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more than fi—Oh, my goodness." Faith put her free hand to her chest, her eyes wide as she stared at their guest. "Of course. Zeke Blackstone. I read an article about you in People magazine while I was waiting at the dentist's office last week. It was about your new movie... ah..."
    " Sacred Ground ," Zeke supplied.
    "Yes, that was it. Sacred Ground. It looked like a very interesting movie," she said earnestly. "The article predicted it would be a big hit."
    "Let's hope so," Zeke agreed drily.
    Faith shook her head. "I can't believe I didn't recognize you."
    "It happens all the time," Zeke lied.
    But Faith wasn't quite as innocent as she looked. "I doubt it," she said with a sweet smile, "but thank you for trying to make me feel better." She hefted the bag of groceries, resettling it on her hip. "I'll have that coffee ready in a few minutes."
    "And I should be going," Zeke said. "I've intruded long enough."
    "Nonsense. You haven't intruded at all," Faith said firmly. "I know you and Jack must have a lot to talk about." She looked up at her husband. "So, please, sit down, both of you, while I go make the coffee."
    There was a second or two of silence after she left the room. "Only five movies in her entire life?" Zeke said, his tone somewhere between scandalized and incredulous.
    Jack grinned. "Hard to believe, isn't it?" He motioned Zeke to take a seat on a long brown leather sofa. "But that's Faith. She had a rather sheltered upbringing."
    "She's a lovely woman. You're very lucky."
    "Yes, I am." Jack said simply. He gave Zeke a level look. "So... are you really moving in here?"
    "Just temporarily," Zeke said quickly, suddenly feeling as if he had to justify himself to Eric Shannon's brother for staying in the apartment building where Eric had died. "Until my daughter's wedding is over or the construction on my house is finished, whichever comes first."
    Jack nodded understandingly. "I was drawn back, too," he said. "Temporarily. And it changed my life." He glanced at the big ornate mirror on the wall. "Maybe it's your turn now."

 
     
     
    Chapter 3

     
    She dreamed about him that night. Vivid dreams. Heated dreams. Dreams that left her damp and aching and feeling oh, so desperately alone. She awoke in the early morning hours, flushed and fevered, with her fragile white silk nightgown twisted around her thighs and her pillow clutched to her breasts. There were tears on her cheeks.
    It had been years since she'd dreamed about him. Years longer since she'd cried over his memory. So many years that she'd thought... hoped... prayed she was finally, completely over him for good. And then, with just one look, one touch, one whispered exchange in a room full of people, and she was on that emotional roller coaster ride all over again.
    Aching for him again.
    Crying for him again.
    With a strangled moan of denial and rage, Ariel threw back the white satin Porthault sheet that covered her. If she couldn't sleep without dreaming about him, then she wouldn't sleep at all.
    She'd done it before. And survived.
    She'd survive it again.
    She slid across the big empty bed and got up, automatically reaching for the silk robe that lay across the tufted white velvet fainting couch at the foot, automatically stepping into the quilted white satin mules that sat, side by side, beneath it. But it was too warm to put the robe on, her skin was too hot and... itchy. The mules were too confining. Tossing the robe across the foot of the bed, kicking off the mules, she walked barefoot across the plush carpet to the tall glass doors leading out onto the terrace.
    She wanted to fling open the doors and feel the cool air on her skin but the alarm would go off if she did that, bringing the Beverly Hills police and the people from the private security company. She pressed her palms against the cool glass, instead, and then her cheek and her breasts and her thighs, willing it to draw the heat from her body, knowing it couldn't.
    She pulled away from the