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she wasn't with him. Why was he suddenly treating her like
    his property? .
    "Now is not the time, Victor," she said firmly, and she gave him a no-nonsense nod meant to put
    him in his place.
    Apparently he didn't get the point. His fingers pressed into her flesh as he said, "When will be
    the time to talk about it? Tim's gone for now-we have a few minutes. Who was that man I saw
    you with earlier? I heard you had dinner with him."
    Mary blinked in surprise. Who'd told him that? Harold' Schubert? Another member of the
    hospital staff? "So I had dinner with him," she said in an offhand manner. "I was eating-he was
    eating-we sat at the same table. It happens, Victor."
    "But then you went out the door with him, and your car was still in the parking lot when I left.
    Did he take you home?"
    Boom went another bout of fireworks. The crowd cheered. Mary fumbled for something
    reasonable and conciliatory to say, but what could that be? He'd taken her home and kissed her,
    and walked away with her soul in his pocket.
    She scowled and said, "So what if he did? Is that a crime? He offered and I was too tired to drive,
    and anyway-why are you checking up on me like this?"
    Suddenly his demeanour changed, became soothing. His grip on her arm loosened, and he
    rubbed her shoulders. "I'm sorry. That sounded bad, didn't it? I was just worried about you,
    darling, that's all. I didn't know him and thought you didn't, either, and if you'd wanted a ride
    home, all you had to do was ask me. I would have been happy to take you."
    Mary's bristling smoothed over, and she turned contrite. Poor Victor. He'd had a long, hard day,
    too.
    "I knew your shift wasn't over until eight, and anyway, he was perfectly fine."
    "So who was he anyway?" Victor asked casually, starting to lead her toward the beach.
    "He teaches at the university. He was on Harold Schubert's yacht when the boating accident
    happened."
    And I can still feel his kiss on my mouth. The scorching memory, engulfed her; with a shock, she
    felt the private area between her legs throb gently. She looked around in confusion, cheeks
    flaming, She was too tired; the barrier between thought and action was too ephemeral,
    untrustworthy. She was afraid of what she might inadvertently blurt out if Victor continued his
    interrogation much longer.
    Over the staccato explosions overhead and the noise of the crowd, she could hear the roar of an
    approaching motorcycle, and absentmindedly glanced in that direction. The roar subsided into a
    low engine growl as a Harley-Davidson pulled into an empty parking space.
    There were two riders, a man driving and a woman riding pillion. They both wore black helmets
    and protective leather jackets. The man was wearing straight legged, faded jeans and a white T-
    shirt, and the woman's lush, curved legs were bared by a black mini dress. She wore, Mary saw
    with amazement, high heeled stiletto pumps.
    There was something familiar about the man's large, powerful body. She watched as he lowered
    the kickstand with the toe of his boot and they dismounted, removing their helmets.
    The man's overlong blond hair lifted in the breeze. The woman's hair tumbled out, a long,
    curling, glorious mass of coppery red. They locked their helmets in the bike's carrier, chatting
    together companionably, and turned to the beach.
    Mary's heart emitted one hard, dismayed kick. Chance, his tanned, chiselled features relaxed, the
    wide breadth of his shoulders a tough, aggressive angle in contrast to slim hips and lithe, muscular legs. The woman, the hourglass shape of her body extravagantly feminine, her leather
    jacket unzipped to reveal a deep neckline that showcased a lovely, generous cleavage, her long
    green eyes gleaming like a cat's.
    Without realizing it, Mary had stopped dead in her tracks. She didn't notice Victor tugging on her
    arm, or that he'd turned to follow her gaze. Now there, she thought bleakly, is a complete
    picture. It wasn't supposed to be a buxom blonde on