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I married anyone else, he would object to all the traveling I have to do. Maybe not in the beginning, but in time he would. I’ve seen it happen with too many other singers, male or female. But you wouldn’t mind. You have to admit, Chance, that we are good for each other.”
    â€œYou don’t really want to marry me, Lucianna.” But he understood what she meant. Over the years they had become comfortable with each other—the way two old friends could be. They slipped in and out of the roles of lovers because it was easy. He knew he could find comfort and affection in her arms—with no demands from her, no strings, no expectations to be fulfilled. “We know each other too well.”
    â€œIs that bad?” she chided. Yet the very absence of any hurt in her voice proved to him that he was right in what he said. “We are a lot alike, you and I.”
    â€œBe honest, Lucianna. Do you really want a husband who knew you when you were Lucy Kowalski, a nobody from nowhere with only pride and ambition to her name. We both started at the bottom and clawed our way to the top. We aren’t the same people anymore. We’ve put all that behind us. I don’t want to be reminded of it every morning. I don’t think you do either.”
    â€œI couldn’t stand it.” Her voice vibrated with feeling as she turned her head away, presenting him with the power of her profile. “Although, it did sound like a good idea,” she added, a little wistfully.
    Looking at her and feeling the ease of friendship, he thought of Flame, the intriguing green of her eyes, the sculptured bones of her face, and the aloof calm of self-control; but, beneath, was an untapped well of emotion. She was a woman of strong will, perhaps even stronger than his own. That alone was a challenge to him, but that alone didn’t explain her attraction for him, an attraction that had something to do with the awareness that lay between them. The few minutes he’d spent with her, she’d stimulated more than his desire.
    Then he’d gotten the phone call from Hattie. What the hell did she want? A troubled frown darkened his expression.
    The limousine made a wide turn into the private cul-de-sac of the hotel’s entrance, its headlights piercing the wispy white fog. Roused from his thoughts, Chance gave Lucianna’s silk-clad foot one last kneading squeeze and swung it off his leg. “Better put your shoes on. We’re here.”
    â€œMust I?” Again there was that petulant note in her voice, but when Lucianna stepped from the limousine, her feet were once again wedged in red pumps.
    Their individual suites were located on opposite ends of the same floor. When they emerged from the elevator, Lucianna paused, angling her body toward him and idly running her fingers up the edge of his jacket lapel, her dark eyes bold with invitation. “This business meeting of yours can’t take much more than an hour, can it? I have a magnum of Taittinger’s chilling in my room.”
    Chance let his gaze linger on the pouting fullness of her lips. She was a sensual woman, practiced in pleasing him. Two hours ago—maybe even less—it would have been a foregone conclusion that he would spend a satisfying hour or two in her bed. But he couldn’t summon any interest in the thought now.
    â€œAnother time,” he suggested.
    A hint of regret was in her smile, yet her look was thoughtful. “There always is with us, isn’t there?”
    â€œYes,” Chance agreed, recognizing that each time they parted it was with the certain knowledge that they would meet somewhere again, sometimes by design, sometimes not.
    â€œTill then.” She rose up to kiss him, old patterns reasserting themselves in the warmly delving contact. Chance responded automatically, his mind preoccupied with his impending meeting with Hattie.
    The instant he turned from Lucianna to walk down the