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the knee. The colors in her
wardrobe were lackluster, but everything was stylish, expensive and dry-clean
only. Finally, she pulled out a charcoal skirt and jacket and a matching pair
of high pumps. Her butterfly build and less than imposing height put her at an
automatic disadvantage. She relied on wardrobe and attitude to command the
respect of everyone she dealt with under the Dome.
    She frantically searched around for the white silk shirt she
typically paired with the suit and eventually found it crumpled under the
hamper. She hastily stuck it on a hanger and hung it on the shower rail. While
the steam from the hot spray smoothed out the wrinkles, she peered into the
bathroom mirror and examined the fret lines on her brow. This morning, they
looked even deeper — probably due to inadequate hydration after all that
drink. As she rubbed pineapple-papaya scrub into her ravaged complexion, she
noticed that the tender area around her mouth was still chafed from Gage’s
ministrations. She recalled the lushness of his lips and the way his mouth
tasted of oak, salt and port and felt an inexplicable longing. If sex were a
meal and his kisses appetizers, she couldn’t imagine what the main course would
be like.
    Okay, she could.
    But she wasn’t going to.
    I don’t dare …
    There was something about Gage Fitzgerald. A
dangerous kind of something that made her skin tingle at the thought of how his
broad shoulders filled out his tuxedo jacket. Or the way his large hand
steadied the small of her back as they kissed.
    The raw attraction between them had been off the charts. 
    He had probably been on a plane back to Iowa the day before
when she was nursing her hangover with a hot cup of tea. Today, he was likely
busy … well, doing whatever heavy lifting he did to stay so naturally
buff, having forgotten her completely.
    She had to focus on her job as Theo’s second in command.
    Sabrina paused in the kitchen to nibble down a
strawberry-filled toaster pastry straight out of the foil packet and survey her
beautifully decorated home in dismay. These older houses are money pits ,
Jackson had warned her before they purchased it together. He had been right,
but Sabrina had been too smitten with the property to care. They had hired
skilled laborers to refinish the old longleaf pine floors, strip the walls of
the peeling wallpaper and repaint the interior and exterior. But the old pipes
still creaked and groaned whenever a tap was turned, and the hot water heater
was perpetually on the fritz. The front porch listed ominously to the south, a
sure sign that foundation problems would soon be staring her down.
    In retrospect, it probably hadn’t been wise to blow a
substantial chunk of her savings on the large ruby-upholstered sectional,
intricately carved Moroccan secretary desk and teak coffee table. Or two sets
of Egyptian cotton linens, one for the master bedroom and one for the spare. At
least the trio of Peter Max originals that hung over the fireplace was hers —
an engagement gift from Jackson — as were the bed, desk and stackable
washer/dryer. 
    Before she got engaged, the number on her monthly stub was a
constant reminder. This is why I can’t have nice things. Sabrina had
been constantly aware that her public servant’s salary was disproportionately
unimpressive compared to her title as Theo’s Chief of Staff. When she and
Jackson agreed to buy the house, she finally felt as though life were throwing
her at least one concession.
    She would finally have her own home.
    The only problem was that a home in Cadence Corners had been
made possible only by Jackson’s impressive income and the promise of Marriage,
Inc.
    Sabrina felt sweat bead her brow. How was she going to make
the mortgage payments on her own? She couldn’t ask Theo for a raise, even
though she was long overdue for one. Molly’s harebrained “save the day” idea was
to lease out the spare bedroom. Sabrina peered into her pristine kitchen and
had an