Right?

She fingered the candy necklace lying on the desk that should have been thrown away days ago. The thing was a disgusting sticky mess thanks to Mayson yanking her into the ocean.

The thought made her smile. Mayson wasn't afraid to put Paige in her place. Wasn't afraid to take the lead. G.o.d, how well she took the lead.

Once again, Paige found herself in pain. She squeezed her legs together and slammed back in the chair.

She picked up the phone Vinden had given her. Nothing. Nada. What the h.e.l.l was up with her? Paige couldn't figure out why she was so reluctant to inquire. Wouldn't it be easy to shoot her a text to say hi, how are you, what the h.e.l.l is up with the riddles, when are you going to f.u.c.k me again?

Paige tossed the phone back down. No. She wouldn't do that. She'd be d.a.m.ned if she chased s.e.x. Ever again.

Not now, when she'd found it out from behind the mask.

Dear G.o.d. The s.e.x with Mayson had been...unforgettable. Everything she craved. It'd been all she'd ever searched for. All she'd ever longed for after leaving New Orleans. She'd hunted for it, begged for it. Why did it have to be Mayson?

Sam darted into her office. "Did you see?" Without waiting for Paige's response, she grabbed the TV remote off the edge of her desk. "She's all over the d.a.m.n news."

Paige slid the candy necklace back and forth with the tip of her finger while the sounds of a reporter's voice filled the room.

"The National Hurricane Center reports that Hurricane Elena-a Category Four storm when it devastated parts of Jamaica five days ago-has turned toward open water and is losing strength. Damage reports, however, are still coming in..." The Weather Channel anchor glanced off screen and touched the intercom bud in his ear. "We have Trish O'Conner, from our affiliate News Channel Seven, reporting live from Kingston. Trish? What can you tell us about the damage there?"

Seconds ticked by while a bedraggled blonde pressed her ear bud deeper and nodded as she listened to the question delayed by technology. "Tom, I can tell you that the authorities are officially reporting twenty-two fatalities, but I personally saw twice that many bodies in the temporary morgue yesterday, and rescue teams are still digging through the devastation in a search for hundreds reported missing." She waved toward a collapsed building behind her.

"This building behind me was one of the more reasonably priced resorts and was fully booked when the storm hit. Until they can dig down to the lobby level and find the guest registry, they have no idea how many people might still be buried in the wreckage." The reporter gestured again, and the cameraman panned slowly to the left.

The roadway was blocked by huge, uprooted palms in a tangle of power lines. "The situation is no better outside the hotel district. Entire residential areas have been leveled. I'm told that only twenty percent of the island has power, and most people still don't have access to basic necessities such as food, water, and restroom facilities. Rescue efforts have been delayed because the storm covered such a wide area and moved so slowly through the islands. In fact, the only help that has arrived is the private rescue effort my crew was allowed to join."

The report flashed back to the studio and the anchor turned toward a huge monitor behind him as it filled the television screen. "This is footage your team shot earlier. Can you explain what's going on here?"

Activity swarmed the commercial wharf around a huge barge anch.o.r.ed where cruise ships usually docked. A crane was off-loading temporary toilets, and forklifts shuttled pallets stacked high with boxes.

"Tom, my crew was lucky enough to ride over on a special emergency barge designed and equipped by Montgomery Enterprises. It's amazing, actually. It was so fully loaded with emergency food, water, equipment, and some innovative temporary housing units, that there was barely room for the pa.s.sengers-my crew, a medical team, and an engineering team to a.s.sist in restoring power and other services."

The camera zoomed in on a small group of people handing out boxes of supplies to a desperate crowd.

Paige sucked in a breath and her heart stuttered. There was Mayson standing on the very top of a pallet stacked high with crates. Her arms bulged as she heaved boxes down to another worker. She was wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt, and Paige could think of nothing other than climbing atop with her, capturing another kiss before working her tongue over Mayson's sweaty neck.

f.u.c.k. Women weren't supposed to look that yummy with dirt and grime marking their face and arms, or fatigue written all over their expressions. She looked tired despite her fast pace.

Paige wanted to call her. Wanted to hear her voice.

"All of this has been made possible by one person, Mayson Montgomery, the CEO of Montgomery Enterprises. She's the woman you see here unloading boxes filled with fresh water and food rations, right alongside her employees."

The scene changed to a split screen that showed both Trish and the studio anchor.

"I've got to tell you, Tom, that the boat ride over here was really scary. Mayson Montgomery launched her rescue effort even though the Red Cross and FEMA officials delayed their response teams because of the high seas and horrific storm. Every member of her team is a volunteer because of that risk."

Tom nodded solemnly as Trish was replaced by a full shot of the studio with Mayson's company logo, double Ms, one upside down over the other, in the top corner. "Thank you, Trish. A n.o.ble effort, indeed. Something rarely, if ever, seen from the private sector. We'll be returning later with updates from Kingston." He glanced down and shuffled some papers. "On the international front, leaders of seven countries have gathered in London to discuss..."

Paige stared in disbelief. Was that where Mayson always disappeared to? To another country? To some disaster or another? To be a f.u.c.king hero?

Had Paige been that terribly wrong about her?

The TV screen, the sight of Mayson working, getting her nails dirty, proved Paige was a complete b.i.t.c.h. That Mayson was indeed one in a million. One in a billion.

"Guess you guys aren't so different after all," Sam announced with a smirk, then strolled from the room without cutting off the TV.

A longing swayed through Paige, and her stomach tightened as the camera zoom fell back on Mayson. She looked edible even in a ball cap. The sight made Paige miss her all the more. How could she miss her? She'd barely spent any time with her. Yet the time she had, it had been laughter, getting to know her, and then that amazing s.e.x.

d.a.m.n. She did. She missed Mayson. She wanted Mayson to call her. To ask her on a date, for a walk on the beach, for a morning after. A real morning after.

The thought made Paige mentally gasp. Never in her entire adult life had she wanted to wake up with another woman beside her. Morning breath, hair in disarray, wasn't her style. But d.a.m.n, she did. She wanted to wake up in Mayson Montgomery's tight embrace, wanted to kiss her when she opened her eyes.

Frustrated with her emotions, with her thoughts, Paige opened her blog. She needed to let off a little steam.

Talk to me. I'm irritated and there's no vibrator in sight.

X.

Paige sat back and waited for the responses to flood in. She read over the array of comments. Some offering to help ease her frustrations, others telling her to run to her nearest s.e.x toy shop.

Usually, the comments made her feel better, made her smile, but not this time. This time, only one response would lift this mood. Not that she would get that one. Mayson didn't know a d.a.m.n thing about her blog.

But Vinden did. So where was she? Why wasn't she responding? And why was Paige waiting with bated breath for either woman to contact her? More important, Mayson?

The lack of any contact left Paige more aggravated than before she posted the blog. Seemed Vinden was done with their game. If so, Paige would never know who she was. Would never see her face. Never know her name.

Paige shook her head. Since when had she wanted to know anything about Vinden other than what time and place? Now that Vinden had apparently vanished, it had stripped away the excitement of following the convoluted clues and any hope Paige had of the s.e.xual bliss that was her reward.

Though she'd found it, in living color, with Mayson.

Dear G.o.d, how she'd found it. Mayson was the embodiment of all her s.e.xual fantasies, but she wouldn't give up on Vinden yet.

Paige picked up the phone again and scanned back over the riddles. She hadn't cared much about them before now, thought them ridiculous. Now they seemed to mean everything.

Vinden Gudinna.

Paige wanted to know who she was. She typed in her name in the white pages, but it came up as no such name available, to reenter and try again. Paige did, careful to make sure her spelling was right. Again, no such name found, nor a phone number.

"Who are you, Vinden?" Paige strummed her nails on the chair while she rolled through their text messages. She thought about the notes Vinden had left her in the lingerie shop as well.

I loved you 366 miles away.

Paige wanted to bang her head against the desk. What the f.u.c.k did all of this mean? Why couldn't she figure it out? It appeared Vinden was trying to tell Paige who she was, how to find her, how to take off her mask.

She continued reading, reaching for the answer.

Do you believe in fate, Fedora?

Triple beginnings are our common denominator.

Next bite is mine. Good night, Fedora.

The necklace came to mind. How hot Vinden's words had been while Paige sucked the sweet candy into her mouth, knowing Vinden had been watching her. But not near as hot as Mayson had been leaning down into Paige and taking a bite.

Paige had been so p.i.s.sed at her for such a bold move. For teasing her.

Mayson was a strong woman. She went after what she wanted. h.e.l.l, she seemed to do it without fear. Paige admired that in her.

She fingered the watch Vinden had given her.

Tick tock goes our clock. Unveil me, Fedora. Our time is running out.

Had their time ran out? Was that why Vinden hadn't contacted her? Was the game now over?

Why, suddenly, did the punch of rejection not hurt as bad? Maybe because she'd found the answer to her s.e.xual cravings without a mask, without a mystery, without the game?

Had she found that in Mayson?

Paige grumbled and read back over the texts while the TV flicked back and forth between worldwide news and more shots of the devastation in Jamaica.

How she wished she could be part of the cleanup. Wiping away someone's tears. Playing with scared children, helping them laugh away their fears. That seemed so much more important than dancing, than cleaning up a d.a.m.n park or a community this town seemed not to give a s.h.i.t about.

She glanced back at the TV. Those people would be grateful for her help. She'd give anything to be there, right now.

Stupid fool! That was wishful thinking, wanting to be a part of something far greater than her tiny little charity. What Mayson was doing was priceless. The reward for such un-cowardly acts was so immense, undreamt-of satisfaction.

With a growl, Paige looked away. She scrolled through the messages again just to take her mind off Mayson. The answer was here if she could just concentrate.

Next bite is mine.

The image of Mayson towering over her, lifting the necklace to her mouth, fluttered to life.

Paige narrowed her eyes. No. That was crazy thinking. Mayson was not Vinden. Why in the world would she have to go to such methods to get a woman?

Exactly. She wouldn't.

I wanted you where hopes go up and pennies come down.

The word pennies carried her directly to the fountain. The very one Mayson had shoved her in.

She lifted the charms on the bracelet. Two little girls holding hands. A silver mask. And a dollar symbol.

Again, her thoughts went directly to Mayson, and she growled out loud, disgusted with herself for thinking about her. Why couldn't she stop?

Paige thought about the note.

I loved you 366 miles away.

She opened a link for MapQuest, and on a hunch requested the distance between Galveston and New Orleans.

"No f.u.c.king way," Paige breathed as the mileage appeared on the screen.

Exactly 366 miles.

She looked back down at the bracelet. Two little girls. She and Mayson had been little girls when they met.

At the fountain.

...where pennies come down.

"No f.u.c.king way." Paige forced herself not to overreact and scrolled back through the texts.

Vinden Gudinna.

"Think, Paige. For s.h.i.t sake. Think!"

Maybe she was going about this all wrong. She punched the words Vinden Gudinna into the search engine instead of searching through the white pages.

Numerous sites came up, but not a d.a.m.n one was in English. Every meaning was in some kind of foreign language. So she opened a translator site and put in the words. She narrowed her eyes as the translation appeared: Wind G.o.ddess.

Once more, Mayson jolted through her mind, walking beside her on the beach. "Besides, in what other profession could I be nicknamed the wind G.o.ddess?"

"Oh my G.o.d." Paige sagged as every riddle seemed to unravel and unwind in her mind. Fast, faster, the words, the riddles, came fluttering apart.

Wind G.o.ddess: Mayson Montgomery.

The mask...the s.e.x party...Mayson.

The dollar sign...the billionaire...Mayson.

The little girls...Paige and Mayson.

Where pennies come down...the fountain.

The mileage between here and New Orleans.

Tears filled her eyes.

Mayson was her mystery woman? Then? Now?

How could that be possible? How had she known? How long had she known?

A sob tripped over her lips. She didn't know if she was mad or happy. Thrilled or disgusted.

She glanced up at the TV screen. Another shot of Mayson lifting heavy boxes blurred across the screen, followed by crushed surroundings.

Mayson Montgomery was her mystery woman. Mayson was the one behind the mask.