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"You have a very wealthy admirer." Marge breezed into her office with her entire upper body hidden by the incredibly large and fragrant floral arrangement.

"What--" Maxie stared in fascination as her assistant lowered the bouquet onto her desk.

"Chocolates as well." The woman beamed, taking the red and gold box from the pocket of her smock. "One that we're hoping you will share. It's Swiss."

"Who on earth-- Oh Matthew! I happened to mention that I have a weakness for--" Picking up the bouquet, she inhaled the fragrance and admired the delicate buds.

There were all her favorites—lilies, red, yellow and white roses, zinnias, baby's breath and tulips.

It entered her mind that she had never mentioned her preferences, just that she adored flowers. And chocolates.

"He must have bought out the entire shop. Aren't you going to open the card? Honey, that man is a keeper."

"I am beginning to think so. I will share the chocolate as soon as I'm finished here. Now, where on earth am I going to find a vase big enough?" She wondered aloud as she looked around the office.

"Hand them over." Marge gathered them up delicately as if she was handling a newborn. "The sink in the storeroom will do just fine until you're ready to take them home."

"Thanks Marge." She waited until the woman had left before taking up the envelope. There was no name on the rather impressive gold paper. Slitting it open, she took out the card.

The rush of anger was instant, but so was the flood of panic as she read the succinct statement. But then Kai Tanaka was quite clever in using as few words as possible to get across his point.

"It has begun." She read aloud. There was a threat there, an underlying one, but a threat, nonetheless.

He could take his expensive bouquet and chocolate-- Dropping the card as if it was on fire, she picked up the box and moaned.

How on earth had he remembered her weaknesses?

If he thinks this is going to make a difference, he is clearly delusional.

She could buy her own damn chocolate—from Switzerland.

She opened the box and practically drooled at the neat arrangement of dark chocolates.

No one makes chocolates like the Swiss and she recalled arguing with him about it.

She also recalled how amused he had been when she launched into a discussion about the making of it.

He had ended up ordering her a box and had melted her heart with the gesture.

She had discussed flowers with him as well and her favorites.

No doubt with his sharp mind, he had not forgotten any of their conversations.

Putting the box down carefully, she leaned back and took a breath. As soon as possible, she was going to tell him what he could do with his expensive gifts. But there was no reason to be mulish and get rid of them. That would be ludicrous.

He could have gone in. There were times he was sitting there in the nondescript sedan he had decided to drive and wondered if he should just storm the place and force her to take a ride with him.

He had been biding his damn time, hadn't he?

He had sent the gifts and waited for some sort of acknowledgment from her.

He had ended things with Marie, with the woman's distasteful screams echoing inside his head.

With or without seeing Maxie again, it was not working out.

Now he had left the bloody field clear in his quest to get her back. And goddammit, he wanted her back.

She had said some things to him that had been haunting him since he left her place.

And he had wanted to give her time to get used to the idea that he was here and was not leaving.

That son of a bitch, (and he had the guy checked out)—had better stay out of his way or he would find himself out on his ass at the puny little law firm of his.

Reining in his temper, he realized with shocking amazement that he was losing the usual firm tether on his emotions.

Shoving his door open, he reached into his overcoat for the pack of cheroots he had there and took one out. The last customer had left and so had the employees. He was parked next to what he knew to be her car, under a spreading redwood and far away from curious eyes.

The breeze had picked up, stirring the leaves on the trees around him, but he did not feel the cold.

Forcing himself to relax, he had just clenched the cigar between his teeth and lighted it when he saw her leaving the store.

His gut clenched as he stared at her. She was enveloped from neck to ankles in a flowing gold and blue jacket, opened at the front to reveal the shimmering blue and gold dress she had worn.

Knee high boots gave her an exotic and alarming sultriness that sent his blood roaring.

Her hair was in its usual tidy bun at the nape of her neck.

Taking a deep drag of the cigar, he struggled to control his reaction at the sight of her and waited until she came towards him.

She did not notice him until she was almost on top of him.

Biting back a scream, she skidded to a stop, her eyes widening.

He was dressed all in black—the thin sweater molded to his chest. He had on black dress pants and Italian boots.

His cashmere jacket was open all the way and the breeze had ruffled his thick dark hair.

She could see his intense eyes from the glow of the cigar in his mouth. As if by unspoken decision, he flicked it away, the glowing tip making an arc before hitting the ground.

"I see you got my gifts." He murmured, eyes taking in the box of chocolate she had clutched in her hand. "Where are the flowers?"

"Divided between the pediatric and cancer wards of Hope General." Opening her tote, she dropped the box inside it and started for her car.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, sending me flowers and chocolates?"

"As I recalled, they happen to be your favorite." He started towards her, and she had to force herself not to beat a hasty retreat. She was certainly not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he unnerved her.

"You don't know me."

"Don't I?" He stood in front of her, blocking her getting to her vehicle.

"No, you don't." Her eyes flashed fire. "I have a date." It was a lie, but he did not have to know it.

"Really?" One thick black brow lifted mockingly, and she had the awful feeling he suspected she was lying. "Where's he taking you? Matthew Oakley, isn't it? A lawyer in the not so prestigious law firm in the Granby building?" He watched as shock was chased away by righteous anger.

"You had him checked out. You bastard! Who gave you the right--"

"I wanted to make sure he was who he said he was. I will not tolerate anyone hurting you."

She simply stared at him and felt frozen, but only for a second. Then the anger had her seeing red.

"First of all--" She strove desperately to keep from spewing.

"I am not your responsibility. I am a grown ass woman and have been taking care of myself for years now.

Second—it's none of your business who I'm seeing and third--" She closed the distance between them, without realizing it.

Lifting a hand, she shoved at him, infuriated even more when he did not budge.

"Third, you were the one who hurt me, you arrogant bastard.

How dare you come back into my life and think that you can just—just take over! Who the hell do you think you are?"

His hand closed around her wrist, resisting her effort to drag it away.

"You're right." The softness of his voice unsettled her. "I hurt you and don't deserve to be here right now. I have no excuse, the only thing I can do is hope that eventually you will be able to forgive me."

"Let me go."

"We both know that's not possible." He murmured. He felt the galloping of her pulse against his fingers and felt his own heart picking up speed.

"Your girlfriend came to see me."

A frown touched his brow at the change of subject.

"Yesterday, to warn me off you. As if we were in any way involved. I told her what happened between us was in the past and it's over."

"I ended things with her."

His quiet admission had her jolting and staring at him. Even wearing booted heels, she only came up to his chin.

"I hope it's not on my account."

"It's because of me." He opened her clenched fingers and studied the palm. "You always had exquisite hands, soft, with elegant fingers."

Her pulse thundered in her ears as she tugged her hand away.

"Don't patronize me with compliments," she bit out, though her voice betrayed a faint tremble.

"I wasn't patronizing," he replied smoothly, his gaze unwavering. "I was simply stating a fact."

She took a step back, needing the distance to catch her breath, but he mirrored her, closing the space again with deliberate ease. His presence was overwhelming—unrelenting.

"I don't understand you," she said finally, her tone cracking under the weight of unshed frustration. "You act like you care, but you—you left. You tore everything apart."

"Yes," he admitted, his voice low and heavy with regret. "And I live with that every day."

"Don't," she interjected sharply. "Don't try to make this about your guilt. I'm not here to absolve you. I—" She faltered, her throat tightening. "I don't need you."

The words hung between them, sharp and bitter, like shards of glass. He absorbed them silently, his expression unchanging, though something flickered in his eyes—something raw, something deeply human. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a folded piece of paper, handing it to her without a word.

"What is this?" she asked, refusing to take it.

"A letter," he said simply. "From me to you. Read it when you're ready."

"I won't be ready," she fired back, though her fingers betrayed her resolve, curling reluctantly around the paper. "This changes nothing."

"I know," he murmured. "But maybe it changes something for me."