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Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three

Prologue

Twenty-five years ago:

In the darkness, Five-year-old Micah Johnson climbed to his usual vantage point in the tree outside the garage apartment and watched the lovers embrace, too young to understand what it all meant. The hugging and kissing was about all he ever got to witness before the lights went out. It wasn't the first time he'd heard Isobelle sneaking out of the main house while his father was out of town, or the first time he decided to follow her.

He slid off his perch and returned to his room, wondering what made him so curious about what went on in the chauffeur's apartment every time his father left home. Staring at the ceiling, he silently wished his father were home to hug him right now. Anthony was away a lot, busy negotiating jobs for his construction company.

Micah couldn't remember his own mother. She'd died when he was still a baby and he'd never known the loving touch of a mother's hand. His stepmother didn't like being touched, not by him, anyway.

The next day while the housekeeper served their breakfast, curiosity got the better of him. Maybe if he knew what the chauffeur and his father did to gain Isobelle's affections, he would know how to get her to show him a little. Since she spent more time kissing the chauffeur than she did his father, he innocently asked, "Why do you like kissing the chauffeur so much?"

His stepmother jumped up from the table and gripped his arm, jerking him to his feet. Uh-Oh, he thought, I've done something wrong again. He never knew what set her off sometimes, because she wouldn't ever tell him. Dragging him up the stairs, she yelled, "I'll teach you what happens to people who spy on others."

Although she'd often struck him in private, she rarely allowed the servants to witness her flaring temper used against him. This time was different and it put the fear of God in him. He didn't scream or fight her, knowing from experience it would just make her beat him harder, but he did pray a lot. God never listened, though.

A ghostly look settled on the housekeeper's wrinkled old face as she stepped in front of them at the top of the stairs. "Mrs. Johnson, I'm sure the boy meant no harm."

"Get out of my way, you old busy-body!"

Micah didn't blame the housekeeper for stepping aside. He knew Isobelle would deal with Mrs. Chester later, fire her as she often threatened to do if she didn't keep her nose out of her business. When she got Micah to his room, she stripped his pants off, threw him face down on his bed, and laid into him with a heavy wooden ruler.

Fortunately for him, his father returned home from work unexpectedly. Micah later thought that maybe God listened after all. Mrs. Chester, who never made a habit of interfering in matters of the household, felt compelled to inform Anthony about the mistreatment Micah suffered at the hands of Isobelle. "'Tis not the first time, sir."

Fury filled Anthony Johnson's face as he sprang up the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. He heard the loud slaps of the ruler connecting with Micah's backside and he flung open Micah's bedroom door. He seemed transfixed for a long time, standing and staring at the angry red welts along his son's bare bottom and shoulders. He also saw old bruises, obviously left there by former beatings, and his anger flared out of control.

At first, Micah feared his father was upset with him, since he usually took Isobelle's side in things. But, Anthony's hard gaze lifted from him to the woman he'd trusted with his son's care. He strode across the room and caught his wife's arm in mid-swing. She'd been so engrossed in her sick rage that she hadn't heard Anthony's footsteps behind her. She turned white when he twisted the hard wooden ruler she'd been beating him with out of her hand. Anthony raised it above her head. Glancing at Micah, his eyes softened and he dropped the ruler to his side. But his anger was not allayed. He hauled Isobelle out of the room, closing the door behind them.

Micah got off the bed and pulled his pants up his shaking legs. He tiptoed over and cracked his door a notch so he could see what was happening. Isobelle stumbled as his father shoved her toward the stairs. She grabbed her stomach and cried, "No Anthony, you can't--"

"Shut up! Just shut up." Anthony's anger became all the more threatening as he regained control and said in a low voice, "Get out of my house. Don't ever come back here or I'll bring charges against you for child abuse."

"But, Anthony, you don't understand," she whined. "Micah is such a little brat. You can't make me go. Not now that--"

Isobelle froze when Anthony raised the ruler again, threatening to strike her if she said another word. Micah's father wasn't normally a violent person, so it scared him a little when his father shouted, "Don't tell me what I can and can't do. I'm just sorry my son had to suffer for my negligence in allowing things to go this far."

She lowered her head and spoke in a little girl voice that had worked to create sympathy on many other occasions. "Wh-Where will I go?"

Micah hurt inside. He felt that somehow everything that was happening was his fault.

"I really don't care," Anthony said ruefully, as his anger began to drain away. "Go live with the chauffeur since you enjoy sleeping with him so much."

She darted a hate-filled glance toward Micah, making him scurry back to his bed. He stayed there until Anthony returned and gathered him in his arms. He dried Micah's tears and murmured soothing, consoling words that calmed him. From that moment on, his father had Micah's undying love and allegiance.

His stepmother was gone and, although he knew it was his fault, he only felt relief. But, he had more important things to think about. Like how to keep his father from marrying another one just like her.

TWENTY YEARS AGO:

Another five-year old boy grasped the rope hanging off an old oak tree and climbed hand over hand until he reached the thick limb where his tire swing was attached. After pulling his small body up and over, he mounted a branch that projected above the small house and peered over the rusty tin roof into the front yard.

In the driveway, behind his stepfather's old beat up pickup, sat a big, long, black car. Two police cruisers were parked on the dirt road that fronted the house. Everyone had apparently gone inside the shack. The boy stretched, but from the angle of his view, it was impossible to see more than what lay beyond the front steps.

He settled back on the limb and began his favorite pastime: daydreaming. He wondered what his real father was doing right now, probably laughing and talking to his other son while enjoying a large breakfast of hotcakes, bacon and scrambled eggs.

The boy's stomach growled, a reminder he'd gone without supper the night before, and had been shoved out into the backyard this morning by his stepfather without any breakfast. Pa, the only father he'd ever known, had issued a warning not to come back inside until he called him.

He'd bet his half-brother never knew what it was like to miss a meal. The boy knew about Micah simply because his mother had repeatedly accused him of being just like the "little selfish bastard."

Just for that reason, she often laid into him with a wooden yardstick. He could outrun her most of the time, but it was hell to pay when she caught him. He'd much rather get the hell beat out of him than locked in the closet all day. Drinking like she did, she often forgot he was in there until Pa came home and come looking for him. He wasn't the only one to be on the receiving end of her ranker. She taunted Pa night and day for not getting back at who'd caused her grief.

Without understanding how or why, the boy knew it was somehow his fault that his ma had been thrown out of "the big mansion" with nothing but the cloths on her back.

He heard a clanking sound on the driveway. Curious, the boy moved a little further out on the limb to get a better look. One of the men took Pa by the arm, walked him over to the rolling table and had them unzip the lumpy, black bag.

Sudden tears welled in the boy's eyes as he gazed at the chalky, motionless face they'd exposed. Isobelle looked so peaceful, he couldn't help the tiny feeling of pleasure it gave him. He brushed the tears away with a grubby fist.

Poor Ma. She wasn't perfect, but she'd been all he had. Who knew what she might have been like if she'd gotten that nice house and nice things she wanted. Now she wouldn't ever have them. It was all the "selfish bastard's'" fault, wasn't it?

He dried his tears and watched the man in a black suit close the bag. The body was carelessly jarred as they slid the gurney into the long, black car. "Looks like the heart gave out," the black suit said, turning to a uniformed officer who helped him. "The system can only take so much alcohol," the officer replied.

Stupid cops, stupid dumb cops. To them his mother was just poor white trash, living in a cheap, run-down house. But he couldn't help being grateful they didn't come looking for him and take him away from his stepfather. With Pa he'd have a place to stay and be fed, at least, most of the time.

He didn't understand the promise of revenge he overheard Pa make his mother last night, right after her ranting and raving suddenly stopped. Maybe he made the promise just to get her to shut up. Or, maybe he did it because he really did want to make things right for her. Because he cared...didn't he?

"I had night duty keeping the sump pumps running on the job," the boy heard Pa tell the sheriff. He really did go out late last night. The boy remembered hearing him leave right after the arguing ended. 'Course, he didn't tell them about that, why should he? They argued all the time and everyone in Summerville knew it. Wasn't much kept secret in a small town. Yet, no one seemed to know who the boy's real father was. He'd asked. He had a father, they'd say, and he should be damned glad of it. He was, but what would happen to him now? Pa never paid him much mind, but he had cared for Isobelle. Why else had he put up with the boy's crazy mother all these years?

The boy sighed. She was gone now. He had no right to feel relief, so he shoved back that unwanted emotion. He had more important things to worry about. Like how to make his stepfather keep him around now that he had a good excuse to get rid of him.

Chapter One

Present day:

"Are you alone?"

Emma Bowers strained to hear the raspy words over the static-riddled connection. The telephones had been acting up ever since the afternoon storm. The voice had definitely sounded creepy, but she remembered the construction crew had played a similar joke on her last week when she had worked late. Only, then she hadn't been alone in the creaky doublewide office trailer.

"Jeremy?" she asked, and wondered if she'd guessed right. The young, energetic steelworker was the biggest prankster on the job. The gravel-like voice seemed to match the one he'd used before. The phone crackled and he didn't answer. Either he didn't hear her or he wanted to continue his practical joke a little longer.

She chuckled. "Don't you have anything better to do than harass a lonely working girl? And no cracks about the working girl part. You know what I mean."

Hugging the receiver against her shoulder, she typed out another line of the proposal she'd been working on. She could just hang up--serve him right for trying to scare her--but she couldn't let them get the best of her or next time they'd try something even more provoking.

She waited for the voice to admit he was one of the employees. Instead, she got a full thirty seconds of heavy breathing. The men did like to have their fun, but this was irritating and...and unsettling. She'd assured Ben she wasn't afraid of staying by herself while he went to attend his son's birthday party, but that was before the tomb-like sound of the front door closed behind him.

"Sorry to disappoint you jerks, but I'm not falling for--" A loud crackling sound drowned out her words.

"I know yo--" a crackling, then "'lone," intermittently filtered through the noise. The disjointed conversations she'd had to put up with all afternoon had been driving her up the wall, but the phone company said repairs couldn't be made until tomorrow morning.

All right, she thought, enough is enough. But she couldn't allow the men to know their persistent joking around shook her or they'd never let her live it down. She would feel a lot better if they'd just own up to the prank before hanging up. She asked flippantly, "This is Jeremy Bates, isn't it?"

With no static interference, this time when she received no answer, she began to feel more confident. "I knew it! You can't fool me by disguising your voice like that. Look here, Jeremy, you tell all the guys, who I'm sure are standing around you snickering their cone-shaped heads off, to try this trick on some unsuspecting soul who doesn't know what a sick sense of humor construction workers have."

"You are alone, aren't you?" the raspy voice insisted over the now clear line. The seriousness of the man's tone, combined with her doubts even Jeremy--the most mischievous of the lot--would be perverse enough to carry a joke this far, caused a prickling sensation along the back of her neck. She remembered hearing somewhere that criminals often checked before breaking into a building by calling ahead to see if it was vacant. Maybe they didn't even care if it was empty as long as the occupant posed no threat. With more bravery than she felt, she said, "There are at least ten other people in the building with me. Which one do you want to speak to?"

"Lying bit--" Line static cut off the expletive.

"You have a wrong number." She slammed the receiver down hard, hoping the line had cleared long enough to give the ill-mannered caller ear damage. Her hands shook. She'd never been defamed in such a manner before, least of all by the good-natured employees of Benjamin-Micah Construction Company.

Emma stared at the ivory-colored instrument for a moment as if it might grow fangs and bite her. Then aware of the absurdity of being afraid of a telephone, she laughed. She looked at the blinking cursor on her computer screen for a moment, then continued with her work. But, she couldn't put the call out of her mind.

What was the point of anyone trying to scare her, and why had he been so insistent in knowing if she were alone? Could it really have been one of the guys having some fun as she originally suspected? She didn't think anyone in the construction crew would stoop to calling her vulgar names. Maybe she'd mistaken that last word the man had said, but bitch with lying seemed more in context than anything else she could come up with.

It could have just been an obscene caller. Deciding that must be the case, she knew those people rarely did more than make sick innuendoes. "Creep."

Emma tapped out the last few lines onto the computer screen, checked for errors, and then depressed the print key. The whir of the office LaserJet broke the quiet of the empty building.

"All alone am I..." She half sang, half hummed the oldies tune softly, keeping time by drumming her fingertips rhythmically on the desktop.

When the printer stopped, she rolled back her chair and gathered the pages of the proposal. She tamped them into a neat stack along with the bid bond and other necessary forms for tomorrow's bid opening. Clipping the papers to the front of the manila envelope she'd already prepared, she dropped the bundle into the top drawer of the file cabinet.

Ben wouldn't bother signing the bid proposal until morning. When he returned to drive her home, he'd be anxious to drop her off at her apartment and get back to his pregnant wife, Lauren.

Emma shoved the drawer closed and stared at the picture sitting on top of the file cabinet. Lauren, who used to hold the secretarial position Emma now worked at, had left it there. Emma hadn't bothered to put the picture away, for she enjoyed looking at it every now and then--something to remind her that there could be bliss in marriage. The three-year-old boy in the photo with Lauren and Ben Woodson looked like a little angel, which his father adamantly denied.

"He's a little hellion," Ben had told Emma, but he wore a wide grin while saying it. A perfect little boy for a perfect couple, Emma thought. Now they were planning for another addition to their family.

She'd given up hope of one day having a husband, children of her own. Although disillusioned by her former fiancé, she knew there were a few men like Ben who would make loyal, faithful, and caring husbands. They just seemed to be in short supply. And she was no longer naïve, trusting, or gullible enough to believe a Mr. Right was going to fall into her lap anytime soon...if ever.

Something hit the chain link fence out front and Emma jumped.

"The dogs," she whispered. It wasn't the first time they'd banged against the fence since Ben let them out of their pen earlier to patrol the grounds. That phone call really did a number on her, she thought, making her aware of sounds that might otherwise have gone unnoticed.

Slapping the top of the cabinet playfully with her palms, Emma twirled about and sang, "All alone am I..." She hummed the tune until she reached another part of the lyrics she recalled her mother singing long ago. "All alone with just the beat of my heart."

She did a little two-step across the floor. Emma loved to dance. If not for having to work late, she would be down at Odie's Lounge with the rest of the employees, along with their wives and girlfriends, dancing to live country music. It was opening night for a new band and everyone had promised the neighborhood bar owner they'd be there to make them welcome.

She glanced at her watch. Eight-thirty. Still early. The band wouldn't start playing until nine. She could ask Ben to drop her off, but then she'd have no way to get home.

Jordan Wilkins would probably give her a ride, but Emma wasn't ready to date anyone yet, and she knew the shy, good-looking crew foreman had been trying to work up the courage to ask her out. She swayed to imaginary music and another tune popped into her mind. "Fools rush in--"

Another clank on the chain link fence caused her to pause and listen intently for the usual accompanying sounds of the dogs barking. As soon as it came, she relaxed.

"You're a pitiful case, Emma Bowers. Soon you'll be jumping at your own shadow." She laughed throatily and rubbed her arms to banish the goose bumps. Yet another appropriate oldies favorite of her late mother's came to mind and she sang, "It's imagination, I know."

Her voice warbled in an off-key lilt, but with no one around to hear, Emma pretended the sound was as rhythmical as the strolling dance she did down the hallway. While heading toward the back offices, she thought about her other boss. Micah Johnson was expected to return to Orlando tomorrow from the Atlanta project he'd just completed. She was a little nervous about meeting the co-owner of Benjamin-Micah Construction for the first time. Ben had hired her three months ago during his partner's absence. Emma was naturally curious about the man and had asked a few other employees about him.

Some of the men viewed their recently absentee boss somewhat warily, having been the object of his hot temper. Jordan had told her this and then hesitantly repeated some of the highly spoken praise from others. Most regarded Micah Johnson as a "man's man," whatever that meant. Emma snorted. His partner was a bit hard-nosed at times, Ben had agreed when she expressed her concern over Mr. Johnson's reputation of being unbending and pragmatic. He insisted Micah was honest, dependable, and fair, as well, and only vented his temper on those who deserved it. No one, however, had mentioned what Micah Johnson looked like.

Emma wondered if he had a tall, brawny build like Ben, or if he were a complete opposite. Twins, she thought, and giggled at the Danny Devito vs Arnold Schwarzenegger picture that flashed through her mind. The image didn't fit Mr. Johnson's macho-like characteristics, but to allay her apprehension of meeting him, she conjured up a mental picture of Ben's thick, auburn head bent to look down on his short, balding sidekick. Both wore identical tailored blue suits like Ben seemed to favor. To top off the ridiculous picture, she mentally dressed each in a Looney Tunes tie like the one Ben had worn to the office this morning--a present from his three-year-old son, he'd proudly declared.

She laughed and turned the knob on the office door opposite Ben's. Stepping inside the dark interior, Emma had that strange feeling of comfort and warmth she'd experienced each time she came into this particular office. It was probably due to its location on the sunny side of the building. Although, the impression did seem to have a more sublime feel.

Tobacco and peppermint. She knew the tobacco smell in the office could be attributed to Nate Loudermilk. The middle-aged superintendent left a trail of tobacco odors wherever he went, half chewing, half smoking the strong-scented imported cigars he preferred.

The other scent came from the red and white candy, a gift from Lauren that filled a crystal dish on Micah's desk. Lauren said he had a sweet tooth for hard candy and a particular weakness for peppermints. Good to know the man had at least one weakness, Emma thought.

She took a deep breath. She wasn't particularly fond of cigars, but the combined scents brought back memories of her childhood. Peppermint was a favorite of her father's, as well. At Christmas time especially, he would come home with his jacket pockets loaded down with candy canes. Over her mother's dire warnings of decayed teeth and dreaded trips to the dentist, Emma and her brother would crawl onto their pop's lap and search his pockets for the treats. The memory made her long for the happy times when her mother was still alive. The closeness of her family had disappeared upon her death. Emma's brother had left to make a name for himself among Silicon Valley's computer geniuses. California was just about as far away from her as he could get, and with she and her father now estranged, Emma felt lonelier than she'd ever been in her life.

"All alone am I," she sang with a whispered breath as she trailed her fingers around the edges of the polished oak desk. She sat down in the thickly padded executive chair. The chair creaked and she made a mental note to give it a few squirts of WD-40. She'd ask Jordan to fetch her a can from the jobsite and do that first thing the next morning, before Micah Johnson arrived. Feeling melancholy and languid, she curled her legs beneath her on the spacious seat, leaned her head back against the deep cushioned headrest, and closed her eyes.

"Hmmm. Mr. Johnson, you executive types have got it made."

Something scraped across the metal siding. Like fingernails scratching chalkboard, the sound caused a chill to race along Emma's spine. She shot to an upright position and strained to identify the sound above the creaking of the chair. It had seemed very close. A breeze suddenly fanned the stray strands of blonde hair feathering her forehead.

Idiot, idiot, idiot.

Wanting to vent the heavy odor of cigar smoke left behind when Nate used the office to make some phone calls, she'd opened the window right after the thunderstorm passed. But, she forgot to close it.

Emma suddenly had the odd sensation of being watched. Again hair prickled along the nape of her neck. For a long moment she sat immobile, then she dared to turn her head toward the open window.

The hall lights reflected off a pair of bulging, obsidian eyes. A dark, narrow, but familiar face peeked over the windowsill. Emma released her pent-up breath and a spontaneous laugh burst free.

The guard dog whimpered and lapped sociably at the window screen. Chip, the male Doberman, was the friendlier of the two dogs. However, she'd seen the remains of a hapless rabbit that had ventured across their path and, taking no chances, Emma hurried over, shut the window and locked it.

She peered into the yard behind Chip. His mate, Dale, paced restlessly a few yards away. Emma searched the yard for other lurkers, but found none. Her gaze veered upward to the glowing full moon lighting the quiet compound. Silhouetted in the darkness, a two-story structural steel frame stood majestically against the moonlit sky. The skeletal creation would eventually become five stories of exclusive executive suites. She lowered her eyes and stared down the long row of storage trailers toward the back of the lot. At the far end sat Micah Johnson's company pickup in front of a travel trailer where he would temporarily reside when he returned to Orlando tomorrow. Ben said he preferred living near the jobsites, but had been unable to find an apartment in the area that didn't require at least a year's lease. Since Micah intended to purchase a house and stay in Orlando from now on, he felt the trailer would suffice until he could find the right place. Ben had set up the entire compound during Mr. Johnson's absence. Perhaps the luxurious chair was Ben's way of compensating his partner for the poor living accommodations he provided.

Emma looked down at Chip, who now sat docilely back on his haunches peering up at her. "I didn't lie to the caller, did I, Chip? I'm not alone."

Chip opened his mouth and emitted a wide-mouthed, yawing whimper, then turned and trotted over to his mate. He sniffed Dale's behind and when she took off, he followed in hot pursuit. Emma snapped the Venetian blinds closed, then lightheartedly complained, "Just like a male. One scent of a bitch in heat and he forgets everything else."

Like Steve.

Steve. My god, she hadn't thought about him in that way in goodness knows how long. Not since she caught him and her best friend--

The dogs began making a ruckus at the front gate again, interrupting her disturbing memory. Just as well, she thought. She promised herself before leaving Ocala not to dwell on the past.

Emma closed the door to Mr. Johnson's office behind her and made her way back to her own desk. Ben could return any minute to drive her home and she didn't want to hold him up. It was nice enough of him going out of his way to chauffer her around while her car was in the shop.

She put away the excess paraphernalia that littered her work area and placed the rock paperweight on top of the few time sheets that remained. Jordan had promised to have the rest of his crews' time turned in first thing the next morning, then she could begin payroll. To occupy her time, she picked up a pen and started a "to do" list.

* * *

Micah paid the taxi driver and the cab pulled away from the curb. He set down his suitcase, turned and faced the locked gate, then cursed soundly. He'd forgotten to get the key from Nate before leaving Odie's Lounge. He spun around to hail the cab, but the taillights blurred and wavered in the distance.

He rubbed his forehead. Two beers at Odie's on top of the scotch he'd knocked back during the rocky plane ride from Atlanta, had just about done him in. He smiled, remembering Nate's motto. "Drinking, cursing, and chasing women should come as natural to a construction worker as eating and sleeping."

Micah chuckled. Two out of three wasn't so bad. When he caught his fingers in the chain link fence and peered into the empty parking lot, his stomach roiled. Fatigue and no supper hadn't helped his condition.

He should have grabbed a bite to eat at Odie's. He hadn't planned on stopping until he'd spotted Nate's pickup truck in the parking lot. Anxious to talk with his job superintendent, Micah had ordered the taxi driver to stop so he could catch up on the progress of the Orlando job. An hour later, he'd assured Nate he could walk the few blocks, but he'd barely crossed the parking lot before his head began spinning. He saw the cab still there, and found the driver near the doorway inside listening to the band that had just started up. He'd hired the cabby again to bring him here.

A wave of dizziness assailed him as he leaned his head back to survey the ten-foot fence. After regaining his equilibrium, Micah decided it shouldn't be too difficult to climb.

He tossed his luggage over first, missing the mud-hole with the expensive leather suitcase by mere inches. Scaling the fence proved fairly simple. The problem came when he needed to get down on the other side.

The ground below seemed to swirl and dip and the next thing he knew, he landed on all fours in the wet puddle. Before he could regain his footing, two dark mongrels knocked him flat on his back. Wagging their tails, Chip and Dale greeted Micah with wet, slobbering tongues. Chip's big scratchy paws dug into Micah's chest and he took advantage of one of his two vices.

When his curses caused the animals to back off, Micah immediately felt guilty and vigorously rubbed the necks of both dogs. He managed to roll to his side in the shallow mud hole and pull himself to his feet by gripping the backs of his beloved pets. As he reached down and picked up his suitcase it dawned on him that not only had he forgotten about getting a key to the gate, but he'd neglected to get one to the office. Nor did he know how he'd get into the travel trailer at the back of the lot where he'd be staying for the next few weeks. He hated hotel rooms and opted to live in the company owned trailer until he found a place of his own. And, if the burglaries in the area Ben had told him about persisted, being on the premises should help deter a break-in.

He'd talked to his partner this morning. Ben told him the water wasn't connected at his temporary accommodations yet and that he would have to use the office shower for a couple days. So, the office trailer was his first destination. He squinted toward the office. Looked like Ben had left a light burning for him. Key or no key, he had come too far to turn back now. Tails wagging, Chip and Dale trailed along beside him.

A small window at the rear of the building looked promising. Removal of the screen was an easy task, but the window wouldn't budge. He looked around the yard for something to pry it open with. With a silent apology to Ben, Micah picked up a brick. He moved back so splintering glass wouldn't hurt the dogs and let the brick fly. The window shattered in a hundred pieces.

* * *

Absorbed in preparing her to-do list, Emma nearly fell out of her chair when the unmistakable sound of shattering glass penetrated the building.

Are you alone? The words of the caller repeated inside her head and her heart picked up a thudding cadence. There was a clatter, as though someone brushed the glass onto the floor, and she knew for certain she was no longer alone.

She slowly laid down her pen and swallowed back the fear gathering in her throat. She fought to remain calm and tried to think what was best to do. Slipping off her shoes, she eased over to the far wall, and flipped the light switch off. Cautiously, she tiptoed back to her desk and picked up the rock paperweight. Her grip tightened around her weapon until her fingers started to numb.

She'd never hit another person in her life, and she would do her best to avoid that option now--if this person would simply take whatever he came for and leave. When her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she stared at the phone then jerked up the receiver to call 911. Loud static grated over the line. She tried the other two lines before giving up on getting a dial tone. In a panic now, she needed to find a safe place to hide. She took a couple of steadying breaths and tried to clear her thinking. At this hour, there was a chance the intruder didn't know the building was occupied. Are you alone?

Maybe he knew and maybe he didn't. If it were the caller, maybe he'd think she'd already left. In any case, she had to take some precaution. She inched her way out of her office and across the hall toward the bathroom. What robber would take the time out from pilfering to go to the john?

More glass clinked onto the floor and then she heard the creaking sound of the executive chair she'd been lounging in earlier. Thank God, she'd left the room before the intruder decided to break in. Had he seen her silhouetted against the window earlier? She hoped not.

Emma darted into the bathroom. Quietly closing the door, she leaned against the counter for a moment to support her trembling legs. She stared at the small window and fleetingly considered climbing out it. But, even if she could manage to wiggle through the tiny opening, she was afraid of being overheard by the burglar. Remembering Dale's surly nature, the idea of being an after dinner doggy treat didn't appeal to her either.

It occurred to her that the dogs could have been disposed of in some way. How else would a stranger get past the pair without being attacked?

* * *

Micah raked aside loose glass, creating more breakage as a few bigger pieces landed on the floor. He twisted the lock free, and pushed up the frame. Shoving his suitcase in before him, he crawled though. After turning to analyze the damage, he released an out-of-character snicker. He'd have that new efficient secretary he'd heard so much about take care of getting it fixed tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

He dropped into the chair behind the desk for a moment, thinking about his reason for taking an earlier flight. Tomorrow he and Ben would have to decide what to do about the bid disclosure problems. Ben had an important bid opening to attend in the morning and Micah wanted to be there. Something rotten was going on in the company and he was determined to find out what. The thought was sobering, but not sobering enough, he thought, as he stood and swayed on his feet. What he needed was a hot shower and a good night's sleep.

In the bathroom down the hallway, Emma was cursing because she'd forgotten to get the lock repaired. Heavy footsteps shuffled along the hallway, and then they stopped. A deadly silence followed. She pressed her ear to the door, but could only hear the echo of her heartbeat going, tah-thump, tah-thump, tah-thump. Long minutes seemed to tick by before she picked up the sound of footsteps again. They came closer and closer.

Tah-thump, tah-thump, tah-thump. Her heart kept rhythm with her silent chant. Don't panic! Don't panic! Don't panic!

The steps halted just outside the bathroom door. She quietly shifted so she could raise her arms to get a good swing in case he entered.

Slowly the door opened. Her worst fears were about to be realized and her heartbeat magnified to a blood rushing thump, thump, thump.

A hand came around the doorway, fumbled its way up the wall, and flipped the light switch. The brightness temporarily blinded her, but she made out the shape of the masculine form that tripped over her foot when she stuck it out in front of him. Emma delivered a glancing blow to the head of the tall, dark headed intruder as he fell forward.

"Christ!" the man sputtered, wobbled, then closed his eyes and slid to the floor like a noodle doused with hot water.

Emma feared she'd killed him.

At first she thought the burglar was pretending to be unconscious. The blow couldn't have been forceful enough to hurt him badly. She marveled that she'd even knocked him out since she'd hesitated just after her weapon began its decent. For a second, in the shadowed darkness, she mistook the man for Jordan. Her hesitation was just enough to lessen the blow so it glanced off the side of the intruder's forehead instead of catching him with a good solid hit.

She stood staring down at him. It wasn't the crew foreman, but there was a slight resemblance in the long aquiline nose, thickly arched brows, and deeply tanned skin. Of course it could be the mud stuck to his face that caused him to appear darker than he was.

It was hard to tell, the way he lay curled up on the vinyl tile floor, but she judged this man to be every bit as tall as Jordan's six foot plus. Her gaze slid down his body, noticing along the way a pair of well-developed biceps strained against the seams of his soiled white dress shirt. A gold medallion-like buckle adorned a belt that hugged his trim hips, and muscular thighs pushed against a pair of snug fitting dark trousers. Whoever he was, he kept himself in good shape.

She quickly looked back to the intruder's face and frowned. He still hadn't moved. Had she hit him harder than she thought? She had to make sure he was alive.

Closing her eyes, she slowly knelt beside the prostrate man and lifted his wrist to feel for a pulse. She felt strangely moved by the strong, steady beat beneath her fingers as she touched his warm skin. She leaned closer, sniffed and caught the unmistakable scent of bar smoke. Another sniff and she caught another unmistakable scent. Beer.

He moaned and curled his fingers around hers, then mumbled, "Later, darling."

"Good Lord, he's drunk as a skunk." Emma didn't know if she was relieved or appalled. Snatching her hand away, she stood and carefully stepped over his fetal-positioned body. She returned to her office and jerked up the phone. Thank god, there was a dial tone, but by the time she punched out the emergency numbers 911 all she received as she put the receiver to her ear was static. She continued to try to reach someone for help. When all else failed, she alternately started hitting the speed dial numbers Lauren had programmed into the phone.

One of the tries worked and the phone rang on the other end. When Lauren answered, her voice came through loud and clear. Emma took a deep breath in preparation of telling about the intruder. Then she remembered Lauren's condition. Trying to keep the distress out of her voice, Emma asked if she could talk to Ben.

"Are you all right?" Lauren asked. "Ben just left to pick you up."

"I'm fine, just--" When the crackling cut into the conversation, Emma looked down and noticed she still gripped the paperweight tightly in her right palm. She carefully laid it back on top of the time sheets and waited for the line to clear again. Looking for some way to get Lauren off the phone without upsetting her so she could call the police, Emma said quickly, "Look, Lauren, I have a few things to clear up before Ben gets here. Tell Tony happy birthday for me and I'll see you both Saturday."

"I ca--hear--wor--" Suddenly the phone went completely dead.

"Darn it," Emma said. She depressed the disconnect button and jiggled it several times before giving up on getting another dial tone. Now what? she wondered.

It was useless to concentrate on anything but the threat of the strange man lying only a few feet away. She heard the dogs barking again. Leaving the premises was out of the question. The Dobermans were as liable to attack her as a stranger. She wondered again why they hadn't stopped the intruder. What would she do if the man woke up before Ben came?

She looked around for something to tie him up with. The phone cord that extended around the baseboard behind her desk to the phone-jack on the next wall looked like the perfect solution. It was of little use to her anyway, she thought, and snatched loose the connections. She went back to the bathroom with her makeshift binding. The man didn't appear to have moved from the spot where he'd fallen.

A red knot bulged on his forehead where she'd struck him. She leaned down, gently touched his injury, and again wondered if she'd done serious damage. She didn't know whether to be relieved or scared when he caught and tugged her hand to his lips.

Scared, she thought, when he moaned softly and rolled over drawing her with him. She fell across his chest and froze as his other hand closed around the back of her neck. His eyes remained closed, but his fingers slid into her hair, and he forced her face downward. The warm rush of his breath feathered across her cheek, causing a tickling sensation that sent aftershocks rippling across her stomach. Then his lips met hers.

She must be out of her mind to imagine she was enjoying his kiss. He could be a murderer...or rapist for all she knew. One who worked up courage for his evil deeds by getting drunk first. Only this time he'd gone way beyond his limit. Or had he?

Wide-eyed, Emma stared cross-eyed at the face pressed close to hers. She was afraid to struggle, afraid to scream, for fear of waking him fully.

She wondered if she imagined the faint scent of peppermint as his lips moved against hers slowly, sensually. His hand drifted smoothly down her back and she held her breath as it came to rest against her buttock. That did it!

Whether it woke him or not, one more move and she'd scream bloody murder. She opened her mouth, then shut it abruptly when his tongue tried to dart inside. She drew back quickly, only to find herself in a more precarious position. Her lower body pressed intimately against the solid ridge beneath his fly, but he didn't seem inclined to make any threatening moves. Of course, he had been on his way to the bathroom, so perhaps his body's response meant something entirely non-sexual.

He murmured softly and his hand made a return journey along her back. As his hold relaxed, Emma drew his limp hands in front of him. While she was tying them together, she noticed the manufacturer's emblem on the face of his gold watch.

"Later, darling. Later," he said, and twisted onto his side. She took advantage of his fetal position to tie the cord around his feet. Having a good deal of cord left over she decided to secure him to the base of the commode. Satisfied with her work, she stood and wondered how a burglar came by a Rolex watch. Designer clothes too, she observed in puzzlement.

His knees were dirty, but the fabric of his pants cried expensive. Having felt the freshly starched texture of his shirt, she knew it was of good quality and it appeared to have been professionally laundered. Ben said some very expensive equipment had been stolen during the area robberies. The thief probably made a bundle from fencing the goods.

"Good Lord," she moaned. She'd been reading too many suspense novels if she was beginning to quote clichés from them.

Leaving the intruder, Emma went back to her office and paced the floor while waiting for Ben. She was becoming more anxious by the minute, fearing the man could awaken at any time. What would she do if he got loose? She began to hyperventilate.

There was a staccato knocking at the door; the signal Ben had devised to let her know it was him. Before he could unlock the door, she thrust it open. Falling into his arms, she gasped, "T-Thank God you're here."

"What's wrong, Emma? Lauren called me on the cell phone and said she was worried about you." Ben looked at her anxiously.

"The cell phone. Oh, I forgot." Not that it would have mattered much, she thought, only instead of punching numbers at random, she might have tried the cell phone and gotten him instead of his wife. That she should have reacted more competently to the situation, made her stumble nervously over her explanation. "S-some man broke in. I-I hit him. He's unconscious--"

"Whoa, Emma. Slow down. Come on into your office and sit down."

When she'd regained her composure, Emma related the events of the evening, omitting the embarrassing moments when the man had kissed her. Ben stared at her as if in stunned disbelief when she told him the man was still lying on the bathroom floor. "Jesus, Emma, why didn't you call the police? Stay here while I have a look."

Emma didn't see the point in explaining about the phone problems that prevented her reporting the intruder to the authorities. Ben had his cell phone and he could handle it now. He'd probably--

A low rumble of laughter came from the hall. She stepped to the door and saw her boss leaning against the bathroom doorway, holding his side.

Must be the full moon, Emma thought worriedly. "Ben?"

"I can't wait to see the expression on his face when he learns what happened here tonight. He'll be fit to be tied. Of course, he already is, isn't he?" Ben couldn't seem to stop laughing.

"I don't understand."

"No, of course not," he said, slapping his knee with glee. Finally, he straightened and made an effort to act serious. "Come here."

She edged toward the doorway where the intruder still lay curled up on his side. His bound hands were folded beneath his face, giving him a cushion against the cold, hard floor. He looked like a mischievous little boy, turned angelic by sleep.

"Take a good look, Em. Who would've ever thought Mighty Micah could be hog-tied and humbled like this, and by a woman." He laughed, again, and wiped the tears from his eyes.

As if in answer, the man on the floor gave a slumberous snort and smacked his lips. Instead of waking up, though, his lips went slack and he resumed snoring.

The name Ben mentioned didn't register until he stopped laughing long enough to say, "Emma, meet my partner, Micah Johnson."

Emma's mouth dropped open and she stared at Ben whose mouth was twitching again. "How can you-you take this so lightly?" Her gaze darted to the man she'd hit with a paperweight. He might look angelic now but she couldn't forget the tales of his surly disposition. The job security she'd felt in the last few weeks began trickling away.

"You look like you just swallowed a spider," Ben said. He was taking the whole thing as a joke. He must have noticed Emma wasn't. "Don't worry. We'll all have a good laugh over this tomorrow. You'll see."

"You don't have to tell him, do you? That is, if he doesn't remember." Emma hated using such a pleading tone on someone as softhearted as Ben, but she really liked her job and if it took playing on his sympathy to save it, then so be it.

She could see indecision warring across his features before he finally said,"Aw, all right."

Emma remembered the phone call earlier. It had to have been Jeremy or one of the other fellows from the job. Ben's obvious disappointment at not being able to enjoy getting the best of his partner made her wonder if one-upmanship was a construction industry trait. He took another look at his partner and said, "In his condition, it's unlikely his memory will be too clear on what happened here tonight. You said yourself he hasn't opened his eyes since you hit him. Did he get a look at you before you clobbered him?" Ben coughed.

Emma knew he was choking back further amusement at her expense. He might be losing an opportunity to taunt his partner, but he'd have one over on her. She didn't find the situation humorous, but being laughed at was better than being fired. If Micah Johnson was as quick-tempered, unforgiving and macho-minded as she'd heard, then he certainly wouldn't be pleased to find out he'd been brought to his knees, actually even lower, by his light-weight, five-three secretary. Ben had implied as much himself.

What if Micah Johnson decided to get rid of her? He might be too embarrassed to fire her for hitting him. He might do a more thorough background check on her in an effort to find an excuse to let her go. She'd gotten a good reference letter from Mr. Sloan before leaving her previous job, but he'd been a good friend of her father's and said he owed it to her. Now that Steve Sloan, Jr., was in charge of the company, though, there was no telling what he'd say about her. What if he said she was incompetent, that she lost or destroyed important paperwork, didn't deliver a bid on time, argued with her co-worker. Then what?

"Emma?"

She realized Ben had been waiting for an answer to his question and said, "I don't think he saw me at all." No seeing, but a lot of feeling. She flushed slightly, remembering what it felt like to be kissed by the man.

"Look, Emma, don't worry about it," Ben said, sounding more sympathetic.

She just looked away and shook her head.

"Okay," he said, "I can see you're too overwrought to think clearly right now. You were frightened and had every reason to believe Micah was a burglar breaking and entering. He would understand why you--heh, heh--why you tied him up like a prize boar in a hog-tying contest. Okay, okay," Ben put up his hands, when she stared irritably at him. "Let's handle it this way. I'll promise not to say anything about what happened here tonight unless he brings it up. Is that fair enough?"

"Thank you, Ben," Emma said, but she was speaking to his back as he disappeared into Micah's office. She heard glass crunch beneath his feet and assumed he was putting a temporary cover over the window. A moment later, he emerged with a suitcase in hand. He reached into his pocket and extracted a ring full of keys. He gave them to Emma, untied Micah and lifted him up and over his shoulders as if he weighed no more than a sack of Quickcrete. With his other hand he picked up the suitcase. "Come on, Emma, let's get this rascal to bed."

As they walked across the lot, Chip and Dale tagged along.

She sucked in her breath when Dale laved Micah's face with a long, slobbery tongue. "Later, darling ... later," he murmured, but to Emma's relief he never opened his eyes. Afraid to remain outside with the dogs, she waited in the tiny front room of the trailer while Ben put his partner to bed.

* * *

The man watching from nearby faded into the shadows of the orange grove beyond the fenced in area. He made another call, then slipped his cell phone back into the pocket of his black windbreaker. Pressing a callused palm over the red emblem adorning the left side of his jacket, he massaged his chest. He swore. Why was Johnson here? He wasn't supposed to return until tomorrow.

When Ben Woodson emerged from the travel trailer without Johnson, the man realized his nemesis was going to sleep there. He gasped with fury. His employer had advised him to abandon his plans if it looked too risky, but he didn't like being thwarted, not when he'd come so close to fulfilling a long time dream.

He took three deep breaths to calm himself. Control and patience, that was the key to success. He steadied his breathing to prove he could be patient. Hadn't he been all these years? But, it was past time that he kept his promise to Isobelle.

His eyes once more scanned the dimly lit compound as he watched the secretary and Woodson get into his Bronco and drive through the gate. Woodson got out and locked it behind them. For a moment the man contemplated the risks of continuing with his operation. Was Micah Johnson in enough of a stupor to keep him out for the rest of the night? The man couldn't afford to take the risk, couldn't chance being caught before he got his complete revenge.

"Soon, my sweet. Very soon."

Chapter Two

Emma usually wore a blouse and a simple gathered skirt or trousers to work. But this morning, she felt compelled to dress more formally. She dug through her closet for the conservative black suit she'd worn to her mother's funeral, found a pair of nylons without runs and dusted off her black heels.

As she twisted her long blonde hair into a bun at the nape of her neck, she studied her reflection. She wanted to look capable and efficient, which she did, but she also looked half-dead. Quickly, she brushed pale blue shadow over her eyes and a touch of blusher on her cheekbones. Much better, she thought. Steve always said shadow made her blue eyes look larger and more interesting.

She stared at the mirror for a moment and wondered what was causing her to think about Steve Sloan all of a sudden. His father had taken her to dinner just before she'd left Ocala, probably because in some way he felt responsible for her breaking up with Steve. He had been the one to hire Jennifer Whitfield to take Emma's place during her leave of absence. She'd taken almost a year off to care for her mother during the final days of her illness.

Emma had known Mr. Sloan most of her life. He'd been a good friend of her father's for years. And she'd been his son's best girl since elementary school. Mr. Sloan gave her a job right out of high school. He hadn't questioned her when she made the decision to leave Ocala. He seemed to understand her sudden need to move away from the town she'd lived in all her life. But, her reason for leaving wasn't only due to her mother's death, nor to his son's recent fling with her best friend.

Maybe she should feel guilty for taking advantage of Mr. Sloan's ignorance. At the time he was still too angry with Steve to listen to anything he had to say against Emma. But, withholding the complete story from Mr. Sloan about why she left her job was the only thing she'd been guilty of, not the malicious deed Steve had accused her of just before suggesting she'd be happier working elsewhere.

Mr. Sloan gave her a glowing letter of recommendation and embellished her skills somewhat, telling her she was smart enough to figure out what she didn't know from experience. His remarks made her feel good, gave her back confidence in herself. At his suggestion, she'd looked up Ben at Benjamin-Micah Construction when she got to Orlando, and right away she'd nabbed a secretarial job. She wished Mr. Sloan were around to offer her advice now. She could use some encouragement before facing Micah Johnson this morning.

Despite Ben's assurances, she still worried that Micah would remember what happened last night. Of course, the entire episode was his fault, but she didn't know him well enough to guess his reaction. Especially if he realized she was the cause of the headache he was sure to be suffering this morning.

She took another critical look at herself and wondered if she should take down the bun and wear her hair loose as she normally did. But then she would appear even younger than her twenty-three years, and today she wanted to project an image of maturity.

The phone rang, interrupting her personal inspection. She hurried out of the bedroom and picked up the extension in the kitchen so she could search the refrigerator for something to take for lunch as she talked.

"Good morning, slugger."

Emma inwardly cringed at Ben's statement. She closed the refrigerator door, remembering she'd used the last slice of bologna on a sandwich last night. "Please, Ben, I'm edgy enough about meeting your partner this morning."

"I just talked to the casualty and he didn't sound in any condition to report to work. We'll be lucky if he makes it into the office before lunch."

Emma squeezed her eyes shut. "I-Is he seriously hurt?"

Ben guffawed. "Yeah, but I doubt the little dent you left on his forehead is the cause." He added placatingly, "Stop worrying. You didn't hurt the hardheaded bas--er, cuss."

She sighed with a mixture of relief that she'd done no serious damage and despair that their confrontation was only delayed. "Well, at least I have a temporary reprieve."

Putting an end to the subject he said, "I checked on your car just now and they said it should be ready later today. But I've got to tell you, the mechanic says it's just a matter of time before the old clunker lays down and dies for good."

"Yeah, I know." Emma dreaded the thought of having to part with any of her savings, but knew it might be necessary. "I guess I'll look around for something else this weekend. I hate to infringe on your time, Ben, but if I find anything that looks promising, do you think you could check it out for me? You know, listen to it run, maybe drive it around the block? I can handle bargaining, but my expertise at mechanics is limited."

"I'll do better than that. Lauren and I have nothing special planned for Sunday afternoon. If you want, we could hit a few of the used car lots out on Highway Fifty," Ben offered. "Now, if you'll get off the phone we can get to work. I'm sitting in front of your apartment."

* * *

Micah leaned forward, moaned slightly and cradled his head in his hands. He heard the whistling and shouting from the construction site, and slowly lifted off the side of the bed to peek through the curtains.

Ben opened the passenger side of his Bronco and Micah watched as a beautiful pair of legs slid out. The woman's black skirt rode up just above her knees, and the construction crew gave her arrival their full attention.

This must be the efficient Ms. Emma Bowers his partner had been raving about for the past three months, Micah thought. As she stepped out of the car, he noticed the top of her head barely reached Ben's shoulders.

Well, she appeared to be attractive enough, if you liked the diminutive blond variety. That was all he could make out from this distance, except she seemed all prim and proper in a suit suitable for mourning and hair pulled back into a schoolmarm bun. He snorted. All she needed was spectacles to make her outfit complete.

Micah wondered what the hell Ben was worried about. For weeks, his partner had been warning him to stay away from Emma Bowers, treating him as though he were some sort of Don Juan. But this woman was nothing like the tall, willowy brunettes and redheads Micah dated. He chuckled at the disparity.

Surely Ben knew him better. Some men might go for her--she obviously had a good figure, judging from the reaction of the crew, but he couldn't tell because she had it hidden beneath the loose-fitting blazer. His men were practically hanging from the scaffolding trying to get a look at her, or waving and whistling to attract her attention. What was Ben thinking to allow the men that kind of undisciplined behavior? Didn't he know it left them wide open for a sexual harassment complaint?

When Ms. Bowers reached the top steps of the office trailer, she stopped and returned the men's greetings with a wave. Then the men immediately went back to work. Ben, grinning like a hound with his upper lip caught in briars, held the door as she disappeared inside.

Micah swore to himself. Although she looked a little priggish, she'd certainly displayed a flirtatious camaraderie with the men. Maybe his resolution to keep his eye on her would be just as easy as Ben said it would be. He remembered the insistent sound of his partner's voice when they talked on the phone yesterday.

"Micah, I'm telling you, you're wrong. Emma is too honest to be an informant. Besides, Lauren trusts her and I trust Lauren's judgment."

"Then who, Ben? Someone is stealing our bid info. It can't be just coincidence that we've been underbid by such a close margin on every job in the last couple of months."

"I don't know. I wish I did, but I still can't believe Emma is responsible. Wait until you get to know her, you'll understand."

"Oh, I intend to get to know her. In fact I intend to keep a very careful eye on her when I get back," Micah promised.

"Keeping your eyes off her will be more the problem. Just remember she's not like your usual, er, type. Emma's a very sweet, innocent girl."

"Are you saying I only date fast women?"

"If the shoe fits..."

Micah wasn't about to get into a debate with Ben about his choice in women. If he did, he knew he'd have to endure another long speech on the joys of marrying and settling down with one female.

After the performance he'd just witnessed, Micah retained doubts about Ms. Bowers's innocence. But that would fit in with his plans all the better.

He shook his head, then groaned at the splitting pain. Lord, he must've had more to drink than he thought last night. Only he couldn't quite figure out how he got the lump on his forehead. He gingerly touched the sore spot. He had a vague memory of Ben putting him to bed, but not much else between then and shortly before, when he broke into the office. He'd had the stupidest dream about a woman's feet. Usually when he dreamed of women, it was other body parts that entered his subconscious.

Micah slowly walked toward the bathroom, stripping his underwear off as he went. He turned on the hot tap and heard a low grumbling of air being expelled. He shut the valve off, belatedly recalling Ben telling him the water hadn't been connected yet. He needed a hot shower, as well as bladder relief, and his only choice was to go to the office trailer.

He didn't like the idea of Miss Bowers seeing him for the first time in such a slovenly condition. He knew he smelled like a brewery and a glance in the mirror confirmed he looked like a derelict. Dark stubble covered his jaw and his eyes looked like road maps. It didn't help that the lump above his left temple was turning purple. He must have really been out of it to have banged his head so hard and not remember. Micah pondered the possibilities. Had he fallen on a rock or something when he climbed over the fence?

A slight twinge in his groin reminded him his need for the facilities was urgent. He grabbed his shaving kit, some fresh Levi's, a T-shirt and underwear and was almost at the door when he realized he didn't have any clothes on.

He'd really give Ms. Bowers grounds for sexual harassment if he walked into the office butt-bare. Micah chuckled as he imagined the lady's shocked expression. He pulled on the same clothes he wore the night before, leaving the white dress shirt unbuttoned.

Micah headed for the back of the office, hoping to sneak in through the rear door. He knew the layout since they'd used the same trailer on the last few Orlando jobs. The route would take him through the kitchen where Ben, who liked his morning coffee as much as Micah did, would have a pot brewed by now.

Anticipating a fresh cup of hot coffee, Micah's mouth began to water. He hurried across the lot following the path behind the storage trailers, eased the back door open and stepped inside. He paused and silently swore as he glanced around and saw Ms. Efficiency, her back to him, wiping the counter off in front of the coffee pot.

It was only a few steps to the hall and only a couple more to the bathroom. If he were quiet and careful, he could tiptoe past the secretary, who hung the dishcloth over the sink and engaged herself in pouring a cup of the beverage he craved. Micah quietly moved toward the hall, so absorbed in his objective that he didn't see Ben until he barreled right into him.

"Well, Micah! I didn't expect to see you moving about so early this morning." A broad mischievous grin split Ben's face. "Glad of it, though, because I've been dying to introduce you to Emma."

Micah groaned. Silently cursing Ben, he slowly turned and faced the woman staring at him somewhere below his chin. A strange shock wave capered along his lower regions, but he quickly stifled the notion it was due to anything other than another reminder of his need to reach the facilities. Then she looked up at him with a startling pair of sky blue eyes and it took a great deal of effort for him to forget his anatomy and pay attention to the peculiar expression on her face. It was a look of...what? Surprise? Apprehension? Fear? Now why would he think fear?

* * *

Emma, jarred by Ben's loud comment, spun to face Micah Johnson. Unprepared for the impact of his physical stature, her gaze zoomed in on the thick patch of curly, dark chest hair meeting her at eye level. She swallowed and lifted her gaze to meet the most mesmerizing pair of gold-brown eyes she'd ever seen. Powerful eyes, she thought, and powerful body to match. Her gaze drifted back to that bare portion peeking from his open shirtfront.

He made what sounded like a muffled curse, causing her gaze to snap back to meet his. Even in wrinkled clothes and a face covered by a primitive growth of day old beard stubble, his man-in-charge demeanor was unmistakable.

He's just a man like any other, she reassured herself, refuting her initial impression. She straightened her spine and plastered on her most competent smile. "Good morn..." Her voice faltered as her eyes lifted and she spotted the discolored mark at the top of his forehead. A wayward dark curl partially hid it from view. "Er, I'm very pleased to finally meet you, Mr. Johnson."

Holding her breath, she waited for his reaction, wondering if he remembered their encounter from the night before. She didn't know how to interpret his response. He barely acknowledged the introduction with a curt, "How do you do," then turned and stalked away. A moment later, she jumped when she heard the bathroom door slam shut from down the hallway.

"Micah's just a bit under the weather this morning," Ben apologized, his brow furrowed as if puzzled over his partner's behavior.

"Maybe he remembers me from last night," Emma said ruefully.

"No, I don't think so. Micah's not one to beat around the bush. He would've said something."

"Well," she drew in a breath and exhaled in a long sigh. "I suppose I'll just have to try to explain the situation if he does."

"I wouldn't fret about it if I were you," Ben cautioned for the umpteenth time. Emma noted a half grin edging the corner of his lips. She suspected Ben was being thoroughly entertained at her expense, but she didn't take offense. He just didn't know what was at stake.

* * *

After he showered and shaved, Micah still had a sour taste in his mouth. There was only one thing he could do and no sense in putting it off. Before he could change his mind, he strode to the new secretary's office to make an apology. He'd been rather distracted when they were introduced. She probably thought him brain dead as well as slovenly. But why should he care what she thought? He was her employer.

The thought rankled. His employees might not always like him, but he'd always maintained their respect. The men might not have looked askance at seeing him in a hung-over condition like that Miss Bowers had been subjected to this morning, but he decided the incredulous look on her face when Ben introduced them spoke volumes about her impressions.

Head bowed over her desk, she apparently was too absorbed in her work to notice him. Emma Bowers looked every bit as prim and proper as he'd thought. But in the fleeting once-over he'd given her earlier, he recalled a flash of silky blond hair, a slender frame and trim, shapely legs. But, breasts? Well, he'd sought visual proof she had any beneath that ugly black blazer she wore. Since she hadn't discarded the jacket for comfort yet, he still couldn't tell.

He took time now to study her features more closely before approaching her. She possessed a modest little nose, smooth, peachy complexion and full, kissable lips. He had the strangest premonition he knew exactly how those lips would taste. Soft, warm, dewy, honey-sweet...

No woman could be that perfect, he thought. Running a hand through his hair, Micah tried to get his mind back on business. He knew he no longer looked like something the cat dragged in, but his head still pounded and all he really wanted to do was slink away to a quiet corner somewhere and sleep it off. But he had things to do this morning that couldn't be delayed, and he might as well get the first one on his agenda over with right now.

He cleared his throat. "Excuse me, Miss Bowers. I'd like to apologize for this morning."

Blue eyes gazed up at him and blinked owlishly. "I beg your pardon?"

She blushed profusely and Micah wondered what caused it. Was she just shy? He tried again. "It is Miss Bowers, right?" When she gave a single, silent nod he continued. "I'm afraid I was rather rude when we were first introduced and I wanted to apologize."

Her shoulders seemed to relax and her face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Oh! It's perfectly all right, Mr. Johnson! You must be exhausted after working all day yesterday. And that nasty thunderstorm we had yesterday afternoon, were you caught in it? Then coming in so late from your trip, I can quite understand why you weren't up to pleasantries."

She rose from her chair and Micah began to discover her first fault. She chattered like a magpie.

"Why don't we start all over again? Please call me Emma. Can I get you a cup of coffee?" She walked around her desk and, without waiting for his answer, headed toward the kitchen. Barely taking a breath she kept up the one-sided conversation. "How do you take your coffee, Mr. Johnson? Cream? Sugar? Bet you could use a good strong cup right now, couldn't you?"

Micah cringed at her on-target remark and silently followed her. When she turned with the empty cup, he took it from her. "Miss Bowers, er, Emma," he said. "Listen, let's drop the formalities, shall we? I'd prefer you call me Micah. It will save a lot of confusion, since Mr. Johnson is how most people refer to my father. Another thing," he added, "I know a lot of employers expect their secretaries to wait on them, but I assure you, that is not the case around here. Ben and I both are quite capable of taking care of our own affairs."

Affairs. Stupid choice of words. He wondered how she knew what time he had come in last night. Then he realized Ben would've used his late arrival to explain his undignified entrance this morning. He hoped Ben didn't mention the real reason for his out of character, shabby appearance and abrupt behavior.

Feeling defensive, he spoke curtly. "I'm sure you have plenty of work to do Miss...uh, Emma. Perhaps you could call the county about getting the water turned on at my trailer? And see what you can do about getting someone to fix the broken window in my office. I assure you that would be more useful than making coffee."

He almost regretted seeing the festival of lights disappear from her eyes just before she said, "Of course, Mr. Johnson. Ben asked me to attend the bid opening with him this morning, and there are several other things I need to do before we leave. The phone company is working on repairing the lines as we speak. The thunderstorm yesterday knocked out the system, you know. But, if they get it repaired soon enough, I'll be happy to take care of your water problem and the broken window, too, before we go."

As if looking to score the final winning point, her chin lifted and she added sweetly, "If there's anything else you need, Mr. Johnson...oh forgive me, I forgot you prefer informality, Micah. Well, I'll be happy to handle any of the, er, affairs you find you don't have the time to do yourself."

The chill in the air was enough to freeze oranges off the tree, Micah thought. He'd meant to smooth things over, and instead he'd made them worse. He watched the enticing sway of Emma's hips as she stalked down the hall.

Despite his aching head, despite his embarrassment, a half smile tugged at his lips. Ms. Efficiency had a very provocative posterior. No wonder the men had whistled.

Micah poured himself a cup of coffee and walked back into the hallway. The door to Ben's office was open, and judging from the smirking grin on his partner's face, he knew Ben had overheard his exchange with Miss E.

"So what do you think of our new secretary?" Ben asked as Micah stepped inside.

"Cute butt, smart mouth," he said dryly and lifted his coffee cup to his mouth. It tasted so good he almost smacked his lips. He need not ask who made the coffee this morning. Ben's coffee would sink two by fours.

The grin faded from Ben's face as he pointed his finger and reprimanded Micah. "You two just got off on the wrong foot. Wait until you know her better. And for God's sake, stop leering at her so much. I saw the way your eyes were drawing bull's-eyes over her breasts when I introduced you. Emma's not like that, so lay off."

Micah arched a brow. "Really? Do you mean she prefers her own sex, or that she's inexperienced with the ways of miscreants like me?"

The smile returned to Ben's face. He never stayed out of humor with Micah for long, something for which Micah was eternally grateful, considering he often said things that annoyed his partner. Ben chuckled and said, "I've never asked about her love life, but I'd wager it's the latter."

Micah didn't challenge Ben's word. He knew he'd been guilty of doing the very thing he'd mentally berated the men for earlier. He enjoyed another delicious taste from his cup, then said seriously, "Are you so sure she's entirely the innocent you imagine, Ben?"

"If you're talking about the recent bid problems, I still maintain that if anyone is stealing the information, it's someone other than Emma. Lauren and I have come to know her quite well over the past three months. And you know Lauren's uncanny ability to read people."

Micah paced before Ben's desk. Sipping his coffee, he ran his free hand through his hair, a gesture he often used when frustrated. "I'll admit Lauren is a good judge of character and has never failed in screening employees before, but she's no psychic, Ben. Do you actually believe a spy would give off bad vibes? What do you really know about Emma Bowers?"

"Of course, you're right. And I can't explain Lauren's or my feelings except as gut instinct. Emma came highly recommended by Carl Sloan from Sloan Plumbing. You remember the firm. We've subcontracted the plumbing portion of several projects to them in the past. I got to know him pretty good the last time we did a job in the Ocala area. He retired last year and his son, Steve, took over the company. Don't know much about the boy, since he was away at college at the time we were there a few years ago, but his old man's as honest as they come."

"Yeah, I remember Carl. Retired last year, huh? Wonder why Steve Sloan didn't write the recommendation?"

"I wondered about that myself, but then Carl's letter stated that he'd been the one to hire Emma. Since she had worked directly under him for such a long time, right out of high school, she said, I guess he felt he knew more about her qualifications."

Micah frowned. It wasn't like Ben to overlook details. He made a mental note to make a phone call to the younger Sloan later. "All the same, I'd like to be at the bid opening this morning and see how she reacts when she comes face to face with Ralph Carter. I've got a strong suspicion that he's somehow behind all this."

"Suit yourself," Ben said with a shrug. "We'll leave around eleven. I'll let you know when we're ready."

* * *

At ten thirty a man arrived from ABC Glass Company to do the repairs on the window. Emma was relieved the phones had been fixed in time for her to carry out Mr. Johnson's...Micah's orders.

The thin, middle-aged man wearing a brown uniform with the name Calvin embroidered over the left pocket had a gimlet gaze that set her teeth on edge. Not only did he stare at her overlong, but he peered unnecessarily into her office as she led him down the hallway.

When she stopped and waved him into Micah's office, he looked around the room and drawled, "Right nice layout you got here."

"Thank you," Emma said, not wishing to waste time in mundane conversation with the creepy fellow. Earlier, when she tried to call the city about turning on the water at Micah's trailer, she'd been put on hold for so long that she finally had to hang up in order to answer the other lines that were ringing. She wanted to try one more time before she and Ben left for the bid opening downtown.

She showed the man the broken window, then when he said the repairs would have to be made from the outside, she directed him through the back door. Returning to her desk, this time, after punching in the correct number from the recorded menu, Emma got a human voice and made arrangements for the water connection to be done later in the day.

She'd barely finished clearing her desk when the intercom buzzed. Ben's distinct voice echoed from the speaker. "Has Shirley arrived? We'll need to leave soon."

Emma heard a car in the parking lot outside. She peeked out her window as Shirley's bright red Camry skidded to a stop. "She just drove up."

A moment later there was a light tap on Emma's door before the young, slender brunette pushed it open and stuck her head inside. "Hi, Em, just in time I hope."

"Perfect. We're almost ready to leave. There's a man repairing the window to Mr. Johnson's office." Emma remembered the man's demeanor and added, "There's no need for him to come back into the office. I'll tell Nate to sign the ticket when he's done."

"Gosh, that must have been some storm yesterday afternoon."

Emma didn't want to start explaining the circumstances behind the broken window, which might lead to other questions she couldn't answer, so she changed the subject. "I hope coming in early didn't mess up your schedule too much."

"No problem. I just cut my psych class. Got it aced anyway. I'll run to the rest room, then be at my desk in two shakes." Shirley closed the door and hurried out.

Smiling over the part-time employee's youthful energy, Emma paged Nate on the intercom and informed him of the man working on the window. Then, she extracted the bid package from the file cabinet. As she headed down the hall toward Ben's office, she glanced down at the folder in her hands and slowed her pace.

Something seemed out of place. Her attention on the envelope searching for some sign of why she felt that way, she stumbled over the rug just inside Ben's door.

"What's wrong?" Ben asked, glancing up from examining the papers on his desk.

"Wrong?"

"You seem distracted," Ben said. "You have everything ready, don't you?"

"As a matter of fact I finished the proposal and double checked the package last night a good fifteen minutes before..." she broke off and nervously looked around to see if Micah was lurking anywhere nearby. A shower of glass hit the office floor next door and she cringed. Since she'd instructed Nate not to let the window man back inside, she supposed she'd have to do the cleaning up later.

Ben laughed. "If you're worried about Micah overhearing you, don't. He's out at the job site working off his misery."

"He's actually...I mean, manual labor?"

Ben chuckled. "Believe it or not, the man thrives on it. That's why he's the field-rep and I'm the pencil pusher in our partnership. Sitting in an air-conditioned office working my 'fingers to the bone,' so to speak, suits me much better than breaking my back in the hot, broiling sun all day. I got my fill of that when we first started out. Micah says the men respect an employer more if he works along side them. I don't share his viewpoint, but it does seem to work well for him. When he's around we get twice the production on the job." Ben tossed down the pencil he'd been pushing, and laughed again. "I guess he takes that old saying about a man earning his keep by 'the sweat of his brow' seriously."

Emma respected Micah's attitude, although she was surprised. She realized she really didn't know a lot about him, except what she'd been told by Jordan, and most of that had come second hand from the men, since he'd never met Micah before, either. Ben and Lauren had mentioned Micah often enough during the past three months, but mostly they talked about their early days of struggling to get the business off the ground. Perhaps there was more to Micah Johnson than she'd believed. She looked once again at the envelope she held in her hand. At the moment she had more pressing concerns than reevaluating her image of her boss.

"I'm not sure, but, I could've sworn I clipped the bid to the front of the envelope last night before I put it away. But when I took it from the file cabinet, it was stuffed inside."

Ben stared at her with a remote expression for a brief moment that made her feel uneasy. Then he smiled tentatively and said, "You were pretty edgy last night, Em, even before Micah broke in. Maybe you just forgot."

Emma tried to remember, but the incident with Micah made everything prior to that seem cloudy. She didn't actually remember filing the proposal. Not again, she thought. A frightful case of déjà vu shook her. "I-I guess it's possible, Ben, but it's odd. You know how you get in a habit of doing things a certain way, so it's almost automatic."

"Let's check the file, Em. I'm sure it's nothing, but we'd better make certain everything is in order."

Emma carefully checked and restacked the documents as Ben itemized each one the packet should contain. Nothing in the folder seemed out of place. Reassured, Emma smiled. "Guess it was just my imagination."

Ben glanced at his watch. "We'd better be going."

When they reached the reception area, Shirley was sitting behind her desk with her compact out putting on makeup. Ben teased her, but turned serious a moment later as he gave the clerk an exact accounting of where he would be during the next few hours.

Emma hid a smile, touched by Ben's concern that his wife would be able to reach him at all times. After he seemed certain Shirley had his agenda down, he held open the door for Emma and they stepped out into the bright sunlight.

Emma gasped as she looked up and saw Micah on top of the steel structure across the lot. She watched as he directed the crane operator to raise another beam overhead, then held her breath when he reached for the steel in midair. Releasing the air from her lungs, she stood mesmerized by the sight of shoulder muscles bunching and stretching underneath his T-shirt as he guided the metal beam into place.

As soon as the beam was set, Ben yelled they were ready to leave. Micah looked down at them with a dazzling smile. It was the first time she'd seen him smile and his facial features changed drastically with the softened expression. She felt uncomfortable with the warm feeling that suddenly spread through her body.

He waved to them and Emma impulsively smiled and waved back. As Micah's grin broadened, she turned her head so he couldn't see the blush creeping up her face. She quickly walked to the car, all the while aware of Micah's eyes following her.

She got into the Bronco and waited for Ben. He walked over to the construction site as Micah emerged from the elevator shaft. She assumed they had last minute business to discuss.

Micah pulled his T-shirt off and leaned under the water hose, dousing his neck and face. He turned and caught Emma watching him. She felt like a voyeur, but she couldn't seem to tear her eyes away. His body was a work of art and his slow, easy smile told her he was accustomed to having women stare at him.

Ben followed him into Nate's office on the bottom floor of the construction. They came out a few moments later and crossed the parking lot toward her. Micah was buttoning the cuffs of a white oxford shirt he'd changed into and Emma suddenly realized he intended to accompany them.

He opted to get in on the passenger side. Emma was intensely aware of the enticing aroma of his cologne when he leaned over her to climb into the back seat. He scooted to the center of the seat and she only had to turn slightly to view his face.

After they got underway, she stole a peek at his profile while he was talking to Ben. Her gaze drifted to his lips and she remembered the kiss he'd given her the night before. She turned abruptly and fiddled with the air vent on the dash.

"You okay, Em?" Ben asked.

"Fine--it just seems awfully warm today."

"Nerves," Ben stated, pulling into the parking space on Orange Avenue. "I used to be that way at bid openings, too."

"I still am," Micah confessed with another disarming smile. He reached over her shoulder to open the door, and, no matter how far she leaned forward, she couldn't get away from his scent. He followed her out, then, lifted his hand, offering to assist her over the curb to the sidewalk.

Emma nodded, thinking only of the roughness of his hand on hers--large capable hands that did hard work. She liked the feel of him touching her way too much and was glad when Ben reminded them they'd better hurry because they were running a tad late.

They managed to reach the conference room on the tenth floor just before the meeting came to order. There wasn't time to socialize with any of the other contractors as they usually did, but that would come after the bid opening.

Ben had given her a run down on what to expect. Everyone would grudgingly congratulate the winning bidder, and then make small talk about how good business was. Even if a contractor was struggling, or on the verge of bankruptcy, Ben told her it was sort of a tradition to make your competitor think you were doing well. Emma thought it an unnecessary farce, since everyone in the trade had this facile grapevine that could out-maneuver the local newscaster.

She listened nervously to the bids, as if she had as much at stake in the outcome as anyone else. She felt more and more optimistic as their proposal was read and it was lower than the previous ones. She ventured a glance at Micah and once again her eyes lingered on his lips that were now pressed tightly together. She then noticed the grim set of his jaw and the worry in his eyes. How foolish of her, she thought, to be fretting over a stupid kiss that he obviously didn't remember. His mind was on business and that's where hers should be.

She watched Mr. Bryon reach for the last envelope and read aloud the bid from Carter Construction. It was exactly two hundred dollars less than Benjamin-Micah's. Emma couldn't believe it. She expected the disappointment, but was surprised by the unmistakable look of fury in Micah's eyes as he stared at a man seated across the table. Ben's features clouded, but he quickly replaced the look of gloom with a cheerful smile. He drew back her chair as she got up and they rounded the table along with the other contractors to congratulate the successful bidder. She looked back for Micah and saw a fellow contractor, welcoming him back to Orlando, had sidetracked him.

"Tough luck," said the man that Micah had been shooting daggers at.

Ben introduced Emma to Ralph Carter. He was a big, broad shouldered man over fifty with a potbelly and thinning white hair. His small gray eyes flickered assessingly over her body as he gripped her hand tighter than necessary in his clammy palm.

"Well, well, does your wife know you have such a pretty little secretary stashed away in your office, Ben?" Carter's voice boomed so loudly everyone seemed to turn to stare. She couldn't see Micah and wondered if he'd heard the man's remark and how he felt about it. The animosity between the men was almost tangible.

"My life is an open book, Carter," Ben said. "My wife, as well as my partner, knows everything about me."

There seemed to be a double entendre in the statement Emma didn't understand, but apparently from the flushed look on Ralph Carter's face, he did. She felt as if she'd been deserted when Ben stomped out of the room without her. But suddenly, Micah's hand gripped her arm and he deftly pulled her to his side, forcing Carter to release his clammy grip. Emma didn't resist the possessive-like gesture, even if it did put her in mind of a bear marking his territory. His words practically bore the fact out.

"You always have been a little over zealous where women are concerned, haven't you old man?"

"Now see here, you young prick--"

"Can't tell you what a relief it was that we lost this one," Micah interrupted. "Somehow, we missed a big section of steel beams on the third floor when doing the take-off. Quite an expensive mistake, you know." The color in Carter's face drained away.

Emma wondered why neither Ben nor Micah had mentioned the error on their bid before now. Neither had seemed overly worried.

There was blatant sarcasm in Micah's voice when he added, "Seems like you've been low bidder on quite a few jobs of late, Carter. Sure would be a shame to see you default on one. A mistake like that could put a man out of business."

The rush of warmth from the physical contact with Micah's body made Emma slightly dizzy as he urged her toward the door. It was the heat not the man, she told herself. The room had been overly stuffy. But regardless, she stepped out of Micah's reach as they entered the hallway.

She heard Carter sputter some obscene remark regarding Micah's parentage as the door closed behind them. Ben was in the hall talking to a few of the other losing bidders, and Micah stopped to tell him they'd meet him at the car. Emma again noted the tense set of Micah's square jaw and said nothing until they were alone in the elevator.

"What was that all about?" she asked, when curiosity go the better of her. "I got the distinct impression you don't very much like that man."

"Rather obvious, huh?"

"Very. Ben is always so careful about his work, it's hard to believe he missed anything on the take-off."

"He didn't."

A twinkle of mischief gleamed in Micah's eyes and she realized he'd been baiting Carter. She took a guess that it had something to do with all the short bids lately. No one had said anything about bid leaks, or collusion but she had a feeling that was exactly what Micah suspected. What would he think if he learned of her tarnished past? She didn't like to consider the possibilities, and felt it in her best interest to know everything she could about the situation. "You seem to know Ralph Carter pretty well."

"Yeah, I know him. He's the kind of low-life that gives honest contractors a bad name."

"How do you mean?"

Micah considered for a moment before explaining. He'd watched the play of emotions on Emma's face as she had tried to extract her hand from Carter's and the only thing he read into it was repulsion on her part. Carter had showed no signs of having met her before, either. Micah saw no harm in confiding at least a part of the contractor's unsavory past with his family.

"He and my father were partners when they first started out in business."

"Really?" Emma knew Micah's father, Anthony, owned one of the largest construction companies in the southeast, but she'd assumed he inherited it since it was so well established.

"Carter almost landed them both in jail. He was caught rigging bids with some other disreputable contractors. Dad was furious. He managed to get the charges dropped, but part of the deal was Carter had to sell his share of the company and leave town."

"Wow," she said softly.

"Yeah, wow. And I can't help wondering what he's doing back in Orlando. Until a couple of months ago, the last we heard, he had been doing business in Texas."

"Do you think he has ulterior motives for returning to Florida?" Emma asked.

Micah looked into the sky blue depths that reflected the innocence of her remark. Not liking the feelings of protectiveness it stirred within him he answered gruffly, "Yeah, I think he has ulterior motives."

Chapter Three

Ben and Micah dropped Emma off to pick up her car. When she arrived back at the office she noted the crew was still on lunch break. She discreetly looked around for Micah, but he was nowhere in sight. Then, she spotted his truck parked next to his trailer and figured he was either there or in the office.

She was about to go inside when the foreman, Jordan Wilkins, called to her from the picnic area where the men sat eating their lunches. As she waited for him to cross the lot, she wondered why she'd mistaken Micah for him the night before. Their build was similar, but Jordan's hair, a light sun-streaked blonde color, hung raggedly over the edge of his collar. Micah's hair, as dark as a raven's wings, was neatly clipped above his ears in an executive style.

"Hi, Em."

"Hello, Jordan. Have you had lunch? I think my eyes were bigger than my stomach." She held up the fast food restaurant bag. "Besides, a double burger and fries are definitely not on my diet. Want to share?"

"No thanks, Em, but I would like to sit and talk with you while you eat. I-If you don't mind?"

"Sure, just let me get my briefcase."

"I'll get it." Jordan hurried to open the back door of Emma's car and retrieve the case. Some of the men catcalled and teased Jordan. One yelled, "Way to go Jordan!" While others made smooching sounds and rude gestures.

"Don't pay any attention, Em. They're all green with envy. They don't mean anything by it."

"I know. I'm used to their silliness. It doesn't bother me anymore." Emma smiled and, for the men's benefit, looked with adoration into Jordan's eyes. She noticed something else that reminded her of Micah: Jordan's eyes were the same gold-brown color. As she linked her arm though his and they walked into the office, the men's teasing ceased.

"Thanks, Em. I think I just gained another notch of respect from my crew."

"My pleasure."

As soon as he closed the front door behind them, both grinned broadly.

"You two look like the cat that ate the canary," Shirley said, her gaze on Jordan. Emma knew Shirley had a crush on the young foreman, but either he was trying to avoid an awkward situation by ignoring it, or he was oblivious to her admiration.

"Is Mr. Johnson in his office?" Emma asked.

Without taking her eyes off Jordan, Shirley nodded.

Emma turned to Jordan. "I'll just let him know I'm here and I'll be right back. You can wait in my office if you like."

Emma's footsteps going down the hall snapped Shirley back to reality and she sputtered, "Em, I don't think--" she didn't finish for Emma had already reached Micah's office.

About to knock and enter the open doorway, she stopped abruptly when she caught sight of the redhead decorating the edge of his desktop. The tall, slender woman, beautiful enough to be featured on a magazine cover, was perched in a provocative pose directly in front of Micah. Leaning back in his high backed executive chair, his feet were propped on the desk next to her. No doubt to get a better view, Emma thought. The short mini skirt the woman wore lifted dangerously close to exposing more than her thighs.

Staring dumbly, Emma was startled back to her senses when Micah asked, "Can I help you, Emma?"

The sound of his deep, rumbling voice sent a shiver up and down her torso. It was a ridiculous response, one she'd never experienced before now. Embarrassed to be caught gaping, she stammered helplessly, "I, er, just wanted to let you know I'm back if you need anything."

"I'll be sure to call you if I do. Would you please close the door on your way out?"

The pretty woman peered over her shoulder, delicate brows lifting in surprise. When her full red lips formed a soft moue of displeasure at the intrusion, Emma wordlessly turned and grabbed the door handle, shutting it behind her a bit harder than she'd intended.

Micah silently cursed, something he seemed to be doing a lot of since meeting Emma Bowers.

He had a clear view of the parking lot from his office window and had seen the intimate looks she'd given Jordan as they walked toward the office arm-in-arm. And he hadn't liked how the sight of them together made him feel. Possessive. Jealous. Ridiculous!

He reminded himself, he hardly knew the woman. And for obvious reasons he needed to remedy that situation as soon as possible. He resolutely put the secretary from his mind when the significance of Belinda's words finally seeped through.

"We had a good relationship, didn't we?"

The flight attendant obviously wanted to reconcile with him. "I wouldn't call it a relationship, Belinda. We hardly had time to see each other. Between your flight schedule, my business, and..." he shrugged and decided it would be like prodding a dead horse with a hot poker to point out he didn't like his sexual partners sleeping around. "As I told you before, I don't expect to return to Atlanta. If things go the way Ben and I plan, I'll be staying permanently in this area."

"No problem, darling. I got my flight schedule changed. From now on I'll be flying into OIA at least twice a week. And you know I don't expect complete faithfulness."

Micah couldn't help but chuckle at that. How true, he thought. She'd inadvertently called him, Eddie, the name of the Captain of her Denver flight that last night they'd been intimate. That it didn't bother him much alerted Micah to the fact they were in a go-nowhere situation and it had given him an excuse to break off with her.

The living arrangement they'd shared in Atlanta had been mostly for convenience, anyway. She had free room and board when in town and he had no-strings-attached sex. The project there had been so demanding, Micah had little time to pursue other female companions.

However, that was no longer the case. Now that he was back in Orlando, he and Ben would be able to relieve each other, giving them both more leisure time. Micah knew plenty of interesting women here in his hometown who he could renew friendships with. Several had already phoned him this morning. He certainly had no intentions of inhibiting his freedom again by having a live-in lover.

His mind wandered again to his little spitfire secretary. It was almost worth having Belinda hounding him just to see Emma Bowers' reaction. He wondered if little-Miss-Efficiency's innocent act was as real as it appeared.

He needed to find out more about her and soon. With that in mind an image formed of how the blue-eyed blonde would look sprawled naked across his bed. It had occurred to him that women inadvertently divulged all their secrets in the bedroom.

He wasn't pleased with his plan. Taking a woman to bed for any other reason than mutual enjoyment was low behavior in his book. But the future of his company was at stake. To save it, he'd use any means available.

Embarrassed and puzzled by her anger, Emma walked back to her office. Half a dozen women had called for Micah this morning alone, and there he was sitting behind his desk enjoying a tête-à-tête with a titian-headed beauty. He was just another skirt-chaser, she thought. Only, she honestly had to admit, Micah didn't seem to be deceitful about it like other men she'd known. She wouldn't be surprised if all his women knew where they stood. And she really had no right to censure him. She paused just beyond her office doorway and took a deep breath before entering. She didn't want to take her foul mood out on Jordan.

He looked up and smiled as she walked in. Such a sweet guy, she thought. She enjoyed his company and had fallen into the habit of meeting him at Odie's after work on Fridays. It wasn't a date. Nate and his girlfriend Carla were there as well, along with about a dozen regulars from the construction crew. They enjoyed dancing and Odie supplied a jukebox stocked with the latest country tunes and a large, polished hardwood dance floor.

She sank into the chair behind her desk opposite Jordan and tried to look cheerful. "Now, what do you want to talk about?"

Jordan began speaking hesitantly, "I--" he cleared his throat. "I just wondered, Emma--since you like to dance and all--well, Odie is having a live band again tonight. I know that's later than you usually stay, but the band doesn't start playing until nine. I thought if you'd like to go, I could see you safely home after. Th-That is if you want me to."

"Sounds great," she said without really paying close attention to all he said. She was distracted by thoughts of what might be going on behind the closed door down the hall.

Apparently unprepared for her easy capitulation to his roundabout way of asking for a date, Jordan simply stared at her dumb-founded for a few minutes.

"But--" she began.

"Uh, oh," Jordan groaned.

Realizing he thought she was going to come up with an excuse to refuse, she smiled. "I have to work a little late tonight. It probably will be around six-thirty before I can leave. If you don't mind meeting me there, we could grab a bite to eat first."

He curbed his broad smile at the last moment. "Good, then we'll meet at Odie's."

They spoke for a few more minutes, then Jordan looked at his watch. As he rose to leave, Emma walked around the desk to see him out. She was about to give him her hand, when she heard Micah and the redhead coming down the hall. She impulsively stood on her toes and kissed Jordan on the cheek just as the pair walked past. "I'll see you around six-thirty."

Jordan's smile faded when a gruff voice from her doorway admonished, "I believe lunch time is over Wilkins."

"I was just leaving."

Jordan did not look at Micah when he answered, and Emma respected him for not being intimidated.

"Around six-thirty, Em." He turned and nodded to his boss as he walked out.

Micah leaned against the door and watched Jordan saunter down the hall. He knew his reprimand was unwarranted. He'd met the young crew foreman for the first time this morning. Usually a pretty good judge of character, his first impression told him that Jordan was a hard worker. Not one to shirk his duties. But unexpected irritation had prompted him to speak brusquely after he saw Jordan and Emma Bowers acting so cozy right in front of him.

He glanced at the woman, remembering Ben's conviction that she was innocent. Yesterday, on the phone to his partner before leaving Atlanta, Micah had expressed his desire to confront Carter if their old competitor won the bid today--but Ben cautioned patience. They needed proof before accusing Carter. Micah had reluctantly agreed with Ben, provided he could go along and observe the new secretary's reactions when she and Carter met. It hadn't helped.

Emma didn't seem to know the man--or like him. Micah hoped his partner was right, that she wasn't involved in the bid losses, but he wasn't totally convinced. Not yet. With his business at stake, he needed more proof.

She backed into her office and he followed. He watched her closely now, trying to judge her reaction as he spoke of the bid opening. "Too bad we lost the bid this morning."

"You must be very disappointed," she sympathized.