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coffee and cheesecake. Do you like cheesecake?"

"I love it." And maybe not only would she acquire a new friend, but she could also find out more

about Chance.

Cassie covered a yawn with the back of her hand, and Mary yawned, too. "We'd better get back,"

Cassie said, "and see if anybody's still alive."

Mary was fed up with the emotional roller coaster she'd been on all day. She looked back the

way they'd come and said wistfully, "Do we have to?"

Cassie paused and then said wickedly, "Well, no. I could run you home on my bike. Chance can

walk home from here. Course, without a jacket you'd freeze to death and get bugs all over your

pretty top."

Mary giggled. So the motorcycle was Cassie's. Chance still drove it like a professional. "And

poor Tim would have to go home with Victor. I mean-" that, as Cassie started to guffaw "-I mean,

Victor's mood wouldn't improve, would it, and-and-"

"1 know what you mean. Your brother's a sweetie. Come on, let's go rescue him now."

They wandered back to the men, where they found Tim and Chance deep in lively conversation.

Victor was standing a few feet away and talking with a surgeon from the hospital.

Tim had jumped to his feet as soon as he laid eyes on them, almost pointing at Cassie like a

retriever. Chance, looking around, straightened more slowly.

Cassie bent and scooped up her shoes. "It's past my bedtime, ladies and gents. We ought to be

leaving now, Chance."

"But you have to stay for the finale," Tim exclaimed.

Mary went over to him and said quietly, "I'm sorry, Timmy, but I'm so tired my head is spinning.

1 need to go home now, too."

"Oh, but-" the boy protested.

"Tim." Chance spoke his name good-naturedly, and that was all he said, but Tim shut up immediately and shrugged in resignation.

"All right."

Mary stared at Tim in astonishment. That was it? He hardly ever gave In that gracefully. She and

Cassie weren't the only big turnaround of the evening. Unless she missed her guess, there was a

serious case of hero worship for Chance going in her little brother.

Chance picked up his jacket and slung it over one wide shoulder, then walked over to Mary. She

clasped her hands together nervously, feeling the strangest, strongest desire to reach out to him

with open arms.

He stroked the back of his fingers down the side of her face and gave her a private smile. "Call

you tomorrow, Dr. Mary?" he said softly.

She glowed up at him; she couldn't help it. "All right.”

She felt rather than heard it: his breath, taken in quick. He opened his fingers and cupped her

cheek, features sharpened and eyes gone heavy-lidded. "I won't call early. Pleasant dreams,

babe."

"Good night," she breathed.

This time Tim wasn't staring at her in astonishment as Chance and Cassie left. He was staring

after them, as well. God, she thought with the beginnings of self disgust, he's as moonstruck as 1

am. Aren't we a pair?

Victor wasn't moonstruck, though. As it finally occurred to her to see if he'd finished his conversation, she turned to find him watching her, not with the open anger from earlier, but with

something else on his face, something settled and severe and waiting.

THE trip home was, like the trip to the lighthouse, conducted in silence.

Tim was stretched out in the back of the Volvo, sleepily humming. Victor drove fast with a sharp,

preoccupied frown, while Mary stared out her window at-the moonlit bay and wondered if there

was any way she could postpone talking with Victor until they had both had some sleep.

Her muscles were loose and shaky, all her joints seeming to come unglued at the thought of how

nice and warm and soft her bed was going to feel. Besides, a sceptical part of her was saying,

how do you know that in the morning you won't be waking up to the realization that this

afternoon and evening were just one long hallucination?

Chance won't call! He might be nothing more than some intense, hitherto deeply buried wish

fulfilment. Just some figment of your imagination, a product of your overworked brain from too

many long, hard shifts at work and not enough fun. Oh, Mary, you'll say in the morning, wasn't

that a silly way to behave, and what do you have to show for it? One upset boyfriend and an "I'll

call you in the morning".

He won't call. Men like Chance never call ... or so I've heard! He was only fooling around with

me because his real date for the evening came down with chicken pox. He's going to go home

and put my soul in a pickle jar, and stick me on a shelf with all the other souls he's snatched. A

soul museum, that's what he's got. We'll spend our time getting to know each other, all us souls.

We'll chat about how life used to be before Chance came along. After all, what else is there to do

when you're in a pickle jar?

Victor switched off the car engine. With a start, Mary realized that they'd arrived home.

Tim struggled to a sitting position, his face cracking into a wide yawn. "I had fun tonight," he

said cheerfully.

"Thanks for letting me tag along, guys."

"Hmm? Oh, you're welcome, Tim," Victor said automatically. "Why don't you run along inside

and let me say good-night to your sister?"

Mary sighed. The time of reckoning had come. She suppressed the cowardly desire to run into

the house with her brother, and twisted in her seat to give Tim a smile. "Yes, you go on inside

now."

Tim frowned. She could see the thought go over his face. First he caught her kissing one man

that evening, and now she was going to kiss another. But thankfully, all he said was, "I'll go on to

bed, then."

She said to him, "I won't be but a few minutes, sweetheart."

He leaned forward and kissed her. His eyes asked her if she knew what she was doing. Her eyes

said firmly, of course I do, and 1 am absolutely all right. But her heart said differently. What her

heart said she kept to herself.

Then Tim slipped out of the car, ran up the porch steps, and disappeared into the house.

Mary turned to face Victor, who was staring out the windshield and tapping his fingers against.

The steering wheel. The silence stretched and grew too thin, until Mary cleared her throat and

said quietly, "I don't know what to say, Vic."

"You're attracted to him." His voice was flat.

She stared out of the car, feeling an ache in her chest. Why was she feeling achy? She couldn't

tell from Victor's tone of voice or from his face if he was even hurt. Maybe it was her pride that

was aching.

All of her feelings were right out there for everyone to see, and she felt naked. Why prevaricate?

"Yes," she said. "I'm .sorry."

"You're sorry;"

She moved jerkily. "Yes, I am, especially if it's hurt you. I-wasn't looking for this to happen, Vic.

It just happened. I don't even know him, I just-" I just know when-if-he calls tomorrow, I need to

see him again.

His head turned toward her, and he looked at her at last, sadly. "I know you don't know him. I'll

bet you haven't even had the chance to think this through properly." His hand came out to cover

hers. "Mary, sometimes people can't help whom they're attracted to. It's what you do about it that

matters. I'm worried about you."

She blinked down at his hand. It was, like the rest of him, fine-boned and graceful. She remembered Chance's hands, wide, strong and calloused, and so gentle. She thrust the thought

out of her mind.

Victor was being so kind and understanding. Somehow he had managed to put aside his jealousy

and was just being her friend. She hadn't expected this. The tension eased out of her body, and

she grasped his hand tightly.

I'm 'worried about me, too, she thought, but said reassuringly, "Try not to be. You know how

careful

I am."

He smiled at that, stroking her fingers. "Yes, you've always been cautious, normally. I've just

never seen you behave the way you did this evening."

That's because I've never behaved that way before. She rubbed her face hard. "I'm all right." Was

that the truth, or was that what she wanted to be the truth?

Victor said gently, "Are you all right, darling'? Don't underestimate Chance. I've heard a few

things about him today that are pretty disturbing, from people who know him well. He's made

conquests far more worldly and jaded than you are. Apparently he has quite an-appetite, and no

respect for marriage vows."

The words slapped Mary in the face. She forced herself to breathe evenly; why was she so

shocked? She'd already admitted, to herself and to Victor, that she didn't know anything about

Chance. But she was disappointed, crushingly so. There had been such a birth of hope in her

today, she was only now beginning to conceive of how deep and far reaching it had gone.

Despite her innate caution, despite the glimpses she'd seen-of his predatory sensuality, she'd

focused instead on Chance's gentleness, the sense she had of being protected, even cherished.

She'd even dared to hope that the erotic heat they had shared was something special and

extraordinary for him, too. Instead it seemed that all her fears had been realized.

She could have nothing important in common with someone who didn't respect marriage vows.

Even his own sister said he didn't respect much. And he'd come into the hospital with a married

woman whose husband came in. much later. Her husband couldn't have been on the yacht. Was

Chance having an affair with her?

Welcome back to the real world, Mary.

Victor was watching her, his dark gaze attentive was it pleased? Her shoulders bowed down. No

wonder he didn't berate her with his jealousy. He'd had something far more substantial to say.

She said leadenly, "I've got to go in now, Vic."

"Yes," he said immediately, his voice soothing. "You need to go to bed. I need to get home too,

I'll call you?"

"Yes, all right;" -She stared at him as if he were a stranger. Charming, handsome, patient, safe

Victor. If that was to be the definition of her life, why couldn't she find pleasure in it? Why

couldn't she feel for Victor what she had felt for Chance?

Maybe that would come with time. Maybe someday soon she could look at Victor and be pleased

with the thought of what their life could be like together. Maybe it was only because of what had

happened today that she felt trapped. After Chance it all looked so sterile.

"How do you feel about having children someday?" she asked suddenly.

He froze in surprise, then smiled indulgently, "I think children might be wonderful, someday.

When both our careers are going well, anything could happen."

"But that could be years for me. I'm twenty-six what if I don't want to wait that long?" she

persisted, feeling her eyes prickle.

His smile twisted, and his eyebrows drew together.

"And throw out all your hard work? You're tired, darling. Everything will look better tomorrow."

"Will it?" she whispered.

"Of course it will." He leaned forward and pressed a kiss against her lips.

It was a light, undemanding pressure, warm and pleasant enough, but no fireworks. Mary

dutifully kissed him back, and kept her eyes closed to hide how teary she was.

He pulled back, looking as smooth and unruffled as ever. "Good night, darling."

No "I'll walk you -to your door", no gentility, no protectiveness, no romance. "Good night, Vic,"

she whispered.

She climbed out of the car, entered the house without looking back, and went disconsolately to

bed.

Mary slept long and hard, and then a large, shadowed figure slid into her bed. He was a familiar

figure, that man, very much loved and desired. She murmured wordlessly and held her arms out

to him, and he pulled her against his warm, naked body.

His wise, sensual fingertips woke her to a piercing pleasure. He whispered things in her ear, love

words, promises. She clung to him, believing in the passion, the promise. He knew everything

about her and cherished the knowledge, and spent his life protecting what they shared. Just one

thing bothered her. She couldn't remember what he looked like. She stroked the hair off his

forehead, felt it slide silkenly between her fingers, and tried and tried to picture his face.

It was too dark to see his features. She reached to turn on' the bedside lamp, but the light switch

was broken. Then he kissed her hard and slid away. She awoke, still aroused, her sweaty legs

tangled in the bed sheets. Loneliness flooded her as she realized it had just been a dream.

A splinter of bright sunlight showed in the crack of her bedroom curtains. She rolled over to

glance at her clock. It was almost three in the afternoon. Mary curled into a miserable ball, a

pillow tucked against her stomach. What was the matter with her? She'd never had such an erotic

dream before, and certainly had never dreamed with such longing of a life partner.

Sure she wanted to get married. Sure she wanted children. But those had always been rather

distant desires, something that she wanted to have, someday, when she was older and ready for it,

when she'd met the right man.

Then she would explore, with eagerness and faith, all the intimacies that a husband and wife

shared, both the physical and emotional. Until then she would be content to wait, a chrysalis in a