Gabe's Special Delivery

By Tara Taylor Quinn

HARLEQUIN®

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

Chapter One

Valentine's Day, 2000

Bailey Cooper Stone gently lifted the infant carrier from the seat beside her and slowly stood as the Chicago Transit Authority's Red Line came to a complete stop. Less than a month old, her baby daughter weighed only seven and a half pounds. Despite that, Bailey's movements were slow as she trudged off the train and out of the station to the street, but the heaviness she carried was in her heart.

She forged ahead anyway, because she was doing the right thing. She and Eve had talked about this day a million times over these past months. Even her father would've had to agree on this one—had he been consulted. He hadn't been to see the baby yet. Not even when Bailey had broken down and begged him to come as she'd lain in her hospital room, waiting for the next wave of pain. He'd only stayed on the phone long enough to find out it was Bailey at the other end before he'd had a more pressing matter to attend to.

Colonel Evan Cooper was an important man. A respected man. A powerful man. In charge of a weapons unit, he held the safety of millions of Americans in his hands. Bailey was proud of him, and she understood that many crucial issues required his attention. She'd just never learned how to gain any of that attention for herself. His love she'd had. But not his time.

Her father had liked Gabe.

There'd only been two times in her life when Bailey had really pleased her father. When she'd chosen to teach art instead of practice it—and landed herself a job at one of the nation's premier art academies. And when she'd introduced her father to Gabe.

of course, Bailey thought as she walked up the tree-lined Lincoln Park street with the bundled baby asleep in her carrier, Gabe and her father had been two of a kind. More than she'd realized. Until it was too late.

Shaking her head, she held the baby closer to her body. She couldn't think about that now. She pulled the open edge of her long army jacket around the side of the infant carrier—almost as though she could somehow keep the child to herself forever. As though it could somehow be just the two of them again. But she knew it wasn't possible. Her solitary idyll with Mignon had been little more than stolen moments; she'd known that from the beginning.

''He'll love you, Mignon,'' she whispered to the baby who slept peacefully in spite of the bumpy ride in her mother's arms. In spite of the biting February cold.

Please, dear God, let him love her, Bailey silently prayed. Let him not blame the child for the sins of her mother. Let him be capable of all the love little Mignon deserved.

''He'll love you,'' she said again, more loudly—with certainty this time. How could a man who knew James Baldwin's Stories Retold by heart, who read the classics and favored fairy tales over spy thrillers, not be capable of a deep and abiding love? As long as the person needing that love wasn't Bailey...

Rounding the corner, Bailey stopped when she saw the house she'd lived in, happily, for such a short while. She'd expected to make this trip much later in the day. She'd called the store, pretending to be a publisher's sales rep, to find out how late Gabe would be working. She learned that he'd taken the day off. So she'd set out immediately. It was time for Gabe to meet Mignon. She wondered if Gabe would understand the significance of Mignon's name. If he'd remember the story, ''Mignon,'' the one about the little girl who won a stranger's heart with her light steps, her entrancing eyes and lively spirit. Surely Gabe would be like Wilhelm in that story. Surely he wouldn't be able to turn away from the child. His child.

''I'm an idiot, you know,'' she murmured to the sleeping baby as she approached the house— and the moment when all things would change yet again. ''If he rejects you, I get to keep you to myself forever. No guilt attached.''

She couldn't think of anything she'd like more. For herself.

As she gazed at the soft cheeks, at the long lashes lying innocently upon them, Bailey knew she didn't really want that. Her heart ached so hard it brought tears to her eyes as she envisioned her own baby growing up as she had, starved for her father's affection, always striving for an approval that was impossible to win. She wanted everything for Mignon—the world at her feet, her dreams within reach, the security of a father's adoring protection.

And she wanted to know that Gabe forgave her—Bailey—for this last omission, at least.

Approaching the house stealthily, Bailey slid behind the wall of bushes covering the front window. She stopped briefly, listened carefully for sounds from inside. She watched her breath rise like steam in the frigid air, and glanced around the impeccably groomed winter yard. Afraid, lonely, weak from months of turmoil, Bailey checked once more to make sure the note she'd so carefully written was still securely in place—and visible.

With an ear cocked toward the living room window, she proceeded slowly to the front door, set down her bundle, and rang the bell. Then she quickly fled back behind the bushes, just as she'd told herself she'd do when she'd run the plan through her mind for the millionth time that morning. As soon as she knew Mignon was safe, Bailey would disappear—alone—into the cold gray February morning. A fitting plan, she figured, for this painful Valentine's Day.

Gabe wouldn't approve; that was to be expected. But he'd love Mignon.

Bailey was strong. She'd survived eight of the most agonizing months of her life. But she wasn't strong enough to see Gabe again without falling apart. Today was for Mignon, for Mignon and Gabe. Father and daughter. They deserved it to be beautiful, special, not tainted with Bailey's pain. Or Gabe's recriminations.

Those would have to wait. Her breath caught in her throat, practically choking her as she heard the front door finally click open. And then saw Gabe's hand reach toward the bundle she'd left him...

''What the—''

Bailey shrank farther down in the bushes, her trembling knees giving way until she felt the cold hard ground beneath her. She couldn't believe, after the passage of so many months, that just seeing the man's hand could be so excruciating. She'd thought herself better prepared. Tears dribbling down her cheeks, she forgot, for the moment, the next phase of her plan. The part where she faded away into the sunset.

Instead Bailey was engulfed by memories, by emotions she couldn't fight. Or control. That hand—a scholar's hand—had touched her, tenderly and with passion. Those fingers had played her body as though it were a perfectly tuned instrument. Brought to life feelings she'd been certain, until Gabe, she'd always live without. Gabe's gentleness had warmed her, had won her heart. And his cold logic had chilled it, crushed it, flung it away.

The pain, even after all this time, was debilitating....

Chapter Two

Eleven months earlier

''Excuse me. I don't mean to bother you, but I was just wondering if you'd like to have a cup of coffee with me?''

Startled, Gabe Stone looked up at the glorious vision in front of him.

He was tempted to pinch himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming. A second ago, he'd been alone in the Medieval Literature section of the bookstore he'd grown up in. And now...

''You're talking to me?'' He forced out the words.

''Uh-huh.'' Long golden-brown curls fell haphazardly to the woman's shoulders. Gabe was fascinated by her hair, the way it bounced and rippled as she nodded. He was fascinated by the materials draped around her body, as well. He wondered what you'd call whatever she was wearing. A layered dress, maybe? A sarong?

''You want me to have coffee with you?'' He got a whole sentence out this time. She made him think of Titania, the spirit queen from Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream.

''Well, you could have juice or something, if you'd rather. If you don't drink coffee, I mean. Or we could just sit at a table and order nothing.'' She frowned, her brows puckering. Gabe opened his mouth, figuring it was his turn to speak, but as usual, he couldn't think of a single witty, sophisticated thing to say. All he could think about was how much he'd love to sit at a table, or anywhere else, with this unusual woman. She even tinkled when she moved.

On his regular morning tour of the store, he'd stopped for only a few stolen minutes when he'd spotted the volume of Chaucer's The Canterbury Tales. It had been so long since he'd read it he'd suddenly found himself craving a refresher. He'd never dreamed history would come to life right in front of his eyes.

''It's always a bit awkward when you're first getting to know someone, don't you think?'' She spoke before he could fumble his way through the uncomfortable situation. And continued without seeming to notice his lack of response. ''I mean, it's happened a million times. You see

someone you think is interesting, but you don't

know for sure....''

She thought he was interesting? ''So you have to go through this social thing where you get a little peek into that person's life, his head. But what if you don't like what you see and there you are, peeking in....'' She shrugged and that beautiful hair rippled again. ''It could be awkward—or worse, you could even hurt the other person when you try to back off. Do you know what I mean?''

Gabe nodded. Unbelievably enough, he did. ''Or,'' she continued, still frowning as she looked up at him, ''you like the peek so much you want to charge right in, but you don't know if he liked what he saw or if he wants you to come in. Or if someone else is already in there and it really doesn't matter if you liked what you saw because it's not available, anyway.''

''No one's in there.'' Dumb. What an incredibly asinine thing to say.

The woman's face lit up. ''Really?'' ''Really.'' Gabe didn't see what the big surprise was. She had to know by now that he wasn't a sparkling conversationalist.

''No one's in here, either,'' she said, still grinning up at him.

Silence fell. He was supposed to come up with light sexual banter here. And this was where it fell apart. His thoughts tended to be of a more serious nature. Banter, no matter how hard he tried to learn it, escaped him. He waited for her to excuse herself.

''So, was that yes or no to coffee?''

Over the spirit queen's shoulder, Gabe saw Marie approaching. One of his more capable employees, his store manager also tended to think she had to run every little problem by him whenever he was on the floor. Problems Marie handled quite capably by herself during the hours he spent in his office on the third floor of the massive bookstore.

''Uh...''

''It's okay, you don't have to.'' The enchantress had obviously misinterpreted his distraction. ''You've probably had enough of a peek already—''

''No!'' Gabe couldn't remember ever replying so quickly in his life. Marie had been momentarily detained by a customer in Psychology and Self-help. ''Coffee...'' He paused. ''Or whatever, would be fine.''

''Oh.'' He'd actually brought the grin back to her face. ''Good.'' She turned as if to head toward the cafe on the second floor of Stone's Bookstore, and stopped when he didn't follow. ''Now's not a good time?''

Marie was going to be through with her customer soon. And he had twenty other employees milling around, serving in the cafe, finding reasons to need him. ''Let's go somewhere else. More private.''

''How about the coffee shop across the street?''

''Fine.'' Placing the book carefully back on the shelf, Gabe followed her to the escalator, down to the first floor and out of the building. As if he did this kind of thing every day.

As if he'd ever done this kind of thing before in his life.

Practically free of tension for the first time in months, Bailey skipped across Chicago's Michigan Avenue, dodging traffic, jaywalking her way to the coffee shop. It was a beautiful March day, warm enough to be out without a coat.

She wasn't used to men like Gabriel Stone so readily agreeing to spend time with her for no reason at all. He was so logical, so responsible and respectable; she knew that, even though she didn't know him yet.

She knew it because she'd observed him at work, because she'd learned of his reputa-tion...and because Eve said so. Bailey was the opposite of this obviously methodical man. She ran through life skittering from one emotion to the next, so filled with intensity that it often spilled out and... and ruined things. But maybe not this time. Maybe she wasn't making another huge mistake. Maybe there was some actual truth to Eve's ''vision'' nonsense. Maybe she wasn't an idiot to act out of desperation—and deep trust for her oldest and truest friend.

''So, Gabe.'' She shot him a quick glance over her shoulder as he held the door of the restaurant open for her. ''Do you like coffee?'' He nodded.

''Where do you want to sit?'' ''Here's fine.'' Stopping at the first table he came to, Gabe held out a chair for her.

Bailey sat. His manners reminded her of her father. As a child she'd taken great comfort from his habitual politeness. As a woman she wasn't much of a queen or a princess or the kind of sedate, helpless female who inspired people to want to take care of her. But, she had to confess, it was nice to be coddled, just for a change.

''They do latte divinely here,'' she said without looking at the menu he was studying. She studied him, instead. Tall. Dark hair in a refined, dignified cut. Shoulders broad enough to lean on. He looked up from the menu, but said nothing. ''It's Colombian espresso with just the right amount of steamed milk. I get a touch of cinnamon sprinkled on top,'' she blurted. ''You come here a lot?'' ''Every time I'm in Stone's—which, if I have my way, happens at least once a week.'' ''I've never seen you there.'' She grinned. ''I'm usually hiding out in a corner reading.''

Gabe nodded, his brown eyes watching her for another second before he stood and went to the counter, where he ordered—and paid—for both of them.

Reaching into the pocket of her ankle-length cotton skirt, Bailey slid a five-dollar bill across the table as he brought the coffee. ''I don't expect you to buy,'' she said. She hadn't intended this experiment of hers to cost him anything.

''My pleasure.'' He completely ignored the money.

Remembering too late the millions of lectures her father had delivered on ladylike behavior, Bailey tried to tactfully slide the money back into her pocket. And continued to watch her companion.

Eve had insisted that Gabe was the man for Bailey. The answer to Bailey's prayers. The solution to her problem. Personally, Bailey suspected that Eve had finally let all her otherworldly claptrap rid her of what common sense she still possessed. But Eve hadn't seemed the least bit out of this world when she'd told Bailey to approach Gabe. She'd seemed completely, uncompromisingly certain that Gabe Stone was the man for her.

The man was an enigma. Solid. Respectable. Gorgeous. And about as talkative as Gladys, Bailey's pet turtle. Which normally would have suited Bailey just fine. She rather liked holding the floor at home with Gladys. But she needed to get to know this man. If there was no chemistry between them, she was going to have to come up with Plan B in a hurry.

''I love books,'' she murmured. He had to have something to say about books—he owned millions of them. ''Especially fairy tales. I'll bet you think that's silly, huh, for a thirty-year-old woman to still love fairy tales?''

''Not at all.'' Gabe smiled at her. A smile that warmed her insides more than the latte she'd been sipping.

''I just can't leave 'em behind,'' she said to cover up her unexpected reaction. The triple rings in her ears jingled as she shook her head, but they only complemented the clinking of her bracelets as she raised her cup to her mouth. Bailey loved her little symphony. And hoped Gabe, unlike her father, wouldn't be irritated by the sounds. ''I've got this little green hardcover book that must be fifty years old called Fifty Famous Stories Retold...."

''James Baldwin,'' Gabe said, nodding as he sipped slowly from the cup he held.

''You know it?'' She couldn't believe it. The book was a rare one.

''The original copyright is 1896.'' ''You have an original?'' ''Two.''

''Oh, my gosh! I'd love to see one! I've read that book a million times. Have you ever read it?''

''Yeah.''

''Then you know the story of Androcles and the lion?''

With a single slow nod, Gabe confirmed that he did.

''It's my absolute favorite, you know?'' Carried away by her excitement, Bailey continued. ''I remember when I was a little girl and my father—he was a lieutenant colonel then—would yell at me for spilling paint on my carpet or getting so caught up in a project I'd forget to come down to dinner. Or he'd be mad if I came down with smears of glue or something on my dress or with my hair falling out of its ponytail because I'd been dancing, or just about anything I did that...'' Her voice trailed off.

Gabe was staring at her.

''What?'' she asked, rubbing her mouth in case an unknown dollop of whipped cream was hanging there.

''Don't you ever stop for breath?''

''I'm sorry.'' Bailey looked down, then back up again. She was blowing it already and this was only the first date. Hadn't she been reminded a million times that she spoke too fast when she got excited? Her father had certainly told her often enough when she was young. And most of her friends had teased her about it over the years. ''I do tend to go on,'' she said, apologizing again for good measure—just in case he hadn't already made up his mind to leave as soon as he could decently excuse himself.

''No, really, it's okay,'' he surprised her by saying. And he meant it, too. His eyes gave him away. ''Go on.''

Because Bailey was Bailey, she did. ''Anyway, when Dad used to yell, I'd get all choked up and tense and I'd really hate it. A lot.'' Bailey couldn't remember her mother, but she sure remembered missing her. ''Then I found An-drocles, and Dad's yelling never bothered me so much anymore. I'd found courage, you know? I'd read that story again and again, and know that if I was a good girl and had courage, I'd be okay. No one could ask any more of me than that. And no one really had the right to make me feel bad, either, just for being myself. Not even my dad.''

''He was mean to you?'' ''Not really. He's just military all the way to his bones and used to giving orders. Can you imagine a logical man like that raising a child who thought—and acted—with her emotions rather than her intellect most of the time?''

''I imagine the experience brought his life new dimensions.''

Bailey thought about that. And decided she liked his answer. Of course, there was no saying that the new dimensions were a positive addition.. . .

''He didn't understand me, that's for sure,'' she continued, allowing Gabe the opportunity to identify with her father if he needed to. ''I think I'm more like my mother. She named me, you know.''

He blinked. ''I don't know your name.'' ''It's Bailey. Bailey Cooper.'' ''And your mother... she understood you?'' Bailey shook her head. ''She died when I was three months old. She had bad kidneys and had taken a risk having me. She made it through my birth, but went into kidney failure a couple of months later. I take after her, though.''

''How so?'' Elbows on the table, he leaned forward.

Bailey practically glowed under his attention. He was really listening to her. This was dangerous. Definitely dangerous. ''She loved art.'' ''You're an artist?''

''The clothes give it away, right?'' She shrugged again, lightly. Her choice of dress had probably started out as a rebellion against all the things she was not, but as she'd gotten older, Bailey had recognized that her clothes were also an expression of the spirit inside her that refused to be quelled. Every time she looked in a mirror and saw glorious colors swirling around her, every time she felt the cool glide of silk or cotton against her calves, her unencumbered breasts, her shoulders and arms, she felt a spurt of wonderful.

''I like them.''

Shocked enough to still her coffee cup in midair, Bailey looked at Gabe—and smiled. ''You do?''

She was well aware that respectable, straight-laced, nonartistic people such as her dad thought she was a little on the weird side.

He nodded. ''What do you call something like that?''

Still smiling, Bailey said, ''It's really just a skirt and tank top. I simply add scarves or jewelry or a shawl—whatever else feels good on any particular day. Today it's a bunch of scarves.''

''How do you get them to stay on?''

She tied them of course. But he looked so damn cute with that frown furrowing his brow, and he was studying her so intently, Bailey couldn't bear to stem his interest with prosaic fact. ''Magic,'' she said solemnly.

Nodding, Gabe sat back and folded his arms across his chest. Bailey, who'd posed nude on more than one occasion during her college art class years, actually started to feel a little self-conscious.

''So, how'd you get such broad shoulders?'' she asked him when the silence started to make her feel downright uncomfortable. ''Been lifting boxes of books your whole life?'' ''Yeah.''

''Really?'' She leaned forward, her forearms resting on the table. ''Stone's was a family business, then?''

''I was practically born there.'' She had to ask. ''Practically?'' ''My mother went into labor while she was working at the store.''

''Wow.'' She had a whole new respect for her favorite bookstore, being the site of something so momentous as the almost-birth of this man, the man Eve insisted Bailey was searching for. ''Was it Stone's then?''

Another nod. ''My paternal grandfather opened the store.''

''So your family was the original owner?'' He nodded again. ''They contracted the architect who built the place.''

''Oh, my gosh, they knew John Mead How-ells?'' You couldn't be an artist in Chicago and not be aware of the architecture for which the city was famous, or the many important architects whose work was showcased both on the Loop and, like Stone's, on the Magnificent Mile. Bailey knew them all, taught them all to her students, but Howells's work spoke to her in ways no one else's did.

''My grandfather knew him in New York.'' ''I can't believe it! Did you know he designed the Tribune Tower?'' She barely waited for Gabe's nod before she continued. ''But did you also know that he won the opportunity to see his structure built by entering the design in a contest?'' ''No.''

''He inspires me, you know?'' she said, excited by Gabe's interest in something she found fascinating, something that seemed lost on most people. ''The man had a dream and the courage

to take a chance, the daring to open himself up to ridicule. And he won!'' Gabe smiled.

''Stone's was one of the first buildings to go up after the opening of the Michigan Avenue Bridge, wasn't it?''

''You know your stuff.'' His words might be sparse, but his admiration, clearly, was not. Bailey's whole body tingled beneath that warm stare. She wondered if for once she'd actually made the right decision when she'd made up her mind to approach Mr. Gabriel Stone.

Chapter Three

Bailey hadn't intended to move so fast, but the very next morning she was back at Stone's, looking for Gabe. Being with him had felt so right. Their time together had left her invigorated for the rest of the day. She had to find out if it had been simply her imagination. Or an overreaction to the unseasonably beautiful spring weather. Or the unreasonably handsome Gabe Stone...

She'd been thinking about him nonstop since yesterday. About the way he'd looked at her. The way he'd made her feel. The way he'd seemed engrossed by her conversation. Though she could hardly believe it herself, she was actually starting to give credence to the possibility that Eve might have been right. Gabe could be the answer to Bailey's prayers.

Much to her dismay, strolling every inch of the bookstore turned up absolutely nothing. She'd been so certain she'd find him here. Had counted on being able to run into him again, to offer a casual invitation to lunch. Disappointed, she wondered if maybe he was purposely avoiding her; the thought made her cringe. Then she told herself not to be ridiculous. The man had to work, didn't he? He couldn't do bookstore-owner stuff walking around reading from the shelves.

What should she do now? Just leave? After having boarded the Howard Red Line to get over here, specifically to see him? She headed toward the stairs that would take her down to the first floor, reminding herself that she always rushed everything. She could come back the next day, and the next, if need be. She bought a thirty-day pass every month for unlimited use of the city's various forms of public transportation. Eventually, he'd be in the store again. She'd found him so easily the day before, it shouldn't be that hard to do it again.

The problem was, she didn't have a lot of time. Lonnie's ultimatum, ignored for many months, was looming too close for comfort. After a lifetime of being out of balance, Bailey had finally found, at Lonnie's boarding school, something that fulfilled her soul. As a troubled teenager at the institute, Bailey had first discovered the passion that drove her, the thirst for beauty and color that prompted every decision she'd ever made. And now, back as a teacher, her work gave her an outlet for that passion. But Lonnie Winston's ultimatum threatened to take all of that away. Not only from her, but from the couple of hundred kids like her who attended the institute every year.

Back on the first floor, she scanned the aisles again, just in case.

She could easily have become a teenage suicide or drug abuse statistic if it hadn't been for the institute. Lonnie's art school had given her a place to fit in. For the first time in her life, she'd felt as if she were home, as though she belonged. She'd been in sync with herself, and the feeling had been heady enough to carry her through the next fifteen years of her life. The institute had given her the confidence and the inner strength to accept that her own talent was small—and to recognize that her real gift lay in her ability to recognize talent in others, the intrinsic beauty and power in an artist's beginning attempts. She had the ability to somehow get out of others what she could never quite bring out of herself. The institute had once again become her home.

Almost at the store's entrance, her feet took a slight turn and brought her up to the counter with its registers and computer terminals.

''Is Mr. Stone in this morning?'' she asked the official-looking woman behind the desk.

The woman picked up a phone. ''Who should I say is calling on him?''

Bailey glanced toward the door. She should just leave. Play it cool. She was going to blow this before there even was a ''this.'' ''Bailey Cooper.''

''So tell me about your parents, your family. Do you have brothers and sisters?'' Bailey asked, sitting across a table from Gabe Stone for the fourth time in four days, this time at Ben-nigan's, one of her favorite restaurants.

''No.'' He dug into his sandwich with gusto. Bailey knew all that meat and cheese wasn't good for him, but she sure liked the passion with which he attacked it. Though she'd seen him each of the past three days, it had just been for coffee, until now. This lunch had been at his invitation.

''No brothers and sisters? or no, you won't tell me about them?'' ''I have no family.''

''Your parents are both gone?'' she asked, feeling instantly sorry for him. As much of a pain in the ass as her father was most of the time, she couldn't imagine life without him. Gabe shrugged. ''They were older.'' ''How much older?'' She toyed with her avocado salad, wishing she dared snitch one of the fries from his plate.

''My father was fifty-one when I was born. Mom was forty-four.''

''Wow.'' She thought about that for a minute. And then, ''You didn't have any older brothers or sisters?'' ''Nope.''

''What about school? I'll bet you had a million friends.''

''You use that word a lot.'' ''What word?'' ''Million.''

''Oh.'' Bailey smiled. ''Yeah, I guess I think big.'' She noticed he hadn't answered her question about school. ''I hated school,'' she confessed.

Gabe looked up from his lunch. ''Why?'' ''I just never really felt like I belonged. one reason was probably that we moved around so much.''

''And the other reason?'' His gaze seemed to penetrate all the layers she'd wrapped around herself.

''My mind had a tendency to wander, which meant that when the teacher asked me a question, I usually didn't have a clue what was going on.''

Smiling his understanding, Gabe's eyes encouraged her to continue.

''And I was interested in different things from most of the other kids.'' She forked up a hunk of avocado. ''I'd much rather draw than play kick ball or jump rope during recess. And I used to tap-dance in line.'' Giving in, she snitched one of his fries. He didn't seem to notice.

''What about friends?''

Bailey's earrings jingled as she shook her head. ''I didn't have many. Being in the military, we were transferred every two or three years. Sometimes more.'' A sip of water cooled her dry throat. ''And somehow I never got infected with the need to be cool. I wore the clothes I wanted to, in spite of the fact that the colors didn't always match and they weren't at all fashionable.'' She grinned at him under her lashes. ''Maybe that was partly because it bugged my dad so much. But I also didn't listen to the right music or hang out in the right places.

So, no, I didn't have a lot of friends.'' Not until her father, washing his hands of her, had shipped her off to live at the institute and she'd met Eve.

''Me neither.''

Shocked, Bailey studied him. ''You weren't the most popular guy in school?'' She'd just assumed he had been. He looked the part perfectly. The clothes. The hair. The quiet confidence. The body.

Gabe gave her an ironic grin. ''Hardly.''

''And here I had you pegged as quarterback of the football team.''

''I was.''

''I knew it!'' she said, trying to ignore her instinctive disappointment at this revelation. For the first time in four days, she'd found something about him that wasn't perfect. All the football heroes she'd ever known had been stuck on themselves. Her talkative nature only irritated them because she left them so little time to talk about themselves. Which had made her the target of more than a couple of their cruel pranks.

Except that Gabe didn't appear to be stuck on himself. And she'd never met anyone who talked less than he did. Except Gladys, of course.

Still, there was her competition. He'd had cheerleaders, groupies. Prom queens, no doubt.

Cute girls. Women with predictably perfect looks and perfectly predictable attitudes. How could she ever hope he'd be attracted for any length of time to a zany art teacher like her?

''You probably dated every girl in your senior class, right?'' she asked. And then, because she wasn't eager to hear his confirmation, she went on. ''You never spent a Saturday night at home, never had to do your own homework, always had someone to sit with at the pizza place after school, and the only problem you had in the lunchroom was finding enough room at your table for all your admirers.''

''You were right about your creativity.'' ''You're telling me it wasn't like that?'' He shook his head. ''I did my own homework.''

Bailey laughed, though she was still envious of those other girls. And disappointed, too. ''But the rest of it was right—wasn't it?''

He studied her for a long moment, his eyes serious. ''No,'' he finally said as if coming to some kind of decision. ''I was okay on the field...'' He started and then stopped. ''Better than okay, actually, I made all-American my junior and senior years.''

''I knew it,'' she said again, slumping in her seat.

''But off the field—'' he cast his eyes down ''—I wasn't anything spectacular.''

She found that extremely hard to believe. ''With your looks?'' She snorted.

''I was too reserved,'' he admitted. ''Still am.''

She couldn't argue with him there. ''So?'' ''Women expect to be entertained.'' ''In high school, maybe, but what about when you got into college? university women are not as likely to be scared off by a reserved manner. And with your looks...''

His eyes shone with pure male satisfaction and, realizing what she was saying, Bailey shut ^up.

''I saw a different woman practically every night during my junior year,'' he admitted frankly. He didn't seem the least embarrassed by the confession, but Bailey sure felt her own cheeks turn red. Maybe because she was envisioning, a bit too clearly, just what those women had had the luck to experience. The man's body was perfection.

''Just your junior year?'' If she was smart, she'd get off the subject. But she'd never been smart enough for her own good.

Shrugging, as though bored with the topic, Gabe picked up his glass and took a long swallow of cola. She watched the muscles in his throat move as he drank. At the moment, even

that was arousing....

''What I had to say didn't interest them.'' ''Why not?'' She leaned forward, eager to know as much about him as she possibly could.

''I found that most college girls aren't big on Emerson's epistles or medieval history or fairy tales or the acquisition of language or—'' ''What about body language?'' ''One subject I could handle adeptly...'' That had to be an understatement. ''I never quite knew what to do with them before or after bed.''

''You must have picked some amazingly stupid girls.''

''Maybe.'' His lips curved into a half smile. ''All I know is that by my senior year I was worn out on meaningless one-nighters with girls whose last names I never even knew.''

''I'd have made sure you knew my last name.'' Bailey heard herself say the words and wished immediately that she could shut her stupid mouth. It was far too soon to be coming on to a man like Gabe. Yet here she was, speaking before she thought—speaking from instinct and emotion rather than intellect. Her father had tried his damnedest to break her of the habit.

Gabe pushed his plate away. Picked up the bill. Looked anywhere but at her. She applied herself to her salad. No matter how disastrous the occasion, she couldn't let the food go to waste when there were so many people starving in the world.

''You said yesterday that you sketched instead of doing your math in school?'' Gabe asked. He was leaning back in his chair, his glass between his hands as he watched her eat. ''Yeah.''

''So, drawing's your specialty?'' Chomping her lettuce, relieved he was still speaking to her, Bailey wondered how to answer him. She wanted to impress him—but she couldn't lie.

''I'm not very good at it.'' ''But you're an artist.'' ''An art teacher, actually,'' she reminded him. ''I'm on staff at the Winston Art Institute down on the Loop.''

Gabe whistled softly. ''You must be good.''

''I have vision.'' Shrugging, Bailey tried to explain what she didn't really understand. ''I can see things, beautiful, amazing things. I just can't seem to express them the way they appear inside.

''But I can recognize them in other people's work, and from other people I seem to be able to extract them just fine.''

He was still watching her closely, contemplating, and she couldn't tell what he was thinking.

''I was a dancer, too,'' she added, though nothing, not even dance, had completed her the way her teaching did. ''That was the one area where I did succeed at expressing the visions I saw inside. I was accepted at the Bradford Dance Company in New York.''

''They were just in Chicago a few months ago,'' Gabe said, looking impressed. ''The show was fabulous. It was also sold out.''

Her mouth fell open. No one she currently knew, other than students at the institute, was familiar with the modern-dance world. Not even Eve was going to believe this coincidence. ''You like modern dance?''

''I do.'' He inclined his head.

Shivers ran up and down Bailey's spine at those two words. She couldn't believe how badly she wanted to hear them again... in front of a preacher. And not just to appease Lonnie Winston, as she knew Lonnie would assume. Not just to retain her job, her life's work. And not to take over the institute when Lonnie retired, either. Although all of those things would happen if she met her boss's ultimatum and got married to an acceptable man. But they weren't the force moving her forward.

Gabe was astonished when he heard himself embark on a two-minute discourse about the artistic significance he found in good modern dance. Seemed that being with Bailey Cooper was freeing his tongue.

''...and the physical stamina, the strength those dancers have is amazing,'' he rattled on.

Plus, they were sexy as hell. Just like her.

''They train for hours every day,'' she interjected. ''Ballet, conditioning, technique classes, rehearsals. By the end of the day, you're aching and sure you'll never be able to get out of bed once you finally get in. But you do and there's an incredible high in those moments when your body does exactly what you want it to, when you feel something inside of you burst forth and fly free.''

She was so beautiful, so passionate. Blood flowed quickly to his nether region as he entertained another vision of her passion bursting free... and in his direction. ''So why aren't you in New York dancing?''

''I was in a car accident,'' she said as though it had been no big deal. ''My knee was crushed under the dash.''

''Damn!''

''It's okay.'' Bailey smiled and Gabe couldn't breathe. He'd known the woman four days and was already addicted to her smile.

''I recovered,'' she continued. ''But not quite well enough to withstand the pressure of a million grand plies a day. Or a million grand jetes, either. I probably would never have survived in the big city, anyway. I didn't like the crowds. And I wasn't ruthless enough. Besides, the accident allowed me to discover what I was really meant to do.''

''Which is?''

''Teach.'' She grinned at him.

Gabe wondered if he was dreaming. In his entire life he'd never felt as alive as he felt right now, sitting across from her.

He just couldn't figure out what in hell was making her stay.

At home in his Lincoln Park residence that night, Gabe slid into the oven the casserole Mrs. Ingall, his five-day-a-week housekeeper, had left him. He poured a glass of wine, set silverware and a napkin on the dining room table, and then headed for the computer he had set up in his family room.

It only took him a couple of seconds to access the ticket line on the Internet. And another couple of minutes to come up with a list of modern dance shows that would be coming to the Chicago area in the near future. Pulling his credit card out of his wallet, he bought two tickets to every single performance. Just in case.

The next morning Gabe was engrossed in a conversation with the woman who handled publicity for a well-known New York publisher. They were working out the logistics of a book signing he was going to be hosting later that month. The author, Talia Nelson, a multiple New York Times' s list prima donna, had some requests. She didn't sit when she signed, so he'd have to bring down a lectern or a tall table at which she could stand. She would only remain in the store for half-hour intervals—though she agreed to do several of them. She refused to sign used copies of her books. And she had to have a particular brand of bottled water provided on a continual basis.

Wonder how many times she'll need to use the toilet during her half-hour stints, Gabe was musing when Marie poked her head inside his office door.

Motioning her inside, he spoke into the phone. ''No problem. We'll be happy to accommodate her.'' He rolled his eyes at Marie and mouthed Talia's name.

He didn't notice the bag Marie was carrying until he'd ended the call.

''Bailey Cooper left this for you.''

Gabe was out of his seat and at the door before Marie had a chance to make it to his desk. ''Where is she?'' he asked, barging into the hall.

''She's gone.'' Marie was staring after him.

Gabe, realizing what an idiot he must look, came back into the office, took his seat and jotted down a few more notes regarding the signing. Marie had left the bag on his desk.

''Talia's still on?'' Marie asked. Talia's publisher refused to deal with any local bookseller except Gabe, and they gave him an exclusive appearance whenever the author's tours brought her to Chicago.

Unlike many of the hourly employees in the book superstores, Gabe's people knew books. They sold books. And Talia's publisher knew that.

''She's still on,'' he confirmed. ''End of the month.''

Marie nodded, briefly discussed the number of books they'd order for the signing, and then, with one last, curious look at the brightly colored gift bag on his desk, she left.

Gabe waited only long enough to hear her footsteps on the stairs before digging into the bag.

His questing fingers encountered several little packages. Too impatient to take them out one at a time, he dumped everything on his desk. Unwrapping the first, he discovered a ceramic ring-shaped thing with an indentation on top and a bottom that would fit over a tennis ball. He frowned. What in hell could that be for?

There was a little terra-cotta football about the size of a key chain hanging from a loop of string. Upon further inspection he discovered that it opened.

Next in the pile was a little pot with a plug attached. Mini fondue?

And last, he discovered a small vial of fluid. Neroli, the label read. That was all. There wasn't room for any more information. Such as directions. Definitions. Anything that would give him a clue as to what he should do with the stuff.

The woman was a nutcase. And he couldn't remember a time he'd had so much fun. Couldn't ever remember receiving a gift for no reason. Taking a whiff from the vial he decided the scent might grow on him. Perhaps it was special cologne. He'd heard of places where you could have scents created just for you.

Dabbing some on, he kidded himself that Bailey was interested enough to buy him cologne. Maybe she was, and maybe that meant it was only sex she was after. Even if that was the case, he'd take what he could get.

Now that he was on a roll, he picked up the football and turned it over and over in his hand, determined to figure it out, too. He finally decided it was a male version of a pill holder, simply because he couldn't think of anything else small enough to fit inside it, except earrings— which he certainly didn't have. Emerging from his private bathroom with a bottle of aspirin so old the expiry date was long past, he shook out a couple of tablets, put them in the football and closed the lid. He tied the loop to the gill of a fish he'd caught the previous summer during a rafting trip and had later mounted. As a final touch, he set the football in the fish's open mouth.

He studied the ceramic ring. It could only be some kind of art piece that he didn't get. But he decided, as it fit perfectly on top of a snow globe one of his elderly customers had brought him from a trip to Colorado, to use it for thumbtacks. He placed the ring on the globe, dug some thumb tacks out of a box in the supply room and was rather pleased with the result. He wouldn't tell Bailey what he'd done; he'd hate her to know that her work was lost on him. He couldn't help thinking, however, that she was right about her visions not coming out exactly as she'd planned. He figured it was probably best that she'd chosen to go into teaching.

Just thinking about having a teacher like Bailey, Gabe grew hard. He was turned on by so many things about her. Her looks, certainly. The woman had a body that could enslave a man forever. But he loved her openness, too. Her ability to talk about anything at any time—a perfect complement to his reticence. He loved her intensity, the life she brought to a room just by being there.

He'd never met anyone like her.

The pot was still sitting in the middle of his desk, staring up at him. Certain that it had significance, that there was a specific point to it, he racked his brain. And came up blank. Until his roving eye stilled on the mini bar across the room. A brandy warmer. That was it. The little pot was just big enough to hold a shot or two.

He had no idea how Bailey had known he liked his brandy warm, or even that he liked brandy, but he was glad she'd guessed so accurately. He wasn't going to leave the pot in the office, however. He'd been enjoying brandy after dinner since he was fourteen years old and his parents had invited him to join them in their evening ritual. He was going to take this thoughtful gift home with him.

And think of Bailey every time he used it.

Chapter Four

''Eve, are you absolutely sure you were right? About Gabe Stone?'' Bailey asked two days later. And then, ''Ouch! That hurt.''

Eve continued to beat Bailey's body into pulp. ''Of course I'm sure.'' Her voice had no business being so calm, considering the agony her hands were creating. ''You know I'd never tell you anything unless I was one hundred percent certain,'' Bailey's masseuse/healer/astrologer/ best friend said. ''Now lie still or I'll never get this knot out.''

After a couple more deep rubs between the back of Bailey's neck and her right shoulder blade, she reached for some rose oil and started in again. Bailey lay quiet for a few minutes, appreciating Eve's ministrations.

''It's just that I'll never be the kind of woman men like Gabe Stone marry,'' she said after a while. ''I've already—ouch—blown it a couple of times.''

''What's it hurt to try?''

Bailey's silence said it all. ''You're falling for him,'' Eve said. Her friend's lack of surprise calmed Bailey a little.

''I'm scared,'' she admitted, and then shuddered as Eve's hands found another knot. ''In some ways, he's like me. But in other ways, he's just like my father, and I've never managed to live up to him. Or his expectations.''

''Shh-hh,'' Eve said softly, lightening her touch as she worked down Bailey's back. ''Let the rose oil work, Bail. It'll soothe all these worries. Relieve the stress that's got you wound tight as a golf ball.''

''Yes, but is it going to help me sleep?'' She'd spent the past couple of nights wide awake, wandering around, restless, wondering what Gabe was doing, wishing she could call him. Gladys had kept her company the first night, but last night hadn't even come out of her shell.

''It's good for insomnia, yes.'' The gentle cadence of Eve's voice was relaxing in itself. ''It also enhances love.''

Bailey immediately shot up. ''Get it off me!'' she said, grabbing the sheet from the lower half of her body to begin wiping off her back. Eve almost left her healing persona behind to

crack a smile. Almost. ''Come on, Bail,'' she said, pulling the sheet away from Bailey as she eased her down to the table again. ''When have I ever led you wrong?''

Well, there might have been a time. Maybe. So long ago that she couldn't remember. Eve's calm influence had touched Bailey the day she'd arrived at the institute when she was fourteen, hurt by her father's rejection, frightened. She'd been leaning on her friend ever since.

She let Eve settle the sheet back around her. ''But...'' she started again as soon as she felt Eve's oily hands on her shoulder blades.

''Trust me,'' Eve interrupted. ''Did you give him the neroli?''

''Yeah,'' Bailey grunted. ''But I don't know why you were so certain he needed it. His confidence and self-esteem seem in pretty good shape to me.''

''Now, don't be shocked, but it's also an aphrodisiac.''

''Oh.'' Bailey pondered that. Between her deadline for marriage and her attraction to Gabe Stone, maybe she'd overreacted earlier to the idea of Eve's potions for ''enhancing love.'' As long as Gabe was getting one, too... she'd take whatever help she could get. ''What if he falls for me only because his olfactory gland has been stimulated by oil?''

''It's not a magic potion, Bail.'' Eve laughed—and punched. ''It's a natural enhancer. Now, no more talking until we're done, and then we'll talk until your heart's content.''

Bailey wasn't sure either one of them had voices that would last that long.

''So tell me again what you felt,'' Bailey said as soon as she was showered, dressed and sitting outside on a blanket in Eve's herb garden. The weather was perfect. Warm, but not warm enough to make her sweat. ''What you felt about me and Gabe Stone.''

''It's time, Bailey,'' Eve said, completely serious. ''Your spirit is crying out for a mate.''

Bailey could have told her that. ''But what about Gabe?''

Stringing flower stems together to make a chain, Eve looked over at her, gaze steady. ''I researched him.''

Sitting straight up, Bailey stared. ''You what?"

''Well, you weren't doing anything, Bail. Lonnie's ultimatum came a long time ago, and you were just going to let it all slip through your

fingers—everything that's ever meant anything to you—without even trying to salvage it.''

''You researched him?'' Bailey croaked. ''What happened to visions and astrological charts and—?''

''Nothing wrong with helping the spiritual processes along.'' Eve's nimble fingers continued their weaving. ''You've been going to his store every week for more than year, so I figured there must be something that kept you coming back,'' she said, her long dark hair hanging down on either side of her face. ''I asked some friends to find out what they could, talked to people, checked his store's site on the Internet... and every single thing I learned told me I was right. He's the man for you, Bail. Responsible, reliable, intelligent—and he's got a great bod. Tell me you hadn't noticed him.''

Bailey couldn't tell her friend that. She had noticed Gabe. She'd just never in a million years thought she'd ever have a chance with him. He certainly hadn't noticed her.

''What I can't figure out,'' Eve said, her flower chain falling onto her crossed, denim-clad legs, ''is why you took up with that hobo, Danji or whatever his name was, in the first place.'' ''You know why.'' Bailey had the grace to

look down. ''And his name was Alongie. I needed a man in my life. I was lonely. And I had no hope in hell of attracting a steady man like Dad.''

''But a man you barely knew, Bail? If you wanted an artist, why not grab one a little closer to home? One you had more hope of having an actual relationship with than some reprobate you met at a Colorado art show?''

Okay. Bailey felt bad about that. Eve had no idea how bad she felt. But... ''How was I to know he was a con artist? How was I to know he was going to use me as his front man to sell fake turquoise?''

''Fake turquoise?'' Eve, of course, didn't let it go at that. ''What about the fake diamonds he put in his jewelry?''

Bailey tried not to think about that time in her life. Ever. ''I got off,'' she said now, reiterating, for her own benefit, what mattered most. ''I cleared my name,'' she reminded her friend.

Not that her innocence had made any difference to Lonnie.

''Yeah, after spending almost a week in jail,'' Eve said relentlessly.

''Don't...'' Remembering, Bailey shuddered.

The filth, the language. The woman who'd come on to her.

''You can't blame Lonnie for being skeptical.''

''But to close the institute rather than sell it to me?'' Bailey still couldn't believe her mentor would do such a thing. For years, she'd been saving every damn penny she'd had to buy that school. She and Lonnie had had an agreement since she'd come back from New York. ''The institute's reputation is world-renowned. We accept only a couple of hundred students a year, at most, and the tuition is so prohibitive that fifty would support us. And we still have a waiting list a million miles long. How could Lonnie even think about turning his back on that?'' Bailey tried to get angry. Anger took away the hurt.

''Turning his back on you, you mean?'' Eve asked softly. Her flower chain lay wilting in her lap.

''That, too.'' Bailey couldn't look at her friend. Eve saw far too much.

''So maybe he's not turning his back on you.''

Bailey raised her head. ''How can you say that?''

''Maybe he thinks you've left him no choice.

He knows you'll never let the institute go, that the school, your work there, completes you in a way nothing else ever has.''

''Yeah.'' Lonnie had known the Bailey who'd arrived on his doorstep all those years ago, too. ''I'm not following you here, Eve. How is selling the school out from under me not turning his back?''

''Because he knows, too, that there's far more to life than you've explored. That it's time for you to reach out, to discover that there are more colors out there than you can see. Finding love, finding the right man, is not something you're doing on your own, Bail, so maybe he's decided to force you into it. He wants you to be with someone who'll balance you, someone whose steadiness and rationality will balance your impulsiveness. And he's right, Bailey.''

Bailey considered this logic. And tried to think again, harder, if Eve had ever been wrong before.

''He knows you'll find a way to get married— to a man he approves—before the deadline. He knows the Winston Institute will be safe.''

Only slightly appeased, Bailey heaved a disgruntled sigh. ''I still can't believe he's really doing this. I can't believe I have to be married within two months or he's closing the institute when he retires. Get real! Two months to get married!''

''And how long ago did he give you this ultimatum?'' Eve's knowing tone grated on Bailey's nerves.

''Ten months.''

The words stuck in her throat. But they weren't what had made her mouth go dry. No, the thought of Gabe Stone had done that. For the first time since Lonnie's ultimatum all those months ago, it occurred to Bailey that she might actually meet his deadline. She would never have gotten married just for the sake of being married, not even for Lonnie. But to live with Gabe Stone—and get the institute, too? Bailey could hardly contain her excitement.

For a moment. Until the excitement gave way to limb-numbing fear. Gabe had begun to matter far too much in the short time she'd known him. He mattered far too much, period. She'd never been so vulnerable in her life.

She wouldn't have dared to think of him as a potential husband, if not for Eve's counsel. Her friend had a lot to answer for. And Bailey was going to hold Eve accountable if the whole thing blew up in her face.

But only because she knew she'd need Eve's love and support to see her through if that happened.

Gabe spent the next couple of days roaming the aisles of his store instead of getting through the pile of work waiting for him up in his office. He had no intention of missing Bailey on the off chance she came by again. He'd sent a thank-you to her for the gifts, care of the Winston Institute, but he hadn't heard from her again.

Not that he'd really expected to, he thought as he leafed through a copy of Twain's A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court. It wouldn't take long for a woman as vital, as vibrant, as Bailey to lose interest in him. Especially since they'd never been to bed together. His performance in the sack was the one thing women came back for.

''Hi, stranger.''

He turned, thinking he'd imagined her voice. And suddenly she was there. Standing in front of him in some of the widest-legged pants he'd ever seen, in every color known to man. And a man's ribbed T-shirt that had been dyed a strange shade of orange. As he'd suspected on the other occasions he'd seen her, she wasn't wearing a bra.

He just stared. And let the relief flow all over him. Along with the lust.

''You're not glad to see me?'' she asked, making an obvious effort to sound nonchalant.

For the first time Gabe allowed himself to accept the fact that Bailey might actually see something in him. He glimpsed in her eyes what her words weren't saying. Regret, a little bit of fear that she might be right.

''Of course I'm glad,'' he said. And then, because of that vulnerability in her eyes, he added, ''The whole reason I'm prowling around down here, making my employees nervous, is that I was hoping to catch you if you came in.''

''You were?'' Her grin was worth every word of the difficult confession.

''I was.''

''Well, I'm here.''

''I see that.'' But he couldn't come up with a line of sassy banter that would have her end up in his arms.

''Wanna go for a walk? There's a park not too far from here.'' She was still smiling at him. ''It's cloudy outside, but not really any cooler, and I have it on good authority that it's not going to rain until this evening. But we could always take an umbrella in case it does, or hide out someplace until it passes, if you'd rather. Or—'' she did a little jiggle thing with her feet ''—we could just get wet.''

''I'd rather you came to my place for dinner.'' He had no idea where the words sprang from. Certainly not his brain. He might as well have invited her right up to the bedroom and saved himself the trouble of an extra step.

''I'd love to.''

The words were so quiet, so un-Bailey-like, he almost missed them.

''You would?'' He had to make certain he'd heard her right.

''Yes.''

''Tonight?'' He had no idea what he was having for dinner, but Mrs. Ingall always made enough for two. Just in case.

Even though, in the three years she'd been with him, there'd never been a single ''just in case.'' There'd been a couple of one-night stands, but they'd been at the woman's house. He'd never brought a woman home before.

''Tonight would be great,'' Bailey said as he started to panic. Could he take back the invitation? What in hell was he going to do with a woman in his home for an entire evening? How was he going to keep her entertained?

''May I pick you up on my way home?'' he heard himself ask when he'd meant to tell her he'd just remembered a prior engagement.

''Sure.'' She rattled off an address in a lower rent district in Pilsen.

''That's not far from the Loop,'' he said, pulling a pen from his pocket to write the address on one of his business cards.

''I wanted to be close to the institute.''

Something about the way she said the word made the school sound more like a lover than a place of employment. Gabe knew he was a sick, pathetic goner when he felt a pang of jealousy toward an old brick building.

Bailey's first thought when she saw the near mansion that Gabe called home was that Lonnie would sell her the institute for sure if he could see this house. But only because an irreverent reaction was better than giving in to the intimidation she felt. Even through a haze of rain, the place was beautiful. White with green shutters and awnings, it reminded her of a million storybook settings.

It also reminded her of any number of places she'd lived with her father. She wasn't dressed for a house as nice as this, wasn't well-mannered enough—as he'd told her more than once.

She didn't care what people thought of her. At least not since she'd taken the story about Androcles and the lion to heart. So why was Gabe's opinion so damned important? Important beyond any plans or goals?

''You live here alone?'' she asked as she followed him from the garage straight into the largest kitchen she'd ever seen in a single-family dwelling. This was worse than the houses she'd lived in with her father. Gabe must have an entire staff to keep up the place.

''Yes.''

He sent her a questioning glance, as if he was offering her a chance to change her mind about being there if she didn't like his answer. But she was actually relieved that she wouldn't have to meet anyone else tonight.

Being different was an asset to her, gave her an identity and the freedom to be true to herself. But suddenly, standing there, Bailey felt ashamed. Of her weird clothes, her intense emotions, the fact that the one respectable thing about her, the one thing she'd managed to do completely right—her job—was in total jeopardy.

She considered, for a brief moment of insanity while he put dinner in the oven, telling him the truth. But then she'd have to tell him about Alongie. About the time she'd been in jail.

And then she'd lose him for sure. Respectable men like Gabe didn't consort with jailbirds. Her own father hadn't spoken to her for two whole years after that episode. As a matter of fact, he still wasn't speaking to her all that much. Only when she'd called at Christmas.

No, there was no reason to tell Gabe about Alongie. He was in the past. A mistake she'd already atoned for. It made no sense to ruin her future over something like that.

Did it?

Gabe was a mess. After he'd put the chicken enchiladas in the oven, pulled the bowl of freshly cut fruit from the refrigerator and tossed a salad, he was sweating. Bailey, who usually talked nonstop, hadn't said a word since she'd stepped into his house. This was exactly the disaster he'd feared. He'd brought the woman who was haunting his dreams to his home, taken the first real chance he had in years, and he was already failing.

All he could think about was taking her to bed.

He had no idea how to entertain her until the enchiladas were done. Kissing her senseless wasn't going to do it. Though he was pretty certain he could manage that successfully. He was certain, too, that if he touched her, the enchiladas would burn. Dinner would be ruined. And the evening would be a repeat of so many others. Into bed. Out of it. And nothing left but goodbye.

He poured them both some iced tea and handed her a glass. Then, out of the blue, it hit him.

''Come, I want to show you something.''

Looking around her as they went into the dining room, through the living room to the family room across the hall, Bailey followed slowly.

''Did you do your own decorating?''

Was she asking because she liked it? Or because she didn't?

''No. I hired someone.''

''I'm glad.''

Because she liked it or because she didn't? He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

She told him anyway. ''It doesn't look like you. It's too formal, too cold, too generic.'' Which was pretty much how he saw himself. ''So what would you do differently?'' At least she was talking.

She stopped just inside the family room. ''Add more color, personalize things, make the place your own. Get rid of the fake flowers.''

Grabbing the centerpiece on his coffee table, he dumped it in the trash.

Laughing, Bailey said, ''I didn't mean right now.'' She picked up some fishing, computer and financial magazines from the to-be-read pile on his desk and spread them on the coffee table where the flowers had been.

He liked them there. Suddenly he remembered that he hadn't put on any of the cologne she'd bought him. The scent had been so strong, he'd been unable to wear the stuff since that first day, but he'd intended to try again that evening.

''So what did you want to show me?'' she asked, taking in his green leather sofas, the entertainment center with his large-screen TV along one wall.

Moving to the case of books behind his desk, Gabe carefully pulled out a well-used volume. ''This.'' He handed it to her.

''Oh, my gosh! It's the original, isn't it?'' Nodding, Gabe smiled as he watched her turn immediately to ''Androcles and the Lion.'' He'd searched out the volume of Fifty Famous Stories Retold the night before when he'd been missing her, and now he was glad he had.

''Do you have a favorite?'' she asked, still grinning as she finished perusing her story.

''It's the very next one.'' She wasn't the only one who knew the book by heart.

'''The Sword of Damocles.''' Her eyes flew across the pages. ''Why?''

''Because it's true.'' He met her gaze. Held it. ''Being rich and important doesn't bring happiness. People do. This is the first week I can ever remember being happy.'' Her eyes filled with tears. Acting purely on instinct, Gabe reached out to her, drying the drops that fell onto her beautifully soft cheeks before pulling her into his arms.

Lowering his head was the most natural thing he'd ever done. Her lips were soft, warm, beneath his. And they parted with the abandon that was Bailey. She tasted of orange and tea. She felt like hunger. And he couldn't get enough. Enough of her. Enough of the passion. Enough of the joy she'd so unexpectedly brought to his life.

Her hands skimmed his body, touching everywhere, landing nowhere. He was so hard he hurt.

''Whoa.'' He broke the kiss, backing away from her, his breathing embarrassingly heavy as he tried to get control of himself.

''You didn't like it.'' Her eyes were shadowed, but not really surprised. ''I know I'm way too forward. I try not to be, but then, boom, it just happens without my even being aware.''

''You're wrong, lady.'' He wanted to haul her into his arms and show her just how wrong, but he didn't trust himself to touch her. ''I liked it.'' He motioned to the bulge straining against the fly of his slacks. ''Too much.''

Bailey glanced down, and then, turning a little red, back up at him. ''Oh.''

''But we're going to do this right.'' He took her hand and led her to the kitchen. ''We're going to have dinner.''

Laughing, Bailey gave him an odd look. ''Okay...'' The word was drawn out in a question.

''Pretty much every woman I've ever been with has been nothing more than a trip to bed,'' he found himself explaining. ''You're different.

I want this night to be different. I want there to be something between us before I make love to you—so there's also something afterward.''

''I want that, too.'' He saw the sheen of tears in her eyes again, but she didn't let them fall. She smiled up at him and it took everything he had to keep his hands off her.

He was going to get this right if it killed him. And considering the way he was feeling, it very well might.

Chapter Five

Dinner was delicious. Gabe was certain it must have been, because Mrs. Ingall's chicken enchiladas were always delicious. Although he didn't taste a bite.

But he'd managed to go through the motions. He'd chewed. Swallowed. They'd talked. About his manager, Marie. About a couple of her students. He'd lived through the meal. Barely.

''Let's leave the dishes,'' he said as soon as Bailey had put down her fork. She hadn't eaten all that much, either.

''Okay.'' She stood as he pulled out her chair for her. Slid her hand into his. ''What do you want to do instead? Take a walk? The rain's stopped and I'd love to see your grounds.''

He'd intended to share an after-dinner brandy with her. He wanted to show her how happy he was with her gift, the brandy warmer. He'd failed, however, to include one factor when he'd made those plans: how badly he wanted Bailey.

The brandy could wait. He couldn't.

Taking her in his arms, he covered her lips with his own, a silent answer to her original question. Her mouth opened beneath his, coaxing, inviting, and Gabe couldn't turn down that invitation a second time.

The walk up the stairs and down the hall to the master suite seemed to take forever, each step filled with almost painful anticipation. Her hand was like silk against his, sliding along his fingers, holding tight.

She smelled like a candle shop and the heady scent had been affecting him all evening.

''Now this is you,'' she exclaimed as she followed him into his room. ''A huge bed, books everywhere, a picture of a ship on the wall. I love it!''

And I love you. The words came unbidden to his mind as he watched her. He knew better than to utter them or to trust them, given the circumstances. But whatever name he put to the way he was feeling, he knew it was something far beyond lust. Something he'd never felt before in his life.

Gabe covered her lips with his own, needing to validate their togetherness, temporary though it was sure to be.

He made slow, wet love to her with his lips and tongue. His hands started their own sensual foray, discovering her curves and indentations. Touching softly. Molding. Pulling her against him. He made love to her with the confidence of a man who knew that arousing women was one thing he did well.

And loving Bailey was something he'd been dying to do since he'd first laid eyes on her.

Bailey's lips were hot. Her entire self was burning up. She'd had lovers. Enough to feel that she was reasonably experienced. Until Gabe's lips consumed hers. Until his charisma swept over her, took possession of her, swept her up into a gale of passion so furious she lost consciousness of everything but him.

She returned kiss for kiss. Lost herself completely to the sensations he was arousing. Not only in her body, but in her heart. Given complete freedom, her sensitized fingertips explored every inch of him. His shoulders, the muscles in his forearms. His neck and back. And for every brush of her skin against his body, she felt another shock of desire course through her.

Taking her lips from his so she could look up at him, she flamed anew, lit by the heat in his eyes. Turning on men like Alongie was something she knew she could do. But never, in her most daring moments of hope, had she imagined that someone like Gabe Stone would be so moved by her, Bailey Cooper.

''You are so beautiful,'' she whispered, unable to tear her gaze away from his. His body shook with his passion—almost as much as hers.

''No, my sweet angel, you are.'' He kissed her again. And then again. ''You are every fairy tale I've ever read come to life.''

Their clothes melted away. The covers were pulled back and as they fell together to the soft white sheets of Gabe's bed, as he eventually sheathed himself, entered her, loved her with his hands, his body, his words, Bailey knew that she wanted nothing more out of life than to spend it in this man's arms.

In some strange, elemental way that probably wouldn't surprise Eve at all, Gabe, Bailey's complete antithesis, fit her perfectly.

The next two weeks were better than any fairy tale she'd ever read. Gabe didn't speak of love. But he showered her with love every single day. With tickets to modern dance concerts. With touches and caresses that set her body on fire. With smiles that melted her heart. He insisted on seeing her every day. And she finally allowed herself to believe that their relationship was real. That their love was real.

She could feel. She didn't need the words.

Gabe wasn't a man of many words; Bailey understood that, accepted that about him. He was much like her father in that regard. Bailey knew the colonel loved her, although he'd never actually said the words. She also knew how uncomfortable her father had become the couple of times Bailey had spoken aloud of her affection for him. Which was why, every single day, she told Gladys how much she loved Gabe Stone. And why she told Eve. She wasn't going to make Gabe uncomfortable by voicing her feelings to him.

Eve was thrilled with the relationship, encouraging Bailey every step of the way to believe in this ''happily ever after.'' The only disagreement the women had concerned Bailey's refusal to tell Gabe about Alongie. About Lon-nie's ultimatum.

''It just doesn't matter,'' Bailey insisted for the third time in one conversation. Her stomach was starting to knot and she was tempted to hang up the phone if Eve wouldn't let this go. ''I'm not in love with Gabe because of Lonnie's ultimatum.''

''But you're lying to him just the same.'' ''I haven't said a word. How can I be lying?'' ''By omission.''

Bailey shook her head. ''You don't get it, do you?'' she asked her friend, rubbing her finger lightly along the back of Gladys's shell. ''I'm not going to ask Gabe to marry me. I've decided I'm not giving in to Lonnie's ultimatum, so it's a moot point. If we do get married, it'll be for the right reasons. So there's absolutely no reason to go into it. Besides, if I told him what Lonnie wants, I'd have to tell him about Alongie, too.'' ''Exactly.''

''Why should I ruin my life over one stupid mistake? Haven't I already paid enough?'' ''Yes, of course, but—'' ''Not only that,'' she said, carried by the momentum of her protest, ''I don't want to take a chance that if Gabe hears about the ultimatum, he'll ask me to marry him because of it. It's just the kind of gentlemanly action he'd feel compelled to take. If he ever does ask, I want to know it's because he can't live without me.'' ''I can understand that,'' Eve said, her tone

softening. ''But, Bailey, promise me something?''

''What?''

''Search your heart carefully. I sense some uncertainty within you. If this does get more serious between you and Gabe, and he does ask you to marry him—or you blurt out a proposal in the heat of the moment—are you absolutely certain Lonnie's ultimatum won't play a part in your answer? Promise you'll search your heart and know for certain that the ultimatum has nothing to do with your decision. Because if it does, if that's the main reason you agree to marry him, the marriage won't last. Even if it's only a small part of the reason, you have to be honest with him. Otherwise you'd be trying to build a relationship on a false foundation.''

Eve's words sent cold shivers through Bailey. Or maybe it was the cold water Gladys had just splashed her with as the turtle plopped down off a rock into her water.

''I promise,'' she said. As she hung up the phone, her hand was shaking. Of course Lon-nie's ultimatum was on her mind. A lot. She panicked every time she thought about not having the institute to give her life completeness.

The kids. The talent she spent her days discovering, exploring, nurturing.

But her feelings for Gabe were separate from that, a different part of her life. What she felt for him had nothing to do with the institute. Nothing.

So, could she be blamed for a perfectly natural surge of hope now and then that maybe all her dreams would come true?

She spent so many nights in Gabe's bed, he cleared a drawer for her in his dresser. And once in a while, they spent a stolen afternoon at his place, too. They'd just come from a particularly moving Sunday dance concert on one such afternoon. Gabe had hardly unlocked his door before he'd grabbed her and carried her upstairs.

Laughing, teasing him about his barbaric attitude, Bailey had his slacks undone before he'd made it to the second floor. And the love they made was a more moving dance than any choreographed piece could ever be.

Gabe was inside her, moving with slow, hard, deliberate thrusts and she was barely conscious of the world around them, so lost was she in the passion he aroused.

One more thrust and she was over the edge. Climaxing around him.

''Marry me.''

She barely heard the words he groaned as he joined her in ecstasy. His orgasm stimulated her to a third, tumultuous one of her own and she clutched his back, her body convulsing under his, his weight a comfort, a shield, on top of her.

Unable to think of anything, only to feel, Bailey hung on to Gabe until he finally relaxed and rolled them to their sides. He was still inside her, still connected. Still real and solid.

''Wow,'' he whispered, gazing at her as though she'd just invented sex—and invented it for him alone.

''Yeah.'' She smiled. She couldn't imagine what she'd done to bring that look of wonder to his eyes, but whatever it was, she hoped she could keep doing it forever. Forever.

Her faculties returned slowly. Forever.

''What did you say?'' she asked him. Her face was only inches from his, but not so close that she couldn't see the satisfied haze in his eyes.

''Wow.''

''No.'' She traced his lips with her finger, lingering when he slowly licked her index finger. ''Before that.''

''I think I said marry me.'' ''You aren't sure?'' Bailey started to panic. Had he changed his mind already? Or worse, had the words been meaningless, said only in the throes of passion?

''I'm sure I want to marry you,'' he said, a silly grin on his face. ''Just not sure I actually managed to get the question out.''

Relief flooded Bailey, making her giddy, drunk with well-being. ''I'm sure you did,'' she told him. ''Yep, now that I think back, I know you got the question out. I definitely heard it.'' ''And?'' His brows pulled together in a frown, his penis slipping out of her.

She missed him. As he took his body away from hers, he took her confidence, her security, as well. Their differences intruded. His similarities to her father. He'd never said he loved her. Would he begin to find her a burden, as her father had? When the sex wore off, would he find that he didn't understand her at all? That he didn't like her?

''I can't imagine why you'd want to marry someone like me,'' she said finally.

Supporting himself on one elbow, Gabe stared down at her, seriousness in every line of his body.

''You are everything I am not.'' ''And that's a good thing?'' She didn't quite see it. She'd spent her entire life trying to be more like him. Like his kind of person.

Gabe lay back against the pillows, staring up at his ceiling. ''The old Gabe wouldn't be asking a woman to marry him after knowing her less than a month, but the old Gabe wasn't happy, either.'' Head turned, he looked at her. ''You've brought a whole new dimension to my life, Bailey. You've brought vitality. Anticipation. Since I met you, I get up in the morning because I'm looking forward to what the day might bring, not because the alarm clock went off. I find that rather addictive.''

''Oh, Gabe, I think I'm addicted to you, too, but what happens when the novelty of me wears off?''

Hand splayed wide, he covered her breast, squeezing lightly. ''I don't think this kind of thing wears off.''

Bailey smiled, brought his other hand to her other breast and held it there. She wanted so desperately to believe that what was happening was real, that his feelings would endure.

''Your life is so settled,'' she whispered. She couldn't bear to talk him out of this, and yet, some part of her knew that if she was going to lose him and survive, it had to be now. ''You have a secure job, live in a socially acceptable neighborhood, are highly respected. You instill confidence in people. You don't say the wrong things at the wrong times. And you wear suits.''

Flat on his back, Gabe once again studied the textured paint on the ceiling. ''But I'm not happy,'' he admitted for the second time. ''At least, I wasn't until you came along.''

''You've lived such a blessed life,'' she said, unable to keep some of the envy from her voice.

Gabe shook his head. ''Maybe, but growing up the only child of elderly parents was a lonely thing.''

Bailey had a feeling, from the way he chose his words so carefully, the way he kept swallowing as though they were sticking in his throat, the way he wouldn't look at her, that he was telling her something he'd never told anyone else.

She bit her tongue, forcing herself to remain quiet, hoping he'd continue. She needed to hear whatever he'd tell her, needed to understand that somehow this was going to work. She might actually be teetering on the brink of ''happily ever after.''

''I was raised at the bookstore, learned to walk there, was potty-trained there. We were never home before dark, never home on weekends when I might have played outside, met kids in the neighborhood, made friends.''

He stopped, glanced at her as though to see if she were still listening. Bailey smiled at him, encouraging him to continue.

''I think that's why I went into sports when I hit junior high. Just so I could spend time with kids my own age—get outside. Roughhouse a little.''

''I guess your parents were a little like my dad. No late-night pillow fights or wrestling over Saturday cartoons, huh?'' she asked. Although they were outwardly complete opposites, perhaps she and Gabe had something in common, after all.

''None of that,'' he said. His gaze returned to the ceiling.

Bailey lay beside him, taking the opportunity to admire his physical beauty. She railed silently against her lack of ability to express an artistic vision in tangible form. She'd give just about anything to be able to create an image of Gabe's perfection. An image that would last for all eternity.

''Luckily I loved books,'' he said eventually. ''I read early, and voraciously. My playmates became the characters in the stories I read. And later, I found my real companionship in the same places.''

''Inside books,'' Bailey said. Reaching down, she slid her fingers between his larger, stronger ones, holding on.

Gabe nodded, then glanced at her as if to gauge her reaction. ''Pretty pathetic, huh?'' he asked.

''Not at all,'' Bailey told him in all honesty. ''At least you had friends.''

He watched her silently and when he started to talk again, his gaze never left hers. ''You are the embodiment of my fairy-tale lovers come to life,'' he told her. ''You're beauty and magic and friendship.''

Not at all sure she could ever live up to his expectations, Bailey knew, suddenly, that she was willing to spend a lifetime trying. ''I'm not perfect,'' she felt compelled to tell him.

''Neither am I,'' he said, as though letting her in on a secret.

And he might as well have been. Any faults he might have would be news to her.

''You bring life into an existence that's been barren far too long,'' he whispered. ''I'm tired of experiencing everything in my imagination. Please say you'll marry me, Bailey.''

Her promise to Eve flashed through her mind, but there was only one reply she could possibly give.

''I'd be honored to marry you.'' They were the last words she said for a long, long time.

Gabe wanted to be married as soon as they could make the necessary arrangements, and Bailey threw herself into the plans with typical Bailey gusto. During the four weeks it took her to prepare for a wedding, she was around all the time, introducing him to her weird, extremely loyal best friend Eve, meeting his attorney and the closest thing he had to a best friend, Brad Sommers. She and Gabe attended two modern dance concerts, arguing over her more intense and his more logical interpretations of the pieces they saw. And they made love every chance they got. They were in his office the day before the wedding, having just climbed back into their clothes, when she suddenly frowned. ''You're all out of oil?'' she asked. Still recovering from the incredibly erotic half

hour he'd just spent on top of his desk, Gabe frowned, unable to keep up with her. ''Oil?''

She pointed to her artwork, a little skewed, sitting on the water globe. ''You've got thumbtacks in there.''

Clammy with embarrassment, Gabe remembered her gift.

At about the same time, her gaze settled on the football hanging from the fish's gill. ''And the terra-cotta isn't in your car.''

Frowning, he realized that he was missing some vital piece of information about her artwork. Something to do with oil.

He wasn't sure how critical his lapse would prove to be.

''I didn't expect you to use up the oil so fast,'' she said. ''but I'm glad you did. You know you just had to ask, I'd have gotten you more.''

''And...'' Gabe paused, swallowed. ''What exactly would I do with it if you got me more?'' ''You didn't...'' Bailey's brows furrowed, and then widened, her eyes glowing with mirth as she glanced back at this thumbtack holder.

''You actually thought...'' She broke off and grinned.

Standing there, still not understanding, Gabe felt like a complete fool.

Yet, wasn't this what life with Bailey was all about? Learning, expanding, every day a new experience? Wasn't this exactly why he was marrying her?

Of course, that still didn't explain why she was marrying him. Or why she'd still want to when things like this made it so unmistakably obvious that he lived on another planet—a very boring planet.

''Since your entertainment is at my expense, you mind explaining it to me?'' he asked.

Wrong question. In Bailey's attempt to explain—at least that was what she seemed to be doing—she lost complete control. She was laughing so hard she couldn't get a word out. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

''Y-you t-thought the d-diffuser was a t-thumbtack holder?'' she finally choked out.

What the hell was a diffuser? In his opinion, using the strange little object for thumbtacks was pretty creative. After all, there'd been no instructions, directions or diagrams. He remembered the football-shaped pill holder balancing in the fish's mouth behind him. He could only pray she didn't inspect any further. If she cried over thumbtacks, he'd hate to see what she'd do with aspirin.

He was about to find out. Bailey moved in for the kill. And Gabe lunged for the football. He already felt sheepish enough.

''Let me see that,'' she said, reaching for the football. Gabe held it up high.

He'd forgotten whom he was dealing with, this woman who was changing his life so drastically. Before he could read her intent, she reached down, grabbed his crotch with one strong artist's hand, and squeezed. Gabe dropped the football and watched, cringing, when the aspirin tablets spilled out to roll beneath his desk.

''Aspirin?'' she squealed. ''Oh, Gabe, I hate to ask what you did with the oil and the diffuser pot.''

His brandy warmer was a diffuser pot. Although he still didn't know what a diffuser was. And with all the evidence in front of him, he'd have to conclude that the cologne at home, unused in his bathroom, was the ''oil'' to which she kept referring. That tiny vial held the key to this whole ridiculous mess.

''I didn't know it was oil,'' he admitted, but only because she was so beautiful when she smiled. And because he'd never made anyone laugh so hard before. And because he wanted to know what in the hell this crap was for.

''What did you think it was?''

She'd let go of his crotch, but she hadn't moved. He wished he had the cologne—no, oil—there, instead of at home, and could hold that above his head next.

''Cologne.''

Bailey sniffed. ''I've never smelled it on you.''

''I don't wear it.'' Thank God for small favors.

''Oh.'' She nodded, looked away, but not before he saw the grin spreading once more across her face.

''I'm to assume that these things all have to do with this oil?''

She nodded, obviously trying very hard to control her mirth. ''Uh-huh.''

Gabe waited. Either she was going to tell him, or he was going to strangle her. Or maybe he'd strangle her, anyway. Anything to get his hands on her again. All this mental exercise was making him hungry. But not for food.

''The football is terra-cotta.'' She managed to stay serious long enough to get that out, and then started to laugh. ''You apply a drop of oil to the outside and hang it in your car. The sun diffuses the scent.''

''That stuff?'' Gabe asked, horrified. ''You want me to die? The smell is so strong my eyes would water, the road would blur and I'd drive into a tree.'' He'd barely been able to breathe that one day he'd put it on; he'd had to go home to shower it off.

''It's not so strong one drop at a time.'' She picked up his thumbtack holder. He was sorry to see it go. He'd grown rather fond of the thing. ''This is a diffuser ring. You put a couple of drops of oil here.'' She ran one finger along the indentation that was no longer holding his thumbtacks. ''Then you put it on a light bulb and the heat diffuses the scent.''

''Let me guess, I put a couple of drops of oil in the pot, too, plug it in and it diffuses the scent.''

''Right. What are you using it for?'' The merriment filled her eyes again.

''A brandy warmer.'' He couldn't deny her anything, it seemed.

Bailey burst into another fit of laughter—until Gabe joined her at her own game. He grabbed a handful of one luscious, unbound breast and squeezed gently. Her laughter died immediately. Her warm, hungry eyes were almost his undoing, but he wasn't ready to let her off the hook so easily.

''You think I need scented oil because my surroundings stink?''

''No!'' She stepped back, out of his grasp, laughing.

Disappointed, Gabe let her go. Surely he deserved more than a five-second feel for the humiliation he'd been through.

''Neroli is aromatherapy oil,'' she told him, still grinning. And then she wasn't. Moving back within reach, she didn't stop until she'd pressed up against him, her hand once again in possession of his most vital organ. ''It's an aphrodisiac.''

Already hard, Gabe became rock-solid as he considered how early on in their relationship she'd been sending him a sex potion. ''I've got your aphrodisiac,'' he growled, pushing himself roughly into her palm.

Bailey proceeded to soothe his injured ego— and other parts—in a most satisfactory way.

The next day, the thirtieth of April, a whole four weeks after he'd proposed to his crazy angel, Gabe and Bailey finally came together to be joined as husband and wife. They were married in the bookstore—at Bailey's insistence. Gabe had demurred, but when she'd explained so passionately that he'd come into the world in that bookstore and she felt she should enter his life in the same way, he'd relented. He hadn't given in on the preacher, however. Bailey had wanted her best friend to perform the ceremony, ordained for the day. Gabe hadn't even known such a thing was possible and certainly hadn't wanted his life with Bailey to begin on such a temporary footing.

Bailey was beautiful in yards of flowing, off-white lace wrapped around a simple lavender blouse and full-length, flowing lavender skirt. Her hair had fallen, as always, in uncontrolled ringlets around her face and down her back.

And while Gabe felt like a stuffed shirt in the tuxedo she'd begged him to wear, he'd also been unable to imagine wearing anything else for his wedding. Bailey's father had flown in for the occasion and Gabe had liked the man immediately, getting along with him as well as if he'd been his own father.

He met Lonnie, too. And liked Bailey's mentor tremendously. Other than Marie and Brad and Eve, the two men were the only guests at the ceremony, at Bailey's request. She hadn't wanted the importance of their vows to be lost amid the need to entertain.

There was no reception, unless you counted the entire next week, which they spent celebrating by themselves. He'd offered to fly her to Hawaii, but Bailey had wanted only to spend the time alone with him, uninterrupted, in his home. Her new home. She'd even refused to move her stuff in until after that first week, not wanting to waste a second of their week off from work with more work. She'd paid her rent to the end of the month, anyway. He coaxed her out occasionally, for barefoot walks in the park, food, more champagne when they ran out and occasional trips down to her place to feed Gladys. And once, late at night, to go skinny-dipping in Lake Michigan when he'd confessed that he'd never done it before. Mostly she kept him chained to the bed. Metaphorically speaking.

Gabe was glad she did. It saved him from having to chain her there.

The week's only disappointment, if he could call it that, had been the lack of any words of love. Not that he needed them. Bailey told him she loved him in a hundred different ways. With her body, certainly, but also with her looks. With the tender little ways she tried to make life more pleasant for him. The way she insisted on bringing him coffee in bed every morning, the patient way she'd drawn him out of himself, listening tenderly while he struggled to speak of things he'd never spoken of before. The way she made him laugh.

And now, in true Bailey fashion, a full week after their wedding, his wife was on the phone calling everyone she knew, and every name in his address book, as well, inviting them all to an impromptu gathering to celebrate their nuptials.

They were sitting, glued to each other's sides, on one of the sofas in their family room.

''We could've done this last week and gotten it over with,'' Gabe told her. Although he wasn't thrilled to be hosting a party, never having been much of a partygoer, he was happy to indulge her. He'd rather have her to himself, of course, but he'd known he was going to have to share her eventually. Bailey's light was too bright to shine only for him.

''I'd never have been able to sit through a party last week,'' she told him, phone at her ear as she waited for the line to be picked up at the other end. ''I'd have been impatient and rude and told everyone to go home so I could be alone with you.''

''And now you're no longer impatient to be alone with me?'' He toyed with a ringlet, pulling her close for a quick kiss before he let her go.

''Now I'm anxious to have everyone see that you're mine,'' she told him, leaning forward for another, juicier kiss.

''Hello, Brad?'' She broke off the kiss to speak into the phone. Gabe groaned, wishing his attorney had been too busy to answer. Another couple of seconds, and he was sure he could have had Bailey right where he wanted her. Beneath him.

Not that she hadn't shown him a few other incredible ways to have her over the past week.

''What are you planning to serve at this party?'' he asked his wife when she'd hung up the phone.

''We'll order pizza.''

Gabe was pretty sure his neighborhood had never witnessed a pizza delivery.

''And what are we going to do with them after we eat?''

''Play Chatter Matters.''

Gabe choked. Chatter as in talking? Could he ditch his own wedding reception, as it were? ''How do you do that?'' He was afraid to ask, but even more afraid to have it thrown at him unprepared.

''It's an old game Lonnie and his family used to play. Basically you just answer questions from a stack of cards.''

''What kinds of questions?'' Bailey shrugged, her slim naked shoulders distracting him. ''Like...what's your favorite family memory, or sing a song that expresses your feelings for the person on your right.''

Gabe went cold. He was never going to survive this. ''And why would we want to do that?''

Her eyes, filled with love and excitement, practically glowed as she looked at him. ''I think it's the best way to get to know each other's acquaintances and friends quickly—so that we're all connected from the beginning instead of taking years for yours to become mine and mine to become yours. I want them to belong to both of us right now.''

He couldn't think of a single objection to that.

''That wasn't so bad, was it?''

Gabe's body hardened as his wife bent to whisper to him from behind. He was outside, lounging in a chair on the sundeck, watching

Brad make a fool of himself over Bailey's astrologer friend Eve.

''No.''

They'd just finished a round of Chatter Matters and Gabe had actually found the game to be something of a relief. He'd only had to speak when it was his turn, and the question had guided him in the direction of what he was to say.

''I think everyone's having fun, don't you?''

Looking out over the yard, at the clusters of his bookstore employees, a few close customers and Bailey's arty people, he had to agree with her. His wife knew how to throw one hell of a party. He tried to pretend her chin wasn't resting on his shoulder, that he couldn't feel her warm breath tickling the lobe of his ear.

''How soon you think we can get rid of them?''

''Gabe!'' she laughed. And slid onto his lap. ''I'll hide the evidence, does that help?''

The brat. She knew exactly what she was doing to him. ''No, it does not help,'' he growled as she wriggled around, settling herself more comfortably.

''We could always slip away.'' Her voice grew husky and Gabe felt a thrill of power. He was having the same effect on her that she was having on him.

''Do you think they'll notice?'' he asked.

''Do you think they'll care?'' she countered.

''Let's go.''

By the time Gabe finally let Bailey up for air, all but a few of their closest friends had left. Lonnie was still there. And Brad and Eve were sitting out at a table by the pool, drinking champagne.

Pouring herself a glass, Bailey went over to join them. Gabe could hear her riling her friend over the way she'd been keeping Gabe's attorney to herself all evening.

''She's something else, isn't she?''

Busy admiring his wife, Gabe hadn't even noticed Lonnie approach. ''Yeah.''

He stood at the outdoor bar, debating between a glass of champagne and the brandy he really wanted. Lonnie leaned one arm on the bar and glanced over at Bailey and the others.

''I can't tell you how relieved I am she made that deadline,'' Lonnie said.

Deadline? Gabe hadn't even known Bailey was working on anything, let alone that she'd finished a project. Or that she'd had one to finish.

''I hated doing it,'' Lonnie continued. ''It would have killed me to let the institute go, to see it die.'' He paused, looked back at Gabe.

Gabe nodded. Bailey hadn't breathed a word about the institute being in trouble. Of course, they'd had other things on their minds. Even so, he didn't like not knowing what was going on in Bailey's life and made a mental note to leave a bit more time for talking.

''But worse,'' Lonnie went on, sipping from the flute of champagne he'd brought with him, ''it would have killed me to refuse to sell it to Bailey. She and the institute are like two parts of the same whole. One wouldn't be complete without the other.''

Funny, Gabe had thought that was his role in Bailey's life.

''You figured Bailey was going to buy the institute?'' he asked. Not only had she never given an indication that she had any such plans, Gabe knew for a fact that she couldn't afford a decent roof over her head, let alone purchase an entire school. He'd seen her apartment.

''I didn't think it, I know it,'' Lonnie said. ''We signed the papers the week before the wedding. All it took to finalize the deal was her marriage to you.''

Suddenly everything happened at once. As if from outside himself, Gabe saw surprise and then horror cross the older man's face.

''You didn't know....'' His voice trailed off and his eyes swung toward Bailey.

So did Gabe's. He saw his wife spill her glass of champagne all over herself. She'd just glanced his way, seen Lonnie speaking to him. She and Lonnie shared the nonverbal communication experienced only by truly intimate acquaintances. A kind of communication she'd never had with Gabe. Her face mirrored the horror on Lonnie's as her gaze flew to Gabe.

Excusing himself, Gabe left the bar, left the few remaining guests, and locked himself in his study. He was being ridiculous, of course. Acting like a child, running away to hide. He recognized that even as he chose to do nothing about it.

Bailey could say goodbye to their guests for both of them. Gabe couldn't stomach the celebration another second.

''Gabe?'' He'd never heard that note of fear in Bailey's voice. Heart quickening, he rose automatically to go to her, take care of whatever was bothering her. He was halfway to the study door before he caught himself.

''Go back to your party, Bailey,'' he commanded. She'd never heard that tone of voice from him, either.

''I asked them all to leave. Gabe, we need to talk.''

He didn't think so.

''Please, Gabe?'' The doorknob rattled. ''Please talk to me.''

Gabe remained standing in the middle of the room, his hands in the pockets of the slacks he'd pulled on—without underwear—after loving Bailey so thoroughly less than an hour before.

Something thumped against the door, brushed all the way down it. Bailey's back as she slid to the floor. He could hear her weeping softly, just outside.

And couldn't stand to be trapped in there. Listening.

He pulled open the door so quickly, she fell against his ankles. In spite of himself, he bent to her, almost as though to pull her into his arms. To hold her and tell himself he was never going to let her go.

He hadn't heard from her yet. He could be drawing all the wrong conclusions. He owed it to her, to their love, to listen to her.

Of course, he reminded himself as he helped her up, he and Bailey had never spoken of love. Not even in the wedding vows she'd written for them.

Clinging to him like a child lost in the dark, Bailey finally spoke. Her words were muffled against his chest. ''Lonnie told you.''

''It depends,'' he said, keeping his voice calm with great effort, ''on what there is to tell.''

''He told you about the ultimatum—that if I wasn't married by next month, he was going to close the institute rather than sell it to me like we'd always planned.''

Nope. Lonnie hadn't laid it out anywhere near that clearly.

''You can afford to buy it?'' What in hell did it matter? But he couldn't focus on anything else at the moment. Except this. She had enough money to buy an elite art school. And he hadn't known. She had plans to buy the school. And he hadn't known. And the real kicker—she'd had to get married to sustain the plan. Basically, he didn't know her at all.

Bailey nodded, her head moving up and down against his chest. Moments ago he would've found that movement incredibly erotic. Now he couldn't bear her touch. Pushing her away, he waited until he was certain she was standing on her own, then dropped his hands from her shoulders. They still burned where he'd touched her.

Her eyes were searching his imploringly. Swallowing, Gabe refused to look at her.

''I've been saving for years,'' she said. He wasn't sure why she was bothering to explain, or why he was bothering to listen. He just couldn't figure out what else to do. ''The insurance settlement from my car accident was what got me started.''

He nodded. Her words were logical. Unthreat-ening. Made perfect sense.

''But then, a couple of years ago, I got into a

bit of a scrap....''

Gabe listened as the story spilled out—Bailey's relationship with her past lover, her arrest, her time in jail, the eventual trial that cleared her name but sent her lover to prison for ten years. He didn't know why he was surprised. He'd known Bailey was as unconventional as they came.

Still, he could hardly believe the story she was spinning. Nothing at all like the fairy tales he'd spun for her. And about her.

He couldn't help thinking, as she talked, that he'd done a much better job with his storytelling than she had.

''I thought everything was going to be fine when it was all over. I'd proven my innocence....''

''Your ignorance,'' Gabe said, telling himself to shut up. He was in no frame of mind to speak to anybody.

Bailey lowered her head, acknowledging the accuracy of his hit. ''But more importantly, I'd learned my lesson.''

''What lesson was that?'' ''That my father was right all along. My judgment wasn't to be trusted....'' He had to agree with her father there. ''That I needed to find someone solid and respectable and pray that he'd have me. Or...'' ''Or?''

''Or make up my mind to live alone.'' Gabe said nothing.

''I was wrong about everything being okay,'' she continued, still standing where he'd left her in the middle of the room. She had her arms wrapped tightly around her middle, bunching her colorful caftan—Bailey's version of a swimsuit cover—at her waist.

''Lonnie said I'd gone too far in my episode with Alongie. He said he just couldn't make excuses for that one. He said... he was no longer sure enough of my stability to turn the institute over to me when he retired. I needed a keeper, he told me, or at least a husband who'd give me some... perspective. That is what he called it.'' Turning in a circle, Bailey faced the open door, and then Gabe again. ''He wouldn't budge,'' she said, her eyes begging for his understanding.

Gabe would have liked to oblige. But he couldn't. He didn't understand anything about this nightmare except that he wanted it never to have happened. He wanted to move the clock back an hour, do things differently. He wished he'd kept his wife in their bed instead of letting her talk him into rejoining their wedding party.

''He gave me an ultimatum. Either I get mar-ried—to a stable, respectable man—by his retirement or the school was retiring with him.'' That about wrapped things up. What a damn fool he'd been. Hands in his pockets, Gabe walked over to the window and stood staring out into the night, counting the lights along his driveway. He had the most idiotic sensation that he might have tears in his eyes and he couldn't bear anyone to know that.

Especially not the woman who'd just ripped every good feeling he'd ever felt to shreds.

It was his own fault, really. How could he have been fool enough to believe that someone as vivacious as Bailey Cooper would ever have a real interest in him? Of course she'd had ulterior motives for approaching him. It was no longer astonishing that she'd hung around longer than the rest. Now he knew why she'd tried so hard, why she'd pretended to find his minimal conversation stimulating. Her miraculous interest in him wasn't miraculous at all. He'd been living in his world of stories—medieval legends and fairy tales and the great sagas, in which wondrous and magical things occurred with regularity. Where a farmer's son could win a princess... Life wasn't like that.

''I was the stooge who happened along?'' He didn't spare himself as he sought the truth. There was nothing left in him to hurt.

''No.'' He could hear the tears in Bailey's voice and didn't turn around. He didn't want to see her this way. ''I'd noticed you more than a year ago, one afternoon around five. I'd just come into Stone's and you were leaving. I couldn't stop thinking about you and went back purposely at the same time hoping that we might run in to each other.''

''We never did.''

''No.''

''And you needed to meet me so badly you finally got up the nerve to approach me, anyway?'' He summed it up, still outwardly unemotional. Inside he was grasping for anything to hold on to.

Seemed incredible to him that he'd inspire such need in her, but what did he know?

Maybe they could salvage something here.

Bailey hesitated and that was all the answer he needed. She'd caught him out again. But this was the last time, he vowed. The very last time.

''Eve told me you were the man I had to marry.''

He heard the words, but he'd already closed his heart to the forthcoming pain. He'd known when she hesitated that whatever she had to say was going to hurt.

''She'd done some research.''

The blood drained from his skin. He'd had no idea the truth was going to be that bad.

''I was a research project?'' He'd been wrong.

There was more in him to hurt. He could feel the pain, twisting ever tighter.

''I didn't know,'' Bailey whispered. ''But, Gabe, listen to me...'' She grabbed his hands, clasping them to her breasts, her voice filled with desperation. ''After our second date I knew I wanted to marry you, but not for the institute. I wanted to marry you because I couldn't imagine living the rest of my life without you.''

He'd have to be an idiot to believe that.

Pulling his hands back, he faced her. ''Tell me something.'' He tried to soften his tone, but he couldn't.

''Anything.''

''Did you or did you not purposely keep the truth from me?''

She didn't say anything for so long, words no longer mattered. Her silence convicted her.

Gabe headed for the door. He was through.

''I did, but not for the reasons you think.'' Her words reached him in the hallway. Stopped him.

He turned back to her, a disgusting, needy fool. ''Then you didn't use our marriage to get the institute? You would have married me, just as quickly, if buying the school hadn't been an issue? If Lonnie hadn't given you an ultimatum?''

She didn't have anything more to say. He could see the futility in her eyes.

''I'll pack my things and go,'' she said, brushing past him.

Gabe didn't try to stop her. He went back into his study and remained there, standing at the window, until she was gone.

Chapter Six

Bailey tried to stay away from Gabe, to leave his life before she did more damage, but then she'd go to sleep at night, back home in her dingy little apartment—so dingy and little that it was still available despite the notice she'd given. She'd go to sleep and dream about the joy she'd shared with him. The joy he'd shared with her. He'd been happy. Briefly, it was true, but she'd made him happy. And he'd made her happy, too.

When she thought she might lose her mind from the backlash of pain, she sought out Eve.

''The thing is,'' she sniffed, sitting on the floor in Eve's tiny bungalow living room. ''I couldn't honestly tell him I'd have married him anyway, without doubts.''

''You were head over heels in love with him on your wedding day, Bailey. I was there. I felt it.''

''I know.'' ''So?''

''You made me promise to search my heart.'' ''And if you had, you'd have found out you were head over heels in love with him.''

Shaking her head, Bailey reached for another tissue. ''I did search.'' ''And?''

''I was afraid, Eve. I knew I loved him, but I'm still not certain he ever loved me. Men like Gabe do things slowly, deliberately. I moved so fast he couldn't possibly know what hit him. So what was going to happen when things moved to a normal, everyday pace and he had time for regrets?''

''Why do you assume there would have been regrets, Bail? You're a great person, a beautiful woman, the best.''

Bailey smiled through the tears slipping down her cheeks. ''He's too much like my father to be content with someone like me. You should have seen him after you guys left that day, Eve. So cold, so logical. It was a replay of the time Daddy shipped me off to Winston's. There was no caring left.''

''Your father was caring for you, Bail. He did the absolute best thing he could ever have done when he sent you to Lonnie.''

''He had no way of knowing that.''

''I don't believe that, Bail. I know your father. He doesn't do anything without checking all the angles. He couldn't, not with all his responsibilities.''

''So? You're saying I was a job to him? A responsibility? I want to be more than that.''

''I'm saying that he'd have done his research before sending you to Lonnie. He'd have been certain Lonnie could help you. And he cared enough to get you help. If he was just looking to get rid of you, he could have shipped you off to any old boarding school.''

Bailey pondered that. The thought comforted her. For a moment. ''But that doesn't have anything to do with Gabe.''

''Sure it does. Your father cared. Maybe Gabe does, too.'' ''Maybe.''

''Are you saying you wouldn't have married him if not for the institute?''

Bailey stared at the carpet, picking at a thread. ''I don't know.'' She looked up at her friend through a fresh wave of tears. ''I wanted to, so badly, but if it hadn't been for Lonnie's ultimatum I probably would've chickened out. I knew losing him afterward was going to kill me.''

''Not if you don't let it,'' Eve said firmly, just before she pulled Bailey into her arms and rocked her, her own eyes wet with tears.

The next day, two weeks after her fairy-tale wedding, Bailey lingered outside Stone's, knowing she shouldn't be there and unable to stay away. She'd been in the middle of an oil class at the institute, had burst into tears and walked out. She was hot and bedraggled, as well as paint-spattered; she'd walked from the Loop halfway up the Magnificent Mile, but she'd needed to do something before she lost whatever grip she had on reality.

And being close to Gabe helped. She kept thinking about the things Eve had said the night before. The things she'd finally admitted, to her friend and to herself. She was so confused now, she didn't know where to turn.

With survival in mind, she opened the heavy door of the beautiful old building and went inside. She couldn't hesitate, couldn't worry about the stares she was getting. Instead, she marched up to the counter and asked Marie if Gabe was in his office.

''He's busy, this morning, Miss Cooper,'' Marie said. She was looking everywhere but at

Bailey. Bailey didn't think the woman's barely concealed aversion had much to do with the grungy pants and oversize shirt she was wearing.

''It's Mrs. Stone,'' Bailey said. ''He's in his office?''

''He doesn't want to be disturbed this morning.''

Half aware of the customers gathering around, Bailey tried to keep her voice down.

''He's my husband, Marie. I have a right to see him.''

An older woman gasped and whispered to her friend so loudly Bailey and Marie could both hear her. ''Gabe Stone married that?''

Bailey ignored the old biddy. ''Don't you think you ought to let me go up before I shock anyone else, Marie?'' she asked, but didn't wait for a reply. She didn't need the woman's permission to see her husband. She knew where Gabe's office was. She'd made love with him on his desk the day before their wedding.

A fact he'd obviously forgotten, Bailey thought when she opened his office door a couple of minutes later. Judging by the expression on his face, his memories of her in that room weren't good ones.

In true Gabe fashion, he didn't say a word.

Just sat with that horrible frown on his face and stared at her.

''I can't sleep. I can't eat. I couldn't leave things like this,'' she blurted, wishing now that she'd taken time to at least change her clothes. She was going to need a miracle to get him to like her again.

''Guilt will do that to a person,'' he said. But he had rings under his eyes, too.

Bailey took a strange sort of comfort from that. She moved closer to the desk, then stopped when his expression grew even colder.

''I wish you'd let me explain,'' she tried again. ''I wish you could believe me when I—'' ''Believe you?"

''Give me a chance, Gabe,'' she begged. ''Let me show you how much you mean to me.''

He lowered his chin to his chest. Swallowed. And when his gaze returned to hers, she felt physically sick. He'd said his goodbyes. She could see that in the thinning of his lips, the hardness of his eyes.

''What's the point, Bailey? We're from two different worlds. It's best to end things now, before there are any further complications.''

Complications. Fair or not, that was all she'd ever felt she was in her father's life. A complication. Was it the same for Gabe? Had her fears before the wedding been more real than unfounded?

More than anything, she had to know. ''Do you love me, Gabe?'' She faced him as she asked the question.

''Exacting your pound of flesh, Bailey?'' He used one of her father's famous tricks, answering a question with a question.

''No.'' She shook her head. ''Just looking for the truth.''

He sighed, looking so unhappy for a moment that her foolish heart took hope. ''The truth is, we probably rushed into this and should never have gotten married in the first place.'' His calm logic was a familiar brick wall.

''Is that what you think?'' She'd been right all along. Give him a little time to consider things, a little bump in the road, and he was ready to sign off.

She'd never fit into her father's life; why in hell had she thought she'd fit into Gabe's? After all, in many ways, those two were so alike.

''Don't you?'' His gaze, as it finally met hers, was strangely vulnerable.

He read her answer in her eyes. Bowed his head.

''It would be best if you don't come by here again, Bailey,'' he said, looking back up at her. ''Further contact between us can only bring further... discomfort.''

Without another word, without a backward glance, Bailey turned and walked out of Gabe's life.

The following months were the toughest of Gabe's life. He lost count of the number of times he drove by Bailey's old low-rise, hoping for even a glimpse of her. He'd seen lights on occasionally, but that was as close as he got to any indication of life.

He didn't know what was the matter with him, why he couldn't bounce back, but six months after she'd gone, he still felt as though he were only half alive. He worked. He dated. He took more time off than he ever had before. He no longer cared if he had anything to say when he went out, only cared that he not be stuck at home with his memories of Bailey. And found that not caring went a long way toward loosening his tongue.

He still wasn't a sparkling conversationalist. He was still serious-minded and more interested in Shakespeare than in current trends, but he could hold his own if he had to.

The one thing he didn't do was divorce Bailey. He had no need of his freedom, no plans to remarry. He never intended to try that experience again. And insane though it was, as the months passed and he received no decree from her, he breathed a sigh of relief. He told himself that this was due to the protection his non-marriage gave him on the social scene; maybe, if he had another ten years, he might even start believing it.

Christmas came and went, and he thought, for a day or two there, that he wasn't going to make it. If it was possible for a man to die simply from lack of wanting to go on, he knew his number was coming up.

But to his surprise, he didn't die. After the holidays had finally passed, he made up his mind to start living again. Disgusted with his tortured hero act, he made a conscious effort to find something in life to interest him. Something he could take pleasure in.

He discovered a passion for Tae Kwon Do, an ancient martial art. Gabe began to rely on the mental discipline it required to keep him sane. In the month of January, he went just a couple of nights a week, but by the first of February, he was attending class at least five times every week.

With his Grand Master, he finally worked out the pain of Bailey's initial betrayal and then started on the agony of living without the joy she'd brought to his life. He released the tension that had been building to an exploding point these past months. He kicked and moved, sparred with his classmates, learned to control the demons inside him, and felt alive again for the first time since Bailey had left. He'd even begun to forgive himself for not being able to hold on to someone such as Bailey. He knew they'd done the right thing in separating. He and Bailey were too different to have made their marriage last.

Or so he told himself. Many times a day.

He even started reading again. Spy thrillers, mostly, because he needed something that was going to keep him on the edge of his seat long enough to keep him in his seat. But slowly and surely, he was coming around.

Until the fourteenth of February arrived and Gabe found himself home. All by himself. On the day meant for lovers. What came to mind, mocking him, was a thought he'd had on his wedding day—that he'd never be spending another Valentine's Day alone. He'd woken up so grumpy, he'd decided to stay home for the day.

Feeling morose and resigned, he hauled the aromatherapy diffuser/brandy warmer that Bailey had given him from the back of the cupboard. His first shot of brandy, his usual afterdinner drink, was warmed and ready before lunch. He was just about to take his first sip when the doorbell rang.

Who in hell would be coming to visit him on Valentine's Day? he wondered irritably. It was Monday; he was supposed to be at work.

Gabe strode to the front door, a firm goodbye on his lips for whoever had dared interrupt him. Couldn't a guy feel sorry for himself in peace?

But when he opened the door, there was no one there. At least, no one he could see. He felt a presence, though, and looked around, wondering if some new little kid in the neighborhood was playing a prank. He'd take the kid straight home to his mother the second he caught him. The kid ought to learn to respect other people's rights.

A movement on the ground caught his eye. Gabe glanced down automatically, thinking there must be a cat on his porch.

''What the...''

There was no cat.

He couldn't believe what he was staring at instead. His breath caught and his heart stopped. Completely. Just stayed frozen, right in midbeat. He started to breathe again. His heart started to pound. Nothing else moved.

Except the bundle in the basket at his feet. It moved once. Then it blinked.

Gabe blinked back. He couldn't tear his gaze away, and couldn't figure out what else he should do.

The blanket surrounding his guest was pink. That finally registered. He knew it should mean something. But he didn't remember what.

He continued to stare. To take deep calming breaths. To try to control the rapid pounding of his heart.

And all the while his brain just kept drumming out the same message. There's a baby on my doorstep. There's a baby on my doorstep.

Gabe would probably have stood there for the rest of the afternoon, but the baby apparently got tired of waiting for him to figure out what to do. Its little face screwed up and it emitted the most godawful sound Gabe had ever heard. At least in his own home.

That spurred him into action. Reaching down, he grabbed the handle of the basket and swung the cumbersome thing inside. Slamming the door with his foot, he plopped the carrier down on the tile floor of his entryway and stared some more.

That was when he noticed the note attached to the fuzzy pink blanket. And recognized his name scrawled on the front.

Gabe reached for the note. Not because he felt it would have any significance, but because it was there. He was mildly curious. Mostly numb.

He had someone else's baby on his floor.

Correction. Gabe's blood ran cold as he read the note. And then read it again. Her name was Mignon—and she was his. Chest constricted almost to the point of suffocation, he looked down at the squalling pink bundle and read the note a third time, certain it would say something different.

It didn't. He dropped the note. Then he tore outside, turning wildly to the right, to the left; he ran down into the yard. Where was she? Aware of the baby inside his house, he didn't go far, but he scanned the entire neighborhood. She was gone.

But not for long. The note had said she'd be back.

Confused, befuddled, Gabe went back. He leaned against the door, too weak to stand, too afraid to move. In the time it took for one doorbell to ring, his entire life had changed forever. Compelled by things he couldn't hope to understand, he looked down. The wet, big blue eyes of his four-week-old daughter stared up at him.

She was so bundled up that was all he could see—her eyes, pert little pudgy nose and a rosebud mouth currently tensed into a diamond-shaped pout. Sliding down the door, Gabe knelt beside her, afraid to touch her. Knowing he'd have to. She'd suffocate if he didn't get some of that stuff off her.

With trembling hands, he finally reached out to his daughter.

''It's okay, little girl,'' he whispered, afraid his voice would scare her. ''Daddy's just going to pick you up now, okay? It won't hurt, I promise. Daddy's just going to pick you up.''

He waited another couple of seconds, giving her time to register a complaint about this plan. After that, he ran his hands along the inside edges of the carrier until they met at the bottom, and then he gently lifted. The bundle popped out like a cork.

''See? That was easy as pie, little princess,'' he said, still whispering. ''Daddy's going to carry you into the family room now, okay? It's just over there...'' Bundle held out in front of him, he continued to whisper all the way to the other room, hoping his voice would be enough of a distraction in case there was any part of the journey that met with her disapproval.

Mission accomplished. Not wanting to test his luck, Gabe set her down on the leather sofa closest to the door—and jumped when she started to squall even more loudly than before.

''What?'' he asked, leaning over to stare down at her. Could there be something on the couch? He thought of ''The Princess and the Pea.'' Or under the cushion?

He lifted her carefully to check, and the horrible sounds stopped immediately. Deciding the problem was, indeed, the couch, Gabe set her on the other sofa. But the second he let her go, she howled again. She didn't like the chair, either. Or the floor. Not the kitchen table, any of the counters or even his bed. By the time he'd pretty well decided he'd just hold her until her mother came—no matter how long that took—he was as sweaty as she had to be, still bundled in her fuzzy blankets and funny little cap.

Exhausted, back in the family room with her carrier now close by, he fell to the sofa, laying her in his lap. She blinked, gazing up at him, her little brow furrowed in a frown.

''I know, little girl, I don't get it, either.'' He was still whispering in spite of the fact that his throat was getting sore from the strain. ''Your mother has a lot to answer for.''

Bailey. Even thinking her name sent a jolt through him. She'd been on his doorstep and he hadn't even known it.

She'd given him a baby and he hadn't even known it.

Well aware by now of his daughter's sensitive nature, Gabe started—with extreme caution—to remove the things covering her. A blanket. A second one. The tiny cap. Covering the finest little ears he'd ever laid eyes on. She was zipped into a body jacket, which he removed ever so carefully, crooning reassurances the entire time. When he'd finally made his way through all of the layers, he was shaking again. Shaking with love. And with fear. She was the tiniest creature he'd ever seen.

And he was a daddy. A father. Part of a family. He wasn't alone anymore.

An hour later, still sitting outside on the cold ground, ears numb, Bailey wiped away a fresh spate of tears. Waiting. Her heart was breaking with every second she sat there, knowing she'd just lost half of her daughter's life. Knowing she'd had no choice but to bring the baby to the father who would love her. After Gabe's last painful words to her all those months ago, she'd been unable to share her pregnancy with him, unable to go to him while she was so vulnerable, but she was well now. Recovered. Strong. She was ready to be accountable, to accept whatever fate had in store for her. To be fair and rational as she discussed sharing Mignon's life with the man who didn't want her mother.

She just wished it didn't hurt so damn much.

Chapter Seven

Gabe's legs were numb. His little girl had fallen asleep on his lap almost two hours ago, and he hadn't moved a muscle since. She needed her sleep. He only wished he'd been able to join her. That he could find some escape from the torment he'd been suffering as he sat there loving her so damn much it hurt.

And, even though he willed it to be not so, loving her mother, too. His lower extremities might be numb. His heart most definitely was not.

For the better part of an hour he'd been torturing himself with memories of Bailey. Interspersed with imaginings of what the past several months must have been like for her. Had she taught all the way through, or was she running the institute now? He'd bet she'd looked glorious pregnant.

He added another regret onto the rapidly growing pile. If he didn't stop soon, they were going to crush him.

He'd missed Mignon's birth. Hell, he'd missed naming her—although he approved of Bailey's choice. She's taken the name straight from Fifty Famous Stories Retold. From the final story in the book.

He'd missed Bailey like hell.

He was going to be seeing her sometime. Soon, he hoped, since she'd left no food for the baby and he had no idea what Mignon could eat.

She'd said in her note that she intended to be completely cooperative about sharing Mignon's custody. She intended to discuss the future. Until a few hours ago Gabe hadn't even known he had a future.

He tried, as he sat there, to speculate about what the future might bring, to form some kind of realistic expectations so he could slide through the next hours with the least possible damage. But he couldn't picture an end that satisfied him. Not a realistic one, anyway.

The only certainty was that, one way or another, he was going to raise his daughter. He couldn't think beyond that.

The doorbell rang fifteen minutes later. His little girl was still asleep and Gabe considered not answering until she woke up.

But he couldn't leave Bailey standing out there in the cold. She didn't even have a car. For all he knew, she'd walked from the public transit stop. He sure hoped she'd had insurance through the institute for Mignon's birth. He should have taken care of them both.

When the doorbell pealed again, he knew he was going to have to do something. Continual ringing might wake his daughter. Of course, moving her might do the same, but Gabe had no choice. Placing his precious bundle on the couch, carefully secured by a strategically placed cushion, he stood. He had to brace himself against the chair across from the couch—or fall. His legs were screaming in protest. He wasn't sure, for a second there, if he'd ever walk again.

But he did. And he made it all the way to the front door before the bell rang a third time. Taking a deep breath, pretending he was ready to see his wife again, he pulled open the door.

Bailey's eyes soaked him up. And then flooded with tears. None of his expectations had prepared him for that.

She didn't know what to do when he just stood there in the doorway, watching her sob like an idiot. Needing him to hold her more than anything in the world, she waited, hoped, but to no avail. He stood there a total stranger, not even inviting her in.

Her mind went blank. What should she say? How did she stop crying? She finally took the only option left to her. She moved forward. She stepped up to him, slid her arms around his solid, secure middle and buried her face in the crook of his shoulder.

Even when he stood frozen, arms at his sides, she didn't move away. Truth be known, she couldn't. She'd borne his baby for him. She'd survived her aloneness and pain.

So slowly she hardly dared believe it was happening, his arms stole around her, pulling her inside his house, inside his life. He held on even after he'd kicked the door shut, silently waiting while she cried out the anguish of the past months.

''I'm sorry,'' she mumbled, and felt him nod. She wondered which of her many apologies he'd just accepted. And then figured it didn't matter. Beggars couldn't be choosers.

''What the...''

Gabe pushed her gently away to glance down at his sweater. There were two telling wet patches on his chest that matched the ones marking her thigh-length men's shirt. She'd been sweating so much she'd unbuttoned her army jacket on her way up the walk.

''Mignon's dinner,'' she said when Gabe continued to stare at the front of her shirt.

''You're huge!'' he blurted.

And Bailey smiled for the first time since she'd left her baby on his doorstep. A watery smile, perhaps, but... ''Yeah.''

Right on cue, her baby let out an earth-shattering howl and Bailey's breasts began to leak in earnest. It was a little embarrassing how abundantly she provided for Mignon's needs.

She and Gabe hadn't really even said hello, but first things first. Bailey headed toward the sound of her daughter's pathetic cries and scooped her up into a hug as soon as she reached her.

''I missed you, little funny face,'' she said, rubbing her nose against the baby's tear-streaked face. Recognizing her mother—at least that was Bailey's take on the situation—Mignon stopped crying and immediately turned her open birdlike mouth to Bailey's chest.

Reaching to unhook her maternity bra, Bailey had the baby settled even before she'd sunk down on the couch. only when Mignon had begun nursing, relieving some of Bailey's immediate physical distress, did she look back to Gabe.

He was standing a couple of feet away. Watching intently.

''She was hungry,'' Bailey explained inanely. What did one say to the man who'd just found out he'd fathered her child?

Gabe nodded. And the move was so familiar, so Gabe-like, Bailey had to fight more tears. She kept hoping that eventually she'd be all cried out.

''Think she could get any noisier there?'' Gabe asked suddenly, still staring at Mignon. When she looked up at him, Bailey's heart stopped in her chest. Gabe was smiling.

''She throws herself one hundred percent into everything she does.''

Gabe nodded again. ''I guess she's like her mother in that regard.''

Raising her brow in question, Bailey continued to gaze at the man she'd been fantasizing about every day for all these months. He wasn't right for her, so why did it still feel as if he was the other half of herself?

Bailey fed the baby in silence for a while, feeling just the tiniest thrill of pleasure at the enthralled way Gabe continued to watch. When the baby had finished on one side, she quickly moved her to the other, having learned from experience that she didn't have time to cover up before her daughter started protesting.

Her stomach churned with desire when, in one unguarded second, she saw the heated way Gabe was staring at her moist, uncovered breast. At least something between them still worked.

A little reluctantly, she covered it.

She wanted to talk with him about the future, get everything out and done, but she had to wait until Mignon was done eating. The baby nursed lustily, burped, and then, as usual, fell promptly asleep.

''What else does she do?'' Gabe asked, his hands in his pockets.

She buttoned her shirt and settled Mignon back on the couch.

''You've seen her whole repertoire.'' Bailey smiled down at their daughter. ''Eats, sleeps and cries.'' She knew she should look up at him, but concentrating on Mignon was safer. It also gave her strength.

''And goes to the bathroom,'' she added when she realized she hadn't changed Mignon before she'd fed her. She'd been thrown off their normal routine.

Gabe seemed content to stand in front of the couch until the world ended. Bailey wasn't that patient.

''Are you angry?'' she finally asked, meeting his eyes. She should probably get up, but she felt safer on the couch, next to Mignon. ''I don't know what I am.'' That was fair. She didn't know, either, much of the time.

''Was it a hard pregnancy?'' He rocked back and forth on his feet, his gaze locked on the baby as he asked the question.

Not if you didn't count how agonizing those months had been without him. She shook her head.

''No problems?''

''Not even morning sickness.''

''And the delivery?''

''Eve was there,'' she said, remembering those difficult hours. There'd been a time or two when she'd been certain she couldn't go on, but once Eve had arrived at the hospital, she hadn't let Bailey quit. And the prospect of seeing her baby, the baby she'd been loving for so many months, did the rest. ''It was relatively short.'' ''Did you have her naturally?''

Bailey grinned. ''Would you expect me to do anything else?''

Gabe conceded her point with a nod, and then frowned. ''Did you have her in the hospital?''

She hadn't wanted to. Probably wouldn't have if Gabe had been around, but, alone, she hadn't wanted to take any chances. ''Yeah.'' ''You had insurance?'' ''Yes.''

The questions were suffocating her. Not because she didn't want him to know the details, but because there were other, more important matters at hand.

''Has your father seen her?'' Bailey didn't think it was a coincidence that they'd both been thinking of him at the same time. She shook her head. He'd barely spoken to her since she'd left Gabe. Not that she intended to tell Gabe that. ''He's been out of the country for the past six months.''

He was quiet for a few minutes, a brooding expression on his face while he watched the baby sleep.

''Thank you for bringing her.'' ''I couldn't not.'' And she couldn't continue like this much longer, either. They'd made a

baby together, for God's sake. They weren't strangers.

''Have you taken over at the institute yet?'' The question was asked as unemotionally as the rest, and Bailey started to feel afraid. Did he really care so little? Had she only imagined those weeks of a loving so warm she'd thought she'd never be cold again?

''No,'' she said. ''I didn't buy it.''

His gaze shot to her face. ''Lonnie didn't sell it to you?''

''I didn't buy it.'' There was a big difference.

''It's closing?''

Was he worried she wouldn't have a job? Wouldn't be able to support herself? That she was going to ask him for help?

''No,'' she assured him. ''A group of teachers from the university bought it and will be running it through a board of directors. I still have my job for as long as I want it.''

''Why?''

Bailey was starting to feel uncomfortable beneath that probing stare. ''Because I love what I do, the kids need me, and I need to do something with my life. Mignon won't be a baby forever, you know.''

''I mean, why didn't you buy it?''

He hadn't raised his voice. There were no visible signs of any change, yet she sensed a tension in the room that hadn't been there moments before.

Whatever it was, it gave Bailey the courage to tell him the complete truth. ''Because I didn't need it anymore.''

He digested that silently, rocking back and forth slightly, as he had before. ''Mind explaining that?'' he said eventually.

''From the first day I arrived at the institute it'd been my family, the place I went to for security, acceptance, maybe even love. After you, it didn't work anymore.''

''Why not?'' He'd stopped rocking. Stopped moving completely.

''Because I'd had the real thing.'' ''But you wouldn't have married me if not for the institute.''

''In one sense, that's right, Gabe.'' Bailey rose slowly, careful not to disturb their daughter. She approached him, stopping just before her body touched his, and gazed up at him. ''Because I was afraid to marry you and needed a push, something to get me past the fear. I can honestly tell you that the reason I married you wasn't to buy the institute. It was that I couldn't imagine my life without you.''

Something flickered in his eyes—and then was gone. ''You're not remembering correctly, Bailey,'' he said. ''You told me yourself why you approached me. Lonnie gave you an ultimatum. Eve gave you a solution.''

''That's why I approached you that first day, yes. Or at least, that's what I told myself. I'd been looking for an excuse to talk to you for a long time,'' she admitted.

''Then what were you so afraid of when it came to marrying me?'' The question was little more than a hoarse whisper. And loaded with feeling.

''You waking up and finding yourself tied to me. And regretting it.''

He hadn't backed up an inch. Bailey took heart from that. And from the warmth she could feel traveling from his skin to hers. ''Did you love me, Bailey?'' ''Exacting your pound of flesh, Gabe?'' ''No.''

''Yes, I love you. With all my heart.'' Relief, tangible and weakening, engulfed her as she finally let him know how she felt. It didn't even matter that he couldn't return the feelings. Not

anymore. She just needed him to know, to release all the intensity inside her. ''You never said so.'' ''Neither did you.'' He still hadn't. ''We're very different,'' he said instead. She knew what he was really saying. Nothing had changed. They were still two very opposite people who'd happened to end up in the same place. She swallowed. Nodded. ''I understand.'' ''Do you?'' he asked, holding her gaze with an intent, searching look. ''I wish you'd explain it to me, then.''

Frowning, Bailey asked, ''Explain what?'' ''Why half of my soul's been missing since the moment you walked out of my life.'' ''It...has?''

Gabe nodded. ''If we weren't meant to be together, why haven't I been able to get you out of my mind, my heart?''

''Your heart?'' She felt the tears coming. He nodded again.

''But I don't have what it takes to hold you in the long run, Gabe. I'm too intense and too emotional. I think with my heart and not my head. I'm not comfortable in your kinds of clothes, your kind of neighborhood....''

''You're strong spirits and I'm stale tap water.''

''No!'' She shook her head, her curls shaking vigorously. ''How can you even say that?'' she cried. ''You're everything I've always wanted! Solid and dependable and loyal and smart and logical and reliable and so sexy it hurts...'' She watched him for a minute, as though deciding how much more to say, and then continued. ''These past months without you have been agony, Gabe. If I ever doubted for a second how I felt about you—which I didn't—these months would have shown me that my love for you is eternal.''

''You never doubted your feelings for me?''

''No,'' she answered instantly. ''It was always your feelings for me I wasn't sure of.''

And in that second, Gabe finally got it. He and Bailey weren't different at all. They were from the same mold, suffering from the same insecurities. He'd never doubted his own feelings, either. Only hers.

He'd never been able to understand what she saw in him, what there was about him that could possibly hold her attention—other than sex. He'd also never understood why she didn't appear to recognize what an amazing, incredible woman she was. Why she didn't seem to have a clue about her own value. Could the truth be that he was exactly the same way? That he had worth of which he wasn't aware?

That what she saw in him was as real as the things he saw in her?

''You really love me,'' he said, hardly able to accept it, yet filled with a certainty that he'd just hit on the truth. ''I really do.''

Hands in pockets, he stood there, staring at her. ''I really love you, too.''

''No, you don't.'' She backed away from him. ''Yeah,'' he said, moving in on her. ''I do.'' ''You can't.'' She was crying. ''If you can love me, I can certainly love you,'' he countered.

''How can you say something like that and still sound so logical, so calm?'' ''Because it's important.'' Her whole body swayed forward and then, after gazing at him for a couple of long, interminable minutes, she was in his arms. Laughing, crying, holding on for dear life. It wouldn't have mattered if she'd let go, he had a firm grip on her.

''I can't believe you love me,'' she said moments later, shaking her head.

''Without you,'' he told her, ''there's no point in me.''

Taking his face between her hands, Bailey looked up at him. ''You mean that?''

''Believe it, Bailey,'' he whispered.

''I love you, Gabe.'' Her voice was soft, tremulous.

''I love you, too.''

The doubts were gone, almost as if her friend Eve had set a spell on them. But Gabe knew with everything in him that this was more than a spell. This love was going to last their whole lives and beyond.

Epilogue

One month later

With mignon sleeping in the sling strapped across her chest, Bailey moved among their guests, greeting everyone, laughing, so obviously happy, Gabe couldn't help grinning as he watched her.

''She always could work a room.''

Turning, Gabe saw his father-in-law lean an arm against the same bar that had been holding Gabe up since they'd returned home from Mignon's christening almost an hour before.

''Do I detect a note of disapproval?'' he asked, more because of the view Bailey believed her father held of her than because he heard any negative tones in the older man's voice.

''Not at all,'' Colonel Evan Cooper answered, pouring himself a shot of brandy. ''perplexity, probably, but I'm proud as hell of my daughter.''

''She doesn't think so.''

The colonel shook his head. ''I'm not surprised,'' he admitted. ''I've never known what to do with her, how to talk to her. It's like she's from a different planet. When she was growing up, whatever I tried to convey would invariably end up meaning something entirely different.''

Knowing Bailey, Gabe could sympathize with the older man. But where his father-in-law had been stumped, Gabe was only enlivened. He loved every second that he spent trying to keep up with his unpredictable wife. ''Maybe you should tell her that.''

''Maybe.'' Evan finished the brandy. ''She's mellowed.''

Gabe thought of the way she'd awakened him that morning, stark naked, kissing him from his toes up. ''She's just on her best behavior because of the occasion,'' he assured the older man.

The colonel nodded, clearly heeding Gabe's warning. ''I can't tell you how relieved I am that you took her back,'' he said.

''Actually...'' Gabe looked at his wife, wondering how soon they could be alone again. ''It's more like her taking me back,'' he said. And he thanked God every day that she had.

Laughter and loud greetings came from the front door.

''It's that weird friend of hers,'' Evan said, eyes turned toward the living-room entrance. ''Who's she with?''

''My attorney.''

''Oh.''

''Yeah.'' Gabe couldn't have said it better. Except that, unlike the colonel, Gabe was thrilled about the unusual union that had sprung up between Eve and Brad. ''They're good for each other,'' he said, hoping to explain what he was still trying to understand himself. ''She tempers his logic and knowledge with intuition.''

Bailey would have been proud of him if she could've heard him. At just that moment, she looked over at Gabe... and everything stopped.

I love you, her eyes told him.

I love you, he replied with his.

The party raged around them. Laughter abounded. Food was plentiful. Mignon slept. And her parents, with one look, escaped into a world made for them alone.

A world where a wacky artist and a stodgy bookseller lived happily ever after.