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The words pierced her with the same power as the first time she'd ever heard him utter them. She

wrapped both arms around his neck, cradling his head against her breast. "I love you," she

whispered.

"Let's go to the county-city building later and order a marriage license."

"All right."

"When do you have to be at work?" He teased a wavy lock of her tawny hair over her shoulder

and rubbed it against his cheek.

"Three o'clock." She rediscovered the width of his shoulders, the beautiful interplay of the muscles in his back.

"We have time, then. We can call my parents and Cassie. They won't be surprised. Cassie helped

me pick out your ring. When I take you back home, we can talk to Tim and your grandfather."

"That's a good idea-oh, God!" She let her head fall back on the pillow.

He propped himself on his elbows and stared down at her. "What?"

"I have to call them. I didn't come home last night, and they'll be so worried."

"Ssh, now," he said soothingly. "They must not be awake yet, or they would have found my

number in the book and called." He glanced at his bedside clock. "It's still very early. You can

leave it for a couple of hours until eight-thirty or so. If they're awake by then, they'll probably

just think you're still in bed."

Chance was right, she realized. That was exactly what they would think. After all, she'd never

spent the night with a man before. She relaxed, her gaze caught by the kite pattern of hair on his

chest. She followed the arrow of it down his flat abdomen until it disappeared in the tangle of

blankets around his hips.

He noticed the direction of her gaze, and his eyes darkened. Bending down to press quick, light

kisses against her mouth, he whispered, "Mary."

"Hmm." Her lips caressed his.

“Mary, are you very sore?" He licked at her collarbone. One of .his hands had started to roam

over her again, hungrily.

She arched up to him. "Not-not very."

"We could wait if you like," he purred. He touched her between her thighs again, and she

convulsed.

"No!" She dug her nails into him. "No, you don't, you devil."

He started to laugh, and she pushed him back against the pillows, exploring him as he had

explored her, with lips and tongue and shaking hands.

Soon his laughter stopped, and he guided her to what brought him pleasure, tutoring her with

hoarse, whispered encouragement, She was unskilled but eager to learn and thrilled to find him

writhing under her light, tentative touch.

His head turned restlessly, the bones of his face stark. She paused, looking up at his blazing eyes

in wonder. He grasped hold of her by the hips, lifted her over him, and as she automatically

parted her legs to straddle him, he thrust up inside her.

She arched and cried out.

He withdrew, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her thighs, then arched again to fill her. She

clung to his rigid forearms, shaking violently.

He paused, forcing her to stillness while he devoured every aspect of her: the long, tangled hair

that clung in strands to her dampened neck, the wild, predatory hunger in her face, the undulating

grace of her torso, the jutting delicacy of her slight, rounded breasts.

She clawed at his arms, grinding down on him as she sobbed, "Don't stop."

He slammed into her again and again, gasping her name and she bowed over him, twisting as she

climaxed. Her inner muscles tightened on him, and he splintered helplessly.

He clutched her shivering shoulders as she fell down on him. She burrowed mindlessly, seeking

the warm, safe cave and he wrapped himself around her, stroking the back of her head tenderly,

until. her shivering had stopped and all was peaceful again.

An hour later Mary stepped out of the shower, towelled herself dry, and slipped on Chance's blue

terry-cloth robe. It would be thigh-length on him; on her the hem came to past her knees.

She loved their size difference. She loved everything about him. She loved everything in the

world. She was drunk and she knew it, and if she was very, very fortunate she might live the rest

of her life without ever sobering up. She straightened the shower curtain, giggled at the mermaid

print on it, and waltzed out of the bathroom.

The robe smelled like him too. She hugged herself delightedly, thinking, I'll surprise him, by

cooking his breakfast while he showers. A mushroom and cheese omelette maybe, or French

toast. I know he has a sweet tooth. He enjoyed his caramel apple at the fair, or-she looked at the

stairway and started to chuckle again as she remembered what Cassie had said about his lack of

culinary skills. Maybe I'd just better wait to see what kind of food supplies he has before

planning anything too ambitious.

She slipped into the kitchen and started to root through his cupboards. There were several

different kinds of soup, packaged noodles, a box of Melba toast, a jar of beluga caviar, a small

can of oysters and some black olives. And a bottle of Scotch, and another one of Courvoisier

brandy. She put her tongue between her teeth, amused and not very surprised, and went to see

what tale the refrigerator had to tell her.

The freezer held eight microwave dinners, containers of gourmet ice cream, a bag of ice and a

bottle of vodka, She squatted, and rummaged through the rest of the fridge in fascination. There

were vast quantities of leftover Chinese take-out boxes, filled with everything from fried rice and

moo goo guy pan to sweet and sour shrimp.

There was no bread to be found anywhere, ergo no toast. No eggs, either. She did find a half

gallon of milk, a tub of margarine, a can of coffee and several containers of flavored low-fat

yogurt. Sighing, she rocked back on her heels and nibbled at a fingernail.

She supposed all that yogurt was vaguely encouraging about some kind of nutritional sense.

When Mary didn't come back to the bedroom, Chance slipped on a pair of light cotton shorts and

went in search of her. She wasn't in the bathroom, either. He strode through the downstairs,

unsettled, and as he rounded the corner to the dining room and kitchen area, he glanced around

quickly and noticed that the refrigerator door was open.

"Mary?" he asked.

Up popped a small hand from behind the counter, and short fingers waggled at him. The sleeve

of the blue robe flopped around her wrist like a giant bell. It was her left hand. He paused to

appreciate how prettily the diamond ring flashed on her finger, and then strolled over to lean his

elbows on the counter and regard her.

She smiled up at him. "I was going to surprise you with breakfast."

He smiled back. The robe also made her blue eyes glimmer like jewels, and it was beginning to

slip off one fine-boned shoulder. Everything about her was perfection in miniature, even down to

the coltish length of her leg and the shapely curve of her ankle.

She had painted her toenails red to match the outfit she'd worn last night; her toes curled like tiny

pink seashells on the tiled floor.

He decided he liked her wearing his clothes. "What a nice idea," he told her, then chuckled as she

shrugged and gestured helplessly at the contents of the fridge. "As you've probably deduced, I'm

no chef."

She shut the refrigerator door, straightened, then leaned on the counter toward him. "I love to

cook. Since I can't make you breakfast, I'll fix Sunday dinner for you if you like."

His eyes lit up. "Sunday dinner? Do you know how to cook ham?"

She nodded. "How about ham with pineapple slices and a brown sugar glaze? I could do crescent

rolls and mashed potatoes."

He couldn't resist. "And do you know how to make peach pie?"

She nearly laughed out loud at the look of helpless longing on his face. "Yes," she promised, and

he closed his eyes dreamily. "A peach pie, too." She caressed his cheek. "I'm looking forward to

cooking lots for you," she said softly, then tweaked his nose. "If you're good."

His-eyes-snapped open. She twinkled at him merrily. He stared at her for a moment, enchanted.

Looking at her in this playful mood was like recovering a cherished part of himself, long

misplaced and nearly forgotten. It was almost painful how much he needed her.

He shook himself. "Hey," he joked, "be careful with that nose. I'm saving it for you to lead me

around by it."

Her laughter was light and silvery. "I'm looking forward to that, too."

He curled a hand around the back of her head and pulled her close for a kiss. She returned it

enthusiastically. He drew away reluctantly, taking a deep breath. "I'd better go shower."

She smiled up at him. "All right. While you're doing that, I could ... I don't know, heat up some

of the Chinese?" He made a face and she giggled. "By the way, there's an awful lot of it. Did you

have a dinner party recently?"

He nodded. "Sort of I had people over on Monday night."

"I started wondering if there might be anyone you would like to invite to the wedding," she went

on, then paused. He hadn't mentioned having company over when they'd talked on the phone.

"I'll think about it," he said absently. "There are some people from the university I'd like you to

meet."

"I'm sure I'll like them." She searched his eyes, not sure what she was sensing.

"I have some things I want to talk to you about," he said. He bent forward and kissed her again,

hard.

"It's nothing to worry about. Look, why don't you just make coffee while I shower? I'll take you

to breakfast after we talk, and then we'll go see Tim and Grampa.' He smiled.

She nodded. "All right."

He left, and she found filter papers and pulled the coffee out of the fridge, wondering what he

might have to talk about that made him turn so serious. There was old coffee in the machine from

the night before. Smiling reminiscently, she washed the carafe, looking out of the window over

the sink. Their two cups were on the table where they'd left them, still full of dark liquid. She

went out the sliding doors to fetch them.

On her way back inside, she noticed the stacks of files on the sideboard again and paused. Well,

they were right out there for anyone to see. She cocked her head, listening. She could hear the

distant sound of the shower running.

She could just ask him. Chance, what are all those files for? Do they have something to do with

the people you had over on Monday? In fact, she would ask him the minute he returned. In the

mean time, she put the cups on the dining-room table, sidled over, and reached out a forefinger to

flip open one of the files.

The phone rang in the kitchen, and she jumped guiltily and put her hand behind her back. Then

she looked around for a clock. Oh, God, what time is it? Could that be Grampa or Tim? She

hurried to snatch up the receiver. "Hello?"

There was a .slight pause, the line crackling with interference. "Mr. Armstrong, please," said a

man's voice through the interference.

The formal title jarred her a little. It was a stranger. Not Tim, not Grampa. Relieved, she said,

"He's busy. May I ask who's calling?"

Another slight pause. "This is Andrew Duncan, ma'am. Who am I speaking to?"

"Mary Newman." It must be a long-distance call, maybe from overseas. She smiled a little.

Maybe he was one of those work contacts of Chance's. She confessed with shy pride, "I'm his

fiancée."

"Is that so?" His voice warmed. "Well, congratulations.

Could you have him call me just as soon as he can?"

"Certainly-oh, wait a minute." She turned as Chance, dressed in cut-offs and a white T-shirt,

entered the room. He was freshly shaved, and his combed hair was damp. "Here he is now."

"Thank you."

She handed the receiver to Chance, who gave her a questioning look. "Andrew Duncan," she

mouthed, and went to retrieve the coffee cups from the table while he spoke quietly into the

phone.

He moved into the dining room to talk while Mary washed the cups and saucers, thinking ahead

to when he got off the phone. She wouldn't wait any longer but had to call home right away, even

if she woke someone up. She hated the thought of their finding out she wasn't home and then

panicking.

She looked over her shoulder. He had finished his conversation and was leaning against the

counter, watching her intently. She smiled. "Lord, all I've got to wear is my red dress. Chance,

I'm worried about Grampa and Tim worrying. We'd better go home first and talk to them. I can

cook us something to eat there. Is that all right?"

"Hmm?"

His gaze really focused on her, and she realized he'd not been listening.

The smile drained from her face. "Is something wrong?"

He ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry, baby. Nothing's "really wrong. I was thinking.

We're going to have to postpone our plans for today, sweetheart. "

"But why?"

"There's an emergency conference in Washington that I need to cover."

She blinked. "What do you mean, you need to cover?" She sounded very stupid as she grappled

for the meaning of what he'd said. "Just like that? I thought you'd taken the summer off."

"This is different." He rubbed the back of his neck and shifted restlessly. "I've got an inside

contact at the White House who won't talk to anybody but me."

"Is that who Andrew is?"