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running,” Felicia offered.

      “Michael Burke,” the sisters sang in harmony.

      “He recommended you very highly,” Felicia added.

      Mia held back a yelp of surprise. Her pulse pounded so loudly that the voices faded into the background. She wasn’t sure if she’d even said goodbye.

      The sound of the front door closing snapped her to attention. She was alone in the conference room.

      Recommended by Michael Burke. Coincidence or just her luck? Manhattan, for all its pomp and circumstance and worldwide notoriety, was nothing more than an island jam-packed with people and buildings. Sooner or later paths were bound to cross.

      So he hadn’t forgotten about her and even thought enough of her to recommend a possible client. She didn’t know if that was a good or a bad thing, but it was one thing—the opening that she needed.

      Chapter 4

      Michael Burke tugged off his suit jacket and tossed it on the back of the couch before heading across the gleaming wood floor of his condo to the minibar on the far side of the living room.

      He took out a bottle of brandy and poured a short tumbler full—no ice. It was a habit he’d picked up over the past few years. The years after his divorce, the years after Mia.

      He took a long swallow, closed his eyes and let the smooth, warm liquid work its way down and hopefully soothe the constant ache that had found a home in the center of his gut.

      Absently, he put the glass on the top of the bar counter and went to the window. Lights flickered in apartment windows and in offices inhabited by the lone employee working overtime to impress the boss.

      Michael braced his palm against the frame of the window. The sky suddenly lit up, followed by a loud crack of thunder.

      The rain would come soon, Michael thought. On nights like this, when he could get away, he remembered walking through the city with Mia, laughing and hugging as they darted under the eaves of buildings and into doorways, stealing kisses like teenagers.

      His jaw clenched reflexively. He had many memories of Mia. But the one that stood out in his mind was the day she walked out of his life.

      They’d spent a glorious night together at the Hilton on Avenue of the Americas. His wife, Christine, was visiting her mother in Philadelphia, her childhood home. She’d been gone for a week and was due back the following day. Michael intended to make the most of his last night of freedom.

      “I can’t do this,” she’d said. He remembered teasing her about what she’d meant before making love to her, pouring his heart and soul into her.

      When he awoke the next morning she was gone. He called and called. He went to her apartment and got no answer. Her neighbors said they hadn’t seen her.

      She was working for a small management company at the time, and when he inquired about her, he was informed that she’d taken a leave of absence.

      For weeks afterward, he couldn’t sleep, and he barely ate. Every time his phone rang, he knew it would be Mia, but it never was.

      Then about three months later a letter came to his office, no return address.

      Dear Michael,

      I know I took the coward’s way out. But if I didn’t I would have never found the strength to leave you.

      No matter what it is that we feel for each other, it was wrong. We were wrong. And if I could do that to another woman, then what kind of woman did that make me?

      I hurt. Every day I hurt. But I know in time it will get better. And you will find a way to be the husband Christine deserves.

      I wish you all good things, my love, now and always.

      Please don’t try to contact me. It’s best for all of us.

      Mia

      He still had that letter. He’d kept it all these years. Memorized every line. He would recite it to himself whenever the overwhelming urge to call or see her would consume him.

      Most ironic, less than a year after Mia walked out of his life, Christine filed for divorce. She’d found someone else.

      He supposed it was what he’d deserved, and he’d agreed to the divorce uncontested.

      Michael turned away from the window, just as the rain began to fall. He was a free man now, a wealthy man who could have whomever and whatever he wanted. He wanted Mia Turner. And he was going to have her, no matter how long it took or what it took to achieve his goal. He’d honored her wishes not to contact her, until now.

      He picked up the remnants of his drink and finished it off. It was just a matter of time, he thought as the golden-brown liquid heated his insides. A matter of time.

      “Whew, it’s pouring out there,” Steven muttered, shaking himself off as he crossed the threshold of the apartment that he and Mia shared.

      He’d given up his tiny one-bedroom apartment when he and Mia decided that they wanted to be with each other exclusively. That was six months ago, and he hadn’t regretted a day of it.

      He’d often envied the stability of Blake and Savannah’s marriage, although he would never admit that to Blake, even though they were best friends. Blake and Savannah were a team and the union had grounded and matured Blake in a way that nothing else had. Savannah and now their new baby were his life. And the business that he and Blake had built from the ground up, which had been his number-one priority, now took second place to his wife and daughter.

      Steven had often teased Blake about how square he’d become since his marriage: no more hanging out with the fellas, dating, chasing women, or even talking about them. Steven couldn’t imagine himself with the same woman day in and day out—tied down. The thought often chilled him. Until he met Mia. She turned his world on its ear and he was still pleasantly reeling from the aftershocks. Never in his wildest imaginings did he think he’d be looking forward to coming home to his woman at night.

      He shook his head in wonder as he dropped his umbrella in the stand by the door.

      Sounds of the evening news drifted from the television set in the living room, mixed with the tantalizing aromas of something distinctly Italian.

      Steven grinned. Mia sure knew the way to her man’s heart—knockout sex and a mouthwatering meal.

      Mia poked her head out from the archway leading to the kitchen. Her face was scrubbed clean of makeup and her skin seemed to glow. Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail, revealing the soft angles of her brown sugar-toned face. She greeted him with one of her heart-stopping smiles. God, he loved her.

      Steven moved in her direction until he was right next to her. His gray-green eyes moved like a trained masseur’s stroke across her face.

      “Hey, baby.” His tone was low and very intimate—just for her.

      She slid her right hand around the back of his neck and took the last step that separated them. Her body melded with his like putty, molding itself to the hard lines of his from the broad expanse of his chest to his muscular thighs.

      Mia tilted her head slightly upward and brought her mouth to his.

      Steven groaned deep in his throat when the softness of her lips connected with his. He maneuvered her so that her back was against the frame of the archway to the kitchen.

      The sweetness of her tongue set off a firestorm in his gut. His erection was electrifying and so suddenly powerful that the world receded and an uncontrolled need took its place.

      Her long, slender fingers grazed along his body, stoking the growing fire of desire. She reached up and pushed down the fragile spaghetti straps of her thin top and tugged it down, exposing her bare breasts.

      Steven nearly hollered. Instead, he feasted on one then the other, as Mia’s short nails dug into his shoulder blades and her whispers

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