MALIBU, CA

"So, what do you think, Jules?" Isis stepped out of the walk-in closet and did a spin, showing off the tailored white business suit with the short skirt to her friend and assistant. She tapped gleaming high heels on the hardwood floor. "Steve Madden," she said, kicking out a pointed toe in an old fashioned dance step. "Aren't they cute?"

"Ooh!" Julie cooed, amazed at the transformation from Isis' usual dark Queen of the Undead look. "So glam, Ice. All you need now is black shades and ruby red lips - totally old Hollywood. Who inspired all this? Don't tell me it was that insurance guy."

Isis dropped her voice low, put on an Aussie accent: "Terrence Thorne, Risk Management. Do you think he'll like it?"

"Is he male and straight? Of course he'll like it. What's this meeting for again?" Julie followed Isis to the dressing table, watched her in the big lighted mirror as she settled on the padded bench. Picking up the brush, she began to comb through Isis' long black hair.

"David and I are going to sign the papers for the new security contract with Terry's firm. He's bringing his partner, so it'll be official. Then we're going to lunch at Spago to celebrate."

"I was gonna say, this look is too good to waste on lawyers. But Spago? Now you're talking. There'd better be friggin' paparazzi out there today, catch a good shot of you for once."

"You think they'll even recognize me?"

Julie grinned like a cat at the thought. "Ooh, maybe not. Even better. You can go incognito." Isis giggled, and the musical sound of her laugh warmed her heart. Julie set the brush down, put her face close to her friend's, and hugged her around the neck. "Been a while since I've seen you like this, Ice. You know, interested in something besides Kore or work. It's nice. Feels like I got my girlfriend back."

Looking into the mirror, Isis considered Julie's beaming face. They'd been friends since Junior High, taught each other to put on makeup and dye hair. Even now, neither of them could give up their punk rock roots - literally for Julie. Her long hair was a shocking shade of magenta. Suddenly, Isis longed for the comfort of her old look, so easy to disappear in black. "I don't know. Do you think it's too much? Maybe I should change."

"No way!" Julie insisted. "You look like a million bucks. Mr. Risk Management won't be able to take his eyes off you."

Isis dropped her dark eyes from the mirror, her confidence flagging. "It's stupid. I'm totally not his type. He doesn't even like my music, said he's a Springsteen man." At Julie's wrinkled nose, Ice sighed. "I don't know, it's probably not kosher anyway. He's going to be working for me. And besides, even if he was interested, I'm not really ready…"

Julie's dark lined brows went up. "Not ready? Ice, have you checked your panties lately? It's been so long, you've probably got cobwebs."

"Oh God!" Isis laughed in surprise. "Gross!"

Julie tickled at her friend's ass. "It's gonna be like the Temple of Doom down there. Open the crypt, Queenie, let Indiana Jones excavate."

Isis cackled along, making the analogy worse with her favorite line from Raiders of the Lost Ark, "Snakes! Why did it have to be snakes?"

The girlfriends laughed until tears streamed down their cheeks. Julie hugged Isis again, knowing full well that some of those tears were real. She took her friend's left hand; the one still graced with the simple gold wedding band, and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"And if this guy's not the man for the job, well, there's someone out there who is. You've been alone long enough, Ice. Court wouldn't want this for you."

"Please don't," Isis begged softly.

Julie gentled, but wouldn't relent. "Whatever happened to Jason anyway? He was so hot for you, and he wrote you that pretty song."

"Jason Montez? From Certified? Oh Jules, he's cute, but you know what he wants."

Julie fished for the answer, unsure of her meaning, "To get in the Panties of Doom?"

Isis chuckled again. "Well, yeah, but more than that. I don't know." She paused, thinking of how to phrase her intuition. "I think he wants me to pass him the torch. He's the next big thing on the music scene, Jules. It's what they all expect. He didn't just agree to open for us in Europe out of the kindness of his heart. They're big enough to headline their own tour now. He wants it to be official: Queen Isis crowns the new Rock God."

Julie hadn't thought of it that way, but of course it made sense. Isis was so good at reading people sometimes, like in business. But then other times - like with men - she seemed completely blind. Maybe that's why she likes the insurance guy, Julie reasoned. No pressure, no expectations, and no reminders.

"So Mr. Thorne, the insurance guy. You think you could really go for someone like him? How old is he again?"

"Terry's not that old, maybe forty."

Julie's heavily-lined eyes went wide, "Forty! Holy crap!"

"Hey, I'm pushing thirty," Isis insisted.

"Yeah, but not forty!" Julie read her friend's expression in the mirror for what it was: getting pissed. She'd stepped over the line. After all these years, she knew when to pick her battles, and more importantly, she didn't want to squash her friend's budding enthusiasm. "I'm sorry, Ice. It's not that bad. I'm sure he's really cool in his own way. And anyway, you don't have to marry the guy. You could just fuck him, let him blow out the cobwebs. People do that, you know."

Isis shook her head as she grinned into the mirror. "You are so bad, Jules." Swirling her long black locks up into a twist, she said, "I think I'm going to wear my hair up."

"Perfect," Julie agreed, and fished in the drawer for a jeweled clip. "Very Hot for Teacher. Wait, that's Van Halen, not Springsteen. Maybe we need to go look up 'old crap' on iTunes. Do you think 'the Boss' knows what the Internet is for?"

"Keep running that mouth, Jules," Isis warned her best friend playfully. "You got a race car in the red, and all I'm saying is you don't want a race car in the red." But the temper was an act, all part of the fun. In her heart, she was happy, so she sang. "I got it made, I got it made, I got it made…I'm hot for teacher…"

w

The tires smoked as Dino squealed to a dramatic stop, missing Terry's mirror bright Italian shoes by mere inches. But Thorne knew better than to flinch. That would ruin the game. The top of the silver convertible BMW Boxster was down, taking advantage of the brilliant Los Angeles morning.

"Where's the Porsche?" Terry asked, unimpressed.

"Call me superstitious. I don't spend my money before it's in the Caymans. Let's sign the papers first, okay?" Dino admired his partner's sharp grey suit as he took the passenger's seat. "The beard trimmed up nice, T. Very grunge."

Terry pulled down the visor mirror and ran a hand down his chin. He had planned to shave this morning, but woke up late. "It does save time," he answered noncommittally.

"Let's go, Earnhardt Jr., but mind the neighbors, hey?"

Dino accelerated without the tire squeals this time. "And how is your sexy neighbor? What was her name? Rosie?"

"Rozzie. Thanks for asking, but don't bother," Terry answered curtly. "You'll never meet her."

Dino looked wounded. "Why not?"

Terry grinned askance at his partner and best friend, as he slid on dark sunglasses, "Call me superstitious."

BEVERLY HILLS , CA

Isis Knox sat in the chair opposite David Goldman and glowered past the gold statuettes that lined his desk. But while a lesser man might have been under his chair by now, David glowered right back, squinting like Clint Eastwood in some Sergio Leone spaghetti western. He could hear the dramatic showdown music in his mind. When it came to the Ice Queen, David Goldman knew to stand his ground and give as good as he got. It's why they'd worked so well together for so long. Besides, when she smelled fear, she went for blood. Isis Knox was a pain in the ass, more than a handful, but she was also his favorite client, and worth every ounce of effort in royalties.

"You set me up," she growled. "This is sabotage, treason."

"Isis, this is business. There are contracts, stipulations, dangling fucking participles. You can't just shoot your mouth off and think that's the way it's going to be." He leaned forward with open pleading hands, exasperated. "Consequences, honey. We've had this discussion before."

Isis was determined, crossed her long shapely legs. The gesture struck David with a disturbing mix of seduction and fear. The Black Widow's wearing white today, he mused.

"I'm not talking to Arthur Kent," she proclaimed defiantly. "He's an asshole."

"He's an asshole with lawyers. Lots of them. This is Excelsior's contract, sweetheart. You can't just give it away to some new kid on the block without-"

She shot out of her chair, leaned threateningly on the desk. David had the distinct impression that she'd have no compunction whatsoever to climb over that desk and sink her teeth in his neck. "Goddammit, David! This is my daughter's safety we're talking about! Excelsior is asleep on the job, literally, and I'll fucking fire them if I want. It's my goddamned money!"

David stood, mirrored her menacing gesture, and looked her in the eye. "Yes, Isis. Kore's safety. Your safety. What happens when you cut Excelsior loose, they take their guys and go home, and these Thorne-McGrath assholes can't deliver? Then you'll be out there at the mercy of your enemies - or worse, your fans - and I can't take that chance. I won't!"

"Who says they can't deliver?"

Terry and Dino heard Isis' challenge down the hall and exchanged concerned glances as they approached the corner office, led by Goldman's pretty assistant, Denise. She opened the door just in time for them to witness David launch into a screaming tirade.

"No one has even heard of these assholes! Christ, you're so lucky you've got me to do your homework, Ice. They just filed corporate papers nine months ago. They only have ten agents working for them - that ain't enough to take you to the fucking nail salon! They've never done personal security for anyone in this town. They're used to crawling around in muddy third world shit holes like Tecala. They don't know what a fucking jungle is. Hollywood's the real jungle! You need King Kong, baby - and you got him!" David thumped his chest with his fists, roared out a dramatic Tarzan yell.

Terry blinked in surprise. "Holy snapping arseholes," he muttered under his breath.

"Well, yeah," Dino agreed with an amused smirk.

"David," Denise pronounced, interrupting the dramatic display with calm poise, obviously unfazed, well used to her employer's over the top antics. "I'd like to introduce Terrence Thorne and Dean McGrath. Gentleman, David Goldman, and I understand you already know Miss Knox."

Isis smiled over her shoulder to Terry and cracked, "Put your dick away, David. We have guests."

If Goldman had been embarrassed about being caught in territorial pissing mode, he didn't show it. "Thanks, Denise. Perfect timing, as always." He waved her away dismissively, inviting, "Gentlemen, come in and have a seat."

But Isis was already closing the space between them, a welcoming smile on her painted red lips. Terry was impressed by the transformation in her look, barely recognized her as the woman he'd met on the plane. She'd gone from laid back comfort to glamorous sophistication with the ease of a chameleon. He paused to drink her in, a vision in white, his gaze sweeping from beautiful dark eyes to the hint of silk camisole that peeked from the deep V of her expertly tailored suit jacket. The short skirt and high heels made her long dancer's legs look endless, enticed the eye further. But his attention was drawn back to the contrast of shiny black hair, drawn up from her pretty face in style that was at once elegant and careless. As she approached, he felt a compulsion to reach out to pluck the jeweled clip away, let that long hair fall down her back in an onyx cascade. It nearly made his fingers itch. He took her outstretched hand to shake instead.

"Terry, good to see you again," she beamed.

"Hello, love," he greeted her familiarly. When he bent to kiss her cheek, the subtle floral scent of her shampoo soothed any doubt in his mind that this was the very same young woman who had slept peacefully against his shoulder last week. "You look incredible."

"You clean up pretty well, too," Isis teased, while she fought to keep her hand from reaching out to pet that lovely new beard. Seeing Thorne's blue-green eyes in the bright morning sunlight of the office made her stomach flutter with nervous excitement.

"Isis, my partner, Dean McGrath."

Dino smiled coolly over Terry's shoulder, a little star stuck, though working hard not to show it. "It's a pleasure, Miss Knox. I'm a big fan."

Hey, at least one of them likes my music, Isis thought. "Thanks, Dean," she nodded in appreciation. Turning concerned eyes up to Thorne, her delicate brows knitted. "Terry, what David said, is it true?"

"Yes," he answered without hesitation. "As of last week. But our situation has improved recently. Shall we?" He gestured to the chair; put a hand on the small of her back to guide her to sit as he took the seat next to hers. Dino continued to stand at ease, but watchful, as if on guard.

"Then let's talk numbers, gentlemen," David said from behind his desk. "Show me the money."

What a piece of work, Terry thought to himself. This bloke has been in Hollywood so long he thinks he's in a movie. But he was Isis Knox's manager and agent, as well as a trusted friend. When they'd checked into his background, Terry and Dino learned that she'd been Goldman's first client. She took a chance on him and it had paid off for both of them. They remained loyal to each other for years in a town where stars swapped agents faster than lovers. Terry could only hope for such a successful partnership to flourish again. But if Thorne-McGrath wanted the contract, David Goldman was the man to convince.

Terry divided his attention evenly between Isis and her manager, explaining the situation to both patiently, but without preface. "Currently, we have twenty-two agents signed, with five more in negotiations. Certainly enough to take Miss Knox to the spa," he smiled to Isis directly. "Or on a USO tour in Iraq, if you should like."

David looked unimpressed. He ignored Isis' scowl and challenged, "I'm sorry Mr. Thorne, it doesn't add up. Your twenty-two against Excelsior's eighty agents is a big fucking difference. Your firm just doesn't have the bandwidth we require -"

"It's hardly a one-to-one ratio, Mr. Goldman," Terry interrupted. He crossed his legs casually and leaned back in his chair. "Unlike Excelsior, Thorne-McGrath employs only former international military personnel with State Department security clearances. We require high level intelligence gathering experience and advanced weapons training. I'd say one of our agents is worth three of Excelsior's."

"I'd say five," Dino chimed in. "Our guys know Kung Fu - and they aren't even felons."

Isis' brows shot up. "What?"

Terry shook his head and looked grave as he delivered the news. "I'm afraid that Arthur Kent's background checks are a bit light, love. We did some preliminary checking into his employee base and found that precisely fifteen of his agents have misdemeanors on their records. Three have felonies, including one Mr. Steve Carlson."

"No shit?" David muttered, astonished.

Isis looked vindicated, threw an 'I told you so' glare David's way. She turned to Terry.

"Steve was a felon? What did he do?"

"Criminal sexual assault," Terry answered so crisply, it sent a shiver down her spine.
When she looked to him for more information, Dino added. "Technically, it was statutory rape; sex with a minor. The girl was only fourteen."

"Oh my God," she gasped, her hand at her throat. "David, did you know about this?"

"Of course not!" he insisted. "I wouldn't have let him within a mile of you and Kore."

Her glare was cold, made the temperature in the room dive. "And why didn't you know?"

Terry came to the rescue. "He wouldn't have access to the records without clearance, love." Still, he didn't let David off the hook entirely. "Though he might have hired a private investigator."

David looked grateful, but eager to move the spotlight back to the matter at hand. "And what about the personal security bit? I thought you guys were kidnap and ransom experts? Isn't that overkill?"

Terry nodded. "Certainly, we are specialists. K&R is our company's strength, but it isn't all we do. We've run security details for traveling dignitaries on many occasions, men and women who were constant targets for assassination. It's all part of the job. The commander we've chosen for this detail, Chris Wyatt, is a specialist in personal security," Terry smiled to Isis. "You'll be meeting him soon, love. I think you'll like him. He's the son of a long time associate, and he's a fan."

Dino leaned in to add, "To put it simply, Risk Management is a service that Excelsior just can't provide. Of course, we'll make sure that you won't need our K&R services, but with the threats made against you and your daughter, Miss Knox, you'll be comforted to know that in a worst case scenario, we are both available 24/7 anywhere in the world. And we're the best in the business."

David's eyes went from Dean to Terry. "I did read about that Tecala incident, Mr. Thorne. Going after Bowman pro bono like that was pretty fucking impressive."

Isis looked to Terry, reached out and touched his hand. The sense memory of her hand on his arm during most of the flight from Tokyo made his body flush with a gentle warmth.

"What happened in Tecala?" she asked softly.

Terry breathed with a deep sigh, affected by more memories. But Dino stepped in for his partner, knowing that even after nearly a year, it was a sensitive subject.

"Peter Bowman was an architect employed by an oil company to build a dam in Tecala. He was kidnapped by guerillas for profit, but when the company realized their K&R policy with Luthan Risk had expired, they left him and his family out in the cold. But Terry wouldn't let the case go, covered or not. He brought me in, and together we worked with Mrs. Bowman to bring Peter home."

"You saved his life," Isis breathed. "Terry, that's incredible."

Terry took her hand, dismissed her amazement if not her appreciation. "It's what I do, love. Helping the Bowmans was the right thing to do, and I'm glad we had the opportunity."

David watched the interplay between Thorne and Isis avidly. There was more going on here than business. In all their years together, he'd never seen Isis Knox look at a man like she was looking at Terry Thorne. He didn't know what to make of it, other than it was about damned time. Filing the thought away quickly, he refocused his attention on the deal.

Dino continued, putting on his sales hat. "As a company, Thorne-McGrath is dedicated to providing our services to causes that otherwise wouldn't be able to afford such coverage, charities and the like. So you can be assured that your patronage will not only ensure your safety, you'll be allowing us to use our expertise to help others."

"See, David," Isis said. "It's not about numbers; it's about getting the right people for the job." She beamed to Terry and squeezed his hand. "I think we found them. So let's make it official. Where do I sign?"

David exhaled in resignation, "Guess it's time to see a man about a lawsuit."

"If you're sure, love," Terry grinned in appreciation as he went for his briefcase.

At that moment, the office door opened. Denise stepped inside and pronounced, "David, Mr. Arthur Kent. You know Miss Knox of course, and this is Mr. Thorne and Mr. McGrath."

Isis' expression turned to stone, and it sent a chill down Dino's spine to witness it. Christ, like Medusa on the rag. Terry watched warily as she stood from her chair, folding her arms as she turned to face the newcomer. He was stunned by the complete turnaround in her demeanor, but impressed by her gravity. The tiny woman in her elegant business attire exuded power, and he felt a charge of sexual attraction run down his spine to his groin.

"You got a lotta balls coming in here, Kent," she challenged.

"Not nearly as big as yours, Miss Knox," he snapped in response, his British accent crisp and cold.

"Whoa!" Dino and David objected to the insult in unison.

Isis didn't flinch. "Arthur, I want to hear you say it. You knowingly put a sex offender in my house? To guard my daughter?"

Kent's eyes cut to Terry in instant accusation. "Employment records are private - " but he was cut off when Isis grabbed a gold statuette from David's desk and took aim.

All three men reacted, but it was Terry who caught Isis' hand, stopped her from launching the weapon at Kent's guilty face. Leaning in close, Terry whispered intently, "Breathe, mate. You're giving him what he wants: evidence for a lawsuit. Relax; let me take care of it."

At his playful wink, Isis relented, took a deep cleansing breath, and let the statue go. He passed it to David, who clutched it protectively, and scrambled to move the rest out of Knox's reach.

Terry approached Kent and offered his hand. "Mr. Kent, Terrence Thorne, Thorne-McGrath. Good to meet you, but I'm afraid you're a bit late. We were just finishing up here. My partner and I will be contacting you soon to discuss the exit strategy that will best serve Miss Knox. We don't expect to cut you off instantly, though we must insist that you take the criminal element out of rotation."

"Exit strategy?" Kent asked, as if he'd never heard the term. "Mr. Thorne, this conclusion is hardly decided. Excelsior has a contract that Miss Knox will be breaking if she signs your firm. My lawyers have specifically instructed me that we will not be removing agents due to - "

Terry cut him off, his voice strong and authoritative. "If we cannot work together to ensure my client's safety, Mr. Kent, I will be forced to demand that you withdraw your people immediately."

Kent looked dumbstruck. "Who do you think you are, Thorne? I've provided security in this town for thirty years. You can't do this."

Isis reasserted her presence. "He's not doing it, Kent, I am," she spat with determined venom. "This is my decision, no one else's. You've been asleep on the job for long enough, and I say you're fired."

"The customer is always right," Dino added.

Turning to Isis, Terry instructed: "Miss Knox, thank Mr. Kent for his service and politely ask him to leave."

Isis looked to David for backup before she sassed, "Thanks for nothing, Arthur. Now take your felons and piss off."

A little less polite than I'd imagined, Terry smiled inwardly, but she certainly gets her point across.

Dino moved in to reinforce his partner as Terry pronounced: "You heard Miss Knox. Good day, Mr. Kent."

As he turned to leave, Kent tossed over his shoulder, "David, Isis, I'll see you in court."

Goldman stood and leaned over his desk, dared, "Bring it, baby!" As Thorne and McGrath escorted Kent out, he whispered to Isis, "Man, that was cool. These guys are great, Ice. Do you think they really know Kung Fu?"

She rolled her eyes and chuckled. "Can we sign these papers now, boys?" she sighed impatiently. "We have lunch reservations at Spago and we're going to be late."

"No can do, honey," David replied regretfully. "I gotta go see the lawyers."

"Me too," Dino said. He winked as he handed his car keys to Terry. "But you two crazy kids go have some fun. David, can I bum a ride? I wanna pick your brain anyway."

"Sure, man."

"Spago?" Terry asked, looking to Isis curiously. "Sounds lovely, but shouldn't we try someplace less…conspicuous?"

Isis grinned and shook her head ruefully, knowing what was coming.

Behind the desk, David exploded: "Less conspicuous? Jesus fucking Christ! Did you just wander in from the outback, Croc Hunter? Being seen at Spago with Isis Knox will make you in this town. Take the fucking lunch!"

Terry bridled at the insult, but Isis just giggled. "He's right, Terry. I can't believe I pay for this abuse, but he's always right."

"Spago it is then," he grinned.

Once the formalities were taken care of, Terry handed the briefcase to his partner and offered his arm to their newest client. Dino and David watched them leave, heard Isis' musical laugh echo down the hall.

"There goes your next ex wife, hermano," Dino muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" David asked.

"Ah, nothing," he answered, redirecting: "Man, that look Isis gave Kent nearly took me out. Now that we're working together, Goldman, you'll have to let me in on the secrets to handling her. I liked that King Kong thing."

David grinned. "You handle her just like a bear, man. With Ice, you either stand your ground or play dead. But no matter what happens, don't run. When she smells fear, you're dead meat…or you'll wish you were." David held out his hand, shook McGrath's vigorously. "Welcome to the jungle, baby."

w

The drive from Goldman's Beverly Hills office to the restaurant was short but pleasant with the convertible's top down and the Bose stereo thumping. The sun was out and the sky was blue, another beautiful day in Southern California. Isis hadn't felt this good in a long time, still so pumped up from watching Terry in action. She knew he'd be great, but this…he'd totally blown her away. She couldn't help it, kept stealing glances of him at the wheel of the sharp sports car from behind her dark glasses. His new beard was neatly trimmed, framed his strong jaw so artfully, and looked so soft. She wondered what it might feel like against her cheek. David and Terry's partner, she'd been honestly disappointed that they couldn't join them for lunch, hoped to have them for a buffer, but she felt comfortable with Terry so quietly confident at her side that now she was glad they'd declined. This way she'd have him all to herself for a little while, just like their flight home from Tokyo.

Terry pulled the silver Boxster up to the curb and handed the keys over to the valet, but wouldn't let the handsome young man in the red jacket hold the door for Isis Knox. That honor he kept for himself. Lunch with a rock diva; this was one for the books. He imagined Dino would have been the better man for the job, so much more impressed with the Hollywood lifestyle, but he wouldn't have traded places with his partner now for all the tequila in Mazatlan. He smiled as Isis took his arm again. The feel of that little hand was becoming a familiar and welcome sensation.

Inside the restaurant, Terry led his star client carefully past the gathering well-dressed lunch crowd. At the podium, he removed his sunglasses as the pretty hostess greeted them. "Reservation for two," he said.

"Name?"

Giving Isis a glance, still veiled in her dark shades, he replied, "Knox."

The young woman gave a surprised double take and smiled. "Miss Knox, I didn't recognize you. How stunning you look. Of course, your table is ready. Right this way."

The hostess led them past the long elegant bar through the dining room hung with modern art and out the open French doors. On the sunny red brick patio, she guided them to the best table, the one next to the cascading fountain in the shade of a tree. It was set with white linen, fresh lilies, and brilliant yellow sunflowers.

Terry swept the patio, eyed the diners already seated. Isis was turning heads, but no more than any other beautiful woman in Beverly Hills that day. Seemed like they hadn't recognized her yet. He wondered absently how long that would last.

As he held her chair, Isis chuckled, "You're going to spoil me."

"We're a full service shop, love," he teased.

"I can see that." While he took his seat, she looked down at her hands. "And you've already saved me from myself once today. Thanks for that, Terry."

"Welcome, love," he smiled, taking up the menu. "After that crack Kent made, I'd say the bastard deserved it. I would have liked to see you let fly. How's your aim, then?"

"Deadly," she assured him with an arched brow.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said. Taking the Treo smartphone from his suit jacket pocket, he spoke into the microphone and recorded a voice memo, "Kevlar and helmets for all our agents."

Isis laughed. Terry Thorne, God, he was a handsome man. So sharp in that light grey suit. She could have sworn that his silk tie was specially dyed to match his eyes. But it wasn't just his looks and style - that wasn't half of it. He wasn't a Hollywood pretty boy. Living in Malibu for the last two years, she was used to them, immune. Court had been pretty, but never Hollywood. No, Thorne was a real man with intelligence and confidence, charm and humor. And he was so grounded. She got the impression that if she was hit by lightning while holding Terry's hand, the electricity would pass right through her harmlessly and down into the ground under his polished Italian shoes. She especially admired the way he'd kept so cool while confronting Arthur Kent. Calm, so professional, so totally in control. Half of her wanted to be just like him, while the other half knew she never would. She was fire and he was ice. But maybe he could teach her.

"You're not scared of me, Boss," she dared to ask. "How come?"

Without looking up from the menu, Terry answered dryly, "Because I'm well insured."
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Isis cross her arms and tip her shades down to look at him with a delicate brow arched in a playful glare. He pretended to ignore her until he heard her expensive high heel tapping under the table. Setting the menu down, Terry removed his dark glasses, reached a hand across the table, and grinned. When she took it, he gentled, considered that lovely little hand, and grew thoughtful.

"You aren't as fearsome as they say, Isis. You're just a woman who doesn't suffer fools, one who knows what she wants. You're a professional at the top of her game. Some people see that as threatening, especially those who don't bother to do their homework. But you hold yourself to a higher standard than anyone else. Your people love you, and so does your daughter. How bad can you be?" Terry watched her thick lashes dip as she looked down shyly, saw a blush rise on her cheeks. But before the celebratory mood was dampened, he added lightly, "I'd say you're my kind of sheila. I'll bet you even know what you want for lunch."

"The filet, of course," Isis answered with more bravado than she really felt.

"Red meat? Not a salad? Woman, I've just cracked a fat."

Her laughter rang, and diners at other tables turned to smile at the sound. "Are you hungry Mr. Thorne, or just happy to see me?"

"Both," he smiled.

When the waiter appeared, Terry ordered salads and the filet for two, along with a bottle of Château Pontet-Canet. She loved hearing him switch to French so seamlessly and back again, such a sophisticated man. When his smile turned to her again, he dropped his napkin in his lap and asked, "So how's my butterfly?"

"Making trouble, as usual. She's her mother's daughter," she said proudly. "Actually, Kore's on a play date today."

"Sounds like fun."

"And how do you play on your weekends, Terry? Skydive? Repel from cliffs? Or let me guess - golf."

Terry shook his head. "I don't do weekends."

"Sounds like me. But I'm lucky, I do what I love."

"So do I, believe it or not," he assured her. "I enjoy traveling, meeting people, sometimes helping them."

"Selfless," Isis smiled.

"Hardly," he grinned. "I'm very well compensated, and I do love my toys." The waiter appeared with the wine, let Terry taste before he poured their glasses full.

Isis held her glass for his toast. "And when you're not globetrotting, playing James Bond?"

Terry savored the luscious Bordeaux while he savored Isis in white, watched her pretty red lips on the rim of her glass. He was unused to talking about himself so much on a business lunch, wasn't sure how she managed it, putting him so completely at ease. Maybe it was the way she seemed so comfortable in her own skin. Whatever it was, he was enjoying it, more than he cared to admit. "I don't know, love. I like to bend an elbow on occasion." Sitting forward, he lowered his voice conspiratorially and confessed, "And when I'm feeling naughty, I do a little salsa dancing."

"There he is, the wild man," she grinned in triumph. "I knew I sensed him lurking beneath that polished exterior. Salsa dancing, huh? Now that I gotta see."

"Takes a wild woman to sense a wild man," he chuckled. "Come along some night, I'll show you how it's done." Have you just asked Isis Knox out on a date, mate? Terry asked himself. I suppose you have. Where did that come from?

"I'm going to hold you to that, Terry," she beamed. "Do you know how long it's been since I went dancing?"

His arrow-straight brows furrowed, made him look so grave. "Beautiful young woman like you? You should be out every weekend, having the time of your life."

Isis dropped her eyes, went quiet. Terry felt it, the longing in her. When he noticed her twisting the wedding ring on her finger, he asked gently, "Not that it's any of my business, love, but there's been no one? Since your husband passed away?"

"No," she whispered in reply. She unfolded her napkin and smoothed it in her lap, a prim gesture for such a sensual woman. "Well, not that I haven't had offers. It sounds crazy when you say it out loud, but after Court died, it was so easy to just put my head down, lose myself in work, in Kore. I just kind of forgot about the other stuff, didn't really care."

"It's understandable," Terry said, his voice a low rumble. "Everyone needs time to grieve. In my line of work, unfortunately, I see it from time to time. There's no schedule, love." He sipped his wine. "Have you talked to anyone about it? A counselor?"

She shook her head.

"They help," he assured her.

"I'm a do it yourself kind of girl. You know, that punk rock ethic."

"Even tough girls get the blues." She smiled to him at that, but he could see the pain behind her sparkling dark eyes. "If you'd ever like to speak to someone, I work with some wonderful professionals."

"How about a friend?"

He reached for her hand again, squeezed it in reassurance. "Always that, love. Take it to the bank."

Terry only let go when the waiter appeared with their salads: spinach with green apples, gorgonzola, and candied walnuts. Isis admired the presentation while Thorne dug in. He was starving, and the divergent flavors merged into a delicious combination. Throughout lunch, they talked easily on professional and personal matters, like old friends. Terry found it hard to take his eyes from Isis' face, her dark eyes, red lips, and elegant white suit. And her hair, so shiny and slick. He wondered how the jeweled clip didn't slip right out, though it wouldn't, no matter how strongly he willed it. He appreciated the sophisticated look on Isis, but almost missed the unpretentious girl in sweats who fell asleep so easily against his shoulder on the plane. She's still there, mate, he reminded himself. She can be anything she wants to be. Christ, that beautiful black hair. When it came down, he knew it would be as soft to touch as he remembered when he'd dared to smooth his cheek against her sleeping head.

By the time the filet mignon arrived, perfectly medium rare, they were nearing the end of the Bordeaux and considering a second bottle. But Isis said she'd rather save room for dessert, so they passed.

Isis tucked into her meal without hesitation. Good appetite, he noted. She was definitely a woman who appreciated the finer things in life; good wine, good food, beautiful things. She was a true hedonist, but practical - like himself. Terry Thorne loved the lifestyle his business provided him, but more than anything, he loved to watch a woman eat. There was something so primally sensual about it. He rationalized that there had to be some instinctual connection between food and sex. Perhaps it was the knowledge that when a hunter provided meat for his woman, he would be well provided for later by the fire, taste that luscious mouth, feel her grateful kiss on his body. As Isis sliced a small piece of meat off the steak he was paying for, Terry found himself feeling suddenly jealous of her fork. Something about watching her made him hungrier than he'd been before their meal started.

When their eyes met, it took him a moment to realize that she had been staring at him as well. "Bloody good steak," Terry said, shaking himself forcibly from his dreamy haze.

"I guess you were hungry," she said, admiring his empty plate. "Want the rest of this? I'm stuffed."

"Ta, love," he smiled, though he was tempted. He was just cursing the fact that smoking was banned even in outdoor restaurants in California when Isis spoke up.

"I gotta tell you Terry, I'm loving the beard."

He was honestly surprised. "Yeah?" he asked, as his hand went to his jaw and stroked unconsciously. "Well, good job then. It's your fault. Been working on this case so long, I haven't had time to shave."

Leaning forward, she asked quietly. "Would you mind if I just…touched…" and as she said the words, she reached across the table and petted his cheek softly.

The gesture struck him as a delightful surprise, innocent and carnal in the same moment. But a flash at the corner of his eye distracted him. Pressing her hand to his face with his own, Terry savored her touch for another selfish moment, then delivered the news under his breath: "Don't be alarmed, love, but we're being photographed."

Isis turned her head and saw the single paparazzi across the street. She knew the crowd would start gathering any moment. Drawing back her hand reluctantly, she sighed deeply.

"I knew it was too good to last."

But he was unwilling to allow the unwelcome journalist spoil their day. "Ready to go, then?"

She nodded and rose. Taking Terry's arm, she let him lead her away from the patio and back inside, out of range of the long lens of the tabloids. She was surprised when he halted in the narrow hallway.

Turning to look into her eyes, he asked quietly, his voice a low rumble, "Do me a favor, love?"

She raised her brows curiously.

Gesturing to the clip holding back her hair, he continued: "Sorry, would you mind if I…?"

Terry watched a slow smile spread over her painted lips when she understood what he wanted. She nodded her permission silently.

When he reached for the clip, Isis watched his tongue peek out in a gesture of concentration, and she felt her body flush at the sensuality of his pretty mouth surrounded by that masculine beard, nearly felt his tongue flick between her legs. Her hair fell at his lightest touch, released to cascade down her back. She shook her head slightly; let it fall to its natural place around her face.

Terry smiled as he tucked a stray lock back. His lips took the place of his finger at the shell of her ear. "Thank you, love. I've been dying to do that all afternoon."

She felt the warmth of his breath fan her cheek, then his lips graze in the lightest kiss. The deceptively polite gesture rocked her with its sensuality, made her knees shake. But she found her balance as he grasped her hand to give her the clip.

"Don't hesitate to call me if you need anything, Isis. Anything at all."

Everything is negotiable, love, she heard in her mind, while his blue-green eyes promised endless possibilities.

"I will," she breathed. She squeezed his hand, held on to his steady and solid presence for another moment before returning to the chaos of her life.

Outside the restaurant, the crowd gathered on the sidewalk: fans, paparazzi, and curious onlookers. Isis kept her sunglasses on, but as the autograph seekers gathered, she seemed to change her posture, grow in stature. Terry couldn't put his finger on specifically what she'd done to appear so different; the change was subtle, but so powerful. It was the first time he'd seen Isis play the star, and she was glorious. Smiling brilliantly, she asked everyone's name, made that special comment about a girl's hair or t-shirt that would make the moment personally memorable. Some of the kids actually wept in line, shaking from the excitement of meeting their idol in the flesh. It was astonishing to witness so closely.

And though the fans were well-behaved, each waiting their turn politely, the photographers were not so gentle. Terry felt suddenly vulnerable. As his hand went to his firearm beneath his jacket, he unsnapped the safety on his shoulder holster, wishing Dino had come along for lunch. Behind dark shades, he scanned the crowd for faces from Isis' file, the "persons of interest" they had flagged as possible stalkers, and especially the mother-in-law, but these were all kids from the Valley. Eyes sweeping the perimeter across the street and up to the rooftops, Terry took his phone from his pocket, about to call for backup, when an incoming text message beeped through. On the screen, Terry read Dino's communication: "Beach Boy 1 and 2 coming for pickup. Tag along, or HQ bound?"

"Tag," he texted back.

"K, meet you there."

A few minutes later, a black SUV pulled to the curb. Terry apologized to the fans and gently guided Isis towards the car. She came along gratefully, waving goodbye as her fans cheered. A handsome young man in a suit with a Bluetooth earpiece exited the passenger side of the SUV and held the door for them both.

Over the crowd noise, Terry said, "Miss Knox, allow me to introduce Chris Wyatt, your new head of security."

"Hi Chris," she smiled, as Terry quickly handed her into the back seat behind the safety of bulletproof glass.

With the door safely closed, Chris leaned in to speak into his employer's ear. "Kent's men are still in residence. We're going to have a scene when we show up. Shall I call for backup?"

Thorne nodded curtly. "Yeah, you should, though I don't think we'll need it."

Chris' brow rose curiously. "Why not?"

Terry chuckled, "Dino's already on his way. He wouldn't miss this for the world." Lowering his sunglasses, he grinned at his number three man. "I'm sure Isis Knox has lots of awards at home to throw at Kent's men. Chris, get ready for some fireworks."

But the scene in Malibu was anticlimactic at best. Isis called ahead. At her request, Julie asked Excelsior's remaining two agents to help her with something out in the garage, and promptly locked them in. When Isis hit the remote for the garage door in her purse, all Chris and Sunil had to do was round them up and escort them outside. No fireworks necessary. Terry was as impressed with her clever restraint this time as he had been with her show of temper in Goldman's office.

He'd admired Isis all afternoon as the business savvy sophisticate, but later that night, it was the hellcat that Terry Thorne imagined clawing at his back while he masturbated in the shower.

w

The Treo smartphone rang on the nightstand. Terry fished for it like a blind man as he swam up from the depth of sleep. Before he could croak a greeting, Dino's voice was on the line, purring, "You dirty dog. Here I thought you were fibbing about banging Isis the whole time."

"I told you, I don't kiss and tell," Terry grumbled sleepily. "What's on then?"

"You and a certain rock goddess, or so say all the gossip rags this morning. You even made the Yahoo front page feature story, a couple hundred thousand hits already."

Terry scratched his bearded cheek and rolled out of bed. Wearing only boxer briefs, he loped to the kitchen where his laptop glowed on the table. When he refreshed the browser, the headline jumped out at him: Isis Knox Caught in Romantic Tryst with Mystery Man. The photograph captured the moment when she had reached over the table to touch his face.

"Oh, Christ," he muttered. "Did they put my name in the story?"

"Yes, sir," Dino gloated. "Spelled it right and everything."

"Bloody hell," he sighed, depressed. "There it fucking goes, then. My ability to work as an undercover operative has been permanently compromised, mate."

But Dino wouldn't let him mope. "Our undercover careers were over when we put our names on the building, hermano. David Goldman was right: you can't buy publicity like this. Milk it for all it's worth, baby. You lucky bastard."

But Terry wasn't so sure. His lucky streak seemed to have just run out. Isis Knox was beautiful, sexy, intelligent and fun, but with her came the complications of celebrity. Not only was she a client - their most important client - she was also an extremely vulnerable and volatile young woman. He would have to tread lightly.

More than anything, Terry knew that he had to put his client's safety first. Professionally, he couldn't watch Isis Knox's arse if he was watching her arse.