Oh, Creagon wasn't so concerned about the way his own life had turned out. He was a man, after all. He had been able to break away, live without William Davenport towering over him ever minute of the way. What pissed Creagon off was what William Davenport had done to screw up Melissa.

Creagon realized he wasn't paying attention to the paperwork any longer. He gathered up the sheets, tapping them into a neat pile. He then turned his attention to Marne, knowing intuitively that something was on her mind. Creagon and Marne had been able to communicate without words since their first meeting at Melissa and John's wedding.

"Want to talk about it?" Creagon asked the back of his pretty wife.

Marne turned from the window, flashing her husband a wide smile. She was, indeed, a beautiful woman, made even more so by the sensuously clinging folds of the apricot-colored negligйe that molded to her exquisite body. Her rose-tinted nipples were visible beneath the filmy material that fell over luscious breasts and down to her ankles.

"Is it all that obvious that I'm thinking about anything needing discussion?" Marne asked.

"Yes," Creagon answered, knowing Marne had known the answer without hearing it.

Creagon patted the edge of the bed, indicating the spot his wife could take if she wanted a willing ear.

"It really can wait until you finish your work," Marne said. "It's not anything so vital that I can't wait another few minutes."

"It's the business that can wait," Creagon said. "Certainly this business anyway. After all, I'm a millionaire, aren't I? A few thousand dollars worth of sales no longer seems quite as important as it did only a week ago."

Marne moved from the window, gliding toward the bed like some fashion model in one of those TV commercials who miraculously transforms into a sleek jungle cat right before your eyes.