The bright neon Las Vegas night pulsed with heat and excitement. Kate felt them both. She also felt the comforting firmness of Jesse's grip on her hand. But a second later, she felt a start of surprise when their limousine pulled up in front of My Heart's Desire Wedding Chapel just off the infamous Las Vegas Strip. "What?" she asked, staring at the tiny replica of a white clapboard church. "What are we doing here?" Jesse helped her out of the long, white car and gave her one of his heart-stopping smiles, crooked, endearing, and sexy as hell. "You said you'd marry me. I'm not taking a chance you'll change your mind." The driver popped the trunk and started unloading all sorts of wedding items, then carried everything into the chapel. Kate was moved and excited. But. . . "How can we get married without family?" "Travis is here." "Which is wonderful. You know I want him at our wedding. But what about Julia and Chloe?" His smile only broadened as he pushed open the chapel doors. "Surprise!" Her best friends stood with Travis, Julia in her short skirt and high heels, Chloe with her china doll looks and sensible clothes. Suzanne was there, looking like a society matron, and beside her Derek stood smiling with pride. Then Carlen Chapman stepped out from behind Derek. The elder Chapman looked older than Kate remembered, more subdued. She knew that these men had a lot to work out, but she was glad to see that all of them were in attendance. Even Belinda was there, walking up behind her son as the youngest Chapman cast surreptitious glances at his grandfather. But it was Kate's mother who surprised her the most, stepping out from the small crowd, looking like a beautiful earth mother with her long gray hair braided and her gossamer skirts flowing. She extended her arms. "My baby," she said. It took only a second for Kate to relax into her mother's embrace. So cherished, so rare. "Kate, I couldn't be happier for you." Mary Beth reached out for Jesse, tugged him close, then put Kate's hand in his. "Take care of her, Jess." Jesse assured her that he would. "That is, if she'll let me." He turned to Kate. "Will you marry me? Here? Now? Not later. I don't want to wait until after the PGA." He went down on one knee in front of the group. "I was serious when I said that I would never leave you again. Marry me now, and be with me forever." Tears burned in her eyes as she looked around her at the people she loved and who loved her in return. And she knew that they loved the real Kate. Not someone she was trying to be. "I will," she whispered. He lifted her up and twirled her around, then she was pulled off to a back room where Julia, Chloe, Suzanne, and her mother prepared her for the wedding. When Belinda seemed at a loss, Kate reached out and pulled her into the circle. "You're family now, too," she said. The women dressed Kate in a gown of white silk and low-heeled leather shoes that were soft as butter. They did her hair and fixed her makeup, and when she was ready she could only look in the mirror in awe. "You're beautiful," her mother said, coming up beside her, hooking their arms together. "This all reminds me of my first wedding. Young. In love. Everything beautiful and perfect." Mary Beth sighed dreamily and launched into a description of her many weddings, of her loves, of her many different lives, as if yet again this event, as with all events, was about her. "I love weddings. Did I tell you I met a new man?" Kate stared at her mother, panic starting to creep through her. But Jesse must have sensed it, because in minutes he was beside her, ignoring the dictate that the groom not see the bride before the ceremony. He pulled her close and whispered emphatically, "You are not your mother. This will be our one and only wedding." He kissed her then, holding her secure, and she knew she wanted this, had been waiting for this her entire life. An organist played the wedding march, and the handful of pews were filled with her friends and family. Travis stood next to his father at the altar. But it was Jesse whom she saw. Her heart beat hard as she approached, a mix of fear and hope knotted in her chest. She wanted this manâ she had always wanted him. But part of her was still afraid. Then he did something amazing. He pulled out two rings and handed her one. His. When she caught a glimpse of hers, her mind swirled back in time. " We'll marry, you know." Her words from what seemed like a thousand years ago. She six, Jesse ten. " We won't bother with a big, gigantic wedding. It'll just be you and me and our families. But we have to have rings. Real rings. A plain gold one for you so you won't look like a sissy. And I'll have that really great kind with two hands locked together holding a crown." Jesse had remembered, as if he had tucked the memory away until it was time. It was time. Every doubt washed away, and when they were pronounced man and wife, Kate realized that dreams do come true. "I love you, Jesse. Do you love me, too?" she had asked all those years ago. And when he kissed her, finally, all these years later, he answered her question. "Yes, yes, a thousand times yes." Turn the page for a sneak peek at the next book in Linda Francis Lee's Sexy series. On sale October 2004 Â Â Â Chloe Sinclair plunged through the wind in a short glittery dress, high heels, and a tiny purse that was more decorative than practical. She couldn't see a thing, didn't realize she wasn't alone until. . . She ran into another body. Hard. Jarring them both. The impact sent her lurching forward, arms extended like she was flying. It happened so fast that she couldn't regain her balance. Her gloved hands hit the pavement first, the tiny chain on the purse like a vice around her wrist. Next, her knees crashed into the ground and pain shot through her. For half a second she lay there stunned. "Are you all right?" A man's voice, clear and deep, commanding, came at her in a disjointed muffle through the wind. She tried to pick herself up, but before she could manage, strong hands came around her and he swept her up with amazing ease. She tried to make out who he was, but he was much taller than she, and she couldn't see more than his shirt when he pulled her close, his body blocking the wind. Huddled together, he propelled them the remaining few steps to the hotel entrance. Despite the pain, she was very aware of the man's touch, of the way his arm was secure around her, the way he controlled her body with ease. She had an altogether foreign thought that she was safe. Once inside, he swept her through the lobby, but when they came to a set of double doors leading to the hotel bedrooms, she stiffened. "Where are you taking me?" "I'm staying here." "You're taking me here, as in to your . . . your ..." "Room?" "Exactly," she stated primly. "I can't go to your room." He made some kind of grumbling noise deep in his chest, but instead of guiding her through the doors, he tugged her away and had her inside an elegant ladies' room decorated in marble and brass. Thankfully it was empty. Though not as thankfully, he slid the lock home. "Now what are you doing?" "You're bleeding." "Bleeding?" He pointed. "Oh," was all she got out of her mouth when she glanced down at herself and got a really good look. Her once shimmering thigh-high stockings were ripped beyond repair, blood and grit marking both of her knees like a six year old after a playground fall. On top of that, she had never been all that great with blood. "Oh," she repeated, this time sort of wobbly. "Don't go weak willed on me now." "I am not weak willed," she stated, her spine straightening. "That's what I like to hear." Next thing she knew, he had her up on the marble counter as if she didn't weigh anything at all, her skirt riding high. That was when she looked up and saw his face. Her first real look. She wasn't sure if she sucked in her breath or if she sighed. She only knew that her world went still. They stared at each other, she on the sink with her chin tilted slightly, he standing so close that his thighs touched her knees. He seemed as surprised as she felt. It seemed like an eternity that their gazes locked, but probably wasn't more than a second. He looked as commanding as he had acted. He was tall, his dark hair brushed back, his dark eyes filled with intelligence, knowing, and confidence. His autocratic control of the situation was apparent in the hard line of his square jaw. This was a man used to getting what he wanted. He wore a finely made shirt that molded to broad shoulders and narrowed into a lean waist and long legs. Standing there he appeared to be in charge of his surroundings, not giving a second thought to being in a ladies' bathroom with a woman he didn't know and with the door locked. He didn't smile or say a word, though his gaze seemed to draw her to him. But after another second, his eyes narrowed fractionally and he gave a barely perceptible shake of his head, before he focused on her scrapes. "Let me look at your hands." He didn't wait for her to agree. He took each palm, peeling the shredded gloves away finger by finger. This time she knew she sucked in her breath when his hands cradled hers, large and tanned, hers pale in comparison. Fortunately, the gloves had protected her palms. Her forearms hadn't been as lucky. "These have got to hurt," he said, studying them. Once he said it, she was reminded that they did. He took one of the paper towels that were stacked in a functional brass holder and soaked it with warm water, the hotel monogram going dark as it got wet. Despite his commanding size, his touch was gentle as he cleaned the blood and grit away. The sting was blocked out by the sizzle of sensation this hard-chiseled man caused. She watched him as he concentrated on the jobâthe way his head bent close so he could get a better look, before he nodded in approval and started on her other arm. She was aware of every breath he took, the sound like a caress against her ear. He cradled her arm as he studied the wounds. She couldn't remember the last time she had been touchedâby anyone. She grew lightheaded and she swayed. He glanced up. "How are you doing?" "Fine," she whispered. Better than fine. She felt strange, hot tears of yearning burning in her eyes as he nodded his head in approval and moved on to her knees. But the torn stockings were in the way. Without hesitation, he reached under her dress. She gasped. Like a lover, his strong hands brushed against her legs. Her breath shuddered through her body, feelings that had nothing to do with healing or wounds settling low until she felt the need to press her knees together. But she couldn't because his forearm and hand was in the way. Her head swam at the feel of his fingers finding the tops of her ruined thigh-highs, first one, his hands so close to the juncture between her legs, then the other as he whisked them down and tossed them in the trash. The act wasn't intended to be sexual, but when the only physical attention she had received in ages was when she got a manicure, this man's touch made her world tilt even more. It was the sort of feeling, she realized, she had waited a lifetime for. Intense. Like a dream from which you don't want to wake up. She had hammered her life into the contours she deemed acceptable. But the reality of who she had become made her wonder at the price she had paid. Feeling this man's hands on her thighs, even innocently, made something flare. Rebellion against everything she believed to be proper? Imprudence? No, she realized. Nothing so complicated. It was hot, simple, and unrestrained desire. But she wasn't about to give in to something like that, least of all with a stranger. She was smart. She was sensible. "I could have done that," she stated over the staccato dance in her chest, her eyes shifting nervously as she tried to find some place else to look besides the silky waves of his hair. "No need now." He concentrated on her knee. She tried to find the old Chloe, the one she knew, the one who would demand that he take his hands off her. "I was trying to sound intimidating," she said. He glanced up at her, one dark brow rising. "I guess it was the squeak in your voice that threw me." "I did not squeak!" "You did." Her mouth fell open. "This really isn't going as it should." "I didn't realize there was a certain way to do this." "There is." "I must have missed that day at school." "Funny." He smiled then, for the first time, she realized, and her breath caught a little more. It was amazing, like the sun coming through a dark, stormy sky. Then he straightened. "There. One knee done." Sure enough, one side was cleaned. It still looked horrible, but the grit was gone. "Are you a doctor?" "No." "A paramedic?" "Not that either." "Then you just go around saving damsels in distress." For reasons she couldn't fathom, that wiped every trace of humor off of his face, the clouds returning. "You've been reading too many fairytales," he said sharply. Then his features settled back into that hard-chiseled command. "Would you rather I had left you in the hotel driveway and continued on to find a cab as I intended? Is that another rule I missed?" He looked at her, his dark eyes direct as if he could see into her mind, her heart . . . like he could see into her soul. She looked away, then couldn't help herself. She glanced back. Her voice caught in her throat. "You're laughing at me." After a second, that half smile of his reappeared, reluctantly, his head tilted every so slightly. "Never." Then he returned his attention to his project. Her knees. "This one's a real mess," he said, pressing a new paper towel to the ragged skin. "Ouch!" He leaned closer, and she looked down at him, his hair thick and dark. He didn't wear cologne, but he smelled clean and strong. She had a startling image of him leaning close to kiss her. Sensation flashed through her. Hot, sweet, and intense. She thought of touching him. Reaching out. Of being a feline instead of a llama. This was the sort of man who made a woman feel sexy. Dark and dangerous, commanding the world around him with nothing more than a look and a few words. A stillness descended over her, fine and crystalline, and she had never been so aware ... of a man's hand on her knee. Of the way his strong fingers splayed against her inner thigh. And when he looked up she was sure he felt it too. Their gazes locked, their bodies close. He glanced at her lips and a teasing sweetness made her yearn even more. But he was a gentleman. After one last glance at her mouth, he returned his attention to her knee. The outside world was forgotten. She felt cocooned by awareness. She felt every time his thigh brushed against hers. Everything that wasn't her, everything that wasn't Chloe Sinclair, surged up. Suddenly she wasn't embarrassed at the thought of being sensual. She wasn't afraid of being rejected. And wasn't that really why she had been afraid to be sexy? The fear of rejection? Sitting there now, with this man touching her, this stranger with his hands on her body, any sort of embarrassment she felt melted away beneath the terror of what she wanted to do. Give in. Touch him back. Good Girl Chloe Sinclair wanted to be sinfully sexy. She felt dizzy at the thought, her heart beating hard as she clutched her hands together to keep herself from doing what she knew she'd regret. She thought of splashing cold water on her face. She counted to ten, then twenty. She concentrated on all she had to do over the next few weeks. She had payroll to approve. Find new advertising dollars. Brainstorm new programming options. But when he finished with her knee, he straightened again, his competence and composure disarming. He stood there studying her, not smiling. Then his eyes drifted down over her body, the dark of his eyes flaring with something hot. No one had ever looked at her that way before, the heat tangible, making her feel both panicked and excited. Then everything changed. It happened so fast that she didn't have time to think. One minute she was holding on to being sensible Chloe, smart, sane, safe, her life as it always had been. Then the next she whispered, "Kiss me." One long beat of silence passed before a tremor raced through him. She was being forward and inexcusably loose. But like a dam of restraint had finally broken apart, water rushing through crashing at her defenses, she didn't care. She wanted to lose herself in his arms, just this once, with this stranger who would disappear from her life when it was over. Tonight, just tonight, she didn't want to be sensible or even smart. She wanted to be free and wild, and filled with unchecked desire. Frustration kicked inside her when he didn't kiss her. He only looked at her, didn't reach out. He took her in, and she cringed at the sudden thought that even made up and not looking anything like her usual boring self, he wasn't attracted to her. What an idiot to think that a man this strong and handsome and clearly powerful, would want herâeven with no names mentioned or strings attached. "Oh, God, I've completely made a fool of myself. I'm sorry." She tried to get down off the counter, the movement reminding her of the scrapes on her knees. "You haven't made a fool of yourself," he said, his voice ruggedly insistent, his body blocking her way. "You are beautiful and desirableâ" Her snort was a knee jerk reaction, the old Chloe surging back ruthlessly. "âbut you don't know the first thing about me." That stopped her. She cocked her head and studied him. Was he testing her? "You don't know me either," she whispered. She met his eyes, and she bit her lip for a trembling second. "That's the point." She startled him, and from the look of him she guessed he was rarely surprised. His brows slammed together. "I could be a ..." "What? A murderer?" "I am not a murderer." He sounded put out. "Okay, then a Mexican bandit?" She tried to smile. "Are we living in the same century?" He looked at her lips again, despite his better intentions, and she could see something that her inexpert eyes swore was desire. Hope surged and she felt an impatient anticipation. "Would it help," she asked breathlessly, "if I promised that I'm not a bandit?" She expected him to laugh, or at the very least smile. Instead his gaze darkened. "I'm not so sure about that. With your innocent blue eyes and mouth meant for sin, you look like you could easily steal something I've never been willing to give," he stated cryptically. But before she could question him, he groaned and cursed. Then this stranger pulled her into his arms. They clung together, the warmth of his body surrounding her. Their kiss grew instantly hot, their mouths slanting together as if neither of them could get close enough. His hands ran down her spine and she knew with a heady sense of certainty that whatever his reasons for kissing her, this wasn't about pity. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She didn't admit how many times she had imagined something like this. In her dreams, in her fantasies. Giving in to a forbidden passion.