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[Over the Moon], Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3 [My Baby Too], Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3

"Will she live?" Gabrielle bit her lower lip and wrung her hands together, standing over the limp form on the operating table. "I'll never forgive myself if Angelique dies." Drawing in a shuddering breath, guilt assuaged her for being too careless, for letting her out of her sight. "Val won't speak to me ever again."

Her troubled eyes followed the doctor's deft fingers working his magic, prepping newly shaved flesh, wielding a minuscule but finely honed scalpel. When he closed the incisions with catgut, her stomach churned.

Angelique moaned and lolled over the silvery-gray table. Gabrielle's attention never left the patient and she stepped to the table acting as a barrier to keep Angelique from rolling off.

Taking his pen light out of his pocket, the doctor shined it in Angelique's groggy eyes. Then he poked and prodded angry pink flesh, making Gabrielle wince in commiseration. "I think she'll make it. She's one lucky little lady."

Gabrielle let out a long sigh of relief. "So what's next?" Surgery would probably cost her upwards of two hundred dollars. Two hundred dollars of which she needed every cent for her dream vacation. Three years of longing and planning faded before her eyes.

Iron will pulled her back, before she let herself feel too sorry for herself. After all, it was her fault that Angelique ran into the road in the first place. That her sister would be heartbroken if her baby died.

Devastating tiger's eyes sought hers, hitting her unexpectedly in the solar plexus, stealing her breath. An instantaneous jolt of electricity surged through her when they took her measure. A square chin punctuated lean, chiseled cheeks. Honey blonde hair against deeply tanned flesh gave him a leonine grace. What an extraordinary-looking man.

Suddenly self-conscious at her state of dishabille, not that she could be expected to have stopped and changed into a cocktail dress before rushing to the emergency room, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, fidgeting.

Grimacing, she wished she didn't look as if she'd stepped out of a blender, either. Fluttering fingers drifted to her hair, trying to coax it into order. Breathing was a struggle. Traitorous toes curled. Goose bumps prickled her arms.

Her fiancé wouldn't appreciate even a mental aberration in faithfulness. To distract herself, she pushed her cuticles back from her fingernails with studied practice, pretending aloofness.

"She'll need to stay over at least two nights. We'll see how she's doing then." When he flashed a dazzling smile, her insides smoldered into melt down. It took all her strength not to swoon. Not to tilt her head and flip her hair behind her shoulders in a come hither invitation.

With a touch of self-loathing, she gave herself a good mental shake. Knee deep in a life crisis, shouldn't she be sad? Even a little apocalyptic?

The doctor stroked Angelique's silky fur and smiled at the sedated feline as if she were a precocious child, practically crooning to her.

Guilt aside, she just couldn't get that worked up over a mangy feline. How she'd ever let Valerie talk her into babysitting her psychotic cat, she hadn't clue one. Val must've caught her in an insane moment. But then Val had that effect on people.

She didn't even like animals. Especially not cats. They were too dirty. Too smelly. Too time consuming. And too expensive. Sharp claws and razor sharp teeth gave her nightmares.

And here she was preparing to empty out her bank vault for her sister's hairball. Curling her fingers over the leather clutch purse, her knuckles and fingernails paled. She could feel the money slipping away.

Val owed her big time. She'd go to her grave owing her for this.

"She's lucky to have you." Scooping Angelique into his arms, he carried her to a cage that looked more like a luxury resort. "Not everyone would bring her to the vet."

"I'm a regular peach, alright." She flashed a strained smile at the Greek God in doctor's whites, her true feelings clogging her throat. Any moment she was in danger of batting her eyelashes, sashaying her hips and gifting him with a fertility goddess. If she didn't hurry up and escape, she'd ask if he'd father her first born.

She'd really lost her mind. Maybe her sinuses had consumed it, swollen as they were with cat dander and formaldehyde permeating the clinic. Small explosions refused to be squelched. Achoo. Achoo. Stifling another sneeze, she pressed her fingers to her nose as daintily as possible.

Her way-ward, un-Gabrielle-like emotions concerned her. She'd never reacted to her fiancé, Ian, this way.

No other recourse, she followed the doctor until he led her to the front desk. Despite herself, she couldn't help but admire the broad set of his shoulders that tapered to lean, lithe hips, or his casual gait. Extracting her checkbook from her purse, she felt her vacation paradise dissipate.

After keying in several buttons that reverberated in her head, the doctor smiled crookedly, capturing her gaze. "Six hundred fifty dollars. Will that be cash, check or credit card?"

Choking back a gasp, she stared at him dumbfounded. In shock, she froze to the spot. "Excuse me?" Her own medical bills had never totaled that much in a year.

"We take Discover Card now." His professional smile told her he thought a tiny piece of plastic would solve all her problems, alleviate all traces of apprehension. Vacation Utopia dimmed alarmingly.

She held out the underside of her arm to him. Sarcasm dripped from a voice icier than she'd ever heard it. "How about if you just take my blood?"

"Do you need a payment plan?" He chuckled at what he thought to be her joke. Deadly serious, her eyes narrowed as she dropped her arm to the counter. "Sixty dollars a month?"

Flipping open her checkbook, she peered at her blue-inked bank balance with a grimace, wondering how fast it would go into the red at this rate. "I'll pay now and get it over with." She brightened a little. Valerie would surely reimburse her. After all, her baby would've died without the surgery. Uncapping her pen with her teeth, she balancing her checkbook mid-air, scribbling the amount as hurriedly as she could, anxious to leave this animal nightmare motel. Like pulling a Band-Aid off quickly instead of excruciatingly slow, it would be less painful. "When can I pick her up?"

"Call tomorrow afternoon and we'll let you know how she's doing." His fingertips brushed hers when he took the proffered check radiating shivers down her spine. While she schooled her rampant emotions, he slid her dream in his counter safe with barely a glance at the staggering amount, without a clue what he had just stole from her.

Quirking an eyebrow, she bestowed her most sugary sweet smile on him, her honeyed tones a perfect match. "Sure you don't want my lineage back to Elijah with my driver's license number? My firstborn?" Shocked at what had slid out of her mouth, heat simmered beneath her cheeks.

Impish light flared across his eyes so quickly, she wondered if she imagined it. When he spoke, he was the consummate professional again, his words perfectly modulated. "We'll do everything we can to make her comfortable and ensure she has a speedy recovery. Feel free to call if you want to check on her."

"Thanks." She considered diving into the safe, retrieving the check and letting him repossess the cat. Instead, she adopted her best professional smile and swallowed a lump in her throat. "I'm sure you'll care for our little Angel as if she was yours." Better than if the cat were hers.

"Tell me you're joking, Gabby." Ian's fingers raked his hair. Cold eyes ransacked her as he paced the floor. "You didn't really just drop half a grand on that mangy flea bag?"

Enamel powder dusted her tongue, her teeth ground so hard. "You know I don't like it when you call me Gabby." Nausea assaulted her every time she thought about her sorry bank balance. She really didn't need him compounding it. What had ever possessed her to exchange her vacation on a cat? Guilt wasn't that strong, was it? "And it was over half a grand."

She might be guilted out of fifty dollars, even a hundred, but this went beyond mere repentance. Something else was at play, and she suspected she had a heart beating somewhere in her chest.

"What gives? You don't like animals any better than I do." Ian halted before her, towering over her, hands on his hips. "You spent all that money on a mangy flea bag, and didn't even consult me." He shot a haughty glance down his nose at her.

"That mangy flea bag is my sister's pride and joy. And I'd do anything for Val." Could family loyalty be driving her too far?

"You're always bailing her out of jams. It's time she grew up." A huge sigh expelled from his lips. "She's thirty-something, isn't she?"

"She's thirty-two. She needed help."

"Try tough love. She's five years older than you. It's time she stopped playing with those crystals and moved back into the real world."

She resisted the urge to wring her hands together. Hadn't they had this argument a million times? She could almost repeat it verbatim. "I know Val's a little different, but she's my sister."

"That's right! You're her sister. Not her banker. Not her therapist. And not her baby sitter." Flat and devoid of any understanding, his gaze set her opinion of him in concrete. Ian had a piece of quartz in place of a heart.

She frowned. Why did he have to worry everything to death? Didn't she have enough troubles? "I don't expect you to understand. You're an only child. I'm not going to desert her no matter what you say." You'd better not let me down, Valerie.

"Don't go noble on me." He played his arms like a violin, snorting, then picked cat fur off his Christian Dior suit letting them flutter to her floor... "How am I supposed to meet MacPherson looking like a fur ball?" He glowered at her. "And I probably smell like that litter box."

"It's only for a couple more days. And the cat will be at the vet." She linked her fingers together in her lap to quell their urge to choke him and her sister for putting her in this spot.

Refusing to kiss her, he strode for the door. Well, that's fine with me! "Let me know when the cat's gone and you've de-fleaed the place. Until then, I'll take Tony up on the offer of his spare room."

"We don't have fleas." Following him to the door, her brows knitted together. She should know. When she'd checked the itemized bill, she'd discovered an outrageous charge for a flea bath. "You're blowing this out of proportion."

His eyes narrowed as if dissecting her and she shivered. "Who knows what kind of germs that rat chaser brought in here? It's unsanitary to have animals in the house. I'm darned if I'm going to expose myself to disease."

"You can't be serious?" She cut off a disbelieving snicker, knowing it would fan his anger to inferno proportions.

"Just watch me." He crossed the threshold, slamming the door in her face without so much as a smile.

Five days later, Gabrielle returned to the animal hospital, filled with trepidation. Life had been peaceful without Angelique clawing her furniture and scavenging in her garbage. She'd banned the litter box to the porch and aired out her apartment. She felt human again. Ian had even been appeased- almost.

Formaldehyde smacked her in the face when she opened the door of the clinic and she almost fell backward. Even though it was barely eight a.m., the waiting room bustled with the animal kingdom, including a hyperactive ferret and a beady-eyed iguana.

She held herself aloof as best as she could but a puppy scampered under her feet, tripping her.

Strong hands righted her, saving her from the fall.

When she looked into twinkling tiger's eyes, her throat constricted. "Thank you," she murmured, all of a sudden self-conscious, even though she was quite presentable this time, clad in her three-piece suit, gold filigree chain and gold ear studs.

"Your little darling's doing much better. She slept through the night."

"She should sleep like a princess at these rates. You should change the name to Buckingham Palace." Just being inside these not-so-hallowed halls, she watched the dimmer switch on her vacation plans fade. She clutched her purse tighter, protecting the vacation brochures hiding inside. They were her lifeline in this crazy, mixed-up world.

A wide grin split his face. "Actually, we're the least expensive place in town. We're thinking of calling ourselves Motel Six."

He took her elbow and led her to the receptionist. "Joanna, will you help the pretty lady check out Angelique Thomas?"

Joanna smiled at the doctor as if the sun rose for him, her chin dimpling. The expression in her jade eyes bordered on idol worship. "Be glad to Dr. Nealy." Much more honey in her voice and the woman goes into sugar shock.

Dr. Nealy? Gabrielle frowned. She could've sworn the phone book said he was Dr. Benjamin Miller. And that was the name on the front door, too.

Oh well. No biggie. Did it really matter what his name was? After this morning, she'd never see him again. Nothing would entice her into an animal clinic ever again. They would, never again, get near her checkbook. Or her Discover Card.

Still twinges of an unnamed emotion tugged at her heart making her knees wobble. She put it down to warped high heels. At lunchtime, she'd have to get the shoe cobbler to put new tips on them.

"Thank you. You prevented World War III for which I'm eternally grateful." She fished in her purse for her checkbook, swimming past her wallet, keys, and make-up for the elusive nymph. The smart aleck didn't want to be found anymore than she wanted to find it.

A tidal wave brushed by her and clapped Dr. Nealy on his shoulder.

"Flirting again, Craig?"

The man was so tall he had to stoop to enter the door. He turned a thousand-watt smile on her. "Excuse my partner, Miss. He can't help himself when he sees a pretty face."

She felt a blush creeping into her cheeks. The cogs in her mind ground in a frenzy. Something nagged at her, as if something should click. It was like trying to sum a formula when she'd misplaced a parentheses. She couldn't quite fit the pieces together.

She peered at him, trying to jog her elusive memory. She'd never seem him before. Her soul would remember such a magnificent man. So why did something feel suddenly familiar, as if she should know him? Or of him?

"Then you won't mind buying me a cup of Java?" He turned up the voltage of his smile to eclipse that of his associate, solar flares singing her.

Disappointment flared through her veins. She checked her watch despite the futility. Eight fifteen already. "I can't. I'm already late to work." She sneaked a glance around the full waiting room. At least seven different breeds of dogs occupied the small space, including a salt and pepper Schnauzer, a Cocker Spaniel that couldn't stop wagging its stubby tail, and a Siberian Husky disconcerting her with his lopsided gaze, one blue eye, and one brown. She did a double take at a red-haired woman with a friendly smile and large round glasses, holding a pot bellied pig on her lap. The woman only had eyes for the handsome doctor. "And it looks like you are, too." She doubted his work seldom bored him. Or his clientele, she amended without amusement.

"I'm just coming off shift." He turned up his smile, raising the temperature of the room at least ten degrees.

"Struck down! Thought I'd never see the day Craig Nealy didn't score." Ben's chuckle boomed through the tiny waiting room.

Craig Nealy. Craig Nealy. The name chanted in her ears.

"Don't let it get around. I've a rep to protect."

Realization struck her like gale force winds and her eyes widened. She let her gaze wander his length, drinking in his magnificence. No wonder her sister had ever gotten over him. He was ambrosia to the eyes and balm to the soul. And strictly verboten.

She was engaged. He was a first class heartbreaker. Worse, Kim still pined for this man after all these years. He'd never released her heart.

"Here's your angel." Joanna crooned non-sensical words in the cat's ears. She placed the cat carrier on the counter, and darted glances full of longing and appreciation at Craig.

"Yes. There's my darling." Gabrielle couldn't keep the drawl out of her voice as she peeked at the Siamese fur ball through the mesh bars.

Craig hovered over her. "How about lunch?" His breath fanned her ear and she felt hot flashes sear through her.

Pretending he had no effect on her, she stuck her fingers into the cat carrier and tried to pet Angelique, but the fur ball's fluff stood on end as she spat venom at her. One well-aimed claw ripped through her finger.

"Mother of Mercy!" She jerked back so fast she fell into Craig's arms. Her injured finger automatically went into her mouth and she sucked on it while glaring at the cat. Some angel! Devil or Satan would be more fitting names.

"Let me see that." Craig drew her hand into the light. He let out a long whistle, which sounded more like admiration of the cat's handiwork than commiseration with her pain. "She has quite a swipe."

"Tell me about it." Her finger throbbed and was already swelling. Yet, it felt heavenly in his grasp.

She glowered at Angelique. You're Kibbles and Bits! This meant war.

Craig took Gabrielle's small hand in his, not the least surprised that it fit perfectly in his large paw.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked, looking at him warily like a skittish foal.

He held the hand up with the injured finger. "You need antiseptic and dressing before you get an infection. I'll doctor it for you."

"Great! An animal doctor's going to stitch me up." Although her words were sarcastic, the bite was lessened somewhat by the honeyed tones of her husky voice. She tossed her head and the early morning sun streaming through the plate glass windows made her cornsilk blonde hair shimmer as the heavy curtain brushed her shoulders.

What an exquisite creature! He wondered why she bothered to hide those curves under her woman's idea of a man's power suit. With curves like that, she didn't need brains. But she had plenty. And a quick wit. And she loved animals. Just look how well she'd taken care of Angelique. Only an animal lover would have rushed their beloved pet into the emergency clinic and not asked the cost to save her.

He knew some day, the perfect woman would walk through his door. He'd not expected an accountant in a three-piece suit, but he'd adapt. He sensed that underneath her no-nonsense facade burned a passionate woman.

He'd taken advantage of the time Ben distracted her to let his gaze roam over her length. Even though the fluorescent lighting in the office made most people look sallow, her creamy complexion glowed with health and vitality. The bloom in her cheeks reminded him of freshly opened rose petals. Full, kissable lips tempted him to take them right then and there. She smelled heavenly, like night blooming Jasmine. Females who wore alluring scents had always fascinated him. All the more if they had sweet honeyed voices, come-hither eyes, perky breasts and miles of legs that didn't end. What a delectable package, practically made to order.

When she glanced up at Ben, the creamy column of her throat looked more alluring than a summer rain after a long drought. He almost forgot where he was and what he was supposed to be doing.

The parade of women who chased him faded from his memory. He was tired of being just a pretty face. They didn't care if he had substance or not, as long as they could wrap him around their arms and show him off. He was beginning to feel like a trophy.

Somewhere he'd known there was someone who'd recognize and appreciate him for who he really was. Someone who would laugh at his jokes because they understood them, not merely to make him feel good. Someone with whom he could converse with on his level. Someone who didn't put him on a pedestal upon which he couldn't possibly stay forever.

So she'd turned down him down flat, which presented a minor problem. But he wasn't beaten. The hunt was on.

He'd lift her home address from Angelique's file. A touch of larceny wasn't beyond him with this prize in sight. The challenge whetted his appetite.

Besides, she'd be back for Angelique's recheck in a few days. He'd make sure he was the doctor on schedule, even if he had to come in on his off time.

He pulled her into the scrub room where he gently cleansed her finger. She quivered against him and he suppressed a knowing smile. She wasn't immune to him. "We can declaw her for you. Then she couldn't do this to you." Bewitched, he looked down at the top of her head, using any excuse to admire her captivating beauty. "That is, if she's an indoor cat."

She lifted her eyes to his, a flitting expression of amusement in their darkened depths that sparkled like star sapphires. "I don't know what she's decided to be in her next life. I suppose I should ask her." Her laugh was dry. "But it would certainly save on my furniture."

"Have Joanna schedule her after she's recovered." He applied antiseptic gently, careful not to hurt her anymore than necessary, concerned when she flinched.

Her lips twisted into a lopsided grin and he detected a trace of a mid-western drawl. "Tell me, were you an ambulance chaser in your last life? Don't you get enough business here without being a walking advertisement?" She rolled her hips alluringly as she took a step back, putting distance between them. "You know, the Real Yellow Pages would love to do that job for you. Then you could concentrate on your doctoring."

It was his turn to laugh. What a delightful, refreshing little nymph. This one kept him on his toes. He held her hand up to the light and peered at his handiwork. "I just hate to see a pretty lady get hurt."

"You're quite the charmer, aren't you? No wonder..." She cut off her words with a look that told him she'd thought better of what she'd been about to say.

No wonder what? What had she meant by that?

He regarded her with curious eyes. She'd called him a charmer. That wasn't all bad. But he'd had the distinct impression her words were a double-edged sword. It wasn't a compliment.

He forced his concentration back to bandaging her finger and she eyed it as she might a garden snake.

"Not that I want to be rude, but I'm late to work. Put the bill on my tab, will you?" She glanced at the wall clock as if it had grown two heads.

This was his opening. "I can't put my bill on your tab." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. This move got to all but the most hardened of souls, and even some of them. He'd perfected his routine since he was three.

"Why not?" she asked, almost breathless, not withdrawing her hand and he felt a quickening in his soul.

"My bill for helping a damsel in distress is dinner and dancing on the intra-coastal. Tonight." He watched her, waiting for some expression in her eyes.

Instantly her eyes became guarded, and he wondered why. She pulled her hand from his and crossed the room in an absurdly quick gait. That wasn't the reaction he'd expected. It wasn't as if he'd asked her to bear his sons. He hadn't even proposed a one-night union.

"I'm busy tonight."

"Tomorrow night?"

"Busy." She looked slightly uncomfortable and crossed her arms under her breasts, delineating them despite the severely cut suit.

"How about the night after?"

"Look, it isn't that I'm not flattered by your invitation." Her voice held a sharp edge that surprised him. Where had that come from? She held up her left hand and wiggled her fingers. "But I'm engaged."

He drew his brows together and peered at her fingers. Unless he was mistaken or blind, her fingers were bare. "You don't want that loser. He didn't even buy you a ring."

"Oh!" Her laugh was self-conscious as she looked at her naked finger. "It's being sized. It was his grandmother's."

"He didn't let you pick out your heart's desire?" He shook his head and leaned against the wall. "I'd have helped you search the ends of the earth for the perfect diamond if I were your fiancé."

A slow blush stained her cheeks and her hand fluttered to her side. Gold spiked lashes swept her high, porcelain cheekbones. "It is the perfect ring, thank you very much. It's an heirloom, and I'm very honored that he entrusts it to me." Her lashes lifted and she pinpointed him with her direct gaze. "Not that it's any of your business."

"Tell him for me, he's a lucky man."

"I-I will." A forced smile lifted the corners of her lips ever so slightly. "Thank you. You have an excellent bedside manner. I'm sure it's wasted on your regular patients."

He crossed the room and took her elbow in his hand and leaned conspiratorially towards her. He wondered why a flicker of alarm lit her eyes. "Good manners are never wasted."

"I s'pose not. But, the age of chivalry died before you were born."

"Only for the insincere. My mama taught me to be polite to everyone."

She merely quirked a disbelieving eyebrow at that and pivoted on her heel.

He escorted her to the reception area where Joanna cradled Angelique to her bosom, crooning to her.

"She's such a darling. We'll miss her." Joanna scratched the cat behind her ears and the cat's tail fluttered up and down. Angelique lapped up the attention. Until Gabrielle bundled her into the jail-like box and closed the door.

A plaintive meow rose to the heights of the ceiling, as if she were demanding to be set free from her prison. When Gabrielle reached for the cat carrier, he moved faster, lifting it off the counter. "Let me."

She favored him with a smile, giving in gracefully, another trait he admired. Insincere objections won no brownie points in his book. Tilting her head, she nodded toward a cherry BMW. An older model, it had character like its mistress. Sun stars glinted off its chrome's high polish. A "SAVE THE MANATEES" vanity plate decorated the rear end. He figured a staid accountant would drive a sensible sedan, maybe a Town Car.

"Angelique needs to be seen in two days. Can you make it by 5:30 Thursday?" Joanna asked. Her pencil hovered over her appointment book expectantly.

Gabrielle answered without hesitation. "There's no way I can make it that early. How about seven?"

"The office closes for dinner from six to seven-thirty." Joanna frowned deeply, studying her book. He knew she didn't like problem patients.

"There's no way I can get off work, get Angelique and be back here by six. I..."

"If you're sure you'll make it, I'll be here at seven."

"But..." Joanna's mouth dropped open. She stared at him as if he'd gone suddenly daft. Suspicion clouded her gaze.

"It's okay, Jo. I'll come in." He bestowed his most winning smile on her, the one that always made her melt like putty. "Pencil her in."

"Whatever you say, doctor." Joanna wrote Gabrielle's name in the book. It was obvious, she wasn't happy with him. But she knew when to defer to his wishes.

"Thank you," Gabrielle said. She looked very uncomfortable but he had no idea what could have happened to prompt this.

"I'm leaving for the day. Ben's taking over." He tapped the counter in a goodbye rap.

"Goodbye, Craig." Joanna fawned over him. Her chin dimpled again and plump cheeks curved in a smile. "Don't forget you have a soccer game later. I'll be in the cheering section."

He nodded to his secretary then held the door open for Gabrielle, following her to her car. He watched the sashay of her hips and then his gaze slid down to her perfectly shaped legs encased in support hose. When the sunlight hit the shimmery material, her legs sparkled. Whoever invented those should receive the Nobel Peace Prize.

She fumbled with her keys for a moment then wrenched the door open. She hesitated as if uncertain what to say, then held out her hand for the cat carrier. "This is quite a gimmick. Curbside service. I'm sure you'll get lots of loyal patients this way."

"I don't do this for just anybody." He handed over the carrier then closed in on her, leaning on her car, his face mere inches from hers.

"Does that mean you know who I am?" she asked, a hint of nervousness in her voice.

He peered at her, the sun at his back putting her in his shadow. "Should I know you?" He wouldn't forget a doll like her. Impossible.

"Doesn't my name ring a bell?" She glanced everywhere but at him.

"Gabrielle Thomas?" He let it roll around his tongue, tasting it, testing it. It felt good. But not familiar. "No. Should it?"

"Kim Thomas is my big sister. The Kim Thomas whose heart you broke."

Craig whistled long and low, looking at the woman before him with new eyes. Was he ever in trouble. Maybe he could charm his way out of this tight spot. "So you're the gangly little sister? You certainly filled out." He couldn't help that his smile widened as his gaze roamed over her ample assets. "I didn't recognize you."

"Thank you," she said. Sarcasm dripped from her voice. She slid out of his imprisoning arms and into the sanctuary of her car before he realized her intention. Long fingers tucked her hair behind her ears. It curled in a flip at her delicate jaw line, soft and silky.

He bent to peer inside her Beamer and flashed her his most winning smile. "Remember to tell that fiancé of yours to treat you right. No one hurts my little sister." He closed her door and stepped back.

Who would've thought that Kimmie's little sister would turn into such a knockout? He would've bet against it hands down seven years ago.

He was glad beyond reason that he'd lost his bet.

Northbound I-95 was a parking lot from Atlantic Boulevard all the way down to Griffin Road, as were all the major boulevards that led to the Turnpike.

Gabrielle chafed in the traffic, watching the sun climb higher and higher, mocking her about how late she'd be to work.

Angelique moaned in self-pity, worse than if ten banshees screamed in Gabrielle's ears. Majik radio's morning team announced the series of wrecks that choked Ft. Lauderdale in a stranglehold. Then the DJs kept her company, joking about everything and everybody remotely noteworthy.

When they announced it was nine-fifteen, she moaned louder than the fur ball. There was no way she could take Angelique home now. She wouldn't arrive at work until after lunch if she detoured.

She chewed her lower lip, considering viable options.

What options? She realized bleakly, she had none.

She'd have to sneak Angelique into work and hope nobody noticed. She must be losing her mind.

How could they not notice a creature that screamed bloody murder in an office so quiet it reminded her of a morgue? An office full of accountants and analysts would notice such a detail.

She was toast. Her job was history. Visions of doom and gloom danced in her head like mutant sugar plum fairies.

Angelique's kitty odor mixed with engine exhaust fumes, roiled her stomach. Maybe she should call in sick?

Cars inched forward, in second-long bursts of energy, not much worth the effort or pollution. Ecologists would scream about the Greenhouse Effect. The subtropical summer sun baked the tarmac beneath her car sending waves of shimmering heat to blur her vision. She should've listened to Ian when he told her to get a cell phone. She'd have to get one after work. Grimacing, she mentally calculated her checking account balance minus this newest expense.

With time on her hands, she indulged in self-pity. Leaning her neck on the imitation leather head-rest, she rolled back her eyes.

How she yearned to get away from it all on some sunny, tropical beach, to stretch her boundaries. Vacation was just two months away which didn't give her much time to refill the coffers.

Wanderlust tripped through her veins. Living on Florida's tip, so far from the mainland, she couldn't even hop across state borders for a weekend getaway, unless she flew. She wanted to explore, to taste new cultures, meet new people, and live life to the fullest before...

Before what?

She frowned at the elusive question as she threaded her way towards the Broward Boulevard east bound off ramp.

Before she married Ian? Before she was shackled by the old suburban ball and chain?

She gave herself a mental slap, angry with herself. She loved Ian. She couldn't wait to marry him. She longed to be the mother of his children.

Didn't she?

Intense tiger's eyes flashed through her mind. And a lopsided smile. And she remembered her insane desire to give him a fertility goddess.

Whoa girl! She admonished herself. Don't go there!

She was just having pre-wedding jitters. Everyone did, right? It was only normal to wonder if she'd made the right choice that would affect the rest of her life. 'Till death was an awfully long time. Hopefully.

A life sentence?

Where did that come from?

Besides, Kim would kill her for just having an illicit thought about Craig Nealy. Death, by slow torture.

One way or another, her sisters would be the death of her yet.

Downtown Ft. Lauderdale basked under the shimmering summer sun. Tall buildings loomed like sentinels. Sunlight laser beamed off their plate glass windows. Side streets were almost deserted. Of course, she grimaced, stepping on the accelerator, racing around the streets as if it were the Indy 500. All her co-workers were snuggled in their safe, little cubicles and offices, making the boss happy.

Her BMW skid around a sharp curve and Angelique meowed in her ear.

"You'll have to be quiet for me today or I won't be able to afford your kitty gourmet cat food. Or your catnip. Capice?" She shook her finger at the cat as if she'd understand, then rolled her eyes mentally.

No doubt about it, she was losing it. Talking to a cat as if it would understand, sheesh!

Angelique tilted her head, never taking her eyes off Gabrielle. Her sable-tipped ears and whiskers twitched. Her tail flitted up and down, puppet-like. Then she looked away as though dismissing Gabrielle, and licked her paw with her regal tongue.

Finally her building loomed into view. Without slowing down, she rounded the corner into her parking garage and spiraled all the way to the roof where she finally found an open space. Great! Her car would be like an oven when she left work.

Was the entire universe against her today? Had she pulled the ace of spades instead of the queen of hearts when she'd picked from the deck in Heaven?

Or was it just a cosmically bad day, as Valerie would say? Her karma was off kilter, or her house wasn't in the right moon. Who knew? Her tolerance for Val's astrological obsession dwindled drastically.

She sneezed three times in quick succession as she parked, almost ramming her new BMW into the concrete wall. She stomped on her brakes and they screeched in protest. The cat joined in chorus, grating on her raw nerves.

Wonderful! Was she catching a summer cold now, too?

She spied a towel she'd thrown over the seat to keep Angelique from ruining it. Grabbing it, she covered the cat carrier with it, leaving the front open so Angelique could breathe.

As she walked into the building carrying the pet carrier, she wondered how she'd get to her office without anyone seeing the cat. Or hearing it. Or smelling it.

Disaster loomed. She should've called in sick.

Her employers wouldn't allow their employees to bring their kids to work. She was positive they wouldn't cozy up to animals in the office.

"Are you a seeing-eye cat?" she asked Angelique, lifting her brow.

The cat merely looked at her as if she were crazed.

"I didn't think so." She crept through the halls, feeling as if she were a secret agent on assignment. "Do you think you could sit really still and pretend to be a statue?" Permanently?

Angelique shot her another incredulous glare, her nose twitching.

"You've got to help me out, here. After all, you got me into this mess." She felt silly talking to a cat, but she couldn't dam the flow of words spewing from her lips. "You wouldn't by chance be a familiar? You know? One of those cats whose not really a cat but a witch? It would really help me, if you could just, like disappear in a puff of air. Like Bewitched."

She eyed Angelique hopefully. Nothing happened.

"Fat lot of help you are." She frowned.

Home stretch loomed near. But she had to cross the minefield of her boss's office, and his boss's office, before she reached neutral territory.

If she were really, really blessed, they'd be on another floor in a meeting, or even out of the building with a client or a vendor.

"Sh!" Putting her finger to her lips, she warned the cat to be quiet. "Give me away now, and you are Kibbles and Bits."

Angelique glared at her, but didn't make a sound. She obviously watched television.

Feeling like a commando, she peeked around the corner, checking out the enemy encampment for tiger pits and ambushes. She held the carrier behind her on her arm, anchor style.

The only soul in the hallway was Amy, her boss's secretary, a sweet girl who probably wouldn't give her away unless threatened with extreme bodily harm or revocation of her credit cards. As Amy's desk was in the hallway, she couldn't wait for her to leave. She might be there all day.

She had to make her move now, while the hall was otherwise deserted. Lifting a quick prayer, she pulled the towel lower over the cage and walked straight and upright, pretending she wasn't bringing live contraband into the office.

"Good morning, Gabrielle." Amy fluttered her fingers at her and smiled. "Everyone's worried about you. We were afraid you in an wreck or something."

Or something. "Morning, Amy. Nothing to worry about. I'm fine." As fine as she could be carrying the cat from hell into work. She wondered if she should pre-plan her funeral or surf the web for want ads. Did anyone want gullible proposal analysts these days? If worse came to worse, she had great bookkeeping skills, too.

"What's that?" Amy tilted her head at the towel-covered cat carrier. "Get a new briefcase?"

A big lump in her throat almost choked her. "Not exactly. It's a surprise."

"Is it your birthday? Is that why you received..." Amy clapped her mouth with her hands. Her violet eyes glittered.

"Received what?" Oh no! Not another surprise. Her heart couldn't take anymore.

"How old are you?" Amy leaned forward on her desk, her chin balanced on her steepled hands.

"My birthday's not till New Year's Eve." She turned and tried to back towards her office, wondering what awaited her there. The longer she stayed out here, the more danger she was in. She glanced over her shoulder, surveying her escape route.

"Where's Paul?" Her whisper carried too loud for her peace of mind. If she didn't sound guilty, the Earth wasn't round.

Amy opened her mouth to speak, but before the words came out, voices echoed in the hallway. Paul's voice overrode the others but she also heard the deep timbre of Vince's voice. Vince was the big boss in this office and the one person who intimidated Gabrielle more than any other.

"Paul's coming." Amy pointed down the hall with a blood red fingernail. "You wanna see him?"

"No!" Almost yelling the word, Gabrielle cringed with the insane desire to flee. She wished wings would sprout on her feet or had a pill to make her invisible.

Amy's eyes narrowed. "Something wrong, Gabby? You look like death."

"If they catch me, I am dead." Before her friend could ask for explanation, she ran behind her desk, put her finger to her lips, and lifted the cage's cover.

The girl's eyes grew round, incredulous. Then a smile spread across her lips and she rubbed the sensitive spot behind Angelique's ear.

"Amy, you've got to hide her out until they leave. They can't catch me with her in the hall." Heart skipping several beats, breath shallow, Gabrielle felt faint.

"Well--"

She bent and hugged her friend. "Thanks, doll. I owe you a big one." Before Amy could voice her protest, she ran down the hall as fast as she could in high heels, slipping into the sanctuary of her office just before Paul and Vince rounded the corner.

The cloying scent of roses almost overpowered her and she turned incredulous eyes to her desk where a bouquet of the largest, most beautiful red roses dominated her desk. They were a mixture of tightly drawn buds, full blooms and newly opening petals ranging from coral pink to ripe Christmas red.

"Who in the world would've sent those?" It wasn't any special occasion she could recall. In contrast to the gorgeous flowers, the rest of her office looked drab. They overpowered her simple metal desk with the wood simulated tabletop. The waxy forest green leaves of her philodendron looked like a giant weed next to the beautiful blossoms. Her sixth floor view overlooking Ft. Lauderdale looked gray, dreary, and boring. All except for a peek of the ocean that glistened bright blue in the sunlight.

Quickly, before Paul or Vince cornered her, she flipped on her computer, mussed her desk, and uncapped her pen so it would look as if she'd been working for awhile. Maybe they'd been caught up in a meeting and wouldn't have noticed her late arrival. At least they didn't have to know how late she'd arrived.

She'd bribe Amy with her favorite Chinese lunch.

"Ian giving you roses?" Paul lounged against her door, a skeptical light flickering in his eyes. "Guilty conscience? Or special occasion?"

Caught unaware, she almost stuttered. "Neither," she said. "Can't a girl's fiancé send roses without any reason except that he loves her?"

Paul walked deeper into her offices and fingered a rose petal. "Nice roses. I'll have to get some for my wife."

"Special occasion? Or guilty conscience?" She forced laughter into her voice as she met his gaze straight on. She'd play this as if she hadn't been late, or brought a cat to work.

Bravado and sheer luck might carry her through. Under her desk, she crossed her fingers.

An enigmatic smile curved her boss's lips. Then he raked his fingers through his short, graying hair, bumping his horn-rimmed glasses. He straightened them on his nose before he spoke. "It's always a special occasion when you're married to the most beautiful woman in the world."

"Did I ever tell you what a sweet talker you are?" She had to keep herself from swooning. She leaned forward on the desk and smiled into Paul's eyes. "If they ever clone you, I get first dibs."

"What'll Ian say?"

"Did you come in here to harass me?" The subject of Ian made her uneasy. Almost queasy. To make matters worse, she wasn't sure why.

Paul tossed the file folder he'd been carrying, on her desk. A few papers slid out the side and she gathered them up. He cleared a corner and perched there, watching her. "I came in here to give you the Birmingham RFP. We made best and final, and only have a month to get the bid resubmitted. I need you to get to work on it yesterday. Lower salaries five percent across the board."

"Will do, boss." She opened the folder and perused the contents. "Anything special I need to know?"

"Just look it over and we'll have the briefing after lunch. Be in the conference room by one-fifteen."

She smiled her most effervescent smile. "I'll be there." Her legs curled under her desk. Drat! That didn't give her time to run the cat home.

Paul snatched a rose bud from the cut crystal vase, broke the stem, and stuck it behind her left ear. "Tell your boyfriend he has nice taste."

When Paul left, her curiosity got the better of her and she plucked the card from the vase. What an ornate card. She ran her fingertips over raised gold filigree depicting cherubs, hearts, and lace. Definitely un-Ian-like.

Did he feel her retreating from him? Doubting their relationship? Maybe he felt guilty that he hadn't been around much since Angelique had become her roomie? Could that be why he'd gone to such an extent?

When she opened the card and spied Craig's name scrawled in bold, masculine script, she almost fell off her chair.

Her eyes drank in the inscription: For a lovely lady with a lovely cat. Have lunch with me? Craig. He listed his phone number under his name. The P.S. stated, I won't take no for an answer.

What a flirt! And a chauvinist!

A very handsome, charming flirt and chauvinist.

Temptation lured her. Lunch with the dreamy veterinarian sounded heavenly. But it was suicide. If either Ian or Kimmie found out--- She shuddered, not wanting to envision what they'd do to her. Bamboo shoots came unbidden to mind. Long, thin, grainy and very, very sharp.

Besides, what business did a confirmed animal-hater have with a confirmed animal-lover? Not just the average, run-of-the-mill animal-lover, but a veterinarian. The stupid cat must be brainwashing her to make her react so strangely.

She wondered if her furry guest was behaving herself. So far, she'd heard no commotion in the hall. Maybe the cat had curled up and was taking a catnap. Weren't they nocturnal? This one liked to sleep all day and keep her up all night.

If her luck were changing, Angelique would be taking her beauty sleep now.

Studying the RFP was a hopeless case. The roses distracted her. Worrying about what Paul, or worse, Vince, would do if they discovered the animal's presence, had her listening for kitty commotion, and having doomsday thoughts. But most of all, Craig kept slipping into her mind, a determined thief of her thoughts. She kept seeing his sunny smile, feeling his electric touch and wishing she had the guts to join him for lunch.

Who said Ian or Kimmie had to find out? What was a little business lunch even if they did find out? She owed Craig for doctoring her finger.

Besides...a germ of an idea started to formulate in her mind. Craig was a sucker for animals. He'd made it obvious that he wanted to make brownie points with her. Maybe, just maybe he'd bail her out of her precarious predicament and take the cat home for her.

His number beckoned to her like Mecca. It just might hold all the answers that she sought. Or it might open Pandora's Box.

She lowered the hand that hung in the air above her telephone. Doubts assuaged her. Calling Craig really would amount to suicide.

But sitting here with Angelique, the ticking time bomb, was suicide as well. Her time was very short. She feared the fuse was already lit. Taking no action would result in a deadly explosion.

But calling her sister's ex-flame? It was pure insanity, especially since every fiber of her being longed to see him again? She couldn't get the image of that fertility goddess out of her mind, or Craig's golden, mischievous smile. Maybe she had cat scratch fever.

Hoping her dementia was transient, she tamped it down, and grabbed the phone, plan B taking shape. She dialed her sister's number and waited, tapping her foot in no apparent rhythm. Finally, just as she was about to hang up, Val answered. A prelude of paranormal, symphonic music drifted over the line.

"Thank God. Get your derriere right over here."

"Gabby? Who poured Tabasco sauce on your Cheerios this morning?" Val's groggy voice, not to mention her karma, wasn't very warm and fuzzy.

"Who else would have your cat in her office about ready to get her butt kicked out the door?" She spoke in an exaggerated stage whisper, her hand cupped around the mouthpiece, not caring that she spoke of herself in the third person. Darting glances at her open doorway, she hoped no one stood outside listening to her. That's all she needed. Not the way to break through the glass ceiling. And she'd have permanent vacation. Without pay.

"I can't hear you!" Valerie cited this line in an annoying singsong voice when she didn't want to hear something. When things weren't going her way.

"You heard me, Valerie Suzanne Thomas!" she hissed, her teeth clamped together tightly, the tip of her tongue lodged behind her teeth, her lips open wide. "I need you to come get your little poop machine out of my office."

"You took Crazy Cat to your office?" A disbelieving chuckle skipped over the wires. "You're certifiable!" Nothing wrong with her hearing now. Her loyalty needed major fine-tuning, however.

"You bet I'm crazy!" she said way too loudly. She chided herself for her indiscretion and lowered her voice, which still shook with rage and trepidation. "I helped you. Now I'm saddled with your mangy feline and I'm about to be terminated." She said terminated with such vengeance, she might as well have said exterminated. That's how she felt. When Vince got through with her, she'd be lucky to land a dishwasher job at the local McDonald's. "Come get her while I still have a job."

"No can do. It's not in the stars. Puss and I are incompatible." Valerie sounded distant and removed. There wasn't an ounce of remorse or guilt in her syrupy contralto tones.

"Don't do this to me, Val. Or it'll be a cold day before I bail you out of a jam again." And Valerie got in a bind at least once a month, soliciting help. Usually Gabrielle's help. She was the only one left gullible and softhearted enough to get sucked into Valerie's constant needs. Her teeth ground so tightly they'd be paste in a moment. Well this bank was closed to her permanently. She'd finally learned her lesson.

"Listen, hon. I'd love to help you out. But it's not in the cards." Valerie's sigh climbed an octave, like a cat's drawn-out whine. "Maybe Kimmie can get Crazy Cat. Did you try her?"

"She's your cat. You come for her." If she could pull Valerie through the phone line, drum sense and a little responsibility into her older sister, Gabrielle wouldn't hesitate. She wanted to hurl those dreaded tarot cards Val lived and breathed by over the moon.

"I really can't. Call Ian."

"Yeah, right. Ian, the animal hater?"

"I don't have time to debate this. I have to go." The phone line went dead.

Gabrielle stared at the silent, uncooperative instrument, fuming. She dialed Val again, willing her to grow a conscience and pick up. No answer. Of course not, she chided herself. Val was crazy. Not idiotic.

Next she tried Kimmie, but only got her answering machine. She was probably counseling a student.

The only place Ian would take the cat was to the Humane Society, and she couldn't live with that on her conscience.

Craig's number lured her. She twiddled his business card between her fingers, silently mouthing his number as she dialed. She was out of options.

Gabrielle's finger trembled as she dialed, and she chided herself for such foolishness. Craig had insisted she call, hadn't he? It wasn't as if he was an ogre. She wasn't going to ask him save the world. All she wanted him to do was collect one little fur ball and baby-sit for a few hours.

He owed her that much anyway, for detaining her at the clinic.

Still, she held her breath while she counted rings. One. Two. Three. Four and a half.

"This had better be an insanely beautiful woman or I'm hanging up." His voice sounded grainy and raspy, as though he'd just awakened and she remembered he'd worked all-night so she was interrupting his sleep. This was equivalent to one or two in the in the morning his time.

"How about a sanely beautiful woman?" A husky note crept into her voice. Warmth heated her cheeks. Straightening her white collar, she slashed lipstick on her mouth, and fluffed her hair. She could no more stop herself from primping for this man than she could stop the San Andreas from shifting.

"Do I know you?" He sounded intrigued and suddenly, completely awake. "You're not a bill collector, are you?" And if she had been, she knew he'd have tried to charm the socks right off her.

"Hardly," she drawled in a voice too sexy to recognize as her own. She'd turned down the chance to go into credit and collections. Harassing people wasn't her style. "Does this mean you're retracting your lunch invitation?"

"Little sister?"

"I'd prefer, Gabrielle, thank you," she said, shifting gears. She leaned back in her chair and lifted her leg onto her desk. Her hose bagged at her ankles and she grimaced. Elephant legs weren't the new fashion statement. Leaning forward, she smoothed the suntan nylons up to her thigh, rubbing the palm of her hand along her leg so as not to run them with her long nails. "The roses are gorgeous. Thank you." She extracted the rose from her hair, sniffing its heady, intoxicating scent appreciatively, her eyes closing dreamily.

Feeling eyes bore into her back, she swiveled a quarter turn in her chair and met Randy's amused, appreciative eyes. With a quirky grin, she waved her friend and co-worker away with a laugh.

His eyebrows danced the Groucho dance and he whistled lowly as he bowed away.

"So, Gabrielle," Craig said in a voice filled with heart-melting charm, making her clutch the phone receiver so tightly her knuckles paled. "I'm glad you like the roses." There was a pregnant pause. "They match your lips perfectly."

"Their color or the way they feel?" The minute the words escaped her lips, she wanted to strangle herself. What insanity had ever possessed her to tread such dangerous territory? Val was right. She was certifiable. Completely.

"Luscious red. Petal soft. But with a bite."

She bit her lower lip hard, almost drawing blood. Foreign sensations streamed through her like deadly rip tides. She could drown in his charm if she forgot herself or her reason for calling him.

She needed a savior. Not a tempter.

Clearing her throat, she did her best to gather her thoughts and freeze-dry her heart so she wouldn't feel more wayward emotions. "I'm in a serious jam and I have no one else to turn to. Can you help?" She turned up the desperation level of her voice. Sir Gallahad types like he obviously fancied himself to be, couldn't resist damsels in distress. Normally, she detested the helpless female variety, but desperate situations called for desperate measures.

The feline fricassee in the front office qualified as a global disaster. Her career was in definite danger of annihilation. If she didn't lose her mind first.

"What's the problem?"

"Bless you." Finally, a kind soul. She rubbed the soft petals across her lips, delighting in their velvety softness, their luscious perfume. The only thing that could possibly feel better would be his firm, warm lips on hers.

Perish the thought! Why did she keep traversing such alien territory? Such emotional land mines?

"I've not done anything yet." His laughter tickled her ear.

"You've already done more than my wonderful sisters." Not that she could really be mad at Kim for not answering her phone. But Valerie would get a chunk of her mind just as soon as she got her hands on her.

She crossed her fingers, her toes and her legs at her ankles. She couldn't keep stalling. "I got stuck in traffic and had to bring Angelique to the office. Would you be a sweetheart and baby-sit for me until I get off work this evening?" She didn't dare take a breath in the midst of her question, or else she'd chicken out. She felt herself turning blue while she awaited his reply.

"You took a cat to your office?" Twinges of mirth ribboned his milk-chocolate voice. "Your boss didn't kill you?"

"He doesn't know. Yet," she whispered, cupping her hands around the receiver. "Look, I'm really desperate. I'll do anything you want in return for this favor." Almost anything. Even give birth to your first son.

She was losing it. She wasn't herself. Maybe some spirit had invaded her body, making her act out of character.

"Anything?" The word sounded somehow sinister and sexier than sin when he crooned it.

"Almost anything." Her nerves skittered a mile a minute. She circled her ankle in the air, fixating on her foot. "I'm meeting with our president and our most valuable client right after lunch. The cat has to be gone or I can kiss my job goodbye."

"Spend the weekend with me."

"Excuse me?" Her ankle stopped at an awkward angle, frozen in mid-air. Incredulous, she couldn't believe her ears. The mid-morning sun cast laser beams of light off her engagement ring. She stared at it mesmerized, as if it were a crystal ball. But it foretold nothing but disaster and heartache. She looked away at the brighter, happier scenery of the distant Ft. Lauderdale beaches.

"Go away with me."

"I'm en..." She choked on the word as she twisted the ring on her fourth finger.

"No one will find us till Monday," he promised. He must have this down to a science. Still, his offer was very, very tempting.

She tried to say it again, staring at Ian's portrait on her desk in the antique silver frame. It seemed to scowl at her. She laid it face down, gently but firmly.

"I'm en...interested. Perhaps." She gulped in large breaths, her pulse skittering.

"Just how desperate are you?"

"I-I can't spend the night with you." Her words came out in a rush.

His laughter oozed over her, warming her insides. "I don't recall inviting you to. But, if you have your heart set on it, we could work something out."

Glancing at her watch, she was alarmed at the lateness of the hour. Ten-thirty. Time was running out. If she didn't get that cat out of here, she might as well update her resume and turn in her security badge. Would it be so bad to spend a weekend with the most gorgeous, dreamiest man she'd ever laid eyes on? A final fling before eternal imprisonment?

"Please hurry!"

"I knew you couldn't wait to get your hands on me."

"Just get over here fast." A headache started to pound at her temples. Her conscious waged war with her inner demon and she was stuck in the middle.

"You'll go with me?"

She bit her lower lip and twiddled her hair.

Kim wouldn't like this. She'd never gotten over her college love. Cherished dreams of reconciliation still held her heart captive. Possession laced her voice whenever she spoke of him.

The little demon twisted her tail. Craig had made it clear his relationship with Kim was long over. He was a free man.

The angel, her conscience, whispered in her other ear. She wasn't a free woman.

So why did she long to go with him? Why did his invitation intrigue her so?

"Well?"

"Come get the cat. I'm in the First Union Bank building." If it's still standing by the time you get here. Angelique was a disaster waiting to happen, like sitting on lit dynamite.

"Near Las Olas Riverfront?"

"Yes. That's the one." Paul sauntered by her door. In a hushed whisper, she implored, "Hurry!"

"We'll discuss weekend plans over lunch." The line went dead before she could object.

Her nerves jangled and she pushed shaky fingers through the sides of her hair, tucking it behind her ears so that it curled gently around her jaw.

She opened her monster spreadsheet on the Alabama Center. Leaning over the RFP, she dug into the boring techno-jargon, looking for places to tighten the proposal, eliminating extraneous costs. She lost track of time and forgot about Angelique. Until Amy scampered into her office, wild eyed, her red hair mussed, one high heel missing.

"Uh, the cat's loose," she said. The woman was in bad shape.

Gabrielle jumped up so fast the chair toppled backwards. "How'd that happen?" Her chest rose and fell so fast she felt as if she would hyperventilate on the spot.

Amy spread her hands before her and shrugged her shoulders. Violet eyes almost bulged out of her head. "The poor thing started meowing so I shared my lunch with her." She shuffled her feet and averted her gaze.

"And?" Her hands smoothed her linen skirt compulsively over her thighs as she tried to hang onto some semblance of composure.

"She slipped by me like a rocket. She shot into Vince's office and shot up the tree." She winced and pulled a frown.

"Oh no!" Gabrielle almost choked on the words. "Vince's seen her?"

Visions of doom flickered before her eyes. The furry Armageddon machine would get her fired for sure. Maybe she should kiss her desk and computer goodbye now, before she was escorted from the building under guard and lost her chance to say goodbye.

Amy shook her head, her tanned complexion growing more ashen by the second. "Not yet, I don't think. He's with Paul in the conference room."

A ray of hope lit her heart. Formulating a fast plan, she eyed Amy speculatively. She tiptoed to her doorway, curved her fingers on the doorframe, stuck her head around the corner, and peeked into the hall on a self-imposed reconnaissance mission. "You be my lookout while I get the little demon."

"I'll get her cage." Amy didn't wait for acknowledgment before slipping down the hall. She slunk against the wall, her palms flat against it, her head bobbing back and forth as she watched for the enemy.

Gabrielle's heart raced. She held her breath until Amy reappeared with the portable kennel, her chest almost sucked against her rib cage.

"Obiwan. Only you can help me." She peered down the hall to see if Imperial forces infiltrated this sector. This entire episode felt dreamlike.

"May the force be with you." Amy squeezed her shoulder. "If Paul or Darth Vader come back, I'll say something with their names in it, like, 'Would you like some coffee, Paul?'" Amy didn't have to explain that she equated Darth Vader with Vince. They were usually on the same wavelength. This time was no exception.

"You offer to get them coffee? They'll know something's up." Gabrielle's lips twisted wryly. They swore Vince could read minds. He had an uncanny ability to ferret out the truth. Or maybe he had the office wired.

"Okay. I'll say something else. You get my point." Amy's eyes darted back and forth in the still deserted hallway. "You'd better hurry. Our luck can't hold forever."

"Are you sure she's still in there?" Gabrielle inclined her head towards Vince's office.

"Did you see her come out?" Amy thrust the kennel into her hands as if it were a bomb.

Shadows loomed long and sinister in the usually light and breezy hallway. Piped in music crescendoed like the prelude to Star Wars. Just before the Empire struck.

Lifting her eyes heavenward, she said a swift, silent prayer. "Obiwan, be with us," she whispered, slinking cattycorner across the hall, wishing she were invisible, thinking up plausible excuses why she'd be in Vince's office with a cat kennel and the fur ball if she were caught.

Entering the big boss's office without summons seemed like breaking and entering. His office spanned more than double the size of hers. His window gave him a clear view of Ft. Lauderdale's golden beaches and the ocean clear to the horizon. Antique heavy oak furniture waxed a high Pledge shine. Exotic plants, including green and orange birds of paradise and hanging delicate orchids, created a virtual jungle. She wouldn't be surprised if an indigo parrot flew out of one of the palm trees and landed on her shoulder. No wonder Angelique chose this office to hide.

"Here kitty," she whispered in a singsong voice. "Trouble-making kitty, come out of hiding." Starting at the six o'clock position, she worked her way around the office clockwise, lifting leaves and branches, searching for a glimpse of the sable tipped fur and beady golden eyes.

Her nose felt ticklish and she put her finger under it. The sensation burgeoned, filling her head. She couldn't hold it back any longer. "I," ah-choo, "know," ah-choo, "you're," ah-choo, "in here," ah-choo, "you mangy," ah-choo, ah-choo, ah-choo, "flea bag."

Delving into a profuse bird of paradise bush, she grabbed a handful of fur and flesh.

"Murough!" Angelique snarled and growled.

"I've got you now!" She clenched her teeth, determined to get her cat, her soul focused on this one feat. "You can come easy or in pieces, I don't care." Her other hand dove into the bush to help her get a better grip on the squirmy animal.

Angelique had other ideas. A long sable-tipped paw swiped at her hand, claws unsheathed and aimed with deadly precision.

"Yee-ouch!" She jerked her hand back fast, cradling it against her chest. She went into another sneezing fit, losing her precarious hold on the cat that exploded out of the bush like a Roman candle. Blood beaded on her hand through the scratch. Injured flesh pinked around the puckered, broken skin. "You're puppy hors d'oeuvres. That's a promise."

Pivoting on her heel, she faced down the cat, her breath rasping in her throat, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. Angelique posed on Vince's desk, fur standing on end, back arched, tail arrowed at the ceiling, and ears laid flat back against her skull.

She'd never faced down a deadlier adversary. Her senses had never come so alive, like a New York City telephone trunk line.

"Drop your cattitude. This is war!" She lunged for the cat, thinking to catch her off guard.

In prime acrobatic form, Angelique lunged off the desk to the top of Vince's file cabinet...not before skidding across the slick polished surface, pushing papers helter-skelter to the floor. An ancient fern and a Creeping Charlie flipped to the ground in a dust storm of potting soil, staining Vince's arctic white carpet irreparably. Picture frames toppled into the mess, the glass shattering in starbursts.

"Can I help you, sir?" Amy said over loudly, almost yelling.

Gabrielle froze, her breath trapped in her lungs. That wasn't the signal, but it still boded danger.

A deep male voice caressed her. "I'm here to see Gabrielle Thomas."

She breathed a huge sigh, almost collapsing to the ground in a puddle of relief. "Saved by the bell," she told Angelique. "Your knight in shining armor is here."

"Miss Thomas is in a meeting. I'm afraid she's not available." Amy's voice wobbled, sounding almost more nervous than she felt. And Amy hadn't seen Vince's redecorated office yet - modern cat-tastrophe.

She ran to the hallway. No one had ever looked better. Resplendent in thigh-hugging jeans and a crisp short-sleeved white safari shirt, Craig's Florida tan framed against his springy golden blonde hair made her heart lunge. She wanted to run into his arms, hug him, and beg him to save her from this impossible situation.

She was beginning to understand why her sister couldn't get him out of her blood.

His charming, half-cocked grin sent her into a spiral of confusion, and she fought off the insane desire to clutch her stomach.

"It's okay, Amy. He's the reinforcements." She ignored Amy's puzzled expression. To Craig, she commanded as she waived him into Vince's office in as business-like voice as she could muster, "Hurry. Help me get Angelique."

Craig whistled under his breath when he passed through the doorway. "Did World War Three start in here?"

"You'd think so." She crept slowly towards the cat that watched her with leery eyes. "Come here, p..." She'd almost said PMS, her abbreviation for Prime Mastiff Snack when she remembered in the nick of time that the man was an animal lover. "Precious," she said in substitution. Try as she might, she couldn't make her voice sound loving or tolerant when talking to the cat.

"I hope this is your office." Craig picked up the cat kennel she'd left by the door, opened the door, and walked toward Angelique.

"No such luck." She pushed stray locks of hair out of her eyes. Sheepishly, she said, "It's the big boss's office."

"I hope you have a Dirt Devil."

"Yeah," she said between clenched teeth. Stealthily, she crept closer to the wild-eyed cat. She started to sneeze again.

"God bless you."

"Your meeting's over so soon, Vince?" Amy practically yelled, her voice so taut it sounded ready to break.

Gabrielle's heart stopped. She sought Craig's eyes wildly. "I'm dead. My career's history."

Craig held out his hand to Angelique and let her sniff it.

The little insurgent licked his fingertips, then let him pet her head.

"Come here, darling."

"Traitor," she said under her breath to the cat. Her gaze darted to the door, waiting for the precise minute her career would end.

With sweet meows, the cat went into his arms, and snuggled against his heart as if she were home. He scratched her head behind her ears and she started purring.

"Can you look at this for me, Vince?" Amy pleaded, her voice lifted another octave. "The switchboard's not working right."

"I thought I heard something funny in my office," Vince said.

Gabrielle's heart started palpitating. Wild-eyed, she sought a hiding place, wondering if there was a window ledge to hide on. All the criminals and private eyes in the old movies hid on window ledges fifteen stories high rather than get caught. But there were no window openings in the modern skyscraper. She cursed the central air-conditioning unit and modern architecture.

"That was just my radio," Amy said, panic rising in her voice.

"It sounded like an animal." Vince's voice grew closer, more suspicious, with each word.

Amy ran to the door, draping herself over it. She glanced inside and almost fainted, her expression completely horrified. "You can't go in there."

Vince's fingers pried Amy away from his door.

Gabrielle began to pray for mercy and deliverance. There was no escape. No mercy for her. Only a miracle could save her now. She smoothed her skirt over her legs, straightened her blouse, turned to face Vince, and pasted a plastic smile on her face.

"What in God's name happened in here?" Vince demanded, his voice reverberating with fury.

"For the record, Princess, this is the worst idea in history." Erik Taylor glared down his Grecian nose at Holly, his normally warm baritone clipped, every ounce professional. If she hadn't known better, she'd swear they were first time acquaintances from his reaction to her. He deserved an award for coolness under pressure.

Leaning forward on his elbows, he gazed deeply into her eyes, but not the way she remembered in taboo dreams, not the way she'd recorded in her journal, or the way in which he'd gazed into them in their wedding picture. "I need a second in command I can trust implicitly. Preferably someone with experience."

Well, there went any chance of job security. Although she schooled her hands to remain motionless in her lap so they wouldn't give away her agitation, she pushed her cuticles back from her nails. They were buried deeply enough in the generous folds of her wool skirt he probably wouldn't notice. She hoped. But then, she was dealing with Mr. I-Notice-Every-Detail. Still, there was no way he could see her toes curled so tightly in the pointy tips her high heels, that bulges rose like mole hills in the fine leather. Unless he had x-ray vision.

"You know I wouldn't come to you if I didn't really need the job. I earned my degree in human resources." She lifting her chin a notch but ruined her hard-strived-for-independence by pleading with her eyes. If she didn't get this job, any job, she and Tyler were in dire straits. Her landlord wouldn't wait for back rent much longer.

Swallowing more of her pride, she added on a choked whisper, "I can keep my personal life out of the office if you can." He had no idea how much she wanted to divorce her personal life from him and it was absolutely imperative he never find out. He'd never forgive her. Worse, he might take away her one and only joy. She could still taste the dust from his old Firebird as it fled from her life and she held onto that image, held onto the anger that had fueled her quest for independence against all odds. Let it remind her how unreasonable he could be. How much she couldn't trust him. She could never let him find out.

He steepled his hands on his desk, long tapered fingers linked together. Against her will, traitorous skin tingled in remembrance just how wild, how crazy their lightest touch could drive her, how, in the still of night, she still longed for their touch. Shamed at her errant thoughts and unbridled desires for the impossible, unattainable, she berated herself and focused her gaze out the window over his shoulder. Looking into those ebony eyes proved pure, unnecessary torture. She wasn't into masochism. If she only had herself to care for, she'd have starved before throwing herself at his feet for mercy. But, she had Tyler to consider and she'd do anything for him.

On a long-suffering sigh, he said, "Uncle Bart tells me I have no choice. He's already hired you as CompUtech's Personnel Manager." The set of his chiseled lips told her he'd never make such a folly if he had a choice. She wouldn't even be sitting in this chair for an interview. Studying her resume for a few moments longer, not that her credentials truly had anything to do with her landing this position, he grunted approval in spite of his strongly vocalized opposition to her.

She dug in her proverbial heels, trying to keep her composure. She couldn't let him intimidate her. Her spine stiffened like a telephone pole with just about as many sensory inputs crackling at each nerve ending but she struggled to keep her expression neutral. She did her level best to close her mind to unwelcome memories, good and bad. Erik had always had the ability to get under her skin but he didn't have to know that. Just like he didn't need to know why it was so desperately important she get this job.

She had to start thinking of him as her boss. Only her boss. A man she had to deal with from nine to five, then shut him out every other moment of her life. Just like hundreds of thousands of other employees around the globe. It was the only way she'd keep her sanity. And her secret.

And she had to draw the battle lines right here, right now. Boss or not, he needed to know up front he couldn't bully her. "Just like your Aunt Nora handed you this cushy job?" Leaning forward, she stared him in the eye and trailed her fingertip over his mahogany desk, leaving a filmy squiggle in the polished lemon oil high-gloss shine.

He chuckled, a wry grin twisting the corners of his lips. Was that a touch of admiration lighting his dark eyes? He'd always admired spirit and honesty. "Touché. But I expect every bit as much hard work out of you as I would anyone else. And I expect quality work." He scribbled notes on his blotter, then pinned her with that odd smoky gray gaze of his, the color of cool, already burned charcoal. They matched his debonair Italian suit that hugged his thighs too perfectly, delineating a frame too virile to be cooped up in such staid clothing. Memories she'd locked up in the dungeon recesses of her mind, broke loose, taunting her. Clear pictures of those whipcord thighs with no covering whatsoever. Worse, her flesh remembered how they felt warm, erotic against her legs, against inner thighs. Breathing suddenly, unexpectedly became forced. Pinpricks of feminine appreciation and longing teased every nerve ending.

She forced a wan, hopefully unemotional smile to her lips. God how she wanted to escape Erik's torture chamber euphemistically called an office. She rapped her own knuckles with a mental ruler for her forbidden, dangerous fantasizing. "I'll work very hard." Her fingers unpleated her cream colored linen skirt, smoothing it over her knocking knees.

"When did you get your hair cut short? It suits you." Warm tones, as much or more than the unexpected compliment, threw her off guard. Her jaw almost dropped. Her hand went to her hair of its own volition. Her short bob still felt alien after wearing her thick hair past her shoulders for as long as she could remember. She was pleased with the hot rollered effect and teasing that lent body to it. "Last night. I thought it would look more professional."

He nodded, looked her up and down, his gaze dwelling on her crossed legs. "You can't let down your guard, or get your nose bent out of joint. Or play favorites. You need wisdom and discernment."

Warmth suffused her cheeks and she stopped swinging her leg, pointing her toes as if they poised in a stirrup. Was he implying she didn't have wisdom or discernment? That she would play favorites? She schooled herself to inhale and exhale in her normal rhythm, wondering if that were permissible in his chrome castle? Erik's hot and cold roller coaster ride was about to drive her loony. Could she expect this every day of their professional affiliation? She hoped Tyler would know someday and be grateful, just how much she loved him, just how very much she sacrificed for him. How much she risked for him.

"CompUtech has one hundred plus employees with a very high attrition rate." Standing, he turned away from her, gazing out the window at the sunny day. Lacing his hands behind his back, he drew her rapt attention against her will.

She really had her doubts she could do this, Tyler or no Tyler. A cold chill wracked her body and she had to stave off the desire to hug herself closely to instill warmth back into her body.

"One of your most important missions will be to bring that rate down." He chuckled ominously.

What was she getting herself into? Office dungeons and dragons? One flew over the cuckoo's nest?

"At any given time, you will have to act as surrogate mother, sister, teacher, best friend and drill sergeant. Most of all, you will be referee, judge and jury. They squabble like children. They will try to play on your sympathies and lie through their teeth. The strong take advantage of the weak. In short, they try to get away with murder. Your job will be to keep the peace, cut through the bull and keep this place running like a Swiss clock." He turned on his heel, his gaze seeking hers, the unexpectedness of it stealing her breath. "Can you do all that and never stop smiling? Never lose your cool?"

"You mean Human Resources 101? How to charm the devil himself?" If only they'd offered a course in working for tyrannical, know-it-all ex-husbands. Forcing a smile to her lips, her gaze dueled with his. Tight knots twisted in her stomach. This sounded more and more like a family reunion, trying to appease everyone intent on feuding, insisting on their own way come hell or high water.

The phone pealed. "Excuse me." He snatched the receiver, his knuckles white as his fingers clenched it. He sank into his chair and swiveled around so that his back was turned to her. He spoke in vibrant, warm tones, but too low for her to catch enough of the words to make sense.

She watched his reflection in his window, wondering why a gentle smile tugged at the corner of his lips and why his voice softened to pure melt-in-your-mouth one hundred percent butter.

"Erik Taylor please call your mother. ET please phone home." The overhead paging system boomed loud and clear.

Giggles and guffaws erupted down the hall round robin fashion. Her hand hurried to cup her mouth before she thoroughly embarrassed herself by laughing in his face. None of her college professors or textbooks had prepared her for this.

He grimaced, muttering oaths that made her blush, under his breath. "Hold on Arlene." He punched the hold button on the phone, then rammed the blinking light. "Don't ever page me that way again, Candy. Say Erik, please dial zero--and nothing else! Where's Lucy?" The boom of his voice made her jump so that her chair almost fell backward. His fingers drummed his desk in a death tattoo.

Shadows fell over her and she glanced out the door. When a live Barbie Doll led a marine soldier down the hall on a leash, her jaw dropped several notches. The woman smiled, her baby blues glittering from tons of blue eye shadow. Heavy perfume hung like an early fog over the Everglades in the stale office air, tickling her throat. GI Joe grimaced, ready to chew nails and spit them out like a machine gun, behind her.

Erik nodded then the top phone light blinked off. He punched the still blinking light. "Sorry about that. I'll see you then. It's a date."

"What was that?" she asked, awed, about ready to fall off her chair.

He held up his index finger. "Stay with me one more moment while I phone home," Erik grimaced. Under his breath, he mumbled, "I can't believe I just said that." He shook his head in extreme irritation, pushing a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. She marveled it had the nerve not to stay absolutely perfect. Especially in his present mood. She knew he wasn't always like this, at least he didn't used to be. Thus, she concluded with an inward grimace of her own, that she brought out the best in him. Not.

Still, she quirked her eyebrow, trying to suppress a ghostly giggle that bubbled in her throat when he shot her a severe glance designed to wither. "Training a new switchboard operator?"

Erik shook his head, scowling. "No. The operator can't sit down today. That was a sub."

When Holly started to ask why, he grumbled, "Don't ask."

"How's Mildred and Aaron by the way?" she asked dutifully, not particularly interested in her ex-out-laws.

He stood, pivoted on his heel and sauntered around his desk. "Mom's president of the Rotary Club and chairing the big gala for the homeless which keeps her pretty much out of trouble. Dad plays golf at the country club come rain or shine. Sometimes he sails, does a little deep sea fishing with his crones." Perching on the edge of his desk, he swung a long leg in front of her, his worsted wool Zanetti slacks hitched up, revealing curly dark hair covering his strong calves. It was all she could do not to reach out and touch it. God how she hated wayward emotions.

"Ah, the life of the rich and famous," she drawled, smiling with saccharine sweetness. She might be related to the jet set, but her life since his departure had been the furthest thing from it. Her apartment, decorated in early modern poverty, attested to that. "It must be nice to be part of the idle rich."

"For your own sake as well as for the company's, I don't want it known that Bart Duarte is your uncle." A dark frown crossed his handsome features, as he looked down upon her as if she were a peasant begging for table scraps.

"Lord have mercy. We can't have anyone finding out he hired another relative, can we? Or that I'm your ex?" Instant mortification filled her veins like a raging inferno and she cringed. Ramifications of public knowledge of that perilous tidbit of information could be deadly. She bit her lip, avoiding his eyes. How could she have said that? Her hair bobbed around her cheeks. Quickly, in a low voice, she added, "Don't worry. I can make it on my own merit." Just as she'd managed to do after he'd left her high and dry during a difficult pregnancy and to raise their son by herself.

"Obviously not or you wouldn't take charity from Uncle Bart." He studied the ceiling as if she bored him out of his mind. As if she wasted his time and merely put up with her presence.

How dare he? How could she? The omens weren't good at all. Terrible, in fact. Boiling, she stood, glaring at him as her spine prickled porcupine-style. The air pressure dropped a good thirty degrees. Her tone came out even chillier. "Just like you're not taking charity from Aunt Nora?"

"Is this your idea of cool, calm and collected? Will the staff get your goat as easily as I just did?" He stared hard at her, rising to his full height with such an easy grace that it should be illegal. His shadow fell across her like a living thing. A demon.

"I'm not divorced from the rest of the staff." She stood, holding her ground as best she could, feeling proverbial quick sand underfoot. What a quagmire this was already turning into. Why had Uncle Bart ever suggested this? He had to have known oil and water mixed a hundred times better than she and Erik. And he wanted to unite the staff? Not decimate it? This might become a war zone. "Is this some kind of a test?"

Roguish merriment danced in his gray eyes. "Point taken. It's time you started earning your keep, Princess." Sauntering to the door, he held it open for her to proceed him. She couldn't accuse him of ungentlemanly manners. Aftershave that struck her senses like man candy hit her full in the face and she missed a step, stumbling. He still smelled like the deep woods and a hint of spice...and it still had the power to stop her dead in her tracks. At least when she hadn't expected it.

She'd have to get hold of herself. Day in, day out, she'd be faced with unexpected memories, perhaps even desires, and she had to learn to cope with them. To hide any unwarranted responses and longings. No way could she let him see what he'd cost her. How he'd devastated her. She'd worked too hard to get her life in order, to regain herself. It hadn't been easy, but she'd done it. Fate couldn't be so cruel, she couldn't be so stupid to bring her pride and her hard won independence crashing down like the Berlin Wall.

She slung her white