HANK GOD YOU'RE BACK!" MARY BURST OUT late Wednesday afternoon when Nick strode swiftly into his office, followed by Ericka and Jim. "Mike Walsh needs to talk to you immediately. He says it's an emergency."

"Have him come up," Nick said, shrugging out of his suit jacket. "And then come and join us in a toast. I'm about to whisk Lauren off to Las Vegas to get married. The plane is being refueled and checked out right now."

"Does Lauren know about this?" Mary said, frowning. "She's downstairs in Jim's office, hard at work."

"I'll convince her of the wisdom of the plan."

"When the plane is airborne and she has no choice," Ericka put in with a knowing smile.

"Exactly." Nick grinned in high good spirits. He had missed her so much that he'd called her three times a day, every day, like a lovesick schoolboy. "Make yourselves comfortable," he added over his shoulder. Reaching into a wide closet that held several changes of clothing, he took out a fresh shirt.

Five minutes later, he walked out of the bathroom, freshly shaven, and glanced at Mike Walsh and the round-faced man who were standing near the couch where Jim and Ericka were seated. "What's up, Mike?" he asked, going over to the bar and removing a bottle of champagne, his back to the others.

"There's a security leak in the Rossi project," the attorney began cautiously.

"Right. I told you that."

"The men in Casano trying to find out about Rossi were Whitworth's men."

Only a momentary stillness in Nick's hand as he unwound the wire from the plastic champagne cork betrayed his tension at the mention of Whitworth's name. "Go on," he urged evenly.

"Evidently," the attorney continued, "there's a woman on our payroll who appears to have been spying for Whitworth. I arranged for Rudy here to listen in on the extension of her office telephone and to keep her under surveillance."

Nick took down four champagne glasses from the bar, his mind dwelling on Lauren's smile, her beautiful face. Tonight was going to be their wedding night. After tonight he and he alone would have the right to take her in his arms, to join his starved body with hers, to kiss and caress her… "I'm listening," he lied. "Go on."

"Yesterday she was photographed passing him copies of four of Sinco's bids. We have in our possession a set of the copies she passed to Whitworth to use as proof in court."

"That son of a—" Nick fought down his blaze of fury, trying not to let his animosity for Philip Whitworth spoil his mood. This was his wedding day. Coolly he said, "Jim, I'm going to do what I should have done five years ago. I'm going to put him out of business. From now on, I want Sinco to bid on every job he bids on, and I want you to bid below our cost. Is that clear? I want that bastard out of our hair!"

When Jim murmured agreement, Mike continued. "We can swear out a warrant for the young woman's arrest. I've already discussed the matter with Judge Spath, and he is ready to do so as soon as you give the word."

"Who is she?" Jim demanded when Nick seemed more interested in pouring champagne into his glasses.

"Whitworth's mistress!" Rudy burst out eagerly, his voice ringing with pompous self-importance. "I checked her out personally. The dame is living like a queen in a fancy Bloomfield Hills condo that Whitworth's paying for. She dresses like a model, and…"

Dread exploded in Nick's chest, and his whole body tensed against the agonizing certainty already pounding in his brain. His mind formed the question, but before he could force the words out, he had to brace his hands on the bar for support. With his back still to them, he whispered, "Who is she?"

"Lauren Danner," the attorney said, cutting off a further descriptive outpouring from the eager security man. "Nick, I know she's been working for you personally and that she's the girl who practically fell at our feet that night. The publicity involved in her arrest will definitely help discourage anyone else who might consider spying on us, but I waited to talk to you before we pressed charges against her. Shall I—"

Nick's voice was strangled with fury and pain. "Go back to your office," he ordered, "and wait there. I'll call you." Without turning, he jerked his head in Rudy's direction. "Get him out of my sight, and keep him out—permanently!"

"Nick—" Jim spoke to Nick's back.

"Get out!" Nick's voice lashed like a whip crack, then became dangerously controlled. "Mary, call Lauren and have her come up here in ten minutes. Then you go home. It's nearly five."

In the tomblike silence that followed their departure, Nick straightened from the bar and tossed down the champagne he had poured to celebrate his marriage to an angel. A princess with laughing blue eyes who had walked into his life and turned it upside down. Lauren was spying on him, betraying him to Whitworth. Lauren was Whitworth's mistress.

His heart shouted a denial, but his mind knew it was true. It explained the way she lived, the clothes she wore.

He recalled introducing her to Whitworth on Saturday night, and as he remembered the way she'd pretended not to know him, he felt as if he was shattering into a million pieces. Fury and anguish poured through his veins like acid. He wanted to crush her in his arms and make her say it wasn't true; he wanted to pour his love into her until there was no room for anyone in her heart or her body but him.

He wanted to strangle her for her treachery, to murder her with his own hands.

He wanted to die.

Lauren glanced at the three security guards who were standing in Nick's private reception area as she hurried toward his office. They watched her, their expressions strangely alert, wary. She smiled slightly as she passed them, but only one of them responded—he nodded, a curt unfriendly inclination of his head.

At Nick's office door she paused to smooth her hair. Her hand trembled with a mixture of delight at seeing him again and fear over how he was going to react when she told him of her involvement with Philip. She had intended to tell him tonight, after he'd had time to relax, but now that Philip was blackmailing her she had to tell him right away. "Welcome back," she said, walking into his suite.

Nick was standing at the window with his back to her, one hand braced high against the frame, staring out across the city. The drapes were drawn over the remainder of the glass wall, and none of the lights had been turned on to dispel the gloom of a prematurely dark and rainy night.

"Close the door," he said softly. His voice sounded strange, but his back was toward her as she walked to him and she couldn't see his face.

"Did you miss me, Lauren?" he asked, still without turning.

Lauren smiled at the question he always asked her when he had been away from her. "Yes," she admitted, boldly sliding her arms around his waist from behind. His body seemed to tense at her touch, and when she rubbed her cheek against his broad, muscular back, it felt as hard as iron.

"How much did you miss me?" he whispered silkily.

"Turn around and I'll show you," she teased.

His hand came down from the window, and he turned. Without looking at her he walked over to the sofas and sat down. "Come over here," he invited smoothly.

Lauren obediently went over to the sofa and stood looking down into his handsome, shadowed face, trying to read his strange mood. His expression was impassive, almost aloof, but when she started to sit beside him, he caught her wrist and pulled her onto his lap.

"Show me how much you want me," he urged.

There was an odd note in his voice that sent unexplainable alarm dancing down Lauren's spine, but it was promptly squelched by the commanding insistence of his mouth on hers. He kissed her thoroughly, expertly, and Lauren helplessly surrendered to the torrid demands of his lips. He had missed her. His fingers were already unfastening her silk blouse, pulling her bra down to expose her breasts as he lowered her onto the sofa and covered her half-naked body with his. His mouth skillfully aroused her swelling breasts and hardened nipples, while his hand insinuated itself beneath her skirt and pulled down the lace band of her underpants. "Do you want me now?"

"Yes," Lauren gasped, writhing beneath him.

His free hand shoved into the hair at her scalp and tightened. "Then open your eyes, honey," he ordered softly. "I want to be sure you know it's me who's on top of you and not Whitworth."

"Nick…!" Lauren's frantic scream was strangled as Nick lunged to his feet, twisted his hand in her hair and cruelly jerked her up with him.

"Listen to me. Please!" Lauren cried out, terrified by the black rage, the virulent hatred blazing in his eyes. "I can explain everything, I—" A low scream tore from her throat as he tightened his grip in her hair, wrenching her head around and down.

"Explain that," he ordered in a terrifying whisper.

Lauren's gaze froze in terror on the papers scattered across the coffee table: copies of the four bids she had given Philip; enlarged black-and-white photographs showing her leaning into his car; the license plate on the back of his Cadillac, and the State of Michigan registration showing Philip A. Whitworth as the owner of the vehicle. "Please, I love you! I—"

"Lauren," he interrupted in a menacingly soft voice. "Will you still love me five years from now when you and your lover get out of prison?"

"Oh Nick, please listen to me," she implored brokenly. "Philip isn't my lover, he's a relative. He sent me to Sinco to apply for a job, but I swear I've never told him anything." The rage drained from Nick's face, replaced by a terrible contempt that alarmed Lauren so much her words tumbled out in a disjointed frenzy. "Until… until he saw us at the dance, he let me alone, but now he's trying to blackmail me. He threatened to tell you lies if I didn't—"

"Your relative," Nick repeated with freezing sarcasm. "Your relative is trying to blackmail you."

"Yes!" Lauren feverishly tried to explain. "Philip thought you were paying someone to spy on him, so he sent me here to find out who, and—"

"Whitworth is the only one paying a spy," Nick jeered scathingly. "And the only spy is you!" He released her and tried to push her away, but Lauren clung to him.

"Please listen to me," she begged wildly. "Don't do this to us!"

Nick jerked her arms loose, and she crumpled to the floor, her shoulders racked with deep choking sobs. "I love you so much," she wept hysterically. "Why won't you listen to me? Why? I'm begging you to just listen to me."

"Get up!" he snapped. "And button your blouse." He had already started toward the door. Her chest heaving with convulsive, silent sobs, Lauren straightened her clothing, braced a hand on the coffee table and slowly pushed herself to her feet.

Nick wrenched the door open and the security guards stepped forward. "Get her out of here," he ordered icily.

Lauren stared in paralyzed terror at the men coming purposefully toward her. They were taking her to jail. Her gaze flew to Nick, silently imploring him for the last time to listen, to believe, to stop this.

With his hands in his pockets, he returned her gaze without flinching, his chiseled features a mask of stone, his eyes like chips of gray ice. Only the muscle jerking in his tightly clenched jaw betrayed the fact that he was feeling any emotion at all.

The three armed guards surrounded her, and one of them took her by the elbow. Lauren yanked free, her blue eyes deep pools of pain. "Don't touch me." Without looking back, she walked with them out of his office and across the silent, deserted reception area.

When the door closed behind her, Nick went over to the sofa. Sitting down with his forearms resting on his knees, he stared at the enlarged black-and-white photo of Lauren handing Whitworth the stolen copies of the bids.

She was very photogenic, he thought with a stab of bittersweet pain. The day had been windy, and she had not bothered with a coat. The photograph had captured her delicate features in profile with the wind whipping her hair into glorious abandon.

It was a picture of Lauren betraying him.

A muscle moved convulsively in Nick's throat as he swallowed over the constriction there. The photograph should have been taken in color, he decided. Mere black and white couldn't capture her glowing skin, the gold highlights in her beautiful hair or the sparkle of her vivid turquoise eyes. He covered his face with his hands.

The silent guards escorted Lauren across the marble lobby, which was crowded with late-departing employees. In the press of so many people, Lauren was spared the humiliation of curious onlookers. Everyone else was rushing home, absorbed with individual thoughts. Not that she particularly cared who witnessed her shame; at the moment, she cared about nothing.

It was dark outside and raining, but Lauren hardly felt the icy sting of the rain pelting against her thin silk blouse. She looked disinterestedly for the police car that she expected to see waiting at the curb, but there was none. The guard on her left and the one behind her stepped back. The guard on her right also turned to leave, then he hesitated and said with curt compassion, "Do you have a coat, miss?"

Lauren looked at him with pain-dazed eyes. "Yes," she said inanely. She did have a coat; it was with her purse in Jim's office.

The guard glanced uncertainly at the curb, as if he expected someone to pull over and offer her a ride. "I'll get it for you," he said, and walked back into the building with his companions.

Lauren stood on the sidewalk, rain glazing her hair and pelting her face like a million icy hypodermic needles. Apparently she wasn't going to be taken to jail, after all. She didn't know where to go, or how to get there without money or keys. In a kind of trance she turned and started to walk down Jefferson Avenue, just as a familiar figure strode swiftly out of the building toward her. For a moment hope flared and burned painfully bright. "Jim!" she called when he and Ericka were about to pass without seeing her.

Jim turned sharply, and Lauren's stomach clenched at the bitter, accusing fury in the single scathing glance he passed over her. "I have nothing to say to you," he snapped.

All hope died inside of Lauren and with its death came a blessed numbness. She turned on her heel, shoved her frozen hands into the pockets of her tweed skirt and started walking down the street. Six steps later, Jim's hand grasped her arm, turning her around. "Here," he said, his expression just as hostile as before. "Take my coat."

Lauren carefully pulled her arm from his grasp. "Don't touch me," she said calmly. "I don't ever want to be touched."

Alarm flickered in his gaze before he extinguished it. "Take my coat," he repeated tersely, already starting to remove it. "You'll freeze to death."

Lauren found nothing unpleasant about the prospect of freezing to death. Ignoring his outstretched coat, she lifted her gaze to his. "Do you believe what Nick believes?"

"Every single word," he averred.

With her hair plastered to her head and the rain driving into her upturned face, Lauren said with great dignity, "In that case, I don't want your coat." She started to turn, then stopped. "But you can give Nick a message for me when he finally discovers the truth." Her teeth chattered as she said, "T-tell him not to ever come near me again. T-tell him to stay away from me!"

Without thinking about where she was going, Lauren automatically walked the eight blocks to the only people who would take her in without being paid. She went to Tony's restaurant.

With frozen knuckles she rapped on the back entrance. The door opened and Tony was staring at her, his black tuxedo a discordant contrast to the noise and steam of the kitchen behind him. "Laurie?" he said. "Laurie! Dio mio! Dominic, Joe," he shouted, "come quick!"

Lauren awoke in a warm comfortable bed and opened her eyes to a charmingly quaint but unfamiliar room. Her head was pounding ferociously as she struggled to her elbows and looked around. She was in the house above the restaurant, and Joe's young wife had put her to bed after a hot bath and a warm meal. She had not died of exposure, she realized. How disappointing—how anticlimactic, she decided morbidly. Her body ached as if she'd been beaten.

She wondered when Nick would discover that she'd changed the figures on the bids. If any of the four contracts were awarded to Sinco, Nick would surely wonder how that could have happened. He would wonder why Whitworth hadn't bid less than Sinco had, and he might compare the copies of the bids Lauren had given Philip with the originals.

Then again, there was also the possibility that other companies besides Sinco and Whitworth would be awarded the contracts, in which case Nick would always believe she'd betrayed him.

Lauren threw back the heavy quilts and climbed slowly out of bed. She felt too sick to care what happened.

She felt even worse a few minutes later, when she walked into the family kitchen and heard Tony on the telephone. His sons were all seated at the table. "Mary," Tony was saying, his face furrowed into stern lines, "this is Tony. Let me talk to Nick."

Lauren's heart thumped, but it was too late to stop him because he was already launching into a nonstop monologue. "Nick, this is Tony," he said. "You better come over here. Something happened to Laurie. She came here last night almost frozen. She had no coat, no purse, no nothing. She wouldn't say what was wrong. She wouldn't let any of us touch her except for—What?" His face turned angry. "Don't you use that tone of voice with me, Nick! I—" He was perfectly still for a moment, listening to whatever Nick was saying, then he took the receiver away from his ear and looked at it as if it had just grown teeth. "Nick hung up on me," he told his sons.

His amazed gaze encountered Lauren standing uncertainly in the doorway. "Nick said you stole information from him, that you're his stepfather's mistress," he told her. "He said he never wants to hear your name, and if I try to speak to him about you again, he will have his bank foreclose on the loan they made for improvements to my restaurant. Nick said that to me—he talked to me like that!" he repeated disbelievingly.

Lauren started forward, her face pale with remorse. "Tony, you don't know what's happened. You don't understand."

"I understand the way he spoke to me," Tony said, his jaw clenched. Ignoring her, he turned back to the phone and dialed with furious intent. "Mary," he said into the phone, "you put Nick back on the line right now." He paused while Mary apparently asked him a question. "Yes," he replied, "you bet your life it's about Lauren. What? Yes, she's here."

Tony handed the phone to Lauren, his expression so angry and hurt that she felt ill. "Nick won't talk to me," Tony said, "but Mary wants to talk to you."

With a mixture of hope and fear, Lauren said, "Hello, Mary?"

Mary's voice was like an icicle. "Lauren, you have done enough damage to those of us here who were foolish enough to trust you. If you have any decency at all, you'll keep Tony out of this. Nick is not making idle threats—he meant what he said to Tony. Is that clear?"

Lauren swallowed the lump of desolation in her throat. "Perfectly clear."

"Good. Then I suggest you stay where you are for the next hour. Our corporate attorney will deliver your possessions, to you and explain your legal situation. We were going to notify you through Philip Whitworth, but this will be vastly preferable. Goodbye, Lauren."

Lauren sank into a chair at the table, too ashamed to look at the men who would now be watching her with the same bitter condemnation that Jim and Mary had shown her.

Tony's hand clamped reassuringly on her shoulder, and Lauren drew a long, unsteady breath. "I'll leave as soon as the attorney arrives with my purse." She dragged her gaze upward. Instead of despising her, the boys and Tony were looking at her with helpless sympathy.

After everything that had happened to her, Lauren felt better able to cope with animosity than kindness, and their compassion wrenched her heart, weakening the dam that was holding back her emotions. "Don't ask me to explain," she whispered. "If I did you wouldn't believe me."

"We would believe you," Dominic said with blushing fierceness. "I was standing behind the screen where the coffeepots are kept, and I heard every word that… that pig said to you at lunch, but I did not know his name. Papa recognized him and he came to stand with me, because he wondered why you would be eating with someone Nick hates."

Lauren's composure slipped another notch toward tears, but she blinked them back and said with a tremulous smile, "The service must have been terrible that day, with both of you standing guard over me." She hadn't cried in years until she'd met Nick. After last night there would be no more tears. Ever. She had wept at his feet, begging him to listen to her. Just thinking of it made her cringe with mortification and fury.

"I tried to call Nick after you left that day," Tony said, "to tell him that Whitworth was threatening you and that you were in trouble, but Nick was in Italy. I told Mary to have him call me as soon as he came back, but I did not ever believe you would really give Nick's stepfather the information."

Lauren heard the reproof in Tony's voice at that, and she lifted her shoulders in a weary shrug. "I didn't give him what he wanted. Nick only thinks I did."

Half an hour later Tony and Dominic escorted her downstairs to the restaurant, which wasn't open for business yet, and stood protectively behind her chair. Lauren instantly recognized Mike Walsh as the man who had been with Nick the night she'd literally fallen at their feet. He introduced the man who was with him as Jack Collins, the head of Global's security division in Detroit. Then both men sat down across from her.

"Your purse," Mike said, handing it to her. "Would you like to check the contents?"

Lauren kept her face carefully expressionless. "No."

"Very well," he said curtly. "I'll come directly to the point. Miss Danner, Global Industries has sufficient evidence against you to charge you with theft, conspiring to defraud and several other serious crimes. At this time, the corporation is not going to insist on your arrest. However, if you are ever again seen on the premises of Global Industries, or any of its subsidiaries, the corporation can and will press charges against you for the crimes I just mentioned. A warrant for your arrest has already been prepared. If you are seen on our premises, the warrant will be signed, and you will be arrested. If you are in another state, we will insist on extradition."

He opened a large manila envelope and withdrew several sheets of paper. "This is a letter stating the terms I have just set out." He handed her a copy of the letter, along with an official-looking legal document. "This—" he indicated the document "—is an injunction, signed by the court, which now makes it illegal for you to set so much as one foot on Global property. Do you understand?"

"Perfectly," Lauren said, lifting her chin in silent rebellion.

"Do you have any questions?"

"Yes, I have two of them." Lauren rose, then turned to press a fond kiss to Tony's cheek and another to Dominic's smooth one. She knew she would break down under the strain of an emotional goodbye; she was saying farewell to her two friends now, when it was easier. She turned back to the attorney and asked, "Where is my car?"

The attorney inclined his head toward the door of the restaurant. "Mr. Collins here drove it over. It's parked right outside. What is the other question?"

Lauren ignored the attorney and asked Jack Collins, "Are you the one who discovered all this 'proof' against me?"

Despite his pallor, Jack Collins's eyes were inquisitive and sharp. "A man who works for me conducted the investigation while I was in the hospital. Why do you ask, Miss Danner?" he inquired, watching her closely.

Lauren picked up her purse from the table. "Because whoever did it was not very good at his job."

She pulled her gaze from Jack Collins and managed a brief teary smile at Tony and Dominic. "Goodbye," she said softly. "And thank you."

She walked out of the restaurant and never looked back.

Both of the men from Global Industries watched her leave. "Stunning young woman, isn't she?" the attorney said.

"Beautiful," Jack Collins agreed, his brows knitted thoughtfully together.

"But treacherous and deceitful as they come."

Jack Collins's frown deepened. "I wonder if she is. I kept watching her eyes. She looked angry and she looked hurt. She didn't look guilty."

Mike Walsh heaved himself impatiently out of his chair. "She's guilty. If you don't think so, go look at the file your assistant put together on her."

"I think I will," Jack said.

"You do that!" Tony said angrily, shamelessly eavesdropping. "Then you come talk to me, and I'll tell you the truth. Whitworth made her do it!"