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Chapter One

When Jennie Mulligan entered the office, Cassidy Romanelli looked up from behind her metal desk and sighed. Another interruption. One of many this morning. She might as well forget about getting anything done. Another day like this and she'd raise the white flag signaling surrender.

Cassidy dog-earred the spot on the job application she'd been reviewing, set down the red marking pencil, and folded her hands in front of her. "Hi, Jennie."

Her friend parked her plump bottom in the padded chrome-legged chair, looking pleased with herself. No doubt Jennie'd just heard a scintillating bit of gossip.

Cassidy grimaced. Whether or not she wanted it, she was about to be "treated" to the latest inter-office tidbit.

"Hey," her friend blurted through a wad of ever-present gum. "What's going on?"

A rhetorical question, obviously. Jennie knew only too well what was going on. She could see the mile-high stacks of applications for the vacant consultant position threatening to topple off the desk.

"Work," Cassidy succinctly replied. Realizing she sounded gruff, she explained, "Since Dunkirk, the other personnel specialist, is sick, this job's been dumped in my lap. And I have to get the best qualified list done by Monday. This Monday, for goodness sake!"

"Yeah, well..." Jennie leaned closer, whispering, "Never mind that. I've got some juicy news."

Cassidy studied her pale pink-lacquered nails. She had been the juicy news seven months ago and, heaven help her, it still hurt. "Who's having an affair now?"

"No, no. It's nothing like that." Jennie's green eyes contained a mischievous twinkle. "I just heard. The new head of Haydon-Smith Communications is scheduled to fly in from London. Soon! He wants to get familiar with the American end of the business." Her eyes now widened. "He's coming to see us, Cassi!"

Cassidy yawned. "So?"

Another bigwig to rocket in with his "yes" men, mouthing platitudes, promising the moon, then rushing off to elite society functions. Nothing changed--nothing ever did.

"So, you pea brain, A. E. Haydon-Smith is single! And very, very eligible. He's one of the richest men in England."

Glancing at the overhead clock, Cassidy frowned. Eleven-thirty. Where had the morning gone? She didn't have time to shoot the breeze. "Okay, so you've told me. He's probably an old coot, anyway." She grinned. "If he's such a great catch, you have my permission to marry him."

Jennie fluffed up her fiery red halo of curls, then giggled. "I just might pull it off! You wait and see."

Cassidy rubbed at her eyes but unfortunately, the paperwork refused to disappear. "Old coot or not, you'd think everyone and his brother wants to work for Haydon-Smith. At this rate, I'll never get out of here."

Jennie pursed her lips. "Cassi, not again. You're not wasting another weekend on work. No way."

Jennie jumped up and drummed sturdy fingers against her folded arms before Cassidy had a chance to react. "When are you going to start living again? When was the last time you had a date? Jeez, Cassi, you've been divorced for a year already!"

Staring at the ring finger on her left hand, Cassidy still couldn't get used to its nakedness. "Actually, it's only been seven months." She lowered her voice. "Today's my wedding anniversary."

Some things were better left unsaid. She regretted revealing her private sadness.

Jennie laughed.

It was an ugly sound, and Cassidy looked at her friend in surprise. How could she be so...so callous?

"Whoops." Jennie clamped her hand over her mouth, then wiggled down into the chair. "Sorry. But dammit, Cassi, someone's got to shake some sense into you. You've got a face and figure to die for, and what do you do with your assets? You sit at home and shrivel up like a prune. You might as well enter a nunnery."

All this talk gave Cassidy a headache. The constant hum of the central air conditioning suddenly grated, rather than soothed. Was the June sun blazing hot? Or was rain drenching the New York City streets below? Who knew? Her office was windowless.

The mounds of paper mocked her. She'd have to skip lunch. As usual.

"I'll think about it. The nunnery, I mean." Cassidy smiled to show she was kidding. "Now, I have to get back to work. If you don't mind--"

"I do mind! Ever since that bum you married took off for parts unknown, you're like a ghost-girl. I can see you but you're not really here. You're so afraid of getting involved again that if Mr. Right ever said 'Boo,' you'd run so fast in the other direction, an Olympic gold medalist couldn't catch you."

Narrowing her gaze, Cassidy stood and savagely pushed her hair behind her ears. "Thank you for the therapy session, Ms. Mulligan. You've saved me a bundle of money."

Jennie got the hint. She held out her hands in a placating manner. "Okay, okay, so I was out of line and I'll make it up to you over lunch."

Cassidy firmly maneuvered her friend to the other side of the door. "I'm too busy. Really. Give me a buzz tomorrow. Maybe we can have lunch then." She probably wouldn't have time tomorrow, either. But she had to say something.

There was no need to wait for a reply, so she stepped back and clicked the door shut. Finally, she was alone. Cassidy sat down at her desk and rested her head on the pile of applications. Her shoulders slumped, her eyes watered, and she blinked back tears. Darn. Tears always flowed too quickly nowadays. Reaching for a tissue, she erased any telltale signs of sorrow.

Time heals all wounds. Or so the saying goes. But just how much time was needed? When would she get over losing Bruce? When would she stop...missing him?

* * *

Walking down Broadway to the park by City Hall, Cassidy shielded her eyes from the bright sun. She changed her mind. Her office's four walls had seemed to close in on her. She had to escape to the outside, to the sunlight.

Her stomach rumbled, so she stopped at a street vendor's stand and bought a steaming hot pretzel and a Coke. Not much of a lunch, but it was better than being stuck in her office. As she waited for the pretzel, her forlorn image reflected back at her from a corner store's window. She dismissed her flyaway light brown hair as mousy, her beige business suit as adequate but boring, and beige pumps as serviceable but unexciting. She appeared as inviting as a week-old piece of white bread.

She sighed. What had Jennie said? A face and figure to die for? Maybe to some, but obviously that hadn't been enough to keep Bruce interested. Cassidy was a failure as a wife, as a woman. But still, why had he told her, repeatedly, that she was everything to him; that he loved her to distraction? And God help her, she'd believed him.

The truth was, he'd loved her as long as no other woman had been in the room. And that hurt. It still hurt.

Men. Who could understand them?

She looked at her reflection again. Was she washed-up at age twenty-five? Or was that washed-out?

After thanking the pretzel man, she put on her purple framed sunglasses, then crossed the street to the park. A gust of wind rustled through the maple trees to welcome her. The cool air dancing over her skin felt wonderful, especially after standing in the blistering sun. She sat down on an empty wood-planked bench, and bit into the pretzel. The coarse salt burned her mouth, and she coughed...and coughed.

From the opposite bench, a man asked, "Are you all right?"

She automatically nodded, but was unable to speak. She popped open her Coke can and took a swallow. However, instead of easing the tickle, the soda's fizzle seared a path down her throat. The hacking increased. Goodness, she was coming apart at the seams!

Moving quickly, the man sat beside her and pounded on her back. The heavy hammering chased away the coughs and her breath. "Th--Thank you," she stammered.

She took a deep breath, then looked up and met his dark blue gaze. He smiled. At least she thought he smiled. His lips were hidden in a heavy black beard, the kind a sea captain might envy.

He reached for her hand and repeated, "Are you all right?"

Dark swirls of hair decorated his large hands. His warm clasp sent shivers up her arms. Pleasurable shivers.

He was about forty, and the size of Mr. America. Her hand was swallowed by his, and she gently extracted it. "Y--Yes, thank you very much."

In addition to a beard, her rescuer had thick, unruly black hair in need of cutting. He wore frayed blue jeans and a baggy, denim shirt ripped at the shoulder. His rubber thongs revealed feet smudged by street grime. His loose shirt couldn't hide his broad shoulders, nor the jeans disguise his muscular thighs.

A shiver of apprehension rocked her. He wasn't a vagrant, was he? Why was he helping her? What did he want?

She slid farther down the bench. "I, er, I must be going." Her half-eaten pretzel fell to the pavement.

His blue eyes, so clear before, clouded. "Of course. I understand."

He sounded extremely formal and impersonal. Picking up the pretzel, he dropped it in a trash can, then returned to the park bench across from hers. His previously open expression now appeared shuttered.

When he'd spoken, she'd caught a hint of an accent, probably British. His obvious disappointment over her unfriendliness pricked at her conscience. She'd hurt his feelings, and that made her feel wretched.

Indecision gnawed at her. Should she do something for him? A good deed for a good deed? After all, he had helped her. Maybe he needed someone to talk to. And who cares about clothes? Clothes don't make the man.

For some reason, Jennie's words resurfaced. "If Mr. Right ever said 'Boo,' you'd run so fast..." Not that this man was Mr. Right by any stretch of the imagination. But he was attractive, in a crinkled sort of way.

Cassidy straightened her shoulders. How could she make amends? She looked at the sheer size of him. An idea popped into her head, so she walked over to his bench. "I'm sorry. That wasn't a proper thank-you, was it? Could I buy you some lunch?"

The man's piercing gaze caused her to flush. Somehow she felt vulnerable standing in front of him. She adjusted her sunglasses, grateful that her eyes were hidden. Maybe he wouldn't notice her embarrassment.

Under his bushy beard, he slowly smiled. "It would take more than one of those pretzels to fill me up."

She felt the flush deepen. "No, I didn't mean--"

"Of course you didn't. You are kind. However, I've already eaten." He rested his elbows against the back of the park bench, and lifted his eyebrow as if daring her to contradict him.

His urbane, polished voice was at odds with his bohemian attire. He puzzled her, and she could never resist the challenge of a good puzzle.

He shaded his eyes from the sun, then looked up at her. "Do you always have such a nutritional lunch?"

She laughed. How wonderful it felt to let loose! She'd almost forgotten how to smile, let alone laugh. "Sometimes I splurge and have a potato knish."

"A what?"

His bewildered expression forced her to grin again. Inhaling deeply, she made a decision. She was about to take a chance, but what the heck? That was what life was all about. "You should try one. It's delicious. Come on, I have fifteen minutes left on my lunch hour. Let's walk and I'll get you a knish."

The sunlight caught in his twinkling blue eyes. He rose, then gave her a subtle nod. "That's the best offer I've had all day."

Her gaze traveled up the impressive length of him. Without trying to, he towered over her. A tiny shudder vibrated down her spine.

I hope I'm not making a big mistake.

They headed for Broadway, taking care to skirt around a flock of bread-pecking pigeons. People must've thought they looked like such a strange couple, her dressed for business and him dressed for...for what? The beach? The Bowery?

She frowned. Maybe she was too hung up on appearance. Critical Cassidy. She turned her attention into learning more about this man. "You're from England?"

"Britain."

Not exactly a fountain of information, but he intrigued her. Although she prided herself on not being inquisitive, she couldn't help asking, "What brings you to New York?"

His eyes flickered. "I'm on...on holiday."

A vacation? She didn't believe him. Who would go on vacation dressed as he was?

Romanelli, you're judging him again.

She said a silent apology, then stopped at another street vendor's stand to order a knish.

"Two," her companion insisted. "I'll eat mine if you'll have one, also. I'd offer to pay but all I have are shillings." From his pocket, he produced a handful of gleaming silver coins.

Her stomach rumbled again. "Okay, I guess I am hungry." And maybe eating together would break the ice a bit.

Eating while they walked, he quickly finished the knish. "It's quite good, actually. Crunchy crust and soft potato filling. Perhaps I'll go back later and have another."

That brought to mind his money situation. "You'll need American money," she reminded. "I could give you--"

"I'll procure some today." He used a paper napkin to wipe potato crumbs off his beard.

A chill raced down her backbone. Procure. What an odd word. It conjured up bank robbery, theft, pick-pocketing.

She threw her napkin into a nearby trash can, disturbing a small swarm of flies. "Do you have a place, um, to stay?" Visions of him sleeping in a subway station rose unpleasantly before her.

He stopped walking--right in the middle of the sidewalk. A disgruntled woman bumped into him and tightened her lips, probably getting ready to give him a piece of her mind. Craning her neck, the woman looked up at the size of him, gulped, then hurriedly walked around.

He didn't seem to notice. "Yes, I have a place to stay. Why so many questions? Are you a detective? Or just a nosy Parker?"

Cassidy tugged on his arm, forcing him to continue walking. "I don't know what a nosy Parker is. But if it's a busybody, okay, I'm a busybody. I just wanted to make sure you had a place to stay."

Maybe she was taking her Good Samaritan deed too far. Shaking her head, she gazed up at him and guessed his height. Six foot five or six?

"Why is that?" She could tell his smile was lopsided, even with his beard. "Would you let me stay at your flat?"

Her flat. Such a strange way to refer to an apartment. Amazingly enough though, she wasn't offended by his inappropriate question. "No. Of course not."

"Why not? Are you married?"

She snorted. "No! Are you?"

His smile teased her. "No."

A flush heated her cheeks. How did they get on that dreadful subject, anyway? She looked at her watch. Time to head back to work.

From out of the blue, he answered her question. "I'm staying at my sister's."

Knowing that he had a family--a respectable background, she hoped, made her feel better. "That must be nice."

"It's not. I'm sleeping on the couch." He sounded indignant but his eyes hinted at amusement.

She laughed again. She'd laughed more today than she had in a year...or more. "For your sake, I hope it's a big couch!"

At the corner of Barclay and Church Street, she paused and smoothed back her hair. "Well, it's been good talking with you. I have to get back now."

"Perhaps I'll see you tomorrow--in the park." He took her hand and firmly shook it. "Or we could meet for lunch. A proper lunch, of course."

Heat rose on her cheeks again. If she agreed, she'd be committing to a date--of sorts. Her first one since...Bruce.

And what's wrong with that?

She retrieved her hand and murmured, "Maybe." The way was clear to cross the street, but she was reluctant to move. Did she want to see him again?

Her heart thumped, yes. She smiled up at him. "By the way, my name's Cassidy."

He nodded and gave her a wink. "A pleasure meeting you, Cassidy. I'm Smith...Alex Smith. See you tomorrow."

As he waved good-bye, his large hand blocked the sun for a moment. He then turned and walked back towards the park.

Cassidy crossed the street, then followed his progress down the block until he reached Broadway. She lost sight of him in the crowd.

Alex Smith. She smiled. Maybe it was foolish of her, but she liked him. She liked him a lot.

The sun suddenly went behind a cloud, echoing the eclipse from Alex's hand. She shivered. A vague feeling of trouble niggled at her. For some reason, "Alex Smith" sounded like an alias.

* * *

Alex Smith scratched at his beard as he headed back to the park, He could get used to not shaving every day. Too bad he soon had to cast off his vagabond ways and return to the cutthroat world of business. The pity of it was that he had to return on his dead uncle's terms, not his own.

Alex waited for the "Walk" sign to light up, then crossed Broadway. He smiled grimly. Due to the provisions in his uncle's will, he had to return to the company. He could resign himself to that. But he'd handle the business his way. He did not intend to be a figurehead. And what he wanted, he always got. Always.

He sat down on the park bench he had so recently vacated and let his mind relax. A deliciously different young lady flickered through his thoughts. Different from the class-conscious, money-hungry debs it was his misfortune to encounter time and time again.

He sighed. Quite a pleasant interlude he'd just had. Cassidy had obviously warred with whether she should befriend a stranger, an unmistakably down-on-his-luck stranger. He'd noticed the uncertain expression that had crossed her face before she'd smiled and approached him. Perhaps she'd been acting out of a core of natural kindness. He was glad she'd conquered her fears. He'd enjoyed talking with her, being with her. She'd given the day a certain glow. Now that she was gone, even the sun seemed dimmer.

What a strange sensation not to have a woman fall all over herself to get to know him. Cassidy's smiles had been genuine, not false. And visions of money hadn't danced before her eyes.

His laugh startled the nearby pigeons into flying off in a furious rustle of feathers. Of course she had no idea who he was, or how much he was worth. That was the purpose of his present attire. He wanted to enjoy himself without people seeing him as a walking pound sign...or dollar sign.

Women were always trying to trap him into the wedded state. He had no use for marriage. None whatsoever.

Scratching at his beard again, he glanced at the discarded pretzel in the trash can. Still, if the right woman ever came along....

His heart started beating faster. He very much hoped Cassidy would overcome her understandable reluctance and meet him tomorrow for lunch.

Chapter Two

After making a complete pass around the City Hall Park, Cassidy felt foolish. She stopped at the corner of Murray Street and scanned the green wooden benches, again. No sign of Alex Smith. Here she was, dressed in a spanking new silk, periwinkle-blue dress, waiting for a total stranger to keep a tenuous date. What was she...desperate? Crazy? If her mother ever found out, Cassidy would never hear the end of it.

What time had they agreed to meet, anyway? Had he even said? Had she bothered to ask?

No. The whole thing was rather silly now that she thought about it.

She looked at her watch. Half past twelve. Half past her lunch hour. Who knew what time Alex Smith had in mind. So what should she do now? She didn't have the nerve to sit on a bench and wait. That would mean she actually cared whether or not he showed.

Well, she didn't care. She didn't buy the new dress just for him. She needed it. And the handbag and the shoes. She had to have matching accessories, didn't she?

The heat from the sun burned through the delicate fabric of her dress. Ducking under a low branch of a maple tree, she stepped into the shade. She felt as conspicuous as a Christmas tree in June. All dressed up and no place to go. All because of a stranger's blue eyes.

So much for your decision to swear off men, Romanelli. A lot of good it's gotten you.

She folded her arms over her chest, and angrily tapped now-bronze-lacquered nails against her sleeves.

And then he stands me up.

Wait a minute. She took a deep breath to calm down. What did it matter? She was entitled to act a little irrationally every once in a while. No harm done. Right?

Right. She was glad she'd met the enigmatic Mr. Smith. Unknowingly, he'd pulled her out of her doldrums. For the first time since her troubles with Bruce, she finally felt alive.

She adjusted her sunglasses. Today she would take control of her life!

Straightening, she took a purposeful step. Then a hand on her shoulder caused her to jump. She turned, and there he was.

"Sorry I'm late. Got lost in the tube." Alex Smith apologized in an offhanded way. He took in every last inch of her appearance and raised an eyebrow. "Nice. Dare I hope you dressed for me?"

Cassidy shook her shoulder free. What conceit! Especially since he wore the same frayed jeans as yesterday. His concession to the occasion was a huge, overly-loud Hawaiian shirt. And his thong-clad feet had no spots of dirt on them today.

She caught herself before tightening her lips in disapproval. After all, what did she expect? Did she expect this mammoth, black-bearded seafaring guy to present himself clean-shaven and clad in a fine hand-tailored suit?

How childish of her. She'd made too much out of yesterday's encounter. He was a pleasant man, large and friendly, nothing more. Probably told lies too, just like Bruce.

Her voice brimming with indifference, she asked, "What tube?"

His steady gaze seemed to size her up. "You know, the underground." He turned on a charming smile. "You're not annoyed with me, are you?"

"Of course not." She certainly wouldn't admit that to him. "I just forgot the British term for subway."

His nearness flustered her. How could she regain her equilibrium? "And as for my clothes, I had an important meeting today. Not everyone is on vacation."

As an excuse not to look at him, she fumbled through her handbag. Where had her manners gone? She talked like a shrew. In different people, pent-up pressure had divergent ways of escaping. The good Lord above knew she'd had more than her share of pressure. But why did her repressed frustrations have to worm their way out now?

Alex gripped her upper arm as if he had a right to, and steered her across the street. "Snappish today, aren't you? Perhaps a bit of lunch is in order. Do you like Greek?"

She had to hustle to keep up with him. His long stride left her half breathless. "Greek food? Yes, I do. But--"

He commandeered her as easily as moving a feather and set their course down the street. After walking through a knot of Asian students who were doggedly following a tour guide, Alex smiled at her. "No talking until we eat. I can tell you're one of those who require food to be civil. This time the treat's on me."

Before she could reply, he somehow weaved her past the ever-present sidewalk construction, past the crowd congregated around a steel-drum street musician, and up a flight of stairs into a cool, dark restaurant. The Aegean.

Spicy aromas tantalized her senses. By the time her eyes adapted to the dusky lighting, they were sitting in spindle-legged wooden chairs at a tiny table.

Blinking, she patted at her heart. "Goodness, Alex! You're fast!"

"In some areas, I am notoriously fast." He raked her with his blue-eyed gaze. "In others, I take my time."

He was flirting with her? She flushed. No one had flirted with her since her marriage. Her skills at man/woman repartee were rusty. She could have easily been a gauche fifteen-year-old. But it felt good. She felt desirable.

As he continued to gaze at her, warm tingles fluttered in her midsection. Her heart beat faster. Despite his grunge approach to wardrobe, he was a hunk. One hundred percent prime beef. Self-assured, confident, and...sexy. Although the restaurant's air conditioning blasted Arctic air throughout the room, her body temperature soared.

She glanced around the room to avoid looking at him. The Middle Eastern influence was evident in the decor. Paintings of lavish, domed buildings decorated the walls, while waitresses clad in skimpy belly-dancing outfits flitted back and forth from the tables to the kitchen. As the girls' hips swayed, the coins that dangled from their belts jingled seductively. The atmosphere was so convincingly Greek that if the outside window hadn't exposed a normal view of downtown Manhattan, she would have been convinced she'd stepped into another world.

When she turned back toward him, he reached up and gently removed her sunglasses. "I need to see your eyes," he murmured.

She dropped her gaze, but he lifted her chin. His touch sent waves of hot sensations surging through her. Explosive sensations. She swallowed a ragged breath.

Searching her eyes, he pronounced, "Warm brown. Doe eyes flecked with gold." He released her chin. "I like your eyes, Cassidy."

Then, to her consternation, he linked their hands. Her stomach dropped away and her mouth suddenly dried. He was getting too personal. And her body was starting to betray her.

"Ah, this is an interesting place, Alex. I've worked near here for three years, and I've never heard of The Aegean."

She reclaimed her hand. "How did you find it? How long have you been in New York?"

He signaled for a waitress. "Still playing Sherlock Holmes, I see. Are you ready to order?"

She'd been put in her place, and so effectively, like he'd had years of practice. But why was he so secretive? After scanning the menu, she consulted her watch. "I'll just have a salad. Have to get back pretty soon."

"You must live dangerously, Cassidy. You're ruled by the clock. We've only just arrived. Have a souvlaki or a falafel. At the very least, a gyro. Yes, you'll have a gyro."

A dark-eyed waitress with a cascade of raven curls hovered over them. Dressed in a fringed bikini top and sheer balloon-style pants, she looked lush and provocative. Cassidy should have felt threatened. After all, what woman could compete with such a sultry temptress? But the odd thing was she didn't feel threatened.

Alex gave the server nothing more than a perfunctory glance. "Hérete, kiría. Pos eísthe?"

The waitress' soulful eyes lit up. She responded in rapid-fire Greek. Cassidy couldn't blame her for her enthusiasm. Not too many finger-licking good hunks could speak another language.

He nodded politely, and closed the menu. "Two gyros and two Spartan beers, please. Parakaló."

The woman smiled broadly, a bright flash of white against her tanned skin and then left to turn in the order, giving him a backwards glance as she entered the kitchen.

Cassidy also smiled, though not as ear to ear as the waitress had. She couldn't blame the woman. Alex was quite the charmer. "I'm impressed. Where did you learn Greek?"

By his casual shrug, she could tell he belittled his accomplishment. "Here and there. I've been around. Just said good afternoon, madam, and asked her how she was."

Which was more than Cassidy could say in Greek! She tapped her chin. "I noticed you overruled my menu choice." His high-handedness didn't bother her, though. It was kind of cute, in a teddy bear sort of way.

"I'm used to taking charge." He smiled back at her.

Her heart thumped again. With a smile like that, she had no doubt he'd be used to having things his way.

When the beers arrived, he lifted his mug. "A toast. To an unorthodox meeting and an unorthodox young woman."

She sipped her beer and tried to avoid the foam. "Strong." Its bitter taste caused a shudder to travel through her. "Now suppose you tell me why you think I'm unorthodox."

If he thought she was unconventional, what did he consider himself? His shabby clothes visibly clashed with his debonair manner. Just who was the real Alex Smith?

He held both her hands and slowly massaged her knuckles. "Well, my dear, you don't usually accept assignations from vagabonds, do you?"

She let him continue the massage. He stimulated more than just her hands! "Is that what you are, a vagabond?"

Leaning closer, he rubbed the inside of her palms with his thumbs. She suddenly felt so strange, so relaxed, so...alarmed! She pulled away and took another drink. Her hands now safely around the mug, she looked at him again.

The skin around his eyes crinkled. Her naïveté obviously amused him. "Not exactly."

As he stroked his beard, she had the feeling he was appraising her. Taking her measure. What criteria was he using? Did she pass the test?

Their gyros arrived, interrupting his scrutiny. Concentrating on the lamb-filled pocket of pita bread, Cassidy took a bite. Slivers of meat and fragrant, pungent sauce escaped from the open end.

She sighed. He didn't trust her. He harbored some kind of secret about his background and he didn't trust her enough to tell her. Why? Was he an illegal alien? A British spy? A criminal mastermind?

Her hunger vanished. Just her luck to become interested in someone who reeked of deep, dark intrigues.

She pushed her hair back behind her ear. No. She wouldn't get involved with someone who wasn't on the up-and-up. No more lies, deceit, and fairy tales. She'd had enough of that with Bruce. She couldn't put herself in that position again. If Alex Smith wasn't as open as the proverbial book, she wanted nothing to do with him. Nothing.

After she checked her watch, she reached for her sunglasses. "Sorry to cut this short, but I do have to get going. Thanks for--"

He seized her wrist. "Stay." The word hovered somewhere between a request and a command.

She tried to pull her arm back, but he held her tightly.

"Did you know when you're angry, your eyes turn pure gold?"

This time his voice was like a caress, and she sucked in a quick breath.

"Please," he said softly, "finish your lunch." As suddenly as he had snatched her wrist, he released it.

The impression of his strong grip burned red against the white of her wrist. She hid her hand under the tablecloth and rubbed at her skin. Saying "please" was not something Alex did very often. She felt certain of it. Cassidy took a deep breath to calm down, then waited.

Reaching over the table, he smoothed a strand of hair from her face. "Did I hurt you?"

She glanced down at her wrist. The pink marks had already faded.

"No."

"I didn't mean to, Cassidy. I must apologize again." His voice rang sincere.

She believed him so she placed her hands back on the table and allowed him to massage her wrist.

"I can't evade Madame Holmes any longer, so let me make amends." Alex raised her hand to his lips. "As for what I do for a living, I am rather in between positions, enjoying a much-needed holiday. To answer your earlier questions, I have been in New York a week now. And I heard of this restaurant through a friend of a friend. Nothing devious here."

He spread out his hands. "Come, have dinner with me tonight, to celebrate my last day of freedom. Dinner and a play. On Monday, I must rejoin the work force."

"So you have a job lined up here in New York?" Her professional interest was stirred. And her private interest as well. If he had a job here, that meant he wouldn't be returning to England.

She mentally reviewed the current open positions at her company. "Is the job what you want? I work in a personnel office, and I might have--"

He laughed, but she could tell by the hollow sound that there was no joy in it. "Is it what I want? What an original idea! I'm told that I must do my duty, and so I shall. However, I'll do it on my terms." His shoulders slumped, and he waved his hand as if to dismiss his livelihood. "But you haven't given me your answer about dinner. Will you join me?"

Things were moving so fast. She caught her lower lip on the edge of her teeth. What should she say?

As if he could read her mind, he urged, "Say 'yes.' I promise to behave like a gentleman."

The sparkle in his eyes seemed to promise something else. She licked her lip. "All right. On one condition."

"A condition? You American women drive a hard bargain. Tell me your condition."

She had his full attention, which drove her own concentration out the window. "Um, since you're not working, it's that we go Dutch. And after dinner, we can buy half-price tickets for a Broadway show right in Times Square."

He leaned closer, almost nose to nose. His woodsy, masculine aftershave made her head spin. "Beautiful and frugal. You're one in a million, Cassidy. This promises to be a most unusual evening."

Twirling a lock of her hair around his finger, he smiled. "Agreed."

She looked down at her hands. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. She'd never understood that expression before, but good heavens, it certainly fit what she was feeling.

He finished his beer. "I'll pick you up about six o'clock at your apartment. Where do--"

"No. During rush hour it takes me an hour to get home after work. There won't be enough time. I'll meet you at the City Hall Park around six."

After work, she'd buy a change of clothes. Something comparable to his own casual attire.

Work! She'd forgotten about work! Checking her watch, she cringed. Fifteen past one. She gulped hard.

Unlike most of the key personnel at Haydon-Smith's, her supervisor, Frank Lessor, was obsessed with time. Had he been old enough, he probably would've invented the punch clock. If he found her missing from her desk...

Lessor used to be her co-worker. That had been insufferable enough, but now, newly promoted, he seemed to take perverse pleasure in berating her over any little infraction. Darn! She was in for it now.

She grabbed her sunglasses and stood. "I really do have to run, Alex. I was due back at one o'clock."

When he started to rise, she shook her head. "I'll go on by myself. My supervisor is a real creep over lateness. I'll take a taxi back."

Over her shoulder, she called back breathlessly, "Thanks for the lunch. I'll see you at six."

She successfully hailed a cab, then she allowed herself to think about Alex. How strange he seemed when she'd mentioned her lateness, almost as if he never had to worry about mundane things like lunch hours, time constraints, and pleasing upper management.

* * *

Looking on as Cassidy hurried out the restaurant door, Alex ordered another beer. She'd left him. Before he had a chance to say half the things he'd planned, she left him--like a bridegroom at the altar.

When his beer arrived, he took a long swig. Bridegroom, altar...What a grim analogy.

Still, he was experiencing some of the same emotions: surprise, frustration...regret. She'd only been gone minutes, and already he missed her sweet fragrance, her honest eyes, her rose petal cheeks. Lord, he could catalogue her virtues out to infinity. What hold did she have over him? What set her apart from all the other women he'd met?

The scantily clad waitress jingled over to him, then bent down low, low enough to reveal the hollow between two plump breasts. "Do you see anything else you would like, sir?"

Quite a suggestive question, but one that he heard many times. If Cassidy ever uttered those words, she would say them guilelessly, unaware of the sexual undertone. How innocent she was, blushing furiously when he held her hands.

As he thought of Cassidy, he smiled and the waitress smiled in return. She misunderstood. He shook his head. "No thank you, kiría. Just bring me the bill, please."

He ignored the woman's departing pout, and reached into his pocket to remove a wad of American money. A twenty should do it. He peeled off the bill and placed it under his beer mug.

After glancing at his watch, he made his way to the cashier. Two o'clock. Cassidy must be at work by now. How did she fare with her creep of a supervisor?

Creep. Alex laughed. He liked that word, and he more than liked the woman who had said it.

Shoving his hands into his jean pockets, he sighed. He had four hours to kill until he could see her again.

* * *

Just as Cassidy entered the main Personnel Office, her assistant, Erica, grabbed her arm. "Cassidy! Oh, Cassidy. I tried to cover for you but you know how he is."

Erica didn't need to identify who "he" was.

"Gosh. With all the unpaid overtime you put in, it's just not fair for him to go on the warpath." As she twirled the ends of her long, thick, blonde braid, Erica's hand shook. "He's positively frothing at the mouth!"

Cassidy sighed. No matter what she did, Frank Lessor took exception to it. With the other staff, he had a more balanced attitude. With her, he ranted and raged. Too bad he was the one who had to give the nod on her upcoming pay raise. She had no doubt that he would stamp "denied" on the paperwork. Over and over again. And take great pleasure in doing so.

She patted Erica's hand. The dear girl had enough to think about. Being the single parent of a two-year-old boy, she didn't need to waste any energy fretting about Cassidy. "Don't worry about it. Today's no different from any other day with Frank. I presume he's waiting for me in his office?"

Erica gulped, then whispered, "Yes." The poor kid's dark eyes misted with tears. She barely looked old enough to attend high school, let alone work a responsible job and care for a baby.

Cassidy gave her assistant a hug and a smile. "Frank'll calm down. He always does. Remember, I've worked with him a long time. I'll be okay."

After Erica returned to her desk, Cassidy tightened her lips. She needed this job, but a person shouldn't have to put up with harassment like Frank dished out. She'd put up with Bruce's offensive behavior. That had been her first mistake. She wasn't going to put up with Frank's. Not anymore.

She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders as she made her way to his office. She paused outside the door and caught his secretary's sympathetic look. It helped to strengthen Cassidy's resolve.

Frank sat behind a huge mahogany desk, his feet propped on the top of it. Everything was neat and orderly in his office. Every time she entered, she couldn't help but think of the old cliché: 'a place for everything and everything in its place.' A spiral notepad topped with a ball-point pen always rested in the lower right corner of his desk. The mahogany in-box always contained two papers--never more, never less. Compulsive, he probably hated any break in his routine.

"So, Bannon, you've finally decided to return to work." His thick lips stretched into a grotesque smile, almost reaching ear to ear.

She gritted her teeth. "Romanelli, Frank. I dropped my married name seven months ago."

As if he didn't remember. When he wanted to raise her bile, he always called her by Bruce's last name.

"Oh. Right, I forgot. Have a seat, Romanelli. It's time we had a chat about your performance." He smoothed his hand over his close-cropped platinum hair. It was so pale, it was almost invisible. Maybe that was why he constantly touched it. To reassure himself it was really there.

"Have a seat."

It was a command. Choosing a chair with a button-tufted back, she obeyed and found herself looking up at him--which was odd. She and Frank differed in height by only three inches. Had he somehow adjusted the chair to sit nearer to the floor to intimidate others?

How immature! She smiled. And I'm supposed to pretend I don't notice?

"Suppose you enlighten me on your amusement. This flagrant habit of deserting your desk for hours at a time is certainly not a laughing matter."

It didn't pay to argue. What would be the point? "What do you want to talk to me about?"

Her calmness must have caught him off guard. He stood, clasped his hands behind his expensively-tailored, brown-striped suit, then paced his large office. "Why, your lateness, of course. Do you deny--"

"This whole thing about lateness is ridiculous and you know it. Especially considering all the extra hours I put in." She put her hands on the chair and started to rise. "Now, if there's nothing else, I have to get back to work."

He stopped in front of her. "That's precisely it. Work. You have lots of it to do. Have you prepared the best qualified list for the consultant position?"

"It's due on Monday. I--"

"Today, Romanelli. The Board of Directors wants it today."

She stared up at him dry-mouthed.

His smile curved up wickedly. "Yes, if you had been at your desk as you are paid to be, you would've seen the memo."

Today? She sagged in the cushioned chair. "I can't possibly have it done today. I planned on coming in over the weekend."

He leaned over her, much too close for comfort. She hated the smell of his musk cologne. She hated the sight of his Italian leather shoes. Right now, she hated him!

"Here's where I rescued your butt, Romanelli. The Board wants to show Haydon-Smith the list Monday morning. Mr. Big Cheese is scheduled to arrive at nine o'clock. But the Board wants to review the list first. Having it ready today is impossible, of course, so I told them I'd help you, work with you tonight and tomorrow. I promised them the list on Sunday."

Her head pounded. Didn't anything ever go right? Tonight and tomorrow spent in close quarters with Frank Lessor? She shuddered.

Then the pain in her head increased. What about Alex?

Alex!

Crossing her legs, she pulled the skirt of her dress over her knees. "I've other plans for tonight. But I'll come in first thing tomorrow. I'll have it ready by Sunday, promise."

It would be a grueling Saturday, but she'd manage. Somehow she'd get the list done.

The red of heated blood mottled Frank's face. "Other plans?"

Heavens, he was fit to be tied. His voice must have carried four floors in either direction. "The demands of the job come first. Always has, always will. So what the hell other plans do you have?"

She didn't have to explain her off time to him. This wasn't the military.

Clapping the palm of his hand to his forehead, he groaned. "Oh, I see. Forgive me for being obtuse. That new dress. Those bright blue shoes." He had the audacity to finger the material on her sleeve. "Silk. You have a date, don't you, Romanelli?"

She whipped out of the chair and stared him in the eye. "Don't you cross a line here, Frank. You're down one personnel specialist as it is with Dunkirk out sick. I don't think you want to lose me, too." She let that thought sink in.

She narrowed her gaze, then added, "I'll work until five-fifteen. Tomorrow, I'll be back about eight in the morning. I promise I can get that list done by the end of the day. You know I can do it. We've worked under tighter deadlines before." She crossed her fingers behind her back. "And besides, if I fail, you can have my firstborn child, okay?"

The light touch of humor eased the tension a bit and Frank massaged the top of his head. "That really wasn't funny."

Cassidy didn't respond. Finally he sighed. "Okay, agreed."

"Fine." Superhuman energy propelled her out of Frank's office. Her eyes must have blazed gold, pure gold. Damn the man. Just damn him! Her first date in forever, her first excitement, and Frank had to throw a monkey wrench in it.

Fists tightly clenched, she whizzed by the rest of the staff seeing only a blur. Waving a lying thumbs up to Erica, Cassidy gratefully entered her office and closed the door.

But she wasn't alone. Jennie sat at the metal desk, filing her nails. She looked up. "Cassi, I heard. Everyone heard Lessor chewing you out."

Cassidy dropped into the chrome-legged chair, then exhaled. "Great. That makes me feel so much better."

Jennie waved her hand as if chasing away a pesky fly. "Forget about him. He's an asshole. But I do think he has a thing for you."

Cassidy sputtered. "A--A thing?"

"Yeah, you know, the hots. Three months ago, he asked me if you were seeing anyone. And his eyes always seem to turn in your direction."

His icy, pale blue eyes. Cassidy felt nauseous.

Jennie snapped her gum. "He does have a tight butt."

"Please, spare me!" Cassidy swallowed a bit of bile.

"Anyway," Jennie continued quickly, "I'm here to tell you the latest about our new fearless leader, Mr. A. E. Haydon-Smith. He plans to hold a huge staff meeting and give us his philosophy on the communications business. Then he's going to visit every department. And shake each and every employee's hand. Mine included."

She blew on her nails, then rubbed them against her shiny peach blouse. Peach? Peach clashed with bright red hair. Cassidy winced.

Jennie outlined her lips with her tongue. "You may be looking at the next Mrs. Haydon-Smith!"

"Get real," Cassidy retorted. "How many ex-wives have there been?"

Jennie shrugged. "Who cares?" Strutting to the door, she gave Cassidy the once over. "Nice dress. Buy it for anyone special?"

Cassidy shook her head. "No. Have a good weekend."

A low "I will" drifted through the now-closed glass door.

The quiet hum of the air conditioner served as a balm for her shattered nerves. Sitting behind her desk, she moaned softly. The best qualified list was due Sunday. She had to go to work tomorrow. And according to Jennie, Frank Lessor had the hots for her. If that were true, he certainly had a bizarre way of showing it.

And on Monday, the head honcho of Haydon-Smith Communications was going to enlighten the staff on his personal philosophy of business.

Bully for him. He'll probably bore everyone to tears.

Cassidy twisted her lips. She could do without meeting Mr. A. E. Haydon-Smith. But she couldn't wait to see Alex again.

Chapter Three

At five-fifteen, Cassidy walked into the ladies' restroom, brushed back her hair and applied another coat of bronze lipstick. She smacked her lips to distribute the color. Almost everyone had gone for the day. By five o'clock on Fridays, the entire staff of Haydon-Smith's usually emptied onto the Manhattan streets. By five-twenty, she would join them.

In the mirror, her eyes reflected back a rich brown, only a faint sprinkling of gold marred their deep color. She sprayed a tiny spritz of perfume, then rubbed her wrists together. The sweet fragrance of lilacs filled the lounge area.

She smiled. At six, she would meet Alex and have a night out on the town. It had been so long since she'd cut loose--so long since she had fun.

Twirling around on the beige and green tiled floor, she watched the silk skirt of her dress airily float on the breeze. The adventure of going out with a guy she just met certainly agreed with her. Maybe she should do this more often.

She'd stop at the little boutique down the block and pick up some casual clothes to wear. Casual clothes to match super casual Alex. A mental image of her bearded, rogue sea captain popped into her mind. Or maybe he reminded her more of a pirate. In any case, what would his beard feel like when she kissed him?

Kiss him? Would she kiss him? She grinned. The answer to that was a resounding "Yes!"

She clicked her handbag closed, then left the restroom to enter the empty corridor. About to press the "Down" elevator button, she heard her name.

"Romanelli, Romanelli! I'm glad I caught you." Frank Lessor hustled down the hallway waving a piece of paper.

She glanced at her watch. "What is it, Frank?" Her voice sounded less than welcoming.

After he reached her, he wiped his forehead with his hand, not stopping until he had covered the curve of his head.

How would touching his hair feel? She shivered. Bristly.

He held the paper in front of her nose. "Got bad news for you. The Board insists on having the list of applicants for the consultant position by tomorrow afternoon. They demand it." His pale blue eyes pierced her. "Not my doing. We have no choice. You must work late tonight."

Cassidy scanned the memo. It was signed by the bigwigs--right at the bottom--in black and white. Damn! She returned his stare. Had he been responsible for upping the deadline on this job?

He fingered the collar of his white linen shirt. "Sorry to spoil your plans, but this is a priority, and--"

"Just stop, please."

She couldn't trust herself to say any more. Of all the days Haydon-Smith had to pick for his visit, he had to pick this Monday. Obviously the higher ups were running around without a clue. Panic city. The atmosphere was bound to get awfully thick around here next week with insincere praises, brown nosing, and self-inflated egos.

Her lower lip trembled. All she wanted to do was go out with Alex. Was that too much to ask?

"Romanelli?" Frank regarded her with raised blonde eyebrows. He almost looked human.

She twisted her lips. "All right. Consider it done." She really didn't have a choice. Walking fast, she turned and pointed at him. "But at five forty-five, I have to leave to cancel my plans in person. Should be back in a half an hour."

"Couldn't you just phone your, er, date?"

Opening her office door, she waited until he entered, then slammed it shut. The glass door rattled. "No. I'll leave at five forty-five. Is that okay with you?" After handing him a stack of applications and a qualification sheet, she sat at her desk and ignored him.

He dropped a twenty dollar bill next to her hand. "Fine. Pick us up a pizza then, for dinner. I like pepperoni."

As she put away the money, she caught his gaze. She could swear his eyes were gleaming with triumph.

* * *

Approaching the park bench where Alex stood waiting, Cassidy slowed her pace. He had his back to her, so she took a moment to consider what she'd say. Would he understand that she had no choice but to stay late at work? These days, a good job was hard to come by. He should know that. He'd been unemployed.

She took a deep breath and walked toward him, admiring the broad expanse of shoulders. How strange that she should so look forward to his company when she'd known him for such a brief while.

She touched his arm. "Hi."

He swung around, giving her a heart-wrenching smile. Her knees actually wobbled!

"This is for you, Cassidy." He held out a single, perfect pink rose. "It reminds me of your cheeks." He brushed a soft kiss against her cheekbone.

For a second, she froze. Bruce had never given her flowers. It was such a treat. "Th--Thank you." She took the flower and smelled its sweet fragrance. "You shouldn't have."

"And why not? I have been patiently waiting to see you again." His smile crinkled the skin around his eyes. "Or, more truthfully, impatiently waiting!"

He took her hand and gestured toward the bench. "Let's sit and make our plans."

At his touch, she flinched, as if Cupid lanced her heart with an arrow right there and then. Alex Smith was too good to be true. What woman could resist such tender sentiments?

She sat down, but she'd have to disappoint him--disappoint him and herself.

Taking a deep breath, she blurted out, "I'm afraid something's come up at work. I have to cancel out for tonight, but--"

"Why?" He folded his arms across his chest. His blue eyes turned stormy, and his voice cooled.

A rash of goose bumps rose on her arms. She leaned away from him. "The Board of Directors at my company wants a special project completed by tomorrow afternoon. I just found out about it--I have to work late to finish it. I--I don't have a choice."

He drummed his fingers against the bench plank. The wood almost sounded hollow.

The silence was unsettling. What was he thinking? Unflattering thoughts? "Look, I want to go with you, Alex. Believe me, I really do."

"Then why don't you?"

She tapped her foot against the concrete sidewalk. "Because I don't want to get fired. Call me crazy, but I like having a roof over my head and food to eat."

He was being unreasonable, but what did she expect? Most men became unreasonable when their desires were thwarted. If she had any sense, she'd just forget the whole thing. She should just get up and leave. But she couldn't. The part of her that still believed in fairy tales--the part of her that still needed fairy tales--wanted so desperately for this man to truly be different.

Her anger extinguished, she quickly suggested, "How about tomorrow night instead?"

He stroked his beard. "This is the first time anyone has chosen work over me, Cassidy. I don't think I care for the experience."

He said that haltingly, as if it really was the first time. How strange. "Well, it's about time you joined the rest of us then, Alex. Long overdue, I'd say."

Raising his eyebrow, he added, "No one's ever run out on me at a restaurant."

To take the sting out of her words, she reached over and touched his arm. His hard sinuous muscles rippled under his shirt. "I didn't intend to cancel our plans, or to run out on you. Surely you understand that I've got to put work first."

"A challenge." He ran his finger down the length of her cheek. "I clearly see the task set before me. Work before pleasure. Duty before desire. If you only knew how foolish that sounds. It has been exactly that--work and duty--that I've been escaping this past week. Unfortunately, I can't escape forever."

He cupped her chin in his large hands, his roughened fingers caressing her cheek. "Work and duty are not for you, my dear Cassidy. I vow to change your priorities. I intend to become number one on your list."

She stared at him. He couldn't be serious. They'd just met. They'd--

He captured her lips in a sudden kiss, crushing her against his chest. A tiny part of her mind protested, urging her to pull away. But the rest of her ignored her own warning, ignored the fact that they were sitting on a very public park bench. What happened to the rest of the world didn't matter now. Her universe had been reduced to a heated embrace on a graffiti-carved bench.

She curved her arms around him to reduce the universe even further, then ran her fingers through his thick hair. His beard tickled and teased her skin. She'd never realized a beard could be so erotic.

A ragged sigh escaped him. Parting her lips with his tongue, he explored the inside of her mouth. Her heart drummed a primitive, crescendo-building beat. She tingled in pulsating waves all the way down to her toes. She'd never felt these sweeping, mind-numbing sensations with Bruce. All her reservations were swept aside by this handsome, demanding stranger.

He slid his hands down her arms, then released her. She blinked, then blinked again. A surge of dizziness overtook her. Gripping the wooden plank on which she sat, she stared at him until she could, once more, call her body her own. For a few seconds, she had been lost.

An impatient driver's blaring horn called her back to reality. Embarrassed at her wanton behavior, she glanced around the park. Thank goodness nobody appeared to have noticed this very public display of passion. Or maybe New Yorkers were too well schooled to let the unusual disturb them.

"There, I've given you something to think about, haven't I?" He sat back, looking pleased.

But, if she wasn't mistaken, she spotted an intentness in his gaze. And heard a slight breathlessness to his words. He wasn't so unaffected by what had just passed between them.

Stroking the soft rose petals with her fingertips, she murmured, "I have to go now."

But she remained on the bench.

"Tell me, Cassidy, what are you afraid of?"

Afraid? That was rich. Right now she was afraid of making a fool of herself over a man she just met. A man she knew almost nothing about. A man who could manipulate her innermost emotions with an urgent kiss or a darting tongue.

She studied her hands, wanting to catch her breath before answering him. "I do have to go. What about tomorrow night?"

He sighed. "Ah, Cassidy, my freedom ends tonight. Duty calls me tomorrow...and Sunday. Engagements I cannot break. All for a worthy cause." He sighed again.

Lifting his eyebrow, he appeared rakish. "Unless, of course, I could come to your place after my, er, chores, are done. About two A.M.? What do you say?"

"I say no, of course." What kind of chores ran until two in the morning? But even if she asked, she knew he wouldn't tell her. "Why do you want to come over? Are you tired of sleeping on your sister's couch?"

He leaned closer. "Actually, I wasn't thinking about sleeping, exactly."

She flushed. She couldn't think with him so near. Inhaling, she tried to calm her over-stimulated body. As noisy as the rush hour traffic was, all she could hear was the beating of her heart. And the ticking of the second hand on her wristwatch.

Time. The minutes were ticking away. Frank Lessor was probably rolling in a slow boil by now, waiting for her.

She recalled his look of triumph. Let him wait.

"No, that's not a good idea, Alex." The last thing she needed was to jump into bed with someone she'd just met. But Alex wasn't just anyone. And that scared her.

Standing, she straightened her dress. Then she fidgeted with the neckline. She needed something to concentrate on. "I guess that's that, then."

He also stood. "I deserved that. I was beyond clumsy. Consider me rebuked." He ran his hand over his hair. "Please. Could we at least try? Give me your phone number and I'll ring you." Taking her hand, he slowly massaged her skin. "I don't even know your last name--although, to be perfectly honest, I might want to change it to 'Smith.'"

After he said that, he looked as surprised as she felt. Maybe he hadn't planned to come out with that outrageous statement.

She pulled her hand away and glared at him. "No, thank you! No marriages for me." She didn't take him seriously. He was all talk, anyway. Nobody ever got married after only a two day acquaintance.

But did she want him to call her?

Her heart and mind warred with each other. For once, she listened to the voice of reason. "Sorry. I have an unlisted number. And I want to keep it that way."

She turned to go. Even the word "marriage" was unsettling.

He grabbed her arm. Through the thin silk material, she felt the warmth of his hand. "How will I find you? When will I see you again?"

Tilting her head, she waited. If he wanted to see her again, let him think of a way.

As if he understood her intent, he nodded. "All right. Another date. Here in this park. On Monday at six o'clock. Agreed?"

She brushed her hair back, then smiled. "Agreed."

He shook her hand to seal the arrangement, then kissed the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist.

She gasped. The sensation of his warm lips traveled down her arm, into her inner core.

His slow grin teased her. "Until Monday."

On unsteady legs, she left him, hurrying back to the relative safety of her office and Frank Lessor.

* * *

Again, Alex watched Cassidy's retreating form. This was getting to be a habit. Sitting back on the park bench, he exhaled, letting his disappointment out with a swish of air. Maybe he should follow her and get her to change her mind?

He stood and spotted a flash of bright blue from her dress. Then she was gone. He sank back down. No, she wouldn't appreciate him pursuing her. He'd already made two mistakes in the past ten minutes. He didn't need to add a third.

How could he have suggested going over to her place at two in the morning? That was crass. Of course she turned him down. She wasn't the kind of woman who settled for a liaison conducted during the darkest hours of the night. She deserved more.

But he couldn't help himself, the words had just come out. Just as his inane comment "change her name to Smith," had darted out.

Leaning forward, he rested his elbows against his knees. Where had that sentiment come from? Fortunately, she hadn't taken him seriously. That could've been a close call.

He frowned. She certainly was adamant against marriage. What did she have against the wedded state?

A bristly-faced old man shuffled up to the bench. His baggy pants were tightly belted around his emaciated waist, and his skeletal arms hung down from extra wide shirt sleeves.

Alex immediately dug his hand into his pocket. This poor soul probably hadn't eaten for days.

"Keep yer money, son. That's not why I come over." The old man's hacking wheeze contained the heavy aroma of whisky.

Alex bit back his smile. "No? Then to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

The old codger's wheeze turned into a hoarse laugh. He then wiped a tear from his red-rimmed eyes. "A foreigner, ain't you? You look like you could use a few bills yerself. Well, son, I come to give you a piece of advice." He pointed a bony finger at Alex. "I saw you and that young filly going at it a short while ago. She's a looker, she is."

Alex let his gaze wander up Broadway to the last spot where he'd seen her. "Yes, she is."

Turning to face the old man again, Alex saw the glint of humor in the rheumy eyes. The man smiled, "She's a rare one, too. My advice to you, sonny, is to not let that one get away!"

Standing, Alex reached into his pocket, then opened the old man's shaking hand and gave him some bills. "Here, old man. That's good advice you just gave me. I always pay for good advice."

The man looked at the wad of money and his toothless mouth gaped wide.

Alex headed out of the park, then called over his shoulder to the man. "Make sure you have a nice, hot meal tonight. And don't worry, I do intend to follow your advice."