She reached both hands up to slip off his glasses and set them beside the brownie on the counter. His hands clasped her jaws as his mouth descended-open, hungry, purposeful. Her answering lunge and lift were all he needed before his fingers trembled over buttons, hooks, and zippers, and they knew again the swift swelling of sexual appetite, appeasing it with little thought of time or place. In moments they stood among scattered articles of clothing, pressing their naked bodies together, exulting. He lifted her to his waist and her legs twined about his hips, the vacant core of her femininity seeking only one restitution: to be filled by him. The contact was sleek, immediate, and restorative as their bodies reunited and their arms clenched possessively.

He perched her on the edge of the counter, and the sun burned warm on her shoulders as his lean hands parenthesized her hips. Dark eyes captured and held hers. Lips parted. Breath mingled. The movement began.

And in moments Rachel and Tommy Lee shared that glorious outpouring of body and soul found only by the very lucky-by those who bring unquestioning love to the act. When their matched cries echoed through the kitchen, she held his head to her breast and sighed in repletion.

His shoulders were damp-she brushed the sheen from them.

His heartbeat was uneven-she pressed a palm to it.

His eyelids were closed-she kissed them.

And in the end he stayed for a late, late supper.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A week passed, during which Rachel and Tommy Lee had only stolen hours together whenever possible, but "stealing" time left them dissatisfied and impatient. Only one thing happened that brought them smiles. Tommy Lee had to make an unexpected overnight trip, and before leaving town he stalked, unannounced, into Panache, crossed straight to Rachel, and dropped a heedless kiss on her mouth. "Hello, darling. I've got to fly to Atlanta and I won't be back till tomorrow. Thought I'd better let you know before I left."

Verda stood taking it all in, her jaw hanging slack.

"Atlanta?"

"Uh-huh. I'm on my way to the airport now." Oddly enough, Rachel didn't even consider subterfuge. She merely removed her reading glasses, left her desk, and followed his impatient figure to the door.

"Business?" she asked.

"Yes. Some land I've been thinking about buying that somebody else has suddenly taken an interest in. I'd rather not go right now, but it can't be helped. If anything comes up, you can reach me at the Sheraton. Okay?" He was already reaching for the doorknob.

"Okay. Have a safe trip. I'll see you when you get back."

Distractedly he dropped a parting kiss on her mouth while she held the door open, and then he left in a rush.

When he called her, late that night, she casually mentioned, "You threw Verda into major shock when you came sashaying into the shop that way and kissed me."

His laughter came across the wire. Then he asked, "What'd she say?"

Now it was Rachel's turn to laugh. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"Of course. You've piqued my interest."

"She said, `I thought he wasn't pesterin' you!`"

When his second round of laughter died, Tommy Lee asked teasingly, "Am I pesterin' you, Rachel?"

"You bet. Please hurry home so we can get on with it."

But their bit of mirth at Verda's expense was the only lighthearted escape they shared during those days when intimacy was denied them. He returned the following evening straight to her arms as if he'd been gone a fortnight. They shared a quick and frenzied reunion. Then he tore himself away, declaring he had to get home and spend some time with Beth, especially since he had missed the supper she'd painstakingly prepared for him several nights earlier plus several others, and had found little time to devote to her since.

"I'm sorry, Rachel. I'd like to stay longer, but I'd better go home and try to smooth the waters."

"You don't have to apologize, darling. I understand. But don't you think it would be better if you introduced the two of us so that she can see I'm not trying to snatch her father and lure him away from her?"

He smiled and squeezed her arms. "You're right."

But she could see he was apprehensive about it. "When?"

He drew a deep breath and seemed to pluck an answer from the air before he could change his mind. "This weekend. When the dragon isn't around."

But one day before the weekend, the shop door opened and Rachel glanced up to find three teenage girls entering. Since her merchandise was targeted chiefly at mature middle-income women, girls of this age rarely shopped at Panache. She smiled a welcome. Then her heart seemed to pause in trepidation as she recognized Beth as one of the three, though Beth didn't give Rachel so much as a glance.

She had a pretty little face, and Tommy Lee's mouth, but her attractiveness was spoiled by a smug expression as she sauntered into the store with her giddy friends. They were obviously in one of those abhorrent adolescent moods that can seize a band of normally polite teenage girls and change them into rude little minxes who delight in disdaining anything smacking of middle-aged maturity.

They were a little too loud and disruptively brash as they invaded the store, plucking at this item and that, dropping them in distaste and making faces at one another that sent them into spasms of laughter.

"Hello, girls, can I help you?"

One of the trio hooked her thumbs in the rear pockets of her jeans and answered while she chewed gum exaggeratedly, "Naw, just checkin' things out. Gotta buy somethin' for my grandmaw." Then she made some inside comment to the other two that sent them into giggles as they sashayed toward a rack of autumn dresses. More rude giggling started as one of them plucked a hanger down and held the dress against her.

"Well, look as long as you like, and let me know if there's anything I can show you."

"Sure, lady," their spokesman said, then turned away, adding something under her breath that brought snickers to her friends and a flush of anger to Rachel's cheeks.

It was Verda's day off, so Rachel was alone in the store, sitting at her desk in the corner, working on invoices. She slipped her reading glasses back onto her nose, pretending to go back to what she was doing, but stingingly aware that Beth Gentry had still not even glanced her way.

The girls worked their way through the store systematically, while Rachel carefully ignored them, wondering whether to get up and politely introduce herself to Beth. But before she could decide, the other two moved to the French armoire where they tried on a wide-brimmed felt hat, leaving Beth to pore over the jewelry at the center counter. Rachel wrote her name on a check, inserted it into an envelope, and licked it shut. Finally she gave in to the urge and raised her eyes, only to have the blood seem to drop to her toes.

The deep-set eyes of Beth Gentry were fixed upon her in unconcealed dislike, issuing a hard, cold challenge that said, "Hands off my father." And while skewering Rachel with that unmistakable message, Beth blatantly slipped a silver bangle bracelet over her wrist. Rachel's eyes dropped to it, and her lips opened to protest as she instinctively began to leave her chair. But she froze, her hands still braced on the edge of the desk, and glanced up at Beth again to find the undisguised defiance still sizzling at her. It was obvious Beth considered her a rival for her father's attention.

Rachel remained poised, tense and shocked, her mind racing with indecision, while she and Beth raced off in a pivotal moment that would undoubtedly dictate the tone of their future relationship.

There was scarcely time to think. Rachel's reaction happened within seconds, though it seemed hours that she hovered with Beth's defiant eyes locked on her own. Then Rachel relaxed her shoulders, dropped her hands from the desk, and sat back in her chair while Beth lowered her wrist, shook the bracelet into place and let a victorious grin slip to the corner of her mouth. Without removing her eyes from Rachel, she called, "Come on, you guys, there's nothing in this place even your grandma would want." Then, with an imperious toss of the shoulder, she swung around and led the way out the door.

Rachel sat stunned.

What should I do?

It's too late now. You made your choice and she won.

She threw her glasses off, leaned her elbows on the desk, and covered her face. The nerves in her stomach were trembling. She was angry and depressed and upset. Did the whole world have to defy her and Tommy Lee? Was there some unholy force working to thwart their happiness, no matter how hard they tried to achieve it? What had she done that was so terrible? What? She had fallen in love with a man and was willing to make room in her life for his daughter, share him with her, and try to make a family. But how was that possible now?

She threw herself back in the chair and whammed a fist on the desktop-something totally out of character for Rachel.

Damn that girl.

Couldn't she see how little happiness her father had had in his life? Couldn't she understand how her jealousy was distressing him?

Rachel lurched from her chair, slipped her hands into the front slash pockets of her tailored skirt, and stood at the front window, staring out unseeingly.

So what do I do now? Tell him? Add this to the burden he's already carrying? Give Beth Gentry the opportunity to deny having stolen the bracelet and turn the situation to her advantage by declaring that Rachel was jealous of her? Could a girl of fourteen be that devious? Given what she'd just done, the question seemed ludicrous. Tommy Lee had said she was hovering on the brink. Rachel's reaction to this incident could be the nudge that pushed her over or the tug that drew her back. Rachel dropped her chin to her chest, staring at her shoe as she pivoted the heel against the carpet, feeling inept and out of her league. Such a tender, malleable thing, the teenager psyche-and being childless, she didn't know the first thing about molding it. The wrong decision could be disastrous for all concerned.