"Don't take it personally," Angela said. "I just want more than I think you offer the women you get involved with."

"More? More what?" Hank's features were schooled in frustration, as if he found it unbelievable that he wouldn't be what she wanted in a man.

"More of yourself." Angela closed her menu, sorry she'd gotten herself in the middle of this entire conversation. "I could tell you were uncomfortable with the exercise we did this afternoon. You aren't used to sharing yourself. The man I fall in love with will want to share every piece of himself with me. And he'll want to know everything there is to know about me as well."

Hank frowned. "You give away your power when you share too much of yourself."

"But love shouldn't be about power," Angela protested. "You're approaching love with the same rules you approach business and it's not the same."

They stopped the conversation as the waitress appeared at their booth. They both ordered the daily special and when the waitress left, Angela once again picked up the conversation where they'd left off.

"Love isn't supposed to be a struggle for power, or about learning weaknesses that can be exploited."

He leaned back in the booth and eyed her in speculation. "If you have all the answers about love, then why are you still single?"

"I don't have all the answers," she protested. "I just know what I want and what I don't want. And I'm still single because I haven't had much time to find Mr. Right. Helping raise Brian and then working for you has left me little time. I just haven't found the man who is right for me yet." She paused a moment, her gaze curious. "What about you? You ever been in love?"

She could tell her question caught him by surprise. He sat forward, took a drink from his water gla.s.s, then rubbed a hand across his brow as if fighting a headache. "Once. When I was young and stupid." He rubbed his brow once again, then took another sip of his water.

"What was her name?" Angela asked.

"Sarah. Sarah Washington." An irritated frown stole across his features. "What is this? Twenty Questions? Truth or Dare?"

Angela smoothed her napkin across her lap. "I'm sorry if I touched a nerve."

Hank drew a deep breath. "It's all right," he said grudgingly. He took a drink of his water, then continued, "It was a long time ago. I thought she was my girl, the one who was going to spend the rest of her life with me. I was wrong."

He stared at Angela for a long moment, then shook his head, as if to dismiss whatever thought had crossed his mind. "You have told me a few times you want to be a more active part of the agency. Why don't you tell me any ideas that have crossed your mind concerning the Martindale account?"

Angela knew it was time to change the subject, although she found herself most curious about the young woman who'd once captured Hank's heart only to throw it away.

Through the duration of the meal, they talked about not only the Martindale account, but other accounts as well. Angela shared with him various ideas she'd had to promote companies and encourage sales.

Patiently he explained to her why some of her ideas wouldn't work, and praised her for the ones that showed possibilities. She warmed beneath his tutelage, soaking up what he had to teach her and pleased when she managed to teach him something.

This was the kind of relationship she'd dreamed of when she'd first taken the job as his secretary. She'd wanted to learn, yearned to be taken seriously, wanted a give-and-take that would eventually prove to him how valuable she could be not as his secretary, but as an active partic.i.p.ant in the ad business.

They lingered over pie and coffee, sharing a lively debate over everything from politics to the best kind of movies. All too quickly it was time for them to return to Brody's ranch for the evening session.

"You're bright, Angela," Hank said as they drove back toward the ranch. He cast her a look that warmed her from her toes up. "And you're right, I've been wasting your talent having you run my errands. When we get back to the office, there's going to be some changes made."

"I'd like that," she agreed. She leaned back against the seat and smiled happily. If nothing else came out of this crazy week, it was enough that he'd finally realized her potential. It was what she'd wanted ever since she'd started working for him.

Excitement winged through her as she thought of what her job would hopefully entail when they returned. Instead of spending her days making appointments for dinner or ordering flowers, she'd actually get a chance to use her intelligence.

"You have a sharp brain, funny face," her father had said the day before he'd left them forever. "You need to use that brain. Your intelligence will take you far." His eyes had gazed at her with a touch of sadness. "And unfortunately you aren't going to be one of those lucky girls who are going to be able to depend on your good looks."

Angela closed her eyes and tried to shove the painful memory aside. Funny face. That's what he'd always called her. She'd loved her father with all her heart, and for years after he'd left, she'd wondered if she'd been prettier would he have stayed?

She knew better now. She knew that she could have looked like Miss America and he would have left no matter what. It had taken her years to realize that his leaving hadn't been about her...it had been about him.

Later that evening, the three couples sat with Brody and Barbara in the library. Barbara wrapped up the day's activities, what they had learned, what they had yet to explore.

After Barbara finished, the conversation turned to children. Trent and Elena spoke of their little boy, their eyes shining with obvious adoration.

"Travis is a handful," Elena said, "but he's bright and healthy and a daily reminder of our love." Her eyes glowed as she reached for her husband's hand.

Angela yearned for that same sort of connection with a man, and if she were lucky, someday there would be children. Her heart expanded as she thought of a baby, a living, breathing symbol of her love for the special man she hoped one day would share her life.

"Kids," Brody agreed in his loud, bl.u.s.tery voice. "Nothing better in the world than kids. Barbara and I have two, one of each. Of course, they're both grown and with families of their own now, but they're an additional joy to the heart that n.o.body should do without."

"Unfortunately, Stan and I can't have children," Edie said, the shadows in her eyes letting the others know the depth of her pain on this particular subject. "We've been to all sorts of specialists over the years, but with no luck."

"Last year we decided to adopt and the agency tells us we should have a little boy or girl very soon now," Stan replied. He smiled at his wife and the shadows in her eyes transformed into gleams of pleasure.

"That's right. In fact, they called us last week and said that within the next month there should be a child available for us."

Edie laughed. "After ten years of waiting, our spare room is finally going to be used as a nursery."

There were congratulations all around, then Brody turned his gaze on Hank. "What about you? Don't tell me you're sacrificing having children for the almighty dollar and the need to get ahead." There was something slightly accusatory, subtly condemning in Brody's voice.

"Not at all," Hank replied. "In fact," he reached for Angela's hand. "We weren't going to announce it for a while yet." He smiled proudly as a sick dread rolled around in Angela's tummy, definitely a different feeling than the miraculous stir of life within. "Angela is three-months pregnant."

Chapter Six.

"Are you crazy?" Angela glared at Hank from across the expanse of their bedroom. "Have you utterly lost your mind?"

Hank held his hands out in an effort to placate her, even though he knew he deserved her anger. "I'm sorry. I really don't know what got into me."

But he did know what had made him make the ridiculous declaration. He'd watched the other couples throughout the evening session.

For the first time in his life he'd felt envy. He'd envied them their obvious affection, the bonds that didn't seem to diminish them individually, but rather strengthened them. He'd seen the shine in their eyes as they'd talked of creating families, and he'd wanted that for himself.

"I got caught up in the moment," he finally said.

"Yeah, well while you were getting caught up in the moment vou got me pregnant," Angela retorted.

"But, I didn't mean to get you pregnant," Hank replied. The humor in the situation and their words suddenly struck him. He sank down on the edge of the bed and watched as she paced back and forth. "Even though we didn't exactly plan the pregnancy, I promise I'll be right beside you every step of the way, both financially and emotionally."

She stopped her pacing, looked at him sharply, then shook her head with a small laugh, as if she, too, suddenly realized how ridiculous their conversation had become.

She walked over and sat down next to him on the bed. "And what are you going to do in six months when Brody expects to see our child? Dial Rent-A-Baby?"

"Is there such a place?" He laughed at her renewed look of outrage. "I don't know...I can't think ahead that far. I just need to get through this week."

"I should pack my suitcase and go back home, refuse to partic.i.p.ate in this charade any further."

He nodded. "And I wouldn't blame you." He raked a hand through his hair and gazed at her. As always, her hair was confined at the nape of her neck and his fingers itched to release it, allow those curls to bounce and dance in his hands.

As he remembered the kiss they had shared, he felt the desire to taste her lips again, feel her body heat against his own.

It seemed odd to him that he'd ever thought of her as unattractive. Although not cla.s.sically pretty, she was exotically striking. Her face held a warm glow that made you forget that her features were rather irregular. Her eyes caught and held attention, beautiful pools of golden brown.

"So, have we picked out names for our bundle of joy yet?" she asked, pulling him from his crazy thoughts.

"Sure...Hank Jr. if it's a boy, and Ashley if it's a girl."

"You sound like you've given this a lot of thought." She tilted her head slightly looked at him curiously. "I understand where the Hank Jr. came from, but what about Ashley?"

"My dad told me that my mother had always wanted two children, a Hank and an Ashley. She died before she could have an Ashley, so I figure we'll fulfill her wish."

Angela reached up and touched his cheek, her eyes flowing with the golden light that did funny things to his stomach. "Beneath all your macho posturing, you're a very nice man, Hank Riverton."

Her fingers were warm on his skin and the scent of her perfume surrounded him. Desire hit him hard and fast, the desire to make love to her, to stroke fire into her veins, the desire to unite with her as he'd never joined with another woman.

He stood abruptly. "I'll go ahead and get ready for bed." He grabbed his jogging shorts, then escaped to the bathroom.

As he stood beneath a cool spray of water, he tried to figure out exactly what was going on with him. It had been a very long time since he'd felt the kind of desire he'd just experienced for Angela.

What he'd wanted to do with Angela was make love, connect with her not only physically, but mentally and spiritually as well. What he'd done with every woman he'd been with since he'd loved Sarah, was merely have s.e.x, without thought of any other connection.

Sarah. It had been years since he'd even thought of her despite the fact that at one time she'd been his entire world. She'd been eighteen, a freshman where he was a junior in college.

He'd given Sarah everything...the pains of his past, the hopes for his future. He'd held nothing back in his absolute love for her.

He loved her brown hair, her slender shape. He'd adored the way she wrinkled her nose when she was thoughtful, how she ate her food, how she looked in sleep.

He'd begun making plans for their wedding, their life together, he'd been certain that what they'd been building would last an entire lifetime. And after four months, she'd broken up with him.

"You're too intense, Hank. I just want to have fun," she'd told him, breaking his heart into tiny irreparable pieces.

For his last year in college, he'd watched Sarah have fun, dating first one young man, then another. Hank had suffered unrequited love as if he were a tragic, poetic hero. When he was finished suffering, he'd begun to have fun. And he'd been having fun ever since.

So, where did these feelings for Angela come from? he wondered as he shut off the shower and grabbed a towel. It wasn't because she reminded him of Sarah. Although they were similar physically, Angela's personality was stronger, her humor better, and her mind sharper. Hank couldn't remember having such fun with Sarah as he had with Angela.

He pulled on his jogging pants and stared thoughtfully at his reflection in the mirror. His crazy desire for Angela had to be some sort of reaction to the intensive counseling they'd received, combined with intense amount of time spent together.

He relaxed. Yes, surely that was the answer. It wasn't so much that he desired Angela, but rather the circ.u.mstances they were in were conducive to producing desire. Now that he understood his attraction to her, he could deal with it.

He just had to remember that it was a desire born in the intimacy of their surroundings and beneath Barbara's tutelage of love. Once they left Mustang, they would go back to their original positions as boss and secretary, with no emotional or physical complications.

By the time he fell asleep that night, he was secure in the fact that he felt nothing for Angela, that the brief moments of desire he experienced where she was concerned weren't true emotions, but rather manufactured by the circ.u.mstances of their enforced intimacy.

He awakened the next morning with the scent of her hair filling his head... the fragrant scent of spring flowers and fresh rain. Without opening his eyes, he knew she was once again draped across his body, her head on his chest, one of his arms trapped beneath her.

He knew she was still asleep, felt the languid, steady rhythm of her heart, the soft even breaths that warmed his chest. Her body molded against his side, warm, soft and enticing.

He opened his eyes to see that the light of dawn stole into the bedroom window, pale yellow shafts that created a cozy golden glow to the room. He gazed at Angela's sleeping countenance, wondering why he'd ever thought her plain.

Her features were strong and distinctive, arranged just unconventionally enough to be interesting... but not plain. He rubbed a strand of hair between two fingers, not wanting to awaken her, but needing to touch the shiny silk.

This is how husbands and wives all over the world awakened, he thought. In each other's arms.

And many of them would begin their day by making love to each other. It would either be a fast, pa.s.sionate encounter, or a slow, languid joining. Or perhaps some of those husbands and wives would talk about their plans for the day, about what they hoped to accomplish.

It was the kind of sharing that had always frightened Hank. But, at this moment, with Angela in his arms and the dawn of a new day sifting through the curtains, it didn't seem frightening...it seemed nice.

Before he had time to fully digest his thoughts, Angela's eyes opened. For a brief moment their amber light bathed him and a smile curved the corners of her lips. In the blink of her eyes, the amber radiance disappeared, the smile fell away and she jerked to an upright position, her cheeks stained bright red.

"I'm sorry," she exclaimed as she scooted to the far side of the bed. Two b.u.t.tons of her pajama top had come undone, gifting him a tantalizing glimpse of the swell of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "I didn't mean to crowd you." Her voice held her horror.

"I didn't feel crowded," he replied. His head filled with a vision of him unfastening the rest of the b.u.t.tons of her top, parting the cotton material to reveal the smooth, silky skin beneath. He could almost taste her on his lips, feel the warmth of her as he caressed each inch of flesh that was bared to him.

"I don't know why I do that...I mean...maybe I sleep on that side of the bed at home...maybe I get cold in the night...I don't consciously..."

"Angela, stop. It's okay." For some reason, her profusion of protests and excuses irritated him. "I know I'm the last man on earth you'd consciously want to cuddle with." He got out of bed, more irritated with himself than he was with her.

He must have been having a nightmare, thinking about making love to her... sharing morning thoughts with her. That's what men did with their wives, and he didn't want a wife. And he d.a.m.ned straight wasn't about to get all soft and gooey over the idea of getting married just because of a week of marriage encounter workshops. What was happening to him? He had to get a grip.

He grabbed his clothes for the day and stalked into the bathroom, leaving her openmouthed and staring after him from her side of the bed.

Angela knew why Hank seemed distant and slightly irritated with her all day. It was because she'd once again sought him in sleep, curled up nearly on top of him, practically smothering him.

She didn't know what unconscious thoughts drew her to him in the darkness of the night. She wasn't in control of the magnetic energy that flowed between them while they slept. But she could understand his aggravation with her unwanted snuggling.

He remained cool and distant throughout breakfast, warming only when it was time for their private workshop with Barbara. Angela knew his warmth at that time was strictly for show, to keep the pretense of their marital state working.

"Peccadilloes," Barbara said once they were seated on the sofa in the library.

"I beg your pardon?" Hank said.

"Peccadilloes," Barbara repeated. "Irritating habits, aggravating quirks that drive you insane. That's what we're going to explore today."

She handed them each a small notebook and a pen. "I want you to write down the little things that your mate does that drives you insane. No-holdsbarred, don't hold back."

Angela stared down at the paper, trying to think of anything Hank had done in the two days they'd been sharing their room together that might be considered irritating. Nothing specific came to mind. He'd been a thoughtful roommate, picking up after himself and not spending too long in the bathroom.

She closed her eyes, trying to visualize a day in, day out sort of existence with him. What would he do to aggravate her? What about him would irritate her to death?

She opened her eyes and looked at Hank and saw that he was writing something. She frowned. What was he writing about her? What could she have done that was aggravating to him? Was he writing that she was a bed hog? Her cheeks warmed at the thought.