"Hello. I'm sorry. I was arranging the paintings."

"You going to introduce me to this beautiful young woman, Jared, or do I have to make my own moves?"

"Savannah Morningstar, Howard Beels."

"Savannah Morningstar. That's a name that suits you." The big, barrel chested man of about fifty shot out a hand the size of a small ham and gripped Savannah's. His eyes, a twinkling blue set in pockets and folds of creased skin, were alight with male admiration. "You working for this shyster?"

"In a manner of speaking." Savannah recognized the look, the squeeze. She'd seen and felt it hundreds of times before, and after a quick survey she judged Howard Beels as harmless. She let her smile warm, because she knew he would take it home with him and sigh. "You hire this shyster, Howard?"

He gave a gut-rattling laugh. "A man needs a clever lawyer in this dirty old world," Howard told her. "Jared here's been mine for, what is now? Five years?"

"Just about," Jared murmured, intrigued by the easy way Savannah handled, and entertained, one of his top clients.

"What do you do, Howard?"

"Oh, a little of this, a little of that." He had yet to let go of her hand. And he winked. "I'm a dabbler. How about you?"

"I'm a dabbler myself," Savannah told him, and made him laugh again.

"Savannah's an artist," Jared put in. "The next time you come in, Howard, you'll see her work on the walls."

"Is that so?" His sharp eyes homed in on the painting leaning against the wall behind her. "That your work there?"

"Yes."

He released her hand to cross to it. Despite his size, he hunkered down easily to study it. "It's right nice," he decided, liking the way the colors flowed and the way the flowers she'd chosen to paint seemed crowded together, more alive than perfect. "How much something like this go for?"

Savannah shifted her weight to one hip. "As much as I think I can get," she said dryly.

Howard slapped his knee appreciatively before he straightened. "I like this girl, Jared. I'm going to give you my card, honey." He reached in his jacket pocket and pulled one out. "You give me a call, hear? I think we could have ourselves a negotiation over a picture or two."

"I'll do that Howard." She glanced at the card, but it gave no clue to his profession. "I'll be sure to do that."

"Don't let any grass grow under your feet, either." He gave her a last wink before turning to Jared. "I'll expect those papers."

Savannah smiled at his retreating back. "Quite a character," she murmured.

"You sure handled him," Jared observed.

"I'm used to handling characters." She tucked the card away. "I've finished downstairs. If I wouldn't be in your way, I could finish up here."

"Sure."

He leaned against the doorway, watching her as she lifted the painting behind her. "A little more to the right," he suggested. "Howard's got an eye for the ladies."

"Yes, I gathered that." Satisfied, Savannah set the painting down and prepared to hammer in the hanger. "And I'd venture to say he's been faithful to his wife for... oh, twenty-five years."

"Twenty-six in May. Three kids, four grandchildren. He has an eye for the ladies," Jared repeated, "but he's one of the shrewdest businessmen I know. Real estate, mostly. Buys and sells. Develops. He owns a couple of small hotels, and the lion's share of a five-star restaurant."

"Really?"

"Hmm... He's on the arts council, works with the Western Maryland Museum."

As the card in her pocket suddenly took on more weight, Savannah nearly bashed her thumb. "That's interesting." Carefully, she set down the hammer. "It looks like I was in the right place at the right time."

"He wouldn't have told you to call him if he didn't mean it. I'm not sure how an artist might feel about having her work in hotels and restaurants and law offices."

She closed her eyes a moment. "I'd feel fine about it." She hung the painting, stepped back to study it. "I'd feel just fine."

"No artistic temperament?"

"I've never been able to afford artistic temperament."

"And if you could?"

"I'd still feel fine about it." She turned then to study his face. "Why wouldn't I?"

"I suppose I'm wondering why you wouldn't want or ask for more."

She wasn't sure it was only art that he was speaking of now. But the answer had to remain the same. "Because I'm happy with what I've got."

His lips curved slowly as he reached out to touch her face. "You're a complicated woman, Savannah, and amazingly simple. It's a fascinating mix. Why don't I take you to lunch?"

"That's a nice offer, but I want to get this done. If you're going, I could hang the pieces in your office while you're out."

"Why don't I stay, and we can order in? I'll watch you hang the pieces in my office."

"That would work." She tucked her restless hands into her pockets, then pulled them out. "Actually, there's something I'd like you to see. You didn't pick it, but I thought if you liked it, you might want it in your office."

Curious, he watched the nerves jitter in her eyes. "Let's take a look."

"Okay." She walked down the hallway to where she'd left the painting, still wrapped. "If you don't like it, it's no big deal." She shrugged and shifted past him to carry it into his office herself. "Either way, it's a gift." She set it on his desk, stepped away, jammed her hands into her pockets again. "No charge."

"A present?" He stroked a hand over her shoulder ,ts he went to the desk for scissors to cut the twine.

The idea of a present from her delighted him. But when he folded back the protective paper and saw it, the quick smile faded. And Savannah's heart sank.

The woods were deep and thick, filled with mystery and moonlight. Black trunks, gnarled, burled, rose up into twisted branches that held leaves just unfurled with spring. There were hints of color. Wild azalea and dogwood gleamed in that ghostly light. The rocky ground was carpeted with leaves that had fallen the autumn before, and the autumn before that, a sign of the continuous ebb and flow of life.

He could see the trio of rocks where he often sat, the fallen trunk where he had once sat with her. And in the distance, just a hint through the shadows, was a glow of light that signaled his home.

For a moment, he wasn't sure he could speak. "When did you do this?"

"I just finished it a few days ago." A mistake, she thought, cursing herself. A sentimental, foolish mistake. "It's just something I've worked on in my spare time. Like I said, it's no big deal. If you don't like it-"

Before she could finish, his head came up, and his eyes, swirling with emotion, met hers. "I can't think of anything I've ever been given that could mean more. It's the way it looked the night we made love for the first time. The way it's looked countless times I've been there alone."

Her heart stuttered, then crept up to lodge in her throat. "I was going to paint it the way it would have been in autumn, during the battle. But I wanted to do it this way first. I wasn't sure you'd... I'm glad you like it."

He reached out, cupped her face in his hands. "I love you, Savannah."

Her lips curved under the gentle caress of his, then parted, heated, as he steadily deepened the kiss. His fingers tangled in her hair, still damp from the rain. Her arousal was slow and sweet.

"I should hang it for you."

"Mmm..." Quite suddenly, as her body pressed to his and her mouth began to move, he had a much better idea. He tucked an arm around her to hold her steady and reached over his desk to pick up the phone. "Sissy? Why don't you go to lunch now? Yeah, take your time."

Savannah's gaze followed his hand as he replaced the receiver. Then her eyes shifted blandly to his face. "If you think you're going to seduce me here in your office, have me rolling over your fancy new carpet with you while your secretary's out to lunch..."

Jared walked over, closed the door. Locked it. Arched a brow. "Yes?"

She tossed her hair back, leaned a hip on the desk. "You're absolutely right."

He shrugged off his jacket, hung it on the brass coat hook by the door. His tie followed. Keeping his eyes on hers, he crossed back. One by one, he loosened the buttons of her shirt.

"Your clothes are damp."

"It's raining."

Very slowly, very deliberately, he peeled the bright cotton away. His eyes never left hers as he slipped a finger under the front hook of her bra. Never left hers when he felt the quick quiver of her skin and heard the little catch in her breathing.

"I want you every time I see you. I want you when I don't see you." With a flick of his thumb and forefinger, he unsnapped the hook. "I want you even after I've had you." Lightly he traced his fingertips over the curve of her breast. "You obsess me, Savannah, the way no one and nothing ever has."

She reached out for him, but he shook his head and lowered her arms to her sides again. "No, let me. Just let me."

His thumbs brushed over her nipples, his eyes stayed focused on her face. "I lose my mind when I touch you," he murmured. "This time I want to watch you lose yours."

Fingers, thumbs, palms, cruised over her. Rough, then gentle, tender, then demanding, as if he was refusing to let any one mood rule. Driven, she pulled at him, tried to tug him closer. But each time she did, he stopped, patiently lowered her arms until she had no choice but to grip the edge of the desk and let him have his way.

No one had ever made love to her like this, as if she were essential, as if she were all there was and all there needed to be. As if her pleasure were paramount. Pinpoint sensations percolated along her skin, chased by others, whisper-soft, then still more that seeped slyly through flesh to blood and bone.