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offer her, but she’d
plenty of time to throw herself at the rich and powerful Jon Rush. Traitorous
bitch! To think, for a while, he’d thought she was different, capable of
valuing a man for who he really was…
    Then a new
idea pushed through his sense of betrayal. If Jon Rush wanted this woman, then
she could prove to be the delightful instrument of Rush Co.’s destruction. He
could punish them both. The irony of the situation made the watching man smile
his charming smile – a smile that never quite reached his eyes.

Chapter Four
     
                Jon’s protective
presence in her ‘backyard’ was the first thing Lauren thought of when she woke
from a deep sleep the next morning, stretching luxuriously on the smooth warm
cotton sheets in her king-sized loft bed. Briefly, she wondered what it would
be like to wake up beside him, their limbs tangled together and the sheets
disarrayed by love.
    One word
was all it would have taken last night. That little voice was back,
tweaking at her conscious mind and playing on emerging needs which she’d
managed to keep submerged for so long.
    After her
ex-husband, Terry, had left—been ‘thrown out’, as Lucy loved to recall—Lauren
had reveled in the solitude the studio afforded her, and the freedom of being
just one, rather than always having to think as a couple—and the lesser part of
two, at that.
      So when
did solitude and freedom become loneliness and an aching need to be touched,
mind and body, by another? When you met Jon Rush, the little voice
replied with a confidence so arrogant that Lauren would have torn it from her
head if she had been able.
                The dull light sifting
through her uncurtained windows told her that it was another cold wintry
morning, her conscience adding that it was also another weekday morning and
none too early. Guilty knowledge of several different deadlines forced her out
of the warm bed and into her chilly bathroom to shower and dress. As she did so
she carefully avoided thoughts of anything but the work she needed to do to get
back on track for her upcoming show.
    The telephone
in the kitchen rang as she tried to tame her short, wavy hair with the blow
drier. She heard the answering machine kick in, followed by silence, and a
final sounding click as the caller hung up. With a shiver, Lauren wondered if
she’d been mistaken. What if Steve Wallace hadn’t been the only one making
calls and refusing to talk to the machine? One heard such dreadful tales of
stalkers and malicious acts.
    Then the phone
shrilled again, causing her heart to thump wildly until, as the machine
answered, Lauren heard Paul’s familiar voice.
    “Lauren, I
know you’re in there. Turn this infernal machine off and talk to me!” 
    With a grin of
relief, Lauren went to pick up the receiver, at the same time chiding herself
for having a too-vivid imagination.
    “Lauren, I’m
so sorry I didn’t call last night, but it got so late,” Paul told her
apologetically, aware that she would have been worried about Lucy. “The doctors
say it’s nothing new, just exhaustion. Old Dr. Miller went ballistic when he
heard she’d been at the protest rally. He gave her absolute hell.”
                “And I bet she paid
lots of attention, and has turned over a new leaf now,” Lauren replied dryly,
relief giving humor to her words.
                “Well, you know Lucy,
always a good patient,” Paul replied with a chuckle. “They’re keeping her in
for a few days’ enforced rest, but I think it’s going to be a close thing as to
who drives who insane first—Lucy or the nursing staff!”
    “My money’s on
Lucy! The staff doesn’t stand a chance! In that case, I’ll drop over to the
hospital this morning. That will take off some of the heat for a while,” Lauren
said, doing some rapid calculations of time-and-motion, remembering the traffic
jams on weekdays and silently kissing her working morning goodbye.
    “I