The ebb and flow of their bodies, the movement of sex as simple as breathing, had her lips curving before they met his in a long, deep, dusky kiss.

When their needs peaked, as gentle as the morning, she sighed out his name and drifted from dream to reality to find him still pulsing inside her, a second heartbeat.

"Finn." She spoke again, smiling into the quiet morning light. The cross he wore pressed against her skin, just below her heart.

"Hmmm?"

"This is an even better way to start the day than fishing."

He chuckled, nuzzling at her neck. "Yesterday morning all I could think about was crawling into this bed with you."

Her smile spread. "Well, you're here now."

"It seems I am." He lifted his head, studying her as he toyed with the hair at her temple. Her eyes were big and sleepy, her skin glowing with that translucent polish that was the afflush of good sex. "We overslept."

"No." Delighted with how easy it was, she ran her hands down his back to the taut skin of his buttocks. "We slept perfect.

Absolutely perfect."

"You know…" He cupped her breast, rubbing his thumb over the nipple and watching her lips part on an unsteady breath. "I was going to teach you how to fly-fish this morning."

At his gentle tug, fresh arousal settled in her belly. "Were you?"

"A dry fly-fisherman is the aristocrat of angling. It takes… a master's touch."

She turned her head when he lowered his mouth to her throat. "I could learn."

"I think you could." He scraped his teeth over the pulse that fluttered like bird wings. There was nothing, he decided, more erotic than feeling a woman open herself to pleasure. "I believe you have unlimited potential."

She sighed, tightening in response as he hardened inside her. "I always want to be the best. It's probably a flaw."

"I don't think so," he murmured. She arched to meet him, already shuddering over the first peak. "It's definitely a virtue."


"Deanna, why would a sharp woman like you continue this sentimental attachment to a loser?"

"It's not sentimental." Deanna sniffed as she unlocked the door to her apartment. "It's a very practical, very logical loyalty. The Cubs are going to surprise everyone this year."

"Yeah, right." After indulging in a snort, Finn followed her inside. "It would be a surprise if they managed to crawl out of the basement. When's the last time the Cubs came close?"

That stung. "That's not the point." Her voice, despite her best intentions, was very prim. "They have heart."

"Too bad they don't have bats."

She stuck her nose in the air and turned to her answering machine. "Excuse me. I have to check my messages."

"No problem." Grinning, he dropped down on the couch. "We can finish this later. I probably didn't mention that I was captain of the debate team in college. And this is one I can't lose."

To show her disdain, she stabbed the Play button.

"Deanna, Cassie. Sorry to bother you at home — even if you're not there. We've got a couple of changes in Monday's schedule. I'll just fax them to you. If you have any questions, you know where to reach me. And, oh hell, we've had a lot of calls on the tabloid article. I've screened a lot of them out, but if you want to respond, I have a list of reporters you may want to agree to speak with. I'll be in most of the weekend. Call if you want me to set something up."

"She never asked any questions," Deanna murmured. "No one at the office asked any questions at all."

"They know you."

She nodded, switching off the machine for a moment. "You know, Finn, as hard as the job can be, as much energy as it demands, I wake up some mornings with the feeling that I've fallen into clover."

"If you ask me, making a living out of chatting for an hour a day smells more like gravy."

That made her smile a little. "You handle the earthquakes. I'll handle the heartaches."

He tugged off his jacket. "It's a shame to waste all those brains."

"I'm not wasting them," she began hotly. "I'm—" But she caught the glint in his eye and stopped. He was only trying to draw her in again. "No thanks, captain. I'm not going to debate you." She turned back to the answering machine, stopped again. "Do you ever worry that someone's going to take it all away from you? Tell you one day that it's over, that there'll be no more cameras?"

"No." His confidence, the easy arrogance of it, made her smile widen. "And neither should you." He tipped her chin up, kissed her. "You're terrific at fluff."

"Shut up, Finn." She stabbed the Play button again, then scribbled down the brief message from Simon on a potential hitch on tomorrow's show, another from Fran telling her the hitch had been diverted. She waited through the blank tape on a delayed hang-up, then gritted her teeth over three calls from reporters who'd managed to wangle her unlisted number.

"You all right?" Finn came up behind her to rub the tension from her shoulders.

"Yes." She indulged herself a moment by leaning back against him. "I'm fine. I have to decide whether to refuse to comment or to draft a statement. I guess I don't want to think about it yet."

"Then don't."

"Playing ostrich won't make it go away." She straightened, stepped aside to stand on her own. "I want to make the right decision. I hate making mistakes."

"Then you've got two choices. You react emotionally, or you react like a reporter."

Her brow creased as she thought it through. "Or I combine the two," she said softly. "I've been thinking about doing a show on date rape. I kept pulling back because I thought I was too close. But maybe I'm just close enough."

"Why would you put yourself through that, Deanna?" "Because I've been through it. Because men like Jamie walk away from it. And because…" She let out a long breath that threatened to catch in her throat. "I'm tired of being ashamed that I didn't do anything about it. I've got a chance to make up for that now."

"It'll hurt you."

"Not the way it once did." She reached for him then. "Not anymore."

His grip on her tightened. Damn it, he needed to protect her. And she needed to stand on her own. The one thing he could do was track down Jamie Thomas and have a nice, long… chat. "If you decide to do the show, let me know. I want to be there if I can."

"Okay." She tilted her head back to kiss him before drawing away. "Why don't I open some wine? Let's forget about all this for a while."

She needed to. He could see the tension creeping back, like a thief, into her eyes. "As long as you're going to let me stay. And this time I won't fall asleep on the couch."

"I won't give you the chance," she told him, and walked into the kitchen.

Out of habit, he moved to the television first, switching it on just as the late news began. He turned toward the couch, intending to take his boots off and put his feet up. He spotted the envelope lying on the rug just inside the door.

"I've got some chips." Deanna carried out a tray and set it on the coffee table. "The drive gave me an appetite." Her smile froze when she spotted the envelope in his hand. "Where did you get that?"

"It was inside the door." He'd started to hold it out to her, but drew it back now. She'd gone pale. "What's the problem?"

"It's nothing." Annoyed with herself, she shook off the vague, niggling fear. "It's silly, that's all." Trying to convince them both she was unconcerned, she took the envelope and split it open. Deanna,

nothing they say would

ever change my feelings.

I know it's all a lie

I'll always believe you.

I'll always love you.


"A shy fan," she said with a shrug that came off as more of a defensive jerk. "Who needs to get a life."

Finn took the sheet from her, scanned it. "Response to the tabloids, I'd say."

"Looks like." But the anonymous faith didn't cheer her.

"I take it you've gotten one of these before." "I'd have a whole collection if I'd kept them." She picked up her glass of wine. "They've been coming on and off for a year."

"A year?" He looked at her, his eyes intense. "Like this?"

"Here, at the newsroom, at my office." She moved her shoulders again, restless. "Always the same format and same type of message."

"Have you reported it?"

"To whom? The police?" Whatever unease she'd felt vanished in a laugh. "Why? What could I tell them? Officer, I've been receiving anonymous love letters. Call out the dogs."

"A year makes it more than harmless love letters. It makes it obsession. Obsessions are not healthy."

"I don't think a dozen or so sappy notes over a year constitutes an obsession. It's just someone who watches me on TV, Finn, or who works in the building. Someone who's attracted to the image but too shy to approach me in person for an autograph." She thought about the calls, those silent messages in the middle of the night. And that he had been able to slip a note under her door. "It's a little spooky, but it's not threatening."

"I don't like it."

She took his hand to draw him down on the couch with her. "It's just your reporter's instinct working on overdrive." Because his mouth was much more intoxicating, she set the wine aside. "Of course, if you want to be a little jealous…"

Her eyes were laughing at him. Finn smiled back, letting her set the mood. But he thought about the single sheet of paper lying open on the coffee table, its message of devotion as red as blood.