Ms. Taken. Jo Leigh

      Her hand went to that spot on her own face, hoping he’d catch on. She didn’t want to tell him. He seemed very nice, but also shy, and she had the feeling he would be embarrassed.

      “All right, then. Let’s move on. What’s your name?”

      Her gaze jerked up, making her wince. Her name. Her name. Why on earth couldn’t she think of it? “That’s odd.”

      “What?”

      “Uh…”

      “Yes?”

      “Well. Um, I can’t seem to recall.”

      “You can’t seem to recall what?”

      She smiled. Laughed, although it really wasn’t funny. “My name.”

      His whole body language changed from relaxed to red alert. “I see,” he said, failing to calm her with his words.

      “You see what?” Her stomach clenched and it suddenly was hard to breathe. She recognized the signs of a panic attack, and she hadn’t had one in years. Why did she know that, and not her name?

      “What’s your mother’s name?”

      Nothing came. Her mind was a blank.

      “Brothers, sisters? Your father?”

      She closed her eyes, focusing every ounce of her energy on not screaming.

      “You didn’t come in with a purse. And there was nothing in your pockets.”

      His voice faded a bit, and when she opened her eyes again he was standing by her coat.

      “This was in your hand.” He held up a glossy magazine. Attitudes.

      And then it hit her. She nearly swooned with relief. “Oh, thank God.”

      “Yes?”

      “I remember. Of course. Wow, that was scary.”

      “What is it?”

      “My name?”

      He nodded.

      “It’s Holly. Holly Baskin.”

      3

      LARRY PODESKY, Bob Riverside’s attorney, wetted the tip of his finger slowly, then used that finger to turn to the next page of the legal brief. He went on reading line by painful line in a voice better suited to mortuary work than high finance. The mildly disturbing tableau wasn’t enough, however, to focus Charles.

      The damn girl hadn’t even called. That’s what got him. The simple courtesy of a phone call this morning and everything would have been fine. He’d have had time to get a suitable temp, someone who knew how to make palatable coffee, who wouldn’t spill water all over Riverside’s pants. Things would have gone according to plan.

      “…the party of the first part, will make appropriate restitution to landowners…”

      Charles tried to focus on the contract, but his attention was waylaid by four drops of water on the conference table. Remnants of the mishap of an hour ago, they were perfect bubbles, contained within themselves, shimmering when Podesky jostled the table. For God’s sake, millions of dollars were at stake, and he was busy thinking about beads of water. He dismissed them, turned his attention to the pages before him, but every few words his gaze would dart over to the drops. It was all he could do not to leap out of his chair and blot the water before it could torment him further.

      Damn it. Podesky might as well have been speaking Greek. Charles couldn’t listen, hadn’t been able to listen from the start.

      He’d have to postpone his decision, that’s all. Which wasn’t a bad idea when he thought about it. Something was amiss here, and in his distraction, the only hint he’d had was the fact that Riverside’s face was a dull pink. Not just some of his face. All of it had a distinct rosy hue. Having met Riverside several times before, Charles knew this wasn’t the man’s normal complexion. The temperature in the office was a cool seventy-two, so what was making the man so nervous?

      Charles was pleased he’d thought to do a little digging into Riverside’s past. If there were skeletons to be found, his man Sterling would find them. The importance of today was to listen well, get his own take on the man and the deal.

      Unfortunately, he’d failed miserably on both accounts.

      “…two-hundred seventy thousand dollars, to be held at Chase Manhattan Bank until such t—” Podesky stopped midword as his gaze jerked to the door of the conference room. Riverside followed suit and reacted with an open mouth and widening eyes.

      Charles spun in his chair to see what the hell—

      Ms. Dobson? Joan Dobson? With a white bandage on her forehead? With a dirty, torn skirt and blouse? With only one shoe?

      She swept into the room like a strong gust of wind, heading straight for him. Her arms spread expansively and a smile lit her smudged face. “Charley!”

      Charley?

      She swooped down on him, giving him no chance to escape, and for a moment he wondered if she was going to kill him. It was obvious she’d gone off the deep end. He tensed, but instead of a knife in his ribs, he got a kiss on the mouth.

      He would have preferred the knife.

      She kissed him deeply, her full lips squarely on his, her body bent at such an angle that his head was forced back against his leather chair. Her hands landed on his shoulders, the touch there almost as shocking and intimate as her kiss. That is, until he felt the unmistakable wetness of her tongue.

      He opened his mouth to protest, but a second later he realized his error. Her tongue, Ms. Dobson’s tongue, slipped into his mouth. Searching, teasing, it moved sinuously against his teeth, his own tongue. The indecency, the impudence shocked him so fiercely that he forgot how to breathe.

      He moved his head, but she moved with him, a low rumble from her throat making it sound as if his attempt at escape was something entirely different. As if he’d moved to please her.

      His hands found her shoulders somehow, and he pushed her back, but not before she nipped his lower lip. She straightened slowly, her smile mischievous, her eyes alight with what Charles could only guess was insanity. She must have been in a terrible accident that had caused her to lose all sense of propriety.

      “I saw it, Charley,” she said, her intimate whisper sending aftershocks through his body. “I saw the personals. It was so clever of you to think of that. You knew I’d read it, didn’t you? And you knew I’d drop everything to be with you.”

      He opened his mouth as he struggled to understand. But before he was able to say a word, she’d turned to Riverside and his attorney.

      “Please forgive my intrusion,” she said. “But love makes for foolish choices sometimes. You see, Charley and I, we’re going to be married.”

      Riverside cleared his throat. “Pardon?”

      She laughed, the sound so out of place Charles wondered if he was dreaming. “I’m Holly Baskin,” she said as she walked around the table to where Riverside sat. “I know I must look terrible, but I couldn’t wait to get here. In fact, I left everything behind.” She turned to Charles, and the way she looked at him sent a shiver of fear down his spine. “I’ll need to get some things, sweetie, if you don’t mind.”

      Holly Baskin? What in hell…? He shook his head, wondering if he should call the police or Bellevue or both. David. David would know what to do. He dealt with crazy people all the time.

      Ms. Dobson sighed, her gaze all moony, like a love-sick calf. On the other hand, maybe that’s what people looked like when they were about to go over the edge. He opened his mouth to order her out of his office, but before he could say the first word she’d dashed to him once more, her blond curls bobbing merrily. Why had she said