Devon Marceau flicked the newspaper closed and laid it on the pockmarked desk in front of him. The cavernous, near-empty warehouse magnified the sound of the crinkling paper as well as the tinny voices emanating from the black and white TV his partner Jim watched. Jim sat on a canvas folding chair near the large rolling doors at the rear of the building. He smoked a cigarette and seemed oblivious to the bad reception as he concentrated on Seinfeld reruns. Devon swore he could smell the Marlboro smoke from where his desk was, yards away, near the "movie set" and the side emergency exit.

That was probably the ex-smoker in him longing for a puff. Times like these, when the waiting for action went on for days, the craving for a cigarette grew into an obsession. He glanced at the Motorola cell phone on the Formica top of the cheap desk, willing it to ring. It didn't. It had been two weeks now without a bite.

Devon sighed. It was about time to pack it in. This sting wasn't going to take.

The only thing distracting him from the foul mood caused by weeks of manpower going to waste was the glossy black hair cascading down his receptionist's back.

Claire Reed was the one innocent civvie on this job. She'd been hired from a temp agency to answer the public phone if it ever rang, which was highly unlikely since they weren't in any phone book, and to look pretty if anyone ever came to the "studio" unannounced. The plan was for her to be long gone before the action started--if it ever started, which seemed more and more unlikely with each passing day.

Yeah, if only he could see more of Claire from her perch at the front desk. That would take his mind off Scott Creighton slipping through his grasp once again. He clenched his fist and thumped it against the desk. His partner didn't react to the echoing sound--he was used to Devon's little outbursts. But the delectable morsel at the front peeked over her shoulder and gave him a dirty look. Then her big brown eyes went dreamy and she went back to typing on her laptop.

The warehouse had weird acoustics, causing some sounds to magnify while others were muffled, like Claire's voice whenever he heard her talking into her cell phone. Devon had interviewed her for the job personally, letting her know that they were waiting for investors, that she didn't have to worry--they'd pay her no matter what, that she'd likely be bored to tears so she could bring a book or whatever to pass the time. She'd looked suspicious at first and had asked a lot of questions--Devon's answers had remained on the vague side--but then she'd seemed gleeful. He later discovered her secret passion. During her second day on the job, she'd brought in her laptop and set to typing.

"What are you working on?" Devon had asked, glancing at the door beyond her, still antsy that Creighton might show up unannounced before they were ready.

"The great American novel."

"Huh?" He turned back to her. God, he itched to run his fingers through her luxurious hair.

She laughed, a light, feminine laugh that stirred his blood. "A romance really. I like happy endings."

Devon shook his head at the memory, coming back to the too-dull present. He didn't believe in happy endings, any more than he believed in the horoscopes on the back page of the paper in front of him. He'd known too many bad people in his life. But he didn't tell Claire that. He didn't want to take that light out of her eyes, and she had continued typing, day after day, filling up pages.

One evening when he'd said good-night, she'd been smiling, almost laughing. "I can't believe I'm getting paid to work on my book. Thank you so much!"

At least one person was happy with this waiting game.

Picking up the paper, he glanced at the horoscope section just to pass the time. The words came into focus. He was a Gemini, born June 5. His horoscope read: "Today you'll struggle with the dual sides of your Gemini personality. Loosen up and enjoy life. A phone call is a blessing and a curse. Venus smiles on you. Love is coming your way."

What a load of crap! Vague statements that any susceptible person could bend to fit their life. Well, not him. That damn phone call was what he'd been waiting two weeks for, and if it didn't come today, they might as well wrap up this gig. And forget love--who needed the aggravation? Hearts and flowers certainly didn't fit into his life, when he was undercover half the time and in danger the rest.

Claire rose from her chair and stretched, turning as she did so, giving him a nice view of perky breasts under a tight pink sweater buttoned to the very top. He so wanted to undo two, maybe three of those pearly buttons, to see the creamy olive skin beneath.

She walked toward him, hips swaying, gray skirt touching the tops of her knees, sensible low heels clicking on the cement floor. What was the matter with him that the librarian look stirred his libido?

"Mr. Marceau," she began.

"Devon, please."

She blushed. She had almond-shaped brown eyes, light brown lashes, and arched brows, but the facial feature Devon couldn't keep his eyes off of was her luscious red lips. They were the most perfectly shaped lips he'd ever seen in his life and all he could imagine was covering them with his mouth and sliding them open with his tongue.

"Okay. Devon." She smiled. "I was thinking of ordering a pizza for the three of us. My treat. You all have been so great, letting me do my writing while paying me. It's been heaven. I'd like to give something back to you."

Give him something? How about a nice, deep, lingering kiss? No? Devon smiled. He couldn't for a moment fathom how typing for hours hunched over a cramped keyboard and staring at a glaring computer screen could be heaven. He'd hated every last one of his composition and literature classes, and it showed in each and every report he'd had to write for the Bureau for the past fifteen years. Many of those reports had concerned Creighton and how he'd evaded arrest again, usually through a legal loophole the Bureau had never seen coming.

God, he wanted that bastard so bad that his mouth watered every time he thought they had a viable sting in place. And he'd felt gut-punched every time something had screwed up the takedown. The man was too damn smart, as were his lawyers, and operatives were too damn human.

Well, for now his mouth watered at the thought of a greasy pizza shared with tasty Claire Reed.

"A pizza, huh? You don't have to treat us, you know. Tax write-offs and all that." Devon grinned.

"I want to. Really. This has been like a vacation for me." She twisted her fine-boned hands as she stood in front of him. He seemed to make her nervous for some reason, but he chalked it up to the absurdity of the workplace. She was alone with two men in a hulking warehouse where no one ever called. That had to seem weird, even to the most composed woman.

A shrill ring pierced the awkward moment. Devon looked down at his desk. His cell trilled again. Damn. Creighton, it had to be Creighton. This number had been set up specifically for this operation and had only been given to Creighton's henchmen.

"Are you going to answer your phone?" Claire asked after the third ring.

Devon reached for it, trying to keep the tremor of excitement out of his hand. He inclined his head toward the rear of the building and saw that Jim had hopped off his chair and was stalking across the cement floor. Devon flipped open the cell. "Hello, Marceau here."

"Marceau, this is Mr. Creighton's assistant, Warren. Mr. Creighton has taken an interest in your operation."

Devon let out his breath slowly. He wanted to shout, "He certainly took his damn time, didn't he?" but of course it wouldn't do to offend the man. No, he had to keep his cool, say nothing wrong, and set this gig up. The Bureau had already briefed the agents who would serve as actors. The sound equipment and cameras were in place on the "stage" here at the warehouse. The scripts were in his desk. Jim had even taken a crash course in cinematography, while Devon had read up on Hitchcock and Spielberg.

Breathe deep. Say the right thing. They just needed a day, minimum, to pull in the agents and get Claire out of here, then they were ready to roll. Calmly, he said, "I'm glad to hear that. What sort of interest exactly?"

Creighton was involved in selling drugs and weapons. He was also suspected of funding terrorists, but little was known about that end of his operation. The Bureau hoped to use this sting to get him on money laundering, and to perhaps scrounge up information on his other operations. It was a slow-going and frustrating process. They only gleaned a tiny speck of new information each time they worked a sting. What kept Devon going was knowing they'd take the man down in the end.

Creighton's weakness was porn stars. He always had an actress or aspiring actress clinging to his elbow whenever he was photographed in public. Many of those bimbettes had turned up dead, raped and mutilated. Other than coincidence, nothing could tie the murders back to Creighton, and that fact twisted Devon's gut the most.

"Mr. Creighton would like to view your set-up." The voice on the phone had a Guido accent. "And if he likes what he sees, he might be willing to invest a mil or two."

"A mil or two. Whoa." Devon feigned shock, as any penny-ante director would, at the thought of that much money. "That sounds perfect. Would he like to come by next week? I'll make sure we're shooting one of the more interesting scenes."

"Mr. Creighton wishes to come by this afternoon."

Alarm bells went off in Devon's mind as Jim leaned in, trying to hear the conversation. Claire had walked a discreet distance away. He hoped she hadn't ordered the pizza yet. "Please give Mr. Creighton my apologies, but we're only filming a couple of boring scenes today. Our starlet isn't here..."

"Mr. Creighton said today or never. He's very adamant about that." Warren stumbled over the word adamant. Obviously not his personal choice.

"How about this evening? I could probably get Sasha and Anton here by then. I want to put our best foot forward, you know."

"Mr. Creighton is on his way now. He'll see you in twenty minutes." The phone clicked dead.

Holy shit! Time for a full scale panic attack. Devon stared at the phone, rerunning the conversation in his mind and trying to think of what he could have said to make that go better. Damn. They were so screwed.

"What'd he say?" Jim asked, sliding his butt onto the desk.

Devon didn't waste time explaining. He speed-dialed his boss as he tried not to hyperventilate. Should they split immediately? The danger was not only in exposing the sting, but in finding themselves filled with 9 mm bullets when Creighton arrived and saw no movie production going on.

Devon's boss answered the phone with a gruff, "Yeah?"

"Phil, he's on his way over now."

Jim's eyes widened to saucers as he glanced meaningfully around the empty warehouse. Devon ignored him.

"What? You didn't tell me you'd already set this up. Are Sasha and Anton there?"

"No one's here. We just got the call and he's coming now. It wasn't negotiable."

"Well, shit, Devon."

"Exactly, sir."

"What are you prepared to do? When exactly will he get there?"

"Less than twenty minutes."

Phil Pembrook, Special Agent in Charge, swore profusely. "That's not even enough time for you to evacuate. You're going to have to wing it. What can you do? Who do you have?"

"I have Jim and the girl we hired from the temp agency."

"How does she look?"

He glanced at Claire, whose brows raised in response. He was glad she hadn't heard his boss's question. Devon spoke low into the phone. "She looks good, but she's a civvie. I think we need to get her out of here."

"No time. Use her. Tell her it's for her country. More importantly, tell her it'll save her life."

"That's not fair. It's not her problem."

"It is now. Get over it."

"She might just bolt."

"She can't bolt. Your lives depend on it, not to mention the success of this operation."

The tick-tock of the clock boomed in Devon's head as he folded the cell phone closed.

"Well?" Jim was a young agent with a receding hairline and cleft chin. He was deceptively strong for his short, wiry frame. He also had a wife and new baby at home. Yes, he'd known he was putting his life at risk by working for the Bureau, but he did it anyway. However, that baby hadn't signed on to lose a daddy, that was certain, and Devon wasn't going to let it. They still had a chance to make this operation fly and catch Creighton. That gold nugget alone would have been enough of a carrot if Devon would only be putting experienced agents at risk, but Claire...

* * * *

Claire approached her employer with caution. That phone call had triggered something, because now the two men kept glancing at her with concern and speculation in their eyes. What was up with that?

She pasted a smile on her face. "So shall I order the pizza or have plans changed? I can take a later lunch if you need me to." She certainly didn't want to jeopardize this job over food. She'd originally doubted she'd ever see a paycheck from such a fly-by-night operation, but the temp agency hadn't placed her in a month and things were looking very tight at home, so she'd taken the chance. Plus her daily horoscope had said to take the risk. Not that she placed stock in such things, but sometimes she needed a little mental reinforcement. She'd crowed happily when her first paycheck had cleared. Somehow the men were managing to pay her even though the one man watched TV every day while appearing to guard the one entrance, and the other man read the paper and glared at his cell phone.

Claire had explored the set the first couple of days. Two wheeled tripods held mid-size video cameras. An Oriental rug covered thick black wires that wove all over the floor. They seemed to be attached to a couple of microphones skillfully hidden on the set. Devon said he directed movies, which seemed totally glamorous to Claire. However, the people she'd seen on the set besides Devon and Jim had arrived for the first couple of days and had huddled together talking in low voices and glancing at the doors. They'd been dressed in sequins and low-ride jeans, and both men and women had been stunningly gorgeous, but no acting had been done and on the fourth day they had all mysteriously disappeared. Claire had been too shy to ask where they'd gone or when Devon planned to shoot the actual movie. She wasn't paid to oversee his job, so she kept to herself and wrote her book. Still, she'd been curious about it all.

"Um." Devon stood up and circled the desk. "There's been a change in plans. An emergency."

"Oh, okay. Can I help?"

Devon thumbed his lip and cocked his head while Jim sat up straighter. "Yes, you can help," her boss said in his low, sexy voice.

"Anything you need." She smiled again, though she sensed that maybe the request was going to be bigger than working late or going out for coffee. She suddenly remembered the horoscope she'd read over her morning coffee. It had read: "Trusting someone will give you what you need the most. Be brave and brazen, and you will get the job done."

Devon placed his hands on her shoulders, which was the first time he'd touched her since she'd gained employment here. She wasn't prepared for the zing that charged through her body or for the intensity of his blue eyes. "Claire, I need you to do something that is way beyond the call of duty. I can't explain it all now and it's going to seem crazy to you, but I wouldn't ask it if it wasn't extremely urgent."

She locked her knees as her stomach lurched from his tone. Be brave, be brave. "What is it?" she whispered.

He removed his hands from her shoulders, and her skin grew cold from the absence. One hand reached into his back pocket and pulled out a wallet. He flipped it open and waded past far too many pieces of paper, plastic, and a couple of dollar bills before he finally found what he was looking for. This he showed to her. "Jim and I are FBI agents. We don't have our normal badges because this is an undercover operation and we could be searched."

Claire reached for the official-looking piece of paper, but he shook his head. It was un-laminated, but it had his name and a badge number and the letters "FBI" with the address of the local Bureau office on it. Claire happened to recognize the address because she'd visited there once for research on a story she'd been plotting.

"For real?" she asked, waiting for the punch line.

Jim moved to flank Devon. "For real," he said. He pulled out his ID as well and gave her a moment to glance at it, before tucking it back into the flotsam in his wallet. She could see how it wouldn't be noticed during a simple perusal of the wallet. Devon did the same.

"What do you need me to do?"

Devon sighed. "You're not going to like it."

He took her hand--that alone sent chills through Claire's body--guiding her to the set in the rear corner of the warehouse, away from the doors and windows. Jim followed, then started clicking on the high-powered lights, angling them towards the bed and couch. That's what the set consisted of outside of the technical paraphernalia: a king-size four poster bed with a sumptuous gold satin bedspread and black silk sheets--she'd touched them during her earlier explorations, imagining what it would be like to sleep on such fine bedding--and a large sectional couch shaped like a G. One end consisted of a chaise lounge. The cushions were plump and covered in that new fake suede material that Claire loved for both its practicality and comfort. There was also a low square coffee table. The squat legs supported a teak wood frame with a glass panel in the center. A rice-paper screen sat further way, beyond the border of the Oriental rug. Claire got the impression that it wasn't meant to be filmed.

Her hand tingled from Devon's grip. She'd had fantasies about this man, her employer. In fact, he had probably worked his way into the romance she was writing, especially his blue eyes, which stared at her in her dreams, arousing her and sending shivers through her body. He was definitely a man to have a crush on--tall, trim, chiseled jaw and cheeks, five o'clock shadow even in the morning, olive tan skin. She could eat him for lunch instead of the pizza. She bit her lip to keep her thoughts from straying further in that dangerous direction.

Devon pulled her to the side of the set near two production trunks that lined the wall. Then he took her second hand into his grip as well, turning her to face him completely, capturing her with his eyes.

"Claire, I need you to act."

"Act how?" She could read lines from a script. That would be easy enough, even if she were less than convincing. She'd tried out for a few school plays and hadn't been accepted for any, but that was just school. Those were more popularity contests than anything, not a sign that she sucked as an actress, right? Of course, her mind had blanked each time she'd walked on stage, whether to sing, dance, or read lines. She'd stood there mute until the titters from fellow students had reminded her to leave the stage.

"You need to be my leading lady, okay? I'm the director and the actor for this scene. Jim's the cameraman. Can you be a brainless sex object just for this afternoon?" He grinned for just a moment, pulling an answering smile from her. Then he was serious again. "I'll try not to take it too far, but the most important thing you need to do is follow my lead. Do what I say, because our lives depend on it. Never break out of your role no matter how uncomfortable, okay?" His eyes seared hers with their gaze. "Never."

"Um, I think you're scaring me a bit."

"Claire, I would never ask you to do this if this wasn't a desperate situation, but Creighton is on his way now. If he thinks we're fakes, for even a moment, he'll kill us all. It wouldn't even faze him."

"What?" Claire's knees gave out and she nearly fell, but Devon's strong arms caught her and helped her to sit on the top of one of the trunks.

"I really don't have time to explain more. We need to pretend we've been at this all morning." He opened the other trunk and pulled out a baby-doll style negligee followed by a pair of dinky thong panties and a lace bra, all a matching shade of fire-engine red. "Put these on." He pointed to the rice-paper screen. "Hurry." He continued to riffle through the trunk without looking at her.

"I can't wear these!" Her voice was a bit louder and higher than she would have liked, causing Jim to glance her way from his place by the tripod-mounted camera.

The roar of an engine filled the warehouse. Then they heard doors slamming. "Shit!" Devon slammed the trunk closed and stripped off his shirt. "Now. Put them on now."

"I can't."

He gripped her arms and squeezed. "Do you want to die?" His eyes were deadly serious, almost panicked. She wanted to question him, but she couldn't doubt what was evident in his eyes. "Hurry. Leave your clothes behind the screen. Get on the bed immediately, and follow my lead. We just have to get through this, okay? Then you never have to see us again."

Claire acted immediately as a knock sounded on the outer door, booming through the warehouse. Jim cocked his head in question at Devon. Devon went to sit on the bed and nodded. Claire dashed behind the screen. She'd never undressed faster. Clothes fell to the floor. Cold air struck her skin. At least she'd showered and shaved this morning instead of waiting for her usual relaxing evening bath before bed. Still, she never wore thongs. The bra lifted and separated her breasts, but the lace was so sparse that her nipples poked through and the light pink circles around them showed as well. She slid the baby doll gown over her head and pulled it into place. There was no mirror. She wished Devon had thought to hand her stockings. She had no doubt there were some in that trunk. It was a crazy thought, but at least those would have been a bit more covering.

She'd never realized how chilly the warehouse was until she stood half-naked in it with goosebumps running up her legs. She tried to see through the screen. What was happening on the other side? Why was she dressed this way, and could she somehow just slip out the back door away from these lunatics? She touched the dank brick wall behind her. No escape there.

"Now!" Devon's voice warned her that she'd better come out from behind the screen. She tiptoed out and he waved frantically to get her over to the bed, while Jim spoke to someone at the front door, someone hidden from Claire's view. She crossed her arms over her chest and walked toward the hulking bed.

"Come on. Right next to me," Devon said. He patted the bed and Claire sat down. Why did he get to stay in jeans? Because his chest was to die for. She salivated as she stared at his broad, lean pecs. Flat brown nipples asked to be licked. He had just the right amount of curly brown chest hair. He exuded masculinity.

Claire felt the warmth of his denim-clad thigh the moment she sat down, but she tried to focus her mind on the role she needed to play. "Is there a script?"

"There is a script, but you don't have time to learn it. Hell, I didn't even memorize it, because I wasn't supposed to be one of the actors." He swore again, watching Jim and the men entering the door. He rubbed a hand over his chin, then turned and seemed to notice Claire seated next to him for the first time. Really notice.

"Holy shit." He looked right down her cleavage. The baby doll gown was sheer and trimmed with satin strings. It didn't hide the lace bra or thong underneath. Instead it accentuated them. Claire knew she had a nice flat stomach and ample chest, which she attributed mostly to genetics, but she still didn't consider herself gorgeous or anything. She was too introverted and shy, and she lacked a flair for make-up or fashion. The characters in the stories she wrote knew how to dress at least, even if she didn't.

Jim led the newcomers through the warehouse to the set. One man walked slowly, with a limp and a cane.

"This is it." Devon gripped her hand hard. His voice was low, so the approaching men wouldn't hear him. "These guys are dangerous. Think "Sopranos", okay? If they think we're faking anything, we're dead, got it?"

"Devon?"

"Huh?"

"What kind of film are we making?"

Heart's Desire - MacKenzie Reed

"Okay Cass, it's your turn now."

Cassidy DeWitt turned to her friend, Joanna Danes. "What do you mean it's my turn? My turn for what?" Cassidy frowned; she had no idea what they were talking about. It was her twenty-sixth birthday and her two best friends, Joanna and Sarah, had taken her to a carnival. The bright lights, the rides, the noise all brought back happy childhood memories of trips to the county fair with her parents and her brother, George.

A hand waved in front of her face, drawing her back to the present. "What?"

Joanna shook her head and rolled her eyes. "It's your turn to see the fortune teller, Madame Zorkoff."

Cassidy sputtered. "Madame Zorkoff?" She couldn't help it. The name tickled her funny bone and a round of laughter ensued, catching all three of them in its wake. A few tears later and gasps for breath, the girls quieted down and once again Cassidy was told it was her turn.

"Oh, come on, you guys. You know as well as I do it's all a bunch of crap." With a squeaky voice Cassidy said, "You will meet a tall, dark, and handsome stranger who will sweep you off your feet and take you away to live happily ever after." She snorted. "Like I really want to hear that after the fiasco with Brian.

All three girls groaned at the mention of Brian's name, Cassidy more than the others. "The guy was more concerned with his looks than anything else."

Sarah nodded. "You're right, Cass. He certainly was at that." Sarah shared a look with Joanna and Cassidy started to sweat. Whenever those two shared a look, it always meant trouble for her. Well, forewarned was forearmed. This time she wasn't going to argue with them. She would go into the tent and let Madame Zorkoff read her palm, then she'd smile, say thank you, and leave without looking back.

Joanna opened her mouth to speak but Cassidy forestalled her. "Let's get it over with, shall we?" Cassidy marched by the two of them, leaving them speechless. She smirked. Let them chew on that for a while. She reached the tent opening and was about to enter when she realized they weren't following. In fact, they hadn't moved from their spot.

She quirked her eyebrow questioningly, "So are ya'll coming or what?"

"Sorry Cass, but you have to go in there alone. That's the rules." Joanna pointed to a small sign attached to the left side of the opening.

"Fine." Cassidy stomped into the tent and found the fortuneteller sitting at her tiny table with her crystal ball. The lady appeared to be staring intently into the crystal as though she could see something other than clouded glass.

"Are you just going to stand there all night or are you going to come and sit down." The woman's voice was deep and husky like a smoker's.

"This is stupid," Cassidy muttered beneath her breath and turned to walk out when the woman stopped her.

"Cassidy DeWitt! Come and sit down."

She turned back and faced the woman. "How did you know my name?"

The fortuneteller never looked up but motioned with ring-covered fingers for Cassidy to sit in the chair across from her. Cassidy debated on whether or not to simply walk out or do as the lady said. She shrugged. What the hell, she might as well let the charlatan go through her spiel. It wasn't going to change the fact that she had no love life of any kind to speak of. She could count on one hand how many times in the last six months she'd had sex. She sat down and waited for Madame Zorkoff's next move.

Madame Zorkoff closed her eyes and swayed back and forth, humming a strange tune before opening her eyes and focusing on Cassidy.

"You are not a believer." Madame frowned.

Cassidy ran her sweaty palms down her jeans. Damn! This lady made her feel like a naughty child. Of course she wasn't a believer. Everybody knew that fortunetellers gave vague answers that sometimes coincided perfectly with someone's life. It was how they made their living. She would never begrudge Madame Zorkoff for the way she provided for herself and quite possibly her family. Didn't she work at Perish Advertising for that very reason? Except she was the only one to provide for, there was no one else. Not since... No! She broke off that thought. She would not think of him, not now, not ever.

"Give me your hands." Madame Zorkoff stated, holding her hands out, palms up.

Taking a deep breath, Cassidy placed her hands in Madame Zorkoff's and gasped at the slight tingling. She tried to jerk her hands free but Madame wouldn't allow it.

"Your heart's desire awaits right outside the door. All you have to do is believe in your heart and you will find it." With those words, Madame released Cassidy's hands and leaned back. "Go now. That is all I have for you."

Okay! This lady was either crazy or her friends had put her up to this. Shoot! She mentally smacked her head. That was it! Joanna and Sarah must have worked out a deal with Madame Zorkoff. Cassidy laughed and shook her head.

"How much did my friends pay you to say that? Which one of them came up with that bunch of bull? Did Joanna tell you that today was my birthday?"

Madame shook her head. "I already knew that. You were born under the sign of the twins, a Gemini. You are stubborn, but loyal to a fault. You enjoy your work, but hope someday to move down another path. You have loved only one man in your life and his leaving left a hole in your heart."

Cassidy stiffened. How did this woman know about him? She'd never told a soul.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Be very careful, Cassidy. You should never take lightly what the spirits say to you." Madame rose from her chair, and in a swish of skirts and bangles she was gone.

Cassidy sat there stunned. She hadn't meant to make the Madame feel bad. Standing, she dug into her jeans pocket, pulled out a ten-dollar bill, and tossed it on the table. Hopefully that would make up for her faux pas. After exiting the tent, her gaze wandered over the area looking for Joanna and Sarah. She spotted them sitting at a picnic table with three guys. The guys' backs were to her so she took a look at the merchandise. All three were dressed in jeans and two of them wore t-shirts while the other one wore a long-sleeved denim shirt. He had the sleeves rolled up, showing off his powerful forearms. She let her gaze drift down over his butt and all but drooled. It was a nice butt, one that made you want to kiss it, or bite it.

Cassidy bit her bottom lip. It so reminded her of Nicholas, a man she hadn't thought about in years. But now as she stood admiring this mystery man's butt, Cassidy was transported back to a happier time in her life. One night in particular stood out in her mind ... it was the night she'd loved and lost Nicholas.

"Cass, baby if we don't stop now I won't be able to," Nicholas murmured against her lips while his hands touched her in places that ached to be touched. She groaned against his lips when his hand covered her breast. Her nipple tightened to pebble hardness. Wanting more of his touch she arched against him, pressing her breast firmly against his palm. This time he groaned.

He jerked his mouth free from hers, his breathing choppy and harsh sounding. "I want to make love to you, Cass." He gave her a quick, hard kiss. "But this isn't the right place or the right time." He moved away and began pacing back and forth in front of her. His hands dangled by his sides, clenching and unclenching, a testament to the fact of how much he wanted her.

On shaky legs Cass moved away from the tree and took the two steps forward that would put her right in Nicholas's path. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he nearly knocked her down. Instead, his hands reached out and wrapped around her upper arms, holding her up.

She looked up into his handsome face and knew without a doubt that she would love this man forever and that if they consummated that love, here and now, it would be okay. She slid her hands beneath his shirt and caressed his heated skin. His forehead dropped to rest on hers bringing his mouth within kissing distance.

"Cass?"

Rising on her tiptoes, Cassidy brushed her lips against Nicholas's firm ones and whispered, "I love you, Nick. Make love to me."

For a moment she thought he was going to turn her down, so she wasn't prepared for him to sweep her off her feet and carry her to the back of his pickup truck. He set her on her feet beside the truck and walked to the cab of the truck to retrieve a blanket he'd placed there earlier. He laid it carefully in the bed and then turned to face Cassidy.

"Are you sure about this, Cass? I can wait until you're ready."

"I'm ready now." To prove her point Cassidy lifted her red tank top over her head and tossed it in the truck. Nick did the same with his blue t-shirt. They both undressed, their eyes never leaving the other for fear it was all a dream. Once they were both naked, Nick pulled Cassidy into his arms and lowered his mouth to hers. She was waiting. She opened her mouth beneath him and shivered when his tongue slid inside her mouth and explored.

Right there under the stars, Cass and Nick made love for the first time. He was a gentle lover, taking great care with Cass's body and her trust. With a quick, hard thrust Nick took her virginity and her heart.

"I love you, Cass. Always."

Cassidy came back to the present with sadness in her heart and tears in her eyes. Those were the last words Nick had spoken before he'd up and disappeared. For days and months, Cassidy had gone to his house, talked to his boss, his co-workers, and learned nothing. It was as though Nick had fallen off the face of the Earth.

She'd lost her heart on that night and never gotten it back. Oh yeah, she dated over the years and actually thought she'd found Mr. Right. All he'd really wanted was to get her in the sack. Thank goodness, she'd figured it out before it had gotten that far.

Every now and then her thoughts would drift to Nick and she wondered what he was doing now. Was he married? A father? That brought a sharp pain to her heart. She wanted kids. Had always dreamed of having two or three children. The only problem was that Nick was their father in the picture.

She sighed. Enough of the melancholy crap! It was her birthday and she was damn well going to enjoy it. Head held high, Cassidy started toward her friends and the three good-looking hunks in skin-tight blue jeans.

She'd almost reached them when Joanna called out. "There you are. Come meet our new friends."

Cassidy nodded and turned to smile at the guys who were now facing her. Her smile quickly faded when she caught sight of the one that she'd been drooling over. The one whose butt she'd wanted to bite. Her eyes widened in shock. Oh my God! It was Nicholas Kinkaide and he was looking too damn fine for words.

His eyes clung to hers, watching and waiting for her reaction at seeing him again after three years. Instant heat flooded her body at his bold stare. Cassidy inwardly cursed her body's reaction to this man. Even after all these years, her body still yearned for his touch. Damn his miserable hide. And judging by the smirk on his face he knew it too.

"Hello, Cass," his deep, sensual voice reached into the dark recesses of her mind and brought them quickly into the light. She'd almost forgotten what the sound of his voice did to her, to her secret places. Even now her womanhood pulsed to life, swelling, moistening just for him.

Well, he wasn't getting off that easy. She wanted an explanation and she wanted one now. She threw back her head and placed her hands on her hips. "Well, well. If it isn't Nicholas Kinkaide." Sarcasm dripped from every word, but inside she was shaking. Just saying his name brought a secret joy to her heart. Cassidy thought she would never see him again. Yet here he stood, not three feet from her, with his chestnut hair blowing in the slight breeze and a soft smile meant only for her.

"How've you been?"

His words made her see red. "How have I been? That's all you have to say after three years? How have I been?" She stomped toward him and stopped directly in front of him. Tilting her head back she looked him dead in the eye and said, "How in the hell do you think I've been? And what gives you the right to ask me that anyway?"

Someone cleared their throat and it was then Cassidy realized they had an audience. Damn! One look at Nick and she'd forgotten all about Joanna and Sarah. What they must think. Here she stood toe-to-toe with a guy she knew intimately and they haven't a clue. Cassidy never told her friends about Nick. The pain was too great at the time, and later on? Well, it just never seemed like the right time. And now wasn't either.

She turned to them. "I'll explain later. Don't ask me anything right now, okay?" A tear filled her eye. "I'm going home. Thanks for a wonderful birthday." Cassidy didn't wait for a response. She knew they would understand. However, she also knew them well enough to know that come nine in the morning they would be pounding on her door demanding an explanation.

She'd just reached her car when a hand grabbed her, bringing her to a halt. Cassidy took a deep shuddering breath. She knew that touch like her own. She glanced back over her shoulder and found herself staring into Nick's sad eyes.

The fortuneteller's words came back to her in haunting clarity. Your heart's desire awaits right outside the door. All you have to do is believe in your heart and you will find it. If Nick was her heart's desire then she was in one heap of trouble.

She asked the one question she dreaded knowing the answer to but needing to know. "Why did you leave me and why did you come back after all this time?

* * * *

Nick couldn't get over how beautiful Cassidy had become. She was even more gorgeous than he imagined her, and he'd definitely imagined a lot over the years. His dreams had been all about her, the way she looked at him with love in her eyes, and even now, when she was mad as hell at him, she never looked more beautiful or sexy.

Hearing her words, the tears in her eyes, nearly broke his heart. How could he explain that he hadn't left because he wanted to, but because he'd had no choice? The night they made love had been the best and worst night of his life. After walking Cassidy home and sharing a sweet, hot kiss, Nick headed for home, deciding to take a short cut through the alley behind Barley's Pub. That had been a huge mistake and the beginning of his nightmare because he'd inadvertently walked right into witnessing a murder.

Thank God the killer hadn't seen him. Nick had quietly left the alleyway, run straight to the Maplesville, Georgia police station, and told Detective Dave Helms the whole story, never realizing the danger he was putting himself or his family in. It wasn't until later that Nick learned just what that visit to the police station would cost him ... everything. His life, Cassidy, and everything he'd ever known was snatched away in that one instant as Nick was sent away to live in the Witness Protection Program.

So many times he'd picked up the phone to call Cassidy and tell her why he'd left only to sit it back down without making the call. The only consolation he had was the guy would die in prison and he could return home. Unfortunately, it had taken him three years to return home and now it might just be too late.

"Why, Nick? Why did you leave me?"

He heard the words and the question behind it, but he also heard the hurt Cassidy had suffered over his abrupt disappearance. He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it, wondering how to explain what had happened three years ago. He wasn't looking for pity, just her understanding and forgiveness.

"Nick?"

Hearing her call his name brought back memories of that night with sensual clarity. She'd called his name while climaxing, triggering his own orgasm. God, he'd missed her over the years. Missed kissing her plump, sweet lips that tasted like peaches, running his hands over her soft feminine curves and learning where she liked to be touched and caressed. His body responded to his thoughts and Cassidy's nearness. His manhood hardened, lengthening in his jeans. Jeans that were now too damn tight. Nick drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, hoping to calm his raging libido. He hadn't been with a woman in a while and his body was letting him know.

He gazed down at Cassidy and smothered the urge to close the distance between their lips and take hers in a sweet kiss of exploration. He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip and was rewarded with a gasp. He couldn't take it. He had to kiss her just once.

"I'm sorry, but I've got to kiss you." Then he suited action to words and brushed his lips across hers in a feathery kiss. Her lips were soft and dewy beneath his and he knew he should stop right there, but he wanted more. Nick wanted to slide his tongue inside her mouth and fully taste her. Because once he told her he couldn't explain his leaving, Nick knew he wouldn't be kissing those sweet lips again.

He glided his tongue over the seam of her lips. "Open for me and let me in." For a minute he thought she would ignore his request, but then her lips parted and he sank his tongue inside her, groaning at the pleasure that coursed through his veins. He wrapped his arms around and tugged her closer to his body, as close as he physically could. Every inch of her body was now plastered up against his and he knew without a doubt that she could feel his erection pressing insistently against her lower abdomen. There was no way in hell she could miss it.

Every nerve ending in Nick's body was on fire. His brain synapses were firing and he was about to lose control. All it took was one taste of Cassidy and the night they'd made love came rushing back. Her soft cries, the sharp little nails digging into his back as he pumped slowly into her, and her whispered, "I love you" at the point of climax.

Even now Cass whimpered in his mouth, her tongue dancing with his. All he could think about was stripping their clothes off, taking her down to the ground and fucking her like there was no tomorrow. It was that thought that had him pulling away from her sweet lips. He closed his eyes and dragged in a much-needed breath to calm his raging body. Unfortunately, it didn't do too much for his hard-on. His shaft was rock hard and demanding appeasement.

A bit more under control, Nick opened his eyes and looked down at Cassidy. "I love you, Cass."

Her eyes widened in shock, then narrowed. She jerked from his arms, took a step back and slapped the hell out of him. Nick rubbed his face with his hand. Shit! He hadn't meant to say that out loud, yet. But hell, it was the truth, and he wasn't about to take it back now.

"Listen. I know you probably don't believe that right now, but it's true. For the last three years, you were all I thought about. No matter where I was or what I was doing, you were always there. I remember everything, Cass. Everything." He waited for her to respond to his words. He wanted to hear her say she'd never stopped loving him, but judging from the murderous look in her beautiful green eyes, that wasn't going to happen. So he braced himself for the storm he could see coming. It didn't take long.

"Really." Sarcasm dripped from that one word. "You sure have a funny way of showing it. You never called, you never wrote." She advanced toward him. "Hell, you never so much as told me goodbye. You fucked me and then left town in the dark of night." Her face turned red with anger. Nick said nothing. What could he say? He could tell her she was wrong and that he wanted to tell her goodbye but neither the police nor his parents would let him.

"I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you." He reached for her again but she took another step back, avoiding his touch. Hurt and disappointed, Nick let his hands drop to his sides and simply stood there looking at her.

"Yeah right," she snorted, shifting her gaze away from his. "It doesn't matter anymore. I got over it," her eyes returned to him, "and you."

He watched her walk away, his heart crumbling to pieces. What was he going to do if she truly didn't love him anymore?

"Are you going to give up so easily?" A feminine voice from behind asked.

Nick turned to face the woman, figuring it was one of Cass's friends, but instead he found the fortuneteller. He glanced back over his shoulder when he heard a car start and watched Cass pull out of the parking lot without so much as a backward glance.

"You must fight for what you want, for what is your heart's desire. It is the woman, is it not?"

He nodded. "Yeah, it's her." He ran his hand through his short hair. "I loved her, hell, I still love her, but she won't give me a chance."

The woman scoffed. "She is Gemini. What did you expect? She is stubborn, no?"

He grinned. "Yes, she is stubborn."

"Tell her the truth."

"I tried, but she won't listen."

The old woman shook her head and clucked her tongue. "No! Tell her the truth. The truth about what truly happened that night so long ago."

He was momentarily speechless in his surprise, then suspicion set in. "What are you talking about?"

She narrowed her eyes. "You know what I am talking about. You must tell her that you left because your life, as well as those you loved, were in danger."

Nick was flabbergasted. How in the hell did this woman know about his reasons for leaving? No one except his parents knew, and they sure wouldn't tell a soul, let alone a carnival fake.

He took a step closer and lowered his voice. "How do you know about that night?"

She shrugged. "It doesn't matter how I know, Nicholas, what matters is that Cassidy's heart is still in pieces and it's time you picked them up." The old woman touched his arm and smiled.

"Go to her and tell her the truth. Show her that you love her."

"I don't know..."

The woman slapped his arm. "Don't argue with Madame Zorkoff. Do as I say."

He nearly laughed out loud at her fierce, commanding words, but something in her eyes told him she wasn't kidding.

"Thank you, Madame."

She nodded and then turned and walked away, leaving Nick standing there with only his thoughts. And all of them were about Cassidy. Determination filled him, and with purposeful strides he walked to his car and got in. He was going to Cassidy's and he was going to tell her the truth. And by God, the woman was going to listen to him. If words didn't work, then maybe actions would. There was no way she could deny her feelings for him whenever she was in his arms.