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Jake Sullivan dreamed of Maggie Delaine.

Except Jake wasn’t asleep.

Jet lag always left him wired-up and edgy.

He prayed there was no connection between Popov and what had happened to Caesar on the plane, but his common sense warned him there was.

Just as Clay suspected, Lee Montalvo, the team veterinarian, had found a trace of stimulant in the horse’s grain bucket.

The question was who put it there?

Dozens of people had access.

There was just no way to tell.

He needed to call Daniel and let him know about the incident.

Lying on top of the covers, Jake stretched full length on the bed, crossed his long legs at the ankle, and tried to push his troubles out of his head.

It didn’t take long before his mind drifted to Maggie.

Just before their departure, Evelyn Rothwell, the USET Director, had unexpectedly gone in for back surgery, so Maggie would be coming to Paris.

Though he couldn’t chance talking to her except on a business level, he found himself anticipating her arrival.

For the first time in weeks, he allowed himself the pleasure of remembering the night he’d seen her at the Helmsley Palace in Manhattan.

The loveliest woman in the room, he’d thought that night.

All his life, Jake had avoided attachments, chosen women who wanted nothing more than a comfortable relationship with a man who could satisfy their sexual needs and keep his mouth shut about it.

Women who didn’t want marriage any more than he did.

His years in the Soviet Union had left him wary and distrustful, afraid to let his guard down.

Better to be a loner, rely on himself, avoid attachments of any kind.

After he’d bought Pleasant Oaks, he’d thought about finding a wife, but until he met Maggie, there was never anyone he considered special enough to share his life.

He wanted a woman he could trust and rely on.

Someone who shared the same goals.

At forty-six, he’d been ready to take some chances, let go of his well-guarded feelings and reach out for something more.

From the moment he’d spoken to Maggie, Jake knew his life would never be the same.

Though he’d seen her once before, at Les Delaine’s funeral, it wasn’t until a night three years later that he began making inquiries about her.

Friends mentioned her daughter, Sarah, and told him Maggie had made charitable contributions and done hours of work in her husband’s name for the U.S.

Equestrian Team.

“Beautiful evening,”

he’d said as he walked up beside her on the terrace.

“I’m Jake Sullivan.

I don’t know if you remember me.

We met once before.”

She turned away from the view of St.

Patrick’s Cathedral in the distance, toward the lights twinkling in the courtyard below.

In profile she had a patrician nose and a delicately sculpted chin.

A shaft of moonlight cut through the branches of a potted cypress and touched her honey-blond hair.

“I know who you are,”

she said with a hint of amusement, as if the whole world knew him by name.

“We met at Les’ funeral.”

He caught a flash of pain.

“That was a long time ago.

I’m glad tonight’s circumstances are more pleasant.”

“Yes.”

Jake’s gaze followed hers across the courtyard below the terrace.

“I made some inquiries about you.

It seems we have a lot in common.”

“Really?”

“That’s right.

You like to walk in the moonlight, so do I.

You like horses, so do I.

You like to dance, so do I.”

She arched a golden eyebrow.

“How do you know I like to dance?”

“Because all beautiful women like to dance.”

She laughed at that and smiled.

“Why don’t we go someplace quiet for a drink?” he asked.

Maggie’s easy smile faded.

“No.

No, I couldn’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“It wouldn’t be right.”

“Are you involved with someone? I know you’ve haven’t remarried.”

Maggie glanced away.

“I’m not involved with anyone, but....

In a lot of ways, I suppose I still feel obligated to Les.”

Jake caught her chin, turning her to face him, not certain why he felt so sure of her.

“It’s been three years, Maggie.”

She didn’t move away.

“It has been, hasn’t it?”

“How about that drink?”

Uncertainly shone in her pale blue eyes.

“I don’t know, I...”

“You have nothing to fear from me,”

he said softly.

Maggie’s smile slowly returned, and she nodded.

“All right.

I’ll get my wrap.”

It was the beginning he had hoped for.

After a few short weeks, Jake never wanted it to end.

Having spent all day Friday with the horses, Ellie had fallen asleep at seven p.m.

At five the next morning, she awoke rested and ready to work.

Her roommate in the other twin bed, Prissy Knowles stirred beneath the covers.

“God, don’t tell me you’re up already.

I feel like I just closed my eyes.”

“Go back to sleep.

I’m used to getting up early.”

Prissy groaned and pulled the pillow over her head.

Ellie hurried through her morning routine, showered, plaited her hair into a single thick braid, pulled on her breeches and boots, and headed out the door.

Since she was too early for the team bus, she’d take a taxi out to the show grounds, work with Jube for a while, then come back and take some free time to go to the Louvre, which was just across the street.

Ellie was headed down the hall toward the elevators, her mind on her morning workout at the show grounds, when the door in front of her opened and a girl she recognized as one of the team grooms stepped through the opening.

Her dark hair was mussed, her clothes wrinkled, but the smile on Linda Gibbon’s face said she didn’t give a whit.

“Bye, lover.”

She blew a kiss to the person behind the door.

Even before Ellie heard his deep voice, she knew it was Clay.

“Wait a minute,”

he called out.

“You forgot your bag.”

Ellie tried to force her feet to keep moving, but they wouldn’t obey.

Clay stood in the opening, holding out the girl’s purse, naked to the waist, a towel wrapped casually around his hips.

He looked tanned and muscled and perfect.

His eyes swept past the girl to Ellie, and he frowned at her stunned expression.

“Isn’t that Ellie Fletcher?”

Linda said to him as Ellie forced her feet to move on down the hall.

“She may be untouchable, but I bet you could give her a run for her money.”

Linda laughed.

“Go on,”

Clay said gruffly.

“I’ll see you out at the stable.”

Ellie kept on walking.

It took several deep breaths to calm her racing heart.

The elevator door opened, and she stepped inside.

Linda was hurrying to catch the elevator.

“Wait!”

Ellie gave a grateful sigh when the doors closed in the woman’s face.

Dressed in a pair of beige gabardine slacks, a white shirt, and dark brown Italian loafers, Clay left the hotel.

He’d decided to take the day off.

He wasn’t ready to face Ellie Fletcher.

If he closed his eyes, he could still see her shocked expression.

Not just surprise, but hurt and betrayal, like a woman who’d just caught her man in bed with a lover.

Good God, they hadn’t even been out on a date!

Worst of all, Clay felt exactly the same.

What in the hell was the matter with him? He’d been seeing Linda Gibbons off and on for months.

She had a lusty appetite and very little conscience.

She made no demands on him, just seemed happy when he paid her the slightest attention.

Last night she’d cornered him. Feeling edgy after the long plane flight and his bout with Caesar, Clay had taken her up to his suite.

He hadn’t really wanted Linda, caught himself more than once pretending she was Ellie.

But he’d been determined he wouldn’t let the little redhead turn him down again.

He’d made a promise to himself.

He wasn’t about to chase after her any more than he had already!

Besides, there was Jake to consider.

Maybe he had serious intentions toward Ellie.

Then Clay recalled Jake’s affair with Maggie Delaine.

Clay didn’t know what had happened, but he believed Jake had hurt Maggie badly.

Apparently, Jake Sullivan was no Prince Charming, himself.

Walking across the plush carpet in the lobby beneath crystal chandeliers, Clay shoved open the double glass doors and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

It was still early, but he needed some air and a chance to think.

Was Ellie interested in Jake? He tried to recall the times he’d seen them together, tried to remember the look in her eyes.

No, Ellie looked at Jake the way a woman looked at a friend.

He grunted.

Ellie was old enough to know what she wanted.

She was not that many years younger than he.

Still, he could tell she was inexperienced. Damn sexy, but nothing like the women he dated.

As he crossed the Rue de Rivoli and headed toward the Tuileries gardens for a breath of fresh air, Ellie’s pretty face rose in his mind again.

Damn her! The last thing he needed was a Pollyanna like Ellie Fletcher.

Damn her to hell for making him feel so bad.

Two days past.

She’d been busy with the horses, getting them accustomed to the time change, working with Gerry and Jake.

Tonight, there was a team dinner hosted by Avery Whitfield, who’d apparently taken time from his hunting trip in Scotland to fly in for an evening in Paris.

He was taking them to one of the best restaurants in the city, L’Archestrate.

Ellie found herself dreading the event.

God only knew who the man would be bringing, or for that matter, who Clay would bring as his date.

It hurt to realize she cared who Clay entertained.

Glum since the incident in the hallway, she decided to cheer herself up.

She would take the day off and go to the Louvre, as she had planned.

It wasn’t far from the hotel and though she had been there once, there was so much to see she had hardly made a dent.

For the next few hours, Ellie walked the massive rooms beneath carved and gilded ceilings.

When her feet began to ache, she went in search of a bench, finding one in an echoing corridor lined on both sides with huge Renaissance oil paintings.

There were scenes of the Crucifixion, Gainsborough’s Pinky, a Rubens with its cherubic, pink-fleshed women, and across the way in a glass-enclosed box, the Mona Lisa.

Ignoring the sign on the wall that forbid taking pictures, Japanese tourists flashed cameras at the centuries’ old canvas.

“So now I discover you like fine art.”

Whitfield’s deep voice sent an unwelcome thrill up her spine.

She stood up from the bench, wishing she were anywhere but there.

“What are you doing here? You don’t seem the art-lover type.”

He smiled.

“The Whitfield Collection houses some of the world’s greatest masterpieces.

But I came to see the Egyptian Antiquities.

It’s always been an interest of mine. Have you seen the exhibit?”

“No.

I’ve been walking around for hours, but there’s just so much to see.”

“Why don’t you come along?”

She thought of Clay with the female groom.

“I’m still a little tired.”

“I promise you it’ll be worth it.”

She read the challenge in his expression.

Why the hell not? Every other woman in the world seemed to find time for Clay.

“All right.

Let’s go.”

They headed down the wide staircase past the Winged Venus of Samothrace that stood on the landing.

When they entered the massive Egyptian Antiquities chamber, Ellie was surprised to see huge Egyptian sphinxes, twenty-foot statues of gods and pharaohs, and whole tombs reconstructed, their painted walls completely intact.

“Clay, this is magnificent.”

She glanced around, forgetting everything but her surroundings.

“It’s like going back in time.”

“It is, isn’t it? I come here whenever I’m in Paris.

There’s always something new to see.”

They walked through the maze of towering sculptures, the chamber surprisingly void of people.

“Is it always this quiet in here? It’s kind of eerie.”

“Every time I’ve been here it has been.

It gives the place a tomb-like quality that seems exactly right.”

“I wonder what people were like back then.”

“Probably a lot like we are now.

Some happy, some sad, some indifferent.”

“Which are you?”

Clay looked at her as if debating how much of himself to reveal.

“Probably the last.”

“I’d rather be sad than indifferent.

I’d rather feel anything than nothing at all.”

They meandered through the gigantic pieces.

“I take it that means you consider yourself happy,”

Clay said.

“Of course.

Why shouldn’t I be? Every time I look around, I’m grateful to be alive.”

He scoffed.

“I’m afraid I’m more than a little jaded.”

“Maybe you just don’t want to admit your feelings.”

She smiled.

“I read a little of your poetry, remember?”

He grimaced.

“Don’t remind me.”

Clay looked into Ellie’s wide green eyes.

There was an ocean of feeling in those eyes.

Whenever he talked to her, life seemed different somehow.

Fuller, richer, immensely worth living.

She brushed past him toward a gray granite wall notched with intricate hieroglyphics.

His eyes strayed to her sexy little ass, which he always found fascinating.

He wanted to take her to bed, to capture that aliveness, soak up the warmth she carried inside.

“Let me take you to supper,”

he said, regretting the words as soon as they were spoken.

“Tonight’s the team dinner,”

she reminded him.

“Your father’s the sponsor.

Don’t you have a date already?”

In fact, he did.

With Gabriella Marchbanks, a model from New York who was on location in Paris for Harper’s Bazaar.

“I forgot about that.

How about tomorrow?”

“What about Linda?”

“Linda and I are friends.”

“Clay, I won’t deny going out with you is tempting, but I don’t want to get involved with a man like you.

We just don’t want the same things out of life.”

“How do you know what I want out of life?”

Ellie didn’t answer.

She walked around him and ducked into the low opening of a reconstructed tomb.

Clay ducked in behind her.

It was dark and cool inside.

“I know you feel something for me,”

Clay said, pressing her up against the rough stone wall.

“I can see it in your eyes.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Go out with me.”

He braced a hand on each side of her, blocking her escape.

“No.”

“You want to.

I know you do.”

Using his weight to keep her in place, he caught her chin, leaned down and kissed her.

Ellie tried to turn away, but when he deepened the kiss.

Her lips parted with a soft purr of pleasure and her rigid posture relaxed.

Ellie slid her arms around his neck and kissed him back, and God, she tasted good, tasted like honey in spring.

His body responded, making him hard, aching to have her.

He couldn’t remember wanting a woman so badly.

When Clay deepened the kiss, Ellie didn’t care if she ever moved away from exactly where she stood.

Clay felt big and solid against her, his lips soft, yet firm and insistent.

Her limbs felt weak and shaky, and desire curled low in her belly.

When Clay’s hands moved to caress her breasts through her white cotton blouse, heat spiraled out through her body.

She wanted more, wanted to see where the heat would take her.

If they were someplace else, she would go to bed with him and hang the consequences.

She was tired of being untouchable, tired of waiting for God only knew what.

Clay trailed kisses along the side of her neck, then returned to her mouth, softly coaxing, then kissing her deeply again.

His hand moved down her body to cup her bottom, pulling her more solidly against him, and she could feel his erection.

What would it be like to make love with him? Linda Gibbons enjoyed it, that much was plain.

Thinking of Linda and Clay together the night before hit her like a bucket of cold water.

Ellie pushed hard on his chest, ending the kiss.

“I shouldn’t have done that.

I’m...I’m sorry I let things go so far.”

She ducked through the opening before he could stop her, but he caught her just outside.

“How can you be sorry?”

He seemed incredulous, then his features turned dark.

“There was nothing wrong with what we did.

It was what we both wanted.”

“It’s not what I want.”

“Damn it, what do you want? Do you want to go on aching for sexual release, as it’s obvious you are?”

Ellie flushed.

“I get all the sexual release I need,”

she lied.

“Now go away and leave me alone.”

“I don’t believe you.

It’s obvious you haven’t been laid in weeks.

Come back with me to the hotel.”

“Are you out of your mind? Two days ago, you were in bed with Linda!”

“Don’t you understand? It isn’t Linda I want—it’s you! And even if you won’t admit it, you want me, too.”

“Go away! Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

Turning away, she dashed for the stairs, brushing a tear from her cheek.

The man was incorrigible.

He was making her happy life miserable.

If he weren’t such a womanizer, she’d just have sex with him and get it over with.

She was twenty-four years old.

There was no such thing as a twenty-four-year-old virgin.

If Clay found out, he’d laugh in her face.

As soon as the Paris show was over, she was going to find a lover.

It was time she grew up.

There was bound to be someone out there who would initiate her gently.

Someone who didn’t sleep with a different woman every other night!