Deanna frowned. "I'd say it's more a mater of instinct and training."

"I'm glad your instinct and training haven't made you so cold. Your report from the airport was very passionate, very genuine."

She smiled weakly. "It was supposed to be objective and informative."

"It was very informative." He kissed her again. "And you looked beautiful in the rain." Lingering over the kiss, he missed her wince of annoyance. "Barring news bulletins," he said quietly, "can we plan on slipping away early, having some time alone?"

Twenty-four hours before, she would have said yes, she realized. Now, with the murmur of conversation around them, the music drifting in through the terrace doors, the fizz of champagne on her tongue, she hesitated. Marshall tipped a finger under her chin, a gesture she'd once found endearing.

"Problem?" he asked.

"No. Yes." She let out a breath, impatient with her own wavering. It was time to step back, she thought, and take stock. "I'm sorry, Marshall, Angela's counting on me to see this party through. And to be honest, things are moving a little fast for me."

He didn't remove his hand, but she sensed him drawing in. "I didn't mean to push."

"You weren't. You haven't." She curled her fingers over his wrist in a gesture that was both apologetic and affectionate. "I tend to be cautious — maybe overcautious — in relationships. There are reasons, and I'll explain them to you, when I can."

"No need to rush." He let his hand drop away from her chin. "You know how much I want to be with you, and it's not simply sexual."

"I know that." Rising to her toes, she laid her cheek against his. And remembered, very clearly, the feel of her cheek resting against Finn's as they'd danced.


He was tired, and he didn't tire easily. Years of snatching sleep on trains and planes and buses, of camping out in jungles and deserts and behind enemy lines had toughened him. He enjoyed the fine linens and mint-bedecked pillows of luxury hotels, but Finn could sleep just as soundly with his head on a bedroll and the echoes of artillery fire as a lullaby.

Tonight he pined for bed and oblivion. Unfortunately, there was unfinished business. He might have been a man to ignore rules, but he never ignored problems.

"That was the last of them." Angela swept back into the living room looking as fresh and lovely as she had hours earlier. "Everyone was so glad to see you again." She wrapped her arms around him, nestling her head beneath his shoulder.

His hand lifted to stroke her hair in a habitual gesture. She felt soft, and somehow pink, he thought. It was like being tangled in a fragrant, climbing vine. If he didn't nip off the feelers, it would certainly choke him.

"Let's sit down. We need to talk."

"I know it's hard to believe, but I'm about talked out." She skimmed a hand down his shirt, then back up to toy with his top button. "And I've been waiting all evening to be alone with you, to give you your real homecoming." She leaned forward for a kiss. Her eyes flashed like jagged cobalt when he held her off.

"Angela, I'm sorry. I'm not interested in picking up where we left off six months ago." He kept his hands firm on her shoulders. "We ended it badly, and I regret that, but we did end it."

"You're not going to punish me for being overly emotional, for saying things in the heat of the moment. Finn, we meant too much to each other."

"We had an affair," he corrected. "We had sex. It was great sex. And we had a kind of odd friendship. We might be able to salvage the friendship if we put the rest out of the picture."

"You're being cruel."

"I'm being honest."

"You don't want me?" She tossed back her head and laughed. The sound, like her eyes, was glassy. "I know you do. I can feel it." Her skin was glowing as she stepped toward him again. Her lips parted, curved, as she watched his eyes drop to them and linger. "You know what I can do for you, Finn. What I'll let you do to me. You want as much as I want."

"I don't take everything I want."

"But you took me. Right here, on this floor the first time. Remember?" With her eyes locked on his, she slid her hands up his chest, shivering with triumph when she felt the unsteady thud of his heart under her palm. "I drove you crazy; you tore my clothes off of me. Remember what it was like?" Her voice lowered, sliding through his system like tainted honey.

He remembered, and the memory made him sick with desire. The bite of her fingernails on his back, her teeth at his shoulder. She'd drawn blood and he hadn't given a damn.

"I want you to take me again, Finn." She watched his face as her hand crept downward.

His fingers curled at her back, digging into the silk. He knew what it would be like and, for a moment, desperately craved that moment of violent pleasure. But he remembered much more than the urgent sex and the dazzling fantasies.

"It isn't going to happen again, Angela." He let his hands drop away from her back. She was quick. He should have been prepared, but her vicious backhanded blow knocked him back two steps.

His eyes heated like suns, but he lifted a hand and coolly wiped the blood from his lip. "More than this room hasn't changed, I see."

"It's because I'm older than you, isn't it?" She hurled the words at him as her fury contorted the careful beauty of her face. "You think you can find someone younger, someone you can mold and train and teach to grovel."

"We've played that tune before. I'd say we've played them all." He turned, heading for the door. He was nearly across the foyer when she threw herself at his feet.

"Don't. Don't leave me!" She clung to his legs, sobbing. Rejection sliced at her, bringing as much fear as pain. As it always did. As it always would. "I'm sorry." And she meant it, completely, utterly, at that moment. It only made it worse. "I'm sorry. Please, don't leave me."

"For God's sake, Angela." Pummeled by pity and disgust, he dragged her to her feet. "Don't do this."

"I love you. I love you so much." With her arms twined around his neck, she wept against his shoulder. The love was as true as her earlier fury, as volatile, and as capricious.

"If I thought you meant that, I'd feel sorry for both of us." He jerked her back, gave her a quick shake. Tears. He'd always considered them a woman's most potent and most underhanded weapon. "Turn it off, damn it. Do you think I could have slept with you on and off for three months and not know when you're manipulating me? You don't love me, and you only want me because I walked away."

"That's not true." She lifted her tear-ravaged face. There was such innocent hurt in it, such wretched sincerity, that he nearly faltered. "I do love you, Finn. And I can make you happy."

Furious, with her as well as with his own weakness for her, he pried her arms away. "Do you think I didn't know that you put pressure on James to have me fired just because you didn't want me to take the London assignment?"

"I was desperate." She covered her face with her hands and let the tears leak through her fingers. "I was afraid of losing you."

"You wanted to prove you were in control. And if James hadn't been so solidly behind me, you could have fucked up my career."

"He didn't listen to me." She lowered her hands, and her face was cold. "Neither did you."

"No. I came here tonight because I'd hoped we'd both had enough time to let things settle. Looks like I was wrong."

"Do you think you can walk out on me?" She spoke quietly and with utter calm as Finn moved toward the door. The tears were forgotten. "Do you think it's simple to just turn your back and walk away? I'll ruin you. It may take years, but I swear, I'll ruin you."

Finn paused at the door. She stood in the center of the foyer, her face blotched and puffy with weeping, her eyes swollen and hard as stone. "Thanks for the party, Angela. It was a hell of a show."


Deanna would have agreed. As Finn strode toward his car, she was yawning in the elevator as it climbed toward her apartment. She was grateful she had the entire next day off. It would give her time to recover, and time to think through her situation with Marshall.

But the only thing on her schedule now was a long, soothing bath and a good night's sleep.

She had her keys out of her purse before the elevator doors opened. Humming to herself, she unlocked both the standard lock and the dead bolt. Out of habit, she hit the light switch beside the door as she crossed the threshold.

Quiet, she thought. Wonderful, blessed silence. With the door locked again behind her, she crossed automatically to her phone machine to check messages. As she played them back, she slipped out of her black satin pumps and wriggled her cramped toes. She was smiling at the recording of Fran's voice reciting possible baby names when she spotted the envelope near the door.

Odd, she mused. Had that been there when she'd come in? She crossed the room, glancing through the security peephole before bending to scoop up the note.

There was nothing written on the sealed envelope. Puzzled, and fighting off another yawn, she tore it open, unfolded the single sheet of plain white stationery.

There was only one sentence, typed in bold red ink.

Deanna, I adore you.

Chapter Six

"We've got thirty seconds to air." "We'll make it." Deanna slipped into her chair beside Roger on the news set. Through her earpiece she heard the frantic overlapping voices in the control room. A few feet away, the floor director was shouting demands for information and dancing in place. One of the camera crew was smoking lazily and chatting with a grip.