Once Hank calmed down, the newsman in him came to the fore. He told her the piece would run Sunday and that he had sent a photographer out to a seminar LaLeche was doing so they could run a picture with the article. "Damn fine article. Don't do it again," he said just before he slammed down the phone.

Zanita made a face at the receiver. "You curmudgeon!"

The article with the photo was picked up by the wire services and was reprinted across the country in numerous papers. Zanita had a name. Not a big name, but a name.

Tyber had congratulated her by sending three dozen long-stem roses to her office that morning with a note promising her a special dinner from Blooey and him.

Theoretically, it should be her farewell dinner, only she hadn't been able to broach the subject with Tyber yet. Since the story had wrapped up faster than she anticipated, she wasn't sure what to do now. Should she move out before Thanksgiving? What about Auntie's invitation? They could all still go, but it would be awkward. After all, they had no real reason to continue their relationship other than as friends.

She rubbed the bridge of her nose, trying to relieve the sudden tension.

Perhaps I should take a page out of Scarlett's book and worry about this tomorrow? Why ruin the celebration with upsetting thoughts that could just as easily be faced in the morning? She deserved this day, and so did Tyber.

Feeling somewhat better, she straightened her shoulders and hit the keyboard. Hank had put her on a story about a successful new day-care center in Stockboro-for dogs-Hank's retaliation for taking on the LaLeche story without the paper's permission. She had spent the entire morning being licked to death. Hambone wouldn't come near her for a week.

Tyber poured himself a cup of coffee.

In the fall and winter, Blooey always had coffee and hot water for tea on the stove. As far as Tyber was concerned, that service alone made the man invaluable.

He sat down on the stool next to the counter, cradling the warm cup in his hands. Blooey was hard at work chopping nuts for some brownies he was making.

Tyber didn't speak for several minutes.

Blooey, sensing that the Captain was pondering something of great import, waited for the him to gather his thoughts.

Aye, the Captain always seeks out my opinion on matters weighing on him. Sometimes, Blooey knew, the Captain came to him like a younger brother seeking an older, wiser ear. Truth was, neither one of them spent much time off the sea. Because of what they did and the way they lived, men such as they didn't have much experience in port, as it were.

So, when they found themselves on dry dock, they needed to stick together.

Tyber took a deep breath, then took the plunge.

"I think Lady Masterson should become a permanent member of this crew; what do you think, Blooey?"

So, there's the way of it. Blooey smiled inwardly.

Carefully maintaining a serious expression, he stopped chopping walnuts for a minute as if he were pondering the question. He slowly shook his head, "Aye, Captain; she's copper-bottomed, clipper-built, sir, and that's a fact."

The set of Tyber's shoulders relaxed. He gave Blooey a huge grin. "What say you, we think of something really special for dinner tonight? Something to let her see how much we like her being here with us?"

"Well now," Blooey said, stroking his chin, "once when I was working the Far East trade, iffen you get my drift, Captain-"

"You were ransacking the East Indies trade routes."

"Aye, just so. I learned of an exotic cuisine which stimulates the passionate soul to near recklessness. Met a sheik there once what swore no woman could resist him after she partook of the delights of such a feast." He closed one eye and gleamed at Tyber with the other.

"You've convinced me." He set his empty cup on the tile counter. "Carry on, sailor!"

Dinner that evening was absolutely exquisite.

Blooey had gone all out, preparing a gourmet feast fit for a queen. There was a compote of fresh melon and passion fruit sorbet, spinach salad with raspberry vinaigrette followed by breast of chicken in a vermouth and ginger cream sauce, and an exotic rice pilaf containing little bits of dried fruits and pistachio nuts.

Tyber opened a bottle of Crystal to accompany their meal.

The dining room table, with the leaves taken out for more intimate dining, was beautifully set with candlesticks and a centerpiece of white camellias.

Where the men had found the camellias this time of year, Zanita could only wonder, but she was touched that Tyber had remembered they were one of her favorite flowers.

The table was so elegant, she almost felt silly sitting there in her knock-about jeans and sweater.

She was just about to take a sip of Crystal when an uncomfortable thought hit her.

What was Tyber up to?

This was very extravagant for a congratulatory dinner. She sneaked a peak at him over the rim of her glass. The man looked totally innocent, which meant he was definitely up to something.

Tyber also drank his champagne, wondering if he had timed this right. It wasn't that he hadn't given it a great deal of thought. Left to her own devices, Zanita would never make the commitment he was seeking from her. Their collaboration on the LaLeche story was over; it was time to start a new one.

He wanted her to stay here.

Frankly, he was surprised that she hadn't broached the subject of moving back to her apartment yet.

Tyber did not delude himself; she just hadn't gotten around to it. He knew his Zanita. As soon as it occurred to her, as soon as her circumstances smacked of his being her significant other, she would definitely be Gone With The Wind.

But Tyber had no intention of letting her go. He was not something to be given up, like red meat. Or an aberration. He was hers, and he knew that deep down inside, she knew it. If he could only get her to admit it...

"Zanita." He reached across the table to take her hand in his. "I was wondering if you would like to-"

"There's a bloke on the telephone for ye, Captain," Blooey called him from the doorway. "He says he's the engineer from Space Age Systems what ye spoke to the other day."

Tyber raised his eyebrow, shrugging his shoulders at Zanita's questioning look. "Excuse me."

While he went to answer the phone, Zanita took the chicken's way out by telling Blooey she was finished, complimenting him for the lovely meal. She quickly escaped to the bedroom, where she decided to take a nice long hot bath.

What had he been about to ask her?

Whatever it was, it had "relationship" written over it. She broke out into a cold sweat even with the hot bath water surrounding her. She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to deal with this, but knowing she was going to have to.

Okay, so he wasn't Steve or Rick or even remotely like any other man she had met, but after her experiences with the opposite sex, just the thought of a relationship with his kind gave her the dry heaves. Men didn't mean to be... men, they just were. They couldn't help it.

They were bad for your health.

Men should come with a warning label: Caution. Prolonged use is dangerous to your peace of mind.

Leave. She was going to have to leave. Soon. Tomorrow, at lunch time, she'd go air out her apartment, get it ready for her imminent return.

The decision was made.

She would tell Tyber when he came upstairs.

When she came out of the bathroom, he was lying on his side, fully clothed on top of the bed quilts. Elbow bent, the side of his face nestled in the palm of his hand, he regarded her from under hooded lids.

Zanita tightened the sash on her robe, marching resolutely to the bed. She didn't like that look on his face.

Somewhere, she was sure she had read it was always best to throw your opponent off by speaking first, on a totally different subject than the one you really wanted to speak about. Loosen him up. Get his hackles nice and smooth. Then, whamo! He's agreeing with whatever you say before he realizes it.

"What did the engineer want? Was it something to do with LaLeche?"

"No." His free arm came up around her shoulders, dragging her down beside him on the bed. "He wanted to know if I'd be interested in doing some consulting work on a project they're doing for a movie which revolves around VR."

"Oh. Did you take the job?"

"Uh-uh." His index finger traced along the opening of her robe. The slow action unnerved her.

"Why not?"

"It would mean being out in California for extended stretches. I didn't want to leave you for so long." His eyes met hers. "You might get lonely rattling around this big house by yourself."

Why did she always get the feeling that he knew what she was up to? Courage. She sucked in a deep breath. "Tyber, we need to talk about this-"

"Hey, look," he interrupted her, "one of the tropical fish is staring straight at you with a strange glint in its eye."

"Where?" She peered over her shoulder at the tank. He swooped across her.

"Zanita, really, how could a fish affect a strange glint?" His eyes danced with mirth. And something else. Something suspiciously close to the quarter deck.

"If they're your fish, they could. Get off!"

"Know how fish kiss? Like this." His open mouth covered her own. He raised his head, strands of his hair brushing across the peaks of her breasts.

"They look like this, don't they?"

Pressing his lips together, he sucked in his cheeks, causing his lips to bow out like a fish's mouth. Leaving his mouth tightly closed, he moved his pursed lips up and down while crossing his eyes. It was the funniest thing she had ever seen.

Peals of laughter caused her to clutch her stomach.

Tyber untied the sash on her robe, bending over to nibble her midriff with his undulating fish lips. Zanita couldn't stop laughing. It tickled and every time he raised his head to stare at her with those crossed eyes and moving lips, she was gone.

It wasn't until much later, after they had made love-Zanita was still laughing-that she realized he had used the same technique on her that she was going to use on him. He had expertly shifted her focus.

The apartment looked so small.

So empty.

So cold.

Zanita stood in the doorway observing her digs with the eyes of a stranger. What had seemed so adequate before now seemed barren. Bleak. It was bleak.

She walked into the musty living-cum-bedroom. One room and a kitchenette. That's what it was. Not a home. A place for singles, students, and transients.

It was depressing.

The fold-away couch lay open, as she usually left it, being too lazy to close it every day. A few books were scattered across the bed table. Her one cactus plant, the only living thing in the apartment besides herself, sat forlornly on the window sill, the meager late fall sunlight barely sustaining the poor thing. A chair. Her compact disc player. Her twelve-inch portable television. A few wall hangings.

That was it.

The sum total of her life.

Did she really want to come back here? Leave the warmth of Tyber's home? Come here instead of being in a place she felt nurtured and cared for and... cherished?

She must be mad to even consider- The door behind her closed with a click.

She swung around. LaLeche was standing there inside her apartment.

He was wearing a ski jacket and-her eyes trailed down to his hands-leather gloves. The first thought that filtered through her shocked brain was, Why is he wearing gloves? It isn't that cold out.

Then several thoughts ran at her mind at once, the foremost being: Get yourself out of here.

"What are you doing here?"

He didn't answer her; he just reached behind him, turning the deadbolt to lock. Zanita backed up a few steps.

"What do you want?" She forced her voice to sound coldly clipped. Fear was not something you wanted to show in a situation like this. Even if you were terrified.

His gaze raked her contemptuously. "I think that should be obvious."

"I'm busy; I don't have time for this. I'll have to ask you to leave." Yeah. Right. Like he hadn't locked her in here with him.

"That's too bad, Zanita. I have plenty of time for you." He started walking toward her. She began backing up, although there really wasn't too far to go in the small apartment.

Stall him, her panicked mind screamed. "All this just for a little article?"

He stopped stalking her to give her a sickeningly evil grin. "You flatter yourself, my dear. It's not the article I care about. It was the picture you ran with it. Now that was irresponsible."

Picture? What picture? It took her a few moments to realize that he was talking about the photo Hank had run with the piece. How ironic! Here Hank was worried about her being in danger when it was his actions that had placed her there. Not that Hank was in any way responsible for this; he had done the right thing.

"You see, names can always be changed, but once you're exposed by a photo, well-plastic surgery is expensive, and I so hate the pain."

She lifted her chin, trying to be brave. "What are you going to do about it?"

LaLeche shook his finger at her. "Now there's the question. You've caused me a lot of trouble. The kind of trouble that calls for... a certain revenge. What should it be, do you think?"

"Leave me alone," she whispered, genuinely frightened.

He ignored her. "Accidents can happen so easily. That idiot retainer of his, for instance..."

Blooey! Sweet, kind Blooey. What would he do to him?

"Blooey is no threat to you. He had nothing to do with this- leave him out of it."