Danya…

Safe, big, strong, masculine…sensual, hot, hungry…fierce lover, taking, giving…tender friend, sharing…

Flipside: Brooding, arrogant, traditional, a family man if ever there was one. Worse, he cooked and cleaned and washed her clothing and seemed content that she had no housekeeping skills whatsoever.

The whole tall, muscular, good-looking package was irritating, unsuitable for the lifestyle that she had wanted.

I love you, he’d said.

Just maybe she’d been on the rebound and had gotten blindsided by Danya.

Who was he, anyway?

But she knew. Danya was a part of her now, a man who had shared her body, making love, not having sex with her. Now that was scary. Lovemaking was more than sex and now, no thanks to Danya, she knew the difference.

It would probably haunt her forever.

Dear Reader,

Welcome to another scintillating month of passionate reads. Silhouette Desire has a fabulous lineup of books, beginning with Society-Page Seduction by Maureen Child, the newest title in DYNASTIES: THE ASHTONS. You’ll love the surprises this dynamic family has in store for you…and each other. And welcome back New York Times bestselling author Joan Hohl, who returns to Desire with the long-awaited A Man Apart, the story of Mitch Grainger—a man we guarantee won’t be alone for long!

The wonderful Dixie Browning concludes her DIVAS WHO DISH series with the highly provocative Her Fifth Husband? (Don’t you want to know what happened to grooms one through four?) Cait London is back with another title in her HEARTBREAKERS series, with Total Package. The wonderful Anna DePalo gives us an alpha male to die for, in Under the Tycoon’s Protection. And finally, we’re proud to introduce author Juliet Burns as she makes her publishing debut with High-Stakes Passion.

Here’s hoping you enjoy all that Silhouette Desire has to offer you…this month and all the months to come!

Best,

Melissa Jeglinski

Senior Editor

Silhouette Desire

Total Package
Cait London

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CAIT LONDON

is an avid reader and an artist who plays with computers and maintains her Web site, www.caitlondon.com. Her books reflect her many interests, including herbs, driving cross-country and photography. A national bestselling and award-winning author of category romance and romantic suspense, Cait has also written historical romances under another pseudonym. Three is her lucky number; she has three daughters, and her life events have been in threes. Cait says, “One of the best perks about this hard work is the thrilling reader response.”

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

One

The midnight moon hung over the Pacific Ocean’s black swells like a sly curse waiting to fall. Thickening clouds slid across that silvery surface, foretelling rain.

Below the cliff on which Danya Stepanov stood, the waves caressed the smooth silvery strip of sandy beach. Alone and brooding, Danya stared at the small cluster of lights that signified Amoteh, the town in southwest Washington State.

In the distance, jutting out into the darkness was the Amoteh Resort, managed by Danya’s cousin, Mikhail. The lush resort, one of a worldwide chain, offered tourists rest and businesses convention facilities. It also supplied many of the residents in town with an income from their crafts. Within the huge resort was a display room for Stepanov Furniture; the pieces were crafted by Danya’s uncle Fadey, his cousin, Jarek, and others.

Winds swept up from the shoreline below the cliff, tearing at Danya’s hair. Carrying the fresh bite of salt and the earthy fragrances of mid-June, the mist stirred around his body.

He turned to the ancient rocky grave, no more than a weathered mound behind him and walked to it.

The wind stirred the grass at his work boots, as if the Hawaiian chieftain who had died there recognized another lonely male. Danya understood the Hawaiian chieftain’s curse upon the land, a dying man damning his fate. Kamakani had been captured by whalers over a century and a half ago, and he’d been stranded on a land that wasn’t his, missing a woman who belonged to him.

Danya knew what it was to miss part of his heart and soul, his love, a wife who had died too young.

Familiar with brooding and loneliness at midnight, Danya looked around him. Strawberry Hill, a peninsula jutting out into the Pacific Ocean, was windswept and accessed by a rocky path. During high tide the waterway passage from the peninsula to the small town of Amoteh was dangerous. The huge deadly stone rising out of the crashing waves had already caused many boaters’ deaths. At low tide, Strawberry Hill could be reached by a long walk along the shoreline and a hike up that rocky path.

Danya found what he wanted—a small stand of wind-whipped trees, nothing like the soaring straight pines of his native Wyoming mountains—but it held the scent and feel of home.

An experienced woodsman, Danya moved into the shadows of the trees to brood.

Nine years ago, a drunken driver had taken the life of Danya’s young wife. Danya had been driving—how could he have avoided the crash, those headlights crossing the road?

Danya had lived that nightmare many times—what could he have done?

He inhaled the salty air and felt his heart twist, as if part of it had been wrenched away. His brother, Alexi, had also been a rancher, starting a new life in Amoteh. Now, over a year later, he was married and a father. Would it actually help Danya’s empty heart to relocate with his father, Viktor?

Last year, Danya had desperately needed the change from his father’s Wyoming ranch, where everything reminded him of his wife. Jeannie would have liked Amoteh, a Chinook name for the wild strawberries growing in the southwest Washington State coastal area. She would have liked the tourist pier, the sailboats skimming along the horizon, and digging in the sand for razor back clams.

She would have loved raising children amid their Stepanov cousins.

He inhaled unevenly and wondered if she was there with him, swirling around in the mist, waiting….

Danya turned his thoughts to what he did have—a family surrounding him, children to hold, a growing building and remodeling business with his brother—

The sound of a stick breaking caused him to tense—someone walked through the grass. The steady sounds said that one person had purpose, tramping to a familiar destination without the use of a flashlight.

He smiled grimly; there were others walking in the night, shielding their loneliness from those who cared and worried about them.

A high loud howl broke the night—a frustrated sound too high for a man, but still a howl. Danya eased aside in the shadows, watching the small shadow cross in front of him. It tossed a bulky object to the ground in front of Kamakani’s grave.

The person turned and lifted arms high—and a woman removed her top, bending to shimmy out of her loose pants.

A woman with hair too short to be caught by the wind stood, her legs braced apart, a small curvy silhouette, but definitely a woman. Outlined by the moon peeking through the clouds, she seemed almost mystical, a goddess coming to court the night.

Then she raised her hands high and yelled angrily, “Dammit, what’s wrong with me? Look at me, will you, Chief? I’ve got everything any other woman has—maybe less in some places, but the basic equipment is there. So why did Ben marry some little fluff-cake and not me? Fluffy hasn’t got a brain in her head. So why did he pick her over me?”

A string of unladylike curses sailed through the night air, and Danya had the uneasy suspicion that the lady just might intend something drastic—like stepping off that cliff onto the jagged rocks below.

“Look. Basic thirty-year-old female equipment. Correction: prime equipment. We had sex. Sure, Ben never took that long, but then we didn’t have much time between jobs and that suited me. Look. Breasts. They have nipples and everything.”

The woman flung away a scrap of something, that just could have been a bra. She shimmied and tugged at her hips, and her foot kicked away another scrap. “Okay, Chief. You’re a man—or you were. What’s wrong with me?”

Absolutely nothing was wrong with her. The woman’s silhouette was all curves. Danya’s throat dried and something he thought had died started stirring. She was right: all the basic equipment was there. The impact shot right down his body and lodged into a hard tight knot.

“Okay, so I don’t do the helpless little Fluffy-no-brains act. That’s all fake anyway. Really, Chief. Tell me. Send some sign or something.”

Danya should leave her to grieve over her lost lover.

But she just might step over that cliff and that would be a shame.

Then, he thought as he weighed his options, there was the little matter of his own curiosity.

Danya moved silently through the shadows and circled down the rocky path leading to the grave site. When he’d gotten a distance down Strawberry Hill, he called loudly to the night, “I’ll be fine. Go on back down without me.”

Satisfied that would warn the woman of his coming, he began a slow upward walk to where he expected she would be rapidly dressing. From the corner of his eye, he noted a sleeping bag spread on the ground. His foot tangled in something and he reached down to collect a stretchy garment; it was a woman’s sports bra, which he’d seen other women wearing as they worked out. The rumpled white cotton briefs were still warm and fragrant from her body. That light floral scent of a female caused him to tense, suddenly aware that it had been a long, long time since he’d made love. He crushed the fabric possessively in his fist and forced himself to toss it carelessly to the sleeping bag. “Huh. Leftovers from a romantic night I guess,” he said loudly.

Danya walked slowly past the woman hidden by the night; rustling sounds said she still wasn’t finished dressing, and giving her more time, he walked to the edge of the cliff.

He could hear her breathing, and sensed her waiting behind him. Then she cleared her throat. “Um, mister. You’re not thinking of jumping, are you? Please don’t do that. I’ve had a really miserable day and you’d only make it worse.”

Sidney Blakely only wanted to escape the coy, perfumed, primping, light-brained mass of calendar models at the Amoteh Resort.

She did not want to witness a suicide, a cliff jumper determined to end his miserable life.

On the other hand, as a professional photographer, she could get a good shot of—Sidney discarded that thought. For once, she didn’t have a camera and she really didn’t want to see someone splattered all over the rocks below. If he fell onto the sand, that might be different, but still—

She paused just a heartbeat—the man looked really big, maybe six foot three or so, and powerful. If she came too close, he could easily take her five-foot-five-inch, 110-pound body right over the cliff with him.

She might be Ben’s sexual leftover, but she wasn’t ready to die.

Sidney hurried to finish pulling on her camouflage pants and tugged her sweatshirt down to her hips. Her boots were discarded and she had no time to put them on before she stopped the jumper. The rocks bruised her feet as she tried to both hurry and avoid pain. “Ooh, ouch…ooh…ouch. Hey, mister. Don’t do anything rash. Let’s talk this—ouch—out.”

Sidney came closer to stand a little behind the man—just out of reaching distance.

As a freelance photographer, she’d seen men, stunned by war, want to take their own lives. She’d seen them walk deliberately into enemy fire. She’d seen whole native villages taken out by floods and volcanoes; she’d captured the devastation of the western U.S. fires, flown above the scorching deserts, crossed desolate Arctic stretches to photograph reindeer herds. Well published in various magazines, she was an on-the-spot prime and well-paid photographer and she recognized people who were on the very edge of life, ready to throw it away.

This man was brooding, maybe contemplating death—she had to stay calm, work him down, make him see that life wasn’t all that bad…even though hers was in the toilet now that Ben had married Fluffy.

She eased into position a few feet to the side of the “jumper,” and studied him. The wind caught his hair, the salty mist swirling around him. Early thirties maybe, shaggy wavy hair, a rugged hard face and a jaw covered with stubble, from there on down, he was all power and broad shoulders and long lean legs in jeans that topped his work boots. The hand raised to push back his hair was big and wide and strong—he was a man who worked with his hands and those broad shoulders said he was probably a laborer, Sidney decided.

“I come up here to be alone,” he whispered in a deep gravely voice.

Sidney moved closer. She had to think of something to keep him from jumping. “Yeah? Want to tell me why?”

He turned to her and those deep-set eyes, only slivers of silver in the night, pinned her. Oh, no, Sidney thought wildly, the guy could be a serial killer waiting here every night for his victim, and she’d walked right into—

A strand of his hair drifted across his cheekbone, softening the hard edge. His voice came deep and wrapped in a Western drawl that seemed to hold humor: “Sometimes, life is just the pits.”

Sidney decided that serial killers probably weren’t the humorous kind of guys and reverted back to her “jumper” theory. “How well I know—er, ah…Now, it isn’t always the pits. Look at the bright side, guy. Why don’t we talk about this?”

“What’s ‘this’?”

“You know, how good life is. We’ll swap stories and you’ll feel better. All we need is a beer and some talk and you’ll see that life isn’t that bad.”

“You brought beer up here?”

He sounded interested in that, but then maybe he was an alcoholic, and already pretty well on his way—but then he smelled like fresh air, newly cut lumber, that wonderful just showered soap-and-male smell. “No beer. Just a buddy to listen to you in the night. We’ll swap stories. You’ll see that my life is no joy ride and you’ll feel better.”

“I doubt if you can top what I’m going through.”

“Oh, no, I can. Wait until I tell you about it—step back from the edge there and I’ll tell you about my miserable excuse for a life. If you think you’ve got problems, you should try my life.”

A human touch, that’s what the man needed at his lowest hour, to know that someone cared about him. Sidney eased closer. “Now don’t do anything rash, just take my hand.”

His frown directed toward her was suspicious. “Why should I? What do you mean, rash?”

He wasn’t playing his role well—she was supposed to be rescuing him and instead he was asking questions. “Because I said so, dammit. I mean that a step or two more and you could go over the edge.”

He stared at her blankly for a moment and shook his head. “You think that I might—Uh…I see.” In the darkness he smiled slightly, as if enjoying a new thought. “Okay,” he agreed meekly.

He looked down at her extended hand, then slowly his large rough one closed over it. Calluses, Sidney thought, a workman who probably has pride in something—she just had to find out what made his life worth living and open the good things up for him.

Sidney inched back from the cliff and he followed her just those few feet. She breathed a little easier. Still. He could take a running jump at any time, and maybe take her with him. She could read the newspaper headlines now—or rather the memos and back copy that only a few people might read—Sidney Blakely, Freelance Photographer Dies in Lovers’ Leap. Send donations to—yada, yada. Bulldog, her father, would curse her for stupid female brain and her sisters, Stretch and Junior, would be left to fend for themselves. Fluffy would cry prettily and Ben would yawn and turn over. He did that well, yawn and turn over when he finished sex—Well, sex with Fluffy now.

The problem was, this guy wasn’t her lover. The headlines and memos would be wrong—typical bad reporting; the facts would be skewed.

“Guy, I’m going over there and sit down on my sleeping bag—” If the jumper was sitting, he couldn’t jump, could he? “And you’re welcome to sit a while. Or maybe we could walk down together. Maybe go for a beer somewhere?”

The man’s palm fitted against hers, his fingers linked with hers. Oh—Sidney cursed mentally—he was going to take her over with him. She stepped up the pace, and tugged him along to the sleeping bag. “Sit, dammit.”

“Are you always so sweet? That sounds like an order.” There was a slight, but unusual accent in his voice. She couldn’t place it—a cross between a Western drawl and something foreign.

“Bulldog—my dad was in the Marines. He raised my sisters and me according to regulations. Take it from there. And sit.”

When the tall man folded himself down onto her sleeping bag, Sidney took a deep breath. Shoot, she knew a few self-defense moves and just where to hit a man where he was most vulnerable. She’d been in basic training and maneuvers since she was old enough to toddle. Besides, he was staring off toward that cliff. It was probably calling him—jumpers sometimes said they got called to their deaths.

Sidney settled down on the sleeping bag, folded her legs lotus-fashion, and tried to come up with something to quell his suicide urges, something tender that he’d reflect upon and change his mind. She came up with “You don’t have a parachute. It would be messy at the bottom. You’re big. Think of the cleanup,” she said.

He’d drawn up one knee, closed his arms around it. “Mmm. I don’t think I want to jump just yet. Maybe I wasn’t going to anyway. So what’s the story of your life?”

Get personal, make an attachment, that’s what Bulldog had said about men who were weary of life. “Oh you had the look all right. I’ve seen it in combat zones—sad, alone, as if nothing else mattered…So, what’s your name?”

“So, what’s your story?”

She took a deep breath. “You’re being difficult. One of those. The name is Sid Blakely.”

“Sid,” he repeated softly, almost like a caress, with just that lilt of accent. She stuck out her hand and he considered it before taking it, enfolding it with his large one. “Danya.”

“Sounds foreign.” Now she recognized that slight inflection. He was still shaking her hand, slowly, as though he were studying the fit of it within his own. Just maybe he was wondering if he could drag her to the edge, and—

“Russian. My father and uncles immigrated, and I was born here.” He was looking at her hand in his, studying it. “You have good hands. Working hands. Small.”

Sidney withdrew her hand, but the feel of his remained—warm, rough, big. She fought the little unexplained shiver that shot through her. “Ah. See there. You have family. They probably worry about you. Think of them.”

“Okay, I will. What’s your story?”

“First, I want your promise that you won’t jump off that cliff after I tell you. Promise, and that’s a direct order.”

“Yes, sir.”

She thought she heard humor in that tone, and then dismissed it. “That’s better—Danya. You have a last name?”

“Stepanov.”

“As in the Stepanov family who lives here? Mikhail, who manages the Amoteh Resort, and Stepanov as in Stepanov Furniture? But then you have a family here. I’ve heard about them, and they’re hard to miss. You’re not alone.”

“I have just moved here last fall with my father, so that he can retire and relax near his brother—that is Fadey Stepanov, the owner of the furniture line. I’ve gone into business with my brother, Alexi. We’re builders and remodelers.” His smile was slow and thoughtful, as if he loved the ones who would go on living without him…. “Tell me your story. Maybe I can help you? Ships passing in the night and all that?”

She shook her head. “Keep the roles straight. I’m the one saving you, got it? You just go along and everything will be fine. You’ve got to realize that you’re not alone, that’s the first thing.”

“But you are here with me—so I am not alone, is that not so? Are you always this bossy?”

Sidney frowned as she ran through her day in hell. “Like I said, it’s been a rough day. I’m shooting a calendar, not my usual gig. I’m not into commercial portraits, but I wanted out of what I usually do—you know, to try something different. The pay is good, the work stinks—especially the off-hours when the models want to chum it up with me. We’re staying at the Amoteh Resort, doing some beach shots, and at night, they want to play pajama party. They want to include me. I’m hiding out now. There’s nothing worse than a bunch of women moaning over their boyfriends, talking lipstick and hair, and waxing their legs. You have no idea how bad that hurts. To shut them up, I let them do it…almost killed me. It doesn’t stop at the legs, you know—they have to worry about their bikini lines. Now, that really hurts.”

“Ouch.”

Sidney nodded; Danya seemed to understand about bikini pain. She could tell by his slight grimace. Communication was progressing; soon he would forget about jumping. She decided to find out the reason for his crossing-out-life-tonight gambit. Touching was always good, according to Bulldog, so Sidney reached out and patted Danya’s jeaned thigh. It was hard and muscles tightened beneath her hand; Danya was in really good shape. He sucked in a breath and his hand had locked over hers, his thumb caressing her palm. It was probably because he needed human touch; Sidney allowed her hand to be held captive. “So, buddy, what’s your story? I’m a good listener—at least, my boyfriend used to tell me that.”

The mention of Ben took her backtracking to his choice of Fluffy, the blond bimbo, and Sidney was unfolding her whole miserable tale before she knew it. “His name was Ben. We’d been on a few photo shoots together, in some pretty tight places. I’d watch his back, he’d watch mine, that sort of thing. We camped together, went through land mines together, stood on the cusp of a lava river together, shooting away. It was great. He’s a photojournalist. You may have seen our stuff in magazines. Though a lot of people really don’t care about the photographer’s credits.”

“And?” He rubbed her hand slowly up and down his thigh, but then, she justified, the guy probably had a muscle ache.

“And sex. We had that—oh, maybe twice a year…when there was time. Nothing like whole hours or anything—you just don’t play around when you’re out there shooting stuff. You get the job done and go on. So, anyway, we had a thing going for oh, six or seven years, and then he meets Fluffy-baby. They got married a month ago. That’s why I don’t want to take any freelance jobs where I might cross paths with Ben. Fluffy-baby hangs all over him. It’s disgusting.”

“I see,” Danya said softly. “So that would hurt you?”

“It would make me mad. Fluffy hadn’t got a thing to offer. Some little sweetie pie who hasn’t been anywhere or done anything, but that isn’t bad—it’s just that we had done all those great, exciting things together and then he up and dumps me for her.”

Sidney lay back on the sleeping bag and her hand was released. As the wind riffled her hair almost playfully, she inhaled the damp scents of night, mingled with the earth and trees. A short distance away, a small animal rustled through the underbrush, and she carefully moved through memories before speaking. “Bulldog never liked Ben. So at least I don’t have to listen to lectures from sweet old Dad anymore.”

Grass brushed her feet and clung to them. She kicked slightly to dislodge the damp blades, and he noted the action. “Did you hurt your feet when you walked over the rocks?”

Danya reached to take her foot and draw it into his hands. He smoothed her arch and insole very slowly. A woman who knew how to take what she could get in a single moment of life, because it could be gone the next, Sidney relaxed slightly. She wanted to give him something back. “Hey, want a candy bar?” she asked as she dug into her pants cargo pocket.

“No, thanks.” He carefully drew off her thick workman’s sock, and continued to slowly, carefully rub her feet.

Sidney unwrapped the chocolate bar and munched on it, contemplating Ben’s defection while having her feet warmed and soothed. “I loved him—Ben, I mean. We shared film and lenses and hardships. A thing like that doesn’t go away easy. Now he’s with her, the six-foot-nothing-but-legs-and-boobs blond bimbo. I don’t know what he sees in her. They are planning to multiply and raise ducks. He’s all excited, Mr. Rabbit, so fast you never know he’s been there before he’s gone. Now, I’ve got a reason to jump off that—er, to eat a lot of these candy bars.”

She plopped her other foot into his hands. “Do that one. Talk. Pick up the pace.”

His hands moved slowly, carefully over her feet; his voice was husky and uneven. His thumbs cruised over her arches. “You’ve got small feet.”

She hoped he wasn’t getting ready to cry. She didn’t know how to handle tears, not even her own. Right now, thinking about Ben and Fluffy, Sidney’s eyes were burning. But a Blakely never cries. Bulldog would be shamed. That was why she carried the candy bars and why she’d put on weight—whenever she started to tear up, she’d grab something chocolate and focus on that. “Yeah. Hard to get the right kind of combat boots for my size, but I’m wearing hiking ones now. So what’s your story?”

“My wife died in a car wreck. I was driving,” he said simply.

Sidney swallowed the bite of chocolate. “You feel guilty.”

“Because I lived and she didn’t. A drunken driver met us head-on and crossed in front of us at the last minute. I didn’t come to for days, and when I did—Jeannie was gone. We were both twenty-three.”

“That’s a heavy load. When did it happen?”

“Nine years ago. I still see those headlights…every night when I close my eyes.” Danya lay down, put his hands behind his head and stared at the night sky.

“Wow. And I thought I had it bad.” The companionable thing to do would be to lie quietly and wait for him to talk, so that’s what Sidney did. She had to lie close because it was a single sleeping bag.

She needed to distract him from his grief and refocus him on something else. “I detest being closeted every day and night with these models. I’ll be glad when this gig is over. They won’t leave me alone. I’m just not into girly talk and she-she.”

“You could stay somewhere else.” He reached for her free hand and eased it beneath his shirt. The poor guy needed human touch, she thought as he rubbed her hand over his muscled stomach, and he felt good to touch, she decided.

“Do you ache—I mean, do you have some physical problem that might cause you to want to end it all? If you do, there are all sorts of counselors for pain—and for grief, by the way. Have you tried that?”

“No to the second part, but yes, now I do ache. Your hand feels good. Do you mind?”

“Not if it helps you. I’ve done massage when needed. I’ve been in lots of make-do situations, and most of the time it’s just people helping people, letting them know that someone cares. But I would sure like to escape those models. That’s why I brought my sleeping bag up here—to get away from them since there’s nowhere else to stay besides my room at Amoteh. Where are you staying? With your family?”

“In my family’s cabin along the beach. It’s quiet, private, except for the wind chimes and the waves. It’s pretty plain, one room, no luxuries like at the Amoteh Resort.”

“Sounds like heaven.”

The mist had turned to a gentle rain and Sidney knew she couldn’t stay all night—a photographer with a bad cold could ruin a shoot. Then she sneezed. “Look, I’ve got to go. Come down off this hill with me? We’ll go someplace for a beer and talk some more.”

“Everything is closed.”

“We could go to my room and raid the refrigerator there, but those models would be on you like flies on sugar. They’re man-hungry and you’re in no emotional shape to fight them off. They’re already half mad at me, so I’d have to let them have you—for the sake of the shoot. Now, you wouldn’t want that, would you? A bunch of sex-starved, booby bimbos chasing you?”

He chuckled softly, deeply in the night. “No, I sure wouldn’t want that.”

At least his humor was there. Maybe she had done some good after all. Sidney sat up and looked for her socks. Danya took her foot and slowly slid one sock on and then the other. Sidney had the strangest sense that she was being tended somehow.

It was a gentle, but uneasy sensation that caused her to jam on her hiking boots and lace them tightly. “You want to talk at your place, or what?” she asked abruptly as she stood. “If not, then I’m going to have to go back into that bimbo hell and try to find a quiet corner where someone isn’t sobbing over some girly movie, or someone isn’t wanting to give me a facial or pluck my eyebrows. The light won’t be good for shooting tomorrow, so they know they can stay up late—hunting me.”

He handed her the sports bra and her cotton briefs. There was nothing intimate about it, only one buddy helping another. She stuffed them into her sleeping bag and Danya stood. He bent down to roll her bag and lift it over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

“I can carry that. Who do you think waits on me?”

“I don’t doubt it a bit. It’s just that you’ve helped me tonight, and I’d like to return the favor…so I wouldn’t be in your debt. You understand.”

Sidney did understand. She never liked to be in anyone’s debt and Bulldog had taught her to be self-sufficient. But if Danya needed that link to keep him off that cliff, she could sacrifice. He carefully led her down the rocky trail from the chieftain’s grave site. Around her smaller one, his hand felt good, strong, and companionable. Maybe he needed that link with her. Maybe she needed it with him. Ships in the night, Sidney reminded herself. At least she wasn’t at the mercy of the models.

Danya held her hand as they walked in the night, down Strawberry Hill and a long walk to the Amoteh Resort’s steps. From there, they moved across a small worn path and down to the shoreline and Amoteh, the town. In the distance behind them, a huge jagged rock jutted up into the night, the waves crashing around it; she recognized the landmark as Deadman’s Rock where boats had been smashed upon the rock and people had died.

She glanced at the man whom she had rescued. He looked big and lethal, hard and soulless, the wind catching his hair. He kept on one side of her, breaking the wind, and handling her sleeping bag as if it were nothing. Sidney hurried to match his long stride, but then she noted that it had shortened, and that he moved with her. She only reached his shoulder, her hand small within his.

The guy was a toucher, needing and giving touches and she could handle that—if it would help him deal with his pain. She’d talk him through the night and in the morning, he’d feel much better.

They passed docking piers, the boats moving in the waves, gently bumping at their moorings, then the long tourist pier filled with shops that were now closed, flags trembling above them.

Then, just as they passed a long margin of driftwood piled on the shore, Sidney decided that maybe Danya really only needed to have sex to make him see that life was worth living.

But not with her. She stopped, jerked her hand away from his, and plopped down on a log. “Wait a minute. Wait a minute—”

Danya loomed above her, the sleeping bag propped over his shoulder. “Problem?”

“I just want to get something straight. No sex. No way. Not with me. You’ve got to promise to think of me as a friend, a buddy, not a woman.” She patted a driftwood log. “Sit.”

“I do not think of you as just a woman,” Danya said slowly, thoughtfully, with that touch of foreign formality.

He eased down to the log and studied her, his face all angles in the mist and eery moonlight. “Good. Just keep thinking of me as your buddy and we’ll be fine. Men usually think of me that way and I’m used to talking straight with them, no female chatter for me. Do you have a sexual problem? Because if you do, I can’t help you there.”

Was he trying not to smile? “Not that I know of.”

“What’s your sexual history? I’m just asking because I don’t want to be jumped by some guy with stored up—some guy needing relief. I mean, have you done it since your wife—you know?”

“A few times. But I didn’t find what my wife and I had and I needed that to feel complete.”

“No offense, but you understand why I need to be careful.”

“You have my word that I will not touch you—like that. But it is nice to listen to you talk. If you would stay with me, it would fill the hours.”

She eyed him and could find no humor in that hard face. “Are you saying that I talk too much? Because I’m just trying to help you, after all.”

“I am saying that I would be pleased if you would share my home tonight.” Again, his formality caused Sidney to be uneasy. But then, she’d met a few European males and though this guy was born in the U.S., sometimes family traditions carried over; he probably even spoke Russian. She’d noticed that same formality in Mikhail Stepanov, and a slight disdain for the models hovering around him.

“I’m not having sex with you—just getting that straight upfront. Been there, done that, with Mr. Rabbit, and it wasn’t fun. What happened to these other women you’ve had?”

Danya looked out to the black waves. “Correction—a couple of women, each for a brief time. It seems that I am a good matchmaker. Through me, they met someone more suitable than myself.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. So you were dumped. Danya, you can’t think of yourself as a life’s loser just because you were dumped.”

“That is good advice. I’m tired and my cabin is just a little bit farther. Do you want to go on, or back to the resort?”

Sidney yawned and thought of the primping models waiting to give her facials, pluck her eyebrows, share intimate girl-talk and discuss silly fashions. “If I could pull up a piece of your floor for my sleeping bag, I’d be grateful.”

He nodded and stood. Exhausted now, Sidney yawned again and looked down at the big hand extended to help her to her feet.

Bulldog wouldn’t like her accepting help, but since this guy needed lots of touching to get him through the night, what did it matter?

In her lifetime, Sidney had had to make quick decisions and always trusted her judgment. Now it told her that she could trust this man. He needed companionship for the night and she needed rest.

It would all work out, she decided as she walked with him to his cabin.

And then her artistic photographer’s mind added an enticing thought—he was gorgeous and just maybe she could get some really good shots, a portrait in black and white would really emphasize that rugged face.

That long lean body wasn’t that bad, either, she decided, and it would be perfect for some excellent shots, maybe for magazine ads. She might even be a factor in changing his life, in starting him in new successful directions, in giving him a new and beautiful slant on life.

Hey, when opportunity raised its beautiful, profitable head, who was she to deny it?

Two

Sidney Blakely fascinated Danya; every sensual molecule in his body had fastened onto that small curvaceous body.

He really should feel guilty—after all, if he hadn’t been enjoying her so much, he would have worked harder to correct her “jumper” image of him. But the need to explore Sidney Blakely more was too irresistible to ignore.

She had absolutely no idea how appealing she was, nor how she had aroused him…he concluded as she mounted the steps to the cabin ahead of him.

His hands ached to cup her bottom, to feel that softness, as the scent of her tightened every muscle in his body. The immediate need to stake his claim on this woman surprised him.

She was not wearing any underclothing.

On the cabin porch, she looked around to see the wind chimes made of spoons, and a delicate fingertip reached to toy with them. A woman who had lived with men, communicated on their no-nonsense level, Sidney liked to keep her options open. “I could sleep right here, listening to the ocean.”

He wanted her in his bed—now. “It will rain soon. You’ll keep drier inside, and you could sleep in—if you’re not shooting tomorrow.”

“Oh, that sounds so good. I’ve been missing sleep.”

He understood perfectly; Sidney had come to Kamakani’s grave site to discuss her ill-fated love for “Mr. Rabbit.”

Danya thought of making slow, soft love to her, of waking up to her and moving into her, and his body tightened painfully. After all these years of emptiness, why this special woman? Why tonight?

Inside the cabin, Sidney looked around at the Spartan furnishings—the big solid Stepanov bed and dresser, a plain table and two chairs, a kitchenette. She walked to the tiny bathroom and peeked inside. “Great,” she stated approvingly.

“Sid?” Danya unfurled her sleeping bag and placed it against a corner of the room. He could see her plainly now, the practical short hair cut. Her eyes were dark brown and large, almost like a fawn’s, her lashes sweeping shadows down that pale soft skin. She wore no cosmetics, and he ached to taste that slender throat, to nibble on those small ears.

His body knew it had been years since he’d made love to a woman, awakening now to the twin peaks of her breasts, nudging the heavy sweatshirt.

“Yeah?” She was stretching and yawning and Danya ached to hold that small shapely body tight against him. She rotated her head and bent to touch her toes several times and the cargo pants tightened over her curved backside.

He ached to be inside, filling her—

“I thought you might like this.” He reached down to a laundry basket on the floor and pulled out a folded T-shirt, tossing it to her.

Sidney came close to study the framed picture on the dresser, a young Danya and his bride, just after their wedding. “I’m so sorry,” she said, reaching to touch his back and when she looked up at him, her eyes spoke more than words. “She’s beautiful.”

“Yes, very beautiful. A treasure of the heart. I will keep her always there,” he said solemnly, meaning it.

“That’s beautiful, Danya. But you’ve got to live your life. If I go to sleep, you won’t do anything rash, will you?”

He shook his head. “I’m too tired. Emotions, you know. I don’t suppose you could—no…I won’t ask.”

Danya almost felt guilty—but not quite as Sidney’s expressive eyes filled with him. “What, Danya?”

“Could I hold you?”

Instantly she was alert and stepping back warily from him. “Whoa, champ. I’m not the girl you want.”

She was exactly the woman he wanted. “Sorry. I get the need sometimes to hold a woman. Just hold her, and I don’t know why, but women get ideas and the next thing you know—”

She seemed to relax. “Human touch, right?”

Sidney stepped closer with the determined air of one who is sacrificing. “Hold me. Do it, now. You’ve got thirty seconds.”

Danya eased her against him, rested his chin over hers, and inhaled her fragrance and closed his eyes, focusing on the fit, the feel of her in his arms. Inside, where his heart had been cold and hurt, the warmth of pleasure and delight began—

“Time’s over,” Sidney said, pushing away.

He forced himself to release her. “Thanks. I feel better now.”

“Yeah, well.” She cleared her throat and backed away, her expression wary as she bent to collect her things. She turned and hurried into the bathroom.

Danya rubbed his stubble-covered jaw. At three o’clock in the morning, there was nothing he wanted to do more than cuddle Sidney Blakely. With a sigh, Danya turned off the lights, undressed and slid into his lonely bed.

Inside the bathroom, Sidney quickly undressed and slid on her comfortable boxer shorts and Danya’s overlarge T-shirt. She was shaking.

She’d wanted to nail him, to stake him out on that big bed and have him. Sexual impulses didn’t come to her often—maybe never. Sex with Ben, her only lover to date, had been too fast and had left her simmering.

The poor guy was thinking about suicide and mourning his wife, and Sidney was thinking about how good he felt up close and that just maybe she might get a good photo layout of him. She was scum to even think about nabbing him and curling up to that nice big hard warm body—She shook her head. There was no way she would take advantage of a sweet man like that, using him for her own satisfaction.

She was just tired and emotional, she decided as she left the bathroom and found the main room dark and cozy. A pillow and a sheet lay on her sleeping bag and it looked like heaven.

Danya’s broad back was turned to her and Sidney spread the sheet over the bag, slid onto it, and folded the rest of the sheet over her. She punched the pillow into shape and with the ease of someone who took what she could get on the spot, quickly dropped into sleep.

Danya listened to her deep easy breathing and turned to look at the slight, curved shadow on the floor. The sheet had slid from her bare leg and her hands were up by her face, almost like a child’s.

He eased from his bed and walked to crouch and study the woman who had no idea how much she fascinated him…. Her lips were generous and soft, slightly parted; her lashes swept shadows down that fine pale skin.

A compassionate woman, she’d endangered herself to rescue someone she thought might leap to his death. Unfamiliar with caresses or letting her body rest against a man’s, she’d still let him hold her; she’d touched him because she thought he needed the warmth of another human.

But on the rebound, Sidney wasn’t in the market for romance, and that was just what Danya had in mind.

It would take all his willpower to treat her as a friend, when he really wanted to make love with her. He scanned the curved line of her body beneath the sheet, his hand aching to skim that warmth.

Very little kept him from carrying her to his bed, where she belonged; very little kept him from holding her safe and warm, to cherish her.

To move into a relationship with this brusque, but caring woman, would be no easy task. She’d been wounded by a former lover and was wary of men, but Danya intended to be very patient and he intended to have her as his own….

Sidney awoke to the scent of coffee and the sight of Danya, holding a cup and staring off into the morning rain battering the cabin’s window. He wore only his jeans, his back broad and tanned in the dim light. The pose, the blend of shadow and light would have been wonderful for a photograph, that waving hair softening his hard profile, that jaw darkened by stubble. He looked thoughtful, grim and fierce.

“So how’s it going, buddy?” Sidney asked after yawning and stretching. “Feeling better?”

Apparently still deep in thought, he nodded. Sidney rose to her feet, shuffled to the kitchenette to pour herself a cup of coffee. She took a sweet roll from the plastic container, and walked to stand beside him. “Thanks for last night…letting me crash here, I mean.”

“Sure.”

Rain pounded the windows, the dim light outside casting shadows on Danya’s hard face; his mood seemed to match the elements outside. “Are you going to be okay today?”

“Yes. Alexi and I are remodeling, adding a family room onto a house. You can stay here, if you want, Sid. I mean, you can move in with me, if you want, to escape those models. It’s up to you. But there could be gossip. People might think that we were lovers.”

She studied the shadows beneath his eyes, the look of a man who had been through hell, who had been on some invisible edge, fighting the tethers that bound him. “I’ve bunked with men before.”

Danya inhaled suddenly, then released his breath slowly. He looked at her and his eyes were the color of blue ice. “This is different. I don’t want you to have problems.”

She’d heard that the Stepanov males were very gallant, but manners and female-male role playing weren’t for her; they just cluttered up life and took time she didn’t have. “The only problem I am going to have is that darned windup dance and social thingie at the end of this shoot. Marvelous Calendars insists on it. All the bigwigs are going to come down and I’ve got orders to look like a woman—put on a dress and makeup and everything. I’m supposed to bring a date.”

“That is rough.”

“Real rough. You’d think if I do a good job—and I do—that would be all that was required, but oh, no. I have to mix with the brass and schmooze with the models and be one of the girls. I am going to have to dance with the execs—in dress shoes, not boots.”

“Torture,” he agreed softly.

“You know it. If the weather clears, we’ve got about two, three days fast shooting and then I’m doomed.” Sidney yawned and stretched and settled into enjoy her momentary reprieve from the models. She ate the sweet roll and sipped her coffee, then she licked her fingers. Danya had been studying her intensely and his body was tense next to hers; his breathing seemed to be controlled, rather than natural. She’d been remiss not to offer him a bite; she was used to sharing whatever was at hand. “Want some?” she asked, holding up her sweet roll to him.

His hand wrapped around her wrist as he bent to take a bite, but his eyes never left hers. They were vividly blue and shadowed with heavy lashes. He straightened, still studying her, his thumb caressing her inner wrist. “About Ben. You loved him?”

Sidney was uncomfortable with that slow caress, but if the guy needed contact, she could give him that. “I still do, the rat. I’m going back to bed, if it’s okay with you.”

“My bed,” he said quietly, watching her. “I’ll be gone. You might as well use it. You’ve got sugar on your fingers—shame to waste it.”

Sidney watched, riveted as Danya’s dark head bent and his warm mouth closed over each fingertip, sucking it.

The quivery sensations shot up her arm and down her body to lodge low in her belly; her mouth dried and her throat tightened as she stared at him. When Danya’s head lifted, he smiled at her and her heart did some flip-flop thing. “No finger licking,” she said unevenly.

“But it would be a shame to waste, would it not?” His voice was deep and intimate, his phrasing formal.

“I guess it’s okay this time.”

Danya had kept her hand, holding it as they turned to watch the dim morning, rain slashing the windows.

Sidney held very still. She was very aware of him, of how large his body was to hers, of his body heat, of his hand, rough against hers. “So, chum. Are you going to be okay today? I mean, if I go to sleep, will you be okay?”

“Of course. I have work to do. Work is good. You are welcome here.”

“Thanks. Maybe I will sleep in. A good morning for that.”

He seemed to tense, and those blue eyes flashed down at her. “Yes,” Danya said unevenly, “A very good morning for staying in bed.”

Danya tried to focus on the cabinets his brother and he were installing into the family room addition, but his mind was on Sidney—lying in his bed.

At three o’clock in the afternoon, the day was clearing, and he’d already had several calls on his cell phone from his obviously amused family—Sidney had seemed concerned for him and was hunting him. She’d been to the Stepanov Furniture factory, talked with Fadey and Viktor, Danya’s father, who had found her to be fresh and delightful. She’d taken pictures of Fadey and Viktor in a spirited folk dance, and she’d joined them in it. Danya’s father said he had hugged her—a traditional big bear hug, kissing both sides of her cheeks, and “she felt like a sweet little bird in his arms, before she squirmed away.”

According to Mikhail’s report, she’d worked in her suite at the Amoteh Resort, requesting a sandwich from room service. Alexi’s cell phone had rung several times, and from his brother’s expression, Danya knew that the entire family was watching the “Sidney situation.” She had been careful to ask that someone was with him and to pinpoint his quitting time. She’d murmured something obscure, “He’s a lonely kind of guy. I really don’t think he should be left alone.”

Mikhail and Jarek, Danya’s cousins, were sitting on sawhorses now, using the excuse of a coffee break to come to the remodeling project. Apparently their wives were seeking information about the woman Danya had brought back to his cabin, and needed their husbands to scout for information. Danya didn’t want the whole Stepanov clan to descend upon Sidney, frightening her away. “She is…unusual…sweet…and completely unaware that she is so—feminine and fascinating. She considers us to be buddies. I prefer to keep it that way.”

“Of course,” Mikhail agreed firmly. “I’ve met her. She’s fast moving, thorough, and completely professional. She doesn’t want a man opening a door for her, but she will open them for a man—quite unusual woman, eats on the run and seems in perpetual motion. The models like her, but she doesn’t want any ‘hugging, sloppy stuff,’ as she says. She strikes me as a person who is more of an observer of life, rather than one who actually lives with day-to-day relationships.”

“Not a clue that you want her, hmm?” Jarek asked.

“She’s just been hurt by man who married someone else. I met her up on Strawberry Hill last night and she needed a place to stay away from the resort. I intend to give her time to adjust to a comfortable relationship.”

Alexi grinned broadly. “So this is it, huh?”

“Maybe.” Danya glanced at a movement outside the windows and noted Sidney tramping along the shoreline, dressed in her camouflage cargo pants and hooded jacket, a camera bag slung from her shoulder. She stopped, faced the ocean and quickly, expertly, extracted her large camera from the bag. Her movements on the beach said that she was shooting pictures.

Alexi, Mikhail and Jarek came to stand beside Danya. “I think she’s coming to collect you,” Alexi stated with humor in his tone.

“If she asked your quitting time, that’s a possibility,” Mikhail noted.

Danya watched that small taut body, poised against sand and ocean and forced himself to breathe quietly, though his heart was quickening and his body had tensed, eager for her to come to him.

“You’re getting that definite hot-and-bothered look, cousin,” Jarek added with a chuckle.

“Say anything about that, and you won’t be invited to the wedding.” Danya folded his arms and leveled a look at his brother and cousins. “Tell your wives this is a very tricky situation. Sidney hasn’t a clue. I would appreciate their cooperation.”

Alexi shook his head. “You mean, you want our wives to keep their distance, as if that’s possible. They’ve been worrying about you for months now, since you moved and they got you under their wings. You scooped them, cousin, found your own woman and that leaves them with little to do.”

Danya picked a baby rattle from Alexi’s pocket and shook it lightly. “Your wife had a baby, Jarek has two, and Mikhail has three. I would say that is enough to keep them busy…just for a time. Please ask them.”

Mikhail drew a deep breath. “It might not be possible to stop them. They’re having tea at my house now.”

“Sidney isn’t the tea and sewing kind. I’ve asked her to move in with me. I’ll baby-sit for a week a piece if you can keep them off her for just a bit. Think of a holiday alone with your wives.”

Jarek whistled softly. “Fast work.”

“Put your feet down. Make your wives toe the line, men,” Danya added with a chuckle. “As if you could. You’re all wrapped up around their little fingers.”

“Just wait, cousin,” Mikhail warned with a grin and glanced out of the window. “She’s getting closer.”

The four men watched Sidney march up the shoreline toward the house; they hurried to act busy.

No one answered her knock at the new door, but Sidney could hear saws buzzing. She noted the fresh scent of lumber, the Stepanov Building pickup parked at one end of the private home. The barren new windows and new door marked the new addition.

She opened the door, scanned the jumble of tools and working men and waited for someone to notice her. When the men continued working and the saw didn’t stop, she yelled, “Danya!”

When he didn’t respond, she decided he couldn’t hear her over the sound of the saw and hammers. Sidney opened the door wider and peered inside. The four tall men continued to work. She stepped inside and closed the door. Amid the flying sawdust, Danya was standing on a ladder, fitting a shelf into a built-in ceiling-to-floor bookcase.

The man at the table saw noted her and flipped it off. He removed his safety glasses, and his eyes were as blue as Danya’s. “Yes?” he asked politely.

Danya was hammering the board into place. The other two men were working together, putting up dry wall panels.

“Is Danya Stepanov here?” Sidney asked the blue-eyed man politely. His rugged face was similar to Danya’s, but then so were the other men’s. She already knew that Danya was there, because his butt was fine and taut within his jeans and she couldn’t take her eyes off it. She itched to use her camera; she could just imagine how much a magazine would pay for that…or maybe that broad muscled back, without his shirt, of course. Who was she kidding? Pictures weren’t on her mind; she just wanted to run her hands over that back and butt and maybe other things, too. She usually methodically considered the specific shot, focusing on the shadows, the angles, backgrounds—but now, her whole body was considering the very touchable textures of the man.

“He is busy.”

“I see that. I want to talk with him.”

“It’s only a little while until quitting. If you’re his girlfriend, you’ll have to wait.”

“Listen, Bud. I’m not his girlfriend, I just want to talk with him.” Sidney never wasted time. She walked to Danya, who seemed very intent on his work and yelled, “Danya, get your butt down here. I want to talk with you.”

He seemed surprised as he turned to look down at her. “Oh…hi, Sid. What’s up?”

She noted that all of a sudden, the three other men were watching her. She moved closer so that they wouldn’t hear the conversation. She had to stand on tiptoe to whisper in Danya’s ear. He leaned down to her, and his hands rested lightly on her waist. His hands were big and firm and something inside her shimmered and warmed.

“Are you okay?” she asked, remembering how they met on Strawberry Hill, how he seemed to need to touch, to anchor himself to her and to life.

“I am fine,” he whispered back.

“Is that offer to move into your place still standing? It’s so quiet there. I slept like a log until after noon. I can use the resort’s suite for my work, so I won’t clutter up your place with my equipment.”

“The models again?”

Sidney tried not to look hunted. “They’re getting all warmed up for that party I don’t want to go to…. I’d pay rent.”

Danya frowned. “You insult me. You gave me comfort last night, and you think I would want pay?”

He was very close and scented of fresh wood. “So you’re okay with this? Is tonight okay?”

His gaze took in her face. “Tonight is excellent.”

Sidney realized that his hands were tightening, drawing her closer to him. His face was only inches from hers—probably better to hear her whisper. “What about your family? Will they mind?”

“No, I assure you, they will be most happy that you are with me.”

“Good.”

Danya turned her slowly in front of him, his hands still resting on her waist. “This is Alexi, my brother…my cousins, Jarek and Mikhail. Perhaps you have met Mikhail? This is Sidney Blakely. She’s the photographer for the models here.”

“Call me Sid.” She recognized the manager of the luxurious Amoteh Resort. In work clothing, he looked so different from the sleek businessman striding through the resort’s halls and expertly, quietly directing his staff. “Hi, Mikhail. Nice to meet you, guys. I’m just leaving. You can get back to work now.”

But each man came close, towering over her. They looked so much alike, but Mikhail’s and Jarek’s eyes were dark green, while Alexi’s eyes were as blue as Danya’s. Smaller than the men by several inches, Sidney glared up at them. “You guys should take better care of Danya,” she scolded.

“Oh, how so?” Alexi said as he frowned down at her.

“He’s a lonely sort of guy. Like tonight. I bet you could all invite him over to dinner, and you probably haven’t, right?”

The three men glanced over her head to Danya, seemed to be amused, then they shook their heads. “You are right,” Alexi said, “We forget about him at times.”

“I guess we are so comfortable in our own homes with our families that we forget he might need us,” Jarek murmured contritely.

“Shame on you,” Sidney scolded. “That is not very familylike.”

“You are absolutely right, Sid. How thoughtless of us,” Mikhail said firmly.

Sidney realized that she was holding Danya’s hand, his thumb caressing the back of hers. His other arm had gone around her, resting lightly on her waist. She seemed to fit naturally into the cove of his body as he drew her close and looked down at her. “Actually, Sid, it isn’t their fault. It’s mine. I’m kind of a loner. Sid, do you think I could cook something for us tonight—you and me, I mean?”

She frowned at his selfish family, who hadn’t thought to include him in their warmth, a guy who needed someone to keep him from that dangerous edge. His defense of them was just loyalty. “Sure. You do that. See you later.”

Sidney moved toward the door and Danya came to open it for her. “I can do that for myself,” she said. “I’m not helpless.”

“Of course. I should have known. I’ll come outside with you.”

Sidney opened the door, Danya went through it and she leveled a look at the three other tall men. “I thought I heard a laugh. What’s so funny?”

All three men held up their hands, their expressions innocent.

“Okay, then. At ease, men,” Sidney said and closed the door.

Danya was waiting for her, and his eyes were as blue as the clear sky. For a moment, Sidney’s mind went blank and she struggled to comprehend what he was saying: “What are you hungry for?”

“Whatever. You don’t have to cook though. Sandwiches are good. I’ll bring some home.”

“No. I will cook for you.”

Sidney took a deep breath and released the thought that had been hovering in her mind: “Danya, I know it is a lot to ask, but do you think you could turn up at the…the windup party and maybe act like you’re my date?”

“I would be honored.”

“Now, look. You don’t have to. You don’t owe me anything—”

“Sid. You can count on me,” he said firmly. “See you tonight. Whenever you come home is okay, no big deal.”

Relieved that she had found the required date, Sidney walked back up to the Amoteh Resort. Plus, she added, she was really doing Danya a favor by keeping his mind away from jumping off that cliff. She would at least have her nights free—no more models, no more threats of bikini waxes and eyebrow plucking, no sex stories.

The sky was clear now, children playing along the shoreline, tourists milling on the pier filled with shops, a sailboat lazily riding the waves.

One of the models nabbed her when she entered the resort’s pool area. Lelani Berry was a six-foot lithesome blonde, wearing two scraps that served as a bikini over her tanned, pampered body. Her expensively streaked long hair was perfectly tousled as she asked, “Hey, Sid, what are you wearing to the party?”

Then came the slow, sultry smile that hid a viperous mentality. “The next question is, who is your date? I heard you’d been ordered to bring one.”

“Got a date. Don’t know what I’m wearing.” Sidney maneuvered through the cluster of lounging chairs, draped with model bodies.

She almost made it through the gauntlet, when Storm Cameron, also six feet tall with a blond mane, caught her. “So, Sid. Who is he?”

Miss January, a hot-looking Latino model with masses of raven hair blocked Sidney’s passage to the hallway. Jennifer Mendez leaned against the wall and tapped her long painted nails on her cheek. “You’re going to need help, Shorty,” she said in her Bronx accent. “Dress, heels, that sort of thing. We’ve got our work cut out for us, ladies.”

Sidney shot her a dark look and then turned to the rest of the models who looked excited and ready to mob her. “Hands off. If anyone nags me about this, I swear I’ll shoot your bad sides and make you look like hags. I make notes, you know…for the calendar guys, on who was difficult and who wasn’t, just so they know who not to hire next time.”

A ripple of fear shot through the models and for a moment, Sidney felt guilty; they were just making a living, the same as her. Lelani Berry had had a really hard life, and was driven to succeed; she just needed someone to help her understand that survival didn’t depend on slash and burn methods. Sidney decided that when she could, she’d try to explain that fact to Lelani.

“Okay, everybody on the beach, just as you are. The light isn’t that great, but not that bad either. We’ll do the shoot and let the graphic guys worry about what works. Wear something over your suits, no topless stuff, and we’ll take a few sunset shots. You’ve got an hour to get yourself camera ready, bring towels—we’re shooting on driftwood. Tell Earl to bring some glitter.”

Earl, the Hollywood makeup man contracted for this job, was good and he knew it. And when Sidney, moving fast, had become impatient and had called him a prima donna, he’d retaliated by making her say “Please, Earl” to get the smallest service.

If Earl wasn’t balking now over some itty-bitty statement she’d made like “Move your butt, Earl,” she had just an hour to get her stuff moved down to Danya’s cabin—maybe more, because the models always took more time than allowed….

On her way out of the Amoteh’s side door, she met Mikhail Stepanov. She slung her duffel bag over her shoulder and opened the door for him and held it. “Well, get in. I don’t have all day.”

He hesitated, then entered and said formally, “Thank you.”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

She hurried out and down the resort steps, picked up a back trail that looked as if it would lead to Danya’s cabin on the shoreline and hurried over it.

She had just reached his cabin’s steps when she saw them—On the beach, three big men were wrestling, rolling in the sand and grunting. The men’s bodies thrashed and buckled into a big ball of muscle and she recognized Danya on the bottom—Sidney dropped her duffel bag and hurried to the men. “Get off him,” she ordered, but the grunting, rolling male mass continued.

Experienced with men displaying machismo and as the fight-settler between Stretch and Junior, her tall, athletic sisters, Sidney wasted no time in acting. She grabbed the ear of one man and one ear of the other. “Didn’t you hear my order, men? I said ‘get off him.’”

“Ouch…ouch…”

She eased them away from Danya who was at the bottom of the pile. He smiled sheepishly. “Thanks.”

He rose to his feet and she briskly dusted the sand from his clothing. He frowned slightly and looked at the other men.

“Turn,” she said and Danya looked at her warily, so she moved around him and dusted sand from that taut backside. Then, she faced the men, her hands on her hips. “Well, what do you have to say for yourselves? First, you don’t share what you have with the guy, and then you mob him. Speak up. Say something. Do it now.”

Alexi and Jarek were rubbing their ears and glaring at Danya. “Sorry?” they asked angrily in unison without the slightest hint of an apology.

“What’s this all about, men?” she demanded. “Cut the excuses.”

“Teasing…they were teasing me,” Danya said softly. “We have wrestled like this since we were children.”

Now she felt embarrassed; they were just playing as men do, as she and her sisters did sometimes. “Oh. I see.”

Danya’s blue eyes seemed to fill with her, to absorb her. The salty air seemed to shift a little, heat and still, and the crashing of the waves seemed to be inside her heart—

“Well, boys, now that’s settled, I’ve got a shoot in a little bit,” Sidney stated briskly as pulled herself out of whatever was happening between Danya and herself. She hurried to collect her duffel bag and place it in the house. She dug out her camera gear and wished she didn’t have to face the men.

Danya entered the cabin, and because she’d misunderstood the situation, and because men sometimes got all huffy when a woman rescued them, Sidney said, “Um…sorry about that.”

He stripped off his shirt and tossed it into a hamper. “About what?”

“About butting in. Got to go. See you later.” The sight of his chest, all muscled and tanned and the peaks of his nipples on those rounded pecs caused her throat to dry. She ached to rummage her fingers through that wedge of hair on his chest and maybe follow that thin line downward—

She hurried out the door because in another minute, she’d be reaching to touch him.

The models were clustering on the beach, oiling themselves and reapplying makeup, tousling their hair, and Sidney gave herself to the artistry of nature and female form, the blend of light and water and wind. As usual, a small crowd had collected, watching her work.

When the light was almost gone, Sidney let the models go with an order to get plenty of sleep because they were shooting all the next day.

She sat on a driftwood log and relaxed, a peaceful moment by herself after a heavy concentration of arranging limbs and hair and best sides, and the continual suggestions and grumbling. Earl could be temperamental and she’d had to force herself to heap praise upon him—after he had balked at something minor she’d said like “Move your butt, Earl. I’m losing light.”

Danya came to sit beside her. “Tired?”

“Beat is more like it. There’s a lot of emotion in this, getting the right shot, working with models. I’d prefer natural shots, but this gig was pretty high paying. Plus, I didn’t want to meet up with Ben anywhere. Fluffy would be hanging all over him.” She caught the scent of soap and man and looked at him. “Are you okay?”

“Sure. Dinner is ready when you are.”

Preparing dinner probably kept Danya busy and his mind off his lost love. They watched the setting sun, the bright border of orange on the horizon. The waves slid softly upon the sand and Sidney sighed tiredly. “Ben would have liked this.”

“Mr. Rabbit?”

In the comradery of the moment, Sidney shared an insight with him. “His fast moves could have been my fault. There’s a lot of articles written about what pleases a man. I wouldn’t buy something like that…I get complimentary magazine copies because of my work for the publishers. I just didn’t take time to read them. I’ve always been pretty capable.”

“Sure.” He sounded disbelieving.

She eyed him. “You don’t believe me?”

He riffled her hair playfully. “Sure I do.”

“I could have done a lot better than you did out there in the sand today.”

Danya seemed to smirk. “I don’t think so. You’re small.”

“Oh, you don’t, do you?” Sidney stood up and faced him. She made the “come and get me” motion with her hands. “Try me.”

“No.”

She reached to riffle his hair and Danya’s hand circled her wrist, easing it away. His eyes were dark, his expression grim. “Don’t. No wrestling.”

Sidney eased down to sit beside him. She wasn’t leaving him to brood about his lost love. They sat in silence, staring at the ocean, and she noted that he still held her hand, resting it on his thigh. Then suddenly, Danya said, “If you’re ready, let’s eat.”

He’d locked himself inside again, she thought sadly. “Sure.”

He held her hand on the way to his cabin, and waited until she opened the door for him to enter.

That gave her a chance to enjoy Danya’s truly admirable backside. That warm little ball seemed to lodge low in Sidney’s belly as she watched him; her throat dried and tightened and something had just peaked her breasts, though she wasn’t cold. He was graceful, like a powerful cat, broad shoulders swaying just that bit, cords rippling down that T-shirt fitted so close to his body. She ached to take pictures of him, the blend of shadows and a truly sexy male.

He turned slowly and studied her with a half smile.

The hair on her nape lifted. She didn’t understand that smile, but it caught her heart and flipped it over; her body quivered just that once, not in fear, but in anticipation—of what? Why was he looking at her like that—his lips curved slightly, his eyes heavy lidded, that silvery gaze taking in her body from head to foot? What was happening?

She wondered what it would feel like, nipple to nipple, hers to his, and her body went taut and hot and quivery again….

Danya slowly stripped away his T-shirt, his eyes never leaving hers. “I’ll take another shower. Make yourself at home.”

He didn’t move. She couldn’t move.

She could either call it a day and retreat.

Or she could—Sidney closed the cabin door behind her with a click.

Danya nodded slowly, then turned to go into the bathroom, leaving her alone.

Her knees shook; her whole body quivered. Whatever had happened in that moment had shaken her badly.

It was all in her mind, of course. Nothing had happened—not really.

Or had it?

Three

The poor guy was still in love with his wife and had not a clue that Sidney wanted to jump him. She really wanted to test that nipple to nipple idea.

Across the small table from her, Danya looked all shower-and-shampoo fresh and totally jumpable. His dark, shaggy hair was combed back from that hard, angular face, just reaching his shoulders. Candlelight emphasized the slant of his brows, the cut of his cheekbones, that sensual mouth.

That little quiver shot through Sidney again and she almost choked on the shrimp linguine he had expertly prepared. She lifted the wineglass and drank quickly.

“Okay?” Danya asked with concern.

He was such a nice guy, and she was thinking about that mouth and what it could do and what it would taste like—

Sidney reached for the bottle of wine and in passing, scorched her hand on the candle’s flame—“Ouch!”

She started to rub it on her thigh, but Danya’s hand took hers, his head bending.

His lips touched her hand, suckled the small wound slightly, and Sidney held her breath, fighting the sensations wrapping around her, tugging at her. “You can stop that. It doesn’t hurt anymore,” she whispered.

“Does it not?”

His voice was deep and intimate, with that bit of accent tugging at her—as if it were meant just for her. It hurt somewhere deep inside her, an unfamiliar sensitive part of her heart that she hadn’t expected.

On the other hand—she wanted to jump him, take him, work up a real heated froth and exorcise that taut ache within her.

But then, she would be taking advantage of a sweet guy. Danya hadn’t a clue, and he was still in love with his wife. Sidney watched him pour another glass of wine and noted that after he finished a sip, his lips were glossy and smooth.

She breathed deeply and quickly drank her wine. Danya leaned back in his chair. “Rough day?”

“I’m not a portrait photographer. It’s tougher than I thought. I’m not used to arranging bodies and waiting for makeup and hair to be corrected. Earl, the makeup guy, got insulted when I asked him to help me with the light meter. The reason they wanted me for this gig was that I’m pretty good at natural settings and using natural light. Freelancing world catastrophes does a lot for picking up the pace and spotting good shots. Once, Ben and I were on the cusp of this volcano and the lava river swerved right toward us—”

“I see. How about having our wine out on the porch? It’s relaxing to listen to the waves after a hard day.”

On the porch step, Sidney sat beside Danya. “I never should have taken this job. I’ll ship the takes to New York and they’ll be processed there. I just didn’t want to meet Ben and he doesn’t do these gigs. It’s more work than I expected—portraiture, I mean. Sometimes people freeze up and won’t let the camera in. Even the models sometimes do that, and they’re pros. I’ll be glad when it’s finished and I can see the finished product. Everything looks different once they do the graphic work and crop it.”

Danya was holding her hand again, resting it on his thigh. He was silent, staring out into the ocean—probably missing his wife again.

He seemed so lonely and Sidney was glad that she was with him. “You’ve got to get out of this funk, guy,” she said softly. “You’ll meet someone and the first thing you know, you’ll be adding cousins to the list already here.”

“I would like children very much. Would you?”

“No. Rather, I never thought about it. Ben—”

“I would rather not hear about Ben, if that is okay with you.”

“Oh, sure. I’ve been talking too much. It’s boring, I know.” Sidney yawned; she had began to feel the effects of the hard day, the good dinner and the wine.

“Tired?”

“Mmm. But I don’t want to move. This is nice—the sound of the ocean, the tinkling of the wind chimes.”

“Then rest here, against me.” His arm came around her, easing her closer.

Just buddies in the night, Sidney thought, as she settled against him. “You’ll get over this,” she whispered.

“I don’t think so,” Danya returned unevenly as she slid into sleep with the ease of an experienced traveler, who took rest when possible.

Sidney awoke in Danya’s big bed to the sound of deep strained breathing. Danya was on the floor, concentrating on push-ups. “It’s still night, isn’t it?” she asked drowsily as she eased to sit upright. “I usually do those in the morning.”

“Morning is not far away. I am just getting a head start.”

Sidney stood, yawned, stretched and shimmied out of her cargo pants. She tossed them over a chair and reached under her T-shirt, unfastening her bra and drawing it out one of her sleeves. She tossed it onto her pants and yawned again. “I’m beat.”

Danya hadn’t said anything, but in the shadows, his stare was hard and narrowed upon her. He returned to his vigorous push-ups.

Sidney took in that long taut length, his bare back, those bulging muscles, that hard backside clad in jeans. “You ought to pace yourself, Danya.”

“I am trying very hard to do just that.”

“I don’t remember getting into your bed, but I’ll move to my sleeping bag. Thanks for letting me sleep a bit.”

“Uh-huh,” he said grimly.

Sidney walked into the bathroom and braced her hands against the closed door. Then she flattened herself against it and breathed hard, trying to understand what was happening to her. Danya, working up a sweat, had caused that quivery something inside her to tighten and hum and ache. She opted for a really cold shower, changed into her comfortable boxer shorts and T-shirt and came out into the room. Danya, probably exhausted, was lying stomach down on the floor, his head resting on his folded arms.

She thought about that nipple to nipple thing and tried to push it away—it wouldn’t go.

Sidney lay down on her sleeping bag and covered up with her sheet. “Want to talk about it?”

He was lying very close on the floor beside her, and turned to stare at her. “With you? No.”

“Why not?”

He jackknifed to his feet, stood over her and slowly took in the length of her body. The hard bulge beneath his jeans told her that he was aroused.

She could make use of that—if he didn’t deserve better—some woman who would take good care of him.

On the other hand, waste not, want not—she thought as she stared up at him. “You’re having a sexual moment, aren’t you?”

“Isn’t that obvious?”

“I’ve got no objections.” It was the best invitation she could come up with and it had been good enough for Ben in close quarters.

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