

PUBLISHED BY:

Cate Masters on Smashwords

Fever Dreams

Copyright © 2012 by Cate Masters

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

Learn more about Cate Masters at:

http://catemasters.blogspot.com/

For Gary, always.

And for my wayward muse, who finally found her way home with this one.

Chapter One

The copier machine ground to a halt with a metallic groan that, had it been an animal, would have been its death knell. Diana's labored breath hitched in her sore throat as she poked the Start button. "No. Not now." She clutched her tissue as the display blinked a red lightning bolt. "Perfect. Just perfect." She yanked open the front panel. Of all days for it to be temperamental.

She knew this Valentine's Day would be miserable, but didn't expect to react physically. Already this morning she'd blown her nose so many times, it glowed neon red. Suitable for the holiday, at least. I should have turned off the alarm this morning and pulled the comforter over my head, she thought.

Dave, one of the software developers, peered around the door frame. "Meeting in five."

She forced a smile. "Yes." Dabbing the tissue to her watery eyes, she yanked the pages from the feeder. "I'll be there in a sec." From between the copier's hot metal rollers, she pulled out a mangled accordion sheet, then another.

He sucked air through his teeth. "Oooh. Messy. But don't cry about it. If anyone can tame the beast, it's you." He grinned and strode off.

"I'm not crying. I have a cold," she called after him. Tame the beast. Mechanical beasts, sure. The human kind, she wasn't so sure.

She tossed the crumpled pages and began again. When the copier whirred, she exhaled. How did she get to this point? Inside her sleek new office building—as streamlined as her life now was—she watched the snowflakes falling, ever falling.

The snow had been obnoxious all winter. No sooner did one storm end than another began, piling it so high that cars traveled through corridors of snowbanks as if through a maze.

It seemed fitting, really. Navigating the inside of her head was equally treacherous—and cold, since she'd broken up with Cal. Every day posed more of a struggle not to pick up the phone and instantly be reassured by the sound of his voice on the other end of the line. She loved the sound of his voice, to the point of distraction.

Stop it. It's over.

Irreconcilable differences—who thought up that phrase? If it hadn't existed, she could have invented it the day she met Cal a year and a half ago, the new time-marker in her life. She felt as if she'd crawled to hell and back (well, halfway back, anyway), and didn't want to repeat the journey anytime soon.

The past year and a half had been a blur, a video on fast-forward. This was her second new job in as many years, and she was determined not to make the same mistakes she had made at Horizons Software. Here at CompleteComputerCare, Diana intended to carve out her professional niche, and keep her personal life totally separate.

She felt oblivious to her surroundings, as if she'd been inside a snow globe that someone had just shaken, crystals of reality swirling about her isolated little world.

"Diana, are you through with the copier? Diana?"

"What? Oh, yes, Marion." She flashed a quick smile at the concerned, matronly secretary, picked up the collated copies and hurried down the hall.

A delivery man stood at the receptionist's desk holding a vase of red roses.

Diana halted; her heart leaped to her throat. Could he have sent them?

The receptionist looked at the card and picked up the phone and dialed an extension. "You have a Valentine's delivery." The girl's voice curled around the words like jiggly ribbons.

Diana's hopes deflated. Of course—what was she thinking?

Mostly that she now hated Valentine's Day. No one would be sending her flowers today. On this day one year ago, she thought she couldn't have been more full of blinding happiness. And now...

"Diana." Dave's sharp voice came from the conference room doorway. He pointed to his watch. "We're starting."

She hugged the papers to her chest. "Coming."

You have to snap out of this funk!

* * *

Two Years Earlier

When she heard the thud of the Sunday newspaper against her door, Diana rose from the bistro table by her kitchen window. "Paper's here, Bart." She bent to scratch her cat's head, pulled her flannel robe tight and opened the door to retrieve it.

"What's today's bad news?"

She hated reading the front sections lately—nothing but economy woes and war. The arts and life pages held her interest, although, as her friends became engaged one by one, the weddings column grew less inviting. Sure, she loved going through the process with them—the shower, the parties, the ceremony and reception. But each one left her a little more lost, a little more hollow than the last. Adam had accompanied her to three now. Three. Her friends suggested: Isn't it about time you two took the plunge?

She wanted to ask: Really? Adam—and me?

To everyone else it appeared the logical progression. Since graduating college, they'd been hanging with a large group of friends. Those friends paired up, and by default, so did she and Adam. They'd been dating for a little over a year, had gone to each holiday party and wedding. It still felt like hanging with the group, only now she had someone to kiss good night.

But marry him? Even now it made her shiver.

She skipped the Arts and Life section and went directly to the classifieds. She liked her job well enough. Adam too. But these past few months, "well enough" wasn't cutting it. At twenty-six, she didn't want to feel stuck in a rut. Not already.

She noticed the ad almost immediately:

Horizons Software seeks Dept. Asst. to bring cohesiveness to efforts of applications developers by aiding in alpha testing of customized software and helping develop accompanying user manuals. Flexible, innovative person seeking new challenges urged to apply.

Though it seemed ordinary enough when she first read it, the last phrase stuck in her head: "flexible, innovative person seeking new challenges urged to apply." She'd never actually considered herself to be innovative, but after reading the ad again, a clear vision took root: There she sat at her computer, surrounded by programmers who listened with rapt attention as she explained some critical problem. As she concluded with a smile, they all nodded, their faces alight with the revelation. She shooed them back to work to fix the error.

Okay, she had no idea exactly what critical problem or if she'd be able to spot an error, large or small. But the point was, she realized she wanted to be an integral part of the creative process, not just putting in time somewhere to collect a paycheck.

The next day, she and her friend Toni met at the deli around the corner.

Diana drew the ad from her wallet. "Doesn't it sound exciting?"

"What, and give up such a great paycheck?" Toni teased. "But what about Adam? He won't really like you working so far away, will he?"

Funny, Diana hadn't considered Adam a factor. "I need time away from Adam." She tucked the ad away.

"What now?" Toni sipped her iced tea. "You two fighting again?"

"We don't fight. That's part of our problem." She pushed her salad around the plate with her fork. "Adam always says he's okay with whatever I suggest. His very complacence irritates me, as if he literally doesn't care what I do. When we do argue, it seems to be the same old one, and we never resolve anything."

"Not fighting is a good thing." Toni spoke as if Diana were a foreigner. Or an idiot. "If only I could find a man who wouldn't fight with me every step of the way."

She smiled. "I think you like to fight with your boyfriends. It shows how vibrant and alive you are. I sometimes have to pinch Adam to make sure he's still breathing."

Toni gave her a mock scowl. "You're terrible. He's a nice guy!"

"Nice. Yeah, I know. My mom keeps telling me that too." She became lost in the view outside, searching for the horizon. From where she sat, it was barely visible through the buildings, the passing cars.

Horizons Software. Even the name suggested borderless possibilities.

"And anyway," Diana said, spearing a tomato and dangling it in front of her mouth, "I've already applied for the job." Her mouth went around the tomato, dragged it off the fork, and she chewed with a satisfied smile.

* * *

After lunch, Diana returned to her desk carrying two new pens, a pad of sticky notes, and two notepads. She sat and slid her cell phone from her purse. One missed call.

Her pulse raced as she listened to the voice mail. Horizons! Of course, they'd called when she was away from her desk, as she'd known they would.

Her computer screen displayed the time—less than an hour till lunch.

She ate at her desk, slipped on her running shoes, and told the receptionist she'd be out for a walk.

The girl winced. "In the rain?"

Diana's stomach lurched as she turned. Through the window, a steady rain pattered against the concrete. At least others would be discouraged from going out, and she'd have some privacy.

She stammered, "I have errands to run," and hurried out the glass door. Her car sat in a lot three blocks away. With her umbrella inside.

Halfway there, the patter grew harder. By the time she reached her car, her drenched clothes clung against her skin. She pulled out her cell and dialed, then realized she should have taken out a notepad first.

"Yes, hi, this is Diana Taylor returning a call from Robin."

The girl—and judging from her high-pitched voice, she wasn't much older than a girl—asked if she could come in for an interview.

Diana rummaged through her purse. "I'd love to. When are you available?" Her fingers found the prized pad. Now she needed a pen. As usual, the ones she'd stashed in the side pocket had slid away from her grasp.

The girl asked, "How's tomorrow at ten?"

"Sounds great." Ah—a pen. She moved it against the paper and—nothing. Damn! "I'm sorry, can you hold one sec? My pen died." Another hid beneath her wallet. She scribbled, and ink appeared sporadically.

"Sorry for keeping you waiting. So where are you located?" She jotted the address, date, and time. "Thank you."

Effervescence fizzed through her veins. She'd done it. She had an interview. With a squeal, she stomped her feet and shook her shoulders in a happy dance. When she glanced at the notepad, she gasped.

"Oh no." Raindrops puddled on the words. She wiped them away, and the address smeared. "Oh no!" She flipped to a new page and rewrote as fast as she could. Nothing would stand in her way.

The next day, Diana called in sick so she could devote her attention to getting ready, getting there on time, and putting her best front forward. The drive would take a little more than an hour. Her apartment lease would be up soon. She'd tell her prospective employer she'd move, if necessary. She didn't quite believe this herself until she pulled up to the building occupied by Horizons Software.

The 1800s-era building sat in a grove sheltered by tall pines, its lot in the back bordering a park. She crossed the wide-slatted wooden porch and stood at a door with a rectangular lead glass insert. To the right, a door marked Hart Counseling Services stood closed. In the room to the left sat a blonde behind a desk with a high counter.

Diana forced a smile. "Hi. I'm Diana Taylor."

"Oh, you're the ten o'clock. Have a seat." The girl pressed a button on the phone. "She's here. Should I send her up?" Her gaze crawled across Diana as if scanning for bugs.

Diana sat straighter and gazed at the exquisite woodwork: rosettes framed the doorways, complemented by well-worn but well-kept hardwood floors.

Through the speaker, a man said, "Give me a minute. I'll buzz you."

"He'll be ready in a minute. You heard that already." The girl giggled, and words tumbled in rapid fire. "Anyway, good luck! Not that you'll need it, of course—you look perfect for the job. Well, to me. I'm Robin, by the way." Her impossibly white teeth practically glinted as she smiled.

Diana wondered if Robin had had too much coffee or naturally spoke as if she were perpetually late. Maybe she didn't get many visitors. It looked like a lonely spot for a receptionist.

"Thanks, Robin." Diana smoothed her skirt. "I'm pretty nervous, though. It's been a while since I've had an interview."

"You have nothing to worry about. Rich is a really great guy. All of them are, really. Maybe except for Cal." Robin rolled her eyes. "And Jack—he's harmless, though, just likes to tell a few too many dirty jokes."

Diana's cell rang inside her purse. "Sorry. I wasn't expecting any calls." The display read "Adam." She should have told him. She turned it off. "So—you were saying? What about Cal?"

Robin's phone buzzed. Instantly, she picked it up. "I'll send her right up." She nodded toward the steps. "They're ready for you." Her perky tone was perfect for a toothpaste commercial.

Diana took a fortifying breath to quell her fluttering nerves. "Thanks." She climbed the flight of stairs. Maybe she shouldn't have come here. She should be at work, not playing hooky.

The name Horizons Software was etched into a set of double-wide glass doors beyond the landing. As she entered, a man in his midthirties strode to meet her.

"Diana? Hi, I'm Rich Roberts." He shook her hand.

As they exchanged pleasantries, Rich led her to his office. Providing her with a brief background of the company, he said he founded the company to develop customized software packages, first hiring his colleague and friend, Cal. After a few years, they brought Jack on board to help market their software. Jamie was hired fresh out of college only about a year earlier. When he detailed the position's duties, she saw herself performing them. And liking them.

Rich smiled as she explained her job search, her pitch as to why she was the best candidate. He then suggested a brief tour. "Because our company's so small, any tour would be brief," he joked, leading her into the hallway.

The offices were simply renovated rooms. The desk intended for the new hire sat in the wide hallway opposite the entrance. Its cold, clinical look made it appear strangely out of place in contrast with the warm wooden accents.

Behind the desk, an immense window with a wide ledge beckoned her. "I love this building. It's got such character."

"Older buildings have their problems. Not the least of which is the wiring—it's a real struggle to upgrade our network. But I wouldn't trade it."

They stopped outside the first office. Rich knocked on the half-shut door before entering. "Cal, I'd like you to meet Diana Taylor. She's interviewing with us today."

Cal was facing his computer, turned away from them. Focused on the screen, he glanced up quickly, then again more slowly. His face smoothed as if in surprise. He leaned back and said hello in a professional manner, but at the same time, his steely blue gaze sent a buzz through Diana.

She'd felt completely at ease with Rich, but now felt thrown off-balance.

Cal's eyes were the bluest she'd ever seen; it wasn't the color, exactly—they seemed charged with energy. She sensed that he saw her more completely in these few seconds than Rich had during their private interview.

"Hello." She hoped Cal wouldn't notice her uncertainty.

But he'd already turned back to his computer, talking with Rich intermittently. "...and Cal's our top programmer," she realized Rich was saying. She nodded, and followed him out.

"Oh." She hesitated in the doorway. "Would you like this closed?"

Cal's eyes narrowed, spotting her hand already on the doorknob. "No."

She pulled her hand away.

"I think I prefer it open." He looked beyond her as if gauging the view. "Yes. Definitely open." His fingers jabbed at the keyboard.

"Diana?" Rich called. She realized she must have looked rather dumb. Her instinct told her to say, "Nice meeting you," but, feeling Cal had dismissed her, instead called to Rich, "I'm coming."

In the office across the hall sat Jamie, the younger techie who, Rich had explained, was hired after a successful internship.

At the end of the hallway was a small kitchen for the staff, and another office whose door was closed. When Rich opened the door, Diana understood.

"This is where Jack, our salesman, works. He's here part-time, though you can't tell by the mess." He smiled as he shut the door. "We're still a small company, so we need the PR, but can't afford a full-time sales staff yet. And that concludes the tour."

As they passed Cal's office on the way back to the main doors, she felt like a psychic in the presence of a volatile spirit, absorbing his energies. All focused on her. The receptionist wasn't kidding about him.

On the drive home, she rolled down her car windows and let the warm September wind blow through her hair. She loved autumn best of all seasons. Although the leaves had not yet fully changed, a few yellow-tinged leaves had tumbled down onto her windshield as it sat under the wide sugar maple that sheltered the parking lot. The leaves fluttered wildly, caught in her windshield wiper.

She tried to evaluate each member of Horizons' staff, tried to imagine working with them. She'd never be the central figure in the office, like she imagined she might be, the integral person connected to and by everyone else. Still, the work would be a challenge and could lead to other possibilities. More than she could say for her current job. If Horizons Software offered her the job, she'd accept.

The remaining leaf on her windshield shuddered and disappeared in the wind.

* * *

As Diana unlocked her apartment door, the phone rang. She didn't hurry to answer; she knew Adam would be calling, wondering where she'd been.

From his perch on the back of the sofa, the cat acknowledged her with a look, then closed its eyes.

She plopped onto the sofa and scratched his chin. "What do you think about moving, Bart?" Her books and CDs alone would require lots of boxes. She made a mental note to stop at the liquor store for their sturdy discards. If Horizons called with an offer, she wanted to be ready. To that end, she spent the rest of the day cleaning as her mother used to—scrubbing down walls and cleaning beneath the stove and all those places she normally avoided.

Later that afternoon, the landline rang. She raced for it with wild hopes it might be Horizons.

Adam's voice pricked her happiness bubble. "Is everything okay?"

"I'm fine. What do you mean?"

"I left messages on your cell, and you never called back. Toni said you called in."

Her cell. She'd never turned it back on. "My battery died," she lied. "I went to the phone store for a new one."

"You called in sick for that?"

"No, of course not." She bit her lip. Might as well get it over with. "I had an interview today."

"What?" He accentuated the T. A move to intimidate her, a display of evolved machismo more subtle than the ape beating his chest but meant to intimidate equally.

"I applied on the spur of the moment, and they called me in. It's a great job." She explained about everything and everyone—except Cal. She couldn't define him in words and wouldn't know how to try.

"But it makes no sense," Adam said. "It's the same pay you're making now."

"I'd be doing much more interesting work." No exaggeration there.

"But the commute alone would cost a fortune."

"I could always move closer..."

"Move? When did you decide this?"

She couldn't remember when he had been so animated. Or when their conversation had lasted so long. "I don't even know if they'll offer me the job."

"But you'll take it if they do. Right?"

When her answer was silence, he repeated insistently, "Right?"

She sighed. "I need this, Adam."

He blew through his lips. "I don't get it."

"I think we need some distance." She closed her eyes. She'd said that much, might as well lay it all out. "I feel like you're keeping me around because I'm available. Sometimes it doesn't even feel like we're a real couple."

His voice rose an octave. "Where is all this coming from? That's ridiculous."

Ridiculous? She had just gotten started. "I don't even know where I fit into your life. And I get the feeling you think I'm waiting for you to propose or something."

"Look, you know I'm not ready for that..."

"That's fine—I'm not ready, either. I don't want to get married."

He stammered, "I don't understand. Why not?"

"What?" She laughed. "You can't possibly be asking me why not. For the same reason you're not ready."

"Yeah, but...I'm a guy."

"Are you serious? We're in worse trouble than I thought if—"

"What do you mean, worse trouble? What is wrong with our relationship?"

Incredulous, she stuttered the words. "It's...stuck. Everyone else has moved on, gotten married."

"You just said you didn't want to marry me," he countered.

"I don't!" She paused to steady herself. Losing her temper would only muddle things. "We're missing the essential level of intimacy that other couples achieve. We go out together, but we don't really interact. I don't want to marry you, Adam, because I feel as if I barely know you."

"We've been dating for almost two years. How can you say that?"

He exaggerated the hurt in his voice for effect, she thought. "It's been less than a year and a half." A sporadic year and a half. Was he insinuating it felt longer? A better question was, why hadn't they broken up already? She wondered if he would be able to answer—or if she would.

She sighed before continuing. "I can say that because that's the way I feel. I'm supposed to be able to tell you how I feel, aren't I?"

After a pause, he said, "Well, then."

"Aren't you going out with your friends?" It was Tuesday, after all. He'd never missed a Tuesday at the sports bar.

He sighed. "Yeah. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Her hand hovered over the receiver after she hung up. She had thought many times about breaking up. She'd just come so close. Near-freedom was a heady thing.

For reasons she couldn't quite discern, she felt empowered. He hadn't considered her importance in his life before, but tonight he had to reckon with it. Maybe because she'd asserted herself for the first time. Should the job not come through, he might at least have a newfound respect for her. But right now, the future looked as wide open as the horizon.
Chapter Two

The remainder of the week dragged by, the slowest Diana had ever experienced. Her nerves were on edge at home and at work. Each time the phone rang, she pounced on it, hoping it would be Rich Roberts.

Avoiding Adam posed another challenge. He hadn't called her. She could have called him—if she wanted. Easier not to deal with him at all. Her office floor sat two levels above his in a large complex. If she didn't get the new job and they stayed in this relationship limbo, it would be awkward. If she didn't get the new job and they broke up, it would still be awkward.

On Friday, as she typed a report, her cell rang. The display showed Horizons' number. She tamped down a squeal. Without checking who might be nearby, she answered. Hearing Rich Roberts's voice, her breath stilled. Calmly, she waited as he asked if she was still interested.

"Yes, very much." Biting her lip, she managed to contain her glee.

"We'll see you in two weeks." He hung up.

She typed her resignation in five minutes and e-mailed it to her supervisor. Any worry of awkwardness disappeared. Two more weeks and she would no longer have to face the possibility of running into Adam, by accident or otherwise.

I have to tell him, though.

If she called him now, he'd make her feel guilty. She texted him instead.

Her cell rang. For a moment, she agonized whether to answer, then went to the restroom. Away from her desk, so she wouldn't have to lie.

When she got back, her desk phone blinked with a voice mail message. A strategic move—he knew she had to listen right away, not like her cell messages.

"I suppose I should congratulate you," he said when she called.

"Yes, Adam. It's the right thing for me."

"The right thing. Nice."

Her supervisor stood at her desk.

"Listen, I have to go. I'll talk to you later."

"I'm not sure what I'm doing this weekend."

What did he mean? "All right."

"I'll see you when I see you."

She pressed the off button and smiled at her supervisor. "Sorry for the e-mail. I wanted to make sure you saw it right away."

"Is there anything I can say to make you stay?"

Was there? A raise? A promotion? A little bit of excitement on the side? "No. I'm afraid not."

* * *

Diana couldn't remember the last weekend she had to herself completely, without wondering whether Adam might call, might want to do something. Occasionally they'd go to an arts festival or a concert, but she always felt the same afterward—detached. As if she might have had a better time if she'd gone alone.

On Saturday morning, she searched the online classifieds for apartments. A few looked like possibilities. After she'd set up the third appointment, she set down her cell.

"Bart, pack your litter box. We're finding a new place."

He purred in response, and she scooped him up. "Time to get rid of our old junk."

Her fingers ran across the spines of her books. The job ahead would be tedious, but her books felt like old friends, warm and comfortable. She couldn't give them up.

She stopped at Mark Twain's Huckleberry Finn and pulled it out. One of her favorites, though technically a children's book. She'd keep it.

The old magazines crowding the basket by the bookshelf could definitely go. She bagged all but the current month and would drop them off at the library next week.

By nine o'clock that night, weariness crept over her. She switched on the TV and plopped onto the sofa. She flipped through the channels and found a sixties music documentary on PBS that caught her interest. She curled up, cozy on the pillow. Soon her eyes grew heavy, and she drifted off.

She sat on the bank of a wide brown river. Birds twittered in the trees; the sun warmed her skin. She hugged her knees, covered by her long blue dress. Someone whistled a tune. Curious, she stood, and strolled upriver. On a crude raft, a boy drifted downstream, pole in hand. His straw hat and cotton shirt and pants appeared as odd as her midcalf dress. She should know him, but from where?

When he saw her, he waved, and pushed the raft to the bank.

As he approached, she realized why he looked familiar. The blue of his eyes matched the blue of her dress, his sandy brown hair framing his face beneath the hat. It was Cal.

He stepped onto the grass, holding the raft's rope. "Come on. I'm going downstream."

Even as a boy, his height overwhelmed her.

"What do you mean?"

His smile was as electric as his gaze. "Come with me."

Those three words drew her like an incantation. She followed him to the raft. He held her hand as she climbed on. The center appeared the safest place, so she sat.

With the pole, he pushed out into the current. He turned to her and smiled. "Nice, huh?"

Better than nice, but she nodded. "Where are we going?"

"Why?" His lips curled in a half-smile; he pushed the raft farther from shore.

What an odd response, but he must have known what he was doing. She set her hands on the raft and leaned her head back to enjoy the sun. When he whistled "You Are My Sunshine," she opened her eyes and smiled. His gaze embraced her, warmed her.

A distant rumble sounded. "What's that?"

He thrust the pole into the water and pushed.

The noise grew louder, a low and steady rush. Her nerves prickled. "What is it?"

His loud laugh mixed with the approaching roar.

On all fours, she stared in horror. The river ahead disappeared in a mist.

"No—we have to turn back!"

His eyes blazed as he slowly turned. "There's no turning back now."

She gasped, and scrambled to the edge for something, anything to hold on to. The river dropped off. As the mist rose up to surround them, she could see nothing but Cal. The raft plunged down and down, no end in sight. The thundering water drowned her scream.

With a gasp, Diana awoke and sat up, her heart pounding as Cal's laughter echoed in her head. Bart peered from the back of the sofa. She pulled him to her. "Oh, Bart. What a dream." The thrumming of his purrs steadied her heartbeat, but she couldn't quell the feeling that Cal's sizzling blue eyes still seared into her like a laser.

* * *

Two weeks. Ten workdays. Eighty hours. Surprisingly, the first week flew as Diana wrapped up as many projects as she could. Who knew—she might need her supervisor's reference someday.

Adam's silence, too, surprised her, but also came as a relief. When her cell rang on Thursday and his name displayed, she considered not answering, but it would only delay the inevitable.

"Diana. It's Adam."

As if she didn't see his name in the display. "Hi."

"Just calling to see how it's going."

"Hectic, as I suspected." With uncanny accuracy, she predicted what he'd say before the words left his mouth, though he said nothing of real substance. She sensed he waited for her apology. Instead she asked how his week went. His voice deadpan, he said, "Fine." They agreed to meet for lunch the next day.

He was already seated at a table when she arrived.

"I wasn't sure if I should call you," he said.

"I know. I was confused about where we stand, too." She was expecting a fight, but her appetite was somehow unaffected. Without compunction, she ordered a chicken Caesar salad.

He lifted his head as a colleague entered the restaurant. "Excuse me, I need to talk to Brad for a minute."

How typical of him to abandon her at any opportunity; she'd grown used to his sudden disappearances. Although he was her opposite in almost every way, this held a strange attraction for her, and her fascination with his odd perspectives was part of what held them together: She just could not figure him out. If his life had a theme, it was "Conform to the ordinary." In general, appearances interested him more than substance. Even the few times they argued, he insisted that no one be able to guess by looking at them that anything was wrong. She found it hard to put up a false front and basically cared nothing for others' opinions, especially when it concerned her personal life.

Her opinions of herself, however, had been so ingrained from childhood that she could not overcome them. Diana's mother had been weight-conscious to the point of raising Diana to think that she was overweight. Years later, as she looked at photos from her childhood, she was amazed to see that she was an average child. She had always felt so self-conscious of her body, she was sure others regarded her with disgust. One photo in particular was a revelation: She stood in a one-piece bathing suit on the beach next to her aunt. She remembered the suit well—it had a diagonal stripe that drove Diana crazy. She constantly tried to straighten it. Her one lingering memory of that trip to the beach was her feeling of obesity in that suit. Looking at herself twenty years later, she could only shake her head at the small smiling girl with the pageboy haircut. How she escaped anorexia, she couldn't say.

And so, as an adult, Diana found it difficult to believe that she deserved better than what she had with Adam. Her strict parents had almost brainwashed her into believing that she was lucky to have what little she had, to not dare ask for more. She yearned, like so many other women, to be model-thin, but could never achieve it. She could never hope to be better than average, a mediocre face in the crowd that would never stand out. So why should she expect more from a relationship than the average?

"Sorry," Adam said as he sat down again. "So." He sent her a tight smile and snapped the napkin over his leg.

She had envisioned this move; it bothered her that she knew what he'd do next: lean one elbow on the table as he grilled her about details.

"What's new?" he asked.

She tried to sound perky. "Not much. Wrapping things up, mostly."

Adam's eyebrow went up. She wanted to reach over and knock it back down.

"So you're serious about the job." Ever the accountant, he noticeably calculated his moves. His timing was aimed at throwing her off-balance, catching her off guard.

"Of course." She cocked an eyebrow herself. She would have to counter his every challenge.

He dropped his gaze, but looked at nothing. He moved his thumb along the tips of his fingers—another giveaway. The whirs and clicks of his brain were practically audible.

"Will you commute, or do you think you'll move?"

She sipped her drink. "Not sure yet."

Their food arrived, and she chewed each bite, studying him. For a man, he had long lashes and beautiful eyes. His Gregory Peck features gave him a classically handsome appearance.

His fingertips pressed white into his fork. "Have you looked at any apartments?"

"Not yet." He'd want to go with her if she admitted to making appointments.

"I was thinking...all the money you'll spend on gas, then putting up a deposit on a new place, the moving expenses, you know..." He shrugged, and his shoulders slumped.

Bean counter, she thought with venom as he separated his sandwich from his pickle from his fries—he always ate one type of food at a time.

She sat straighter. "I'll figure it out."

"Sounds like you've got your mind made up about the job." His disappointed expression softened her attitude.

"Yes," she said. "I do."

He nodded, turning his full attention to the plate before him. They ate without speaking for several minutes.

"Will I get to see you much after you start your job?"

Diana forced a smile. "Well, lunch is out of the question."

He didn't return her smile.

She cleared her throat. "I'll probably be busy at first getting settled in. And I'll have to work late, for a while, so I can learn my job. It's going to be a real challenge."

Adam nodded. "How about tonight then? Can we have dinner?"

"I don't know, maybe..."

He leaned toward her. "Please?"

When their gazes connected, she regretted being so hard on him. "Sure, that would be nice."

He's actually making an effort now, she thought. A little late, but...

"Good," he said, grabbing the check. "I'll get this. You can get the next one." He smiled again.

God, an attempt at a joke! "Oh, thanks." She laughed. "I pay for dinner, then? Really nice." She checked her watch. "I have to get back. I'll talk to you later." She kissed him and walked out.

For the first time in a long while, she felt as if she controlled her life, though where it would lead, she had no clue.

* * *

Adam opened the passenger door to his Buick. She quashed the image of him as a valet. "Where are you taking me?"

"It's a surprise." He widened his eyes and his smile.

"Good or bad?" she wanted to ask, but smiled. Heavy metal rock pulsed through the car as he drove, making conversation impossible.

When he pulled up outside La Viola, her mouth dropped open. "Here? Seriously?"

He grinned smugly.

As they walked to the entrance, he grasped her hand. "You look great, by the way."

Wow. A night of surprises. "Thanks." Curiosity overcame her. "Brad and Ann aren't meeting us here, right?"

He held the door for her. "Nope. It's just me and you."

When they were seated at the table, his smile grew as awkward and strained as the conversation. She threw out an opener: "Really nice place."

"Yeah." His face brightened, but after a moment faded.

"How's the food? Have you heard?"

"Excellent." He rubbed his finger along his bottom lip. Uh-oh—the sign of a desperate man trying to think of something, anything, to salvage the pleasantness from earlier.

She nodded. "Great." What other conversational tidbits could she lob at him? Would he attempt to keep it in play, or let it bounce off him? They hadn't been apart long enough to catch up on news.

When their food arrived, gratitude overwhelmed her. Something to do besides sit and glance at each other. This restaurant had no television to distract him, apparently a detail he'd overlooked.

After a few beers, he abandoned his usual detached self. Compliments flowed as freely as her wine, and she felt as though she were floating by evening's end. When he suggested they go home early, she agreed.

In the car, she kissed his neck and unbuttoned his shirt. Normally, he didn't like such spontaneity, but tonight he squirmed uncomfortably without protest.

She smiled at his prudishness. If only I can get him to loosen up a little!

"Let's drive through the park."

He glanced at her, his face a blank.

She arched her brows; if needed, she'd give an exaggerated wink.

"Sure." He steered toward it.

"Down there." She pointed to an unlit section. Her excitement grew as he turned off the engine and turned down the radio. Stars filled the clear autumn sky, and a harvest moon shone through the treetops.

"This is so romantic." She slid her fingers into his short hair.

He glanced out the window. "Yeah. So long as no one walks by."

"Oh, relax. There's nobody else out here." She moved closer and nibbled on his ear. He moaned softly. She slid her hand up his leg and felt the bulge grow in his pants. His breathing became heavier. He unzipped her pants and thrust a finger inside, running his tongue along her neck.

Now this was more like it. She unbuckled her belt and pulled down her pants.

"What are you doing?"

She gave him a sly grin. "I'm not waiting 'til you bring me home." She slid her bare leg across his lap.

His eyes grew wide. "What, here?"

She crushed his protests with her lips and undid his belt buckle. His squat bulge sprung from his pants, ready and willing even if he wasn't. Her fingers teased it until he pulled her panties aside and guided her onto him.

She ignored the awkwardness of his movements; he probably still worried about getting caught. He held her hips and moaned appreciatively as she thrust herself onto him. His legs stiffened, a sign that she better hurry or she'd miss the Orgasm Express.

"Oh—oh God," he gasped, shuddering.

"Oh no." She thrust harder, but no use. It was all over.

He winced. "Sorry."

She knew better than to ask him to finish the job. He'd never put his fingers there now, let alone his mouth.

"Do you have any tissues?" he asked.

She pulled a package from her purse and handed it to him. He used the whole pack to wipe his crotch and the seat.

"Hey, better get dressed." He patted her bare thigh.

"Don't worry, everyone else is inside, watching TV or some such nonsense, missing this great view." She leaned her head against her arm out the window.

"Come on, roll up that window...It's chilly. Besides, someone will see you."

"Like who? Do you have a wife I don't know about?" she teased.

She kissed his cheek, but he fidgeted with his belt buckle and started the car. She took this as a sign that the romantic portion of the evening had concluded. Still, it had been rather nice. She contented herself to simply sit beside him on the ride home.

He pulled up outside her apartment but left the engine running. "I've got an early golf game with Brad. Call you tomorrow?"

"Sure." She climbed out. Sure, let's not get too carried away tonight. Brad was more important.

He waited until she unlocked her door and waved before he drove off.

The apartment seemed a little too empty when she went in; turning on lights didn't help much. She turned them off again and stood outside the sliding glass doors on her little back balcony, watching the moon and stars wink through the trees.

In another week, she'd begin her new job. Normally, she'd be worrying about details and logistics by now, but she felt strangely complacent. It was a step in a better direction, she knew; even her relationship with Adam would either improve or simply end.

Change is a good thing, she thought, walking to her room. The moonlight fell across her bed so invitingly that she left the lights out and positioned her pillow so she could drift off to sleep bathed in moonbeams.

She sat on a rock by a waterfall, with lovely trees lit by the moon. A painter worked at his canvas. She caught only glimpses as he peered above it then went back to work. Something about his eyes made her curious. And uneasy.

She stood, and walked toward him. The slam of the painter's brush against the easel startled her, and she froze as he shouted and stomped toward her. He glared in anger, and she recognized him finally—Cal. He stood before her, demanding to know why she'd moved and ruined his painting. He kept repeating, "Diana." She covered her ears and turned to run, but he held her shoulders, saying her name again and again.

She sat up in bed and heard herself say, "No!" She plopped onto her pillow and stared out the window. The image of Cal's eyes kept sleep at bay for hours.

* * *

On her final day at work, Adam sent Diana a bouquet of flowers. "I'll miss you," the card read. As if she were voyaging across the sea. As if their relationship would be very different.

Her office threw a going-away luncheon, which Adam couldn't attend. He texted: Movie 2nite?

She typed: Yes.

Maybe if he made it worth her while, she wouldn't go look at that last apartment tomorrow.

A cell tone indicated his response: Jeff n Kirsten 2.

Make that 4, she thought. Oh well; she liked Kirsten and would at least have someone to talk to.

After work, she ate a quick sandwich. Adam had avoided any mention of dinner. Or, since the texts, the movie, for that matter. When he arrived with Jeff and Kirsten, Jeff suggested the latest Bruce Willis movie.

She and Kirsten exchanged knowing glances, punctuated with noncommittal shrugs.

The men smiled. "Good," Jeff said.

"Supposed to be," Adam added.

Typical. They'd stolen her thunder, taken away her last-day leverage. She offered the front seat to Jeff, who accepted without checking with Kirsten.

Diana glanced at Kirsten. "Sorry. But they'd have monopolized the conversation with sports anyway."

Kirsten rolled her eyes. "Too true. Maybe we can sneak into a different movie."

Diana grinned. "Think they'd notice?"

"Doubtful."

Inside the theater, she spent most of her time passing popcorn from Adam to Kirsten, who handed it to Jeff.

"Why didn't they just get two buckets?"

"Said it would be too much."

Diana sighed. "And here I was hoping tonight would be special."

"Yeah, I heard you're moving?"

She nodded.

Kirsten leaned closer. "Listen, I'll make Jeff bring me home after the movie so you two can be alone. For a while, at least."

Diana smiled her thanks.

Afterward, they strolled out of the darkness into the bright lobby.

"Want to hit a bar?" Jeff asked.

Kirsten sidled up to him. "Not tonight, honey. I'd rather go home."

For a moment, Diana thought Jeff would agree to take her there—and leave her.

His face fell, and he mumbled, "Sure."

The guys climbed into the car like five-year-olds whose party balloons had burst. Adam drove to Kirsten's street and grunted something that sounded like "Bye." After Jeff and Kirsten got out, he glanced at her with uncertainty.

"Want to go to my place? Watch some TV?" she asked. The park was probably out of the question.

He grunted in a higher octave, which she took to mean yes. When they arrived, he followed her inside, but fell asleep soon after sitting on the couch. She left him there for a while, watching TV by herself. When the eleven o'clock news ended, she woke him and walked him to the door.

"Drive carefully." She touched her lips to his. He lurched toward his car, and she shut the door.

A panic welled within her: Monday. She started her new job on Monday. What should she wear? She went to her closet and rummaged through. Every outfit looked tired. More than tired—exhausted. Tomorrow, she'd go shopping.

Adam's pontifical voice echoed in her head: "I told you it would cost you too much to work there."

Cost was the least of her worries. What if the work was too demanding? What if she couldn't handle it?

What if they don't like me? What if I hate the work? What the hell did I do? she obsessed.

She inhaled deeply, backed out of her closet and shut the door. Jitters were normal during any life change, she decided.

Too late now to back out. I'll have to make it work, that's all.

But what about Cal? As Robin warned, he seemed like a difficult person all the way around. A techno snob.

I'll just have to take that learning curve at warp speed and run you down on my way past!
Chapter Three

A damp, bone-chilling rain fell Monday morning. Diana splashed her new tan pantsuit by stepping in a puddle, dampening her hopes of making an impressive entrance.

Robin squealed as Diana came through the front door. "Your first day! I'm so excited."

Diana couldn't help but smile. "Thanks. Me, too." She wished she weren't. Maybe then she could actually concentrate.

The light through the glass doors at the top of the stairs invited her inside. She closed the door, unsure of what to do. Muted music played down the hall. A telephone rang, and a man spoke in a low, indistinct voice.

A door opened, and Rich Roberts walked toward her. "Diana, welcome." He wore a dark brown suit with a bronze-hued tie. His dark hair tapered to his collar, slightly longer than the usual executive cut, but he was clean-shaven.

Now she felt like an idiot, just standing here. Robin must have called him.

"Hi."

His gaze swept over her. "Do you want to hang up your coat?" He opened a hallway door and gestured toward it.

Warmth prickled her cheeks as she removed her raincoat. "Yes, thanks."

In three steps, he stood behind the desk—her new desk. Within easy access of all, sitting in the alcove as it was. An office would have been nicer, but at least she had a great view out the tall arched window, looking past the parking lot into the park beyond.

Rich opened and shut the drawers. "You can leave your purse in here. Should be a key somewhere. I'll have to check with Robin." He straightened. "For now, let's go to my office."

She nodded as he spoke almost nonstop. Being the chief software engineer, president, and part owner of the company, he was her immediate superior; Cal and Jamie would update him when asking her to work on any projects. Rich had the oversized office to impress the clientele (being the only one graced with a decorator's touch). Though Robin's desk sat in the lobby on the first floor, she served as receptionist for Horizons as well as the business occupying the building's first floor.

After touring her through the office once again—Cal barely said hello—Rich asked Jamie to take over. He helped her log on to the computer network, showed her the voice mail system and the filing system. Because Jack used his office only two days each week, a small library was set up with computer manuals, extra disks, and some supplies in that room. Jamie briefed her on his two current projects and Cal's.

"He gets so involved in what he's doing, he doesn't have a lot of patience to explain it," Jamie explained. "But he's so good at what he does, we ignore his faults." He smiled, making her feel more at ease.

Cal stayed in his office through lunch, while Jamie went in and out of Rich's office and checked in with Diana several times. Rich hadn't hesitated in heaping the workload on her. She didn't mind; she agreed with his philosophy.

"The sooner you learn it, the more of an expert you'll be." Rich grinned. At three thirty, he left for a meeting, but Cal worked straight through until after five. Although all of her new coworkers could be classified as workaholics, Cal in particular seemed engrossed in his work. Afraid to interrupt his concentration, she opened the hallway closet for her raincoat. When she closed the door, he stood in the hall.

"Downstairs'll be locked by now. Use the back. And flip that lock before you go."

She stood as immobilized as if he'd netted her in a tractor beam. No one had mentioned a rear entrance. "Sure. Thanks." She turned the deadbolt, expecting he'd slip away as quietly as he'd come, but he still stood there, watching. Waiting. But for what?

She grabbed her purse and approached him. The door must be past his office.

He tensed; his eyes blazed under furrowed brows. "What are you doing?"

Her cheeks flushed warm. "You said there's a back way. I thought—"

"The other end. Here." He strode past, closer than necessary in the wide hallway.

The air around her moved as if his presence charged it with warmth, stirred her senses to life. She followed immediately without conscious thought.

At the darkened end of the hall, beyond Jack's office, Cal opened a door and turned, his gaze locked on her. A dim, yellowed light atop the stairs cast shadows across his features. His eyes almost crackled with electricity.

Her body gravitated toward his seemingly of its own will.

"Watch your step." His low voice Tasered her skin.

"What?" She swallowed hard.

His lips curled in a half-smile. "The stairs."

She let out a breath. "Right." She stepped onto the landing. "Do I need to do anything?"

He cocked his head in question.

God, why did she act like such an idiot around him? "I mean, do I lock it, or does it lock itself, or is there a lock downstairs?" How many times could she say "lock" in one sentence? Maybe she had lockjaw. The absurd thought made her snort a giggle and flush in embarrassment again.

If he thought she'd gone inexplicably insane, he didn't react. Maybe out of fear.

"Nope. Nothing to it."

"Good. I mean, good night." She turned and clutched the rail to prevent herself from falling down a flight of stairs—that would complete the picture of idiocy.

As her foot descended on the landing, the door upstairs clicked shut.

She halted, holding tight to the rail. Had he watched to make sure she made it down safely?

In the anemic light, she pulled her keys from her purse. Go home. Stop being an idiot.

The long drive put enough distance from the embarrassing moment—and Cal—so she could convince herself it was all in her imagination. Almost.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Diana learned that the general atmosphere at Horizons Software was a kind of highly charged tension that could roller-coaster at any moment from humor to an angry explosion. Early on, she learned to read each moment as it came and when to duck out if the need arose. Although no one directed anger at her, she didn't like to be in the way when the atmospheric fission inevitably reached its climax.

Jack's sporadic presence injected a temporary lightness to the office. A barrel-chested man, his hearty laughs echoed down the hall, though his divorce had become final only months earlier. He often reeked of smoke and conducted sales calls while on outdoor breaks. He bounded between the kitchen, Rich's office, and his own, often stopping at Diana's desk. His gaze gave her the creeps, so she busied herself. Easy enough to do at Horizons, where projects lined up in the queue faster than she could complete them.

She threw herself into her work as she'd never done before. The learning curve was slightly greater than she'd anticipated, but the opportunity to learn and add to her skills only whetted her intellectual appetite, and she craved more. Not only did she learn her job, she discovered she excelled in areas she'd never suspected.

She got along well with everyone in the office except Cal, whose work absorbed most of his time. The few minutes he spent at her desk today seemed leisurely, almost a luxury, but he was only accommodating Rich's request to show her the highlights of his latest program. He leaned over her, one hand on the back of her chair, one on the desk, and spoke in terse phrases.

She frowned at the monitor. "So it's supposed to tally numbers there and display it on the next screen?"

He blew through clenched teeth. "Like I said."

She glanced up. "Sorry, I'm trying to understand it so I can write the instructions correctly. Less work for you later."

He pressed his lips together and stared at the screen.

"It's all so new yet," she said.

"You've been here a month now, haven't you?"

"Three weeks." She felt very small. Like a fly he wanted to swat away, and just as easily disposed of.

His gaze flicked to hers, pricked her like needles. "I'm on deadline." Still holding her chair, his gaze turned to a glare.

"I..." She blinked. "I'll use the manuals, I guess." Anger and frustration swirled through her. Rich had tasked her with putting together the user's manual for the program. Without Cal's input, it would appear the work of an amateur. Which she was.

He pushed up to a stand, gave a short laugh and shook his head as he strode off.

She clenched her fists, tamping down the urge to growl. It's not personal. He's a jerk to everyone.

"Coffee," she said to herself and went to the kitchen. The pot held less than a cup. Another unwritten duty, she suspected, since none of them ever refilled it.

Jamie walked in as she dumped the grounds. "Ugh, no coffee?"

"In a minute." She hurried the process.

He leaned against the counter. "Rich showed me the pages you laid out. Nice."

"Thanks. I've been looking through other manuals for ideas. And there's a pretty good graphics design book in your library—I took some ideas from that too."

Rich strode in with his cup. "Great minds."

Jamie crossed one foot over his other. "I was telling Diana what a nice job she did on the manual."

He set his cup on the counter and smiled. "Keep up the good work. I'll be back."

Once he walked out of earshot, Jamie said, "He's not much for compliments, so take them where you can get them." His cell rang, and he strolled into the hall.

At least everyone else was nice. She filled her cup and went back to her desk and tried to avoid glancing toward Cal's open door.

A few minutes before noon, Rich strode past. "Going out for a meeting."

"See you."

The sun warmed her back through the blinds behind her desk. She stood, drawn by the warm gold and orange cascading across the treetops. Indian summer. Her favorite time of year. She had to get out there, stretch her legs. She pulled her running shoes from her tote bag, put them on and stood.

Jamie strolled toward her. "Heading out for a bit. Can I get you anything?"

"No, thanks. I brought a sandwich." Her apartment search continued, and as Adam predicted, commuting became expensive. She skimped wherever she could. "I'm going for a walk." She followed him to the stairway. "It's too nice a day to spend it all inside."

The building sat beside Thoreau Park—a bit overgrown with weeds, but its unkempt appearance only added more charm. She could retreat to it in peace, as it was deserted.

Giddiness filled her as she breathed in the warm, pungent smells, almost tasting the vibrant autumn colors surrounding her. Trees along the trail showered leaves around her, making her want to dance and run like a wild child through the dappled sunlight. Instead, she satisfied the urge by kicking up some leaves from her path. A movement through the woods caught her eye, and she halted when Cal made his way, noiselessly as an animal, through the trees. He disappeared through leafy cover almost immediately, not following the usual trails.

She shoved her hands into her pockets, repressing the urge to call to him, ask him to join her in her walk.

She'd heard through the coffee room grapevine—Robin, the only one to engage in gossip—that Cal was involved with a woman named Susan. According to Robin, Susan was much more interested in him than he was in her.

Diana wondered what Susan was like, how Cal acted when he was with her. Maybe Susan knew a completely different side of him.

Walking back, she decided she was not interested in the sordid details of Cal's love life—her own relationship with Adam confused her enough. Since starting her new job, he complained that she spent too much time there. She explained that she wanted to grow as much as possible in this position, and it couldn't be accomplished without a real time commitment.

Plus the two-hour commute, he reminded her. When she asked if he'd rather they spend more time together on the weekend as a couple, he declined. She couldn't figure out what he wanted from her. She wanted more than to be someone's showpiece, someone to merely dangle from the arm of her date. She always felt more like a "date" than a girlfriend—he never truly focused on her, always giving her the impression she was barely in his peripheral vision. The focus had sharpened when she first took the new job, but seemed to blur again soon. She considered telling him she wanted to break it off, but was now too busy to begin such an involved conversation.

And then there was the disturbing dream she'd had this weekend: she and Adam on an island beach, lounging in their chairs near the seaside café. They had just finished dinner and decided to take in the beautiful sunset from the best view in town. He ordered tropical drinks and sat in his chair, eyes half closed, smiling. Despite the serene surroundings, she began to feel restless. The waiter brought their drinks, his eyes shielded by a large-brimmed baseball cap. As he handed Diana her drink, he lifted his head and smiled at her with a leer. It was Cal. She nearly dropped her glass. Adam didn't budge from his catatonic state. Cal threw down his waiter's tray and towel and backed away from her into the sunset-draped ocean. The sun's rays shone strong behind him, made him a silhouette against the swirling reds, oranges and purples of the sky. His arm extended toward her, beckoning—it seemed to reach inside and lift her to her feet against her will. She said, "I'm going for a swim," then untied her sarong skirt and let it drift to the sand as she followed, zombielike. She did the same with her blouse, revealing her bikini-clad, tanned body. The sun glinted off Cal's teeth as his leer broadened, and his eyes flashed with the colors of the sunset. He grabbed her hand and pulled her into the ocean until the waters crashed around her shoulders. She hesitated, glancing at Adam. A tall wave loomed over them, and Cal pulled her in. The wave crashed down, pushing them under. With a kiss, he held her so close she couldn't break free. It felt strangely calm underneath the waves. His arm wrapped around her waist, he thrust them farther into the ocean. Panic welled within her. She needed air. She opened her mouth to tell him, but only bubbles came out. He laughed and pulled her ever deeper.

Diana had woken gasping in her bed. She still couldn't decide whether the dream disturbed her because Cal tried to drown her or because Adam hadn't come to her rescue. She'd never had such bizarre dreams before. And why dream about Cal again? He'd given her no reason to believe he had the slightest interest. His bristly attitude would scare any girl away. Yet sometimes she'd catch him looking at her in a strange way—not hostile, but curious. When she met his gaze, he'd quickly turn away. A puzzle, she thought, climbing the steps to the office front door after her walk.

Robin sat at her desk when Diana came in.

"Hi." Robin's bubbly tone fizzled. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. Thinking about my boyfriend." No need to say what she thought.

Robin clucked her tongue. "Do you miss him?"

"Yeah," Diana lied, hoping to end the conversation.

"That's so cute. Did you have a nice walk?"

She took a deep breath, thankful for the change in subject matter. "Just what I needed. I love that park. It's great for depressurizing."

"I'm not much for walking, but we could eat outside at the picnic table sometime," Robin offered.

"That would be nice, thanks."

"So how's it going up there?" She tilted her head toward the steps.

"So far, so good. I like the job, and Rich is great."

"Rich is a good guy. It's a shame they're so strapped for cash," Robin said.

That didn't sound good. "What do you mean?"

"Jamie told me he hasn't had a raise yet. He's been there almost two years. Said the industry competition's too fierce, the company can't afford it yet."

Dumbstruck, Diana stood there, mouth agape.

Robin laid a hand on her arm. "Don't worry, I'm sure things will look up soon."

Diana glanced at her watch. "I've got to get back. See you."

She trudged upstairs, disheartened by the news. No matter, she still gained experience that could lead to a better position. Her favorite parts of her new job were helping to design the user manuals, and alpha testing: use the software developed by the engineers, record its bugs and errors, make suggestions from the user's point of view, and report back to Rich, Cal, and Jamie. Experience quickly taught her to first tell Jamie of the problems. Cal and Rich were too volatile, Cal having spent the most time trying to correct the errors, and Rich worrying over the accounting repercussions of the bugs. She carefully worded her reports to list the positive aspects of their programs as well. She'd heard them complain many times already of negative user comments, no matter how hard they worked to develop a solid, innovative program. She felt wholeheartedly sympathetic and didn't want to be the messenger who got killed bearing bad news.

At a staff meeting that afternoon, Rich listened as Cal detailed the headaches caused by his latest project—a tracking system designed to evaluate workers' performances while spewing out all the related work history reports.

"I've put in a lot of extra hours trying to work out the glitches." He tossed his pen atop his pad. "Every time I feel more sure of the solution, I reach a dead end and have to retrace my logic."

Rich furrowed his brow. "I know the hours you've put in. And I appreciate it." He scanned his notes. "But our deadline's January second. Seven weeks out, with Thanksgiving and Christmas in between." He glanced at Diana. "You two team up on this. Update me at the end of each week."

Cal's head jerked up almost imperceptibly, and his gaze locked on her.

Panic struck like lightning. If anything, she'd slow him down. He'd really hate her then.

Rich stood, notepad and pen in hand. "We have a lot riding on this." He strode out.

Jamie stretched to a stand. "If there's anything I can do, let me know." He shot Diana an uneasy glance as he left.

Cal groaned, "Thanks."

Afraid to move, Diana stammered, "What do you want me to do?"

His chest rose in a long breath. "Let's go." Noiselessly, he glided up from his seat and to the door. She scrambled to collect her things and followed him to his office.

He plopped into his chair. "Pull up a seat."

She did as instructed. His voice drove her to distraction as his low growl vibrated up her spine. She concentrated on the words and kept her gaze on the monitor.

"Enter as much of this dummy data as you can. We need to see whether the program can handle it." He listed the three troubling sequences, then fell silent.

She scribbled notes, trying to recall everything he said, and exhaled as she finished. "Got it." She raised her head and became immobilized.

His blue eyes bore into hers. "Good."

Good didn't begin to describe it. "Yes." Her breathy tone startled her to a stand. The chair tilted, but she caught it and dragged it to its former place. "I'll get started."

She attempted a smile, but her face froze as he studied her. By the time she reached her desk, her wobbly knees were grateful for the rest.

* * *

The remainder of her week consisted of typing dummy information into each field of the program. Her fingers developed a rhythm and flew over the keypad, tapping the tab key to move through.

On Friday morning, Cal stopped at her desk as he arrived a few minutes late—the first time since she'd been hired. If his bleary eyes were an indication, he must've stayed late the night before.

"How's it going?" he asked.

"I'll be done before lunch."

"Great. We'll start on the next phase today." His long strides brought him to his office before she could respond.

After an hour, her fingers felt ready to drop off, but she finished. She stood to go tell Cal, but instead picked up her cup. Coffee first. Then she could deal with Cal.

She sipped as she strolled, and halted.

Cal approached carrying his mug. "Done?"

"Yes, I was about to—"

"Good. I'll be right there." He disappeared into the kitchen.

She sat, and he came toward her with the rush of a tornado. For someone so tall, he moved with grace—and stealth. She never heard him coming.

In one motion, he set down his mug and swung a hand behind her and leaned the other on her desk, as before. "Go to Scheduling."

She clicked the button. Please let it work.

"Hit Process." He tensed as the Please Wait message appeared. As a new screen popped open, his breath fell silent. As the data assembled, the report froze.

He exhaled sharply, as if punched. "You'll have to reboot. Then let's try the Monthly Report."

After having concentrated on it so hard, the failure felt as personal to her as it was to him. She pressed Control, Alt, and Delete. The monitor flashed as the program closed, and the computer whirred to a halt, then to life again. It halted and flashed an error.

"Sorry. My fault." She popped the disk from the drive. As if he wasn't irritated enough.

"No problem." His soft tone took her by surprise. "Bring up the Monthly." He braced as it launched. He jerked forward as if to catch it and gritted his teeth as it crashed. "Try the last one."

The warmth of his body seeped into hers. An unexpected job perk. She tried not to smile, but when the report launched without a hitch, she sat straight. "It worked!"

"Three's the charm. At least we can tell Rich part of it works."

She turned to face him. "You'll figure out the others." As his gaze held hers, she might have been floating atop waves of blue.

He drew away, his lips in a half-smirk, half-grin. "Yeah. Or update my resume."

"No." She spoke without thought. He couldn't leave. Not now.

He halted, his eyes narrowed as if to adjust his focus on her.

"I mean..." She shrugged, wanting to disappear. "You know it won't come to that."

He stepped back and cocked his jaw. "Right." In seconds, he was back in his office.

Diana held her fingertips to her temples. I have to keep my mouth shut—or I'll be the one updating my resume. Again.
Chapter Four

The Monday following Thanksgiving, Diana drove to work with a satisfaction beyond tryptophan saturation. She'd managed to divert her mother's questions about Adam, eat only one slice of pumpkin pie and two chocolate chunk cookies. And she had an appointment to look at an apartment. Good thing. Her lease ran out last month, and she had talked the landlord into giving her an extension. Radio blaring, she sang along with The Waitresses about the calendar being just one page. So much for modern Christmas classics. Still, she shared the excitement of the season.

She parked in back but walked to the front to say hello to Robin.

"Hey!" Robin squealed. "Did you have a good Thanksgiving?" Her blonde curls bobbed.

She gave the rundown. "I better go up. Lots to do before New Year's."

"Wait, take these with you." She pulled green flyers from her desk.

Diana scanned the paper. "A Christmas party? Nice."

"Tell Rich everything's set to go. Attendance is mandatory." Robin pointed.

"I look forward to it." With a wave, she trotted upstairs and hung up her coat.

Rich poked his head into the hallway. "Hi, Diana. When Cal gets here, have him come see me, will you? Thanks." He withdrew inside.

An unease crept over her. Cal usually arrived before her and left after her. She powered up her computer and carried the flyers to Rich, who told her to place one on each desk. She did, then went to the kitchen to start coffee. When the water burbled into the pot, she rushed into the hallway.

Cal strode around the corner and stopped short of bumping into her. "Hey." He smelled of cold, fresh air and an earthier, musky scent. The combination effervesced in her nostrils. Dark circles ringed his eyes.

"Hey." That one word conveyed a sense of commiseration. Unity.

"Did you have a nice holiday?" Diana asked.

He grunted. "I ate a microwave turkey meal at my desk."

"Didn't you get away at all?" She guessed he hadn't by his rumpled appearance.

His gaze snapped to hers. He set his mug on the table. "I'll come back." He whirled out the door.

"Rich wants to see you," she called.

"Great," came his response from halfway down the hall.

The men's voices sparred from inside Rich's office. Phrases like "only four weeks" and "meet the deadline" cut above the din.

At her desk, she busied herself as Cal's gruff voice sounded nearer. "I'm doing the best I can." His office door slammed shut.

Rich hurried toward her. "Coffee?"

"Should be done."

He paused long enough to ask, "Did you have a nice holiday?"

"Yes, thanks. Did you?"

He rushed off without answering.

Robin came through the main entrance and announced in a singsong voice, "Decoration detail." She slid a gold hanger over the door and hung an imitation pine wreath with a simple red bow atop it.

"Do you need any help?" Diana tensed as she asked. When would she have any spare time?

"Nope, got it covered. Besides, I wouldn't want to—" Robin brightened. "Hi, Rich."

He hurried past, humming. "Morning. Thanks for the party invitation. Looks great."

Jamie came in through the back door. "Morning."

Cal's long legs carried him swiftly toward the kitchen. He scowled and stared ahead.

Waving, Robin closed the door. Her high-pitched rendition of "Jingle Bells" sounded on the stairs.

Jamie winced and strolled to his office.

Cal followed, and a deceptive lull spread through the rooms.

From her desk, Diana felt the underlying tension. It propelled her to run through the program and document each step. The more detailed her description, the better the chance Cal might unearth something useful.

At lunch, Robin carried a box to Diana's desk. "Here's the tree." She hummed as she headed for the door.

"We have a tree?" The box appeared too small.

Robin reappeared with a second box. "And decorations." She set it atop the first. "I'll come up later to work on it, but I'm not supposed to be away from my area too long."

"Okay, thanks." She didn't know when, but a tree would lift her spirits. And maybe theirs too.

The afternoon slipped away. When she checked the time, she gasped. Almost six. She couldn't be late for her six-thirty appointment. She flung her purse over her shoulder and grabbed her coat.

"Night!" she called down the hall, and two male voices echoed back. She flipped the deadbolt, biting back the sting of disappointment. Apparently Cal had never been schooled in pleasantries.

* * *

The next morning, excitement buoyed Diana awake despite getting to bed late and setting the alarm for extra early. She wanted to set up the Christmas tree before work and surprise everyone.

Bart sat by the bed purring in anticipation of his morning meal.

"We're moving, Bart!" She scooped him up and scratched his chin as she carried him to the kitchen. "Not huge, but big enough for us. A balcony where you can lay in the sunshine. You'll love it."

Slick roadways deterred her early start. A fender bender backed up traffic for a mile.

"I can't wait. No more commute." The hour drive could stretch longer even without accidents. The drive dwindled to twenty minutes.

She hurried up the stairs. Maybe she could at least assemble the frame.

Cal emerged from the kitchen as she entered. "Good, you're here. We have a lot to do."

"Okay, be right there."

The rest of the day spun by in a blur. Lunch hour was nonexistent, as it had been for weeks. At six thirty, she couldn't stand any more. She had to pack at least a few boxes tonight.

The next morning, she overslept and had to rush, a carbon copy of the previous day. She crashed when she finally got home.

By Friday, she groaned as she wondered when she would finally have some time to actually move.

"Remind me to use the back until after the holidays," Jamie muttered on his way in. From downstairs, Robin's nonstop, off-key carols grated on Diana's nerves too.

As Cal approached, he winced. "Shut the damn door."

Poor Robin. If only she knew she brought out everyone's inner Scrooge.

"She did a nice job of decorating," Diana offered.

Jamie chuckled. "Surprisingly tasteful. Unlike her usual mode of dress."

Cal set his hands on his hips. "When are these boxes going to disappear?"

Diana set her jaw and steadied her voice. "When I am cloned." Her spine chilled. What did she just say?

Jamie's eyebrows flew upward. He pointed at Cal and chuckled. "Careful."

Cal narrowed his eyes, but a glint of pleasure showed. "Whenever you're ready to start. We are on deadline." His sarcastic tone was softened by his half-smile.

She stood and showed her cup. "I think I need coffee first. If that's okay." She'd pushed him that far, might as well make it seem intentional.

He stood watching her as Jamie went to his office.

She shivered, imagining him following her to the kitchen. When she went back to her desk, it was deserted. The emptiness chilled her.

An hour passed before Cal flew out of his office. "Try the Scheduling again."

In two clicks, she exited her own work and pulled up the program. Because of her repeated run-throughs, she now navigated the software like a pro.

Behind her, Cal paced like a tiger in a pen. He'd spent weeks examining every possible detail that might impact the troubled sequence of the program. The flickering image on the screen drew him toward it. His warmth spread over her as he hovered. She inhaled his scent and held it in. Please work.

An error message flashed. The computer froze.

He cursed and slammed a chair into the wall next to her desk. He retreated to his office muttering profanities.

Rich appeared in his doorway. "Everything okay?" He glanced from her to Cal's office.

"Yes, fine." Diana forced a reassuring smile.

Rich worried about lawsuits, Jamie had told her, even from his own workers. One modest legal award could ruin the company and devastate him financially.

Rich walked to her desk. "Cal's pretty upset, huh?"

Diana nodded.

"Do you want me to speak to him? Calm him down?" His forehead creased.

"No. I can imagine how frustrating it must be."

He relaxed visibly. "If he gets out of line, let me know. He can be difficult sometimes."

She nodded. "Thanks."

She strolled to the kitchen, feeling useless, wishing she could offer some solution, however small. She poured her coffee.

Cal strode in. He glared, as if she were an unpleasant reminder. He filled his coffee cup and turned to leave, then paused in the doorway. "Sorry about the outburst."

Diana grasped her cup. "Forget it. You have enough to worry about."

His wince told her she hit a nerve.

An idea struck her. "I'm sure you've already done this, but what if the modules were separated out, then added back in one by one? To test how they interact with each other?"

His sideways look told her she had overstepped her boundaries, treading where only programmers dared to tread. Nodding, he lifted his hand from the door and sprung down the hallway on long legs.

He holed up in his office the rest of the morning. She made use of the time to rerun the program repeatedly, searching for any clue, no matter how slight.

He emerged looking as though he'd walked through hellfire, but wearily triumphant.

"Try it now." He slumped into a chair opposite her desk.

She said a silent prayer as the program ran fine for the first few portions. She shifted in her seat as it neared the crucial sequence. If it bombed again after all his hard work, he would probably go ballistic.

Delight filled her as she neared the end of it with no setbacks. With a triumphant bang of a key, she gave it the command to print the performance evaluation. As the printer whirled into action, she gave a laughing "ha!" as she turned to him.

"You were right," she said. "It's great."

He crept toward the printer and scanned the first page. A slow smile crept across his face as he rocked on his heels. With a shared sense of victory, she looked over his shoulder.

"It's perfect." She smiled up at him.

The glow of happiness in his eyes evolved into wonderment as he gazed into her face. Like a window shade pulled down to deter outsiders from glimpsing inside, Cal snapped his emotions inside again.

His voice, rough as gravel, grated into her. "Nothing's ever perfect. You should know that by now." He grabbed the rest of the pages from the printer, strode into Rich's office and shut the door.

She gaped at the blank door, gave herself a mental shake, and walked to the restroom for no real purpose except it served as a semi-escape, a chance to gather herself. At the sink, she ran cold water over her hands, then stared into her own eyes in the mirror.

Gulp down the indignities and put forth a professional front—even if Cal can't. She straightened, and took a deep breath to brace herself. From the sound of their voices, all of them had gathered near her desk. She had to face them.

She stepped into the hall.

Rich stood near her computer, chattering to Cal and Jamie. He looked over the printout, then at the screen. Cal slumped in her chair, one leg draped across its arm. Rich and Jamie beamed as she approached, but Cal barely glanced up.

"This is great news. We'll be ready for delivery now," Rich said. "Cal, great work, as usual."

Swinging his leg, his voice was hoarse. "Actually, Diana gave me an idea. I expanded on it—a lot—but she showed real insight. Forced me to think in a different direction." He yawned.

Her mouth dropped open. He actually gave her credit.

Rich smiled. "Great teamwork. We have a lot to celebrate tonight."

Cal winced at the reminder. The office was set to close early because of the Christmas party scheduled for that evening.

He groaned. "I'm heading home to crash for an hour first."

"Don't forget to show up for dinner." Rich grasped Cal's shoulder. "See you all later."

Cal let out a deep breath as he stood. "See you."

Diana sat down at her desk and, pretending to engross herself in work, she nodded. "See you."

He trudged into his office. In a minute, his light dimmed. He walked to the exit and halted, but didn't look up. "Hey, you did a great job. You put in as much effort as anyone. Why don't you take off now too?"

Surprise made her stammer. "Thanks." She mustered her professional demeanor. "I have a few things to finish up."

He gave a slow nod and opened the door.

"Drive safely," she called, adding with a smirk, "And get some rest."

"I know. I need it. I'm a real prick." He leaned in, one eyebrow raised. "You better get used to it."

His words sent a shiver down her spine. She frowned at the closing door.

"Thanks for the warning," she muttered, then looked for her software report. A movement outside the window caught her eye, and she smiled as she became enraptured by a soft, steady stream of snowflakes.

In her mind's eye, she pictured herself walking into a whiteout. Entrancement replaced fear, and she wandered farther and farther into the snowstorm. It parted to let her in, then enfolded her in its center. A faint light shone ahead, and she made her way toward it. An ice structure emanated the light through a main entrance, and, although unable to see through the thick, translucent walls, she stepped inside. Someone sat upon a white fur rug just in front of a white-hot fire blazing within a fireplace constructed of glowing ice. She floated toward the person without consciously making an effort. He turned as she reached the edge of the large rug—a long arm reached to her, pulling her into the furry warmth. It was a feeling of coming home, and she felt sublimely relaxed in his arms. Then she looked up into the face of...Cal.

She gasped and clutched her desk. I have to stop this!

Adam was to pick her up at five thirty for the Christmas party, and she wouldn't have much time to get ready. She almost hadn't asked him, but for once she was glad he'd be with her, if only to give her something to focus on besides Cal.

I can ignore him tonight and relax. The thought cheered her as she reached to turn off her computer.

* * *

The Old Mountain Inn restaurant, nestled before several huge old pine trees, appeared Christmas-card perfect with light snow falling and electric candles in the windows. The dining room's fireplace crackled. Robin and her boyfriend clustered around the tree with Rich and his wife, Allison. Jack, dateless, slammed back his whiskey as Diana went inside with Adam. Jamie and his date arrived moments later.

Robin resembled a present begging to be opened. A large red bow decorated her short black dress, and her tightly curled blonde hair bobbed as she giggled. Everyone else's holiday finery appeared more sedate in comparison but no less cheerful.

Adam listened attentively while Diana told him about the finished project. He even seemed buoyed by the atmosphere, jubilantly reflecting the success of the day.

Cal was nowhere in sight.

Rich shepherded everyone to the table. The waitress conferred with him as Cal strode in, his girlfriend scurrying behind.

Cal sat down easily next to Rich, opposite Diana. When no introduction was forthcoming, she took it upon herself to say hello to Susan.

Susan visibly relaxed. "Nice to meet you." She glanced at Cal.

Diana leaned forward. "Do you know everyone else?"

Susan shook her head.

Diana introduced the rest of them, ending sarcastically with, "And of course, you know Cal."

Susan smiled.

Cal coolly studied Diana. She arched a brow and sipped her drink.

Rich stood and held up his glass. "Here's to the success of Horizons Software in the coming year." He smiled. "I'm grateful to each of you for your hard work."

Robin doled out the eagerly awaited envelopes, decorated with tacky holiday stickers. Diana slipped hers in her purse. Any bonus would be meager, she knew.

Belatedly, Cal raised his glass. His tone deadpan, he said, "Cheers." His gaze flicked up to her, then to Adam.

She emptied her glass as Adam finished his beer. "I'll make the refill run," she said. "The bar's across the lobby." She quelled his protests. "I want to."

As she rose, she glared pointedly across the table. Cal made his face a mask of innocence.

The disparity between the reality of Cal and her daydream at the office made her chuckle as she walked to the bar. A mellow feeling further diluted her frustration. If he wanted to be surly, so be it.

She leaned her elbows on the polished wooden surface and watched the bartender expertly mixing drinks. Cal appeared next to her, placing an empty glass and a bottle on the counter with a thud. He said nothing but stared at her.

She smiled easily, unaffected by his mood. "So, how long have you been seeing Susan?"

He squinted, seemingly more interested in how the light from the wall sconce reflected through his nearly empty beer bottle. "I don't know. Sometimes it feels like forever," he said as if to himself. He glanced at her. She frowned. The bartender delivered her drinks, and she paid him.

Cal said in a rush, "About a year, off and on. We're not serious." He might have been talking about the weather.

She sighed. "I know how you feel. It's the same with me and Adam."

"Really?" His tone was sly. "He seems like such a nice guy."

"Sure, he's nice." Aggravation pricked at her. "That's not the problem. We're just...different."

"Why, because you're not nice?" He sipped his fresh beer, then took a long slug.

"No." Diana spoke deliberately. "Because we're not the same. But at least he knows how to behave civilly."

She turned to walk away, but he grabbed her arm. Her pulse raced as anger bubbled through her.

"Civil?" He sneered. "You want someone who's civil?"

She stared at him in disbelief, her arm pulsing where he held it. He loosened his grip and slid his hand down her arm.

A breath escaped her, and she slid from his grasp. Her voice came out a coarse whisper. "Don't ever touch me again."

Shivering, she forced herself to walk to the table, but felt the weight of his gaze on her.

He returned a few minutes later. Other than an occasional verbal snipe at Adam, he sat silent the rest of the evening. He made little eye contact with anyone besides the waitress, who earned most of her tip delivering his drinks. Susan sat in reserved silence.

Maybe she's used to playing the role of a wallpaper girlfriend, Diana thought.

As soon as dinner ended, she ushered Adam away from the table on the pretense of introducing him to everyone. They chatted with Jamie and Robin and their dates. When she allowed herself to glance over, she saw Cal slumped at the table alone.

She touched Adam's sleeve. "I'm really tired. Can we go?"

"Sure." He laid his hand lightly on her back for a moment.

When he took it away, disappointment surprised her. She'd hardly seen him in two months. He'd hardly touched her since he picked her up.

She said good night to Rich and the others, and they put on their coats. She caught Cal's eye as she headed for the door. His intense stare sent a chill down her spine.

In the car, Adam asked, "What was his problem?"

"Cal? He's pretty much always like that. A rebel looking for a cause, I guess." She rubbed her head, moaning, "I have such a headache."

He patted her knee. They rode the rest of the way in silence until he pulled in front of her apartment. "Anything I can do for you?"

He said it pleasantly, but she knew he meant "Can I come in for a quickie?" And quick it would be, but would leave them in a stickier situation.

"No, thanks."

He smiled and kissed her. "I'll call you tomorrow."

She didn't argue, though she knew she'd spend the weekend packing. She had to be out by the end of the month.

As she lay in bed, the Christmas party events replayed like a video over and over in her head. She pictured Cal walking in, seemingly trying to escape Susan in his haste. His brief yet searing glances across the candlelit table. His preoccupation as he leaned back in his chair and absently studied the poinsettia flower centerpiece. The scene at the bar replayed most vividly. His touch now seemed less hostile than it was desperate.

She punched her pillow and turned over, hoping the change of blood flow would erase his image. It returned more vividly. She drifted to sleep with him as firmly in her head as if he'd taken up residence there.

* * *

Her muscles ached from lifting, shoving items into boxes and stacking boxes one atop the other. When her cell rang, she plopped onto the sofa and answered. It was Adam.

"Hey, honey. Brad has tickets to tonight's hockey game."

She groaned inwardly. Hockey. No way.

"Would you mind if I went?" he asked.

The singular pronoun registered. She sat up. "But I've hardly seen you these past weeks." Why was she arguing?

"You've been working late," he reminded her. "Or have been too tired. And these tickets weren't easy to come by."

She rubbed her temple. "You're right. You should go."

Adam hesitated. "You don't mind?"

"No," she said. "Go have fun. I'll go have fun too."

"Doing what?"

"I don't know, I was kidding. I'll probably just stay home and clean." There was always that, and packing.

"Do you want me to come over when we get back?"

She tensed; she hadn't told him yet about the apartment. "What, at two in the morning? I don't think my neighbors would appreciate that. And you wouldn't last ten minutes anyway." She laughed, as if it weren't true.

"All right." He said it as if she'd talked him into it.

When she clicked off, she realized he hadn't even said he'd call. And neither had she. And all she felt was...relief. If he came over, he'd see the boxes, the emptied shelves. They'd argue the same tired argument about moving. She wasn't up to it. They could easily tape-record an argument and play it back whenever the occasion arose. The outcome was always the same: a hung jury, no verdict.

She sat cross-legged on the floor. Bart climbed into her lap. "I'm going to break it off with Adam." The cat purred, and she hugged him. "I knew you'd understand."

After a hot shower, she melted into her bed, the warm comforter. If only she could sleep in tomorrow. Sleep overtook her.

A knock sounded, and she went to the door, tying her robe tight. She opened the door. A tall man in uniform stood, head bent, reading from a clipboard. "Diana Taylor?"

"Yes?" Movers? She hadn't hired movers, had she?

He took her hand and pulled her to the idling tractor-trailer. The cold ground numbed her bare feet. She shivered uncontrollably. "Do I need to sign something? Why are we—" Her sentence ended on a high note as he scooped an arm beneath her legs and lifted her into the cab.

"I want to talk to your supervi—" She jerked back as the door slammed.

Anger rose up as his capped head bobbed in front of the headlights. He climbed in the driver's side and shoved the gear in place, and the truck roared ahead.

"Stop this truck. Let me out." She reached for the handle, but her hands felt only a smooth panel. "Where is it?" She whirled toward him. "What's going on?"

As he faced his window, he jerked his thumb toward the back. "Go see for yourself."

She gripped the back of her seat as she turned. A red silk curtain weighted with beads billowed toward her. Beyond it, soft music played. She glimpsed candlelight as the curtain moved, its beads clinking like raindrops on steel.

She glanced at him, but the dark cab hid his features. Curiosity overwhelmed her agitation. She crept around her seat and through the curtain.

"Incredible." Votive candles lined the walls, hung from the ceiling. A rectangular pit held cushions. She stepped inside and her foot sank into the huge beanbag.

A guitar wailed and moaned; invisible fingers slid soulfully across invisible strings. Ahhh. Hendrix. She closed her eyes.

Someone stood behind her, close enough that his heat warmed her. "Do you like it?" His low voice rumbled through her.

"Yes."

His arm encircled her waist; his hand slid beneath her robe. She eased against him, lifted her hand to his cheek. His mouth moved up her neck to her ear.

"Good. You better get used to it."

She'd heard those words before. Her eyes flew open.

She twisted in his arms, but he held tight. She had to see him. He rolled forward, holding her against him, and fell back. His laughter thundered in her ears, and the beanbag closed around them, drowning out the light.

With a gasp, she sat up. Bart lay at the foot of the bed. Her bedside lamp lit the room. She shoved hair from her face. "No movers. Absolutely no movers."

* * *

When Adam phoned Sunday night, Diana told him. "I don't want to see you, not for a while at least."

"What? You said I should go out last night."

"Yes. This isn't about last night." Their nights together were the problem. She wouldn't say that. "I need time alone."

"Why now? It's almost Christmas."

Disappointment pricked her. He had already bought her present. He could return it.

"I need time to sort things out."

After he hung up, she realized she still hadn't told him she was moving.
Chapter Five

Monday morning, Cal's truck sat in the parking lot as Diana pulled in. She trudged up the back stairs to avoid Robin. If anyone had noticed Cal's behavior, Robin had. Diana wasn't up to hearing her speculation.

His door stood open, and music drifted from inside. She wished he would have taken the day off.

After about an hour, he lurched toward the kitchen. Stubble spattered his jaw, and his eyelids puffed. Was he still hungover?

He walked past slower than normal, and her senses heightened, keenly aware of his movements. She kept her gaze on the monitor and typed nonsense words. She didn't even have a program open.

"Morning," he muttered.

His gravelly voice sparked her nerves. "Morning."

He slowed his pace but continued into the kitchen. When he returned, she kept typing, this time a real e-mail to her younger brother. He'd be on college break soon. If he rounded up a few friends, they could move her in a day.

Cal left his door open. When she reread the e-mail, she realized she'd left out a few key words. Probably as he'd walked past, his energy erased her mind like a magnet would a disk.

He ventured out holding a computer magazine and called to Rich to look at a graphic. Rich said, "Hmm," and excused himself to go back to the budget.

Cal stood immobile a moment, then turned to her. "What do you think of this?" He shoved the magazine in her direction. "A computer generated this graphic completely. It took a few hours, but no human helped in its output. It looks perfect, doesn't it?"

She glanced at the image. "It's too sterile. It doesn't look real because there are no flaws." She tried to sound objective. "But nothing's ever perfect. I thought you, of all people, knew that."

Her snark abandoned her when she met his gaze. His blue eyes appeared fluid, narrowed as he studied her. His intensity felt like a pinprick.

She blinked and stammered, "I have to...finish." She lifted papers on her desk, as if looking for something, and hoped he wouldn't notice them rustling in her shaking hands.

He took a deep breath and went back to his office.

She blew through her lips. You better watch your step—like he said.

At lunch, she left without a word. Such a small space Horizons occupied. Nowhere to hide except—away. Anywhere.

In midafternoon, she headed to the kitchen for some tea. As much as she loved the large window behind her desk, it allowed cold to leak inside. She jumped when Cal appeared behind her. He followed her as if lost, his gaze locked on her like a target scope. "I need a soda."

She didn't know how to respond. Normally he didn't share his needs—thirst or otherwise. She fumbled a tea bag out of its countertop container and shoved her cup beneath the hot water faucet.

He stood at the refrigerator with the door open. Blocking her exit. She stepped behind him. He shut the refrigerator and reached out for her. She glared.

He withdrew, holding his hands shoulder-high in surrender. "Look, I'm sorry about Friday night. I had too much to drink, and...well, that's no excuse. I was in a bad mood—worse than usual." He ran a hand through his hair. "Susan and I had a fight." He gave a bitter laugh. "Nothing new there. But I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

She frowned at her cup. A fight. Is that why Susan appeared so subdued?

"Forget it." She brushed past him.

"Hey."

His teasing tone made her turn quickly. Her anger dissipated when she saw his extended hand.

"Truce?" He smirked.

Was he kidding? Mocking her? Playing her?

She nodded and turned to leave.

"Hey," he said again, more insistently. She stopped again. Today was the wrong day for teasing.

"What?" She flinched at the obvious irritation in her voice. He was, after all, her superior. At work, at least.

He shrugged and extended his hand again. "It's not official until we shake."

His face was the picture of sincerity, but she distrusted her instinct to trust him. But if nothing else, it would relieve the tension.

She set down her cup, grabbed his hand and shook it hard. "Now is it official?"

He shook her hand oh so gently. "Yeah, now it's official." Beneath his sandy-colored hair, his eyes shone in defiant happiness.

She pulled her hand from his, afraid of the electrical sparks shooting up her arm. She cleared her throat. "Great. I've got to get back to work." She turned too quickly and bumped into the table, her tea sloshing across it. Her cheeks burned. He strolled past, his glance like lightning, reigniting her blush.

Truce? It felt like a direct attack. Her best defense was to avoid eye contact. It became more difficult as the week wore on. He dropped by her desk frequently.

On Friday at eleven thirty, she took her coat from the closet, and she shut the door and gasped.

Cal stood there with her dead in his sights. "Where are you going?"

"I cleared it with Rich. I have..." She stopped herself from saying "an appointment." "...to meet someone." She didn't know why she said that. Maybe to see his reaction.

His head moved almost imperceptibly as his brows twitched together. "I hoped you'd come out to lunch."

"With you?" She flinched at the unintended insult.

A nerve in his jaw pulsed. "Yeah. With me." He waited, so still he seemed not to breathe.

Should she tell him the truth? Her landlord was waiting with the key to her new apartment? "I—"

Her cell rang. Out of habit, she checked the display. Adam—again. She sent it to voice mail.

"Your boyfriend?"

She shoved her cell into her pocket. He'd looked. Was he asking if she was meeting him for lunch? "No." Her cheeks warmed in a blush, realizing she'd argued Adam wasn't her boyfriend. "I have to go." She hurried to the back exit. As she opened the door, she glanced back.

Cal hadn't moved.

* * *

Though Rich had already given her two new projects, the boxes by her desk had gone ignored long enough. Enough space for it on the window ledge behind her desk, out of everyone else's way. She pulled out the branches and soon assembled a tree about medium height. Pre-lit, thankfully.

"Fake holiday cheer?"

She hadn't heard Cal approach, as usual. She paused, ornament in hand. "Fake's better than nothing."

"Really?" His mouth curled in a half-smile. "Hm."

Anger bubbled across her. Why did he have to make everything a double entendre?

The irony struck her. She'd just broken up with Adam because it wasn't real enough.

He strode away. Of course she couldn't argue. Real was better. Infinitely preferable.

At five thirty, Rich shut his office door. "Have a good weekend. Don't stay too late."

"Thanks." Though she could use the time to get a jump on the new workload, she had no intention of staying. Cal always stayed late.

She powered down her computer and unplugged the tree. As he left his office, Jamie called, "Have a good weekend. I'm heading out."

"Me, too." Diana rushed for her coat and followed him.

He held the door. "Big plans?"

She glanced down the hall. Disappointment pricked her when it stood empty. "Not really. You?"

He said something about a movie, maybe dinner with his girlfriend. She only half heard.

On her drive home, her cell phone rang. She ignored it. It rang again after she'd changed from her work clothes into jeans and an indigo sweater. Half her stuff awaited packing, so she set to work. Her house phone rang as she ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and again when she went back to packing. No refuge here.

Outside, snowflakes drifted through the light of the streetlamp. Her house phone rang again. "I have to get out of here," she told Bart as she grabbed her jacket.

At the lot's exit, she sat. Driving around aimlessly wouldn't work. Too much time to think. She steered toward Horizons Software. At least she might be able to get some work done and not have to listen to the constant ring, ring, ring.

When she pulled in, a light shone on the second floor. Her hope that it was the cleaning staff dissipated when she opened the back door. Would they play heavy metal music so loud? The pulsing sounds drew her through the back doors, past her desk, past Rich's office and down the hallway.

Cal's door stood wide open. Peering in, she found herself mesmerized by the sight of him dancing to the searing music, eyes closed. She couldn't help giggling in wide-eyed wonder.

Cal maneuvered a quick spin with his air guitar, knees half bent, as the song ended. She realized too late that she should have moved away, out of sight. He opened his eyes, and his legs jerked straight as he saw her. His gaze locked on hers.

She stood unblinking, immobile.

He leaned against the desk. "Hi."

Hi? Had he guessed she'd come back?

"Oooh, God. Hi. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, uh, intrude..." A laugh bubbled from her. She quashed it. "I was just..."

"Just what?" He stood, head tilted. "What are you doing here on a Friday night anyway?" He turned long enough to pause the CD, then walked toward her. He leaned on the doorjamb inches away, his body heat penetrating her arm, her face, while his arrow-sharp eyes made bull's-eyes of her own.

"Well." She jammed her hands into her pockets. "I wanted to get some things done, be alone for a while. I didn't know anyone else would be here."

"Yeah, well, sometimes I hang out here, too, when I need some privacy." He emphasized the word.

His desk phone rang.

"Aren't you going to answer it?"

He sighed and pushed away from the door. He pressed the Do Not Disturb button. "That's what voice mail is for."

"You already have a message. Maybe it's important."

"No, it's just Susan, calling to check on me. I hate that," he said to himself. He turned. "So where's Adam?"

"I don't know." She tried to sound nonchalant.

His single raised eyebrow told her he didn't buy it.

She glanced away. "I don't really see him anymore." Why did she tell him?

"Really? You don't see him anymore?" he repeated. His tone made it difficult to tell whether he was mocking her.

Maybe he hated her, or the world in general. No matter.

She frowned. "Sorry I barged in on you. See you."

Halfway down the hall, she heard "Hey, wait."

Surprised, she paused. "What?"

He disappeared into his office, and the music started, this time a slow ballad.

He leaned against the doorway. "Want to dance?"

She laughed. "No, thanks. I have to—"

"Oh, come on. This is one of my favorite songs. You owe me that much. After spying on me." He slid on his stocking feet to the wall near the door and dimmed the lights. "We need the right mood lighting."

He leaned around the doorjamb as she leaned in to say, "No, I don't—"

He grabbed her hand and pulled her close.

She gasped. Even through her jacket, her body felt abuzz against his. Everything about him snapped her senses to attention. His laser-crystal blue eyes electrified her. His clean, woodsy scent intoxicated her. His layered hair invited her touch.

His body glided against hers smoothly, gracefully. Her surprise heightened her excitement.

"Don't worry, it's a short song." He began to hum along.

And his voice—it called to her in the deepest sense, evoking a primal urge difficult to resist. Afraid to look at him, she kept her face close to his shoulder.

The song ended, and they swayed to a halt but didn't let go of each other.

She found it difficult to find her voice. "It is short."

His eyes were intent on hers. "Too short."

She cleared her throat. "Thanks for the dance." She pulled away.

"Anytime."

She felt nearly hypnotized by his gaze—the phrase "sea of blue" rolled atop her brainwaves. She forced a half-smile, half-frown. "Well. Thanks again." Her voice came out as a coarse whisper. She stepped back and turned to leave, but bumped into the wall.

Damn! I'm such a klutz around him.

Rubbing her injured shoulder, she went to her desk, unsure of what to do. Leaving right away would raise his suspicions, so she switched on the computer. She couldn't let him know how unsettled he made her. The office appeared too dreary in the after-hours darkness, so she plugged in the Christmas tree. Heartened by its cheer—fake or not—she found it comforting.

Even after she'd gone through a few program routines, she had trouble concentrating on her work. She couldn't stop thinking about him. Music continued to blare from his room. She glanced up and was surprised to see him standing there, leaning against the wall, arms folded, watching her.

"Hey." She laughed. "What are you up to?"

"I was wondering, actually, what you were up to." He moved toward her and sat on the edge of her desk, toying with a pen. "Don't you get tired of this stuff?"

She smiled. "Sometimes. But I love it too."

He looked from the screen to her. "You work too hard. You need to get out more."

No kidding. Tell me something I don't know. She tensed as he stood. Was he leaving already?

"Want to go out?" he asked.

She shot him a quick, uneasy look—as usual, he was not an easy read. He probably meant to tease her.

"For a drink? Coffee? Something to eat?" he prompted.

Whoa. No teasing there. "I...really shouldn't."

"Come on." His low sneer suggested a dare.

"What about Susan?" She punched a few keystrokes.

"Susan who?" He flipped the pen onto her desk.

"That's not funny."

He gazed at the lit tree. "Susan and I aren't speaking."

"Really?" She nodded to prompt more from him, but he focused on the tree. "Since when?"

He sighed and leaned against the window ledge behind her. "Earlier this week."

She couldn't let it go that easily. She angled her chair toward him. "What happened?"

He leaned in slowly. "She asked too many questions."

She averted her gaze.

When he reached past her, her breath hitched. He picked up her cloisonné paperweight.

"Come on." He rolled it in his hands. "Let me buy you a drink, and I'll tell you the heartbreaking story. If you'll tell me yours."

The conversation made her tense, and her face must have given her away. He looked at her with puppy dog eyes, mockingly pleading. She laughed in spite of herself.

"Sure, why not?" She shook her head. "Let me just put this stuff away."

"I'll get my shoes." He scampered down the hallway and slid into his office.

She watched in wonder. His moods changed quicker than a tropical wind.

As she put on her jacket, his office darkened. His long legs brought him beside her in seconds. He frowned at the Christmas tree. "Hold on." He unplugged the lights.

"Ready?" He seemed in a hurry.

Against her better judgment, she decided not to question it. "Yup, all set." She tried to sound perky. It struck her then: She'd be alone with him. While at the office, there was always the option to leave, but it would disappear if they rode in a single vehicle.

His fingers lightly but steadily guided her elbow toward the inevitable door. Outside, he walked to his battered black pickup. "We'll take my truck." His words billowed through the night air.

She hurried toward the passenger side as he unlocked it. "I hope your truck has a good heater."

They scrambled inside.

He rubbed his ungloved hands. "I should have warmed it up. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Depending on the definition of fine. She hadn't felt so nervous with anyone in years.

"Huh," came his noncommittal answer. He stared as the truck engine roared to protest the disturbance of its frozen rest. As his foot punched the accelerator, the cold transformed his breath into steamy clouds. She resisted the temptation to reach her hand into the middle of them. She couldn't help wonder what it felt like and imagined putting her head into the thick of it, letting it surround her.

Cal fiddled with the radio receiver, whispering, "Damn," when a station refused to tune in. "That was a good song, too."

"I didn't know you were so interested in music," she noted.

"Uh-huh," he said noncommittally. "How about you?"

"All my life." She nodded, turning her head out the frosty window.

"All your life," he repeated, deadpan.

She frowned. "Okay, since I was about seven. I found my aunt's records and fell in love with Paul McCartney. I wanted to join his band. Or marry him. I could never decide which." A sudden wave of nostalgia brought an unconscious grin.

"Paul McCartney. It figures." His tone was snide.

A wave of defensiveness overcame her. "What?"

"The cute one. Not the smart one, John Lennon."

"Later on, I did. They were both funny and cute. Paul was so innocent, but John had this dark side."

"Yeah, a dark side. I know," he growled. His eyes glinted as he pulled the gear into place.

She tensed as he put his arm behind her to back out of the parking space.

Leaning closer, he said in a low voice, "This is my favorite time to drive." He slid the truck to a slushy halt before putting it into first. "I hate having to watch out for the other guy."

Diana laughed. "Or girl."

"God, a feminist." He hissed and let out a short laugh.

"You might as well let me out right here," she teased, reaching for the handle.

"Not so fast." He reached over to grasp the door. For a moment, they stared at each other at close range.

Quietly, she asked, "So where are you taking me?"

He snarled the cryptic reply. "Where do you want me to take you?"

She rolled her eyes and tried not to laugh, so she looked out the window to escape his piercing gaze. "I don't know. I'm not really familiar with this area yet."

"Why not? What the hell have you been waiting for?" He sounded incredulous.

"I've been busy."

"Like I said, you work too much. Okay," he said, letting off the brake. "I know a place. Just the right atmosphere, kind of a rough crowd sometimes, but we can ignore them."

Great. A biker place. "What's it called?"

He grinned. "You'll find out."

"Ohhh, a surprise, eh? So long as I don't have to close my eyes."

"No, you don't have to close your eyes." After a beat, he mumbled, "Your mouth, maybe. Your eyes, no."

She punched his arm lightly, and an electrical jolt sent a wave of warmth through her chilled body. She decided not to notice the effect he had on her.

"When are you going to join the new millennium?"

He shook his head "Not me. I'm trying to escape society, not join it."

"Escape it how?" It was her turn to give snide answers.

He slammed the truck into fourth and shrugged. "Any way I can."

Repressing her instincts, she stayed silent. God, why do I get myself into these situations?

The truck sped along a winding mountain road. The engine groaned as he downshifted to slow it faster, fishtailing it.

She gasped at first, but his smug grin gave him away. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of catching her off guard again. She settled in for the rest of the ride determined not to repeat it, even when he nearly landed them in a ditch as they rounded a sharp bend.

The trees parted to reveal a building nestled against the hillside. He steered into the parking lot and cruised for an empty space, finally found one in a dark corner.

The place reminded her of a ski lodge, antlers mounted above the door he opened for her. He paid both their cover charges. Inside, a haze hung over the tables clustered around the small stage where instruments waited for the band. For the moment, a jukebox provided the music.

"Wow, this place is packed," she said.

He tugged her toward an open booth close enough to have full view of the band but far enough from the speakers so they might possibly have a conversation, if they shouted. She mused that his dates probably felt like shouting anyway by the time they arrived anywhere with him.

The waitress walked to their table, her full maroon lips open as she chewed her gum. "Hi, Cal." She shifted her hips and smiled. "What can I do for you tonight?"

He squinted at the stage. "A beer, the usual. How about you?" he asked Diana.

"A ginger ale."

With a wince, he rolled his eyes and leaned forward. "Come on!"

She raised an eyebrow. Maybe she was erring on the side of caution. "I'll have a white zinfandel then."

"White zinfandel," he muttered.

"Yes, a white zinfandel. I hate beer." His constant criticism grew irritating.

He raised his hands as if in surrender, shaking his head. "Fine. A white zinfandel."

Snapping her gum, the waitress winked and gave her hips one last shake in his direction before leaving.

Diana cocked her jaw. With as much sarcasm as she could muster, she asked, "Friend of yours?"

"I'm a regular."

"A regular what?" she muttered, just beneath the level of the music.

He cocked his head. "What?"

"Nothing." She smiled sweetly and leaned back.

He gave her a sideways glance, obviously not much amused, then appeared lost in the crowd filling the room.

The waitress brought their drinks, focusing entirely on him; he looked past her as she bent over.

He swigged his beer, set it on the table, and picked it up again.

She sipped her wine and wondered whether to attempt a conversation. The longer they sat in silence, the tenser she grew. "So who's the band tonight?"

"Jekyll's Brother."

Finally. Not a complete sentence, but maybe he'd warm up again. "Are they any good?"

He shrugged, his tone half defiant as he answered, "I like 'em." He swigged his beer.

"Oh." Her exaggerated nod gave way to tapping the tabletop.

He pulled the label from his bottle in long, ragged strips.

"What do they play? Original stuff or top forty?"

He scanned the room. "A little of both."

So much for that. She'd have better luck getting a two-year-old to cooperate.

He leaned back in the stall, one foot on the bench, and avoided her gaze.

Frustration welled within her. Why did he bring her here? To prove he could ignore her? Adam showed her more attention. But Adam didn't intrigue her like Cal. The way his hair curled over the top of his denim shirt made her want to reach over and touch it. Or I could just strangle him and be done with it.

His silence seemed obstinate. Deliberate.

"I'll be back." She headed for the ladies' room. Once inside, she took her time to delay having to go back to him and his cool aura.

What an idiot I am. She studied herself in the mirror. Now I'm stuck here with no car and no one to talk to.

If he didn't stop pouting soon—and she had no clue what he pouted about—she'd find a way to leave, with or without him.

As she left the restroom, someone tapped the microphone. "Hello." Claps and whistles. The snare drum sounded; guitar strings tuned. By the intimate side conversations, the band seemed familiar with most of the crowd. With a quick "One, two, three!" the music began. A little loud, but pretty good.

She excused herself through clusters of people entranced with the song. The atmosphere was heady and contagious, and she giggled as she made her way to the booth and sat down breathlessly.

"Hey," he yelled over the music. "Where've you been?"

"Just now or all your life?" She laughed.

He swigged his beer, his gaze never leaving hers.

With a jolt of confidence, she leaned back to listen to the band, Cal-style. Soon she nearly forgot he sat across from her as she became more engrossed in the music. She drummed her fingers while her foot pulsed to the driving rhythm. She glanced at him; he watched her. She smiled and turned her attention back to the band, forgetting her earlier resolution. The band sounded too good to leave. If he wanted to sulk, that was his problem.

Jekyll's Brother was a standard four-man band: two guitarists, a drummer, and a keyboard player. Unlike most bands, though, no one person seemed to be the leader; instead, they all took turns as lead singer or sang all together. She wondered why she hadn't heard of them before—they sang some popular tunes, and some she'd never heard.

The drummer announced that, before they took a short break, the band would play, by request, its song called "Only You." The crowd let out a collective whoop, but the keyboard player held up a hand and smiled.

A hush fell over the room. Like true fans, they seemed to move as a singular organism—of one mind, one intent.

She leaned forward.

"Okay now." The keyboardist brushed the hair from his eyes.

A familiar motion, but she couldn't quite place it.

The musician continued, "This is a song for someone really special."

Audience members whistled and oohed, and he smiled. His fingers moved slowly as he began the song, only the keyboard as accompaniment. The emotional intensity of his gruff voice captured everyone's attention. The rest of the band joined in one by one, and the crescendo grew to its peak. As the song ended, the audience went wild.

Diana joined in the emphatic applause. Once the crowd quieted, she leaned toward Cal. "They're really good."

"You think so?" He almost sounded hopeful.

"Yeah, I like them a lot."

Watching her intently, he said nothing but looked pleased.

The band members broke from their set. The keyboard player headed for their booth, looking from Cal to Diana, grinning.

She glanced from him to Cal. "Do you know him?"

He shoved in next to Cal. "Hey, man. Glad you could make it."

Cal begrudgingly moved over to make room. "Yeah, you know I can't stay away."

"What's up? I haven't seen much of you lately." He clasped Cal's shoulder easily—they were obviously friends. Why hadn't he mentioned it?

"I guess I haven't been around lately."

Cal appeared intentionally unfriendly toward him, and she felt a surge of anger on the musician's behalf. But the keyboard player just rolled his eyes, as if used to the treatment, and turned his attention to her.

"Hi, I'm Eddie." He shook her hand.

"Hi, I'm Diana. Cal didn't tell me he knew anyone in the band."

"He doesn't like to admit I'm family." Eddie jabbed his elbow at Cal, who coolly gazed at his beer.

"Ahhh." She nodded. "Jekyll's Brother. I should have guessed." She bit back a laugh. The resemblance struck her—Cal appeared a rougher, older version of Eddie.

Cal glanced up at her and forced a sickly grin.

"Yeah." Eddie shook his head with an easy laugh. "My friends came up with the name. It was always the same growing up, you know? You just can never tell what—"

"Don't you need a drink or something?" he barked at his brother. "Get lost, will you?"

Eddie laughed. "Okay, man. I'll leave you two alone." He eased from his seat. "Nice meeting you, Diana."

"You too. See you." She smiled.

Eddie winked, and waved once to his brother. "Later." Girls surrounded him as he approached the bar. He threw his arms open wide to welcome them all.

"Thanks for the clue!" she joked. She realized why Eddie's movements on stage made him seem familiar to her—genetics flowed strongly through this family, although Eddie seemed to have won the genetic lottery as far as looks.

Cal watched her with narrowed eyes.

"What?" Was he angry?

He shook his head slowly.

"What is your problem?"

He leaned in close and spoke in a low, measured tone. "I hate having a little brother in the band, that's what. Do you know how many girls dated me in high school to get to him?" He nodded toward Eddie.

"He is pretty cute..." she teased.

"Fuck you." He winced.

How self-centered! "Lighten up." She gave an incredulous laugh, then angrily added, "And don't talk to me like that. I didn't ask to come here."

She leaned back in her seat and gulped her wine. Pressing toward him, she said, "You know, maybe if you gave yourself half a chance, other people would too."

Cal tsked and arched one brow. He looked away, unaffected, as if he'd heard it a million times before. As if he were too complicated for anyone to understand.

She frowned for a moment, considering the situation. What an ass.

He drank his beer in silence, glancing at her.

She could stand no more. In one gulp, she finished the remaining third of her glass of wine. "I'm outta here." She grabbed her purse and jacket and pushed through the crowd.

He followed her out the door. "Hey."

She jammed her hands into her pockets. Why hadn't she brought a hat?

"Hey, Diana!"

She kept walking.

He ran up behind her, catching up to her midway through the parking lot. "What do you think you're doing?"

"What the hell do you think?" She increased her already fast pace. "I'm going home."

"It's freezing out here. I'll have to drive you." He trotted a few steps to keep up with her fast walk.

She would have laughed if she weren't so choked with anger. "Oh no. Not on your life."

"Come on."

That phrase had already grown tired. "Go away."

His footsteps stopped, and she fought the urge to look back when she heard him run in the opposite direction. An engine revved loudly, and his truck raced toward her, then slowed to her pace.

She didn't even glance in his direction.

He rolled down the window and drove beside her. "Get in."

She pulled her scarf higher around her neck and face.

"Get in."

Was he trying to impress her with his manly insistence? Her irritation grew with each stamp of her foot in the snowy roadway.

"Get in, goddammit, or I'll stop this truck, pick you up and throw you in."

Stunned, she halted, and he slammed on the brake.

She pulled the scarf from her face and glared at him. "You could do with lessons from charm school, you know." She walked on.

"Okay, you asked for it," he muttered. The truck slid to an angled stop on the narrow shoulder. The door slammed, and footsteps crunched behind her.

"Last chance," he said, though it sounded more like a question.

Her nostrils flared, frozen by the cold.

"Please get in." He added steps to his stride to keep up with her angry pace.

She stopped short and yanked her scarf from her mouth.

"What did you say?"

He slid to an abrupt halt. "Please...get...in."

She cocked her head. "I'm not sure I heard you right..."

"Please get in." He held his hands out, pleading.

"Please?" She feigned amazement. "That was what threw me! Is this a...request?"

He rolled his eyes toward the sky, then squeezed them shut. "Yes. It's a request. Please get in the fucking truck."

She searched his pained face. His eyes were closed as if in prayer.

He opened his eyes and met her gaze.

He could not be trusted. She'd had enough of his double meanings. She needed clarity before she'd go anywhere with him. "What if I get in? Will you bring me to my car?"

"Yes." He gave an incredulous laugh.

Something didn't feel right. "This is not some line?"

"Yes, I will bring you back to your car. I swear."

She shifted her feet, already growing numb with cold. Did she have any other option really? She could call Adam...

"Okay. Just...don't say anything, all right? That should be easy enough for you."

He gazed at her, the picture of innocence—except for his eyes. A smile lurked there.

Did he think he'd won? What was all this about? Setting the boundaries? She'd never let any guy control her and wasn't about to start.

Her toes tingled in reminder. She trudged toward the truck, climbed in, and slammed the door shut.

He stood in the headlights and stared toward her.

She could leave him here, drive herself home. His brother would give him a ride. Then what? She shuddered to think of Monday.

He trotted to the driver's side and plopped down next to her.

She felt his stare but kept her head turned away.

His deep intake of breath signaled the beginning of a sentence.

She set her jaw and looked out the window at the trees climbing the hillside, their spires outlined eerily in the snow.

He drove slowly forward.

After a few miles, she realized that they were not headed in the direction of the office. She couldn't remember all the turns he'd made to get to the lodge, but she was pretty sure it didn't take this long.

"Where are we?"

He shrugged and took a sudden interest in the road ahead.

"You said you'd bring me back to my car."

He nodded and looked away, fingers tapping on the steering wheel in time to the radio.

She angled toward him. "Didn't you say you'd bring me back to my car?"

He punched the accelerator and turned sharply onto a side road.

"What are you doing?" She braced against the dashboard.

The truck slid to a stop in a clearing. He shut off the headlights, took a deep breath and looked at her. "You're absolutely right. I did say I'd bring you back to your car. I just didn't say when."

"What?" she whispered. "You son of a..." She grabbed the door handle, but he was quicker and held it shut.

Her heart leaped to her throat and choked her breath.

His head inches from hers, he said, "Wait a minute." The soft glow of the dash lights lit his features. He gave off a palpable heat.

She looked straight ahead. "What?"

His long fingers slid along her jaw and tilted her head toward his. She could no longer avoid his gaze. Her pulse raced.

His eyes blazed in the dim light. "I'm sorry. Okay? I'm a jerk sometimes. I know it, but I can't help it." His hand relaxed against her neck.

She exhaled a ragged breath. In this light, she couldn't tell if he was telling the truth.

"Yup, you're right. You are a jerk." Trembling, she gulped hard.

His mouth opened in a smile. "God, you're tough." He eased closer, searching her face. "But you're so sweet..." He slid his hand behind her neck and touched his lips to hers, his eyes open.

Afraid to move, she forgot to breathe. He closed his eyes and pressed closer.

All her resistance melted away in his warmth. She touched his coat and slid her fingers into his soft hair.

His tongue sought hers, and she found herself returning his kiss with more force. He stiffened against her. Disappointment shocked her when he pulled away first.

For a moment, he leaned his head on hers, breathing hard. "I have to get you back."

He shifted into reverse, and the tires spun in the snow as the truck peeled onto the road.

She stung as surely as if he'd slapped her. She pressed against the door, as far from him as she knew he wanted to be from her.

The intensity of his feelings—whatever they might be—was almost a tangible thing, though he sat rigidly beside her, not even glancing in her direction.

They pulled into the parking lot next to her car and both stared straight ahead at the blank stone wall. She fought the urge to apologize—for what?

"Thanks for a wonderful evening," she whispered sarcastically. She forced herself to get out, go to her car, start the engine. Her car jerked ahead and stalled.

"Come on." She turned the ignition and pressed heavily on the accelerator. She couldn't get out of there fast enough.

The truck sat immobile, Cal a blur behind dark, fogged windows.

She broke every speed limit on the way home. What had happened? He brought her to the bar, knowing his brother would be there. He drove her to a deserted spot and kissed her. What did he want?

As she ran inside, her cell rang. Joel. She steadied herself. "Hey, you got my e-mail?"

"Yeah. The good news is I found three guys to help."

"And the bad news?" She shrugged out of her jacket.

"It has to be tomorrow."

She groaned. Tomorrow? How could she finish packing? "I don't know if I can rent a truck tomorrow."

Her brother told her two guys had trucks, and he could borrow a third.

"Seriously? Tomorrow?" She'd planned on moving some smaller things this weekend.

"Sunday night, we're headed north."

Ah. Skiing. At least he could help before—but is that what she wanted, especially now? Maybe she should back out of her lease. Rethink the job. Would her old position still be open? Could she stand going back there?

"What do you say? Will you be ready by ten?"

She sighed. "Ten sounds great." She'd make it work. All of it.

After they said good-bye, she threw herself onto the bed. Her life was a mess—literally and metaphorically. The apartment would be a good move. The job had been a good move too—until tonight.

She couldn't decide whether she wanted to throttle Cal or subject him to a strip search. If only he'd call, she could yell at him. Talk to him. Try to figure out what the hell was wrong with him.

Her cell stayed silent until the next morning.

"Ready for us?" Joel asked. How could he sound so energetic after a night out?

"Pretty much," she lied. Maybe they'd help her pack the kitchen stuff.

"On our way."

The phone clicked off.

She set her hands on her hips. "Get ready, Bart. It's gonna be a whole new world."

For them both.

Chapter Six

Monday morning, Diana looked more of a wreck than her new apartment. Her eyes puffed from lack of sleep. Her muscles ached as they hadn't in years, so she moved with the grace of a ninety-year-old. Boxes blocked hallways and floor space.

"But we like our new place, right, Bart?" She had plenty of time to unpack. She had no other plans, after all.

Joel and friends had moved her with amazing efficiency. Her old apartment stood empty of all but a few boxes marked for the Salvation Army. She'd remove them when she went back next weekend to clean and hand in the keys, two weeks early.

At least she'd found her shampoo and blow-dryer. Her iron, on the other hand, lurked in some dark corner of a box. She'd explain to Rich about her rumpled clothes. He'd have to understand.

A chill froze her in place. Facing Cal would be a different story.

"I'm not quitting. Let him leave if he can't take it." Mr. Sensitive. Mr. Passive-Aggressive. He was the conflicted one, not her. The poor, tortured soul. From now on, he could suffer alone.

She ripped open a box, then another. No kettle. No coffeemaker. She'd have to wait until after she got to the office.

She groaned. The small office. Claustrophobia struck just thinking about it.

Her commute had shrunk to twenty minutes, tops, but somehow she arrived late. The Horizons lot held everyone's car but Rich's. She parked as far from Cal's truck as possible and hurried inside the back door. She'd say hello to Robin later.

Her desk phone rang as she reached the top of the stairs. She rushed to her desk. "Good morning, Horizons Software."

Rich's pleasant tone set her at ease. He'd be at a meeting most of the morning, he said, and would be in after lunch.

She hung up and paused. Silence buzzed throughout the second floor. Was she the only one here? Jamie's door was closed. Cal's stood open, his light on. Why couldn't he be away at a meeting?

She powered up her computer, hung up her coat, and went to the kitchen to make coffee. Oh, she needed coffee. When she returned to her desk, still no sign of anyone. Defiantly, she plugged in the Christmas tree lights and turned around.

Cal stood at her desk.

"Oh!" Her hand flew to her mouth. The mouth he'd thrust his tongue into. Forget that night.

He glared as he scanned her from head to toe. "Are you all right?"

Her neck and cheeks flushed. What kind of a question was that? She smoothed her jacket and skirt and averted her gaze from his. Her best hope of remaining professional. "I'm fine."

"I just...I mean..." He exhaled sharply. "Never mind." He strode to his office. His door creaked shut, and music sounded.

Trembling, she eased into her chair. "That went well." Focus on work. She commanded herself to run through the new program.

After a while, Jamie emerged with a smile. "How's it going?" If he noticed her disheveled appearance, he gave no indication.

"Good. I'm starting on the new project today, but if you need anything else, let me know."

"Right now, I need some coffee, but I can handle that much." He grinned, and strolled to the kitchen.

When Cal walked toward her, she glanced up, then forced her gaze to the computer. If she looked at him, her resolve would weaken. And she was determined not to be weak.

Jamie came back from the kitchen. "Hey, Cal, I've been meaning to run something by you."

"Let me just..." Cal stepped back from her desk.

"Yeah, sure, get your coffee. I'll be in my office." Jamie walked off.

Cal hesitated.

She froze and repeated her new mantra: Don't look. Don't look.

He went down the hall. He returned, his gait much slower than normal.

She intensified her focus. No eye contact. Or any other kind. Be strong. She braced herself as he inhaled—a sign he was about to speak.

His low voice sounded coarse. "I tried to—"

Jack burst through the back entrance.

Cal eased away from her desk, his jaw cocked.

Tried to what?

"Morning, all." Jack halted near Cal. "Great work last week. You're making my job a lot easier."

"We're in this together." Cal's fingers were at the edge of her desk.

Her gaze followed up his arm and connected with his like a lightning strike. His head lowered, he glared.

Tears stung. In this together. Right. Not this girl. She sprang from her seat.

Cal tensed. "Leaving?"

She forced a smile at Jack. "Excuse me. I have to talk to Robin." She jerked open the front door and fled down the stairs.

The receptionist talked nonstop about her weekend with her boyfriend. Diana's lonely weekend seemed pathetic by comparison.

Robin touched her arm. "Are you feeling all right?"

"Fine. A little tired." And incoherent. "I better go back." Halfway up the garland-entwined stairs, she paused. "The decorations look great, by the way."

Maybe decorating her new apartment would raise her spirits. Infuse some Christmas cheer into her life. Something.

* * *

Diana perfected a stonelike façade as the week wore on. If Cal spoke to her, she cast her gaze to the floor or at her work. To look in his eyes was to be caught in a whirlpool of emotion.

Cal grew more silent and surly each day. He shortened his sentences to phrases, his responses to grunts. Still, she felt the fire of his gaze on her skin. Watching. Waiting.

On Thursday, Rich called a staff meeting. Cal came into the conference room late and splayed in a chair catty-cornered from her. As the minute-taker, she hardly looked up as she jotted notes. As usual, Rich sprang from his chair and went out the door the minute the meeting concluded. Diana scrambled out behind him and went to her desk. Cal emerged last. In her peripheral vision, she followed his figure as he halted in the hallway. His stare seared into her, but she intensified her focus on the computer. Inside his office, the phone rang. Slowly, he went in, and his muffled voice sounded.

Her mind raced. Whoever called had his direct line. Susan? The thought niggled through her brain. That would explain his behavior last week.

Around midafternoon, she needed tea. The kitchen door was closed. Very unusual. She tensed. Hushed voices sounded from within. She pushed open the door.

Jamie and Robin stood close. Their heads jerked up, mouths agape.

Diana halted. "I'm sorry. Am I interrupting?"

Both rushed to speak. "No, not at all." The casual air felt forced.

She moved to the hot water dispenser. "I'll be out of your way in a second."

"You're not in our way," Robin said.

"We were trying to decide what movie to see," Jamie said.

"Not with each other." Robin laughed.

"No." Jamie chuckled. "Of course not." He inhaled and seemed to hold it.

Conversation fell flat. Robin glanced uneasily at Jamie.

Warmth surged up Diana's neck into her cheeks. They knew. Or they suspected. She hadn't been herself all week. She couldn't say the same for Cal, although they must have noticed him hanging around her desk more than usual.

Diana steeped her tea bag as she walked. She forced a cheerful tone. "Well. Good luck with that." She opened the door. "Did you want this closed?" She shouldn't have asked. It seemed a condemnation of their gossip.

Eyes wide, Jamie arched his brows. "No. It must have closed behind us."

"Right," Robin said. "I didn't notice, or I'd have opened it."

Awkwardness hung thick in the air.

Diana tried to smile, then gave up and went to her desk. Great. Her reputation lay in a steaming, stinking heap. They must think her a complete fool. Shame fell across her like a blanket of weariness.

Rich left at four. No way would she stay late tonight. By five o'clock, she wanted nothing more than to go home and do nothing. She ached from unpacking every night after work. Tonight, she'd kick back and watch a movie with Bart.

By the time she got to her apartment, restlessness came over her. She tried to occupy her mind by rummaging through boxes for any marked "Christmas." On the floor along the sliding glass doors to the small balcony, she lined the nutcrackers her mom had given her over the years. Beaded star ornaments, she hung along the top. Three papier-mâché angels hovered from the ceiling fan. The more decorations she took out, the more depressing her new place appeared, as if it were trying too desperately to be cheerful. She poured herself a glass of eggnog, spiked it with rum, and went to her bedroom.

She flipped through channel after channel and finally landed on her favorite movie, It's a Wonderful Life. James Stewart ran through town in the falling snow, unable to recognize once-familiar places.

Kind of like me, she thought, in an unfamiliar landscape, no friendly faces.

The movie cut to a commercial. Her eyes grew too heavy to hold open.

She sat at the bar next to George Bailey, commiserating on the unfairness of life.

"If only I could start over," she moaned.

"M-M-M-Me, too!" His mouth pursed as he clinked glasses with her.

"Oh, George! You have so much. You don't want to abandon it, do you?"

"W-W-Well, you do, too. You're beautiful, talented, and why, why, these two guys are crazy about you."

"Two guys? What two guys?" She gulped her wine.

"Why, why, these two. Standing behind you."

Sure enough, Cal and Adam stood behind her barstool, their arms crossed across their chests, legs planted determinedly.

She gasped. "What are you doing here?"

"I want to talk to you, honey," Adam whined.

"Dance with me." Cal's throaty voice lured her as much as his extended hand. Transfixed by the surety of his gaze, she slid her hand into his and glided off the stool.

George Bailey protested: "W-W-What are you doing, Diana? Adam's a perfectly nice guy. Nobody likes nice guys anymore." He shook his head and gulped his drink.

Already in Cal's arms, she hardly heard him. They glided effortlessly across the floor, the music perfect.

"Diana," he murmured into her ear, the timbre of his voice penetrating her skin. "Diana." It echoed across her bedroom as she lurched up from bed and held her breath, half expecting him to be there—it had sounded so real.

As if disgusted with her, Bart leaped to the floor and slunk out of her room.

She glanced at the clock. Four thirty. If only today were Saturday instead of Friday. With a sigh, she eased onto her pillow.

Her entire life felt like a nightmare.
Chapter Seven

The day passed without incident. Cal stayed in his office. If he came out at all, he must have timed it to coincide with her comings and goings. At five, she called good night and descended the stairs with a grateful sigh. Once outside, she hurried to her car. The cold seemed to be impossible to escape as each day grew colder until a deep freeze settled in and the landscape formed hard edges.

It had begun to snow again, snowflakes like crusty nunchaku pelted down. She jumped out to brush off the windshield. Tucked behind her wipers, she found an envelope marked with her name. She glanced up at the second-floor window. He stood there next to the Christmas tree, hands in pockets, watching.

Her first impulse was to fling it as far as she could, but she didn't want anyone else to pick it up and read it. Instead, she tucked it into her coat pocket and got in the car. Her gloved hands trembled as she drove; she could feel his gaze following.

Unable to wait, she pulled into the lot of a convenience store and tore the envelope open.

Diana—

I'm sorry about last Friday night. I hope you can forgive me. It's really hard for me to express what's going on in my head, but I'll try.

First, I wasn't quite honest about Susan and me. I'm not even sure I can explain what it is we have between us. But I need some time to figure it out.

Second, even if Susan and I do break up again, I'm reluctant to start an "office romance." I'm sure you would be discreet, but the whole idea of anyone else there knowing my business gets under my skin.

Besides, I'm not someone who can spend twenty-four hours a day with someone and not have it turn into something bitter and ugly. I need a lot of space. Especially right now—I'm confused, because I want to be with you more than anything. When I kissed you last week, I wasn't prepared for the way I'd feel—it really took me by surprise, it was so powerful. I think it could turn into something really great, under the right circumstances. But a relationship like that requires a lot of energy and time, and I don't know if I have enough of either right now.

As you can tell, I am very confused. I hope you aren't too angry with me. I'd like to call you—I wanted to all week, but was afraid you wouldn't talk to me.

Anyway, I wouldn't blame you if you think I'm the biggest jerk you ever met. But I hope you'll

Cal

Diana put the note into her purse. What had he thought as he crossed out the last phrase? A strong impulse seized her to go back to the office and talk to him, try to straighten things out.

She couldn't. Hadn't he said he hadn't broken up with Susan? No way she'd get in the middle of someone else's relationship. He'd lied to her that night, dammit.

* * *

Her car plodded across town as if on autopilot. The blinking Christmas lights in every store window blurred to red and green streamers.

As soon as she got inside her apartment, she put on the teakettle, then her old sweats.

Her cell rang. She hesitated for a moment, then pulled it out. An unfamiliar number displayed. A wrong number? She flipped it open and said hello.

"Diana?" a female voice said.

"Yes?" she answered uncertainly.

"How are you?" the woman said.

"Kirsten!" She hadn't spoken to her since the double date. "I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting to hear from you. How've you been?"

"Good. I heard about you and Adam—I'm so sorry."

"Oh, don't be. It wasn't meant to be." And she didn't want to discuss it. "So, what have you been up to? How's Jeff?"

"Actually, we're not too great, either. I was wondering if maybe you'd like to get together tonight and commiserate, maybe even have some fun."

"That sounds great—I haven't had fun in a long time." How pathetic. And true.

"I heard you moved, too. What's the nightlife like out there?"

"I have no idea. But we should find out."

"How about nine?" Kirsten asked. "Is that too early?"

Diana hurried to get ready, and at nine, Kirsten's headlights swung into the parking space outside her apartment. They agreed to hit the bars fast and furious, beginning with the first one they ran across. The place had sparse lighting, but enough to reveal the few scruffy-looking characters whose heads lifted from their beers as she and Kirsten walked in. They barely finished their first drink before making a hasty exit.

The next place—and its patrons—was not much better, so it was barely ten thirty when they reached their third destination. In the parking lot, they could hardly stop laughing.

Called simply Al's Place, this lively bar had a younger crowd. They sat at a small table next to the dance floor. Kirsten, a very pretty honey blonde, rebuffed several offers as the DJ spun the latest hits.

Diana sipped her drink. "Don't worry about me. If you see someone you like, go for it."

Kirsten wrinkled her nose. "No, I want to relax tonight, not have to worry about guys." She gazed toward the bodies moving under the colored lights. "Oh, I love this song."

Diana shrugged. "Do you want to dance?"

They moved easily together. Not since her cousin's wedding had she danced with another girl. Such a relief not to have to deal with awkward opening lines from men.

When the DJ took a short break to prepare for the band coming in, they sat.

"I think this is exactly what I needed," she told Kirsten breathlessly.

"Me, too. I needed a night away from everything."

"Oh, yes." She swigged her drink. "I feel as if I've put my whole heart and soul into my job lately. It's so nice to leave it all behind for a while."

She arched her brows. "But Adam said you loved your new job. In fact, he acted jealous of the time you spent there, from what Jeff said."

"Sure, I love it. It's been a little overwhelming, that's all." Her job was the last thing she wanted to think about. "Adam was jealous? That's hard to believe. I felt as if we both just needed one small excuse to break up. The job seemed to be it."

Kirsten shook her head. "According to Jeff, he took it hard. He's not over you."

"Are you sure we're talking about the same Adam?" She laughed. "Stone-faced, unemotional Adam?"

"He told Jeff you were pretty much it for him."

She looked absently through the crowd. "That's amazing. He never seemed to care one way or the other."

Kirsten frowned. "What is it with men? Jeff was a lot like that, too. Must be ingrained from birth."

She laughed. "We should set up a men's rehabilitation center—behavior modification, sensitivity training, the works. We'd have lots of business."

Kirsten smirked. "Right, especially because so many of them would have to be repeat customers."

"Either that," Diana said, "or the women would be signing them up, dragging them through our doors kicking and screaming."

"I suppose there's no real hope for any of them." Kirsten sighed.

"You're right. Maybe I should have stuck with Adam. Once you've invested some time with them, they're semitrained. At least I knew what to expect."

"And what not to expect," Kirsten added.

"Too true." She laughed, then turned more serious. "I'm not willing to settle...not yet, at least."

"Nobody is, at first. After a few months alone, though, even what Jeff and I had started to look pretty good."

"No," Diana said firmly. "There is no way you should settle for something mediocre. You have way too much to offer. You deserve equal offerings in return."

"That's nice of you to say so," Kirsten said. "And, if I'm not misinterpreting the signs, you've got some interest brewing over there." She nodded toward the bar. "Don't look now, but that guy at the bar has been staring at you for the past fifteen minutes."

Trying to be discreet, she turned to see Cal lurking at the far, dark end of the bar.

"Damn!" she said under her breath. What the hell? Had he followed her? It seemed too much of a coincidence.

Kirsten leaned toward her. "What's wrong?"

"It's this guy from the office. He's...I didn't want to see him tonight."

"Why not? Did he make a pass at you?"

She took a deep breath. "Sort of."

"Wow, you move fast." Kirsten smiled.

Diana couldn't explain—one night with Cal felt like a train wreck. "He has a girlfriend. And he lied to me, told me they'd broken it off. It's the worst when they lie to get in your pants."

"Did you?" Kirsten's eyes widened.

"No, it never got that far. But boy, did he get to me. He kissed me and then acted as if I had the plague or something. I couldn't sleep or eat for about a week. I actually lost seven pounds. Which I needed anyway, so it all worked out for the best, didn't it?" She gave a bitter laugh.

"Seven pounds. That must've been some kiss."

"It was like nothing I've ever had before." She retreated into silence, occupied with the memory of Cal's lips on hers, his probing tongue, his long fingers against her skin. She glanced at him. "He would have to be sitting near the door. Now I can't even make a clean exit."

"He's pretty nice-looking," Kirsten observed.

"He has these really deep blue eyes, really intense. I nearly got lost in those eyes."

"Sounds like you have a thing for him, too."

"Please. He's the most egotistical, moody, eccentric..." As she continued her derogatory description, Kirsten's gaze drifted upward.

A deep voice interrupted. "Hi, Diana."

Mentally bracing herself, she turned. "Speak of the devil."

He sat beside her. "I've been called worse. Mind if I join you?"

"I would've said yes, but," she said with false sincerity, "you've already made yourself at home."

He grinned and, motioning his beer bottle toward her, said to Kirsten, "Her charm is her worst asset, don't you think?"

"I think I'll go to the ladies' room." Kirsten stood.

"No, please don't." She mouthed another silent "Please!"

Kirsten glanced from Cal to Diana. "I'll be back." She sounded apologetic, but disappeared through the crowd.

He shifted in his seat. "I thought you might come back to the office tonight. I saw you got my note."

She knitted her brow. Come back? For more humiliation? "I don't know what to think."

"You don't know what to think," he repeated.

She met his molten gaze for an instant and had to look away. "Right. I don't know what to think. Why do you always repeat what I say?"

He shrugged. "For clarification, I suppose."

She took a deep breath. "You could clarify a few things yourself."

He stared at his sweating beer bottle. "I know." He fell silent.

She waited, but he clammed up tight. She didn't feel up to prying answers from him. Answers she probably didn't want to hear.

She rose. "I have to go."

"Walking out on me again?" His lopsided smile appeared forced. Hope lit his eyes.

Hope for what? He had to see the situation was a complete mess.

Quietly, she said, "Good night, Cal." She grabbed her coat and purse and bumped through clusters of people.

"Diana..." he called.

Kirsten followed her out the door.

In the car, Diana apologized. "Do you mind if we call it a night?"

"You do have it bad for him, don't you?" Kirsten's tone dripped with sympathy.

She sighed as the cold car chugged onto the road. "I didn't want to fall for the wrong guy again. The worst part is, my head tells me he's all wrong, but there's something about him. I can't get him out of my head." Damn his eyes. As soon as she closed hers at night, his loomed from the darkness to haunt her.

A remake of "Blue Christmas" came on the radio. Diana groaned, and Kirsten changed the station.

Kirsten stopped outside Diana's apartment.

"Sorry about tonight." Really sorry—how embarrassing. Kirsten would probably mention it to Jeff, who'd tell Adam.

"No problem. Been there." Kirsten smiled.

Diana thanked her and climbed out, fighting the urge to cry as she unlocked her dark apartment.
Chapter Eight

Diana switched on some lights, but the place still appeared dismal. As she'd suspected earlier, this would be a depressing holiday.

Bart circled her ankles and looked up expectantly.

"At least you love me." She picked Bart up, but instead of the usual purr of greeting, he struggled to get down and headed for the door.

"All right, you can go out." She opened the door. "Just stay out of trouble."

No sooner did the words leave her mouth than she was paralyzed by the sight of Cal standing on the sidewalk, Bart sniffing his boots.

"Words of warning, huh?" His eyes glinted from his lowered head, framed against the star-filled sky.

She struggled to gather her wits. "Hi." Not many left, apparently.

He stared a moment, then grimaced. "Kind of cold out here." He jammed his hands into his coat pockets.

"I guess so." She leaned on the door. "What are you doing here?"

He raised his eyebrows in question, leaning toward her. "Can I come in? I'd like to talk to you. Without getting frostbite." His mouth twitched into a smile and as quickly out again.

She ducked her head, unable to deny him while looking at him. "I don't know, Cal."

"Please..." He leaned toward her, his face as innocent as a little boy's.

She blew through her lips. "I hate it when you're polite." She opened the door with all the enthusiasm of a condemned woman letting in her executioner. "Okay. For a few minutes." She avoided his gaze.

"Thanks." Slowly, he stepped past her.

She closed her eyes against his gravitational pull and steadied herself. "Let me have your coat." She shut the door.

Silence hung awkwardly between them as she hung it in the closet.

"You want some tea?" She tried to sound cheery.

"Tea?" he asked uncertainly. "Sure, tea would be nice."

"Great." Her voice held no feeling. "I'll start the water."

He hung in the doorway as she filled the kettle. Then he leaned against the kitchen counter.

Was he going to speak, or stare all night? "It's too damn quiet. I'll turn on the stereo."

He followed her to the living room.

She felt like a gazelle being stalked by a jaguar. She flipped to the station she'd stumbled across—a nice mix of alternative rock. Normally, this late at night, she'd opt for more soothing music, but he might mistake her intentions.

"Nice place." He surveyed the room.

"Excuse the mess. I'm not settled in yet, obviously. But make yourself at home." Her attempt to be casual came off as rambling.

He sat in the middle of the sofa, leaned his elbows atop his knees, and clasped his hands.

She hesitated—she didn't want to sit near him, but didn't want to sit in the chair. Compromising, she sat on the floor pillow by the coffee table.

He patted the sofa. "There's room here."

"I like the floor." She hugged her knees. Did he really think he could make her forget so easily?

He nodded and smiled nervously. "So. You moved."

"Yes." She wouldn't try to pry anything out of him that he wasn't ready to say, but damn him if he expected her to—what? She couldn't even guess.

The teakettle whistled.

"I'll be right back," she said, glad to break the silence. From the kitchen, she called, "Do you like sugar and milk?"

"Yeah, thanks."

She didn't bother to ask how much; she had the feeling it would never touch his lips. When she carried the cups into the other room, he stood by her CD shelf. She'd managed to unpack most of them, though only half her books.

She set the mugs on the table and settled on the floor.

"You have good taste." Surprise edged his tone. "And there's some neat stuff here too." His fingers skimmed along her favorite photography books.

"Thanks. I like 'em." She gave a wry smile.

"You have all the classics—Ansel Adams, Alfred Stieglitz, Cartier-Bresson, Weston..." He pulled out Bill Owens's Suburbia and became engrossed. "This is great," he said, nearly to himself.

"It's one of my favorites. Not only great photography, but a great portrayal of all the trappings of middle-class life. I wasn't a typical girl, growing up. I never dreamed of the house with the white picket fence, or what my wedding would be like. I always thought that was silly." She heard herself prattling on. Why the hell am I telling him all this? I never had this conversation with Adam in the two years we were together.

His attention snapped back to her as if she'd hit some magic button, startling her. Their gazes locked.

She clutched her cup.

"Hm," was all he said.

"Hm, what?"

"Nothing." His casual tone sounded forced, but he added more softly, "I'm impressed."

"I have high aspirations, but nothing ever comes of them." She wished he'd move away from her photography books.

"What do you mean?" He swung his full attention on her. It seemed he had a natural instinct for divining her weak spots.

She sipped her tea. "When I was younger, I used to dream of being a photojournalist. A modern-day Dorothea Lange or something to that effect." She bit her lip. The more she opened to him, the more she provided him with an Achilles' heel to attack. Wasn't he supposed to be the one talking? Explaining?

He lingered for a moment, then sat down, closer this time, and leaned toward her with an expectant urgency. Instead of asking who Dorothea Lange was, he asked, "So what happened to your dream?"

It unnerved her, the way he could focus on her so fully. Divine her innermost self. She felt such a connection to him, like someone threw a switch and their energies converged, electrons zipping along their joined line of vision.

She shrugged. "I don't know. Life has a funny way of letting you know what you're not suited for." She braced herself for a caustic reply and was surprised when he nodded.

Huddled over his teacup, he knit his brow. His face filled with anguish, as if searching for the right thing to say.

"So," she prompted. "That's my story. What's yours?"

He set down his cup. "This is hard for me," he whispered.

She didn't want to hear, but couldn't breathe until she did.

"You're...not what I expected." He half laughed.

She tensed. "In what way?"

His voice was careful, quiet. "Lots of ways. Every way." His hands opened, as if searching for an explanation, then clasped shut.

Leaning her elbow on the table, she studied him.

He frowned. "I meant what I said about not wanting to have an office romance."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"I can't stay away."

"Look, Cal, if you're involved with someone else—"

"I'm not." He seemed to speak with his entire body as he leaned forward.

Needing distance, she rested against the chair behind her and took a deep breath. "What about Susan?" She wouldn't accept his answers so readily this time. She needed more.

"I told her I didn't want to see her anymore."

She wasn't sure she wanted to believe him. "When?"

"A week ago."

Her heart somersaulted. "And?"

His hands opened in question. "And nothing. We broke up."

"She agreed? No argument?" Maybe she expected it. Sensed it coming. Maybe—and this seemed more likely—Cal had broken up with her before. Repeatedly.

"Basically, yes." He steepled his fingers, the tips touching tentatively.

She cocked her jaw. "That sounds too easy." He needed to earn her trust.

"We'd been having problems for a while." He glanced around the room. "Last weekend, I called your apartment about twenty times." His short laugh revealed his embarrassment.

"I moved," she stammered. So that's what he tried to tell her that morning when Jack interrupted.

He flicked his gaze to hers. "I know...now."

"I didn't realize." What an idiot she'd been. "I disconnected my answering machine." Trying to avoid Adam's calls.

The ring of her cell phone interrupted. Adam's name showed in the display. So much for her avoidance techniques. She sent the call to voice mail.

By his forcibly dissolved grin, he must have deduced the caller had been Adam.

She had to cut to the quick. She knit her brow. "Look, I don't play games." Losing had grown tiresome.

"Me either," he quickly agreed, the image of sincerity.

If only he didn't look so good—his hair uncombed, the layers tousled. His steely blue eyes piercing hers. "Why are you here? You said you don't want to get involved with a coworker."

He slid toward her. "I said I was hesitant to get involved."

"No, no, no." To put distance between them, she stood and paced in front of the table. "I distinctly remember your exact words. You said you did not want to be involved. And, it's probably the best solution." She stopped and folded her arms, avoiding his gaze. Until he spoke in that deep, low voice that reached inside, twined around her spine. Made her yearn to open herself as never before.

"Maybe I was wrong." He spoke slowly. Deliberately. "Maybe I didn't know how much I wanted you."

A shiver ran through her, and she could barely respond. "Oh."

Narrowing his eyes, he studied her. "You scare me."

"Scare is probably not an adequate word for what you do to me." She wouldn't be able to articulate how he made her feel—unlike her usual self, but more like her true self than ever. As if his presence uncovered her core.

His features smoothed as he relaxed, the beginning of a smile crinkling his eyes. "What should we do about it?"

She searched his face, but was afraid of what she saw there. "Want to go for a walk?"

He gave a short laugh. "A walk? It's freezing."

"I know." She stood. "But I need some air. Or something."

He sounded reluctant, but rose. "Okay. Let's get some air and hope our lungs don't seize up from the cold."

The awkward tension broken, she smiled as she went for her boots and their coats. "I don't know about you, but I love walking in the snow. It makes me feel like a little kid again."

"Me, too. There's even a full moon tonight."

"I know," she said impishly, pulling on her coat. "This will be great."

"If we don't freeze to death." He raised an eyebrow.

"Didn't you bring your gloves? Or a scarf?"

"Nope." His tone intimated he liked to remain unfettered.

"I'll lend you one of mine." Without waiting for an answer, she fished one from the closet.

"What?" He winced.

"It's good to show your feminine side," she teased, although the scarf was decidedly androgynous. "Anyway, you don't want to freeze." She affected a motherly tone as she wrapped the scarf around his neck.

"Feminine side," he muttered.

"Let's go." A wildness came over her. Tonight, anything seemed possible.

* * *

As Diana opened the door, Bart scampered inside, but scooted between their legs as they went out.

"Bart," Diana whispered. "You little devil."

"Bart. Black Bart. Good name. Don't like cats, though." They passed his truck, already glistening with frost.

"Bart's a great cat," she said defensively. "He's very loyal, more like a dog, actually."

"He looks like he could eat a dog."

She walked backwards, luring him into the shimmering blue coldness.

His eyes shone, intent, happy, expectant.

She resisted the urge to call him a walking contradiction, but he did seem to have a constant internal conflict roiling within him; maybe that explained why he seemed so caught up within himself in a silent storm.

"Let's get away from these streetlights." He directed her between the buildings. "The moon's nicer over that way."

The blue-shadowed snow crunched beneath them as they trudged behind the apartment buildings, past the deserted pool and tennis courts. Outlines of trees crawled across the snow in a more deserted, wooded area behind the complex.

In awe, she halted. "Those stars are incredible. There must be millions of them."

He tilted his head up. "Yup, pretty incredible."

She glanced sideways at him to be sure he wasn't being sarcastic, but he stood engrossed in the view. They stood together, shivering, but a sense of peace came over her as a cloud moved toward the full moon, the azure blue of the sky melting into infinite darkness.

At the distinct hoot of an owl, she gasped in open-mouthed delight. He held up a finger, then covered his mouth as he let out a "Hoo hoo hoo hoo hooooo!"

After a long pause, the flapping of wings drew their attention to a nearby tree. She made out the outline of the barred owl. They waited; then the owl returned the call. She reached for Cal's hand, and they watched the owl extend his small but powerful wings and make his way slowly back to the trees. Bart, dark as a ghostly shadow, flitted across the snow.

She scrunched down. "You leave that owl alone, Bart!" Straightening, she blew on her gloved hands.

"Cold?" He moved in front of her.

"Freezing," she admitted.

"Me, too. Come here." He pulled her close and locked his arms loosely around her back.

A warm flush chased away her chill. He bent to touch his lips to hers. A silent explosion of white static filled her brain, sending shock waves throughout her body. He tightened his embrace and kissed her hard and long.

"Mmm." He leaned his forehead against hers. "You're dangerous."

She pulled back in mock anger. "I am not."

"That's what you think." He gave her a quick kiss. "Let's go in before we turn into snow people."

"Yeah, the little kids around here are brutal. They'd knock us down for sure." She laughed.

Hand in hand, they trudged back toward the building, where shadows of trees mimicked vines slithering up to the roof.

"Where'd you learn owl calls?" she asked.

"My grandparents lived in the Poconos when I was little. Grandpa used to take me owling. It leaves quite an impression when you're eight."

She tried to imagine him at eight, but couldn't. "Owling?"

"It's basically going out into the freezing cold night and doing birdcalls. They were pretty into it, and so was I, when I was young and stupid."

"It's not stupid. It's really cool." She braced herself for his snappy, smartass response, but was surprised to find him grinning at her when she stole a glance at him.

"So tell me more about it."

"It used to be my favorite part of visiting my grandparents. My parents weren't crazy about it. Maybe that's what made me love it. It seemed so mysterious and dangerous, getting up in the middle of the night to go out in the woods, where you might run into some terrible nocturnal animal."

That, she could imagine. "Probably why your parents didn't like it."

"Probably. They were too entrenched in their midlife crises to see how beautiful it was. The sky so clear, you could see thousands of stars. It stuck with me. And my grandfather told me owl legends from different cultures."

"Such as?"

"In France, when a pregnant woman hears an owl, it's an omen that the child will be a girl."

"Wonder how many pregnant French women wander around at night listening for owl calls?"

"Probably more than you think, but they're not out for the owls. Now, the Mojave Indians of Arizona believed that, when you die, you become an owl. But this is only an interim stage before becoming a water beetle, and ultimately pure air."

"Air—I can name a few people whose brains skipped a few stages."

He continued. "And the Algerians believed that if you placed the right eye of an eagle owl in the hand of a sleeping woman, she would tell anything." He stopped and gazed intently at her. "What would you tell, if I put an owl's eye in your hand while you slept?"

"The first thing I'd say is I don't like owl eyeballs—or any other parts of dead animals—anywhere near me while I'm asleep."

He gave a short laugh. "I'll try to remember that."

They'd nearly reached the front of the building. She scanned the yard and called, "Bart!" in a low voice. A small black shadow flitted past them. The cat waited at the door when they entered, stamping the cold from their feet.

She reached for the light switch in the kitchen, but he intercepted her, pinned her against the wall in a kiss. They struggled to unbutton each other's coats, throwing them on the floor as they removed each new layer of clothing.

She lost her breath as she kissed his face, bit his shoulder as he kissed her neck and fumbled with her jeans. "This is too soon," she whispered urgently.

He growled and nuzzled her neck. "It's going to happen anyway." He leaned back to look at her. "You know that."

"It's just so soon. I'm not ready." She tugged his half-unbuttoned shirt closed.

He searched her face. "You could have fooled me."

"Mentally. I don't think I'm mentally ready."

He bit his lip, his hands running along her back. "Okay. We'll go slower." In the half-light, his eyes shone with uncharacteristic happiness. "I might explode in the meantime," he added sarcastically, refastening her jeans. "But we'll go slow, dear. Whatever you want, dear," he intoned in a nagging voice as he picked up their coats from the floor and hung them in the closet. Running his hand roughly through his hair, he gave a mock shiver.

"Let's see what's on TV then." He extended his hand back toward her, and she grabbed it.

They fell easily onto the couch together. He grabbed the remote, clicked on the television and scanned through the channels.

"Oh, God, I think we're married already," she lamented.

His sideways glance, highlighted by an uplifted brow, told her not to push the issue.

"It's quarter to twelve? I thought it was earlier." He sighed and continued scanning. "Let's see...we have a choice between Dirty Harry..."

She wrinkled her nose as he turned toward her, his face a question mark.

He clicked ahead. "Oh! Die Hard."

She rolled her eyes and said sarcastically, "My favorite Christmas movie."

"Really? Mine, too. The blood looks so festive splattered on the walls. Okay, what's next. White Christmas?"

"I've seen it a million times. What, no It's a Wonderful Life? That's my absolute favorite movie."

"Doesn't seem to be. And the talk shows are ending soon."

"Is that all?" She leaned on his shoulder. "I don't care. You pick."

"Die Hard it is." He entered the channel number.

"Typical male. Anything with 'hard' in the title."

"Careful." He nudged her as they sat back. Her arm circled behind him as he leaned his head toward hers and grabbed the inside of her leg. She delved her fingers into his hair, unconsciously at first, but then she began to take interest in the soft underlying texture, the subtle shadings of its color as the layers flowed over his collar.

"Comfortable?" he asked.

"Mm-hm." She gazed at his profile—in itself a study in contrast, a reflection of his inner self. His long nose provided a masculine quality in contrast to his beautiful, long-lashed eyes. He drew his mouth into a tight line when upset, but his smiles completely encompassed his face.

"I'm not." He shifted uneasily. "Can we lie down?"

She smiled slyly at him.

"Scout's honor. Nothing will happen."

"Yeah, right." She laughed, but threw the pillows toward the end of the couch and settled, half reclined, toward the back and patted the pillows next to her. He looped his arm around her.

Bart jumped on the sofa arm, purring loudly.

"Hey, Bart. What's up?" She scratched underneath his chin, and the cat snuggled against her head, switching his tail.

"Bart's jealous," she said.

He spread his hand across her stomach. "So am I."

Her breath hitched in her chest at his touch. "Go to bed, Bart." She waved her hand, and the cat jumped down.

Cal watched, mouth open.

"I told you he's as good as any dog."

His tone deadpan, he said, "You must have spent years training him."

She settled into his shoulder. "No, I just have a way with animals."

He feigned indignation. "Are you insinuating I'm an animal?"

She laughed. "No, but there's a definite animal magnetism going on here." She kissed his ear, laughed when he shivered, and snuggled closer. They turned their attention back to the movie, watching as the action on the screen became increasingly violent and bloody.

"Ooohhh," she groaned as a bullet penetrated one man's head.

"You hate this movie, don't you?"

"Parts of it," she conceded. "Ugh," she moaned as more blood splattered. She turned her face into his shirt. His scent filled her nostrils, and an urge came over her to unbutton it, taste his skin.

"We can watch something else..." he offered.

"That's okay. This is fine." She fondled his hair.

He shivered. "That drives me crazy." He shook his head.

"I'm sorry." She froze.

"I mean the good crazy." He kissed her nose.

"I can stop." She could, but didn't want to.

He shrugged. "I just can't be responsible for what happens if you don't." His tone was matter-of-fact as he gazed at the television.

She leaned away. "You never were a Boy Scout, were you?"

With a wide grin, he stared at the TV. "Nope."

"I knew it." She grabbed his shirt.

He chuckled and pulled her closer.

His buttons protruded into her palm, teasing. Inviting her. Curiosity overwhelmed her. She eased one finger inside to feel his skin. With any other guy, she'd wait for him to make the advances, but somehow it felt different with Cal. Natural. Not touching him proved more difficult.

He glanced at her uncertainly. She pretended not to notice, but when he turned his attention back to the movie, she slowly undid one button, then another, and continued stroking his chest. His hand moved along her waist, following the seams of her jeans. He pulled her shirt up until finding her skin. Then his hand delved into the back of her jeans.

She couldn't hold back any longer and leaned up and nipped his ear. "Let's not watch this anymore."

He knit his brow. "Should I change the channel?"

She whispered, "No."

His lips parted as he searched her face. A smile began in his eyes and lit his face. "I never liked this movie either."

She threw her leg over his as he turned toward her.

"God!"He pressed his mouth against hers. His urgency surprised her. Made her feel as if the room spun around them. He pinned her against the couch cushion. His tongue explored her ear and neck as his hands moved across her like a blind man's. He slid down her body, nipped her breast through her shirt.

She gasped, and clutched his head. Instinctively, she hooked her feet around the back of his legs. As he lifted his body from hers, she moaned. "No."

The light from the television flickered over him as he hovered above her.

"No?" he murmured, and twitched his brows together. His mussed hair fell across his eyes.

She bit her lip as she studied him. He was right. It would happen anyway. "Cal?" she whispered.

"Mmnnnn." He ran his hand along the top of her leg.

"Just don't go too fast. I don't want to miss anything."

He tensed, momentarily immobile. He heaved himself over her, his long arms like a cage around her.

She couldn't tell what he was thinking as he looked into her eyes, then hungrily down her body.

"What?" she whispered, afraid of what he might answer.

He leaned his head against his arm, then peered at her.

She reached up and touched his face. "What?" Did she do something wrong? Was he angry at her for changing her mind?

"Damn," he faltered. "I always knew you were out there somewhere. But I never thought I'd find you."

She relaxed. No one had ever said anything so incredible. "You're a pretty nice Christmas present yourself."

"We need more room. Come on." He grabbed her hands and pulled her up. "Where's the bedroom?"

From his perch atop a chair, Bart mewed, then shut his Buddhalike eyes as the door closed behind them.

* * *

She stood by the bed. "The light switch is to your right."

He lingered by the door. "We don't need it. The moon's still bright."

Her breath quickened as he stepped toward her out of the shadows. He stopped and took a deep breath. "I have to be careful."

She tensed. "What do you mean?"

He looked her over inch by inch. "You said you wanted to go slow." He reached to move her hair from her shoulder, then traced his finger along her collarbone. "That's going to be very difficult." His fingers slid down her sweater, between her breasts. As he circled around her breast, his palm brushed against her nipple.

Her heart raced, and she let out a breath. "I see what you mean." She touched his chest, ran her hands down his waist and thighs.

He inched her sweater up over her head. She raised her arms, and her hair cascaded down her back as he dropped the sweater to the floor.

She unfastened the rest of his buttons and slid his shirt from his shoulders and arms. With a ragged breath, she ran her hands along his smooth chest, resisting the urge to pull him close, to feel his skin against hers. Instead she kissed his nipples, one by one, her tongue teasing them to hardness.

His hands cupped her head, his fingers tangled in her hair. He pulled her away. "You don't play fair." He leaned toward her, and she reached her lips to his, but he smiled, holding her inches away. "Not yet," he whispered.

He undid her bra and slid it away. His tongue traveled down her cleavage to her belly button as he unsnapped her jeans, pulling the zipper down tooth by tooth. She ran her fingers through the waves of his hair as he pushed her jeans from her hips and down her legs and over one foot then the next, kissing her thigh as he steadied her.

He knelt before her, his breath hot through her panties. She clenched his hair as he lightly ran his fingers from back to front, then slowly tugged her panties away, his tongue following the clearing path.

She widened her stance and bit back a moan. His tongue teased her to near bursting. Her breath quivered as she shuddered, then grabbed his head as spasms shook her body as never before. Her knees gave way, and she nearly doubled over.

His arms slid behind her knees and back, and he lifted her to the bed. He kissed her, and she tasted herself on his lips. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his to pull him closer. Feeling fabric instead of skin, she reached for his buckle and undid it as fast as she could; she'd had enough of going slow. She tugged them down, pushed them down his legs with her feet.

He stood to take them off, then took a deep breath as he looked at her. He smiled, kissed her bent knee and ran his hands along her legs. "I'm going to make sure," he said, putting one knee on the bed, then the other, "you won't miss even one second of this." He arched over her. "Are you ready for me?"

She had to have him. Now—or she'd go crazy. "Come here."

He whispered, "Diana, Diana," the same as he had in her dreams. She tightened her arms around him and held him until after the moonlight slid away from her bed.

* * *

Diana tried to get out of bed on Sunday. Cal foiled each attempt. He hooked his arm around her waist and pulled her back. Or murmured sweet invitations until she returned. As if in a trance, she climbed back atop the bed, needing to feel his skin against hers, his hands exploring every curve. His soft, low voice imprinted in her mind.

The day swirled into night, and at ten o'clock, he glared at the clock. "I have to go."

She climbed on top of him, her hands against his shoulders. "No. Can't you stay?"

He gripped her hips. "My clothes are a bit used."

With a frustrated sigh, she eased onto his chest. "So?"

He kissed her nose. "I need a shower." He rolled her over and pinned her wrists. "Clean clothes would be nice." He scraped his nubby chin along her stomach. "And a shave."

She giggled, grasped his hair and pulled his head up. "I like you scruffy."

He settled on top of her and touched his lips to hers. "I don't think anyone else shares your generous opinion of me. Rich would kill me if I showed up looking like this."

"Right. Tomorrow." She groaned. "Do we have to go back there?"

"Employment's a basic necessity, yeah."

"Do you have to leave right now?" She reached up to kiss him.

He lifted out of reach. "Diana..." he growled.

"Stay a little while." She ran her tongue along his neck.

With a soft moan of surrender, he relaxed with her strokes. "Sleep is overrated," he mumbled as he pressed his mouth to hers.

Chapter Nine

Monday dawned brightly. Diana hurried down her hallway, still lined with boxes. She had to unpack, settle in, make this place hers—while Cal wasn't around. While she was with him, she wanted to concentrate on him. If she'd learned anything, it was that Cal required great concentration. She looked forward to studying him at close range.

She'd meant to get up early but hit the snooze button over and over as vivid memories of Cal returned. Her stomach churned at the thought of going to work, having to pretend nothing had changed.

Everything had. Her world had turned upside down—or right-side up. The universe had conspired to bring her to that job to meet Cal. She felt certain. Never had she connected with anyone so instantly, so completely. He knew her thoughts before she spoke. Looked at her with such surety, as no one else ever had. Being with him felt so good. Like home.

As she drove around the Horizons Software building, something zinged through her at the sight of his truck. Maintaining a professional façade would be difficult, but she had to. They both did.

She trotted up the steps, thinking only of seeing him again. She pushed open the door. Cal stood near her desk and turned. Warmth flushed her face as she smiled.

"Hey." She rushed ahead, but stopped short.

Rich stood beside her desk inside the alcove. "Diana. Good morning. I didn't have a chance to tell you last week how much I admire the tree."

"Thanks." She tucked her hair behind her ear. "I probably should have asked first."

"No, we needed some Christmas cheer. It adds to our celebratory mood." He winked and walked away.

She circled her desk and whispered, "Sorry, I didn't see him." She set her purse under the desk and went to the closet to hang up her coat.

"So what's on the agenda today?" She turned.

Cal moved away from her desk. "Playing catch-up. I had a busy weekend."

Jamie walked in. "Yeah? What'd you do?"

Cal struggled for words. "I, uh, was with a good friend."

"Oh, hey, me too." Jamie grinned.

Diana went to her seat. "Did you do anything special?" When she sat, she nudged her handbag. A folded paper fell out.

As Jamie detailed his trip, she reached down to power up the computer and picked up the paper.

"So yeah, it was great." Jamie looked from Cal to her.

She had no idea what he'd said. "That's nice." She glanced at Cal.

His eyebrow flicked up, and his lips curled in a smirk.

Her fingers burned. She had to read it. She moved the mouse and clicked as if working.

Cal said, "Better get to work," and strode off.

Jamie sighed, "Yeah, yeah," and headed for his office.

Finally. She unfolded the note and read:

One taste of you

and I feel like I've been starved

all my life,

denied nourishment,

and now I'm so hungry

I'll never get enough,

never get enough

of you.

Cal's voice resonated through her head. She closed her eyes. Her life had shifted in a way she had never imagined possible. She felt close to him even when not with him. Before, when others talked of such a deep connection, she thought they exaggerated. Now she knew.

She glanced down the hall at his open door. She smiled, taking comfort in the knowledge that he was there. Maybe she'd worried for nothing.

He emerged from his office, cup in hand. "Is there any coffee made, Diana?"

"I'm not sure. I'll check." She abandoned her work.

The grin on his face grew as he sped down the hall.

She made a quick mental check of everyone's whereabouts. Rich—in his office on his phone, his door half closed. Jamie—at his computer, as usual, the music beating through his headphones. Jack—out making sales calls. All clear, for the moment.

She pushed open the kitchen door.

Cal grabbed her before it closed all the way. His arms wrapped so tightly around her, she could barely breathe.

"God, Diana," he whispered. "What did you do to me?"

She slid her arms around his neck. "I don't know, but I sure like it."

He kissed her so hard her chin felt rubbed raw. At the sound of footsteps in the hall, he released her. She hurriedly fussed with the coffeepot as high heels clicked in small steps through the door.

"Hiiii," Robin cooed.

"Hey, Robin, how's it going?" Diana grabbed a tissue and blew her nose, pretending a cold. Her chin and mouth probably glowed red from his kiss.

"Good." Robin frowned. "Are you coming down with a cold?"

She tried to sound sick as she answered, "I think so. I hardly got any sleep this weekend." She bit back a smile behind her tissue.

Cal, who sat with one leg dangling over the table, cleared his throat. "I might be coming down with something too. I keep getting shivers and tingling all over."

Diana made a face behind Robin's back as her baby steps headed in his direction.

Robin peered into his eyes. "You're right. You don't look well. Your eyes look so glassy."

Diana stifled a giggle and blew her nose again to cover the noise. "The coffee's nearly finished. Want some?"

"Yes, that's just what I need. It was so cold this morning!"

"Was it?" she said. "I didn't notice."

Robin bustled about the kitchen, gathering sugar and creamer. "Maybe you have a fever. I had to run back inside this morning for my scarf and gloves so I wouldn't freeze." She headed for the door. "I have to get back to the desk. See you." On her way out the door, she stepped aside for Rich. "Sorry, didn't see you coming. I don't know why this door keeps closing."

She knew all too well, Diana thought.

"So this is where everyone's hiding," Rich said.

"I was just making a fresh pot of coffee," Diana said, breathless.

Rich shot her a smile and turned to Cal. "What's the latest? Any progress?"

He chewed on a stirrer straw. "I'm working on it." He poured his coffee and walked out with Rich, who continued, "Well, keep me posted, will you? They called twice already."

He gave her one last glance before the door closed between them.

She let out a small sigh. Less than five minutes earlier, she was a pearl enveloped in his shell. Coffee in hand, she dreamily walked back to her desk and tried to focus her attention on her workload.

Checking her e-mail, she found a message from him: Meet me in the park at lunch. I'll leave first. You follow a few minutes later. Okay? And delete this message after you reply. And delete the reply message from your Send folder, too. And don't forget to empty the Trash folder.

She typed: Okay. Would you like me to encrypt my reply messages so they're unintelligible, possibly even to you?

When he peered out his door with one eyebrow up, she wrinkled her nose at him.

* * *

The hands on the clock dragged by so irritatingly she wanted to force them ahead manually. She must have looked at the clock's sneering face a hundred times, and only a few minutes had passed. Finally, it clicked to five of twelve.

Cal punched his arms through his flannel shirt as he walked through the office. He said nothing, but locked his gaze on hers as he passed.

Her nerves jittered as she opened and closed several files to look busy and then changed her heeled shoes for her sneakers and ran down the steps.

The air outside crackled with winter, the sky heavy with scattered grey clouds that parted to allow a brilliant ray of sun to spotlight her path. She scanned the tree line.

His arm shot out from behind a wide old tree, grabbed her wrist, and swirled her to him. His mouth sought hers as someone drowning seeks air. They kissed for what seemed like a suspended moment in eternity. He lifted his lips from hers and rested his cheek against her forehead.

She buried her face in the warm flannel, inhaled his scent. She felt more at peace than she ever had. His deep sigh made her smile.

"I need to come over tonight." He rocked her gently.

"I need you to come over tonight." She didn't want to open her eyes; everything felt too perfect. When she finally glanced at her wristwatch, it was ten of one.

"Oh no. It's almost time to go back."

"I know. I don't want to. Why don't you call in and say you came down with food poisoning? I'll make up some excuse, and we can go—"

"I can't. I left my purse there. With my cell phone in it." She tightened her embrace and took a deep breath. "We'll just have to wait. We're rational adults, right? We have self-control, right?"

"I used to." He nuzzled her neck. "It seems to be on hiatus at the moment." He pulled her tighter and growled, "I could just throw you on the ground and—"

"Cal." She pulled away as a rush of heat coursed through her body. "We better get back."

He frowned.

"I'll go in first." She walked away, but he didn't let go of her hand. "Come on, we'll be late. People will talk..." She knew this would convince him.

He grunted. "All right, but I'll need to see you this afternoon in the supply closet."

She grinned, walking backwards. "Let me go."

His fingers slowly released hers, and she nearly stumbled into a tree as she turned.

Graceful, really good. She finger-combed her hair, hoping no one would notice her rumpled outfit. She couldn't use the lost iron excuse again.

Her good mood abruptly ended when Rich's worried face popped out his office door. "Diana, is Cal around?"

"No," she said, "I don't think he's back yet."

"Well, as soon as he gets back, send him in, will you? Thanks." He closed the door before she could answer.

Yikes. Something must be up.

Noiseless as a cat, he came inside.

She cleared her throat. "Rich wants to see you. Right away."

He shrugged as if to ask why, and she arched her eyebrows and shook her head.

He took off his flannel shirt, tossed it through his door and strolled into Rich's office. The door clicked shut.

Through the wall, the tones of both voices rose and fell. She tensed and couldn't concentrate. When they emerged, both seemed their usual selves: Cal as calmly inscrutable as Rich was full of worry.

The modus operandi of Horizons Software, apparently. Still, she didn't want to be the cause of further worry for Rich, so when Cal called her desk phone later, she refused to meet him in the supply closet.

"Come on." Anguish edged his whisper.

"No, I'll see you tonight."

"Diana..."

His voice infused her with ripples of alternating cold and heat. She forced herself to turn away and look out the window. If she caught sight of his yearning stare, she wouldn't be able to say no again.

"Sorry, sir, but you'll have to try back later." She hung up. She ignored the noises from down the hall as she worked on her latest report, due at the end of the week.

Think work, she chanted in her head, yet flashbacks of him in the park invaded like an army of fire ants crawling over her skin.

Throughout the afternoon, Jamie went back and forth from his office to Diana's desk to check in. Rich had tasked her with testing the software Jamie was developing, a less complicated program than Cal's but still in the initial stages. She updated him about a glitch.

"Let me check something." He grabbed her mouse and leaned close.

As she glanced down the hall, Cal stepped back from his doorway, his brow knit.

"Here, why don't you sit? You'll hurt your back." She stepped behind her chair, close enough to see but a more professional distance.

After Jamie left, she expected Cal to call or e-mail, but nothing. Maybe he worried Jamie would return and see it. The thought drifted away as she immersed herself in the project.

The clock on her computer read quarter after five. She powered it off and called, "Good night." She hesitated, waiting for some sign. Music sounded from Cal's office. She'd already said good night, so she had to leave.

She was home an hour when the doorbell rang. She ran to the door and blushed when she saw his image through the peephole. Opening the door quickly, she reached out and pulled him inside, kissing him before she could get the door shut and finish saying, "What took you so long?"

He resisted, his back against the wall.

She leaned away to look at him. "If this is the best you can do, it's a good thing I didn't go to the supply closet this afternoon," she teased.

"Really?" he said coolly. "Or maybe you were waiting for a better offer?"

Diana smiled. "Hmmm, could be."

He held her shoulders away. "Did you have a nice afternoon with Jamie?"

"If by nice, you mean productive, then yes. What's wrong?" His glare told her all she needed to know. "You're not jealous?"

He narrowed his eyes, his mouth a thin line.

"Cal." She softened her voice. "It's your hard drive I'm after." She reached for his waist.

His face softened as he rolled his eyes. "You are so corny."

She tilted her head and tried to look him in the eye. "I missed you all afternoon."

He rested his head against the wall and peered at her.

It felt like standing before the Sphinx, she thought—one wrong answer, and I'm history. She cupped her hand against his cheek.

He relaxed, kissed her palm, then pulled her close and kissed her so fiercely, she struggled for breath. He ripped at her clothing as he undressed her, and they made love so savagely she felt like a primal being, driven purely by instinct and desire. No time existed when she was with him, only a vacuum of roiling emotion in a subconscious dreamlike state.

When she later realized night had fallen and neither had eaten, she decided it was too late anyway. He'd fallen asleep in her bed, wrapped in her arms. Hunger pangs subsided as she gave way to the satisfaction of smelling his skin, and to a feeling of sleepy peacefulness.

The moon hung low, a plump crescent in the treetops. It disappeared behind a dark cloud. Everything went black, and a sensation gripped her of falling, falling, falling—like the childhood nightmares others spoke of.

Those dreams terrified her—knowing the ground would come up at her with a smack and then the eternal void would swallow her. She scrambled to turn back, stop the freefall, but only blackness surrounded her, nothing to hold on to. The soft whoosh of wings flapping somewhere nearby caught her attention, and she tried to make her way toward the sound. The darkness was so pitch black, it was palpable. Two small points of light appeared, and she focused on them, trying to ignore the out-of-control feeling, not wanting to acknowledge the ground was surely shooting up to meet her.

As the whooshing came nearer, the blackness dissolved slowly around these points of light to reveal Cal's face. His arms encircled her, and the falling sensation stopped. Never, in all her dreams, had she been rescued from a fall. Filled with happiness, she held tight. He smiled at her, then set his face into the wind to begin the ascent. But the whoosh of wings ceased as if switched off. They began a horrifying spiral downwards. She wanted to scream, but he grinned as they went down, down, ten times faster than her freefall. Her breath stopped, and the blackness closed in around them.

With a gasp and a jerk, she woke to find him wrapped around her. She pushed his arms away, sitting up to catch her breath.

"Diana." He blinked, his eyes bleary. "Are you okay?"

She nodded quickly, trying to take breaths as deep as she could.

"Hey." He rubbed her back.

"Just a bad dream," she forced herself to answer. "I'm fine."

"Bad dream?" He pulled her back to him. "Come here, baby," he whispered.

His calm, steady voice dispelled her fears, and she eased into him, her tension slipping away.

"Shhh." He kissed her forehead. "It's okay. I have you."

Exhaustion overwhelmed her, so she could do nothing but surrender to sleep.

* * *

Before she was fully awake, Cal kissed her, his voice soft as he said good-bye. His presence lingered even as he drove home in the bleak light of dawn. An invisible tether seemed to join them, soul to soul. Even when she was miles away, it drew her back, always back to him. Though helpless, she felt content to be caught.

Although she had felt a startling consciousness of him since they first met, she hadn't been attracted to him in the traditional sense—that was the ironic part. And it hadn't occurred to her that he might find her attractive; the connection went so much deeper than anything that superficial. Now, she felt almost mesmerized by him. The constant changes in his facial expressions fascinated her, and she tried to commit each of his features to memory.

While unpacking that night, she came across her old Nikon, which had been buried in her closet for years. She brought the viewfinder to her eye and focused. Its weight felt good in her hands again. She used to love experimenting with different angles and settings and had even entered a few photography contests. Why had she stopped? She couldn't quite tell. Her once-powerful ambition had faded, but now came back in a rush.

She bought a few rolls of black-and-white film, and a few color for good measure. She began carrying the Nikon everywhere, as she used to. She took pictures whenever moved to do so: the outline of trees in a hazy mist, reflections along the river, interesting architectural details. The world looked new to her as she began to see with new eyes and notice colors she'd ignored before.

During her lunchtime walk, she zoomed in on the details of the park, then turned the camera on Cal.

"Hey, whoa." He cupped his hand over the lens.

"Why not? You're a great subject. Very complex." She slid it back and clicked. "I promise not to post them on the Internet." She'd need a scanner first.

"Yeah, right."

"Ignore it. Talk to me like I'm not holding it." She stepped away and captured him in her lens.

"That's a little difficult." He turned his profile to her.

She clicked. Such great features he had. "I'm going to get my old darkroom equipment from home. I didn't realize how much I missed this."

He winced. "Darkroom? Go digital."

"Not in the budget. To get really good photos, I need a high-end camera. Those cost as much as a used car."

He jammed his hands into his pockets. "I should get back. Rich has been on me lately about this new software." He touched his lips to hers, then opened his mouth and pressed harder as he gripped her arms. He grunted and eased away. "Should have known better." He strode away, then turned. "What about tonight?"

"I'll be home unpacking."

"I have to put in a few extra hours, but if you want, I'll stop by."

She smiled. "I want." Too much. She inhaled deeply. She raised the camera again as he walked away, and committed his solitary figure to film. Something about the image of him in the stark landscape unnerved her.

When she returned to her desk, she texted his cell. Since he would be working tonight, she'd go to her parents' for her darkroom equipment and be at her apartment later. His response said maybe she should wait. She asked: For what? Tonight's perfect.

Her cell sat silent for minutes. When it indicated a message, she read: Let me know when you get to your place.
Chapter Ten

Her windowless bathroom made a perfect darkroom. The costs of developer, toner, and fixer surprised her. Add the cost of paper, and she might as well have gone digital. But electronic cameras omitted the developing process. She reveled in each print as it slowly took shape: a close-up of his eyes partly obscured by a shock of hair, his mouth slightly parted; him leaning against a tree in Thornwald; and, her favorite, a profile taken in morning light in her kitchen as he gazed out the window. The chemicals worked their magic in these prints, just like the body chemistry between them.

The complete absence of light made the darkness almost palpable. As each photo came clear in the developer, so was Cal's presence. The touch of his long fingers. His hot breath on her skin. He might have been standing behind her.

Their chemistry could be volatile at times, and the intensity of their passion—even from a distance—sometimes made it difficult to breathe. Their bodies were instantaneously drawn to each other, and the need to touch was insatiable. As in the grips of a raging fever, she felt helplessly overwhelmed, unable to think clearly as he invaded her every thought. Time no longer held a sharp-edged clarity for her, but flowed in a mellow stream, blurring distinctions between days. Especially on weekends, which they spent shut up in either his or her apartment, oblivious to the world outside their tight personal sphere.

But next week was Christmas. For two weeks, Diana's mother left message after message on her voice mail. Lisa, her sister, sent three e-mails. Diana intended to return each one, but had been too busy at work, and by the time she thought of it at home—after Cal had gone home or she finished talking on the phone with him—it was too late.

Cal made no mention of any holiday plans and ignored the season in general.

As they lay on her sofa, arms and legs entangled, she asked him finally, "Are you going home for Christmas?" Wherever that was. He'd never said any more about his family after the night she met Eddie.

"Not this year. Too much work to do." He ran his fingers along her arm.

She propped her elbow beside his head. "Do you usually?"

His brows twitched together as he faced her, a mix of confusion and amusement in his smile. "Once in a while. My parents divorced when I was fourteen, so holidays are a double hassle now. If I visit one, I have to spend equal time with the other or there's trouble. And flying's such a hassle over the holidays."

"Flying where?" She'd caught him in a talkative mood and had to take advantage of it.

"Seattle." He brushed away her hair and his lips traveled along her neck.

Nuzzling closer, she somehow maintained her focus, though her body pressed against him in response to his touch as if of its own accord. "I've always wanted to go there."

Easing away, he cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. Suspicious of her motives, probably.

"Well I have. Not to meet your parents," she said, though she'd like to. "It's a very picturesque place. I always wanted to photograph it."

"Speaking of which, I'll be right back." He eased from beneath her, went out her door, and returned carrying a large black plastic bag. "This is not a Christmas present." He held it away and waited.

She sat up and hugged her knee. "Okay. What is it then?"

He set the bag on the table. "Open it."

"No fair. I didn't get—"

"You're not supposed to." He sat beside her. "I said it's not a Christmas present. Now open it."

She wouldn't argue. She tugged the plastic down and gasped. "Oh my God."

A new digital camera, one of the most expensive. And several lenses.

His eyes sparkled with delight. "You like it?"

"Are you kidding? It's amazing. It's...too much. I can't let you spend this kind of money."

He chuckled. "Too late to stop me. It's yours. Try it out."

She fumbled open the boxes, fit a lens to the camera body, and brought it to her eye. "Oh wow."

"Now you don't have to deal with the darkroom mess."

"Cal, I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything. Just shoot some great pictures." His voice turned stern. "And don't buy anything for me."

"What?"

"I mean it. It's one of the reasons I hate Christmas. It's like buying gifts becomes an Olympic competition. It makes me ill."

"You're a very strange man." She kissed him. "And excessively generous."

"Nah. You can give me credits in your first coffee table book."

She rested her arm around his shoulder. "Deal."

"You know, I've never..." He closed his eyes. "It's so different with you. Our relationship is..."

She tensed as he struggled for words.

His voice filled with wonder. "It's indefinably symbiotic. It's like our relationship is this separate entity, so multifaceted it seems to have a life of its own. I sometimes feel like I wrestle with it to keep it under control." He exhaled sharply. "That sounds stupid."

"No, it's not stupid. It's how I feel too. Overpowered by it sometimes." Frightened of its power over her.

He entwined his fingers in hers. "I never had such a give-and-take with anyone before. You give me so much of yourself, I want to give you everything. Whatever you need to be the person you want."

She let out a ragged breath. No one had ever said anything so beautiful. "I want to be the same for you." She stopped herself from saying "I love you." Somehow the words seemed inadequate.

His gaze fell to her lips. "I want you so much." He pressed her back onto the sofa, his kisses interspersed with hushed words. "All the time. It makes me crazy."

Breathless, she ran her foot along his leg. "Oh yeah. I know exactly how you feel." But theirs was such a delicious madness.

* * *

Her passion for photography reignited with intensity. When she looked at any object, she viewed it as if through a lens and cropped away the unnecessary parts. Interesting textures and colors jumped out at her, or the particular way the sun struck something and reflected from it to create a different pattern. The world took on new dimension, new depth, and she felt compelled to capture it. Her photography books had long stood on her bookshelf without use, but now she referred back to them more and more often. She read passages of quotes by photographers such as EdwardWeston: "The camera should be used for a recording of life, for rendering the quintessence of the thing itself, whether polished steel or palpitating flesh."

She imagined her prints in a gallery, and viewers so intrigued with her unique visions of life, of the thing itself, that they were drawn from one print to the next and the next. Though she had no hope that she'd ever be as good as Weston, Stieglitz or Steichen, it would be enough for her to make someone catch his breath or move in closer to try to make out whether her image was of something microscopic or an innovative take on a pattern in nature. Exposing the unique in the everyday, the unusual in the ordinary, was her goal.

Cal had gotten excited about her reborn interest and more than encouraged it: He sought out opportunities for her to reach past what she perceived as her limits. Like a mantra, he told her over and over to not be afraid to pursue something just because she might fail.

"Everyone fails initially," he said. "But you have to keep trying. That's the only difference between you and, say, Ansel Adams. You have the passion. Follow through on it."

She forced herself to abandon her inhibitions and, if on the way to work she saw a potentially good shot, made herself stop the car and take a few minutes rather than telling herself she didn't have time. More than a luxury, it felt liberating. Without his supporting interest, she might not have reclaimed that part of herself that she'd thought to be lost.

* * *

She had intended to drive the hour north to her parents' home sometime between Christmas and New Year's, but Cal didn't want to go.

"I don't want to meet your family. Not yet. Can't we just stay here?" He pulled her closer.

"Alone?" She couldn't keep the disappointment from her voice.

"Yes, alone. Just you, me, and those adorable little beauty marks of yours." He pushed her hair back and lightly touched the small dark dot on her skin that she'd always despised.

She clucked her tongue. "What?" He always managed to change the subject.

"This little beauty," he said, "was one of the first things that intrigued me about you."

"Gee, thanks. And here I thought it was my wit and charm."

"Well, that, too. But this was like a magnet. I wanted to touch it, to lick it, to find all its sisters." His teeth clenched her neck as his tongue stroked her skin.

Chills ran over her, and she closed her eyes. He had a way of drawing her in, sometimes at the last moment.

"And then, when you wore that black sleeveless dress at the Christmas party, you really drove me crazy. When we were standing at the bar, do you remember? Another one peeked out, just above your shoulder."

She raised one brow as if to say, "And?"

"After that," he said, "I couldn't help watching you more closely. I became obsessed with knowing how many more there might be. And where they might be." His fingers traced her collarbone, circled above her breasts.

A move calculated to make her inner temperature rise, to make her body lean toward him subconsciously, hungrily. It was working.

Maybe Christmas alone with him wouldn't be such a bad idea.

She ran her hands along his sides. "So were you disappointed?"

"Disappointed?" he asked with mock surprise. "I love each and every one of them. And I memorized where each one is."

"You did?" She knew full well the game he played and was eager to match his every move. Knight to pawn, queen to knight. The checkmate was always the highlight for both of them; it was just a matter of who got there first. And then the slight rush of disappointment that it was over. For a little while.

Later, he lay asleep in her bed. She wrapped herself in a blanket and walked to her living room in the darkness. She lit the Christmas tree and sat in front of it cross-legged, as she had when she was a child. The etchings of tree branches on the ceiling in pastel greens, yellows, and reds captured her imagination. The ornaments, though spare on the large tree, held deep meaning for her, saved by her mother from her childhood. Each year, the three children had each selected an ornament, and their mother kept it safe in boxes labeled with each child's name for their own Christmas trees. As a child, she hadn't realized what memories this tradition would stir up. Pulling a pillow from the sofa, she lay in front of the tree until her eyes could no longer focus, the lights and ornaments blurring together.

She skipped hastily into the living room. It was quarter to seven—surely Mom and Dad will be up soon, she told a sleepy Lisa. Her older sister, as always, was the epitome of self-control. She would be twelve in February, but acted more like a young lady than Diana could ever hope to. Though only eight, she fervently tried her best to imitate Lisa's coolly calculated demeanor, but could not hold herself back from the slightest of instincts.

"Let's turn the tree lights on," she pleaded.

Lisa frowned. "All right, but let's not wake Mom and Dad up—you know how grumpy Dad can get, even on Christmas."

"I won't," she promised. She knew Joel would go boldly into their bedroom and announce it was Christmas Day, time to get up. But then she spied the large box with the huge red bow, the one with air holes poked into the top. Holding her breath, she tiptoed to it and tapped the lid.

"Meow," the box replied.

She squealed. "I knew it. I knew Santa would bring me my kitty." Against strict orders, she peeked inside.

The small black kitten reached two white-socked paws against the top of the box.

"Oh, I love him." She nuzzled the tiny body to her cheek before Lisa could say no.

"Diana," her father's voice boomed. "What are you trying to do, burn the house down? Turn those tree lights off. Diana."

She awoke, startled to find Cal unplugging the tree lights. "You're going to start a fire. Don't you know not to leave these lights burning?" He scowled at Bart, curled in her lap.

"Come on, let's go back to bed," he said, squatting beside her, eyes not quite open.

She stared at him dumbly. The image of her father had been so strong and had momentarily come to life in him.

"Diana," he repeated sleepily, scrubbing his fingers through his hair.

"I'm coming." She set Bart on the sofa and gathered the blanket around her.

He helped her to her feet and brushed the hair from her face. "Waiting for Santa?"

"No, reliving a Christmas Past."

"Good, 'cause I'm the only one coming down your chimney this Christmas." He nuzzled her neck.

Right. No family this holiday. The thought made her tense.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing." She attempted a smile. "You gave me a chill, that's all."

He led her back to bed. "Let me warm you up then." His low voice went through her like hot spiced rum.

* * *

On the morning of Christmas Eve, they lay wrapped in each other's arms, awake but relaxed.

She rested against his chest. "Hey, what do you want for Christmas?"

"You, wrapped up in a big bow." He kissed her hair.

She tried to stifle her smile. "Okay, but what else?"

"Nothing. I told you before, I'm not into Christmas."

Her mouth dropped open. "How can you not like Christmas?"

"I've never liked it. All the commotion, the endless commercialization of something that was supposed to be a religious epiphany. No one remembers the real meaning of Christmas anymore."

"That's not true. And it's such a happy season. Everyone's so much more cheerful than usual. It feels good to give people presents."

"No," he said firmly. "Don't get me anything. I mean it."

She had no ready answer for his stubbornness. Christmas had been overcommercialized for many years, but that was no reason not to celebrate. He'd never mentioned his faith before. She had no idea what religion he had been brought up with, although she suspected he had his own ideas about it now, as he did for everything else. She stifled an urge to argue that she didn't see him volunteering in any soup kitchens. Presents were a part of the tradition.

She couldn't let it pass without giving him something.

* * *

On Christmas morning, she found an envelope with her name scrawled on the front. The card, which he'd made on his computer, made her laugh—a takeoff of Hopper's Nighthawks painting, showing Santa and his reindeer in the diner, lined up on stools sipping coffee. "Ho Ho Ho" read the only sentiment inside, signed "Love, Cal." Tucked inside, several handwritten poems.

She read them with a smile, then kissed him.

He scowled at the two presents marked with his name.

"Open them. Please?"

He sighed. "Only for you."

The first was the print of a black-and-white self-portrait she'd taken, framed in silver. She knew he'd like it; she was almost pleased with it herself.

The second present was a CD she'd heard him talk about. The spirit of the season had overcome her, and she had bought it for him against her better judgment.

He opened it without protest. "Thanks." He kissed her cheek.

She sighed, perplexed. "I know you said not to..."

His tone held little emotion. "No, I like it. I'd have bought it already, but I've been busy." His smile appeared lopsided.

She stared at him a moment, then rose. "I'm going to make some tea." She glanced back and was surprised at the disappointed look on his face.

It was a breach of understanding, a form of treason in his book. A wedge, however small, that she'd never be able to remove. He had a memory for such wedges, she knew. They tended to build, one upon the other, until the crack became a fissure, the fissure an eventual chasm.

An uneasiness settled over her. His complexities puzzled her. He could be so tender and loving, then instantly withdraw, recoiling deep inside himself as if he were haunted by some personal demons she could not battle, though she wanted to try. He seemed overly sensitive to every injustice, worldly or personal, as if he were born with all his nerve endings on the outside of his skin. She found she was able to draw him out, at least a little, and he would talk to her about whatever was bothering him, then hold her tightly until she soothed away his pain.

He really is like Dr. Jekyll. One moment his sense of humor would be as inflated as a helium balloon, but then he'd be suddenly sullen, his true self veiled in shadow.

She went to the kitchen and frowned into the freezer. Her mom always cooked elaborate holiday dinners, with lots of desserts. All she had in her fridge were a couple of frozen ham slices. Yum.

Cal spread the newspaper on the coffee table and read page after page without looking up.

Trying to break the lingering bad mood, she sat beside him. "How many other poems have you written?"

"Mm, I don't know. I don't keep them together, like in a notebook or anything."

"That's a shame. I'd love to read them."

He continued reading.

She went to the computer in her bedroom and switched it on. Logging on to the Internet, she found she had seven e-mails, three from Lisa. They all asked the same things: Where had she been? Was she trying to drive Mom and Dad crazy? They were really worried. She should call them.

"Yes, yes, I'll call them," she answered aloud.

An animated Christmas card from Joel made her laugh. She was startled when Cal asked from behind her, "Who is Joel?"

"My kid brother." She clicked on a card to send back to him.

He read over her shoulder. "Adam's still e-mailing you? Just delete it. Don't even open it."

"Oh, Cal, it's not like—"

"Why would you want to read it?" he challenged her.

She didn't answer, but studied his face. His aloofness had done a one-eighty, and now he was Mr. Intense.

"Well?" he prompted, sitting on the bed.

"When are you going to trust me?" She highlighted the message, hit the delete key with a bang and stood.

He grabbed a belt loop of her jeans as she walked away. He looked up at her, his blue eyes so beautiful, half hidden by his long, sandy bangs. Even as angry as she was, she wanted to wrestle him onto the bed. He looked so good sitting there with no shirt on, no socks, no belt through his jeans.

She ran her fingers through his hair and kissed the top of his head. "Never mind."

His head dropped to his chest.

"I need to call my parents. Lisa said they're worried."

He nodded without looking up, and his fingers slowly untangled from her belt loop as she shut down her Web browser.

There was no answer at her parents' house, so she left a brief message wishing them a merry Christmas and promised to call later. "I'm doing great," she said to their machine. "Just very busy with my new job. Sorry I haven't called, but I'll talk to you soon."

When she dialed Lisa's number, her sister answered on the second ring. Lisa was merciless in her reprimands as soon as Diana said hello.

"Okay, okay," Diana said. "I'm sorry. I will make it up to Mom and Dad, and you. So," she asked in a teasing tone, "did you like your present?" The gold angel pin from the museum catalog should have arrived days ago.

"Yes, of course," was her sister's exasperated reply. "You knew I would love it. It looks great with my red suit and scarf. It was perfect timing for a Christmas party."

Diana smiled. This was what she loved about Christmas, feeling closer to family even though they were too many miles away. Making people happy by giving from the heart.

"Good. I hope to see you soon."

"Yes, what's up with you? Is something wrong?" her sister asked.

"No, why?"

"You haven't been yourself lately."

The comment touched a nerve, pricked up her defenses. "Yes, I have. I'm busy."

"Busy's one thing, but you have never been so insensitive before."

"Like I told Mom and Dad—"

"When?" Lisa demanded. "When did you tell them?"

Her voice became small. "This morning."

"You didn't speak to them this morning."

"I left a message on their machine."

"Nice. Like I said, you haven't been yourself."

Yes, I have, she wanted to argue. But it might not be the truth.
Chapter Eleven

Although Horizons Software closed for the week between Christmas and New Year's, Cal worked full days. "I promised Rich," he said.

Diana walked through town aimlessly with her new camera or drove to the country. Some of her shots disappointed, but others made her catch her breath, ratcheted up her blood pressure. Like real art, a few gave her a visceral reaction, fueled her desire to aim even higher.

He brought takeout after work one day, and a basket of dirty clothes. "Do you mind? As long as I'm here, I figured we could do our laundry together."

"Sure." She'd ignored hers too long.

He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her to him. "I find it pretty sexy, our clothes getting tangled together in all those suds."

She arched an eyebrow. "Maybe we should do the same."

Needing no further invitation, he waltzed them to the bathroom, and the takeout grew cold on the table.

Afterward, he helped her unpack the few remaining boxes. Her heart lurched when he arranged her books and CDs by genre, as she would have.

* * *

New Year's Eve saw a repeat of their argument from Christmas: Cal didn't want to go out. "Normal people act stupid on New Year's. And stupid people act idiotic."

Kirsten invited her to a party at her apartment. Diana didn't need to ask if Adam would be there. Apologizing, she thanked her but declined.

In an e-mail, Toni invited her out to a club, at fifty dollars per. Cal had proved he was no tightwad, but he'd never agree to it. And she never cared much for such glitzy parties, but turning down another invitation made her sad.

"I feel like celebrating."

"We will."

She deleted the e-mail. He'd never understand. She loved the revelry of the occasion, the excitement of the countdown to midnight surrounded by friends.

Cal bent behind her and slid his arms around her waist. "I know the perfect spot."

Just before midnight, he drove them to a place high above town. It shimmered with lights and noise below them. The sky hung heavy with dazzling stars. She had to admit, it looked gorgeous.

The church bells tolled twelve, and fireworks shot into the sky, among the stars.

"Happy New Year." Her teeth chattered as she kissed him.

The merrymakers' echoes faded as they made their way back down the hill. When they arrived at her apartment, it felt very small inside.

As she lay in bed, she wondered how couples managed to stay together for so many years. Her parents celebrated their thirty-fifth anniversary last year. Was their love so deep it transcended time? Or did they just find their lives too deeply interwoven that the pain of extracting themselves would be too great? Had the chemistry between her parents faded to a shadow of its former self, or was there still a spark left between them? They certainly seemed happy together—almost abnormally so. Both seemed perfectly content with their lives—could it be that neither was ever attracted to another? Were there no regrets? Her parents never argued, not like she and Cal. If she married him, what chemistry would remain years into the future? Would the magnetic poles reverse, or would the attraction remain and pull them closer together?

In her dream that night, she found herself looking up into the bright fluorescence of a laboratory from within a circular petri dish. She swam happily, undisturbed until a scientist loomed above her holding a beaker of some steaming reddish liquid. With a dropper, the scientist extracted a small amount and dropped it into her petri dish. What looked like a nuclear mushroom cloud erupted, with Cal at the top. He spotted her. With his gaze trained on her like a laser, he leapt down and swam toward her with even strokes. An alarm zinged through her. Should she swim toward him? Or away?

The scientist let another drop of liquid go, hitting her with a splash. With a gasp, she looked up at him with the nastiest look she could; the company logo on his smock read Cupid's Chemists. She tingled all over and felt a surge of heat radiating outward until she felt she might spontaneously combust.

Cal halted and treaded water out of her reach. Her body ached desperately for his touch. Slowly, he came as close as possible without making contact, and circled around her. Her excitement grew as his hands moved in concert with each of her body curves, heat emanating from him. Waiting for his teasing to end was maddening. She swam away in a backstroke. Bubble-rainbow light washed across his large eyes as he followed. He grabbed her waist and held her close so that they were swimming as one amoeba, one organism. Every part of her absorbed his every counterpart, so that she could feel his heart beating as hers, his breath flowing as hers, his skin grafted to hers.

The scientist clucked his tongue. "Obsessive-compulsive reaction," he observed. "Proves my hypothesis: crazy in love." His voice boomed as he scribbled notes. "Both subjects exhibit the classic signs."

As if to demonstrate, their chemistry mutated. They grabbed at each other with passionate obsession, then compulsively wrestled against one another. As the chemistry further degraded, the startled scientist seemed unable to keep up with his note-taking. He abruptly traded his pencil for a scalpel.

She shrieked as he aimed it directly between them and sawed to cut them apart, back into two separate organisms. With each portion scraped away, a new growth would reappear, frustrating the scientist's efforts to separate them.

"No, no..." She writhed to escape but couldn't.

Cal shook her gently. "What's the matter? Wake up, babe."

She shivered with only the sheet wrapped tight around her. "Sorry. Must've been dreaming."

"Come here." He pulled the covers over her and held her until the darkness swirled into morning.

Chapter Twelve

Valentine's Day seemed to come out of nowhere. A single red rose appeared on Diana's desk that morning with no obvious note. Everyone at Horizons admired it; no one asked who'd sent it. Tucked in her handbag, though, were snippets of Cal's heart:

Come lie with me,

my outstretched arms beckon and beseech you.

Surrender yourself,

let me feel your naked skin

close to mine.

Nuzzle your chin to my shoulder,

my chest.

Let me feel your softness, your hardness,

let me explore every mountain and valley,

every shadow and light

of your body—

the embodiment of your soul,

so kindred to mine.

I'll taste the salt of your tears,

the sweet, pungent flow of your milk.

Hold me close, forevermore,

in silent ecstasy.

I will be pliant, drifting on your waves.

I will dress your wounds, minister your needs.

I will be yours alone, forevermore.

Jamie walked by as she finished reading. "You feeling okay? You look a little flushed."

She answered quickly. "Fine. Maybe a touch of fever."

He frowned. "Don't stay here if you're not feeling well. Rich doesn't like people sharing their germs with the rest of us."

"No." She waved as if to shoo him away. "I would never think of sharing my germs with everyone." She smiled. Just one of you. At least Jamie hadn't seemed suspicious.

"If you feel any worse, take off, okay?" With a wink, Jamie went back to his office, humming.

She texted Cal an invitation to dinner. When her cell buzzed with a new message, she opened it excitedly.

I'll bring the wine. You wear your best cellophane.

She nearly stopped for some on the way home, but knew her steaks would ruin if she answered the door wearing only cellophane wrapping.

As it was, he came up behind her as she stood at the stove, put his hands under her sweater, and kissed the back of her neck. Her body instinctively pushed toward his. She had just enough reason intact to turn the stove off before completely abandoning her cooking.

Considering the delay, dinner wasn't a complete wreck, although the wine certainly helped gloss over the bad parts. Dining in her small kitchen by candlelight with him seemed a perfect evening. She felt so at home with him. It was rare, she knew, to be able to find another person who seemed to mirror herself so completely that she felt more at home with him than anywhere else.

At the same time, his stark, intense scrutiny forced her to face all the inner truths about herself; she felt more naked around him than anyone she'd ever known. There was nothing she could ever hide from him. He always knew her thoughts, intuitively anticipated her response to any given statement or situation. When he listened to her speak, he gave her his full attention. He stopped whatever he was doing, if she were really serious, and listened with every part of his body. He looked her in the eye and helped talk her through whatever was on her mind. It only served to add to the feeling that fate somehow had a hand in their coming together.

Still, he didn't want their coworkers to be privy to any information regarding their relationship. "It's none of their business," he said, again and again.

She agreed, but denying it outright was going overboard. They didn't need to admit it; everyone already knew. Rich, immersed in his work, seemed the only one oblivious to their infatuation. Jack and Robin's whispered conversations always ceased abruptly when she walked in. She suspected one or both had begun to track their whereabouts.

Still, she couldn't resist when Cal texted and asked her to follow him, meet him somewhere else, somewhere more private. If she ignored his text, he'd call knowing his hushed growl would make it impossible for her to say no.

She would leave her desk nonchalantly a minute or two after him, taking care not to use the same exit route. He'd pull her into a closet, an empty office, anywhere he could kiss her, hold her close, meld his body to hers. She lost track of time too easily, and too many times she was surprised to find, upon returning to her desk, twenty or thirty minutes had passed. She felt the indirect gaze of Jack, and even Jamie, and self-consciously smoothed her hair, straightened her buttons. They all knew, she felt sure, what she had been doing.

They couldn't guess the most important part: she couldn't stop herself.

Sometimes, she'd feel his stare, and she instinctively sought his gaze. The moment of connection electrified her. Once, she nearly rose from her desk to walk toward him, she felt so drawn; she pretended, rather, to straighten her skirt and sat down, hoping no one saw her blush. His wake swept her psyche completely clear. He inspired a reckless abandon that overshadowed her caution.

Worse, his emotional state determined hers. Almost as if she rode a roller coaster—controlled by him—that dipped up slowly, then rocketed forward, and then, she feared, would someday detach from its tracks and jettison into the air.

* * *

By spring, she felt constricted. Cal didn't want her to go out with her friends without him, but he didn't want to go with her, either.

Finally, she took a stand. "I can't stand staying home another weekend!" She went to a movie with Kirsten. Afterward, they went for a drink. Diana wasn't too surprised to see Cal show up a few minutes later.

"Short leash, huh?" Kirsten asked.

She sighed. "A bit too short, in fact."

Against her pleas, Kirsten excused herself shortly after saying hello to Cal.

"I had a good time," Kirsten said. "Let's do it again soon."

"Okay, give me a call," she said, ignoring his glare.

Feeling an argument ready to burst forth as soon as Kirsten left, she cut him off. "Just don't, Cal. Don't say a word. In fact, you don't have to. I already know what you're going to say. And I don't like it." His sarcastic tone echoed through her head: I thought you were at the movies.

"Diana," he said in his slow, deep voice.

"I mean it, don't say a word. You have no right stalking me like this."

"Stalking?" He feigned incredulity.

"I'm leaving. And you're not coming with me." She stomped out the door, got in her car, and drove off, slamming her car into each gear with a vengeance. Nearly tripping on Bart as she opened the door, she shut it quickly and locked it behind her. She watched from her kitchen window in the dark as the headlights of his truck swung across her and he pulled away.

"He's making sure I came home," she said to Bart. Her anger rekindled so fully it flickered throughout the night. Her fitful sleep allowed no dreams, at least.

* * *

At her desk on Monday, Diana focused on her computer screen. No light shone from Cal's office.

Rich walked out. "Any word from Cal?"

"No, sorry."

The rear door opened, and he strode through.

"There you are," Rich said. "We were beginning to worry."

"I'm here." He headed to his office without pause.

Puzzled, Rich turned to Diana. "Well." He gave a quick smile. "Excuse me." He went to Cal's office and shut the door.

Diana crumpled in front of her computer. "Great." And she'd have to speak to him soon about the manual she'd laid out.

A half hour later, Rich emerged and went straight across the hall. She'd have preferred it if he'd called her in, scolded her. Confronted it head-on instead of all this subterfuge.

At about eleven, Cal came out, scowling. "Do you have that manual done?"

"Almost." She squinted at the screen to stay focused.

"I need to see it." His sharp tone matched his glare.

She knit her brow. "I'll print a copy this afternoon."

"Earlier would be better." He strode away.

Anger percolated along her spine, threatening to bubble out. Typing with clenched fists proved impossible. She flexed her fingers and took a deep breath. If he wanted to play it that way, so would she.

Throughout her lunch hour, she proofread and tweaked the design. By two o'clock, she'd finished and clicked Print. She munched a granola bar as the printer whirred out page after page, ninety-eight in all. She pulled the first chapter and scanned through. Sometimes errors she couldn't see onscreen leaped from printed pages. She'd leave nothing to chance.

It took her another thirty minutes, but she felt satisfied enough to carry it to his office, plop it on his desk, and turn. "There you go."

"Wait." He sounded as if he choked on the word.

She tensed. Not now. Not here.

Her desk phone rang. "I have to answer that." She left before he could respond. By the time she sat at her desk, his door was closed. He probably thought he could shut her out as easily. He seemed to turn it on and off like a switch.

An hour later, he brought it back, red marks on every page. "Rich needs to see this tomorrow."

Her nostrils flared. "I'll do my best." Bastard. He knew it would take her longer than an hour and a half to fix all that.

An idea struck. She went to Jamie's office. "Is the laptop available tonight? I'd like to bring some work home."

"It's right here." He handed the case over. "Should have everything you need already loaded."

"Great. I'll bring this back tomorrow." She'd bring a copy of the draft on CD to work on and e-mail herself a copy as a backup.

Starving, she left promptly at five. She worked atop her bed, pages strewn around her. His edits made sense, she had to admit. The manual would look great when she finished. At nine, she'd had enough. She saved a copy to the hard drive and another to CD.

By ten o'clock the next morning, she gave Rich a new printout.

"So fast?" He fanned through.

"I worked on it last night at home."

"Great. I'll look it over."

Cal stood in his doorway as she exited. Tensing, she averted her gaze, her breath shallow. She wanted so badly to run to him, feel his arms fold around her, hear his sweet murmurs.

No. Irrational behavior required an apology. He had no cause to treat her like that.

As soon as she sat down, her phone rang. When she picked it up, his voice stunned her.

"Can you come in here please?"

"Sorry. I have work to do." Before he could convince her otherwise, she dropped the handset like a live grenade and froze. Nothing moved down the hall. Rich spoke, probably to a client. She allowed herself to breathe. Do your job.

She opened another document and stepped through the process on autopilot. Her empty coffee cup begged to be refilled, but she didn't budge from her desk until noon. Grabbing her purse and jacket, she ran down the back steps and straight to her car.

The afternoon remained quiet. When she left for home, she turned off her cell phone to make sure it stayed quiet.

Wednesday became a battle of wills. Jittery from lack of sleep, twice she nearly texted him. But what would she say?

He strolled past her desk three times with a determined gait, his gaze trained on her. The air practically crackled with his energy, and she did all she could not to follow, especially when she saw him outside, staring up at her. He turned to walk into the park, and she lost him in the trees. The trees, where he'd wait to grab her, pull her in, kiss her. Her breath quickened.

No, dammit. He should have made some gesture, something to indicate he wanted to fix the damage he caused. If he didn't admit his guilt now, he never would.

When he came back inside, he met her gaze immediately as he walked toward her.

Jack came out of his office. "Hey, Cal. I demoed the new program yesterday, and they loved it. I made some notes about their questions and wanted to run them by you."

"Sure, come in my office." His glance held disappointment as he passed.

Was he going to apologize? Damn Jack, he was always showing up at the wrong moment. She reminded herself where she was: at work. Not a singles bar. She had to keep her head—or lose her job.

Soon Rich joined their meeting, then Jamie. A sense of isolation came over her. What was she doing here? Her life had somehow veered off track. The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. After leaving work, she drove aimlessly. If not for Bart at home hungry, she might have gone somewhere. Anywhere but home, where everything reminded her of him. Her entire life revolved around him. How had that happened?

Five minutes after she arrived home, her doorbell rang. She hurried to the door. His distorted image stood in the peephole. He knocked. "Diana. Open up." He jiggled the handle.

She gasped. What the hell did he think he was doing?

He dropped his chin to his chest. "Please." His voice sounded thick.

Her anger dissipated. She leaned her palm against the door, then pulled it open.

He lifted his head, his eyes wide. "Can I talk to you?" He looked as tired as she felt.

She gripped the edge of the door. "Talk."

He leaned against the doorframe. "I miss you." His steely eyes cut through her, his expression pained.

She knit her brow. "That's not the point. I miss you too, but—"

He eased closer. "I'm sorry." Desperation edged his voice. "I try not to be a jerk. I really do."

"Try harder," she pleaded.

"I will." He gazed at her lips. "Let me in."

She tugged at his jacket. "Get in here," she whispered.

He stumbled across the threshold, reaching for her, and buried his head against her neck. "You feel so good."

"So do you." She locked her arms around his neck, her breath caught in her throat. "I never knew three days could be so long."

He held her head and touched his lips to hers. "Three days? It felt like three weeks." He drew her into the living room, his mouth moving up her neck, to her ear, along her lips.

She held his belt to steady herself. Their kisses built to a frenzy, and her mind blanked with the urgent need of feeling him, every bit of him, next to her. Saturating her inside and out. Obliterating her thoughts.

* * *

On Saturday morning, Diana opened the morning newspaper and flipped to the entertainment section. "Hey, here's an article about Jekyll's Brother." She read on. The band had been playing locally until recently, when they played gigs in New Jersey and New York.

"They seem to be doing really well. That's great." She looked up from the paper with a smile.

Cal grunted, and sipped his coffee.

"They're playing tonight in town. Let's go see them."

"They always play the same stuff. It gets old." He stared at the article without curiosity.

"But I've only seen them once." She went to the sink to wash her cup.

He gave a long sigh of frustration, his mouth set in a thin line as he turned to the window.

She wrapped her arms around his neck. "Please?"

He leaned his head against hers. "If you want."

With a quick squeeze, she kissed his ear. Finally. A night out.

* * *

By the time they arrived, the bar was jammed. Jekyll's Brother had already begun their first set. He held her hand and tugged her through the crowd until they found two empty chairs at a small table in the corner.

She leaned close. "They've really tightened their sound."

He shrugged, and grasped the inside of her leg. She scooted her chair against his.

The song ended, and the guitarist announced a short break. Eddie emerged through the crowd. "Hey, man, I thought I saw you come in." He pulled up a chair. "You two need to come up for air more often. How're you doing, Diana?" He gave her a wide grin.

How alike and yet different the two brothers were. They could have almost been twins, but like yin and yang, the brightness went to Eddie, while Cal was the shadowed half.

"I'm good. How was Jersey?" she asked.

"Ah, you know, Jersey is Jersey, but it's good to get more exposure."

Eddie's casual manner put her at ease. So unlike Cal, whose wary, steady gaze caused others to tense.

"Whereabouts were you?" she asked.

Eddie shook his hair from his forehead. "A little place in Trenton."

"Trenton? I know a few places there. What was the name of it?"

"Music Gardens—ever been there?"

"Yes, I saw Matthew Sweet there. A long time ago."

"No kidding. I wanted to go to that show, but Cal wouldn't drive me. I was too young to drive myself at the time."

Cal sat quietly drinking his beer. Too quietly.

"You wouldn't bring your little brother to see Matthew Sweet?" she teased. "Who knows? We might have met that night."

He squeezed her knee. "Maybe. Excuse me." He stood. "I need another beer. Anybody else?"

She and Eddie said no.

Eddie shook his head as they watched Cal walk toward the bar. "He can be tough," he said, almost to himself. "But he's a great guy. I couldn't ask for a better brother."

She smiled at his eagerness to make a good impression of Cal. "I like him a lot too." She asked about the band, their plans.

As Eddie talked, she noticed Cal staring at them from the bar. He left quickly out the side door. She followed into cold spring air. He waited in the shadows, where he leaned against a fence.

She forced a perky tone. "Hey, what're you doing out here all by yourself?"

He took a deep breath, face lifted skyward. "Getting some air. Clearing my head."

Diana leaned on the fence next to him. "I have nothing but sisterly interest in your brother."

"I know." His hand rubbed her back lightly.

She stepped over his outstretched legs, straddled him, and wrapped her arms around him. "Want to go home?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Are you sure?"

She nuzzled his neck. "Unless you'd rather make out in the parking lot."

"I thought you wanted to hear the band."

"I heard them." She reached into the top of his jeans until her fingers hit skin.

He grabbed her hand, pulled it to his lips, and kissed it. "I can't think straight when you do that."

She smiled.

He furrowed his brow. "In fact, I'm having trouble thinking straight most of the time."

She pulled back to look at him better. "I know. Me, too. It's like having vertigo. Everything's off-balance."

"Exactly." His eyes searched hers. "I've never felt like this before. Like I can't control anything I do. Like if I don't touch you every few minutes or know what you're doing, I can't focus on anything else."

A calm came over her, even as his admission seemed to unsettle him. "I feel the same way. Like you're more essential than air."

He eased in and touched his lips softly to hers. "We should go."

They climbed into his truck. He started the engine and drove backward too fast, wheels slipping on the loose rock. On the drive home, the curvaceous roads ahead reminded her of a video game swooshing by as they rounded each bend. She said nothing.

He swung the truck into a spot in front of her apartment. He didn't turn off the engine.

She leaned her arm against the seat and touched his shoulder. "Aren't you coming in?"

He stared at the steering wheel. "Not tonight."

"Okay." She kissed his cheek. "If you change your mind, you know where I'll be."

He shifted into reverse and turned his head.

She climbed out, and the truck rumbled away. Part of her wanted to run after him, ask him what the hell was wrong. Something held her back. She needed some time away too. And he needed to figure out his feelings on his own.

Sunday passed excruciatingly. Every second, she was acutely aware of the phone and tried to will it to ring, to bring him to her. She loved the sound of his voice on the other end of the phone, flowing through the receiver into her ear, flooding her head with its buzz, its vibrant static shorting out every rational thought her brain might try to have.

But he didn't call. She pulled out her cell about every ten minutes, but repressed the urge to call him. It had become so basic an instinct that she didn't consciously make a decision to call him, yet would find the phone in her hand.

She watched television until eleven thirty, then finally gave up. She flopped onto her bed and lay in the darkness with her eyes open. She couldn't define him. He was too volatile, subject to change at any time. She slipped into a troubled sleep.

She studied his profile as they rode in a white limousine to a wedding. The hazy afternoon made her wonder as they stepped onto the sidewalk whether the bride and groom would be rained upon. She halted in front of the church, a large grey stone building with intricate spires and steeples. He turned toward her and extended his hand. He looked so handsome in his dark suit. His Cheshire Cat smile dazzled her, though she couldn't pinpoint whether it was a friendly or sneering smile.

She slid her hand into his, and they entered the vestibule of the church. Loud organ music played circus tunes. A spotlight punctuated the darkness and shone on a man wearing a top hat and tuxedo, who ushered the wedding guests with a sweep of his cane into high-top pews being pulled along a rail underneath. She and Cal stepped up onto the platform and followed the line of couples entering the moving pews two by two. The heavy, tall wooden doors to the church swung open.

Though lit by thousands of candles, darkness shrouded the church. The circus music blared as their car jerked along behind another, then swung sideways beside another to form a row. One after another, pew-cars pulled into rows until the church filled.

The organ launched into a carnival version of "Here Comes the Bride." A glittering white car covered in flowers, ribbons, and balloons rolled by the lines of pew-cars. At the front of the church, the groom jumped into the car. Another car carrying the minister pulled in front of the bridal car while the couple exchanged vows. The bridal car spun to face the congregation; a hot air balloon rose above it. As it rose slowly, flowers fell like confetti across the congregation. The church steeple opened, and the airborne car floated up into a stream of sunlight. The car disappeared. The shaft of light narrowed as the steeple creaked shut with a clang, leaving them in darkness. One by one, the pew-cars pulled away and formed a long line and headed toward a neon exit sign, where blinding light engulfed them. Diana grabbed Cal's arm as their car swung into position.

Before they reached the exit, Cal and Diana's car veered off to the right, down a steep drop into pitch black. She screamed, but his laughter echoed in the darkness. She gripped the rail ahead, her stomach churning. Music pulsed around them, Bruce Springsteen singing how it ought to be easy enough, a man and woman falling in love, but the ride always gets rough, and how you have to learn to live with it if you want to keep riding through the tunnel of love.

The car looped crazily through secret tunnels, and the sudden turns threw her against him, and he slammed against her until she felt as if she'd be covered in bruises. The downturns left her feeling nauseous, but finally their car slowed again. The church doors swung wide, and light surrounded them, too bright to see anything. A car horn blared: beep-beep-beep!

She jerked awake. Her alarm buzzed, and she reached over to slam the snooze button.
Chapter Thirteen

Work seemed like a recurring nightmare. The culminating tension made the second floor seem too small. Confining.

Cal hibernated in his office all day behind closed doors. Diana left him alone—clearly what he wanted.

Jack came by to offer a lewd joke. She was in no mood, but managed to maintain a false attitude of friendliness.

Tuesday was no better, and she thought she might go insane by the end of the day.

At five o'clock, Jamie said good night. Rich had left early for a dinner meeting. Jack's boisterous laughter echoed down the hall.

She hesitated a few minutes, trying to decide whether or not she should just knock on the door to open up the inevitable can of worms.

Jack emerged carrying his briefcase. "Have a good night."

Cal flung open his door, and he leaned out long enough to gruffly call, "Diana, can I see you for a moment?"

Jack looked from one to the other, apparently hoping to linger a little longer and eavesdrop. Having no real excuse to stay, however, he called with forced cheerfulness, "See you two tomorrow."

"Good night, Jack." She stood, took a deep breath to steady herself, and strode to his doorway.

"You wanted to see me?" she asked, as coolly and professionally as possible.

"Yes, please have a seat." He shut the door as she sat in the chair in front of his desk.

With the stealth of a cat, he moved in front of her and sat on the desktop.

Startled, she glanced up.

He knelt, and grasped the arms of her chair. With a deep breath, he laid his head in her lap. "I'm sorry." He nuzzled her skirt. "I thought maybe some time away would give me some perspective. I thought I'd go crazy without you."

She stroked his hair. "Shhh." She ran her hands down his back, hungry to feel the skin beneath.

He lifted his head, and his eyes conveyed such a deep, bewildering sadness that she wanted to just hold him forever. She pulled him closer to her, and their bodies came together in a current of urgency. He pulled her up, lifted her skirt, and his tongue teased her to the brink of madness. In one fluid movement, he yanked down his pants, sat, and guided her onto him. She felt like a wild, primitive being as she moved, all thoughts blurred by the white heat filling her brain.

A loud gasp brought her to consciousness. An instant of shock froze her in place as she stared at a middle-aged woman in the doorway who stared back, mouth agape.

"Well I never!" The woman slammed her mouth shut, then the door. A clang sounded in the hallway; then another door slammed.

They sat immobile for a moment; then Cal burst out laughing. "Did you see her face?"

"Who was that?" She clutched his shirt.

"The cleaning lady. Old biddy. She's always snooping." He gave her a quick hug and patted her rear.

She extracted herself from the chair. "Oh my God. What will she tell Rich?"

"Don't worry. If she says anything, I'll take care of it." He pulled up his pants as he stood, and zipped. "I'm starving. Want to go eat? Since the mood's kind of broken anyway?" His infectious grin dissolved her worries.

They redid a few buttons and left the building more cautiously than they'd occupied it, slipping through the back door like thieves in a B movie.

As they rode in the truck, she felt as if some sort of electrodes still passed between them, making their flesh fluid, attached to one another.

Much more animated now, his eyes flashed as he drummed on the steering wheel in time with one of his current favorites on the radio.

Over burgers at a local diner, their shoes touched underneath the table.

"You know, Eddie really likes you."

She hesitated, half afraid to answer. "He seems like a nice guy."

"He is. He's great. Always has been. It's been hard keeping up with him—sort of the big brother syndrome in reverse." He chuckled.

"It's not as if you don't have your own accomplishments." She found it hard to believe that he could be so insecure. He was Horizons' best software engineer. According to Robin, bigger companies tried to lure him away.

"Have you and Eddie ever teamed up musically?" she asked. "Your poetry would make great lyrics, and Eddie's gifted musically. You could make amazing songs, I bet."

"Not really. He's seen some of my stuff, but..." He shrugged.

"He didn't like it?" She found that harder to believe.

"It's not that. In fact, a few years ago, he suggested we work together." He frowned.

"What then?" She casually ignored his festering irritation.

"I don't know." His abrupt tone suggested the end of the conversation.

Excitement overwhelmed her sense. "You should try it. You're both really talented."

"I don't have time." He threw his fork down and sat back. "Do you remember what you said about life letting you know what you're not suited for? Well, trust me, life has given me plenty of hints about what I'm not supposed to be doing."

"Maybe you took the wrong approach," she countered. "Or maybe you gave up too soon. Or expected too much."

Realizing that her arguments could well have applied to her own aspirations, she gave a short laugh. "Anyway, you certainly have an artist's temperament." She grinned.

He cocked his jaw, but his smile showed.

"You should try it. You'd get to know your brother on another level."

He rolled his eyes and opened his mouth.

She held up a hand. "I won't say any more, I promise. If you'll think about it."

He narrowed his blazing eyes, chin thrust forward. "I'll think about it. No promises."

Satisfied, she sat back. "You're making real progress," she teased.

Not many people could reach past his façade, break through the icy exterior to find that soft, warm, open place she knew lay underneath. She loved having this power—a healing power.

She turned to him after he drove her back to her car. "Can you come over for a while?"

"Are you sure you want me to?"

Ignoring his insecurities, she pretended to be deep in thought. "Well, you did buy me dinner."

"That's true. I'm entitled to some TV, at least." He followed her home.

She ran to open the door as he parked his truck. Bart ran outside and quickly made himself invisible in the shadows.

She changed into a knit top and pants. They settled on the sofa to watch The Daily Show. For the half hour, he sat unusually quiet.

After the show ended, he thrust a piece of rumpled paper at her. "I wrote this on Sunday. For you."

She opened the paper carefully.

Through my head runs a river of thoughts

carried on a current of love.

The mouth of the river is your mouth,

its tributary the phone line

connecting your head to mine—

droplets of love emptying

into the gulf of my eyes.

Love spawns with the urgency

of a salmon running, running, running,

hurling itself ever higher,

forever seeking renewal,

rebirth,

to continue the endless cycle.

"Cal..." she nearly whispered. Like an expert angler, he cast his words deep within her, and the hook caught fast in her heart. She hugged him and snuggled closer.

He gave her a slow, gentle kiss on her head, then nuzzled her hair.

They woke up hours later to the cable logo on the set. He kissed her sleepily, and she walked him to the door. Bart, who'd been waiting for hours to get in, leaped inside.

The next morning she found a rumpled sheet of paper with two more verses scribbled on it.

After Cal left the night before, she went to bed and soon found herself in a meadow of wildflowers, daydreaming of him. His essence shimmered toward her; her body heat climbed in response to his tangible warmth. She tingled, and the heat became more intense. She visualized him above her, beginning to materialize.

A woman shouted, "There she is, Officer. Stop her, please!" A policeman approached in full riot gear, Susan wringing her hands in the background.

Diana watched, stunned.

"Ma'am," the officer said, "I'm issuing a cease and desist order. If you don't comply, I'm going to have to take you in."

"What?" She sat up. "I don't understand."

"That woman filed a complaint against you, and I have instructions—"

"But officer, I was just—"

"To bring you into the station," the officer continued.

"But this is ridiculous."

"All right, ma'am, have it your way. Come with me." He pulled her up. Handcuffs jangled as cold metal bound her wrists. The officer steered her toward the police car. Susan waved her thanks, then walked toward her car. Someone sat in her passenger side, someone tall—she couldn't quite see his face. As they drove away, the window lowered to reveal Cal's eyes, glinting.

Her mouth flew open. "No!"

The officer jammed his foot on the gas pedal. Her neck snapped back.

Even now, it hurt to remember. She rubbed her neck. Silly dreams. She tucked the poems into her dresser and readied herself for work.
Chapter Fourteen

As spring gave way to summer, Diana contemplated leaving Horizons. She found working with Cal unbearably distracting. He'd walk by, and in his wake her subconscious would try to take over as the full force of nature's instincts bore down. Many minutes passed before she found her intellectual bearings again.

She knew her professionalism had seriously slipped. She mentioned it several times, but Cal argued until she promised to stay. In her heart, she couldn't deny him, but was increasingly worried by the intensity of their relationship, their feelings.

Even at work, he tried to dominate her time by providing her with work that would ensure their working closely together. She felt the pressure intensifying on all sides and knew it would soon build to a head—she didn't want to be a casualty of the implosion.

One day, Diana caught Rich eyeing her with a mix of worry and suspicion. She shrugged it off as nothing and went back to work. But after she noticed it a few more times, she began to seriously worry.

* * *

One sweltering day in July, Rich called Diana into his office a few minutes before closing time. Shutting the door, he waved her to a seat, then sat behind his desk.

He folded his hands atop his desk. "Diana."

"Yes?" She braced herself for the I'm-sorry-but-I-have-to-let-you-go speech.

He shifted in his seat. "I think you're doing a great job, and I think, with more hard work, you'll be a real asset to the company."

"Thanks, Rich." She hoped she didn't sound too nervous.

He held up a hand. "For the past few months, the quality of your work has gone downhill. You don't seem focused on your work as you were initially."

"I'm sorry. I've been a little distracted."

"I know. And I know why."

She gulped hard.

He opened his mouth in a false start, then finally said, "Normally, I would never intrude upon your personal life, but there are a few things I need to say. You and Cal obviously have..." He unclasped his hands.

She added for him, "Developed a relationship."

"Yes. Thank you. And that's your business, and it's great, if that's what you both want."

She frowned, unsure of what he impliedinferred. If neither of them wanted it, they wouldn't be in it, she wanted to say.

He continued. "I've known Cal a long time. He's a great guy, very talented. But he also can be extremely difficult, stubborn, overbearing...just generally a pain in the ass. This is nothing I haven't already said to Cal himself. However—and I hope you'll forgive me for saying this—you should be careful."

She shook her head quizzically. "Careful?" Did he think she hoped to gain from Cal's success? "It's not like that."

Rich quickly tried to reassure her. "Cal's mood swings can be hard to deal with sometimes and hard not to take personally. He can be a very intense guy sometimes. I hope you understand."

She didn't. Not at all.

Rich gave a thin smile. "I hope this will stay between us?"

She nodded. "Sure, I don't want to cause problems between you and Cal."

"I know you'll do what's best." He stood, indicating the meeting had finished.

"I appreciate the opportunity to improve my work. I won't let you down."

He ushered her out. "I know you'll do what's best."

The words would not stop flowing through her head as she backed through the door. He closed his briefcase ("I know you'll do what's best"), stood ("I know you'll do what's best"), then moved slowly ("I know you'll do what's best") toward the door.

Sweating, Diana shook her head into her pillow. "No," she said aloud, startling herself awake as she sat up.

She held her head. "I'm losing it." She slumped back onto her bed. The power light on her computer monitor flashed intermittently, a beacon in the darkness. She focused on the green pinpoint of fluorescence, sustaining her in the dark sea of her bedroom. The next thing she knew, her alarm buzzed.

* * *

At quarter to five, Rich said, "Diana, can you come into my office for a moment?"

A panic-infused sense of déjà vu struck her. She tried to muster a nonchalant tone. "Sure, Rich. Be right there." She shuffled inside with the grace of a robot.

He shot a tight smile. "Shut the door, please, and have a seat."

She did as requested. "What's up?" Her heart thumped audibly, she felt sure.

"I have some questions on your report."

The panic drained in a slow current from her body, but her bones seemed to have liquefied as well—it was that difficult to maintain her posture. She answered each question as professionally and thoroughly as possible. He thanked her and said good night.

She answered good night and went to her desk to retrieve her things. In typical fashion, Rich flew out the door to an after-hours meeting. Except for Cal, everyone else had left. As soon as the door slammed shut behind Rich, he slipped out of his office. Head in hands, she sat with her eyes closed.

"Hey, what was that about?" He leaned over her.

She looked up. The dream-Rich was right. Cal was overbearing. On the surface, he appeared as cool and smooth as marble, but she knew a volcano lurked beneath.

His gaze locked on hers, and she knew that, until he received a satisfactory answer, he'd interrogate her relentlessly. An overwhelming fatigue washed over her.

He pressed his fingers to her desktop. "He didn't bring up the problem with the cleaning woman, did he?"

Surprise erased her fatigue. "What do you mean? Did Rich talk to you about it?"

"Well...yeah," he said.

She stood, suddenly feeling the need to pace. "And what? Did you two have a good laugh at my expense?"

"No."

"And what else do you discuss?" She nearly hissed at him, trying to keep her voice down.

"Look, Rich had every right to ask me about it. After all, it happened in his place of business."

"Right. His place of business." She tried to calm herself as she paced faster. "Does this ring any little bells in your head? You were the first one to say that this whole relationship should not be conducted inside this place of business?"

"What are you saying?"

She hugged herself as she faced him. "I'm saying, Cal, that I'm in a very bad position here. Very bad."

He reached for her, but she couldn't fall into his arms this time, could not let his little cocoon surround her, suffocate her.

She pushed past him. "I need to go."

He responded with an incredulous "Hey."

"I'm sorry," she said more abruptly than she intended. "I can't talk right now. I'm exhausted. And I need to be alone and think some things out, by myself, with no distractions." Tears stung at her eyes. Why hadn't he mentioned it?

Still intent on her, he said nothing.

"I'll see you tomorrow." She walked to her car, but had to force every function: Open the car door. Get in. Actions normally second nature required her complete attention. Even the hot afternoon sun couldn't penetrate her aura of confusion. She could feel the edges of her life fraying, and the one pulling the string, unraveling the weave of her life-cloth was Cal, tugging, tugging on the string. She either had to follow or snap the string. But she couldn't think straight when she was near him, not enough to make a reliable decision. The tether between them had grown too tight, cut off her circulation. She felt emotionally exhausted.

He called her that evening, as she knew he would. "Sure I can't come over?"

"No. I'm not sure of anything anymore. I need to clear my head. I can't do that with you around."

His long breaths through the phone told her he knew what she felt without having to verbalize it.

She tossed and turned in her bed. Cal's eyes blazed through a dark haze. He laughed and pulled her into a closet. He kissed her, his fingers working her shirt buttons, unzipping her skirt, and pulling it off. Somewhere a light came on, and the walls fell away to reveal bars of a cage, and everyone in the office could see them together. He laughed even louder and pinched her breast. She pushed him, but he pinned her against the bars, one hand up her skirt. His body seemed like hot plasma rather than flesh and bones—the harder she pushed, the faster her hands slid away. Jack ogled and moved closer. Robin shook her head and hid her eyes with one hand. Rich's eyebrows appeared permanently furrowed, and he glared over his glasses, pointing to his watch.

She cried, "No, Cal," over his lecherous laughter. The cage began to turn, and disco lights spun colored spotlights across them. She felt dizzier and dizzier, sure she would be fired.

She woke up on the carpeted floor next to her bed.

Feeling foolish, she climbed under her covers, but sat holding her knees.

Cal's position in the company was secure—he had been Rich's first colleague, and he would leave Horizons only when he was ready. But the threat of losing her job was very real. While the actual reason would be Cal, she knew Rich would be forced to name her as incompetent. It would haunt her professionally and personally.

She lay back on the bed and stared at the black ceiling until the blackness filled her eyes.

* * *

When Diana arrived the next morning, Cal called her into his office. Jamie stood in Rich's office. They must have heard Cal. She had to go.

She closed the door and paced. "No more after this. When we're at work, we talk about work and nothing else. I'm not coming in your office, or following you to the kitchen, or even the park."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Ridiculous? I can't lose my job. I won't." Her resume would impress no one then.

"No, you won't. Relax." He rose.

Her hand shot out. "Stay there. This is how it's going to be."

He set his hands on his hips and narrowed his eyes. "Really?"

"Yes, really. It has to." Surely he understood.

He cocked his head. "Unless you're making excuses."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Jamie and Rich's conversation grew louder. They must have been in the hall.

"I have to get to work." She opened the door.

They glanced over.

She forced a smile as she walked past. "Good morning."

Their cheer sounded as forced as hers as they responded.

She worked steadily until Cal strolled past. He inclined his head toward the kitchen. "Sure you can't?" he whispered.

She shot him a deadly look and returned to her work.

That night, he made love to her with an urgent force, then rolled away in uneasy silence. "I should go. I want to get an early start tomorrow." He dressed quickly.

She tugged on her robe. "Okay."

"Don't get up." He kissed her cheek and left.

Frustration filled her. He wasn't going to make this easy.

The next day, he seemed as surly as the day she met him. Probably the new program giving him trouble, she told herself.

He called her cell from behind closed doors. "Is it Adam?"

"What?"

"Are you seeing him again?"

"Stop it."

"Someone else then."

"You know that's not true."

Jack's laughter reminded her of her promise to herself. "I'll talk to you later." When no one else would be listening.

But she didn't see him the rest of the day, and he didn't call her that night. When she arrived at work the next day, he wasn't in.

He'd e-mailed Rich and Jamie, and CC'd her. Today, he'd work from home.

On her lunch break, she called him. "What's going on?"

"Thought I'd make it easy for you."

"You never worked from home before."

"So no matter what I do, it's wrong? Give me a break."

"I didn't say that."

"But you thought it." His sharp exhale made static. "I have to go." He clicked off.

She flipped her phone closed. A slap might have hurt less.

* * *

Diana finished a report and e-mailed the document to Cal for review. No response.

He headed for the kitchen, cup in hand.

"Did you get my e-mail?"

He kept walking. "Yup."

She grabbed her cup and followed him. "How's it going?"

He cocked his head. "How's it going? Are you serious?"

Warmth flushed her cheeks. "Yes. I haven't heard from you, so I thought I'd ask." She seriously needed him to communicate on some level, but to say that would provoke more angry sarcasm.

"Great. Thanks for checking in." He leaned against the refrigerator.

She poured coffee into her cup. "Will you have a chance to look at that report soon?"

"I don't know. I'm a little busy."

"I know, but Rich said—"

"Rich said he needs the bugs fixed. That's a little more important than your report." He glared as he walked out.

She straightened, bracing herself. "Sorry. I forgot my place."

By the time she reached her desk, he'd closed his door. Shut her out on all levels. Couldn't he understand they needed to keep their personal life separate?

She texted him that afternoon: Can you come over tonight?

After almost twenty minutes, his reply came: I have to work late.

It wasn't a no. She typed: Then come afterward.

Nothing. At five forty-five, she went home. Her apartment felt as confining as work, but if she left and he showed up, it would only make things worse. She cleaned, did some yoga, but her mind kept circling around Cal. When they got along, his constant attention jeopardized her job. When they fought, he ignored her and her work. No matter how she tried, she couldn't come up with any solution. She had to leave Horizons.

At nine thirty, a knock sounded at her door. She looped the belt of her robe and peered through the peephole. Her heart leaped into her throat at the sight of Cal. She couldn't open the door fast enough. "You're here."

"You told me to come." His features hardened into a scowl.

Her energy drained, with nothing left for a fight. "I didn't think—"

"Stop thinking." He lunged inside, wrapped his arms around her and drew her close. Lips wet and warm against hers, he kicked the door closed.

Surprise immobilized her. Her pulse raced as he tore her robe away, pressed her to the floor. The white heat in her brain took over, and she ripped at his belt, shoved away his pants. The explosion as he thrust inside came almost immediately.

He tensed. No kissing, no cuddling. He rolled away and stared at the ceiling.

Her foot touched her robe, and she tugged it across her. She'd never felt so naked. Or shell-shocked.

"I, uh..." His nostrils flared.

What? Was he sorry? She shared the blame. "Don't." She sat up and pulled on her robe.

He lifted his hips to put on his jeans, then leaned against the wall. "I know you're under pressure at work. I feel it, too, believe me."

"Do you?" She hugged her knees. "I don't think it's the same for you somehow."

He looked away. "Maybe not. But neither of us can maintain a level head when the other's around. Our emotions run too high."

Exactly. "That's why I think it's best if I look for another job." She rose.

He grasped her robe.

She looked away, unable to stand his pained expressions any longer. Her own pain was enough. "You know it's true. We both need some breathing space."

"What if I don't want breathing space?" His hand circled her calf.

Then we'll both suffocate. "At some point, working together will make us crazy. It's too much, working together and seeing each other. There's no balance."

He didn't answer her, so she prompted him softly. "Admit it."

He released her, rubbed his eyes. "I don't know."

She crouched beside him. "Cal."

"All I know is I'll miss you like crazy." He tucked her hair behind her shoulder.

"Nah, you'll hire some younger, cuter assistant and have sex with her in front of the window overlooking the parking lot. You'll get rave reviews," she teased.

He looked at her a long time. "Do what you need to do. I won't argue anymore."

"About anything?"

His smile was lopsided. "I didn't say that."

She settled next to him. "It'll be okay. In fact, it will be better."

He lowered his head against her chest.

She closed her eyes, and the smell of his hair sent her head into a dizzying whirl. She didn't try to stop it, but willingly swam toward the epicenter. Eventually, she knew, she'd have to ease out of her self-imposed delirium. But right now, it felt life-sustaining.

* * *

Diana sent resumes out to every job opening even partially desirable. With Rich's approval, she interviewed whenever the opportunity arose, carrying his written recommendation in hand.

At summer's end, she accepted a job at another software company, CompleteComputerCare. This position would allow her to do some training too.

On her last day, Cal called her into his office at five o'clock, after everyone else left.

"What's up?" She stood in the doorway.

"Come in." He closed the door, then leaned against his desk. "So. This is it."

A small laugh escaped. "Rich is probably so relieved."

"That's not it. He was just in a bad position." He took her hands in his.

"Right, and me too." Tears threatened. "Sorry." She reached for a tissue.

His face became stone-hard, and he pulled her to him, hugging tight. "I don't want you to go."

She pulled away to look at him, but he hung his head low.

"I have to," she said. "This can't go on. Or we'll both get fired."

He let out a deep breath. "I don't know how I'll get through the day without seeing you." He gave a short, bitter laugh.

"You'll forget about me the first week." She kissed his cheek. "I better get going."

"Wait." He switched on his stereo—the song they'd first slow-danced to. "One last dance." He attempted a smile, though crooked.

They held each other tight, dancing slowly in a rhythm all their own. The song ended, and she slid from his embrace.

"Thanks for the dance. It was great."

Cal gazed steadily at her.

"I better go." She waited, but his only answer was a sad scowl. She left without looking back.

Chapter Fifteen

Diana had imagined herself, before the fact, reveling in her new breathing space. But that space became more of a vacuum. The first week, she couldn't even cry for the lack of air. Every fiber of her body ached from missing Cal. She called him at least once a day, and he called her as often. Sometimes she'd call his answering machine at home, just to hear his voice—even though surly, its resonating timbre somehow reassured her, like an addict getting a fix.

CompleteComputerCare provided her a small office in which to work, and she didn't hesitate to begin applying her personal touch, adding a few framed black-and-white photographs.

She dialed Cal's work number, excited to tell him about her day.

"What's your boss like?" he asked.

"He's great. He's going to let me sign up for some training," she said.

"Hm, what's in it for him?"

"A better employee."

"You're so naïve," he said.

"No, you're so jaded. Why do you have to inject a sinister angle into everything?"

"How many others do you work with?"

"It's bigger than Horizons. There are about fifteen of us."

"How many guys?"

"I don't know. I never actually counted. About half, I guess."

"Don't wear that short blue skirt."

"I can't believe you. Listen, I better go."

"I want to see your office. Wait for me there after work."

A sudden fear of the cleaning woman catching them together in her new office made her freeze.

"Did you hear me?" he said.

"No, don't come here."

"Why not?"

"If you want to come over for lunch or something, fine. Not after hours," she said decisively.

When he didn't reply, she said, "I have to go. Will I see you later?"

"I'll have to work late. Rich has been on my back about a new project. It's been kind of tough to concentrate, you know?"

"Yeah," she said softly, "I know. I'll see you then."

"Right. Behave yourself."

He hung up before her anger could fully gel.

Behave myself! What does he think I am? Some stupid young girl?

Her unexpressed irritation spurred her to tidy her desk, arrange some files. It carried over at home, where she scrubbed the kitchen until he let himself in, fit himself against her at the sink. Throwing down the scrubber, she rinsed her hands, building an argument in her head. His hand slid around her waist and cupped her breast, his thumb brushing her nipple through her cotton tank top. She melded to his contours, reason fighting the urges he conjured. With the sweep of a hand inside her thigh, murmuring in her ear, he erased her thoughts. Under his spell, she pushed down her drawstring pants, wanting only to feel him inside her. One last rational thought brought her hand to the window shade to drag it down before abandoning herself to him.

Later, lying in bed, he asked, "Who did you have lunch with today?"

"Just a few people from work. It's great. They all go out together."

"Guys or girls?" he demanded.

"Both. And believe it or not, we all manage to have normal conversations, about movies, politics, work, whatever." She figured it was her turn to be snide.

"You have to watch out for the guys. The married ones are bored and looking for action, and the single ones are used to going after what they want."

"I have no intention of dating anyone from work. I can't repeat the same..." She stopped herself.

"Mistake?" he finished for her.

"You know what I mean. And I can't think of anyone but you. You know that."

"I'm going crazy, Diana. I miss you so much." He buried his face in her hair.

She stroked his hair. "I know."

It was as if they'd descended into a dual reality: one, their professional facades, behind which they spent their days under the cold glare of their respective office lights, drones working away diligently; the other, their relationship after work, when they met at either her place or his and immediately fell into one another's arms. Their world shifted into a dreamlike state and spiraled downward. It seemed to have an underwater quality, a blue haze in which time folded in upon itself. She felt as though she were being pulled down in the undertow, with the real world beyond the glassy surface of the water far above.

Anxious to regain some self-control, she vowed to herself again and again not to call him, to give them both some space to regain perspective. But her resolve was short-lived when she thought of how his body felt against her own and she remembered his scent—it alone could drive her to distraction.

While at work one day at her new job, she found herself daydreaming of him and realized she'd only partly completed her preparation for a training session she was scheduled to give the next day. She also realized that the feverlike state Cal induced now pervaded her days here as well, seeping into unguarded moments, overshadowing her sense of self.

When he told her he had to work late one Friday night, she went out for a drink with a few coworkers, not wanting to go home and be alone. Later, as she pulled into her parking space at home, he walked toward her, his eyes blazing with crazed thoughts. She took a deep breath to brace herself for what she knew would be a long fight.

"Where have you been?" he demanded, even as she walked up to her door.

She thrust her key into the lock. "A few people went out for a drink. They asked me to come along. I thought you had to work late."

She went inside, Cal one step behind.

"What people?"

"People from work." She threw her keys onto the kitchen counter. "Also known as coworkers."

She walked into the living room. "I'm not going to alienate them. I need to fit in there. I need a life." She sat on the couch.

"A life? What are you saying, you don't have a life now?" He sat close beside her.

"Listen to yourself. You are so overpossessive. Give me some room, will you? Can't I have a part of myself to myself? Must you intrude on every possible facet of my life?" She stood. Before she could walk away, he grabbed her wrist.

"Is that what I'm doing? Intruding?"

She sighed deeply. "I didn't mean it like that."

His fingers slid to her own, tried to entangle themselves with hers, but she pulled away.

Neither of them said anything, and she thought the silence would drive her mad. He stood next to her, but she still did not look at him—once her eyes were drawn into his, she would lose herself in the turbulence beneath. She had the sensation that she was in the far depths of dark, unfamiliar waters, and he was pulling her farther and farther down. High above her head she could barely ascertain the remnants of her whole self. The deeper he pulled her down, the smaller the remnants became, until finally there remained only a pinpoint of light. She knew this was the moment to go in one of two directions: follow him completely, irreversibly, or swim with all her might back upwards until she burst forth with a mighty breath above the surface, never to return to the murky waters below. At least, not without a good supply of oxygen, a flashlight and possibly a spear gun.

"I shouldn't have come here," he said.

She felt numb. Every part of her being wanted to attach itself to him, to completely meld with his body. One small voice of reason in her head held her in check, though barely.

"I'll call you later," he said. "Okay?"

She nodded. He kissed her cheek, his fingers lingering on her face. When she still did not look at him, he walked to the door, hesitating only a moment before closing it behind him.

For an immeasurable time, she stood there, her lip quivering. What she felt for Cal was so much more than love—it was an insatiable need that frightened her. The small voice of reason inside her, the one that held her in check, told her to put space between her and Cal if she wanted to not completely immerse her being in his shadow. She walked very slowly toward the door, touched the handle lightly where his hand had touched it. Then came a flow of tears, and she laid her head against the door, sobbing.

She cried all night, even in her dreams. Cal didn't call, as he said he would, and she felt as if the inside of her was being torn away, as if her very soul were being ripped to pieces.

In a fitful dream state, she imagined Cal as a Svengali, hypnotizing her with his intense gaze, overpowering her will with his own. From beneath a turban, his eyes shot lightninglike bolts into her own, like in a B movie. She cowered, hands at her face trying to ward off his spell, again and again. But his spell was too potent, and she succumbed to his will. His very essence permeated her being until she felt as if she were only part herself—the other part made up of Cal ions, bubbling through her bloodstream. He was a disease, and her infection was total. Even in her dream, she wanted the fever to break and tried to muster the strength to break out of the hallucinatory state. She awoke exhausted and resolved in the early daylight to tell him good-bye. Practicing her speeches over and over, she stayed home all day Saturday waiting for his call. She felt too tired to do anything else anyway.

He had still not called by Sunday night, so she called him. When she heard his usual "H'llo," she said, "Hey."

Cal answered, "Hey." Then there was an awkward silence.

"What are you up to? Am I disturbing you?"

He groaned. "You're disturbing me all right."

"I know. Me, too. I think we should...back off for a bit. Take a breather," she said.

He didn't answer, and she heard the phone being shifted in his hands.

"Cal?"

"What?" His voice was nearly a whisper.

"I need some time. To clear my head," she said.

"Right."

"Please give me some time," she pleaded.

"You're really good at this, aren't you? First you dump Adam, now me."

"That's not fair. Adam and I were never meant to be together forever."

"And what about you and me?"

"I don't know. All I know is that I can't function anymore. I'm losing myself in you, and it's just too scary. You don't want me to have friends, you don't want me to see my family..."

"Oh, come on, I never stopped you from seeing your family."

"No," she answered. "You just made me feel guilty for wanting to see them and refused to come with me."

After a time, he said, "I want to come over."

"Right now?" she asked.

"Yes, right now. This is not something that should be discussed over the damn phone."

She shivered. "I can't, Cal."

"Why not?" was his angry reply.

"Because. If you come over, and look at me the way you look at me, it will be the same all over again."

"What's wrong with that?"

"I need some time to myself," she said. "I'm sorry you don't understand."

"No, I don't. I don't understand any of this."

"Cal—"

"I just want to be with you, Diana. Why is that so wrong?"

"It's not wrong. It's...overwhelming."

"Isn't that what love is supposed to be—overwhelming?"

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "I don't know anymore. I feel like I'm drowning sometimes, you know?"

"Let me be there to save you," he said desperately.

"You're the one drowning me." Tears slid down her cheeks. "I have to go now."

"No, Diana..."

"I have to go. I'll talk to you later, sometime. Bye." She hung up before she could hear any more arguments from him. She was afraid she'd give in, that she'd let him toss her the lifeline, knowing it would strangle her.

She didn't answer the phone all week. She expected to see him every time she left her apartment, every time she went to work, on every street and in every store, coming out of every shadow.

But he didn't appear. Instead, he e-mailed her a poem that echoed her own thoughts:

I am locked in orbit

in your stratosphere.

The air here's too thin—

I can't breathe.

No longer hovering,

my orbit declines

elliptically—

sure to crash and burn one day

on your surface,

unable to pull away

from your gravitational force.

Then one day this e-mail arrived:

Diana,

I took your earlier advice and had a long talk with Eddie. We've been working closely on a few things, some of them have turned out really well, better than I'd expected. The band even tried a few out on a recent gig, and the crowd was receptive. You were right, it turns out. And you were right about another thing—it does make me feel good to be working with Eddie like this. It's been a long time since we've been this close.

Anyway, I had to find something to do with my time other than go completely insane from missing you.

I hope you're doing well. Some night you'll have to come out and hear the band again.

Take it easy.

Love, Cal

She had already read the newspaper accounts of the band's increasing success, checked their Web site for gig dates. A pang of sadness echoed through her heart when she read they would soon be touring with a bigger band in nearby states. Cal would join them on weekends. No chance of seeing him. Maybe more space than she wanted.

Although she'd always felt music was an integral part of her life, she felt as if a new dimension had opened to her now that Cal and Eddie collaborated on their own songs. She imagined them piecing notes together, pairing them with the right instrument. Now, when a song came on the radio that she liked, she found herself listening carefully to the craft of the music, how the musician's fingers slid along a guitar string to make that small squeak, or how a certain chord would stand out suddenly from the rest and then glide majestically back into the harmony to create an even more glorious sound. It was as if a little bit of heaven opened up, and she felt as if she could dance in the light of the music, suspended in that limbo, devoid of the constraints of time. She felt safe, cocooned in the flowing blanket of the music, the harmonies swirling through her, sweeping away her very spirit. Her spirit felt cleansed for those few precious minutes, as if she'd been in a church where the choir was singing spirituals with all their might, and the preacher had touched her forehead, suddenly sending her backward as her soul was saved.

She told herself that Cal was better off without her now. During these past few months, he seemed to be taking charge of his life as never before, taking bold chances that he might not have had they stayed together. The last thing she wanted was to be a weight around his neck, holding him back. She had lifted him toward the sky and let him take flight on uncertain wings. She'd pushed him in a new direction, helped him expand himself into a larger, even more complex and multifaceted person.

Likewise, Cal had helped her find the person she was meant to be. Someone who had been buried deep inside for far too long, yearning for a chance to shine through. Someone not afraid to take chances, as the old Diana had been. She had so many dreams, dreams she'd forgotten about. Now they didn't look quite so impossible, given the right planning.

It was as if they each had been waiting for someone to help them, someone who could be a counterbalance rather than a weight dragging them away from what they truly wanted in life.

As hard as it had been to leave Horizons, she was excited that her new job afforded her new opportunities that required more time and concentration. She'd also signed up for several night courses at a nearby college—partly to fill the unbearable void of Cal's absence and partly because she'd remembered her advice to him about not giving up on goals. There was so much more she wanted to do with her life, and now seemed the perfect time to begin. She had even signed up for a Saturday photography lab, further rekindling her earlier passion.

She didn't feel there was sufficient room right now for both a professional and personal side to her life. The personal stuff had taken too much energy, was too volatile.

Still, there was always Adam—he'd stood quietly along the sidelines, patiently waiting for her fling with Cal to end, as everyone seemed to assume it would. Her parents wanted her to date someone like Adam. They felt he had nothing wrong with him. Why couldn't she convince herself that he was Mr. Right?

Adam is loyal and kind, she told herself.

"But you can't even hold a decent conversation with him," a small voice in her head countered.

But he's trustworthy and honest.

"Sounds like your average family dog."

He's very sweet.

"You have nothing in common!"

But he's a good person.

"But is he exciting?"

There are more important things.

"Oh, please!"

There are!

"Ha!" came the taunting reply.
Chapter Sixteen

The winter arrived with a vengeance. The temperature outdoors dropped so low it stung Diana's face, made her eyeballs feel as if they were freezing in her head. Every night she'd leave work and follow the long strip of highway back home. She'd put on the teakettle just to hear the water scream inside, just as she was screaming inside.

Some nights, Adam would call, and every now and then they'd go out to a movie or dinner over the weekend. She couldn't seem to really warm up to him, though, try as she might.

One day, the office just seemed to close in on her, and she decided to go for a drive at lunchtime. She cruised past her old office—Cal's truck wasn't there.

Great, I can stop and see some other friends.

Jamie greeted her as she walked in the door. "Hey, stranger, where have you been?"

"Working hard, I guess. How's everything going?"

"Good. It's great to see you." He gave her a quick hug.

Diana quickly stopped to talk to each person, but took care not to linger too long. She didn't want to be there when Cal got back.

Robin walked in and squealed, "Diana, how are you? It hasn't been the same around here since you left."

"I bet," she teased. "What's new?" She shouldn't have asked.

Robin gladly volunteered all the latest gossip. But nothing about Cal.

Diana finally asked, "So how's Cal been?"

"Okay, I guess. You know he's back with Susan, right?"

Her heart froze. "Yeah, sure."

This was the worst part—having to pretend that she and Cal had never been a couple, had never shared any intimacies, had never woken up in the same bed, and had never kissed each other good morning. She knew her face had taken on the appearance of a wax figure, her smile plastered there immovably.

The door opened, and he stepped in. Fearing she'd soon be incoherent as her thoughts scrambled into unintelligible bits, she said to Robin, "Guess I better get going. Give me a call, okay?"

"Sure. Let's do happy hour or something. Bye!"

Diana felt her face reddening as surely as she felt his gaze on her. She tried to make a hasty exit, but he slipped out the door to catch her before she got to her car.

"Don't you ever say good-bye anymore?" His attempt at humor was only halfhearted.

After their breakup, it seemed to Diana that's all they'd been saying.

"You know how I hate long good-byes." She fumbled with her keys.

He leaned against the front of her car at eye level, forcing her to return his gaze. "So how've you been?" He knit his brow, his eyes intense.

"Okay." That sounded too wimpy! She added a more emphatic, "Fine. Busy with work and classes. And how about you?" She tried to break from his hypnotic gaze, but couldn't.

He pursed his lips. "You know me. I get by."

"I heard," she muttered.

"What?" He cocked his head.

"Susan. I guess that's why it's been so long since you've called me." She gave a bitter laugh. "You don't waste any time, do you?" She couldn't entertain the thought of holding hands with another man, let alone kissing him, cuddling him, letting him touch her. How could Cal just fall back with Susan? Was nothing sacred to him?

He grimaced. "Susan's just...there. You know? She's there, and she's easy to handle. She doesn't argue."

"I'm happy for you. A low-maintenance relationship." She bit back the bitterness rising in her throat. "Congratulations. I've got to get back to work."

His presence became unbearable. She had to put as much physical distance between them as possible. He truly left her, but at least if she made the conscious decision to move away from him, move on, then it wouldn't seem like a court-ordered sentence to continue life without him, to get up each morning and know that she wouldn't see him or touch him.

His arm shot across the door, blocking her exit. "Don't hate me."

She hated it when he acted nice. "I don't hate you." Tears threatened. "That's the problem." She half laughed and sniffed, looking at her keys.

He reached over to wipe a tear from her cheek. "I know." His frown intensified.

A memory flashed: him in her apartment hallway, fumbling to take off her clothes more quickly than time would allow. Could it have been only a few months ago? It seemed mere minutes since they'd been together—the connection between them was so immediate.

She turned her head, away from his touch. "I have to go."

"Right. See you."

"No. You won't." She fumbled open her car door.

He took a step backward. She got in as fast as she could and pulled away. She could barely see the road in front of her as she drove back to her office. Unable to concentrate, she left work soon after. To her supervisor, she attributed her sickness to an actual illness. Not much of a stretch.

* * *

It took her several weeks to recover from even that brief encounter with Cal. Even thinking of going anywhere near where he might be caused her to shiver uncontrollably.

Residual fever effects. She needed to gain some kind of immunity to them. Get over it!

At home, she'd put on her headphones and turn the music up loud to obliterate her thoughts, still saturated with Cal.

Christmas came and went with no fanfare, no decoration, no celebration. Not this year. Her favorite time of year normally, but this year, she could find no comfort, no joy. She avoided all Christmas music, all holiday movies—they only served as painful reminders of the utter bliss she felt the year before, lying in his arms in the soft glow of the tree lights. The thought of someone else in his arms was almost more than she could bear.

On New Year's Eve, she purposefully went to bed before midnight so she wouldn't have to think of the year ahead. She pulled the covers as closely around her as possible while trying to fall asleep. The noise of partiers rattled her to consciousness.

A new year. A chance to move forward.

But Cal was imprinted forever in her memory, his essence ever lingering below the surface of her thoughts, his neediness pulling at her, his uncertainty pushing her away.
Chapter Seventeen

Diana greeted Valentine's Day with dread. Her cold darkened her mood. Her throat swollen, she coughed, and her stuffy nose forced her to carry a tissue everywhere.

Throughout the workday, couriers brought flower arrangements. When the receptionist called to say flowers had arrived for her, her heart hiccupped. She ran to the front, her hand shaking as she reached for the card.

"With all my love, Adam," it read. She stared at the flowers and held the tissue to her nose.

"Oh, how beautiful. Someone really loves you," the receptionist said.

"The wrong someone," she said to herself before realizing she'd said it aloud.

"What?" The woman sniffed the arrangement.

She forced a smile as she lifted them from the counter. "Yes, they're beautiful. I am very lucky." She hoped she didn't sound as if she were trying to convince herself.

A year ago, she'd received the single red rose from Cal. If she'd only known the cost of that rose.

She wanted to dump them in the trash, but instead set them on her desk. The meeting was due to start soon, and she had copies to make. The machine acted up, more uncooperative than usual. Outside, the snow fell in swirls of white. Diana wanted to stand in its center, let it wash away her sadness, let it whirl through the open spaces of her heart.

"Diana, are you through with the copier? Diana?"

"What? Oh, yes, Marion." She flashed a quick smile at the concerned elderly secretary and went down the hall.

* * *

At closing time, Diana felt more depressed than ever. Not only did she have to endure Valentine's Day alone, but the entire weekend.

She begged off a dinner invitation from Adam. At least her cold was good for something. Her head felt woozy. All she wanted was sleep.

Not even a phone call. She threw on her coat. Cal could have at least called to say hi. She switched off the light in her office, then headed for the door.

"Damn," she muttered.

An express courier stood at the front door, waving a letter. She pointed to her watch and shook her head, but he pointed to the envelope. Not even an overnight letter, she noticed as she unlocked the door.

"Is there a Diana Taylor here?" he asked.

The courier looked vaguely familiar. "Yes, that's me."

"Great, I'm not too late. Here you go." He handed her the envelope and spun on his heels to leave.

"Thanks," she said absently. "Hey, wait. I don't need to sign?"

"No, this was kind of...last minute." When he left, she remembered: he made deliveries at Horizons.

She tensed as she locked the door and flipped over the envelope. Scrawled across the front was her name. In Cal's handwriting.

At first it occurred to her to throw it away. Maybe she'd be better off not knowing what it said.

She hesitated, considering. Everyone else had deserted the office. It was dark except for a light at the far end of the hallway.

"I can't stand the suspense." She ripped it open as she walked to her desk.

The outside of the card showed a reproduction of one of her favorite photographs—Alfred Stieglitz's "Spring Showers," a shot of a solitary tree in New York, being battered in a downpour.

Slowly she opened the card. He'd drawn a heart, battered with scars, drips of blood near the end of the arrow piercing through. In his handwriting: "I will carry you in my heart forever."

She took a deep, quick breath. He always knew how to get to her. She tucked the card carefully in her purse.

She walked through the swirling snowflakes to her car. As she unlocked it, the door to a black truck parked further down opened.

Like a mirage, Cal walked toward her, hands jammed in his pant pockets. His stride slower, less certain.

She stood, keys paused in midair, unable to move. Maybe she was hallucinating.

He stopped in front of her car. "Excuse me. I was wondering if you could help me."

He sounded real enough. But that was the problem with hallucinations—you couldn't tell they weren't real.

"Help you with what?"

He stepped toward her. "I was in love with this girl, so in love I was a little crazy."

She put the keys in her coat pocket and faced him. "Really? I had the same kind of relationship."

Snow gathered in his hair. "So I stayed away from her. I even saw an old girlfriend a few times. That was a mistake, but it helped me see things more clearly."

Her eyes watered. She lowered her head and dabbed them with a tissue. She didn't want him to think she was crying. "Did it?"

He stepped closer. "Yes. I saw my mistakes. I can be a bit intense sometimes."

She inhaled a ragged breath, coughed. "I know the type."

He looked at his shoes. "But that girl taught me important lessons."

She hugged herself. "Such as?"

He lifted his head. "How nice it can be to take it slow."

Warmth rushed through her as memories of their first night came back so vividly. "Slow can be very nice." She sneezed.

"You sound terrible."

Then it matches the way I feel. She nodded. Heat filled her coat, and she loosened a button.

"Are you all right?" He crouched to eye level with her.

Tears blurred her vision. "Why did you have to come here today, of all days?" When her physical and emotional defenses had been shot to hell by this cold.

"I needed to see you. I've been miserable without you. We deserve a second chance. A chance to make it better."

Her breath hiccupped. "I can't even think straight."

He cupped her cheeks in his palms. "You're so hot."

"Good line." She gave a bitter laugh.

"No, seriously, your skin is burning up. I'm taking you home." With his arm around her waist, he walked to his pickup.

She opened her mouth to protest.

"No arguments. You're not driving in this condition."

He helped her inside the cab and jogged to the driver's side.

She closed her eyes and rested her head back.

"Why didn't you stay home today?"

"Too much to do. I can't screw up another job."

"You didn't screw up. I did. I'm sorry. I should never have put you in that position."

The memory of making love in his office returned. She giggled. She'd liked that position. Until the cleaning lady found them.

When she opened her eyes, he lifted her from the truck and carried her, her arms dangling around his neck. Snowflakes landed on her face and cooled her.

He set her down. "Where are your keys?"

"You smell different." Maybe the snow diluted his scent.

He fumbled through her coat pockets. Something jingled, and he opened the door. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

"You wish. I'm not that easy." She giggled.

"No. You're delirious." He tugged off her coat, then his own.

"You say delirious, I say delicious. You say tomato, I say tomahto."

He swooped her up again, his fingers like ice against her legs.

"Why don't you ever wear gloves? Your hands are so cold."

"Sorry."

"No, it feels good. I'm too hot." The softness of down surrounded her.

"I know. We're going to take care of that."

His footsteps thudded out of the room, then back. Something cold and wet touched her forehead. "Where's your ibuprofen? Bathroom?"

"Probably." The cloth on her head had already warmed. She turned it over. Her skin felt thirsty. Weariness made Jell-O of her muscles.

She heard him walk away and back again. If she could only sleep.

"Sit up."

She moaned and rolled to her side. "Go away."

"Not until you take these. Now sit up." He slid his hand along her waist to her hip and nudged her.

His hand on her hip felt so natural. How many times he'd held it as she rocked above him. He shouldn't be here, making her remember things like that.

With a tsk, she angrily struggled upward. "There. Happy?"

"Not yet." He held two pills in his palm.

"I hate medicine."

"If you don't take them, I'm bringing you to the emergency room. Imagine how much fun that place is on Valentine's Day."

The reminder pricked her. "You're trying to torture me. Like that card. What was that all about?" She gasped. "The card. Where is it?" She groped the covers, the pillows. "Where's my purse?"

"Take these, and I'll get it for you."

She frowned, snatched the water glass and pills and downed them one by one.

"Easy." He watched, his face a blank. "Drink as much as you can."

She tilted the glass up and drank until it was empty. If following orders would make him vanish, she'd be a good soldier. Glaring, she handed the glass to him.

Something was definitely different about him. The way he looked at her—or didn't, in fact. He appeared to avoid her gaze. What was he doing here anyway?

He left and returned with her handbag and set it beside her. "You should get out of these clothes."

She harrumphed.

He opened her dresser drawer and held up her pj's. "These okay?"

Not her sexiest, but comfy. She shrugged.

He set them next to her. "Can you manage?"

Her snide tone surprised even her. "I've managed for months without you." Not very well, but she wouldn't admit that.

He pressed his lips together and nodded. His voice hoarse, he said, "I'll get you another drink." He ducked his head and left.

She clutched the pj's and repressed the urge to call him back. Thoughts were flying out of her mouth without any thought or care. She should close it and keep it closed. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she kicked out of her pants, tore off the rest of her clothes. She punched her arms into the pajama top and slipped into the bottoms. Shivering, she crawled under the covers.

"All set?" he called from the hallway.

"Yes," she mumbled into her pillow.

He set a glass of water on the night table and lifted the cloth. "I'll freshen this up." He went out and returned and pressed the cloth to her forehead.

Its cold made her shiver. "Thanks."

"Feeling any better?"

"Sure. Are you leaving now?"

She could guess what he'd say: "Do you want me to leave?"

And she'd answer, "If you want to."

And they'd be stalemated, as usual.

He sat on the bed. "No." His gaze fluttered over her.

She stared, unsure of what to make of him.

"You should try to rest."

"And you're staying?"

"I'll be right here." He pulled off his boots, and they thumped against the floor. He reached over to turn off the table lamp and eased onto the bed beside her. "Let me know if you need anything."

"Okay." She whispered for fear of frightening away this mirage of Cal, the Cal she needed him to be.

He lifted his shoulder and moved away.

She reached for him, but retracted her hand when he lay down again.

He held up the remote. "Would the TV bother you?"

"No, go ahead." She closed her eyes. The television clicked on, the volume lowered.

He heaved a long breath, and she relaxed into her pillow. Sounds drifted away.

When she opened her eyes, he sprawled next to her, his breaths deep and even as he slept. One hand rested near her head, palm up. His hair, shorter now, tousled across his forehead. The light from the television flickered across him, canned laughter a reminder of the improbability of it all.

His chest rose with a deep breath, and his eyes opened.

For a moment, neither moved.

"You're still here," she said.

"I told you I would be."

He had. She hadn't believed it.

He laid his palm against her forehead. "Your fever seems to be gone."

So does yours, she wanted to say. "I feel a little better."

"Good. Do you need anything? A drink?"

"No." Would he leave, then? He'd done what he said he'd do. Completed his task.

Something tentative lurked in his gaze. She braced herself as he took a sharp breath to speak.

"Would you mind if I..."

"What?" Here it came. Maybe it would be: "Would you mind if I took off?" He'd promise to call her later. But later would never come.

"My belt buckle's uncomfortable. Would you mind if I took off my jeans?"

She must be delirious, though she no longer felt too hot or cold. A sensation of floating came over her. "You don't need to ask."

He searched her face, his eyes alight. He pushed off the bed and dropped his jeans; his buckle hit the floor with a clank.

She moved the covers back.

He glanced back at the exposed sheets. He unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it away as he climbed beneath the comforter. He clicked off the television and lay on his side. His eyes wide, he smoothed her hair back and leaned close to press his lips against her forehead. "When you're feeling better, I'll take you out to dinner."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Or a movie. Whatever you want." His arm circled up her back. "Sweet dreams."

She nestled against him, her mouth at the base of his throat, inhaling the breaths he exhaled. "They already are."

###

About the Author

Cate Masters loves stories with a dash of magic, mayhem and romance. Multipublished in contemporary to historical, sweet to erotic, fantasy/dark fantasy to speculative, she sometimes mashes genres. Reviewers have described her stories as "so compelling, I did not want to put it down," and "such romantic tales that really touch your soul."

For 2012, her re-release of Sixties-era short, Seventh Heaven, was an EPIC finalist. In 2011, three stories placed in the Top Ten Finishers at the Preditors & Editors Poll and four stories finaled in the EPIC competition, including Soul for Sale.

In 2010, The Pearl S. Buck Foundation awarded first place to her short literary story, Christmas Eve at the Diner on Rathole Street. Her short literary story, All is Calm, All is Bright, was awarded second place in the annual Pennwriters Short Story contest in 2005.

Most days, she can be found in her lair, concocting a magical brew of fantasy/paranormal, contemporary and historical stories with her cat, Chairman Maiow, and dog Lily as company. Look for her at http://catemasters.blogspot.com,  Facebook,  Goodreads, and in strange nooks and far-flung corners of the web.

Cate loves to hear from readers. Email her at: cate.masters AT gmail.com.

