"I know what you mean, Serena. Believe me, I'm not at all offended. Actually, this couldn't have worked out better," he declared smugly.

Not knowing what to say, Serena looked down awkwardly. The rebuff Tom had dealt her that last morning in her apartment was fresh enough to add to her confusion. Even the recollection of the flowers he had sent was small solace for that embarrassment.

"You look beautiful tonight," he began. The gentleness of his voice added to her consternation. "Green becomes you. It picks up the color of your eyes."

"They're hazel." She shrugged. "Nothing spectacular."

"Oh, they're spectacular enough when they get going. Those sparks were the first thing I noticed about you."

The feeling was mutual, but she chose not to enlighten him on that score. Instead she frowned, concentrating on the soft folds of her tunic across her thighs. "You have a knack for inspiring that type of thing."

"Do I still upset you as much?"

"No," she answered half-honestly. "It was the initial shock of seeing you and the memories it dredged up that were so bad. At least I've gotten over the shock." She was certainly not about to mention the new wave of feelings he'd created, many of which were as disturbing in their way as the old, painful memories.

Tom leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He studied her self-consciousness, looked down at his own hands, then spoke his thoughts aloud. "You're a puzzle to me, Serena." That, too, was a mutual sentiment. "On the one hand, you are what you do. You couldn't have chosen a better name. Sweet Serenity. It's you." Unsure, she looked up, to be met by a beckoning warmth. "You are sweet-I saw you in action in your shop. You genuinely want to please, and you do. Those customers obviously love you as much as your candy. I honestly don't think you'd hurt a soul, unless you were pushed to an absolute extreme."

"I enjoy pleasing people. Perhaps that's why I enjoy Sweet Serenity the way I do. But what is it that puzzles you?" she asked.

He amended his choice of word. "Perhaps 'puzzle' is the wrong word. 'Intrigue' may be better." At her baffled look he explained. "It's the part about serenity that's only half true. At the shop, in public places-like that restaurant, this party-you are serene. Perhaps it's that you're always serene on the surface-smooth, calm, even-"

"How can you say that, Tom?" she interrupted. "You've seen me in a fury. You've seen me at my worst. That night, the next morning..." Moaning, she looked away. "I'm not particularly proud of the way I acted."

"Don't hold that against yourself. We all have our bad moments. And yours wasn't even all that bad, compared to some."

If he was trying to tell her something she was too enveloped in remorse to hear. "To me it was terrible! I've never thrown myself at a man before."

"It wasn't one-sided, Serena," he chided. Again, she barely heard.

"It was horrible! I don't do that!"

His whispered "I know" was strangely soothing. She let the silent magic work away some of her tension, aware of the hum of talk from the other room, the strong presence of Tom leaning close to her. When he took her hand in his she didn't pull away. His grip was filled with a reassurance she needed.

"You've made my point beautifully, Serena. You're a very controlled woman, very calm and, yes, serene. But you keep everything bottled up inside. My appearance shocked you enough to punch a tiny hole in that veneer, but I also stirred up enough anger in you to give you a whopper of a headache." He paused, his thumb passing across the back of her hand. "Have you had another since?"

"I haven't seen you since," she quipped in retaliation.

His answering look held a determination she hadn't expected. "Well, you will be seeing me and I won't have you getting constant migraines. I guess I'll have to teach you to scream and yell rather than lock that tension inside when we're together."

"You must be my self-appointed analyst." Still awkward, she put a hand up out of habit to smooth back her hair.

"You look fine." He caught her at it. "By the way, you looked pretty good on the court."

"So did you. Is that how you let off steam? You were playing pretty hard."

"When I wasn't distracted."

"Sorry about that." She smiled shyly. "We didn't mean to stand there staring but, well, I didn't expect to see you there and then Willie explained that you're a pro, and we amateurs can always use a few pointers."

The light in his eyes was suddenly hotter. "For you, Serena, any time."

Serena stifled the gasp his innate sensuality evoked. Her eyes were bright, held tightly by his. As always, he had that power; now he used it to its fullest. She wanted to protest, but no sound came out. Her mind cried out against the time, the place, the man, but her body stirred toward him as he reached to touch her face.

"I missed you," he whispered, tracing a path of heat from one to the other of her features. "I wanted to call."

"Why didn't you?" she startled herself by asking.

"I didn't want to hurt you. I still don't."

Her own voice was no more than a raw murmur. "Then, why are you here, doing this to me?"

"I'm only touching your face. That's all. It's so smooth and soft and open...."

"Oh, Tom," she cried in soft desperation, "you do so much more to me. Can't you see that?"

He gazed at her with something akin to pain in the depths of his eyes. "Let me kiss you."

"No, don't...."

His head moved closer-or was hers moving to meet it in denial of her protest? "Just once, Serena." His husky murmur warmed her lips, teasing them open with a tenderness that spread excitement through her body. She wanted to resist, but her need for him was greater. Her sensual sigh told him all he wanted to know.

His lips touched hers lightly, caressing them gently, responding to her with controlled fervor. As though fearful of frightening her off, he held the reins of emotion tightly, savoring the sweet opening she offered. He kissed her, then pulled back. Then kissed her again, and pulled back again. Far from using each withdrawal to muster her protests, Serena found herself craving more.

"You taste so good, Serena," he moaned, shifting lithely to perch on the arm of her chair.

She tipped her head back as his lips descended again, welcoming his kiss with the warmth of her mouth and the reciprocal play of her tongue against his. She felt pleasure at the depths she offered him and took pleasure in the feel of his thorough exploration. His fingers splayed across her neck, inching their way toward her throat. Driven by the rippling excitement surging wildly through her, she arched closer. Tom sensed her rising desire and trembled under the strain of restraint. His thumb propped her chin up; his fingertips inched down beneath the silk of her collar, pointing heatedly toward her breast yet unable to move further.

"Let's get out of here," he rasped hoarsely, tearing his lips away to breathe heavily against her temple.

"I can't leave," she gasped, unaware that she clutched his wrist tightly. "Andre will be looking for me-"

"To hell with Andre!"

"Tom, he brought me here."

"And I brought Ann. But the two of them are busy enough discussing something...." His words trailed into unexpected silence, arousing Serena's curiosity.

She leaned back in the chair and let her hand fall to her lap. "Who is Ann, anyway?"

"No one important." Gradually his breathing grew steadier.

"She's an alderwoman. She has to be someone."

"Not to me."

"You brought her," she pointed out softly.

Tom was momentarily distracted, straightening, standing, walking slowly to the window. His reflection showed a scowl, but when he turned he was under control. "She's an acquaintance. She needed an escort."

Moving quickly, Tom leaned over Serena, his arms on either arm of her chair. "Come on, honey. Let's go somewhere."

"No, I can't."

"To talk?"

"Tom, I can't hurt Andre like that."

He threw up his hands in frustration. "Sweet Serena! What did I tell you? Always thinking of others. Well, what about me?"

The two stared at each other silently, then, with a sigh, Tom lifted a hand to massage his neck, thrust the other in his pants pocket for safekeeping, glared darkly, then stalked from the den to become lost in the crowd.

Serena sat without moving, recalling his final words. "What about me?" he had asked, as if he were a child who feared he'd been cheated of some treasure. Was this merely the privileged aristocrat pouting at being thwarted, or was it possible that she'd struck a very private and raw note in Tom? There had been nothing put on about his plea; it had seemed to come from the heart. What should she make of it?

"There you are, Serena. I've been looking all over for you." Andre advanced with a sure step, his conference evidently finished and matters settled to his satisfaction. "Come on out. There's someone I want you to meet."

She felt no surprise when he led her to a group dominated by a petite, dark-haired firebrand of a woman. Mercifully, Tom was nowhere in sight. "Andre"-the woman turned at their approach-"this has to be Serena." A cool hand was perfunctorily extended. Serena met it with a matching sense of duty, no more, as Andre completed the introduction.

"Serena Strickland ... Ann Carruthers. Ann is one of our esteemed alderpersons, Serena. We're in fine company tonight."

Considering the fact that her mind was on a missing person, Serena managed a cordial exchange that gave proof once more of Tom's insightful analysis. She was sweet and serene, all the while troubled within by the question he had posed. But there were other questions, too, and they nagged at her mercilessly. Where was he now? What was it he wanted? And why did it all matter so much to her, anyway?

It was a definite relief when, after several moments of small talk, Ann was approached and whisked off by another of the guests. Unfortunately, though, Andre hung on to Serena to guide her through the ever-revolving sea of faces whose names flew past her within seconds of their introduction. Neither Serena's mind nor her heart were on the party.

By pure accident Andre singled out Tom for attention. "Excuse me," he spoke more formally than usual and with an edge Serena couldn't quite identify. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Andre Phillips."

To Serena's dismay Tom straightened from the doorjamb against which he'd been leaning, shifted his drink, and met Andre's outstretched hand. "Tom Reynolds here."

Andre hesitated for one awkward moment. "Tom Reynolds of the Bulletin?"

"The same."

"Then I'm certainly pleased to meet you. Ann did say something about dragging you here." What was intended as humor missed its mark, but neither man seemed to notice.

Serena stood suffering quietly beside Andre, her eyes glued to Tom's face. She felt the wariness that verged on hostility between the two men and couldn't begin to understand it. Andre had been the perfect host all evening and Serena knew how adept he was at hiding his feelings, yet here was a dagger nearly unsheathed. Was Andre interested in Ann? Was Tom? As though hearing her silent mention of his name Tom's gaze slid to her face, softening instantly and setting a wholly new set of vibrations astir in the air.

Andre reacted quickly, again out of habit. "I'm sorry. Serena Strickland ... Tom Reynolds." He paused, studying each in turn. "But you two know each other, don't you?" he asked, fitting the first piece into the puzzle. He clearly recalled the incident at the restaurant over a month ago. Then Serena had denied knowing Tom; now the expression on her face made a mockery of that denial.

It was Tom who came to Serena's aid, a knight in shining armor. "We met earlier," he answered noncommittally, avoiding a direct lie, but very clearly protecting her secret. Serena's eyes transmitted their thanks as she nodded in ostensible greeting.

Andre, however, was less concerned with the connection than he was in gleaning information. "I understand you've begun to make some changes at the Bulletin."

"A few." Tom kept his distance. "I've only been there a very short time. I'll need a while longer to have any kind of impact."

Andre's smile lacked its usual perfection. "So you are planning to stir things up? I'd heard rumors to that extent."

"I'm planning to turn the Bulletin into a first-rate newspaper. If that takes stirring up, as you put it, then I'll be stirring things up."

"It must be a difficult business," Andre went on pointedly. "There seems to be a backlash against newspapers and the power they wield." Serena stiffened at his latent hostility, but neither man noticed. "I read about more and more lawsuits, for libel. You folks have to be very careful."

While Serena's stomach twisted at the direction the conversation was taking Tom seemed utterly calm. "We always have been and still are. That's not to say that the occasional irresponsible reporter can't do some damage. But it's up to the editorial staff to prevent wanton mudslinging." He tipped his head in a self-assured manner. "I'm not worried about the Bulletin. We'll have our facts straight."

"Excuse me," Serena broke in, unable to bear the discussion any longer. "I'm going to freshen up." She spoke softly to Andre, nodding to Tom as she turned and walked with forced steadiness through the crowd, into the foyer, down the hall, and into the peace of the bathroom. When she emerged her direction was even more sure. Retracing her steps, she stood at the entrance to the living room, located the tall figure she wanted and approached him without hesitation.

"Could we leave, Tom?" she whispered, not fully understanding her action, only knowing that she wanted to go ... with Tom.

"Andre?"

"I'll leave a message with ... the butler." She smirked, then sobered in a silent plea, slipping her hand into Tom's, seeking his strength. His fingers tightened as he drew her beside him. She began to breathe freely only once she'd been comfortably settled in the front seat of his two-seater Mercedes. Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes and listened to the sounds as he slid behind the wheel, turned the key in the ignition, shifted into gear, and accelerated, leaving behind the bright-lit mansion and its crowd of partygoers, including, she thought quite happily, Andre. He had offended her with his subtle attack on Tom, though he had done nothing more than express sentiments with which she agreed wholeheartedly. Had she grown that protective of Tom that she took his side on such an issue? Impossible! She was simply tired.

Eyes still shut, she felt the gentle touch of Tom's fingers on her cheek. "Headache?" he asked softly.

"No. I'd just had enough."

The steady hum of the well-tuned engine was soothing. Serena felt strangely calm and totally trusting of her driver.

"Not a party girl?"

She chuckled. "Not by a long shot." Then she quickly opened her eyes. "Oh, Tom, if you wanted to stay-"

"No, no." He held out a hand to stop her. "I prefer my evenings quieter. I only went at Ann's urging, but she really didn't need an escort. I'm sure she won't miss me."

"Will she be expecting you to take her home?"

His smile was barely visible in the darkness. "I left my message with the butler, too. It's good to know he's served some practical purpose for the money he's being paid."

"Do you like Ann?"

"Sure I like her. But if I wanted to be with her I wouldn't be driving you home right now."

For the first time Serena glanced out the front windshield. "Tom, you're going in the wrong direction. We have to head back toward the city to get to my apartment."

"We're not going there."

"But you said-"

"Home. My home."

With the tension of the party gone a new wave of emotion swept over her. "Oh, Tom. I don't know." She remembered his kiss, her kiss, earlier that evening. "I think you should turn around."

"No way."

"Tom..."

But he had no intention of altering course, despite her soft plea. Rather, he grew more adamant. "We're going to my place to talk, Serena. There's an awful lot I want to say, and even more I want to hear."

"Tom, I don't know if I'm up for this."

"You've had a month!" With the force of his exclamation he swerved to the side of the road and stepped firmly on the brakes, his arm shooting out to hold her in place. When the car had come to a complete stop he turned to her, leaving only the memory of his strength where his arm had been a moment before.