At precisely 11 o'clock, Vincent heard the doorbell ring. He walked to the front door, opened it. But he already knew the woman he wanted wouldn't be standing outside.

The woman who stood on the front step was very short. She had streaked blond hair and a REALLY voluptuous figure, her breasts almost spilling out of the pink, bustier type top she wore. And she was chewing gum, snapping as she chewed.

But she wasn't his Candy. Not even close.

"Hi," she said brusquely. "Zeke said you wanted a private dance."

"Come on in."

He guided her into the family room, poured her a glass of very good white wine, and settled them both by the crackling fire.

"Let's not waste any time," Vincent said. "I'm trying to find the girl that replaced you last night. I won't tell Zeke it wasn't you. I don't want any trouble. I just want information."

Candy considered this. "Kiki," she said. "Kiki would know. She always gets all the deets."

"Can you get in touch with Kiki? Right now?"

"Yeah, sure. I can hit her on my celly. But, she might not come if there is no money involved. Girls gotta eat, ya know?"

"I can make it worth her while."

"Kay." Candy whipped out her cell phone and dialed a number. "Kiki? Hey girl, it's Candy. Listen, can you come the house from last night. The money man wants info. Something about the girl . . . yeah, hang on."

She turned to Vincent. "She says her name was Kitty something. Or Kathy."

"Catherine?"

"Yeah. Kiki says that's it. She can't come down here tonight, her kid is sick. This ok?"

"I will mail her the money for her time."

"She says that's cool. So, this Catherine, she says she is a dancer anyways, and it seemed like a good idea at the time."

Vincent held out his hand for the phone. "May I?"

Candy handed the phone over to him.

"Kiki?"

"Yes?"

"This is Vincent, the money man," he said with a smirk.

Kiki laughed.

"Did you know anything else about this woman?"

"Yeah, she said she had this dance troupe she was a part of . . . wait, I'm trying to remember. . ."

Vincent held his breath.

"Emotion in Motion! That was it! It's this sort of artsy dance troupe. She said they did one recital in nothing but blue body paint."

"Thank you for your time."

"Tell Candy to haul ass over here."

Vincent laughed. "Will do."

Vincent handed the phone back to Candy while relaying the message. Candy said goodbye, and Vincent walked her out.

Vincent moved into the den, trying to keep his mind on the computer screen in front of him and not succumb to the memories of what happened in this very room less than twenty four hours ago.

He found the search engine he wanted and carefully typed in the words, "Emotion in Motion." Then he hit Enter, and waited.

He didn't have to wait long. A page of various web sites came up, and he scanned them rapidly, grinning when he found a dance troupe in San Francisco well-known for its avant-garde entertainment.

He clicked on the web site, and his screen filled with a brilliant background that looked like bright splashes of vividly colored paint. There was a small picture in the corner and he clicked one it to enlarge it.

"Bingo," he said very softly.

In the middle of the group of people, all in various leotards and costumes, was Catherine. He'd recognize that laughing grin anywhere, those vivid eyes. There was so much life to her, a vibrant energy that seemed to shimmer off her body.

He grabbed a pad of paper and a pen, then wrote down the address and phone number of the dance troupe. He was just shutting off the computer when the other line on his desk rang. His private line. It had to be J.T.. For once, Vincent found that his mind wasn't on business.

Vincent picked up on the second ring.

"Hey, Vincent, how'd the wedding go?"

"Great. Can you cover me for a few days?"

"What's up?"

"I'm going to be flying to San Francisco."

"What?" His friend and business partner sounded amazed. "A quick getaway during one of our busiest times of the year? I'm gonna need a Tums."

"It's important."

J.T. was silent, then said with total delight in his voice, "It's a woman, isn't it?"

"What makes you say that?"

"Vincent, please. It's that Cat-Candy girl, isn't it? The dancer?"

Vincent stared into the phone. How did everyone in the world seem to know all his business?

"How did you know her name?"

"We had a little chat on the phone last night."

"You did."

"Don't tell me you're jealous! Vincent, I love this!" he said. "This is too much fun."

He didn't know what to say.

"Look, she picked up the phone and asked if you were always this bad."

"This . . . bad?"

"You know, Vincent, all work and no play?"

"Yeah."

"Anyway, it was my impression that she really liked you."

"She doesn't like me at all," he said.

J.T. laughed. "Give her a chance. I assume you're going out to San Francisco to meet her."

"In a way."

"This just gets better and better. Vincent, take all the time you need. I'll be here running things, and Riley will be fine with me. If you have any worries about the company or this dancer, call me day or night."

Vincent suddenly found himself very grateful that he had a partner like J.T.. His business partner and his wife were both friends and the brother and sister he'd never had.

"Thanks, J.T.. That means a lot."

"Hey, any time. I just want you to be happy, you know?"

"Yeah, I do."

Vincent hung up the phone, then turned the computer back on, and found several travel sites. After comparing prices, he picked one, charged it, and turned off the computer again. Though he could have afforded a private jet if he'd wanted one, he was a frugal man by nature and saw no sense in spending money wildly. He'd invested carefully for the future and was perfectly content to fly on regular airlines.

He sat in his den, all alone, and it was as if Catherine's spirit had possessed the place. He only had to close his eyes and he could see her dancing, her body swaying to the music, that glittering purple mask on her face. He couldn't look at the fire without seeing her lying in front of it on the fur rug, totally naked. He couldn't glance at the long leather couch without smiling, thinking of all those sharp, challenging retorts coming out of her glossy red mouth. And he hadn't even bothered to put the blanket away; he'd merely thrown it up on top of the couch.

Well, he didn't leave for the airport until morning, which gave him plenty of time to pack and do a little cleaning up. He'd vacuumed the family room before he and Evan had left for the wedding and also put the garbage out, the dark green trash bags filled with paper plates and plastic forks and cups. He'd fold the blanket and leave it here, then go upstairs and pack.

Vincent got up from his desk chair and walked over to the sofa. He lifted the blanket off the couch, shook it out, and saw small, dark stains.

Puzzled, he looked closer. It took him a moment before he realized he was looking at bloodstains.

Blood. Did she hurt herself, cut herself? Did I hurt her in any way?

When the obvious answer asserted itself in his mind, he went totally still. And remembered how right it felt when their bodies had joined together, and how very tight she'd felt, how exquisitely her body had sheathed him.

Catherine had been a virgin.

She'd been totally inexperienced, and he'd treated her as if she'd known exactly what she was doing, as if she were a very experienced person. He'd done nothing to reassure her, nothing to make her first time special.

He stayed away from virgins for this very reason, preferring women who knew the score and knew what they were doing. And what he was going to do to them.

A virgin.

He had to sit down; his legs were starting to wobble.

He sat, staring at the blanket. After almost a full minute, he pushed it away from him, tossed it back on to the couch, and put his face in his hands.

This made things ever so much more complicated. Now he had two reasons to go to San Francisco and find Catherine Chandler.

One, he had to apologize for treating her as if . . . as if she were really Candy. Basically, as if she'd had any idea at all what she was doing.

And two, he hadn't bothered with any birth control, assuming that she'd been on birth control already. Now Vincent realized that he couldn't really assume anything. For all he knew, Catherine might be pregnant with his child.

How right the expression was, to never assume anything because all you do is make an ass out of you and me.

He'd treated her badly. As badly as a virgin could be treated. She'd been like Little Red Riding Hood to his Big Bad Wolf. Vincent cringed as he remembered hauling her up over his shoulder and carrying her down to the den, and later locking the doors they could be alone together.

Let's not get carried away here. You didn't lock her in against her will. She was definitely a consenting party.

But he should've known better. He was older than her, more experienced than her, but he'd just let every shred of common sense fly right out the window.

Right about the time you got a really good look at her breasts. And then, of course, there was that stellar moment on the dance floor when you grabbed her ass.

It just got worse and worse. After a few moments, Vincent stood up, grabbed the blanket, bundled it up, and headed upstairs to his bedroom to pack for his flight out to San Francisco.

It looked like he was going to have to eat crow, after all.