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"And you fucked up." It wasn't a question. "Yes."

Rafe paused. "I have to get back to your sister, but let me remind you that I screwed up and left Kerry. She forgave me and took me back."

"You didn't accuse her of being a criminal. In a crowd. With her listening."

He let loose a long, slow whistle. "I hope your groveling skills are really excellent."

Just his luck. Mark sighed. "They're rusty. But it doesn't matter. Tiffany put the nail in my coffin over a year ago.

She made sure I didn't have a chance in hell of having another decent relationship."

"Now I'm guessing Nicki ruined the likelihood of you getting laid. At least before you went to Vegas, you got out regularly and serial dated. You haven't left your office in weeks, man."

He hadn't. And he didn't want to. Someday, he'd have to. Hell, he'd waited three months to see anyone after Tiffany's perfidy, and the hole Nicki had left in his chest was more like a gaping crater. What he felt for her was far more profound. Mark cursed under his breath and wondered if he'd be ready to look at another woman in three years, much less three months.

"Fuck off," Mark volleyed back.

"Ten-four." Rafe laughed. "Look, you can mope all you want, but your sister is worried about you. Maybe you should talk to Tiffany."

"Why start now?" Mark frowned, puzzled.

Incredulity transformed Rafe's face. "You never asked your ex-wife why she duped you?"

"The police reports and attorneys gave me all the motivation I needed to hear. What else was there to say? She used me, never loved me. I wasn't ... joyously happy in the marriage, but I gave her everything I could. It wasn't enough."

"You have to come to terms with what happened ... and how you want to use what it taught you. I'd tell you the past is going to catch up with you, but I think it already has, brother."

"I know what happened. I never denied it. As if I could!"

"But you never resolved it in your head." Rafe tapped a finger to his temple. "Trust me, I did the same thing with my old man, blamed him for everything. He was the reason I couldn't be with your sister in my twisted mind. And it was bullshit.
I
was the reason. Because I was afraid. Because I was still hung up on all the crap he fed me. I swallowed it and let it sour in my stomach, just like you've done. It isn't going to go away until you let it go."

Mark glared at his brother-in-law. Did Rafe think he liked being angry and bitter? He didn't particularly enjoy having such destructive forces ruling him. He couldn't find any calm or center these days.

"I've got to get back to your sister and that baby girl. Think about what I said."

Mark nodded, but his head spun with too many thoughts, all loud and insistent. Images of Nicki kept flashing in his brain: her smile, her face bathed in pleasure, her fury at his accusation.

She was permanently etched in his heart, and that wasn't going to change.

"What are you going to name my pretty little niece?" he asked into the heavy silence.

"Hope." Rafe smiled. "She and her mommy gave me all that and more."

T
he next day, Mark sat in the visitor's area of the Hills-borough County Jail, tapping his fingers on the scarred Formica counter and wondering why in the hell he'd flown all the way to Florida. His stomach was one giant knot, he hadn't slept more than two hours last night, and he had no desire to actually see Tiffany. But here he sat, waiting for the guard to bring her to the visitation room before she was transferred to the federal penitentiary on Monday.

Rafe was right; he had to let this shit with Tiffany go. He had to dig up the past he'd buried and work through it. Somehow.

The hard plastic chair under him wouldn't let him relax. The ancient concrete floors with the don't-ask-don't-tell mystery stains brought back memories of the two hellish months he'd spent here awaiting his own trial--for the crime that had been Tiffany's. He shuddered. The minute hand on the black and white wall clock crept forward. Yet somehow, time felt as if it stood still.

Mark closed his eyes. Over and over, he played his final night in Vegas in his head. Every time he did, he cringed when he remembered how he'd measured Nicki using the yardstick Tiffany had created. He'd jumped to some bad conclusions about Nicki's doings and screwed up big--because he'd been too afraid to try again, to believe. He'd listened to the twisted logic Tiffany had taught him, not his gut.

Not his heart.

At that thought, his eyes snapped open. Lightning sizzled through his brain. He half-expected the heavens to part and rain down golden light.

That last thought made the whole the solution to his problem snap into place.

He'd
listened
to Tiffany's twisted logic; she hadn't force-fed it to him. She hadn't even been there. He had. He'd allowed his fears to run riot in his head. He'd made the choice to believe the worst without getting all the facts.

He'd been the idiot that night, not Tiffany.

Mark rose. His ex-wife wasn't hanging up his future. Rafe was right; the pain Mark had ingested was. The fear of being hurt again. The mistrust he'd been drunk on since the divorce. Not Tiffany.

He had allowed his own destruction to occur, trampled on the best thing that had ever happened to him. Why? How had he let the ghost of their busted marriage lead him down such a bad path with Nicki?

He blew out a bracing breath. Rafe had been right again; he'd never dealt with the aftermath of his marriage. It had been easier to run. He'd never spoken to Tiffany again--except through attorneys. He changed his surroundings, sold his house, left the bank they'd both worked at. He moved to New York--totally different from Florida. Essentially wiped away all reminders of the past. He'd started dating a different girl every week, never did more than a round trip in her bed. Once she started talking third dates, he found new pastures. If he'd been lonely, well ... he'd distracted himself with the TV or worked to exhaustion. He'd immersed himself in Rafe and Kerry's life.

He had not dealt with his own.

And it had bit him in the ass.

Nicki gave him light and sass and heat. She engaged him. Completed him. She loved him.

And he loved her so fucking much, he didn't want to breathe--to be--without her.

But when he'd come to a crisis with Nicki, he'd done the same thing he had after Tiffany. Left. Disappeared. Thrown himself back into work. Sponged off of Kerry and Rafe.

As he exhaled, the air left his lungs in hard rush. Holy shit! He felt like the ultimate doofus of the universe. Why hadn't he seen any of this before?

Because he hadn't let himself. No, that wasn't true. He hadn't wanted to. It was easier just to hide in a revolving door of women and stinking pile of bitterness.

Until now. Until Nicki.

Whatever happened going forward, the path of his present and future, was entirely up to him. He could either let his fears control him and dodge the pain so he'd be alone for the rest of his miserable life, or resolve to move on and have a future filled with the woman he wanted so much he couldn't see straight.

No choice.

He didn't need to talk to Tiffany to know what was wrong with him, or what he had to do.

He just needed to see Nicki.

And since Rafe had so ruthlessly pointed out that his groveling skills had better be in top form, Mark figured he'd better come up with a plan--fast.

"
W
ell?" Lucia asked as yet another buffed up, G-string clad man found his way offstage--the latest in a long string of auditions.

After making sure he was out of earshot, Nicki sighed. "Nope. He's not going to work out, either. I've got to find a new dancer! Ricky is doing brilliantly as stage manager, but he needs a full cast."

"What was wrong with ..." Lucia peered over Nicki's shoulder to see the last dancer's resume. "Scott?"

"He could move ... but I wasn't moved."

"You haven't been moved since Mark left."

Nicki closed her eyes. Wasn't that just like Lucia? Soft voice, soft smile, while she went for the jugular. She didn't need her sister to remind her of the man she'd loved ... and lost. She thought of him, oh, every three seconds all on her own.

"You should be happy he's gone," Nicki pointed out. "You didn't seem that fond of him"

"I don't like the idea that he hurt you, but anyone who saved your life three times and paid off a huge loan to get Uncle Pain-in-the-ass out of your hair deserves a medal in my book."

"He didn't just hurt me; he broke my heart," Nicki pointed out, voice sharp. "Whose side are you on, anyway?"

"Always yours, Sis." Lucia hugged Nicki and winked.
What the hell was up with that?

"So, do you have time to see one more today?" Lucia asked, then glanced toward the stage door.

"One more audition?" Nicki frowned, shuffling through all the papers in front of her. "I don't have any more applicants. I'm going to have to pick one and try to be happy with the choice."

"This one showed up last minute. I thought you might be interested."

And Lucia smiled once more. She was looking entirely too pleased with herself. Maybe Mr. Last Minute was a huge hottie.

Without Mark, she was feeling decidedly numb from the waist down. It wasn't fair! He was probably in New York, burying his past by living the party life with a different gorgeous woman every night. He'd probably already repressed the memory of her face and patted himself on the back for getting out of Vegas, out of her life, so quickly and easily. While she ... well, since Mark had gone, she'd returned to having the personal life of a nun.

"I don't know. They're all starting to run together at this point."

"Poor you, having to look at half-naked guys all day. Life's tough."

Nicki shrugged. "I didn't notice you exactly cheering after any of the earlier auditions."

"True, but you said yourself when you started this morning that you never know when you're going to find the right one. This guy may be it."

Geez, she was relentless today. "All right, all right. Bring him in. If he's got you looking at a man besides Blade Bocelli, I'll kiss him on the spot."

Lucia blinked, suddenly all innocence. "I haven't looked at Blade like ... that."

Nicki shot her a dubious stare. "This afternoon when he passed through here all decked out in his bad-boy best, I thought I was going to have to pick your tongue up off the floor."

Come to think of it, the way Blade had looked at Lucia was even more hungry. For as long as Bocelli was here, she'd better keep an eye on those two ... And it better not be long. He was her uncle's lackey, and she wanted him gone. She'd told him as much, too.

"Do you want to see this audition or not?" Lucia snapped.

"I said I would."

"Good. And it doesn't matter if he moves me. If he moves you, definitely kiss him."

Before Nicki could question that odd comment, Lucia disappeared up the stage.

The door opened, then closed, a squeak that reminded her she still hadn't bought any WD-40.

The lights dimmed until the room turned damn near dark. Nicki frowned. Did this guy need major drama for an audition?

Slow footsteps crossed the stage. The shadow of figure, tall, broad, rippling with power took his place in the center. Golden hair backlit by a dim overhead light, face concealed by intriguing shadows, white shirt with a turned-up collar, black pants--amazingly sleek. But the way he moved ... it brought memories careening back.

Nicki's heart didn't just stop; it left major skid marks.

No. It couldn't be. Not Mark. This man had short hair. She could see the ends brushing the top of his stiff collar, hugging his scalp, flirting with the shadows about his face. But everything else ...

No, it just couldn't be. Mark had gone. He wasn't coming back. No matter how tempting it was to hope that he would repair his scarred heart for her, it wasn't realistic. She had to stop wishing otherwise.

"Can someone get the lights so I can see him?" she called impatiently. "I can't audition someone I can't see."

Nothing but dark. Quiet. Damn it, where had her sister gone?

"What's your name?" she asked the dark shadow on the stage.

"Guess," he murmured.

The voice--that oh-so familiar voice--sent a surge of lightning down her spine.

Oh my...

Before she could even complete the thought, a boom of music filled the air. A hypnotic beat followed, pulsing, seducing. The lights flashed on in a bright, blinding show, stunning her.

Nicki gasped as he began to move, swinging his hips, shoulders rippling. Heat and shock flooded her insides, shutting down her brain. He was here? Here! A million questions formed ... then faded as his intent gaze lured then captured hers in its relentless grip. He looked at her as if she was dessert and he was a man with a serious sweet tooth.

Her heartbeat took on the rhythm of a native drum. Breathing became secondary to looking at him, especially when he grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled it wide open, exposing miles of that glorious golden chest that made her mouth water and her fingers itch ... and her heart ache with what could have been.

Desire hit her hard next. It was fair to say that she wanted the man--if want had suddenly taken on the same context as a life-altering craving.

Then yearning jabbed her gut in a one-two punch, nearly flattening her. She wanted more than his body. She wanted
him.
She wanted his time, his laughter. She wanted his love. Mark had to know that. So why was he here, teasing her?

He prowled closer, then unfastened the button of his leather pants. He winked at her before he reached for the zipper and pulled it down with all the speed of a teeth-grinding crawl. Beneath, she only saw more of those intriguing shadows. Was he naked under there?