Catherine told Jake as they drove away from the wedding hall.

“Expensive rehearsal, don’t you think?”

Catherine shot him an exasperated look, ripped off her veil and tossed it in the back seat. “You know what I mean….” Her voice trailed off as she turned away. “No consummation, no marriage. Besides, we never completed the paperwork.”

Just then, a convertible full of teenage girls pulled alongside. Noticing Catherine in her wedding dress and Jake in the one suit he owned, they started honking the horn, tapping keys against soda cans in the familiar symbolic gesture and blowing kisses at what they assumed were newlyweds. Catherine slumped in her seat and groaned, and for just one crazy second, Jake wanted to plant one heck of a kiss on the bride….

Can you believe that for the next three months we’ll be celebrating the publication of the 1000th Silhouette Desire? That’s quite a milestone! The festivities begin this month with six books by some of your longtime favorites and exciting new names in romance.

We’ll continue into next month, May, with the actual publication of Book #1000—by Diana Palmer—and then we’ll keep the fun going into June. There’s just so much going on that I can’t put it all into one letter. You’ll just have to keep reading!

This month we have an absolutely terrific lineup, beginning with Saddle Up, a MAN OF THE MONTH by Mary Lynn Baxter. There’s also The Groom, I Presume?— the latest in Annette Broadrick’s DAUGHTERS OF TEXAS miniseries. Father of the Brat launches the new FROM HERE TO PATERNITY miniseries by Elizabeth Bevarly, and Forgotten Vows by Modean Moon is the first of three books about what happens on THE WEDDING NIGHT. Lass Small brings us her very own delightful sense of humor in A Stranger in Texas. And our DEBUT AUTHOR this month is Anne Eames with Two Weddings and a Bride.

And next month, as promised, Book #1000, a MAN OF THE MONTH, Man of Ice by Diana Palmer!

Lucia Macro,

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609. Fort Erie. Ont L2A 5X3

www.millsandboon.co.uk

With thanks and appreciation to my insightful editor, Melissa Senate,

and to all my RWA friends, especially fellow critiquers

Jeanne Couzens, Corky Conrad and Fran Krauss, as well as to authors

who generously shared their time and “secrets”—Shelly Thacker,

Ruth Ryan Langan, Kate Hoffmann and my own personal guardian

angel, Lucy Taylor. Special thanks to my tolerant and sexy husband.

Bill, who learned to cook, put up with my odd hours and

moods, and helped research a few particular scenes. Hugs and kisses all around!

has a varied background, including managing a theater, a bridal salon, and a constuction association, netting several marketing and communications awards along the way. In 1991 she joined the Romance Writers of America, later becoming a Golden Heart finalist, the winner of the Maggie Award, and, finally, a published author—her lifelong dream.

Anne and her engineer husband, Bill, live in Southeastern Michigan and share a family of five—two hers (Tim and Tom), two his (Erin and David), and one theirs (an adorable miniature dachshund, Punkin).

There you are! I’m glad I finally found you—and vice versa. After a lifetime of dreaming about sharing my stories with you, I decided we’d meet a lot quicker if I wrote them down. Last summer I visited New York and a clairvoyant named Zena told me if I applied myself, in 1996 I’d exceed my expectations. I didn’t want my friends and family thinking I was crazy plopping down cash for Zena or that she might be wrong, so I wrote like a banshee and voila, Two Weddings and a Bride won the coveted Maggie award and shortly after was snatched up by Silhouette Desire. Six weeks later Desire bought my second book, and I’m hard at work on a third. Now I find myself driving down the freeway engrossed in my stories, missing exits and, too often, nearly rear-ending the car in front of me.

The fact that Two Weddings and a Bride is part of Desire’s Celebration 1000 makes this debut experience a doubly exciting one for me. I hope the following pages bring a smile to your face, an occasional tear to your eye, the need for an oscillating fan.

My next story, You’re What?!, will take you on a Caribbean cruise where my heroine meets her Mr. Right— just hours after she’s artificially inseminated. Watch for You’re What?! late summer.

I’d love to hear from you, whether you’d like a little autographed something, or just to say hi. In the meantime, happy reading!

Warmest regards,

c/o Silhouette Desire

300 E. 42nd Street, 6th Floor

New York, NY 10018

The last place Jake Alley wanted to be on this hot, cloudless Saturday evening was in a hot, humorless chapel, watching some fool surrender his freedom.

His bumper sticker didn’t he. He’d rather be sailing. Or at the very least, downtown Detroit at Tiger Stadium for the twi-night doubleheader. Anywhere other than this highfalutin Birmingham wedding would be an improvement.

But there he sat beside Aunt Helen, his shirt stuck to his back, wondering if dark blotches were beginning to show through his new khaki suit. Why had he let himself get roped into this? He didn’t even know these people—Catherine something-or-other, the daughter of Aunt Helen’s boss, and the supposedly handsome hunk she had snared. Poor sap.

The organist struck a loud chord. Jake stood along with the others, fanned his opened jacket against his soggy shirt and started calculating how much longer before he could be on his way. He’d drive Aunt Helen to the reception, grab a brew or two and sit with her through dinner as promised. Sounded like at least three hours. Unless he could find her a ride…

Aunt Helen jabbed her elbow into his side and for a guilty second he thought she’d read his mind. She nodded her head toward the aisle. Behind him he heard the slow, rhythmic swishing of fabric skimming the surface of the white runner. The naturally rebellious part of him wanted to stare straight ahead and ignore convention, but with a resigned sigh he turned to the right and cast an aloof look up the aisle.

That’s when he saw her. The bride drew closer, almost in slow motion, the surreal moment isolating each frame. He stared shamelessly at her long, black lashes blinking over humongous baby blues. Flawless skin radiated a healthy glow. Another step and her smile widened, exposing perfect white teeth. Then, two rows from him, her eyes met his. And in that brief instant, behind the perfect facade, he saw a hint of what was to come. A chill shot down his damp shirt. He tried to get another read, but she drifted past him.

Jake focused on her silky black hair swaying below a cloud of puffy white netting, wishing he knew what to make of her expression and wondering if anyone else had seen it. He didn’t think it was wedding day jitters. He’d seen that look before. It was more like confusion bordering on panic—a feeling he could relate to this very moment.

Finally she reached the altar and turned to the tall man who had been waiting for her. Jake stiffened. It was as if someone were holding a photo in front of him asking “What’s wrong with this picture?” Zooming in for a closeup he noticed the groom’s possessive smile. Instantly Jake knew the answer. How he knew or why he cared, he wasn’t certain. But in his gut he knew he was right. This man was not right for this woman. And somewhere deep inside the bride knew it, too.

Jake stood there, mouth agape, until he realized everyone else had sat down. Quickly he dropped into the pew, reality trying to worm its way back in but not succeeding. As the vows rolled on he replayed the scene over and over. That face, those eyes…

“I now pronounce you husband and wife.” The minister’s words pierced Jake’s fog. He watched the pair smile at each other once again. “You may kiss the bride.”

The organist pounded out another earsplitting refrain. A beat slower than the others Jake stood, this time refusing to look beyond his hands gripping the pew in front of him. When their turn came to exit he took Aunt Helen’s elbow and shuffled out behind the excited crowd, feeling exhausted and emotionally spent.

A welcome July breeze greeted them as they walked down the church steps. Jake inhaled deeply and let out a long, hot breath, trying to find his old prehallucinatory self. He’d just about succeeded when a handful of something bounced off his chest and landed at his feet. He stared down at the tiny particles, expecting to find rice. Instead he saw bird seed.

“How appropriate!” he muttered under his breath. This whole scene was for the birds. He eyed the parking lot. His topless Jeep was sandwiched between two BMWs, reminding him this wasn’t his world and he was wasting his time trying to figure it out. Suddenly eager to move on to the reception and a cold beer, he looked down at Aunt Helen. She was still watching the maudlin parade, dabbing her cheeks with a lace-edged hankie. Jake turned and walked a few steps, hoping Aunt Helen would get the hint, but she didn’t budge. Patience exhausted he went back, hooked his arm in hers, and guided her to his Jeep.

Jake loosened his tie, fighting the urge to take it off and strangle his dear, sweet aunt. Thank God dinner was nearly over. How much longer could he pretend not to notice her meaningful glances—the ones that said “Why can’t you find a wonderful bride?”

Wonderful bride. Now there’s an oxymoron!

He rocked back in his chair and tried looking at the bright side. The chow had been better than usual and the drinks were free and plentiful. Best of all, he’d found a ride home for Aunt Helen. A few more polite minutes and he was out of here.

What on earth had come over him in that church tonight? he wondered, stealing another glimpse at Catherine what’s-her-new-name, then quickly looking away. The tinkling sound of silverware against glass meant Mr. Wrong would have his tongue halfway down her throat any second and he didn’t want to watch.

Musicians caught his eye in the far corner and he shifted in his chair for a better view. He folded his arms against his chest. This wasn’t at all like him. If anybody at a wedding deserved sympathy it was the poor, delusional groom, not the bride.

In spite of himself he looked back at the head table where the groom was kissing his way down the row of bridesmaids, lingering especially long with the all-too-eager buxom blonde on the far end. Catherine seemed to be taking it all in stride, smiling and sipping champagne. Tuxedoed waiters hustled around obstructing his view, but each time the path cleared, his focus returned to her full lips, playing at the edge of the crystal flute.

Before long, not remembering asking or accepting, Jake found himself waltzing with Aunt Helen and wondering why in the hell he hadn’t left yet. Two more beers and an hour later he was still asking that same question. He reminded himself his aunt had a ride home. Spotting her now halfway across the room, she seemed to be having the time of her life without his help. So what strange, masochistic impulse kept him in this place? It was too late to head down to Tiger Stadium. But that wasn’t it. For some unknown reason he wanted to see this through to the end.

After awhile he lost track of the newly weds and just went with the flow. Unattached males were in a minority so he found himself on the dance floor often, doing his basic clutch-and-shuffle, more than once with the tipsy blond bridesmaid who propped her Dolly Parton’s on his chest for balance.

About eleven Jake sat one out, idly wondering where Dolly had gone but not really caring. He glanced around and spotted Catherine gliding gracefully across the dance floor, sans hubby. The temptation was stronger than ever to ask her for a dance. Why not? Every other guy in the room had had a whirl. Instead Jake slouched in his chair. He didn’t trust himself. If he ever got her in his arms he’d tell her what a colossal mistake she was making—probably not what a bride wanted to hear on her wedding night. He continued to watch, unable to take his eyes off her as she approached the bandstand. The minister slowed her progress, but only momentarily. She snatched the paper he held in his hand, then moved purposefully to the microphone.

Slowly Catherine turned, the rosy glow in her cheeks all but gone. She motioned for the band to stop playing. “I want to thank you for coming.” She paused and sucked in air. “You’re all welcome to stay and enjoy yourselves for as long as you like…but I’m leaving.”

As the crowd quieted, the nervous bride seemed to be stretching herself taller, mustering courage. Jake straightened in his chair, sensing something had run amok.

Then it hit him.

She’d said I’m leaving, not we’re. Where was Studly? Quickly Jake scanned the room while the bride continued.

“If you brought a gift tonight, please take it home with you.” There was a collective intake of air from the hushed crowd. Jake abandoned his search and stared at Catherine incredulously. Seeming determined to finish what she had started, she rushed on. “Those who sent something to the house, I’ll see that your gifts are returned.”

Jake followed her nervous glance to the table at the edge of the dance floor. Catherine’s mother was clinging to her husband’s arm like a lifeline and the older woman with a corsage sitting next to her began to weep.

The bride averted her gaze from her loved ones to an anonymous spot on the opposite wall. “The reason I’m leaving is that my husband—” she spat out the word “—of three hours and twenty minutes—” she made a dramatic show of consulting her watch “—is out in the parking lot with one of my bridesmaids…starting the honeymoon without me.” On that note, with back straight and head high, she crumpled the paper in her hand and made for the nearest exit.

The door no sooner closed behind the bride when pandemonium reached ten on the Richter scale. While some openly cried and others expressed anger or shock, it was all Jake could do not to jump up and shout, “Bravo!”

It might have taken her awhile, but Catherine had finally discovered what he’d known from the first. The groom was a jerk. She deserved better.

A little voice inside added Yeah, someone better—like yourself. He drowned the nasty thought with a last swallow of beer and stood. He found Aunt Helen a few tables away, wide-eyed and excited, huddled with her ride home. Her hands were moving as fast as her lips and neither stopped when Jake approached. He bussed her cheek, then pushed his way through the confusion, feeling an urgency he couldn’t explain. He didn’t know what he was going to do or say but he had to find Catherine before anyone else did— this perfect and innocent creature—help her through this embarrassing ordeal, make her see the Fates had actually smiled on her.

It wasn’t hard to spot all that white in the middle of the clear, dark night. She was pivoting wildly between two rows of parked cars, fists clenched. He expected to see flames shooting from her nostrils any second. He approached cautiously, wondering if she was looking for hubby, though he hadn’t noticed any rocking vehicles, nor arms or legs protruding from unusual places. Then he understood the problem.

Where would a bride put car keys in a getup like that?

His role clearer now, he closed the space between them quickly, moving within a yard of her back before speaking. “Can I give you a ride somewhere?”

She spun around. “Who the hell are you?”

The sweet, innocent part of his fantasy launched itself to Pluto. This was clearly a woman capable of taking care of herself. Not to be deterred he held out his hand.

“Jake…Jake Alley.” His hand hung out there. Naked. Exposed. She stared at it but didn’t touch it. If she had he was certain it would blister. Slowly he slipped it into his pocket and tried to appear nonchalant. “I just thought under the circumstances you might need a lift.” She was still breathing rapidly. “Unless, of course, you have keys—” she seemed to waiver for a moment “—or you want to go back inside and find some.”

That did it. He had her now.

“I don’t even know you.” There was a slight pout on those great lips.

“That’s okay…I don’t know you, either.” He turned and walked toward his Jeep. The sound of rustling material and clicking heels followed.

Jake opened his door and hopped in. He reached across the passenger seat and shoved open the opposite side. Catherine stood there glaring at him with a look that could send a pit bull whimpering into the corner. Then she turned, hiked up her big skirt, stepped backward onto the running board and jumped into the seat. She landed with a whoosh atop yards of satin, lace and what-all and Jake grinned.

She rotated in her seat and looked at him, catching his amused expression. He fully expected another angry outburst but, instead, she jammed the balled paper down the front of her dress, then ripped off her headpiece and tossed it in the back. Next she ruffled her hair, letting it fall loose around her face. Then she shot both arms straight up into the exposed night air and tilted her face to the moon, holding the pose for what seemed like the longest time.

Finally she dropped her arms into her lap and turned to Jake. “Well? What are you waiting for? Let’s go!”

Jake threw the gearshift in reverse and left a patch of rubber as he rounded the corner heading for Woodward Avenue and downtown Detroit. When he glanced at his passenger she was gripping the roll bar and eyeing him critically.

“Late for an appointment?” she asked, not hiding her disapproval.

“New suit,” he smirked. “Didn’t want blood all over it…duking it out with your husband.” She rolled her eyes and faced forward, hair blowing out behind her, and he thought she looked more beautiful than when she’d walked down the aisle.

What in Sam Hill was he thinking? No matter how women came packaged, they were all basically the same. He eased up on the accelerator and reminded himself of previous experiences that bore out that sentiment. Images of Sally and her slick attorney were never far below the surface. He indulged his anger a few moments before braving another glimpse at Catherine.

When he finally looked, her head was lolled to one side, eyes closed. He wondered what kind of woman could sleep at a time like this? But then she spoke.

“He’s not actually my husband.”

“Really?” He pictured the pricey Townsend Hotel they’d just left. “Kinda expensive rehearsal, don’t you think?”

She shot him an exasperated look. “You know what I mean…” Her voice trailed off as she turned her face to the far side. “…no consummation, no marriage.”

Jake thought about the groom, Studly. He had consummated. Did that mean he was married but Catherine wasn’t? He decided she probably wouldn’t appreciate his humor so he bit his tongue and kept driving.

“Besides,” she continued, sounding as if she were talking more to herself than to him. “We never completed the paperwork. The minister was trying to get us all together…that’s when I went looking for…”

Jake glanced at her. She was staring intently at the dashboard. Then she turned to him.

“Do you suppose that means I’m not actually married?”

What did he look like—a lawyer? Heaven forbid. “Interesting question,” he said, and wondered if she could be right. The light ahead turned red and he rolled to a stop.

A convertible full of teenage girls pulled alongside. Apparently spotting the mound of white surrounding his passenger, they started leaning on the horn. Jake pretended not to notice the kisses being blown in their direction and the clanking of keys against pop cans in the familiar symbolic gesture. Catherine slumped lower in her seat and groaned. For a crazy second he thought about planting a big, sloppy kiss on the bride and giving the girls the show they wanted. The light turned green and he stepped on the gas.

At the next crossing he turned right, pulled to an abrupt stop behind a vacant office building, and turned to her. “Isn’t it time you got out of that dress?”

Her eyes widened. She turned away and jerked at the locked handle, ready to take flight.

Jake grabbed her arm and held tight. “Whoa…I didn’t mean here.” She tugged her arm free and rubbed it, still looking wary. “For God’s sake, I’m not Jack the Ripper.”

“Right,” she said, and he saw her begin to relax, traces of a smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. “How stupid of me. It’s Jake the Ripper, isn’t it?”

In spite of himself he laughed and was rewarded with another glimpse of those perfect teeth. He studied her a moment, then slowly backed out onto the street.

Another time, another place, maybe…

He stopped at the corner. “Okay. Where to?”

“Back the way we came. About a half mile past is my maid-of-honor’s house. I left a change of clothes there…and my suitcases for…”

For the first time he heard a quiver in her voice and he could almost feel her spirit float away with her unfinished words.

She didn’t speak again until they neared their destination. “Next right. Second block, fourth house on the left,” she said economically, then fell silent again.

He pulled up in front of a cozy Cape Cod and left the engine idling. What now? he wondered. “Nice meeting you? Have a nice life? Tough break, kid, better luck next time?” Suddenly he realized he didn’t want to say goodbye and just drive off. For a fleeting second he let himself think she might be feeling the same way.

Hesitantly he draped an arm over the back of the seat. She turned and looked him straight in the eye. There was no evidence of tears, just an emptiness that seared right through him, stirring all those old he-man emotions. To hell with the new suit. He wanted to go back to the hotel and pound Studly to a bloody pulp.

Finally she said, “So…where you off to now?”

“Good question.” He tipped his head back and admired the sky, waiting for an answer to come. One place was obvious. He grabbed onto it and exhaled loudly. “Oh, I guess I’ll head over to Alley Cat.” He hoped for some sign of recognition, but when he heard none he looked over. She was staring out the front window and he wasn’t sure she’d heard him. “Ever go there?”

“Once.”

“What did you think of the place?” He couldn’t resist.

“I thought it was a perfect place for beauticians to meet wanna-be cowboys.” She didn’t even look at him, just opened her door, bunched up her dress and hopped out onto the perfectly manicured lawn. On the front steps she stopped and called over her shoulder. “Thanks for the ride, Jake.”

The key was in the corner of the window flower box where Becky always kept it. Catherine shook off a clump of dirt and inserted it into the lock. Once inside she shut the door behind her, leaned against it and heard the Jeep pull away. She filled her lungs with air, closed her eyes, and let out a long, slow breath.

No! She wouldn’t think about it now. She had to keep moving. Impatiently tugging at her back zipper, she ran up the stairs. If she hurried maybe she could be out of here before anyone arrived. This would be the first place they’d look.

She found the new smoky blue silk pants and matching top laid out on the bedspread where she’d left them. A pair of white sandals waited at the foot of the bed, a small white leather purse beside them. The dress fell in a heap at her feet, the balled paper in the bodice tumbling loose. She scooped it up and shoved it in her purse, then kicked the dress aside. She continued kicking it as she finished tucking the top into the pants, the phone propped between her ear and shoulder.

A gravelly voice came over the line. “North Oakland Taxi.”

“I’m a block north of Lincoln, east of Woodward. How fast can you get here?”

“Where ya goin’?”

She hadn’t thought that far. Once she was in the cab she’d figure out the next step. For now she’d tell him anything. “Downtown Detroit.”

Catherine gave the address, hung up and did a quick survey of the room. There were a couple of large suitcases by the door and a matching burgundy carry on. Ever since the first time her luggage had been lost on a buying trip three years ago, she’d always packed a change of clothes, swimsuit and all toiletries in her carryon. She eyed the suitcases a moment, remembering the hours of planning and shopping for just the right trousseau. Before the first tear could come she swallowed hard, flung the carryon over her shoulder and ran down the stairs.

For the first time she noticed the glow of a kitchen light and the note left on the counter. She looked out the front door. No sign of the cab yet. She debated a second, then headed for the note knowing what to expect.

The short message began “Dearest Cat and TJ—I’m so happy for both of you.” She turned the single page facedown and picked up the pen left beside it.

“Becky, have to be alone for a while—sure you understand. Please call Mom and Dad—tell them I’m okay.” A horn sounded out front and she scribbled a last line. “Tell them I’ll call tomorrow. Love, Cat.”

She flew down the walk and slid into the back of the cab. “Head south on Woodward. I’ll let you know where in a minute.”

Where could she go? Any decent hotel would do, but she wasn’t in the mood for a quiet, empty room. What sounded better was a noisy room full of strangers—someplace where she could get a good, stiff drink and feel sorry for herself. She opened her eyes and stared blindly at the passing blur of commercial buildings.

They were south of Twelve Mile Road before they caught a red light. The cabbie jerked to a stop, and she turned to see the flashing neon outline of a big cat just ahead.

Before she could think it through she heard herself say, “Let me out here.”

He pulled to the curb, braking hard, then turned to face her. “Ya sure about this?”

The meter read eight and a quarter. She slapped a ten into his hand, got out and the cab sped off. She hesitated at the entrance to the bar. Given her current choices she slung open the heavy wooden door and strode in.

Just as she suspected, a country-western band was keeping two-steppers happy in the center of the room. On the perimeter, boot-stomping spectators kept time at beercluttered tables. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear she was in Texas instead of Motown.

Slowly awakening from culture shock, she noted a few curious glances at her nondenim attire and shoulder-strap carryon. Self-conscience, she sauntered over to the bar on the right where a man she guessed to be in his late fifties sat in a wheelchair at the far end. There was an empty seat next to him. It appeared as safe of a place as any so she headed toward it.

“Excuse me,” she said, raising her voice over a nearby speaker. “Is anyone sitting here?”

The man smiled up at her. “You, I hope.”

The same words from anyone else might have sent her in the opposite direction, but this was the voice of a gentleman, one she sensed wanted a little company and nothing more. “Thank you.” She pulled out the stool and sat down.

Her gaze drifted slowly over the crowd, looking for that one familiar face. Why? she asked herself. Thought you wanted to be alone in a roomful of strangers? She continued to look, taking her time, telling herself it was something to do. Anything was better than thinking about the disaster she’d just left behind.

She thought about Jake for a second, remembering his rugged good looks—sun-streaked sandy hair that swept back from windburned cheeks and hung a couple inches below his too-tight collar. She kept searching, smiling at a sudden thought. He must have felt as out of place at the Townsend Hotel in his suit as she felt here in her designer silk.

Catherine scanned the entire room twice, then gave up, feeling an unexpected disappointment. She swiveled around and rested her elbows on the padded rolled edge of the table-high bar. Curious about the unusual height, she looked to her right and noticed taller stools and the traditionally higher counter at the opposite end. Interesting. Was this end designed for the handicapped? she wondered. Or was the split level simply a decorator’s idea to create a little interest. Whichever, she decided she liked it. She turned and smiled at the man in the wheelchair thinking he must like it, too. Then she let out a long sigh and glanced at her watch.

“Bartender!” The man shouted. “This pretty gal down here looks thirsty.”

Catherine stole a quick peek at his chair and noticed there were no legs hanging from beneath the brown cardigan draped across his lap. She wondered what misfortune had scarred this poor man’s life, but before she could think about it further, she saw a long, tanned arm slide a cocktail napkin in front of her.

“Well, well…slumming it tonight?”

Catherine looked up. “Jake!” She tried to hide the sudden rush of pleasure she felt at seeing him, but she wasn’t sure she pulled it off. What was he doing behind the bar? His suit coat and tie were gone, shirtsleeves rolled to the elbow.

“What can I get you?” He was smiling coyly, probably relishing her discomfort, she thought, remembering her snobby remark about this place earlier. Determined to act as if this were any other night, that nothing unusual had happened, she forced a smile and answered his question.

“Something cold, wet and fattening. Surprise me.” Jake flashed the okay sign and left. She stared after him a moment, then looked back to the man in the chair. His forehead was creased with curiosity.

“You know Jake?” he asked. “Don’t remember seeing you here before.”

“I’m not what you’d call a regular.” She swiveled toward him, still a little rattled at finding Jake behind the bar. “We just sort of ran into each other earlier. He said he might stop off here, but I didn’t realize he had to work.”

“He doesn’t have to…he wants to.”

She was about to ask what he meant when Jake returned.

“Here you go. Baileys on the rocks.”

She took a generous taste, then rolled her tongue over her lips. “Mmmm…good stuff.” She stared into his dark eyes, trying to read what was behind them. “How did you know I’d like Baileys?”

“After you do this job for as many years as I have, you know.”

Jake wandered down to the other end of the bar and Catherine’s shoulders sagged. Great! She just got dumped by a successful lawyer and she can’t think of anyone she’d rather be with than a career bartender. What sick twist of fate brought her to these crossroads? Behind her, the fiddler went crazy while the female vocalist drawled her sad lament. Catherine swirled her ice cubes and stared into the milky brown liquid. Maybe coming here wasn’t a good idea after all.

“I thought Jake was at a wedding tonight,” the man next to her said.

Catherine kept her face forward and took another sip before answering. “He was. The party ended early.” She played with her straw, then bit the end of it. Maybe if she went outside and let out a primal scream she’d feel better.

“Oh…then you were there, too, huh?”

A low chuckle emerged from the back of her throat. “Oh, yeah…I was there.” For the first time she tried to picture Jake at the reception. She thought she remembered him dancing near her once with a much older woman. She rotated her stool, deciding to take her mind off herself and fish for a few details. “You seem to know a lot about Jake. Was that his mother with him at the wedding?”

The gray-haired man shook his head, the smile leaving his eyes. “Not likely!” After a slight lapse, he said, “You must be talking about his Aunt Helen.”

Jake called down from the other end, “Ready for another Coke, Sarge?”

“Sure. And bring another for…” He looked at her and cocked an eyebrow.

“Catherine…Catherine Mason,” she said and smiled.

“…bring another for Catherine here. She’s dry.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Catherine.” The fleeting distraction she’d seen in his eyes a moment earlier had vanished, the twinkle returned. “If I had a couple good legs, I’d ask you to dance. Used to be pretty good at the two-step. Can you two-step?”

She laughed. “Afraid not.” She shook her head and laughed again at the mere idea. Then without much forethought she heard herself broach the delicate subject, embarrassed before she opened her mouth, but liberated by the accumulative effects of champagne and Baileys. “Sarge. Take it your name means you were in the army?” He nodded and she braved the next question. “Is that how…?” She looked down at his chair, then quickly back to his face and its pragmatic expression.

“Vietnam…another lifetime ago.”

Jake reappeared with their drinks and for a brief moment she thought she saw a silent exchange between the two men. In a flash, Jake was busy with another customer, acting as though she didn’t exist.

“So, Catherine, what do you do for a living?” Just like that, the subject of the war was over and the focus was back on her.

“I’m a buyer for Mason’s.” It was definitely time to leave.

“Buyer of clothes?” He was reassessing what she wore now.

She thought of the store, then co-worker Mary Beth—her last-minute substitute bridesmaid. She leaned her elbows on the bar. “That and other things.”

“By the looks of it, I’d say you must do well at your job.” He drank more Coke, then looked at the dance floor. Suddenly he waved his arm high in the air and motioned someone over, a look of recognition lighting his lined face. “Charlie! How you doin’?” he shouted over the guitar twang.

A good-looking cowboy about Jake’s age sauntered over. Charlie patted Sarge on the back, then pumped his hand vigorously. “Doin’ fine, Sarge. And you?”

“Couldn’t be better.” He looked at Catherine and extended his arm. “This here is Catherine. She’s a friend of Jake’s.”

Before she could dispute the “friend of Jake’s” line, Charlie grabbed her hand and shook it, a little more gently, and said howdy.

Sarge asked, “Got a date tonight, Charlie?”

“Nah. Just me and the boys.”

“Then why don’t you show Catherine here howda two-step. Jake’s kinda busy and I’m not much fun.”

Charlie took a step closer. With a smile wider than Texas, he extended his hand, palm up, and said, “Love to!”

“Oh, no!” Catherine shook her head and her hair flew side to side. “I couldn’t, but thanks for the offer.”

Charlie looked down at her left hand. “I see.”

She followed his gaze, stopping at the new diamondstudded band sparkling on her third finger. The anger she’d been denying for more than an hour finally broke the surface. In one quick motion she jerked off the ring and shoved it in her pants pocket. When she looked up the men were exchanging a knowing look.

“It’s…it’s not what you think,” she stammered. Neither of them looked convinced, but she wasn’t about to explain. Instead she stood and pressed her fists to her thighs. It was time to move. One way or the other, she had to expel this mounting energy raging behind her ribs. Her gaze darted to the door, then to the bustling dance floor. This place might not be the answer, but it beat standing alone on Woodward Avenue after dark.

She looked back at Charlie with his thumbs hooked in his belt loops. He eyed her warily. She’d probably regret this in the morning, but what the hell. She could add it to the list. “Is that dance lesson still open?”

Jake watched the pair laughing and twirling around on the dance floor, a sense of déjà vu stabbing at his gut. They’d been at it now for over an hour. What was she trying to do? Rub it in his face? Tease and flaunt until he jumped over the bar, picked her up and carried her off kicking and screaming? He dried the same glass for the third time, then slammed it down on the counter.

Damn! What was the matter with him? He had no claim on this woman. Besides, she barely knew he was alive. She was simply here to forget her troubles like everyone else in the place. Under the circumstances how could he blame her?

The band took a break and Jake watched Catherine lead Charlie back to Sarge, who seemed to be having a vicarious good time. More than once since Catherine arrived, Jake thought about telling the old guy what happened to her tonight, but discretion won out.

He checked his watch: one-thirty. Time for last call. By the sway in Catherine’s walk he hoped she didn’t ask for another. Between dances she’d been slamming back Baileys as if they were milk shakes.

Jake walked over to Tom at the service bar. “Mind closing up alone?”

“No problem, Jake. Thanks for sticking around. When Tim called in sick I thought I’d be stuck here alone all night. I owe ya one, guy.”

“I’ll remember that.” Jake smiled, patting Tom on the shoulder before heading back to the trio at the other end. Charlie was hanging over Catherine, practically drooling, and Sarge was laughing heartily at something she’d said.

Trying to appear uninterested, Jake strolled out from behind the bar. He stopped behind Charlie and spoke softly near his ear. “Too bad you have to leave now, my friend.”

Charlie looked over his shoulder ready to protest when he met Jake’s direct stare. Jake glanced in Catherine’s direction, then quickly back to Charlie. Charlie got the message. Loud and clear.

“See ya around, Sarge, Catherine,” Charlie said, his disappointment showing.

Catherine turned abruptly and looked up. For a moment Jake thought she might fall off the stool. “You can’t go, Charlie. Who am I going to dance with?”

Jake stepped between them and took her hand as the band began its last short set. “Guess you’ll have to settle for me.” He gave her a not-too-gentle tug and she stumbled behind him onto the dance floor. When he spun around to face her he pulled her close and she landed hard against the length of him, but not without a giggle.

She snuggled her head against his shoulder and made a mewing noise into his chest. Her arm was draped loosely around his neck. It felt as though she might fall asleep any second. He tightened his grip, knowing he should take her home, but enjoying the feel of her far too much to leave.

It was hot under the dance floor lights, just as it had been hot in the church earlier, but a chill passed through him when he pictured her then…and now in his arms. What was it about this woman that made him feel so protective? He’d seen enough to know she could take care of herself. Still…

The slow dance ended and as much as he wanted another he stepped back. He caught her hand in his when it slid off his shoulder. Her eyes were closed and she was listing to port. Gently he turned her toward Sarge, slipping his arm around her shoulder and guiding her back to her stool. When they arrived, Catherine made no effort to move. With his arm still around her Jake shuffled his feet in front of Sarge, feeling like an adolescent on his first date. He cleared his throat.

“I’m going to take this young lady home. Need a ride?”

“Nope. Charlie’s bringing his car around. Said he’d give me a lift.” He waved Jake off with the back of his hand and a sly wink. Jake picked up Catherine’s white purse and turned her toward the door. Halfway there Catherine stopped.

“Carryon…I brought a carryon….”

Jake looked over his shoulder and saw the burgundy bag under the stool. “Stay right here. I’ll get it.” Jake propped her against a wall and walked back.

Charlie had returned and was unlocking Sarge’s wheelchair. He stopped and poked Jake in the side with an elbow. In a stage whisper, he said, “I do all the work. You get all the fun.”

Another time, another woman, Jake might have let Charlie think what he wanted. “It’s not how it looks, buddy. Someday I’ll fill you in.” With that, he returned to Catherine and slowly eased her outside and into his Jeep.

About a mile up the road she finally spoke. “Didn’t we do this part already?”

He glanced at her quickly. Her eyes were closed, head tilted back, hair blowing helter-skelter.

Before he could comment, she said, “I like your Jeep.” From the corner of his eye he could see her turn toward him. “And I like you too, Jake. You’re a nice guy…you know that?”

He wanted to believe she meant it and would remember her words tomorrow, but he knew it was the booze talking now.

“Where we going?” she asked, not sounding as if she really cared.

“Toot’s Diner. I need some chow and you need some coffee.”

Another mile and he pulled into the restaurant parking lot, hopped out and ran to the other side before his passenger could fall on her face trying to maneuver on her own. She accepted his hand with a teasing smile and fell against him.

“Oops!” She giggled and righted herself.

When they slid into the booth nearest the door a minute later, Jake saw a waitress eyeing him. She came over with a pair of menus and shot him a judgmental look. Why is it all women assume the guy is some lech ready to pounce on some poor, helpless female? This female was hardly helpless. And by the looks of everything, not poor, either. He shoved the menus aside and ignored them along with the waitress’s scowl.

“We’ll have a couple orders of eggs, ham and toast. Make mine overeasy with rye.” He looked at Catherine. Her eyes were at half-mast; she seemed dazed. “How do you want yours?”

“Scrambled. Whole wheat,” she said in a monotone.

The waitress started to leave. Jake called after her. “And lots of coffee, please…soon.” She looked back, her lips a hard, straight line. Jake winked and flashed a toothy smile.

Catherine didn’t say a word. She slumped deeper in the booth, the back of her head pressed against the cushion, a cheek resting on her shoulder. Jake watched her doze, wondering if he should wake her and force some coffee down, or let her sleep. When the aroma of hot food and the noise of sliding plates didn’t budge her, he decided he had to say something.

“Wake up, sleeping beauty. Chow time.” He drank his coffee and watched her come around. She looked ghastly. Her complexion matched the pale green upholstery. He’d seen the signs often enough to know what was coming. Sure enough, she struggled to an upright position and moaned aloud, clasping her head with both hands. She took one whiff of the food, then slid quickly from the booth.

Jake pointed. “Down that hall, on the right.” He watched her snake a path to the ladies’ room and debated whether he should follow. Nah. There were some things a person preferred doing in private.

Ten minutes later Jake was just about to send the waitress in after her when Catherine emerged. Her mascara was smudged, her face wet and pale, but she walked straighter than when she’d left. It’d been years since he’d pulled such a stunt, but he remembered the feeling all too well.

She avoided his eyes when she slid back into the booth and reached for her water. She took a sip, then looked at him sheepishly. “Do I look as bad as I feel?”

“Not quite.” Jake dipped the corner of a napkin into his water glass. He leaned across and started wiping away the black from beneath her lashes. She inched forward, staring back at him with such a soulful look that he wanted to slide in beside her, crush her against him and never let her go. Now he wished he’d gone back and taught Studly a lesson he’d never forget. How could any man throw away a woman like this?

When he tossed the napkin aside, Catherine grasped his hand with both of hers. For the first time he saw a hint of moisture pooling above her lower lashes. He watched, certain tears would spill any second, but they didn’t.

She raised her chin and blinked them back, then spoke in a barely audible whisper. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She picked up a piece of toast and started nibbling at it, testing the waters. When that worked she had some coffee and a little more toast, then more coffee. Eventually she looked at him and caught his smile. “What?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said.

“Come on. What were you thinking?” She smiled a weary smile, leaning heavily on her left elbow.

“I was thinking ‘She’s probably still drunk, but at least she’s a wide-awake drunk.’”

“Very funny.”

“You asked.”

“So…where do we go now?”

He liked the sound of the word we. “I was just going to ask you that question.”

She fell silent a moment, looking as if she hadn’t the foggiest notion. “I don’t want to go home, that’s for sure.” She pushed her plate aside, eggs untouched, and nursed her coffee. The waitress dropped the check on the table and scurried off. Catherine reached it first. Jake tugged at it but she wouldn’t let go.

“No. I insist,” she said, challenging him with an unexpected show of energy. She pulled it to her chest, then began rooting around inside her purse. A bulging envelope blocked her path. Annoyed, she slapped it on the table and continued foraging until she found some bills. She was about to return the envelope to her purse when she stopped, a look of inspiration spreading across her face. Then she tossed the opened envelope in front of Jake, encouraging him to read the contents with a wave of her hand.

“That’s where we’re going!” Seeming pleased with herself, she slid from the booth and headed for the cashier. Jake read enough to satisfy his curiosity, then scrambled to catch up with her. She’d already paid the tab and was on the way out the door. Without breaking stride she called over her shoulder, “What time is it?”

“Almost three-thirty.”

“We have to be at the airport at five-thirty.” She stopped alongside the Jeep and spun around, loosing her balance momentarily. Looking panicky, she studied his features. “Hair’s a little lighter and longer, but it’ll work.” She breathed a sigh of relief and jumped into the passenger seat.

Caught up in her enthusiasm Jake hustled to the other side and slid in.

“Do you live close by?” she asked breathlessly.

“Yes, but…”

She turned and faced him squarely, folding her arms in a mix of impatience and determination. “Look, Jake,” she started, looking angry. “It’s too late to change the name on everything. TJ’s birth certificate and photo ID are in the envelope. All you have to do is memorize his birth date and address. How difficult can that be?”

Nonplussed, Jake stared at her.

She relaxed her hands in her lap and smiled at him imploringly. “Well? Do you want to go to Jamaica with me or not?”

Jake turned the key in the ignition.

“Mommm…” Catherine rolled her eyes at Jake, who was leaning against the wall next to the airport pay phone, grinning. “Please stop crying. I’m okay. Really.” She looked down at her feet, feeling guilty for her mother’s pain.

“I know how humiliating it must have been for you and Daddy, but…” She wanted to say It was no picnic for me, either, but she let her mother prattle on, not wanting to say anything that would prolong the conversation. After listening to a long litany of who said what to whom following her hasty departure, she finally interrupted. “I need to speak with Daddy…yes, Mom. I love you, too.”

Catherine extracted the wadded paper from her purse and began smoothing out the wrinkles until she heard her father’s worried voice. She tolerated a few more platitudes, then heaved a sigh and asked her question. “I know this is a terrible imposition, but could you call your lawyer and ask him something for me?” Quickly she explained the unsigned marriage license in her hand and agreed to call him back in a couple of days for the answer.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

He began again in what sounded like a long lecture and Catherine shot Jake another exasperated look.

“Sorry, Daddy, they’re boarding my plane…have to run. We’ll have a nice long talk when I get back.” A moment later she hung up the phone and exhaled a loud sigh.

Jake hadn’t moved. His arms were folded and he had that same silly grin plastered on his face.

“Now what’s so funny?”

He pushed off the wall. “Nothing at all. This kind of thing happens to me all the time. How ‘bout you?”

Catherine couldn’t help but smile. “I guess this is a little bizarre,” she said, picking up her carryon and walking toward the gate. “I wonder how many brides have gone on their honeymoon with someone besides the groom?”

Jake walked close behind her and whispered discreetly over her shoulder. “Probably the same number as men who went with brides that weren’t their own.”

Catherine swallowed a chuckle, suddenly feeling wicked and, much to her surprise, a little excited. Maybe this wasn’t such a crazy idea after all, she mused. Besides, there was a good chance she wasn’t anybody’s “bride,” that she was actually a free woman. As long as Jake remembered this was a platonic vacation, maybe Jamaica could be more than a convenient escape. Maybe it could actually be fun.

An hour and a half after takeoff Catherine picked at her second breakfast of the morning, still feeling queasy, when the practical side of her took over. Using the most businesslike tone she could muster, she began laying out the ground rules to her traveling companion. They’d come and go as they pleased without checking with each other, taking meals together as the mood moved them, but with no obligations. Strictly a business arrangement. No hanky-panky.

“There’s a master bedroom and a parlor with a hide-abed.” She nibbled at her dry toast and thought about offering Jake the bed, but reconsidered. After all, she’d paid for this whole trip, thanks to her offer to pay for everything by credit card and get reimbursed from TJ later. The least she could do for herself now was take the bed. Besides, as nice as Jake had been so far, he was still a man, and men were on her lower-than-slime list today.

When she fell silent Jake took the lead. “I’ll use the hide-a-bed. You can have the bed.” He’d polished off his eggs and sausage with ease. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and returned the no-nonsense look she’d been giving him for the last ten minutes. “I have no problem with your conditions, but I have one of my own.”

She waited, curious what it might be.

“I insist on paying half of all expenses.”

She opened her mouth to protest but thought better of it. Even a bartender had his pride. It wasn’t her problem how he’d come up with the money. She held out her hand. “It’s a deal.”

Jake clasped it and shook it firmly just as the flight attendant retrieved their trays. He released his grip in time to salvage his coffee. “I’d like more when you get a chance.” He smiled up at the pretty redhead whose eyes betrayed a more than passing interest. The woman lingered in the aisle making small talk.

Catherine felt a twinge of something resembling jealousy. Quickly she shook herself and found a paperback in her bag. Before she finished the first paragraph of her new Janet Dailey novel, the flight attendant was back refilling Jake’s cup.

After she left, Catherine watched Jake from the corner of her eye. He slurped from his steaming cup, then reached for the Wall Street Journal tucked in the seat pocket in front of him. Catherine bit her top lip to keep from laughing. Who was he kidding? She’d bet her grandmother’s pearls that he didn’t know the difference between junk bonds and junk mail. This trip was going to be fun.

Three hours into the flight, when they ran into turbulence, Catherine’s stomach lurched and any idea of fun vanished.

God! How she’d be glad when this ride was over. Motion sickness had never been a problem before. But then she’d never had so much alcohol before, either. Another thing she could thank TJ for—if she ever spoke to him again.

TJ. She’d refused to dwell on him since leaving the reception, but now her mind drifted in that direction, the book on her lap long forgotten. She leaned back in the seat and felt the cool air on her face, not ready to deal with the past, but unable to put it out of her head.

They’d grown up together, their families having been close since before they were born. It was natural for everyone to push them together. They were both intelligent, educated, ambitious and—probably too important to both families—well-heeled. Money would never have been an issue between them. They each brought their share to the table.

TJ’s philandering was no secret to her. In high school and college she was the one he had told his secrets to, sparing no details of his outrageous behavior. But when their friendship had turned to romance, she thought all that had changed, that he would never cheat on her. Especially on their wedding night!

So, she asked herself, how did she really feel about all this? The first word that came to mind was stupid. TJ had made a fool of her, embarrassed her in such grand fashion that she wondered how she could ever face all those people who witnessed her humiliation. Of course, she reminded herself, they never would’ve known what he’d done if she hadn’t stood there in front of God and everyone and told them. But she had to. She wanted everyone to know it was TJ’s fault the marriage had ended before it began. She wanted him to pay the price for his inexcusable behavior. A slow smile spread across her lips. If only she could have seen what happened when he returned to the banquet room. There probably wasn’t a soul there who had a kind word for him. Even his experience as a smooth-talking lawyer couldn’t have bailed him out of that mess.

A half hour later Catherine was still picturing TJ and Mary Beth trying to cover their tracks, letting her imagination run wild, when she felt the plane touch down in Montego Bay. She looked to her right and saw Jake dozing, his seat upright and belt fastened. And for the first time she wondered what kind of man would drop everything and fly off this way. As if looking for a clue she studied his relaxed face. It was handsome in a rugged kind of way—tanned, with white squint lines at the corners of his eyes. His nose was a little large, but it seemed to fit his long, angular face. His sandy hair was a little long, too, brushing the collar of his blue chambray shirt. She let her gaze drift south to his jeans. Flat stomach, nice…

“See anything you like?”

Startled, Catherine shifted in her seat, feeling heat rush to her cheeks. She looked into his mocking brown eyes, then quickly away. “I was just looking at what you were wearing. I knew you changed clothes when you stopped by your place, but I didn’t pay much attention at the time.”

“Don’t you mean you were out cold when I got back to the Jeep?”

She could feel his stare, but she refused to look him in the eye. “I was catching a little catnap, that’s all,” she insisted, thinking she sounded a tad too defensive.

“Right.” The plane rolled to a stop and Jake stood into the aisle. He retrieved their bags from the overhead compartment, handing Catherine hers and positioning his duffel over one shoulder.

Catherine followed him down the portable steps, the hot wind billowing her pant legs, a length of hair blowing across her eyes. Before they reached the terminal she felt the moisture on her skin and the humidity curling the hair on her neck. They passed through immigration uneventfully and, having no baggage to claim, went directly to the row of shuttle buses.

The tags on their carryons identified their point of destination and a driver waved them in his direction.

“This is your lucky day,” he said in his lilting Jamaican patois as they boarded. “You are my only two passengers this morning…so we con go right away.” He settled into the driver’s seat, then looked back at them. “You are Mr. and Mrs. Miller, am I correct?”

Catherine didn’t want to see the expression on Jake’s face. She despised being called Mrs. Miller. Today of all days. She could imagine how Jake felt about being called Mr. Miller. “You have the right couple,” she said to the friendly driver, forcing a smile.

Satisfied, he started the van and made his way around haggard-looking travelers and a maze of buses and other vehicles until finally he pulled onto the narrow two-lane road heading west for Negril, their home for the next seven days.

And seven nights.

Nearly two hours later, when they inched their way around a last stray cow and turned into the circular driveway, the thought of sharing a room with this virtual stranger became more of a reality. Catherine eyed the entrance to their resort. A large flower-engulfed ceramic sign spelled out its name.

Decadence II.

What kind of place was called Decadence II? she thought as she stepped from the van. And what happened to Decadence I? She shook her legs and stretched, glad to be on solid ground again, though still reticent about her surroundings.

She’d let TJ make all the arrangements once they’d agreed on Jamaica. All she’d done was pick up the tickets. Now she wished she’d been less involved with her job and paid more attention to this trip. She paused under the large, open archway, then followed Jake inside.

They went through the business of registration, tolerating the “Mr. and Mrs. Miller” routine one more time, then wandered down the tropical, plant-lined path to their room. Catherine noticed scantily clad guests roaming the grounds and was instantly relieved. At least they were clothed. This wasn’t a nudist camp.

What started as a lark last night, felt more like a trip to the dentist chair by the time the porter deposited their bags inside the suite and left them alone, staring at the king-size bed. Her woozy stomach did another flip-flop. What on earth was she doing at a place like this with a man she barely knew? Maybe he really was Jake the Ripper. How did she know?

Catherine busied herself with her carryon, hoping to take her mind off the bed. It didn’t take long to unpack since she only had a swimsuit, sandals, one shorts set and toiletries. On the walk to the room she remembered passing a couple of boutiques. She debated whether now was a good time to go shopping. Truthfully she’d rather take a nap, but not with this man lurking around. Restless, she grabbed her shorts, went into the bathroom and locked the door.

When she emerged a few minutes later, hair pulled back and feeling cooler, she looked toward the open door wall. Jake was standing in the same spot, thumbs hooked in his back jeans pockets, studying the scenery. She decided to see what was so enthralling and moved beyond him, out onto the shaded patio.

A gentle breeze stirred coconut palms, the sound reminding her at once that she was truly on vacation. There was nothing as peaceful and soothing to a midwesterner, she thought, as the sights and sounds of palm trees. She let them work their magic, lifting her cheeks to the warm rays that peeked through overhead branches. Smiling, she gazed down the sprawling, sandy beach to the majestic Caribbean beyond. Colorful sails of vivid red, blue, orange and yellow tilted gently with the wind on the blue-green horizon. A few small whitecaps tumbled lazily toward shore and she could feel the tension starting to ebb with each new wave. Maybe she was being silly to worry. This Jake person seemed harmless enough.

Her vision narrowed as she watched a swimmer emerge from the water. His tanned, oil-slick body was young and firm and…naked. She gasped and turned away quickly, feeling a rush of heat on her face when she passed Jake. She ignored his devilish grin and went back inside, willing to bet anything he wouldn’t let the moment pass without some smart aleck remark. And she was right.

“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Never seen one of those before?”

She wanted to say “One of what?” but she knew exactly what he meant and wouldn’t dignify his question with an answer. Instead she turned and headed for the door, calling over her shoulder, “Have fun playing voyeur. I’m going shopping.” She grabbed a key off the dresser and left the room.

A nude beach. Just what she needed. If TJ were here, she’d ring his selfish neck. She adjusted the shoulder strap on her purse and headed for the Logo Shop, determined not to let it get to her. When it was time for the beach, she’d wear her bikini and ignore the exhibitionists, that’s all.

Jake watched Catherine stride down the path, her ponytail swinging behind her, and the uneasiness he felt last night returned. What was it about this woman that unnerved him so? He’d been with his share of beautiful women, so it wasn’t just her good looks. There was something more. That damnable little voice inside kept saying crazy things such as This is the one. Whose voice was that, anyway? Certainly not Jake Alley’s. He was far too cynical to believe in…in what? Love at first sight? He harrumphed and turned away from the door wall.

Why on earth was he here? What had possessed him to take off with a woman he didn’t even know? It wasn’t his job to protect her. Still, someone had to. She was bound and determined to come down here. After what she’d been through, he couldn’t let her take off to some faraway island by herself. Could he?

He pulled swim trunks out of his duffel and changed into them. It had been years since he’d had a real vacation and he’d certainly earned one, but the timing couldn’t be worse—what with Sally and her pin-striped lawyer leaning on him.

No, damn it. He wouldn’t let those vultures ruin a few days in the sun. The problem would just have to wait.

He turned and left the room. A good swim in the ocean would cool him off, in more ways than one.

A towel slung over his shoulder, he trotted barefoot down to the hot sand and found an empty chaise. One quick look around and he made his decision. He peeled off his trunks, walked several yards beyond the breakers and then dived into the tepid salt water, taking several long pulls before coming to the surface for air.

An hour later, Catherine flung her packages across the bed and kicked her sandals off, looking anxiously around the two rooms. He was nowhere in sight. Good. She shed her shorts and tank top and darted for the shower.

She rinsed quickly, toweled dry and returned to the bedroom, impatient for the feel of cool sheets against her warm skin. She removed her purchases from the bed thinking she’d put them away later, when suddenly the door opened behind her.

She swung around and glared at the familiar figure. “Next time, knock first,” she snapped, tugging at her skimpy towel.

“Next time, dress in the bathroom.” Jake sauntered in, also wrapped in a towel, and headed for the adjacent room, smiling broadly as he passed. That’s when she noticed he held his swim trunks in his left hand. It only took a second to figure out what he’d been up to. She stared at the parlor door after it closed between them.

Who was this man? And what had she gotten herself into now?

From behind the door, he called out to her. “The bartender at the beach said orientation is poolside at six. I’m going to catch a few zees till then.” When she didn’t respond, he added, “You can let go of your towel now…I’ll knock before I come out.”

Catherine looked down at the towel and her clenched fist and wished she could punch him with it. He seemed to be enjoying her embarrassment way too much—first, her disastrous wedding, then a bout of vomiting, now her nakedness, save for this scrap of terry cloth. Not to mention her hair was a mess and not a stitch of makeup remained. She glanced in the bureau mirror and grimaced.

Wait a minute. Why did she care what she looked like? He was only Jake the wanna-be cowboy. Jake whom she would never see again once they returned to Detroit.

Yes, sir. When she got home, things were going to be different. No man, especially the likes of Jake Alley, was ever going to get between her and her goals.

She turned and frowned. What goals? Before Saturday night she thought she knew exactly where she was headedmarried to a successful lawyer with political aspirations. How often she’d pictured herself at his side, fashionable, friendly and a dynamo at fund-raising. With TJ’s intelligence and charisma and her genuine interest in people and their plights, his rise could have been meteoric. Her shoulders sagged. Now it all seemed frivolous. Even her job. Buying trips to Paris, London and New York may have sounded glamorous and looked good on her resume, but in truth she hated it.

She eyed the connecting door, feeling frustrated and weary. Then she threw the towel to the floor, found a new knee-length T-shirt in one of the bags, pulled it over her head and jumped between the sheets. A little sleep and she’d feel much better. Then she’d start working on a plan for the future—one where her dreams and needs came first, not one where she was merely a fixture on some man’s arm.

But as much as her body was ready for rest, her mind wasn’t. Her lids were no sooner shut than she remembered TJ smiling down at her at the altar. TJ mouthing his lies of till death do us part. TJ with Mary Beth in the back seat of his Lincoln. How could he do such a thing? If he wasn’t ready to settle down, why did he go through with the wedding? And Mary Beth. They weren’t the closest of friends but they did work together well. She had seemed so eager to help when Catherine’s cousin became pregnant and bowed out of the bridal party. If there hadn’t been a substitution, would any of this have happened?

A lump rose in her throat and she swallowed hard. TJ wasn’t worth her tears. Besides, who was she kidding? If it hadn’t happened last night, it would have later—maybe after children. She couldn’t wait to talk with her father and find out if she was really married to the jerk. She rolled over and punched the pillow and tried thinking of something else. Anything.

The first thing that came to mind was Alley Cat and a small chuckle released the tension in her throat. She thought of Sarge. Such a nice man. And Charlie…two-stepping, laughing. Had she actually had a good time at a place like that?

Then there was Jake. She felt her limbs start to mold to the mattress as she hummed a nameless country ballad. She was nestled against his chest, feeling light…and safe. .and cared for…

Jake woke with a start not certain where he was. Through a slit in the drapes a palm branch swayed. Then he remembered. He lay there a moment and thought about the impulsive decision he’d made at the restaurant this morning. Yesterday at this time he didn’t even know this woman named Catherine…Catherine…

He laughed aloud at his own folly. He didn’t even know her last name. If it wasn’t Miller, then what was it?

He threw his legs over the side of the hide-a-bed and arched his back. A week of this mattress and he’d be crawling to the beach. He’d have to check with the front desk and see about a room of his own, one with a real bed. He’d better call Alley Cat, too, and let them know he’d be gone all week.

He pushed off the bed and strolled to the window, parting the heavily lined drapes and letting the late-afternoon sun spill into the room. Regardless of how he ended up here he was long overdue for a vacation. And this was as good a place as any. Probably better than most he might have chosen. If he was going to spend the week watching over Catherine what’s-her-name, the least he could do was relax and enjoy himself.

A schooner, anchored a few hundred yards out, caught his eye and he wished he was on it. Eager to get a closer look, he found his binoculars in the duffel, donned a pair of cutoffs and a Detroit Tigers tank top, then rapped softly on the connecting door. No answer. He put an ear to it and listened. Nothing. He knocked again louder. Finally, assuming she had gone out, he turned the handle and strode in.

Catherine was curled on her side, covers kicked to the foot of the bed, her long legs golden brown against the stark white sheet. Her face was scrubbed free of makeup, giving her an innocent, vulnerable look, a face no less appealing than the model-perfect one he’d first seen coming down the aisle. In fact, he thought he liked this one better. He was studying her long black lashes when they fluttered, then opened to the size of quarters. She sprang up, her shirt riding higher on her thighs. Jake couldn’t help but look.

“What are you doing in here?” She scrambled to the foot of the bed and pulled the top sheet to her chest.

“I knocked and you didn’t answer,” Jake said, meeting her angry glare.

“I bet,” she snapped back. “With what—the pad of your little finger?”

“Look, I’m going down to the beach.” He glanced at his watch and stifled a smile. “Orientation is in half an hour. Maybe I’ll see you there.” He started for the door when she stopped him with another of her barbs.

“Be sure you get a good look.”

At first he didn’t catch on, but then he followed her gaze to the binoculars in his left hand and realized what she was thinking. He thought about offering an explanation, but he knew she was in no mood to accept it. “Oh, don’t worry. I will.” He winked at her and left the room.

All the way down to the beach he imagined her slamming things around the room, lumping all men in one ugly cesspool of angry words. It was just as well, he thought. Let her blow off a little steam. After what Studly had done to her, she was entitled. In the meantime, though, he’d give her wide berth.

As six o’clock grew near, empty chaise lounges around the pool grew scarce. Jake waited patiently for the show to begin, idly watching the tall, lean Jamaican reviewing his notes. The binoculars lay on the adjacent seat, saving it in case Catherine decided to show.

“Is this for me?”

Jake shielded his eyes with the side of his hand and looked up. He removed the binoculars and motioned for Catherine to sit just as the social director began.

For the next forty minutes, the fresh crop of mostly pale bodies listened to the long list of amenities—tennis, volleyball, snorkeling, windsurfing, sailing, horseback riding. There was a disco and a piano bar with Karaoke. Then there were special events, such as a toga party, a pajama party, a catamaran cruise and a fifties dance contest. Everything, including meals and cocktails, were included in the package. No tipping and no need to carry money—unless you wanted to pay for something at one of the five shops. Even then you could charge it to your room.

Before it was over, Jake wondered where he would go to relax after this so-called vacation. Finally the director said there was one more thing they needed to know. There were two beaches.

The nude. And the prude.

Out of the corner of his eye Jake saw Catherine fold her arms across her chest and heave a sigh, leaving no doubt where she stood on the subject.

Someone from the crowd asked, “Where exactly is the nude beach?”

The smiling Jamaican said, “You’ll know when you get there,” which Jake noticed brought a laugh from everyone except his companion.

Great, he thought and rolled his eyes. If there had to be just one finishing school graduate in this place, why did she have to be with him? He reminded himself she wasn’t really with him. With a sigh he pushed out of his chair and offered her a hand.

“The dining room’s open. Ready for dinner?” She stared at his outstretched arm a moment, looking as though she was weighing the possibility of contamination if she touched him, but then she gave in and honored him with her hand. Ignoring her mood, he bent her arm in the crook of his and pulled her closer as they strolled inside the main hall.

Dinner consisted of a variety of buffet tables, artistically presented with ice sculptures, animal-shaped breads and an abundance of tropical flowers. There was more than enough food to feed the troops. Jake guessed the size of the crowd at about four hundred or so. Guests sat at cloth-covered tables on three different levels surrounding a dance floor. On both sides of the raised bandstand were wide, wall-free spaces, allowing diners a panoramic view of the pool, beach and tropical gardens. Since there were no bugs, there was no need for doors or screens and everyone walked in and out freely throughout the evening. In spite of lively chatter from an inattentive audience, a local vocalist was singing her heart out on the bandstand as if hoping someone would notice she was the next Whitney Houston.

Jake took it all in, surprised he didn’t miss the hustle and bustle of Detroit. He’d made the call home and covered things at work. Now, after polishing off a generous plate of standing rib roast and potato salad, he sat back and watched Catherine pick at her salad and nibble daintily on a bread stick. He couldn’t believe he was still hungry. It had to be all the fresh air. The dessert table caught his eye.

“Want anything while I’m up?” Jake asked, pushing out his chair. Catherine wrinkled her nose and waved him on. When he returned with a raspberry-covered wedge of chocolate torte, he thought she showed a little more interest, but she averted her gaze and sipped demurely on her tea.

“Sure you don’t want a bite?” Jake raised a forkful in her direction.

“Positive.” She kept her eyes lowered and drank more tea. Jake realized she’d been sick earlier, but he wondered if the whole week was going to be this way. He didn’t consider himself a conversationalist, but this was ridiculous. By the cold shoulder he was getting, you’d think he was the one who’d cheated on her. He turned his chair to get a better view of the singer and took another bite of torte, trying not to let her get to him.

After the third consecutive love song Catherine said, “I’m not really in the mood for this.”

No kidding, Jake thought, feeling a little restless himself. When she stood to leave, so did he, making one more stab at bridging the ever-widening gap between them. “I was thinking about taking a stroll around, check out the place. Wanna come along?” He tried to appear as if he couldn’t care less whether she joined him, but in truth, he wished she would. She cocked her head, weighing the idea, then graced him with a small smile.

“Okay…for a while.” She turned and led the way out. They passed the pool and made their way down a long, winding path. Jake watched her almost black hair. Combed free of its tie it swayed behind her with each long stride. Just as at the wedding he had an overwhelming desire to reach out and stroke it, to feel its silkiness between his fingers. Controlling himself, he looked beyond her.

The last rays of sunset mirrored the surface of the sea beckoning them to the water’s edge. Without a word they removed their sandals and padded lazily across the wide stretch of smooth sand, foamy waves lapping at their toes.

Suddenly Catherine stopped. Jake took a few more steps then paused, waiting and watching. She gazed into the dusky sky, a gentle breeze brushing her hair away from her face. Her eyes closed and Jake wondered where she was. Was she thinking about that dreadful reception? Or had she dealt with it at all. They’d barely been apart since it happened and he’d yet to see her cry. He was about to broach the subject when she turned and walked on, kicking a breaking wave in front of her.

Jake hated chatterbox women, but he wished she’d say something. Anything. But she didn’t. He followed her from the shore to the trail leading toward their room. When they reached the door he stepped ahead of her and used his key. She passed in front of him without making eye contact, then went to the far door wall and peered out.

Her back still to him, she spoke. “Why don’t you use the bathroom first. I’ll wait until you’re settled in the other room.”

Jake stared at her rounded shoulders a moment, not ready to call it a night, but not knowing what else to say or do. Slapping his hands on his thighs, he sighed and said, “Okay, fine,” and headed for his duffel in the next room.

A few seconds later, armed with toothbrush and paste, he returned and went about his nightly ritual in record time. He paused at the connecting door when he’d finished. She still hadn’t moved.

“Well…good night then,” he said and shut the door behind him.

The steady lapping of waves tugged Jake from a deep sleep. He lay with his eyes closed and remembered other mornings when similar sounds began his day, when the motion beneath him hinted at what kind of a sail he could expect when he came around. It’d been nearly five years since he’d lost Cat’s Meow to his ex-wife, Sally.

He still missed his boat.

He stretched lazily, then wandered to the window and tugged the drapes open. He expected a serene strip of sand but was surprised at the number of early risers already staking out choice spots. He stood there a moment planning his day—shave, shower, breakfast, then down to the beach. Tough duty. His cutoffs were on the floor next to the bed where he’d left them last night. He pulled them on, found his shaving kit and went to the door. All was quiet on the other side, but remembering yesterday he knocked loudly and called out her name. “Catherine.” Silence. Louder, he said, “Ready or not, here I come.” When nothing came back, he inched the door open a crack and poked his head inside. The bed was empty.

He pushed the door open all the way and saw the deserted room. The bathroom door was ajar and all the lights were out. He stood in the middle of the room, smelling her perfume, and realized he was disappointed she’d gone somewhere without him.

“Now look, Alley,” he lectured himself aloud, heading for the john, “a deal’s a deal.” They’d agreed to come and go as they pleased. Why did he care where she was anyway. He’d just go about his day as planned. If he ran into her, fine. If

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