Part Two

He shook his head and smiled down at the petite brunette. And his smile broadened appreciatively as his eyes traveled down her well-toned body and back up again. "No, Christian," he corrected and offered her a hand, "but for you I'll answer to Cole."

"What the hell kind of game is this?" she whispered in fear as she took another step back. Then, a little more boldly, she stood her ground and demanded, "Why can't you stay dead? Why can't you leave me alone?"

The smile faded from Christian's face when he realized she was truly upset by his appearance. "Sorry," he politely apologized, "you've obviously mistaken me for someone else." He turned to go but was stopped when she grabbed his arm. A tight grip so he spoke to her a little more forcefully, "Look, I said I was sorry."

"You always think that's enough," she accused and didn't ease her grip. "Like saying I'm sorry' will make all the pain go away."

"Sometimes it does," he quietly told her while he pulled her hand off. "Sometimes it's the only thing left to say, left to do." For a moment, she seemed at a loss for words so he properly introduced himself, "Christian Troy."

His name sparked new anger within Phoebe. For a moment, he had seemed so genuine, so like the Cole she fell in love with, so much so that she'd almost believed she'd made a mistake. But the name was too much. "Real original, Coleloved your monogram that much?" She ignored his look of surprise and ranted, "Look, I don't know how you escaped that other reality and I don't care but I swear that if you don't flame, blur, or shimmer out of my sight within the next sixty seconds, you're gonna wish you'd stayed dead the first time you were vanquished."

"Look, sweetheart," Christian began in a concerned tone tinged with some frustration, "why don't you sit right there in that big comfortable chair? I'm gonna go into the other room and bring back a friend. You can talk to her and you'll feel much better. Believe me, she's got an open mind and will entertain just about any new and different idea."

"Why you" she sputtered. "I'm not the one who's crazy!" Phoebe quickly drew back her right arm, made a fist, and connected with his jaw.

Taken by surprise, Christian fell back into the chair and rubbed his jaw as he stared at her. She was seething and he couldn't help but smile. Those were definite sparks coming from her. "For such a tiny thing," he teased as he got to his feet, "you pack a wicked fist."

Phoebe couldn't stand it. That he should act as though nothing was wrong between them and have the nerve to call her crazy was bad enough. But what galled her the most was the attraction she felt for him and that her body was all but ready to jump him and make wild passionate love to him right there in that lobby. But she refused to give into her feelings and, instead, with a choked cry, pulled back her fist again.

This time, though, Christian saw her move and dodged aside just as her fist came flying at him. Unfortunately, it hit the wall instead and he quickly reached for her when she staggered back in shock and pain.

Phoebe held her hand and caught her breath as white lights flashed across her vision. She felt two arms support her and guide her to the chair. "God, it hurts," she whispered as she collapsed into the soft cushions.

"Let me see," Christian requested while he knelt before her.

"Get the hell away from me," she demanded in a pained voice. "Haven't you hurt me enough for a lifetime?" she wondered as tears of pain streaked her cheek.

"Look sweetheart, I'm a doctor," he calmly informed her, "and you might've just broken your hand. Now, let me see it."

"Go to hell," she hissed as she cradled her injured arm. Unfortunately, the movement nearly made her faint and she reached out for him. "Cole" she whispered as she managed to grab his jacket lapel.

"Dr. Troy, is there a problem? Can I help you?"

Christian looked up and saw the young blond clerk from the hotel's reception desk. He grinned while he recalled her very helpful, very pleasant, wake-up call the day before. She smiled in return and he said, "Actually, you can. Teri, is it?"

"Tara," she pleasantly corrected.

"Tara," he apologized, "this young woman has hurt her hand." Tara showed immediate concern and he quickly added, "I'd like to examine it privately. Can you have a bucket of ice sent up to my room along with an Ace bandage?"

"Of course, Dr. Troy," Tara smiled brightly. "Right away. Room twelve-fifteen."

"That's right," Christian nodded. "I appreciate your help," he added with a wink.

"My pleasure," she purred before she turned away.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Phoebe whispered.

"Restrooms are right down the hall," he realized. "Can you manage or do you want me to help you there?"

Phoebe found the energy to slap him in the chest with her good hand but groaned in pain from the action. "I'm talking about you. The way she was all over you without even touching you. And you enjoying every second of it!"

"You sound jealous," he commented with amusement. "And here I thought you wanted me dead."

"I'm not jealous," she insisted. "You signed the divorce papers. You're free to have any college grad you want, why should I care?"

"Why should you indeed," he smiled as he repeated her words. "Come on, let's go."

"Go where?" she asked with confusion when he stood.

"My room," he answered. "I meant what I said," he added when he saw that spark return to her eyes. "I do want to look at your hand unless, of course, you'd rather me examine it here in the middle of the lobby." He thought he saw a glimmer of fear flash in her eyes so he quickly promised, "I'll get you a different doctor if you'll feel more comfortable."

"She called you Dr. Troy," Phoebe whispered as it dawned on her that she truly might've made a mistake.

"I told you," he patiently re-introduced himself, "my name is Christian Troy. I'm here attending the convention."

"A doctor? I suppose that's different than lawyer," she muttered as she desperately clung to her suspicions. "Fine," she agreed, "take me to your room." She let him help her up and muttered under her breath, "More private for vanquishing."

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