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Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three

Chapter One

Katarina Roth froze in the act of pinching off another bite of her chocolate chip croissant as Mark Denham ambled into Starbucks, a petite blonde sashaying at his side. Tucked into the back corner of the coffee bar, Kat had no hope of slinking out without Mark spying her. She was trapped, with nothing to hide behind but an oversized cappuccino cup and a half-eaten croissant.

You'd think with a population of millions in the greater Seattle area, she and Mark would never cross paths. And she hadn't been down to Pike Place Market in months. The nerve of him choosing today to escort that knockout blonde for a lunchtime coffee and tête-à-tête.

Damn, there ought to be a law against ex-husbands parading blondes in front of their ex-wives in public. Mark ought to at least have the common courtesy to sprout a post-divorce pot belly or a few gray hairs so he wouldn't look so damned yummy.

Appetite gone, Kat stuffed what was left of her chocolate-filled croissant back into the white paper bag. As Mark and his companion turned away from the counter, lattes and pastries in hand, Kat ducked behind her cappuccino cup, gulping a mouthful of tepid coffee. Mark hadn't seen her yet and to her relief, he seated himself with his back to her. If she moved quietly enough and quickly, he might miss her entirely.

Crumpled bag in her hand, she left the cup behind and threaded her way through the tables and chairs of the crowded coffee bar. Slam-dunking the bag into the trash, Kat thought she'd made good her escape when he called out her name. Praying he'd think he'd mistaken some other tall, skinny woman with a short mop of hair for his ex-wife, she dodged through traffic across Pike Place and slipped inside the first shop she came to.

Using a revolving display of cookbooks as camouflage, Kat peered out the store window at Starbucks across the street. Mark still stood there at the entrance, looking left and right, obviously searching for her. Why it seemed so important to him to track her down, Kat had no idea. Maybe he just wanted the chance to flaunt the blonde on his arm.

Finally, Mark turned and re-entered Starbucks, no doubt returning to his companion. Reluctant to walk past the coffee bar and risk seeing Mark and his chippie together, Kat turned away from the window to wander along the narrow aisles of the store she'd entered. It was a kitchen wares shop, a pretty ironic refuge for a woman whose idea of cooking was nuking a frozen dinner in the microwave. Nevertheless, as her gaze leisurely scanned the cluttered shelves from top to bottom, she found the plethora of incomprehensible gadgets fascinating.

Unfortunately, not intriguing enough to keep her mind from her ex-husband. Just the thought of him elevated her heart rate. Despite her best intentions, she still reacted to his six-foot-plus body as strongly as she had during their short, tempestuous marriage. Her heart may have stopped loving him, but her libido had yet to get the message.

Even now, she could remember clearly his bare broad shoulders above her as they made love, the intensity in his face, the feel of his legs tangled with hers. The texture of his muscles under her hands, the way they flexed as he thrust into her, the moment of her release and the triumph reflected in his eyes.

A sudden flush of heat drove her to remove the jacket of her dove gray power suit and sling it over the crook of her arm. The matching heels pinched her feet so she slipped them off and stuffed them in her handbag. So much for dressing for success.

The little blonde had been wearing red, and the suit fit her petite body like a glove. Too impatient to wait for tailoring, Kat bought her suits off the rack. Unfortunately, clothing long enough to fit her tall frame was always baggy in the shoulders and hips.

Seeing Mark just added to the aggravation of the day. She had enough on her plate with the pressing problems that awaited her back at the office. She'd hoped for a respite spending her Friday lunch hour at Starbucks, then a little relaxation roaming through the Pike Place Market shops. Instead, a close encounter with her ex had unsettled what little peace she'd gained in half a cup of cappuccino.

Shaking off her irritation, Kat lifted her gaze to the kitchen store's back window and the distant view of Elliot Bay beyond. Seattle's April sky refused to surrender its gloom, although the drizzle had ceased by mid-morning. If the weather report could be believed, the upcoming weekend would be sunny. If only the same could be said for the financial picture at Roth Confectionery Company.

As she returned her focus to the exotic merchandise crowding the store shelves, the urgency to return to her office closed in on her. She longed to blow off the afternoon, to retreat to her Capitol Hill condo and watch sappy old movies on the Romance Channel with her cat, Rochester, draped across her lap. Her assistant took an afternoon off at least once a month, with Kat's blessing. Why couldn't she do the same?

Because she was Roth's CEO. And if she wasn't there to solve the problems, no one else would.

With a sigh, Kat continued down the aisle to the end, pausing at a display of coffee makers. Amidst the Brauns and the Krupps, an arrangement of foil wrapped chocolates overflowed a crystal bowl. Coffee Buddies, the accompanying sign read. Another fine product from the Denham Candy Company. Leaning against the display, a chubby cheeked chocolate "Buddy" doll grinned rakishly at her.

If you asked her, Buddy looked too damn cheerful. Glaring at the cartoon character, Kat plucked up a chocolate, stared down at it in her palm. Envy tweaked at her as she studied the neatly wrapped cube. It wasn't the high quality of the product that galled her, the way they melted so evenly in coffee to flavor it. And she didn't resent that Coffee Buddies were a smash from the day they hit store shelves... not much, anyway.

What truly maddened her, what was nearly too much to bear was that Roth had been a heartbeat away from releasing their own version of the treats when Denham beat them to market with Coffee Buddies. Roth's Coffee Pals, although delicious in their own right, were also-rans in popularity. In fact, if sales didn't pick up, they might have to discontinue the item since the fine European chocolate required to make them was so costly.

If it had been Hershey's or Mars or Ghirardelli who'd trounced them, she could have handled the defeat. But it was Denham. The company whose headquarters was a short drive up Fairview from Roth's. The company chosen the number three best place to work in Washington state, right after Roth Confectionery. The company co-featured with Roth two months ago in Fortune magazine.

The company owned and operated by Mark Denham, her infuriating and drop-dead-gorgeous ex-husband, creator of winning candy products, escorter of knockout blondes.

With a growl, Kat dropped the chocolate back in the bowl, then turned to head out of the store. Just as she reached the door, Mark emerged from Starbucks across the street, the blonde glued to his side. The petite woman gazed up at Mark as she spoke, gesturing animatedly with her paper sack from the coffee bar. Mark nodded occasionally, flashing his devastating smile in the bimbo's direction.

Damn, they were crossing the street. Kat retreated again into the cooking store, crouching in the back until she was sure Mark had passed.

As she straightened, she caught sight of the brimming bowl of Coffee Buddies, the perky cartoon Buddy grinning at her. She could almost see him prancing on the shelf, little squares of chocolate bouncing around him as they taunted her, Neener, neener, neener, we like Denham better... Buddy's imaginary voice bore a striking resemblance to Mark's high tenor when he was a 10-year-old and she a lowly 6-year-old.

Feeling a little like that 6-year-old now, Kat stuck her tongue out at Buddy and snatched up a handful of the candies. I'll get you, Buddy, and your little friends, too.

One eye out the front window, Kat approached the register and spilled the handful of chocolates on the counter. "I'll take these."

The grandmotherly clerk gave Kat a sunny smile as she rang up the sale. "Aren't those the most scrumptious treats?"

"I suppose." Kat fished a few dollars from her wallet, then scrounged in the bottom of her purse for the change. "But Coffee Pals are better."

"Coffee Pals?" The clerk blinked at her through thick glasses. "What are those?"

"Never mind," Kat sighed.

As she exited the store, she checked Pike Place, left and right. No sign of either ex-husband or sashaying blonde. A Coffee Buddy melting in her mouth, Kat returned to her car, reluctantly savoring the delicious smooth taste of the chocolate. They really were wonderful, and the marketing darned clever, with Buddy creeping into the hearts and minds of both children and adults. It still irked her that Denham's concept had been so similar to her own for Coffee Pals. It had forced Roth to revamp their marketing strategy at the last minute.

As she drove up Pike Street, she nearly had her third Coffee Buddy to her lips before she caught herself. Darn things were just as difficult to resist as their maker. She dropped the unwrapped candy into the bag and tossed the bag on the seat beside her.

Pulling onto Interstate 5 for the short drive back to her office, she could almost hear the Coffee Buddies whispering, Don't you want another? Her arm snaked out of its own accord, nearly reaching the bag when someone cut in front of her as she was about to exit the freeway. That took all her concentration, distracting her from the enticing bag of candy.

By the time Kat reached Roth Confectionery's headquarters overlooking Lake Union, considerations of her afternoon's tasks dominated her thoughts. Entering her 12th floor corner office, a stack of pink message slips in her hand, she was irritated to discover she still clutched the stash of Coffee Buddies. Resolutely, she tossed the remaining treats in her wastebasket before she leafed through her messages.

Her jacket tossed over the back of her chair, Kat glanced out her floor to ceiling window. Lake Union spread out before her and on its opposite shore she could just make out the Space Needle. When she'd become CEO, her parents had given her the choice of corner offices, this one with its view of the Seattle Center or the larger northwest corner suite. It had been a no-brainer--the northwest office overlooked Denham Candy Company headquarters. Gazing out at Mark Denham's enclave as she sipped her morning French roast would have wreaked havoc on her blood pressure.

Kat returned her attention to the stack of messages. She dreaded the upcoming meeting with marketing. Maybe she could sneak off to visit Roth's research and development department instead? As she contemplated that possibility, her phone buzzed and she started like a guilty child.

She lifted the receiver. "Yes, Norma?"

"Someone to see you, Kat." Norma lowered her voice to a stage whisper. "It's Fritz."

"Oh, Lord." That was all she needed today. Her walking disaster of a cousin. Cousin-in-law. Ex-cousin-in-law? "Tell him I'm busy."

"Fritz, she's...Fritz!" Norma called an instant before Kat's office door opened.

Fritz's grin would have rivaled Buddy's. "Cousin Kat! It's so great to see you." He strode toward her, five-foot-six-inches of trouble in a chocolate brown Armani suit.

As he rounded her desk, arms outstretched, his hip bumped against a Lenox porcelain candy dish, upsetting it. Kat dove for it, catching it just before it tipped off the desk.

"Sorry, Kat." He pulled her into his arms, gave her a Heimlich hug that popped the air from her lungs. "How ya doing, Cuz?"

"Great," she gasped. "And you?"

He stepped back, still smiling. "Good. Really good." He didn't quite meet her gaze.

His evasiveness set off warning bells inside Kat. She scrutinized him worriedly. Always a slight young man, he seemed a little thinner than he'd been two years ago when she'd seen him last. How old was he now? Twenty-three? No, twenty-four, eight years younger than she.

The heart-stopping Denham good looks had skipped Fritz's gene pool. Late-life son of Mark's stuffy Uncle Neddy, Fritz took after his frail, dainty mother. Cute as a puppy, and just as vexatious.

"So what brings you here?" Kat asked carefully.

Nonchalantly, he leaned one hand on her desk, jostling a framed picture of Kat's mom and step dad. Kat rescued the photo, putting it out of reach.

Straightening, Fritz shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. He grinned wider. "Your dad didn't tell you?"

Unease tickled the pit of Kat's stomach. "Tell me what?"

A rap on her office door pulled her attention from Fritz. Her assistant, Norma Wilson, opened the door and stuck her head in. "Marketing is waiting for you in the big conference room. The Chocolate Magic strategy meeting--remember?"

The marketing meeting now seemed a welcome diversion from the chaos that was Fritz. "Gotta go," Kat said as Norma bowed out again. "Can we do this later, Fritz?"

"Hey, no problem." He waved his hands, striking the desk lamp which leapt to its death. Fritz retrieved it, righting it on the desk with an apologetic shrug. "I can replace that bulb for you if you want."

"No need." Kat grabbed up her jacket and held it before her like a shield. "Norma will take care of it. Why don't we do lunch sometime?"

"Sure! Sounds great. After all, we'll be seeing a lot of each other."

She'd nearly reached the door when her belabored brain absorbed what he'd said. She stopped, turned to face him. "We will?"

His hands plunged back into his pockets. "Well, I don't start here officially until Monday, but we could have lunch anytime."

"Start." She blinked, once, twice. "Here?"

He rocked back on his heels. "Your dad really didn't tell you?"

She shook her head.

"He hired me today. To work at Roth." He flung out his arms to either side and the lamp bit the dust again. "I'm your new community relations advisor."

Kat shook her head. "He can't. Hire you, I mean. Not without telling..." Except it wouldn't be the first time her father had done an end run around her. Although still on the Roth board of directors, he'd retired as CEO only a year ago. Kat knew her father trusted her, but he still hadn't quite gotten used to letting her run the business.

But Fritz! What could her father have been thinking?

She walked back toward her cousin, intent on prying him from her office. "Look, I really have to go." She reached for his arm. "If you could just--"

"So, how's Mark?"

The unexpected question jolted Kat to a stuttering stop. "I have no idea." Gorgeous as ever. Dating knockout blondes. Ignoring the nasty little voice inside her head, Kat marched back toward the door. "Look, I've got a meeting."

"So you're still single? Got a boyfriend?" His gaze roved her desktop as if in search of love interest evidence. "Engaged maybe?"

"None of the above," Kat said, her hand on the doorknob. "Come on, Fritz. I have to go."

Without missing a beat, Fritz slid open the center desk drawer, glanced through it, shut it again. As he moved to open the upper left drawer, Kat hurried back across her office. "Hey! Leave my stuff alone!"

Fritz ignored her, pulling open the drawer. Kat grabbed his wrist, startled at how thin it seemed. Whatever else was happening in this boy's life, he wasn't eating enough. Shaking off her hold, Fritz fished inside the drawer all the way to the back. His grin grew sly as he retrieved the bit of folly Kat had hidden back there.

He held up the photo before him, tapping his chin as he examined the radiant bride, the devastatingly handsome groom. Kat didn't have to look; that picture from her wedding day was burned into her memory.

"How interesting," Fritz said. "You still have his picture."

"So what?" Kat plucked the framed photo from Fritz's hand, stuffed it back in the drawer. "It's just a good picture of me, so I kept it."

A crafty light brightened his blue eyes. "Uh huh."

"Never mind." Kat shoved the drawer shut with her hip, then tugged on her jacket. "I have to go. We'll deal with your employment status later."

"Of course, of course. After all, I've got work to do." He giggled, then with a skip in his step he crossed to the door and opened it for Kat.

Suspicion blossomed inside her. "What work?"

He flicked his fingers in an airy wave. "You know, community affairs stuff." He laughed and unease did another two-step in Kat's stomach.

She narrowed her gaze on him. "Look Fritz, just hold off doing anything until we have a chance to talk."

He just smiled, stepping in behind her as she slipped through the door. "See you later, Cuz."

"Wait!" Kat tried to grab his sleeve, but he moved too quickly. "Fritz, did you hear me? Don't do anything!"

He winked as he passed Norma's desk, then disappeared around a corner into the hallway. Kat felt a sudden sympathy for Pandora when she opened the box.

Norma looked up at Kat with a wistful smile on her matronly face. "My, that boy has grown."

"Go after him," Kat told her. "See what he's up to. I've got to get to the marketing meeting."

"Sure thing, Kat," Norma said, quickly rising from her desk. "I'll take care of it."

As Norma hurried after Fritz, Kat worried her lower lip. What was she going to do about her cousin? She couldn't just fire him. That wouldn't be fair to Fritz, not to mention how it might hurt her father's feelings. It had been so hard for him to retire, Kat didn't want to discourage him from giving input into how Roth should be run. But to hire Hurricane Fritz without asking her first--that strayed far beyond the bit of fatherly advice he usually dispensed.

There must be some way to handle the situation without ruffling anyone's feathers. But as she headed down the hallway to the elevators, she couldn't seem to put two thoughts together. Between seeing her dratted ex-husband with a blonde and unearthing a wedding picture she should have tossed long ago, her mind was mush.

Her thoughts kept circling back to the photo of her wedding day, to the joy suffusing her face. Why the hell had she kept the picture? Because she hadn't had the heart to throw away the only reminder of such a happy day?

But it was exactly that day that was the beginning of the end for her and Mark. If anything, the picture was a harbinger of the bad times to come. It drove home the reality that happiness couldn't be trusted, that marriages were fragile, ephemeral things.

She really ought to toss the photo, to purge her life of all reminders of Mark Denham. She vowed to take care of it the moment she returned from the marketing meeting.

But as she stepped into the elevator, she knew in her heart of hearts she would keep the picture. If only she could figure out why.

* * *

Mark Denham leaned back in his office chair, scanning the March reports from his sales force. The southeastern division had recorded record sales, most especially in Florida, and projected a truly phenomenal Mother's Day return. Marketing had outdone themselves with their latest advertising campaign and production was turning out a tremendous volume of Mother's Day Kits for Mom, specialty boxes of chocolates in beautiful floral shapes.

He should be ecstatic. He ought to be turning handsprings in his office in delight. The business picture for Denham Candy Company couldn't be rosier. Then why the hell did he feel so empty?

He could answer that in two words: Kat Denham. It had hit him hard today seeing her at Starbucks. At least he'd thought it was Kat. He'd only caught a glimpse, but what he saw had been achingly familiar--the slender neck exposed by the short cut of her hair, the set of her narrow shoulders in the ill-fitting gray suit, her trim calves. In the moment it took him to excuse himself from Lydia, the newest member of Denham's sales force, the woman in the gray suit had disappeared.

Leaving him with this roiling in his gut that still hadn't eased. He couldn't remember one word Lydia had said as he'd rushed her through their quick lunch. He'd turned the woman over to his VP of sales the moment he'd returned to Denham headquarters. Holed up in his office ever since, he'd fought a losing battle to banish Kat Denham from his mind.

Of course, her name wasn't Kat Denham anymore. She'd resumed using her maiden name the moment they'd separated. It had cut like a knife when he heard she'd taken back the Roth name so quickly, despite the brevity of their marriage. He really couldn't expect her to continue to call herself Denham, especially when Denham and Roth were such fierce competitors in the candy-making business. But that one act seemed to sever completely the link between them.

Tossing aside the sales report, he removed his wire-rimmed reading glasses and rubbed at his eyes. Damn, they should have just stayed friends. Why did he have to go and propose to her after fifteen years of perfectly good friendship? Had it been lust? He could still remember the day she'd returned to Seattle after five years away, with a brand new MBA from Stanford. At twenty-six, she took his breath away, her willowy beauty like a punch to the gut. He managed to keep his hands off her for two years, keeping up the front of friendship when all he wanted to do was get her into bed.

But he'd loved her when he'd proposed, hadn't he? It sure as hell had seemed like love. But compared to the blissful peace his own parents had enjoyed for nearly forty years, his marriage to Kat had been more like a war zone. Obviously there was some crucial element to love he didn't understand.

So he'd lost a friend as well as a wife when their marriage failed. And even now, two years later, he couldn't seem to go a day without thinking of her.

He glanced at his Rolex--ten after five. All afternoon he'd had to squelch the urge to call her, just to see how she was, how things were going for her.

His phone buzzed and he picked it up, grateful for the distraction. "Yes?"

Rod, his gruff-voiced admin assistant, growled into the phone, "Someone's here to see you."

His heart galloped into overdrive as his mind leapt to a hasty conclusion. Kat! It had been her at Starbucks, and now she was stopping by to say hello. Schooling his voice to neutrality, he asked, "Who is it?"

There was a pause, then Rod answered, his voice low. "Your cousin, Fritz."

Fritz! Even as Mark thrust aside his disappointment that it wasn't Kat, he was searching his office for an avenue of escape. "Does he need money?"

Retired military who'd been with Denham's for six years, Rod was a veteran of the Fritz wars. He spoke in a near whisper. "Don't think so. He's wearing some fancy designer suit."

Curiouser and curiouser. Last he'd heard, Fritz had been booted out of USC, his fourth ejection in as many years. Mark sighed and gave in to the inevitable. "Send him in."

When Fritz first walked into his office, Mark's polite smile faltered a moment. The suit was Armani, the young man's hair neatly styled, but something haunted the depths of his bright blue eyes. Then Fritz grinned and the darkness vanished.

"Hi, Mark." He stretched his arm across the desk to shake Mark's hand.

Fritz shook vigorously, in the process upsetting a foot-high model of Buddy next to Mark's in-box. Buddy and in-box threatened to tumble over the edge, requiring quick action from Mark to save them from disaster.

Mark scooped the endangered items closer to his side of the desk. "Hey, good to see you, Fritz." Sitting back down, he gestured to a visitor's chair. "What can I do for you?"

Fritz seated himself without incident and flashed Mark a toothy smile. "I'm here on behalf of Roth Confectionery. I'm their new community affairs advisor."

Mark's bonhomie faded. "Did Kat send you over here?"

"In a manner of speaking." Fritz tipped his chair onto its back legs, banging into the bookshelf behind him. "Roth is starting up a new fundraising campaign for local charities. And they'd like Denham Candy to participate."

"Participate?" Mark's gaze narrowed on Fritz. "How?"

"By joining forces in the campaign." Fritz's patter would have made a politician proud. "We call it 'Kandy for Kids' since most of the earmarked charities benefit children. And if Seattle's two biggest candy rivals join hands in this campaign, we have a lock on significant media interest."

Fritz's earnest smile never waned under Mark's scrutiny. "You say Kat sent you here?"

Fritz didn't even blink. "I'm sure you know Kat is a big booster for local causes."

He did indeed, having encountered her at a few of the charity events he'd attended. Chance meetings were difficult enough to handle; inevitably either she or he would leave early to avoid each other's extended presence. But to intentionally choose to be in the same place at the same time with Kat Roth...that would be lunacy.

Yet how could he say no? "Which charities had you planned to support?"

Fritz named off several that Mark knew were Kat's favorite non-profits. Coincidentally, more than a few were the same organizations Mark endorsed.

Legs crossed, Fritz bounced a foot and nearly clipped a corner of the in-box. "So what do you say?"

Mark tried to think. It sounded like a worthy endeavor. But how could he become involved without Kat turning his life upside down again? His sense of self-preservation kicked in, offering him an out. He smiled at Fritz. "Denham will be glad to take part. My VP of human resources with be at your disposal."

"No, no." Fritz rose to his feet, and the chair fell backwards to the floor. A bonsai on the bookshelf behind Fritz shook ominously. "You have to do it yourself. Kat is taking time out of her busy schedule for the campaign. If Denham's CEO doesn't reciprocate..."

Fritz didn't have to finish. If Denham Candy didn't participate to the same extent as Roth Confectionery, Denham would come off looking like the bad guy. "You have a point," Mark agreed reluctantly. "Count me in, then. Just let me know where and when."

Nearly dancing in his apparent relief, Fritz outlined what plans Roth had already conceived for the Kandy for Kids campaign--a two-man scull race on Lake Union with Seattle-area businesses participating, a pre-game celebrity softball game at SAFECO Field, a family picnic for underprivileged kids. "Kat thought you two could meet for dinner tonight to hash out the details."

Meet Kat? For dinner? Just the two of them? "I don't know..."

"We'll be in touch." Fritz danced over to the door, suddenly in a hurry to leave. "Talk to you soon."

He ducked out of the office before Mark could say another word. A few moments later, there was a knock at the door. Was Fritz back? "Come in," Mark called.

Rod stepped inside, his beefy frame filling the doorway. "I'm about to leave. Mind telling me what that was all about?"

Bemused, Mark raked a hand through his hair. "Denham's will be participating in a new fundraising campaign--Kandy for Kids."

"And?" Rod pressed.

"It's a joint effort." Mark shook his head, still wondering how he'd gotten himself hornswoggled. "With Roth Confectionery." He raised his gaze to Rod. "With Kat Roth."

Rod's brow rose speculatively, but he didn't say a word. He didn't mention the number of times Mark had told his assistant he would never get tangled up in anything related to his ex-wife. Rod also didn't expound upon his bizarre theory that Mark still loved Kat. The older man just flashed Mark a smirk and backed out of the office.

But Mark could hear Rod's booming laughter all the way down the hall as he left.

Chapter Two

Sinking into her desk chair, Kat stared unbelieving at her administrative assistant. "You lent him your car?"

Amazingly, Norma blushed, the color taking a decade off her forty-some years. "He needed it to go down to Denham's. To talk to Mark. About the new fundraising campaign."

Alice and her rabbit hole had nothing on Kat in that moment. She pressed her hands to her desk top, on either side of her shadow cast by the setting sun. She wished she could fly away from here, away from troublesome ex-husbands and pesky ex-cousins-in-law. If she could, she'd follow the sun's orange glow clear back to its source.

Dropping her hands into her lap, she looked up at Norma. "Let's assume I just spent the last four hours in a grueling meeting with marketing." Which she had, and had the scars to prove it. "Let's assume I haven't the slightest notion what you're talking about. Then explain it all from the beginning."

Norma began to look a little unsure of herself as she stood opposite Kat's desk. "You asked me to keep tabs on Fritz."

"Yes. That much I remember."

"He told me you'd just hired him on as community affairs advisor."

Kat scowled. "I didn't hire him. My father did." She waved a hand at Norma. "Go on."

The older woman settled herself on the edge of a visitor chair. "Fritz told me about Kandy for Kids."

"Kandy for Kids?"

"The fundraising campaign."

Kat was about to ask, "What fundraising campaign?" then decided against it. It would only prolong the agony. "Continue."

The rest spilled out in a flurry of words. "Fritz said Kandy for Kids would be a joint effort between Roth and Denham and he needed to go down the street to talk to Mark. So I lent him my car."

The blush was back in Norma's cheeks and she sat ramrod straight in her chair. Bad enough she gave Fritz the keys to her car. That she did so to provide him transportation to the enemy stronghold amounted to insurgency.

Norma's gaze dropped to her lap. "I thought you knew all this."

If it were anyone else, Kat would have torn strips off them for putting her in this position. But not Norma, a sweet, loving woman whose self-esteem had taken enough of a beating when her husband left her five years ago for some sweet young thing.

"Of course I knew, Norma," Kat lied, her tone even despite the turmoil inside her. "Just not the details. Is Fritz back yet?" Might as well lay blame on the shoulders that deserved it.

At the mention of Fritz, Norma smiled. "No. He's only been gone an hour."

With a sigh, Kat turned her chair slightly to look out the window. The fat ball of the sun, its red-gold face striated with wispy clouds, hung over the city beyond Lake Union. Below her, commuter traffic moved slowly along Fairview. One of those cars could be Mark's. He could be driving along right now, muttering under his breath about what Kat had roped him into this time.

She'd have to call him. Even though the thought of hearing his voice again set off a wrangling in the pit of her stomach, she'd call him, tell him the whole thing was a joke. A late April fool's prank. He'd be irritated as hell. But Kat had long ago given up hope of getting along with Mark.

Norma intruded on her reverie. "Where did you want me to make reservations for dinner?"

She bumped along down the rabbit hole again, confusion whirling inside her. "Dinner?"

Before Norma could enlighten Kat, the phone rang, tweaking her nerves even further. She snatched up the receiver and barked out a hello.

The voice that answered was full of reproach. "Katarina, how can you talk to your mother like that?"

Kat rubbed at the tension between her eyes. "I didn't know it was you, Mom."

"So you talk to your clients that way?"

Ten, nine, eight, seven... deep long breath. "No, Mom. How are you?"

"Fine. Wonderful. Oh, Tony's been having a little back trouble, but--"

"Mom, I'm kind of in the middle of something--could I call you back later?"

"No need. We'll just talk to you tonight at dinner."

Why did everyone seem to know about this except her? "Look, Mom, about dinner--"

Fritz chose that moment to return, barreling into Kat's office with a wide grin and wind-tossed hair. Norma lit up like a Christmas tree at the young man's appearance, setting off warning bells inside Kat.

Her mother reclaimed her attention. "You're right. We'll be too busy planning the Kandy for Kids campaign to chat."

Good God, the situation got more complex by the moment. "That's exactly what I need to tell you. This campaign--"

"We'll just have to set another time to have a little talk. See you tonight." Her mother hung up before Kat could utter another word.

She'd no more set down the phone than the door swung open again and her father strode in, his compact body bristling with energy. "Hi, love, sorry to interrupt," he called out before rounding her desk to give her a peck on the cheek. "Just wanted to let you know Patti and I can make it tonight."

A sudden, vivid image of a steamroller popped into Kat's mind, its bulk rumbling inexorably toward her. "Now, wait a minute, Dad--"

"I have to say, Katarina, I'm thrilled to see you extending an olive branch to Mark this way. And for such a good cause." He turned and smiled at Fritz, stuck out his hand. "How are you doing, son?"

When the phone rang again, Kat eyed it with trepidation. The Seattle Mariners, maybe, calling to RSVP for dinner?

Her moment of whimsy did nothing to prepare her for Mark's deep voice on the other end of the line. "Hello? Kat?"

For a long moment, she couldn't speak. The chatter between Norma, Fritz and her father faded, her world narrowing and centering on the phone receiver in her hand. "Hello, Mark."

He paused, too, as if caught in the throes of the same memories. "Where are we meeting tonight? For dinner."

Now's the time, Kat thought. Tell him it's all a mistake. There is no Kandy for Kids campaign. No dinner planned for tonight.

But the words stuck in her throat. As much as she hated to admit it, she wanted--ached for--a chance to see him, to be with him. Even with her parents there avidly looking on, even knowing the impossibility of a relationship between them.

"Kat?" Mark's voice caressed her ear, setting off a heat inside her.

She glanced up at her father, although she knew she'd find no help there. He still chatted with Norma. But Fritz had fallen silent, his blue eyes on her. The intensity of his gaze surprised her. He must have sensed she was about to pull the brakes on the crazy train he'd set in motion.

She should. She had to. But maybe it would be easier to go ahead with dinner, have them all meet so she could tell them all at once.

"Papa Gianni's," Kat said finally, and saw Fritz relax. "Down on Pike Street?"

"I know the place," he said. And of course he would. He'd given her an engagement ring there.

She dropped her face in her hand, tried to think. There were hundreds of restaurants in Seattle. There had to be one that wouldn't generate a flood of memories. "Or maybe Rosie's Café. That might be--"

"Papa Gianni's." His tone brooked no argument. "Should I make the reservation?"

Kat sighed, acquiescing to the inevitable. "Thanks, no. Norma can do it. Eight o'clock?"

"Fine." He cleared his throat. "I hope you don't mind--I invited my parents."

The words were innocent enough, but Kat caught the message behind them. His parents' presence would be a buffer between them. He didn't want to be alone with her. That made perfect sense, considering the volatility between them. But it hurt nonetheless.

She forced a laugh. "No problem. Your parents apparently invited mine. And I'd planned to bring Norma and Fritz along as well."

Take that, Mark Denham. I wouldn't want to be alone with you either.

If her ineffectual jab wounded him, you couldn't tell it from his voice. "See you soon, then."

She held the phone to her ear a moment after he hung up, then set down the receiver as she rose. "Norma, give Papa Gianni's a call. Reservations at eight o'clock for ten people."

Her father returned to her side to give her another kiss. As he straightened, Kat grabbed his arm. In a low voice, she said, "We have to talk." She looked significantly from her father to Fritz and back.

"Not now, honeybunch." He pulled away. "Patti's in the Benz down in the parking garage. We'll meet you at Papa Gianni's." Her father escaped.

Norma out at her desk phoning the restaurant, Kat fixed her gaze on her cousin. "You've succeeded in turning my life upside down."

He smiled and shrugged. "I'm just trying to do my job, Kat."

Kat frowned. "I asked you not to do anything until we talked. And to force me to have dinner with my despicable ex-husband--"

"Despicable?" Speculation glittered in his blue eyes. "If he's so despicable, why is his picture still in your desk?"

Kat wasn't about to answer that one. "This Kandy for Kids campaign ends tonight. We'll tell everyone it was a joke, or a mistake, or a misunderstanding--whatever it takes to pull the reins in on this runaway horse. Then I'll find something for you to do around here that will keep you out of trouble."

His smile faded, and for the first time, his expression grew serious. "I'm sorry, Kat. I don't mean to be such a screw-up."

Kat could have kicked herself for hurting his feelings. She opened her mouth to apologize, but Norma returned and the somber moment might never have been. Fritz was full of smiles for Kat's assistant, insisting he ride over to the restaurant with her, inveigling the car keys out of the older woman. Norma glowed; she probably would have given Fritz the whole car if he'd asked.

Kat's cousin escorted Norma out of the office, leaving Kat behind to gather up her purse and jacket and follow them in her own car. As she guided her Camry along Interstate 5 toward Pike Street, she contemplated her assistant's burgeoning adoration for Fritz.

Norma had been an extended member of the Roth family for years. Her philandering ex-husband had been a long-time employee of Roth before he danced off into the sunset with his sweet young thing. Because of the Roths' close association with the Denhams, Norma had literally watched Fritz grow up. In fact, if Kat weren't mistaken, Norma might have changed the infant Fritz's diaper a time or two.

So what could have possessed Norma to show such interest in Hurricane Fritz? Kat hoped she wasn't setting herself up for another heartache. She'd had enough hurt in her life to take another blow from a man, even a young pup like Fritz.

As she pulled into Papa Gianni's crowded parking lot, she decided she had enough troubles without borrowing Norma's. Her assistant would just have to watch out for her own heart. It was enough for Kat to keep hers out of peril.

* * *

It had been less than a ten minute wait between when Mark arrived at the restaurant and when Kat appeared, but it seemed to extend into an eternity. First there was the interminable welcome from Gianni Giancarlo, ecstatic to see the Denhams and Roths together again in his establishment. Then the conga line through the restaurant to the back banquet room where Mr. Giancarlo had set up a private table. Finally the juggling at the table, as his parents and the Roths played musical chairs in an effort to seat him next to Kat.

The older folks' maneuvering shredded nerves already rattled by his anticipation of seeing Kat. When he couldn't take it anymore, Mark grabbed a chair at the head of the table and lowered himself into it, leaving the rest of them to figure out the seating.

So he had his back turned toward her when she finally entered, had only the warning of Phil Roth's smile when he spied his daughter. Mark forced himself to sit still, ready to rise to seat her next to him when she reached the table. But she walked right past him to the other end.

"I'm sorry," she said, her smile seeming to include everyone but him. "Would you all mind moving down?" She gestured to the side of the table with the empty seat. "I need to sit next to Norma."

He should object, should insist she sit next to him. But the sight of Kat's face rendered him speechless, the heart shape, her soft eyes the exact color of dark chocolate. Her body might be camouflaged by the baggy gray suit, but he knew its every line, every warm curve.

Before he could think to protest, they had all shifted around, his father moving to stretch his long legs out to Mark's right, his mother next to his dad, then his cousin and finally Norma. Kat settled herself opposite Mark, her parents and stepparents to her right.

She might have thought it safe to position herself so far away. But despite the length of the table, despite the dense foot-high centerpiece of dried flowers half hiding her, he could feel the attraction between them, palpable and enticing.

When had he seen her last? Not counting earlier today, when he'd caught only a glimpse. Two months maybe, when they'd both turned up at the pre-Valentine's Day Chocolate Affair. She'd been manning Roth Confectionery's booth, her attention focused on pouring coffee liqueur into tiny cups made of white chocolate. She'd spilled some of the dark liquid on her thumb and then sucked it off, sending a sudden erotic shock straight through him. He'd remembered all too clearly licking the sweet dark liqueur from her breasts in a night of particularly wild lovemaking. He'd had to back away, leave the event, making excuses to the organizers.

Now she sat six feet from him, her gaze locked with his. She couldn't possibly know what ran through his mind, how even in this crowded restaurant he ached for her. Her eyes widened, her lips parting slightly, and it was all he could do to suppress a groan.

Then she broke eye contact, grabbing up her menu and ducking behind it. He ought to feel relief, but instead tension zinged along his spine. Lord, why was nothing ever easy with Kat?

"So, what are the specials tonight?" she asked, her breathy voice sending fingers of sensation up Mark's spine.

Everyone around the table spoke at once, reeling off the list Mr. Giancarlo had recited. The noise flowed around him as he stared down the table at the back of Kat's menu, waiting for her to lower it. She must have sensed him; her hands trembled where they gripped the laminated cardboard. When the table talk drifted into a discussion of what each person planned to order, it was all Mark could do to keep from striding down the length of the table and plucking the menu from Kat's hands.

She closed it finally, laying it carefully on the table. Mark watched her speak alternately to Norma on her left and her father on her right. She managed to turn her head from side to side without her gaze ever passing over him.

Annoyance nibbled at Mark. Damned if he'd let her avoid him. "So, Kat," he called out down the table. Conversation immediately died on either side. For a moment Kat kept her head averted to her father, then she turned to Mark, her chin tipping up slightly. Mark cleared his throat. "Who have you lined up for the scull race?"

* * *

As if the strain of sharing the same room at the same time with Mark Denham wasn't enough, now he had to lob entirely nonsensical questions at her. "The scull race."

Mark kept his intense green gaze on her, a look of disapproval on his face. "The business sponsors. And the participants. Who have you got lined up so far?"

No one, of course, because until that instant, she didn't know anything about a scull race. She glanced at Fritz; he just gave her a shrug and a sheepish grin. "Uh..." Tell him the truth. Before you're dug in any deeper. But now everyone at the table had their eyes on her--parents, stepparents, her former in-laws.

And Mark, who all by himself could empty her brain of intelligence. Somehow, under his steady regard, she couldn't quite squeeze the truth out of her mouth. She flicked a hand in a negligent gesture. "We haven't quite pinned everyone down."

"Haven't quite..." Mark seemed to bite off the words; his parents, her parents, Norma and Fritz all swiveled their heads back toward him. "The scull race is scheduled for Mother's Day--less than a month off. If you haven't managed even a modicum of organization for this fund-raising effort..."

As the ping pong game returned to her end, Kat felt her hackles rise in automatic response to Mark's tone. "Kandy for Kids is organized. I just haven't nailed down all the details." What the hell was she doing? She was defending something that didn't even exist!

Mark leaned back in his chair. "Then it's a good thing you brought Denham in on this. Now you at least have a hope of pulling it off."

Reaching for the empty wineglass at her place, Kat curled her fingers around its stem. Ten, nine, eight, seven... "We included Denham Candy strictly for public relations purposes. If you can't be a team player--"

Kat's father gripped her wrist. "Honey, Mr. Giancarlo needs to take our order. You two kids can talk about this during dinner."

Finger by finger, Kat unwrapped her hand from the wine glass. Papa Gianni stood beside Mark, order pad at the ready. She'd so narrowed her focus on her ex-husband, she hadn't even seen the restaurant owner enter the room.

As the jabbering resumed around the table, everyone seeming to give their order at once, Kat strove to gather her wits around her again. She shot a glance at Fritz, who returned a guileless look, his lips curving into a smile. He seemed completely unrepentant at the havoc he had wreaked in Kat's life.

When Mr. Giancarlo stopped at her seat to take her order, Kat picked an item almost randomly off the menu. She'd wait until the restaurant owner had finished, then she'd get everyone's attention to make her announcement. Maybe instead of declaring Kandy for Kids a figment of Fritz's imagination, she'd tell them, regretfully, that the program seemed unfeasible, considering how difficult it would be for Roth and Denham to work together. She'd keep it congenial and impersonal, express her respect for the Denhams, thank them all for coming, but it just ain't gonna work, baby.

No need to mention the hunka-hunka burning lust she still felt for her ex-husband.

But once the orders were finished, a waiter immediately appeared with bottles of the house red--compliments of Papa Gianni's. Then the fussing over corkscrews and tasting and serving the wine. Once every glass had been filled with the crimson Chianti, Kat had to endure toast after toast to the Denhams and Roths and Kandy for Kids.

As she sipped her wine, Mark watched her from the other end of the table. Where earlier she had done her best to ignore him, now she felt she had something to prove. If he intended to keep his eyes on her throughout dinner, she'd damn well return the favor. Never mind the tumult of emotions mixing with the wine inside her, never mind the powerful erotic memories evoked by his presence.

After the wine came the salads, then the soup, then the entrée. Eating her meal gave her the excuse to look somewhere other than at Mark, giving her a breathing spell from the unwanted connection between her and her ex-husband. She conversed with those at her end of the table, Norma and Fritz, her father and stepmother Patti. She dimly heard Mark's end of the table brainstorming the Kandy for Kids campaign, throwing out ideas at breakneck pace.

Although she refused to look at him, Kat's awareness of Mark never ceased. She knew each time he looked her way, could feel the weight of his gaze as real as a touch.

When the zuppa inglese arrived, Kat thought she would scream from the tension. That or take Fritz by the scruff of his scrawny neck and shake him to relieve her anxiety. Instead she cut a corner off the rich rum-soaked sponge cake with her fork and slipped the bite into her mouth. A bit of custard filling slipped and she had to lick it from her lips. Then she made the huge mistake of glancing up at Mark.

She froze, the tip of her tongue still out. She read his face as clearly as the pages of a steamy romance novel, saw every sensual image that danced through his mind. Damnably, the images burst inside her as well--the exact sensation of his tongue skimming across her lips, dipping inside, tangling with her own. His breathing growing hoarser as his arousal increased, his eyes dilating with passion as they stared into hers.

Good God, what was she doing? She jerked back as if to break the link between them. Her fork went flying and as she grabbed out for it, her hand struck the wine bottle at her end of the table. As it wobbled in place, Fritz lunged across the centerpiece to right the bottle, but he only made matters worse. It took Kat's last-minute nab to keep Norma's lap from being doused with wine.

Fritz blushed deep red as he lowered himself again. As everyone around the table congratulated her on saving the wine bottle, Kat puzzled over Fritz's reaction. Usually he was oblivious to his klutz attacks.

Kat picked up her spoon to finish her dessert, but her appetite had fled. Pushing the luscious cake back from her, she sagged back in her chair. It wasn't until the check arrived and everyone at the table started bickering over who had the honor of paying it that Kat roused herself.

This was her last opportunity to call an end to this folly. As her father and Ian Denham played tug-of-war with the bill across the table, Kat rose and called out, "Excuse me."

They ignored her. Clearing her throat, she yelled out more loudly, "Excuse me!"

Still no response. Mary Denham had started arguing her husband's case, her soft voice lost in the din. Tamping down her frustration, Kat put two fingers to her mouth and with all the lung power she possessed, gave out a shrill warning whistle. It cut through the cacophony, quieting the room.

"This has really gone far enough," she said, her gaze passing from one face to the next. She forced herself to look at Mark exactly as long as she did each of the others. "I can't let this go on a moment longer."

Nine expectant faces turned toward her. Their emotions seemed transparent--her parents' love, Ian and Mary Denham's caring, Norma's kindness. Mark's barely veiled heat. And Fritz...Fritz seemed to plead with her, to beg her for...what?

She returned her gaze to Mark. She could see the challenge in his eyes, like a schoolboy goading her--I dare you, Katarina. I double-dare you.

That alone decided her. Not Fritz's plea, or her parents' and in-laws' enthusiasm for the project. Not even the potential for good that Kandy for Kids could bring.

Mark tipped the scales with his silent taunt. Double-dare you back, Mark Denham, she answered him in her mind. Quadruple-dare you.

"This has gone on far enough," she said again. She leaned over the table and plucked the check from Ian's and her father's hands. "This is Roth's party. And Roth is paying for it." Reaching down for her purse, she pulled out her corporate credit card, dropped it and the check on the plastic tray. A few moments later, Mr. Giancarlo appeared to take it to the register.

They all shuffled toward the door, Norma and Fritz with their heads together, thick as thieves, the older folks in animated conversation. Kat felt a hand on her shoulder and knew immediately it was Mark's. She lurched to a stop, sudden tension singing through her.

She looked back over her shoulder and wondered why all the oxygen had vacated the room. He stared at her, the silence charged by his touch. If he didn't let go soon and disengage his compelling blue gaze, she just might reach melting point and puddle to the floor like tempered chocolate.

She shifted, turning toward him, and Mark finally dropped his hand. Her shoulders sagged with relief. "Yes?"

If he didn't stop looking at her mouth, she'd have to smack him. Or put him in a lip lock. He blinked, as if remembering how to speak. "It's a great idea. Kandy for Kids, that is."

She wriggled her shoulders a bit, but couldn't quite shake off Mark's touch. "It was Fritz's idea actually."

"Right." He rocked back on his heels. "I just..."

His gaze had drifted back down to her mouth. She had to resist the urge to fan herself with her baggy jacket to siphon off the heat. "You just?" she prompted.

"It's really good to see you, Kat. You look great."

For about three seconds she let the compliment wash over her, then logic took over. Terminal bed head hair, wrinkled suit suffering a power outage, and her face... Maybe that explained his fascination with her mouth. With the last of her Sweet Cinnamon lipstick faded, her mouth had vanished in her face and he was searching for it...

His gaze drifted down again, no doubt riveted by that empty space between her nose and chin. The least she could do was say something to give him a point of reference.

"Thanks," she said brightly. "You look good too."

With the inanity of her comment ringing in her ears, she inched toward the door. "We should go."

"Wait."

He put his hand on her again, just above her elbow. Who would have thought the crook of her arm would be such an erogenous zone? Even through the baggy sleeve of her jacket, she felt the heat of his palm, the imprint of each finger. She remembered with crystal clarity just what his touch could do to her.

Why couldn't it have been as easy as this? Why couldn't they put their animosity aside and just enjoy great sex? There wouldn't have been much depth to their marriage, but at least they'd have had a rollicking good time. That should have been enough.

It would have never been enough. Her heart a stone in her chest, she prodded him to finish. "What?"

His gaze searched her face and the stone threatened to crumble. "I just wish..."

She didn't want to hear the rest. She couldn't. Kat tugged away, turning her back on him and hurrying out the door. The first slap of chill Seattle evening air cleared her mind and cooled her body. When she heard the restaurant door open then close behind her, she spared Mark only the briefest glance before heading for her car.

The rest of the crowd was still chatting in the parking lot and it took a full five minutes to say good-byes and climb into cars for the trip home. Fritz dragged a large, battered Louis Vuitton suitcase from Norma's trunk and a second, smaller one from the front seat before bidding her farewell.

Kat unlocked her car, then leaned against the top of it to speak to Fritz. "Where are you staying?"

"I, ah...forgot..." He didn't quite meet her gaze. "To make a reservation. At a hotel. Where I would be staying. If I'd remembered, that is."

She tried to follow his circular logic and failed. "Why not stay with your dad?"

He shrugged. "Gone somewhere."

"Surely he wouldn't mind if you stayed at his--"

"I don't have a key."

Fritz's flat statement took Kat aback. She had keys to both of her parents' and stepparents' houses. Just in case, as her mother liked to say.

How could Fritz not? Kat opened her car door and hit the unlock button. "Get in. If you promise to behave yourself, you can stay in my spare room."

"Thanks, Kat." Grinning, he tossed the large suitcase in the trunk of her Camry. The smaller Louis Vuitton he settled carefully between his feet in the front seat.

As she took surface streets to her condo on Melrose, she wondered if Fritz even had the money for a hotel room. Then she dismissed that thought. He was wearing an Armani suit--two or three seasons out of style and a bit big for his slender frame--but an Armani nonetheless. He must be doing fine.

They pulled up to the condo and into the parking garage below. Easing her Camry into her space, she killed the engine then reached in the back for her purse. She caught Fritz staring at her. "What?"

"Just wondering..."

"What?"

"Why don't you trust Mark?"

The simple question plunked inside her like a pebble in a well. And like water moving in reaction to that pebble, emotions rippled through her--irritation, defensiveness, despair. It was the same damn question her shrink had asked those first few tumultuous months after the divorce.

She gave Fritz the same answer she'd given the shrink. "It has nothing to do with trust. We are simply incompatible." She ducked her head down as if finding her purse required an extensive search. "Not that it's any of your business."

Purse in one hand, she reached for the small Vuitton suitcase at his feet. "The trunk's popped. You take the big one and I'll get that one."

He pulled the bag out of reach. "Thanks, no."

"I'm not hauling that monster in the trunk."

"I'll get them both."

Who was hiding something now? "Whatever."

Luggage retrieved and car alarm activated, they headed for the elevator. Up in her condo, Kat occupied the next half hour getting Fritz settled in the extra room, providing him with bedding and pillows and pointing out the bathroom.

When she crawled into bed at last, Rochester curled on the pillow beside her, she could finally let go of the craziness of the day. Her muscles relaxed as she stretched out on the cool sheets, and her mind quieted.

If only she could push Mark from her thoughts. Again and again his face intruded, the wisp of sadness in his eyes, the tone of regret in his voice. Then Fritz's question... Why don't you trust him? Before now, the answer had always seemed so clear--because he's a man, and men can't be trusted. But now that justification seemed petty and childish.

Troubled, Kat tossed and turned for hours, finally falling into a fitful sleep near morning.

Chapter Three

Kat woke to find a reproachful feline face looming over her, four paws digging into her chest and belly. Rochester glared, yellow eyes fixed on her in a feline mind meld. Feed me radiated from that baleful gaze.

As she nudged Rochester off and climbed out from under the jumbled covers, she knew a moment of sheer peace. Saturday stretched out before her, a quiet day of rest. Light slanted through her bedroom window, the rare sunny morning filling her with well-being.

She was about to stride from her room in her hip-length baby doll when a clatter in the kitchen brought all of yesterday back to her. An infuriating, but all-too-appealing ex-husband. An impossible fundraising campaign. And Fritz, a one-man disaster area, who had single-handedly thrown her life into disarray.

And who was elephanting around in her kitchen, making enough noise to raise the dead. Rochester, thumping his twenty-plus pounds to the floor, crept to the bedroom door, then looked back over his shoulder. Disgust clear in his face, he shouldered open the door and stalked from the room. A moment later, Rochester's spitting hiss marched in counterpoint to another crash and Fritz's yelp of alarm.

Kat threw on jeans and T-shirt in record time, raced through her morning bathroom routine, then headed for the kitchen. Calamity awaited her--dirty dishes covering every counter in her compact kitchen, something that might have been pancake batter baked onto the coils of her electric stove and Fritz backed up against the refrigerator with a hissing, growling Rochester holding him at bay.

"Rochester, knock it off." Kat scooped up the black and gray mass of fur, staggering a bit under his bulk as she headed for the laundry room. A bowl of cat crunchies placated Rochester for the moment.

In the kitchen, Fritz still held his ground, leaning against the refrigerator, a spatula in his hand. A goopy white smear marred the front of his navy polo shirt. "Do you need a special permit for a cat that size?"

"Rochester is harmless." Kat reached over and turned off the stove as the pancake batter smoked. "You want to tell me what you're doing in here?"

Fritz swiveled his head from the laundry room door to her, staring for a long ten seconds before he answered. "Making breakfast." He blinked, tried on a smile. "As a thank you for letting me stay."

Surveying the mess, she wished he'd been a little less grateful. A plate holding three charred circles caught her eye. She lifted a blackened disk. "Ever made pancakes before?"

"No, but it looked easy enough. The box said just add water."

Kat ran a spoon through the watery mixture in a bowl by the stove, feeling much more cheerful about her stunted cooking skills. She could at least make pancakes from a mix.

She picked up the box and dumped in another two cups. "Tell you what. If you clean up a bit, I'll finish these."

Fritz handed her the spatula, then headed for the sink. Over the sound of running water, he asked, "Did you sleep well?"

She poured a portion of pancake batter onto the griddle. "Like a baby," she lied. "Why do you ask?"

Fritz dumped a handful of utensils into the soapy water. "Thought I heard you outside my door a couple times during the night."

"The condo's haunted." She'd been pacing up and down the hallway, trying to tire herself out. "Restless spirits. I hope they didn't keep you up." She looked back over her shoulder at him.

He looked pensive as he swished through the water with his fingers. When he noticed her watching him, he reached into the water for a dish and scrubbed it vigorously. "I slept fine."

"So..." With a twist of the wrist, Kat turned the pancakes. "How's your dad doing?"

He didn't answer for so long, Kat wondered if he'd heard her. "He's great," Fritz said finally with patently false cheer. "Doing really well."

Her cousin had no idea about his dad, Kat realized. The idea stunned her. So accustomed to the sometimes overwhelming familial closeness of the Roths and Denhams, Kat couldn't imagine a father so isolated from his son as Neddy was from Fritz.

She would have pressed him further, but Rochester reappeared, licking his chops as he savored his breakfast. Fritz danced aside as the cat passed him, but the Maine Coon had apparently finished expressing his opinion of the interloper. He leaped onto one of the chairs in the breakfast nook and proceeded with his morning wash, his disinterest in Fritz blatant.

"You don't like cats?" Kat asked.

"They don't like me." Keeping one eye on Rochester, Fritz gave the dish in his hands a perfunctory rub with the sponge. "They can smell my fear."

Kat laughed. "Unless your fear smells like tuna fish, Rochester couldn't care less."

"I'll keep my distance, just the same. No point in taking chances." He set the dish, still soapy, into the drainer.

"You have to rinse that." She waited until he retrieved the dish and held it under the running water before rescuing the pancakes from the griddle. "So when did you see your dad last?"

As the silence stretched, she set aside the plate of pancakes. "Fritz?" She caught a bleak look on his face before he turned away.

Her telephone bleated, the ringing pattern signaling she had a visitor downstairs. She grabbed up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Kat?" Mark's low voice dragged her heart to a stop, then slapped it into high gear. "I'm here."

"Mark?" A tremor stretched his name into two syllables.

"For breakfast. Remember?" He laughed. "It's only been an hour since Fritz called. You can't have changed your mind since then."

Kat whirled to spear Fritz with her gaze. He smiled at her, unrepentant. To Mark, she said, "Come on up." She tapped out a code on the phone to release the door.

Turning off the stove, Kat advanced on Fritz, giving him the evil eye. "How could you invite Mark for breakfast without asking me first?"

Fritz's eyes widened in innocence. "You were asleep. I didn't want to wake you."

She growled at him, nearly toe-to-toe now. "You have gone beyond annoying. You have trespassed into downright irritating and exasperating."

Fritz laughed. "You like men who irritate you."

"The hell I do!" A loud rapping at the door spun her around, sent her stomping into the living room.

Fritz followed along at her heels. "You like men who rile you."

"I do not!" Giving Fritz a dark look, she reached for the door.

"Wait." Fritz put out a hand to stop her. "I'd rather Mark not know I'm here."

"I want him to know you're here. I want him to know breakfast was all your idea."

"Wait. Please." He peeled her fingers from the doorknob. "When I called him I implied I was staying at the Hilton." Shifting his bare feet, he looked away a moment, then back at her. "I just don't want anyone else to know I didn't have a place to stay."

Mark knocked again. Kat shouted through the door, "Just a minute, the deadbolt's stuck." Then she turned to Fritz. "You just forgot to make a hotel reservation. Otherwise you would have had a place to stay."

"Yes. That's right, I did forget. But no one else needs to know that."

Kat studied Fritz's face, his guileless blue eyes, and wondered what he was keeping from her. "Get back in the spare room." She waved him down the hall. "Go on, shoo."

As he ducked into the bedroom, Kat unlocked the deadbolt, tugged at the door. Mark stood just outside, six-foot-one of tantalizing male.

"Hello, Kat." His low voice trilled up her spine, scattering her thoughts.

As she gazed up at him, she had to struggle a moment against the knee-jerk ache in her chest. Damn, why did he always have to look so yummy? "You're right on time."

As he stepped inside, his familiar scent drifted toward her, drenching her with memories. The pattern and rhythm of his touch, the flavor of his skin. She squeezed her eyes shut to banish the images.

"Taken to wearing men's shoes?"

Her eyes flew open. "What?"

He pointed to a pair of Hermes loafers under the entry way table. Kat remembered Fritz slipping them off last night when he'd first come in.

Mark nudged the shoes with his sneaker-clad foot. "Not really your style."

She shut the door, then faced him, chin tipped up. "How do you know they're not my lover's?"

Something flickered in his face, an emotion she couldn't quite pinpoint. "Are they?"

She didn't have to answer. They were divorced, both free agents--witness his cozy luncheon yesterday with the blonde. She could have a hundred lovers; it wouldn't be his concern.

"No." Bending, she picked up the shoes. "Excuse me a moment."

She took the well-worn loafers down to the guest room and cracked the door open wide enough to toss them inside. When she returned, she found Mark in the kitchen, leaning one shoulder against the refrigerator, chewing on what had to be a stone-cold pancake. She couldn't seem to take her eyes from the line of his jaw as it worked, the white teeth nipping another bite from the rolled up cake.

He finished the flapjack and crossed his well-muscled arms over his chest. The black T-shirt he wore clung faithfully to the lean lines of his body. His faded denim jeans seemed to have a love affair with his legs.

"Who were you talking to earlier? Before you opened the door?"

She'd forgotten the subtleties of his smile, how it could be sweet one moment, hot and seductive the next. Right now it seemed a cross of both and it pulled at her heart even as it teased her more basic instincts.

She shook her head to dispel her treacherous reactions. "No one. The cat."

His gaze strayed to where Rochester slept peacefully on a kitchen chair. Kat backpedaled. "I mean I would have been talking to the cat if he'd been in there. So really I was talking to myself, I suppose."

She expected him to press the issue, to fall into the familiar pattern of parry and thrust that always escalated into a fight. Instead he shrugged, reaching for another pancake.

Kat snatched up the plate. "You don't need to eat them cold. I'll make some more." Switching on the stove again, she poured a generous dollop of batter onto the griddle.

She could feel Mark watching her as she fussed over the giant pancake. When he spoke, his voice caressed her ears. "I confess I was surprised at the invitation this morning."

"I was too," Kat muttered. She threw a glance at him over her shoulder. "That you agreed to come, that is."

"Why wouldn't I?"

Kat tried a laugh, it came out sounding sickly. "I'm a lousy cook for starters." She shoved the spatula under the pancake, flipped it. It folded in half and she had to rearrange it on the griddle to restore a passably round shape.

"Your cooking doesn't scare me," he said.

Something in his tone turned her toward him. There was a cryptic message in his eyes, a mystery she couldn't decipher.

Wouldn't decipher. "I figured you'd had enough of me last night." She hefted the pancake from the griddle, slapped it on a plate.

"I've never had enough, Kat."

That struck straight to the core. Her hand trembled as she handed him the pancake. He set it aside on the breakfast nook table where Rochester eyed it with speculative interest.

She waved at him. "Go ahead and sit down. I'll get the syrup."

The plastic bottle of pancake syrup sat so far back in the cupboard she had to drag out the stepladder to reach it. Then she turned too fast with the bottle, and nearly toppled off the ladder.

She'd never seen him move so fast, grabbing hold of her as she swayed. "Are you okay?" he asked, his hands spread at her waist, steadying her.

Wonderful, she thought. Better than I've been in a long time. "Fine, thanks." She edged away from him and descended the ladder, thrusting the syrup at him. "Here you go."

As she busied herself with putting away the stepladder, then with pouring pancakes for herself, she sensed his gaze on her. She was grateful they'd never lived in the condominium together, that memories weren't clinging to every surface as they did in the guest house on his parents' estate. She could barely stand to be in the same room with him without the past intruding.

She flipped her pancakes, focused on the golden brown circles as if her life depended on it. "Seeing anyone new?" She would have swallowed her own tongue if it could have pulled the question back down her throat. Her skin prickled and burned as she waited for his reply.

Silence beat out the seconds...one, two, three... "Are you?"

"I thought I already answered that."

"You said the shoes weren't your lover's. You never said there wasn't one in your life."

She took a sidelong glance at him, tried to parse what might be going on behind his intent gaze. "No. No, I'm not. You?"

He seemed to want to dance around the issue. "Why do you ask?"

Because I saw you with a blonde bimbo yesterday. Because I can't stand the thought of you with anyone else. She scooped up her pancakes. "Just curious." Avoiding his gaze, she took her plate and sat opposite him at the table.

But he didn't seem ready to let it go. When she reached for the syrup, his hand closed over hers. "What if I was?"

She tugged, but he didn't release her hand. "What do you mean?"

"If I was seeing someone else, would that matter to you?"

"Why should it?" She kept her tone neutral. "We're divorced. We've broken our ties."

His eyes darkened to emerald. "Have we?"

She sat transfixed by his gaze, by its intensity. "Yes," she whispered. "We have." This time when she pulled away from him, he released her.

His head bent to his plate as he methodically cut a bite of pancake. She realized with a start that he still hadn't answered. She resisted the urge to rise from the table, to take hold of him and shake the information out of him. Are--you--seeing--anyone?

Then she saw the considering look on his face and terror washed away the impulse to know. She could just see him gathering his thoughts, working out a way to tell her. Yes, Kat, I am. There's this bleached blonde...

He squeezed a puddle of syrup on his plate as the pregnant pause went into overtime. "Talked to Eric Matthews this morning."

Kat blinked. Eric Matthews? What did Mark's longtime friend, his best man at their wedding, have to do with the blonde bimbo?

As she struggled to understand his context, Mark continued, "Had to call in a favor or two, but Microsoft's on board for the scull race."

Who the hell cared about the scull race? What about the bimbo? Irritation reared its ugly head inside Kat, at her irksome cousin for bringing her ex-husband back into her life, at the unanswered question dangling between them.

She stabbed a square of pancake so viciously syrup slopped over the side of the plate. Grabbing up a napkin, she scrubbed at the sticky mess and nearly swept her plate to the floor. Flustered, she glanced over at Mark.

A line cut between his brows. His fork rapped against the edge of his plate, tap-tap-tap, tap-tap-tap. "You don't want Microsoft involved?"

How could she not? It was an incredible coup. But why did he have to be so damned competent?

"I just wish you'd asked me first." Whine, whine, whine. She sounded like a petulant little girl. "You just muscled in and took control."

Mark's tapping increased in tempo. "Eric and I jog Saturday mornings. I had to call to cancel after your invitation to breakfast."

Any moment, she'd be wrapping that tapping fork around his neck. "A little heads up would have been appreciated."

He shrugged and the tapping ceased. "The subject came up. I took the initiative."

Took the initiative. Stepped in and solved the problem. Something twisted in Kat's chest, an emotion she couldn't quite pin down. What was it about his easy competence, his willingness to take on responsibility that tore at her? She had her own skill in working out the bugs, in leading a project. It wasn't envy she felt; she had too much confidence in her own abilities. Yet there was something...

She didn't like the tug inside her, the way it unsettled her. She pasted a pleasant look on her face. "Thank you for taking care of Microsoft. Your connection there is better than mine."

He smiled and her IQ plummeted. "Is Sarah still over at Starbucks?"

He has such a damned fine smile. She kicked her brain cells back in line. "She is. I'll call her Monday."

"Peg and Jim still with the Post-Intelligencer and the Business Journal?"

Kat nodded, a little dazed by the crinkling around his blue eyes. "I'll e-mail them later today."

They stared at each other and Kat could almost hear her thoughts grinding to a halt. She needed to redirect her focus or she'd be a goner, throwing Mark on the living room sofa and having her way with him, never mind Fritz in the other room.

"Let's get to work, shall we?" The Mouseketeers had nothing on her for chipper cheerfulness.

Moving briskly around the kitchen, Kat cleared the plates, waving off Mark's offer to help. Once she'd swiped the table clean of sticky spots, she dumped a stack of Post-It pads, colored pens and highlighters in the center. Seated opposite him with the supplies as a symbolic barrier, she grabbed a hot pink pad and purple gel pen, ready for action.

Like a combatant choosing his weapon, Mark slipped a neon blue pad from the pile and selected a black pen. As he uncapped his pen and centered the pad in front of him, the opening measure of "Dueling Banjos" twanged in Kat's imagination.

"About the costume ball," Mark said, his gaze on her, pen poised. "How about a black and white ball instead?"

Kat had to redirect her mind from its erotic fandango before Mark's suggestion could register. "Maybe," she said slowly. Then her enthusiasm for the idea sparked. "Yes. But masked. No one knows who's who until midnight."

Nodding, Mark started scribbling madly on his pad. "Donors could contribute anonymously to the Kandy for Kids fund."

"They could compete for the honor of the highest donation." Kat snatched up her own pad and made her own notes. "We'd keep tabs on the current winner, announce it throughout the evening."

"Yeah. Give them the opportunity to up the bid."

"How about a silent auction?" Kat asked.

"That's good." Mark peeled a square of blue paper from his pad and slapped it on the table. "Solicit goods and services from the community."

"Right. Give the smaller businesses a chance to take part."

They spent the next hour mapping out strategies, squares of hot pink and neon blue paper filling the table. Aside from the occasional tantalizing thrill when his fingers brushed hers, the thread of tension between them eased. They'd always collaborated well on a business level. World War III they reserved for personal issues.

But there were no "issues" between them anymore. They'd left those childish impulses behind when they divorced. Now they were fellow business people, icons of industry, masters or mistresses of their respective domains...

As she was giving herself a pat on the back for her admirable maturity, Mark's drop-dead gorgeous blonde companion popped up in Kat's mind, as intrusive as a snotty, pesky little kid that just won't leave you alone. Determined to be a grownup about it, Kat shook off the unwelcome reminder of Mark's no doubt active love life. She told herself it didn't matter. She really, truly didn't care. She was really fine with whatever Mark chose to do. It really didn't concern her if he was out there schtupping every sweet thing that came along.

"You're drilling a hole in the table."

She jumped at the sound of Mark's voice. "What? I'm not--" But she was. In a frenzy of denial, she'd dug the pen deeper and deeper into the Post-It sheet until she'd ripped clean through it and carved a purple-tinged cavity in her formerly impeccable washed pine table.

"Kat." Mark's hand covered hers. Her lungs, always troupers when she dragged them onto the treadmill at the gym, chose that moment to cease functioning. He could always sabotage her with a touch, no matter how many harsh words between them, no matter how vicious the fight.

She hauled in a ragged breath, let it out on a wispy, "Yes?"

"No," he said, and although the question had never left her mind, for a moment his answer confused her. "No, I'm not seeing anyone," he clarified.

Her heart did cartwheels in her chest, bouncing around like a cartoon image inside her. "Oh," she managed, afraid if she kept talking she'd reveal the joy welling up.

He opened his mouth, his gaze meeting hers and she knew he had something more to say. She could see it spilling across his face, could see it in the faint smile curving his lips, but it was in a language she couldn't translate.

He took his hand back, began plucking up Post-Its from the table top. "I'd better get going."

"I can have Norma transcribe these." She gestured at the yellow squares. "E-mail them over to you."

His hands full of bits of paper, he paused. "If it's not too much trouble."

"Of course not." She took the stack from him carefully, not wanting to risk another touch. "I'll give them to her Monday."

He nodded, then turned to head for the door. One hand on the knob, he looked back at her. "There's still the silent auction to plan."

"Right." Why wasn't he leaving?

"And the benefit concert." He let go of the door and leaned against it. "We'll have to make a decision on that soon. The Seattle Symphony is booked solid for the year."

Kat started to wonder if Mark was permanently cemented to her floor. "I'll have Norma give the Arts and Cultural Affairs office a call." She gave his arm a little nudge.

The gentle hint flew right past him. "If you want to get together this week, have Norma contact Rod."

He stared down at her, sinful as a Chocolate Decadence Truffle and twice as luscious. Maybe a quickie on the living room sofa wasn't such a great idea, but in her room with the door shut, if they were quiet, Fritz might never... No, no, no! Bad, Kat! Bad!

A slightly hysterical giggle bubbled from her lips. "I'll check my calendar." She repositioned herself into a farewell-to-guest stance, complete with emphatic wave. "Bye."

Still he stood there, immobile and tantalizing. Then his gaze dropped to her mouth, a sequel to last night's obsession. She could still feel a trace of the Wicked Watermelon gloss she'd applied this morning and knew she couldn't blame his fixation on a disappearing mouth. Then he took a breath and the memory of his tongue against hers cut in sharp as a blade.

She grabbed the doorknob and nearly shoved him off his feet opening the door. "Sorry," she gasped out.

He took the hint and finally stepped out into the hallway. For an instant, she thought he might lean in and kiss her, but she shut the door before he could so much as move.

Pressed against the door, she listened, waiting for the sound of his footsteps. She sensed him standing there on the other side, could picture him raising his hand to knock. That image faded as she heard him head down the hall toward the elevator.

She wasn't sure how long she stood there before she realized Fritz stood beside her. Her returning awareness of the room came in snatches--Fritz's worried face, the edges of the Post-Its digging into her hands, Rochester on the kitchen counter munching leftover pancakes.

Fritz laid a hand on her arm, his expression oddly colored by guilt. "Are you okay?"

"Fine. Excuse me," she said as she plunked the stack of paper squares on the table, then plucked Rochester from his booty.

As she went through the motions of washing dishes and gathering a load of laundry, she ignored Fritz's worried look. How could she explain her muddle of feelings to her ex-cousin-in-law? She barely understood them herself.

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