"Do you know what you do to me?" he asked. He reached for the tiny black buttons on her jacket, and his fingers trembled. Beneath the sunny cap-sleeved suit, she wore lace the color of midnight. He could feel the fast dull thud of his heart in his head. "Or how much I need you?"

She could only shake her head. "Just show me. It's enough to show me."

She was caught fast and hard, her mouth fused to his, their bodies molded. When her arms locked around his neck, he lifted her an inch off the floor, circling slowly, his lips tangling with hers.

Dizzy and desperate, she clung to him as he wound his way into the bedroom. She kicked her shoes off, heedless of where they flew. There was such freedom in the simple gesture, she laughed, then held tight as they fell to the bed.

The mattress groaned and sagged, cupping them in the center. He was muttering her name, and she his, when their mouths met again.

It was as hot and reckless as before. Now she knew where they would go and strained to match his speed. The need to have him was as urgent as breath, and she struggled with his jeans, tugging at denim while he peeled away lace.

She could feel the nubs of the bedspread beneath her bare back, and him, hard and restless above her. Through the open window, the heat poured in. And there was a rumble, low and distant, of thunder. She felt the answering power echo in her blood.

He wanted the storm, outside, in her. Never before had he understood what it was to truly crave. He remembered hunger and a miserable wish for warmth. He remembered wanting the curves and softness of a woman. But all that was nothing, nothing like the violent need he felt for her.

His hands hurried over her, wanting to touch every inch, and everywhere he touched she burned. If she trembled, he drove her further until she shuddered. When she moaned, he took and tormented until she cried out.

And still he hungered.

Thunder stalked closer, like a threat. Following it through the window came the passionate wail of the sax. The sun plunged down in the sky, tossing flame and shadows.

Inside the hot, darkening room, they were aware of no time or sound. Reality had been whittled down to one man and one woman and the ruthless quest to mate.

He filled. She surrounded.

Crazed, he lifted her up until her legs circled his waist and her back arched like a bow. Shuddering from the power they made, he pressed his face to her shoulder and let it take him.

The rain held off until the next afternoon, then came with a full chorus of thunder and lightning. With her phone on speaker, Sydney handled a tricky conference call. Though Janine sat across from her, she took notes of her own. Thanks to a morning of intense work between herself and her new assistant, she had the information needed at her fingertips.

"Yes, Mr. Bernstein, I think the adjustments will be to everyone's benefit." She waited for the confirmation to run from Bernstein, to his lawyer, to his West Coast partner. "We'll have the revised draft faxed to all of you by five,

East Coast time, tomorrow." She smiled to herself. "Yes, Hayward Industries believes in moving quickly. Thank you, gentlemen. Goodbye."

After disengaging the speaker, she glanced at Janine. "Well?"

"You never even broke a sweat. Look at me." Janine held out a hand. "My palms are wet. Those three were hoping to bulldoze you under and you came out dead even. Congratulations."

"I think that transaction should please the board." Seven million, she thought. She'd just completed a seven-million-dollar deal. And Janine was right. She was steady as a rock. "Let's get busy on the fine print, Janine."

"Yes, ma'am." Even as she rose, the phone rang. Moving on automatic, she plucked up Sydney's receiver. "Ms. Hayward's office. One moment, please." She clicked to hold. "Mr. Warfield."

The faintest wisp of fatigue clouded her eyes as she nodded. "I'll take it. Thank you, Janine."

She waited until her door closed again before bringing him back on the line. "Hello, Channing."

"Sydney, I've been trying to reach you for a couple of days. Where have you been hiding?"

She thought of Mikhail's lumpy bed and smiled. "I'm sorry, Channing. I've been… involved."

"All work and no play, darling," he said, and set her teeth on edge. "I'm going to take you away from all that. How about lunch tomorrow? Lutece."

As a matter of course, she checked her calendar. "I have a meeting."

"Meetings were made to be rescheduled."

"No, I really can't. As it is, I have a couple of projects coming to a head, and I won't be out of the office much all week."

"Now, Sydney, I promised Margerite I wouldn't let you bury yourself under the desk. I'm a man of my word."

Why was it, she thought, she could handle a multimillion-dollar deal with a cool head, but this personal pressure was making her shoulders tense? "My mother worries unnecessarily. I'm really sorry, Channing, but I can't chat now. I've got—I'm late for an appointment," she improvised.

"Beautiful women are entitled to be late. If I can't get you out to lunch, I have to insist that you come with us on Friday. We have a group going to the theater. Drinks first, of course, and a light supper after."

"I'm booked, Channing. Have a lovely time though. Now, I really must ring off. Ciao." Cursing herself, she settled the receiver on his pipe of protest.

Why hadn't she simply told him she was involved with someone?

Simple question, she thought, simple answer. Channing would go to Margerite, and Sydney didn't want her mother to know. What she had with Mikhail was hers, only hers, and she wanted to keep it that way for a little while longer.

He loved her.

Closing her eyes, she experienced the same quick trickle of pleasure and alarm. Maybe, in time, she would be able to love him back fully, totally, in the full-blooded way she was so afraid she was incapable of.

She'd thought she'd been frigid, too. She'd certainly been wrong there. But that was only one step.

Time, she thought again. She needed time to organize her emotions. And then… then they'd see.

The knock on her office door brought her back to earth. "Yes?"

"Sorry, Sydney." Janine came in carrying a sheet of Hayward stationery. "This just came in from Mr. Bingham's office. I thought you'd want to see it right away."

"Yes, thank you." Sydney scanned the letter. It was carefully worded to disguise the rage and bitterness, but it was a resignation. Effective immediately. Carefully she set the letter aside. It took only a marginal ability to read between the lines to know it wasn't over, "Janine, I'll need some personnel files. We'll want to fill Mr. Bingham's position, and I want to see if we can do it in-house."