Lisa looked surprised, but obediently took the chair beside his desk,

"You know, of course, that Sam Elliot deserted us for Enterprise Limited/'

''Yes. 99 He shouldn't have been surprised. Enterprise had been courting Sam for six months.

"Rather precipitously and at a most inopportune time," he said. "Leaving me in a bit of a spot."

"Yes." Everyone connected with the insurance firm of Safetech International knew that Scot Harding, Vice President in Charge of Operations, was seeking a replacement for his administrative assistant. And everyone, especially here at Corporate Headquarters in Wilmington, Delaware, was vying for the coveted position, a shoo-in for executive director or vice president of one of the prestigious regions like Paris or London. Or, as Sam had opted for, a promotional transfer to another firm.

As Harding stood before her, listing the requirements for the post, which she already knew, Lisa idly wondered who he had in mind. Maybe Stanford in Fiscal, or Jenkins, from Property and Casualty. But bets were high among the staff that this time it would be a woman. If that were so, it was sure to be Reba Morris. Sue Jacobs, her secretary, was pretty sure Morris was sleeping with him. Possible, Lisa thought. Even the austere Ms. Morris would be tempted, if not

eager. Not only was he way up there in the Safetech hierarchy, he was young, not quite thirty, and yes, good-looking, she thought, studying him as he, still talking, paced back and forth behind his desk. He was tall with the lean muscular figure of an athlete. His thick black hair had a tendency to curl and was always unruly, at variance with his perfect attire, the most expensive of imported Italian business suits, complemented by everything that went with them. His face? Yes, it could be handsome ... in spite of that serious intense look. If he would just relax, laugh mote. All business. She wondered if he ever took the time to sleep with anyone.

Suddenly she was aware of the quiet. He was looking at her. Expecting her to say something. What?

"I... I beg your pardon/' she said.

He smiled. The sweet, rather boyish smile transformed his whole face. A pity it was so rare. "I don't wonder that you're surprised," he said. "But you can handle it."

"Handle it?"

"Sure you can. You have often worked with Sam. In some cases, covered for him."

It took her a minute to grasp it. He was offering her Sam's job. Good grief!

"But I don't..." She stopped. Not polite to say she didn't want it. "I don't... don't think it

would be right. I do appreciate the offer. But I couldn't... shouldn't take it on."

He couldn't believe this. Was she turning it down? A position so far above her present one that it... well, it was inconceivable. Never mind that he had been hesitant about offering it to her. She was only twenty-three, had been with the firm only two years, and in the lowly capacity of secretary to his personal secretary, Celestine Rodgers. But he had observed her competence. And now... Perhaps he had misunderstood. "What exactly are you saying, Ms. Wilson?"

"That... I couldn't. I do appreciate the offer, but his position... it's just not for me."

"What do you mean, it's not for you?" He was unable to mask his irritation. "I've seen you take over, both for Celes when she had one of her migraines, and for Sam, during several of his unexplained absences. And pretty damned efficiently, I'd say."

"That was temporary." She seemed to be begging him to understand. "It would be unfair of me to take such a demanding job on a regular basis. I don't have the time."

She meant it. Her eyes, her best feature, open, guileless, and utterly revealing, never concealed anything. She wasn't being coy or trying to negotiate for better terms. Damn! She hadn't even asked about money. She didn't want the job. No time.

'' What the hell... I mean, what is keeping you so busy?"

"Getting married/'

"Oh." He was relieved. "That should pose no problem. I'm sure we could arrange time off for such a momentous occasion. When is the wedding?"

A wary look flashed in those dark blue eyes before long, concealing lashes brushed her cheek. "I...I'm not sure."

"I see." Probably marrying some chauvinist who objected to a working wife. Hadn't caught up with the twentieth century. Or was afraid her salary would outdistance his own... which it probably would. He wondered... "Who's the lucky guy?"

She got up quickly, not looking at him. "I...haven't decided. I'm sorry, Mr. Harding, but I'd better get back to my desk. Ms. Rodgers will be looking for me." She muttered other phrases. "Appreciate your thinking of me..." and "Sorry" before making her escape, but he was too stunned to listen. She hadn't decided? That was a hell of an answer. How many offers did she have?

He shrugged. Never could tell, could you? Couldn't tell by looks, anyway. Well... startling eyes. Too big for that pixie face though. Her shoulder-length hair was a mousy brown. She was

too short and a wee bit too plump for his taste. But some men...

Hell! Why was he thinking about her? The Paris conference coming up. And that controversy over the new casualty law. He needed an assistant like yesterday. One who knew what happened last month. Like Lisa.

Oh, well. Stanford. Fiscal would collapse without him.

Jenkins. Too ambitious. Like Sam, he'd be gone before he could be any real use.

Damn. Another reason he'd chosen Lisa. Not only was she not ambitious, she was too young and naive to be snapped up by the competition. By the time they spotted her assets

Hell. Forget her. No use fooling with someone who doesn't want the job. And someone tied up with some chauvinist who'd not want her to leave town or... Tied up with more than one evidently. Funny, he'd never have thought... Oh, he guessed she was attractive enough, but a long way from a number ten. Not the type to be overrun with suitors.

Lisa gave her desk drawer a vicious slam. So she had lied!

"Something wrong, dear?"

"Oh. No, nothing." She glanced across the room to give Celestine Rodgers a reassuring smile. "Just banged my hand a bit." She took

the stack of papers from her In basket. She hadn't exactly lied. She was getting married... as soon as she found a man she wanted to marry. And convinced him to want to marry her, she thought, smothering a chuckle as she switched on her computer.

Anyway, if she had lied, it was his fault. Why hadn't he just said "Okay, sorry" to her "No, thank you" instead of standing and gaping like he was God Almighty who had just offered this snip of a girl the moon and stars and the stupid idiot was turning it down.

Darn right she was turning it down! Taking that job would be like a mouse biting into a morsel of appetizing cheese, once tasted, hard to resist. And she was not about to be sucked into the butt-kissing, corporate-ladder-climbing rat race. She had seen enough of it in the person of her Aunt Ruth, who had coiffured, kicked, and clawed her way to the very pinnacle of success in the banking arena. And what had it got her! A gold watch and a lonely, loveless, com-panionless, childless, frustrated retirement.

At one time Lisa had felt at fault. But, no. Ruth was in her mid-forties and already committed to the corporate life-style when her five-year-old orphaned grand-niece was dumped into her lap.

No, it wasn't quite true, Lisa thought, grinning. She would have slid off that sleek slender lap if

Ruth had ever been around long enough for her to climb into it. Which she wasn't. Too busy staying sleek, slender, well-groomed and perfectly coif fed. Too busy being tops in her position and making the right impression or connection to mount the next rung on the banking ladder.

Not that Lisa blamed her. It must have been most inconvenient for Ruth Simmons, single and in the midst of a flourishing career, to be suddenly saddled with a young kid. But, without a word of complaint, Ruth had assumed the role of guardian.

Guardian angel, really, for that was how Lisa always thought of her. An angel, hovering somewhere in the distance, with a fat checkbook, magnificent gifts of toys, clothes, and dancing lessons, peppered with occasional perfumed weekend visits to her apartment, or trips to the theater. Ruth had supplied the money and the glamour, but she had assigned the mothering to Mary Wells.

So it was Mary Wells into whose lap Lisa had climbed when she scraped her knee or was teased by one of Mary's three boys. It was Mary who soothed, comforted and, on a few occasions, spanked her bottom. It was Mary who had been beside her for Halloween trick-or-treating, selling Girl Scout cookies, sitting on the bleachers at Little League games, sharing the picnics and pot-

lucks at school and other youth functions. Love and laughter still reigned at the Wells household, and Mary's eyes still twinkle with happiness when she quietly plays pinochle with her now-retired husband or attends a game or potluck with one of her young grandchildren.

As Lisa's fingers expertly skimmed the computer keys, her mind reinforced her resolution. To have the solid family life that Mary Wells had, but with a bit of the glamour touched upon with Ruth... the opera, travel, advantages for the children, not possible on Mary's thin budget. She would have to find a husband who could afford both.

Nice work if you can get it!

Well, darn it, she could try, couldn't she?

When Lisa entered the employee's lounge at noon, the discussion was going at full blast as several lower echelon employees debated over whose boss or boss's boss would get what. Principal, at the moment was the coveted A.A. to Harding.

"It's bound to be a minority." Alice, from Legal, stopped polishing her glasses to look up at Lisa. "You're on the inside, Lisa. Who do you think? Stanford?"

Lisa shrugged. "Could be." But doubtful, she thought, sliding in beside Sue and unwrapping her chicken sandwich. Stanford was African

American, and too smart for his own good. Who could replace him at Fiscal?

"It's certain to be a woman this time," Sue said decisively. "This morning—"

"Ha!" Stu, one of the two males present, broke in. "Beats me how you can term yourselves a minority! We've got women execs coming out of our ears!"

"Nevertheless," Sue continued. "This morning Ms. Morris was urgently summoned by Mr. Harding, wasn't she, Lisa? Did you see her?"

Lisa nodded. She had seen her, all right, the picture of professional elegance, sucking up to Ms. Rodgers, which wasn't a bad idea. Harding had a tendency to listen to his long-time secretary.

Sue's smile was smug. "She didn't say anything when she came back, but I have a feeling..."

"Feelings!" Stu scoffed. "This is a business and Harding is no fool. He'll pick someone who's competent and reliable, and knows the business from A to Z. Now this guy in properties..."

The talk went on and on, but Lisa didn't listen. She placed her tape recorder on the table and stuck the small earphone into her ear, munched her sandwich and listened to the fluent French phrases. When she traveled with her husband to foreign countries, she meant to have some knowledge of each language.

No, Ms. Morris was out. Maybe he'd have to seek further afield. That guy from Dallas that had impressed him at the conference—

His buzzer sounded and he picked it up. "Hal Stanford is here, Mr. Harding. He'd like—"

"Send him in." He rubbed his chin. Stanford. Maybe, after all...

"Hi, chief. How's it going?" Hal Stanford, a tall, brown-skinned man, came in carrying a sheaf of papers. "Thought I'd better go over these figures with you before I release them."

"Sure." Harding stood up and walked around his desk. "I'm glad you're here, Stan. I'd like to sound you out about something."

"Oh?"

"You know I'm seeking an assistant. How would you like—"

Strong white teeth flashed against dark skin as Stanford, grinning, shook his head. "Please, Mr. Harding, I don't want to go," he said with a smile.

"Jeez!" Scot stared at him. "You, too?"

"What do you mean... me, too?"

"I mean, you're the second person who's turned down what I thought was a most desirable job. Even before I offered it to you. Hell. What's wrong with me?"

"It's not you, boss. It's the travel."

"Travel?"

"Yep." Stanford nodded. "You do keep your A.A. hopping all over the globe."

"Well, what's wrong with a little travel?"

"Leaving home," said Stan. "Not only my lovely wife, but the three kids who keep us both jumping."

"I see." He looked at Stanford as if seeing him for the first time. He knew he was quick, efficient. Hadn't known he was such a family man.

"Thanks for the offer. I do appreciate it, but...well, Hal Junior is just starting Little League and... well, I'd kinda like to be around. Maybe when the kids are older...'' Stan shrugged. "Anyway, take a look. What do you think?" He spread the papers on the desk and the two men bent over the figures.

Later, when Stanford departed, Scot Harding was thoughtful. Strange how the first two persons approached—the ones he had decided most capable for the job—were too involved to be interested. One in being married, the other in getting married.

Strange. He had never thought much of this marriage business himself. His mother had died when he was five, and his father had been interested in nothing but his brokerage firm. Scot and his brother, Chuck, spent precious little time at the family estate, and were always glad to get away from the passel of servants and back to their

boarding school, or, during vacation, to some camp.

Back to the swimming, tennis, or golf and other games. It had been fun. Exhilarating. He liked the competition, the challenge. Just as he liked it now in the businessworld. That was'why he had decided against joining the family firm, and had sold his share to Chuck. The brokerage business was a guessing game, dependent upon the rise or fall of various markets. Scot liked having his own hand in the outcome, getting ahead of the other fellow by offering the best idea or package. Competition. He hadn't exactly started at the bottom at Safetech.. .could he help it if his father had friends? But the fact that he was moving up rapidly was the result of his own initiative and skill. As exhilarating as a hard set of tennis.

As for marriage... Hell, Chuck's two mishaps were prime examples for avoiding it. He smiled, thinking of his brother, about to make a third try with a certain redhead. But that was Chuck... staking everything in a guessing game.

All of which has nothing to do with my present problem! Scot threw his pencil on the desk and walked to the window. Who would be his best bet?

During the following week he conducted several interviews, even making a hurried trip to

talk with the Dallas prospect. He made no offers, just sounded out each candidate.

Sounded out and found wanting. Damn!

The trouble, he finally admitted, was that he had already made up his mind. Lisa Wilson was his best possible choice. His first apprehensions about her youth and inexperience had been entirely erased by her refusal of his offer. Now she represented a challenge. Scot Harding did not shirk from a challenge.

Perhaps a dinner engagement with Lisa and the prospective groom. He'd never seen a guy, chauvinist or not, who could not be influenced by money. He'd casually bring up the job offer again, mentioning the salary. It would help if he could first check out the man, his prospects and financial situation. Lisa hadn't mentioned a name, but...

Hadn't decided? Surely he'd misunderstood. He would get Celes on it right away.

He was about to ring for her when his own buzzer sounded. "Ms. Morris, Mr. Harding."

Damn. Not again!

It was not in Lisa's nature to be envious, but she felt a certain lack, a vague yearning, as, for the fourth time in three days, she watched Reba Morris disappear into the chief's office. Tall and willowy. The best I can achieve, Lisa thought, is short, okay, average, and shapely. Shapely, that is, if I lose about fifteen pounds. And how, she

wondered, did the exotic Ms. Morris maintain that look of smooth, everything-in-place perfection, everything, that is, except one enticing curl escaping from that luxurious sweep of silky black hair. A neat trick. That businesslike sleek combined with a dose of something... Sexy? Sensuous? Whatever, I could use some, Lisa thought. I wish it came in a can.

She sighed. Maybe she had started at the wrong end. All that reading of great books and opera, studying foreign languages, gourmet cooking, and golf. All the things that would make her the versatile well-rounded woman, the perfect wife for the kind of husband she wanted. If you wanted everything, you had to be everything.

However, to be a wife, one had to get married. The trouble was that men, most of them, went for the package, never giving a thought to what it contained. Look at George Wells, married to a fluff of a blonde who didn't know beans about caring for children, nor would she dare muss her hair by joining him in a game of softball, two of George's basic requirements.

And, Lisa thought, I'm aiming higher than a George Wells. If I'm to compete for a high-caliber male in a world where women outnumber men ten to one, I've got to be more than ready. I've got to be beautiful!

She sighed. Easier said than done. For a moment she wished her aunt Ruth wasn't on one

of her interminable cruises. No. Ruth would be busy advising her to take Harding's job offer. She was on her own.

It was that night that she saw the ad. Sitting at the kitchen table in her little apartment, munching at a salad and trying not to think of the cookies on the top shelf of the cabinet, she thumbed through the latest issue of Women. A full-page ad in the middle of the magazine jumped out at her. "A New You. Get a complete makeover at Hera's Beauty Spa. Hera is the Goddess of Women and Beauty, and that's what we're all about. All. Fitness and fashion, as well as the basic beauty treatments. Why shop around when everything you need is here?"

Excitement bubbled through her. Not exactly a can, but about as close as she could come.

The very next day, Lisa did what the ad advised, made an appointment with one of their beauty counselors. She was surprised that she could be seen that very evening, also that the facility was within walking distance of the office. Convenient.

The salon was located on the first floor of a modest building and the discreet, gold-lettered Hera's on the entry door gave no indication of the opulence within. Lisa became apprehensive as soon as she entered the reception area. Everything about it, plush carpet, potted palms, elegant furnishings, even the decor of quiet

turquoise, screamed "Money!" She was a little short of that item. Maybe she should...

"Oh, yes, Ms. Wilson.'' The chic young woman in a black sheath and pearls looked up from her French Provincial desk and smiled. "Loraine will be with you momentarily. Do have a seat."

Lisa sank into one of the cushioned sofas, feeling distinctly out of place in the setting. She exchanged a smile and nod with an overweight woman with stringy blond hair who sat across from her. You and me, she thought. It will take a miracle.

A miracle you have to work for, she realized later as she was shown behind the quiet elegance to a beehive of activity. Women of all shapes and sizes lifting weights in the exercise room, soaking in the mud baths, being pummeled on the massage tables. There was the beauty parlor with its miracle-making hair, facial, and makeup techniques. There were the nutrition and fashion consultants who gave personal counseling. And when she was shown the before and after pictures, her heart pounded with eagerness to get started.

But the miracle must be paid for, she was told, when at last she faced Loraine in her private office. Five thousand dollars, payable in advance.

Lisa choked. She had thought in terms of small monthly payments.

Loraine smiled. "Impossible. Perhaps you can arrange a bank loan?"

Celestine Rodgers looked at her boss in astonishment. "Getting married? Lisa hasn't mentioned any such thing to me."

"Well, she mentioned it to me," Scot said. "Find out who the guy is. I want a dossier on him."

Celes, still looking mystified, shook her head. "I had no idea. A wedding. Perhaps that's why she's getting this loan."

That got his attention. "Loan?"

"Yes. Personnel sent over this form. Seems the bank must have assurance of tenure of employment before granting—"

"How much?"

"Five thousand." Again she shook her head. "These young people. All this to make a big splash for one day, when it could go toward a down payment on a house. It's like I told my niece—"

"Have you sent that form back?" Scot asked.

"Form?"

"For the loan."

"No. But I have signed it and—"

"Bring it to me." Scot realized his secretary was looking rather curious. "Interest rates. Banks can often take advantage," he added quickly. "I'd like to take a look at it."

"Of course," she said. "And I'll find out about her fiance right away."

"Never mind," he said. "In fact, I'd rather you didn't mention it. Awkward, since she hasn't said anything to you." Maybe he wouldn't have to bother with the fiance, he thought. If Lisa needs money... Money, the great persuader.

He waited until the end of the day to summon her. He would need time with no interruptions. When Lisa faced him, he didn't waste words. He shook the loan paper at her. "Do you know how much you're borrowing?"

Lisa wondered how it had come to his attention, but answered steadily, "Five thousand dollars."

"No, my dear. You're borrowing almost twice that much."

"No. Only five thousand."

"Compounded by fourteen percent interest for a period of..." He looked down at the application, then back at her. "Yes, indeed, stretched out like this, you're paying for considerably more than you're getting."

"Oh." She hadn't thought of that. Still ... she needed it. "I can manage two hundred a month. Not five thousand all at once," she said, her voice crisp. It wasn't his concern.

"I see." He gave her a speculative look. "Perhaps something could be arranged. I presume you want this for your wedding."

"Wedding?" What was he talking about?

His gaze sharpened. "You are getting married, aren't you?"

"Getting...?" She stopped, remembering. "Yes. No..." Not easy to lie. "That is, not exactly."

"What do you mean, not exactly? You're either getting married or you're not."

"All right! I'm not." Her eyes burned into his. Not his business!

"So why did you lie?"

"I didn't lie."

"You certainly did. You said you were too busy because you were getting married."

"Because you kept pushing!"

"Pushing?"

"Shoving me into a job I didn't want."

"No way! If you didn't want the darn job, all you had to do was say so."

"I did! But you had to have a reason, sir," she snapped. Lisa had held her own against three tough Wells brothers too long to let herself be bullied by any man, boss or not. "And I did not lie. I did not say I was busy because I was getting married. I said I was busy getting married."

He stared at her. "There's a difference?"

"There certainly is. A person can get married or a person can prepare to do so. I'm preparing."

"I see." He didn't. She could tell he was trying to figure it out. "Let me get this straight. Ac-

tually, you are not getting married. You are just preparing to do so."

She nodded.

"With, I suppose, a certain someone in mind."

"Not ... not exactly."

The lift of his eyebrow was more than a question. It was a command.

"A ... a certain type," she said haltingly.

"A type?" He looked so bewildered that she almost laughed. But then he frowned, leaning toward her. "I wish you'd make this clear to me. You are getting married... no... preparing to marry... not a certain person, but a certain type of person?"

"And what's wrong with that?" She wanted to slap that grin off his face!

"Nothing. Nothing at all," he conceded, still looking amused. "A type... Let's see. Tall, dark, and handsome? Blue-eyed blonde? Or... big, iron-pumping bozo with bulging muscles? Or—?"

"Sir, you are being rude. If that is all, Mr. Harding..." She stood, poised to leave.

"Come now. Don't get upset." He changed his tone and gently motioned her back to the chair. "I'm trying to understand. You are not interested in appearance, but... Let's see...rich man, poor man, beggar—"

She stood up again in utter disgust and moved toward the door. "Sir, I've had enough. May I leave?"

He caught her before she reached the door, held it and condescendingly said, "Wait, I'm sorry. Calm down. I really am interested. What type of man are you looking... preparing to—"

"Not your type," she said, gulped, and gave a wry smile. "No offense, sir. I promise you he won't be so involved in work that he doesn't have time to enjoy a marriage. And he'll earn enough so that I can stay home and enjoy it, too. And we'll have children, and we'll travel, and we'll have fun."

The bewildered look had never left his face as she talked. Now he spoke almost jovially. "Sounds like he'll have to be independently wealthy and retired to come up to your standards."

She hadn't aimed that high, but... "Maybe," she said. "If we're to do a lot of traveling."

The woman was serious.

Heck, what else was new? Most women were aiming for marriage, weren't they? And preferably to a rich man.

But most were not this direct. In the first place, they wouldn't admit it. And they sure wouldn't turn down a promotion like this... not while the hoped-for bird was still off in some vague bush, anyway.

"Come, Lisa, let's sit down and talk this over." He led her back to the chair. "You're working now, aren't you?"

She nodded.

"So why couldn't you take a job in the same place that pays you more money and—"

She shook her head. "Too demanding and I don't want to get caught in the corporate rat race like... like some people."

"All right." He tried another tact. "When you meet this paragon... and, for the moment, we won't delve into where or how you'll find him... has it occurred to you that he might not have the same.. .er...inclinations?"

Her eyes flashed. "Why do you think I want the loan?"

His lips twitched. "To incline him?"

"Exactly."

"Whoever or wherever he is."

"You make it sound like—"

"An exercise in futility, which it certainly is. Whatever induced you to be sidetracked into such a ruse when you could be pursuing a profitable and rewarding career?"

"I am pursuing a career. Marriage."

"Marriage is a union between, I might remind you, two people."

"Well, it's usually the woman who makes the marriage. So I consider it her profession. The

oldest for women, I believe, except for prostitution."

Somewhere deep in the all-business heart of Scot Harding trickled a murmur of old-fashioned romance which rankled at the idea of marriage and prostitution in the same category. Still... the way Chuck's ex-wives were taking him did have the taint of prostitution. One reason he intended to avoid the so-called sacred institution of marriage. Some treated it as some kind of con game.

He glared at Lisa. "This is a deliberate, coldblooded scheme to entrap some man you don't even know."

"Well, yes."

He winced at the blatant admission. "It's not right, all this plotting and preparation."

"People go through much more to achieve a promotion in business."

"That's different."

"No, it isn't. As I said, marriage is an occupation, a rewarding one that makes a contribution more valuable than money."

"Maybe. If it's the right kind."

She stiffened. "Why do you think I'm planning so carefully? I assure you that mine will be the right kind, Mr. Harding. I'll be able to stay home with my children, for one thing. Do you know how many children are neglected because nobody is at home or nobody cares?"

"Don't get off the track. You are deliberately setting yourself up as bait to catch any unsuspecting guy in your trap!'' The woman was crazy. And why, in this day of women's liberation, was he saddled with a woman who just wanted to get married? Which would be all right with him if he wasn't convinced that she was his best prospect for-

"Will that be all, Mr. Harding?" Lisa stood, poised to depart.

"Just a moment." She might be crazy, but she was open, guileless. Unlike Reba, no facade. One face, frank and honest.

No raving beauty, either. And since she was so picky about the right man... Yes, indeed, this marriage would likely be a long time coming.

"Sit down, Ms. Wilson. We might be able to reach some compatible agreement."

"What's this?" He had sounded irritated. "You've scratched your name. We made an agreement."

"No good unless I get my part of the bargain," she had answered.

"You did. Five thousand dollars."

"But it's not the money," she argued. "It's what the money paid for."

"So. You paid. What's keeping you here?"

"Packaging," she said, unable to stifle a smile. "You see, it takes time to—" She broke off. It was not funny to him. "I'm jesting," she said quickly. Darn! Hadn't she learned from Mary Wells that the best way to get what you wanted from a man was to make him think that was exactly what he wanted? "My real concern is your part of the bargain."

"Oh?" He looked suspicious.

"It's a big jump from a gopher to an administrator," she said, trying to look more helpless than she felt. "You trusted me to make that jump, Mr. Harding, and I appreciate it. I want to be a good assistant for you."

"Oh, you will be. I am confident that you will. And you'd best begin by calling me Scot."

"Thank you, Mr—Scot," she said meekly. "But seriously, sir, don't you think, that to be really effective, it's important that I also gain the confidence of your staff?"

"Of course."

"You know that will take time. There may even be one or two who feel.. .well, slighted.'' Reba Morris, for sure, she thought, watching his reaction.

He frowned. "Perhaps. But business is business, and—"

"And, as you say, a smoothly running business is dependent upon a happy and cooperative staff," she finished. "You see, Mr. Harding—I mean, Scot. Oh, shucks, it's going to take me some time to get used to this first-name status." He smiled, waving off her concern, and she continued, albeit a little awkwardly. "I was about to say that, since my appointment I've heard through the grapevine, rumbles of discontent. Mainly Ms. Morris. So I put her in my slot."

"Reba?" That got to him. Was it the conception among the staff that Reba had been passed over...perhaps unfairly? Well, hell! Reba may be competent, but she has her own personal agenda. One that is competitive to business and damned uncomfortable for me. No problem with Lisa in that regard. She'll make a great A.A., a company man... only needing a little technical improvement, which will come in time. "Reba?" he said again.

Uh-oh, Lisa thought, noting his quizzicality as he repeated her name. Maybe I've gone too far. She tried to interpret his expression. Guilt? Was he really sleeping with Reba and had... Not my

business, she decided, and quickly added, "The Paris caper is really important for the company to win," she said, feeling her way. "Ms. Morris knows the foreign portfolio as well as anybody in the firm. And what's more, her presence being required will dismiss the rumor that she was passed over."

Scot took a long breath. Nodded. "It makes sense. Okay. I think you're right."

Lisa was relieved. "Thanks, Mr Scot," she

said. "Then I can remain and get a better handle on things here... really stand in while you're away."

Scot chuckled. "Case closed," he said. "Just check the list carefully, will you?"

She knew that Scot, loaded with other responsibilities, had depended on her predecessor to audit these kinds of selections. She determined to be sure he had the right combination. The most reliable group, those with whom he would feel most comfortable.

She knew that Scot always wanted his exec with him on such missions, and she meant to accompany him. Later, when she would be an asset, to herself as well as to him. She recognized that one of the pluses in her new job was the opportunity for foreign travel, to the most likely places to find a rich and retired potential husband. But not yet. Not until she had made herself into the right package to attract such a man. Well, as right

as she could make it. She really didn't expect a miracle. She'd have to make up the lack with charm. No problem, she thought with a wry smile. Any girl who could charm George Wells into escorting her to the junior/senior prom... Now, at least she didn't have the challenge of braces and acne.

So, on with as much miracle as she could get. She was lucky that the salon was in the vicinity, within easy access after work. She found the exercises invigorating and the nutrient supplements and recommended diet extremely effective. She had already lost five pounds, and never felt hungry.

"Have you finished with these weights?" Ada asked. Ada was the stringy-haired blonde who had sat across from her that first evening. It looked as if she had lost weight, too.

"Sure. Here you are." Lisa handed over the weights, and made her way through the mass of perspiring women to the showers.

After a quick shower, Lisa sat in a mud bath, thinking about the agreement made with Harding. Not a bad decision. An interest-free loan from the company, allegedly for accepting the position as his assistant. Not bad at all. With her raise in salary, she could pay off the loan in a few months. And she had found that giving orders was far easier than taking orders and running like a chicken with your head off to carry

them out. No longer was she typing out agenda after agenda, faring out or receiving urgently faxed messages, and making interminable phone calls to track down some important person somewhere. She was sitting in her own pleasant office, recently vacated by Sam, his leftover secretary at her command. She was making decisions and discussing policy with Scot, or quietly conversing by phone with the important individual someone else had tracked down. She had spent hours on the phone with the Paris executive, discussing the bid package details and schedules. Everything would be set for the conference, as soon as she notified and conferred with the company participants. A task Scot had assigned to her. Another attempt, she strongly suspected, to increase her exposure as his assistant.

She scheduled the meeting. She felt extremely nervous as she surveyed the people at the table, all more experienced than she, all doubtful of her. Perhaps it was Reba Morris's smug watch-her-fall-on-her-face expression that saved her. She wasn't all that inexperienced. Hadn't she pulled Sam out of a hole more than once? And... well, darn it, didn't charm work in business, too? She took a deep breath, and, assuming an air of casual confidence, opened the meeting.

"You all know, perhaps better than I," she said, "how important this particular conference

is for our European connections. That is why the boss has limited attendance, he told me, to his old pros. You are all seasoned and tenured. No Johnny-come-latelies," She pointed to herself and smiled. "So I'll run the ball for you here at the head house. If you need anything, just yell." The downplay of her position worked well. All smiled agreeably and delved into the agenda talk and logistics with vigor. With good humor and some respect for the new A.A., she thought, and breathed a sigh of relief.

On a Saturday morning three weeks later, Lisa stood in her apartment and listened to the rain pounding against the windows. A good day to work inside. She looked with satisfaction at the papers scattered on her bed. Not scattered, darn it. Pretty well organized. She had been right to bring all this East African business home with her. It was not yet easy for her to deal with personnel and company position papers for the exec at the same time.

Not doing too badly though, she thought as she continued to sort the material. At least she was managing pretty well with personnel. Just plain graciousness, which came natural to her; please, thank you, and would you mind, combined with a few what-do-you-think or how can we handle this or that? And of course she had been lavish with praise for the key people who

had returned triumphant from Paris. Even Reba Morris had softened up and was now, oh, so helpful, if still a bit condescending.

Now, if she could get a better handle on corporate policies. This East African venture was awesome. Safetech had been expanding so rapidly in Uganda that, more than a year ago, plans had been completed for the erection of a ten-story Safetech building in Kampala, its capital. The plans had had to be shelved because of political problems, but now they were up and running again. Data had come in detailing all aspects of the project, which she was now in the process of cataloging and highlighting for Scot. He had not been in the office since he'd left for Paris, having detoured to several regional offices.. .Stockholm, Berlin and London. He was to make a report on the Ugandan project to the board on Tuesday, and she wanted to have it ready for him. It was just one of several important issues she was organizing for his easy perusal. His modus operandi was to be on top of whatever was happening right from the first, so she always faxed important data to him, wherever he was. He was too hyper, so tense and anxious about nothing but business. And, darn it, she was getting to be one of these corporate types herself, trying to keep up with him. Working this weekend when she should be at the salon. But she knew he'd be in Monday and she had to have this ready.

She was making good headway when her doorbell sounded. Darn. Probably the paper boy. She got off her knees and went to answer.

Clarice stood there, looking somehow smarter than usual, even in her dripping raincoat. She was holding Todd, the baby, and three-year-old Betsy was still pressing the doorbell.

"Oh. Clarice!" Aware that she sounded anything but welcoming, Lisa quickly changed her tone. "Hi! How nice. Do come in," she said, all the while thinking this was bad timing. "Come here, Todd, give Lisa a big hug."

Clarice handed the baby to her, and turned, calling over her shoulder. "I'll just get the diaper bag. Be right back."

Diaper bag? How long were they staying? Lisa wondered as she, still holding on to Todd, took off Betsy's slicker and tried to unravel what she was saying. By the time she had deciphered "I'm hungry. I want a Popsicle," Clarice was back.

"Okay, here's everything, diapers, bottle, and two jars of baby food. Sure, a Popsicle's okay. They usually have a snack about this time. Oh, and here's a box of crayons. Just give Betsy some plain paper and that'll keep her busy for a while." Before Lisa could speak, Clarice had dumped the diaper bag and other paraphernalia, and was off again, saying she should be back later. "Thanks, Lisa. You saved my life today. So sweet of you to volunteer to baby-sit."

Volunteer? Oh, good heavens, she had. Last Saturday at Mary's! "Sure, Betsy. You can have a Popsicle...I think." Lisa, struggling with Todd's jacket, tried to remember if she still had Popsicles in the fridge, while she retraced her visit with Mary Wells.

She went often to visit Mary. It was so peaceful, sitting on the patio, helping Mary shell peas and admiring her garden.

But, last Saturday, when she'd stepped through Mary's garden gate after her session at the salon, she found the place in an uproar. Both children were yelling, and Mary, holding baby Todd in one arm was trying to reach a fast-retreating Betsy.

"Lisa! Thank God." Mary thrust Todd into her arms. "Here. I've got to get those clippers away from Betsy."

It wasn't funny, but Lisa was hard put to keep from laughing as she surveyed the disaster. Every one of Mary's prize roses, neatly clipped, was scattered on the ground, a howling Betsy, cowering behind a rosebush, trying to escape her distraught grandmother.

Mary wrested the clippers from the child, but vented her rage upon her mother. "That Clarice!" she exclaimed, the expression which always indicated her denunciation of the woman, George, her youngest boy and prized baby, had married. "She ought to be looking after her own

children. But she's out finding herself!" Mary's voice rang with sarcasm. "A pity she didn't start looking before she married my George barely out of high school."

Lisa settled Todd in the playpen with her car keys, and enticed the still sobbing Betsy to help her collect the roses. "We should never cut Grandma's flowers unless she tells us to do so. But maybe if we collect these and arrange them in a vase, she won't be too upset."

That didn't help, Lisa thought now as she searched in the fridge for Popsicles. Mary had continued to rail against her daughter-in-law. "Do you know what she did? Went to some placement seminar to be tested for her right career. I told her she already had one. Why when I was a girl, all we wanted to do was get married. I belonged to this club.. .we called it the WGM... Supposed to be a secret, but that stood for Wanta Get Married, which we all did. We weren't ashamed, either, cause it wasn't a disgrace like it is nowadays. Seems like all the young mothers today have a need to get out of the homemaker closet to do their own thing. Whatever that is. And while that Clarice is looking, I'm stuck with her kids and I'm too old for this!"

Clarice painted a different picture, Lisa thought as she told Betsy to "Stay in the kitchen until you finish your Popsicle." She placed Todd

on the kitchen floor with his, constructing a barricade with two kitchen chairs.

"Mary just doesn't like me," Clarice had said. She had returned for the kids and Lisa was helping her load them into her van. "And she's wrong. I do love my kids. But how would you like to listen to baby talk twenty-four hours a day? Twenty-four!" she exclaimed when Lisa gave her a skeptical look. "I'm practically a single mother, you know, with George driving that big rig all over the country. And when he is home, his idea of recreation is for me and the kids to watch him play softball with his team. Big deal!"

Sounds like George, Lisa thought. But he needs the exercise after fighting highway traffic for several days.

"Can't you see why I was going stir crazy?"

"Yes," Lisa sympathized as she'd strapped a squirming Todd into his car seat.

"Well, I said to myself, there must be more to life than this. So I went to this placement seminar." Clarice's eyes sparkled...just like they had when she was homecoming queen. "The lady said I was a natural techie. That's the term they use to say a person's good at technology," she explained. "They say that I could easily adapt to any computer program technology, and that major companies are clamoring for that kind of skill. So I'm going to this training school every Saturday and it's absolutely fascinating."

Lisa didn't have the heart to tell her that punching computer keys could be as dull as baby talk. Anything that could bring back that much sparkle... But it was as much to relieve Mary as for Clarice that she'd offered to baby-sit. And for George. She did owe him. He'd not only taken her to that long-ago prom, he had bullied some of his football buddies into dancing with her.

And, despite the mess, she was enjoying the children. By the time the kids finished with what didn't land on them or the floor, the baby was sleepy. Holding him on her shoulder, she rocked back and forth on the sofa, at the same time entertaining Betsy with fairy tales. Yes, I do want children, she told herself, feeling the sweet warmth of the baby snuggled against her, and watching the fascinated eyes of Betsy as she listened to what the baby bear said. She was glad she had promised to baby-sit. This was part of preparing, too, wasn't it? she thought as she settled the sleeping baby on a blanket on the living room floor, and cleared the coffee table for Betsy's papers and crayons.

Two hours later, they were sitting at the kitchen table, Betsy munching a peanut butter and jelly sandwich while she fed Todd, when the doorbell rang. Holding Todd carefully in front of her in order not to get his food on herself, with Betsy trailing behind, she went to answer.

"Thank God you're here," Scot said. "I thought maybe you'd gone somewhere and left your phone off the hook." His where-did-they-come-from look focused on the kids. "Are these yours?"

"Today they are," she answered. "Just until four, I hope."

"Oh." Still looking puzzled, he said, "Where did you put the Ugandan data? Pve been looking everywhere for it."

"No, he doesn't have any candy, and it's not polite to ask. Now, you've said hello very nicely, Betsy. Why don't you go back into the kitchen and finish your lunch while Mr. Harding and I..." She ended on an inquisitive note, glancing at him.

"Oh." He stood up. "The Uganda data. I couldn't find it, and I couldn't get through to you on the phone."

"Oh." She glanced toward a phone which lay on the floor... disconnected. "I'm sorry. One of the kids must have been playing with it."

"That's okay. Just tell me where the Uganda material is and I'll get out of your hair."

"It's here. I knew your report is on the agenda for Tuesday's board meeting, and I thought... Well, I was going over it for you. Digging out the pertinent facts, but..."

"Don't apologize for heaven's sake. That's great. I haven't had a chance to tell you, but I sure like the way you operate. It's not easy to keep on top of things when you're jaunting all over the globe. Your concise messages, cleared of the garbage, really saved me time. And kept me abreast." He inclined his head. "Glad to have you aboard, lady."

"Thank you," she said, but looked a little dubious. "I'm afraid I don't have it quite ready, and..." She broke off, drowned by the baby, who, he thought, sure had a pair of healthy lungs.

"He's hungry,'' Betsy, who hadn't moved, explained.

"Feed him," he said to Lisa. "I'll get it. Where is it?"

She glanced uncertainly toward a closed door. "It's not.. .not ready," he thought she said.

Lord, the child was screaming bloody murder. "Feed him! I'll find it," he said, and went across the room and opened the door. He stopped. No trouble finding it. It was spread all over the damn bed. At least he guessed this was it. He strode to the bed and picked up one of the papers. "Political policies of the Ugandan government greatly influence the economy and..." That was it, all right. He glanced about the room, breathing in that light but tantalizing odor, fresh and sweet, that he had begun to associate with Lisa. Some flimsy things on a chair, a couple of slippers askew on the floor, dusting powder on the dresser.

And papers... papers concerning the most important international caper Safetech was to pull this year, scattered carelessly, perilously... on a slightly rumpled bed!

"I'm sorry," he heard her say, and turned to see that she and Betsy had followed him in. She had shifted the baby to her shoulder and was trying to soothe him while explaining over his cries, "I... I haven't quite finished."

"I can see that." His mouth twisted. He nodded toward the bed. "This, I take it, is where you dig out the pertinent data for those concise messages you fax to me?"

"Well, it was the only place here big enough to spread it out!"

"Oh?"

"For your information, there's a lot of impertinent junk that needs digging out, and since it just came in I brought it home with me to...to..." She wasn't exactly yelling, just trying to make herself heard above the brat's screams. "I spread it out to sift it for you." She lowered her voice, shifted the baby, rubbed her cheek against his. "I know," she said soothingly, "I'll feed you in a minute."

He started to gather papers. At least it wasn't all over the floor. "Okay, I'll just—"

"Don't touch it," she said, raising her voice again. "I've got it arranged just right and I'll give it to you as soon as I feed him!"

She was right. No way could he get it together. He took off his raincoat and threw it across the chair with the flimsy underthings. "So start sifting. Give me the brat," he said, lifting the baby from her. "Shut up, you. It's coming. Where's his food?"

"I'll show you," Betsy volunteered, and took his hand to lead him into the kitchen.

Lisa followed, protesting. "You can't feed him;'

"Sure I can. What's to it?" He seated himself at the table and positioned the brat on his knee. "You stick this little spoon into this little jar, fill, and poke same into this little mouth. Open up, kid."

Betsy grinned at him. "That's right. That's the way."

She might have spoken too soon. He cursed as the now silent but discriminating Todd promptly spat, much of the rejected spoonful landing on Scot's spotless shirt.

"He doesn't like spinach," Betsy explained. "You have to mix it with the peaches."

"Why, thank you, Miss Betsy. We'll try it your way," Scot said, and laughed as the baby swallowed. "Fooled you, didn't we? You've got a smart sister, kid." Looking up, he saw Lisa dubiously watching. "Well, what are you waiting for? I thought you were going to take care of business."

"I am," she said, and quickly returned to the bedroom. But the sight of Scot Harding with Todd on his knee, dribbling all over him, had been disconcerting. In fact his presence in her apartment, especially at this particular time was disconcerting. If he had called... If her phone hadn't been off the hook... If he had waited until Monday...

She would have had it ready, everything in a nutshell, which he could have quickly scanned and grasped. He was good at that.

Anyway, it wouldn't take long. She had already sorted it out. Just had to separate the categories, make a few notes.

It took her longer than she thought. She was distracted by sounds from the other room, Betsy's chatter, Scot's deep laugh, even the short silences.

When she emerged about an hour later, she found all three of them on the living room floor. Todd was happily banging on several tinfoil pans, and Betsy, holding a ring of keys, was proudly telling an attentive Scot which key was which. "This one is to your car. This is to your condo... No, no... to your locker at the club, and this one..."

Lisa couldn't believe it. It was so uncharacteristic. Scot, calm and patient... even looking contented and interested. With two kids! At the office, he would be—

"Finished?" he asked, standing up. "Let me have it," he said, moving toward her.

Presto-chango, the boss was back! Might as well be in the office, she thought, as he reached for the papers in his usual impatient, demanding let's-get-this-done-and-get-it-done-right manner.

He scanned the material hastily, and she was about to explain how she had separated the different aspects when Clarice arrived. A good

thing, for they were making no headway on account of the children. Even so, their departure took some doing, what with Clarice trying to gather up everything, while her inquisitive eyes focused on Lisa in silent admonition. "You never told me your boss was a hunk, not to mention that he comes a calling. Ho, ho, ho."

Scot, holding both the baby and diaper bag, escorted Clarice to the van and helped strap in the kids, during the still steadily pouring rain. When he returned, running a hand through his wet hair, she apologized, "I'm sorry. I've put you through a rather hard day."

"An interesting one," he said, grinning. "And that's what you're aiming for, huh?"

"What?" she asked, puzzled.

"What your friend.. .what's her name... Clarice has." He shook his head. "Not much of a picnic, carting kids and all their junk all over the place."

"Oh." She smiled. "I assure you, Mr. Harding, that when I have kids, it will not be necessary for me to cart them and all their junk to a baby-sitter."

He held up a hand. "Pardon. Forgot. You'll have a built-in nanny, what with your rich and retired banker or whatever husband."

"Exactly." She nodded, her eyes twinkling.

"Well, you better choose carefully, lady. Can't have him too retired."

"Oh?"

"Might be too old to make babies."

"Oh, you!" She couldn't help laughing at his signifying expression which somehow balanced between a question and a leer. "I thank you for the advice. I'll certainly take your views under consideration. And now for your business, sir. I've separated the categories, but—" She hesitated, looking down at the papers in her hand. "I made a few notes on each one that you probably won't understand."

"Let's see," he said, taking the package from her and glancing at the top page. "'Quo'.. .'tr\.. Right. I don't understand."

"Notes to myself. I planned to dictate to Doris and have her type it up all neatly for you on Monday. But now... oh, it shouldn't take long for me to explain it to you. Only..." She looked toward her messy dinette table. "Just let me clear this off so we'll have room."

"Wait. It has been a long day, and I've missed lunch. Why don't I take you out for a bite first. Then I'll be in a better state to absorb all this stuff."

She glanced out the window, then down at herself. "Look, it's still raining, and by the time I got dressed... I've got a better idea. Why don't I fix a snack and we can work while we eat."

He looked wary. "I am not in the mood for peanut butter sandwiches."

"My dear sir, we have an extensive bill of fare/' she said with a smug nod. "Selections guaranteed to delight a wide range of culinary appetites/'

"You don't say?"

"Oh, yes." She wrinkled her nose. "From a two-year-old peanut and jelly fan to a senior citizen retiree with a delicate constitution."

"Is that a crack?" he called as she retreated to the kitchen.

"Don't get touchy, Mr. Harding," she called back. "You could never be mistaken for a retiree. You're a workaholic."

He chuckled and shed his raincoat yet again. She had made the decision, he thought, and followed her into the kitchen.

She had already cleaned off the table and was fast putting the place in order. He laid the papers on the table, but his eyes stayed on her. He liked watching her. Even when she looked a mess, as she did now. Scuffed loafers, jeans and pullover streaked with baby food, no makeup and that mousy-brown hair bunched on top of her head. He wondered why the unkempt look made her seem untouched and vulnerable. And...yes, downright appealing, he thought with some surprise.

"This won't take long," she promised. With evident disregard for her appearance, she gave the counter a hasty wipe and began to pull things

out of the fridge. "Look at my notes and check what you don't understand,"

He didn't look at the notes. He couldn't stop watching her make lunch as quickly and efficiently as she handled routine office matters. With the same cheerful ease. And in the same organized disorganized fashion, he thought, remembering the papers lined on her bed.

And with excellent results, he conceded as a tasty repast was set before him. He wasn't sure what kind of soup, but he knew it was homemade, savory, well-seasoned, and thick with crisp, tasty vegetables. Not a deli sandwich, for he had watched her assemble it... chicken salad with lettuce, tomatoes, thin, toasted rye bread.

She sat in front of him, bit into her sandwich, and immediately plunged into business. " 'Quo'.. .well, not exactly a quota, but one of the requirements is that we hire a certain percentage of their civilians. Seems fair, don't you think? Anyway, the 'tr'.. .we'll have to provide training for they're sure to need it." Rapidly she went through the various categories, deciphering her notes. By the time she finished, he was thoroughly familiar with the pertinent aspects of the Uganda project, political as well as economic.

"Lady, you are something else," he said. "I thought I would have to spend all day tomorrow digging out the facts you have so carefully laid out for me."

"We do our best, sir." She dimpled as she set a steaming mug of coffee before him.

Funny, he had never before noticed that dimple in the corner of her mouth. He sipped his coffee slowly, not wanting to leave. Not sure why. He had just got back, tired from a hardworking globe-trotting agenda, and irritated at having to track down the Uganda stuff. Somehow in the midst of a messy apartment with two messy brats and a very disheveled A.A., everything had fallen into place. Now he wasn't at all tired. He was alert, but relaxed in the quiet intimacy of the kitchen, the rain beating against the window, Lisa smiling at him across the table. He liked her radiant companionable smile, reflecting the teasing camaraderie that had been established between them.

"To you!" He lifted his coffee in a toast. "Before I ask, you deliver. I couldn't have a more capable, competent, far-seeing assistant."

"We try, sir, we try." She bowed her head in mock modesty, her smile widening.

His breath caught. That smile. That radiant, frank, unflirtatious smile. Open. Inviting.

On impulse he rose, walked around the table, and bent down to touch his mouth to those inviting lips. A light touch. A simple gesture of thanks. He was unprepared for the sudden warmth, an electrifying shock that made him quickly draw back. Her wide incredulous eyes re-

turned his stare, and he knew she was just as moved, or as startled as he.

She seemed to recover first. " Watch it, boss," she said, trying to laugh, but not quite pulling it off. "That could get you sued!"

"Don't I know it," he breathed, serious. What had come over him? Never had he ever so much as touched or even flirted with a female employee. Had never believed in mixing business with... with... what was this anyway? "Look, Lisa, I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything. I just—"

"Oh, for goodness' sake, don't apologize." Now she did manage to laugh. "I know that. Guess we're both just a little cocky about getting that stuff sorted out. Some of these countries ... newly emerging or with all those coups.. .are complicated and you get a little crazy trying to figure them out."

"Right." At the moment he was going a little crazy trying to figure himself out.

"But we did it!"

"You did it," he said. "And I'm darn grateful. My board presentation will be a breeze, thanks to you."

"We aim to please, sir," she said again, the teasing note returning to her voice.

"Good lunch, too. I owe you," he said, relieved that they were back on firm friendly ground.

"The Sutter file." But now he was looking at her. She seemed slimmer and taller. Heels. No loafers.

"Oh, I knew you would want it, and put it in the credenza. I'll get it for you."

He got a good view as she walked around to the credenza. She looked pretty smart in that black coatdress, that scarf. Celes, or somebody, must have put a bug in her ear about correct office attire. Good. As she reached for the file, her dress flared apart, revealing a more extensive view of the legs encased in sheer black hosiery. Good legs, by golly! Funny, he'd never noticed.

He noticed the haircut immediately. "I like that," he said a few mornings later, when she appeared, shorn of most of that mousy-brown hair. The new short cut framed her pixie face to perfection, making the hazel eyes seem larger. And the hair was no longer mousy. A richer brown that seemed to dance with golden lights. "Is it dyed?" he asked rather hesitantly.

She grinned. "It's called frosting. And it's the final touch ... the last of the packaging."

"Packaging?"

"The prettier the package, the more enticing the bait," she quipped, winking at him. Then she touched a hand to her hair, her wide eyes eager and anxious. "Do you think it makes me look...well, better?"

"Sure. Great." Too damn much better, he thought, not liking her reference to bait. Darn! Was she still on that husband-hunting kick? "All right, let me have a look at the agenda for that San Francisco conference," he said rather gruffly.

"Right here," she said, all business again. She handed the papers to him and sat beside his desk.

He tried to concentrate on the material at hand, but couldn't seem to keep his eyes off Lisa. Gad! She was quite a good-looking gal. Funny, he had never realized.

Lisa was aware, and gloated in his admiring gaze. Loraine was right! "That frosting's gonna work like a stoplight, honey! Just you wait and see," she had said. "Not a man alive will pass you without stopping for a second look."

It was happening. Lisa almost giggled. When she had asked outright, he had only grudgingly admitted that she did "look better." But now... Scot was so mesmerized by her hair that he couldn't take his eyes off it to focus on the most pressing data presently on the corporate agenda.

He liked the way she looked. She could tell. Lisa squirmed with delight, basking in the knowledge that she pleased him.

No! It wasn't him, she argued with herself. It was... well, that it was worth every penny. All the strenuous exercising, dieting, makeup. It was beginning to pay off. If the package stopped Mr.

Nothing-Before-Business Scot Harding in his tracks, what wouldn't it do to other men!

"This is major/' he said rather abruptly, and she saw now that he focused on the San Francisco conference. "Earthquake insurance and governmental responsibility. We'd both better make this one."

Back to business as usual, she thought. But why did he look so... what? Puzzled? Irritated?

Both. He was puzzled by the utter enchantment at the sight of her. Irritated that he couldn't stop looking. Distracting. No place in business.

But it was some time before he began to take the new image, like the cheerful voice and perfect coffee, for granted. Later, when she accompanied him to various meetings and conferences, he saw that other men also noticed. He found himself acutely aware, and, for some strange reason, highly irritated by the many admiring glances and undue attention she received. But Lisa remained her open, businesslike, un-flirtatious self, not at all receptive to any nothing-to-do-with-business advances. This relieved him and he relaxed, becoming quite proud of her. He liked having this very attractive, competent assistant sitting beside him, and quite enjoyed the envious stares of his fellow conferees.

Until San Francisco.

Lisa was glad Scot had asked her to accompany him to the conference. She had never been to California, and the meeting would be in its most exotic city. She hoped there would be time to visit Chinatown and the Top of the Mark, probably take a few tours.

At first she thought she would have no time for touring. It was a hot and heavy conference. Several insurance companies had sent key personnel, all eager to absorb the meaning of the new laws in order to formulate the most advantageous insurance packet. On the second day she ran into Sam Elliot.

"Lisa!" he exclaimed. "This can't be you."

"It certainly is," she said, chuckling. "You didn't expect me to be a gopher all my life, did you?"

"No, but..." He hesitated, his gaze scanning her dubiously. "I just didn't expect—"

"Didn't expect me to take up where you left off, did you?" she teased. "Didn't think I could take your place as chief assistant to the demanding Scot Harding, huh?"

"Oh, I knew that. Nobody knew better than I how many times you saved my skin!"

"Then, don't look so surprised, you devil. You keep looking at me as if I'd just crawled out of the woodwork."

"Oh, no, honey, not out of the woodwork... More like... Lisa, what have you done to

yourself?" He stepped back to get a clearer view. ' 'You're stunning, sweetheart... positively beautiful!"

Lisa felt herself blush to the roots of her hair. No one had ever called her beautiful. And to hear it from Sam Elliot who, as she well knew, had a most discerning eye, made her feel... well, quite beside herself. She tried to be cool. "Flatterer! I bet you say that to all the ladies."

"You know me better than that, my sweet. It's sure good to see you, Lisa. Let me buy you lunch for old times' sake."

"Thanks, Sam, but..." She glanced at her watch. "I've got two hours before the next meeting and I plan to take advantage. I wanted to see Chinatown. Someone said it wasn't too far. Down this way?" she asked.

"Correct. And I wouldn't dare let you go without an escort." He linked her arm through his. "We'll see the sights and eat, too... at Fong Lue's. You'll like that."

She had never seen anything like it. Lots of tiny shops as well as street stalls. Everything for sale, herbs, vegetables, and other foods, as well as many curio shops where she lingered to buy souvenirs. Throngs of people milling about. All in Western dress, but many were speaking Chinese and she was fascinated by the high crescendo of voices, the unfamiliar language with a curious singsong pitch.

They ate at Fong Lue's where Sam displayed his mastery of chopsticks, and tried to teach her.

"Never mind," she said, as the kernels of rice kept evading her efforts. "Just get me a fork."

He compromised by feeding her himself, while bringing her up to date on his doings. "I'm holding my own at Enterprise," he said. "Have to since I don't have you as a backup anymore. Say, how would you like to transfer? I could get you—"

"Stop it!" she said, laughing. "I'm already in over my head." And enjoying it far more than I ought, she thought. This travel could get to be a habit. She didn't want to get caught in the corporate race and lose sight of her goal.. .marriage.

She did enjoy the outing with Sam, and returned refreshed, ready to delve into business. Sam accompanied her into the session on government responsibilities in national disasters, and took his seat beside her. Scot, on her other side, greeted Sam effusively, asked about his work, and congratulated him on his evident progress.

Then he turned to her. "Where did you disappear to? I had lunch with the State Insurance Commissioner, and wanted you to join us."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't know. I did a bit of touring. Chinatown."

"Alone?"

"No. Sam joined me. He took me to lunch down there. Did you know he's an expert with chopsticks? Oh, and I bought the cutest little toys for Betsy and Todd."

"Oh. Well.. .good," he said. But he looked anything but pleased.

When the meeting ended, Sam leaned toward her. "Hey, Lisa, there's a little supper club down near the wharf that has a great combo. Would you like to go dancing?"

"Oh, I'd love it!" she said, pushing back her chair. "Just give me an hour to change."

"All right. Let's see. It's five-thirty. I'll meet you in the lobby at—"

"Sorry, Sam," Scot broke in. "But Lisa's going to be pretty tied up tonight. Some data we've got to check out before tomorrow's session. I hope you don't mind."

"Oh. Sure. I mean... no problem. Wouldn't want to interfere with business," Sam said. His discerning look said something entirely different, Lisa thought. Like, "Wouldn't want to tread on your preserves." What on earth had given him that impression?

She was embarrassed. Puzzled. And a good deal put out!

She held her peace until Sam had disappeared into the crowd. Then she turned to Scot and spoke rather pointedly. "What data?"

He looked embarrassed. "Well, I thought we should... that is, we need to—"

"Scot! Haven't seen you since Paris. How're things going?" A stout man pushed forward to take Scot's hand.

"Lincoln. Good to see you. Have you met my assistant?" Scot said with a proprietary gesture toward Lisa.

Several other people seemed anxious to speak to him. One rather attractive blond woman suggested that he join her group for dinner. To this he pleaded business. He was cordial to everyone, genially discussing the various aspects of the session and soliciting opinions. He never failed to introduce Lisa and include her in the conversation, as if afraid she might run away.

He needn't have worried. She wasn't going anywhere until he explained. What data? It wasn't until people had dispersed and they moved together toward the elevators that she could ask.

"What the dickens were you talking about? What do we need to go over tonight?"

He cleared his throat and spoke decidedly. "Tomorrow's session is important. Governmental responsibility versus insurance claims in cases of natural disaster. I thought we should be clear about the questions we wish to bring up."

She stared at him. "We went over all that on the plane, didn't we?"

"I know. But we want to be on our toes. Alert." He hesitated, straightening his tie. "Lest you spent the entire night cavorting about, you—"

"I am not in the habit of overdoing!" Suddenly, aware that others were waiting at the elevator, she lowered her voice. "Neither am I so feeble that an evening of dancing would leave me too exhausted to..."

She broke off as they entered the elevator. It was crowded and both remained silent. But when they got off on the floor where both had rooms, she continued more pointedly. "Really, Scot, I think I am capable of spending a few hours enjoying myself in the evening and remaining alert enough the next morning to comprehend whatever business is discussed. I am not stupid. Neither am I so buried in business that I can't... can't..." Her voice broke off and she made a master effort to control herself. She was here to work, wasn't she? "Never mind! Shall we work before or after dinner?"

He was studying her intently. "It.. .er.. .maybe it's not that important. We can skip it."

"Skip it! Now? When..."

"When I've already spoiled your evening?"

She smiled. "It's just that Sam was going to take me dancing, and I—"

"You really wanted to go, didn't you?"

"Well... yes. I love to dance. And... well, it's been a long time since... oh, it doesn't matter. Really."

"All right, darn it! If you want to go dancing, we'll go dancing."

She stared at him, stunned.

"Well, don't just stand there." He nodded toward her door. "Get dressed. Sam Elliot's not the only guy who can dance, you know."

Her eyes narrowed in doubt, but resignedly she went on into her room. In the shower, she was still doubtful. She would rather have gone with Sam. Touring Chinatown with him had been fun, and when he mentioned dancing she had been overjoyed, remembering the high school years when the boys had put on tapes and the Wells's home had rocked with the feet in all the latest steps. It seemed so long ago. She sighed. Suddenly they had all grown up. The boys had all gone to work, got married, and she was busy at secretarial school and living with her aunt. Then when she went to work... well, the truth was she had never been overloaded with dates. It was like her dancing days had ended. And, this evening, when Sam had suggested dancing, it was like a door opening to fun again.

Darn Scot Harding! It wouldn't be all that important, whatever he wanted to talk about. But she knew that's what they would be doing.

Dancing? Ha! In the first place she doubted if he even knew where to go. Oh* sure, he certainly traveled as much as Sam Elliot, but, unlike Sam, Scot took the office with him.

In his own shower, Scot pondered his actions ... and reactions. What was he thinking about? He had planned to spend a peaceful productive evening alone in his room, going over his brochures and notes, and drawing up a most unusual comprehensive insurance packet. After he had discussed his ideas with Lisa over a quiet dinner. She had a quick mind and a way of spotting flaws and...

That was it. Reaction. He had not wanted Sam Elliot to walk off with his prized assistant when she was here to bounce off ideas with him. He hadn't liked the look of anticipation on Sam's face, or the sparkle in Lisa's eyes as she told him about Chinatown. And when he'd found they planned to spend the whole evening dancing, it really ticked him off!

She was here to work. And, damn it, she had no right to make him feel so guilty that he was about to waste his whole evening on the dance floor. Where the devil did one go dancing in this town anyway? He picked up the phone.

Wrong. He did know where to go, Lisa thought as she was seated at the smart little supper club. Subdued lights, crisp linen, and already her feet

were quietly tapping to the rhythmic beat of the combo. "Oh, this is perfect," she said, delighted that she had worn the long-waisted, short-skirted cocktail dress that looked like something out of the twenties.

"Surprised, huh?"

"No. Of course not. I just.,.I didn't think-"

"That I was as much on the ball as Sam Elliot?"

"Oh, no, Mr. Harding. It's just that you.. .your tastes run in different directions."

"Oh? How is that?"

"You know what I mean." She hesitated, disconcerted by the way he was looking at her, and not knowing how to put it. Not complimentary, either, to say Sam was too much playboy and he was too much business. "Just... different."

"I see. Well, I assure you I can handle a pair of chopsticks as well as anybody, and..." He stood, holding out his hand. "Shall we test my dancing?"

The laughter in his voice, the teasing glint in his eyes, set the tone for the evening. One of the.. .no, the most delightful evening she had ever spent. Different. Not one of the Wells's house-rollicking, watch-this-step routines. Not an anxious who's-going-to-ask-me-to-dance night that had spoiled her prom. No business talk, either. Silly nonsensical talk, personal, all at-

tention centered on her. Dancing together... just the two of them. Had she been with anyone other than Scot Harding, or had her mind not been of such a practical nature, she might have recognized it as a romantic evening.

As it was, she simply enjoyed herself immensely. She loved dancing with him... light, uncomplicated steps that she found easy to follow. Liked his arms about her in that casually caressing protective way. Liked the teasing banter that developed between them.

He always watched her, enjoying the intense way she went about doing whatever had to be done. But tonight she was different, he thought, watching the pleats of that short gold skirt twirl above those perfect legs. She seemed light-hearted, carefree, wholly intent on the joy of the moment. He liked dancing with her...head thrown back, eyes sparkling, giving herself up to the dance in childish abandon. Well, why not? If one planned to spend a whole evening on a dance floor, might as well relax and enjoy it!

"It was a wonderful evening/? Lisa said when he escorted her to her room. "Thank you, Mr. Harding. Okay... Scot."

"I suppose you're welcome," he said, leaning against the door and pretending to pant. "But all this prancing about does leave an old man pretty worn out."

"Oh, you! You use more energy every other day on the golf course. Probably you're suffering from all that wine. Come on in and let me revive you with a nice cold nonalcoholic soda."

He followed her in, his mouth twisted in a smile. With any other woman, that invitation would have meant more than a soda. With his guileless Lisa, it meant just what she said.

Now why did he think of her as his Lisa!

"Here's your drink, sir," she said, handing him an icy soda.

"None for you?"

"Oh, I'm in no need of reviving." She made several turns about the room, and sang in surprisingly musical tones, "I could have danced all night I could have danced... danced..."

"I believe you could," he said, chuckling as he watched her. "Lisa, you are absolutely refreshing!"

She stopped and turned a saucy, smiling face up to him. "Why, thank you...I think. My second compliment today." She wrinkled her nose at him. "Refreshing. That is a compliment, isn't it?"

He hadn't meant to kiss her. But... that saucy face. The smile. Her lips parted invitingly, drawing him like a magnet. The touch was like a shot of brandy, potent and strong, spiraling through him, fusing them together. He knew she

felt it, too, for her lips clung and she pressed closer, winding her arms around him.

"Lisa," he whispered, trying to understand this entirely new sensation ... lust, powerful and urgent, but combined with a tender passionate yearning, a caring. "Oh, Lisa, I—"

She moved away, breaking the spell. "Thank you again for a fabulous evening. And I think we'd better say good-night." She spoke with finality. "See you in the morning," she said, closing the door behind him.

He stood for a moment, looking at the closed door. Then he walked slowly to his own room, trying to bring some order to his confused mind. He had never felt this way before. And never had he been so firmly refused.

Inside her room, Lisa leaned against her closed door, trying to get her emotions in order.

This feeling, sensuous and arousing. For a man who'd make an impossible husband.

Sex. That's what it was. She had several manuals on the subject, but hadn't delved into them yet. She was waiting until she found the right man.

One thing she did know. Sex could get you involved with the wrong man.

He set down his glass and slowly unbuttoned his shirt.

Thanks, Lisa, you've done us both a favor. Jeez, this kind of employer/employee liaison could really louse up a good business relationship. Which was exactly the reason he had not hired a type like Reba Morris.

He grinned. Maybe he should have hired Reba. He sure never felt any desire to touch her.

While Lisa... Well, he sure as hell meant to take care from now on. Didn't want to lose an excellent A.A. on account of a little flare of sexual persuasion!

Lisa, meanwhile, still leaned against her door, trying to catch her breath.

So this was what it was all about! This feeling...so explored in romance books, sex manuals, displayed on TV and movie screens. But reading about it was not like experiencing it yourself.

She hadn't known it could be so.. .so mixed up. She closed her eyes, remembering the rush of joy, so warm, so intimate, that she wanted to hold on to forever. A joy entwined with a raging fire that swept through her veins and brought her alive with an erotic yearning, so deep, so powerful that it took all of her resolve to deny her natural instincts. She backed away. Scared.

Sex. That's what it was. And why hadn't she experienced it before?

Because it takes two to tango! A man and a woman. Men, except for the Wells boys who had been like brothers, had been exempt from her life. At least, never personally involved with her.

So of course she would be bowled over by the first man who really kissed her. And of all people... her boss!

How had it come about? One minute he was Mr. Harding, the next he was Scot. One minute it was all business between them, the next a kind of easy banter and comfortable camaraderie at a conference. Intense business discussions., .just that. But now... dancing. The boss/A.A. barriers between them were slipping!

She must not let this happen. They had established a good working relationship, and she didn't want to spoil it.

And yet... Her body still tingled from that kiss. The heat of passion still engulfed her, and she was almost overwhelmed by that erotic yearning so new to her. A longing so intense that...

Stop it\ She covered her face with her hands, willing it to go away. She didn't want to feel this way about Scot Harding. Business aside, he was the exact opposite of the type of man she desired.

All right. She could manage. She had backed off tonight, hadn't she? She'd make darn sure they didn't get that close again.

She frowned, hoping the incident wouldn't spoil the good rapport that had been established between them. She didn't think it would. He was certainly more experienced and would not be as affected as she. If he thought of it at all, he would probably attribute the kiss to too much wine or the proper cap to an evening of fun.

So it had been, and she would forget about it, too, she decided, moving away from the door. In a way she was glad it had happened. A frigid woman, it was said, could spoil a marriage. She chuckled. It was just a kiss, but if it was a preamble to sex, she didn't think she was at all frigid.

Another thing... he had wanted to kiss her. Not only that. He had taken her dancing. Well, maybe that didn't count. He had felt guilty about spoiling her date with Sam. With Sam it would have been a date. Sam had taken her to lunch and really wanted her to go dancing with him. Just like men were always asking Reba Morris to go to lunch or somewhere!

Was it possible?

She walked across the room and critically surveyed herself in the full-length mirror. Shook her head. Sighed. Not a trace of that mysterious sensuality possessed by Reba.

But...not bad. The dress was certainly flattering. The gold color accentuated the frosting in her smart new haircut. The short skirt did show off her legs, her best feature, or so Loraine had

said. And the new makeup did do something for her eyes.

She really didn't look too bad. In fact, pretty good. Why hadn't she noticed before?

Probably because she had been too busy measuring up as A.A. to the demanding Scot Harding. But she was too practical not to get her money's worth. So, despite her busy schedule, she had routinely followed all the treatments and advice offered by Hera's.

It had paid off! Her heart pounded with excitement. Now that she thought about it, there had been a few advances from other men, but she had been too involved with business to take them into account.

But now... Two dates in one day! And Sam Elliot, a connoisseur if there ever was one, had said she was beautiful. And even Scot had called her refreshing. The way he said it.. .he must have meant it as a compliment.

Two men. Never mind that they were both corporate-ladder-climbing types. If they were interested, there might be others who would also admire her.

Again she scrutinized herself carefully, turning this way and that. Not a bad package.

Maybe... No. Really. The miracle had happened. The preparation was over.

She was ready to begin her search. For the right man.

A spasm of curiosity gripped her. The right man. What would he be like?

The old jumping rope line spun through her mind. Rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief/ Doctor, lawyer, Indian chief/

No! Her husband would not be chosen by a skipped rope. And not by a skip of the heart, either! Or any of those hit or miss chances that spelled doom for most marriages.

She had planned. She might not know exactly what he would be like. But she knew what he wouldn't be. He wouldn't be poor. Not rich maybe.. .but rich enough. And he wouldn't be a doctor, lawyer, or a chief of anything that would keep him away from the home fires. He would know how to laugh, how to play. He would like children, and he would love her. He would kiss her and...

She would not think about that!

But he would love her, wouldn't he? She had planned, prepared for that, too, hadn't she? She had the right qualifications, didn't she? And the right looks?

Again she studied herself in the mirror, more critically this time. She really was... well, almost beautiful. And what I'm lacking in looks, I'll make up in love and loyalty, and fun and tender loving care. I'll make you so happy, she promised that wonderful man who waited somewhere in her future.

Excitement raced through her. He was out there somewhere. She would find him. The hunt was on. She was on the brink of fulfilling all her plans, her hopes, her dreams.

This calls for a celebration, she thought. She went across the room to search through the minibar for wine.

Back at the mirror, she looked beyond herself, a sparkle of anticipation in her eyes. She held a glass of chardonnay in her left hand, pointed with her right, chortling, "Come out, come out, wherever you are! I'm on my way!"

It was their habit, when attending a conference, to meet at breakfast to plan the day's schedule. Lisa went down the next morning to meet him, feeling a little wary. An impossible working relationship if he felt... well, like she had felt for one crazy instant last night.

He rose, a sheaf of papers in his hand, as she approached their table. "Hi. Glad you came down early. I... I'm thinking of changing the schedule a bit."

"Oh?"

"Yes." Scot was glad for the moment of distraction while the waitress served her usual fruit and coffee. He had changed the schedule the minute Lisa walked toward him, each delicate curve enticingly revealed by the green knit jumpsuit that hugged her slender figure. Her

gold-tinted hair and bright morning face... She took his breath away!

What the hell was wrong with him? His life was full of women, some more attractive than Lisa. Women are now a big part of the commercial world, and he treated them with the same commercial companionship as men, avoiding like the plague any personal intimacy. Socially? Well, okay, he was no celibate. But he was honest. His ban on marriage was always clearly understood, and he had never allowed any affair to become long-term and messy. He didn't want anyone hurt, and he had never been so affected that he couldn't back off.

But ... what the hell was it about Lisa?

He swallowed, remembering last night. Watching her walk toward him.

He needed space. Time to get back on track.

"I thought, since I'm out here I ought to check by the L.A. office," he said now. * 'However, Stan should have these figures on the new legislation immediately. And he will need your input. So I thought you'd leave as planned this afternoon and I'll go on to L.A. Okay?"

"Sounds good to me." She was right about him, Lisa thought. Business as usual. Just as if last night had never happened. She was relieved. "Let's see... That comprehensive package you mentioned. What instructions about that, boss?"

Back in Wilmington, as soon as she could spare the time, Lisa delivered her presents from California. Mary Wells was delighted with the book on medicinal Chinese herbs, and Lisa helped plant the seeds in starter pots before she went on to see George's children. She found them on their living room floor among a litter of toys while Clarice reclined on the sofa, reading a paperback and munching chocolates.

"Only recreation I have," Clarice said, laying the book aside and getting up. "Let me get you a cold drink."

"Just water." Lisa said, following Clarice into the kitchen after diverting Betsy with the Chinese puzzle and Todd with the toy boat. "I'm watching my figure."

"Yeah, and I bet you're not the only one watching it." Clarice glanced enviously at Lisa. "How do you do it?"

Lisa, cool, comfortable, and chic, even in yellow shorts and top, laughed. "It ain't easy. But I've been on this really good diet. There's this great soup, nutritious and nonfattening. Want the recipe?" she asked, automatically clearing off the table as she spoke.

Clarice handed her a glass of water and looked a little sheepish as she took the dirty dishes from her. "Just doesn't seem worthwhile to clean up when everything's a mess the next minute."

"I know. Here, let me help you get these things out of the way/' Lisa walked over to the sink and began to stack the dishwasher. In a few minutes, they had the kitchen fairly neat, and Lisa sat at the table to write out the recipe,

"Sounds yucky," Clarice said.

"It is not yucky. It's delicious. I served it to Mr. Harding and he didn't even know it was diet stuff, had a second helping."

"Your boss?" Clarice's eyes widened and she lost all interest in soup. "Lisa, he's gorgeous! I've been dying to ask. Do you.. .1 mean, does he..."

"No, I don't! And he doesn't, either. The day you saw him was the one and only time he has been to my apartment and got saddled with your brats. He was there strictly on business. And that's all there is between us. Business!" Lisa said in one breath. She blocked out the thought of San Francisco. It had been strictly business since, hadn't it?

"Oh." Clarice looked disappointed. "But maybe... Hey, he*s not married, is he?" And, when Lisa shook her head, "Well, then. Is he living with someone or got a steady or—?"

"I have no idea!" Lisa snapped, and didn't know why she was annoyed. It was Ms. Rodgers, his secretary, who complained, "I don't know why Scot's women don't restrict their chasing to after office hours. Gets pretty tiresome being the buffer... especially that Gwen woman who gives

me that he'll talk to me, just tell him it's Gwen business." Lisa wondered if Gwen was the blonde who stopped by the office a couple of times to, as she put it, "Drag him off to lunch." Canceling out, Lisa remembered now, one of her scheduled business lunches with Scot. Not that she had minded. Why should she care whom he lunched with? Slept with, or lived with for that matter. "I know absolutely nothing about Mr. Harding's personal life. Nor do I care about it," she said. "Here's the recipe."

"Thanks," Clarice said, rather absently. "Well, if he's not married and hasn't got anybody... Heck, Lisa, if I were you—"

"Oh, Clarice, you should take the kids to see that new movie, The Demon and Davey Dawson," Lisa cut in. "It's so funny." She kept talking about it, not giving Clarice a chance to say another word about Scot Harding. She didn't want to hear it.

Driving home, Lisa realized she had spent very little time with the kids, whom she had really come to see. Just to play a few games with Betsy or to hug sweet, cuddly Todd. Still, she was glad she had spent the time with Clarice, who seemed to need the diversion. She had even dropped the computer course. If she would bestir herself, like Mary. But Clarice wasn't interested in things that interested Mary.. .gardening, decorating. And much as she loved the children, too much baby

talk could become boring. And George's time schedule, combined with his fad for sports...

Lisa sighed. That's what came of marrying too young, with stars in your eyes, and no planning or preparation for what you really wanted.

When she arrived home, Lisa found a card from Ruth, currently cruising in the Greek Isles. Wondering if she really was "having a delightful time," Lisa thought of Reba Martin, Ruth's composite if there ever was one. Reba evidently knew what she wanted and worked hard for it. Busy clawing to get to the top executive office, or trying to seduce some man as competitive as she. Lisa doubted that either would bring ultimate happiness. Be careful what you want, you might get it.

The thought startled her. Was she slipping into the Ruth/Reba game?

No! Indeed she wasn't.

Are you sure?

Okay, I like the money. And I mean to do a good job for which I'm paid. But I certainly have no ambition to go further.

Stuck where you are, huh?

No. Lisa threw down the card and continued the argument with herself. Well, not exactly. Heck! Getting... finding what you want ain't easy. She had acquired the attributes, prettied the package, and...

Takes two to tango. And the men she met through her corporate position were, of course, corporate types. Wrong. Even the travel had not afforded the exposure she hoped. Too busy with business. Not that she had done too much traveling lately. Scot seemed to prefer going alone.

After thinking the matter over, she had increased her time on the golf course, finally joining a country club. Not too exclusive for her touch, but exclusive enough to attract a fairly wealthy bachelor with time on his hands and a penchant for golf. So far she hadn't encountered one.

Late Friday afternoon, she was with Harding when Hal Stanford barged into his office.

"Chief, I've got to cancel out on tomorrow's golf. Little League. You see, I'm the Golden Bear's coach and—"

"Little League!" Harding's face was livid. "Look, Stan, this was set up a week ago, before I left for the Bahamas, and you agreed—"

"I know. But this is the playoff, an all-day thing. It was scheduled for last Saturday, but we got rained out."

"Stan, it's not the World Series!"

Stan grinned. "It is to my son."

Scot wasn't grinning. "This isn't just a golf game. I went to a lot of trouble. Allen Dobbs, the senator who is sponsoring this bill that's likely to cramp our style and set a precedent for other

states, just happens to be in town this weekend and happens to be a friend of my friend, Jake Mason, who has arranged this friendly golf game so I can casually drop a bug in the senator's ear apprising him of the damage such a bill could do to our clients as well as to our firm. And you want to cancel out." Scot paused for breath, exasperated.

"Heck, Scot, there must be a dozen guys who could fill in for me."

"Not one of which has any savvy about what we need to casually discuss!"

"I do," Lisa said.

Both men, who had forgotten that she was there, stared at her.

"You do what?" Harding finally asked.

"Know what needs to be casually discussed."

Scot looked exasperated. "That point I will concede," he said. "But this, dear lady, is not a business conference and must not appear to be so. This requires more than a knowledge of insurance. We need someone who can play golf."

"I can."

Stan looked skeptical and Scot smiled but shook his head. "I mean, who can really play."

"How about a ten handicap?" She returned their unbelieving stares with one of smug satisfaction. She could prove it. And she could fill

the bill of that foursome. Further, Scot Harding's club was far more prestigious than hers. Teaming with wealth. And there must surely be a few bachelors among the members.

"Lisa Wilson," Scot said. "She's filling in for Stan."

"Good. Glad to have you. I'm Jake, Jake Mason."

They walked toward the pro shop and were introduced to the senator, a short stocky man who appeared to be in his mid-forties. "None of that 'your honor' stuff," he admonished jovially. "I'm here to play. And my name is Al!"

Scot noticed that both the senator and Jake were casting admiring eyes toward Lisa. Yep, those shorts gave an excellent view of those perfect legs. The green sleeveless shirt and shorts sent a bright greenish cast to her blue eyes. And with that golf cap perched jauntily on her head... He took a deep breath, glad he had trained himself to be immune. Okay, right outfit. But could she really play golf?

He was aware that that question was also in the minds of the other two men as they settled in separate stalls at the practice tee. Each bent to his own clubs and bucket of balls, but all eyes were on Lisa. She paused for a moment, taking a look as if to accustom herself to the range. Then she set a ball on the tee, took out her short iron and stepped into position, legs apart, eyes on the ball. Swung. She seemed unaware of the awed gasps as the ball sailed high and straight almost reaching the one hundred yard marker. Not one, but three or four as she changed to a longer iron.

Scot breathed a sigh of relief, but only Jake spoke. "Great iron play, Lisa."

"Thanks," she said, bending to select another ball.

She continued to display the same skill as she advanced from irons to woods. The men, while practicing their own shots, continued to watch her. When they took their places to tee off, it was Jake who suggested that he and Lisa should team up against the other two. "Makes a pretty even match, don't you think?"

"Sure," Scot agreed, conceding that it did, and wondering why it irked him to ride with the senator in one cart while Jake, with Lisa close beside him, followed in another. Hadn't he been trying to distance himself from Lisa except at the office? He had been pretty burned up when he had to substitute her for Stan. Anyway, wasn't this the opportunity he wanted? To talk business and politics with the senator?

The senator was agreeable to such discussion, and they did talk openly and compatibly. But Scot's attention often wavered, focusing on the other pair. Mighty damn cozy. So what else was new? Wasn't that Jake's mode of operation? The prettier the woman, the cozier!

Hell! Why should Lisa's exposure to a playboy like Jake concern him? He concentrated on the conversation with Senator Dobbs, but his gaze constantly strayed toward Lisa.

Lisa was enjoying herself. As soon as she had a glimpse of the other women golfers at the club, she knew she had been right to splurge on her own deceptively simple outfit. She looked right. And the hours of practice hadn't failed her. She could hold her own. And the charming young man beside her made a most agreeable companion.

"Why haven't I seen you before?" he asked. "Where have you been, pretty lady?"

"Busy earning a living," she said, enjoying but determined not to succumb to his flirtatious advances. She wasn't so crass as to ask his business, but "birds of a feather." A friend of Scot's... probably the same type.

"Have you known Scot long?" she asked.

"All my life. Prep school roommates, same frat, same clubs... business, too."

"Oh." She was right.

Not quite right, she discovered sometime later, when she stood with the senator, watching Jake walk toward the sand trap where his ball had landed. Scot, whose ball had landed near the trap, was with him.

"Scot tells me you're his assistant," the senator said.

She nodded.

"So you're part of the insurance gang, too!"

"And you're the man who's going to take us on," she teased.

" Somebody has to."

"Well, don't be too hard on us," she said, smiling. "You know how much we are needed. Hey, look at that!" she exclaimed as Jake's ball spiraled out of the trap and onto the green three feet from the cup. "He's really good!"

"Ought to be," the senator said. "Spends most of his time on one golf course or another. Beats the hell out of me every time he comes to Dover."

"He's a good friend? I mean...have you known him long?"

"About eight years. Married a cousin of his. He was in the wedding."

"I see."

"And yes, he is a good friend. Especially to the party."

"Oh."

"Very generous with donations. 'Course it hardly makes a drop in the Mason millions. Good shot, Jake," he called as the other two strode toward them. "We need a birdie, Scot. These two are well ahead."

Lisa was quiet. Everything fell into place. The Mason millions. Mason. The Mason Building. Mason Shopping Center. A large part of the vast Mason real estate holdings were insured by Safetech. She had even heard of Jacob Wellington Mason, the Third. But somehow she had never connected him with Scot's casual

references to a Jake he had to meet, or call, or check with about something.

She did connect him now. Jacob Wellington Mason. Young, handsome, rich. With time on his hands. Not exactly retired, but as good as.

She suddenly felt shy as she climbed onto the cart for the next trek. Preparing and planning to capture a nebulous somebody who would make a perfect husband was one thing. But Jake was a real person. Lisa's whole nature balked at the very idea of trying to manipulate a real person into anything.

Oh, heck! What was she thinking about anyway? She hadn't the least notion how to entice a man. All she knew how to do was... well, just be herself. It was a beautiful day. She would just have fun.

She did not forget her purpose for being there. She was especially charming to Senator Dobbs and tried to serve as a backup for Scot.

Scot did not fail to notice. She's better than Stan would have been, he finally admitted. Stan would have zeroed in with hard, cold facts, which might have irritated the senator. Lisa's definitely feminine approach was conciliatory and probably more effective. "Oh, you are absolutely right, sir. Regulations are necessary." Then she would flash an impish grin. "But, please, not a noose around our neck. Protection is our business. We need space and resources to deliver full benefits."

He had been right to bring her. Why had he hesitated?

You know damn well why! You can hardly keep your distance during business hours.

But I'm managing. As long as I concentrate strictly on business and keep my eyes averted from her.

Like they are now, huh?

But he couldn't help watching her. He grinned as she readied herself to tee off. Typical golfer's pose. A pause as she prepared for the shot. Then her arms swung back and quickly forward, and.. .wham! The impact of the club sent the ball straight down the course. So much power in that tiny figure. "Good shot, Lisa!"

"Thanks, Scot," she said, her face glowing. Appealing. Refreshing.

"Yeah, you guys are two up with one hole to go. We can't win," he said, his eyes riveted on her as she left the tee and strode down the fairway toward the last hole.

"A good day's work," he told her when he drove her home. "Didn't know you could hit the ball like a pro. More important, you really impressed the senator."

"Nuts. You made all the points."

"But you made him listen. You have a way of doing that. I owe you one."

"No. Just part of the job, sir."

"Well, you deserve a bonus. Sorry I have an appointment tonight/' he lied. After watching her all day.. .if he took her out to dinner tonight, he sure as hell couldn't keep his hands off her. As long as he avoided any too personal contact...

Lisa might have dismissed Jake Mason from her mind, but he had not dismissed her. There was something about her. Different.

It couldn't be said that Jake Mason was a womanizer. It was just that women had a habit of falling at his feet. He took their adulation for granted, just as he did his great wealth. His habit was to enjoy whichever woman interested him at the moment, casually, just as he dabbled occasionally at whichever part of the family business perked his momentary interest.

Lisa Wilson sparked his interest. Possibly because she made no effort to spark it. No flirtatious attempts, neither coy nor boldly seductive, to gain his attention. No come-on invitations, neither suggestively personal nor carefully impersonal. 'Tm having a few people over and why don't you join us?" No flattery. Nothing. At least nothing that he was accustomed to receiving.

Yes, Lisa Wilson was different. Frank, open, friendly. Just having a hell of a lot of fun in a friendly game of golf. Almost like one of the guys, except there was no mistaking the femi-

ninity. She was not a beauty, at least not his usual type. But there was a kind of freshly scrubbed prettiness about her. Cute as a button in those golf togs.

"Yes, I enjoyed it, too," Lisa said, surprised by his call.

"So why don't we try it again? Just the two of us. A little friendly competition/'

"Competition? You and me?" Lisa spoke with her usual frankness. "That's no competition. That's murder! You hit the ball a ton."

He laughed. "Oh, I wouldn't say that. You're pretty good."

"And you're perfect."

"Okay. Why don't we call it a practice session?"

"Oh, would you?" she said, genuinely pleased. "That would be great."

"Sure. How does Saturday sound?"

"Just fine. Only..." She hesitated. Great for her, but he was almost a professional, way above her standard. "Are you sure it wouldn't be a bother?"

"No bother at all. A pleasure. Shall I pick you up at... shall we say eight?"

That was the beginning. There were two other golf games. He took her to dinner, and they went dancing afterward. He took her for a sail on his schooner. He had season tickets to all the shows,

and had invited her to join him for a play this Saturday night. It was a play she particularly wanted to see and she looked forward to it. In fact, she was enjoying herself immensely. She liked Jake, and she had never before received this kind of attention from any man.

Saturday night as they were leaving the theater, he suggested that they should "Run over to Bermuda for a week or so. We could leave tomorrow."

She stared at him, realizing for the first time where all the fun was leading. A week together in Bermuda wouldn't be just dinner, dancing, and a casual good-night kiss. It would mean an intimacy she was not ready for.

Not like the time in San Francisco when she was able to limit Scot to a kiss. A kiss that had sent her senses reeling.

Scot. Did he kiss that Gwen woman like that? Did her body go limp with a delightful erotic yearning? Did they—?

"Hey!" Jake playfully snapped his fingers before her. "Come back. Where did you go?"

"Oh. I... I was thinking."

"So what do you think? Can you be ready to leave tomorrow?"

Play it cool, she cautioned, trying to get a grip on herself. Why was she thinking about Scot? "Leave tomorrow? For a week or so?" She

managed a chuckle. * Idiot. You forget I'm a working girl."

"There are such things as vacations."

"Oh, sure. But not the see-you-in-a-week-or-so, boss. I'm-off-tomorrow-for-Bermuda kind." What would Scot think? Darn it! Why couldn't she get him out of her mind?

Jake laughed. "Okay. Set your own schedule. When would you like to go?"

Now she wondered what Jake was thinking. That she was the kind of woman who would go blithely off to spend a week with a guy... For what? Fun and games, laced with sex? No commitment or honorable intentions, or...

Okay, so she was a prude. But...well, what did Jake have in mind? She evaded the question, as well as the implication. No matter what Jake Mason had in mind, she had her own agenda. It didn't include jaunting off at the drop of a hat to spend an intimate weekend with him or any other guy.

"Let me know," he said when he left. "I'm free anytime."

She shut her door, pondering. Free anytime. True. As far as she could discern, Jake was unencumbered by business or anything else. Time. Money. All the potential for an excellent participating marriage partner.

She was on the hunt, wasn't she? Again she thought of that night in San Francisco. She had

stood in front of that mirror, admiring herself, and promising a wonderful unknown somebody that she was coming for him. Oh, she had been so cocky that night. Because of... Scot. It wasn't just the kiss, the crazy jumble of emotions it evoked in her. It was that he, too, was shaken by that powerful surge of passion. She had felt his body tense, then press against hers.. .demanding, begging. His touch had been tender, but undeniably possessive. His eyes had held a hungry adoration that made her feel... like a woman. A beautiful, appealing, exciting woman.

She had pushed him away, her body still tingling with wanting, but the excitement remained. Like a gift... the knowledge that he desired her. That she was a desirable woman.

It had gone to her head. Given her such confidence. Savoring a glass of wine, she had stood before that mirror, making all kinds of extravagant promises.

Now she sighed. The excitement had faded.

No. Not exactly. For her plans had been in progress long before. That night had given her confidence that she was ready to begin her search.

And she had begun, hadn't she? She had joined that golf club, and...

And nothing. Jake Mason had just fallen into her lap, so to speak. When she wasn't even looking. And, to tell the truth, she had just been

having fun with him, like with one of the Wells boys.

But.. .think about it. She couldn't find a better match if she searched forever.

She sat on her bed, slipped off her shoes. No reason to be ashamed of what she was thinking. Just going out with a guy, enjoying his company, wasn't manipulating.

Evidently he also enjoyed her company. He kept calling, taking her out. That was the way it happened. You met someone. He liked you. You liked him. If he would make a perfect husband...

Marriage might not be what Jake had in mind.

She would wait and see.

"Good morning, boss. Here's your coffee."

"Thanks. Just what I've been waiting for." Scot smiled. It wasn't the coffee. It was the fact that she brought it, same as always. The sight of that gold-tinted hair, the bright face, the cheerful voice evoked the lift, set the tone for the day. "Let's see. We've got the Spaulding thing today, haven't we?"

"Right. I brought the file. Thought we'd better review it before we meet him at lunch." She sat beside his desk and opened a folder.

That's what he liked. Her efficiency. The way she anticipated every need. Made things easy. Best A. A. he ever had, he thought as they delved into the day's agenda.

Strictly business, and he meant to keep it that way. If the sight of her gave him a lift, if he felt possessively proud of her support at a conference or business luncheon... well, so be it. There was as far as it went. No hanky-panky at the office. No traveling together.

Only.. .well, it would really be unfair not to take her to the East African conference in Nairobi. The main issue on the agenda was the Ugandan expansion which she had almost single-handedly programmed.

He grinned. Arranged everything with her usual efficiency in the middle of her bed in a messy bedroom with two active brats on her hand!

"You know, I think Mr. Spaulding is concerned about..." Lisa stopped, staring at him. "What's so funny, boss?"

"Oh. Nothing." He cleared his throat. "You know, Lisa... this East African conference. I think you should be a part of it."

thoroughly explored before they left. He acted like sh<p wasn't there. Or like he wished she wasn't.

She grinned. Maybe he wished it was Gwen, the beautiful, seated beside him instead.

It hit her. He had not asked her to accompany him on a single conference since San Francisco. Until this one. And now he was keeping his distance. Like she had the pox or something!

Or... San Francisco. Good grief! Did he think she was after him or...

Why, you arrogant so and so! I'd like to remind you that it was / who pushed you out of my bedroom, Mr. Conceited Scot Harding. Okay, so I might have given the impression that... She blushed, remembering how she had been thrown off base for a minute or two. Don't let a slight glandular reaction go to your head, buddy! I wouldn't have a corporate-ladder-climbing executive like you if you were the last man on earth! So there!

Oh, good heavens! Maybe she was the conceited one. Sensitive? Because Scot Harding has more on his mind than you?

Ridiculous. She put the brochures away, and gazed out the window, trying to see the ocean far below.

Scot glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She could get so enthusiastic about any-thing. And when she did... her eyes would light

up, that dimple in the corner of her mouth would dance, and he could hardly keep his eyes off her. Which he had vowed he would do. Of course he could travel with Lisa and keep his mind on business.

From the bustling Nairobi airport, they were whisked by limousine to Nairobi's Safari Hotel. Fatigued by jet lag, Lisa went directly to her room and to sleep. She had to be ready for the first conference session, scheduled early the next morning.

Lisa felt apprehensive that morning as she entered the room for Scot's kick-off speech. There was sure to be the usual competition and vying for position that accompanied any large expansion plan. Projects to be discussed at this conference were not only extensive, but complicated, since they involved all the major East African countries. Compromises and conciliations would be necessary, and not easy to accomplish, even for the master negotiator she knew Scot Harding to be.

If he shared her apprehensions, there was no sign of it as he faced the delegates to open the conference. Cool and correct in a lightweight well-cut tan suit, matching silk shirt and complimentary tie, he exuded an air of assurance that they were here to do business and he was the man with whom to do it. He was in charge. His relaxed stance, genial air, and affable smile set

everyone at ease. Within two minutes of his opening statements, they were with him, anticipating a venture in which they would all participate, all succeed. Charisma. Her unruly heart gave a lurch. Pride in his mode of operation, she reasoned, ignoring a strange sensation she refused to identify. She listened with avid attention until his closing statement. "Our responsibilities are to see that the strategic pieces of the Safetech expansion in East Africa are addressed, resolved, and within the projected yield/'

How many times, in how many places had she heard him express this same sentiment? Our responsibility. .. to build the world's economy. To expand business that kept people working, fed and clothed millions.

Again, and not for the first time, Lisa felt that little jolt of pride. She liked the way Scot worked, drawing people with him, accomplishing what was needed. Her sentiments were echoed by Mr. Mamboso, the Ugandan Minister of Finance, who was seated beside her at dinner that night. "I like your Mr. Harding/' he said.

"My...?" Lisa stopped, the hot blush receding. He meant the company's Mr. Harding, not hers.

Mamboso seemed not to notice her hesitation. "He is direct, never dodging any issue. He clearly outlined the plan, the problems, and the way we

should proceed. I wish I could hire him as Director of Tourism/'

"Oh?"

"We could use him. Tourism," he said, "is our biggest industry as well as one of our biggest problems. We are dedicated to preserving our wildlife of course. But animals need space as well as people. Providing for both is difficult."

"Yes, I can see that. But you seem to be doing an excellent job of handling it." Lisa looked up at him, her smile bright. He could advise her. Eagerly she launched into a discussion of the various safaris.

Scot did not join the short tour which had been scheduled for those interested on the morning of the last day. He spent the morning with the ministers of finance. It was productive. Corporate taxes demanded of foreign investors were fair, but one had to be sure they were equitable.

His thoughts were now on the projects awaiting his attention at the home office. He reviewed them as he packed, and his mind focused on possible resolutions as he went down to eat. He was leaving the next day, and should be back in the office on Tuesday. Would that be in time to-?

"Oh, Scot, you should have come with us." Lisa, a Polaroid camera slung over her shoulder, was evidently just returning from the tour. "They

drove us around the park and I got such good pictures." She looked like an excited child, he thought, in those yellow shorts, her hair tousled, her eyes bright. "Now I'm good and hungry. If it's okay, I'll join you and show you my pictures."

Scot nodded. "Good."

"See!" she said, spreading the pictures before him when they were seated. "That's a lioness with her cubs. Aren't they adorable?"

"Yes," he said, but he was looking at her. Thinking. He had traveled all over the world and never bothered with a camera.

"I almost missed the antelope. He came so close, but they are so swift. I did miss the leopard. There was so much to see and our time was so short that ..." She paused while the waiter took their orders. Then she turned to him. "I've decided where to go. I was talking to Mr. Mamboso last night."

"Yes. So I noticed." He had been at another table next to the Tanzanian executive, trying to listen to several complaints. But his eyes had strayed toward Lisa, head tilted, totally absorbed, as if nothing interested her but what Mamboso was saying. What had he been saying? "An interesting man, huh?"

"Oh, yes! He told me so much about this country."

"I see." Yes, she had that knack of drawing people out.

"He says the land itself is so beautiful. Lake Nakuru where the flamingos come to feed, covering it like a mammoth pink blanket. And Victoria Falls, the largest in the entire world. Oh, there's so much I'd like to seer'

Scot wondered if Mamboso got the same lift as he. Just from her voice, her enthusiasm.

"And I haven't begun to see all the animals. There are rhinoceroses, elephants, tigers, hyenas, baboons—"

"Boa constrictors, pythons, and puff adders," he added.

"Yes, but I doubt I will see those."

"Thank God." Darn, she's even enthusiastic about snakes.

But when lunch was served, Lisa picked at her salad, her enthusiasm dimming a bit. "Of course I won't see the falls."

"I don't see why not," he said.

"They're in Zambia. I've decided on the Nairobi Treetop safari. Shucks," she reflected. "I wouldn't have time or money for more."

"We could hire a plane," he said impulsively.

"We? A plane?" She stared at him.

"Cover a lot of territory in a short period of time." He cleared his throat. "Might be good business."

"Business?"

"We carry the insurance on most of the safari camps. Wouldn't hurt to do a little checking.

Since we're here," he added, wondering whatever had come over him.

44 Yes, since we are here," she echoed, her mouth a round circle of surprise.

1 'Now, which areas interest you most?" he asked as he began to eat with surprising appetite, not looking at her.

"Well..." A private plane that would whisk them from one magic spot to another! She was a little awestruck. But she was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Scot had Lisa change his departure time. Back in his room, he unpacked and made arrangements to hire a plane and a guide. On his own. Sure wouldn't be fair to charge it to the company since it was not scheduled.

Again he wondered what had come over him.

Lisa. She had looked so eager. And she had made this conference so easy. Not only the preparation, but she had been at the ready every minute with whatever information he needed. She had earned a day or two off to see more of the country about which she was so excited.

He ignored certain repressed emotions that threatened to surface ... a longing to share her enthusiasm, a reluctance to take the long trip home without her beside him

He called off the matters awaiting his attention at the home office. Things would keep

for a few days. He placed a call to Wilmington, and spent a long time on the phone. Pertinent matters were delegated.

He told himself he was doing it for Lisa. Certainly not for himself. Tours were not his thing. Animals? He had lived in New York most of his life and, as a child, had been taken to the zoo many times. And there had been Rex, his golden retriever, so much a part of his boyhood. Horses on the family compound. But that was about as far as it went.

He had not expected the emotion that gripped him when he stood beside Lisa in an open-roofed van and lifted his binoculars to see an antelope dart across a plain that stretched as far as the eye could see. He was infused with a feeling of serenity and exaltation. Joy that they were there, a part of it all. He reached for her hand, glad they shared it together, entranced by the immensity, the sheer beauty of the land.

"It's so overwhelmingly beautiful," Lisa whispered. "Do you suppose the Leakeys are right? That this is really where civilization began?"

"Could be," he said, thinking of their short tour through the museum which contained artifacts, evidence, according to the Leakeys, of man's first appearance on earth. "Certainly contains all the early trappings."

"Yes. The Garden of Eden. Can't you see it? Man and beast living peaceably together. The lion lying with the lamb. The snake upright—"

His bellow of laughter interrupted her. "No, I can't see it. What would the lion eat? And what would the snake stand on?"

"Oh, you. No faith. And no imagination, either," she chided as they crossed a bridge to the Ark, the rather luxurious lodge where they would spend the night. It was perched high above a mammoth water hole and a salt lick, the largest in Kenya. Several animals would gather there each night, and they would be privileged to view them from the Ark's bunk.

They dined in the luxurious restaurant, and, tired from their long trek, retired to their separate rooms. Lisa tumbled immediately into bed, and was awakened by a loud buzz, the signal that animals had appeared at the watering hole. She threw a jacket over her pajamas and hastened down, not intending to miss anything.

Scot, still in his safari gear, was waiting for

her. Evidently he had not bothered to retire. In

a few minutes they took their turn in the bunk,

the glassed-in cubicle where guests, a few at a

t time, were permitted to view the animals.

"We're in the cage," Lisa chuckled, pressing her face against the glass as if she could get a closer look. "And they're out there, roaming free, doing their own thing. Oh, you big bully!"

she cried as a big water hog pushed aside a smaller one in the watering hole.

Scot laughed, his eyes more on Lisa than the scene below. So intently interested, so vibrantly alive. She enhanced each moment.

"Do you suppose animals think?" she asked.

"Of course. That big elephant rolling on his back in that salt bed, is thinking, Take that! Irritating itchy bugs!"

"Silly. I know they think about eating and sleeping and getting rid of ticks, but..." She sighed. "I guess they just live, doing what comes naturally. They leave the problems to people like us.. .like you."

"Me?" he asked, puzzled, but drinking in the you're-so-wonderful look in her eyes.

"I mean, people like you who are in charge of the world's economy, keep us working, and.. .oh, you know." She seemed embarrassed and hastily added, "Mr. Mambosa was very impressed with you."

"He's okay, too." But he liked the way she was looking at him. He didn't want her to go back to her room. Away from him.

"Let's have a drink," he said, motioning toward the bar.

She looked down at herself. "I don't think I'm dressed for it," she said.

"You're beautiful," he said. "You'd be beautiful in anything."

"Why, thank you," she said with an impish grin. "That's very welcome talk to a girl who was bedeviled by buck teeth, knock knees, and three Wells boys."

"I don't believe it."

"Believe it. I was a horror." She stepped back, put her knees together, and made a face as she protruded her upper teeth over her lower lip.

He roared with laughter as he led her into the bar. "Yes, I see. Truly an ugly duckling," he said, pulling out her chair at a window booth.

She nodded as she took her seat. "I was. And Joey, Bob, and George Wells reminded me every day. That's why I have such a complex."

"Yes, I've noticed. Tell me, lady, how did you manage to transform into such a beautiful swan?"

"All that hard work at Hera's. And Aunt Ruth. She's magic."

"Tell me."

"About Aunt Ruth?"

"Everything. I want to know all about you."

It seemed a time for confiding. Sitting in her pajamas, in an almost-empty bar, sipping drinks, and looking out at a dark sky dotted with stars, she told him. About Aunt Ruth, temporarily in London, who had supplied braces and dancing lessons, the bullying of the Wells boys, and Mary Wells's tender loving care.

"A pretty full well-rounded life," he said. "No wonder you're so beautiful. It's from the inside."

It wasn't so much what he said, but the way he looked at her. Warm and loving, making her feel like she was special. A desirable woman whose appeal went far deeper than glands. She was engulfed by a hot ripple of pleasure, and felt suddenly shy.

"I'm doing this all wrong. I should be listening to you, according to this book."

"What book?"

"Never mind. Tell me about Scot Harding before Safetech."

"Rather mundane, I'm afraid. School, camps, basketball, golf."

She stared at him. "That sounds very institutional. Didn't you have a home?"

He gave a wry smile, took a sip of vodka. "Oh, sure. A big home. Lots of land, trees, horses, servants."

"But... surely you had a family."

"That, too. A brother and a father. Don't remember much about my mother. She died when I was five."

"Oh. I'm sorry." Of course she had lost her parents, too, when she was very young. But there had been Mary.

"Did you have a favorite aunt or.. .someone into whose lap you could climb when you got a bruise or got teased?"

He shook his head. "Nope. All male servants, and I'm a little short on relatives. But.. .oh, don't look like that. I had a heck of a good life. Not even any bullying. Chuck, my brother, is a couple of years older, but we got on well together. My father, too, when he was home. Lots of fun, actually. . .golf, tennis, the works."

"And you never missed..." She paused, not sure how to phrase all the tender loving care of a Mary. "A woman's touch?" she finally finished.

"Maybe Chuck does," he said with a smile. "At least he's married three times, looking for it."

"And struck out," she mused, almost to herself. "Is that why you're afraid to look? Why you've never... Oh, good grief! It's late." She stood up, appalled at herself. A big difference between listening and prying. "I'd better go if I want to make that wake-up call tomorrow," she said, and fled.

He stood and watched her leave. Hating to see her go.

Wondering. What was all this psychological stuff? Chuck was searching and he was afraid to.

Bull! He had all the woman's touch he wanted. And when it got to be too much, he could back off.

Even from Lisa. Actually, she was a double taboo. Not only a valuable business partner, she

was also a woman on the hunt for a husband. And he was not in the market for marriage.

Hell, if he could back off from Lisa, he could back off from anybody.

Beautiful, exciting, vivacious Lisa, whether hot and dusty in a van under a burning sun, or sharing intimate thoughts in a dimly lit bar... She was a delightful companion. It was as if they had reached a plateau, a kinship, almost spiritual.

Something else. He had not, this time, tried to kiss her. Not once. No matter how many times he had wanted to.

That said something, didn't it? No need to be concerned about working closely with her, or traveling together.

in a company with an international work force, highly competitive, of course they had sensitive changes to discuss. Oh, good grief! I've got more to think about than whatever Reba Morris's discussing with.'.. whomever.

Still, she was irked when Reba burst in upon them one afternoon. Lisa had remained with Scot after office hours to catch up on a mountain of paperwork.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought ..." Reba gave Lisa a cursory glance before turning again to Harding. 4 'I thought you were alone. I need to talk to you."

"Oh?"

Reba seemed to flinch under his questioning stare. Then she smiled. "It can wait until you've finished here. After.. .could I treat you to dinner? Something I need to thrash out with you.. .about the internees."

Lisa's fingers tightened on her pencil. They had just begun to make a little headway and Reba interrupted to talk about hiring a few students.

Scot voiced her irritation. "So, thrash away. What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, not yet. But..." She glanced again toward Lisa. "It's rather touchy."

"Good Lord, Reba! What's so touchy about hiring a few students?"

This time he sounded so impatient that Reba became apologetic, albeit rather defiant. "Scot, I wouldn't bother you about this now, except that

this Mr. Glover phoned me this afternoon and tomorrow he's bringing this boy you promised to hire."

"Glover? Oh, yes, I remember. He's the boy's sponsor. He spoke to me at Rotary and I meant to alert you that he was bringing him in."

"You knew he was a high school dropout and on parole from the youth authority?"

"Yes."

"Scot, we already have more internees than we scheduled for," Reba said. "It's difficult to find places and work for the ones we already have."

"Frankly, Reba, I don't expect much work from these kids. The program is for them. An opportunity to observe and learn."

"And just what do you expect a parolee to learn?"

"That there are other ways to make a living than stealing hubcaps."

"Oh, Scot, for goodness' sake, you don't mean we should hire him. I could explain that we're overloaded and—"

"Hire him. Glover says the boy has been shunted from one foster home to another and has gotten off track. But he says he's a bright kid with real potential. If given a push in the right direction... Oh, hire him, Reba! Surely we can handle one more." He got up and opened the door for her. "Please, excuse us. I'm really rather busy."

Not too busy to fight for a kid who needs a push, Lisa thought. She remembered his words when he'd instituted the program. "Our young people arc the future, both for us and the country. They need a chance to see what's going on." He had said he was being practical. She smiled. She would call it compassion. For one lost boy.

Yes, Scot Harding was quite a man. A man who needs some tender loving care, Lisa thought as he walked to the window and stretched. He pushed himself too hard. Just back from a hurried trip to Denver yesterday, a meeting last night, he'd skipped lunch...

"We need a break," she said. "Let's take this to my place. I'll fix a snack and we can finish up."

"Good idea," he said. "Only we could go out or have something sent in. You shouldn't trouble."

"No trouble." A restaurant would be crowded and noisy. If they stayed here, he'd just keep working. At her place, while she fixed something he could take a much needed breather.

Her apartment was not the mess it had been the last time he had seen it. It was clean and neat, and rather homey, Scot thought, glancing at the scattered magazines and the vase of long-stemmed roses on the coffee table. Did she buy those herself or did someone send them? he wondered.

"I won't be long," Lisa said. "Why don't you stretch out on the couch and rest while you wait?"

Scot was too tired to resist the suggestion. He took off his shoes and stretched out, and, almost immediately dozed off.

A good time to test the book, Lisa thought, laughing at herself. An out-of-date book bearing an old-fashioned title: How To Please The Him In Your Life. Quite out of pace with today's how-to-be-a-successful-woman books. She had seen it on a dusty shelf in a used book store and found it amusing. As if anyone would go to all this trouble, trying to please a man!

Oh, well, it was in line with her old-fashioned ideas, wasn't it? Maybe she should see if it worked. She thumbed through the pages and found the most unlikely, though most pertinent at the moment, advice. "What To Feed Him When He Needs A Pickup."

Scot awoke to the sound of a cheerful, "It's ready. Come and get it," and an appetizing aroma drifting from the kitchen. He followed his nose to a prettily set table, and sat down to a delicious repast. Chicken so tender he could cut it with his fork, spicy apple slices, fluffy creamed potatoes, green peas and carrots. Not his usual fare, but...

"Very tasty," he said. "But I feel a little guilty. I was sleeping and you were still working."

"I haven't just returned from a trip to Denver and a long meeting last night. You deserve a break. Anyone who handles the heavy load you have needs all the help he can get."

"Why, thank you, ma'am. I'm glad you realize it."

"Oh, stop that grinning! I really do like the way you operate, and it burns me up when you're saddled with silly details that others should..." She stopped. "Okay, I guess I got a little miffed at Reba tonight, but, to tell the truth, I'm glad you took over that little detail. Otherwise, a young boy might have missed a chance he needs."

Scot was warmed by her words and the gleam of genuine admiration in her eyes. "I wonder where Reba will place him," he mused.

"I think I'll ask her to give him to us," Lisa said. "Start him at the top. I sure learned the business running errands for the head shed."

"You sure did," he said. And meant it. The best assistant he ever had. "And you can cook, too," he added.

"I'm learning," she said, smiling. "Part of the preparation, you know."

"Preparation?"

"For marriage."

That jolted him. "Good Lord! Are you still on that kick?"

"Certainly. Does that surprise you? We covered my agenda pretty thoroughly in that first interview, didn't we?"

"Well.. .er... I suppose. Only..." He had only half believed it in the first place, and, most of the time, forgot about it. And, anyway hadn't thought... "Look, I said it then and I'll say it again. People don't prepare for marriage. At least not until they fall in love with some special somebody."

"I know." She speared an apple slice and popped it into her mouth. "That's sad, isn't it?"

"Sad?"

"To base your life on love."

"Miss Wilson!" he said in exaggerated shock. "How can you demean the most profound force on earth? Love ye one another, sayeth the—"

"Oh, sure. Universally. But we're talking the personal Adam and Eve force."

"Which is different?"

"And dangerous."

"Oh?"

"One could get caught," she explained to his raised brow, "by good looks or glands or most any little thing."

"Equally insignificant, I presume?"

"Oh, you needn't smirk! Think about it," she said, pointing with her fork. "There you are, enchanted by a pair of dreamy blue eyes or full of goose bumps from the touch of strong, bulging

muscles, and... bingo! Before you know it, you are stuck with a muscular penny pincher who dotes on country-western instead of the free-spending Bach lover you'd much prefer. Or vice versa. He finds the body beautiful can't cook. Okay, laugh!" She handed another napkin to Scot, who was choking on his coffee. "Slightly exaggerated, but you do see what I mean, don't you?"

He nodded, coughed, and when he could speak, said, "You do make a point. But.. .stuck? Mistakes can be remedied. Divorce is—"

"Messy and complicated, especially if there are children. Also, a big waste of time."

"And expensive," he agreed, thinking of his brother. "So perhaps there is method to your madness," he conceded. "So you are prepared for that mysterious Mr. Right?"

"Oh, never! As you know, premiums must be paid, or the policy will lapse." She grinned. "It's an ongoing process, you see. Speaking of which, we'd better get going."

She sure seems prepared, he thought as he watched her clear the table. Quite different from the gopher who had brought his morning coffee and watered the plants. Still does, come to think of it. But she was... different. Or maybe he had gotten to know her better. Found out she could cook, play golf, and was... well, fun to be with, at work or play. And looking at her now, in that

frilly wraparound thing she had changed into... Damn! Glands! Better watch it, buddy.

"Okay, boss. Back to the grindstone."

He looked at the folders she placed before him, then back at her. It had been a long time since that first interview, and everything about her, her looks, her whole demeanor, had changed. What he had thought remote now loomed as an imminent possibility. The thought disturbed him. Those roses... "Do you have someone in mind?" he asked.

"Well." She tapped her pencil against her lips. "What do you think of Joe Prescott?"

"Huh?"

"Or Danville. He knows the area pretty well."

He stared at her.

"You were thinking of who should arrange the West Coast Regional, weren't you?"

"Er... Oh. Sure. Prescott. Good choice." He bent to the work before him, and didn't refer to the question until they had finished. However, it still bugged him, and when she began to close folders, he asked again. Casually. Joking. "So. Have you found him?"

"Who?"

"This paragon. The Mr. Right you keep harping about."

"Oh." Her laugh was low and musical. "I'm not sure." He was still pondering on this unas-suring answer as she continued, "All finished and

not yet ten o'clock. Not bad. Now you may have a treat."

"A treat?"

"I suppose you noticed I served no wine or dessert/'

"No." He hadn't even thought about it.

"Well, I didn't. They inhibit the thinking process."

"Really? And where do you get all these gems of wisdom?"

"From a little manual I found on a deserted book shelf."

"I see." But he wasn't thinking of manuals or gems. Only of the sparkle of laughter in her eyes, the perfect outline of lush parted lips, the slender throat and delicate curves so invitingly revealed by a loosely wrapped wraparound.

"So what is your preference, sir? Cake or wine... Brandy? Something sweet or something stimulating?"

"Both," he whispered, crushing her to him and closing his mouth on those luscious lips. Oh, yes! So sweet. A sensation sizzling through him with a charge, electric and effervescent, like a potent drink for which he had long thirsted. He had to quench the thirst. Over and over again he tasted the sweetness of her lips, traced the firm slender lines of her body, the soft curves beneath the sheer garment, breathed in the fragrance of her. He lost count of time. Had no thought or reason.

Only feeling, He wanted it to last forever. Still holding her close, he lifted his head to look down at her; she stared at him with wide startled eyes. But she did not pull away. And he remembered that there had been no resistance. Not once. Only the precious yielding of that sweet body pressed close to his, a hand clutching his chest, her mouth against the hollow of his throat. He felt a surge of pure delight and lightly touched his mouth to hers.

'This is... Isn't... Not right," her lips whispered against his.

"Why?" he whispered back.

"Not... not good business."

"No." To hell with business. He peppered her face with kisses.

"Oh... Please...!"

"Please what?" he coaxed, his tongue tasting the lobe of her ear. She gave a moan of pleasure so potently stimulating that he continued to tease and probe, to—

"Oh, no! Please..." This time the plea was as much protest as pleasure. "Wait! This... Glands!"

"Yes." He felt the powerful surge in his groin.

"Stop!"

He didn't want to stop.

With a strength unbelievable in so small a figure, she pushed him away. "You shouldn't... I shouldn't. It's all my fault."

' 'Yes." She shouldn't be so temptingly beautiful. So... He reached for her.

She backed away. "I didn't mean to... Well, you know. Glands can get you in trouble."

Scot sat in his car, not daring to switch on the engine. Not until he had gained some control.

Damn! Damn! Damn!

Never had he been so firmly rejected. Dismissed. Tossed... no, kicked out!

Okay... a gentle kick. Apologizing all over the place. "Sorry. All my fault. I shouldn't have let.. .made this happen." When she knew darn well it was he who reached for her.

But she hadn't resisted, had she?

Not one damn bit! Just the opposite. Nestled in his arms like she meant to stay forever... With him all the way, yielding to the same mounting, all-consuming passion, so powerful it still held him in its grip. And then, right in the midst.. .stop!

He didn't understand.

Oh, the hell with it! He switched on the engine. Halfway to his condo, his car phone buzzed.

Lisa! He eagerly reached for the phone.

"Scot! At last," came a voice from the past.

"Hello, Gwen," he said, swallowing the disappointment. When was the last time he had seen Gwen Bradley?