Maggie Still Believed In One Man, One Love, One Marriage For A Lifetime. Letter to Reader Title Page About the Author Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Copyright

Maggie Still Believed In One Man, One Love, One Marriage For A Lifetime.

Part of that dream involved a glorious marriage proposal in which her husband-to-be declared his undying love and devotion.

Never once had she imagined “You’re going to have to marry me.”

Well, so much for romance, she thought, relegating her dreams to a shadowed corner of her heart Fantasy had no place in the reality of the moment, the reality of her situation.

But the truth was, she wanted to marry J.D.

Dear Reader,

I know you’ve all been anxiously awaiting the next book from Mary Lynn Baxter—so wait no more. Here it is, the MAN OF THE MONTH Tight Fittin’ Jeans. Mary Lym’s books are known for their sexy heroes and sizzling sensuality...and this sure has both! Read and enjoy.

Every little girl dreams of marrying a handsome prince, but most women get to kiss a lot of toads before they find him. Read how three handsome princes find their very own princesses in Leanne Banks’s delightful new miniseries HOW TO CATCH A PRINCESS. The fun begins this month with The Five-Minute Bride.

The other books this month are all so wonderful...you won’t want to miss airy of them! If you like humor, don’t miss Maureen Child’s Have Bride, Need Groom. For blazing drama, there’s Sara Orwig’s A Baby for Mommy. Susan Crosby’s Wedding Fever provides a touch of dashing suspense. And Judith McWilliams’s Practice Husband is warmly emotional.

There is something for everyone here at Desire! I hope you enjoy each and every one of these love stories.

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

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U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

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Wedding Fever

Susan Crosby

www.millsandboon.co.uk

SUSAN CROSBY is fascinated by the special and complex communication of courtship, and so she burrows in her office to dream up warm, strong heroes and good-hearted, self-reliant heroines to satisfy her own love of happy endings.

She and her husband have two grown sons and live in the Central Valley of California. She spent a mere seven and a half years getting through college and finally earned a B.A. in English a few years ago. She has worked as a synchronized swimming instructor, a personnel interviewer at a toy factory and a trucking company manager. Involved for many years behind the scenes in a local community theater, she has made only one stage appearance—as the rear end of a camell Variety, she says, makes for more interesting novels. Readers are welcome to write to her at P.O. Box 1836, Lodi, CA 95241.

To Elana, Linda, Robin and Sharon—my friends and critique partners. Without you, the fairy tale would have stopped at “Once upon a time...”

One

J.D. Duran was late. Not by a few “Oh, that’s all right” minutes, but by forty-five “How nice of you to join us” minutes. He pressed a hand to his jacket pocket, assuring himself the package was there. The package that shouldn’t have been necessary. The package that had made him late.

On the surface, the contents of the gold-foil-wrapped box served as a gift for a beautiful woman celebrating her thirtieth birthday. The true purpose, however, went deeper—it could very well save her life, a fact he couldn’t share with her.

He left the chill of the San Francisco winter evening behind as he opened a door and entered another world, one of quiet elegance, wealth and status. For a year and a half he’d worked there with few problems, all of them easily managed. Until now.

Pausing at his maître d’s podium, J.D. ran a finger down the list of reservations for the night, hoping—No. There he was. Brendan Hastings, the man who lived in a dark, secret world the birthday girl was too innocent to imagine.

J.D. unclenched his fists, touched his pocket again, then headed to the kitchen, mentally inventing excuses for his tardiness. He paused outside the door and listened to the quiet within. Either his normally rowdy co-workers had been struck silent or he was later than he’d realized.

All the excuses he came up with fled his mind the moment he pushed open the door, but he didn’t enter. He gripped the door, not letting it close as he saw that the servers’ station in the front part of the kitchen was empty—except for her. She faced a stainless-steel barrier that divided the workstation from the cooking area, where the chefs worked in preparation for the dinner crowd, their white hats barely visible above the divider. He traced her rigid spine with his gaze, noted the anger, or irritation, or whatever she was feeling, in the stiffness of her movements. Her shiny coal black hair brushed tensed shoulders as she shuffled items on the worktable. He didn’t have to see her bright blue eyes to picture them flashing with emotions, emotions not likely to be either lukewarm or well hidden.

Her voice penetrated the subdued clatter of pots and pans. She was muttering to herself, something about skewering a certain inconsiderate, thinks-he’s-God’s-gift-to-women maitre d’.

He would have smiled if the situation weren’t so serious. Instead, he closed his eyes a moment. It wasn’t fair to her. Hell, it wasn’t fair to him. She could only get in the way, probably would get in the way. And then what? He didn’t need this—either the distraction or the attraction, and she would be suspicious of the changes in him. Then, when the truth came out, she’d hate him for the deception. He wished he had a choice.

Steeling his spine, he stepped into the room.

Maggie Walters pushed her gifts into a pile as she devised a particularly inventive way to punish one of her co-workers—the one who’d been conspicuously absent from her birthday party. Her thirtieth birthday, which everyone knew was important to her. The others had come to work early to celebrate—the dishwasher, her fellow waitresses, the bartender, even the manager. But not the maître d’. Not the man she’d most wanted to be there.

“By the time I’m through with him,” she muttered, “he’ll wish he called in sick.”

“Happy birthday, Magnolia.”

Maggie’s heart danced at the slight inflection that transformed her name into a caress. She drew a steadying breath and turned to face the man she’d moments ago threatened with imaginary injury.

James Diego Duran. Tall, dark and handsome didn’t begin to describe him. Six foot one inches of smewy strength, near-black hair with ends that began to curl a few days after each haircut, intelligent dark brown eyes, a killer smile when he chose to use it, and a body that should come with warning labels: Raw Male Within. Approach At Own Risk.

Oh, Lord, he stood before her, stealing her breath, not knowing he was the one she’d wished for earlier when she’d blown out her candles...then just as fervently wished to skewer.

Maggie’s anger got swallowed by a sigh. She’d give just about anything to be able to unwrap the tempting package of J.D. Duran, the man of mystery More than he appeared, certainly; less than her vivid imagination, probably.

Oh, yes, he was one intriguing parcel—and she stood as much chance of getting him for her burthday as Lois Lane did Superman.

Which was a blessing, really, since he didn’t show any intention of fitting into her long-term plans.

“I’m sorry I missed your party,” he said, walking toward her, his eyes steady, assessing.

“No one took attendance.” She turned away, attempting to force her thoughts from him by contemplating how she’d get her gifts to the locker room.

Maggie felt his gaze on her for several seconds before he swept by her, passing out of sight. Relaxing, she blew her bangs off her forehead. She really needed to stop drooling over the man. After all, they’d worked together for a year and a half, and seven months ago he’d flatly admitted that he wanted to sleep with her—but wasn’t going to.

It could have pulverized a lesser woman’s self-confidence.

The brief flash of ego she allowed herself made her smile.

He returned with an empty cardboard carton and tossed it onto the table in front of her. “Looks like you need something to carry your presents,” he said, taking a beribboned cake knife from her hand and laying it m the box. “This was a gift?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

He frowned, then reached for the first item in the pile, a white vinyl photo album. Someone had written Our Wedding in glitter glue across the cover.

“Ah. I had forgotten their plans. A bridal shower,” he remarked, casting her a sideways glance as he stood the album on end in the box before holding up two plastic champagne flutes.

She touched one with her fingertip. “Note the beautiful engraving.”

Someone had written Maggie on one with a black felt marker and A Prince Among Men on the other. Cocktail straws twined the stems like mutant ribbons. Maggie loved the glasses, as she did all of the silly gifts, even though they represented a not-yet-fulfilled but well-voiced dream.

“Are you sorry now that you broadcasted your deadline of being married by thirty?”

“It was a goal, not a deadline.” She lifted her chin. “Besides, I’ve been a little busy with work and college.”

He set a few more items into the box, then stopped and looked at her. “The traditional ‘something blue,’ I assume,” he said.

She looked away from his intense gaze and saw him pick up a small carton of blue condoms, then shift the item back and forth between his hands. Large hands. With long, tapered fingers... and undisguised strength. Her breasts would fit perfectly in his palms. The feel of his rougher skin against her soft flesh would be—

“Subtle bunch we work with.”

Startled, she nodded, hearing something different in his voice—a warm huskiness that called to her most basic needs.

He squeezed the carton a moment before arcing it into the box. “I have a gift for you, as well.”

“You do?” She frowned at the pleasure he must have heard in her voice. He’d made it clear he didn’t want her to flirt with him, or tease him, or do more than have a working relationship only. Which was why she frequently did tease or flirt with him. She recognized the defensive tactic as self-preservation, even if she didn’t like herself for doing it.

She dared to look at him and caught his mouth tilting one-sidedly as his eyes softened to liquid chocolate. Why was he looking at her hike that? He couldn’t turn sociable overnight, could he? Not that he hadn’t been friendly before, but this was , friendly. Man-to-woman friendly.

“I’d like to give you the gift after work,” he said. “In private. Maybe at your apartment?”

Okay, do I become pathetically grateful or keep him in suspense? She lifted the cardboard box, giving herself something to do. Pride trickled in, mixed with a little caution. She glanced over her shoulder to where the kitchen crew were busy. “Why not now? We’re reasonably alone.”

“Humor me, Magnolia..”

She held her breath as he reached out and brushed her hair back from her face. His fingertips grazed her cheek. He smiled slowly, devastatingly.

She came out of her stupor, stepping back so fast she knocked over a glass of sparkling cider with her elbow. The cool liquid splattered her calf and dripped into her shoe. “All right, honey, what’s goin’ on?” she asked, purposefully drawing on her Louisiana accent and the endearment he hated in order to put more than physical distance between them, a tactic she used whenever she felt backed into a corner.

“Nothing.”

Letting her raised eyebrows show her disbelief, she dropped the box on the counter and kicked off her shoe. He pulled a white handkerchief from his back pocket, crouching as she did.

“I’m capable of cleaning my own foot, thank you.” She snatched the cloth from his hand, afraid to let him touch her again, annoyed that he was so prepared. She didn’t know any men who camed handkerchiefs anymore. “You’re playin’ some kinda game with me. I don’t like it.”

“You didn’t care for the gift I gave you last year. I am trying to improve this year,” he said as they stood in unison.

“Right.”

“I have always been truthful with you, Magnolia.”

That made her hesitate. He had, in fact, been so honest it had hurt sometimes, and in her more generous moments, she admired him for never ducking the truth. She stared at her foot. Lord, she was tired of hiding her feelings for him behind flirtatious antagonism. Just once she’d like for them both to be completely honest.

She dropped the handkerchief into her carton of gifts before hugging the box to her, still wondering why he was acting different.

She looked at him. “All right. After work at my place.”

“You could say that as if you looked forward to it just a little, ” he said, plucking his damp handkerchief from the box and balling it mto his fist.

Maggie pursed her lips, The possibilities for a pleasant evening seemed slim to none at this point Maybe the risk was too great, after all. “Look, Diego, we’ll only fight if we get together later. You know we will.”

“We don’t fight We just don’t agree on much.”

“On anything.”

“I think if we try, we can find some common ground, Magnolia.”

“Somehow I doubt it could include conversation.”

He smiled then, that smile that pierced her lungs and let all the air out.

“This should be fascinating,” she commented as she leaned into the door and left.

J.D. watched the door swing shut, his smile fading. In his mind he heard her call him by his middle name again, drawing it out, emphasizing her exclusive use of it—just as he was the only one to call her Magnolia.

Magnolia. Her mother hadn’t named her well. She was no pale, fragile blossom who wilted easily....

He roused himself to clean the workstation, and greet the chefs, then he left the kitchen to assume his post as maître d’ of the Carola, an exclusive club housed in a converted Victorian mansion in the heart of San Francisco. The forty-year-old private club offered peace and privacy to the famous and the infamous as they socialized in an environment free of paparazzi and curious onlookers.

He glanced into the elegantly furnished dining room. Maggie moved from table to table lighting candles, her crisp white shirt reflecting light and shadows from the flames, her fitted black skirt hinting at graceful feminine curves—a narrow waist and an appealing flare of hips. Her usual thin black tie had been replaced by one that was red and dotted with tiny gold angels. She hummed somewhat on-key with Bing as he dreamed of a white Christmas. Personally, J.D. was grateful there were just a couple of days left to endure the Christmas music filtering through well-placed speakers. All that good cheer. If the members knew what really went on here...

Taking the stairs two at a time, he checked each of the card rooms and billiard rooms on the second floor, as was his routine. A quick detour into the gender-segregated lounges as-sured hum all was in order.

He hurried downstairs to take his position at the podium fifteen feet from the front door. His eyes focused on the name that stood out as though written in blood-red. Brendan Has-tings. How could such a simple name impact so many lives?

After eight years of doing the same job Tuesday through Saturday nights, Maggie functioned by rote—which was a good thing, since her mind wasn’t anywhere near work tonight. Instead she spun imaginative scenarios of possibilities for her meeting with Diego, from the argument that would most likely occur to an improbable moment of passion.

At least indifference wouldn’t be a likelihood. Their relationship tended to cling to the ends of the scale, at either barely controlled irritation or barely controlled desire, never balanced at its midpoint. She’d gotten used to the extremes and even kind of liked it that way.

Except she had a feeling that in just about an hour everything was going to change.

She put on a smile as she focused on her customer, an attractive man m his late forties. “Here you are, Mr. Hastings. Your favorite. Chocolate cheesecake and espresso.”

His companion ate nothing, his job apparently only to take notes, not to do anything as mundane as indulge in dessert. She wondered about the demanding man who kept his employees working this late, something he’d done from the first night he’d come to the Carola the week before.

“Ahh, thank you, Maggie. Did I get the last slice?”

“I saved it just for you. I know it’s the only dessert on the menu that tempts you.”

“Excellent. It’s important to give in to what tempts us, don’t you think?”

“I think dessert’s one of life’s little pleasures.”

“What tempts you?” Brendan asked, his tone of voice provocative.

“I’m mighty partial to peach pie.” Suddenly uncomfortable, she let her drawl thicken, although she left off the “honey” she generally added when speaking with her familiar customers.

She knew she still had to face the signing of the check, which he did with great ceremony, first scrawling his signature across the bill in handwriting as legible as the Richter reading of an earthquake, then tucking a tip into her skirt pocket as he left. Many customers had their quirks about how they paid bills. She hadn’t thought too much of it, at least, not after that first time, when she’d been so startled by his familiarity—and she’d had dishes in each hand. She would have complained except that his hand never lingered, neither did he make suggestive remarks. However...something was different tonight.

First, Diego; now, this man. She wondered if there was a full moon.

“Excuse me,” she said, escaping with a polite smile. “I’ll go tell J.D. your request.”

As she left his table she considered Brendan Hastings and how perfect he appeared. She couldn’t imagine his dark blond hair messed up—ever—as if it might constitute a crime against nature. The rest of him was just as untouchable. Cool gray eyes, strong nose, sharp cheekbones, a solid, muscular body. His clothing was European, from his tailored London suits to his handmade Italian shoes. His diamond pinky ring flashed brilliantly in the candlelight.

All in all, he was an elegant man. Just not her type.

“Stop scowlin’, honey,” Maggie said as she came up beside Diego, provoking him, keeping tension between them. “You’ll freeze your face like that.”

“Another of Mama’s homespun homilies, Magnolia?”

Maggie almost sighed. She loved the look of him in his tuxedo, which emphasized his long, lean lines and superb posture. Just the way he’d angled his head her way without turning his body made every cell in her body play leapfrog for a few seconds.

“Mr. Hastings wants to reserve a card room for tomorrow night,” she said, finally taking care of the business that had sent her Diego’s way.

He inclined his head to Brendan, who she noted was watching them without expression, then Diego turned on his heel, leaving Maggie to frown after him. She’d never seen him react to any guest as he had to Brendan. The nod Diego had given him should have been deferential. It had come across as regal. Of course, Diego had never acted like any other maître d’ she’d worked with.

She moved on to another table. “How was your meal?” she asked Misty Champion as she cleared the dishes.

The president of Misty Nights Lingerie and her current remedy for holding middle age at bay—young, blond and studly—had come in for a late dinner. Her escort was gone, probably sent to call and wait for her chauffeur, part of Misty’s own quirky bill-paying ritual. She never let her escort watch her pay the check.

“Dinner was perfect, as usual. What do you think of Joseph ?”

“Stunning.”

Misty laughed, the smoky sound carrying in the near-empty room so that Brendan turned their direction. He eyed Misty until she lifted her almost-empty wineglass and toasted him before draining it. Maggie glanced away, not watching his reaction, afraid he might decide she cared.

“Stunning and not overly bnght,” Misty said of Joseph as she dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “Unlike the man who has been eyeing you like a Christmas present.” She stood, sweeping a beautifully wrapped package off the seat beside her and setting it on the table. “Happy birthday, hon. I designed this with you in mind. Promise you’ll wear it the second time you sleep with him.”

Him? Maggie hoped she was talking about Diego, but was afraid she meant Brendan. “Um, the second time?”

“The first time will be spontaneous, of course. Fiery.” Her eyes glazed a moment. “The second will be different.”

“Do you have someone in mind for me, Misty?”

“The same man you have in mind, I suspect. I hear he likes red.”

Before Maggie could respond, Diego appeared with Misty’s silver fox coat and helped her into it.

“Thank you, Mr. Duran.”

“You’re welcome, Ms. Champion.”

Maggie reacted to the surprising intimacy in their voices, implying a relationship she’d never before considered. Misty liked men at least twenty years younger than her forty-five years. At thirty-two, Diego missed the mark by seven years. Had they been lovers? She looked from one to the other, observing their subtle smiles, as if each knew a secret.

“May I escort you to the door?” Diego asked Misty.

“In a minute. I need to speak to someone first.”

“Thank you for the birthday present,” Maggie said.

“My pleasure, hon. How’s the design coming?”

“I’ll have the sample ready in a couple of days. It’s very romantic.”

“Romantic. Well, there’s a first time for everything. My buyers will be shocked.” She winked at Maggie as she glided by, then came up beside Brendan and bent to whisper something in his ear.

“Are you working with Misty?” Diego asked Maggie as they waited, glued to the scene like onlookers at an accident.

“Um, I had an idea for a new product for her line—a departure from her usual stuff. What do you suppose she’s saying to him?”

“I’d like to know,” he said. “It’s an interesting combination, don’t you think? She would eat him alive.”

“I don’t know. I think he’s used to getting what he wants.”

He cast her a cool glance. “Has he been bothering you, Magnolia?”

Why. he’s jealous, she realized, his tone of voice saying more than his words. How intriguing. How very intriguing. “These plates are getting heavy.”

J.D. watched her walk away, then he mentally shook his head as Misty strolled back, her hips swaying provocatively, and accepted his escort from the room.

“Thanks again for the other night,” she said, her husky voice full of emotion.

“My pleasure.”

“I’m not too sure about that. But you saved my life. I won’t forget it.”

“Right time, right place,” he said with a shrug. “Quit hanging around those kinds of bars, Misty. Trouble’s the only thing you’re going to find.”

“Which begs the question of why you were there, doesn’t it?” She sighed. “Sometimes I just need to be where no one knows or cares who I am.”

He heard the loneliness in her voice. He, too, lived a lonely life, although for very different reasons. His was a loneliness that meant safety for those he cared about.

“Where’d you go, lover?” Misty asked J.D. as they reached the door of the club.

He smiled at her. “Not far.”

“Are you sure I can’t repay you with a little more than thanks?”

“I make it a rule to avoid personal business with guests.”

She fingered his lapel. “You don’t break rules, I suppose.”

“Not personal ones.”

“An interesting answer.”

“If I had accepted you, you’d be backpedaling your way out of it right now. You and I both know there’s someone more than willing to end your loneliness, Misty.”

“We’ve sung this tune before.” Her blond Adonis opened the door behind her. “Good night, then. Oh, J.D.? I did remember red’s your favorite color.”

He puzzled over her words as the door closed on her rich laugh. Returning to the dining room, he observed Hastings slipping something into Maggie’s skirt pocket.

“Thank you for joining us tonight,” J.D. said as he came up beside them.

Hastings’s irritation at the interruption was hardly noticeable, only a slight twitch of his left eye.

J.D. didn’t question what intrigued the man. Magnolia possessed a lethal combination of beauty, energy and sensuality that she didn’t seem aware of, making her even more attractive. If asked, she’d probably call herself a pretty good flirt. And certainly she possessed a kind of wholesomeness that kept most men at flirtation distance, the place she’d established for guests and members of the Carola, no matter how famous, how powerful or how insistent they were.

She moved in and out of roles as situations warranted, a skill he admired, even though it often meant she played a role with him, as well.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night,” Hastings said.

“Good night, sir,” she said.

“I’ll clear the table while you change,” J.D. said after Hastings left.

She looked at him, surprised. “A lofty malître d’ would sink so low as to clear a table?”

“I thought perhaps you’d be tired. After all, you’re thirty now. Old. Your stamina must be fading.”

Maggie responded to his teasing by crossing her arms and cocking a hip. She looked around, making sure they were alone. “I can finish my work here, jog home and still have enough energy to make love, honey. I’m in my prime.”

She shivered as he ran a finger along her jaw Fog crept into her brain, masking logical thought.

“What did Hastings put in your pocket?” he asked so softly she had to lean toward him to hear the whole sentence.

“Huh?”

“Hastings. Did he give you money?”

The synapses in her brain started transmitting information again.

“Of course he gave me money,” she said as she turned and picked up the dirty dishes. “A tip. You know, this hot-and-cold business of yours is really gettin’ on my nerves.”

“How much of a tip?”

“None of your business.”

He slid a hand into her skirt pocket, shocking her. The cup rattled against the saucer in her right hand; in her left, the fork slid off the dessert plate. The feel of his hand against her hip, however briefly, brought forth all sorts of images that danced before her eyes, then faded into confusion over whether he was establishing a closer relationship with her or preventing her from having one with someone else.

“What are you doing?” She tried to jerk away. He held her in place as he drew the folded currency from her pocket and turned it to look at its value.

“Dios. A hundred dollar bill, Magnolia?”

She stared in amazement. Brendan always left her a generous tip, but this was staggering. She swallowed. “I give good service.”

He unfolded the bill, revealing a white business card with a phone number handwritten on the back. He held it close to her face for her to read, front and back.

She looked from the card to him. “At least he didn’t write, ‘There’s more where this came from.”’

“It is implied.”

“I’m not stupid, honey. I know what it means.”

“Do not call me ‘honey.’ You use your Southernness like a shield, when it is convenient. I am serious here.”

“You think you don’t fall back on your background, as well? Listen to yourself. Do not. lt is. I am. And your machismo gets pretty tiresome, too. You don’t have the right to tell me what to do. But that’s been your choice all this time, not mine, as you well know.” She angled her right hip his way. “Return my property, please.”

Holding her captive with his dark, unblinking gaze, he deliberately tucked the card and money into the breast pocket of her shirt. She held her breath as he stuffed them to the bottom, the backs of his fingers more than lightly grazing her nipple, which pebbled at the first touch of his fingers and ached as he pulled his hand away.

She fought for every ounce of control she could muster. “If you’re done manhandling me...?”

J.D. jammed his hands in his pockets. “I cannot—can ’t help the way I speak. I didn’t learn English until I was an adult.” ‘

“Don’t be idiotic. I love the way you talk.”

The words were tossed over her shoulder as she stormed off, leaving behind a breeze scented with perfume and Magnolia.

He cursed himself with each stride she took. He needed her to appear unattainable in Hastings’s eyes. To do that, J.D. had to have her attention focused on him. He was just looking out for her—

So what was that adolescent move to grab a quick feel? he asked himself. Machismo, as she called it? Wish fulfillment? Long-demed need? All three?

He didn’t change his clothes, instead leaned against the wall and waited her out She finally emerged from the women’s locker room dressed in blue jeans and a sweatshirt proclaiming English Majors Are Novel Lovers. She carried her carton of presents, the still-wrapped box from Misty balanced on top.

“I parked a couple of blocks behind you,” he said. “I’ll meet you at your apartment.”

“You know where I live?” She tipped her head to one side. “How come I’ve known you all this time and I hardly know anything about you?”

“Maybe it’s time to find out.”

“Maybe it is ”

They walked silently to their cars. As she drove off, he started his engine and put the car in gear, then he noticed a dark sedan pull away from the curb a hundred feet ahead. He’d teamed to trust his instincts, so he tailed the sedan that slowed to almost a complete stop when Maggie pulled into the garage below the duplex she rented.

He followed the car until it disappeared into the valet parking area of the expensive hotel where Hastings rented the penthouse.

J.D. stopped at a pay phone and punched in a familiar number. “I’m sorry to wake you, boss,” he said in greeting.

“No problem. What’s up?”

He glanced around as he heard Callahan yawn. “He wants to deal tomorrow night.”

“We’ll cover you.”

“Okay. See you.”

“Wait a second, J.D. Did you give it to her?”

“Not yet.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to bring her in on it? If she’d go out with him—”

Creative Spanish epithets peppered the air within the phone booth.

“Lighten up, pal. I was kidding.”

“Don’t kid with me about Magnolia.”

“You’ll relax after you give it to her.”

“I don’t trust it,” J.D. said.

“Hey, it’s state of the art.”

“Yeah. Experimental state of the art.”

“So, figure out a backup.”

He glanced at his watch. Too much time had passed. “Already got it covered.”

“I figured as much. Relax already.”

“When this is over. Maybe.”

Two

Maggie eyed her mantel clock when it chimed once, a delicate ping that pierced her anticipation. Twelve-thirty. He should have been at her apartment twenty minutes ago.

She leaned forward on the sofa, resting her elbows on her thighs as she stared at the crystal bowl mounded with shimmering Christmas ornaments that sat on her coffee table. She had to face facts. He wasn’t coming.

She wasn’t surprised. Not really. He’d changed his mind. Probably decided it wasn’t worth spending time with someone who goaded him into an argument whenever he got close. They were so different, she knew they’d never have a serious relationship. What they really needed was to sleep together, to satisfy their curiosity, then the source of antagonism that hovered constantly would be wiped out forever.

Not here, though. They should go to his place. Better yet, to a hotel. Some neutral location where memories wouldn’t linger and taunt.

Spoken like a woman of experience, Magnolia Jean. She pushed her hair away from her face, then let it fall again. The sum total of her experience with the opposite sex wouldn’t constitute three pages in her autobiography, if she included her fourth-grade crush on Bobby Don Morgan. But she’d imagined making love with Diego so many times, she had choreographed the experience detail by detail. At least, what she would do to him.

Before he’d come into her life. she’d dated at least, hoping to meet her lifetime partner. But in the past year, she’d hardly gone out at all, finding flaws in every man who invited her, even though the word thirty seemed lit in neon across her forehead each time she looked in her bathroom mirror.

Thirty. Where had the time gone? She couldn’t wait much longer, didn’t have the luxury to deal with the attraction to Diego and still get started on a family before she was any older—as old as her mother had been.

The quiet tapping on her front door sent an avalanche of reaction tumbling over her. Boulders of relief, followed by pebbles of annoyance. She counted to ten, then opened the door. Desire rebuilt the mountain instantly. She resented it as much as she welcomed it.

“I figured you changed your mind.” Maggie feigned a yawn as she turned away, letting him close the door himself.

“I’m sorry. I was detained by a...by a—Did you decorate this, Magnolia?”

She turned around. Diego stood, his hands in his pockets, surveying her living room.

“Every bit of lit.” Was that a look of shock or wonder? She knew her voice held an edge of defensiveness, as if daring him to comment unfavorably. She glanced around the room with its framed counted cross-stitch samplers and groupings of baskets and candles and photographs. Pristine eyelet fabric draped small round tables on which Tiffany lamps glowed, the yellow and blue glass reflecting the dominant colors of the room, even competing with the Christmas free lights as they were.

“It’s a little crowded with all the holiday decorations,” she said as he moved around the room, inspecting without commenting. He picked up a heart-shaped pillow and it struck her how utterly feminine it—everything—was. Frilly, romantic, old-fashioned. Or maybe it was just that he was so very masculine.

“What color do you call this?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“Robin’s egg blue.” She watched him replace the pillow slightly askew, resisted the temptation to march over and straighten it.

“It matches your eyes.”

J.D. tried to align the overall impression of her home with his deep-seated image of her. He’d always thought of her as a contemporary woman, a feminist. Certainly, her sassy mouth was pure nineties. If he’d even once tried to picture the environment she lived in, he would have imagined white and chrome and glass, something modern and sleek, certainly nothing close to this... this Suzy Homemaker vision.

Except, of course, he’d known about the fund she’d been adding to for years, saving for the wedding gown of her dreams. Everyone at the Carola knew about it. But no one knew why the gown or the age-thirty goal was so important, except probably her sister, Jasmine.

“Would you like some wine, Diego? And I’ve got cheese and crackers, as well.” She didn’t wait for his reply but headed toward the kitchen. “Take off your jacket. Get comfortable.”

“Magnolia.”

She turned around, her brows lifted in inquiry.

“Come here, please.”

“Why?”

He chuckled. “You are so suspicious.”

“Well, honey, you’re behavin’ awfully different tonight.”

“Am I?” He ignored her Southern belle routine, and took the necessary steps to bridge the gap. “I’m trying to find a way to communicate with you without arguing.”

From his pocket he pulled out the gold-foil-wrapped box and pressed it into her right hand. She hefted it lightly.

“Hmm. Smaller than last year’s oh-so-personal engraved pen and pencil set.”

“Haven’t you forgiven me for that yet?”

She tossed it once, caught it cleanly. “Heavy for its size, though. Professionally wrapped.”

“You’re worth it.”

“Probably offered free gift wrapping with purchase,” she said, casting him a quick glance before holding the package at eye level and examining it further. “Could be a key chain.”

“Monogrammed,” he offered.

“I’d accept nothing less.” She shook it, holding it close to her ear. “A box within a box.”

“You’re good at this.”

“When I was growing up I guessed all of my Christmas presents before I opened them.”

“You were never surprised?”

She made a sound of disgust. “My mother was predictable.”

He leaned close. “Why don’t you just open it?”

“But then the anticipation ends.” Maggie held her breath as she savored his nearness and warmth, and the scent she’d recognize anywhere.

He dipped his head a little farther. His breath stirred her bangs. “Open it.”

He’d taken off his tie and unfastened the top button of his shirt before he’d arrived. Maggie’s nose was an inch from the open vee of his pleated shirt. Her teenaged niece had once pronounced him a—

“Stud,” she sighed.

“What?”

She stepped back. “Uh, stud. Your stud’s loose.” She tucked the present under her chin and slid a hand behind his shirt to fiddle with the black onyx and gold stud. The backs of her fingers brushed chest hair. The moment froze in time until she felt his hands encircle her wrists and move her back. He pulled the gift from under her chin, placed it wordlessly in her hand.

Maggie swallowed. She peeled off the pretty wrappings and tipped a burgundy velvet container out of a box bearing the discreet emblem of Rappaport Jewelers. The hinge didn’t make even the tiniest creak as she pushed up the velvety lid. Her hand hovered over the contents. “Why, it’s beautiful!”

She sought Diego, confusion swamping her. The gift was personal and expensive—a sparkling chain bearing a heavy gold pendant shaped like a teardrop, perhaps an inch long and half an inch wide at the base.

“May I?” he asked, extending his hand. “Turn around. Tip your head forward.”

She waited what seemed like an hour before he lifted the cham over her head. As he fastened the clasp, his fingertips grazed her neck, enough to make her skin prickle, but not enough to call it seduction. The pendant itself rested at heart level. She turned around to thank him.

“I wish I’d changed into something nicer. Something silk to show it off,” she said, looking down, lifting a hand toward it.

He touched three fingers to the pendant as it nestled at a level just above the front clasp of her bra. His thumb and little finger grazed the inner curve of her breasts. Their gazes connected ; her hand fell away.

Where did he come from, this James Diego Duran, who admitted he desired her, yet resisted her so easily; who avoided touching her for a year and a half, then the first time he did, touched her intimately? Oh, she knew of his background, of his difficult childhood, but that didn’t explain the man, only some of the reasons why he behaved as he did sometimes.

“The necklace is all right?” he asked as he pulled his hand back.

“It’s incredible.”

“You won’t ever take it off?”

“Ever?”

“You won’t shove it in a drawer if you get angry at me?”

“It’d spend more time in my drawer than around my neck.” She smiled at him until he smiled back. “How about some wine now?”

He hesitated. “I should leave.”

They continued to stare at each other.

She inched closer. “Would you like to see what Misty designed for my birthday?”

“Probably not.”

She smiled. “It’s just a little something—”

“I’m sure it is. I’ve seen catalogs of her products.”

“Well, I love it, of course,” she drawled. “But I’d like a man’s opimon.”

Frozen, J.D. watched her stroll across the room and lift up a box lid. She withdrew a teddy fashioned of red satin and lace, and dangled it by the straps as she moseyed back to him.

Dios. He recognized the design of the garment, if not the garment itself. After he’d rescued Misty from those dirtbags the other night, he’d driven her home. She’d asked him what his ideal woman wore to entice him. “Just her skin,” he’d replied. When she hadn’t accepted that as an answer, he’d described the frothy bit of nothing Magnolia was holding in front of her as though she didn’t think he could imagine her clothes stripped away and the red see-through concoction molding her enticing curves.

“Misty’s quite a talented designer, isn’t she?” Maggie asked, stretching the bra cups at the sides until they settled provocatively over her.

“It suits you.”

“Does it? I tend to favor pastel colors in my lingerie. You think red is suitable with my coloring?”

“You think men think about things like that?”

She was quiet a moment, then said, “If you were going to buy this for...a woman, what would make you decide to purchase it?” Her voice had dropped an octave; her eyes took on a sleepy, sexy look.

He fingered the lace at the bodice. “I would wonder if it’s low enough to expose her breasts almost all the way, so there’s a danger of them spilling out if she breathes deep. I’d want her nipples visible through the lace. I’d wonder how easily it comes off. I’d want it not to be fragile, so that I don’t have to be too careful or too controlled when I take it off her.” He slid his hand down the fabric, down her, to toy with the snaps at the crotch. “I would want the fabric thin enough to feel how wet she gets when I touch her.”

“You want a lot,” she said, her voice catching breathlessly on her imagination.

“Oh, yes.”

“I could go slip this on...”

He held her gaze a few seconds, then he bent slowly toward her and brushed a fleeting kiss against her cheek.

Waves of sensation rolled through her. She forgot to breathe. When she did take in air again, he was gone, along with the unexpected pleasure he’d brought that suddenly burst like a birthday balloon when the door clicked shut, leaving her alone and bewildered.

Needing to analyze what had just happened, she paced her living room, walking off excess energy. She wasn’t completely sure of his intentions after tonight, but he seemed to be wanting a deeper relationship. When the phone rang a few minutes later, she snatched up the receiver and said hello.

“I forgot to say good-night.”

Diego. She dropped onto the sofa and tucked her legs under her. “Are you home already?”

“I’m in my car. I’ll be home in about ten minutes.”

“I’m already in bed,” she said languidly, as if stretching out on satin sheets. “Naked, except for your necklace.”

She smiled at the long pause on the other end.

“Are you?” he asked finally.

“No. But I thought you might like to imagine it.”

He didn’t answer.

“Why the sudden interest, Diego?”

“I have always been interested in you, Magnolia.”

She closed her eyes, enjoying the way his slight accent turned her name into an endearment that sent ripples of pleasure down her spine. She loved the remnants of his half-Mexican heritage. He, on the other hand, tried very hard to leave it behind.

“I apologize for what happened,” he said into the silence. “I shouldn’t have...teased like that.”

“There’s something between us, Diego. It’s getting harder and harder to ignore.”

“I know.”

“We need to deal with it sometime.”

“We work together. We have to be careful of how we deal with it.”

“I’m not asking for marriage,” she said, not wanting to examine her words further. “I’m looking to end the tension.”

When he didn’t respond, she said good-night and hung up, letting him off the hook.

J.D. pushed the button to disconnect the call. He closed his eyes a moment as he waited for the traffic light to turn green. Naked, except for his necklace. Dios. After he locked in the image, he smiled. She was paying him back for the way he’d teased her. That’s why he hadn’t ever given her the slightest encouragement. She was too smart, too quick. Too addictive. Too much woman.

They had their differences. She planned everything; he liked just to react. She organized her life to the minute; he’d rather be spontaneous. She was an open book; he was locked tight as a diary.

He wished for both their sakes that he could have kept the distance that he’d established and held all this time, but he couldn’t. No matter how much she would hate him afterward.

He glanced at the dashboard clock. Making sure he wasn’t followed, he drove across the Golden Gate Bridge, then maneuvered the twists and turns of Highway 101 and Sausalito until he pulled into the driveway of a small house guarded by an abundance of winter-hardy foliage. A light burned from his father’s office. Relieved, he let out a breath. His father was the only person in the world he could talk to about Magnolia and his job. He pictured him, relaxed in his high-backed leather chair, listening, advising, encouraging, so different from his mother, the mother he had seen only once in the past fourteen years. “Jimmy,” he’d say, followed by words of wisdom. He wished for the thousandth time he’d known his father during his childhood.

But that was history.

Her Christmas presents were wrapped. Her new winter coat needed only to have the buttons sewn on. She had time to spend on the magazine article for which she had a January 13 deadline. She booted her computer and opened the file for her final article in a series of fifteen she’d been contracted to write for A Woman’s Life on organizing busy lives. “Creating storage space where there is none,” she read at the top of the screen. “An organized home reduces stress—”

Maggie stopped typing as she cocked an ear toward her front door. Someone had knocked. She hurried into the living room. “Who is it?”

“Delivery for Miss Walters.”

She opened the door an inch. A young woman stood there, holding an elegant arrangement of long-stemmed white roses in a crystal vase.

“Oh, how beautiful,” she exclaimed, pushing the door open and reaching for them. Diego’s intentions really were serious.

She shut the door and set the vase in the center of her dining room table, inhaling the sweet rose fragrance as she reached for the tiny white envelope.

Smiling, she pulled out the card. I will make thee beds of roses. BH.

BH? Brendan, not Diego? And he was quoting Christopher Marlowe, Maggie realized, horrified—“The Passionate Shepherd to His Love,” until now, one of her favorite poems. She couldn’t remember telling him she was an English major, but maybe she had. Or was he just trying to impress her with his knowledge?

How had he found out where she lived? Certainly no one at the Carola would have divulged it. Had he followed her home? Repulsed by the thought, she rubbed the chill from her arms as she walked to her front window and looked out No limousine, no stranger leaning against the lamppost across the street, nothing out of the ordinary.

The phone rang, startling her.

“Good morning., Maggie.”

Brendan. “Who is this?”

A soft chuckle preceded his words. “I was disappointed that you didn’t call me. Did you get my flowers?”

She continued to play dumb. “Mr. Hastings?” Silence. She sighed inwardly. There was no way she would win any battle of wits with this man. “They’re lovely, but I must ask you not to send me anything ever again. I can’t accept gifts from you.”

“You deserve lovely things.”

“I don’t lack for anything. I like my life just as it is. I have plenty for my needs.”

“‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks.’”

The man quotes Shakespeare—accurately, no less. “I’m being honest with you. I don’t want you to call me or send me gifts.”

“I do so like the chase, Miss Walters.”

“I’m not teasing you, sir. And I’m involved with someone ”

He laughed. “Sir? Am I that much older than you? I just wanted you to know I’ll be out of town through the holidays. I’ll call you when I get back.”

“Didn’t you reserve a card room for tonight?”

“Cancel it for me, will you? Oh, and Maggie? I happen to know there’s no one special in your life right now.”

She stared at the receiver long after it went dead. Hanging it up quietly, she thought about how much he knew about her. She eyed her front door, double-checking that it was locked.

If Maggie had any doubt that Diego’s interest was tied to Brendan’s, that doubt was erased during the next week. Now that Brendan was gone, Diego once again wore calmness and control like his elegant tuxedo. She was not only irritated, but discouraged. And suspicious again of the reason for his sudden focus on her. She’d thought their relationship had taken a positive turn on her birthday, but he hadn’t even accepted her invitation to share Christmas with her.

Still, she wore the necklace. And she didn’t miss the fact he always checked that she did, even though he never commented on it.

She wondered what he’d do if he knew Brendan was sending her gifts.

The packages that arrived almost daily didn’t tempt her, but she was curious about the cards and always opened them. The first one read, A gown made of the finest wool. BH. Still quoting Marlowe. That was followed a couple of days later by Fair lined slippers for the cold BH. And then, A belt of straw and ivy buds, with coral clasps and amber studs. BH.

Because she knew the poem so well, she knew where he was headed with his gifts. The payoff came on New Year’s Eve late in the afternoon, when a small box was delivered to which a card had been attached—Come live with me, and be my love. BH.

She shook the box, speculating on the contents. The others had been so easy. This one could be anything. Jewelry, maybe. Brendan would definitely go the ostentatious route, advertising how much in material goods he could offer her. Or perhaps it was a house key. Solid gold, of course, and diamond studded. She was smiling at the thought when the phone rang and she said hello.

“Magnolia.”

“Well, well. James Diego Duran.” She dropped onto the sofa. “To what do I owe the honor of a communication from you?”

A slight pause. “Did I interrupt something?”

“Nope.”

“Have you been sampling New Year’s champagne early?”

She grinned. “Nope. High on life.”

“Why?”

“I was just sitting here pondering absurdities.”

“Such as?”

“Ohhh, such as... roses in winter. Solid gold, diamond-studded house keys. People who can quote Shakespeare accurately.”

“These things are absurd to you?”

“You don’t find solid gold, diamond-studded house keys absurd?”

“I suppose so. Are you in possession of one?”

“Not yet.” She smiled at the’ceiling as she contemplated his silence. He wanted to ask. Oh, how he wanted to ask. But she’d bet her life’s savings he wouldn’t.

“I called for a reason, Magnolia.”

“Of course you called for a reason, honey. You never do anything without a reason.” And I’d really like to know why you teased me the other night and have ignored me ever since.

His pause was short but meaningful. Was he counting to ten?

“I wanted to know if you would celebrate New Year’s with me tonight,” he said.

Out of character. Definitely out of character. What was going on? She swooped up the phone base and carried it with her as she paced her living room. “Well, thank you so much, honey, for believin’ I would be free on New Year’s Eve.”

“Are you busy?”

“As a matter of fact, I am. My date will be here momentarily and I still have to get dressed.” She glanced at the clock. Her nephew, Matthew, was due to stop by on his way home from a friend’s house nearby, and Maggie would drive them both to her sister’s house. She could have canceled with Jasmine and her family for the night, of course, but she wouldn’t give Diego the satisfaction, not after ignoring her all week. “I can’t believe you waited until now to ask.”

“I hadn’t expected to be free,” he said.

“Your date backed out, huh?”

“That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry if I offended you. Who are you going out with?”

“Someone tall, blond and handsome who asked me very early to make sure I’d be free. So, next time, make me more than an afterthought, will you, honey? Bye.”

“Magnolia?”

“What?”

“I can quote Shakespeare, if it means so much to you.”

“This I’ve gotta hear.”

“‘A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!”’

A short, surprised laugh burst from her as she heard the line go dead. With any luck, he’d see through her ploy and call her back. And maybe she would go out with him, after all.

She set down the telephone, then hurried into her bedroom to dress. Ten minutes later, a knock sounded on her door.

“Coming,” she called, teetering on one black satin high heel as she jammed on the other one. She scooped up three-inch-long rhinestone earrings and fastened them on as she moved from her bedroom into the living room. She stopped at the front door, settled her clingy black dress down so that the hem was its normal five inches above her knees, then turned the knob, expecting to greet her nephew.

Two defensive linemen loomed in her doorway. The larger of the two, the one minus a neck, thrust a bouquet of white roses straight at her and let go, forcing her to catch it.

“There’s a card,” he mumbled, his granite jaw barely moving.

Maggie eyed the flowers, then the men. From Brendan, of course. To appease Tweedledee and Tweedledum, who stood with their feet apart and legs locked to support their bulk, she plucked the envelope from inside the cellophane wrapping, then set the bouquet aside and opened the card—An unforgettable evening awaits you—as do I, eagerly. BH.

With her hand on the door, ready to shut it, she said, “Please inform Mr. Hastings that I have other plans.”

Tweedledee and Tweedledum exchanged glances Dee cleared his throat. “We can’t leave without you.”

Something trickled down her spine. “You most certainly may. I have other plans.”

Before she could close the door, Dum slammed his arm against it She heard wood splinter a second before they barged into her apartment, pulling her along as they went, somehow shutting the door behind them. Everything happened in one fluid movement, giving her no opportunity to grab the phone or run into another room. Each man held one of her arms.

“Let go of me now!”

Dum made an inarticulate sound toward Dee. Simultaneously they released her. Dee, obviously the only one capable of actual speech, mumbled, “We aren’t asking.”

“So, what are you gonna do? Kidnap me?”

“No one will hurt you,” Dee said. Dum croaked agreement. “But you must come. Mr. Hastings insists.”

Maggie glared at the two men. “Mr. Hastings insists, does he? All nght”

She scrawled a quick note to tack on the front door for her nephew, scooped up a full shopping bag, then preceded Dee and Dum out the door. She’d see Brendan Hastings, all right, but on her terms.

“By all means, gentlemen. Let’s not keep your boss waiting.”

Three

J.D. scanned the block, trying to find a parking place, anticipating Magnolia’s shock when she opened the door and found him there instead of her “tall, blond and handsome” nephew. But would the shock result in her being irritated or pleased? Her unpredictability always kept him off guard—it was one of the things he enjoyed most about his relationship with her.

When Jasmine had called a couple of weeks ago to invite him to join them for New Year’s Eve, he’d turned her down, not wanting to encourage Magnolia by being there. Then this morning he’d gotten word that Hastings was back in town, and J.D. had reinvited himself to the party.

He almost rear-ended the limousine double-parked Dios, double-parked in front of Magnolia’s apartment. He watched in horrified fascination as she came down the stairs, a bulky man on each side of her. Tall, blond and handsome was Hastings, not Matthew?

She didn’t look his way but got into the limo calmly. She was going willingly? What the hell?

He muttered every curse he knew, English and Spanish. Blindly, he reached under his car seat and pulled out a custom computer the size of a cigar box. He flipped a switch, punched a few keys; a comforting beep greeted him. While stopped at a red light, he glanced at the digital numbers in the amber-lit screen.

Dios. She wasn’t wearing the necklace.

He reached for his cell phone, searched his memory for a number and dialed, wishing he had the luxury of using a pay phone, where his call couldn’t be easily intercepted and overheard.

“Yes?”

The soft, smoky voice wrapped him with a measure of relief.

“Do you know who this is?” he asked, keeping the limo in sight.

A tiny hesitation followed, then, “Why sure, lover. What can I do for you?”

“I need a favor.”

The limousine turned into an underground parking garage, and Maggie was hustled into an elevator accessed only by a special key. She wondered if one would be needed to leave, as well.

Dum pushed the button marked P. In only a few seconds, the doors opened agam and they faced a huge living room with an opulent view of San Francisco Bay. Brendan, dressed in a crisply pressed tuxedo, stood near the plate-glass window, a phone to his ear.

“Deal with it,” he said, then turned and saw her. His voice changed from authoritative to mild as he smiled at her. “Quick and painless, though. It was a minor infraction, after all.” His smile widened as he hung up the phope and walked toward her.

“Miss Walters. How very nice of you to join me.”

“Stuff it, Mr. Hastings. ‘Nice’ has nothing to do with it. I was kidnapped.”

Maggie watched Brendan fire a look of shocked inquiry to the two men who loomed behind her, blocking any attempt at escape. Then his mouth curved in a solicitous smile.

“I’m afraid my employees lack the finesse you’re accustomed to, Miss Walters, but they mean no harm,” he said, extending a hand in greeting.

She ignored the gesture. “They forced me to come here when I told them I had other plans. They gave me no choice. None. That’s kidnapping.”

Brendan cocked his head toward Dee and Dum, signaling they should depart. “You had other plans?” he repeated, taking her elbow and guidmg her into the room with the glorious view. The silkiness of his voice didn’t hide the intensity of the question.

“In fact, Mr. Hastings, I’d just turned down someone else’s request for a date because of those plans. Just who do you think you are?”

“A man who’s more than a little interested in you. May I fix you a drink? Some wine, perhaps?” He moved behind the bar.

Maggie took several calming breaths, knowing she had to be rational and reasonable.

Not waiting for her answer, he handed her a full glass. “Tell me about your plans. Were they with your sister, Jasmine?” Anticipating her next question, he said, “I made it my business to learn about you.” He looked at her over the rim of his glass as he sipped his wine. “Try it, please. It’s a delightful California zinfandel I just discovered.”

She tasted the drink and murmured something complimentary.

He smiled. “Shall we sit?”

“I’ll stand, thank you.”

“As you wish.” He stood an unintimidating two feet away and swirled the ruby rich liquid in his glass. “How was your Christmas?”

She set the bag she still carried at his feet. “I’m returning all your gifts. As I told you, I’m involved with someone.”

“Not according to what I’ve heard.”

“We’ve been discreet.”

“Why? Is he married?”

“Of course not.”

He smiled slightly. “My dear Miss Walters. You’re not being honest with me.”

“I’m not playing games.”

“Ah, but you are.”

She flinched as he touched her hair.

“You made it clear that you like the chase. So do I. But we’re ready for the next step.”

“I’m on my period.” There. Factual and off-putting. She lifted her chin.

His eyes danced as he inched closer. “I’m not so crude as to expect you to fall into bed with me. Alas, the next step I was suggesting was a night on the town. Dinner, dancing, a kiss to welcome the new year.”

“And if I say no?”

“You wouldn’t leave me to celebrate the new year alone, would you?”

“Mr. Hastings, I have other plans. Regardless, I have no interest.”

His smile disintegrated. He plucked her still-full wineglass from her and returned to the bar, where he plunked down both glasses. “Then I must regretfully insist. I had hoped to do this properly, Miss Walters. I had hoped to share a lovely evening. But if you insist on casting me as the bully, I assure you, I can fill that role.”

His tone of voice filled in every blank—he would get what he wanted, when he wanted it.

Icy calculation lingered in his eyes, a darkness distinctly at odds with his civilized demeanor. A shiver raced through her, distributing tentacles of fear and anger. She was in way over her head. She could either go along with him or fight him. Some choice.

“I don’t care for orders,” she said, the barest hint of concession in her voice.

He relaxed fractionally. “And I am accustomed to giving them, and having them obeyed without question. I apologize for treating you like staff instead of the beautiful woman I desire.”

“If I don’t call my sister, she’ll have the entire San Francisco Police Department out tookmg for me. She raised me. She’s very protective.”

“And very pregnant. I’ll get a message to her. Now, shall we go?”

The amount of information he had on her astounded her. “Where?”

He cupped her elbow and guided her toward the elevator. Dee and Dum appeared from nowhere. “The top floor of the Empress Hotel. I believe it’s a setting worthy of showing off the lovely jewel that you are.”

A public place meant safety. What could he do? Okay. She could manage this, manage him. Now she only had to figure out a way to avoid the midnight kiss he wanted. She’d start by ordering every item on the menu with garlic in it

Maggie looked out a floor-to-ceiling window at the twinkling lights of San Francisco. The elegant restaurant where Brendan had brought her took up the entire twentieth floor of the Empress HoteL The room was filled with revelers waiting to celebrate the new year.

“Maggie?”

Reluctantly, she faced Brendan, who was losing patience with her lack of interest. He leaned toward her.

“You would have permanent use of the penthouse, unlimited credit—whatever your heart desires.”

As he listed the perks of the job he was offering, Maggie glanced around the restaurant, wondering what the servers made in tips. She made more than a decent income at the Carola, thanks to great tips, but the food here was even more expensive.

“I don’t usually make an offer so freely,” he continued, “but I know it would be good between us. Phenomenal, in fact.”

Meaning you usually sample the wares first. Was she supposed to feel flattered because he didn’t ask for a “test drive”?

She looked at the Caesar salad she hadn’t yet taken a bite of, rolled a few croutons over some romaine leaves, then set her fork aside. She had to come up with some kind of answer. Something to placate him, yet not commit her to anything. She lifted her wineglass, stalling, mentally forming a sentence, then noticed patrons around them turning in their chairs, watching a woman glide through the restaurant, greeting people, her beaded, ankle-length, cardinal red gown capturing and holding everyone’s gazes. She stopped at Brendan and Maggie’s table.

“Why, hon, what a surprise to see you here!”

Maggie smiled as Misty Champion touched her shoulder, and she relaxed for the first time that evening. “Misty, hi.”

“Brendan, happy new year.”

He stood to shake Misty’s hand. They exchanged pleasantries for a minute as Maggie wondered why he hadn’t invited Misty tonight instead. She seemed much more suited to him.

“I’m headed to the little girls’ room,” Misty said to Maggie. “Keep me company?”

Maggie grabbed her purse and tossed her napkin on the table as she shot out of the seat, not giving Brendan a second to stop her. She linked her arm through Misty’s and hustled her away. The bathroom door had barely closed behind them when Maggie grabbed her.

“I have a big favor to ask.”

“Shoot.”

“Could you help me get out of here? It’s a long story, too long to explain right now, and Brendan isn’t going to be happy, but I’m willing to risk sneaking out, even though I’m concerned about what he’ll do.”

“And well you should be, hon. In the river of life, he’s a crocodile and you’re a tadpole.” She picked up a book of Empress Hotel matches from the vanity counter, then pulled a cellular phone from her purse, and dialed. She oozed charm. “Hi, there, Jacques. This is Misty Champion....”

Maggie listened as Misty made the necessary arrangements to get her out of the sky-high restaurant, then Misty folded the phone and slid it back into her purse.

“Okay, it’s all set, hon. Jacques will be right outside the door.”

“Thanks, Misty. I owe you.”

“Just tell me you’ve learned a lesson—don’t bite off more man than you can chew.”

“I didn’t bite this one.” She eyed the rest-room door. “I felt as close to helpless as I ever want to feel in my life. I was doing the best I could to handle him. But he’s...a force unto his own. I’m afraid this is just the beginning of my problems with him. He’s going to be furious that I dumped him.”

“I’m afraid you’re right, hon. Trust me, this is not a man you want to be involved with.”

Maggie frowned. “Then I can’t leave you with him. I got myself into this mess. I’ll get myself out.”

She patted Maggie’s arm. “In another life, I dealt with men like him. I know what to do.”

“No, I—”

“Just follow me out.”

Maggie expected to see either Brendan., Tweedledee or Tweedledum looming outside the door. She saw only the maitre d’, Jacques, who whisked her through the kitchen. He indicated a door.

“You will find a service elevator on the other side,” he said precisely.

“Thank you.”

He nodded and retreated. Maggie pushed open the door and stepped through.

“Well, Alice, have you had enough adventures in wonder land?”

She whirled around. “Diego! How did you—What are you doing here?”

He strode toward her. “That’s some dress you’re almost wearing.”

“Don’t start,” she warned, relief warring with anger at herself. “I’m not in the mood.”

She marched to the elevator and punched the down button. Several times she looked over her shoulder. She jabbed the down button twice more. “Come on. Come on.”

“Where’s your coat?” Diego asked, coming up beside her.

“In the coat check, at the restaurant.” She fired a glance his way. “This can’t be a coincidence, your being here. Were you following me?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

Maggie shivered, not only from the cold but from residual fear After a moment she felt his suit jacket being draped around her, warm and scented with the essence of him. “Thank you,” she said tightly, embarrassed that he’d seen her vulnerable. And inordinately glad that he was there.

J.D. cupped her shoulders a moment, indulging himself. They shared a silent ride down the elevator and an equally silent walk to his car, leaving each other to their thoughts. He observed her ngid posture, felt the stiffness of his own muscles.

Damn it, he’d known she’d get in the way. More than that, she’d almost blown it for him, almost ruined the relationship he was building with Hastings by forcing J.D. to confront him. Worse yet, she’d almost gotten herself into a position he couldn’t have extricated her from so easily. Thank God for Misty, who’d been able to keep him out of any public scene with Hastings.

Still silent, J.D. and Maggie navigated the hills of the city until they reached her apartment. They climbed the stairs in unison. He took the key from her and opened the door. She flicked on the living room light as she passed him.

“Dios. ” He ran his hand down the long crack in her front door. “What happened here?”

She tugged his jacket closer. “One of Brendan’s henchmen wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

He inspected the splintered wood, giving himself time to calm. He should have been there. He’d known Hastings was back. He knew the man wouldn’t give up—his track record verified that.

J.D. shoved the door to close it.

He should have known she’d need him.

“I don’t believe Hastings would have harmed you,” he told her. Not yet, he thought, aware that Hastings liked to present a civilized facade for the world. J.D. leashed his temper, knowing anger would counter his purposes. “Control you, yes. But not harm.”

“Oh? And controlling someone isn’t harmful?”

“It isn’t life threatening.” He cupped her elbow and moved her to the couch. They sat several feet apart.

“I guess it depends on who’s being controlled. And I wasn’t in fear for my life, just my right to choose who I date. He’s creepy.”

“Creepy. Could you be more specific?”

“Just creepy. I don’t know how to define it. It’s a feeling, that’s all. Why were you there, anyway?”

“I was invited to your sister’s party. I was going to surprise you, pick up you and Matthew and take you there. When I arrived, I saw you getting into the limo. That didn’t make sense to me so I followed.”

“Was Misty there because of you?”

“She fit the scene. I didn’t.”

“He made me feel dirty,” she said, burrowing farther into his suit jacket, then scowling. “I’d just finished making that new winter coat, too. The jerk. He’d better give it back to me.” She stood. “I need to wash off my makeup and get out of this dress. You won’t leave, will you?”

“No. Take time to have a shower if that would make you feel better.”

When J.D. heard water running, he stood and wandered around the room, more than a little surprised at the disorder he found. A large wooden hoop held what appeared to be a block of quilting; a sewing machine and cabinet took up a substantial amount of space in one corner; a dressmaker’s form was layered with a diaphanous white silky nightgown draped over a mold reminiscent of Magnolia’s shapely body. He traced the lines with his eyes, appreciating the perfection of proportion he’d always been drawn to. His willpower had been stretched to the limit these many months of working beside her, watching her move with unintentional—and sometimes completely intentional—seductiveness. She’d flirted relentlessly with him, feeling safe perhaps, or maybe just testing him. He’d rarely reacted openly. It was all he could offer her—self-control, protection and respect.

He had a job to do, and the job came first. Unfortunately, she had become part of his job.

He forced his gaze from the dress form, shifting instead to the opposite corner where a desk held a computer and printer. Stacks of papers were piled neatly beside it. He resisted the temptation to thumb through them.

After a few minutes, the bedroom door opened. She was bundled in a fluffy pink bathrobe over a long, flannel night-gown dotted with tiny flowers. Her hair hung straight and wet to her shoulders. Her cosmetic-free face glowed from the scrubbing she’d given it. He wished he had the right to hold her.

“I’m sorry for the clutter,” she said, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “I’m redecorating the second bedroom, so everything’s out here until I’m done.”

“It’s a nice home, Magnolia. I don’t think I told you that last time. Very warm and inviting.”

“I like it ” She sat on the sofa and rested her feet on the coffee table.

“I didn’t know you sewed.”

“My second love. Major in English, minor in fashion. Yes, I know. It’s an odd combination. But I have plans for both.”

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