"You were that sure?" she asked skeptically.

His response held no skepticism at all. "I was." Then he smiled. "It's been very hard for a man like me, a person who sees what he wants and goes after it, to sit back and wait for what he wants to come after him."

"Why did you?"

A month of asking himself the same question provided the ready answer. "I did it because the prize was worth it. You've come to me now with that much more inside you. And I love you all the more for it."

His words brought a reappearance of the tears that had temporarily dried. Gently he lifted the oversized glasses from the bridge of her nose, then kissed the teardrop from each eye in turn. Her forehead, her cheeks, her nose ... all received the blessing of his kiss. But her lips, warm and open, eager and inviting, waited....

"Alex!" Exasperated, she took matters into her hands, thrusting her fingers through his hair to the fine-trimmed thatch at the nape of his neck, drawing his face toward hers until, at last, in a moment of mind-shattering triumph, he kissed her.

Alanna had never felt as complete as when those lips slanted hungrily across hers, opening and mastering her mouth with a power that thrilled her. When the tip of his tongue strayed deeper she felt charged with an energy she had lacked since that last, poignant night a month ago.

Suddenly anything, everything, in life was possible. The world was hers. Happiness soared through her as a dove before the sun, pure and fresh and sparkling. She felt fully alive and keenly aware, sizzling from head to toe with the force of a love that would be restrained no longer.

How it all burst forth as it did she would never know. But there was suddenly a frenzy of activity, a melange of hands and arms, of fingers fumbling with buttons. With unrestrained abandon they left a trail of clothing strewn behind, a trail of shirts, of skirt and trousers, bra, slip, briefs, panties ... all leading toward the bathroom, where they moved, as one, toward the sauna.

The sauna ... a breath of heat from the desert, instantly slowing life to a more languorous pace, toasting all within its reach. As Alex sat on the lone wood bench Alanna stood before him, reaching unhurriedly to touch his face, to smooth the dark hair back from his brow. Theirs was a world in isolation, a golden world lit by a warm and glowing sun.

He spread his knees and drew her between them, resting his head against the gentle harbor of her breasts. His hands stroked her from shoulder to hip, drawing lazy circles to call forth tremors from deep within her. Overflowing with an emotional ecstasy, she trembled at the physical bounty offered by this man's body, the sinewed strength beneath her tapered fingertips.

"Aaaaah," she moaned, a hoarse sound from deep in her throat as she tipped her head back in delight allowing long, blond tangles to cascade over his fingers. "I've missed you, too, Alex. How I've missed you!"

Her hands clasped against the corded mass of his shoulders, her head dipped forward once more, this time to meet the lips that waited to return the message of love and elaborate on it. In one fluid stroke Alex's hands slid behind her, lifting her, drawing her close until she felt the strength of him that was her power as well. Yet he prolonged the moment, adoring her features with his gaze, then his hands. His man-rough fingers slid easily and with fiery touch around her shoulders to her chest and her breasts, pausing only briefly to tantalize buds that were taut with desire before searing a path lower.

Breath came in ragged gasps for them both as they struggled to express all the thoughts bubbling forth from the heady cauldron of passion.

"I love you, Alanna...."

"I love you, too...."

A flurry of kisses momentarily put a stop to conversation.

"Have you been able to sleep?" he asked, nibbling at her earlobe, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"No. Have you?"

His fingers delved deeper and she moaned, but he ignored her cry. "Not once ... through the night...."

The tide of passion carried them higher. Alanna strained closer. "I never knew what I was missing ... until you came along...." she whispered. This time it was Alex who moaned.

For Alanna that moment was the true pinnacle of her dream of success and happiness. The body that glistened beneath her, before her, was only the start. She stroked it lovingly, mesmerized by the play of rippling muscles and the beaded moisture over its dark, hair-roughened skin.

As Alex shifted her, lifted her, then possessed her in one rapturous motion she cried out her love, then cried no more. For it was a time of living and loving, of sharing and creating. Alex was her equal, her friend. He was her helpmate, her partner. He was her lover; he would be her husband. Through his vision she had glimpsed a future more rich in meaning than anything she had ever conceived of. With him, and only him, she might have that future.

It would be filled with a fine blend of career and family, with Alex beside her all the way. It would have the same ups and downs, the same highs and lows as all of existence had. But it was special, unique, the challenge of a lifetime. Alanna accepted it eagerly.

sweet serenity.

1.

Humming softly, Serena Strickland gave a final tug to the ribbon she'd just tied, cocked her head in appraisal of her work, then grinned. It was perfect! Mint chocolate peas and carrots in a clear canning jar ringed and crowned with a lavish orange polka-dot bow-the effect was gay enough to make even the most skeptical Minneapolitan believe that spring was around the corner.

Shifting on the high stool behind the counter, she looked up past rows of goody-filled canisters to the front of the shop and beyond, where the sun splashed teasingly through the Crystal Court. Serena couldn't restrain a knowing smile as the crisp rays bounced from column to column, storefront to storefront in the plaza, darting in and around in a game of hide and seek all too appropriate, she thought, for this April Fool's Day.

It had been a long winter, true to Minnesota legend. The snow still lay in mounds at the far ends of parking lots and driveways or beneath trees against which it had drifted and whose shade now shielded it from the melting power of the sun. And, yes, she mused with a note of realism, it would probably snow again before the muck underfoot dried into memory. Five years' living in this most northern of the central states cautioned her against unqualified optimism. But spring would come; she felt it in her freckles. Scattered from cheek to cheek over the bridge of her nose, they were faded now, ready to pop into vivid life with the first of the springtime sun. In anticipation, she flipped the calendar to April 1.

The gentle jangle of the front doorbell called her from her daydreams to the world at hand. Approaching without hesitation was a man she'd never seen before. He wore a three-piece suit, an open khaki trench coat, and a decidedly desperate expression.

"May I help you?" She stood quickly, but had no time to move from behind the counter before the man reached her. At closer range he seemed less sure of himself, almost embarrassed.

He took a deep breath. "Have you got something called ... Pretzel Joys?" he finally blurted out. "My wife is expecting a baby any day now and says she's got to have some. She's a regular customer of yours."

"Joan! You must be Joan Miller's husband!" Serena's hazel eyes widened as she broke into an open smile of recognition, then grew suddenly apprehensive. "How is she? It's been awhile since I've seen her. I wondered whether she'd had the baby yet."

Jonathan Miller grimaced. "She's a week overdue and very uncomfortable. I only wish there was more that I could do. So if my picking up Pretzel Joys will make her happy, Pretzel Joys she'll have." He paused in a moment of doubt. "You do have them, don't you?"

"Of course!" Serena laughed, rounding the counter and reaching for a glass canister. "And if I didn't have them here, I'd have had some sent special delivery from the manufacturer in Chicago. How much would you like?"

The father-to-be frowned. "I don't know-a pound, maybe two. What would you recommend? You know Joan."

Nodding through her laughter, Serena began to weigh scoops of the individually wrapped candies into a brightly patterned bag that matched the walls of the store with its lime-green and fresh pink bamboo design. "I think that two pounds should hold her for a while. If she needs more she can call and I'll have them delivered." Out of habit, she handed a sample to her customer. "Would you like to try one?"

"Oh no," he laughed. "I've got enough bad habits without looking for any new ones." But he picked one up and scrutinized it closely. "What are they made of, anyway?"

Serena shoveled in the last of the two pounds, then went to the ribbon rack to tie a cheerful bow on the handle of the pint-sized shopping bag. "They're crushed pretzels rolled into a ball of creamy white chocolate. Do you mean to say that Joan's been hoarding them all this time?"

His low-grumbled "'Fraid so" was offered jokingly. "I never knew how much they meant to her until last night-uh, make that one o'clock this morning. I can assure you that she'll be pleased to see this bag!" After paying for his purchase he swept up the item and headed for the door.

"My best to Joan, and good luck to you both!" Serena called after him before turning to help a customer who had entered at his departure.

For an April Fool's Day the morning passed without shock. Customers came and went, many of them familiar faces stocking up on one or another of their favorite confections. Nancy Wadsworth, Serena's good friend and assistant, arrived at eleven to help sort through the deliveries in the back room while Serena held down the fort out front. With a pickup in activity during the noon hour, when workers from the office buildings surrounding the mall wandered in and out, both women worked side by side, dispensing and wrapping selections of imported suckers, novelty chocolates, and various and sundry jelly beans with the flair which had made the shop known throughout the sweet-circles of Minneapolis. By the time Serena grabbed her purse at one-thirty, she had earned her luncheon break.

"I'm off now, Nance," she stage-whispered to the other woman as the latter put a wide beribboned stopper on an oversized milk bottle filled with malted milk balls. "I'll be back in an hour or so."

"Say," Nancy asked her as the customer left, "did you see the new 'fun jars' that came in this morning? They're adorable-some have frogs on them, others have pigs or ladybugs. You'll have a grand time filling them!"

Serena beamed at the thought. The "interior decorating," as she liked to call the selection and arrangement of candies or nuts in each fancy container, was always a challenge. "Great! I'll take a look this afternoon. I've got to run now, though. I'm meeting Andre upstairs."

"Andre?" Nancy feigned a shiver. "Is this business or pleasure? There's something about him that makes me uneasy. Of all your men, I like him the least."

"All my men? Nancy, you make me sound positively wicked!"

"You're not, Serena. That's the trouble. You should let loose and have a fling every once in a while."

"Nancy!" Serena chided good-naturedly. "I'm surprised at you ... a mother and all...."

"My daughter happens to be twelve," her friend countered. "You're twenty-nine. There's a difference. You should even be thinking of settling down-"

"Nancy-"

"-but not with Andre. Perhaps with Ken or Rod or Gregory ... but not with Andre."

Serena laughed. "I think you've made your point. Don't worry. Andre may come on a little strong, but he's really harmless." At Nancy's look of doubt, she added, "And he is my investment counselor. I've got to keep him on his toes."

"You can have him," her friend snorted softly, then raised her voice as Serena headed for the door, "but have a good lunch. He owes it to you!"

Throwing her head back in a half-laugh, Serena left the shop behind. Confident steps took her past neighboring windows, the broad panes of which reflected her slender form, a floating vision with a touch of sophistication. She wore a long-sleeved blouse of Burgundy silk, whose wide cuffs and collar were of a contrasting cream hue that matched the ivory of her lightly flared wool skirt. Her high-heeled pumps and the plush leather shoulder bag that hung by her hip matched the Burgundy of the blouse. If eyes turned at her passing she was too self-contained to notice. Within minutes Andre Phillips greeted her in the lobby of the restaurant, dashingly bestowing a kiss on each of her cheeks.

"And how's my favorite sweet lady today?" he exclaimed as he held her back to admire the heart-shaped face framed by thick auburn hair that swirled in waves to her shoulders.

"Sweet as ever," Serena quipped lightly. "And you must be having trouble readjusting to the U.S. of A."

"How could you tell?" With an arm thrown possessively over her shoulders, Andre led her to where the hostess stood awaiting his nod.

"Both cheeks, Andre?" Her gaze narrowed teasingly. "Very European," As the hostess beckoned for them to follow, Serena took advantage of the restaurant's closely set tables to pull from beneath his grasp and move out in front of him. Far from being blinded by his charm, she knew of the high style of life he treasured and, though it wasn't what she wanted, she indulged him in his excitement. Accepting the seat he held for her, she listened patiently as he recounted his Parisian adventures, and took each with a grain of salt.

It had been a month since she'd seen him. As he talked she watched him, acknowledging his good looks even as she stood by her conviction that his dark hair was a bit too neatly combed, his natty clothes a bit too carefully worn, his facial expressions a bit too deliberate for her total comfort. When she'd first sought investment advice several years ago the bank had recommended Andre as someone in the know. Indeed, his connections reached to the upper echelons of the Twin Cities' power elite. His life was, in his mind, at least, an exciting one.

Though she had dated him on occasion, Serena successfully kept him at arm's length. Thrice-married and thrice-divorced, Andre held no lure for her other than as the provider of a few entertaining hours of friendship and a large dose of investment advice. If the financial statements she received at regular intervals were to be believed, he had done well for her.

"So, tell me"-he broke off his dissertation to draw her into the conversation-"how goes Sweet Serenity?"

Serena pushed a thick lock of hair behind one ear. "The shop is doing just fine, Andre. I keep waiting for the slow spell that never seems to come. Not that I'm complaining, mind you...." She smiled. "Here it is, the first of April. We've got Easter, May Day, Mother's Day, Memorial Day-you name it and it spells business."

Andre eyed her askance. "Do you mean to say that you have specials for April Fool's Day?"

"Sure." She was unfazed. "I sold several boxes of white chocolate golf balls this morning. They look like the real thing. Of course, they'll melt in the golfer's hand if he happens to hold onto one long enough. Then"-she grinned-"there are sets of toffee golf tees, tins of red licorice paper clips, bottles of marshmallow aspirin, hanging marzipan peperomia plants-"

"All right, all right! Sorry I asked!" He stemmed the onslaught with a chuckle. "But I'm glad to hear things are buzzing." Then, in the amount of time it took him to cut a piece of his pork chop, he sobered. Serena was always amazed at these sudden switches from lightness to intensity, but she'd long ago attributed them to nothing more than Andre's high-strung nature and quick mind. "Have you given any more thought to investing in the money fund we discussed before I left?"

Nibbling at her egg-and-avocado salad, Serena chose her words with care. "I've given it some thought, but ... I'm also beginning to think along ... other lines."

"Oh?"

"Uh-huh." With a deep breath she broached the topic she'd been toying with for months. "I'm considering opening a branch of Sweet Serenity in one of the surburban areas."

An odd silence preceded his "Oh?" No longer eating, he gave her his undivided attention. Serena met it in earnest.

"Downtown Minneapolis has been a fantastic market. But many of my clients come from the same areas that have made the large gourmet markets, Devlin's, for example, such a phenomenal success. People flock there from all over. It has an elegance, a sense of quality about it, that the population is both literally and figuratively eating up." She snickered at the pun, but felt a pang of discomfort when Andre obviously missed her humor. "You think it's a bad idea?"

He hesitated. "Don't you think it may be a little premature?"

Serena bit at her full lower lip before answering. She respected Andre's opinions and it bothered her that, even speaking as a friend, he wasn't as enthusiastic as she about the prospect of expansion. "Sweet Serenity has been a viable concern now for five years." She repeated the reasoning that had worked so well on herself. "I've been able to reinvest profits-you've done that for me-and we should have no trouble setting up a second shop."

"In Devlin's?"

"That would be nice," she drawled with a chuckle, "but I doubt we'd get the space in Saint Louis Park. Perhaps in one of the newer stores. Actually, I was hoping to find a spot in Edina or Wayzata."

Andre pursed his lips as he studied his plate. "I don't know, Serena. I think you should give it more thought." He shook his head, though not a hair budged from its designated spot. "With the instability of the economy and all..."

"Oh, it's still at the thinking stage," she was quick to reassure him, "but I wanted to explain why I'm skeptical about investing heavily in anything that might tie up my money for a long period. If I do decide to go ahead with this I may need to get my hands on some of my funds."

As quickly as he had sobered, Andre smiled. "You may put me out of business, you know."

And Serena then understood part of his hesitancy. After all, he earned his living making investments for businesspeople such as herself. Investments took capital; the more capital she sank into a new shop, the less there would be left to invest. "Andre," she chided, "would I do that to you? If I open a second store and it's even half as successful as the first I'll have twice as much money for you to play with. And, besides, my interests must be peanuts compared to most of your clients!"

He reached down and brought her hand to his lips, kissing its back in chivalrous fashion. "Very tasty peanuts, Serena. But ... enough of business." He brightened. "Listen, I'm going out to L.A. next month. Why don't you join me?"

"Join you? Andre, I have a shop to run! I can't just take off and jet around the country!"

He quirked a brow. "Would you, if it weren't for the shop?"

It was actually a very simple question. For one thing, she had spent her early childhood in southern California. It had been the scene of her father's financial and emotional ruin. She had only painful memories of the area. For another, she had not been, nor ever would be, Andre's lover. And that was the crux of his present proposition.

When she spoke it was quietly and with just enough of an apology in her tone to offset the finality of her words. "No, Andre. You know that I wouldn't."

"Then I'm destined to bang my head against a brick wall?"

Serena deftly turned the tables on his teasing. "You've been through three awful marriages! You don't need another woman hanging on to you!"

But he was quick on the rebound. "Come on, Serena. When was the last time you ever hung on a man?" Her sheepish shrug spoke of her independence. "And you're not about to try it with me, are you?"

She shook her head slowly, her pout one of affection but far from anything more. "No. I'm afraid it's not in the cards for us." As the waiter appeared with their coffee a movement near Andre caught her eye. At the adjacent table a couple was in the process of being seated. The woman's back was to Serena. The man stood graciously by to hold her chair, then took the seat opposite, offering Serena a clear view of his face.

It held her instantly as a galvanic force ripped through her subconscious. She knew that face! Beyond a doubt, she knew that face! Yet she couldn't place it.

Details were lost in the overall image, whose familiarity rippled through her in repeating waves that stirred her pulse. This was no visage from recent experience. Instinct told her that. Rather, his face whisked her back over time as she sought a memory that was stubbornly elusive. With a taut swallow she dragged her gaze away. Grasping at the nearest diversion, her coffee, she nearly scalded her mouth as she drank it too quickly.

Andre talked on. She smiled and nodded, participating only distractedly in his chatter. But the puzzle remained. Her attention was drawn back time and again to the man at the next table. She was so certain she'd seen him before....

"What do you think, Serena?" Andre's question caught her off guard.

"Hmmm? I'm sorry." She shook her head clear of cobwebs. "I was hung up on something else. What were you saying?"

His patience was commendable. "I wondered," he stated slowly, "what you thought of the prospect of Minneapolis replacing Washington as the nation's capital."

"What?" Her laugh had a definite edge to it that had nothing to do with Andre's thought. "Are you serious?"

"I certainly am," he deadpanned. "There's been a rumor to that effect, you know."