ilent wipers cleared raindrops from the windshield as the last limousine wound its way up the wet mountain road to the Hillard mansion. With each splash of the tires, each inch the vehicle rolled up the ribbon of asphalt, the knot in Gabrielle's stomach twisted. She knew from experience that no amount of visualization, no amount of deep breathing, was going to help. But then, they never had where Joe Shanahan was concerned. It had been one month, two weeks, and three days since she'd told him she loved him and he'd walked away. It was time to face him again.

She was ready.

Gabrielle clasped her hands in her lap and turned her attention to the mansion ablaze with lights. The limousine rolled to a stop in front of the canopy that had been erected from the front door to the drive, and a doorman stood ready to assist Gabrielle.

She was late.

Probably the last to arrive. She'd planned it that way. She'd planned everything, from the loosely tucked braid in her hair, to her black sheath dress that hit her at midthigh. From the front, the dress looked conservative, like something Audrey Hepburn would wear, but seen from the rear, the sheath plunged to the small of her back. Something sexy.

She'd come prepared.

The inside of the Hillards' home somewhat resembled a hotel. The doors to several rooms had been thrown open to create one huge space filled with people. The parquet floors, cornices, arched doorways, frieze and columns were spectacular and overwhelming all at once, but they were nothing compared with The Potato King's view of the valley below. Not that there was ever a doubt—Norris Hillard had the hands-down best panoramic view of the city.

A small band filled the room with soft jazz, and a knot of people danced to the soothing music. From where she stood, Gabrielle could see a bar and buffet against the far wall in a room to her left. She didn't see Joe, and she took a deep cleansing breath, then slowly let it out

But he was here somewhere. Here with the rest of the detectives and sergeants and lieutenants dressed in suits. Wives and girlfriends hanging on their arms, chatting and laughing as if tonight was just any other party. As if her stomach weren't in knots and she weren't so nervous that she had to force herself to stand perfectly still.

Then she felt his gaze a split second before her eyes locked with his, the man who'd made her love him, then broken her heart. He stood within a small circle of people, and his dark gaze reached down deep inside and touched her battered heart. She'd prepared herself for that treacherous reaction, and for the warm flush drifting across her flesh. She'd known it would happen, and she forced herself to stand there and absorb as much of his face as she could see. Subdued lighting from the ornate chandelier above his head caught in the curls touching his ears. Her gaze moved to his straight nose and the mouth she'd dreamed of kissing her all over. She made herself feel every little flutter of her pulse and hitch in her breath. There were no surprises. She'd expected this would happen.

The crowd parted, and Gabrielle's gaze took in the fit of his dark gray suit and white shirt. The width of his shoulders and his light gray tie. Now she'd seen him. She hadn't died. She'd be okay. She could close this chapter in her life. She could start her future. But, unlike the last time she'd seen Kevin, she didn't feel free of Joe.

Instead of freedom from her anger, it welled up inside. The last time she'd seen him, she'd been so—so desperate for him to love her. So sure that he had to feel something. But he hadn't, and all she had left was pain in her heart and anger in her soul. So much for true love.

She let her gaze linger on his face a moment longer, then she turned and headed for the bar. Never again would she love a man more than he loved her. True love sucked.

She'd turned her back on him. She'd walked away, and he felt as if someone had kicked in his chest. His gaze followed her auburn hair as she made her way through the crowd, and with every step that carried her farther away from him, his chest got a little tighter. Yet at the same time, he'd never felt more alive. Little pleasure currents zipped along his nerves and raised the hair on his arms. The crowd in the Hillard mansion moved and shifted, their voices a clustered hum in his ears. Everything around him seemed so meaningless and unimportant. Everything but her.

It hadn't happened like the knock-out punch he'd always expected. No bolt of lightning to let him know he wanted her in his life forever. Nothing painful about it. Loving her was more like a cool breeze and warm sunshine on his face. Simple truth. It was like Gabrielle herself. And all he'd had to do to see it was clear away clutter and get out of his own way.

"The son of a bitch was hiding beneath the bed with his girlfriend," laughed a cop from the Uniform Division who'd been the first to respond to Mr. Hillard's call the night his painting had been stolen. The other police and their wives laughed too, but not Joe. His thoughts were occupied across the room.

Gabrielle looked even better than he remembered. Which was near impossible, because he remembered her looking like some sort of sun-worshiping goddess. He'd wondered if she'd come tonight, and until the moment she'd walked in, he hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath, waiting for her.

He excused himself and wove his way through the crowd, nodding to the men he worked with and their wives but keeping his eyes on the redhead with the dress that had no back to it. Keeping track of her wasn't hard. All he had to do was follow the trail of swiveling heads. He remembered the night he'd asked her to wear something sexy to Kevin's party. He'd been half joking, trying to irritate her a little bit, and she'd purposely worn that awful blue checked thing. But tonight she'd definitely worn something sexy. He had an urge to throw his jacket over her shoulders.

His progress was slowed several times as he moved past friends and colleagues who wanted him to stop and chat. By the time he caught up with Gabrielle at the end of the bar, the only other single detective, Dale Parker, had zeroed in and struck up a conversation with her. Normally, Joe didn't have anything against the rookie, but the attention Dale showed Gabrielle's dress irritated the hell out of him.

"Hey, Shannie," Dale said as he handed Gabrielle a glass of red wine. She smiled her thanks to the younger man and, for the first time in Joe's life, jealousy swamped him, grabbed ahold and pulled him under.

"Parker." Joe watched her shoulder stiffen before she glanced across her shoulder at him. "Hello, Gabrielle."

"Hello, Joe."

It had been a lifetime since he'd heard her voice and looked into her green eyes. Not the taped image of her, but her. Hearing and seeing her in person added a few pounds to the heaviness in his chest, and he had that holding-his-breath feeling again. Standing so close, he realized how much he missed her, but looking into her cold, indifferent gaze, he realized something else: it just might be too late.

There had been many times in Joe's life when he'd felt fear tighten the base of his skull. He's felt it most often chasing felons, running them to ground, never knowing what waited at the end. He'd felt it then, and he felt it now. In the past, he'd always been sure of himself, so certain he would win. He wasn't so sure this time. This time the stakes were too high. This was one blind chase he wasn't certain would end the way he wanted, but he had no choice. He loved her. "How have you been?"

"Great. How about you?"

Not all that great. "Okay." He was bumped from behind and took a step closer. "What have you been up to?"

"I'm thinking of opening a new store."

He stood close enough to smell her skin. She smelled like lilacs. "What are you going to sell?"

"Essential oils and aromatherapy. I did so well at the Coeur Festival that I think I can make a success out of it."

She smelled like that soap she'd rubbed all over him that day in the shower after he'd made love to her. "Are you going to open it in Hyde Park again?"

"No. The demography is better for alternative ventures in Old Boise. I've already looked into a space. The rent is higher than it was in Hyde Park, but once I sell Anomaly, I think I can afford it. I won't have an employee, I have inventory coming out of my ears, and my start-up costs are reasonably low. When I get the lease…"

Standing so close without touching her took every ounce of self-discipline he possessed. His gaze lowered to her lips, and he watched her talk, when what he really wanted was to cover her mouth with his. He watched her speak, when what he really wanted was to take her home and keep her all to himself. His mother was right. He could look at her for the rest of his life. All over, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. He wanted to touch her arid make love to her and watch her while she slept.

He wanted to ask her if she still loved him.

"… isn't that right, Shannie?"

He didn't have a clue what Dale was asking. He didn't care, either. "Can I talk to you a minute, Gabrielle?"

"Actually," Dale answered for her, "I'd just asked her to dance when you walked up. She said yes."

Joe had no experience with the jealousy burning like lava in his gut. He looked into her face and said, "Now you can tell him no." The second the words were out of his mouth he knew he'd made a mistake. Her eyes got squinty, and she opened her mouth to let him have it.

"Where's your girlfriend?" Dale asked before she got the chance to tell him to go to hell.

Her mouth closed and she got real still.

Jesus. What had he ever done to deserve this bullshit? "I don't have a girlfriend," he gritted between his teeth.

"Then who is the woman who owns that deli down on Eighth?"

"Just a friend."

"Just a friend and she brings you lunch?"

Joe wondered if the rookie detective would like his nose pushed beneath his left ear. "That's right."

Dale turned to Gabrielle. "Ready?"

"Yes." And without a glance in his direction, she set her wineglass on the bar and headed toward the dance floor. Dale's hand settled in the small of her bare back.

Joe ordered a beer from the bar, then turned to stare through an arched doorway and onto the darkened dance floor in the next room. He didn't need an arrow to point out Gabrielle. With her height, she was easy to spot.

It was a hell of a thing to look at the woman you loved in the arms of another man. Watch the flash of her white smile as she laughed at some stupid joke, and not be able to do a damn thing about it without looking like a jealous ass. He took a pull off the beer without taking his gaze from Gabrielle. He might not have fully realized how much he loved her until he'd seen her walk in the room tonight, but that didn't mean he didn't feel it in every cell in his body. It didn't mean he didn't feel it in every aching thud of his heart.

Winston Densley and his date sidled up to the bar next to Joe, and the two detectives talked shop and discussed the more interesting features of the Hillards' bathroom—the gold toilet with the warm seat. Joe surprised himself and waited a full five minutes before he set his beer on the bar and wove his way onto the crowded dance floor. The kind of Kenny G. saxophone music Joe usually avoided like a flesh-eating disease ended just as he placed his hand on Detective Parker's shoulder. "I'm cutting in."

"Later."

"Now."

"That's up to Gabrielle."

Through the shadowy space that separated them, her gaze held Joe's and she said, "It's okay, Dale. I'm going to listen to what he has to say, and then he's going to leave me alone for the rest of the evening."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Dale looked at Joe and shook his head. "You're an asshole, Shanahan."

"Yeah, so sue me." The music started again, and Joe took her hand in his and wrapped his other arm around her waist. She stood as stiff as a statue within his embrace, but just holding her again was like coming home after an extended absence.

"What do you want?" she asked next to his ear.

You, he thought, but he figured she wouldn't be really happy to hear his answer right now. They needed to clear the air between them before he told her how he felt about her. "I stopped seeing Ann over a week ago."

"What happened, did she dump you?"

She was hurt. He would make it up to her. He folded her against his chest. Her breasts brushed his lapels, and he slid his palm to her bare back. A familiar ache settled in the pit of his belly and spread to his groin. "No, Ann was never really my girlfriend."

"Not again? Were you just pretending with her, too?"

She was angry. He deserved it. "No. She was never my confidential informant like you were. I've known her since we were kids." He slipped his hand up her smooth skin and turned his nose into her hair. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent. The smell reminded him of the day he'd seen her floating in that little pool. "I used to date her sister."

"Was her sister a real or pretend girlfriend?"

Joe sighed and opened his eyes. "You're determined to be mad at me no matter what I say."

"I'm not mad."

"You're mad."

She pulled back and looked at him, and he'd been right. Her eyes were all hot, no longer cold and indifferent. Which he figured was one of those good/bad things, depending on how he looked at it.

"Tell me why you're so angry," he urged, fully expecting to hear how much he'd hurt her that night on the porch, and after she'd poured it all out, he would make everything okay.

"You brought me a muffin from your girlfriend's deli the morning we made love!"

That wasn't quite what he'd expected to hear. In fact, it wasn't anything like what he'd expected. "What?"

She looked somewhere over his left shoulder as if the sight of him hurt too much. "You brought me—"

"I heard you," he interrupted and quickly glanced around to see if any of the other couples had heard her also. She hadn't exactly been quiet. He didn't know what buying a muffin had to do with the morning they'd made love. He'd also brought her a turkey sandwich from Ann's deli. Big deal, but he didn't mention the sandwich because he recognized this was one of those conversations he would never understand and would never win. Instead he brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "Come home with me. We can talk there. I've missed you."

"I can feel how much you miss me against my thigh," she said, but still wouldn't look at him.

If she thought his obvious arousal would embarrass him, she would have to think again. "I'm not ashamed of wanting you. And yes, I've missed touching you, and holding you, and I want that again. But that isn't all I've missed about you since you left town." He placed his palms on the sides of her face, bringing her gaze back to his. "I've missed the way you glance around when you think your karma is going to zap you. I miss watching you walk and the way you push your hair behind your ears. I miss the sound of your voice, and that you try to be a vegetarian and can't. I miss that you believe you're a pacifist even as you shock me on the arm. I've missed everything about you, Gabrielle."

She blinked twice, and he thought she might be softening. "When I was out of town, did you know where I was?"

"Yes."

She pulled herself from his embrace. "Then how bad did you really miss me?"

He didn't have an easy answer for her.

"Stay out of my life," she said, then walked from the dance floor.

He didn't follow. Watching her walk away from him this time was the purest hell he'd ever suffered, but he'd been a detective for eight years. He'd learned when to back away from the chase until things cooled down.

But he would only wait so long. He'd wasted enough time denying himself the woman he wanted and needed in his life. Dinner every night by six and matching socks wasn't going to make him happy. Gabrielle made him happy. He understood now what she'd told him that night on her porch. She was his soul. He was her soul. He loved her, and she loved him. Something like that didn't disappear, especially in one month.

Joe wasn't a patient man, but what he lacked in patience, he made up for in tenacity. While he gave her time, he'd romance her. True, he didn't have very much experience in that department, but women loved that sort of thing. He was sure he could do it.

He was sure he could romance the hell out of Gabrielle Breedlove.