LITMIR.BIZ

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      Contents

      Prologue

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Prologue

      ROSE BLEW HER NOSE, then added the tissue to the pile on her pink-and-white rose-print bedspread. She glanced at the clock and collapsed into another spasm of sobbing. It was 9:00 a.m. Half an hour since the tears had started. This bout should be wrapping up pretty soon.

      She’d finally gotten to where she could view her crying fits philosophically. Months could go by without them, but sooner or later, one would catch up with her. Put them down to exhaustion, maybe mild depression, hormones…whatever.

      At first she’d thought she was going crazy. Now she considered the tears a harmless and probably healthy form of stress relief. Since her apartment had been broken into, the crying jags had been coming more frequently. Little wonder. That sense of unease, of her privacy being violated, had lingered, as if the intruder were still hiding in her home.

      Ten minutes later, the sobs subsided into shuddering sighs, then hiccups. Rose blew her nose again and gathered up the tissues to take to the trash, giving one last sigh—of relief this time. She crossed to the window, over the colorful rugs strewn on her hardwood floor, wincing when she put weight on the foot His Royal Majesty, Prince Rajid of Saudi Arabia, had stepped on last night. Sweet guy. Rotten dancer.

      But then they all had some flaw, fatal or otherwise—not that she had perfection sewn up by any means. Deep down she suspected the man didn’t exist who could make her fall so far in love she’d forsake all others. Though on some level, however shallow, she did love all the men she dated, from the bottoms of their feet to the tops of their enormous, fragile egos. She loved how they looked at her, how they made her feel. Loved the power she had to entice or amuse or excite them. The only thing she’d ever really been good at. Like an alcoholic or a smoker, she was addicted. To men.

      But real take-over-your-soul love? She doubted she was capable of it. Her personal fatal flaw, perhaps.

      Rose wiped away the last tear from her cheek and drew aside the white lace curtain to see if the van across the street was still parked there. Before the break-in and before that horrible threatening letter, her addiction had seemed harmless. She got everything she wanted. The men got most of what they wanted. Now someone wanted more from her than a good time. And she hadn’t a clue who it was or what it was all about. Someone stalking

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