Magical Dreams I

by Penn O'Hara

We all know now that Frank Donovan is a family man, but how did such a closed and contained man open himself enough to let a woman into his life? My take on Frank's history. Republished after pulling earlier posts down.

1. Chapter 1

MAGICAL DREAMS

Penn O'Hara 2004

UC Disclaimers apply.

Prologue

Present day...

Donovan lay on the picnic blanket, his head propped on a hand, watching his wife with their son. She was pointing out the ants scavenging their picnic crumbs from the blanket and the boy was watching with the fascination that only the very young can muster. Their daughter was lying next to him, so close he could smell the powder-freshness of her skin and hear the popping noises she made with her lips.

He lay back with his hands under his head, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Tuning his ears into the sounds around him, he could just make out the soft spray of the Clarence Buckingham fountain behind them and the trill of birds scuffling in the trees above. He was glad she had pushed him to go on this picnic in Grant Park. The autumn temperatures demanded they wear thick sweaters and jeans, but the sun filtering through the Chicago morning warded off the worst chill.

He'd come down hard on Jake last night, and the necessity of it had disappointed him. It was a fault in his leadership if his team felt the need to go behind his back. But being more open with them was an unnecessary luxury at this stage of their partnership. He wasn't yet ready to share his family.

His daughter gave a little shriek and Donovan's eyes flew open to see his wife scoop the baby from beside him and place her on the blanket at their feet. She planted a quick kiss on his mouth and smiled at him.

"Penny for them."

He smiled back. "Still remembering the look on Jake's face last night. I think I've cured him at last."

"Oh, don't count on it. I don't know him as well as you do, but I've met him now, and he has a certain bull-dog nature about him."

"Maybe, but perhaps he'll think twice next time."

"That night at the Duke of Perth was a hoot!"

She snuggled into his side and slipped a hand under his sweater. He sucked in his abs and half-rolled towards her. The stroke of her hand on his skin was both intense and soothing.

"Can we do it again soon?" she asked. "I loved the way you lost control after I sang to you."

His brow lifted. "I get the feeling that it's your life's ambition to make me lose control. You've given the team a quest and I'm afraid they won't stop till they get to the truth. I didn't intend for you to do it the first time."

"You know me, Frank D. Impulsive to a fault." She leaned up and kissed the corner of his mouth. "Forgive me?"

He wasn't going to let her off the hook that easily. She'd complicated things for him and thwarted his need to prevent his working life from bleeding into his personal one. The night he called her from work before going with his team to the pub took an unexpected turn with the creation of 'Marguerite'.

"I'll let you know," he said.

"Tease." She ran her hand up his chest and tweaked his nipple. He flinched, but didn't take the bait. "Did they like the photo of you in your decadent youth?"

"You want your pound of flesh, don't you?" His eyes sought out his daughter at their feet, her eyelids drooping before sleep overtook her. He scanned for their son and wasn't surprised to see him putting blades of grass in the ants' way to see what they would do. Both safe. "Actually, Alex was more interested in whether or not I'd modeled in an art class."

"Cheeky girl! If she only knew."

"You never did pay me that day," he murmured, still watching his children.

"Pardon?"

"The day we met." He looked back at her and smiled. "You never paid me. You did feed me though."

"True, it was the least I could do. My God, your stamina was legendary."

"And my arms have never been the same since. Why you wanted that particular pose–"

"It won me the Burlington Prize that year, didn't it?" She ran her finger along his bottom lip and he parted his mouth slightly to accommodate her. "Although I'm still not sure it was on my merit alone that I won. Three-quarters of the Judges were women and they couldn't take their eyes off the painting – off you, that is."

Her fingers smoothed his brow and he shut his eyes again, relaxing into her touch. "There was plenty to see. You fed me so much, I doubled my weight by the time the painting was finished."

"Never! You're a greyhound. You burn it off just breathing. And you did some mighty heavy breathing if I remember." She put her head back on his chest. "I wonder if we'd have found each other if it hadn't been for that day in the studio."

"Possibly."

"Possibly, if you had remained at Harvard, but you disappeared." Donovan heard the quiet pain in her voice. "I still haven't forgiven you for that."

"I know."

Chapter One

Fifteen years earlier...

Donovan opened the door into a large studio naturally lit by ceiling-to-floor windows. There was only one student working at her easel and Frank frowned. He had been told to expect at least five. She was sketching with charcoal, filling the white page with lines and planes after consulting the subject of her drawing – a bare wooden chair placed on a podium, its back facing the artist.

"You're late," she said, not looking around.

"So's everyone else."

"No one else is coming." She went on with her sketching, drawing sweeping lines with economy and precision. "They were titillated enough to agree to do a male study in the first place, but when it came down to coming up with the money to pay for your time, they backed out. I got left with the bill, so you'd better be good."

She turned around then, a look of mild surprise on her face. "You're the guy coming over from Harvard?"

"What were you expecting?"

She cocked her head to the side. "In a law student? Someone more… studious. Is this," she swept a hand at the chair on the dais, "part of the prerequisite to passing the Bar?" Her manner was short, almost to the point of rudeness. He got the feeling that she thought art models were a lower form of life and law students not far behind.

"It's the prerequisite to studying and still eating." He moved forward, tossed his duffel bag onto a paint-splattered table and straddled the wooden chair.

Her mouth twisted with annoyance. It was a very attractive mouth and he thought the rest of her wasn't bad either. Long limbs, slim torso, her hair in the latest layer cut and her face was pretty enough: no outstanding feature, but a nice package when put together. But she wasn't looking happy and he wondered what he'd done wrong besides being late. Maybe she just had a bad day and was taking it out on him.

"You are aware it's a nude study?"

"I am."

"Then you are overdressed." She turned back to her easel, and his temper flared at the dismissal. He banked it quickly. That temper nearly got him kicked out of college.

"You haven't explained what you require."

She frowned, looking at him again. "How many times have you done this?"

"This is my first. Are you going to ease me through it or just continue to be a bitch?"

She gasped and he was glad he managed to shock her. It gave him an edge his pride desperately needed. There was little to be gained cursing the circumstances that necessitated he make what money he could, but that didn't mean he couldn't make someone else just as uncomfortable about it. Somehow it eased his nerves and gave him back some control. He would have to work on that down the track, along with his temper, but right now, he didn't care. Not with this rude woman, anyway.

He stood up and began to unbutton his shirt, holding her gaze as he did so. He wasn't going to be the one to break eye contact. Tossing the shirt onto the back of the chair, he bent to remove his loafers and then went for the button of his jeans. He hadn't bothered with a belt and his pants already hung low on his hips – too thin from hard work and not enough sustenance. He could only afford one meal a day, already having to pay for rent off-campus and college fees eating into everything he earned.

The sound of his zipper was loud, amplified by the acoustics of the studio, and drew her gaze downward. What was she waiting for? Maybe she expected him to gyrate to unheard music as he undressed. He gripped the waistband of his jeans and waited, arching an eyebrow.

She shrugged. "I wouldn't have thought you'd be doing this and be bashful about it."

"I didn't expect a private showing nor did I realize a strip show was part of the deal."

"Whatever."

She turned back to her sketching but he saw her hand shake as she positioned the charcoal onto the paper. He was gratified she wasn't so experienced at this either.

"Jockey shorts?" he asked as he stepped out of his jeans.

"Whatever," she said again. "I can probably work around them. For now. No jewelry, though."

He didn't have any. Anything of worth he'd hocked long ago. He didn't even own a watch which was why he was late. Donovan straddled the chair again, feeling better with leaving on the minimal underwear, but he made sure that his shirt was hung strategically over the chair's back.

He waited.

She finally looked up from her work, glanced over him and frowned again. "You're too thin."

"I know."

"You should eat more."

He'd be damned if he told her why he couldn't. He had some pride, even though he resorted to this form of modeling. The photographic work was too few and far between and this paid more.

"Your hair is too long. It hides the curve of your neck. And how do you expect me to work around the beard?"

He clenched his teeth. "If you're trying to get me to walk out, forget it. You booked me and I'm staying." And I need the money, but you're not going to know that. "I'm not shaving the beard."

"I'll just have to make do then, won't I?"

Donovan grabbed the back of the chair, and squeezed hard, channeling his anger into the harmless wood instead of releasing the verbal abuse he felt this woman deserved.

He watched as she stroked her charcoal across the paper again, lips pursed in concentration. "You won't be very popular as a nude model if you don't shave it," she added.

"Maybe I'm more concerned about passing my exams than taking off my clothes?"

She ignored his sarcasm, seemingly more interested in his flesh as her gaze swept him. She frowned again. Why was his body imperfect for her when the photographers who used him complimented his physique?

His discomfort level rose another few notches at the clinical way she dissected him, then she put down her charcoal and walked slowly toward him. He didn't move, though he wanted to grab his clothes and walk out the door, fast. Stopping a foot in front of him, she looked down, then her hand moved out to touch him. An iron will he didn't know he possessed prevented him from flinching as she reached down.

She moved his shirt a little to the left and he let out the breath he had been holding. Standing back, she looked at the effect. "Put your left arm across the top of the chair and your right elbow on the wood's edge."

He followed her instructions, annoyed that she couldn't find it within herself to say please.

"Now, rest your jaw on your right fist. That'll hide some of the beard anyway." She sighed. "The long hair spoils it." She reached out with both hands for the sides of his hair, but he jerked back.

"For the fee, you get to look but not touch," he growled.

She pulled back her hands, her eyes narrowing. "Touchy, aren't we?"

"No, you're being touchy. I'm exercising my prerogative."

"Fine then, I'll get you a rubber band and you can pull your hair back."

She walked away and he relaxed a little, willing the tension out of his muscles. Donovan was fast reaching a point where he couldn't do this, no matter how much he needed the money.

She sorted through her paint crate and came back with a red rubber band. He took it from her and holding her gaze, reached back and up, grabbing his hair and threading it through the band.

"Stop!" She put up a hand. "Hold it there. Like that. I want you like that." It was the first time he'd seen her animated, her eyes wide and bright. Still holding up her hand, she rushed back to the easel, muttering. "Perfect. Perfect." Grabbing her charcoal, she made vigorous movements on the paper, then studied him again.

He froze as instructed with his arms behind his head and the angle forced him to look at her from beneath his brows, a position he wasn't going to be able to hold for long.

"Shit," she said, "can you at least smile or something? You look like you're being tortured at the moment."

And I'm not? He tried for a smile but wasn't surprised it came out as a death grin.

"Shit," she said again. "You are new at this. Think happy thoughts– I don't even know your name..."

That's because you were too rude to ask. "Frank."

"Frank. Well, Frank, think of something nice. Got a girlfriend? Think about her. She's being nice to you, she's–"

"I don't have a girlfriend." I don't have time for one.

"Well, Frank, whatever turns you on. Just use your imagination, if you have one. Imagine you are doing precisely what you want to do right now and it pleases you immensely. Think you can manage that?" She turned back to her drawing.

Frank pictured his hands around this woman's throat, pressing into her skin and pushing on her vocal chords to stop the insults from leaving her mouth. That pleased him immensely. In fact, he was getting off on it and his lips curved into a satisfied bow.

Glancing at him again, her charcoal froze on the paper mid-stroke. Her lips parted and her eyes flicked from his mouth, to his eyes and back to his mouth. The hand with the charcoal slid slowly down to her lap. "My God. That is so..."

"Frightening?"

"No...no... sexy..."

He dropped his arms to his sides. What the hell was he doing here anyway?

"Don't! Don't move!" She reached out to him, her chair scraping on the floorboards.

"I don't need the money this bad," he said, getting up and reaching for his jeans. He had them on and was flipping his shirt around his shoulders when she grabbed his arm at the bicep. The touch of her hand on his flesh froze him. It was cool and soft but it sent a jolt of something coursing through his body. He looked down at her hand and then at her eyes and then at her mouth.

"Please stay," she said. "I want you to stay."

Chapter Two

She put down her charcoal and smiled at him. It was the first time in the three hours he'd been sitting for her that she had done so, and the transformation of her face from sheer concentration to unaffected pleasure made him smile back.

"I'm done for the day," she said. "I've finished the sketches, and tomorrow I'll be ready to add paint. Come and have a look. I'm quite pleased with them."

Donovan slowly slid off the chair and it was no easy feat. His leg muscles had cramped hours ago and his hips felt as if they had locked parallel to the floor. His tailbone ached and even on his feet, he couldn't straighten out completely. Bending over, he leaned on the back of the chair, panting, waiting for the blood to rejuvenate his muscles and get them working again.

"I'll be there in an hour," he gritted and she laughed. That had to be a first too.

"Here, I'll help you."

She crossed the floor to him, but he held out a hand to stop her. He was too independent to accept help, ingrained since childhood. "No, I'll be fine. Just give me a minute." Besides, he was as good as naked and he wasn't used to this new warmth from her.

"Fine. When you're dressed, I'll take you to dinner. You deserve it." She moved away and he heard her humming as she flipped through her sketches. He thought he recognized the song but couldn't place it.

He dressed slowly, working out the kinks as he went. "Will you need me for the paint?" he asked, hoping the answer would be no.

"Of course!" she said, her voice eager. "I still have to do skin tone and the light on the planes of your body. You're not getting out of it that easy."

She held up the black and white sketches for him to see and he moved closer. They were quite good, bold but life-like. Thankfully, she wasn't into expressionism. Her capture of his face surprised him. It was strong and angled, his beard not softening the lines at all. But it was his eyes that were the biggest shock. He had been trying for brooding and dangerous. What he saw made him swallow down a lump in his throat.

"I don't really look like that, do I?"

"Incredible, isn't it?" she said proudly. "I can't believe I was able to reproduce it. Frank, you are incredible. It's what all the yesteryear screen idols tried for in the Arabian Sheik movies. Sexy but ruthless. And you did it, without the aid of make-up. You are going to have the judges swooning over you."

"Judges?"

"Yes! If I'm as happy with the finished product as the sketches, this is going to be my entry for the competition in three months. I had no idea what I was going to submit until now." She placed the sketches gently into a large portfolio propped against the easel and secured the clasps. "Come on, let's get some dinner."

She took him to a local diner mostly used by students, so it was noisy, crowded and lively. They had to share a table, but the women were friends of hers and willing to put up with Frank opposite them. She sat down beside him, cornering him against the window and introduced the girls as Cheryl, Mandy and Jen. To him they typified the sorority girls he avoided whenever possible, trendily-dressed and sure of themselves, as they sat huddled three to a bench, interested curiosity in their eyes. They giggled a lot and it wore on Frank's nerves after a while, but not enough to put him off his food. He ordered a hamburger and thick shake, foregoing the soda in lieu of something more substantial.

"You two known each other long?" Jen asked.

"This isn't a date," Frank said, quick to keep the record straight.

"Frank's part of my Art assignment. He's posing for my oil on canvas requisite... nude."

"Shit, no!"

"You're kidding!"

"My God!"

Frank kept his head down, concentrating on his food. He should have seen this coming.

"You could have told us sooner," Mandy said. "Have you finished?"

"Yes," Frank said.

"No, I'm not. And he's not either. I've done the sketches but still have to do the oil. Shadow, muscle, skin..."

He looked up in time to catch her wink.

"Shit!" Cheryl said.

"We'll be there," Jen said.

Given the next available opportunity, Frank was going to wrap his hands around his meal-ticket's throat.

"So what do you have to do to get into nude modeling, Frank?" Mandy asked, a coy grin on her face.

Payback time. He chewed slowly, sizing up the slim blonde, then swallowed, knowing what she wanted to hear. "I put this body through an hour workout every night. I strip to my shorts to stretch and strain, sweat and pant my way through a strict regimen." Their giggling stopped and the grins slid from their faces. "Then I steam the tiredness out in a hot shower, and when there's a girl in my room, I do it all over again on the bed with her." He bit down on his burger and switched his gaze from each of their shocked faces while he ate and waited.

A hand touched his elbow and he let the other girls off the hook to turn to her. "Back off, Frank," she said. "We don't want to frighten them away."

"You look good," Mandy said, recouping, "but I bet you're not that good."

"Yes, he is." She was coming to his defense now, her reply quick and adamant. "Don't make rash statements when you don't know what you're talking about."

He was glad she was irritated. It would teach her a lesson for being so blatant about why he was with her. "Make up your mind, Mercury," he said. The nickname slipped out, but as soon as he said it, he realized it fitted her. "You can't treat me like a piece of meat and then object to your friends doing the same."

"Wrong, Frank. You're a work of art. My work of art."

The girls giggled again, but he didn't see the joke. He leaned into her and put his lips to her ear. "Your turn to back off." She shivered and he liked her reaction. He was tempted to take it further to see what would happen.

She turned her head slowly and he didn't pull back. Their mouths weren't touching, but his body stirred at the promise of it. "I'm paying for your time, aren't I?" she said.

His blood ran cold. He didn't like her implication. "Not this time. You don't own me after a burger meal."

"I never said you were cheap, Frank. Only good."

"Hey you two," Cheryl complained. "Is this a private party or can anyone join in?"

"So are you going to make modeling a career, Frank?" Jen asked.

"Only during the summer." These women didn't take him seriously; why should he bother with the truth? "Try wearing a suit and tie in these circuit courts during the hot months."

"Frank's a law student, and he's quitting modeling when he finishes my sitting."

This was getting out of hand and Mercury sounded too proprietary. "I recall canceling that sitting a moment ago," he said.

"You can't. You made a commitment."

"You draw me for a few hours and that gives you the right to tell me what to do?"

"I've seen more of you than your college lecturers have and they tell you what to do."

The girls laughed heartily, but he'd had enough. Dropping his burger, Donovan hitched his duffel bag over his shoulder and pushed her off the bench, grabbing her arm before she sprawled onto the floor. He ignored her protests as he dragged her behind him through the diner and out the door. Let the other women pick up the tab; payment for their amusement at his expense.

Once on the sidewalk, he swung her round to him. "Pay me now so I can get out of here."

"Why should I after that little caveman show?" She rubbed her arm, her eyes hard and bright.

"You owe me for three hours of sitting and for necessitating the caveman stuff, so don't pin the blame on me."

"You men get so touchy when your women prick at your masculinity."

Had he missed a page? "You're my woman now?"

"Do you want me to be, Frank?"

He did a double take. Mercury tipped from one end of the scale to another in the space of a heartbeat.

"I wasn't looking for a woman who insults me in one breath and then puts a ring in my nose in another."

"I'm sorry, it's just I get a hint of a pricklier side of you every now and then. It makes me want to... poke at it."

"Then be prepared to get your finger bitten off when you do," he snapped.

She blinked at his threat then laughed, putting her hand on his wrist. "I'll behave. Honest. Forgive me?"

There was no good reason why he should, except that she intrigued him. "Pay me now and I'll forgive you tomorrow."

"Better still, where's your car? Why don't you come back to my place and I'll fix you up there?"

"No car."

"I'll drive you then."

"I'd rather not."

"What? Rather not get paid?"

"I'd rather get paid. I'd rather not go with you to your place."

"Then you won't get paid. Simple."

He stared at her, then sighed, too aware of her hand still on his arm. "Where's your car?"

"I thought you'd see it my way. Come on."

"How long will this take?" He matched her stride along the sidewalk.

"Why? Got another sitting in your diary?"

"I'm not on the clock still?"

"I'm not paying you for your conversation, if that's what you mean." Her suggestive glance convinced him she was trouble and yet still he followed.

She led him to a deep green Ford Escort and released the locks. He would have opened her door for her but she was too quick for him. Mercurial and independent.

Pulling out smoothly into the traffic, she gave him a quick glance. "So, you live on your own?"

Damn. She felt the need to make small conversation.

"Yes."

"Whereabouts?"

"Near the college."

"I figured that; you don't have a car. Got family?"

"You mean, alive?"

"Well, yes... alive–"

"No."

She went silent for a while.

"Fine," she said. "You want to play the mystery man? I'll do all the talking then. I'm in the Faculty of Arts and Sciences, majoring in music and art. I want to work in the theatre, preferably musicals. If I don't make it on-stage, I'm going to use my art degree to get a job back-stage working on the sets – a kind of back-up plan. I've got my own apartment in Cambridge courtesy of my parents who are willing to give me my own space. It's small, but all I need. And I've got a sister who's happily married with a baby on the way. Now, is that too much information for you?"

"No. Knock yourself out," he said, staring out the window.

"But you're not going to return the favor."

"That's right."

"Shit, you're prickly."

He flicked a look at her. "I thought I was a work of art."

"That too." She grinned. "Stop me if I ramble then."

He turned back to the window, watching the traffic, aware she was a better driver than most, and relaxed a little as she shared her opinions about Harvard as an institution and way of life. She was trying to draw him out using their studies as a common ground, but he ignored the bait. He was content to listen to the sound of her voice: sexy and low, stroking his senses and lulling him into a place where he imagined her lying underneath him. Soft and warm and naked.

He pushed himself upright in the seat and wound the window down. Where the hell had that come from? He was ahead of himself and down a path he hadn't expected.

They reached her apartment and it was small, the living room doubling as the bedroom, judging by the futon shoved unmade against the windowed wall. The kitchenette was dominated by a large fridge and larger table, with only enough room left over for a small stove and sink. He assumed the only inner door hid the bathroom.

"Take a couch," she said. "I'm going to have a quick shower and get us a beer. I can't stand this summer heat."

After his little fantasy in the car, he wanted to take the money and run, but it looked like he was going to have to play by her rules. For now.

Dropping his duffel bag near the door, Donovan moved around the apartment, picking up a discarded Vogue magazine from a coffee table and dropping it again beside a pile of textbooks. He browsed through them: 'Anatomy for Artists', 'The Human Figure', 'The Nude Figure: A Visual Reference for the Artist'. His mouth twisted. At least she was researching her assignment. He checked the library card inside the one on top. Sixteen days overdue. She wasn't an organized student and would be getting a notice soon.

He looked up. The television near the coffee table was large and expensive-looking. A present from the generous parents? Good luck to her enjoying the time to watch it; a luxury he didn't have. He wondered what she liked to watch.

Scanning the room, Donovan found a collection of photos on the window-sill. Her parents, he assumed, and a smiling man with a woman attached to his arm. He couldn't see much family resemblance, but guessed it was her sister and brother-in-law. Loving parents and a happy new family. Something he couldn't relate to.

There was a coolness on Donovan's shoulder and he swung around sharply, instinct throwing him into a low stance, arms raised to protect his body.

"Settle down, Frank." Now in a tank top and cut-off denim shorts that accentuated her lean figure and long limbs, Mercury held up a sweating can of beer. "It's only a drink." She frowned. "What is it?"

"Nothing."

"You don't look like it was 'nothing'. You look like you thought I was going to do something to you that you didn't want me to."

"Forget it." He shut down his bitterness and straightened self-consciously.

Popping the top of the can, she tilted her head to drink from it. He made to move away, but she stopped his escape with a light hand on his arm, then reached up to touch her wet lips to his. They were cool and tangy from the ale.

He froze at the unexpected gesture. "I expect cash for today's work," he said against her mouth.

"You'll get your money." She handed him the unopened can and propped herself against the TV, watching him as he pulled the ring tab and took a long drink.

She tipped her head to the side. "You're very sexy, Frank."

"What happened to too thin, hair too long and unsuitable beard?"

"That's from an artist's point of view. But from a woman's point of view…" She reached out and played with a lock of his hair. "What would you do if I kissed you? Really kissed you."

"I'd wonder why and what's in it for both of us."

She dropped her hand. "Oooo, so cynical. Lighten up, Frank. Life's too short for psychoanalyzing two people attracted to each other."

"Is that what we are?" He took another swallow of the beer, pretending a detachment to the conversation he didn't really feel.

"You tell me." She reached out, smoothing her hand behind his neck, exerting a gentle pressure.

He resisted.

"You're going to try and prove me wrong?" She tilted her chin and smiled with a confidence he itched to deflate.

"I think of it as proving I'm right," he said.

"Man, you're a tough nut."

He didn't feel tough. He wanted to know what it was like to have her body pressing against his, but he wasn't buying into her little temptation act. It was high time he turned the tables on her.

Donovan finished off his drink, then held out the empty. "Thanks."

She took it from him, but he didn't let go, leaning into her and sweeping her around until her back was to the wall and her body captured by his. He lowered his mouth onto hers slowly, fleetingly... once, twice and the third stayed, locked and explored. The beer cans fell from her hands; her half-full one splashing onto his ankle, but it wasn't the cold liquid that sobered him up. It was the simultaneous bolt of adrenaline to his head and groin that made him pull back too soon. As unexpected as it was irrepressible.

"Don't stop–"

"Who's right?" he mumbled.

She ran a finger along his bottom lip. "There're no losers in a good relationship."

He frowned. "Aren't you getting a little ahead of yourself, Mercury?"

"Stop being so touchy." She pushed him from her but didn't turn away. "Where'd you get all this emotional baggage?"

"Today? Hanging around you. And what about you? Cold and bitchy all afternoon and now this little seductress act."

"Maybe you bring out the best and the worst in me. I have never produced work as good as I did today."

"But what's this all about?" He extended his arms to the side. "Why am I here?"

"I... I don't know. I don't quite understand it myself." She sighed, her fingers running down his jaw. "While I was sketching you, I got in touch with you – your body and soul. I had all afternoon to know you, to get inside your skin – to see your sinews and muscles and watch their effect on the lines of your body." She laughed. "That's the artist talking again."

"And the woman?" He was curious for more.

"You wove a spell around me, strong and sure and, I fear, unbreakable." She leaned up into him and pressed her lips to his mouth again. "I'm not going to fight it, Frank. Why should you?"

"Why?" He weakened as her lips moved against his, gently asking for more, and needing more willpower than he expected, he pulled away. "Because I don't do games, Mercury." This was crazy. It was more than crazy. It was pushing him down a path he didn't recognize.

"No games, Frank." She walked around him to the futon. Her back to him, she pulled the tank top over her head and undid the button on her cut-offs. Sliding the denim from her body, she gracefully knelt down on the bed, completely nude. She turned to look at him over her shoulder, her layered hair sliding over her back.

"Come on then, Frank. Take control."

She was waiting for his next move. He could back off, play safe and leave her apartment now, or accept what she was offering, explore their fledgling relationship and take it somewhere. It would be a first for him.

Donovan's chest tightened with an old remembered fear. "No."

Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened in shock. "My God! I've cheapened myself for the lowest form of scum and didn't even realize it till now."

"I'm flattered but–" She was right. Rejection of this sort was cruel, but he didn't want her submission.

"Get out! Get your bag and get out."

"Look, I'm sorry I can't do this–"

"Forget it! I'll get it for you." Pushing herself from the bed, she strode over to the door and grabbed his bag. He was right behind her and she turned and swung it at his head.

He caught it neatly, but she followed it up with two flailing fists and a well-placed foot in his shin. Pain exploded in his leg as he lost his footing and they went down, legs tangled on the floor. Donovan rolled until he was on top and her wrists were pinned under his hands.

"You just don't know when to stop," he gritted.

"Then make me!"

He shook his head from side to side as it hit him. She knew exactly how to manipulate him, had known since the time they spent in the studio. She'd been doing it all afternoon and was doing it now.

"I don't think so."

"Coward!"

"It's not going to work, so you can stop right now."

"Then why am I naked underneath you? Why haven't you left yet?"

He propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at the flawlessness of her skin beneath him. He was fully aware of the length of her under his body. Some devil inside him, maybe that need to be in control like she said, prompted him to push her further. "Maybe I want to make you try a little harder." He rolled onto his side and trailed a hand down her neck to a breast and let it lightly hover there. "How bad do you want me, Mercury?"

"You've missed your chance, law-boy. You've blown it, well and good."

He smiled. "Now you're getting somewhere. Keep going." He let his hand rest more heavily on her breast, cupping it and kneading it gently.

She licked her lips, her brow furrowed in annoyance. "I thought you were different, playing hard to get because you're waiting for a relationship to mean something for you. But I was wrong. It's just fear. Fear of precisely that – a relationship that might last – and it terrifies you."

"And why would that be?" Her accuracy chilled him.

"You believe that the only way you're going to come out unscathed is if it's Frank and Frank alone. No Mrs... Frank on the horizon... ever! Damn! I don't even know your last name."

"Donovan."

"What?"

"Frank Donovan."

"How nice for you. And there's never going to be a Mrs Donovan, is there? What are you? A mommy's boy? No one can replace Mom–"

He ground his mouth onto hers. She couldn't know about his mother, but she had made the final push that sent him past reason. Whom he was punishing wasn't clear to him, but he knew that somewhere down the line both of them would suffer.

She accepted the brutal kiss, seemed to revel in it, and her hands on his body encouraged him for more. As he tore the shirt off his back and stripped himself of his jeans, he knew something else.

Right now, neither of them cared.

Chapter Three

Donovan woke to the smell of food cooking and it smelt good. He rolled over and looked for a clock in her apartment, finding one on the wall above the television. Close on 7:50. If he didn't get moving, he was going to be late for his first class. He scoured the floor for his clothes but found them neatly folded on the couch. She wasn't so disorganized after all.

While dressing, he watched her tending the stove, humming that song from yesterday, the one he knew but couldn't place. Walking over to the table, he sat down, searching for something to say. He wasn't good with morning afters. He usually left before dawn, using the walk home to convince himself it was all he needed in social interaction. She turned her head to give him a shy "Good morning" and then concentrated back on what she was doing.

In the absence of a hair brush, Frank smoothed his hands through his hair. "What's the name of that song?"

She turned back to him, smiling. "It's 'Dreams' by Grace Slick. It's a bit hedonistic, but catchy. I like all of her work, even though she's heavy into the dark side."

Opening the fridge beside her, she took out an already poured glass of orange juice, and handed it to him. His mouth was parched from his deep sleep and he drank it greedily. She slid the large omelet she had been priming onto a plate already laden with tomatoes, capsicum and mushrooms and passed it over. Pulling out a drawer, she selected some silverware and handed that to him as well. This time she wouldn't let go, and slid her other hand up his arm as he pulled. Threading her fingers into his hair, she straddled his lap while pulling his head to her, fastening her mouth onto his and taking his tongue in deeply, thoroughly kissing him before pulling back. He was breathless when she finished and something tentative but basal stirred within him.

"Shit!" she said. "I didn't dream you, did I?"

"You say 'shit' too much." Donovan tried to make light of how she was affecting him.

"I do, don't I?"

He was unsure how to react to her ease with their new status. His primary thought was to get out of there as fast as he could, without really knowing from what he was running. "Are you going to get off my lap or am I going to eat through you?" he asked, still trying to joke his way out.

"Hmm, I'm tempted to let you eat off me." She rested her head on his shoulder and lipped his neck, leaving a cooling moist trail with her tongue. "Last night was–"

"Shouldn't have happened," he finished.

"You don't mean that. If you did, you wouldn't still be here." She pushed off his lap and returned to the stove, her back discouraging an argument. Adding more egg mixture to the pan, she began the song again, this time with the words.

"I... believe in magic... and I believe in dreams..."

She stopped and turned around. "I don't care what you say. Whatever happened last night was magical. Like nothing I've ever felt before."

"Don't do this."

"What Frank?"

"Don't delude yourself that this can continue."

She threw her head back and took a deep breath. "Give me one good reason why not." She went back to the pan, viciously prodding the egg with the spatula.

"We both know what happened. You played with my head until you got the reaction you wanted, and now you're not prepared to face the reality."

"What reality is that, Frank? Eat your omelet. If you don't eat it, it will go cold. That's the reality."

"Mercury–"

"I don't know why you're calling me that! It's not my name."

"Maybe not, but it fits you."

"Look!" She abandoned the pan and swung round to face him. "You think this is wrong. I don't. That's another reality. But, whatever conclusion you come to, you're going to help me finish my portrait. Okay?"

He knew he should say no. No way. But his breath caught as he looked at her fresh beauty, remembering the yielding softness of her under him and Donovan found himself nodding instead. "Okay."

"Good, now finish your egg or we'll be late for class."

There was another reality; one she had failed to mention. Hours before he was due to meet her at the studio for the second portrait sitting, he wanted to be with her again. It never happened to him before, but now he found himself unable to concentrate in class and watching the lecture room clocks for the hours to tick over. As he entered the Arts building and made his way to the studio, he realized he was almost running, and held himself back deliberately, self-conscious with his eagerness.

"Hi Frank!"

He turned to see Jen push herself off one of the benches that lined the corridor. Cheryl and Mandy were with her, smiling and waving.

What the hell did they want? "Girls." He stopped and inclined his head, impatience chafing him. "What are you doing here?"

"We thought we'd sit in," Jen said. "You know, watch you two at work."

He scowled. Just when he thought he'd broken away from an existence manipulated by others, life was ganging up on him again. "Did Mercury put you up to this?"

"Mercury?" Then realization dawned on Jen's face. "Is that your nickname for our budding painter? Well, I have to admit she's like that. Up one minute, down the next. Must be the artistic temperament. No, Mercury didn't put us up to it, but I bet she won't mind us watching over her shoulder."

"I mind."

"Oh, but Frank, we're all friends here."

"You're not my friends, you're hers."

"What if we match your sitting fee?" Cheryl asked. "Then you'd be getting paid twice for the same effort."

"I don't think so." He walked on, wondering what it was about him that screamed 'For Sale' at these women.

"Why don't we go and ask... Mercury?" Mandy giggled, catching up behind him.

"Let's do that," Frank agreed, opening the studio door and waving them in.

She wasn't at her easel today, but standing at the table mixing paint onto a palette. She didn't look up, absorbed in her toning. "I didn't think you'd come after this morning's little disagreement. I know you regret last night, but–"

"We've got company," he interrupted.

She looked up then, and her mouth widened in surprise. "Guys, what are you doing here? Frank... surely you didn't...?"

"No, I didn't."

"Aw, come on, surely you don't mind if we stay and watch," Cheryl pleaded.

"Yeah, we could help you," Mandy said.

Jen giggled. "Like... undress him."

Frank stood with his hands on his hips, waiting to see what Mercury would do. If she didn't throw them out, he would take great pleasure in doing it himself, but he wanted to see her reaction first.

Mercury's brows locked and her mouth thinned. "I don't think so. In fact, I know so." She dropped the brush she'd been swirling over the palette, wiped her hands down her t-shirt and strode toward them. "Out! The three of you, get out." She jabbed her arm toward the doorway. "Where do you get off treating him like that?" She followed up the imperious order by putting herself between Donovan and the women.

He smiled in satisfaction. "There's the door, ladies." Donovan stepped from behind Mercury and held the door open for them.

"You're both killjoys," Jen grumbled. "But, at the very least, I warn you, I am going to find out what happened last night."

"Go!" Mercury ordered, but she grinned to soften the command and followed it up with a conspiratorial whisper. "I'll call you later."

She rounded on him as he closed the door on their retreating backs. "You could have done that yourself."

"I know, but I wanted to see what you would do."

"This was a test?" She folded her arms and studied him. "I can't make up my mind whether you're the most uptight man in the world or the most insecure. Now, be honest. Wanted to, or needed to?"

"Still psychoanalyzing me?"

"Someone's got to help you see your shortfalls."

He walked toward the dais where he had spent the better part of yesterday afternoon. "You've been doing that since I met you." He turned his head to look at her. "Are you ready for me?"

"Hmmm, always," she purred.

He raised a brow.

"Yes, Frank, I'm ready. The paint's ready. Let's go."

He kept his back to her as he took off his shirt and jeans, then settled onto the chair. In the light of what they shared last night and how many times they did it, he didn't feel the need to drape his shirt over the back of the chair this time.

"You're not really going to call them later, are you?" he asked, letting her know he heard her whisper to the girls.

"You don't know women very well, do you Frank." She smiled, and went back to her palette, adding more paint and humming a new tune.

He didn't bother asking her the name of this one. Roberta Flack's 'First Time Ever I Saw His Face' – a chick song, but he knew it because one of his previous girlfriends liked it. Was Mercury now his current? He didn't know. She seemed to want to stake a claim, but he knew from experience that as soon as that happened, he pulled back and shut the relationship down.

"Okay, stud, let's take a look at you." She moved to the canvas, palette and brush in hand, and studied him. Then sighed. "This is ridiculous."

"What?"

"You. Sitting there."

He frowned. "You've got another problem with me?"

"No problem with you. Problem with me. Standing here." She put her palette on the floor near the easel and walked over to him. Bending down, she wrapped her arms around his back and kissed him, breathing him in deeply.

Opening his mouth to her, his hands strayed to her hair and bound it around his fingers. He'd waited all day to do this. Rising from the chair, he swung one leg over and sat down with his back against its frame and pulled her onto his lap, her legs astride. Folding her body into him, he pushed his hands up underneath her t-shirt.

He would sort out their relationship, for what it was, later. Tonight. But right now, he wanted to do something he hadn't allowed himself since he left home four years ago. He was going to give in to something more powerful.

Taking her mouth again, he kissed her deeply, hungrily, embracing what drove him to forget caution when with her. Her hands slid across his back, nails digging and he shivered. His body was straining for hers but he wasn't sure what he could do about it.

"The door?" he rasped.

"Don't worry, I locked it," she assured him, sighing into his ear.

He groaned and pulled back to push her t-shirt up and over her head.

He didn't remember seeing a key, but he didn't care.

"Here's your rubber."

She had her jeans in her hands and she winked as she pulled the red hair band from yesterday, out of a pocket. He flashed a look at her as he threaded his fingers through his hair, tousled and knotted from their activity on the dais, then took the offered band. Making himself comfortable as best he could on the hard chair, Donovan prepped himself for the position he'd held in yesterday's pose and watched her pull her t-shirt back over her head.

She was so comfortable with him, and was able to make it easy for him to be with her. It was more than sex already; today it had been touching and smiling, tasting and breathing, exploring where the physical opened up the emotional and each fed on the other. But he couldn't prevent himself from looking for repercussions, for pitfalls – cause and effect. He'd been doing it for most of his life.

"Are you protected?" he asked.

She laughed, pulling on her jeans. "It's a bit late for that, Frank."

"Are you?"

"I dusted off the diaphragm last night, if that's what you mean. But if I hadn't...?"

"Then I would be at fault. It was my responsibility–"

She had her jeans on but her hand froze on the zipper. "Well, that's a first. Don't worry about it, I'm protected," she said, and buttoned her jeans. "For a guy who worries about making mistakes, you're in the habit of repeating them." She smiled at his scowl and walked back to her easel, combing her hair with her fingers as she went. "Hey, don't worry about it. Now where was I?"

She smoothed a finger down her charcoal sketch, tracing a line he couldn't see. "You have the most wonderfully defined sinews, Frank. I only hope I can reproduce their quality with the oils. I hope I'm good enough." She looked up. "Stop scowling! Is this the 'it shouldn't have happened' trip again? Get over it. We're linked, you and I. I don't know how or why, but I feel it."

"It's not that simple." His life never was.

"It can be if you let it. But if that scares you–"

"It doesn't." He didn't want to admit to his fear. "But it isn't so easy for me."

She smiled. "I realize that, which is why I'm not taking all your 'wall building' personally. I'll just keep knockin' 'em down as I go."

"Perhaps we should get on with it." He waved a hand at her easel.

"It?"

"The painting."

"And us?"

"We'll see." He was sounding like a jerk, but he couldn't help it. He was wary; of what was happening, of what he was feeling, of how important she might become and what that would mean.

All unknowns to him.

Chapter Four

Donovan gave up fighting their attraction that evening when she brought him home to her apartment again. He couldn't continue denying his need of her in one breath and bedding her in the next. He wanted to be with her, but also recognized that this wasn't one of his one-night stands and it was new territory for him.

As they lay on the futon bed, her sleeping form draped over him, he tried to imagine a future with her in it. As a lawyer his hours would be long, his workload time-consuming. Should Mercury achieve a career on the stage as she planned, she would be rehearsing by day and performing by night. He didn't see their crossing paths with any great accuracy or regularity.

But he didn't want to turn away now. Twenty-four hours after arguing his case to the contrary, he decided to give into the challenge of being with her.

Donovan continued to model for the portrait until it was finished, usually ending with the two of them on the floor of the dais, naked. He convinced her it was the best way to get his circulation moving again after the hours of inactivity on the chair.

He spent all of his free time with her which, considering he still had to model and tend bar to pay for his college fees, meant only a few hours a night, and usually in her apartment. He kept his own apartment, but spent most of the time in hers. Even though giving up his lease would have meant he didn't have to work as hard, he refused to relinquish his independence. He used his place only when she visited her parents on weekends and holidays, refusing to come with her. Not 'meeting the folks' was one argument she couldn't win with him, his seeing it as another surrendering of his destiny to her.

But she taught him to trust again. It came slowly and awkwardly but her own up-front honesty and confidence gradually earned his respect and belief that she would never abuse him. She accepted that he didn't want to talk about his family, letting him know that she would listen when he was ready. But it never happened.

She seemed content that he considered their existence as a couple was not to go to the next level. He had no idea if what he felt for her was love, and was too grateful a declaration wasn't expected from him, to consider how she felt. He was simply prepared to let sleeping dogs lie.

Until the FBI arrived three months later.

Donovan felt Mercury approach him from behind, as he gazed out of the only window her apartment boasted. It was early, the sky starting to lighten with a pale moon striving to pierce the city smog. Her arms circled him from behind and she pressed her face against his back.

"Have you slept tonight?" she asked, her voice muffled by his skin.

"No." By not turning around, he didn't have to face her with his decision.

"I've been watching you for a while, and each time I've woken, you've been there. I taught you to hold a pose too well. Are your exams putting the begeesus into you?"

He didn't answer, his eyes following the path of an early-rising bird as it swooped from the roof above.

"Frank, what's wrong?" Her voice vibrated with fear.

"I have to leave." The four words capped information that he couldn't share. Information they assured him was classified. The rumor they heard about Federal Agents in the University investigating illegal drug handling had everyone miles from the mark. Instead, they were recruiting, and for their own reasons they wanted him.

"What? Now? It's still dark."

"I have to leave college."

"You're dropping out?"

He was doing more than dropping out. He'd been offered the chance to help cleanse society; to neutralize the medusa as it grew rather than chop off a head one at a time in court. "I'm leaving college. Cambridge. I'm leaving today."

He turned then, her hands releasing him to hover protectively near her face. "No!" she cried.

"We both knew this would happen eventually," he said. I did, I just lulled myself into ignoring it.

"We? We! How dare you link me to your fright and flight plan. What is this? Why?"

"Because it's time to move on. For both of us." Because if I stay, I'll have to live two lives that can't meld.

"You're doing it again." Even in the semi-light, he could see her fear broiling in the anger in her eyes. "Including me in something you decided all by yourself."

He stepped around her, grabbing his shirt from the couch, and slipped it on. Goodbyes were hell. He was never any good at them, and this one was the worst. He never allowed himself to get so immersed in a relationship – in a woman. Picking up his duffel bag from beside the sofa, he headed for the door.

"Wait! Frank!" She grabbed his arm as he opened it. "You still haven't told me why."

He stopped. Tears were running down her face, but he hardened himself against the sight, his throat tight and thick with grief. He had the advantage over her. He'd spent the last thirty-six hours going through the stages she would now – confusion, hurt, loss – eventually ending in acceptance. Trailing his fingers down her cheek, he bent to kiss her softly on her mouth. "I can't do this."

And walked out the door.

"Can't do what!" she cried at his retreating back. "Leave? You just did, you bastard. Frank!"

His heart labored with the effort to keep going.

"I love you!" she cried.

He faltered, but didn't stop.

Chapter Five

For the next ten years Donovan's career within the FBI went from strength to strength. His singularity and responsiveness to his training fast-tracked him through the internal divisions while the Foreign Affairs assignments guaranteed that he worked for and against the most ruthless people that humanity could generate. He learned a lot from them, but his knack of reading perps and situations and playing into that knowledge made him perfect for CNU's Kidnap and Ransom division and he spent the last two years with them establishing an impressive track record.

His work became a way of life and he grew even more adept at avoiding personal entanglements, living in and out of short relationships that never went anywhere, more by circumstance – workload and temporary assignments overseas – than design.

He dated, usually professional women that he met in the course of his work and Marcie Haynes was no exception. Based in DC, Donovan was liaison with the New York Field Office after their McIntyre Department Store fraud investigation turned into a siege incident. As a lawyer, Marcie was handling the legal aftermath aided by the New York Agent in charge, Rian Banner, with Donovan advising. Donovan and Marcie built a rapport during the court case, and he accepted her invitation to use tickets she received from the director of the latest Broadway musical.

Settling into the theatre seats, Marcie pointed out the director, John Kremzow, who hovered in the orchestra pit. She explained he was a personal friend, and while he wasn't new to Broadway, his leads were, and one in particular was already making herself known on the circuit, as both an actress and playwright.

"She wrote the production herself," Marcie said. "John doesn't usually take on new blood, but he was impressed with her work and convinced his producers to take a gamble on her. It was a good move. It's been a sell-out."

"She's an overnight success?" Donovan asked.

"Far from it. Her previous plays have done small-time stuff on the lesser circuit, but her latest, "Magical Dreams", impressed him enough to bring her out."

Donovan unbuttoned his coat and relaxed into the overture from the orchestra. Closing his eyes, he let his mind go into neutral. He didn't allow it often – staying alert was another way of life for him – but the music was lyrical and bright, lulling the audience into a place that was busy and happy.

The music died down as the players entered the stage with a burst of conversation and ribaldry to draw the audience into their artificial world – that of the circus troupe, finishing their last show of the evening and unwinding in the local tavern.

Opening his eyes to view the action, Donovan saw his Mercury walk across the stage and back into his life after ten years.

His breathing shallowed and almost stopped as he gripped the armrests on the seats. Mercury played a barmaid, dressed in tight jeans and a shirt tied in a knot under her breasts, threading her way through the tables talking to the circus performers. She looked much as she had when they were together at college. Donovan's mouth went dry, his neck and shoulders painfully tensing.

"Frank, what is it?" Marcie asked, concerned. She had been lightly holding his arm and must have felt the sudden tension in his muscles.

"Nothing." He made a concerted effort to relax again, but his heart was racing. The years had barely made a mark on Mercury. Donovan's eyes followed her every movement and she looked as good as she had when she debuted in her college production, when he joined in the audience encore and then spirited her away backstage to make love to her amongst the discarded backdrops.

He could barely concentrate, the story unfolding for him in staccato flashes of scenes. The barmaid and the star trapeze artist were interacting in a way that suggested they knew each other well, but the man was aloof toward her until the tavern closed. Only when his fellow performers left in one direction did he take the barmaid in the other, confirming an intimacy between the two. As the scenes evolved, the audience learned that the relationship was one-sided. The barmaid had given her heart to her lover, but the trapeze artist was abusing that love. Their duet together was her chiding him for his fear of commitment and his demanding his independence. By the end of the first Act, the barmaid forced his hand and joined the circus troupe when they left town. She achieved her wish but the audience was left with the feeling that it was a tenuous victory.

When the lights rose on Intermission, Marcie leaned into Donovan, a smile on her face. "I don't suppose you noticed that actor playing the trapeze artist looked a lot like you?"

"No." He had been too intent on Mercury.

"I know he had long hair, but it was pulled back in a ponytail most of the time, and you don't have a full beard, but there was something about his face... and he's got your lean build and coloring."

Donovan had barely noticed the actor but the dialogue between the two main characters had struck a familiar and uncomfortable chord. He remembered the night he left Mercury – the grief he held close, never allowing it to surface – and then the months of guilt afterward.

"It's so sad when you meet people who are afraid to love," Marcie said. "It not only destroys one life, but two." She sighed. "Shall we take a walk?"

Donovan didn't care whether they did or didn't, but stood and preceded her out, easier to do the expected than explain why he'd prefer to leave the theatre and not come back.

He bought glasses of wine for them and they stood apart from the other patrons as Marcie chatted about the play. He must have answered, but he wasn't retaining any of it. His eyes scoured the walls for production posters but none featured Mercury. They were replicas of circus posters and looked to be prints of a painting. He abruptly left Marcie to take a closer look.

"Frank?"

It was a print with several scenes overlapping each other – a circus tent, hitched trucks and caravans, trapezes swinging from the Big Top's center suspending brightly-costumed performers. At the back of the circus ring were two figures and Donovan hunched closer to study them. There she was, his Mercury, in the arms of the trapeze artist, only it wasn't a painting of the actor playing the part. Donovan recognized himself ten years ago when he wore the full beard and ponytail. He had his hand lightly against her cheek and his head bent in readiness for a tender kiss. It could have been a snapshot of the last time he kissed her before walking out of her life.

"Frank?" Marcie's hand was on his arm, and he reacted violently, swinging around and throwing his elbows up to ward her off.

"Geesus, Frank! Take it easy."

"I'm sorry. You startled me."

"I realize that, but I didn't know you scared so easily."

"I don't."

"What are you looking at?" Marcie leaned in closer. "Very nice. Oh, look, the artist's name is in the bottom corner." She squinted at the poster. "Mercury Aldair. A very talented lady – actress, playwright and painter."

"Come, we should go," Donovan urged, steering her away. He didn't want her looking closer and finding his likeness on it, necessitating explanations he had no intention of giving.

The curtain rose on the Second Act and Donovan mentally braced himself. He had no idea how the musical would evolve but the first half had hit too close to home. And then there was the evidence on the painting that this play was some sort of pilgrimage or cleansing for her.

Act Two didn't get better.

The barmaid, now a fixed item in the trapeze artist's caravan, soon learned her new life wasn't what she hoped. The artist virtually ignored her until she pressed the issue, only to have him complain she made unrealistic demands on him. The climax of their affair occurred when the artist fell from his trapeze during a practice session and blamed her for his lack of concentration. Their relationship deteriorated until, in the final scene, he suggested she move out of his caravan and return to her previous life. Devastated, the barmaid left him, walking slowly across the stage, stopping before disappearing offstage, to sing the finale.

It was powerful and damning of the trapeze artist's callousness. "Though you build a wall around you," Mercury sang, and the audience was brought to their feet by the delivery of her last line, sung with a resonance that chilled him with its depth of pain-wracked feeling.

"I... believe in magic, and I still believe... in dreams."

All applauded.

Except Donovan.

He couldn't move. It was that song again. He hadn't heard it for years. Grace Slick's 'Dreams'.

"Frank?" Marcie leaned into his shoulder to whisper in his ear. "It's over. Everyone is leaving. Did you enjoy it?"

He still didn't move.

"Are you all right?"

He took a shallow breath. "Yes. What did you say?"

"Did you enjoy the production?"

"Yes," he said, coming back to the present. "I did." It was a lie. His chest was tight with guilt, combined with shock that she had transmitted their history into an entertainment medium. Even the knowledge that he deserved it, didn't lessen his resentment.

Marcie frowned, not quite convinced. "Perhaps we can go backstage then. I'd like to congratulate John."

"No!"

She was startled by his vehemence, but he couldn't care.

"He's a personal friend, Frank. I'd like to say hello."

"No." If he could come up with a valid argument, he would have turned on his heel and dragged her out of there. He rose ready to leave but she put a hand on his arm in appeal.

"Frank, please. Something's wrong. Tell me."

He really was a bastard. He was denying Marcie simply because he was a coward. Afraid to see Mercury face-to-face, afraid to have the feelings churning within him, erupt again. "I'm sorry," he said. "Of course we can."

She took him backstage and knocked on one of the doors at the rear of the theatre. When the door opened, Donovan took a deep breath and had the room scanned before both feet crossed the threshold. He breathed again when he didn't see her, but wondered how long the reprieve would last.

"Marcie!" Kremzow swept toward them. He and Marcie embraced, then Kremzow extended a hand to Donovan as she introduced them. "Welcome, both of you. Come and have a glass of champagne and toast another packed house." He pushed past the performers already drinking in small groups, to a table lined with bottles of wine, liquor and glasses. "Hey, everyone, this is Marcie Haynes and her friend, Frank Donovan. Someone get them a drink."

Donovan accepted a glass of wine from a woman pouring champagne flutes and turned back to Kremzow. "Congratulations on your production. It was... interesting." He should have done better and the director's frown reflected that.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Mr Donovan. Most people react a little more emotionally to it than expressing interest."

"Frank's feeling a little off tonight," Marcie interrupted. "We loved it. Your new star is bound to be a success for you."

"Excuse me." A hand on the director's shoulder pushed him out of the way and another hand arced through the air and impacted on the left side of Donovan's face. Head snapping to the right, sinews crunched on bone in his neck as he fought the urge to defend himself. His teeth ground together as the slap stung, then burned into his jaw. The instinct to retaliate was blunted only by his expecting this the confrontation, if not the assault. Not since he'd felt Ana Diaspora's punch had he received such force behind a woman's arm.

"You bastard!" Mercury had heard his name or recognized him even with the shorter hair and less obvious beard. It didn't matter how. He'd failed to see her in the crowd but she hadn't missed him.

Emotions carefully compacted, he straightened his neck and glared at her, bottom lip thrust forward from a sore and tightened jaw. "I recall they were the last words you ever said to me," he said.

"Actually, the last words I said were 'I love you', as you walked out of my life!"

Donovan was surprised that she wanted to make a scene in front of her co-workers. He wanted to take it somewhere else, but saying, 'excuse us, but we're just going to leave together now and hash out one of the cruelest break-ups of all time followed by a decade of silence' was out of the question. Maybe they should air it here. The public slapping had repressed his guilt and gut-wrenching need to touch her again, and replaced it with a desire to score a point for himself.

"I'm back," he said.

She swung her arm again, but this time he caught it and held. With the feel of her wrist in his hand, retaliation died and there was only the yearning to pull her closer and feel her against him, drawing out her anger and replacing it with something even more primal.

Most of Donovan's impulses never made it past his clinical brain, but this one manifested itself into deliberate action. He slid his hand down her arm, and behind her neck, pulling her to him and meeting her halfway. He lightly touched his lips to hers and in that caress, he asked for forgiveness, for forgetfulness, for the slate to be wiped clean. She didn't move. Despite their audience, he deepened the kiss because he couldn't not do so.

"Do you belong to anyone now?" he whispered against her mouth.

"Yes, I do." A whisper so wrenched from her, it sounded like a death rattle.

He straightened and let her go. Placing his drink carefully on the table, he walked to the door and was almost over the threshold before her next words arrested him.

"I belong to me now. Once I belonged to you, Frank. But you threw that away.

And it's been hell."

Chapter Six

The door shut onto stunned silence.

Mercury looked around the crowded room at faces alive with interest and speculation. Her co-workers, on-stage and off, had just witnessed something that would fuel gossip, deliciously bandied around, for days. A lot of them were already aloof with her. She heard the rumors, dubbing her Kremzow's latest shining star. They were waiting for her to flare and fall. And now she acted like some diva out of control. What happened? She couldn't even process it herself.

She looked down at her still-red palm.

Her hand hurt, her eyes were paper dry. Had it really been him? Of course it had! He acknowledged her, and remembered their last conversation. She knew it was her Frank by the way her stomach clenched when John called out his name in that hearty way he had when he was pleased with something. Tonight it was the evening's performance and the fact that Marcie Haynes came back stage to congratulate him.

Marcie Haynes, rising star in the legal circle. John liked to surround himself with success stories. He picked up Mercury's play thinking he would have it with her, but didn't realize yet he commissioned a one-hit wonder. Mercury tried her hand at several skills, only to win one Art Award … 'Nude on a Chair', a painting of Frank. Only one musical to hit the major league … 'Magical Dreams', inspired by her youthful association with Frank.

It all came back to Frank.

And there he had been. Ten years later. Standing toe to toe with her again.

And she slapped him.

He deserved it. He damned well deserved it.

She heard his name. Gone cold all over, as the loss, the aloneness, the sense of inadequacy that she hadn't seen his defection coming, hadn't been able to satisfy him, surged through her again.

Then she felt the coldness replaced by rising heat. Anger that he dared …dared… to come into her life again. Her anger drove her forward, her fists balled and teeth clenched. Anger swung her arm up and at his face and years of hurt impacted onto his jaw. She watched his head snap to the side and it felt good. She made him physically hurt, small compensation for the months of agony she suffered. Made him feel the public embarrassment akin to what she endured with her friends when he disappeared.

She called him a bastard. And he alluded to that night he left.

"I recall they were the last words you ever said to me," he said.

He'd forgotten. She never lost that last image of his walking down the hallway and her hopeless, hapless declaration of love, and all he remembered was her insult.

She wanted him to remember, if only to feel the guilt. "Actually, the last words I said were 'I love you', as you walked out of my life!"

She cringed. Had she really said that out loud and shared her humiliation with the whole room?

"I'm back," he said, the words salt in her wounds.

She quivered from rage at his cruelty and her hand swung again, but he caught it before she could make contact. Then, his gaze snaring and locking with hers, he caressed and kissed her. Her fury blunted her to his motivation, not letting her care why he did it.

"Do you belong to anyone now?" he whispered.

"Yes, I do." What had he been asking? Was she seeing someone? What did he expect? She needed to convince him that she learned from his defection.

And he shut down on her. He looked so... cold. Impenetrable. A void. Her void. Never filled.

He put down his drink and walked out and closed the door behind him.

Walked out on her twice.

Mercury blinked, her eyelids abrasive on dry eyes as she looked up again. Everyone in the room was looking at her. Her legs trembled and she folded her arms across her body as she heard them whispering, discussing what they had seen.

"Mercury!"

It was John. Protective, generous John who had done so much for her, but hadn't managed to fill the emptiness in her life. Not with his companionship, nor his promise of fame and fortune. She didn't believe in its permanency. Frank taught her that everything was transient, nothing certain.

"John... I can't... I have to..."

She turned toward him, her thoughts as incoherent as her words. He put his arms around her. The trembling in her legs spread throughout her body. She was so cold.

Frank was so cold.

John was warm. She absorbed his warmth, but it wasn't the fire that she felt with Frank a minute ago – the blaze of temper, the burn of his lips on hers, the flame licking through her nerves.

Hysteria bubbled, sending her thoughts into a kaleidoscope of memories.

His long black hair fanning her pillow. No, it's short and graying now.

Lips trailing ecstasy across her skin. His beard brushing her neck, cascading shivers down her spine. He's shaved it to a stubbled goatee.

Brown eyes gazing at her, liquid with desire. Eyes that are now cold and hardened with...

What? What had they seen? What sent him away from her? What shaped him into the calculating man that kissed her and then walked out on her again?

Why did she care?

Her knees buckled, her head spinning from recoil.

"Out of the way!" John ordered. "I'm taking her back to her dressing-room. Open the door."

The theatre crew scattered as he guided her out of the room and headed toward the other side of the building. She should be able to handle this. She had years of practice. Years of dodging relationships so this feeling would never reoccur. She buffered herself for so long, only to have it engulf her again.

And she had only been in contact with the man for mere minutes. She only looked at him. And slapped him. Felt his touch thrill her skin, his hand glide down her arm and caress her neck, his mouth close passionately on hers.

And she was back in the void.

Without knowing how she got there, she and John were in her dressing-room. John helped her onto the small couch, lowering himself beside her and patting her hand.

"It's okay, Mercury. He's gone."

"No, he's not," she said, her voice a hoarse whisper. "He's very much back. Back in my head."

"You don't have to worry about a thing," John soothed. "I won't let him anywhere near you again."

She stared at him, amazed. "Can you guarantee that? Can you honestly say the coincidence, fate, whatever, that brought him to the theatre and then back-stage tonight after all this time will just roll over and let this go away?"

That Frank was publicly slapped and will let me get away with it?

Judging by his look of calculation after the slap and the flash of rawness before he left, she wondered if he would let it rest. He was different. Ten years ago he had been unsure of his interaction with others and wary of their impacting his life. Today he seemed self-assured and bold ( that kiss! ) then walked away, uncaring, leaving her with a sense that it wasn't over.

That something reawakened.

She shivered and John put his arm around her shoulders.

"I'll look after you Mercury."

"John..." He was so very stable. Full of energy in his role as director, but a rock when you needed his ear for a problem. His blonde shaggy hair, kind eyes and lined face made her think of an old sheep-dog, loyal and true, comfortable to be around. She smiled, but it was a rueful one. "You want to protect me from him? Try if you will, but I'm so very very afraid."

John's hand tightened in hers. "Of what?"

"That you can't protect me from myself."

Mercury let herself into her apartment, closed the door, and leaned against it. Tilting her chin up, she closed her eyes and took deep breaths to stave off the tightness in her chest.

John wanted to drive her home, but she refused, taking a cab instead. He wanted more information from her, information that she wasn't prepared to give. Couldn't give for fear of breaking down. She still hadn't gotten herself together and had spent the journey home looking out the cab window at the downtown slideshow, fighting back the tears. Not again. Not any more. Not since she'd written 'Dreams' had she cried over Frank. Performing the play was her buffer, re-immersing herself each time in the drama and emerging stronger. But seeing him again had weakened her resistance.

She had to know how much damage had been done.

Pushing herself from the door, she headed into the second bedroom to the spare wardrobe. She scattered her winter clothes on their hangers as she reached into the back and pulled out a shrouded canvas. It didn't come easily, tangling itself with the coats and catching on the corners of the cupboard's interior. Gritting her teeth, she yanked at it, frustration turning to temper at its refusal to slide out. Nothing was ever easy. A final tug and it came away pulling three coats with it. Mercury threw them off with a yell and then straightened, panting.

Shit! Look what you do to yourself, girl. Get a grip!

She took a few deep breaths to calm herself, then ran her hands slowly along the shrouded frame, pushing the sheet aside as she went, revealing the creams and browns she had used in the background to highlight his skin tones, the smooth yet ridged paint strokes that gave definition to his sinews, the midnight blue of the draped shirt that reflected off the black shine of his hair. She wasn't exaggerating that night ten years ago. The painting of Frank on the chair in the college studio was the best work she had ever done. She still hadn't been able to equal it.

Her breathing shallowed and the blood pulsed in her head. She ran her fingers down the painted jawline, across the pouting bottom lip as she lost the fight and the tears spilled. Her hand pulled back and balled into a fist against her open mouth while the sobs came, convulsing her body. Sliding to her knees on the carpet and still gripping the painting, she gave into the hopelessness of believing she was cured of wanting him. This is the last time you weep over him, she promised herself. The very last time.

"Damn you, Frank Donovan," she cried at the painting. "Damn you to hell!"

Chapter Seven

Mercury's phone was relentless, piercing her dead sleep. She rolled over and flung out an arm for the handset, managing to grab it after the third try.

"Ye...Yessss?"

"Good morning, Ms Aldair. This is your nine a.m. wake-up call. How was the performance last night?"

Mercury groaned. It ended in shit, she thought. "Fine, thank you." For the call? For being so cheerful on a Monday morning? Mercury didn't care. She hung up and rolled back to bury her face in the pillow.

Her head hurt, her eyes burned and she felt drained of all interest in the day. At least there was no performance tonight, her one night off. She could make today a day to start the rest of her life. Again.

Dragging herself up onto her elbows, she pushed the hair from her face. She felt like shit, and she bet she looked like it too, but she wasn't going to wallow in bed. She needed a shower and then a coffee and then to tackle the day. Avoiding the mirror on the way to the bathroom, she stumbled to the shower and turned on the water, leaning her aching head against the shower's cool glass surface.

Frank was back in town.

Last night she vented, this morning she was paying for it, and she had the sinking feeling she had been right when she said to John that Fate was at work here. If she did run into Frank again, she better be prepared. Mercury stepped under the shower. More than prepared. Sometimes it was better to be on the offence instead of the defence, and even though this wasn't a battle, she already felt like the vanquished.

Mercury stood still, head bent, letting the water run down her back. She considered the possibility that the circumstances which had brought Frank back-stage were a chance for justice. Tit for tat. His turn for a learning curve in personal relationships.

She lifted her head. Suddenly the pain was less intense as she contemplated showing him what it's like to have your life derailed by the actions of another. She hurried through her shower and dressed in a simple cream linen dress, then poured a coffee and took it into the study. Settling into her chair at the desk where she did her best creative work, she stared, unseeing, at the landscape prints on the wall, while she considered what form his retribution could take.

Her eyes focused suddenly and an idea slotted into her head.

The prints on the wall.

Grabbing the handset of the phone on her desk, she dialed her parents' number and sipped her coffee while the connection was made. Her mother answered.

"Mom? It's me! How are you?" Her voice had just the right amount of bright and breezy for a Monday morning, hiding her fragility.

"Well, if it isn't my big star," her mother said. "I'm fine. Never home, you know me. How's the play going?"

"Musical, Mom." Shitty musical, I wrote it about Frank. "And it's going great. How's Dad?"

"Still practicing his golf swing, though why he doesn't give up, I'll never know. He'll never master that ridiculous game. When are you coming to visit? You can chase your father around the links instead of me."

"Soon, Mom, soon. Meanwhile, I wonder if you can do me a favor?" Her mother knew about Frank, knew what she went through over him and so Mercury couldn't afford to ring any alarm bells. "Mom," she said carefully, "you know that print the Burlington Award Committee did of 'Nude on a Chair' for their next year's promotion?"

"Yesss, what about it? We haven't thrown it out if that's what you're worried about, although your father would like to." Mercury could hear the suspicion in her mother's voice already. She bit her lip. This was going to be harder than she thought.

"Yes, I know, it should still be in the garage where Dad hid it." Mercury laughed, dredging up normalcy to cover her sudden anxiety. "I wonder if you can ask him to dust if off for me."

"Why, dear? Why now?"

"Because I want to throw darts at it." She laughed again, then decided she might be overdoing it. "Just a little idea I have, Mom. No biggie."

"Sweetheart, are you going to rehash all of that? Now? After all this time? What's the point?" Suspicion had been replaced by disapproval.

"No, I'm not rehashing anything. That's over." I wish. "There's no point having it languishing in the garage. I could reuse the frame if nothing else."

"I'm not sure about this."

"Mom, don't worry. I'll probably throw it in the bin when I get it, but I wanted to check something." Thank goodness her mother didn't realize she couldn't bear to get rid of the original. "I'll send a courier to pick it up today."

"Well, dear, I can't stop you. It's your property. Now I'm wishing I let your father burn it."

Mercury sighed with relief. "You don't mean that, and thanks, Mom."

"I wish you'd tell me what this is about, dear. What that man did was unforgivable–"

"I know. I remember. This is just a painting, Mom." Mercury moved on quickly, staving off any arguments her mother might make. "How's Sis and Owen and the boys?"

"They're all fine, dear. It's you I'm worried about."

"I'm glad they're doing okay." She missed her sister and brother-in-law. Losing herself in their love and acceptance helped her get through Frank's rejection all those years ago. She felt tears brim again and took a deep breath. "Gotta go, Mom. Tell them I love them and you and Dad too."

Hanging up, she took a long swig of her coffee, getting herself under control again. Dammit! She was still shaky, teetering on the edge of losing it. Could she do this?

Before she changed her mind, she pulled out the phone book from a shelf behind her and looked for a courier. Her parents lived in Great Neck which was only about two hours drive, there and back. That gave Mercury time to organize the rest of her idea. She dialed the first company she found and gave them her parents' address, credit details and a description of the item to be collected.

Hanging up again, she dialed John's cell phone. Her other mother-hen.

"John, hi!"

"Mercury?" His voice sounded clear enough. She hadn't woken him. "Are you all right?"

"Good, you're awake. Yes, I'm all right." Guilty of more lies, she thought.

"Did you get some sleep?" he asked. "I was going to call to see how you were, but thought you might sleep in. Considering–"

"Yes, I slept." Eventually. "I suppose my little performance after the performance is hot gossip for the production crew?" It wasn't her fault that Frank came back-stage and entered her turf. But she had over-reacted. An embarrassed heat swept over her.

"Well, tongues will wag, love, but I told them that he left you because he couldn't compete with your career. That it was him or the stage. They understood that."

"You told them that?" She reeled in her thoughts to focus on what he had said. "That was nice of you, John, but I didn't have a career ten years ago for Frank to feel jealous of. I was in college still."

John tutted. "They won't figure that out, and if they do, who cares? You're the star. You don't have to worry about things like that. All stars have interesting histories, or if they don't, we get the agents to make 'em up for them." He laughed at his joke.

"They'll work it out, or some of them will. Don't say anything, John. It's best you don't."

"I'm just trying to help, Mercury."

She felt worse. He did have her best interests at heart, and some of his own, but she had to further her plan. "I know, John. Look, how can I contact Marcie what's-her-name?"

"Marcie Haynes?"

"Yes, the woman who was with Frank last night."

"What makes you think I?"

"Don't act dumb, John. The whole theatre knows you were dating a lawyer, God forbid." And I was sleeping with a law student, so I was no better.

"I was going to say, what makes you think I want you contacting Marcie? What are you planning, Mercury?"

"I just want to talk to the woman." And somehow get to Frank.

"Now look here. When two women share a man, they never just want to talk to each other, believe me."

"We don't share a man." I had him first! She bit her lip to stifle an hysterical giggle. "John, I just want to contact her, all right?"

"Have you any idea what you're doing? What you could stir up?"

"Yes, I know what I'm doing and I'm not going to stir up anything." John was a lot harder to convince than her mother. "I want her phone number, that's all. You just said you wanted to help."

There was silence and she knew she had him. To refuse would seem churlish and unjustified. "I'm not going to be a party to this, Mercury. If you need her number, I'll tell you where she works you'd probably find that out yourself if you went digging but I'm not going to be hauled across the coals for giving you a personal and unlisted number. And if she comes after me, I'm going to deny everything. Okay?"

"Fine, fine. I understand. Where she works will do fine."

"She's an ADA at Queens County, Kew Gardens office but I have to say this again. Don't go stirring up trouble. You don't need it and judging by your shell-shocked appearance last night, it's not good for you."

"I know. Thanks John. I'll get some rest and be bright and bushy-tailed for tomorrow's performance, I promise. Bye!" She cut the connection on more protests from him, and flicked through the blue pages for the Kew Gardens' number.

So, she's a prosecutor. Overworked and underpaid but not too busy to screw someone else's.

"Shit!" she said aloud. She still thought of Frank as hers. What a fool!

While she waited to be connected with Marcie's office, Mercury looked at the clock on her desk. 10:32. The woman should be at work. She wondered what Frank was doing.

But Marcie proved to be her first snag.

Ms Haynes was in Court, her receptionist explained. No, you can't contact her there. No, she won't supply her cell phone number as Ms Haynes can't be disturbed.

Mercury thought hard. It was a long shot, but worth a try. "Does Frank Donovan work there?" This time the receptionist was a little more forthcoming.

"No, he doesn't, but he did escort Ms Haynes to the Courthouse this morning."

Mercury drummed her fingers against her chin, thinking. Change of plan, but it could be for the better.

"Can I leave a message for Ms Haynes?" the receptionist asked helpfully.

"No, don't bother, I'll see if I can catch up with her there later. Queens Criminal Court?" she guessed.

"That's right. If you want an appointment with Ms Haynes"

"No, that's fine. If I miss her, I'll call back. Thank you, you've been very helpful."

Hanging up, Mercury pushed herself away from her desk and walked back to the kitchen for another coffee. She leaned against the sink, thinking. It was just a matter of waiting now. Waiting for the courier to arrive with the print and then waiting outside the Courthouse this afternoon.

Any little voice that might have said this was wrong, that she shouldn't be embarking upon this, was silenced when she straightened from the sink and walked to the spare bedroom.

She bit her lip as she gazed at the painting on the floor where she had abandoned it the night before. A shudder ran through her at the blatant sex appeal of the man, even when only a likeness of him.

"I loved you, you know," she said to the portrait. "I think you loved me too, which is why I still don't understand why you left me. Or the way you did it. You have no idea what you put me through, do you?"

The painting stared back at her, mute, the smoldering message in the eyes promising her ecstasy, not heartbreak.

I'm sorry, Frank, but it's payback time.

Chapter Eight

Casing the Courthouse steps at five p.m. was no picnic. There was a steady stream of lawyers, their clients and court personnel exiting the double main doors and she was earning more than a few interested looks while standing on the sidewalk, supporting a five foot tall shrouded frame. Marcie and Frank had to come out some time. All sessions were due to finish by now and she had been here since three, in case they finished early. The wait had been tedious, but she fuelled her resolve with several fantasies of how he would react.

Her patience paid off, her heart beating faster as she saw Frank coming down the steps. His hand was on Marcie's elbow and both carried suitcases. Suited and professional, they looked what they were – counselors at law – by necessity, hard at heart. One tall and dark, the other a foil for him with her petite blondeness. Mercury clenched her jaw.

He was probably one of those horrible ambulance-chasers.

She approached them, carrying the print awkwardly. Another man with them was talking, accompanied by a lot of animated gestures, and Frank and Marcie were both listening intently.

"Frank! Hi!" Mercury called brightly, drawing upon her acting skills. "Now that I know you're in town, I wanted to give you something. You earned it." The trio halted at her hail. Frank looked guarded, Marcie surprised, the other man stopped mid-conversation. "I would have rung you, Frank, but didn't quite know how to contact you, but John knew Marcie and..." Mercury let her voice trail off, leaving the others to work it out for themselves.

"You see I did win the Burlington Prize for this." She held the print a little higher. "You didn't hang around to find out..." She kept up the prattle in front of them, not giving them a chance to interrupt or dodge her. "... and I thought the least I could do was give you the print that they made to promote my win." Looking around, she was glad to see people slowing down in interest. The more the merrier. "So, here it is." She turned the print toward them and whipped the shroud from it, revealing the copy of 'Nude on a Chair'.

She watched the stunned looks on their faces with avid interest.

Marcie recovered quickly. "My word, Frank," she said, looking the print up and down, "I'm impressed." But she wasn't smiling.

Another briefcase-toting onlooker came up behind them and stopped, letting out a low whistle. "I'm seeing your advisor in a new light, Marcie," he said. "Not sure I can handle it all at once though."

"Can it, Eugene," Marcie said, and Mercury ignored the withering look she was now receiving from Frank's girlfriend.

"I'll do more than that," Eugene said. "I'll use it in my credibility argument. I can see it now... 'Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I present to you the prosecutor's FBI liaison in all his glory. How can you trust the word of an Agent who moonlights as a nude model?' What's your second job, Banner?" he asked the other man who accompanied them, then laughed and walked on.

Frank hadn't said anything, hadn't moved, and Mercury was disappointed with his being so unresponsive. There was a crowd gathering, interested in what had caught the attention of the group, but still Frank didn't try to cover the print or wrest it from her. Mercury stared at him, painting an ingénue smile on her face and waited to see what he would do. But what did Eugene mean by 'FBI liaison'? For the moment, Mercury dismissed the thought.

"Satisfied?" Frank asked at last.

She wasn't. She hadn't expected this calm acceptance of her 'gift' and she felt uncomfortable with her hollow victory. Letting the print go, she turned and walked away. She didn't hear it fall to the ground and she didn't turn back to see who had caught it.

If he called her name, she didn't hear.

She did what she came to do.

Two days later ...

Weaving his way through the sidewalk café tables, Donovan spotted Marcie toward the front, her table half in the warm morning sun. She was reading The New York Times and didn't acknowledge his approach. He hoped her mood was improved from the other evening. Explanations on Monday afternoon were impossible in a taxi shared with a five foot framed print and an interested cabbie. He hadn't felt like enlightening her either, too incensed to speak.

"Good morning," he said, taking the seat opposite.

"Frank."

No returned pleasantry, so this wasn't going to be easy.

He wasn't sure what was expected of him. His presence for the case wasn't required on Tuesday so he flew back to his D.C. office for the day, but he agreed to meet Marcie for breakfast this morning before they were due in Court, knowing that she would want to talk about it. One could argue it was none of her business, but in all fairness, Marcie had been subjected to two of Mercury's displays and she was entitled to some explanation, even though hashing it out with her was the last thing he felt like doing.

"Have you ordered?" he asked, accepting a menu from a waiter pouring his coffee.

Marcie folded her newspaper carefully and placed it beside her still full cup. "Not yet." She waved the waiter away and stirred her coffee with a spoon.

Donovan noticed she hadn't added sugar, and he assumed it was coffee poured earlier and was now cold. Marcie Haynes distracted? Watching her in action in Court, he knew it wasn't one of her weaknesses.

He waited.

She tossed him a look and then put down her spoon. "Sunday night you explained that you had a relationship with that woman and it ended badly."

Reaching for a cube of sugar, he concentrated on toying with it between his fingers. He wasn't asked a question, so he said nothing, but found it interesting that Mercury was assigned 'that woman' status.

"She's a little upset with you," Marcie continued. "That's understandable. But Monday, she publicly presents you with a nude portrait of yourself. That's not so understandable. In fact, it's a little bizarre."

If he could understand it himself, he would be happy to explain. He dropped the sugar into his cup. Coffee splashed, staining the white table cloth.

"Obviously, she's more than a little upset," Marcie said. "And now there's this." She tapped the newspaper.

"This?" Donovan braced himself and looked up. Marcie appeared calm but her mouth was pulled tight with the effort to remain composed.

"You obviously don't have friends who read the entertainment section of the newspaper or else your phone would have been hot this morning."

"I haven't seen the paper yet," he said, suspicion sharpening his voice.

She flicked him a look and opened up the newspaper, scanning several pages before she found what she was looking for. "Shall I read it to you?" Her voice was terse, the veneer cracking.

He inclined his head. What now?

"'Rising star and lyricist, Mercury Aldair, deviated from form by dedicating last night's performance of 'Magical Dreams' to Frank Donovan, who, quote, inspired the story many years ago and without whom it would never have been written, unquote. Efforts to identify a Frank or Francis Donovan from Ms Aldair's past have not yet produced any information on this mystery man.'" Marcie's emphasis on 'mystery' was pure sarcasm. "'When interviewed after the performance, Ms Aldair would only comment that, quote, Frank would prefer to remain in her background, unquote."

His jaw clenched on the effort not to swear out loud.

"I understood," said Marcie, refolding the paper, "that you didn't want a high profile. In fact, you instructed me to fend off any press interest in your role in my court case, and yet I read this!" She slapped the paper back onto the table. "It would seem we have a... problem, Frank."

Stirring his coffee slowly, he stared unseeing at the traffic and pedestrians that passed them, workers hurrying because they were late, everyone with an agenda. Mercury had an agenda and she wasn't going away. He zoned back in on Marcie's 'we' reference. She too sensed Mercury was up to something and feared its impact. Marcie didn't need anyone associated with her case, no matter how much in the background, involved in a public scandal.

"Why is she doing this?" Marcie asked sharply and he realized his silence wasn't reassuring her.

"Other than to annoy me? I have no idea." Although he concealed it outside the Courthouse on Monday, Mercury's ploy hit home. With ease of training, he hid his shocked reaction to her 'gift', steeled himself against Eugene's sarcasm and Marcie's disapproval, but inside he seethed. He caught the print when Mercury dropped it and felt like hurling it after her, but instead, hung on with a white-knuckled grip while he watched her walk away.

"I suggest you find out, then," Marcie said, drawing his attention back to her, "before it escalates. Banner and I are only half way through the McIntyre case, and although you're only advising, publicity like this can still muddy the waters."

"I intend to." His nod was stiff. "I'm sorry you're in the middle of this," he said, belatedly apologizing for her involvement. Marcie was playing with her napkin, folding it and refolding it. He hadn't managed to placate her, but he wasn't sure whether she was worried or angry.

"Where is it?" she asked.

"It?"

"The portrait."

"I still have it." It was stashed under the bed in his rented apartment. His first thought was to get rid of it, curbed by the fact that the frame was an expensive one. "What I'm going to do with it is uncertain. What I'd like to do with it is another matter."

Her lips pursed in annoyance. "You're not going to keep it?"

"I've no idea. Despite Mercury 'giving' it to me, it was a statement rather than a gesture. I'll probably destroy the print but get the frame back to her somehow."

"Don't hash around the issue, Frank. You're quite capable of returning it whenever you like."

He raised a brow, both hands gripping his coffee cup. "Meaning?"

"Meaning you're probably enjoying this... this attention. You've got this Broadway star throwing herself at you, trying to get back into your life. What a coup."

His eyes narrowed on her flustered face and he noticed her fingers were now drumming on the table. "Marcie, I think you're getting a little carried away here." He took a swig of coffee, dropping one hand onto his lap, clenching and unclenching it to diffuse his growing tension.

"Am I? Am I, Frank?" Her voice rose in temper, then she took a deep breath, restraining it. "What possessed you to pose for the portrait anyway?"

"That has no bearing on "

"Can you please just answer the question?"

He balled the hand under the table into a fist. This 'breakfast' was rapidly going downhill. They were sniping at each other, when it was Mercury who should have been on the firing block. "It was commissioned while I was paying my way through law school."

"You did modeling for a living?" Her face was a mixture of surprise and dismay.

He lifted his chin. He was always ready for this reaction. "I wasn't in a position to be fussy, as long as it paid."

"I supplemented my college tuition but I didn't" She stopped just in time, but he finished for her.

"Sell yourself?"

"I was going to say 'debase' myself, but it's just as ugly. I'm sorry." Her eyes slid away from him. He couldn't decide whether it was because of what she admitted or where her imagination had taken her.

"I wasn't whoring, Marcie."

"I never said you were!" She tasted her coffee and grimaced. His early guess was correct. It was cold. She looked around for the waiter. "Let's order and discuss what we are going to do about this."

He caught the attention of the waiter and turned back to her. "We?"

"Well, I... I could help. If this turns into requiring a restraining order"

"She's not exactly dangerous."

"I realize that, but she is a nuisance factor. And the law can do something with nuisances."

His mouth twitched at how Mercury might react to being labeled a 'nuisance', then caught himself. There was nothing remotely funny in the situation in which she had placed him. He guessed that was the plan, which made him feel there was more to come. Marcie was right. He had to check this before it got out of hand.

"Let me talk to her first," he said.

"There's nothing wrong with my being there to help... as advising Counsel."

"I think Mercury will construe your presence as something altogether different."

"Meaning?"

"You don't think she'll perceive you as having a vested interest in the outcome?"

Her eyes went wide with feigned surprise. "Do I, Frank? I can't tell with you."

Whether she was piqued or genuinely confused, he deserved it, having opened the door. "Let's just get past this, Marcie." The waiter was hovering, and he placed an order of bacon, eggs and sausages while Marcie requested croissants.

While he waited for the meal, he finished his coffee, debating how best to tackle Mercury. Something bothered him. He was surprised at her lack of triumph on Monday. Instead of reveling in the embarrassing situation in which she put him, she seemed devastated – hadn't stayed around to gloat or rub it in. Hadn't even looked back when she walked away for a final assurance that he was humiliated.

It didn't matter. He still had to shut her down.

Chapter Nine

"I think you're making a mistake, Frank," Marcie said from her kitchen.

Donovan lowered himself onto the sofa and wearily rubbed his hands over his face. It was late and he was tired after a fruitless day of worrying about one woman, and then spending a restaurant dinner conciliating another. A dinner made even more difficult as he fended off any mention of Mercury.

"I don't have a choice," he said, only now indulging in her request to be updated with developments. "It's either see her after her performance, or not at all."

"That's what phones are for."

"I tried to contact her all day," he said, raising his voice over the sounds of her grinding coffee. "The home phone and cell phone were on a message service and she's made sure they don't put my calls through."

"I take it you have the means to find out where she lives, even if she's unlisted?"

He nodded even though she couldn't see him. "There was no answer at her door to the courier I sent around."

"It sounds like you've covered all the bases."

"But I still struck out." Mercury was in hiding and although he could have gate-crashed her evening performance, it was a measure too extreme to be kept low-key.

"But at the theatre, you are on her turf," Marcie said from the doorway and Donovan felt her disapproval from across the room. "You are surrounded by her people and theatre security. She could have you kicked out."

"I'm open to suggestions." He could hope she had a quick fix he hadn't tried yet.

"At least take me along with you."

"We've already discussed that." His nerves vibrated with tension at the thought of these two women going head to head. He knew who the meat in the sandwich would be.

"Frankly, I don't care whether she thinks I have a vested interest or not," Marcie said tartly. "She's starting to bug me. And I still think you're making a mistake." She disappeared back into the kitchen.

Donovan was sure of that. It was just a question of when he had made it.

"Besides which," Marcie called, "you've missed her tonight. The performance finished an hour ago."

"I didn't think you would appreciate my leaving half-way through your dinner."

"I'm glad my feelings were considered at one point at least."

Donovan hunched his shoulders, her terseness grating on him, but he couldn't blame her. This was why he avoided Mercury's name during dinner.

He heard Marcie's cell phone ring and rested his head on the sofa's back, closing his eyes. Hopefully this would be a long call, and he could make an excuse and leave early. The day spent in Court had been tedious, dinner touch and go, and he just wanted to sleep it off.

"What?" he heard Marcie's voice rise in decibels from the kitchen. "Very funny, Eugene, I'll remember that one in court." She rushed into the room, her cell now closed in her hand. "Frank. Turn on the TV. Quick!"

Donovan was half out of the sofa but she cut him off, going straight to the remotes on top of the television, and turned on the set. Flicking the channels, she stopped on an advertisement about Real Estate on Long Island.

Dropping the phone on the coffee table, Marcie sat down on the sofa he'd vacated and looked up at him. "That was Eugene. He thought I might be interested in watching Letterman on TV. They just announced that the next guest to follow these messages is Mercury Aldair who will be talking about her next play called, 'Nude on a Chair'. Considering Eugene was there outside the Courthouse on Monday and recognized who she was, he's put two and two together, and come up with the Joke of the Week."

"Son-of-a...! Is this live?" Donovan reached for his own cell, but Marcie put her hand on it before he could open it.

"Don't bother," she said, not taking her eyes from the TV. "It's pre-recorded but you can't stop it airing. No time, and the interest you'd create would only amplify anything she's about to say." Marcie jumped up and grabbed a blank video beside the VCR, pushed it into the recorder and sat down again. "Get comfortable, Frank. We tape the interview and take it from there."

Donovan sat down on the edge of the sofa seat and leaned forward, hands dangling between his knees, as he stared at the TV screen. Happy people were eating McDonald burgers as he waited for the program to come back. He saw Marcie give him a quick glance, then turn back to stare at him.

"You look like you're going to kill someone, Frank. It's a good thing your lawyer is present."

His jaw ached with the effort not to say something he'd regret.

The seasoned face of David Letterman filled the screen, pitching his preamble. "Welcome back to the show! I knew you wouldn't go away, not when my next guest is not only beautiful but multi-talented. A lyricist, playwright and painter all rolled into one package. Mercury Aldair has exploded onto Broadway with her musical, 'Magical Dreams' and is set to keep burning with another play in the pipeline. She's here tonight to talk to us about her career and her latest venture in her first ever television interview. Ms Mercury Aldair!"

The audience applause beckoned Mercury across the studio floor to Letterman at his desk. Donovan's eyes followed her. She looked good, her long hair swinging against a soft ivory-colored clinging dress that stopped well above her knees. He appreciated the matching high heels that emphasized her calves and ankles.

"She looks better on the stage," Marcie said. "Too tall for TV. She dwarfs everything."

Donovan ignored her.

"Congratulations on the success of 'Magical Dreams', Mercury," Letterman said heartily. "It's been playing for two months and it's already sold two point five million in advance ticket sales. How will you find time to write your next one?"

"It's already written," Mercury said, her voice soft. Donovan watched her closely, uncaring how Marcie might construe his interest. Both her walk across the studio floor and her voice were hesitant.

"That's wonderful. Very risqué title, isn't it? 'Nude on a Chair'." Letterman winked into the camera then turned back to his guest. "Tell us what it's about."

"Geesus!" Marcie said. "This is going to be good."

"It's about a starving law student…" Mercury was perched on the edge of her chair, looking around nervously. She doesn't like the TV cameras, Donovan guessed. "...who supplements his college fees by modeling..."

Donovan shook his head slowly from side to side. "Don't do it, Mercury," he said softly. "Don't do it."

"Geesus!" Marcie said again, jumping up from the sofa and folding her arms across her chest. "She's treading on thin ice here."

"Listen to this," Donovan ordered.

"... an older woman who commissions him for a painting takes him under her wing and changes his life. She falls in love with him, but he never sees her as anything other than a benefactor. He is innocent of her motives, while she doesn't realize the price she has to pay for her generosity."

"Why are you doing this?" Donovan asked her image, his fingers digging into Marcie's sofa.

"Sounds too much like 'The Graduate' to me," Marcie said. "That bird ain't gonna fly."

"I don't think she wants it to," he said, watching Mercury's body language. She wanted to be anywhere but there. Then what the hell was she doing?

"How soon will you be going into rehearsals?" Letterman asked. "Will you be working concurrently with 'Dreams'?"

"Initially, yes," Mercury said. "Rehearsals will start in about... three weeks."

"Three weeks?" Letterman said. "We can look forward to it soon then. You must have your lead signed on already. Who is he?"

Donovan watched her take a deep breath. "He's a young actor from Israel, trained in Bristol, England. He was quickly snapped up for a feature movie after graduating from theatre school, but I've managed to lure him back to the stage for 'Nude on a Chair'. I won't have him long though, as he's already contracted for a sequel to the feature."

"She's making this up," Donovan said, confident in his conviction. "Look at the way she keeps licking her lips."

"It doesn't matter," Marcie said, sitting back down. "Most of the stuff they say on talk shows is rubbish. That's why I don't watch it and Eugene does. They just retract it later and say the deal fell through." She put a hand on his thigh. "And I've got an issue with your looking at her lips."

He ignored her, too focused on Mercury.

"You're not mentioning names then?" Letterman laughed.

"You'll find out soon enough, when we've signed up all the cast and Publicity is ready to announce its launch."

"Is the actor prepared to strip for the stage?"

"He has agreed to, yes. It will be tastefully done, though."

"And which part will be yours, Mercury? The 'older' woman? Surely not!"

"No, we're still waiting on the actor we've cast to sign the deal. I'll be playing the woman's niece, who paints his portrait and becomes his lover."

"Mercury, Mercury, Mercury," Donovan said under his breath. "Why are you doing this?"

"Well, we can't get her on anything yet," Marcie said. "It's all very imprecise."

"Ah!" Letterman said, "A love triangle. With a happy ending this time? 'Dreams' is a bit of a tragedy."

"At this stage, no." Mercury laughed. "But I could always rewrite the ending."

"I understand you painted the main promotional poster for 'Dreams'," Letterman said. "Will you also be painting 'Nude on a Chair's' advertising material?"

"Yes, I've already done that too, and no, before you ask, I didn't bring a copy. That will be released with the Publicity launch."

"Son-of-a-bitch!" Marcie hissed, sitting down beside Donovan again.

"Who posed for the painting? Your young actor?"

Donovan's eyes narrowed as Mercury went suddenly pale. She seemed to zone out and Letterman noticed it too.

"Mercury?" Letterman pressed. "Ms Aldair!"

She changed position in the chair and gave a half-smile. "Uh, no, it was someone else."

"It would be extraordinary if it were this mystery man of yours... Frank Donovan. The tabloids can't manage to track him down."

"Oh, shit!" Marcie said. Donovan felt her grip his thigh. "If she says anything now..."

"I don't think she will," Donovan said. "That's not her plan." He forced himself to relax, flexing his hands.

"He's just someone I knew a long time ago," Mercury said. "People and experiences usually inspire creativity. Frank inspired 'Dreams'." She pushed herself back into the chair and crossed her legs. Donovan could see she was unwinding now, getting the hang of the big cameras or just glad the new play subject was finished with. And despite what Marcie said earlier, Mercury's legs looked good on TV.

"It's about him, then?" Letterman prompted. "He's the circus performer?"

"He might be a lot of things, but I don't think he's ever been a circus performer." She smiled at the camera.

She's hoping I'm watching, Donovan thought, tensing again.

Marcie was shaking her head. "This is ridiculous. This is saying nothing but insinuating and twisting everything."

"And where is he now?" Letterman asked.

"I've no idea," Mercury said.

"He's lying low. Breaking someone else's heart, no doubt," the show host laughed.

Donovan felt Marcie's hand slide off his leg. What? Did she think she was next?

"Your dedication to him then…" Letterman said. "Was that a reaching out to him? To tell him that bygones will be bygones?"

"Not really. It was more of an acknowledgement of the part he played in 'Dreams'. I didn't want him to think that I'd forgotten what he'd done for me."

"And if that's not hitting below the belt, nothing is," Marcie said between her teeth.

"Another Broadway success story. Well, thank you, Mercury," Letterman said, wrapping up the interview, "we wish you every success for both productions. For those who haven't seen what could very well be this year's Tony Award winner, 'Magical Dreams' is appearing at "

Marcie held up the remote and switched off the TV, then stopped the tape.

"How much damage has she done?" Donovan asked. It sounded like a snarl, even to him.

"Down boy," Marcie said, her back to the TV. "Put it this way, I don't want you anywhere near my courtroom anymore. Banner will have to fly solo from now on. You've gone from FBI liaison to a nude law student and/or circus performer sitting on a chair."

"That's not funny."

"I'mnotlaughing!" She moved away a step. "The damage professionally? You can answer that one better than I. Publicly... people may assume you inspired this new play now, which means your friends and colleagues who saw this interview are going to be looking at you really weirdly from now on. She's publicly embarrassed you more than anything else."

"If there is a new play," he added.

"You're convinced she made it up? Well, then, whether it's real or not, Eugene must be pissing himself now." She grabbed her phone from the coffee table and turned it off. "Just in case he wants to call and gloat."

"I have to get to her." Donovan was off the sofa and heading to the door. "If this is all just attention-seeking, she succeeded."

"You're not going now?" Marcie was right behind him. "It's nearly midnight!"

He stopped and looked down at her. "You want me to wait while she feeds the press with more lies?"

"If that's the case, she's already done it, Frank. Letterman is taped during the day, in front of a live audience. You can bet there was a reporter amongst them. The press would have interviewed her anytime this afternoon or after this evening's performance."

"I should have cancelled dinner after all. I was wasting time." He threw his head back, working his jaw.

Marcie gasped, drawing his attention back to her. Her mouth twisted and her eyes were moist. He put his hands on her shoulders. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. This is getting to us, isn't it?"

Marcie nodded. "It's not working, Frank," she said, turning away. "Maybe you had better get all of this sorted out and then if you're still interested, come back and see me."

Donovan's hands tightened on her shoulders. He had to stop putting his own concerns ahead of other's feelings. "I'm sorry," he said again.

"Forget it," she said, looking back at him. "I was hoping for something that's not going to happen." Her smile was brave but forced.

Marcie was probably right. The damage was already done and it wasn't fair to put her in this position. He bent down and touched his lips to hers in apology. She responded tentatively and he increased the pressure, examining his reaction to the contact as he explored her mouth. He desperately needed to feel something more with a woman, something that would make him forget nights spent losing himself in the arms and body of a soft whirlwind of a woman with ever-changing moods, keeping him on his toes, physically and emotionally. A woman like his job, with the highs and lows of challenges and unpredictable outcomes conquered.

He had it once.

It felt good with Marcie but it didn't feel different. Not from the last woman or the one before that. There was only one who turned his head and heart inside out.

He pulled Marcie to him fiercely, trying to block out the picture of the long-haired witch that was destroying his peace of mind.

Chapter Ten

"Frank, you need to see this!"

Donovan swung around in the shower to see Marcie standing at the bathroom doorway, waving a newspaper in the air. He couldn't see her features clearly through the steam and the wet glass of the shower door, but her voice was furious. Here we go again. He shut off the water and reached for a towel. "Is there a write-up about the Letterman interview?"

"No, more... much more."

Wrapping the towel around his waist, he stepped out of the shower and reached for a second one, throwing it over his shoulders. "Can it wait till I dress?" He was hoping for a morning reprieve before tackling this issue again. It looked like it wasn't going to happen.

Marcie's brows went up. "If you think reports about your love-child can wait, sure! Go ahead and dress." She spun on her heel and disappeared back into the bedroom.

"Shit!"

Donovan didn't normally waste his breath on profanities but this had gone too far. He tossed the towel from his shoulders, reached for his Calvin Klein mesh T-shirt and put it on as he walked out of the bathroom. The bedroom was empty and he scoured the room for the rest of his clothes. Discarding his other towel, he hastily dressed and went in search of Marcie. She was sitting at the small kitchen table drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. Seeing him, she pushed a full cup toward him.

"Sit down, Frank. You're going to need the caffeine and the support."

So much for morning after-glow. Marcie had invited him to stay the night, but any thoughts of sharing a companionable breakfast were shot down by the look on her face.

"What is it now?" he asked, taking a mouthful of coffee, forgoing the sugar and ignoring the scald. Physical pain was easier than this mental harassment Mercury was putting him through. "Good morning, by the way," he added as an afterthought.

"We'll see if you think so after I read this little gem to you," Marcie said, tapping the paper neatly folded at the section he presumed interested her. "Same entertainment section as yesterday. This editor loves Mercury Aldair. Can't blame him, considering the gossip fodder she's feeding him." She took a breath. "You ready for this?"

He shook his head. "Probably not."

She nodded and began to read. "'Broadway's darling, Mercury Aldair, rocked the theatre circuit late last night by announcing after her evening performance that she will not be available for any more performances of 'Magical Dreams' and that she will be replaced by her understudy, Ms Roberta Toulouse, until further notice. When asked for an explanation for her temporary retirement, Ms Aldair explained that she will be taking a few days off to visit Disneyland with her nine year old nephews.

"'Upon further research, it was discovered that the boys both live with her sister, Stacey Murchison in Great Neck, New York, but are eight months apart in age. This led to some conjecture by several entertainment journalists which was put to Ms Aldair before she left the theatre last night. She revealed that her sister gave birth to twins but only one survived. In an attempt to assuage their loss, Mr and Mrs Murchison adopted a second child later that year. The Murchisons have not been available for comment.

"'One may ask,'" Marcie continued reading, "'if the second child is not so much Ms Aldair's nephew, but Mrs Murchison's? Could this be a love-child of Ms Aldair's and that mystery man, Frank Donovan, who, according to a David Letterman interview urgently aired last night, has been somewhat heavily involved in Ms Aldair's creative processes?'"

"This is ludicrous!"

"There's more," Marcie said, her jaw clenched, "and it gets better. 'Other paper sources have revealed that Frank Donovan is currently involved in a case being heard in the Queens County Criminal Court and that there was an incident last Monday when a woman fitting Ms Aldair's description presented a man with a large painting outside the Court. Witnesses have been found to collaborate that the painting was of a male nude sitting on a chair. If the woman was Ms Aldair, then we can only speculate that the man was Frank Donovan.'"

"Son-of-a-bitch!" Donovan slammed his cup onto the table, and pushed back his chair so hard it toppled. "They've been very busy, haven't they?" he snarled, pacing the small kitchen, feeling confined and restless.

"Else, Eugene has," Marcie suggested, eyeing the fallen chair. "I'd make a good guess he's the collaborating 'witness'. Now, Frank, tell me. Is there any chance of this 'nephew' being your child?"

"No way." He picked up the chair and shoved it back under the table.

"That's the first thing the man assumes. When were you last with her? As lovers, I mean?"

"Over ten years ago."

"The boys are nine years old, Frank, maybe nearly ten. There's every possibility"

"There isn't. We always took precautions." He slapped both hands onto the table, hunched his shoulders over it and thrust his face into hers.

"Precautions fail," Marcie said, pulling back in her chair.

"Marcie!" God, what was he doing? The woman looked afraid of him. He straightened and resumed his pacing.

"I'm… I'm looking at this from a lawyer's point of view, Frank," she said, tossing the paper onto the table. "We have to rule out every possibility and then start looking at the probabilities."

"She's lying! She's making it up to get at me."

"Do you know this sister?" Marcie pulled the paper forward and scanned the article again. "Stacey Murchison?"

"I've never met any of the family."

"How long were you together?"

"Three months." He grabbed his cup and poured himself another coffee, then hooked the chair out from under the table with his foot and sat down again.

"And you never met her family? Did they live distantly?"

"Not really." Marcie was frowning and he knew she was thinking it must have been an abnormal relationship. "I'm not on the witness stand, Marcie."

"I'm just trying to build up a picture here, Frank. Trying to understand why she's doing this."

This time he dumped sugar into his coffee, rammed in a spoon and stirred viciously. "I ended the relationship and I ended it badly. I've no excuse and she has every right to hold it against me, but this public denouncement has to stop."

"You don't say! But if I caught the man I loved in bed with another woman, I'd be pretty vindictive too."

"That's not how it went down." It was happening again. They had become lovers last night and now they were sniping at each other.

Because of Mercury.

"You're not exactly forthcoming, are you?" Marcie said, tapping her fingers on the table. "Okay, I'll stop prodding. It's not getting us anywhere."

She shut down on him. He was thankful for it, but admitted he was being a bastard still. "I'm sorry for taking this out on you, Marcie. She's driving me crazy."

"I can see that." Marcie stood, taking her cup over to the sink, and rinsed it before setting it on the drainer. "I'm trying not to take it personally, but it's damned hard." She spun around and leaned against the sink with her arms folded. "What do you plan to do?"

"I'll put a trace on her and confront her. She's gone too far."

"I suggest you start now. But before you do anything, make sure Banner is up to speed for his session in Court today. I'm getting dressed." She gave him a smile that was a mere tightening of her mouth. "You can let yourself out."

And that was that. Another relationship blown out of the water. Donovan took his coffee cup over to the sink, emptied the dregs and tossed the mug onto the drainer. Turning on the tap, he ran his wrists under the water, cooling his blood and his temper.

Impressive record, Donovan, he thought. Real impressive.

During the cab ride back to his apartment, Donovan contacted Jim Hunt, a local P.I. he used when in New York, and arranged the trace on Mercury. He was promised a car outside her apartment within thirty minutes. Considering it was nearly nine now, he hoped either this so-called 'Disneyland' trip was a ruse or she hadn't left yet. He also organized Banner to meet him at his apartment for a debriefing in the McIntyre case.

Changing clothes at his apartment took less than ten minutes by which time Rian Banner was knocking at his door. He let in the blonde-haired, blue-eyed New York Agent, and it struck Donovan that neither Banner nor the case would miss his presence. Rian's jovial boy-next-door looks were far more conducive to gaining a jury's trust than Donovan's own brooding influence in the Courtroom.

"Take a seat, Rian," Donovan said, pointing to the dining room table topped with his briefcase and half a dozen over-stuffed files.

"Sure, Frank. Oh... by the way, congratulations."

Donovan halted on his way to the kitchen for coffee and turned around. "You've read the morning paper."

"Unh, unh, Gina did. My wife always reads the entertainment gossip. We saw yesterday's too but didn't hassle you about it, but considering you're a daddy now, well... I just had to congratulate you."

If Donovan didn't like the man so much, he would have wiped the smile from his face with his fist. "There's no truth in it, Rian," he said, his voice measured, betraying no emotion.

"'Course not. We know what the tabloids are like. So what's with you and Mercury Aldair?"

"Not now." Donovan continued to the kitchen. What is between us? Miles of acrimony at the moment. Is that what you were aiming for, Mercury?

"Had breakfast?" Donovan called out while filling the coffee-maker.

"I'm set," Rian said from the other room. "You do what you have to. Meanwhile, I'll review your files."

Do what you have to... It may yet come to that. Donovan scanned his fridge without interest, grabbed a half-gallon of orange juice, shut the door and uncapped the bottle and took a deep swig from it. He leaned against the fridge door, staring out of the kitchen's small window at the park, canopied in green, in the next block. Where are you, Mercury? What are you planning now?

His cell rang and he put down the drink container to retrieve the phone from his jacket. "Donovan."

"Jim here, Mr D. There's been some activity outside the target's building. There was an arrival ten minutes ago. A woman looking to be in her forties. Same woman is now exiting the building with our target. Both ladies are climbing into the back of a cab that I think might be heading downtown. I'll proceed with the tail."

"As soon as you determine their destination, report back," Donovan said, the scent of the chase sharpening his voice. "Don't let them out of your sight." He closed his cell and joined Banner in the living room, wondering who Mercury's friend might be. "Any questions, Rian?"

Banner was already on the second file and he finished flipping through the pages, before reaching for a third. "Nah! I should be ready for anything Eugene Leiter throws at me. I've managed so far."

"You're right," Donovan said, sitting at the table opposite the Agent. "You don't need me, but Marcie asked me to brief you anyway."

"And you've got the lovely ADA on the go too? Busy lad, you are."

Donovan's mouth twisted. "Not any more."

"Doesn't like competing with the Broadway diva, eh? Can't say I blame her."

"There's no competition," Donovan said, massaging his temples. "The woman's making my life hell with all these trumped up allegations."

"You know, you could diffuse the situation by going public yourself," Banner said, leaning further back in his chair. "Your continued silence through all this media attention isn't helping."

"I'm too thankful the media can't find me to even consider going public with it. Though I've got a feeling you'll be dodging the press outside the Courthouse today."

"Don't worry about me. You might want to reconsider though"

Donovan's cell rang and he took the call immediately. "Donovan."

"Jim here. The target's taxi has stopped outside Macy's and the women are getting out. Looks like it's 'Ladies Day Out' at the shops."

"Stay with them," Donovan ordered. "I'll join you. I'll call you back on this number when I arrive."

"You'd better be prepared to pay the fine when my car gets towed away," Hunt said, "'cos I'm going to have to double park here."

"Done. Just don't lose sight of them." Particularly not in Macy's. He'll never find them. He hung up and stowed his cell. "I have to go, Rian. Help yourself to the coffee in the kitchen."

"Where're you off to?"

Donovan pushed himself away from the table, buttoned his coat and raised his eyebrows.

"Shopping."

The taxi let Donovan out at Macy's entrance on Thirty-Fourth and Seventh and he scouted the four-way street looking for a double-parked vehicle. There were none. No surprise. The cops were quick in this city and Hunt was already without his wheels. He pulled out his cell and called up Hunt's number and walked into the store while he waited for the connection.

"I'm here," he told the P.I. "Where do I head?"

"You're gonna love this. I'm standing in the middle of ladies' lingerie on the sixth floor and the target's surrounded by a legion of fans. I'm feeling a bit self-conscious hiding amongst this lacy stuff so I'll be glad to change shifts with you."

"Keep them in sight till I get there."

"Oh, these ladies aren't going anywhere fast. The fans are giving her a hard time about getting rid of that 'good-for-nuthin' Frank Donovan who doesn't deserve her. What have you been up to, Mr D? First the tabloids, now this public hate session."

"My first mistake was going to the theatre," he said into the cell. He was on the escalators and kept Hunt's line open as he headed up toward the sixth floor. He considered what Banner had said about spiking Mercury's guns by going public himself. He was already out of the McIntyre case, and the Agency would probably keep him on the backburner till it all blew over, so his main concern was the repercussion on Mercury herself. Still, one could argue that she asked for it.

There was no need to scan the floor for her when he reached it. He simply followed the sound of laughter and excitedly-raised voices. "You're off the hook, Jim. Go collect your car and send me the bill."

"With pleasure," Hunt said. "The tow company's a huge improvement on this hen party. I'm outta here."

Donovan caught movement from the corner of his eye and saw Hunt extricate himself from a stand of lacy teddies. Despite his mood, Donovan couldn't prevent a smile. The P.I. looked flustered, his round face red with embarrassment.

Acknowledging the man with a nod, Donovan turned his attention to the small crowd of women surrounding Mercury. She was standing with her back to a counter manned by no less than four shop assistants and looking casual in a buttoned white cotton shirt and short tan skirt made sexier by high-heeled red shoes.

There was an attractive auburn-haired woman standing next to her – the friend who had come shopping with her? – and a bevy of smiling women in front of her. He moved close enough to hear what was being said but kept out of her line of vision. He wasn't going to hide amongst lace but he didn't want to draw attention to himself either.

"...Ms Aldair! You need a decent man, like my Enrique!" one woman said, her dark head nodding up and down in emphasis. "'e would not let you down."

"Or my Jephson," another said. "He loves children. He wouldn't desert a woman."

Donovan's brows rose. He was getting scorched well and good, but he was past stressing over it. The damage was done and Banner was right. The best way to diffuse it would be to contain the issue, rather than let it spiral out of control with gossip.

"Ladies, please!" Mercury laughed. She didn't seem bothered by the attention. "Don't give away your husbands. You deserve good men. I let myself be blinded by good looks when I should have been looking for dependability. Someone trustworthy and loyal like you ladies have."

"Oh, Ms Aldair, 'e was never unfaithful to a lovely lady like you?"

"No, he wasn't unfaithful... just faithless."

This character assassination had gone far enough. Donovan moved closer and into her line of vision. His height guaranteed that she saw him almost immediately and he watched her eyes widen at seeing him. He held her gaze and watched the play of emotions over her face – shock, embarrassment and then... calculation? – before she reacted. He could only guess at what she was thinking, but her next words were totally unexpected.

"Darling!" she cried. "You finished early? How wonderful. You're just in time to meet these lovely ladies and pay for my purchases. Ladies! Let him through. This is the wonderful man in my life now, so you needn't be concerned for me." She was holding out her arms to him, her face glowing, and he felt a cruel contraction grip his gut. He always felt safe in those arms, protected and pampered, and it had been good. He hadn't felt it since. He fought those feelings for the three months he was with her, not trusting them, but having lost them for the last decade, he realized that's what he missed most and needed.

Still needed.

The revelation should have set him in stone, but he moved to her as if drawn to a magnet. His legs were answering automatic signals from a mind spiraling with visions of her with him, beside him, under him; remembering the sound of her laughter, the feel of her skin and the touch of her hands on his body.

He faltered as he realized what was happening and clamped down on those images, forcing his calculative processes to kick in. She was acting the role of her life, either assuring her fans or setting him up for another fall, one he couldn't predict. He decided to call her bluff, sweep her off her feet, and kiss her senseless, and not necessarily in that order.

He shut down his susceptibility to those open arms. It was time to do a little acting of his own.

Walking through the parted sea of women, he briefly made eye contact with the auburn-haired friend. Her features looked familiar, her brow furrowed and mouth pursed in confusion, but he didn't know her. He swung his gaze back to Mercury and mustered up a dazzling smile of warmth and delight.

He went into her arms and his head went down and kissed her. He imagined how the movie or stage stars would do it and tried to emulate them – her spine bent over his arm, prolonged lip-locking, lots of movement, switching from side to side and his success was reflected in the hoots and titters of the women around them.

It wasn't hard to do and he was enjoying himself. The feel of her body against his, the surprised vulnerability of her mouth was rousing his senses in a way that still amazed him. Although Mercury messed with his head, she still managed to turn his body traitorous. He wanted her. Not Marcie nor the other women who had come and gone so briefly in his life. Mercury had been his haven and, damn his weakness, he wanted that back.

He felt her freeze at first, go rigid on him next, then start to squirm, small sounds of protest coming from her throat. Her hands went to his shoulders and started to push, but he had her firm and immobile. Her foot moved and a heel came down on the toe of his shoe. He lifted his head but didn't let her go.

Admit it, Donovan. This was what he wanted, her in his arms again, but he wasn't going to let her continue to wipe her feet on his reputation. Cupping the back of her neck with a hand, he gripped it in warning, schooling his face to reinforce the message. He would repay more violence in kind. She was panting, looking at him with a wildness in her eyes. He let her straighten, but hooked an arm around her waist and faced their audience. His other hand held hers in front of him with a pressure against her fingers that reinforced his earlier warning. Play or pay.

"Sorry about that ladies," he said, grinning widely. "That was long overdue and I couldn't help myself."

"Oooo, Ms Aldair!" one of her fans said. "Who is this? He's gorgeous!"

Mercury treated Donovan to a look edged with hate. He squeezed her hand and she winced. Turning back to the women, she smiled brightly. "My boyfriend wants to remain anonymous for now." He caught another killing glance from her. "Despite that little display just then, he doesn't want–"

"The name's Frank Donovan, ladies," Donovan interrupted smoothly. "Mercury's been a little put out. She's been saying some nasty and untrue things about me lately, because I haven't been giving her as much attention as she craves. But that's going to change, darling. You won't be able to get rid of me now."

He pulled her closer to his side, and lowered his lips to her ear, where they lingered as he felt her tremble against him.

"Check and mate," he whispered.

Chapter Eleven

Mercury suffered the hardness of Frank's body where he held her forcibly against him and it felt like a trap. Twice now, he kissed her in public. The first time she goaded it, this time she actually invited it, but she expected her overt display to make him run, or at the very least, ignore her, reinforcing her belief he was an emotional coward. Instead, he floored her with this open show of affection. Affection! He practically ravaged her in front of her sister and these women.

She was burning where he touched her, embarrassed by the indignity of being captured against his side. She made to pull away several times only to have her hand squeezed harder each time. "Let me go," she whispered through clenched teeth.

"What's that, darling?" he asked, bringing his ear in closer.

"Let me go!" she hissed into it and bit down hard on his lobe.

He grunted and swung her around to face him, bringing her thighs hard into his, his hands capturing her wrists and twisting them behind her. The blaze in his face as he locked eyes with her gave the embrace the look of a lover wanting to be close. Only she felt the anger vibrate his body. Her breathing came in small pants and the whole of her being flushed with heat, but it wasn't with embarrassment this time. There was pleasure-pain cramping her loins and her knees began to fold.

She turned her head away in shame.

"Let her go," her sister said quietly.

Mercury rallied at the sound of Stacey's voice and pushed hard on Frank's chest. He released her and she stumbled. Recovering, she kept her back to the other shoppers and stared at his jacket button, breathing composure back into her body.

"Now please leave," Stacey said.

"That sounds like an excellent idea," Frank said. "But first, I believe I have to pay for these purchases, and then Mercury will be coming with me."

Mercury's eyes flew to his in dismay, but he was looking over her head at the fans behind her.

"If you don't mind, ladies," he said, "Ms Aldair would love to see you in the theatre, but we need to finish up here and find somewhere more private." He winked at them and Mercury saw red.

Hearing the women disperse with snatches of phrases about 'Ms Aldair's gorgeous man', Mercury directed all the fury in her face at Frank. "How dare you!" she seethed, checked from saying more by the confused looks on the shop assistants' faces.

Frank turned his back on her and handed over his credit card to one of the Macy's employees.

"Mercury," Stacey whispered, coming up close beside her. "For now, give in gracefully. Fight later."

"I never put off tomorrow what I can do today," Mercury said, feeling the situation sliding away from her as she watched Frank weighing up her sister.

"Never a truer word said," Frank stated. "You are?"

"Stacey Murchison."

"The sister," Frank said. "I'm Frank Donovan."

"The ex," Stacey countered. "I've met your portrait."

His brow rose. "Somehow, I'm not surprised, but I am surprised you brought it up."

"I'm surprised you subjected us to that little caveman performance. Why was that?"

Mercury squared her shoulders as his direct gaze brushed her. "Ask your sister," he said, turning away. "She'll tell you I have a history of it." He signed for the purchase and straightened. "Now, if we can drop you off somewhere, Mrs Murchison, Mercury and I need to have a discussion." Mercury felt his hand close over her upper arm as he made to move off. She grabbed her purchase and hastily thanked the assistants before being forced to follow him. Give in now, fight later. She used Stacey's advice like a mantra, delaying the inevitable explosion.

Stacey grabbed Frank's elbow, stopping him. "Oh, I'm not that easily gotten rid of," she said. "Let's go somewhere more private, certainly, but it will be the three of us."

"This is really between―"

"I grant you that, but I spent several months consoling this fragile blossom after you dumped her, so I am a little leery of your arrival in her life again."

Mercury pulled her arm from Frank's grasp and hissed a 'Stacey', but was ignored.

"I understand, Mrs Murchison, but Mercury has been trying to get my attention for five days now, and now that she has succeeded, neither of you can expect to scare me away."

Mercury could see her sister processing his words. "Mercury? Is that all this is? Attention-seeking?"

Guilt slid over her senses, replacing the anger. "No! I... " Mercury looked around uneasily, fearing eavesdroppers. "Can we please take this somewhere else?"

Stacey looked back at Donovan. "Mercury and I were planning to have lunch at the Marriott. You may join us if you want." Mercury could almost hear the 'if you dare' that she left unsaid.

"Mercury and I can do this alone."

"I realize that, Mr Donovan, so we'll ask my sister whether she wants to be alone with you. Mercury?"

"I... Frank, can we do this another time?" This was getting out of hand, but Mercury didn't know how to stem the situation. "Stacey came with me today because I asked her to. I'm not going to abandon her."

Frank was weighing up the odds, but, by the set of his mouth, he wasn't happy about it. "Coffee in Macy's would do," he finally said.

"Something stronger," Stacey said, countering him. "One of us is going to need it."

He lifted his chin but yielded. "The Marriott then, but the 'fragile blossom' was overdone, don't you think?" He smiled.

"Maybe. Maybe not." Stacey didn't return his smile. "You didn't see what you left behind."

Mercury turned her head away. She was furious at Frank's behavior and unsure of the wisdom of her sister coming to her rescue. She knew her little campaign would not go unpunished, or at the very least, unnoticed. She had only herself to blame for his seeking this conflict. He went to take her arm again to escort her to the escalator, but she shrugged it off. "How did you find me?" she asked.

"I had you followed."

"Of all the―!"

"You refused my calls. What did you expect me to do?"

They were at the escalator and Mercury insisted Frank go first, falling back with Stacey, seeking her reassuring presence. "Normal people don't have people followed."

"Thank you. I never considered myself 'normal'. You've reinforced that for me."

Her eyes narrowed. Was that a dig at her? "You can't have me followed. I have a right to my privacy."

She gasped as he grabbed her arm and brought her closer to his face. With him on the step below her, they were on eye-level and she faced him off, strangely comfortable in the familiar routine of baiting him.

"And what was that interview with Letterman? Those newspaper reports? Is that your idea of a person's right to privacy?"

"Back off, both of you!" Stacey interrupted. "I'm even more convinced I need to referee this little meeting. I don't know how you two ever got it on in the first place. You're like spitting cats!"

Mercury felt the adrenalin course through her. Stacey didn't know it, but that was exactly what had brought them together. Her baiting him and his biting back was like foreplay for them. She shivered at the thought, stepping closer to her sister.

On the ground floor, Stacey stepped in and took Frank's arm and Mercury wondered if her sister had decided she was going to referee before they even got to lunch. Stacey guided Frank outside, heading him uptown. The crowds jostling past in both directions made it impossible for Mercury to walk abreast with them and she was left bringing up the rear.

Watching her sister with him, she felt as if Stacey had just stolen her favorite toy, irrational though it was. Their heads were together, Frank leaning down so that he could hear Stacey, a frown on his face; she looking up earnestly to make her case, punctuating what she was saying with hand gestures. Mercury pushed forward to hear what was being said, but was shoved out of the way by a pedestrian hurrying past.

"Jerk!" she shouted at the man disappearing ahead.

Frank swung around and quizzed her with a look. She ignored him and he turned back to Stacey.

Mercury felt close to tears but didn't know why. Reaction from the argument in Macy's, maybe even being left out of the loop right now or confusion over how her body responded to his rough tactics – she couldn't explain it. She only knew she was feeling totally wretched.

Her vision blurred with unshed tears and she stumbled and went down. She didn't know what tripped her, only seeing the pavement rushing toward her. She cried out as a passer-by's heel jabbed into her hand, and then she saw Frank crouching down next to her. She felt his hands touch her tenderly, grip and hold her, then pick her up. Her eyes closed as tears fell slowly down her cheeks. Feeling his fingers feather across her face, she bit down on her lip to stop her confused misery from spilling over.

"Mercury!" It was Stacey, worry rampant in her voice.

"Can you walk?" Frank's deep tones caressed her with his concern. "Are you all right?"

She opened her eyes and his face was so close she should have pulled back, but all she wanted was to close the distance and make the contact complete. She felt protected from the moving tide of people, his arms and body her shield.

"What's wrong?" he asked softly.

It made her want to cry more. "I'm fine!" She struggled against him, ashamed, but he wouldn't let go. Instead, he half-lifted, half-dragged her to a shop front and sheltered her under its awning.

"Stay still till we check," he ordered. "Does anything hurt?"

"Nothing. No."

"There's blood on her knee, Frank," Stacey said. "Damn! I don't even have a tissue. I usually always have one for the boys, but... Mercury, give me that." She held out her hand for the bag with the purchases Frank had paid for, and Mercury passed it over.

She watched Stacey rummage in it and then realized what she was going to do. "You're not going to use my new lingerie!" she gasped.

"Use my handkerchief," Frank said. "Better still, I'll do it." He shook out a white square and bent down to gently dab it onto Mercury's knee. She hissed through the sting of it and turned her face into his neck. Before she could stop herself, she deeply breathed in his scent and sighed. Just this one little indulgence, she promised herself, before she started hating him again.

"I'm okay," she whispered against his skin and felt him tremble in response. She was affecting him as much as he her. His grip loosened and she pushed herself away, rearranging her short skirt self-consciously, then stared in horror at the state of her three hundred dollar pair of shoes. The red leather was badly scuffed on one shoe and a whole heel was missing on the other.

"My shoes are ruined!"

"Typical," Frank said, straightening and looking around. "Stacey, perhaps we can take a taxi."

"You're right. Mercury's not walking anywhere in those. I'll get us a cab to take us to the closest shoe store, then the restaurant." She pushed through the crowd and disappeared, still hanging onto Mercury's lingerie bag.

Mercury didn't know where to look, so she kept examining her ruined shoes. She felt Frank's finger under her chin and tossed her head. "Don't touch me! You've done enough of that already."

"You keep... inviting me to do it." His voice was amused, but when she looked him in the eyes, she saw no humor there, only a brooding watchfulness.

Was she? Was that what she was doing? "That's a lie," she denied.

"All right, then. You keep setting me up to do it." He squatted down and tapped her intact shoe. "Take it off and I'll break its heel. Then you'll be on an even keel."

She lifted her foot at the order, allowing him to slip it off. "I was not setting up anything."

"Now, that's a lie." He looked up, and she saw a fleeting smile. "You've been conceiving some sort of confrontation since you saw me Sunday night. Presenting me with that print, organizing press coverage and damning interviews. Tell me you didn't arrange those." He broke the heel with a sharp twist and slipped the shoe back onto her foot.

"I... All right. I wanted to hit back at you. It was stupid. As soon as Stacey arrived and we talked, I knew I'd made a mistake, but..." She closed her eyes. "I just wanted to hit back―"

"Why?" He straightened, bringing her in closer as she was bumped by another pedestrian. She kept her eyes closed, savoring the feel of his body against hers.

"If you'd just left it at the public slapping at the theatre," he said, "I would have gone away. I wouldn't have come near you."

"That's not―" Her eyes flew open. She'd almost said that's not what she wanted. "I wanted you to pay for some of the hurt you inflicted on me," she amended. She was a fool for even admitting this to him, but she couldn't prevent the words from tumbling out. "Using the media... it was the only way I knew."

"It wasn't the only way. You could have talked to me. Instead, you've sabotaged a court case, increased my public profile, pissed Marcie off"

Mercury breathed in sharply. "It's all about you, is it? Your career, your public life, your girlfriend. How inconvenient for you!"

She wrenched away from him and plunged into the crowd, putting as much distance between him as her damaged shoes would allow.

She heard him call her name, but she wouldn't look back.

Chapter Twelve

As soon as her cell rang, Mercury knew it was Stacey and she knew she would answer it. She'd done enough irresponsible things already, she didn't need to compound her pettiness by refusing to answer a phone.

"Yes, Stacey," she sighed, pushing her foot into a delicate slip-on sandal. Mercury was surrounded by shoes, arranged by sales assistants as they presented new styles and scattered by her after trying them on. The women were now busy serving other customers and Mercury was appreciating the temporary privacy in the back corner of Macy's shoe section.

"Where are you, Mercury?"

"Around." Drowning my woes in a sea of shoes.

"Are you coming to the Marriott?"

"Is Frank there?"

"Yes he is."

"I'd rather not."

"It would make more sense to do so. We both had reservations about hanging around waiting to see if you would show up, but hell, Sis, someone had to."

"It doesn't matter anymore." Mercury's voice reflected the hollowness within her.

"If you put if off today, Mercury, I have the distinct feeling that you'll still have to face him some time. He's livid at the moment. And he's not going to hang around awaiting your pleasure."

"I'll pass, Stacey. Thanks anyway. You enjoy Frank. You can have him."

"It so happens," her sister said, her voice curt, "that I'm not the one he came to see. You were the one who said we needed to take this somewhere else, and now you've done a runner on us. Mercury? Are you there?"

"Yes, I'm here," she said, resignation underlining her words.

"Good! I mean, bad. You should be here. Now get your ass to Marriott's before he eats all of the bread sticks. Have you seen how much this man eats?"

Mercury looked up at the ceiling to prevent new tears from falling. I was the one who kept him fed while we were together. "Yes, I have," she whispered. "I don't have any shoes."

"And that's your fault. He has a perfectly good credit card and is willing to use it, but you ran off and wouldn't take advantage of it."

Mercury couldn't prevent the smile. "I'll still pass, Stacey."

There was silence on the other end of the phone as her sister regrouped. "You have a choice, Mercury. You see him now in this restaurant or you lose any chance you have of ever finding closure here. I don't know why you started what you started, but this thundercloud I've got sitting opposite me is the result, and it's up to you to resolve or disperse the storm. Get my meaning, sister dear?"

"Why? I don't know that I can."

"I told you, honey." Her sister's voice softened. "You must have known what ball you set rolling. You had to know that he would come after you. Well, he has, and you have to catch the ball and sink it... Be quiet, Frank. I've got two lively boys under my roof and I know all about ball-games... Mercury? Frank's playing hard-ball too, but I know these things... All right, all right... Frank says he just wants to set the record straight. If you'll pull back, he's willing to talk. Mercury... you need to do this, for all our sakes."

"All right!" Mercury said, giving in, but not gracefully. "I'll meet you there. I'll finish up-"

"How long?" Stacey asked.

"I'm buying shoes here, Sis. How long do you think?"

Stacey gave an audible groan. "...Frank, I hate to tell you this, but you've got the pleasure of my company for another hour or more... Mercury, he won't wait. He's ready to leave. He's had a gutful of me, and I'm about to return the compliment."

"I don't give a damn if he leaves. Let him."

"You don't mean that. You need this as much as he does."

The line went dead and Mercury stared at her cell in one hand and the leather sandal in the other. Stacey was enduring Frank but she didn't understand him like she, herself, did. He wasn't an easy man to know or love.

But you managed to do it, she told herself. You managed for three glorious months.

It took another half hour before Mercury reached the restaurant. She wasn't in a hurry, dreading the confrontation, but by the time she got to the Marriott, she had mustered up sufficient courage to get her through the door.

She made her way to the Atrium restaurant and exchanged greetings with the maitre d'. She was glad to see Tony on duty. She dined here often and his reception of her was friendly and respectful, a salve to her bruised feelings. Following his brisk step to her table, she saw Stacey first, her sister probably positioning herself to watch the door. Frank was at an angle to her and Mercury felt a stab of guilt when she saw his grim profile. Stacey was talking, her hands moving as rapidly as her mouth, and he wasn't liking what he was hearing. It was obvious in the set of his chin and the rigidity of his back.

Stacey fired another volley at him before standing to greet Mercury. "'Bout time you got here, Sis. I've been wanting to ring Mom to check on how the boys are treating her, but I didn't dare let this man out of my sight."

Frank had risen too and the displeased look he gave her turned her guilt to an inner smile. If Stacey had been giving him a hard time while they waited, she should have just set her sister loose on him earlier instead of arranging the media condemnation.

"You'd better let Frank order some lunch too," Stacey said. "The way he's been knocking down those bourbons on an empty stomach… Well, it's either indicative of his stamina or his folly. Get the Chef's Special." She patted Mercury on the shoulder. "It's a seafood platter and Tony recommended it. I won't be long."

Mercury watched her sister thread her way through the tables and out the door and then took the seat beside Frank, feeling a little confused. Cell phone reception was excellent in the restaurant, so maybe Stacey wanted privacy. Turning back to Frank, she noticed he was eating the last bread stick. "You could have saved me one," she said without thinking.

He froze mid-bite then pulled the remainder of the stick out of his mouth and solemnly offered it to her.

She looked at it, at his mouth, then looked away. "No, thanks," she mumbled. She remembered when she used to feed him. He loved his food. He loved how she 'served' his food.

Placing the bread on the tablecloth between them, he signaled for their waitress and ordered more bread sticks and another bourbon. The curvaceous brunette smiled at Frank while Mercury ordered Pellegrino and the Chef's Special, then left with a sway of her hips.

Mercury looked around at the other patrons, unwilling to meet his eyes. The restaurant was only half full, not surprising since it was not yet noon, and they were all couples, friends, lovers, or acquaintances; all smiling, laughing, and enjoying each other's company. She was stuck with a brooding Count Dracula. If he didn't say something soon, she was going to walk out of there, Stacey or no Stacey.

She jumped when he touched her hand. "Shit! You scared the life out of me!"

"I'd like to wring the life out of you. His voice was low and controlled, but his look was severe. "You have to stop this public condemnation of me, Mercury."

She laughed without mirth. "You're a lawyer, Frank. You should be able to handle bad public opinion by now."

He took an audible breath, and, placing his linked hands on the tablecloth, leaned toward her. She moved back slightly, drawn in by his proximity but needing to fight it for her own peace of mind.

"I'm not a lawyer," he said. "I'm with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, which is the main reason why you need to stop your little publicity campaign."

"FBI?" She felt her eyes widen with disbelief.

"Yes."

"But you were in law–

"And I left. Life paths change."

"You have ID?"

"You don't believe me?" He reached into his pocket and flipped out his badge and credentials. She looked at them, but the information was hardly registering.

"This course you're pursuing has to stop," he said.

Her eyes met and held his. "You left me no choice, Frank. You walk back into my life and walk out again with hardly a word, and I'm plunged back into the mire. I had to exorcise you somehow or else relive all of that again."

"Revenge is not a choice, Mercury. It's a weakness."

"Don't you dare talk to me about weakness! You were the one who couldn't face the consequences of your decision to leave me, nor even supply me with a reason. Where's Stacey?" She looked around, not wanting to do this.

"She's not coming back."

"What?"

"The phone call was a ruse. She said her piece to me and she's given me strict instructions to sort the matter out."

"Sort? In what way, sort?

"She says we probably need closure of some sort. I never gave you that, but I want to now."

Mercury picked up her napkin and began twisting it. That sounded ominous. Like he wanted to exorcise her from his life too, but he'd already done that. "She said she wasn't going to let you loose with me–"

"That was when she didn't like me." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"And she does now?"

"I think it's not so much that she likes me now, but that I convinced her my intentions were genuine." He paused as the waitress approached with their drinks, placing Mercury's bottle and chilled glass at her elbow before bestowing Frank with a bright smile and a sweating glass of bourbon.

"Is everything to your satisfaction, sir?" she asked and Mercury's eyes narrowed. It wasn't what she said, but the way she said it.

"Yes, thank you, Natasha," he said, dismissing her.

Mercury watched the waitress leave them, then turned on Frank. "You know her?" she asked.

"Who? The waitress? She introduced herself when I arrived."

I'll bet she did, Mercury thought. "What have you been telling Stacey?"

"Believe me, I was doing all the listening."

That sounded like Stacey. "You still haven't told me why you left, Frank."

He sat up straighter, closing his coat over his chest, his eyes solemn and, she believed, sincere. "You spoke of choices before. Ten years ago, I considered I had no choice but to do what I did. I realized that the FBI could offer me something that being a lawyer couldn't. I was made aware of the sacrifices I would have to make and I was prepared to make them."

"Don't you think I deserved to know why I, too, had to make those sacrifices? I loved you, Frank! I even told you so. I never let you doubt it. And yet–"

"I couldn't tell you. I didn't want to leave you behind but I couldn't take you with me. I had to erase Frank Donovan, the law student, and become someone else. That meant all ties with him–"

"Ms Aldair?" A large woman, dressed in a floral silk ensemble that made her look larger still, approached their table, separating them. Her perfume was overpowering and Mercury pushed back slightly in her chair. "It is!" The woman turned around and addressed the man at her side. "Benton! I was right. It is Mercury Aldair. How wonderful. My husband and I just love your play, don't we Benton? Seen it three times already. And we promised to take our daughter when she's in town next month."

Mercury nodded and smiled and said thank you and wished the woman would leave.

"I have to say, I'm a big fan," the woman continued. "And I've been reading about you in the papers lately. Shame about that horrible man who's been causing you grief though. Saw you on Letterman, and I could see you were upset by it all. Didn't she look upset, Benton?" She swung around to get her husband's confirmation.

The man with her grinned, his teeth too large for his thin features. "Frank Donovan was his name, Thelma. I remember because I thought that Letterman fellow said 'Frankie Avalon'. You know how much I like to bop to Frankie."

"That you do, Benton." His wife nodded sagely.

"And I remember thinkin'," Benton continued, "that I never would have guessed he'd break a lady's heart. But it weren't him. It was some no good for nothin' Donovan." He shook his head sadly.

Thelma swung back to Mercury, leaning closer. "Don't you mind Benton, love. He's in one of his rambling moods. Now, if you wouldn't mind, I've got here this nice menu from the restaurant and I was hoping you might autograph it for me and then I can remember this day and this lovely moment of meeting you. 'To Thelma, my biggest fan' would be nice."

Thelma flapped the menu at Mercury and waited, looking hopeful. Mercury had no pen but glanced at Frank, her lips twitching. "Frank, you wouldn't have a pen, would you? I've heard Rock'n'Roll stars always come prepared with their pens wet. For signing autographs, that is."

Frank glowered at her and pulled a pen out of the interior pocket of his coat, thrusting it at her. Thelma didn't pick up on the innuendo, merely bobbing a thank you at Frank and watched Mercury avidly as she signed the menu.

"Oooo, thank you, Ms Aldair. You've made my day. And Benton's. Our next tickets are booked for June 22. Maybe that night you might say a little hello to Benton and me and my daughter, Jessica."

"I'll try," Mercury said, making a mental note to inform Publicity.

"Well, thank you again. I'll leave you now with your nice young man. Real looker, isn't he? You'll want to hang onto this one, you being so lovely and he being so handsome. Make a picture pair, you do. Oh, but me and my mouth! Whatever must you think of me? I must get back to my lunch. I'm having the 'Franks in a Blank'. Have you tried one? Mighty tasty it is. I could put my mouth around one all day, any day."

Thelma smiled hugely at Frank, bobbing her head again, and then, rounding up her husband, returned to her table.

Mercury stared at Frank who had gone a deathly shade of pale. "Are you imagining what I'm imagining?" she asked him.

"No! I am not going there." His voice was strangled and she could barely hear his answer.

Mercury stared a moment longer, then doubled up in laughter, her hand clasped over her mouth to smother the noise. Her eyes watered from the effort of getting herself under control. She finally threw her head back, swiping the tears and taking deep breaths. She looked back at Frank who had drained the last of his bourbon, his eyes fixed on her, and Mercury was reminded of a deer speared by headlights. She snorted then broke into laughter again, blinking more tears from her eyes.

"Oh hell, I so needed that," she whispered. "Thank you Thelma. Thank you very much."

The waitress noticed Frank's empty glass and arrived to enquire if he needed a refill. Frank waved it at her, nodding his head numbly, and when she took it from him, Mercury noticed her hand touch his deliberately.

Get a grip, girl, she thought. Just because you think the man is as sexy as all hell, doesn't mean every woman's out to get him.

The waitress was passed by another, arriving with their meal. The platter was overflowing with succulent and appetizing crustaceans, but Mercury's interest in it was nil. Frank didn't seem in a hurry to sample it either. Silence stretched between them and she took a sip of her water to avoid eye contact with him. Despite the liberating effect of Thelma's departing statement, Mercury felt her nerves beginning to tighten again. They never had awkward silences like this between them. Silences usually meant their lips were busy elsewhere. Mercury stole a glance at his mouth, remembering the feel of his lips against her skin, their skill in pleasuring, exploring every inch of her as if she were the meal. She swallowed and struggled for something to say.

"Eat, will you Frank! This food is too good to waste."

He glowered at her lame command but selected a piece of cracked crab. He handed it to her and she took it without thinking. Pulling out a piece of meat, she popped it into his mouth, then watched him chew on it slowly.

She took a breath, arresting her fascination and cutting into the tension. "So, what can you tell me about your career with the FBI... or is your life classified now?" She dug out another piece of crab and fed that one to him too.

"A lot of it is." He ignored her noise of derision, utterly serious. "I can tell you about it in general terms only."

She waved a hand to give him the go ahead to continue.

"After graduating from Quantico, I spent the first few years in and out of the country. The work was everything I wanted it to be. Mentally and physically challenging, exhausting even, but it helped me to come to terms with leaving... you." She watched him place his fingers around the dainty vase in the center of their table and toy with it.

"I realize that you would have wanted to know of my plans," he said, and started to rotate the vase slowly between his fingers. "You might even have offered to wait for me to finish my training, but you wouldn't have waited five or so years, and I wouldn't have expected you to."

"The way you–" she began, needing to remind him of that night.

He nodded. "I know. It was new ground to me, Mercury. You were new ground to me. What I had before you and after you was the norm for me – the fight for survival, the distance maintained in personal relationships, getting the job done no matter the consequences. What I had with you... a woman I could trust, someone I could let down my defenses with... it was–" He stopped as if he couldn't find the words. "We were simpatico. I didn't know where I stopped and you began."

Mercury was amazed at his eloquence. She remembered a raw youth who was abrupt almost to the point of rudeness, but who made up for his verbal reticence with gestures and heated reactions, both in temper and in passion. Her hand shook slightly as she passed him the third piece of crab.

The waitress returned with his drink and Mercury wondered how many bourbons that was now. He showed no sign of intoxication. He hadn't drunk much at all when she knew him and something had changed that. He smiled and absently thanked the waitress, who she gave him a breathy 'you're welcome' before leaving.

"I'm now based in D.C. and travel a lot," he continued, "though only locally on the East Coast. I'm younger than most of my peers which is sometimes a problem." He washed the crab down with a mouthful of his drink. "It's easier for me to be a loner, get the job done, go home to an empty apartment or onto the next assignment. As a result, I'm still lousy at relationships."

"Marcie?" She had to ask.

"Marcie is a good example." He shook his head as if in regret. "I'm settled in what I'm doing now. I'm good at it. I'm in my thirties and thinking I might be able to juggle a commitment. But I can't make it work. Marcie didn't work out either." He took the empty crab shell from her plate and tossed it into the bowl provided and selected a shrimp, cracking it open before handing it to her.

"What happened to her?" Mercury pulled out the shrimp meat, cut it in half and fed him a piece.

He raised his right brow and smiled as he chewed. She had to smile back. She loved that brow.

"You happened to her," he said. "That last report about a supposed 'love-child' was the straw that broke that camel's back."

"I didn't say that. They weren't my words." She selected an oyster from the platter for herself, dropped it on her plate and absently pushed it around with a finger.

He held up a hand at her protest. "I know what the tabloids are like, and so does Marcie. That didn't stop her from having a gutful of your little smear campaign though." He touched her hand while she played with the oyster. "With your resourcefulness, I could have used you on some of my missions overseas."

He smiled while he said it, but she was unsure whether it was a compliment or not, so she let it pass. "What were they like? Your assignments. Dangerous?"

She handed him the second piece of shrimp, but it was smaller than the other and his lips closed over her fingers to receive it, warm and velvety firm. The sensation sent a shockwave down her arm into her lower body, grabbing her heart on the way. With it came the recognition that they had fallen into their old routine of his selecting the food and her feeding him. She pulled her hand away sharply, her fingertips wet from his mouth and still tingling.

Looking away, she quickly washed her fingers in the water bowl and balled them in her lap. She glanced at him again to see if he had shared her revelation but he was chewing thoughtfully, looking into the distance. Mercury felt he was far away, seeing or remembering things, but she could get no sense of how the memories were affecting him. The man she knew always had an expressive face, shuttering from wariness to temper, passion to satisfaction. This older Frank could blank his expression at will.

"Enough about me," he said. "All I'm doing here is feeding your media machine."

"I'm not pumping you for information to use against you, Frank." She frowned, annoyed by the accusation.

"Are you going to tell me what prompted all of that?" he asked. "The newspaper reports? The TV interview?"

"Seeing you," she said. "Being manhandled by you. Isn't that enough?"

"I was attacked first," he reminded her.

"That was shock at hearing your name, seeing you across the room on the arm of another woman. It was as if those years hadn't passed and I was still reacting to your defection like it was yesterday. I saw red." She gripped the side of the table with both hands to stop their trembling. "You were the one in control that night. And then you walked out the door. Again."

"So your reply to that was character assassination?"

"Was any of it untrue?"

"Mercury," he said, closing the distance between them, his face grim. "I need to know. This 'love-child' thing. It's definitely a fiction the press cooked up?"

His eyes were alive with anxiety. Was he not only unable to build on relationships, but fearful of fatherhood? Something curled within her, shriveling her hopes. "Stacey's second child is her godson and was the child of very dear friends of hers," she said. "He was born one month after my nephew Ricky and orphaned six months later and Stacey and Owen were able to adopt him. A tragedy that they could turn into a happy ending."

Frank sat back, visibly relaxed. The waitress used that as her cue to move forward and enquire whether she could help him in any way and Mercury was beginning to tire of the woman's constant attention. Frank asked for a side order of green peppercorns. She hadn't touched her oyster yet, and that was why. She always sprinkled a few fresh peppercorns onto them to enhance the taste. He remembered, while she had forgotten to order them earlier.

But his thoughtfulness wasn't going to get him off the hook. "What are you afraid of?" Mercury asked, her voice sharp. "That I was going to hit you for maintenance? Worse still, encumber you with an unwanted child?" She didn't try to hide her bitterness.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"I think I do. I think I'm looking at a coward here. You talk of being ready for commitment now. What rubbish! You never caught on, Frank, that a career, success, are nothing without someone to share them with, whether that be a partner or children to follow in your footsteps. Someone to make coming home a worthwhile and wonderful thing. I come home to an empty apartment at midnight most days of the week and I hate it. I'd give up Broadway any day for a man who loved me or a child who needed me."

She looked away, close to tears again. She blinked them hastily away and noticed a young couple at a table near them. They were obviously in love, their hands meeting across the table, eyes only for each other. The woman was gazing at her man as if he were a god. He put a hand to her cheek and she turned to press her lips into his palm. A soft sound of distress escaped Mercury's throat.

"Why are you still there?" Frank asked.

She dragged her attention back to him. "What are you talking about?" Momentarily, she saw him as the youth she loved – the long hair, the chiseled beard, aroused eyes gazing into hers, then she blinked and the memory was gone.

"Why are you still pursuing a career if it doesn't make you happy?" he repeated.

"Isn't it obvious?" She held her hands out wide. "I don't have either of those things."

"Why not? You're a beautiful, talented and desirable woman, Mercury. Why don't you have a man to come home to?"

She gaped at him. The realization hit her so hard, she was amazed he hadn't picked up on it himself. She had no man because the only one she wanted sat opposite her asking unanswerable questions. "I have to go," she said, hastily pushing back her chair.

He stood also, grabbing her wrist and pulling her back to face him. "Why don't you have a man?"

She watched him, her eyes wide and hurting, but said nothing.

"Sit down," he said. "We're attracting attention." He pulled down on her wrist and she sat without resistance, still shell-shocked. "Mercury, if it's because of me, I'm sorrier than I can possibly say. If my hurting you has flawed the way you view other men, then I'm every kind of heel imaginable. But I can't change the past." He leaned forward again, pushing the seafood platter to the side. "Give me the chance to move past it."

"What do you mean?" She looked at the food, rather than at him, anything to avoid reading more into his eyes than was there.

The waitress came back with a dainty bowl of peppercorns and placed it in front of Frank, then lingered. Mercury was gratified to note that he ignored her, not taking his eyes from herself until Natasha finally left. Picking up a spoon, he dropped three peppercorns onto her oyster. Not less, not more, but exactly three. He remembered.

"I'll be remaining in New York," he said, apparently unaware he had completed their little ritual, "until the court case you tried to torpedo is over. Thanks to you, I'm not wanted in the courtroom anymore, so I'll have a lot of free time on my hands. We could get together–"

Her body went rigid with fury. "Are you saying you want to see me while you're here? And then what, when you're ready to go back to D.C., that's it? That's the end?" She had extreme difficulty in restraining herself from throwing the peppercorn bowl at his head. Her hand got as far as closing over it, ready for the pitch. "I can't believe this! You are calmly suggesting to me that we pick up where we left off and see what happens? 'Oh, but by the way, when I have to leave for D.C., I'll catch you on the next round.' Is that it, Frank?"

"That's not what I meant!" He rocked back in his seat. "Shit, Stacey's no help at all."

"What's Stacey got to do with anything?"

He leaned forward again, hunching his shoulders and rolling his neck. He was feeling the pain and she could only be glad.

"She tried to give me some tips in handling her 'mercurial' sister," he said. "I told her I wanted to smooth things out between us somehow. She felt that if I had enough sense to recognize and coin your nickname but then didn't have the sense to run the first night, then I deserved the misery and so she was willing to help." He started to toy with the vase again, his eyes watching his fingers rather than meet her gaze.

Mercury shook her head slowly from side to side, appalled at what she was hearing. "Frank," she said, her voice softening in sorrow. "Frank... you don't need tips on how to 'handle' me. You did it beautifully for three months. What happened? What did you lose?"

His hands froze and he looked up, his eyes velvet brown and alive with the pain of overdue discovery. The seconds lengthened between them. "I lost you," he finally said.

The restaurant went quiet and all movement seemed to stop for Mercury. Her eyes didn't waver from his face as she waited for him to elaborate.

"I lost you," he repeated, speaking slowly as if in shock. "I lost... your unconditional acceptance, your quirky humor, my safety net from a fucked up life. I gave away what made me whole and protected."

Mercury stared at him.

"I've thrown away ten years of my life, haven't I?" he asked and she actually heard his disillusionment.

Mercury took a quick breath and nodded. "Yes. In a way, you have. But, I guess it depends on what you do with the next ten years that will tell you if it was a waste."

Letting his head fall into his hand, he rubbed his eyes as if they pained him. For the first time, Mercury realized that he wasn't the bad guy here, he was just a misguided one. He truly believed he'd made the best decision, not knowing that a career was small compensation for two halves losing their whole.

He straightened, squaring his shoulders. "I...I want you back," he said simply.

Mercury let out the breath she had been holding. Could she really believe her ears, and if so, could she believe him? "Say that again. I don't think I heard you right."

"I need you back," he amended. "I screwed up what I had, without knowing it, but if there's any chance of having it back... I want it."

This was it. The moment with which to crush him. Her payback. It would be so easy. But she remembered the insecure hungry youth that she had fallen in love with, and sadly, pathetically, had never fallen out of love. "I'm not going to leave myself open to another fall, Frank. Once was enough. There are dozens of reasons why I can't do it. When you leave New York, I can't go with you."

"Why not?"

"I need to be damned sure about a man before I throw away what I have. I need to be assured that I'll be replacing it with something more important. And you don't have a good track record. The only lure that will take me from my career path is marriage and a family, Frank. Believe it or not, that's all I want."

And if that doesn't scare you away, nothing will.

"And if I can give you that?" He leaned over the table, his hands clasped on its surface in front of her.

In hope? she wondered.

"Are you serious?"

"Shit, Mercury!" He thumped his fist on the table, rattling the plates and silverware. "I'm no good at this."

"Then learn. Fast!"

He took a deep breath. "Give me time. Let me woo you. You never had that from me. Flowers, dates, picnics in the park. The whole ball-game. I couldn't afford it then, but I want to now."

She was a fool, she knew it. She was actually considering his plea. She had everything to gain if he could do it this time around, but she had her sanity to lose if he couldn't. It was a huge risk for her, but she'd gambled before – on him, on 'Magical Dreams'. Maybe this time, he could come through for her like her musical had.

"Ms Aldair..." The maitre d' was standing at her elbow. She hadn't even heard him approach.

"Yes, Tony?"

"Is there a problem?" He was glowering at Frank, disapproval evident in his rigid stance and lack of subservience toward the other man.

"We're fine, thanks. Are we disturbing the other patrons?"

"Not at all, Ms Aldair. We are always happy to have you here, but if any of your... guests are displeased with our establishment, it is my duty to correct that displeasure."

"There's no problem, Tony. Thank you."

"Nevertheless, I will send Natasha to attend to your every need."

Before leaving them, Tony signaled for the waitress who had been fawning over Frank.

Feeling snappy as she watched Natasha walk eagerly toward them, Mercury turned on Frank. "What makes you think I want to date a Fed. anyway, Frank? That's got to be worse than a lawyer."

He pulled back as if she'd slapped him, his face fierce with anger.

"Can I help you, sir?" Natasha asked.

Frank held Mercury's gaze before leaning back in his chair and breaking the connection. He smiled warmly at the waitress. "Maybe you can, Natasha. If I were a lawyer, would you go out with me?"

The waitress quickly recovered from her initial surprise, dropped her eyes and smiled. "Why, yes, I would."

"And if I told you I was an FBI agent, would you still go out with me?"

Natasha looked a little confused now, but she still nodded. "Of course! What you do for a living is of no consequence." She tossed her hair. "You're a very attractive man. Any woman would."

"Thank you, Natasha. That will be all."

The waitress frowned at the dismissal and walked away slowly, looking back with uncertainty.

"What I do for a living is of no consequence, I believe she said," Frank said, the boast of righteousness in his voice.

"You noticed!" Mercury accused.

Frank leaned forward again and stretched out a hand to her face. Trailing his fingers slowly along her jaw-bone and around her chin, his thumb rubbing over her lips as he went. "Noticed... what?"

"Noticed she was..." On the upsweep, he used the back of his hand and her whole cheek tingled from its warmth. "... all over you..." Mercury was finding it hard to breathe. "...ever since I got here."

His fingertips changed tactics and danced along her brow, causing her eyelids to lower. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"She'd say... anything... she thought you'd want to hear…" Mercury's eyes darted away but kept coming back to his, drawn by their now molten message. "So... it was a safe bet..." His fingers slid under her hair and massaged the tension in her neck and her shoulders dropped with relief. "...to bring her in..." A little gentle pressure from his hand brought her closer to his descending mouth and she breathed in the tanginess of his after-shave. "...to confirm your point," Mercury finished, her lips mere inches from his.

Her eyes darted to his then lowered again, shocked by the blaze she saw in them. She didn't know why he was doing this, but she couldn't let it happen. This wasn't going to heal wounds, only renew them. She fought the final pressure he exerted, the one that would allow him to capture her lips and guarantee her battle lost. They remained frozen inches apart until finally his hand slid from behind her neck.

He pulled back. "This isn't working."

"No, it isn't," she said. Yes it is!

"What do I have to do, Mercury?" He held out his hands to her. "To make you realize I'm sincere here. That I truly want us to work."

She carefully folded her hands in her lap and then studied them. Could she trust him? She so wanted to. "Commit to me, Frank," she whispered, then cleared her throat. "Make me feel there is no room for doubt in your mind that you can do this." She raised her eyes to his, daring him to dissemble. "Can you do it?"

"I want to try."

"Can you do it?"

"I think I can."

"Can you do it?"

"Yessss!" he hissed.

His eyes roamed her face, touching on every feature. Leaning forward, he put a hand behind her neck and this time she let him bring her face to his, touching her lips with his, softly, then pressing harder and finally drawing her in. Pushing his fingers through her hair, he held her lips to his and kissed her deeply. Her body swayed toward him, heavy and unwilling to remain upright on the chair.

"I need this more than anything," he whispered, lifting his head. "Tell me what I have to do and I'll do it." He kissed her again. The softness of his lips was fleeting as the strength of his passion flared and spread through her, making her body want him and damn the consequences.

Something else had changed. The Frank she knew had never been demonstrative in public. This Frank had already kissed her in a crowded room, in front of a bevy of shoppers and now in an exclusive restaurant. The young Frank hid his passion behind closed doors. The man with her now didn't have that self-consciousness. She wondered how far the changes went.

Eyes closed, Mercury pulled back her head to whisper against his mouth. "Then meet my family."

He waited a heart-beat, but no more. "And if I do?"

"I remember how you wouldn't let yourself get drawn into that side of my life, Frank. I should have seen the warning signs but I didn't." She turned her head so that he could trace her jaw with his mouth this time. "If you do, then you're on probation. And if you leave for D.C. before I've made my decision, you're history."

He worked his way back to her mouth then lipped her chin on his way down to burying his face in her neck, the soft rasp of his goatee making her gasp. "Can we do one thing first before I do?" he groaned softly.

"I think we'll have to," she breathed back. "I've got a feeling Tony's going to throw us out for indecent behavior."

Chapter Twelve

Standing outside the Marriott, Mercury felt the intimacy that bound them together in the restaurant slip away. The man holding her close against the tide of New Yorkers was almost a stranger to her. She didn't know this mature, self-assured version of her Frank and yet she was demanding commitment from him. Even more unbelievably, he promised it. What had seemed feasible over the lunch table now felt unreal in the push and shove on the sidewalk.

"How do you live here?" he asked, pulling her closer still, one arm around her waist, the other caressing her wrist. With that small gesture, he made her feel treasured and protected, at variance with her uncertainty that she could trust him.

She looked around, hiding her confusion. "This is my home now, and I enjoy it. Believe it or not, it grows on you."

He looked down at her, a small smile on his lips. "You're thinking I wouldn't like it?"

"I didn't say that. How long do you intend to stay in New York?"

"That depends on you." His eyes were gentler than she ever remembered them. "I presume you can't pack up your play and come to Washington, so I have to spend time in New York."

"Then you're serious? About us?"

He pulled her around to face him, backing up against the outer façade of the hotel. Her body sank into his and her head fell back. "You still think I'm not?"

She looked away, but his fingers guided her face back to his. "I don't know what to think. Yesterday, I hated you enough to condemn you on national television."

"And today? Now? How do you feel now?"

She had to smile. "Right now? Like this, I feel like I'm in heaven. But I don't know how long it will last."

He nodded slightly. "For me, life has never come with a guarantee. So in all honesty, I can't give you one, but can only tell you I want to be given a chance – to do it right, to make it up to you. Other than that–"

She sighed. "So... what now, Frank? Your place or mine?" His eyes narrowed and he released her. She regretted her flippancy, missing his heat against her body still chilled with doubts.

"That came out a little too glibly," he said, his voice terse. "Besides, I said I would woo you and I will. Where would you like to go?"

She looked around again, feeling she would need a thunderbolt to force a coherent thought from her. Rational decisions were definitely beyond her.

He shifted impatiently. 'You used to like going to the movies. Shall we try that?"

Mercury froze, remembering their hot and heavy love-making in the darkness and relative privacy of theatre back rows. "I don't think that's a good idea," she said.

"Why not?"

She hesitated. It was a fair question and demanded a fair answer. She could fabricate or be honest, neither path necessarily advisable. In the end, she chose the truth. "You never knew why I took you to the movies so much, did you?" she asked, not meeting his eyes.

"Because you liked seeing your movies on the big screen? I think that's the common reason."

She shook her head and examined the button on his jacket, suddenly finding it fascinating. "I liked..." She took a deep breath. "...the thrill of making out with you in public, Frank." Now that she had started, the rest came out in a rush. "You were always so buttoned up when we went to parties, but when the lights went down in the theatre, I could always let you loose. I thrived on the power that gave me." She sneaked a peak at him through her lashes to see him with a huge grin on his face.

"And you're not game enough today? Is that it?"

"I feel I hardly know you anymore, let alone be in a position to... accost you."

"What if I want to be... accosted?" He was still smiling and it somehow eased her embarrassment.

"I'm not sure I could−"

"What if I promise to be a gentleman? Would you go then?"

"I..." She was still tempted to refuse, knowing he was taking it as a joke while she was seriously tempted. But she couldn't think of an alternative. "All right, the movies then. There's a theatre nearby that's playing that new one with the young actor I was talking about on Letterman in it. It's his first major movie."

"This is the guy who's allegedly playing in your so-called new play?" He frowned down at her. "I understood 'Nude on a Chair' was a fabrication for my benefit. Was I wrong?"

"No," she hastily assured him, "but the actor's real enough. I might as well get your opinion on him. John is trying to sign him up for another project of his, but these movie deals keep getting in the way. Pity. He could do well on Broadway, and as a performing medium, it's much more challenging for an actor."

Frank wound her arm around his in that way he had that kept her close and guided her back onto the busy sidewalk. She was molded against his side and able to walk in step with him, matching his rhythm. They always moved well together – a perfect fit of angles and curves.

Their bodies might have been comfortable together but her mind spun for something safe to say, some light-hearted conversation to ease the new awkwardness again. "How long have you known Marcie?" she asked, then swore under her breath. What was safe about asking your ex-lover about his current lover? Fool! She saw his brows knit together and couldn't blame his feeling confused.

"Is it important?" he asked.

"No, I was just... curious." Bird-brained, more like it.

"Only a couple of months," he said. "Or, do you mean, how well do I know her?"

Damn! He was reading her mind. "Forget it," she said. "It was a stupid question."

"How long have you had your personal protector?"

She swung her gaze from the heads in front of her to look at him in confusion. "If you mean Stacey−"

"I was thinking of John Kremzow, actually."

"What makes you think of him like that?"

He was still looking ahead. "Just a feeling."

Was he jealous? He was so damned poker-faced, she couldn't tell. If he were, it would have more impact for her than impassioned words spoken over a restaurant table. Promises were merely words. Jealousy was an emotion he couldn't fake. If she could tease some sign of it from him, she would feel more secure, more capable of taking the risk.

"John's up there with Stacey as the chief benefactors in my life," she said. "Stacey keeps me sane when I need the proverbial belt over the head, and John is the one who gave my career propulsion, whereas previously I had just been marking time. He's very protective of his investment – of me – and he's worried about where you come in."

"Now is the moment when you say you're just good friends." He gave her a quick sideways glance.

"We're more than good friends, Frank. You haven't been listening."

She felt him tense against her, his body, this close, unable to hide what his face could. It had been that easy. He either hadn't learned or she hadn't lost her touch. He walked the rest of the way without speaking, but Mercury was unsure which emotion kept him silent – anger or jealousy. She let her mind examine and enjoy both options.

Arriving at the theatre, Mercury walked up to the ticket office and rummaged in her bag for her purse and credit card. She slid it out before she realized Frank had handed over the cash and was already receiving the tickets.

She must have looked stunned because he arched a brow, saying, "You object to my paying for you?"

"No." She shook her head quickly. "It was habit, I guess. I always paid."

His mouth twisted. "I never had the money then." He sounded bitter about it but she had enjoyed spoiling him. "I can afford a few luxuries now. The government's tight, but it's not that tight."

He took her elbow and steered her inside. Mercury eyed the confectionery counter and the huge hotbox of popcorn at its center. She glanced away quickly but looked back when she heard a soft rumble of laughter from him.

"If I'm to keep my promise about being a gentleman, we'd best forgo the popcorn," he suggested.

A hot flush flooded her at the memory generated by his words – her giggling, deliberately dropping popcorn onto her lap and his head between her knees, sucking and licking her skin.

"Though you are wearing a short skirt," he continued, his mouth against her ear, breath warm and moist. She leaned into him, almost unable to support herself. "Come to think of it, you always wore a short skirt to the movies." She ignored him, concentrating on keeping moving and not falling at his feet.

They were ushered into the semi-darkened theatre where the opening scenes had already begun and Frank guided her toward the back. Her steps slowed when she realized where he was going. They always used the back seat, where, out of the way of watchful eyes, they tormented each other's bodies and tested the limits of public decency.

He was almost pushing her ahead and, giving in, Mercury sat on the edge of the seat he chose for her, nerves taut. Frank lowered himself beside her and took her hand, holding it against his thigh. She held her body rigid, her heart racing. Her tongue played along the line of her bottom lip, recalling running her fingertips up and down his thigh, then her nails, a hand finding its way between his legs...

She sucked in a breath and looked at him, her eyes wide. She couldn't believe he wasn't feeling it too – that charged need to torture each other with hands and mouths to painful frustration and then release – but he was lounging in his seat, seemingly comfortable and relaxed, watching the screen. While the movie played, Mercury became more and more conscious of the hardness and warmth of his leg under her hand until she could endure it no more. On the pretext of tucking her hair behind her ear, she slipped her hand from his and then thrust it into her lap, trying to concentrate on the show.

He breathed into her ear. "Where's this actor you want me to see?"

She almost groaned aloud. "I think we missed him. He... he was on a horse on the hills, but we're past that." She didn't give a damn about the actor, too conscious of Frank beside her, his warmth, his scent, his shoulder against hers.

She had no idea what they were doing here, not understanding why, having been lovers once, they had to start from the beginning like this. She was analyzing every move he made as if setting up a counter-move. It had been so much easier when they were younger. She wanted him then. She attacked him then.

If that's what it took to get past this, then so be it. She placed her hand back on his leg, experimenting with the sensation again.

"Look! Here he comes," she whispered. "He's supposed to face off the good guys in their camp. He's the one that got knocked off the horse just then."

"Pretty poor horseman," Frank said.

"I don't think even you could keep your seat in that situation. He's good at swinging that scimitar though, isn't he?"

"Is that what John wants him to do on stage?"

"No. I just think he looks good with a scimitar." Mercury said the words without thinking, and felt him tense under her hand. He had that same tautness when they were walking downtown, talking about John. Frank was jealous. Of her interest now in this young actor. She smiled into the darkness. She found a weakness and had every intention of capitalizing on it.

"That accent is very heavy," he said, and she was sure of it now. Frank was finding fault with the actor.

Mercury glanced at him, hoping the darkness hid her triumph. "He's getting voice coaching, but I find his accent very sexy. I told him he can practice all he likes around John, but when he's with me he has to go… au naturel." Her last words were a heavy breath into his ear.

He pulled back sharply, his eyes fixed on hers and she considered another little push wouldn't hurt. "That's when I found out he's quite the flirt and very good at innuendos." She gave a soft practiced giggle. "Must be something they learn from birth in those hot dry countries, not like here where all the men hide their emotions or fight them."

Frank swung his gaze back to the screen but Mercury saw the muscle in his jaw jerk. Bulls eye!

"He's a bit too intense," he said, and she was disappointed his voice was still non-committal.

He's better at this than he used to be.

"The movie critic now, are we? Besides, you used to be intense."

She watched his jaw clench again, then he slowly turned his head to her. Even in the semi-dark, she saw the flare in his now black eyes, holding hers and moving closer. His head descended slowly, making her first ache with the suspense and then strain to close the gap. Just when their lips should touch, he feinted to the side and his mouth feathered her ear, saying, "If you want intense, what are we doing here?"

He was right and he knew what she was doing. She suddenly tired of the game and felt dispirited. She hoped it was just PMS because she was sick of the roller coaster ride her emotions were taking this week. Shock at seeing him again after ten years, wonder at still wanting him after all that time and then thinking if she could hurt him as he had hurt her it would make the need go away. Now she had fallen into her routine of goading him which always triggered the explosion that culminated in savage, satisfying sex. Only this time it was different. This time he had seen through her ruse and quelled it.

He lifted her hand from his thigh and brought it to his mouth, kissing her fingers, changing the rules on her again. She drew a quick breath, feeling the jolt all the way to her toes. He didn't stop there, moving his lips to her wrist, stroking with his tongue. Her body shuddered and the image of the fierce desert warrior on the screen blurred into Frank's somber face, his eyes heavy and dark with promise. God! It was the look from his painting. His eyes held hers, his mouth pushing aside her sleeve, teeth grazing, instinctively following her pulse higher. She panted an unconvincing 'Don't Frank' which he ignored, his hand reaching out to take her other wrist. He gently pulled to turn her in her seat and guided her hand to his hip.

"What you do with that hand," he murmured, his mouth now on her lips, "is entirely up to you." She sank onto his chest, her body igniting under the onslaught of his kiss. She accepted his demand, drawing in his tongue and capturing it. She drank in his flavor, his passion and gloried in it.

Breaking for air, sanity asserted itself. "You promised you were going to be a gentleman." Her hand trembled against the hardness of his hip.

"That's true," he murmured, "but no one said anything about you behaving like a lady." He buried his face in her neck, the rasp of his beard sending fresh shockwaves down her body.

She was so tempted, so charged with a frustrated energy that she could barely resist the urge to grab him, but she felt reluctant, almost shy of doing it. Frank had no such inhibitions, unbuttoning her blouse and exploring her collarbone with his tongue. Tired of fighting herself, she wanted to wield power of her own. With her other hand, she dragged her fingers down his chest, thrilling to the feel of his nipple harden through the fine silk shirt he wore. Her hand outlined a rib and then smoothed across his waist and down his thigh. She had both hands in his lap now and she felt him shift in his seat, getting more comfortable or giving her better access. Her heart pounded against her chest. Her objective was so close, but she resolved to tantalize him more, refusing to give him what he wanted.

His lips brushed the lace covering her breast. "When are you going to stop testing me?" he asked.

The anticipation in her body fled as if she'd been doused with cold water. She pulled back and his hands reached out to recapture her but she struggled against him, pushing herself away.

"I know what you're doing, Mercury," he said, grabbing her again and holding her still. She saw the puzzled anger in his eyes and looked away. "These attempts to get my attention, antagonize me, and generate jealousy. Now you're playing hard to get–"

"I was not–!"

"Can you at least be honest with me? You always played me. Sometimes I let you, sometimes I fought it but I always understood it. I know how it feels by now, and you're playing me again."

"I...I... We should go," she said, humiliated.

"I'll take you home." His voice was clipped with irritation and disappointment.

She nodded, buttoning her blouse with shaking fingers. She held her head high as she negotiated the row of seats, angry at herself for being the cause and angry at him for making her feel this ambivalent. His hand closed over her elbow, guiding her down the aisle and out of the theatre, preventing her from hurrying away from him.

Blinking into the harsh sunlight, she pulled her arm from his. She wouldn't be surprised if she had a myriad of bruises on her skin after the manhandling she endured from him today. "We're never going to get a taxi," she said tersely. "Let's start walking."

"Mercury! Stop this!" he ordered, rounding on her.

"Stop what?"

"This! Whatever it is you're doing." He held out his hands in confusion, then threw them in the air as she shook her head.

"Not now, Frank. Not here."

He stared at her, then ushered her ahead of him as they joined the tide of pedestrians in the direction of her home. It took them nearly three blocks before Frank could flag a cab down and Mercury was feeling chilled and unhappy, despite the early summer sunshine. When he opened the rear passenger door of the cab, she slid along the back seat and wedged herself into the corner, turning to stare out the window as he moved close to her and gave the cabbie her address.

"Talk to me," he coaxed, his temper reined.

"How do you know where I live?" she asked, then bit her lip at the mutinous sound of her voice. She knew she was acting like a child, but worse, she couldn't stop herself.

"You can't guess?"

"Used your connections, I suppose. You were insufferable when you were younger, but having such power at your fingertips now–"

"Stop, Mercury. Listen to yourself."

"I am! I can't stop. You drive me crazy." She took several deep breaths to calm herself. "All right. I'm confused. I'm afraid–"

"Of what?"

"I don't know... Of... of never getting back what we had. Of getting back what we had and losing it again–"

"You're not making sense."

"I don't have to make sense. My world has been turned upside down from the moment you walked into the theatre last Sunday. I've gone from forgetting you to hating you to wanting you again in the space of five days. Shit!" She swore at giving him even that admission.

His eyes bored into hers. "Why fight it then? I'm not."

"Why? It's easy for you! You've got nothing to lose. I get this feeling you're just picking me up off the side of your road and forging on, but for me… I'm standing at two polar routes here, and one of them is looking very dark and uncertain."

His face shut down on her and he turned to stare out the cab window. "I've looked death in the eye and it was easier than this."

"I can't even imagine what that's like, but then you never gave me the chance." She put a tentative hand on his knee. "What was it like, Frank? I want to know what you've been doing with your life without me."

He didn't move.

Grabbing his arm, Mercury shook him. "If there is any hope for us in moving forward together, you have to talk to me. Share with me. Your past and your future. I don't even know what your plans are. I think you want to include me in them, but you're not giving me any definites, nothing, to build my own plans on."

He turned back to her, but his eyes were unfocussed, a faraway look clouding them. "I don't know how to reassure you other than to show you, and the only way I can do that is if you let me. Let me get close. Let me into your life." He shut his eyes and when he opened them again, they burned into her heart. "You want to know about my past? You don't need to know about my work, not yet anyway. But I can tell you that my life was a wasteland without you. I never forgot you and I never stopped berating myself for the way I pushed you aside. But I don't regret joining the FBI and no attachments was not only a condition, it was a necessity."

Mercury bent her head, wanting his honesty even though it was painful to her. To be considered an 'attachment' seemed callous. He put his hand across the back of the seat and gently drew her into the crook of his arm. She didn't fight it, wanting the warm contact against the cold invading her body.

"When I saw you again," he said, "I wanted nothing more than to feel you against me again. When I kissed you in that back room... if we had been alone, or if I could have dragged you somewhere private, I would have made love to you then and you couldn't have stopped me." Her body stirred at his evocative words. He rubbed the top of her head with his chin and then pressed his mouth into her temple. "When I saw you on Letterman, I wanted to lean into the television set and drag you out of it into my arms. Then in Macy's... It was nearly my undoing. Kissing you like that... I was courting indecent behavior."

"Why did you do it? Kiss me, I mean."

"Because for the first time for a long time, my head followed my body. I decided there and then, that I needed you in my life again. That I wouldn't be whole again if I couldn't get you to forgive me, to want me as much as I wanted you." He kissed an eyelid shut and she sighed into him.

"You're very brave," she whispered. "Even for a Fed."

"Why do you say that?" He bent to nuzzle her neck. Damn! He was too good at this. She knew she was being seduced but she didn't want it to stop.

Shutting her eyes, she marshaled some self-control. "Three days ago I was plotting your downfall."

He captured her lips in an exploratory kiss that she hadn't seen coming and it drove her lower into the seat. "This morning you were succeeding," he said, then came in for a deeper onslaught.

Mercury sat up straight, inadvertently knocking his jaw with her head as she did so. "Oh, hell! Did you get into trouble over that painting? I guess the courthouse wasn't the best place to do that, but I never meant... Well, actually, I did. I wanted you to suffer publicly but not to the detriment of–"

"It's not that," he said, rubbing his chin, looking pained.

Touching her fingers to his jaw, she frowned. She had tried to hit out at him, but she didn't want to ruin his career. "Frank! What happened this morning? Are you in trouble with your job?"

"No, nothing like that. Don't worry about it."

She cast her mind back to something he said earlier about her affecting his court case and pissing Marcie off. That was it! Her jaw clamped on the thought. His damned girlfriend. "Marcie!" she hissed before she could stop herself.

His eyes narrowed and she knew she'd hit the target. She turned in the seat to face him. "You were with her this morning." His face was a mask again, ready for this revelation. "You were with her last night!"

"Mercury, don't start–" She recoiled across the taxi seat putting as much distance between them as possible, flinching at the realization he couldn't deny it. "You knew I was with Marcie Sunday night. You saw us," he said, exasperation punching through.

"Maybe. But you just admitted you wanted me Sunday night," she cried, uncaring that the cabbie was getting an earful as well. "Poor Marcie. How did she feel about being second-best? Or was that all just lies before?"

"No!"

Mercury noticed the cab had pulled up at the front of her apartment building. "How do you men do it? It never ceases to amaze me how−" She wrenched at the handle of her door to release it. She had no thought of whether there was oncoming traffic or not, she just wanted out.

She didn't get the chance. He hauled her back with an arm wrapped like a vise around her waist, paid the cabbie and then dragged her out his side and deposited her onto the sidewalk. She fought him but she only came up against the hardness of his body and couldn't break the strength of his arms.

"Behave!" he gritted.

"Don't touch me! All you do is manhandle me."

"Nothing else works. Now, are you going to walk into this building or am I going to carry you in?"

Mercury stopped struggling at the threat of being embarrassed further. Tilting her head high, she marched into the foyer of the building, passing the desk duty clerk without acknowledging him. The security officer gave her a polite greeting, but she was intent on reaching the elevator as quickly as possible. She had a vague hope of Frank's giving up and leaving the building.

"Ms Aldair! You didn't register your guest," the duty clerk called.

Mercury stopped mid-stride and snapped around coming up hard against Frank who hadn't taken the hint. She weighed up the chances of Security getting rid of him for her.

"Don't even think about it," he murmured into her ear. "Do you want your Super to know you're being investigated by the FBI?"

"You wouldn't!" Her eyes flew to his.

"Did you care how your smear campaign was affecting me?"

She ignored him, bluff the better part of her valor. "He's Frank Donovan, Mort," she told the deskman as she walked back.

Mort eyed Frank and frowned. "Donovan, you say?" He checked his register. "But Ms Aldair, didn't you–?"

"Yes, I did," Mercury said, nodding her head for emphasis.

Mort signaled the Security officer then put his hand on the phone on his desk and looked pointedly at Frank, standing in front of the elevator. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave, Mr Donovan. Ms Aldair gave me specific instructions not to allow you into the building and I'll call upon assistance to ensure that. Now, you can leave peaceably with Justin," he nodded at the Security officer who was approaching them, "or I make this phone call."

Mercury's triumph vanished when she saw Frank head back toward them, push Justin out of the way and slip his hand into his jacket.

"Oh God! He's got a gun!" she cried.

Without thinking, she threw herself against his chest while Justin launched himself at Frank from behind. Mercury went down with Frank as he ducked, still holding her, rolled to the floor and resumed his feet in a fluid movement that was over before Mercury could cry out again. Enveloped by Frank's body and limbs, she was breathless from the shock of the tactic and the speed with which it happened.

"Frank! Don't! It's okay, Mort. Justin… You can let him in."

Frank pushed her behind him and thrust out a hand toward Mort, and Mercury saw that it held nothing more than his badge.

"Hell! I thought–" Mercury gasped.

"You gave me quite a turn there," Mort said, wiping his brow. "I didn't know what to think."

Directing a killing look at Frank, Mercury headed back to the elevator, hitting the button to call it to the ground floor. Hopefully, she could disappear inside it before he finished with the Security men. He joined her just as the elevator pinged open, his long black coat fanning behind him as he strode toward her. She swept in ahead of him.

"What floor?" he asked through clenched teeth.

She glared at him and punched the button herself, setting the elevator in motion.

"Grow up!" he snarled, his back to the wall. "You've been blowing hot and cold all day." He swung her around to him and her breath shortened under his touch and proximity in the elevator car. "I was under the impression that you made a decision at lunch. Can you go through with it? If not, tell me now, and I'll end it here."

She didn't know! "I thought I had, but you keep throwing me spin-balls." She shook her head and looked to the ceiling, taking a deep breath. "What is it with us? Why is it so hard?"

"Because I hurt you and I'm sorry for it, but I've got to move on and I'm hoping it's with you, not without you." He leaned back against the wall and folded his arms across his chest. "You look miserable, Mercury. Is that really how I make you feel?"

Sighing heavily, she seemed to deflate where she stood. His stance, a mixture of indolence and defiance, attracted, rather than repelled her. "No. You can make me feel good. Better than good." If I would only let you.

"Then what's the problem?" he asked. "I'm sick of the push and pull with us. Someone has to take control and stop the fairground ride. That's what it feels like – the Big Dipper, where I'm tossed one way then pulled back the next." He sighed heavily and dropped his arms, straightening off the wall. "I can make the surrender very sweet, you know."

"What makes you think–?"

He reached for her and pulled her to him. She opened her mouth to object and his head came down, his lips capturing hers and then she didn't want to protest anymore. Sinking into the hard band of his arms, she let his fire race into her, head reeling, knees buckling, hands searching for anchorage. She grabbed his waist, and clung while her blood chased her heartbeats, but her hands weren't satisfied, wanting to feel his bare skin. Pulling the shirt from his trousers, she encountered a mesh athletic shirt and she slipped her fingers under it, smoothing her hands around his waist toward his back. She heard him grunt as if in pain and he slammed back against the wall, pulling her with him, looping her arms around his neck. Her body shuddered into his, straining for more contact and her hands were on the move again, in his hair, over his jaw, down his throat then at the buttons of his shirt, ripping them from the fabric in her haste–

"I'm sorry I left the restaurant," said Stacey from behind.

Chapter Thirteen

Donovan had forgotten the sister.

Mercury spun around and rammed against him, shoving him hard against the elevator car wall again.

"Stay there!" he ordered softly into her ear. He held her to him, hiding his arousal. She stopped struggling and sagged into him, not exactly discouraging his physical state but giving him time to marshal himself.

"I thought you two would be history by now," said Stacey, her voice harsh with displeasure. "I'm disappointed in you, Mercury. You're back where you started."

Mercury stiffened against him. "What are you doing here?" His fingers tightened on her arms and she flinched.

"I'm staying here, remember?"

"But Frank said you weren't coming back."

"He misunderstood me. I didn't go home. I came back here. You know that Owen and the boys aren't expecting me until tomorrow. Aren't I welcome?"

"Of course you are, but–"

"We need to talk, Mercury." The elevator door started to close, but Stacey hit the button outside to keep it open.

"Well, you should have stayed at the restaurant then. We had a lovely lunch and then we went to the movies."

"If this is the result, I can't say it was one of your best ideas."

Donovan let Mercury go and shrugged back into his coat, buttoning it to hide his torn shirt. "It was mine." Stacey looked him up and down and he tensed, the passion shriveling within him.

"I underestimated you, Frank," she said. "I had no idea things would get out of hand so quickly. Mercury's not ready for this. And I obviously misunderstood your motives back in the Marriott. We need to re-examine them in Mercury's apartment."

He recognized an order when he heard one. "You'll be disappointed," he said.

Mercury was shaking her head. "What do you mean I'm not ready for this? Look here, Stacey, Frank and I–"

"You're not thinking with your head at the moment," her sister interrupted. "Neither of you are. Let's take this elsewhere."

"Absolutely!" Mercury leaned forward and pushed the Ground Floor button. "You're obviously on your way out–"

"No," Stacey said, hitting her button again, preventing the door from closing. "Mort rang through to say you were on your way up. When you didn't show, I came to investigate."

"We hardly needed a search party," Mercury snapped.

"I think you were in that elevator longer than you realize."

Donovan was sure of it. He had been half-way to having Mercury against the elevator wall before the interruption.

"Stacey, let the button go. Frank and I are going out again. I'll see you later."

Stacey swept her gaze to him and then back to her sister, her eyes calculating. "Mercury, I just want to talk to you, but not here, not in an elevator."

"Later, Stace. Let the button go." Mercury wasn't buying it.

Donovan wasn't either, his interest piquing at the hint of desperation in Stacey's voice. "I believe Mercury has made her intentions clear to you," he said, stepping forward.

Stacey's mouth tightened and she marched into the elevator, halting toe to toe with him."I'm not going to let you do this."

That was enough for him. Shutting her down wasn't going to work. It only made her try harder. He was going to allow the sister this battle, but only to take the argument somewhere more private. If Stacey was going to have this 'talk' with Mercury whether they liked it or not, he preferred to be there when she did.

"Thirty minutes enough for you, Mrs Murchison?" he asked, using her formal title deliberately.

She held his look with suspicion but he knew she wasn't going to argue. It was that or nothing. "Thank you, Mr Donovan," she said, returning his formality.

"Frank," Mercury said, "this is not a good idea."

He looked down at her. "You were the one who said you never put off till tomorrow what you can do today." He touched her hand, trying to reassure her and she folded her hand over his. The soft warmth of it ignited his blood again, evidence of how little control he had over himself when near her.

He motioned for Stacey to leave the elevator car, but she didn't move. Lifting a brow, he stood back to guide Mercury out and she joined them once they were out in the corridor.

"This had better be quick, Stacey," Mercury said. "One cup of coffee quick." She strode up the corridor ahead of them. Donovan stayed behind, enjoying her well-shaped calves and long legs under her short skirt. He also approved of the strappy high heels she'd bought and wondered what happened to the new lingerie he paid for. He waited for Stacey to precede him, shrugging off the disapproving look she gave him.

Mercury opened a door half-way up the corridor and disappeared inside, pausing a moment to look back. Donovan could see she was annoyed. At him or her sister?

"Start the coffee, Mercury," Stacey called, entering after her.

Donovan followed, thinking, start the timer.

Mercury vanished into the kitchen, either not wasting time or not interested in what Stacey had to say. Either way suited him. It was better he handled the sister alone. He went to shed his coat, then remembered his ripped shirt and changed his mind. Standing in the vestibule, he took stock of the apartment, noting its compact opulence, decorated in combinations of cream and tan. He walked in further, conscious of Stacey keeping stride with him. Though not cluttered, the place looked lived in, with magazines and books scattered on several small tables, trophies and awards on the fireplace mantel and there were photographs – lots of photographs.

He'd bet his life there were none of him.

He noticed she still kept too many pillows on the sofa. The one in her old apartment used to be covered with pillows, and he would have to toss them aside before dragging her down with him…

"Take a seat, Frank," Stacey said, watching him closely.

Donovan thought twice about refusing, remembering his promise to Mercury to get to know her family. Stacey could be considered his first hurdle. Sitting down on the sofa, he forced himself to relax into its comfort, and searched for something polite to say. "I'm sorry I didn't get to meet you ten years ago," he told her.

"Not half as sorry as I am," she said, settling onto a large wing-backed chair opposite him. "I might have seen what Mercury missed."

The gloves were well and truly off. "No stretch of the imagination is going to turn that into a compliment," he replied, disguising the tug at his temper. Stacey was going to take 'interfering' to its max and he prepared himself for the onslaught.

"You're right," she said. "I take it Mercury has decided to forgive you?"

He didn't know. "You need to ask your sister that."

"Then let me ask you this. What have you personally decided to do?"

Here it was. The 'what are your intentions' spiel. It was understandably and damnably inevitable and he was surprised he didn't get it in the restaurant. At Marriott's, she had been willing to help him talk to Mercury but now he was getting the 'hands off' signals. It seemed Stacey had some of her sister's mercurial tendencies.

"I could tell you to mind your own business," he said.

"You can tell me all you like, Mister Donovan," she replied, facing him off easily, "but I'm not letting Mercury walk out that door with you. I don't know what you've been filling her head with, but it was unbelievably convincing enough to bring her around to your way of thinking. The question is whether you can deliver any of it."

He breathed in sharply, his muscles knotted with fury. He expelled the air, releasing some of the tension, but he was annoyed at himself for letting her get to him.

"Whatever my intentions, Mrs Murchison, Mercury will make her own decisions. If you are as close to her as you indicate, I'm sure she'll keep you informed."

"From what I saw in the elevator, it's already too late. You had your chance with her and blew it." She folded her arms across her chest. "What's to stop you blowing it again?"

"That is none of your business."

Stacey pursed her lips. "Let me tell you a story, Frank."

"Why would I want to hear it?" He leaned back in the sofa and laid an ankle across his leg, placing his wrist casually on the other knee, determined she should see nothing but calm.

"Why not? What are you afraid of?"

His head jerked at her bluntness. "One of us is outstaying their welcome, Mrs Murchison."

"I'm sure of it. Shall I continue?"

She was railroading him and he wasn't interested in prolonging the experience. "I don't think so." He made to rise but she reached out and stopped him with a hand on his leg.

"You gave me thirty minutes, remember?" Her eyes narrowed, daring him to deny her.

"I assumed you wanted to talk to your sister."

She gave an exaggerated nod. "She's next."

Donovan admired her tenacity. "I'm not going to stand by and let you barrage her with a téte é téte like this one." He looked pointedly at her hand still resting on his knee.

Stacey withdrew her hand. "Then I'll have to wait till you leave, won't I?"

She had him and they both knew it. He relaxed again, inclining his head toward her.

"Let me tell you my story," Stacey said, settling into the chair again, "and then we'll see what happens." She crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap. "Many years ago, on a Thanksgiving weekend, Mercury told the family about this 'gorgeous guy' she met at college. She was painting his portrait and it was so good she was going to enter it in a major art contest. There were mixed reactions when she said it was a nude portrait and I have to admit we gave her a hard time about it. You can imagine the scene, surely?"

Yes, he could. That damned portrait haunted him. "I'm sure you were all highly entertained."

She smiled without humor. "Instead of joining in the joke, Mercury got upset. We realized she was serious about this man and we waited for further developments. Each weekend that she came home, she was full of talk about him… you."

"This is going somewhere?" he asked.

"You know it is. We saw that she was besotted with you and we wanted to meet you, welcome you into the family but Mercury always had an excuse for you not being there. That surprised us. We imagined all kinds of scenarios – we weren't good enough for you, or she thought we wouldn't approve of you – it got the alarm bells ringing. Who was Mercury getting involved with? We didn't know. And it seemed we weren't about to find out."

Guilt forced him into explaining before he could stop himself. "Mercury understood that I didn't… couldn't–"

"Did she? Understand, I mean? She could never explain it to us. I'm thinking that she didn't so much understand it, but was merely prepared to put up with it."

His neck ached with the strain he was trying to hide and he massaged it briefly. "None of you knew where I was coming from." Damn it, Donovan! Keep your mouth shut!

Stacey sat forward in her chair, not missing his slip."Now's a good time to tell us."

He leaned forward, mimicking her, and dropped his hands between his knees. "I disagree."

Stacey's eyes held his unflinchingly, then she sat back in her chair, her mouth working over her obvious disappointment. "Eventually she admitted to me that she had fallen in love with you and I really started to worry. I had good cause. You disappeared soon after. Put yourself in my place, Frank. What could I think?"

He had to be careful. He could smell the brewed coffee and Mercury hadn't returned from the kitchen, so she had to be listening. "I'm sure you're about to tell me."

"I guessed she confessed her feelings to you and you took fright and fled."

"I see. Then that would be narrow-minded thinking, wouldn't it?"

"Perhaps," Stacey said, untroubled. "But then you didn't bother her with an explanation."

His hands jerked and he hid the movement by fingering his watch, pretending to check the time. He couldn't refute any of this. Rather than come on the attack and alienate Mercury, he kept his tone light and non-committal. "I'm enlightened, Mrs Murchison, but your thirty minutes are nearly up. Is there a purpose to this?"

"Definitely. The crux of the matter is what came after you left." Stacey leaned forward in her chair again, gripping the armrests with both hands. "Mercury stopped visiting and we got sick of hearing her answering machine taking our calls. I offered to check out her apartment and found her in a shocking state, unkempt and under-nourished. The place was a mess and your nude portrait–"

"That's enough, Stacey!" Mercury cried from the kitchen door.

Stacey's head swung around. "He has to hear this, Mercury."

"You've gone too far. Come on, Frank, we're leaving." She came into the room and grabbed his hand.

Donovan got to his feet and curled his other hand around hers. "Get some overnight things," he said. "You won't be coming back tonight."

She smiled and spun around heading for what he presumed was her bedroom.

"Tell me this, Frank Donovan," Stacey said, her voice loud and desperate. "Did you ever try to contact her again? Just once? To see how she was?"

He hesitated. "No."

"That's what I thought." Stacey was standing now, gripping her chair with two hands. "You don't deserve her. You're bad news for her, so if she has any sense, she'll dump you now before it goes any further–"

"I appreciate your concern for your sister, Mrs Murchison," he said through clenched teeth. "I admire it. Even envy it. But Mercury said she wants to be with me and that's all that matters."

"Is it? Prove to yourselves, if not to me, that this won't be a case of history repeating itself."

Mercury appeared at the bedroom doorway."That's not necessary. I… I trust him."

Frank felt a prickle of unease at the lack of confidence in her voice.

Stacey heard it too. "Then why are you running away?" she asked, triumph ringing through her voice. "You're not sure, are you?"

"This is moot," Donovan said. "She's coming with me."

"Frank…" Mercury began, and his chest clenched. Stacey had succeeded. Mercury was backing down.

He strode toward, grasping her shoulders, too roughly he feared. "You gave me an ultimatum before." His composure was forced when all he really wanted to do was throttle Stacey and throw Mercury over his shoulder. "If I left New York before you made your decision, then I was history. I'm not leaving town until I have that answer. So, here's an ultimatum of my own." He took a breath. "Stay here with your sister, confront your fears… whatever, but I'll send a car for you at…" He checked his watch. "… seven o'clock and if you send it away, I'll have my answer and I'm on the next plane out of here."He dropped his hands and opened the front door.

"Frank! Wait!"

He stood on the threshold, hardening his heart to her indecision and distress. "No." He turned to face her. "If you don't examine your feelings without me, then we'll never know. I'll never be sure." He bent and softly kissed her. "Seven o'clock."

He closed the door after him.

Chapter Fourteen

Donovan sat hunched over his dining table and stared at the single white rose he'd placed in the center of the setting for two. When he bought it on the way home, he thought of white for truce. He now saw it as a symbol of his failure, his surrender to the inevitable. He failed to hold onto the only woman he wanted in his life.

She wasn't coming.

He checked his watch again. Almost eight-twenty. Face it, Donovan, if she were coming, she'd be here by now. For a man who thought regrets were a waste of emotion, he was now kicking himself for leaving her behind. He was crazy believing he'd won her over. The moussaka he prepared for their dinner was stuck in a cooling oven and the Greek salads were becoming limp beside the dinner plates. He should give up and throw the lot in the waste bin.

The intercom buzzed and he felt a dizzying surge of hope. He didn't even consider that he left instructions at the desk to send her up immediately, but lunged for the intercom and punched the button to connect him downstairs.

"Visitors for you, Mr Donovan," the desk clerk explained. "Mr Rian Banner with Ms Marcie Haynes."

His heart thudded dully with defeat. Banner and Marcie weren't expected but he couldn't do anything about it now. "Send them up," he said, his voice hollow.

Going to the bar, he poured himself a large bourbon and downed the shot before heading for the door. One wasn't much use, but it was better than nothing. He took a deep breath, opened it and spotted them leaving the elevator, both dressed in suits and toting briefcases. He lifted an enquiring brow at Banner who was pulling up the rear. Rian spread a hand out and shrugged his shoulders behind Marcie's back, then pointed to her and mouthed 'her idea'.

Marcie reached the open door and leaned into him, kissing him on the mouth. Banner's jaw dropped and Donovan felt his own lips tighten.

"Hello darling," she said.

Darling? This morning she as good as kicked him out of her apartment.

"You've opened the bourbon?" Marcie asked, tasting her lips. "I'd prefer champagne. We're celebrating! We've had a great day. Best thing you could have done was stay away. Not that I didn't miss you, but Eugene's star witness was an asshole and the jury was totally bored, and then I put Rian on the stand and he charmed the pants from them." She smiled and caressed Donovan's cheek before walking into the apartment.

Donovan stood rooted to the spot, staring at Banner. "What the–?"

"You tell me," Banner said brushing past him and giving him a huge wink. "I'm just the driver, but I've got the feeling I'm about to become the fifth wheel."

Closing the door, Donovan followed them into the living room. Rian was sniffing the air appreciatively and Marcie was looking Donovan up and down with admiration.

"Something smells good," Banner said.

"Someone looks good," Marcie said, checking out his CK jeans and dark silk shirt. The way her eyes lingered on his throat and chest made him annoyed he left so many buttons undone. "What's the occasion?" she asked.

"No occasion." Not any more. "Perhaps you can tell me how I can help the two of you."

"You could share whatever you've got cooking for starters," Banner said. "Not that I think that's going to happen." Rian went to the dining table and opened his briefcase and pulled out a folder. "That's my report on the highlights of today's proceedings." He eyed the candles and single rose and table setting for two. "Not that you're going to be in any frame of mind to read it," he said slowly, turning around with a huge grin on his face. "No occasion, eh?" He put the folder back in his briefcase.

Marcie took in the table as well, then swung a look at Donovan. "You were expecting me?"

He braced himself. "Not exactly."

"Hey, Marcie," Banner said quickly, "we can report back to Frank tomorrow morning. I'll drive you back–"

"Wait!" Marcie put out a hand to silence him. "If you weren't expecting me, then who?"

"Marcie, let's go–"

"You bastard!"

Donovan's temper simmered.

"You went to see her today, didn't you? To sort things out?"

"Yes." There was little point pretending he didn't know to whom she was referring.

"And did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Sort things out?"

"That's none–"

"None of my business? Think again, Frank. You were moaning to me about shutting her down, looking to me, I presume, for support. A romantic dinner for two isn't my idea of shutting her down." Her mouth straightened into a tight line, and her eyes slowly widened. "You're planning on sleeping with her tonight, aren't you? Last night it was me–"

"Marcie," Donovan warned, looking pointedly at Banner who was rocking back on his heels enjoying the show. "Rian doesn't need to–"

Marcie spun around to fix Banner with a glare. "Rian, would you mind waiting outside?"

"Of course," he said, although he looked like he wanted to stay for the fireworks. "I'll just dump this report and these files." He headed over to the coffee table and emptied his briefcase on it, then went to the door. "I'll let myself out and wait for you in the foyer. Don't be long."

Marcie barely waited for the door to shut behind Banner before turning on Donovan. "What are you doing, Frank?"

Donovan folded his arms across his chest. "I'm handling this."

"Oh, I'm sure you are. But I don't think you're solving your problem."

He scowled, watching her pace his living room before dropping her briefcase beside the coffee table and sitting down hard in an armchair.

"What was last night then?" she asked. "For us? What... what did we share? An introductory screw? A warm-up for tonight?" She looked up at him, eyes narrowed with anger.

Donovan remained stoic. Maybe he deserved being called a bastard after all. "You more or less threw me out this morning if I remember correctly."

"So you thought you'd just …" She swept a hand across the air. "... move on? Frank, if you can't tell the difference between a woman being snippy and still interested, and a woman kicking you out because she's not interested, then you have a lot to learn about women."

He reached her in two strides and cornered her in the chair with a hand on each armrest. "I certainly can't dispute that."

She reeled back in the chair. "What was last night, then? You conveniently never answered."

"I..." He straightened and put the width of the coffee table between them. Hell, he couldn't tell her he was substituting her for Mercury – exorcising, or so he thought, one woman with another.

"You really are a piece of goods, you know that?" Marcie said, her voice rising. "I was there, was that it? I was available. Here I was thinking, I'm with a man who's being harassed by a woman and not deserving it and so the least I can do is show him that women aren't the vindictive creatures he's thinking they are, and all the time, you were panting for her attention – loving it that she's interested enough to go after you in any way she can."

He didn't stem the tirade, suddenly too weary, too apathetic, and just wishing she would go. Instead, he strode over to the bar and poured himself another shot of bourbon, not bothering to offer her any.

"What a pathetic person you are, Frank Donovan. Is that how you get off? Being some woman's masochistic lap-dog? Is that what got you going last night with me? Watching her berate you in public turned you on and the best you could do was superimpose me into your perverted fantasy?"

He swallowed the bourbon and, slamming down the empty glass, turned to face her. Several years ago, he broke a woman's neck for her abuse of him and he felt close to doing it again. In Colombia, it was kill or be killed. This time it was just a desire to shut her up, but the urge was no less powerful or primal.

"You had better leave." He forced the innocuous words from his mouth replacing the choice expletives hovering there.

"You think I'm going to just–"

Donovan's cell rang from the kitchen and he spun around and made the kitchen in five angry strides. Grabbing the phone from the counter, he flipped it open. "Donovan!"

"Whoa! Easy, fella. Rian here, Frank. By the sound of your voice, it's a good thing I rang. But it's not getting any better. I made it to the foyer just as the Diva arrived. I thought you might like to know she's on her way up. I noticed the desk clerk didn't bother announcing her, but simply showed her the elevator and I tried to head her off, but she has a very polite and firm way of fobbing people off."

Donovan sagged against the kitchen counter, relief coursing through his body. She hadn't stood him up, but was merely late. "I'm sure she does," he said.

"Do you want me to come and get Marcie?" Rian asked.

"I don't think she's going to go quietly. I'll escort her down."

"I'm not going anywhere then. This I gotta see."

Donovan snapped his cell shut and put it down on the kitchen bench with a shaking hand. Grabbing both edges of the bench, he flexed his shoulders to loosen the knots in his muscles. She was coming to him! He felt light-headed with the realization and horrified by the hidden vein of insecurity within him. Taking a deep breath, he straightened and went back into the living room where Marcie was still seated, impatiently tapping her fingers on her knee.

"That was Rian," he said, "to see if you were ready to leave."

"So you're getting rid of me."

"I wouldn't have used those words."

"You bastard–!"

"Yes, I know. Marcie..." He paused, giving himself time to cool off. "It was never my intention to hurt you."

"That's what they all say, don't they? Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"No, it probably won't. I'm sorry. This last week has been–"

"A hollow apology won't cut it either, Frank. And don't bother telling me your problems any more. I'm not interested."

He thrust his jaw forward, stretching his neck against the tension. "I'll walk you down to Rian."

"Don't bother. You are one pain in the ass I don't need to prolong." Launching herself from the armchair, she swept past him toward the door. She had it opened before he could get there and then spun around and back-tracked. "I forgot my briefcase."

Donovan checked the corridor and saw Mercury standing outside the elevator, unsure in which direction to head. She held a clutch purse but no overnight bag and he didn't want to think about what that meant. Seeing him at the door, she smiled and the look on her face dispelled Marcie's malice. She walked toward him with a grace cultivated on the stage, her skirt caressing her legs with each stride. He loved her legs. He loved her body. He loved the way she made him feel. He loved–

She reached him, still smiling, and he roughly drew her into his arms, needing to touch her, hold her and kiss her and shut out the malevolence invading him. Nothing and no one was more important at that moment and the thought amazed and awed him. He felt her jerk in his arms at his aggression, then she sank into him, her kiss flaming his senses, sending the blood pounding through his body and pooling in his groin. Forcing himself to end the kiss before he lost control, he reluctantly held her away and stepped back into his apartment, drawing her in with him.

"How touching," Marcie said, watching them, briefcase in hand. "Good evening, Ms Aldair, and good luck. For your sake, I can only hope you last longer than I did. This man's got all the moves but nothing to follow through with." She pushed past them to the door, then stopped and looked back. "I can't even say it was nice while it lasted, Frank. Well, a couple of hours were pretty mind-blowing, but other than that... I'll let myself out, shall I?" She laughed without humor and walked out the door.

Donovan took the three steps necessary to slam the door after her, then turned to face Mercury, his hands on his hips, legs apart. It was a belligerent stance, but he couldn't help it. His nerves were still edgy, preparing him for battle. If Mercury wanted to make something of Marcie's parting shot–

But when he saw the defiance in her eyes he realized none of this was her fault. She was here because he asked her to come, and her trust humbled him.

He needed to break the ice, disarm her in some way. "You look beautiful, Mercury," he said and meant it. He wanted to run his fingers through her long hair, bury his face in the hollow of her throat, peel the chiffon from her body and feel her skin against his.

She didn't move.

He tried again. "You're late."

She lifted a brow at him and he smiled inwardly, noting that she was using his own non-verbal signals against him.

She wasn't smiling. She was glaring at him, her hands on her hips, mirroring his stance. "I wanted you to sweat. And you've got five minutes to explain who, what, when and why, Frank."

He didn't care that she had played him again and didn't know where to begin to explain. "I'm glad you came."

"Four minutes and fifty-five seconds, Frank."

He smiled nervously. "You'll remember Marcie from last Sunday. Rian Banner brought her here about ten minutes ago. You met him downstairs."

"The guy running resistance?" He could hear the barely controlled anger in her voice and knew it wouldn't take much to explode it.

"That's the one. He also warned me you were on your way up."

She gasped. "You needed to be warned?"

"No, I didn't. As you could just tell, Marcie is more than pissed at me right now."

"And she was here because–?"

"You know, I never found out." He dropped his hands from his hips, letting them hang loosely.

"She was alone here?"

"For a few minutes."

"Why was she alone here?"

"She found out you were my guest tonight and wanted to abuse me without witnesses."

Mercury smiled slightly and dropped her hands from her hips. "Did she?"

He moved a step closer to her, encouraged by the thawing. "Abuse me? Very well, I have to say."

"Good. Saves me the tedium. Will she be back?"

"I very much doubt it." His hands trembled to reach out for her.

She fidgeted with the clutch in her hand. "The couple of mind-blowing hours?"

"I'm not going there, and neither should you."

She took a step toward him, closing the gap. "Perhaps we can... later." Her words held a promise but she folded her arms across her chest, her body telling a different story.

He took another step but she quickly turned and headed for the living room.

He lunged for her.

No more!

No more pushing him away. She'd given him his answer and now he was going to take what he wanted. Grabbing her from behind, he spun her around. A tremor that could have been panic shook her but he was unable to pull back.He pinned her to the wall, snatched her purse from her fingers and flung it away. With his body hard against hers, he wrapped one hand around her throat, forcing up her chin. He saw no fear in her eyes, only a hunger and desperation he was sure he mirrored. Seizing her parted mouth with his own, he thrust his tongue inside.

Chapter Fifteen

She tasted so good, felt so soft against him. He shifted, angling in his hips, wanting this, and she sank into him. She wanted it too.

"Too many clothes!" he gasped, sweat prickling the nape of his neck and upper lip. He claimed her mouth again as her hands fumbled at his shirt, then she ripped it from his shoulders and started to lift his mesh t-shirt.

"The jeans," he ordered, diverting her, then impatiently unzipped them himself and shoved them down his hips. She closed a hand, warm and sure, over him. "Yesss." He swelled under her insistent caress.

It wasn't enough. Eyes locking with hers, he pushed up her skirt, discovering bare skin and a thong. He hooked a finger around the lace and dragged it down, then slid a finger inside. She was hot and wet and ready. "You feel… exquisite," he said, his voice hoarse.

She moaned and slid down the wall, forcing him in deeper. "I don't want your hand, Frank. I want you–"

There were no more barriers between them, no reason not to finally make her his. Shifting position, he grabbed her hips, lifted her and thrust himself inside.

"Dios!"

With her legs wrapped around his waist, he spiraled out of control and tried focusing on her glazed eyes, then her panting mouth, all restraint gone. He moved within her, strong and hurried, the scent of her heated skin driving him crazy.

Pull back!

He knew he was taking it too fast and too hard but when pushed to his limit he was never a tender lover. And he had a gutful today. Aggravated by three women, teased by the one he held against the wall, he was past sanity and deep into the realm of impassioned temper where love and lust mingled with no definable boundary.

Her hands moved over him, frantic, then slid under his t-shirt. And froze.

She found the scars. Scars he wasn't of a mind to explain.

"Don't! I cannot–" Thrusting in harder, he slammed her against the wall and she jerked against him.

"Fraaaaank!"

Shit! He was too rough, so intent on his own needs that he disregarded hers. "I'm sorry," he said, his eyes closed in shame. "I'm so sorry."

"Oh god, Frank, oh god, oh god..."

She shuddered against him and he realized her cry was one of release, not pain. Awed by the rapture on her face, he rode the tremors with her.

She panted through the last shudder, then shook her head as if to clear it. "What... did I feel... on your back?"

"Forget it," he muttered against her skin.

Her hands cupped his face, forcing him to look at her. "Take off... that shirt," she ordered.

He wanted her demands, but not that one. He looked deep into her eyes, willing her to leave it alone. "No," he said, kissing her instead.

She moaned and he stroked his tongue against hers, desperate to distract her.

It didn't work.

Pushing on his chest, she frowned. "Frank, please... tell me. What is it?"

Damn her! She was persistent, but that's why he loved her–

Love.

He loved her.

He gazed at her face and saw her desire tempered by hurt and confusion. He withdrew slowly and lowered her, stroking her cheek, overwhelmed by the softness and the wonder of her. She'd given in to him all day – even now – selflessly and this was how he repaid her.

"You have given me so much," he said. "Give me this one thing more."

Her hands were splayed against the wall. She didn't answer but her chest heaved, riveting his eyes to her. "I want to see you," he whispered. "All of you. Take off your dress." He held his breath to see if she would obey him.

"I want you to look at me," she said, reaching for the back of her dress. Seeing her fumble, he pushed her hands away, yanking the zip down.

The straps of material slid from her shoulders and fell to her feet and he swallowed the lump in his throat. She was naked to him and beautiful. His. He wanted to make her his again and never stop. Donovan stroked her from neck to hip, his eyes following, drinking in the sight of her heaving breasts and soft skin. Cupping his hands under her bottom, he lifted and lowered her slowly back onto him, reveling in the look of pleasure that bloomed on her face.

He poised his lips over hers. "You feel so good…" Their mouths touched and he sighed into her, tenderness swelling within him – the feeling unfamiliar but incredible. And no less staggering.

She gave a breathy laugh between kisses. "You feel… pretty good too–"

He didn't need any further encouragement. Pinning her arms above her head, he nuzzled his face into her neck as his body thrust into her, drew back then plunged again. "… cannot wait any longer…"

"God, Frank!"

He drove his tongue into her mouth. "So hot... so sweet..." He ached all over, ready to explode.

"Keep going…"

"… cannot stop…."

"Oh, love…yes. Fraaaaank!"

He buried himself deep within her, his release crashing with hers, and leaned heavily against her. Moving a hand reverently up and down her thigh, he was loathe to lose the contact, knowing he held against him someone precious and perfect for him.

Her trembling stopped and he reluctantly withdrew, slowly setting her feet back to the floor.

"I do not deserve you," he said, his head bowed. "I can offer so little, but it is too late. I cannot let you go–"

"I'm not going anywhere," she said, her fingers against his lips. "This is where I want to be."

The conviction in her face humbled him. He kissed her, his lips tender, wanting her to know the marvel of his discovery, the strength of purpose it gave him, the sense of rightness in his world if she was there, but he couldn't find the words.

He tried to show her instead.

Pulling the t-shirt over his head, he guided her hands to the scars on his back.

"These remind me that I am not infallible."

Mercury watched Frank's face as she smoothed her hands across his back and upward, tracing the puckered skin, feeling coarse ridges and soft hollows spreading from his waist to his shoulder blades. She saw shame and an emotional pain in his eyes that clutched at her heart. She wanted to see what her hands could feel, but instead, tenderly held him to her, prepared to wait.

"What happened?"

"Not now. Please…"

Mercury nodded reluctantly. "I love you, Frank Donovan," she whispered, still breathless. She accepted this precious gift of his trust, but she needed more. "If this is just a fling for you and you leave me again, you will take the best of me with you." She sought his eyes, opening her heart to him. "I'll never stop loving you. If you can't handle that–"

He nodded and sighed deeply, hitched up his jeans and swung her off her feet, holding her easily.

"I think... no, I know that I too love you," he said. "But I do not know what to do with these feelings, whether to trust them or fear them–"

He carried her into an austere room semi-lit by two lamps and dominated by a large bed and mirrored closet that ran half the length of one wall. Setting her on her feet beside the bed, he turned her in his arms to face the mirror. She saw herself, flushed, disheveled and exposed, leaning back against the only man she ever loved. Frank's shoulders were hunched, his chin sunk on his chest, unable to meet her eyes. She had never seen him so unsure, so vulnerable.

"You see me stripped of my defenses," he said. "It is not a pretty sight. I see a woman totally unself-conscious and unafraid. I envy you."

She swung around and hugged him fiercely. "There is nothing to fear, Frank. I could never abuse your trust."

"I want to believe that."

She pulled back, astounded. "Is that the real reason why you left me? You were afraid to love?"

"No!" His face twisted, harsh in his torment. "You still believe that? After what I have tried to tell you?"

"I don't know what to believe." She bit her lip. "I just know that my world came crashing down around me when you left."

"I cannot change history, but I am sorry for what I did. God, Mercury, are you having second thoughts? Even now?"

"No! It's just that–"

"Hell!" He let her go and headed for the bathroom.

"Frank–"

The words died in her throat at the sight of his back. She caught him at the doorway, cautiously touching his shoulder. He tensed and she gazed at his skin, the horror of it churning her stomach. The discolored welts appeared uneven and blotchy, some wide and at angles, others narrow and parallel. She tentatively ran her finger along one, exploring the rough edge and soft cavity.

"Do not!" he said, not moving.

She withdrew her hand but continued to assess the damage on his back, appalled at its magnitude. If plastic surgery had been an option, he obviously had chosen not to undergo it. "I can't begin to guess at what you endured… what produced this… this– but if I ever meet the person who did it, I would surely kill him if I could."

"I already have." He turned, eyes hard and mouth curled into a snarl. "And it was a her."

Mercury stepped back, alarmed by the brutal satisfaction in his voice.

He moved, forcing her backward to the edge of the bed. "What's wrong, Mercury? You wanted to feel this. You wanted to see this." He grabbed her hands. "Then feel." He dragged them roughly to his back again. "Look!" He let her go and spun around, watching her over his shoulder. "You want to know how I got them." Turning back to her, his hands went for her throat. "Do you want to hear how I killed her?"

"I'm sure–"

"…there was a good reason?" he finished for her.

Mercury swallowed hard, conscious her muscles were poised for flight or fight, amazed at how the situation suddenly turned dangerous.

"Oh, there was," he continued. "Plenty of reasons. They are there on my back, and more besides. He grabbed one of her hands and thrust it into the front of his jeans. "Do you want to know what she was doing to me as I choked the life out of her?"

Mercury shut her eyes. She asked for this, but the cruelty she innocently unleashed shocked her. She wanted to erase his bitterness, but didn't know how.

"Would it help, Frank?" she asked, opening her eyes, filling them with all of her love and trust. "If we talked about–"

"Are you kidding?" He shoved her hand away. "Do you think shrinks haven't already tried to… help?"

And failed. There was only one thing she could offer. "I love you, Frank."

She held her breath.

And waited.

His eyes shut then he smoothed his hand up her throat to her jaw, stroking her lips with his thumb, his fingers tender on her cheek. "I believe you."

Mercury sighed.

His lips parted, his eyes now focused, soft and aggrieved. "You made me remember that I love you."

She pressed her lips to his palm.

"I took you with me," he said, his face distorted, drifting off again. "You were beside me in that hell. You kept me sane."

"Were you ever coming back to me?" she asked, dreading the truth but needing it.

"I… don't know."

"You weren't." She was hurt, but not surprised. She pulled out of his arms and shivered in the cool air. Pulling the white cover from the bed, she wrapped it around herself. "You could have found me if you tried, if you wanted. Instead, 'Magical Dreams' found you."

"Yes."

"And now?" She sat on the bed and drew him beside her. "Frank, let me into your heart."

He sighed heavily. "It's difficult for me–"

"I realize that, but I can help you. I'll listen, Frank, and I won't judge you. Remember when we used to lie awake at night and I would talk about nothing and anything and you would listen, sometimes not saying a word, but would just listen."

He nodded, a slight smile forming on his lips. "You certainly could talk."

"With you, I could. With anyone else, I was pretty tight-lipped. Yes," she affirmed as he raised both brows, "I was. But with you, I felt I could say anything, tell you anything. I want you to feel you can do that with me now."

"I don't even know where to start."

She opened one end of the bedspread and invited him inside with her. She laid her head on his shoulder. "You can start by telling me about those scars."

Sequel to follow.