"Ross, how could you?" she sobbed. "Our wedding is only a few weeks away."

"We are not getting married, Heather."

The sobbing ended abruptly. "Are you saying you're breaking our engagement?

"We were never getting married. I didn't ask you to marry me. I don't know what you're playing at or if you're actually delusional, but we are not now and never were engaged."

"I think you'll find that according to the top celebrity wedding planner, the most exclusive caterer, and the most expensive florist in Hollywood, we are engaged. Not to mention, the designer of my $100,000 wedding dress. She's absolutely certain we are engaged and you are paying for my dress." Heather's voice had turned surprisingly composed.

"You chose to make those arrangements, not me," he replied, getting irritated. He'd called her to do her a favor, not to get drawn into her insanity again.

Then the sobbing re-commenced. "Ross, Ross," she cried brokenly. "How could you treat me like this? Don't you know you're breaking my heart?"

What heart?

"We're completely off topic. We need to talk about something serious." Ross found himself writing the words "wedding planner" and "contact".

"What could be more serious than a broken engagement? You're practically leaving me at the altar. I'm going to need compensation." She didn't sob now. She ranted. "You owe me something for humiliating me like this."

"What are you talking about? Are you absolutely mad?"

"You owe me the role of Francesca and a share of the profits for the sequel to SpyMatrix."

"There is no sequel to SpyMatrix."

"I know there is. That new film you've been talking about is a cover."

Ross tugged a hand through his hair. "Heather. Listen closely to what I'm saying and try to comprehend. We are not getting married and there is no sequel to SpyMatrix. We need to talk about Clarence and his friends."

Silence screamed from the phone for long seconds.

"Who's Clarence?" Heather finally asked "Come on now. I saw you talking to him at the convention. The two of you are somehow mixed up with that Gigantor and his boss and I want to know what's going on. Kubikov seems to think I'm trying to blackmail him."

The call cut off.

"Dammit." Ross dialed out to Heather's number. A mechanical sounding voice intoned that the voicemail box of the cell phone customer he was calling was full.

Brilliant.

He tore the last sheet of paper off the cardboard backing and then tossed the trash in the wastebasket. He folded the note and then stuffed it in his pocket. Ross would worry about his "engagement" later.

"We lost them," Ivan said, closing the door of Kubikov's strip club office behind him.

Kubikov sank down into the desk chair. He removed the Glock from his waistband and placed it in his lap. "I am not understanding all this incompetence. Why can you not get this done, brother?" He loved Ivan, but he seriously wanted to shoot someone. His brother was the only one around. He stared at the photo of his mother on the wall. She wouldn't like it if he shot Ivan.

One rap of a fist on the door and it pushed inward. Betsy marched in. Just what he didn't need.

"I want to perform tonight," Betsy said, jutting one hip out and crossing her arms over her chest.

"No," Ivan said, glaring at her.

"You don't order me around. You aren't my boss," Betsy said glaring right back at her brother-in-law. "You're n.o.body's boss."

Ivan's eyes darted to Kubikov. "My brother doesn't need trouble from you tonight, woman."

Kubikov appreciated his brother's thoughtfulness because Kubikov had reached the end of his patience.

"Just go home and be with baby," Kubikov said, rising. He walked over to the door and held it open for her.

Betsy looked from him to Ivan. "I'll go home...tonight. But if things don't change soon, I'm going to dance. If not here, at some other club."

"Okay, okay. Don't threaten me, woman." He glowered at her.

"Don't threaten the boss," Ivan warned.

"Why don't you take her home?" Kubikov suggested to his brother. "That way I'll know she got there safely."

"Da," Ivan said and then took Betsy's arm. She didn't protest. The two walked out and Kubikov closed the door behind them.

Finally, someone was doing something he'd asked them to do.

Mo wiped the steam from the bathroom mirror. The moisture smeared and the face-her face-staring back at her from its depths, blurred.

"Come on, Mo," she mumbled to herself. Mo knew she had to leave this bathroom sometime. She'd prolonged it as much as she could. What was she afraid of? Ross certainly wouldn't jump her bones like some ravenous tiger.

But then again, maybe that's what she was afraid of. It would be so much easier if Ross would accept the burden of decision and she could fall into his arms without conscious choice. If she came on to him, would he think her an easy conquest?

Oh, my gouda! She was having the old 'will he respect me in the morning' conversation with herself. But as ridiculous as it was, the question nagged at her. Would he respect her? But at the same time, wouldn't she regret it for the rest of her life if she didn't act on her attraction to him? She had to take this once-in-a-dozen-lifetimes opportunity.

As the blurred image cleared, Mo saw the eyes in the mirror. Her eyes were wide and frightened. If something did happen with Ross, what would it mean? A one-night stand? More? What did she want it to mean?

The ultimate humiliation would be if he didn't want her at all. But what if he did? That thought sent excited tremors-but also spears of fear-through her.

A knock on the door brought her to attention.

"Still all right in there?"

She wasn't, but not in the way he meant. "Yes, I'll be out in a minute," she called back.

Mo wrapped one of the larger towels around her damp body. The texture scratched her skin and barely covered all of her important bits.

"I am a confident, sensual woman," she said to herself in the mirror. Mo turned toward the door and squared her shoulders. She opened the door and walked out into the bedroom with what she hoped was her s.e.xiest self-a.s.sured saunter.

Ross sat on the bed furthest from the bathroom. Talley swished back and forth, rubbing himself against Ross's leg.

"Talley seems to like me," Ross bragged.

"Yeah? Don't take it personally. He likes pretty much everyone." What Mo didn't tell Ross was Talley generally didn't like men; he didn't trust men. So Talley's attention to Ross was unusual. "I thought you were allergic."

"I don't need to sneeze so the traumas of the day must've cured me."

Even after the day's horrors and wearing that horrible t-shirt, he was gorgeous. A magnificent knight in tacky Bubbaland armor. He was a much better hero in reality than the Stephen Dagger fantasy of her teen years. The real person challenged villains and saved cats. What more could a girl want?

Mo hovered in silence near the bathroom door for a few moments.

"Don't be afraid," Ross finally said. "There are two beds. Yours is over there and mine all the way over here. You don't have to worry I'm going to jump on you or anything."

"Great." Maybe a girl could want someone not quite this gallant. Apparently she didn't look like the poised s.e.xy woman she had been hoping to project. Probably more like a frightened doe.

"What does that mean? I a.s.sure you that I can behave like a gentleman."

"Oh yes. You're being a perfect gentleman. You offered me the bed in your hotel suite earlier, with you taking the sofa. And now you're a.s.suring me you'll keep to your bed while I'm in mine. Thanks very much."

Ross shook his head. "I don't understand you. I haven't made any crude or lewd remarks. I haven't made any advances. I thought that was what you'd want."

Despite her efforts to hold her head up, it hung shyly. "I guess that's what I should want. But it kinda makes a girl feel unattractive to be standing here in only a towel and the gorgeous guy's reaction is 'let's keep things platonic'."

Chapter Thirteen.

At her words, Ross's eyes widened and his mouth fell open. He said nothing for at least ten seconds, long enough to make Mo think he wasn't going to react at all. Maybe he didn't want her.

Then, abruptly, his eyes narrowed and a sly smile quirked his lips. He picked the chocolate bar up off the nightstand and then held it in the air.

"Psssst. Hey lady," he said in a gravelly voice with a New York accent. "Want some candy?" He asked, suggestively waving the candy bar at her and waggling his eyebrows.

"I might," she said with a small smile.

He tore the wrapping open, exposing the chocolate. He inhaled, seeming to savor the candy's smell. The corner of his mouth turned up with a smirk. "You're going to have to come over here and get it."

"Oh really? I've been told it's not a good idea to take candy from strange men," she teased. "What will I have to do for that candy?"

"If you come over here, I'm sure I'll be able to think of a thing or two."

Excitement shot through her. "Will it be a naughty thing or two?"

"Definitely," Ross said, his eyes gleaming with hunger for her.

"Good." Mo walked slowly toward him, trying not to completely lose her towel or her nerve. The fire blazing in his eyes gratified her. Mo didn't know whether to glory in his obvious desire for her or to run quickly back into the bathroom, slam the door, and then throw the lock.

When she came within arms length, Ross reached out to grab her to his muscular chest. His strong arms wrapped around her. Mo's hands were trapped against each pec and her towel slipped precariously.

"I've got you in my clutches now." His voice teased, but his eyes were keenly serious.

"The least you could do is give me some of that candy you promised," Mo whispered, breathless.

Keeping his left arm banded around her, he raised his right hand, which still held the candy bar. He brought the bar to her lips in offering. His gaze lingered on her lips as she opened her mouth, took the candy inside, and then bit off a large piece.

"It looks like you bit off more than you can chew." Ross bent toward her. His mouth closed over the other end of the candy and his lips met hers around the sweet morsel. Mo felt him bite down on the bar.

Somehow they chewed and kissed simultaneously. Her tongue teased his in the cavern of his mouth before retreating. His tongue followed into her mouth and licked at hers. He tasted of chocolate and caramel and peanuts and man.

Pulling her lips from his, Mo swallowed. Ross took a second bite out of the bar.

"Hey, you're hogging the candy," Mo protested.

"It's my birthday. I can hog if I want to."

"Oh really? Happy Birthday. I'll have to try to think of a fabulous present for you."

"I can think of one," he said with a husky tone.

A large flake of chocolate stuck to Ross's skin at the rim of the t-shirt's neck. Leaning her head forward, she breathed in the sandalwood and musky male scent of him. Mo licked the morsel away, depositing a small nip at his Adam's apple. Ross groaned.

"Maybe you should remove this lovely t-shirt. You seem to be a messy eater. You wouldn't want to get chocolate all over it," Mo said. Her voice sounded hoa.r.s.e to her own ears.

"Ah yes. It would be a shame to stain my souvenir from Bubbaland."

Ross stepped back, causing the towel to slip, exposing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Mo had to clutch at her towel to keep it from falling. She pulled it tight under her arms, re-twisted, and re-tucked the top edge under the opposite side.

Ross impatiently tugged the t-shirt over his head and then flung the garment to the room's corner. So much for his precious souvenir.

"It appears you're as messy as I." Ross fixated on a flake of chocolate above the twist of the towel. He bent to lick the bit away, his mouth lingering to suck lightly the swell of her right breast. "Perhaps you should discard this towel. We wouldn't want to pay this high cla.s.s establishment for staining it," he said, his hands going to the twist.

"You're probably right." Mo gasped as the towel joined Bubbaland in the corner.

If possible, Ross's eyes blazed even brighter. "You're exquisite."

Ross reached around Mo as he jerked the bedspread and blanket off one of the beds with one motion. He pressed Mo down onto white sheets. Following her down, he fitted himself between her thighs. She reveled in the weight of him over her. The rasp of the rough fabric of his jeans against her sensitive skin sent a surge of pure sensation straight to her core.

"I'm not sure I can wait much longer," Ross grated out.

"You don't have to," Mo said, slipping her hands between them to work at the b.u.t.ton of the jeans. Once the b.u.t.ton was undone, the zipper slid easily down. Mo delved one hand inside the fabric to stroke his velvety, hard length. "I'm with you," she whispered against his lips. Then she arched up, captured his mouth with hers, and teased the head of him with her fingers.

She'd never felt such wanton desire for a man, nor had she indulged her desires on such a short acquaintance. The few relationships she'd allowed herself in the past had grown slowly, progressing from friendship to more over a period of months. With Ross, she felt caught up in a blender of feelings too scary to a.n.a.lyze. So instead, she would just savor the s.e.xual bliss and ignore the rest for now.

Her hand grasped his length, caressing him from base to tip. He gasped and his body went rigid. "Mo...you're...killing me."