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nice, comfortable lifestyle once she started showing up regularly near the top of the bestseller lists. Not all of them were to her advantage. Like luck, success was extremely fragile. One flop—one disappointing sellthrough, and it could all go up in smoke. So she juggled her career, dealt with her fans, most of whom were wonderfully supportive, and tried to ignore the few who weren’t. She listened with half an ear to the experts, afraid to trust in today or to look too far into tomorrow because she couldn’t quite forget yesterday.
    The doorbell caught her halfway to her room to changeinto something presentable. Other than the police, the locksmith and the pizza delivery man, the only people who knew where she lived were her agent and her housekeeper.
    â€œYou’re—” Early, she’d been going to say, already reaching for the chain. Her first impulse was to slam the door. Her second was to scream bloody murder. She was still debating when the phone rang.
    â€œThe cops are already on the way,” she lied, shoving hard at the door that was blocked open by a big, water-stained deck shoe.
    Behind her, the machine picked up, and she heard the familiar whispery voice. “Lily…guess what I’m doing right now. I’m in bed, and I’m not wearing nothing, and I’ve got your picture right—”
    â€œOh—damn!”
    Confusion, impotent anger, frustration—embarrassment—it was too much. She closed her eyes and leaned against the door, never mind that his foot was still in the crack.
    â€œYou want to tell me what’s going on?” Curt pushed against the security chain, half-tempted to extricate his foot, walk away and forget he’d ever heard of Lily O’Malley. He didn’t need any more complications at this point in his life.
    Trouble was, the officer-and-gentleman stuff had been drilled into him at an impressionable age. Regardless of the fact that she was either an outright thief or a conscienceless opportunist, she obviously needed help. “Open the door, O’Malley.” He made an attempt to sound reassuring.
    She was not reassured. Glared at him, in fact. “Look, I don’t have time to play games,” he growled. His back was acting up again, thanks to yesterday’s long drive and a night of trying to sleep on a bed that was too short, toohard, in a room where the window was sealed shut. His left leg still hadn’t forgiven him for those three flights of stairs.
    â€œOr maybe you enjoy dirty phone calls? Some people even pay for the privilege of crawling through that particular gutter.”
    She closed her eyes. Her face, already pale without the war paint, grew a shade whiter.
    â€œOkay, if that’s the way you want to play it, I’ll just state my business, you can hand over my property, and I’ll get out of your hair.”
    â€œProperty?”
    He did a quick countdown, trying to hang onto his temper. “I believe I mentioned before that you’ve got something that belongs to me?” He wouldn’t have been surprised to find the lady in the process of sneaking out with all six boxes, after the way she had tried to elude him at the mall. He had let her get away, just to see what she was up to, but the game was over.
    â€œLook, just hand over the boxes and we’ll call it even. I won’t prosecute and you can get back to your—”
    â€œYou won’t what?”
    â€œUh…prosecute?” Indignation wasn’t precisely the reaction he’d expected.
    â€œLook, for your information, I don’t have one damned thing that belongs to you, and what’s more, I’m tired of jerks like you who won’t give up!”
    â€œ You’re tired? Well, that’s just tough, lady!”
    Jerks like him? By the time he had tailed her here, nearly losing her twice in rush hour traffic, found a parking space a block and a half away, jogged the distance on