But things had never settled down. Eventually she'd realized that there was no place for her in either home. After that she had set her face against the world.

She had an eye for shape and color, which had made her a success as a photographer. As her success grew, so did her social life. She was beautiful. Men wanted her. And that was fine, as long as they didn't ask for her heart as well.

She had locked that up in a safe, bolted, barred and labeled Do Not Touch.

With Neil she'd taken the risk, and it had been a mistake. Luckily they'd both seen the light in time. They'd had a nice, civilized divorce, and in future she would stick to adventures.

Riccardo should have been an adventure. But he wouldn't stay in his right place. A few moments of alarming insight had turned him into a threat.

For dinner she put on a figure-hugging cream dress cunningly contrived to be demure and enticing at once. Around her neck she wore a chain of solid gold. With her dramatic red hair, the effect was striking.

"You'll have them all at your feet," Dulcie had predicted earlier, chuckling.

But the first one at her feet was Riccardo, literally. He was waiting at the foot of the grand staircase as she descended. He was more formally dressed now, in black trousers, snowy shirt and black tie.

As she neared, she waited for his grin of lusty appreciation, but tonight his demeanor was grave and gentle.

"I won't keep you a moment," he said quietly. "I had to tell you that I'm sorry for having distressed you yesterday."

"You're very kind, but I wasn't distressed," she said, trying to sound cool and indifferent.

"Forgive me, but I know that you were, otherwise you would not have run away."

"I did not run away," she said, her temper rising as she began to feel threatened again. "I had work to do. End of story."