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To Sharon Kearney,

for too many years of friendship to count.

1

“STACY REALLY WANTS the circus theme,” Patricia Grange said, a note of appeal in her voice. It was a tone Karen Petersham knew well—the desperate cry of a woman who has spoiled her baby girl for so long she doesn’t know how to stop. As one of the top wedding planners in Philadelphia, Karen got her share of spoiled princesses and their bizarre wedding requests, but this was right up there.

“A circus themed wedding is certainly unusual,” Karen said smoothly. “You don’t get a lot of them.”

“It’s because of Cirque du Soleil,” Patricia explained, throwing her hands out in a gesture of helplessness.

“Cirque du Soleil?” What on earth could a bunch of acrobatically theatrical circus performers have to do with a wedding?

The mother of the bride nodded. “Hudson took Stacy to see the touring production of Kooza for their first date. They think it would be romantic to recreate the circus theme for their wedding.”

“Well, I guess we can be happy he didn’t take her ice fishing for their first date.”

The woman smiled weakly. “I suppose so.” She straightened the perfectly straight hem on her Gucci skirt. “Cirque is about both clowning and acrobatics, of course.”

“Two excellent attributes of a successful marriage.”

“Exactly.” The woman smiled at her gratefully. “And Cirque did perform at the Academy Awards one time. I remember seeing it on television.”

Only a Philadelphia society girl could equate her wedding with the Academy Awards. Already Karen suspected that this ceremony was going to be one of those nightmares. The mother of the bride had shown up for the appointment, but no bride. Always a bad sign. She was conscious of a wish to tell the woman to take her flying circus acrobats and find another wedding planner, but she didn’t. As much as she despaired over some of the demands made of her and her company, If You Can Dream It, Karen also got the most juice out of the toughest assignments. Frankly, the challenges stopped her from succumbing to boredom.

Rich October sunshine streamed through the windows of the renovated brick warehouse she’d bought in Old Town to house her growing business, bringing out the rich caramel in the floors she’d had restored.

“Let me see what I can do. I’ll put together a proposal for you and we can meet again, shall we say in two weeks? Perhaps with the bride this time.”

When the mother left, Karen sat for a few minutes, typing her notes into her computer, then she got up and walked through the office.

“I’m going to see Chelsea,” she said to her assistant, Dee, on the way out. The young blonde British girl who was both support staff and her assistant wedding planner nodded, unsurprised, since Karen took the short walk to her caterer and good friend’s premises at least once a day. She trekked to Hammond & Co. to discuss jobs with Chelsea Hammond, her exclusive caterer, or simply to chat with the woman who’d become a close friend. And if she walked the two blocks briskly enough, that was as good as fifteen minutes on the treadmill.

Slipping on sunglasses and a light coat, she strode toward the storefront where Chelsea sold takeout gourmet food and coffee while she ran her growing catering business from the huge industrial kitchen in back. Upstairs was a small apartment that she used as her office.

Chelsea was placing a heaping bowl of quinoa salad into the display case when Karen walked in. She only knew it was quinoa because a sign said so. Unlike her friend, food was not her passion but her enemy and she tried to think about it as little as possible. She certainly wasn’t one for cookbooks and those endless TV torture shows featuring gorgeous men preparing mouthwatering meals—two things she most wanted and that were so bad for her, with her figure that was both top-heavy and bottom-heavy on a much too short frame.

The caterer—blessed by nature with a long, slim body that was neither top-nor bottom-heavy, but just right—smiled her rich, slightly mischievous smile at Karen as she straightened from her task. “Perfect, you’re just in time for coffee.”

“Make mine with cream. And I want one of your four-thousand-calorie brownies to go with it.”

Since Karen was on a perpetual diet, Chelsea raised her brows. “Bad day?”

“The bride wants a circus theme. Cirque du Soleil, no less.”

Chelsea poured two cups of coffee, deftly popped several decadent treats onto a plate and called out to someone out of sight in the back kitchen, “I’m taking a break upstairs. Keep an eye on the front and call me if you need me.”

“’Kay,” came the reply.

They hiked up the stairs and Karen said, “I wonder if the wedding night will feature trapezes and human pyramids.”

“Your cynicism is showing,” Chelsea said, as though it were a slip hanging below her skirt hem.

Karen sighed. “I know. Easy for you, with a big rock sparkling on your finger and the world’s cutest guy in love with you, but I’m a bitter divorcee. The wedding planner who doesn’t believe in marriage.”

“Sure you do,” Chelsea soothed. “You simply haven’t found the right man.”

“I’m thirty-five years old. And the brides get younger every year.” She gazed longingly at a brownie. “And thinner. I should give up and let myself get fat. It’s not like anyone ever sees me naked. If I’m not getting sex, at least I should take pleasure in food.”

“You are not fat, what you are is voluptuous.” The woman saw where Karen’s eyes were straying and said, “I know you. If you eat that brownie you’ll only torture yourself.” Her brown eyes twinkled. “But that lemon dream bar is low-cal.”

“You’re too good to me,” she sighed, almost snatching the yellow confection off the plate.

“Are you kidding me? I wouldn’t have this great location or half the business I have if it wasn’t for you. I am so happy you took a chance on me.”

It was true, Karen mused as she bit into a lemon-flavored slice of paradise. When they’d first met, Chelsea Hammond had just returned from cooking school in Paris and was trying to launch her own catering business. When Karen had tasted the woman’s food and chatted with her for a few minutes she’d experienced the gut deep excitement of knowing she’d found the missing piece of her wedding planning business. She’d pretty much signed up Chelsea on the spot to be her exclusive caterer. It meant that no other wedding planner could use the services of Hammond & Co., though she was free to cater any other events on her own. In return, Chelsea got all of If You Can Dream It’s catering, and there was a lot of that.

Chelsea opened a computer file on her desktop computer. “When is this wedding circus scheduled?”

“Depends on Cirque du Soleil’s schedule.”

The woman glanced up, her dark brown hair swinging. “Wow.”

“Yeah. Apparently somebody on the groom’s side knows somebody who might be able to get them to perform at the wedding.” She shook her head at the enormity of the task ahead of her. “We will need a huge space, lots of height. The bride thinks she might want an honest-to-God circus tent.”

“I’ll play with some ideas for food.” Chelsea twisted her mouth to one side. “Not that circus exactly screams matching food. I’ll have to work on decoration and presentation.” She typed a few more words. “Laurel’s the one who’ll be thrilled.”

Laurel Matthews was a cake maker and decorator of such extraordinary talent that her cakes were true works of art and architecture and, equally amazing, they tasted delicious. An If You Can Dream It wedding was notable for meticulous planning, delicious food, and a cake that always surprised and delighted. “You’re right. She’ll love the challenge. I can’t even imagine what she’ll dream up,” Karen said.

“Which is what’s so great about her cakes.”

“I’ve got another prospect coming this morning—she’s looking for a May or June wedding next year, is that a problem for you?”

Chelsea glanced up, looking slightly puzzled. “No, why would it be?”

Karen had been trying delicately to find out when this woman who was engaged to the man of her dreams was actually getting married. So far, subtle hadn’t worked. “I’m wondering when you and David are getting married. Won’t you need some time off?”

Chelsea waved a hand, her engagement ring catching the light and sending out a spray of fireworks. “Don’t worry. We’ll get around to it. We’re just both so busy right now.”

“That man needs to stop playing hard to get,” she snapped.

Karen still hadn’t entirely forgiven David Wolfe for making a deal with Chelsea to pose as his fake fiancée in order for him to snag a promotion at work. Of course he’d fallen in love with Chelsea along the way. Who wouldn’t? She was gorgeous, a gourmet cook and one of the sweetest women Karen had ever met. So, had he snapped up this amazing woman when she’d obviously loved him? No, of course not. Being a man, he had no idea when the greatest woman in Philadelphia was right under his nose. Instead, he’d almost lost her.

Karen would never forget the heartbroken woman who had taken refuge in this very space, living in the small suite she now used as her office while she struggled to get her business going and forget David, the man who had broken her heart.

Fortunately, he’d come to his senses just in time and now they were engaged for real, living in his amazing town house in Rittenhouse Square. But Karen would be a lot happier when the engagement ended in marriage.

What was stopping David? Did he really want to lose this woman again?

“He’s fine. Really. We’re both fine.”

She didn’t believe it for a minute, but she also knew that Chelsea wasn’t one to unburden herself easily. She’d talk to Karen when she was ready.

Deciding she had too much on her plate with circus acts and new business coming in every day to worry about why her best friend wasn’t in a hurry to marry the man she was engaged to, she reluctantly drained her coffee cup.

When she returned to her office, Karen felt calmer. The taste of lemon clung to her lips and the idea of a circus for a wedding seemed more ludicrous than annoying.

“The Swensons asked to move their appointment back half an hour,” her assistant said. “And two new messages came in. I put them on your desk with your mail.”

“Great, thanks.”

She stepped into her office. The Hepplewhite desk had nothing on it but her laptop, the big leather-bound day planner she still used in spite of technology, the small stack of mail and the phone messages.

She had ten minutes until her next appointment, a new client, Sophie Vanderhooven, and while she waited she flipped open the newest bridal magazine. It was important to keep up with the latest trends, though after ten years in the business she found trends fairly predictable. Now, for instance, with so much uncertainty in the world, weddings were turning strongly traditional. When the economy boomed and wars were somewhere else, then more couples tended to exchange vows on the beach wearing love beads or shouted their I Do’s from hang gliders.

She was skimming an article about nonallergenic bouquets when her assistant beeped her intercom. “Ms. Vanderhooven and her fiancé are here,” she said.

“Thanks. I’ll be right out.”

A quick peek in the mirror she kept in her top drawer confirmed that her mouth was now free of tell-tale lemon dream bar crumbs, her red hair was confined into a smooth bun, her mascara unsmudged. A quick swipe of lip gloss and she stepped back into the towering heels she wore to raise her closer to her dream height of five foot ten from her God-given, stingy five-two.

Her practiced smile on her face, she stepped out to greet her latest clients. She reached the reception area and stalled, her hand already half extended, her mouth open to speak. But nothing came out.

Normally, she gave her initial attention to the bride since she was almost always the true client, while the groom was only peripherally involved. But the man who rose from the plush waiting room seats was not one she could ignore.

He was still commanding, still gorgeous in that careless way of a man who’s so used to female attention he barely notices it. Keenly intelligent gray eyes held her gaze, a twinkle of amusement lurking in their depths. His hair was still dark, though a few threads of silver glittered at his temples. Neither of them spoke, then a female voice broke into her trance.

Her hand was taken in a cool clasp. “Hello. I’m Sophie Vanderhooven, I’m so pleased to meet you. And this is Dexter Crane.”

Automatically, Karen pumped her hand up and down, forced her mouth back into some semblance of normality. “Nice to meet you.”

She inclined her head at the man still staring at her. “Mr. Crane.” There was a slight pause as the three of them stood there before she pulled herself together. “Um, won’t you come into my office?”

She turned and began walking.

She felt his eyes on her all the way, and bitterly did she regret every calorie she’d so foolishly imbibed in the five years since she’d last laid eyes on Dexter Crane. A woman had her pride. The last thing she wanted was to look fat in front of her soon-to-be-married ex-husband.

Especially from behind.

2

“WHEN ARE YOU AND MR. Crane planning to be married?” she asked in her most professional tone. She’d taken her place behind her desk and motioned for the happy couple to occupy the two pretty chintz chairs opposite.

A well-bred laugh answered her. A finishing school hah-hah, perfectly-modulated and quiet. “I’m not marrying Dexter. He’s the best man, but my fiancé is out of the country and he asked Dex to come along with me so I don’t get carried away.”

Her gaze rose and connected with Dexter’s. Yep, that was definitely a glimmer of amusement. Bastard. He was enjoying this.

“I see.” In a much lower voice she muttered, “Lucky escape for you.”

“Pardon?”

“I said, ‘It’s a lucky thing you’ve come early in the season.’ Things really book up. Well, what do you have in mind, Ms. Vanderhooven?”

The young woman’s ideas were lifted right out of the current issues of bridal magazines. Clearly, she’d been perusing every one.

“And I thought maybe I should have a non-allergenic bouquet, you know, in case anyone’s allergic.” There was a moment’s pause. Karen took refuge in taking notes so she could think of the questions that might help her discover what this bride really might like, ideas that wouldn’t change every month when a new batch of wedding mags hit the newsstands. Then Sophie said, “But I’m very open to suggestions.”

Dexter said, “I’m not the one getting married here, but I’ve always thought something a little less formal would be nice. A garden wedding, let’s say.”

Her pen slipped, drawing a squiggly line right through the word bride. She realized her hands were sweating, that’s why her pen had slipped.

She and Dex had married among a garden of roses and irises, her favorite flower of all, and lilies, so the perfumes intermingled. Even as he spoke the words she was transported back to that magical day, the day she’d thought would begin her own personal happily-ever-after.

Fool.

“I’m sure Ms. Vanderhooven has the best ideas for her own wedding.”

“Not really,” the bride said. “I’m pretty open to ideas. And Andrew always listens to Dexter, so we thought if he came instead it would be almost as good.”

“Dexter, that’s an unusual name.” Karen frowned. “Makes me think of the serial killer on TV.”

Dexter shot her an “oh, come on,” look and explained that Dexter was his mother’s maiden name, as though she didn’t know it perfectly well. Then he rose. “I think better on my feet. You see, Ms. Petersham, mind if I call you Karen? It was Karen, wasn’t it?” He didn’t wait for an answer, naturally, and continued, “You see, Karen, most people want to feel that a marriage is forever, so you want something that’s going to mean something in fifty years. You want a wedding you’ll look back on with fond memories.”

She felt her color heighten as she locked gazes with him. “Do you?”

KAREN HAD A SPLITTING HEADACHE the rest of the day. She knew it wasn’t only the stress of seeing Dex again, but the added insult to her body of skipping lunch. Of course she knew that depriving herself of a few calories wouldn’t suddenly make her magically thin or grow her half a foot so she could look Ms. Sophie Vanderhooven in the eye—and spit in Dexter’s. She’d skipped lunch anyway, which she knew wasn’t good for her, all the diet books said so, but sometimes she refused to believe their logic.

And ended up with a headache as well as a cranky, empty stomach.

With no further appointments, she settled in to work on her monthly accounts, not that there was much point in it since she couldn’t concentrate. All she could do was relive that moment when Dexter had walked back into her life. Worse, it was clear that he, Sophie and the missing groom had all agreed to appoint him stand-in groom and assistant wedding planner, which had her hauling the large bottle of painkillers out of her emergency drawer and swallowing two of them with the zero calorie water on her desk.

Dee popped her head in the door at a few minutes before five and said, “Is it okay if I head out now?” She grinned. “I’ve got to get home and change for my date tonight.”

Sure, Dee was thin, gorgeous, young and had that British accent going for her, but she seemed to get more than her fair share of dates.

“Where do you meet all these men?”

“Online,” the younger woman said, her blue eyes twinkling with excitement. “It’s mad fun, you should try it.”

“Online dating? It seems so desperate.”

“It’s not. I do it all the time.” Dee didn’t bother saying she wasn’t desperate. All you had to do was look at her. “Our trouble is that we work in an industry that caters to women, and the only men who come round here are already spoken for. Honestly, you should at least give it a go.”

“I don’t know.”

“Tell you what, I’ll set you up a profile tomorrow and show you how to get on. It’s really simple and gives you a chance to screen someone first before you waste your time meeting them.”

“I guess I should be open-minded,” Karen said. Normally she’d have scoffed, but seeing Dexter today was making her feel more than usually single. And vaguely desperate.

“You’ll have fun, I promise.”

A slight woman with multicolored hair that looked as though Edward Scissorhands was her hairdresser drifted in behind Dee. She blinked big eyes and glanced around as though wondering where she was and what she was doing here.

“Hi, Laurel,” Dee said.

“Hello.”

“What do you think about Plenty of Phillys?”

“The online dating site?”

“That’s right.”

Laurel pulled her sketchbook out of her peace-sign-emblazoned bag. “I don’t think about it. Why?”

“Honestly, Laurel, how do you manage in the real world? I don’t mean do you contemplate the site the way you’d meditate on world peace or whatever you do when you sit around cross-legged and chant aum, I mean what do you think about Karen doing the online dating thing?”

“Oh.” The cake decorator turned her huge eyes to Karen. “Do you want to meet men on the Internet?”

“Of course she does, she’s desperate,” Dee announced. “And you should try it, too.” She sent them both a megawatt smile. “Right, then, see you tomorrow.”

“Yes. Have fun tonight.”

Once Dee had gone, Karen turned to Laurel. “I’m not definitely going to do it, I’m only thinking about it.”

“I think you should do whatever makes you happy.”

And the amazing thing about Laurel was that when she said wacky things like that, she actually meant them. “I know you do. So, what have you got for me?”

Laurel was in the habit of bringing in her cake designs for Karen to approve. Not that she needed to, everything she baked was incredible, but Karen suspected she liked the reassurance of her approval.

But she really wished the woman didn’t bring sketches of the most delectable treats that looked so good even in the sketchbook that Karen’s mouth started to water. Especially not at the end of the day when her willpower was at its lowest ebb.

Once she’d approved half a dozen designs and they’d gone over timing and delivery of the cakes for this weekend, Laurel drifted out of the office and Karen got back to her accounts.

After giving in to her hunger and nuking a Lean Cuisine meal, she continued wrestling with her books for another couple of hours. When the muted chime that announced an after-hours caller rang, she wasn’t surprised. She supposed on some level she’d expected him.

Ignore the bell or go answer him?

It really wasn’t an option. With a sigh, she rose and stepped back into her heels and took her time going to the front door.

In the dim light he looked almost a stranger to her, so tall and elegant and, she reminded herself sternly, no longer hers.

“You look good, Kiki.”

In spite of herself she smiled. “No one’s called me that in years.”

“Good.”

It was cold outside and she shivered.

“Can I come in?”

Only now did she realize they were both standing at the entrance.

She stepped back to usher him in. “Of course.”

Once more he followed her into her office. He glanced around as though he hadn’t been there earlier that very day. “Place looks good. You’ve done well for yourself.”

Not compared to him. After they’d split, he’d become one of the top architects in New York, the go-to guy for bringing faded grandeur back from near death. He was fanatical about reclaiming and modernizing heritage properties and designing new buildings or additions to fit the old neighborhoods. She felt his approval at the way she’d used the best of the old building she occupied while still managing to bring in ultramodern conveniences.

“Do you own the building?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but yes I do.”

He nodded. “Smart girl.”

“Too smart to be charmed by you.” She sighed. “What do you want, Dex?”

“I don’t know.” He scratched his head and her eyes were drawn to the thick, black hair she remembered so well. “I knew this was your outfit, obviously, but I thought it would be fun to surprise you.”

“You certainly did surprise me.” But if almost giving her a heart attack was supposed to be fun, she thought she’d pass.

His gray all-seeing eyes locked on hers. “You didn’t tell Sophie about our past.”

“Didn’t seem very good for business to bring up my divorce when the woman’s here to plan a wedding.” She shot him a glance. “Did you tell her?”

“No.” He picked up her gold Montblanc pen off the desk, ran his thumbnail over the monogram. “I decided to leave it to you.” He’d given her that pen back in happier times, and now she was annoyed with herself for her sentimentality in using the damn thing every day.

“So, we don’t tell the lucky couple that their wedding planner and his best man used to be married?”

“No, I guess not.”

“And that we hate each other?”

He put down the pen, straightened to his full six feet and looked down at her. “I never hated you. That’s your department.”

A moment passed and she pressed her lips together to keep from crying out that she missed him. Instead she said, “Why are you here, Dex? I mean, in the city. You work in New York now.”

“I do. But I’m quoting on a project here in Philadelphia. A grand old structure that’s been a home, a warehouse and a boardinghouse, to name a few.” Enthusiasm lit up his eyes. “She’s a tired old girl, but with amazing bone structure. The best of the original architectural features are intact and the client wants to work with them, while bringing the building up to date. It’s going to be a boutique hotel and retail combination.”

“Sounds amazing, and right up your alley.”

“It is. I really want this one. And if it works out, you’ll be seeing a lot of me.”

She raised one eyebrow.

“Helping Sophie and Andrew plan their wedding.”

He looked so sincere, so good, so sexy that for a moment she forgot the reason she’d divorced him. The five-foot-ten blonde goddess she’d found half dressed and wrapped around her husband. The saddest aspect of that fiasco was that on some level she’d noted that Dexter and the former model had looked natural together, two tall, glamorous super-people.

“You’re good at planning weddings, not so good at staying faithful once you’re in one.” Her venom seemed to curdle the air.

“Like I said, hate was always your department.”

“Well, I got over it.” With a lot of tearful sessions with her girlfriends and some rather expensive ones with a therapist. “Now I’ve accepted that our marriage was a mistake.”

“You sure didn’t fight for it.”

The old, familiar anger began to surge inside her but she bit her tongue and counted to ten. Then eleven. Finally twelve before she felt calm enough to speak.

“Why would I fight to keep an unfaithful husband?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know why I bother, but I am telling you again that I never had sex with that woman. She was drunk and crazy.”

“Didn’t look like you were trying very hard to peel her off you.”

“Believe me, I was, and I could have used your help that night instead of having you turn tail and abandon me.”

Oh, how she wished she could believe him, could have believed him six years ago when it had happened. But she didn’t believe him, and couldn’t imagine living with a man who thought so little of her that he’d betray her like that.

“I guess maybe we were wrong about each other.”

“I guess so.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, leaned against her desk, looking ridiculously masculine against the feminine lines of the furniture; it appeared as though the wood might snap from the weight of him leaning on it. But like her, the piece was stronger than it looked. “You’re still the sexiest woman I’ve ever known.”

She snorted. “Oh, please.”

“Or maybe it was us together. I miss a lot of things about you, but mostly I miss you in my bed.” He looked at her with such intensity that she felt her blood begin to pound. Of course she remembered. When she wasn’t cursing the man for his faithlessness she spent more time than she should cursing him for giving her the kind of sex that she’d never found before or since. Soul-scorching, sometimes tender, sometimes dirty but always intimate. She was secretly pleased that he hadn’t found that again either. Or so he said. But then maybe that was another line in the player’s handbook. How would she know?

She forced herself to meet his gaze coolly. Took a deep breath and uttered the biggest lie of her life. “I don’t miss you.”

She should have recalled that nothing ignited Dexter’s competitive instincts like a challenge. She saw heat flash in his eyes, anger and lust and a mix of emotions she couldn’t begin to identify.

One second he stood there before her and the next he was pulling her to him, crushing his mouth against hers so fast that she couldn’t have moved away if she’d tried. She uttered a muffled protest, squirmed against him and then as the inevitable tide of heat swamped her, found herself melting into that oh, so familiar embrace.

The initial hardness of his kiss softened and he began to play with her, igniting all her responses until she was crazy with pent-up lust and a need so strong she couldn’t begin to stifle it. She was so weak-kneed she clung to him, responding wildly, mindlessly.

Every part of her ached and burned and throbbed. If he threw her down on the Hepplewhite desk now, or even on the reclaimed hardwood floor, she’d let him take her and both of them knew it.

Then, as suddenly as he’d moved on her, he let go and stepped back. His breathing was faster than normal, his mouth wet from hers. Still, he managed to sound cool when he said, “I don’t think I believe you.”

Then he turned and headed for the door. “Don’t work too late.”

3

“WHAT ABOUT THIS GUY?” Dee asked as they cruised the single man ads on the online dating site that she insisted had the best success with Philly singles. They were in her office and Dee had just finished setting up her account. Even twenty-four hours ago, Karen knew she wouldn’t have put up a profile on something called Plenty of Phillys but since that scorching kiss yesterday, she was determined to get out there and try to find a genuine, decent man who wouldn’t screw around the second her back was turned. Wouldn’t melt her with his kisses when he came back into her life.

But the man whose photo she was looking at on her computer definitely wasn’t that guy.

“I want to correct his spelling,” she said.

Dee sighed and moved to the next one. Mohawk, tattoos and a spiked dog collar. “Ick,” they said in unison.

The third profile featured a perfectly average-looking man with glasses, a full head of hair, and, perhaps more important, a profile written by someone who’d obviously passed high school English. “He’s a CPA, never been married, but looking to find a partner.” Dee glanced up at her. “That’s good, right?”

“Yes.” Karen finished reading his profile. “I like that he mentions taking things slow. I really can’t handle fast right now.”

“Great, let’s send him a wink,” Dee said pushing a couple of buttons before Karen could slap her hand away.

“What have you done?”

Dee laughed, the happy trill of a woman who dates regularly and isn’t scarred by love. Yet. “You have to let them know you’re interested. That’s how it works. You send a wink.”

“I am so not ready for this.”

“You so are.” Her assistant danced out of the office. “Call me if you need me.”

Dee hadn’t made it to the door when a funny noise emanating from her laptop made Karen squeak, “I need you.”

Dee peeked over her shoulder. “Hey, he winked back.”

“Is that good?”

“That’s great. Means he read your profile and he’s interested. He’s online now, so you can chat. Look, he’s sent you a message. Click here.”

Hello, Karen. I see you are a virgin.

“A virgin?” she squealed. “What is he, a pervert?”

“Would you relax?” her twenty-three-year-old mentor insisted. “Read on. He means you’re new to the site.”

“Oh. He says, ‘here’s a bit more about me.’ Um, I think he’s included his resume.”

“Just give the guy a chance. And remember, there are lots of guys out there, so don’t be afraid to keep looking.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

She kept reading. He had sent her a profile, obviously prewritten for such an occasion and if he hadn’t included his resume, there wasn’t much about his schooling and work life she didn’t know when she’d finished. In the back of her mind she was thinking how much her business could benefit from a decent CPA, then she remembered she was supposed to be looking for romance, not accounting services.

His name was Ron and he did sound like a nice guy. Nothing flashy, which was good. She was pretty sure, for instance, that he wouldn’t shove a woman against her own desk and kiss her senseless. Certainly not without first asking permission. Then she was for damn sure that he wouldn’t waltz back out of her office, having made the point that she was still desperately attracted to him, and leave her seething with sexual frustration as well as anger at her own stupidity.

Which made Ron a lot closer to perfect than certain men she could name.

She replied to Ron, telling him a bit about herself.

Then she clicked off and got back to work.

When she checked her e-mail again at the end of the day, she had a few random winks, and Ron had replied. She had to admit it was nice to make “get to know you” conversation with a man, even if it was next door to anonymous.

He ended by inviting her for coffee. I always do coffee as a first date, he explained, obviously catering to her “virgin” status. There’s no pressure. It’s only an hour of our time and if we don’t want to continue that’s fine. And if we do, then we go from there. What do you think?

What did she think?

She had no idea, so she decided to lay the entire situation before Chelsea.

“Online dating?” her friend said when she’d walked over to her place to ask for advice. “Wow. I’ve never tried it, but some of my girlfriends met boyfriends and husbands that way.” She shrugged. “And a few use the site to find booty calls.”

“Booty calls? Seriously?”

“Hey, different strokes.”

Karen bit deeply into a lemon dream bar before saying, “Honestly, I don’t even know what I’m doing. I think I’m scared.”

“Honey, you book acrobats for weddings, you drag grooms to weddings on time, solve blended family conflicts that would baffle the entire Oprah/Dr. Phil team. I once saw you personally climb a tree to fix twinkle lights. While wearing four-inch heels. I think you can handle a cup of coffee with a CPA.”

“I guess you’re right.” She put a hand to her chest where her heart was beating rapidly.

Chelsea looked at her with concern. “You seem way more bent out of shape than seems appropriate for a coffee date. What’s going on?”

“Oh, Chelsea, it’s all such a mess,” she wailed and promptly shoved the last of the lemon dream into her mouth. Once she’d taken what comfort she could from the food, she told her friend everything, from her first meeting Dexter at a party, to their wedding, the marriage, the betrayal, to him coming back into her life. She ended with the kiss.

“Scumbag!” was Chelsea’s succinct response to the story. For which Karen was enormously grateful. “And now he thinks he can waltz into your business and try to get back in your pants? I don’t think so.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Getting out and dating new men is a fantastic idea. Really. Get your mind off your ex.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“I am right. And you know what else you need?”

She thought of some of the other well-meaning advice Dee had dispensed from time to time. “Please don’t say sex toys.”

Chelsea grinned at her. “I am assuming that you have a good selection, as every woman should. But no, I was referring to a girls’ night out.”

“Oh, I would love that.” A night off from worries and stress with some of her female friends would be sooo good.

“Okay.” And as she saw Karen’s mouth open Chelsea stopped her, saying, “And, Ms. Planner Extraordinaire, this is one that I’ll be planning. You come and have a good time. That’s all. Got it?”

Impulsively, she hugged her. “Got it. Thanks.”

“WE’RE SEAHORSES,” the voice on the phone explained.

She really didn’t charge enough for this job. “Seahorses? Maybe you need an aquarium, not a wedding planner,” Karen said as gently as she could.

The young woman’s laugh was sudden and loud in her ear. “No, I mean me and Steve, the guy I’m marrying, we belong to the Seahorses Scuba Diving club.”

“Oh, okay, I get you.”

“You must have thought I was nuts,” the woman said, with another boisterous laugh.

Karen joined in, hahaha, without admitting she’d assumed the woman was certifiable. Or that she wouldn’t be the first crazy person who’d hoped If You Can Dream It was a company designed to make any hallucination come true.

“Before I waste both of our time in a meeting, I want to ask you if you could arrange an undersea wedding.”

“An undersea wedding, like The Little Mermaid?”

“I guess, sort of. See, we dive the wrecks off the Jersey shore and we were thinking it would be so cool to get married underwater.”

“Oh, wouldn’t it.” Karen rubbed her temple. Surely you couldn’t get a headache this fast. “Hard to cut the cake, though.”

More laughter greeted her. “I can see we’re going to get along fine. No, what I’m thinking is if we could rent a glass-bottomed boat for the guests and then me and Steve could get married underneath. We wouldn’t have thought of it, but we met a JP who also dives. He could perform the ceremony from the boat, and we’d be wired for sound. Instead of saying, ‘I do,’ we’d give the thumbs up sign. Isn’t that totally cool?”

“Oh, totally.”

“We want to get married next August. We need some ideas. We really want our wedding to stand out as something different.”

No problem there.

“So, will you do it?”

“Arrange a wedding on a glass-bottomed boat so two scuba divers can give a thumbs-up?” She shook her head. “Sure, why not?”

“Great, when can we come in to see you?”

She made an appointment for the scuba sweethearts, and then almost broke down and wept when her next appointment informed her that she wanted a completely traditional wedding. Church, flowers, white gown, bridesmaids, hotel reception, everything simple and staid and normal. How refreshing.

As she was finishing up the proposal, Sophie Vanderhooven called sounding excited. “I heard Melissa Stanhope got the most divine cake for her wedding this Saturday.”

“Yes, it’s lovely. Laurel, our cake maker has a real gift.”

“But Cinderella’s coach? That is such an amazing idea.” She now recalled that it was the Stanhopes who had recommended her services to the Vanderhoovens.

“Even better, the cake is made with pumpkin.”

“I know! She told me. Can I have something like that for my wedding?”

“Of course you can.” Did this woman not have any original ideas of her own? “Not the same cake, of course, because Laurel creates a unique design for every event, but you can give her guidelines.”

A sigh wafted over the phone. “Mother wants a traditional tiered cake complete with little plastic bride and groom on the top, but I want something more romantic, more me.”

“I’m sure we can find something that will make you and your mother both happy,” she said diplomatically.

“I hope so. Anyhow, I’ll see you Saturday.”

“Saturday?”

“At Melissa’s wedding.”

“Oh, of course. Though I’m not a guest. If I do my job right, you shouldn’t even notice me.”

Sophie laughed in her elegant way. “No one could miss you.”

Before she could ask what that was supposed to mean, in a polite way, the woman was gone.

Puzzled, she got up and walked to the front reception area. “Dee?”

Her assistant glanced up from matching the place cards to the Stanhopes’ master guest list. “Mmm-hmm?”

“Do I stand out in a crowd?”

Dee blinked at her. “You have Amy Adams’s face and hair and Marilyn Monroe’s body, and, I don’t know, a sort of commanding way about you. It’s what makes you a great wedding planner. Everyone scurries when you tell them to. So yes. Of course you’re noticeable.”

“Huh. Thought I was being so discreet.” She wandered back toward her office.

“Hey, speaking of discreet, when are you meeting that CPA?”

“We’re having coffee Sunday afternoon.”

“Brilliant. I can’t wait to hear about it on Monday.”

“What’s the weather forecast for tomorrow?”

Dee didn’t have to look, she’d already checked. “Low fifties, no precipitation expected.”

“Wonderful. A perfect day for a late fall wedding.”

And so it was, she realized when she rose the next morning. The day was dry, the sun was shining and there was no snow on the ground. After showering and doing her hair in a restrained bun, she slipped into a navy pencil skirt and white blouse, then pushed her feet into her high-heeled navy pumps. Discreet and professional, that’s how she thought a wedding planner should look.

Amy Adams indeed. Dee must be angling for a raise.

4

“WE CAN’T FIND the best man,” Mr. Stanhope hissed into Karen’s ear.

So far, everything for the Stanhope wedding had been going smoother than a chocolate milkshake. This was her first lump. “Has he answered his cell phone?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I’ll get right on it. In the meantime, Mr. Stanhope, remember, you hired me to take care of problems. I’ll stall the bridal party.” Her calm manner and soothing smile had their desired effect. The father of the bride’s high color receded and he nodded, standing straighter in his tux.

“Glad to have you onboard.”

“We may need to call in a stand-in, but I promise, you’ll have a best man for your daughter’s wedding.

“Keep an eye on things out front,” she whispered to Dee, then, without any visible haste, she walked from the front of the church and out into the parking lot. Guests were still arriving but the bridal party was scheduled to pull up in fifteen minutes.

She slipped into her car and reached for the Stanhope wedding binder. In it was all the information she could possibly need, including home and cell numbers for the missing man.

She called both and was invited twice to leave a message. Which she did. Not good.

She then called the driver of the limousine bringing the bridal party to the church and asked him to take a detour. “I need five extra minutes.”

“No problem.”

Having stalled the bride, she left her car and slipped into the church through a side entrance. She knew her way around most of the churches and synagogues of the city. She made her way to the anteroom where the groom and his party would be waiting.

The groom looked a little pale, but steady. He glanced up when she entered. “I’m going to kill Brian. He promised he’d be here.”

“Does he have issues with punctuality?”

“Not usually.”

Her cell phone rang. “Ah.” Sure enough, it was the best man. “Flat tire,” he panted. “I went to change it, but that is my spare.”

“Where are you?”

He named a location that was a good five minutes away. “Are you dressed to go?”

“Yep.”

“All right. I’ll come and get you.”

She turned to the groom. “Appoint a stand-in just in case.”

“But the ring?”

She slipped a plain gold band from her right hand. “I always carry a spare.” Then she smiled at him. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

She sprinted to her car and made her way out of the parking lot, now quieting as most of the guests had arrived. She was in time to see Sophie Vanderhooven step out of a Lincoln, Dexter behind her. She supposed she should have known Sophie would bring a stand-in for her fiancé who was still working in Italy.

Since she felt it would be rude to drive by a paying client, she drew to a stop and rolled down her window. The autumn day was crisp and cold and tonight the temperature was forecast to dip.

“You look lovely, Sophie,” she said. The blue woolen suit was both stylish and classic, rather like Sophie herself.

“Thanks. I can’t wait to see Melissa get married.”

“Do you drive away before all the ceremonies?” Dex asked her.

Now that he’d addressed her directly, she had to look at him and nothing in the world could stop the warm blush that heated her cheeks as their little tussle in her office roared back to her.

She forced a smile, though no one could have called it cool. “Of course not. Just a little wedding business to take care of. I’ll see you later.” And with a wave of her hand she drove past.

DEX SQUINTED as he turned to watch Karen drive away. He’d made her blush. Good. It was a start.

“What’s going on, Dex?”

He turned back to his date. “What do you mean?”

Sophie scanned his face. “I’m not sure, but you were looking at Karen the way—well, the way Andrew looks at me. I guess that’s why I recognized the expression.”

“She’s a very attractive woman.”

“And she was blushing.” She grabbed his hand and began walking toward the church. “And there’s this sort of energy field when you two are together. I noticed it when we first met her. I wasn’t born yesterday, Dex. Something’s up with you two. What is it?”

The slim hand in his was friendly, but firm. He suspected he wouldn’t get away with anything but the truth. “You’re pretty smart for a socialite.”

“I know. And I smell a delicious secret. Come on, spill. I won’t tell anyone.”

“I’ve never yet met a woman who didn’t break that promise.”

The patrician nose wrinkled. “Can I tell Andrew if it’s good?”

Andrew was the son of a famous wine-making family in Italy. He’d hired Dexter’s firm to renovate the family’s Park Avenue town house and during the project, the two had become friends. They played squash, moved in similar social circles and, instead of dropping him when Andrew and Sophie got engaged, the couple had tried setting him up with a series of single women.

They knew he’d been married before, but he’d never offered them much in the way of details. Hadn’t thought it would matter. Now, he knew that his past did matter.

The past had just caught up with him.

“The truth is that Karen and I used to be married.”

If he was into shocking people he’d have been gratified by the way Sophie’s mouth fell open so far he could see all her expensive dental work. He’d never seen a mouth with such perfectly straight molars.

When she’d recovered enough to close her mouth, she said, “But I don’t get it. Why? What?” She heaved a sigh. “What’s your plan?”

The pavement seemed to tick under Sophie’s heels, sounding like a clock counting seconds. “I don’t know. Honestly, I didn’t have a plan. Don’t have one. I thought it would be cool to surprise Karen, but—”

“The force field got to you.” She shook her head. “That is some powerful chemistry between you two.”

She was right. The moment Karen had stepped out of her office and he’d seen her again, he’d known that what they’d had wasn’t over. Not for him. “Yeah.”

“So, what happened between you two?”

“We should go in.”

“That’s Melissa’s dad over there looking all stressed. Means the bridal party isn’t here yet. We’ve got some time.” She hauled him around the side of the church. “Spill.”

The story was so stupid he felt foolish even repeating it. “This drunk woman came onto me at a party and Karen flipped out. She got it in her head that I was cheating on her.”

Cool blue eyes stared into his. “Were you?”

“No. I never would have done anything like that to Karen. I loved my wife.”

“Then why would she think it?”

He leaned his back against the brick wall. It seemed sturdy, solid, the way a good marriage should be. “I’ve spent a lot of time asking myself the same question.”

“How badly was the drunk woman coming onto you?”

“Oh, it was bad. She was undressing herself, trying to undress me. When Karen walked in on us she was plastered to me, and I was trying to stop her unzipping me. Must have looked to Karen like we were in a big hurry, both trying to get me unzipped.” He’d never really looked at it from her point of view before. He’d been too busy being pissed that she didn’t believe him.

“Wow. That sucks.”

“I know.”

“Did you go for counseling?”

“The only counselor she wanted was the kind in a lawyer’s office. She started divorce proceedings right after she threw me out of the house.”

“Why would she end a marriage without even fighting for it?”

Leaning against the brick of that old church he felt like a little of the wisdom of the aged building was seeping into him. “Her dad really ran around on her mom. For years, with a lot of different women, until her mom finally divorced the jerk. Maybe, on some level, Karen expects a husband to be unfaithful.”

“Then you’re going to have to figure out how to convince her that some husbands can love a woman faithfully. And that you are one of them.”

“We’re already divorced. Why would I do that?”

When she shook her head at him, the sun struck her pale blond hair, giving him the impression of a halo. “No wonder you never looked twice at any of those women I introduced you to.” She patted his shoulder. “You, my friend, are still in love with your wife.”

KAREN FOUND the best man without trouble. He was the only guy in a tux standing on the freeway looking miserable.

She pulled over. “Hop in,” she said. Then, before pulling back into traffic, she made contact with her limo driver. “Where are you?”

“Five minutes away.”

“Make it ten.”

“You got it.”

She delivered a very grateful best man to an equally grateful groom and breathed a sigh of relief. Then she dashed to the front of the church to welcome the bridal party. As she’d suspected, they had no idea they’d been stalled.

The bride was as radiant as could be hoped, and after escorting her and the bridesmaids to where her father waited, adjusting her veil and reminding everyone to take a deep breath and smile, to remember to savor the walk down the aisle, she slipped inside to give the organist the heads up.

As the strains of “Here Comes the Bride” boomed through the church, everyone rose. In her head she heard her own personal musical mash-up, the wedding march overlaid with her own version of “Another One Bites the Dust.”

Once the wedding was underway, she eased back out of the church and called Chelsea who was already preparing food for the reception. “Heads up. We’re running behind about fifteen minutes.”

“’Kay, thanks.” And the woman was gone.

She then drove to the mansion where the reception was being held. The kitchen was a hive of organized chaos. Chelsea overseeing the sit-down dinner for one hundred and fifty that would take place as soon as the guests arrived.

She walked into the huge ballroom-turned-dining room and was filled with pleasure. It looked beautiful. They’d gone with autumnal colors and the burgundies and golds and greens looked lovely against the rich mahogany wainscoting in the room. Real fires already burned in the two fireplaces and bouquets of autumn leaves, artfully arranged to look casual and natural adorned the space. Fat candles waited to be lit, the crystal shone, the cutlery glittered, and Cinderella’s confectionary coach lent a whimsical touch.

Dee called her when the bride and groom were on their way, so she was at the front door to greet them.

“We did it,” Melissa cried, holding up her left hand where a brand-new band glittered.

“Congratulations,” she said, hugging the happy young woman. “I’ve got rooms upstairs for both of you so you can freshen up. Once all the guests have arrived, we’ll announce you and the reception can begin.”

She took the extra ring that the groom pressed secretively into her palm, slipping it onto her right hand once more for safekeeping.

As with most weddings, the guests enjoying the perfect event could have no idea of the infinite number of details handled and the disasters averted that went on behind the scenes. And that was exactly how Karen liked it.

So she was less than pleased when Dexter surprised her at the end of the evening when most of the guests had departed.

“You do good work,” he said. “I’m truly impressed.”

“I thought you’d gone,” she snapped, then could have cursed her tongue for betraying that she’d noticed when Sophie left and assumed Dex was with her.

“I told Sophie I had a ride.” He shrugged, looking impossibly gorgeous in a well-cut suit in shale gray. “Do you?”

“I do if you give me a lift, otherwise I guess I’ll call a cab.”

“Why didn’t you go home with your date?”

“Because she’s not a date. She’s the fiancée of a good friend. I didn’t want anybody thinking there was something going on between me and Sophie when there isn’t.” He held her gaze. “You know how suspicious people can be.”

Refusing to rise to such obvious bait she said, “Well, I guess I can give you a lift but you’ll have to wait until I’m finished here.”

“No problem. Can I make myself useful?”

“You can help load the supplies into the van.” In fact, she hired a company to take care of the cleanup, but she was annoyed with Dexter and half hoped he got something nasty on his pretty suit.

As though he’d read her mind, he slipped off his jacket, and, to her surprise, slipped it over her shoulders. “Take care of that for me.” Then he rolled up his sleeves and headed toward the cleanup crew, turning quickly from wedding guest to menial laborer.

The jacket was warm from his body and, weak woman that she was, she slipped her arms into the sleeves and enjoyed the sensation of wearing something of his. She caught an elusive scent of him, something hot and spicy and forbidden.

Then she went into the kitchen to check in with Chelsea. Her caterer was pretty much ready to go, the kitchen cleaner than when she’d arrived and all her food and supplies loaded into her van.

“How you doing?”

“My feet hurt.” She grinned. “But we pulled off another miracle.”

“I thought the Cinderella coach cake was a bit much, but everyone seemed to like it.”

“Seems we’re never too old for fairy tales.”

“Speaking of fairy tales, who’s the Prince Charming out there hauling tables and why are you wearing his jacket?”

“That’s no prince, that’s my ex-husband.” She didn’t bother to explain the other part.

“Wow.” Chelsea did a double take, and she followed her friend’s gaze to the sight of her ex’s delectable backside as he bent over, helping lift a heavy table. “That’s the scumbag? Too bad he’s a wretched human being. He sure looks good.”

“Yeah.”

They both watched out the window for a few more moments. “He doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty, I’ll give him that.”

“No.” She’d always loved that about him, the architect who was only too happy to get down and dirty with the construction aspects of his projects. She was never sure whether he appealed to her more when he was designing and envisioning a finished project, or when he was covered in sweat and sawdust, muscles bulging.

Chelsea pulled herself away from the window first. “Okay, I’ve got my own eye candy at home. I’d better get back, David’s waiting for me.”

“Sure. Have a great Sunday.” They hugged quickly.

She was, as usual, the last one to leave. Only this time, she wasn’t alone. Dexter followed her to her car. The temperature had dropped suddenly and there was a sharp chill in the air.

Once they were settled into her car, the heater humming, she turned to him and said, “So, where can I drop you?”

He gazed at her mouth. “I was hoping we could pick up where we left off the other night.”

5

“WHAT?” The word bounced around the inside of her car, even though her shock was only pretense. She’d known the moment Dexter asked her for a ride home that he had more than transportation in mind. You didn’t love a man for six years, live with him for five, without knowing a thing or two about how his mind worked.

Or have him know about how yours worked, she realized, as he gazed at her separated by nothing but a couple of feet of cold air, with an expression that suggested he knew she was as aware of him as he was of her. “Come on,” he said. “You’ve been thinking about having sex with me, too. I know you’re too honest to pretend you haven’t.”

Which was exactly what she’d planned to do. Deny, deny, deny. She sighed out a breath of mingled frustration and—no, it was all frustration, both the irritation of a woman dealing with a man she thought was out of her life, and the huge dollop of sexual frustration that being around Dex again was causing. Because she couldn’t be near him and not remember how they’d burned up the sheets together. No matter their problems, their sex life had always been superb.

“I can’t—”

“Whatever else was wrong between us, you can’t deny that when we got naked, everything worked,” he said, oddly echoing her own thoughts on the matter. Then he reached over, and ran a fingertip under the hem of her skirt. “Or not even naked,” he mused, his eyes crinkling as memories rose around them. “Remember that time when we took my first brand-new car out for a spin?”

“No,” she lied.

Which was a huge mistake because then, of course, he had to remind her of an incident they both knew she remembered perfectly well.

“I’d only ever driven used beaters, and now suddenly I had a company car, and it was brand-new. We went to the dealership to pick it up. A silver GM sedan.” It had been a green Ford, but she refused to rise to the bait no matter how provocatively he behaved. She shifted an inch closer to her door, but he shifted, too, so his finger continued to trace the hem of her skirt which had, naturally, ridden up when she sat down. She could smack him away, but that would make an issue of something she preferred to ignore. Besides, what he was doing felt so good, and it had been so long.

“It was summer and you wore a red sundress.” He was right about the season, but she’d worn a blue cotton dress. She never wore red with her hair color. His wandering finger had reached the crease of her closed legs and he paused for a second. “Is any of this familiar?”

“Not ringing any bells yet.” Ha.

His voice grew husky. “We took a drive, didn’t know where we were going, didn’t care. We found ourselves down by the river. It was quiet, nobody around.”

Because he’d obviously carefully done a reconnaissance mission beforehand. When he’d pulled out a bottle of wine from his briefcase along with two glasses, she’d known it.

“Do you remember what happened then?” he asked, his voice so close, so deep and low, that she knew he’d moved closer.

“No,” she lied.

“That’s too bad. I’ll never forget that night as long as I live.”

The touch of his finger doing no more than trace her hem, running along her upper thigh, was so erotic it was an act of will not to squirm, not to push his hand higher, where she needed release so desperately, or at least depress the handy button that would recline their seats. Or even better, act as they had that night he was describing, and simply crawl into the backseat where there was more room.

“I’m sure you’ve made lots of new memories since then,” she snapped.

“Don’t you want to know what happened?” he asked her, as though she’d never spoken.

“It was a long time ago.”

“Not that long.”

Maybe she could force her body to remain still while that one finger played at her hem, never going higher or doing anything that would make it necessary for her to slap him down, but she couldn’t seem to control her breathing. Even as she tried to pretend she felt nothing, remembered nothing, a combination of his finger stroking her skin, his nearness, and the sweet, painful pull of memory was causing her breathing to speed up along with her pulse.

“We talked about my new job, and a new event you were organizing, and it seemed like we could do anything. We were young, smart, ambitious and we had each other. What an unbeatable team.” The finger stalled for a moment and she felt the tension in his hand as though a spasm of emotion had hit him. It felt like anger, but she had to assume it was guilt for throwing everything they’d had away.

Then the moment passed and the back-and-forth exploration of her thigh continued. He tugged her skirt up a full half inch, torturing her again with a slow track back, his finger pad tracing a line of heat across her skin.

“All the while we talked, I did this. Played at your hem, and you pretended you didn’t notice, like now.”

“I think your memory’s playing tricks.”

“And then, suddenly, you parted your legs and turned toward me.” He swallowed. So did she. Heat flooded her body as she remembered what came next.

“I thought I was so in control, touching you, turning us both on, but you were the one in control, weren’t you? You were the one with the secret.”

“No,” she whispered, but she wasn’t telling him she hadn’t had a secret, she was trying to stop the flood of memory that was as warm and thick as desire.

“When I got up to touch your panties, you weren’t wearing any.”

Oh, how she remembered. The feel of the air wafting up her skirt, the wanton knowledge that she’d stood by while he’d finalized paperwork at a car dealership, while they’d driven public highways, and all the time, underneath her cotton sundress, she’d been bare-assed.

“We were in the backseat so fast I ended up with bruised elbows and knees. We never did take off our clothes, did we? I ended up flipping that skirt up, pulling down the top of your dress to reach your breasts. You were always so sensitive there.” He laughed softly. “We were like a pair of kids going at it.” He sighed, obviously realizing that this little trip down memory lane wasn’t working. Her thighs didn’t ease open, though he couldn’t possibly know what torture it was to hold them closed against him. “God, I loved you.”

“But not enough,” she said, her voice so soft she wasn’t sure if he’d heard her.

“Do you think we rushed into marriage too fast?”

She turned her head, wondering where he was going with this train of thought. “We knew each other a year. I guess I wish we’d waited. Long enough for me to realize you weren’t the kind of guy to stick with one woman.”

He pulled his hand back into his own lap and she fought the urge to grab it and put it where she needed, so urgently, to be touched.

“I wish I’d waited long enough to get a handle on those demons you carry around with you.”

“What demons?” she snapped. How like a man to cheat on her and then try and pretend she was the one with the problem.

“The demons that stopped you being able to trust.”

She was not going to have this conversation again. She’d moved on. “If I’m so full of demons, what are you doing still trying to get into my pants?”

A sigh of pure frustration rolled through him. “Hell if I know.”

6

THE READING TERMINAL MARKET was crazy. Naturally. It was a Sunday afternoon and every yuppie with a craving for organic arugula or some fresh monkfish had made tracks down here. Karen had a love/hate relationship with the market. While she loved this place simply for the fun of people-watching, she also suffered as only a woman who loves food and tries to live on fifteen hundred calories a day can suffer.

Since she’d barely slept thanks to Dex and his antics in her car last night, she felt weaker than usual. The worst part had been driving him to his hotel, with all the steamy atmosphere between them churning around with a lot of emotions. Anger, frustration, and a bitter kind of longing that hurt more than all the other feelings put together. How could she still want the man so much?

Dex was her ex. He had to remain that way if she had any chance of hanging on to her hard-won self-esteem.

She’d half thought he’d invite her up to his room and was ready to let him have it when he did. Somehow, the fact that he didn’t say any more than, “Thanks for the ride. Night,” was an added insult. He didn’t even ask her up to his room so she could annihilate the guy with a few well-chosen words that she’d been practicing for blocks.

How unfair was that?

The bakery smells were so good. There were blocks of cheese bigger than house steps and she wanted to buy one and gobble every succulent morsel. She loved cheese, every fat-saturated ounce. Hard cheese, soft cheese, runny cheese, blue cheese. Oh, stop it. She averted her eyes. She really shouldn’t be here.

But Ron had suggested the locale for their first coffee date and, under instruction from Dee, she’d agreed without quibbling. Now she was here she wished she’d quibbled big-time. She wanted to turn tail and head home. Apart from being exhausted, cranky and cheese-obsessed, she’d probably dressed all wrong for a first date with a stranger. Her jeans were casual, but she’d pushed her feet into high heels instead of giving them a well-deserved Sunday rest, and she was worried that the green sweater was too low-necked. The last thing she wanted to do was stick her boobs in some poor man’s face, so she’d added a scarf at the last moment, and now wished she could go home and start over.

Dee had made her promise to let her hair down, which she’d first assumed was some kind of veiled allusion to being open for sex with a stranger until Dee had clarified that she actually meant she should leave her hair unpinned and unconfined. “You have such great hair, that gorgeous red color and the natural curls.” And since Dee seemed to know what she was doing in the online dating world, Karen had been persuaded.

Now she suddenly felt like a country-and-western singer with too much of everything. Big hair, big heels, big breasts, big butt.

She was a few minutes early, because it was her way, and stopped to stare unseeing at a booth selling nothing but spices. She never should have agreed to this date with Ron the CPA.

Somehow, this was all Dexter’s fault. If he hadn’t got her so riled up she never would have agreed to a date with some guy she met over the Internet.

However, she realized that whatever her reasons for being here, she wasn’t about to stand this man up. It wasn’t his fault she was an idiot. So, they’d have coffee. An hour of her life would be wasted, and then she could get back to attempting to make something of the years left to her.

On that optimistic thought, she made her way to the busy coffee shop and immediately spotted Ron, who was standing near the entrance, obviously as punctual as she was.

He looked exactly like his photo. Exactly like a CPA. And suddenly she relaxed. He was reassuringly unassuming, no other women were covertly studying him or overtly drooling. He was the kind of man who wouldn’t forever be tempted to stray, which had to be a good thing.

She forced a smile to her face and walked up to him. “Hello, you must be Ron. I’m Karen.”

They shook hands. He seemed pleased by her punctuality, insisted on buying her a coffee and they settled at a table.

For a moment, neither spoke. Finally he said, “You’re very punctual. It’s a quality I admire.”

Oh, how old-fashioned he sounded. What was she even doing here? Her mind flashed back to the night before, when she’d been humiliatingly close to parting her thighs and doing her ex-husband in the parking lot. Something had to change, and fast. She smiled at him. “I feel the same way.”

Now that she looked at him, she saw that behind his glasses he had warm gray eyes. He was fairly forgettable until you took note of those eyes. He was dressed neatly, in jeans that bore such sharp creases she suspected he ironed them, a polo shirt he’d probably bought at Costco or Sam’s Club and a well-worn leather jacket.

Another pause ensued, while they both took refuge in sipping coffee, and finally she blurted, “I have no idea how to do this. I’m so sorry, it’s my first time.” She sighed, sensing the genuine niceness of this man, and opened up even more. “In fact, it’s been a long time since I had any kind of a date. I’m so out of practice I have no idea where to begin.”

It was as though her confession took all the awkwardness out of their date. Ron nodded with sweet understanding. “It sucks. Really.”

She was surprised into a spurt of laughter by his sad admission.

Then realizing how that must sound, he added, “I don’t mean meeting you, but online dating is a new skill you have to learn.” He shrugged. “I’ve been doing this for a few months now and I find the hardest part is that people often, when they write their profiles, put a description of what they wish they were like rather than something that’s actually true.”

She thought of the way she’d fudged her height, claiming to be five-four, and tried very hard not to blush.

“The worst thing for me was the bad spelling and grammar. I don’t think I’m too fussy, but if a man can’t spell relationship, I really don’t think I want to have one with him.”

“True. For me the biggest turnoff is women who are so obviously looking for the father of their future children that they all but ask you for a sperm count.”

Once again she laughed, sensing that maybe he wasn’t quite as dull as he appeared. “I’ve tried very hard to be honest,” he said.

“You told me all about your work,” she reminded him, “but very little about yourself.”

“There’s not much to tell. I’m thirty-seven. Single, I’m a CPA.”

“Whoa,” she said. “We’re getting back to your résumé again.”

“Sorry. I’m not one to wear my heart on my sleeve.”

“Whereabouts do you live?” she asked, seeking for some topic that they could talk about.

“I’m within walking distance of Independence Hall,” he said and she wondered if he was being deliberately vague in case she turned out to be a stalker or crazy person.

“Wow. In Society Hill? That’s a nice area.”

He paused for a second, then said, “I inherited the house from my mother. It’s a Federal-style town house. She recently passed.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said with ready sympathy. She couldn’t imagine life without her mother, who was both nosy and annoying and the person who loved Karen most in all the world.

“Cancer,” he said. “It was very hard.”

She heard the almost hidden quiver in his voice and impulsively reached over to lay a hand on his. Because she didn’t know what to say, she said nothing, merely offered her silent support.

After a second, he said, “My only regret is that she didn’t get to see me settled, with grandchildren. It was her dearest wish.”

“I’m sure she was very proud of you.” She searched for something else to say. “Do you have brothers and sisters?”

“No, I’m an only child.” And she received the impression that he’d been his mother’s pride and joy. She didn’t ask, but she suspected he’d never left home, had nursed his mother through her final illness and now, lost and alone, was trying to find a substitute.

“How about you?” he asked, obviously determined to steer clear of painful subjects.

“I’m divorced.” She didn’t think he wanted to hear the ugly details. Well, who would? So she merely said, “I’ve been single for almost five years now. I run my own wedding planning business.”

He began asking her precise and intelligent questions about her business and she felt that it was a relief to both of them to discuss something as impersonal as business.

At the end of an hour, she knew two things. One, Ron was a genuinely nice man, she suspected he was an excellent accountant, and two, she felt not the tiniest spark of attraction.

They exchanged business cards and agreed to meet for lunch one day soon. She had no idea whether either of them would follow up, but she was toying with the idea of hiring him for her business.

They shook hands at the end of their coffee date and he headed one way while she turned in the opposite direction.

She was trying to decide whether the coffee date had been a success or a disaster, when a voice hailed her, “Karen.”

She glanced up to see Chelsea standing in front of her, a canvas bag of fresh food in her arms. Beside her was her fiancé, David, loaded down with two more bags. She was struck with how good those two looked together, two tall, gorgeous people who were so clearly meant for each other you could feel their bond.

After the greetings were over, Chelsea turned to her lover and said, “David, do you see that fish market way over there?”

He glanced at his woman with slightly raised brows. “You mean the one with the long lineup?”

“That’s the one. Can you go buy six spot prawns and a pound of fresh crabmeat?”

He glanced from one woman to the other. “You wouldn’t be trying to get rid of me, so you can do the girlfriend gossip thing, would you?”

Chelsea grinned at him. “Do you want what I can whip up with six spot prawns and a pound of crabmeat or don’t you?”

With a good-natured shrug, he said, “Goodbye, Karen.” And wandered off.

“That was rude. We’ll see each other at work tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait until tomorrow. Believe me, he’ll end up happy when his dinner is served. And I have to hear about your date.”

She made a wry face. “He was really nice. A truly nice man.”

“That sounds very unpromising.”

“It’s not his fault. I wouldn’t even be doing this if it wasn’t for Dee, my darling assistant who seems to think I’m in desperate need of a man.”

“She’s young, what does she know?”

Karen snorted. “She thinks she knows more than I do. Know what I found on my desk Friday morning?”

“What?”

“A box of condoms and a note from Dee reminding me to always play it safe.”

Chelsea had the kind of full-bodied laugh that made strangers stop and grin as though just being around her made them part of the fun. “What did you do with them?”

“I put them in my desk drawer. I have everything in there from hemorrhoid cream, which is good for minimizing puffy eyes on brides and their mothers before a photo shoot, to extra nylons, shoelaces, pins, tape, flower wire, film, batteries, hair spray, you name it.”

“And now you’ve got condoms.” She leaned closer so none of the fresh fruit and veggie shoppers would overhear her. “Maybe the CPA will get to sharpen his pencil after all.”

She snorted with her own, hardly dainty laughter. “Stop it. I’m thinking of hiring him to do my books. We talked a lot about my business, it was an easy subject for both of us and he asked intelligent questions.”

“Oh, poor guy. So the date was a disaster.”

She wondered what Chelsea was planning to do with that dark green spiky stuff sticking out of her bag and decided she didn’t want to know. “No, I wouldn’t say he was a disaster, just there was no big spark, you know?”

“Oh, yeah. I know. But maybe he’s worth giving another chance, seeing as sometimes people we spark off aren’t always good for us.”

“I so agree.”

Her friend drilled her with her gaze. “Speaking of bad news and sparks, how’s Dex the Ex?”

7

DEXTER WAS A SUCKER for punishment. He knew it, could curse himself as much as he liked, but all the cursing didn’t stop him from pulling up in front of Karen’s office for the latest wedding planning meeting. He’d had to cut short an earlier meeting with the developers of the mixed use complex he was designing in order to be here. He’d been far more delighted to bag this project than he should have been and he suspected his level of satisfaction was related to the fact that he’d be spending a lot of time in Philadelphia for the next few months.

In missile range of the redheaded termagant he’d so foolishly married.

It wasn’t like his buddy Andrew and Sophie couldn’t have a perfectly good wedding without him playing assistant wedding planner.

And yet, here he was.

He pulled in to park in the office lot and there was Karen’s car. A surprising shot of lust pummeled him as he recalled their all-too-short time together Saturday night when her mouth had told him no even as her body shouted yes.

What was he going to do about this very inconvenient thing he still had for his ex-wife?

Until he figured that out, he supposed he was going to play assistant wedding planner.

He was a few minutes early and it didn’t look as if Sophie was here yet, but they’d booked the last possible appointment so they could both get in a day’s work. Probably she’d be here any minute.

Loosening his tie, he went into the office anyway. He glanced around but the cute British girl wasn’t at her station or anywhere in the front area of If You Can Dream It. He walked toward Karen’s office and heard her voice. He was conscious of the familiarity of that voice, the slight breathlessness that he doubted she was even aware of. His day had been successful, the client had approved the more expensive option, the one Dexter had hoped they’d go with since it was both greener and preserved the architectural integrity of the building.

There was a time he’d have rushed to tell her the good news and they’d have celebrated. Now they were all but strangers to each other. And yet he knew every timbre of her voice as well as he knew every inch of her body. It was crazy.

When he got to her doorway he paused there, enjoying the view. She was talking on the phone, her bare feet up on the desktop, a sight he suspected not very many clients were privileged to see. Her feet were small, dainty, the toes painted bright pink. Her floral skirt had ridden up revealing a shapely thigh.

He rapped on the door frame and she turned, startled. When she saw him, she yanked her feet off the desktop and he watched, enjoying the sight, as her toes did a version of Riverdance under the desk until she located two high-heeled shoes and attempted to jam her feet into them while simultaneously dragging her skirt back into place.

She continued her conversation, to a florist he presumed, since the words rose and baby’s breath occurred so often.

Once she’d successfully navigated her feet into her shoes, she turned her chair, and thus her back, to him and continued her conversation. “What about the ribbon? Were you able to match the color of the bridesmaids’ dresses?” He watched her pick up the pen he’d given her and begin to doodle. “Mmm-hmm. Okay. I know it’s a difficult color to match, but the bride is very particular about tone.” She made a quick note. “Well, I think you should send over a sample of the ribbon and we can let the bride decide. Yes, I know. Right. See you.” And she hung up.

She let him stand there another moment while she made notes. Then she turned her chair so she was facing him.

“Hi,” he said.

“Didn’t Sophie get hold of you?” his ex-wife asked, rising and coming to stand in front of her desk.

He’d had his cell phone turned off while he was on-site with the client. Had he remembered to turn it back on? He didn’t think so. “Why?”

“She got held up at work. She rescheduled our meeting.”

“Oh.” He pulled out his cell phone and when he turned it on, there was the little voice mail icon. “Guess I forgot to check my messages.”

“Guess so.”

She didn’t move. If there was a posture for “there’s the door, don’t let it hit you on your way out,” she was demonstrating it. But he’d known this woman for a long time, and during the best of that time, intimately, and he knew she was skittish because she didn’t want to be alone with him. Not when they both knew that the fire that had always burned between them hadn’t grown fainter from time apart. If anything, it burned fiercer than ever.

Ever since that kiss the other night he’d been thinking that it was inevitable they’d end up back in bed.

He glanced at that sturdy-looking desk. Or not in bed.

“Has your assistant left for the day?”

“Yep, and I’m finished for the day, too, so I’ll let you know when the meeting’s rescheduled.” She stuck out her hand for him to shake.

Maybe if she hadn’t done that he would have walked away as she was pretending she wanted him to. But offering her hand like he was a casual business acquaintance?

She might as well have flipped him the bird.

He took her hand. Held it in his for a moment too long, felt the quiver running along her skin, the soft warmth of their palm-to-palm contact. Not letting go of her hand he took a step toward her.

She stepped back.

He took another step toward her.

“Dex, what are you…” Her hips bumped the desk and their gazes locked.

He watched the quick intake of breath, the way it raised her glorious, extravagant breasts against the silk of her blouse. Her mouth opened slightly and he moved in, taking her mouth as though he owned it because on some primitive level he did. Always had. Always would.

The sweet taste of her exploded on his lips and tongue and then he pulled her in all the way, tight against him so her breasts were pressing against his chest, her hips jammed against him, her butt pressed against the edge of her feminine desk.

For a second he felt her go rigid, thought she might push him away, but as quickly as her resistance rose, it receded and with a low moan in the back of her throat, she pushed her hands into his hair, pulled him into her.

He’d always loved her honest passion, the way she let him know what she was feeling and what she wanted. Mindless, they pulled at each other, the years of separation, the anger, the frustration falling away as they clawed at each other.

He had his hands shoved down her top, grabbing at her breasts, pulling them out of her bra so he could see them, feel them, taste them. She’d always been slightly embarrassed about the size of her breasts but he loved them. When he put his tongue to her nipple the flavor took him back to the first time they’d ever been together, when he’d discovered this woman was made for sex. Or, as he secretly liked to think, she was made for sex with him.

Her head dropped back as he curled his tongue around the sensitive point, pushed his knee between her legs until she parted for him. Without taking his mouth from her breast he reached under her hips and hoisted her up until she sat on the desk, her pretty floral skirt sliding up as he pushed it up, up, over her hips. She spread herself wide for him, her arms twined around his neck, her head thrown back as he pleasured her.

The joy of this woman was how well he knew her body, how intimately he could gauge her responses. Beneath his tongue her skin was heating and he could feel her pulse hammering. When he trailed a hand down between her thighs he found her as wet and hot as he’d suspected he would. He cupped her, making her moan and squirm against his fingers.

“It’s been so long,” he murmured against her plump flesh.

“Too long,” she moaned.

Slipping his hands beneath her hips, he peeled the tiny scrap of pale blue silk and lace that passed for underwear off her, bending as he slid the foolish thing down her legs and over the ridiculous heels. He was throbbing with need, so aroused he was in danger of embarrassing himself as he rose and slid open his zipper.

She reached between them, unbuttoning him and sliding her small, capable hands around him which didn’t help his self-control.

While she caressed him he returned the favor, cupping her heat, slipping one finger into that glorious wet until she squirmed against him. He knew her so well, he knew that she was as close to exploding as he was.

He looked down into her face, her eyes that clear blue-green, her cheeks flushed with passion, a sprinkle of freckles across her nose and cheeks, her lips parted and eager. He closed the distance between them, kissing her hungrily.

Had he ever wanted her this much? Had he ever wanted anyone or anything this badly? If so, he couldn’t remember.

She pulled him closer and as he touched the wet heat he suddenly checked himself as reality intruded. They weren’t married anymore. He had no idea if she was on birth control or what she’d been doing since they were last together. With a groan of gut-deep frustration he cursed himself for no longer carrying a condom in his wallet. But he wasn’t a kid anymore. The only prophylactics he owned were safely in his bedside drawer at home.

Pulling away slightly, then resting his forehead against hers, he admitted the awful truth. “I don’t have protection,” he gasped.

“Oh, no…wait, I’ve got some condoms in my desk drawer.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. On top of the hair spray, I think.”

He bounded around the desk and flung open the drawer. The oddest assortment of products greeted him. He dug around and found the unopened box wedged between a can of breath spray and a tube of Preparation H.

Whatever.

He didn’t let himself think about why his ex-wife kept a box of condoms in her desk drawer, simply decided to be grateful.

He tore into the box and swiftly sheathed himself, then holding his pants up with one hand, made his way back around to where his ex-wife still sat, leaning back, supported by her hands, still open for him.

Waiting.

He didn’t keep her waiting for long. Teasing her with his fingers, toying with her until her breathing grew shallow and raspy and she was moving against him, he brought her up and then pulling her hips to the edge of the desk, he stepped between her thighs and slowly eased into her. Oh, it felt so good, so right. He’d forgotten how amazing she was. Snug heat, the sweet slide as she thrust against him, the crazy dance she did with her hips when her excitement began to peak, pumping and corkscrewing around him until he had no resistance left.