow. “No.”

“Fine. Show up tomorrow at seven. My place.”

“Better make it eight. Avery likes Dateline.”

She closed her eyes, the picture of a sexy woman, desperately needing a white knight. “Fine,” she said, sounding so tired.

His heart twisted.

He headed out of the bar and he barely gave a nod to his brother on the way out, his stomach cramping like he’d had too much to drink. He didn’t trust himself with alcohol around Amanda. It wouldn’t take much to send him over the edge, and he suspected she knew it.

Amanda meant trouble. Somewhere about the time that Joe got his mechanics license, he discovered that he was content with his life. He liked his neighborhood and he had his friends. At last he’d found where he belonged. But every time he looked at Amanda, every time she watched him with that cool, appraising gaze, he felt anything but content.

He wanted to leap over tall buildings in a single bound or astound her with his captivating wit. Neither of which was very likely. There was only one superhero in the Barrington family. Avery.

He saw her to her building—some high-rise in a part of town that he had long forgotten. Time to go home, time to get drunk, time to wish he was somebody else besides Avery Barrington’s brother.

5

BRIGHT AND EARLY Monday morning, Grace knocked discreetly and then entered Amanda’s office sporting her latest eyewear—red plastic frames trimmed with U.S. flags at the sides. On anyone else, it might have been silly, but the office temp wore Old Glory quite well.

“Hey boss. Barrington’s on line three.”

Amanda’s fingers froze over her keyboard. “Joe?” she asked, trying to hide her eagerness.

“Nah. It’s the doctor.” Grace sat on the edge of Amanda’s desk; her assignment was only three weeks ago and already she was at home. “You know, boss, I can’t see why you’re so taken with this Joe person. Now, this doctor, he’s the one. He sent you orchids again, by the way. They’re in the lobby. Want me to get them?”

Amanda pulled off the glasses she used for her reading. “Don’t you have anything better to do?” Amanda handed her the trashcan filled with two pieces of paper. “Here, shred this.”

“Boss, boss, boss.” The young girl clicked her tongue, her dark curls flying as she shook her head. “You know, we females are just so blind when love is involved. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. Take a look at the facts. Your doctor calls at least twice a week—” she lowered her voice “—and I don’t think Joe has called once since I’ve been working the phones.”

The truth really hurt. In Joe’s eyes, she was off-limits, and she might as well have been stamped with a big, red X.

Why did she want an affair with him so badly? Was it the challenge? The need to succeed at everything she did? She touched her spotless desk with the two pens poised carefully in their proper places, and longed for disorder.

“The Doc?” Grace pointed a finger at the blinking light on the phone.

Amanda shook off her own version of personality trait hell and shot her temp a “get lost” glance. Which did absolutely no good. What did it matter anyway?

She picked up the phone. “Avery?”

“Amanda. Just wanted to make sure you received a delivery. Besides, the dulcet tones of your voice just brighten my day so.”

Amanda sighed. “Avery, I was going to call you so I’ll get right to the point.”

“Of course, with time as valuable as yours, chitchat should be kept to a minimum.”

“Avery, could you come over this evening?”

“But of course! Is something wrong? Did Joe do something to hurt you? I knew that nothing good could come of this—”

“No, Avery. I just think we need to talk. Maybe seven?”

“Could we make it eight?”

“Dateline?”

“You watch it as well? They’re doing a piece next week on Johns Hopkins. I’ve always wanted to lecture there.”

Amanda smiled. Avery wanted to save the world, Joe wanted to fly around it and neither one of them was close. What a pair. “See you tonight, Avery.”

“I’ll bring a bottle of wine. Rothschild perhaps. Must go. The hospital’s paging me. See you tonight then.”

Grace looked at Amanda, a broad grin splitting her face. She held up one hand, a waiting high-five gesture. Trying to get in the spirit, Amanda responded, albeit a little half-heartedly.

Grace didn’t notice and jumped right in. “The rose silk.”

Amanda had no idea what that meant. “Pardon?”

“You need to wear the rose silk you wore last week for the staff meeting. It’s so classy, but kinda sexy, too. You know?” The girl’s leg idly bumped against in the desk with an annoying thump-thump sound.

“I’ll take it under advisement.” Amanda slid her glasses back on her nose. “Why don’t you hand me the D’Antoni file and then get out of here? I have a lot of calls to make.”

“Sure thing, boss.” Grace delivered the case file then left, sighing heavily.

Finally.

Amanda lifted her receiver once more. This time to call Joe. She stared at the two pens, standing upright in their holder, a perfect ninety degrees. With quiet determination, she took one and laid it flat on the middle of her desk.

“There.”

Joe came on the line, the usual noises rang in the background.

“Barrington.”

Amanda twisted the pen, spinning it on her desk. “It’s Amanda. Avery will be at my place at eight. You’ll be there?”

“I’ll be over at five til.”

He couldn’t stand to be around her just one extra moment. Grace was right, she was a fool. “I’ll see you then. Bye, Joe.”

But he had already hung up.

After staring at the pen for a good three minutes, she blew out a breath and then put it back in its holder, propping it upright until it was perfectly aligned with the other.

Last night, as they had danced so slowly, Joe had given her a long, wet kiss as if she were the only woman alive. As if he needed her more than air. Amanda’s life was planned and premeditated. She didn’t understand need like that, but it drew her to him. She hadn’t known it until now, but it was everything she always wanted.

“EXCUSE ME, MARGE. I’ve been on hold for some time now. I really don’t want to hold anymore.” Amanda looked at the notepad full of drawings and sighed. She’d spent the last ten minutes on hold drawing pictures of ballpoint pens. She really needed to get out more.

“I work very hard, Ms….. What did you say your name was, Ms.?”

“Sedgewick. Amanda Sedgewick. Look, I know you work very hard and all, but I need to know who was Mr. Lowenthal’s secretary in 1971.” She put the pen back in the holder. No more doodling.

“Clean-All has lots of records, Ms. Sedgewick. You’d have to submit a written request—”

“Yes, of course I know you have a lot of records, but I’m sure that somewhere, somehow, someone can find this out for me. Perhaps if I came to your office and waited.”

“That information is at the warehouse. And then there was the merger in ’83, and I think those personnel records might have been lost.”

Amanda removed the newspaper article from the folder and scanned the text quickly. Lowenthal was mentioned, along with Boswick. “How about Mr. Boswick? Is he still working there?”

“Oh, no. He got laid off in, um, let me see, must have been about 1994, maybe ’95.”

“Do you know how I can find him?”

“Boswick? Last I heard he was heading up the Operations Division for Atlantic Industries.”

Amanda’s ears perked up. “Atlantic?” She’d met with them just last year over a workers comp case. She riffled through her Rolodex. A. Atlantic Industries.

“Yes indeed. Got a sweet deal when he left, too.”

“Thanks Marge. If you ever need a lawyer, you let me know.”

Amanda hung up the phone and leaned back in her chair. D’Antoni case. Day Four. Progress.

Now she just needed to track down Boswick at Atlantic Industries. She took one last look at the old newspaper headline—Airline Lawsuit Settled—before folding it and putting it in her briefcase. The sun was starting to lower in the office window and she realized it must be later than she thought. She checked her watch—five-thirty. Darn. She could at least call Boswick and see if he left the office for the day. And she needed to spruce up the apartment before Avery came over. And Joe. Before Joe came over.

That brought a smile to her face. She had big plans for Joe Barrington this evening.

She straightened up her desk and put D’Antoni’s file in her briefcase. She’d take that home with her. She could call Boswick from her cell phone on the way home.

FOR SOME unexplained reason, Joe found himself at her door at seven-fifteen. He rang the bell, refusing to analyze his motive for showing up early, refusing to admit that maybe he did want to see her before Avery got there.

She opened the door, her hair wrapped in a white towel, her body wrapped in a long, white satin robe. Her smile alone made the visit worth it. “Come on in. Sorry. I’m running a little late. Work. It never stops.”

He followed, watching her satin-covered butt, wondering what she was wearing underneath it. No panty-lines whatsoever. His heart skipped a beat, the rest of him cheered as well.

She didn’t say anything about him being early, thank God, because he didn’t have any answers.

“I’m just getting dressed. You want something to drink?”

He shook his head.

“I was thinking you could wait in the bedroom while Avery’s here. If I leave the door open, you can hear everything that’s being said.”

Joe’s thoughts slammed back to the present, unpleasant situation. He wasn’t CIA or FBI. “Look, Amanda, I shouldn’t be here. This is just silly.”

She put her hands on her hips. “This is what you wanted.”

Point for the lawyer. “Well, yeah, but I was…you know, not right.” Her head tilted, the towel balancing nicely. How did women do that?

“Wrong? Is that what you’re trying to say? Wrong about what, Joe?”

Admitting being wrong did not come easy to Joe, and he thought, preparing a response, wanting to help her, wanting to look intelligent, but not ready to commit himself too far. It was a guy thing. “Tonight. You don’t have to do this. I was pissed and I should have just shut up. You don’t have to prove anything to me.” He stayed silent for a minute. Finally, he said that words that he’d come to say. “I trust you.”

That brought a smile to her face. He really liked it when she smiled. Really liked it when he made her smile.

“Why the change of heart?” she asked quietly.

“Avery called. He wanted to know what I’d done to you.”

Amanda muttered something Joe couldn’t hear, but he didn’t think Avery would be flattered. “I told him you hadn’t done anything.”

Joe brushed it off with laughter. “It’s all right. He’s used to thinking the worst.” Usually Avery was right. “He’s just concerned. He doesn’t want me to hurt you.”

Amanda sat down on her couch, crossed her legs. “This is between me and you, not Avery.”

Joe eyed her bare thigh peeking out from under her robe and imagined how it would feel wrapped around him. “Amanda,” he said, in what was supposed to be a warning. Instead it sounded like a plea.

“Yes?” She looked up at him, all innocence. Like she didn’t know exactly what was going on in his head.

Somehow he needed to get back to the subject at hand. “Look, Amanda. Talk to Avery. I’ll stay out of sight. If he doesn’t see sense, after he leaves, we’ll get that robe off—”

Joe bit his tongue. Hard.

Amanda stood up and walked toward him, her hands at the tie on her waist. “If you want—”

“Gee, look at the time! You better get dressed.” He pulled her into her bedroom. “Unless you want Avery seeing you…seeing you…” looking like every guy’s favorite fantasy. He waved his hand. “Like that.”

Amanda smiled again, this one a little more confident than the last. Just what he needed. “You’re right.” She smiled. “Anything you want to watch while I’m getting dressed?”

His gaze flew up to meet her eyes before he realized she was talking about the TV that sat on her dresser. Pervert. “I’ll be fine.”

Without a word, she handed him the remote and departed to the confines of her closet, which appeared to be as big as his whole apartment.

He glanced around the room. Bed, dresser, big mirror over dresser.

She emerged three minutes later with a dress hooked over her arm. Lace scraps dangled from her hand and he swallowed. He really did not need to see her underthings. She headed for the bathroom behind him, and called over her shoulder, “I’ll only be a minute. Make yourself comfortable.”

Comfortable? She was just in the other room—naked, al fresco, bare, nude—he was in her bedroom, alone with her bed—he glanced at the Big Beast and laughed.

He should have known. It was a full-size bed with at two pillows that looked as if they’d been pressed and plumped.

Her comforter was a soft white thing and he was able to handle everything until he noticed the sheets peeking out from the corner.

Satin. White.

Geez. A part of him wanted to run screaming from the room. He’d never slept in satin sheets before, but suddenly his mouth was watering at the thought of doing just that. He collapsed on the bed and fingered the silky material.

Amanda slept here. Probably in some slinky lace teddy thing that cost more than one of his paychecks.

That was the way Amanda would make love. Silk, satin, candlelight and flowers. That’s the woman she was.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror, sitting on her bed like he belonged there. When they made love, every movement, every image would be vibrantly available right in front of his eyes.

God, he was getting hard. It was so easy to imagine.

She seemed so vivid, so real. All that white satin flesh reflected in front of him. A heart-shaped butt that was perfectly symmetrical. His hands clenched. She brushed out her hair, her arms raised, her breasts firm and uplifted. She looked more like one of those great Italian sculptures—Bernini’s Daphne—than a living, breathing woman.

Somewhere in the distance he heard a whimper. Yup, that was him all right. Weak, Barrington, very weak.

He rubbed his eyes, willing the fantasy away. But when he opened them again, she was still there, and that’s when it clicked. This was no fantasy. She was real, and he was sitting here, watching her reflection in the mirror.

Some bit of suspicion popped into his head. Was this on purpose? Another trick to get him into her bed? He looked down, noticed the way his jeans were suddenly four sizes too tight and admitted her trick was working.

Nah. He’d been watching too many conspiracy movies. Instead of playing the voyeur-extraordinaire, he should be watching TV. He leaned back against the pillows, pressed the On button and tried to concentrate on the images. It was a wasted effort.

TV was boring. Amanda getting dressed was not. And what would it really hurt? Hell, she had probably planned the whole thing.

His eyes, happy to be relieved of any guilt, cut back to the pure perfection of Amanda Sedgewick’s body. Her skin was so fair it was almost silver. She started to apply lotion to her body, her hands smoothing, touching, and in his mind he started to mimic her movements, as if he were rubbing her down.

She turned sideways, and sucked in her breath, patting her stomach, and Joe smothered his laughter. No, she didn’t know she was being watched.

At that exact moment, she lifted her head, and got a good long look at Joe Barrington in her mirror, eyes hot, jaw tense and mouth slightly open.

Busted.

He couldn’t look away and she didn’t even try. Her head tilted, a question in her eyes. Her fingers splayed on her stomach and then they moved. First up, to cover her breasts, almost in modesty, but mostly in seduction. Her fingertips trailed over her nipples, and he groaned.

She smiled, slow and aware, and her hands moved down, lower, lower. He rose, not thinking about any of the reasons he shouldn’t be doing this, and started toward her. All he wanted to do was to taste her skin, kiss that sinful mouth and tease the places that would make her scream.

He was halfway across the room and the intercom buzzer blasted above the sound of his own tortured breathing.

Avery.

Joe closed his eyes and found a chair in a far corner of the room. Far away from temptation, far away bedroom tricks with mirrors. A few seconds later, Amanda walked out of the bathroom, safely dressed in peach silk, her hair pulled back away from her face and twisted up on her head. She looked elegant, untouchable, and completely forbidden.

“Joe?”

“Go buzz him up.” His voice was hoarse and he had trouble forming words.

She didn’t respond, just stared for a minute. After three heartbeats, she turned away and walked out the room.

AMANDA’S LEGS were unsteady, but they carried her to the front door. She pressed the button to let Avery in and then rested her head against the door. She was turning into an exhibitionist and my, it was quite…stimulating.

If not for Avery’s untimely arrival, she knew exactly what would have happened.

It thrilled her to realize how close they had come and a part of her body was still humming, waiting for a release. Maybe he would stay after Avery left; maybe he would see how futile it would be to keep fighting the sparks between them. Maybe he would now understand that Amanda Sedgewick could tease and tempt just as well as any female that he might have favored in the past.

Maybe he could like her.

Avery knocked at the door, eliminating any more thoughts of a late-night seduction. First things first.

Dealing with Avery.

6

AVERY ALWAYS LOOKED so well-pressed. Amanda stared down at her own wrinkle-free silk, and grimaced. “Please, come in.”

He bowed low from the waist and brought forth a bottle from behind his back. “A rare vintage for the rarer flower.”

From her bedroom, she heard a muffled cough and she was glad she’d left the TV on.

“Avery, sit down.”

Obediently, he sat and then pulled a bottle opener from his jacket and proceeded to start uncorking the wine. “I brought everything but the goblets.”

She nearly ran to the kitchen, finding two crystal glasses. When she entered the living room once more, he was sniffing the cork appreciatively. With a loud clank, she placed them on her Danish modern coffee table, then seated herself on a chair that was a safe distance away. Not rude, but not encouraging, either.

He poured her a bit, then poured some in his own glass. “A toast.”

She didn’t lift her glass, but did place a wooden coaster underneath it. Just in case. “Avery, wait. You may not want to toast after what I’ve got to say.”

He cocked his head, his eyes curious and empathetic. The perfect doctor. “Yes? Please, say what’s on your mind.”

She folded her hands in her lap, the single frayed fingernail carefully hidden away. “Avery, I know you think you care for me, but I don’t think you really do….”

“Is this why you’re taking up with Joe, to make me jealous?”

“No, Avery. That’s not why.”

“Amanda, you’ve always been there on the fringes of my life. Ready to defend me when others wouldn’t dare. I’ve always believed you cared for me.”

“And I do. But as a friend. Is that what you want? You deserve much more.”

He took her hand, the one with the bad fingernail. “Having you, even just in friendship, makes me happier than being with any other woman who sees me as nothing more than a bank account.”

She stared into his warm blue eyes and wished she were the woman for him. He deserved someone good, nice, the perfect wife. Someone who could love him for every pompous, stuffy inch of him. “I wouldn’t be happy with friendship and you know, deep down, you wouldn’t either.”

“I don’t know, Amanda. You’re a wonderful woman, I think we’re well-suited.”

“You think you know who I am, but you would be miserable with me.”

“Why do you say that?”

She removed her hand. Took a much needed sip of wine. “I’m cold and heartless. I’m not pleasant when I don’t get my way.”

“Well, all women have their days.”

Her hand tightened around the stem of the glass. His lady-killer skills were lacking. Sadly lacking. “That’s a very sexist remark.”

“My apologies, of course.”

“Avery, we’re not meant for each other. I want to feel alive, I want to make a difference. I don’t feel that way when I’m with you.”

“And you do with Joe?”

She nodded. It was the truth.

“Why?” he asked.

More doctor questions. Good grief. “You’re not making this easy.”

“To put it quite succinctly, I think you’re trying to dump me, so I don’t have an obligation to make things easy.”

“I’m not trying to dump you. That would imply that something existed between us that never actually did. And never will. You’re a dear, dear, man—”

Avery cut her off at the pass. “You take your time, Amanda. We’re alike, you and me. Certainly more than you and Joe. You’re sophisticated, intelligent, ambitious.”

Amanda removed her hand. “And you don’t think Joe is?”

“My brother always did things his own way. He’s certainly not sophisticated, his intelligence, or lack of it, is the reason he didn’t go to school with you and me, and ambitious? What do you think, Amanda?”

“I don’t understand how you two can be brothers and be so completely opposite. You lack some of Joe’s better qualities, Avery.”

Avery shrugged, just like Joe. “All these years, Amanda, why did you stay my friend? I’d always assumed you had feelings for me. Were those feelings of sympathy?”

He looked at her, completely clueless. That was Avery. “No. I just saw things inside you that the other kids didn’t. I saw your potential.”

“Potential?” His laugh wasn’t pretty. “I was a project to you then? Science fair? Make the mouse into a man? You want to change the whole world, don’t you? Is Joe next on your list?”

That brought her to her feet. “You will not twist this around to suit you. Avery, what is between us is friendship, nothing more. It never will be.”

Silence overwhelmed the room, and for the first time, Avery Barrington, III looked beaten. “And that’s it, isn’t it?”

She cleared her throat. “Let me find someone for you, Avery. I have some friends who would love to meet you.”

His mouth twitched with amusement. “A date? You want to play matchmaker?”

“Yes. A novel concept. Fairly underutilized by the male sex, but quite effective. Would you let me?”

He struggled for words for a moment, adjusting his tie, taking a sip of wine. “What sort of woman do you envision for me?”

“Someone who would set the perfect table, have her hair perfectly coiffed, would have a warm cup of tea waiting for you when you get home.”

His smile seemed quite genuine. “It does sound quite appealing.” But then he frowned. “You would go with us, though?”

One step at a time, Amanda. One small step at a time. “With Joe, of course.” Again, the muffled cough from the bedroom.

Avery turned his head. “What is that noise?”

“The television.”

“Amanda, Amanda, Amanda…” Avery heaved an elaborate sigh. “He’s here, isn’t he? My rival, my blood, my brother.” Avery stood up. “Joe! You letch, show yourself!”

Joe appeared in the doorway to the bedroom, looking quite at home. Amanda was pleased. “Does anybody say ‘letch’ besides you?”

“There’s other terms, but I’m in the presence of a lady.”

Joe heaved an elaborate sigh, sounding just like his brother. Amanda studied him carefully, trying to decide if he was mocking Avery. But no, he didn’t even seem to know he did it.

She watched the undercurrents between the two men, not sure what to do. “Joe, would you like some wine?”

He smiled at her. A nice smile. A supportive smile. She really liked that smile. “Nah. I’ll just get a beer.” He strolled into the kitchen, again looking quite at home. Avery frowned.

Did she have beer in the refrigerator? Amanda thought for a moment, not sure that she did. But then Joe came from the kitchen, with a beer bottle in his hand. Well, she must have bought some. Joe sat down on the arm of her chair. Casual, possessive, and enough to cause a hot shiver to run down Amanda’s back. Was he changing towards her?

Joe tilted his bottle at his brother. “Avery, back off.”

Well, she certainly hadn’t expected that, but his defense was nice. Avery’s well-sculpted eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch. “Are you threatening me?”

Joe spoke with the lifelong weariness of a younger brother. “No, I’m not threatening you. I’m trying to help you.”

“What can you do to help me?” Avery asked with all the superiority of an older brother.

Amanda leapt to Joe’s defense. “Avery, be nice.”

Joe gave her a nice little hug for her effort. “You need to meet other women, Avery. Get out, do things. Live a little.”

“Like you do, you mean.”

“Exactly.”

Avery huffed. “I would never—”

“Joe’s right,” Amanda interrupted.

Avery looked at her as if she had suddenly turned into an Unidentified Female Object. “Do you really think so?”

Avery looked so earnest that Amanda felt a pang of sympathy. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

Joe leaned forward, putting the cool bottle against Amanda’s neck, a gesture that his brother noticed. She felt the cold sweat trickle down her neck and she crossed her legs tighter, squirming in her seat. Another gesture that Avery noticed. He cleared his throat. “What should I do?”

“I’ve got a friend. I’ll fix you up. Two weeks from Friday. That should be enough time. We can do dinner.”

Avery pulled out his Palm Pilot. “Oh, no can do. Have dinner with the parents Friday evening at The Four Seasons.”

Joe swore under his breath, which Amanda ignored, majorly curious at the thought of seeing Joe with his parents. How had he and Avery turned out so absolutely opposite? From what she remembered of the Barringtons, they were just like Avery. Joe had always been the rebel.

“Perfect! We’ll all go! Avery, I’ll call Penelope.” She batted her eyelashes at Avery, a blatant misuse of her feminine wiles. Necessary when engaged in battle. “Let’s!”

Avery shared Joe’s look of discomfort, but at least he nodded his head. “All right. I trust your taste in all things—” he glanced at Joe “—almost all things, so I’ll leave myself in your capable hands. A lump of clay to be molded, so to speak…”

“Good night, Avery,” Joe said, standing.

“But I’ve only just arrived,” Avery began.

Joe slipped an arm around Amanda. She leaned back against him, felt a warm kiss against her neck. Her blood heated and her lashes drifted shut.

She melted into her own little pool of nirvana and heard brisk footsteps on the cold marble floor and the sound of the door shutting decisively.

Heaven.

For one long moment, Joe stood behind her, she felt his heart beat against her back, felt the strong muscles in his chest, felt the all-too-real proof of his desire pressing against her thigh.

This was the moment she had waited for.

She turned in his arms, gazed up at his face, and prayed for his kiss. The blue depths of his gaze heated, then burned. Burned for her.

And then, at last, he blinked. He pulled away from her, his look turned cool, impartial.

Damn. She rubbed her arms, feeling a chill in the room for the first time. She looked around the empty apartment, so lifeless, full of white and empty spaces.

Then she stared at Joe. Black jeans, black boots, dark hair. No color at all, yet the apartment seemed full of his light, full of him.

He backed away farther. “Well, I suppose I should go now.”

“You don’t have to—” Amanda started.

“I owe you an apology,” he interrupted.

“For what?”

He shrugged sheepishly. “You tried.”

On the other hand, her grin was quite triumphant. “You noticed that, hmm?”

“I should have believed you.”

“Yes.”

“Next time I will.”

“Good.” She pressed her luck. She wanted him in her apartment, in her life. “Why don’t you stay for dinner?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why? Are you dieting?”

He laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Do you think I should?”

She studied the fitted shirt that clung to the broad shoulders, highlighting his hard stomach and smooth muscles. No jury would ever convict her if she jumped him right now. She closed her eyes and exhaled. Sanity returned. “You don’t need any more compliments, bucko. Your head’s already too big.”

“But they’d mean more coming from you—” he wheedled. Abruptly he turned away. “I should go.”

“I’ve got fresh pasta, homemade sauce. I can have garlic bread in less than thirty minutes.”

That got his attention. He took one step closer. “You really cook?”

“I told you, I’m full of surprises.” She picked up the glasses from the coffee table. Adjusted the magazines until the corners were perfectly even. “Stay, Joe.”

She met his gaze full on. Her desire was there, unhidden for him to see.

This time, he didn’t blink. “All right, I will.”

JOE SAT ACROSS from Amanda at the table, eating absolutely some of the best spaghetti he’d ever had. “You’re great at this.”

“It’s my father’s recipe.”

He stopped, his fork halfway to his mouth. “Your father cooks?”

“Don’t all men?”

Dangerous territory. He stuffed his mouth full and nodded, murmuring sounds of assent. He’d never thought about cooking before. Hmmm.

She laughed at him. There wasn’t anything mean or vindictive in her laughter, only something warm and…nice.

Maybe he should start cooking. Damn, she was starting to get to him. Maybe Avery had been onto something when he’d fallen for Amanda. Nah. He shook his head, refusing to admit Avery was right about anything.

“What’s your favorite thing to eat?” she asked, an innocent question.

He swallowed another mouthful of ambrosia. She had raised cooking to an art form. “Beef Wellington.”

Her smile could have been an art form as well. Mysterious, amused, a Mona Lisa look.

“You have your brother’s taste in food.”

“It’s a Barrington thing.” He shrugged it off, not wanting to think about similarities between he and Avery. As far as Joe was concerned, there weren’t any. “What do you like?”

“Breakfast. Eggs Benedict. Waffles, French Toast.” She closed her eyes and inhaled. “And hot fresh-brewed coffee.”

Eggs Benedict? He could do that, couldn’t he? He took in her exquisite look of pleasure and knew that he’d move heaven and earth in order to be the cause of that hedonistic expression.

For a moment the thought stunned him. Amanda and hedonistic didn’t belong in the same sentence. Yet, there she sat, looking like some Greek goddess ready to go splashing around nude in the water. His body responded instantly. Ka-pow. He adjusted the napkin on his lap. Just in case.

“You want to be a pilot.” A long strand of pasta dangled from her fork and she took it in her mouth, sucking it in like a kid. A dangerous combination of innocence and sexy cunning. Her eyes were wide and guileless, but her words were what mattered. Forget hedonistic, she was just trying to turn him into something he wasn’t. Sophisticated, intelligent, ambitious. He’d heard what Avery had said, and Joe wasn’t playing that game.

“Yes.” He studied the wine in his glass. “This is pretty good. What it is?”

“Avery brought it. I don’t remember.” She dabbed at her lips with the linen napkin. “Why?”

“Just curious.”

“No, why do you want to be a pilot?”

She wasn’t going to let him off easy. He gazed at the dazzling skyline outside the window. All those lights. All those dreams. And noise—the constant heartbeat that powered the city. Even at night it was there.

What about his dreams? He turned back to Amanda, and suddenly dreams and reality got all muddled. “It’s the ultimate. Man conquering the heavens. Steering a one hundred ton machine through the belly of the gods.” He laughed, embarrassed.

Amanda didn’t laugh, she looked serious. “You should do it, then.”

Ambition. Uncomfortable with that thought, he rolled his shoulder. “Yeah, well, then there’s reality, Amanda. Sometimes the price is too high. Not all of us were meant to be fabulously successful.”

“No one’s meant to do anything. Your life is your own. No one makes it or breaks it for you.”

“Yeah, I read that on a fortune cookie once.”

An awkward silence filled the room. He’d ticked her off. And maybe part of him did it on purpose. A ticked-off Amanda he could handle.

He watched as she carefully put her napkin down on the table, and then walked across the room. When she stopped in front of the stereo she bent slightly and adjusted the volume.

Every time she moved, he knew. Every time she breathed, he noticed. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t.

“I think Vincent’s going to have a case.”

Joe shook his head. “Excuse me?”

“I looked through the Times’ archives. The cleaning solvent manufacturer settled a case out of court. We filed suit against the company this afternoon.”

And Joe had thought Avery was amazing. “You’ve done all that in two days?”

She thumbed through the stack of CDs next to the stereo. “Really four. There’s Friday, plus the weekend, and then I got in early this morning.”

Just looking at all that energy inside her made him tired. “How early?”

“Doesn’t matter. Dessert?” There was an invitation in her eyes, clearly telling him she was willing to share more than a little chocolate. His mouth filled with the memory of her taste. He slowly put his fork down, then placed his napkin on the table.

“Speaking of early, I’ve got to be up at four.” He stood.

“Some other time,” she murmured.

He closed his eyes, wondering if he should do it. Could he make love to her, discover all the warmth and heat that lay under the cool exterior? He liked thinking of her as icy. That made her untouchable and safe. The thought of her pale blue eyes swimming with fire terrified him.

The next morning, he’d wake up and he’d have to look in the mirror, with Avery’s scent lingering in the air once more.

“You have a screwy sense of honor, Joe.”

For a moment he thought his conscience had developed a voice. She looked small and lonely staring out at the city.

His hands clenched. “Better screwy than none, right?”

Nobody laughed.

“You’ve got this role in your head that you think you have to play, but you’ve outgrown it.”

“No, it’s not a role. I just learned to accept who I am. Somebody’s always gotta take second place.”

“Joe, you’re more than that.”

His heart twisted. Heart twisting was not good. “Look, the affirmations are nice, but really, I like my life. You don’t need to change it for me.”

“You could do more,” she said quietly.

He thought about laughing, but she might take that wrong. No, he couldn’t do more. He’d tried to live up to Avery. That didn’t work. And now there was Amanda. “And that’s the difference between you and me, isn’t it? You’re like a fairy-tale princess who locked herself in some ivory tower far away from the real world. I like my world, though. I don’t want more.”

Amanda whirled around, her gaze fixed on him. She looked like she was ready to cry. Hell. “I’m going to paint my apartment red.”

Where did that come from? He looked at the beige walls, and the subtle prints. “Isn’t that a little extreme?”

“Red, Joe. Screaming red.” Her bottom lip turned up, and she planted her hands on her hips. The pale blue eyes were hot.

He needed to leave. Now. He took a step toward the door. “Red would be good. I need to go.”

She followed him. The sound of her sheer stockings sliding over the marble was an oddly intimate sound that he didn’t want to hear.

But she wasn’t done yet. “You’re using Avery as a shield, Joe.”

“Maybe I am.”

“Is the thought of making love to me so frightening?”

The thought of making love to her was pure bliss. But Amanda carried a high price. I’d just disappoint you, Amanda. Been there, done that. “I don’t want a relationship” is how he ended up answering her.

“Maybe I don’t either.”

“You’re not that kind of girl,” he said, wanting to get out of this conversation quickly. It was getting harder and harder to remember why he had to leave.

“And that’s the only kind you ever get involved with, right? I never said I wanted to marry you,” she said in a quiet voice.

“No, that’d certainly be a cold day in hell, wouldn’t it?” He took hold of the doorknob and twisted.

“Joe,” she put a hand on his arm.

He stared deep into her eyes, seeing concern and pity reflected there. The pity is what spurred him on. “What’s the matter, Amanda? None of your usual crowd giving you any? You want to get laid?” he said, trying to sound like he wasn’t dying inside.

Damn.

He had to get out of there.

“Good-bye Amanda,” he said, closing the door behind him. But instead of walking away, he just stood there, staring at the impenetrable barrier separating them.

No. Damn it all, no.

“Amanda?”

“Go away, Joe,” she said from behind the door.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have. Go away.”

Joe stuffed his hands in his pockets and started down the empty hallway.

Give it up, Barrington.

He spun on his heel and turned back. “Would Eggs Benedict help?”

“What?”

“If I made Eggs Benedict, would it help?”

“No.”

He had just pressed the elevator button, when she opened her door. “But you might want to try it anyway.”

7

THE SMOKE ALARM wouldn’t shut up. Joe kept dousing the pan with water, the kitchen floor was now completely wet. What a disaster. The fire was out, but the cast iron skillet still sizzled and popped. And then there was the smoke. Lots of smoke.

Bam. Bam. Bam.

The door sounded as if somebody was trying to break it down. Now what? Joe took one last look at the complete mess in his kitchen and then ran to open his door.

He fumbled with the lock, and the pounding stopped. He flung the door open. Vincent stood there with a baseball bat.

“You’re here!”

Millions of wiseass remarks sprang to Joe’s lips, but he remembered his resolution. For today, I will not be a jerk. “Yeah,” he answered.

Vincent charged into the room, brandishing the bat like a weapon. “I called 9-1-1—”

Sirens blared down the street.

“I’ve got everything under control,” Joe yelled, like he burned food in his kitchen every day. From his window, he could see the pride of New York running into his building.

Vincent disappeared into the smoke emanating from the kitchen. The fire alarm screeched in long bursts.

“What were you doing in here?” Vincent hollered. “I haven’t seen that much smoke since Manny Abramson cleaned his burners with lighter fluid. Even I can spot the difference between Fantastic and EverLight. I don’t know what they’re going to do with him. He can’t take care of himself much longer.” Vincent’s voice trailed off, and there was more thudding as the sound of heavy boots pounded on the steps.

The fire department was here.

Joe held up a hand as a team of six firemen appeared at his door. “S’all right this time, guys. Got everything under control.” Joe hoped the captain would ignore the blasting alarm.

The captain leaned against his ax. “You’re sure, son?”

Joe laughed in what he hoped was a confident manner. “Yup. A little accident in the kitchen.”

The fireman looked at him, a question in his eyes.

The alarm stopped. Thank God. Joe owed Vincent for that.

Joe nodded once more.

“Cooking?”

Joe felt a warm flush that had nothing to do with the heat from the kitchen. “Yes, sir.”

The fireman’s face split into a grin. “You wouldn’t believe how many calls we get like this. You single?”

“Yeah.”

The captain grew serious. “Well, we need to get a look at the kitchen, but it shouldn’t take too long.” After a quick but thorough inspection, the captain spoke to Joe. “Be more careful next time, son. One grease fire is all it takes.”

“Sorry, sir. I will. I promise.”

Joe waved until the men were out of sight and then closed the door, leaving him alone with Vincent, a smoky room and a huge mess. Time to get to work.

Vincent came out of the kitchen with the incriminating evidence. “What was this in its former life?” He held up the blackened frying pan.

Joe sank into his chair. His comfort. He ran a hand through his hair. The pan was history. One day old and it would never see another. There was a reason Joe didn’t cook. “Eggs Benedict.”

Vincent stared at the pan, then back at Joe, then back at the pan. “You need help.”

Well, that was the understatement of the year. He started to laugh, half in fun, half on the verge of serious mental collapse. It’d take more than carbonized Eggs Benedict to dampen his hopes. Joe sucked in some air. The day was still young.

“Yup. And I’m ready to learn.”

AMANDA ALLOWED herself to sleep in and woke up the next morning at 5:37 a.m. That was just enough time to wash, dry, curl and dress and still be at work by seven. She had just finished dressing when the bell rang. One of her neighbors? When she opened the door, no one was there, just a small glass dish.

She stared down the hallway. Empty.

Hmmm. She opened the lid and smiled. Eggs Benedict. There was a note attached.

Amanda,

Eggs Benedict, Day One. If you could please leave the container outside the door when you’re done. Don’t worry about washing it. I’ll take care of that. Also, if you could check the appropriate boxes below.

Too much cayenne

Not enough cayenne

Too cold, please heat more next time

Temperature just right

Sauce too runny

Need more sherry

Perfect

I wish things were different, Amanda.

See you soon,

Joe

She ate the eggs, marked the “Not enough cayenne” box, just to throw him off, and put the dish outside her door. She wished things were different, too. And if she got her way, they would be.

Amanda,

Eggs Benedict, Day Two. I added more cayenne, but it tasted really hot to me. See what you think. Also, I’m leaving you a cookbook for five-minute meals. You do too much.

Too much cayenne

Still not enough cayenne

Perfect

Still mad at Joe

Not quite as mad at Joe

See you soon,

Joe

Amanda,

Eggs Benedict, Day Three. Okay, I think I’ve got the eggs down now. Since you’re still mad, I made breakfast potatoes as well. They turned out pretty good.

Add cheese

Not enough cayenne (for the potatoes)

Perfect

Still extremely mad at Joe

Still mad at Joe

Potatoes were a step in the right direction

See you soon,

Joe

Amanda

Eggs Benedict and breakfast potatoes, Day Four. Do you think I should add some swiss cheese instead of the cheddar to the potatoes? Or maybe both?

Want swiss and cheddar

I hate swiss. Why didn’t you know that?

Ditch the cheddar

Ditch Joe

Still mad at Joe

Only slightly mad at Joe

See you soon,

Joe

Amanda,

Eggs Benedict and Breakfast potatoes, Day Five. I can tell you’re softening. The check marks don’t look so violent anymore. Glad you’re liking the potatoes. I brought some O.J., as well.

Don’t like O.J., please change to apple juice

Need coffee

Milk?

Thinking that Joe might be an okay guy

Thinking that Joe is an ass.

See you soon,

Joe

“SO, YOU’RE Mary Sunshine today. Looks like somebody is getting some.” Grace perched herself on Amanda’s desk, attired in an American flag pantsuit.

“Not some. Only breakfast.”

“A gentleman friend is making breakfast for you?”

Amanda buffed her nails on her white silk vest. “Only for the last five days. Eggs Benedict, potatoes, and café mocha.” Joe was coming around to her way of thinking; she knew it.

“Oh, that Dr. Barrington, he’s something, isn’t he?”

“No, no, no. It’s Joe Barrington, thank you very much.”

“No way, boss!”

“Way.” Amanda nodded, quite pleased with herself. “He gave me a cookbook, too.” And tonight, she was going to really let loose and make E-Z Chicken Stroganoff.

“Oh, sounds like he’s smitten. He really cooks, though? I mean, Lenny Titolo cooked a mean lasagna, but he really raised his brothers and all, and then after he married Mary McAnnally, he just turned into a porker. So, he really cooks?” Grace peered over the rims of her glasses at Amanda.

“Joe cooks quite well.”

Grace was impressed. “And if he’s good in the kitchen, is he just as good in the boudoir?”

“Grace, that’s none of your business.”

“He’s not, is he? Tsk, tsk. Those good-looking ones are always too confident. Please me, baby, or I’m outta here.”

That didn’t seem fair to Joe. Amanda defended him. “Actually, I must disagree. What I’ve seen is outstanding. He does these great long kisses.”

“Only kissing?”

“We’re going to close the deal real soon or I’m not Amanda Sedgewick.”

“Well, you go, girlfriend. I don’t know a man alive who can resist a woman with a little hanky-panky on her mind.”

That earned a frown from Amanda. There was one. Joe “I’m An Old-Fashion Neanderthal” Barrington. But that was going to change very soon. “I’ve never really seduced a man before.”

Grace peered from behind her frames. “No?”

Amanda bounced her pen on the desk. “Have you ever seduced a guy?”

“Millions of ’em.”

“Millions?” Amanda looked at Grace with new eyes.

“Well, four. Maybe five if you count Eddy Delvecchio.”

“What works?”

“Aggression. Honey, take no prisoners. You got to look ’em in the eye, and say, ‘I want your sex.”’ She pouffed her hair. “It’s never failed me. Except with Eddy, but he’s gay, and I didn’t know it until Linda told me, and then I didn’t want to believe her, but when he turned me down, and I had on my Lolita skirt, one hundred percent guaranteed satisfaction, I knew it was true.”

“What’s a Lolita skirt?”

“One of those short, little flouncy things and then you go commando.”

Commando? Amanda took a deep breath, taking note of the panty hose, camisole, and discreet white underwear that she was wearing underneath her dress. She didn’t know about going without underwear. That sounded extreme. And slightly wicked. She lowered her voice. “And everyone can see?”

“Well, only if they’re looking. You remember, Sharon Stone, Basic Instinct?”

Maybe there was something to it. “I bet fairy-tale princesses don’t go commando, do they?”

“No, a princess is strictly Victoria’s Secret. They don’t got the goods.” Grace stood up, folders in hand. “What’cha thinking, boss?”

Amanda started doodling on the paper in front of her. Skirts with panty-lines and Victoria’s Secret undergarments. She sighed and marked a big X right through the middle. “I’m thinking I never liked being holed up in an ivory tower anyway.”

ON WEDNESDAY Joe actually dared to pick up the phone and call her. She wanted an affair. He wanted an affair. Neither of them was looking for a serious relationship. Hell, that’d be a joke, wouldn’t it?

Still, this was Amanda, and all the lines, all the smooth moves that Joe had ever used, just didn’t seem to fit. for the first time in his life, Joe had no idea how to proceed.

Amanda needed romance and candlelight, and Joe wanted to give her that. But how?

All week there’d been dreams. Amanda was on 60 Minutes, being interviewed, wrapped in nothing but one of her white satin sheets. He kept waiting for the sheet to slip lower, but it never did. She answered every question with poise and confidence. Looking every bit like the superstar she was.

How could a guy live with that?

Joe couldn’t, could he? God, but he wanted to. Maybe there was a way after all.

It took a different sort of man than Joe to walk away from that sort of woman. He dialed her number.

THE NEW YORK CITY courtroom was imposing and awe-inspiring. Amanda loved to come here and absorb the scent of hundred-year-old wood overlaid with the smell of justice.

The lawyer for Clean-All Industries was Robert Kendall from Peters and Solomon. Amanda had heard of him, but had never seen him in action. He was one of those high-dollar sharpshooter attorneys. She tapped her pencil against her notes and tried not to smile. Today, she was going up against the big boys, and it was bad form to show your hand too early. Instead, she leaned down under the table and pretended to adjust her shoe, giving in to the urge to grin.

“All rise.” Amanda stood, giving Kendall a polite nod. He was toast.

Judge McKee was a stickler for starting on time and today he looked particularly impatient as he scurried into the courtroom, robes flying in his wake.

“Okay, let’s move this along. It’s my anniversary and I’m meeting my wife for lunch. I need to be out of here in,” he turned to the clerk, “how much time?”

The shorter lady at his side checked her watch. “Forty-five minutes, your honor.”

“Forty-five minutes it is.” After the attorneys stated their names and clients for the record, the judge pointed to Amanda. “Ms. Sedgewick, you’re up.”

Amanda stood up and took one last look at her notes. “Your Honor, Mr. D’Antonio has filed this action against Clean-All Industries alleging claims sounding in negligence and strict liability. In order to prepare this case, it is imperative that we receive the discovery requested, as reflected in Plaintiff’s brief and the exhibits and affidavits we’ve filed with it. The defendants’ objections are nothing more than roadblocks thrown in front of my client in an attempt to paper this case and hope that he’ll meekly turn tail and run.” Amanda shot Kendall a glance. “I assure you, Mr. D’Antoni is here for the long haul.” She glanced down to check her notes.

Kendall took advantage of her pause to interrupt. “But Your Honor, any alleged wrongdoing occurred over thirty years ago. Even if Clean-All was liable in this situation, and I’m certainly not saying that, the statute of limitations would long since have expired.”

Amanda frowned at Judge McKee, looking as if she was worried. “You Honor, Mr. Kendall can certainly raise limitations in a motion for summary judgment. But since he hasn’t, I suggest that we focus on the motion that’s before the court. My client has a right to the documents requested in the request for production. As you can see from the affidavits attached as exhibits A through T, we believe those documents will show that Clean-All was aware of the toxic component of its cleaner. We can prove that awareness through the settlement documents we’ve requested.”

“There was a settlement in this case?” The judge looked concerned.

“Not with my client, Your Honor,” Amanda answered. She’d anticipated that question from the bench. “Our investigation has revealed that three of Clean-All’s employees entered into a settlement in 1971. As you can see from the affidavits, that settlement resulted from the employees’ threat to sue for injuries resulting from breathing toxic fumes.”

Kendall interrupted. “Exactly, Your Honor. That was over thirty years ago. Limitations has run.”

Amanda stood up straighter. “The discovery rule applies in this case, You Honor.”

Kendall took the bait. “Your Honor, the employees Ms. Sedgewick is referring to were obviously aware of the alleged toxicity. There is no reason to believe that Mr. D’Antoni would not have been just as cognizant. The discovery rule doesn’t apply.”

This was it. Amanda cleared her throat. “It certainly does, Your Honor. Mr. D’Antoni was not in the same position as those plaintiffs. He worked for the airline, not Clean-All. Clean-All deliberately and maliciously failed to inform the airline—or its mechanics—about the dangerous effects of long-term exposure. Those documents that we seek go directly to both this concealment and to the broader question of liability. My client needs those documents not only to establish liability, but to counter any limitation argument that Mr. Kendall may choose to raise.”

Amanda turned to Kendall. Checkmate, my friend.

“Point taken, Ms. Sedgewick.” Judge McKee studied the papers in front of him. Amanda held her breath. All her ducks were in order. Her motion and brief, the requests and responses, the affidavits of the prior plaintiffs and copies of every single case she could find that even remotely addressed the point—all highlighted and tabbed for the judge’s easy reference, of course.

Finally, he looked up. “Very good, Ms. Sedgewick. Mr. Kendall, you should have done your homework. Motion to compel is granted. Mr. Kendall, your client has thirty days to turn over the documents that Ms. Sedgewick has requested.” The judge turned to the clerk. “How much time?”

The clerk checked her watch. “You still have thirty minutes, Your Honor.”

The judge grinned. “Perfect. I’ll have time to stop and get some roses.”

EDWARD POWERS, the senior partner at Amanda’s firm, was waiting at the back of the courtroom. What was he doing here? Witnessing her history-making legal triumph, that was what he was doing here. Amanda assumed a professional stance as he approached. “Edward, I didn’t realize you were here.”

“I had some papers to pick up, Amanda.” He held out a hand to her. “Excellent job.”

She shook his hand. “Well, it’s only the first step. Kendall wasn’t bluffing on filing a Motion for Summary Judgment, and his firm’s certainly got the wherewithal to bury us in paper. Even once we have documents showing the concealment, the legal briefing on the application of the discovery rule is going to be intense.”

“I have the utmost confidence in you, Amanda. You’ll be partner before you know it.”

Amanda nodded in what she hoped was a wise manner. “I hope I can live up to the high standards of the firm, sir.”

“Ambitious lawyers with a strong work ethic is all that we ask.”

Amanda smiled cheerfully. “That’s me, sir.”

Amanda waited until Powers was out of sight before she left the courtroom and took off down the main hall. She was going to be late meeting Joe.

THE METROPOLITAN Museum of Art was the one holdover from Joe’s childhood that he enjoyed. His mom had taken him here every Wednesday. It was an old habit, and for meeting Amanda, it was perfect. It was public, a place where they could talk and it was private, so they wouldn’t be disturbed.

She looked gorgeous, like normal. She wore a white suit. He was in jeans. It was nearly laughable. They wandered outside first, looking at all the sidewalk artists. Most painted for the tourists, using the New York skyline for subject matter.

There was one he wanted to show her, though. “Come with me.” He headed for the last vendor on the street—Martin Kandolfsky, an implant from Moscow.

Joe pointed to a small canvas, a blurring of blue and green, with swirls of white. “Can you figure it out?”

Amanda leaned in close, following the lines with her finger. “It’s human, isn’t it?”

“It is,” the artist replied. “Your untrained eye sees only a fraction of what can actually be contained on canvas. You paint a woman’s body and she is nothing more than the collection of her lines, curves, and shadows. You paint her soul, reaching for things she wants to achieve—her dreams, her passions—then, you have great art.”

Joe thought he might be right. At only twenty-four, the artist had already attracted a small following.

“So that’s a soul, not a face?”

Joe nodded. “Art, like everything else, should go beyond the surface.”

INSIDE THE MUSEUM, Joe and Amanda wandered around, finally ending up with the statues.

One marble figure caught her attention. “Andrew Jackson?”

Joe wasn’t surprised she had notice. It was good. “Yes.”

“In a toga?”

“The artist was going for a look.”

“Oh.” Amanda looked closer, inspecting it carefully. “It’s very realistic, but there’s something larger than life about it.”

“It’s the artist. He wanted everyone he sculpted to be something bigger than they really were. It should be so easy.”

She moved to the next statue, a young boy playing on cymbals, and then read the card. “Genius of Mirth.”

It was one of Joe’s favorites. Joy captured forever. The boy didn’t care what he was going to be when he grew up, he was caught in one moment, for a lifetime. “Thomas Crawford.”

“You like the sculptures the best?”

He nodded. “Marble is closest to how things really look.”

Her eyes studied Joe rather than the piece of art. “They look frozen.”

“So’s most of the world.”

Amanda tilted her head, her look full of questions.

Joe shrugged. “We all have moments where we go through the motions, just so we can have the times when we’re alive.”

“When do you feel alive?”

He never should have said anything. “You don’t want to know.”

“No, it’s a serious question.”

“You sure?”

“Tell me.”

“When I’m around the planes.”

“Not when you’re around people? I never pegged you for a loner.”

He held a finger to his lips. “Sssh. Don’t tell anybody.” Planes never judged anybody. And that was way too deep for this kind of an afternoon. Time to change the subject. “How’s work?”

Amanda began to glow. “Absolutely fabulous.”

Her good spirits were contagious. He smiled. “That good, huh?”

She began to pace in front of the statue. “I had to go to court today. Get a motion to compel for Clean-All to release some documents that were used in the prior case. We’re going to nail ’em, Joe. They knew exactly what their product was doing to people, and they ignored it.”

“You’re going to fix it, aren’t you?”

“Damn straight.” At the moment, she looked like she could rule the world. She looked at her watch. “Speaking of work, I should get back to the office.”

Was she that anxious to get rid of him? “You’ve only been here for ten minutes.”

“Yeah. I have loads of stuff to do.” She stared up at him, a look that made him nervous and terrified and more than a little glad. “I don’t want to go.”

That seemed easy enough. “Then don’t.”

“But then nothing will get done.”

“Yes, it will.”

“How?”

“You’ll get to it eventually.” He walked on down the hallway, and she followed. Then he stopped in front of a painting of a storm, a rocky coast and an old clipper ship cruising into disaster. It drew the eye, kept you fascinated, wondering what would happen. He’d have given anything to have that much talent, that sort of skill. “You see this?”

Just as he had done the first time he saw it, she traced it with her eyes. Noting the detail. The color. The passion. “It’s beautiful.”

“It took the artist eleven years to finish.”

Amanda laughed. “I bet it drove him nuts. I’ve got a two-page to-do list and that’s plenty.”

“Nah. He just had to finish things in his own way.”

She shook her head. “My boss would kill me.”

She worked too hard. “How many hours do you work in a week, Amanda?”

“Eighty to a hundred.”

She definitely worked too hard. “Haven’t you ever played hooky?”

“No, I’ve never needed to.”

That was about to change. “And when’s the last time you went to the park?”

Amanda thought for a minute. “I don’t remember.”

“You do work too much.”

“But if I don’t do my job, then people who really need my help won’t get it.”

Trust Amanda to be driven by something more humane than money. He shouldn’t have been surprised. “After a while, you’ll stop caring. Then what good will you do?”

“I can’t just take off.” She looked almost embarrassed.

Avery would say he was corrupting her. “Amanda, it’s a job. You have a life, too.”

“But I’ve worked so hard.”

Avery would be right. “And you’ve done wonderfully, but is that all you want to do?”

“You think I should quit and weave baskets in Montana?”

“No. But I think there’s a lot more inside you than just a career.” She should realize that. “Don’t you have a hobby?”

“Well, I used to cross-stitch, but then I never could finish, so I gave it up.”

He thought. “Do you read?”

“Oh, all the time. I have to keep up with the medical review journals, and then the Annals of Occupational Hygiene, and Ecotoxicology and Environmental Safety.” She stopped. “That’s not what you’re talking about, is it?”

Joe made up his mind and grabbed her hand. She needed a white knight more than she knew. “Come on.”

HE BOUGHT two hot dogs, one soft drink and a copy of Harry Potter. They found a bench outside a quiet spot, and he started to read to her. After two hours, she was enthralled.

“Why did you read this?” she asked. “I never would have picked it up. It’s a kid’s book.”

“I like Harry.”

“He’s kinda sad.”

Joe traced the hardwood bench with his finger. “Yeah, but he’s just an average kid.”

“Well, no, he’s a magical wizard, and for goodness sakes, he’s got a lightning bolt on his head.”

“Maybe, but I don’t think that’s the author’s point. It all boils down to one average kid trying to make his life mean a little more.”

Joe looked so earnest as he talked. Earnest and confused. Amanda reached out for his hand. “It’s just a book, Joe.”

He looked down at their two hands and laughed. “Yeah. Silly me.” When he looked up, his eyes were full of warmth. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Somewhere in the distance, dogs were barking and kids were laughing. But everything in Amanda was focused on the intensity in his eyes. They weren’t talking about Harry Potter anymore. “I’m glad you asked.”

“Amanda?”

She liked the way his voice dipped when he said her name. “Hmmm?”

“You’re nothing like what I thought you’d be.”

“How so?”

“You’re not so—” he pushed a strand of hair away from her face “—stuffy. I thought you’d be all business, all the time, but you get so fired up when you talk about your work.”

In a couple of minutes Joe was going to realize that it wasn’t her work that got her fired up. He moved closer and her nose tingled from the musky smell of his cologne. “I’m not all work, Joe.”

He traced her lips with a light finger and she shivered. “Not with that mouth, you’re not.”

“Is that an insult, Mr. Barrington?”

At the same instant she reached up for him, he lowered his head. Great minds. “I would never insult your mouth, Amanda,” he murmured against her lips. “Never.”

It started quite innocently, soft and teasing, a mere brushing of lips. His tongue traced just inside her mouth, shooting quick sparks of need through her. When she wanted more, he held back.

Today, he seemed to be in no hurry. She loved the flavor of him. It was wonderfully decadent. Joe was a temptation that she could not resist. He didn’t hide anything from her. His steady breath, the quickening beat of his heart. The way his hands stroked and pressed. All of it went straight to her head.

Quietly, a breeze settled around them. In the distance, the city moved forward. Cars honking and somewhere in the distance a man was singing. Yet their single bench had become a haven.

Unable to help herself, she took his lower lip in her mouth and sucked, fascinated by the feel of his jaw under her fingertips, the rough stubble that lined it.

Joe pulled her closer, until she sat in his lap, his hands pushing restlessly inside her jacket.

With an easy sigh, she melted into him. Already her body was beginning to throb and heat. Her tongue tangled with his, impatient, but then he slid his tongue deeply in her mouth and covered her heart with his hand, his touch gentle and soothing.

He kissed her with a slow, incessant rhythm that made her shift her hips until she could feel his erection underneath her. Even then, it wasn’t enough. She rubbed against him, the friction of his jeans a poor substitute for what her body was demanding.

Nearby voices buzzed in her head, reminding her of where they were. Joe lifted his head, tracing her cheek with an unsteady hand. “You’re making me lose it, Amanda.”

“You don’t look sad.”

“No. Not at all.” He looked down at his watch. “Look at the time. Three-thirty. You should go. You’re not going to finish all that work you have.”

He was watching her. This was another test. If it hadn’t been for an important call to Vincent’s insurance company, she would have stayed. She wanted to stay. But she did need to finish the prep work for the Fidelity negotiation, and a co-worker’s performance on the Northcott case was pretty spotty. If she didn’t look over his shoulder, nobody would.

“I can’t,” she answered, kissing him softly. Amanda stood, brushing out the wrinkles in her suit.

Joe shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “No big deal. I’ll see you later.”

THE NEXT MORNING, Amanda looked up at the clock on the office wall—8:30 a.m. If there was true justice in the world, it should be 5:00 p.m., considering she’d already put in four hours. She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. Her pens were lying sideways and her hand reached out to straighten them, but then she shook her head. Nope. Just gonna leave them. A little disorder never hurt anybody.

Maybe she should have slept in this morning, but gee, then she wouldn’t have finished the Petersons’ letter to National Mutual Insurance, outlined the depositions for the Leonard case, or read a fascinating discussion in the New England Journal of Medicine on the increasing rates of asthma in dairy workers. She’d made eighteen copies and distributed it into everyone’s mailbox. Quite productive, all in all.

She opened up her e-mail and scanned the listing of messages. There was one marked urgent from Powers. Ah, the morning was getting a little brighter. She leaned back in her chair and wished she could put her feet up on her desk.

With a cocky click of her mouse, she opened it up and read. Yeah, just as she suspected, Van Zandt was needing help with the Northcott mediation. She’d tried to tell Powers earlier, but did he listen? Noooo. Not to junior lawyer Sedgewick. Not until the case was so deep in legal quicksand, they’d be lucky to salvage any sort of settlement for Mr. Northcott. She reread the last line:

I know you’ve been working a lot of hours, but could you get with Van Zandt? I’d consider it a personal favor.

Personal favors. She saved the e-mail in her folder named Rainy Days Are Here Again, and went to see what was up with Van Zandt.

When Amanda entered Steve Van Zandt’s office, he looked up from his computer. “Hey there.” He smiled.

Amanda got right to the point. “Powers said you needed help.”

The smile dwindled. “Nah, I can handle it.”

Hmmm. She shook her head. “When’s the mediation?”

“Two weeks.”

“Who’s the mediator?”

“Lindstrom.”

He looked pleased. It was a nightmare. “Have you read his opinions for Flanagan v. Rockefeller Medical? Judge Lindstrom presided over that case when he was still on the bench.”

“Uh, no…When was that?”

“Look, you handle the motion to compel and I’ll take care of Judge Lindstrom.” It’d be a couple of extra late nights, but they could salvage this.

Van Zandt pushed his keyboard away and stood up. “I’m sorry.”

Amanda froze. “What for?”

“I should have gotten help earlier. Just found out my wife is pregnant, and well, we’ve been excited and I’ve taken some time off. It’s hard to work when your mind is elsewhere.”

She took a chair, amazed. She didn’t even know he was married. “Congratulations.”

His smile was truly joyous. “Thanks. It’s going to be a girl. Alexandra Michelle.”

“How do you do it?” Amanda had always just worked. It was a simple solution.

“You have to make it work, so you do. I’m going to cut back some. Take some easier cases. Wait until you have a husband or a family, then you’ll understand. You ever think about getting married?”

Not until recently. It had never seemed appealing before. “Some.”

Steve laughed. “You’re up for partner in a few months. Wait. Just you wait.”

She didn’t need to be thinking like that. Time to change the subject. “Why don’t you give me the files for the case? I’ll take a look. And if you need me, just ask.”

“Thanks. I owe you one.”

“No, you don’t. This one’s on the house.” Amanda took the files and walked out of the room.

She shut the door behind her and ran straight into Powers.

Amanda juggled the files in her hand. “Good morning, sir.”

“Assisting Van Zandt?”

“Yes, sir, but I don’t think he needs much help, sir. He’s doing a fine job.”

“Good, good. Like to hear that. Well, carry on,” he said, then he hurried down the hall.

Soon. She had five years under her belt and already they were dangling the carrot in front of her. Someday soon.

When she returned to her office she shut her door, then noticed a letter on her desk. Heavy stationary with gold printing no less.

She stared at the letter for a few moments before she opened it.

Dear Amanda,

Although a thank-you note seems out of place, I did want to set your mind at ease. I suppose it is time I move on with my life, but I need to thank you for giving me so much joy. You were kind to me when others weren’t, and dreamer that I am, I could conjure up Romeo and Juliet, where instead was only Falstaff and Cinderella.

You always were the consummate lady. Perhaps your only flaw was in being too much the lady, trying not to deflate my sensitive ego. Please forgive my persistence in the past. I seem to play the fool better than most.

I’ll say nothing more about my brother. You know my opinion on that subject. You are a pearl and he is Lothario reincarnated and back with a vengeance. Although perhaps I should credit him with some bit of shining armor that you seem to see in him.

I am looking forward to meeting your friend, and will watch my brother carefully. I do not want to see you hurt. If he does, he shall answer to me.

Sincerely,

Avery

Amanda dug in her desk for a box of tissues. Beneath that pompous exterior was a melted marshmallow. She needed to call and tell Penelope how lucky she was. Friday she would be going on a dream date with a marvelous guy—Dr. Avery Barrington, III.

All her life people had made assumptions about Amanda. Now she found herself guilty of the very same crime. The phone lingered right under her fingers. She should call Joe and tell him. This time there was no doubt. The plan was working. Surprise. Not only was Avery getting on with his life, but she was, too.

Now she had a life outside of work. She’d been to the park, a museum, a club, and she had started reading—for fun, even—and she had found the time to talk to her Mom on the phone.

But the biggest surprise of all, she was working fewer hours. Down by about five point seven hours per week, but still…it was a start. And she’d get better.

All because of Joe.

That made her smile. She leaned back in her chair and this time she did put her feet up on the desk—after all, the door was shut. She remembered their conversations, the way he looked at her with those magical eyes of his. All life and heat, and oh…she shivered.

Her fingers lightly touched the buttons on her phone. Maybe he’d just want to see her again because he liked her company. Because she could make him laugh. Because he wanted to kiss her. Because he wanted to do more…

She loved the way he kissed, so unrestrained, uncontrolled. Joe knew who he was, and when he kissed you, you knew it, too. And when he took her to bed…

Her eyes drifted shut. The men she’d dated in the past had never even kicked up a sweat in bed. Joe would be different.

He would carry her into the bedroom…. Nah, that was all wrong. They’d barely get the door shut and he’d press her against the wall. Yeah, that was Joe. He’d kiss her then. Muscles holding her against the wall, tongue thrusting inside her mouth, circling. Hungry and greedy. He’d be breathing heavily in her ear, telling her what he wanted to do to her. How she would scream.

Amanda clenched her fists a few times, taking deep breaths. Oh, this was getting good.

He would rip off her shirt, the buttons flying across the room. Her bra would be no obstacle, he’d unfasten the clasp with one hand. His desire had him whipped in a frenzy.

His desire for her. Every bit of her was throbbing, pleading for his hands, his mouth. Her nipples were hard and sensitive, aching to be touched. He’d tell her how perfect she was. Then his lips would clamp over her breast.

At last.

Sucking hard and fast. She would bury her hands in his hair, welcoming the pressure. But she wanted more. She rubbed against him, feeling his erection, the friction between them making her insane.

His hands would fumble at her skirt, and he’d rip his fingers through her hose. She whimpered, wanting relief. He would hold her hard against himself with his big strong hands.

Oh, it was magic, pure magic. His fingers would plunge inside her. Exploring. Discovering the exact spot that would make her beg.

She’d fumble with his fly, desperate now, almost crying to have him inside her. Wet and hungry for him. He’d laugh and tell her how hot she was. How good they would be together. She moaned weakly, anticipating. And now, just when she was ready to blow, he’d slow everything down to a torturous pace.

His fingers would play inside her, first two, and then three. Everything inside was building, centered on that heated flesh, damp between her thighs. He’d tell her how he wanted to make love to her all night.

She closed her eyes and whimpered.

All night?

Her eyes flew open and she dragged some papers across the desk. Teasing. She’d work her way inside his pants, touching him carefully at first. He’d be all silky and all hard, his breathing shallow. She’d stroke the tip of him, and then he’d moan, and so she’d get serious. He’d jerk up her chin, and their eyes would lock. Slowly she’d stroke him. Then faster.

She smiled to herself. This time, he would beg.

Finally, his pants would go. And then his…boxers or briefs? For Joe? Briefs, definitely briefs.

She could make some lawyer joke. Nah, that would spoil the moment, and she so, so, so badly wanted to get that powerful piece of him inside her. He’d pull her up until she was straddling him, her legs wrapped around his waist. And then, with one blessed thrust, wham, right inside her.

Oh.

He’d start to move and she’d hold on for dear life. He was ravishing her. Her back was pressed against the door, and each time he thrust, she would rap against the door.

The pencil pounded on her desk.

Bam.

Bam.

Bam.

Wait a minute…

Bam!

Bam!

Bam!

Her eyes flew open. “Amanda?” A voice called from the other side of her door.

Powers! Please, no.

Her legs flew down from the desk and she straightened her skirt. Oh, goodness. She pressed her thighs together, her muscles still a little jumpy. “Come on in.”

He entered her office and sat down in the chair opposite her desk. That meant he was going to stay.

Darn.

“Amanda, I’d like to thank you for your help with Van Zandt. You’ve been a real asset lately, picking up whatever needs to be done, finding cases on your own.”

“Did you need something, sir?”

“Yes. I have one more favor to ask. An old friend of the family is having some problems with his insurance company and I promised I’d help. I need someone good. I think you’re the perfect candidate.”

She stared at the pens, so upright and straight. Right in their place. This was it. This was the chance she needed. Help out an old family friend—fast-track to partner. She’d be the youngest one to make it at the firm.

“I’d be delighted to,” she started to say, and then stopped herself. “But you know, I don’t think I could give the client the attention that he deserves. D’Antoni’s case is going to be a real bear and with my existing caseload…The nice thing about Brown, Powers and McGlynn is that all the lawyers are top-notch and you can be sure your friend will get only the very best. You’ve done a great job assembling talent at this firm, sir. You should be proud.” Amanda took one of the pens from the holder and spun it sideways on her desk blotter. She waited, anxious to see his reaction.

His face fell. Disappointment. Darn. “I’m sorry to hear that, Amanda. I knew you were the one.” He rose and adjusted his jacket, and then started walking toward the door. And there was her partnership. Walking right out with him.

“Wait!”

He turned, raised a brow. “Yes?”

Amanda walked from behind the desk. She wasn’t ready to give it up yet. “If my schedule eases up, if we get a quick recovery from Clean-All, I could take it one.”

“But you can’t right now?”

She wavered, but in the end she knew her answer. “Well, no.”

“I see.” Disappointment was back.

Well, that was too bad. Amanda stood her ground. “No, I can’t right now. I’m sorry.”

He walked out the door and she collapsed in her chair.

What had she done?

8

AMANDA ARRANGED to meet Joe after work—five-thirty at Bow Bridge in the park. She tried to slip out at four-fifty-five without anyone noticing, but as luck would have it, Powers had decided to refill his coffee just when she was slinking down the hall, briefcase and keys in hand. “Out for the rest of day?” he asked, pouring a little sugar in his cup.

She could furnish all sorts of excuses, needing to meet with a client or just wanting to work at home. Any of the standard replies that a partner-in-waiting would make.

“Yes,” she said, waiting to see what token alibi she could come up with. But instead of the dedicated, ambitious, nose-to-the-grindstone person she was, she was struck dumb.

“I suppose you know the partners will be meeting next week? Going to see who’s naughty or nice. It’s no secret you’re up for consideration.”

“Is it that time of year?” she asked, knowing that the date had been marked on her calendar for several months.

“Yes, you’ve been working so hard. Doing so well. You have a bright future at here.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, discreetly checking her watch. She needed to get out of here.

“Are there any new developments in the Northcott case? Has Van Zandt messed it up too badly?”

“Oh, no, no, no. He’s got everything taken care of. Nothing much for me to do really. I set up a lunch with the insurance company next week. I think they’re ready to start talking about a recovery.”

“Good, good.” He leaned his hip against the counter. “I knew you were just the person to take on that challenge.”

“Anytime, sir.” Just not in the next two hours.

“And I’m going to keep you in mind. I wanted to talk to you about the D’Antoni lawsuit.”

“Yes, yes,” she nodded obediently.

“I’m not sure he’s got much of a case, Sedgewick. Are you sure there’s any potential for recovery there? It’s taking up a lot of your time. Without punitives, is it really worth it to us?”

She assumed her authoritative stance, looking Powers right in the eye. “Don’t worry. I’m thinking that once we show the other side the memos I found from their old vice president, punitive damages won’t be a problem. And Clean-All will be more than ready to talk settlement rather than risk getting slammed by a jury. Punitives will be the least of their worries. They’ll be clamoring for a confidentiality agreement to keep the news media off their back. And we’ll give it to them, too. For a price.”

“I’ll defer to your judgment.”

She sneaked a look at her watch—five-fifteen. She was going to be late. “I won’t disappoint you, sir. Now, if you’ll excuse me?”

Powers looked contrite. “I’ve been keeping you, haven’t I? Go on.”

“You’re sure?” she tried to look sincere.

“Take advantage of it while you can. After you make partner, these warm summer days will be a thing of the past.”

Amanda took off down the hall, and as soon as she got out the door, she ran.

JOE CHECKED his watch. She was late. Joe had never considered himself a punctual person, and it had never bothered him before to be kept waiting. But damnit, he’d been counting the minutes all day, and some little part of him had hoped she’d been counting as well. Wrong again, Barrington.

When summer was winding down, Central Park was always busy at six o’clock. There were mothers with toddlers, roller-skating businessmen, and the usual assortment of kids on scooters.

A collie bounded by with a Frisbee in its mouth and its owner in hot pursuit. For a few moments he watched the park, and then he saw her.

She walked with such an easy grace. Her hair swaying around the shoulders when the wind caught it. Heads turned when Amanda walked by, but she was always too busy to notice. He looked down at his own casual dress and frowned. He should have dressed up more. She was dressed in gray pinstripes and it should have looked manly, but jeez, the fitted material did nothing to hide her curves.

Okay, so maybe the day was improving. Radically. Damn, he was lucky. That blonde—that gorgeous, intelligent blonde—was heading right for him.

“Hello, handsome.”

“You’re late.” Not the “I’ve got to make love to you or die” that he wanted to say, but close enough.

“Do I get a kiss?”

She didn’t need to ask, his hands were already reaching out. Amanda leaned in, fitting his body perfectly. At the first touch of her lips, heat seared through him, stealing his breath. God, he could never get enough of her.

He fisted his hand in her shirt, pulling her closer, positioning her between his thighs. She rocked up against him, and he heard someone moan. That someone was him.

How could someone who looked so delicate, so fragile, kiss like that? He needed to breathe, draw some sort of oxygen into his lungs, but he couldn’t move. He could stand here for days like this, just feasting on her mouth.

She tore her lips away and buried her face in his neck. He could feel her heart racing against his chest. Maybe it was his own. “Are you doing this deliberately?”

“Doing what?” he managed, when his brain resumed rational thought.

“First the museum, now here.” She raised her head. “Always in public. Never private. Why?”

Because she was different. She was the Ritz and champagne, and he didn’t trust himself to be alone with her, not until the time was right. He took her hand, noticing how small and pale it looked in his own. She kept her nails painted. An impeccable pearl-pink. He dropped her hand and shrugged. “I hadn’t noticed.”

She didn’t buy it for a minute. “The truth.”

This time he looked at her, really looked. “Amanda, what do you want?”

“I told you, the truth.”

“No. I mean, what do you want this to be? A fling? Something more?”

When she stared up at him like that, all starry-eyed and full of ideas, he got scared. Part of him wanted to sit her down and say, “I’m not your man.” But he held his tongue, waiting, trying not to anticipate her answer.

“I got a letter from Avery today. Mission accomplished. He’s giving up on me.”

The words frightened him. There were no more excuses anymore. Now everything was real. “What do you want?” He repeated his question, needing her answer more than anything now.

“For the past couple of months, I was thinking just a fling. You always seemed so…unconstrained.” Her blue gaze locked with his. “I wanted that.”

“Is that what you want now?” If she said yes, he would walk away. There were women he could take. A few hours of mutual satisfaction before he’d get dressed and leave in the middle of the night. But not Amanda.

“No. I want to see where this goes. You can change me, Joe, and that’s what I want.”

Change? She wanted to change something? “Why the hell do you want to change? You’re perfect.”

Amanda laughed. “No, I’m not. I don’t have a life outside work and I can never relax. I stay up late at night and I don’t watch old movies or raunchy cable shows. No, I study case law and read about malpractice.”

He took her hand, perfect nails and all. “I thought you loved being a lawyer. Going to be on 60 Minutes, change the world. Remember that?”

“I don’t know. Right now I don’t want to think about work. I don’t want to think about anything. What about you? I told you what I was thinking. Now it’s your turn.”

“We don’t have to do that.”

“Yes, we do,” she answered, using her lawyer-voice.

Resigned to his fate, he sighed. “What do you want to know?”

“An affair? More?”

He couldn’t believe how completely calm she was, while his palms were starting to sweat. Still, she had been honest. God only knows why, but she wanted a relationship with him. There were expectations with a roll in bed, but he knew he could handle that. But the expectations from a relationship scared him. Responsibility, ambition.

This time, he wouldn’t fail. “More,” he answered quietly.

“Where to from here?”

To bed, straight to bed. Her smile was flirty, her eyes giving him all sorts of ideas. No, he had a plan for her. Romance, seduction. He wanted their first time to be unforgettable.

“We take things slow. I want everything to be perfect for you.”

“What could be more perfect than today? Look at the sun, the flowers. I don’t want slow.”

He cleared his throat, banishing all sorts of visuals in his head. “Amanda—”

She interrupted before he could finish. “You don’t understand. When I said unconstrained, I meant unconstrained. Spur of the moment, spontaneous, live life to its fullest and all that.”

Joe stared, trying to make up his mind. It was tempting, she was tempting. Finally, he decided. “Unconstrained, huh?” He kinda liked that image. he tugged at her hand. “Walk with me.”

“What?”

They walked to the Shakespeare’s Garden. It was quiet and out of the way. A few couples lingered on the edges, but he made his way deeper into the garden, where the tall grass and shrubs shut out the rest of the world. This would be perfect. Roses bloomed everywhere and a wooden fence appeared and disappeared between the trees.

He leaned back against the fence. “What do you see?”

“Shrubs. Flowers. Trees,” she replied.

This time he pulled her against him, his hands spanning her waist, keeping her close. “Now. Close your eyes. What do you smell?”

She sniffed. “Your skin. The grass. New York.”

He pressed a kiss against her neck. Trailed his lips over her ear, let his tongue explore her softness. It was with great satisfaction that he heard her long sigh. “What do you hear?”

“Your breathing. The wind. Whispers.”

“That’s a long way away, Amanda. Nobody’s here.” He turned her in his arms and began to work the buttons on her blouse.

“What are you doing?”

“I thought you liked unconstrained? I’m trying to help.”

Her eyes flew open, full of shock. “Joe!”

He used his fingertips to close her eyes, watching the pale lashes flutter on her cheeks. A flush colored her cheeks, rose under marble. “Nobody’s here. Nobody can see.”

He pushed the silken material aside, his hands undoing the clasp between her breasts. “You have such beautiful breasts, Amanda. Absolutely perfect.” She felt his rough fingers touch her hard nipples, his thumbs brushing against them softly. “It’s the wind, Amanda.”

She kept her eyes tightly shut, her thighs clenching together. Already she felt herself throbbing and swollen.

His mouth closed over one of her breasts and pulled. “You taste like honey,” he murmured. His strong hands kept her in place, hands that she had longed to feel all over. A sharp breeze blew across her bare flesh and she shivered. Hot and then cold.

“Oh, please.” She kneaded the hard strength of his arms with her fingers, but it didn’t help.

“Please, what? What do you feel, Amanda?”

“I’m gonna die.”

His knees parted her legs, and she felt the hard length of him pressing against her thigh. In the distance she heard voices. She wanted to cry out, tell him to stop, but then his mouth closed over her other breast, his tongue circling her nipple, sending warm tides of pressure between her legs.

“What are you thinking about, Amanda?” he asked, his voice seductive, taunting. He licked a drop of sweat that collected between her breasts. “Are you afraid they’ll see you? You shouldn’t be afraid.”

Her legs were starting to shake, her blood pumping there like a heavy pulse.

The voices grew louder.

“We have to stop,” she said, even while she was pulling him closer.

His hands tangled in her skirt, cupping her bottom. “What do you want?”

“I want you, Joe. Now. Please.” There was the sound of footsteps getting louder, then just as quickly, they grew softer, more distant.

“Here, in the park?” His laugh was wicked. “But that’s so…unrestrained.”

She wanted to scream at him. Anything, anything to relieve the urgent ache between her thighs. Tight with frustration, she curled her hips up to his erection and ground against him—hard. It was with a high level of satisfaction that she heard his indrawn gasp. “Now.”

Her pager went off. In the quiet, amidst only the strained sound of her breathing, was the blasted chirping that she was ready to condemn to the bowels of telecommunications hell.

He lifted his head and stared at her. His blue eyes were filled with fire. With a trembling hand, she searched in her purse for the blasted device. She took a long look at the number flashing there. Powers.

She tossed the pager up and down like a baseball, eyeing the bushes, thinking how good it would feel to hurl the thing right over midfield. But the damned numbers kept flashing and finally she couldn’t stand it anymore.

By the time she’d made up her mind, Joe’s eyes had cooled, though the teasing gleam was still there.

He pressed one last kiss against her breasts and then fastened the clasp. Quite deliberately he buttoned her blouse, the light touches sweet torture against her oversensitized nipples.

“Joe…”

He waved a hand. “Like I said. Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you soon.”

She straightened her blouse, and her skirt, making her heartbeat slow to a manageable rhythm. No big deal. Right? When she finally got herself together, she searched the path for him, but it was too late. Joe had already disappeared.

9

THEY WERE SUPPOSED to go out on Tuesday. At the last minute, Joe cancelled. He had to work. They tried to meet at a bar on Wednesday, but he got called in for something from his boss. Amanda didn’t want to believe he had an ulterior motive for not seeing her. When Friday rolled around, Amanda stared at the office phone all day, half expecting Joe to cancel the dinner with his parents as well.

Over lunch, she pored over old Clean-All memos and called Penelope, just to confirm.

Amanda had arranged for Penelope to meet Avery at the Barringtons’ house and then they’d all leave from there.

Just when full-blown panic emerged, late Friday afternoon, he called from the airport. He would pick her up at her apartment and they would go to his parents’ house. Apparently Joe stood by his commitments.

The subway ride was quiet, filled with commuters leaving the city at the end of the day. She didn’t say much, didn’t see the point. Apparently Joe didn’t either. But he watched her.

He was wearing a tie today. A tie. Even in a jacket and slacks, he looked rough and untamed. She noticed several of the ladies looking at him, but he didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he was used to it.

She grabbed a pole as the car squealed to a halt.

“Bayside. Watch the door, please.”

Joe held out a hand. Tonight he was the gentleman. She held tight, lingering as long as she could get away with. She loved his hands, loved their strength and hardness.

When they got outside the station, the air cleared, and a breeze ruffled her hair. The Barringtons lived a few miles from where she lived when she was growing up. They rounded a corner and he pointed to a well-maintained colonial with a rose garden beneath the bay window.

“This is it,” he said, looking a little pale.

Her palms started to sweat, but she didn’t have any reason to be nervous. So she was meeting Joe’s parents. Big deal. Would they remember her? She’d only met Mr. Barrington once when he had driven her and Avery to a junior varsity football game. St. Albans was a long time long ago.

Before he rang the bell, Joe straightened his tie, and took a deep breath. Fascinated, she watched him. He was really nervous about this.

Why?

When the door was opened by a tiny woman with a loud voice, Amanda understood. “Joseph Matthias Barrington, as I live and breathe.” Phyllis Barrington. She swept him into a mother’s hug.

She stepped back and gave Amanda the once-over. “So…” she murmured, and then took Amanda by the arm, leading her inside the house.

The Barringtons’ place was actually quite homey, with lace doilies here and there that probably belonged to generations of prior Barringtons. The wall over near the fireplace was covered with family pictures. Sensing an opportunity to do some serious snooping, Amanda took a look. There was Avery with his dad at high school graduation, Avery throwing his cap into the air, Avery in a doctor’s coat, Avery holding up a fifteen-pound bass, presumably the same one that was stuffed—did they really stuff fish?—and mounted over the bar. And there was more. But not one of Joe.

Mrs. Barrington sidled forward. “Amanda, you must call me Phyllis. Avery’s told us so much about you. And you practice law. Imagine! A real barrister. Of course, Avery’s uncle Herbert was a lawyer, too, you know.”

She tapped Amanda on the arm. “Oh, listen to me. Avery senior just tells me to put a plug in it, but after thirty-eight years of marriage, I don’t listen to him. Just find my restful qi.”

Her qi? Amanda shot Joe a “help-me” glance, but Joe was carefully studying the old upright piano, strategically ignoring his mom.

“It’s about time we finally met, seeing as how Avery feels about you.”

“She’s my date, Mom. Not Avery’s. We’ve been seeing each other for a while, now.” Joe came over and threaded his fingers with Amanda’s.

She looked at him, wondering what he was doing. Was this a pretence of a pretence? He smiled at her, but it was strained. Obviously going home wasn’t easy for Joe.

She rubbed her thumb lightly over his, a comforting gesture more than a come-on. He squeezed her hand in response.

Not really knowing what else to do, Amanda smiled brightly. “That’s right.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Barrington looked away. “Oh.” And her smile faded some. “Would you like to see my artwork? I’ve got a gallery in the next room.”

Amanda noticed one painting, then another on every wall. “You paint?”

“Sculpt, actually. Marble. It’s so much closer to reality. Do you like sculpture?”

Amanda smiled as the last piece of the puzzle slipped into place. “Well, Joe’s been teaching me—”

The doorbell rang and Joe coughed loudly. “Better get that, Mom.”

While Phyllis went to the door, Amanda tempted fate and reached up and kissed Joe on the lips. Just once. Lightly, warmly. He looked at her, surprised.

“That’s a mercy kiss, isn’t it?”

“Why Joseph Matthias Barrington,” she murmured, and then kissed him again. “That was a mercy kiss.”

He looked ready to say something, but then Avery, his mother and Penelope walked into the room. Whatever he had been ready to say, it’d have to wait.

Penelope turned heads with her dark looks and perfectly polished veneer. She wore black as a rule, with Jimmy Choo pumps. Amanda didn’t do black very often, it tended to make her look washed-out. However, on Penelope it was sophisticated and chic.

Avery took charge, impeccable in a dark suit that seemed just right for him. “Mother, I see you met Amanda. Joe, may I introduce Ms. Penelope Farnsworth.”

Penelope looked from Avery to Joe, back and forth, like a dieter let loose at Ben & Jerry’s. “You have an amazing set of offspring, Mrs. Barrington.”

Phyllis looked at her boys and blushed. “Thank you, Penelope.”

Avery rubbed his hands together, pleased as always. Amanda noticed he seemed quite taken with Penelope, which was one small step on the way to an Avery-free life. Mentally she cheered.

“Well, should we all depart?” Avery asked. “I hired a car service for the evening. It’d be quite snug in the BMW.”

Penelope nearly swooned.

Phyllis positively glowed. “We just love riding in the limo. Our Avery, he does so much.”

Joe looked at Amanda. “You ready?”

She grabbed his arm for support. “Sure.”

WHEN THEY ARRIVED at the Four Seasons, Joe saw his father waiting for them in the lobby of the restaurant.

“Son.” He clasped Avery’s hand in a manly ritual of affection.

Joe spared him and simply waved. “Dad.”

His dad smiled back. They all understood each other.

Avery Senior turned to Amanda and held her at arm’s length. Phyllis’s brows rose in warning, but he ignored her. “And this is Amanda. My, how you’ve grown!” He smiled at Avery, full of masculine pride.

Amanda, new to the Barrington family eccentricities, stepped back and took Joe’s hand. “If it hadn’t been for Avery, I’d have never met Joe.”

And then she kissed him.

On the lips.

That made three times tonight. Joe was counting. At that moment, he didn’t want his father there, or his mother, or Avery, or Ms. Penelope Farnsworth. Right now he wanted to be alone with Amanda. He wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms and forget about everybody else.

Giving in to temptation, he kissed her back. Longer. With feeling.

Someone coughed, and the maître d’ murmured a low, “Good evening, Dr. Barrington.” Joe looked around and discovered that once again he’d embarrassed the family. He stared back at Amanda and shrugged.

Too bad.

They proceeded into the restaurant and were seated at a large round table in the center of the room.

Avery monopolized Penelope in conversation, and Amanda, well, Amanda was just watching him with pale, blue eyes. Tonight they were definitely hot. And for the first time tonight Joe found himself looking forward to dinner. He didn’t know if it was the tight red dress she was wearing, or something else, but she was smoldering, and in the best possible way.

He just wanted to drown in those eyes. The wait-staff came and went, bringing wine and appetizers. Avery had handpicked the menu for them this evening and everyone seemed to be too busy talking, discussing the food.

“He’s doing very well this evening,” Amanda said, tilting her head in Avery’s direction.

“Yeah.”

“It looks like he wants her.”

“Yeah.” He studied his brother, noted the way his eyes never left Penelope. Avery was never that centered on another person, except at work.

Amanda heaved a sigh, the red material of her dress lifting nicely. “Avery’s not the only one. I know what I want now.”

“And what’s that?”

“Why don’t you take me home and I’ll show you?”

Joe closed his eyes, picturing Amanda wrapped in white satin sheets, her hair streaming down her shoulders. He pictured her in his arms, watching her face as he moved inside her.

Would anybody notice if they left right now? He checked his watch. Three more hours.

Her dress caught his attention again. It wasn’t her style at all. He’d almost said something, but then stopped himself. Was she doing all this for him? Because that’s what she thought he’d like?

He lifted the bottle of cabernet. “Wine?”

Instead of answering, she took a fork and studied the feast in front of them. “Do you like oysters?”

“Yeah, they’re okay.”

She loaded an oyster on her finger, and raised it to his mouth. “Try this.”

He stared at the soft white meat, but knew he was hungry for more than seafood. He closed his lips over her fingers, his tongue lapping at the soft meat, slow and methodical. With a heavy-lidded gaze, he watched her, noting the way the pulse at her throat was pounding.

He was almost painfully hard, really liking the idea of leaving. His parents were totally preoccupied, laughing and chatting with Penelope and Avery. Nothing strange about that. Tonight he didn’t mind, though. He turned his attention back to Amanda.

His hand slid under the table, flirting with her thigh. He walked his fingers upward, letting her see exactly what he intended. She was biting her lip, her eyes half-closed. And then her knee bumped against the table, and the silverware went clanking. She jerked her leg away, blushing.

And then the next course arrived.

He tried to eat, but his gaze kept drifting back to her. His hand would stray near hers, an accidental touch. Maybe their thighs brushed up against each other, but each time he’d pull back. Patience, Barrington. Patience.

“Joseph, how are those planes doing?” his father asked, jerking Joe out of his fog.

“Good,” he answered.

“What planes?” Penelope asked, wiping her mouth daintily.

“Joe works for the airlines.”

“Oh, are you a pilot? I think that’s just so cool…”

Avery Senior coughed. “Ah, no, Joe’s a mechanic, but we’re proud of you, son.” He winked.

Joe wanted to slide under the table.

Instead, Amanda picked up his hand and traced her fingers against his palm. “You know, when you fly, you trust yourself to these hands. You trust that when he checks the instrument landing system, everything will be okay. When he inspects the turbine rotor discs, you know the engine isn’t going to shut down in midair, or when the oil pressure isn’t just right, you know he’ll ground an airplane rather than risk a problem. When you board a plane, there are a lot of people who work together to make sure that you walk off in one piece. Nobody ever thinks about that, do they? But that’s what Joe does.”

His jaw dropped. Good thing he had no food in his mouth, because he would have sent it across the table. Where the hell had she learned all that? She looked at him and smiled, that confident, lawyerly, “I’m going to be on 60 Minutes” smile, and he felt something pulling at his heart.

That something was Amanda.

10

THEY ALL WENT ballroom dancing at Some Enchanted Evening on 57th. It was an old-fashioned place that his Mom and Dad frequented on their anniversary. There were round tables circling the dance floor and a full band played old music from the 1930s and ’40s. Far above them, a disco ball shot stars on the ceiling. If he’d been there with anybody else, Joe would have spent the evening cracking jokes about how lame it was.

Tonight he wasn’t in the mood for jokes.

One and one-half hours left on his date with Amanda. One and a half hours before he saw Cinderella safely home.

She was an excellent dancer—no surprise there. The way he figured, she did everything well. He swirled her around to the tune of some forgotten love song and pulled her in closer.

She snuggled against him. “I’m thinking you’re a really good actor.”

He smiled. “And I’m thinking you’re a really good wiseass.”

“What’s Avery doing?”

“Boring Penelope with his life story.”

“Really?” Her head jerked toward the small table, where Avery and Penelope appeared to be having a marvelous chat. “It’s working, Joe. I told you.”

He humored her. “Yeah. Maybe you were right.”

“Of course I was right. You’d be surprised about how many things I’m right about. Like us, for instance. Admit it, Joe. We’re good together.”

He kissed her, long and lingering, his fingers grazing over the curve of her shoulder.

His possessive gaze trailed over her, noting the designer outfit, the discreet line of pearls at her throat and her ears, the pinned-up hair, twisted and poufed. There were dreams and then there was reality.

Each time he looked at his parents, his mother waved at him, as if he’d never grown up. Well, she was wrong and soon he would prove it. As if on cue, his cell phone rang.

He walked Amanda off the floor and answered. “Yes?”

“Joe, Buzz here. You wanted some extra hours, right?”

“Yeah.”

“We could use you here tonight. Got a few ‘B’ checks left over in the hangar. If you’re interested?”

“I’ll be right there.” Joe hung up and put the phone back in his pocket.

“You have a cell phone?” The way Amanda stared, he might have had two noses instead.

“Doesn’t everybody?” He kissed her quickly. “Listen, I need to leave. Come on outside, and we’ll take a cab home.”

“Leave?”

“Yeah. Work.”

“Work?” she repeated with a hitch in her voice, that had nothing to do with affection and everything to do with anger.

Of all the people in the world, he’d figured Amanda would be the one to understand this. While watching her mouth tighten with fury, he realized he’d figured wrong.

“Are you doing this on purpose?”

“What?”

“Work. Is this to teach me a lesson?”

Joe rubbed his eyes, trying to soothe the power-drill that was humming in his head. It didn’t help. “What are you talking about?”

“Why are you working so much?”

And it was about time she noticed. “Maybe it’s time I grew up. Look at you, look at what you’ve done. I’ve been telling myself that I was happy where I was, that I didn’t want anymore. Maybe I was wrong.”

Amanda went quiet. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Never better.” He kissed her once, and then again.

When she looked up at him, this time he saw uncertainty reflected in her eyes. “I need to see you, Joe. Alone. This waiting is driving me crazy.”

She thought she was going crazy? Joe’s hard-on was becoming a permanent fixture in his life. But he wanted their first time to be special. Something elegant, fancy. Something she’d remember for a long, long time. She walked with him out the door. “Soon, honey. Soon. I promise.”

Amanda held his arm. “Stay, just a little bit longer.”

“Can’t. Look, I’ve got a few hours off on Saturday. I’ll call you and we’ll do something then.”

“Have sex?”

Just for that, he kissed her again. “Amanda. I’m shocked.” He tried to keep his tone light, but if he sounded like he was completely turned-on, well, there it was.

Her cool blue eyes flashed at him. Damn, she looked good when she was angry. “I don’t want you shocked, I want you aroused.”

Like lightning, he had her pressed against the wall. Locked together from breasts to thighs, he made sure she felt every tortured inch of him. “You don’t think I want you? You think I’ve been killing myself to keep from touching you—” he laughed “—God, I can’t even do that right.”

“You must be joking,” she said, sounding completely rational.

Her calm attitude did it. He didn’t answer, instead took her mouth with more teeth and anger than finesse. He didn’t care. He tangled his hand in her hair, and pulled until her mouth opened beneath him. Still it wasn’t enough. Right now, anything short of full-body possession wasn’t enough. He dragged his lips where her dress skimmed her breast, sucked hard, marking her. Damn it, she was his. Her hands twisted on the front of his jacket and he heard a whimper come from within her. Fear?

That stopped him. He lifted his head, and stared, frustration and desire beat like a drum behind his eyes. Her lips were swollen where he’d kissed her, her eyes were more shut than open, and her prim little bra peeked out from beneath her not so prim dress.

Still, there was no hiding the victorious gleam in her eye. Somehow that only made it worse. “You did that on purpose,” he said.

With trembling hands, she fixed her dress. “Damn straight, Barrington. You sure you have to go?”

Satin sheets. Satin sheets. Satin sheets.

He didn’t answer, just tucked her into a cab and then took off for the strain station. The long walk was just what he needed to cool off.

Soon, Amanda. Very soon.

11

THE WEEKEND PASSED in one caffeine-induced blur for Joe, but by the time Monday morning arrived, he was feeling rather proud of himself. He had booked a suite at the Ritz for Saturday night, had a reservation for two at Chanterelle and had arranged for two dozen roses to be delivered to her office on Friday.

Yes, everything was falling into place.

When the final reservation was confirmed, he called Amanda. The weekend would be a surprise. His gift to her. Hopefully, it’d be one she’d never forget.

It was about time he was living up to his potential. Joe arranged to start flying lessons in October. The money would be a little tight, but his crew leader had been great about letting Joe work extra hours.

After twenty-seven years as Avery Barrington’s no-account brother, Joe was ready to do something about it. Amanda would be proud.

It was 10:00 a.m. before he finally had a break. Working out on the line was hard work, which was good. They were too busy getting the planes in and out of the gates for him to think about her. Making love to her. Sliding her oh-so-prim bra right off her shoulders and watching her eyes drift with pleasure. He looked at his hands, wishing they weren’t so rough, wishing they weren’t so…crude.

He stared out the terminal window, wondering why he hadn’t been an engineer, or a Wall Street mogul, or some other mogul.

Because he liked planes.

Damn it.

He liked Amanda just as much as planes. Considering the thirty minutes of sleep he’d finally gotten last evening, he suspected he liked Amanda more.

A DC-10 pulled up, ready for take-off. Slowly she cruised down the runway, picking up speed, finally lifting in the air, graceful as a bird. Planes were steady, reliable.

Just like Amanda.

And Joe could be steady and reliable, too.

Planes didn’t have feelings.

Unlike Amanda.

He picked up the phone. Steady and reliable—that’s who he was.

“Amanda Sedgewick’s office.”

“Amanda, please.”

“May I say who’s calling, please?”

“Joe Barrington.”

“Oh.” The secretary drew the word out five syllables long. Disapproval in four out of the five. Then one, long, heavy sigh, just in case he missed it. “You’d think her boyfriend would know when she’s ill, considering this is the first sick day she’s taken in six years.”

“Sick?” She’d looked healthy on Friday. Sexy, vibrant, alive. In fact, he was getting a little hot just thinking about her physical well-being.

“Yeah, Mr. Joe Not the Doctor, she called this morning, coughing and sneezing, poor doll. Said she spent the night puking her guts out. You would think someone who professes to care for her would be sitting by her bedside, tucking in the covers. You would think someone who enjoys her witty repartee would be bolding her head as she worships the porcelain goddess. You would think that the man she adores would be at her side with chicken noodle soup, and not that pond scum that comes out of a can, neither. Obviously some of the members of the stronger sex do not think at all. I bet Dr. Barrington would not be so crass, Mr. Barrington. Goodbye.”

Joe could only stare at the phone.

“Problem, Barrington?”

He didn’t know she was sick. Hell. He was innocent here. “Hmm?” He looked up, and there stood his crew leader, Buzz.

“Barrington? Everything all right? You look a little pale.” Not everybody could carry off the nickname, Buzz, but Edward Taylor could. He was tough, could stand up to even the most impatient pilots, and when the planes went out, everything was exactly right.

“I’m fine,” Joe murmured.

Buzz gestured to the phone in Joe’s hand. “Uh, if you’re done there, then…”

Joe handed off the receiver. “Can you cover for me? I need to leave. It’s an emergency.”

Buzz scratched his head, looking doubtful. “Well, we got ten ‘PS’ checks, one ‘B’ check on a 737, and there’s a 747 that needs a new carbon seal on the gearbox.”

“I’ll pull double shift tomorrow for anybody that can help. Amanda’s sick.”

“Who’s Amanda?”

“She’s my, my…” Joe gave up, not wanting to figure out that answer right now. “I need to be there,” was what he ended up with, sure of that one.

“Did you sign off on that little Guppy over at Gate C17?”

Joe nodded.

“All right. But be back in four hours. I’ve got a 727 coming in that’s got a slow oil leak. We’re going to try and get it back in the air this afternoon.” The crew leader grinned. “I still remember what it was to be in love. Calling home right now.”

In love? Yeah, sure. And where in hell would be find homemade chicken noodle soup? “Thanks, Buzz. I’ll be back. You’re the best.”

Joe grabbed his keys and ran out of the ready room, the door slamming behind him.

AMANDA HAD NEARLY finished her first wall when she heard the buzzer. She put down the paint brush and surveyed her handiwork with a critical eye. Not bad for a novice.

Today she was the new Amanda. No more long nights pacing the floors because Joe Barrington didn’t feel the need to call her and say “Hello.”

“You can’t change ’em, honey.” Wasn’t that what Grace told her? No, she couldn’t change Joe, but she could change Amanda.

She waded through the drop cloth and pressed the button. She certainly wasn’t expecting company. Might be somebody from work, though. A messenger with the transcripts from the Northcott mediation. She coughed into the intercom. “Yes?”

“Amanda. You okay?”

Joe. She looked at her painting clothes and wanted to cry. Sweatpants and a tank top. Not the best look. “What are you doing here?”

“Let me up and then go lie down. It’ll be all right.”

Go lie down? What was that all about? Maybe he’d changed his mind. Maybe he was here to ravish her. Obediently, she pressed the button and took one last look at her self.

She opened the door, and there he stood, panting. What was the emergency? Her heart started to lift. Maybe he needed to see her. Maybe that was the emergency.

“Joe? Is everything all right?”

He looked at her, the sweats, the tank top, the can of paint thinner at her feet. “You’re painting?”

Well, he wasn’t dressed much better. Jeans and grease-covered shirt. And a wonderful-smelling paper sack. He’d come straight from the airport. With food. “Are you all right?”

He strode into the room, rubbing his face. “I thought you were sick.”

And it all made sense. The worry, the out of breathness, the—oh my God, soup. He’d brought her soup. She struggled to find the chair under the drop cloths, couldn’t find it and settled for leaning against a blob in the middle of the room. It felt like a chair.

He looked around. “What are you doing?”

“I’m painting the apartment.” She held out a paint brush. “You can help. Unless you’re going to leave now. After you’ve come all this way to give me…soup,” she tried to stay cool, like she didn’t care that he had run out on their date and hadn’t called her once over the weekend, she really did, but the warm smell of chicken noodle soup was turning her into mush, and her voice softened right at the end.

“I’ll help.” He handed her the brown paper bag. “But only if you eat this first.”

How did he do it? She spent the weekend watching the Home Improvement Channel and called her mother four times. Just to chat. Something she’d never done before. Anything to keep her mind off the phone. But no matter what she did, her thoughts always returned to Joe.

Everything between them was so new, so uncertain. She’d planned on seducing Joe, but he’d turned the tables on her—made her fall in love—and he probably didn’t even know.

When he gazed at her, a thousand apologies in his eyes, she turned even gooier.

“Deal.”

He looked down and stared at her feet. Bare feet with red paint spots. Embarrassed, she curled her toes. It didn’t help. Finally, he raised his eyes to her face and waved half-heartedly at the walls. “It looks good.”

The walls were as red as red could be, and her vision tended to blur when she stared at them too long, but she’d done it. All by herself. Her apartment was thirty-five percent completely covered in red. Not white, not beige, not taupe, not wheat. Red.

She started to fold her arms across her chest, then remembered she was holding her soup. Hot soup. She placed it on the kitchen table. “Yeah, I think so.” Actually, she was beginning to rethink the color scheme, but wasn’t quite ready to admit that.

She returned to the living room and he looked down at her feet again. “You sure you need help?”

She shrugged defensively. “No, but you’re welcome to stay if you want.” She flicked back a strand of hair from her face. “If you have the time.”

“Yeah.”

“Well.” Amanda exhaled and his gaze rested on her chest. The room heated for a moment. “Would you like to eat first or just start painting?”

“Why don’t you eat,” he answered, still staring at her chest.

Here they were. Alone in her apartment. He’d said “soon”…Suddenly now wasn’t even soon enough. She breathed again. Deeper this time. His jaw tightened. “Okay.”

He followed her into the small kitchen, off-white with a Danish modern breakfast table. “Do you think I should paint in here, too?”

Joe looked startled, and then cleared his throat. “Nah.”

She put two bowls on the table, but he pushed one aside and sat down. “Not hungry. Thanks.”

He still looked a little pale. “Smells good.”

“You’re playing hooky today?”

She nodded. “Yup. It’s the new me.”

“The old you wasn’t all that bad.”

She stopped. Checked to see if he was joking, but he looked sincere. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Well, that may be, but the times they are a-changing.”

“Looks like they’re changing to red.” He tried to smother his grin, but his lip twitched suspiciously.

Today it didn’t bother her at all. “You’re laughing at me.”

Magically his face transformed. All trace of humor gone, but there was a telltale dimple in his left cheek that hadn’t been there before. “No, no.”

She felt like laughing herself. “Actually, it’s Flambeau Red.” She sat down at the table and began to eat. “I may change it.”

JOE PICKED UP his paintbrush and surveyed the wall in front of him. Not bad. He’d done lots of painting in his high school days. Now, Amanda, well, obviously she didn’t put herself through law school by painting. But for a first effort it wasn’t awful.

But red? Paint was everywhere. In her hair, on her feet and on that sinful, white tank top. No, Joe, don’t want to think about that. He felt the familiar blood-draining reaction to even a hint of Amanda’s flesh and swore.

“Everything okay?” He watched as she climbed down from the ladder she was on, completely unaware of the lurid thoughts running through his head.

“Not a problem,” he answered, trying not to look at her chest. She was wearing one of those slinky bras, the kind he didn’t understand why women bothered with at all. She was either cold, or charged up, or…he closed his eyes. Damn, he needed to change the subject here.

Satin sheets. That was his new mantra. He had a beautiful scene for seduction all planned out and it didn’t include a drop cloth amid paint rollers and turpentine.

Thankfully the phone rang. Amanda picked up the receiver.

“Hello.”

She listened for a minute and then turned to him, mouthing, “It’s Avery.”

Trouble.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

He watched her talk, watched her face change from calm to amused. “No, Joe didn’t dump me.

“No, I didn’t dump him, either. Tell me about Penelope.

“Self-absorbed? No, not really.

“Well, yes, she likes to talk about her job, but I mean, we all do that Avery.”

She smiled. It was a nice smile. “Yes, even you.

“In the right environment, a man who listens can be quite appealing.

“Yes, Joe’s a good listener.

“Maybe you should. Listen, I need to go Avery.”

She didn’t need to hang up on his account. He was content just to watch her. He sat down against the one remaining white wall and it felt good. He closed his eyes, letting Amanda’s voice wash over him.

“No, you don’t need to come over. It’s just a little runny nose.” She sniffed into the phone.

“Yes, he’s here.

“No, you’re not being a pest. I think you’re being sweet. I wish you’d talk to Penelope, though. Maybe send her orchids…”

Orchids, he thought sleepily. Maybe he should send her orchids instead….

WHEN AMANDA hung up the phone, she looked over at Joe. Asleep. He’d looked so tired. What the heck was he doing? And why? Not that it mattered right now, she certainly wasn’t going to wake him up. She grabbed a pillow and then put it behind his head. For a few minutes she sat next to him, just watching him sleep.

He didn’t stir at all. Well, she could wait. Amanda noticed the red paint that stained her shirt and her feet. Yuck. No wonder he opted for painting instead of making love. That was something she could fix, so she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and then went off and picked out her sexiest lingerie. Next up, a long shower. Let him sleep a little bit more.

By the time she emerged from the bedroom, Amanda was feeling pretty good. She’d gotten most of the paint off herself, and even painted her toenails.

Hopefully he was awake by now. She closed her eyes and leaned against the doorframe, striking a seductive pose, all ready for him to awake and take her in his arms.

When she was greeted with nothing but silence, she shook her hair and sighed. Loudly. Nothing. Heck, she couldn’t even hear him breathe.

Finally, she opened her eyes to survey the situation. The room was exactly the way she’d left it. Open paint cans, rollers and her toolbox. Everything was there.

But Joe.

12

HE CALLED HER on Tuesday afternoon and apologized. He had to work. Again. Amanda tried to sound nice and understanding, but inside she was seething.

“I’ll see you Saturday,” he said.

“Are you off all day Saturday?” she replied, still trying for that understanding tone. She didn’t want to sound like she was being sarcastic.

“Not just Saturday, the whole weekend.”

“Good. Why don’t you pick me up about ten in the morning? I’ve got an idea.”

He laughed in the phone. Just the way it sounded, warm and intimate, gave her goose bumps in places she’d never had before.

After he hung up, she smiled, determined. This time, there would be no question. Joe Barrington, you’re going to be seduced.

Amanda called Grace into her office. She needed something one hundred percent guaranteed. She’d tried subtle, she’d tried sexy. Nothing had worked.

Now it was time for the heavy ammunition.

SATURDAY DAWNED warm, breezy, not a cloud in the sky. Joe took his time getting ready. Hot shower, close shave. He had no idea what Amanda had planned for the day, but everything was set up for tonight. He couldn’t wait to see her face.

At last she’d see him for what he could be.

He stared at himself in the fogged-up mirror. What he could be. He wiped down the mirror, drawing a big L on the reflection of his forehead. He didn’t want to stop seeing her. Not ever. Why was he working double-shifts now? Because of Amanda. Why was he learning to cook now? Because of Amanda. Why was he watching Law & Order? Well, he really liked the show, but because of Amanda, too. Lawyers weren’t so bad after all.

God, a guy’s ego would really take a beating with her. But wasn’t she worth it?

Yeah.

He had disappointed a lot of people in the past, but not anymore.

He rubbed his heart. There was a new weight in there. Hope was a heavy thing. He drew a lightening bolt on the glass and then threw the wet towel on the floor.

Nope, not today. He picked it up, folding it, hanging it up carefully on the rack. If she could change, then so could he.

AMANDA WOULDN’T let him see her until she was dressed, which was bad enough. He was wearing slacks and a button-down shirt. He looked presentable.

And then she came out of the bedroom.

Joe tried to speak, but his tongue was hanging out far enough to lick the floor.

Black skirt.

Little, black skirt.

Heels.

Man-killer, do-me heels.

Her hair rolled down her shoulders in waves, and she was wearing red lipstick. It matched her walls.

A limo was picking them up at six-thirty. Dinner at seven, the hotel at eight. He was supposed to hold out for eight hours and twenty-seven minutes?

He was a dead man.

“Ready to go?” she asked, all casual and cool.

“I think I need to sit down for a minute.” And breathe. God, he couldn’t breathe. He collapsed into a chair.

She pursed her lips and put on more lipstick. “You get some rest, honey. You’re going to need it.”

He was a dead man.

WELL, IT WASN’T tea at the Ritz. Instead she took him to Coney Island. Joe hadn’t been there since he was a kid. But she knew right where she was going. They bypassed the carousel, the games, the concession stands and the bumper cars. Amanda acted just like a woman on a mission and apparently that mission was the Cyclone.

Joe stared up the old roller coaster and smiled. “You want to go on this?”

“You betcha. Chicken?” she asked, hands on hips.

Somehow he didn’t think they were talking about the Cyclone. His blood heated just a bit. Today, they were on his turf. No talk about careers, absolutely nothing but blue skies and black leather. “Never.”

They made it through the line and he watched her climb into the car. The leather hugged curves he didn’t want to remember she had. He settled in next to her, still trying to figure out what she was doing.

The attendant pulled down the bar and she shook out her hair.

There was not one trace of Amanda Sedgewick in her. Somehow she changed into avenging Valkyrie.

Amanda turned to him, not demure, not shy. Confident, bold and more than a little scary.

“Joe, it’s time you learned something about me. You see, under this skirt, I’m wearing Victoria’s Secret Second Skin Satin Hipster in Whisper Pink.”

Joe gripped the bar a little tighter. “Okay.”

“I’ve got seven pairs just like this at home.”

He cut her off. “I don’t think talking about your underwear is a good idea.”

The car started to move away from the platform. “No, actually, it’s an excellent idea. You think of me as Whisper Pink. I’m fragile. The little princess.” She licked her lips.

He looked up at the sky, down at the ocean below them, anywhere but at that succulent mouth. “I don’t think that.”

“You don’t need to lie about it. It’s okay. You’re right.” She reached her hands under her skirt and shimmied in her seat.

Joe simply sat, frozen.

The roller coaster started to climb up the long, long hill, creaking all the way, the chain grating against the steel track. And Amanda slid a pair of Whisper Pink Second Skin Hipsters down her long, long legs.

He whimpered.

“But you see,” she went on, ignoring his heart attack in the making, “I can change. You can change. What we think we are,” she held up the panties like a battle flag, “isn’t always what we have to be.”

Two boys behind them clapped Joe on the back. “Dude!”

The car stopped, poised in midair.

Amanda stared him down.

Joe couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.

One pair of Whisper Pink Hipsters billowed in the breeze.

And then the car dropped down the hill, gravity taking over, and the one pair of Hipsters swirled away.

Oh, God. He was trapped on a roller coaster with Amanda in black leather, no panties and a “take-no-prisoners” gleam in her eyes. He felt so sorry for any defense attorney she ever went up against. They were going to lose.

They swirled around loops and up camel-back hills, round a curve, and Joe’s stomach was left somewhere back at that first hill.

Amanda threw her arms in the air and screamed. Joe just gripped the bar in front of him, needing distance, needing to run. But on the Cyclone, a man could go nowhere but down.

Finally, mercifully, they made it back to the station. Joe scrambled out and watched warily as Amanda extended one leg, placing it carefully on the wooden planking. Next came another. Something else. All he needed to do was think of something else.

Anything. He looked up at the skies and a pair of Whisper Pink panties floated in the breeze, drifting out toward the Atlantic Ocean.

He was a dead man.

AMANDA HAD DONE IT. She walked along the boardwalk with a confidence, a flair, a freedom that she’d never felt before. Every inch of her felt alive, the salty sea air teasing her nose. Everywhere she looked there was color, bright Technicolor. Neon-red. Lemon-yellow. Not an ivory, buff, or wheat to be found anywhere.

She ate cotton candy, had their picture taken, bought an I Love N.Y. T-shirt, and all in all was having a grand time.

Joe looked marvelous in the picture. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, and there, in an 8×11, was positive proof that she could stare at anytime she felt like it. She bought two.

“I think I should take up photography, don’t you?” she asked. She liked the idea of capturing them together on paper.

“Hmm?” he said, dragging his eyes from her legs.

She touched his chest with a scarlet-covered nail. “I think I’m going to take up photography.”

“Photography? That’s nice.”

Only one more thing could make this day absolutely perfect.

“Joe?” She stopped walking, admiring the balloons and ribbons that adorned a carnival game. A father started shooting the targets for his little girl. “Have I proven my point yet?”

He stood a careful twenty-four inches away from her. Not far, but not close enough. “What point is that?”

“There’s absolutely no reason in this world why we shouldn’t make love.”

The dazed look faded and he looked at his watch. Six and a half more hours. “No.”

She flipped a dollar down on the counter and the pot-bellied little attendant scooped it up. “I’m thinking it’s time.”

The man winked at her and pressed the button on the water gun in front of her.

Amanda bent over and lined up her sight with the clown targets, her thighs tingling from the warm air. The buzzer sounded and she began to shoot.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m trying to win a prize.”

Joe moved to stand behind her, blocking the view. She wiggled for effect. Obligingly, he moved closer. “Dammit, Amanda.”

Her aim misfired and the water shot into the air. “You could help me.”

He wrapped himself around her, muttering something she couldn’t understand. The bulge that was pressing behind her, she understood quite well. If her smile was a little fundamental, who could blame her? Finally, the buzzer stopped, the little man rang the bell. “We have a winner!”

Amanda picked a fuzzy-headed little troll and shot Joe a grin. “What do we do next?”

“A cold dip in the ocean would fix me.”

Victory was near. “How about the Wonder Wheel instead?”

JOE THOUGHT the cars on the Ferris wheel were four sizes too small. She sat next to him, her legs stretched out, crossing her legs first one way then the other. He tried to keep his thoughts pure, but the little voice inside was head was starting to whisper lewd suggestions.

Determined to ignore them, he stuck his head out of the car and watched the streets of Brighton Beach.

This was not what he had planned.

A hand drifted to his thigh.

The world started to spin and he closed his eyes.

“Joe?”

“What?”

“Don’t you like me?”

He pretended ignorance. “I think you’re nice.”

She slid closer, the sound of leather rubbing against the warm metal. “I don’t want to be nice. I don’t want to fragile, I don’t want to be a princess, or even Mary Sunshine.”

Mary Sunshine? “What?”

Her hand rubbed his thigh. He swallowed. Hard.

“I want to be desirable, and sexy and, well, just a little bit bad.”

“Bad?” His voice cracked.

“Joe, I need you.” The hand rubbing continued. Her lips feathered against his ear. “Make love to me, Joe.”

AMANDA HELD her breath. Joe didn’t move. The car continued to rock back and forth, and she wondered if she’d blown it.

“Joe?”

He turned to look at her and she saw such pure pain, she wanted to cry. He didn’t love her, he didn’t want to make love to her. All she’d done was embarrass herself.

And then he moved. His body closed in tight.

“Amanda, I’ve got to ask you something first.”

“Anything,” she whispered, mesmerized by the feverish frustration in his eyes. She covered his heart with her hand. Under her palm, the heavy beat thrilled her.

“Why me? Out of all the guys, why am I the one?”

She bit her lip, not knowing whether she should tell him the truth or even if he’d believe her. What was it about Joe that made her sacrifice her pride? Why Joe? Eggs Benedict, Harry Potter and the freedom to finally discover who she was. The answer was really simple.

“I love you.”

JOE HAD PREPARED himself for a lot of answers, but that wasn’t one of them. He couldn’t take it if this was a joke. He’d thought she’d been playing with him, wanting nothing more than a walk on the wild side. Now all the sudden, the stakes had changed.

“Amanda.” Forty thousand reasons sprang to his lips why they shouldn’t be together, but he didn’t have the heart to say one.

He thought he had everything set up perfectly. A romantic evening, wine, candlelight. Now he was going to screw that up, too.

He took her face in his hands and kissed her. At first, he was hesitant. This was Amanda. Even with a tight skirt, and hooker lips, she was more precious than anyone he’d ever known. He brushed his lips across hers. Once, twice. He tugged gently at her bottom lip, trying not to rush her, trying to hold back. She sighed and her mouth opened beneath him. Sweetly. He stroked her face, her hair. She smelled so good, so warm. Even the smell of leather couldn’t mask her basic scent.

He dove into the kiss, taking his time; they were going nowhere, just riding into the air, a meeting of lips. He felt the tip of her tongue touch his own and he smiled against her mouth. “Not yet. We have all afternoon, and right now, I don’t want to do anything but taste you.”

She groaned and pressed in closer. Up in the air, the world seemed so far away. They were alone in a magical place, and no one could touch them here.

His finger trailed down her neck, down her throat. He felt a shiver. Her skin was so soft, so white. Like marble. He touched her pulse beating in her throat. Yet so alive. Her blood was pumping fast and heavy. For him.

“I’m taking you home when we get down, Amanda. I want to see you, taste you. I’ve been dreaming about you, Amanda. I tried to stay away from you, but I can’t. I’m done fighting this.” He pushed aside her shirt, smiling at the whisper-thin bra that covered her breasts. “You slayed me the first time I saw you without the robe.” He took her nipples in his hands, watching her cheeks flush as he rolled them between his fingers.

“What do you want?” he asked her, bending his head to kiss her once more.

In answer, she climbed in his lap, her legs straddling him, and she started to unbutton his shirt. His body struggled for control, aching to push inside her, right there. When she looked up at him, her eyes were fever-bright. “I want you to touch me. You have to touch me.”

He nearly came. “We’re almost to the ground.”

“I don’t care.”

Truth be told, he didn’t care either, but then the car rolled to a stop.

Quickly, he buttoned up her shirt, his hands fumbling, doing a poor job of it. “We’ll go home.”

She nodded. “Yes.”

THE SUBWAY CAR was packed, and they had to stand. Everyone was heading into the city for a bright Saturday afternoon. Amanda held tight against the pole, the train swaying back and forth. She watched Joe from underneath her lashes, wondering what he was thinking. He met her gaze, his eyes flaring with arousal.

That was a look she understood.

She stood frozen, trapped by the heat in his eyes. His heavy stare wandered over her, touching her lips, her breasts, her thighs.

Slowly, he leaned closer, his arm brushing against her chest. The slight touch was a heady torment, and her breasts swelled, her nipples throbbing against her bra.

Everything inside her felt heavy and full, all rushing down to the apex of her thighs. It was another fifteen minutes to her apartment, and she didn’t think she could wait. She slid against the pole, oh so carefully, but it only made it worse. She heard Joe’s indrawn breath.

A couple of teenagers made their way to the door, pushing Amanda closer to Joe.

He cradled her body with his own, grazing his lips over her neck. She rubbed against him, and gentleman that he was, he locked his hands on her hips and pushed against her. His erection was hard and insistent, and she licked her lips, her eyes drifting shut.

Her legs started to shake, threatening collapse, but he held her tight. There was something incredible about the way he smelled. All musky and male. Each time she moved, he answered. Each time he moved, she moaned.

His hand skimmed lower, flirting between them. A woman with a Bloomingdale’s bag stared at them, before looking away.

Amanda really didn’t care. All she wanted was release from the insistent throbbing between her legs. She rocked again his hand, biting her lip in frustration.

His hand slid between her legs higher and higher, and without hesitation she parted them. Anything.

Her stomach pumped, waiting.

One heartbeat, then two.

One finger slid inside her, then two. His fingers pushed inside her farther, and she leaned against him fully, her legs useless. She shivered, cold, then hot.

His lips brushed against her ear. “You are so wet.”

Oh.

Slowly he pulled his fingers inside and out of her, and her muscles contracted around him, trying to hold him, not wanting him to stop. She closed her eyes, taking deep breaths, feeling the dampness inside her. When she opened her eyes, she tried to focus, but she saw nothing.

She was surrounded by people, but it didn’t register.

He toyed with the outside of her lips, teasing, tickling. “No,” she whispered.

“You don’t like that, hmm?”

Once more, he put his fingers inside her, pushing upwards. He went deeper this time as his long fingers circled, sensing the coils of tension racking her body. She tried to keep her hips still, keep them from following the rhythm of his hand, riding to meet him. But she couldn’t.

He kissed her neck, whispering in her ear, in slow, exquisite detail exactly what he was going to do to her. What he wanted to do with her right here. Right under the watchful eyes of everyone around them.

Oh.

She chewed on her lip, ready to scream. When his thumb brushed against her, she felt her muscles shake and spasm. He covered her mouth with his own. That was all she could take. She closed her eyes, and watched the world shatter.

And he kissed away her cries.

13

THEY MADE IT to her lobby, made it to her elevator. He took her keys and undid the locks, and then Hallelujah, they were inside.

He pulled up her skirt, her hands fumbling with his fly.

“Condom,” he said, just as she was pulling down his zipper.

“Bathroom.”

“Don’t move.”

She stayed there, plastered against the door, waiting. “Hurry.”

“Where is it?”

She started to count. “Top drawer, left-hand side.”

One. Two. He was back. “I can’t wait,” he said, taking her lips in a quick kiss.

She fumbled with his briefs. “Now.”

He sheathed himself with shaking fingers. “I wanted this to be slow,” he said, lifting her.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, needing to feel him inside her. “Later.”

He took one step forward, braced her against the door, she locked her hands around his nape.

And then he plunged inside her.

JOE STAGGERED for a second, amazed by the sheer overwhelming pleasure of being surrounded by Amanda. Warm, drenching pleasure. There was no ice or coldness in her, only a heat that made him frantic. He needed to find control, but all his control was gone.

Now she was his. Finally. Her hips ground against him, and he started to move. Thrusting inside her, deeper, as if he could touch her heart.

His eyes held her crystal-blue gaze, unflinching. The way she looked at him, with need and something more, made anything possible. For now, nothing could touch them.

She was his.

He drove inside her, over and over, determined to please her. In this, there would be no one but him.

Joe kissed her again, her tongue tangling with his, her breathing as ragged as his own.

Over and over.

Her head rolled to one side, her hair falling across his arm, just like his dreams. She bit her lip, and still he moved.

Over and over. Not yet.

A moan of surrender broke her lips. She was close. Her nails were biting into his neck, but there was no pain. Instead, he moved faster, harder.

He felt her muscles clench around her, saw her eyes go blank, her lashes drift downward. She began to gasp and shiver, and he smiled with satisfaction.

At last.

He thrust inside her one last time, as far as he could go. His body jerked, a charge of energy pulsing through him. Then his climax came, the undeniable pleasure, the undeniable truth.

He loved her.

THE SUN DIPPED low in the sky, the rays reaching through the blinds making long, even stripes on the satin sheets.

Satin sheets. Even his dreams weren’t close enough.

Amanda rose above him, her hair turning gold, her body pure silver.

“You look so perfect, like something Michelangelo created and then hid from the world. I would have done that, too.”

She didn’t answer, only smiled, her lips curving in a woman’s smile of pleasure. She splayed her hands on his chest, her fingers kneading him like a cat’s. Slowly her hips moved up and then down, embracing him with liquid fire. Her mouth trailed over him, silken flesh over hard, unforgiving muscle.

This wasn’t right. It was her turn now. He rolled her beneath him, taking her mouth in a gentle kiss. He thrust into her with quiet passion, gently as he had longed to do, as she deserved.

He kissed her neck, then her breasts, watching her chest rise as her breathing grew labored.

She murmured his name, a single sound separated from the rest of the city noise. The air conditioner hummed, a plane flew overhead, but he heard little except the beat of her heart. Her head twisted, as if she was fighting, and Joe covered her mouth once more, thrust harder, deeper. He reached between them, found the place that brought her release.

When she moaned, he found his release, and then pulled her close, watching her as her breathing slowed, as her eyes drifted shut in sleep. And even then he held tight. He wasn’t about to let her go. Not now.

THE BUZZER RANG exactly at six-thirty. Amanda didn’t wake. Quietly, Joe slipped from the sheets, and went to the intercom and told the driver to go home. It wasn’t exactly what he planned, somehow his plans had always gotten off-track. He’d make it up to her. She deserved romance and candlelight.

He checked his watch. There was a drugstore down the street. Maybe he could give her romance and candlelight after all.

AMANDA ROLLED OVER in her bed, reaching out for Joe. Empty. Then she heard the music. Nina Simone. A smile lifted the corners of her mouth. What was that about? She wrapped herself in the sheet and wandered to the living room.

But she hadn’t wandered into her living room—she’d made her way to wonderland. Candles were everywhere, flickering, bathing the room in a magical glow.

He was sitting on her couch, sipping a glass of wine, casually, as if he’d done nothing at all.

The room dimmed with the blur of her tears.

At the rustling sound of the sheet, he turned and lifted a brow. As one song came to a close, he stood, walked over, and then took her hand. “Dance?”

She didn’t answer, just floated into his arms. They whirled around the room, with no sounds but the hiss of the candles and the soft slide of satin over marble.

One song wafted into another, and before long the music stopped.

She studied his face, so unbearably dear, so unbelievably handsome and let the sheet fall to the floor.

At first he didn’t move, and instead let his gaze linger long and slow, making her blush. He lifted his hand and trailed a gentle finger from her mouth, down the line of her throat, between her breasts and lower.

“I owe you an apology,” he said quietly.

“For what?”

He took the sheet and draped it over the couch, then lifted her in his arms. “I should have done this at the start. Sometimes I’m a little slow.”

“I like it when you’re a little slow.”

Gently, he lay her down, the satin cool as it slid against her skin. “Good,” he murmured, his mouth cruising over her throat, and then her breasts, heavy with intent. Her fingers lifted to the buttons on his shirt, but he grabbed her wrist and shook his head. “This is for you.”

Helpless to do much more, Amanda closed her eyes. His rough palms grazed her breasts and she lifted up to meet his touch. For long torturous moments, he did nothing but lightly circle her nipples with wicked strokes of his fingers. She felt the moisture pool inside her, pulsing and throbbing.

He lowered his head, his mouth replacing his fingers, and she shoved her fingers in his hair, pressing him close. His tongue flicked against her skin, at first gentle, sensual, and then with more purpose. His mouth pulled her nipples in deeper, almost painful, and she cried out.

Amanda curled her toes, her thighs falling open, waiting for him to appease her. But he chose to ignore her pleadings and instead his mouth worked its way farther down, his tongue teasing against her belly.

Oh, please.

His fingers stroked the inside of her thigh. High, but not high enough. He cupped her heat and she curled her hips into his hand waiting to be filled.

But he had other plans. He slid his hands beneath her legs, opening her even wider. His mouth pleasured the inside of her thighs, licking the moisture that coated them. With each flick of the tongue he moved closer, and she fisted her hands in the sheet.

Sounds, more like incoherent pleas, broke from her lips as she felt herself flying higher and higher. She bucked against him, her muscles clenching and unclenching.

Just a little bit more.

While his mouth continued its torment, he put his fingers inside her, touching her there.

And that was enough.

The lights behind her eyes gleamed red and gold and she felt her muscles shake. She cried out just as her senses exploded.

THEY DIDN’T LEAVE her apartment that weekend and on Sunday afternoon they’d just finished lunch when she got the phone call. It was a retired secretary from Clean-All returning Amanda’s call. When Amanda hung up the phone, she was flushed with her success.

“Good news?” he asked, like he couldn’t tell.

She sat down on the couch next to him, her hands automatically straightening the Sunday paper. “The best. She knows where the old files are. I knew we’d get him, and now there’s undisputable proof. We have to celebrate.”

He bet she celebrated a lot. She worked so hard for her success. “And what would you like to do?”

She pulled her hair back with one hand, her breasts lifting, reminding him that she wore no bra. “Dinner tonight at Chanterelle, champagne.”

And orchids. Tonight he’d give her the orchids. “I’ll make reservations.” He started to rise from the couch, but she pushed him back.

“Not yet.” Her cool blue eyes were awash with purpose. He was getting to recognize that look. Joe might never have been the brightest in school, but he knew how to pleasure a woman.

Amanda pulled her T-shirt over her head and climbed into his lap. His hands found the places she wanted to be touched, his mouth kissed her in the exact right way. It wasn’t everything he wanted to give her, but right now it was all he had.

MONDAY MORNING came way too soon. Joe had set the alarm for 3:00 a.m. He had to make it home, shower and get in to work. Amanda was still fast asleep. He watched her sleep, the city lights keeping the room from darkness, even at this hour.

She loved him. He hadn’t brought it up again, he was too afraid she would change her mind. He gathered up his clothes and started to dress. He still didn’t understand it all. The one big question lurked out there. What now? She was going to win Vincent’s case for him, go out and conquer the world. And what was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he be proud? Why couldn’t he get past the fact that second place was really okay?

After all, he’d done second place his entire life.

He pulled on his boots with more force than necessary and started to walk out the door.

Amanda rolled in the white satin sheets and his heart twisted.

God, he loved her.

He leaned down over the bed, stroked the hair away from her face. He pressed a gentle kiss against her cheek and then walked out the door.

AMANDA WANDERED into work at 9:45 a.m…9:45 a.m. One hour and forty-five minutes after Powers. It was going to be on the news, she just knew it. Nobody said anything, though, and she was somewhat disappointed that no one had noticed.

She’d searched her apartment for a note from Joe, but couldn’t find anything. Oh, well. He’d call. By eleven o’clock, she’d heard nothing. It was still early. By 4:45, she was ready to cry. Thankfully, Grace was nearby, adorned with an Empire State Building monument hanging around her neck.

“Grace, do you know a place to get a drink around here?”

Grace looked up from her desk. “Well, Caruso’s is just around the corner, and there’s always O’Malleys. You looking for someplace sophisticated or a little boisterous?”

“Boisterous.” She couldn’t handle sophisticated today.

“O’Malley’s is the place. They have the best bartender. His name is Joaquin, and he’s trying to be an actor. Oh, my God. He is to die for.” Grace fanned herself. “Oh, but I bet you’re taking your new beau. Chef Joe. Probably wouldn’t be the best choice.”

“No, I’m going alone. Unless you’d like to come?” she asked hopefully.

Grace saw through her. “Oh, boss. He’s done it, hasn’t he? He broke your heart. Look at you, poor dear.”

“He didn’t call today.” She felt pitiful and needy, but after the weekend they’d had, surely…

“Oh, it’s the worst.” Grace clicked her tongue.

“I thought he’d at least leave a note.”

“They just get so wrapped up in themselves, they forget that we need a little reassurance.”

“I told him I loved him.”

Grace adjusted her hair. “Oh, honey. You’ve been betrayed, but you can’t let this get you down, you know what I mean? It’s the time of year. You got baseball, college ball starting up, and even preseason for the pros. And what woman can compete with sports? Some legends say Mae West had an off-season right after Labor Day. It’s a fundamental truth.”

This insecurity was new to Amanda, and she felt tears in her eyes. “I don’t even know if he likes sports.”

Grace took her by the arm. “Come on, honey. You’re just a babe to the wolves. Let Aunt Gracey tell you how it is.”

O’MALLEY’S WAS PACKED. The air was heavy with smoke and the hum of laughter and conversation. Every thirty minutes, Amanda excused herself to go the ladies’ room. She didn’t think Grace was buying it, but she checked her answering machine faithfully.

“You have no messages.”

What had she done?

She worked her way through the crowds back to their table. “I want to call him.”

Grace slapped her hand over Amanda’s. “No. Give me your cell phone.”

Amanda hesitated.

“Now. It’s for your own good.”

Grace picked up the cell phone, just as it started to ring.

Amanda’s heart lifted. “It’s him.”

Grace looked at the caller ID. “Dr. Barrington.” She pushed the green button. “Dr. Barrington, I presume? Yes, Amanda is right here. Would you like to speak with her? No, I’m her personal assistant, legal assistant, advice counselor and drinking confidant.”

She covered the mouthpiece. “It’s for you honey. The doctor.”

Amanda took the phone. “Avery?”

“Amanda, have you seen Joe? I was supposed to meet him for an evening out on the town, but he seems to have been detained.”

She had hoped he knew. Hoped he had some message for her. Pitiful. “No, I don’t know where he is.”

“Are you all right? Your voice sounds rather faint.”

“It’s the noise in the bar, Avery. I’ll try and speak up.”

“Quite all right. If you see Joe, tell him that I’m waiting.”

The phone clicked, and Amanda pushed the little red button. She was a lawyer; she tried to create logical reasons for his behavior. She did it all the time. “He was supposed to meet Avery tonight. Maybe that’s why he didn’t say anything. Maybe he knew he had plans and he couldn’t see me.”

“Oh, boss. A girl has got to see the truth as it exists. It’s classic.”

“I think I’m going to cry.”

“Go ahead, boss. I’ll get you a Ricky Martini. It’ll make you feel better.”

FOR THE FIRST TIME in his twenty-seven years, Joe was looking forward to spending time with his brother. But, they had three extra planes come in, and he was running late.

Finally he hooked up with him, Avery looking completely out of place wearing a suit and tie at Blue Velvet. Joe slid into a chair, beer in hand. “Hey, bro.”

“Hello. You’re late.”

“Got tied up at work. Sorry. You’re more surly than usual.”

“I’m sorry, I had a burn patient today. A little boy, but he’s going to be fine.”

Oh. Joe clenched his hands, then slid his beer across the table. “Here. You need this more than I do. I really am sorry.”

“I talked to Amanda.”

Joe looked at Avery. What did that mean? “Oh? She called?”

“No, I called. I was looking for you.”

“I was working,” he answered casually, eager to know how she was.

“I expected to find you together.”

“No. She’s got a life. A busy one.”

“What’s wrong with you, Joe?”

“Hey, what could be wrong?”

“You’re being more of an idiot than usual. You have a wonderful girl with an illustrious career who obviously cares for you. What could be wrong?”

“Yeah, Amanda’s perfect, isn’t she?”

Avery watched a girl across the bar. When she smiled at him, he smiled in return. Then he turned back to Joe. “What’s the real problem?”

Avery would never understand. “You know, Avery, I thought I’d never meet someone more successful than you, but I think Amanda’s even got you whooped.” He tried to make a joke out of the whole thing.

Avery quirked a brow, looking completely unfazed. “That’s a problem?”

“Hell, yes.”

“Why?” Avery assumed the doctor persona.

“I think I should buy a car. Maybe a Japanese import. It’s not Mercedes, or BMW, but it’d be good to get around town.”

“You don’t need a car, Joe.”

“What? Everybody can have a car but me?”

Avery sighed. “No. All I’m saying is that you don’t have need of a car. Is that why you’ve been working so much? You can’t finance it like the rest of the world, you have to pay cash?”

“No, I’ve got my flying lessons scheduled to start next month. And I’ve been thinking of moving. Someplace uptown.”

“Flying lessons? Hmm. I thought you liked your apartment. If I had known you weren’t happy there, I would have helped you move a long time ago.”

“I can’t see you schlepping boxes, bro.”

“Of course not. That’s what movers are for.” Avery took a sip of beer. “Why all this now? Is this because of Amanda?”

“Some. I’d always figured that I’d get married some day. Live a simple, quiet life somewhere.”

Avery rolled his eyes.

“Well, you know what I’m saying here. Avery, you’re a tough act to follow, so I didn’t even try, because I can’t. If anything, it’s worse with Amanda. Now I want to try.”

“Your machismo is so exaggerated that you cannot tolerate the idea of a woman being more successful?”

It sounded incredibly pitiful. “Maybe.”

“Joe, she loves you for who you are.”

And who was that? Joe, the wrench-bender, or Joe the incredible lover, or Joe the wanna-be pilot? Somehow he doubted it was Joe the wrench-bender that was her Prince Charming. “You really think she loves me?”

“You’re my brother, aren’t you? Why shouldn’t she?” After Joe’s silence, he leaned forward. “What? No pithy remark? No witty comeback?”

What was that from? Joe thought for a minute. “Thunderball?”

“Goldeneye. A classic.”

A classic? Joe scoffed. “Sean Connery was the best.”

“Of course he was. However, Pierce Brosnan has certainly given him a run for his money,” Avery explained.

“Want to shoot some pool?”

“You’re buying the beer this time, I hope?”

Already Joe felt better. She loved him. That’s what was important. He smiled. “Yeah.”

“I’d be delighted.”

IT WAS MIDNIGHT and O’Malleys was still crowded. Amanda was on her fifth drink and she was going to be sick. Grace looked fine, all three of her.

“You know, Oprah had a whole season on why guys run. Supposedly it’s some survival instinct, when they feel threatened. I myself have a theory.”

“Waz that?” Amanda focused on the spinning Graces, but the world started to tilt.

“I need to get you home.”

SOMEWHERE IN the middle of the night Amanda became aware of another person in her apartment.

“Amanda? It’s Joe.”

“You rat. You stinkin’ rat. You’re nothing more than Draco Valdemort Dursey.” Her stomach started to heave. “I need…I’m going to be sick.” She lurched toward the bathroom.

The toilet loomed in front of her. “Joe. Help.”

A warm towel brushed against her forehead. “It’s all right, love.”

“No, it’s not all right.” She emptied her stomach in the bowl, and felt a soft hand on her hair. “Don’t leave me.”

“I’ll be right here. Promise.”

THE NEXT MORNING, Amanda’s alarm blasted off at four-thirty, just like every day. Only today it hurt. She took a shower, and got dressed, cursing anything that contained alcohol, including her eye makeup remover. When she got to the living room she stopped. There was Joe, asleep on her couch.

So it hadn’t been a dream. He had really shown up. Late, no call, no note, but still here. Then she realized all her anger had faded away.

She smiled until her head started pounding again and then steadied herself against a chair. Mercifully she made it to the kitchen and got juice and crackers. It wasn’t Eggs Benedict, but then she didn’t think she could handle Eggs Benedict today. She sat down next to him, just watching him sleep for a bit.

He looked so content. So peaceful. He’d been that way when she first proposed the big plan. Lately though, he’d been tense and anxious. Just like the millions of other minions who worked too hard.

She wrote him a quick note and then went out the door.

JOE MAINTAINED a routine of sorts. He’d show up every night at Amanda’s, nothing too early, nothing too late. They’d make love, and then early in the morning, someone would sneak out first. He increased his hours, took some more midnight shifts.

Lots of things were not talked about. Conversation stayed on innocent subjects—art, the pending settlement in Vincent’s case.

At some point in time they were going to have to talk, but for now Joe spent most of his waking hours at work. Which was good, because the less he thought of Amanda’s turbo-charged success, the better he felt.

By late September, Joe had become quite good at avoiding serious conversations with Amanda. But that didn’t stop Avery. Joe had met up with him at Blue Velvet. Avery was becoming a regular; he seemed to really like it. Joe barely had time to eat nowadays, but tonight was Avery’s birthday.

“I haven’t seen Amanda recently. Why don’t we all go to dinner?”

Joe grabbed a handful of pretzels. He’d worked through lunch and he was starving. “Can’t. Gotta work.”

Avery looked around the bar, the healthy sign of a guy scoping the place out. “Why?”

“I’m thinking of taking Amanda to the Caribbean. I think it’d be good for her to get away for awhile.”

Avery didn’t even raise an eyebrow. “How are the lessons going?”

That he loved. For a couple hours a week he could fly in the heavens and feel like he was on top of the world. These days it seemed like that was the only time he ever felt on top of the world. And he knew that was wrong. He knew that wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. “Pretty good. I should have my license middle of next year. Found a co-op in the city, too.”

“You’re doing very well.”

“Yeah, it’s time I grew up.” Joe’s hand drummed on the table, as he searched for the waitress. “I’ve been thinking about going to school. You think I could be a broker?”

“Did Amanda ask you to do this?”

He really needed some coffee. “No, but I’m getting kinda tired of working at the airport. It gets old. I want to do something new.”

“You’re very determined to make this work, aren’t you?”

He was going to make it work, no matter what, no matter what. If he kept repeating it to himself, maybe it would all work out. But most days he worried because he just couldn’t keep up with her.

Finally the waitress appeared. Joe ordered a cup of coffee and smiled. “I learned it from you.”

ON OCTOBER 15th, at exactly 2:14 p.m., Amanda watched, quite pleased with herself, as Vincent D’Antoni signed the settlement papers. He’d be set for life, Clean-All would quietly contact all the airlines who used their products in the mid-eighties, and the rest of the Vincent D’Antoni’s of the world would finally see justice.

By 4:15, the entire law firm of Brown, Powers and McGlynn was happily ensconced in the lobby bar at the Waldorf-Astoria. Powers proposed a toast, with a rousing round of “hear, hear” echoing all around. For Amanda, if was a nice victory—she just wished Joe had been able to make it.

Once the congratulations had quieted down, Powers pulled Amanda aside. This was it.

She adjusted her jacket, and wished she’d worn something a little more professional than the forest-green suit.

“Amanda, you know you’ve been considered for partner for some time.”

Yep, here it comes. Amanda smiled. “Yes, sir. You’ve made that quite obvious.”

“Well, this case has far exceeded our expectations—the publicity we’ll receive, the potential for future litigation. The partnership is yours if you’d like it.”

Partner. Just what she’d waited so long to hear. She waited for the zing of accomplishment, the surge of power she’d feel from being partner. After feeling nothing, she waited a little longer, sure that a tidal wave of success was going to overwhelm her at any moment.

No tidal wave. No nothing.

“Now of course you’ll have an equity stake, and we’d hope that you’d be able to bring in some new business for the firm, but that takes time.”

It all sounded very exciting, but Amanda had one thing on her mind. “Edward, may I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“It’s about my schedule. I don’t know that I can put in any more time.” As it was, she didn’t spend enough time with Joe. She wasn’t willing to give up any more.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. I’ve seen too many lawyers suffering from burnout, and I don’t want to see that happen to you. You’ve been carrying a huge case load, Amanda. I’ve already talked to the others and we’ll be hiring several new legal assistants. One of them is yours. It’ll mean fewer hours for you.”

Fewer hours. She couldn’t believe it. He actually wanted her to work less. But she wasn’t willing to gamble with Joe. “You mean that?”

He nodded.

She wanted to throw her arms around his neck, but that wouldn’t do at all. Instead, she wrung his hand, until he got embarrassed and cleared his throat and she realized what she was doing. “In that case, you’ve got a deal.”

“Partner,” she said to herself, testing the word out on her tongue.

When she turned around, there was Joe.

And now the day was perfect.

IT WAS AFTER dark before they made it home. Joe picked up some orchids on the way. It seemed fitting for the occasion. After all, it wasn’t every day that his girl made partner.

In her apartment she walked with a cocky swagger. “Can you believe it?”

“I didn’t doubt it for a minute,” he said, which was absolutely the truth. Whatever she put her mind to, she did. Whatever she wanted, she worked until she got it. And all that seemed to make her happy.

It was the happy part that he didn’t understand.

“I couldn’t have done this without you,” she said, throwing her arms around his neck.

“You’re kidding yourself.”

“No, I’m serious. Do you know how much I love you?”

“Why don’t you show me?” he asked, slipping easily into Incredible Lover Joe persona.

She made love to him the way she did everything. Absolutely perfectly. When he was inside her, he forgot that he wasn’t happy being anything but an airline mechanic. He forgot that he didn’t want to be a broker on Wall Street. He forgot everything but her.

It was a long while later, when she was drifting off to sleep that he brushed a kiss against her hair. He whispered a quiet, “I love you” in her ear, and this time he wrote a short note for her to find.

I love you, but I can’t be with you anymore. I’m sorry, I really did try. For you, I would have done anything. But still I don’t think it would ever have been enough.

It wasn’t easy, but Joe had been kidding himself. He couldn’t compete with her. It was beyond stupid to even try. He twisted and angled to turn himself into something that he wasn’t, and tonight as she stood there, glowing with all her success, he realized there was absolutely nothing more he could do.

He didn’t want to hurt her, but the man she was in love with wasn’t him. She’d figure that out soon enough and then where would they be? Once again, he’d be Joe the disappointment.

Joe was out of options.

He left an orchid on top of the note and took one last look. Moonbeams shone on her satin sheets, as if even the heavens adored her. His heart withered inside his chest. Time to go. And so he left, leaving her and the moonbeams behind.

AMANDA WOKE, and reached out for Joe. Empty. She sniffed, waiting for the aroma of Eggs Benedict to tickle her nose. Nothing. Well, this didn’t look good. Frowning, she climbed out of bed and wandered into the living room and the kitchen. Nothing.

She went back into the bedroom and then she saw the note. As she read, her smile faded. She sank back into bed and curled into a ball. Two hours passed before she was able to make it to the phone.

She dialed the one person in the world who had never let her down. “Hi, Mom. It’s Amanda. Guess what? Got some good news and some bad news…” That was all she could say before she started to cry.

ON SUNDAY she was ready to confront him. He had said he loved her. They could do anything if they loved each other. Love conquered all. Love is blind. A thousand trite phrases all spun in her head.

When she rang his bell, she had her speech all ready.

Joe opened the door. “Hey.”

One simple word of greeting and her prepared speech suddenly didn’t feel right. “Hey.”

They both went inside and he nodded his head in the direction of the couch. Quietly she sat. It was the first time she’d been back to his apartment since the night they’d watched the movie. That was a lifetime ago.

She tried to smile at him, but he watched her with such a solemn look in his eyes that she couldn’t. “Don’t you think you should have talked to me about this?”

Joe slumped in his chair. he looked so tired. “It’s my issue. I thought I could fix it. I was wrong.”

“And what is the issue?”

He was silent for long moments, and finally he spoke. “I should be happy for you. I want to be happy for you. But I can’t. I can’t keep up and it’s tearing me apart.”

“You don’t have to compete with me, Joe.”

Today his eyes didn’t gleam at all, instead they were dull with sadness. “I didn’t compete with Avery. It took me some time to realize that, but then I found my little piece of life that I was happy with. That I was good at. I had kinda resigned myself to it, but then I met you. I wanted to be more for you.”

She sat forward, willing him to understand. “You don’t have to do that. Not for me. I love you like you are, Joe.”

The pain in his eyes brought tears to her own.

“Do you? What if some other guy comes along? Maybe he’s a little more successful than me. Another lawyer. A doctor. Do I get compared to him?”

“There’s only one of you, Joe. I can’t compare you to anyone.”

“But I do.” He ground the heel of his hand against his head. “I’m so sorry about this. I didn’t want to hurt you. I thought we could keep things simple.”

“You were wrong.”

“That’s nothing new.”

“Can’t you go back to the way you were?”

“Yeah, sure. For a while. But jealousy is a shrewd demon. It comes back around just when you least expect it.”

She’d never had a case she thought she couldn’t win. Never a challenge she wasn’t up for. And sitting across from her was her biggest challenge, her heart. And she couldn’t do a damn thing. “I love you.”

His mouth twisted. “I love you, too. I didn’t want to tell you. At first I was scared. And then later I realized why lawyers don’t marry airline mechanics.”

There was one thing she could do. “What if I gave it up? I don’t have to be partner.”

He stood and then paced around the room. “Amanda, don’t do that.”

“You mean more to me than being partner.”

Joe started to laugh. “God, this is rich. You’re going to turn down every lousy good thing in your life, just so I can feel better about myself.”

“I don’t want to live without you.”

“I don’t want to live without you, either. But Amanda I want to be happy for you. I want to celebrate with you when you take on the world, and I can’t do that. I thought I could get my pilot’s license or maybe go back to school, and everything would be fine, but you know what? All I’ve done is make myself miserable.”

“This is it, isn’t it?”

“I think so.”

She stood, not wanting to cry. “Goodbye, Joe.”

He stuck his hands in his pockets and walked her to the door. She wanted to touch him. One last kiss, one last embrace. But he had put up barriers that she couldn’t break.

As he closed the door behind her, she heard him say, “I’ll see you on 60 Minutes.”

AMANDA RETURNED to her old routine. She got up every morning at 4:30. When she couldn’t sleep, she’d work on her computer at home. She was the pride and joy of Brown, Powers, and McGlynn. The Northcott case was winding down and another fat recovery was in the offing.

Now she didn’t care.

Her nails were perfectly manicured—all ten of them. Her desk was spotless, perfectly organized. She found comfort in order.

Although there were things she allowed. She kept her apartment red. Someday she would change it, but for now Flambeau Red suited her.

She liked reading Harry Potter. She could hear Joe’s voice reading to her. Sometimes it made her cry, but eventually the tears dried up.

NOVEMBER WENT BY in a haze. Joe still worked the extra hours. At first he had cut back, wanted to go back to his old ways, his old contentment, but after two weeks he realized that wasn’t going to happen. Work made it easier to get through the days, but the nights were pretty much hell.

Late one night, he rounded the corner to his apartment building, and spotted Vincent and Bernie sitting on the stoop.

“Good evening, Joseph!” Vincent was wearing a purple smoking jacket and holding an unlit pipe in his hand.

“Nice duds.”

Vincent beamed. “Why thank you, my good man.”

“You’re mighty peppy this evening,” Joe said, fishing in his pocket for his keys.

“Got my first recovery check today. I’ve been thinking of moving. Perhaps a condo in Queens.”

“I hear it’s nice.”

Bernie snorted. “Maybe, if you like those snobbish types.”

Vincent twirled his pipe in the air. “I owe all this to Amanda, Joe. Where’s she been? She’s a real go-getter, your girl.”

Joe wasn’t going to answer that, so he forced a tired smile. “Yeah, she is.”

TWO DAYS LATER he met Avery at his office before they went for dinner.

“Joe, you’re turning into a recluse.”

“Gee, I’ll try harder.”

“Now see, that’s just what I mean. You have to get over her.”

Joe shot him a look. “And you’re the expert, right?”

“I’ve moved on.”

Joe sometimes wondered. “Have you?”

“Of course I have, but twenty-year habits are difficult to break.”

“Well, I’m going to move on, too. I’ll find somebody new, settle down, maybe take up bowling.”

Avery shook his head. “I must say that’s the biggest pile of—” His cell phone rang and he pulled it out of his pocket. “Yes, Mother.

“Of course. I have it in my car.

“Well, I suppose so, but I’m going out with Joe.

“Yes, we’re off to dine.

“Yes, yes, I understand. We’ll be right there.”

He put the phone back in his pocket. “She needs the new incense from the American Feng Shui Institute. Apparently it’s quite hard to come by.”

Joe was thrilled. “I have to come in with you?”

“She said she hasn’t seen you in ages.”

He looked straight ahead. Seeing Mom didn’t make him nervous anymore. He’d been through worse and was still alive. Now he was just numb. “Let’s go.”

THE HOUSE was the same, his Mom was the same.

“Joseph Matthias Barrington!”

“Hi Mom.” He hugged her, a little tighter than usual.

“How have you been? Come sit down.”

She led the way to the living room. “You’ve lost weight? Something to drink?”

“No thanks.”

He took stock of the room, it hadn’t changed in the past ten years. Oh, maybe there were a few new pictures of Avery on the shrine. He walked over and started to count. Avery at graduation. Avery fishing on the coast. Avery…

And there were some new ones.

Of Joe.

Joe at Coney Island. Joe at the park. Joe in Amanda’s living room. He was smiling, all happy. Love did that to you. It seemed like a lifetime ago, and it’d only been two months. Somewhere along the way he had lost his life and lost Amanda as well.

“Mom!”

“I’m right here, you don’t have to shout.”

He stared at himself at Coney Island. He’d been looking at her when the photographer shot the picture. It was frightening to see so much love in his eyes. “Where’d you get these?”

His mom moved next to him. “Can’t you guess? From Amanda. Such a sweet girl.”

Amanda must have emptied out her shelves after the big split. One final painful reminder that they had no future. “When did you see her last?”

“Oh, it’s been ages now. She brought these over right after you two started seeing each other.”

His mom had to be wrong. Amanda wouldn’t have brought them over here. “Are you sure it wasn’t more recent than that?”

“Well, of course I’m sure. I had to buy picture hangers because we were all out, and then as I was getting ready to pay, I ran into Lorraine Ellsworth, and her daughter was with her. She looked ready to deliver that very day, she was so pregnant, and little Frank is…well, he must be about two months old by now. It was September, I’m certain.”

He stared up at the wall. There he was. Right next to Avery. Never second place. Not with Amanda. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. I’m not that old, son.”

His heart pumped with hope. Amanda had done that for him. He really had messed up. Maybe it wasn’t too late.

“I love you, Mom.” He hugged her and kissed her on the cheek.

“I love you, too, Joe.” She followed him to the door. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going home, Mom.”

“Well, good. Don’t forget to eat something. You’re looking much too thin.”

AMANDA STARED at her computer, finishing up the last of the Northcott mediation. Another miraculous settlement. She looked up at the clock—10:00 p.m. She hated the nights alone worst of all. The intercom sounded insistently, as if someone was leaning on it.

Quickly, she went to the door and pressed the button, hoping no one was hurt.

“Amanda. Let me up.”

The sound of his voice made her shake. “Joe?”

“Please.”

She needed to be strong. “Why?”

“Amanda, we need to talk.”

She leaned her head wearily against the door. “I don’t think I want to see you.”

“It’s important.” He sounded so urgent.

That just made her mad. “So important that’s it’s taken you two months to think of it?”

“No. Amanda?”

“Amanda?”

“What?”

“I’ve got to talk to you. I love you.”

“That’s not fair, Joe.”

“Will you buzz me up? Please?”

She pressed the button, unlocked the door and then waited, absolutely refusing to get her hopes up.

He burst through the door.

“What’s going on Joe? Why are you here?”

Joe motioned for her to sit down on the couch, his eyes animated. “To talk to you.”

“Go ahead.”

“I think we should try again.”

Amanda couldn’t control the wild jump in her heart. However, she was wiser now. “And with our successful track record, why do you think this time will be better?” She closed her eyes. Please, God.

“I finally figured it out.”

That opened her eyes. “What?”

He started to pace around the room. All the restless energy was forcing him to move. “Amanda, when I grew up my parents measured a man by how much he made, how successful he was. A lot of people do that, me included. I figured you’d see me as second best and I couldn’t understand how you, who have your life so together, could ever be happy with that. For you, I wanted to be first, I wanted to be the best.”

He knelt in front of her. “I owe you an apology. You’re not like that.”

Hope was a wondrous thing and she shook her head. “No. You could’ve just asked me that.”

He took her hand. “I wouldn’t have believed it.”

“And you’d believe it now?” she asked carefully.

When he smiled up at her, she already knew the answer. For the first time in his life, Joe Barrington believed in himself.

“Yes. Amanda?”

The lump in her throat prevented speech. She nodded.

“Will you marry me? I can’t live without you.”

“You’re sure about this?”

He looked so serious, so earnest, so in love. “Yeah.”

It had been so long since she had touched him. She got down on the carpet next to him. “Good.”

“It’s not going to be easy, Amanda.” He lowered his head.

“I know,” she answered, scooting in closer.

“There’ll have to be lots of compromises.” He kissed her neck. “And sacrifices.” He moved her robe aside.

She buried her hands in his hair while his lips played on her skin. “And negotiations.”

He eased her down to the carpet. “Second thing we do is paint all the walls.”

“What’s the first?”

His laugh was slow and smoky. “Let me show you.”

Epilogue

IN EARLY SPRING, the flowers started blooming all over the city. In windowsills, in parks, outside stoops. For Amanda it was her favorite time of year. After all, she was going to be an April bride. She should have been looking over the latest malpractice claim that the firm had picked up, but instead she was thumbing through a bridal magazine.

Oh, well.

“Hey.”

And there, in the doorway to her office—grinning rather foolishly—stood her fiancé.

Fiancé. She liked the way that sounded. “What are you doing here? You coming to take me back to Shakespeare’s Garden?”

His eyes darkened, sending a sharp thrill down her spine. “Maybe later.” Then he shook his head. “You’re distracting me.”

“From what?”

“We have to celebrate.”

“Why?” Her mouth flew open. “You got your license, didn’t you? You rat! Why didn’t you say anything?”

He laughed, and it made her feel wonderful to hear him like that. “No. I’ve got a few more hours in the air, and I swear, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Then what is it?”

“Well,” he said, shutting the door behind him, quite firmly. There was such a brazen gleam in his eyes that she didn’t even need to ask.

Oh, my.

“Joe, we shouldn’t,” she said with absolutely no enthusiasm.

“Amanda, we should,” he replied, walking behind her desk.

She was easily convinced. “Well, maybe we should.” She held up a hand. “Wait. First, what are we celebrating?”

He kissed her neck, his afternoon stubble rough and decadent, and then he pressed his mouth against her ear, whispering softly in a way that never failed to thrill her. “60 Minutes called.”

Obsession

By Kay David

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

Santa Cruz, Bolivia

TWO YEARS, three months, seven days.

Staring out the smudged and dirty window of her taxi, the cobbled streets and crowded sidewalks passing by in a blur, Emma Toussaint wondered if the day would ever come when she would stop keeping track of time. When she would no longer look at a calendar and automatically calculate the number of weeks that had passed since her life—as she had known it—had ended. She doubted it would. Adding up the days was as natural to her now as breathing.

She tried not to dwell on the situation, but in moments like these, when she had to do something she didn’t really want to do, her past came back full force, and it was impossible to ignore. All that occupied her mind was what she no longer had.

Her family. Her home. The life she’d worked so hard to create.

As if he was deliberately trying to distract her, the driver plunged the vehicle into the melee of the First Ring, the taxi’s bumper barely missing the fender of the ancient truck in front of them. The city streets were laid out in a series of concentric circles, and the congestion never ended. Emma grabbed for the door handle, then realized too late it was missing. With a swoosh, she slid across the cracked leather seat to the other side.

She shook her head and held on to her purse a little tighter. The taxis in Santa Cruz were like everything else in this part of South America. Rundown and just getting by. For as long as she’d been in Bolivia, two years now, the whole country had seemed on the edge of collapse—a state with which she could easily sympathize.

The beat-up Toyota she was in whipped out of the traffic circle and merged onto Avenida de Ventura, the main street of Santa Cruz. It was after eight in the evening and the area was still crowded and noisy, exhaust and smoke hanging over the thoroughfare in a dirty brown cloud. Most of the cars packed around her were ancient and filthy, with gaping cavities in the passenger-side dashboard. She’d been here four months before her Spanish had been good enough to ask about the disconcerting holes. She’d learned then that the vehicles had come from Japan where they’d been right-hand drives. Ripping out the steering wheels, exporters adapted the cars, then shipped them to Bolivia. The autos had spent the prime of their lives in another country and had come here on the downswing.

Just like most of the people.

The driver barreled past four stop signs, honking, then blasting straight into the intersections without hesitating. A block later, he jerked the car to a stop at a light he couldn’t ignore.

Thinking of the party she was going to at the Taminaca Bar—dreading the party she was going to—Emma turned her attention away from the traffic and gazed out the side window. Quickly she realized her mistake and looked the other way, but not quickly enough. Her brain registered what she didn’t want to see, and her heart swelled with sympathy and pain.

The Quechua Indian woman who stood on the corner, every day, rain or shine, cold or hot, was there. Emma went down this street, Ayacucho, on her way to work, and she always saw her. She could see the India begging from her office window, as well.

The poor woman couldn’t have been much older than thirty, but she looked twice that. Her skin was like leather, toughened by daily exposure to the sun and wind. She wore a short-brimmed felt hat—the green one today, not the brown. Underneath it, her black hair hung in two thick plaits, which fell well past her waist. The strands were threaded with gray—from the dust or simply premature aging, Emma couldn’t tell. The rest of her outfit was the same; it never changed from one day to the next, except that she sometimes wore long pants beneath the four skirts she wore. Also three blouses, a vest, endless petticoats—more layers of clothing than Emma could generally count. And then there was the aguayo. Using every color of the rainbow, the fragile shawl was frayed and torn, mended so much Emma was continually shocked to see it still in one piece. As usual, the woman had knotted it behind her neck and then slung it diagonally across her chest. Each village wove a different pattern; if you recognized the design, you could tell where the owner came from.

Holding her breath, Emma looked at the aguayo.

The child was there, bundled up so tightly inside the rag it couldn’t move anything but its eyes. Two black dots stared back at Emma from beneath a thatch of equally dark hair. A smudge of something white was on the baby’s cheek.

A physical catch formed inside Emma’s throat, closing it down as tightly as if fingers were wrapped around her neck and squeezing. She struggled against the sensation and tried to swallow, but the feeling wouldn’t go away. She almost wished someone was trying to strangle her. Then her brain would shut down, too, and she wouldn’t have to think anymore.

That wouldn’t happen, though. Emma had seen the Quechua too many times and had hoped for that same kind of relief without it coming. There was always a child in the aguayo. Sometimes older, sometimes younger, but always there was a child. And seeing it always affected her just this way.

Without meaning to, Emma found herself leaning toward the car window, her palm flat against the glass, her fingers spread, almost as if she was reaching out for the baby. The pain in her chest spread in a wider circle and hampered her ability to think—but not to remember.

Sarah had been eight months old when Emma had left the States, just about the age of the child in the serape. Her eyes had been brown, too, and the fuzz on her head dark and curly. Almost five, Jake had looked more like Emma. Lighter eyes. Blond hair. When she’d brought Sarah home from the hospital, Jake had wanted to hold her. As usual, Todd had protested, but Emma had ignored her husband and carefully situated the little boy on the couch. She’d then lowered the infant into his arms, and when she’d stood up and looked at those precious children, the image had burned itself in her heart. She hadn’t understood, beyond the obvious, why it had fixed itself so firmly in her mind at that time. But then again, maybe she had. On a subconscious level, she’d been waiting for disaster for years. Todd had married her and brought her into his life, one completely different from her own, and it’d felt too good to be true right from the very beginning. Not to worry about money. Not to ever think twice about food, shelter or whatever else her children needed. Then everything had changed horribly, almost overnight.

The light went from red to green and the taxi roared down the street, the tiny dirty child and its begging mother falling behind. Emma turned and stared out the back window, but the glass was covered with grit and she couldn’t see them. Her heart shuddering, she faced the front once more, then tilted her head against the splintered leather seat and closed her eyes.

Two years, three months, seven days.

RAUL SANTOS leaned against the bar and sipped his cold Paceña, the bitter bite of the beer as it rolled over his tongue and filled his mouth such a pleasure he could hardly believe it. All his senses were heightened. The feel of the wood against his back, the scent of the flowers sitting on a nearby table, even the painting over the mirror by the liquor bottles. The colors looked brighter than they should have, the images more real. The Taminaca Bar in Santa Cruz, Bolivia, was so far removed, so incredibly different, from where he’d been six months ago, it was unnerving.

It almost seemed as if the past five years had happened to someone else.

Almost.

He drained the beer, set the empty bottle on the bar and nodded for another, his thoughts turning harder. Those years had happened to someone else. The young idealistic Raul Santos he had been before he’d been sent to prison was a completely different person from the man resting against the bar now. They shared the same name, but that was all. His mind, his body, his very soul had been taken out, torn into pieces and reassembled into something totally opposite.

Raul’s gaze roved the bar. It was an open-air place, but elegant, with white tablecloths and candlesticks. A blue pool, surrounded by hibiscus plants with enormous red and yellow blossoms, sparkled on the other side from where he stood. At each end of the pool, hammocks were suspended between palm trees. They swayed gently in the evening breeze, and the chatter of wild birds, contained in several cages along the walkway, filled the relative quiet. The place was beginning to fill with women in tight dresses and men in dark suits, arriving one after another. Someone started some salsa music and the pulsing beat drowned out the birds.

At the opposite end of the polished wooden bar, the bartender uncapped two more Paceñas for a black-jacketed cocktail waitress. Without turning her head, she eyed Raul. He eyed her back, his body responding before he could even think twice. There was something about South American women, he thought. The long black hair, the curvaceous bodies, the way they held themselves. He’d traveled to Buenos Aires once—in his other life—and the women there had been the same. Incredible. As she swished away, Raul stared at her backside and wondered if it was something they learned or if it was simply in their genes.

He turned to pick up his drink, and the bartender was waiting, wiping a white rag over the mahogany expanse between them. The man nodded toward the doorway leading out to the interior of the hotel. “Esa es la señorita. Allá.”

The bartender’s Spanish was different from the Spanish Raul had learned as a child in Texas, but not that different. He turned and looked. The woman he’d been waiting for stood on the threshold.

He palmed the bolivianos he’d tucked under his drink earlier and pushed the bills toward the bartender. Afraid he might miss her, Raul had wanted a second pair of eyes looking for the banker. “Muchas gracias, señor.”

“De nada.” The man’s dark eyes gleamed. “La señorita—es muy bonita, ¿no? Buena suerte, señor…”

Good luck? Raul nodded his thanks at the man’s sentiment, but he didn’t need it. He made his own luck.

Turning away, Raul focused on the woman. Emma Toussaint. He’d seen her before, of course, but each time he found himself surprised by her appearance. The tall thin blonde hadn’t been what he had expected, although he wasn’t able to explain exactly why. Tonight she wore a sleeveless black dress, straight and severe with a scarf tucked into the neckline. She’d probably read in a magazine somewhere that the square of silk would make the dress into a cocktail outfit. She’d been wrong to think so. It still looked like a banker’s dress. No nonsense. Businesslike. Boring.

His eyes went to her face. The first time he’d seen her, he’d decided her features were too interesting to be called pretty. Her cheekbones were so high they shadowed the strong-looking jaw beneath, and her nose was too straight and bladelike for conventional beauty. Her hair, falling straight to her shoulders, was glossy and smooth, her eyes hazel and cool. Only her lips seemed out of place. Full, lush and a red that had to be natural, they looked as if they were made to be tasted.

There was something about her, something elusive he couldn’t put a name to. She wore a hint of uncertainty, a slight hesitation in the way she held her shoulders. It wasn’t a detail anyone else would have noticed, but Raul had spent the past few years looking for people’s weak spots. He’d learned the skill because his life had depended on it. Now it was second nature.

As he watched, Reina Alvarado came up and greeted Emma. Kisses were exchanged and they began a conversation. The other woman was as conservatively dressed as Emma, but clearly a local. With dark hair and features, she had a fuller figure and gestured wildly as she spoke. She tottered on four-inch heels, too, a definite South American fashion trend. They were friends, he already knew, very good friends, and Emma obviously felt comfortable around her, some of the tension easing from her body as they talked.

He picked up his drink, biding his time. He wasn’t in a hurry. He’d do this like he did everything now—on his terms. Finishing the beer, he ordered another. The alcohol didn’t affect him.

The noise level of the party went up, and within the hour the music was all but impossible to hear above the chattering guests. Raul caught snippets of conversation, some in Portuguese, some in English, most in Spanish. He knew no one there, but several people spoke to him, made party conversation. Bolivians were friendly, courteous people, curious about Americans and always ready to talk business or simply converse. He found himself involved in more discussions than he would have liked. It made it harder to keep Emma Toussaint in his sights.

Her blond hair shone, though, and when Raul was finally ready, a little after midnight, he didn’t have any trouble spotting her on the other side of the pool. Moving away from the stool, he threaded his way through the crowd and headed toward the edge of the open air bar. Facing a bank of windows covered in reflective film, he walked parallel to her, his eyes trained on the windows, which were as good as mirrors.

And that was when Raul saw him.

William Kelman.

He was working the crowd, greeting people with a gracious smile and ambling slowly so he could talk to everyone. He blended into the group as though he was born to it. He was heading inexorably toward Emma, and Raul paused to watch the drama unfold. He’d hoped all along that this encounter would happen—had counted on it happening tonight—but now that the vignette was unfolding, the image turned his stomach. Seeing Kelman approach her was like watching a snake stalk a mouse.

Raul grabbed another bottle of beer from a passing waiter and told himself it didn’t matter. He had a job to do and nothing else was important. Emma Toussaint was William Kelman’s mouse, and that was the very reason he, Raul, was there.

He and Kelman were one of a kind. Users. Predators. Men who took what they wanted and never looked back. In his other life, Raul had been a peaceable person, a law-abiding citizen, even a gentleman some might have said, but all that had changed because of William Kelman. Now both of them were the same. Both of them sensed the weak and deceived them for their own advantage.

The realization should have made Raul unhappy.

In his other life, it would have.

“HE’S COMING this way. No! Don’t look. Stand still, I’ll tell you what he’s doing. Smile. Act casual.”

Emma tried to follow Reina Alvarado’s advice, but it wasn’t possible; she had to look. Turning her head, Emma glanced over her shoulder, then faced her best friend once more. “That’s him? The older one in the tuxedo?”

Reina nodded. “William Kelman. He’s a nice-looking man, isn’t he?” She raised a hand to her dark hair and fluffed it up around the crown of her head. “Maybe I can snag him. I’m tired of Miguel and all his problems. Did I tell you what he did last week?”

“No, you didn’t. But right now the only man I want to hear about is Mr. Kelman, please.”

Reina looked peeved, but only for a second. Nothing ever upset her for long, and that was one of the reasons Emma loved her friend so much. She needed the balance in her life that Reina gave her—the laughter, the jokes, the South American acceptance that life was what you were handed, not what you made it. They had met, literally, the day Emma had gotten off the plane. The bank had arranged for Reina, a local real-estate agent, to pick up Emma from the airport so they could begin to look at apartments. In the mass confusion of Viru-Viru, Reina had taken one look at the exhausted and obviously drained Emma, and they’d gone straight to the Yotau Hotel. Reina had checked Emma in, led her to her suite, then ordered room service for them both. They’d been friends ever since, and it’d paid off for Emma in more ways than one. Reina was a pipeline of information and gossip.

“What do you need to know?” Reina said now, her perfect eyebrows arching above snapping black eyes. “He’s rich, he’s an American, and he needs a banker.” She poked Emma discreetly in the ribs.

“That’s you.”

Emma couldn’t help but laugh. “Haven’t you already relieved him of that money? Last time we talked, you said you were taking him to Las Palmas to look at houses.”

“I did,” Reina said smugly. “And he bought the biggest one out there. You know, the pink one on the huge lot with the pool and the garden.” She leaned closer. “It cost a fortune and he didn’t blink an eye.”

Emma’s interest quickened, and she risked another look. William Kelman had stopped to talk to someone, the local consul general, she realized with a start. The woman was smiling and laughing with Kelman as if the two knew each other well. Standing beside them was one of the directors of the embassy. Emma noticed he didn’t look quite as happy, but she gave him a passing glance only. She was interested in Kelman.

He wasn’t tall, but his military bearing added stature and power to his appearance. He was nearer to sixty than fifty, she estimated, with close-cropped hair almost completely gray. As she watched, he tilted his head toward the consul, and for the first time, Emma realized he had someone with him. A very young, very beautiful woman. Dressed in a gold sheath that revealed a stunning figure, she was standing to one side of Kelman, looking bored, her dark eyes searching the room for something more exciting, her body moving, unconsciously, it seemed, to the music of the band.

“You’re staring,” Reina hissed. “Turn around. I’ll tell you when he’s coming this way.”

Emma shifted to look at her friend once more, but as she did, she suddenly felt every one of her thirty-five years. The simple black dress she’d selected seemed dowdy. She hadn’t taken the time to apply more makeup or fix her hair. Touching the ends of it, she knew there was nothing she could do about it now.

Reina read her mind. “You look perfect,” she said. “Just like a banker.”

“I know,” Emma answered. “I just…” She shook her head. “That girl he’s with. She’s so young, so gorgeous…” She let her voice die out.

“They’re all young and gorgeous, chica, but we’ve got experience. That’s more important!”

A moment later William Kelman was at their side, the girl trailing behind him. “Reina!” He leaned over and kissed her. “How’s my favorite real-estate agent?”

Reina beamed. “Muy bien, señor. And how’s your Spanish?”

“It’s not improving,” he said. “Not one damned bit.”

Before he could say anything else, Reina reached out and put her hand on Emma’s arm. “This is my friend, Emma Toussaint.”

Emma extended her hand and William Kelman took it. He squeezed so hard she felt her ring cut into the flesh of her fingers, but on reflex, she squeezed back, just as forcefully. His eyes narrowed momentarily, then he released his grip.

“So you’re the banker, eh? I’ve heard a lot about you. Your name gets dropped in all the right places.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Emma met his eyes and smiled.

“You’re at Banco, right?”

“That’s correct. I work for Banco Nacional. I’m in charge of their foreign-currency exchanges and expatriate accounts.”

“Convince me it’s a good idea to put all my money with you and your bank.”

She smiled politely. There was a shop downtown that sold Brazilian blue topaz the exact shade of William Kelman’s eyes. She’d never liked the stone—its color was cold and impersonal.

“I don’t have to convince you,” she said. “Talk to my other clients and you’ll convince yourself.”

His expression didn’t change, but she’d dealt with so many men like him back in New Orleans she could tell what they were going to say before they opened their mouths. Like her ex-husband and his family, they had money and they thought it made them special.

“I’ve already heard everyone’s opinions,” he said. “But I make up my mind for myself.”

“Don’t you find that hard to do without the facts?”

He smiled. It was a chilly expression that matched his eyes. “Not really. I find most ‘facts’ highly overrated.”

She made a motion with her head, a quick tilt as if to agree with his witticism. She needed the man’s business—there was no reason to make him angry. “We’re not the biggest bank in town, Mr. Kelman, but we handle all the important accounts. I’m sure you’d be very happy with us.”

“I’ll come see you sometime next week.” He stuck out his hand. “I assume that’s convenient?”

She accepted his grip. This time it was looser, as if she’d passed some kind of test. “I’d be delighted to see you anytime.”

He nodded and moved away after kissing Reina on the cheek. Emma took a deep breath and let it out slowly, her shoulders slumping before she could stop herself, relief flooding her now that the moment had passed. She’d come to the party for this one reason—to let William Kelman check her out and obtain a meeting with him. She hoped it was worth it.

Reina grabbed her arm and grinned. “Let’s go get another drink,” she whispered. “I have a feeling you’re going to have something to celebrate soon.”

RAUL WATCHED the two women head toward the bar, their business with Kelman obviously concluded. Emma Toussaint appeared more relaxed. Looking down at her friend, she tossed her head and smiled, her blond hair swinging against her neck. Even her step was easier, he noticed, less stiff and anxious. Clearly she was pleased with how the introductions had gone. Raul allowed himself a corresponding flicker of satisfaction, then he searched the room with his eyes and found Kelman to judge his reaction.

The man was in a group of people, laughing and talking. The young woman he’d brought with him was nowhere to be seen. He seemed to be participating in the conversation, but as Raul watched, he realized Kelman’s attention was actually focused somewhere else. Raul followed the other man’s gaze until he understood. Kelman was studying Emma Toussaint, looking at her with a measuring wariness.

In the past, Raul had always addressed his problems directly. As a well-trained attorney, he’d assess the situation, evaluate his priorities, then put his plan into action, a plan that was usually complicated and involved, yet never beyond the limits of what was legal. He believed in doing things the right way; justice and fairness were always behind him.

But the rules were different now. Kelman had changed them when he’d ruined Raul’s life. Honesty and ethics were out the window, replaced by lies and subterfuge.

But Raul could handle them as deceit as deftly as he’d been able to handle truth.

Finishing his beer, he gave the matter no more thought. He put the bottle down and headed across the room. Toward Emma Toussaint.

CHAPTER TWO

RAUL WAS FIVE STEPS from Emma’s side when a throng of party goers surged between them. Momentarily thwarted, he had to pause, and when he did, he felt the old familiar prickling sensation along the back of his neck. The one that had saved his life more than once. The one that told him someone had noticed him. Stuck within the center of the throng, he turned. William Kelman was staring directly at him.

All Raul could do was stare back. Sooner or later he’d expected Kelman to know he was in Santa Cruz, so it didn’t really matter. But Raul felt his muscles tense as their gazes locked. He’d wondered how he’d react the first time he looked into the other man’s eyes. Now he knew. He felt only an empty kind of satisfaction for what he knew was coming. It seemed strange, but that was it. Kelman narrowed his eyes, his expression puzzled.

A second passed, maybe two, and the moment was broken by a waiter coming between them. In that instant, Raul realized Kelman didn’t recognize him. For five years Raul had thought of nothing but seeking revenge on this man, and apparently he didn’t even remember Raul. Under different circumstances, the situation might have been amusing. For now, all Raul wondered was what this meant to his plans. He decided quickly that if Kelman couldn’t place him, all the better.

With the crowd still pressing around him, Raul gave up and let himself be carried down the sidewalk. The entire group spilled outside and began to pile into the taxis lining the street in front of the bar. They were moving on to another location, and even though they were strangers, they began to insist that Raul come with them. Laughing and playing along, he turned them down, then he saw the opportunity. He could connect with Emma Toussaint another time; now it seemed more important to avoid Kelman. A moment later, he was in a cab, driving away with a man and two women, heading for a party he knew nothing about. As they hit the nearby traffic circle, Raul sent a casual glance over his shoulder, back toward the bar. He wasn’t surprised at what he saw. William Kelman was standing under the overhang of the bar’s entrance, a cigar in one hand, a drink in the other. His eyes were on the departing taxis, and in the dim illumination from a nearby street lamp, his expression was still puzzled.

It wouldn’t take him long to figure it out.

EMMA WAS SITTING at her desk on Monday morning when the phone rang. She wasn’t reading the currency reports piled in front of her or writing the memo she had due in a few hours; she was just sitting. The party on Saturday night had left her drained, and Sunday had been as awful as it usually was. She lived all week for the moment she could call the States and hear her children’s voices, but the minute the telephone conversation was finished, she would feel the force of their absence and break down. The rest of the day was always a painful blur, just hours she had to endure until the next time she could talk to them.

The phone at her elbow sounded again and she reached for it without thinking. The voice at the other end was not one she’d expected, at least not this soon.

“Ms. Toussaint, this is William Kelman. I assume I’m not interrupting anything…”

She sat up straight in her chair. “Mr. Kelman, of course you’re not interrupting. I’m glad you called.”

“I’d like to discuss my banking situation with you as soon as possible.”

“I can see you today.” As she spoke, Emma pulled her calendar closer, but she didn’t really need to look at it. If Kelman had as much money as Reina said he did, Emma’s day was his. “When would you like to come by?”

“That’s just it.” The hint of reluctance she heard in his voice sounded studied, but Emma told herself she was imagining things. “I can’t come in today. Too much going on. I’d like to invite you to dinner, though. Could you meet me at Candelabra, say, around nine?”

Something about the man bothered her and she hesitated, then she chastised herself. There was no good reason she couldn’t meet William Kelman for dinner, none whatsoever. She didn’t have plans and dinner at Candelabra—the best restaurant in town—was always a pleasure. But more importantly, if she turned down this kind of opportunity and Christopher Evans, her boss, found out, he’d kill her. She’d already told him about meeting Kelman, and Chris was practically frantic to get the man’s business.

“Candelabra would be fine,” she answered.

“I’d be happy to meet you there.” She scribbled the notation in her calendar, then pushed it back to the corner of her desk.

“Excellent. Give me your address and I’ll send a car.”

“That’s not necessary,” she protested. “I can catch a cab.”

“I insist. It’s the least I can do for making you work so late.”

He wouldn’t take no for an answer. By the time she hung up, Emma had given him directions to her home and a promise she’d see him at nine. She felt vaguely uncomfortable, but what did it matter? The man had the potential for becoming a very big client. If she signed him up, they’d be seeing each other a lot. Her customers were the kind who kept a close eye on their money.

Before she could devote more worry to the subject, her phone rang again, her internal line this time.

“Usted tiene una visita.”

“Felicity, Inglés, por favor.” Emma now spoke perfect Spanish, but she insisted that the secretaries and assistants in her department speak English. People with money were usually paranoid; the clients, mostly British and American, were more comfortable when they could understand what was being said around them. She frowned. It’d been a long time since she’d had to remind the young woman.

“I’m sorry…You have a visitor.” Felicity’s voice dropped in a way Emma had never heard before. “A gentleman.”

“Who is it?”

Felicity gave Emma his name, but it was not familiar, and he didn’t have an appointment, either. That was not unusual, though. With the level of wealth most of her clients enjoyed, they expected to drop in and still be welcomed. Emma told the secretary she’d be right out.

She checked her hair and lipstick in a small mirror she kept in her desk, then rose and crossed the carpet. Just outside her private office was a reception area that was exclusive to her clients. They could enter this quarter of the bank through the main lobby or come in by a door that led directly to the street. Emma entered the reception room and looked at her secretary.

Felicity met Emma’s eyes and tilted her head toward a man standing near the windows. He had his back to them, his hands locked behind him, but as Emma watched, he turned to face her. A field of energy seemed to surround him, waves of intensity rippling out from where he stood. Emma told herself she was being silly, but she swore she could actually feel the strength of his power from across the room.

She started toward him, her heels clicking on the tile floor. “I’m Emma Toussaint,” she said, holding out her hand as she got closer. “How may I help you, Mr. Santos?”

Up close, his magnetism was even stronger. She found herself holding her breath as his dark eyes passed over her in a practiced way. She’d become accustomed to the evaluations of South American males, but the way this man’s gaze scanned her body was different. It left her feeling strangely vulnerable. His touch added to the sensation. As they shook hands, it enveloped her with a sizzling heat.

“I’m here to open an account.” His voice was low and melodious with a hint of something she couldn’t place. “I understand you handle the customers with…special needs.”

“I’m in charge of the currency department, and I’m also the vice president of the expatriate accounts.” She answered carefully. “On occasion I do help with other areas.”

He glanced toward Felicity. The young woman was facing her computer screen with a look of such studied involvement, it was obvious she wasn’t missing a word. He turned back to Emma with an amused expression. “Perhaps we could go into your office and I could explain further?”

It wouldn’t be the first time a good client had walked in off the street. Never one to turn down an opportunity, Emma nodded, then led the stranger into her office, stopping beside Felicity to order coffee for them both. A moment later Emma was sitting behind her desk and Raul Santos was seated in front of her.

He wasn’t really her type, but he was an attractive man. Bronzed skin, dark eyes, black hair that gleamed. He was over six feet and clearly not a local. Emma found herself intrigued. Other available men had been in her office since her divorce, but something about this one was different. Maybe it was his intensity. Maybe it was the way he was looking at her with his dark gaze. One way or the other, despite her attraction to him, or maybe because of it, he made her uneasy. She shivered once before she could stop herself and spoke quickly to cover her interest.

“What brings you to Banco Nacional, Mr. Santos?”

He rested his hands on the arms of the chair and looked at her. “Everyone knows about El Banco,” he said with a shrug. “It’s the only game in town, isn’t it?”

“Well, there’s a Lloyd’s down the street and El Centro, too, but we’re the best.”

“In your opinion.”

She smiled. “In the opinion of all our customers, I’m sure. We are the most successful.”

“Doesn’t that depend on how you define success?”

“I define it as do most of our clients—by a large return on their investments.”

“That’s what I’ve heard,” he conceded. “And what I’d like, as well.”

“So we were recommended, then?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

She waited for more—a name, a hint of some sort—but he wasn’t going to give it to her. Felicity brought in the coffee, and when she left, he spoke again.

“It doesn’t really matter why I chose your bank. What’s important is the account I’d like to open.” Ignoring the coffee, he pulled a long black wallet from the inside pocket of his suit. The leather looked smooth and expensive; it matched the rest of him. He withdrew what appeared to be a printed check and pushed it across Emma’s desk, along with a business card showing his addresses and phone numbers. “I’ll be doing some trading. I think that should cover it.”

Emma made no move to pick up the check, but she looked down at it. Drawn from a bank in El Paso, Texas, it gave an amount of seven figures. Before the decimal point. She reached for her phone and hit one button. The door to the office opened immediately, Felicity on the threshold.

Emma motioned her inside, then handed the secretary the check and the card. “Please take care of the paperwork for this.” She glanced at the man across the desk. “Will you wait or shall I messenger the documents to you later?”

“How long will it take?”

The bigger the check, the shorter the time. “Ten minutes, maybe fifteen,” she said.

“I’ll wait.”

Felicity nodded and hurried away, a tight grasp on the check as she disappeared out the door. Emma turned back to the man in front of her. Usually she had no trouble visiting with her clients, but for some reason, Raul Santos left her not quite knowing what to say. It felt strange. She hadn’t been tongue-tied in years, especially without knowing why.

“What brings you to the area, Mr. Santos? Are you from Bolivia?” Lame, Emma, really lame.

“I grew up in Texas, but I’ve been living in Washington until recently. I moved here to do business. I’m an importer.”

Shocked into silence, Emma kept a mask of polite interest on her face. Importer? The answer was a standard reply in some circles, but the last one she’d expected from this man. He’d definitely not struck her as being involved in the drug trade, but that was the euphemism everyone in Santa Cruz used for the narcotraficantes. “I see,” she finally said. “An importer…”

“That’s right. I import money.” He paused.

“And export goods.”

“You must be good at it.”

He smiled for the first time and something—a quick unexpected reaction—tumbled around inside her chest. “I’m good at what I do, Ms. Toussaint. Very good.”

She nodded, uncertain what to say next. Surprisingly he kept the moment from being awkward by turning the conversation to her. “What about you? What brought you to Santa Cruz?”

She hadn’t expected the question from him, but Emma had dodged it so many times she had a pat answer ready. “International banking is my specialty. I wanted an opportunity to see the system work.”

“Why here? Couldn’t you have done that in the States?”

“I would have spent too many years back home working my way up. I came into Nacional and was quickly promoted to the vice presidency of expatriate accounts. That wouldn’t have happened in the States.”

“So you’re good at what you do, as well.”

His gaze was dark and unrevealing, but had a pull she couldn’t deny. “Yes, I’m good at it,” she replied, mimicking what he’d said about himself.

“Very good.”

“Then we’ll be a great team.”

His words held an undercurrent of something that only increased her uneasiness, but she smiled. “Undoubtedly.”

A few minutes later, Felicity returned with the papers. He scanned them quickly, then signed them without questions, obviously familiar with the legal terms. When he finished and rose, Emma escorted him to the door of her office. He stood closer to her than she would have liked, but people did that in South America. She’d learned to live with it. However, being this near to Raul Santos made her all too aware of the custom.

“I’ll be traveling a lot, but my base will be here, in Santa Cruz.” He smoothed a hand down his tie, his fingers strong-looking. No ring. “I’d like to get to know the city. I know it’s not part of your job, but could I entice you to dinner this evening to learn more about it?”

He’d managed to surprise her again. “I—I have an engagement already,” she said.

“That’s too bad,” he said. “Perhaps another time?”

Her pulse quickened even though she instinctively knew she should stay away from this man. Something told her he was dangerous. She couldn’t afford to upset him, though. She inclined her head and repeated his words. “Another time…”

He acknowledged her answer with a smile, but she wondered if the expression conveyed his true feelings. “I’ll be in touch.”

She watched him leave, then went back into her office. A second later, a movement outside her window caught her eye, and she walked over to the tinted glass. Raul Santos stood on the corner beside the Quechua woman. He was smiling at her and her child, holding out his hand. The Indian woman snatched at what he offered and ducked her head. A moment after that, he headed down the sidewalk.

Fascinated, Emma looked on as the beggar opened her palm and counted the bills the man had given her. It took her quite a while.

THE ENTRANCE to the restaurant was hidden behind a brick wall and iron gate. When Emma climbed from the car William Kelman had sent her, a valet ran out to the street, unlocked the gate and escorted her into the inner garden. By necessity, Bolivians had tight security, especially in the wealthier neighborhoods such as this one. In fact, Candelabra didn’t even look like a dining establishment, so perfectly did it blend in with the surrounding homes. The first time Emma visited, she’d thought the cabdriver had made a mistake and dropped her off at someone’s house.

She followed the valet over a small rock-lined walkway bordered by tropical plants. The largest, a beautiful bird-of-paradise, trembled in the night breeze, its red and yellow blooms striking even in the dim lamps near the door. When she stepped into the entrance to the restaurant, she could hear the muted sound of diners.

The maître d’ greeted her by name.

“Señorita Toussaint, how beautiful you look tonight!”

Emma smiled at the dark-haired man and replied in Spanish, “Estefan, you flatter me, as always. How are the grandchildren?”

He beamed. “Very well, as always, señorita. Thank you for asking.”

Leading her to the table, he continued his chatter until she was seated. “Señor Kelman called and said he would be a few minutes late. He begs your pardon and has ordered champagne for the table.”

Emma seriously doubted that William Kelman had ever begged for anything. Her attention focused, however, on the waiter who had appeared at the maître d’s side and was already opening a bottle of champagne. “None for me,” she said, putting her hand over her glass.

She hadn’t noticed until now, but Estefan already had a flute in his hand. He brought it around and placed it in front of her. It was full of a shimmering gold liquid. Bending closer to her, he rotated the glass to line it up with her plate. “Ginger ale,” he pronounced. “¿Está bien?”

She looked up at him with a grateful expression.

“Muchísimas gracias,” she said quietly.

“De nada.”

The two men left the table after that, and Emma waited, her fingers wrapped around the thin crystal stem of the glass. She hadn’t had a drink since she’d come to Bolivia, and in her business, that wasn’t always an easy thing to avoid. The constant parties, the luncheon meetings—everything in Latin American either started or ended with alcohol. She’d been tempted, and always would be, but she hadn’t given in. Knowing what she did now, she couldn’t risk it, even though she’d already lost all that meant anything to her. One day she’d get her children back, and when she did, no one would be able to point a finger at her.

Sipping the soft drink, she concentrated, instead, on the men and women at the tables around her. In a country where the average daily income was eight dollars, very few locals could afford a meal that easily cost five times as much. Therefore, the people around her were either expatriates or criminals, sometimes both. She greeted a few with a nod of her head. Some were clients, as well.

And Raul Santos? What was he?

He certainly didn’t fit the profile of the local drug kings, but in Bolivia, you never knew. The largest homes and the luxury cars couldn’t be bought by anyone except those in the trade. Or by Americans, which he claimed to be. She touched the heavy silver knife beside her plate and argued with herself. He really could be a legitimate businessman. The country exported tin and jewelry and had a thriving natural-gas business. A huge sect of Mennonites farmed soybeans in the nearby valley, as well. They had U.S. agents who handled their sales. For all she knew, perhaps he was helping them. She should have set aside her usual reticence and just asked, but she suspected the answer would have been, most likely, not completely truthful.

Raul Santos had the look of a man who kept his secrets. She knew because she had her own.

The arrival of William Kelman a few minutes later put the other man out of her mind. He shook her hand and took the seat beside her. Scurrying over quickly, a waiter filled his champagne glass from the chilling bottle, and before Emma could say anything the man filled her flute with champagne, as well. She looked at the glass in dismay, then adjusted her features immediately.

William lifted his drink for a toast and waited expectantly. “To new beginnings,” he said. “And successful ventures.”

Emma brought the glass to her lips and held it there for a second. Kelman didn’t notice that was all she did. He launched into conversation, bombarding her with questions. By the time their food arrived, she’d explained Bolivian currency, the U.S. market and the future of trading in both. He was a quick study and asked probing questions. Almost too probing. She was being paranoid, but something about his cross-examination disturbed her, and she couldn’t pinpoint the reason.

She told herself it might have something to do with his background. He’d told Reina he’d lived in Santa Cruz early in his career with the U.S. government. Outside of Washington, D.C., Santa Cruz had the largest DEA office in existence. Reina hadn’t known for sure, but he must have been an agent; he definitely had the look of a man who’d been in law enforcement. He’d loved the town, he said, and now that he’d retired, without a wife or family to object, he’d returned to enjoy the warm weather and laid-back atmosphere. Regardless of his explanation, Santa Cruz seemed like a strange choice to Emma. The city was not a place most people would want to spend their golden years.

When they finished their dinner, he waved to the waiter, then without consulting Emma, ordered dessert and brandy. Rising from the table, he looked down at her.

“I have a phone call to make. Would you mind if I excused myself for a moment?”

Under the dim lights of the dining room, his blue eyes looked frostier than they had on Saturday.

“No, of course not,” she answered.

He took out a cigar and pointed it at her champagne glass. “You finish that, and I’ll be right back.”

She’d hoped he hadn’t noticed, but obviously he had. Emma watched him disappear toward the rear of the restaurant, then she picked up the flute of champagne and stared at the bubbling wine. She had one goal in life right now: to make as much money as she possibly could so she could hire the best lawyer she could find. That was the only way she’d ever see her children again. And making money meant keeping William Kelman happy.

But she couldn’t drink this wine. Alcohol had ruined her life already, stolen from her the very things she valued the most. If Kelman was insulted by her refusal to drink, then he’d just have to be insulted. She needed the money, but she couldn’t risk the progress she’d made so far. Nothing was worth that.

Reaching over to a nearby plant, she dumped the glass of expensive champagne into the container. At the very same time, a shadow fell over the table. She looked up to see Raul Santos.

SHE WAS WEARING a sleeveless black dress with a rounded collar. It was as simple and plain as the dress she’d worn on Saturday night, but she’d added pearl earrings and a necklace. In the candlelight, they gleamed almost as richly as her hair. She looked startled to see him.

“Mr. Santos!”

“Please call me Raul,” he said. He tilted his head toward the glass in her hand. “Bad wine?”

She glanced down at the empty glass, then back up at him. Her look was steady. “Yes,” she lied. “I didn’t want to embarrass Estefan.”

“Of course.” He didn’t question her further. It was none of his business, anyway.

“Are you here for dinner?”

“Yes, thanks to your secretary. She recommended this place, you know.” After I read the note in your calendar…

“I didn’t realize that. I’ll tell her you approved.” Her gaze went to the woman standing beside him, and he knew immediately what she was thinking. Had he already made plans with her when he’d asked Emma out, or had he asked her after Emma had turned him down?

The truth was much simpler. Wendy Fortune was an old friend, and they’d worked together in Washington on several different cases. To everyone else in Bolivia, she was an assistant to the local consul, but her real job was to keep an eye on people who needed watching. She and Raul went back a long way, and part of the path had been personal, too.

He explained none of this, but simply gave Emma her name. The two women shook hands.

“Are you alone?” he asked. “Would you like to join us?”

“I’m with someone,” she answered. “But thank you.”

They talked a bit more, then the maître d’ took them to their own table, a secluded one on the other side of the luxurious dining area, just visible from Emma’s own table. Two minutes later, her dining companion returned, pulled out his chair and sat down. This time when William Kelman’s eyes met Raul’s, instant recognition filled their depths.

From across the room, Raul smiled.

CHAPTER THREE

“DO YOU KNOW HIM?”

William Kelman’s voice was cold as he tilted his head to the other side of the room. Without even looking, Emma knew instantly whom he meant.

“Yes, I do,” she answered. “His name is Raul Santos.”

“Is he a client of yours?”

It wasn’t a question she could answer; the people whose money she handled valued their privacy.

“My client list is confidential, Mr. Kelman. Surely you appreciate that fact as much as anyone.”

He grunted his reply and sipped his brandy, his eyes boring a tunnel across the dimly lit dining room.

After a second, she sneaked a look, too. Raul was meeting William Kelman’s stare, and he wasn’t blinking. She could almost feel the tension crackling between the two men. Raul’s friend Wendy seemed as aware of the silent confrontation as Emma. She reached out and put her hand on his arm and said something quietly. He leaned over to listen, but he didn’t break eye contact.

William Kelman looked away first.

“Tell me more about this currency thing,” he commanded.

Relieved by his change of subject, Emma took a deep breath. “The local currency is called a boliviano and it’s equal to one hundred centavos.”

“What’s that in American money?”

“It changes, but on Friday, a boliviano was worth about fifty cents, give or take a bit.”

“And you make money for your clients by trading this currency, right?”

“That’s part of what I do.”

“How does that work, exactly?”

“The official exchange rate floats, but it’s reviewed periodically. The government has five to ten million dollars they handle every day. I sell bolivianos for dollars or vice versa, and if I do it right, I make money on the margin—the difference between the two amounts.”

“How do you know how many dollars they’ll offer?”

“I don’t know,” she answered. “But that’s not really important. The rate is what counts.”

“How much do you make for your clients doing this?”

“It varies from day to day.”

“On?”

“On a lot of things. The markets the day before, the movement of the other currencies being traded, the local economy…”

He leaned his elbows on the table, and at the same time Emma felt a hot gaze on her back. Raul Santos was still staring at them, she could tell.

“Do you know the rate ahead of time?”

She looked at him in surprise. “The rate is examined by a government committee. If there is a change, it’s secret until it’s announced a few days later. For obvious reasons.”

“But if you did know the figure in advance, you’d make more money for your clients, right?”

His question was unsettling, but Emma tried to make light of it. “Only until I got caught—which would probably be immediately. If I knew the information in advance and acted on it, that would be insider trading. It’s as illegal here as it is in the United States.”

He paused, and for some reason, her uneasiness grew. “And you don’t break the law, do you, Ms. Toussaint?”

“No,” she said, “I don’t.”

He nodded slowly, but she had the feeling he didn’t believe her. “Not for anything?”

She opened her mouth to answer the same way, then she hesitated. She’d make a deal with the devil if it meant getting her kids back. She’d do anything for them, wouldn’t she? Even break the law?

Over the middle of the table, she lifted her eyes and their gazes locked. Then he smiled.

RAUL WATCHED William Kelman and Emma depart the restaurant. He’d thought Kelman was going to come over and speak to him, but he hadn’t, and Raul had felt a flash of disappointment. He’d almost welcome a direct confrontation, to settle things as he’d done when he was younger and knew less—with fists and bloodied noses. It was a more honest way, but Kelman didn’t operate like that. He was sneaky and underhanded, and when this was all over, bloody noses would not be the end result.

Rising from the table, Raul motioned to Wendy to do the same. “Let’s go,” he said roughly. “I want to follow them. I want to know where she lives.”

Wendy stood up, grabbing her purse and coat, while she protested, “This is crazy, Raul. You’re heading for disaster.”

Taking her elbow, he led her away from the table and shook his head. “Disaster was losing five years of my life to that son of a bitch. What’s going to happen next is not disaster.”

“And the woman? What do you think she’ll call it?”

Ignoring Wendy’s question, Raul stopped at the front door and motioned to the valet to bring his car, handing the man a wad of bills. He’d already arranged to have the car nearby, and within seconds they were in it and driving off. Ahead of them, along the boulevard, he could just make out the taillights of the car Emma was in. Kelman had departed in a different one.

As if the conversation had never been interrupted, Wendy spoke again, her voice insistent. “Emma Toussaint is going to get hurt, Raul. And she doesn’t deserve it. She’ll be an innocent victim, caught up in your scheme for revenge. Doesn’t that bother you?”

Raul swerved to avoid a pothole the size of a small crater. They were heading to the First Ring, in the central part of town, an older area shunned by most of the expatriates. “There’s no other way,” he said grimly. “And she’s not that innocent, anyway. I checked her out.”

“What do you mean?”

He shook his head impatiently. “It’s not important, but believe me, she’s had her share of trouble. And she caused most it herself.”

“Well, that might be true, but she didn’t cause yours. And it’s not fair to drag her into this.”

“Who said life is fair?”

Wendy shook her head at his cynical reply. “You should walk away and forget about him, Raul.”

“Is that what you would do?”

“Yes, I would, because this isn’t worth it. William Kelman is a dangerous man, and you’re going to get hurt, maybe killed. To make matters even worse, you’re going to take that poor woman with you.”

“No one’s going to die.” He paused. “I just want to make Kelman wish he was dead, and the key to that is taking his money. I can’t do that without her help.”

“And if she doesn’t offer it?”

“She will, whether she knows it or not.”

There was obviously nothing else she could say, and Wendy fell silent. Ten minutes later, Raul slowed his SUV as the vehicle ahead of them entered a deserted side street and parked, a cloud of exhaust pouring from its tailpipe. The homes were modest, not what he would have expected for an American banker. Emma stepped from the car and hurried to the front gate of a two-story house. It was mostly hidden behind a brick wall covered in some kind of greenery, but from the little Raul could see, it looked well tended. Unlocking the iron entrance, she disappeared from sight. His window down, Raul heard her walking up the sidewalk, then the sound stopped and a moment after that, a door slammed. The finality of the noise didn’t faze him. He threw his truck in gear and made a sharp U-turn. Fifteen minutes after that, he was in front of Wendy’s house.

“Is there any way I can change your mind?” Wendy reached across the seat and put her hand on his. Her touch was warm and it brought back memories. “Is there any way I can stop you from going back there?”

Beneath the casual tone, Raul heard what she was trying to ask.

“No,” he said. “Kelman might show up there later, and I need to know if he does. I have to understand what kind of relationship they have.”

He read the disappointment that flashed across her face, even though the expression was gone immediately. She’d expected his answer. She nodded and reached for the door handle, then paused.

“Going back there tonight would be a mistake, Raul,” she said softly. “A very big mistake.”

He met her troubled gaze with a blank one of his own. “It won’t be the first time. Or the last.”

BY THE TIME Raul got back to Emma’s, it was almost one in the morning. Except for a single low light in one upstairs corner, the house and gardens were dark. He parked the truck, then settled into the expectant stillness to wait.

EMMA RAN THE BRUSH through her hair and absentmindedly looked at her watch. Sarah and Jake had been asleep for hours, or at least they should have been. She imagined them in their beds, tucked in safe and sound. She’d done Sarah’s room in lavender and pink, Jake’s in dark green and navy. Todd had complained when Emma had selected the colors, saying they didn’t match the rest of the house. The decorator had concurred and been horrified when he’d seen them. But Emma hadn’t cared. Her hand stilled as she remembered her son’s face when he’d first seen the baseball wallpaper. His eyes had blazed with excitement, and he’d jumped up and down, squealing with delight.

Before Emma could stop herself, her vision blurred with tears. Angrily she threw down the hairbrush and wiped at her eyes, but it didn’t do any good. The stinging tears continued. She took a ragged breath, but several minutes passed before she managed to get a tenuous hold on her emotions. Searching her brain for a distraction, she focused on the first thing she thought of—Raul Santos.

Seeing him at Candelabra this evening had been a shock. She wasn’t sure why—the man obviously had no trouble getting a date—but she hadn’t expected him there, especially with a gorgeous woman on his arm. They’d talked a lot, their dark heads together, their hands wrapped around matching glasses of wine. What on earth had he thought when he’d caught Emma pouring out her glass of champagne? She couldn’t imagine what must have run through his head, but she told herself she didn’t care. It would have been far worse for her if she’d drunk the wine.

She stood abruptly and crossed her bedroom to the window facing the street. Over the garden wall, the avenue was dark and deserted, save for several vehicles parked on the other side. A night bird called out, his cry piercing the empty silence.

After a second she dropped the curtain and turned. Halfway to her bed, she stopped impulsively and returned to her desk by the window to flick on her computer. The hard drive whirred into action as she pointed the mouse to her server icon.

The modem connection clicked and hummed, then a few seconds later, connected. At the other end, the phone began to ring and her screen began to blink. Navigating to the site she needed, Emma entered her password, then nodded in satisfaction. Leon was on-line, just as she’d known he would be.

She imagined him sitting in a trance before his computer at the bank in New Orleans. The lab operated twenty-four hours a day, and Leon always took the night shift. Totally without social graces, he’d managed to insult half the management team when he’d worked as a summer intern at the bank. The other half had seen his wardrobe and assumed he was a homeless kid hanging around the lobby to stay cool. She’d sensed the brains behind the facade and had gotten Leon Davis his job; she hoped he remembered that now.

She typed quickly. “Leon, this is Emma Toussaint. I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.”

His answer reflected his surprise. “I’m just surfing. Nothing important. What’s up?”

There was caution in his short reply, and she wasn’t surprised. Todd hadn’t just ruined her personal life; he’d annihilated her professional one, as well. Everyone at the bank—even down in the computer lab, she was sure—had heard the gossip. Knowing her ex-husband and his family as she did, she was sure he’d kept the bad news alive as much as he could.

Her fingers tapped out her answer. “I’m working overseas—in South America—and I’ve got a question. I don’t know anyone who could help me but you.”

The flattery worked, just as she knew it would.

“I’ll give it my best shot.”

She paused. He was brilliant and could get the information; she’d been the only person at the bank who hadn’t been ready to fire him when they’d discovered he’d hacked his way into the salary file to see what everyone was making. But how to pose her query?

“I want you to check out someone for me. Discreetly,” she typed. “Raul Santos. He’s a new customer at my bank. Used to live in Washington, D.C., or possibly El Paso, Texas.” She hit the enter key before she could think too hard about it.

“Sounds interesting. You want that real time or can I get back to you?”

“There’s no hurry.”

“No problem. I’ll catch you later in the week. Stay cool.”

She leaned back in her chair and stared at the monitor. She wasn’t sure why she’d done what she just had. If anyone found out, she’d have a hard time explaining. Requesting personal data on her clients was not standard operating procedure. On the other hand, Raul Santos didn’t seem like her usual client.

If she wanted to check out someone, it ought to be William Kelman. Any time a client asked the kind of questions he had this evening, a red light came on in Emma’s brain. Curiosity of that sort usually meant one thing—the person wanted it for a reason, and it generally wasn’t a legitimate one. She thought briefly of talking it over with Chris but just as quickly decided against saying anything to her boss. He didn’t like problems, and anything remotely out of the ordinary was a problem to him. She shut down her machine, empty silence replacing the mechanical hum of the computer.

One way or the other, she needed Kelman’s account and as many like it as she could find. Each one meant a bonus, and each bonus brought her one step closer to her goal—having enough money to buy the meanest, toughest lawyer New Orleans had to offer. She’d fought Todd with everything she’d had, but that hadn’t been enough. When she went back to try again, she’d have what she needed.

Nothing else mattered.

THE DIM LIGHT behind the upstairs window went out at 1:45 a.m. Raul glanced at his watch, then waited five more minutes before starting the truck. He drove slowly down the street toward Emma’s house and paused right in front. She didn’t know what kind of vehicle he had, so if she looked out the window it wouldn’t matter, anyway.

As if the house were breathing, the upstairs curtains moved in and out in a rhythmic pattern. Must be a fan, he thought, something to break the still night air. He wasn’t prepared for the image that appeared next in his mind, surprising him with its intensity. Emma in bed. The blond hair shining in the darkness. Her slim body in a nightgown. Her fingers curled against the sheets. In the restaurant this evening, her elegant beauty had made every other woman in the place look overblown, too made up.

Then he remembered his words to Wendy. Emma had had her share of troubles. The file he had on her back at the villa he’d rented contained only the barest details, but they were grim. She’d grown up in Louisiana and met Todd Toussaint at college. They’d married, and two children had followed quickly—but so had disaster.

Todd Toussaint had made sure everyone knew the split was not his fault. He divorced her and her life went downhill quickly. She was fired from the bank, and he gained full custody of the children. Without a family, a job or even references, she’d ended up in Santa Cruz, Bolivia.

Emma Toussaint had nowhere to go and nothing to lose. She was just the kind of woman William Kelman would seek out and use.

All Raul had to do was stand by and watch it happen.

CHAPTER FOUR

THEY MET AT PARQUE URBANO twice a week, where four laps around the track equaled two miles. Reina could keep up with Emma for three circuits, but on the fourth one, she always fell back and Emma would surge forward. They’d connect again at the finish line. On Wednesday morning, as Emma was ending her run, she saw Reina, already sitting on the curb, fanning her face. She rose slowly as Emma neared.

“One more time,” Emma urged her, still jogging in place. “C’mon, we’ll walk it.”

“I can’t,” Reina puffed. “No way.”

“I thought you were interested in a rich husband,” Emma teased, finally stopping. “How’re you gonna catch one if you can’t run after him?”

Reina made a face of disgust. “Good point. I’ll go, but you have to bribe me.”

Emma took a swig from the water bottle she’d left on a nearby bench. “With what?”

“I want to hear about your dinner with William Kelman.”

Emma shook her head and began to walk, Reina trailing at her side. “You know I can’t talk about my clients with you.”

“I don’t want to know about his bank balance! I meant your dinner, silly.”

Emma spoke slowly. “Well, he’s…strange. You should have warned me. He asked me all kinds of questions about trading.”

“That’s your job. Why is it strange for him to ask you about it?”

“Let’s just say the questions weren’t the kind I usually get,” Emma answered. “They were more about how to get around the system than how to use it the way you’re supposed to.”

“He’s been in and out of Santa Cruz for years and never had any trouble. I think he’s okay.”

“You think he’s okay because you’re interested in him.”

“And why shouldn’t I be? He may be old, but he’s rich and single. He told me all about himself when I was showing him houses. He was a big shot with the government. He went back and forth between here and the States, doing deals. He’s not some narcotraficante.”

The word made Emma’s mind shoot off in a different direction. Toward the man she’d met the other day. She spoke impulsively. “Reina, do you know a guy by the name of Raul Santos? He’s an American, too. You haven’t shown him anything, have you?”

Reina stopped so fast her tennis shoes kicked up tiny clouds of dust. “Where did you hear that name?”

“A…friend mentioned him,” Emma said, crossing her fingers inside her pocket. “She, um, wants to introduce us.”

“Don’t do it.” Reina’s gaze turned serious and she put her hand on Emma’s arm. “I’ve heard things about him. He’s not what he seems.”

Emma’s pulse took a leap. “What do you mean?”

“There are rumors about him. Not good ones.”

“Do you think he’s—”

“I don’t know what I think, only what I’ve heard, and he’s someone to stay away from. He’s not your kind, sweetie.”

Reina might be the biggest gossip in town, but she never talked badly about people. “Have you met him?” Emma persisted.

“I’ve seen him. He came into our office, inquiring about renting a place. Another agent took care of him, but I saw him passing through. Later she told me who he was.” Reina met Emma’s gaze speculatively. “He’s a very nice-looking man.”

Emma nodded slowly. The smoldering, dark-eyed sensuality he possessed had struck her immediately, and she’d be a liar to disagree. And yes, she’d glanced in his direction more than once last night at the restaurant. Obviously she had more interest in him than she did in most of her clients. Not only had she e-mailed Leon about him, she’d now asked Reina about him. Still, it didn’t mean she was interested in Raul Santos. At least not that way.

It was purely professional, Emma told herself. Nothing personal.

She turned the conversation in a different direction, and Reina seemed happy to oblige. They chatted until they finished the lap, then the two said goodbye, Reina driving off in her pride and joy—a Toyota Four Runner she’d paid a fortune for, given the exchange rate—and Emma trotting down the street. The park wasn’t that far from where she lived, and she liked the extra warmup and cool-down time she got by walking there. Fifteen minutes later, she reached her street and then her house. Putting her key in the garden gate’s lock, she turned it, then realized with surprise the gate was already open. She stopped and stared at the key ring.

She’d locked the gate when she left. She always did.

Despite the warm November sun, a chill of uneasiness swept over her. She quickly glanced up and down the sidewalk. The street was empty, and when she turned back to her house, it looked the same. Nothing appeared disturbed. The front door was shut, and the windows were tightly secured, just as they’d always been.

Should she go on in or…or what? You didn’t call the police for things like this, not here. This wasn’t the States. The guard at the bank did double duty sometimes, helping people with private security matters, but this hardly seemed worth bothering him about. And what if it was nothing? The man would say she was a fool, and before she could blink, everyone at the bank would hear the story. She couldn’t afford anything remotely negative said about her at work.

She hesitated a moment longer, then resolutely pushed open the gate and stepped inside. Locking it securely behind her, Emma walked up the sidewalk to the entry. Her mouth suddenly dry, she reached for the doorknob and told herself she was being ridiculous. Everything was fine, and even if it wasn’t, what could a thief take from her that mattered? Material things meant nothing to her now. All she really valued was her bank balance, and no one could get to that.

The old-fashioned knob was large and heavy. Emma twisted it sharply to the right, but it held and she gave a huge sigh of relief. She must have just forgotten the gate, that was all.

Unlocking the door quickly, she stepped inside. Her pulse continued to race, though, and just to be on the safe side, she called out, feeling silly all the same. “Hello? Is anyone here?” She switched to Spanish. “La policía está aquí,” she warned in a loud voice. “Me entiende?” The police are here. Do you understand me?

The only answer was silence, so she closed the door behind her. Listening closely, she stood immobile and waited. She heard no soft footfalls, no stealthy departure, no hint of anyone’s presence. Finally, after a few more minutes of listening to her heart pound, she accepted what the stillness told her. She was alone.

Still spooked in spite of herself, she grabbed the wooden cane resting by the front door. She’d discovered it in one of the closets after moving in, and the heavy silver top, shaped like a bird’s head, had kept her from throwing it away. She’d check out the house just to make sure. With the walking stick in hand, she went into every room. Nothing was disturbed or missing. By the time she made the tour—living room, dining room, kitchen, then upstairs into the two bedrooms and the bath—she’d convinced herself everything was fine. Of course, someone could have circled behind her to hide, but why would someone even be there? A thief would run.

She went back downstairs and into the kitchen, and that was when she realized she’d forgotten the maid’s room. A tiny closet-size area with a separate bath, it had a door to the patio at the rear of the house. She gripped the handle of the cane and tiptoed to the closed door beside the refrigerator. Taking a deep breath, she twisted the handle and pushed open the door.

The room was empty. And the door leading outside was locked. Emma let out her breath in a whoosh and leaned against the wall, her legs suddenly trembling now that her foolish search was over.

There was no one inside the house. She was fine. She was safe. She’d simply left the gate unlocked, her mind on something else. Like Raul Santos.

She gave a shaky laugh and turned to go upstairs and shower. Just for good measure, she took the cane with her.

Over the running water, she never heard the back door close.

BY FRIDAY AFTERNOON, Emma was exhausted. The week had been a hard one, and she was looking forward to the end of it, despite the fact that on Saturday she had another party to go to. This one, a charity event, was out in the country at a club the expatriates favored called La Sierra. She didn’t want to attend any more than she’d wanted to attend the last event, but business was business. Reina had told her William Kelman would be there, and that was all it took. He had yet to come into the bank. If Emma had to woo him some more to obtain his account, then she’d do it. She didn’t have the luxury of being proud and hadn’t in quite some time.

She spent the morning doing paperwork, her only interruption coming when her phone rang at close to one. She picked it up and answered.

“You have a call from the States,” Felicity said.

“A Mr. Leonard F. Davis III. Are you available?”

It took Emma a minute to recognize the name, but when she did, her throat went tight. “Put him through,” she said.

The minute she said hello, Leon said excitedly, “This guy is something, Emma, the guy you asked me to look up. How’d you hook up with—”

She made her voice as businesslike as possible as she interrupted him and halted the flow of words. “Mr. Davis! What a surprise. I thought you were going to e-mail me this information.” She glanced toward her open office door nervously. “I wasn’t expecting you to call.”

“I was gonna mail you, but when I saw this, I had to make it direct. I’m calling on my lunch break. I don’t know what kind of bank you’re working for now, but this guy’s not like the customers we used to get here.”

“What do you mean?” she asked calmly.

“Well, for one thing, he’s into some serious money. Real serious. Most people don’t carry six figures in their local checking accounts, right? Out there in El Paso, he’s run more than that through on several occasions, some of it cash.”

Cash deposits of more than ten thousand dollars were always scrutinized. It meant tons of paperwork and hassle, but the banks complied; they had to or risk more than they wanted if the deposits were ever questioned.

“Did they check out?”

“All the forms were fine. Nothing fishy on the surface.”

As quietly as possible, Emma leaned forward in her chair, the phone in her hand. Felicity was at her desk, and as Emma watched, the secretary rose, picked up her coffee cup and walked across the reception area to the small kitchen that was concealed behind a screen.

“Could you find addresses for him?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah, but…” His voice trailed off. She could hear the sound of paper being shuffled, then he spoke again. “There’s something weird about it, though. He lived in Washington, just like you said, but there’s a five-year gap.”

Emma waited for him to explain, but he said nothing more. “A gap? What do you mean?”

“I mean a gap. The guy just disappeared for five years. He lived at 1019 Oak Cypress Drive for seven years, Unit 302C. Took the paper, subscribed to magazines, had a credit card, then everything stopped. It was like he flew to the moon or something. Five years later he resurfaced.”

“That’s crazy. Are you sure you looked—”

“I checked everything. Nothing got past me, okay?”

Emma bit her tongue. She’d forgotten how defensive Leon was. “And you did a great job, I’m sure. I just don’t understand, that’s all.” She peered through her office door and caught Felicity going out into the hallway. She was heading for the main section of the bank, probably the offices out front. A new vice president had just been hired, and Emma had heard the secretaries giggling and talking about the man. Seeing the woman leave, Emma felt a moment’s relief and spoke again.

“What do you think the gap means?”

“I don’t know, unless…”

He didn’t say more, so she pressed him. “Unless what?”

“Well, he did live in Washington. Worked at a big law firm there—”

“He’s an attorney?”

“Yeah, passed the bar first time he took it, no problem.” His voice went up a notch. “But listen, Em, maybe that was a cover, you know? Maybe he’s one of the alphabet men.”

“Speak English,” she said impatiently. “What are saying?”

“He could be a spook. CIA or FBI. Maybe even DEA, since he was in El Paso, too.”

She’d considered every possibility, but not this one. She was skeptical. “That seems a little farfetched, Leon. And it wouldn’t explain the money. Lawyers do okay, but not that well, and government employees certainly don’t make that kind of money.” Except for William Kelman, she thought unexpectedly.

“Maybe it wasn’t from a payroll. Maybe he funneled it for someone.”

She spoke again, this time almost to herself. “There’s got to be another explanation. I can’t buy this one.”

“Oh, there’s another one, all right, but you aren’t gonna like it any better.” Leon paused, the line falling silent for a few seconds before he spoke again. “The guy coulda been in prison. I checked but didn’t find anything. That doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, though.”

“Leon! That’s ridiculous! What on earth would make you think—”

A knock sounded on her open door, interrupting her words. Emma jerked her head up.

Raul Santos stood in the doorway.

SHE ACTUALLY WENT pale when she saw him, Raul noted. With a quick mumble, Emma Toussaint hung up the phone and came out from behind her desk to greet him. Raul tried to read the emotion on her face as she walked toward him, but he wasn’t fast enough. She recovered her composure immediately and placed a mask of politeness on her features. She’d been surprised to see him, but something more had passed over her face. Guilt? Confusion? Anxiety? He immediately thought of William Kelman and wondered if he’d been on the other end of the line.

“Mr. Santos!” she said. “How nice to see you. How are you?”

She held out her hand and he took her fingers in his, holding them as he answered, “It’s Raul, remember? And I’m very well, thank you.” After a moment longer than necessary, he released her hand, but the feel of her skin stayed with him. Soft and silky—and freezing cold. She was nervous.

He told himself she couldn’t possibly have found out anything about him—not that fast. He smiled. “It was good to see you Monday evening. The restaurant is excellent, isn’t it?”

“It is wonderful,” she answered. “Did your friend enjoy it?”

“Yes, she did. I wanted to take her somewhere nice, but I had no idea where to go. She’s the one who told me about Santa Cruz and the opportunities here.” He held out the flowers he’d been holding by his side. “I brought your secretary a little something to thank her for her help, and I thought you might enjoy these, as well.”

The delicate fragrance of freesias and white roses wafted up from the cone he handed across the desk.

Her eyes widened in surprise, then filled with pleasure as she brought the flowers to her nose and inhaled deeply. “How thoughtful of you! They’re gorgeous. Thank you very much.”

She looked both flustered and touched, as if it’d been a long time since a man had brought her flowers. He murmured his reply, wondering what she would think if she knew more about him.

He pointed to one of the chairs in front of her desk. “May I sit, or am I interrupting?”

“Please.” She gestured toward the chair.

“Make yourself comfortable. Would you like some coffee?”

“No, thank you. I’ve actually come to set up a trade I’d like you to handle. You have that information I requested, don’t you?”

Her expression went blank, then her brow furrowed as she obviously remembered. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. Felicity told me you’d asked for some stock reports and I completely forgot. I’ve been so busy.” She shook her head in an embarrassed fashion and abruptly laid the flowers on her desk, turning quickly to the computer monitor sitting nearby. She began to type as she talked, her fingers flying over the keyboard. “Maybe I can get them on-line. If I put out a rush request, it’s possible I’ll have them by this afternoon…”

She wore a dark brown suit with a straight pointed collar. The severity of the cut and somberness of the color did everything it could to make her look unattractive.

But it failed.

He mentally shook himself and returned to the task at hand. The report didn’t matter, but she didn’t know that. It’d only been an excuse to return to the bank. He could use this opportunity to his advantage, though.

“You could make it up to me in another way.”

Her fingers stopped abruptly, and she looked at him, her hazel eyes darkening. “How?” she asked cautiously.

“Have dinner with me Saturday. Surely by then the reports will be here, and we can discuss the details of the trade. You can execute it for me at the beginning of next week when you’ve got the time.”

She wanted to say no. He could read the refusal on her face, but her business acumen wouldn’t let her. He was a major client, and she didn’t want to upset him. She couldn’t afford to upset him. He felt a moment’s sympathy for her, but ignored it and pressed his case. “It’s the least you can do,” he said with a smile, “to make up for forgetting about me.”

“I didn’t forget!” she said quickly. “I assure you, that’s not the case. It’s just that I’ve been busy and—”

“It’s not important,” he said, dismissing her excuse. “But come to dinner with me, anyway, and convince me of that.”

She hesitated for a second. “I have an obligation that night, out at La Sierra—”

“Oh, yes, the charity auction for the hospital. Las Hermanas de Socorro. I forgot about it.”

She was trapped, and they both knew it. If he’d been unaware of the event, she might have been able to get away with her excuse, but not now. He couldn’t have worked it better if he’d planned it. He silently thanked Wendy for mentioning the gala.

“La Sierra is on the road to Cochibamba, isn’t it?” he said in a pleasant voice. “I’ve heard it’s quite lovely out there.”

“It is.” After a moment’s hesitation, she spoke again, saying the only thing she could. “Would you like to go with me? I could introduce you to some of the other expats, show you around a bit…”

He looked into her eyes and smiled. “Tell me where you live and what time to pick you up.”

BY SATURDAY EVENING, Emma had begun to ask herself just what she’d been thinking when she’d invited Raul to attend the party with her. Reina would see them and she’d give Emma a hard time later. William Kelman obviously had a problem with him, too. To top things off, Leon Davis had practically insisted the man was a felon. She’d known all this and she’d invited him, anyway.

As she pulled one of her endless black dresses from the closet, Emma tried to analyze what was going on, but she couldn’t come up with an answer. Sure, she found him attractive, but she hardly knew him, for God’s sake, and most probably shouldn’t let it go any further. Since her divorce, she’d made it a policy never to date anyone associated with her work. Actually she never dated at all. It wasn’t worth the effort, and besides, there were always questions, questions she didn’t want to hear or answer. But now she’d broken all her rules and asked out Raul Santos. It didn’t get any worse than that.

When he’d looked at her with those dark compelling eyes and handed over those freesias, she hadn’t had a chance. Touched by his thoughtfulness, she had reminded herself that, in South America, it wasn’t unusual for someone to show up with a small gift for no reason—a box of candy, a bouquet, a book. She’d received them before, so why the reaction?

Because she owed him, she told herself. She was embarrassed by her slipup with his account, and the truth was, he deserved an extra courtesy. If he wanted to go to a boring charity event with her, why not? Since asking him, she’d had more than one sleepless night to ponder the situation, but now, as it came down to the wire, she wondered if she was rationalizing her behavior.

Either way, the man would be on her doorstep in fifteen minutes, and she had to get dressed. She slipped off her robe and stepped into the black sheath, then her phone rang.

She picked up the receiver and Todd’s voice sounded so clearly over the line he could have been in the next room. Her heart almost stopped. In all the time they’d been divorced, he’d never called. Not once. She immediately thought the worst.

“Todd! Is everything okay? Are the children—”

“They’re fine.” His words were clipped and businesslike, but his rich Louisiana accent was thick as ever beneath the coldness. To her, a poor kid from the bayou, his way of speaking had represented class and sophistication. He’d wooed her with that accent. She hadn’t heard the cruelty in it until it was too late. “They’re just fine,” he repeated.

Relieved by his answer, she sat down on the edge of her bed, the mattress sagging. He spoke again. “That’s not why I’m calling. I’ve got something else to tell you.”

“All right.” Her tone was wary. “What is it?”

“I’m getting married again. I thought you should know.”

She had no love for this man, none whatsoever, but the knife he’d buried in her heart two years ago twisted once more. Now her children would have a new mother. They’d forget all about her. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

“Did you hear me, Emma Lou?”

He’d told her once that only poor people had two first names, and after they’d married, he’d refused to call her what everyone else did, shortening her name to Emma. Unless he wanted to make her feel like the miserable girl from the wrong side of the tracks whom he’d mistakenly married.

“I heard you,” she said quietly.

“The proper response to the groom is ‘Congratulations.”’

His correction was so typical she couldn’t stop herself. “I think ‘My condolences’ might be more appropriate—at least for the new bride.”

He made a sound of disgust. “Always with the smart answer, huh? My mother was right when she said breeding was everything.”

Emma closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again as she spoke. If she agitated him, the conversation would only get worse. “Who is she, Todd?”

“You don’t know her.” His words held as much disdain as ever. “She’s a Threadgill from Charleston. Her people go way back.”

“Do the children like her?”

“The children adore her.” He took the handle of the knife and pushed it deeper into her heart.

“They’re already calling her mama, and they can’t wait for the wedding. Sarah’s going to be the flower girl and Jake’s carrying the ring. We’re getting him a tux.”

“How…wonderful.” She felt faint.

“I thought you should know what was going on,” he said. “In case the kids said something when you called on Sunday. They’re both excited about it, and I didn’t want it to be a shock or anything to you.”

She lay down on the bed, the phone still at her ear. “I understand.”

“This won’t change the custody situation,” he warned. “Don’t even think about calling the judge.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” She told the truth; the judge had been in the family’s pocket for a hundred years. Until she found a lawyer more powerful than any of them, the judge would never rule against the Toussaints.

“All right, then. Just so everything’s clear.” He paused, his cruel work done, his drawl now more pronounced. “You doin’ all right down there, Emma Lou? How’s business at your bank?”

He didn’t give a damn about her business, and both of them knew it. In fact, he’d done all he could to keep her from finding a job, period. Bolivia had been her last resort. He was gloating.

Emma ignored his question. She couldn’t hang up without hearing about her children, though. She’d talk to them tomorrow, but she couldn’t be this close without hearing more. She hated herself for doing it, but she begged, anyway. “Tell me about the children, Todd. Please.”

She’d been a good girl, she knew, so he softened. She could picture him leaning back in his chair and swiveling it to look out the window of his study. She knew that was what he’d done, because she could hear the chair groan, then squeak. She knew what he was looking at, too. The backyard with the pool and the swing and the magnolia trees so perfectly trimmed.

His voice turned expansive. “Sarah’s been givin’ us hell this week. She’s definitely in the terrible twos and goin’ on to the intolerable threes. She tried to paint a picture for my mother, which would have been okay, but she used Sparky for a brush and a wall for the canvas. Took Nana three days to get the place repainted, and the damned dog still has a pink tail. Can’t even take him huntin’.”

“And Jake?”

“He had soccer tryouts this week. Did great. Loves the academy, but I guess you know all ’bout that.”

Her son had had his first day of school in September, and the Sunday before he’d gone had been one of the hardest calls for Emma to get through. He’d been so excited. She’d had to hide her tears.

“How did his math test go?”

“He got an A.” Todd paused, then, “He still likes his reading best, though. His teacher called me Monday and said she’d had to fuss at him for readin’ in class and not payin’ attention. Seems like he always has his nose in a book—just like you used to.”

Emma couldn’t reply. Her throat had closed. For just one heartbeat, she let the pure feeling of misery engulf her, then she fought it. She wouldn’t give Todd the satisfaction of knowing how deeply his words ripped into her. “That’s good to hear,” she said thickly. “I’m glad he’s enjoying his schoolwork. He doesn’t always tell me much about it.”

“Yeah, well…” Todd said. “You take care now, and the children will be talkin’ to you tomorrow.”

She stayed on the bed for another few seconds with the phone still in her hand and the line buzzing in her ear. She hoped the connection was still there. The wasted long-distance time would cost Todd at least some of his precious dollars and the adorable Miss Threadgill—she had to be adorable, of course—some future earnings, as well.

Finally, after a few more minutes, there was nothing else for Emma to do but get up and go on. That was how she existed, day by day, hour by hour. She put her past behind her and continued, the feel of her children’s bodies when she hugged them, the sweet smell of their skin and the touch of their lips against her cheek only a memory. She hung up the phone, rose to her feet and slipped on her shoes, then walked woodenly toward the hallway and started down the stairs.

CHAPTER FIVE

RAUL OPENED the door of his black SUV, helped Emma climb in, then closed the door behind her. She’d greeted him at her front door, purse and jacket in hand, ready to go. He’d hoped for an invitation to step inside, but she hadn’t offered one.

Quiet and somber, she obviously had something on her mind, and like always, he assumed the worst. William Kelman. Had the man already approached her? Raul wanted to ask, but she wasn’t likely to tell him the truth at this point. She didn’t know him well enough. Yet. Whatever was bothering her, she seemed determined to put it behind her as soon as they reached the road leading out of town.

“Do you know this highway?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I haven’t been here long enough to know any of them.”

“Then you’re in for a treat. This isn’t like anything you’ve seen in the States.”

Before long, he understood what she meant. It was Saturday evening, and the route was packed—mainly buses filled to the top with people and animals, but a few cars and motorbikes puttered along, too. The shoulders of the roadway told the real story, though. Every hundred yards or so, there were animals hobbled and staked out, mainly cattle, but some goats, as well. Fences were too expensive, Emma explained, so the farmers kept their livestock where everyone could see. This marked their property lines and kept the well-tended animals in hand.

The huts on the side of the road didn’t share the cattle’s apparent prosperity. Made of mud bricks and thatched roofs, most of the houses had no electricity or running water, and there were very few vehicles in sight. One or two had carts tied up in front, but for those at the very bottom, even a cart was unaffordable. Raul had to stop the SUV at one point to allow a man, pulling a pig on a rope, to trudge across the road.

The farther out of town they drove, the less populated the area became. Bamboo plants began to replace the simple dwellings, and everywhere he looked, Raul saw green, in particular orange and lemon trees, their fruit-laden limbs bent to the ground. Even the air had a junglelike smell. They were going up, he realized, gaining elevation as they left the valley behind.

“It’s a beautiful country, isn’t it?”

Emma’s voice sounded almost wistful. He glanced at her. “It is nice,” he agreed, “but not the kind of place I would expect to meet someone like you.”

“Why not?” Her voice held surprise.

“For one thing, you’re too smart,” he said bluntly, “and for another thing, you’re too ambitious.”

“How do you know I’m either of those things?”

“Easy. You wouldn’t be at the level you are in the bank if you weren’t ambitious, and if you weren’t smart…you wouldn’t be that ambitious.”

He continued speaking when she didn’t seem to know how to reply. “So explain how you got here,” he said, softening his voice. “There must be a story there, right?”

She stiffened visibly, her fingers tightening on the armrest. “You really don’t want to hear it,” she answered.

“It doesn’t take much to entertain me. Go ahead.”

She sat quietly for a few minutes and he wondered how much she would tell him. “I came here from New Orleans,” she said finally, “after a nasty divorce.”

“It must have been pretty bad to make you come this far.”

“It was.”

He waited for more, but none came. He decided to push her. “Do you have any kids?”

“No,” she lied, looking out the window away from him. “No children.”

Her deception surprised him, even though he should have expected it. “Just as well,” he said lightly. “Less to worry about, right?”

She turned to face him. Her skin glowed in the filtered light of the jungle around them. “So you have no children?”

He shook his head, putting aside the dreams he’d had before as if they’d meant nothing. “No. No kids, no ex-wife, no ex-anything. I’m free as they come.”

“You sound as if you like it that way.”

He slowed to avoid a goat crossing the road.

“It’s all I’ve ever known. I guess I must.”

They said nothing more until he saw the club’s sign ahead. Slowing the truck, he pulled into the drive and eased over a grassy area that served as a parking lot. Expensive vehicles filled the space, all of them new and shiny. In a country where few could afford their own transportation, the excess stood out.

Automatically Raul began to search the grounds with his eyes, even before he and Emma reached the club’s door. He saw no sign of Kelman, but there was plenty else to see. Under the trees, to the right of the doorway, was a huge cage, at least twenty feet high and fifty feet long. All Raul could see in it were blurs of frantic movement. Emma explained as she saw his puzzlement.

“That’s where the monkeys live. The owner of the club loves animals. Everywhere you go, you’ll see something, so watch out.” She raised her eyebrows in a mock warning and smiled. “Especially for the parrots. They like to swoop in and take a bite off your plate when you aren’t looking.”

Again he had the thought that she looked different when she smiled. Younger, more carefree. The contrast of this to her eyes, where a deep sadness stayed, made her even more intriguing.

Raul shut down the part of his brain that responded to her pull. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll be careful.”

They entered the club under a walkway of thatched material, the heavy vegetation close and humid. From the fronds of the nearby palms to the brilliant plumage of the raucous parrots, the jungle seemed to close around them. Raul almost expected to see a wildcat or an anaconda as they walked into the main area of the club. A huge open room, the place was packed with expensively dressed men and women. They were all holding drinks and talking. Looking over the crowd, Raul decided his expectations had indeed been met. They wore the same predatory look as the jungle animals. Emma waded into the crowd with determination, and Raul followed.

They’d been there an hour when Raul saw him.

With a sense of déjà vu, he watched as Kelman worked the room on the opposite side. Just as he had that first night at the Taminaca Bar, he was talking to everyone and acting friendly, but the man’s eyes searched the crowd continually. Raul followed his gaze until it stopped. Once again, it landed on Emma. They’d made the circuit of the room together, Emma introducing him to everyone. When she’d stopped to talk business with someone, he’d stepped away to give them some privacy, wandering to the other side of the crush. Now, as he looked on, she walked through a set of French doors to a terrace. Raul felt a flare of satisfaction, but it was followed by hesitation. Everything was falling into place exactly as he’d imagined, except for one troublesome exception.

He hadn’t counted on liking Emma Toussaint.

AROUND THE CORNER from the French doors, Emma walked to the nearest planter and dumped her glass of wine into it. She set the flute on the railing that edged the area, then turned around quickly, her dress brushing the yellow hibiscus blossoms.

She needed to go back inside and work the crowd, but the fresh air felt wonderful and she paused to breath it in. The crush of the crowd had been getting to her, or maybe, she thought belatedly, it wasn’t the crowd, but someone in particular. Raul.

His questions in the car had not been unexpected, but the interest with which he’d asked them had been. Despite all she’d heard and suspected, Raul Santos appeared to be a thoughtful person. There was a patina of something hard and impenetrable on the surface, but underneath, she sensed a man who truly cared, a man who was actually interested in her as an individual. At least, his questions had reflected that.

They’d also delivered a fresh level of pain, coming on the heels of Todd’s announcement. Most of the time she simply avoided the answer, but with Raul, she’d flat-out lied, told him she didn’t even have children. She didn’t want him getting any closer to her, and in her mind, anyone who knew her past knew her. At least she’d learned something about him in return. He didn’t like children, and he didn’t like entanglements.

Somewhat handy, she guessed, if you tended to disappear for five years at a time. The thought reminded her of Leon’s wild guess that Raul had been in prison. He might be right, but somehow she couldn’t reconcile that idea with the man she was getting to know. Did felons give money to beggars and donate large sums to hospitals? Reina had told her about Raul’s check to the Sisters. Emma looked out over the valley and shook her head. The contrast intrigued her, despite herself.

She started back inside, but as she neared the corner, a loud voice off to one side halted her progress. She told herself it was none of her business and continued on, then she recognized the cool timbre of Raul’s voice as he responded to the other person. She tried to distinguish the words, but the mountain breeze snatched them away.

Her curiosity getting the better of her, Emma edged forward. All at once, she realized she didn’t need to get any closer. She knew exactly who Raul was speaking to; the unmistakable pungency of cigar smoke drifted to her in a haze of blue.

Following the smoke came William Kelman’s voice. It broke the night’s quietness with undisguised anger. “Are you trying to tell me you don’t—”

“I’m telling you you’re wrong, my friend.” In complete contrast to Kelman’s agitation, Raul chuckled. To Emma, the deep sound came across as something other than amusement.

“I’m here for the same reasons you are,” Raul went on. “To make my fortune. Nothing more. I had no idea you were here. Why would you think otherwise?”

Her surprise was quickly overtaken by confusion. They obviously knew each other, yet Kelman had asked her about Raul when they’d been having dinner. Still hidden, she moved a step closer.

“You’re saying your being here is purely coincidental?” Kelman’s voice remained uptight, angry.

“What else could it be?”

“You know exactly what else it could be, Santos. You followed me. You’re on some damned revenge kick, aren’t you?”

“Revenge kick?” Raul stopped, the puzzlement in his voice clearing as he spoke again. “Do you mean Denise? That’s over and done with, Kelman. Besides, why would I want revenge? As I remember it, the woman left you for me. Isn’t that what happened?”

Silence, tenser than the words they’d just exchanged, filled the sudden void, and Emma half expected to hear the sound of a fist against a jaw. Her mouth went dry, her throat closing. It seemed preposterous that the two men would travel so far to fight over a woman, but stranger things had happened.

Kelman spoke first. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he growled.

“Then why don’t you inform me? Tell me what really happened.” The sudden coldness—and the quick change—in Raul’s words sent a shiver through Emma. It would have been less frightening if he had hit Kelman. “Tell me what I’ve been missing all these years, Kelman. You do know I missed a few, don’t you?”

Another pause, then Kelman said heatedly, “I don’t know what kind of sick game you’re playing, Santos, but I don’t want any part of it. I had nothing to do with your troubles. You brought them all on yourself. Now get the hell out of my way.” The pitch of his voice suddenly changed, and too late Emma realized why. He was heading straight for the corner where she stood.

She had a split second to think about it, no more. With a bravery she didn’t feel, Emma straightened her shoulders and took a single step forward.

And crashed into William Kelman’s chest.

“OH, MY!”

“What the hell?”

As they collided, Emma and Kelman spoke at the same time, her voice apologetic, his still angry from the encounter with Raul.

“Mr. Kelman, I’m so sorry. I…I didn’t see you. Please forgive my clumsiness.”

Emma’s pretty words were exactly what Raul would have expected to hear, but her expression, as she glanced over at him, was something else entirely. She’d overheard their conversation, he realized, and was wondering just what was going on. He stepped out of the shadows where he’d been and moved to her side.

He touched her briefly, solicitously, on the elbow. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, yes…I’m fine.” Glancing back to Kelman, she tilted her head. “I see you two have met.”

Kelman shot an angry look in Raul’s direction. “Yes, we have.”

Raul spoke easily. “Mr. Kelman and I go back quite a way, Emma. We’re old friends.”

Emma looked at Kelman with a puzzled expression. Before she could say more, he smoothed a hand over the front of his jacket and inclined his head. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to the party.”

Emma nodded and stepped aside as Kelman brushed past her and disappeared into the room behind them. When she turned back and looked at Raul, her eyes were filled with questions. “He asked me the other night if I knew you. I just assumed you were strangers. What on earth was that about?”

“Nothing,” Raul said. “Absolutely nothing.” Taking her elbow in his, he began to walk along the edge of the terrace. Sooner or later, Raul had expected a confrontation, and it didn’t really bother him. Whatever Kelman’s plans were, he wouldn’t risk them to stop and send Raul on his way.

Raul hadn’t been as prepared as he would have liked, though, and Emma’s overhearing the exchange complicated things even more. He had to distract her and quickly.

Within minutes, he had her away from the noise and confusion of the party. They stopped on the lowest level of the stone terrace and looked out over the valley. It was almost dark, and the low-lying hills were slipping into the shadows. Without the benefit of light to mark the boundary, the jungle vista seemed endless.

Before he could even begin to distract her from her questions, she turned to him in the darkness. “How do you know Kelman?” she asked. “What’s going on between you two?”

He thought about not answering, but that would only make her more suspicious. He had to tell her something. “We knew each other a long time ago,” he answered carefully. “He’s a former DEA agent. I was a attorney in Washington. It’s basically a small town—our paths crossed on occasion.”

She looked slightly startled at his revelation of Kelman’s former job. “And you don’t like him,” she said.

“Am I that easy to read?”

“No, not at all.” She shook her head and confessed what her expression had already betrayed.

“I overheard your conversation—part of it—and your feelings were obvious.”

He shrugged casually. “We crossed swords over what men usually cross swords over.”

“A woman?”

“That’s right.”

“Was it Wendy, the woman you were with the other night?”

He looked into her eyes with a steady expression. “No” was all he said.

Before she could probe any further, Raul turned the tables. “I answered your question, now you answer my mine. What happened to you right before I came to get you tonight? You seemed upset.”

She reacted with a flinch of pain, then cleared the emotion from her face so quickly he could tell she’d done it a thousand times.

“C’mon,” he said. “Turnabout’s fair play. I shared with you…”

She took a long time to answer, then the words came out reluctantly; she had no other choice. “I had a call from the States,” she said finally. “It was my ex-husband. He’s getting remarried.”

Raul didn’t expect to have a reaction, but it came, anyway. A moment’s disappointment, maybe, a curl of displeasure? He wasn’t sure what to call it, but it didn’t matter. Surely he didn’t care if she was still in love with her ex. “I’m sorry,” he said in a neutral voice.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. Those things happen. People move on.”

“I’m sorry the news hurt you,” he found himself saying. “That’s what I meant.”

She looked up at him, her eyes full of shadows, the hazel edging into a deeper green color. He got the feeling his words surprised her, but maybe that was because they’d surprised him.

“We’ve been divorced for more than two years,” she said. “I expected him to have found someone before now.”

“Why would you think that?” Raul met her gaze, turning so that he faced her fully. “I’d think he’d have a hard time.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You’re a very beautiful woman,” he answered before she could finish. “You’d be a hard act to follow.”

“Thank you,” she said simply. “That’s a nice thing to say, but Todd didn’t see it that way.”

“Then he was a fool.”

Her gaze skittered away from his, then back before she spoke again. “I have my flaws.”

“We all do.”

Suddenly the urge came over him to kiss her. Not a simple touch of the lips, either, but a deep kiss that would make them both forget why they were here and what they were doing. The feeling was totally unexpected and caught him by surprise. Would her lips feel as soft as they looked? Would they taste as sweet as he imagined?

With no further thought, he reached toward her, his fingers drawing a line down her cheek. Her skin was soft and smooth, but before he could pull her nearer, she stepped backward and out of reach, her expression remote, her voice cool.

“I think it’s time to go back inside.”

He wanted to disagree, but he couldn’t.

She was right.

THEY RETURNED to the party, and Emma found herself glad to be back in the light and confusion. Being outside with Raul had made her even more nervous than being in the middle of the crowd, especially after she’d read the intention in his black eyes. He’d wanted to kiss her, and for just one second, she’d wanted him to. The realization shocked her, but when she thought about it some more, she understood. He’d listened to her and wanted to know more about her. He cared. The unexpected knowledge made her heart thump with something that felt way too much like longing.

When they stopped at the bar inside, Emma excused herself and made her way to the lounge. She had to have a bit of time alone or she’d never make it through the rest of the evening.

The quiet moment wasn’t to be. Reina caught up with her just as she entered the powder room. They’d already exchanged a quick hello, and Reina had managed to let Emma know she didn’t approve of her date for the evening. Emma had tried to explain that it wasn’t a date, but Reina hadn’t bought the story.

“Are you leaving soon?” Reina asked.

“I hope so,” Emma replied. “I’ve enjoyed this about as much as I can stand.”

“Let me take you.” Reina’s dark eyes met Emma’s. “I’ve got to go to your side of town, anyway, and we could talk on the way home—”

Emma interrupted her. “Reina, I can’t abandon Raul. I know you don’t like the man, but he is my guest. I have to ride back with him.”

“No, you don’t.”

Emma stared at her curiously. “Are you that worried about this guy? Just because you heard some gossip?”

“I don’t like the way he looks.” She threw a glance around the room. “And…”

“And what?”

A group of women, chattering like the parrots overhead, interrupted them as they swooped past and entered the lounge behind them. Reina pulled Emma to the side, out of their hearing and away from the traffic. “I’ve heard more,” she said mysteriously. “And I like it even less than what I heard before.”

His compliments still ringing in her ears, his touch under the moonlight still fresh in her mind, Emma asked slowly, “What did you hear?”

“I can’t tell you right now. I don’t want to risk being overheard, but it came from a reliable source. Very reliable.”

Emma stared at her friend, then it clicked. “Did William Kelman tell you something?”

Reina’s eyes widened. “How did you know it was him?”

Emma explained the confrontation she’d heard between the two men. “There’s bad blood there,” she said. “Tell me what he said. Tell me now.”

“He said Santos is a crook, that’s what he said!” Reina glanced over her shoulder. “But I don’t want to say more right now. Not here. Just call me when you get home, okay?”

Feeling uneasy but having no other choice, Emma nodded unhappily. A moment later, as she reentered the open-air room, she spotted Raul. He was standing exactly where she’d left him, near the bar. With the crowd swirling around him in a tangle of noise and exuberance, he was all alone, and she studied his unguarded expression. Wearing expensively tailored clothes and holding a drink, he regarded the room with a certain amount of boredom. Behind the gaze, though, was a sharpness, a kind of on-guard attitude totally at odds with everyone else. He wasn’t there to party, he was there to work. Just like her.

The knowledge startled her, but there was no mistaking it. She’d worn that same expression herself too many times. So what did he want? Why was he there? His conversation with Kelman was also puzzling. Something was going on there—he’d worked too hard to distract her, she realized now.

Without any warning, she suddenly remembered her unlocked gate. She had no idea why she’d linked the two thoughts, but it frightened her, frightened her almost as much as her growing attraction to Raul.

He must have felt her stare. Lifting his eyes to sweep the room, his gaze locked on hers a second later. Like a river current, the connection was swift and strong. It carried her away before she could begin to fight it.

AS SHE CROSSED the floor to where he waited, Emma looked more worried and upset than she had when he’d picked her up earlier that evening. Despite her expression, in the press of overdressed and over-made-up women, her natural beauty drew his gaze and he felt a corresponding pull of attraction.

He simply couldn’t figure her out; she was a mass of contradictions and filled him with the same. What he knew about her past didn’t jibe with the obviously smart and together woman approaching him now. And the feelings she produced in him were the exact opposite of the ones he needed if he was going to fulfill his goal. How could he let her get tangled up with Kelman when all he could think about was kissing her? Suddenly the crowd and the noise and the loud music were too much to bear.

“Are you ready to go?” As she neared him, he put his drink on the bar and tilted his head toward the crowded room. “This is too crazy, even for me.”

She hesitated for a second, then spoke over the din. “You read my mind.”

A few minutes later, they were outside. The sidewalk was barely visible in the moonlight, the bamboo leaning over it, the cries of the caged monkeys and wild parrots taking over from the raucous rock and roll still pounding—but now more faintly—from inside the club. A cluster of white and purple orchids quivered in a nearby planter, their fragrance heavy and sensual in the velvet night. Raul found himself wondering how he would feel if he was here for a different reason. If he and Emma were actually on a date and he had no ulterior motives. Once, in a different time and place, he had been the kind of man who appreciated a setting like this.

They reached his truck and Raul helped Emma into it. Moments later they were speeding down the highway. The colorful scenes they’d witnessed on the drive out were gone, swallowed by darkness. Light from a few homes glowed here and there, but for the most part, the road was black, the lack of electricity almost eerie. Raul glanced across the seat at Emma. She was facing the window, her eyes studying the night as if she could find the answers she needed.

Neither of them spoke, and as the empty miles slipped by, Raul couldn’t help but wonder what she must have thought of the conversation she’d overheard between him and Kelman.

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. What exactly had Kelman expected Raul to say when he’d confronted him? Hi, I’m here to shake the hand of the man who framed me and put me in prison for five years?

His knuckles turning white in the darkness, Raul thought back to the woman who’d started it all. He’d had no idea who Denise was when they’d first met. The stunning brunette had come on to him in a bar, and he’d accepted what she’d offered, as would have any man. All he’d seen was a gorgeous woman. He’d had no idea she was living with anyone, much less with William Kelman. Sick of Kelman’s underhanded ways and tired of his overblown ego, she’d used Raul as an excuse. Within days of their meeting in the bar, she’d moved out of Kelman’s place and into a tiny apartment of her own.

Kelman was well-known in Washington. He was flashy and obvious, and everyone knew he was with the DEA. Raul’s biggest mistake had been to start an affair with Denise, and it’d almost cost him his life. That’s what happens when you think with something other than your brain, Raul told himself now.

Once William Kelman had found out what his lover had done, Raul’s life had quickly gone down the drain. He’d come home from a trip to the Bahamas, climbed into his car at the airport and started home. Before he’d gone a block, the red and blue lights of a police cruiser were flashing behind him. He’d pulled over and within seconds, a dozen other cops and five guys in windbreakers with “DEA” emblazoned on the pockets were surrounding him. One man in particular he’d never forget. He’d stood in the center of the road and smirked at Raul, a plastic bag of something powdery and white in his beefy hand.

“And what might this be, Counselor?” He’d pulled the bag from Raul’s trunk, along with a .45. Neither had belonged to Raul and he’d had no idea where they’d come from. The man’s expression was unlike anything Raul had ever seen before, either. It’d taken him five years to figure it out, but finally he’d understood. It’d been gleeful, because he was paying off the devil. The agent was dirty, and Kelman had known. To get Kelman off his back, the agent had agreed to stage the stop, including the planting of the drugs and weapon.

They’d handcuffed Raul and led him away. Two months later he was in a federal prison in Cumberland, Maryland. There was no parole at this level for drug violations. The half a kilo of cocaine and the gun had netted him a six-year sentence. The cocaine they’d “discovered” in his car later disappeared from the evidence room, but the sentence hadn’t. For five years and two months he’d wondered what had happened, then Denise Murphy had visited him and told him the truth.

William Kelman had set them both up. She’d gotten out earlier only because they’d planted less in her apartment.

William Kelman had stolen five years of Raul’s life, and now it was payback time. He would take what meant most to Kelman, and that was his money.

The SUV had actually been stopped for a second before Raul realized he’d parked the car in front of Emma’s home without even being aware of it. She reached into her purse, removed her keys and looked over at him. Her face was in shadow. “Would you like to come in?” she asked.

With thoughts of Denise floating around in his head, Raul hesitated. He’d wanted an invitation earlier, but now he realized it was out of character for Emma to ask him in. Then she moved and he saw her expression in the light of a nearby street lamp. She looked lonely, lonely and sad. Seeing that emotion on any other woman, he would have headed the other way. Reading it on Emma’s face, he had only one answer.

“I’d like that very much.”

♥ Uploaded by Coral ♥

CHAPTER SIX

AS EMMA USHERED Raul into her living room, she realized too late that it looked exactly like what it was—a place for entertaining that was never used. The maid came every day to sweep and dust, but glancing around the tiny parlor, Emma suddenly felt embarrassed by the sterility. It held no photos, no mementos, nothing to indicate that she had lived there for two days, much less two years. For the first time since she’d come to Santa Cruz, she mentally compared her house to the home from which she’d been expelled. It had been a sanctuary where lemon-polished furniture rested on handmade rag rugs, and oils of her children gleamed from their places on the walls. The image brought a lump to her throat.

Raul seemed to sense her discomfort. “Do you have a patio or garden where we can sit? The weather’s too nice to ignore.”

Grateful for his perception, Emma led him toward the back of the house. They had to pass through the kitchen, which was messy, but at least it looked as though someone lived here. Stepping outside to the bricked patio, she held out her hand. “How’s this?”

He smiled in the darkness. “Perfect.”

She made her way to the chairs and table that perched on the edge of the patio. More hand-me-downs from the previous tenants. She pulled out a chair and Raul surveyed her yard. It was planted with a riot of tropical plants, and the night air was filled with their fragrance.

He stood for a moment in silence, then breathed in deeply as she watched, tilting his head to take in the stars overhead. It was the gesture of a man who’d been inside too long, and Leon’s words shot into her head.

A moment later, Raul stepped to where she sat, taking one of the chairs and moving it closer to hers. Over the scent of the flowers, she caught a suggestion of spice, an aftershave lotion, she realized a moment later. How long had it been since she’d noticed anything like that?

All at once, she regretted her invitation. It’d been crazy. Impulsive. Totally foreign to her usual behavior. What had she been thinking?

He started to sit down, then stopped. “Damn! I can’t believe I forgot,” he said, snapping his fingers. “I brought you a little something, but I left it in the truck. I’ll be right back.”

Emma watched him disappear into the house only to return a few minutes later. He held out a bulky newspaper. “A friend came in last night from the States. I asked him to pick this up for you.”

Mystified, Emma took the paper and unrolled it. She couldn’t believe her eyes as she took in the banner at the top. “The Times Picayune! Oh, my God, how great!”

“I thought you might enjoy it. News from home is always nice.”

She shook her head with delight. “You don’t know,” she said. “It’s been months since I saw one and this is yesterday’s, too!” Impulsively she hugged him, then drew back quickly. “Thank you very much. I’ll read it from cover to cover!”

He looked pleased by her reaction, a slow smile spreading across his face. Something warm and unexpected rolled down her spine. Trying her best to ignore the feeling, Emma folded the paper carefully and put it to one side of the table.

He tapped the paper. “Tell me about your home there…about yourself.”

“You know all there is to know,” she said lightly. “I’m divorced, I’ve lived here two years, I’m a banker. That’s it.”

“That’s not who you are,” he said. “It’s what’s happened to you and where you live, what you do for a living, but it’s not you.”

When she didn’t answer right away, he prompted her. “Tell me what you do in your free time, what you like to read. How you became a banker.”

“You don’t really want to know all that stuff, do you? It’s terminally boring, believe me.”

She couldn’t really see him, but she sensed his movement as he leaned closer to her. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know.”

His interest was too much. It felt incredible to have someone this intrigued by her, yet how could she answer? She stood up abruptly and moved away from the table toward one of the hibiscus plants. Plucking one of the blossoms, she knew she had to say something, but she didn’t know what.

His voice floated to her on the humid night air. It was closer than she would have expected, and turning, she saw that he’d followed her to the edge of the patio.

“What are you so afraid of?” he asked quietly.

She swallowed hard. “What makes you think I’m afraid of something?”

“You avoid saying anything about yourself unless I insist, and every time I get close to you—one way or another—you run.”

In the dim light of an overhead street lamp she saw him raise his hand. Dreamlike, it came toward her face, and with the back of one finger, he brushed her cheek, an echo of his touch earlier that evening. The caress was so soft she could barely feel it.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were frightened of me.”

“That’s ridiculous. Why on earth would you frighten me?” She sounded brave on the outside, but inside, she was trembling. Her skin tingled from the simple heated contact.

He leaned a little closer, and for one panicky second, she thought he was going to kiss her. And she didn’t want to move away, either, she realized.

“Tell me more, Emma,” he said softly. “Tell me who you really are…”

Although she didn’t know what she was going to say, she opened her mouth to answer him. But she never got the words out. A loud crash shattered the silence into a thousand pieces. From the sound of metal on metal, it was clearly a car wreck, followed by a screeching alarm. With a loud curse, Raul whirled, bounded over her fence and ran toward the street.

RUNNING INTO THE CENTER of the boulevard, Raul shut off the car alarm with his remote, barely giving his vehicle a second glance. Whatever had happened, it didn’t matter. Who was the more important question. His eyes searched the road, first one way and then the other. He caught the barest glimpse of a set of taillights careering around the corner, but that was all. He cursed again. Had Kelman somehow followed him to Emma’s? The man knew where she lived, but the thought of Kelman following them home, watching them together, left a bad taste in Raul’s mouth.

Slowing to a walk, he looked across the street at his truck. The driver’s side door was caved in, a long slash of stripped paint evidence of the other vehicle’s progress from the back of the parked SUV and then along the side. It seemed to be a warning: I don’t know what you’re doing, but I know you’re doing it. Next time you might be inside the car when this happens.

This was Kelman’s way. Aggressive and nasty, but indirect. Staring at the damaged vehicle, Raul wasn’t really bothered by the destruction, because he knew the man too well. Kelman would do nothing to jeopardize whatever plans he had—he’d only wanted to send Raul a message.

He crossed the pavement and reached the truck the same time as Emma. She raised her hand to her mouth in dismay. “Oh, my God! I can’t believe this!” She stared down the street. “Did you see who did it?”

“They were already gone when I got here.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?” Her expression was horrified. “It’ll cost a fortune to repair this. And take forever, too!”

“It’s only a vehicle,” he answered.

She looked at him with an incredulous expression, then blinked, his meaning becoming clear to her. Without saying a word, she gazed again at the bashed-in door and bit her bottom lip. When she spoke, her voice sounded shaky. “Come inside and we’ll call the police.”

“No, that’s not necessary,” he said. “I’ll handle it.”

“But you can’t—”

“I’ll take care of it, Emma.” Her startled look made him realize too late that his tone was sharper than it needed to be. “It’s just not worth the hassle.”

“But it’s the law,” she said stiffly. “You have to report accidents in Bolivia, or things get really sticky for you later. Raul, you don’t want to mess around with the police here—”

“You’re right,” he interrupted gently, “I don’t. So let me deal with this for now, and I’ll contact them…later.”

“All right.” Her words held all the reluctance of someone who followed the rules.

Not of someone who broke them.

“All right,” she said again. “If that’s really what you want to do.”

“It is.” Walking around to the passenger side of the SUV, he opened the door. It wasn’t easy—the car’s frame must have been bent—and the door protested with a metallic screech. Reaching inside, he stuck his keys in the ignition. The engine turned over instantly just as he’d thought it would. If the wheel was free, he’d be able to drive.

Standing up, he turned to Emma. “Not a very good ending to our evening, huh?”

She wore an expression of distress. “I’m really sorry about this. It’s usually a very quiet street. Nothing ever happens here—” She broke off abruptly, her words stopping awkwardly.

Stepping closer to the sidewalk where she stood, Raul sensed she’d been going to say more, but at the last minute, had thought better of it. He waited to give her another chance, but she stayed silent.

“Has something else happened here lately?” he pushed.

She started shaking her head even before he finished speaking. “No, not that I know of…”

She was so clearly lying and so obviously shaken Raul reacted without thinking, one thought foremost in his mind. What in hell has Kelman done to her already? He reached over, tilting her chin up, so he could look into her eyes. “You could tell me, you know. It would be all right.”

She looked so startled that Raul wondered just what in hell he was doing. She recovered before he could answer that. “Nothing’s happened.” Her voice was stronger, more determined. “Absolutely nothing.”

His reaction made no sense at all, but a sudden sweep of protectiveness, then anger, came over Raul.

He recognized at once how ridiculous the emotions were. He was here to use Emma, just as Kelman was, but emotions were emotions. They came without reason.

Just like the craving to kiss her. He didn’t even bother to fight it this time; he simply gave in, leaning toward her and brushing his lips over hers, telling himself it would be enough.

But it wasn’t. Her mouth was as soft as it looked, and instead of satisfying him, the kiss only made him want more. More of them. More of her. More. He pulled back abruptly, met her gaze, then climbed into the damaged truck and drove off.

EMMA COULDN’T REMOVE Raul’s kiss from her brain, in fact, with each passing day, the moment seemed to grow in importance and take even deeper root. It had been nothing, a mere brush of his lips against her own, but she wasn’t able to erase the sensation, no matter how hard she tried. It wasn’t the feeling as much as the gesture; the brief touch had held the promise of more, and she had to remind herself she didn’t want it.

She had a goal and nothing could stand in its way, including a romantic entanglement. Especially a romantic entanglement with someone like Raul, she amended quickly. A relationship with a man that intense, that focused, would be like standing under a magnifying glass. They’d burn up from the heat they’d generate. She could tell that just from his kiss.

But the more she thought about him, the more confused she got, especially when she realized he’d never asked her about his trade. Had he merely wanted to go out with her? He’d called several times since then, inviting her for drinks or dinner, but each time she’d turned him down.

If she didn’t know better, she might think he was trying to court her. He’d brought her flowers, sent her candy…and the thoughtfulness of the newspaper! Only someone who’d been away from home for a long time knew what that meant. It wasn’t just a paper; it was a bridge to everything familiar, a little link to the stores and the politics and the things you took for granted when you saw them every day. She’d read every inch of it, including the ads.

That night, he’d even invaded her dreams. Finally, about six in the morning, she drifted off into something close to rest only to have the phone sound an hour later. She wanted to ignore the baleful ringing until she remembered it was Sunday and Todd’s turn to call her. She snatched up the receiver quickly; missing the call would have been awful.

Jake’s voice reached across the miles and immediately captured her. “Mommy? Is that you? You sound funny…”

Sitting up in bed, she pushed the hair out of her eyes. “It’s me, sweetheart. I was asleep, that’s all. Remember how I told you it’s not the same time here as it is there? We don’t have daylight saving time like you do—”

He was too excited to listen. “Mommy, guess what I’m getting?” Not waiting for an answer, he continued, “You’ll never guess. Not in a gazillion years.”

“Okay, then, tell me.” She blinked and tried to wake up more. “What are you getting?”

“A pony!” His words rang together in a string.

“Charlotte’s gonna move in here after she and Daddy get married, and she’s bringing all her horses and she said I could pick out one just for me. Not one too big or anything, but one for my very own. Isn’t that neat? I’m gonna call him Ranger. What do you think?”

He stopped to draw a breath, and Emma spoke in the gap, her heart suddenly in her throat. “Are you going to take riding lessons, honey?”

“Charlotte’s gonna teach me.” His voice was puffed up with importance. “She tol’ Daddy she wanted to spend time with me. I heard her tell him. She hugged me and she smells nice.”

The rest of the conversation was more of the same. Charlotte this and Charlotte that. Even Sarah had mumbled something about “’Lette,” her young tongue unable to get completely around the other woman’s name. Hanging up the phone twenty minutes later, Emma spent the rest of Sunday in a fog of depression. She should have been happy that Charlotte was treating the children so well, she told herself, but instead, she was jealous. She wanted to be the one teaching Jake to ride. She wanted to be the one holding Sarah’s hand when she toddled around the yard.

Sitting at her desk at home the next morning, unable to face the day, Emma picked up the phone, called Felicity and told her she’d be working from there.

But she accomplished nothing. Her thoughts tumbled around like clothes in a dryer, going from Raul, to her children and back to Raul.

The memory of the kiss occupied most of her thoughts, but the car accident troubled her, as well. Her unlocked gate was nothing compared to the damage to Raul’s vehicle, yet to have them both happen so close together was unnerving. She’d wanted to mention the open gate to Raul, then at the last minute had decided not to. The incident was so minor she felt foolish even to be worried about it, much less mention it to him.

To top it off, there had been the fight between Kelman and Raul. What kind of woman would those two men have fought over? Emma had called Reina that evening and told her more about the conversation she’d overheard. For the first time in their friendship, they’d exchanged angry words, Reina insisting that Raul was someone Emma should avoid. They’d apologized to each other before hanging up, but the tension was still thick between them.

Emma held her head in her hands and stared out the window. The monkey who lived in the trees next door was scampering from one branch to another, screeching and screaming as he shook the limbs and sent the leaves trembling as if in a storm. The irritating sound echoed inside her head, and for a minute, Emma thought about howling, too. The phone beside her jangled, saving her from her thoughts.

“Emma, I need to talk to you about something.” Christopher Evans spoke without a greeting, and behind her boss’s voice, Emma heard a note of unusual urgency. Typically unflappable, he sounded as if he was trying much too hard not to be worried.

But he was failing.

She couldn’t imagine what might have upset him, but she felt her stomach knot in response, a cramp of nervousness she couldn’t ignore. “What’s going on?”

“That account you opened a few weeks ago for Raul Santos. Have you checked the funding on it?”

“I had Felicity look at it on Friday. She talked to the bank in El Paso and they said everything was fine—or at least that’s what she told me.” Emma hesitated. “Why do you ask? Is there a problem?”

“A problem?” His voice rose slightly. “Oh, no, there’s no problem. Unless you think not having any funds to cover the check presents a problem.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

EMMA SWALLOWED, her throat suddenly tightening. “It hasn’t gone through?”

“Not as of this morning. I got our list of potential problems when I came in, and it was at the top. There were no funds in that account as of Friday at 7 p.m. I think you’d better talk to Felicity and find out exactly what the other bank said. And then you’d better contact Mr. Santos.” He stopped again, then spoke. “You haven’t traded on that account yet, have you?”

“No.” She hated to explain, but she didn’t have a choice. “He came last week to execute a trade. I didn’t have some information he’d requested, though, and he didn’t want to do the deal until he had that packet.”

“Well, you’d better thank your lucky stars it worked out that way. Otherwise this conversation might be going down a much different track.”

Emma’s stomach took a dive. “I understand.”

“Then you’ll take care of this.” It wasn’t a question.

“Absolutely. I’ll handle it, Christopher. Immediately.”

RAUL CLIMBED into the rented Range Rover and started the engine. His SUV was still in the repair shop and probably would be for the next six months. As often as accidents happened in Santa Cruz, he would have expected faster service; then again, this was South America. The parts had to be imported, and the skilled labor necessary to install them was scarce. He had to wait his turn. In the meantime, the Rover would actually work out better, he decided. Kelman would have no idea now what Raul was driving.

He made his way through the convoluted traffic circles to Las Palmas, the suburb where Kelman lived. He tried to concentrate, but his thoughts were on Emma more than they were on the traffic. Since the last time they’d been together, she’d turned down all his invitations, and his frustration was growing. How could he find out what Kelman was doing if Emma continued to avoid him? He cursed himself for the kiss he’d stolen; the taste of her lips still lingered and the smell of her perfume haunted him at night. It’d been a mistake, and a big one. Getting close to Emma—hell, being attracted to her as he was—definitely muddied the waters. He’d have to watch himself in the future.

The entrance to Kelman’s subdivision came into view, and Raul turned the big SUV left, his thoughts shifting back to where they should be. It’d been easy to find out about the mansion Kelman bought, because there were only two Realtors in town who handled expatriates. Prepared to go to them both, Raul had lucked out with the first one. The agent had bragged about the sale, even though it hadn’t been hers. She’d been very helpful, in fact, even driving him past Kelman’s house to show Raul what he could get for his money when he decided to buy, as he’d implied to her he would.

The subdivision wasn’t huge, but the houses certainly were. Mostly stucco with pools and lush landscaping, the compounds were surrounded by towering brick fences that marked each property’s perimeter. They kept out everyone and everything, including prying eyes.

Raul eased down the street until he was almost opposite Kelman’s home. On the sidewalk just outside the wall sat a tiny shack. It housed a series of guards whose primary task seemed to be visiting the maid next door. The only break in the brick came where the driveway intersected the fence. A set of double gates, made of iron and highly ornate, led inside to a garage. Raul knew the layout of the house and yard.

He had been inside twice.

Driving by slowly, he glanced toward the guardhouse. The guard was inside. Asleep. Raul circled the block, then parked, along with a line of waiting mothers, in front of a nearby school. Kelman would be out sooner or later.

Within a very short time, a horn sounded inside the gates, and the guard jumped up to open them. A shiny green Jeep—without any scratches—slipped through them a second later. Raul let several cars by, then he pulled into the street and followed a safe distance behind the Jeep.

Twenty minutes later, both vehicles pulled up outside the Banco Nacional.

Raul watched as Kelman exited the Jeep and headed up the sidewalk. He walked with a purposeful stride and rudely brushed off the Quechua, who had the misfortune to approach him with her palm outstretched. The bright spring day sparkled as he entered the bank through the side door, the door that led directly to Emma’s office.

EMMA’S HAND shook as she disconnected the line, then reached out to redial her own office number. Felicity answered after three rings.

Emma spoke quickly. “Felicity, when you called that bank in El Paso to check on the Santos account, what exactly did they say?”

The secretary answered in Spanish, and Emma interrupted her impatiently. “In English, Felicity, please!”

Ignoring Emma’s request, the young woman spoke a second time, still in Spanish. “You have a visitor, Ms. Toussaint,” she said. “I’m telling you in Spanish because he’s sitting right here. He’s very unhappy that you are not in your office.”

“Who is it?”

Instead of giving his name, the secretary described the man. She clearly didn’t want to let him know she was talking about him. “He’s older,” she whispered, “with short gray hair. He looks…intense.”

“Did he give you his card?”

“Sí.”

“Is it William Kelman?”

“Sí, sí, exactamente.”

Emma closed her eyes. God, why had he come in now? When she wasn’t even there. When everything was going wrong. She wanted to cry that the timing was bad. On the other hand, if there was a problem with Raul’s account, she had a feeling Kelman’s dividend could more than make up for the difference.

Taking a deep breath, she spoke rapidly. “When we hang up, tell the gentleman I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Offer him coffee or wine or whatever he wants, but for God’s sake don’t let him out of there. Do you understand?”

“Sí, sí.”

“Okay, now tell me about the bank in El Paso. In Spanish, please.”

“I called them, and they said there were no funds in the account, that it often ran close. They expected a deposit by the end of the day.” Her voice turned fearful. “Did I do something wrong?”

“You told me they said everything was fine.” Emma spoke through clenched teeth.

“That’s what they said.” The girl sounded near tears. “They said it would be fine, so that’s what I told you.”

“In the future, I need the details. I need to know exactly what they say, all right? Not your interpretation.”

Crestfallen, yet clearly relieved, Felicity answered, “Yes, ma’am. I understand.”

“Good. Now please give Mr. Kelman the message, then I want you to call Raul Santos and tell him I need to speak with him. Set up a meeting at any time and place he wants, but make it today. If he asks, tell him I need to firm up some details about his trade.” She paused. “I really need to talk to him, Felicity, so I don’t care how he wants to arrange it. Just make sure I get to see him today. I have to.”

A second later, Emma hung up the phone, then ran to her closet, tearing off the robe she had on and grabbing the first dress her hand fell on. In five minutes, she was flying down the stairs and in another ten, after a wild taxi ride, she was opening the door to her office.

William Kelman rose when he saw her, his blue eyes flicking over her in a silent appraisal.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived.” Trying to appear calmer than she was, Emma crossed the room and held out her hand, smiling.

“I had no idea you were coming in.”

“I didn’t, either,” he said. “But I’ve decided to open my account, and I want to do it now.”

“Great.” Emma tilted her head toward her inner office. “Come in and we’ll get started.”

She was dying to find out if Felicity had contacted Raul, but Emma didn’t stop to ask the secretary. She led Kelman into her office and sat down behind her desk.

Before Emma could even catch her breath, Kelman lifted a black leather briefcase and placed it directly in the center of her desk. Popping it open, then turning it around, he revealed the contents. It was packed with bundled currency—one-hundred-dollar bills—and the case was full.

Dumbfounded, Emma sat in her chair and said nothing. She was accustomed to large deposits, but not in cash, and immediately she wondered if the money was legitimate. Anyone who transported more than ten thousand dollars in or out of the U.S. had to file a report with the customs service. A 4790—a Currency Monetary Instrument Report. Unless Kelman had filed one, which somehow she doubted, he’d smuggled the money in.

Without saying a word, he reached down to the side of his chair and picked up a second case Emma hadn’t noticed before. This one held a jumble of paper. Each piece had a different design on it. Ornate with spidery lines and official-looking print, she recognized them immediately. They were stock certificates.

The number of shares, printed on the front of each certificate, ranged from one hundred to one thousand, and she knew the companies that had issued them. Anyone would. They were blue chip all the way. With fingers she had to consciously steady, she picked one up, flipping it over to read the back. It had been endorsed and was perfectly negotiable. She let it flutter back into the case.

Millions. Many millions.

The bonus she’d make from this deposit would be enough to cover an attorney and start proceedings against Todd. Her children’s voices rang in her head, the clear sweet sound so real she wanted to weep.

Emma raised her gaze to Kelman’s face and prayed she looked more composed than she felt. “Is this your deposit?”

“Yes, it is.” He met her look with an open expression. “And before you even ask, I can assure you this money is clean, Ms. Toussaint. There’s not a thing wrong with it. I’ve traveled back and forth to this country for many years, and I’ve brought some cash with me each time I’ve entered. I declared this every time I left the States, and you can check on that, if you like. The CMIRs are on record.”

Emma nodded slowly as he spoke. “Then I’m sure there’s no problem. Deposits of foreign currency are perfectly legitimate in Bolivia. We’ll apply it directly to the account, and it will be immediately accessible. My secretary will handle it and give you a receipt for the total.”

With a pounding heart, she reached for her phone to ring Felicity, but Kelman’s hand snaked out and stopped her. Her eyes shot to his. His touch was as cold as his stare.

“We have something to discuss first.”

He released her and her heart took an extra beat as she moved her hand away from the phone. It was hard to resist the urge to rub the spot on her wrist where his touch still lingered.

“I’m not sure exactly what I’ll be doing with these funds,” he said slowly. “I may not want to trade them right away.”

“That’s fine.” She spoke confidently, but inside a million questions assaulted her. William Kelman unsure of what he wanted to do? Men like him were never unsure, especially when it came to money. She didn’t know where the conversation was going, but calmly knitting her fingers together on the top of her desk, she said, “We can put it in an holding account where it can be available to trade—”

“I don’t want to deposit all of it that way.” His blue eyes glowed in the late-morning sun streaming through her windows. “At least not at first.”

His implication wasn’t entirely clear, but she moved to reassure him, assuming the worst. “Mr. Kelman, our accounts are very secure. Impenetrable, in fact. No one can—”

“Security’s not my concern.” He shook his head. “I have something else in mind.”

She sensed the trap a second too late and spoke without thinking. “And that would be?”

“It’s my understanding the government committee meets very soon—the committee that reviews the rate for the boliviano against the dollar. On the day the rate is announced, I want to be holding the appropriate currency—dollars or bolivianos.” He stopped, his words suspended between them.

Emma looked across the desk at him, holding her breath, and remembered their earlier conversation, the one at Candelabra where she’d explained currency trading. If the Bolivian government devalued its currency, everything was suddenly worth less. Except dollars. You would want to own them and plenty of them. But if the government raised the value of the boliviano, the reverse would happen; the boliviano would be more valuable than the dollar. Either way, if you knew the direction in advance, you could make money. A lot of it.

But you had to know which way to trade.

Was he proposing she tell him in advance? His voice held no clue, no hint, of his intentions. It was calm and level, even friendly. It matched his expression, and she wondered if she was being paranoid.

“I don’t believe I understand,” she answered slowly. “The rate isn’t published in advance. No one knows what it will be.”

“Yes, that’s correct, but not technically accurate, now is it?” He smiled.

Her heart thumped wildly as she mentally completed what she thought he was saying: The bank knows the rate in advance. And you work for the bank.

“There’s a lot of profit there, waiting to be realized.” He was speaking in such a convivial manner now that the tightness inside her eased. Surely she was imagining things. Then he spoke again.

“And you know how it works…If I make money, you make money…”

Their eyes met again, and without warning, the week after her divorce flashed into Emma’s mind. She had stood in the middle of her rented apartment, a drink in one hand and a bottle of pills in the other. At that very moment, she’d wanted nothing as much as she’d wanted to end the pain. It wouldn’t have been the right thing to do—she knew that now—but the feeling bombarding her at this very minute held the same kind of temptation.

All her problems could be solved in an instant. She’d have enough money to buy and sell Todd Toussaint to hell and back. Her kids could be hers once more. She could almost feel her arms around their bodies.

“What do you say?” Kelman patted the briefcases, sensing her hesitation. “Can we work a deal that would benefit us both?”

She wasn’t sure of her answer until she opened her mouth and spoke. “I don’t believe I can help you with something like that.”

He didn’t look surprised. He merely regarded her with his hooded blue gaze. After several seconds, he spoke. “I intend on doing a lot of trading with this money. I would think your bank—and your boss—might appreciate that fact. Perhaps you haven’t given this opportunity as much thought as it deserves.”

Did he emphasize the word opportunity, or was she the one giving it more significance? She couldn’t tell.

“I’m sorry you feel that way.”

“I’m sure you are,” he answered. She watched his expression turn thoughtful. “I’ll tell you what, though. Why don’t you put the cases in the vault for me? Keep them for a while and think about my offer.” Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out a business card and dropped it on her desk. “Here’s all the information from me that you need. You think about it a bit…then call me.”

There was nothing else she could do but give him a receipt and watch him walk out the door. Stunned and confused, Emma dropped into her office chair, her thoughts swirling in her head with the force of a tornado. Should she talk to Chris? If she was wrong and she accused Kelman of something he wasn’t doing, she could kiss his account—and probably her job—goodbye.

Before she could decide, Felicity stuck her head in the open office door and delivered her message in a breathless voice. “Mr. Santos will meet you tonight at nine. At Michelangelo’s.”

The secretary closed the door as Emma nodded blankly, her eyes going automatically to the two briefcases. She stared at them for a moment, then she reached for the middle drawer of her desk. Pulling it open, she gazed down at the photograph she kept hidden there.

Jake and Sarah looked back.

RAUL DIDN’T BOTHER to ask the young secretary what the problem was. When she reached him on his cell phone as he sat outside the bank, he simply agreed to see Emma later that evening. Then, putting the SUV into gear, he headed downtown to the American Consulate. Whatever was wrong, Wendy could fix it.

She met him in the parking lot and climbed into the Range Rover, pulling at the skirt of her business suit. “You’re in trouble, aren’t you? And where’s your truck? Why are you driving this?”

“It’s a long story and I don’t have time to explain. But I need your help.”

She answered dryly. “That’s what I’m here for.”

He ignored her tone. “I think there’s a problem with the money. Emma had her secretary call me and set up an appointment. I have a feeling the account in El Paso is screwed up. I could call and fix it, but you can do it faster.”

“There’s no problem with that money.” Her words were matter-of-fact and assured. “It’s a slush fund and illegal as hell. There’s always cash in it, more than anyone can keep track of. Our agents draw from it night and day, whenever they need it.” She paused for a second. “I could get fired just for telling you about it, much less allowing you to actually use the money. Not to mention everything else I’ve done…”

“Well, you have told me, and it’s too late to stop things now. I want you to call and find out what’s wrong, so I’ll know before I see Emma tonight.”

“I’m not getting any more involved in this, Raul. I was crazy to think it’d work.”

“You weren’t crazy. You were trying to help me. Now I need more help. If it makes you feel better, this’ll be the last thing I’ll ask you to do.”

Without another word, he passed the mobile phone to her. She held it for a moment, then with a sigh, punched in a series of numbers. Expecting her to speak, he was surprised when she tapped in a few more numbers, listened, then handed the phone back to him.

“The account is fine,” she said tightly. “An agent down on the border drained it unexpectedly, so your check didn’t clear. The replacement money was slow getting there, but it’ll be available for transfer later tonight. Twice what you need. Maybe three times. Your secret is safe. But I can’t guarantee for how long.”

“It won’t take forever. Kelman knows who I am and he’s already made his first move. He’ll start to put his plan into action soon.”

She shook her head. “You’re making a big mistake, Raul. The guy screwed you, yeah, but this…this is gonna get you hurt.”

“He didn’t just screw me.” The words were cold and clipped. “He stole five years of my life, and then he took away my livelihood.”

“You’re smart. Find something else you can—”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It could be.”

“You don’t understand,” he said tightly. “It wasn’t just the years and it wasn’t just being disbarred.”

“I do understand. I knew you before you went in, Raul. And I see you now.” She leaned across the seat, closer to him. “You’re a changed man. You don’t care what happens as long as you get him, and that’s not the Raul I used to know.”

He stared out the windshield. On the street by the consulate parking lot was a tiny kiosk selling cold drinks and cigarettes. He watched the proprietor go to the side of the minuscule metal building, open a three-foot-high door and climb inside. He appeared a second later inside the opening, ready for business, as he sat down on a stool and looked patiently down the street.

Turning to Wendy, Raul spoke. “You’re right. And that’s why I can’t let this guy keep doing what he does, Wendy. He uses people, then he throws them away. One way or the other, I’m going to destroy him. If I do get hurt in the process, that’s not good, but that won’t stop me.”

“So you’ll do whatever it takes to get the job done?” She stared at him and shook her head.

“Tell me how that’s different from what he does.”

“I can’t,” he answered. “But he set the play in motion. All I’m going to do is finish it.”

EMMA GAVE HERSELF plenty of time to get to Michelangelo’s, but two streets away from her house and four miles from the Italian bar, an impromptu parade broke out, and her taxi got caught in the middle of it. With a mariachi band playing in front of them and a decorated pickup truck behind them, she and the hapless cabdriver could only inch forward with the rest of the revelers.

She was accustomed to these spontaneous displays of exuberance. Bolivians loved parades and they occurred frequently, some more thought out than others. A wedding, a birthday, any kind of holiday, and the streets filled with vehicles sporting crepe-paper flowers and hand-lettered signs. Music—as loud as possible—was de rigueur for each of these processions, and costumes were always welcomed, too. The brighter and more colorful, the better. As the marchers spilled over the sidewalks and swept up people in the cafés, everyone was encouraged to join. Emma looked at the window with dismay, but there was no way out. They were stuck.

She leaned against the cab’s dusty upholstery and tried not to panic. She’d been trying all day not to panic, and so far, she was failing.

Every time she thought of William Kelman’s leather briefcases sitting in the now-darkened vault of the bank, she wanted to throw up. Had she read him correctly or not?

She wished once more she could ask Christopher, but the more she thought about it, the more she knew she couldn’t. Already upset about Raul’s money, he’d think she couldn’t do her job. A fact she herself was starting to wonder about. She’d checked again just before leaving the office, and the funds still weren’t there. She was on her own with this one. That was nothing new, but another roil of nausea hit her as she considered the impact. Just once, she thought, just once…couldn’t it be easy?

The taxi lurched ten more feet, and by the time they reached the bar, an hour late, she was almost beside herself.

Pushing her way in, she was sure Raul must have left. She edged into the crowd, anyway, searching the low-lit room anxiously. Like all the bars in Santa Cruz at 10 p.m., this one was packed, a smog of smoke hanging over the heads of the drinkers, a deafening flood of noise pouring from several speakers hanging from the ceiling. Instead of the beautiful local music, played on flutes and drums, it was American rock. Her anxiety ratcheted up another notch.

She had just made her way to the center of the bar when she felt someone grab her elbow. Swinging around in surprise, she found Raul. He wore black slacks and a dark shirt, his skin a burnished copper as he leaned close and spoke in her ear. “Let’s get out of here. We can’t possibly talk with all this going on.”

His words were warm against her skin, and something equally heated curled in her stomach. Telling herself she was crazy, she nodded, and he took her hand as they fought their way through the crowd. Leading them to the front door, he pushed it open and they tumbled outside, the humid night air immediately surrounding them. He didn’t release her fingers as she began to apologize.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, but the taxi got caught in a parade. I didn’t think we’d ever get here.”

The street was shadowy and quiet, and after the noise of the club, the silence felt as thick as the darkness. She could see his eyes, though. They were wary. Through the point of contact at their hands, she felt a kind of humming energy, an almost electric tingle.

“It’s not important.” Under his voice’s usual smoothness, she heard the same tension she saw in his gaze. Tilting his head, he indicated the street.

“Let’s walk. You can tell me what’s going on.”

She hesitated. He was making her nervous, more nervous than she was already, and suddenly she wasn’t sure that going anywhere with him was such a good idea. She turned and studied his profile, then in a flash of intuition, she realized what was going on. He already knew what she was about to say.

He knew there was no money in the account.

CHAPTER EIGHT

EMMA SEEMED perfectly at ease, her voice steady, her words well chosen as she began to explain the problem. If he hadn’t been touching her, Raul would never have known how nervous she was. Through the fabric of her jacket, though, he could feel a distinct tautness, a dead giveaway to her true level of discomposure. Anxious and agitated, she was wound up as tightly as the watch on his wrist.

As tightly as he was.

With his visit to her office today, Kelman must have somehow brought the net closer; Raul read the signs when he looked at Emma. Dark circles of worry underneath her eyes. The frown etched into her forehead. The tension in every line of her face.

“I know it’s a simple mix-up with the account, and I hate to even bring it to your attention.” Speaking calmly, almost apologetically, she continued, “We have to figure out what’s going on, though. I’m sure we can rectify the problem with a phone call.” Obviously feeling his gaze, she said, “Do you have any idea what the problem might be?”

“No, I don’t,” he lied. “But I agree completely with you. I’m sure there’s a simple explanation. In fact, I’d be willing to bet it’s been cleared up and we don’t even know it. Let’s stop by your office and find out.”

She looked nonplussed by his suggestion. “The branch in El Paso is closed now. It’s too late to talk to anyone there.”

“Are you telling me everything shuts down at night?” He laughed easily. “Come on, Emma. I know how the system works.”

Her gaze turned cautious. “Funds are posted after hours,” she conceded, “but I verified the account just before I left the office. The block was still there. It wouldn’t have changed since then because—”

“It has,” he interrupted confidently. “Believe me, it has.”

She stopped on the sidewalk and slowly disentangled her hand from his. They were standing in front of a store, and the light from the window display was all the illumination he had. But he needed nothing else. She didn’t believe him, and that much was very clear.

“I don’t think you understand the depth of this problem,” she said slowly. “Your bank in El Paso is refusing to pay on your check. They’re saying there are no funds in that account. I think—”

“I know exactly what you think.” He paused.

“But you’re wrong.”

They stared at each other in the darkness. In the silence.

He took a step closer to her. In her expression he saw the need to increase the space between them, but she held herself still. He moved even nearer.

“You don’t trust me at all, do you?” he asked softly.

“Trust has nothing to do with this. It’s business.”

“Everything involves trust, Emma. It doesn’t matter if it’s between banker and client, parent and child…or two new lovers.” He raised his hand and drew a finger down her throat. The skin beneath his touch was as silken and soft as it had been the last time he’d caressed her. “We all depend on trust. Our instincts are made out of it, and yours are telling you to run right now. But you’d be wrong if you did.”

She stood frozen on the sidewalk, a look of confusion on her face that pulled at his sympathies, even as he told himself it shouldn’t. Betting he’d made the right guess about Kelman’s earlier visit, Raul steeled himself and baited the trap.

“I want to be your friend.” His voice was a whisper in the darkness. “Couldn’t you use one?”

Her eyes jerked to his.

Bingo, he thought.

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t think I do.”

“I can help you, Emma.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t need any help.”

She was going to make it difficult, and he wasn’t surprised. “Let’s go to your office,” he answered. “I’ll prove to you the money is there. And then we’ll talk.”

She wanted to say no to his suggestion. He could read her answer as clearly as he’d read her tension a moment before. She couldn’t refuse him, though, and if she tried to, he would have to do something. And it wouldn’t be something she’d like.

She looked into his eyes and interpreted the unspoken warning.

“All right,” she said faintly. “Let’s go.”

THEY WALKED QUICKLY down the sidewalk until they came to Raul’s rented SUV. The wind had picked up since they’d left the bar, and it raged around the corner, greedily snatching at Emma’s skirt as she climbed inside. Straight off the Andean foothills, the gust was hot and gritty.

Still, the feeling it left wasn’t nearly as searing as the lingering trace of Raul’s hand on her skin. Her reaction to the simple caress far outweighed what it deserved, and she knew why. It was her anticipation of what might come next.

For God’s sake, what on earth was she doing? Things were spinning out of control, and she was thinking about kissing—No, tell the truth. She was thinking about making love with a man who was practically a stranger, and a dangerous one at that. She should have been worried about the problem at the bank, but instead, the thoughts flooding her mind were purely sensual. The light on his skin, the look in his eyes, the heat in her body…

I want to be your friend, Emma.

There was no way he could know about Kelman’s offer. Absolutely no way. If she’d ever needed a friend, though, it was now. She thought back to the argument she’d heard between the two men. The fight had been over a woman, but there could have been more to it than Raul had told her. If he really knew Kelman, knew the kind of man he was, Raul could help her. She wouldn’t have to do this all by herself…. The idea was so tempting she turned to study him, to see if she could somehow read the truth she sought so badly in his expression.

The headlights of a passing car illuminated his profile as she stared. His cheekbone was a blade, high and prominent, his jaw a dark shadow with a midnight stubble. Above his brow, a single lock of thick black hair fell heavily across his forehead. She wanted to touch him, to lay her fingers on his face and feel its roughness and contours. She could almost imagine the strength there, the energy, the intensity. Abruptly she forced herself to look the other way. She was acting insane, absolutely nuts. This man was not the kind she needed anywhere in her life, much less in her bed.

They reached the bank a few minutes later, and with the wind building to a crescendo around them, they hurried from the truck to the porte cochere beside her office. The angry drafts whipped against her as she found her keys in the bottom of her purse. With trembling fingers, she finally managed to unlock the door.

They were swallowed instantly by darkness and a tomblike silence.

“I need to catch the alarm.” Emma shook out her hair, the strands tangled and twisted from the wind’s touch. “Wait here.”

He nodded as she walked quickly to a closet on the other side of Felicity’s desk. The panel to the security system was hidden inside. Opening the door, she punched the number into the keypad. The code was a personal one, and in the morning, Christopher would know she’d been in. He teased her a lot when she worked odd hours; he’d think nothing of seeing her name on the printout.

By the time she finished and stepped out of the closet, the bank’s security guard was at the door that separated the main lobby from hers. She crossed to the window set in the center of the mahogany panel. “Everything’s fine, Jorge,” she said. “It’s just me.”

Through the beveled glass, the older man looked sleepy, and unhappy that she’d disturbed his rest. Adjusting his uniform, he ambled off, back to the chair where he spent his nights. Security here was not what it would have been in the States. At home, depending on the bank, she might not have even been allowed to come in like this, especially with a client at her side.

Unlocking the inner door to her office, Emma crossed the marble floor and switched on the desk lamp. She turned to call Raul only to find him already there; he’d slipped inside behind her, a silent shadow.

In a matter of minutes she had her computer booted up and had logged on to the bank’s database. Opening the center drawer of her desk, she consulted a small notebook and figured out the daily code. She tapped it in and looked up at Raul as the system processed the numbers.

“I’m very doubtful that anything has changed.”

“I understand.”

The screen in front of her flickered, the terminal bright in the otherwise dark office. Typing quickly, she opened the file that recorded money transfers, and at the bottom of the screen, a new figure had been posted. Surprise rippled over her in an unexpected wave.

“It’s there, isn’t it?”

She raised her gaze to his. “Yes, it is.”

“I told you to trust me.” Rising from the chair, he walked slowly around her desk to look down at the screen. She started to stop him, then realized it didn’t matter. It was his account. If he wanted to see the numbers, he could.

He leaned over her shoulder and began to trail his finger over the monitor as he followed the figures. She stopped breathing at his closeness, but she reacted too late. His aftershave reached her, the same one she’d smelled earlier. Her stomach tightened at the masculine fragrance, and she tried to concentrate on something else. Her eyes went to his right hand as it rested on the screen. One of his knuckles on his ring finger was misshapen. It’d obviously been broken and never set years before.

“What happened to your finger?” The words slipped out before she could hold them back.

He glanced at her, then at his hand, his gaze switching back to her as he spoke. “I had a summer job one year in a canning plant. I caught my high-school ring on a piece of machinery. It kept going and my finger didn’t. My dad popped it back in place, but I never saw a doctor and it healed like that.”

“A cannery sounds like a dangerous place for a teenager to work.”

“It was. But where I came from, a job was a job and I felt lucky to have it. My parents were migrant workers along the border between Mexico and Texas. We went from town to town and they picked vegetables for a living. My steady job was a real step up.”

“And now you have this.” Emma tilted her head to the terminal. “You’ve come a long way.”

“Yes, I have,” he said. He waited a moment, then leaned back and stared at her. “How far have you come?”

He’d asked about her past before, and she’d avoided the question. Now, in the darkened office with the wind howling outside, she was too exhausted and drained to think up another lie. Even more importantly, though, something was happening between them. Something that was drawing them closer and closer. She had fought the sensation as long as she could. But no more.

“Not that far,” she said, glancing at the screen.

“I grew up in Louisiana in a little place called Kenner. My parents divorced when I was just a kid, and I never saw my dad again. My mom raised me.”

“And sent you to LSU, where you earned a degree.” He raised his eyes to her diploma hanging on the wall.

“I got a scholarship, or it would never have happened. I majored in finance.”

“Then you got married…”

She nodded slowly and stayed quiet. What was there to say about that that mattered?

He went on, “…and then you divorced.”

She nodded again.

He waited a few seconds. “But you didn’t have any children,” he said finally. Quietly. “So that photograph you’re hiding in your desk drawer means nothing to you. The one of that beautiful little girl, and the boy who looks exactly like you.”

Catching her breath, Emma followed his gaze. In the corner of the drawer the picture of her children seemed to glow. With accusation.

“Are they yours?”

She waited two heartbeats, then nodded. “Yes,” she whispered. “They’re mine.”

The silence that built felt like a living thing, breathing and waiting between them.

“Why did you lie to me the other night?” he finally asked.

“I don’t know.” She swallowed hard, then shook her head slowly. “Yes, I do. It’s because I don’t have them. They live with their father, and sometimes it’s just too hard to…to talk about them.”

She waited for the next painful question, the one that always hurt the most. Why does he have them and not you?

When it didn’t come, she answered, anyway, something compelling her to speak—the same thing that was drawing them closer, she suspected. “The divorce was…ugly. There were accusations made. Against me. He got full custody.”

“Did you fight him?”

“As much as I could.” Her low voice contained regret, but not the oceans of it she usually carried around, the horrible, heavy burden that she never put down. “His family is very powerful in Louisiana, and money isn’t a problem. Until I can afford an attorney who isn’t afraid of them, the things Todd said about me won’t go away.” She dropped her gaze and stared at her babies’ faces.

“What did he say?”

When she didn’t answer, Raul lifted her chin with one finger.

She spoke, knowing he’d never relent until he knew the truth. “He told everyone who would listen that I was a dreadful mother and a horrible person.” A cramp seized her heart. She had to wait for it to pass before she could speak again. “The judge believed him and I lost all right to see my children.”

“He must have had a reason to do something that drastic.”

She looked up into the black well of his eyes. “He did,” she said hoarsely. “I was addicted to pain pills and alcohol.”

The confession hung in the stillness between them. Raul’s expression didn’t change, didn’t move. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

“I…I had a car accident right after Sarah was born. It was a really bad accident, and I injured my back severely. The pain just wouldn’t go away. I couldn’t pick her up, I couldn’t nurse her, I couldn’t do anything. And poor Jake got ignored completely. I was a bad mother. When the doctor gave me something that made the pain a little easier to bear, I was ecstatic. It let me take care of the children again, be the kind of mother I wanted to be. My only complaint was that it didn’t last long enough. I had a drink one night because I was so depressed about it all, and I realized the alcohol worked with the pills. It made the pain stay away longer.”

“A bad combination.”

“The worst,” she agreed. “Before I knew what was happening, I couldn’t function on my own. And then…I couldn’t function at all. It was just what Todd needed. He’d wanted the divorce, anyway, and was looking for a reason. When we’d met, he’d thought I was someone he could manipulate and control, but I wasn’t. I had a mind of my own and ambitions of my own, and he didn’t want that in a wife.” She shook her head and tightened her mouth. “Actually, he hadn’t wanted a wife, he’d wanted a trophy, and he fell in love with my looks, not me. I was a pretty blonde and seemed to be everything he wished for, but on the inside I wasn’t the sweet little woman he’d thought. My problems gave him all the ammunition he needed. In one fell swoop, I lost my job, my children, my home and my husband.”

Emma stopped as a gust of wind rattled the windows and pulled her gaze to them. She caught her breath. The Indian woman was outside on the sidewalk, trudging forward into the steady blast as if it didn’t exist. On her back, wrapped in the aguayo, she carried her child.

Raul followed Emma’s gaze. Together they watched the woman until she disappeared around the corner. For a moment they were quiet, then Emma spoke again, her eyes still on the window.

“Our relationship had already fallen by the wayside, and the house never mattered. I didn’t give a damn about any of it except my kids. They were my life. They are my life. And I’m going to get them back,” she said. “If it’s the last thing I do on this earth, I’m going to get my children back.”

SHE LOOKED UP at him with defiant eyes as she made her pronouncement. There was so much pain in her expression—and so much determination—Raul felt a chill sweep over him.

Without another word, she turned to face her computer again and tapped the keys rapidly, shutting it down. The hard drive whirred as it responded to her commands, then the terminal blinked into darkness.

She rose in one fluid movement. “I guess I owe you an apology,” she said. “Obviously our system didn’t catch the deposit when it should have. I’m sorry for the trouble.”

Telling him her history had taken its toll. The shadows beneath her eyes were darker than they’d been when he’d first spotted her at the bar. She looked wrung out, vulnerable—and more beautiful than he would have thought possible.

It made him feel like the complete and utter bastard he was. The upside was obvious, though. If she trusted him enough to tell him this, then maybe she’d trust him enough to tell him when Kelman made his move. It was the perfect setup, Raul thought regretfully. Kelman himself couldn’t have dreamed a better scenario.

Emma started around the corner of her desk, and Raul reached out a hand to stop her. She’d removed her jacket when they’d entered the office, and beneath his fingers, under the silk sleeve of her blouse, he could feel her tense.

He met her questioning look. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For telling me the truth.”

Without taking his hand from her arm, he moved around the edge of the desk to stand closer to her. The glow from the lamp made her blond hair gleam. Her skin looked as pale and luminescent as the light itself. Just like the first time he’d seen her, the only color in her face came from her mouth. Her lips were full and red.

“You know why you finally told me, don’t you?” He didn’t wait for her answer. “I do. It’s simple.”

She smiled regretfully. “Nothing in life is simple.”

“This is.” He waited a moment, then continued, “You trust me now.”

She didn’t say anything, but he could see her thinking. If she denied his statement, their business relationship might suffer. If she agreed, she gave away even more of herself. It was a classic dilemma, and all she could do was acknowledge it.

“You’re very clever, aren’t you?”

He lifted his hands to her face and cradled it gently. The air was still and expectant around them, a complete contrast to the howling gusts outside. “No, I don’t think so,” he said slowly. “If I were clever, I wouldn’t do this.” He leaned over and pressed his mouth to hers. This time in a real kiss. A kiss neither of them could ignore when it was over.

She resisted for a heartbeat, then she gave in, her mouth melding to his. Her luscious lips were soft and forgiving. She tasted sweet, too, and for some unexplained reason, he flashed back to his very first kiss. Martina Garcia. Behind the bleachers when they’d both been in the sixth grade. He’d kissed a lot of women since Martina, but none of them had rekindled that initial flash of heat and pure desire. Until now.

After a moment, Emma’s hands pushed gently at his chest, and he pulled back reluctantly. She stared into his eyes. “You’re right,” she said quietly. “That wasn’t a very smart thing to do. But I’m glad you did.”

RAUL PARKED directly in front of her house. Feeling too conflicted even to think about the consequences of what she was doing, Emma led him up the sidewalk to her gate, then through it, to the door. Her thoughts whirled, but she hardly noticed. Her body was the only thing that counted right now. Every emotion, every sensation, every feeling was something she’d never experienced before. The wind on her face, the heat of the evening, even the call of the wild parrots from next door—it all felt so different, almost unreal.

Raul’s kiss had triggered something needy in her, something she didn’t even realize had been missing until this very moment. As they entered her house and he swept her into his arms, she wondered blindly if it had been his kiss or his offer of friendship that had brought them to this point.

She had to have both, she realized now, and maybe he did, too. She wanted a man who needed her, but she needed a man who wanted her. There was a hidden side to him that called out to her, a side that said he’d been hurt, too. They could heal each other, at least for a night.

He lifted his hand to her face, cradling her cheek in his palm. Their eyes met and locked, then he lowered his head and began to kiss her.

CHAPTER NINE

SHE ENTERED his embrace with an urgency that surprised him, and he took full advantage of her passion, ignoring the voices in the back of his head that insisted he leave while he still could. Their advice was useless and he knew it.

He couldn’t have stopped kissing Emma any more than he could have stopped his heart from beating. She was too soft, too tender, too willing to let his lips and hands put aside the pain that was now a part of her very soul. As his mouth covered hers and he tasted the sweetness of her tongue, he thought of the way she’d looked when she’d told him about her children. He had never seen that kind of anguish on anyone’s face. It had ripped into him with a sharpness he’d never forget. In his past, he’d lost years, but she’d forfeited something even more precious. Her future.

Their kiss deepened and he knew he was lost. Lost and crazy, for sure. Raul wanted Kelman, and he’d counted on using Emma to get him. The way he felt about her this very minute was not part of the plan, and it never had been.

She murmured into his open mouth and made a sound of longing. Splaying his hands across her back, he answered her with a groan of his own, everything else fleeing his mind. A second later, he picked her up and began to climb the stairs to the second floor. To her bedroom.

She clung to him with her arms around his neck, and when they reached the top, she nodded to the right. He turned that way and entered the room that faced the street, the one where he’d seen the light and billowing curtains that first time he’d sat outside her house. A huge four-poster bed took up one wall, and he headed straight for it.

In two quick steps, they were there. Emma slid from his arms as quietly as a whisper, then raised her hands to his shirt. Unbuttoning it, she stayed silent, but behind her touch was a desperation that needed no words to be communicated. Raul felt the same way. He urged her out of her jacket and her skirt and blouse quickly followed. Within seconds they were both naked.

He said nothing; he was afraid to break the spell as he stared at her in the darkness. Like Emma’s touch, he let his eyes communicate his thoughts. You’re beautiful. Beyond anything I ever imagined, even in my dreams. Her gaze met his in understanding, then she lowered it and brought her pale hands up to rest on his chest. The feel of her fingers filled him with desire.

He forced himself to stand still and simply drink in the beauty of her body. In the dim light coming through the bedroom draperies, she was a carved statue, her skin the color of pearls. He knew at that moment he’d never forget, no matter what happened in the future, the way she looked right now. Her blond hair, hanging to her shoulders, echoed the creamy tint; the nipples of her breasts were a pale rose. The only shadow of darkness fell at the apex of her legs, and even there, he saw simply a deeper shade of ivory. She looked fragile and vulnerable, and staring at her, Raul felt as though he had just learned a secret no one else could possibly know.

Finally he could stand it no longer. He lifted his arms and put them around her, and the feel of her skin against his own ignited their passion immediately. They fell onto the bed, a tumble of arms and legs and open mouths. Emma’s hands danced over his body, sending him into a spiral of passion. He returned the favor, his own touch sweeping over her and finding nothing but the soft neediness of a woman too long without someone who cared.

They kissed deeply, almost as if they couldn’t part, Raul’s hands slipping over her polished back to her buttocks. Cupping their sweet curve, he managed to bring her even closer. A moment later, he tore his mouth from hers only to drop it lower, then lower still, his tongue finding all the places she’d kept hidden until now. She moaned under his caresses, then arched her back and cried out.

When he rose above her, their gazes met in the gloom. Her lips were swollen, her eyelids half-shut, heavy with desire that had already been spent and that yet to be released. Without thinking further, he kissed her once more, her scent rising between them to cast a magical spell. For what seemed like a lifetime, they stayed that way, their lips their world, then finally he drew back once more. He reached for the foil-wrapped condom he’d brought with him. A second later, he entered her.

EMMA’S FIRST LOVER had been an older man, a professor at her college. She’d been young and ignorant, too naive to understand what was happening until it was over. Afterward, they’d continued, because they’d started and neither seemed to know how to end it gracefully. The second man she’d made love with had been her husband. Their time in bed had produced the two most precious people in the world—her children. If Todd’s touch had been hurried, his kisses cursory, it hadn’t mattered.

Neither of those two experiences meant anything anymore. Not after Raul’s lovemaking.

Emma curled up on her side, the sheet pulled over her bare breasts, and stared at the closed door of the bathroom. The sound of running water escaped from beneath the threshold, a shadow accompanying the noise as Raul apparently crossed the room. She shut her eyes for just a second and ran her fingers over her mouth and down her neck. Her body felt the same, but how could it be? Surely it had changed under the fire of his touch, welded itself somehow into another form altogether. It must have, for she felt completely different on the inside.

She lay perfectly still and relived the past hour. She felt as though she was in shock. Nothing had prepared her for this…this complete annihilation of her previous experiences. It wasn’t just the fact that Raul had touched her, she realized slowly, it was how he’d touched her. His fingers going over her skin as if he were a blind man, his lips covering her mouth as if he was dying of a thirst only she could quench. Raul had devoted himself to her, and in doing so, he’d lifted her up to a place she’d never been before. She truly felt loved.

She opened her eyes slowly and rolled on to her back, her stare going to the ceiling. She knew the truth and she wasn’t trying to fool herself; Raul didn’t really love her, and she didn’t love him. They had come together in the heat of passion and nothing more. She was a fool to think there might be a possibility for something else. She didn’t even want it to be more, she told herself. There was no place in her life for love, other than that for her children. All her energies had to go in that direction. Yet, for just a moment—

She abruptly cut the thought off. He didn’t love her, but there was something there, something that made her desperately want to tell him about Kelman. But what could she say? She wasn’t even sure that the man was trying to bribe her. And what if he was? Handling the problem was no one’s responsibility but her own. She shook her head, her hair whispering against the pillowcase. She was losing it. Sleeping with a client was bad enough; talking about another one with her lover was even worse. She draped an arm over her eyes as if to blot out her thoughts with her vision. A moment later, she felt the mattress move. She jerked her arm away to find Raul sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at her. She hadn’t even heard him return.

From the open bathroom door, a thin shaft of light fell on part of his face, illuminating his cheekbone and the line of his jaw. The rest of his face remained in shadow. Emma looked at him and thought about what she’d done, how she’d let this man into her life—into her bed—even though he was almost a complete mystery to her. She’d only seen a sliver—like the pale yellow beam—and she knew nothing of the rest.

He seemed to sense what she’d been thinking. “Regrets?” he asked.

“No.” She answered quickly—and truthfully—despite her thoughts.

“Good.” He leaned down and kissed her. Pulling back slightly, he raised one hand and plucked a lock of her hair from the pillow to rub between his fingers. “You’re a beautiful woman, Emma. Inside and out. I’d hate it if you felt this was a mistake.”

“That only happens when one person expects more than the other can give,” she said. “That’s not the case here.”

He looked at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

She rose to support herself on her elbows. “We aren’t in love,” she said bluntly. “This means no more than it needs to—for either of us.”

He leaned closer to her, his black eyes inches from her own. “Are you a mind reader?” he asked. “How do you know what it means to me?”

His words threw her off, confused her. “I…I’m just making things clear,” she stammered. “I know you aren’t looking for a long-term relationship. And I understand that. I’m not, either. I just wanted to let you know that was okay.”

“But what if I was?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “You aren’t.”

Their eyes locked. “You don’t know that for sure,” he persisted. “You don’t know what I’m looking for.”

She tugged the sheet higher, suddenly cold. “You’ve never been married. Never had children. You told me yourself you liked it that way. I assumed you meant it.”

He shrugged. “You’re right,” he said carelessly. “But things can change. Just because a situation is one way right now doesn’t mean it’ll always be that way.” He turned, the light now gleaming on his shoulder. “Things can change. People can change.”

His words were curious, but to press him would be useless. She could tell that just by looking at the stiffness of his back. She’d touched a nerve, and she knew exactly how painful that could be. Raising her hand, she traced a pattern down his back, her fingers smoothing the ridge of his spine.

“What kind of lawyer were you back in Washington?” she asked quietly.

“I practiced family law.”

Nothing could have surprised her more. “Family law?” she repeated. “You mean, like divorce…and custody battles? That sort of thing?”

He nodded. “I worked for a big law firm. The cases were heartbreaking. It wasn’t work I enjoyed, but I usually felt as if I was doing some good.”

“Why did you leave?”

“It was time,” he said cryptically. Turning to face her once again, he leaned down and kissed her before she could ask anything else. And within a few seconds, she didn’t care that he said no more.

TUESDAY MORNING, when Emma crossed the lobby to give Christopher the report on Raul’s account, she again briefly considered telling him about Kelman. Just as quickly she dismissed the idea for several reasons. One, bosses hated problems—potential or otherwise—and telling Christopher about it now, after the fact, would do nothing but make him think she was second-guessing herself. It’d make her look weak and inefficient. She’d taken care of the problem and there was no reason to tell him about it. Besides, the bank paid her to handle her accounts, and that was what she’d done. She’d handled it. Kelman might not think it was over, but she knew otherwise.

As she approached Chris’s office, she knew there was another reason she didn’t want to bring up Kelman’s name. It was going to be hard enough to get through the meeting just talking about Raul. She wasn’t sure she could do it and not give away what had happened between them. She had to, though. There were no rules about sleeping with clients, but Emma wanted nothing of her private life to enter the realm of her professional one.

She knocked on the door to Chris’s private area, then opened the door.

Glancing up from the reports he’d been reading, Chris regarded Emma with a neutral expression.

She nodded toward his desk. “I see you got the news. The Santos account was funded last night.”

“I looked at it first thing this morning.” Tapping the file with his pen, he shook his head and sighed. In his fifties and balding, Christopher Evans did his job and did it well, but he was only passing time in Bolivia, just like everyone else. It wasn’t a place he’d aimed for, but circumstances had brought him here.

“I checked the account last night,” Emma said.

“I certainly didn’t expect to see the funds, but they were there when we came in.”

“We?”

She licked her lips. “I asked Mr. Santos to meet me last night so we could discuss the problem. He was positive the funds had arrived and insisted we stop by and check.” She held out her hands. “And he was right. They were there. Maybe there was a glitch in the system.”

He looked skeptical. “A glitch? I don’t think so.”

“I don’t, either,” she confessed. “But the money was there when we looked. I imagine our draw beat his deposit—that’s the only explanation.”

“The main thing is, it’s there now,” Chris answered. “And it’s a good account, Emma. Congratulations. You did well for the bank by landing it.”

The praise was unexpected, and Emma smiled, albeit nervously. “Thanks. I was glad to get it. The money will certainly come in handy.”

“I’m sure it will.” He paused. “But stay on top of it. That’s a pretty big balance. We don’t want to get involved in something sticky. Things are different here, but we still have rules. Make sure he fills out an F-Bar.”

The F-Bar was a report of Foreign Bank and Financial Account, and Chris’s reminder was purely routine. Any U.S. citizen holding more than ten thousand dollars in a foreign account had to file this report with the IRS. Hidden assets were something the feds didn’t care for—they couldn’t tax what they didn’t know about. Yet Emma’s pulse took an unexpected jump. If Chris felt he had to warn her about Raul’s account, what would he say about Kelman’s offer?

“I’ll keep an eye on it,” she answered thickly.

Making her way back to her office, Emma threw a glance at the vault as she passed by its stainless steel doors. Kelman’s briefcases were locked inside, but she knew they were there, like a snake waiting to strike.

She’d made plans to have lunch with Reina, so she worked until a little past two, then headed out, stopping at Felicity’s desk to explain where she was going. “I’ll be back in an hour. If Mr. Kelman comes by, tell him I won’t be gone long.”

Standing in the shade of a tobaruchi tree, Emma waited for Reina. The Japanese restaurant they were going to was nearby, and it was just as easy to walk as it was to catch a cab. Emma felt her mind go right back to the night before. Thoughts of Kelman and Raul, but mainly Raul, took turns driving her crazy. She prayed she wouldn’t slip and say anything to Reina. The other woman would go nuts if she knew what had happened. A minute later, Reina flew up the street, fanning herself and fluttering with apologies.

“I am so sorry.” Reina linked her arm through Emma’s and gave her a soulful look. “I had a client I just couldn’t get rid of, or I would have been here on time, I swear it. You aren’t mad at me, are you?”

With a start, Emma looked down at her watch. She hadn’t even realized until Reina spoke that she’d been waiting fifteen minutes.

“Oh, my God!” Reina squealed. “You didn’t even notice, did you? For once you would have thought I was on time, and I blew it.”

“You’re always late,” Emma answered, hoping Reina wouldn’t notice how flustered she was.

“What does it matter?”

Crossing the street, they dodged a scruffy dog and two children chasing it. “It doesn’t matter to me,” Reina said with a sidelong glance. “But it usually does to you.”

As they drew closer to the restaurant, the walkway became more crowded, and Emma acted as if she hadn’t heard her friend’s comment.

Reina had radar for Emma’s feelings, though, and she wouldn’t let the topic die. Pausing at the curb, they waited for a light, then started to cross a minute later. “What’s going on?” Reina asked as the crowd pressed in around them. “You’re upset about something. I can tell.”

Before Emma could answer, she felt a bump from behind, then an unexpected push against her side. “What the…” She sputtered an expletive and stumbled slightly, grabbing her purse a little closer as she did so. After regaining her balance, she turned to look over her shoulder to see if she could spot the culprit. Only strangers with blank and unfamiliar faces looked back, yet for one quick second, she thought she saw a flash of gleaming dark hair and even darker eyes. Raul?

Reina jerked around even faster. She’d felt the push, too. “¡Ten cuidado!” she cried. Take care! Cursing soundly, she grabbed Emma’s arm and bustled them to the other side of the boulevard. A few minutes later they made their way into the restaurant and collapsed on one of the padded cushions beside a low-legged table.

“These people!” Reina shook her head and gratefully accepted the cup of tea the waiter poured. “I can’t believe it. They’re incredibly rude. Are you okay?”

“It’s nothing,” Emma replied. And it was. She was actually quite relieved. The incident had taken Reina’s attention away from her question.

They placed their orders for shrimp tempura and the fresh sushi they both enjoyed, then Reina turned her relentless gaze to Emma as the waiter left. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”

Emma should have realized Reina wouldn’t let the topic go. She paused for a moment to gather her thoughts. Even if she could tell her friend everything, she wouldn’t even know where to start. “I can’t.” She tried to soften her voice as she fibbed. “It’s business. And I really can’t discuss it.”

“Business I can understand. I thought it might be Raul Santos.”

Emma carefully reached for her teacup and took a sip. “Why would you think that?”

“Why? Gee, I don’t know, Emma. Maybe because the last time we talked I told you to stay away from him and you haven’t. And you’ve been avoiding me, too.”

“That’s not true! I’ve been swamped with this problem at work and—”

Reina stopped her explanation with a wave of her hand. “But you had time to go out with him last night.”

At Emma’s startled expression, Reina nodded smugly. “I have friends besides you, and they hang out at places like Michelangelo’s.” She leaned closer. “Are you crazy? What are you doing with that man, ¿chica? William Kelman told me he’s bad news.”

Just hearing Kelman’s name made Emma flinch. She tried to cover up. “And I told you I saw them fight. I hardly think Kelman’s a reliable source on this one, Reina.”

“Well, I think this is something you better verify,” her friend shot back. “And fast, before you get in over your head.”

Emma tensed and held her breath. “What do you mean?”

“Raul Santos just got out of prison, Emma. He was there for five years. For selling drugs.”

CHAPTER TEN

RAUL HANDED the Indian woman two bolivianos and told her to keep the change. It was twice what the iced drink cost, and her eyes widened at his generosity. She did what he said, though, and hurried down the street, quickly pushing her cart ahead of her as if worried he might change his mind. He hardly paid her any attention as she rattled around a nearby corner. He was focused on the restaurant across the street. Emma and her friend had gone in there a few minutes earlier.

He’d left Emma’s house—and her arms—early that morning. The wind had died during the night, and a heavy fog had moved in to replace it. As they’d stood on her porch, the mist had clung like diamonds to her hair.

He’d looked down into her heavy-lidded eyes and had one thought: What kind of son of a bitch was he? When she found out who he was and everything he’d done, she’d remember the way they’d made love—and she’d hate his guts. It wouldn’t be important to her that for just a few hours she’d given him back his life, that for just a little while, she’d made him feel like the man he used to be. Someone a woman like her could love, someone who’d dreamed of a family of his own and a life shared with others.

She’d know nothing of that.

She’d know only betrayal.

He cursed softly and shook his head. It’d been done. There was nothing he could take back, and in truth, he had only one regret—that it was over. If he closed his eyes right now, he was sure he could still feel the satin of her skin against his hands and the scent of her body as it’d heated in his arms. Cursing again, he tightened his jaw and forced such thoughts to the back of his mind. He’d just seen something more important than what had happened last night. He needed to concentrate on it, instead.

A man had bumped into Emma right in the middle of the street. In and of itself, that was nothing. Everyone walked everywhere in Santa Cruz, and the sidewalks were often crowded. But this man was not a simple stranger.

For a reason he couldn’t explain, Raul had left Emma’s house and gone straight to Kelman’s. The man who’d later stumbled into Emma had pulled out of the Las Palmas mansion driveway an hour after Raul had parked nearby. He’d driven directly to the bank and waited in the shade without moving until the minute Emma had left her office.

At that point, he’d gone into action. Following her closely, he’d moved in tighter and tighter until that moment in the boulevard. Raul wasn’t sure what the game was, but he knew one thing—running into Emma had not been an accident. The guy had planned it from the very beginning.

And that meant Kelman had planned it from the very beginning.

Leaning against a nearby fence, Raul thought about Kelman’s background. He knew all the old tricks, and he’d invented a few new ones, too.

Kelman had chosen Bolivia for the same reason everyone else who wanted to do something illegal did: it was an easy place to accomplish such tasks. Raul had found him without trouble. Denise had told him she thought Kelman would return here, and Wendy had confirmed his arrival.

Which brought Raul back to where he was. Kelman had obviously hired this man to follow Emma. To follow her, then bump into her in the middle of a crowded street. She’d been surprised and had grabbed her purse, turning at the same time to see who had shoved her. She’d almost caught sight of Raul, but he’d ducked behind a group of schoolgirls. She hadn’t seen him, or if she had, it’d been such a quick glimpse she hadn’t believed it was really him.

Swearing once more with frustration, Raul closed his eyes for a moment and let the scene replay itself. Emma walking. The man behind her. The bump. She turns and grabs her purse, her expression confused. He played it one more time, examining every detail.

A second later, his eyes flicked open and he understood.

“IN PRISON?” Emma’s stomach dropped. She felt the jolt as it hit the floor beneath where she was sitting. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. He was charged with possession of cocaine and he had a gun.” Picking up a California roll with a delicate pair of chopsticks, Reina arched one eyebrow. “Do you think I’d make up something like that? Kelman told me.”

Emma turned the information over in her mind. Sure, it was coming from Kelman, but hadn’t Leon Davis suggested the very same thing? He hadn’t found a criminal record, though, she argued with herself. She might be fooling herself, but she had to believe he was exactly who he said he was. It was the only way she could protect herself, even if it didn’t make sense.

“Well, if it’s true, what does it matter?” She spoke almost defiantly to Reina but avoided her eyes. “People who’ve been in prison have to have bank accounts, too, you know. What would you have me do? Tell the man to take his business elsewhere? You know I can’t do that. I need every account I can get.”

Reina stilled. Her sushi, caught in the chopsticks, hovered over the tiny bowl of fiery wasabi on the table between them. “If he’s doing something illegal and you get involved with him, Chris could find out. It could mean your job, Emma.” Her dark eyes filled with concern. “What would you do if…”

Emma froze. She’d been on automatic pilot last night, her body taking control, her mind too confused for any thoughts like this to intrude. Her mouth went dry.

“Don’t say it,” Emma answered sharply. “No one’s going to lose her job, okay? Especially not me. It’s too important.”

Reina nodded unhappily. She was one of the few people in Bolivia who knew Emma’s story. “I just want you to be careful,” she said. “That’s all.”

Emma squeezed Reina’s fingers. “I will be, so don’t worry about me.”

They finished eating with Emma turning the conversation in another direction. It was all she could do. Reina’s news was too much to handle right now. Emma had to think about it on her own time, when things were quieter. One thought did intrude, though. If Raul had been in prison—and for drugs, at that—she wondered what he’d thought of her confession the night before.

“Are you still going with me on Saturday?” Emma asked as she reached for another roll.

“You bet. I’m putting together a box of clothing and some other household things, as well. The sisters still need them, don’t they?”

“They always need things.” Once a month Emma visited an orphanage in Samaipata. It was one of the first places she’d visited after she’d arrived in Bolivia. At the time, she hadn’t understood her need to see the rows of bunk beds and small shoes all lined up in a row. She’d known only that the bank supported the nearby orphanage, and when Chris had asked her to take over the responsibility for getting their check to the sisters every month, she’d eagerly handled the task in person.

Now she knew why she did it. It was a penance. A way of dealing with what she’d had—and what she’d lost. Until she had the resources to recover her loss, she would be a mother who had no children. What she could do was visit the children who had no parents.

“They’re having their festival, you know.” Emma dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “A parade downtown and everything.”

They worked out the details of the day trip, then paid their bill and left. The sidewalks were just as crowded as they had been before, and the two women found themselves fighting to get back. Finally they reached the bank.

Emma gave Reina a quick kiss. “So I’ll see you on Saturday, right? Don’t be too late. I’d like to get there before dark for a change.”

Laughing, Reina nodded, then all at once, a shadow fell across the two of them. Emma looked up and saw Raul, poised at the bank’s side door. He smiled and her heartbeat quickened in a way she couldn’t ignore.

“Either you’re going a long way or she’s always late.” His eyes took in Reina’s face as he held out his hand. “Hello. I’m Raul Santos,” he said. “I’m a friend of Emma’s.”

Reina’s face held surprise for a moment, then she spoke. “I’m pleased to meet you.” Allowing him to hold her hand a second longer than he needed, she turned on the South American charm. It practically oozed from her pores. “I’m always late,” she said, her accent growing heavy. “It’s too hot to be in a hurry.”

“I agree completely.” His gaze turned to Emma, and there was a secret message in his eyes. It told her he was remembering the time they’d spent together and planning on more. Her pulse thumped wildly. “So where are you going that you can’t be late?”

“To Samaipata. There’s an orphanage there that the bank helps support. We’re going on Saturday.”

“An orphanage? And you visit it often?”

“It’s part of my job.”

He met her eyes, and once again, he seemed to read in their depths what no one else could. “They’re very lucky, then.”

The passion from the night before apparently still lingered between them. She prayed Reina couldn’t tell as she answered with a neutral voice, “Our funds go a long way to help the sisters run the home.”

“I understand.”

And he did. She could feel his compassion and sympathy reaching across the narrow space that separated them. It felt warm and good. Far too good.

“Perhaps I could join you.” With a sideways glance, he brought Reina back into the conversation. “If you wouldn’t mind, that is. And I’d make a donation.”

Emma hesitated a second too long; Reina answered for them both. “It would be sizable, your contribution?”

He smiled at her. “With my banker involved? It would have to be, or I have a feeling I’d never be allowed to forget it.” Reaching into the pocket of his suit, he immediately removed his checkbook and a gold fountain pen. When he ripped the check off and handed it to Emma, she saw it was more than generous. There was no way she could refuse it—and no way she could turn him down. Reina would go crazy.

He replaced the pen and leather wallet, then looked at Emma. “Why don’t I stop by your place and pick you both up on Saturday? Around nine?”

He’d trapped her. Again. She nodded her acquiescence and echoed his words faintly. “At nine.”

As he left them and headed off down the sidewalk, Emma turned to Reina. “I thought you didn’t want me around him.”

“I was wrong,” Reina answered darkly. She said nothing else. Emma looked up to follow her friend’s gaze. Raul was weaving in and out of the passing crowd. Only after he was gone from sight did Reina speak again.

“When there’s a snake like that in the garden, you best keep an eye on him.”

EMMA SPENT the remainder of the week agonizing over the coming weekend. She couldn’t decide if she should confront Raul with Reina’s news or simply ignore it. She’d called Leon Davis to get him to check his records again, but he wasn’t there. The bank’s secretary had told Emma he’d gone to Nepal for two weeks. Some kind of adventure vacation.

When Saturday dawned, Emma woke up more restless and anxious than she’d been all week. A strong urge suddenly came over her to call Jake and Sarah; she had to hear her children’s voices even though it wasn’t Sunday. Maybe Todd would relent and let her speak to them.

She quickly found her purse and began to dig anxiously, looking for her long-distance calling card. Her fingers came up with a receipt from a bookstore, a tube of lipstick and a piece of dried-out candy before she finally found the card. She snatched up the receiver and dialed the familiar number, then listened to the clicks and rumbles and various other sounds that always accompanied an overseas call. After a few seconds of static, the phone began to ring. It was answered immediately. Expecting Jake, since Todd never picked up that fast, Emma felt a quick smile spread across her face. Until she realized she didn’t recognize the voice at the other end.

“Toussaint residence. May I help you?”

The voice held a Southern drawl. Not the soft, slurry Louisiana accent that belonged to Todd, but a more refined one, laced with steel. In a flash, Emma realized who the speaker had to be.

It was the perfect Miss Threadgill. Of the Charleston Threadgills.

For a single, idiotic second, Emma thought of hanging up. Of not saying a word and just slamming down the phone. But she couldn’t. She had more class than that.

“This is Emma Toussaint,” she said coolly.

“I’d like to speak with my son, please.”

There was a slight pause—a hellish pause—then the woman answered. Her voice was so polite and perfect Emma wanted to throttle her immediately.

“I’m sorry, but Jake isn’t available at the moment.”

“And why is that?” Emma made her own tone even and calm.

“He’s occupied and can’t be disturbed.”

Emma gripped the edge of the windowsill. She was standing in her bedroom, but in her mind’s eye, she saw her son. “He’s seven years old. How ‘occupied’ can he possibly be?”

With the kind of aplomb that only comes from old money, the woman spoke again, ignoring Emma’s question. “I don’t believe it’s the proper day for you to be calling, is it?” The cultured tones dropped. “Are you…confused?”

A flush of heat rushed up her neck and suffused Emma with all the anger she’d been holding in check. “I’m perfectly aware of what day it is.” She spoke through gritted teeth. “I’m going out of town tomorrow, and I thought it might be possible to speak with my children today, instead. They are still mine, you know.”

“You gave birth to them, yes.”

A vein in Emma’s temple began to throb. She could feel it. “What about Sarah?”

“She’s still asleep.”

“And Todd?”

“He’s not here.”

“Then put on Miss Pearl. I’ll talk to her.” A woman who’d ruled the Toussaints’ kitchen forever, Miss Pearl had looked at Emma with pity when Todd had thrown her out. Her pity had stung, but at least she hadn’t turned the other way. She’d tell Emma how the children were, if nothing else.

“Miss Pearl is no longer with the family. A chef from downtown has been hired.”

Emma felt a scream build inside her chest, then all at once, she realized how utterly helpless she was, how hopeless the situation had become. This woman with the cool, measured voice held all the cards. If she wanted to, she could crush Emma and never look back.

Sitting down carefully on the chair beside her bed, Emma took a deep breath. She expelled it softly and spoke as calmly as she could. “All I want is to say hello to my son, and then I’ll hang up and go away. That’s the only thing I need from you.” She waited a moment. “Please let me speak to him.”

She expected the woman to rebuff her coldly, anticipated her refusal. But it didn’t come. Only silence answered her plea. After a second that lasted forever, she finally spoke.

“All right,” she said. “Just a moment and I’ll get him.”

Pure white joy rushed through Emma at the victory, then Jake’s voice came on the line and she focused once more. She had no real idea what he was saying—it was a jumble of words and phrases about horses and school and a new computer game—but that didn’t matter. Only the sound of his voice did. The high-pitched giggles, the little-boy nonsense, the relentless chatter. She soaked it up like a sponge. When he stopped to take a breath, she asked him about his baby sister. “She’s fine,” he answered. “We went to the movies last week and she got to pick, but next week Daddy said I could pick and then…”

He continued for another five minutes, then ran out of steam.

She hung up and cried for fifteen.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

WHEN RAUL DROVE UP to Emma’s house, she was waiting for him outside. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and despite the makeup she’d used in an attempt to cover up the evidence, it was more than obvious she’d been crying.

He met her on the sidewalk and stepped inside her walled garden, pulling the gate shut behind him. “What’s wrong?”

She started to shake her head in a motion of denial, then stopped. “I just had a telephone run-in with my husband’s fiancée. She tried to keep me from talking to my son…and I let it get to me.”

Raul wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly, a surge of rage running through him that someone had this kind of power over her. Emma’s body felt frail and she was trembling, but underneath the sadness, he could tell there was anger, too.

Her tears came fast and hard like a summer storm. “I’m so…sorry…”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

She continued crying, her head against his chest, until the sobs finally began to ebb. After a moment, she looked up at him and he saw that her irises had darkened into a deep forest green. She stared back, clearly pulled by an invisible force that neither of them could deny, no matter how much they might want to—or need to.

They stood that way, apart yet together, then she shocked him. She deliberately raised her arms and linked them around his neck, drawing his head to hers. As soon as he was close enough, she began to kiss him. It was a kiss of need. She wanted him to obliterate the misery, to take away the pain of what she had just gone through, and she knew exactly what she was doing.

He obliged her without thinking twice.

She murmured his name into his open mouth as he smoothed his fingers down her back, then lower to the curve of her hip. Beneath his hands, her body was soft and giving, and a rush of desire coursed through him. As if she felt the same jolt, Emma moved even closer. He held her for as long as he dared, the kiss becoming more passionate as her breasts pressed into his chest, then he pulled back. He had to.

She looked up, her mouth slightly open, lips swollen.

“Maybe we should go inside,” he said.

She nodded, turned and started up the walk. He followed, and a few seconds later they were inside. He opened his arms to pull her to him, but at that very moment, somewhere in the house the phone rang.

Their eyes locked and held, then she backed away from him, her sandals whispering against the floor as she turned and crossed the hall. He leaned against the front door and took a deep breath.

He heard her murmuring voice rise slightly, as if in argument or disbelief, and he started forward in the direction she had taken, toward the back of the house. He found her in the kitchen, gripping the phone.

“How bad is it?” she asked with concern in her voice.

She listened to the answer, then seeing Raul’s questioning expression, shook her head.

“I hate to hear that,” she said after a moment.

“But I understand. Stay in bed and take care of yourself.”

She listened for another minute, then spoke. “I’ll be fine,” she said quietly. “Don’t worry. No, no. It’s okay.”

She hung up. “That was Reina. She’s sick, something she picked up from a client.” She started to say something more, but instead, paused and shifted her stance to look out the kitchen window to the garden beyond. Clearly she was trying to make a decision, and Raul stood by silently. Finally she spoke again, her back to him.

“Maybe it’d be best for you to leave,” she said.

“This isn’t important and we don’t have to go.”

He waited for a second, then made his own decision and crossed to where she stood. Placing his hands on her shoulders, Raul experienced again what he’d tried to stem outside, an emotion he didn’t want.

He forced the feeling down, back into the box where it belonged. Turning Emma to face him, he looked into her uncertain eyes. “Let’s go without Reina. I want to see Samaipata. And you need to take the bank’s donation.”

“I’m not sure…” Her words trailed off.

“If you don’t show up, you’ll disappoint the children.”

She nodded slowly.

“It’ll be okay.”

She looked up at him then, and his unspoken message communicated itself through his touch and his gaze. She nodded again, and they left.

THE TRIP WENT BY fast. Raul was a good driver, and the Range Rover handled the horrible road as if it were the finest highway. They arrived at the orphanage in record time, which was good for Emma because she was an emotional wreck.

She’d thrown herself at him like some kind of desperate woman. She hadn’t had any other choice; her need to feel some kind of love had swept through her like a tornado. As addictive as a drug, his embrace had felt too good, too safe, too wonderful to ignore. She’d never done that kind of thing before with any man, but Raul made her do a lot of things she hadn’t done before. Like ignore her better judgment. Instead of kissing him, she should have been asking him about what Reina had told her. Deep down, though, Emma didn’t want to ask, because she didn’t want to know the answer. The consequences of Raul’s having been in prison were something she couldn’t deal with right now. Maybe later, but not now.

Emma was happy to see the main street of Samaipata. The tiny village was a madhouse—there were people everywhere preparing for the parade, laughing and hanging crepe-paper roses, calling out to each other and decorating windows with bright paint. Emma gave directions to Raul, and within a few minutes they were driving up to the compound.

“Park over there.” She pointed toward a shaded area just outside the wall that surrounded the buildings. “We can get the kids to unload everything.”

Raul nodded and eased the truck to the spot she indicated. Then, before he could even cut the engine, the gates flew open and a flock of children—all girls—spilled from the opening and ran toward them. Behind them came two nuns. Dressed in brown habits with hems that brushed the ground, the two women beamed and waved to Emma.

Emma introduced Raul to the nuns as they climbed from the truck. “This is Sister Maria and Sister Abelia,” she said. “They work here with the children.”

Raul shook hands with the two women. Their fingers were rough and work-worn, and he could only imagine the tasks they accomplished every day just to keep the place running.

They greeted him in Spanish and a little broken English, then began to chatter with Emma. The children swirled around them like a cloud of unbridled energy. Raul watched in awe, though Emma had already prepared him for what to expect. The girls ranged in age from three to eighteen, and they all wore the same thing—white dresses with blue trim. There were 120 students in the parochial school, none of them boys.

Leaving the women to their talk, Raul unlocked the back of the truck and began to remove the boxes and place them into the children’s waiting arms. It looked as though Emma had been collecting clothing and anything else she could lay her hands on for months. With everyone loaded down, the girls started into the compound. Raul handed Emma a smallish box, then took the largest one for himself. He had to stop and watch, though, as she headed for the buildings. Her progress was slow.

With every step, more children greeted her. Little girls and big, hanging on her, touching her, kissing her, so starved for attention they clung as closely as they could. Over her shoulder, she threw him an apologetic look, but then she focused solely on the children. The cool, remote banker was replaced by the woman he’d suspected was underneath, the one he’d glimpsed earlier in the day—a vulnerable, caring individual who had a lot of love and no one to give it to. The pain of seeing these kids must have been overwhelming, yet she had time for them all. There wasn’t a single child she didn’t touch or kiss or somehow connect with. It was amazing.

She was amazing.

“Is this a government facility?” Raul finally caught up with her and glanced around as they passed through the gate. The barren courtyard wasn’t exactly homey, and the square concrete buildings were stark and ugly in the hot sunshine. In the dirt two chickens scratched.

“Not exactly.” A pair of parrots swooped and screeched in a nearby cage as Emma dodged three dogs chasing a fly. “The government is supposed to give them fifty cents a day per child, but they never do. The place is funded by private donations—from churches in Italy and America mainly. Which makes sense.”

One of the younger girls grinned up at Emma and murmured something. Emma bent down and gave the child a quick kiss, then raised her eyes to see Raul staring at her.

“Why is that?” he asked.

“It’s usually Americans or Italians who come here for the children. No one in Bolivia adopts.”

Raul stopped on the sidewalk. “What do you mean—Bolivians don’t adopt?”

Emma halted, too. “They don’t accept the children as their own. It’s a cultural thing.”

“Then all these kids will end up in America?”

“No. Not these.” She shook her head slowly and met his eyes. “No one from outside Bolivia can adopt a child older than five. It’s the law. But they won’t take them themselves. Most of these kids will never have parents.”

IF SHE’D HAD any doubts about what kind of man Raul was, Emma lost them at the orphanage.

She took him through the entire place. Through the dormitories, where each room had six small beds each with a stuffed animal sitting on top of them. Through the cafeteria, where the tables were already set for the next meal. Through the laundry room, where two washing machines worked twenty-four hours a day. Through the garden, which produced far too little for so many.

The children were shy around Raul at first, but the longer he and Emma stayed, the bolder the little girls became. Finally he gave in, picked one up and carried the lucky child in his arms as they’d toured the outer buildings. All of three years old, if that, she grinned and flirted, batting her eyelashes at him, then finally put her head on his shoulder in blissful delight, her eyes dragging shut. He carried her up to her room and laid her down on her cot. Tenderly. Quietly.

Watching with a tight throat and a sting behind her eyes, Emma had almost broken down and wept. She could easily imagine him doing this with a child of his own, a little boy who looked just like him, or a little girl as dark and gorgeous as the one he’d just tucked in. Only when they went downstairs a few minutes later did she realize how everything had affected him, as well. He looked completely drained as they entered the courtyard, his face a reflection of the sadness he was clearly feeling, his eyes too bleak for her to endure. She didn’t understand his reaction, but she knew it was genuine. She’d seen the same black look in her own eyes.

The smell of homemade bread filled the terrace as they walked outside, the cries of the children echoing off the sun-streaked walls.

“Let’s go in here,” she said, pointing to one of the buildings. “It’ll be cooler and quieter than the cafeteria.”

He followed her into a room filled with sewing machines. She answered his unspoken question.

“They make most of their clothes,” she said, “but they also do embroidery to sell and make money.” She picked up a square of cotton, edged in lace. “These are pillowcases. They decorate them and peddle them downtown for a quarter apiece.”

Ignoring her explanation, he took the bed linen from her hands and put it down on a table nearby. “Why do you do this?” he asked. “Why do you torture yourself like this?”

“I love the children,” she answered. “They need my help. Why not?”

“But surely it hurts?”

“It would hurt more to never be around them.” She looked at him curiously. “And don’t say you don’t understand. I know you do. I can see it in your eyes.”

She watched him struggle with an answer. After a long moment, he spoke. “I’m not the man I used to be, Emma. At one time, yes, I wanted to have a family, a home, a wife.” His voice turned husky. “But that didn’t work out…and it’s not something I’ve thought about in a very long time.”

“What happened?” she asked quietly.

He lifted his gaze to hers, and it was so full of anger, she took a step back. He blinked and the emotion disappeared. Had she imagined it? “It’s not worth talking about,” he said tightly.

Even though she knew it wasn’t a good idea, Emma started to press him. At that moment, though, two of the children rushed in, each holding a huge bowl of soup with slabs of bread perched on the side of the plate. They ate in silence, and when they were finished, Raul stood. “Shall we go into town?”

THEY WALKED up and down the narrow cobbled streets of Samaipata, peering into dark shops and stopping on the corners to admire the work of local artisans, who were sitting on blankets on the hard sidewalks amid their wares. The festival and parade gave everyone a chance to show off their talents, and they were selling everything from handmade flutes and carved gourds to delicate gold jewelry. Raul insisted on buying it all, and by the time the sun had slipped behind the mountains, they were loaded once more with gifts to take back to the orphanage.

Throughout the afternoon, Emma tried to reconcile Reina’s gossip with the generous, kind man beside her, but failed. When he finally suggested they stop for a drink before the parade began, Emma knew the time had arrived. She had to know the truth.

They picked a café on the square, facing the cathedral. A dozen or so tables lined the windows, each set with mismatched chairs, no two alike. Dark beams supported the low ceiling, and a long, wooden bar took up one side of the room. Two cats, sitting inside one of the windows licking each other, briefly stopped to inspect the new arrivals, then returned to their more important task of grooming.

Emma and Raul took the table nearest the front door, and a waiter appeared immediately. Raul gave him their drink order, then excused himself to go to the rest room. Emma felt as if she’d been granted a reprieve. She didn’t want to ask him about his past. She wanted to accept him just as he was. The warmth in his eyes, the taste of his lips, the way he knew what she was feeling simply by looking at her—those were the only things that counted. Weren’t they?

Just as the waiter placed her cola in front of her and Raul’s drink on the other side of the table, she sensed someone walking up behind her. Expecting Raul, she turned, and her eyes widened in shock.

William Kelman smiled back.

“Ms. Toussaint! I don’t believe it. What a coincidence!”

Was it? The question popped into her mind without a warning, and she immediately chastised herself. What else could it be but coincidence? He might be strange, but William Kelman wasn’t psychic, she was sure. And there was no way he could have followed them—all the way from Santa Cruz—and she not notice.

“Mr. Kelman. What a surprise to see you here. Are you in town for the festival?”

He nodded. “Yes, I drove down this morning. Dreadful road, isn’t it?” He started to pull out Raul’s chair and sit down, then he saw the drink and stopped. “You’re with a friend—I won’t intrude.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but before she could speak, he squatted beside the table.

“I won’t intrude,” he said, “but I will take advantage of the moment.”

She replied in the only way she could, her stomach turning over in a wave of anxiety. “What can I do for you?”

His eyes seemed to grow a little bluer, a little colder. “I was wondering if you’ve had a chance to rethink the opportunity we discussed last week. It’s still a viable option, you know.”

“I have been thinking about it,” she said, stalling for time.

“Good, good.” His expression held no warmth, although he was smiling.

A vision formed in her mind of her children moving farther and farther away from her. “My answer hasn’t changed.”

He let the words lie between them for a moment. “You’re making a mistake,” he said finally.

“I’m sorry you feel that way. But I’m sure you understand my position.”

“I understand. But I’m not sure you do.” He stared at her for a while, then stood. “I’m very disappointed we couldn’t come to an agreement. I think we could have helped each other.”

“I’d still be happy to help you.” She gripped her drink so hard she was surprised the glass didn’t shatter. She was giving up the best opportunity she’d ever had to get her children back, but she couldn’t do it this way. “I have to work within the confines of the system, though.”

He shook his head almost regretfully. “I thought you had goals, things you needed to accomplish. I guess I was wrong.”

She froze. “I’m sorry?”

His eyes pierced hers. “Don’t you need money, Ms. Toussaint?”

“Everyone needs money,” she said.

“But you have a special reason for it, don’t you?”

She rose quickly, so quickly the table shook as she bumped it on her way up.

He held out his hands and stopped her from speaking. “I needed some help and I thought you needed money. A trade seemed like the way to accomplish both goals. No need to get excited. I thought this was the way to do it, but obviously it isn’t.”

“You’re right. And my private life is just that—private. I’d appreciate it if you’d recognize that fact.”

“Of course.” He stepped away from the table, both hands in front of him, just as Raul approached from behind.

Emma held her breath as Kelman turned and the two men stared at each other.

Raul spoke first. He wasn’t surprised to see Kelman, she realized, or if he was, he kept it from his demeanor. His tone was casual, his voice low. “Hello, Kelman.”

Something—surprise? dismay?—flared in Kelman’s eyes as he looked from Emma to Raul, then back to her. He’d known she was with someone else—he’d noted the glass—but he definitely had not expected that other person to be Raul. As improbable as it had to be, Emma had the fleeting thought that he’d planned the encounter, arranged it so he could approach her when she wasn’t expecting him. But how could he have known she was coming here? It didn’t make sense. Before she could think about it further, Kelman ducked his head in Raul’s direction. “Santos,” he said.

The silence that built was full of tension. From where she stood, Emma could see it in every line of Raul’s body and in the mask that Kelman wore.

The older man finally spoke. “I won’t keep you,” he said, his gaze directed at Emma once more. “But I will be talking to you. Perhaps we can work something out.”

She nodded stiffly, at a loss for what to say.

Raul spoke as soon as the other man left the table. “Where did he come from? I didn’t see him earlier.”

“I don’t know. I was sitting here and he just appeared. Said he’d come for the festival.”

“What did he want?” Raul asked the question with no special intonation. She heard the strain, though.

“It’s a business thing,” she answered. Her voice was equally blasé, but beneath the table, her knees still trembled. She couldn’t tell if it was fear or anger—or the realization that her goals were more out of reach than ever. “I really can’t go into it.”

He didn’t answer, and in the quiet, she remembered his words. You can trust me. Without any warning at all, she suddenly wanted to pour out her heart and tell him what had happened. To ask his advice. Kelman’s words had left her breathless, but now she was confused. Was she imagining things or had the man really been talking about her children? It seemed impossible for him to know her background—Reina knew, yet would have never told him—but what else could he have been referring to? And even more importantly, why?

She started to speak, then all at once, the parade began with firecrackers and booming music. A colorful crowd of marchers—and watchers—surged into the street just outside the windows. Conversation was now impossible. The café, so silent a second before, filled almost instantly with the overflow from outside, the narrow walkways suddenly packed as the procession reached the closest corner.

Emma turned to watch, her words on hold. On the shoulders of half-a-dozen men, now coming up the pavement, rested a statue of the orphanage’s patron saint. Painted in bright colors and tinted with gold leaf, the carved wooden image commanded a position above the throng. Behind it, the girls walked hand in hand, their white dresses starched and ironed, gleaming in the dying light of evening.

Above the music and shouts of the crowd was another noise, something more pressing. Emma looked at the clouds over the cathedral. Just as she did, a jagged streak of lightning lit up the sky. A moment later, the rain began.

THEY REMAINED in the café while the crowds in front of the window fled from the downpour. Raul studied Emma as they waited. She could feel his steady stare and knew he wanted to ask her what was going on with Kelman. But he didn’t.

After an hour, it was clear the rain was not going to quit. It came down in sheets, cold and without mercy. The street was already flooded, the muddy water floating over the curb to splash along the sidewalk. They discussed the situation, Raul deciding finally they couldn’t wait any longer. He dashed outside into the rain to retrieve the truck only to return a short time later with bad news.

“There’s something wrong with the Rover.” He shook his head, which sent out a flurry of raindrops. “I can’t get it started. I seriously doubt I can get it looked at this late, either. Is there somewhere we could stay the night?”

Her pulse quickened. “There’s a small hotel over by the orphanage.”

“I suggest we head for it,” he said, his dark eyes gleaming. “There doesn’t seem to be another alternative right now.”

She nodded once, her eyes on his. If there was a different option, she didn’t really want to know what it was.

The small hotel had been a convent a hundred years before. They ran into the lobby, dripping wet from their dash from the cab they’d taken. With cash in hand, Raul quickly made his way to the front of the line, and a minute later, he returned with two keys.

They followed the bellboy out of the lobby and down a dark corridor. After a few minutes of twisting turns and blind corners, the hallway unexpectedly opened into an interior atrium. The wind and rain hadn’t relented and, in fact, seemed to be growing. The roses planted in the tiny, protected area whipped about under the cruel onslaught, their bloodred blossoms trembling as they brushed the ground. The temperature had dropped, as well, and Emma found herself shivering.

They continued down the hallway, making so many more turns that Emma was completely disoriented. She thought she saw movement out of the corner of her eye, but it was only shadows, perhaps the ghosts of the long-ago nuns. Finally, at the end of one particularly dark corridor, the bellboy stopped in front of a set of double doors. They looked heavy and solid, and were made of carved wood. Taking Emma’s key, he unlocked them and pushed them open to reveal a tiny room.

It was as spare as it had been when the nuns lived in it. Whitewashed walls. One lone window set high up. Two twin beds with a small chest between them. A single door led to an even smaller bathroom. There was nothing else.

“It’s all they had,” Raul told her. “Mine’s down the hall—even smaller, they said.”

“This is fine,” she said. “Just fine.”

But it wasn’t.

It was lonely and stark and totally without warmth. She’d go nuts in there by herself, and she didn’t like it a bit. She wanted one room and one big bed.

And Raul’s arms around her the whole night long.

He looked down at her, and that was all it took. He turned and gave the bellboy a handful of bolivianos and the key to the other room. Neither of them heard the doors close.

CHAPTER TWELVE

EMMA DIDN’T SPEAK. She simply moved into his arms and laid her head against his chest. Raul wanted to tell her to stop, that what they were doing was wrong, that she’d hate him later, but he couldn’t. She was too beautiful and too warm and too sexy, and if keeping secrets from her was what he had to do, then he’d just have to add that to his growing list of sins and pray for mercy later.

He folded his arms around her and pulled her closer. Kelman had done or said something while Raul had been away from the table, and it had sent Emma over the edge. He was a bastard for knowing this and taking advantage of it, but he was a man, as well. He’d been able to think of little else but holding her in his arms ever since the last time they’d made love.

She moved into his embrace and made a sound deep in her throat, a sound that echoed inside him, then she lifted her face to his and started to speak. He stopped her by kissing her. Whatever she wanted to tell him, he didn’t want to know. All he wanted was to feel her body against his and somehow ease the pain he saw in her eyes. Nothing else mattered but that. The feel of her lips, so soft and giving, swept away the very last chance he had at resisting.

She accepted his kiss and opened her mouth to his. Beneath her sweet taste, he could sense her trembling desire. She wanted to forget as much as he wanted to erase.

They stood that way for another moment, consumed with the need to feel, then Raul picked her up and carried her across the tiny room to one of the beds. He set her down and began to undo her buttons, but she shook her head almost impatiently and replaced his fingers with her own. In seconds, she’d shed her blouse and her slacks and stood before him in a pale pink bra and panties edged with lace.

She was so beautiful, so perfect, and all she wanted from him was himself. She wasn’t getting who she thought she was, though. Once he had been a man a woman like her might have loved, but not now. He was too hard, too cold, too unforgiving. Women like Emma Toussaint didn’t make love with the kind of man he’d become, but he wasn’t about to tell her that.

Instead, in the cold darkness of the tiny hotel room, as the thunder rumbled and the rain pounded, he took off his own clothes. And then he reached for her.

HIS HANDS WERE COLD as they gripped her shoulders, but almost immediately, they warmed against the heat of her skin. Emma let Raul bring her closer, the wall of his chest flattening her breasts. The first time they’d made love she’d registered nothing but the passion inside her. This time, the details came into focus. His body was lean, hard and trim. Underneath the expensive clothing and polished appearance, he had the physique of a man accustomed to physical labor. She wondered about it briefly, then all thoughts fled as she was consumed by the sensations assaulting her—his fingers brushing her neck, his mouth pressing her own, his broad back beneath her hands.

Once again, his touch was magic, and the feel of his heated caress was more than she could handle. He seemed to sense her reaction and started to pull back…but she tightened her hands on his waist and murmured her assent. He moaned his own answer and cradled the back of her head in his hand, kissing her even more deeply, demanding she give just as much.

And so she gave—her tongue sought his, and her fingertips smoothed his body. She couldn’t get enough of him, couldn’t fill herself with his strength as quickly as her heart demanded. Her hands flitted over his body, stopping here and there, the contact both hot and cold at once. He met each of her strokes with one of his own, his hands playing against her skin and making her tremble with a need she hadn’t ever known until meeting Raul.

A moment later, he lowered her to the bed behind them. The rest of her clothing—the bra and panties—disappeared under his expert touch until there was nothing between them. In the barest light coming through the high window overhead, his dark muscles gleamed against her pale skin.

After that, it was all a blur. She felt him kissing her, felt him touching her most private parts, felt herself giving to him everything she’d been holding back. Her secrets, her pain, every hurt and every ache, she relinquished them all to the heat of Raul’s passion. He took them, as she’d known he would, and turned them into pure desire.

His mouth covering hers, he rolled over on the bed and brought her to her side, tucking her back against his front. It was the only way they could both fit on the bed, but it didn’t matter to Emma. She was past the point of caring. All she could think about was the heat of his body as it pressed into hers. From her shoulders to her hips, to the bottoms of her feet, she felt consumed by this man—which was exactly what she wanted.

He threw a leg over her hip and she responded, fitting her body more comfortably against his. He rained kisses on her bare back, sending shivers up and down her spine. Reaching around, he cupped one breast and then the other. His touch was urgent and grew even more so as it slipped downward.

As his fingers came to the juncture of her thighs, she arched into his hand with a gasp. He murmured in her ear, his breath at once hot and sweet as he spoke. Her name, she realized through a haze. He was saying her name. Then she heard nothing, nothing but the blood rushing in her veins, nothing but her pulse as it roared, nothing but the call of her heart as he moved his hand quickly and increased the rhythm of his touch. She cried out and collapsed against him.

He didn’t wait for her to recover. Instead, he coaxed her around to face him. Limp with desire, she stared into his eyes. They were black and endless, and in them she read what she’d suspected all along. He was as lost as she was, and needed this almost more. Reaching down between them she grasped his erection with her hand. He was already prepared. She guided him toward her and a moment later her world exploded.

EMMA WOKE UP in the middle of the night, gasping and desperate. The room was so dark she felt as if she were underwater, in a tunnel, with no way out. Her heart pounding with fear, she struggled up from the twisted covers and started to scream.

Then Raul reached for her. “Emma…Emma. It’s okay, darling. Calm down!”

The words reached through the panic and returned her to reality. She fell back against the mattress, her pulse still racing, her breath coming fast. “Oh, God…” she moaned. “I…I didn’t know where I was for a minute. It was so dark…”

He patted her bare shoulder comfortingly, then pulled her closer to him. The bed seemed even smaller now than it had been when they were making love, but she didn’t mind. She wanted to absorb as much of his warmth and presence as she could.

“It’s okay,” he said again. “It’s all right.”

She laughed, a little self-conscious. “I’m sorry. I woke up and I didn’t know where I was. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” he answered. “I was already awake.”

She turned his wrist to look at his watch. “It’s 2 a.m. Why weren’t you sleeping?”

He took a slow, deep breath. She could feel his chest rise with the movement, and behind the motion she felt the weight of a decision he seemed to be making. She tensed.

“I was thinking…” he said.

“About what?”

“About you,” he answered. “And William Kelman.”

She lay perfectly still within his arms.

“I want to know what’s going on between the two of you. It’s time for you to tell me.”

“I could say the same,” she shot back. “I think you share some secrets with him, as well.”

He propped himself up with his elbow, then reached out with his other hand and pulled her chin toward him. When she was finally facing him, he spoke again. “William Kelman and I go back a very long way. I know what kind of man he is. Do I need to say more?”

“I don’t know,” Emma replied. Her heart was doing a funny dance. “Is there more?”

“Yes…but it’s not important.”

“I don’t believe you. I think it’s very important.”

He ignored her. “Tell me what’s going on between you two.”

She shook her head, then stopped. She’d just shared her body with this man, her body and her passion. Like some kind of a surgeon, he’d taken the pain from her heart, excised it cleanly—if only for a little while. She owed him.

But not this.

“I can’t,” she said quietly. “What happens in my office has to stay there. It’s the same kind of trust you talked to me about before—that’s what I have to have between myself and my clients.”

“Even if I can help you?”

“You can’t,” she said bluntly. “No one can.”

His eyes pierced hers in the darkness. “I know men like Kelman,” he told her. “I’ve fought them, too.”

“It doesn’t matter, anyway.” She shook her head. “It’s over.”

“Did he win?”

“Win?” She looked at him curiously. “No…I wouldn’t say he won. But it wasn’t some kind of contest or anything.”

“Maybe not to you.” His expression was grim.

A shiver passed through her. “What do you mean?”

“He’s not the type to give up, Emma. If you didn’t provide him with what he wanted, whatever it was, he’ll return—and stay until he gets it.”

“I don’t think so.”

He had his hand on her arm, and when she answered, his grip tightened almost painfully. “Listen to me,” he said. “You don’t know this man like I do. He’s ruthless. You need to tell me what’s going on. I can help you.”

Something in his voice scared her. It was his intensity, she realized with a start. It was as strong as the passion they’d shared a few hours earlier. She pulled away and stared at him, then almost immediately, he seemed to realize what he was doing. He backed down, but only slightly.

“He uses people, Emma, and he doesn’t care who gets hurt as long as he gets what he wants. I’ve known lots of men like him, but he’s the worst.”

Emma took a deep breath. “Did you know these men…in prison?”

In the tiny line of light coming through the nearby window, his eyes glittered. “Why do you ask me that?”

“I’ve heard things,” she answered. “Santa Cruz is a small town. There’s gossip.”

“Would you care if it was true?”

She’d already asked herself that question, but the answer was as elusive as ever. “I don’t know,” she confessed.

“Then take it for what it is, and someday, if you still care, I’ll explain. Right now, you need to think about what’s going on, and it boils down to this—if William Kelman is doing something he shouldn’t be, and you’re involved, you need to tell me.”

He waited for her to say something—anything—but no words came. She was relieved he hadn’t answered her question, relieved yet frightened, and she struggled to know how to respond. Finally, he reached out and pulled her closer. With his hands on her body and her name on his breath, he took her back to the place where she felt safest….

THE DAWN WAS so beautiful it seemed as if the night before had been a dream. Raul would have thought he’d fantasized it all, except for the evidence—Emma sleeping beside him when he’d awoken.

He’d been tempted to tell her the truth earlier, the words right on his tongue. Who Kelman really was. How he’d framed him. What he would do to her, allowed half a chance.

But the fragile trust she’d given him would be instantly destroyed by that harsh reality. Emma was a smart woman, and she would figure out everything immediately. The consequence of that was obvious; she would never forgive him, and both of them would lose. He’d never get Kelman. And that was still his main goal, right?

No, Raul was going to have to hope for the best—that he’d be able to protect her when the time came and Kelman’s trap was sprung.

And there was a trap. There had to be, even if she wouldn’t tell Raul it was. He eased himself up in the bed and slowly pulled away from Emma’s still form. Reaching for her purse, he dug around until he found the proof he needed. The small black disk, disguised as a button, gleamed malevolently in the darkness.

A bug.

Kelman had had his man bump into Emma in the street to distract her. Then he’d slipped the tracking device into her purse and she hadn’t even known it. It was the only way he could have found her in Samaipata. But he hadn’t counted on Raul.

He looked at the tiny disk in the palm of his hand and nodded his head. This explained the truck. He hadn’t wanted to upset Emma, so he’d kept it to himself, but someone had tampered with the engine; it hadn’t been a simple mechanical breakdown that had stranded them last night. Now he understood. But why keep them here in Samaipata? The question left Raul uneasy.

Levering his thumbnail under the rim of the bug, he popped the plastic edges apart. The wires were thin and he snapped them with one twist.

Emma stirred as he put the bug back together and dropped it into her purse. When she finally opened her eyes, he was sitting in the chair opposite the bed, looking at her.

“You’re awake already,” she said. “Don’t you ever sleep?”

He shook his head. “Not when there’s a beautiful woman nearby.”

In the subtle light of early morning, she smiled softly, sensually. “If that’s how you feel, then what are you doing on the other side of the room?”

He answered her by putting the rest of his thoughts on hold, and crossing the space between them.

THE COBBLESTONE STREETS were washed and clean. Raul had left the hotel early and found a mechanic, and now Emma, heading for the newly repaired Range Rover, bag in hand, listened as the peal of the cathedral bells filled the square. The air felt different than it had yesterday, sharper and fresher, but glancing at Raul, Emma realized she was mistaken; it wasn’t the air that was different. It was her.

For the first time in a very long time, she felt a ray of hope. It was silly, really. Not a single thing had actually changed, but somehow she thought it might. Kelman’s offer was behind her, and despite Raul’s warning, she believed that problem was solved. She would just work harder…then work some more. The money she needed would come somehow.

They visited the orphanage to deliver the presents they’d bought the afternoon before, and soon they were on the road back to Santa Cruz. The pavement, crumbling and old, was washed out in places, but generally passable, and the hours flew by.

After a while, Raul glanced at Emma from across the truck. “Will you ever go back to New Orleans and live?”

The passing jungle was a blur of green as she turned to meet his eyes. “Absolutely,” she answered. “My mom’s gone, but it’s home. I miss it a lot.”

“And after that?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t really given it any thought. Everything I think about stops at the point I get my kids back.”

“What if you lose the appeal?”

“Losing is not an option.”

He shook his head. “Losing is always an option, Emma. You need to think about that, you know.”

She refused even to consider the possibility. “Did you handle these kinds of cases when you were an attorney?”

“I did it all.” His hands gripped the steering wheel as he slowed to go around a huge hole in the road.

When he said nothing else, she realized belatedly that this was how he must have felt when she’d avoided all his questions. She forced away the queries flooding her mind. He was someone to be with for the moment, she told herself. Someone she could share her pain with, but not her life.

Someone she could be with…but not love.

He interrupted her thoughts with a question about Bolivia. She shook her head in exasperation.

“It’s a very poor country,” she said. “They’ll never become a more powerful force until they get rid of their corruption.”

“Is it bad?”

“The worst,” she answered. “Everything is tainted, every government office, every business transaction, everything. What do you think of the country so far?”

“I’ve lived a lot of places,” he answered, his voice noncommittal. “But I think I’ll stay here for a while. It’s not that bad a place, and there’s no good reason for me to go back to the States.”

His answer struck her hard, primarily because it reinforced her earlier thoughts. There could never be anything permanent between the two of them—even if she wanted it; she wouldn’t be overseas and away from home for a moment longer than she had to, and he was one of those men she often saw at the bank. Men with money who were simply passing through. She thought of them as permanent expatriates. They had no anchors and there was nothing to hold them down—no families, no friends, no necessary jobs—and so they wandered, looking for something but not knowing what. It made her sad to think of Raul in those terms, because he wasn’t truly that type of man. Remembering his earlier actions at the orphanage, she knew he should have a wife and children; fatherhood would suit him well.

It was late by the time they pulled up in front of Emma’s home, darkness edging into the yard and the house itself. Raul parked the truck, then walked to Emma’s side of the vehicle. Opening her door, he helped her out. As soon as they stepped into the entryway, she turned and began to say goodbye.

He shook his head. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he said, his voice low and liquid. “I can’t leave just like that.”

She looked up at him, desire twisting deep inside her. Let him in or keep him out? The question seemed a simple one, but there were too many layers surrounding it to count.

He read her hesitation. “If you don’t want me to stay, I won’t. I’ll leave right now.”

“I don’t know what I want,” she confessed.

“You probably find that hard to believe after last night, but it’s the truth.”

He lifted his hands and cradled her face, his thumb drawing a line around her mouth. Then he lowered his head to hers, his mouth suddenly pressing against her own, his tongue insistent. The kiss was like all his others—hot and demanding—and she was breathless when he finally pulled back. Todd had never left her reeling like this, nor had any other man, she thought with dazed amazement. But she could get used to it.

“It’s your choice.” His voice was hoarse and the sound of it rasped over her, leaving her trembling, just like his touch. “I’ll leave. You decide.”

Her heart screamed leave, but her body cried stay.

She hesitated a moment longer, then she lifted her arms and wrapped them around his neck. He closed the door behind him with a kick.

SHORTLY AFTER ONE in the morning, Emma walked Raul downstairs and let him out the front door. The street was silent and dark, a few clouds scudding across the moon, the hibiscus blooms rippling in the breeze. The only sound was her neighbor’s birds. In addition to his monkey, the man had an aviary in his garden filled with wild macaws and yellow-and-green parrots. The creatures’ cries, sharp and savage, lent a sense of unreality to the moment. Raul paused at the gate and kissed her, his lips so addictive she found it hard to let him go. He seemed to feel the same way, and only after a while could he finally tear himself away.

“I have to take care of some business in the morning,” he said, his hand on her neck. “Can I call you at the office?”

“I’d like that,” she answered. “I’ll be there.”

He nodded, kissed her again, then climbed into the truck. She watched him drive down the street. She hadn’t really wanted him to leave, but she needed to be alone after all their time together. She had to sort out her feelings, and she couldn’t do that with him in her bed.

Trudging back up the stairs a few minutes later, Emma went into her bathroom and began to draw water for a bath. The steam from the tub had just reached the mirror when she heard a noise downstairs. She twisted the taps off at once, and the sound repeated itself. It was louder this time, and more insistent. Finally she understood; someone was knocking on the front door. Pounding on it, in fact, as if he wanted to break it down.

She grabbed her robe from the hook on the door and wrapped it around her, her racing heart mimicking the noise downstairs. Had Raul forgotten something? If he had, how had he gotten past the gate? And she doubted he would make the kind of racket that was coming up from the foyer now, but she bounded down the stairs just the same, her bare feet slapping across the wooden floor as she ran. The knocking didn’t cease until she threw open the door.

Six policemen stood on her front porch. Dressed in green fatigues, they each carried an automatic gun and wore belligerent frowns. Behind them, the iron gate swung crazily, the top hinge completely broken off.

Emma’s mouth dropped open. “What in the world—”

Interrupting her, the man in front spoke her name, his gaze insolent as it took in her robe. He wore extra gold braid across his shoulders and a cap with an insignia on it. He was blue-chinned and rough-looking. Threatening.

“Señorita Toussaint? Emma Toussaint?”

“Y-yes?” With a shaking hand, she pulled together the thick lapels of her housecoat. “What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

He pushed the door back with one hand and stepped inside, forcing her backward. “We’re here to search your home,” he announced. “We’ve been told you have drugs.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EMMA STARED at him in shock, unable to speak. When she finally found her voice, she wished she hadn’t. But it was too late; she couldn’t take back her astonished reply.

“Drugs? Here? Are you insane?”

His reaction wasn’t the one she expected. He smiled. “No, señorita, no estoy loco. But you may be by the time we finish.”

The men behind him snickered at his wit, but Emma went silent with astonishment. He stalked arrogantly past her, then lifted his hand and waved it toward her living room, tilting his head to the man directly behind him. “You go in there.” Pointing in other directions, he told the rest of them to scatter, as well.

“Stop!” Terrified and shaking, Emma made her voice a strident screech. She had to act angry; to show her fear to these men could be a fatal flaw.

“You can’t do this! You can’t come in here and start searching like this.”

Unbelievably, no one paid her any attention. She could have been speaking Farsi for all the notice her words garnered. As if she didn’t exist, the policeman did as he was instructed and stomped over Emma’s silk rug to disappear into the darkness of the front room. Immediately something shattered.

Emma whirled and glowered at the man who’d stayed behind, the one in charge. “What do you think you’re doing? This is crazy! Who told you there were drugs here?”

“Our informants are confidential. You don’t need to know.” He lifted his weapon toward the second floor. “What’s up there?”

From the back of the house, the kitchen it seemed, came another crash. Ignoring the man beside her, Emma took two steps in that direction, then felt herself yanked back. She looked down, her jaw dropping open again, at the policeman’s hand on her arm.

“I asked you a question,” he said, roughly shaking her. “What’s upstairs?”

For a second she was stunned, then she recovered…and recoiled, jerking her arm. He held on tightly, his fingers digging sharply into her flesh. “Tell me!”

“It’s my bedroom.” Her heart racing, she spoke furiously. “Now turn me loose or—”

Without another word, he spun her around and shoved her toward the stairs. “Let’s go,” he said. “Right now.”

From over her shoulder, Emma stared at him in a daze. His eyes were narrow and small, and his expression held only grim determination. “Go!”

Emma took the stairs as slowly as possible, buying herself time. She had to think! She had to have a plan! Nothing came except panic, and by the time they reached the second floor, she could hardly breathe her chest was so tight.

Another clatter from downstairs sounded as they entered her bedroom. Emma flinched at the noise, the smell of her perfume sickeningly sweet as it wafted into the bedroom from the bath she’d been filling when the police arrived. She turned to the man behind her, her stomach cramping in fear. “Look all you want. You’re not going to find a thing.”

He hesitated just a second—long enough to make her mouth go even drier—then he walked to her dresser and pulled out the first drawer. Dumping the contents—her T-shirts and shorts—onto the floor, he kicked them around with one booted foot, then went to the next drawer. In a matter of minutes, all of her clothing lay in a jumble on the carpet beneath his feet.

He bent down and ran his hand along the interior of the now-exposed piece of furniture. There was nothing there, and he straightened a moment later. In short order, he ripped through the rest of her bedroom, pulling the sheets from the mattress, turning it upside down, going through everything in her desk.

She stood by helplessly and watched, her heart threatening to leap from between her ribs, her hands clamped at her sides. Starting toward her bathroom, he stopped abruptly when a shout from downstairs could be heard.

“¡Jefe—baje! ¡Immediatamente!” Chief—come downstairs! Right now!

He sent her a look of pure satisfaction, using his gun to gesture toward the stair, and smirked. “Let’s go, señorita. To see what my men have not found.”

“There’s nothing down there.”

“Then you have nothing to fear. Pase, por favor.”

With a faint buzz in her ears, Emma headed for the stairs. The policeman was right behind her; she could smell him, onions and beer and unwashed clothing. Her agitation mingled with his odor, and her stomach threatened to erupt. At the very last minute, she managed to fight the nausea.

The dissonance of the men’s voices led them to Emma’s kitchen. As she stepped through the doorway, she gasped, her gaze taking in the havoc they’d created in their search. One man, standing in the middle of it all, caught her attention. His voice was gleeful.

“¡Mire, Jefe! See what I found!”

Shock stole Emma’s breath. She told herself to breathe, told herself to stay calm. But any chance she had at composure was hijacked by cold, stark horror as, with a triumphant grin, the policeman held up a plastic bag.

It was full of something white and powdery.

THERE WERE NO LIGHTS ON inside the house; it probably didn’t have electricity, Raul surmised. Sitting outside the hovel belonging to the man who’d planted the bug in Emma’s bag, Raul took a chance and lit his small cigar, cupping his hand around the flame to hide it from sight. He had planned on stopping by the barrio one way or the other, but this had worked out just fine. It made no sense to go home; he had too much on his mind to sleep.

With Emma’s scent still on his hands and her voice lingering in his mind, he couldn’t focus, couldn’t concentrate. The smoke from the cigar drifted up in a wisp before his face, as he thought about what that signified.

It’d been a long time since a woman had meant anything to him, such a long time he wasn’t sure that was what he was experiencing. The weekend had been a revelation to him, though. Emma Toussaint was a special person, and she had all the qualities he would have looked for in a woman in his other life. Intelligence. Honesty. Passion. He could actually love her, he realized with a start, if that was what he was looking for.

The first time they’d made love it’d been purely physical. This time something else had happened, something he hadn’t wanted. He’d felt himself drawn to Emma in an emotional way. He cared what happened to her, cared if she got her children back, cared if she got tangled up in Kelman’s web.

His eyes on the house before him, Raul pulled deeply on the cigar, the smoke filling his lungs with a sharp bite. He’d give it another five minutes, then he’d go inside.

Maybe by then, he’d have Emma out of his mind and back in the place where she belonged. He wasn’t sure where that was—but it could not be his heart.

THE HANDCUFFS cut into her wrists with a cold metallic bite. Emma squirmed against their clasp and told herself it didn’t matter, but she failed. Their pinch did hurt, and she was terrified. Sitting in the back of a Bolivian police car was the last place she had ever imagined being, and the drug search they’d conducted to get her there was too stunning even to consider. The enormity of it all had barely begun to sink in, and she knew why: denial was her only hope, at this point. Otherwise, she’d collapse.

There was only one problem. Her refusal to accept the situation wasn’t working.

The car swerved to miss a speeding taxi, then they took the next corner on two wheels, heading off the nearest ring and straight for downtown. She’d never seen the police station in Santa Cruz and had no idea what to expect. On the other hand, she’d never been arrested in the United States, either. All bets were off, that much she knew. A phone call, a plea for help, any chance she’d get some assistance depended purely on the whims of the men in the front seat. Bolivia was a republic, but that didn’t mean democracy ruled.

Before they’d left her house, she’d tried to call Raul. Sneaking the portable phone into the closet with her, she’d dialed his number as she’d grabbed a pair of jeans and shirt. The effort had produced only near heart failure when the officer in charge had come in unexpectedly. Yelling at her to hurry up, he’d failed to notice the phone she’d thrown into a pile of clothing already on the floor. She had no idea where Raul might have gone after he’d left her house, but he hadn’t been home.

Now they were slowing down and she still had no plan.

The car stopped in front of what she assumed was the cuartelillo de policia. It looked like the rest of the official buildings she’d seen in town; a grim two-story stuccoed block with a severe brick front and a few dirty windows facing the street. The two officers in the front seat climbed out of the vehicle, their coarse laughter echoing in the humid night air. They moved slowly; only when they got behind the wheel were South Americans in a hurry. Finally one of the men opened the rear door of the police car, grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly from the back seat. Emma’s shoulder screamed in protest, but fear—absolute, blood-thinning, heart-stopping fear—kept her from speaking.

They dragged her up the sidewalk and into the building, passing through a lobby even bleaker than the exterior, an empty, echoing chamber with nothing but a desk and a single chair behind it. She heard the distant sound of phones ringing and laughter, but no one else was in sight as the two men herded her toward the rear of the building. Reaching the last door, they pushed it open.

Blinking, she saw what appeared to be a sort of reception area, dirty and crowded with other men in uniforms. They were all talking, their voices as loud and rough as the two men beside her. A numbing disbelief swelled inside her as she swung her head from one side to the other and looked at the room and the men who filled it. Terror, unlike anything she’d ever felt before, rose inside her, as well. One or two of them turned and briefly stared at her, then they went back to what they were doing, her presence so insignificant it didn’t even warrant a second glance.

Later, she realized she should have known at that point. But she was too numb and too frightened to understand. Only afterward did she figure it out.

By then, it was too late.

RAUL EASED THE TRUCK door open and climbed out, shutting it behind him with a soft click. The moon had disappeared completely. Crossing the yard in front of the hut, he thanked God for the darkness and the poverty. The people who lived here didn’t look outside when their dogs barked. They didn’t dare.

He made his way toward the tiny house, then slipped through the inky darkness to the backyard, the smell of charred beef—someone’s dinner—hanging in the air. He moved slowly, stealthily, until he reached the rear door. It was propped open with a pile of handmade bricks, the night air welcomed for its breeze, its humidity ignored.

Pausing by the entry, he allowed his eyes to adjust as he stared inside. The house had a single room, one corner the kitchen, the other a bedroom, a small cot tucked against the wall. The man had no family. Raul had watched him for several days after he’d followed Emma, and no one else had come in or gone out of the hut. The man slept soundly on the bed, his raucous snores competing with the howls of a neighborhood dog. Raul could have driven his truck straight into the room, and the guy would never have heard him. An empty liter bottle of beer rested at a crazy angle by his feet.

Raul shook his head in disgust, then he walked into the hovel and knocked over the stack of bricks, slamming the door shut behind him.

As the sound reached his ears, the man struggled up from his stupor, his confusion evident. “¿Qué—?”

He had no time to say anything else. Raul’s kick landed exactly where he’d planned—on the man’s hand as he reached under his mattress. He screamed a curse, his voice filled with pain, and jerked back his hand.

Raul reached under the stained and dirty bed and pulled out the .38 the drunk had been trying to get. The fetid smell of beer wafted up between them as Raul pressed the muzzle of the pistol into the man’s cheek. Above the dull black metal, his eyes rounded.

“I want to know about your friend, amigo. The one who hired you to follow the blonde.” Raul’s voice was calm and cool, his Spanish perfect.

“Talk to me, por favor.”

THE NARROW WALKWAY smelled even worse than the two men pressing in behind Emma. It was dark, too. A single, bare bulb, hanging from two wires, offered the only illumination. She stumbled slightly, then straightened and yanked herself away from the policeman who reached toward her. A second later, they stopped her in front of a scratched and dirty door. It had a window too high to see into and more locks on the outside than she had time to count. Within seconds, one of the men had them all undone, and they opened the door and pushed her inside.

Before Emma could get her bearings, she stumbled again and immediately hit her shin on something sharp, losing her balance completely in the dimness. Crying out, she fell to the floor, turning at the very last second to land on her shoulder, instead of her face. The maneuver didn’t help; the concrete was hard and cold when it rose up to meet her with a sickening jolt.

Stunned, Emma lay motionless until the smell beneath her registered. She gagged and quickly rolled over, scrambling to her feet, her wrists still handcuffed behind her.

The room was minuscule—not even as big as her closet—and filthy, an open drain in the center of it, the source of the gut-wrenching odor. A scarred, wooden table and two broken-down metal chairs listed near the doorway. One of the chairs lay on its side—she’d obviously run into it—a leg now dangling by a single screw. The only light came from the square of glass set in the door at her back, yet it was enough to see the walls. They were scratched and nasty, the paint too old to tell the color beneath the jumble of desperate messages the room’s former occupants had managed to scrawl.

With a hopeless moan, she closed her eyes and began to sob.

IT DIDN’T TAKE too long.

Within a matter of minutes, Raul had the man talking, but he certainly didn’t like what he had to say.

“Señor Kelman hired me, sí, sí. I went into her house once just to check it out, and I…I put the bug in the lady’s purse, but that’s it. Nothing else.” His eyes were too wide and frightened for him to be telling anything but the truth, and Raul let his fingers open slightly. The man’s breathing was rapid and shallow as he clawed at his collar, still tight against his neck.

“What else were you supposed to do?” Raul shook him slightly. “C’mon. There’s got to be more.”

“No! I swear!” Beads of sweat broke out on the man’s greasy face, dotting his skin with marks of fear. “Nothing more. That’s it.”

Raul put his thumb on the hammer of the pistol and pulled it back. The sound was loud in the tiny room, and the threat produced instant results.

“I gave him the name of some friends!” he cried. His voice shook, rising and falling in panic.

“He needed more men. I told him who to call.”

“Why did he need them?”

“I don’t know!”

Tightening his hold on the drunk’s collar, Raul pressed the muzzle of the pistol into the man’s cheek; the pointed sight at the tip disappeared into the folds of his whiskered skin. “Don’t make me repeat myself a third time. Why did he need more men?”

“I…I don’t know, señor, truly!” The man was so full of dread he was quivering. “He didn’t tell me.”

“What kind of friends are these?”

The drunk blinked rapidly, then, obviously reading something in Raul’s eyes, he spoke again, this time without any prompting. “Th-they’re in the Army,” he stuttered. “They have cars…and guns. He didn’t tell me why he wanted them. He just said he needed some men who could get things done. I took him to their club and then I left. I swear.”

“When did this happen?”

“Last night.”

Raul nodded, then he pushed the man toward the door. He stumbled against the nearest wall, reached out and grabbed a cloudy mirror in a useless attempt to steady himself. It crashed to the floor, but neither of them looked. In the dark, tiny room, Raul could smell the man’s fear, and he smiled in satisfaction. He’d use it, just like he used everything.

“We’re going for a ride, and you’re going to introduce me to your friends.” Raul waved the gun toward the door. The man needed no more prompting.

Fifteen minutes later, they pulled up outside a building downtown. It looked dark and unoccupied, but as they waited, parked across the street in the SUV, Raul saw men coming and going through a door in the back corner, the only part of the building that seemed in use. Almost all of them wore uniforms and the standard look of arrogance and boredom South American officials favored, as they entered the private choperia, a club where the men could go and get their beer on tap, and on credit, too. The places were on every corner in Santa Cruz, but this one was obviously the sole domain of the men inside. He’d be crazy to try to enter it—and probably dead before his foot was in the door.

The drunk began to squirm, and Raul knew he had to do something with him. He couldn’t turn him loose—he’d head straight for Kelman or his buddies inside the choperia—but Raul didn’t want to kill him, either. As if he could sense Raul’s dilemma, the man looked across the cab at his captor. Above the tape Raul had placed over his mouth, his bloodshot eyes were terrified.

Raul leaned over. “The men you introduced to Kelman—you sure they’re here?”

The drunk nodded frantically.

“If you aren’t sure, tell me now and save us both some grief.”

The man couldn’t talk, but he didn’t need to. His eyes and his panicked nodding told Raul what he needed to know.

“All right,” Raul answered. “We’re going to sit here until they come out. Then you’re going to tell me which one the jefe is. We’re going to follow him and he’s going to talk to me. Then you’ll forget you ever saw me.” He narrowed his gaze and patted the pistol he’d stuck in the waistband of his jeans. “If you lie to me, you’ll regret it—but you won’t care for too long. ¿Comprende?” He waited for his words to soak into the man’s pickled brain, then the nodding started again.

They settled in to wait.

AMAZINGLY, SHE SLEPT.

There was nothing else she could do, and after a while, Emma began to wonder how much was actually happening and how much she was dreaming. It didn’t seem possible that only hours before she’d been in Raul’s arms in Samaipata. The warmth of his embrace, the gentle kisses he’d given her, the hours of lovemaking in the old abbey—had they really happened, or was the harsh floor where she now huddled in fear the dream? She hadn’t had an opportunity to grab her watch, so she had no idea how many hours had passed. Time blurred and so did her thinking.

At one point, she even imagined herself back home. She felt the tiny hands of her children on her face, their touch sweet and fleeting against her skin. The smell of baby powder hung in the air, along with the cry of the mockingbirds that nested by the nursery windows every year. She whispered their names. “Sarah? Jake?”

But no one answered.

She thought then of the bag the men had found. She had no idea what had been in it or how it’d gotten there. A point of trivia popped into her discombobulated brain: Bolivia was the world’s third-largest cultivator of coca. She’d seen the green leafy plants herself, growing on the mountain sides on the way to Samaipata. A certain amount was allowed each person. The locals drank tea made from the leaves and chewed them on occasion, sometimes using it in ceremonies. The cocaleros who grew more turned the plant into black paste, then shipped it to Colombia to be refined. Powdered cocaine was as illegal here as it was in the States, but there was one difference: it wasn’t often found inside the country. How had it gotten inside her house?

The drum of boots on the tile floor in the corridor outside finally broke her reverie. She jerked into awareness, every hair on her neck standing up, every nerve in her body quivering. She’d spent what seemed like forever listening for a sound—any sound—but nothing had happened. Now, as the noise replaced the silence, she longed for the quiet once more.

They were coming for her.

She leaped to her feet, then almost fell, her legs numb from sitting on the concrete floor, her back and shoulder stabbed with pain. She caught her balance and brought herself upright, just as the key rasped in the lock.

The scarred door flew open a second later. Emma’s mouth fell open when she saw the man who stood on the threshold.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

WILLIAM KELMAN’S blue eyes took in Emma’s confusion. “Ms. Toussaint.” His voice sounded concerned, caring. “Are you all right? You haven’t been hurt, have you?”

She ignored his inquiry and stared at him, her initial shock changing quickly into suspicion. “Wh-what are you doing here? How did you find—”

He waved off her questions. “Not now,” he said. “Let’s get you out of here and then we’ll talk.”

She watched in amazement as the man who’d arrested her the night before came into the room. With quick, efficient movements, he turned her around, unlocked the handcuffs, then left. Following the cop out into the hallway, Kelman stopped when he saw that Emma wasn’t behind him. She still stood in the center of the room, rubbing her chafed and bloody wrists, dazed by Kelman’s appearance. He had to still be connected with the DEA, Emma thought with disconcertment. There was no other way he could have known about her nightmare—unless he had a darker connection to it. She wondered about this briefly, then she shut down her mind. She had to.

“Ms. Toussaint…are you coming?”

Emma shuffled forward, Kelman putting his hand under her elbow solicitously as he guided her down the corridor. Twenty minutes later, they were on her street, where Kelman parked his Jeep. She glanced at the clock on the dash and was shocked to read its face.

She’d been gone three hours.

She’d been gone a lifetime.

Kelman followed her to the front door and they both entered the foyer. The house felt different to Emma; something had seeped into the walls. Except for a few broken items here and there, the house looked the same as it had before, but it wasn’t the same. Just like her, she thought through the blur of her incredulousness.

Walking slowly, she crossed into the living room. Two lamps gave off light, soft and faint. It painted the room with a deceptive order, washing the destruction of a nearby vase with a gentle touch. She looked around as if she didn’t know quite where she was.

She shook her head and turned to Kelman. “They said I had drugs here. They found something—a bag—in the kitchen, but I have no idea what it was or how it got there. I…I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t understand.”

Kelman walked over and picked up a pillow from the floor. He placed it on her sofa, then turned and fixed her with his eyes. Something in their blueness looked strange and out of place. Even in her confusion, she saw it and stilled, her pulse trapped inside her chest, fluttering like a wild bird. The feeling that she needed Raul came upon her unexpectedly. Immediately. Her eyes darted to the table where the phone usually sat, but it was gone. Then she remembered. She’d taken it upstairs when she’d tried to call him before. The handset was nestled in a pile of clothing at the bottom of her closet.

“You don’t understand?” He mocked her trembling voice—or was she imagining it? “Then let me explain.” He sat down and waved casually at one of her chairs, as if he lived here instead of her.

“Sit down, Emma, and I’ll clarify it for you.”

She stood stiffly where she was.

“All right,” he said, “don’t sit.” His eyes hardened. “But I do suggest you listen.”

She gripped the back of the chair nearest her, her legs turning weak at his tone. As he spoke again, a vision came to her: two suitcases filled with money and stock certificates, sitting in the vault at the bank. She’d thought she was past the point of being scared, but a trickle of fear managed to find its way into her frozen brain.

“I offered you the opportunity of a lifetime not too long ago. There was money to be made, but you turned it down. Do you remember?” His fingers curled on the arm of the sofa.

“I remember.” Her voice was faint, as indistinct as the morning light.

“You understood what I was suggesting, didn’t you, Emma? You’re a very bright woman. I can’t imagine you didn’t.”

“I wasn’t sure,” she answered.

“All I needed was some information,” he said.

“That’s all. We could have both made more money than either of us will ever need, but you wouldn’t cooperate.”

“I couldn’t.” Trembling, but trying to hide it, she stared at him. “I can’t break the law.”

“You can’t break the law?” He laughed lightly.

“Then I’d say you have a problem. Because hiding a kilo of powdered coca is definitely breaking the law.”

The part of her that was still alive screamed for her to run. But her feet stayed anchored to the floor, the twin forces of comprehension and horror pinning her to the spot.

She spoke quietly. “How did you know it was a kilo?”

“I weighed it.” He smiled. “Right before I came in here and put it in your kitchen cabinet.”

THEY WAITED three hours. The drunk sat in stupefied silence, his bleary eyes staring through the darkness. Every time a man came out of the choperia, he would sit up straighter and look harder. Raul had to give him credit for trying, but his friends weren’t present. Obviously they’d left earlier, or they’d never been there at all. Dawn was breaking when a few stumbling patrons came out and the owner locked up.

Raul didn’t doubt his captive. A .38 pointed at your gut for three hours was a strong incentive for telling the truth.

“All right.” Raul spoke wearily and rubbed his stubbled chin. The rasping sound filled the truck.

“That’s it. We’ll have to do it the hard way and go to his house, instead of catching him on the street. You’re showing me where this guy lives, and we’ll take it from there. One way or another, I’m finding out what’s going on.”

The man shook his head violently, and finally Raul was forced to pull the tape off. “What?”

“I don’t know where he lives,” the man gasped. His tongue snaked out and moistened his tortured lips. “I don’t know, I swear. I just see him here, that’s it.”

The wave of exhaustion Raul had been fighting crashed over him. He couldn’t stay awake forever, and even if he did find the son of a bitch, who knew if Kelman had given him his orders yet? Raul had a bad feeling that time was running out, but there was nothing he could do about it right now.

It was almost five by the time they got back to the barrio. Raul cut the tape from the man’s wrists and said, as he raised the gun, “This is simple.” The weapon felt molded to his hand he’d held it so long. “You tell. You die. Understand?”

“Sí, sí, señor.”

“I know where you live. I can come back. Anytime.” He waited. “You think about that tonight when you go to sleep.” The man nodded, and Raul waved the gun toward the door. “Get out.”

The man scrambled out and ran toward his house. Putting the truck in gear, Raul drove slowly down the potholed street and headed for the First Ring. As he entered the traffic circle, he thought briefly of going to Emma’s, but then reconsidered. She’d be getting ready for work and didn’t need him around. He needed to clean up, too. He was soaked by the fumes that had wafted off the drunk in the close confines of the truck. He changed lanes and headed for home.

“WHY?” EMMA STARED at Kelman, the one word all she could get out.

“That’s what I asked myself, too. Why? If you’d helped me out the first time, then I wouldn’t have had to resort to this. You wouldn’t cooperate, though. So this is Plan B.”

She closed her eyes for a second. “What do you want?” she asked numbly.

“I want the rate,” he answered. “Currency trading is easy money—if you know which way to go. I’m tired of working hard for everything I’ve got.” His eyes heated until they looked like two blue flames. “Who do you think made the most money where I worked? The DEA agents who put their lives on the line or the narcotraficantes?” He gave the word its proper Spanish pronunciation, and she realized at once he spoke Spanish. Perfect Spanish. He shook his head and answered his own question.

“The bad guys win, Ms. Toussaint. Or at least they did until they met me. Then they began to see the error of their ways. When they shared their route, I looked the other way. You didn’t really think I made all that money working for the government, did you?”

“It wasn’t any of my business how you made it.”

“That’s right,” he shot back. “You were too busy thinking about how you could use it yourself, weren’t you?” He smiled. “I saw the look in your eyes. You’re as greedy as the rest of us.”

She couldn’t deny the truth. Emma swallowed, her whole body tight with fear. “But I turned you down.”

“And now I’m giving you a second chance. This will be the last one, though. You don’t get to pass Go a third time.” He leaned forward and stared at her. “The government committee meets next week. You’re going to find out which direction the boliviano is headed. Then you’re going to make sure my money goes with it.”

Her stomach knotted. “But why do you need to do this?” she asked desperately. “You have so much money already—”

“That’s not the point,” he said bluntly. “I need that cash cleaned. I’m in a new business venture with my local friends, and we want it washed. Trading it is the best possible way.”

“It’ll never work.”

His eyes locked on hers. “Yes, it will. You’ll make it work.”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t, or you won’t?” He shook his head.

“If I were you, I’d think carefully about my answer. Whose blood do you want on your hands? Your own—or someone else’s?”

She felt the color drain from her face. It took the last of her strength with it. “What do you mean?”

“I planted that bag of drugs when you and your lover were stranded in Samaipata. Did you think it was just bad luck your truck broke down? I planted the drugs, and I hired the men who came here to find them. I can arrange for it to happen again, too, but next time, it’ll be for real. The men in the green uniforms who knock on your door will be genuine Bolivian cops—not military trash with bribes in their pockets.”

He waited a minute for her reaction, then continued, almost carelessly, “If you don’t believe me, I can give you another demonstration. We’ll use Mr. Santos and see what happens.”

“Leave him out of this,” she said quickly. “He doesn’t have anything to do with—”

“He doesn’t?” Nodding thoughtfully, Kelman paused for a second. “Oh, right. Well, how about this, instead?”

He straightened one leg and reached into his back pocket. Emma wasn’t sure what he was reaching for; she waited, her lungs still, her pulse roaring. When he brought his hand around, he held a square of paper.

“How about this?” he said, holding it out to her.

“Will this change your mind?”

She didn’t want to get any closer to him, yet her feet moved forward, bringing her toward the couch where he sat. With trembling fingers, she reached out and took the paper from his hand. It was a photograph.

Of Sarah and Jake.

The buzz in her ears stopped instantly; it had to, because her heart quit beating, the blood in her veins freezing into lines of solid horror. She stared at their innocent faces, then glanced at the date in the corner. It’d been taken two days before.

She raised her terrified eyes. “Where did you get this?” she asked hoarsely.

“It’s a good picture, isn’t it?” He nodded.

“He’s clever with a camera, but he’s a very talented fellow. He can shoot with a lot of different things.”

Emma sat down, her legs giving out entirely. It was only luck that there was a chair behind her. It rocked slightly as it took her weight, then settled back into the carpet. But her world continued to move. An emotional earthquake, she thought stupidly. Half the landscape was gone, and the rest would fall in the aftershocks to come.

“I can call my man and tell him to shoot some more if you need the time.”

His choice of words was no mistake. All the panic, all the fear, all the disbelief she’d experienced in the past few hours crystallized instantly. Into something much different. She waited a beat, then raised her eyes to his. “You go near these kids and I’ll kill you. That’s a promise.”

He smiled. “Does this mean we have a deal?”

WHEN THE DOOR closed behind Kelman, Emma went woodenly into the living room. She straightened the cushions on the couch and picked up the crystal shards, restoring some kind of order to the room but not to her brain. Then she went upstairs. Scrubbing her skin until it burned, she showered and shampooed her hair, dressing, when she was finished, in a terry-cloth warm-up. It was well over ninety degrees outside, but she couldn’t stop shivering. With her hair wet and hanging down her back, she went downstairs.

Once in the kitchen, though, she stared blankly at the mess the men had left, her mind as void of thought as it’d ever been. She had no idea what to do next, where to even begin, but the first thing that came into her mind was Raul.

Then she remembered Kelman’s threat. If she turned to Raul, Kelman would kill him. Recalling Raul’s warning about the kind of man Kelman was, something told her Kelman didn’t need the excuse her betrayal would give him.

He wanted Raul dead.

Raul had told her as much in Samaipata. She’d been too wrapped up in what had happened between them to think clearly, though. She’d been a fool not to see it before. Now she understood. She could never go to Raul.

Somewhere in the middle of all this, he’d begun to mean more to her than he should. She couldn’t say she loved him; she wouldn’t allow herself that luxury, but he’d slipped into her life and turned it upside down. The dark eyes, the slow hands, the mouth that fit her own so well…She’d recognized a kindred spirit in him the minute their eyes had met. He’d suffered, just as she had, and she couldn’t be the one to bring him even more pain. Not when he’d given her such pleasure. And if he did find out, something told her he’d go about righting the wrong, and Kelman would win. He would kill Raul for sure, and she’d have his death on her hands—and in her heart—forever.

She shuffled to the breakfast table and sat down heavily, a stream of other possibilities fighting their way into her consciousness.

She could go to the police. But that would be a mistake. As she’d told Raul only a few days before, there was so much corruption in Bolivia that most foreign companies couldn’t even operate in the country. Executives were routinely warned by their companies about the problem. She’d get no help from the Bolivian police. Kelman was no fool, and she was sure he’d already paid them to ignore her if she called.

Chris? She immediately shook her head. No. Her boss would take one look at the briefcases in that vault, then start to scream. And he’d have every right. She should have told him the minute Kelman had approached her, but she’d been too concerned that he would believe she couldn’t do her job.

Reina’s face shot into Emma’s brain. Was there anything she could do? Emma turned the idea over, helplessly realizing her friend had no idea of the extent of Kelman’s manipulations. She’d be devastated with guilt, for she was the one who’d brought him to Emma. If Reina knew the kind of hell he’d visited on her, she was so impulsive she was just as likely to do something dangerous as she was to help.

So who was left?

After a moment, Emma answered herself, her words ringing emptily in the silence. “No one,” she said. “No one can help me.”

The monkey next door called out, and Emma raised her gaze, blurry and unfocused, to the mess in front of her. Details finally began to register. Her Earl Grey tea bags, emptied from their box. The silverware she’d bought at the local department store scattered across the floor. The cabinet doors of the pantry, gaping open.

Her attention was caught by something inside the small cabinet. She found herself staring at it, then, rising slowly, she made her way closer.

It was a bottle of vodka.

Reaching out, she closed her fingers around the bottle’s neck, bringing it out into the light. She had no idea how the liquor had gotten into her pantry, but as she studied its clarity in the sunshine, she ventured a guess. Kelman. He’d probably brought it in, along with the drugs.

Go ahead, a small voice inside her said. You deserve it. It’ll help.

She slowly twisted off the top and brought the bottle to her nose. There was no odor, but closing her eyes, she took a deep whiff, anyway, and something did reach her nose.

It was the smell of temptation.

A montage of faces and feelings rushed over her. Raul and their lovemaking, his words tender and sweet, his eyes black and hot. Her children and their innocence. Todd. And finally…Kelman. The faces shimmered and merged together beneath her eyelids. She wanted to forget them all. It was too painful, the choices too hard. The liquor could take off the edge and blur the agony. She opened her eyes.

Emma stared at the vodka, then jerked the bottle to her mouth and let her tongue flick over the edge. The sharp, familiar bite registered with a jolt, a reaction that went way past the simple taste. She closed down her brain and tilted the bottle higher.

Then the doorbell rang.

RAUL PRESSED THE BELL again. He could hear it echoing inside the house, and he shook his head. He had no idea what he was doing there; he’d gone home, cleaned up, then gotten in the truck and driven back to Emma’s side of town. During the entire trip over, he’d told himself he was being ridiculous, but he couldn’t get her out of his mind. If he’d been someone else, he might have thought she was calling to him, using some kind of ESP. He didn’t believe in that kind of nonsense, though.

He started to ring the bell again, then stopped when he heard the sound of a door closing inside the house. She was obviously at home. Why didn’t she come to the front? He waited another few seconds, a concern he couldn’t ignore growing inside him. Something was wrong.

He couldn’t justify the feeling, but he didn’t really care. Moving toward the window that faced her living room, he decided to break in. To hell with logic. But just as he raised a hand to test the glass, Emma appeared at the window beside the door.

At least, he thought it was her. The hollow-eyed, shell-shocked woman bore little resemblance to the woman whose bed he’d left almost six hours before, her skin warm from his touch, her eyes languid and full. She wore a heavy warm-up suit, and her face above the turned-up collar was pale and frightened, scrubbed of all makeup, her only color, as always, her full, red lips. Her wet hair hung in silken strands, framing her apprehensive expression. The transformation would have been unbelievable if the results weren’t standing before him.

Blinking hard, she opened the door a scant two inches.

“My God, Emma!” he said. “What’s wrong?”

“I…I think I must have caught what Reina had. Y-you shouldn’t come in.” Her eyes were streaked with red, their hazel depths cloudy.

“It doesn’t matter. Let me in. I can help you—”

“No!” She spoke quickly, the word coming out too strongly for someone ill. “I…I don’t need anything, thanks, anyway. I…like to be alone when I’m not feeling well.” She smiled wanly. “I’m not a good patient.”

He looked into her eyes and could tell she was lying. She met his gaze, then looked away. She knew he knew. He felt the air leave his lungs, his heart squeezing into a ball of fear.

Kelman.

He’d sprung his trap and Emma had been caught. She wore the sick, helpless look of a wounded animal with no way out. The same look Raul had worn when Kelman had ambushed him.

“Emma?” He said her name softly. “What’s going on? Tell me.”

She started to shut the door, but she was too slow, her reflexes dulled by whatever had happened. His hand shot out, and he grabbed the mahogany, his fingers wrapping around the hard wooden edge.

She tried to push the door closed, but Raul forced his way inside, into the entry. She cried out, then stepped back, obviously choosing to give up as he slammed the door behind him. “Tell me what’s going on,” he demanded. “It’s Kelman, isn’t it? He’s done something.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her voice was harsh and painful. “And I don’t appreciate the way you just barged in here, either. Please leave, Raul. Right now.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he answered. “Not until you tell me the truth.”

“I…I don’t have anything to tell you.” Blinking rapidly, she compressed her lips and brought her hands to her throat to pull the edges of her collar closer.

That’s when he saw her wrists. They were scraped and raw, scarlet with scratches.

His stomach turned over, and he reached out and grabbed her forearms, raising them to eye level. She flinched, but he didn’t release her. “Nothing happened? Then how do you explain this?”

She stared at him, a stubborn determination coming into her eyes, alongside the pain. She wasn’t going to give away her secrets; she’d die before she did. That was when he understood what it would take to get her to talk. It was the last thing he wanted to do; it meant not just the sacrifice of everything between them but of his one and only goal, as well. But it was the only thing that would work.

He’d have to tell her the truth.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

RAUL DROPPED her arms so abruptly Emma almost lost her balance. He turned and walked into the living room before she could stop him.

“Don’t do this. I don’t want you here.” Following him into the room, she spoke, the lie sticking in her throat. She didn’t know how, but she managed to say it without choking. She had to; Raul’s very existence depended on it.

“I know that’s what you want.” Halting in the center of the room, he radiated pent-up energy.

“But it’s not going to happen until I say what I have to. I’m going to tell you why I’m here, what I’m doing, and how ruthless this man is. When I’m finished, you’re going to hate me, but at least you’ll understand. And maybe, just maybe, if you’re lucky, you’ll survive this.”

She stared at him, her heart thumping. “What makes you so sure William Kelman’s my problem? I could have a situation at work, or my kids could be in trouble, or…” She threw her hands up in the air. “Anything could be going on with me. Why do you think—”

“I don’t have to think. I know. I know because he ruined my life.” His pronouncement was flat, totally without emotion. “I spent five years in a federal prison because of William Kelman.”

The words fell like stones at her feet. She felt faint, and for a moment she thought she’d throw up. “Wh—what are you saying?” she asked. “I don’t understand.”

“He destroyed my life over a woman. And I didn’t even love her. Not like I love—” He broke off abruptly and shook his head, a gesture filled with regret and something else, something that darkened his eyes to a shade she’d never seen before.

“Her name was Denise Murphy, and she came up to me in a D.C. bar. I’d just ended a relationship with someone else, and I wasn’t at my best. Denise said she’d seen me around town and wondered who I was.” He shrugged. “She was gorgeous—a tall brunette with a perfect body—and I took her home with me that night. It was the biggest mistake I ever made.”

Emma’s nausea grew. It took up all the space inside her and forced its way up into her throat.

“Denise Murphy was living with William Kelman at the time, but she was looking for a way out. I provided her with the excuse. She left him and we had a brief affair. I didn’t know all this until she visited me in prison to explain.”

“To explain? Explain what?”

“Kelman ruled the local DEA office like he was some kind of king. He was making a fortune by working with the dealers, tipping off the agents on the minor ones and taking payoffs from the big ones when the raids went down. His bosses had no idea what he was doing. Denise only knew because she lived with him.

“She said he hadn’t always been that way, but his wife had left him a few years before, and it seemed to push him over the edge.” Raul paused for a second, then continued, “When Denise did the same thing—left him—he saw himself as a two-time loser. He couldn’t believe it’d happened again, so he took care of it.”

“Took care of it?”

Raul nodded. “He planted drugs and a gun in my car while I was out of town. I was stopped, and the rest, as they say, is history.”

She had a vague understanding of how Kelman had arranged things here, but how could he do the same thing in the States? It didn’t seem possible. “But how did he get the officer to stop you?”

“He was told to by a DEA agent. Kelman had something on the agent, and offered to let the guy off the hook if he took me down. All the cop had to do was catch me in a traffic violation—I turned right without signaling. That gave him cause to pull me over, and he held me till the DEA agents got there—they were in it, as well. They asked if they could search the car, and I had no reason to refuse. One of them opened up the trunk and pulled out a plastic bag of coke I’d never seen before. And a nickel-plated .45.”

“Kelman planted them,” she said faintly.

He nodded. “I’d left my car at the airport and flown to the Bahamas for a weekend. He did it while I was gone.”

“But five years. My God, why so long? Did he own the judge, too?”

“He didn’t have to. There are guideline sentences for drug violations in the federal system. Whatever number of years you’re sentenced, you serve eighty-five percent of it, regardless. I was a first-time offender, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. The evidence couldn’t be disputed, and I was tried and convicted in very short order. I was sent to Cumberland, Maryland.” In a hard tone he spoke again. “I lost my home, my savings and my license to practice law. Everything.”

His voice held no emotion, but Emma could see his pain, smell it, even taste it. She hadn’t moved since he’d begun to speak, and now she walked away from him. She had to put some space between them, had to escape the agony she knew he felt. Crossing the room, she stood in front of the window that looked out on her garden. The walled area was serene and quiet in the morning sun, a total contrast to the chaos raging inside her.

She let it storm, giving no hint of how she felt. After a few minutes, through the confusion, a thread of understanding began to take form. He’d had everything that was important to him taken away—just as she had. From a woman’s point of view, nothing meant more to her than her children, but a man’s priorities were different, especially a man who didn’t have a family. He judged himself by what he could do with his career, with his ability to make a living.

Kelman had taken away the very essence of who Raul was. And he’d replaced him with a far different man.

Emma turned slowly and looked at Raul. The planes of his face, the angles of his body, even the way he held himself—how different was he now? She could only imagine. Not understanding at the time, she’d sensed his former self, sensed a far different man when they’d made love and when they’d visited the orphanage, but the core of who he was no longer existed. It’d been changed forever, lost forever.

Except for one detail.

His determination.

The realization didn’t come to her in a flash. It wasn’t like the movies where all at once the heroine understood. This was completely different. The truth formed itself slowly and opened up only after she examined it closer. He waited patiently, as if he understood what she was dealing with, then finally, when the thought was fully constructed from the pieces he had given her, she spoke. Carefully. Slowly.

“You came to Santa Cruz because of Kelman. You followed him down here.”

“That’s right.”

“And the money in your account…”

“It’s from a slush fund the State Department manages. The woman who was with me at Candelabra arranged it. She’s…an old friend.”

Dust motes danced in the tense silence between them. “You’re not an importer.”

“No. I’m not an importer.”

“You have no business here, other than tracking down Kelman?”

“That’s right. Denise knew he would come here, and Wendy told me when he arrived. She had the passports checked.”

Emma looked at him, her heart locking into place with a click. She knew the answer to the question, but she had to ask it, anyway. She had to hear his reply. “And my role in all this is…?”

“I came here to stop him. And to do that, I had to get next to the person he’d need the most. That was you.”

Her heart kept beating, her lungs kept working, her brain kept going, but something inside Emma died. She actually felt the passing and mourned the emotion before she knew what it was.

After another moment, she understood what was leaving her; it was the hope she’d had, the hope she hadn’t even been able to acknowledge until now, that they might have some kind of future together. That Raul might say, “I love you,” and she would say the same thing. That he’d help her get her children and they might be a family. That her life might start again. All those possibilities were gone forever now.

Raul’s voice reached her through a fog. “Kelman didn’t pick Reina out of the blue to be his real-estate agent, Emma. He chose her because he knew she was friends with you. He knew when he said he needed a banker, she’d arrange an introduction. He manipulated the situation to get what he wanted—you—just like he always does.” Raul paused as if to gather himself. “You’re the best banker in town, Emma. He knew to come to you. All I had to do was watch and wait.”

“You son of a bitch.” Lifting her head, she spoke quietly, the fury behind her words almost anticlimactic. “You acted as if you cared for me, and all along you knew he was going to destroy me! How could I have been so dumb?”

“I didn’t act as if I cared for you. I do care for you,” he said softly. “More than you know. And I wasn’t going to let him destroy you. I did everything I could to protect you. I would have done more if you’d told me what was going on. Please, Emma…” He took a step in her direction, then stopped when she held up her hand.

“No. No.” She laughed softly, a bitter sound that echoed in the tension-filled room. “Don’t tell me that now. Not now. I might fall for it once, but twice? No way. I’m not that stupid.”

“None of this is important right now,” he said, interrupting her. “All that matters is stopping Kelman.”

She held up her hand again, an angry flush burning its way into her cheeks. “Are you crazy? He’s threatened my children! Do you know what that means? Do you have any idea?”

“Whatever he’s done to you, Emma, I promise I’ll make him pay for it. I promise.”

“You promise!” She mocked his words then shook her head in disgust. “My God. I trusted you. With my body, with my secrets, with my heart. You wooed me. You told me to believe in you and I did.”

“I didn’t know you at that point. You were a stranger and I didn’t care. But now I do.” His jaw tightened. “Let me help you, Emma. If we work together, we can stop him.”

The decision was an easy one. She looked him straight in the eye. “I don’t trust you. I’d never ask for your help.” She held up her hand again to stop him from speaking. “I don’t need it, either.

I’ll make William Kelman pay for what he’s done by myself, like I’ve done everything else in my life. All I want from you is to leave. Right now.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Oh, yes, you can.” She pointed toward the entryway. “You walk out of here, close the door behind you, and forget you ever knew me. It’s easy.”

“It’s not easy, and I wouldn’t do it even if it was. Just let me help.”

She closed the space between them with two angry steps. Energy burned inside her and fueled her anger. She wanted to strike him, but it wouldn’t have done any good. “You’re here to help yourself, Raul, and no one else. You don’t give a damn about me and you never have. All you want is revenge.”

“Emma, please…”

Her heart split open, the pain too much for it to hold. She wheeled around and faced the window, her arms wrapped around herself as if to contain the agony. “Get out,” she said thickly, her back to him. “And shut the door behind you.”

HE TOLD HIMSELF it didn’t matter. Moving down Emma’s walkway, Raul ignored the ache in his chest. All that was important was Kelman, he repeated. Nothing counted but him.

He passed through the broken gate, the words of staunch determination fueling his departure. If she wanted to fight the devil on her own, then by God, let her.

Raul would spend the rest of his life tracking down Kelman, and if he wasn’t able to stop him here, then he’d stop him somewhere else. It didn’t matter where. Raul wouldn’t quit until he’d visited the same pain on Kelman that the other man had visited on him.

Emma Toussaint was disposable. When he’d used her up, Kelman would move on to his next victim, and she’d join the list of people he’d screwed. Raul couldn’t care less.

Nothing mattered. She didn’t matter, and everything they’d shared didn’t matter. She’d been a chance he played, and it hadn’t worked out. He strode down the sidewalk without looking right or left, his anger contained within the tiny kernel where he kept all the rest of his emotions.

By the time he climbed into the truck and started the engine, he knew how badly he was lying to himself. By the time he got to the end of the block, he knew he could go no farther.

He did care. He cared so much it scared the hell out of him. And he was a bigger bastard than he thought if he left Emma to face Kelman on her own.

Raul pulled up to the stop sign and sat, the truck idling beneath him in the hot sunlight. A sweep of anger came over him, a sweep so intense, so powerful, that it blinded him, and he began to pound the steering wheel in frustration.

It was happening all over again! Kelman was taking away the only thing Raul cared about.

The warm hazel eyes, the silky blond hair, the skin so soft and tender. Couldn’t Kelman see what kind of woman Emma was? Didn’t he know how much her kids meant to her? Or her job, her friends? She was the woman every man spent his life searching for, and she deserved much more than she’d gotten so far. If Raul had had half an idea of the kind of woman she was, he would never—never—have let this happen as he had. He hadn’t known, though. Now things were different.

He’d held her in his arms and made love to her. He knew who she was and what she represented. And it was up to him to keep her safe from Kelman, even if she didn’t want his help. Even if she hated him and never wanted to see him again.

He loved her, he realized with a jolt. And love meant so much more than revenge….

EMMA WENT UPSTAIRS and straight to her desk. Raul’s revelation had sliced her like a razor, but the fierce pain brought with it a sudden clarity. She knew exactly what she had to do. She couldn’t allow herself to think about anything else, but most of all she couldn’t think about the fact that she’d let him into her heart when he’d only been using her. She simply couldn’t face it. Not now.

She picked up the phone and punched out the numbers to bring up an overseas line. When she heard the familiar buzz, she dialed the rest of the digits. Todd answered almost immediately.

“I’ve got something to tell you.” She spoke with no preliminary when he said hello. “Don’t ask any questions—just listen to me carefully and do exactly what I say.”

He sputtered something, but she ignored it. “I’m in trouble down here. There’s a man who’s trying to blackmail me, and he knows about you and the children. You have to take Sarah and Jake away from there. Today.”

As she gave voice to the words, the enormity of what she was doing hit her. She should have been crying, should have been hysterical, but there were no more tears and no more emotions left in her heart. She’d just handed Todd a loaded gun and pointed it at her head.

To protect her children, she had to destroy any chance she might have in the future of getting them back.

“What kinda crap are you pulling now?”

She cut through his drawl. “I’m serious, Todd. This guy is for real, and he’s dangerous. He has photos of the kids, photos he had taken this week. I want you to leave and get them somewhere safe.” Her heart cramped. “I don’t want to know where you’re going, either. I…I can’t know.”

“Are you drinkin’ again, Emma Lou? This is crazy talk!”

“I’m telling you the truth! The kids are in danger. You have to leave, Todd.”

“What’d you do?”

She started to explain, then stopped. He’d never believe her, and what did it matter, anyway? “I didn’t do anything, but it’s not important,” she said. “Nothing is but getting those kids hidden, okay?”

“Emma, honey, get a grip. We can’t just up and leave here. Jake’s got a ridin’ lesson this afternoon, and Sarah’s goin’ to a birthday party….”

“Todd.” Emma said his name, then waited until he stopped talking. “I am not crazy. I am not kidding. And I am definitely not drunk. If you don’t believe me, then you’re putting yourself and the children in jeopardy.” Understanding she’d have to tell him more to get him to comply, she explained what Kelman wanted as quickly as possible. “This guy is ex-DEA, and he knows how to work the system,” she said when she’d finished.

“He’ll make it look like an accident, but something will happen, okay? Something very bad. Believe me—I’ve had a taste of it already, and you do not want to go through that.”

In a subdued voice, Todd asked her several more questions, and she answered them, praying the whole time he would believe her. Finally she heard his chair squeak as he tilted it upright—a sure sign he was beginning to take her seriously.

“Why don’t you just call the police?”

“That’s not how it works down here.”

“Well, there’s got to be someone who could help you. Your boss, a friend…somebody, surely.”

Raul’s black gaze flashed in front of Emma’s face, but she closed her eyes—and her heart. “There’s no one,” she answered. “I’m in this alone. I can handle it, though, if I know the kids are safe. That’s all I care about.”

He didn’t speak; he was thinking about it, she realized. She pushed him. “It won’t be for long. The committee meets next week. I can have everything in place by then.”

“What are you going to do?”

She lied. “I’m not sure yet, but I can’t do anything unless Sarah and Jake are hidden. I have to know they’re all right.”

“I guess Mother would take them for a while—”

“No! Not there!” Todd’s parents were very well-known, their bayou house, Belle Rive, a showcase. Kelman’s man could ask anyone in town, and they’d point the way—or even worse, take him straight to the place. Emma gripped the edge of her desk. “He could find them there, Todd. That’s too easy. You’ll have to hide them. You’ll have to take them somewhere unexpected.”

“But Belle Rive has great security! No one can get through those gates—”

“Todd. Todd! You aren’t listening to me. This man has people who can do anything. He’s got cops in his pocket, okay? The children would not be safe at Belle Rive. Trust me on that.”

Another pause, this one longer, then he spoke. “Well, then how about the place where—”

“Don’t tell me,” she interrupted, the shreds of what was left of her heart turning to ashes. “I don’t want to know, okay? It’s better that way. Just make sure it’s safe—really safe—then take them and hide them. If everything works out, I’ll call you when it’s over. If I don’t call…well, I guess you’ll figure it out.”

“Emma, I…I don’t know what to say. Isn’t there anything I can do to help you?”

For a second, his offer sounded genuine, and she wanted to believe him, wanted to desperately. Then she realized he wasn’t the man she wanted to believe in. She wanted to hear those words—and trust them—from Raul.

She shook her head and closed her throat to the tears that were building inside. “There’s only one thing you can do,” she answered thickly. “Kiss the kids for me and tell them I love them.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

THE NEXT WEEK was torture. Every time the phone rang, every time her office door opened, every time Emma saw a gray-haired man walking down the sidewalk, she’d go weak. She stopped eating and stopped sleeping. By Friday morning, she’d aged five years and lost ten pounds.

The currency committee met early. As the clock struck ten, the report was delivered to the bank, the new rate set and ready to be announced. She waited for Chris to step away from his desk and head for the men’s room as he did every day before lunch, then Emma slipped into his office. With trembling fingers, she picked up the committee’s bulletin and scanned it rapidly.

It should have been harder, she thought, returning to her own office several minutes later. Breaking the law, ruining her life, giving up everything she’d worked for the past two-plus years, should have been more difficult. With just a few keystrokes, though, it was all over, the irrevocable plan set into motion as she deposited Kelman’s money into an open account.

The enormity of her actions soaked in a few minutes later. She raced to the bathroom and threw up the only thing she’d put in her stomach for days—the cup of tea she’d had for breakfast—retching and coughing until there was nothing left inside her. Sitting weakly on the floor of the bathroom, she rested her forehead against the cold porcelain edge of the toilet. Needing more strength than she would have ever dreamed necessary, she finally rose up and staggered to the basin.

She looked worse than the Quechua on the corner, she thought, staring in the bathroom mirror. Who was the tormented woman reflected in the glass, her eyes so empty and flat?

Emma turned away from the reflection and began to scrub her hands. She couldn’t wash away her thoughts, though. Reaching for a towel, she dried her fingers and brought the damp cloth to her forehead, patting it feebly.

She’d just sacrificed her future to keep her children safe. It was the ultimate irony, she thought, shaking her head. To protect them, she’d had to give away any chance she’d ever have to be with them again. To have a normal life, to be their mother. She’d flushed it all away, and no one would ever understand why. No one but Raul.

She gripped the edge of the counter and swayed slightly. His life was at stake, too, and even though she knew she should hate him for what he’d done, she couldn’t. She actually understood. But that didn’t mean she could forgive him. He’d used her and nothing would ever make that right.

Nothing.

She made one more swipe across her face with the towel, then dropped it on the counter and reached into her pocket for the tube of lipstick she’d brought with her. The slash of color she applied to her lips looked garish and overdone under the harsh fluorescence. She wiped some of it off, then tried again, but the result was the same. A made-up corpse would have looked better.

What did it matter? She left the bathroom, thinking the look was actually pretty appropriate. After all, that was what she was, wasn’t she? A walking dead woman?

She went straight to her desk, collected her purse, then told Felicity she was leaving.

“See you Monday,” the receptionist said.

Emma stared at the woman for a few seconds, then turned and walked out of the lobby without saying a word. See you Monday? She didn’t think so.

In a nauseous daze, she flagged down the first cab she could. When she reached her house, she went inside and headed for the living room. She made only one stop—at the chest just inside the room. She opened the top drawer and reached inside, her shaking hands gripping the package she’d hidden there a few days before.

Taking the first chair she came to, she sat down to wait. It wouldn’t take long, she was sure.

SLOUCHED BEHIND the wheel of a beat-up red Passport outside the bank, Raul straightened as he saw Emma leave. He glanced at his watch in surprise. It was early—barely lunchtime. Emma never left before six. Was it finally going down?

In the past week, he’d actually watched Emma fade. She’d lost a visible amount of weight, and the circles under her eyes had grown darker and darker. She looked like a ghost as she drifted down the sidewalk and held out her hand to hail a taxi. Her dark dress hung on her like a sack, and her skin had a greenish hue.

He hadn’t tried to approach her. She’d made it more than clear that she didn’t want him in her life, but that wasn’t how it was going to end. He couldn’t let it stop like that. Not after realizing that he loved her, even though he knew he shouldn’t.

At first, he’d considered storming Kelman’s house and confronting him—preferably with a loaded .45. After he’d calmed down, Raul had realized that kind of action would have been satisfying but useless. The man had put something into motion already, and if Raul killed him, who knew how it would end? He couldn’t go to him now. Instead, he’d stuck with Emma. Kelman would eventually show up, and if Raul stayed with her, he’d make sure she was safe.

She wasn’t aware of it, but he’d known where she was and what she was doing since he’d left her house last week. He’d even slept in the car outside her house at night, changing the rentals every day so there’d be no chance she’d recognize the vehicle.

When Kelman came, Raul would be ready.

Raul put the SUV in gear and joined the flow of movement, heading away from the bank, to follow the path of her taxi. There was a lot of traffic on the street already, and he had trouble keeping the vehicle in view. A short time later, it headed toward her neighborhood, and he dropped back some more. She wouldn’t recognize the rental he was driving, but the extra distance would make sure she didn’t see him.

She climbed out of the cab as soon as it stopped, paying the driver through the window before she turned and headed up the sidewalk. Parking down the street, Raul watched her stride toward the gate, an empty feeling of loss echoing deep inside him.

Darkness came early, a spring storm brewing. Under the cover of the cloudy sky, Raul slipped from the truck an hour later, reaching the house of Emma’s neighbor a few seconds after that. In the silence, he glanced around, then jumped straight up, his fingers barely making the edge of the tall, stuccoed wall. Scrambling over the top, he let go and fell into their yard, a hard thud accompanying his landing. He grunted, then rolled to his feet.

The people who lived in the house were gone; he’d seen them load their car the day before with enough suitcases to last a month. The live-in maid had waved goodbye, and two minutes after they’d driven away, she’d disappeared, as well. The house was empty.

Creeping through the heavy underbrush that lined the perimeter of the wall, Raul advanced stealthily to the rear of the garden. His plan was simple. Wait in Emma’s yard. It was the only way he could see Kelman’s arrival if he came in the back way—and he would. Kelman never approached anything head-on. The frustration Raul felt at not being able to do this sooner had been driving him crazy.

In the wall that separated the two houses, a series of decorative cutouts was carved, iron grillwork filling the spaces. Raul had seen the openings the night Emma had brought him into her backyard, but he hadn’t realized until now how clearly they showed her whole house from this angle. Glancing over now through the one closest to the street, he could see straight into her living room. He stopped abruptly and stared.

She was sitting in the room.

His breathing rasped in the hushed humid air, the sound as rapid as his heartbeat. Emma looked like a statue in contrast, carved and cold. She sat immobile, her blinking eyes her only motion. In her lap, her fingers were knit together. She might have been holding something, but he really couldn’t tell.

His throat burned, and all at once, he wanted to leap over the wall and tell her he was there and nothing could make him leave. He wanted to tell her he was sorry.

He wanted to tell her he loved her.

Lifting his hands, Raul wound his fingers in the lacy grillwork. The metal bars framed Emma, as if she was in a prison, and he shuddered as the idea burned into his brain.

A moment later, something heavy crashed into the side of his head. Raul collapsed into the grass, the night spinning around him.

THE MONKEY NEXT DOOR screamed, and Emma started, the heavy weapon almost rolling off her lap. She caught the gun at the last minute, her fingers closing around it reflexively, her nails digging into the rubber grip to leave half-moon marks of anxiousness. The animal frequently howled for no reason. As scary as the sound was, it signified nothing.

Telling herself to relax, she leaned back against the chair, her shoulders stiff and tight. Rotating the muscles first one way and then the other, she started to take a deep breath, then she froze. There was someone in the hallway of her house. The muffled step and corresponding creak of the board resounded in Emma’s heart. The monkey’s cry had obscured his entrance. Her pulse faltered when she heard the sound again. It was louder this time.

She was out of her chair and standing when he stepped into the doorway. They stared at each other for five seconds, Kelman’s eyes angry and cold, Emma matching his look, her determination fierce. He opened his mouth to speak, but she didn’t wait.

She raised the gun and fired.

Incredibly, she missed. With the deafening sound of the shot still echoing around the room, Kelman recovered with a scream and lunged toward her. Before she could fire again, he was beside her. He grabbed the barrel of the gun and jerked it from her. A sickening wave of fear rolled over her as she felt the weapon leave her grasp.

“What in hell do you think you’re doing?” He clutched the pistol, holding it out of her reach.

“You damn near killed me!”

“That was my plan!” Her chest heaved, her breath coming fast. “Did you think I would let you blackmail me, threaten my children—ruin my life—and get away with it?”

“Ruin your life? What do you call what you’ve done to me?”

He was panting with the effort of disarming her, yet his glare was so cold, so chilling, she felt a shiver go up her back. If she’d needed any confirmation, this was it. He knew what she had done.

“I can’t be responsible for changes in the market.”

He shook his head like an angry bull. “The market didn’t change. You deliberately traded that money the wrong way. You bought dollars, and you should have bought bolivianos. You knew what was going on, and you went the wrong way on purpose.”

“Not according to the change order you signed. You told me to buy dollars. I have it in writing.” She stared at him steadily, while inside she was quivering.

His eyes narrowed into two angry slits. “I didn’t sign any such order and you know it.”

“Maybe I do,” she said slowly, “but no one else will. I have a signed order, and it’s locked in my desk.”

Her words took up all the space between them and filled the tense silence. After a moment, he shook his head, a gleam approaching admiration coming into his cold gaze.

“You planned this, didn’t you? The trade, my anger…this.” He lifted the gun, and the metal caught the light and glinted malevolently. “You were going to tell the police I was angry over the trade and broke in here. That you killed me in self-defense.” He shook his head. “I’d almost be impressed, Emma, except it didn’t quite pan out, did it?”

“The night’s not over yet,” she said.

“That’s the first thing you’ve been right about all evening.”

He smiled, and something skittered down her back again, something cold and truly fearful. Refusing to give him the pleasure of seeing her fright, Emma held herself stiff and gazed back.

“Let’s go upstairs.” He looked at the gun and tossed it onto the sofa, clearly having other plans.

“It’s time for this farce to end….”

HE WASN’T OUT but a second; the smell of dirt brought him quickly to his senses. Rolling over, then standing in one quick motion, Raul came up fighting, his fist connecting solidly with his very first punch.

A grunt sounded, then a whoosh of air flew by his jaw as a swing was delivered. It came a moment too late to land, and Raul ducked instinctively. He was fighting a shadow, but he didn’t really care. Whoever it was, he meant to stop Raul, and Raul couldn’t let that happen. He feinted left and struck right. Again the hit connected, and the dark outline of a man pitched backward. Raul threw himself on top of his attacker and struck out blindly, his knuckles scraping over the thick whiskered jaw time and time again. The man cried out and raised his arms, but it was a useless attempt to protect himself. Raul continued to pummel until his fist gleamed wetly in the darkness and the other man whimpered, curling into a ball in the grass at his feet.

Raul pulled back, his chest heaving, his gasps loud and painful in the pitch-black garden. He took three deep breaths, then scrambled to his feet and pulled the man up with him by his collar. Dragging him to the front of the yard, Raul recognized him instantly.

It was Kelman’s drunk, the man who’d put the bug in Emma’s purse. Raul cursed soundly. “I should have killed you when I had the chance.” He jerked the man around and started to pat him down. In his pocket he found an ancient .38, a replacement for the one Raul had taken from him before. With another curse, Raul pulled the weapon out and stuck it in the waistband of his pants. “What in hell do you think you’re doing?”

The minute his mind cleared, Raul understood, not needing an answer to his question. Kelman had brought the man with him as a precaution in case someone unexpected showed up at Emma’s. Someone like Raul. A flash of white rage swept through him as the implication sunk in.

The drunk read Raul’s expression and his face collapsed with fear. He cried out and reached up to pry Raul’s fingers from his shirt collar, but he wasn’t fast enough.

Cocking his fist, Raul reared back then smashed his knuckles into the man’s jaw, every ounce of force and rage he had stored up for Kelman behind the punch. It landed squarely with a loud crack, pain ricocheting up Raul’s arm and into his shoulder. He never even noticed. Instantly the drunk’s body went slack, and Raul let it drop like the useless bag of garbage it was. He never looked back as he ran.

KELMAN’S PRONOUNCEMENT took a moment to soak in. When it did, Emma started shaking her head and backing up. He took a step toward her and grabbed her by the elbow, his fingers biting into her flesh. He pulled her into the hall and said roughly, “You don’t have a choice in this one. You’ve used up all your chances.”

She struggled against him, kicking and lashing out, but it did no good. He was strong and he was angry. Hauling her toward the stairs, he started upward, and she had to follow or fall down and be dragged. They reached the top and he turned right to go into her bedroom. He pushed her into the room and slammed the door shut, a finality to the action that made her turn weak.

“Get in there,” he said, tilting his head toward her bathroom.

Again, she didn’t move, and this time when he grabbed her, he was even more violent. His fingers locked around her upper arm with a bruising force, and swearing loudly, he pushed her into the bathroom, throwing her to the hard marble floor once they stepped inside. She watched as he reached into his pocket.

When he yanked his hand back out, he held a small plastic bottle. He pitched it at her, and she raised her hands in defense, catching it at the very last minute.

It was a common medicine vial from the farmacia around the corner. Like all the pharmaceutical shops located on every street in Santa Cruz, you could walk in and buy any drug you wanted. Most required no prescription. The label was written in Spanish, but a single word leaped out to Emma’s startled gaze. Valium.

From his coat pocket, he pulled out another bottle, and this one she recognized even before he tossed it to her. She dropped the pills into her lap and caught the bottle as it sailed toward her. It was a pint of vodka. She looked at him questioningly.

“You’ve been very depressed. Everyone at the office has noticed your weight loss, the bags under your eyes, the mistakes you’ve been making. They haven’t known why, but tomorrow, when the police ask, they’ll point out that you weren’t looking well.”

His eyes glittered in the darkness and his voice went deeper. “Your ex-husband will confirm everything. He knows how unstable you’ve been lately. The drugs and the alcohol won’t surprise him a bit.” Kelman shook his head. “It’ll be a shame, but everyone will understand since you had a little problem before. You didn’t have a choice. You missed your children and hated your job. Your only answer was suicide.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

ONCE THE SHOCK of his words wore off, a cold, stark image came to Emma, worming into her brain like some kind of insidious bug, tunneling its way in and bringing with it all the pain, all the horror, all the truth she’d been trying to escape. For a second, for just one single second, she actually thought she might agree. Everything would be over that way, wouldn’t it? Facing the consequences of what she’d done here, facing the fact that she’d never have her children, even facing the truth of Raul’s betrayal, it would all be in the past, part of her history.

She’d be dead; she wouldn’t care.

Then she thought again, and the truth of what her death would really mean came to her. It would mean he won. And no one, except Raul, would know the truth. Within a very short time, he would probably be dead, too. Kelman would find a way to murder him, or almost worse, lock him up again, and then Kelman would be free to do whatever he wanted.

Suddenly she understood the depth of Raul’s commitment to this evil man’s destruction. If she’d been Raul, she would have been equally committed. She would have used him just as he’d used her, if it meant stopping this man. She closed her eyes and forgave Raul, forgave him and accepted that she loved him—even though he’d never know that either.

“Drink up, Emma. Wash down the pills.” Kelman spoke almost compassionately. “All of them.”

She locked her eyes on his. “When hell freezes over.”

He waited, as if thinking about what to do, then all at once, he was at her side. In a heartbeat, he had both bottles open and her jaw in his hand. Slapping his other hand over her nose, he cut off her breath. She lasted as long as she could, her vision growing dim, until nature took over and she opened her mouth to gasp in air. Instantly, he poured in the pills and liquor, then he snapped her mouth shut and held her face tight.

“Swallow,” he said, all pretense gone. He shook her face. “Now!”

Choking and gagging, Emma tossed her head violently but after a few seconds, the inevitable happened. She swallowed. Then swallowed again. The vodka burned, the taste of it unbelievably strong as it mixed with the pills and began to dissolve them. He kept her jaws clamped together and she continued to fight. In a moment it was over and he released her.

Still on all fours and coughing uselessly, Emma scrambled to the opposite corner of the room, her breathing ragged and hoarse. She opened her mouth and tried to spit. There was nothing left, though. She’d swallowed all of it. She lifted her head, her stomach churning. She wanted to curse him, to scream, to attack him as she’d planned, but all she could do was stare at him blankly.

He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall with an air of casual calmness as he waited for her to die.

DESPITE EVERYTHING, some vestige of the man he’d once been still lived in Raul. He knew this was true because it’d never been his intention to kill Kelman. But as he leaped over the wall separating the two houses and sprinted for Emma’s house, this last reminder of who he had been disappeared. Rage and pent-up frustration filled him, and he could think of only one thing: seeing Kelman dead. It was no longer enough to take his money or ruin his life. Raul wanted to kill him. Preferably with his bare hands.

The front door was locked. Cursing, Raul turned and ran to the back of the house. Someone had already jimmied open the door off the terrace. He stepped inside the house, his heart pounding loudly enough to reveal his presence, he was certain. He paused and forced himself to listen.

There was nothing but silence, then he heard conversation, faint but definitely there. He lifted his face to the ceiling and wished he could see through the rafters to the floor above. They were there, but where? And doing what? Did Kelman have a weapon?

It didn’t really matter. Raul slipped through the house and made his way up the stairs, pulling the drunk’s ancient pistol from the waistband of his pants. Holding his breath, he paused at the top, his hand on the doorknob. He turned it slowly, then exhaled a prayer of thanks when the knob gave way. He tensed, then threw open the door.

The room was empty.

But from the adjoining bathroom, the muted sound of voices could be heard. He crossed the bedroom, stopping once more when he reached the door to the bath. The sound of Kelman’s smug voice, mixing with the low and pleading tones of Emma’s, reached out and grabbed Raul. The sensation was physical; he felt it come under the door and jump up and choke him.

With his hand gripping the pistol, Raul put his shoulder to the door, twisted the knob and burst into the room.

EMMA SCREAMED as the door flew open, but it was a reflexive action borne of survival. Her body and mind had already started to shut down, the drugs beginning their work. Lying in the corner of the room, she fought to focus, blinking rapidly, but the man tumbling into the room moved too fast for her to follow. Even Kelman’s voice, as he bellowed in surprise, came to her from a well. It was stretched out, too, like music played too slow, the name he uttered making no sense to her cloudy brain.

The two figures wrestled in the tiny confines of the bathroom, their curses and grunts signaling the violence of their fight. Emma commanded her legs and arms to lift her up and get her out of the hell she was in, but they wouldn’t listen. It was all she could do to raise her head from the cold marble floor. A second later, the two men came crashing in her direction, locked together, rolling as one. She tried to escape the inevitable, but she simply couldn’t move. The two heavy bodies collided with her limp one. She blinked and cried out, the knee of one of the men slamming into her stomach.

Her breath left her in a whoosh, and the jolt of it, the pain of it, cleared her mind, if only for a second. Raul came into focus. He was on top of Kelman, struggling to hold him down, a gun in his hand only inches from her face. She strained to figure out where the gun had come from—hadn’t Kelman left it downstairs? Before she could reason it out, Raul lifted Kelman’s wrist and smashed it into the marble, the sickening crunch of breaking bone sounding above their rasping breaths.

“Take the pistol,” Raul screamed. “Take it, Emma! Take it and shoot him!”

Their eyes connected, but Emma could no more have seized the weapon than she could have fired it accurately. In another second, the two men rolled away from her. Instead of moving inches, they seemed to travel miles. Paralyzed, she watched them go, but before they did, she saw the expression in Raul’s wild gaze. It was pure disbelief. He didn’t understand why she refused to help. He didn’t know it was because she couldn’t. He believed it was because she wouldn’t.

It was her final thought. Emma’s eyes rolled back into her head and everything else disappeared.

EMMA’S REFUSAL stunned him, but his instincts kicked in and saved him from distraction. Raul pounded Kelman’s hand once more into the marble, the pistol trapped between them, neither willing to release his grip. Raul should have shot him the minute he’d pushed open the door, but he’d been too startled once he’d seen Emma. Kelman had taken advantage of the moment and managed to grab the gun.

Kelman’s knuckles were bloody and ragged, yet he continued to hold on. Another whack against the marble and this time something bigger broke. Raul heard the snap and took advantage of the moment. He popped Kelman’s wrist one more time, then twisted it. The gun fell free. Unable to get to it himself, Raul did the next best thing. He batted the pistol with his elbow and sent it spinning into a corner. He wouldn’t be able to reach it, but neither would Kelman.

Using the opportunity to twist away, Kelman jumped to his feet. His wrist dangled uselessly before him, but he suddenly lunged forward. Raul followed his movements with his eyes, his heart stopping as he saw what had happened. The gun had lodged beneath the tub, caught by one of the old-fashioned legs. In one quick motion, Kelman bent down and picked it up with his good hand, swinging around to fire.

Raul searched for a weapon. Strangely enough, he saw a cane lying in a corner. He didn’t stop to wonder about it; he picked it up and gripped it with both hands. The gleaming silver top hissed through the air with the force of his swing.

It connected with Kelman’s head. And the other man went down without a sound.

Raul turned instantly to Emma. She was a crumpled ball in the corner, her limbs splayed, her body slack. Then he saw the empty bottles and understood. He lifted her head gently. “Emma? Emma, can you hear me?”

Her head lolled sideways and his heart almost stopped. He started to scream her name again, but then he saw her throat move, saw the faint pulse at the base of her neck. Too slow to be okay, too faint to last long. He picked her up and ran from the room.

TWO DAYS LATER, it seemed like a dream. A very bad dream. Emma’s throat still burned from the attentions of the doctors, but it wasn’t important. Her children were safe, she was alive.

And Kelman was dead.

The Bolivian police had been exceedingly cooperative. Emma knew it had more to do with Raul’s friend Wendy Fortune and her position than it had to do with the situation. The consul had gotten involved, and everything had been handled so smoothly Emma had been shocked.

Chris had been happy to have the whole thing resolved without the bank’s name being mentioned. He’d had no idea of Emma’s machinations. No idea that she’d rigged Kelman’s account. No idea she’d planned everything. Including Kelman’s death.

She wondered now what she’d been thinking. Had she really been prepared to kill him? She’d fired, yes, but she’d missed. Had that been deliberate? She’d never know now and she wasn’t really sure she wanted to.

Sitting on the terrace at the back of the house, Emma held the portable phone to her ear and closed her eyes, the sunshine on her face warm and healing, the voices she was listening to, even more so. Jake was babbling about catching a fish, and Sarah was saying something about a sand castle and the princess who lived inside it. Emma let them talk. She didn’t care if the conversation made sense. They were perfectly fine and thought they’d simply had a great vacation at Gulf Shores the week before. After another minute, Todd came on the line and shooed them away.

“Emma, you gonna be all right? Were you hurt bad?” Someone hearing his question might have thought he was concerned; Emma knew it meant just the opposite. Todd would be thrilled if she died and he didn’t have to factor her into his plans anymore.

“I’ll make it.” Her voice was whiskey hoarse and raw. It was painful to talk, and as she spoke, she moved, then winced. Her whole body was bruised, black and blue marks everywhere she looked. Kelman’s last legacy. “I need a few days to rest, that’s all.”

“The man who killed this Kelman fellow. You know him well?”

“He’s a friend,” she answered in a neutral voice.

Raul had come by to see her numerous times, but Emma had been so out of it Reina had sent him away each time. Emma had heard their voices downstairs, though. Reina had told him about Emma’s hours in jail. Raul’s reply had been too low to hear. They still hadn’t talked, but when they did, Emma didn’t know what she’d say.

Todd broke into her thoughts, and the minute he spoke, Emma knew she was in trouble. He had that gloating, I’m-in-the-catbird-seat kind of tone to his voice. “Listen here, Emma, I want you to know, I’m very upset about this situation. You have, once again, put our children in danger, and I don’t intend to let this slip by. I’ve already talked to the lawyers, in fact, and we’re considerin’ some kind of action.”

A clamp tightened around her heart, making it hard for her to breath. It had nothing to do with her injuries. “Some kind of action? What does that mean?”

“It means we know you’re up to your same old tricks. You’re bein’ irresponsible and not thinkin’ about your children.” He took a self-important breath, dragging out the moment. “It means I’m gonna have to do something about this again, just like I did before.”

Through her fear, Emma heard his words. She wasn’t surprised by his reaction, but instead of the defeat she usually let overcome her when he talked like this, a new emotion suffused her. Anger. Total and complete anger.

Her fury mounted, and when Todd finally ran out of steam, she spoke through clenched teeth. “I handled this situation the best way I knew how, and frankly, I did a much better job taking care of it than you ever could have done. If you think you’re going to use what happened to your advantage, you—and your lawyers—have got another think coming.”

He made a scoffing sound. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Emma. You screwed up—again—and the judge will see right through this, just like he did before.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so.” He mocked her, speaking in a higher voice. “And just what makes you think that, Emma Lou? Nothing’s changed, you know.”

“You’re wrong,” she said quietly. “I’ve changed. I’m a different person than I was the last time we spoke, and I’m not taking your crap anymore.”

He started to sputter a response, but she didn’t give him a chance to finish it. His entire life he’d gotten what he wanted by using his name and his family and his money, but deep down inside, he had nothing. No courage, no heart, no strength. None of the qualities Raul possessed, she realized. None of what she needed.

Fueled by a sudden determination, she spoke again, her voice grim and gritty. “I made the biggest mistake of my life when I let you take my kids and run me out of town. I don’t know what in hell I thought I was doing, but I can tell you one thing. I never should have let you get away with it. And you won’t again, I can promise you that.”

“You’re full of—”

“I’m coming home, Todd.” She sat up straighter and ignored the pain that ripped through her body. “I’m coming home, and I’m going to fight you for those kids, and I’m going to win, because I’m going to have help this time. I won’t be alone, so don’t think your old tactics are going to work anymore.”

She didn’t let him reply. Her heart pumping, her hands shaking, Emma hit the disconnect button with a decisive click as a righteous courage washed over her. She would defeat Todd. She would!

Just as she had the thought, she heard steps coming up the walk. Still jumpy, she tensed, then when she saw who it was, she tensed even more.

He stopped beside the gate. He had on a white shirt that contrasted with the brown of his skin, and soft black pants with loafers and no socks. The afternoon sun glinted off his black hair. He looked more handsome and sensual than he ever had, and a shot of pure electric desire moved inside her as she met his dark eyes. But immediately Emma realized there was something different about Raul.

The tightness around his eyes was gone, his stance looser, his body language completely unlike what it had been before. At his side, his hands hung open and unfisted; his walk as he’d approached was fluid. The single thing that remained from before was his intensity—that stark ripple of energy that always surrounded him—but even this had a different feel to it.

Then she realized why. She was seeing who Raul had been before. The man he’d been all those years ago, the man he’d been when they each had yet to be shaped by the pain they now felt.

He reached around and unlatched the gate—the hinge was fixed now—closing it behind him before heading to where she sat. He stopped just short of her chair, the space between them more significant to her than it should be. She tried to analyze his expression then gave up.

“¿Cómo estás, Emmita?”

It was the first time she’d ever heard him speak the language, she realized with a start. His accent was soft, and he slurred the words with a Texan-style beat.

In the silence of the hot afternoon, everything waited. The only sound between them was the buzz of the bees as they worked around the bird-of-paradise bushes.

“How are you?” He repeated, this time in English.

“I’m fine.” Taking a deep breath and an even bigger chance, she met his dark gaze. “Now that you’re here.”

He covered the space between them in a heartbeat. Dropping to his knees on the terrace beside her chair, he took her hand in his. “Do you mean that?”

“Absolutely.” She gripped his fingers. She couldn’t hold them as tightly as she wanted to, but he got the message, she was sure. “You saved my life, Raul. I can never, ever repay you.”

Above his stormy stare, his eyebrows knit. “Is that the only reason?”

“It’s enough.”

He shook his head. “Not for me, it isn’t. I need more than that from you.”

“Then how about this?” She leaned toward him and cupped his face in her hands, her fingertips caressing him. He responded automatically, moving toward her. Her eyes locked on his and she proceeded to kiss him. Deeply.

When she finally pulled back, Emma was surer than ever she was doing the right thing. She only prayed Raul felt the same way. Whether he did or not, she had to try, she’d already decided. It was time to start living her life in the present, instead of the past.

“Is that a good enough reason for you?”

His face only inches from hers, he spoke softly and shocked her. “No, I’m sorry. There’s only one answer that will do. As great as your kisses are, I still need more.” Placing his hand on her neck, he rubbed his thumb at the base of her throat. The touch was so gentle she barely felt it, yet it reverberated deep inside her.

“I love you,” he said simply. “And I need to know you love me, too. Can you do that, Emma? After everything that’s happened between us?”

Her heart sung, but she spoke cautiously, unable to accept the possibility before her. “Maybe I should be the one asking you that. I should have told you what Kelman was doing. If I’d done that one little thing, none of this would have happened.”

“I’m not sure I agree.” His eyes turned blacker.

“I’ve had a lot of time these past few days to think about it. The way it ended was inevitable.”

“What do you mean?”

His hand tightened against her neck. Once he’d realized the truth of it, the knowledge of how he’d felt had begun to eat Raul up. For the past two days—the past two tortured days—he’d been killing himself with the knowledge. Emma was too good, too strong, too…perfect to love someone like him. He had to tell her the truth, though. When he was an old man and remembering his past, not telling her this and taking a chance would be the one thing he wouldn’t be able to stand.

“I had thought all along that what I wanted to do was ruin Kelman. To take his money and turn his life to shit like he’d done to me. When I came here that night, I realized I wanted more.” His mouth tightened. “I wanted him dead, Emma. I wanted to kill him, and I knew that when I went up those stairs.”

“You don’t carry that burden by yourself, Raul. I felt the same way.”

There was something about her voice that made him stop and look at her. In her hazel eyes was a depth of emotion he’d never seen before. It chilled him, but he actually understood. That didn’t change things, though.

Raul shook his head. “Maybe so, but not like I did, and you need to understand the truth of it if we’re going any farther. What Kelman did changed me. I spent five years in a federal prison. I turned hard. I’m not the man I was.”

She reached over and put her hand on his arm. One pink nail had been broken off, down to the quick. The knuckle was bruised and cut, too. Lifting her finger to his mouth, he kissed it gently. She spoke as his lips touched her skin and his heart stopped.

“You aren’t who you were.”

Before he could speak again, she continued, “No one could be the same after that. I’m not who I was a week ago, either.” Her voice held regret, even sorrow, then it grew stronger. “But the person you are now is the person I love. And I always will.”

A kind of feeling he’d never expected to have again swelled inside him. His throat burned with the suddenness of it all. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” Her eyes warmed. “I love you and I think I’ve felt that way ever since that day at the orphanage. Seeing you there, with all the kids, something happened to me then.” She paused. “But the problem I had—with the pills and everything—that doesn’t bother you?”

“You had a problem and you fixed it. What’s there to worry about now?” He wrapped his arms around her in a possessive hug. It was tender, but it said everything else that needed to be said. He pulled back only when she spoke once more.

“There is one more thing, though…”

“We can deal with it. Whatever it is.”

“It’s my children. They’re always going to come first, Raul, and that’s something you’ll have to deal with. First, in this case, means I’m going back to the States to fight for them. Nothing else matters to me until I get that straightened out.” Her fingers tightened on his arm. “Can you wait?”

“I’ll go back with you,” he said instantly. “I may not hold a license anymore, but I am still an attorney. I could help you, if you like…if you’ll let me.”

Emma’s eyes filled with tears. They spilled down her cheeks, and Raul reached over to wipe them away with his thumb. His offer was exactly what she’d hoped for when she’d been talking to Todd, but she couldn’t have asked—he had to volunteer, just as he had.

“You’d do that for me?” she asked.

“I’d do anything for you, Emma. You should know that by now.”

She nodded weakly.

“But you have to do something in return for me.”

She lifted her brimming eyes to his and gripped his hands. “Anything. You name it and it’s yours.”

“Marry me,” he said quietly. “Be my wife. Have my children. Give me a life and love me forever.”

She didn’t speak, but she didn’t need to. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. The kiss was as soft and as sweet as the first time they’d come together. In its healing warmth, their past faded, then disappeared, the pain nothing more than ashes, the hurt forgiven. The future rose before them.

CODE OF HONOR

Kathryn Shay

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

“YOU’RE the perfect one to deal with Chelsea Whitmore, Scarlatta. There’s already a woman in your firehouse on another shift, so the setup is ideal. And you fought tooth and nail for Francey Cordaro’s rights. Now that someone’s retired, there’s room in your group right now.”

Jake Scarlatta stared at Chief Talbot, the Rockford Fire Department’s top man, whom he’d always liked and respected, and tried to keep from objecting immediately. There had to be some way to convince the chief that moving Whitmore to his fire station wasn’t wise. Damned if he could think of one, though. “I wish you’d reconsider,” he said lamely.

Talbot stroked his graying mustache and studied Jake. “This have anything to do with that incident with DeLuca years ago?”

Jake kept himself from flinching at the mention of his one past, very public mistake. “In a way. I like to run a tight ship now.”

“And Whitmore will rock the boat.”

More like cause major flooding. But he knew she was a good firefighter, and no matter what his personal feelings were, it wasn’t fair to smudge her reputation. “It won’t be easy. My men aren’t as…liberated as Ed Knight’s group. Francey was an easy fit there.”

In reality, when his crew got wind of Whitmore’s possible transfer, they had grumbled to the point that Jake had to put his foot down and tell them to shape up and be professional. Their fire station, Quint/Midi Twelve was a good solid place to work, but sometimes it needed firm leadership.

Talbot said, “Well, Whitmore’s not going to be an easy fit anywhere. I think you’re our best choice. She didn’t make a stink about what happened over at her last company, Engine Four, but she could sue the pants off us if she wanted to. We’ve got to be very careful this time.”

Tales of what had happened to Chelsea Whitmore on her last assignment—she was one of the five females out of five hundred firefighters in the RFD, in upstate New York—had swept through the department quicker than brushfires. She’d made the classic mistake—dated a fellow firefighter in her group, broke his heart and then the guy went berserk and endangered himself and his entire crew. The woman would never live that down.

And since Jake knew all about making classic mistakes and having them haunt you, it looked like his penance was going to be dealing with Whitmore.

“When will she start?”

“Her leave was open-ended. She wants to come back as soon as possible.”

Jake sighed heavily. “Do it, then. We’ll manage. Somehow.”

“I knew I could count on you. We really—”

Jake’s pager beeped, startling him. He was on edge not only because of the topic of discussion, but because his good buddy’s wife, Beth O’Roarke, was expecting their first child any time within the next month, and Jake had agreed to be ready to fill in for Dylan on his shift at the firehouse on a moment’s notice.

He read the pager note and bolted out of his seat.

Talbot’s bushy brows rose. “O’Roarke?”

“Yep. Beth’s in labor. Gotta go.” Jake was out the door in seconds, and Chelsea Whitmore was the last thing on his mind.

CHELSEA WHITMORE gazed in the direction of the state-of-the-art birthing room where they’d taken her best friend Beth two hours before, and where the expectant father, Dylan, had flown to when he arrived at the hospital. Chelsea paced, worried. God, what an afternoon. The surprise, the confusion, the fear…And she hadn’t slept well last night. Again.

She tried to calm herself by checking out the waiting room of Rockford Memorial Hospital’s birthing unit. It was posh, with cushioned couches and chairs, plush carpet, a TV and even a small refrigerator. Late-afternoon May sun filtered through the large windows to the side.

Tired, she sank onto one of the couches, leaned back and closed her eyes. “It’ll be all right,” she told herself. “They’ll be all right.”

Though she was a certified EMT—Emergency Medical Technician—it was hard to block out her fear as she sped to the hospital, Beth belted into the front seat of her Camaro, in full labor almost a month early. Especially since Chelsea had just learned last year of Beth’s traumatic past and all the loss she’d experienced at such a young age. Chelsea closed her eyes, silently praying. Please, God, let them be all right.

“Chelsea?”

Her eyes snapped open.

A man loomed over her—Jake Scarlatta, a lieutenant in the fire department, Dylan’s friend and a surrogate brother to Chelsea’s other best friend, Francey. His linebacker shoulders were tense, his gray eyes worried.

“Oh, hi.” She cocked her head questioningly; she knew he was replacing Dylan on the shift when Dylan got their call. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s four o’clock. Dylan’s relief heard what happened and came in early, so I headed right over.” He glanced at the door. “Is Beth…Is everything all right?”

“I don’t know. She’s been in there two hours.”

He nodded solemnly, then studied her face. His expression softened. “Babies take a while, you know.”

“I know. And the doctor told her last week it weighed at least seven pounds, maybe more.”

“That’s probably why the little rascal’s coming early.”

Chelsea shook her head. “Those two don’t do anything the easy way, do they?”

The story of Lieutenant Dylan O’Roarke of the Rockford Fire Department and Beth Winters, his ex-EMS instructor, had become legend at the fire academy. Eight years of open animosity that rivaled that of the Hatfields and McCoys had ended last winter when they were forced to work together—and then had fallen in love.

But it hadn’t been smooth going after that. Though Beth had kept it a secret for a long time, she’d lost her husband and child when she was twenty. She’d been almost unable to risk a relationship with Dylan, never mind having a baby with him. To make things even chancier, she was forty years old, not exactly prime childbearing age. But she’d done it, because of love.

Which Chelsea no longer believed in.

Jake cleared his throat, then asked, “Mind if I sit?” He was normally reticent and old-world polite, but today his carriage was stiff, his voice controlled.

Chelsea was pretty sure she knew why. “Go ahead.”

The couch dipped with his considerable weight. As a fitness trainer as well as a firefighter, Chelsea appreciated good muscle tone and mass. Jake was a big man, but in dynamite shape.

“What happened?” he asked. “Ed Knight called me to come in and sub like we planned, but Dylan had shot out of there like a rocket and nobody knew the details.”

Chelsea shook her head. “I had lunch with Beth around noon, then we went to my place.”

“Dylan told me you and Francey were trying to keep Beth company when he was working.”

“Well, given what she went through in the past, we’ve all been extra careful.” She smiled. “It was nice of you to rearrange your life to be on call for Dylan this whole last month.”

“Not much to rearrange,” he mumbled. Chelsea remembered Francey saying she worried about Jake’s life revolving around the fire department. “So, what happened?” he repeated.

“About two, her water broke and contractions started.”

“Right away?”

“Yeah, it was scary, ’cause they were coming fast and furious. We got here in time, though.”

Jake nodded reassuringly at the birthing room. “It’ll be fine. This is a wonderful thing.” The faraway look on Jake’s face intrigued her.

Interested, she asked, “You’ve got a kid, don’t you?”

“A daughter.” The corners of his mouth turned up. “She’s the light of my life.” Then he frowned and cleared his throat. He stood and jammed his hands into the pockets of his light twill jacket.

Chelsea recognized the distancing maneuver—like a colonel who’d revealed too much to his troops and was embarrassed. Though she didn’t know Jake very well, mostly just through Francey, she could tell he was more remote than usual.

She decided to address it. “Jake, I know they’ve talked to you about my transfer.”

His face blanked as his lieutenant’s mask closed over it. “They’re going to call you. It’s official. You’re coming to my group.”

Though she wasn’t at all surprised, the certainty of it unnerved her. Watching him, she couldn’t read anything from his face. “Are you upset about getting me on your crew?”

He hesitated, then said, “Not upset. But having a woman on board is never easy.” He would know this, Chelsea thought, from Francey, who worked on another group in his firehouse. Fire stations ran four shifts, scheduled for four days on, three days off, three nights on, three days off. “Don’t get me wrong. Francey’s like a sister to me. So I’m not prejudiced against female firefighters.”

“But I come with extra baggage.”

He nodded. “If it’s any consolation, I think what the guys at Engine Four did to you is despicable. They deserved the official reprimand. And you deserved the public apology.”

Chelsea cringed. The nightmare at her previous firehouse haunted her even in her waking hours, like a ghost from the Shakespearean plays she’d loved to read in high school. “Some people say I deserved the way they treated me. Because of what happened to Billy.”

“We make our own lives. Nobody’s responsible for the actions of another.”

The look of sadness on his face surprised her. She wanted to ask him about it, but the door to the birthing room swung open.

Both of them turned to see Dylan, in green scrubs and hat, a white mask hanging around his neck. His cheeks were wet with tears. Chelsea bolted from the couch. Dylan crossed to her. “It’s a boy. I have a—” choking on the last word, he grabbed her in an emotional hug “—a son.”

Chelsea’s eyes misted. She bit her lip to keep herself under control. “He’s okay? Beth’s fine?”

Dylan drew back. “They’re just great. She’s breastfeeding him now.” His eyes shone. “It’s unbelievable, Chels.” His face sobered. “And thanks for your quick thinking. If you hadn’t been with her…gotten her here…”

“Well, I was, and she’s fine.” Chelsea’s voice betrayed none of the panic she’d felt when Beth’s pains had come too close together, too fast.

Drawing in a breath, Dylan shook his head and glanced at Jake. Dylan smiled again, a goofy, I’m-a-father grin. Without a word, the men hugged. Chelsea hadn’t seen that much emotion out of Jake even at Francey’s wedding. “Congratulations, Dad.”

Dylan grinned. “It’s a miracle.”

“I know.” Jake’s tone was dry.

The proud father glanced at the door. “You can see them in fifteen minutes.” He scanned the area. “Where are France and Alex?”

“I called them as soon as Beth went in,” Chelsea answered. “They’ll be here by the time we can see her.”

“Good.” Another dumbstruck smile. “I’ll come get you then.”

With his usual flourish, Dylan headed to the door, still grinning like an idiot.

As Chelsea watched him go, a spark of jealousy ignited in her. She’d wanted all that once—marriage, children. Well, no more. That dream had vanished after what had happened with her boyfriend—her ex-boyfriend—Billy Milligan. Right now, the only male she wanted in her life was Hotstuff, one of her cats.

She turned to find Jake staring at her.

Chelsea stared back.

For two people who were going to be spending days and nights together, they had little to talk about.

JAKE HAD NEVER seen Beth Winters look quite so mussed, not even after the strenuous Confidence Walks at the academy. Stringy-haired, sweaty, lines of fatigue etched around her eyes and mouth, she beamed at the baby nestled in her arms, then at her visitors. Alex and Francey had arrived within minutes of Dylan’s announcement and had come into the birthing room with Jake and Chelsea.

The room had been designed like a suburban homeowner’s dream bedroom. A big double bed with a soft print comforter. Matching throw pillows. A couple of stuffed chairs. Thick carpet. Jake stood behind the others as they crowded around the new mom and baby; Dylan had taken a seat on the bed to Beth’s right. Leaning over, he placed his index finger in the sleeping child’s wrinkled hand. The baby, still mottled and red, grasped it reflexively.

“Hey, buddy,” Dylan said softly. “Don’t you wanna wake up and meet your family? Aunt Francey and Aunt Chelsea are here. So are Uncle Jake and Uncle Alex.”

All four visitors were as quiet as fire hiding in walls, silenced by the aura of absolute joy that surrounded the trio. Jake remembered feeling as awestruck when his daughter, Jessica, was born, though the setting had been a sterile delivery room. It had been, in fact, the best moment in his life.

He glanced at Francey; she had a death grip on Alex’s hand. He smiled warmly at the woman who was Beth’s other close friend and practically a sister to him. It was good to see her happy. She and her husband, Alex, had had a rocky time of it, trying to reconcile Alex’s constant worry about Francey’s safety in her work as a dedicated firefighter. At lunch a few days ago, Francey had filled Jake in on how Alex was faring in his never-ending struggle to accept her job. He was coping better, she’d said, but some tension still remained.

Jake’s gaze traveled to Chelsea Whitmore, off to the side and breathing deeply; he suspected it was to calm herself. But her eyes glistened. Jake, too, was flooded by emotions he normally kept dammed up. Struggling to keep them at bay, he coughed and said, “What’s his name?”

Beth looked up and smiled serenely. All signs of anxiety, prevalent during her and Dylan’s tumultuous courtship, were gone. Absent, in fact, during her whole pregnancy. “Ask Dylan. I let him pick a name.”

Dylan reached down and took the child from Beth. Holding up his son, Dylan said proudly, “Meet Timothy Dylan O’Roarke. Timmy for short.”

The women gasped; Alex’s eyebrows rose. Jake tried to contain evidence of his own surprise. The husband Beth had lost twenty years ago in a tragic accident was Tim Winters.

Beth reached up and touched Dylan’s arm. The look that passed between them was so intimate that Jake opened his mouth to suggest they leave the new family alone.

But then Dylan turned to Chelsea with the devil in his eyes. “Now, how long before you can teach him to pitch?”

Chelsea laughed. It was a low, husky sound that curled through Jake like a shot of good bourbon. “A couple of years. He’ll probably be able to strike out as many of you as I did Thursday night in the department softball game.”

Francey said, “You’re on our team starting next week when you come to our station house, Chels, so that’s not an issue anymore.”

The smile on Chelsea’s lips died like fire under foam. Jake guessed she wasn’t any happier about breaking into a new group than the group was to have her. But they’d all pull through, he’d see to it, mainly because the fire department couldn’t afford any more fallout over her breakup with Milligan.

When the baby began to fuss, the group decided to leave the O’Roarkes alone. After hugs and kisses, the four of them ended up in the waiting area.

Alex put his arm around his wife, who was beaming like a proud parent. “I envy them,” Alex said.

Francey stared at him. “You do?”

“Of course.”

“Well, that’s news.” She scowled. “I’ll think about that later. Right now I’m starved.”

“Surprise, surprise,” Alex said dryly, dropping a kiss on top of her head.

“Want to come to dinner with us?” Francey looked from Jake to Chelsea.

Jake smiled, surprised at the envy he felt. So many happy people. Happy couples. At forty, he’d missed his chance for that kind of thing, but his emotions were running high today; the armor he kept in place buckled under such obvious devotion. “No, thanks. I’ve got plans.”

Turning away, his gaze landed on Chelsea. He recognized the look on her face—it mirrored his. “I’ll take a rain check,” she said. “I’ve got to be at the gym in an hour.” Chelsea owned the Weight Room, a health club about two blocks from his firehouse. Though he never worked out there, other firefighters did, and they had nothing but good to say about it.

As they all headed to the elevator, Jake ended up walking behind the Templetons, next to Chelsea. She was tall—about five-eight—and nicely toned. Though the cinnamon-colored dress she had on didn’t reveal her form, he’d seen pictures Alex had taken of her and Francey working out.

At the door to the parking lot, the Templetons bade them goodbye and left. Chelsea looked at him. “I guess I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

“Yeah, Friday morning, right?” He stared at her. He’d never noticed what an unusual shade of brown her eyes were—light with flecks of gold. This afternoon they reflected a weariness that had nothing to do with fatigue. Absurdly moved, Jake wanted to reach out and squeeze her arm; he stuck his hands in his pockets to douse the urge. “Well, have a nice night.”

She nodded and pushed on the bar on the glass door.

“Chelsea?”

She turned. The late-day sun behind her sparkled off the silvery gold of her hair as it swung softly around her shoulders. Unsmiling, standing tall, she looked lovely. And lonely.

“It’ll work out at Quint Twelve.” He winced at how inane he sounded.

Her expression was bleak. “Will it?”

He nodded.

She gave him a half smile, opened the door, stepped out and let it swish shut behind her. Jake watched her until she was out of sight.

AS SOON AS HE crawled through the doorway, Jake could see flames licking the roof of the rickety three-story building. The biocarbons in the insulation created a whirlpool of black smoke, temporarily blinding him and his partner. Intense heat stilled his movements. Wondering why the ventilating crew hadn’t cut the roof yet, Jake gripped the hose to spray the windowless attic bedroom. He levered the handle forward. No water spurted out the nozzle. He could feel the line buck, so he knew it was charged. Sensing his best friend, Danny DeLuca, behind him assisting with the hose, Jake started to turn.

Then it was there. Flashover. A bed, an old desk, several stacks of magazines and a full bookcase burst into flames of their own volition. The fire breathed in new life. It crouched in front of him, hovered above him, attacked from each side.

In that instant, Jake knew he wasn’t getting out alive. He pivoted to Danny; a glowing timber dropped—in seemingly slow motion—onto his buddy’s head. Jake opened his mouth to warn Danny, but his breathing apparatus muffled the sound—

Jake bolted upright. His hands fisted in the light blanket that had fallen below his hips. His entire body was covered with sweat and as taut as a stretched lifeline. From the sliver of moonlight peeking in from the skylights, Jake could just make out the row of bookshelves, the oak desk that had been his father’s, the stacks of magazines he’d been cleaning out the day before. He was home, on the third floor that he’d converted into living quarters for himself. Not in a fire with Danny. He forced his hands to unclench and his shoulders to relax. In a few minutes he was able to move.

He swung his feet onto the thick carpet, rose and crossed to the windows behind the desk. Outside, the street was deserted. A quick look at the clock over the bookcases told him the reason. Four a.m. His heart still pounding, he forced himself to think.

It wasn’t the first time he’d had this dream, but he had gotten some help in analyzing it. From Reed Macauley, the department psychologist, whom Jake had gotten to know through Dylan and from his own brief stint at the academy. When Jake had recounted his dream to Reed, the psychologist had listened without speaking until Jake had finished.

“From what you tell me, this seems to come when something stressful is happening,” Reed had said then.

“Your mother’s death. Your daughter’s surgery. Ben Cordaro, who’s been like a father to you, getting hurt….”

Well, the stressful event now was Chelsea Kay Whitmore’s joining his crew. In fact, he’d see her at the fire station in about three hours.

He didn’t need this. He didn’t want it. He wanted the status quo. He wanted his life left undisturbed. Dylan had teasingly called him the Quiet Man, John Wayne’s stoic movie character, and Jake liked that just fine.

Reed had focused on that, too. “This nightmare is the tip of the iceberg, isn’t it, Jake?” he’d asked.

Jake had thought about lying, but only a fool sought help and then didn’t tell the truth. “Stuff’s happened to me.”

Reed had waited.

“I was responsible for somebody hitting bottom. Somebody I…cared about.”

The psychologist had been the one who’d said the words he’d parroted to Chelsea last week. We make our own lives. Nobody’s responsible for the actions of another.

It didn’t apply now.

“I believe that, only not in this case,” he’d told Reed.

“Tell me about it,” Reed had urged.

He hadn’t been able to then, or the second or third time he’d found himself in the psychologist’s office. But after successive bouts with his demon, insomnia, and frankly, after seeing how Reed had helped Dylan and Beth, Jake had finally been able to breach his staunchly erected defenses.

“It was my buddy, Danny. We’d been friends since high school. Played football together, best man at each other’s wedding, had a kid the same year. We got into the academy at the same time, and after a couple years, wrangled being on the same group in the RFD. It was great until I made lieutenant and Danny…” The pain had blindsided him, and he had to stop. He still felt guilty that his career aspirations had triggered a rift between him and the man who’d been closer to him than a brother.

After a moment Reed had asked, “Danny?”

“He started going downhill. First there was drinking. Then some drugs. I hauled his ass when I found out. It didn’t interfere with work for a long time. Even when it did, I let it go because Danny always had trouble with my being a lieutenant. I didn’t report his screwups for several months. By the time I did, it was too late—for him and for me.”

“What happened to him?”

“Before the brass could can him, he quit.”

“And?”

“He left town. Left his wife and son without a second thought.”

“And you.”

“Me?”

“He left you, too.”

“Yeah, after calling me every name in the book.”

“You said it was too late for you. What did you mean?”

“I, ah…Damn, this is hard to say.”

Reed had given him a grim smile. “I know.”

“Before this happened with Danny, I’d wanted to be everything in the department—lieutenant, captain, battalion chief, hell, maybe even chief some day.”

“And now?”

Jake had pushed back the sadness welling inside him.

“How I handled Danny’s downslide was a black mark on my record. I was formally reprimanded, and a letter was put in my file.”

“From what I hear, it’s got company with a lot of commendations.”

“Some.”

“So you could move up the ladder. You could take the Captaincy exam this summer.”

“I guess. But I’ve lost the drive…the interest.”

“You’ve lost your dreams,” Reed had said wistfully.

Yeah, thought Jake now, he’d lost the dreams. He turned from the window, disgusted with his ruminating, stalked to the spacious kitchen and bath alcove he’d carved from under the dormers and switched on the coffee.

Surveying the area, he thought of Ben Cordaro’s remark. The man who had been like a father to him after his own dad had died had taken one look at the haven and recognized it for what it was. Hell, Jake, you could live in this room and not come out for months. It was true. He’d spent a whole year renovating the third floor of the house he’d grown up in. His mother had lived alone for years after Jake and his sisters had left home. When Jake’s marriage had broken up, he’d taken over the mortgage, moved in with her and stayed after she died, which was five years ago. He’d modernized the other floors with help, but it was the top level he’d lovingly worked on solo.

He’d nailed in every tongue-and-groove oak board of the ceiling, cut through the roof for the two skylights, put up the Sheetrock and painted the walls a deep beige. He’d laid the expensive carpet and picked out the furniture with care. Its dark tan upholstery and brown plaid pillows accented the wall color and the warm wood. He’d chosen a sofa bed, telling himself it was for guests, but he knew in his heart he’d use it. No one else had ever slept here, and only Ben, Dylan, Francey and Jessica had been allowed up here.

When the coffee was done, he poured some into a huge mug labeled World’s Hunkiest Dad—Jessie’s sense of humor—and trekked to the leather recliner. On the low oak table was a manual he’d been reading the evening before—Sexual Harassment in the Firehouse. Damn.

Ignoring it, he twisted to gaze out one of the windows flanking the recliner at his backyard. He remembered playing there with the Cordaro kids, who’d been like brothers and a sister—

The phone shrilled in the darkness.

Firefighter instincts on alert, he bounded off the recliner to the sofa bed and scooped up the receiver on its second ring. “Scarlatta”

“Jake, it’s Barbara.”

Danny DeLuca’s wife. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry to phone so early, but Derek just got in.”

“Just got in? It’s five in the morning.”

“I know.”

“Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

“I can’t bother you every time my son does something he shouldn’t. But…” She hesitated, then said, “He smells like pot. And he’s obviously drunk.”

“What did he say?”

Barbara hesitated again.

“Barb?”

“He asked me why I was surprised.” Her voice filled with tears. “He said he’s just like his old man.”

Jake clenched his fist. “I’ll be right over after I shower.”

“I’m sorry to lay this on you.”

“Don’t talk like that. I’ll be there soon.”

After he hung up, he stared at the phone. Did he have time to do this? He was due at the station early, because of Chelsea Whitmore’s arrival.

God, he hoped the rest of the day would go better than how it had started out.

As he headed for the bathroom, the memory of the nightmare hovering over him like a black cloud, he somehow doubted it would.

CHAPTER TWO

AT SEVEN O’CLOCK Chelsea dragged open the heavy steel door to Quint/Midi Twelve and entered the bay. This station would be her home for who knew how long.

Home.

The word had no meaning for her. She’d never really had a home, other than the years she’d spent at her mother’s house raising her younger sister, Delaney, after her mother had died. It was one of the reasons she’d joined the fire department.

Now that’s irony.

Chelsea stood just inside the cavernous bay, and studied the two rigs, both glistening with sunlight from the high windows on the garagelike doors. The large fire engine, the Quint, did almost everything—pumped water, carried ladders and an aerial bucket and stowed backup breathing tanks and a host of other equipment. Next to it stood the Midi, a small two-person truck, which housed medical supplies, the Hurst tools for car accidents and fire-suppression equipment; it also pumped water when needed. Often the Midi went alone on medical calls.

“Good morning.” The husky baritone came from behind her. Turning, she found Jake Scarlatta standing in the doorway of the watch room. He looked bigger today, an odd impression for Chelsea, who was tall and in good shape but weighed what most women would consider too much. She was also used to working with big guys at her gym. But the breadth of Lieutenant Scarlatta’s shoulders in his light blue shirt seemed greater, his legs longer in his navy pants, and his height more imposing than it had at the hospital or when she’d seen him at Francey’s and Beth’s weddings. Maybe because he was in his element.

“Good morning.” As she crossed to him, she noticed lines of strain bracketing his mouth and eyes. He obviously hadn’t slept well. She was intimately acquainted with the signs.

“Welcome to Quint Twelve, Firefighter Whitmore.”

Ah, so that was how it was going to be.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

He nodded at the turnout gear she had draped over one arm and the canvas gym bag she clutched. “Why don’t you get your goods on the rig, then come into the watch room? I’ll brief you about today’s schedule and get you a locker for your things.”

“Where am I?” she asked, referring to her position on one of the trucks. The officer on duty assigned each firefighter a job for the entire four-day shift.

“Driver of the Midi.” She wasn’t surprised. As an EMT, she had more training than regular firefighters, who were Certified First Responders and could perform only basic medical procedures.

After placing her gear on the truck, she joined Jake in the watch room. As in many station houses, the office area was long and narrow, with glass on three sides, facing the bay. It was furnished with large gray filing cabinets, two desks, a computer that hummed in the corner and a couple of chairs. A big bulletin board, covered with memos, hung from the one wall. Also displayed prominently was a small poster that read People say our standards are too high. Given what’s at stake, that’s impossible. Everyone in the fire department knew Lieutenant Scarlatta ran a tight ship. Which was fine with her.

Jake sank onto a chair and motioned for Chelsea to sit on another. “Shouldn’t I let somebody know his relief is here?” she asked.

“I just paged Kilmer, the night Midi driver.”

She nodded.

He picked up a sheet of paper and scanned it. “I thought it’d be best to go low key today. No training or inspection. While the guys do first-day-in checks, I’ll show you around. Before that, though, I’m, ah, cooking breakfast. Because you’re here. Sort of a welcome.”

Chelsea stiffened even as she recognized how stupid it was to be irritated by such a thoughtful gesture. Since her ordeal with Billy Milligan, she’d become as easily spooked as a nervous mare. Delaney had suggested she vent her feelings in her diary—something she’d been doing since she was thirteen. It had helped, but apparently not enough.

“Something wrong with breakfast?”

“No.”

“You…bristled.”

“It’s very considerate of you to make breakfast. But I wish you’d just call it what it is.”

Under furrowed brows, his smoky gray eyes darkened to charcoal. “And what’s that?”

“Look, I don’t imagine your crew is dying to have me here. So isn’t breakfast sort of a bribe to smooth the way?” When he didn’t answer, she angled her chin and consciously kept her hands from clenching. “I’d like to know what I’m up against. I was hoping you’d be straight with me—always.”

Jake steepled his fingers and peered over them at her. She saw a muscle leap in his jaw. “I can understand why you’re cautious. But, for the record, I find your attitude unnecessarily defensive. My team will treat you with cordiality and respect. I expect the same from you.”

He was good, Chelsea thought. A real diplomat. Okay, she’d go along. Taking a deep breath, she forced her shoulders to relax. “I apologize if I’ve offended you. You’re right, I’ve reason to be cautious. But I’m sure your men will be Sunday-school polite. Breakfast would be nice.”

He watched her for a moment, then said, “Well, let’s go. Leave your bag here. I’ll get you a locker later.”

He gestured her out the door before him, and they headed to the refurbished kitchen in back. She’d been to this firehouse several times with Francey, but she hadn’t seen the remodeling. Heavenly smells of cinnamon and baked bread assailed her nostrils. The kitchen was large—about thirty by thirty—and had white appliances, except for a clunker of a stove. The cupboards on the perimeter were painted a glossy teal, and the spanking-clean tile floor would have made Martha Stewart proud. In the middle stood a beautiful trestle table of carved oak.

At which sat two men. They looked up when she and Jake entered.

“Gentlemen, this is Firefighter Chelsea Whitmore. Chelsea, meet two of your crew.” Jake sauntered over to stand behind a broad-shouldered blond man with streetwise blue eyes. The lieutenant casually placed his hands on the guy’s shoulders and kneaded them as he spoke.

“This is Peter Huff. He’ll be riding shotgun with you on the Midi today—he’s an EMT. Peter just joined our group about four months ago, but he’s subbed off and on for years.”

Huff smiled, but it was a thin one, without any warmth. “Whitmore.”

Jake moved to the second man—wholesome-looking, probably in his early thirties, with kind brown eyes. He was smaller than Huff but sported the necessary muscles to be a “smoke eater,” as firefighters called themselves. Jake ruffled the guy’s brown curly hair. “And this ugly schmuck is Mick Murphy.”

Chelsea noted Jake’s physical contact with the guys. She knew from subbing that, in some firehouses, the men were so close they were like one big family. Quint Twelve was obviously that kind of group—and she knew in her gut she’d never be part of it.

Mick shook off Jake’s hand, stood and playfully socked his lieutenant in the stomach. Then he picked his way around the table toward Chelsea and gave her a grin that reminded her of a little boy anxious to make friends. “Welcome, Chelsea. I’m glad you’re here.” He stuck out his hand.

She took it, unable to keep her eyebrows from raising in surprise. “Thanks.”

Leaning closer, he whispered conspiratorially, “My wife, Andrea, says a woman’s presence will civilize us.”

Chelsea smiled. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

“The feeling’s mutual.” As Mick turned, another firefighter entered the room.

His stocky form stiffened when he saw her. Dark Italian eyes smoldered with resentment. Even his hand, which had just raked black hair out of his eyes, fisted.

It was Joey Santori.

Billy Milligan’s buddy since high school.

And Francey’s ex-fiancé. Chelsea had met him a few times when he and her friend were still a couple, and she’d been witness to several unpleasant scenes between Francey and this hothead after they’d broken up.

Men scorned were all alike.

“Joe, you’ve met Chelsea, haven’t you?” Jake’s voice was carefully casual. As close to Francey as he was, Jake had to know Chelsea was aware of Joey’s history.

Santori shrugged. “Yep.” Giving them his back and crossing to the coffeepot, Joe missed Jake’s scowl.

Jake’s prediction about his men’s cordiality had just been proved false. Chelsea caught his eye but kept her face blank. His cold expression revealed nothing of his feelings.

The air was charged. To defuse it, Jake said, “Have some coffee, Chelsea, while I put the finishing touches on breakfast.”

Huff snorted from behind the newspaper he’d picked up.

“Peter is our gourmet chef.” This came from Mick, who’d been leaning against the counter. He stepped toward Huff, circled his buddy’s neck with one arm and hugged him. “Nobody cooks better than you, Petey, baby.”

Shrugging, silent, Huff continued reading, but some of his reserve dissipated at Mick’s open affection. Ludicrously feeling excluded, Chelsea spied the coffeepot and headed to it. Mick got there first and filled a mug for her. Grateful, she sat at the table. For something to do, she picked up a section of the paper and scanned it.

“Son of a bitch.” The curse was accompanied by a loud, tinny thump.

Chelsea looked up, surprised at the normally stoic lieutenant’s flash of temper.

Huff said, “Pilot light go out again?”

“Yeah. I was keeping the French toast warm. This damned stove’s gonna kill us before the new one gets here.”

“Wouldn’t be taking so long if Huff hadn’t insisted on a fancy German model.” Mick’s voice was teasing.

“Only the best for me, Murphy.”

A man rushed into the kitchen buttoning his RFD shirt.

“Sorry I’m late.”

Jake glanced at the clock. “You’ve got a couple of minutes to spare, Diaz. Besides, Lanahan’s still sleeping.” Sometimes the night shift slept in after the morning crew arrived, especially if they’d had a lot of runs. “Everything okay?”

“We were up till dawn with the baby.”

“Which one?” Huff asked.

“The littlest.” Diaz rolled his eyes. “Jeez, no wonder my old man took off when I was young. Babies and jobs don’t mix.”

Mick clapped Diaz on the back. “This is our resident Daddy of the Year, Chelsea. He’s got four, goin’ on five, kids, and still countin’.”

“You’re just jealous, man.” In a lightning quick move, Diaz pivoted and grabbed Mick in a headlock. Then the tall, muscular man smiled at Chelsea, his demeanor degrees warmer than Huff’s or Santori’s. “You must be Chelsea. Hi, I’m Don Diaz.”

Chelsea nodded.

“Actually, I am jealous,” Mick confessed when Diaz let him go. “I wish like hell Andrea’d have another kid.”

Diaz joked, “Yeah, well, if you need instruction on how to get your peck—” He swallowed the rest of the word; everyone stilled.

Here it comes, Chelsea thought. The watch-every-word-they-say syndrome. In the past, she’d put her fellow firefighters at ease with some ice-breaker comment—like she knew all the words for the male anatomy and could teach them some—but no more.

“Chow’s on,” Jake said, breaking the silence.

Chairs scraped back. Santori was first in line. Huff followed. Mick moved behind them. “Come on, Chelsea.”

She stood and crossed to them. Mick stepped aside, and she allowed the gesture. “Thanks.” She reached the food. “Mmm, this smells wonderful.” The aroma of French toast, Canadian bacon and home fries wafted up to her. Her stomach growled loudly. She put her hand to her waist. “Oops, sorry.”

Jake, Peter, Mick and Don all chuckled. Joey did not.

There was little conversation over the meal, which the crew devoured with the gusto of lumberjacks. They made a few grudging compliments, intermittently remarked on the runs the night group had gotten. Jake told Joey his grandfather had called this morning to talk to him, and Huff asked about their training today. But that was the extent of it.

When they were done, Mick asked, “How much do we owe you, Jake?” Though some citizens thought their taxes paid for firefighters’ food, the group members all pitched in for meals.

The lieutenant shook his head. “Nothing. My treat.”

“Whoa…”

“Why?”

“To celebrate Chelsea’s arrival.”

“Hey, great.”

“Thanks, buddy.”

After each man scraped his plate, Jake made a few announcements and suggested the guys begin their chores—starting the rigs, checking the water tanks, washing any apparatus that was used in the night runs. And there was morning housework. He and Chelsea would finish cleaning up, then he’d show her around.

The men filed out, each slapping Jake on the back or punching his arm as they left. Except Joey Santori. He only stopped by Jake’s chair long enough to toss a five-dollar bill on the table, then left the room in frosty silence.

Sighing deeply, Chelsea sank back in her seat. She got the message loud and clear, just as Santori had intended.

After a moment Jake stood. Chelsea did likewise, and silently they picked up their plates and crossed to the sink. “I—” Jake began when the tone sounded over the PA system, indicating an incoming call.

And the computer in the watch room clicked on.

It was a run for Quint/Midi Twelve.

“EMS call at Parker and Thornton.”

“The Midi,” Jake said.

Chelsea raced for the door.

When she reached it, she heard, “The Midi and Quint go into service.”

Jake hurried down the hallway behind her, ducked into the watch room, ripped the work order out of the printer and scanned it.

“Damn it,” he said.

The dispatcher announced, “Multiple gunshot wounds. Police are on their way.”

SO MUCH for an easy day, Jake thought, as he checked the side mirror to see the smaller rig careering along behind him. He’d hoped for a couple of light calls to acclimate Chelsea—maybe one of the frequent stove fires that summoned them to Dutch Towers, the senior citizens’ complex two blocks away. But this was serious. The sirens screeched, and Murphy sounded the horn as he drove the big truck to the scene. Jake occupied the officer’s position next to him. Diaz and Santori were in the jump seats.

Jake listened for radio instructions. “Police are at the house now. Wait for scene clearance, Quint Twelve. Repeat, wait for scene clearance.”

“Quint/Midi Twelve en route. We’ll wait for scene clearance.” Jake let out a low whistle when he clicked off. This could be dicey.

In less than two minutes, the trucks pulled up in front of a two-family dwelling with peeling paint and rickety porch steps. It was eerily quiet in this residential section of the city. The stillness reminded him of a room before backdraft hit. A female police officer stood guard in front of the house and spoke into a radio, probably alerting officers around back that the fire department had arrived.

The six Rockford firefighters exited the trucks with the precision of trained soldiers initiating an attack. As he approached the cop, Jake saw Whitmore and Huff opening their rig’s back door and hefting equipment. Santori, Diaz and Murphy followed suit on the other truck.

“Quint/Midi Twelve is on the scene,” Jake said calmly into the radio. “Approaching the police now.”

The officer grimaced at him. “The scene is under control. Two people are down—a twenty-six-year-old-man and a woman about the same age. Proceed back but don’t touch anything. This is a crime scene.”

Jake nodded and turned to his crew. They were covered in goggles, face shields, protective sleeves and gloves. Chelsea held out a set for him; he slid them on. He saw Huff step up and speak to the officer. He caught up to them as they headed to a side yard littered with shards of glass, pieces of wood and broken concrete. The smell of garbage penetrated Jake’s face shield.

Behind the house, they found what they were looking for.

Two police officers stood guard, one on each side of a handcuffed man. One cop was taking notes, the other carefully eyeing the suspect. Two bodies lay motionless on the ground in an increasing pool of blood.

Jake said, “Whitmore, Diaz and Santori, the man’s yours. Huff and Murphy, the woman.”

As he headed for the officers, his crew hurried to the victims.

“You hurt?” he asked a tall, thin cop with a mustache.

“No.”

A younger one, pale but steady, said, “Me, neither.”

Jake looked at the handcuffed shooter. “Are you hurt?”

“What are ya—dressed up for Halloween?”

“Are you hurt?” Jake asked again.

The guy shook his head, sending greasy locks of hair into his wild eyes. Drugs. Dilated pupils confirmed it.

Scanning him, Jake said, “What day is it?”

“Huh?”

“Answer the damn question.” The older officer yanked on the cuffs.

“May twenty-second.” The man’s words were slurred.

Jake lifted the guy’s arms, pushed back a grungy sleeve and took his pulse, all the while questioning him. “What’s your name? Who’s the president of the United States?”

When he finished with the vitals, and was sure the officers and the shooter were not in need of care, Jake turned to the firefighters attending to the victims. He heard the slurred words of the shooter behind him. “They deserve it. He was screwin’ my old lady.” The accusation was accompanied by several colorful obscenities.

Ignoring him, Jake crossed to the male patient and looked down. “Situation assessed?”

“Yes, sir,” Chelsea said in a confident voice. “Airways open, breathing normal, but blood pressure is low. We’ve got to stop the bleeding.”

“Need anything?”

“Not at this time.”

He checked with Huff. The female victim had a superficial flesh wound, but she’d been rendered unconscious by an apparent blow to the head. Her stained pink housedress had splotches of blood on the chest, possibly the man’s. Despite how often he saw this much blood, Jake still winced.

Turning to the male patient, who was in more serious condition, he observed his crew in action. Efficiently, Chelsea elevated the man’s legs so blood would flow to the vital organs. Joey stripped off the guy’s clothing as Diaz took another set of vitals.

“Pulse is fast, decreased bp. We need the oxygen?” Don asked.

Chelsea said, “Yeah, set it up.” Jake helped Don assemble and crack the canister as Chelsea moved across from Joey. Blood oozed from the man’s shoulder, and he moaned. “Santori, check for an exit wound on his back first, then get gauze pads from the bag and apply pressure.”

She looked up and gasped. “Joe, there’s a slit in your face shield.”

Quickly Jake ripped off his own shield, moved to Joey and replaced his mask. Jake’s pulse accelerated. Possibilities of contamination to the firefighters were endless at this kind of scene, given all the blood, which could be infected.

He’d just moved to get another shield when he heard Joey say, “No exit wound.”

As Jake watched, Joey set the patient on his back again. The change of position sent spurts of blood onto him. Droplets spattered his glasses—and smeared his face shield. Right where the slit had been.

Joey packed the wound with heavy bandages, then took a quick glance at Chelsea. She was getting another set of vitals and didn’t look at him. Jake saw the young firefighter’s hands shake and his skin pale. Though only thirty-one, Joey was a seasoned firefighter and did not often have rookie-like reactions.

The injured man moaned.

“Sir?” Chelsea bent to listen to him.

“Son of a bitch—” heavy breathing “—shot me.”

The older cop approached and leaned over. “That the man?” He pointed to the suspect.

“Yeah.”

“Why’d he shoot you?” the officer asked.

“I was with his wife. Goddamned whore.”

Chelsea noticed the inside of the man’s arm. It looked like a pincushion. Jake saw it, too, and swallowed hard. HIV now topped the list for contamination.

“Are you on drugs?” Chelsea asked.

“Nah.” His voice faded and his head lolled to the side.

The screech of the ambulance sounded in the background. Jake turned to check Peter’s victim. Murphy and Huff had gotten her onto a backboard; Santori and Whitmore did the same for the man. By the time the ambulance crew made it around back, the victims were packaged and ready to go.

The firefighter EMTs gave their report to the paramedics as Jake glanced at his watch.

Only fifteen minutes had passed.

It seemed like hours.

THE MOOD WAS SOMBER when the Quint and Midi pulled into the firehouse bay. It always was after a serious call.

As they exited the trucks, Jake said, “Get rid of the contaminated material in the biohazard bags. Restock the rigs, then meet me in the kitchen for debriefing.” His tone was neutral and his eyes were hooded; Chelsea couldn’t tell what he was thinking. She helped restock the vehicles, feeling the tug of fatigue in her shoulders and the adrenaline drop in her bloodstream, similar to coming off a sugar high.

Ten minutes later, all six firefighters were seated around the table drinking coffee that by now tasted more like paint thinner.

“First, you did well,” Jake said, warm approval in his tone. “You took universal precautions, you handled the patients efficiently and—” he paused significantly “—you worked like a team.”

They nodded. Mick gave Chelsea a thumbs-up.

“So, let’s hear what you think.” Jake sipped his coffee and waited.

Huff raised cool blue eyes to Chelsea. “You did a good job, Whitmore.”

She didn’t say thanks, only nodded. She knew she had. “So did you.”

“I second that, Chelsea.” Jake’s voice was strong, pleased. It felt like a warm bath on a cold February night.

Jake pinned Joey with a purposeful stare, and the younger man coughed nervously. Though his eyes were narrowed, his pallor affirmed that he realized the danger he’d been in. “Thanks, Whitmore.”

Jake let the situation sink in. Then he said calmly, “Let’s talk about how that slit in your face shield happened.”

Huff leaned forward, sparks of animation in his formerly stony face. It made him look younger, more approachable. “Sometimes defective equipment gets by us. Once, when I was still on the police force, a bulletproof vest was missing a whole section of padding. Nobody spotted it right away.”

Chelsea cocked her head. Huff caught the gesture and explained, “I retired from the police force two years ago.”

She wondered what made him choose firefighting, wanted to ask, but this wasn’t the time. If firefighters were notoriously reticent, cops were even worse. She nodded again.

“All right.” Jake straightened. “We’ll assume it came that way from the factory. Joe, report this to the battalion chief. Tell him I want something in writing to the company. In the meantime, I’ll call them and ream them out.”

Santori nodded. “What’re the chances the guy’s—” he cleared his throat “—HIV positive?”

Jake didn’t respond, so Chelsea answered. “Pretty high, if he’s a drug user—and he appears to be.” She waited a beat. “We were protected, Joe. There’s almost no chance of your being infected with the new face shield Jake put on you.”

“Except from the lieutenant’s germs,” Mick joked.

“Who you been kissin’ lately, Jake?”

Huff and Diaz chuckled, but Joey remained dead sober. He held her gaze. “Thanks again.”

She gave him a weak smile and felt the vise in her chest—which had been here since she arrived at the station this morning—ease a bit.

“Good job, all of you,” Jake said. “I’m gonna go file the report.” He gave Chelsea a sidelong glance. “I think you can probably find your way around here.” He didn’t smile, but his voice sounded slightly amused. “After your performance this morning, I don’t think you need coddling.”

As compliments went, it was mild, but then, they usually were from the officers. She was thankful to get it.

The rest of the day progressed without drama—a call to pump out a flooded basement, a “fire” that resulted from burned food and even a run to get a cat out of a tree. There was also an EMS trip to Dutch Towers, where Jake resignedly replaced Huff on the Midi and accompanied Chelsea.

She knew that Dutch Towers was a staple of the Rockford Fire Department calls. What she didn’t know, and what Jake explained on the way over, was that years ago he had brought one of the residents back to life with mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Since then, old Mrs. Lowe had viewed Jake as the son she never had; he tried to go to Dutch Towers whenever he could. Chelsea was amazed at how gentle and concerned he was about the woman’s heart palpitations this time, which had turned out to be nothing.

Between calls Chelsea explored the common area, which had huge recliners around the TV, the bunk room in the back—nothing new there—and a workout area with updated equipment. She knew this was Dylan’s station, too; he’d been reassigned to Group Four as a lieutenant. For years he’d been conducting a firefighter trivia game, the proceeds of which went to charity and to buy furnishings for the firehouse—like a new large-screen TV. She’d have to remember to get in on the game next week.

Huff cooked his “gourmet” hamburgers for lunch. Chelsea got in line and listened and laughed as Mick told her horrible firefighter jokes. She dished up her food and didn’t mention that she generally avoided eating red meat; she’d wait until another time to drop that bomb. She managed to get half the burger down, then ate the salad and dessert with relish.

From the tension of the day and little sleep last night, Chelsea was whipped by four o’clock when her relief arrived. Her muscles felt as if she’d hauled hose up three flights of stairs. She’d just opened her locker outside the coed bathroom and was dragging out her bag when she heard someone come up behind her. She knew who it was just by his smell, a woodsy scent noticeable even after a long day.

Lieutenant Scarlatta had removed his dress shirt and was clad only in the RFD’s navy T-shirt the firefighters all wore and blue trousers. She remembered telling Francey one time, “God, I love men in T-shirts. Is there anything sexier?” Of course, that had been in her naive days, when she’d loved the sight and smell and feel of men in general.

“You leaving?” he asked, raising his arm to lean against the lockers. The T-shirt outlined his impressive pecs.

She nodded and dragged her eyes to her gear.

“The day went all right, didn’t it?”

“More than all right.” She peered at him, acutely aware of his physical presence. “Jake, I’m sorry about spouting off this morning. I guess I was more wired than I realized about starting here.”

“It’s okay.” His lips quirked. “I’ll remember to give you the straight skinny from now on—always.”

She grinned. His gaze focused on her mouth, then he pushed away from the locker and straightened. “You were valuable to us today, Whitmore.”

“Thanks.”

He nodded, jammed his hands in his pockets and strode off.

The old Chelsea, who still surfaced from time to time, would have noticed his nice gluts in addition to his pecs. But that Chelsea had gotten into trouble. The new Chelsea didn’t want her around anymore.

THE MAN LAY ON HIS BED in his cold, empty bedroom, staring into the darkness. The stillness of the night let his other side surface, the one he sometimes couldn’t control. Like Jekyll and Hyde. He should get up and turn off the air-conditioning. But the coolness helped him think better. At the station house, he only felt confused.

There was something about her being there that wasn’t right. Chauvinism aside, old grudges notwithstanding, women didn’t belong in the fire department. Okay, so she was in good shape. And she was a capable firefighter. Today showed she could handle herself in an emergency. Jekyll had liked that.

Still, it went against the laws of nature. And God knew what this women’s lib stuff had brought to society. His own mother had been involved in the movement. His hands fisted as he remembered her dragging him to hear Gloria Steinem speak in downtown Rockford. It had wreaked havoc with his blue-collar father, and nothing had gone right after that.

No, she didn’t belong there. Nobody really wanted her there. Well, she’d no doubt slip up, like she did at the other place. If not…who knew what could happen?

CHAPTER THREE

“NO, NO, JEEZ, you guys, catch the ball!” Seventeen-year-old Jessica Scarlatta jumped up and screamed at the Rockford Raiders as a ball sailed over the heads of the shortstop and the left fielder for a home run in Frontier Field, the brand-new baseball stadium. Jake’s daughter was heedless of the spectacle she made in the throng of fans amidst the smell of hot dogs, beer and popcorn.

Jake lounged in the seat and watched her fondly, not commenting. It was one of the reasons she was so open and uninhibited—he’d been careful to let her do her thing for years. Her mother, Nancy, had grudgingly gone along, even after the divorce, while trying to instill proper manners and behavior in her. Between the two of them, Jessica had turned out just fine.

“A grand slam.” Jess shook her head in disgust as she finally sat.

Jake tugged the bill of her Raiders cap down. “They’re gonna lose, sweetheart. You’ll owe me.”

She shook her head again, her dark blond ponytail swinging jauntily out of the back of the cap. “You really want that Tommy Hilfiger shirt?”

His laughter felt good after the day he’d had. “Yep. The striped one. Fifty bucks.”

She peered at him with innocent gray eyes the color of his. She had his nose and the exact stubborn set of his jaw. “Dad-dy.”

“Don’t daddy me, babe. You lost fair and square.” He glanced at the scoreboard. “Or at least you will in two innings. Now get rid of that little-girl look and let’s go get hot dogs.”

Her eyes brightened. “Cool.” She glanced mournfully at the field. “They won’t catch up.”

“We’ll come back for the last at-bat, anyway.”

As Jake followed his daughter up the steps of the stadium, he noticed more than one guy ogling her. He stifled the urge to shield her from view, feeling his heart twist more each time he was faced with the fact that his baby had grown up. She was the only thing that meant more to him than the fire department. That she was going off to college in a few months almost killed him. He was having trouble with that and everything else about her maturity. Not the least of which was that she’d turned out to be a beauty. And she had style. Her blue shorts and striped top were pretty ordinary, but on her they looked like designer togs.

Just like you, Dad, she’d told him recently.

Clothes. His one indulgence. Fairly innocuous, though. Putting on the slate-gray T-shirt and matching shorts after work had made him feel good; nice clothes always did.

They reached the Three Dog Night stand and waited their turn. He put his hand on the nape of Jessica’s neck and kneaded gently. “Seen Derek lately?” Danny and Barb’s son was a friend of Jess’s.

She looked at him over her shoulder. “No. He’s not in any of my classes this year and he hasn’t called in a while.” She watched him. “You’ve got that Scarlatta scowl on your face. What happened?”

“He’s causing his mother trouble again.”

Jessica patted his hand, suddenly older and wiser than her years. “He needs help, Dad.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m taking him to dinner tomorrow night. We’re gonna talk about it.”

She scowled and turned to face him.

“What?” Jake asked.

“Last time I saw Derek, he said something about going to Key West to live with his dad.”

Jake dropped the ten-dollar bill he was holding. After retrieving it, he asked, “Has he heard from Danny?”

“I don’t think so.” Jess turned to move up in the line.

Sighing, Jake shook his head, and decided to distract himself from this unpleasant news. He didn’t get enough time with Jessica and he didn’t want to ruin the upbeat mood. He scanned the area. The stadium was new and housed a food and gift area that ran about a third of its perimeter. It always amazed Jake how he could get prime rib sandwiches, rotisserie chicken, sweaters and bracelets at a baseball field. He remembered going with Danny to see the Raiders play at the old Silver Stadium, which had one concession stand. They’d wolfed down hot dogs and let the cotton candy melt on their tongues, just glad to be at a minor league game.

After getting food and drinks, Jake looked for a table in the center court seating area, which was filled with other ball fans who’d given up on the Raiders turning the game around. When Jake was about to suggest they go back to their seats, he heard a voice. “Hello, Jake.”

He glanced to his left. At a big table sat Chelsea Whitmore with a beautiful younger woman.

“Hi.”

“I saw you and Jessica looking for a table.” She shifted a bit, then said with the reluctance of a patient succumbing to a root canal, “You can sit here if you like. There’s room.”

“Great.” Jessica plopped down next to Chelsea’s companion. “I’m Jessica Scarlatta.”

Jake took a seat next to Chelsea as she grinned at his daughter. He got a glimpse of long legs encased in baby pink shorts to match the T-shirt she wore. He thought she even had pink sneakers on. Quite a contrast to the masculine standard blues she wore all day. “Hi, Jessica, nice to see you. This is my sister, Delaney.”

Jake’s brows rose. The women couldn’t have looked less alike. Delaney was petite and slender and dark-haired. Chelsea was solid and tall and blond. He glanced at her hair, loose around her shoulders. It certainly didn’t look dyed, for there was no sign of dark roots.

He flushed when he realized everyone was staring at him. “Jake Scarlatta,” he said, and shook Delaney’s outstretched hand.

It was quick, but he saw the look Delaney sent her sister. They’d talked about him. He wondered what Chelsea had said.

“So, you’re the new female firefighter on Dad’s group,” Jessica commented.

Sometimes Jake wished he had curtailed his daughter’s tongue.

“Yes, I am.”

“He said you did great today with the gunshot victims.”

Chelsea shot him an uncensored sunny smile. “Thanks,” she said. Jake took a sip of beer to hide his flash of pleasure at her reaction.

“Initiation by fire, so to speak,” Delaney said.

Jess looked at her blankly.

“Don’t mind my sister. She’s a psychologist. She has to classify everything.”

Jake wondered how Delaney could be old enough to have a degree in psychology.

“I’m going to be a doctor,” Jess blurted. “I’m going into premed at Cornell next year.”

“I went to Cornell.” Delaney smiled wistfully.

“Thanks to Chels.”

“Delaney,” Chelsea said warningly.

“I was fourteen when our mother died,” Delaney went on blithely. “Only six years younger than Chels, but she saw that I finished high school and put me through college and grad school.”

It was hard to mistake the pride in her voice and the love in her smile. Jake had a thousand questions, yet he smothered them all. But he did glance at Chelsea. Her face was red, the flush beginning at the vee of her shirt. Nestled there was a delicate gold chain, kissing the barely visible indentation between her collarbones. He took a long swig of beer.

“So, you two like the Raiders?” Jessica asked.

“We have season tickets,” Delaney said.

“So do we,” Jess told her.

“Chelsea’s father was a minor league baseball player.” When Jess looked confused, she explained, “We had different fathers. My last name is Shaw. My dad was a sax player.”

Jake glanced at Chelsea, who was smiling at her sister the way he smiled at Jess. His gaze dropped to her plate, quickly bypassing the chain. “What are you eating?”

“Uh…”

Delaney filled him in. “A veggie burger. Chelsea doesn’t eat red meat.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You ate Huff’s burger today.”

“I, um, didn’t want to cause any waves right away. I felt like I was holding back the dam all day as it was.”

Before he could comment, a man swaggered to their table. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Wonder Woman.”

Billy Milligan, Chelsea’s ex-boyfriend, hovered over them. His hair was disheveled, and his eyes were bloodshot. He’d clearly drunk more than the beer he held in his hand.

“Heard you saved the day today, Whitmore.”

From the corner of his eye, Jake saw Chelsea’s hand fist around the napkin in her lap. He said, “Chelsea did great today. Who you here with, Billy?”

“The crew from my old station at Engine Four.” He took a gulp of beer and wiped his mouth with the back of a not quite clean hand. It showed scars from his burns.

“Why don’t you go find them, Milligan.” Delaney’s voice was ages older than it had been earlier. “Maybe they want your company.”

“Why, you little cu—”

“Watch your mouth, buddy,” Jake interjected. He stood and deftly eased himself between the table and Billy.

“Three ladies are present, and one of them is my daughter.”

Milligan, short, stocky and already weaving, stepped back from Jake’s imposing form. Two other guys from Engine Four approached.

“Jake,” one said, his baseball cap obscuring his eyes.

“TJ, get Billy out of here. The department doesn’t need this.”

Chelsea noted his choice of words through the cloud of embarrassment the scene had caused her. He was concerned about the fire department. She also noted that Jake’s shoulders were backboard-stiff as he sat. He frowned and didn’t look at her. The easy camaraderie was gone, doused by Billy Milligan’s appearance.

“You about done, Jess?” Jake asked.

Jessica looked surprised, but nodded. She obviously knew her dad’s signals. They got to their feet.

“Well, enjoy the rest of the game,” Jake said to Chelsea and Delaney, his voice neutral.

Delaney tried to lighten the moment. “The Raiders are behind by ten. But you, too.”

When they were gone, Chelsea wrapped the remains of her burger and tossed it into a nearby can. She sipped her beer, trying not to be affected, tamping down the hurt and fury kindling inside her.

“Milligan’s a jerk, Chels.”

“I know. I just wish he hadn’t felt the need to prove it in front of my new lieutenant.”

Delaney was serious. Only thirty, she often seemed older and wiser than Chelsea. “Just how much decency does Scarlatta have?”

“I don’t know. Why?”

“Will he tell your new group about tonight’s little scene with Milligan?”

“Oh, God.” Chelsea was sickened by the thought.

“Well, if you’d just quit the fire department, you wouldn’t have to deal with any of those Neanderthals.”

“Jake’s not a Neanderthal.”

“Yeah, but he’s pretty macho. Even if he is yummy.”

“Yummy? You’ve been spending too much time with your teenage patients.”

Chelsea didn’t tell her sister she agreed. Delaney’s description of Jake in that damn T-shirt was apt. And the way his shorts molded to his thighs…She cut off the thought. She was done with men, especially firefighters.

“Doesn’t matter how yummy he is,” Delaney continued as if reading her thoughts. “We both know playing with firefighters causes third-degree burns.”

Chelsea sobered. “And scars.” Her beer followed her burger into the trash, and she stood. “Let’s go finish watching the massacre.”

Delaney rose. “Chels, you don’t have to put up with this stress. Think about it. You can support yourself with the gym.”

“I know. But I love the work, and besides, I’m not letting anybody drive me out of the fire department.”

“Better than letting them drive you crazy.”

Hooking her arm around her sister’s neck, Chelsea said, “Then it’s a good thing I’ve got a shrink for a sister, isn’t it?”

Chelsea didn’t feel quite as blasé as she pretended to be. And she was afraid the scene tonight would be back around three in the morning to haunt her. And maybe even tomorrow at work.

Oh, God, she hoped Jake didn’t tell the crew about this. She didn’t want to deal with a whole new round of gossip. Delaney’s question surfaced in her mind.

Just how much decency did Scarlatta have?

FROM INSIDE the locker room, Peter Huff’s deep voice was crystal clear; it stopped Chelsea as she reached the doorway. “It was typical female stuff—act three, scene four, from what he said.”

Diaz chuckled. “My wife’s into that kind of drama, too.”

Huff continued in a smarmy tone. “Heard he really put her in her place. And we all know what that is.”

“Right where women belong,” Diaz added.

Oh, fine, Chelsea thought. I’m the butt of sexual innuendo already.

“After screwing up Milligan’s life like she did, she deserves whatever she gets.” Joey Santori sounded vicious.

The sudden slam of a locker was like a gunshot, then Mick said, “I don’t think that’s fair.”

“All right you guys, let’s move it.” So Jake was there, too. In on this little discussion of her.

Easing down the hallway, though she hated creeping away like a cowed puppy, Chelsea thought, Of course, Jake’s in on it, you jerk. He obviously told them about last night.

Feeling the familiar hurt well inside her, she tamped it down ruthlessly. No, she’d get mad, instead. She was done with being jerked around by male firefighters who were so entrenched in the old boy’s network that they didn’t care who they hurt. She stomped to the rig and threw her bag on the cement floor.

Damn them. She yanked open a side door and pulled out her air tank. She checked the gauge, saw that it was full and shoved the breathing pack inside. She hadn’t done anything but end a relationship. He couldn’t handle it. He made a scene everywhere she went. And then he set out to destroy his career.

She retrieved her gear from the hooks along the wall, then stowed it in the alcove, which the night crew had emptied of their goods. Forcefully she stuffed bunker boots, pants and an air tank into the small space.

“Got a problem, Whitmore?”

Chelsea looked into the impassive face of Peter Huff. The guy who’d just been slandering her. “No problem, Huff. You?”

“Me? Nope.” Giving her his back, he put his goods on the truck. They worked in silence, though it was far from companionable. Chelsea was reminded of some of the girls in high school who’d been forced to play on the same team but in the cliquishness of teenagehood never spoke to each other.

Well, who cared?

When Peter left, she leaned against the rig and couldn’t keep back a sigh. She did. She cared. Because she was hoping she’d have some respite here. That these guys wouldn’t trample her, wouldn’t shut her out. Especially Jake.

So much for hope.

She made her way to the kitchen, where the shift met for coffee and discussed the upcoming day. As she entered, Mick’s smiling face greeted her like a ray of sunshine peeking though dark clouds.

I don’t think that’s fair, he’d said. He’d stood up for her. She smiled back. Huff came in behind her, got coffee and took a seat. Then the lieutenant entered.

“Morning, Chelsea.” Jake addressed only her. Of course, he’d already had a powwow with the others.

She nodded, but didn’t speak. Those gray eyes had warmed up yesterday. They were filled with humor and goodwill last night. Today he was Benedict Arnold. One of the boys.

Small talk was made over coffee. Chelsea refused to join in; as it was only her second day, her silence wouldn’t be noticed.

After about twenty minutes, Jake stood. “All right. Housework assignments are on the bulletin board. When you’re done, let’s meet in the bay. We’re doing confined-space training today.” The men groaned when he referred to the newest form of rescue the fire department had taken on—crawling into dark, smelly, tight places that no one in his right mind would willingly go.

Jake chuckled. “That’s right, time to show your stuff.” Facing Chelsea, he said, “Could you stay back a minute? I want to catch up on how much of this training you’ve had.” Something like a grin curved his lips. “We’re going through the pipe today for the first time.” The city had provided the department with big water pipes the firefighters could use to prepare for the psychological aspects of being confined.

She kept her face impassive and gave him a haughty nod. When everyone left, he studied her. “Something wrong?”

“No, why?”

“You’re quiet.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“Sure it’s not something I should know about?”

She shook her head. “No, Lieutenant, I have nothing to tell you that you don’t already know.” She held his gaze, and he shifted uncomfortably. “The confined-space training?”

He studied her for a moment longer, then said, “Our group’s gone over the basics and seen the videos on claustrophobia. We’re ready for our first shot through the hole.”

“I’ve been through it.”

His brows rose. “You have?”

She nodded.

“Well, good. You can help us. None of us has yet.”

“Fine.”

When she started out ahead of him, he said, “Whitmore?”

She turned.

“You sure nothing’s wrong?”

“Nope. Nothing.” She walked out the door.

THE HELL THERE ISN’T, Jake thought half an hour later out in the bay. They’d reviewed the basics on breaching a confined space and were ready to crawl through the thirty-foot-long, two-foot-diameter iron pipe laid ominously on the cement floor of the huge garage. To make it even more difficult, the ends were blocked once the firefighter entered the pipe. Done frequently enough, the drill would acclimate the rescuers to dark, tight spaces. So far, Chelsea hadn’t been any help at all. She’d been more like a kid pouting at not getting her way.

“All right, who wants to go first?”

No response.

Not even Chelsea, who’d done it.

He shrugged. “Okay, I’ll go.” Dropping to his knees, Jake stuck his head inside; the faint scent of disinfectant couldn’t mask the iron smell. His shoulders just managed to clear the opening. Inside, it was tunnel-dark. Smothering. He drew in a deep breath, which filled his lungs with heavy air and made his mouth taste coppery. Closing his eyes, he inched in. He could feel his breathing escalate. Sweat popped out on his brow. His stomach muscles clenched. Jeez, this was tougher than eating his first smoke.

“Come on, Lieutenant, you’re halfway there.” Murphy’s voice from somewhere outside calmed him. Slowly, he crept along. When he reached the end, he pushed aside the plywood, shimmied out and came to his feet.

“It wasn’t pretty,” he said as he wiped his face with a towel Mick tossed to him. Whitmore was barely looking his way. “My physical reactions were acute.” He gave them a rundown of his body’s responses. Chelsea offered not a speck of support.

Mick went next. He ducked his head in, his shoulders, and crawled about a foot; then he backed out. “Can’t do it. Not today.” His expression was sheepish, but they’d been told most people took more than one try to master the pipe and not to proceed if they felt they couldn’t.

Jake smiled and patted his shoulder. “That’s okay. Your reaction’s not uncommon.”

Santori looked at him. His gaze slid to the hole. Stepping back, he crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. “I’m not gonna even try.”

“I will.” Diaz got a foot farther than Mick.

When Peter took his turn, he got a third of the way through.

“Listen,” Jake said soothingly, “this isn’t unusual. It’s a tough exercise. We’ll keep doing it till we all get it.”

Filled with winter frost, Santori’s eyes narrowed. “What about Whitmore?”

Jake’s gaze slid to her. He could tell she was enjoying this. Pushing herself away from the truck she’d been leaning against, she headed to the pipe. Dropping to her knees, then her stomach, she inched in. Her shoulders disappeared. Her fanny scraped the top, but she fit better than the guys. The soles of her boots disappeared.

After a minute Jake bent down at the other end. “Halfway, Whitmore, you can do it.”

In almost no time the plywood block slammed back, and her head popped out. Gracefully, she eased her body onto the cement floor of the bay and got to her feet. Though some strands had escaped the knot she habitually tied her hair into and her face was flushed, she was breathing easy. Staring down her nose at the guys, she offered no explanation that she’d done it before. No confession that it was hard for her the first time. She glared at them, hitting them all square on their masculine egos. Then she turned and left the bay.

Jake was angry. Really angry.

Twenty minutes later, he found her at the rig, fiddling with the water gauges. She was driver today, but he suspected her actions were perfunctory.

“Whitmore, I wanna talk to you.”

She kept her back to him as she unscrewed and replaced the covers. Sweat made a line down the back of her T-shirt, which clung to her, outlining solid deltoid muscles. “So talk.”

He clamped his lips for a minute to get control of his temper. Damn it, he’d done his best to ease her way in here. He didn’t deserve this shit. He wouldn’t tolerate it. “Look at me, Whitmore.” As it was a direct summons from an officer, she had no choice.

She turned, her eyes brandy-colored and mutinous. “Yes, sir.”

“What the hell’s going on?”

“Going on?”

Feeling his temperature rise like heated mercury, he straightened to his full height and counted to ten. Then he said, “Yesterday you were part of the team. Today you did your best to make the guys feel like shit. You know how tough it is to go through that pipe the first time.”

She arched an arrogant brow. “You did it.”

Purposefully ignoring the comment, he closed the distance between them. It surprised him that he was almost a head taller than she was. “Why didn’t you tell them you’d done it before? Why didn’t you encourage them through it?”

“Why should I?”

“Because you’re part of this crew. And crew members support each other.”

She straightened, too, which brought her face close to his chin. “Well, I didn’t feel like part of the crew this morning when you all were trashing me in the locker room.”

Jake froze. His mouth gaped. “You heard that?”

“Yeah, I heard that.” She stared him down, the emotion in her eyes reaching flashover. “Thanks a lot for sharing last night’s drama with them, Lieutenant.”

He drew a blank. Then it dawned on him. His thumb hit his chest with a thud. “You think I told them about Billy’s shenanigans?”

“Oh, spare me.” She turned her back on him again.

Without thinking, he spun her around. Sexual harassment training had taught him that uninvited touching was taboo, but by the time he remembered it was too late. Still, he didn’t let her go. “I didn’t tell the guys anything.”

Her look was pure disbelief.

“I didn’t.”

She stepped back and crossed her arms.

He jammed his hands in his pockets. “Joey and Peter ran into Billy at Pumpers after the game. Milligan filled them in.”

Chelsea’s shoulders lost some of their starch. Good.

“You know, Whitmore, try giving some of us the benefit of the doubt. What would I have to gain by spreading gossip about you? I’m tryin’ to make it easier here for you. For us all.”

Eyes rounded with surprise, she stared at him. “I thought—”

“Yeah, it’s obvious what you thought. Cut me some slack, will you?”

She didn’t respond. Even, white teeth came out over her bottom lip, instead.

“And the guys, too. They shouldn’t have been trashing you. I would’ve stopped it if I’d caught it in time. But you could have either risen above it or confronted them this morning, instead of sulking about it all day.”

With one last glare, he turned and left her alone with the rig.

CHAPTER FOUR

STROBE LIGHTS flashed in sync with the pounding rhythm of a group named Death Face. Its predecessor, Skull, hadn’t been much better. Jake closed his eyes to block out the lights hammering the black walls of Beelzebub’s Den, Derek’s favorite club; wearily, he rubbed his temples. His head was throbbing from another night with not enough sleep and a very long day with Firefighter Whitmore.

Jake could picture her proud carriage and tilted head as she challenged him. Well, I didn’t feel like part of the crew this morning when you all were trashing me in the locker room. She hadn’t backed down, and he admired her grit.

“That sound is so awesome. Don’tcha think, Jake?”

Dragging his mind away from his latest problem, Jake smiled at one of his perennial ones. “Sounds like a lot of noise to me, buddy.”

Derek grimaced, then, as usual, smiled at Jake. The boy loved him as much as he loved Derek. It was one thing Jake was certain of. But he was not at all certain about how to help the young James Dean who sat before him. Derek wore the collar of his black shirt turned up, and had perfected the practiced sneer of a rebel.

Death Face wrapped up their set just as the waitress approached.

“Ready to order, handsome?” She only had eyes for Derek.

Derek nodded. “Yep.” He looked at Jake. “You?”

“Sure.”

“What’ll ya have?” She’d edged close to Derek, her hip brushing his arm.

Derek gave her Danny’s grin. “Two hamburgers with the works. Some of those big French fries. And two more Dr. Peppers.”

Actually Jake would have preferred a cold beer and some hot sex, but he’d settle for…Damn, where had that come from? Must be the erotic lyrics of the music. He wasn’t dating anybody, and it had been a while since he’d had a good, long night of lovemaking.

The waitress grinned, snapped her gum and took their menus.

As he watched her leave, Derek said, “Man I love that waitress. She’s hot.”

Jake was transported to another time….

Hey, buddy. Let’s go to Georgie’s. They got these hot waitresses that wear little black French-maid outfits.

He’d gone with Danny; the waitresses had been as hot as Danny had said. He and Danny had been eighteen, a year older than Derek.

Jake experienced nostalgic feelings similar to those he’d had about Jess at the game last night. He remembered Derek as a little boy. Found himself wishing things didn’t have to change.

“Derek, let’s get this out of the way before we eat.”

The boy blew bubbles into his soda. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Ma’s pissed off at me because of yesterday.”

“I’m pissed off, too.”

Mutiny rose in Derek’s almost black eyes. That same mutiny had been in Danny’s the last time Jake had seen or spoken to him.

You sold me down the river, just like I was afraid you’d do when you got to be an officer. You turned me in. It’ll never be square between us again, man. Never.

“Drinking and drugs are unacceptable, Derek. Why are you fooling around with them?”

“Somethin’ to do.”

“Something dangerous.”

The boy shrugged. “Maybe it’s in my genes.”

Jake felt his shoulders tighten. He rubbed the muscles of one while gathering his thoughts. “This is about your dad, isn’t it?”

The boy made a conscious study of his glass. “Whaddaya mean?”

“I miss him, too, Derek.”

“I don’t miss him. He walked out on Ma, me and you.”

“Yes, he did. It doesn’t mean we don’t still care about him.”

“Speak for yourself.” Derek’s tone held disgust and anger, but Jake could detect the underlying hurt. The boy sighed and asked, “Listen, are you gonna rag on me all night, or is this gonna be fun?”

“One more point. Then we’ll enjoy the music.” Begrudgingly Derek smiled at Jake’s dry tone. “I want you to talk to a counselor.”

“A shrink?”

“Yes.”

“No way!”

So much like Danny. Get help? Like from a shrink? You gotta be kiddin’ me.

With fatherly concern, Jake leaned over and grasped Derek’s arm. He’d spent ten years building trust with this boy. He rarely called on that bond, but now was the time. “I want you to think about it.” Derek watched him with owl eyes. “For me.”

Derek’s Adam’s apple bobbed. His surly teenage-boy mask slipped, and he was all kid for a few seconds. “Okay, I’ll think about it.”

Jake sighed. Thank God. He didn’t know what he’d do if he lost Derek. Losing Danny had been bad enough.

As the screech of an electric guitar split the air, Jake vowed never to let that happen. He decided he’d talk to Reed about it.

THE WEIGHT ROOM, a huge complex with three main workout areas and side rooms for specialties like aerobic kick boxing and gymnastics, was hopping. Trainer Spike Lammon towered over Chelsea as she raised the barbell from flat on her back on the padded bench. Spike was dressed in gray pants and shirt with the club’s snazzy logo, and his fit body was worth a thousand dollars of advertising for the gym. His forehead furrowed as he checked off her routine on the clipboard.

“Come on, babe, this is the last of the weights.” He grinned like a little boy with a frog behind his back.

“Think about all those younger women you’ll be competing with.”

She tried for a scathing look, but sweat poured into her eyes despite her hot pink headband, and her limbs, encased in flashy hot pink shorts and crop top, were close to muscle burnout. Nevertheless she bench-pressed two hundred pounds of iron one more time.

“Great job,” Spike said when she was done. “That’s it for tonight.”

She sat up and scowled. “Let’s go in the back and work on my floor exercises.”

He shook his head. “You’re pushing too hard.”

Playfully she socked him in the arm. “Remember all those younger women breathing down my neck.”

“Still, I think you should stop.”

“She at it again, Spike?”

Chelsea turned to see Francey Templeton behind her. She took in Francey’s outfit—black nylon shorts and a plain white T-shirt. She couldn’t get that girl to dress right. Exiting the locker room was her husband, Alex; now he knew what to wear. Garbed in hunter green workout clothes, he could have walked off the pages of GQ.

Spike shook his head at Francey. “She’s working too hard.” His voice was ripe with affection.

“At what?” Alex asked as he came up to them, his hand sneaking familiarly to his wife’s neck. She leaned into it. Chelsea turned her gaze away. Sometimes their closeness was hard to watch.

“Chelsea’s competing in the Fitness Triathlon at the Dome Arena here in Rockford.”

Alex cocked his head. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s a woman’s fitness contest.” Spike ruffled Chelsea’s hair. “They compete in muscle strength and tone, running endurance and speed and a dance and gymnastics routine.”

Francey brightened. “Sounds like fun.”

Groaning, Alex said, “Don’t get any ideas. Men look at you more than I like already.” He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “I’m off to warm up.”

Francey trailed her fingers down his arm. “Remember, if I beat you in weights again, you cook all week.”

“You won’t,” he called over his shoulder as he left.

Spike faced Francey. “I’ve got to get back to the desk. Don’t let Chelsea do the gymnastics routine tonight.”

As if figuring out a jigsaw puzzle, Francey stared after the trainer. “Are all men alike?”

“Too protective? Some.” Chelsea glanced over her shoulder at Spike. “He’s a godsend, though. He runs the gym. Overseeing my training is an extra bonus.”

“And he’s yummy to look at.”

Delaney’s comment about Jake came back to her—even if he is yummy. Well, her lieutenant wasn’t very yummy two days ago when he was spitting nails at her.

“Wanna come to the back room with me?” she asked Francey.

“No. Why don’t you keep me company on the treadmill and fill me in on what’s been happening at the station. That way you can cool down.”

“I want to work out some more.”

Francey squeezed her arm. “You look exhausted.”

Sighing, Chelsea rolled her shoulders. “I slept better last night. I took a pill and it helped. But okay, I’ll stay here.”

As the women headed to the machines, Francey said, “You haven’t been sleeping well since the thing with Billy. Beth thinks you should see a doctor.”

“How is she?”

“Great. All three of them are. We just came from visiting them.” The women mounted treadmills. Francey set her speed low and glanced at her friend. “Jake was there, too.”

“Was he?”

“Yeah. Timmy threw one of his early evening tantrums, and Dylan and Beth couldn’t do anything with him. Jake was the only one who could calm him.”

“Jake’s good at that kind of thing.”

Francey frowned. “He looked as tired as you.”

“Well, we’re off for three days before we go on nights, so he can rest up.” When Francey didn’t respond, Chelsea asked, “Did he say anything about the crew?”

“Nope. I even got him alone a minute, and he told me to mind my own business.” Francey chuckled. “He always was the most closemouthed of all of us.”

“You talk about him as if he’s part of your family.”

“He is. Just not by blood. In a lot of ways, he understands me better than my brothers.”

After a moment Chelsea asked, “Why is Jake so quiet, France?”

“Personality. Life. His father—my dad’s best friend—died when Jake was ten. Dad tried to fill in, but Jake became the man of the house for his mother and three younger sisters.”

Chelsea thought about what had happened with her and Delaney after their mother’s death.

“Then there’s all that stuff with his best friend, Danny DeLuca, just before you and I got into the RFD. Jake doesn’t talk about it—all I know is Danny got in trouble and Jake was his lieutenant. I do know DeLuca quit and left town.” She hesitated. “I don’t like to gossip about Jake.”

When Chelsea nodded, she changed the subject. “So, how has it been with your new group?” Francey speeded up on her treadmill, but Chelsea didn’t. She would cool down and go home.

“Not so hot,” she replied.

“Really? Don’t tell me Jake’s done something to make it that way.”

“Well, kind of.”

“I don’t believe it. Even though he’s reserved, he’s the kindest, gentlest man I know. Excluding his big-brother teasing when he beats me at arm wrestling.”

Chelsea related the details of overhearing the crew talk about her confrontation with Billy the night of the ball game.

Francey didn’t say anything for a moment. “If Jake tells you he wasn’t a part of it, he wasn’t.”

“You trust him that much?”

“With my life.” She glanced at Chelsea. “Don’t get upset at me for saying this, Chels, but maybe you’re looking for trouble where none exists.”

Chelsea stepped off her machine and wiped her face with a towel, then sat wearily on the edge of the treadmill. Suddenly she felt like she’d been battling a blaze for hours. “That’s what Jake said. Maybe I am overreacting. He’s gone out of his way, otherwise, to make me feel accepted.”

Francey zipped her machine a little higher. She wasn’t even breathing hard. “I know all those guys pretty well. Except for Joey, they’re nice men. And Joey’s problem is that he associates you with me. Since I got married, he’s been even more hostile.”

“I don’t know how to act there, France. I tried showing them up in the confined-space exercise, and that backfired.” She filled Francey in on her performance. “I didn’t tell them I already did it.”

Francey gave a low whistle. “I’ll bet they were mad. Anybody make it through on the first time?”

“Superman did.” At Francey’s questioning look, Chelsea shrugged. “Jake.”

“Of course. He’s so cool, he would.”

An image of her lieutenant in a sweaty T-shirt assaulted her. He’d looked pretty yummy.

Chelsea shook off the memory. She picked up her gray and pink Weight Room warmup jacket and got to her feet. “Well, I’m done. I’m going home and curl up with my cats. If you need anything, Spike will be here till closing.”

“Chels?”

“Yeah?”

“Cut them some slack. Maybe you’ll sleep better.”

She shot Francey a weak smile and headed for the locker room. God, she had to start sleeping better. In two days she’d have all of group three at Quint Twelve as company for the night.

JAKE LOOKED FORWARD to the first night shift with Chelsea Whitmore on board about as much as he’d relished getting third degree burns on his back. Since she’d shown up the guys on her second day here, things had been tense. They’d known, of course, what she was doing. And they didn’t like it one bit. Hell, neither did he.

“Ah, I miss that Scarlatta scowl.”

Jake was surprised to see Dylan coming through the door to the kitchen. “What’re you doing here? You’re on furlough for a few more days.”

Dylan nodded. “I just brought in the weekly trivia game questions.” He tossed a sheet of printed paper on the table. “Read ’em and weep.”

Jake fingered the sheet absently. “Beth looked great the other night. And the baby…” He paused. “I envy you, buddy.”

Dylan studied him a moment. “Wanna talk?”

“No, why?”

“No reason. Stop over tomorrow if you feel like it. Beth and the baby nap in the afternoon, and I get to clean the house.”

“Maybe.”

Dylan sniffed. “What smells so good?”

“It’s probably tofu.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Whitmore’s cooking.”

“I see. Is—”

A light knock sounded on the door. Jake glanced over to see a tiny, white-haired lady carrying a huge plate of cookies.

Dylan grinned. “Mrs. Lowe. How are ya, darlin’?”

Sharp, knowing eyes narrowed on him. “Don’t get fresh, young man.” She turned to Jake. “Haven’t you taught him any manners yet?”

“I’m tryin’, Mrs. Lowe.” He sniffed with marked exaggeration. “Are those my favorite pizzelles I smell?”

“Of course they are.” She moved into the room and set the plate on the table.

Like a little boy behind his mother’s back, Dylan sneaked a cookie; Mrs. Lowe slapped his hand away. “It’ll ruin your supper.”

“I’m cookin’ for my wife and new baby tonight.” He winked. “I got pictures in the car, Mrs. L. Wanna see?”

The old woman’s face lit from within. She looped an arm through Dylan’s and said to Jake, “Enjoy the cookies, boy, but bring the plate back next time you come to the nuthouse.”

Jake stood, smiling. “I will. I’ll walk you out to the bay. We’re doing training before supper.”

When they reached the huge garage, Dylan and Mrs. Lowe said goodbye and detoured to the left. Jake found his group waiting by the confined-space pipe. Chelsea leaned against the rig, her face impassive. Mick sat on the floor next to Joey and Don. Peter had taken a straight chair and was leafing though a magazine.

“Hi, guys.” Jake held up a clipboard. “Let’s go over a few procedures for the CSP before we try it again. This is a technically complex rescue.”

Groans all around.

Except from Whitmore. He didn’t look at her because he didn’t want to see her smirk.

Briefly Jake reviewed the equipment they might need for a confined-space rescue, along with some of the physics involved in the maneuvers. Though it was a complicated task, he was really giving them time to prepare for another stab at the pipe. After twenty minutes, he couldn’t delay any longer.

“Anybody have any suggestions for making this easier?” Don Diaz asked. “I sure as hell hate not bein’ able to do somethin’.”

Jake started to give a piece of advice he’d read in Firehouse magazine, when Chelsea pushed away from the rig. She cleared her throat. “Over at Engine Four, when we did it the first time, the captain suggested we use visual imagery. Think about something pleasant, at least to get inside. After the second or third time through, you won’t need to do that.”

Huff caught on first. “You done this before, Whitmore?”

She faced him squarely. “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Joey asked, despite his previous desire to give her the deep freeze.

“Yeah, why didn’t you help last time?” This from Mick.

She swept them all with a level gaze. “Because when I came in that morning, I heard you guys in the locker room trashing me about Milligan.”

Silence. They all stared at her.

Then Huff said, “Hurt your feelings, Whitmore?”

No firefighter in his right mind would admit that. Jake hoped she wouldn’t.

“Not on your life,” she said. “I was just mad. I don’t like to be talked about.”

Good girl, he thought. She could hold her own with these guys.

Huff shrugged. “Fair enough.”

When nobody else jumped in, Jake said, “Let’s remember that, then.” He nodded to the pipe. “Now, let’s try it again.”

With his encouragement and Chelsea’s suggestions, two of them made it through the pipe.

An hour later Chelsea was putting the finishing touches on dinner when Jake entered the kitchen. “Smells great.”

She kept her back to him as she stirred tomato sauce. He came up beside her and leaned against the counter. He smelled great, too, she thought.

He frowned at The Healthy Firehouse Cookbook on the counter. “What is it?”

“Bean sprout steak.”

“What?”

She looked up, her eyes dancing with devilment.

“You jerkin’ my chain, Whitmore?”

“Who, me?”

Crossing his arms, he said, “It feels good, doesn’t it.”

“What does?”

“Having the ice broken.”

She nodded.

“Thanks for helping with the drill.”

Poking green beans with a fork, she didn’t look at him.

“I should have done it last time.”

In her peripheral vision she saw him watching her. Then he pushed away and sat at the table.

“It’s Italian grilled chicken with pasta,” she said.

“They’ll like it as long as they don’t know it’s got only three grams of fat per serving.”

“You eat chicken?” he asked.

“Yeah, especially when I’m training.”

He turned around. “Training?”

“I, um, compete sometimes in fitness contests. There’s a women’s triathalon coming up, and I’m in it.” She explained the events as she kept vigil over the food.

“Is it fun?”

“Yeah. As long as you’re in shape.”

After she put the fettuccine noodles into boiling water, she edged to the sink to wash her hands.

“Hell, I only know two out of three,” she heard Jake complain.

“Of what?”

“Dylan’s trivia.” He chuckled. “He’s something else. This week the subject’s famous sons.”

Chelsea laughed, too. “Read me the questions.”

“Who is the Boston firefighter whose son almost died of congestive heart failure two years ago, but was saved by another firefighter who lived in his apartment building?”

“Search me.”

“You gonna play?”

“Obviously not this week.”

“It’s Leo Stapleton. His son Garrett was saved in a dramatic rescue in 1998. It was profiled in Firehouse.”

“Wow.”

“Whose son made a fortune by patenting and printing the phone labels for fire and police numbers? This was before nine-one-one.”

“You can’t possibly know that.”

“Yep, I do. His last name is Conway. Fred, I think. The guy who wrote Fire Fighting Lore.”

Chelsea asked, “Is there anything you haven’t read about the fire department?”

Shrugging, Jake said, “Well, I don’t know the last one.” His brow furrowed. “What book did Firefighter Joseph Bonanno dedicate to his mother, Audrey, who died from critical burns sustained at home?”

The name sounded familiar. Chelsea glanced at the counter. And smiled.

“Damn, nobody’s gonna get that,” Jake said. “Dylan’s crazy.”

Chelsea came up behind him and dropped the cookbook on the table in front of him.

Jake laughed, deep and from his belly. It made her insides flutter like the heroine in a Victorian novel. “Hey, thanks, Whitmore.”

Turning back to the stove, she tried to ignore the warmth spreading though her. “You’re welcome. Chow’s almost ready. Set the table and call the boys.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She stole a quick peek at him. His gray eyes flashed with humor. He was grinning a curl-your-toes grin. Man, this guy was lethal when he turned on the charm.

Good thing she was immune.

AT TEN THAT NIGHT Chelsea sat at the oak kitchen table waiting to take the apple pie she’d baked out of the oven. Absently she rubbed the table’s polished surface, wondering where the station had gotten such a quality piece of furniture. The Quint, to which she’d been assigned tonight, had had one call after dinner; the Midi was out on its second now. Besides playing Betty Crocker, she’d gone over some schedules, then come in here with a new procedural manual to skim. Outside the calls, she hadn’t seen much of the crew since dinner; she’d heard them in the bunk room and then in the back office, but they weren’t around now.

The bay door went up, and in minutes, Jake entered the kitchen. His hair was messy from the wind that had picked up earlier; he went to the sink and drew a glass of water. Taking a sideways glance, she saw his throat work as he swallowed. She shifted uncomfortably.

“Whitmore, you baking?”

“Who me?”

She kept her eyes focused on the procedural manual.

Mick Murphy strode into the room. “Oh, my God, what’s that smell?”

From the table, she didn’t look up. “What smell?”

“It’s apple pie, isn’t it?”

“Is it?”

Huff tromped in after writing his report; he’d affected his usual lazy demeanor, but sniffed loudly. “My firstborn for some of that, Whitmore.”

Finally, a smile aimed at all three of them broke through. “That won’t be necessary. It was covered in your six dollars for dinner.”

At the bing of the stove buzzer, she got up and removed the bubbling, steaming confection from the oven. Mick got a wooden cutting board and placed it in the center of the table. “Don’t wanna hurt Jake’s baby.”

At her quizzical look, Mick said, “Jake made this table.”

“Really? It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, you should see some of the stuff he’s done.”

Her lieutenant grunted and eyed the pie. “Don’t suppose you thought to get vanilla ice cream.”

Cockily, she crossed to the fridge and opened the door to reveal two half gallons. She knew the Mount Everest appetite of firefighters.

The guys sank into chairs like little boys waiting for birthday cake. When she told them the pie had to cool for a few minutes, they pouted.

“How’d the run to Dutch Towers go?” she asked Jake.

“Fine.”

Chelsea smiled. “Which were they—scared or lonely?”

“Both.” Peter snorted. “Mr. Steed was with Mr. Olivo when he had trouble breathing. ’Course, Mrs. Lowe came out to see Jake when she heard the truck.”

Mick said, “She’s sweet on Jake. Keeps track of his schedule.”

Jake chuckled. “She’s just lonely. Look, Whitmore, I’m dyin’ here. Cut the pie.”

Just as she finished dishing out the pieces—à la mode—Joey strolled into the room. He scowled at them all gathered around the table like a family at Thanksgiving. Then he sauntered to the coffeepot. Joey had first watch tonight, from ten to two, so he’d want to stay awake.

Chelsea caught Jake’s look. His gaze slid to Joey, then back to her.

Okay, why not?

She got up and fished out another plate, then served the last slice of her masterpiece. She sat down, handed it to Mick, who gave it to Huff, who passed it across to Joey.

The surprise on his face was almost comical. After recovering, he said, “Ice cream?” She passed him the container and the scoop. “Thanks.” He took a bite. “It’s good.”

When Chelsea looked up, she saw a smile flirting with Jake’s lips, and the approval in his eyes warmed her a like cozy fire for two.

After a moment Jake said, “I saw your grandparents at the Towers, Joey.”

Joey grunted.

“Moses said you never called them back. Josephine misses you.”

“I forgot.”

Diaz said, “If I had family, I wouldn’t ignore ’em.”

“I’ll call them in the morning.” Joey sounded chagrined.

Huff and Diaz cleaned up the dessert plates. It was almost eleven when Chelsea said, “I, um, assume you guys have specific bunks. Anybody want to tell me which is mine?”

Almost imperceptibly, Mick hesitated in his movements. Huff turned his face away—to hide a snicker? Diaz shifted in his seat and coughed. Jeez, where did they expect her to sleep?

Jake stood. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

Miffed, she rose and followed Jake to the bunk room. With these guys, it was three steps forward, two back. From the hallway, she could see the bunk room was dark. Jake stepped aside so she could go in first, which was odd. She felt for the wall switch, then flicked on the light.

And gave a start of surprise.

Very male chuckles came from behind her, and she turned to see the guys, except Santori, lined up at the doorway. She faced the bunks again, which were pushed together. Five beds nestled up to one in the middle, all six touching.

“Somethin’ wrong, Whitmore?” Jake asked, amusement deepening his voice.

“Look, I know you guys are close, but this is ridiculous.”

Diaz said, “Don’t they sleep this way over at Four? It makes us all feel safer.”

She bit back a chuckle. “I guess I don’t have to ask which bunk is mine.”

The one in the middle had a pink lacy bedspread, white ribbons around the headboard and a teddy bear propped against the pillow.

Diaz said, “The bedspread used to be my daughter’s. She loaned it to you.”

“I brought in the ribbons,” Mick told her.

“Whose is the teddy bear?”

Jake grinned. “It’s an old one of Jessie’s.”

She looked at the guys again. Though Huff leaned against the wall, not participating, he was there, with a grin breaching his lips. Jake, Mick and Don could hardly keep a straight face.

Chelsea started to laugh. “If it’s short-sheeted, you guys, you’re gonna pay.”

The men laughed good-naturedly, and began rearranging the bunks. Hers was shoved against a far wall, like theirs, with plenty of space, though no real privacy. Mick, Don and Peter went to shower. She removed Mick’s daughter’s bedspread and the ribbons and folded them neatly. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Jake unbutton his blue shirt. He threw it on the bunk closest to hers where some RFD sweats rested. She sank down on her bed, hugging the teddy bear to her chest the way she cuddled her cats at night.

He grinned at her. “I’d check the sheets if I were you.”

AT THREE Jake wasn’t grinning. He was sitting up straight in bed, shaking. He’d had the dream again—Danny and the flashover. Only this time Chelsea Whitmore was in the middle of the inferno.

Flinging off the covers, he grabbed his sweat suit from the bottom of the bed. They all slept in gym shorts and T-shirts, but it would be cold in the kitchen, or the watch room if he decided to keep Mick company. He knew he wouldn’t go back to sleep after being out cold for four solid hours and with the remnants of the dream lingering like stale smoke in his head.

He left the pitch-black bunk room silently. Diaz, Santori and Huff slept like the dead, but he didn’t know about Whitmore, and he didn’t want to wake anybody and explain his sleeplessness.

He was thinking about what Chelsea looked like laughing at the guys’ prank when he entered the kitchen. A small light was on over the stove, casting the room in an eerie glow. A figure sat curled up on a chair, sipping from a mug. The feminine slope of the shoulders told him it was her.

“Chelsea?”

She jumped.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay.”

Her voice was raspy. She cleared her throat. “What are you doing up?”

“I could ask you the same.” Farther into the room, closer, the dark circles under her eyes told him the story.

“Can’t sleep?”

She nodded, the action sending her hair cascading around her shoulders like a golden waterfall. Though she wore it up in some kind of knot all day, she obviously took it out when she went to bed. It was mussed and a little wild. Sexy.

Uncomfortable with the direction of his thoughts, he crossed to the coffeepot, poured a mugful. “Want some?”

“No, mine’s fine.”

He joined her at the table. After a silence he asked, “You fall asleep?”

“Uh-huh. But I woke up and couldn’t settle down again.”

“Hmm.”

“You, too?”

“Yeah.”

She sipped her drink, then said, “Depression.”

“What?”

“Delaney told me that when you can’t fall asleep, psychologists say it’s anxiety. When you wake up and can’t get back, it’s depression.”

After another pause he asked, “Happen to you often?”

“Lately.”

“’Cause of Billy?”

She nodded.

He watched her for a minute, curled up on the chair, her knees drawn to her chest. “Chelsea, what really happened with him? All I heard was bits and pieces. I didn’t ask Francey or Beth for details because I thought it’d be prying.”

“What do you think it is now?”

His shoulders stiffened. Though she had reason to be prickly, he had little patience at this time of the night. He started to rise. “Forget it.”

She grabbed at his arm. “Don’t go. That’s the worst thing about insomnia. Being alone. At least at home I’ve got my cats.”

He sat down. “I know.” He thought about his dog, a gray mixed breed named Smoky, that Danny had given to him as a pup. She’d died two years ago, but she’d been good company during Jake’s sleeplessness.

“I’ll tell you if you really want to hear it,” she finally said.

“It’ll go no further, I promise.”

“I know.” Again she sipped her coffee. The RFD sweats she wore were big, the sleeves reached her knuckles. “I knew it was stupid to get involved with a firefighter. Half the world thinks females in the department are lesbians, and the other half thinks we sleep with the crew. But he was so nice at first. So funny and fun loving.” She glanced around the kitchen. “You know how intimate firehouse living is. We were together all the time. We saved lives together, covered each other’s back.”

Jake thought about Danny.

“The attraction was mutual, and it was only natural to grow close.” She sighed. “But I never really knew him.”

“What do you mean?”

“As soon as we got serious, he changed. Became possessive. Demanding. He was critical of everything I did that didn’t include him. He particularly hated the gym. I think because of all the guys there.”

Jake nodded. “Go on.”

She bit her lip. “He started making scenes whenever I wanted to do anything without him. I knew then I should end the relationship. But I’d waited too long. He’d gotten maniacally jealous. He insulted all my friends, their husbands, even some of the guys at work.”

“So you finally ended it.”

She waited a long time, then whispered, “Not until he hit me.”

Jake was stunned.

“He’d been drinking one night when my gym manager gave me a ride to Billy’s house from the club,” she went on. “Billy went into a rage when I walked through the door. He knocked me around the living room until I finally hit him with a big metal vase and stopped him.”

“Chelsea, I’m sorry. I didn’t know, wouldn’t have guessed.”

“Nobody knows that part. I’ve never told a soul.”

He wondered why she’d told him. Probably sleep deprivation and the solitude of early morning; both could loosen your tongue like you’d drunk hundred-proof vodka.

“That’s not all, though, is it?”

“Nope. When I refused to see him anymore, he had these fits of anger until he finally got it through his thick skull it was over. By then, the guys at Four were sick of it from both sides. Then he pulled the rest of his tricks.”

Jake knew about Billy’s performance at work. He’d started taking chances, putting himself in situations that a rookie would know better than to risk. As Chelsea detailed them, Jake cringed. “He went into a fire without his gloves or Nomex hood,” she said. “He took a staircase without a charged hose. He disobeyed orders more than once.”

“God.”

“And then he got burned.”

Jake had heard about that, too. Billy had been told to come out of a fire and refused. The building became fully involved, and his captain risked his neck to find him and drag him out.

Chelsea said, “The Cap told him that if he was going to kill himself over some broad, it’d have to be on his own time. He was suspended on some kind of emotional disability. Reed Macauley’s working with him.” When she looked at Jake, her eyes were misty. “Doesn’t look like he’s made much progress.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Jake said.

“Anyway, the guys blamed me. I became a pariah. I’d been there eight years. He’d been there twelve. Still…”

“It hurt.”

“Yeah.” She stared into space as if she was seeing ghosts. “I’d eaten at their houses, had them to mine. I talked to more than one of them through the night about personal problems. Went to their kids’ first communions.” She sniffled. “Once, Connors got trapped on a roof. I saw it when no one else did. Another time, I pulled Jones out of the way of a falling girder. None of it mattered in the end.” She shook her head sadly. “Male bonds, I guess.”

He wanted to reach out and touch her. Hell, he wanted to hold her, to insulate her with his body and stop the shivers that came when she related the worst of it. Instead, he said softly, “Not all men are like that, Chelsea.”

“Aren’t they?”

“No.”

“Well, you couldn’t prove it by me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, so am I.” She fiddled with her coffee cup, then looked at him again. “So, Lieutenant, wanna tell me what monkey’s on your back that wakes you in the middle of the night?” She indicated the room, still encased in an inky cloak except for one beacon of light coming from the stove.

He returned her gaze. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t even consider sharing the sadness he lived with, never willingly reveal his inadequacies and fears. Or the dashed dreams he’d had of a big family and rising in the ranks of the fire department.

But there was something about the intimacy of their surroundings, while the firehouse slept around them. Something about her uncensored confession of her demons that made him want to share his. And then there were some uncanny similarities to his own situation with Danny—someone you loved and trusted turning on you, public censure from other firefighters, daily reminders of what had happened.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, the lights went on in the kitchen and the tone sounded over the PA system.

CHAPTER FIVE

WITH ORDERS to ready the hoses and prepare for entry, Jake bounded off the truck as it came to a halt on a crowded side street in downtown Rockford. They were first in, and the corner of the two-story house blazed with angry flames. As she hauled hose, Chelsea watched Jake approach the spectators.

Though it was four in the morning, several people had gathered under a street lamp outside the burning house. An old woman with snow-white hair and parchment skin gripped the lapels of her tattered chenille bathrobe.

“Ma’am, do you know if the house is occupied?”

“Y-yes.” Her voice shook. “Damned fool Edward. Eighty years old. His daughter begged him to move in with her, but she’s allergic to cats, and he wouldn’t hear of leaving Hester.”

“Hester?”

“Hester Prynne, his cat.”

“So you think he’s inside?”

“Yes.”

“Where’s his room?”

She pointed to the second floor on a side of the house where no flames were visible.

Abruptly Jake turned from the woman and faced his group. Already they had the lines out, the ladders down and their breathing tanks on. Over the blare of Engine Sixteen’s arrival, Jake said, “Santori and I will attack the fire. We’ll take the hose to the second floor.” He turned to Chelsea. “You and Huff come in behind us with a second line. You’re search-and-rescue. Go up and to the left and start at the farthest bedroom. The woman says there’s an eighty-year-old man in there somewhere.”

She and Huff nodded.

Mick and Don knew to stay with the trucks to oversee the water. “Mick, position the aerial closest to the flames in case it bites us in the ass.”

Jake faced Sixteen’s officer, who rushed up to him. “Tom. We’re ready to go in. Make sure there’s a ladder at every window. And you need to ventilate. Top right-hand corner.” Jake scanned his crew again and nodded as the battalion chief, who’d just arrived, strode to them. After briefly filling him in—the chief would take command—Jake said to Chelsea and Huff, “Stay in touch on the radios.”

Now that the plan was set, motion and speed increased like a film on fast forward. As she yanked the hose and raced after Jake and Joey, Chelsea could see the firefighters dragging ladders to the side and back of the house. They were for access in case the staircase went up after they climbed it. Chelsea had been trapped once before like that; her officer hadn’t taken precautions with the ladders, and the group had been in real danger.

Jake tried the door and found it unlocked. Chelsea shook her head as he pushed it open.

A volcanic blast of heat forced him and Joey back. Chelsea bumped into Peter, who steadied her. All four dropped to their knees. The house was smoky, but not the thick, black smoke that made visibility impossible. A tiny living room was off to the left, a hallway straight ahead. She adjusted her face mask; slippery with perspiration, the heat made her sweat bullets. They edged their way to the staircase on the right—slow going with their heavy bunker boots and the weight of equally heavy pants and thick turnout coats. They could see the origin of the fire as soon as they hit the steps. Top right bedroom. Jake spoke into the radio as they inched up the stairs. Sweat trickled down Chelsea’s back and legs. She started to breathe faster. Knowing she had to conserve air, she forced herself to be calm. Jake opened the bedroom door and activated the hose. Before she turned to the left, Chelsea caught sight of stacks of something outside the bedroom and down the hallway. Newspapers. Hundreds of them.

“Lieutenant,” she barked into the radio. “There’re piles of newspapers right outside your location and down the hall.”

“Understood,” Jake replied.

She and Peter reached the last bedroom. A curtain of thick gray smoke whipped into their faces when they opened the door. She could see the faint outline of a bed; as she headed for it, Peter behind her, she heard coughing.

Dropping the hose, she reached for the victim. He began thrashing. Damn. Why did he have to be so big? Not much taller than she was. But stocky and overweight. She held his hands to his sides. “Sir, we’ll get you out of here if you cooperate.” Her Darth Vader voice stilled him—a common reaction to the sound coming out of the self-contained breathing apparatus. She repeated herself more loudly. He began struggling again. She held on tight.

He mumbled something that sounded like “Helen.”

The thrashing stopped, and she released him. But when she dragged him up and tried to turn him, he yanked away from her and grabbed for the pictures on his nightstand. Peter lunged for him, pulled him back. A fit of coughing quieted the old guy, and he sank into Peter’s arms, overcome by smoke.

Chelsea grabbed the man’s feet, and together, she and Peter dragged him to the doorway. When they reached the end of the hall, she heard Peter swear. She turned and saw that the fire had caught on the newspapers, devouring them, and eaten its way down the stairs—which were blocked. She felt a brief moment of panic for Jake and Joey until she remembered the aerial was right outside the window of the front room.

And there was a ladder at the end of her hall. Peter must have realized the same thing. They began dragging the man back. At the window Peter dropped the guy and reached for the halligan strapped to his waist. The axlike staple of firefighting made quick work of the window, and in minutes a gaping hole greeted them. It also created an inferno behind them, the oxygen feeding the beast.

Huff looked at her, no doubt wondering if she could do it. And if she couldn’t, which was the best place for him—getting the victim out the window or carrying him to the stairs and down. Finally he picked up the man by the armpits and began to swivel him. Chelsea raced to the window and climbed onto the first rung of the ladder. “Somebody come and heel the ladder,” she barked into her radio. In seconds Diaz was at the bottom, feet spread, bracing the ends with his toes on each of the beams, holding on with his hands.

Feet appeared first, and the back of the man’s legs. He wore pajamas, hiked up to reveal bare calves. Chelsea grabbed hold as Huff slid the guy out a little at a time, giving her leeway to anchor him in front of her. First she spread his legs to either side so they weren’t in the way; then she inserted her hands beneath his armpits to grab the ladder beams; with her knee beneath his groin to brace his weight, she started down. One step. Almost immediately, her muscles flexed with the weight. Her chest heaved. She descended another step, hanging on tight, picturing her footing. Bump. Bump. Three more rungs. The man stirred. Please, God, don’t let him thrash again. They’d break both their necks if he went wild. But he sank into the ladder instead, became a dead weight. Another rung. And another. By the time she reached the bottom, her arms were screaming with pain, sweat dripped into her eyes, and her breathing was race-car fast.

She felt someone brace her from behind and steady her as she hit bottom. Then another person—Mick—came around front and relieved her of her burden. She inched to the side as Diaz resumed his post, holding the ladder until Huff descended.

Mick handed the guy over to the paramedics, who’d hustled around the corner. Chelsea yanked off her mask, helmet and hood. “Jake and Joey?” she asked immediately.

“Got out on the aerial. The house is gone, though. It’s fully involved.”

“The newspapers,” she said. “There were hundreds of them. I saw them stacked in the hall, but they could be all over the house.”

A few minutes later Jake came up behind Mick. Chelsea’s heart gave a little lurch. From a generator behind him, a light cast him into plain sight despite the darkness. His face was blackened, and his navy coat was covered with a thin layer of grime. But he wasn’t hurt. He crossed to her, grasped both her arms and looked intently at her. “You all right?”

She nodded. His touch felt good; firm and safe. He held her gaze another few seconds, then squeezed her arms and stepped away. He turned to Peter. Clapping him on the back, he said, “Okay, buddy?”

In an unusual show of affection, Huff raised his arm and wrapped it around Jake’s shoulder. “Fine, but too close for me.”

Huff faced Chelsea. “You must be strong as a bull to carry that guy down.”

“I am.”

“Nice to know.” He didn’t touch her, but he did smile. She chided herself for what it meant to her. Along with Jake’s attention, she warmed as much inside as out.

Maybe being on Quint Twelve was going to work out, after all.

JAKE STUDIED his troops like a proud general who’d just directed a successful maneuver. They’d handled the routine fire gone bad like the pros they were. Though right now, grimy and exhausted, they didn’t look too professional. As dawn broke, they gathered around the table in the dim light of the firehouse kitchen. The strong smell of the coffee they sipped permeated the air as they hashed over the events of the night.

“I almost flipped when I saw the size of that guy.” Huff’s face flushed with emotion.

“Those ladders sure came in handy,” Diaz said. “So much for the other guys raggin’ on us about bein’ too careful.” He flicked his fingers out from under his chin—the ultimate Italian insult.

Mick clapped everybody on the back several times as he prowled the kitchen.

At the far corner of the table, Joey reminded Jake of a little boy who wanted to sulk but couldn’t contain his excitement. “I figured we’d bought it when we looked out and the staircase was on fire.”

Jake pushed away from the counter where he’d been leaning and sat down. It was time for a little official debriefing. “Let’s start with that.”

Casually he faced Whitmore, who’d exchanged a few comments with the guys but had stayed pretty quiet. “Nice job keeping your eyes open, Whitmore. At least we were prepared for the newspaper thing.” She nodded. He liked her calm acceptance of the praise due her as much as her quickness in detecting the fire hazard. Jake addressed them all. “Turns out the entire place was a firetrap. The old man had copies of the Sentinel—” Rockford’s daily newspaper “—dating back thirty years.”

Huff gave a low whistle. His gaze flicked to Chelsea. “Good thing you noticed. I didn’t.”

Shrugging, she said, “It was easy to miss.”

Mick stopped pacing. “You know, it’s a female thing—women clean the house so they notice junk around more than we do.”

Everyone’s mouth dropped open at his politically incorrect statement. Mick stared at them blankly, then cocked his finger and thumb like a gun. “Gotcha.”

The levity lessened the tension. Jake let them enjoy it before continuing.

“Mick and Don, good job covering the ladder situation from the ground and assisting with the victim.” He jotted some notes. “Anything else we should discuss about that?”

“Yeah, and I’ll say it.” Huff’s knowing blue eyes pinned Chelsea. Jake saw her brace her hands on the seat of the chair. “You know why men feared women coming into the fire department more than onto the police force?”

Chelsea shook her head.

“Female officers carry guns just like men. Most of their backup is with a weapon—it isn’t dependent on physical strength.” Chelsea watched him, poker-faced. “I’ve heard dozens of firefighters say they worry about a broad—their term—carrying them out of the dragon’s mouth if they go down.”

Awareness dawning, Chelsea slowly nodded. But Huff wasn’t through. “How much do you weigh, Mick?”

“One ninety-five.”

“Diaz?”

“One eighty, give or take a few.”

Santori confessed to one seventy-five, Jake to two hundred.

“I weigh one ninety,” Huff said.

Jake picked up on Huff’s point. “How much do you think our victim weighs, Whitmore?”

“Easily two hundred. He was short but fat.”

Huff said, “Guess that dispels that worry. I told you at the scene it was good to know you could handle him. I meant it.”

Quiet for a moment, as if she was deciding how to handle the point, Chelsea finally said, “I guess it’s normal that you’d question my ability. For the record, I was a competitive weightlifter for years, and I still compete in some strength contests. I can carry my weight, so to speak.”

“Maybe you can beat Scarlatta at arm wrestling,” Mick teased. “Nobody else can.”

Arching an impish brow, she glanced at Jake. “Probably.”

The guys razzed Jake with whistles and catcalls until he quieted them.

“Anybody else have a comment about the night?”

Chelsea said, “I do.”

Jake scowled. He hoped she didn’t blow the good mood.

“The old guy was tough to handle. It got me thinking about dealing with elderly victims and patients. Since we’re so near Dutch Towers and since they seem to need us so often—” she nodded in Jake’s direction “—I wondered if we should have some training on rescuing the elderly.”

Her insight impressed Jake. Her interest in the Dutch Towers clientele—his own special cause—warmed him like aged brandy going down smooth. When everyone agreed, he said he’d talk to Reed about setting up some training.

Soon the morning shift sauntered in and buzzed about the fire. With the requisite embellishments, the night crew held court with the day shift. Jake excused himself to shower and take care of paperwork.

An hour later, exhausted and ready for bed, Chelsea crossed the parking lot and unlocked the door to her candy-apple red Camaro just as Jake exited the firehouse. As he came toward her in the bright morning sunlight, birds chirping cheerfully around them, she noticed he’d exchanged his uniform for jeans and a blue-and-black checked shirt, the sleeves rolled up his forearms. His feet were clad in Docksiders and no socks. “Just leaving?” he asked when he reached her. Briefly he scanned her denims and oversize top. Suddenly the sun felt midsummer hot.

“Uh, yeah. I got cleaned up, then talked with Mick for a while in the bay. He’s been great to me.”

“Everybody loves Mick. He’s our resident peacemaker.”

Studying the lines of fatigue in his face, Chelsea thought about his role in the events of the night. “And you’re a good leader.”

He gave her a show-stopper smile. “Hey, thanks.”

“I’ve worked with a lot of officers. Insisting on the ladders was wise.”

“I’ve taken guff about it from other companies.”

“You’re right to do it.” She looked over his shoulder, remembering his calm reactions. They’d made her feel confident. “And you were so cool, even when things went wrong.”

“Can’t panic in a fire. It’ll kill you.”

“Just the same, I admired what you did.”

He held up his hand. “Stop. I’ll get a big head, as my father used to say.”

Watching him for minute, she wondered what sort of father he had. What sort of father he was. “We never got a chance to finish our conversation this morning.”

“No, we didn’t.”

“Maybe some other time.”

His expression became shuttered. “Maybe.”

She felt the chill form between them like a newly built wall. One he erected. She started to turn away.

He grasped her arm, tugging her around. “You did good, Whitmore.” His hand was big and muscular on her bare skin.

“Thanks.”

“I told you it was gonna work out here.”

“It’s not over till it’s over,” she said, but she smiled at the familiar quip. Before he let go, he squeezed her arm gently.

With a quick smile of her own, she opened her door and slid into the front seat. She reached for the handle, but he grasped the top of the door, holding it ajar, and peered at her. The sunlight glistened off his hair, highlighting chestnut strands sprinkled here and there with a few gray ones. His eyes were warm with amusement as he patted the hood. “Nice car.”

“My baby.”

“It suits you.”

“It does? How?”

He ran a hand over the roof. “Sleek on the outside.” He swept the entire chassis with his eyes. “Strong enough to hold up on the road.” He perused the interior. “Kind of cushy on the inside.”

“You think?” she asked, struggling to conceal how rattled his assessment made her. There was something about the tone of his voice….

“Yeah, I think.” Giving her a half smile, he slammed the door shut. “Have a nice day.”

“You, too.” She started the car and pulled away.

In the rearview mirror, she could see him give her a mock salute and told herself not to make too much out of his…friendliness. His interest was purely professional, as his goodbye gesture indicated.

There was, and never would be, anything personal between them.

JAKE STROLLED into the firehouse two nights later, their third on the night shift, satisfied with the way things had gone on Chelsea’s first stint with them at night. Despite the initial tension, and because of her firefighting ability, her sense of humor and her refusal to take any guff from them, Chelsea had made strides with the guys.

And with me, too, he thought as he approached the office. It wasn’t so bad having her around. She was even kind of fun.

And real easy on the eyes.

He thought about how vulnerable she looked curled up in her sweats on the kitchen chair that first night before the fire call came, like a little china doll who needed to be handled gently.

Yeah, right. An hour later that china doll hefted two hundred pounds of dead weight down a fourteen-foot ladder.

There hadn’t been a repeat of that early-morning encounter, for the next night, she’d been on watch when he awakened at four. He often went out and kept the person who’d drawn the late watch company, but this time, he’d read in the common room. He was avoiding the intimacy.

His foot connected with something on the floor, and he bent down to pick it up. It was a stuffed animal. A cat.

Diaz. The guy was always buying his kids things and bringing them in to show the rest of them. They razzed him mercilessly but knew Diaz had had a rotten childhood and craved stability and family like a junkie. He must have dropped his most recent purchase. Thinking briefly about Chelsea’s comments about her cats, he put it on the desk and looked at the bulletin board. Staring him square in the face was an eleven-by-fourteen blowup of…Jeez, was that Cat Woman? Yep, it was Julie Newmar, from the old TV show. He remembered drooling over the scantily clad half-feline. Who the hell had done this, and why?

“Jake?” Group Two’s lieutenant, Ken Casey, stood at the doorway. A small, wiry man with body-builder muscles, he had a face that was a road map of lines.

“Hi, Ken. Tough day?”

“Yeah. Here’s a list of the runs.” He handed Jake a clipboard. “I’m outta here. I gotta take my kid to little-guy soccer tonight.”

“Ken, what’s with the poster?”

Group Two’s lieutenant eyed Cat Woman like any good twelve-year-old boy might. “Don’t know. Pretty hot stuff, though.” As he headed for the door, he was smiling.

Jake made his way down the hall to the kitchen. When he walked through the doorway, he stopped abruptly. Chelsea was in the corner fixing salad. Diaz was at the table drinking coffee with Santori, and Mick was fiddling with a boom box in the corner.

And all around the room were computer-generated cat things—pictures of cats, cat food, cat toys.

“What’s goin’ on?” Jake asked.

Peter stood at the stove and shrugged. “Don’t know. Somebody in Group Two must have done it.”

“Funny, Casey didn’t seem to know about Cat Woman.”

Everyone turned at once. They were as straight-faced as funeral directors. Finally Chelsea folded her arms and said, deadpan, “I guess the cat’s got our tongues.”

Suspicion curled inside him. He narrowed his eyes.

“I don’t know,” Huff put in. “Maybe we should let the cat out of the bag.”

All five of them chuckled. Then Diaz held out the morning paper. It was folded open to Letters to the Editor, and one of them was circled with a red magic marker. Jake glanced at the signature but didn’t recognize it. “Edward P. Parker, former city school English teacher.” He read the letter.

Dear Sir,

It is with both sadness and pleasure that I write this letter from my hospital bed to commend our city firefighters. On May 28, my house caught on fire and unfortunately my beloved feline friend, Hester Prynne, succumbed in the flames. I would be left with no memories of the cat who has shared my life for many years except for the efforts of the officer—and gentleman—on duty who saved several pictures of her, and in the aftermath secured the jeweled collar I had given her last Christmas. As yet, I don’t know the officer’s name, but his sensitivity and concern for an old man’s idiosyncrasies are greatly appreciated.

Jake’s face flushed. He knew he’d never live this one down. Though any one of them sitting here would have automatically done the same thing if they’d had the opportunity, firefighter humor insisted that they razz the daylights out of him about it.

Cavalierly he tossed the paper onto the table, swept his group with a disinterested gaze and, deciding to ignore their antics, went to get coffee.

It seemed to work, as they discussed training for the night, then dispersed and went about their chores. Six o’clock came, and there had been no runs.

Hungry, Jake entered the kitchen and found Chelsea setting the table and humming a little off-key. When she put a jar full of pussy willows on the table, he threw her a scathing look. She shrugged. Apparently he wasn’t out of the woods yet.

“Chow’s on,” Peter called out minutes later. He held back a smile. “I think the officer and gentleman should go first.”

Jake said, “Bite me, Huff.”

“What’s the matter, Jakey baby, don’t you know we think you’re the cat’s meow?” Mick teased, giving Jake a hearty slap on the back as he walked by to take his seat.

Jake shook his head and briefly closed his eyes. When he opened them, he caught Chelsea looking at him. “Sure you want to join forces with Brutus and his gang, Whitmore?”

“Me? I haven’t done anything.” Her Huck Finn grin said, Yet.

Well, at least her presence kept the guys from tossing out some tasteless sexist remarks.

After dinner, they took some training off the computer, then Jake headed to the weight room to work out with Don and Mick. Chelsea strode by just as Jake arrived and started to stretch. Stopping in the archway to the hall, she watched them for a minute.

“What’s wrong?” Diaz asked from the Universal machine in the corner.

“Nothing.”

Mick snorted. “Sounds like my wife when she’s mad at me.”

“Mine, too.” Diaz exchanged a male-fraternity look with Murphy. Jake rolled his eyes, headed for the weight bench and picked up a barbell.

Crossing her arms, Chelsea leaned against the doorway.

“You run a gym, don’tcha, Whitmore?” Diaz asked.

“Yes.”

“Okay, Coach, tell us.”

“I was just wondering what kind of warm-up you guys do.”

“Just what Jake did.”

She shook her head. “Jake stretched—he didn’t warm up. There’s a difference. Actually, stretching should be done after the exercising warm-ups because warm muscles stretch easier—cold ones tear.”

Diaz winced.

Jake asked, “What should we be doing?”

“You really wanna know?”

All three nodded.

She approached Jake. “Proper warm-ups prevent injury, but you already know that.” She angled her head to the treadmill. “Get on that thing.” When he jumped on, she set it at a low speed.

“Your ability to do physical work increases at elevated body temperatures, which you need to do heavy exercising like weight training.”

Jake nodded as he trekked slowly on the machine.

“An elevated body temperature allows more oxygen to be freed from the hemoglobin in your red blood cells. It also reduces the internal viscosity of the skeletal muscles.”

“In plain English?” Mick leaned against the weight bench.

“It makes them move easier. Then the nervous system benefits, too. And it improves your range of motion—”

“Okay, okay, we buy it,” Diaz said, straightening.

“Just tell us what to do.”

“First you want to reach as many muscle groups as you can in a general warm-up. So use the treadmill or the bike.” She indicated the stationary bicycle in the corner.

“I hate those things.”

“Then jump rope.”

Mick and Diaz liked that better, picked up two ropes in the corner and skipped as they listened.

“Do a little stretching after you’re through. But the most important thing is, do a specific warm-up for your next activity.”

“Meaning?”

“I’ll show you.” After another couple of minutes, she said, “Get on the bench, Jake.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He stepped off the treadmill, then did as she asked.

Chelsea crossed to the bench and towered over him, giving him an interesting view of her upper torso. “What do you usually lift?”

“Two-fifty.” She leaned over him. He swallowed hard, feeling his temperature elevate some already.

Like toys, she picked up two twenty-five-pound weights and put them on the barbell. “Okay, these first. Ten reps.”

Easily Jake followed instructions. Then she doubled the weights. “Do ten more.” She addressed all of them. “This will warm up your pecs—” she swept a soft hand over his chest, and Jake’s grip faltered a bit “—the rotator cuff—” she fingered the joint on his shoulder, and he shifted on the bench “—and the delts and triceps—” she slid her hand over his shoulder and slipped it between him and the bench. Jake’s back arched involuntarily at her brief, firm touch. “It’ll also stretch your wrist and elbow.”

“Working out will take forever that way.” Mick voiced the typical layperson’s complaint, but he kept jumping.

“If you don’t do it, you’re at greater risk for injury,” Chelsea warned.

Jake cleared his throat. “Physical injuries take you out of firefighting. I think it might be worth the extra time.”

Chelsea stopped him and gave him heavier weights. She got him to two-fifty in about four minutes. Gently she swiped his forehead. “He’s broken out into a sweat. That shows he’s ready.” She glanced at her watch. “Ten minutes.”

The guys scowled.

She shrugged. “Take it or leave it.”

Mick grinned at her. “All right. Wanna come back and show us how to cool down?”

“Sure, I’ll bring the ice packs for the back of your neck.”

When all mouths fell open in surprise, she left the room laughing.

At about eleven, after showering, Jake headed for the bunk room. Huff was on watch, and the others had gone to bed half an hour ago. Which was early for Diaz and Mick. He chuckled. Must be the extra time in the weight room tired them out. Dressed in gym shorts and T-shirt, he opened the door. He could hear Santori snoring lightly and stepped quietly inside. He crossed through the unrelieved darkness to his bed by the window and pulled down the covers. His head hit the pillow—and connected with something hard.

“What the hell?” he sputtered.

The lights flew on. Confused, since he hadn’t heard the tone that usually preceded the bunk room lights turning on automatically for a call, he looked around.

Huff was by the switch, and all four of the group in the bunk room were sitting up in bed looking at him.

His gaze shot to the pillow. There was a deep cardboard box on it. He peered inside. A tiny kitten, maybe seven or eight weeks old, stared at him with marble-green eyes. It was heather gray with white markings on its throat and paws; around its neck was a pink bow. When he lifted it out, the tag on the bow caught his eye. “Hester Two.”

“We thought an officer and a gentleman should have only the best to sleep with,” Huff commented.

The kitten licked Jake’s fingers. Her whole puffball body fit in the palm of his hand. “Whose is she?”

“Yours,” Chelsea said casually.

Jake’s head snapped up. “You’re kiddin’ me.”

“She’s to remind you of what a hero you are,” Joey told him.

Unconsciously Jake stroked the kitten’s fur. It was as soft as Jess’s hair had been as a baby. “Lay off.”

The green eyes stared at him again. Pleadingly, he thought. So he stood, still holding the kitten, grabbed the box and walked out of the room. To the great pleasure of the team, he was sure, judging by the laughter he could hear as he moved down the hall.

In the kitchen he ran some water in a bowl. After a few swipes with a tiny red tongue, the kitten mewed until Jake picked her up again. He sat at the table, holding her in his cupped hands. “What do you want, sweetheart?” The kitten angled her head and rubbed against his palm. He obliged her and curved his finger down her back.

“She likes you.”

Jake looked up. Chelsea stood before him in a long tailored shirt over her shorts and T-shirt. He wondered if the garment was hers or a man’s.

Jake focused on the cat. “She’s a cutie.”

Chelsea smiled. “She looks just like her mother.”

“Her mother?”

“The guys don’t want me to tell you and spoil the joke, but we don’t expect you to keep her. She’s from a litter my cat Blaze had two months ago. I’ll take her home tomorrow.” She stared at him meaningfully. “For what it’s worth, Jake, I think what you did for the old man was touching. We’re teasing you, but any one of us would have done it.”

Jake smiled. “I know. It’s part of the mentality.” He looked at the kitten. “Blaze, huh?” His tone was amused as the kitten climbed out of his hands and edged her little white paws up his chest. He chuckled as she reached his neck and rubbed a wet nose there.

His glance strayed to Chelsea. She was staring at the cat, at his neck, as if…He refused to finish the thought. It was stupid. Jake plucked the kitten off his neck and stood up. “A gift’s a gift. I’m keepin’ her.”

“You are?” The pleasure that shone in Chelsea’s eyes forced him to turn away. He wished he’d put on his pants—hell, armor might be better—to hide his reaction to her.

Placing the kitten in the box, he kept his back to her. “Yeah, I am.” Without turning, he said, “Good night, Whitmore. Thanks for the kitten,” and made a beeline for the dark anonymity of the bunk room.

AGAIN THE DARKNESS enveloped him. The man needed it—to let the other side come out.

It wasn’t going according to plan. Not only had she done all right in the calls, but some of the guys actually seemed to like her. Hell, even he liked her sometimes, when he was himself. Not a good thing. Concentrate on the bad, he told himself. Let it out.

He couldn’t get used to sleeping with her there. For one thing, she paraded around in shorts and a T-shirt, bringing out the animal part of a guy that would make Hyde look like a puppy. What the hell had the brass been thinking when they let broads into the department? They were men. They knew men. Living with women like this was unnatural. This whole thing was against nature.

Had he been good at hiding his feelings—this dark side of him? Usually he was. But sometimes it slipped out at the firehouse. She couldn’t know. And the rest of them, too. Scarlatta, especially. He couldn’t know. The lieutenant was too nice. An easy mark. He’d already been taken in by her. He’d heard them talking at night. Suddenly he wondered if Jake had the hots for her. Nah. Jake was a cold fish where women were concerned. Unlike him, who, when the mood struck, was hot and liked his women hot. Blazing hot.

Hyde wondered briefly what it would be like to have Whitmore underneath him.

♥ Uploaded by Coral ♥

CHAPTER SIX

PUMPERS WAS HOPPING. The long mahogany bar was three deep with people, mostly firefighters, and all the tables were full. It was the Friday night following the night shift, and Jake was sitting at a table in one of the back areas.

“I’ll have a Corona, Cordaro. Don’t forget the lime.”

Francey Cordaro Templeton threw him a look of disgust. “I almost won.”

“Almost doesn’t count, kid.” He winked at Alex.

“Now go. I’ve worked up a thirst.”

Rising, she stuck out her tongue at him. “Come with me, Dylan. There are a lot of people at the bar. We can talk while I’m waiting.”

O’Roarke smiled at his wife, Beth, as he rose, slid his hand to her neck and squeezed. “Don’t let anybody pick you up while I’m gone.”

“As if someone would.” She glanced at her pretty green blouse and jeans. “I’m not exactly pick-up material right now.”

“You kiddin’?” Dylan’s shock—and cow-eyed reaction to Beth—made everybody chuckle.

When he left, Beth turned to Diana Cordaro, Francey’s mother, who sat across the table. “These jeans are two sizes bigger than what I usually wear. He’s nuts.”

There was wisdom in Diana’s smile. “For some reason the aftermath of pregnancy fascinates some men.” She leaned into her husband, Battalion Chief Ben Cordaro, and squeezed his arm.

Ben held her there. “You’re damn right. I loved the way Diana looked right after she had our babies.” He grinned. “During, too.”

Jake felt a stab of envy. For a brief minute he wanted what it was the Cordaros and O’Roarkes had. Ruthlessly suppressing the unexpected—and unwanted—emotion, he asked Beth, “Who’s with Timmy tonight?”

The smile on her face was sunshine bright. “Connie Cleary and Sandy Frank. You remember them?”

“Yeah. Last year’s recruit class. ‘I Am Woman’ from karaoke.”

Beth looked as if a genie had granted all her wishes. “Connie’s especially sweet on him. She’s going to help care for him when I go back to work and Dylan’s on days.”

“When will that be?” Ben asked. Jake saw the twinkle in his eyes. The man who had been a surrogate father to him had some of the devil in him.

“Not for a while. Isn’t my replacement working out?”

“Hell, no. We need you back next week.”

Beth caught on. “Sorry, boss. No way.”

“They grow up so fast.” Diana’s voice trembled. “You don’t want to miss it.” A poignant look passed between her and Ben. They’d gotten divorced when their children were young, and Diana had missed much of their childhood.

Which reminded Jake to call Jess.

And Derek.

When Alex prodded Diana to talk about what she did remember of Francey’s childhood, and Diana obliged, Jake recalled going to see Reed about Danny’s son.

“The kid’s headed for trouble, Reed,” he’d said.

“We’re not even sure he’s going to graduate from high school.”

“From what you told me, the sooner he gets help, the better. I don’t have experience with teenagers, but I can give you some names.” He’d swiveled to his computer and called up a file. “This is from a local organization I belong to. The psychologists in it keep a list of people outside their specialty that they can personally recommend.” Reed had ripped the sheet out of the printer and handed it to Jake.

Jake had scanned it, and his eyes skidded to a halt near the bottom. “Delaney Shaw? Do you know her?”

Reed’s scowl was totally out of character. It made him look little-boyish, less world-weary. He pulled off his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Afraid so.”

“What do you mean?”

“I took a couple of workshops with her at the University of Rockford recently. She’s a pain in the ass.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“Well, first she looks about fifteen, so it’s hard to take her seriously. Probably because of that, she’s like a pit bull in making her points. I disagreed with her a couple of times in discussion and became her target. But in all honesty, other psychologists say she works miracles with adolescents.”

Jake thought for a minute. “Did she know your connection with the fire department?”

“Yeah. We had to introduce ourselves, and where we worked inevitably came up.”

“She’s Chelsea Whitmore’s sister.”

“Ah.” Reed, who’d been seeing Billy, had understood right away why Delaney might have a grudge against him.

“I didn’t connect them because of the name difference,” he said.

“Look who we found!”

Jake was pulled back to the present by the return of Francey and Dylan—with Chelsea Whitmore in tow.

And a guy.

“Hi.” Chelsea’s gaze rested briefly on Jake. Then she reached for and clasped the tall, muscular man’s arm.

“This is Spike Lammon. Spike, you know Dylan’s wife, Beth, and Alex and Ben from the gym. This is Diana, Ben’s wife.” She zeroed in on Jake. Her tone changed almost imperceptibly. “And this is my lieutenant, Jake Scarlatta.”

“The cat man,” Dylan teased as he yanked out the chair next to his wife.

“Don’t start.”

Jake stood and gave Spike a firm handshake.

Spike. Interesting name. Jake had known a guy in high school who’d been called Spike apparently for his sexual performance. He shook off the thought and averted his eyes from Chelsea and her friend as they sat down and began to chat with Diana and Ben.

“He runs the gym for me when I’m working at the firehouse.”

Spike smiled at her with eyes that simmered with all-male interest. They were sleeping together, Jake bet. He remembered the oversize shirt she’d thrown on the other night.

Chelsea’s voice oozed like warm honey as she praised Spike. “I’m lucky to get him. Spike was an Olympic contender for the U.S. volleyball team a few years ago.”

Alex gave a low whistle. “Did you make it?”

“I wrecked my knee after the second day of tryouts. I never knew how far I’d have gone.”

“He would have made the team.”

Spike slid his arm around Whitmore’s chair and squeezed her shoulder. “My biggest fan.”

“That’s because you’re helping her get in shape for the triathlon,” Beth said.

From what Jake could tell, Chelsea didn’t need any help getting into shape. Tonight she wore a long flowing navy skirt with white flowers; in deference to the early-June warm weather, she’d donned a gauzy sleeveless top. For the first time, Jake was treated to an unobstructed view of her arms. Beautifully sculpted and no bulges. They’d been firm when he’d touched her. In a spurt of sexual curiosity, he wondered what the rest of her would feel like, sleek and bare, under his hands.

Jake turned away and smothered the vivid image; it was as dangerous as sparks near gasoline.

“I wonder where Reed is,” Dylan said.

“Reed’s coming to Pumpers?” Surprised, Jake switched his focus fast.

“Yeah, Beth talked him into it.” Dylan ruffled his wife’s hair. “She’s a regular meddler in his life these days.”

“Reed’s a good friend to us. I want to see him happy.”

“Speak of the devil.” Ben stood and clapped Reed Macauley on the back.

“Hi, guys.” The fire department psychologist scanned the group, was introduced to Spike—who still had his arm draped on Whitmore’s chair—then sat down next to Jake. He made small talk with Beth and Dylan as he sipped a draft.

After a moment Chelsea stood and murmured to Spike, “I’m going to make a phone call. I’ll be right back.”

Chelsea hoped her leaving hadn’t signaled to anybody that something was wrong. But the truth was, Reed Macauley’s presence made her uncomfortable. He was seeing Billy regularly, she knew, and by now, he’d be privy to all their dirty laundry. Private things that should have stayed between them. And it made her cringe to think the man knew only Billy’s skewed view of their relationship. After sneaking into the long, narrow alcove where the phones and coatroom were, she rested her head against the wall and closed her eyes, scolding herself for being such a wimp.

She didn’t know how many minutes had passed when she heard a voice, “The phone’s not being used.”

Oh, great. Of all the people to notice her retreat. She opened her eyes. “Jake.”

“You okay?”

She bit her lip. “I’m fine.”

He studied her implacably. “You look upset.”

She didn’t reply.

“It’s Reed, isn’t it.”

Damn. Why did he have to understand? “It’s stupid. But it makes me uncomfortable to see him.”

Jake shoved his hands in the pockets of his navy blue cotton pants. The action made his open-at-the-throat white linen shirt pull across his pecs. She remembered how hard they’d felt under her fingers the other night in the weight room. He said, “Not stupid. Human.”

“I shudder to think what he knows about me. Or thinks he knows.”

“If it’s any help, Reed never passes judgment. And he’s as ethical as the Pope.”

“It’s dumb anyway,” she said. “I’m a grown woman. I should be able to handle this.” She shook her head.

“Still, it’s worse than his reading my diary. At least that way he’d get the truth.”

The corners of Jake’s mouth turned up in a mischievous grin. “Firefighter Whitmore keeps a diary? Now that I’d like to see.”

“It was just a figure of speech.”

He didn’t believe her, she could tell. God, how embarrassing. She thought of those little fancy blank books she’d filled up nightly for as long as she could remember.

Finally he said, “Well, I’m sorry you’re upset.”

“Did you come out here just to—”

“Jake, there you are!”

Chelsea pivoted to see a petite woman approaching them. She looked familiar.

“Barb,” Jake said in greeting.

Shapely, auburn-haired Barb stood on tiptoe to hug him. Chelsea couldn’t remember the last time she’d had to do that to hug anybody. Jake’s return embrace was brief but warm and familiar. When Barb pulled back, she smiled at him—like Bergman had at Bogart in Casablanca. Her gaze dipped below his chin. “The shirt looks nice on you.”

“You’ve got great taste.”

So Barb had given him the sexy shirt. Chelsea felt a sinking sensation in her chest.

“I’m sorry I’m late. I got tied up at the restaurant.”

Restaurant. Chelsea had seen the woman before.

Grasping Barb’s arm, Jake faced Chelsea. “Chelsea Whitmore. Barb DeLuca.”

Chelsea smiled. “From DeLuca’s Diner. I eat there a lot.”

Delicate eyebrows arched. “I hope it’s been good.”

“Very.”

Barb turned to Jake. “Look, if you’re busy…”

“No, I want to talk to you,” he said, “and we keep missing each other. This can’t wait any longer.” He glanced over her head at the bar. “But it’s a zoo in here. Let’s go out to my Bronco.”

Chelsea straightened. “Well, I’ll get back to the group.”

“Tell Francey that Barb and I are going to talk for a while. Otherwise, she’ll come looking for me like a mother hen.”

“Sure.” Chelsea nodded to Barb. “Nice to meet you.” She gave Jake a weak grin and started to the table.

After she took two steps, he caught her arm. “Chelsea?” She turned. “You all right to go back there?”

Emotion welled in her throat, but she battled it. Talk about stupid. “Sure.”

As Chelsea headed to the group, she saw Jake and his friend start for the exit.

To his car.

To talk.

And what else?

Like a good firefighter, used to suppressing unpleasant images, she didn’t let herself think about it.

JOEY SANTORI blared the horn of the truck for the fifth time to signal their arrival at the high school. He grinned at Jake, who rolled his eyes at the unnecessary drama. Though Jake knew Joey was a highly competent firefighter, right now he looked like a kid with a big toy.

Things were a lot more relaxed at the station house these days. Chelsea had been on board for almost a month. The guys seemed to have accepted her; she’d given them no choice, really, with her competence, her guts in standing up to them and all the things she’d added to their lives—fitness expertise, medical and fire-suppression knowledge, even a willingness to go in on their jokes.

When Joey blew the horn again and Jake frowned, Joey said, “Hey, old man, you forget what it was like to be in high school?”

“When I was in high school, kids didn’t need these kinds of assemblies.”

“You were an angel, right?”

Hardly, Jake thought, remembering how he and his then girlfriend and soon-to-be wife, Nancy, and Danny and Barbara had skipped out of their last assembly of the year. They’d gone to a cabin owned by Danny’s grandfather and spent the sizzling hot day screwing their brains out and skinny-dipping in the lake. Jake found it hard to believe he’d ever been that young.

“Of course I was an angel. You know me, straight-as-an-arrow Scarlatta.”

The trucks took the turn fast onto the bus-loop blacktop of Jackson High School. Two hundred seniors filled the bleachers that had been set up outside for the special Stay Sober assembly planned for the day of their senior prom. Jessica was somewhere in the midst of the hormone-driven mass.

“All right, gang, time to impress the kiddies,” Joey said.

Though they might joke about this activity, they knew it could save lives. All six tumbled out of the trucks, in full turnout gear, and rushed to the scene of a staged critical car accident.

A Rockford deputy police chief stood to the side of the blacktop, speaking into a microphone. The kids were attentive and somber-faced. The same reaction they had every year. “Usually the first to arrive at an accident scene is the fire department. Our city station houses are located so that they can reach any place in their jurisdiction in three minutes.”

Jake led his crew to the car that had crashed into an abutment erected for the demonstration. He knew that the vehicle, donated by a local Kiwanis Club, had two victims pinned inside; one was hysterical and one was near death, hypothetically speaking, of course. The inebriated driver stumbled around the blacktop. The roles were played by students.

“Now watch as the firefighters go into action.” The police chief’s voice was grave.

As arranged, Jake confronted the driver while Chelsea and Huff hurried to the right side of the vehicle, Mick and Joey to the left. Diaz stayed with the small rig. All of them but Chelsea had participated in this yearly drill. Not surprising, she was doing well in this activity, too.

“Son, are you hurt?” Jake asked with just the right combination of concern and authority.

The boy’s head lolled back and forth. “Juss fiiii…”

Quickly Jake checked his pupils, took his pulse. He angled his head to the vehicle. “Who’s in the car?”

“Girlfriend…her buddy.”

Jake yelled, “Two victims.”

Joey yelled back, but was drowned out by a police car swerving onto the scene. The officer at the mike said, “The police will now take care of the legalities.” Another siren split the air. “And although the ambulance will arrive in seconds, the firefighters are in charge of the scene. While they extricate the victims, Lieutenant Jake Scarlatta of the Rockford Fire Department will talk you through what’s happening.” He waited a beat, then said, “And don’t lose sight of the drama off to the side.” In his peripheral vision, Jake could see the police approach the drunk driver.

Jake took the mike. “First the firefighters will stabilize the wheels to prevent movement of the car.” Diaz and Santori, who’d gotten the material from the Midi, chocked the wheels.

“Now, two of them, who happen to be EMTs, will assess the victims.”

Chelsea and Huff stuck their heads in the car.

“Weak pulse on one,” Chelsea called. She tried the door. “Door’s stuck.”

“This one looks okay, but she’s hysterical.” Huff yanked at the door, too, and Jake bit back a smile at Peter Huff’s bit of drama. “Stuck, too.”

“Quint Twelve firefighters will now retrieve the Hurst tools from the smaller truck. Most familiar to you is the Jaws of Life, but there are two others that’ll help us to extricate your classmates.” Jake personalized the statement intentionally. The thought of Jess on the road with a drunk boyfriend or a car full of drinking kids made his current nightmares pale in comparison. “Notice the firefighters donning goggles and leather gloves. This is for protection from the tools and flying metal and glass, as well as the blood, which in a crash this serious is plentiful.”

As planned, Chelsea carried the generator to the car. “Firefighter Chelsea Whitmore is starting the generator.” The unpleasant, ear-popping, lawnmower-like sound split the air. Huff and Whitmore approached the car, tools in hand.

“Help, help!” one of the victims screamed. Joey poked his head in the door.

“Firefighter Santori will calm the victims and cover them with blankets.” Joey accepted the blankets from Mick.

Jake continued, his voice level and grave. “What we’ll do now is remove the car from around the victims, instead of removing the victims from the car.”

First Joey stuck a small ram inside the posts of the car and popped the door. He disappeared inside. Then Huff taped the front side window.

“In order to get the window out we need to keep it from shattering all over your friends. Lifelong injuries to eyes and skin can occur in rescue work.” Again, a little heavy-handed, but Jake knew that some scare tactics were needed.

Huff cut the window like it was cheesecake, then removed it. Chelsea vaulted to the hood of the car along with Huff. Jake had specifically asked Chelsea to do the heavy work, though she didn’t know why. Lifting the shears as easily as she did gym weights, she cut through the hood and worked the shears through the metal. The grating sound made his teeth hurt. “Now they’ll pull it back.” Huff joined Chelsea on top and curled the metal back. The entire car had been removed, like a cardboard box from around a new kitchen appliance.

“Our job is done. The medical crew takes over now.”

With that, the female ambulance attendant replaced Joey and they began to “package” their victims. The ambulance director narrated as Jake and his crew stood to the side.

“First we’ll stabilize the spinal cord. Spinal cord injuries…”

Jake nudged Chelsea. He whispered, “Chelsea, take off your helmet.”

She cocked her head.

“I want the kids to see you’re a woman.”

Mick joked, “You’re a flamin’ women’s libber.”

“She’s a good role model for high school students,” Jake explained.

“Should I fluff out my hair, too, Lieutenant? And take off my coat?”

When he saw she was smiling, he quipped, “No, we don’t want the boys to go into cardiac arrest.”

Chelsea tried to stop the warm feeling spiraling inside her at his compliment. He was razzing her. But she appreciated the fact that he felt comfortable enough with her to tease. She looked around the school campus. This whole faked rescue was one of the most unusual things she’d ever done in conjunction with school safety. Mostly the fire department went into elementary schools to teach fire safety. As the ambulance attendant placed the patient on the backboard, Chelsea said, “This is great. It feels so real.”

“Some of the teachers cry every year.” Mick proudly pointed to a group of faculty. Sure enough, Chelsea watched a few wipe their eyes.

Purposefully the attendant wheeled the backboard in front of the group and secured the victim so that she looked like a moon walker. The other victim, on a stretcher, too, was wheeled in front of the seniors. The girl shouted to the driver, “I told you not to drink. You wouldn’t listen.”

Jake touched Chelsea’s shoulder. “Look over here.” Chelsea turned to see the driver with the police. He was instructed to walk a line; he weaved off it four times. The officer produced handcuffs and manacled the kid’s hands behind his back. Pretending to sober up, the boy said, “I didn’t do nothin’.” He was prodded into a police car, which promptly left the bus loop.

“I don’t like to think about the number of times I’ve had to go to homes and tell parents about a scene like this,” the police chief said into the mike. “It’s no easier to tell the drunk driver’s family than it is the victim’s. Everybody loses in an incident like this.” He paused.

“Think about it tonight when you go to take that first drink. Do you really want to be one of these kids?”

Chelsea checked her watch. “It only took forty minutes.”

“One class period,” Jake told her. “These kinds of assemblies are given at all the high schools in the city by off-duty firefighters like us before the senior proms.”

“You guys got this down pretty good.”

He grinned at her. “You fit right in.”

Surreptitiously, Chelsea scanned the group. In the past few weeks, she’d begun to feel like she really did fit in. It had happened slowly, and at times she still felt some discomfort, some lack of trust. But mostly she felt accepted. Even Joey’s blatant animosity had lessened. Her gaze fell on her lieutenant, who was joking with Huff. It was due, she knew, to his leadership. He’d coaxed all of them along, and she found herself appreciating him and liking him more each day.

“Don’t you think, Whitmore?”

“I—”

A blur of pink sped past Chelsea as a tall bundle threw herself at Jake. “Oh, Daddy, you were wonderful!”

Jake hugged his daughter. Chelsea was moved by the emotion on his face. He couldn’t help but be thinking about her in one of those cars.

“Yeah, well, just remember this. If…What’s his name again? Your date?”

“Eric.”

“If Eric so much as looks at a beer, I’ll—”

Jess placed a hand on his chest. “Dad, give me a break. I’m not dumb. Besides, we can’t go to Prime Time if we drink.”

“Prime Time?” Chelsea asked.

Jessica faced her. “Chelsea, hi. You were great. The guys couldn’t believe you were a girl the way you tore into that metal.”

“Thanks. What’s Prime Time?”

“An after-the-prom chemical-free activity held at the school. Teachers and students have been working all year on providing an all-night party. Food, games, sports, karaoke, you name it.”

“But you have to stay chemical-free to get in.” Jake smoothed Jess’s hair. “It’s one of the best activities in the state for keeping kids clean.” He turned to Jessica. “Is Derek here?”

“Nope. And he’s not going to the prom or Prime Time. Jeez, Dad, nobody misses them.”

Jake scowled.

“Oops, I gotta go.”

Jake kissed her. “What time will you be at the house?” Thanks to Francey, Chelsea knew that Jessica lived with her mother, but spent a lot of time at Jake’s.

“Four. See you then.” She glanced at Chelsea. “I’d like to have muscles like yours. Think I could come to your gym sometime?”

“Sure.”

“Okay. Bye.”

Jake watched his daughter until she disappeared into the school. When he turned away, his face was rigid. “I wish I could wrap her up in a blanket and keep her safe like I used to when she was a baby.”

Chelsea reached out and touched his arm. “You’ve done a great job with her. She’s got a good head on her shoulders. She’ll be fine.”

“It’s not her I worry about. It’s all those testosterone-crazed boys in her class that keep me up at night.”

“Delaney says parenting a teenager is the devil’s payback.” Chelsea smiled. “But she gives the devil a run for his money. She’s great with kids.”

“Chelsea,” Jake said, his eyes like gray clouds, “the Derek I mentioned…”

“Yeah.”

“He’s the son of a friend of mine. He’s not doing well. I…” He hesitated.

“Yes?”

“Actually, your sister’s name was given to me as a possible therapist. I wondered if—”

“Hey, Scarlatta, get the lead out.”

Jake turned to see the guys had boarded the trucks and were waiting for them. “Damn. We’d better get back. We shouldn’t be talking about this now, anyway. I don’t want it public knowledge.” He looked at the school. “But I didn’t want to wait until our next shift.”

Chelsea said, “Why don’t you call me tonight? I’ll be home about seven. We can talk then.”

His smile chased the clouds out of his eyes. “All right, I’ll do that. Thanks.”

JAKE PUNCHED OUT Chelsea’s number at seven-thirty. His stomach churned, and he couldn’t figure out why. This wasn’t a personal call. It was about Derek getting hooked up with Delaney.

As the phone rang on Chelsea’s end, Jake wasn’t sure what had made him inquire about Delaney Shaw as a possible therapist for Derek. Maybe it had something to do with Chelsea herself. Her competence, her good-heartedness, her—

“H-hello.”

Hmm. She sounded anything but competent now.

“Chelsea, this is Jake.”

She cleared her throat. “Jake?”

He heard pounding in the background. “Chelsea, is this a bad time? You said to call at seven.”

“Uh, bad time…No, it’s not—”

“Hell…Let me in now!”

“What was that?” Maybe the TV was on.

“Uh, nothing.”

“Goddamned bitch!”

Jake realized that was no TV. Someone was there with her. Someone violent. “Chelsea, are you all right?”

“N-no.”

“Listen, hang up and call nine-one-one.”

“I can’t call nine-one-one. It’s…Billy’s at the back window of the kitchen.”

“Is it locked?”

“No, I left the side windows open because it’s hot. He’s standing so I can’t close them. But they have screens.” Glass smashed in the background. “Oh, my God—”

“Chelsea?” No answer. “Chelsea?”

When he still got no answer, Jake hung up his cordless phone and punched out nine-one-one. He spoke into the receiver as he sought his shoes. “Somebody has just broken into the back of a house at eight hundred Lake Terrace.” Grabbing his keys from the desk, he bounded down the stairs. “I was talking to the homeowner. Send the police right away.”

Jake was out the door before he disconnected the phone.

CHAPTER SEVEN

FOR A MOMENT, Chelsea stood openmouthed staring at the hole in the kitchen’s plate-glass window. When she saw a booted foot kick in the remaining jagged glass, she dropped the phone and dashed for the front door. She could hear Billy swearing as he crawled through the window. She undid the chain, twisted the dead bolt and reached for the doorknob.

He grabbed her from behind. His sinewy arms, which she’d seen carry a four-year-old boy out of a fire and cradle an old man who’d been badly hurt in a car accident, banded around her chest and cinched her rib cage. “Goin’ somewhere, babe?” Her heartbeat escalated, and a cold knot of fear pulsed in her stomach.

Stay calm. “Let me go, Billy.”

“No way. I already did that, and look where it got me.” His grip tightened, became viselike and painful.

“All right, we’ll talk. Let’s go into the living room and discuss this rationally.”

“Promise you won’t run.”

“I promise.”

When he let go of her, she darted away from him to the kitchen. But Billy was quicker than fire eating through walls. He caught up to her, yanked her around and slammed her against the wall. She yelped as her shoulder, which she’d wrenched earlier at the gym, hit the phone.

“Lying bitch.” Without warning he raised his arm and backhanded her across the cheek. Pain jolted through her, vibrating to each nerve ending in her neck and skull. Her eyes watered. She shook her head to clear it and got her first good look at him.

He was her height, so she stared into bloodshot eyes with dilated pupils. He smelled like booze. His mouth had frozen in a sneer. Just as he was about to deliver another blow, she dropped to the floor. His fist connected with the phone, and he howled like a bear caught in a trap. He turned as she crawled around him and stumbled to her feet. Viciously he grabbed the back of her sweatshirt and whirled her around. His face was a mask of rage.

She brought up her knee and rammed it into his groin. When he doubled over, she twined her hands and hammered them on his neck. He slumped to the ground.

Her entire body shuddered with feverlike chills as she stared down at him.

Muffled shouting preceded the appearance of two uniformed policemen in the doorway to the kitchen. Another called from outside the broken kitchen window.

“Are you all right, ma’am?”

For a moment they wavered before her as if she was seeing them through heavy rainfall. She closed her eyes, swallowing the sob that rose in her throat. A young policeman reached for her arm to steady her. “Sit down.” He eased her into a chair. When Billy moaned and stirred, she trembled in panic.

The older cop said, “We’ve got him.” He bent, dragged Billy to his feet and handcuffed him in seconds.

Billy straightened, and his eyes found her unerringly. He assumed a petulant, little-boy expression. “Come on, honey, this was just a lovers’ spat. Tell ’em to let me go.”

Chelsea hesitated. She thought of the scandal in the fire department. She thought of the ground she’d gained with her new group, which could be lost. Then the pain in her face registered and the black fright she’d felt when he hit her resurfaced. “Take him away,” she said.

AS THE COPS were hauling a handcuffed Billy to the car, Jake tore into the driveway of Chelsea’s split-level house. He was out of the Bronco in a shot. As he reached the officers, his heart was hammering in his chest.

The cops faced him. “You her husband?”

“No.”

Billy seemed to shake off his lethargy. “Jake, tell these clowns to let me go. I ain’t done nothin”’

For a moment Jake remembered the code of brotherhood in the fire department. He remembered the isolation of having Danny’s buddies turn on him. But then he remembered Chelsea saying, No, not until he hit me, and her shaky voice on the phone only minutes ago; cold fury overcame his wavering.

“Go to hell, Milligan.” His shoulders tight with tension, Jake headed for the front door. He found another cop in the living room off the foyer. The broad-shouldered man blocked his view of Chelsea.

“I guess that’s all for now. You’ll need to come down to the station tomorrow morning to make a statement, but this is enough to hold him.” The officer hesitated. “You need anything?”

“No.” Her voice was hoarse, but controlled. Too controlled.

When the cop turned to leave, Jake got his first glimpse of her. Dressed in gray-and-pink sweats, she was curled up on a pristine white leather sofa, its huge pillows swallowing her like a giant cloud. On her lap was a gray-and-white cat. Her hand was buried in its thick coat; a second cat lay at her feet.

“Chelsea?”

Her head snapped up. She held an ice pack to her cheek.

“You know this man, ma’am?” asked the officer.

“Yes.”

“I called nine-one-one.” Jake explained the phone call and subsequent events.

When the officer was satisfied, he left, closing the door with a jarring thud. For a moment, the silence hung like heavy smoke in the room.

Then Jake crossed to her. Slowly he reached over and lowered her hand. A purple bruise ran the length of her cheekbone, tapering off by her chin.

“Goddamned son of a bitch,” Jake said.

A weak grin claimed her lips. “My sentiments exactly.”

He raised the hand holding the ice pack back to her face. “Keep this on it.”

She winced when the cold compress connected with the bruise. Her eyes watered, and she sniffled. She averted her gaze.

Jake sat next to her, close but not touching. He didn’t know what would spook her.

“You know,” she said, “I’ve done everything I can to show him it’s over.” She trailed a shaking hand over the cat. “I’ve tried being nice, being mean, talking to him, ignoring him. Nothing’s worked.”

“This will.”

She gave him a quizzical look.

“You can get a court order to keep him away from you. You’ve got grounds now.”

Big brown eyes rounded with disbelief. “Oh, that’ll go over big with his buddies in the RFD.”

“Chelsea, you don’t really have a choice. He beat you up.”

Anger flared for a minute on her stark white face. “It’s easy for you to tell me what to do. You don’t know what it’s like to put up with shit from the guys for hurting a brother.”

He waited a beat, then said, “Yes, I do.”

She stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

She shook her head. “I’ve heard that before.”

“No, this time, I promise I’ll tell you.”

Need burned in her eyes—for comfort, for understanding, for affirmation that she wasn’t wrong. He could give her all three, and suddenly he wanted very badly to do that.

First the physical. Rising, he dragged over a leather footstool and gently propped her feet on it. “Lean back.” She moaned. “Did he hit you somewhere else?”

“No. But he threw me against the wall….” Her voice trailed off, but not before he caught a trace of remembered fear in it. She rubbed her shoulder and said, “I slammed into the phone. Even that wouldn’t be so bad, but I already wrenched my shoulder working out earlier.”

Despite his abhorrence of violence against women, he smiled. “You’re pretty tough, you know that?”

Gingerly she lay back and closed her eyes. Her face was ashen. “Of course I am.”

He sat down on the couch and watched her. “Wanna talk?”

She shook her head.

“How about a good cry?”

Visibly she choked back the emotion. “No.”

“What can I do for you, Chelsea?”

“Nothing.” He could see her struggle to stay calm. “Thanks for calling nine-one-one. You can leave now.”

A little stung, he said, “I just got here.”

She shrugged. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I just don’t like to put anybody out.”

“Hey, you’re saving me from panic on prom night.”

She smiled weakly.

“Talk to me about it.”

A heavy sigh escaped her lips. She leaned against the cushions. “Did you see the movie Pretty Woman?”

“Yeah.”

“Remember that scene where Richard Gere’s lawyer hits Julia Roberts?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Billy hit me like that. Do guys learn how to do that in school?”

Jake remembered Roberts asking Gere that. In spite of the gravity of the situation, he was a little flattered to be compared to the movie star. He leaned over and ran his knuckles down her good cheek. “Like Gere told Roberts, not all men hit, Chels.”

Her eyes filled, but she battled back the tears. Still, she leaned into his touch, wanting comfort.

“What can I do?” he repeated.

“Can you stay?” she whispered. “Just for a little while?”

“I’m not going anywhere.” He dropped his hand to her shoulder and squeezed it. “Did you take a painkiller?”

“No.”

“Do you have any?”

“Yeah. Upstairs in the bathroom.”

Jake crossed the room and took the stairs by the door two at a time. At the top, a long hall stretched before him. The first door on his left was the bathroom.

He was surprised by its size. About twelve by twelve, it was painted completely white with slate-blue fixtures; matching blinds covered two long windows. As he rummaged through an oak medicine chest, he could see the sky beginning to darken through the skylight. His eyes dropped to the long, wide vanity. On it were dozens of jars. Intrigued at this glimpse of Firefighter Whitmore, he picked one up. Bubble bath. Another was bath gel. A third, body wash. There had to be ten jars altogether.

Hmm.

Pivoting, he faced the huge blue tub that sat gleaming in the corner.

Even that wouldn’t be so bad, but I already wrenched my shoulder working out earlier.

He flicked the silver knobs on the faucets; then retrieved some Sinful Nights bath bubbles and opened the jar. The scent made him think of good sex, and lots of it; he poured in a generous amount. Letting the water run, he smiled. Who would have thought tough-girl Whitmore would harbor geisha-girl sensuality? Suppressing the images conjured up by that, he rose and headed downstairs. He detoured to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Anger came back big-time when he caught sight of the shattered window. Damn Milligan. Jake would board it up before he left.

Armed with water and a renewed dose of resolve, he entered the living room; she was lying back, eyes closed. “Chelsea?”

She stirred. “I’m dozing.”

“I started a bath for you.”

“How did you know….?”

“Your collection of bath soap’s a dead giveaway. Here, take this.”

She looked at the pill. “Percocet?”

“Yeah, your cheek has to be throbbing.”

“It is. But these put me to sleep.”

“Good.”

“I want to hear your story.”

“Later. Take it.” She swallowed the pill with water. He noticed that her hands were still trembling when she returned the glass. “Come on, up.”

The cat on her lap scampered off as she moved, and the other darted from the room. She groaned painfully. Jake bent and clasped her arm, helped her stand. He saw her bite her lip, watched her struggle for equilibrium. He slid a hand around her waist. It felt firm even through the fleece of her sweat suit. She leaned heavily on him as he guided her up the stairs to the bathroom door.

“You’re pretty shaky,” he said. “Need some help in there?”

She gave him a weak grin. “No, I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. Look, I’ll wait right out here.”

“That’s silly.”

“Then I’ll be silly.”

“At least go into the sitting room back there.” She angled her head to the end of the hall.

“I will when you’re settled.” He waited, not wanting to upset her. “Chels?” She turned. “Do you have any wood around here? I’ll board up the window for you.”

Whatever color she’d regained drained from her face. The bruise stood out like a neon sign, advertising Milligan’s aggressive fist. Taking a deep breath, she said, “There’s some plywood in the basement. I think there’s a hammer and stuff there, too.” She gave him a wrenchingly grateful look. “Thanks for doing that. I don’t know if I could—”

“You don’t have to. I’ll take care of it.”

But he didn’t. Not right away. After she closed the door behind her, he leaned against the wall outside the room until he heard the toilet flush, then the faucets go off. He turned to head downstairs to fix the window when he heard the sound of breaking glass. He circled to the bathroom door.

“Chelsea?” No answer. “Chels?” Still silence.

He pushed open the door.

She was against the wall across from the mirror; a broken cup lay in the sink. She’d stripped off her sweats and was clothed only in a long T-shirt and underwear. She stood openmouthed, staring at her reflection. Then, like a rag doll, she slid down the wall to the tile floor and buried her face in her hands.

He dropped to his knees. Forgoing any platitudes—she did look like hell—he soothed his hand down her silky hair. “It’s okay, Chelsea. Let it out.”

She shook her head, but he could see her shoulders shake. Firefighters were notorious for keeping their emotions inside, especially in front of somebody else. And he knew from Francey that female firefighters were even more determined to be stoic. He thought that as a colleague, he should probably let her get it out in private.

But as a man, he couldn’t leave.

“Chels?”

Slowly she raised her head. Her eyes were dark with pain. He sank down next to her and pulled her onto his lap. She didn’t resist, which was testament to how raw she was. Gently he enfolded her in his arms; her face nestled in his neck as she cried with quiet restraint. It was all the more heartbreaking for its reserve.

Chelsea was mortified by her weakness. She’d been holding on to her composure like a rookie to a life rope, but lost her grip when she was finally alone, when she saw the hideous bruise on her face. The fear of Billy violating her safety engulfed her all over again. Her control shattered, her resistance vanished, and she turned to Jake. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d sat in anybody’s lap, let alone cried like a child.

But after a moment sanity dribbled into her brain. This was her lieutenant. She was half-dressed. They were on the floor of her bathroom. She tried to pull away. He held her to him. She tried again.

His words stopped her retreat. “I never told anybody before, but I cried like this once when somebody I cared about turned on me.”

Startled by his stark confession, she drew back to look at him. She hadn’t realized her hands were gripping his shirt collar. “A woman?”

“No, my best friend.” Jake nudged her face to his chest, as if he wanted anonymity to tell the story. She felt him swallow against her cheek. “He got into drugs, booze. Eventually it affected his work. I covered for him. Made excuses. When I realized I couldn’t protect him any longer, I reported him to the chief.”

“Oh, Jake.”

“Then he turned on me. After he told me off for betraying him, he walked out of the firehouse, and out of my life, forever. We’d been friends since we were five years old.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Some of the guys hated me for ratting on him. Others condemned me for not doing it sooner. I lost stature in the department and gave up my dreams to go further. But what hurt most was that those guys were my buddies, too.” His hand locked on her neck. His lips were in her hair as he whispered, “So, see, I know how it feels.”

She nodded.

For a long minute they sat on the floor of the dim bathroom, silent, sharing a kindred pain.

Chelsea stirred first. She drew back. Sniffled. Wiped her eyes. “Thanks for telling me.” She nodded at his chest. “And for that. I feel better.”

“A good cry’ll do it every time.”

She angled her head to the tub. “Now get out of here while I take a bath.”

“Okay. I’ll go fix the window.”

She sank onto the floor away from him. He stood and stared at her. His eyes twinkled with masculine mischief.

“Sure you don’t need some help in here?”

Glad for the lightened mood, she shook her head. “No.”

He turned to the door. When he reached it she called, “Hey, Lieutenant?”

He looked back. “Yeah?”

“You’re a nice guy, you know that?”

“Remember that on our next training stint.”

It only took about fifteen minutes to board up the window until a repairman could get to it. Then he bounded up the stairs and put his ear to the door. The sound of a woman taking a bath had been absent from his life for a long time, and he’d forgotten how sexy it was. For a minute he let the sensual feelings wash over him, then he headed for the sitting room. At the end of the hall, she’d said.

Flicking on the lights, his gaze swept the room. It was shaped like an L, the longer section a living area that opened up through a curved archway into the bedroom proper.

Its colors matched the bathroom: white walls, slate carpeting. A white wicker couch with thick blue cushions and throw pillows was flanked with floor-to-ceiling bookcases. A matching rocker, lamp and footstool were across from the door, an oak desk in the corner. Various lamps in white wicker or wood graced the room. An unusual piece, a white cradle, housed magazines in the corner. Four huge plants grew in wild profusion, one in each corner.

He crossed to the archway. On the other side of it sat a big white wrought-iron bed with a blue-and-white floral-print comforter; windows flanked it. Two large dressers, then another door, probably access to the bathroom. Surrounded by such blatant femininity, he stared at the paneled door, swamped by images of Chelsea in the bath. Her long legs all soapy, water trickling between her breasts, down to…

Forcefully he shook off the vision and headed to the sitting area. To distract himself, he checked out the contents of the bookcases. A row of history texts. Bestsellers. He grinned. Two whole shelves of romance novels. At the bottom were rows of books with no titles on the spines. He pulled one out. It was a diary. He chuckled. So she did keep them. He’d wait until the right time to jab her about those.

To the left of the bookcases was an embroidered framed poem, “A Fireman’s Prayer.” It reflected what he asked for every time he walked into a burning building—to be brave and skillful enough to save others, and that God would guide him to the right places. On the chair below it was an embroidered pillow. He picked it up. It read Men, Coffee, Chocolate. The richer the better. Hmm. That didn’t sound like Chelsea. As a matter of fact, he had trouble picturing Chelsea doing—what was this called, needle-point?—at all. Then he saw the signature in the corner. Delaney. It figured.

He heard a rustle behind him. Turning, he froze and briefly closed his eyes to block out the vision of Chelsea standing in the archway. The dull ache he’d felt all night for what she’d gone through turned into an ache of a totally different kind.

Unsuccessfully he tried to keep his eyes off her hair, washed and dried, just a bit damp and curly around her face. His gaze dropped to her breasts. They were covered in ice-blue satin; the gown was scalloped at the neck and hung in soft folds past her waist to her feet. His body responded with sharp need. At least he was dressed to cover it this time, he thought dryly.

“You’re staring at me.”

His grin came straight from his libido. “I…you…” He drew a deep breath. “You look like you just stepped out of the pages of a fairy tale.”

“Why, Lieutenant, how poetic.” Suddenly she weaved slightly and grabbed the door frame.

He crossed to her and clasped her upper arms. “Steady.” The satin slid seductively beneath his fingers.

“I’m woozy from the pill.”

“Let’s get you into bed.” His voice was raw. Sexy.

Pure feminine reaction lit her eyes.

Ignoring it, he crossed behind her and turned down the covers. He swallowed hard at the satin sheets. Could she recreate a man’s fantasy any more accurately? he thought with grim humor. “Get in,” he said gruffly.

“Yes, sir.” Her sass was diluted by a big yawn.

Dutifully she climbed in; he tucked the covers beneath her chin, letting his fingers linger on her skin.

Her eyes were already closing. “You can leave now,” she said trustingly. “And you can lock up with the key by the back door.”

“Oh, I can, huh?”

“Yeah.”

But he stood over her and watched her until her breathing evened. Then, without censoring his reaction, he leaned down and kissed her forehead. She smiled in her sleep.

CHAPTER EIGHT

THREE DAYS LATER, on her last day off before starting a new shift, Chelsea marched into the Rockford Fire Academy. Though her stomach still churned from seeing her face in the mirror this morning—her cheek looked like a modern art painting with its obscene mixture of yellows, blues and reds—she wasn’t going to hide out. She’d done nothing wrong.

But she sighed as she opened the academy’s front door. If only she didn’t have to face her new group from Quint Twelve and her old crew from Engine Four, who’d also been Billy’s group. They were all scheduled for a training session together. To top it off, she and Jake were meeting her sister at noon about Derek DeLuca. Delaney had been out of town at a conference for three days, and although Chelsea had filled her in on the basics over the phone, her sister hadn’t seen her face yet.

Actually, since the assault, Chelsea had seen only Jake and the police officers. She smiled as she remembered opening the door to her lieutenant the morning after.

“Hi,” she’d said with not a little surprise—and something else she didn’t want to name.

Dressed in wheat-colored jeans and a plain forest green T-shirt, he’d looked like a model for L.L. Bean.

“Hi.” His jaw was tight as his eyes narrowed on her face.

“Please, come in. Want some coffee?”

Jake stepped inside. “Yeah, if we have time.”

“Time?” she asked as he followed her to the dining room.

“I want to go with you to the police station.”

A warmth worthy of Jamaican nights spread through her. “Really?”

He nodded. “If it’s okay.” He gave her an assuring grin. “I thought you might not want to go down alone.”

“I don’t.” She reached out to touch his forearm. Felt muscles tense beneath her fingers. “Thanks for being so considerate.”

His eyes had twinkled. “Wouldn’t want you to write bad things about me in your diary.”

“Oh, God, did you see them?”

“Mmm.” He took a seat at the light oak table as she veered into the kitchen.

After pouring coffee for both of them, she returned and set a mug in front of him.

She remembered what she’d said about him in the revealing little books. “Did you read them?”

“What, a Boy Scout like me?”

She’d stared him down.

“No, of course not.” He’d sipped from his mug, then glanced at the saying on it. It was Delaney’s gift and read Firefighters Like It Hot. His laugh had been male and hearty.

Thinking about the luscious masculine sound, Chelsea headed to the first-floor arena, where the off-duty firefighters who were being paid overtime to do special training on the elderly were having coffee. About two dozen RFD personnel milled around the cavernous gym. She scanned the crowd; her heart hammered in her chest when she saw some of her old crew standing to the left where the kitchen jutted off the arena—Captain TJ McManis, Miller, Connors and Donatelli.

When Donatelli caught sight of her in the doorway, he nudged the others, and they all turned to look at her. Their grim expressions changed to surprise at her battered appearance. Pinning them with a stare that said, This is why I pressed charges, she strode, head held high, to her new group, who were by the stage. As she made her way through the crowd, she could hear the whispered murmurs.

Jake noticed her first. He winked, and she felt her stomach contract. Things had changed between them. She’d seen him twice since the other night, and both times, like now, she’d felt a connection with him, an intimacy she didn’t feel with the others. He seemed to feel it, too. She’d been unable to forget how she’d sat on his lap, how he’d soothed her and told her of his demons.

Mick’s head snapped around when she reached them. She was shocked by the expletives that poured from his mouth. He ended with, “The bastard.”

She shrugged. “Needless to say, he’s not my favorite person.”

“Are you all right?” Diaz asked, his brow furrowed.

“Yeah, it looks worse than it is.”

Jake’s grim expression told her he did not agree.

Huff grasped her arm and tilted her chin. With EMT thoroughness, he examined her cheek. “Man, what the hell’s the matter with the guy?”

Warmed by their sympathy, she was beginning to relax when Joey came up behind Jake. He looked hard at her, then shook his head and said, “You okay?”

“Yeah, Joe, I’m okay.”

Over the mike, Reed Macauley defused the moment.

“Time for your lessons, ladies and gentlemen. We’ll meet in the EMS classroom on this floor.” Though the main offices at the academy were upstairs, the EMS office and a large airy classroom were attached to the gym.

At his announcement, everyone began to file out of the arena. Jake lagged behind, but caught up to his crew and handed her a cup of coffee. His fingers brushed hers. She nodded at his thoughtfulness.

Inside the classroom, the firefighters she’d worked with from Engine Four were lined up in front of a row of windows that faced the parking lot. Waiting for her? She stopped abruptly, but Jake nudged her on, grasping her elbow gently. “It’s okay. We’re here.”

He hooked Huff’s gaze, flicked his to the side; Huff frowned as he glanced over. Mick caught the signal, too.

They flanked her. Edging close, they steered her to one of the empty lablike tables down front. Jake dragged out the middle chair, and as she sat down, Billy’s buddies filled in the table in front of her. Intentionally? To intimidate her? Don, Mick and Joey quickly grabbed the chairs behind them. She gave them a grateful smile.

Firefighters protected their own, Chelsea knew; she just hadn’t been sure where she belonged until now.

From a podium in front, Reed called for everyone’s attention. A huge chalkboard, a projector and a screen were behind him. “As you know, we’re here today to do some training on dealing with elderly patients on EMS calls and as victims in fires. Since Dutch Towers is so close to both your stations, we’re starting with your groups. But all RFD personnel will receive this training.” He smiled. “First, I’d like a show of hands. How many of you are in your twenties?”

Seven guys stuck up their hands.

“Thirties?”

Fifteen. As Chelsea lifted her arm, she glanced at Jake and raised her brows.

“Forties?”

Jake and Reed waved.

“Hey, Scarlatta,” a guy in the back called, “not long before you get your own place at the Towers.”

“Over the hill, Jakey boy,” somebody else said.

Over the hill? Hardly. Chelsea’s eyes were drawn to the gunmetal gray thermal top that stretched across Jake’s linebacker shoulders; it was tucked into black jeans. Beltless black jeans. Tight, beltless black jeans. When she raised her eyes, he was watching her with a heated look. Mortified, she flushed and faced Reed.

“All right, on the front of the card, write your age and your strongest physical and emotional assets.”

“That means your good points, Santori,” a firefighter next to them taunted.

Joey said, “Too bad you don’t have any, Mack.”

Reed continued. “Now turn the card over, add forty years to your age and write down what your biggest physical and emotional liability might be.”

No one joked this time. Chelsea squirmed like a kid in the principal’s office. It wasn’t pleasant to picture yourself failing; in her case, top physical condition had always been a given. To think about not having it was chilling. She wrote that the lack of strength and endurance would be difficult for her to handle.

“Now that you’ve put yourself in their places, let’s talk about our roles in the care of older people. In the next two hours we’ll list the disabilities they might have that would impede our helping them or saving their lives. Then we’ll brainstorm ways to compensate for that. You’ll be out by noon, I promise.” Reed scanned the group. “Jake, since you’re the closest to their age except for me, how about starting us off?”

“Thanks, buddy.” Chelsea smiled at his dry tone.

“How about loss of hearing and sight?”

Reed wrote it on the board. “Johnson, what do you think?”

“Slowed movements.”

The board quickly filled with brittle bones, loss of bladder or bowel control, aggravated fearfulness and senility.

“Good job. Now, each table will work with the one behind it or across from it. For fifteen minutes, brainstorm the problems in EMS calls and fire rescue that result from these impairments. After that, we’ll hammer out our role in dealing with them.”

In unison the three Engine Four firefighters pivoted to face Chelsea. They were trying to intimidate her, she was certain.

Jake said easily, “Why don’t you guys work with the table across from you?”

“Why?” Miller asked.

Before Jake could answer, Mick stood up and said, “The lieutenant asked you to leave, guys.”

But the Engine Four firefighters stayed where they were, looking as innocent as choirboys.

Crossing his arms, Joey lounged in his chair, but Chelsea, who’d turned in her seat, caught a hint of the tension in the set of his jaw. “I saw Billy this morning, guys,” Joey said. “Not a mark on him.”

Donatelli’s face darkened. “Hey, all we wanna do is work with your group. Nobody said nothin’ about Billy.”

Jake stood, too, as Reed reached for the captain’s shoulder. “TJ,” Reed said, “table four doesn’t have anybody to work with. Why don’t you take your guys over there?” When the captain hesitated, Reed said, “Now.” His tone was stern, commanding, contrary to the Clark Kent manner he usually assumed.

Once everybody settled down, the five male Quint Twelve firefighters regrouped, moving their chairs so they surrounded Chelsea.

She said, “I feel like the wagon trains are circling.”

Diaz quipped, “Yep, warding off the Indian attack.” He paused. “They have any Puerto Rican cowboys back then?”

“Nope, you’d a been the cook,” Joey told him.

“Shut up, guinea.”

Jake laughed. Huff grinned. And Chelsea felt her eyes mist.

“Thanks, guys.”

“You aren’t gonna go all female on us and cry, are you, Whitmore?” Huff teased.

“Nah,” she said. “I can’t remember the last time anybody made me cry.”

Jake caught her eye. His gaze burned hotly. It said, I can remember. You were half-dressed and on my lap.

His look also revealed how much he’d liked it.

“WANNA COME to DeLuca’s with us, Chelsea?” Mick asked after the morning’s training was over.

“I’d love to,” she said, glancing at Jake. “But I’m meeting my sister here. We’re, uh, gonna have lunch.”

Jake thought, After she meets with me.

“Next time.” She watched them with turbulent eyes. “Thanks again.”

Mick squeezed her arm. Huff patted her shoulder. Diaz ruffled her hair. And Joey said, “Maybe you’ll bake us another pie.”

“Maybe.”

When they filed out, she faced Jake. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I told you, Chels, all men aren’t alike.”

The look she gave him melted his insides like candle wax. “Maybe.”

For a moment Jake was flooded by a resurgence of the feelings he’d had in her bedroom the other night. He took in a deep breath. “Thanks for volunteering to do some physical fitness classes at the Towers. You sure you want to take that on?”

“I want to help them out,” she said simply. “Anyway, I won’t be doing it alone. People volunteered to help.”

“Well, that was interesting.” They turned to find Reed behind them. “I don’t mind refereeing, but I wish I’d known what I’d been in for. I feel like we just went the full nine rounds.”

Chelsea bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Reed.”

He frowned. “Chelsea, none of this is your fault.” He gave Jake a playful punch in the arm. “But this guy could’ve warned me.”

“I should’ve. Sorry.”

“No, I—”

“Oh, my God, look at you!”

Jake whipped his head around and saw Chelsea’s sister standing in the doorway of the EMS classroom. Staring at Chelsea, Delaney hesitated a second, then rushed in, dropped her briefcase onto a desk, grasped Chelsea’s chin, examined her cheek and swore like a sailor.

Chelsea’s tone was dry. “Delaney, we’re in mixed company.”

Delaney glared at Jake. Her eyes rounded when they landed on Reed. “Yes, well, one of their pals did this to you.”

“Do you always go off half-cocked like this?” Reed asked in annoyance.

“Pardon me?”

“I asked if you’re always so rash.”

She tossed her head haughtily, making her long, dark curly hair bounce. “Just because you take life at a snail’s pace, doesn’t mean the rest of us should.”

He crossed his arms. “Being judgmental is not a positive quality in a therapist.”

She snorted. “You’d know, wouldn’t you, sitting up here in your ivory tower, not having contact with the real world?”

The amused scorn on Reed’s face died like the flame of a match caught in the wind.

“The real world leaves something to be desired, Dr. Shaw.” He turned to Jake. “Stop by and see me before you leave, Jake.” He faced Chelsea. “Hope things work out for you, Chelsea. If you need me for anything, I’m here.”

Possessively Delaney placed her hands on Chelsea’s shoulders. “She has me if she needs help.”

Reed pinned her with a gaze that was a mixture of disdain and fascination. “We can’t always help the ones we’re close to.” He nodded and left.

“Sit down, Delaney,” Chelsea said, “before you alienate everybody here.”

Delaney rested troubled eyes on her sister. “Sorry. I wasn’t prepared for how you look.” She glanced out the door. “And that guy manages to push all my buttons.”

Jake chuckled. “Reed?”

Delaney swung her gaze to him. “He’s the most infuriating man I’ve ever met.”

“Well,” Jake said, “your experience sure is different from anybody else’s.”

Furrows marred her high forehead. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

She shrugged.

“And he recommended you to me.”

Her mouth gaped. “You’re kidding me. He went after me in that workshop every chance he got.”

“Funny, he said the same thing about you.”

Delaney shook her head and sank onto a chair. “Well, it’s all water under the bridge, since the workshop’s over. We’ll probably never see each other again.” She straightened and, just like at the baseball game, assumed a different persona—more professional, less emotional. “Chelsea said you need some help. For one of your children?”

“More like an adopted child.” Jake explained Derek’s situation to Delaney.

“I’m sorry,” she said with genuine feeling. “Abandonment at such a young age can be so painful.” Her gaze flicked to Chelsea. The look the sisters shared told Jake they knew something about youthful neglect.

“Which is why I need to get him some therapy.”

Delaney hesitated. “Well, I’d like to help. I’ve been interested in the children of emergency rescue people. But—”

Chelsea said, “I know you’re not taking new patients, Delaney. I thought you could do this as a favor to me.”

“It’s not that.”

“What, then?” Chelsea asked.

Delaney’s face was serious as she turned to Jake. “Listen, I know you were there for Chelsea when she was attacked the other night, and I appreciate it. But my feelings about the fire department right now are not very positive.” She nodded to her sister. “Chelsea’s had a really bad eight months, and I blame it on her co-workers.”

“Not all of us are alike,” Jake said, parroting what he’d told Chelsea.

Delaney’s blue eyes were grim with doubt. “Men or firefighters?” she asked.

“Both.”

“I’m not sure I can be unbiased with Derek.”

“Of course you can,” Chelsea said. “Laney, you’re the best. And Derek needs the best.”

Jake had a feeling about Delaney. Her impetuosity, her forthrightness, her I-don’t-give-a-damn-what-I-say attitude might be just what Derek needed.

Or is this just another tie to the woman sitting across from you? an inner voice asked.

He took in Chelsea’s tousled hair, black sleeveless knit top and white jeans. And his entire body hardened. He didn’t need another tie to her. It was dangerous. It would be the best if Delaney didn’t take on Derek.

Opening his mouth to retract his request, he was cut off by Dr. Delaney Shaw’s sudden gesture. She stood up, smoothed her miniskirt and pronounced. “All right, I’ll take him. Call my secretary and have her set up an appointment for this week. I’ll tell her to make room.” She glanced at Chelsea. “Let’s go to lunch. I want to talk to you alone.”

“Delaney, you’re being rude.”

“I don’t care.” She faced Jake. “My sister’s sitting here looking like she went a couple rounds with Mike Tyson, and I want a chance to see how she’s really doing.”

Jake stared at her.

“I’ll meet you in the parking lot.” Chelsea stood and gave her sister a warning look. “I want to talk to Jake a minute.”

“Sure.” Delaney picked up her briefcase and swept out of the room.

Jake stood, too. “Well, your sister is an…interesting woman.”

Chelsea smiled. “Don’t be too hard on her. She’s got a wonderful heart and she’s brilliant with kids. She’ll make headway with Derek, I know.”

“The poor boy won’t have any choice.”

Thoughtfully, Chelsea stared after her sister. “We had a rough life growing up. She’s the most affected by it. She’s always felt this loyalty and…protectiveness toward me.”

“It’s easy to have those feelings for you.”

Chelsea’s eyes widened.

He raised his hand and brushed her unharmed cheek. “Way too easy.”

Jake hadn’t meant to say it; it slipped out. To preclude any more revelations, he turned and left her alone in the classroom.

THE DARKNESS swallowed him once again and spit him out, a giant monster transforming him. Nobody, not even those close to him, knew what he felt inside. Alone in his bedroom at home, staring into space, he tried to think through this whole thing.

What to do? Okay, so he felt like a hypocrite. He was a hypocrite in some ways. He was good at keeping his other side hidden; he’d joined in easily playing Galahad with the rest of them, hadn’t he?

His hands fisted. Truth be told, that bruise on her face had thrown him. His father used to hit his mother and him; he hated that kind of violence. Whitmore’s appearance had touched something inside him, and he’d played along for that reason.

But tonight, he was back to square one with her. She just didn’t belong there. It would be best for her to get her out of there. Then she wouldn’t be making guys like Billy mad enough to knock her around. Christ, she was thirty-six. She oughtta be home takin’ care of babies.

He glanced at the doorway. Women needed to be put in their place by men who knew how to do it. It was for their own good. In a sense, it would be playing the knight in shining armor, sort of like the way they’d protected her at the academy today.

That did it. He’d known if he thought about it long enough, he’d figure out why he had to do this.

It’d be for her own good.

He’d take the first step right away.

CHAPTER NINE

IF JAKE SCARLATTA was upset by the fifty-foot tanker that sprawled across the expressway, spilling gasoline like water out of a hose, it wasn’t obvious. Amidst the fine drizzle that had begun about seven and shrouded them in ominous gloom, he barked orders like the commander-in-chief of an army.

“Huff and Santori, the victim’s yours.” The pair leaped off the rig and headed toward the driver, who’d been thrown from his truck. “Diaz, get the foam ready. Whitmore, you’re behind me on the hose.” As he reached up and pulled the Nomex hood over his head, he asked, “Can you handle this one, Chelsea?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right, stay close. It could get dicey.”

Sirens blared in the distance. Dimly they registered—the overturning of a tanker and its potential hazards would draw out all the brass, as well as several more fire trucks. But Chelsea was intent on getting her mask in place, adjusting the straps and making sure her gear was in working order. Fiery gasoline was a hungry monster that would bite anywhere it could.

Slowly, Jake approached it. At precisely the time he reached the spill, he activated the nozzle. “I’ve got foam,” he yelled.

The hose grew heavy and bucked; Chelsea held on tight as Jake began the methodical, careful task of laying the foam blanket that would smother the fire. As he blew the foam, he followed its path through the lake of gasoline; she was right behind him.

Chelsea focused, blocking everything else out. Sweat dripped from her scalp under the hood and helmet and mask. In the center of the spill, the heat was an inferno. Every inch of her was sweltering.

Halfway through, she heard sirens and glanced up as more trucks, ambulances and official cars arrived. Bringing her attention to the hose, her gaze snagged on sparks. Behind her.

Oh, God, the gasoline had reignited.

And they were in the middle of it.

She grabbed Jake’s arm and pulled hard. He turned and saw the fire, too. As cool as a guy watering his lawn, Jake backtracked and doused the flames. Chelsea blanked her mind, concentrated on the hose and followed Jake. It took a long time, but eventually they’d laid a twenty-foot foam blanket; the fire was out.

Mick came up and grabbed the line from them. “Goddamn, I thought you’d bought it,” she heard him say as she yanked off her headgear.

Jake cocked his head. “Haven’t you ever seen a foam blanket reignite?”

Mick shook his head.

Jake nodded to Chelsea. “You?”

“Never.”

His eyes shone with appreciation. “Then you did good.”

She smiled. “Thanks.”

Two hours later they headed to the firehouse. They’d stayed and helped clean up the spill; when more backup arrived, the chief released them.

Chelsea ached everywhere from holding the hose. Tension had crept into her shoulders, and with the drop in adrenaline, exhaustion hit her like a sledgehammer.

They dumped their gear in the bay. Peter said, “Let’s get coffee and see if that pie Whitmore made is as good as it smelled when we left.” She’d been baking a pie that was just about done when they got the call.

“What kind is it this time, Whitmore?” Joey asked, tossing his bunker boots to the floor.

“Cherry.” She smiled at Don, who let his turnout gear drop to his feet. “Don pitted the cherries.”

“Just like home,” he muttered good-naturedly as Jake led the way to the back of the firehouse. “I get all the grunt work.”

Jake said, “But you’re so good at it, Diaz. I think I’ll—” He halted abruptly at the entrance to the kitchen. Chelsea, Peter and Joey bumped into each other. It would have been comical if they hadn’t been so tired.

“What the…” Joey began.

“Peter, come up here.” Jake’s peremptory tone silenced them.

Chelsea scowled. Her first thought was that someone had broken into the firehouse. Just what they needed.

Quickly Peter threaded through them to meet Jake at the kitchen doorway.

“You’re the gourmet. Is it just remnants of the spill I’m smelling, or is there gas in here?”.

“It’s gas.” Peter swore. “From the friggin’ stove.”

Chelsea frowned.

Jake pivoted. “Chelsea, didn’t you turn off the stove?”

“Of course I did. The call came two minutes before the timer was set to go off. I took out the pie and turned the stove off.”

Peter scowled. “You sure?”

“I’m positive.”

“All right,” Jake said, entering the kitchen. “Let’s air this place out.”

Four firefighters opened windows as Jake crossed to the stove. Chelsea followed him.

He stiffened. Then he reached up and flipped the knob from on to off. When he faced her his gaze was stern. “It was on, Whitmore. The pilot light must have blown out again.”

“I know I turned it off,” she said, seeds of doubt sprouting inside her. “At least I thought I did.” She threw up her hands. “God, Jake, I’m sorry. I can’t believe I was so careless.”

Mick came up behind her and rested a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. We were in a hurry.”

“No,” Jake said, “it’s not okay. But it’s human. We all need to be careful with this damn thing until it’s replaced.” He sighed. “Okay. Let’s drop it.”

Chelsea stood staring at the stove as the guys got coffee. In her mind she replayed her actions. She’d been sitting at the table with Mick, razzing him about a sexist comment he’d made. The tone had sounded, and they’d both bolted up.

“Get the pie,” Mick had ordered teasingly, then headed right. She remembered wondering where he was going, since the closest exit to the bay was left.

She’d opened the oven and taken out the pie. The steam had singed her wrist, and she’d yelped.

Joey had raced by her and asked if she was okay.

Don had come out of the bathroom and yelled for her to hurry.

She’d placed the pie on the burner. Then she’d reached up, turned off the stove and darted for the bay.

She’d bumped into Peter on his way into the kitchen for his gloves, which he’d been cleaning earlier.

Chelsea stared at the stove knob. Then she turned and watched her group gather around the table. What could have happened?

“WHY DOES HE stop crying with you?” Dylan asked as Jake picked up a squalling Timmy O’Roarke from the baby seat. The six-week-old bundle squirmed in Jake’s arms until he held the child against his shoulder and cuddled him close. Just for good measure, Jake walked back and forth over the worn wood floor of the Dutch Towers main room. Painted a soft beige, the large common area housed tables and chairs, comfortable couches and a big-screen TV. Tonight it would be used for the first fire-department-sponsored physical fitness session, so all the furniture had been moved to the side.

“I don’t know. Jessica was like that with Ben Cordaro. He was like a grandfather to her, you know.”

Dylan watched from his chair at a small table in the corner. “Haven’t forgotten how to do that, have ya, buddy.”

Jake patted Timmy’s back gently. “You never forget.” What he hadn’t remembered was the sense of peace a baby snuggling against him brought. “I wish I’d had more.”

“It’s not too late,” Dylan said, leafing through Firehouse magazine looking for material for the latest trivia game. He and the baby had accompanied Beth, who’d volunteered to help Chelsea run the fitness classes at the senior’s complex, but as usual Dylan brought along a pile of firemanics material. Guys had been teasing him about losing interest in the department since he got married, and he was trying to prove them wrong with the weekly trivia game. “You and Beth are the same age, and she just had the little monster.”

Jake’s gaze strayed to Beth, then to Chelsea in the front of the room. Damn, she looked good tonight. Though she wore a light warm-up jacket over her outfit, he could see a yellow T-shirt peeking out from the top; it drew his gaze like a red flag. Matching shorts revealed every inch of her long, shapely legs.

Dylan said, “Okay, here’s one I could use. What’s the highest award given by the NYFD?”

“Too easy,” Jake responded, still staring at Chelsea.

“It’s the Gordon Bennett medal.”

As she turned to write on the big chalkboard Jake had hauled in from another room, he found himself wondering if she wearing those red panties he’d caught a glimpse of two nights ago. He tried to distract himself by nuzzling the baby in his arms, but he couldn’t stop the images….

He’d been waiting outside the showers for her to finish and had banged on the door after a few minutes. He knew she’d been in there a while. “Get a move on, Whitmore,” he’d shouted, winking as Mick walked by. “This isn’t Elizabeth Arden’s.”

“Stuff it, Scarlatta,” she’d shouted back.

When at last she’d pulled open the door, he’d planned to check his watch and tap his foot, but his movements had been stilled by the sight of her. She wore gym shorts and the RFD T-shirt, traditional firehouse sleeping garb. Her skin glowed amidst the halo of steam surrounding her; greedily, he took in her peaches-and-cream cheeks, sparkling eyes. And her hair, damp from only being towel dried, reminded him of sex in the shower.

“For cripe’s sake, man, I wasn’t in there that long.”

He swallowed hard. “Long enough.” Even to his own ears, his voice was a come-to-bed invitation.

She’d sucked in a breath. He moved to his left, she to her right to defuse the moment, and the collision caused her to drop her toiletries. Falling to her knees, she scrambled to pick up toothbrush, shampoo and towel. Jake bent to retrieve a tube of lotion that had fallen open. Its scent was sexy as hell. He shoved it into her hand. When she stood, he noticed she’d inadvertently dropped a pair of panties, the tiniest scrap of scarlet lace he’d ever seen, on the scarred linoleum.

His hand gravitated to them. They were as sinfully soft as they looked. He held them a second, slithering the material between his fingers. Still squatting—he didn’t dare stand up—he’d looked into her face. “You dropped these,” he said huskily.

Her eyes were riveted to his big hand caressing the tiny panties. She said nothing, just stood statue-still.

He’d stayed half kneeling on the floor—like a slave at her feet. Then he’d thrust them at her. As if awakened from a spell, she’d snatched the panties and darted down the hall.

Sucking in a breath, he’d finally stood and gratefully headed for the shower….

“Oh, look at the baby.” Mrs. Lowe came in, along with about ten other residents of Dutch Towers, and crossed directly to Jake. Her skin may have been old and wrinkled, but her eyes were young and sparkling.

Dylan said, “He looks just like me, doesn’t he, Mrs. L?”

Adelaide Lowe smiled broadly at the proud papa. “Yes, he does.” She focused on Jake. “Time’s running out, young man. If you’re going to have a son, you’d better get going.”

“A daughter’s all I need, Mrs. Lowe.” He grinned.

“You wanna hold Timmy?”

“No, I’m going to stretch before class starts.” She patted Timmy’s head and joined Mrs. MacKenzie and Mrs. Santori, who were up front near Chelsea and Beth.

“I’m gonna go talk to the guys.” Jake bent to put a sleeping Timmy into his seat. “I said I’d help when I coaxed Mr. Steed, Mr. Olivo and Mr. Santori into being here.”

“Okay, but before you go, here’s another one,” Dylan said. “What’s the Scannel medal given for?”

“Rescue in an earthquake emergency. It was named after the fire chief in the San Francisco earthquake at the time.” Jake straightened and laughed. “You’re losing your touch, O’Roarke. Fatherhood’s turned your brain to mush.”

When Jake reached the men, he was still chuckling. “Ready to go for the burn, guys?”

Moses Santori, a burly, bald man whose rheumy eyes still gleamed with mischief at sixty-eight, patted his stomach. “Josephine said if I don’t lose some weight she’s gonna stop sleeping with me.”

Sergio Olivo grinned. “My Angie used to say that. It worked, too.”

Tall, trim and handsome, with a shock of silver hair falling into his eyes, gentlemanly Lawrence Steed smiled sedately. “You should walk, like I do every morning.”

“If we could have your attention now,” Chelsea told the group. “Everyone come up front. We’ve got mats here to sit on, but I’d like you to take the chairs we’ve set out first.”

Jake smiled at her thoughtfulness. Older people couldn’t get up and down on the mats easily.

“As you know,” she continued, “I’m Chelsea Whitmore, and I own the Weight Room, which is a couple of blocks away from here. Your local fire department is sponsoring this activity, which is why Jake and Dylan and Beth are helping out.” All three waved. “Tonight we’re going to talk about fitness, see a video and walk some if it stays nice outside.” She smiled. “I hope you’ll have a good idea if you want to continue on with us and might be able to convince some of your neighbors to join us next time.”

Chelsea turned to the TV. “We’ll start with a video made by a woman in her sixties when she began a fitness program. I’ll let her tell you why.”

Jake watched the spry and attractive older woman who appeared on screen. The Dutch Towers residents were mesmerized as she told the story of witnessing her mother wither away because of lack of bone density and general physical fitness. As the older woman demonstrated her ability at sixty-five to leg-press one hundred eighty pounds, bench-press sixty, and do biceps curls with fifteen-pound free weights, he thought about Jessica. He was glad she kept in shape; he’d taken her to Chelsea’s club last week….

“Oh, Dad, look at this equipment, it’s state-of-the-art.” Jessica had been effusive as Spike Lammon had walked them around the gym. It was impressive, with its extensive square footage, top-notch aerobic machines, mirrored walls and a large variety of weights. Its color scheme was gray and black, with a dark pink accent here and there.

Though he’d tried not to, Jake had kept scanning the area for Chelsea. She’d finally emerged from the back room. Her hair was damp, her skin glistening with perspiration. Wiping her face, she said, “Hi. Jeez, is it that late? I didn’t realize.”

More like a lover than an employee, Spike had ruffled her hair and said, “Been working out too hard, babe.” He faced Jess. “She’s competing in the local triathlon.”

“What’s that?”

As Spike led Jess to a poster on the wall, Chelsea looked at Jake. “I’m sorry, I lost track of time.”

“You look whipped.”

“I overdid it. But I can’t get down some of the gymnastic moves that Spike choreographed.”

Jake glanced at his daughter and the trainer. “How old is he?”

“Spike?”

“Yeah.”

“Late twenties, I think.”

Jake’s gaze pinned her. “Are you involved with him?”

“What?”

“I asked if you were involved with him. He’s…friendly.”

The corners of her mouth quirked. “Me and Spike?”

Jamming his hands into his pockets, Jake felt foolish. “Well, I, um, asked because of how Jess is looking at him.”

“How’s that?”

“Like a woman.”

“He’s a good man. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“No, Jake, we’re not involved.”

The whole uncomfortable night had turned into a disaster when Jess happened upon the Help Wanted sign on the desk as they’d been leaving. Within minutes his daughter had sewed up a receptionist’s job for the rest of the summer. He’d quelled his admiration at how Chelsea had treated Jess as an adult, the interest she took in her. Instead, he’d focused on the irritation this little move would cost him. He wouldn’t let Jess drive alone in downtown Rockford at night, so Jake would be at Chelsea’s gym often….

The spurt of fear he’d felt returned and brought him up short. He stared at the woman in the front of the room who was infiltrating his life and his thoughts too much.

These feelings for her were not acceptable. Physical attraction was inappropriate for a lieutenant to feel for someone in his charge. Moreover, he couldn’t afford to lose his objectivity with one of his crew again.

He’d done it once, and look what had happened—to his personal life and his career.

As she smiled pleasantly at the group, Jake was stunned by the realization of what could happen if he didn’t keep a check on his response to Firefighter Whitmore.

WHEN SHE LOOKED over the elderly participants, Chelsea caught Jake scowling at her from the back.

The Scarlatta scowl, Jess had called it. She smiled in spite of Jake’s expression. Compared to her father, Jessica was an open book. Like Delaney, Jess said exactly what she thought, and in the three days she’d worked at the Weight Room, Chelsea had come to like the girl. She’d discovered that Jessica worshiped the ground her father walked on, worried about his monklike lifestyle and feared leaving him to go to college. Though technically she lived with her mother, she spent most of her time with Jake.

Chelsea wondered what the woman who had caught her elusive lieutenant was like. Did he prefer blondes or brunettes? Petite women or tall women? Smart or dumb?

It hit her suddenly and with stunning force. What the hell was she doing thinking about him that way? Damn you, girl, don’t you ever learn?

Ruthlessly suppressing all thoughts of Jake Scarlatta’s taste in women, she walked to the center of the room and smiled at the residents’ faces. Some were twinkling with expectation, one or two revealed hesitancy.

“I hope the video affirmed that at any age, physical fitness is important.” She pointed to the board. “What I have in mind is a threefold program. First, we’ll work on your aerobic fitness by walking outside when the weather’s good. We should find a way to get some machines in here for rainy days and winter.”

“I got one of those bikes that don’t go anywhere in my apartment,” Sergio Oliva said. “Jake can bring that down for us.”

“My son has a treadmill he’s trying to get rid of,” Lawrence Steed added.

Dylan contributed from the side, “Quint Twelve has one of each of those we can donate. We just got new ones.” He thought for a moment. “We also have an old weight machine you can have.”

Mrs. Santori said proudly, “My Joey can haul those over.”

Chelsea continued, “That brings me to number two. Like the woman in the video, we’ll be doing some light weights.” At the buzz among them, Chelsea said, “Only what you can handle. It’s a slow-starting program, but bone density is improved by weight lifting.” She grinned at them. “Besides, you’re all young enough to pump some iron.”

“I like that girl, Jake,” Moses Santori said. “Let’s keep her around.”

Jake’s eyes flashed with pleasure.

Chelsea tried to ignore the warmth kindling inside her. When had just a look of approval from him been able to do that?

“The third area we’ll cover is stretching. For all these, you’ll need to wear loose or stretchy clothing.”

Participants made a couple of jokes about octogenarians in spandex, and unobtrusively, Chelsea checked out Jake’s khaki shorts. Then her gaze traveled hungrily to his black T-shirt with two tiny beige stripes bisecting his chest. His outfit complemented his dark coloring beautifully.

She shook off the awareness. “Now, who’s up for a walk?”

With some coaxing, everybody agreed. They were heading out the back door when Jake fell into step beside her. “You’re good with them,” he said as they paraded outside. A warm breeze ruffled the chestnut strands of Jake’s thick hair. “Thanks again for volunteering to do this. It means a lot to me.”

“I know it does. But I want to help them, too.”

“So you said.”

“They really love you, Jake. It must be like having twenty grandparents.” Even to her ears, her tone was wistful.

“Don’t you have family, Chels?”

“Just me and Delaney.”

“What happened?”

“When?”

“To your parents, for starters.”

They followed the sidewalk around the complex. “My father died when I was five. My mother married Delaney’s father a year later. It didn’t help much, though.”

“Help?”

“Yeah, we were still on the road. My dad was a baseball player—minor league, but he made it to Triple A before he died in a car accident. Tom Shaw moved just as much as my father. He was always playing gigs with his band.”

“No aunts or uncles? Cousins?”

“No, our mother and both our fathers were only children. We never saw much of our grandparents before they died because we were always on the go. I do have a few of the woodworking pieces my grandpa made, though.”

Jake glanced at her. “So you want stability for yourself now?”

“I never said that.”

“You did—indirectly.”

She shook her head in exasperation. “How does our conversation always get back to me?”

“Beats me.”

“Let’s talk about that captaincy exam,” she said. “The one I got the—”

“Oh, look, I think Sergio is limping. I’d better go make sure he’s okay.” Jake jogged off down the pavement.

“Coward,” she yelled after him.

Chelsea had called Jake that on their last night shift, too, and for the same reason….

“What’s this?” he’d asked as she’d handed him papers. He’d been on late watch, and she’d come out about three with a handful of documents.

“I was at headquarters today getting some insurance forms and I saw these on the counter.”

Frowning, he’d scanned the papers. The bleakness in his eyes when he looked at her almost made her wish she hadn’t gotten them. “I’m not taking the captaincy test.”

“Why?”

“A lot of reasons.”

“Give me one.”

“I’d have to move if I made captain.” Since every shift had a lieutenant but each house only had one captain and Ed Knight held the position in Quint 12, Jake would be forced to change houses. “I don’t want to leave my group.”

“It might be worth it.”

He stared at her. “Maybe. But I’m not going to do it. I gave up those dreams a long time ago.”

“Yeah, well, maybe that was a mistake.” She sat on the desk and swung her feet.

He picked up his coffee and sipped it.

“You’re the best officer I’ve ever worked under. You’re only forty, Jake. You could still be battalion chief if you wanted to.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You know what? I think you’re a coward.”

“What?”

“Afraid to risk.”

“I take risks every day on the job.”

“Not emotional ones. Go for the exam.”

“Read my lips, Whitmore—I don’t want this.”

She shook her head. “A liar and a coward. Jeez, who would have thought….”

A HALF HOUR later, Chelsea was with Dylan and Beth in the common area of Dutch Towers watching Jake escort Mrs. Lowe to the elevator. The old woman reached up and gave him a big hug. Something shifted inside Chelsea at the sight; she turned away to distract herself.

Dylan lifted his nose from the book it had been buried in and asked, “How about this question. What’s the NYFD training academy called?”

Beth rolled her eyes. “The Rock. That one’s a snap. You’re going soft on us, O’Roarke.”

“All right, smarty. What did they call firefighters before the common usage of SCBA masks?”

“Even I know that,” Chelsea said. “Leather lungs.”

“Jeez, I can’t score tonight.”

“Well, let’s go home and see what we can do about that, Boy Wonder.”

Dylan glanced at the baby. “Oh, sure. As soon as we get comfy, hungry Tim will wake up.”

“I just fed him. He’s out for the count.” Beth smiled at her son.

Chelsea checked her watch. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. It’s only eight o’clock. Why don’t I take Timmy home with me, and you guys go out on the town for a while? You can pick him up later.”

Beth said, “Really?”

“Yeah, he’ll be fine. France and I watched him when he was littler than this.”

Dylan’s eyes twinkled at Beth. “Maybe we can go dancing.”

“Maybe.”

“We can stop home first and change.”

Beth shook her head. “If we stop home, we’ll never get out of there.”

Dylan pulled her close and whispered something in her ear that made his wife giggle.

“You sure you want to do this?” Beth asked Chelsea.

“He can be a pain if he wakes up and won’t go back to sleep.”

“I think I can handle it.”

“There’s diapers and a bottle in there if he’s hungry,” Beth said, handing her a diaper bag. “We’ll call you and let you know where we are.”

Dylan kissed Beth’s ear. “Maybe.”

Chelsea pointed to the baby’s carrier. “This is a car seat, too, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Dylan said. “Just strap him in the back.”

“All right. Now get out of here.”

The O’Roarkes beat a hasty retreat just as Jake came back. He glanced at the baby with raised brows. “They forgot their son.”

Chelsea chuckled. “No, they didn’t. I’m baby-sitting.”

“You are?”

“Yeah, just for a few hours.”

“Hmm.” His look was intense. Chelsea feared he was going to ask to help. For a second she created a vivid fantasy of the two of them, cuddling up, watching the baby.

“Well, I’d best be going.” She pretended to concentrate on collecting her belongings.

“You’ll need help getting him to the car.”

She looked up. His face was neutral. “Oh, okay.”

After some fancy maneuvering, they managed to secure a still-sleeping Timmy into the back of Chelsea’s Camaro. She glanced at Jake before she got into her car. “Thanks.”

“Chelsea? Do you wa—”

“I’ve got to go. I appreciate the help.”

Without waiting for a response, she slid into the front seat. She could see his legs tense as his hand grasped the top of the door. It seemed to take an eternity before he closed the door. When he did, she breathed a sigh of relief.

She stuck the key into the ignition and twisted it. Nothing. Damn, she’d been having trouble with the starter and had an appointment to get it fixed tomorrow. Please, God, let it work tonight.

She tried again.

Still nothing.

Cursing the fates, she dropped her head to the steering wheel.

CHELSEA OPENED the door to her house as Jake followed her, carrying the baby seat with a sleeping Timmy O’Roarke in it. Her hands shook at the intimacy of the scene—a man and a woman bringing a baby home. For a minute, some of her youthful dreams besieged her; she’d thought she wanted a good job, a good man and a baby or two. Damn, she wished this hadn’t happened tonight!

Jake set the carrier on the floor in the center of the living room between the leather couches. Then he turned to her.

His face was cast in shadows, but it was nonetheless clear that some conflict was smoldering inside him. “Can I do anything before I go?”

“No, it’s under—”

A piercing wail split the air. Jake gave a start, and Chelsea jumped; they both laughed. “The kid’s awake,” she said, circling Jake and bending to pick up Timmy.

Quickly she unsnapped him and scooped him up. “Shh, sweetheart, it’s okay. Aunt Chelsea’s here.”

She began to walk him. The crying continued. Frowning, she started to croon. The crying got louder.

“I know he’s just been fed. And Dylan changed him right before you came over.” Jiggling him up and down, she whispered again, “Shh, baby, shh.”

Timmy began to cry in earnest, then, and her heartbeat escalated. Could something be wrong? Oh, God, not with this baby, please. Dylan and Beth—

“Here, give him to me,” Jake said. “Let me try.” Jake reached for the baby and placed him against his shoulder; Timmy nuzzled into him. And stopped crying immediately.

Chelsea’s mouth fell open. “What’d you do?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. He always reacts to me like this. I pick him up and he stops bawling.”

“That’s odd.”

“Apparently not.” He soothed Timmy’s back with a big, strong hand. “When Jessica was a baby, she was the same way with Ben Cordaro.” His face lightened, his gray eyes amused. “Once when I was on nights, she cried so hard Nancy got scared and called Ben to come over. Jess stopped crying right away for him.”

“I’ve never heard of that.”

He shrugged. “Some babies just have good taste, I guess.” He glanced around the room. “So, what should we do?”

They both knew what he was asking. Being thrown together like this wasn’t good. They were making a valiant attempt to avoid it—or at least they would as soon as things quieted down.

Chelsea suggested, “Well, why don’t you rock him for a bit, then we’ll try to put him down. You can leave when he’s asleep.”

“Sure, whatever you say.” He scanned the living room impassively. “Where’s the rocker?”

“Upstairs in the sitting room off my bedroom, remember?”

The impassive mask slipped. “I remember.”

Quickly she turned. They proceeded upstairs and down the hall. Dusk pervaded the back room, enveloping them in a surrealistic glow. As Jake sought the white wicker rocker and sat down, Chelsea could see Timmy’s little hands clutch the black T-shirt. Jake settled himself and brushed the baby’s head with his lips. Chelsea’s stomach flip-flopped.

“This brings back memories, I’ll bet,” she said.

“Yeah,” he replied.

After dragging out the cradle her grandfather had made for her, Chelsea crossed to a trunk in the corner and drew out a soft blanket. She used that and a pillow to build a nest for the baby. Then she sat on the couch, her legs curled under her.

“Do you want to have kids?” he asked quietly.

“I did.”

“Did?”

Running a hand through her hair, she blew out an exasperated breath. “This stuff with Billy has really soured me on men.”

He frowned.

“I know, I know, they’re not all alike.” She touched her cheek. “But it’s hard to forget how he turned on me, how I thought I could trust him and I couldn’t. What if I really fell in love and the man did that to me?”

He nodded. “There’s nothin’ like somebody you care about turning on you.”

She waited.

“When Danny turned on me, it felt like high treason. I couldn’t handle it. I shut everybody out for a long time. Including my wife.”

“Is that why you divorced?”

“Uh-huh.” He stared into space. “I tried the same with my buddies. But Ben Cordaro wouldn’t let me. I maintained some male friendships, but that was about it. And Jess, of course.”

“No women?”

He shook his head.

“How long have you been divorced?”

“Eight years.”

“I can’t believe nobody’s snagged you.”

Something flared in his eyes, and she cursed her tongue. Occasionally the old Chelsea surfaced. She stood. “Well, let’s try to put him down now.”

He rose, walked to the cradle, eased Timmy away from his chest and placed him in the bed. The baby stirred, and Jake tipped the finely crafted wooden bed back and forth, soothing Timmy with his other hand. When he quieted, Jake kept up the motion for a moment, then straightened. All was silent. Jake smiled at Chelsea over the cradle. She smiled back.

The phone rang.

And Timmy began to cry.

Ten minutes later Jake was rocking him in the chair again. It had been Dylan on the phone, unabashedly telling Chelsea he and his wife could be reached at home; he asked if everything was okay and what time they should pick up the kid. After she hung up, she turned the Yankees game on low and offered Jake something to drink. They sipped from bottles of beer, looking at the screen.

“Think they got a chance for the pennant?” Chelsea asked, sitting on the floor and leaning against the couch.

“Yep. I’m hoping for another sweep like in ninety-eight.”

“My father loved the Yankees. He always wanted to play for them.”

“What was he like?”

“Young, handsome, not around much.”

“Did you go to his games?”

“As many as I could. I had to go to school.”

“Did he pitch?”

“Yeah.” She focused on the TV. “Wow, look at that. Paul O’Neil caught it barehanded.”

“Did he teach you to pitch?”

“Yep.”

“Chels, I—”

“Look, isn’t your arm getting tired? I could hold him.”

She was trying to get rid of him, Jake thought. She didn’t like the intimacy of the situation, the direction of the talk. And he shouldn’t, either. Just as he shouldn’t like watching the game with her or the fact that she was fun and interesting and bright.

He should go. He knew that. So he stood. “All right, let’s give Pavarotti here another shot.” Gently he placed Timmy in the cradle. This time, Timmy didn’t need the phone to wake him. The motion did it.

Chelsea beat Jake to the cradle and picked the baby up. “I’ll change him. That’s probably it.”

It wasn’t.

“Should I try a bottle?”

“Go ahead, but didn’t Beth just feed him?”

She rummaged through the diaper bag, found the bottle and tried to stick it in Timmy’s mouth. He spit it out at her as if it was poison.

Exasperated, she looked at Jake. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Here, give him to me.” He took Timmy and cuddled him. Of course the kid stopped crying. Jake had to smile. It felt kind of good.

“Jake, you can’t hold him until eleven o’clock.”

“Want me to leave you alone with a screaming baby?”

“God, no. I forgot kids could cry at that decibel level.”

After another few minutes of rocking, Jake said, “I’ve got an idea. Lay a couple of blankets on the floor there.” Chelsea did. “Now grab me a few pillows.” Following his directions, she padded a six-by-six area. Jake dropped to his knees, then lay back against the pillows with the baby. He stayed that way for a few minutes, stretched out with Timmy on his chest, then eased the child to the floor very close to his body. Timmy could still feel and smell him. He placed a hand on Timmy’s back and soothed him when he stirred.

Miraculously Timmy stayed asleep.

Chelsea breathed a sigh of relief.

“There, now I don’t have to hold him. I’ll just stay close.”

Chelsea smiled, and Jake’s insides clenched. “Grab me my beer, woman,” he said gruffly.

She arched a brow.

“Hey, better do as you’re told or I’ll get up.”

She laughed quietly and reached for the beer.

Jake and Chelsea watched the game like old buddies, sipping beer and talking intermittently. Jake felt his eyes grow heavy, and he sank into the pillows. It was the fourth inning, the Yankees were ahead and he’d had a beer. His eyes drifted shut.

“Jake.”

He gripped the pillow. God, he was having this wonderful dream. He knew it was a dream, but he didn’t want to let it go. Chelsea was dressed in the ice-blue negligée, but her body was burning with heat as he slid the shift off her creamy shoulders—

“Jake, wake up. It’s almost eleven. Beth and Dylan will be here any minute.”

He stirred but didn’t open his eyes. Her hair shimmered around her bare shoulders, and his fingers went to it, buried themselves in the heavy mass. Hmm, so soft. He raised his thumb to her mouth and outlined her lips. Even softer.

He moaned.

Chelsea said, “Jake, please, wake up.”

Reluctantly he opened his eyes. She was kneeling above him, like in the dream. But she was dressed in a yellow T-shirt and shorts instead of blue satin. He reached for her, anyway. “Chels?”

She swallowed hard. “You fell asleep.”

He blinked. “For how long?”

“About an hour.”

“Oh, jeez, I’m sorry.” His hands were still on her. “I haven’t been sleeping well at night.” Fully awake, he glanced to the side. Timmy snuggled against him like Jess used to do on the bumper in the crib. “Did Paul Revere sleep, too?”

“Yep, the whole time.”

He chuckled, and she tried to pull away. Sobering, his grip tightened, causing her to lean further over his chest.

“I was dreaming.”

She stared at him.

“About you.”

“Jake, don’t.” She tried to draw back.

“Wait a second.” One hand left her shoulder and traveled to her hair. His fingers threaded through it. In comparison, the dream had been a weak preview. The golden locks were silky and soft and unbelievably seductive.

“Jake…”

His other hand went to her mouth. “Shh, I know. Just for a minute.” The pad of his thumb rubbed gently, thoroughly.

Her stiff shoulders softened. Their eyes locked. When his lowered, he could see her breasts beginning to rise and fall fast. His gaze traveled to her lips.

His hand tightened in her hair.

She leaned forward.

He came an inch off the pillows.

And then the doorbell rang.

And the baby started to wail.

CHAPTER TEN

LIKE A HEAD OF STATE leaving a peace conference, Local 601 union president Sammy Samuels strode out of the meeting with Jake, Chief Talbot and his two deputies and headed for the firehouse kitchen, where they would eat lunch with the crew. The long table had been set for twelve, and the spicy smell of oregano and tomato sauce wafted through the building.

Taking a seat, Sammy motioned for the others to sit near him. “Quick, before the ladies come. Listen to this one. A fireman came home one day and told his wife, ‘We’ve implemented a new system at the fire station. Bell one rings, and we all put on our turnout gear. Bell two rings, and we head for the trucks. Bell three opens the bay door, and we’re gone. So, from now on we’re going to run this house the same way. When I say Bell One, I want you to strip naked. When I say Bell Two, I want you to jump into bed, and when I say Bell Three, we’re going to make love all night.’ The next day, he came home from work and yelled, ‘Bell One.’ His wife took off all her clothes. He then yelled, ‘Bell Two,’ and his wife jumped into bed. Then he yelled, ‘Bell Three,’ and they began to make love. After two minutes, his wife yelled, ‘Bell Four!’ The husband asked, ‘What’s Bell Four?’ And the wife replied, ‘More hose! You’re nowhere near the fire!”’

Everybody laughed, and Jake relaxed. Though Chelsea and the chief’s secretary weren’t in the kitchen yet, he was wary of sexually explicit jokes in the firehouse; they could be a powder keg, depending on the circumstances. This story was cute, though, and harmless. Chelsea would have laughed.

Chelsea, whom he’d almost kissed two nights ago.

His hands curled into fists. How could he have been so stupid? The memory of what she felt like poised over him and where it might have led was still with him today and had kept him awake for two nights running. He’d tried to outdistance it by lifting weights and jogging, but exercise hadn’t helped. Even dinner last night with Ben and Diana and Ben’s parents, Gus and Grace, hadn’t driven it from his mind. He wanted a woman, wanted Chelsea, but he couldn’t allow himself to pursue her. Too much was at risk. As he took his seat at the table, he was glad for a good cause to distract him.

Though the reason they were having this big powwow was a hell of a thing to happen.

Peter called from the stove, “Get everybody, will you, Mick? We’re about ready.”

“And what did our own Julia Child make today?” Chief Talbot asked. Huff’s cooking was legendary throughout the department.

Peter glanced over his shoulder. “Spaghetti and meatballs.”

Jake was surprised by the meatballs. Once the guys had stopped ribbing Chelsea about not eating red meat, they’d cooked accordingly, substituting chicken for her portion, often choosing fish for all of them. Peter had been especially considerate. Oh, well, she could go without protein for one meal.

Damn, what the hell was he doing worrying about her diet?

As he listened to the official banter from the brass, he admitted to himself he knew the answer. He cared about Chelsea. In more ways than were good for either of them. During this last bout of insomnia, he’d finally realized his feelings ran deep. It wasn’t just that he was physically attracted to her, though she regularly set off fireworks in his body these days. It was that he liked being with her, sharing things with her and having her in his life at the firehouse—and outside of it.

As if conjured up by his thoughts, she appeared in the doorway; though she’d obviously just washed, her face was flushed and her T-shirt sweaty. Shrugging into the light blue dress shirt and buttoning it, she teased Don. “I won, Diaz. You do my cleanup all week.”

“How the hell did you learn how to shoot hoops like that?”

“I’ll never tell.” She glanced around, frowning at the RFD officers and union members. Usually she was reserved around visitors, careful to stay in the background, like a student in class who didn’t want to be called on.

“We having a department meeting here today?” Diaz joked.

“Nah, I met with these guys this morning,” Jake told them. “I’ll explain it over lunch. It concerns this firehouse.”

“Chow’s on.” Huff stood back from the counter where he’d assembled the food.

They all headed for the serving line. Out of the corner of his eye, Jake saw Huff approach Chelsea. He said something in her ear, and she smiled broadly. Jake felt that smile zing all the way to his gut; he turned to the food.

Determinedly he didn’t look at her again until she sat—at the other end of the table. They were avoiding each other and had been all morning except for the two calls they’d had where they were forced to work together. He glanced at her plate; it was filled with meatballs. Salad was the only other thing she’d taken.

Mick noticed, too. “You don’t like pasta, Whitmore?”

“I love it.”

“There’s none on your dish.”

“I’m only eating protein, vegetables and fruit this week.”

“Why?”

She flushed. Jake opened his mouth to deflect her from the hot seat, but caught himself. What the hell was he doing?

“I’m competing in a triathlon Thursday night. So I’m bulking up.”

“Really? I been thinking about doin’ one of those myself.” Joey was heavy into weight lifting and keeping in shape.

Chelsea’s brows rose. “Yeah? If you want to talk about it later, find me.”

“Okay.”

Huff was the last to sit. “So,” he said in typical policeman, no-nonsense manner, “why’s the brass here?”

From the end of the table, Jake addressed his crew. “I asked them to come because I want to start a search to find a runaway teenager. Chief Talbot gave his approval this morning.”

“I don’t understand,” Diaz said. “Why would we do that?”

“She’s the daughter of a fellow firefighter in Illinois. I was at the union office yesterday when Rick Mayfield called to say his fourteen-year-old daughter, Suzy, ran away ten days ago. They got a tip that she was in Rockford. He and his wife are en route—” Jake glanced at the clock “—as we speak.”

“Jeez, a fourteen-year-old’s been gone ten days,” Diaz commented. “My Katie’s fourteen.”

“What can we do for them?” Mick asked.

“First, we’ve set up a headquarters here in the back room of the fire station. Phones, a fax and a computer will be transferred there after lunch. On- and off-duty people will man it. Calls at night can be transferred to the watch room.” He paused. “I’ll oversee it.”

“Sounds good to me,” Joey said. “What do you need help with?”

“Well, we’ve got a sign-up sheet that’s gonna go to all the stations today. Off-duty firefighters will canvass the streets with pictures, hand out leaflets for the next couple of days and man the phones here.” He nodded to Mary Sokel, the chief’s secretary. “Mary’s been released from her duties today to do some phone work, like contacting the missing person’s bureau and calling the newspaper and TV and radio stations to get coverage.”

The guys all knew Mary. She often came over for lunch and was one of their favorite people.

The union leader said, “No one’s required to participate, but I think it’s good PR. It’s also a way we can help out a brother. The local’s putting both manpower and some benevolent money for copying, et cetera, behind this.”

“Those poor parents,” Chelsea said. Jake had avoided looking at her as he spoke, but he glanced over now and caught the sadness in her eyes. “Where are they going to stay?”

“We talked the Hyatt into putting them up free for a few nights, but that’s only temporary.”

“Francey’s house has been empty since she got married,” Chelsea told them. Jake saw Joey stiffen. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if they stayed there.”

Jake nodded.

“I’ll take care of it,” Chelsea said.

Talk continued through the meal. Huff had said almost nothing, which wasn’t unusual; he was normally reticent. So Jake was surprised when he stood to get another helping of food and asked, “You guys like the meatballs?”

“Yeah,” Diaz called. “Get me a few more.”

“Bring the bowl,” the chief said. “We’ll pass ’em around.”

Jake caught Chelsea’s grin. He also noticed she took another portion. When everybody was chowing down like the meatballs were manna from heaven, Huff said, “Turkey’s great, like you said, Whitmore.”

“Mmm,” she answered, busily chewing.

“Turkey?” Joey asked. “Whaddaya mean?”

All the men looked at their second helpings.

Huff announced, “Used ground turkey, instead of beef. Better for your arteries.”

“Hell, my wife tried that once, and it tasted terrible.” Diaz studied his plate. “I told her never to cook nothing like that again.”

“I’ll give her the recipe from The Healthy Firehouse Cookbook.”

No one said anything, then Diaz quipped, “So long as we don’t have stewed chickweed and acorns for lunch, it’s cool with me.”

Chelsea grinned as she sank her teeth into another meatball.

WHEN CHELSEA’S RELIEF arrived at the end of the day, she headed to the back room, a ten-by-ten square with a couple of windows, two desks and chairs and various machines humming away. It would function as the command post for Operation Suzy. Chelsea shuddered at the thought of a kid so young living on the streets. When she entered the room, Mary was hanging up the phone.

Her kind brown eyes smiled, belying her Attila the Hun reputation. She threaded graying hair off her face and said, “That’s it. The flyers are done and the night shift is going to bundle them. We’re circulating the sign-up to all the firehouses for volunteers to canvas the streets.” She glanced at the clock, then her gaze swept Chelsea. “Are you going to be around a while?”

“For a little bit. Why?”

“Here are the lists of what I’ve done. Could you give them to Jake? My granddaughter has a dance recital in two hours, or I’d stick around.”

“Sure.”

The woman gave Chelsea a pat on the shoulder and hustled out of the room.

Chelsea sat and closed her eyes. Give them to Jake. Damn, she was trying not to think about Jake. But she could still see his face as he stared at her mouth and grasped her shoulders like a man who wanted to—She cut off the thought, just as she’d done for two full days—and nights—since she’d almost kissed him.

She’d almost kissed her lieutenant.

Smart move, Whitmore. Jumping from the pot to the fire. You blew it at your last house by getting involved with a fellow firefighter. Let’s top that by picking the officer this time.

She sighed. She hadn’t exactly picked Jake. It had just happened slowly over the past couple of months, like the way spring crept up on her, or dawn rose over the horizon. First she’d been impressed by his gentle but firm leadership. Then she’d been touched by his concern for her fitting in, his fairness in helping her do it. The night Billy attacked her and Jake had come to her sealed the deal. Along the way she’d noticed his world-class muscles and tall, lean length. Add to it how great he was with Jessica and Timmy, and she’d been caught by a web that had Jake Scarlatta’s name on it.

Damn.

With more force than necessary, she punched out Delaney’s number. Her sister answered on the first ring. “Delaney Shaw.”

“Hi, Laney, it’s me. I need a favor.”

“Another one?”

Chelsea chuckled. “How’s Derek doing?”

“He’s a tough nut to crack. But he adores that lieutenant of yours, so he’s giving me a fair shake. We’re making progress.”

That lieutenant of yours. “I owe you for that.”

“No, I want to help. Besides, Scarlatta’s payin’ me big bucks for it.”

“Oh.”

Delaney laughed. “I offered to do it free, as a favor to you, but he absolutely refused.”

“Jake’s got his principles.”

“So sis, what do you need?”

“Nothing big. The RFD’s gotten involved in searching for a runaway who’s been seen in Rockford. I thought maybe you could give us some pointers on what else we should do.” Chelsea filled her in on the steps they’d already taken.

Delaney said, “That’s easy. Got a fax there?”

“Yep.” She gave her sister the number.

“I’ll send over the names of organizations that offer shelter to runaways and a list of where kids on the street hang out. Will that help?”

“Yeah, a lot.”

“Chels?”

“Hmm?”

“Is everything else okay? You sound funny.”

“I just haven’t slept well the last two nights.”

“I thought that was getting better.”

It was, before I almost kissed Jake.

“It comes and goes. Listen, you’ll be at the triathlon Thursday night, won’t you?”

“Wouldn’t miss seeing my sister go for the gold.”

“Thanks.” Chelsea sighed. “I love you, Delaney.” Her voice caught.

“Me, too. You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll look for the fax about helping Suzy.”

“If there’s anything else I can do, let me know.”

When Chelsea hung up, she buried her face in her hands.

“You’re not fine.”

Startled, she swiveled in the seat.

Jake was leaning up against the doorjamb. “I overheard.”

“Overheard?”

He came closer and stood above her. Tipping her chin, he said, “You look tired.”

“Well, you heard me say I haven’t been sleeping well.” Chelsea searched the hard planes of his face. “You, neither, I can tell.”

He swallowed. “Since the other night.” The look he gave her seared her insides. She wanted to weep for what she felt. Dropping his hand, he nodded to the phone. “What’s Delaney sending us?”

She told him.

His eyes glowed like coals burning low. “Really? You did that for us?”

She nodded. “Finding this girl means a lot to you, doesn’t it?”

It was his turn to nod.

“Because of Jess?”

“Yeah, and Derek.”

“Delaney’s seen him.”

Jake gave her a grin that made her stomach somersault. “He said she steamrollered right over his objections to seeing a shrink.”

“She’s good at what she does.”

“Apparently. Of course the fact that Derek thinks she’s drop-dead gorgeous doesn’t hurt.”

“Hey, whatever works.” She looked away, gestured to the desk. “Mary left you some lists.”

“Well, I’d better check them out.”

“You’d better.”

He crossed to the other side of the room. She said hesitantly, “I can help here for a while. I don’t have a training session until six.”

He cleared his throat and sat at the desk. His look was full of feeling. “Do me a favor.”

“Of course.”

“Leave.”

She angled her head in surprise; then his reasoning hit her. He didn’t want to risk being alone with her.

“All right.” She glanced at the desk. “But I’m going to help with this search.”

“That means a lot to me.”

She stood. “It means a lot to me, too.”

ON THURSDAY NIGHT, Jake pulled open the door to Our Lady of Mercy House, a popular haven in the city for teenage runaways, according to Delaney Shaw. Three stories high, the old brick building had been an elegant residence at one time. Jake preceded Ben Cordaro into the foyer and to the reception desk. There was a neat living room to the right, a hallway to the left, a staircase straight ahead. Though worn, the furnishings were tidy.

A tall, slender blonde looked at him. “May I help you?”

“Andrea?”

“Hi, Jake.”

He stared at Mick Murphy’s wife. “It’s been a while.”

“A few months.”

“I didn’t know you were working here.”

She shook her head in dismay. “So Mick still hasn’t told you guys I went back to work. I’d have thought with Chelsea Whitmore’s influence, he’d be less Neanderthal at the firehouse these days.”

“No, he hasn’t told us.” Jake turned to Ben. “Ben Cordaro, this is Murphy’s wife, Andrea.”

Offering his hand, Ben said, “Hi. I’ve seen you at functions, I think.”

She nodded. “What brings you here, Jake?”

“Hasn’t Mick told you about Operation Suzy?”

Andrea flushed. “Uh, no, Mick and I haven’t…aren’t…well we’ve been busy.”

Jake frowned, picking up on the vibes that something was wrong between Mick and Andrea. But he said only, “Aren’t we all.” He explained their mission.

Ben handed her a photo. “Have you seen her?”

Immediately Andrea’s big blue eyes widened. “Why, yes. She came here last night. But she was gone in the morning.”

Jake’s heartbeat escalated. “She say anything?”

“We talked a bit. She seemed upset. Her running away had something to do with her father.”

Oh, God. Jake’s immediate thought was abuse. Would they find this little girl only to send her back into a nightmare?

“It’s not what you’re thinking, Jake,” Andrea said, as if reading his mind. “She seemed worried about her father, and her mother, who, I take it, drinks.”

Surprised, Jake scowled.

“It was pretty dicey stuff, more than I could handle as a social worker. She needs psychological help.”

“If we can find her.” Ben’s look was grim. All the firefighters with daughters were having trouble with this case. “Here.” He handed Andrea the department’s hotline number. “Keep this handy. Call us if you hear from her again.”

“I will.”

As they turned away, Andrea beckoned Jake back. “Is Mick all right? At work?”

“Yeah, fine, his usual cheerful self. Why?”

“Sometimes I worry about him. He’s not happy I’ve gone back to work. It seems he thinks it reflects poorly on him as a breadwinner if his wife brings in an income.”

“Mick’s old-fashioned in a lot of ways.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Andrea smiled. “I’d like to meet this Chelsea Whitmore. Maybe she can lighten Mick up. She’s doing a good job, from what I hear.”

“She is,” Jake said tightly.

Jake and Ben left the shelter. Outside, the hot July air enveloped them. A blanket of stars twinkled as they headed to their car to go to the next shelter on the list.

“So, Chelsea’s working out all right?” Ben’s tone was nonchalant, but underneath Jake caught fatherly concern and battalion chief worry.

As Jake made perfunctory remarks to Ben about Chelsea’s performance, he saw her, in his mind, crawl through the pipe and face the guys haughtily; he pictured her tending to the gunshot victim like Florence Nightingale; he heard her voice over the radio warning about the newspapers in the old English teacher’s house. “Yeah, she’s a good firefighter.”

“Jessica’s crazy about her.”

“I know.”

She was in fact, at the triathlon competition right now. The one Jake refused to attend when Jess asked him to go with her. The place he’d rather be right now more than anywhere else in the world.

But he’d forced himself not to attend.

The disclosing of events in their lives had to stop. Then the emotional connection would abate. Which would eventually stifle the physical thing that seethed between them like low flames waiting for enough oxygen to flare out of control. He intended to smother it.

It had to stop, because the consequences of pursuing a relationship that wasn’t professional with Firefighter Whitmore were untenable. He knew from the past what could happen, and he’d be damned if he’d go down that road again. Especially because of the decision he’d finally made…

“Ben,” he said carefully. “I’ve been thinking about taking the captaincy exam.”

CHELSEA JOGGED into the arena of the Dome, a huge circular area surrounded by bleachers. She could almost feel the tension in the air as contestants, judges and fans prepared for the second event in the triathlon—the two-hundred-meter sprint.

She’d beaten out everybody on the weight lifting, but that was the easiest for her. The sprint, however, wouldn’t be a piece of cake, she thought as she bent over one knee and stretched. Ditto for the gymnastics routine. In fact, she was most worried about that one.

Blank your mind, she told herself as she waited. Don’t think about winning. Just do your best.

When the competitors were introduced, the fans roared, Delaney, Spike, Francey and Alex, Beth and Dylan and Jessica among them.

Jessica. Who’d shyly asked if she could come….

“I know I’ve only worked here a couple of weeks but I’d love to see you compete. If I wouldn’t be imposing…” She had so many of Jake’s mannerisms—the slight tilt of her chin when she was concerned, the casual way she shrugged off most annoyances, the gray eyes.

“I’d love you to be there, kiddo,” Chelsea had said, wrapping an arm around Jessica’s shoulder….

An announcer’s voice came over the loudspeaker. “Ladies. Take your places.”

Chelsea was in the first heat; she found her place and nudged her toe to the very edge of the starting line.

“Get on your mark, get set…go!”

Taking off like the wind, Chelsea reached top speed in seconds, her longs legs eating up the distance. Rounding the corner, she summoned more energy, like she did when she faced an unexpected turn in firefighting. She could see another entrant coming up on her left.

She pushed harder.

The finish line was just ahead. With one last Jesse Owens-like burst of speed, Chelsea broke the ribbon a split second ahead of her nearest competitor.

Sucking in air and letting it out in great whooshes, she glanced at the bleachers, where her personal cheering section was standing and clapping. She smiled and gave them a little wave. It was fun having them here, sharing this with them.

I wish Jake had come.

But she’d promised herself there would be no more confidences, no more sharing of their lives outside the fire station, no more closeness, physical or otherwise.

He’d found her before she left work today at the lockers. No one else was around. He’d stood a few feet away, as if afraid to come closer. Since the sparks between them seemed to ignite when they were in proximity, it was just as well.

“I wanted to wish you luck tonight,” he said.

“Thanks.”

He hadn’t moved, just stood there and stared at her. Finally he said, “I can’t go. I want to, but I can’t.”

She’d been shocked by his statement and the volatile emotion on his face. So she tried to defuse them. “Oh, well, I don’t expect you to.” She gestured to encompass the rest of the firehouse. “It goes a little above and beyond the call of du—”

In a flash, he was next to her, his fingers against her mouth. “Don’t.”

She remained silent. His heat scorched her.

“We both know what’s happening here,” he whispered.

She stared at him. “Please don’t say it aloud.”

After a long moment, he stepped back. “All right. Knock ’em dead, Whitmore.”

He’d left then, and she had felt a sting of tears as she watched him go…

Glancing at the stands again, she saw his daughter waving to her. She waved back and felt her eyes sting again.

AT TEN THAT NIGHT, Jake unlocked the door to his house, crossed to the kitchen and, juggling the mail, grabbed a beer and headed upstairs. It was cool and lonely inside, but it was late enough to come home now. Feeling like a kid who needed rules and regulations, he hadn’t allowed himself to be alone until he was sure the triathlon was over.

Sinking onto his favorite leather chair by the window of the top floor of his house, he took a slug of beer and closed his eyes, remembering the last beer he’d drunk. He’d been stretched out on the floor of her sitting room, and she’d fetched him one like his own personal—He felt something plop in his lap. Hester Two. The kitten waited patiently every night for him to come home, then bothered the hell out of him until bedtime. She was a constant reminder of Chelsea.

He ran his hand down her velvety fur. “Hi, sweetheart, how ya doin’ tonight?”

Hester pushed her head into his chin and purred madly. At almost four months old, she was still a runt.

“Think she won?” Jake asked the cat. “Think Spike is celebrating with her?”

What would she be doing afterward? He glanced at the clock. No, he wouldn’t call her.

Settling Hester in his lap, he grabbed the mail. Bills. A form from Cornell. He read the letters carefully, then riffled through the catalogs. Jess got so much junk mail here he could hardly…What the hell?

The last catalog stared at him. Victoria’s Secret.

On the cover was a lithe but shapely model. Long-limbed. Muscular. Blond. Wearing scarlet panties.

Ones he’d seen before. Ones he’d touched.

His hand went to the picture. Slowly, as if it were Chelsea, he outlined the lacy red band. He could almost feel her skin burn his fingertips. The smell of her lotion tinged the air, tantalizing him. Working its way down the page, his finger skimmed the juncture where leg met hip. He closed his eyes, imagining Chelsea hot and ready.

Swearing vilely, he bolted from the chair, dislodging the cat and sending the mail spilling to the floor.

“Son of a—”

The phone cut off his tirade. He crossed to it. “Scarlatta.”

“Dad, it’s me. Jess.”

His heart started to pump fast. Suddenly he wanted very badly for Chelsea to have won, for all her hard work to have paid off.

“Hi, honey,” he said casually. “How’d it go?”

“Oh, Daddy, it was great! Chelsea won!”

He let out a pent-up breath. “That’s terrific.”

“You should have seen her. She was awesome. What a body.”

Oh, God.

“They invited me out to eat with them, but I couldn’t go. I’ve got to get up…”

He missed the rest of Jess’s words.

They? He had to know. “Oh, who went?”

“Francey and Alex after they dropped me off. Delaney and this really hunky guy. Dylan and Beth. And Chelsea and Spike.”

“I see. Well, I’m glad you had a good time.”

“Chelsea’s so cool, Dad. I wish Mom was more like her.”

Oh, Lord, he couldn’t do this tonight. “Do you? Maybe we’ll talk about that sometime.” In a million years. “It’s late. If you have to get up early, you’d better get to bed.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah.”

“Daddy?”

“Hmm?”

“You okay? You sound…sad.”

“Nope, I’m fine, pumpkin. Don’t worry about me.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Jake hung up. He was fine. Just peachy. Couldn’t be better.

Turning, he kicked the wastebasket halfway across the room.

STARS WINKED at her through the skylights as Chelsea entered her bathroom. She lit some candles, set a glass of wine on the edge of the tub and climbed into steaming water scented with Sinful Nights bath salts. Immediately she regretted her impulse. It was the fragrance Jake had used when he’d drawn her bath the night Billy attacked her. When he’d held her on this very floor.

Closing her eyes, she sighed as the hot water soothed her tortured muscles. She felt like a gladiator after a battle. Maybe she was getting too old for grueling competition.

You do it to fill the emptiness in your life, Delaney had told her with all the subtlety of a train wreck.

Her sister was right. But at least Chelsea had won. If only she could choose her prize. She knew without thinking what it would be…

Jake behind her in the bathtub, her back against his hard chest, his big hands gliding down her arms, raising goose bumps on her skin. Then his hands sliding around her waist, moving up, touching her breasts, kneading them. One hand disappearing into the water, his fingers creating magic as they—

She was startled out of the fantasy by one of the cats batting open the door to the bathroom. She shooed Blaze away and reached for her wine. As she sipped, one tiny tear trembled on her eyelashes, then found its way down her cheek.

No use in crying about it, her mother had said when Chelsea would beg for them not to move again so she could stay in the same school.

She and Jake were not meant for each other, and she knew it.

Shake it off. Let it go. Get over it.

She climbed out of the tub and dried herself quickly. In her bedroom, she drew open a drawer in the dresser her grandfather had made, bypassed the ice-blue satin she’d worn the night Jake had been here. Enough reminders. Enough surrendering to memories.

Donning a yellow nightshirt Delaney had given her printed with First God created man, then He had a better idea, she slipped into bed and shut off the lights. She couldn’t prevent one more renegade tear tracking down her cheek.

But she brushed it away and willed herself to sleep.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHELSEA WAS IN better spirits when she entered the fire station two days after the triathlon. She’d taken a couple of days off—she had a lot of furlough accumulated—and it had been just what she needed, time away from work and time to restore her body. She was happy that she’d won the event; she’d also won the internal battle to keep from calling or seeking out Jake Scarlatta for any personal reason.

“Drum roll, everybody.” She heard the words as she walked into the kitchen at seven.

Trumpet blasts from a CD greeted her.

“Come right in, Ms. Triathlon Winner.” Mick smiled at her from beside a chair, over which was draped some kind of robe and a crown from a local fast-food place.

“Can it, Murphy.” She scanned the room. A newspaper picture of her after she’d won, hot, sweaty and elated, had been copied and was posted all over the kitchen. “Our heroine,” one caption read; others were labeled, “Ms. Universe” and “Calendar Girl Material.” Smiling secretly to herself—the affection under the teasing felt good—she got coffee and joined Joey and Don at the table.

Mick frowned at her. “Aw, come on, Chelsea, aren’t you gonna sit on your throne?”

“You be Queen for a Day, Murphy.”

From behind her, he plopped the crown on her head and hugged her. She shrugged him off but left the crown where it was.

Diaz said, “Nice shot of your legs in the paper, Whitmore.” His tone was dry.

“Yeah, I think they got my good side.” Remaining nonchalant was crucial, or these guys would eat her alive.

Joey raised his eyes from the newspaper. “Way to go, Whitmore.”

“Thanks.”

Jake hustled through the door, buttoning his shirt. “Sorry I’m late. I overslept.” His gaze found hers immediately. He grinned at her crown. “Congratulations, Your Majesty.”

She yanked off the paper hat, then gave him a brief nod. “Thanks.” Hmm. He looked tired, for having overslept.

After a charged moment, he walked to the counter and poured himself some coffee. “It’s gonna be a scorcher out there today.” He angled his head to the window. “They’re predicting ninety.”

Diaz moaned. “Maybe we won’t get any runs.”

The crew made small talk, then Jake turned to her. “You’re riding shotgun on the Midi with Adam Genier today.”

“Adam?” She glanced around. “Where’s Peter?”

“Took some sick time,” Jake said. “Flu, I think.”

“I’ve never known Huff to be sick a day in his life.” Diaz frowned. “On the police force, they called him Iron Man, said he had the constitution of an ox.”

“He’s been acting weird since he cooked the turkey meatballs for the brass,” Joey said.

Jake harumphed. “He’s probably tired of listening to your complaining.”

“You know what this means, don’tcha, Whitmore?” Mick asked.

Absently scanning the paper, she shook her head.

“You’re low man on the totem.”

She snapped the paper down and narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “I can’t be.”

“Yep, you are. Peter’s new and got the least seniority, so he’s always done the low-life stuff. But he’s out.”

Low man meant she’d have to do the rookie jobs like roll up the hoses, get wet if a hydrant broke—messy stuff.

“I’m older than Joey and Adam.”

“We’ve got more years in the department than you, though, sweetheart.” She was surprised by Joey’s teasing endearment.

When she thought about it, she realized it was true. She hadn’t entered the academy until she was twenty-seven. She swore, and the guys laughed.

“Looks like Ms. Universe is gonna get herself dirty.” Joey was really getting into this.

“Any luck with Operation Suzy?” she asked to deflect more ribbing.

Jake shook his head. “We know she stayed in a shelter Wednesday night and hit another in town Thursday.”

Chelsea saw Mick get up and go to the coffeepot even though he’d just filled his cup. Jake, it appeared, noticed this, too.

“Somebody over at Six’s said she was spotted in Manhattan Square Park.” Jake went on. “All the places Delaney told us to look.”

Chelsea smiled. “I’m glad. I can help tonight.”

“Good. There’s a sign-up sheet in the back.”

Adam came in from the bay. “Truck’s checked out. Hi, Chelsea. Hear you’re riding shotgun with me.”

Chelsea nodded, resigned to her new lower status. When they broke for housework, Jake snagged her arm. She felt his touch curl through her like warm brandy.

“Hold on a second, Chels.”

Her heartbeat accelerated. Not seeing him for two days had cooled the flames between them, but she knew the smallest thing could reignite her feelings for him. She worried about being near him, being alone with him.

He crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. “Jess said you were great the other night.”

“Your daughter is a doll.” Just like you.

“Yeah, she is.” He grinned. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks.”

His expression sobered, and he studied her. His eyes asked what he wouldn’t. Can we do this? Do we really want to?

Her return message was as clear. I don’t know. Then she stared over his shoulder at nothing and said, “Well, I’d better go help clean up the bay.”

He made no response.

The call came at noon just as they sat down to lunch. Swearing colorfully enough to make longshoremen proud, they dashed to the trucks. Though it was only a flooded basement, they took every call seriously. But in deference to the heat, they stayed in T-shirts and didn’t don their turnout gear, but the equipment was on the truck in case it was needed.

Both engines pulled up to a narrow, two-story house on Meigs Street. A few children played in a neighbor’s yard, but the stifling city heat had kept most people indoors with fans or air conditioners. Jake got out of the truck and scowled as Mick, Don and Joey dropped back to circle Chelsea. They were riding her like three big brothers.

“Get your wadin’ boots out, girl. You’re gonna be swimmin’ today.”

“Stuff it,” she said, but a grin turned up the corners of her mouth.

It was good to see her so relaxed with the guys. She was still stretched like a tightrope with him, but if they could stay away from each other as they had the past two days, they might keep their heads above water.

Instead of drowning in each other.

Jake climbed the steps of a four-foot-square porch and knocked on the door. A small, obviously pregnant woman opened it.

“Fire department, ma’am.”

“Oh, gracias à Dios. Mi sotano esta inundado.”

“Do you speak English?”

“No Ingles.”

“Don, get up here.”

Diaz jogged up the steps.

“She doesn’t speak English. Ask her what happened.”

Diaz listened to the woman, then turned to Jake. “She said the kids were playing in the basement. Next thing she knew, it was flooded.”

“Ask her if the gas and water into the house are turned off.”

Diaz questioned the woman again. “She says no.”

“Find out where the utilities are, and you and Mick turn them off.” He crossed the threshold. “Come on, Whitmore.”

Chelsea followed him through a tidy living room, Joey and Adam traipsing along to gloat. Shades were drawn, blocking out the hot noon sun. Sweat beaded everywhere on Jake’s skin. In the kitchen they found two little boys sitting on worn chairs, as stiff as soldiers at attention. On impulse Jake said, “Adam, go tell Don to come in and ask the kids what happened.”

Chelsea and Joey followed him down a creaky wooden staircase. They took six steps, hit a landing, then jogged down a few more. The smell of stale water and something foul assaulted them. “Lucky you,” Jake said dryly.

She grunted.

They stopped about a foot before water hit the steps. Jake and Chelsea both shined flashlights into the cellar. All sorts of debris was floating on the surface. He angled his head. “Water’s gushing from that pipe in the corner. You’ll have to turn the valve off over there at the bottom if they don’t shut it off from outside.”

“I can’t wait.”

“Scoot, Whitmore. Get your boots and gloves on.”

Sourly she said, “Yes, sir.”

Passing Joey on the stairs, she scowled at him.

“Goin’ for a dip?” he asked.

“Get outta my face, Santori.”

As Jake stared at the basement, he had an ominous feeling, one he’d had before. “What did Diaz get from the kids?” he asked Joey.

“Nothin’. But the gas is off.”

“Hmm.”

“Why?”

Jake shrugged. “I don’t know. Something doesn’t feel right.” He sniffed. “Smell anything funny?”

“It smells like the farm my grandfather used to own.”

“Yeah. Tell Diaz to ask the woman if dogs or cats live down here.” If there was animal dung, sanitary concerns meant they wouldn’t be able to pump.

Again, Joey passed Chelsea on the stairs. “Don’t go in until I get to watch.”

She sidled in next to Jake. She was sweaty from the heat; her shirt was damp and clinging to her curves. He swallowed hard and forced himself to concentrate on the flooded basement.

This was routine. Nothing out of the ordinary.

But he still sensed that something was wrong.

She raised her foot to step down and he said, “Wait a second, Whitmore. Let’s hear what the kids have to say first.”

She glowered at him. “Oh, no, you don’t, buster. You just want me to have an audience while I go wading through this shit and stick my hands in it.”

Maybe that was it, he thought. But maybe not. He took two steps up backward. “No, really, Chels, wait.”

She looked at him then, no doubt to see if he was serious. Apparently she decided he wasn’t, for she turned her back on him.

When he saw her again raise her foot to step down, instinct propelled him forward. He reached her just before her boot hit the water and encircled her waist with one powerful arm. As he dragged her against his chest, she said, “What the hell?”

Simultaneously, there was clambering on the stairs. Joey yelled, “Jake, wait, don’t let her go in. There’s an electric space heater on down there.”

And then the flashlight that was still in Chelsea’s hand illuminated a cat floating on the water. A dead cat.

THE FLASHLIGHT crashed to the wooden stairs and tumbled into the contaminated, electrified water. Chelsea felt herself being dragged up the steps to the landing. Shouting and screaming could be heard overhead, but only one thought registered.

She’d been a step away from dying.

Her throat seized up at the knowledge. She closed her eyes, and spots swam before her. She was on a landing now, still supported by Jake’s big arm around her waist.

“Can you stand?”

Was that Jake’s strangled voice? “Uh, yeah.” But her legs wobbled, and she sank against him. His other arm crossed her chest, and he held on. He felt so good, so solid. So alive.

“It’s okay, Chels,” he murmured. “You’re safe.” She could feel his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. Its rhythm matched hers.

“I know.” Her voice was hoarse. She looked up.

Joey perched on a step above her. Mick behind him. Diaz last. Their faces were ashen, their expressions stunned.

She swallowed hard and drew in a breath. She knew she had to be brave. Not to prove she was a good firefighter. Not to prove she was as strong as a man. But because her group was so obviously shaken. Summoning deep inner strength honed by years of taking care of herself, she said, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. I guess I coulda been one, but I’m not.” She smiled weakly.

In unison they deflated like balloons releasing air. Jake let go and, her insides whirling like a merry-go-round, she instantly missed his strength. Nevertheless she straightened.

Joey stepped forward first. He enveloped her in a hug. “You almost bought it, Whitmore.”

She hugged him back. “Glad I didn’t?”

“Yeah. I am.”

Mick hugged her next, lifting her off the wooden steps. “God damn it, Chelsea…” When he drew back, his eyes were moist.

Diaz’s face was stricken.

“I’m all right, Don,” she said, accepting his embrace.

“Dios mio!” Then he added, “Las mujeres fueron destinadas a ser protegidas.”

Chelsea translated the latter. Women were meant to be protected. She hugged him hard.

Jake blew out a heavy breath. “Okay, let’s take care of this. Joey and Don, keep everybody upstairs. Mick and Adam, get the electric company out here.”

When the group trudged up the steps, Jake waited a second, then grasped her arm and turned her to him. Gazing at her chalky face, he said nothing, just drew her to him. Her breasts were flattened against his chest, and her arms slid around his neck. One of his hands was at her waist and the other at her bare neck. He breathed in the scent of her.

She’d almost died.

Right there, amidst the cobwebs and dirt, he drew her so close that every possible inch of their bodies touched.

For one intense minute, his emotions bubbling up inside him like a hot spring, he allowed himself to bathe in his feelings for her. He’d almost lost her, really lost her.

Hearing voices from above, he let her go. And when she stepped back, he saw the same awareness—and an emotion so strong it almost leveled him—in her eyes.

AT EIGHT that night, Jake was sitting in his car in front of Chelsea’s house. The sun was low in the western sky, but the temperature hadn’t fallen. He’d showered, changed into jean shorts and an RFD T-shirt; they’d all cleaned up after their reliefs arrived, washing away the fear along with the grime of the day. Then they’d whisked Chelsea off to Pumpers for a beer.

Jake knew the syndrome. They’d needed to assure themselves she was all right. That each of them was all right. He noticed they touched her, and each other, more than usual.

Of course, the ribbing had been typical firefighter black humor. You were almost toast, Chels. Wonder if her hair woulda curled. It’s one way to get outta shit detail. But underneath had been a relief so acute it was almost palpable. They’d discussed what had happened…

“Can you believe it?” Diaz said. “The two brats were havin’ a contest to see who could stand the heat the best. Ninety degrees outside wasn’t enough. They went to the basement while their mother was napping and turned on the electric heater somebody’d given their father.” He scowled. “Man, I’d banish my kids to their rooms for a year if they did this.”

“How’d the basement get flooded?” Mick asked. Of them all, he seemed the most upset.

“The heater was old and had something wrong with it, so it caught fire. An exposed water pipe was right there. The kids panicked and hit it with a hammer, hoping to crack it and douse the fire with the water. They did that, all right. They just didn’t know how to stop it.”

“Those kids are lucky they didn’t get electrocuted,” Jake said.

Joey shook his head. “Almost taken down by two punks, Whitmore.”

She’d grinned, but Jake could see the strain around her mouth, knew she was still shaken. She sipped her beer and put up a brave front, but eventually she said, “I’m whipped. I’ve gotta go home.” She found Jake’s gaze. “I can’t help canvas for Suzy tonight.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ve got a lot of guys on.” He’d squeezed her shoulder and wondered where he’d find the strength to let her go.

He hadn’t. He’d called and canceled his stint at Operation Suzy to go keep vigil at Chelsea’s house. Now that he was here, what would he do?

He scanned the quiet neighborhood from his open window. A lawn mower rattled down the street, and he could smell a barbecue cooking somewhere. She hadn’t come home. He guessed she could have stopped at the gym. Or Delaney’s. Did she go to Spike’s?

Minutes later her sassy red Camaro sped down the road and pulled into the driveway. As she drove into the garage, he got out of his Bronco. Leaning against it, arms folded, he watched as she sat in her car for almost a minute. Then, unaware of his presence, she slid out and headed toward the door that led from the garage to the kitchen.

She wore a short denim skirt and a white camisole top that made his mouth water. At the bar, he’d noticed she had no bra on. Not that she needed it. Her breasts were perfectly shaped and firm, like the rest of her.

What would he do? She hadn’t shut the garage door.

If she looks my way, sees me, I’m going to her. If she doesn’t, I’ll go home. He felt like a teenage boy making a deal with God.

Or the devil.

He saw her drop her keys. Was she still shaky? Her hair falling to cover her eyes, she bent and retrieved the keys. When she stood up again, she saw him. And froze.

In a flash he pushed away from the Bronco. Blocking out the warning bells that went off in his head, he moved up the driveway with long, purposeful strides. He was in front of her in a minute.

She looked at him.

He looked at her.

Flicking his gaze to the wall, he reached out and pushed a button; the garage door creaked down noisily, landing with a heavy thud. Slants of light poured in from the four tiny windows, bathing her in an ethereal glow.

And then he touched her.

“I WANT YOU.”

His husky words warmed her like old Scotch. They were just as intoxicating. His hand, cupping her cheek, sent tingly shivers everywhere. His eyes searched hers for a response.

She gave him the only one there was. “Yes.”

Leaning forward, he grazed her earlobe with his mouth. “No talking about it. Until after.”

Her senses reeled with his nearness; she nodded, then felt the brush of his lips on her skin. His hands came up, skimming her bare arms from shoulder to elbow with a feather-light touch. Passion and its potential simmered between them, like a fire about to rage out of control. But he contained it, saying, at her temple, “I’m not going to hurry, honey. I’ve waited too long for this. I’m going to savor every—” he kissed her hair “—single—” then her forehead “—second.”

A moan, low and lusty, escaped her throat.

Callused fingertips sought her neck and initiated a slow, sensual massage. Her stomach contracted.

“Tell me you want me, Chels,” he whispered.

“I do…”

“Say it. Let me hear you say it.”

“I want you,” she said huskily.

He kissed her eyelids, her nose and then her mouth. At the very first taste of him, she inched as close as he’d allow and put her hands at the nape of his neck. His hair was incredibly soft, and his smell, clean and male, permeated her nostrils.

He touched her intimately, searing her. Still, he kept the flickers low, smoldering. “I’ve wondered what you’d feel like for so long….”

She let her hands go on their own discovery, thrilled when his back muscles bunched, his buttocks clenched as she touched them.

“Chelsea,” he gasped, drawing back, “I’ve got to have more.”

She’d dropped the keys again, and he bent to retreive them, then unlocked the door and urged her inside. They went through the kitchen, up the stairs to her bedroom.

He sat on the edge of the mattress and drew her to him, positioning her between his knees. Smiling with a deep inner joy, he undid each button of her camisole. His clever mouth traced every inch he bared.

Soon, her top fell to the floor. He gazed at her breasts, took them in his hands and said, “Watch,” as he caressed her. After a long, delicious minute, he fumbled at the snap on her skirt. He slid it down her legs, then traced the band of her red panties. “These kept me up all night,” he said as he ran his finger down the elastic to the notch where her leg and hip joined.

She murmured, “I’ve got a drawerful of them.”

His finger sneaked under the band and felt her wetness. He moved it back and forth over the tiny nub exposed by his searching until she whimpered, “Jake, please…”

With trembling hands, he pushed the scrap of lace down her legs, leaned back and took her to the bed with him.

“No, your clothes,” she said.

“You do it.” His voice was husky, urgent.

He kept his eyes closed as he felt her ease back from him. He knew if he looked at her, kneeling there naked, the dynamite inside him would explode. He heard his zipper rasp, then felt her hands wander inside his clothes, searching, finding him. He came up off the pillow when she clasped him in her strong fingers and stroked his hard, aching length, and his moans toppled one over the other. Any minute, he thought, steam would pour from his body, and his skin would turn to cinders.

She slithered the shirt up his ribs and over his head, scraping him with her nails. Leaning forward, she explored his chest with her mouth; he struggled for breath.

Finally she dragged off his shorts and briefs. But she took a detour in coming back to him, brushing her lips on his shin bones, the underside of his knee, the inside of his thigh.

His restraint broke. He reached for her shoulders, flipped her onto her back, then covered her with his body. He felt like he was hurtling though space, his blood so heated it propelled him even against his will to take her now. Before passion consumed him, he reached for his pants, found one of the condoms he’d bought earlier and rolled it on.

“I want you so much,” she said simply.

“Then here.” He entered her in one swift stroke.

Her hips arched reflexively and they began to move, slowly at first, their rhythm matched like that of longtime lovers. His thrusts increased, deeper, faster…

Her eyes were closed, and he wanted to tell her to look at him when she came, but he couldn’t talk, only feel. Then she tightened around him in the first spasms of her pleasure.

The inferno crept up on him, too. He thrust faster, spurred on by her moans, and the heat between them grew in intensity. When at last it exploded, they both cried out and surrendered to it.

TONIGHT THE DARKNESS taunted him. The Hyde in him told him he had to act again. The stove incident hadn’t worked. He had to do something else. And soon. He had to save her.

She’d almost died. He needed to see that this didn’t happen again. He rose from the bed and crossed to the window. Men and women had gone against nature, and now they were paying for it. He remembered seeing The Handmaid’s Tale on TV not too long ago, and it had hit him then. Women needed to be taken in hand. They needed to be protected. They were too fragile, too soft, to be competing in a man’s world. Those men were right to put women where they belonged, even though the movie tried to say otherwise.

He lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out the window. It calmed him, soothed his nerves.

Time for action. He’d made the plan last week. Now he’d implement it. It shouldn’t take too long to get Chelsea Whitmore back where she belonged.

She was only one woman, but it was a start.

The good side of him—Jekyll—surfaced briefly and protested the unfairness of his plan.

Ruthlessly, he squelched Jekyll and let Hyde take over.

CHAPTER TWELVE

THEY PLAYED HOOKY for as long as they could, which turned out to be thirty-six hours. At nine that night, Jake slid into the bathtub behind her, fitted Chelsea to him and groaned when she shimmied back. The room was dimly lit by jasmine-scented candles burning on the vanity; the open windows allowed a cool August night breeze to waft around them.

He said, “Tell me about this again.”

Water lapped her hips, kissed her stomach, flirted with her breasts. “I wished you’d been here the night after the triathlon. I pictured you here, what you would do….”

He brushed his lips over her ear and whispered, “Tell me.”

When she did and he followed her fantasies to the letter, she twisted around and brought his mouth to hers. “It’s so sexy,” she whispered, her voice a silky rustle, “having you do to me what I imagined.”

His grin was male and smug and gorgeous after he kissed her.

Submerging his hand in the water, he slid it between her legs. “I think I can take it from here.”

“YOU’RE KIDDING, right?” Chelsea said late the following morning.

They’d shared coffee and kisses and confidences after awakening. Jake lay on the bed, both drained and renewed by their cataclysmic lovemaking of the night before. Linking his hands behind his neck, he said, “Nope, I want to see all that sexy underwear you said you had a drawerful of. I want to see you in it.”

Grabbing a short white satin robe from the floor and slipping it on, she sashayed across the room to one of the dressers. She opened a drawer and pulled out panties and a matching bra. Slowly, her back to him, she slid on the panties underneath the robe, then dropped the robe to the floor and put on the bra. Then she turned.

He gasped. “Unbelievable. The gold lace goes great with your coloring,” he said hoarsely. His gaze raked her from head to toe. “And I like what the underwire does to your breasts.” He coughed, wondering how far he dare go. “Put on some heels with it.”

Her brows arched, but she crossed to the closet and drew out backless three-inch black satin heels. As she headed to the bed, her hips swayed mercilessly and her breasts swelled above the scalloped lace. When she was close, he murmured, “Kneel on the bed.”

She did.

By the time Jake had fulfilled every fantasy he had about her underwear, scraps of gold lace, teal satin with tiny bows, plush midnight black velvet and a naughty leopard print lay in a heap where he’d thrown them to the floor.

On the bed she made even more of his dreams come true.

BY SIX O’CLOCK that night it was pouring rain. From the sitting room floor where he rested his head in Chelsea’s lap, Jake listened to it hitting the roof like tiny drumbeats. The room smelled of incense, which he’d discovered she was fond of burning. They both felt as contented as the two cats curled at their feet.

“Okay, read it to me,” Jake told her.

At his request she’d agreed to read some bits of her diary. “May twenty-ninth—Jake was a doll today, and I was a bitch to him. He’s so strong and solid, he makes me feel safe.”

“Hey, I could be a golden retriever. Where’s the good stuff?”

She chuckled. “There is one good part from that day.” She read again. “Delaney met him at the game and says he’s yummy.”

“Yummy? I’ve never been called yummy in my life.”

She gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Well, you are yummy.”

Angling his head up, he sipped his wine, a dry Chardonnay she’d had in her fridge. Wine was something neither of them usually drank, but they’d wanted to celebrate.

“Read some more.”

She squinted at the pages. Found the night they’d given him the cat. “I wanted to be where that kitten was tonight, licking Jake’s neck. I was astounded at the force of my feelings for him. Oh, God, he’s my lieutenant.”

Jake chuckled. “I tried like hell to get out of that kitchen so you wouldn’t know how you affected me.”

Her mouth dropped. “Really? I didn’t see.”

“I was in pain, lady.”

After several more excerpts, each followed by increasingly hot kisses, she said, “Okay, last one.”

“Make it good, babe.”

“He’s asleep on my floor. I’m staring at him right now, telling myself to leave him alone when I really want to go over and jump his bones. He was as tender as a son with Mrs. Lowe, a savior with Timmy. He’s kind and strong, and…” She blinked hard. “I can’t finish.”

“And what? Tell me.”

Her eyes got so bleak it took his breath away. Finally she read “…and everything I’ve ever wanted in a man.” She closed the diary.

He pulled her head down and kissed her passionately.

After a moment she drew away from him and said gravely, “But I also wrote that I knew I couldn’t have you. It’s wrong, Jake.”

He stared at her, then eased up to lean against the couch and draw her into his lap. “All right, let’s talk about it.”

“It can’t work between us. You’re the officer on my group. It’s unethical for us to be together like this. Not to mention our previous fiascos around being too close to a colleague.”

“I know,” he said. She cuddled into him. “Chels, I sent in my forms to take the captaincy exam.”

“That’s great!” Real pleasure shone in her eyes.

“Not for us.”

“No, not for us.” Her pleasure vanished. “You’ll have to be unimpeachable now.” She glanced around the room.

“So we’ll just have these few hours together.”

Gently he pulled her to him. “I can’t let you go, sweetheart.”

“We have no choice.”

“Yes, we do.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’ll keep it a secret.”

“Sneak around?”

“No, we just won’t tell anybody. Not Delaney, Francey or Beth. Not Reed or Ben. And there won’t be a hint of our feelings at work.”

She was silent.

He held her tighter. “I can’t give you up. Let’s take it a day at a time.” When she started to protest, he said, “Honey, we both knew it shouldn’t happen between us in the first place, and it did. How do you think we’ll resist it now?”

“I can’t go through what I did before, with Billy.”

“I’ll never turn on you like that, no matter what happens. I promise.”

She nodded, said nothing for a minute, then looked at him. “If we do this, I’ll do my part, too. I won’t give you any reason to doubt my ability, to find fault with my firefighting.”

“Of course you won’t.”

She pressed her fingers to his mouth. “Shh. Let me say it. If things do go wrong, I promise, I won’t blame you like Danny blamed you. I won’t turn on you, either.”

His hand threaded her hair. “Then you’ll try it my way?”

Chelsea braved a smile. “Yes, I’ll try.”

He kissed her searingly, then gave her a boyish grin. “Good, because now that I’ve gotten a good look, I’d really miss those undies.”

THE BIG ninety-year-old, three-story brick house in one of the city’s original neighborhoods had been built for a wealthy Rockford family but now was converted into apartments. A fire burned angrily inside, on the second floor where a flat roof addition jutted from the rest of the house. Already, Engine Four had laid hose to attack the fire, and Quint Six had followed with a second line to do search and rescue. Quint Eight had ventilated. On a second alarm, Jake’s station had been called in for more help.

In the late-afternoon August heat Jake led his crew up the interior staircase to the seat of the fire. Clouds of gray smoke obscured everything; only the outline of the stairs was visible. The temperature jacked up big-time as he closed the distance to the fire; after just minutes inside, his body was covered with sweat and his clothes were sticking to him. He began to breathe faster and forced himself to be calm, to conserve air. He knew he was going to need it.

“They’re worried about the ceilings,” he’d told his crew as they’d tightened their turnout gear. “They’re made of heavy-gauge metal and cement-based plaster. If they collapse, it’ll be an avalanche. Be careful.”

With Chelsea behind him on the hose and Mick and Don behind her with another line, they reached the doorway where four firefighters were knocking down the main body of the fire.

The smoke was lighter here, and it was easier to see but they received a blast of heat as they stepped inside. Halting, then squatting, Jake breathed deeply, gripped the hose and crawled to the other side of the room. Once there, he stood and, feeling Chelsea at his back, lifted the hose and pulled the lever.

A hot, heavy weight slammed into him from above; he fell forward. He saw Chelsea go down next to him. He hit the floor face first, and his mouth gear dug into his skin. He tried to move, but something pinned him from the shoulders down.

It took him a minute to figure out what had happened. The ceiling had fallen. There was no warning, no noise. It had dropped on them like a steel blanket, its weight pushing them to the floor.

Twisting his head to the side, his heart leaped into his mouth when he saw Chelsea facedown, her head and upper torso sticking out of the mountain of plaster and Sheetrock. Stricken by the sight, he tried to move but couldn’t. Then she shifted, raised herself up on her arms, trying to free herself from the smothering wreckage. The relief he felt when he saw she’d survived the fall was intense. Had his men? He turned his head, checking for them. Through the smoke, he saw two firefighters who looked like Mick and Don crouched in the doorway to avoid the ceiling’s descent. Two others had missed being buried by squeezing into the space made by recessed windows. Another quick scan told Jake two firefighters were pinned, only the hand of one and the helmet of the other visible.

Then he heard it. A beeping sound. Somebody’s SCBA alarm, indicating low oxygen on their breathing tank. It couldn’t be any of his group, because they’d only been in the building ten minutes.

He yelled, “Somebody’s alarm—”

Off to the side, glass shattered and firefighters crashed through the window. They carried pikes, axes, a sledgehammer, even a chain saw. As the fresh air fueled the flames, it got hotter.

Then Mick and Don were over them. Mick grabbed a pike from one of the men and began to pick at the plaster trapping Chelsea. She was freed in minutes and given over to Don, who dragged her to the window and handed her out to a firefighter in the bucket at the end of the aerial ladder. Jake watched her rescue, then dropped his head to the floor with a prayer of thanks.

He lay motionless. The weight of the plaster seemed to increase; brutal heat seeped into the back of his legs, so extreme it burned through his gear. He cringed with the pain. Steeled himself against it.

Dimly he was aware of the commotion over him. The weight lightened. Another minute. More weight gone. Two minutes. Finally the weight was completely lifted. Freed, he struggled to get up, felt strong arms on either side of him as he realized he was unable to stand on his own. Don and Mick flanked him; they pulled him to his feet, hooked his arms over each of their shoulders, dragged him to the window. His stomach roiled with the motion. He was yanked into the bucket by the strong, capable hands of RFD personnel. Once there, he collapsed onto the floor.

CHELSEA SANK onto one of the vinyl chairs of the Rockford Memorial Hospital’s Emergency waiting room and willed her hands to stop shaking. Jake was going to be all right. The paramedics and then the doctor had told her that. And she was safe. Despite the fact that she’d been buried under a mound of hot plaster and her SCBA alarm went off, scaring her half to death, she’d survived without serious injury. The ambulance attendants had checked her out and found her with nothing more than a few first-degree burns; she’d refused any treatment.

“Chelsea, oh, God.” Jessica Scarlatta stood like a fragile porcelain figurine in the doorway; then she bolted into the room. When Chelsea rose, Jess hurled herself into Chelsea’s arms. Hugging Jake’s child to her, Chelsea smoothed the girl’s long blond hair, saying, “Shh, honey, he’s all right.”

Jess drew back, her face tearstained, her gray eyes stormy. “You wouldn’t lie—he’s really okay?”

“I’d never lie to you. Now let’s sit and I’ll explain his condition.”

Jess turned. “Come on, Barb. Derek.”

Chelsea hadn’t noticed Barbara DeLuca behind Jess. Her face was furrowed with worry. Her son, Derek, a big, strapping boy with a man’s shoulders and a street kid’s eyes, held back. Keeping his fear for Jake at bay, Chelsea guessed. Afraid, like Jess, of losing a father.

Barb smiled weakly at Chelsea, then grabbed Derek’s arm, and they all gathered at a small round table off to the side.

Chelsea took Jessica’s hand in hers. “Your father has second-degree burns,” she said in her best EMT voice. That she was talking about Jake made her stomach churn, but she didn’t want to upset his daughter.

“What does that mean?” Jess asked.

“Burns are usually categorized by degrees. First is the least severe. Second-degree means the outer layer of the skin and the next layer are burned through, but there’s no damage to underlying tissue.”

Jess’s eyes welled, and Chelsea watched Barbara slide a motherly arm around her. “Where’s he burned?” Jessica asked.

“Only on the backs of his legs.” She squeezed Jess’s hand. “That’s very good, honey. Face, hands and the groin are much worse areas. The burns on the backs of his legs will heal, probably with just ointment.” She grinned to ease Jessica’s fears. “He’ll be a bear, though. There’ll be pain, swelling and blisters for forty-eight hours. He’ll be out of work a few days. But there won’t be any scarring.”

Jess said, “I don’t care if he is a bear. I’ll take care of him. Just so he’s all right.” Jessica burst into sobs of relief. Barbara DeLuca took over as mother, putting her arm around the girl, making soothing sounds.

Chelsea was startlingly jealous.

“Chelsea?”

Turning, Chelsea looked into the ashen face of her sister. “Delaney? Who called you?”

Chelsea had telephoned Jess from the emergency department because she knew Jake had plans for dinner with his daughter. She’d called no one else yet, though the battalion chief had come to the hospital and talked to her. The rest of Jake’s crew would arrive momentarily.

“I did.”

Stunned, Chelsea looked at the boy who’d been stone-faced ever since he’d come in. Delaney put her hand on Derek’s shoulder. Her eyes were turbulent, but she was summoning up the therapist. “Are you all right?” she asked Chelsea.

“I’m fine. A few minor burns.”

“Jake?”

“He’s okay, too. He’ll be laid up a couple of days, but he’s going to be fine.”

Her sister’s shoulders lost their cardboard stiffness; she bent, hugged Chelsea, then turned her attention to the stoic young man. “Wanna go get a Coke with me, buddy?”

Derek looked at her with an expression so nakedly needy it took Chelsea’s breath away. He didn’t speak, just nodded, rose and, towering over Delaney, walked down the corridor with her.

“She’s working miracles with him,” Barbara said, staring after them. “When Jess called us, the first thing Derek did was phone your sister. He wouldn’t say a word to me, but I know he’s terrified of something happ—” She broke off, realizing what she was saying in front of Jess.

A white-coated doctor approached the table. “Ms. Whitmore, is Lieutenant Scarlatta’s family here yet?”

Barbara and Jessica stood. “We’re here,” they said in unison.

Chelsea fought the surge of need to be included. She wasn’t Jake’s family, no matter how close they’d gotten. And all that mattered was that he was okay.

“You can see him now.” The doctor frowned. “Has Ms. Whitmore explained the situation?”

“About the burns.” Jess’s voice wobbled.

“We’ve got that under control. We’re going to keep him overnight for observation. And he’ll be going to X ray for his back and chest.”

“X ray?” Jess asked, her hands wrapping around her waist.

“Yes, the plaster that fell on him was heavy. We want to rule out any internal damage.” When Jess’s eyes began to fill again, the doctor coughed. “There’s no evidence of that,” he told her. “It’s all precautionary.” Nodding to Barbara, he said, “Why don’t you take your daughter in to see for herself?”

Chelsea swallowed her protest, and watched Jess and Barbara follow the doctor, feeling utterly bereft. Midway to the door, the doctor halted and turned. “Ms. Whitmore, you come, too. He’s, ah, been asking about you. It would be best if he could see for himself you’re all right.”

Grateful, Chelsea rose; her legs were shaky, but she followed the group through the double doors and down a hallway. At the end of the corridor the doctor opened the door to a single room.

Jake lay on his back, half propped up by the hospital bed. His face was streaked with dirt. The too-small, faded hospital gown stretched across his shoulders. A sheet draped his lap. His legs were angled up like he was in traction, lightly covered with another sheet. His bare feet stuck out. In his arm was an IV.

“Daddy?” Jessica flew to the bed. She halted when she got there until he put out his arms, then she leaned over and hugged him, still sobbing.

“Shh, sweetheart,” Jake murmured. “It’s okay, I’m fine.”

“I was so scared for you.”

“I’m fine,” he repeated.

Over Jess’s back, his eyes locked with Chelsea’s for a brief, burning moment. He opened his mouth to speak when Barbara stepped into their line of vision. Jake said, “Barb?”

“Hi, handsome.”

Jess eased back, and as naturally as a wife to her husband, Barbara took Jess’s place. Chelsea shifted and pretended to study the signs on the wall. She stuck her hands in her grungy uniform pants and fisted them. She could hear Jake murmur coaxing words, chuckle at something Barb said. The intimacy of the trio, and the exclusion Chelsea felt, made her eyes fill. She needed to leave the cozy family scene before she revealed something no one could know.

She reached for the door.

Just as it opened from outside.

Grim-faced, Mick, Joey, Peter and Don burst into the room. Though they’d hastily cleaned up and were in civilian clothes, they looked unkempt and thrown together. And worried.

Mick grabbed Chelsea’s arms. “—Goddamn it, Whitmore, you sure you’re okay?”

Blinking back the tears, she said, “I’m fine.”

Peter came up behind Mick. “You should be admitted, Whitmore.”

“No, I shouldn’t.” She straightened. “Don’t rag on me, guys. Go see how Jake’s doin’.”

Immediately they turned to the bed, where Barb and Jess flanked Jake. Barb leaned into him; Jess held his hand. Jake said, “Jeez, don’t I get the sympathy?”

The guys crowded around the bed, once more making Chelsea feel like odd man out. She reached for the door again.

“Whitmore, get over here. I wanna see for myself you’re all right.” Jake’s voice was surprisingly strong.

Sucking in a deep breath, she bit her lip and pivoted. She crossed to the bed, where Mick and Don parted to make room. “Yes, sir.”

His look was a caress. He examined her face, which she realized must be streaked with dirt like his. He scanned her chest, taking in the wrinkled, torn RFD shirt. He clasped her hands in his. Turned them over. They were grimy, too. He squeezed them, and if he held on a moment too long, no one seemed to notice. “You look like hell, but you aren’t hurt, are you?”

She shook her head.

“I can see burns on your neck, Whitmore.” This from Peter.

“First degree. The paramedics took care of them.” She felt more in control after the connection with Jake. “I’m fine. It’s your lieutenant who needs the coddling.”

Joey sank onto a chair at the end of the bed. Lines of fatigue marred his brow. “He’s just tryin’ to get Barb to cook all his meals for him.”

“I’ll be glad to do that,” Barbara said seriously, her petite hand drifting to Jake’s shoulder. And staying there.

Jake’s big hand came up and covered hers. “I won’t be that laid up.”

Mick asked, “They give ya anything for the pain?”

Briefly Jake glanced at Jess. “Yeah, a shot. I don’t feel much yet.”

“Chelsea said you’ll be a bear for few days—with the swelling and blisters,” Jess said, steadier. “But you’ll be okay, Daddy.”

Jake caught the youthful need to convince herself. He squeezed Jess’s arm. “Chelsea said that, huh?”

“It’ll be like the time you broke your leg,” Mick teased.

“Remember Nancy was chewin’ nails until you went back to work.”

Jake laughed.

All woman now, Jess said, “I’ll take care of you. Barb can help.”

Chelsea stepped back and sidled behind the guys. She saw Peter watching her. She needed to be careful of her reactions, but this homey little drama with Barbara DeLuca as a main actor was getting to her.

“Where ya’ goin’ Whitmore?” Jake asked.

“Um, nowhere. I need to sit down for a minute.” She matched her actions to her words.

Peter crossed to her and tipped her chin. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Just exhausted.”

Joey said, “Man, that plaster had to weigh a ton. I’m surprised Chelsea—”

“Joe, let’s not hash this out now.” Jake’s gaze flicked to Jessica.

“Oh, sure, time for a replay later.”

Frowning, Jake said, “I just want to know whose SCBA alarm—”

The door opened, halting his question. Framed in it were a pale Derek, Delaney and Reed Macauley. Derek stared at Jake. Delaney said, “Hi, Jake. Derek wants to see you.” She looked around the room and with her usual bull-in-a-china-shop lack of finesse announced, “Alone, if that’s okay with Jessica.”

Jess got the message. “Sure.”

Reed said, “Jessica, why don’t you and I go get some coffee? I checked with the doctor, and your dad’s going to be admitted soon and taken to his room. We can help get him settled then.”

Bending over, Jess kissed Jake’s head, said, “I love you, Daddy,” then crossed to Reed. “Okay. Let’s go. She grabbed Derek’s arm. “He’s okay, Der.”

Derek nodded.

Chelsea watched Barbara kiss Jake’s cheek. “I’m staying, too. I’ll be out in the waiting room until they admit you.”

Delaney stood on tiptoe and said something to Derek. Then she turned. “Come on, Chelsea. You look like you’re about to collapse. I’m taking you home.”

All Chelsea wanted was a moment alone with Jake. Even thirty seconds. But she swallowed the need, remembering his words.

We just won’t tell anyone. Not Delaney, Francey or Beth. Not Reed or Ben.

With Derek in the doorway, and Barb, Jess and Reed out the door, the firefighters from Quint Twelve said goodbye to their injured lieutenant. Joey squeezed Jake’s shoulder, Mick bent for an awkward hug, Don socked his arm, Peter patted his hand. Chelsea rose to her feet. As the men filed out, Jake said, “Come on, Whitmore, don’t I rate some TLC from you?”

On limbs shakier than when she’d run a marathon, she crossed the room. Her gaze locked with his. She leaned over the bed and closed her eyes to savor the solid, safe feel of him. His hands came up to grasp her arms. He whispered, “Easy, babe.”

Swallowing hard, Chelsea nodded, turned away and let Delaney escort her out of Jake’s room. But what she wanted more than anything else in the world was to stay with the man she loved.

THE DARKNESS HOVERED around him, but in it he could see specters from the day—Chelsea going down, then Jake. He could hear the keening sound of her alarm. They’d been rescued, but the effort could have taken several more minutes had the Quint Six guys not been so prepared. Oh, God, what had he done? She could have been killed.

He paced. He shouldn’t have done something so drastic. He’d have to make sure the next time wasn’t life-threatening. Goddamn it, he wasn’t sure anybody had even heard the alarm go off, so it could be all for nothing.

She could have been killed for nothing. When what he wanted was her out of the department to make sure she’d be safe.

Do you? the voice inside him asked. Hyde asked.

There was a knock on his door.

He swore vilely to himself; he didn’t need interruption. He needed to plan. It was even more important now that he take care of her. After tonight.

IT FELT LIKE a thousand needles were pricking the backs of his legs. Once again, Jake shifted in the small bed, trying to ease some of the pain. Not much helped except the stuff they spiked his IV drip with every four hours. The latest dose, administered ten minutes ago by a nurse who was way too perky for six in the morning, should take effect soon.

In the dim twilight, the door to his room opened, a slash of light illuminating the interior. And his visitor.

“Well, maybe I’ll get through the morning now.” His voice was gravelly from interrupted sleep. Gruffer from seeing Chelsea.

“Hi.” She stood by the foot of the bed, bathed in shadows. She looked tired. But so good he wanted to crush her to him and never let her go. Her hair was wild around her shoulders, incongruous with the fire department uniform she wore.

“Come here, love.”

Slowly, like in a dream sequence in a movie, she came around to the side of the bed. She reached for the chair, never taking her eyes off him.

“Oh, no.” He patted the mattress. “Right here.”

She sank onto the bed. Some scent—outdoorsy, like a flower garden or maybe an apple orchard—surrounded her.

As if they’d been lovers for years, he reached up to enfold her in his arms as she leaned down and buried her face in his chest. Closing his eyes, he whispered, “When I saw you go down—” Though he couldn’t finish, in his mind he pictured her toppling under the deadly weight and heat of the plaster.

“I saw you, too.” Her words were muffled by his shirt.

“You got hit worse than me.”

No more needed to be said. As veteran firefighters, they both knew what could have happened.

Minutes passed. He savored her, rubbing her back tenderly. She kissed his neck, inching in as close as she could. Finally she drew back. Sat up. Reverently, she skimmed his cheek with her knuckles. He grabbed her hand and kissed it.

“I wanted you to stay last night.” His voice was a dark-of-the-night whisper.

“It killed me to leave.” Softly spoken, her words conveyed the hurt he’d seen on her face when everybody else had taken over the right to care for him.

“I asked Reed to call you.”

“He did. I was in the bath. He got Delaney, instead.”

Jake chuckled. “Fireworks again?”

“Not too bad. Actually they met in the ER last night and fell right into step to take care of Jess and Derek.” She smiled. “He told Delaney you were out for the count.” She leaned over and brushed his lips with hers.

“Or else I would have sneaked in last night after my sister finally left me alone.”

“I’m glad you came this morning.” He ran the pad of his thumb over her lips.

“I figured nobody would be here before work. If they did come, I’d just say I was checking up on you.”

“I’m sorry about the secrecy. That it hurt you last night.”

She shook her head, belying the sadness in her eyes. “I’m just glad you’re all right.”

He studied her face. Took in the smudges beneath her eyes. The tight jaw. “Are you hurt? The truth, this time.”

“A few minor burns. They kept me awake, but they’re okay.” She rubbed her shoulder. “I’m sore as hell.”

He ran his hand down her arm. “You sure you should go to work?”

“What would you do, Lieutenant?”

“Touché.” He shifted and winced.

“You’re in a lot of pain, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “I forgot it could be this bad. The painkiller will kick in soon.”

She smoothed back his hair. Drank in his face.

“I want to tell you something,” he said softly.

She smiled, so much feeling in those amber eyes he wanted to drown in them.

“I love you, Chels.”

Her face paled. Her jaw slackened. Her breathing sped up. He expected surprise. But not the moisture that filled her eyes.

Wiping away a renegade drop with his finger, he formulated what to say next. He wasn’t sorry he said he loved her; experiences like last night taught him he didn’t have time to waste dissembling. But he didn’t want to spook her.

So he said, “I know it’s only been a couple of months. That we just made love a few days ago.” He brushed back her hair. “But it’s never been like this for me with anybody before.”

Her tears multiplied.

His breathing accelerated. “Honey, it’s okay if you don’t feel this way yet. I know you care about me—I can see it in your eyes, feel it in the way you touch me, respond to me. The rest will come.”

She shook her head, dropped her chin to her chest. She was crying hard. He tried to pull her to him, but she resisted. He edged toward panic.

Finally she lifted her head. Her eyes were bright with tears, her face glowing. “I love you, too, Jake. So much.”

He hadn’t realized what the declaration would mean to him. The sun coming out after a flood, winning the lottery or becoming chief couldn’t have meant more to him.

She leaned into his chest again, and he held her. Kissed her hair. Locked his hand at her neck. “It’ll work out, I promise. Nothing will come between us. If I take this captaincy exam—” he hugged her tighter “—who knows. All I’m sure of is that I need you. And I’ll have you in my life.”

She nodded, but couldn’t speak. She cried softly.

She was still crying, and he was still clasping her to his chest, when he heard a voice. “Um, sorry to intrude. I didn’t think you’d have visitors so early.”

Jake looked over Chelsea’s shoulders to see Battalion Chief Ben Cordaro standing in the doorway.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

BEN CORDARO stared after Chelsea, who with an embarrassed hello had left hurriedly. The knowing look on his face was something Jake had seen many times in the past. For a moment Jake was irrationally angry at having to keep something so important secret from somebody so significant in his life.

Facing him, Ben asked, “You okay, buddy?” He’d been out of town until late last night, Jake knew.

“My legs hurt like hell, but I’ll live.”

“Hot plaster.” Ben cringed as he straddled the straight chair next to the bed. “I’ve been under it a time or two. Not pleasant.”

Jake shook his head.

Again Ben glanced toward the door. “Chelsea okay? Francey’s worried about her.”

“She’s overwrought, Ben. She was really shaken yesterday and broke down this morning when she got here.”

The man who had been a father to Jake looked hard at him. Jake was reminded of the first man-to-man discussion he’d had with Ben about sex. “Want to talk about it, Jakey?” Ben asked, using the old childhood nickname.

Jake shook his head.

“As a friend, not a battalion chief?”

Still, Jake declined.

“All right.” Ben scanned the room, as if searching for answers in the dim morning light. “You know, when Diana came back to town, I had some tough truths to face.” His gaze leveled on Jake. “Some things are more important than the Rockford Fire Department, Jake.” He cleared his throat. “I’m grateful to have a second chance with her. But we lost more than twenty-five years together. Neither one of us will ever get over it.”

Since Ben was usually reserved, Jake was surprised at his confession. “What are you saying, Ben?”

Ben stood. “I’m saying a son should learn from his father’s mistakes.” He smiled sadly. “Now I’m gonna go track down the nurses to see when I can spring you from this place.”

“SON OF A BITCH.” In the gray half-light of the bay, Chelsea stared at the dismantled air pack she held in her hands as if it were equipment from another planet.

“What’s wrong, Whitmore?”

She whirled to find her crew—minus Ed Knight, Jake’s replacement, who was in the office—standing behind her. Raising her chin, she faced them squarely. “My tank’s empty.”

“We know,” Mick said softly, crossing his arms. “We heard it go off in the building yesterday.”

“I thought the alarm malfunctioned.” Chelsea kept her voice even.

“It didn’t.” This from Peter, who leaned against the rig.

She held his gaze. “I checked my air pack yesterday morning. The tank was full.”

“We didn’t use them before the fire,” Diaz, hovering behind Mick, said.

“I know.” She held their gazes unflinchingly. “But it was full.”

Four doubting Thomases watched her.

“You don’t believe me.”

Mick shook his head. “Chelsea, we aren’t upset about this. Me and the guys talked about it over breakfast. We’ll just forget it happened. It was one little mistake.”

Over breakfast. “I wasn’t invited to this little powwow?”

Mick hurried to explain. “We thought you’d be tired and want to sleep in.”

She bit her lip and turned her back on them, ripping the mask from its hoses. “Yeah, sure.”

Someone grasped her arm and pulled her around. Peter. “You can’t blame us for worrying. You know as well as anybody a mistake like this could endanger the rest of us.”

“I didn’t make a mistake.”

He shrugged. “Okay, so something’s wrong with the tank.”

“Yes, it is. I’ll send it to maintenance and see what.”

“Fine,” Diaz said. Chelsea had learned that of all of them, Don liked conflict the least. “Let’s drop it. We won’t tell Jake.”

“Oh, no,” Chelsea said. “I’m reporting this to my officer.”

“Why?” Mick asked.

“Because I did nothing wrong.”

A few feet away, she saw something flare in Joey Santori’s eyes, but he remained silent.

“Suit yourself,” Huff said. “We’re going over to see him after work.”

“Am I invited to come along this time?” she asked sarcastically.

They nodded sheepishly. One by one, they headed for the kitchen to meet with Ed.

Facing the rig, she struggled for composure. The insidious feeling of exclusion, the fear of becoming a pariah with her crew, reared its head. She leaned against the truck, its metallic surface cool against her hot cheek.

What a morning. First Ben Cordaro, now this.

She’d been mortified when the battalion chief had walked in and found her and Jake in a compromising position. Though Jake had covered well, saying she was overwrought from yesterday, Ben’s eyes had been knowing.

Forcefully Chelsea banished the image. Instead, she summoned Jake’s hoarsely uttered words, a soothing balm to her soul. I love you, Chels.

“Whitmore?”

She pivoted to find Santori looming behind her. Another hurdle, she thought, very tired of running the same race over and over. “Yeah?”

He stuck his hands in his pockets. “For what it’s worth, I told the guys to ask you to come for breakfast this morning.”

“You did?”

“Yeah.”

The look they exchanged was meaningful.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiled like a little boy, then reached for her arm. “Come on, Firefighter Whitmore. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”

THEY WERE DRIVING Jake crazy, now that he was home. Jess, Barb and even Ben had hovered over him like mother hens most of the day until he wanted to scream. He leaned back into the pillows on his sofa bed and sighed. A breeze drifted in from the open windows and skylights, but he felt hot and sticky in the August heat. He hated being laid up, being so dependent.

Liar. If Chelsea came and played nurse, you’d be just fine.

He couldn’t help but smile. He could still see her eyes sparkling with tiny starlike tears as she told him she loved him. Years of loneliness, of self-imposed separation, had been washed away by three little words.

“Jake?” Barbara was framed in the arched doorway. Late-afternoon sunlight slanted in from the skylights. She looked tired and a little worried. “I’m leaving. Supper’s in the oven for Jess to heat up before she goes to work at the gym tonight. Would you like me to come back?”

“No, Barb, I’m fine. You’ve done enough.”

“Well, I’ll be at home if you need me.” She came farther into the room, leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. Then she gently caressed his face with her fingers.

“I’m glad you’re all right.”

He grasped her hand. “Thanks for everything.”

She started to say more, but stopped at a commotion on the stairs. It sounded like a buffalo run.

Jake grinned. “My group’s arrived.”

They’d called to say they’d be over right after work. Five uniformed Rockford firefighters traipsed into the room.

“Jeez, what is this, your own private getaway?” Mick, the first in, asked as he scanned the upper floor of Jake’s house.

“How come we ain’t never seen it?” Diaz wanted to know.

“Nice digs, Scarlatta,” Peter commented.

“Hi, guys,” Jake said dryly. He looked past Mick and Don, then Joey, to see Chelsea enter just before Huff.

Her eyes found his, and she gave him a private smile.

He scowled. Her face was drawn. Her mouth tight. Why?

After Barb bade them hello and goodbye, Peter and Don took the stuffed chairs; Joe and Mick pulled up straight-backed ones. He noticed Joey got a chair from the desk for Chelsea. “Sit down, Whitmore. We don’t wanna have to give you mouth to mouth if you pass out.”

She moved farther into the room. Before she sat, she went to Jake and gave him a hug. Brotherly. Like a colleague. Then she sank onto the chair.

“Not doin’ good, Whitmore?”

“She shouldn’t’ve come to work today,” Don said, looking at the ceiling. “Women!”

“I’m fine. I just didn’t sleep well.” Her gaze focused on Jake. “How are you today, Lieutenant?”

“I had a great morning,” he said mischievously, and watched her blush. “But the rest of the day’s been downhill.”

“Barb’s babying you again?” Mick asked.

Chelsea lifted her brow. “Again?”

“Yeah,” Mick teased. “Jake catches a little cold, and Barb’s over here with chicken soup.”

“Hmm,” Chelsea said, her eyes narrowing on Jake.

He squirmed. “Tell me about today. What runs did we get?”

There was a brief silence. Jake felt the tension rise. Finally Joey cleared his throat. “Four calls, all EMS.”

Jake waited.

Because she rarely spoke for the group, he was surprised when Chelsea said, “Jake, there’s something you need to know. Yesterday my SCBA alarm went off just after the ceiling collapsed.”

“That was yours?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t understand. We were only in the building ten minutes.”

“I know. It malfunctioned.”

Jake saw Peter turn away and study a picture on the wall. Mick shifted in his seat. Don looked at the floor. Joey watched Chelsea.

“Malfunctioned?” Jake asked. “That’s pretty rare.”

Chelsea’s hands were linked in her lap. The sunlight shining down on her made her face look even more drawn. “I know. Nonetheless, it did. I’m certain I checked it in the morning.”

Ah, now he understood. He scanned his men. Okay. He needed to handle this as Chelsea’s lieutenant. Not as her lover. In his mind he replayed the previous morning. Chelsea got to the station house later than usual. She’d gone right to the bay, but they’d had a call in minutes.

Focusing on her, he saw her bite her bottom lip. He struggled for objectivity. His men would be watching, too. What would he say to any of them? “You were later than normal, Whitmore.”

“I went to the bay as soon as I came in.”

“We got a call right away.”

“I still had time to check my air pack and get my goods on the rig.”

True, her gear was in place.

“You’re positive you checked it?”

“Yes, sir.”

He stared at her hard. He was about to drop the whole thing when he remembered something.

Chelsea, didn’t you turn the stove off before we left?

Of course I did.

It was difficult for him, but he said, “A couple of weeks ago, you thought you turned the stove off, too.”

Shock registered on her lovely features. And hurt. It pained him more than his legs. “I admitted I could have made a mistake with the stove, though quite frankly, I still remember turning it off. I know I checked my air tank.”

The room was silent. He could hear clattering in the kitchen two stories below; larks chirped in the trees outside his window.

Jake thought for a minute. “Maybe we should discuss this privately.”

“No,” she said firmly. “I’ve already talked to the guys about it.” She enunciated clearly as she repeated, “I checked the air tank. It was full.”

He surveyed his men. They looked conflicted. He realized they wanted to believe her. And, he knew in his heart, he’d believe one of them if he made the same claim. “Fine. You say you did it, I believe you. Send the equipment to maintenance tomorrow for repair.”

“I sent it today,” she said stiffly.

“Good.”

Discomfort hung like a rain cloud over them. He felt a responsibility to defuse it. “Things like this happen,” he told them. “My Nomex hood got misplaced once, and I ended up in a fire without it.”

Catching on, Joey added, “Remember the time my gloves fell off the truck? You were pissed off as hell.”

Jake smiled. Mick, Don and Peter chimed in with their own stories of mistakes, malfunctions, things that hadn’t gone right. After ten minutes the tension was gone.

When the phone rang, Jake was chuckling at yet another story as he picked it up. “Scarlatta.”

“Jake, this is Francey.” She sounded upset. Or was it just excited?

“Hi, kiddo.”

“I’m at Our Lady of Mercy. I’ve got Suzy Mayfield.”

“What?”

“Jeez, Jake, Dylan and I were just patrolling and I saw her sneak in here. We followed her and cornered her in the foyer.”

Jake gripped the receiver. “She’s not alone, is she?”

“No, Dylan’s charming her socks off.”

“Oh, God, this is great.” He covered the mouthpiece.

“Dylan and Francey found Suzy.”

Cheers rang out.

He told Francey, “I’ll call the hot line, have them get in touch with her parents.”

Francey said, “I don’t think that’s the first thing she should do. She talked to me awhile. When she realized my father was a firefighter, she broke down. She ran away because she’s afraid of losing her father. Of course, it doesn’t help that her mother drinks because of his job.”

“France, you okay with this?” he asked. “I’m thinking of what happened with your parents.”

“Hell, yes. Dylan says fate had me find her. She and I talked for a long time about it. But I think she should see Reed before we bring in her parents. She’s agreed.”

“Wow. You guys are miracle workers.” He sighed. “I wish I could come down.”

“Tough luck, buddy. I’ll call Reed, then let you know tonight what’s happening.”

“Thanks.”

Jake’s grin was broad when he hung up the phone. He told the crew the story. Chelsea, Mick, Don and Joey all talked at once about how great it was that the fire department had found her.

Beyond them, Peter sat, leafing through a magazine. He didn’t appear to be listening.

Pictures flicked into focus. How silent Peter had been when they’d decided at lunch to do the search. His unusual absences in the days after. How he’d never once participated in Operation Suzy.

After a few minutes Mick glanced at his watch and got to his feet. “I gotta baby-sit tonight.” He sounded disgruntled.

Don stood abruptly. “Oh, damn, me, too. I told Lucy I’d be home by six.”

Joey rose, also. “I have a hot date, so I’m outta here.”

From the bottom of the stairs, Jess yelled, “Chelsea, can you come down here a second? I can’t figure out how long to heat Dad’s supper.”

In minutes he and Peter were alone. Huff had put down the magazine, crossed his arms and stared into space.

Jake said, “Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.” But his bleak expression said otherwise.

“It might help.”

Huff swallowed hard. “Nothing helps this.”

“Give me a shot, buddy.”

A long silence. Then Peter sank back into the chair and sighed. “I left the police department four years ago because my partner was killed in an undercover operation.” He didn’t meet Jake’s eyes. “I was in it with her.”

“Her?”

“Yeah.” He smiled. “Marla Mason. She was this gorgeous, stacked blonde. Married. Two kids, but she looked about sixteen.” He closed his eyes. “I got involved with her. I tried not to, but it was too hard to spend all that time together and fight the attraction.”

Jake understood Peter’s dilemma all too well.

“What happened?”

“We were working in a bad section of the city.” He stared at Jake. “She was posing as a runaway. Pimps preyed on the girls who hung out there. Got them into prostitution.” He stood up and paced. “She took a bullet in the head from one of them when he realized she was undercover.”

“God, Peter, I’m sorry.”

“I witnessed it.”

“Oh, no.”

“I was posing as a caseworker at a shelter.” He swallowed hard again. “They shot her right out front.” His voice broke.

“I’m sorry.” After a silence Jake asked, “Did you catch them?”

“Yeah. We broke up the whole ring.” He shook his head. “I was offered a lieutenancy after that.”

“Why’d you leave?”

“I went a little crazy. Marla died. I had a lot of contact with her husband and little boys and felt guilty for having had an affair with her.” He went to the window to look out. “I decided I couldn’t handle women in the department for a lot of reasons. I felt too protective of them, mostly.” He faced Jake. “So I joined the RFD because there were only a handful of women here and I didn’t think I’d have to deal with this issue.”

“Surprise, huh?”

Peter jammed his hands into his pockets. “Whitmore’s okay. But I have to stop myself from jumping in front of her in a fire, lifting things for her—that kind of thing.” He shook his head. “She’d really appreciate that, wouldn’t she?”

“She might understand if she knew the circumstances.”

“No, I’d rather no one knew. I’m only telling you because…it’s been plaguing me lately. Maybe because of this runaway thing.”

“You could talk to Reed.”

Peter shrugged. “Maybe.”

“I’m glad you told me.”

“I’m gonna go. I’m whipped.” He smiled sadly. “The world just isn’t what it used to be, is it?”

“No, I guess not.” Jake was wondering about Peter’s rather cryptic remark when Chelsea entered the room with Jess.

“See ya later,” Peter said to them all as he crossed to the doorway. Jake heard his footsteps pounding down the stairs.

Jess said, “Chelsea’s gonna stay and give you dinner. Is that okay?”

“Fine by me.”

Jessica walked over and kissed him goodbye. “I’ll be back in the morning.”

“Jess, I don’t need baby-sitting. I’ll call you when I get up.”

She looked hesitant; he looked stern.

“Okay. Talk to you then.” She faced Chelsea. “Don’t let him boss you around.”

Chelsea smiled at his daughter. The smile died when Jess left and she faced him. Crossing her arms, she asked bluntly, “Were you and Peter talking about me?”

“No, but let’s get this out now.” He reached over and yanked her down to the bed. “Before it’s blown out of proportion.”

Chelsea was surprised at the temper she could see simmering in Jake’s gray eyes. She tried to extinguish it. “I’m not upset or angry.”

“I know.” His voice was cold. “You look like you looked before, every time you talked about Milligan.”

“No, I—”

He held up his palm. His other hand was still clamped around her wrist. “Damn it, I’m not Milligan. Do you understand that?”

Summoning her professional self-respect, she raised her chin. “Yes.”

“Good. Now let’s talk about the air pack. I handled you just as I would have handled Mick or Joey. You say you checked it, then you did.”

“You don’t know me as well as you know them.”

His face softened. “I know enough. You laid foam and didn’t blink an eye when the red devil reignited. You didn’t panic in the ceiling collapse. You’re an excellent firefighter.”

She sucked in her breath. “Thank you.”

“I want your trust, Chelsea.”

“As an officer or as a man?”

His grip on her tightened fractionally. “Both.”

“I’m trying.”

That seemed to make it worse. “I’m not Milligan,” he repeated. “That you’d lump me in with him is insulting.”

Again she elevated her chin. “All right. I’ll remember that.”

He held her gaze, then said, “Are we done with this?”

“Yes. I’ll let you know what maintenance says.”

“Fine.” He released the vise around her wrist. “Now go lock the door. And when you come back to this bed, come as a woman, not as a firefighter.”

IT WAS SUPPOSED to be different, separate, but it wasn’t. A hot tide of passion rose within Jake, muddying the roles. All he knew was that waves of desire were thrashing though him by the time she returned to the bed. He could tell from her eyes, which blazed amber fire, that she felt it, too.

“Take off the uniform.” His voice was gruff with sexual need.

She didn’t hesitate. In an instant boots were kicked off, shirt and trousers gone. She reached up and yanked the rubber band out of her hair; her glorious flaxen mane fell in wild waves around her shoulders.

She was a goddess, standing before him, strong, beautiful, mirroring the hues of the earth—honey-colored hair, tawny eyes, golden skin. Scraps of toffee silk bound her breasts and stretched across her hips.

“The underwear, too.” His voice was hoarse.

She flicked open the front closure of the bra. Dragged down the panties. Again, like a goddess, she looked at him haughtily. “All right.” Her words were husky, demanding. “Now you.”

Chelsea watched as Jake flushed, darkening his tanned skin further. Everything about him was dark tonight—his gray eyes had turned charcoal; his hair looked sable against the beige pillowcases. A beard stubbled his taut jaw. She shivered involuntarily. He was dark—and dangerous.

And just what she wanted.

Roughly he ripped the T-shirt over his head. A little more carefully, given his burns, he shed the gym shorts. Her eyes searched his body with hungry need.

He reached out and hauled her to her knees beside him. Locking his hand at her neck, he took her mouth. Both were ravenous.

“Straddle me,” he ordered.

She obeyed.

She was so sleek and so firm, he thought as he explored her with his hands. The suppleness under his fingers thrilled him; the muscles leaping in response to his sent hard shocks of desire through his body. He couldn’t stem the passion within him to possess this woman, nor did he want to. And she obviously felt the same.

He flipped her onto her back, then covered her, mastered her with his body, his mouth.

“I love you,” he said savagely against her swollen lips.

“I love you. Too much.”

“I’ll never hurt you, I promise.”

“Jake, I—”

He took her then, before she could deny him, thrusting possessively into her. She arched to meet him, twisted to get closer.

“Say you trust me, Chelsea. Say it.”

Helplessly, hopelessly under his control, she abandoned all caution, all self-protectiveness. “I do, I trust you. I need you.”

Her words, and the violent orgasms that claimed them simultaneously, burned away the doubt and anxiety.

For now, at least.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

IN WORKING ORDER. No repair needed.

Jake swore at the maintenance worker’s scrawl on Chelsea’s air pack. The damn problem wasn’t over with, after all. It was back like flames missed in salvage and overhaul.

He sank down at his desk. He was alone at the firehouse for the first time. It was four o’clock, and his crew, headed by Ed Knight for one more day, was at a call. Jake had come in because he was going stir-crazy at home and wanted to check his mail, clean up his desk and get ready for his next shift.

He hadn’t expected this. He thought it was done with. Leaning back in his chair, surrounded by an eerie quiet, he recalled the lovemaking with Chelsea, her telling him she trusted him; his body hardened at the thought. He’d had her in a way that bound them together irrevocably. And now this.

Unbidden, Danny’s long-ago words haunted him like a bad dream….

Hell, no, Jake, I wasn’t drinkin’…. I didn’t leave the truck unattended…. I’d never disobey a direct order….

The recollection forced Jake to think like an officer. He fingered the maintenance report. Had Chelsea made a mistake? Had she lied? The answer to those questions was unequivocal. Neither was true. He’d stake his life on it. So he wouldn’t think about Danny, and he’d treat the situation as he would for any of the men on his group.

His group. What would they do? How should he handle this?

Well, he’d listen to their views. But he was going to drop the whole thing, as long as it wouldn’t cause World War Three.

He didn’t think it would. Chelsea was getting along with them. They respected her firefighting skills; they liked her, too, shown in their teasing and their concern when she was endangered.

What wasn’t to like? She was bright, quick, brave and funny.

And sexy as hell. He could still feel her under him, like she’d been last night and the night before, whispering she loved him, needed him, believed in him.

God, he’d never been happier.

Distracted from his thoughts by the bay door going up, he watched the rigs back in. Chelsea drove the Quint and edged it expertly into place. The crew bounded off the trucks, razzing each other. Mick called something to Chelsea. She rounded on him, grabbed him and brought his arm up behind his back. He yelped. Peter pulled her off and said something that made her laugh.

They were still laughing when they threw open the door and found him in the watch room. Ed Knight waved on his way past into the kitchen.

“Hey, Jake, welcome back.” Peter’s smile was his usual reserved one. But his eyes were uneasy. From their discussion the other night?

“Couldn’t stay away, huh, Scarlatta?” Joey asked.

Jake smiled, made small talk.

Mick edged toward the desk. “I told Ed I’d fill out the incident report.”

“Hang on a minute, will you?” Jake picked up the maintenance report. “Chelsea, look at this.”

She took the paper, skimmed it. Raised troubled eyes to his. “I don’t understand.”

“What?” Joey asked.

Scowling, she passed him the paper. It went from him to Mick to Don to Peter.

Huff read it and crumpled it in his hand. “I’m sick of this. Chelsea said she checked the air pack, so she did. Let’s bury it.”

Nodding their assent, the other three firefighters looked to Jake.

He faced her and was heartened by the lack of wariness on her face. By the trust. “My sentiments exactly,” he said with the confidence of a military leader who believed in his men.

In contrast, her smile was sweet. And soothing. His heart bumped in his chest.

“Let’s go have coffee,” Huff said. “Mick can tell Jake his sexist joke.”

“Oh, please,” Chelsea drawled.

“You can tell him your male-bashing one.” Obviously the group had been trading barbs.

In the kitchen, they got coffee; Mick sank onto a chair. “Me first.”

“No, me,” Chelsea said, then faced Jake. “What do they call all that flesh around the penis?” She grinned. “A man.”

Jake groaned. “Lame, Whitmore.”

Mick asked, “Why do women fake orgasms?”

Jake sputtered into his coffee. “Isn’t this getting a little chancy here, guys?”

“Nah, Chelsea’s one of us.” Mick’s grin was broad. “Why?”

With feigned disgust, Jake shook his head.

“Because they think we care,” Mick said.

Chelsea rolled up a newspaper and threw it at him. Jake laughed and sat back in his chair. The firehouse was warm with the late summer afternoon air and the easy camaraderie.

Voices came from the hallway—Ed Knight’s low rumbling and someone else’s. It was too early for the next shift, so it must be a visitor.

A tall, broad-shouldered man filled the doorway. Familiar blue eyes zeroed in on Jake. Dark hair, once thick and a little too long, was cut short; it was receding a bit, and shot through with gray. Expensive clothes draped a frame that had more meat on it than the last time Jake had seen him.

Danny DeLuca said simply, “Hi, Jakey boy.”

DANNY LEANED BACK in the padded booth at Pumpers and blew smoke in Jake’s face. As he took another long drag on the Marlboro, Jake noticed the lines around Danny’s mouth and eyes.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Jake said.

“Needed to check some things out.”

So you said. Jake had been so stunned to see Danny, he hadn’t heard all the explanation of why his old friend had returned after ten years, but he’d gotten the gist. The crew, who knew him back then, crowded around him, talked a bit and suggested they all go to Pumpers after work. They had, and now Jake and Danny were alone in a booth. The others were standing at the bar.

“How are you, Danny?” Jake asked.

The grin Danny gave him was silky. Jake had remembered his smile before as honest and sincere. “Never better.” He signaled the waitress. “Hey, baby, get me another. Bring a shot of Corby’s with it.”

Obviously Danny still had a taste for alcohol. Even though his attitude and his personality seemed to have changed. “What are you doing down in Key West?”

“Sales.” He raised his wrist. On it was a Rolex watch.

“Nice.” Jake wasn’t as impressed as Danny no doubt wanted.

“How about you, buddy? I thought you’d be chief by now.”

Reflexively Jake’s hands fisted under the table. “No, I’m not. Just the same as when you left.”

“Well, some things have changed.” He nodded to the bar. “I think she likes me.”

“Who?”

“The fox.”

Jake frowned. “The fox?”

“Firefighter Whitmore,” Danny said in a singsong voice. He leered at her. Jake tried to ignore it. “She’s been checkin’ us out since we got here.”

She’s worried about me. Though he didn’t like Danny’s attitude, Jake hid his pique.

“She into kinky stuff?”

For a moment Jake panicked. He remembered how Danny had always known what girls Jake had been attracted to, the time or two he’d snuck out with someone else before he and Nancy got married. Danny had razzed Jake incessantly about being able to read his mind. Then, however, Jake hadn’t worried about Danny using it against him.

“What do you mean?”

“Does she sleep with more than one of you at a time?”

Jake forced his shoulders to relax. “As far as I know, she doesn’t sleep with any of the guys.”

“Come on, everybody knows….” He grinned. “Never mind, I’ll find out for myself.”

Jake stared at the man who’d been like a brother to him for thirty years. He’d turned into a stranger. But Jake wasn’t giving up on him. “Danny, why’d you come back?”

The salesman’s mask slipped. Danny coughed. Shifted. “Derek called me.”

Jake wasn’t surprised. When Jake had been hurt, Derek had opened up more than usual, relating some of the things he and Delaney had explored in therapy. One of them was Derek’s unresolved issues with his father.

As if confirming Jake’s thoughts, Danny said, “Apparently he’s seein’ some shrink. She told him to call me. He asked me to come home for a visit.”

“For Derek’s sake, I’m glad you did. Have you seen him?”

“Nah. Barb said he was at work when I went by the diner.” He shook his head. “She looks old.”

“Don’t we all?”

Danny examined Jake’s face. “Actually you look pretty good. Must be gettin’ laid a lot. Nancy still hot in the sack?”

“Nancy and I are divorced.”

“Ah. Got a younger babe?”

Jake shook his head.

With narrowed eyes, Danny stared hard at him; again Jake was uncomfortable. This was not the same man he knew years ago. Glancing over Jake’s shoulder, Danny lifted his beer in a salute.

“She’s smilin’ at me.” Danny frowned. “You sure you ain’t boffin’ her?”

“No. I’m not boffin’ her.” Jake glanced at his watch.

“Derek gets out of work at four, doesn’t he?”

Snorting, Danny stood and threw a wad of bills on the table. “Yeah. Still the old nag, aren’t ya, Jakey?”

Jake didn’t respond. He rose, too. “How long you here for?”

“Who knows. My business is…seasonal. I got time.” His gaze burned into Chelsea’s back. “Let’s see if I’ve still got the touch in this town.”

He chugged the rest of his beer, then swaggered to where Chelsea sat on a stool, still sparring with the guys. Danny sidled between her and Mick.

Jake watched as gradually Danny angled his body near her. After a few minutes he inched closer. His arm slid around the back of her chair.

It was then that Chelsea caught on. He could see it in the stiffening of her shoulders. In her expression. She tried to swivel her stool away from him, but Danny’s hand stopped it.

Finally she got to her feet. Jake prayed she didn’t leave the bar; Danny would follow her, and Jake would be forced to intervene. Already on an emotional roller coaster at Danny’s return, he wasn’t sure he could disguise his feelings.

Instead, she headed for the women’s room. Smart girl.

Jake sat in the booth. In minutes, she slid in across from him.

“You okay?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“I’m sorry he’s here.”

“Watch out for him, Chels. He’s changed. He used to be a nice guy. Now he’s…. I don’t know, just watch out.”

“Why’s he back?”

“Seems your sister and Derek engineered it.” Jake scowled. “I hope it’s the best thing for Derek, but given how different Danny seems, I’m not sure it is. Poor Derek. He’s got a lot of unresolved issues with Danny.”

“He’s not the only one.”

“I know.”

“Not a good time for the ghosts to return, is it?”

Jake shrugged.

“It makes our situation—”

“Don’t say it. Don’t compare us to him and me.”

Spontaneously she reached over and squeezed his arm. As she did, Danny appeared at their table. He stared at her hand on Jake. “Well, I’m off, Jakey boy.” He scrutinized Chelsea for a minute, then reached out and pulled the tie from her hair; it spilled over her shoulders. He ran his hand down the thick mane. “I been dyin’ to do that since I saw ya, darlin’. How about you and me gettin’ together later?”

She yanked her head away. “No, thanks, lover boy. I got plans.”

He looked at Jake’s arm, from which she’d hastily withdrawn her hand. “I’ll bet.”

And then he was gone.

THE MID-AUGUST SUN beat down on the players. It was the big softball game between Quint/Midi Twelve and the fire academy. Chelsea was pitching. She took a practice throw and zinged the ball into Mick’s glove. He tossed it back; she took two more practice throws and then the batter stepped up to the plate. It was the top of the ninth, Quint/Midi Twelve ahead by four. The batter was Ben Cordaro, looking more like forty-three than fifty-three. “Come on, girly,” he growled. “Show your stuff.”

She grinned. “Okay, old man.”

From shortstop, her sister called, “Don’t let the macho taunt get to you, sis.”

Often friends and family members filled in for people who were on duty or sick. Chelsea liked having Delaney play on the team; she was good fun. Winding up, Chelsea whipped the ball to Ben.

He got a piece of it, and the ball grounded to her. Chelsea snagged it and threw it to Jake on first. He tagged Ben three feet in front of the base. Chelsea heard him say, “Not bad for a girl, huh, Ben?”

Ben grinned and trotted to the sidelines with a wave at Diana, who sat in the stands looking as fresh as a flower in a yellow sundress and hat—with a squirming Timmy O’Roarke on her lap.

Next up was Beth. Dylan had coerced her into joining the league. Despite her husband’s protest, she played for the academy. From third base Dylan taunted, “Easy out, Chelsea. Lizzie Borden’s no problem.”

Beth ignored him, as usual, which increased his quips.

“She couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn.”

Beth let the first two pitches go, then swung at the third, sending it in a line drive to third base. Shocked, Dylan fumbled it. When she was safe on first, Beth cupped her hands and yelled, “Stick it, Boy Wonder.”

Reed Macauley approached the plate. Chelsea suspected that Beth had gotten him to join the team along with her. He looked like he was having fun. Delaney, however, couldn’t let him alone. She yelled, “This one’s over the hill, Chels. No problemo.”

Dressed in cutoffs and the green academy team shirt, Reed looked young and fit. He shook his head at Delaney’s taunt and got two strikes. Then he hit a long drive down the first base line, past Jake, out to right field.

Joey scooped it up and threw it to Jake. Too high, the ball went over his head. Chelsea, who’d positioned herself about ten feet behind Jake, caught it and tossed it to him for an out. Beth, meanwhile, had made it to second. Jake jogged up to Chelsea and gave her a high five. “We make a good team, don’t we, babe?”

The little devil in her that he always encouraged snuck out. In a lowered voice she said, “On the field and in bed.”

“Shush,” he told her, but chuckled.

“Great play, Jakey boy.” Both she and Jake turned to the stands, where Danny sat with Derek.

Jake stiffened.

Chelsea trotted to the mound. Jerk, she thought. Jake had been tense and worried since Danny had come to town three days ago. He’d tried to talk to Danny about the past, but Danny had sidestepped the discussion. She hoped Francey didn’t invite him to the picnic at her house on the lake after the game, because she wanted Jake to have a good time.

Eric Scanlon, a captain on the Academy team, came up to bat next. Chelsea’s first pitch was a strike. “Way to go,” Delaney yelled. Minutes later, on a full count, Eric bunted and raced down the baseline. Jake came in and scooped up the ball just as Eric ran past him. Chelsea had run for first base, and Jake tossed the ball to her. She caught it only a split second before the runner touched the base.

“Out!” the umpire called.

The game was over. Quint/Midi Twelve had won six to two.

Jake jogged over to Chelsea and swatted her fanny. When she turned, indignant, he drawled, “All in good fun.”

With an evil grin, she pretended to get in his face. “Underneath what you just tapped are the leopard panties.”

His faced blanked, then he laughed. “Touché, Whitmore.”

They joined their teammates and everyone hugged, including Chelsea and Jake. He lifted her and twirled her around, and as she laughed and clutched his shoulders, she caught sight of DeLuca staring at them. Then people crowded around, blocking him from view. Chelsea willed herself not to worry. It was a beautiful day, she was looking forward to the picnic, and she wasn’t going to let Danny ruin anything for Jake and her.

As she and Delaney drove to Francey’s, Delaney’s idle comments about the few days Danny had been in town and how it had upset Derek made Chelsea’s confidence waver.

“They’re coming to Francey’s,” Delaney said. Chelsea pulled the car up behind a snazzy Corvette, and the women climbed out.

“Why?”

“I heard DeLuca wheedle an invitation from Alex.”

“He’s a jerk.”

Delaney snorted. “Fathers! They can ruin things for a kid.”

Chelsea grabbed Delaney’s hand. “Was it so bad for you?”

“Sometimes. I’ll never understand why Mom put up with it.”

“Love.”

Delaney snorted again. “All the more reason to avoid that trap.”

They took the path that led behind the house to a beautiful sunny backyard. Cedar decks leveled off from each of the three stories of the Templeton house, which looked like something out of Architectural Digest. Umbrella tables spotted the lawn and decks. Several feet away the lake sparkled like jewels in the four o’clock sun.

Chelsea surveyed the group. Almost everybody from both teams was here. Ben sat to the side on a step. Diana perched on one above him, knees apart, rubbing his back. He chuckled at something she said.

The O’Roarkes were spread out on a blanket under a tree, Timmy asleep, Dylan with his head in Beth’s lap. Utter peace shone from their faces as she read to him.

“Delaney?”

Chelsea looked into the pretty face of a woman she didn’t recognize. She had blond-streaked hair and big blue eyes.

Delaney said, “Andrea. How nice to see you!”

The woman smiled. “What are you doing here?”

“Chelsea Whitmore’s my sister. Chels, this is Andrea Murphy, a social worker from Mercy House. Chelsea’s a firefighter.”

“You’re Mick’s wife.” Chelsea extended her hand.

“I never made the connection because of your different last names,” Andrea said.

“Mick’s been wonderful to me since day one.” Chelsea smiled. “I really owe him.”

A shadow crossed the pretty woman’s face. “I’m glad. He’s not so liberal with me and his daughter.” The women made small talk until Andrea asked Delaney, “Can you and I talk shop for a minute?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll go meet your daughter,” Chelsea said, and nodded to where Mick sat by a small blond child who swam in a kiddie pool the Templetons had set up. Chelsea had taken two steps when someone crashed into her.

“Watch where you’re goin’, doll.”

She stared into the cold blue eyes of Danny DeLuca. “Sorry.”

He touched her hair, and she backed away. “Did you wear it down for me?”

Chelsea took a deep breath. “Look, we don’t know each other well enough for you to make those comments to me.”

“I’d like to change that.”

“I wouldn’t.”

He leaned closer; she got a whiff of something—pot? “Why not, baby? Why eat hamburger at home—” he nodded to where three of her group members stood, then patted his chest “—when you can have steak out?”

“I don’t eat red meat at all, DeLuca.”

She circled him and crossed to Mick. Sinking to the grass beside him, she said, “The creep.”

“He’s givin’ our lieutenant a rough time,” Mick told her. “He cornered Jake before you got here.”

“He’s a powder keg.” She hoped Delaney knew what she was doing with him and Derek.

Mick frowned as he stared across the lawn. “What’s your sister talking about to Andie?”

“Some case.”

“Figures. My wife can’t leave it alone.”

Chelsea was shocked at the bitterness in his voice. “Mick?”

He sighed. “Don’t mind me. I’m feelin’ sorry for myself.” His gaze surveyed the grounds. “Not a good day all around for our firehouse. Don’s wife refused to come to the picnic.”

“I wanted to meet her.” When Mick was silent, she asked, “Is everything okay with them?”

“Don took a second job—they need the money. Lucy’s not happy that he’s gone so much.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Women!”

“Hey, watch it, buddy.”

Leaning over, he splashed water with his daughter.

“’Cept for you, huh, Casey?”

“She’s beautiful.”

Peter sauntered over.

“How come you’ve never got a woman on your arm?” Mick asked him.

Peter said, “All the good ones are taken.”

Mick and Chelsea exchanged a glance.

“Anybody want a beer?” Peter asked.

“I’ll have a soda until Andrea takes over watching the kid here.”

Chelsea rose and accompanied Peter to the coolers set under the overhang of the deck. There she found Jake, talking with Francey and Alex.

Francey said, “Hey, here comes the arm.”

Chelsea smiled and avoided looking at Jake. Peter snagged the drinks and left to go back to Mick.

“You two were certainly in sync today.” Alex nodded to her as she got a beer and twisted off the top.

“Who, me and Jake?”

“Yeah.”

“Got a good rhythm together,” he said with a barely disguised sexual undertone.

The beer she’d just sipped sputtered all over. “Sorry.” She wiped her mouth. “Yeah, I guess we do know where to put the ball.”

His eyes sparked mischief. “And the glove.”

Francey said, “Well, something went right.”

“I like playing with Chelsea.” Jake was obviously enjoying the double entendres.

She put the bottle to her lips and murmured, “You’re not a bad guy to play with, either.”

“France, come over here!” Dylan yelled.

“I’m comin’, too.” Alex followed her. “Maybe I’ll get to hold Timmy.” Alex and Francey left them alone.

Jake leaned against the cedar siding. He watched the calm blue lake and sipped his beer. Still without looking at her, he said, “Little girls who tease have to pay the price.”

She pretended interest in the beer label. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“So what’s the price?”

“You’ll see. Later.”

“Where? Your place or mine?”

Jake frowned. “I’ll come to yours. I’m worried about Derek; I want to keep an eye on him for a while.”

“I’m sorry.”

He pushed away from the house. “You can kiss and make it better,” he said, and walked away.

She watched him go, smiling.

“He’s a great guy, isn’t he?”

Chelsea turned. DeLuca again. “Yes, he is.”

“Is he a good lieutenant?”

Chelsea couldn’t resist. “The best.”

“How’s he in bed?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“That’s not what Jakey said.”

She gave him a haughty look. “You’re pathetic, DeLuca.” Chelsea started to walk away.

He grabbed her arm roughly. “Listen, lady…”

She glanced pointedly at her arm. “Let go of me.”

His grip tightened. She remembered Billy’s violence, and her stomach clenched.

Joey appeared behind Danny. “Hey, Chels. I picked up the new car today. Wanna see it?” He said to Danny, “You don’t mind if I take Chelsea for a minute?” Expertly he drew her away. Danny was forced to let go. Joey’s face was full of thunderclouds as he escorted her to the side of the house. He stopped when they were out of sight of Danny.

She said, “No car?”

He shook his head. “Your arm’s red.”

She glanced down. Tiny marks were visible below the sleeve of her T-shirt. “Damn.”

“Any man who treats a woman that way is an ass.”

“Where does he get off?”

“I don’t know.”

“Thanks for helping me out.”

“I thought you were gonna deck him. Not that you’re not gorgeous, Whitmore, but I think he’s doin’ it to get Jake’s goat.”

She stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“Are you kidding? Jake’s Sir Galahad. If he thinks Danny’s pushing you, he’ll go after him. Danny’s out to embarrass Jake.”

“Why?”

“It’s always been that way. Danny could never measure up to Jake—not in the fire department, not in high school. He blames Jake for all his problems when, really, he made Jake’s life hell. Nobody’s glad to see him back.”

Chelsea smiled at him. “You’re a nice guy, you know that, Santori?”

Joey chugged his beer. “Yeah, don’t tell anybody.” His eyes landed on Francey, and they lost their mirth.

Following his gaze, she asked, “Does it still hurt?”

“It’ll always hurt,” he said, and walked away.

Chelsea leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. An ominous feeling stole over her. She shivered with it. God, she hoped nothing worse happened today.

JAKE HAD FELT IT building all night, like a storm brewing over the lake. Maybe it was because he’d once known Danny so well. Maybe because he’d been the victim of Danny’s anger and bitterness before. Maybe because he’d watched Danny all evening get progressively more stoned and more obnoxious. Regardless, it hurt to know what his friend had become.

So he wasn’t surprised when he saw Danny heading toward where he stood on the edge of the lower deck with the five members of his group, along with Ben, Reed and Dylan.

One of the new academy trainers walked by as Danny approached. “How’d ya think it went this morning, Jake?”

Jake stiffened. “Ah, good. You?”

“Too tough for me. You probably aced it, though.”

“Aced what?” Joey asked when Mike moved on. Danny stood in the background, listening.

Jake traded looks with Ben. Ben shrugged.

“I, uh, took the captaincy exam this morning.”

Joey asked sharply, “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

“If you make the grade, you can’t be captain at Quint Twelve because Ed Knight already is,” Mick observed. “You can only have one captain per station house.”

“Ed Knight might be retiring this year. He just told me.” Ben was trying to smooth ruffled feathers.

“You shoulda told us, Jake.” Mick looked upset.

“I’m sorry, Mick. I just—”

“So, how’d you do?” Peter cut in. He seemed genuinely interested.

“Jakey boy probably got a hundred. He’s perfect, don’t you know that?” This came from Danny.

Diaz tried to joke. “Nah, we know his flaws.”

“Do you?”

“Lay off, DeLuca,” Joey said.

But Danny moved closer. He was unsteady on his feet, and his cigarette was within half an inch of burning Jake’s arm. Jake didn’t step away, however; he just stared at his old buddy. Guilt for his part in bringing Danny to this bumbling, drunken state flooded him. The sense of disappointment for what Danny had become was great.

“What’s a matter, Jakey? They never seen your bad side?”

Ben said, “Danny, now isn’t the time for this.”

“No? Why not?”

Ben reached for his arm. “For one thing, your son is about ten feet behind you.”

Pivoting, Danny scowled. Derek stood behind him with Jessica. “So what?” He faced Jake again. “Derek thinks you walk on water like the rest of them. It’ll be good for him to hear the truth.”

Reed stepped forward. “Danny, why don’t we take a walk.”

“Why don’t you take a hike? And take that female shrink with you, away from my kid.”

“Delaney’s helping Derek. But let’s go talk about it. She can come with us.”

“No, I got something to say.”

Ben opened his mouth to speak, but Jake intervened. He had to face this. Swallowing the hurt Danny’s bitterness incited, Jake said, “All right, let’s go inside. You can say whatever you want there.”

“Wanna do it here. In front of everybody. I want them all to know.” He indicated their little circle, and also Francey, Alex and Beth, who’d gathered around.

“Know what?”

“What kind of man you are.”

“He’s a decent man,” someone said.

“Back off, DeLuca,” somebody else said.

Jake was poleaxed by the vindictiveness on Danny’s face.

“Y’all better listen to me,” Danny said. “You could be next.”

No one spoke.

“Do they know, Jakey, that you’ll turn on them to cover your own ass?”

Jake stood silent.

“Does she know—” he angled his head to Chelsea “—not to get too close to you? That you’ll pick on every little thing she does and make your faults hers?”

Jake remained stoic. He wouldn’t defend himself. He wouldn’t stoop to Danny’s level.

Again, nobody spoke. Until Derek broke away from Delaney—Jake hadn’t seen her come up to the boy—and elbowed his way to his father. “Don’t, Dad.”

Danny’s eyes were glazed as they landed on Derek. “He took you away, too.” Derek’s gaze snapped to Jake.

“You took my job, my friends and even my son. Wouldn’t be surprised if you were screwin’ my wife.” He threw a leering glance at Chelsea. “After you get through with her, that is.”

Ben Cordaro stepped forward and put a hand on Danny’s shoulder. “I’ve heard enough of this tripe. You’re insulting my daughter’s friends and ruining her party. Let’s go, DeLuca.”

Danny shrugged him off. “You’re stickin’ up for him. You always did.”

Ben said, “He’s always deserved it.”

Reed came up on the other side of Danny. “Let’s go.”

Danny’s gaze swung from Reed to Ben and back again. No doubt realizing he could never win a physical contest against the two, especially in his state, he said casually, “Sure, why not? I’m gonna blow this pop stand, anyway.” He faced Derek. “You comin’, son?”

Tears streamed down Derek’s face. He stared at his father as if he didn’t recognize him. Then he shook his head.

Danny deflated before their eyes. His shoulders sank, and he docilely let Reed and Ben lead him around the house.

Tension quivered in the air. Jake watched Derek, then stepped toward him. After a second Derek flung himself into Jake’s arms. Jake’s eyes stung for the boy Derek was, for the boy Danny used to be. Staring over Derek’s shoulder, Jake saw a young Danny catching the football that Jake had passed him and scoring the winning touchdown…. Danny smiling as the best man in his wedding…Danny holding his hand the first time Jake had been badly burned. He closed his eyes to block out the current images of Danny—drunk and abusive. He clasped Derek to him. “Shh, son, it’s all right. It’s all right.”

But he knew in his heart it wasn’t. Would it ever be?

HIS BREATHING ESCALATED, and the darkness nipped at his heels as he paced. His strong side came out more now, ruled him, even in the daytime. He’d waited a week, like flames waiting to burst through in flashover. There would be no mistakes after this long. But it had to be tested.

Ever since the softball picnic he’d watched for signs. They didn’t seem to treat each other differently. Maybe they were more comfortable with each other, but all of them felt at ease with Whitmore now.

He thought about spying on them, but it went against his grain. Instead, he’d test it, just as he’d tested the guys after DeLuca’s spiel….

He’s crazy, one of them said.

Jake’s too smart for that, another put in.

Whitmore’s not that kind of broad, somebody else said.

But they were uptight; the other accusation—that Jake wasn’t a good leader, that he’d turned on one of his men once, that he’d made bad decisions—struck a chord.

So he’d kill two birds with one stone—see if the lieutenant favored Whitmore; it would show if he was, after all, a good leader and put one more nail in her coffin.

Jake would have to deal with what he had in mind.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

FIRE RIPPED THROUGH several stores in a small strip mall in downtown Rockford. It reminded him of how, when he was a kid, he used to line up dry twigs, light them and watch them torch each other. The roof on one of the first buildings to ignite had been ventilated but was spongy now, so no one was allowed on it. Clouds of thick gray smoke billowed from several storefronts as the fire intensified; firefighters were barred from the inside.

He smiled to himself as he hefted the hose behind Jake. This was it. An exterior attack was perfect. He’d lucked out, which just went to show that his plan had been right. Judicious. Blessed. No one could get hurt if they weren’t goin’ into the building.

As he and Jake reached the side of one of the shops, he could see several aerials dumping water on the hungry flames that shot from windows and out the roof. The fire was a monster, needing to be appeased. Jake said, “Everybody’s here,” as he positioned the hose and lifted it. Whitmore would charge the hose, giving them water, back at the Midi, where she would also monitor the pressure. For a while. His conscience pricked him. His Jekyll side felt bad, but Hyde told him this was necessary.

“That’s why we were called, Jakey baby,” he said, rebounding as the pressure hit the nozzle and the hose pumped out gallons of water. “It’s not our district.” The blaze was so big and out of control, the battalion chief had asked for additional stations to come in and help.

Jake maneuvered the large, two-inch hand line in silence. It only took about five minutes for the water to recede. Jake shook the hose. “What the hell?” He turned. “You feel that?”

“Yeah.”

Then the water stopped.

Battalion Chief Talbot came up behind them “What’s going on, Jake?”

“We’re out of water.”

“What?”

“The water stopped.” He could see the puzzlement on Jake’s face. “I don’t understand it.”

“That’s a hell of a deal.” Talbot was irked. “Check the truck; see if you can fix it. We need all the water we can get.”

Following Jake, his heartbeat escalated. This was it. Jake took long, angry strides toward his rig. When they reached the Midi, Jake went up to Whitmore. She had her head down, studying the gauges. “Whitmore? What’s going on?”

Chelsea turned. Even in the darkness, broken only by generator lamps, he could see her face was pale. “I don’t know. The gauges say we’re out of water.”

“That can’t be. We can’t have used more than two hundred gallons.” He edged in front of her and checked the gauges. Then he turned. “It’s empty. How is that possible, Whitmore?”

Her lips thinned and her eyes got as big as the moon above them. “I don’t know.”

“When you came in tonight, did you check the water level?”

“Yes, sir, I did.”

“And?”

“It was filled. The truck wasn’t used in a fire today, and the full gauge registered.”

For long moments Jake stared at her. She stared back. Then he said, “I’ll go see where Talbot wants us now.”

Chelsea looked after him, then glanced at the gauges again. Shook her head. And walked off.

He sank back against the rig.

Whew. It was over. This was too public to let go. Jake couldn’t possibly ignore it. All her other mistakes would start to add up, and there’d be action taken.

Would it be enough? He sure hoped so.

For her own good, he wanted her out of the RFD.

“I’D LIKE to see you in my office, Whitmore.” Jake’s voice was husky from fatigue and smoke inhalation. His linebacker shoulders were stiff with tension.

Her shoulders ached as if she’d carried a barbell on them all night. “Yes, sir.”

Mick, Joey, Peter and Don stood behind her, openly listening. Peter stepped forward, as if to say something, but Jake turned his back, his message clear. This was between the lieutenant and one of his crew.

Jake trudged ahead of her; Chelsea kept her eyes averted, refusing to look at his safe solid back and those strong shoulders she thought she could lean on.

Stop it, she told herself. This doesn’t change things.

Ever the gentleman, Jake opened the glass door to the watch office and held it for her to enter. It closed with a hiss in the still, silent firehouse. Chelsea could see the guys pass the office and traipse back to the kitchen.

“Sit.”

She did, then he took a chair across from her. “What happened, Chelsea?” he asked simply.

“I don’t know.”

“I’m asking this in an official capacity. Did you check the water tank in the Midi when you came on duty?” His voice was toneless, but Chelsea could see the muscle leaping in his jaw. This wasn’t easy for him. She respected the officer in front of her for carrying out a difficult task; simultaneously, her heart went out to the man she loved. God, what irony.

“Yes, I did. The tank was full.”

“How do you account for its running out of water prematurely?”

“I can’t.”

“No malfunction?” Then he added, “Like your air tank.”

She swallowed hard. “You said you believed me about that.”

“I did. It’s why I let it go. It was also only one thing, and I don’t jump to conclusions.”

He didn’t mention the stove.

“What about now? Do you still believe me about the air pack?” This she hadn’t expected. If he didn’t believe her about that…

“It doesn’t matter what I believe. What matters is that an entire operation could have been jeopardized by the loss of water. It wasn’t, because so many rigs were there and we mounted an exterior attack. But if we’d been at a house fire, inside, and you made this mistake—”

“I know the danger of losing water, Jake.” Her voice was cool; she straightened. “And I didn’t make a mistake.”

“Then how do you account for running out of water?”

“I can’t.”

He stared at her, his face blank. But his gray eyes rivaled the gloomiest of February mornings in Rockford. “I’m putting a memorandum in your file. Of reprimand.”

Swallowing hard, she cinched her hands together in an effort not to react. “I see.”

“For the record, I also put two commendations in there after the foam blanket incident and the fire at the old man’s house.”

She nodded.

“I do that regularly for Santori, Huff, Diaz and Murphy.”

Again, she got the message. He was treating her like he’d treat the guys. “I understand.”

His officer persona slipped. “Do you?” he asked raggedly.

“Of course.” She stood. “Am I dismissed?”

He stared at her for a moment. “Yes.”

A loud knock on the glass made them both jump. Her relief waved to her. She gave him a weak greeting. Without another word she turned, opened the door and left.

JAKE SAT where he was as she disappeared into the locker room. He took a deep breath and tried to blank his mind. Instead, the ghosts came, specters from his past that were never far away.

You turned on me, buddy. I’ll never forgive you for that. Danny’s old taunt was accompanied by his newest. Do they know, Jakey, that you’ll turn on them to cover your own ass? Does she know not to get too close to you? That you’ll pick on every little thing she does and make your faults hers?

Don’t think about it, he told himself. Just do it.

He turned to the computer. The memorandum took only five minutes to type. Five minutes to destroy months of trust building. No, he wouldn’t think about it. He couldn’t confuse the roles. Not again.

As he printed the indictment, the office door opened and his men entered. They came in silently, took seats or leaned against the wall and closed the door. Were they vigilantes today or the cavalry coming over the hill?

“What’d you do?” Peter asked.

“I questioned Firefighter Whitmore and am putting this—” he held up the memo he’d just finished “—in her file.”

Peter nodded.

“We don’t have no say in it this time?” Mick asked. “’Cause if we do, I think you should drop it.”

“He can’t drop it,” Joey said. “Not after the stove and the air pack.”

“You don’t want him to?” Mick’s tone was accusing.

Joey scowled. “I don’t know what I want.”

Diaz said nothing, Jake noted. His face was sad.

“None of this matters. As your lieutenant, I’ve made the decision. It’s done.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jake saw Chelsea exit the locker room, her bag looped over her shoulder. She hadn’t showered. She’d removed her dress shirt and wore only the RFD T-shirt and pants. Her hair bounced around her shoulders like a golden halo as she walked. Coming even with them, she looked up.

Damn. He could imagine the tableau they created, gathered in the office without her. She scanned the men, her face showing confusion first, then the hurt that betrayal causes. Jake knew the look intimately. This was the second time in his life he felt like Judas. She watched them only a moment, then turned and headed out of the bay.

The room was uncomfortably silent. Firefighters from the day shift began to filter in. O’Roarke threw open the door. “Scarlatta and Santori, you’re sprung.”

The men nodded. Joey stood and, without saying anything more, left. So did Diaz.

Mick had a parting shot. “I think this stinks.”

After they left, Jake leaned back in his chair and watched Peter, who, as he’d done the day Jake had questioned Chelsea about her air pack, had stayed behind.

“I haven’t been a firefighter as long as you guys,” Peter told him. “But I was a cop for twenty years.”

“Yeah?”

“Something isn’t right here.”

Jake cocked his head.

“This doesn’t fit with her MO.”

A glimmer of hope sparked inside him. “I know.”

“She’s too good a firefighter.”

“I know,” Jake repeated. “But the stove and the air pack and now the water thing, Peter. They can’t be ignored.”

“I didn’t say you should ignore them. I just said it doesn’t add up.” He stood. “This could cause problems.”

As Jake watched Peter go, he thought, You don’t know the half of it.

BETH O’ROARKE sat in the dining alcove of her kitchen, breastfeeding Timmy. But her expression was one of a Spanish inquisitor rather than a Madonna. “It doesn’t make sense. Something else is going on here.” Her no-nonsense tone calmed Chelsea, whose hands were still shaking from telling her story.

She’d come to the O’Roarkes’ right from work. Dylan was at the firehouse, and Beth had taken one look at Chelsea and called Francey, who arrived within the hour. Chelsea had told them as quickly as possible what had happened.

Pouring coffee for the three of them, Francey took a seat across from Chelsea. “What are you saying, Beth?”

Beth’s big brown eyes widened, and Chelsea remembered how she used to give that incredulous look to the recruits. “It’s simple. Either someone else did these things, or Chelsea’s losing her mind.”

“I’m not losing my mind.”

“Then…”

“Do you honestly believe she’s being sabotaged?”

“I know it sounds cloak-and-dagger, but the stove was on, the air tank empty and the water in the truck low. Chelsea remembers turning the stove off, she’s sure she checked her air tank and she’s positive the Midi was full. Somebody else did it.”

“Jeez.” Francey stood when Beth drew back from her son to burp him. She eased Timmy from Beth and held the baby against her shoulder. Rubbing his back, she said, “That means it’s somebody from Chelsea’s group.”

“Not necessarily.” Beth stirred her coffee and stretched her legs out in front of her. “Other people have access to the bays. To the firehouse when the trucks are out.”

“Who?” Chelsea asked.

Beth thought. “Maintenance people?”

Francey said, “Some.”

“Officers?”

“A chief would do this?” Chelsea couldn’t believe it.

“If he was out to get you.” Beth frowned. “You make any official enemies lately, Chels?”

Chelsea froze at the nickname. I love you, Chels.

“Chelsea?” Beth asked.

“No, no enemies among the officers. At least not that I know of.”

Beth thought for a minute. “Maybe Francey’s right. Maybe it’s a crew member.”

Chelsea thought of Joey. For what it’s worth, I told the guys to ask you to come to breakfast this morning.

She remembered Don’s horrified look when she almost stepped into the basement water.

There were Peter’s comments at the gunshot site—You did a good job, Whitmore and then at the old man’s house—I told you it was good to know you could handle him. I meant it.

Finally Mick—his consistent, unflappable support. Could one of them really have done this to her?

She buried her head in her hands. “I can’t believe it.”

Leaning over, Beth rubbed Chelsea’s back while Francey put Timmy into a Portacrib by the window. With the shades drawn, it was cool and dim there.

“Chelsea, don’t go emotional on us now,” Beth said gently. “We’ve got to think this through.”

Raising her head, Chelsea said, “All right.”

Francey came to the table with a pad and pencil she’d scrounged from a nearby drawer. “Let’s go through each of the crew. For motive and opportunity.”

Chelsea stirred her coffee as she told them about Mick, Don, Joey and Peter all being near the stove after she’d left.

Francey wrote it down. “And the Midi was open game for the whole day.”

“They all had access to the air tank when I went to the hospital,” Chelsea replied.

“Except Jake.” Beth’s tone was sober.

Abruptly Francey dropped her pencil, and Chelsea’s spoon clattered to the table.

“What?” Chelsea was incredulous.

“You can’t be serious.” Francey said. “Jake?”

“Look, I know he’s close to you.”

“He’s a brother to me.”

“Even people we love are capable of hurting us. Especially if they think it’s for our own good.” Beth shook her head. “Anyway, since there’s no way Jake could’ve had access to your air pack, he’s ruled out.”

Chelsea’s head was starting to throb.

“So everybody had opportunity,” Francey continued. “Who has motive?”

“Joey.” Beth was thoughtful. “He’s still raw over losing you, France.”

“Are you sure?”

Chelsea said, “I’m sure. He told me at your picnic.”

Francey’s face fell. “He hates you because you’re my friend and tries to hurt you? Oh, God, this is awful.”

“A vendetta against all women?” Beth said. “Maybe.”

“How about the other guys?”

Regretfully Chelsea thought of something else. “I know Don and Mick are both having marital problems.”

“That could do it,” Beth and Francey said simultaneously.

Chelsea smiled in spite of the circumstances. “Oh, as if you two have experience with that.”

“Alex and I fight. Still. Over my job.”

“Dylan’s better about risks, but I yell at him at least once a month for doing something stupid.” A pause, then Beth added, “No relationship’s perfect.”

After a moment’s quiet Francey asked, “What about Huff? He’s pretty closemouthed. I wonder what baggage he’s carrying.”

“I don’t know.” Chelsea pictured Peter’s inscrutable face. “The quiet hides a sadness, I think.”

“Maybe over a woman?”

“Maybe.” Chelsea stood. “Look, this is so farfetched. Because Mick’s wife went back to work and he didn’t want her to doesn’t mean he’s mentally unbalanced. Diaz’s wife being miffed because he’s never home doesn’t prove a mental defect in the guy.”

“No, they’re just clues to who might want to hurt you.”

“But what good is this doing?” Chelsea asked.

Timmy began to wail from the crib. Chelsea crossed to the window and picked him up. Holding him to her chest, she paced as she talked. “Now we know everybody—except Jake—has the motive and means to hurt me. That doesn’t help us at all.”

“Yes, it does.” Beth stood and poured more coffee. “It reinforces that you’ve got to protect yourself, be suspicious of everybody. Watch your back. Somebody’s out to get you.”

Chelsea pictured her crew and wanted to bawl like Timmy.

“He’d have to be a Jekyll and Hyde, then,” she said forcefully.

Beth frowned. “Some men are, honey.”

Clutching Timmy to her, Chelsea thought, Some men, but not all. Certainly not Jake.

JAKE SAT in his car in front of her house, trying to quell the hundred tiny voices in his head that chanted, You blew it. Damn. Where was she?

Since the shift ended, at seven this morning, he’d been looking for her. As soon as he left work, he’d driven to her house, telling himself she’d go home so he could meet her there and talk. She hadn’t. Then he’d checked out his house, hoping she’d call or come to him. He’d taken a shower, drunk some coffee, waited. The demons had taunted him too much, so after more phone calls, he’d headed to the gym. Jess was working; surreptitiously—which he realized he was getting tired of—he’d found out Chelsea wasn’t there, hadn’t been there and hadn’t called in. That worried him even more. He’d driven to Francey’s, figuring he could make excuses for seeing his surrogate sister; no one had been home.

Now, at two o’clock, he was at Chelsea’s place again, dressed and ready for work. He had to be at the firehouse in a couple of hours, but he sure as hell didn’t want to see her then for the first time. They needed to talk, so he waited for her, as he had after the basement incident. Purposefully he summoned that day—the kisses in the garage, the promises in her bed.

He heard his own vow. I’ll never turn on you, no matter what happens.

And her reply. If things do go wrong, I promise, I won’t blame you like Danny did. I won’t turn on you, either.

Did she mean it? She had to. He’d trusted her with his heart; he’d taken a risk he thought he’d never take again.

Just then her red Camaro sped down the street and swerved into the driveway, then into the garage. She got out and went to the house without seeing him.

Hell. He stomped out of his car and strode to the door. She’d given him a key, but he rang the bell, anyway.

She pulled it open. Her face was drawn, her eyes bloodshot. She’d untucked the T-shirt from her cutoffs and kicked off her shoes. Her hair was wild.

There was surprise on her face. Anger kindled, licked at him, like just-beginning flames. Could she honestly think he wouldn’t come? “Where have you been?” he asked, trying to quell the cauldron of emotion bubbling inside him.

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve been looking for you all day.”

She stared at him.

“I was worried.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

“Yes. I didn’t think you’d…I didn’t expect…” She shrugged. “I guess I wasn’t thinking.”

About me. That hurt.

He leaned against the doorjamb. “Can I come in?”

“Of course.” Stepping aside, she let him into the living room. He was reminded of the night Billy had come after her. Of what had started here. He’d be damned if he’d let her go without a fight.

Plowing his hand through already disheveled hair, he sank onto a couch. She perched on the footstool, out of touching distance.

“We need to discuss this.” His tone was no-nonsense.

“What’s there to discuss, Jake?”

“I’m not turning on you, Chels.”

She clutched her hands together until they were white. “I know that.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Then why didn’t you come to me today?”

“I needed to think.”

“Where did you go?” If she said, “To Spike,” he didn’t know what he’d do.

“To Beth and Francey.”

Even that hurt. “All day?”

“Yes. We talked through the morning, had lunch. I showered and tried to take a nap at Beth’s.”

“Why didn’t you come to me?” he asked again.

She looked at him, exasperation crossing her face.

“Jake, you’re part of this. You’re part of what I’m trying to deal with. I can’t talk to you about it.”

“I hate hearing that.” Edging off the couch, he came to his knees in front of her. “I’m not turning on you,” he repeated.

As she grasped his hand, the struggle was evident in every line of her lovely face. “I know. I believe that.” Her eyes were bright. “It’s just hard to deal with.”

“We’ll deal with it together.”

“How?”

“By weathering it. By letting it run its course.”

She looked unconvinced.

He said raggedly, “Tell me you trust me on this. I need to hear it.”

She waited a long moment. “I trust you.” He knew that was probably the hardest thing she’d ever said to him.

Relief flooded him; he reached into his pocket and pulled out the soft cloth bag he’d taken from his dresser at home. “I’ve got something for you. I was going to wait until your birthday, next month, and wrap it up pretty. But I want you to have it now.”

Her hands were shaking, which was all right because his were, too. She emptied the pouch in her palm.

Looking up at him, she cocked her head. “What are these?”

“They’re medals I found in a fire fighter’s catalogue.” He reached down and picked up the smaller, more delicate twenty-four-carat chain. On the end of it was half a medal with half of a Maltese cross etched in it. “This is yours. The bigger chain’s mine.” He picked the second medal up and fitted one half of the cross to the other. “It reads, ‘May God watch over you when we’re apart.”’ He coughed, cleared his throat, rocked by the same emotion that had overcome him when he ordered the medals.

“When the medal’s together, it’s whole. When it’s apart, it’s incomplete.” He threaded his hand through her hair, and their gazes locked. “Just like us.”

Her eyes swam with tears.

“I want you to wear this and not take it off until we can be together openly.” He took her gold chain and slipped it over her head.

And he waited.

In seconds she took his, longer and heavier, and reverently roped it around his neck.

“I love you, Chels. I want to be with you for the rest of our lives. I’m like this medal, not whole without you.”

“I love you, too.”

He touched his forehead to hers. When he drew back, he stood and held out his hand. “I know we don’t have much time, but come to bed with me. I need you.”

His heart was full at the watery smile she gave him. Then she placed her hand in his.

CHELSEA SHOWED UP for work at four-thirty, just on time. Still raw about the water problem, she’d decided to follow Beth’s advice and observe her co-workers on the next two nights. Was one of them a Jekyll and Hyde? The idea made her stomach churn.

Her thoughts turned to Jake; he’d beaten her here by only minutes, as they’d left her bed with just enough time to shower and dress. He was in the office as she walked by and gave her a casual salute through the glass barrier. She nodded, staring at him, remembering how only an hour before his body had driven into hers with almost frightening possessiveness. He’d showed her, physically, that she was his. Fingering the chain barely visible around her neck, she tore her gaze away and headed for the kitchen.

Joey, Mick, Don and Peter were sitting at the table, each reading. Briefly she wondered if they’d gotten together today, too, to discuss her. She felt tiny pinpricks of pain at the thought.

“Whitmore, get some coffee and come over here. I need help.” Peter was surrounded by books; he looked like a scholarly professor with glasses perched on his nose. She grabbed a mug and took a seat next to him.

“What’s this?” she asked casually, as if her world wasn’t caving in around her.

“Cookbooks. I’m chef tonight and need help finding a good recipe for this fish.” He rolled his eyes. “One Mick will like.”

“I’m not a fish man,” Mick said, his eyes glued to his book. Then he laughed at what he read.

Joey grunted, reading the paper.

Don snorted. “You’re too picky. Lucy would never put up with that.”

Chelsea couldn’t ignore the comment. Come to think of it, he—and Mick—had made a lot of those remarks in the past few weeks. Was there trouble in their marriages? Or was she looking at things with a magnifying glass?

Chelsea glanced at Peter’s books. The New Healthy Firehouse Cookbook, The Firefighter’s Low Fat Cookbook and The Fit Firefighter’s Recipe Book. “Where’d you get these?” she asked.

“I bought ’em. Thought we needed new ones.”

She smiled. Mick laughed again.

“What are you readin’?” Joey asked him.

“Something I brought in for Whitmore. I’ll tell ya in a minute.”

As Mick continued to read, Chelsea and Peter paged through the cookbooks. Chelsea found a possibility and pointed it out to Peter.

“You like orange flavoring, Mick?” Peter asked.

He raised his eyes. “I like orange Popsicles. That count?”

She and Peter decided it counted, and chose orange-glazed halibut.

After another burst of laughter from Mick, Joey said, “What the hell you got there, Murphy?”

“It’s a book of firefighter jokes.”

“God, those are awful. I read some before, and they were stupid.”

Mick’s eyes twinkled. “These are different. They’re all female-firefighter jokes. Andrea found it at a bookstore a while ago. I was savin’ it for a special occasion, but…” His voice trailed off. Though last night stood between them like a brick wall, Mick’s comment was the closest anybody had come to mentioning it and the strain between them.

Chelsea gave Mick a warm smile. He always came through for her, though she recognized Peter’s intention with the cookbooks was to include her, too.

“Okay, shoot.” She made her voice firm. “But I warn you, if they’re sexist, I got a whole locker full of male-bashing jokes that Delaney got off the internet. I’ll get ’em out.”

Don, Joey and Peter groaned loudly.

“Nah, you’ll love these.” Mick lowered his eyes. “What do you call a firefighter’s wife who knows where her husband is every night?”

She shrugged.

“A widow.”

Chelsea laughed. The rest of the men grunted.

“A firefighter had a conversation with God. He asked, ‘Why’d you make woman so beautiful?’ God, said, ‘So you’d love her.’ The firefighter said, ‘Why’d you make her so dumb? God replied, ‘So she’d love you.”’

Again Chelsea laughed. Three jokes later, Peter said, “Murphy, gimme a break.”

Jake came in and threw a paper on the table. “This week’s trivia from O’Roarke. They’re tough.”

Don picked it up. Peter stood and went to the fridge. Joey buried his face in the newspaper.

“Here’s a good one,” Mick said. “How many sensitive, interesting, liberated men in the fire department would it take to clean the firehouse?”

Everybody shook their heads.

“Both of them.”

Jake came to the table. “What’s all this about?”

“A book his wife found,” Chelsea explained. “It’s dedicated to female firefighters.”

“Just what we need.” He winked at her, though. She smiled. “We’re doing some training after dinner,” he told the crew. “The last of the confined-space program.”

“Dinner’s at six,” Peter informed them.

“Let’s do the training first,” Joey said. “There’s something I want Chelsea to help me with later.”

Everybody agreed, but Mick said, “One more, then I’ll put this away. A female smoke eater told her colleagues that her boyfriend was like a snowstorm. She said, ‘You don’t know when he’s coming or how many inches you’ll get or how long it’ll stay.”’

“Enough!” Jake roared. But everybody laughed, and the tension was suitably broken. Once again, Mick was a lifesaver.

After the training and dinner, Chelsea headed for the exercise room. She was exhausted from no sleep last night and hoped working out would tire her enough to make her zonk tonight. She was still tense and upset, but at least she and Jake had found a way to deal with this so far, and things at the firehouse were okay, too. Like bad food, she shoved away thoughts of sabotage. They were impossible to digest.

Joey found her on the treadmill after a half hour. He carried a newspaper with him. He’d folded it open to an ad and put it in her line of vision. “There’s a triathlon for men just before Christmas.”

Lightly jogging, Chelsea nodded. “I know, my gym manager is thinking about entering.”

“Grip’s Gym might sponsor me. That’s where I work out.”

“It’s a good place, but they’re hurting for trainers.”

“Yeah, they are.”

When he didn’t say any more, Chelsea asked, “Do you want some help from me, Joe?”

“I’d pay you.”

“Don’t be silly. I don’t want your money.”

Folding his arms, he watched her for a minute. “Then how about my friendship?”

Slowing, she cocked her head.

“I haven’t been the best since you came on board.”

“You’ve been okay lately.” Everybody has. Could it possibly be one of you?

“Can I do somethin’?” He motioned to include the firehouse. “You know, about this stuff with the air pack and water tank?”

She felt her eyes sting. “No, you can’t, but thanks.” She got off the treadmill and wiped her face with a towel. “Give me the paper and get a pad. Let’s outline what you should start with. You don’t have a lot of time.”

He grinned, said, “Thanks,” and headed for the door.

“Santori?”

He turned.

“Thank you.”

Just before bed, Don found her in the common room leafing though Firehouse magazine. In his hand he had a paper. “Hey, Chelsea, wanna go in on the trivia game with me this week? I always feel like I’m back in grade school on this and thought if I had some help…”

Recognizing the gesture, she smiled. “Sure.”

Taking a pencil from behind his ear, he sat on the couch. “It’s hard.”

She read the questions aloud. “Name the country with the following fire-suppression regulations.” She looked at Don. “You sure you want to do this?”

“I already know three,” he said proudly. “Japan’s the place where a person can be imprisoned for causing a fire because of negligence. Sweden trains chimney sweeps to inspect fireplaces and furnaces. And France pays only partial insurance to landlords to decrease the possibility of arson on their parts.”

“How do you know those things?”

“My kid has books on firefighting. Lots of stories in them about those countries. I figure we got a shot if I know three.”

“I only know one. Delaney went to England last year. They spend a million dollars a year on fire-safety commercials.”

He grinned. “Two to go, kid.”

“I have no idea what place has fire marshals in its apartment buildings.”

“Hong Kong.” Chelsea looked up to see Jake smiling from the doorway. He shrugged. “It’s the only one I know, so I’m not playin’ this week.”

“Hot damn.” Don punched his fist in the air.

“That leaves the one that has building codes and insurance laws that require every room to have two exits.”

Jake shook his head. “Sorry. Don’t know it.”

“Me, neither,” Chelsea said.

Don stood. “Joey’s father’s in insurance. Maybe he’ll call him. This’ll be a real team effort.” Don squeezed her shoulder as he left; Chelsea patted his hand.

“You okay?” Jake sank into a chair, looking tired and tense. She wanted to touch him, to rub his back, to curl up in his arms and take the tension away.

“Yeah.” She glanced at the door. “They’re something else.”

“They’re trying with you, Chels.”

“I know. They did good tonight.”

“How about me?” he asked boyishly.

“You’re doing good, too.”

“You look exhausted.”

“I am.”

“Me, too.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I hope you sleep tonight.”

“You, too.”

“Too bad we—”

She stood abruptly. “Don’t say it, Lieutenant. We’re at work.” On her way past him, she touched his arm. Feeling better than she thought she would, she headed for the showers.

UNDER THE COVERS in the black-as-night bunk room, the man checked the lighted dial of his watch. Three. He hadn’t been able to fall asleep.

Damn. It hadn’t worked. Everybody’d been nicer to her, including Jake. All that came out of it was a goddamned letter in her file.

And she looks like shit.

Well, that couldn’t be helped. He’d thought the guys would ostracize her, and he’d be the hero by being nice to her.

Again, his plan hadn’t worked.

He grasped the sheet tightly. He’d have to do something else. And soon. Hyde wouldn’t let him rest until he did. He couldn’t sleep, thinking about it.

Neither could they. First she’d crept out of the bunk room about one. Jake had followed a half hour later. That wasn’t unusual. Both of them were insomniacs. He’d found them out in the kitchen talking on many night shifts.

Hmm. Insomnia. No sleep.

He turned over. That gave him an idea. A really good idea, one he wouldn’t have to wait long to implement. Maybe he could even do it tomorrow night.

Jeez, it was a biggie. Did he dare?

Jekyll didn’t.

But maybe Hyde would.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

ON THE LAST EVENING of their night shift, Jake couldn’t sleep. He was exhausted, but the demons would not be kept at bay. He lay in his bunk, all that had happened in the past few days running through his mind.

As a show of faith, Chelsea had come to his house this morning right after work. He’d fixed breakfast, they’d talked about superficial stuff, then they’d made love. Once again, like the afternoon before, it was a tender, bittersweet union; it had been partly an effort to cement their bond, partly to heal the wounds caused by doubt. They slept briefly, but each had commitments—she at the gym, and he shopping for college with Jess—so they were both running on empty when they reported for work that afternoon. With three days off coming up, he hoped to catch up on his sleep—with her.

She’d looked spent tonight when she got to the firehouse. So much so that the guys had surreptitiously taken care of her. Jake smiled into the darkness, thinking of the men who slept around him. First, Peter cooked dinner—they hadn’t eaten until eight because of some calls—and then he served up her plate himself and got her iced tea to drink. Later Jake watched Mick fetch her after-dinner coffee; then Don refilled her cup as they chatted around the table. Joey had poured her milk with dessert. They were tripping over themselves to coddle her. Obviously they were all worried about her. So was he.

Jake checked his watch dial. One. She was on first watch tonight; he hoped she’d catch some sleep when she was relieved at two. Maybe he’d get up and go—

The tone sounded, and the lights in the bunk room came on. “Heart attack victim, seventy-year-old female at Dutch Towers. Midi Twelve go into service.”

As he whipped off the sheet, Jake’s heart thudded in his chest like a runner’s. Though Peter and Chelsea were on the Midi—the other guys rolled over and went back to sleep—Jake bounded out of bed, dragged on his pants and boots and headed to the bay. A cold stab of fear in his chest reminded him that Mrs. Lowe was seventy.

Peter was right behind him. “Why didn’t she come in?” he asked, buttoning his pants.

Jake didn’t know what Peter meant. Then he realized that Chelsea hadn’t come to the bunk room, the traditional watch behavior. Before he had time to react, he reached the office to get the computer printout.

He froze at the sight that greeted him. Chelsea was hunched over in her chair, her head pillowed in her arms. For a minute, he panicked, thinking she was ill or…He raced to her as Peter stopped in the doorway.

Grasping her shoulder, he shook her. “Chelsea.”

Nothing.

“Chelsea.”

“Jake, the Midi has to go.” Peter’s reminder startled him.

Chelsea raised her head. He eyes were glazed and groggy. “What…” she muttered drowsily.

She’d fallen asleep! Jake stared openmouthed at her; then, without a word, he turned and hurried after Peter to the Midi, taking Chelsea’s place on shotgun.

In the cab he operated on automatic, ignoring the cold knot in his stomach. They’d lost a precious minute, maybe two. Because a firefighter had fallen asleep on watch. Jake blanked his mind, read the computer printout and talked to the dispatcher.

A tinny voice told him, “CPR is being given by a fellow resident, who phoned nine-one-one after the victim called her with chest pains. The victim’s lost consciousness and maybe pulse. An ambulance is on the way. Over.”

“You had the Red Cross teach the CPR course out at Dutch Towers,” Peter observed.

“Maybe it’ll help.” Jake said in the radio, “Who’s the victim?”

The dispatcher came over the line again. “We don’t know. Just a seventy-year-old woman.”

Sirens blaring, lights flashing, the truck skidded to a halt; Jake and Peter bounded out of the Midi. Peter took the ALS bag, and Jake went around to get the oxygen.

Inside the front door, they were met by Sergio Olivo and Moses Santori.

“It’s Addie,” Moses said. “Apartment—”

Jake knew the number. Choking back the raw emotion in his throat, he raced down the hall. Please God, please, don’t let her die.

The door to her apartment was open. They hurried in. Adelaide Lowe lay on her back in a flowered nightgown looking as tiny as a child. Another resident of Dutch Towers, Katherine MacKenzie, knelt over her and compressed her chest. When they reached the woman, Jake could see that Mrs. Lowe’s skin was pasty and her lips were blue.

Peter said, “Mrs. M, you’re doing a great job. When I give you the signal, I want you to stop so I can check for a pulse. Now, stop compressions.”

Mrs. MacKenzie stopped. Peter palpated the carotid artery, then took over the chest compression. “No pulse.”

With robotic movements, Jake got out the oxygen tank, broke the seal and fitted the mask over Mrs. Lowe’s mouth.

The ambulance sirens sounded close, and in moments paramedics dashed into the apartment. Jake and Peter stepped back as the attendants took over CPR and set up the defibrillator equipment.

“Stand back,” one called.

In the chill black silence, broken only by the obscene buzz of the electric shocks, Jake watched the team deliver treatment to the small, fragile chest. He cringed, hoping the pressure didn’t break brittle bones. Holding his breath, he prayed hard for the life of the old woman he’d come to love.

CHELSEA LEANED against the counter sipping coffee as Jake and Peter trudged into the kitchen. Still woozy, she blinked hard and tried to calm the fear that coiled in her stomach like a poisonous snake. “Is she all right?” Chelsea asked them.

Passing her to get coffee, Peter patted her arm. “We don’t know yet. The paramedics got her heart started and rushed her to the hospital. We’re not sure how she is.”

“Who was it?”

“Mrs. Lowe.”

Chelsea’s whole body tensed as a painful knot of remorse lodged in her throat. “Oh, Jake, I’m sorry.”

He hadn’t looked at her. Now he did. She shrank from what she saw there—blame.

“Come into the back office with me, Chelsea.” His voice was like a coroner’s announcing a death.

With grim resignation, she followed him down the hall. The station house was quiet again. Mick was on watch; Peter had gone to find him. In a few hours everybody would know.

The back room still held desks and a phone from Operation Suzy. Quietly Jake shut the door, leaned against the desk and pinched the bridge of his nose. Then he looked at her. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

He drew in a deep breath. “You were out cold.”

A heaviness in her chest almost kept her from answering. “I know. I’m just not sure why.”

“You were exhausted. You haven’t slept for days.”

“I’ve had catnaps. In any case, I’ve stayed awake on watch before without rest.”

“I found you asleep myself, damn it.”

She arched her eyebrows; her pulse escalated at the spark of anger flaring out of him. “I know. And quite frankly, I still feel groggy.”

He threw his hands up. “That doesn’t help.”

Determined, she crossed her arms. “Jake, I feel like I feel after I take a sleeping pill.”

“People usually do when awakened from a sound sleep.”

Damn, he wasn’t getting it; she had to say it out loud. “I feel drugged, Jake.”

“Drugged?” His face was incredulous. “Drugged?”

“Yes.”

He stared hard at her. Like a stranger. Like she was a stranger. “What are you saying?”

Deep in her heart, she knew she had to go for broke. She only wished she’d told him before. Then this wouldn’t sound like such an excuse. “When I went to Beth’s two days ago, we discussed something I didn’t tell you about.”

“You wouldn’t tell me anything then.”

“I was wrong. I should have approached you as my officer.”

He arched a brow, waiting.

“Jake, none of this fits. Too many things have gone wrong in the last few weeks. Either I’m the most incompetent firefighter in the department, or something else is happening.”

She noticed he didn’t deny her incompetence.

So she raised her chin, remembering her childhood lesson. You only have yourself to rely on, Chelsea. Feeling utterly alone, she said, “Well, I’m not incompetent. What’s more, I’m not careless. And I’m certainly not negligent enough to fall asleep on watch. I’ve had hundreds of watches where I was more tired or upset than I am now, and I’ve never even dozed off. Besides, I had two cups of coffee, and tea at supper, then more coffee on watch tonight.”

As if in slow motion, she pictured Peter getting her iced tea from the fridge. Mick and Don taking turns refilling her coffee. Joey serving her milk.

“What are you saying, Chelsea?” His voice was like cut glass.

“I’m saying I turned off the stove a few weeks ago. I’m saying I checked both my air tank and the Midi water.” She drew in a steadying breath. “I’m saying several people had access to what I drank tonight.”

The shock on Jake’s face cut like a scalpel. It twisted in her gut when she saw the doubt follow it. “Are you saying…are you accusing one of my men of…” It was like he couldn’t get the words out. Finally he finished, “Sabotaging you?”

It sounded stark and melodramatic.

Yet it had to be true. Beth was right. There was no other explanation.

“I should have told you earlier about my suspicions.”

“I…I can’t believe it.”

“You mean, you can’t believe me.”

“Chelsea, do you know what you’re saying? Who you’re accusing? One of the guys, here, in our group. I’ve worked with them for years. I’ve trusted them with my life.”

Swallowing hard, she tried to close the door on the hurt. But it kept pushing, trying to get out. “All I know is I’m not incompetent, careless or negligent. And my body tells me right now that something isn’t right inside.”

His face was blank. “I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s obvious what you think.”

“What?”

“You don’t believe me.”

“Chelsea, I—”

“Well, do you?”

He stared at her. Finally he said, “I don’t know what to believe.”

Chelsea wasn’t sure what she expected, but it wasn’t the wrenching pain that ambushed her, taking her down unexpectedly. The best she could do now was protect herself. “Never mind what you believe. What will you do?”

“I have to report this to the battalion chief.”

“I expected that.”

“You’ll be brought up on charges. Suspended.”

She cleared her throat. “It doesn’t matter.” Nothing did, in the face of his disbelief. His distrust. Staring at his stunned face, she remembered his words. Say you trust me, Chels. She swallowed hard, blinked back tears. She had to be strong. A brittle silence stretched between them.

He broke it. “What do you want me to tell them?”

“Just the facts.”

“Will you tell them…what you suspect?”

“I don’t know.” What did it really matter, anyway? She was finished. With the fire department. With a lot of things. She told him, “I’ll wait here, if you don’t mind. Chief Talbot will probably come right over.”

Looking stricken, Jake nodded. He straightened and approached the door. She turned her back to him.

After a moment he said, “Chels?”

She pivoted.

His face was a mask of agony. Because she loved him she whispered, “Go make your call, Jake. I know you don’t have any choice.” It wasn’t much, but it was the best she could do.

She turned before he could say more. Then she heard the soft swish of the door opening and closing. Sinking onto the chair, she told herself to be strong, to think clearly, to ignore the immobilizing fear kindling inside her. She needed all her wits about her to get through the next few hours—alone.

THE NEWS of Chelsea’s suspension spread through the Rockford Fire Department like wildfire in a drought. Jake knew that Ben Cordaro would have heard about it already as he approached the chief’s office at five that night.

What a day, Jake thought as he climbed the academy stairs. First there had been the painful witnessing of Chelsea’s meeting with Battalion Chief Talbot. She’d remained stoic through the whole thing and left the office and the firehouse without looking at Jake. He hadn’t gone to find her after his relief arrived. Instead, he’d spent hours at the hospital, waiting for news on Mrs. Lowe. By three, when he was able to see the old woman in intensive care, it looked as though she was going to make it.

She’d grasped Jake’s hand in her thin papery one and said, “That CPR course you had the Red Cross teach us saved my life. You’re a good firefighter, Jake Scarlatta.”

He didn’t feel like a good firefighter. He felt like the worst kind of traitor. All day long, he’d berated himself for betraying the woman he loved in the only way she’d asked him not to. All she’d wanted was for him to trust her. And he didn’t. He could still see those brandy-colored eyes muddy with pain and disappointment. When he wasn’t thinking about how he hurt her, he pondered her words. Could someone on his crew be sabotaging her? It was almost unthinkable.

But he had to think about it and he needed help doing that.

Ben’s door was ajar; Jake knocked lightly. “Come in,” Ben said, then waved Jake to sit down. He mumbled into the phone, “I’ve got company now. I can’t talk anymore.” He scowled. “I’ll make you pay for that one, Mrs. Cordaro, when I get home.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll be leaving soon. Try to behave yourself until I get there.”

After he hung up he grinned at Jake sheepishly. He looked like a young suitor. “My wife thinks we’re sixteen again.”

Jake was amused by Ben’s affectionate gruffness. And jealous. His heart clenched as he remembered how he’d wanted that kind of bond with Chelsea.

“What’s wrong?” Ben asked, studying him carefully.

“Is it the thing with Chelsea?”

“Yeah.”

Ben grimaced. “Francey’s all up in arms.”

“I need to talk to you about this, Ben.”

Sober, Ben rose, closed the door and took a chair across from Jake. “Shoot.”

“First, let me say I abided by protocol in handling this.”

“I never thought otherwise.”

“You might.”

“Why?”

Briefly Jake described the stove, air pack and Midi water incidents.

“I’ve got no problem with how you handled them,” Ben told him. “It’s what I would have done.” He watched Jake. “What else is going on here, Jake?”

“Two things. The first is that Chelsea swears she wasn’t negligent in any of these cases.”

“You found her asleep.”

“She says she was drugged.”

“What?”

Jake outlined Chelsea’s claims.

“That’s unbelievable.”

“At first I thought it was crazy. But the thing is, she’s got a point. She’s an exceptional firefighter. Having so many things happen, so close together, is suspicious.”

“You said two things. What’s the other?”

Jake held Ben’s gaze unflinchingly. “I’m in love with her.”

At first Ben didn’t react. Then he nodded. “Well, that’s a handful.”

“Because of what happened with Danny,” Jake said raggedly, “I know this doesn’t look good for me. I think I handled everything objectively, but who knows?” He stood and began pacing. “But more’s at stake here than just that. My group’s integrity is in question.”

Ben said, “I think we should call Reed in on this. Tell him Chelsea’s suspicions, and yours. Then we’ll decide where to go with it.”

“All right.”

Thoughtful, Ben added, “We don’t have to tell him about your feelings for Chelsea.”

“No, I’d like him to know everything.” Jake ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sick of this secrecy.”

“Maybe you’ll feel differently when you see this.” Scooping a paper off his desk, Ben handed it to him. “The results of the captaincy exam.”

Jake scanned the memo. “I came in first.”

“Yes. And, off the record, Ed Knight is retiring in January. So there’s an opening in your own station house.”

“Wow.”

“Does this change what you want to do now?”

Shaking his head, Jake said, “No.”

“Then let’s take this one step at a time.”

An hour later Reed Macauley scanned his notes, every inch the professional. “This is incredible.”

“I think now that she might be right, Reed,” Jake said.

“Me, too. For several reasons. First off, it’s too much of a coincidence that these mistakes would happen all at once.” He frowned at the papers. “And the opportunities that each of the men had to execute each incident are certainly here.

“Mostly, though, it’s the guys’ personal situations that worry me. Don and Mick’s marital problems, Peter’s experience with his ex-partner and Joey’s long-standing anger over Francey give them reason to want women out of the department—in their place, so to speak.”

Ben shook his head. “I can’t believe it’s Joey.”

Jake stood again. “I can’t believe it’s any of them. I’ve worked with these guys for years. They’re like brothers to me. I’ve eaten, slept and played with them. It’s so hard to believe….”

“Is it easier to believe Chelsea’s incompetent? And foolish?” Reed asked.

Jake thought, No, but that’s how she probably sees it. For the first time he realized the import of his disbelief. Oh, he knew he’d betrayed her. But he hadn’t realized just how badly. And there, facing Ben and Reed, Jake knew in his heart it couldn’t be fixed.

Grimly he remembered her words that first weekend together. I couldn’t bear to go through what I did with Billy again.

You won’t, he’d said. I promise.

But she was.

Because of him.

THOUGH HE WAS exhausted, Jake didn’t go home. Instead, he drove to the firehouse. Both the Quint and the Midi were out on a call. He strode into the deserted bay, feeling like the walls were closing in on him. His chest was tight with loss. He hadn’t handled this right, hadn’t tried to understand her side of it.

He headed for the locker room. He didn’t know why until he got there. Sitting down in front of the row of lockers that were his group’s, he looked at the name tags. Whitmore. Scarlatta. Murphy. Huff. Santori. Diaz. Staring at them, he saw images of each of them with her—Huff cooking turkey meatballs for her, Joey’s sheepish thanks for the apple pie, Diaz and his silly prank with the bedspread, Murphy’s stand, ’Cause if we do have a say, I vote to forget it.

Feeling more conflicted than he ever had with Danny, Jake sighed deeply, and his gaze dropped to the floor. In between the vinyl and the wall, below Murphy’s and Diaz’s lockers, he noticed something. He leaned over and tried to pry it out of the crack. When it wouldn’t budge, he reached into his jeans pocket, pulled out the pocketknife Derek had given him for Father’s Day and used it to flick the item out.

His heart hammered in his chest. The little blue pill nestled obscenely in his palm. He turned it over with the knife and recognized the over-the-counter sleeping pill trademark. He closed his eyes.

Oh, my God.

Fear, along with profound regret lodged in him like a dead weight. Zombielike, he stood and walked to the kitchen. Slowly he pulled open the drawer, took out a plastic bag and, à la NYPD Blue, placed the evidence in it. He zipped it tight, all the while assaulted by a damning litany. You didn’t believe her. You didn’t believe her. You didn’t believe her.

The phone jarred him out of his daze. “Quint Twelve. Lieutenant Scarlatta speaking.”

“Oh, good, Jake, you are on. This is Andrea Murphy. Can I speak to Mick?”

“Mick? Andrea, we’re off for three days.”

“Oh.” She coughed. “When you answered, I thought….”

“Andie, why don’t you know that?”

Silence. Then sniffles. “Oh, Jake, Mick and I have been separated for weeks now.”

“What?”

“I moved out…for a lot of reasons.” She began to cry in earnest.

“Listen, where are you? I’ll come over.”

“I’m at work. But you could come to Mercy House. It’s quiet here tonight.”

“I’ll be right there.”

HE LIT CANDLES to breach the darkness. It was so quiet here now. He almost couldn’t stand it. Maybe some light would help. He poured another shot of whiskey from the bottle that Hyde had told him to buy on the way home. In the dim light, the quart looked half empty. Had he drunk that much? It didn’t matter. He sipped the booze as he watched the flames flicker.

It was done.

It was for the best.

Adamantly he blocked out the pain in Whitmore’s face. It was for the best. Now she’d take her rightful place….

The doorbell rang. Who could that be? Maybe it was…He rose quickly, bounded for the door like a boy at Christmas, hoping…He yanked it open.

“Jake. Hello.”

“Hi, Mick.”

Mick squared his shoulders, summoned Jekyll and squelched Hyde. “Come on in, buddy.”

With heavy steps Jake walked into the room, then stopped abruptly. “What are you doing, Mick?”

“Havin’ a little drink.”

“Candles?”

Jesus, he’d forgotten. He crossed to the votive offerings and doused them. Then he flicked on a light. “Ah, sometimes I get carried away when Andie’s workin’. Feel maudlin. You know how it is.”

“Yes, Mick, I do.”

Mick went cold inside, like he did when he was afraid he’d revealed a glimpse of his dark side.

“Want a drink?”

“No, thanks. But I’ll sit.” Jake dropped into a chair. Mick wished he’d stop looking at him like that.

“Feelin’ bad about Whitmore?” Mick asked. The best defense…

“Yeah, I am.”

“Shit, who’d’ve thought?”

“I never would’ve, Mick.”

“You know, though, it’s for the best. I liked her enough, Jakey, but women…You really think they can cut it in our job?”

“Don’t you?”

“Nah.” He took another belt. “This women’s lib stuff…”

He got up and poured more whiskey. He’d lost track of how much he’d had. At the counter, he kept his back to Jake.

After a long silence Jake asked, “Is that why you did it, Mick? To protect her?”

He whirled around, grasping the edge of the counter for balance. “Did what?”

Jake pulled a plastic bag out of his pants pocket. Mick stared at it. Jake said, “I spent an hour with Andrea tonight. She’s worried about your behavior lately, your black moods, your isolation. She’s especially worried since she took your daughter and moved out.”

Mick’s throat closed up, but he raised his chin like a little boy caught shoplifting. “So now you know.”

“Yeah, now I know, Mick,” Jake said softly.

CHELSEA JOLTED UPRIGHT in bed. Both Blaze and Hotstuff were snoozing at the foot of the mattress, and she focused on them for grounding. Some kind of ringing had awakened her. She looked at the phone. It was silent. Then she recognized the sound as the doorbell. She glanced at the clock. One in the morning.

Terror tripped her pulse. No, it couldn’t be Billy. She’d heard only last week that he’d left town for a while.

Whoever it was persisted. She crept out of bed, not bothering with a robe to cover her baby-doll pajamas; she had no intention of opening the three locks on the door. She’d just see who it was.

Downstairs, she looked through the peephole.

Jake.

She leaned her forehead against the door. After the confrontation with Talbot, Chelsea had come home and shut herself off, like she had when she was a child, a teenager, and needed to make sense of her world. She’d locked herself inside her house and not answered any calls. During those desolate hours, she’d made decisions; many had to do with the man outside the door.

As if he sensed her presence, he knocked hard on the wood. “Chelsea, it’s me, Jake. Let me in.”

Rattled by the events of the day, she couldn’t block the refrain. Let me in. Trust me. I promise….

“I know you’re there,” he said. “I’m not going away.”

Slowly she undid the locks and opened the door. He stood before her in jeans and a black T-shirt. He looked haggard, pale.

But his eyes did her in. They were tormented. “I’m not going away,” he repeated. “We have to talk.”

She guessed it didn’t matter when they talked. What she had to say would always cut like glass slivers into tender flesh. Without a word she stepped aside and Jake strode in and over to the couch, a man with a purpose. Jamming his hands in his pockets, he swallowed hard and stared at her. “I have two things to tell you. First, officially, you were sabotaged.”

A quick right to her jaw couldn’t have stunned her more. “What?”

“You were sabotaged. I have a full confession from Mick.”

“What?”

He reached out and squeezed her arm. “Yes, it was Mick, honey.”

Mick? Mick? Oh, no, no, not him. Like previews from a movie, images flashed before her—Mick welcoming her the first day, Mick telling her stupid jokes, Mick overwrought when she was almost killed.

It was too much to bear. She backed up until her legs hit the couch, and she sank onto it.

Jake squatted before her and grasped her hands as he told her the details. She almost couldn’t take them in—a childhood with parents who sparred regularly over his mother’s role in the family, an obsessive need to be the man of the house in his adult life, a wife who wanted a measure of independence. Jake thought Mick did it to protect her. Andrea had told Jake that Mick had been treated for a mental disorder, but they’d kept it from the fire department for fear he’d lose his job.

Tears trickled down Chelsea’s cheeks, as he finished the dismal story. She said only, “Poor Mick.”

Jake wiped away her tears with his thumb and smiled sadly. “You’re something else.”

He took a seat across from her on the footstool without letting go of her hands. “The department will provide medical and psychological help, but he’s finished as a firefighter.”

She nodded, still numb, as if she’d spent hours in a cold lake. Jake went on. “There’ll be an official apology to you from the RFD. Chief Talbot wants to meet with you as soon as you’re up to it. He said to tell you you can have as much time off as you need.” Jake cleared his throat. “He’s upset about how the department has treated you.”

Chelsea shook her head. “I’m not going back to the department.”

Jake’s jaw tensed. “Why?”

“I’ll never belong there, Jake. This is the second station where I didn’t fit. I’ll always be an outsider. I’m done with this. I don’t want to be a firefighter anymore.”

His gaze seemed to bore into her soul. “What about me? Are you done with me, too?”

She stood then, unable to weather his penetrating gaze. She crossed to the window and looked out. Night closed in on her, and she found it hard to breathe. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she said, “Yes, I am.”

“Because I didn’t believe you.”

“Yes. When you stood there and told me you didn’t know what to believe, it felt like the guys at Engine Four turning on me all over again. I’m not sure I can ever forget that. Ever trust you again.”

“I know it hurt. I wish I could take it back.” He came up behind her and rubbed her arms gently. “Can’t we work this out?” His voice was a low, tortured whisper.

“No.” She turned. “Look, not one single person knows what’s happened between us. You can come out of this unscathed.”

“I want to come out of this with you.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

Jake stared at her. “After what we’ve shared, do you think I’m going to simply accept this decision?”

She raised her chin. “Yes. I expect you to honor my wishes.”

He could feel his face flush. “I want you to marry me. We’ll work everything out,” he repeated.

“You made that promise to me before. You couldn’t keep it.”

Reaching over, he cupped her cheek. “Chels, I can’t believe you mean this.”

“I mean it.”

“What if I won’t accept it?”

“You have no choice. I want nothing to do with the fire department ever again. That includes you, Jake.”

“So, we’re a package deal? Get rid of me and the fire department in one fell swoop?”

“I can’t separate the two.”

“Well, I guess that shows me how important I am to you.”

Her face paled. “It’s for the best.”

Looking hard at the woman he loved, he stepped back. Anger boiled within him. It felt good, for it knocked out some of the pain. He clenched his hands. He could beg. Try to convince her to change her mind. He could defend himself, tell her he’d been caught off guard, that she should have shared her suspicions with him before. He could explain he’d been overwrought by Mrs. Lowe’s condition. He could remind her that the whole incident brought back so many ghosts of Danny.

But he said none of those things. It would be too much like asking somebody to love you more than they did. To love you enough. The pain blindsided him, making him speechless. He watched as she reached up and grasped the chain around her neck. Slowly she removed it and placed the medal in his hand.

He thought he might die.

But he swallowed hard and, with the edges of the medal digging into his closed fist, he leaned over and kissed her forehead. In a voice like granite he said, “I love you enough to work it out, Chels. I’m sorry you don’t feel the same way.”

Then he turned and walked out of her house, quietly shutting the door for the last time.

A WEEK LATER, Chelsea pulled her Camaro into the Quint/Midi Twelve parking lot. She sat unmoving for a moment, then drew a deep breath. So many homes she’d had and lost. This was just another one. In the rearview mirror, she saw Beth’s Accord and Delaney’s Miata draw up behind her. Shaking her head, Chelsea got out of the car. “What’s this—reinforcements?”

A long white dress swishing around her ankles, Delaney exited her car and descended on Chelsea like an avenging angel. “Yep,” she answered, and kissed Chelsea’s cheek. “You didn’t think I’d let you face the enemy alone, did you?”

“They’re not the enemy, but I appreciate the gesture.”

Delaney snorted and turned as Beth and Francey approached.

“Hi. Ready to bite the bullet?” Beth asked.

“Yes.” Chelsea frowned. “You didn’t have to come. I don’t need an entourage to sign a few papers.”

It was Francey’s turn to frown. “You need support, Chels.”

Chels.

“What I need is to get this over with.” Chelsea scanned the parking lot and winced. “They’re not gone. All their cars are here.”

“Who?”

“My group. I mean, Group Three.”

“Dylan came in for the next shift,” Beth said. She slid an arm around Chelsea’s shoulders. “Your group must have waited to say goodbye, honey.”

Feeling the familiar whirlpool of emotions well inside her, Chelsea said only, “They’re entitled, I guess.”

“They’re not entitled to anything,” Delaney snapped.

“Let’s go,” Chelsea said to forestall that discussion. All she needed was a scene.

The women entered the station house in force. Expecting the usual hustle of the firehouse shift change, Chelsea was surprised to see the bay empty. The trucks were out.

As if on cue, a line of uniformed men exited the station. First came Chief Talbot. Then Ben Cordaro. Finally Reed Macauley. They looked liked they were headed to the gallows.

“What’s he doing here?” Delaney asked, nodding to Reed.

“Dad didn’t say he’d be here, either,” Francey commented.

Beth edged them forward. “Well, let’s stop being shrinking female violets and ask.”

They met the men head-on. “Hi,” Chelsea said. “Is something happening I don’t know about?”

Chief Talbot told her, “No. Cordaro and Macauley came for moral support.”

She caught Ben’s gaze and read the steady fatherly message in it. He and Reed had come for Jake. Chelsea was glad.

Talbot looked at her. “You sure you won’t reconsider, Firefighter Whitmore? We could talk about a staff or academy job.”

Reconsider? She’d had some second thoughts about resigning and about Jake’s actions and why he’d done them. But she’d pushed them aside. She didn’t want to think about any of that.

“No, those aren’t options. This is best. Thank you for offering, though.”

“Shall we do this in the watch office?”

“Yes.” She scanned the bay. “And fast, if you don’t mind.”

Chelsea went into the watch room. Images arose like dreams she couldn’t control. Jake the first day. I can understand why you’re cautious. But for the record, I find your attitude unnecessarily defensive. The night she’d given him the captaincy exam papers. You know what? I think you’re a coward. Even Catwoman…so many memories. Her eyes misted.

Talbot was efficient. Within minutes, she’d signed away her past for an uncertain future. He said, “I’m sorry about all this, Chelsea.”

She fought back the emotion. “Yeah, me, too.”

Barely able to shake hands, she turned and left the office.

In the bay she stopped short. Don, Peter and Joey were just outside the door, soldiers standing at attention. A few feet away, Ben and Reed flanked Jake.

He looked sad. He looked tired. He looked so good she wanted to throw herself into his arms. Instead, she approached her crew. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

“You thought wrong, Whitmore.” This from Huff. His features were taut. “About a lot of things.”

“Jeez, Chelsea, don’t do this.” Don’s face was grim.

Joey stared at her.

“It’s done.” She smiled. “I’m gonna miss you guys.”

She started with Peter. Reaching up, she gave him a big hug. “Stay cool, buddy.”

“Always,” he said, and held on for a minute.

Don’s embrace was warm. “Vaya con Dios,” he said.

When she came to Joey, he pushed away from the wall and picked her up and hugged her. “This sucks big-time,” he whispered.

“Hey, I’m gonna see you. At the gym.”

Putting her down, he nodded.

Drained from the emotional encounter, she turned. She knew she had to face Jake. She just wished they didn’t have an audience. She felt like she was on stage. What could he be thinking to have made his goodbye so public?

Jake watched her approach and felt his gut clench at the look on her face. He had to smile, though. She wore a white islet curve-hugging sundress that set off her tan. And strappy sandals. Feminine, frilly, so unlike the firefighter she was.

She shook hands with Reed and hugged Ben.

Then she stood before him. She extended her hand.

“I don’t think so,” he said gruffly, and encircled her with his arms. She felt so right, so much his he wanted to toss her over his shoulder like a caveman and drag her out of the bay. Instead, he held on, kissed the top of her head, then let her go. When she drew back, her eyes were watery and she didn’t speak. Instead, she turned and walked away from him.

He let her get halfway across the bay before he called, “Hey, Whitmore?”

She froze, and her hands balled into fists.

“Turn around, love.”

She did. Slowly.

Surer than he’d ever been in his life, Jake crossed his arms and said loudly, “You can leave if you want, but it’s not over.”

Her mouth opened. “Jake…”

“I know, I know. You think nobody should know about this. But you’re wrong.” He made sure he projected his voice.

There was a stirring among the women behind her, and the crew mumbled. He felt Talbot shift uneasily beside him.

“I want everybody to know about us. I’m done hiding it. I love you, Chels. I’m not letting you go without a fight.” Hell, he’d do battle with the devil before he’d surrender.

She closed her eyes as he crossed the distance between them. Gently he grasped her arms. “You told me once I don’t take emotional risks. How’s this one?”

Looking at him with tear-spiked lashes, she said, “It’s crazy.”

“Good, because I’m crazy. About you.” He rubbed his hands up and down her bare arms. “I’m not letting you go, babe. I know I let you down. And I’m sorry. I overreacted, plain and simple. I should have listened to you. I should have trusted you more. But I was so stuck on what happened with Danny, I didn’t see it.” He grasped her forearms. “Please, Chels. Forgive me for that. For being so stupid.” He swallowed hard. “Say you’ll try it again, between us. Say you love me enough to do that.”

Her lips trembled. Fat tears formed in her eyes. “All right.” She leaned into him. “I’ll try again. I love you, too. I’m not sure I can live without you. I’ve been so miserable.”

He smiled then. So did she.

“That’s my girl.” He reached into his pocket, took out her medal and looped it around her neck. Intimately, he tucked it into her dress. And then, in front of the amazed eyes of the Rockford Fire Department, he bent his head and kissed her.

EPILOGUE

“TEN, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one…” On the large TV screen, the announcer made the traditional count as the lighted ball dropped in Times Square over the crowd on Forty-Second Street.

When the clock struck twelve, Chelsea received a kiss from her husband of three and a half months.

“Happy New Year, love,” he whispered.

She hugged him close. “Happy New Year. I love you.”

He squeezed her. “I’ll never get used to hearing that.”

A Cheshire-cat smile crossed her face; after another brief hug, they turned to greet their guests. All off-duty personnel from the station house, along with some friends and family, had gathered in Jake and Chelsea’s house to bring in the new year—the new millennium.

Chelsea’s mouth dropped as she glanced toward her sister in the corner. Delaney had been sequestered almost the entire evening in the small alcove off the living room—with Reed Macauley. Like opposing lawyers, they’d been gesturing wildly, sometimes raising their voices, always shooting daggers at each other. Which was why Chelsea was shocked to see Reed lean forward, lock his hand around Delaney’s neck and take her mouth in a long, sensual kiss. When Delaney pulled back, she stared at him, then rose abruptly and left the room. Reed went after her.

“What’s that all about?” Jake asked, following Chelsea’s line of vision.

“I have no idea.”

Before they could speculate, the O’Roarkes approached them. Dylan looked spiffy in the slate blue sweater and shirt Chelsea had helped Beth pick out for him. Beth, svelte and sophisticated in a green velour pantsuit, hugged both Jake and Chelsea.

“Happy New Year, Captain Scarlatta.” Dylan smiled broadly at Jake and shook his hand.

“Same to you, buddy. And congratulations, both of you, on your first wedding anniversary.”

Beth and Dylan hugged. Then Dylan whipped out a paper. “This is my swan song for the trivia game. Since you’re such a hotshot in the department now, I’m turning it over to you.”

Grinning like he’d been given a birthday present, Jake grabbed Dylan’s paper. “My pleasure.”

“Dylan,” Beth said, “maybe Chelsea won’t—”

Chelsea interrupted, “I’m fine with it. I love having the guys here.” She nodded to Joey and Don and Peter, who’d gathered in a sitting area across the room. Lucy had come with Don—things were working out for them—and Joey had a gorgeous redhead in tow, but Peter was alone. “As a matter of fact, I’ve got some news.”

Francey and Alex, looking like ads from a fitness magazine in their matching Ralph Lauren burgundy warm-up suits that Alex had gotten them for Christmas, came up behind the O’Roarkes and caught the tail end of her sentence. Francey scowled. “News? Don’t tell me you’re pregnant. Alex will never let me alone about having a baby if you are.”

Alex took her shoulders in a gentle grasp and kissed her hair. “You know you loved having Timmy when Dylan and Beth went to Jamaica after Christmas.”

To celebrate their first anniversary, the O’Roarkes had taken a belated honeymoon—“Where it all started,” Dylan had said, referring to his encounter with Beth at the Templeton’s wedding. Francey and Alex had watched Timmy while they were gone. Chelsea grinned as she thought about the three phone calls they’d made to Jake, frantic when the baby wouldn’t stop crying. Jake had come to the rescue, like a knight in shining armor, and calmed Timmy.

He’d make a good father. Someday.

Jake had gone still at Francey’s question and watched his wife. She was a vision tonight in a black velvet jumpsuit with gold trim; he didn’t have a clue what she was going to say.

“No, I’m not pregnant.” She gave him a private grin that said, Not yet, anyway. “But I do have something to tell you.”

Diana and Ben breezed through the doorway, bearing trays of champagne. Chelsea’s news was tabled while Ben stopped and offered champagne to them all.

“It’s about time,” Jake said to Ben. “You two went out to the kitchen way before midnight to get the bubbly.”

Ben’s face held not a hint of embarrassment. “Yep, we were neckin’ out there.” He kissed Francey’s cheek. “I hope you’re all as happy as we are.”

The three couples smiled.

When everybody had champagne, Jake raised his glass. “I’d like to welcome in the new year and the new century with a toast to my wife, who’s made me happier than anyone or anything in the world.”

“Even the fire department?” Chelsea asked pointedly.

“Even that.” He leaned over and kissed her, surprised she’d bring up the fire department in front of everybody.

At first, contact with the guys, official events and even the softball games had been hard for her. But eventually Chelsea had begun to feel at home with the RFD again, to forget the nightmare of Mick, who’d been hospitalized for a few months and was putting his life back together.

“It’s my turn,” she said, then raised her glass.

Dylan groaned. “Oh, God, now she’s gonna toast him. You guys are so schmaltzy. You act like lovesick teenagers.”

Beth and Francey said together, “You should talk.”

“Nope,” Chelsea told him. “My toast is different.” She nodded to her group. “To the Rockford Fire Department, which,” she said smoothly, “is very lucky to get me back, starting next week.”

Jake nearly dropped his glass. “Really?” he said.

She smiled. “Yep. You’re not the only one who loves the fire department, Captain.”

His gaze flew to Ben. Jake and Chelsea had discussed her return to the department at length; he’d offered to move to another group to accommodate her if and when she decided to return. But nothing had been definite, or so he thought.

“No, you’re not moving,” Ben said, reading his mind.

“And Chelsea’s not going anywhere else but home to Group Three. The brass decided you two handled your issues like pros before you were married, and there’s no reason to think there’ll be problems now.”

Joey said, “Yeah, over at Quint Six there’s a married couple on the same shift.”

“No one’s worried,” Ben added. “Besides, it’s worth a try. If it causes personal or professional problems, we’ll rearrange your assignments.”

Jake hadn’t thought anything could make him happier than he’d been at midnight. But this latest news…Not only did it show the department’s faith in him, but also Chelsea’s unconditional trust.

He felt like somebody had given him a million bucks.

But, hugging Chelsea to him, he glanced around the room at his group, his best friends, Ben and Diana. A million bucks was no match for the special people in his life.

He raised his champagne glass again and smiled broadly. “To all of us,” he said.

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ISBN: 978-1-4268-4893-3

Copyright © 2010 Harlequin Books S.A.

The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works as follows:

Arm Candy
Copyright © 2004 by Jolie Kramer

Just Kiss Me
Copyright © 2002 by Kathleen Panov

Obsession
Copyright © 2000 by Carla Luan

Code of Honor
Copyright © 2000 by Mary Catherine Shaefer

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