Dancing In The Dark

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DANCING IN THE DARK Linda Cajio

One He was naked. Charity Brown stared through the darkened trees and bushes and into the clearing lit by a small fire. A man stood several feet from the flickering flames, his arms outstretched to the night sky. His eyes were closed, his body awash in a red-yellow glow, every inch of him completely illuminated. He was tall and slim, his muscles not bulky, but lean like a primitive hunter's. His chest had a dusting of hair that angled down past his waist. Her gaze was drawn to the part of his anatomy that made him male. "Male" had never looked so good. Embarrassment heated her cheeks even as the rest of her body heated with something else. She looked away, telling herself that she shouldn't feel funny. A person would have to be a saint not to look. And just plain old human curiosity dictated that if one came upon a naked male while cutting through the woods on the way home from the library, one would, of course, take a look. In fact, she mentally challenged a saint not to. And she thought things were dull in Milton, New Jersey. But why, she wondered, was he standing in the woods like this? Like a warrior from the ancient past. . . several thousand years before the pharaohs. Primitive, virile, untamed. Charity's fingers curved around the time-travel romance she'd taken out, along with the books she needed for her business class report. "Naaa," she muttered, shaking her head. Fiction was fiction. This was just a nut. It occurred to her that maybe she'd hit the mark and she ought to make tracks for home before her peeping-Thomasina act turned dangerous. But the naked man lowered his arms and opened his eyes, and Charity wasn't able to resist one last peek. She leaned forward and peered at his face. He was in his thirties as far as she could judge, his hair dark and cut short. His features were even— square jaw, firm lips, and prominent cheekbones free of any extra flesh. Painted stripes streaked his forehead and cheeks. There was something hauntingly familiar about that face. And then it smacked her between the eyes. Jake Halford. Charity staggered back in shock until her spine connected with a very solid tree trunk. She gasped for breath, half because it had been knocked out of her and half because she just couldn't believe it. The naked man couldn't be the new vice president of Wayans, Inc., the computer distributor she worked for. Mr. Wizard, the Wall Street Journal had called him for his ability to take companies or subsidiaries in trouble and transform them into solid profit-makers. She rubbed her face and fought for control of her senses. Her imagination was really running away with her if she thought the naked man was Jake Halford. She stepped up to the concealing bushes again and took a good long look. It was Jake. "Oh, my Lord," she murmured. As her brain scrambled to take in the truth, he bent down, picked up a drum, and began to beat a

steady rhythm on it. He also started to mumble a kind of mantra while he shuffled around the fire. A giggle started low in Charity's gut, rising inexorably higher. She clapped her hand over her mouth. The giggle snorted right out the side of her lips. Mr. Wizard, the man who was going to cure all the financial ills of Wayans, Inc., and in turn cure all the financial ills of Milton, New Jersey, was playing cowboys and Indians in the woods. And it looked like he'd forgotten his loincloth. Jake glanced up sharply, his heightened senses keenly alert to any disturbance in the natural force of the forest. That often happened in the midst of the ritual, his being so alive with instinct that he could detect the slightest intrusion. Something was out there. A deer, he thought. The pine barrens of southern New Jersey were a haven for them. The urge rose in him to track it, to hunt it in the ancient way. But he had no desire to bring it down because he had no need of the meat and furs it would provide. He respected the creature. It was only trying to live out its life in the way nature had intended. He understood that perfectly. Man had turned away from his own natural needs generations ago, and now had no right to take. Certainly he had no physical need. Jake was there that night, instead, to call up the ancient past inside himself, to find the true male and unlock it from the cage of modern culture. Men had forgotten how to be men, their basic need to provide for the tribe and gain inner satisfaction from that lost to them. The enlightened man was confused, uncertain, unhappy. Jake knew that feeling. He used to be an eighties kind of guy, so sensitive to a woman's needs that he had suppressed his own. Until, five years earlier, he was offered the job of a lifetime. He'd been offered several before, his specialty being troubleshooting for companies in jeopardy, but he'd turned them down because of his wife's career. The job had been to save a desperately struggling subsidiary company. Instead, it had gone bankrupt. People had lost their livelihoods. Needless to say, his conscience hadn't allowed him to ignore the next company in serious trouble. Betsy hadn't agreed with his conscience—or the move to another state—and he'd been slapped with a divorce so fast, it still made him reel to remember. He'd felt selfish and chauvinistic at the time, a failure as a caring man and husband. Women— notably his mother and four older sisters—had ruled his life from the cradle on. He'd had no father figure, for his father had forsaken his familial responsibilities shortly before Jake was born. At school Jake had been called a mama's boy, and he had been one. His mother and sisters had plotted out his life for him, then passed him on to his wife. He'd always done exactly what everyone wanted, even to the point of agreeing not to have children because they'd interfere with his wife's career. He'd never done what he needed to do. Then, several years ago, he'd discovered the men's movement. It didn't denigrate women or their rights. They had as many rights as men. No, it put the blame squarely on men and taught them that they had emotional needs too. Needs that had to be met for their own well-being. It showed men how to be men again. And it helped Jake to find himself, the person he'd subjugated. It taught him how to meet his own needs. He was good at his job, and he could help companies get back on their feet. He didn't have to feel guilty anymore that his job could take him from troubled company to troubled company as his reputation grew. By taking care of his own needs, he took care of a lot of other people's needs too. And if his ex-wife couldn't understand that, she wasn't the woman for him in the first place. Jake looked around the clearing he was in, one he'd thought perfectly suited for the night's ritual. There wasn't a house or soul within a mile. He might be new to Milton, but he was positive of that. When

no other men were participating, he preferred to conduct the ritual as men had 50,000 years ago. In nature's original clothing. That meant complete privacy was essential. He shrugged away the disruptive thought of another creature being out there. He felt good— refreshed and renewed. Like a man again. He'd unlocked the Iron John inside him once more. His original purpose for the ritual floated through his mind. Honey-brown hair, expressive brown eyes, a figure that went on forever . . . He'd staked out a prey right there in Milton and he intended to have it. It wasn't exactly a use the men's movement proscribed, but one it understood. The hunter's instinct washed over him in a wave of satisfaction. He looked up at the full moon and howled. Twenty feet away, Charity Brown ran like hell. "Charity? Charity Brown?" Charity whirled around and found herself facing Dances with No Clothes On. She gasped and immediately looked away. Her one glimpse told her that at least he was dressed this time. He'd better be; they were in the middle of the archive room of Wayans, Inc., on a Tuesday afternoon. That one glimpse had also told her he looked even better with clothes on. "Oh . . . ah . . . yes?" she managed to squeak out, feeling a burning heat creeping up her neck and face. She couldn't look directly at him, no matter how hard she tried to focus her gaze on his. An awful thought occurred to her. He knew. Fireworks of panic exploded inside her. He'd caught sight of her the other night, somehow figured out it was her, and was now going to fire her for spying on him. Adios. Bon voyage. Take a hike. She was a dead woman, because she absolutely could not afford to lose her job. Her entire life was balanced on a financial knife edge. If one sick day could throw her into chaos, being fired would be a catastrophe. To her surprise, he smiled and held out his hand. "I'm Jake Halford, the new vice president. I don't believe we've met yet." Oh, yes, we have, she thought, waiting for her doom. The vision of him dancing around the fire as if from an X-rated movie burst into her brain. Still not quite looking him in the eye, she took his hand and shook it briefly. Very briefly. A funny tingle seemed to radiate between them. She forced it away. "Hello," she said. The heat on her cheeks burned even hotter. Damn, she thought. Why was she blushing when he'd been the dancing naked fool? Because he'd looked so good at it, a little voice told her. "Are you feeling well?" he asked, frowning in concern. "You look overheated." "No, no, I'm fine," she lied. She felt like a tomato boiling inside. She was aware of Gwen, the archive clerk and the only other person in the room, staring at them. She could just imagine the gossip Gwen would impart at lunch. Boy, if the woman only knew the real truth. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, desperately wishing for an escape. The tall shelves with their rows of manila folders hemmed her in next to him, though. Grimacing, she realized she'd just dismissed her best opportunity to escape when he'd thought she was ill. A funny look crossed his face. "It doesn't matter. Probably just the poor air circulation." Something was circulating a little too well inside her, she thought. She could still see him naked. Very naked. He didn't say anything for a moment. An awareness crept over Charity, a distinct feeling that she was being assessed like a doe who'd been sighted by a cougar. Somehow, also like a terrified deer, she couldn't move. Finally, he spoke. "I understand you've been with the company for four years." The sensation faded. He did have a commanding presence, but this was ridiculous, she told herself. "That's right, Mr. Halford." Why did he do it? she wondered. Why would any grown man dance around a fire and howl like that? He'd sounded like the Hound of the Baskervilles with a gland problem. He must be crazy. She also wondered when he was going to get around to firing her. "Jake," he said, smiling. She blinked, surprised at the offer of familiarity. She cleared her throat. "Jake." "And you're Dave Ringman's secretary." "Well, it's a little more than that," she said stiffly, for he'd hit a bone of contention. She ran the entire sales staff for Dave, who preferred to spend the workday "touching base" with Wayans's biggest clients. She didn't mind the job, but she preferred the title and pay that went with it. "Oh?" Jake's tone had turned frosty, and she realized she'd just made a faux pas with the new VP. That wasn't good. "What I mean is, there's a lot of basic logistics to the sales staff that I handle." "And how are we doing in the sales department?" "Not as well as we have," she said frankly, knowing that was why he'd been brought in. He had the figures for the past year. She'd sent them to him over Dave's signature. Wayans had been spiraling downward for more than a year now. She didn't know how long it could continue to do so before jobs were in trouble, but she suspected the crisis point had already been passed. "Well, we'll turn things around." He smiled cheerfully. He sounded so normal, rational. Even charming. As she gazed at him, it occurred to her that he was being nice. He was not acting like a man who'd been caught in the raw and was about to cremate the catcher. She even found it hard to equate the naked dancing man with this self-assured executive in white silk shirt and pinstripes. His eyes were a startling gentle brown against his dark, saturnine features. Allowing herself to take a good close look at him, she realized he was quite attractive. Maybe he wasn't about to fire her. Maybe he had no idea that she'd seen him. Maybe he was just a nice guy with a sunshine-camp complex. Whatever, she had one up on the boss. A big one. She grinned. What had he chanted to the gods that night? she wondered. Or had he just accidentally

stepped on the fire? "Oo, oo, ahh, ahh" could go either way. "What's so funny?" he asked. "Oh . . . ah . . . nothing." But it was funny. Maybe he sang "Ring around the rosy with no pocket for a posy." A snort of amusement escaped her. He smiled at her. "Now, something is funny." What an understatement. She immediately rearranged her face. "No, no." Unfortunately, she giggled and completely ruined the effect. "Come on," he coaxed, grinning. "Nothing." She clamped her hand over her mouth. It didn't help as she began to laugh. "This is terrible!" "What?" She waved her hands, chuckling helplessly. She couldn't believe herself. No one in her right mind laughed at the new boss—no matter what he did. The more she tried to get hold of herself, though, the more she laughed. "All right," he said, in a clipped tone. "I'm sorry," she gasped, leaning weakly against some file shelves. He frowned, then obviously decided to ignore her slight problem. "I also wanted to talk with you about that project for Bickman's. I understand from Dave that you helped him." That sobered her. She'd done the entire job while her boss took all the credit. Jake smiled briefly. "Now that I finally have your undivided attention, I have a similar project I want you to work with me on." Anger shot through her. Another job where she did all the work and he got the credit? No way. Then she realized that he was the boss. Whom was he going to get credit from? Himself? Instead, he would see what she was capable of. It was actually a prime opportunity for a promotion and a badly needed raise. Of course, it did mean working closely with him. She didn't know if she could. He was attractive, a little too attractive to suit her. That could be dangerous. She'd be in hysterics half the time too. "I'd be happy to," she said finally, knowing she couldn't afford not to do it. "But what about Dave?" He frowned in puzzlement. "You'll continue your work with him, of course. Why wouldn't you? I already have a secretary." There goes my sanity, she thought. Tentatively, she began, "I do have a heavy workload already ..." "Can you take it home? This new project is really important for the company's well-being. Even its continued existence."

She stared at him. Take it home? "I'm enrolled in night classes at Drexel University—" "Surely you don't go every night." He stared back at her, grim-faced. "This is an important project for Wayans, and I need the help. Someone who knows what they're doing. Dave is too busy as it is." And if he gave it to Dave, she'd get stuck with it anyway. Charity knew defeat when she saw it. Dances with No Clothes On clearly deserved a second moniker. Mr. Ogre. As Jake watched Charity nod, agreeing to help him, he decided all was going well. Very well. Though he kept trying not to stare at her, he couldn't help it. Charity Brown was extremely attractive. He'd first noticed her about a week before as she'd left the building, and he'd been startled by an instant surge of lust, followed by an even deeper surge of the soul. He couldn't remember the last time a woman had caused that kind of reaction in him, and he'd been determined to meet her ever since. He'd asked around, checked her records, gotten some information, and finally had come up with a plan. He'd found his prey, marked her for capture, and now he was stalking her in the ancient way. He was utilizing the skills that fed the male spirit, and it felt immensely satisfying to be on the hunt. It would be a long process, but that was only more fulfilling for the male soul. Of course, when he finally captured her, and he would, the result would be mutual pleasure. He was sure she wouldn't be displeased. Looking at her now, he knew it would be worth it. Her hair was a rich brown, the color of dark honey, and curved around her features. Her face wasn't classically beautiful, but was still somehow memorable, with her wide brown eyes and generous mouth. A mouth made for kissing. And her body didn't quit. Watching her walk away from the building to her car that first time had been a study in sensual motion. She was tall; in heels she nearly matched his six feet. That made eye contact just about perfect. When he could catch it. She was extremely shy. And nervous. At least, she seemed that way. First she'd blushed fiercely red, then she'd had a case of the giggles. Those weren't reactions he'd expected, but he was willing to continue his pursuit. Too much about her was intriguing. He'd have to watch himself, though. When she'd seemed unwell, all that oversensitivity he'd thought he'd rid himself of had rushed to the fore. When she'd said she wasn't ill, he'd had to force himself not to keep pressing. "Well," she said, smiling slightly. "I don't want to keep you any longer . . . Jake. And I better be getting back to my desk." "Fine. How about if we get together tonight to talk about—" "I'm sorry," she interrupted, "but I have a class." He blinked, then remembered she had said something about classes. "Then tomorrow—" "I have to study." She smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry." He frowned. He might want Charity on a personal level, but he wouldn't risk the new project if she couldn't handle it. All he'd discovered about her work habits told him she was perfect for the job, and it was a good opportunity for her. But scheduling was clearly going to be a problem. "Well, how about right after work? We really need to go over what I want you to do."

"Ahhh . . ." She looked unhappy. "I'm sorry to ask, but can't we do it during working hours?" "I wouldn't want to impose on Dave. It wouldn't be fair for me to pull rank on him and borrow his secretary when he needs her too." "Right." Her voice was flat. He smiled encouragingly. "Really, Charity, it won't take long at all. I know you're worried about that." She nodded, though she still looked unconvinced. He decided he'd just have to convince her. "We'll get together toward the end of the day. Go on back to your desk now," he added in a good-natured tone, waving his hands in a shooing motion. "The sooner you do Dave's work, the sooner you can do mine." The look she shot him was murderous. He wondered what he'd said to offend her, but she stepped around him and took off for her department, her high heels tapping on the polished checkerboard tiles. He realized now that what he was asking of her was more difficult than he'd anticipated. But he had to have her help. After seeing that one company go under, he'd vowed never to lose another one, and he'd kept that promise with all the companies he'd worked with since. He'd fight like hell before he let Wayans go bankrupt. He had some other strategies besides this one project to pull the company out of its mire. They weren't as easy as a multimillion-dollar government deal, though, and the work would be a double pleasure with Charity involved. That is, if he got anywhere with her. He had to. The urge to be with her was so powerful, it shook him, and he could feel it coalescing inside him. Something about her pulled at him deeply, arousing more than just an interest in an attractive woman. Was this how eagles recognized their mates? And then he remembered that eagles mated for life. Jake touched his heart, feeling it beating steadily inside his chest. True, the emotional urge for her was strong, but could it be that strong? He shook his head, deciding he was mistaking a potent physical attraction for something more. He also decided that later on that afternoon he'd have ample opportunity to fix whatever he'd said to offend her. He walked to the archive room door, whistling. "Good afternoon, Mr. Halford," the clerk said in an attention-getting voice. "Hi," he said without glancing at the woman. He went back to his whistling. He had a feeling Charity Brown would be pleased with both projects in the end. The one she knew about and the one she didn't. Several hours later Charity walked into Jake Halford's office with the distinct feeling she was walking into her doom. Doom looked pretty good, she had to admit, surveying the room. The walls and rugs were done in tones of gray and beige, and the gleaming mahogany furnishings added warmth. Jake Halford was not a man who believed a desktop should be devoid of all but a lamp and phone, as Dave did. Jake's desk was a vast ocean of wood filled with orderly piles of paperwork. She approved of that.

He was leaning back in his chair, reading something, and she decided doom also looked pretty good in the guise of man. His dark-blue suit fit him perfectly. It probably was tailor-made. His hair was brushed back from his face, and he was sporting a shadow of a beard. She bet he had to shave twice a day. He glanced up and asked her to take a seat, then went back to his reading. She slipped gingerly into a director-style chair. He continued to read, and she looked up at the ceiling ... at the credenza on her right ... at the door on her left . . . out the window behind the desk. He kept right on reading, and she cursed under her breath. She had a test that night in her marketing class and she wanted to go over the chapters once more. Worse, his dawdling kept her enclosed in this room with him. The office was spacious, yet felt like a closet with his presence. And that was the word, she thought. He had presence, virility. Sexual magnetism. Looking at him could be harmful to her blood pressure, her heart rate, and she tried to keep her gaze focused right above his head. Finally, he put down his paperwork and leaned forward in his chair, his arms on the desktop. He stared at her. She looked right back, determined not to be intimidated. "You said you had work for me." "A special project." He smiled an easy smile. "Wayans has the opportunity to bid on a big army project. We would supply several major departments with a complete overhaul of their computer systems and maintain them for the next ten years. They want computers and all other office automation equipment—with all software and local area networking, LAN, special software adaptations, and operating systems—to communicate with what they currently have." "Is this for defense work?" Charity asked. They'd done several defense projects before and they were always headaches. "No," Jake said. "Information. Their offices are antiquated. The contract, if we get it, will include upgrades and 'technology refreshment.' " Charity smiled at the doublespeak phrase for receiving new equipment whenever it became available. "It'll mean millions for the company," he went on. "I won't lie to you, Charity. Wayans is in big trouble. I'm instituting a number of programs to streamline us and get us back on track. But this contract would put us over the top." The word "streamlining" had an ominous ring to it, but Charity pushed that aside. Instead, she calculated the scope of the project he was talking about. It would mean jobs for years to come, and more opportunities within and outside the company. She could feel the door opening for herself. And she'd better walk through it. She was thirty years old, single, and likely to stay that way. Jake continued. "I want you to research and organize the basic system components. We're a small company in the scheme of things, going up against big competitors. I expect the computer manufacturers themselves to bid on the project. That means we're going to have to be inventive with the combinations of equipment and software we put together, and we'll really need to push the personal-service angle. We'll be the systems integrator." She groaned at the thought of all the work involved in being the systems integrator. They would have to figure out the myriad components required and who could supply them, then they'd have to put the various computer equipment and software into a special networking system at the cheapest price. By

buying "a la carte" from different manufacturers and suppliers rather than using just one system, they could undercut the big guys' prices. "Is there a problem?" he asked. "No." She carefully added, "This seems to be more like a project for the whole staff to be on—" "No." His gaze was as adamant as his voice. "This is my project. Anyone has a problem with that, they can come to me. Bring in one of the techs to help you with the specifications. But basically I want this quiet." "That's not going to be easy," she told him. "I know what the office politics are like, but I don't want the specs blabbed. The less people know, the better. We're going to have to come up with a unique solution for integrating the systems, which means there's going to be a nondisclosure statement involved." Charity nodded in understanding. "Unique solutions" usually necessitated a nondisclosure so their competitors couldn't find out what they were doing and steal it. That also meant only those within the company who were cleared to work on the project would know its specifications. Unfortunately, a savvy person seeing what was coming into the warehouse could figure out the "unique solution" fairly well. They did this sort of thing for a living, after all. She'd be damned, though, if she'd catch the blame when it got out that she'd been given a big project to work on. And it would get out. She and one tech couldn't take this kind of time together without someone noticing and snooping around. Besides, Dave had a big mouth. Jake spoke, drawing her attention back to him. "I don't want it to get out prematurely if I can help it, even here at Wayans. Do you have a tech you can trust?" She nodded. "Mary DeMario." "I'll get the specs together for you. How about dinner tonight—" "I'm sorry," she interrupted, her insides tensing at his blatant gall. "I have a class tonight. I told you before." "Can't you make it up or something? This is business." "No, I cannot make it up." Men, she thought in disgust. They could sound like petulant children when they didn't get their way. "Business will have to be during business hours." "Okay." He smiled to show no hard feelings. "Then we'll keep off-hours to the personal. How about a guided tour of Milton this weekend? You can't have a class then." She had to admit she'd fallen into that trap. "If you've seen the Wayans building and Main Street, then you've seen Milton." She took a deep breath. "I prefer to keep my business relationships to business only." He stared at her for a moment, and she began to wish the floor would open up and swallow her. She'd never seen such a stony expression on a person's face in her life. "Wayans has no fraternization restrictions," he said at last. "And if it does, I've just rescinded them." His smile was so warm, so beguiling, she almost believed she'd imagined that flint-hard expression.

"Come on, Charity. What's so frightening about a little dinner?" "Nothing," she lied. "It's my own personal policy and it's a good one." "I think it's lousy." She rose to her feet. "You don't have a player on this one, Mr. Halford. While I'm flattered, I don't socialize with coworkers. Or the boss." He stood too. "It's just dinner, Charity." "And I appreciate it. But I must decline. Now, I have a test tonight and I need to study." She got out of that room as fast as she could. Once she'd closed the door behind her, she breathed a sigh of relief. Getting out of a date was too tricky for comfort. Working with him was one thing, dinner was another. It was far too intimate, which could lead to other far too intimate happenings. She was terrified of the other intimate happenings—especially with a man who danced naked and howled at the moon. Two "He asked Bill and Helga to take early retirement!" "Oh, both of them were retiring next year anyway. But did you hear about his wanting to cut out the Christmas bonuses?" "What bonus? All we ever get is a turkey from the supermarket." "Well, we're not getting even that anymore! And he's advertising classes for the men about some movement thing—" "We're in the right room for that." Inside a ladies room stall, Charity chuckled as she adjusted her skirt and listened to the gossip at the sinks. What she could contribute to the conversation would turn them all on their heads. Dances with No Clothes On was making a big impression without that, however. She had a feeling these changes were only the tip of the proverbial iceberg and would be nothing after the ice melted. Even though she knew the company was doing too poorly to blame on a national recession, she still hated the elimination of the little things. It just made people disgruntled. The goodwill value of turkeys far outweighed the cost. She emerged from the stall, and the room went completely silent. The four women at the sinks stared at her as if she'd suddenly grown two noses. It had been a week since Jake had assigned the government project to her, and the time she'd been spending with him had not gone unnoticed. "What?" a woman in a stall called out. "I can't hear anything!" "That's because I'm here," Charity called back. "Charity Brown." "Oh." She could almost hear the woman swallowing her embarrassment. Charity smiled at the other women, who suddenly busied themselves with fixing their hair or getting back to work. Nobody could quite look her in the eye, and she knew it was going to get worse before it

got better. "I know, I know," she said, washing her hands. "I'm hanging out with the Big Guy, and you're all thinking I'm the latest in I Spy." If they knew the meetings she had with Jake were developing a serious undertone that had nothing to do with business, if they knew of the fierce longing growing within her to share something more intimate than computer specs with him . . . well, that would elevate the gossip level to explosive proportions. Every time she was with him she was all too aware of the way he smiled . . . the way he moved with a wholly masculine grace . . . the way he would look straight into her eyes, then lower his gaze to her mouth . . . and the way a lambent fire flared in his eyes whenever that happened. And it was happening more and more frequently. "Actually," she said, forcing her brain back to the women, "he's got a special project on that will be a big boost for Wayans." It was better to give them a little bit than to have them speculate and start too many rumors. "He put me on the team directly. Not the usual runaround of the manager gets the glory and we get all the work. I can't say anything more about the project. Nondisclosure." Everyone in the room was frozen, listening with rapt attention, brushes poised in midair. She took a deep breath and took a calculated risk. "I think, ladies, we will see that Halford understands who really does the work in this company." "Really?" It was almost voiced as one. She nodded. Immediately, the women began wondering what kind of changes would come to the company that would benefit them. Charity heaved a mental sigh, grateful that she'd found a way to take their interest off her. Jake had to really understand, she thought. Otherwise, why would he have given the job straight to her rather than to Dave? Her peeved boss was waiting for her when she returned from the lavatory. "Your friend upstairs called," Dave said. He was a short man, slight dumpy, with pale skin. Charity always thought he had a frightened look in his eyes, as if someone were going to find out he was in over his head. She wanted to tell him he'd be much better at his job and at handling people if he quit reacting to office politics and just relaxed. "We don't have an upstairs, Dave." She smiled sweetly. "I take it you mean Ja—Mr. Halford." "I think he's crazy," Dave said. "Why give this job to you? I always do them. Besides, how can I get anything done if you're always powwowed with him?" Charity resisted the urge to tell him off. If he always did the job, then why did he need her to get anything done? A little diplomacy, she reminded herself. He was hurting and, knowing him, worried about his position with the company. She could afford to live up to her name. Lest she forget, she still had to work with the man after the project was done. "It's not a big deal, Dave. But Mr. Halford's requiring a nondisclosure statement for the 'unique solution' Wayans comes up with. It's just standard paranoia. We know how 'unique' these solutions really are." Dave made a face that indicated his understanding and temporary defeat. "Halford's still nuts. All the men have to attend a meeting this afternoon with him. It's mandatory."

"Mandatory?" Charity echoed, her brain scrambling to digest this implication. The meeting had been mentioned in the bathroom, but not this little tidbit. Dave smiled smugly. "Just us." "Oh." She shrugged and pulled out her chair. Whatever it was, she wasn't going to let it get to her, she decided. "Halford's waiting," Dave reminded her. She hit a button and called up a file on her computer. "I need to finish those orders for Bickman's first and get them to the warehouse. It'll take only a few minutes." "Oh." Dave looked stunned that she was doing her job. Charity shook her head and grinned to herself. It didn't hurt to signal to everyone that she knew where her priorities lay. A short time later her second boss was nearly as crabby as her first. "I called for you hours ago," Jake said. Charity decided to blow up the meeting that afternoon. Every male at Wayans would be there, but especially this one. She settled into the chair in front of his desk. "I had orders to get out for Bickman's. You did instruct me not to neglect my job." "I did." Shoving a big manila envelope toward her, he said, "I've got the specs for you, so you can begin." She picked up the envelope and opened it, scanning the materials inside. Her first glance told her more than Jake had. She looked up in dismay. "This is big. I don't know if I can do this by myself." He smiled. "You have me, remember? I know it's a lot of researching of the components and getting the right manufacturer and price locked in. I'll be doing the negotiating of that, don't worry. And we have plenty of time, for once. It can make the difference for Wayans this year, Charity. By the way, how did you get that name?" She blinked in surprise at the unexpected question. "My parents, of course," she said cheekily, then explained. "My father teaches colonial history at Boston University. And my mother is a tour guide for Olde Plimoth, the original village." "The one where everyone dresses and talks like the Pilgrims?" She nodded. "My mother speaks fluent Elizabethan English, which is always interesting when she forgets herself at home. Anyway, they gave their three daughters Puritan names." " Faith and Hope?" he asked, taking the usual guess at her sisters' names. "Prudence and Virtue," she corrected him, chuckling. "I think I got the better deal." He laughed, and she immediately wished he hadn't. He had a wonderful laugh, genuine and full-bodied. And he was easy to talk to. Her blood slowed, teasing her veins with a subtle sensual lure. She could feel an indefinable attraction pulling her to him. It was becoming harder and harder to equate him with the crazy naked howler in the woods.

He was still smiling at her. "And you're all expected to live up to your names, right? Wasn't that the purpose of them?" "Lord help us, yes. We did go through some rebellious periods, though." Hers had been spectacular in some ways. She'd left college four credits shy of getting her teaching degree, telling her parents she'd done everything they wanted and now she would do what she wanted. Her jobs had started with promise in various junior management positions, but never went higher. She'd settled for less each time, until she'd settled at Wayans. Going home would be a form of defeat, and she didn't consider it an option. Yet she seemed to be working harder and harder for less and less. She had been settling for less and less in the romance department too, after her long-ago engagement had ended. Funny how women clamped onto a relationship just because a man expressed interest in them, she thought. When she'd finally broken up with Cal, her last mistake in the male department, she'd decided she wasn't settling any longer. All she wanted was a nice man. If she found someone, great. If she remained alone, that was fine too. Frowning, she wondered about friends and realized she didn't really have any. Lots of friendly acquaintances, but no friends. Maybe she liked being alone a little too much. Night school didn't help matters. "So you were rebellious," Jake said, drawing her attention back to him. His smile turned more intimate, sending her blood pulsing a little faster. Wild ideas rushed through her about other ways he could send her blood pulsing, and she instantly dismissed them. Jake Halford, she was certain, was not a nice man who would take care of her emotions in the aftermath. "Your childhood must have been interesting," he went on, "but three girls! I have four sisters myself, all older, all the bane of my existence." Despite his words, his tone was affectionate, and she smiled. "Poor baby." "That's about how they treated me, until I finally pointed out that I'd grown up. They weren't thrilled with that." He grinned devilishly, and she could imagine him easily sticking up for himself. His self-confidence was steady and noticeable, but not at the conceit level. He was obviously comfortable with himself as a man and as a person. So few people, male or female, were. He continued. "But I like the ancient values. I think we've lost something within ourselves over the last few hundred years, especially by denying them." He leaned forward, a gleam coming into his eye. "Look at us, Charity. Humanity has deteriorated into confusion and unhappiness. In ancient times men were the hunters, warriors, and protectors, and women were the gatherers, nurturers, and also protectors. They worked together, each in their own way and yet completely interdependent, to keep themselves alive and continue the species. One sex's work was no more important than the other's. But something went wrong with both men and women over the centuries. We lost that togetherness, that unity. Women have finally found themselves again as equals to men. But men haven't been able to find their equality. They've even lost the ability to fulfill their needs. And they've lost it through themselves. The men no longer take the boys and teach them how to be men. My own father left before I was born, and I rarely saw him afterward. I needed that man perspective, that closeness. The only way to recover that is by going back to the ancient ways, by mentoring each other again. That's why I've called a meeting with the men of Wayans, so we can begin the process here." He laughed, obviously seeing her baffled expression. "I'm not crazy, honest. It's just that this has given me a lot of help through some bad times. I bet your mother understands it exactly. Puritans settling a new land were completely dependent on one another for survival, and they passed on that knowledge to their children for their survival."

Charity stared at him, speechless. He was trying to tell her something. She could sense it. It sounded as if he were saying that men had somehow become inferior to women. If he thought that, then he ought to take another look at the upper management of Wayans. The overwhelming majority were men of all colors. Women of any color were a scarcity. One thing she did understand was that this related to his Dances with No Clothes On persona. He was getting back to nature in a big way. And he was about to invite the rest of the men at Wayans to do the same. A vision leapt to vivid life of Dave and the others dancing around a big fire singing "Oo, eee, oo, ah-ah." And all of them were naked, including some who definitely should never be. She promised herself a front-row seat and an oxygen tank to keep from killing herself laughing. She cleared her throat. "I'm not sure my mother would see it that way. She'll go on for hours about how hard it is to restart a fire on the hearth once it goes out, and that the men never help." Jake nodded. "That's because it was the woman's job to protect the hearth and a man's job to protect the family. They did it together. Men are hunters and warriors, Charity. It's what drove us for thousands of years. We need to pick our prey, stalk it, and capture it. That way we fulfill our promise to the tribe." "But you're doing it with computers now?" she asked, quickly trying to turn the conversation back to business. She sensed Jake's stalking was far more personal, and he was knocking on a door she was desperately trying to keep closed. She had to keep the conversation on their project. That was what she was there for. "No, that's the problem ..." He blinked, then continued eagerly. "That's it exactly. I'm the hunter and you're the gatherer. Together we protect the tribe." "That's Wayans?" she asked carefully. "Everybody in it." He was crazy, she thought. And yet his notion had a certain logic. Her senses, too, were somehow caught up in his words. It was exciting to think that they would work together to bring prosperity to Wayans. Heck, one couldn't be more protecting than that. As she absorbed the notion, she found herself looking at his hands. They were strong hands, yet elegant in shape, with long fingers. Knowing hands, capable hands. Were they capable of pleasing a woman? Twinges of excitement skittered along her arms at the question, raising goose bumps. The way he gazed intently at her only added to his overall appeal, his eyes earnest, his face almost rapt with what he was saying. Together. That word conjured so much for her, personal visions of man and woman. Of this man . . . She pushed the vision aside by recalling the chatter in the ladies' room. If he were so amenable to this togetherness, perhaps she should see just how far it went. "I understand that the Christmas-bonus turkeys are being eliminated," she began. "That's right." She nodded. "I'm sure it's expensive, but they also produce a lot of goodwill among the employees. It may be goodwill that outweighs the costs." "If we get the contract, they'll get their turkeys back. But, Charity, there's a lot more wrong with Wayans than free turkeys. Things even this contract isn't going to rectify. But that's another problem. Our

problem right now is getting this contract. That'll do a lot to put the company back on track." She nodded, deciding to shelve the turkeys for now. Christmas wasn't for another six months anyway. He was so earnest and focused on wanting to turn the company around that she wondered if Wayans could be in more trouble than she thought. She tapped the envelope and stood. "I'll get to work on these and get back to you if I have any questions. Or if the tech does. Do you want to speak to Mary directly?" "Not unless she needs to speak to me." He rose and walked around the desk. "You'll find I like the chain of protocol. Especially when it means I deal exclusively with you." All his hunter philosophy came back in a rush, and Charity felt like a rabbit frozen in a wolf's gaze. The gentleness she often saw in his eyes was gone, replaced by a more primitive expression. The few feet separating them vanished rapidly, until he was practically on top of her. Everything about him was in sharp focus. His eyes, the planes of his face, his mouth. His body, lean and strong, was like a magnet, drawing her, challenging her. She could smell the delicious aroma of expensive cologne and man, and sensed him trying to track her thought patterns. Her awareness was so alive, she could even hear him breathing. "Thank you," she said simply, wanting to get away from these feelings while trying not to bolt out the door in the process. The momentary freeze had given way to the urge to run. One coyote imitation and she was outta there for sure! "Charity, please reconsider dinner. I promise to be the perfect gentleman." His voice was like honey, smooth and soothing. "No," she croaked. She cleared her throat. "I'm flattered, but I'm sorry." "But where else are you going to meet men?" he asked. "And where else are men going to meet women except in the workplace?" She frowned, considering the question. He went on. "And if we are truly equal and truly adult, as you and I both believe we are, then men and women can handle personal relationships outside the workplace without any repercussions within. Surely you and I are both adult enough for that." Her brain scrambled for an answer, then she grinned. "Boy, but you are good." With brisk, carpet-eating strides, she began the long walk to the door. "Unfortunately, having the urge to be an adult about relationships and actually being an adult are two different things." "Charity, can't we be friends?" he asked, walking along with her, trying to catch her before she made that all-important grab for the doorknob. "I win," she murmured as her fingers grasped the cool brass. She swung the door wide, revealing his secretary and the rest of the sea of cubicles across the long hangar-size room. She added in a louder voice, "I'll get right on this, Mr. Halford." "Sneaky," he muttered for her ears alone. She chuckled as he said formally, "Thank you, Ms. Brown." "You're quite welcome." She slipped out the door and began the long walk toward her work area. She could feel his gaze on her the entire time. She might have won this particular skirmish, but she knew

the truth. The chase was on. Jake was unprepared for the look on Charity's face when she opened her apartment door. Actually, it was the whole rest of her that had him rooted to the spot. She was wearing a ratty bathrobe over old gray knit pants, a faded yellow T-shirt, and red socks with white toes. If he didn't already know she had a shape that fired a man's libido, he wouldn't have guessed it from that getup. Her hair was piled haphazardly on top of her head, strands falling from the lopsided ponytail. It looked as if she had absently pulled the hair free. Absolutely no makeup left her skin paler and made her eyes look even bigger. Clearly, Saturday morning wasn't her best time. Something told him he'd committed a major faux pas. "Oh, Lord," she murmured, staring at him. "Yes, it's not the Avon lady." He hefted the heavy picnic basket in one hand and opened the outer screen door with the other, letting himself into the apartment. It was a brazen maneuver, but he knew he wouldn't get anywhere if he weren't a little bold. With Charity, that was probably the only way to get things started, since she blocked him effectively at each meeting. Still, whenever he was with her he found himself talking to her, really talking, letting her inside himself, and he wanted to explore that further. He couldn't not try, and so he'd thought he'd chance the Saturday tour of the town again. Besides, he'd be a fool not to take advantage of her shock and get inside while he could. She stepped back into the foyer, putting distance between them. "Jake, you can't be here. These aren't business hours—" "This isn't business." He patted the picnic basket. "I'm offering lunch and a tour of the town." "Didn't I say no to this?" "Did you? I didn't realize." He glanced around her into the living room, approving of the fun art deco furnishings in black, white, and red. The papers spread across the lacquer coffee table caught his attention. "You're working on the specs, aren't you?" "This is the only time I have for it. Remember?" "Well, then, this is business," he said happily. "And I brought lunch." He paused. "Is that okay?" She looked ready to kill him, but he smiled innocently, pleased to have found the perfect excuse. She crossed her arms. "Is my job going to depend on whether or not I date you?" His smile faded. "Your job depends on your performance of it. That's all. This is personal, between us. It's got nothing to do with your job or mine. Whatever you say here doesn't touch that. I'm an adult about relationships in the workplace. It tees me off to hear you suggest otherwise." She merely raised her eyebrows, but he felt that he'd cleared the air. "I ought to make you leave," she said finally. "Yes, I expect so."

"People will talk about you being here." "They may." "You're rude." "I'm lonely." She blinked at that answer, but it was how he felt. He was lonely. Milton was a brand-new place for him, and he was in a position that didn't allow for many friends, especially when half of the town worked for him. It seemed to be the way with promotions, he'd discovered. He wanted to be himself, not some upper-management yuppie with the perform button never off. Oddly, the men's movement hadn't given him very many men friends. She sighed. "I'm a mess." He cleared his throat. "Actually, it's a turnoff. . . if that's helpful." She covered her face with both hands. "Even my doctor doesn't see me like this." "I could say that he's fortunate, but you'd probably hit me." She lifted her head and scowled. "It's a woman." "I could say that she's fortunate, but you'd probably hit me." He studied her, finding it endearing to see her without any pretense, just how she was when no one was around. He felt as if he'd been let into something intimate. "I'm kind of getting to like it." She groaned. "Look, I'm sorry that I took you by surprise," he said. "I have a problem with no for an answer. I'll work on it, I promise. However, as the systems integrator here, I have come up with a unique solution. You go and do whatever you need to do with yourself to feel . . . comfortable. Then we'll go out, give me the two-cent tour of Milton, find a nice place to picnic, but bring the specs along and discuss them. That makes it pleasure, which satisfies me, and work, which satisfies you. And we've compromised in a most adult and ancient fashion, each interdependent on the other yet meeting our individual needs." She made a face. "Or the other side of the coin, which is that you won't go away until I do this, right?" "Well, that's an option too." He made a pretense of sniffing the air. "Do I offend? Do I need to change my brand of mouthwash or cologne? What? What is so bad about me? It's either that, or you're protesting too much. And my next question then would be Why?" She straightened. "I'll go clean up." He smiled. "I'll be waiting. In fact, I'll look at the specs in a most businesslike fashion." She emerged after nearly a half-hour, looking completely different. Gone was the bathrobe that gave no shape and the ponytail that hadn't achieved final liftoff. She looked exactly as he'd been expecting: good in jeans and better in a sweater. Still, that bathrobe had had its appeal. It also told him he wasn't in this just for her body, a fact he wasn't sure he wanted to accept. "Specs all looked at," he said, gathering up the papers. "Is it a faux pas to say you look nice?"

"I don't know yet." "Okay, then I'm not sure you look nice. That's as noncommittal as I can get." "Thank you, I think. We can picnic over by Maurice Lake. They have some nice facilities, and I can push you in if necessary." "It's not nice to push in the vice president," he said, but he laughed, liking her no-nonsense attitude. He remembered his first impression of her as a lightweight. He had no idea what had set her off in hysterics like that in the archive room, and he was relieved to see she was normal. More than normal. The tour of the town took exactly five minutes, as promised. He really had already seen it all. One couldn't help doing so when driving down Main Street to work every day. So much for his grand tour, he thought wryly. Charity didn't say anything, just smiled. As they drove south on Route 49 toward Maurice Lake, he was disconcerted to see how close his ritual clearing was to the town and made a mental note to get farther out into the pines. There were lots of lonely places where a man could park a car, walk in among the scrub pines and oaks, and find a clearing of sandy soil to hold a good wild-man cleansing. Maurice Lake was long and narrow and had the advantage of privacy from Milton's prying eyes. Jake smiled happily as they found a place and settled in. The picnic lunch he'd brought wasn't spectacular, but the ham and cheese sandwiches went well with the business discussion. He found himself watching her as she munched on her sandwich, her head bent over a spec sheet. Her fingers, he noticed, were slender, the nails blunt-filed and painted clear. Her brown hair, free by design this time, glinted with golden highlights in the sun, emphasizing the honey coloring. It fell forward, hiding her expression and making him wonder what she was thinking as she read. And what, if anything, she was thinking of him. Maybe, a little voice suggested, he didn't want to know. "This is nice," he said, leaning back on one elbow. He stretched his legs out to the end of the blanket and crossed his ankles. She glanced up. "I thought you'd like it." "Really? Why?" "Oh . . . ah . . ." She had the oddest expression, as if she were scared. "What you said the other day about the ancient ways. I figured you're an outdoor person." "Some." He shrugged. "But I don't like sports." She gaped at him. "You're kidding." "No. I never liked team sports. Well, they were okay, but I was never good at them. Does that make me a traitor to my species?" "Probably." She frowned in puzzlement. "I would have thought you were the biggest fan since the Gipper." "Not me. Whatever gave you that idea?" "Oh, I don't know. You just seemed the type. You have that nature-boy look." "I do?" It was an odd remark, but he shrugged it away and pointed to the specs. "I noticed at your

place that you had notes about several suppliers." "I've been calling some, getting prices, seeing what they can put together for us. I checked with Mary. It's going to be very tough to be competitive, and the only way we can see to do it is to literally put the computer hardware and software together ourselves." "I had a feeling that would be the case. Tell me, what are you going to night school for?" "Business," she replied, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm getting my bachelor's degree." "It's tough going at night." She nodded. "It'll take a while. I've gone for two years already and if I stick to the end, it means a— more opportunity." He knew she meant more money and promotions. It was nearly impossible to work up from the ranks without a college degree. She didn't strike him as an ambitious go-getter, though, concerned with only an impressive title and commensurate salary. "I admire you for what you're doing." She grinned wryly. "Thank you, I think. I feel like I'm in a race to see if I'll survive to get the degree." "You'll survive. You're smart." He realized abruptly the added pressure he'd put on her. "This project is too much for you, isn't it? I can assign—" "No. I mean, yes, it's a lot, but it's going to look good on the resume." He laughed. "As long as it stays at Wayans." She laughed, too, then silence grew between them, an easy one, as if they had reached a plateau of understanding. She stretched her legs out, braced her hands behind her, and tilted her face to the sun, her eyes closed. Her breasts were outlined by her white cotton sweater, full and tipped up. She was wearing a bra, but that didn't matter. He could see her nipples pucker slightly, just a nub of visibility but erotically there. With her shoulders back, the bottom of her sweater was raised slightly, allowing a glimpse of a bare midriff. Her thighs produced a perfect V at the junction of her legs. She looked like a sun worshipper, pleasured and sensual, and an internal volcano exploded in Jake. He had the overwhelming urge to touch her. He pulled himself up, leaned over, and kissed her. Three His mouth on hers was so sudden and so firm, Charity had no reaction. She was too busy being frozen to the spot. He lifted his head and, oddly, she felt bereft. "I know, I know. Right over the boundaries," he said, settling back on his side of the picnic blanket. "It was never my intention to kiss you. It just happened. It won't again." She nodded, not trusting her voice. Her lips could still feel the pressure of his, not demanding, not questing . . . just sure. It was the weirdest notion. "Aren't you going to yell at me?" he asked." Demand to be taken home? Call me every name in the book?"

"No," she replied, permitting herself a tiny smile. "You're doing a good job of berating yourself, so I'll just leave you to it and be adult about the whole thing. It was just a kiss, and, like anything forbidden, you had to try it. Now it's past. Do you want Mary and me to continue to try to find one or two major manufacturers for the LAN software so the computers can share files, or shall we go to agreements with small suppliers?" Jake frowned. "I think this is worse than you acting like a stereotypical female. At least then I could be the adult one." She tilted her head. "I am never a stereotypical female, Jake." He grinned. "And I'm rapidly becoming your biggest fan. Do you realize that's the first time you've said my name?" "I'm just getting more relaxed with you." Liar, she thought. It had slipped out. Despite his earlier offer, she had studiously avoided saying it, preferring not to use anything privately and Mr. Halford publicly. "Now, what do you want to do about the LAN?" "Let's try the suppliers first. I think we'll get better deals from them. I know a few I can call." He looked up at the near-cloudless sky. "Are you sure you don't want to throw a Scarlett and stamp your feet?" "No, thanks." She made a note on the spec sheet. "Suppliers, it is." She read farther down the sheet, but she was all too aware of the male body reclining next to her. The truth was, she didn't know what to do with him. He seemed to project one image, then act entirely differently. Each moment demanded all of her wits just to show a calm face to him. That kiss, she thought, feeling again the compelling gentleness of his lips. She would have expected demanding caveman force. Instead, the kiss had been soft, a touch that stirred sensations throughout her. It lingered even now, that unique feel of his mouth on hers. She hadn't been with a man in a long time. Maybe it was too long if she was reacting to Jake Halford like this. He had invaded her home that morning, unrequested and after she'd told him no. He'd caught her at her worst, something she shouldn't forgive him for. She should have refused to go with him, but it had been hard to—especially when he'd said he was lonely. She sensed he'd meant it. Certainly, the words had penetrated her armor, not that she seemed to have much around him. Somehow, seeing him dancing around his fire had wiped out all the normal barriers in a business relationship. "Either there's a nude picture of Kevin Costner on that page, or you're daydreaming." Charity blinked, then couldn't help grinning. Dances with No Clothes On was closer to the mark than he'd ever know. "Actually it's Armand Assante." As soon as the name left her mouth, she realized Jake had the same dark good looks as the actor. Jake grimaced. "Some great-looking actor. I should have known. I did know. And here I was, hoping you were daydreaming about that kiss. I know I was." "Sorry," she lied. "Do I have to push you in the lake after all?" "Not me." He strove for an innocent expression, but he couldn't quell the gleam of sensuality in his eyes. "I've been a very good boy." She laughed. "With several slips."

"So I'm not perfect. Why would you want perfect anyway? Imperfection is much more fun." She shook her head. "Can we get back to the specs?" "Nope." He rose to his feet. "We're going home now?" she asked hopefully. He stared at her, his eyes opening wider and wider until they were almost bulging, threw back his head and loosed a primal yell. "Aaaarrgggghhhh!"

then he

Before she could wonder what was happening, she was yanked up off the blanket and flung over his shoulder. She yelped and struggled in a jolt of panic. "I know who needs the dunk in the lake," he huffed as he stumbled toward the water. "And it isn't me." Her mindless panic shut off, or at least was replaced by one less concerned about her life. "Don't you dare throw me in the water!" He grunted, and she braced her hand against his back to keep herself from sliding around in the fireman's carry. His flesh was hard and warm under his shirt, and she might have been tempted to explore further if he hadn't stopped at the water's edge. The lake didn't have any kind of beach, just high marsh grasses lining its shore. They were up around his knees. "You're not really going to throw me in the water," Charity said, tilting her head up and around. "I ought to," he replied over his shoulder. They couldn't quite see eye to eye, but they were touching almost everywhere. Charity found herself grinning, enjoying the fun. Jake was surprising, and that made him stimulating. And dangerous. She decided to get in some private needling. "You're a little old for this he-man stuff, aren't you?" "That could get you tossed in a second, lady." "If you can manage it. I haven't heard such puffing since I read The Little Engine That Could to my niece." "That's it!" He leaned forward, though keeping a tight grip on her. Unfortunately, he leaned a little too far. Charity flailed wildly to keep her balance as Jake staggered around trying to right his. She grabbed on to his back and attempted to slip out of his grasp before he took her down with him. He grabbed at her, then tripped and stumbled, and both of them fell flat into the lake. She hit it with a splash, the cool water closing over her body even as she broke free of Jake. It wasn't deep, and she sat up, water streaming down her face. She wiped it away, pushing her hair out of her eyes. "Jake!" "Are you okay?" He touched her arm, water pouring off him as if he were the Tivoli Fountain. She nodded. They looked at each other . . . and began to laugh.

"I'm sorry," he said, struggling to catch his breath. She giggled. "You ought to be." "That's what you get for fooling around at your age." "My age!" she gasped in mock outrage. "Look who's talking. The old man and the sea." "You've got to admit, I hold a great strategy meeting." "It is different." And dangerous, she added to herself. She was having a hard time equating this easygoing man with being her boss. Their relationship was precarious at best, and she needed to be careful she didn't make him a friend. Although friendship was probably the least of her worries with Jake. He stood up and offered his hand. After a moment's hesitation, she took it. It was cool and wet and incredibly smooth. He hauled her upright, practically against him. The mood, so light, suddenly turned sober as they stared at each other. And sensual. "If I hadn't promised to be a gentleman ..." he said hoarsely, his words trailing away. She didn't answer, afraid of what she would stir if she did. But his wet clothes were plastered to him, revealing what she'd already seen. Her nipples hardened into sensitive nubs, and her blood, despite the chill on her skin, coursed hot through her veins, causing a throbbing deep inside her. One little move, she thought, and she couldn't answer for how she would react. For all his crazy ideas, she liked Jake. And for all her lectures to herself, she would love him to kiss her again. He did move finally. He dropped her hand and stepped back. "I promised, dammit. Better pack up the things. I think the meeting's over." He turned away and walked onto the shore. Charity's fingers literally itched to reach out and pull him back. Her hands lifted for an instant, then she forced them to her sides. Slowly, she followed him out of the water, telling herself she ought to be grateful for the common sense he exerted. She was beginning to hate common sense. "Right, Bob," Jake said into the telephone receiver. "It's for a minimum ten years' spare parts . . . They're looking for service over the long term, and I think that's where we all have the advantage over the big guys . . . Even the government's figured out what we already know, that smaller suppliers can actually sell cheaper than the manufacturer sometimes . . . We'll come up to Boston and do a presentation." "Great!" Bob Markens said. "I'm extremely interested in this." Jake put his hand over the mouthpiece and permitted himself a groan of frustration, even though he had made the suggestion. He could just imagine Charity's reaction to this after the incident at the lake. He wished that thought had occurred to him before his invitation. "Fine," he said to Bob. "How about the end of the week?" A short time later Jake hung up, laid his head on the desk, and groaned again. He had taken Charity home after their dunking and very platonically left her on her doorstep. He was proud he'd overcome all his male urges and been a perfect gentleman. Of course, he'd been suffering ever since, but that was another problem.

He had a feeling Charity wouldn't remember his belated nobility when he told her they had to go see a prospective supplier in Boston at the end of the week. He had an even bigger feeling she'd turn into that stereotypical female and decide he was manipulating events in order for them to be away alone together. Be positive, he told himself. Charity hadn't worked for Wayans for several years without knowing supplier presentations were part of the everyday business. She'd understand. He didn't feel the same way later that day when she sat on the other side of his desk, looking expectantly at him. The muted violet jacket she wore complemented her coloring. He had the urge to strip it from her and find the creamy skin beneath. He forced himself to smile. "I've got a supplier possibility, DGF Technologies. They may be willing to split the service duties over the term of the contract." "DGF." She nodded. "They're out of Boston." "That's right. They're extremely interested in this project and Wayans. This could be the big break we're looking for in pricing." He took a deep breath. "They want a presentation." Her expression didn't exactly change. It somehow froze into a careful blank. "Here?" "There." "Who would go?" "Me . . . you . . ." She stared at him. "Charity, surely you've been on presentations before with Dave. This is no different." She still stared at him. He brought up another point. "You must have realized that we'd have to do a presentation or two with the suppliers we need to cut in on the deal." "Yes, I realized it," she said finally. "This one is very convenient, though, isn't it?" "Ah-ha!" He slapped his hand down on the desktop in affirmation. "I knew it! I knew that's what you would think. And you said you weren't a stereotypical female." "Only when it's a stereotypical male ploy." "This isn't." He sighed. "I know how it must look after that kiss. But I promised it wouldn't happen again. And it won't . . . unless you want it to." "I'm reminded of your little problem with the word no." She smiled sweetly. "Is this one of those times?" "No." He grinned. "See? I'm getting better. Honestly, Charity, this really could be the big break we need." "Does Mary go?" she asked. "Absolutely. How can you do a presentation without the tech?"

"I wondered if you had figured out a way." "I'm no fool." He relaxed. "Feel better now?" "I suppose." "By the way, you're doing the presentation." She gaped at him. He raised his eyebrows, surprised that she looked so astonished at the notion. "Do you have a problem with that?" "No." She blinked. "No. I didn't expect to do it. I just assumed you would." "Why?" he asked, puzzled. "You're the one putting all the materials together, so you're the logical one to speak about it. You have done one before." "Of course," she said smoothly. She got up from the chair. "If there's nothing else . . . ?" He couldn't think of a thing. Dammit. He stood. "That's it. I'll set it up for Friday. Can you be ready, or is that too soon? Or do you have a class?" "Ahh ... I think I can be ready by then. My classes are Tuesday and Wednesday nights." "Okay. Thanks for understanding the necessity of this meeting." She nodded and walked to the door. He hurried after her. "Do you want me to help you with the specs?" "No, I think I can manage." "I could come over—" She whipped around. "I don't think that's a good idea, do you?" "Probably not," he admitted. "At least not according to your philosophy of men and women in the workplace. Of course, we've already established that's not my philosophy." "True. But no more impromptu tours." She didn't quite look him in the eye when she said it, and he wasn't sure that meant any wavering on her part. He wasn't about to press it at this point, either. He was circling in on his prey too nicely to scare her now. "No more tours. But I know you're doing this in your off-hours and you might need help. I assure you I can be a perfect gentleman if it's necessary." "I'll keep it in mind." She left him on that note. He sighed happily, watching her walk away. She was going to Boston with him. Anticipation raced along his veins. Granted, he'd have to maintain his distance, but they would be out of the office and the town. What that could short-cut in the end was worth the suffering. Very well worth it. If he didn't drown himself in cold showers in the meantime.

Unfortunately, Jake didn't feel quite so pleased with himself that night when he called Charity. "Are telephones off-limits?" he asked without any greeting or identification. She chuckled. "It depends on how long you keep me on the line . . . and what you have to say." "I won't keep you long." He took a breath and plunged in. "We're set for Friday on that presentation with DGF. Ten in the morning. So we'll fly out after work on Thursday—" "Excuse me?" Her tone was sharp. "Thursday?" He sighed. "Somehow I knew you'd have this reaction. It's too tight to try to get up there that early on Friday. Flying in Thursday night makes sense so we'll be fresh in the morning. And in case of delays. You know, you've been acting like I'm going to throw you down and jump your bones any second." "That's a wonderful euphemism for sex. My personal favorite. I can't tell you the images it conjures up." "Charity—" "I'm not accusing you of anything. Actually, I'm flattered that you find me attractive. Maybe under other circumstances I would be interested, but I'm sorry. I'm not . . ." Just what he wanted to hear, he thought in disgust. "... And you seem to be pressing the issue—" "I've set my sights on that secretary in accounting, okay?" he said, desperate to say anything that soothed his damaged ego. If that was what she wanted, then fine. "The one with the blond hair and the great body. Your message finally got through loud and clear. Now that that's out of the way, use your common sense. You know it's logical to go up on Thursday. That's when we're going . . . unless you have some legitimate reason to reschedule. But it will still be an overnight deal." There was a long silence on the other end. So long, in fact, he thought they'd been cut off. Finally, she said, "I'll be ready." "Good." Relief washed through him. The circle had just tightened a little more. "Tell Mary. Do you think she'll have any problem with Thursday?" "It wouldn't matter if she had. The king has spoken." Maybe he'd been more firm than he'd intended, Jake thought. "Charity, if the date is a problem, we can reschedule it. I don't want either you or Mary unduly inconvenienced." "I'm sorry. My remark was uncalled for. Thank you for calling." She hung up. He took the receiver from his ear and glared at it. He really had been too strong. He thought about calling her back and apologizing but decided not to. He'd just be his normal sweet, businesslike, platonic self the rest of the week, and she'd realize she had nothing to fear from the trip. Damn, but he hated platonic. The blonde in accounting walked by. "He's got to be kidding," Charity muttered, eyeing the overfluffed hair with corkscrew waves. It was

a dye job or Robert Brown wasn't the head of the history department at B.U. The woman looked as though she hadn't eaten anything more than a carrot in the past five years. And she was a triple-A no-threat in the bra department too. What did she care what Jake was doing? Charity asked herself after the blonde disappeared around the corner. She ought to be grateful he'd finally gotten her message and given up. She ought to, but she wasn't. She'd made a fool of herself on the telephone the night before, and she wished she had it to do all over again. Why had she jumped to conclusions? Okay, so she'd out-and-out panicked at the thought of going away on a business trip with him. She'd been on them before—playing secretary, of course, at the presentations. It was part of the job. And he'd given her a wonderful opportunity by turning the presentation itself over to her, acknowledging her as a major player. She'd never done the presentation before. If only she had kept her mouth shut last night, she might have saved face. And she could have continued the flirtation with him. The truth was, she'd been enjoying it. Now the blonde would be having all the fun. And she bet it wouldn't stop with flirting. Not with that bim— "Don't you have work to do?" Charity glanced up to find Dave standing over her desk, hands on his hips, glaring at her. Ever since he'd been at that all-male meeting of Jake's the previous week, he'd been on a testosterone high. And there'd been another meeting at lunch that day. She pointed to the papers on her desk. "I am working, Dave." "You've been getting away with murder around here," he said. "I've had enough of it. In fact, the sales department is about to find things are going to be different. No more goofing off, especially you women." Charity sat up straight, not sure she'd heard him right. "I beg your pardon?" "You're always away from your desk. All of you are." "Dave, you know a lot of our job entails coordination with other departments." "And all of you goof off when you do." Puffing himself up one last time, he turned away and stalked into his office. "Son of a—" Charity muttered. Furious, she did the all-American thing and got up and went to the ladies' room. Inside, women were slamming their pocketbooks down on the countertop. Hers joined the others. All of the women were muttering vindictives at their male managers. Even the blonde from accounting. Clearly, all the men had come back from Jake's latest meeting with machismo flowing through their veins. What the hell was he doing to them? "You're in Room 567, Mr. Halford. Ms. DeMario is in 568 and Ms. Brown is in 569." Charity sighed with relief as the desk clerk handed out the room keys, plastic magnetic cards imprinted with the lock solution. Jake, she noticed, merely smiled, and Mary took her key without a blink. Mary was an older woman, with a husband and two grown children. She had gone back to school

for engineering and taken several detours before winding up as a computer technician. Not the usual young male who favored that career choice, she was always interesting to take to presentations. First, she surprised the suppliers, then she dazzled them. Charity was more than pleased that steady, staid Mary would be between her and Jake that night. She avoided Jake's eyes as they rode up in the elevator, then walked along the corridor of the fifth floor. He had been the perfect gentleman on the plane, calling her Ms. Brown all the time. Actually, he'd chatted more with Mary than with her during the flight. She wasn't sure whether to be aggravated or not by that. Logic told her not, but silly jealousy wasn't listening. Why was she so bothered by him? She could feel his presence, looming and intriguing, just behind her right shoulder as they walked, and she knew the answer. She liked him. Worse, she was attracted to him. Good thing she wasn't going home with them tomorrow afternoon. She was staying on and having dinner with her parents, then taking a late shuttle home. The less she was around Jake, the better. Mary stopped at a door. "Here I am." She turned to the left and inserted her card in the door slot. "I'm here," Jake said, turning to the right. Charity glanced up sharply at his door number, positive he had the wrong room. He didn't. She looked around wildly, at her key number and at the sea of doors, terrified her sudden sure feeling was about to become harsh reality. It did. Her room was directly next to Jake's. Four Jake shut his door, tossed his two-suiter on the bed, and began to chuckle. He noticed the adjoining door to Charity's room and roared outright. Fate, he thought happily. It was complete serendipity that he was in an adjoining hotel room with Charity. Her face had been priceless when she'd realized it. Nothing had changed, though, he reminded himself. He still had to be a gentleman on this trip. He'd promised. His amusement immediately faded. Charity's needs and his needs weren't matching up quite as he'd expected. Or at least not as quickly as he'd hoped. And he couldn't let her go. The moment he'd kissed her, he'd known it. She had felt something special too. He had tasted it in her response, felt it in her body. For most of his life he'd listened to women. For once, all he was asking was for one to listen to him. He wondered if Charity intended to visit her parents while she was in town. He would very much like to meet them himself. From her description, they sounded exactly the opposite of their practical, no-nonsense daughter. He had to come up with a plan. Unexpected and disarming. Maybe the short-term sacrifice now would ensure the long-term goal later. He grinned and started to plot. Dinner went well. Charity frowned as she shut her hotel room door. Jake had been Mr. Business all through the meal. He'd treated her charmingly and politely. Mary couldn't possibly have guessed from his actions that he'd ever shown a personal interest in her. In fact, Charity herself couldn't even tell! Not once, not by one little look had he acknowledged her on a more intimate level. He must be really hooked on that blonde from accounting, she thought, and shuddered. If he could

change affections that fast, then she ought to be grateful there was only one kiss between them. She could really have been hurt. Scowling, she shoved away the thought that she already was hurt. The adjoining door, which had nearly sent her bolting out of the room earlier, was staying closed that night. Sighing, she changed into her simple cotton nightgown, pulled the curtains shut on the night lights of the city, and settled in the double bed with her presentation notes for the morning. Within a few minutes she was restless. She'd worked on the presentation every spare minute in the past four days, and if she looked at her notes again she'd run screaming into the night. She may run anyhow, she was so scared about giving the presentation. Who the hell was she to think she could do it? Jake thought she could. The notion buoyed her, as it had all week. Still, rereading the stuff was only going to aggravate her already overly sensitive nerves. She tossed the papers aside, picked up the TV remote control, and began to flip through channels. The telephone rang. Charity jumped, her heart pounding. It was Jake. She was positive it was him, so positive she decided not to answer the phone. Immediately a voice inside her argued that it could be Mary. She might need an item she'd forgotten, or want to check on the specs for tomorrow. The phone rang three more times. Finally the thought of Mary won out, and she picked up the receiver. "Hello?" "Hello." The voice was deep and masculine and familiar—and soft with innuendo. It definitely wasn't Mary asking to borrow a pair of panty hose. She smiled wryly. "Hello." "What are you doing?" "Watching television." "The 'after-hours' movie?" She looked at the screen and chuckled. The Care Bears II: A New Generation." "No wonder you're so repressed. Turn on Desiree's Secret Dreams, woman, and see what you're missing." "I think I'll stick with Good-heart Bear." "I will admit Desiree isn't nearly as provocative as you." She found herself smiling again. The late hour seemed to dissipate all her reservations. "I thought you liked the blonde from accounting." "Who?" "The blonde from accounting. That's what you told me." He laughed. "I didn't know there was a blonde from accounting." "What! Come on. You brought her up in the first place."

"I just said that off the top of my head that day. You had dented my ego pretty thoroughly, remember? I needed some sort of male-soothing defense." His voice held amusement and speculation. "Maybe I ought to go take a look at this blonde—" "She's not your type." Charity looked heavenward for forgiveness. "Besides, I think she's mad at you. Most of the women at work are." "They are? What did I do?" "Those men's meetings of yours." She snorted in disgust. "What do you tell them? They've come out of both meetings like supermacho men, heaving hairy chests and snapping orders. There isn't a harmonious hunter-protector among them." Jake cursed. "They must have gotten it all wrong." "No kidding." "That happens sometimes to the insecure. They hear only what they want to hear. I'll straighten them out." "I hope so," Charity said, sighing. "Otherwise, the women will kill them." He laughed. "I bet you don't think that's a bad idea." "Nope. It looks very good to me." "I'm probably number one on the hit parade. Don't worry, though. We're having another meeting this weekend, a round-table discussion on what our fathers didn't teach us. Usually that has them all sensitive." "Do you sell tickets to this stuff?" Charity asked. "I'd love to see that." "I bet. Are you seeing your parents while you're here?" She didn't miss the change in subject, and wondered if he'd take the men to his spot in the woods. If so, she wanted to be right in her little cubbyhole of bushes when the festivity started. "I'm taking a late shuttle home tomorrow night so I can have dinner with them," she answered him. "Sounds good," he said. "See, Charity? This isn't so bad, talking about personal things." "It isn't," she admitted. Not so far. "Of course, we're both in bed—" "Jake," she warned. "Just a reflex action of the male spirit. I'm really glad you're here. I like you, Charity. You're bright and easy to talk to." "But not beautiful." She sighed. It was the story of her life. "Actually, you are very beautiful. I've never said so because I figured you'd immediately attack me for being a chauvinist. You know, 'like me for my mind, not my body.' Admit you would have." "Well . . ." she hedged, but she was extremely pleased he found her attractive. He really wasn't a

bad sort. He just had strange ideas about some things—like dancing naked. She wondered if he would do it on the Common there in Boston. Of course, other women would see him then. Somehow the notion wasn't quite the hoot it used to be. "Well, what?" he asked. "Can I say you're extremely attractive, and I like to watch you walk away? Or am I just allowed to think it? I promise I won't think it about the blonde in accounting, whoever she is." She chuckled. "You know we shouldn't be having this conversation at all." "I've been wondering about that too, but hell, I'm not looking a gift horse in the mouth." He was quiet for a long moment, then finally added, "That door between us won't open tonight . . . even though I wish it would." His words whorled inside her, touching places that hadn't been touched in years. Oddly, they felt as if they'd never been touched. Her blood slowly thickened and heated, sending its warmth to her nerve endings. "Why aren't you married?" he asked. "I was engaged once," she said, deciding talking was better than thinking. "You were married before, right?" "Yes. My wife wanted Alan Alda, and I just couldn't be that any longer." "I can't imagine you as Mr. Sensitive." "I'm wonderfully sensitive in certain places—" "That's not what I was talking about." "Right. The dull stuff. There isn't much to tell. We deferred to her career, until mine reached a critical point. I'd turned down every promotion that entailed moving, but one was for a company in trouble, rather like Wayans. I refused the job. They went under. I didn't turn down the next promotion, and my former wife threw a fit over my 'chauvinism.' She left me. I figured afterward that I was better off. All we had in common was her job. No children. She was never ready." That explained a lot, Charity thought, mentally chewing on the notion. "How about your engagement?" he asked. "What happened?" "I was very young," she said, deciding to share. "But we argued more and more the closer we got to the wedding date, until we realized we weren't ready." "Lived with anyone?" "Yes. Twice, not including my fiancé. I never lived with him." She wondered what Jake would think of her sexual track record, if it would give him ideas about them that she wasn't prepared to deal with. "The last would have been a perfect candidate for your men's movement. Neanderthal was about his speed. He was a big mistake." "He was a fool," Jake said. "Actually, I finally wasn't. Still, when you're nearly thirty and statistics say you're more likely to meet a terrorist than a decent man, one does begin to grasp at straws."

"Well, you've found me. Now all I have to do is convince you. I think I've figured out how." "How?" she asked, curious. "This. We haven't talked business once, you know. Now I'm going to get personal. What are you wearing?" She glanced down at herself and said dubiously, "My nightgown." "I bet it's silk. No." His voice lowered. "It's cotton, soft, soft cotton, so thin it's almost see-through. You think it's a nightgown like any other. But a man would find it sexy." Charity touched the material at her waist, feeling the softness of the fabric and her warm flesh underneath it. It was as if he'd touched her himself. "I'm right, aren't I?" "Yes," she said, her own voice husky. "I can see you stretching your body under the sheets in that leisurely way you have that's incredibly sensual. You did it at the lake." "I did?" "You did. You might as well have punched me in the stomach, that's how much you took my breath. Why do you think I couldn't resist kissing you?" "I . . ." "I still can't, you know." The conversation was getting dangerous, too dangerous. She felt as if she were in a fire about to erupt to volatile proportions. Their talk was way beyond normal bantering, she knew she should stop it, yet she didn't want to. She couldn't remember a man talking to her this way for a long time. If ever. Never had she felt more female, more feminine. "And your hair," he continued. "It's loose and tumbled over the pillow, isn't it? Tempting a man's hand. You tempt a man's hand, Charity. You'll have me making pup tents all night under my sheet just thinking about you." She gasped, realizing exactly what he was talking about. "Jake!" "It's a statement of fact. Being right next to you like this, I think they're going to be circus tents." "This is rapidly becoming an obscene phone call," she said sternly. "It's been there and back again. Are you sure you're not Prudence or Virtue in disguise?" She chuckled. "It would serve you right if I were." "Well then, get off the line and let me speak to your sister. The one with the tempting name. Charity." "I don't live up to it, remember?" "I have a feeling you live up to it very well, after a man gets past your reserve."

"And you think you can." "I'll damn well try." "Good night, Jake," she said softly, and just as softly hung up the receiver. "Good night, Charity," a faint voice said through the wall. She laughed. Jake knocked on Charity's door with every intention of platonically escorting her and Mary to breakfast. He was proud of himself for not tearing the wall down the night before to get at her. Unfortunately, his quota of sleep fell far short that morning. The door opened. Charity was wearing a lemon-yellow linen dress that outlined every curve without being provocative. Her hair was pulled back in a French braid, the style giving her eyes a catlike quality —mysterious yet bold. Soft cotton and softer talk of the night before came back in a rush. "I'll just get my briefcase and jacket," she said. "Fine." His voice was hoarse. The urge was overwhelming to take up in a nonverbal way where their conversation had left off the previous night. He couldn't remember wanting anyone more than he wanted Charity Brown. He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. Charity had turned away to get her things. Unthinking, he reached out and turned her back, pulling her against him. He kissed her, tasting the smoothness of her lipstick on her lips. He couldn't stop himself; he didn't even know how to try. Not with Charity. She was rapidly becoming an obsession. He could feel her surprise, then her hesitation, but he was too hungry for her just to let her go. Holding her more tightly to him, he felt her breasts press into his chest and the length of her legs brush sensuously against his. He was careful not to let his hand drop below her waist, but he allowed himself the pleasure of caressing her back, feeling the feminine bone and flesh beneath the smoothness of the linen. Her mouth relaxed under his and opened, allowing his tongue to find hers. The kiss deepened, turning from dark sensuality to raw need. Her hands clung to his shoulders, and his heart quickened, sending his blood roaring through him. Sanity returned with the lack of air in his lungs. Jake raised his head. Charity slowly fluttered open her eyelids. Her eyes were unfocused for an instant, then panic flared in them. "I'm not apologizing," Jake said, holding her when she would have pulled away. "I'll be damned before I apologize for that." "You know how I feel about this," she said. "I know what you think is right. But you ought to start thinking about what else is right for you." She raised her eyebrows. "And you think you're it?" "I think I could be," he said, his tone assured, "if you'd only give this a chance." "Don't we have a presentation to do?" He kissed her swiftly, then let her go. "Go fix your lipstick."

"Go fix yours." She walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. Jake turned and looked at his face in the mirror on the closet door. Coral-red lipstick was smeared across his lips. Not bad, he thought as he took out his handkerchief and wiped it off. And how it got there was even better. Charity emerged from the bathroom, lipstick in place. She gazed levelly at him and said, "This won't happen again." He smiled. "I think it will. And I don't think you can stop it." "I can stop it." Judging from her stiff stance, set jaw, and clenched fists, Jake thought, she was furious. His smile faded, but he didn't intend to give up. "We'll see. Shall we go and sell a contract?" She slipped out the door without a word. Jake followed her just as Mary was emerging from her room. If she thought anything of the two of them exiting the same room, it didn't show on her face. But Charity's shoulders stiffened even more. Jake knew she was feeling compromised and wished he could say something to make it all go away. Whatever was happening between them wouldn't disappear that easily, though. And he didn't want it to. Charity relaxed some during breakfast, joining in the conversation with him and Mary. Jake was careful to keep every movement between him and Charity on a business level. For one thing, he recognized that she would respond to that, and for another, he didn't want to give her the least feeling that her job was in any way dependent on how she reacted to him personally. That meant he had to keep the personal very private. The managers of DGF Technologies were a little puzzled with the two women when the three of them arrived, especially when it became obvious Charity was doing the presentation. They were expecting, Jake knew, the man to do it. He had never held with the tradition of the boss doing the important things while the employees did the work. In Jake's book, whoever did the work deserved the recognition. As she stood at the end of the conference table, though, he noticed that Charity looked unsure, nervous. And she wouldn't look him in the eye at all. The suppliers shifted expectantly, then restlessly. Jake tried to smile encouragingly at her, even as his impatience rose. What the hell was she waiting for? "Ahh ..." she began, staring down at her notes. Mary set several of the spec sheets in front of her. "Here are the first requirements." Charity smiled gratefully and began to describe what was needed. As she talked, her delivery, her manner, became smoother and smoother, until at the end she had them practically panting to get in on the deal. Jake grinned at her, and she smiled back, a genuine smile. Maybe she wasn't quite so angry about the kiss that morning. And maybe there was a monkey in the moon. Jake didn't know how to break completely through the polite barrier she'd erected between them. He'd pierced it on several occasions, but she always managed to close it back up. Nothing she'd said told him she'd had a terrible love affair that had left lingering wounds. Even her last one didn't seem to particularly bother her, except that she'd made a mistake and recognized it as such. That showed maturity rather than pain.

He had to curb his impatience. That she was elusive made her more fascinating. He couldn't help wondering what was under the next layer and how it would reveal itself. There was more to Charity than he'd ever imagined, and all of it pulled at his soul. Clearly, she liked the arm's-distance flirting. And she'd liked their talk last night. If talking got him closer, then he'd talk. Like a true hunter, he was following all impulses now. "... we'll give an extra five percent discount on all materials and provide complete service and instruction for ten percent of the profits." The offer penetrated his musings, but Jake found the DGF vice president wasn't talking to him. He was negotiating with Charity. DGF had made an assumption about her powerbase, and he wasn't about to abuse it. He'd step in only if he had to. She never glanced at him for approval, but negotiated with DGF until she got the best deal for Wayans. Hands were shaken all around, then Jake, Charity, and Mary left. The moment they were outside in the parking lot and out of sight of their new partners, Charity breathed a sigh of relief. Jake squeezed her shoulders. "You did very well." "Better," Mary said. "You got them in their pocket-books." Charity shook her head. "I almost didn't get anything. I was too nervous." "It was your first time," Mary said. "Of course you were nervous." Jake gaped at Charity. "You told me you did presentations before." She glanced at him. "Actually, you told me I did. I wasn't about to argue with the boss." And then she began to laugh. Uproariously. Mary joined her. Jake started to chuckle too. He couldn't help himself. He put his arm around both women because it gave him an excuse to put his arm around one. "Come on, ladies. Lunch is on the big dumb boss." "You are not getting any younger, dear. That biological clock is ticking away." Charity smiled at her mother as she poked at her filet of beef. Lord help her, but her mother was on a baby kick again. "Yes, Mom, I hear it." "That phrase always sounds like one is about to explode," her mother said. "Still, I would see thee have children, Charity. Thee would be a wonderful mother." "Emmaline, you're not in character anymore," Charity's father said. "And leave the child alone. It's not her fault. If you would pay attention to news in your own century more often, you'd know the statistics are against her. She's more likely to get hijacked than get married. Of course, if she'd married that graduate student of mine . . . What was his name?" "Louis, dear," Emmaline replied. "He teaches at Brown now." "Yes, that's right." Robert smiled. "I always found it humorous that he went from one Brown to another. Still, Charity, he was a very nice young man." "You thought I was too young, remember?" Charity said, while wondering why she hadn't gone home with Jake and Mary.

For a number of reasons, she answered herself. But especially because of the kiss that morning. She could still taste his lips on hers. All day the sensation had lingered. Her own reaction, the pulsing desire that had risen so swiftly in her, had appalled her, upsetting her on the presentation. She'd had to push the memory aside all day. Unfortunately, her father was on the marriage kick now. Combined with her mother, the conversation would be deadly with the way she was feeling. "I said you were too young for Louis?" Robert looked surprised. "But he teaches at Brown. You could be teaching. I've never understood why you wanted to work in the private sector. More and more students are turning from the pleasure of knowledge to the pleasure of money. It's very disappointing. But you know we'd love to have you come home, Charity. We miss you." She smiled ruefully. Her dad had never quite forgiven her for leaving school, but he was generous about it. "I miss you two also. New Jersey is only six hours away, and that's where my work is. It's not the end of the earth." "Thank goodness," her mother said, then added to her father, "I suppose we can hope for a nice terrorist for Charity, Robert. Maybe she'll stop being so fussy about men. You know, terrorists do have a number of similarities to privateers ..." "No wonder I moved to New Jersey," Charity muttered as her parents launched into a conversation on the nuances of accrediting privateers four hundred years ago. She frowned as she considered what her mother had said. Was she fussy about men? She had decided not to settle for immature, noncommitted men. Was that a mistake? She hoped not. Her luck was abominable when it came to nice men who cared for her. A nice man didn't seem to be out there, which made having children complicated. She'd once considered having a child on her own, but she wasn't prepared for all it entailed. Maybe she never would be. But why was it so hard to find a quiet man with whom she could share a quiet life? A little perverse voice inside her suggested there was a possibility. No, she thought. Not that one. Definitely not that man. Jake Halford was not quiet. He was dangerous. The little voice added other adjectives, like "exciting" and "different." And "sexy." Charity stiffened as she caught sight of a man entering the hotel dining room. He looked exactly like Jake. She blinked, but instead of the vision vanishing, it grinned and waved at her, then began to weave its way around the tables toward her. "Hello," the vision said as it neared her. Not only did it look like Jake, it sounded like him too. If it stripped down naked and began to chant around the candelabrum, she'd know it really was Jake. Her brain, unfortunately, told her this was no vision. "What are you doing here?" she asked, staring up at him. She felt violated somehow, as if he'd invaded her privacy, even though it was a public restaurant. "I decided to stay on and see some more people I know, then take a later flight back tonight." He smiled innocently at her. She narrowed her eyes. "Funny, you didn't say anything before this." "Spur-of-the-moment. All for the good of the company, you know." " Dear, aren't you going to introduce us?" her mother asked in the sweetest of voices.

"This is my boss, Jake Halford, who is supposed to be home in New Jersey," she replied just as sweetly. "These are my parents, Jake, Robert and Emmaline Brown." "Won't you join us?" Emmaline said, a particular gleam in her eye that said "Nosy mother's interest on red alert." "Thank you." Jake took the fourth seat at the table as Charity clamped her lips shut on any protest. Not that a protest would do any good. Her mother was as determined as Jake. One she couldn't cure, but the other would find himself in "detox" as soon as they got out of there. Dangerous and different, exciting and sexy, popped into her mind again, but she pushed the notions aside. "You should be very proud of your daughter," Jake said. "She's putting together a deal that's worth millions of dollars. It's going to save our company." "Really?" Both her parents turned to look at her as if she'd grown two extra heads. Charity smiled at them. "That's why I came to Boston, to see some people about it. I told you when I called, remember?" The deal didn't have any meaning for her parents, but they took notice that it clearly did for Jake. She could almost forgive him for showing up. Almost. But she could still taste his kiss. "That's wonderful," Emmaline said, then she frowned in puzzlement. Charity swallowed a laugh. Anything about computers could sink only so far with her mother before it hit bedrock. And her father was looking dubiously at Jake, thank goodness. The last thing she wanted was parental approval of Jake. Maybe she ought to tell her parents about his propensity for naked fire-dancing. She could just hear her mother asking how he kept from getting certain parts burned. She opened her mouth . . . "I understand that you teach early-American history, sir," Jake said to her father before she could get her words out. "And you, ma'am, are at Olde Plimoth. I follow the more ancient philosophies also. I'm a student of Bly's." "Iron John?" Robert asked, perking up. "The men's movement?" "What's an Iron John?" Emmaline asked. "A bathroom with a very cold seat?" Charity suggested. Jake chuckled, while her father, with less humor, sputtered a protest at her. Jake said to her mother, "It's a book written by a poet named Robert Bly, Mrs. Brown. Bly explains the men's movement through a little-known Grimms fairy tale called 'Iron John.' " "It's Emmaline, please. And I know that tale. But how does he weave this men's movement into the fairy tale?" Jake launched into an explanation of a wild man, Iron John, who lived in a wood and is captured, then set free by a king's son. John teaches the prince how to be a man. Robert, who evidently knew the work, chimed in with asides regarding men having lost their way from their true selves. Emmaline debated specifics, but Jake had been right. The basic philosophy of men's jobs differing from women's appealed to her because of her own work in Olde Plimoth. Charity sat back with a sigh of resignation and finished her dinner. Her parents clearly liked Jake. A lot.

She couldn't think of anything worse than that. Five "How mad are you?" Jake asked as they settled in their seats on the last shuttle returning to Philadelphia. "You were a big hit with my parents," Charity said politely. "That mad, eh?" "That mad." "I did have to stay on," he said. "To drum up more business for Wayans. I'm sorry I didn't realize the advantage of doing so before the presentation. Now, you're not going to yell at me for that." He paused. "Are you?" She smiled a tiny tolerant smile. "No. I think it's wonderful that you're so conscientious. Wayans is lucky to have you." "Thanks. How long do I have to wear the hair shirt you've got me in?" "Forever. It fits right in with your Hairy John." "That's Iron John." "The fairy tale about men. Yes, I remember." Jake frowned. Something in the way she said that bothered him. Still, she would be skeptical. She was a woman and had never experienced a man's frustrations. That was only fair. Men had trouble with women's frustrations. Like now. He decided to change the subject altogether. "Your parents don't appreciate you, do they?" She rounded on him, shocked. "Yes, they do. Why would you say that?" He shrugged. "Because they looked so bewildered when I told them about your presentation and the project you're handling. Our world's like an alien world to them, isn't it?" "I suppose," she said thoughtfully. "Academia does tend to isolate my father, and my mother spends her days three centuries in the past. They don't view the world as most do. On the other hand, I don't view things that are important to them in quite the same way. It's a mutual 'I just don't get it.' But that's okay. They're happy in what they do and I'm happy in what I do. They did know the success of the presentation was important to me." "It's important to me too," he said, "and no one understands it better." "Thank you." Her voice was low, innocently seductive. He gazed at her, proud of what she'd accomplished that day. Dave didn't know the gem he had in her. Something had to be done about that. He liked the way she understood her parents and accepted them, in spite of their clear life-style differences. He liked . . . hell, he liked everything about her. Charity wasn't a prize to be captured, to be won. He'd realized that several days earlier. She was a fascinating woman, one he wanted to explore. He had a feeling that once she let a man in, he wouldn't want to come out again. If was as if she were entrapping him. He was happily looking forward to getting

caught. The rest of the flight home passed in silence, mainly because Charity closed her eyes, indicating her weariness. Very crafty, he acknowledged. He enjoyed her quiet presence, though, as much as their conversations. And he could watch her. Watch the way her breasts rose and fell leisurely with each breath she took . . . watch the way her legs shifted sensually against each other . . . watch how her hands were folded modestly in her lap, as if hiding the very essence of her femininity. Her perfume, sharp and mysterious, drifted on the air currents surrounding them. The interior lights of the plane were off, creating the illusion of privacy. He wanted to reach out and touch her, kiss her, taste her soft flesh and free her hair from its confines. But he knew he couldn't indulge himself. The privacy was only an illusion. However, he could enjoy the torture. The plane landed all too soon. He drove them home in his car, the privacy more real but the deprivation still very much in force. When they reached her apartment, he walked her to her door. "I'm coming in for one minute," he said firmly, "just to check that everything's all right inside." "I appreciate that, but—" He cut her off. "Charity, I have a single mother and four sisters who raised me to be a gentleman. Besides, I would want someone to check on their homes, for safety's sake." He took the keys from her hands and unlocked her apartment door. Inside, he was true to his word, looking in every room. Of course, he couldn't help it that he found her decor appealing, right down to the pointedly single bed in her bedroom. She waited for him by the front door. "Go to bed, Charity. It's late and you had a great day. And no Desiree's Secret Desire." With that, he walked out the door, whistling. "Desiree's Secret Desire, my aunt Fanny," Charity muttered for the hundredth time as she cut up a whole chicken late Saturday afternoon. The work now would save her plenty over the next few weeks in dollars and time. What a great parting shot, she thought, her brain far from her bargain meat. She chopped the thigh from the leg with one clean swing of the cleaver. And she was angry with him for interrupting her family dinner in Boston. What a half-baked story about suddenly wanting to see more prospective clients! She bet he'd wanted to see something else entirely and that Desiree played a central theme. "That bum," she mumbled, clanging the cleaver down with force on the poor chicken leg. To be fair, he hadn't suggested they stay over a second night. He hadn't even mentioned it. Considering the way she'd cold-shouldered him after that kiss, the thought probably hadn't even crossed his mind. She whacked the chicken again for good measure, telling herself she absolutely was not disappointed. Not the least little bit. She muttered darkly under her breath even as she wondered at his sudden lack of interest. Realizing what she was doing, she took a deep breath and pushed the thought away. She should have given him a parting shot last night, right in the patootie. His new nickname was Aggravation from Hell. So why did she find him so damned attractive? She slapped the mangled pieces of chicken on a plate and centered a new section of fowl on the board. She just didn't understand herself. His interest in her was flattering. He might be interested only in one thing, but he was interested in that one thing with

her. That was more tempting than she cared to admit. Okay, he had some appeal. Chop went the cleaver, and another leg went flying on the cutting board. He was gentlemanly enough to check her house for safety and leave immediately after. Usually men used that as a ploy to get an invitation to stay for coffee . . . and more. Jake hadn't, and the gesture had touched her. Chop. She still couldn't believe how she'd talked to him on the telephone. And how he'd kissed the breath out of her the next morning. Chop, bam, chop! He was easy to talk to, and she liked that even as she wished she didn't. Another chicken piece was cleanly severed. But he would not be an easy man over the long haul. In fact, she had grave doubts he would even be there for a woman. Just because he was giving her some golden opportunity at work did not mean she had to fall on her knees in gratitude. A perversely honest part of her brain reminded her that he'd never ever done or said anything that even hinted he expected such a thing. She absolutely believed that any refusal from her on the personal side did not affect her job at Wayans. She knew harassment when she heard it. He didn't make lewd or suggestive remarks. He just told her he wanted to see her, asked her several times to change her stance about dating men from work. She had to admit that what he said was true, about the workplace being the number-one territory for men and women to meet. The thigh meat was reduced another quarter inch by the black-belt-in-karate cleaver. Okay, so he wasn't a macho ogre either. But she was in no mood for logic to interfere with the ripe anger she was whipping up. Jake was not someone she should ever get involved with. If she had known then what she knew now, she would have run for her life the moment she spotted him in the woods that night. But none of that negated one fact. She wanted him. When she went to bed at night, he was the last thing she thought of. When she woke up in the morning, he was the first. She could taste his mouth on hers nearly continually, feel his arms around her, his body taut under her hands. The scent of cologne and man lingered far too long in her senses, and wisps of his voice, low and sensual, were constantly in her ears. And if she were completely honest with herself, she'd have to admit she was giving him mixed signals. That was because he made her feel so mixed up inside. The doorbell rang. Charity blinked, then glanced down at the chicken she'd been cutting up. It was reduced to small chunks. "I guess it's stir-fry for the rest of the week," she murmured, shaking her head. Her great bargain was a disaster. She washed her hands and, wiping them dry, went to answer the door. Aggravation from Hell stood on the other side of the threshold. Trepidation shot through her as she wondered if all her thoughts had "called" him there. "Help" he said, though she thought he looked more bemused than frantic. "You and my chicken. Go home, Jake." "Charity, you're the only sane person in this town. I think I've got a problem." "I'm not sane," she said. "I'm standing here talking to you, aren't I?" "Dammit, woman. I need to talk to someone who uses some sense." She sighed, but didn't open her door wider. First, she didn't trust herself. He looked too good in casual clothes. The white rugby shirt clung to his torso, emphasizing the long line of his body. There

should be a law against his wearing it. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Did Gwen blow up the archive files?" "No. I had that meeting with the men today, remember?" "Oh, yes." Charity leaned forward, suddenly intensely interested. "And?" "And I explained what I had explained to them before." He shook his head. "Charity, they went from machismo to weeping jelly in five minutes." She snorted, trying to hold back her amusement. It didn't work as she imagined Dave and the others bawling like a bunch of two-year-olds. Laughing helplessly, she clung to the door for support. "It's not funny!" Jake snapped, pushing the door open and entering her apartment. "I was explaining how fathers are not passing on their knowledge to their sons, this being the basis for what we're missing in our lives. I was trying to emphasize that they needed to do that with their own children, to reverse the process. The next thing I know, they've got it all wrong and it's a sins of my father free-for-all. Some of those guys wept worse than Scarlett O'Hara." "Scarlett wasn't a weeper." "Whatever. I think I opened a can of worms." "Think!" she exclaimed, laughing again. "I can't wait to see what they do when you take them dancing in the woods!" As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she desperately wanted to call them back. He gaped at her. "Ahh ..." She tried desperately to think of something that would cover up her blooper. "Ahhh what?" Jake asked, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. "What do you know about dancing in the woods?" "I read Iron John?" she tried hopefully. "Buzz. Wrong. Try again." "I saw it on TV?" "Sorry." He stepped closer. She stepped back. "You saw me that night, didn't you?" he demanded. "That's an understatement," she muttered. He turned the air blue with curses. "Now, Jake," she said, hoping to calm him down. "You have to expect these things when you're half a block from the center of town." "I was not a half a block from the center of town!" "Two?" she suggested, grinning.

"Was I really?" he asked sheepishly. She started laughing all over again. "Thanks a lot. I'm naked and you're laughing. You do wonders for my ego." His face turned red. The blush was unexpected. In fact, it was rather touching to see a man like Jake blush. Unfortunately, that didn't stop her amusement. "You never said a word," he complained. "What could I say?" she asked, not quite looking at him. She'd managed to relegate the incident to the back of her mind in order to work with him. Now it was smack in the forefront again. "It was an important ritual," he said, glaring at her. "I'm sure," she said. "I think the chipmunks sang about it." "No, the chipmunks did not sing about it. We have to vent our ancient selves." "You really aired yours out." "You have no sympathy for the humiliated." "I'm trying." "Men weren't allowed to laugh when women burned their bras." "You guys were too busy staring lasciviously." He grinned. "True. So what did you think when you saw me nude? Did you stare lasciviously?" "No," she lied. "Liar." He leaned forward. "I could feel eyes on me that night, watching. Now I know it was you." Something that had been funny had acquired a feeling of intimacy—between them. Her chuckles faded, and she was unable to look away from him. "We'll let that go for the moment," he said. "Now that you've stopped laughing, maybe you can tell me what to do with these guys. One of them even cried because his father tricked the family dog into liking him best." "That must be Bill Williams," Charity said. "He tells that story every chance he gets." "This time he had a rapt audience." Jake ran his hand through his hair. "Catharsis is good, but this is ridiculous. What's wrong with this town?" "What are you asking me for?" she asked. "I'm not the one who's the expert on the men's movement." Leaving him with that piece of truism, she turned around and walked back into the kitchen. Jake followed. "I knew you'd make me feel better," he said dryly, then stared down at the chopped chicken. "Did a cleaver go berserk in here?"

"Haven't you seen stir-fry before?" she asked in a haughty tone. "Not like this." "It's Balinese," she said, and shrugged as if to say she couldn't help his international culinary ignorance. "It's something all right. I'd suggest taking you out to dinner, but you'd say no." "I would," she said, half wishing he would ask anyway. The chicken looked worse than before. "It'll look better once you fry it," he said. "I was going to broil it." He raised his eyebrows. "The Balinese have broilers?" "A variation." He nodded, accepting her word for it. "So what should I do with the men?" he asked, leaning against the counter. "Take them out and shoot them and hang them?" "Seriously." She shrugged, then opened the refrigerator to rummage around for vegetables to add to the chicken. "I don't know. Tell them that was good for their souls and now they can be men?" "I . . ." His voice trailed away. Charity rose from her bent-over position and turned to him quizzically. He was standing as still as stone, staring at her. "What?" she asked, puzzled by the intense expression in his eyes. "Don't bend over in a man's presence again," he said, his voice hoarse. "It makes funny things happen to them." "Oh, so now you're going to tell me you can't control yourself." She made a face, thinking that he wasn't different after all. "The age-old complaint of men. Blame the women for their lack of control." "Men can control themselves," he said, smiling slightly. "The problem is, you give them impulses that they have an overwhelming urge to follow. At least, you give them to me. Like the impulse to reach out and touch your hair." He reached out and touched her hair, tucking behind her ear the strands that had come loose from her ponytail. She shivered as his fingers curved around the sensitive tip of her ear. She couldn't remember a time a man had touched her this gently and caused such a reaction. "And if I say not to touch my hair, what will you do?" she asked, gazing at his face. His cheekbones looked more prominent, and his eyes, usually a light brown, had darkened. Sometimes she couldn't look at him at all because he did funny things to her insides or she felt extremely shy. And other times like this, all she could do was stare.

"Then I would follow my second impulse and touch your cheek and find the skin like velvet." His finger traced along her jaw. The slight coarseness of his skin contrasted with the softness of hers. She knew she ought to stop this, but she couldn't muster the strength. A craving swirled through her, and she had to indulge it for just a few more seconds. After all, it was only a touch. Surely that couldn't hurt anything. "Now, of course," he went on, "I would follow my third impulse. And that's to kiss you." His hand cupped the side of her face. Charity wanted desperately to curl herself into his hand, into the warmth and strength radiating from it. "But I won't kiss you ..." Her stomach dropped sickeningly at his words. "I won't," he repeated. She told herself she was grateful he wouldn't. He gazed at her, his jaw tightening visibly. "The hell I won't." His lips came down on hers in that sure and perfect way he had. Charity went straight into his arms without thought, until her body was tight against his. Need burst along every inch of her flesh. His shoulders were hard and solid, and she dug her nails into them, anchoring herself in the storm already pulling her into itself. His mouth twisted and turned, and she followed with hers, reveling in the gentle intensity. His tongue enticed hers to join in an ancient mating, swirling together over and over, sending her senses spinning into soft gray depths of nothingness. She could taste him, hot and sweet and male. She could hear his breath coming deeper and more ragged with need, more seductive than any words could ever be. His hands smoothed their way up her spine, the palms flat and hot against her thin shirt. The friction sent out shivers everywhere, and she hungered for more of his touch. It was as if her skin had been deprived of a basic need and was now being nourished back to life. She realized dimly that she hadn't been touched by a man like this in years, but it wasn't just any man who could produce this response in her. It was Jake. And she wanted more. His hands slid down her back and curved around her derriere. She moaned as he lifted her into him, their hips pressed intimately together. The kiss burned out of control, like a blaze raging through a forest. The hunger turned ravenous, and she met him move for move and touch for touch as desire flowed through her in a slow white heat. He hauled her up higher, burying his lips at her throat, nipping and sucking in tiny love bites. She arched her head back, reveling in the sensations his lips created. The kisses dipped lower and lower along the open neck of her blouse, until he reached the cleavage of her breasts. He traced it with his tongue. She moaned and half wrapped her dangling legs around his as emotions long suppressed inside her were unleashed. He pressed her back until she was braced between the counter and the refrigerator. His weight leaned into her, so satisfyingly that she made little noises in the back of her throat. His mouth trailed kisses along the upper curves of her breasts. It was like having hot fire and cool ice on her skin at the same time. She gripped his hair at the nape of his neck, the thick strands threading through her fingers, and bent her head over his, her mouth against his temple. He dipped lower, nipping at her nipple through her shirt

and bra. An ache coursed from the hard nub, pouring through her body as he thrust his tongue rhythmically against it. She couldn't stand it. But she'd die if he stopped. Jake teased her flesh through the barrier of clothing, feeling her nipple come to a hard point. His mind reeled at her sensual response, and he dug his fingers into the curve of her hip and thigh, hanging on as his body rocked with its own response. Running his hand down her thigh, he felt the firm flesh almost gripping his palm. He pulled her knee higher around his hip until she cradled him into the most intimate part of herself, hard, hot, tight even through her slacks. The feel of her enveloping him rocketed through him, pulling him under the passion. Her hands were kneading his shoulders and back, practically tearing holes in his shirt to get to his skin. He dragged his mouth back up to hers for a devastating kiss that spun him out of control. The taste of her was an addiction already, seducing him with a craving for her uniqueness. Charity was honest in her need, meeting his with everything she had. He wanted her more than he could ever have imagined. He could feel her warm breath at his hair. His blood thickened and pumped through his veins at her every moan of pleasure. He wanted to kiss her everywhere at once, so hungry for her to be skin to skin with him. Every wall between them had been stripped away until it was just them, only them giving to each other in an age-old way. She couldn't deny it . . . she wasn't denying the passion between them. She was meeting it, taking with her even as she gave to him. He couldn't get enough of her like this, and yet each kiss, each touch, only drove the heat higher. It occurred to him that nothing was stopping them from finding every inch of each other together. She wanted him. He could feel it in every breath she took, every moan, every touch. And he wanted her, desperately. . . . That thought, rather than driving his body and mind forward as one, brought the opposite reaction. He lifted his head, breaking the kiss. He held her close against his chest, just held her, for long, long moments, until her breath stopped coming in gasps. Then he let her go. She slumped against the refrigerator. He stared at her as she opened her eyes in bewilderment. She'd never looked more beautiful, her hair disheveled and her lips swollen with his kisses. "We can't," he said, hating the words. "Wha—?" "We can't. You're not ready." He took a deep breath, forcing himself to ignore the hurt that filled her eyes. He didn't know if she'd ever forgive him for stopping, but he would never forgive himself if he didn't. "I want it to be right, with no regrets." He turned around and walked out of Charity's apartment. It was the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life. There was only one explanation for his leaving like that. He was insane. Six "Here." Charity watched as Dave dropped a pile of papers on her desk, right on top of the printout she was reading, and walked away. "Thank you," she called out sweetly, then cursed him under her breath. If he'd been Mr. Maudlin at Jake's little soiree that past weekend, it certainly didn't show. He was just as two-by-four-headed as

always. And rude. The funny thought ran through her mind that Dave had looked angry, but she dismissed it. Dave simply didn't know the meaning of "pleasant." She swiveled the papers around, intending to put them aside, when a name caught her eye. As she began to read the order, a sense of retroactive humiliation slowly sank in. When she was done, she sighed in complete disgust with herself. The papers were substantial orders and deals made with three companies in Boston, companies Jake had visited after their presentation at DGF. He hadn't lied, and if he had arranged those meetings so he could hang around that night, hoping to persuade her to stay over again doing something more intimate than talking on the telephone, he'd certainly made it worth Wayans's while. And he hadn't asked such a thing of her, anyway. She might always have her suspicions about his real purpose for staying on, but the knowledge that he hadn't acted upon it still rankled. "Lord, if only I could kill him and get away with it," she muttered. She hadn't seen him, either, since he'd left her house so abruptly two days earlier. The feel of his lips and hands on her, driving her nearly senseless, had haunted her ever since. She wanted him, wanted to break all the rules she lived by. In fact, she might have broken them right there in her kitchen if he hadn't been noble and stopped her. He was never quite what she expected him to be. Remembering Dave's furious expression, she admitted it was no wonder he was angry. It did not look good on the resume to have the boss going out and getting orders when that was Dave's job. Maybe it would make Dave more . . . enthusiastic. She'd like to see that. Still, she knew what she had to do. With another groan of self-disgust she picked up the telephone and called Jake. His secretary put her through. "Good morning, Ms. Brown," he said in his best schoolboy voice. She looked up at the ceiling for strength. He would be so damned cheerful. Even so, a frisson of awareness rippled through her, for that cheerfulness couldn't mask the natural sensuality in his voice. Some men had it, and some men didn't. Timothy Dalton had it. So did Jake. "Jake." She kept her own tone businesslike. "I have orders on my desk from those three companies you saw in Boston, and I wanted to"—she drew in a deep breath—"apologize if I was curt with you that evening." "I think you made up for it the next day," he said, his smug amusement coming through. "But I'm glad to know I'm completely forgiven." "I wouldn't say completely." She felt vulnerable enough without giving him every edge. "What do I have to do to get the new hair shirt off?" he asked. "Oh, it's pretty much off. I'll process these orders right away." "Good. We need the business badly. The guys upstairs are making noises. But never mind that." Clearly, he was coming under pressure from Wayans's board of directors. She'd never seen any of them, but she always thought of the Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoon where the board conference chairs were filled with cabbage heads—literally. Still, this wasn't the place to say sensitive things, so she warned him: "I think the phones lines have eyes sometimes. The oddest things can get about around here." "Ears, Charity. Phones can't have eyes. But I see your point. Call my private line from now on," he said, and gave her the number.

She wrote it down, then realized that protected only one end. She began to say something, but he interrupted her. "I've decided the men need to have a real wild-man session right away. As soon as possible to get them all back in proper perspective." Thoughts of phone lines flew right out of her head. "Good, good." She hoped she sounded uninterested, but every sense was on alert. This was a not-to-be-missed event. "Are you doing it this week?" "I guess I should. Soon, anyway. How have they been?" " Pretty normal," she replied, thinking of Dave. Then she corrected herself. "Actually, it's hard to say. None of them are saying much." "I see." He sounded depressed. Oh, wicked, wicked Charity, she thought. It really wasn't fair of her to help his misconceptions and concerns along like this. But she'd be crazy if she stopped now." I suppose you could hold the meeting tonight—" "I couldn't get it organized in time. Maybe for the weekend. You know, it's rather odd to be talking about the men's movement with a woman." "Oh, I don't mind," she said nonchalantly. "Besides, emotional problems are usually universal." "True. So you'll have those orders put through today? I really didn't expect them this soon. How are you and Mary coming on the project?" "Good. I'm working up the figures for our exclusivity contract with DGF. In fact, I need to get back to it. I just wanted to apologize to you." "More than accepted." She hung up, grateful to get off the telephone without anything intimate being said. Well, nearly anything, she amended, remembering his comment about her having "made up." With Jake, she was sinking faster than the Titanic. And the terrible part was that she wanted to. He was like a drug she couldn't resist. She pushed the disturbing notion away. It seemed that she was doing that a lot lately, ignoring her own thoughts and feelings. But she had something better to concentrate on. Men would be dancing around a fire in five days. Now all she had to discover was where. Mary stopped by her desk at that moment. "I've got the other specs you wanted. How did Jake do in Boston?" Charity tapped the papers. "More orders. Good ones." Mary smiled. "He thought it was worthwhile staying on." She continued looking at Charity, and a much more personal question hung like fog in the air. Charity's blood heated with anger. Damn that man! She knew Mary was chomping to ask what happened in Boston Friday night, but the woman was too polite. Thank heavens. Even if nothing developed between her and Jake, though, she wondered if enough rumors would fly around to kill her

reputation. Deciding that that would be Jake's fault too, she grinned slyly. Jake would kill her if he found out, but she couldn't resist. "Mary." She leaned forward and lowered her voice. "What are you doing this weekend?" "Eating dinner, watching TV, and avoiding yardwork. The usual American fare. Why?" "There's ... a dance troupe you might enjoy." Charity began to explain. Saturday night, two groups of women drove slowly along a deserted dirt road, back through the haunts of the Pine Barrens. The moon was beginning to wax full, giving off light that turned the sky nearly as bright as day. None of the women feared the centuries-old tale of the Jersey devil, spawn of Satan, who rode the treetops in search of his next victims throughout this vast wilderness smack in the middle of an industrial state. Everyone in the two cars was cheerfully contemplating her human version of the beast. Charity, driving the lead vehicle, spotted several cars pulled off onto the sandy bank of a little clearing. She immediately swiveled her car off the roadway onto the opposite shoulder. "Ladies, I do believe we've struck pay dirt." This time Jake had taken his Iron Johns into the backwoods, nowhere near Milton. They might not have found them if the mayor, invited by his brother-in-law who worked at Wayans, hadn't mentioned to his wife that they were headed for his favorite fishing spot. The mayor's wife, who was friends with Mary, had ended any concerns about having to tail the men. Instead, the knowledge allowed them to let some time pass before arriving. They climbed out of the cars and gathered around Charity. All were trustworthy women, hand-picked by Charity. Other than herself, they were all married or older, good acquaintances of hers from work or wives of the men involved. Each had suffered—either personally or professionally— because of a man. "Ladies, quietly," she said. "If we're caught, there's hell to pay." All of them chuckled, but their voices lowered. "I'd like to know how you found out about this," one of them said. "Sheer luck," Charity lied, then led her troops across the dirt road and into the bush. She ought to feel more guilty, she thought. She did feel guilty, knowing Jake would be furious if he knew. After all, she'd broken what he must consider a confidence. But she couldn't help herself. The whole thing was just too rich to pass up. It always seemed like men had the last laugh on women, so a slight reversal was surely in order. Firelight in the distance caught her eye. She veered toward it, while motioning the women to complete silence. When they were close enough to hear and see clearly, she waved the women to fan out around the clearing. Everybody moved swiftly into place behind trees and bushes. Charity peered out from around a large scrub pine. The men were sitting around the fire, fully clothed. One of them was idly flipping dirt up with a stick. Jake, sitting with his back to Charity, was talking about the men's movement and its objectives. She'd heard it before from him, but the other women hadn't. She wondered if they found it ludicrous, the idea that—as Jake was saying now—men were confused, that they'd lost their ability to fulfill their needs. The

woman beside her rolled her eyes and grimaced, and Charity guessed they weren't buying it. Jake finished by saying that men needed to share their experiences in order to help them all thrive and grow. It was an invitation for the men to talk, and after a minute of silence they did. "No one understands the pressure to perform," one said. "Or the tension in that." "Yeah. The tension." "I feel like a failure because my wife has to work," another added. He was a young man. "I can't provide like my father did for his family. Hell, I've got to watch how many candy bars I buy a week, not only because of the sugar and cholesterol, but because we can't afford it." "The financial pressure is still on our shoulders," Jake said. "If the wife loses her job, it's not the catastrophe it is when we lose ours—" "And the women act like it's our fault!" The last voice was Dave's. Charity looked heavenward. Up to that point she was beginning to realize the men had a whole set of problems that were different from women's. "Yeah—" another began, but Jake broke in. "We've got to get back to our genetic roots as men and support one another," he said, turning the tide of machismo. The minutes ticked along as more men spoke. The moon climbed higher, the temperature dropped lower, and the men continued to talk, telling stories and revealing doubts and hopes that alternately amused and amazed Charity. That aside, however, she was beginning to get leg cramps from standing so long. The little light on her digital watch showed they had been there nearly an hour. She glanced over at the woman behind the next tree and shrugged helplessly. "Honest, people," she muttered under her breath. "He really did say wild man." She was about to signal the women to leave, when a thrumping began. The men rose and began to shuffle self-consciously around the fire. As they did, they grinned sheepishly at one another. Charity looked at the woman closest to her. She had her hand over her mouth to hold back her giggles. The drummer picked up the pace. Jake stood outside the circle, calling out encouragements. The men shuffled faster, their amusement slowly giving way to concentration. Their dancing did resemble tribal dances of aborigines or African peoples, an ancient form of communication. When one of the men suddenly let out a war whoop, Charity jumped back in fright. She heard a tiny shriek from one of the women and prayed the men hadn't. They didn't seem to, and began to dance faster and faster in a definite rhythm. One of them stripped off his shirt and waved his arms around in the air. Other men joined suit, men who hadn't seen the lean side of twenty. Ever. They whooped and hollered and waved discarded clothing in the air, spinning around in circles, venting their latent masculinity. Charity doubled over in hysterics. Jake was thinking the mayor was going a little too far, stripping down to his Jockey shorts, when he heard a noise. It wasn't loud, sort of muffled, but the sound was reminiscent of a snicker of laughter. Immediately,

Charity came to mind. Though she had accidentally viewed him that first time, that was no reason to think she was out in the middle of the real woods spying. Yet now that his attention had been caught, he couldn't shake the notion of eyes watching him. He looked at Jerry, the drummer, a man from his old group whom he'd asked to help him that night. He motioned to Jerry to take over the meeting, then slipped unnoticed out of the circle and made his way through the bushes. Away from the noise around the fire he immediately became aware of other noises— unaccounted rustling in the underbrush, a cough—and thicker shadows among the trees. A hiss alerted him that someone had noticed his presence. Furious, Jake lunged toward the sound, but the person raced away. All around him bodies were scrambling and running. He grabbed the first one to pass and found his arms full of woman. And not just any woman. Charity. "Dammit!" he muttered, pulling her back against him for a moment. Moonlight bathed her hair and face in soft silver. She'd never looked more beautiful, and he'd never been more angry. He reined in his temper from the brink of explosion and asked, "What the hell are you doing here?" She struggled against his grip. "Just taking a walk." "Here?" "Walking in the woods is good for you. Robert Frost even recommended it." "That was 'Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.' " "So I'm a little short on snow. Can I go now?" "Oh, you bet." Jake began walking her away from the area, wanting to get her far from the men so they wouldn't be embarrassed. And he wanted a private place to yell at her. Whoever had been with her seemed to have vanished. "Who are these people with you?" "No one," she said, her voice quavering. "Really, Jake, you don't have to walk me out—" "I insist." He smiled grimly. "I absolutely insist. Any gentleman would." "Well, no, not really—" "Charity," he said carefully. "I will walk you out and all the way to your house. I can't believe you did this. After all I told you—" "I couldn't help it. What woman could? By the way, was that the mayor in his BVDs?" "Dammit! How could you ..." His voice trailed away as they emerged from the woods and onto the roadway. A whole gaggle of women milled around two cars. He rounded on Charity. "What the hell did you do? Bring every female east of the Mississippi?" "Jake, you're talking in cliches," she said. "And no, of course I didn't bring every female. Just a few friends, mostly wives of the men you brought." She brightened. "Think of it as a couples night out—" "A couples night out!" he bellowed. "Don't blame Charity," a voice broke in.

Jake focused on the speaker. "Mary! You came on this . . . this . . . ?" He couldn't find words. "I can't believe it." In the dim light he recognized several other women from work. "Dammit, half the office is here!" He looked at each woman in turn. "None of you are to say anything to these men about being here. Do you understand? It isn't easy for men to let their emotions go, but they've done that tonight. And maybe now they'll let their emotions out with you. But not if you humiliate them about it. You've all had your private laugh on men, and I have no doubt we deserve it. But now forget it, okay?" Wide-eyed, all the women nodded. He took Charity's arm. "You, I'm driving home." "But my car—" "Give the keys to Mary. She'll see it gets there." "Jake, you're making a big thing out of—" "Charity," he said between clenched teeth, "please give Mary the keys. I would like to talk with you at length and in private." To her credit, she finally looked chagrined and handed over her car keys to Mary. Mary eyed him as she took them. "Ah, Charity, are you sure about this?" "No," Charity said. "If I'm not at work on Monday, notify the police to look for my body." "Ladies, please," Jake said, ignoring Charity's melodrama, "for the sake of your husbands, coworkers, and significant others, go home now." The women slowly dispersed and got into the two cars. Jake waited with Charity until the cars were heading back to the main road, then he walked her over to his car. Before she got into the passenger side, she said, "I know I was wrong, and I'm sorry. I never should have done it. But don't you think you're making too much of this?" "Get in the damn car," he snapped, finally letting loose his anger. She got in the damn car. He drove in silence, gripping the wheel tightly and trying to keep his concentration on his driving. He failed miserably. Damn her, he thought. He'd turned to her for advice because he'd thought she was different. He'd truly wanted to share with her, and she brought an audience. No wonder men stayed in their shells like they did. The moment they poked out for a look, a woman was right there ready to lop his pride off, among other parts of his anatomy. "I really am sorry," she said finally in a small voice. "I heard the discussion, some of it. I understand better about the problems and pressures men face. So there was some good tonight, Jake." "Yes . . . well ..." It seemed senseless to give her the same lecture again. "Why did you do it?" "Would you be able to resist a bunch of women throwing their bras onto a bonfire and dancing around naked?" "You've got a point," he muttered reluctantly. "But that still doesn't make it right." "No, it doesn't." She was silent for a moment. The road stretched out ahead of them in the car's headlights. Far in the distance were pinpoints of red, the taillights of the car in front of them. No cars

were driving toward them. "You did trust me," she went on, "and I'm sorry I couldn't resist following you. And bringing friends. It was wrong of me." The fight slowly went out of him. He should have known the temptation would be too great for her. The movement seemed silly to outsiders, and women did view it as a backlash to feminism. Still, he was annoyed with her. "I guess I understand." "Does this mean I'm out of the hair shirt?" she asked. He chuckled at his own words coming back to him. "Not completely." "That figures. I guess you'll never tell me about another 'wild man' again." "Maybe after the fact. And only if the mayor strips down to his underwear." She laughed. The tension between them was dissipating, and he felt good that they were back to their old ground of semi-friendship. He still was having trouble getting beyond that, though. Yet, in a way, he didn't want to. He wanted to be friends with Charity. He'd started out viewing her from strictly a man's point of view, completely physical. Now that he'd seen so much more of her, he wanted more. He wanted an easiness with her, with all women, that he'd never had before. And wasn't that the point of the men's movement? To grow up enough to have a true partnership with the other half of the human species while meeting one's own basic physical and emotional needs? "Do you think those women will say anything to the men?" he asked. "It really would humiliate them and negate everything they've gained." "I doubt it." She chuckled. "You scared them half to death. Most of them are probably worried for their jobs right now." "They'd never lose them for this," he said quickly. "I know that, and they'll realize it soon enough. Are you sure I can't tell Dave he looks like a beached whale without his shirt on?" "No, you can't tell Dave," he said, grinning. He cast her a quick glance. "Do I look like a beached whale with my shirt off?" The atmosphere in the car instantly changed from friendly to intimate. Charity said nothing, just stared straight ahead. "Charity," he murmured. "No." Her voice was so low, he almost didn't hear it. Almost. Pleasure seeped through his veins, along with the welcome heat of desire. She shifted in her seat, and he glanced over at her. Her hair was loose and curved around her profile, softening the angles of her face. He wanted to reach out and touch her, feel those silken strands wrap themselves around his fingers. He wanted to gather her hair in his hands and spread it out on a white pillow. Her lips would part slightly, and he would kiss her, tasting her sweetness. Then he would lower himself on top of her, feel her breasts crush against his chest, her hips cradle his in their softness, her legs raise up and tighten around him, pulling him into the folds of her moist flesh . . . "Jake, don't."

He blinked. The car came back into focus. She hadn't turned her head and looked at him, just said the words. She must feel it as much as he did, he realized. He wanted her, right there, right then. And he knew that if he tried, it would be the worst mistake of his life. They completed the drive to her apartment in silence. Due to unexpectedly high costs, all employee health benefits will cease as of July 31. The management at Wayans, Inc., regrets this loss to each of you. The personnel office can supply you with alternative ways to receive health care benefits. If you have any questions, contact Jake Halford, vice president Charity read and reread the memo she'd found on her desk with a growing sense of dread. It was signed by Charles Mitchelson, president and CEO of Wayans. People murmured all around her as they came back from lunch and found the innocent-looking paper on their desks. The noise grew louder with exclamations of shock and dismay. Charity closed her eyes, praying that she was dreaming all this, then opened them, hoping she would find the words completely changed. One glance told her they hadn't. Her carefully structured finances just took a tailspin into disaster. How would she ever be able to afford private insurance? And how could she do without it? Jake's long-ago words about streamlining came back to her. This was major streamlining. He'd never said a word, she thought, anger building up inside her. Not a word. An irritatingly rational voice reminded her that she'd already betrayed one confidence with him and maybe he didn't trust her to keep another. She had to admit he certainly couldn't have trusted her with this. No one could. But why? Why was he doing this? They had just gotten substantial orders, and they had very good prospects now on that government bid. She couldn't believe he'd pulled the medical insurance. It had to be illegal, she thought, absently crumpling the memo. "Charity, did you see this?" Mary shoved the memo under her nose. Charity grimaced. "Yes, I saw it." The woman looked scared. "Do you think it's because of the other night?" "No!" She gaped at her. "No, I'm sure it's not. That doesn't make any sense. Not that this does either." "Go talk to him," Mary said. "He likes you." "No, he doesn't," Charity said quickly. "Yes, he does. Go talk to him and get him to change his mind." Tears welled up in Mary's normally serene eyes. "Charity, I can't lose my insurance. Bob has heart problems and no company will take us because of his condition." Charity cursed loudly, then got up from her desk and headed straight for Jake's office. She strode right by his secretary, who squawked but couldn't stop her before she had his door open. He was sitting at his desk, shoulders bowed, his head braced in his hands. He looked up at her intrusion, and the dismay on his face instantly melted her fury. "Oh, Jake," she murmured, shutting the door in his secretary's face. She walked straight around his

desk, all her senses bent on comforting rather than confronting. "Charity, this is the worst thing I've ever had to do." He gazed up at her, and she saw both frustration and concern in his eyes. "I didn't want to do it. I argued and argued with those idiots, but they absolutely insisted on cutting the health benefits." "The board of directors?" she asked. "Yes. Mitchelson especially." Jake's voice hardened as anger replaced his distress. "He never liked it that I was hired essentially to run the company instead of him. The board hit me with this out of nowhere this morning. They had a meeting last night and Mitchelson ramrodded this through." He sat back in his chair, leaning his head back, his eyes closed. Charity didn't know what to say, but she knew what to do. She stepped closer and slid her arm around his shoulders, urging him toward her, to lean on her. He resisted for a moment, then rested his head against her. "Jake," she said gently, "it's not your fault." "Yes, it is." He stiffened, pushing away from her. "I could have done more. I should have done more." "You've done all you can." She glanced at the private outside entrance to his office and made a decision. "You've had enough today." She reached out and pressed the intercom. When his secretary answered, she said, "Mr. Halford is going home for the day. Please call Mr. Ringman and tell him I'll be out of the office for a while." "I ought to work," Jake said as she straightened. She snorted in disgust. "Come on, Mr. Macho Man." He smiled at her words and got up. She retrieved his suit jacket, then they went out the private door, reaching her car without meeting anyone. Other than giving her directions to his house, he didn't say another word. His home was on the outskirts of Milton in an upscale neighborhood. She wasn't surprised to see that the house was far too large for one person and newly built in a French chateau style. His nearest neighbor was a hundred yards away and hidden behind a natural fencing of pines. "I had to buy something quick," he said as they came up the drive. "It's too big, though." "As long as I don't get lost." She watched him carefully as they went inside. He seemed less defeated now that he was home. The house had an empty feeling, no mail tossed on the table, no shoes lying on the floor, no pet running in, not a piece of lint in the place. "You need some coffee," she said. "Where's the kitchen?" "This way." He led her down the hall to the back of the house. The kitchen was better, with a cozy breakfast nook and a newspaper sprawled on the tabletop. A beautiful window seat ran under the big back bay window. She made coffee in silence, allowing him the space he needed. He'd talk to her when he was ready,

but if he didn't, that was okay too. What she wanted him to know was that she was there for him. Her hand froze as she turned on the burner. She kept trying so hard to keep her emotional distance from him, but once again he'd pierced her barriers. She'd patch up the breeches later, she decided, glancing over at him. He sat on the wide window seat, leaning back against the glass. He still looked bereft, as though he'd lost his best friend. When the coffee was ready, she brought him a cup and sat next to him. "This is pretty back here," she said, admiring the patio and boxed garden filled with spring perennials. He took a gulp of coffee. "You didn't have to do this." "Yes, I did. And you need a friend right now." He sighed. "I do. I'm going to fight this, Charity. The board hired me over Mitchelson's objections. I think he's pushed this to show me he's still in control. I'll have to show him why I was hired. I'll get this resolved to everyone's benefit." She smiled. "I have no doubt of that." He leaned forward, closing the space between them, and kissed her lightly. She knew it was meant to be kiss of gratitude, but something indefinable passed between them. It was all wrong, but she couldn't stop it. He lifted his head and stared at her for a long moment. "I need more than a friend. I need you." His mouth claimed hers again. Seven Charity's lips were soft and yielding and exactly what Jake needed. After the battle with the board that morning, he felt almost shattered inside. Only Charity could heal him. His tongue flicked inside her mouth, circling hers, tasting the slight bitterness of her coffee and her own natural sweetness. He touched her cheek with his free hand, the silky, flawless skin that radiated so much warmth. Her warmth. No other woman could ever do what Charity was doing so naturally now. She was smart, she was beautiful, she was velvet over steel, and she touched something ancient inside him. His hand threaded through her hair, and he loved the way the strands wrapped around his fingers. The kiss went on and on for endless minutes. His blood quickened, his spirit renewed. He finally eased his mouth from hers and took a deep breath. "I want you, Charity." A kaleidoscope of emotions passed across her face. He couldn't read any of them and that was more scary than an immediate rejection from her. She sighed and smiled, then took his coffee cup and set both his and hers on the floor. Leaning back against the seat, she slid her hand around his tie and tugged him toward her, whispering, "I'm not going anywhere, Jake." His mind reeled with the implications, and he brought his lips back down to hers. The kiss was fierce, their mouths ravenous to taste the other, the long denial over. He pulled her to him, her breasts crushed against his chest. Her arms curved around his shoulders, her fingers raking his back as desire

flared hot between them. Her tongue twisted and turned restlessly against his. Her breathing quickened sensuously, the sound blocking out all others to his ears. He kissed her face, her hair, her throat, taking her in and imprinting every inch of her on his mind. Her fingers clenched and unclenched in his hair. She made little moaning sounds as his hands slipped inside her blouse and his lips found the curve of her breasts above her bra. He pulled the blouse from her skirt, sliding his hand around her waist to the bared flesh of her back. Her skin was cool, yet his palm burned with the touch. Her fingers fumbled with his tie, pulling it loose, then sliding it out from his collar. She unbuttoned his shirt, her knuckles grazing his chest. Each touch singed him as she pressed her hand against him, teasing the hair on his chest. His breath caught in his lungs at the sensations she caused. He spread quick, nipping kisses over her breasts, finally freeing them with a snap of the bra's front closure. He pushed the material away and gazed at her in wonder. Her nipples were tight points, beckoning for him to kiss them. He obliged. Charity went wild in his arms, her hands pressing his face even more to her satin flesh. He nuzzled first one nipple, then the other, ringing them with his tongue before he took them into his mouth. She was like honey, sweet and nourishing, as generous in her response as he'd known she would be. Every touch, every movement, drove his own need to the point of sanity. "Charity," he whispered, pulling away from her breasts to kiss her mouth. He kissed her again . . . and again. "Jake." She ran her hands over his chest and shoulders, pushing the shirt down his arms. He couldn't think straight when she was doing that. Yet he knew he had to. "Let's go upstairs. I can't . . . protect you here." Charity stilled, realizing what he was talking about. If she ever could stop what was happening between them, it would have to be now. Yet she could no more do that than she could have walked away from him when he had been hurting so badly. His compassion had broken all her resistance in one innocent swoop. He had needed her, needed her intimately, and she couldn't ever remember a time when a man had been so honest with her. But to go to his bedroom with him . . . She would be crossing a last indefinable boundary between them. The only way she could still keep a piece of herself for herself was to stay there. Whatever happened afterward to her heart, she would always cherish this. She drew in a deep, slow breath and whispered, "In my bag." She sank down onto the window seat, knowing it could accommodate them. The thick cushions supported them. "I keep . . . protection in there, just in case. I want to be here, Jake, in the sunlight, where it's warm and good." He didn't bother with any questions. Somehow he found her purse and the small packet inside. He came back to her with a kiss of devastating intensity. They helped each other out of their clothes. When bared flesh touched bared flesh, her moan of satisfaction and hunger matched his. His hands were everywhere, stroking her thighs, her woman's flesh, their strength tempered with tenderness. The glass was cool against her side, his body hot as he bent over her. She stroked his thighs, delighting in the feel of the rough hair tickling her skin. His mouth was like a blaze on her, igniting her blood until it ran hot and thick through her veins. He caressed her, driving her higher, further into ecstasy's flame than she ever meant to go. She touched him in kind, until he was groaning with his need for her. Whatever she had imagined Jake would steal from her with his touch, never to be retrieved, she hadn't been even close to the reality. It didn't matter where their lovemaking happened. She was in love.

The realization brought panic, then confidence. She kissed him with renewed fervor, caressing him with knowledge and wonder, wanting to drown him in her so that he never emerged again. Murmuring in her ear, he pressed the packet into her hand. When he was ready, she cradled him in her thighs, loving the feel of his body, warm and solid and real, on hers. She buried her face in his shoulder and wrapped her legs around his hips, not wanting the feeling to end. She gasped as he plunged inside her, the invasion shocking and sensual. He pressed his face into her hair, his hands knotting in the tresses, and held her for long minutes. Just held her. No words were spoken and yet things were said. Finally, he raised his head and gazed down at her. He kissed her gently, then again, and again. Long, lingering, drawn-out kisses that slowly intensified the passion between them. At last they moved together in counterpoint. Charity clung to him, straining against him, the ancient rhythms catching her in their intricate emotions. They moved faster and faster and higher and higher until she thought her body would break. And then it did. Satisfaction spasmed through her, flooded her. She dug her nails into his shoulders, trying to keep from shattering in the onslaught. Jake cried out and thrust into her one last time. She went gladly with him into the velvet darkness. Eventually she resurfaced. Jake was collapsed contentedly on top of her, his face buried in her neck. He held her close to him as if he wouldn't ever let her go. She had the oddest feeling that the world had tilted on its axis, never to be righted again. "I think my backside is getting a sunburn," he murmured against her skin. She ran her hand up and down his back in a light caress. "It'll be cute." "Cute!" He raised his head. "I don't want to be cute. I want to be sexy." "Too late." He chuckled. "I was afraid of that." It didn't matter, somehow, that he hadn't said "I love you," or that she hadn't said the words either. This free and easy companionship had its own building blocks for her. "Charity," he began, his expression growing serious. "Shh." Reaching up she touched his cheek, then pulled him down for her kiss. "Do you suppose anyone saw us?" From the other side of the kitchen Jake laughed as he watched her frowning out the window. She had put on his shirt as a covering. The shirt had never looked better. Neither had she, except when her face was a mask of ecstasy. No woman was more beautiful then. He didn't know why she'd made love with him, but he wasn't about to question his good fortune. Pouring more coffee, he said, "I doubt we were seen. I haven't noticed anybody myself since I moved in. Anyway, it's too late now." She turned, grinning at him. "How's your backside?" "Warm." He rubbed the seat of his pants, all he was wearing. He brought the coffee over to her. She took a sip, the faltering afternoon sun sending red-gold glints along her skin. He reached out with his free hand and touched her cheek. "Thank you."

She smiled. "I think I'm late getting back to work." He put his arm around her and pulled her to his side. She felt good there, as if made for it. "I guess I'll have to dock your pay." She laughed. "The explanation ought to be interesting." He chuckled with her, then the amusement faded to a comfortable silence. Finally, he asked a question that had been burning in his mind. "Do you have regrets, Charity?" "No." Her answer was instantaneous, and very reassuring. "No regrets." He kissed her hair, content. She'd broken every one of her personal rules, and she'd done it for him. "Jake, can you do anything for the people at work?" she asked. "I tried, Charity. I argued all morning with the board of directors, but they aren't budging." He snorted. "They're looking to save money any way they can. Health benefits are very expensive now, nearly fifteen hundred dollars per person annually. Multiply that by the hundreds of people Wayans employs." "But, Jake, the men there, they have dependents, children who need health care, new babies. Mary's husband has heart problems. A private company will never accept them." "I know!" He stood and paced restlessly, not finding anywhere to turn from the truth. "I know. Don't you think I told them all that?" She rose and put her arms around him. "I know you did." He held her, grateful that she believed him and startled to realize that he had wondered if she would. Obviously, he still didn't know her as well as he thought he did. "A lot of companies are eliminating health care." "That doesn't make it right," she said. He nodded. "The worst part is, Charity, they left the health care for upper management." She stiffened and pulled away. "You're kidding." "No. That's how far their idiocy went." She muttered curse words he didn't even think she knew, putting them in combinations that would have done a sailor proud. Then she rounded on him. "Dammit, Jake, that's unfair!" "Yes, it is," he agreed mildly. "And that's exactly what I told them. Do you feel like you just made love to a traitor?" Startled, she stared at him, the anger draining out of her. It was easy to see he'd taken her by surprise. She stepped back into his arms. "No. You've played fair with us. I know how hard you're working to get new contracts for the company." She lifted her head, a funny expression he couldn't define on her face. "Have you been teaching the board about this men's movement, Jake? The whole thing smacks of unbridled machismo." He chuckled. "I'm innocent. Besides, three of them are women. There's nothing more I can do today. Let's go up to bed. . . ."

He began to turn as he said the words, then realized she wasn't turning with him. He looked back, his arm still around her, and searched her gaze for an explanation of her hesitation. "Charity?" "I'd lose myself in your bed," she whispered. "I'm not ready to do that." "What?" The words didn't make any sense to him, yet they hurt like sharp knives plunging into his heart. "I can't." Her expression was pleading. "Okay." He pulled her into his embrace again, stroking her hair, letting the strands encircle his fingers like trails of silk. Forcing aside his hurt and confusion, he reminded himself that an hour ago she had responded to his emotional needs. He could only do the same for her. "It's silly, I know," she added. "It's okay," he repeated. "I've been pushing you. I won't hurt you, Charity." "Can you really promise that?" she asked. "Can anyone?" "I can promise." He knew it was true. And he knew another truth. He wouldn't be the one to do the hurting if that time ever came. It would be her. "It's late. I need to go." Even though she said the right words, Charity didn't move. Her head rested on Jake's naked chest and his chest hair tickled her nose, but she didn't bother to shift herself. She couldn't. Her body felt like contented jelly. The scent of him drifted along her senses, enticing her emotions with an age-old satisfaction of a mate found. He tightened his arms around her. "You said you had to leave an hour ago, and look at how far that got you." "To the couch in the living room. It's closer to the front door than the window seat." They both laughed. "It's not so bad here," he said. "You're getting closer to my bedroom too, you know." She knew. She tilted her head up. "I'm not there yet." "Hell, I have been. It's no prize. You have funny notions, Charity Brown." "It's my upbringing." "There ya go." She knew he didn't understand, and even if he did, he'd still be hurt. What could she say to explain better? Nothing. She wished she were less wise and less cautious . . . and less confused. Finally, when contented jelly began to turn to uncontented cramping, she disentangled herself to gather up her clothes. As she put them on, she said, "I really do have to go."

He rose and nuzzled her shoulder, running his tongue along her skin. His hand reached around and covered her breast. For a long moment Charity gave herself up to the lazy sensations he was creating. Then she put his hand away from her. "Behave. I can't go back to work with you, and that's what I'll end up doing if you keep that up." "It's already up," he said innocently. "So I see." She eyed him, tempted to accept the invitation again. Firmly, she said, "You'll survive." "You have no sympathy, woman." He kissed her shoulder again. "Anyway, if we show up at work together, it'll give the gossips something else to talk about." "Jake, I don't think anyone would be surprised about anything after today." He sighed and slumped back against the sofa. "I'll bet. Damn those idiots! Don't they know this isn't any way to run a company?" "Probably not. That's why they're the board of directors." She pulled her blouse on, forgoing bra and stockings, then slipped her feet into her pumps. "You sure you want to go?" She smiled at him. "No. But I really have to." He stood again, putting his arm around her as he walked her to the front door. "Ahh . . . Jake," she began. "Don't you think you're forgetting something? Like clothes?" "Naaa." He grinned. "I have no shame." "I can tell." At the door he gave her a long, lingering kiss that nearly seduced her into staying. Nothing was more sensual than being fully clothed while in the arms of a naked man. Somehow she made it out the door . . . more vulnerable than ever. Charity walked by the ladies' room without stopping. Actually, she slinked by, she admitted to herself without an ounce of remorse. She didn't want to face another dead-silence greeting. And she didn't want to face further fury about the health care memo. She'd probably wind up defending Jake and blowing any last vestige of her reputation. Face it, girl, she thought, your reputation's long gone. She was appalled at herself for walking out of work the way she had the day before . . . yet she'd done what was right. She didn't regret anything that had happened between her and Jake. She had wanted to make love. And if she had it to do all over again, she would. He was right; it was personal between them. And it had been very personal until she'd finally and reluctantly dragged herself from his arms to go home. She reached her desk without incident, only nodding to the few people who were already at their own desks. Her backside had no sooner touched her chair when Dave materialized out of nowhere. "Where were you yesterday?" he asked. His tone was snide and his eyes gleamed with knowledge. "I took the afternoon off, Dave."

"That was obvious. So did our boss." "I have work to catch up on," she said, smiling blandly and shuffling through the papers on her desk. "See that you do," he snapped, and walked away. "Happy now that you got your dig in?" she muttered under her breath. Mary was the next one at her desk, along with several others among the Wayans staff, both men and women. Charity decided it must have been an interesting morning in the ladies' room. "Did you talk to him?" Mary asked. Charity cleared her throat. "Well . . . yes." "And what did he say? About the health care benefits." "The decision came down from the board. He said he argued until he was blue in the face, but they had to cut them to help put the company back on its feet." Grumbles began all around. "He's going to talk to them again," she added, wondering when exactly he'd be able to do that. "I bet it's illegal," one woman said in bitterly angry tones. "We all ought to quit," said another. "This place would collapse if we did." Slowly they walked away from her desk. Charity bet very little work would be done that day. Why did management do this stuff that took the heart out of everyone? "Keep talking to him, Charity," Mary said before she left. "He listens to you." "Mary, he does whatever he has to do, no matter what I or you or anyone says. We both know that." "But you get through." Mary walked away before Charity could reply. Why, she wondered, would Mary think she'd get through when no one else would? Besides, Jake was already on their side. He had to get through to his bosses, an apparently impossible task. Fifteen minutes later everyone was back at her desk—and they brought friends. "We want you to talk to him now," Mary said. She gaped at them. "Now? Me?" They all nodded, their expressions serious. Mary came around the desk, took her arm, and urged her to her feet. "Talk to him now, tell him how we feel about this. Maybe if we put pressure on him, he'll put it on the board." "But . . . but..." Charity stuttered as they swept her along to Jake's office. Oh, brother, she thought. This was going to be a humdinger of a day.

Jake looked up as his office door opened. Charity walked in, his secretary squawking behind her, and a melange of faces in turn behind her. "It's okay," he said to his secretary, who frowned but shut the door. Charity made a face as she crossed the room and slumped into a chair. "I've been delegated to talk to you about the benefits." "I figured it was either that or my lynch mob." He came around the desk and leaned against its edge, staring down at her. She looked beautiful, a contentment in her eyes he'd never seen before. And he'd put it there. With her prim gray suit, she didn't resemble the sensual creature of the night before. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the chair arms, and kissed her soundly. Her arms instantly encircled his neck, her tongue meeting and swirling with his. Perfume and woman filled his senses, beckoning him into the velvet vortex. "Good morning," he murmured when he finally lifted his head. "How about another 'Great Escape'?" Her arms slid away slowly. "Very tempting, but they'd come looking for us." "Probably. Okay, what do they want? And how did you get delegated to do this?" "I don't know," she answered, running her hand through her hair. "Mary, I think. She seems to think I get through to you." "She's not wrong. Did you tell them I lost?" "Yes. They think you ought to keep the pressure on the board, and they're going to keep the pressure on you." He looked heavenward. "Wonderful. Can I see you tonight?" She shook her head. His stomach clenched as if he'd been hit, until she said, "I have a class." "Can I drive you? I'll carry your books." She chuckled. "You'd be bored, hanging around for me." "I can reread War and Peace. And we could fool around in the backseat afterward." "After my class or after War and Peace?" "Whichever comes first." She cleared her throat. "I won't touch that line with a ten-foot pole." "Better not," he agreed. "Will you talk to the board again?" she asked, bringing the subject back to reality. "I think you should." "I already have a conference call scheduled for tomorrow at ten." He smiled wryly. "I'm doing my best, Charity. Now they"—he gestured toward his door—"have to do their best and bring in the work." "I'll tell them that." She stood and touched his cheek. Her hand was soft and comforting . . . and loving. He didn't think

he'd ever been so grateful for a woman's touch before. He took her hand and kissed her palm. She shivered deliciously . . . then she was in his arms, kissing him with everything she had. Charity's heart was pounding by the time they finally broke the kiss. She laid her head on his chest, shuddering as his hands stroked her back. "Oh, Lord, Jake. What have we done?" "Opened the floodgates, Charity. Can I take you to school tonight?" "Yes." She didn't want to go to school. She wanted to go straight to his bed. She knew she shouldn't, but it was what she wanted with all her heart. Not yet, she told herself. "Shall I tell everyone that you have a conference call?" "Yes. Reassure them I'm on their side. But tell them, too, we've got some hard choices ahead, especially if we get the health bennies back." "You're talking about people being laid off, aren't you?" she asked, not raising her head to look at him. She didn't know if she was ready for that. "Yes. That can happen if we don't get the work. It'll be streamlining, however, not mass cuts." "They won't like that, but at least they'll be prepared if it happens." She raised her head and was immediately swept up into another kiss. She gave herself over to it gladly. Finally, she got out the door, praying she'd managed to fix her hair and blouse properly. To her shock, the crowd was still in the foyer of Jake's office, waiting for her. "What did he say?" Mary asked. Looking around at the eagerly waiting faces, Charity wished she had better news. "He's already got a conference call scheduled tomorrow with the board to discuss the health benefits," she said. "Did you put the pressure on?" another asked. She thought about the way his hands had roamed her body so desperately and the desire in his gaze. "Ahh ... we discussed it at length." Everyone nodded, clearly finding this good news. "He also said," Charity went on, "that we must get the work in, new accounts, anything that can increase our cash flow and productivity. He said that even if he gets the benefits back—especially if he does—and the work isn't materializing, we'll have to face some other hard choices . . . like streamlining personnel." "What!" Hard grumbles went around again. Not only did no one like that idea, they all thought it was nonsense. She wondered what they would say about upper management keeping their health benefits and decided not to be the one to tell them. Things were bad enough, and maybe Jake would be able to get theirs back. Charity sighed. It was going to be a long day. Eight "How was War and Peace?"

Jake grinned as Charity slid into the passenger side of his car. He shut the book on page 50 and kissed her hello. "Not bad. Pierre could do with a few men's movement lessons." "Oh, Lord," she muttered, settling her own books on her lap. He started up the car. "How was class?" "Okay. I've got several spreadsheets I have to analyze before next week." She sighed. "I can squeeze that in between brushing my teeth and flossing. There's five seconds of free time in there, I think." "Charity, if this government project is too much ..." "No," she said quickly. "As I told you, if we get that project, it's going to look very good on my resume. That'll be worth it." He nodded, relieved. It was nice to worry about someone. As she let him more and more into her life, he would be able to watch out for her even better. The kind of watching that didn't mean she couldn't take care of herself, but the kind of watching that came from caring. He cared very much, more than he had ever expected. But he wasn't about to press her yet. He drove out of the parking lot and toward Milton. The conversation was about nothing in particular, just easy talk, until they neared the town. "I know it's late," Jake began, "but will you come to my place for coffee?" She was silent for a long time. "Would you rather go to your house for coffee?" he asked at last. "Or a diner? I just thought my house was a little more private for you. It's up to you if you're ready to reveal our relationship to the world." She didn't say anything to that, only asking, "Are we talking about just coffee?" He was silent for a moment. "No. But if coffee is all you'd like, I suppose I can live with it." She looked down at her hands. "I know we've opened floodgates, Jake . . ." "But you're cautious." He drew in a deep breath, hating this. But he knew that now he really had to let her set the pace. "Okay, just coffee and no pressure." She chuckled. "You? No pressure?" "Hey, I can do no pressure." He turned down his street. "The point is, can you handle no pressure?" This time her pause was revealing, then she said, "Yes." He just grinned. Inside his house he made coffee and they talked about Wayans. He felt as if they'd talked about the company more than enough on the ride to her class, and at work that day and every day, and last night, and before and before. The truth was, he wasn't looking forward to his conference call tomorrow. He told himself not to be pessimistic about his chances of success. If one were pessimistic, one was sure to contribute to failure. First rule of Genghis Khan. Charity finally set her empty coffee cup on the kitchen table. "It's time to go."

Jake breathed out deeply. "Okay." He set their cups in the sink. When he turned, she was waiting at the kitchen threshold. Together they walked down the foyer. He was close enough to be aware of every inch of her body. He didn't touch her. He wanted to so badly, his fingers actually curled into his palms and his stomach clenched with tension. All of this should be done now, he thought. Instead, his uncertainty about her was worse. "Thanks for driving me," she said, "and thanks for the coffee." She added in a lower voice, "And thanks for understanding." He nodded and reached for the doorknob. So did she. Their hands touched. Jake shuddered at the warmth that suddenly encompassed him. Raising his gaze, he found her staring at him, all of her emotions in her eyes. She melted into his arms, her mouth fierce on his, almost taking him by surprise with her intensity. Almost. His tongue met hers instantly, eagerly, swirling around in a sensual duel. He dragged her against him until every inch of her was being absorbed by him. Her hands clenched at his shoulders with a desperate need that matched his own. He forgot everything and melded with her, knowing he was home. "Well?" Charity watched as Jake grimaced and looked everywhere except at her. She'd been delegated yet again to speak with him about the health benefits. Somehow everyone had gotten it into their heads that she was the best one for the job. A few people had made snide comments about her "relationship" with the boss, but they didn't question her integrity. She supposed it was because this affected her as much as it did them, and she wouldn't be that stupid to give away her own benefits with her love. Her heart lurched at the word. She did love him, and she couldn't keep away from him. After years of careful guarding, she had put her heart directly in harm's way. "Jake," she said when the silence and her thoughts got too uncomfortable. It didn't bode well that he was reluctant to tell her whatever happened in his conference call with the Wayans board. His gaze focused on her. A carefully neutral expression replaced his normally intense one. "The board isn't happy with me," he began. She raised her eyebrows. "It didn't hurt your job, did it?" He shrugged. "I don't know, and I'm not worried about that. Much as I would hate to lose this one when I've barely gotten projects off the ground, I can always get another job. But they did concede some of the benefits back." She smiled, relieved. "They did? Great! Some, you said. What did they drop? The dental plan? The eyeglasses? The pharmacy?" "Not what, love. Who." The endearment swam past her, lifting her for one instant before it was engulfed by the bombshell of a pronoun. "Who?" she echoed. "What do you mean who?" "They're keeping the benefits for married men with dependents and those employees who have

preexisting conditions." "Wha—" Dimly, Charity sensed that her mouth had fallen open in shock. "But . . . but ..." He nodded. "I know. That still leaves out the single men and pretty much all the women." "But that's most of the company!" She couldn't believe it. "That can't even be legal, surely." "Well, it may be questionable," he hedged. "Jake, you can't be serious about supporting this," she said, rising to her feet. He stood and leaned against his desk. "Hell, no, I don't support it. I told them this was even more stupid, and they damn near took it back! I pushed them hard, Charity, and I was lucky to get this much out of them. Even if it's not legal, they gave back something. That's the most important point right now. They'll give back the rest ... if they're pushed in the right way." "But what about stripping out the dental plan or the pharmacy plan?" "They don't cost all that much per employee, and they certainly wouldn't pay for a stripped-down version of the insurance." He took a breath. "They felt the single men would be less likely to need a health plan. They felt that married women would be covered under their husbands' plans." "But what about single women with children?" she asked. "We have several of those." "They felt the children would be covered under their fathers' plans," he said in a wooden voice. "And the women could make a claim through their alimony." "What about those who gave up those rights because they already had them here? What about the women whose ex-husbands have stopped paying alimony and child support. And, dammit, what about those children whose mothers have always been single? Or whose fathers never acknowledged them? Georgia Billings, a secretary in office services, is a single mother whose son has spina bifida. His care is beyond her means. What is she supposed to do now?" "Billings?" He scribbled on a sheet of paper, then looked up. "Any others?" "Every other!" she exclaimed. "Jake, they can't be serious about this." "They are. They feel they're being as fair as they can while cutting back costs." "And what about the single women?" she asked. "You haven't said anything about them." He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. "They said most of the single women employees were bound to get married and would either leave the company then or would have benefits through their husbands' plans." "Screwed again," she snapped, furious with him that he allowed the board to do the women out of their benefits. "I can't believe this." "I told them this plan is worse," he said. "But how could I refuse it? At least those in the most need still have their insurance, while I fight to get the rest of you back." She waved her hand. "Mary doesn't have it, and she's in need. Or Georgia. Or me, the resident spinster."

"And I'll still be fighting for them." "Will you?" she asked, sarcasm dripping. He glared at her. "You ought to know me better than that." "What do I know?" she asked. "That you bug me to death, wear me down so you can get me into bed?" He said nothing, his silence its own condemnation of her words. A twinge of shame trickled through her. She did know he would keep after the board for the rest of them. She forced the guilt away, lifting her chin in defiance. "I love you, Charity," he said. The words were stunning. Tears welled up in her eyes. "Why are you telling me this now?" "Because I can feel you mixing this up with you and me, blaming me for decisions the board made. Because I can feel you're not going to keep us private from work. Because if I don't say it now, before you walk out of here, you'll never want to hear it at all. Because I have to say it, Charity." He stared straight at her. "Because I do." She slumped back down in the chair. She wanted to deny what he said about how she would feel, but she couldn't. All her anger was directed at him, not the board. He walked over to her and took her hands. "Look, be mad at me as the vice president of Wayans for losing the health benefits. Or be mad at me because of something between you and me. But don't withhold our relationship because of some stupidity here at the office. If I say I love you at the wrong time, I apologize. But I don't apologize for saying the words." His hands were warm and strong, and yet so gentle, holding hers. "Charity," he went on, "I know I'm pushing you again. I don't want to. But I can't stop how I feel, either. I won't ask you how you feel in return. Just know it's there, whenever you're ready." "I'm thirty, Jake," she said in a low voice, terrified to speak about this and yet not able to stop herself, either. "Love isn't supposed to come swift and encompassing anymore, like teenagers. It's supposed to happen slow and easy, like a comfortable chair. You just turn around and it's there." He laughed. "Hell, Charity, we might as well go find the rockers right now. We're old enough and experienced enough to know when it's more than lust. But you are no comfortable old chair." "Thank goodness," she said, smiling. "I wasn't crazy about the idea of being an old chair." He pulled her to him, pressing her hips against his. "I've had some old chairs in my time, and they've never produced a reaction like that." "You've never had this old chair," she murmured, and kissed him. The kiss was gentle and lingering, yet with that familiar undertow of desire. When they finally eased away, he said, "Do you suppose we can make another 'great escape'?" "I doubt it." She drank in the scent of him, her senses responding automatically. "Me too." He sighed. "Tell everyone to hang in there, that I'm not happy with what they've given

back, but it's a start, and I will work hard to get the rest of the benefits back. But it's imperative now that everyone hustle and get this company turned around." "I'll tell them." She shook her head. "I just hope they believe me." "They'll believe you. If there's one thing I've found out here, it's that people have a lot of respect for you." She laughed outright. "Lord, but have they been pulling your chain." "I have a feeling you're my best protection from the lynch mob." He let her go. She touched her hands to her hair, wiped the faint smear of pinkish lipstick from his lips, then gave him a sound kiss for good measure. He caught her wrist and kissed her palm. "Come to the house tonight, Charity." "Yes." She answered without hesitation. She could almost hear the other question he didn't voice. Will you come into my bed? She didn't know the answer anymore. It was like Danielle facing the lion's den, Charity thought a few minutes later as she explained to the group still waiting in the outer office what the Wayans board had decided to do. The roar that went up certainly sounded like a murderous charge. Even Jake's secretary screeched in outrage. "You're kidding," Mary said, breaking through the angry babble. "They're not serious about this. It can't be legal to give benefits to some and not others." "Unfortunately, they are serious, legal or not," Charity said. "Look, people, let's be positive about this. They've given back the health benefits to some of the employees. If we keep pressing without pushing them over the edge, they'll give them back to the rest of us. Right now, if we call them on the carpet, they'll pull the benefits for everyone. Then we'll never get them back." "We won't anyway," one woman said. "They've gone through a big rationale to justify giving them to the men. They care only about the bottom line. And we're not it!" "I wonder how Mr. Management in there helped us out," another muttered ominously. "He's not going to push for us." "Yeah, what does he care? He did just enough to look like Mr. Nice Guy." "Telling us we need to work harder. Hah!" "You women bellyache all the time!" The crowd parted in the direction of the sarcastic voice. Dave Ringman stood at the foyer entry, glaring at them all. "You ought to be grateful you have your jobs," he said, his smile close to a sneer. "Not that you do them." "I heard," Jake's secretary said, "that management did not get their health benefits cut, just all the regular employees."

"What!" Righteous indignation threatened to balloon into outrage. Dave looked startled and furtive. "We're not getting a break. It's ... we have to declare it as income because they dropped it for everyone else." "I'd rather pay taxes on the costs than pay the costs," one woman said, summing up the angry feeling Charity sensed everyone had. Dave slipped away quickly. "I can't believe Halford let weasels like that keep their health benefits and took ours!" someone snapped. "People," Charity began, realizing they were ready to shoot the messenger, just as she had been. She wondered if Jake could hear this through the door. "I think Mr. Halford is sincere with us. He's not stupid. He knows if the employees aren't happy, the company suffers." "Maybe they need a reminder." "Yeah." "Let's have a meeting." "A meeting where we decide how we'll show them!" The crowd moved away from the office, Jake's secretary going with them. Charity followed, wondering what was coming next. She was late. Very late. Jake sighed with relief as car headlights flashed along his drive. He was out the door and striding down the walkway before she had even parked and turned off the ignition. She no sooner emerged from the car than he swept her up in his arms. "I thought you'd never get here," he said, kissing her firmly. "Where were you?" "I had a meeting. I'm sorry I'm late." She clung to him, surprising him with the fierceness of her embrace. He squeezed her tightly, delighting in her unique scent. He didn't care what made her late, because she was there now. That was all that mattered. "Jake," she whispered, trailing fiery kisses along his jaw. "There's something I need to tell you." He couldn't think straight with her mouth burning his skin. "What?" he asked absently. "We . . . had . . . a . . . meeting . . . tonight." She punctuated the words with lingering kisses. "That's nice." He didn't know why he was worried she'd never come to his bed. They'd never get that far in the first place. "It was about Wayans." Her mouth was a flame, searing his, driving him insane. "You make me crazy, Jake." His hands slipped under her top, his body throbbing wildly at the feel of her soft flesh.

She moaned into his mouth, then pulled away to bury her face in his shoulder. Her hands gripped his back, her nails clawing into his skin as his palms rubbed her nipples. They were hard with desire, desire for him. He pressed himself into the cradle of her hips, wondering if the car hood would take their lovemaking and whether his neighbors would notice. "Jake, we're on . . . ahh . . . strike." "Charity, you drive me—" He lifted his head. "You're on what!" "That was why I was late." She kissed his neck. "We better go inside before your neighbors get a lesson in the birds and the bees—" He pulled away from her. "Wait a minute. You're on strike?" She nodded. "Yes. All the women, over the loss of the benefits. We felt a demonstration to bring the board to its senses was needed." "They can't be serious," he exclaimed, staring at her. "You can't be serious." "They are. I'll be on the picket line with them." She frowned. "I notice we're not all over each other anymore. Does this mean work is wrapped up in this relationship?" "No!" He rubbed his forehead. "It's a shock. Charity, this won't solve anything at all. It'll make things worse. The board won't want to give in to any demands from a strike." She shrugged. "I don't think asking for our health benefits to be returned are demands. We went to a lawyer, Jake. And it is illegal to give benefits to only a portion of the employees." He muttered a barnyard curse. "I know." "I thought you might. You danced around the issue." Her angry expression was easy to read. "We want the benefits back or we sue." "I guess I can't blame you all for feeling that way," he admitted, knowing he had to remain calm. "But, Charity, if you sue, we immediately lose any chance with that government contract. Then nobody has a job because Wayans won't last another year as it is. Where does that get us?" "The women are willing to take the chance." She sighed. "I hate this." He opened his arms and she walked back into them. They held each other for long minutes. He knew now that Charity had been right and he'd been naive. What happened in the workplace did affect a relationship. Maybe not in the way either of them might have expected, but it had an impact. Did it ever, he thought. A strike! The notion of it clawed like ice at his gut. The whole thing was a damn mess that those idiots on the board had created. He wanted to strangle each of them for this latest fiasco. He had no doubt they'd put the blame squarely on his shoulders, normal operating procedures when the owners screwed up. They were ignoring the second rule of Genghis Khan: Give your warriors enough booty so they do not rebel against you. But what bothered him the most, though, was that the women would hurt themselves with a strike. They should have reserved it for a last drastic action rather than the first. Management could afford to sit it out longer than they could.

Charity hugged him fiercely, then raised her head. "They voted me shop steward." "How the hell could they do that?" Jake exclaimed. "Didn't you say something to them?" "What could I say, Jake? I didn't want the job, but frankly, I think we're getting a raw deal. They voted me in because I had already been doing the job unofficially, and they thought a negotiating relationship had already been established." "We can't be together now." He said it as a statement, not a question. "I came to tell you that." She practically burrowed into him, her own distress at letting him go evident. He wanted desperately to ask her to turn down the post. He knew she wouldn't. More important, he knew he couldn't ask her. "I love you, Jake," she said. He laughed bitterly. "Now's a helluva time to tell me, Charity." "I know." She sniffled back a sob. "But I couldn't leave without saying it. Impeccable timing. That's what you and I have." "Well, at least we're together on that." He groaned and trailed kisses in her hair. "I can't let you go, dammit. And I can't let you stay." "I don't want to go." "You would have come to my bed tonight, wouldn't you? Given me all of your trust." "Yes." Her confession was nearly inaudible. Holding her to him, he closed his eyes against the new pain, a deeper, sharper one than he'd felt before. Love was supposed to be a straight arrow to the other person, not loaded with obstacles. He could feel Charity's tears wetting his shirt. When he finally opened his eyes again, he chuckled, this time with dry amusement. "Do you think they have any idea of the incentive they've given me to settle this thing?" She gave a watery laugh. "No, but I did wonder when my name came up. Jake, what is this going to do to the company?" "I don't want to think about it with that government bid due in two weeks." "It's almost finished," she said eagerly. "It's under a file in my computer called 'Birthday.' You'll have to access through a password: 'Forty-seven bvd.' " "What does that stand for?" "Nothing but nonsense. That's what makes the password harder to break down. I'll give you the rest of the stuff I have at home." "Maybe I can salvage the rest." He knew he sounded dubious. Unfortunately he was. Very dubious. Neither said anything for a long time. Finally Charity spoke. "I have to go."

Their kiss was bittersweet and filled with longing. Eventually she extricated herself from their embrace and got into her car. She started the engine and backed out of his drive. Jake watched her go until the dark shape of her car was completely out of sight. Looking up at the stars twinkling merrily in the night sky, he howled in utter frustration. Nine "We recognize that the country is in a recession right now and businesses are hurting. However, we cannot condone any unfair labor practices the company enacts to try to save money. We as women are being penalized for our gender, and we as single people are being penalized for our marital status over health benefits we've had since the company was started here in Milton in 1965." After her spiel, Charity smiled at the reporters from the local TV stations clustered around her in an impromptu press conference. Someone must have called all the local media the night before, because reporters had been at Wayans since first thing in the morning. The newspaper and radio people had left long ago, and now the TV people were gathering "soundbites" for the noon news. For some reason, her feet ached worse standing there, talking, than the burning stumps they'd been from walking. She wanted the interviews over with so she could get back to normal agony. Employees of Wayans, all women, walked a picket line across the entrance of the Wayans property and looked on, encouraging her. She wanted to pick her words on their behalf carefully, so they didn't sound like a bunch of women with PMS, but sensible people backed to the wall. It hurt that the single men had gone in to work rather than picket with the women. "What do you say about the employees who didn't have their benefits cut and have gone into work?" a reporter asked. "Or the single men who don't support the strike. Or that what Wayans proposed with the health benefits is illegal." This one was tricky, Charity thought, knowing the wrong word could create animosity. "Wayans has attempted to give benefits to those they felt had the most need. It's a noble attempt in that respect, but they need to comply with proper procedure. The single men going to work is also understandable, but we have to admit it's also a little disappointing that they didn't support us out here. We hope they're in there fighting for us, though." "What do you say to the Wayans board demanding that you go back to work or you lose your jobs?" another reporter asked. "Are they saying that?" she asked, her stomach clenching. "Yes." Her brain scrambled for a diplomatic answer. Did Jake know about this? He better not have, she thought. "We have a lot of expertise to offer this company, and they will be the losers if they follow through on such an action. I would hope, though, that we can reach a settlement before that would even be a serious consideration." Several more questions were flung at her. She felt like a piece of meat among a pack of starving dogs. None of the reporters, male or female, exhibited an ounce of sympathy or even friendliness to her personally. Get the story and get out was their attitude. Her theory became reality a few minutes later, when the press conference was interrupted by the

arrival of some cars. Women emerged from the vehicles, and the reporters immediately converged on them, recognizing the local chapter president of the Women's National Organization. WNO had joined their strike it seemed, right on time for the live broadcast. Charity let out a resigned sigh. This was rapidly becoming a three-ring circus. "... and we want these women and men to know they have our support on this issue," the WNO president said loudly for the cameras and the live audience. "We may look into the labor and discrimination laws to bring a suit on their behalf. This is all part of the backlash on women—" "Lunch break," Charity called, setting down her wayans unfair sign and heading for her car. The other picketers set down their signs with a collective grateful sigh. Everyone sat on their car hoods and ate lunch and eyed the WNO people. Discussion concerned sore feet and how a simple strike to make a statement and embarrass the Wayans board was becoming a photo opportunity for an unwanted, uninvited group. As she watched and listened, Charity started to feel a little used by the WNO, who had yet to say a word to the strikers. She glanced over at the Wayans offices and immediately caught sight of a man staring out at them. She didn't have to see his face to know it was Jake. She wished a big hole would open up and swallow her. She was so mixed up inside, she couldn't help feeling the best solution was to disappear entirely. All she wanted was for all of this to be over so she could get on with her life. And Jake. Nothing was more painful than the way they had separated last night. What a mess. "When do you meet and talk with Jake again?" Mary asked, drawing back Charity's attention. "I don't know," she said. "Maybe you should go in and talk to him now," Mary suggested, looking toward the building. Charity shook her head. "Not now. When the reporters are gone." That wasn't long. The reporters no sooner finished their individual live remotes, when they packed up their gear and headed out for the next story. The WNO people waited until they'd turned the corner, then got back into their cars, leaving two WNO women behind, and headed out for the next "photo opportunity." The strikers looked on, bewildered at the sudden exodus. Mary began talking to them about these new developments as they walked back and forth across the entrance again. Charity used the moment to slip into the Wayans building. She didn't feel quite right being inside what was now enemy territory. The offices looked deserted despite papers strewn everywhere on empty desks. Phones rang and rang unanswered. She couldn't help grinning when she heard someone yell, "Does anybody know how to work this copier? It keeps jamming!" Must be the one in office services, she thought. That one was notorious for jamming up after five copies if a person didn't load it exactly right. Maybe it was worth having the men try to cope for a while. She stood in the main lobby for a minute longer, wondering if she should call on the receptionist's telephone or go directly in search of Jake. The question was decided when Jake himself emerged from the archives wing at a dead run.

"Jake!" she called. He whirled around. "Charity!" Tongue-tied, she could only stare at him. He didn't say anything either as his own gaze swept slowly down her body and back up to her face. She wanted to run to him, yet was terrified of doing so. The silence drew out, becoming awkward. "I . . . ahh . . . what are you doing in here?" He glanced behind him, then at her. She could sense his urgency. "Go, do what you have to do," she said. "I just wanted to arrange a formal meeting with you to . . . negotiate. I'm not sure how you do this, set up a schedule." "Can we meet this evening?" he asked, tapping the folder he was carrying. "I have people on the phone right now." "I didn't mean now," she said hastily. "Tonight is okay. It should be on neutral ground." "How about a restaurant?" he suggested. "It's normal for negotiating teams to meet in restaurant back rooms or hotel conference rooms." "Okay." She waited a moment longer, trying to figure out something else to say, but knew she shouldn't keep him. She turned away. "You better get back to your phone call." "Charity?" She turned back, smiling. "Yes?" "Who were those people out there?" She made a face. "I'll tell you later." "I hate this." She nodded. "So do I." She turned away again, and this time he didn't stop her. She wondered what he'd say when she brought up the little bombshell about the board threatening to fire them. She would probably be as unhappy as he would be about the WNO joining the strikers. Opening the door onto the fresh summer breeze, she sighed. The mess was getting bigger every minute. "What the hell is the Women's National Organization doing in this?" Jake demanded, glaring at Charity across the elegantly set table. They had just settled into the booth of a trendy Italian restaurant in Vineland, the nearest large town to Milton. Some of the board had seen the evening newscast and called him, frantic. "Supporting the injustice Wayans has done to women," Charity replied. "You can't be serious!" he exclaimed, then immediately rephrased his statement at the frozen expression on her face. "I mean, the board didn't set out to do any injustice to women."

"That's how it ended up," she pointed out. "And for single men too." "The men didn't go on strike. And I don't think the women should have. It's not gaining them anything." She stared at him for a moment before replying. "We think it might. Last night you said you didn't blame them." "I understand their anger," he said. "And I understand their reaction. I don't condone it. We can work out this problem better if they're on the job, not jeopardizing the company with the government contract." Charity sat tight-lipped. Jake sighed. "Look, this is difficult for both of us. I probably shouldn't have said it quite the way I did, but this strike is wrong. Even you were dubious last night." "Dubious or not, I represent them. I don't think we're asking too much." "And the company's only trying to find a way to make health care cost-effective in order to save the company. I don't think we're asking too much, especially when Wayans is in desperate straits." "It's illegal. We could file a suit." Jake clenched his fist. "If you do that, you nail the coffin shut on Wayans. That will hurt the employees far worse than this. Can't the women come in and can't we work this out?" "But it's still men patting women on the head, isn't it, Jake?" she murmured, looking away from him. "For all your talk and actions with the men's movement and women's equality, it still is that way for you. You believe that the women have less need for their health benefits than the men." "I think the women have more resources than the men in this," he answered firmly. It was true. Most of the strikers were married and used their husbands' health benefits. "All we're asking is that they use them. I'm working on the others like you." "And we're such a small portion of the workforce, we'll get the shrug and the 'I'm sorry' and that will be it." The waiter interrupted them with menus and their drinks order. Jake stared at his Chivas on ice, then tossed it back in one gulp. He needed it, but even the rich smooth Scotch didn't taste right. He could feel this strike already separating them, and he didn't know how to repair it. The longer it went on, the worse the damage would be. He looked down at his glass and knew what he really wanted to drink in. Her. The richness of her mouth . . . the slope of her breasts . . . the taut line of her waist. . . the curve of her hip . . . and the hidden splendor between her thighs. He wanted to absorb her into him and be absorbed by her. He wanted to sweep her away, find a tiny corner of the world where they could forget everything except each other. But now more than ever she was forbidden to his touch. He couldn't stand being like this, on opposing sides. "I miss you," he murmured. His fingers itched to reach across the table and take her hand, but he resisted the temptation.

Her features softened, her expression becoming unconsciously private and sensual. His gaze met hers. "I want to touch you." The longing in her eyes was all the answer he needed. The physical pull between them was like a golden chain, connecting them ever tighter, drawing them to each other by an incontrovertible force. "But we can't," he said. "No," she whispered. "We can't." The chain snapped, broken for the moment. He grimaced. "All my life my actions were controlled by how other people would react. My mother, my sisters, my ex-wife. The damn jobs. Now I finally free myself from all that and I'm still controlled by something other than me." Charity's smile was sympathetic. "Your actions are controlled only by your integrity now, Jake. You're an honorable man. You know it's not right to be personally involved at this time, just as I know it." "How did we get mixed up in this?" She grinned. "You convinced me work was the perfect place to meet men." He laughed. "Well, I wasn't wrong, was I?" "That's debatable." "Nope, just timing. Obviously, we're lousy at it, like you said." "By the way, thank you for getting Georgia Billings help with her son's bills. She told me about it this afternoon." "I was happy to do it." He didn't tell how many private resources he'd had to contact to get it. He was glad Charity was pleased with him on this one thing at least. He looked around the other tables. No one seemed interested in them, which was a relief. Since they weren't under a microscope, he and Charity actually might be able to reach a settlement. Desperate to do exactly that, he turned to the business at hand. "Okay, so Wayans is going to be a bad guy. I think I can handle that and the board. I have no idea how, but I will. Your interview today was excellent, by the way. Some of the board who saw it had to admit you sounded very reasonable. They're hopeful." "Well, so are my people. What will it take to get the health benefits back for everyone?" "Right now?" She nodded. He eyed her steadily. "You're not going to like it. A twenty-percent layoff in workers." "You're right. I don't like it. Can the company carry the benefits for one year and then reassess?" He frowned. "You're looking for us to pull out some solid business between now and then, right?" She nodded.

"I don't know. Let me look at the figures." "Okay." He sat back in the banquette. "The sooner we get this over with, the sooner you and I can get back to where we left off. Maybe this is a test to see if we can survive the worst." "There's another problem," she said. "Has the board said they'll fire us if we don't go back to work?" He muttered a barnyard curse. He should have known she'd get wind of that. He told her the literal truth. "There was no adoption of any motion to fire the striking workers." "But they talked about it," she said perceptively. "A couple of them made noises, led by our friend Mitchelson." He scowled. "Obviously, they decided to hold their own press conference. They don't speak for the entire board. I think," he began carefully, "that we'll see and hear a lot of spouting-off on each side that isn't gospel. I think our job, yours and mine, is to cut through that, impart the facts to our people, and reach a settlement or a compromise based on those facts." "The thing is, is everyone else as reasonable as you?" He chuckled. "I didn't say the job was easy, love. I'll give you a tidbit. Management at Wayans discovered today that the secretaries run this company. The place is a madhouse." That was an understatement, he thought. It was practically in a state of collapse. None of them had had any idea of the amount of work and paperwork the women handled with such efficiency. Charity chuckled. "Maybe having to muddle through will teach all of you a lesson." "Just tell us how to keep the copier in office services from jamming." "No way." "I'll trade you Dave for a settlement." He made a face as he said it. The man wasn't all his position made him up to be. "Forget it. But since we're imparting tidbits ..." Charity's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Everybody's feet hurt a lot more than they thought they would." He laughed. "Also," she said, "we did not call in the WNO." "Maybe we can get this settled with very little pain," Jake said, grateful for the news. He hoped so. For everyone's sake. Charity tossed and turned restlessly in her bed, pulled the sheet and light blanket over her, then minutes later kicked them off. Her body cried for sleep, but she couldn't turn her mind and adrenaline off. She sat up and glanced at her digital clock. The LED numbers read 2:14 a.m. She groaned and covered her face with her hands. It was easy to put a name to her insomnia: Jake. He had said they'd opened the floodgates. He wasn't wrong. The deep ache in her body told her

that. She had only to close her eyes and she could feel his hands on her again, feel the way he moved inside her, the explosion of emotions between them. She had kept up her defenses so long because she hadn't wanted to "settle" for a man. Well, she hadn't settled. And she was worse off than ever! She wanted him so badly, she couldn't stand it. How she left him at the restaurant earlier that night, she didn't know. The whole thing had held a nightmarish quality as they had stood in the parking lot and said good-bye. She wanted to get into her car and drive to his house and pound on his door until he woke up and let her in. She wanted to know he ached for her as much as she did for him. But there was another disturbing factor that she'd realized that night. He was still a man and he very much believed in the man's world, a world that didn't accommodate women very well—if at all. She didn't expect him to be a feminist, and she had some doubts about the wisdom of what the strikers were doing. Still, it was obvious Jake was more sympathetic to the company's plight than to the women's. His attitude had roused a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach— and a lot of confusion about him and her. How would he stand on other issues? On her? Would she find herself being told not to continue college because he'd take care of her? Would she be discouraged from other things she wanted to do because they didn't fit in with what he wanted to do? The questions provoked by the strike were insidious, creeping into their relationship. She couldn't help seeing a chasm opening up between them, one that might never be bridged. Maybe they weren't right for each other despite the lovemaking. Maybe they were too different. Maybe this was why Jake had seemed so dangerous from the first. Because he was the wrong man. She threw off the covers completely and got out of bed, determined to cure her insomnia by reading. Something dull, she told herself, to put her to sleep. Maybe her apartment lease . . . Somebody pounded on her door, as if trying to break it down. Charity screamed and spun around, right into the bedroom door, jamming her toes against the wood. She grasped them, rubbing them and hopping around on one foot. "Dammit!" she cursed, hurrying to the front door. She peered through the peephole, then immediately swung the door open. Jake stood there, caught with his hand half raised to knock again. "Jake!" she exclaimed. "What are you—" He strode inside, shut the door, and pulled her into his arms, kissing her senseless. His mouth was a fire, his tongue plunged inside to taste her. Charity froze for an instant, then gave herself up to the kiss without reservation. The feel of his arms around her, the taste of him, the way he made her senses spin with excitement, was so right, he could never be wrong. It went on for endless minutes, their hands clutching, testing that the other was real. "I'm sorry," he murmured, spreading kisses across her face and throat. "I shouldn't be here. I know it. I couldn't stay away. I love you, Charity." "Perfect timing," she murmured back, throwing all her doubts away. "I was in my bed, wanting you there." He lifted her into his arms and carried her to her bedroom. Everything that was forbidden, every bit of integrity, was shredded in the onslaught of love. Much later Charity raised herself up from his side and laid her head on his chest. She leisurely ran her bare foot up and down along his leg, marveling at the feel of hard bone and muscle and the tickle of

hair along her nerve endings. His arm tightened around her, his fingers caressing the base of her spine. "Don't fall asleep," she said in a lazy voice. "I won't. I'm sorry—" She pressed a finger to his lips, then leaned up and kissed him. "Don't. I don't regret this, and I don't want you to, either." "It won't happen again," he promised. "It can't," she agreed. Her heart told her differently, and she forced the tempting idea away. "I just couldn't sleep; I couldn't stay away." He chuckled. "Hell, it was as if I couldn't do anything else." "I know. I couldn't sleep." "It's the primitive instinct," he said. "Men and women with their ancient—" She whacked his stomach. "I don't want to hear a thing about men and women. It's rotten timing, Jake. And perfect timing. Got it?" "You really have a bossy streak, you know." "Thank you." Neither of them mentioned their positions as negotiators for opposing sides. She didn't even want that or her other doubts to exist in this private world of theirs, and she suspected he felt the same. "I should go," he said, stroking her more firmly. She sighed. "Yes." But he didn't move. Instead, his hand strayed lower and he pulled her on top of him. She met his kiss eagerly. Reality sure could set in with a vengeance, Charity thought early the next morning as she walked the picket line. She'd gotten almost no sleep the night before and her feet protested every move. Her conscience wasn't any better, either. In fact, it was worse. Added to her guilt was the contented lethargy in which the rest of her body was currently delighting. She didn't regret what had happened the previous night, but it couldn't be repeated. They both understood that. Still, it didn't feel right, walking with her fellow employees. Mary smiled encouragingly at her. Several others grinned ruefully in shared agony. She forced herself to smile back, feeling like a sneak thief as she did. She prayed the settlement would come before the end of the day. Halfway across the entrance drive a stone caught in her sneaker. She stopped, untied it, and took it off. A car pulled up, halting because it couldn't get past her as she stood in the middle of the drive. Standing on tiptoe in her sock, she frowned and felt around inside the sneaker, trying to find the small

pebble. No luck. She ran her finger around the edge, taking care to feel every millimeter of the inside rim between side and inner sole. Nothing. Women walked by her, giggling. She became aware of the car's engine purring ominously close and sending out a wave of metallic warmth. Still, she couldn't find the elusive stone. Finally, after a good two minutes, her sneaker yielded its stony treasure. "Ah-ha!" she exclaimed in triumph, holding up the pebble. She flicked it away, then slipped on her shoe. Well, she thought, she couldn't very well walk with an untied shoe. She might trip. She bent down and tied it carefully. Her mother had taught her long ago that it was far more intelligent to stop and tie one's shoes than to rush ahead and trip. Of course, in her mother's place it had been buckles, tied shoes not having been in fashion in the seventeenth century. But the principle was still the same. When she was satisfied her sneakers were permanently welded to her feet, she straightened and looked around to find Jake in his car in the middle of the drive, glaring murderously at her. She smiled cheerfully at him. She just couldn't resist. As soon as she moved enough for him to be able to squeeze by, he roared past with a blast of exhaust. "Now, what's he mad about?" she muttered. "He didn't have to be on the picket line at six-thirty." In fact, at nearly ten o'clock, he was very late. She wondered what had kept him that morning, then smiled wryly. The stinker had overslept. The women hooted with laughter at her, diverting her attention to them. She grinned. "I had a stone in my shoe." "No kidding," Mary said. The good mood lasted until the first police car showed up half an hour later. Several followed behind it. Charity raised her eyebrows as she watched them park on either side of the Wayans entrance. With a sinking feeling in her stomach she wondered what they wanted. The women had been peaceful, so what had brought the police? The answer was a completely unexpected one. "There's an injunction against this strike," the officer in charge announced. "All of you will have to move off the property and stop blocking the entrance to the building." "But we're not blocking the entrance," Charity said, moving to stand in front of the women. "Lady, you're to move off the property now, or I'll haul you in," the man snapped. He stared at her with her own reflection staring back in his mirror sunglasses. He loomed over her, like Godzilla in blue. Fury shot through Charity at the man's attitude. Unfortunately, this wasn't a messenger she could shoot and get away with the crime. "Ladies, we need to move," she called. "And you can walk only three at a time across the drive entrance," the cop added. "And if any of you are standing around, I'll haul you in. You must be moving all the time, otherwise you'll be loitering and you'll be arrested. You understand?" She smiled sweetly. "Oh, yes."

The cop pointed a finger in her face. "Lady, you so much as blink and I'll nail you." She pulled her own sunglasses out and put them on. Then she smiled. The cop's face went livid red, but he turned away. When the cops were settled in their car to watch that the strikers followed the injunction, Charity looked over at the office building. She knew now why Jake had been so late for work. And why he had come to her bed the night before. Ten "The company is clearly trying to penalize women," the spokesperson for the local chapter of the Women's National Organization said, "and if it is allowed to get away with it, other companies will follow its lead." She paused, then added, "And we'll take it all the way to the Supreme Court if we have to!" Groaning with disgust, Jake watched the newscast reporter fire off another question that made Wayans look like a villain. Charity stood next to the WNO person, looking on soberly. She hadn't said a word to him last night about this press conference. She must have known, though, that she'd be giving the WNO their support. How could she not? It wasn't like his situation, getting a phone call first thing in the morning with instructions to go to court with the Wayans lawyer. He hadn't made that decision; his bosses had. Despite all his arguments, he'd been forced to go along with the injunction. He had intended to explain that to her at the first opportunity that night. But the WNO people wouldn't join the strikers unless the strikers wanted it. And she represented the strikers. Maybe that was why she'd been so receptive when he'd come to her apartment. She'd wanted to lull him with a false sense of security. Maybe that was why she'd smiled so smugly at him that morning. She knew a lawsuit would kill their chances for the government contract. The company was on its way down the tubes unless talk of a suit was dropped very quickly. Didn't she care? A little voice in his brain immediately protested, reminding him of the Charity he knew. But did he really know her? He felt used by her, just as she'd used his confidences before for her amusement. She'd probably relate the "wild man" story next and have the entire Philadelphia area laughing at him and the company. Confused, hurt, and tired, he flicked off the evening newscast, not wanting to hear any more, to know any more. Companies who were found to be discriminating in any way were barred from receiving government contracts, even bidding on them. What were she and her self-righteous women thinking of? He should call her and demand answers, he thought. A wave of reluctance pressed through him and he gave in to it. There was a call he had to make, though, to the army representative to salvage the bid while he could. Still, he expected Charity to call at any time. Tonight, he needed her to come to him. She didn't. Nor did she contact him throughout the long weekend. He still felt betrayed Monday morning as he passed the strikers on his way into work. The women were cheerful and chatting among themselves. They looked smug to him. Charity walked by him without even glancing up. Hurt, deep and abiding, shot through him, and he pressed hard on the gas pedal, the car leaping into the entrance. It hadn't mattered what he'd said at the restaurant about the two of them being separate. She was determined to make their relationship a bargaining point. As far as he was concerned, it wasn't up for sale. Inside the building was chaos, phones ringing unanswered, papers everywhere. Men cursed as they hunted for needed forms and files.

Jake surveyed the mess and knew that unless they got some semblance of order, the company would be dead in the water within a week. There was only one thing to do. Jake did it. Charity watched in horror as a bus barreled toward the entrance to Wayans. It slowed enough to allow the picketers to move aside before sweeping past and up to the building. The bus's windows had been papered over, leaving the interior invisible to the casual eye. She caught sight of people disembarking and hurrying into the building. They looked like women. Her stomach tightened, her lungs struggled for air. Jake leaned out of the doorway and spoke to the bus driver. The bus took off, and Jake pulled the thick, steel-trimmed glass door shut. "I think we just got fired," someone said into the dead silence. Charity rounded on her. "Don't be silly! This is just a management ploy to make us nervous." "It's working," Mary said. "Look, it costs them more money to train someone new than it costs to have an experienced worker on the job," she told them sternly. "But where did they get them from so fast?" someone asked. "I don't know, probably a temp service," Charity said. "But it'll take them weeks and weeks to learn our jobs, especially since they'll be taught by the men who don't know how to do them in the first place." Everyone laughed. Smiling, she went on. "Think of how bad it must be in there already for them to resort to this. They're hurting, and they're showing it." Everyone cheered. Charity hoped the sound carried to the building. "Now, let's get back to picketing. It's great exercise." Everyone milled around for a moment, then followed her lead. Charity wished she felt as confident as she sounded. To her mind, it was a very bad blow for them that the company got replacements so quickly, even if they were temporary. And it was probably in reaction to the mention of a possible discrimination suit. She cursed the WNO people who'd said those things Friday without the strikers' permission. This would kill the contract chances. The thought made her sick to her stomach. She'd been forced to stand there on camera with them, waiting to give her reaction which the TV reporter never got to. That stupid spokesperson was so damned long-winded, she took up all the live time. One aggressive act had followed another at Wayans, until everything was escalating beyond salvaging. They might as well get on the unemployment line now. This wasn't fun anymore, she thought. She didn't even want to think of her financial state. One disaster at a time. But the worst disaster was Jake. How could he do this to them? She felt betrayed that he hadn't told her about the injunction and the strike breakers. All weekend long she'd waited for a repeat of his late-night visit. With each hour of silence, pain cut through her heart. It had hurt so bad the night before, she'd been ill from the tears.

Monday night passed in similar solitude, but the next morning brought an unexpected development. Several of the men who worked in the warehouse joined the women at the line. Their expressions were sheepish. "We . . . ah . . . we agree with you," one began. "The company ought to give back the health benefits to everyone, not to just a few." Charity grinned with relief. The women had had a sense of defeat about them that morning, with the implications of the strike breakers having sunk in. "It's about time," "Yeah . . . well. . ." None of the men looked happy. One said, "We haven't felt right about getting our benefits and you didn't. Besides, our wives got after us about crossing the line." They began walking with the women, who handed over some wayans unfair signs. The women's expressions were far too angelic. Charity knew they must be fit to burst out with laughter, just as she was. The look on Jake's face when he drove in later and saw the men on the line was priceless. But Charity saw the dark circles under his eyes, and his face had a drawn look. She had a feeling it matched her own. His gaze touched hers, holding anger and regret. She wanted to say something but knew she couldn't. She realized that even if this got settled, he would still be the boss and she would still be the employee. Her valid reasons for never getting involved in the workplace had been driven home with a vengeance. A numbness set in as two more days went by. She could look at Jake without feeling anything. He looked back at her the same way. Even the strike had stalemated into a bizarre routine. The strikers would arrive early, several more male employees would join them, the WNO people would show up whenever there was a photo opportunity, Jake would drive by the gauntlet, followed later by the strike-breakers' bus. The strikers would continue in shifts, Wayans would close for the day, the gauntlet would get a second pass, and everyone would go home. The company didn't back down despite the looming deadline for filing the contract, so the women didn't back down despite the looming loss of jobs. Stalemate. Friday morning brought a break in the stalemate. Jake turned around in a circle in the main office area, furious with what he saw. A sea of paper was scattered everywhere. He couldn't remember when he'd ever seen so much paper in one place. Several file drawers were pulled from their cabinets, while others hung limply on. Chairs were overturned, and some telephones had been thrown on the floor. Even a computer terminal was ripped out, the monitor broken and upended. He whipped through the corridors, right out the doors, and to the picketers. "Charity!" he roared. "I can hear you," she said mildly, raising her eyebrows at him. "Then hear this. The office is vandalized, destroyed. All of you are fired!" The silence was stunning, but it left Jake feeling only slightly satisfied. Charity breached the quiet with an unrepeatable string of words that Bruce Willis would have admired. She summed it up with, "Don't be ridiculous, Jake. You can't fire us on suspicion." "The hell I can't!" She threw her placard from around her neck and began trotting to the building. "Come on!"

He followed her inside. Once she'd surveyed the damage, she added a few more imaginative curses. "How could they? How could they!" He gaped at her. "You know who it is?" "No, of course I don't!" she snapped. "I meant . . . hell, you know what I meant." He did. His anger was cooling. "Firing us doesn't solve anything, though," she said. "Oh, Jake, I'm so sorry." "The police did a close check early this morning," he said. "They noticed the door from the foyer area ajar and could see inside to the offices. They called me. We still can't figure out how they got in without setting off the burglar alarms." "Why were the police doing a close check?" she asked. His glare froze her. "They've been doing it since the strike began. With justification, it seems." She lifted her chin. "I asked only because police usually just drive by." "Your people have gone too far, Charity." "My people didn't do it. We want the health benefits we've always had and are entitled to still have, but not by destroying the office. I can't believe this, and I can't believe any of them would be doing this." "Somebody is." She sighed in resignation. "I know. It makes me sick to look at it." He nodded. She bent down and began to pick up the papers. "Don't bother with that," he said. "I have to." She looked up at him. "I just can't leave it, Jake." "Why didn't you call about that press conference last week?" he asked. "Why didn't you let me know it was coming?" "Why didn't you call about the injunction?" "I didn't know about it until the attorney hauled me into court that morning." She took a deep breath. "The WNO called the press conference on our behalf without asking us. We've had matters pretty much taken out of our hands there. What about the scabs?" He closed his eyes, then opened them again. "We're drowning here without any clerical help." She smiled bitterly. "That's what I told the women." He looked around. "We didn't even listen to what we said the other night, did we? About you and me keeping the level heads in this." "No, we didn't." She swallowed and added, "This isn't what the women would condone."

"Can we settle this?" The papers in her hands seemed so useless. "I don't know. Can we?" He didn't say anything. He helped her to her feet. They stared at each other for one breathless moment, then he pulled her to him, his lips taking hers in a punishing kiss. Jake's senses had long spun out of control by the time he eased his mouth from hers. She sagged against him, pressed so thoroughly to him that he could feel every inch of her soft body against his aching flesh. "Why didn't you come to me that night?" he asked. "How could I?" she whispered. "You could have come to me." "No." He sighed. "No more than you could have." Charity wanted to say a lot of things, but she couldn't find the words. Instead, she just held him, allowing herself the pleasure of him real in her arms. Eventually, he said, "You better go. I've got a lot of work to do." She nodded. He wasn't offering her platitudes this time. He must know there weren't any more. "This won't happen again, Jake. I promise." "I'll keep the board calm." "If you don't use the strike breakers and if you drop the injunction, we'll get rid of the WNO," she offered. "I'll talk to the board. That's all I can do." She nodded. "Well, well. Isn't this cozy?" At the snide words, Jake dropped his arms from around Charity. He cursed under his breath as Dave Ringman walked toward them, his expression about as pleasant as his voice. "Wouldn't your streetwalkers out there be surprised to know how you're making a settlement. Charity?" Dave asked sarcastically. "What's the matter? Tired of sabotaging the place?" "Shut up, Dave," Jake said, cold anger running through him. "You can be civil or quiet with Charity. Or you can do your work. That would be a change." Dave stiffened, his hands knotting into fists. Jake wondered if the man would have the audacity to hit him. But Dave wheeled and stomped away. Charity sighed. "Why do I think that if I ever get back to my job, it's going to be miserable?" "He won't be around," Jake said. "He's managed to show his complete incompetency this past week. How did he ever get to be a department head?" "He slept with the boss?"

Jake laughed. She turned around and around for one last horrifying look at the carnage. Jake stood next to her, silent. A movement caught her eye, and as she glanced over, she saw the strikers at the doorway. They slowly filed in, staring in disbelief. She couldn't believe one of her people was a nasty vandal, but who else would have done this? It was too much to believe that it was completely separate from the strike. Such destruction would never happen again, though, she silently vowed. Never. The strikers remained. Jake stayed out of the way, but all day he watched the people straighten the offices and their desks. The temps, when they arrived, were a big help in clearing out the vandalized equipment, and by the time the day was over, Jake felt there was a ray of hope for Wayans's survival. Charity's desk had looked like it had survived a cyclone, but Jake doubted it was all the vandal's work. Somehow, the debris had a "Dave couldn't find it even when it was in front of his nose" look to it. He just hoped the bid materials were still safely stored in her computer. Lord knows what Dave might have done to them if he managed to access them. Accidentally offer them to their biggest competitor, probably. With the women gone, Dave's incompetence had become embarrassingly apparent, to the point that Jake realized Charity ran Dave's department. Dave clearly didn't know how. Hell, the man couldn't find a file if his life depended on it. And Dave knew Jake knew it. The man's days were numbered at Wayans. As everyone left that evening, he thanked the women for helping clean up the wreckage. They were making a gesture of peace, and he would make sure the board of directors made one to match it. He didn't know how, but he would. And then he and Charity could get on with their lives. He had a proposal for a brand-new project, and he couldn't wait to see the look on her face when he offered it to her. The parking lot at Charity's apartment complex seemed overly dark as she pulled into her slot later that night, after putting in a few hours of studying at the university library. She knew the lot was lit normally, but she had the oddest feeling in the pit of her stomach—like a premonition of danger. Pushing down her fear, she got out of her car, locked it, and walked toward her building. She realized she was holding her books against her chest, ready to fling them at a moment's notice, while gripping her keys with the sharp points between the fingers of her hand, like a set of knuckle claws ready to strike. The walk to her door seemed endless. The light bulb was out above the door. She berated herself for not replacing it and quickly inserted her key in the lock, the urgency to be inside and safe overwhelming. Come on, she thought, annoyed with her unreasoning panic. She was a fully mature grown woman who had lived on her own for years— "Charity." She shrieked and whipped around. She spotted a large shape from emerging behind a nearby evergreen at the same moment she realized her keys were in the door, not sticking through her fingers.

She pivoted again, trying to yank her makeshift weapons free, while babbling, "Get back, get back, get back!" "Charity, it's me! Jake." She slumped against the door, the terror sucked out of her. Her body shook with relief, sweat ran down her temples, and bile soured her mouth. "You scared me!" "I'm sorry." He loomed up in the darkness. "But you should have this bulb replaced—" "Can we go inside and you can yell at me there?" Her fingers trembled as she tried to grasp the key and turn it in the lock. Jake took over and smoothly opened the door. Charity stepped inside and slumped into the first chair. He shut the door. "I talked with the board tonight. They're really angry about the vandalism. . . ." "Are they blaming us?" she demanded. "Those people went back to work on their own today, cleaned up those offices—" "I know. I told them so. And they are listening, except for Mitchelson. He's the one ranting about catching the vandal—" "Then let's catch him or her," Charity said, angry that some nut might hold up negotiations. "No, you will not catch him or her," Jake said. She scowled up at him. "Chauvinist." "Charity!" He put his hands on his hips. "This is not a man/woman thing. I'm not capable of handling this kind of unbalanced person, and neither are you. Or, rather, you are as capable as I am to deal with a possibly dangerous lunatic, which means you aren't. All I'm saying is I don't want you hurt because I love you." "Oh, Jake," she murmured, touched to know he cared that much. "Now do you get it?" he asked, crouching down next to her chair. She nodded. "Good." He kissed her mouth. Then again and again until she was pliant in his arms. The knock on the door a short time later startled both of them. Charity frowned even as she tried to catch her breath and calm her racing heart. Jake's breath was whistling in and out of his lungs. With his body pressed to hers, she could tell his heart was beating just as rapidly from their escalating passion. "Who could that be at this hour?" she muttered. "Charity?" a familiar voice called through the door. "It's me. Dave." She made a face to Jake. "It's just Dave." Jake frowned in return. "It's very late, isn't it?"

"Well . . . yes, I suppose," she said, then she shrugged. Louder, she said, "Just a minute!" Jake snorted. "Too late now. I'll go in the bedroom. He's got a big mouth." "The bedroom's not the place for you to be if you want him to keep it shut," Charity whispered, but Jake just grinned and vanished into the other room. She and Jake had been talking in low voices, so she knew Dave couldn't have heard them. She adjusted her bra and shirt, then smoothed down her hair before answering the door. Dave walked inside without his usual swagger, but he didn't looked subdued, either. "I know I'm calling very late, Charity. But I needed to talk with you." "What's up?" "It's about you and the women. You wanted too much, you know. More than you deserved from the company. It wasn't right for you to try to bleed it dry." Charity squinted at him, holding back an automatic jolt of temper. "We're entitled to our health benefits, Dave. We had to fight to keep them." He shook his head. "No. You messed up the office—" "No, I didn't," she broke in. "Yes, you did!" he shouted. "I couldn't find anything! I searched and searched. You made me look stupid, Charity. All the women did." "We didn't mean to," she said, a warning shiver crawling up her spine. "Yes, you did!" He took a step toward her. "You don't deserve your jobs back! Jake fired you, so you couldn't come back. But you did anyway." Charity backed away. "He didn't fire us—" "He did so." His eyes glinted strangely. "Everyone heard him. You shouldn't have come back. Now you'll make it look like I can't do the job again—" "Yes, you can, Dave," she said soothingly. "You're a good boss." "I am, but you women are always trying to make the men look stupid." "Did you vandalize the office?" she asked, trying to get a chair between him and her. Dave easily stepped around it. "I did what I had to do to teach you women a lesson. We're tired of you trying to make us men look bad and we don't want you back. But you came back anyway. You brought everyone back to work. They listen to you. They do what you say." He walked toward her. "I can't allow that, Charity. It's time you learned your proper place in a man's world." "Dave." Jake's voice was soft behind her. Charity let out a breath of relief. "Jake!" Dave's mouth dropped open. Then he snapped it shut. "I knew it! I knew you were sleeping with the bitch—" Jake leapt past her and punched Dave squarely in the jaw. The man's head snapped back. He stood motionless for a long moment, then collapsed in a heap on the rug.

"When you wake up, you can apologize to the lady," Jake said, shaking his fingers. "Ouch!" "I suppose that's a prime example of the kinder, gentler men's movement answer to solving problems," Charity said in a shaky voice. She plopped down in the chair, her legs unsteady. "It's a prime example of a jerk who needs a punch in the mouth," Jake said. "Good thing he's got a glass jaw. I guess we have our vandal after all. I'll call the police." She nodded. Later, after the police had taken Dave away, Jake took Charity's hands and gazed ruefully at her. "This was my fault." She gasped. "Yours?" "I thought I knew what I was doing with the men's movement. Obviously, I created Dave—" She stopped him. "Dave created himself. He's always been all nerves, but none of us saw this breakdown coming. It was a breakdown, I think. There's no other explanation for what he did." A very innocent expression came over Jake's face. "Well, at least he has the insurance to pay for it." Charity's eyes widened, then she burst into laughter at the irony of it. "Stinker." "I'll assume you mean Dave," Jake said, grinning. She eventually sobered. "He ... he took the men's movement too far." "Well, I'm giving it up," Jake said. "I needed it, but now it's time to let it go, and to let men and women find their own way." She gazed at him. "Can we?" "Together." "You think too much like a man." He laughed. "What the hell am I supposed to think like?" "I don't know. But we'll always be on opposite sides." He pulled her to him. "We'll work to compromise. Unless you don't want to try." "I want to try," she said, knowing that if she didn't she would be settling. He would be man and she would be woman, and they wouldn't always mesh. But she couldn't live without him, either. He kissed her soundly. "I love you, Charity." "I love you." She knew she wouldn't settle for anything less. Epilogue "Stop that, Jake! The kids!"

Jake nodded, but didn't pull his hands from inside the bodice of Charity's gown. Her breasts were slightly fuller from her having had three children, but he was hardly complaining. In fact, he found the phenomenon fascinating. Her taut nipples scored his palms in the way he loved so much. Piping voices were heard in the hall, and Charity finally slapped his hands away. Their two eldest, Jeremy and Alison, scampered into the bedroom, then stopped dead when they saw their parents. "Nice dress," Alison said. She was eleven and a continual study in blase. "Wow!" ten-year-old Jeremy exclaimed with absolutely no blase. "A real babe, Mom." Jeremy was all boy and at the machismo stage, much to his mother's chagrin. "Better than great," Jake said, grinning as he eyed the strapless gown of fuchsia chiffon. The tight bodice outlined her breasts, and the skirt skimmed over her long legs. She was subtly different after fifteen years, fuller and richer and at times completely mystifying to him. But there was more than a touch of gray in his hair and his waist was an inch or two thicker. He knew he drove her insane upon occasion —and not necessarily in the bedroom. But they always compromised in a true partnership. Charity looked at the two kids. "Where's your brother?" "Steven is with Jasmine," Alison answered, "waiting for Dad." "Tell them I'll be down in a moment," he said, then shooed the two out of the room. They were good kids, and he sometimes couldn't believe they were his own. "Sure you don't want to stay home tonight?" he asked Charity. "We could lock the door and fool around." "Yes, I'm sure." She smiled and kissed him. "It's not every day you get Corporate Man of the Year award." He grinned. "There are some people who are still wondering if I paid off the judges." "You settled that old strike brilliantly, got that government contract for Wayans—" "You got the contract with all your hard work." Her eyes twinkled with amusement. "We got the government contract, and you got the health benefits back for all the employees. And you negotiated for all those who had health care from another source to voluntarily give up Wayans's plan." "You," he murmured, nuzzling her neck, "were the negotiator of that." "Great minds think alike." She put her arms around his neck. "And now you're chief executive officer and chairman of the board of Wayans, a rock-solid Fortune 1000 company." "You're forgetting I'm married to a woman with her master's in accounting and her own consulting business. And you were worried I'd hold you back. Who pushed you to get your master's?" "You," she murmured, kissing his ear. He drank in her marvelous scent, thinking he would never tire of the" feel of her in his embrace. It was as natural as breathing and wonderfully exciting.

"I'm still worried ..." she began, then pulled back. "Get your hands out of my dress!" But she was laughing. "Steven is waiting. And you can't miss your award, either." "Right." Downstairs, his youngest, six years of angelic expression and charm when he wasn't getting into trouble, already had on his coat. The boy was practically hopping up and down with impatience. So was the black cocker spaniel beside the child. Jake didn't know which one enjoyed this more, Steven or Jasmine. "Dad, come on!" Steven said, grabbing his hand and dragging him along toward the patio doors. The dog bounded ahead. "The last vestige of Iron John," Charity said, descending the stairs with serene dignity. "How the mighty have fallen." "It's all you'll let me do," he complained. "You insisted on retiring Dances with No Clothes On." "Have you seen yourself naked lately, dear? It's not a pretty sight." "Very funny." "Don't mind Mom, Dad," Steven said once they were out in the crisp autumn air. "She's just a woman. They don't understand." "Truer words were never spoken, son. Just don't ever let your mother hear you say it." Steven grinned. A large moon, the color of orange marigolds, hung low in the November sky. Frost already shimmered on the grass. Jake bent down and rubbed Jasmine on the head, then gave the dog a couple of firm pats on the chest, just the way she liked it. "Ready, son?" he asked. Steven nodded. Jake looked up at the moon, pursed his lips, and howled low in his throat. Steven's higher-pitched howl joined his. Jasmine danced around, whimpering at first, then lifted her head and bayed like a siren on a fire truck. Jake managed to smother his grin as he howled for all he was worth with his youngest. Charity suddenly appeared beside him, tucking her arm in his and putting her free hand on her son's shoulder. "Thought I'd join the Halford Howl," she said, then tilted her head up and let loose with a low moan. Jake burst into laughter. "The family that bays together stays together." "Come on." she said. "Let's go get your award."