"Of course, darling," he murmured to her retreating back.

Mel bided her time, sitting at one of the curvy dressing tables, freshening her lipstick, powdering her nose. When Linda sat at the table next to hers, she began the process all over again.

"Shoot," Mel said in disgust, examining her fingers. "I chipped a nail."

Linda sent her a sympathetic glance. "Don't you hate that?"

"I'll say, especially since I just had them done this morning. I have the worst luck with them." She searched through her bag for the nail file she knew wasn't there. "Your nails are gorgeous."

"Thank you." The redhead held up a hand to examine. "I have a marvelous manicurist."

"Do you?" Mel shifted and crossed her legs. "I wonder… My husband and I just moved here from Seattle. I really need to find the right beautician, health club, that sort of thing."

"You can't do better than right here at the hotel for either. Non guest membership fees for the health club are a bit pricey, but believe me, it's well worth it." She fluffed at her luxuriant mane. "And the beauty shop is top-notch."

"I appreciate that. I'll look into it."

"Just tell them Linda sent you, Linda Glass."

"I will," Mel said as she rose. "Thanks a lot."

"No problem." Linda slicked on lip gloss. If the woman joined the club, she thought, she'd get a nice commission. Business was business.

A few hours later, Mel was flopped on her stomach in the center of the bed, making a list. She wore a baggy pajama top, her favored lounging choice, and had already disarranged her sleek coiffure into tousled spikes with restless fingers.

She'd be using the Silver Palace's facilities, all right, she thought. Starting tomorrow, she would join their health club, check out their beauty parlor. And, Lord help her, make an appointment for a facial, or whatever other torture they had in mind.

With any luck, she could be cozied up to Linda Glass and exchanging girl talk within twenty-four hours.

"What are you up to, Sutherland?"

"Plan B," she said absently. "I like to have a plan B in reserve in case plan A bombs. Do you think leg waxing hurts?"

"I wouldn't hazard a guess." He ran a fingertip down her calf. "However, yours feel smooth enough to me."

"Well, I have to be prepared to spend half my day in this place, so I have to have something for them to do to me." She cocked her head to look up at him. He was standing beside the bed, wearing the bottoms of the baggy pajamas and swirling a brandy.

I guess we look like a unit, she thought. Like an actual couple having a little chat before bedtime.

The idea had her doodling on the pad. "Do you really like that stuff?"

"Which stuff?"

"That brandy. It always tastes like medicine to me."

"Perhaps you've never had the right kind." He handed her the snifter. Mel braced up on her elbows to sample it while he straddled her and sat back on his heels. "You're still tense," he commented, and began to rub her shoulders.

"A little wired, maybe. I guess I'm starting to think this really may work—the job, I mean."

"It's going to work. While you're having your incredibly long and lovely legs waxed, I'm going to be playing golf—at the same club Gumm belongs to."

Far from convinced the brandy had anything going for it, she looked back over her shoulder. "Then we'll see who finds out more, won't we?"

"We will indeed."

"There's this spot on my shoulder blade." She arched like a cat. "Yeah, that's it. I wanted to ask you about that couple tonight. The big winners."

"What about them?" He pushed the shirt up out of his way and pleased himself by exploring the long, narrow span of her back.

"I know it was your way of getting Gumm to the table, but it doesn't seem exactly straight, you know? Making him win ten thousand."

"I merely influenced his decisions. And I imagine Gumm's taken in much more than that by selling children."

"Yeah, yeah, and I can sort of see the justice in that. But that couple—what if they try to do it again and lose their shirts? Maybe they won't be able to stop, and—"

He chuckled, pressing his lips to the center of her back. "I'm more subtle than that. Young Jerry and Karen will put a down payment on a nice house in the suburbs, astonish their friends with their good fortune. They'll both agree that they've used up all of their luck on this one shot, and rarely gamble again. They'll have three children. And they'll have a spot of fairly serious marital trouble in their sixth year, but they'll work it

"Well." Mel wondered if she'd ever get used to it. "In that case."

"In that case,'' he murmured, running his lips down her spine. "Why don't you put it out of your mind and concentrate on

Smiling to herself, she set the brandy on the chest at the foot of the bed. "Maybe I could." She flipped, then twisted, getting a solid grip before shoving him back on the bed. With her hands clamped on his, she leaned down until they were nose-to-nose. "Gotcha."

He grinned, then nipped her lower lip. "Yes, you do."

"And I might just keep you a while." She kissed the tip of his nose, then his cheek, his chin, his lips. "The brandy tastes better on you than it does in the glass."

"Try again, just to be sure."

With humor bright in her eyes, she lowered her mouth to his and sampled long and deep. "Mmm-hmm. A definite improvement. I do like your taste, Donovan." She linked her fingers with his, pleased that he made no move to break the contact when she slid down to nibble at his throat.

She teased him, toying with his desire and her own as she savored his flesh. Warm here, cooler there, the rich beat of a pulse beneath her lips. She enjoyed the shape of his body, the width of his shoulders, the hard, smooth chest, the quick quiver of his flat belly under her touch.

She liked the way her hand looked gliding over him, her skin shades lighter than his, the ring glowing with its meld of colors against the silver. Rubbing her cheek over him, she felt not just passion, but a deep, drugging emotion that welled up like wine and clouded her senses.

Her throat stung with it, her eyes burned, and her heart all but melted out of her chest.