"Don't do that," he begged, giving a skillful performance of a man afraid of being physically roused. Actually the reverse was true. Now that he knew what was on her mind, his senses seemed to have shut down, as they always did when he heard wedding bells. But it wouldn't be kind to let her suspect this. And Luke always tried to be kind.

Gently but firmly he led her back up the stairs, murmuring, "Go and snuggle up, baby, and let me pamper you."

He knew that was the offer no woman could refuse. And it would buy him a little time.

Maybe an hour. If he was lucky.

After he'd coaxed Dominique under the covers he returned to the balcony, looking up into the sky, silently imploring the angel who protected fun-loving bachelors to fly low over his nest.

From far off he could hear the faint sound of a plane preparing to land at LAX. But somehow, he doubted if his good angel was aboard.

Ladies and gentlemen, British Airways flight 279 from London to Los Angeles will be landing in twenty minutes. It is 12:10 p.m. local time, and the temperature is seventy-five degrees…

Ten-year-old Josie looked back from where she was glued to the window. "Mummy, we took off at half past nine in the morning, and we flew for eleven hours. How can we land at half past twelve?''

Pippa yawned and stretched as far as conditions allowed. "Los Angeles is eight hours behind London, darling. I explained it all with the map."

"Yes, but it's different when it's real."

"That's true." Inwardly Pippa was working out how long it would be until she could have a good cup of tea.

Josie was doing calculations. At last she sorted it out to her own satisfaction. "We've been flying backward," she said triumphantly.

"I suppose we have."

"You see, you can time travel."

Flying backward, not eight hours but eleven years. Flying backward to revisit the naive girl of eighteen whose heart ruled her head, who'd loved one man totally, knowing that he only loved her casually.