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arch of her throat. “It’s playing the role of the prima donna that’s so tiring sometimes. You not only have to dress the part, but you must act it too—always pleasant, always smiling, pretending to be friendly, but never too friendly or you’ll lose your mystique. But above all, a prima donna must be aloof to criticism. You have to smile and never let them see how it cuts you.”
    â€œYou do it well.” Chance studied the mask of self-assurance and confidence that had become a permanent part of her. There was little resemblance between the woman beside him and the hillbilly girl from the mountains of Arkansas he’d met for the first time fifteen years ago singing in a smoky piano bar—the same girl whose pastor once claimed was an angel singing in his church choir. But she’d left all that behind long ago—along with the thick rural accent and the unglamorous name of Lucy Kowalski. Today few would guess at her background—as few guessed at his.
    â€œTruthfully—” Sighing, she kicked off her satin pumps dyed to match the scarlet of her dress. “—I’m tired of smiling. I don’t know which aches more—my cheeks or my feet.” She turned her head to look at him, a coy appeal in her dark eyes. “Will you rub them for me?”
    â€œYour cheeks?” Chance smiled, deliberately misunderstanding.
    â€œWhat a stimulating thought, darling.” She slipped her hand free and lightly stroked his cheek. “Why don’t you start with my feet and work your way up?” she suggested and curled her legs under her to kneel on the seat cushion facing him. “That’s what you used to do. Remember?”
    â€œYou never let me forget.” But he didn’t object as she shifted to recline lengthwise on the passenger seat and rested a stockinged foot on his thigh. Automatically he cupped his hands around it and began gently kneading its sole and running his thumb along its arch.
    A low moan of pleasure came from her throat. “Mmmm, that feels so good, Chance.” He smiled and said nothing. For minutes there was only silence. Then Lucianna murmured, “Was it nine or ten years ago that you pulled off your first really important deal—the one that netted you more than a million dollars?”
    â€œNearly ten.” He lifted her foot off his thigh and placed it on the seat. Obligingly she raised her other foot for him to rub.
    â€œI tried to be happy for you. In a way, I was.” Her shoulders lifted in a vague shrug. “But I hated you, too. You were succeeding and I wasn’t.”
    â€œI know.” They’d gone their separate ways after that. No longer lovers, and jealousy straining even their friendship.
    â€œNow I’ve made it, too.” Satisfaction riddled her voice. “Chauffeured limousines, sable coats, designer gowns, my own personal hairdresser, everything first class—all the accoutrements of success are mine. I’m thirty-five years old. Thankfully, that’s young for an opera singer. My voice will be good for another fifteen years—longer if I’m careful. But, do you know what’s funny, Chance? I have everything I’ve ever wanted, yet, being with you again, I realize how lonely I’ve been.”
    â€œLonely?” He arched her a skeptical look. “With your traveling entourage of maids, hairdressers, and accompanists? Impossible.”
    â€œIt’s true. I’m not close to them like I am to you. We should get married, Chance.”
    His thumb paused in midstroke halfway down her foot. Then he ran it the rest of the way to her heel. “And do what? Meet each other in airports? You know how much I travel. And you said you were booked for—what?—over a hundred performances next year alone. That wouldn’t be much of a marriage, would it?”
    â€œBut don’t you see, Chance, you understand how much this means to me. If