

With Every Heartbeat

An Opportunity Falls Novel

by Nancy Lee Badger

Copyright © September 2017 Nancy Lee Badger

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system-except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the Web without permission in writing from the publisher.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. SW

Originally Published by Red Rose Publishing as Secret Love Match, but has been heavily revised.

Cover illustration copyright © 2017 by Nancy Lee Badger

All rights reserved.
Table of Contents

The Story

Dedication

Books by Nancy Lee Badger

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Epilogue

With Every Kiss Teaser

Books by Nancy

Dear Reader

Author Bio

Connect with Nancy

# The Story

Rebecca Delacourt plans to try out for the US Olympic tennis team and loves being a tennis pro at a Long Island country club. Her mother gave up everything for love, but Becka refuses to take time for love or marriage. Her older sister's problems add to their family's discord which escalates after dumping Becka's nephew with their parents. On the phone, Laney demands more help, the same time their parents show up courtside with the man Becka has secretly loved since he first appeared on television. Becka is swept into Laney and her nephew's problematic, and ultimately dangerous, lives, pulling Taylor Adams into danger with her.

Taylor Adams left his home and family in New Hampshire, changed his name, and followed his dream to be an actor in Hollywood. Unfortunately, his science fiction television show went into reruns many years ago. Commercials, and appearances at Sci-Fi conventions, are not enough. He has set his eye on a film career. Visiting an old friend on Long Island, a producer who promises to help him achieve his goal, little does he realize the young woman swinging a racket at their country club has loved him for years. Their subsequent meetings in Baltimore and New York City turn steamy, until her older sister's dangerous lifestyle interferes. Worse, all Hell will break loose if her father discovers their secret romance.

# Dedication

I grew up in Huntington, near Long Island's north shore, about thirty miles east of New York City. I dedicate this story to my fellow New Yorkers who have enjoyed the beaches, museums, and nightlife while suffering the horrors of terrorism. We are stronger together.

# Books by Nancy Lee Badger

Warriors in Bronze

Heaven-sent Warrior

Heaven-sent Highlander

Heaven-sent Flame

Opportunity Falls

With Every Heartbeat

With Every Kiss

With Every Breath

With Every Spark

Clan of Dragons

Shimmer: The Beginning

Spark

Smoke

Smolder

Kilted Athletes Through Time

My Lady Highlander

My Dark Highlander

My Hunted Highlander

Highland Games Through Time

My Honorable Highlander

My Banished Highlander

My Reluctant Highlander

Highland Games Through Time Boxed Set

Dragons

Dragon Bites

Southern Fried Dragon

Dragon in the Mist

Dragon's Curse

Military

Unwrapping Chris

Find all buy Links on Nancy's Website

https://nancyleebadger.com/

#  Chapter One

Becka Delacourt tightened her grip on her jeweled cell phone as she listened to the caller's hushed voice. With her patience waning, the voice screamed in her ear.

"You have to help me. You're my sister."

Becka tapped her toe on the tennis court's packed clay surface, repositioning the phone against her face. Her wealthy parents gave her the phone as a gift when she won her last tournament. She certainly couldn't afford something so extravagant at this point in her hectic life.

"I'm in trouble...real trouble, Becka." Laney complained even louder.

"You are trying to influence a person who doesn't like you, right now, Laney." Becka found it hard not to hate her older sister's guts. "You've pulled a lot of crummy stunts on your family. This sounds like another plea, to get you out of a jam. Why don't you take care of your own problems, for a change?"

Becka worked hard to live independently, unlike her troubled sister. Laney had the ability to take a perfectly lovely day and screw it up. Becka vowed to stand firm and not give in, to her sister.

"Rebecca Delacourt, this is not the way to treat your family. I need help."

"Laney, I told you this before, I—"

"Listen to me!" Laney hissed, cutting Becka off mid-sentence. "Tell me what I have to say to convince you to get off your high horse and help me."

"Insulting me is not the way," Becka said.

"Time is running out and the payphone in this sleazy bar is out in the open. Some of Bart Spratt's thugs might be near."

"No, you listen. Your druggie friends are not my concern. You are the one—"

"This mess is not my fault!" Laney cried. "Oh, damn."

Muted sounds echoed from the opposite end of the line. "As I was saying, Laney, the path you walk is your choice. Step up and take responsibility. Mom and Dad were livid after what you did the last time you came around begging for a handout. Are you listening?" She waited for Laney to spout more of her poison, Becka thought of the time her sister stole their mother's credit card and went on a shopping spree. Laney's actions hadn't surprised Becka. But, hearing she bought a car only to give it to those hoods she hung out with had been the last straw.

"Remember the car you bought, Laney?"

"I had to. I owed them a favor."

"That is hardly an excuse. Those so-called friends of yours robbed two convenience stores before crashing that brand-new car into a tree. Come on. What kind of fool would I be if I listened to you now? You broke our parents' hearts." Becka swallowed a sob. She had to keep emotions out of this conversation.

"Nobody got hurt. Mom got her money back. They couldn't pin it on me."

"That is not the point." Becka took a deep breath then added, "What about Jamie?"

"What about him? He's okay, isn't he? I'm sure Gloria is fawning all over him right now. He's probably having the time of his life."

"Your mother is doing a wonderful job caring for him, but the damage has been done. When will you tell me what happened? He needs help."

"No, it's personal. He might snap out of it if..."

Becka rubbed the middle of her chest, until the ache subsided. "Go on. If what? What kind of trouble are you in to force you to dump your son on virtual strangers?"

"They're his grandparents. Besides, an eight-year-old boy is safer with them than with me. I'm in trouble and I don't have much time, sis. Please!"

Becka closed her eyes and forced back tears. She would not cry in front of little Jamie, walking toward her from the opposite side of the court. The poor kid might have another breakdown if she started bawling. God knows what kind of life he's had traipsing around with Laney and those men.

"Dumping him with our folks was the only good decision you ever made."

"I'll come get him soon, but for now—"

"Until you learn to respect the right side of the law and clean up your act, he's not going anywhere with you." It was way past time for a family intervention.

"Becka, please, I'm your sister. I'm in big trouble. I have to get out of here, now. Come get me."

Becka hesitated. Why stand here wasting a perfectly nice summer day in a one-sided conversation? Her sister didn't understand. Becka wouldn't drop everything for her. The sound of curses and breaking glass echoed from the phone. A twinge of guilt settled between her shoulder blades until she remembered her poor nephew.

"Laney, I said no. I have a life, too. I'm flying to Washington, D.C. tomorrow for an important meeting with the U. S. Olympic Tennis committee. After that, I'm off to Baltimore for several days of charity work. I explained all this months ago when you last graced us with your presence; just long enough to abandon your son and talk about your favorite subject—you."

"Now, wait just a minute, Miss high and mighty—"

"Maybe if you listen to what's happening in other people's lives, you'd have an idea what's normal. Get sober, get a job, and get on with your life." Becka held the phone at arm's length as a barrage of curses colored the air. When safe to return the phone to her ear, she said, "Don't worry about Jamie. He's safe and being well cared for by people with the resources to support him."

She paused to let her words sink in. Their parents—one a producer and the other a former television actor—had given their daughters everything money could buy. Becka appreciated her good fortune, but Laney had turned up her nose the moment she discovered boys. Becka clenched her teeth together, holding harsh words at bay.

"Mom and Dad love Jamie. He appreciates them, even if you never did when you were his age." Her sister's foul words assaulted her ear once again. God knows she loved her nephew more than she'd ever admit. Would she and her parents have to resort to legal means to keep the boy safe? With Laney's drug record and no father in the picture, they'd succeed. "There are more important things in life then getting high. Good-bye."

She hung up before anger burst from her mouth. Cursing at Laney would mean stooping to her level. Besides, her sweet nephew ran to join her in a game of tennis. She plastered a smile on her face and forced Laney's ever-present problems far from her mind. There was no need to have Jamie see her distress. His life was full of enough angst as it was.

Becka ignored the vibrating phone, and tossed it into the dark recesses of her silver and white Adidas racket bag. Grabbing her tennis racket, she waved at the approaching youngster. His mop of butterscotch hair flew thick and wavy past his ears. A stray piece fell over one gray eye, and the other eye searched her face, gazing nearly straight on.

"Jamie, you're growing like a weed." Nearing his ninth birthday, he'd sprouted a couple of inches under her parents' care. He smiled, and she giggled at his toothless grin. He'd need braces one day, too, which wouldn't happen if Laney got him back.

"You'll tower over me when you grow into those feet. I heard Mom and Dad had a tough time finding appropriate shoes for you." Laney had dumped the kid on their parents' doorstep two months back. He'd changed since they'd last seen him. Becka inhaled a shaky breath when she realized how much she'd missed of his life.

Laney's keeping him away hurt everyone.

"Do you want to serve?"

His face beamed. He swept his hair from his eyes with dirty fingers. Her mom promised to get him a haircut as soon as he felt more comfortable around people. Having him here, at their country club, helped. He looked forward to their lessons and seemed less skittish, which indicated he'd become used to the place.

Jamie trotted back to the fault line. He hadn't noticed the tears filling her eyes, which was fortunate.

She blinked then slipped on a pair of sunglasses. Her cheeks burned during the phone conversation. Either anger, or the sun's blistering heat, caused this spreading warmth. She splashed a smile on her face and forced her thoughts elsewhere.

"What a lovely day this has turned into."

He looked up and nodded at a blue sky dotted with cotton-ball clouds. When she taught her first lesson this morning, a stiff wind swept across the courts. The chill gave way to the current breeze, which barely cooled her neck.

Jealous of Jamie's loose and bouncing hair, she stretched her arms up behind her head and gathered strands of wispy hairs. Her hands still trembled. A byproduct of her phone conversation. She repositioned the tieback, confident it would keep her long hair out of her eyes while they played. The sun warmed the tips of her pierced ears. Thankful that she'd remembered to slather on the sunscreen, she fondled one of the new diamond studs in her ear, another gift from her parents.

Funny how she grew up assuming she'd always wear diamonds. Too bad food, gasoline, and a roof over her head meant such frivolous purchases were not likely. At least, not for a while.

"Let's get set-up," she said. Jamie nodded. Becka glanced toward her parents' table; sequestered in the shade of a large, striped umbrella. Her still-attractive dad got to his feet, kissed her mom, and walked inside the club.

"That's odd. Why would Dad leave Mom with his good-looking guest?" she said as she stopped to retie a shoelace. Jamie looked over then answered her with a shrug of his shoulders. Her dad was the jealous type. At forty-five years of age, her mother was blessed with the body of a twenty-one-year-old—like Becka.

She and her mom shared similarities except for one important point. Unlike her lovely mother, Becka had plans for her future. Not one included a man. No way would she give up everything, to get married. She knew the story. Her mom became pregnant with Laney, and wed Vincent Delacourt. When Becka came along, her dad insisted Mom stop acting. He expected her to give up everything to be a wife and mother.

No man was going to take control of her life, no matter how much she loved him. Even after everything, it amazed her how both parents thought the world of each other. Only this morning, Mom told her she couldn't imagine loving anyone else. The wistful look in her eyes seemed too sincere to be false. Still, she thought she saw something else in her mother's eyes.

Regret?

"They've been through a lot together," she said, under her breath. Whispering wasn't polite but she didn't want Jamie to hear. He was too young to understand why his grandparents were at odds with his mother.

They could not allow him to think he might be the cause of their animosity. Her parents would fight this battle and this time she'd be there to help. Jamie's health and future happiness depended on how they handled Laney and her demands. Laney's newest command pushed her buttons, but Becka refused to give up her dreams and well-organized life to placate her sister.

She returned her attention to Jamie as he limbered up the way she'd taught him. She couldn't help staring at her handsome nephew's innocent smile and mop of hair, and at the lanky build he hid beneath a baggy shirt and shorts.

I wish I could be his mother.

Where did that thought originate? Being a mother meant sharing her busy life with another human being, maybe two. At this point in her life, she couldn't even squeeze in a plant. When she first moved into her new condominium, she'd thought about getting a cat, but realized both a pet and a plant would wither and die from her inattentiveness.

"I'm not inattentive. I'm just too busy and must sacrifice to get what I want. I'd make a great mother." Too bad Mom's motherly charm hasn't worked on her oldest daughter.

Laney had left home before graduating high school. She spiraled down into a lifestyle no one understood. Laney never set goals for her future beyond seeing the world. Yeah, like that worked out well. She ended up in a world full of drug dealers and prostitutes.

Shaking her head at the thought of her older sister existing that way, nausea cramped Becka's stomach. As Becka watched her precious nephew, she hoped Laney had never sold her body for drugs. A little larceny is better than that. Jamie suffered for Laney's choices, but appeared active and healthy.

Was her sister actually in danger?

Wondering about that for only a minute, she waited for Jamie's serve. At the same time, she focused on another task. She had to keep her mind off the man sitting with her mother. After fantasizing about him all these years, and seeing the man in person, a jolt raced across her chest. How could she focus on a game of tennis knowing the man who filled her nights with erotic images watched? A roiling stomach suddenly forgotten, a velvety tingle sliding down her spine erupted into searing heat. Settling between her thighs, the sensation and sudden lack of concentration made her almost miss the ball.

"Good serve," she yelled. She'd barely watched Jamie's stance, toss, swing, and follow-through before the ball flew over the net. She deftly lobbed the ball back at him and noticed he hadn't gotten into the correct position to receive the ball. It bounced once and he over-corrected, missing it by more than a few inches.

"Serve again, Jamie. You look great, but forget about the serve as soon as you've finished with it, and prepare for my return of the ball. I'm going to hit it much harder, this time. I know you can block so let's see what you've got."

The smile slid off his face.

Did she sound like a teacher? This was supposed to be a friendly game, not a lesson. As she waited for his serve, her mind rebounded toward the man sitting next to her mom. Mom talked a-mile-a-minute—a natural characteristic—but the man stared her way.

He slipped off his sunglasses, and crossed tan forearms over his chest. The pale blue polo shirt brought out the deep blue of his eyes. She couldn't see his eyes from this distance, of course, but she knew everything about him. His golden eyebrows suddenly flew upwards and she snapped her gaze away.

Had he noticed her stare or, did he look at Jamie? Her mother probably relayed Laney's sad story. Good grief.

Besides, he couldn't be interested in a twenty-one-year-old as skinny as her eight-year old nephew. Sure, she had a few more curves and she sported muscular thighs due to playing tennis every day.

Do men like that sort of thing? He must prefer women in Gloria Delacourt's class. Her mother, a voluptuous former actor, sported a body others would die to have; an intoxicating presence for any man.

Maybe not him, especially not him. After all, he'd known her mother since Becka's childhood.

"Still, his eyes are boring into me," she muttered. Her arms trembled. "Silly me, I'm gripping my racket too tight," she said, louder. Her nephew gave her a quizzical glance, yet placed his feet in the correct starting position. The moment Jamie bounced the ball twice, then followed with a near-perfect serve, she shook away all thoughts of the man under the umbrella.

She intercepted the ball and he moved inside the baseline, which forced a smile to pull at her mouth. This time he remembered to get ready for her return attack. He served the ball crosscourt, which made her run in the opposite direction. She reached for it and returned the serve with a powerful forehand. She stifled a laugh when he nearly fell on his face lunging for the ball.

"You only missed that by an inch!" Actually, he'd missed it by two feet. He regained his balance and ran. The ball ricocheted off the outer fence, erected to keep stray balls from ending up in the next court.

"Good hustle!"

Unsmiling, he served again, this time to the left side of the court. She swung her racket with a smooth, backhanded motion. Before either realized it, they volleyed the ball back and forth. She viewed their accomplishment as a miracle, since Jamie hadn't held a racket before five weeks ago.

Becka twisted and laughed, pivoting on the balls of her feet. A glow filled her heart and a weight lifted from deep inside her chest, and happiness zipped through her. With all the things going wrong in his young life, at least his tennis ability had improved.

She managed to smile at Jamie as he served the ball once again. The sun beat down in earnest. Perspiration dripped down her back. They'd been at this for almost an hour and he had improved, especially with the volley. As a professional, she filed some criticisms concerning his serve and his stance to bring up during their next lesson. As his loving aunt, she wouldn't bring it up now.

Today they played for fun.

"Usually about now you start to complain," she teased. She could tell his mood with the way he held his body, or scowled. The smile beaming back at her was a blessing.

"I've had enough. I'm sweating to death out here. Let's take a break." Jamie's smile dissolved away, but he nodded and met her at the net to shake hands.

It pleased her that his manners had improved one-hundred-fold, but she wished she could get him to speak to her. Now if she could get him to talk. He never talked to anyone.

His silence started at a young age, primarily due to a traumatic experience while in Laney's care. He gathered his things as well as the loose tennis balls. He did not return polite waves from people in the next court. He used to cringe in fear when anyone made eye contact. Now, he ignored everybody.

"I can't wait until he's a teenager."

# Chapter Two

Taylor Adams looked out over the tennis courts and enjoyed the Long Island country club's view. Situated a few miles east of New York City, it boasted a large two-tiered clubhouse. The rich and powerful filled the tables while their trophy wives wrestled with tanned tennis pros. At least he assumed the tall, muscled men who groped several giggling women weren't their husbands.

He'd been glad his friend and his friend's wife suggested sitting outside at a table on the lower patio, adjacent to the courts. His old buddy still had not returned from a sudden errand. Where the heck did he go? Maybe he'd spotted a producer friend or a film critic. God knows Taylor needed a man like Vinnie and his networking ability. Even so, Vinnie wouldn't up and disappear, especially with an attractive wife like Gloria. The man took the word jealousy to a whole other level.

Taylor leaned back in the patio chair, under the large umbrella, shielding his face from the blazing sun. The rays couldn't be any worse for his skin, than his drinking binges. His friends had formed an intervention and helped him wean himself. He understood their concern and applauded their actions after he'd cursed every one of them for hiding his many bottles of Scotch.

His friends' opinions mattered. Josie's opinion mattered more. His baby sister, a paramedic firefighter back home in New Hampshire, worried Taylor might kill himself, and told him so on many occasions.

Taylor saw the light one horrible day on a sailboat in the Caribbean. That pain bubbled up less and less, but often enough to make him keep his wits when it came to women.

Many times, over the past twenty years, he'd woken in a strange bed. Now at forty, guilt surfaced more and more. He'd survived such dangerous behavior, though he used to brush it off as an occupational hazard.

He'd grown up over the last year. Unlike the naive country boy who first hit the New York and Hollywood scenes, the time had come to act his age.

Bored, his fingers tapped the table's glass top. Had things really been a whole lot easier fifteen years ago? Well, it had definitely been more enjoyable in his early twenties. Lovely co-stars and zealous fans hung on his every word and kept his hit television show on the air for five years by day, and filled his nights with lust and liquor.

He'd certainly had fun.

Someone always materialized to help him spend his money. Nights of endless drinking usually ended in bed with some lucky lass. Sex was sex, and he always stayed safe, thanks to an aide who bought him condoms by the bushel.

Yet here he sat, alone and celibate. He sighed, thinking back on lost opportunities, as drops of condensation slid down his glass of iced tea. Taylor grimaced at the half-empty glass and cursed under his breath. Why couldn't this be a glass of fine Scotch? He could still taste the amber fluid and smell its smoky scent. More unwelcomed memories bubbled up. He needed to think of something else. Like the blond playing tennis.

No, that's worse.

The blatant truth is he'd missed out when it came to finding love, settling down, and raising a family. Vincent Delacourt and his lovely wife, Gloria, had accomplished it, but he pushed the sickeningly sweet sentiment away.

"More tea, Sir?" asked a brown-haired, pimple-faced server. The teen grabbed the glass and began pouring before Taylor could answer.

"Sure, thanks kid," he mumbled. He chuckled at the shocked look on the young man's face, the moment he recognized him. The boy's hands shook, and he missed the glass. The beverage splashed on Taylor's athletic shoes.

"Watch out," Taylor yelled, a tad harsh in response to wet socks. He pulled his attention away from the star-struck kid, and Gloria. He drank from the overfilled glass, letting the cool liquid slide down his parched throat, while the clumsy young server mopped up the spill with a towel. People still recognized him, especially when television stations broadcast reruns of his show, but he hadn't done any serious acting in years.

Hell, no one ever considered my television show serious.

Still, the hour-long space western, full of spaceships, aliens, and mindless make-out scenes, where he smooched all the females aboard ship, or on alien planets, turned into his big break.

Yeah, it had been a fun show, but a total fantasy. Gloria droned on next to him, oblivious that he ignored her story. Arching one eyebrow, his gaze locked on the beauty playing tennis on the far court. Her body moved gracefully with each swing, while her breasts jiggled.

Lightly tanned legs a mile long rose straight up into the shortest tennis skirt he'd ever seen.

"Wow, she's hot," he said.

"What's that?" Gloria asked. When he didn't immediately reply, she ignored him and went back to her story.

His body tightened and his tennis shorts grew uncomfortable. Memories of nights spent entwined in the legs of faceless women made him lean back in his chair and cross his feet at the ankles. He hoped the bulge in his pants, beneath his linen napkin, lay well hidden from everyone's view. His left hand slipped under the table to his thigh, then gently rubbed across his zipper. He gazed back at the golden-haired beauty and felt a slight smile pull at one corner of his mouth.

She's no fantasy.

Gloria Delacourt droned on and on as Taylor's eye stayed zeroed in on the hot little number playing tennis. She giggled as she served, but her expression turned serious, working another volley with her young opponent. The tall boy didn't look more than nine or ten, balancing on the cusp of adolescence. He didn't look old enough to appreciate the loveliness of the woman playing against him.

Poor kid.

"Taylor, you haven't heard a word I've said," Gloria pouted.

His attention snapped back, and he forced his lounging body to sit up straight. Gloria was a delicate blond with manicured fingers sporting bright pink polish and gold rings sprinkled with diamonds. She was damn sexy, though some might consider her pristine white tennis skirt far too short for a woman her age. Earlier, when she'd played a set with her husband, he noticed her tan, shapely legs.

The cooler temperature under the umbrella kept the afternoon's heat at bay. A poppy-red sweater fell loosely around her shoulders to ward off a slight breeze. Lifting one eyebrow, Taylor gave her his undivided attention. She seemed truly upset with him.

"I'm sorry, Gloria. My mind wandered. When's your husband getting back? I came to see both of you, remember. He and I need to talk business."

"But we invited you to come play tennis and have lunch with us, not work. Besides, I thought you were still unemployed."

He winced. Technically correct, since he had no steady acting gig at this point in his life, but an actor constantly scouted for the next part. Unlike other actors who filled the time between cattle calls waiting tables or selling popcorn at theaters, he didn't have to work.

Being one of the smart ones, he hadn't drunk away all his money. When his show sat on top, he hadn't wasted all his income on flocks of women, either. The morals clause in his contract had a lot to do with that. When he wanted to drink to excess, he did so with friends or alone at his home. Women he made love to remained discreet, or they ended up gone. It was during his first year on television, when he realized how fast his money flew out the door. He smartened up and changed tactics.

He contacted his brother who'd come to his rescue.

"I was thinking about my brother, Mason," he replied. Gloria smiled and went back to sipping her drink. She didn't know his brother since Mason had nothing to do with show business.

"Gloria, you know I want to keep acting. Your husband is helping me get my foot in the correct doors. I can't go on forever doing guest appearances on minor, barely surviving sitcoms. How much longer can I go on signing autographs on glossy photos of a twenty-one-year-old me at Science Fiction conventions?" He faked a look of exasperation. He secretly enjoyed those Sci-Fi events. It got him up-close to the people who'd kept his show and its reruns on the air. They stroked his ego better then a quick lay.

These same people would come see his movie... if he ever made one. He appreciated each fan for that reason only. Smiling back at Gloria, he drained his drink while she waved her diamond-decorated fingers at a server.

"Bring menus. We'll order lunch in a few minutes." She turned back to smile at Taylor. "I had hoped Stuart Craddock could join us today, but he had to fly to Mexico on business."

"Craddock? You know him?" Taylor's stomach clenched at the mention of the man's name. Craddock had the reputation as a sexual predator as well as a cutthroat businessman. Their paths crossed once or twice.

"We met years ago at some function or other. Possibly a charity event. I can't remember, but he's quite charming."

Her whimsical smile, after calling the man charming, forced alarm bells to go off in his head. He glared at Gloria before deciding the subject none of his business.

Let her husband worry, he thought.

Turning his attention to the court, he drooled over an image tastier than anything on the menu. She looked half Gloria's age. Younger women had their good points including stamina and a certain innocence in their approach to lovemaking. He had to take care, though. Women as young as the blond tennis player usually had marriage and babies on their minds.

Having had a big breakfast at his hotel, he wasn't hungry—for food—so he picked up his empty glass and waved it at a server. He gave Gloria his famous lopsided smile before turning back to watch the tennis players. The pretty blond talked to the youngster at the net. Laughing at something, she gently brushed a lock of the boy's hair back off his face with her slender fingers. Taylor's body stirred with an emotion so foreign, he trembled.

Is this how it feels to be jealous?

Where the heck had that thought come from? Of course, talking and laughing with someone pretty, like her, must be a pleasant diversion, and he felt another smile pull at one corner of his mouth. If he got up close and personal with this beautiful stranger, the absolute last thing they'd do together is laugh.

Ignoring the server who had finally reappeared with his ice tea, Taylor stared as the young woman and the lanky boy walked toward the courtside benches.

I have a great idea.

He grinned down at the lemon wedge bobbing among the melting ice. He swallowed another cooling gulp of unsweetened tea, then pushed back his chair. He'd get her to play tennis, then might get lucky.

The blond laughed again. The sweet trill of her voice zapped his body with a pleasurable zing. If he could get her to laugh with him and talk about nothing, something better might come to mind. He perked up when she waved good-bye to the boy, then stopped to drink from a sport bottle on the bench.

"Excuse me Gloria. I see someone I need to talk with. Don't hold lunch for me. If everything goes well, I might not be back for a while. Wish me luck." He gave her a quick peck on the cheek then grabbed the racket he'd borrowed from Vinnie.

Gloria followed his gaze. It appeared as if she meant to say something, but held her tongue. She probably knew the blond. In all probability, Gloria knew his mystery woman wouldn't give him a tumble.

What the hell?

This boring day couldn't get much worse. Besides, nothing ventured...his eyes followed several drops while she drank as they trickled down her delicate chin. As he walked closer, she wiped the moisture with the back of her hand. Her brows rose. The sunglasses perched on her tiny nose held back the mystery of her thoughts. She slipped off her sunglasses and held them firmly in one hand.

He cursed, softly. She appeared younger than he'd guessed. She'd pulled her pale hair back into a casual ponytail to keep wayward strands out of her soft gray eyes made more striking by long gold lashes and arched blond eyebrows. Tiny diamonds sparkled in her perfectly shaped lobes. A thin gold necklace circled a swan-like neck, complementing the curve of her pale pink tank top. The shirt clung to her sweaty body and treated him to a close-up view of round, perfect breasts above a tiny waist. Her white pleated tennis skirt hung not much lower than the juncture of her toned thighs.

She was small.

Gazing intently, as he closed the gap, he revised that impression. Though smaller than the models, Hollywood starlets, and Broadway dancers he usually dated, her shorter height and curvy body attracted him more.

The image before him oozed sensuality and he found it difficult to force his eyes back up to her face. His entire body sizzled and not from the sun's searing rays. Such a reaction wasn't normal, but normal hadn't worked so well, up to this point in his life.

Maybe I'm primed for a change.

She watched him approach. Did she recognize him? When his show hit the airwaves, she probably still wore diapers. He'd be polite and, if he had to, drop Vinnie's name to get her to play with him. Boy—did he want to play!

"Hi," he said. He stopped opposite the low bench, not intruding on her space. His hands lay motionless at his sides. One fist gripped the borrowed tennis racket against shorts that suddenly grew tight. He slid his other hand into his front pocket to camouflage a growing bulge before taking a slow, steady breath. She might not approve of a rampant erection making its presence known so early in their relationship.

"Hi, yourself."

"Could I challenge you to a set?" Taylor kept his voice calm, while his chest pounded with a sudden desire to run the other way. What the heck was going on? Where had his macho Hollywood persona, built to perfection during his television shows and late night parties, gone?

With another deep breath, he watched her thinking. He could almost detect her mind work, as if it quickly evaluated the man standing in front of her.

"I see you're considering my request before answering." He hoped he wasn't out of his league, here. Yes, he might be twice her age, but he kept his body trim and healthy with daily workouts. He jogged wherever he happened to be, no matter where he traveled. He'd cut out smoking long before it was in vogue to do so and had slowly cut out the drinking. His friends might not agree with that last part.

Yeah, I still have a way to go with that problem.

He hadn't joined a support group. He didn't follow anyone's teachings. He'd take a drink now and then, but he no longer drank to excess. Keeping in shape was too important to his career.

As he towered over her, her eyes flashed with desire as she checked him out. Was she staring at his hair?

During his show's run, the studio added white-blond highlights. He'd detested the look, but the fans loved it. Gray hairs had so far refused to make an appearance.

Supermarket tabloids touted his eyes as his best feature. They described them as the deep blue of the night sky just before sunset.

Get real!

He fought the urge to laugh aloud. Contacts kept his vision going strong. The blue-tinted lenses made the color even more intense, but he didn't wear tinted ones due to vanity. In all honesty, they were easier to find when he dropped one.

He took pride in how his skin pulled tight across his jaw and he still had all his hair. His slightly crooked grin was legendary. His lopsided smile, perfected on his television show, had turned women's heads for years. He hoped it worked on this cute blond.

Her gaze settled uneasily on his face. "I was going to have lunch with my parents, but..."

Why did she hesitate? Listening intently, he waited to see how she'd finish her sentence. Surely playing with him would make better use of her time than a family get-together, but maybe the little beauty was hungry.

Hopefully she was hungry for more than just food.

He didn't want her to starve, but he could certainly persuade her to get to know him better. After that, who knows where they might end up? "Could you delay fifteen minutes or so? Won't they wait? It's such a lovely afternoon. My host is attending to business. I came here to play tennis, but if my partner-in-crime doesn't show up soon, I'll have to leave without my exercise. Please?"

Damn! Now he sounded desperate. She gazed over his shoulder at someone before returning her attention to him. Then she smiled.

His heartbeat thumped rapidly inside his chest.

"Okay. I can give you one set. Then I have to eat before I leave for an afternoon appointment." Her bright smile sent a heated spark straight to his groin.

She set her water bottle back down on the bench and grabbed two tennis balls. She tossed them his way and he caught both, then stuffed the balls in the back pockets of his tennis shorts. She picked up two more.

"As a guest of the country club, why don't you serve?"

"How do you know I'm not a member?" he asked. "Am I wearing some kind of sign across my chest?"

"You mentioned your host is off somewhere." Dropping her gaze to his waist, she walked to her side of the net. Was she admiring how he filled out his shorts? Their cut left little to the imagination. He had quite the imagination concerning her.

As he made his way to the service line, he smiled at her quick deduction that he didn't belong here. Nodding to her, he bounced the ball twice, set his feet by the right-hand serve box, and swung the racket. Relief flooded his body when the ball made it over the net and landed on his opponent's court. It wouldn't do to embarrass himself in front of her so early in their relationship.

They hadn't even exchanged names, yet.

In a flash, she flew across the court, and the return volley sailed past his racket. He watched as the bouncing bit of yellow hit the court inches inside the fault line.

She got me.

"Try that again," she announced with her clear, lilting voice. He looked back at her as he again took a breath, set his stance, and swung. His serve missed the box and she yelled "Fault."

He inhaled a steadying breath, and served again. He had to get the ball in the opposite box or lose the point.

He slammed the ball much harder and tried for the corner. Like a rocket, she sailed across the clay court, hit the ball, and he missed the return shot, again.

Why is she beating me to a pulp?

He attempted not to stare at her body, as she crouched and faced him, waiting for his next serve. He hardly noticed her leg muscles bunching and straining each time she ran to slam the tennis ball with an easy grace. She kept quiet except to call out the new score. Her short skirt did nothing to hide her attributes and he did his best not to wonder how she tasted.

"I know everyone who's a member here."

She surprised him by speaking in a relaxed voice with no hint of breathlessness, even though she'd been running back and forth. He knew he'd have a hard time forcing out more than a word or two. He stood like a statue, mesmerized by her pink lips. She went on.

"I'm a part-time instructor," she said, then winked.

A burning sensation washed over both his cheeks, as her sly grin grew wider. She played tennis as an instructor and he played once-in-a-blue-moon.

I'm doomed.

She smiled broadly at him, and barely stifled a laugh as the ball sailed past him, again. "That's set and match and I believe you lose."

"You were right, we only needed fifteen minutes." She giggled as she walked toward her gym bag. "Join me while I have my salad?"

They reached the bench at the same time, and she bent down for a towel. He groaned as the view down her shirt afforded him a peek at the rounded tops of her breasts. He sensed she tried to hide her smile, as she straightened and wiped her barely sweaty forehead while he stood gathering his strength. Taking quick breaths, both of his thighs trembled from the exertion. A breeze chilled his back where his shirt lay plastered by sweat. He took a few minutes before responding, not wanting to sound winded.

"You look like you could use a drink," she added when he didn't answer. She arched both golden eyebrows his way before giving him a sassy wink.

All cognizant thought deserted him. Taylor gulped, and not from lack of air. He removed his sunglasses and gazed at eyes staring straight at his face. An immediate lucid thought came to him, of making love to her until she was as breathless as him. He wanted her under him, in bed, maybe tied to that bed.

He squinted, then managed to loosen his grip on the racket. He forcibly shook away the image of her naked body. His breath hissed through clenched teeth, but he wasn't embarrassed. He'd played his best, but she played better. Hell, he didn't come close to being in her league.

"I guess I really am getting old," he muttered. Cursing under his breath, he followed her off the court. Using all his acting ability, he kept both cheeks lifted in a smile. He sure felt like frowning, instead.

"Did you say something?" she asked. Her sweet tone gave him pause. Had she heard his mutterings? This seduction was not turning out the way he'd expected. His gaze zipped up and down her back as she walked toward the dining area on the country club's lower patio.

Maybe while she had her lunch, he could ask her out and continue his seduction on more even ground...like his hotel suite.

"I didn't catch your name, miss. I need it when I sign up for lessons. I'll want to make use of your obvious expertise the next time I'm in town." His attempt to sound like a good sport came out lame. A glance toward the table he'd left fifteen minutes earlier made him groan with embarrassment. Vinnie, his missing friend, had returned. He sat beside his wife, Gloria. Both were laughing their heads off.

"At least someone's getting a kick out of this."

"You can call me Becka."

She'd said something else, but he'd missed it. "Let's get something cool to drink. The water in my sport bottle has turned to steam. The sun's really beating down. I see a couple of chairs under an umbrella, by my parents."

Becka? Had he heard correctly? The name sounded strangely familiar. Where had he heard it before? When he looked in the direction she pointed, the only empty chairs sat at Vinnie's table. He stopped, mid-stride.

Torn between lust and apprehension, his stomach clenched. All blood slid down his body, pulled from his heated face. It passed by his groin, and thudded to a stop at his toes. Frozen in place, he watched her little tennis skirt sway as her tight little ass walked up to his friend. She gave Vincent Delacourt a kiss on the forehead. The forehead of the man he prayed was destined to launch Taylor's future acting career.

Vinnie sat with both hands clasped around his stomach, laughing.

At me.

"Taylor, I see you've met our little girl."

# Chapter Three

Vinnie's expression quickly flickered from a companionable smile into a palpable warning. Taylor's stomach lurched. This sexy young woman was his daughter? His little girl?

He knew Vinnie and Gloria had kids, but how could this be one of their girls? His gaze followed Becka as she walked over to Gloria and gave her mother a peck on the cheek—the same spot he'd kissed—before sitting down in the chair Taylor had vacated fifteen minutes earlier.

"We really haven't been properly introduced, Vinnie. But I would like to know the woman who beat me decisively in front of the whole club." He attempted to chuckle, as lustful thoughts, concerning his little blond beauty, died a slow death. She was definitely out of bounds.

"This is Becka, our little tennis ace, known as Rebecca Delacourt to her public. She's been off training for the Olympics. The whole world will be seeing a lot of her soon. Child, this is my friend Taylor Adams. He flew in from California for a visit."

Taylor slid silently into a chair across from Becka and wondered why he couldn't catch a break. He'd left the west coast to try his luck in the east. Based on today's fiasco, he was doomed.

"Dad, please don't exaggerate! I haven't made the team, yet."

Taylor liked that she smiled at him instead of her father as she spoke, apparently unaware of his history with her dad. How could Vinnie be that old? But, Vinnie wasn't much older than him and he'd obviously spent the last couple of decades building a life outside of show business. If Taylor had settled down, he, too, could be sitting here with a son or daughter.

Banish the thought!

"You never told me your daughter had grown into a beauty. The last time I saw her she stood about so high." He held his hand a foot higher than the tabletop, glancing sideways at her, as she munched on her salad. How could the little girl in his memory grow into this fine specimen of womanhood? When Vinnie chuckled loudly at his friend's recollection, Taylor continued.

"I also seem to recall she had cute little pig-tails." A sudden memory flashed to mind of a shy little girl. Vinnie and Gloria had dragged their daughters to a cocktail party thrown by a Science Fiction screenplay writer. Their host hoped to gain financial backing for a project, and wanted Taylor for the lead. The money never materialized and the project went nowhere.

The story of my life.

Their youngest had disappeared around nine o'clock that evening, and several people searched for the youngster. He'd spotted her, quite by accident, hiding behind a curtain by some French doors with her attention on the evening sky and a look of wistful hopelessness on her face. He certainly wasn't looking for the child.

All he'd wanted was a breath of fresh air.

"What are you doing here, kid?" he'd demanded. Cowering at his harsh words, she'd looked up at him with a longing he couldn't name. Had she recognized him as the star of a top television show? Before she could answer, Vinnie arrived and dragged her away. She'd looked back over her shoulder at him and her childish gaze held him with a strange intensity. Yeah, he remembered that sweet little face.

Is this her?

"Becka has been busy since graduating private school. She refused to consider college. She swore her life's path consisted of a clay tennis court and a Wimbledon title," Vinnie said. Then he gestured to his lovely wife sitting next to him, grinning broadly. "Gloria, here, wasn't too keen about her skipping college."

"True, but she proved to be one of the best tennis players in the country, and only wanted to win titles," Gloria added.

"Now don't forget...she did come pretty darn close to winning the French Open. And she'll prove how great she is, once she shines at the Olympics." Vinnie grinned broadly.

"Speaking of the Olympics, Dad, I have a plane to catch. There's an orientation meeting for all prospective team members in Washington, D.C. and I still have to pack. It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Adams. Walk me to my car." She stood to leave.

Before he could voice a response, the young boy she'd played tennis with trotted over and wrapped both arms around her neck. Becka's smile lit her face, and Taylor choked on the drink he'd been sipping.

"Are you alright?" she asked, as she slapped him on the back.

"I'm fine. Who's your talented opponent?"

"You watched us play?"

"Guilty as charged," he said, wiping his chin. "How else could I know how excellent a teacher you are?"

She seemed to contemplate his words while the boy hung back. He looked...like her. Taylor calculated the ages of both the kid and Becka. Surely, he couldn't be...

"This is my nephew, Jamie." She turned to the boy, so didn't notice relief loosen Taylor's shoulders.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Taylor, a friend of your...grandparents?" Talk about a shock.

"Jamie, I have to go. I'll see you in a few days."

The men stood and Taylor watched as she hugged first her mother and then Vinnie.

She gave the boy a tight squeeze, then grabbed her tennis bag and sweater. As his eyes widened in mild shock, he remembered she'd asked him—no, she'd ordered him—to walk her to her car. Taylor glanced at Vinnie, not surprised at his friend's frown.

"Protective parent at three o'clock," Taylor mumbled before he added, louder, "I'll be right back. Order me another iced tea, will you?"

Taylor had to trot to keep up. He forced his gaze away from her swishing tennis skirt. Muscular thighs and well-developed calves glistened with a light sheen of sweat. It pleased him to know she'd gotten a workout as well. He followed her like an obedient pet out a side door leading to a parking lot.

"I don't see the sense in using the valet service, since I come here for exercise." She giggled.

"There goes that sound again," he moaned. Even though she was barely a child, her laughter shot shivers straight to his groin. They continued toward her car and he hoped to get close enough to catch her womanly scent. Instead, he inhaled the stench of overheated tar under a brutal afternoon sun, which made his nose twitch. When they stepped off the walkway onto the parking lot's hot pavement, he stumbled.

"Clumsy," he muttered. He chastised his feet, which for some reason lacked coordination. Had she noticed? He struggled to understand a new thought. Her youth—and her parents—should persuade him to hunt elsewhere, so why did she arouse him?

He had reacted improperly to his friend's baby girl. His hard cock wasn't appropriate, nor the fleeting thought of tying her to his bed until she moaned and cried out with release. Not with her. No matter how much he might want her.

She hit the keyless entry to an older, bright red compact car. Ever the gentleman, he opened the driver's door. She tossed her racket bag and sweater into the passenger seat, before turning her attention back to him. Taylor looked around the lot and smiled, happy to see they stood alone. He'd hate for someone to get the wrong idea and beat a path to Vinnie's ear.

"I like you, and I'd like to see you again," she purred.

There it is, folks. A real, live conundrum.

If he listened to his body, they'd meet up real soon. He pictured them going out on a wonderful date, returning to his hotel to make love, and living happily ever after.

An impossible fantasy, because he dare not seduce the little girl of a man who promised to help get his career back on track.

Nope. Not a good idea.

Her forehead wrinkled and she looked hurt. Had he spoken aloud?

"Becka, listen to me. You're a beautiful young lady but you're the daughter of a man I admire. I don't think he'd be pleased to see us together. Besides, aren't you leaving town?"

"Yes, but—"

"Me too, so there you go." He tried not to sound sullen.

Her smile dropped away, replaced with eyes as wide as soft gray pillows. "What my father doesn't know won't kill him. Besides, I'm not asking you to marry me! I enjoyed our tennis match, especially how gracious you were at the end. Until today, I'd yet to meet a man I could beat who would stand there and take it without making excuses. I'm so—"

"Hey, I had fun. I'm not great at tennis, but I try to take pleasure in whatever I do. Playing with you," he said, "is pleasurable."

His words appeared to hit their mark. Damn! He hadn't meant to let her know how much he wanted her. Her gold lashes twittered up and down, as if trying to dislodge a sudden image, which he feared was as hot as the one strolling through his mind.

While he waited patiently, begging his blood to pool anywhere but his groin, her smile reappeared. She looked happy to hear he liked her. Had she forgotten about her dad? He couldn't.

When she gazed at him with a burning hunger, he swallowed, hard, with the sudden impression he had landed on the menu. Did his eyes reflect the desire flooding his body? Her look told him she had no plans to let him walk away, and it was rather startling.

"As I said," she continued, "I am so sick of men who can't take a little competition. You seem like a nice guy. Besides, you're cute." She stretched up and planted a warm kiss on his cheek. "And my parents aren't here to watch us."

His hands came up to hold her arms steady against her sides. If she touched him, he might explode. Her body trembled under his fingertips.

"Taylor, can't we go out and have some fun without a lifetime commitment? Once I make the Olympic team, my free time will be non-existent. My meeting lasts until Tuesday. Then I'll fly home to Glen Cove."

His mouth went dry as he lost himself in the silky grayness of her eyes. To hear her call him by his first name thrilled him, and sent a surge of pleasure across his chest. He fought the urge to reach out, stroke her hair, and push a stray curl back behind her ear; an ear pierced by diamonds.

Just like those Hollywood starlets he'd tired of, Becka had looks, money, and heaps of athletic talent. So why did this beautiful young woman plead for a date? His hands dropped to his sides, and he backed away.

"Can we make arrangements for getting together sometime after I get back? Give me a chance to get to know you?" she teased. She placed both delicate hands in the middle of his chest.

Beneath the thin material of his shirt, his heart's rapid beat must have invited her to lean in close. Too close. His body heated as she smiled up at him. Maybe he should blame the hot afternoon sun as the culprit. Either way, this felt like a bad idea. Vinnie's recent frown came to mind. Guilt turned his stomach.

"Great," she said at his silence. "Here's my number. Call me and we'll think of something to do, okay?" As she pushed a piece of paper into the front pocket of his shorts, a blush colored her pretty face after she stressed the word something.

Without thinking, Taylor leaned down and kissed her. Her lips tasted of lemony sweet tea and he drank her in. Melting her lips to his made him instantly rock hard. The scent of honeysuckle and sweat filled his nostrils. When her arms circled his neck, he pulled her into a tight embrace. Moist palms slid down her arms to circle her waist.

"This is a bad idea," he whispered against her teeth. In a blink, he pressed their mouths together, again. She was soft and pliable in all the right places, and muscular in unusual places. When his hands explored her body further, she moaned under his caress. She snuggled against him, purring like a well-fed cat. She had to be aware of his arousal.

"That's enough for now, sweetheart, or we'll end up on the evening news." He nodded toward several valets who'd entered the lot. Slowly, she pulled away, and he instantly missed her heat.

"Don't look now," she sighed.

Taylor turned in the direction her chin pointed. Two female wait staff giggled and pointed at them.

"Go ahead. It looks like they're on break. Make their day, Hollywood."

Before he could comment on the nickname, the women stopped inches away. Both dove inside their bags, most likely looking for paper and pen. Becka smiled at him knowingly, instantly putting him at ease. His body reacted because his mind raced with thoughts of what the future held.

Damn! I'm going to call her.

"Good-bye, Mr. Adams." She climbed inside her little car, and started the engine. She snapped it into gear, then pulled away.

He watched her go, forcing his body's blatant x-rated reaction to subside. As she drove out past heavy, iron gates, a dark-skinned man wrote something on a small pad. Dressed as a mechanic or groundskeeper, Taylor didn't like the way he stared at Becka's bumper. Had he written down her license plate? Did he plan to leak her name to the press as someone caught kissing him?

No, the press no longer cared about him or his love interests.

That's my problem.

"May we have your autograph, Mr. Taylor?" one of the young women asked.

"I'd love to," he said, smiling, but his thoughts were on Rebecca Delacourt. Why had she turned formal on him, calling him by his last name? Taylor hoped they'd be on a first name basis soon. Too bad they had to keep this relationship a secret.

# Chapter Four

The week went by so slow Taylor swore the sun paused in the sky. He'd waited until Wednesday to pick up a phone and dial, thinking she'd probably be peeved if he called her the minute she got home on Tuesday.

Or, would she be upset he'd waited an extra day? He found it hard to figure out women, these days. A man didn't want to offend the ladies, but Becka didn't appear to be the kind of woman you rushed. Should he call her at all?

Taylor growled at his indecisiveness and cursed his much-too-active libido. The next thing he knew he clamped his cell phone against his ear and paced while it rang on her end.

"Hello?" Becka answered his call with bemused laughter, as if she knew it was him.

"This is Taylor Adams. How was your meeting?" He hoped she'd come home in a good mood, and was open to a little company.

"It was great...short but sweet. They went over schedules and rules and informed us how they'll be checking our applications and standings, over the next month."

"You sound hopeful. Is it hard to get on the team?"

"With only six spots on the women's singles team, yes. This was only a preliminary, but I passed. Those already selected, as possible team members, such as me, will fly in from all over the country for a weeklong testing opportunity in Georgia. They have use of the former Olympic grounds near Atlanta. Their tennis courts are great. I've played in several competitions hosted in Atlanta. So, how did your meeting go?"

"My meeting?" To which did she refer? He'd kept busy all week. His mind spun, thinking how to answer her question.

"The meeting with my dad, silly. Did you two come to terms?"

Her dad...of course.

"Our meeting went well, but nothing is final. He has different deals in the works. He wanted to know if I'm available, should one or two acting gigs pan out. I'm eager to get into film, but I won't jump at anything."

"I can't see you being indiscriminate. I also can't see my dad involved in just anything."

"I agree. I trust Vinnie, or I wouldn't have asked for his help. Now that you're back, I've some time on my hands. Can I spend it with you?" He got right to the point. If he wanted to get her into his bed, he'd feel better accomplishing the act before he and her father signed any deal.

"How about dinner and dancing? I'll warn you right now, Mr. Adams. I'll eat like a horse then dance it off for hours. If I can't be on a tennis court, dancing is my third favorite way to exercise. Is Saturday night good for you?"

"Saturday sounds great. If you have a restaurant or club in mind, make the reservations. I'm currently out of the country." They finalized their plans and he agreed to wait for her call. When he hung up, he rubbed his abdomen in an attempt to sooth his twisted insides.

The guilt returned.

He forced momentary panic from his face. Did he just make a date with his friend's little girl? What would Vinnie say when he heard, and what exactly might her second favorite form of exercise be?

"Hey, Taylor, can we get back to our meeting?" Vinnie yelled. "Lunch is planned on a river boat on the Thames. These Brits don't accept tardiness. We'll sail with or without you."

"I'm coming," he coughed and instantly wished he hadn't used those words in front of his friend. They evoked a vision of his prone form on top of Becka's naked, wet, and well-satisfied body.

***

Saturday arrived and Becka swung back and forth in front of the mirror. Her dress, a navy blue satin creation she'd borrowed from her mother, clung to her curves. The only exception, the skirt, swished as she turned. The 'V' neck displayed a hint of cleavage. The long sleeves sported sexy little cutouts all the way down the arms, and the hem hit her at mid knee. The matching three-inch stilettos gave her additional height. She'd be eye to eye with Taylor Adams.

Her chest tingled and her cheeks heated at the thought his name provoked. He had enchanted her the moment she spied him sitting with her parents. Some blurred memory of meeting him rocketed into her brain. As a child, she'd fallen in love with his character, Bennett Rage, while watching his television show's reruns. A vague image of him looking down at her as she stood gazing up at the stars at a scary man's house came to mind. How old had she been? Six? Seven?

Way too young for him, at the time.

He'd startled her by talking quietly as if worried she'd flee out the open French doors. Only later, when her father grabbed her arm and shouted toward her mother, had she realized they'd all been looking for her.

I wasn't hiding.

She'd been staring out into space. The stars sparkled high above, she remembered, and she wondered if Bennett Rage would blast off in his space ship. She couldn't separate the man from the fantasy. Taylor Adams made Space Rebels a classic science fiction favorite. To her at that age, all of it had seemed real.

Sighing, she couldn't believe she'd agreed to go out with him, tonight. A yummy heat flashed between her thighs as she thought of his full lips and chiseled cheekbones.

Her heart skipped a beat when she remembered their conversation in the country club parking lot. She'd joked about not using the valet service because she liked the exercise. If she'd been truthful, she'd have told him she couldn't afford to tip the guys. She earmarked her money for less frivolous things, like food.

Replaying their kiss in her mind, the warm softness of his lips against hers didn't seem real. He would arrive in less than fifteen minutes to pick her up.

Becka combed fingers through her loose hair on her way out of her bedroom. She'd made reservations at a trendy restaurant where her name earned them an intimate table for two. Friends described the upstairs lounge as a great dance hall where celebrities, who enjoyed the New York lifestyle, congregated for fun.

She remembered her call to the restaurant. It irked her when the maître d' wouldn't arrange admittance upstairs, until she'd added Taylor's name to the mix.

"Once a Sci-Fi fan, always a Sci-Fi fan."

The man nearly blubbered with happiness that Bennett Rage would grace their hall.

"Pompous ass," she muttered.

Once she and Taylor enjoyed a wonderful meal and danced the night away, she had her escape route planned. She had to be up and on her way by six in the morning to leave on an eight o'clock morning flight to Baltimore, Maryland.

"No way is anyone sleeping over. That's a temptation I can do without, thank you very much," she said to her reflection in the hallway mirror. She ran her palms down the silky bodice, straightening it over her breasts. Too bad her body betrayed her thoughts. Especially after that kiss.

When Taylor leaned down and captured her mouth with his strong, moist lips, her toes had curled inside her tennis shoes. Raising her arms had been a perfectly natural response, but he'd held her captive. When his hands clasped her waist, heat surged beneath his fingertips and made its way down between her thighs. Her hands circled his neck and she pulled him close His masculine scent filled her senses with an interesting combination of lemons, sweat, and tangy male.

If he'd asked her to come home with him, she'd have said yes in a heartbeat. Her body shuddered at the thought until she remembered she was a big girl. A woman, actually. He had no idea she'd been dreaming of him, off and on, for years. Why shouldn't she take advantage of the opportunity of a lifetime?

I know what I'm doing. Right?

Well, she made her plans, so there would be no worries. More importantly, she'd be safe from her own urges. Several months ago she had decided sleeping with men hindered her ability to play tennis at her best...end of story. Well, for the time being, anyway.

Becka smiled back at her image. The knock on her door caused a shiver of anticipation until she remembered her plan. No matter how much she craved to undress him, feel him grow hard in her hand, and ride him, she would not allow anything remotely like that to happen. At least, not tonight, because nothing would stand between her and an Olympic medal.

Becka smoothed her suddenly perspiring palms down her hips and prayed they didn't leave a trail of moisture. She walked to the door, her high heels clicking across the parquet flooring. She blew out a deep breath and opened her door.

"Hi. You look great." Taylor said as he flashed his familiar, crooked grin, and walked past her into the condo.

Struck speechless, she could only muster a stare.

I think I look mighty good and in walks Adonis, Caesar, and Alexander the Great rolled into one.

His damp hair, most likely from the shower, shone like tarnished gold in the waning light of the late afternoon sun. He sauntered toward her balcony's glass doors. The scent of soap and lime aftershave lingered. His chiseled jaw, clean of any evening growth of whiskers, seemed even tanner than she remembered. An expertly fitted jacket showed off his wide shoulders and trim waist.

"Is that Armani?"

He nodded, his attention on the view of the water several stories below. Why had she assumed he lived as a broke, out-of-work actor? His gaze swung to the right to take in her living area's soft colors and simple decor. She smiled with pride.

She had lived with her parents while working as an instructor at the club, and she managed to save enough money for a down payment on her one-bedroom condominium. Becka prided herself that her parent's money had not been involved in the purchase, except for the living room furniture. Her mom clearly stated she should accept the matched grouping of Shaker pine furniture as a gift.

He slipped his hands in both pockets and whistled.

"What a view. I didn't realize Glen Cove was so close to the water. We're pretty high up. Is that Connecticut?" His chin pointed to a green coastline dotted with miniature buildings. Sailing yachts slipped through the serene, jade-green water of the Long Island Sound.

"Actually, I believe that's still New York. The Connecticut border is a little more northeast," she explained. Had her voice really come out in a whisper? All of a sudden her throat seemed too tight, and he looked nervous.

He peered out in the direction she mentioned, not at her, and then up at the sky. Still early evening, the heavens slowly darkened. The weather had been pleasant all week and she smiled when he sighed. Did he wish he could trade places with those boaters?

"I love the Atlantic Ocean, even though I grew up in a small town in New Hampshire."

"Really? I didn't know."

"Who would? My agent kept it quiet. A sleepy little town north of Boston didn't fit my profile. Changed my name, too. Used to be Miller. My agent thought it dull. Too ordinary." He continued to gaze straight ahead. "I'd love to be out there with the wind in my hair."

She smiled at his reflection in the glass. Still, why did he look so uneasy? As the wise and worldly actor, he flaunted his good looks and bedded famous women all the time. She'd read it all in his profile. Had his agent made it up as well? Whatever the truth, she would not become his latest conquest no matter how good he smelled, or how great he looked.

The two of them could certainly enjoy each other's company over dinner, on the dance floor, and even on the tennis court, but that's all. She had to focus on her career and Olympic dream.

"Are you ready to enjoy dinner and dancing?" Becka asked. And, a quick kiss good night? Turning toward the door, she bent over to pick up her shawl and purse from the couch. She'd better not think about kissing Taylor Adams. As she moved toward the door, the memory of his caress sent shivers down her spine.

"I've never been to this club. I hope I fit in," he said.

She couldn't help notice the concern in his voice. Him? Shy? Impossible. Did he worry his age topped others that frequented the place? Ridiculous. So why did he sound apprehensive?

"I've eaten there with friends, but I've never been to the upstairs dance hall. If we don't like it, I know another place we can try. Of course, we'll fit in. Admit it, Taylor..." When Becka paused, he met her gaze head-on.

"Admit what?"

"We look hot."

His stunned expression brought a smile to her face.

"Come on, this'll be fun." She pulled him by the hand to the elevator. She liked that he squeezed her hand in return. Would he compare their date to one of the glamorous clubs in Hollywood where he usually hung out? They most likely welcomed performers of every venue and vintage, as well as friends to help a celebrity like him spend his money.

New York differed from Hollywood. A more sophisticated city with special needs and horrific memories, New Yorkers didn't waste their time on freaks and has-beens. Of course, he didn't fit in either of those categories.

Did he think he did?

The elevator ride passed in silence. She followed him toward the curb and smiled her thanks to the doorman who quickly opened the door to the cab Taylor had waiting.

"This is nice," she said.

He sat in stony silence until he turned and gave her a slightly crooked grin.

Oh, God. She closed her eyes, instantly reminded of nighttime dreams of that grin, as he swooped in with his spaceship to rescue her from demonic aliens. Not wanting him to think she'd fallen asleep in his company, she opened her eyes and smiled at him.

The yellow cab pulled up to a building where spotlights bounced off an elegant façade made of large, smooth river stones and shimmering steel. A tall, massive man, dressed all in black, helped her from the taxi.

"The bouncer?" she whispered to Taylor.

"I better behave myself."

As she and Taylor walked through the arched stone entryway, a pudgy man clasped her fingers in his two meaty hands.

"Welcome to Honey Butters, Ms. Delacourt. We spoke on the phone. We are pleased to have you joining us for what I dare say will be an extraordinary dining experience. Our hostess will show you to your table. Please enjoy your evening."

The man bubbled with unmasked excitement and swiftly turned all his attention on Taylor. She decided not to warn him that the man might ask for an autograph.

The attentive hostess seated the couple at a large window overlooking the street. Speeding cabs jostled for space alongside slow-moving horse-drawn carriages. The carriages probably toured nearby Central Park.

"This restaurant is actually near my hotel. It, too, borders the park," he said.

He could afford a hotel in such a pricey area? Maybe she could talk him into an evening carriage ride ending up at his hotel.

Oh, my God. There I go again, thinking too far ahead.

She stifled a cough. Keeping her distance would be difficult enough without a romantic ride through a dark park with a great smelling Taylor Adams.

"Are you okay?"

She lowered her gaze back to the menu, taking care not to meet his, and answered, "Just peachy."

# Chapter Five

He studied the view as she looked over the menu. Taylor noticed they dined only a few city blocks from his hotel. After they danced and he hired one of the horse-drawn carriages, they'd enjoy a sensual ride under a moonlit sky through Central Park. With the ride ending at his building, that could be the ticket to getting her into bed.

His grin quickly faded when he grasped the thought. Their first date, and already he schemed about ways to take her back to his hotel. Vinnie would kill him.

"Several baked fish entrees are on special tonight. A salad and some rice would be nice. I hope the vegetables are palatable," she said. Her attention seemed to wander.

Is she remembering the important meeting she recently returned from, in Washington D.C., that concerned her future? "I suppose the Olympic committee mentioned something about keeping in shape before the try-outs?"

"Oh, yes. The meeting I attended was only a preliminary discussion between the tennis committee and possible team members, and I tried to look my best."

"Teaching tennis for the last few years has kept you active and in great shape," he added. He held back his grin when her eyes flashed at his generous observation.

"I admit I was peeved when they mentioned how diet and exercise are important. The committee members politely suggested all the candidates start consuming more proteins and less fat. Bye, bye ice cream sundaes." She looked up slightly and seemed to search his face. "What is your favorite thing to eat?"

Luckily, he hadn't been sipping his water, because he might have choked. In order to keep the conversation out of the gutter, he glanced down and pretended to study the menu. Even so, he noticed her cheeks blush at her own words. He clenched his lips together to keep from laughing.

Didn't she realize he was a formerly famous, financially well off, sexually starved man who also happened to be much older than she? Picturing his mouth kissing her most intimate area and bringing her to her peak was a bad idea, especially if she thanked him by swallowing his cock. Such thoughts would only get him in trouble.

Taylor glued his attention on the menu. His stomach churned with nervous jitters and he had no idea why. Remembering what her father meant to his future, he had better keep his eyes away from her plunging neckline. He dare not dream about getting her alone and slipping her sleeves down her arms to expose her breasts. It was best to remember she was a young woman who would never consent to a one-night stand.

How about two nights?

He let out a soft breath as their server arrived. He ordered a club soda with a twist of lime; best to keep his wits about him...and her.

"Would you like a glass of wine?" Wonderment clouded her sweet face at his question. Had she misunderstood? She ordered an unsweetened iced tea.

"I'll have some wine, later, when we go upstairs to go dancing," she said.

Dancing with this woman would be heaven. She'd filled his dreams since their recent meeting at the club. Wrapping her in his arms might be a challenge, but life was too short not to take chances.

With their orders of broiled haddock and New York strip steak ushered to the kitchen, he found himself alone with the beauty. She watched him intently. Silence reigned, broken only by the arrival of their drinks. He squeezed the slice of lime that decorated his beverage into the bubbling liquid. The tart scent filled the air adding to the aromas of her sweet fragrance, and the dinners on adjacent tables.

She blew out a big sigh. Her shoulders visibly relaxed and her smile mirrored his. He took pride in how he'd managed to hold off on the alcohol. Later, when they went upstairs to dance, he'd order one drink. He required a clear head tonight.

Becka bit her lower lip, prodding him to come up with something to talk about. They had varied interests, but he wasn't sure what they had in common besides her parents.

Sure, both played tennis, but he wasn't in her league. He hoped she didn't date him because of his fame as an actor. Fat chance. Whatever fame he'd built decades ago had slipped away.

"The weather in the city has been brutally hot this year," Becka said.

Her observation snapped him back to the present situation. He grew to love New York City as well, but for other reasons. Their meals arrived and they ate. When she moaned with satisfaction, he assumed her lightly breaded fish gained her seal of approval. The sensual sound slid like phantom fingers across the table and down between his legs.

"It's so good, I don't need to add any lemon juice or tartar sauce. Those would only mask the fantastic flavors. Even the boldly colored plates add to the success of the meal."

Taylor remembered similar plates and platters displayed in her living room. She evidently had good taste. The thought made him groan.

He ate his steak, forcing small bites between his teeth without tasting. Nervous trepidation dulled his senses. He sipped his club soda in hopes the effervescence would sooth his stomach and help him get through the meal. His steak appeared perfect, but his taste buds ignored the fact. He wanted this young woman.

I damn well know it is wrong!

Evident in the rapid beating of his pulse and the continued and unwanted swelling of his groin, he wanted her. However, he didn't want to want her. "Doesn't that sound juvenile?"

"Something wrong with your steak?"

"Ah...no, its fine. Really. You were saying something about how you spend your money?"

"Do you want any dessert?" she asked.

Why did she change the subject? Rubbing the napkin over his jaw, Taylor waved off dessert. He slapped some bills on the table, stood and pulled out her chair while he took care not to touch her. Even so, warm sparks tingled along his fingertips. How could this be? He had to keep his distance, unless he wanted Vinnie to kick his butt all the way back to Hollywood.

They headed upstairs to the dance hall, Slick, by way of an ornate circular staircase. With her leading the way, he had another exclusive, up-close view of Rebecca Delacourt's lovely legs. Her dress sparkled as she moved, and the slim muscles of her calves grew taut as she climbed. Each click of her slinky high heels made him drool.

The portly manager appeared again and escorted them to a table Taylor hoped was just far enough from the band so they'd be able to talk. No such luck.

"What would you like to drink?" a scantily clad server yelled over the music.

They ordered glasses of red wine. After the server set their drinks on the small, round table, Becka picked up her glass and sipped. A long, sweet sigh crossed her lips. When she looked at him over the rim of her goblet, he met her questioning glance with silence.

"Let's dance," she said, taking him by surprise.

He took a deep breath, rose, and pulled out her chair. She stood and locked eyes with his, before he led her onto the packed floor. His fingers pressed against her lower back as they walked. Heat pumped between his fingers and the thin silky fabric of her dress.

When the glut of swaying bodies became impassible, she wrapped her hands about his neck, leaning in until their bodies met. Even with the song's brisk beat, the throng kept their movement to a minimum.

Her lips moved, but he couldn't hear any of her words.

"What?" He leaned in to catch her words while the band played louder.

She leaned even closer. Her lips brushed his ear. "I said this is nice."

As she pulled back, he shuddered. Shock registered with her upturned brows and thin smile as she folded back in his arms. Gaining the upper hand, he glanced about the room pretending to endure another dull evening.

From the corner of his eye, he could tell by the look on her face, she didn't buy it. A sly grin; a slight shake of her head; the lowering of her gaze to his chest, proved he'd failed to convince her she meant nothing.

"What the hell." He crushed her to him and leaned forward to nuzzle her ear. His tongue darted out to taste her skin, and felt the blood pumping through her veins. He spun in a tight circle and hummed to the tune pumping from speakers set near the stage. One hand captured the fingers of her right hand and clasped the delicate digits to his chest. His other hand stroked her from waist to neck along her silk covered spine. When she sighed against his chest, Taylor came to his senses.

"I'm thirsty," he yelled, and pointed his chin in the direction of their table.

She nodded but her eyes reflected her disappointment. She slid into her seat before he could pull it out for her.

Taylor drained his glass of wine. When it came time for the second round of drinks, he reverted to club soda. He clenched his jaw at the look, passing over her, as he waited for her to question his decision. Before she could utter a word, a shrill voice interrupted. They turned their attention toward the newcomer, strutting toward their table with arms held high.

"Becka, darling! How wonderful to see you here. This place is just hopping but I could really use a friendly face. My escort just left, the idiot."

Taylor studied the face while wondering how someone so beautiful could be the unfortunate owner of such a voice. Cascades of wavy black hair curled around her pale shoulders and brushed the tops of her barely covered breasts. The thin straps holding up her gown shimmered like gold and he wondered why they didn't snap under their burden. The scent of thick, overly sweet roses invaded his nostrils. He coughed.

"His wife called and off he went. I mean, really!" exclaimed the stunning woman who sat herself down next to him, without glancing his way.

"Ronnie. How nice to see you. Too bad about your, um, friend. This is my friend, Taylor. He's visiting New York, so I'm showing him the sights. Taylor, this is Veronica Chesly. She owns Veronica's Boudoir, a chain of intimate clothing stores. She hopes to someday do wardrobe design for Broadway shows, isn't that right?"

Ronnie ignored Becka's question as she eyed Taylor, seeming to wonder how she'd missed him.

"Where are you from, handsome? My, don't you look familiar," she cooed.

"I get that a lot. I'm from California. I came out here on business, and Becka has kindly taken me under her wing."

"Becka is always trying to save someone," Ronnie said as she slid her chair closer. She glanced back at Becka. "Aren't you supposed to be in Baltimore for some big charity event? I remember you tried to get me to go. I told you I had something better to do. I am such a shit, that way. Do take pity on me, Becka," she whined.

"I head there tomorrow, Ronnie. It's okay. I found people to fill the slots so—"

"Wait! There's a man I've been trying to get my hands on for months. He's a producer and I need to get in the back door. How else will my sexy fashions move from the erotic outlets to the stage? Oh, my, look at the time. Well, see you around, handsome. Good luck tomorrow in Baltimore, Becka," and she vanished as quickly as she'd appeared.

"Wow. She's quite an armful." He referred to Veronica's overly endowed chest, before realizing he spoke in front of a smaller woman. "I mean, how could a guy skip out on her and leave her to flit around by herself. Embarrassing for her."

"She's harmless but too self-absorbed. Her reason for not helping this year? She'd fallen deeply in love. I guess her boyfriend forgot to mention a wife." She turned slowly to Taylor with a steely gaze.

"What?"

"How about you? Any wives on the west coast I should know about?"

"No, I've never been married. I've been busy trying to get my career back on track. Let's get back to you, though." He remembered Ronnie's comment about Baltimore. "Why are you heading to Baltimore tomorrow?"

Sounds like I might not have to worry how to end our evening.

Thinking about getting her home and naked had filled his head ever since he'd called her. He knew such a craving had to be the worst idea ever. He'd enjoy the evening more, now, knowing she had somewhere else to be. Not really, but he'd live longer.

"I totally forgot about my plans when I agreed to our date. I'm sorry, but I have an early morning plane to catch. I'm co-hosting a breast cancer awareness campaign. It's hosted by one of my tennis sponsors, and I help every year."

His eyes widened as her words sank in. Squirming in his seat, he tamped down his uneasiness at the word cancer, and the painful memories it evoked. He squeezed the linen napkin on one thigh and listened as she continued her explanation.

"It's just a couple of days of work and I'm mostly behind the scenes. Anyway, my flight leaves early, so let's dance again before I must go home and pack. I can take a cab home if you want to stay." She turned her attention in the direction her friend had disappeared.

"Stay?"

"Ronnie looks like she could use a familiar face to while away the hours." A big smile slid across her face, but didn't meet her eyes.

He glared at her. Why did she want to send him into the arms of another woman?

"I really have to get going, so I don't miss my pla—"

"Okay, let's dance," he said cutting her off. "I like this song." He stretched to his full height and hauled her to her feet.

"Oh!" she said, surprised.

His hands clasped her waist, and her scent wafted over him. Her dress barely hid her slim figure from his caress. She wore high heels, so they stood nearly eye-to-eye. He easily pulled her into his embrace, even though touching her had to be the most stupid thing to do, if he wanted to keep his distance. Tomorrow she'd be the one putting hundreds of miles between them, so he'd use this opportunity to his advantage. Touching, smelling, and thoroughly tasting her might give him enough ammo to launch her from his system.

Loud, sentimental music filled the small dance hall. Several other couples made their way to the floor, including Ronnie.

"Oops, too bad for you, Taylor. It looks like Ronnie worked her way into that producer's arms. As a fashion designer, her dresses are too risqué for normal people. They'd look great on stage, if he produced something set in a bordello." Becka giggled.

When she swung her face back to his, he kept his face frozen and unsmiling.

"What's the matter? Are you upset she didn't wait around for you?"

His body stiffened, hinting at his anger, but she kept talking. To put an end to her teasing he crushed her to his body, close enough she'd feel the hard length of his arousal.

"I didn't come here to dance with anyone but you, Ms. Delacourt."

She winced at his abrupt answer.

"I'll take you home when it's time to go. I don't mind. If tomorrow is so important to you, I won't keep you out late. Now, can we dance?" They slowly swayed with the music.

A meek smile filled her lovely face, but he ignored it. Closing his eyes, he listened to the tune, a favorite from his college years. With a groan, he realized Becka wasn't even born when it hit the airways. He shouldn't be here with someone so young, but his resolve faded the moment she pressed her soft body into his and laid her head against his shoulder. He let out a big breath, but stiffened further, chastising himself for causing the tension, which morphed into a headache.

He groaned.

His stiff cock ached and the more he touched her, the more he wanted her. He'd be crazy not to want a woman so beautiful, smart, and athletic.

I've gone too long without sex.

***

"I've gone far too long without sex," Becka muttered. She squirmed in one of the airport terminal's chairs near her flight's gate. She grumbled and chastised her actions, which had ruined a perfect opportunity to enjoy the one and only Taylor Adams in her bed.

Her mood darkened by the minute. With her flight delayed, she contemplated renting a car for the two-hundred-mile drive to Baltimore. Her poor little car would never survive the trip. Her mechanic kept it on the road whenever she had a few hundred dollars to throw at it, but a long trip would be pushing the envelope of safety. When in town, she had her dad's chauffeur at her disposal, and she occasionally used the Long Island train system.

"Traveling to Baltimore, Maryland is a bit far," she mumbled amid an angry crowd of passengers. She rarely took the train anymore. Having grown up in Nassau County, on New York's Long Island, she and her friends rode the train to New York City most weekends. School field trips in her early years usually entailed a train ride to a fabulous museum, zoo, or theater.

She must be getting desperate, if she thought the train was a possibility. But, the number of hours the trip would take meant she'd still arrive late. She had to get there fast, but buying a ticket at a different airline was out of the question. Since purchasing the condo, she'd stretched her finances thin.

Glancing again at the departure board with DELAYED posted by her flight number, Becka looked out the window at the empty tarmac, wondering what to do next. Her cell phone rang, and she jumped.

She searched out a quiet corner away from the check-in desk. She answered, surprised to hear a familiar voice. Worry gripped her and her fingers trembled around the phone. This charity project meant a lot to her and she wasn't there to help. How would she explain why she hadn't managed to arrive as yet?

"Hi, Stuart. What's up?"

"Where are you, adorable one? The coffee's hot and the sticky buns are a delightful change over last year's stale doughnuts, but the company is dull. I looked for you as soon as I arrived at the production studio. I expected to see your golden ponytail and succulent body flitting about. No one's here but that mousy little secretary."

"Do you mean Charlotte MacBean? She's the production assistant, not a secretary, and is very important to this project. She has everything planned down to the nano-second, so please don't tick her off." She took a deep breath before revealing the shocker. "We need her and I need you to be civil to her...especially since I may not get there anytime soon."

She cringed, waiting for the mud to hit the fan.

"What do you mean? You should be walking in the door this very minute. Hell, Rebecca, this whole project was your idea from the start. I leant my money on your recommendation."

The annoyance in his voice carried over the phone line, so she waited patiently for him to calm down.

"I'm trying my best, Stuart, but my flight has been delayed twice for mechanical problems and everything is booked solid," she lied. He had no need to know her financial status. "I should have driven."

"Don't be silly, Rebecca. We know the distance is too far for someone not used to highway driving. Are you still at JFK?"

She remembered other little digs he unconsciously threw out, but brushed off the growing irritation threatening to make her throw the phone against the wall.

One moment I'm his favorite person in the world, and the next an incompetent, helpless female.

"Yes. I'm at my gate but they keep brushing me off. They can't even give me an idea when we might have a plane. I suppose I can talk with Charlotte and have her start the filming but I really want to be there."

"And I want you here," he said. Desire tinted his words. His irritating growl reverberated through the sketchy cell connection. She couldn't misconstrue the lust in his voice. Not this time. She shivered, but she needed his money.

"I have an idea," he said, "I have several friends in the New York area with private jets at their disposal. Many keep airplanes ready to fly at a moment's notice. I'll make a few calls and get back to you. Stay put, and wait for my call, love."

"You'd do that for me Stuart?"

"I'd do anything for you, my delectable Rebecca."

She swept aside the lusty tone of his voice and an image of a lecherous smile. Curiosity made her wonder how he expected her to repay the favor. For a moment, she considered not getting any further in his debt, but this project was too important for petty fears.

"I'll wait to hear from you. And, thanks again." She quickly disconnected. While she looked around the terminal at the upset faces of fellow passengers, she hoped Stuart Craddock was as good as his word. Becka chewed on her bottom lip, betting he wouldn't ask his friends for use of a plane.

He'd demand it.

Grateful she only packed a rolling overnight bag for this trip, she prayed Stuart came through. When he did, she'd notify the ticket agent, so they wouldn't search for her.

Her parched throat and growling stomach would have to wait. She didn't dare move from her current spot. Cell phone reception in the terminal was spotty at best, so she would have to wait.

Her phone rang minutes later. Stuart certainly couldn't be that persuasive.

Could he?

Then she remembered last year, when he followed her around the studio and insisted on taking her to lunch. Meetings with her sponsors had saved her from attending more intimate dinners with him, and she wondered what excuse she could come up with this year.

"Hello?" Becka answered. She cupped her ear in order to hear above the crowds.

"Hi, this is Taylor."

Warm and intoxicating, his voice slipped through the phone line and made her insides melt. He sounded more in control, than when he dropped her off at her condo. A quick peck on the lips left her yearning for more.

"Oh, hi. What's up?" she asked with a nervous glance at her wristwatch. Stuart might call soon. She had to keep the line open. However, a shiver ran down her spine the moment Taylor's sultry voice said, "How was your trip? How's the project going?"

"Well, there's been a glitch and I'm still at the airport, but I hope to be in the air soon. I really can't talk now. Stuart Craddock, is calling me back from Jonas Studios in Baltimore any minute. I'll give you a call soon. Bye," and reluctantly hung up.

#  Chapter Six

Taylor stared at the phone. He'd fought the urge to call her for hours. He knew about her busy schedule and he'd waited long enough, yet she waited for Stuart Craddock to call? What did that bastard have to do with her?

He knew Craddock. The man slithered through life as a sleazy financial promoter who never leant a dime without expecting a fortune in return and not just repayment in kind. He held people's lives in the palms of his hands and many learned how tight his fingers could crush when he wanted something. Surely, Becka hadn't come under his influence.

Did her project need help? Creating public service ads cost money, but he assumed she accepted various grants available through TV networks. Maybe the amount they'd given wasn't enough.

No, that is not what irked him. If money were the problem, Becka or her dad would have it covered.

A horrible thought intruded. Maybe she and Craddock were lovers. Craddock knew Gloria. She said she invited the man to lunch. Thank God he had to fly to The Virgin Islands! If he had to sit at the same table with the jerk...

A fiery flash of anger sped to his fist and he slammed it against the wall. She'd blown him off because she expected Stuart Craddock to call. Taylor's insides writhed.

He jumped from bed, tossed his cell phone onto the dresser, and strode into his bathroom. He grimaced at his reflection in the mirror. The harsh light of energy-efficient bulbs revealed the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes and the tiny gray hairs blended into the dark blond hair at his temples.

When the Hell did that happen?

His lightly tanned skin appeared washed out, but didn't detract from his broad shoulders, sculpted abs, and taut thighs. His manhood hung long and thick, simply from thinking about her.

Physically, after a night of dancing, he felt fine and was thankful for small favors. After enjoying one glass of wine with Becka, he now understood what his good friends tried to tell him. Dancing with a beautiful woman felt intoxicating enough.

"I need a cold shower—or a swim." He strode back to his bedroom and pulled sweat pants on over swim trunks. He tossed a tank top over his head and grabbed his room key before heading to the rooftop pool. A little exercise would do him good. He had to get her out of his head.

He reached the elevator and the door beside it that led to the pool. He slipped his key card through the electronic lock then bounded up the short flight of stairs to the patio. He threw his towel on an empty chair and looked around.

I'm alone. Good.

No one would see his erection, caused by a woman he'd barely touched.

Water bubbled from a small waterfall. It flowed out of one wall, falling into a corner of the deep end. It reminded him of...

"Stupid!" Thinking of Opportunity Falls, back home, was useless. He was estranged from his family, and nothing could change that truth.

He stripped off his shirt and sweats. In bare feet, he raised his eyes to the sky. The hazy blue canopy meant great weather for flying. Now, why did he still think of her? She probably was falling into Craddock's arms this minute.

"Damn!"

Taylor plunged into the deep end of the pool. He mentally pushed aside all thoughts of Becka, as he glided through the cool water. Swimming laps in the penthouse guests' private pool helped relax tense muscles. In an attempt to keep his mind off her, his strokes grew more controlled and he concentrated on exhaling after every second stroke. The sun slowly burned away the morning haze, but he didn't waste a minute enjoying it.

Open to the New York City skyline, the pool's eight-foot high privacy wall, decorated with flowering plants and green ferns, kept prying eyes at bay. Still, when he came up for air, the open sky above made for an eerie sensation. Sounds of city traffic far below echoed off the walls. He missed both New Hampshire's Opportunity Falls and the ocean-side pool at his Malibu home.

Chlorine-laced water dripped down his face, stung his eyes, and burned his nostrils. He blinked. After several laps, he rested against the side of the pool, his elbows on the tile lip. Standing in the shallows, he glanced right, as the door whipped open.

"Wow!" he whispered. Taylor wrung both hands through his wet hair and watched as a young woman strutted across the tiles toward the pool. She must be staying in one of four penthouse suites, since the door denied access to anyone without a special key card. Of course, she could be someone's guest...or a whore. He'd heard stories. He knew the concierge of any given hotel could scramble up theater tickets, fresh Maine lobster, or company of the female persuasion. Not that he ever had the need to imbibe.

As he zeroed in on the Italian bikini hugging lush curves, her refined steps slowed. He resumed his laps, keeping to one side of the pool. An underwater roar signaled she'd joined him. Within moments, her strokes mirrored his. They continued their laps in silence, until he again stopped and stood in waist-high water near the side of the pool. Gentle waves lapped against his abdomen. He'd had enough swimming.

No, that isn't my real problem.

Thoughts of Becka disturbed his concentration. Watching a scantily clad woman, as young as Becka swim by, only added to his distress. He forced his brain to face facts. He hadn't bedded a woman in ages. To stay here in the company of this beauty could prove to be a challenge.

Before he could make his escape, the woman stopped in front of him practically caging him with her exquisite breasts. He nodded as he rung water from his hair, and thought of something to say.

"Hi," Taylor said, sounding foolish to his own ears.

"I am Simone. Do you wish to make love to me?" Her thick French accent twirled inside his head. It took a moment for her words to sink in.

"Excuse me?" He could not believe his ears. In the chilled air, he stood next to a beauty hot enough to boil water, but what happened to the man making the first move? Even during the height of his career with Space Rebels, women didn't approach him this fast. His ego rose, then plummeted fast. He realized this sounded more like a business proposition.

"Miss...ah, Simone, I'm sorry, but I don't even know you. Besides, if you're looking for payment for your services, let me warn you that this hotel has a strict policy against—"

Slap!

His eyes opened wide, but he refused to touch his stinging cheek. His words certainly got her attention, but not in the way he'd planned. Taylor hesitated, as anger marred her pretty face. He shook his head. He'd made a terrible mistake.

"I am no whore, you bastard. I found you pleasing to my eye and thought you might like to exercise a different way. Please excuse my mouth." Her arms waved with indignation, "It speaks before I think what I say. English is difficult to me. If you no interested, I will leave you to your swim."

"Wait. I didn't mean it," he said as he watched her walk toward the stairs leading out of the pool. He grabbed her arm and turned her toward him. She let him, and then batted her eyes with hope.

"What I meant is, I don't think you're a whore. My mistake, but I'm in a relationship right now."

She pouted. The look saddened him.

"But, she is no here?"

"No, but that's not the point. I appreciate the offer. You're a beautiful woman."

"Merci."

"Do you always go offering yourself to strangers? I mean, it could be dangerous. You have no idea if I'm a nice person or not."

Simone's head tilted as if contemplating his words. One tanned hand rose and slowly removed her hair-band. Long black hair fell wet and silky over one shoulder. She squeezed the water from the inky strands as Taylor watched, fascinated by extra-long fingernails painted a deep orange. Her green eyes watched him watch her, and a sly smile finally brightened her face.

She stepped with an excruciating slow gait up each step. Picking up her towel, she rubbed her hair dry before turning back to him. He waited for an explanation, but as the water chilled, he strode toward the steps.

"You are swimming in a private pool at an elite hotel in a magnificent and very expensive city," she paused, her heavily accented words filling the air. "My security personnel...how you say...checked you out?"

Anger sizzled across his chest and the skin along his forehead pinched. His mouth flattened into a tight, straight line. Gnashing his teeth, while formulating a response, Taylor sprang from the pool, grabbed a towel, and faced her.

"Your security cleared me? You think I'm a threat?" Who is this young woman who traveled with an entourage? "What possible explanation can you have for your behavior?"

"I am of royal blood from a small country off the coast of Sardinia. My papa, his Royal Highness Gustav, insists I have protection. It is very hard to find male companionship under these circumstances, no?"

A princess? He stood moping over a woman who flew hundreds of miles away into the arms of another, with an all-but-naked princess within his grasp. He rubbed his wet hair with a towel before he wrapped the towel around his shoulders.

"I'm beginning to understand. So, you're a Princess?"

She nodded.

"What did your security people tell you about me? I'm curious." He slipped on his sweat pants.

She wiggled her way over and placed a cool palm against his still damp chest. Her fingers curled in the mat of hair then slipped over one taut nipple, and pinched. He overlaid her hand with his and slid both back to the center of his chest.

"Please, answer the question." He backed away and slipped on his tank top.

She frowned, but sat in a chair.

He sat as well. This might be too interesting to miss.

"They say you are a financier and a very wealthy man. You live in Malibu in California, are unmarried, and travel around the world. I know not much more than that. However, I know for fact something intimate."

"What? Tell me, princess."

"I know you are a very handsome man."

His chest puffed at her compliment. She acted coy, and she certainly had given him loads to think about, but something felt off. Pictures of Becka in his arms, as they danced in the darkened club, burst to the surface.

He coughed, and crossed his legs to hide his instant erection.

"Well, that's not too thorough a job. Your security people could come up with more if they just Googled me." Since Simone looked mystified, he continued.

"Are you familiar with computers and the Internet?"

"I do not use them. I have people to tell me all that goes on in the world. Why, is that important?"

"You can learn a lot about a person from the Internet." He chuckled when her cheeks reddened. He wondered how she'd react if she knew his reputation as a has-been television actor. "I have to go, now, Simone."

"So soon?"

"It's been a pleasure." He straightened and then bowed, which brought a smile to her face. Yes, she looked much prettier when she smiled. If only he wasn't already in a relationship...

What made me tell her that?

He and Becka enjoyed one date. They shared a wonderful kiss with no prospect of anything in the future.

Taylor shook his head as he walked down the hallway to his room. He nodded at a server pushing a rolling cart filled with food to the door before his. A burly Goliath waited by the open door and Taylor made eye contact, and immediately wished he hadn't. A holster under his left arm displayed the butt end of a black handgun. Who the heck needs an armed guardian? The princess?

She said she traveled with security. Still, anything having to do with handguns unnerved Taylor. He unlocked and entered his suite, then headed for the stairs to his second floor bedroom.

"Becka and I are not in a relationship." His angry words echoed through the empty suite. Here in New York City, he endured a waiting game while she flew to Jonas Studios in Baltimore, Maryland. Miles away and doing something without him, she probably forgot he even existed.

Taylor entered his bedroom, slammed the door, and slipped out of his clothes. After turning on the shower, the spray cleansed his body of the pool's chlorine smell as he, again, dreamed of Becka. She'd flown to Baltimore to create public service announcements concerning a charity involved in breast cancer awareness. A chill flooded his entire body.

He turned up the shower's temperature. With the hot water on full blast, he pushed painful memories away. Nothing made him want to think about his mother. He could not help Becka's charity, no matter how much it might improve her opinion of him. To do so would bring back all the awful memories.

***

"Yes, Stuart, I'm on board. We're taxiing so I need to turn off my phone. I'll call as soon as I've landed. I'll take a cab directly to the studio. Tell Charlotte to keep everyone happy. I have faith in her, so you need to give her a chance. Goodbye." Becka flipped her phone shut. A flight attendant approached from the rear galley.

"Something to drink as we prepare for take-off, Miss?" The male flight attendant held out a glass of bubbling champagne.

"No, thank you. I can't drink that. I've been waiting at the airport for four hours and I'm starving. That will make me pass out," she answered, laughing lightly. She sighed as she buckled her seat belt. She looked around at the empty elegance of the private jet while she relaxed into the soft cushions of a huge leather seat.

The attendant returned with a basket of food. The granola bars and fresh fruit looked like caviar to her empty stomach. When he returned with a tall glass of orange juice, she nearly swooned.

"Thanks. After I finish these, I'll gladly enjoy a glass of champagne."

He nodded and disappeared into the rear cabin, leaving her alone with her snacks and her thoughts about Stuart Craddock. Irritating as the man could be, Stuart had come through in a pinch. He was a difficult man to read.

His moody disposition and black onyx eyes followed her everywhere. His gracious invitations to parties and events left her speechless, yet she always declined. The elegant, good-looking fifty-year-old was richer than rich.

He was tenacious, especially when it came to reminding her about the money he'd spent on her project. A mutual acquaintance introduced them at one of her first tennis competition banquets. Becka enjoyed listening to the stories he told the crowd. They clung to his every word. He'd winked at her and she'd even danced with him. However, his offer to spend the night at his swanky hotel suite sent up her internal warning flag.

She had been surprised when he offered to help her project, but as time went by, he seemed to feel she owed him something more substantial than advertising credits and endorsement potential. However, he managed to provide a private jet to Baltimore, and she was happy to be on her way.

When she realized she'd owe him for this, nervous butterflies flitted about in her stomach. Such a powerful man looked for ways for beholders to pay up.

Dad doesn't like Stuart Craddock one bit. I wonder what Dad will say if he finds out I'm dating Taylor Adams.

One evening together is hardly dating. Taylor seemed to enjoy dancing with her, and his disinterest in Ronnie shocked her. He certainly looked hurt when she cut their night short. She warned him about the early flight during a break from dancing, but only after Ronnie let the cat out of the bag.

She shook her head clear of memories of last night. Fighting to calm her rapidly beating heart, she tried pulling herself together. She refused to waste time with dates, or boyfriends, or any life outside of tennis.

However, the memory of Taylor's large hands pressing her body close to his muscular chest, and his steely erection sent a tingle between her legs. Becka crossed her ankles and held back a whimper.

Thinking dirty thoughts at thirty thousand feet wasn't smart, especially when the cause of these intense feelings was hundreds of miles away. She had probably upset him, too, especially when her cell phone rang.

Taking a big gulp of champagne, she was surprised to find she was angry at how that call had brought an abrupt ending to their date. She'd disappeared inside her condo so fast the poor man never had a chance to land more than a peck on her lips.

She hadn't planned for the evening to end in such a way. She knew enough to realize if she succumbed to Taylor's warm embrace, she'd never escape. She could almost feel his arms around her, while his masculine scent poured over her. She sighed, imagining his delicious lips pressed against her mouth. She hadn't planned on Stuart Craddock calling to confirm their meeting the next morning. If only he hadn't called at that particular moment...

Too bad our evening ended on a sour note.

#  Chapter Seven

Taylor relaxed in a plush leather first-class seat on the earliest flight he could get from JFK. He felt stupid flying off to Baltimore with no reason except to see Becka.

Not quite true.

What would he say to Becka? How could he explain his appearance? He'd look like a lovesick fool unless he came clean with the real reason he flew to Baltimore. In between dances last night, her face lit up as she talked about her charity work.

"It's actually fun," she'd gushed, "especially working with well known people. I've met senators, governors, TV talk show hosts, and race car drivers!"

"Tell me more," he'd asked. "What exactly do you do for two days, and where do you get all these famous people who come to help out?"

"Well, we record thirty-second public awareness spots for television. A celebrity speaks candidly about breast cancer. They'll tell people about the availability of tests and procedures. Others might explain how to speak to a doctor or where to turn when the news is bad. The best ads are by those personally affected by breast cancer."

That night, he'd tossed and turned. Her words, specifically about those personally affected being the best speakers, compelled him to fly to Baltimore.

I'm lying. I want to see Becka.

When he'd asked her who opened doors for her to meet famous people, Stuart Craddock's name came up, which immediately tamped down his good feelings.

After speaking with her early this morning, Taylor decided to help her project. He certainly wasn't a well-known politician or world leader, but he wanted to see exactly what she did for the charity. At least he could offer a monetary donation if the networks didn't pay all her expenses. She might kick him out the moment he arrived, but Stuart Craddock's involvement meant Taylor couldn't leave anything to chance. Especially after having her in his arms.

His body hummed at the thought of a certain silky blue dress. The fabric offered no protection between her luscious curves and his excited torso. Had she felt his arousal as they danced among the crush of people? His erection had strained against his clothing as if she'd been the first female to ever dance so close. He swept her around the crowded floor and enjoyed envious stares.

If she'd noticed his body's reaction to her beauty, she'd kept quiet. The cab ride home passed slowly and in silence. Still, he held her hand the entire way and harbored the slightest hope she'd forget about her early flight. When her cell phone rang the moment he leaned in to kiss her good night, he'd given up and gone home.

A flight attendant appeared at his shoulder and interrupted his pitiful thoughts. He sat up straight, uncrossed his legs, and met the women's concerned gaze.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Adams? I beg your pardon but there's a little boy in coach who recognized you and wondered if I could ask you for your autograph. I usually don't allow such bothersome requests of our first-class passengers," she said with an apologetic smile, "but he's on his way home from a burn center. Would you mind?"

He forced his lips to smile his famous crooked grin, which made women of the world sigh during the entire five-year run of his television show. Pleased, when it worked on this leggy brunette, he glanced back toward the large cabin of passengers before giving her his answer. Soothing the whims of a child wasn't usually up his alley. However, since he wanted to get his mind off Becka and Craddock, he might as well indulge the kid. He had nothing better to do.

"I'd be happy to sign an autograph. Would he like to come up here? That is, if he's able to?" He didn't want to leave the comfortable anonymity of the first-class cabin, but even he wouldn't make a child in pain feel worse.

The flight attendant smiled back at him and said, "I'll ask his mother."

Minutes later, a dreadfully scarred little boy limped up the aisle in bright green sneakers. One bandaged hand hid in a woman's tightly clenched fingers.

"Mr. Adams, I'm Timmy's mom, Tina. He's so excited. He saw you when we were boarding but I didn't believe him. Thank you for seeing him."

The child stood eerily still, watching him with the biggest brown eyes Taylor had ever seen. Taylor's chest constricted and a lump formed in his throat as his eyes focused on the child.

Timmy was bald as a melon.

Pink, shiny, new skin covered most of his face, leaving one eye socket puckered and half closed. The child had lost an ear. Timmy rubbed the other with a bandaged hand, short a couple of fingers. The skin around his neck lay wrinkled and mottled. Taylor swallowed a curse and silently chastised his ego for even considering saying no to this kid.

Out of his element, he hid his alarm behind a grin while perspiration ran down the back of his neck. He wiped both palms on his slacks as he unfolded from his seat and stood in the aisle. People in the cabin behind his visitors stared.

Whatever he did now could make his career. Or keep it in the toilet. Taylor knelt down on one knee without attempting to shake the boy's bandaged hands. With the boy's mother, members of the flight crew, and other passengers looking on in silence, Taylor opened his arms.

Timmy took the hint.

The boy fell into Taylor's hug as if they'd been friends forever. Taylor smiled up at Tina, who had tears in her eyes. People in the cabin sighed, audibly.

"So, this is how it feels to be a hero," he whispered to the kid before pulling out of their gentle hug. "I always have time for a fan."

He had spoken louder for all to hear. "Now, do you have something I can autograph?"

"Will you sign this?" Timmy lisped. He pounded one bandaged fist at his chest. Taylor frowned until Tina laughed. She gently spun her son around and pointed to the back of his shirt. Taylor recognized the lime green shirt from last year's Sci-Fi convention. A silk-screened photo covered his back. Taylor's television persona, Bennett Rage, looking young and virile in his Space Rebels uniform, stared up at him.

"Ah, that was a long time ago," he sighed. Tina passed him a black marker and he signed both his real name and his character's name with a special message to Timmy.

"He'll never let us wash that shirt again. I'll get his dad to frame it. Thank you so much."

He rose and pulled Tina into a friendly hug, and gave Timmy one last pat on his baldhead. The cabin exploded with clapping. After a small wave, he collapsed into his seat. He overheard Timmy say, "I'll never forget this."

As he rolled the boy's words in his mind, he watched them return to their seats and then faced the front of the plane. He sniffed. Tears threatened to fall. Under his breath he muttered, "Neither will I, kid, neither will I."

***

The studio voices faded into silence as an elegant woman with a shock of white hair and a strand of pearls around her wrinkled neck walked on stage. A woman known for her years as a White House correspondent, the graceful woman turned then stood next to a stool. She spoke her lines into the camera. Behind her hung a simple solid pink wall, the color of breast cancer awareness. The shade perfectly complimented her gray silk dress. After she finished, a familiar voice yelled, "Cut!" Becka ran onto the stage and embraced the woman in a big hug.

That's my Becka.

Taylor glanced around the darkened room, then back toward the stage area. The lights raised and others scurried about doing various jobs.

He spied Stuart Craddock sitting in front, near the cameras, as if he owned the place. When Taylor realized the bastard also sat next to the empty seat Becka had recently vacated, his fists tightened.

With Craddock's function here a mystery he planned to unravel, he stared at the older man's short brown hair filled with large sweeps of gray. His suit looked too stiff for such an intimate rendezvous inside a darkened studio. A gaudy gold ring glittered from his right hand while the other snapped at a mousy little woman holding a clipboard.

"Taylor! What are you doing here?" said a familiar and utterly surprised voice. He flicked his attention away from Craddock, but not before he caught the scowl that marred the man's face.

Becka skipped happily toward him. When her soft hands clasped both of his, his body responded, and he shifted uncomfortably. She smiled up at him while she squeezed his hands.

A sweet heat pumped from her body into his fingertips, and her subtle fragrance made him harden. Her eyes sparkled with pleasure, causing his heart to skip a beat. She didn't seem mad at him for showing up, and Taylor privately thanked the Lord he hadn't made the trip for nothing. So far, so good, but he better not jinx this by saying something stupid.

"I couldn't get you and your project out of my thoughts last night. I decided to come and help."

"You want to help?"

He froze at her look of disbelief before continuing. "Yes. Is there anything I can do to support the cause? Can I make a donation? Send me to the corner deli for coffee and donuts while you work? I'll do anything at all."

Her intense expression, filled more with skepticism than gratitude, launched a nervous tick along his left cheek. Did she think he lied simply to be close at hand?

"Of course you're surprised. I'm sure you never dreamed I'd follow you to Baltimore." He couldn't understand it, either. Stuart looked less than happy, too. "Hear me out."

"I'm flattered you wanted to see me so soon, Taylor. I was under the impression you and Dad had more business to take care of. Besides, why would you want to help me?"

"Your dad had other plans, so I had a few days off. Please. I need to do this. Truthfully, it doesn't only concern you." He watched her suspicions change to shock. "We need to talk. Can I take you to lunch?"

"I made plans, but..." she hesitated. "Wait here. I'll be back." She crossed the studio to the short, plain woman with the clipboard. He'd seen Craddock snapping his beefy fingers at her and instantly felt sorry for her. As the two women talked, Taylor leaned against a wall and crossed his arms across his chest. He willed his cock to behave, praying the bulge in his jeans would settle down before she returned to his side. He watched her make her way to Craddock, lean down, and say something in his ear. As she bent over, Craddock's gaze locked on something far lower than her face.

"The pervert."

As a scowl filled Craddock's face, Taylor grinned. Whatever she told him, he didn't like it. Soon, Becka and the mousy little lady walked his way, dragging him out the door and into the sunlight.

"Let's grab a cab," she said, "quick."

Taylor flagged down a taxi and Becka relayed their destination to the driver. When safely on their way, the two women broke into profound laughter. "I know I'm going to regret this, but what's so funny?"

They laughed harder.

A nervous smile pulled at his facial muscles. "Let me guess. Did we just run out on Craddock?"

Laughing so hard, tears formed in their eyes, "Sorry. Charlotte MacBean, this is Taylor Adams. Charlotte is our production assistant. She's the real brains behind this campaign."

"True, but you're the heart, darlin'," she said, "and it's nice to meet ya', handsome." Her soft southern lilt filled the cramped space inside the taxi.

"Likewise."

"Becka and I planned to go to lunch together, but Mr. Craddock expected her to go with him, without even asking her."

"Sounds like him."

"That's the way he is. Next time he'll lock it in before she gets away." Charlotte's words made Becka squirm. She looked uncomfortable, and shook her head as if gathering her thoughts then squeezed his hand.

"Charlotte means some men assume when they do a woman a favor, she owes him. He's one of those men. He makes me uncomfortable."

"He'd make a thousand-pound Texas Longhorn uncomfortable," Charlotte said. She looked out the window to watch for the restaurant.

"Why do you feel you owe him?" He stared at Becka, reading her expression. A frown wrinkled her brow. It worried him how she'd answer. He knew Craddock's reputation with women. The guy was not a nice man.

"The networks give us airtime and the studio for free, but the cost of staff, food, and transportation isn't included. Neither are the hotels where we house the spokespersons. Oh, we get deep discounts, which we appreciate, but it's still costly. Stuart donates quite a lot of money."

He stared at her and kept silent, wanting to hear more.

"I'm not sure what Stuart expects in return. Whatever it is, I'm bound to hear about it soon."

"The letch," Charlotte piped in.

"This is the third year he's helped us, but he wants more and more control each year. I don't volunteer my time for the publicity, though my sponsors are involved. They are happy I do it, of course, and I love being in charge. Stuart keeps putting in his two cents worth, and I find many of my workers, as well as the people I line up to speak, are getting upset."

"Present company included darlin'."

"Charlotte feels the brunt of his displeasure. But, if I can't count on everyone's help next year, I don't know what we'll do. He rubs people the wrong way."

She let out a deep sigh and laid her head back, touching his shoulder in the process.

His shoulder trembled under her touch. Did she notice?

"He barely tolerates me," Charlotte said. "Unlike our Rebecca here, I'm far from his idea of the perfect woman."

"He'll probably give me hell when we get back...or worse," she said, glaring at Charlotte.

"Well, it's the truth. The guy drools when you walk into a room. He growled and snarled after you told him you were going to lunch with the two of us." Charlotte grinned as she pushed her glasses back up her nose.

"What could be worse?" he asked. Although, he figured he knew the answer.

"He'll insist I go to dinner with him. What I don't need is an evening of double talk, worrying about how to get away without causing a scene. I can't afford to lose his money but I'll not prostitute myself."

Taylor kept silent as they left the cab. The three made their way toward the restaurant. He glanced down at the uneven cobbled stone road and smelled the tang of open water.

"Where are we?"

"This is one of Charlotte's favorite watering holes. This section is called Fell's Point, a historical harbor." She stopped outside a small bistro sporting tall, ancient leaded windows. Rusting wrought iron railings surrounded an open patio filled with tables. They slipped inside. Heads turned as they walked through the dining room over uneven wide plank floors. Amid intimate, round tables, the aroma of cooked crab and steamed vegetables assaulted his nose. His empty stomach growled. With years of practice, Taylor ignored the other patrons' stares.

His face seemed familiar to strangers, but he bet they couldn't place him.

His show had been off the air too long.

"I think some of these people recognize you," Becka whispered.

Charlotte giggled.

"Yeah, but I doubt people remember the name of my show." Ergo, another reason he needed to get back in the public eye. With lunch ordered, he leaned back and sipped a glass of ice water as he listened to Becka and Charlotte talk shop.

They turned their attention in his direction.

"You've been too quiet," Becka said. "Come on. Why are you really here? You said you didn't fly all the way from New York to Baltimore for me, though it would have been nice to hear."

His cheeks warmed. He took another sip of the ice-cold water hoping to sooth a sudden dryness in his mouth. About to answer, the jingle of Becka's cell phone broke the spell.

"Darn, I forgot to shut it off." Looking at the read-out, she groaned. "It's Juliet Starlings' agent. Excuse me while I take this." She apologized as she answered.

Taylor chuckled at the face she made.

"What do you mean she can't make it? I thought you said it was all set? Well, okay, maybe next year. Yeah, I'll hold you to that." A soft curse escaped her lips making Charlotte gasp and Taylor smile.

"Juliet Starling isn't coming?" Charlotte asked.

Becka nodded in disgust. Her phone rang again. "This better not be more bad news," she threatened.

Forty minutes later, their delicious meal a tasty memory, he couldn't help but notice Becka's darkening mood. The two calls had transformed her sweet face into a pale façade. He cursed his weak body for praying she'd smile again. He worried about her and her project throughout lunch. He wished he'd ordered a beer.

He came up with an idea to help, but guilt made him uneasy about how to bring up the subject. He didn't want to come off as being full of himself. Holding back a chuckle, he wondered why he cared. Getting back to the problem at hand, he asked her, "What does the loss of those two celebrities do to your production? Is this really such a disaster?"

"Yes! This is a catastrophe. We have to produce a certain number of announcements because the network already has the spots positioned and ready to incorporate into their broadcasting schedules. They don't want redundant ones, so it's not like we can use one of them twice," she explained.

A stray droplet slid down her pretty chin. When a pink tongue slipped out and licked it away, Taylor's body reacted. He pulled his linen napkin from his knee and placed it over his swelling groin.

"Each celebrity is contracted to do one spot," Charlotte added, "and if we offer a second spot to any of them, the other spokespersons will say that's unfair. He or she may not want to come back and help us next year. This is awful."

He slid his attention from Charlotte back to Becka. The deep blush of her cheeks held the only evidence of her anger. Could all her concern lie with her project? What would the mighty Craddock say, when he learned of this catastrophe. Might he take it out on Becka?

"Where will I find two more people on such short notice?"

She excused herself, saying the problem made her queasy. "I'm going to go splash cold water on my face. Charlotte, keep Taylor company, please."

He watched her leave.

"What started out as a nice lunch has turned into a headache," Charlotte muttered.

"How do you two plan to deal with the problem?"

"With two no-shows, Becka's time between production shots is destined to be consumed with cold calls to agents in order to find someone to fill the holes."

Taylor realized this also meant less time alone with Becka. An idea to alleviate their problem, and get on Becka's good side, came to mind. He figured the best person to pitch his idea to would be Charlotte.

"I have a suggestion to help with your dilemma, but I hesitate to ask Becka. I may not be a celebrity in her eyes, but if I can help by filming a promo spot, I'd like to."

Charlotte choked on her drink.

He expertly hid his growing distress as he continued. "Also, Becka would be an excellent spokesperson if she hasn't made an announcement spot yet. She's well known on the tennis circuit and will soon be on the Olympic tennis team."

"That's a great idea, Mr. Adams," Charlotte said, after clearing her throat. She smiled at him and said, "Leave it to me, but let's not mention anything to Becka or Mr. Craddock."

Intrigued, he agreed. "Please. Call me Taylor," he added as they both sipped their drinks. Becka joined them at the table a few minutes later. They argued over the check for several minutes.

"Why do women do that?" he muttered. Her project fell short, moneywise, and he had plenty. It seemed simple to him. He didn't bring either reason up in front of these two headstrong females. Instead, he grabbed the check and paid for lunch.

The three caught a cab and headed back to the studio. He enjoyed the last few minutes of their company before he lost them to the noise and confusion of a production studio, and Stuart Craddock's scrutiny.

Taylor hid against a wall in the darkened room. He looked away from the spot lights directed at the pink backdrop and let his gaze roam. With a deep intake of breath, he watched Craddock stare at Becka. Taylor strained to hold back a growl at the hungry look in his eyes.

"Becka is too nice a girl to be bothered by that lecherous old bastard," he muttered, recalling Craddock's reputation. No way would he let Craddock get Becka alone.

#  Chapter Eight

An hour or so passed while spots were set and filmed. She shot a smile his way, now and then. They didn't get a chance to talk about tonight, but he'd do all he could to get her to go home with him. No one had the power to stop their destiny to spend time together, unless Becka herself decided against it. Her smiles gave him hope.

"Of course, if I don't get a hotel room tonight I'll have to wheedle my way into hers," he mumbled, smiling at the idea. He pictured Becka naked in the middle of a big, soft bed, her arms and legs spread. Unfortunately, he hadn't packed any neckties.

Soon, the woman of his dreams took a well-deserved break and disappeared into the restroom. Charlotte called him over to the stool in front of the pink wall.

"Here are your lines, Mr. Adams. Look 'em over and let me know if you have a problem with them."

"I asked you to call me Taylor."

"Okay, I forgot."

"You and I are doing this to help someone we both care for. We're in this together."

Her smile widened. He turned his attention to the paper she'd handed him. As a woman powdered his forehead, he read the short paragraph and grinned.

"Charlotte, you amaze me. Only a fan would come up with this so fast. I just hope Becka agrees."

"Thanks. I've been a fan of yours for years."

"Maybe I'm not famous enough for her project, but, if you think she'll be okay with it, let's shoot it. It's almost perfect. I'd like to change the last part."

"Don't worry about her, but why do you want to change it? Those sentences refer to your character in a fun way. What else do you want to say?"

"Becka told me the best announcements are done by speakers personally affected by breast cancer. I fall into that category."

She nodded, but concern reflected in her eyes. Here he sat, a little-known actor who'd never done this type of thing before. When moisture formed in his eyes, even he felt surprised. This was certainly not the time to get emotional, or the way to win Becka and land her in his bed.

The woman causing his emotions to flip-flop strolled into the room. She looked eager to finish up for the day. He could read it in her face. Tension vibrated from her ramrod-straight back to her clenched fists as she walked over and sat in the director's chair beside Craddock. Both she and Stuart Craddock realized Taylor stood in front of the camera.

"What's going on here, Rebecca? I don't see the space cowboy on the schedule for today." Craddock's scowl publicized the scorn and hostility he had for Taylor, and he snatched a clipboard from her lap, not bothering to wait for her to answer.

She held her hand out for the clipboard, not saying a word. She stared him down before he finally slapped it into her palm. He never noticed Taylor's expression darken at both the cowboy slur and his actions toward her.

No forty-year-old man likes to be called a space cowboy, and the bastard's rudeness toward Becka made his blood heat. Taylor coiled his fingers around the cue card, bending it.

"I'm not sure, Stuart, but I'm going to find out. Charlotte? What's up?"

Taylor hoped Becka had an inkling things were still under control. He prayed she had faith in him.

"Taylor is going to film a TV spot."

Becka's eyes silently pleaded as if asking him if he understood his actions.

He nodded to let her know he knew how important this project was. He didn't want her to worry.

"I'm here to help," he said as her smile brightened. "Charlotte suggested I film a spot after you had those two cancelations." He wanted to put her at ease in front of Craddock's smirking face. "She also thinks you should fill the other spot."

He stood perfectly still as she processed his statement.

"Wow, I guess that would work, though I don't think of myself as a celebrity. Sorry I didn't ask you right away, Taylor. Of course, you're a perfect choice. Sure you don't mind?"

"Becka, I got on that plane this morning to come and help. Let me do this. Again, I'm not doing this for you."

She looked hurt, then intrigued.

Craddock sneered. "Sure. A little free publicity and getting your face in front of a camera should help your so-called career. I'm surprised it took you all morning to vie for a spot."

Taylor let the crumpled script flutter to the floor. His body straightened with simmering rage, but he held his tongue.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Craddock," Charlotte said. "Perhaps you didn't hear what Mr. Adams said. I asked if he'd be able to help us in this emergency and he kindly agreed. You'll understand more once his spot is filmed."

Charlotte walked away calling for places and quiet. Glancing straight into the camera, he spoke his part from memory.

***

"Breast cancer research is a good idea for our planet. You don't need to search outer space for the answers. We're winning the fight right here. Years ago, before the tests and treatments we offer now became available, I lost my mother to breast cancer. I would have explored a hundred galaxies to find a cure if I could. You can help here at home. I'm Taylor Adams asking you to donate what you can to breast cancer research."

He finished his speech, then stared at the camera. A hushed silence filled the entire studio. How could he lighten the mood?

"How was that? I didn't hear you say 'cut' but I think it was pretty darn good for this here space cadet." He watched Becka's mouth fall open in shock. She made her way toward him and the stage, circled him with both arms, and hugged him, tight.

She's crying.

Shutting both eyes, to hold back salty tears and uphold his macho image, Taylor wrapped his arms about her waist, and embraced her sweet warmth.

He didn't do the TV spot to make Becka sad. He did it for his mother. He'd all but blocked memories of her and her illness, using work and alcohol when the memories proved too painful. However, if sharing his pain got Becka closer to his bed, let her think whatever she wanted.

He eyed Stuart Craddock. Outright disgust filled the man's face. With Becka's ear so close, Taylor took the opportunity to whisper words he knew would start trouble with the guy.

"Come to dinner with me and I'll tell you my story. I'd like to share it. Bring Charlotte, too, if you'd like." He pushed their bodies apart and accepted her nod as a yes. She returned to her chair and set up for the next shot.

In need of air, Taylor walked off the stage and strolled outside. He shoved his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans then leaned back against a wall. Sunlight hit his face and, this time, he did not turn away from its luminous embrace. Its grasp was vital in order to force a sudden chill from his bones. A little natural warmth reminded Taylor he existed, unlike his mother.

A screech of metal made his body tighten. He turned to see if Becka followed him outside for another embrace; or come to praise his help. Unfortunately, Stuart appeared beside him. Taylor waited for the man's bitter words.

"Well played, Mr. Adams. Not only did you get your pretty face in front of a camera, Rebecca says she has plans tonight, with you. I never guessed you'd be such a fast worker. I'll remember, next time."

"Her father and I are good friends, Craddock. Vinnie Delacourt and I plan to work together. I asked her to join me for a friendly dinner. Perhaps next time you'll ask her sooner, unless you assumed she owed you?" Taylor closed his eyes, dismissing the man. No need letting him know he harbored feelings for Becka.

"Let's hope this little relationship doesn't end up on another sailboat in the Caribbean."

Taylor gasped at the man's audacity. How dare he bring up such a painful subject? He forgot Craddock witnessed the lowest point of his life.

"You obviously have poor luck at sea," he added.

"So, why don't you head back to The Virgin Islands? I am sure some poor bastard needs your financial backing to screw up his life."

"My itinerary is none of your business, neither is Ms. Delacourt."

He ignored Craddock's barbs. He would not lose his temper over a dinner date with Becka, or a vague memory. Placing himself directly in the sights of a powerful man like Craddock could hurt his future. Better to stay on the man's good side, unless he hurt Becka.

The door slammed shut. Taylor let out a breath he hadn't realized he held.

When he got her alone, he'd explain to Becka she has the right to say no to any man. "Even me."

If Craddock didn't bow to her wishes in the future, Taylor Adams would be there to explain it to the jerk.

***

The trio exited a cab near Baltimore's Inner Harbor. Taylor glanced up at flags that fluttered in the breeze atop giant flagpoles. Children splashed in a shallow pool, and a waterfall cascaded from the top of a large stone structure erected near the walkway by the waterfront.

"Wow! Nice. This reminds me of Opportunity Falls back home."

"I didn't realize there are waterfalls in Hollywood."

He chuckled. "I was speaking about the one I grew up near, in a small town in New Hampshire. I'm not sure why it came to mind. I haven't been back in a long, long time."

Taylor followed Becka and Charlotte as they traversed the wide brick walkway between moored boats and the two-story upscale shopping center. Jugglers, in colorful shirts and ragged jeans, delighted a crowd. A guitarist entertained diners on a restaurant's balcony. An evening breeze swirled warm night air through Taylor's hair. He sniffed. The aromas of pizza and seaweed filled the air. The setting sun washed the sapphire sky with pink-stained clouds.

"This is my first time visiting Baltimore. I'm impressed." A large antiquated sailing ship rested by the dock to their left. Small boats sped across the open water, jostling for space amid cruise ships and water taxies.

He gave the passing crowds a side-ways glance. Several men shot him envious glares. A thrill skittered down his back as carnal visions hit him out of the blue. Walking grew uncomfortable. When they reached the top of the stairs, he relaxed. They entered a restaurant and sat at a table in a corner, facing the water. Ferns and potted trees framed an outstanding view.

"See that building across the harbor? That's the famous Baltimore Aquarium. It has the most amazing rainforest under the glass roof," Charlotte said. Her face reflected obvious pride in her adopted city. The aquarium's pyramid-shaped walls appeared to rise from the water, and stately buildings looked down upon it and its underwater inhabitants.

He nodded, happy he could hide his swollen groin beneath the table. Taylor chastised his body for getting ahead of itself. This was only dinner. With any luck, Charlotte will get lost.

When Becka loosened her ponytail, an intense surge of desire sliced through him. She'd escaped Stuart. Outwitting the bastard made him smile. When she squeezed his hand from across the table, Craddock slipped from his thoughts.

Charlotte didn't appear to notice the intimate gesture, but his body certainly had.

"This restaurant is more out of the way than the last one," he said. More of a sports bar gone upscale, tourists filled the tables on an early Sunday evening. Men and women, alike, enjoyed mugs of beer or glasses of wine with the marvelous view. He felt instantly at ease and approved of their choice.

"I hope you don't mind. This place has little charm or décor, but the food is excellent, the view is magnificent, and these tables offer some privacy. Charlotte lives near here and introduced me to it last year. I called ahead."

She'd chosen this table for his comfort and privacy. Her thoughtfulness tugged at his heart, but he shrugged it off. When Charlotte agreed to join them, he'd secretly groaned. But, he soon realized Charlotte was a funny, delightful person, once you get her out of the studio and away from her clipboard.

Her anecdotes about celebrities made him laugh, until their drinks arrived.

"I can't help but notice. You rarely drink alcohol," Becka said, as he sipped his iced tea. "I don't mean to be nosey. We had some wine in New York so I know you're not an AA member. Still, here you sit drinking tea."

He had to explain without coming off as a drunk. If her father heard any rumors about a drinking problem, his career would be over before it started.

"I recently decided I don't like the way alcohol affects me. I don't consider myself an alcoholic, but my friends sat me down one day and told me they don't like me when I drink. I appreciate the group of friends I've gathered over the years and I value their opinion," he said. He gave both ladies a wink. "So, I think I'll stick to tea. Besides, a drunk is not sexy. Am I right?"

The two women looked at each other, then back at him without answering, though their eyes checked him out. Luckily for him they couldn't see below his waist.

"If I behave myself, I may splurge and have Irish coffee for dessert."

"Fair enough. I'm sorry to hear about your mom. Tell us about her," Becka said. Her eyes flashed something, but she'd turned away before he could catch their meaning.

He relayed the sad story as quickly as he could. He'd learned to push the memories away into a dark corner of his mind. Speaking about his mother usually made his hands tremble. Becka's hand slid across the table and grasped his once again. Charlotte's left eyebrow arched.

"I was sixteen and I thought I knew everything about breasts. I'd even groped an impressive pair in a dark movie theater, but I never heard of breast cancer until Mom sat me down at the kitchen table and explained her diagnosis."

Becka gasped.

He looked at her, embarrassed at the shock filling her face. He cleared a suddenly dry throat then took a deep swallow of his iced tea. "My mother's words hit me like a brick. I can still hear the ticking of the kitchen clock, smell chicken roasting in the oven, and feel the eerie sensation of my hands going numb." He flexed his fingers feeling the same.

The heat of her skin lifted him from the encroaching bad mood. He gave her a weak smile and forced a grin to hide the pain of what he'd done next, so many years ago.

"I couldn't speak. I couldn't even move until she came around to give me a hug. I pushed her away and ran out the door as fast as I could. Later, after I'd licked my teenage wounds and went home, we never talked about it again. Soon after, she went back to the hospital and didn't come home. By then it was too late, and left dad with 5 children to raise alone. I grew up that day, and helped raise my siblings."

As the evening proceeded, a cruel silence stifled their conversation. Coffee and dessert arrived. He sipped his whiskey-laced beverage, but found it sadly unpalatable.

***

Tendrils of steam swirled up from the coffee Becka stirred, while she stared out over the water of Baltimore's Inner Harbor. She tried to think of anything but the brooding man sitting beside her. The curvy neon lights of the aquarium mimicked ocean waves, and promised to lie on a beach before her time ran out. She ran to this meeting, to that event, and back again without rest.

What would it all mean if she disappeared from this earth tomorrow? Small as it was, her charity work would be her legacy. Charlotte excused herself, startling her from her reverie.

"I'm gonna' grab a cab home."

Taylor jumped to his feet. "Wait a minute. I'll take—"

"No. I am winning this argument. I know most of these cab drivers and I'll be just fine. You two stay and finish your coffee."

After thanking him for dinner, Charlotte planted a friendly peck on Becka's cheek and waved goodbye. Taylor sat back down while she peeked at her watch. Only eight o'clock, but she'd been up since dawn.

The combination of sleep deprivation and sexual tension won out. Images of falling asleep in his arms surprised her, especially when he suddenly spoke to her over his mug of Irish coffee.

"Can you point me to a hotel? I neglected to make arrangements."

"Sure. Let me check with my hotel. I reserve a bank of rooms for celebrities. It's only a few blocks away. A nice walk would do me good. You?"

He nodded, and paid the bill.

She didn't argue this time. Following him, he led her down the stairs and onto the brick walkway. Music blared from a cabin cruiser docked twenty feet away. She waited until they neared the waterfall before continuing their conversation. The minutes gave her a chance to calm the lust causing havoc with her sense of right and wrong, but the need to touch him grew too strong to ignore. She wrapped her arm through his.

"Tell me more about your family. Do you really have four brothers?"

"Actually, three brothers and a tom-boy sister we call Jo. Josie is the baby, and my brothers and I grew up keeping all the boys away from her. God, I miss them all."

"What do they do for work?"

"Mason, my accountant, lives in LA, close to my home in Malibu. I see him every few months, but the others live in New Hampshire. Gunnar and Garrett, the twins, are in law enforcement. Jo is a paramedic with a small fire department."

"Do you keep in touch with them?"

Taylor shook his head.

"Are they pains in the ass?"

"No! I'm simply busy and live thousands of miles away from New Hampshire."

His deep sigh made her wait patiently for him to continue.

"I miss the mountains almost as much as my family, especially the waterfall." He seemed to stare into space.

"A waterfall?"

"Opportunity Falls, back in Fairfield. I remember swimming in the river, and I was just thinking about this girl..."

"Yes?"

His tan cheeks darkened, and a smile brightened his face. "There's this little cave tucked behind it, where young lovers meet, and...I..."

"I get the picture. Sounds like happy memories. You're here, on the east coast again. Maybe you can visit?"

He chuckled. "Maybe after I conclude my business with Vinnie."

"Sounds like a plan. Hey, do you have a suitcase?"

He looked stunned at her change of topic, but she didn't want him asking about her family. How would she explain Laney?

"I neglected to pack one. I didn't plan any of this."

"That sounds so unlike you."

He stopped, and glared down at her. "How so?"

"I pegged you as a man of schedules and discipline."

"Surprise! Anyway, if you can come up with a toothbrush, I can get by."

"My hotel is very resourceful and they have a well-stocked gift shop. If you're up to it, we can walk around the park first. It's a beautiful night. Even though I'm weary, I'm ashamed to admit I have some pent-up frustrations to work out." She hooked arms with Taylor and ignored his open mouth response.

***

Her giggle sent searing heat through where they touched, up Taylor's arm, until it frazzled his brain. Frustrated, he groaned. He knew his frustrations had to do with something more basic than work; something animal. He wondered how entering a jungle-like park would tame that beast.

As they walked through the park, he sniffed the fragrant aroma of Japanese honeysuckle. Pigeons cooed at an elderly couple tossing bread into the air. Ducks quacked in a nearby pond. Pinkish streetlights reflected in the surface, which rippled as they swam. Strolling along the narrow path with Becka by his side, Taylor tried hard not to think about their destination; a hotel.

Startled by the warmth of her touch on his arm, he forced his lungs to take a deep breath. His body tightened in a flash. He grew uncomfortable. Her hand slid down until they touched, palm to palm as they strolled. Stars twinkled in the sky. Only a handful of people enjoyed the park.

"This place is beautiful. It reminds me of Central Park," Becka said.

"Do you visit the park often?"

"Rarely, I'm ashamed to admit."

"Why not?" He gazed down at her shadowed face and something went thud inside his chest. Maybe he never walked in Central Park because he didn't have someone like Becka.

I better keep that thought to myself.

"Too busy, I guess."

How many of the Hollywood women he dated would enjoy walking anywhere? None. As he strode alongside a real outdoors girl, he realized he'd never met anyone like her in his line of work. He assumed he'd be bedding down across the hall from her. Taylor pictured a sleepless night in his immediate future.

"Damn, why does she have to be half my age?" he muttered.

"Did you say something?"

"Nope."

"I'm glad you agreed to this walk, Taylor. You wouldn't believe how many times I've tried to get a guy to do something like this. Most, and I mean ninety-nine percent, look at me like I'm nuts. How can TV, a movie theater, or indoor anything compare with this night air," she said, squeezing his hand.

"I love the outdoors and the ocean. Must be why I bought a house in Malibu, even though I grew up hours from the Atlantic Ocean. I learned to swim with my brothers and sister in the rivers and lakes of New Hampshire. God, why can't I get the image of Opportunity Falls out of my head?"

She leaned down, picked up a branch, and picked away small leaves. Her fingers mesmerized him. Long and pale white in the low light, he watched her fingers caress the bark and found it hard to breathe. "You said your brother is your accountant?"

"Mason is three years younger, with a damn good head for money. We communicate by phone and e-mail, and get together every few months, but I put my earnings into his hands and never looked back." He walked ahead. He smiled when she caught up, still picking away at the branch.

"Well, I hear Malibu is nice. Like I said, how can anyone prefer indoor activities to this?" she twirled the branch like a magic wand.

Her blond hair glowed like silver and bounced around her shoulders. Her gray eyes sparkled, reminding him of a fairy princess.

"Of course," he said when she turned and glanced his way, "there go my plans for taking you to a museum." Meeting her gaze, he chuckled when her eyes widened. He coughed when his groin tightened.

"I'd go to any museum with you." she said, barely above a whisper, "It is only fair since you agreed to walk with me tonight. Which museum did you have in mind?"

"I was thinking of the one off Columbus Avenue back in New York City, the strange looking one with the big planetarium at one end?"

"The Hayden Planetarium? It's part of the American Museum of Natural History."

"I've seen advertisements. I remember visiting it on vacation when I was really young. Mason and I went with my mother one summer...before she got sick. We did the whole tourist scene. The Statue of Liberty was kind of cool, but the planetarium was all about space and I never forgot my visit."

"Is that why you became an astronaut?" she asked in all innocence. When he gave her a strange look, she giggled.

Taylor rubbed a hand across a chin and thought back twenty-five years to a starry-eyed teenager. Did his visit to the planetarium ignite a spark, which made him run off to Hollywood, and fall into the role of Bennett Rage on Space Rebels?

Stopping near a small stone bridge, they watched as a young couple crossed it, strolling arm in arm beneath the moonlight. Becka sighed. "Aren't they sweet?"

The envy in her voice made him ask, "Why don't you have a boyfriend? Why isn't there someone special in your life?"

"I've been too busy. With teaching at the country club and entering tournaments to pay the mortgage, plus training to earn a spot on the Olympic tennis team, I haven't found the time. I'd like to be a wife and mother someday, if it doesn't interfere with my career. Besides, the men I meet are jerks."

He arched an eyebrow.

"Except for you, of course." Acting as if she'd rather not go into detail about her love life, or lack thereof, she pulled him along.

They had retraced their steps and now veered off to the right, toward a half-lit pathway leading through dense trees and brush. She explained that the path led to their hotel.

Why did an uneasy feeling grip his gut?

He furtively glanced to his left. He didn't want their lovely walk to end, but someone watched them from behind trees. Taylor could feel their gaze. He'd gotten used to fans jumping out of strange places to ask for an autograph, but no one would recognize him in this darkness.

This is something else.

"Let's pick up the pace, sweetheart. Didn't realize I was so tired," he lied.

Anything but tired, every nerve ending jumped to full alert, similar to when a battle scene unfolded on his old show. Danger lurked too close for comfort.

He could taste it.

"I'm sorry. I forgot you've had a long day, too."

"This is wonderful. I've been on the road too much, lately. Your dad is part of the reason, of course." He wanted to kick himself as soon as the words left his mouth. Bad idea to remind her he was a friend of her father.

"After I left you at the country club, I figured the two of you had ironed out a deal. Did that fall through? Is that why you came down here?"

"Vinnie is scouting out a few projects. He'll call if the right part comes along. I'm still considered an untried resource."

"What? You've been an actor for years!"

He winced. "But I've never acted on film. A television series doesn't help a resume even with a solid five-year run. I've been on other shows, all TV. The film industry is another ball of wax and it's hard to gain a foothold."

"And my dad promised to help?"

"His backing and influence are welcome and if we work together in the future, great. But, getting a film role doesn't rule my life," he said as he grabbed her elbow.

"What's the rush?"

Taylor almost broke out into a run. He wanted out of this park. Fast! He held on tight and pulled.

Becka kept talking. "I'm sure being on film will earn you millions."

"I don't need the money, but I want to work. Besides, how could I keep this face away from my fans?" He smiled at her, as he tried to hurry her along.

A twig snapped.

"Why don't you have to work? Doesn't everybody if they want to eat?"

Before he had a chance to explain, rustling leaves and heavy footsteps brought him around in an instant.

Beside him, Becka screamed.

#  Chapter Nine

The glint of steel flashed near their heads. Taylor lashed out with a solid kick while his arms simultaneously flew up and grasped a gloved hand. His foot met a knee and a satisfying crack followed by a grunt made him confident he was winning.

Dressed in black, his assailant fell into a shadowy lump. Taylor wrenched the knife away. In a flash, the man rolled, jumped up, and limped down the path.

"Vamos a estar viendo," the man cursed, as he sped away.

Off-balance, Taylor regained his footing and started after him until two hands grabbed him at the hips.

"Taylor, No! Let him go!" When her hands slid higher, coiling around his waist, she held him, tight.

Her skin chilled him through his shirt, as her terror vibrated through her fingers. She trembled from either the shock of the attack or the agitation pulsing off his alert body. His raspy breaths slowed as the adrenaline rush of the attack dissipated.

"Get rid of that thing," Becka said.

Gaining control of his breathing, her words sunk in. His fist clamped around the hilt of a nasty looking weapon. He tossed the knife into a nearby trashcan, then ran a hand through his mussed hair. He slipped an arm around her and pulled her tight.

"I'm sorry if I frightened you. I was going to chase him a few feet to make sure he left the area and not meeting up with some buddies. Let's get out of here."

"What did he say to you?"

"Something really odd. He said We'll be watching you. Watching what exactly?"

She shook her head at his words. Did she know what their attacker meant? They walked at a brisk pace. With her nestled against his side, they reached the busy sidewalk, then walked two blocks to the hotel.

"We have to call the police," Taylor said, breaking the silence.

"I assure you there's no reason to notify the authorities. That guy is probably long gone. Your kick obviously surprised him and he's probably someone down on his luck trying to make an easy buck."

"Which is why he said We'll be watching you? Explain his cryptic words." Those certainly weren't the words of a fly-by-night thief.

"Well..."

A shadow of doubt pricked his conscience.

***

When his arm fell away, Becka was surprised how much she missed his touch. Entering the stately hotel, she preceded him across the elegant lobby. Aware of Taylor's yearning for privacy, relief flooded Becka when the area stood empty of other guests. He registered, procured a key card, and acquiesced when the desk clerk asked for an autograph. Happy to see him occupied for a moment, Becka relived their harrowing attack. She had an inkling her sister might be involved.

Becka swept aside her sister's problems and earlier demands for help. The assailant's words sounded strange, unless meant for Laney or her family. Since Laney could be anywhere, the stranger must have targeted Becka.

Maybe she should have listened closer to what Laney tried to tell her. If only a mugger, wouldn't that elderly couple have been an easier target? And what kind of mugger wears gloves? Why would someone with a grudge against Laney try to hurt her or attack an adult male? Had someone sent the Spanish-speaking hood to frighten them? Why would they look for Laney or her relatives in Baltimore instead of Glen Cove, New York?

After Taylor retrieved a toothbrush, with only a slight arch of the desk clerk's left eyebrow, Becka asked, "Do I have any messages?"

She wondered if Stuart left a snippy note. After she told him she already had dinner plans, he'd seemed very upset. Actually, the man looked ready to spit bullets, and Stuart had also checked into this hotel.

He would not be a pleasant person to deal with in the morning. She shook her head at the thought, as she returned her attention to the clerk who paused at her question. Then the second shock of the night hit her.

"Ms. Delacourt, your sister was let into your room." She knew a look of horror crossed her face when the clerk continued in a defensive tone.

"The day clerk allowed it, I'm afraid. If there is a problem, I would be happy to accompany you to your room to rectify this situation."

"No, no," she replied after she began to breathe again. "I wasn't expecting her, that's all. I'll see what's up. She may be staying. Do we have any extra rooms?"

"I'm afraid Mr. Adams has taken the last one. Perhaps we could call another hotel?"

"Again, I'll see what's going on. I'm just surprised. I'll handle it." She turned away and joined Taylor at the elevator. He seemed unusually quiet. Had he tired after his flight, or did he still think about the mugger? Or, was he upset due to the unexpected arrival of her sister? Would he even remember Laney? Besides their four-year age difference, the only other dissimilarity was Laney's darker blond hair. Now everything had changed.

"A penny for your thoughts," she whispered, giving him a half-hearted smile. The eerily silent elevator sped its way to the tenth floor.

If my sister spends the night, there goes my chance to sleep with him.

He glanced her way. Did he sense she had something important to decide? She leaned into his chest, stood up on her toes, and kissed him. She offered him a gentle touch of lips on lips, and hoped he understood the sentiment. He smelled wonderful, like fresh air, the sea, and pine trees. His arms slid up to envelop her, but she backed away.

"What was that for?" he whispered.

Such a small taste of him left her breathless. "That's an apology," Becka finally answered.

"Why are you apologizing to me?" he asked, "I don't recall you promising something or hurting me in any way."

"It's my sister, Laney. I need to find out what this week's problem is." Taylor's eyes widened at her comment, but she didn't care to share her personal life with him right now. "She seeks me out whenever she needs something. I have no idea how she found me, but she weaseled her way into my room."

She hesitated, and the hunger gnawing at her center made her momentarily disoriented. How could this man affect her when all she wanted was to live life on her terms? No man would slow her down. Still, his presence made her lose sight of her goals, and that was dangerous. Always a problem, tonight her sister might be the solution, or a way to keep her from Taylor's bed.

He stroked his fingers through her hair, which brought her attention back to the man filling up the small space inside the elevator. Her body thrummed, since she found his scent, his voice, and his touch intoxicating. She stared up at him, knowing her next words would hurt. The elevator ground to a stop, and the doors opened behind her. She had to say what lived inside her heart, and fast.

"I apologize for not inviting you in, like I planned." She couldn't look at his face. She'd be able to read the hurt and anger. If she did, she wouldn't have the strength to push him away.

With an awkward shuffle, she stepped from the elevator. He did not follow.

She sensed his stare boring into her back as she paused outside her door. With a deep breath, she opened the door with her hotel key card. She slammed the door shut before the blaring television disturbed other guests.

***

Last night Taylor decided he hated Becka's sister, Laney. Becka admitted she had planned to ask him into her room. His mind whirled, trying to remember what he knew about Laney Delacourt. Thinking back, a small piece of hushed information came to mind.

Vinnie and Gloria started a family at a very young age. Gloria had been pregnant when they married. No secret, there.

No, this was something else. As usual, when something didn't pertain to him or his career, he hadn't paid attention. Sleep came slowly and only after he forced dreams of Becka's supple body from his mind.

Early the next morning, Taylor waited for the elevator to take him to the hotel restaurant for breakfast. He stepped inside the elevator and his body tightened with the memory of a kiss. How different last night could have been. She'd wanted him.

How would their night have ended if her sister had never arrived? Before last night's elevator ride and groin-swelling kiss, Becka had agreed to meet him in the lobby for breakfast. He wondered if she'd be there or if her sister twisted Becka around her little finger once again.

He strode into the dining room and immediately felt eyes boring into him.

He looked across the room, surprised to spot Stuart Craddock. The man didn't smile, but Taylor nodded at him anyway, and followed the host to a seat by the window.

He didn't feel like hiding anymore. In fact, the more people recognized him, the better he felt, especially if the accolades got a rise out of Craddock.

Sipping coffee, he signed autographs for several hotel guests while he gave Becka a few more minutes. He kept an eye on Craddock, and it made him happy to see the man finish his solitary meal. He hoped he'd leave before she arrived.

"No such luck," he sighed. He finished signing a menu for his server who'd been quick to bring him coffee, the third such employee to visit his table this morning. The woman he dreamed about all night walked into the room. Craddock stood up and reached her side in an instant. Taylor sat back and crossed both arms over his chest.

With a warning signal blaring in his head, he forced his body to stay still and observe what she did with the guy. He watched her eyes glance his way before continuing to talk with Craddock. Mister God's-gift-to-women grew agitated about something, making Taylor smile. She must be telling the jerk with whom she planned to sit.

Unfortunately, Craddock appeared to disagree. Taylor leaned farther back in his chair while he forced his eyes into dark slits. They probably matched the grim line of his pursed lips. He did his best to mind his own business until Craddock's meaty hand clamped down on her delicate forearm.

"Stuart! Please, don't make a scene," she pleaded, stepping back. The man made no move to release her.

Out of his seat in a split second, he covered the distance in a heartbeat. Shaken servers and shocked hotel guests watched as his intimidating action caused a stunned Craddock to let go of her arm and step away.

***

Becka stared at Taylor's face and clenched fists. She hesitated half a second before finding the words to disarm the situation. Her charity work could not afford to have anything or anyone upset Craddock, since the bastard's money held everything together.

Taylor knew nothing of Stuart's delicate hold on her charity's future, but it appeared too late to explain it to him. He defended her like a knight in shining armor. Her heart fluttered with pleasure at the thought, but it would have to wait, what with her charity work more important than her happiness. Besides, Stuart was harmless, but Taylor might hurt him just like he hurt that mugger.

"Taylor, please calm down. Stuart and I are just talking. Could you go back to the table? I'll be with you shortly." Will he do as she asked?

"No. You go sit down while I have a little talk with—"

"Taylor, let me handle this." She pressed her free hand to his chest. He gave Stuart a surly glance, before moving away.

She finished speaking with Stuart, and walked over to their table. She didn't realize how stiffly he held his body, until she touched his tense shoulder. He abruptly rose into a fighting crouch, knocking over his chair.

"Taylor, calm down. Everything's fine," she assured him. She tried to smile, as she rubbed her jittery stomach with her other hand. "I explained to Stuart my sister's visit is an added complication. He became livid. He still expects me to be at his beck and call. I didn't realize how unreasonable the man could get. I'm thankful you're here to take my mind off him."

"If you're sure."

She chewed on her lower lip, and nodded. Actually, the best thing to do might be to get this man in her bed and drown out life's problems with screams of pleasure.

She turned her head away to hide her burning cheeks, and pretended to check if Stuart had left the dining room. She chastised herself for feeling anything towards Taylor. She had no time in her life for a complication wrapped up in his perfect, delectable, body.

"I'm okay, sweetheart, but I couldn't sit here and watch him put his hands on you. He has no reason to be hard on you, either. Doesn't he realize you're under a lot of pressure? You're juggling this charity production, your tennis career, an Olympic dream, not to mention your problematic sister. It's enough to make any sane woman go mad."

Worry lines marred his forehead while anger darkened his gaze. She glanced at hands reaching to clasp hers in a gentle caress. She cleared her throat.

"I'm starving. I have a feeling the rest of this day may try my patience, so let's eat. I really hope you're planning to stay. Will you come with me to the studio?"

"I'd feel better staying near you, until we find time to be alone together," he hesitated. "Am I scaring you off?"

She looked at him, as a prickle of pleasure swept from her chest straight to her inner thighs. She squirmed in her seat, and watched his brows arch.

"You want to be alone with me?"

"Yes," he said. The single word sizzled from his lips. She had to change the subject before she climaxed here in the restaurant.

"Last night, before we were attacked in the park, you were telling me why you don't have to work."

"I've been fortunate with my TV show earnings. My brother, Mason, worked as a stockbroker back then, and I made use of his knowledge to turn my salary into lasting income. He now owns an investment management company and handles my finances."

He gave her a sly smile, as if he knew she'd changed the subject. "I'm very well off. Even so, I own only one home, make use of hotels when I travel, and have never gotten the urge to collect stuff. I own one car and one Jeep, both over five years old, and I don't collect wives. I'm comfortable. I want to make a movie. That's my only passion."

"I'm sure you'll succeed. If something means so much to you, go after it until you grasp it tight. That's my motto."

***

After a quiet breakfast, Taylor flagged down a cab, and they headed to the studio. Things got busy as soon as they arrived. Several beautiful, female, Oscar-caliber stars waited to film their spots and he enjoyed the view. Long legs, perfect tans, exquisite clothes, and beautiful smiles made a heady mix, but only the voice barking out orders stirred his body. Becka smiled at everyone, as she walked from the stage, to the cameraman, or to her seat.

Taylor slid both hands into his front pockets to hide an inopportune bulge, and leaned against the wall near the exit. Shrouded by shadows, his gaze followed the action in anonymity. Even with all these lovely women a mere thirty feet away, all he could think about was how to get Becka alone, in the dark, naked, and do it before he remembered whose daughter she was.

A hot thrill filled his chest. This young woman was indeed a special creature and he could fall in love quite easily.

What am I saying! Such a complication would make my life miserable.

The day wore on, and the noise level increased. The mingled smells of perfume, sweat, and coffee masked the chilly conditioned air with an oppressive stench. When he spotted Becka walking toward him, he squinted and tried to read her mood. He wanted her happy every minute of the day.

"Let's hold off another hour before getting some lunch. We only have two more shots to film. If you can wait, we can slip out while Charlotte closes up production," she whispered. She eyed him with obvious interest. "I'll have to check on Laney, too. Plus, I don't want Stuart to get me alone."

"Ditto."

She smiled up at him, and his knees went weak. He inhaled her sweet fragrance, thankful for the improvement, and he managed to flash his famous silly grin. When she sucked in her breath, he laughed softly and hoped he looked as good as she did.

"Stuart wants me to go with him to a charity event in Mexico City and—"

"No way!"

Becka cringed. "It will be good for my career."

"Doesn't matter. I don't like him. Neither should you."

She ground both fists on her hips and glared. Taylor had to let her know how dirty this guy played and how far he'd go to get a woman in his bed, but how to accomplish it without coming across as a jealous schoolboy? Taylor smiled, hoping to ease the situation.

"I'm an adult, Mr. Adams," she said, deftly changing the subject. Her eyes widened as he straightened to his full six-foot height, raised one warm hand, and stroked her cheek.

"I have an idea." He paused to gauge her reaction. "Let's say we go back to the hotel and not check on your sister. My room's quiet. And empty."

#  Chapter Ten

Becka's thighs tingled. He tried to seduce her with words out in the open, in the middle of the day, surrounded by people.

"What about Stuart?" He'd be on her like a hawk on a sparrow, as soon as filming ended.

"Craddock doesn't own you," he said. "We'll slip out. You can send him a thank-you note, later."

She needed Stuart's money, nothing more. Even that might not be required next year. Her income from tournaments and endorsements would rise, once she earned a spot on the Olympic tennis team.

"Okay, I'll send him a note." She leaned in closer, as she solved problem number one. Her sister, problem number two, had promised to stay in the hotel room.

"Laney is a dilemma unto herself. I've allowed her to order whatever food she wants courtesy of the hotel, since they shouldn't have allowed her into my room. No liquor and no guests."

"Is she expecting you at any certain time?"

"No. She'll be okay until dinnertime. I'm still worried Stuart might come looking for me. He's staying at the same hotel, remember."

"Craddock can burn in hell for all I care. Besides, I saw him cozying up to a redhead. She told me she's between movies. When I wouldn't bite, she headed for him."

He beamed a crooked grin at her, again. The thought of his handsome face hovering over hers, while she lay naked on his bed, made her chest tighten and her breath catch. Yes, her afternoon looked better and better, even though she'd regret all this tomorrow.

Later, they successfully slipped away and walked inside the hotel. The desk clerk told her Laney ordered room service, twice, argued with the housekeeper, and made several long distance phone calls. Could Taylor see her scowl and rigid shoulders from across the room?

Her good mood fading, she cast a sideways glance at Taylor entering the small gift shop. She couldn't take her eyes off him, as he smiled at the pretty clerk, and made a purchase.

She finished her conversation with the desk clerk, thanking her for the information on her sister, then joined Taylor in the elevator. The short ride remained quiet. This scene felt like a rerun. He watched her, seeming to know she'd talk when ready.

"Laney is still encamped in my room. When I showed up last night, she pleaded with me to let her explain. I was hurt and angry and the pent-up terror I'd felt when you and I were attacked in the park hit me all at once," she spit out.

"What did you do?"

"I screamed some horrible words at her, turned out the lights, and ignored her until morning. I gave her the rules before promising to talk with her after the shoot. Then we'll leave first thing tomorrow morning."

"I'm leaving tomorrow, too."

"Good." She paused. He was so good-looking. A sharp laugh escaped Becka. Mortified by the look he gave her, she said, "Being with you feels right, but she is my only sister and I should listen to what she has to say. If you hang around any longer, you'd just be bored."

As they left the elevator, he pulled out his key card and walked her to his door, then looked at her with that wicked grin. Becka's toes curled.

"I don't plan on being bored this afternoon," he said, pulling her inside his room.

***

Taylor slipped the Do Not Disturb sign on the outside knob before bolting the door. Twirling her around, he leaned her against the door, and she squealed in surprise.

She looked stunned, her eyes wide and mouth agape. Not giving her time to think, his lips met hers, as he pressed his body into her breasts and hips. His hard, lean muscles met soft, warm curves, and he tasted her smile.

Her arms instantly circled his neck, pressing her body even tighter into the sculpted planes of his chest. Hungry hands roamed her curves. Golden waves hung long and loose. When he cupped a breast, she gasped, then moaned with a sigh of pure pleasure as his other hand stroked through her hair. Hearing her contented sigh, he pulled his face back mere inches to look at hers. She was so young, but her kisses were strong and purposeful. Her body's actions were not that of an innocent.

She opened her eyes and looked at him with a questioning gaze. He focused on her darkening orbs. "What's wrong? Why did you stop?" Her voice registered low, almost breathless.

His light stubble had scratched the flesh around her mouth. "Sorry if I hurt you. I didn't bring a shaver. I bought one at the gift shop, but I haven't had a chance to use it yet."

"Sorry, I should have given you one of my disposable razors." Her fingertips traced along his jaw, apparently fascinated at the light beard. Vanity made him pray she didn't notice the silver mixed with the dark gold.

"And I didn't stop kissing you just for that. I pulled back to give you a chance to change your mind. There's no turning back once we make our way to my bed. I've waited for this moment since you kissed me in the country club parking lot."

Without another word, she pulled his face close and arched her body even closer. His rapidly growing bulge prodded her belly and quickly brought his attention back to their situation. Before he could ask, she pulled away from him, breaking the silence.

"I have to go to my room for something. Hopefully I can get in and out before Laney notices me. I'll only be a minute."

"Why? What's in your room?" he asked, though he had an idea.

"Protection. I doubt you carried any on the plane. You couldn't have been that sure of yourself."

He kissed her again, sliding both hands up under her shirt to stroke her nipples through her soft cotton bra. Moaning with renewed pleasure, she opened her mouth. Taking control, he took their kiss deeper. Slow and sensuous, his tongue pressed between her lips, inside its warm, moist depths.

Finding her tongue, he sucked its sweetness into his mouth. She responded in kind, and their tongues danced like flames buffeted by a breeze. A deep growl of pure pleasure erupted from his busy mouth. Pulling back once more, she rewarded him with a groan of displeasure at the interruption. Sliding one hand from her breast into his shirt's front pocket, several small, flat plastic packets fluttered to the floor.

"Condoms?"

"Foolishly, I forgot to pack them. My toothbrush I could understand, but a gentleman never knows when he might meet the woman of his dreams."

A sweet smile filled her face and a lovely shade of rose pinked her cheeks. As he stood transfixed, she grabbed hold of the bottom edge of her shirt and pulled it up and over her head. Her long, slim slacks disappeared next, leaving her standing in front of him in her white cotton bra and bikini underwear.

He'd never seen anything so sexy. Lace and silk have their place, but they'd look out of place on this slim, athletic woman.

He unbuttoned his shirt.

With her trembling hands planted flat against the door, she gaped at his bare chest. Her feminine scent urged him on. He had to taste her.

Without breaking eye contact, he shrugged off his shirt and let it fall among the packets of condoms on the carpet. She looked at him with a quizzical stare. He hoped his body still looked good enough to keep her aroused.

"Like what you see?" he asked, surprised the words came out more like a whisper, raspy and hungry.

"Oh, yeah."

He spent time in a gym and jogged. He took pride in his trim waist. He worked hard to keep his skin lightly tanned. He watched her eyes slide from his chest down past his navel to below his belt. She seemed to appreciate his taste of clothes, like the silk shirt and Armani suit he wore for dinner and dancing, but did she think he looked just as good in plain blue jeans and a cotton shirt? These were more his style.

Her gaze still hovered below his belt, snapped to his face, and she smiled. He'd offer anything to know what churned inside that brain of hers. She suddenly looked miles away, and a dreamy expression crossed her lovely face.

***

Becka soaked in the view of Taylor's tawny chest and tight, sculpted abdominals. He obviously worked at keeping his body in excellent shape.

The sound of a zipper opening shocked her back to the present. Lowering her gaze, she stared at his groin, again. His erection lay hidden somewhere in the darkness below gold curly hair.

"No underwear?" she blurted out, gasping at her childish observation. She didn't mean to embarrass him.

"Like I said, I didn't pack for an extended stay. I rinsed them and they're hanging in the shower, unless some science fiction fan or maid swiped them. I must admit it's very liberating to go bare-ass at times, though not when you get a hard-on while watching a beautiful woman strut her stuff."

She bristled as she thought of the pretty starlets at the studio. Raising her chin, she'd tell him where he could stick his hard-on. When he ran one slender finger down her cheek, she shivered.

"I meant you, Rebecca Delacourt. I only had eyes for you. Plastic surgery-enhanced breasts and professionally dyed hair cannot hold a candle to your natural beauty."

She melted at his words, grabbed the two front belt loops of his jeans, and pulled him closer. Kissing him again, she opened her mouth, and sucked his tongue deep inside. The extremely erotic sensation and his lusty response helped push aside any thought that their coupling might be wrong.

A little voice inside her head screamed for her to get dressed, open the door, and leave, but her body had other plans.

While she caressed his mouth with her tongue, her fingers slipped inside his jeans and slid past those golden curls. And when she coiled her hand around hard flesh, Taylor groaned then slapped both hands against the door, surrounding her.

He stood perfectly still.

She pulled away, locking her gaze on his face. He seemed captivated by her touch, staring back, as if waiting for her to make the next move. Becka wanted to lead the way.

She kept both hands moving, caressing his erection and chest. Too soon, his groans joined a grimace crossing his mouth as if he experienced more pain than pleasure. He stood perfectly still. When she released his thickening erection from the confines of his jeans, it sprung from its hiding place, and she gently pushed him back a step.

"Wow. Is all that for little ole' me?" Under her scrutiny, he lengthened and thickened even more. Her fingers stroked him harder, and she delighted in the sensation of his velvety-soft flesh sliding over rock-hard veins. A moistened drop of fluid appeared on the head, and she swirled her thumb over the pearly wetness around and under the tip.

"Gently, woman, or this will be over too soon," he growled.

As his hand again cupped a breast, she inhaled with a quick rush of breath. A quick tug on her cotton bra exposed one nipple. Her small, high breasts complemented her athletic body, but after all the well-endowed women who traipsed across the stage, today, she worried he'd consider hers too small.

His head lowered, and he licked the pulsating bud. Her knees quivered, and she began sinking toward the floor. A hand slipped between her legs, halting her downward slide, while she struggled to regain her footing.

"Can you stand, sweetheart?"

She gave him her sweetest grin.

He leaned closer, then arched his hips forward and back. With his hand between her thighs, heat flared as his finger slid between the cotton of her underwear and her silky flesh, searching through the springy hair hidden beneath. Taylor whispered words of encouragement. She groaned as his forefinger found her pleasure nub and began a gentle motion.

"Yes, that's nice," she moaned, squirming with delight, urging him on.

As he replaced the finger rubbing her clitoris with his larger thumb, he slid a finger toward her satin folds, and slipped inside her weeping flesh. A cry of joy escaped her lips, making him pull back.

"If we continue in this manner there won't be any need for that condom," he whispered.

She looked up at him, her breath catching. He was so good-looking, so much more sexy than his television character. "That's okay with me. We have hours to kill. I'm so close. Please don't stop!"

A second finger joined the first as his face reflected his concentration. He rubbed and stroked while she did the same to him. A tremble coursed through her body, until her entire being writhed. When feminine muscles clamped down on his fingers, his eyes widened. He captured her lips but failed to swallow her scream in time.

Her body trembled and swayed with a delicious euphoria. Suddenly weak as a kitten, she rested her head into the crook of his neck. He smelled great, of lemon, musk, and male. Soothing heat pulsed off his body.

When sanity resumed, and she grew more aware of her surroundings, she recalled she had stopped stroking his cock during her waves of ecstasy. Fumbling, her fingers found him still hard and ready. As her body quieted, she leaned over and picked up a condom. She ripped it open with her teeth while one hand continued to caress his hard flesh.

A lopsided grin formed across his jaw and she stood on her tiptoes to kiss it away. She watched his lips part as he leaned in to kiss lips already swollen from his earlier ministrations. Before Becka could pull away and sheath him, an urgent knock shook the door. Becka dropped the condom.

#  Chapter Eleven

"Open this door!" a woman's muffled voice demanded.

Taylor glanced at a stunned Becka. She looked up at him as her cheeks flamed red. Without a word, she grabbed her discarded clothes and launched herself across the room and into the bathroom.

He snatched up the condoms scattered across the carpet, threw on his shirt, and zipped his jeans. Muttering unkind words to the person on the other side of the door, he squinted through the peephole. A woman with short-cropped dark blond hair and a nose ring stood on the other side.

Growling in disgust, he opened the door, assuming one of his Sci-Fi fans had discovered him staying in the hotel. He thought of a way to get rid of her, but she pushed by him, and slipped into his room.

"See here, young lady. I did not invite you in. You'll have to leave. I'd be happy to autograph something, but your timing is horrible."

The woman spun around. Her tight black leather mini-skirt matched a black tank top with a motorcycle gang logo on the front. Blood-red earrings dangled from short hair, cut close to her ears. When she paced back toward him, he noticed an orange streak down one side of her hair. She stopped. Tapping one of her knee high, high-heeled leather boots, she stared at him. Then she churned out a string of filthy words with such venom he backed into the opened door.

"Where is she? Where is my sister, Rebecca?" She glared at him, then glanced around the room. Strutting closer, she latched onto the front of his unbuttoned shirt.

She stared at his exposed chest, as he stood in the open doorway. Heat rushed to his cheeks. He quickly shut the door before answering her question.

"Laney? Is that really you?"

She looked at him for a moment then raised a fist. "Are you one of Bart's thugs? Are you trying to get your paws on Becka?"

"Who's Bart?"

"You don't work for Bart Spratt? Then who are you and where is Becka?"

He stared at her nose ring. "I'm Taylor Adams, a friend of your parents," he managed to blurt out. "I missed seeing you when I visited their house on the cliff. I saw a picture of you when you were a little girl, but I must say..." He paused at her growl of disgust.

Did she intend to pounce on him, or call the cops? "Laney, you've grown up to be as pretty as your mother."

"You know Gloria?" Her stare burned right through him.

"Ah, yes. What are you doing here in Baltimore?"

"I remember you, now. You're that actor who worked with Mom in California. Dad wasn't too keen on her doing that show. He wanted her home full-time. What a Neanderthal!"

He grimaced at the memory. Gloria auditioned for a part on his show as a singing alien in a planetoid bar. After they performed a love scene together, Gloria introduced him to her husband. At the time, Vinnie worked in Hollywood as a theatrical agent.

When Gloria sat in make-up on the set one day, they started a friendship and their familiarity lasted even after the Delacourt family moved east. Gloria left showbiz soon after, making Vinnie a happy man.

"Now you listen to me, Mr. Spaceman. Where's Becka? I know she's here because I heard her scream. What have you done with her?" She shook the fist at him and his gaze latched on tattooed letters on each knuckle that looked like a 'J' and an 'M'.

"I'm right here, Laney." Becka walked out of the bathroom, fully dressed.

"Explain to me how you knew where I am since no one here made any noise. We barely arrived from the production studio and discussed work. Taylor was kind enough to help out and—"

"I know screams. This one sounded like you."

"You're mistaken. That wasn't..."

Laney waved her hands, and an uncomfortable silence ensued.

"I know what I heard."

"And I say you're mistaken."

Taylor knew his afternoon was officially ruined. Becka stood by the bathroom door, defiant arms folded across her chest and feet spread apart.

"Don't get so high and mighty with me, my darling baby sister."

He noticed Laney made sure she stressed the word baby while she stared at him. He tensed.

"They told me room service is backed up. I snuck down to grab some munchies at the hotel snack bar. What a dump," she sniffed. "I saw this guy," she said, pointing a pale, boney finger in his direction, "buying condoms. When you joined him in the elevator, I freaked! I guessed what you two planned, but I gave you the benefit of the doubt and thought you might head up to our room."

He watched Becka turn toward the balcony window, unable to meet her sister's disapproving gaze, while Laney continued her tirade.

"So, I took the second elevator and it opened just in time to see you slip inside here. I've been pacing the hall. When I heard something or someone," again she paused as she stared at him, "pounding against the door, followed by a scream, I decided to break up the party."

Laney turned her attention to her sister before she continued. "I came to you, Becka, because I'm in serious trouble. Instead of listening to me, you blew me off both last night and this morning. Instead of taking your lunch break to come and hear me out, you come in here for a quick fuck—"

In a flash, Becka dashed over to Laney and slapped her, hard, the sound resonating through the quiet hotel room. With silent rage marring her features, Laney turned on her heels, flung open the door, and stormed out of the room.

Becka paused beside him, "I'm so sorry, Taylor, I..." her words faded away.

When he pulled her into his arms, she reached up and pressed her hands against his bare chest. He was glad he'd zipped his pants before her sister stormed into the room, but the damage was done.

"It's okay. Your sister obviously has a chip on her shoulder, but even I can tell something important is bothering her. Go listen to what she has to say. She's your sister. You have to try to help if you can." Laney had snuffed out the spark between Becka and him. At least, for today.

"Okay, but I'm really sorry we didn't get to...finish," she whispered. One hand drifted slowly down toward his zipper. Catching it between his hands, he leaned down and kissed her gently on her trembling lips.

"Later," he promised, gently pushing her out of the room. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done.

A week later, the sun burned brightly through the windows of Taylor's New York City hotel's penthouse suite. Squinting, he gazed out over Central Park with a longing he didn't understand. Maybe unresolved sexual frustrations had turned his brain to mush.

Glancing down on the green trees and twisting park trails, he sipped his coffee and he planned his day. He woke early because of a recurring dream. The images flooding his dreams disturbed yet another night's sleep.

In the latest dream, he'd pushed Becka up against a wall. He spread her legs apart with a knee. His aroused body and hot breath hovered over cool, creamy alabaster breasts that felt soft and tasted sweet. He pushed her supple legs wider and pressed his rigid length against her mound, making his entire body pulse with excitement.

His dream always ended the same. He awoke with a throbbing erection and a foggy memory of Laney knocking on the door, breaking the spell. The dream mimicked their encounter at their Baltimore hotel.

"At least Becka found release," he muttered, smirking at his reflection in the window. Using only his fingers, he'd pleasured her until she climaxed. From her trembling legs to her ragged breathing, the changes in her body excited him even as he tried in vain to swallow her scream. Her apology still rattled him. No woman he'd known intimately would ever consider apologizing for climaxing first.

That night, Becka's words stirred him in a way that made him uncomfortable. They'd shared something incredible between two consenting adults, that's all. It almost scared him that he'd acted so primitive, wanting to take her up against the hotel room door. That wasn't like him, especially since a soft bed was nearby.

She hadn't seemed embarrassed or angry when he produced the condoms, either. It still amazed him how many women didn't want to use protection. They'd insist they were on birth control and weren't worried about diseases.

As an actor, he'd heard the horror stories. He knew too many men trapped by unwanted pregnancies by their so-called protected bedmates. Several men, and some women, suffered debilitating medical problems, or worse. Why take chances simply to add to the pleasure?

Looking out at the park, he thought about Princess Simone and their poolside chat. Had she planned to use a condom? She couldn't possibly assume he carried any in his swim trunks. He chuckled at the audacity and naivety of some women, and again thought about Rebecca Delacourt. She'd called him after breakfast this morning.

"I'm home," she'd said.

His groin had tightened at the sound of her sultry voice, and his fist had clenched. He craved her touch, her smell, her taste.

"You're at your pretty condo in Glen Cove?"

"You remembered," she'd giggled. "It's close to my folk's house but not too close, if you know what I mean."

"Care to take me up on the museum visit?"

When she replied she hoped the visit would end better than their last, a shudder of anticipation slipped down into his groin. At the memory, he stuffed two condoms in his wallet. "Don't leave home without them" would be his new motto.

His cock thickened thinking about where he and Becka would finally make love. After only a few days in her presence, this woman had turned his world upside down. Even discounting the attack in the park and the jealous confrontations with Craddock, he wondered if she felt the same way. She answered his question about the museum and planetarium, saying his wanting to see those places with her certainly wasn't corny.

Taylor set his empty cup on the coffee table, pulled his black t-shirt on over his head then ran his hands through his unruly hair. He needed a cut, but Vinnie called and announced something hot in the works. He suggested Taylor not shave for a few days, either.

Who am I to question the master?

Taylor zipped-up well-worn jeans and slipped his wallet into a back pocket. He perched a set of mirrored aviator sunglasses on the sharp arch of his nose and walked over to look at his reflection in the foyer mirror. With his thick blond hair, and his body looking lean and dark, he rolled his shoulders up and forward. He turned sideways and checked out his flat stomach. He ate well and worked hard for the sculpted abs. He yanked on his belt and let his hand glide, lower.

Semi-hard, again.

A date to meet Becka at a dull museum made him feel as anxious as a teen on his first date. Taking slow, deep breaths, he concentrated on gaining control of his swelling cock. No way on earth could he leave his hotel looking like this.

He cursed at the time, and headed for the elevator. Becka insisted on meeting him at the museum, so he didn't have to make the long trip to her condo in Glen Cove. Fine with him. He wanted no chance of running into Vinnie or Gloria.

***

Becka slowly circled the massive foyer inside the American Museum of Natural History while she waited for Taylor.

"I haven't been here in years," she sighed. Immense stonewalls and slick marble floors surrounded a crowded lobby filled with people of all ages and every nationality. Spying a sign posted by the information desk, she walked closer to read about events going on in various parts of the building. She furtively kept an eye on the entrance doors. She didn't want to miss seeing him arrive, yet she didn't want to appear too eager.

Memories rose of a long ago visit. Only five-years-old at the time, she had lost sight of her parents. Her mom and dad stood only feet away, around a corner, but the terror had felt very real. Luckily, the rest of her day was filled with pleasant memories of dinosaurs, Egyptian mummies, and moon rocks.

I should have brought Jamie with me today.

No, Taylor wouldn't have liked that. The man obviously detested kids as much as wives, since he had neither. She vowed to do her best to make it up to the kid next week.

A frown tugged at her mouth and she labored to slap a simple smile back on her face. She remembered all the other things she promised to do with Jamie, since he came to live with her parents many months ago. The tennis lessons and an occasional game of chess weren't enough and she knew it. This added to the list of reasons marriage would have to wait. With her career and her charity work, she'd find little time for a husband or child. She could fit in a date, now and then.

Like today.

Of course, she secretly hoped this would be more than a date. She'd dated many interesting men from all over the world, at tournaments. Mostly young men.

A few older men acted interested in her career as well as her. Stuart Craddock came to mind, but she saw him as a father figure. Though he didn't look much younger than Stuart, her feelings for Taylor differed. No one ever ignited the spark in her like him.

At twenty-one, she didn't plan to settle down with a soul mate or a husband just yet. She had many more years of pro tennis to fill her life. Besides, Taylor wasn't keen on settling down or he would have done so years ago, like her parents.

"My parents," Becka moaned. She bent to read the poster. Her mom and dad might present a complication if her relationship with Taylor went much further.

Dating? Not a problem, per se, but Laney had stuck her nose in her business and threatened to tell their folks she'd witnessed Taylor and Becka in a compromising position. Practically false, of course. Laney hadn't seen a thing, but her imagination could prove problematic.

Still, discovered in his hotel room wasn't a tale she'd like her dad to hear. What had she and Taylor been thinking? What were they doing making love up against a door? Taylor had acted crazed by a powerful need to touch her. She shivered as she recalled his delicious mouth and tantalizing scent. She yearned for his busy hands to caress her all over, and the incendiary heat of his body to once again envelope her with its intoxicating effect.

No wonder I acted like a wanton.

Heat sizzled down her spine at the thought of his hands on her. She couldn't help the smile that stretched across her face. A childish giggle escaped as she recalled how Taylor made sure she reached her pleasure before even thinking of putting on that condom.

"Hi, beautiful, come here often?" A deep, masculine voice drifted over her shoulder, interrupting pleasurable thoughts. Bent forward to read a large sign, she straightened and turned, almost bumping into the guy.

Great, here I am waiting for one man, while being hit-on by another.

She needed to get rid of him quick, before Taylor arrives and gets the wrong idea.

"Sorry, fella, I'm spoken for." She smiled apologetically. When she looked closer at his face, she stared, and her mouth fell open. Taylor laughed.

Leaning forward, he pressed a searing kiss on her parted lips, as if not caring who saw. He stood back and chuckled at her, louder. She snapped her mouth shut.

"Taylor! I didn't recognize you. You look...different. What's with the sunglasses?" Sunlight streamed through large windows sitting high up one of the museum's walls. However, the sunlight didn't fall anywhere near where they stood.

"Vinnie suggested not shaving for a couple of days because he may have a part for me. I have to be ready for an audition. Guess they're looking for someone less than picture-perfect," he said, scratching his chin. He pointed to the sign she didn't have a chance to read.

"I'd better keep the glasses on. Look."

The glossy, full-color poster announced the attached planetarium offered a show called A Space Rebels Retrospective to explain how real space and fantasy have collided over the decades. In the lower right corner, along with shots of planets, aliens, and one crude looking space ship, was his face.

"Oh, no! Did you know about this?"

"Not a clue. I dumped my agent last year. The museum doesn't need my permission, but I understand if you want to forgo our plans. There's bound to be some fans around and I don't feel like being shared today."

She smiled at his words. Gut feelings urged her to believe he didn't know about the show. No matter what the tabloids said, he didn't act egotistical.

"Actually, I'd like to see what the scientists have to say. I'm sure your show is just a small part of the exhibit. They'll probably show scientific things like constellations and the Milky Way. Let's go look," she dragged him down the hall to the Rose Center annex, which housed the planetarium.

When she and Taylor reached the planetarium, crowds milled around a large set of doors. A docent greeted the visitors. "The next planetarium sky show will start at one o'clock, sharp," the woman added, "and there's plenty of available seating."

The woman winked at Taylor before she turned to answer a teenager's question. Becka glanced at Taylor. He stood straight and tall, looking dark and handsome. The sunglasses and stubbly beard gave him a roguish appearance that caused heat to wash across her chest and down her spine, landing in her toes.

Taylor waited quietly on the edge of the gathering crowd with his bare arm looped casually through hers. A chill ran down her arm and displaced the heat.

"Maybe I should have brought a sweater?" Her tank top left a lot of skin bare. At least her legs tingled with warmth as heat continued to pulse down her thighs. She stepped closer, inhaling the scent of spice, and soap. Earlier, when she'd turned to find him standing behind her, Becka's belly instantly tingled with trepidation.

His manner of dress exuded a sense of danger. He'd caught her off-guard, before she recognized the stranger as Taylor. She secretly enjoyed the scraggly whiskered face and windswept dark-gold hair, but when her gaze locked on the low-slung well-worn jeans, memories of what lay beneath leaped unwanted into her mind.

She'd enjoyed only a brief glance at his erection back in the hotel room, before her fingers grasped him, tightly. She liked what she'd seen and she'd stroked him with passion and a sense of awe. He'd whispered that he would make her happy. He most certainly had made her happy and they hadn't even gotten to the good part!

"Look at this," Taylor said.

His voice interrupted her tortured thoughts as he nodded at a display case. Out-takes from his old television show, blown up to movie poster size, covered one wall. A prominent display of a twenty-something Taylor Adams stood among shots of aliens and spaceships.

Becka stared at the posters and examined one photo after another. She stopped before a very large photo of a shirtless Taylor in bed with a green-skinned woman, wearing nothing but a sheet. With blasters exploding around their heads and space ships in the background, the photo showed Taylor and her mother for the entire world to see.

"I forgot about that one," he whispered.

He tried to pull her away from the photo, but Becka couldn't stop staring at the virile man and voluptuous woman.

"No, I want to see this." she said, staring. He stood quietly at her side.

"Taylor?"

"Uh, yes?"

"You look fantastic in these photos."

"Well, I was a lot younger—"

"You're much more handsome now."

When he sucked in air, she squeezed his hand in reassurance.

"I know you mean to be kind, sweetheart, but you don't have to stroke my ego. I dumped my macho self-image the day I turned forty."

"Don't be ridiculous. I wouldn't have said it if I thought you suffered from an enlarged ego. You're more than a space cowboy."

He flinched at the term.

"You're a man who knows what he wants and goes for it. You want to be on film. Good for you. Whether you find an Oscar-winning part or a supporting role, I know you'll do your best because it's your dream."

He smiled, and her toes curled.

"Don't let this idolization of a long-ago television show worry you. You have many fans that remember you. Isn't that what you told me? When you do get that part, they'll come out to watch. Just you wait and see, Hollywood."

Becka dragged him towards the doors to the planetarium's theater without waiting for a response. Shoulder to shoulder with the crowd, he played the part of a New York City tourist fairly well.

A couple of hours later, their happy world imploded.

#  Chapter Twelve

"I can't go home with you. Not today," Becka explained as she hung up her cell phone and stared down at her feet.

Taylor's dream of a perfect ending to a wonderful afternoon was ruined. Outside the museum, he had flagged a cab. Only minutes ago, he'd asked her to accompany him to his hotel. Before she could answer, her phone rang. He knew in his gut she'd been on the verge of accepting.

"I'm really sorry," she said, shaking her head.

A wave of disappointment crushed him the moment the words left her mouth...her luscious, plump, sweet mouth. "Why? It's early yet, and we haven't had dinner. I was going to surprise you with—"

She interrupted his plea with a look of pain etched on her face, accompanied by a deep sinful sigh. Her reaction did nothing to make him feel hopeful.

"The reason is my sister, Laney. As you might have guessed, she came home with me from Baltimore. I'm sorry, but she had nowhere else to go and she finally convinced me she's in trouble."

He yanked off his glasses.

She flinched.

A look of disbelief must have flashed across Taylor's face.

Anger toward Laney Delacourt grew astronomically, because she was the reason his afternoon with Becka was at an unsatisfied end.

"Please believe me. I think her problem is serious. She has troubles concerning some guy and his friends. She insists they're looking for her. She won't let me involve the police, so the best I can do is give her a roof over her head for awhile."

"Can't she stay with your parents? They're her parents, too." His temper flared. He clenched his fists, nearly crushing his glasses.

"Please try to understand, Taylor—"

"I don't understand!"

"Laney and our parents are estranged. It's complicated. I need time to sort out her problem before I send her on her way, and I will. She just called me crying hysterically, wanting to talk..." Pausing, she cupped his unshaven cheek, "I want to see you again, soon."

Even now, he sensed she wanted to neglect her sister's needs and succumb to her own pleasure. She intoxicated him with her touch, but he knew guilt would tarnish their night together

"I promise to call you as soon as I can," she whispered.

A cab slid to a stop at the curb. Taylor grumbled as he kicked a small stone off the sidewalk. Shoving both hands into the back pockets of his jeans, he pretended not to care. As Taylor watched her slide into the cab's backseat, several screams broke the silence.

She turned back toward the window at the raised voices. As Taylor turned toward the museum entrance, an excited crowd of eight or nine high school-age students ran his way.

"Where to, Ma'am," the cab driver barked.

She gave him her Glen Cove address, but asked, "Please wait a minute. I want to see what's going on." She glanced at Taylor and the group coming his way, fast.

Taylor slid his sunglasses back onto his nose, calmly spread his legs apart, and folded his arms over his chest.

"It is him! I told you guys. That's Taylor Adams from Space Rebels!" one student yelled as her female companions joined in with more squeals.

"He still gets recognized, even dressed like that," she whispered. She squinted to get a better look, curious to see what Taylor would do next. Rolling down her window, she leaned forward, bit her lower lip, and waited to see what kind of man she'd fallen in love with.

What? No, no, no! Its lust I'm feeling, certainly not love!

Her attention snapped back to Taylor. He stood tall and sexy and looked dark and dangerous. She swallowed, hard.

***

Taylor rolled his shoulder muscles, as the throng of awkward teen boys and screaming girls thrust pens and notebooks at him.

"May we have your autograph?" screamed a petite girl, tears flowing down her cheeks.

"Please, can you make mine out to Britney?" another teen asked. She batted her eyes and wiggled her hips.

"Did you really score with all those alien ladies?" a boy from the back of the pack asked.

Becka watched as Taylor signed in silence, returned the pad to its owner, and then answered. She wished she could see his face. She watched the boy's expression instead.

"More than I'll ever tell," Taylor replied, slow and sly.

She smiled when the boy's face turned crimson and he looped a protective arm around the freckle-faced girl next to him. Becka closed her eyes and listened to him talk to the youngsters in a low, calming tone. Her breathing sped up a notch and a pleasant ache reached her thighs.

"Can we go now, Miss?" The cab driver asked, obviously in a hurry to put space between his cab and the screaming groupies.

"Sure." She settled back in the seat wishing Taylor demanded she come back to his hotel suite. The image of him pushing her up against a wall, spreading her thighs, and stroking her to orgasm exploded into her thoughts. She moaned softly, so the driver wouldn't hear, while she imagined Taylor turning to watch her and her cab disappear down the road.

***

The youngsters caused such a commotion, the museum's security personnel had appeared. The excited planetarium program director joined the fray.

"Would you be interested in doing a small interview for public television? We plan to air daily stories concerning our show. Having you say a few words would be wonderful!" the man had gushed.

"Sure thing," he reluctantly agreed. It would help the museum, but the publicity would also be good for him. The public relations person soon positioned them in front of the museum.

Security kept the gathering throngs away as they ad-libbed the spot. After finishing, and being thanked profusely by the director, he set out toward his hotel, while security stood by and kept the screaming fans from following.

Taylor's hotel lay farther away than he could walk, but a brief stroll might help him clear his head. As he walked along Seventy-Ninth Street, away from the museum and his shrieking admirers, his phone rang.

He pressed his cell to his ear "You need me where in an hour?" His mind failed to concentrate on Vinnie's phone call, because his body still wanted Becka. Unfortunately, for everyone involved, the afternoon hadn't turned out as he'd hoped.

She'd left in a cab, to see about her sister, as he'd suggested she do back in Baltimore. He'd offered to help today, but the memory of Laney's unbridled rage still filled their minds.

Vinnie's phone call interrupted his walk. Taylor now had an audition across town. His friend reminded him they wanted him unshaven and unkempt as possible. He described his attire.

"Perfect! I bet you look young and dangerous, just what they want."

"What age are they looking for? Remember, dear friend, I'm not exactly young anymore. No sense showing up if they're looking for my twenty-year-old Bennett Rage persona."

"No, my boy. They want someone sexy, good-looking, and a loner type. When I mentioned those characteristics to Gloria, she immediately mentioned you..." Vinnie paused.

Taylor waited for his old friend to continue, curious to find out why Gloria thought of him.

"Why would my wife think of you that way? Should I be worried? Tell me right now before I kill this deal...and you."

A chuckle barely concealed the man's pent-up rage. When he recalled Vinnie's jealousy, concerning his still-gorgeous wife, Taylor thought about this situation. How would his friend react if he knew what he planned for Becka?

Taylor wanted this audition. Deep in his gut, he knew his chance for a film role lay within his grasp. Today might be the day he got his foot in the door, and he wouldn't get far without Vinnie's help.

"Don't be silly. She kindly remembered I'm a great actor. I'll meet you at the audition." Taylor disconnected the phone before his friend could ask any more questions and hailed a cab. He used the time during the cross-town ride to think about his next strategy.

Then, he thought about Becka.

The audition faded as he remembered how her hot and sensuous body reacted under his caress. If his fingers could bring her to ecstasy so quickly, he couldn't wait to see the look on her face when he pumped her hard and fast.

At the thought of finally bedding her, he spread his legs in the cramped back seat of the cab. His cock swelled. This physical reaction might aid his image at the audition, but how would he explain it to Vinnie? Taylor inhaled deep and exhaled with slow precision. As several city blocks zoomed by, he calmed his lust.

"Here you go," Taylor said as he paid the driver, and glanced up the outside of the tall, stone building. The name of the production company's New York City office soared high overhead in twenty-foot stainless-steel letters. Titles of their recent blockbusters came to mind, and he salivated. Both fists clenched at the thought of getting a part in a similarly successful movie.

"I need this." He gnashed his teeth, licked his dry lips, pushed both shoulders back, and strode inside. Vinnie hadn't gone into detail about the part, but knew Taylor's requirements; no slapstick, or spoofs of his old television show. He'd also rather keep his distance from mindless murder, mayhem, or blood bath plots.

Other than that, he remained open to suggestions and trusted his friend.

He was taking a big chance on coming out of retirement, as the industry heads would say. Taylor hoped his show's re-runs, retrospectives, and large turnouts at major Sci-Fi conventions would sway the studio heads. Most of all, he prayed he fit the image they sought.

His cowboy boots' heels clicked on the marble-floored lobby, while he glanced at his surroundings. Chairs and low-backed sofas filled the area to his right. A dozen or so anxious-looking people filled the seating area.

These poor souls must be here for auditions as well.

A large, curved receptionist's desk beckoned from his left. Two strikingly beautiful women sat behind the desk wearing wireless headsets.

A burly security guard worked a metal detector by the elevators straight ahead where several business-suited men stood waiting.

With a cleansing breath and a heart filled with determination, Taylor stepped up to a tall blond with the reddest lips and longest fingernails he'd ever seen in an office building. He waited until she finished her call.

"Can I help you...sir?" Her voice wavered as she gazed at him. For a moment, Taylor had forgotten the image he projected in his black shirt, tight jeans, and eyes hidden behind mirrored sunglasses. Not everyone recognized him. Not even those in the industry.

A small sigh escaped his lips as he removed his specs. He hooked the glasses over his shirt's neckline and leaned forward, placing both forearms on the counter.

A smile slowly brightened her pretty face. Whether she recognized him as an actor or simply an attractive male, he didn't care. Either stroked his ego.

"Hi. I'm Taylor Adams. Vincent Delacourt set up an audition for me. Can you tell me where to go?" he asked, expecting she'd tell him to go sit in the lobby's seating area. He used his sweetest tone and forced his famous grin. The woman surprised him by unfolding her slender body from her chair. She slipped off her headset, and placed it on the counter.

She winked at her co-worker, and as the statuesque beauty in three-inch heels came around from behind the desk, Taylor straightened.

"We've been expecting you, Mr. Adams and I've been asked to escort you to the penthouse office where Mr. Delacourt is waiting. Please come this way." She led him through the metal detector and onto an empty express elevator.

Her perfume crowded the small space with the thick fragrance of patchouli or sandalwood. She hooked a bare arm around his, making him feel ill at ease. Why would a beautiful woman's touch affect him that way?

The combination of shoes and long legs brought the woman to eye level. She leaned into his shoulder, causing a breast to nudge his upper arm. As he stared straight ahead into the mirrored door, he watched her watch him, which made a shudder slip across his shoulders.

"Would you like to do something after your meeting?"

Her teasing tone and obvious come-on didn't sway him. He kept his mouth shut and stared up at the floor indicator.

Six, seven, eight...

"I can leave my post anytime. I know a quiet place where we can get to know each other better," she said. She batted fake eyelashes at him, "My name's Megan. I've been a fan of yours for years. I've wanted to meet you ever since I was a kid."

He had never been happier to see doors finally slide open. He turned to face Megan and stepped backward into the hallway.

"Thanks for showing me the way, but I must decline your kind invitation. I'm spoken for. Sorry." He backed even farther away from the doors. When they closed, he let out a long breath.

"What do you mean, you're spoken for?" asked a distant, jubilant voice. "Is there something you haven't told me, you old dog?"

Taylor spun to his right. Vinnie walked toward him. Taylor replayed his words in his head before he formulated an answer. "That receptionist wanted male companionship and I wasn't feeling the same vibes. You wouldn't understand. You're an old married man."

A wide smile filled his friend's face as Vinnie nodded.

Taylor ran a nervous hand through his hair and prayed his friend didn't realize he'd lied. Perspiration dotted his forehead. If Vinnie ever found out about him and Becka, he'd be dead.

"You aren't seeing Gloria behind my back, are you?" The man's face went stone gray. A muscle in his cheek clenched. While he waited for Taylor's answer, both fists lay tight against his hips.

"You know me better than that. Gone are the adolescent days of poaching in someone else's pond. I just told Megan that to get her unlatched from my arm." He pointed toward the elevator. "She's pretty, but way too pushy. Until I know what my future holds, job wise, I can't make a commitment to anyone, okay buddy?"

Vinnie smiled and gave Taylor a thorough once-over. "Wow, Taylor. Now I understand why that babe latched onto you. You look absolutely, fantastic! You look lean, mean, dark—"

"Vinnie, please—"

"And much younger than I know you are. Come on," he said. He latched onto Taylor's upper arm and dragged him unceremoniously down the corridor.

"Let me describe the part and the project. I think you'll like the character, but there's no need to go through with an audition if the role won't suit you." Vinnie outlined the plot and described the part. The two friends walked down the long carpeted hallway toward the conference room. As Vinnie spoke, a thrilling chill ran down Taylor's back.

The movie's plot could be the platform his career needed. The project also incorporated the use of several European locations he'd always wanted to explore.

Vinnie finally came to his part.

"It's a damaged young man whose life is turned around, when he joins the lead actor to free a kidnapped socialite. It's a supporting role, but you said you're okay with that, as it offers substantial screen time. They haven't lined up the lead actor, so that won't help you decide. The salary is scale, but the part is meaty. Can you handle it?" They neared the door.

Smiling wickedly at Vinnie's words, he turned his head at the sound of several sighs. He and Vinnie passed a cluster of desks where women of various ages sat staring. He slipped on his aviator sunglasses and strolled into the room behind Vinnie.

"Good afternoon ladies," he drawled.

***

"You're where?" When Taylor asked her to repeat her statement across the static-laced phone line. He sounded more worried than angry.

"I said I'm in Mexico City."

"I heard you the first time. I simply cannot believe you."

"I made a sudden decision to travel down here after Laney gave me information." Not wanting to go into more detail, she preempted his next question. "She's not with me. No passport. She has a record."

"A police record?"

"Please don't ask. The trip is necessary."

"Are you...alone?"

"Yes. I told you Laney couldn't come with me."

"What about Craddock?"

"Stuart?" It dawned on her. She'd told him Stuart had once asked her to accompany him to Mexico City.

"Forget him. You said you'd call me this week, but my cell phone doesn't work down here. I hope to be home by the weekend."

Silence.

He couldn't possibly be brooding because she wasn't at his beck and call. They weren't in that type of relationship—not yet—so he had no right to expect her to be around all the time. When she earned a slot on the Olympic tennis team, she'd never be around.

"It's okay, sweetheart. I'm glad you called. I got the movie role and wanted to share the news. I'm going to burst if I can't brag to somebody."

"That's great, Hollywood. Did Dad help you get it?"

More silence.

"Taylor? You still there? Damn phone—"

"I'm here. Finish your investigation and come home. Call me when you get in. You and I have some catching up to do."

She trembled at his husky voice, and the words sent her a clear and definite message filled with lust, pure and simple.

He wanted her.

"Okay. I can't wait. Hello?" Silence greeted her as the phone in her Mexico City hotel went dead.

#  Chapter Thirteen

Laney sprawled lifelessly over the couch, one naked leg dangling over the cushioned arm of Becka's condo in Glen Cove. A bottle of imported beer sat opened on the coffee table. Glued to the television, she didn't bother to look up when her sister came through the door. Becka could feel the scowl covering her face. Her usual happy-go-lucky attitude had drained away in mid-flight.

She stepped into the kitchen and dropped her over-night bag on the floor. She'd pull something out for dinner, since the trip home left her famished. The food in Mexico hadn't agreed with her, so she'd eaten sparingly. Her guide turned out to be one of her sister's former lovers, and the man shared some insight into Laney's problems. Bart Spratt's name kept coming up. He owned a salvage yard in the United States. If she could believe the guide, Laney had worked for Spratt, who dealt in hot car parts in Mexico.

Weary, her shoulders slumped. She stared at the kitchen. Two boxes of cereal stood open on the counter next to the empty milk carton. Several boxes of her favorite granola bars lay empty, too. She raced to the refrigerator and groaned when she discovered her coveted pint of cookie-dough ice cream had vanished. Piles of dirty dishes filled the sink.

"Laney, what the heck happened while I was away?

"Huh?"

"How can you stay so thin after eating me out of house and home?"

Her sister shifted her eyes from the screen to her and said, "A girl has to eat, Becka dear. I don't have a car and I don't feel safe walking to a store. They might look for me here, so I can't even order in pizza. That's a classic way to gain entry by bad guys. Besides, I'm broke."

"What else is new?"

Laney's gaze swung back to the television, and she took a sip of beer before drawing Becka's attention to the screen. "Look. Your boyfriend's on the tube."

"My what?" Her gaze snapped to the television. There stood a younger, just as dangerous, too-blond Taylor. In his snug uniform, he looked leaner and taller in knee-high black boots. In the midst of some battle, his blaster fired right and left.

When he tucked a green-skinned beauty under one muscular arm, Becka's heart tumbled to her stomach.

"Mom?" The one thought came out in a raspy whisper.

"They're doing some kind of story about the Hayden Planetarium," Laney went on, oblivious. "It looks like he was interviewed there, this week. Do you happen to know anything about that?"

Her sister tried to make her squirm. Laney knew she'd gone into the city. She probably heard her requesting a cab. She might have jotted down the address Becka quoted to the dispatcher. Keeping their relationship from Laney's prying eyes might be harder than she thought.

Becka walked toward the screen, collapsed on the far end of the couch, and watched, dazed. As the TV scene of their mother faded, the camera panned over to two men who stood on the steps of the museum.

Becka gasped.

"What is it?" Laney sat up straight and stared at her.

Becka pointed toward the screen. Taylor stood proud and tall, looking raw and sexy. The other man, a director of some sort, asked him how he'd enjoyed the show. Taylor's comments sounded brilliant! The place would definitely be crowded for the rest of the week.

The interview grew to a close. Laney clicked the remote, and the screen went black. Laney looked at her sister and raised an eyebrow. Becka's cheeks burned. She rubbed sweaty hands against her thighs.

"With this kind of info, I'm going to be a guest here for some time, sister dear."

"What are you talking about?"

"Your boyfriend looks better today than the last time I saw him, with his shirt unbuttoned. He's even sexier on screen."

"He's not my boyfriend. He and I are acquaintances, yes, and he was in Baltimore to help with my charity work. He'd done a particularly moving spot for us and I was thanking him. Why do you think there's more to it than that?"

"I have eyes. You stared at that screen with rapt attention, more so than I've ever seen. Who else were you staring at if not Adams?"

"You fool. Didn't you notice the green woman Taylor was holding in that old TV clip?" Attempting to move Laney's thoughts in another direction, she added, "It was our mother."

"That was Mom? You're kidding, right?" Laney sat up straight, staring at the darkened set.

With hands trembling, Becka returned to the kitchen and pulled a large pot from a cupboard, banging the door shut. After boiling pasta, she told her sister everything she'd found out in Mexico. Laney didn't appear surprised when Spratt's name came up. She actually clammed up, claimed to be tired, and headed for the guestroom.

***

Mid-morning of the next day Taylor shook away the image of perfect breasts, legs, and lips of a certain beautiful young tennis player. Proving difficult to accomplish, he turned his attention to the task of reading the script. He accepted the part as a womanizer who traveled the globe and left a swath of broken hearts. He followed the hero through one adventure after another while lending support and a little comic relief.

The hero's role, still unfilled, sounded less juicy, but much more engrossing, portrayed as a quiet, scholarly type with a sad past, who wanted to save the world without killing everyone first. Emotionally, the part would be an Oscar winner.

Too bad they didn't offer it to him.

He stood alone gazing out his hotel room's window. Without any acting references, except his old TV show and several guest appearances, he had no way to prove himself. He'd wasted years, while he should have acted full-time.

Why hadn't he auditioned for all sorts of acting roles? Instead, he drank and enjoyed life. Here he sat, memorizing lines of a supporting character—a shallow, selfish, lothario.

"Sounds familiar, buddy-boy." He trudged to a cabinet and pulled out a bottle. He splashed an inch of amber liquid into a glass and downed it before giving his conscience time to think. He poured another shot and sipped slower, then remembered how his friends accused him of turning ugly when he drank.

"Great. That's exactly what this movie roll needs. I'll be perfect because I'll portray myself." He took another sip. The smoky heat slid down his throat to his empty stomach. He looked back out the window, aware of the burn but not its flavor.

His cock twitched as his mind ping ponged from one memory to another. Nights spent in strange beds, of him tangled with warm bodies of unknown women, flashed through his mind. He had never been happy. Sexual satisfaction is fine and dandy, but true happiness—and love—were myths.

He loved his home on the ocean.

He loved his hotel room, that looked out over Central Park.

He loved Becka...

"No! I'm not going there!" he shouted to the empty room. Lust and liquor confused him. "But I'm not drunk."

He shook his head. Working, again, would make him happy. Loving Becka would not. An image of soft lips beneath his as he crushed her against a door flared inside his head. Her sweet fragrance mingled with her feminine aroma and sizzled through his brain.

"No! It won't work!" He threw his glass to the floor and ignored the whisky bleeding into the carpet. He rubbed the hardening flesh beneath his zipper, as he stared out over the city.

This, in his hands, was happiness and pleasure. A sweet ache gripped him as his balls cramped and his cock swelled.

"Stop this!" Taylor forced his hand away and stared at the stranger in the glass. Inhaling a couple of deep, cleansing breaths, he gained control over his urges.

When his erection subsided, he bent down and picked up the hastily discarded glass. He walked to the kitchen, grabbed a towel, and retraced his steps. As he wiped up the mess, the phone rang.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything." Becka's voice glided through the phone line and into his ear.

"Well, I will have to tell my other girlfriend that I'll have to leave her alone in the bedroom while I take this call," he joked. He hoped she didn't hear his false happiness.

"Other girlfriend?"

Taylor's throat constricted. He had no quick comeback.

"I'm joking with you, Hollywood. I've had a few frustrating days. I wanted someone to talk to and you sprang to mind. If you're busy, I'll understand. It's just that you sounded excited about your acting audition and I feel bad I had to blow you off."

"Apology accepted. I certainly didn't mean to give you a hard time. You have a lot on your plate. If I can help in any way, promise you'll let me know?" He hoped she would take him up on the offer. He knew he should keep his distance, since he and Vinnie now officially worked together, yet ever since their night of interrupted lovemaking in his Baltimore hotel room, his heart rate spiked whenever she spoke. His body temperature rose whenever her smile filled his vision.

"Taylor, I want to see you...real bad."

"How bad?"

"Forget I said that. Getting back to your question, I can't think of any way you can help me. I'm being pulled every which way and—"

"Speak your mind, Becka."

"How about a quiet evening spent together?"

He grinned into the phone. She wanted to spend time alone with him. Then a chill swept across his chest. When Vinnie's face crept into his thoughts, he gripped the phone, tight.

Dinner would be safe.

A public place, good food, and conversation. Nothing more.

"So, let's go get something to eat," she said as if she'd read his mind, "There's a place out on the island. Oh, do you have a car?"

"Sorry, no."

"Darn. My car broke down again. I suppose I could borrow Dad's limo—"

"Becka, we have to keep our relationship under wraps."

"Right. Dad wouldn't understand us being together, even if we are just having dinner. Maybe we should forget it."

With a sudden flash of worry, he knew he couldn't let her change her mind about dinner.

"I can get a vehicle." Taylor's voice cracked and his jaw clenched. He craved her company like a lovesick fool. What was it about this young woman that made him throw caution to the wind? Especially now.

If Vinnie catches word of this, my film career is over.

She gave him the name of the restaurant and said, "It's about forty miles east of my condo, on the south shore of Long Island."

The long drive each way would be a good time to talk things out, but he had no idea what to say. That did not sound like him. He was the world-weary actor, and all-around playboy. The suave, sophisticated man about town. The older man with wisdom to share. Somehow, Becka changed all of that.

Hours later, he dressed for dinner, and made a mental list of safe topics. Obvious subjects consisted of the audition and a description of the part. He added Olympic try-outs and her problems with Laney, because he knew that would keep her talking. However, the stress of driving in a dark car on lonely roads amid silence would not help keep his mind off her lovely body. He didn't want empty minutes thinking about getting her naked. Therefore, he'd better come up with conversation more stimulating. Nothing at this point could be more stimulating then Becka.

How can I forget I've seen her practically naked and tasted numerous parts and...

A call to the hotel's concierge had him accepting keys to a sporty new SUV in time to head to Glen Cove to pick her up. Money made things so much easier, though he rarely splurged. His financial adviser brother would think he'd gone nuts. He smiled, and folded his six-foot frame into the driver's seat for the drive to her condo. He pressed his thumb on the button on the left side of the steering wheel and tuned in a local country station.

Taylor had dressed in a pair of khaki slacks and a cobalt-blue dress shirt, open at the collar. He knew he looked good, and he'd filled his wallet with cash. No credit card tonight. Less likely he'd be recognized and badgered for an autograph. He wondered if Becka chose the out-of-the-way restaurant for privacy. He wanted to think she did it so they could be alone. He squirmed in his seat, uneasy at such a notion.

"Don't get me wrong," he'd told her on the phone, "I like the attention at times. But, there are days when quiet anonymity tastes real nice."

That was why he was working hard to get into film, to be recognized. Not tonight. Tonight was different. Dining out with Becka was just a date.

Yeah, right, buddy-boy.

He sped along Route 25-A on his way to collect a hot, young woman with whom he hoped to enjoy a lovely meal and pleasurable company. When Vinnie's image filled his thoughts, he exhaled through clenched teeth. Becka's father was a friend who held Taylor's future in his hands, and the man would kill him, if their affair came to light.

Damn!

Up to this point, his fame has been hit or miss. An hour or two of quiet dinner conversation with Becka would be quite the prize. He'd worry about enlarging his fan base later. The right thing to do was to enjoy her company, exchange some adult conversation, drive her back to her condo, and then get out of dodge.

His body betrayed him even now. He should have never stuck those condoms in his pocket. Wishful thinking, or a death wish?

#  Chapter Fourteen

With lighter than normal eastbound Long Island traffic, Taylor arrived a few minutes early. She stood at the curb in front of her building, talking with her doorman. The portly fellow had her laughing at something. Her pale lavender sundress jiggled as she laughed. Her strappy sandals glittered under the streetlamp.

"Hi. You ready?" he asked, sliding from the driver's seat. She looked past him and stared, open mouthed, at his new vehicle. He came around to open her door, but the spritely doorman hurried over and settled her inside. Taylor thanked the man and smiled when the man tipped his hat before returning to his post.

"I hope you're hungry, Becka. My hotel's concierge said his friends rave about the place. Have you ever dined at the restaurant you're taking me to?"

"Twice, several years ago, but I have no idea how to get there, do you?"

"Yes, I programmed the address you gave me into the GPS."

She rolled her eyes. "I ought to remember you piloted a starship across the galaxy, and could never get lost. Luckily for me, I had someone drive me to the restaurant. If I'm not behind the wheel, I have the habit of not observing my surroundings. Years of taking the train or Dad's limo have spoiled me."

"You deserve to be spoiled, sweetheart."

"What a lovely thing to say."

"It's the truth."

"I heard they've recently changed the menu to exude more of a Caribbean flavor. Since I've never been to the Caribbean, you'll have to let me know if they come close, Hollywood."

Didn't she notice him flinch? Her smile barely registered inside the vehicle's darkened interior. She wiggled her rear against the buttery-soft leather seats. She must be waiting for him to reply.

"How do you know I've been to the Caribbean?" He felt his skin stretch and his brow wrinkle. He shook his head fighting to smooth his facial expression. He never shared that part of his life with her. He'd never mention anything about the Caribbean.

"Dad told us about the trip. It was five or six years ago. Some guy was getting married. What a place for a wedding! I can just imagine the beach, the waves, the sunsets, and that glorious sunshine. You spent part of the time on a boat?"

"Yes, that's right." He fought the urge to fidget, as he reluctantly remembered exactly what happened.

"How romantic. So, will you tell me all about it?"

He sat straight and silent with both hands gripping the steering wheel. She'd asked him a direct question. He had to say something. Silent moments ticked past. Her face lay in shadow, but he was pretty sure she smiled at him without any idea of the pain her words invoked.

"Everything is a blur. I was sick as a dog. I recall overcooked fish and smelly pink shrimp, smothered in hot sauce. I washed it down with gallons of island beer, which soothed my burning mouth but killed millions of brain cells. I'd rather not be reminded."

Her shocked gasp let him know his answer was not what she'd expected.

"I'm sorry if I brought back dreadful memories. Do you want to find another restaurant?"

"It's not a problem. It was a very long time ago."

"I don't mind a change of plans. I'm pretty flexible."

He glanced at her, again. Her teeth sparkled in the low light cast by nearby streetlights and her smile widened. Turning away, he pushed back the image of her supple and very flexible body squirming with pleasure under his.

"Besides," she continued, "I want to be with you. Where we go doesn't matter."

Turning his attention back to the empty road, Becka leaned into his shoulder, and slipped her fingers around his upper arm. The muscles of his face and body slowly relaxed. "I'm up to making new memories with the prettiest girl this side of the Caribbean."

Smoldering heat pumped through her fingers, making it hard to breathe. His body tingled from his ears down to his toes at the sight of Becka's beauty.

"Hollywood, I have an incredible urge to jump your bones."

The car swerved. Regaining control, Taylor endured her giggles and glanced over as she cracked open the window. The salt-laden air seeped into the SUV.

They'd reached the south shore.

The tall buildings and crowds of western Long Island steadily thinned out, replaced by smaller bungalows and empty road.

"The ocean's out there somewhere," she sighed. "It's too dark to see anything, but can't you picture waves swelling and cresting as they pound the beach?"

Ah, to be so young and carefree, he thought.

He smiled, drunk on her romanticized vision. The acrid scent of sun-browned seaweed filled his nostrils. Turning back his way, she grinned.

"What are you smiling at, sweetheart?"

"Memories of summers spent at the shore with my family. Hey," she paused, "I can hear the ocean. It's somewhere out past the dunes. Let's take a walk on the beach, Taylor. It's too beautiful a night to waste filling our faces."

She wanted to what? Her words caught him unaware. He'd thought up things to talk about at the restaurant. Safe things. Sitting near other people would make him keep his hands to himself and his thoughts from straying.

"Not hungry?"

"I'm famished, but I can wait if you can," she drawled, sounding anxious to be alone with him.

A man could take only so much temptation, especially with her in that slip of a dress. She must think he was a saint. Breathing as steadily as he could muster, he thought of a retort. Something totally out of character.

"Not a good idea, sweetheart. Besides, I want to talk to you about your sister. I think we'd be more comfortable at a table with a glass of wine."

"Okay."

His heart lurched at the sound of her sigh. Thoughts of Vinnie danced in front of his eyes as he watched for the restaurant.

"Let's try the new menu with open minds. Maybe it'll be fine," she said. An alarm went off in his head, which was bizarre. Her change of tune sounded suspicious. Maybe she hadn't given up the idea of getting him alone.

He pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant and parked near a streetlight. He pushed open his door, walked to her side, and helped her out. The restaurant's whimsical décor greeted them. Palm fronds, colorful pottery, and nautical pieces under piped-in island music seemed to brighten her mood. She'd tried to get him alone, but he'd sidestepped her open invitation. "What is wrong with me?"

Seated at a table on a screened porch overlooking the ocean, romantic lighting reflected over the churning surf. A tray of tri-color nacho chips served with garden-style salsa soon disappeared between the two hungry people. Glasses of crisp, white wine helped soothe the burn caused by the hastily eaten salsa.

Nothing, however, eased the burn in his groin. Her sweet scent mingled with the salt and floral tang of the evening breeze, unique and disturbing. What had Becka planned to do with him on a dark deserted beach? A sudden image of her squirming under him behind a sand dune sprang to mind.

"Not gonna' happen," he muttered. Bathed in candlelight, her face changed from happy, to embarrassed, to coy, in seconds. Maybe he made a mistake in not taking her up on that walk. She sipped her wine. A delicate pink tongue snaked out and licked both lips.

Taylor choked.

"Are you okay, Hollywood?" Concern flooded her face. She set down her glass. Her eyes widened, as she handed him a napkin.

"I'm okay." What could he say?

She turned her attention out to sea, while he settled his gaze on the elegant curve of her neck. Her skin shimmered like gold in the candle flame's flickering glow. Could he help the fact he wanted to see more?

His gaze slid down over her neck to her fragile collarbone. One thin strap of her sundress slowly slipped off her shoulder. With the swell of her breast barely visible in the candlelight, he squirmed in his chair.

I want her, body and soul.

Such odd thoughts came to a screeching halt the moment her slender fingers clasped the stem of her wine goblet and stroked the crystal.

Up and down, down and up.

Thoughts of those slender hands stroking him, instead of a wine glass, came to mind. With his appetite gone, he sipped water. His poor stomach churned. He couldn't tell if this were guilty feelings. If caught with her in public, how would the reports affect his career? Worse, how bad would it damage an important relationship with a very good friend?

He moaned, rubbing his churning stomach.

"Did you say something?" Her gray eyes, reminiscent of early morning fog, shown like jewels beneath arched eyebrows.

"Just exclaiming how wonderful my broiled salmon tastes." Pleasure between a man and a woman is a natural occurrence. There could be nothing lewd or disgusting about their relationship. She was nearly half his age, yes, but they weren't talking marriage. He and Becka were simply two adults on a date. As long as they kept their heads and used protection, no one would get hurt.

Besides, tennis kept her busy. If she made the Olympic team, she'd have no time for anyone. He'd be off to the mountains of Eastern Europe before Christmas. He and Becka would be literally worlds apart.

"I might as well have some fun in the here and now."

"Hollywood, why are you mumbling?"

Damn!

She'd heard him. He glanced at other couples dining nearby. No one recognized them. Anonymity would vanish once his face appeared on the big screen and she joined the Olympic tennis team.

"I said I wondered how it will feel to be a star."

"You've had a brilliant career already, Hollywood."

"You are allowed your personal opinion, sweetheart, but I've a lot of work to do. Soon, intimate dinners like this won't be possible. You'll be on the Olympic team training to enter the records book. I'll be on the big screen. We'll have to go our separate ways. I, for one, will miss this."

He raised his glass in a toast. She joined him, but a scowl replaced her smile. A shiver ran down his back as her eyes saddened.

He paid the check and she insisted on leaving the tip. Smiling, Taylor rose and pulled out her chair. She stretched her long legs, and they made their way toward his vehicle. The muffled thunder of waves broke the silence.

"Taylor, we need to talk."

He froze. They'd forgotten to discuss her sister's problems.

Double damn!

He should open her car door, and drive her home. He didn't want to talk. It was Becka's turn to fill in the blanks. That way, nothing they said or did tonight would be his fault.

Becka stomped out of the restaurant and headed to the car. Why hadn't he jumped at her earlier offer of a romantic walk on the beach?

***

Be still my foolish heart! She couldn't stand another night dreaming of him, without touching him or having his hands touch her.

Her body was tight as a drum. She didn't want to feel this way, if he didn't feel the same. She'd thrown him enough hints, so what was wrong with the man? They'd be careful and discreet. The beach was dark, so no one would know.

"Aren't we going to talk about your sister and her problems?"

"I refuse to waste any more time thinking about my messed-up older sister," she said, turning to stare at up him. "She ruined her life. She doesn't have the right to ruin mine."

"I agree. But I thought—"

"It can wait. Can we take that walk?" She softened her voice to cajole him into accepting her offer. She smiled when he relocked the car door and nodded. She led him along a walkway that led up and over the fragile dunes. A weathered picket fence protected sea-grass and nesting habitats from human trampling. A warm wind whipped up grains of sand and bits of dried seaweed. The scent of the sea invigorated her soul and she inhaled with one deep, cleansing breath. The ocean's salty brine mingled with Taylor's lime scent. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

She stopped and removed her shoes, leaving them behind. When he did as well, they strolled along the shallows. A huge wave beached itself and chilly black water swirled over her ankles. She squealed and tried to get away. Instead, she tripped.

Falling into his arms, her chilled skin met the formidable heat pulsing through the thin fabric of his shirt. He gripped her around the waist, and dragged her closer. Enveloped in his arms, a place she'd hoped to find herself, once they'd reached the darkened beach, she silently thanked the waves. Between her thighs, her body throbbed, growing damp and hot.

She wanted him, but he suddenly set her aside. When he continued along the shore, she groaned, louder than she'd planned. Happily, he stopped, turned, and reached for her hand, then slid one arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

She felt complete even if Taylor couldn't or wouldn't feel the same. Her turmoil-filled life tumbled on. But, here, between the stark cold waters of the Atlantic and the strong warmth of Taylor's arms, she felt safe.

Safe and happy.

Safe, happy, and in love.

He released her hand and she tensed. "Are you trying to keep some distance between us?" Her concern phased into worry when he stopped and faced her. The dim lights of a nearby cottage shadowed his features. His piercing gaze chilled her heart, because he wasn't smiling.

"Bringing me out here isn't smart. I can't talk sensibly if I'm hungry for your luscious lips and tantalizing body." He paused, but she did not utter a word.

"You've pushed me too far, tonight. I'm only human, but you bring out the beast in me. It's not right, but my feelings for you are much too strong to control."

"Let go. I'd love to meet this beast."

"No. You don't. Turn around and head back to the car. I won't fault you for it. I certainly won't take advantage of you. You mean too much to me, sweetheart."

She gazed up at his face, away from the tension pulsing from his rigid body. Dropping her attention to the open collar of his shirt, her attention slid down to the shadowy bulge beneath his belt. His fists pressed into his thighs.

"I'm not running away, Hollywood." She couldn't run from the man she loved.

His arms surrounded her and his mouth crushed her trembling lips. She stroked his jaw and met his kiss. Her skin erupted with tiny goose bumps as she encircled his neck with quivering arms. He tasted like wine and smelled like the surf. His tongue forced her lips apart and probed the recesses of her mouth with a fury that caused warning bells to chime in her head, making her pull back.

He growled his displeasure.

"You want me as much as I want you," she purred, "admit it."

His nod encouraged her to slip a naked thigh between his legs. His hands lowered to cup her bottom. His rapid breathing and rock-hard body told her all she needed to know.

Glancing around, she spied a dark out-cropping of rocks. The tide had receded, exposing the man-made jetty. Breaking away from his touch, she pulled Taylor by his wrist toward the rock, leaned against the damp surface, and shivered.

He covered her, his heat warming the chill. His mouth found hers while his hands swept over her dress and cupped her breasts. He slid the dress's strap off her shoulder, exposing her tingling nipples, while she gave in to pure sensation.

When one large hand squeezed her naked breast, she sighed. When he trailed kisses down the curve of her neck, she gripped his belt and held on tight. As he tasted everything on his way south, her knees buckled.

"You're very good at this," she moaned and then cursed inwardly. Taylor Adams had years of experience. An image of her mother burst into her mind, but she shoved it away the moment his mouth tugged on a nipple.

"Ah, that feels wonderful. Please!" She felt his smirk down to her toes.

***

Squeezing her breast, he groaned at his own response. He cursed his body for leading him down the wrong path, again. Becka would be the one that got hurt this time, not him.

Never again.

As she stood trapped between his legs, her hand searched out and rubbed the evidence of his arousal. He wished he could see her eyes. He licked and sucked her delicious breast in the dark. Her hand rubbed his groin, and his other hand joined hers. They worked in tandem to lower his zipper. The moment his engorged cock sprang free, Becka stroked its length.

He growled with pleasure, until she shoved him back. "What?"

"Trust me?"

She dropped to her knees in the sand, and he felt her lips opening for him. Taylor used both hands to guide her in the right direction, and stood frozen in place as she leaned forward. Enveloped in the sudden heat of her mouth, Taylor released a breath he hadn't realized he'd held.

With both feet planted in the cold sand, his fingers combed through her silky hair as she slowly bobbed forward and back. She teased him with her tongue and lips while one hand cupped his ball sac, caressing it with gentle strokes. A long, deep moan escaped his throat, as she inhaled him into hers.

"You don't have to do this," he said, finding his voice. His breath wheezed out, fast and ragged, but he didn't step back and didn't try to stop her.

"It's okay," she answered after giving up her prize for a moment. "I want to pleasure you first, this time. Seems only fair after what happened in Baltimore. Besides, you took me to the Caribbean with you, if only to a restaurant. Next time, we may have more privacy."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Someday you might take me to the real Caribbean, and then we could do this on a boat while the waves slowly lap against the hull. Doesn't that sound romantic, Taylor?"

He pulled back, until she was alone on her knees in the sand. "What just happened? Where are you?"

Struggling to her feet in the wet sand, his groan made her wince.

"This is a bad idea. Let's go back," he answered. Moving into the moonlight, he zipped his pants and headed toward the restaurant, kicking up sand.

"Stop right there, Mr. Adams," she shouted. A light popped on inside a nearby cottage.

"Lower your voice, young lady."

She caught up to him, where he strode near the edge of the surf, and splashed him.

"Hey, be careful." Growling, he picked up the pace.

"Taylor, stop this," she cried. She curled her frigid fingers around his arm.

Spinning around, he peered into the shadows. Painful memories had cut off all reason.

"Something I said set you off and I want to know what happened. Let me make it right. What have I done?"

He didn't answer. How could he?

"Don't let me stand here knowing I've hurt you, because that's the last thing I'd ever want to do. Please."

Glancing from her toward the night sky, he ran a hand through his windswept hair. "Right."

She shook him. "I'm being truthful, here. At least you could be honest with me."

That stopped him. "Fine. You want honesty? Remember that wedding your dad went to in that perfectly romantic spot in the Caribbean?"

Still gripping him, her head bobbed in agreement.

"That was my wedding."

#  Chapter Fifteen

When Becka gasped and pulled away, Taylor wasn't surprised. In the low light, her face filled with shock—or disappointment. Whichever emotion coursed through her body, Taylor's night of fun and frolic had come to an abrupt end. Turning away from her, he stormed toward the car. Nearing the entrance to the walkway over the dunes, he stooped to retrieve his shoes and socks. Shoved from behind, he landed face down in the sand.

Hit by a hundred pounds of flailing arms and kicking feet, he rolled over and raised his hands to protect his head. A dainty bare foot connected with ribs and knocked the wind from his lungs. Seconds later, he struggled to his feet. Reaching down, he clutched her flailing body close to his, halting the assault.

"You liar!" she shouted as she squirmed, trying to escape. "You lied to me with that damn lop-sided grin of yours. How could you? I thought you were man enough to be truthful." A minute passed until he felt her shoulders slump. Her entire body shook with huge sobs.

"Becka, please listen. I never lied to you."

Her body stilled, and she sniffed. He loosened his hold and backed away even though he could still smell her feminine fragrance. His alert body shuddered. Why couldn't he let her take her ministrations to their completion, and come in her mouth? She'd been on that track, yet her words about the Caribbean deflated his cock as easy as a cold shower.

"Did you or did you not tell me you'd never married?" Choking back a sob, she steeled herself for his answer.

"You want the truth? I never married. I was engaged for all of thirty seconds. The real me made an appearance onboard that boat in the Caribbean and proved too much for my fiancé. She left me at the altar. It was my fault the wedding never happened."

"She left you? Why?"

Taylor hesitated. He knew the next sentence would lower her opinion of him. "She caught me with another woman."

Becka's eyes glowed in the dim light, staring at him.

She isn't going to let me off easy.

"Details, Taylor. What happened?"

Telling her would certainly keep her from taking their affair serious. "Fine. We were on the damn boat. I'd had too much to drink, again, which made me stupid but not limp. There was a woman—"

"You mean to tell me your fiancé found the two of you..."

"I had the other woman pinned in front of me at the rail of the boat. There we were, staring out to sea with me buried deep inside her, when my lovely fiancé came looking for me."

Her shocked intake of breath stopped him cold. Maybe he'd been too honest.

"The other woman, who shall remain nameless, offered me something my fiancé adamantly refused me on several occasions."

"And what was that?"

"To make love somewhere besides a bed. I wanted adventure. I wanted to do it in exotic locals like my Space Rebel character had. She'd actually propositioned your dad first."

"My dad didn't—"

"Of course not. He had scruples as well as Gloria and two daughters back home. I didn't. I had a fiancé I'd met a month before, who was much younger than me and in love with my old television persona."

"Oh, dear."

"I was jealous of Vinnie. This other woman boomeranged in my direction. Fucking her out in the open had felt erotic." Taylor half hoped to shock her into leaving him, cold. Instead, he got the shock of his life when she slipped her hands up his chest and caught his face.

"Maybe you wanted to be found." She pushed herself up on her bare toes and captured his lips with hers. His bare toes curled, as moist warmth slid across every fiber of his being. When she slipped her tongue deep inside his mouth, he dropped his shoes, and raised his arms to embrace her. She tasted like honey, and smelled like fresh flowers.

"I know what you're attempting to do, Hollywood. You want to scare me away. If you're not man enough to share a difficult time in your life, then maybe I don't want to know you anymore."

"That's not it at all."

"Quiet. Let me speak."

She stepped back. In the brief light, he could see her cross both arms and stand erect, as if scolding an unruly child.

"Otherwise, you won't win. I may be younger than you. I may be less experienced than you. But I know what I want." She walked forward and caressed his cheeks once more. "I want you, simple as that. If you have any feelings for me, you'll grow up and see what a great team we'd make."

"Relationships aren't as easy to create as a tennis team, sweetheart."

"You're absolutely right. A relationship takes guts, hard work, bravery, and heart." She turned to walk toward the car, but he grabbed her wrist.

"Don't you understand? Lust has a way of changing a man. I won't stop at touching and kissing. I'll want more...much more. I care about you. I don't want to ruin a relationship, but that's what I do."

He watched her face. With her back to the parking lot and restaurant lights, he could not read her features. Her hands had cooled and the pulse in her wrist pounded like the ocean at his back.

She leaned close and he waited. Would she ever kiss him with such intensity again?

"I'm not that easy to get rid of, Hollywood. Besides, as you recently witnessed firsthand, this woman enjoys making love in the out-of-doors. If this is not to your liking, I'll accompany you to your hotel."

Shock froze his limbs, but his cock turned hard as stone. As Becka strode over the dune, he gazed at her shapely butt. Gaining his senses, he picked up his footwear and followed her to the car. Taylor choked back a response to her shocking statement, as he forced his legs to move. He used the keyless entry devise to unlock the SUV from several yards away.

When she leaned over the hood to dust the sand from her feet, her skirt rose up her thighs, exposing the silky flesh. He stumbled. He caught himself and stopped to put on his shoes before he opened her door. The parking lot's lighting brought too many emotions into focus. He thought about how nice it might be to take her home every single night of his life.

Marriage eluded Taylor in his twenties. Back then, he'd been having too much fun. Targeted by several luscious young women, he'd made use of the intimate treats laid at his feet. He'd been good-looking, virile, famous, and rich. Each characteristic made him quite the catch. Then he passed thirty, and here he was at forty. Holy matrimony had passed him by.

Every so often, Taylor wondered about one thing. If he could do it without the life-long trappings of marriage, he would have created a child years ago. But, the one time he considered marriage, it blew up in his face. He growled.

"Did you say something?"

He forgot about the woman standing beside him. They climbed into the car, and he started the engine. As they sped along the Long Island Expressway, her fragrance mingled with the salt spray coating his shirt collar. He wiggled his toes inside his shoes and cringed as coarse sand rubbed his flesh. If he concentrated on the discomfort, his cock might behave.

"I'm curious about your family. I've talked with Vinnie over the last twenty years about work and the business, but not about his daughters. And the boy...Jamie is it?"

"Jamie is my nephew, Laney's boy."

"I only met him that once, at the country club, but he seemed pretty quiet. How old is he?"

"He's eight. He doesn't talk much. Actually, he doesn't talk at all."

"What do you mean?"

"Something happened to him. I don't know what, but he refuses to talk to anyone. We're working on getting him some professional help."

"What does Laney say?"

"She refuses to speak about his problem. Whatever happened, she's part of it. That scares me the most. To think she might have had something to do with harming her child. I wish I could talk to her. I wish..."

Her words faded and his throat clenched shut with pity, knowing she had a sister who brought her misery and pain. Becka must never have enjoyed the love between siblings, which Taylor experienced with Mason, who kept his books and turned his earnings into millions. Growing up in a big family, Taylor only wanted to follow his dream to become an actor, and he looked to be well on his way with the aid of the father of the young lady beside him.

Forget it. I can't have both.

***

As they sped along the expressway, Becka did not glance in his direction. Instead, she watched the road ahead and made sure he took the correct exit. When they pulled onto Route 25-A, she exhaled with relief. She kept both hands clasped tightly in her lap. If she touched him, she wouldn't be able to say goodnight.

Their short conversation about Laney and Jamie had ended too soon. Her mind refused to relinquish the memory of making love to him with her mouth. A chill swept down her neck when she recalled kneeling in wet sand.

His hand crept to her lap and squeezed her clenched hands. "Cold?"

"What?" Did he feel her shaking?

"I asked if you are cold. Your window is open."

"A little." She hit the power button. Closing the window did nothing to release the chill skittering down her spine. "I'll be fine as soon as you get me home."

He coughed. "You want to come home with me?"

"No!" she said with too much force. "Laney is at my condo. My trip to Mexico City brought up more questions, so she and I need to talk." She turned to face him. "Whatever she's hiding might affect Jamie's welfare. I have to get her to talk to me...and soon. Red light."

Taylor stomped on the brake. She couldn't afford getting into an accident with this man. Too many questions.

"Fine, but, I'll come up with you. Maybe I can get her to talk."

"I don't see how, but I won't stop you." She ought to keep him far away.

Taylor pulled into a spot in front of her building and she jumped from the SUV.

Becka waved to the doorman as she led Taylor to the elevator. When it lurched to a stop, she preceded him to her door. Fumbling with the keys, they fell to the carpeted hallway floor with a thud.

"Calm down. I'm not going to pounce."

While the image of a sleek, golden, mountain lion came to mind, she pushed her door open then snapped on a light.

"What the hell happened here?" Becka cried. Couch pillows lay scattered on the floor. A bookcase was tipped over and her favorite romance novels littered the carpet. Newspapers, joined by empty beer bottles and the television remote, left a haphazard trail toward the bedrooms.

"Laney!" Becka hollered. Where was her wayward sister? With Taylor hot on her heels, Becka marched into the kitchen. She groaned. Besides the usual dirty dishes filling the sink, broken glass glittered on the tiled floor. Embarrassed that Taylor witnessed her sibling's destructive traits, she marched toward the guest room.

"Damn it, Laney, this is the last straw. Explain all this." She shoved open the door and clawed the wall for the light switch. As soon as she flicked it on, Taylor reached out and grabbed her shoulder.

"Don't move."

#  Chapter Sixteen

Startled, she quieted her tirade and brought all her thoughts back to the present. He shoved her behind him while ignoring her protests. Tension rippled off his shoulders as he crossed the room to where a body laid halfway across the bed.

"Oh my God! Laney!" She fell to her knees beside her sister's limp body. He turned on the bedside table light. Cursing, Taylor pressed two fingers to her neck.

Laney swat his hand away then mumbled several curses. "Yeah, she's alive," Taylor said.

"Thank God."

He turned to Becka, "I see a little blood in her hair. Get several towels.

She leaped up to do as he ordered. Becka tried not to think about who did this or why. She returned and knelt by her sister's side. They briefly locked eyes before he returned his attention to Laney.

He wiped Laney's wounds while speaking softly to her, so she left their side.

When she returned, he'd cleaned up the blood.

"I checked for other injuries and found several nasty bruises. She needs stitches. Whoever did this could have killed her." He turned to Becka. "This isn't a family problem anymore. You two need help. You should talk to the police."

"NO!" Laney screamed. She opened one eye, grabbed Becka's forearm, and said, "They'll hurt Jamie. They know where he is and won't stop until they get him back. We can't let them." Without another word, she dropped back into unconsciousness.

"Sounds like we have a lot more to worry about." He bent and lifted Laney, again, then added, "Get the door and call for the elevator."

Becka grabbed her wallet then punched the elevator button. During the ride to the lobby, absolute silence prevailed as she and Taylor listened to Laney's breathing. The doorman gaped when they settled Laney into the SUV's backseat and a surge of guilt bubbled up. Becka prayed she'd come up with a plausible explanation for the man.

"I don't think I locked my apartment."

"Forget that and tell me how to get to the hospital."

Becka fed him the turns while he pressed down on the gas pedal. Time passed in a blur until Taylor threw the vehicle into park near the emergency department entrance. When he gathered Laney in his arms, she squirmed in protest.

Becka listened as he spoke to her sister in low, soothing words, until Laney's body went limp.

The emergency room waiting area bristled with dozens of people. The triage nurse recognized Taylor, which gained them quick access to a curtained cubicle.

Taylor and the nurse had already propped Laney up on an examination bed when a doctor appeared and pulled the curtain to shut out prying eyes.

"What happened here?" asked the young intern.

"I'm...we're not sure." Becka came up with a quick story. "We came home to find her bleeding on the floor, broken glass everywhere. She must have tripped."

The doctor listened as he checked her head wound while the nurse quickly undressed the patient. Becka noticed Taylor step outside the curtain. "I'll have this wound cleaned and stitched. She has several large bruises. Was she ever awake?"

"Yes. She groaned and mumbled when we found her then passed out, again. We brought her here as quickly and as gently as we could. Will she be okay?"

"I can't rightly say until we do some tests." When he suggested they return to the waiting room, she found Taylor standing just outside the curtain. He dragged her down the hall until two uniformed police officers blocked their path.

"Miss Delacourt? We need to ask you some questions," said the dark-haired officer as his redheaded partner pulled out a notepad.

A chill ran down Becka's spine, but Taylor placed his hand at the small of her back. A wave of heat suffused her entire body. She glanced his way before she answered.

"How can I help you?" Becka straightened.

"Your building manager called, concerned about your guest. The doorman asked him to check your apartment to make sure you secured it." He paused to glance at Taylor. "He says the door was open and he couldn't help noticing the disarray."

"My sister had an accident. She's visiting me."

"Her full name?"

"Laney Delacourt."

"Her home address?"

"I don't know. She moves around a lot. Taylor and I found her when we came home from dinner. We think she fell. Why are you asking?"

"It's standard procedure," the red-haired officer explained, "to check out a story when someone calls in a concern. Since no one witnessed your sister's injury, we'll wait to speak to her. When the doctor gives us a green light, that is."

They slowly walked away and Becka shivered. Taylor seemed not to notice. His warm hand lay secure against her lower back as he directed her toward a couple of empty chairs. She collapsed into a seat, but he turned to leave.

"You're leaving me?"

"I would never leave you during something like this. I have to move my SUV. I parked illegally." He flashed a warm smile and disappeared out the sliding doors.

Becka slouched farther into the hard plastic seat, tired, hot, and worried. Who hurt Laney? How had they gotten into her condo? Why did Laney say they knew Jamie's whereabouts? Had she told the truth, for once?

The smells of unwashed bodies and medicinal cleansers irritated her nose. Taylor walked back in and sat beside her. He wrapped an arm around her, and she curled into his embrace. He hadn't abandoned her. She sat in silence beside him and soon fell asleep.

Becka awoke with a start.

"What time is it?" She glanced at the wall clock. Some thirty minutes had passed. She perused the room, which had emptied. Where is the nurse with a promised update? She snuggled back into the calming comfort of Taylor's solid chest and breathed in his masculine scent. Her heartrate slowed, until her eyelids drooped and she drifted off, again.

***

Her gentle breathing reverberated against Taylor's chest, making his heart beat a bit too rapidly. Steady and strong, her sweet fragrance comforted him while she lay against his body. He shook his head to ward off less prurient thoughts, which had no business in this place or time. Instead, he allowed his mind to go over the scene they'd come across at the condo. Someone roughed Laney up and then torn the place apart to make a statement. Becka's small nephew might be in danger. Becka could be at risk too.

He would not leave her alone so he leaned back and concentrated on their next move. He would not let her go back to that condo. His mind bandied their options, until Vinnie's face came to mind.

These were his daughters. They're adults, but the man had a right to know they were in danger. Another hour passed before the nurse returned. Laney had woken up, and the two police officers demanded to question her. Becka ran toward Laney's room with him hot on her heels.

"What's going on? She should be resting. Can't she talk to you tomorrow?" Becka's demeanor surprised him, until he realized she wanted time to warn Laney, so they could get their stories straight.

"I ain't talking to them. They've been standing here ten minutes thinking I'm gonna' remember how I hit my head. I don't even remember how I got here." With a sarcastic grin, Laney motioned toward the uniformed duo at one side of her bed, but she looked right at Becka.

"Doctor." Becka approached the man who treated her sister.

"Yes?"

"My sister would rather not talk to these gentlemen. They are upsetting her." The doctor looked to his patient. Laney nodded.

"I'll have to ask you gentlemen to leave. She may feel like answering questions in the morning. Right now, she needs to rest."

They all watched with relief as the police officers left. The doctor checked Laney's vitals, mumbled something about more tests, and left.

"I'm taking both of you to your parent's home first thing in the morning," Taylor said.

"NO!" the two women cried.

"This is not open for debate. Someone beat her up," he pointed to Laney, "and they trashed your apartment," he glared at Becka. "They might come back. Your parents live in a fortress. They will protect you. Don't tell them what happened, if you want, but I'm not leaving until I know you both are safe."

"We can't let you do this," Becka whispered as she tugged his sleeve.

Brushing her off, he slipped through the curtain and searched his pockets for his cell phone. He dialed Vinnie's number, clenching one hand repeatedly. What would he tell his friend? How would he explain his involvement?

Slender fingers appeared and pulled the phone from his fingers. He spun around.

Becka stared up at him.

"We said no."

Hatred pulsed in her eyes, shocking him. She might as well have slapped him. Tears made her eyes glisten, and he felt his chest lurch. When they rolled down her cheeks, his heart broke into a million pieces.

***

Early the next morning, the doctor signed Laney's discharge papers. Taylor helped her get her sister into his vehicle's back seat. Within minutes, they barreled along Northern Boulevard toward Glen Cove's majestic north shore.

Becka had won last night's argument. He did not call her parents. She said her dad would have raced over to the hospital. What good would that have done? They compromised, and they agreed to allow him to drive the women to their parent's home.

"Nice wheels," Laney said with obvious disdain for its price tag.

"Thanks. I bought it yesterday." His smile swept over Becka's face.

"You bought this just so we could go—"

"So you could go where?" Laney's left eyebrow arched.

"Ah..."

"We're here," Taylor chirped, breaking the tension. Becka inhaled a deep breath.

Taylor shouted into the speaker and the estate's gate flew open. He pulled to a stop in front of the elegant front door. Gloria Delacourt stood on the porch, high above them, wearing a pink running suit. Her light blond hair tumbled loose about her shoulders and she cupped a hand over her eyes to see what could possibly bring Taylor Adams to her door this early in the morning.

"Where's your husband?" he said as he opened both passenger doors.

"He left for the city thirty minutes ago. He had a breakfast meeting with the network. Why are you here, Taylor?"

Instead of answering, he lifted the ghostly pale body from the SUV.

"Laney! What happened?" Gloria flew down the steps. She ran her hands over Laney's ashen face. The blood-tinged bandage and bruised skin above her eye forced a teary gasp. Becka's eyes filled with tears. She pulled her mother away so he could carry Laney unimpeded.

"Let's get Laney into bed, first." He pointed his chin toward the house. The boy from the tennis courts stood in the open doorway.

"Jamie," Gloria yelled with a shaky voice, "go finish your breakfast. I'll join you in a minute." The boy's questioning gaze searched the adult's faces before turning away.

Taylor carried Laney inside the mansion. He settled her in a guest room near the back of the huge home, which overlooked the Long Island Sound. Gloria tucked her in and drew the draperies, plunging the room into darkness.

"Best to let her rest. I can explain," Becka said. Exiting, all three kept silent until they reached the patio overlooking the cliff. Jamie stared from the kitchen.

"The window is closed. He can't hear us. Now, talk!" Gloria sunk into a striped patio chair.

Becka relayed what happened. She purposely neglected to mention their dinner date. Her mother never asked why Taylor accompanied them.

"The point is," Becka added as she paced, "whoever did this may be back. Laney said they wanted Jamie."

Gloria glanced toward the young face peering from the window as he shoveled cereal into his mouth. Gloria's smile looked forced before she turned back to Taylor and Becka.

"We knew something like this might happen. Laney never named Jamie's father, but made a point to say he lacked interest in Jamie, though they lived with him for a while. Now that we are raising Jamie, there is no way some stranger will get his hands on him, especially not a man who sends people to rough-up Jamie's mother!"

"How do you know he wasn't the one who beat her?" Taylor asked.

"What little she told us makes me think he's a leader, not a thug. Plus, you said she didn't name the men. She'd have recognized him." Gloria shuddered. "You can't go home, Becka. They might come back."

"Taylor agrees, which is why he dragged us here." Becka squeezed Taylor's hand for a brief second. "I do too. Can we stay?"

"You have to ask?"

"Mom, you and Dad told Laney she is no longer welcome."

Gloria answered the worried look on her youngest daughter's face by reaching over and gripping her in a loving hug. "We didn't mean it."

***

Weeks passed in a blur. Taylor's filming debut began with a flight to Germany's Black Forest mountain range for preliminary shooting. The film's star turned out to be a well-known actor, who caused problems right from the start.

Tension soon poisoned the entire project. He complained that no lines felt right, he hated the weather, and the local extras sounded too foreign.

So many other little problems seemed to rile a man used to pampering. Taylor tried his best to hide his grin, which pulled at the corners of his mouth, until he realized he'd acted the same way on his television show's set.

Older, wiser, and sober, Taylor's opportunity to work on the film was a dream come true. A mouth-watering dish meant to savor. He threw himself into the role, loving every minute. He also had the good sense to keep his ego in check.

Filming in a foreign land turned out to be a bigger project than his weekly television show. Sensing the crew had grown to like him, his rude nature had all but disappeared. It helped that he did his best to get along with everyone. Taylor overheard the assistant director tell Vinnie he'd been immediately impressed with his work.

He spoke his lines exactly as written, but poured his personality into each scene to make the character his.

A euphoric happiness flowed through him, until he thought of Becka. Where was she? What was she doing? He'd never know, since he used the excuse of different time zones to keep from calling her. Assuming she had to practice long hours for the Olympics, he didn't want to wake her.

He spent each night wide-awake. A hard cock kept him from finding a comfortable position. Perspiration soaked his pillow. Hours passed filled with her image, until he finally fell asleep in the wee hours near dawn. Then the nightmares began.

***

Becka survived several meetings with the Olympic committee and attended tryouts in Atlanta. Familiar with the former Olympic courts, her talent shone as she vied for a chance to represent her country.

The only sour note had been tangling with Stuart Craddock. The man showed up in the most unusual places at the most inopportune times. During a long volley, with another powerful team candidate, she'd spotted Stuart in the stands. When she'd stumbled, Stuart had grinned.

She'd managed to beat her opponent.

Stuart appeared at a reception for the trainers and athletes. When he sidled up beside her at the open bar, the strong odor of tobacco and whisky assaulted her nostrils. He threw an unwelcome arm around her shoulders and insisted she follow him to his hotel room. She made her escape after a trip to the restroom.

Unfortunately, Stuart cornered her at breakfast. She had an early flight home to New York and he'd gotten talkative.

"Do you need a ride home?" he'd whispered when he leaned over her a bit too close for comfort.

"From Atlanta?"

"Remember, I have access to corporate jets and we could—"

"Thanks, but I already paid for my ticket on Coastal Express. I'm flying back with two friends so we can go over the training schedule. The next try-out—"

"Where do you fly into? I might want to visit your neck of the woods."

"Well, I'll be going through Newark."

"What time do you get in?"

"About two this afternoon. I'm staying with my folks, so—"

"So, I'll call first. I want to see you, again."

"Again? Stuart, listen...you and I aren't seeing each other."

"Rebecca, darling, we have been seeing each other for years." Then he had planted a kiss on her forehead and disappeared while Becka sat, perplexed.

Why me? Why now? I don't need any more pressure.

Images of a dark and sexy man haunted her nights and it wasn't Stuart Craddock. Talk about pressure! Taylor's taut muscles and rock-hard physique started to haunt her days, too.

She never thought daydreaming about Taylor would put anyone in danger.

As Becka searched her wallet for cab fare for the ride from the Newark airport, she'd been thinking of their relationship...a relationship bordering on fantasy, interrupted at every turn.

After he spoke into the microphone, her cab driver drove through the gate and pulled in front of the mansion. The front door slammed and Becka looked up.

She smiled at Jamie as he ran down the stairs, relishing his welcoming wave, yet he still didn't talk. She paid the driver, barely noticing the man climb out of the driver's door, and follow her from the vehicle.

"Hi, Jamie. Give me a hug. I've missed you." She hugged him and thought it odd when she driver drew close. Had he forgotten she only brought a small carryon bag? Why would he exit his cab?

As Becka pulled away from her nephew's grip to talk to the man, he knocked her to the ground. Her head struck a rock and her vision blurred. He grabbed Jamie and pulled him toward his idling vehicle. As she rubbed her forehead, Becka's eyes focused.

"Oh my God!" Becka shot to her feet in a flash, while her screams filled the air. Grabbing Jamie's waist, she pulled with all her might. Cursing in Spanish and tugging on her nephew, the cab driver fiddled with the door. With a cry of relief, Jamie broke free.

"Run!" she screamed. The family's gardener ran toward them brandishing a pair of hedge shears. The driver cursed, again, and jumped back into the cab. With a squeal of tires, the cab disappeared through the gate.

Her knees gave way, and Jamie ran back to where she'd collapsed in the driveway. He shook like a leaf, his mouth open in silent terror. She clutched him to her chest while the gardener questioned her. No words formed. The gardener yelled for help. Becka's mother ran from the house.

"You're safe, Jamie. I'd never let anyone hurt you." Becka's breathing slowed and the world began to spin, and she felt her body fall into blackness.

#  Chapter Seventeen

Becka drifted into consciousness wrapped in soft linens. A breeze carrying the tang of the sea fluttered over her face, causing her to turn toward the open window. The draperies stroked a spark of familiarity.

"I'm at my parent's home." She found reassurance in her own voice. She glanced about the room, aware of a pounding inside her left temple. Yellow daises dotted the walls of her childhood bedroom, filling her with a sweeping rush of comfort.

"I remember, now." She'd been sleeping here since she and Taylor brought Laney home from the Hospital. She smiled at the familiar room, but why was she sleeping in the middle of the day? The wall clock chimed twice. That wasn't right. How could it be two o'clock? Her plane got in about two in the afternoon.

Sunlight shone through her curtains and her stomach growled.

"Have I been asleep for twenty-four hours?" No one answered, so she pushed herself to a sitting position. A stab of pain wracked her forehead. Dizziness overwhelmed her. Clutching her stomach, she stumbled to the bathroom and vomited.

While she kneeled on the cold, tile floor, hunched over the toilet, her hair slipped from her hand as she tried to hold it out of the way. Without a word, someone seized the wayward strands and passed her a wet washcloth. When her stomach cramps eased, she sat back on her haunches to thank her savior. She almost fainted when she caught the concern etched on the same face that haunted her dreams.

"What are you doing here?" While her cheeks heated, she wiped her mouth. When he didn't answer right away, she said, "I fainted, I think. I don't really remember."

"Your mom called me. Jamie's fine, by the way," he reassured her.

"Jamie?" How had she forgotten? Her head spun and two handsome men came into view. "Taylor? I'm seeing double, and I hurt all over."

"Let's get you back into bed, and then we'll talk."

"No. I want to sit in the sun. I'm chilled to the bone, and dying of thirst."

Nodding, he helped her put on a pair of slippers. He tied her robe and guided her out onto the deck. Her body shivered, causing him to wrap an arm around her waist.

Jamie sat by the pool, a comic book in his lap. Her mother lay in a chaise lounge, beautiful as ever. As they made their presence known, the concern on her family's faces brought back ghastly images. The horror of what might have happened made her stomach clench.

"Darling, how are you feeling?" her mother asked. "Would you like something to eat?"

The thought of food turned her stomach. Becka shook her head, which only caused the pain in her head to intensify. She stumbled. Taylor swept her into his arms and set her on a chaise, next to her mom. He pulled a chair close without letting go of her arm.

"I'm okay, Taylor, I moved too quickly. And I remember everything. Are you okay, Jamie?"

The youngster smiled at her, hero worship evident in those quicksilver eyes. The sun beat down on her face and the warm sensation momentarily shut out the terrible memory. If anything had happened to her nephew, she would never forgive herself. She loved him like a son.

"Gloria doesn't really know what happened. She called a neighbor, who's a doctor."

"Someone else was here? I don't recall any part of that. Did he get me inside the house?"

"Yes, dear. I was afraid to move you. I also remembered what Taylor said about not involving the police. The doctor agreed to keep this quiet as long as you promise to rest. You may have suffered a concussion."

"Gloria is right. You need to take it easy. Laney called me after the gardener explained that he saw you struggling with a cab driver. What happened?" Taylor asked.

Becka relayed what little she remembered about the unexpected incident. How could a cab she picked up at the airport contain a man targeting Jamie?

"The cab driver. He was Bart Spratt's thug, wasn't he?" Cursing under her breath, she added, "I don't remember the name on his license or anything about the cab accept he drove up just as I exited the terminal."

"Did anyone know your flight arrival time? Besides your family, of course."

Becka's denial passed her lips the same time a conversation with Stuart Craddock popped inside her bruised brain, but this surely couldn't involve him, "No, not a soul."

Her mother rose gracefully, smoothed her hands down her running suit, and put on a smile to hide her worry. Motioning toward Jamie, she and the boy went inside the house. "This conversation is not for young ears."

She appreciated her mom for realizing that. Now alone with Taylor, she glanced his way. He'd grown even better looking, if that was even possible. "Working on your film certainly agrees with you."

"It does. I'm getting plenty of exercise and decent food. There's an abundance of fresh air in the mountains, but I couldn't stop thinking of you. It made for many a sleepless night."

"Ditto, but for a slightly different reason," she mumbled.

"Getting back on track," he whispered, "it sounds suspiciously as if you were targeted so they could get through Vinnie's security gate and onto the property. I had a feeling the attack against Laney wasn't the last, but we were all in the dark. Unless we find out exactly who is doing this and what they want, they may continue the assaults."

"I don't know who they are, but I know what they want."

Taylor stared at her. "What do they want?" he asked as he leaned forward and planted a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"They want Jamie."

***

Taylor fumed at the pain wracking Becka's body. The fear for her nephew's safety showed on her face. Sitting in the sun would do more for her health than hours lying in bed. While Taylor poured her a glass of ice water, she claimed the dizziness had lessoned. She took small sips. Tiny droplets slithered down her chin and he fought an urge to lick them away. When she proved she could keep it down, he stepped inside to let Gloria know a sandwich might help.

When he returned, he caught her staring at him.

"Why are you here?" Becka asked. She immediately blushed. "I mean, aren't you supposed to be in Germany shooting a picture? It sounds nice to think you'd race across the ocean the minute you heard about the attack, but that's a silly notion."

"I arrived in New York late last night and Laney's call came soon after." At her still puzzled look, he explained further. "There's a writer's strike on my movie set. Our leading star had another tantrum and everyone quit. There are always rewrites, but he slashed the entire script and bad-mouthed cast members, including me."

He chuckled at such a notion. "The man caused such a huge rift, everyone was granted two weeks off to cool down." He hesitated before speaking, feeling his heart pounding, "Becka, I couldn't stop thinking about you the entire time I was away."

Her grimace made his jaw clench. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths then turned her attention toward the house.

"Can we talk about this later?" she whispered.

He'd said too much. Jumping to his feet, he headed toward the house. "I'll get those sandwiches."

"I might not be able to keep anything down, but I'll try."

He sighed and stepped inside. He felt like running away. He'd opened up to her, something he never did with a woman. Until now.

Taylor entered the spacious kitchen. Gloria sliced through a sandwich, placed it with others on a tray, and glanced up at him with her dazzling green eyes. She forced her lips into a brief smile. Without warning, she burst into tears.

Alarmed, he pulled her into a comforting embrace. Neither heard Vinnie enter the room.

"What the hell is this?" He stood in the doorway with hands on hips and hatred in his eyes. "You lousy son of a bitch!" He screamed as he pulled them apart.

Stunned at the disgust in his friend's eyes, Taylor wanted to explain, but his hesitation gave Vinnie a chance to get in the first punch. Taylor flew out the back door, somersaulted onto the patio, and fell flat on his back in front of a stunned Becka.

"Dad! Stop it! It's not like that at all."

She pushed to her feet, wobbled, and then kneeled by his side.

Taylor rubbed his swollen jaw, but made no attempt to rise.

"I walk into my kitchen and find him with his arms around my wife!"

Becka's attention turned to Taylor before looking back at her father. Taylor could see the wheels turning in her beautiful head. Not good. Before he could open his mouth to explain, Vinnie stormed back inside.

Becka pushed unsteadily to her feet and slid back down onto the chaise. He sensed the pain, most likely caused by something other than her bruised body.

"You know he's wrong. No way would I disrespect your mother." He forced himself to his feet and shook the gravel from his clothes before continuing. He inhaled a deep breath and rubbed his ribs. Walking closer, she cringed. He stopped, and his fists clenched. He wanted to grab her and kiss her with the passion burning through his chest. His groin tightened, and his heartbeat thudded in his chest. Knowing her family hovered nearby kept him from acting on his urges. Instead, he paced the pool's edge.

While he worked on controlling his body from reacting inappropriately, Laney limped out of the house. Her head wound had healed, leaving only a vague discoloration.

"What the hell happened?"

Her temper was back to normal.

"Dad is going ballistic and Gloria is crying her eyes out. I know it's not something I did, because I've been in the bathtub for the last hour."

"We need to get out of here," Taylor interjected, ignoring her question.

"What are you saying?" Becka asked.

"It's not safe, here. Your parents love you but they can't protect you."

"Just a minute. You can't—" Laney's mouth snapped shut, as he stared her down.

"Don't give me that look, Laney. I didn't care about you and your personal problems until someone attacked Becka. I put the blame entirely on your shoulders."

Laney's eyes glowered at him, but she didn't argue. She knew he spoke the truth.

"I'm taking the three of you out of here in ten minutes. Go pack or you'll leave with only the clothes on your back."

"Where are you taking us? And why should I trust you?" Becka asked.

A dull ache formed in his chest. He felt an intense determination to get them out of there and keep her safe. "Please trust me."

Becka nodded, and his heart leapt.

***

Becka couldn't help smiling as their four-person rag-tag group crossed the marble-floored lobby of Taylor's hotel, causing the concierge to raise one black eyebrow. What did he think of a has-been actor leading two battered women and one quiet little boy toward the penthouse elevator? The man, professional to a fault, knew enough not to comment, until Taylor waved him over.

Becka watched as Taylor spoke privately with the man. When the elevator doors opened, he rejoined his party. Even Jamie's usually smiling face had retreated behind eyes fraught with fear. Her nephew's serious gaze meant he sensed something bad had happened.

Taylor ran a key card through a slot. The elevator stopped on the top floor and the doors slid open. They followed the luxuriously carpeted hallway past several doors, like children following a pied piper. Two large, dark skinned men stood, with arms crossed, in front of a door. Though she couldn't help but stare, Taylor gave them barely a glance.

He slipped the key card through another lock and opened the door to a spacious two-level suite complete with kitchen, fireplace, and L-shaped couch. Jamie's face pressed against the glass windows. Eyes wide, he stared out at Taylor's spectacular view of the city skyline. Only after Taylor locked and bolted the door did Becka's shoulders relax.

"I didn't realize I was so tense. Thank you for bringing us here."

"This is my temporary New York base. As I told Becka," he said in Laney's direction, "I don't need to own more than one home. This place is handy while I'm working with your dad." He paused and added, "Of course, when I think about Vinnie's jealous rage, my job might be in jeopardy."

"Why?" Becka asked.

"One word from Vinnie would keep me from heading back to the set." Taylor rubbed one hand across the nape of his neck before he disappeared into the kitchen.

About to question him regarding the opulence of the place, a knock on the door halted her steps. Thoughts of Taylor's wealth slipped away the moment Taylor returned to the door and, after checking the peephole, opened it to the hotel's concierge. The well-dressed man swooped in with a rolling cart piled with platters of food and beverage pitchers. Becka's empty stomach felt much better, and her mouth watered, as the aroma of lunchmeats and pastries tickled her nose. Taylor and the man returned to the hall to converse in private. As she investigated the offerings on the cart, she couldn't help overhearing their conversation.

"Remember what I said. Make sure no one gets up this elevator."

"And as I told you, Mr. Adams, no one may without a penthouse key pass."

"Talk to her Highness and her guards, so they don't inadvertently bring up guests. The princess can get a little...friendly."

"I understand, sir." The concierge headed down the hall.

Becka turned her attention back to the food cart, but some of the conversation made her uneasy. Who was this neighbor, the 'princess'?

Jamie appeared at her elbow. The boy uncovered the assorted dishes. Sandwiches, sliced fruit, and a large variety of cookies brought a smile back to his face. After looking to Becka for an okay, he grabbed several items and disappeared into the kitchen.

She smiled when he turned on the television on the counter. With Jamie's attention engaged, Taylor used the opportunity to address both her and Laney.

"I've requested extra security from the hotel's manager. He is currently informing the princess's guards that we don't want anyone coming near our door."

"Those monsters in the hall are her guards?" Laney asked.

"Yes. They can handle any strangers. She's royalty from a small European country and I met her at the pool. That's why I told you to bring your swimsuits. The rooftop pool, reserved for penthouse guests, is usually empty. No one gets on this floor unless in possession of a penthouse key card, so don't go roaming around the hotel. You won't be able to get back."

Laney mirrored Becka's thoughts since neither planned to explore the hotel.

"Not even a possibility. I believe I speak for both of us when I say fear will keep us from doing anything foolish."

"Good. Have something to eat, relax, pick out a bed, and rest. Then we'll talk." When he winked, she turned her face away from Laney. Heat rippled across her cheeks. She watched Taylor slip out of the hotel room, locking the door behind him.

With quiet conviction, the two women grabbed plates of food, poured their drinks, and settled on the couch. Becka snuggled her aching body into the buttery-soft suede cushions before setting her drink on the glass-top coffee table. Laney joined her, keeping a watchful eye on her son.

Becka had no idea what Laney thought of all this, but her older sister was the root of the trouble. Becka's life had been going along nice and smooth in a direction she'd planned since her early teens. Her life goals consisted of playing professional tennis, winning trophies, and making enough money to live on. Someday she'd show everyone an Olympic medal.

She'd shoved relationships and family ties to the background. So, how did she end up hiding out with her beaten-up sister, her mute nephew, and a man who turned her insides to mush?

"Taylor turned knight-in-shining-armor all of a sudden," Laney said between bites. "I guess I was right about you two."

#  Chapter Eighteen

Becka refused to take the bait. She would not comment on a relationship she couldn't even define. Taylor had materialized at her parents' home, when she knew he should have been in far off Germany. His sudden appearance shocked her to her core.

But, she remembered the instantaneous heat. Even nauseated and achy, the man thrilled her from the inside out. He held back her hair, wiped spittle from her lips, and made her feel safe.

At this particular moment, warm fuzzy feelings weren't what he brought out in her. Heat, passion, and a yearning to drag him into a private room popped into her head. At least her headache was gone. Achy fingers wiped a suddenly sweaty palm over her tender, bruised temple.

We are still in danger.

"Before he gets back, you'd better tell me everything." Laney's expression bordered on desperate. Becka waved her off.

"No, you've gotten us involved in this mess. We need to know exactly what and whom we're dealing with. Witnessing someone grab Jamie was horrific and I don't want to go through that ever again."

"I wouldn't want that, either, but—"

"You aren't listening." Becka jumped up sending her empty plate to the floor. She paced across the room. "On second thought, Jamie's nearby so I won't tell you what I think of you." She tried to keep her voice down, but the rage built. As she glowered at her sister, the door swung open. Laney jumped to her feet, and Becka stepped to shield her before she realized how she'd acted. Taylor smiled then locked the door. They both exhaled.

"A bit nervous, are we? Good. Now that you've eaten, we need to talk." Taylor bent and picked up her plate giving them a view of muscular thighs poured into tight jeans. He tipped a pitcher, adding chilled orange juice to a glass. As he stood with his back to the glass patio doors, Becka stared at his buff forearms.

He really has filled out. I like it.

Becka squinted due to the sun shining through the glass patio doors. He'd trimmed his hair and shaved. She stared at his smooth cheeks and sparkling blue eyes, but found she missed the dark and dangerous man who'd shared a spectacular day with her at a planetarium...a lifetime ago.

He stood straight and tall, with both feet slightly apart. He lifted the glass to his lips, and Becka swallowed when he did. God, he looks delicious. If he expected one of them to start talking, Laney didn't disappoint him.

"Listen you two. I don't care what you've got going on, but you should butt out of my business. You'll end up getting hurt and I won't let you blame it on me."

Her attitude shocked Becka. She looked at Taylor, as fire erupted in his eyes.

"You selfish brat!" he yelled at Laney. "Look at your sister. She's already hurt. A man grabbed Jamie in front of your family's home. I'm involved because you got us involved. Sit back down, start talking or, so help me, I'll drag your ass down to the police station and let them beat it out of you."

Laney stared back at Taylor, while disgust and hatred marred her sister's pretty face. Her eyes flashed and she muttered curses, but Becka kept quiet. He might do better getting through to her sister. She prayed Laney would answer Taylor. They had to fight the problem as a team.

"Fine," Laney hissed as she faced Taylor. Arms crossed, she hesitated. "I sent Jamie to live with my parents when my ex started getting rough. No, we never married. I was a teenage runaway when I met Jamie's father. Our so-called relationship deteriorated and I didn't tell him about the baby."

"Why not?" Taylor took another sip of juice, but Becka sensed his agitation by the way his brow wrinkled and his fist clenched around the glass.

"He's the possessive type. When Jamie turned five, he found us. I'd been moving from friend to friend, from Mexico to Florida. Some nights we slept on the beach, others in a homeless shelter, but we managed. When he happened to spot us on the boardwalk in Boca, he must have seen the truth in my face."

"Were you ever going to tell him?"

"I don't know, but I think it dawned on him, since from that moment on, he never let us out of his sight."

"Why didn't you come home? Mom and Dad would have—"

"No." Laney slowly walked back to the couch and sank into the cushions, all the fight in her had drained away. Laney rubbed her arms as if suddenly chilled. "He stuck us at his main office in Jersey. I'd been thinking of leaving him again, after I set aside some cash."

"So, I take it he wants Jamie and doesn't care what happens to you. Are those bruises a going away present?" Taylor asked.

Laney's eyes widened. Jumping to her feet, she smacked him across the face.

The sound of the slap echoed through the room. In the silence that followed, Taylor rubbed his cheek and said, "Cool your jets, Laney. I'm the good guy, remember? You're all under my protection and if you don't like it—"

The ring of his cell phone and the finger he threw in her face interrupted Laney's reply. Pushing the speaker button so they could hear the call he answered the phone, "Yeah?"

"Where are you, you bastard? How dare you take my family away, while leaving my wife to explain why you had your hands on her body."

"I have your daughters and Jamie with me at my hotel. They're safe. What exactly did Gloria say?"

The silence on the other end of the phone spoke volumes. Becka could picture her father's face turning beet red.

"If anyone gets hurt I'm holding you responsible, Mr. Adams. Have your fun, spaceman, and don't worry about rushing back to the set. I'm making a few calls as soon as I hang up. Your so-called career is over!"

All three easily heard Vinnie's last, screamed curse. After inhaling a few deep breaths, he spun away from them and gazed out at Central Park.

"I no longer need to worry about the writer's strike. I knew it was too good to last." He slid open the sliding glass doors and disappeared into the bright sun and fresh air.

Becka stood unmoving, too stunned to follow. Everything came back to Laney, so why did Dad blame Taylor for this mess? Darkness blinded Becka to everything but the resentment forcing her to speak her mind. "This is your fault. Someone attacked us. Jamie might have been taken God knows where. Mom would have been devastated if anything happened to any of us. Now, Dad hates Taylor."

"Big deal."

"It is a big deal! Taylor has lost his chance at a film career. My Olympic dream might be over before it begins, if the team calls to offer me a spot and I'm out saving your ass. Thanks a lot!"

With that, she swept up the stairs. Becka paused on the landing, where the pounding in her head brought her to her knees. Taylor appeared at her side like a knight in shining armor and whisked her into his arms. Embraced in his heat, surrounded by his familiar scent, Becka sighed. He laid her on a soft bed in a darkened room. Minutes later, a cool wet washcloth appeared, settling on her forehead as if by magic. She succumbed to its chilly touch. A large, warm body lay down by her side.

"Taylor, we shouldn't—"

"Hush, sweetheart, we aren't going to do anything inappropriate—not with your nephew nearby. I want you to rest. You and I can talk later."

She did as he asked while he cuddled her head against his warm shoulder. Two large, muscular arms held her with gentleness. His large male body rocked against her while a peaceful and loving euphoria stirred her senses.

Yes, I have fallen in love with him.

Too bad Taylor didn't feel the same, but hadn't she wrongly assumed he wanted to make love? The man confused her at every turn.

"But, how can—"

"Emotions ran rampant in my sitting room and we all need a break. I'm going to talk with the concierge again, as well as the princess' guards. Then we'll go for a swim, okay?"

With his face bathed in shadow, she watched him without answering. He wanted to protect her and her family, even though it had cost him his career. This man, who filled her dreams, made her rethink her future.

"Okay, you win. Don't let me sleep more than half an hour, though, or I'll be up all night." She noticed his famous lopsided smile pull at the corner of his mouth. Wet heat erupted between her thighs. Did he hope she'd want to stay up all night in this bed?

The door clicked behind him as he left and she stretched out amid the bed's cool sheets. She glanced around the darkened room at an antique armoire then turned to see a soft light emanating from the master bathroom. The thought of sleeping in his bed caused a pleasant tingle to zip across her body.

Before she could come to grips with the strong magnetic pull this man created, her cell phone rang. The noise came from the floor beside the bed. Taylor must have carried her bag upstairs. She rolled to her side and searched its dark interior. Her head spun. Biting back a wave of nausea, her fingers grabbed the offending unit.

"Yes?" she said as she bit back a groan and rolled to her back.

"Rebecca? Is that you, love?"

The deep voice caught her off guard. Why was Stuart Craddock calling? She'd seen him only a day ago. Or had it been two days? Time had blurred.

"Yes, it's me. What's up?"

"Sorry, love. You sound in distress. Are you hurt?"

"Whatever gave you that idea? I'm perfectly fine," she lied. Her stomach roiled, and her head felt as if a vise slowly tightened around it, but she didn't care to make him aware of her problems.

"It's just that I heard a rumor..." He paused the way a person would when expecting someone else to complete their statement.

"What rumor is that?"

"I heard you and Adams had run off together and you'd been hurt. If he's touched you—"

"Taylor had nothing to do with my black eye and—"

"Black eye? My God! I'll kill the bastard as soon—"

"Stop, Stuart. No one is going to kill anyone. Taylor never touched me," she lied once more, "in fact, I'm safe at his hotel as we speak.

"That doesn't matter, love. I can't stand to think you'd been hurt. I thought you were at your parent's estate. You're in the city, with Adams?"

"Yes. What of it?"

"Well, I'm disappointed, naturally. He's beneath you, you know. He's a common actor who schleps around the world and beds any woman who breathes. Of course I'm concerned."

"He's a friend of the family. Nothing more," she lied, again. Squirming, she sat on the edge of the bed. How could she end this call? What if Taylor came back to check on her condition and caught her speaking with Stuart?

"I have to go. Is there anything else you wanted to say?"

"No, no. I have all I need. Glad you're okay."

"Thank you. Good-night." She hung up the phone then stared at the clock. "Will I ever get a good night's sleep again?"

She lay back on the bed then slid her eyes shut. A ceiling fan blew air across her toes, which caused her to wiggle them under the top sheet. A television commercial blared from beyond the door. The whoosh of running water sounded through the open bathroom door. Someone was in the shower?

Pushing away an image of a naked Taylor, slow breaths peppered the otherwise silent bedroom, and let sleep pull her under.

***

Jamie stepped from the elevator and spotted the man who had visited Taylor's nifty home. In a hotel! He must be some kind of hotel problem-solver. He wore a stiff black suit and never smiled. Mom didn't smile much, either. This man must like to work with his new friend, Taylor.

Where is Taylor?

He gazed all around the lobby and stared up at the ceiling. He walked toward the front door in search of Taylor, then stepped outside into the bright light of day without responding to the doorman's questions.

Mom told him to stay quiet. When he talked, people got hurt. Taylor hadn't talked to the big man wearing the goofy green hat and long coat. He didn't know someone bad beat his mother, or the taxi driver grabbed him and hurt Aunt Becka.

She'd been hurt bad. Even the doctor hadn't been able to wake her. She didn't wake up until Taylor showed up at Grandma's house.

My hero, Taylor Adams.

As Jamie glanced up at the tall buildings across the street, he had the feeling that doorman watched him as he walked away. His mom warned him never to talk to strangers.

#  Chapter Nineteen

"Laney, where's your son?" Taylor had wheeled the emptied food cart into the hall. He didn't want to disturb the boy if he slept in a bedroom.

"I've no idea. I took a shower then fell asleep. Damn, I forgot my pain pills at Gloria's," she cursed, struggling to sit up.

"Let me get you something," Taylor offered. Her injuries certainly looked painful. Without waiting for her to answer, he crossed his darkened bedroom and slipped into the bathroom. Flipping open a cabinet, he grabbed a bottle of over-the counter pain reliever. Peering through the darkness, Becka slept on the bed, alone. No sign of Jamie.

He peeked in the empty second bedroom. Returning to the living area, he handed Laney the pills and fetched a glass of water. She grunted something that sounded like a thank you. He headed for the balcony. Earlier, he'd locked the door, but the boy could have opened it.

Why didn't the kid speak? Becka's explanation didn't seem right. The fact that Laney wouldn't even confide in her sister saddened him. What happened to the boy? Jamie seemed normal in every other way. He was a friendly little fellow, the kind of child he'd be happy to raise. Standing on the empty balcony, he ignored that last insightful thought.

Fear made him again check the second bathroom, the sauna, and the bedroom where Becka still dozed. Through the shadows, split by light spilling in from the hall, her perfect chest rose and fell. A comforting heat filled his chest, but he had to turn on the lights. He deemed disturbing her sleep a necessary evil.

"Taylor? What's the matter?"

Becka brushed a wisp of blond hair from her face. The bruise brought to light a morbid reminder of the danger that surrounded them all. The urge to wrap her in his arms and soothe her pain gripped him in a powerful hold, but there was no time.

"We can't find Jamie."

She jumped from bed. "What do you mean? Weren't you guys watching him?"

Her accusations stirred his anger, but he knew fear caused her to lash out at the nearest target. "Laney fell asleep on the couch. I went to the lobby to go over our plans with their head of security. I've looked everywhere. He must have followed me out and gone down the elevator after me."

"I thought it's locked with a code or something."

"Only to get upstairs. Anybody can leave." He grabbed a jacket, checked the power level on his cell phone, and ran from the room. Becka grabbed her cell phone and followed him down to the living room.

"What about those guards next door? Did they see anything?" Becka asked.

"When I went downstairs, they were no longer at their post. Her highness most likely went swimming, and they would have followed her. I'm going to talk with our doorman. Come with me, if you want."

Slipping a sweater she'd left on the couch over her head, she nodded. He feared she held back a curse or two as if she blamed him because Jamie went exploring. The boy had an adventurous spirit and a short attention span, normal for eight-year-olds. Jamie had no idea of the danger. They neglected to discuss any of this with the boy. An obvious oversight.

"What will we do if Jamie left the building?" Her trembling voice cut through him.

"Then we'll find him." He glanced at her pale cheeks before turning his attention to her sister.

"Laney!" he shouted. "You are still a target so stay here. Becka will leave her cell phone with you. Keep the door locked. Don't open it for anyone. We'll call you when we find him."

Laney nodded silently to Taylor. Becka passed her the phone, which Laney clutched to her chest. Taylor pulled Becka into the hall. As they waited for the elevator, he strode back and forth until the doors opened. He felt her staring at his profile. His jaw clenched with irritation but he wasn't sure why. His nostrils flared.

I'm simply worried about the kid.

Then a sweet fragrance wafted over him. His stomach clenched, his eyes snapped shut, and his hands fisted as he tried, in vain, to shake away the power her presence had over his body. Any more tense, and his head would explode.

"Taylor?"

He opened his eyes. She looked at him, and he crossed his arms over his chest, drawing his lips into a tight, thin line. Could she sense how his anxious muscles rippled under his shirt? The tension in his thighs built.

Then she touched his bare forearm.

"Christ, woman!" He spun toward her and read fear in her eyes. Every last bit of color leached from her cheeks and lips, making her bruises more pronounced. Swallowing his lust, he ordered his body to leave her be.

"We'll find him, Becka. I promise."

***

Nodding, Becka rose up on her toes and placed a quick kiss on his cheek. Her mouth forced a smile as she stepped away, reveling in the pleasure of touching Taylor. This was an omen. Her body had felt numb, ever since the taxi drivers' out-of-the-blue attack. Her tranquil life had disappeared that day, replaced with a numbing truth.

Jamie is a target.

However, Taylor would make everything better. The handsome man standing next to her in the elevator uncrossed his arms and surrounded her with warmth straight from one of her dreams. Dizziness swept across her brow, but she managed to relax amid the comforting tenderness of the man she loved. He vibrated with raw power in the small elevator, poised to race down the busy streets of New York, to find a sweet boy who didn't sense danger.

She closed her eyes. Absorbing the pleasure of his closeness, she inhaled his scent. The sizzling aroma of sweat, mixed with lime aftershave, made her clasp him, tighter. She could care less about the elevator's cameras. So, what if the doors would open any minute. She lifted her face and accepted his kiss. The floor indicator pinged.

"Later. You and me, alone," he demanded. "I can't stand being close to you like this without taking you."

She nodded, but why did he suddenly sound angry? "I can't stand being unable to make love to you, either. We are always interrupted."

He chuckled and loosened his grip around her. She did not want him to release her from their comforting circle. Her lips twitched, as the elevator doors slid open. The last person she expected to see appeared before their eyes.

***

Jamie skipped along the wide city sidewalk in the shadow of large stone buildings. When Taylor left the room, he'd peeked through the door's peephole and saw his friend climb into the elevator. His mother had fallen asleep on the couch. Not wanting to bother her, he followed Taylor in the next elevator. What a fun ride! Then he remembered the bad times. He wondered if he'd made a mistake.

The bad men might come back and it's all my fault.

Had Taylor headed in this direction? Maybe he went into one of the big buildings. Should he peek inside each one? He walked by a vender selling hotdogs on the corner. The smell of sauerkraut tickled his noise. His stomach rumbled. The man gave Jamie a funny look. What had Grandma told him the other day? "Don't cross the street and never talk to strangers."

Yeah, that's it.

A strange feeling trickled down his spine. He should go back. He shouldn't be here, so he headed back toward Taylor's building.

He walked fast beside the noisy street. Strange people, who looked like the people his mother used to hang out with, stared at him. He didn't like those men, especially the big guy who smelled bad, hit his mother, and demanded he call him Dad. Jamie didn't like him one bit.

Before he walked much farther, a hand grabbed him around his mouth. A big arm swooped around his waist. He suddenly flew backward. A white van slid to a stop and the bad man threw him inside.

He rolled hard against the back doors, unable to breathe. A man jumped in after him, slamming the door shut. The man tied Jamie's wrists in front of him and then joined the driver in the front seat. Jamie breathed hard. The rope scraped his skin and made him itchy.

The van's driver pulled from the curb and sped down the street. Jamie held his breath. Hot tears filled his eyes.

Mom will kill me, Becka will cry, and Taylor will be disappointed. This is bad.

***

"Why the hell is your arm around my daughter?" Vinnie's eyes flashed daggers at Taylor. Labored breathing shook the man from head to toe and tiny veins popped along his neck.

Taylor pulled Becka from the elevator and cringed, at a loss of what to say to his friend. This looked bad. Vinnie turned from his daughter back to him. The man's fists clenched at his sides.

"What the hell is this? First you're after my wife, and now you have your meat hooks on my daughter?"

"Dad, it's not what you think," Becka pleaded.

"I want to hear what my so-called friend has to say, so keep out of this."

She flinched at his words. Her cheeks blazed deep pink.

***

Loving a woman with a protective father was complicated. Keeping an eye on his friend's fists, Taylor took a breath and answered.

"I know what you're thinking, but we haven't time to lock horns right now." He grabbed Becka's hand.

"Where do you think you're going?" Vinnie moved to block their exit.

"Jamie disappeared. We need to find him. Help us, or get out of our way."

A shocked Vinnie stepped aside. Taylor advanced on the smartly dressed doorman, walking toward the front desk. Taylor's raised hand got his attention, and he asked him if he'd seen a young boy. He described Jamie.

"Yes, Mr. Adams, a boy about his age just left the building and headed south. I thought it odd, him being out there alone. So, I watched him and then came in to dial 9-1-1."

"Why? What's happened?" Becka asked.

"Heading back from his walk, a white van drove up. A man snatched him and threw him inside. I got the vehicle's plate number before they turned right at that second corner." He relayed the information to the three.

"Don't call the police until I tell you to," Vinnie ordered as he ran toward a black SUV at the curb.

"Dad. What are you doing?"

"Don't worry. We'll catch them."

***

Becka slid in between the two men and held on tight as they sped into traffic. Vinnie steered the SUV around a double-parked taxi, turning right two blocks down. Vinnie looked left and Taylor glanced to the right.

"Is that it?" Becka pointed at a van, slowing due to a flagger holding a stop sign. They'd come to a work zone.

"Good eyes, Becka." Vinnie patted her knee as he maneuvered his SUV alongside the van, keeping back a few feet. Vinnie looked at Taylor. Their eyes locked.

"I know what to do," Taylor said.

"Taylor," she cried, as he leaped out the door, "be careful."

He nodded and circled behind the two vehicles. He peeked inside the back window of the cargo van. A small form sat to one side. Two adults sat in the front seats of the otherwise empty vehicle He held his breath and jiggled the rear door handle. They'd neglected to lock the van's back doors. Slipping open the door, he prayed the construction worker kept them waiting a few more seconds.

He caught Jamie's attention. Relief showed on the child's tear-stained face. Under the cover of construction noise and honking horns, he slid toward Taylor while they both kept an eye on the men. Taylor pulled the boy into his arms, and joy filled the child's pale face. The van drove off the moment the doors clicked shut.

Taylor carried Jamie to the rear passenger area of the SUV. Becka moved to the back seat and enclosed the boy in her arms. She untied his bindings and helped him into his seatbelt. Vinnie casually turned right, looping back to the hotel. Taylor watched the retreating bumper of the van as it headed toward New Jersey.

When Vinnie's SUV pulled up in front of the hotel, all four exited in silence. As they scrambled inside, the relief washing over the doorman's face made them all smile. The three men shared a few words before they rejoined Becka and Jamie at the elevator.

"What did you say to him?" Becka asked.

"We asked him to keep this quiet. He knows he shouldn't have let Jamie leave the building alone. I'll have another talk with the concierge, later." Taylor watched Becka cradle the boy in her arms. During their ride up to his penthouse, a jealous yearning surprised him.

When they entered Taylor's suite of rooms, Laney swept Jamie into a big hug. The boy cried silent tears while she led him into the kitchen. Vinnie, Taylor and Becka watched her rip open a bag of cookies from the mini-bar then pop open a can of soda. With a motherly ruffle of his hair, she sat him at the kitchen table, before joining the others in the living room. With Jamie out of earshot, Laney waited for Taylor to explain what happened. It appeared she'd grown up in the last fifteen minutes.

"Laney, some men grabbed him off the sidewalk—"

"Oh, my God!" she cried. Her father wrapped an arm around her.

"Please, Laney, listen to Taylor," Becka said.

"We got him back—together." He nodded toward Vinnie and Becka. Vinnie pulled out his phone and sat with Laney. Alone with Becka, Taylor searched her soft eyes as she ran her hands over her arms. Forcing what if from his thoughts, he said, "I wish this day had all been a dream. I'd call it a nightmare, but we handled the situation well." He ran an unsteady hand through his hair.

"Who were those men and how did they know where to grab Jamie?"

"Hard to know. Did they snatch a random boy off a city street or was this a job? If Jamie's real father is behind this, and the previous kidnapping attempt, he won't stop."

Vinnie ended his call and turned to answer their silent questions. "I called in a favor at the Glen Cove police department. The license plate number came back to a business called Bartholomew Salvage in New Jersey. The owner is none other than Bart Spratt. Sound familiar?" His eyes connected with his oldest daughter.

Taylor interrupted before Laney could speak. "I remember something. On the afternoon Becka and I first met, a Spanish-speaking man watched her leave the country club. He wrote something on a pad then drove off in a white cargo van. Laney, you've gone white."

Neither woman looked comfortable under his and Vinnie's gaze. Then Laney gulped.

"We know a little about this guy, Laney," Becka whispered, "but, I think this is the moment you come clean."

"Okay, so Bart is Jamie's father. The guy's a bastard."

"We already knew that much about the man." Taylor paced in front of the couch.

"He's accumulated a fortune in the last few years, as Becka found out on her trip to Mexico. He sells car parts."

"That's not an unusual business practice, Laney," Vinnie said. "Lots of companies strip junk cars for parts."

"You're right. Only, Bart doesn't wait around to fill orders. His thugs made him successful by picking up cars before they become salvage."

"You mean, they steal cars then strip them of their parts?" Becka asked.

"That might explain why people I tried to talk to in Mexico kept quiet."

"Right. Hot car parts come cheap, and the mark-up made him and his silent partner wealthy."

"Silent partner?" asked Taylor.

"Yeah, some business honcho I've never met. Anyway, Bart said he's leaving his fortune to Jamie, but first wants him in the family business. I might have crossed a few lines in my life, but no way is my son turning into a thieving bastard like his father."

"Why were they trying so hard to hurt you? Was it because you hid Jamie from him? Doesn't seem smart," Taylor asked.

"No, I'm worse than just the mother of his child. I'm a loose end."

"What exactly does that mean, Laney?" Becka said.

"I worked right beside him for years, you remember. He wouldn't let us out of his sight so what better place to watch me than his office? I peeked at his records and heard enough to know he is dirty. I even copied some sales agreements and VIN numbers from stolen cars that would get him in hot water. He is free, as long as I am quiet." she closed her eyes, leaned back on the couch, and added, "or dead."

"No, this can't be true." Becka clasped Laney's hand.

To calm them, Vinnie changed the subject and turned his attention to Taylor. "Explain the scene that welcomed me earlier, when the elevator doors opened."

#  Chapter Twenty

Taylor backed away from a furious Vinnie. "I can explain."

"Sure looked like you had your arms around my daughter."

Laney spoke up. "Lighten up, will you? So what if Becka and Taylor are hitting the sheets? They're adults. I think they look great together. Gloria would agree with me, you know."

"Your mother is who I was thinking of, young lady. This backstabber was coming on to your mother and now he's seducing my baby girl. I think I have a reason to be upset."

Vinnie's red face proved he fought the urge to shout, since his grandson sat nearby. Becka looked horrified at Laney's statement. Parts were untrue. What could he say to make it all better?

"Vinnie, please." Taylor pleaded, loudly, since Vinnie had not paused mid-tirade. "Hear me out. Gloria and I are friends. If you bothered to ask, I would've explained how an outburst of tears over the attempted kidnapping of your grandson and your daughter's injuries propelled me to comfort her. She'd had a scare, you fool!"

Vinnie backed away.

"Taylor, calm down," Becka pleaded.

He ignored her, took a step toward her father, and went on. "How dare you even think I would take advantage at a time like that? I've done some rotten things in my life, as you well know, but I have the utmost respect for your family."

As Vinnie stood there breathing hard, Taylor faltered.

"I want to go home." The whispered plea of a young boy, quiet too long, stopped the argument. All heads turned toward the kitchen.

"He talked," they said in unison.

After their initial shock, the adults explained to Jamie they would return to Vinnie and Gloria's Glen Cove estate in the morning.

Jamie reined tonight. Taylor put him in charge of the big flat-screen TV, while he made a phone call. Assorted food items arrived from the hotel's dining room. They had their choice of finely sliced tenderloin steak smothered in sautéed mushrooms, chicken breasts swimming in garlic and tomatoes, and crisp salads. Jamie found the dessert tray.

"Can I have cake first?"

"Are you sure you want to, after all those cookies?" Becka asked.

The boy smiled at his aunt.

The pride in the boy's face reflected in Becka's eyes. After dinner, Vinnie retired to the master bedroom after saying he'd changed his mind about getting Taylor fired. Laney tucked a worn-out Jamie in the other. "I'll sleep in the chair near his bed." Motherly concern framed her pale face.

"I can't believe this is the same immature, cantankerous woman." How could she be the same woman who had knocked on their door and ruined the most sensuous night of his life? Taylor turned toward the sliding glass doors to hide the bulge in his jeans. How could the simple memory of a night of interrupted lovemaking make his body react so fast?

The woman holding his heart sat on the couch. Her reflection in the glass stirred his body to new heights. She slowly stretched with the easy laziness of a well-fed cat, while his erection pointed skyward. His nostrils flared and his muscles clenched with a predatory compulsion to pounce.

Not possible in a hotel suite full of her relatives.

While deciding his next step, two slender arms curled around his waist. A soft body pressed into his back. He clasped her roving hands with his own to make sure they didn't stray south, and forced a deceptively calm voice to speak.

"Hi."

"This has been one heck of a day, Taylor. I watched you open that van door and sweep Jamie into your arms. Until the van took off, I forgot to breathe."

"Everything turned out okay."

"I know. He means so much to me. I love him as if he were my own. I hope I'm blessed with a little boy like him, someday."

He squirmed slightly at her words until he pictured her with a newborn at her breast. As she ground her lithe body into his buttocks, he used all his composure to keep from coming where he stood.

"I wonder how the bad guys knew where we are staying," she whispered over his shoulder.

"I have no idea, sweetheart. Only Gloria and Vinnie knew."

"That's not exactly true."

Taylor swung around and grabbed her by the shoulders. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I got a phone call just after you put me in your bed."

"And?" Taylor asked, while forcing away that seductive image.

"Stuart called. He was concerned for my safety and—"

"And you told him you were safe with me, in my hotel."

"Yes, but, he couldn't possibly have anything to do with all this."

"Let's go for a swim," he said, changing the subject. He kissed her, satisfying his need to taste her lips. His hands slid around her with his yearning to pull her close.

Savoring her scent, he released her then tiptoed into his bedroom while Becka went to change in the downstairs bathroom. Vinnie lay sprawled across the bed, fully clothed. Earlier, they listened to him call Gloria to assure her of everyone's safety. Now pain and weariness etched his face.

Happy to see his friend out cold, he stripped off his clothes and tugged on his swimsuit and beach robe. Grabbing two towels from the master bathroom, he joined Becka in the kitchen.

A small, pink bikini hugged her curves. Hoping his now-limp cock would stay that way for the time being, he picked up a room key, slipped on sandals, and led her toward the rooftop pool.

"What about Stuart Craddock? Do you think he had anything to do with all this?"

"I don't know, sweetheart. The man obviously wants you, unless it's part of a plot to get closer to your sister. Seems too far-fetched."

"But, he knew what airport and what flight I would be taking home the day the cabbie attacked me at the estate. Could he have instigated the first kidnapping attempt as well?"

He couldn't answer her question though he'd always suspected Craddock hid dirty secrets. It wouldn't surprise him if he ran with a crook like Spratt.

He wheeled the dining cart into the hall then shut the door. The two burly guards stood at attention outside Princess Sophia's door. As they passed, Taylor stopped a moment to let them know what happened. He stressed the need to take extra precautions. The men nodded at his hushed words.

***

Becka sensed Bart Spratt wouldn't give up until he had Jamie, or until they stopped him. Could he be in business with Stuart? In her naivety, she'd assumed Stuart had earned his millions legally. She might have been dangerously misinformed.

Becka waited for Taylor to do what he did best—keep her safe. Tonight, the safety of her entire family lay in his hands. He'd told Gloria to spend the night with a friend in case Spratt and his thugs thought they'd all head back to the estate.

"Please don't worry. They can't reach our floor," Taylor assured her, "the elevator requires a key card. I've had the entire staff put on alert. The princess's guards will keep an eye out as well."

The afternoon's terror-filled kidnap attempt had wiped everyone out. Laney had stepped in and taken charge of her son, but why hadn't she kept her mouth shut about her and Taylor?

She let him pull her down the hall by the wrist. He used his key card to open a door near the elevators. A staircase led up to a tiled patio, surrounding the pool.

She tossed her towel on a lounge chair. A steamy breeze wafted over the privacy wall. The scents and sounds of the city enveloped her as she removed her cover-up.

Exhaust fumes mingled with fragrant tea roses blooming on a trellis. Car horns and revving engines seemed out of place amid their beauty.

"It's getting late." Stars twinkled above their heads making her feel as if she and Taylor were the only people on earth. She dipped a toe in the water. The deep end lay shrouded by shadow. The danger had ceased for today, but the tension in her shoulders lingered. The pain in her head had dissipated, but the horror of Jamie's kidnapping seeped in. She needed to occupy her mind and body to dull terror-sparked senses.

The man of her dreams tossed his own towel into a chair, and then dove into the deep end's midnight blue water. Lit by one low-wattage underwater bulb, the water in the shallow end sparkled.

He cut through the dark water then popped up across from where she stood. She hesitated, unsure why Taylor scared her. He would never do anything she didn't want him to do. She realized she yearned to feel his arms wrapped around her.

She padded barefoot to the stairs in the shallow end, his gaze following her every move. When sensual warmth filled her belly, she chewed on her lower lip. The cool water soothed the heat blooming between her thighs. When the water reached her chest, she shivered, unsure if her body reacted to the night air, or the hungry look on his face.

Her hands cut through the silky liquid. She swam until she slipped into his arms. Treading water, he held onto the side of the pool with one hand, and clasped his other hand around her waist.

Pulled into his wet embrace, lips found lips.

The near-silence, disturbed only by those faraway sounds of city life, and a trickling waterfall in a dark corner, soothed her fears. He deepened the kiss. His tongue traced her lower lip. She gasped, surprised at the sensuous softness. Her arms instinctively circled his neck while water dripped from his wet hair to slick over her trembling fingers.

"Are you cold, my love?" he asked when he released her mouth.

Did he feel her body shudder? With their faces in shadow, he must be waiting for her to answer. The cool water could not hide his body's growing interest.

When he pressed his groin into hers, she moaned before answering.

"No, Taylor, I'm a little nervous, though."

"Nervous? You? You are the most courageous woman I've ever met."

Surprised at his matter-of-fact tone, she said, "I was so scared today I'm surprised I didn't faint when your doorman told us a man kidnapped Jamie."

"But, you didn't faint. Aren't you the woman who has run circles around Stuart Craddock for years? Aren't you the woman who fought off a would-be kidnapper in your parent's yard?"

Heat blazed beneath her cheeks, and she prayed the dark hid her reaction from Taylor. When he dipped his head, to capture her lips in another sensuous kiss, she pulled away.

"This is wonderful, but..." she paused as the skin at the nape of her neck tingled. She glanced around.

"But what?"

"Don't these places have cameras around the pool? I really don't like the idea of some bored security guard getting his kicks watching you seduce me out of my bikini."

"The cameras go no further than the door at the bottom of the stairs. The only ones watching us are the pigeons. Of course, there are guests in the other penthouse suites. They might arrive at any time. Then again, it's pretty dark and—"

"And, what?"

"I bolted the door." He captured her lips and drew her even closer.

She felt his grin as he kissed her. Before she could think what to do next, her bikini bottom disappeared. He'd tugged the tiny swatch of material down and off!

The wet garment slapped the lip of the pool before his hand resumed its attention to her throbbing body.

Intense kisses blissfully grabbed her attention. Only the loud slap of another garment as it hit the edge of the pool made her realize he treaded water, naked.

"What are you doing?" she asked as Taylor continued to plant warm, wet kisses over her forehead and down her neck. He hesitated at her question. With her arms wrapped possessively around his neck, she wavered. "I can't do this."

#  Chapter Twenty-One

He went still. "Why not? There's no sister knocking on the door. All I want is intimacy, denied us since the day we met. You want it, too. And your Dad knows we've been together."

"He doesn't really know anything. Besides, we've never—"

"Are you rejecting me? Us?" Taylor captured her between his naked body and the side of the pool. With one arm on the pool's edge, the other slid slowly down her back and cupped a lower cheek. "What game are you playing, Becka?"

She trembled when she wondered how far she'd go so tonight's encounter ended in a meaningful way. All the way? She loved him. Even if he couldn't admit his own feelings, she'd have this pleasure-filled night. Shivers raced down her spine as his hand slid up to her face. He cupped her cheek, lifting her mouth closer to his.

"Well, I am getting chilled," she said with a tiny chuckle, "and I want to see your entire body when we finally make love. That is what we're here for...right?"

Shock rippled through the fingers caressing her face. His eyes reflected light from a nearby building and held her gaze. His long fingers traced her features and she smiled. A slight grin spread across his handsome face.

"I'm not rejecting your advances, Taylor. I'd rather be comfortable." Time stood still, as she waited for him to accept her challenge.

Taylor swam toward the shallow end with her as his captive. When they reached the stairs, he spun around, gathered her to his chest, and climbed out. The cool air sent shivers down her body, as water cascaded to the tiles. They fell into a heap on top of a towel lying across one of the chaise lounges.

Before she could take a breath, his lips trailed soft kisses down her throat, just under her left ear. Always her most sensitive area, she arched into his rock-hard chest and bulging manhood. Heat rose as she moaned with pleasure. He leaned over, but went still.

"What's wrong?"

"No condom. I came up here to swim, so..."

"Taylor, if you are safe, I am on the pill."

"Thank God!" He spread her legs with his knee, and plunged into her.

She gasped as his throbbing erection slammed against her womb. Rolling waves of sheer pleasure pulsed outward from the roaring furnace his powerful thrusts sought to stoke. Dizzy with more passion and desire for completion than she'd ever experienced, she locked her gaze on his face.

In the near-darkness, he returned her stare with equal intensity. She wondered what he thought as he drove inside her, harder and more frantic. She prayed sex wasn't all Taylor wanted.

Had his frustrations after the many thwarted attempts to love her propel him toward the finish much sooner than she'd like? Would he leave in the morning and return to his former life knowing he'd gotten his prize?

Dad assured him he wouldn't make trouble—not after what they'd endured, Taylor had no reason to stay around.

She stroked his cheek then lifted her face to capture his lips with hers. She smiled. He growled. Then, taking the initiative, she forced open his mouth and thrust her tongue deep inside. His body tensed as if delaying his orgasm.

With gentle nips, he ignited moans of satisfaction. With a reassuring caress, he slid his fingers between their bodies and stroked her intimate sweet spot. The rapture intensified and his thrusts increased each time she moaned. She met his thrusts while her entire body sizzled.

"Faster," she demanded. He obeyed. She wanted him to reach completion, this time.

"I can't...hold back."

"Don't, Taylor. I want to feel you explode inside me. Now! Please!"

***

Taylor cursed. He wanted to watch her face as she came, but the darkness shrouded her features. Intense heat pulsed from her body. She writhed and moaned beneath him, which proved too much for someone who finally realized something profound.

He loved her.

It wasn't only the sex. When she came near him, love pulsed from her and wrapped around his heart. She filled his life with excitement, adventure, and a craving for more. Growling, he thrust into her pulsating body three more times, before his vision went stark white and his body exploded with rapture so intense his eyes flew open and his toes curled.

He caught her smiling as his body shuddered inside her feminine warmth. When ecstasy contorted her adorable face, he held his breath and renewed his thrusts. Her inner muscles clamped down, milking him, signaling that Becka followed him up and over that joyful precipice.

His body loosened and his mind floated back to Earth. He covered her face and neck with warm kisses while he murmured sweet words of love and devotion.

Left mute by the pleasure, she did not respond to his words for several minutes. He slipped from her, giving her room to breathe. Taylor grabbed a towel. He feared someone might knock at any moment.

She must have read his thoughts. She jumped up and grabbed her bikini bottom as she sucked in gulps of night air. After his own breathing and heartbeat normalized, the chilly air tickled every inch of him. He toweled off his wet body, watching her dress.

She'd been very wet.

He grabbed his suit, snatched up the other towel, and hugged her. "Tell me about Jamie." He knew his words would break the mood, but the mystery behind the boy's affliction might be part of Laney's decision to hide.

"What do you want to know besides he's eight, has a wicked back-hand, and Laney was an unwed teenager when she had him?"

"You told me he stopped expressing himself vocally, but has Laney confessed to what happened? And why are you so happy he's talking now?"

She kissed his tousled wet hair. "Can we get into some dry clothes first?"

"Sure." He slipped on sandals and she threw her cover-up over her damp hair, letting it slide down over her bikini-clad breasts.

Only then did he realize he'd never stopped to remove her bikini top.

They walked hand and hand down the stairs then padded along the hall.

Her voice echoed in the empty hallway. "Jamie saw Bart beat Laney into unconsciousness one day. She might have died if a neighbor hadn't been alerted by her screams and his shrieks."

"That's awful. Not a thing a child should see."

"He was five years old when that happened, and has been silent ever since. Today's kidnapping must have shocked him back to normal."

"No, I believe our loud argument drove him to it. He didn't want his family and his new friend to hate each other."

"Very insightful, Taylor. You'd make a wonderful parent."

When her words hit home, he shivered.

Nearly past Princess Sophia's suite, the door opened and her guards entered the hall. They recognized Taylor with polite nods and moved aside for the princess. She managed to crowd the hallway with her presence, which forced Taylor and Becka to stop.

"We meet again, Mr. Adams. I see you find a beautiful playmate after all," she teased in her thick accent.

He grimaced. The Princess had donned a brilliant white evening gown. The bodice shimmered, while a pink-pearl necklace encircled her long, graceful throat.

"Princess Sophia, may I present Miss Rebecca Delacourt, my...friend. You may have heard of her. She is an international tennis star. She and her family are gracing me with a visit. I see you're on your way out, so we'll let you go." He gave the wide-eyed woman his famous grin and pushed past her and her entourage.

"My guards mentioned trouble," Sophia said. She grabbed hold of his free arm as he passed. Glancing at Becka's wet cover-up, which did little to hide her curves, she said, "Is this the trouble that kept you from my bed?"

Becka squeezed his hand, tightly. He'd be in for an inquisition as soon as she got him alone, especially after Becka released his hand and continued toward Taylor's hotel suite. When he turned to face the princess, Sophia chuckled. He stepped away and hurried after Becka. With luck, Vinnie and Laney were wide awake, so Becka wouldn't be able to vent.

Before he could call out to her to get her to slow down, the service elevator popped open. Three men charged into the hall, and shouted obscenities. Then he spied the guns.

Sophia screamed and darted back into her room. Her guards pulled weapons from inside their evening jackets. Taylor sprinted toward Becka and pushed her to the ground, then threw his body on top of her as bullets whistled past his ear.

#  Chapter Twenty-Two

Taylor stole a moment to drag on black jeans and a navy-blue T-shirt before the cops arrived. Cameras in all hallways ensured hotel security appeared via the service elevator even before the smoke settled.

Two gunmen lay dead on the carpet, their blood seeping into the lustrous gold fibers. Blood splattered the elegant ivory wallpaper. A third man, shot during the ambush, lay in handcuffs. Emergency medical personnel tended his wounds while a police officer knelt beside him and patted his pockets. The familiar redheaded officer they'd met in the emergency room joined his partner and investigated the bleeding man's personal effects. Ordered to stick around, the princess remained in her suite, and her guards stood by her door.

Becka sat on his couch. He left the door wide open so the officers could come in and he could watch and hear the conversations taking place in the hall. He hoped tonight's excitement didn't destroy their chance at happiness. He rubbed his chest at the pain she'd endured. Kidnappers had taken Jamie. Men had shot at them.

No, she wouldn't fall apart. She is simply the strongest woman I know.

***

Becka held back her tears. Taylor risked a lot to rescue her beloved nephew. While bullets flew, he put his life on the line to protect her. When she'd finally made love with the man of her dreams, ecstasy had consumed her. He was so much more than a lover, but he'd soon be leaving. It broke her heart.

She had to talk to Taylor, but first she needed to calm her racing heart. The scent of gunpowder filled the air. The sound of gunfire echoed in her head. When the shooting had stopped, and he'd carried her to safety, he'd apologized for taking advantage of her during her family's time of struggle.

"I let down my guard, and let you in. My inattentiveness put us in danger." Then he really hurt her by saying, "You'll hate me tomorrow for forcing myself on you tonight."

How could she convince him their lovemaking had been consensual?

Suddenly on his knees in front of her, he covered her clenched fists in his large, warm hands. Still wearing her damp swimsuit, she shivered.

"Run upstairs and take a nice, hot shower while I sort this out with the hotel and the police. An attack on visiting royalty happens all the time. Her guards handled those men. We were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"You're mistaken, Taylor."

"What do you mean? How am I wrong?"

"That man..." gasping through tears, she pointed to one of the men. "The third one, by the elevator. You know which one I mean?"

"The one who is wounded? But, he's handcuffed and can't hurt anyone. What's wrong, Becka? You're shaking like a leaf."

"He's Jamie's father, Taylor. I recognize him from a picture Laney showed me. She carries it to remind her who she's running from. Those men weren't after the princess. They were after us and they had guns. What if Jamie had been with us?"

Taylor released her and the last remnants of heat fled.

"If those men weren't after the princess, this could get sticky." Taylor ran his large fingers through his hair. "I need to talk with the guards. If anyone asks, you didn't see anything."

She nodded. She understood what might be at stake.

"I'll take care of everything. I promise. Have faith in me. I haven't steered you wrong, yet."

He lied. He'd stolen her heart, used her body, and flirted with a princess. He'd introduced her as his friend. Then he cursed himself for taking advantage.

With the officers' attention on the injured suspect, she watched as Taylor spoke quietly to the two guards. When the officers walked their way, Taylor and the two guards stood as immobile as stone statues. A few minutes later, Taylor returned to her side.

"What did you boys say?"

"The story we agreed on basically centered on what happened. Three men came out of the elevator with guns, which caused the guards to protect the princess. I said I heard gunshots and flung myself and my girlfriend to the floor."

"Your girlfriend? Won't that turn a few heads?" Though she spoke with a small laugh, she felt dead inside. When he neglected to comment, she shut her eyes and wrapped her arms around her chilled body.

A grim-faced officer walked their way. He identified the two dead men as well-known thugs. "They've escaped the law many times—until now. No one expects the third man to survive. We assume this was an attempted kidnapping of a royal princess. Hallway cameras should back that up."

"How did they get up here? I was told this is a secure floor," Becka said.

"A kitchen employee. They forced her to take them to the penthouse floor. Do either of you know a Stuart Craddock?"

The question knocked the breath from Becka. She took a deep breath. "Yes, we both know Mr. Craddock."

"Well, well. Very interesting."

"Why do you ask?" Taylor asked. He reached to squeeze Becka's hand.

"His business card was in Mr. Spratt's pocket."

"The injured gunman?" Becka knew exactly to whom the officer referred.

"Yes. Do you happen to have a local address for Craddock?"

"No, sorry. I barely know him." Becka glanced toward Taylor. What would he say about Stuart? Taylor shook his head without looking at her. The officer obviously believed their stories. Both the police and emergency units departed, leaving behind a respectful silence.

"The guards told me Princess Sophia has decided to stay in for the evening," Taylor said, closing and bolting the door.

"The princess has the right idea," Becka answered.

***

Glancing out at the German landscape, Taylor waited for grips to set up the next scene. Some fiddled with the lighting amid a tension-filled atmosphere, because the sun had nearly set. A slim woman massaged gel through Taylor's hair and then pulled out a razor. Night breezes cooled his cheeks even with a three-day growth of beard. The next scene required he be clean-shaven and well dressed.

He inhaled the scent of decaying leaves mixed with generator exhaust. He clenched then relaxed his fingers while he politely sat. He shouldn't mind the changes. Anger had no place, here. He'd been handed a golden opportunity the moment the producer fired the lead actor.

When the director and producer told Taylor he'd impressed them with his skills, consistency, and attitude, they had graciously offered him the lead. His dream came true. The crew congratulated him. Their admiration amazed him.

His transformation into character complete, Taylor smiled at his reflection, finding his famous lopsided grin had matured into a sensual smirk. Unfolding his body from the make-up chair, he stretched his muscles. The studio heads had asked him to bulk up for the new part. Though happy to oblige, his new exercise routines left him sore. Nutritious meals kept him at a good weight. However, a good night's sleep seemed unattainable, since Becka still haunted his dreams.

***

Becka smiled until her cheeks ached. Blinded by the relentless click of cameras, she posed alongside her fellow tennis team members. Behind the group, who wore their brand new Olympic uniforms, a huge American flag fluttered. With little more than a month before they began their training, she filled her days with public endorsements for breast cancer awareness. With several generous anonymous donations, she had no more need for Stuart Craddock. She'd kept up her own rigorous exercise program, which included running several miles a day and swimming laps.

She pressed her thighs together. A sensuous, starlit, poolside interlude haunted her nights. She'd kissed Taylor good-bye as he headed off to Germany. When the Olympic committee called, she sped to Atlanta. With hugs and good wishes from her family, time passed. She now had everything she'd ever wanted.

Almost.

Her life lacked one important ingredient; Taylor.

***

Becka lifted the hem of her dress before she tripped and landed on her face. Over a year had dragged by, yet an invitation dangled from her left hand.

She'd had to park several blocks away. She kicked herself for even bringing her car since a taxi would have made more sense. Plus, her parents had offered to give her a ride, but she couldn't take a chance they'd ask her about her relationship with Taylor.

What a joke.

She fiddled with her necklace then glanced up at the impressive Broadway theater's lights. Walking closer, she slipped past crowds waiting for the New York premiere of Taylor's first movie, the perfect kick-off location for an exceptional film.

This invitation-only, black-tie affair would seem intimate and sedate compared to California shindigs. Taylor probably misses those big parties. Dad suggested the change of venue and the production company listened. After all, her dad had discovered their new star, Taylor Adams.

Her mother planned to return to acting. Her dad already completed the sequel's screenplay. Happy thoughts faded when a cool breeze tickled the back of her neck, as if someone had stepped on her grave.

Jamie's father, Bartholomew Spratt, lingered for two long weeks before succumbing to his gunshot wounds. He never regained consciousness, so never revealed the sordid tale concerning Jamie. The police closed the case without knowing that the princess hadn't been the target. No one knew Bart had been Jamie's father except the family and the dead man's lawyer.

"Now, Laney is free to raise him with the support and love of her family," Becka said as tears threatened. She inhaled a big breath then walked up the red carpet. All around the brightly lit entrance, photographers pushed and called out while curious on-lookers waited for the movie's headliners to arrive. Becka handed her invitation to a security guard. Another guard escorted her into the quieter lobby.

Becka looked around the empty, spacious room. She presumed most guests had moved to the actual theater. Decorated with floor-to-ceiling-size movie posters, the bright lights made her squint. She stopped in her tracks when Taylor's handsome profile stared back in heartbreaking living color.

She swallowed deeply, staring at the huge poster. Suddenly her dry throat made her cough. A server appeared and offered her a crystal flute of sparkling champagne. One hand held the narrow stem of the glass while the other fingered the delicate strand of glossy white pearls around her neck. Taylor shipped them to her from a movie set in Japan. No note, just the pearls. Had he expected these would make up for not calling?

Circling the room, she stopped and studied every poster. Dark blond wavy hair framed deep blue eyes, which seemed to stare directly at her.

He looks good. It feels like forever since I last saw him in person.

She hoped their reunion wouldn't be awkward. The last time they were together was the night of the shooting. Their careers beckoned soon after and Becka kicked herself because she never took the chance to say she loved him. She didn't know if those words would have made any difference. She sipped champagne and cursed her lack of courage. The sad part was that she still loved him.

***

"I'm as nervous as you guys," Taylor said to his supporting cast members the moment their limousine pulled up to the theater's entrance. Each man nodded at his truthful words.

"Did you think traipsing through European forests during winter or Asian islands during a monsoon were difficult?"

"Yeah. That was so much fun," someone laughed.

Taylor chuckled along with him, blessed by his good fortune. "Smiling at strangers, keeping your comments short and politically correct might give us all headaches by night's end, but it's important." Several men growled. "Stay sober, too. These photographers want nothing better than to catch us with our pants down."

Every man snickered.

Taylor relaxed. He'd worked hard to get here, tonight. He'd earned the right to shine. The crowd stationed outside their vehicle had come to see Taylor Adams, the film star. They each exited the limo and waved to the crowd. Their roar amid flickering cameras could not hide the fact that the one face he longed to see wasn't here.

***

Becka ignored the commotion near the entrance. She stared at a poster depicting a partially naked Taylor fighting some shadowy enemy. She sighed, regretting she'd never seen him completely naked. She silently cursed interruptions and darkened pools. She shut both eyes and wished they'd spent more time together.

Alone.

They didn't try hard enough to let their love grow. They'd shared excitement, horror, and intrigue. There hadn't been time for a true relationship, especially surrounded by her family. Bart Spratt's attack ruined their one evening of fantastic poolside lovemaking. Gunshots, blood, and thoughts of Stuart Craddock tainted an otherwise wonderful memory.

How could Stuart have been involved with a low-life like Bart Spratt? When the police began looking into his business dealings by tracking his phone calls, and investigating his bank accounts, he disappeared. Rumors were that he'd fled back to Mexico, and was murdered by unhappy partners of Spratt. Her dad was sure the man was dirty and probably Bart Spratt's silent partner. If so, Stuart used her to help Spratt find Laney. With luck, he'd gotten his just desserts.

Her father also boasted this movie was destined to be a huge hit. She wondered if Taylor would need some down time to unwind, or would he immediately start working on his next project? Either would be fine with her. She too, would soon be busy. With her dream on track, she trained daily to represent her country at the Summer Olympics.

Grief stabbed her through the heart. When she realized her dreams were coming true, the first person she wanted to rush and tell turned out to be Taylor.

Becka rubbed shaky fingers over her heart in a futile attempt to stem the pain. Not having him to share her hopes and dreams dulled the experience.

"If only—"

"Hi, beautiful," someone said over her shoulder, "Come here often?"

I've heard those words before.

The low, husky voice sent shivers down her bare shoulders. Her heart leapt! She spun around, causing her champagne to go flying.

"Careful, sweetheart. I'm still paying for this tuxedo." Taylor grinned at her.

She touched his chest to ensure Taylor really stood before her. She smiled at the thudding heartbeat beneath her fingers.

"I wasn't sure you'd be here," he whispered.

Time stood still. His words surprised her. Breathing seemed impossible, while staring into the icy blue eyes she missed so much. Surrounded by a murmuring crowd, his gaze locked on her face. Becka read his yearning and sexual desire along with something more. Heat sliced through her chest and her heart soared with hope.

"Your dress and jewelry look lovely."

She knew she should respond, but her lips wouldn't work.

His irises darkened to almost black and his brows lowered. One slender hand reached out and cupped her chin. Heat pulsed through his fingers.

"I've missed you. I'd wake up every night in my trailer, tent, or hotel thinking of Rebecca Delacourt and no one else." He moved closer, "My body ached for you."

Desperate to say the right words, she added, "You've given me a few sleepless nights, yourself." Her skin quivered when his hand caressed one heated cheek, which flamed under his touch. She wished he'd find the courage to make all her dreams come true.

"Becka?"

He slipped a blue-velvet box from his hip pocket and popped it open. She stared at tiny diamonds circling a single, perfect, white pearl.

"It's beautiful." Her vision blurred.

"Will you do me the honor of making all my dreams come true by agreeing to be my wife?"

She gasped.

He grasped her left hand. Motionless, he waited for her response.

"You can't want me!" she cried, "I'm nobody. You're going to be a big star. You can have any woman in the world. Please, think about this before I say yes."

"Becka, you are somebody. You're the woman I fell in love with, when doing so had been the farthest thing from my mind. You're the reason my heart melted whenever I saw this smile." He cupped her cheek again, "and I love you, so..."

He paused in mid speech. "Did you say you are going to say yes?"

"Yes, I'll marry you. I've fallen in love with you, too. You definitely weren't in my plans. I had my life mapped out right down to the last minute. Then you came along. I want to spend my life enjoying the happiness I discovered in your arms. For as long as I live."

Their lips met. Fire leaped into her belly, and she knew he reacted just as hotly. With their arms clasped around each other, her parent's voices echoed in the room. Becka's smile, when she finally came up for air, answered their inquisitive looks. The crowd swelled and, as the good news spread like wildfire, toasts and good wishes filled the room.

The Space Rebel had come down to earth at last.

#  Epilogue

Three years later

Becka gazed out over the ocean from the deck of their Malibu home while gently massaging her protruding belly. Ben, their Golden Retriever puppy, barked with youthful yips. He bounced and weaved, trying to get the tennis ball. Suddenly, he dove into the icy waters of the Pacific Ocean. He swam with gusto toward the ball that just went splat about thirty feet off shore.

"Don't throw it so far, honey. He's only a baby. He could drown," she yelled toward the tall figure standing ankle-deep in the shallows.

"He's a retriever, sweetheart, hence the name?"

"Still, that water is cold and—"

"I'm certainly not going in to rescue him." Taylor put his hands on his hips, waiting patiently for the dog to return, as he did every time.

She knew he would, but her maternal instinct seemed to be kicking in a month early. Turning toward shouts of laughter, she watched her sister lose a foot race to her son, Jamie. Amazed to see the two of them up this early on a Sunday morning, she watched with joy as Jamie's long legs won every time.

Now a very tall eleven-year old, he played center for the basketball team at school. She could not be more pleased with how easily he fit in at her old private school. He'd grown fond of his grandparents and told Becka that all four of them had been living together in harmony ever since the horrible incident concerning his father.

Bartholomew Spratt had left the business to his only child, as he promised he would. The police and Internal Revenue Service had confiscated all the physical property in the business, which included Spratt's home and bank accounts, but Laney sold the waterfront New Jersey land under the salvage yard for a fortune, earmarked for Jamie's future. They could afford their own home, but Laney deemed her parent's influence priceless, so they still lived with them on their estate in Glen Cove.

Becka relaxed in her cushioned deck chair, and watched her husband play with their puppy. There might be a few more silver streaks in his hair, but his tan, muscular physique was still in great shape, and she missed making love with him.

"I'm eight months pregnant, and big as a house."

Alone with her thoughts, while Taylor and the puppy splashed in the shallows, she recalled their last visit to Fairfield, New Hampshire. His brothers, and sister, Josie, welcomed her with open arms, again, but she and Taylor had managed to slip away.

"Put your swimsuit on under your clothes, and we'll hike to Opportunity Falls. I don't want my family knowing where we're headed. I love them, but I want you all to myself." His eyes had darkened to midnight blue, and his quick kiss curled her toes.

The hike to the falls only added to her desire to swim alone with Taylor. The thunder of falling water roared before the falls came into view. Reaching their destination, the cool spray was a welcome diversion from the uncommon warmth of late September.

Quickly stripping to their suits, she followed him into the pool, at a curve in the river, and they swam to the falls. When he disappeared beneath the churning water, she'd hesitated. She wasn't afraid. He would never lead her into danger, and she wanted to find out why he mentioned these falls so often.

Becka took a deep breath, dove deep, and surfaced behind the turbulent water. He was waiting for her, naked and erect. Shock transformed into desire, and she shed her bikini in seconds.

He sat on a rocky outcropping, beaming down at her. He had reached out a hand, helped her onto his lap, and she settled herself onto his arousal. As she slid down his cock's velvety length, a deep moan of pleasure escaped. He lowered his head, capturing her lips.

She opened her mouth to him, and their tongues danced with a rhythm that matched their own bodies. As his arms embraced her, and his hands on her butt helped her rise and fall, she tangled her fingers in his golden hair. She rode him until their skin glistened with sweat, and their cries of ecstasy echoed throughout the small cave.

"Becka, are you coming?" Taylor shouted from the shore.

Pulled back to the present, she took a deep breath, and ran a shaky hand through her loose hair.

"Ah, no," she managed to answer. She smiled inwardly, aware that their erotic lovemaking under Opportunity Falls was most likely the day they'd conceived their child.

She eased out of her deck chair and rubbed her lower back. The on and off twinges of pain were growing stronger. A sudden deep pain in her gut made her gasp. Even when she had endured hours and hours of practice between games at the Olympics, she had never felt this poorly.

Waving to her husband, who now talked to Laney, while her nephew chased the dog, she suddenly felt warm, sticky fluid trickle down between her legs. Becka stared at the puddle forming at her feet.

"What the hell?" she cried. Raising her head, gazing back down at the beach, she locked eyes with her husband. Like a shot, Taylor ran toward her, the puppy galloping close behind.

***

Throngs of reporters hovered like vultures outside the hospital's main entrance. As patients and hospital staff walked inside, the local news reporter set up, preparing to transmit her live report for the six o'clock news.

"Hours earlier, Rebecca Delacourt and her husband, Taylor Adams, were swept inside this very hospital and we await word concerning the birth of their first child. Ms. Delacourt, you may remember, earned the silver medal in women's singles tennis at the last summer Olympics. Since then, she has been an avid spokesperson for breast cancer awareness." The reporter turned to a white-clad doctor standing patiently next to her.

"That's right. Ms. Delacourt has used her time and talent to raise funds and make television announcements to assist the American Cancer Society. Without her help, cancer research would not be possible to the extent it is. We owe her a debt of gratitude and hope she comes back soon. Her husband has been kind enough to help out over the last few months in her place."

"Thank you, Doctor," the reporter said as she turned back toward the camera. "Her husband needs no introduction. His latest film topped the box offices and earned multi-millions for the production company. Known for years as the young Space Rebel, Bennett Rage, he now graces the big screen as the sexy romantic hero that saves the day again and again. His next movie starts shooting in November. And here he is!"

Taylor walked out and paused to put on his sunglasses. Between the glare of the late afternoon sun and the dozens of cameras in his face, he needed the barrier.

"Too bad if it makes me look stuck-up," he muttered. It had been a long day.

"Mr. Adams," asked the reporter, "what's happening with your wife?"

"I want you, my fans, to be the first to hear this." He waited for the noise level to lower and for everyone to ready their cameras and microphones. Trying to tune-out the crowd, Taylor remembered he spoke to his fans via the news reporters.

"I'm pleased to announce the arrival of James Vincent Adams, who entered this world at five-thirty this evening. My son..." Taylor's voice cracked as raw emotion forced his chest to constrict, while his heartbeat raced. "Um, my son is six pounds, twelve ounces and is twenty inches long. He's a little early, but that's okay with my wife and me."

He turned to answer a reporter's shouted question, "Becka is doing just fine. Now if you'll excuse me..." and Taylor ducked inside.

***

Becka sighed as she listened to the quiet sucking sound her son made as he took in nourishment from her breast. Her parents left a while ago with Laney and Jamie to go get dinner. They promised to bring her back a burger. Hospital food didn't satisfy her cravings tonight. Eleven hours of labor can do that to a woman. She wanted to fill her stomach, hold her son, and kiss her husband.

"Where is your father, little one? He disappeared a while ago saying something about reporters. I guess they will be a big part of your life, now. Don't worry. You'll get used to it." She leaned over and kissed his button nose, then stroked his dark gold wisps of downy hair. Looking up, a large shadow hovered in the doorway.

Taylor.

Her heart leaped with joy at the same moment tears threatened to fall. He didn't like to see her cry. He told her many times it made him feel helpless.

"I love you, Becka." He sat down on the side of her bed, staring at the infant feeding at her breast. "And—I'm jealous."

Becka laughed. She sobered instantly as he lightly kissed her lips, then pulled back slowly.

"Can I tell you a secret?" she asked.

He looked at her, and she melted beneath his loving gaze.

"Whether in New York, Malibu, or beneath Opportunity Falls, you and I will make love again and again, because you are my love match."

He grinned wider, with the lopsided smile that sold millions of movie tickets. "God willing, we will give Vinnie and Gloria many more grandchildren, especially since Vinnie has finally accepted our relationship."

She chuckled, causing their newborn son to startle. "I'm so glad we don't have to keep our love a secret anymore."

The End

Here is a FREE EXCERPT from another

Opportunity Falls Novel

With Every Kiss

# Chapter One

Polluted air and a foul mood weighed heavily on Abigail Huntington's shoulders. Determination and a single goal motivated her to keep jogging. Tripping on a crack in the sidewalk, she caught herself before slamming into a light pole.

Her nose crinkled at whatever lay rotting in the gutter below the curb. Manhattan skyscrapers towered over her as she ran. Looming above 10th Avenue, they blocked the morning sunlight, yet sweat dripped down her naked calves and soaked the tops of her socks.

She shook it off and concentrated on getting from point A to point B. If she thought about the pain, she'd never reach her destination. Besides, too many worries riddled her mind for her to fret about comfort.

God, I need a vacation.

Tension clawed higher up her neck with each taxi honk. City buses belched smoke, ground gears, and spewed hot exhaust at her as they sped by. Both temples pulsed with a dull ache. She should have grabbed a cab. Instead, she trotted toward the gallery hosting her work. After arriving in the Chelsea neighborhood of New York City two years earlier, she'd found a profitable venue for her paintings and sketches.

She loved to paint. The smell of turpentine and the sensation of brushing oils on a fresh, naked canvas stirred her, deep inside. The success of her collection of charcoal portraits and oil on canvas landscapes in an upscale section of lower Manhattan hadn't come easy.

Don't dwell on the past. Not today.

Inhaling a deep breath, she continued at a brisk pace. Her favorite running shoes cushioned her feet as she resumed a steady rhythm down the nearly empty sidewalk. Damp hair escaped her ponytail and tickled her ears, but she couldn't stop now. Her goal was in sight.

When she loped past the newest building in the neighborhood, a bicycle courier cut her off. She cursed under her breath and watched him swoop inside the doors of a steel and granite monstrosity. The massive structure was softened only by the lobby's two-story waterfall visible through a wall of glass. She appreciated how the architect mingled nature's softness with the city's harsh reality. She'd love to meet the talented person responsible for such an awesome feature. The man or woman had a gift for taking common building materials and incorporating them into an airy entryway, even though the exterior seemed uber-modern and atrocious.

I'm glad I don't have to work there.

Her own preferences ran to a nineteenth century brownstone, or a cabin nestled among the trees, yet she'd bought a condo in a high-rise. The doorman made her feel safe.

Several small art galleries passed in a blur. She jumped over a banana peel and slid to a shaky stop with a jolt. Her attention zeroed in on a strikingly handsome profile. A man in a tailored gray suit sculpted to his six-foot-tall physique marched across her path. A black top coat lay carelessly over one forearm and a black leather briefcase swung from a clenched right fist.

"Wow," she whispered.

He glanced in her direction. Aviator sunglasses, perched on a straight nose above an adorable cleft chin, hid his eyes. Curious about his hidden eye color, she voted for blue.

She shivered with the sense that he had noticed her coming his way. Her mouth watered and dropped open. Her heart rate ratcheted up a notch, and sweat cooled the skin between her breasts. His pace never faltered as he returned his attention to his destination.

He strode across the sidewalk with long, steady steps and headed toward the Chelsea Dream Gallery. Walking closer, the tepid breeze teased her nose with a whiff of something spicy, and stimulating.

Aftershave?

His polished shoes were large and pricy. He'd tied his straight black hair with a brown leather cord. Amazing. In this city, where had she ever seen a well-dressed man sporting hair as long as her own?

Shallow breathing and a pounding chest brought her to her senses. She'd stopped running, but her heart beat as if she still jogged.

Her question about eye color might be answered, and soon, because he obviously planned to head inside. He climbed the steps to the gallery showing her work, and neared the double glass doors. She power-walked, then caught up to him as he pulled open one door. Curiosity and raw desire fueled her steps, until the other door's pristine glass reflected her disheveled appearance. Abigail cringed. She'd neglected to wear make-up. Worse, her sports bra clung to her sweaty skin and outlined her curves. She swiped a few loose blonde hairs behind an ear. Her embarrassment made heat tingle across her cheeks. She had little choice but to follow him inside.

The stranger must have sensed her presence because he waited until she slipped past. His substantial bulk filled the doorway. In her haste to get by, her knee struck his briefcase. An acute throbbing spread up her leg.

"Sorry," she said, forcing out a pain-filled breath, "I am such a klutz."

She nearly swooned at the heat pumping from his body. As she moved farther inside the gallery, the glass door clicked shut. Had the stranger followed her inside? Were her clothes as damp and clingy from the back?

Jangled nerves were nothing compared to the teeth worrying her bottom lip. Her body thrummed with a sudden craving to sink her teeth into something else, as she fought the urge to lean over and rub her knee. Instead, she squinted until her eyes grew accustomed to the gallery's bright lights. Heat seared her cheeks despite the frosty air-conditioning. Her nipples peaked, and her pulse fluttered.

Irritated at her body's public reaction, she shook off the embarrassing bad-timing and, instead, scoured the lobby for her agent.

"Excuse me," a deep voice resonated over her left shoulder.

She held her breath, then pivoted toward a voice dripping with authority and a bit of malice. The man with the briefcase gazed straight at her.

Why me?

Abigail adjusted her guess at his height. He stood a good four inches over six feet. He'd walked closer, and towered over her like a Manhattan skyscraper. His sunglasses, still propped on his straight nose, reflected her unkempt image. She would rather see his eyes than be reminded about her appearance.

"Yes?"

"I'm here to ask if I may—"

"Sir, we are not open at this time." The crisp, business-like voice of her agent, Bernie Greenside, drove her two steps back in surprise. The stranger never moved. His attention turned from Abigail to Bernie, then back to Abigail.

"He's the boss," she said.

"Oh?" He stepped toward Bernie, then set his briefcase on the marble-tiled floor. His right hand, now unencumbered, reached out. "I'd like a preview of your show."

Bernie shook the offered hand, then sighed. "I am truly sorry, but we are extremely busy. We must have all Ms. Huntington's work on display by six o'clock."

"I see, but I had other plans tonight more important than—"

Abigail coughed. She enjoyed how the man's cheeks reddened, complementing his charcoal gray silk tie. Even if he didn't recognize her as the featured artist, how dare he claim her work mucked up his Friday night? She wanted to cross her arms and tap her toe, to speed him on his way back to the street, but the potent masculine scent emanating off his skin made her tongue stick to the top of her mouth.

"Fine. Tonight, then," he said. He nodded to Bernie, then turned to leave. The stranger ignored her, then stopped and stared as if he meant to ask her something. The smooth muscles along his jaw clenched and his chin lowered, slightly.

Is he staring at my boobs?

His gaze seemed to settle on the floor even as a small blush colored his cheeks. He bent and grasped the briefcase's smooth leather handle before he straightened, turned, and strode from the lobby. The door clicked shut behind him, and the tall, dark stranger disappeared into the light of day.

"Wow!" Abigail had a sudden urge to run home and paint his portrait. The brief view of his face failed to give her much to work with, but he was far from forgettable.

"I have to get his likeness on paper, just in case the memory fades," she muttered.

"What did you say?" Bernie asked.

Ignoring him, what little she'd witnessed caused a pleasant tingle to race down her spine. Like how he filled out his suit, how his small ponytail hung lazily down the back of a man who didn't know the meaning of the word lazy.

Abigail knew the workaholic types. She dated too many of them and listened as they droned on and on about their business dealings.

"Just mumbling," she sighed.

Bernie chuckled.

Drat. The man was too intuitive for his own good. Still, she wanted to keep her mind occupied with pleasant thoughts about the stranger before she asked Bernie about his frantic phone message.

Too bad the stranger had kept his eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. Perhaps she'd have another opportunity tonight, at the gallery's open house.

To see his eyes, that is.

"Thanks for coming. Why the long face?" Bernie asked.

"I was thinking of another man in a suit. Jeffrey."

"The financial planner? Didn't you two have a date?" Bernie headed toward the receptionist's desk.

Abigail followed. She used Bernie as a springboard, and maybe talking it over with a friend would lessen the tension still riding her neck muscles.

"Yeah, another bust. I didn't agree with his prowess in sucking money out of his client's accounts with exorbitant fees. He spent our entire dinner date boasting about his cleverness and his clients' stupidity. The conversation left me flat."

"I should think so. Glad he doesn't handle my money." Bernie shivered.

"Or, mine. The date started out nice, but I was very happy to go home. Alone."

"Sounds depressing," Priscilla MacNeil said. The gallery's administrative assistant scooted out from behind her chrome and glass desk, her heels clicking on the tile floor. She leaned in and hugged Abigail. A hint of expensive perfume surrounded her head of chocolate brown hair twisted into a severe French braid.

Abigail groaned as she stepped away from her friend. "It gets worse. Jeffrey called yesterday and invited me to a trendy and perversely expensive Manhattan restaurant."

"Heaven forbid!" Bernie cried, and clasped a hand across his open mouth in jest.

Abigail's cheeks heated.

Bernie couldn't understand. Even with earnings from selling her artwork lining her bank accounts, she found it distasteful to spend frivolously, or talk about her good fortune. Jeffrey's blatant attempt to impress her rubbed her the wrong way.

"I'd give anything, doll, to be wined and dined by a rich, successful, gorgeous man," Bernie winked.

"Amen to that, Bernie," Priscilla said, then pushed her jeweled reading glasses back up her nose.

"Dating him again would be a waste of time. No sense prolonging the inevitable. You're welcome to him," Abigail said, pushing a sweaty lock of hair from her cheek.

"What else is wrong with Mr. Perfect?" Priscilla asked.

Abigail chewed on her bottom lip and reviewed her first impression of Jeffrey. Then, she held Jeffrey's image up to the man with the briefcase and sunglasses. Her mouth went dry, and her toes curled.

"No zing," she said when she could finally verbalize two simple words.

#  Books by Nancy Lee Badger

Warriors in Bronze

Heaven-sent Warrior

Heaven-sent Highlander

Heaven-sent Flame

Opportunity Falls

With Every Heartbeat

With Every Kiss

With Every Breath

With Every Spark

Clan of Dragons

Shimmer: The Beginning

Spark

Smoke

Smolder

Kilted Athletes Through Time

My Lady Highlander

My Dark Highlander

My Hunted Highlander

Highland Games Through Time

My Honorable Highlander

My Banished Highlander

My Reluctant Highlander

Highland Games Through Time Boxed Set

Dragons

Dragon Bites

Southern Fried Dragon

Dragon in the Mist

Dragon's Curse

Military

Unwrapping Chris

Find all buy Links on Nancy's Website

https://nancyleebadger.com/

# Dear Reader;

I hope you have enjoyed reading this contemporary romance, part of my Opportunity Falls series. An author loves to hear that her work is appreciated, and other readers rely on reviews. Your opinion counts, so please take a moment to leave a review wherever you purchased this book.

If you would like to be informed of my giveaways and new releases, please email me at nancy@nancyleebadger.com or sign-up for my Newsletter here:

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# Author Bio

Nancy Lee Badger grew up in Huntington on New York's Long Island. She swam at beaches on both the north and south shores. School field trips to New York City, filled with trips to museums filled with art, history, dinosaurs, and even a Star Trek retrospect gave her tons of ideas for this novel.

After marrying her college sweetheart and raising two handsome sons in New Hampshire, Nancy moved to North Carolina where she writes full-time. Nancy is a member of Romance Writers of America, Heart of Carolina Romance Writers, Fantasy-Futuristic & Paranormal Romance Writers, and the Triangle Association of Freelancers.

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