MALIBU, CA

Isis shivered. It was a mild night at the beach house in Malibu, but she felt cold, even with the warmth of the wine in her blood. She pulled the chenille blanket up over her lap and carefully guided the full crystal glass to her lips. She'd polished off most of this Cabernet already, and was thinking about opening a second bottle. But that would require getting her ass off the couch. She didn't have the energy…and she didn't want to leave him.

The huge HD screen mounted on the wall was the only light in the darkened media room. On it, she studied the face of her late husband, Court Colbert, as he smiled and joked with the crowd of the recorded concert. Surround sound speakers enveloped her in his deep voice as he introduced the next song.

"God, you looked so good that night, baby," she spoke into the void.

The picture of the newly remastered HD DVD was so crisp, when they pulled into that close up, she could see every familiar freckle and mole on his face; nearly count the hairs of his sparse beard. Court's hair was dyed blonde, shoulder length, and curling with the heat. He swiped at his sweaty forehead carelessly with a sleeve, pushing his hair back from his face for a better view. The MTV studio was so warm that night with all the candles, all the bodies crowding in. The scent of the white Casablanca lilies that decorated the stage perfumed the air. She thought they were so pretty that night, watching the performance from the front row, six months pregnant, but now they only reminded her of the funeral. Everyone had sent them.

The image on the screen was so real, Isis felt like she could reach out and touch him, wished she could. That flannel shirt, white with black stripes, she still had it in her closet. That black t-shirt with the torn pocket too. Blue jeans with a hole in the knee, simple black Converse sneakers. Christ, the less effort Court took to dress, the better he looked. And she remembered exactly what he smelled like too. The night of the MTV Unplugged show it was a little of that skunky weed Tom was smoking backstage, Sapporo beer, and the manly smell that was just him. It was the same scent she swore she woke up smelling on the pillow case those mornings when her dead husband came to her in dreams.

After two years, she still couldn't believe she'd never talk to him again. Court never felt completely lost to her, maybe just on tour. Once their parallel careers took off, they'd often been separated for months. But this is a really long tour…to the hereafter. The thought made her laugh, but mirthlessly. There was something about Court, he'd always just been a part of her. Now that he was gone, she still felt the tingle of his arm around her shoulder, his lips at her ear, Jesus, his cock inside her, like a phantom limb. It's hard to miss someone when you can't admit he's gone. Her mind was talking to her now, sounding like another person. She did that when she was drunk. And sometimes when she was really wasted, the voice that came to her was Court's.

She took a deep breath and sighed, felt the red wine weighing her down. Slow down, Ice. Get some water. Maybe wake up Jules, ask her to go for a walk on the beach to lift this deep blue funk. She hadn't done this in a long time, gotten so low so fast. What had triggered it? It couldn't have been the lunch with Terry Thorne. She'd had such a good time.

Whatever caused it, it was too late to pull out of the downward spiral now. Kore was long asleep, the house was dark, and Isis was walking between the worlds. On the nights she traveled like this, she had to go alone.

Going down, down…seek him in the cold black earth.
Going up, up… seek him in the cold black night.
Going out, out…seek him over the cold black water.

"Write that one down, Ice. It's awesome."

That was Court's voice.

She smiled, took another drink. "Thanks, baby. I will." Oh yeah, she was wasted now. But it felt good. Good to be with him again.

She watched him move on the screen as he settled the acoustic guitar over his broad shoulders, found his pick, and strummed. Court's body was so fine, so long and lean and tall. Seeing him now kind of reminded her of Terry, that strong sure way he moved. But Terry was more reserved, where Court had a swagger to him. Maybe it was just their difference in age, she reasoned. Terry Thorne probably swaggered when he was twenty-five. At forty he didn't have anything to prove. Thorne had more meat on him. Court had once as well…before the heroin really got her teeth in him. But here on the DVD at the MTV show, he was pink with health. When they'd learned Isis was pregnant, they both quit the drugs, went to rehab, vowed to clean up their lives. And it was a vow they kept for nearly a year, until he didn't.

"Who put that poison in my house?" she asked out loud to no one. Tom had always denied it, but she knew it had been him. She could have torn him apart with her bare hands if she hadn't been destroyed by the accusations of cruel nameless critics that actually blamed her for her husband's death.

Court strummed again, and the acoustic strings rang out the first chord. The glint of the gold wedding band on his fret hand drew her back into the reality of the current moment where Isis Knox sat on the couch alone, hundreds of empty miles away from their home in Seattle, and realized she was a widow again. Funny how she could forget sometimes, but only for a few moments, and then it all came back to slap her in the face again, sit in her belly like a cold stone.

She loved this old folk song, loved that Court wanted to do it for the MTV show instead of another hit. He'd wanted her to sing it with him too, but Tom and Craig hated it when Isis joined the band, made their little power trio a quartet. And she hated to be called Yoko, so she stayed out of it, no matter how much she loved singing with her husband.

Her tongue lapped the rim of the glass, tasting sweet wine as she watched her man rock his body over the guitar as he played, swaying to the rhythm of the song. Court Colbert didn't just play music, he embodied it, became it. And her womb ached when she realized that watching him sway rhythmically like that was just the way he moved when they made love.

Court took a deep breath before he began singing, and it was the sound of that breath of life she'd been listening for. It gave her chills. His voice was rough with smoke when he sang into the microphone softly: "My girl, my girl, don't lie to me…tell me where did you sleep last night?"

Tom and Craig couldn't fucking stop her now. She sang the next line with her husband in defiance: "In the pines, in the pines…where the sun don't ever shine. I would shiver the whole night through…"

"My girl, my girl, where will you go?"

"I'm going where the cold wind blows. In the pines, in the pines…where the sun don't ever shine. I would shiver the whole night through…"

"Her husband was a hard working man. Died about a mile from here…"

"His head was found in a driving wheel, but his body never was found…"

Court's body…Oh, God. When she found him that morning, he was already cold. In the pines, in the pines, where the sun don't ever shine…

She sobbed, drowned her dark memories in wine.

Isis had no idea how long she'd been out. The next thing she was consciously aware of was Julie's whisper at her ear as she folded her in her arms and tried to raise her from the couch. The DVD's main menu played on a loop in the background.

"It was an accident, Ice. Court loved you and Kore so much, he didn't want to leave you. He was an addict and it was an accident," Julie wiped away her own tears before she coaxed gently with the words that always worked. "Come on now, honey. Come to bed. Court wants you to come to bed."

w

In the morning, Julie and Shana let Isis sleep as late as they could stand, but by noon, they had to send Kore in to wake her mother. She was a gentle child by nature, so even with a hangover, Isis smiled at her daughter's soft whisper.

"Mama, wake up. Fwo-wers."

"Mmm…morning, sweetie," she cooed sleepily, and kissed her child's lips despite the cotton mouth. Looking to Jules, she asked, "Jesus, what time is it?"

"Almost noon, slugabed," she answered playfully as she drew the long white curtains back. The sun stabbed Isis' eyes painfully.

Kore demanded her mother's attention again. "Mama, come see."

"What's that, honey? Flowers?"

Shana settled on the bed, smiling, "You got a delivery, Ice."

Isis rubbed her aching forehead. "Really? From who?"

"Mr. Risk Management," Julie sing-songed.

She suddenly felt better. "Oh, wow."

"Dez makes pan-a-cakes!" Kore proclaimed loudly, tugging at her mother's hand. "Get up!"

"Pan-a-cakes, my favorite," Isis grinned, then turned pleading eyes to Shana. "But coffee first, okay?"

"Coffee's ready, hon," Shana assured her, and gathered up the two-year-old into her arms.

"Come on, mama."

"I'm coming," she promised as she moved to the walk-in closet, stripping out of her sour smelling t-shirt and sweats. When she'd dressed in a clean warm up suit, Julie accompanied her downstairs and out to the kitchen, where a wall of soaring arched windows looked out to the calm blue Pacific Ocean. The women watched Isis' reaction intently when she saw it: a huge crystal vase of white Casablanca lilies and brilliant yellow sunflowers that took the place of honor in the center of the dark wood dining table.

The heavy scent of the lilies brought on the sense memory of the MTV Unplugged concert, and of course the funeral, but the addition of the cheerful sunflowers softened the blow. And then she smiled when she remembered where she'd seen the same kind of arrangement.

"Pwetty fwo-wers, mama!" Kore crowed.

Reaching for the card, Isis explained to her girls, "These were the flowers on the table yesterday at Spago. I mentioned how pretty they were. God, how cool is that for him to remember?"

Julie and Shana gave each other relieved glances. "So what does the card say, Ice?" Jules prodded. "We've been dying all morning."

Isis grinned and dropped her voice low, put on her Aussie accent to read: "Isis, thanks for lunch and the contract. Looking forward to working together - and salsa dancing. Love, Terry and Thorne-McGrath. P.S.: Sorry about the tabs. Publicity, hey?"

"Salsa dancing!" Julie laughed. "Oh my God, are you really going dancing?"

Isis shrugged noncommittally. Plucking a sunflower from the vase, she put the thick stalk in Kore's chubby little hands. The girl beamed with excitement. Kneeling down, she hugged her daughter. "These are from Terry, baby. Remember him from the plane?"

Kore nodded, shaking dark curls into her eyes. "Budda-fwy," she parroted, and kissed the dark face of the sunflower.

The women laughed in adoration. "She has the best memory," Shana marveled. "Really advanced for that age."

Well, Isis thought to herself, Terry Thorne is pretty hard to forget.

w

Terry grunted as he pressed the barbell upward to his arms' full extension, breathed deeply for a count of ten, and let it clatter down into the holder. One hundred and eighty pounds. Not his top weight at two-twenty, but it was as much as he'd dare without a workout partner. Still got it, mate, he thought silently. As he mopped sweat from his brow, he heard the gym door open and close. Rozzie's pretty face framed by a halo of red hair smiled down into his line of sight.

"Need a spot, Romeo?" she purred, leaning over deeply to give him a lovely view down her sports bra.

"Maybe a spot of you, darlin'," he grinned in response. Reaching out, he ran a finger down the inside of her shapely thigh.

She sat on the edge of the bench and rubbed at his taut belly under his t-shirt in a familiar hello. "Saw the headlines, Terry. Nice picture. I don't know about the beard, though."

He ignored the barb. "Did that story about Isis Knox make you jealous, love?"

"It sure did," she confessed.

"Then it was worth it."

"Cocky bastard," she breathed.

He sat up, did a couple crunches. "You ought to know."

She cupped his groin through his sweats brazenly. "Remind me."

His blue-green eyes went wide. "What, here? Now?"

"Unless you're chicken," she dared. "Parking lot's empty. All the decent folks are at work."

"I pulled an all-nighter, took the morning off," Terry protested. "What about you? Why aren't you in the office?"

Her blue eyes sparkled. "Because your luck rubbed off and the boss loved my presentation. I'm the boss now, got my own division for women-themed films. And as my first order of business, I booked a day at the spa with my new assistant to strategize."

"Bonzer, Rozzie," he praised with a lingering kiss to her luscious lips. Looking over his shoulder to the gym door, Terry stood to his full height and pushed her back onto the weight bench. She gasped when he stripped off her tiny running shorts with a flourish and tossed them over his shoulder. "Let me be the first to congratulate you, Madame Producer." Looming, he slowly untied the drawstring at his waist in a menacing gesture and growled, "No one calls me a bloody chook."

w

Dino knew full well that Terry had worked all night, and he was glad he'd taken the morning off. In the middle of a deal, Terry Thorne could function perfectly well with no sleep for days, but it sure turned him into a cranky bastard. The morning off had Terry looking the best he'd seen him since they'd landed the Knox contract. Even so, he still had to break his balls for coming into the office late.

"Nice of you to show up, sunshine," Dino purred, his tone sarcastically sweet.

But Thorne understood the barb for what it was, expected nothing less. Shuffling through his mail, he gave it right back, "Unlike you, Ron Jeremy, I have healthy work/life boundaries."

The redhead nearly choked on his Starbucks. "Yeah, right," he scoffed. "I'm the recipient of those emails you send well past midnight, Mr. Work/Life Balance, so fuck you."

"No thank you, already been." At Dino's raised brow, Terry teased, "Don't be jealous, you're still my life partner."

"Jesus," Dino chuckled. Goodbye cranky bear, hello cocky bastard. He wanted to ask who he'd had his morning glory with, but thought better of it. He was honestly afraid Terry would tell him it was Isis Knox, and Dean McGrath already had too much on his plate to worry about that landmine.

"Chris in?"

Dino's cell phone rang, but he nodded and pointed him down the hall as he took the call. "Eli, give me some good news." By the sour expression on his face as he listened, it didn't look good at all. "Shit."

Terry frowned and left his partner to the lawyers, went looking for Chris Wyatt for an update on the Knox conversion instead. When he checked his office, he wasn't in, though his car keys and a steaming cup of coffee waited on the desk. Terry took the moment to study the pictures on the bookshelf, smiling when he recognized a shot of Chris with his father, Ian Wyatt, a long time brother-in-arms. He'd been in Tecala when they'd pulled their 'stuff of legends' stunt, even helped them track the guerillas holding Bowman. The photo looked like they were on a deep sea fishing adventure, both holding an end of a giant marlin. Who would have imagined old Ian, alias 'the Troll,' could have produced such a handsome son?

"Hey, Terry," Chris greeted him brightly as he entered with a stack of mail.

"Where was this taken?" he asked, pointing to the framed photograph.

"Ah, that was off the Florida keys. We were there for my parent's anniversary last year. What a blast. Here's mom and dad cutting their cake," he said, taking another frame down and handing it over for inspection.

Terry shook his head in dismay, unable to imagine a more mismatched couple. Ian was short, dark, and balding, while his wife Deborah was tall, blonde, and gorgeous. Chris was fortunate to take after his mother. "I'll never understand it, Chris. How the hell did your father bag such a beautiful bird? Did her parents owe him money, any chance? Or I know - she was kidnapped, he rescued her, and she felt obliged."

"The frog and the princess. Opposites really do attract," Wyatt smiled proudly. "They must be doing something right. Thirty years don't happen by accident."

"Old Ian must have hidden assets," Terry said with a naughty waggle of his brows.

"I didn't hear that," Chris begged. "No one wants to imagine their parents actually having sex. They want to think of their births as immaculate conception, I guess."

Especially when you have to imagine that, Terry smiled inwardly. "How long did you work with your dad at International?"

"Five years," Chris said. "Went to work right after I got back from the Persian Gulf. So I had long enough with the old dog for him to teach me some tricks before he retired."

"He's only what, fifty-five? You should twist his arm again, try to get him to come help us with Isis, even if it's only temporary. Not such a bad gig."

"It's a very nice gig, with some very nice scenery," Chris agreed.

"Scenery…" Terry mused. "Christ, with all those beautiful sheilas working for Isis, we're going to have to interview prospective agents in a strip club just to make sure they can really focus." Chris chuckled at the thought, but it wasn't a bad idea. Terry decided to mention it to Dino. He wouldn't mind that detail at all. "Which one do you fancy, then? Dez, the little blonde? Or the nanny with the cute arse. What's her name?"

"Shana," Chris said with a grin. "No, if I had to pick - and this would be after hours of torture, mind you - I'd say Julie."

"The bird with the pink hair?" Terry asked, surprised. "What would mum say to that?"

"Oh, she'd be sweet as pie. She just wants grandchildren." Taking the photo of his parents in hand, he considered it affectionately. "But she'd take my head off if I really tried to get dad to join us. He was gone so often while he was on the job, she wants him all to herself now. Besides, if you were my dad and you had this at home, would you keep working?"

Terry shook his head. "Suppose not," he chuckled, then reconsidered. "Definitely not. Well, if we play our cards right with this Knox contract, use the publicity to sign a few more, we'll all be able to follow your dad's good example into early retirement, rich and in one piece. Imagine that?" Getting back to business, he asked, "So the conversion; how's that going with the house? Have the subcontractors set a date?"

"Today, actually. I was just going to head out to Malibu to meet them."

Sounds like the perfect way to leave Dino with the lawyers, Terry thought.

"Mind if I tag along? I'd like to talk to their tech lead about another job."

"You're the boss," Chris smiled.

w

Coming around the final bend on the Pacific Coast Highway revealed what seemed like an endless stretch of golden sand and blue water: Malibu, beach community of the stars. Even so, the multi-million dollar homes that lined the water here were little more than big boxes on stilts, crammed one against the other. Not very bloody glamorous, Terry thought, though he was sure they were more attractive inside. In this exclusive neighborhood, celebrities and Hollywood elites lived nearly on top of one another. But Isis Knox's home stood apart: a gleaming white Spanish colonial with dark wood beams, a red tile roof, and wide porticoes facing the sea. It looked like a small fortress with its round turret, built into the ice-plant covered dune. Imagine that, architecture, in Los Angeles. Seems more like a small palace in Monte Carlo than Malibu. When he'd asked Isis how she was fortunate enough to snap up such a gem, she only insisted that David Goldman was a genius. Personally, he was sure that she had as much to do with the win as Goldman, if not more, but he'd noticed that she was a girl who liked to spread the credit around.

Terry parked the BMW coupe in the circle driveway, lined with towering palms. They rang the bell at the heavy oak door, and smiled up to the security camera.

"Hey, Chris, Mr. Thorne," Dez greeted them familiarly at the door.

"Terry," he insisted, shaking the hand of the cute blonde with the angular bob as she ushered them inside. "Smells good, Dez."

"What's for lunch?" Chris asked.

Terry gave his top agent a mild scowl while Isis' private chef ran down the menu from memory, "Low-fat chicken salad with green apples on focaccia bread, blood orange salad, and an almond torte if you still have room. All organic and home made. There's plenty for everyone."

As she showed them though the sunny living-dining-kitchen space of the palatial beach house, Terry asked, "Any sign of the A/V contractors?"

"Yeah, they're on a break, but they've been working all morning. Ice is out on the beach with the girls and Sunil. You'd better talk to her." She grimaced, and made her way back to the safety of her kitchen. "She's not real happy."

Turning to his superior, Chris asked with raised brows, "You want me to take this?"

Terry sighed, ran a hand down his face. "She probably doesn't want to give up the space for that control room. We should have mentioned it earlier. That was my mistake, mate. You go check on the contractors, find out if they've made any progress. I'll offer my head to the Queen."

Wyatt looked relieved as he went off in search of the A/V tech.

Outside on the wide portico, Terry smiled at the beautiful day. Removing his dress shoes and socks, he loosened his tie and left his sports jacket slung over an elegant patio chair to walk barefoot down the long stretch of golden sand towards the crystal blue Pacific. Near the water's calm edge, he picked out Kore and her nanny playing in the sand, but there was no sign of Isis until he moved his gaze down the beach. Squinting through the dark lenses of his sunglasses, he caught the swing of her long ponytail held back in a ball cap as she jogged with Julie and Sunil. There's the girl I know, sweats and all. But Sunil had spotted him first. Good job, mate, Terry thought as he waved a greeting.

The young agent had to tuck in as the women broke into a final sprint. By the time they had all converged on the beach blanket where Shana and Kore played, Isis and Julie were cooling down and stretching while Sunil gulped for breath.

"Didn't know you were sending me back to basic training, Thorne," he panted as he wiped sweat from his brow.

"We'll all need it to keep up with these athletes," he smiled to Isis, admiring her form and grace.

"Great workout, running on the beach," Julie said. "Better than the gym any day. Don't worry Sunil, you'll get used to it."

"How often do you run?" Terry asked Isis directly.

"Four days a week, when we're home," she answered. "You should come join us sometime."

"Might just do that, love," he grinned. "Though I usually start earlier in the day. How's six a.m.?"

"Ooh, that sounds like a dare, Ice," Julie giggled. "Come on, Sunil, let's hydrate. You too Shana. I think our girls are safe out here with the Boss."

Isis gave her best friend a look of astonishment as she deserted her, even as she was grateful for the time alone with Thorne. "Make it six-thirty and you got a deal," she finally answered.

"You have great friends. You're lucky, love."

He'd seemed to read her mind. She nodded in response, about to add more when Kore interrupted, tugging at her jacket. Kneeling down, Isis cooed at the sand dollar her daughter held in her tiny hand, "Pretty, baby. Did you find that shell?"

The child nodded, tossing dark curls into her beaming face. Turning, she tugged on Terry's pant leg to show off her prize.

"Hello, Butterfly," he grinned down. "Whatcha got there?"

"Budda-fwy," she smiled in recognition, and raised her arms to be picked up.

The simple but universal gesture surprised Terry, and delighted him. With a quick glance to Isis for permission, he chuckled, "How can I resist?" and bent to lift the little girl into his arms.

Isis smiled as she watched him settle the baby's bottom into the crook of his elbow with the familiar ease of a parent. Kore was a friendly child, not really shy, but not overly demonstrative either. Used to the company of women, Isis was surprised at how quickly she seemed to take to Thorne. And damn…what is it about a man holding a baby that makes him so sexy?

The slight weight in his arms, the scent of a child, brought back memories of Henry at this age. "Been a while," he grinned a little shyly.

"You look like a pro," Isis assured him.

Terry felt the familiar ache of guilt want to settle into his gut, but Kore demanded his attention, showed him her treasure again.

"That's a sand dollar, darling," he instructed gently. Turning it in her little palm he showed her the other side. "Do you see on the back of the shell? Looks like a flower, hey?"

"Fwo-wers," she cooed. "Pwetty fwo-wers."

Isis was instantly embarrassed that she hadn't thought to mention them before. "Oh my God. Terry, I'm sorry. Thank you so much for the flowers. They're just gorgeous."

"Business expense," he teased, rocking the child back and forth easily. "I use them for a tax write off, nothing more."

"Right," she laughed. Watching Terry sway like that with her child in his arms, she was taken by his gracefulness; a big man, and strong, but at the same time so gentle. There was something about the combination that was so compelling. Suddenly she saw where the salsa dancing suggestion came from - he moved like a dancer - though she didn't have the guts to ask him if he'd really meant it. Instead, she offered, "I hope you can stay for lunch, let me say thanks."

Terry looked towards the house with a scowl of disapproval. "You don't have to feed our agents, Isis. We do pay them, you know."

"Yeah, but the shifts are so long. Twelve hours? Man, you're a slave driver."

"Twelve hours, three days on, four days off. Not so bad," he grinned. "And besides, this is a pretty sweet gig. Nice scenery. I wouldn't mind putting in a few shifts myself." He looked out to the water as he said it, but she knew what he meant.

Isis smiled. "Well, your guys take care of us, so we'll take care of them. That's how our little tribe works around here."

More a harem than a tribe, Terry mused, giggling as Kore tugged at his tie.

"Gentle, sweetie," Isis cautioned. "Besides, you'll break my daughter's heart if you don't stay, and I can't have that."

"I'd love to," he agreed warmly. "I suspect that was Chris' plan from the beginning. I can tell he's getting spoiled already. And we've got to oversee the subcontractors anyway. I wanted to see to it personally."

Isis crossed her arms at that. "That's right. So your A/V guys want my guest bedroom to build a security control room. Said it was in your plans, but its news to me. What's up with that, Terry?"

Terry sighed as he got back to business, still rocking the child as she played with her treasure. He'd been thrilled by the opportunity to hold Isis' daughter for the simple pleasure at first - it had been too long since he'd had a child in his life - but now he was thankful for a shield against her mother's irritation. Talk fast, mate. Raise the stakes and the first option will sound like a bargain. "Yeah, and I've got some more bad news, love. I'm going to need a bit of your walk-in closet for the cameras."

Isis' expression turned to one of disbelief, segueing into anger. "You're putting cameras in my bedroom?"

"Well, yeah," he admitted reluctantly. "But it's not like it sounds. Come inside and let me show you."

Julie, Dez, and Shana watched from the kitchen window as Isis and Terry made their way back to the house, each vying for the binoculars they'd stolen from Sunil.

"Those are Thorne-McGrath property," he grumped playfully. "You girls are gonna get me canned. What are they doing, anyway?"

"Just walking, talking," Jules reported as she spied. "Mr. Risk Management is carrying Kore."

"Aww!" the women cooed at once.

Sunil just rolled his eyes, but snatched the binoculars away as they came through the open French doors. Shana greeted them, took the child from Terry's embrace.

"She'll need a bit of cleaning up. Sand in every crevice, I'll gather," he grinned.

"Bath time," Shana announced, and carted the wriggling child upstairs. Kore smiled over her nanny's shoulder as Terry waved.

Terry and Isis followed. At the top of the curving staircase, they made their way towards the round turret side of the house, into the master suite. It was arranged with an elegant open feel, dressed mostly in white. An ornately carved Thai wedding bed hung with mosquito netting formed the dramatic center piece, while more subtle softly upholstered pieces filled the rest of the room. In the white and neutral palate against dark wood, a wealth of throw pillows added some much needed color. Isis' bedroom was exotic and sophisticated, obviously belonged to a woman who had traveled the globe and brought back artistic treasures from far flung places, though the overall feeling was soothing and comfortable, even a little romantic. But beyond appreciating the interior design, Terry couldn't help wondering what it might feel like to lay in the expensive sheets of that beautiful teak bed…with Isis Knox wrapped around his body.

"So these cameras," she said, prompting him from his pleasant day dream. "You want to put them in the closet?"

"Not really the cameras, love," he corrected her. "Those are so small these days you can hide them anywhere. But we will need to build in some equipment here, run some wiring." He parted the hanging curtain of dark wood beads, feeling like he was entering some forbidden land of women. Not too far off, he smiled inwardly. Isis' walk-in wardrobe was more an adjoining room than a closet. "You've certainly got the space, love."

"And I need every inch," she assured him confidently.

He couldn't help grinning at that, though he turned away from her to do it, wondering if she'd meant the double entendre. Back to business, mate. "These will be closed-circuit cameras, Ice, meaning that the signal never gets past the control room or our secured point-to-point wireless access sites. It's all in the angle. We'll be focusing on seeing only who enters and leaves the room. There is no camera on the bed."

Isis wasn't convinced. "Excelsior never put cameras in my bedroom."

"And you very wisely fired them," he reminded her. Turning back, he looked into her eyes when he said it: "You're working with professionals now, Isis. If this is going to work between us, you'll have to trust me. The cameras and the control room are for your safety, not voyeurism, I promise."

His argument made sense, but what really convinced her was his eyes. When he told her to trust him, she saw how deeply he meant it. She felt relieved, but still couldn't resist the opportunity to tease. "No?" she pouted playfully. "And I was just starting to think I liked the idea of you watching me sleep."

A mischievous sparkle lit his blue-green eyes at her suggestion. Leaning close, his manner was still professional when he whispered, "Of course, I could set up a little private access. Anything to make you feel totally secure."

His breath at her ear sent shivers down her spine, creating the most delightful sensation between her legs. Her eyes lingered on the juxtaposition of those pretty lips surrounded by the scruff of his masculine beard when she replied, "I feel safer already."

Terry didn't suppress the urge to lick his lips, delighted in her dark eyes watching him. Nothing more enticing than forbidden fruit. But the best defense is a good offense. "Are you flirting with me Miss Knox?" he challenged directly.

Her eyes dipped shyly, but only for a moment. "Is that kosher, Mr. Thorne? You do work for me. I don't need another lawsuit."

She felt his deep chuckle more than heard it. "Give me the waiver, I'll sign it," he said. "Any rate, I'd consider us more business partners, wouldn't you, love?"

Isis couldn't resist asking, "Do you ask all your business partners to go salsa dancing?"

He smiled, but grew serious, "No, I don't. Would you still like to go?"

"Wouldn't miss seeing the wild man in action for the world," she said truthfully.

Terry felt a rush of triumph. "Brilliant. Shall I show you the steps, then?"

"Here? Now?" she asked with wide eyes.

"If we're good on the cameras. Meeting adjourned?" At her nod, he took her hand, musing, some closet, big enough to dance in. "All right, then, follow my lead and no one will be hurt. Other hand on my shoulder. There love. Now look down and breathe deeply." Seeing Isis' painted red toenails and ring of blue lotus tattoos circling one ankle made Terry lick his lips again unconsciously. So close. Christ, even her feet are sexy. "It's simple, really. Start with your right foot going backwards. One, two, three…now forward left, five, six, seven…"

Isis giggled nervously, but the way he guided her, every movement felt so sure. Watching their bare feet on the carpet, she picked up the steps quickly. Looking up, she wondered, "What happened to four and eight?"

Terry gazed down into her dark eyes, felt captivated by them. Her natural scent after her run was strong but pleasant in the close quarters, and the sensation of her little hand in his... "That's the beat," he instructed. "We don't count those when the music is playing."

"I don't hear any music," she said, though she heard her racing heartbeat in her own ears.

"No? Funny, I do."

Isis caught her breath as Terry's eyes dipped to her lips. Swept away in the moment, her knees began to shake when she felt him draw strong arms around her and leaned for her kiss. So close, she could taste his breath. But when he drew back suddenly, she heard the click of the beaded curtains swinging, realized that Kore had rushed into the closet, her dark curls still dripping from her bath.

"Hungry, mama," the child whined, tugging at her mother's jacket.

Terry's deep chuckle reverberated in her chest as he drew her into an embrace instead, his chin dropping to rest on her shoulder. The confident squeeze reassured her, even as an embarrassed blush rose to her cheeks.

"Me too, baby, but I need to take a shower first," she answered, giving Terry an apologetic look. Turning, she called for the nanny.

When he leaned to kiss Isis' cheek, Terry felt at once frustrated and relieved. How had he gotten so deep so quickly? "No worries, love. I'll take her down," he said. Kore giggled as he swung her up into his arms. "See you in a few."

Isis' head spun as the beaded curtain swayed at his exit. She needed that shower all right. A cold one. God, he'd been so close she could nearly feel the soft hair of his beard on her face. Her knees still trembled so hard she had to reach for the wall to steady herself. She was terrified, and in the same moment elated.

After she had showered and made it downstairs, she found the security contractors hard at work, her people at the table, and her daughter happily perched on Terry's lap, eating grapes from his plate. She poured herself a glass of chilled Pinot Grigio and sat down to enjoy another lunch in Terry Thorne's company, with his gift of flowers adorning the table.

w

Terry's pleasant afternoon at the Knox house was paid for by a late night in the office catching up on email and returning phone calls. When Dino stopped in the light of the doorway, he waved him in as he finished up the noon call with Tokyo, 9:00 pm LA time. McGrath was flushed and sweaty, wearing his gym clothes and carrying his racket ball gear. He leaned against the door jamb and listened intently to Terry's side of the conversation.

"Yes, sir, we'd be happy to meet with you at your convenience. Next week would be perfect. I'll contact you then to finalize the details. Thank you, Utsumi-san. Domo arigato."

Dino smirked, and once Terry rang off, he applauded. "That's the way you do it, baby. You're on fire, T."

Thorne stood and moved to his liquor cabinet, poured a healthy shot of Herradura tequila for each of them. "Homework and tenacity, Rojo. Keep your head down and do the work. Watch and learn."

Dean shook his head appreciatively. "You got your kung fu and I got mine, but man, I love to watch you move."

They clinked crystal tumblers and grimaced with the strong liquor. Terry gestured to the gear bag. "So, racketball? Who's your new partner, you cheating prick."

"Don't be jealous, it's all for the greater good. I caught a game with Isis' agent, David Goldman. He's got some great new contacts for us, said he's been getting a lot of inquiries from other clients."

"Tarzan?" Terry giggled. "Is he any good?"

"Not as good as you, baby, but he's a contender. Got the killer instinct, and he's a cool cat."

Thorne rolled his eyes. "Hot head, more like. Just your style. So who are these inquiring minds?"

"Definite A-listers. Probably too rich for our blood just yet, but it might not be a bad idea to take one, just in case this Knox lawsuit cuts us off at the knees. We could use some insurance."

Terry looked unconvinced. "I'd rather land Utsumi-san and his firm. The devil you know, hey?" He knocked back the rest of his glass before he said it. "So you know what I'm about to ask, right hermano?"

"You want me to go to Tokyo?"

"If there's any way you can swing it, mate - I've got so much in the air with Isis right now, it's too soon to hand it all over to Chris."

"And why would you want to?" Dino grinned. "I'd keep that hot babe all to myself too."

Terry was insistent. "This is business, mate."

"Big business," McGrath agreed. "But business can be pleasure too. So do I have to ask, T? Do the tabs have it right?"

"I'm not sleeping with her, Dean."

"Not yet, but something's there. Hell, I saw the way she looked at you in Goldman's office. You're not made of stone, and it wouldn't be the first time…" Terry shot him a look to back off, and he did, but it only confirmed his suspicions. "Just be careful. Tread lightly with our golden goose. Isis Knox can be one of those hot heads you're so fond of."

He had to chuckle at that. "Opposites attract, hey?"

"And you're as cool as they come."

Terry rolled his eyes, wanted to change the subject. "Keep sweet talking and I'll have to buy you another drink. Up for Carlo's tonight? I could use some action."

"Rain check, baby. David and I played best of five and I'm worked. I got a date with the hot tub and some pain killers."

"Yeah? Pussy. You let him win, I hope."

Dino shook his head in disbelief. "Does this look like my first rodeo, asshole?"

Terry raised his glass again. "Good man."

Pushing off the door jamb stiffly, Dino wished his best friend goodnight. "Happy hunting. Mañana hermano."

Driving home, Terry passed Carlo's but didn't go in. It wasn't what he really wanted, wouldn't satisfy the craving he had. Dino was right. There was something there with Isis. Something warm and intimate, which made it all the more dangerous. And that made it exciting. There was nothing more attractive to Terry Thorne than a challenge. If it could kill him, well even better. It was just the way he was wired. Isis wouldn't kill him, but she could ruin him if he blew it, his reputation and his career, the most important things in his life. Beneath her armor and fearsome reputation, she was so vulnerable; there was a very good chance of hurting her, which made it even more dangerous. And Hell hath no fury…Christ.

Terry thought about how close he'd come to kissing her this afternoon, and the memory brought a prickle of sweat to his back and under his arms. He cracked the window, licked dry lips, and gripped the steering wheel more firmly. He needed to focus, to keep his mind on business. But the more he knew about Isis Knox, the closer he got, the more he found himself wanting her, even though he knew it would never work. Christ, he wanted her because he knew it would never work.

"Stick to the job, mate," he said out loud. But the job was driving him mad.

Terry entered the darkened condo and left his laptop bag at the door. No more work tonight. He'd hit the wall where even trying to read would be futile. Nothing more would sink in, and nothing useful could be produced. It was downtime.

Finding some leftover Chinese in the fridge, he brought it and a couple bottles of beer out to the living room couch. Terry kicked off his shoes and ate his fill in the glow of the television. But even after the news and sports, he was still feeling cagey, couldn't relax. The day's events kept replaying in his mind, Isis' full lips and dark eyes haunted him. He switched to Scotch over ice, appreciated the glow as it went down smooth. After two shots, he felt his anxiety abate and his vision go soft. He'd been resisting the idea all evening, but finally relented. From the laptop bag, Terry retrieved a DVD. Isis' dark eyes looked up at him from the cover, her band in the background. It was a collection of Unforgiven's music videos.

"Work related," he kidded himself. "Research, right?"

Moving to the player, he dropped the silver disk in the tray and settled back down on the coffee colored leather sofa with his glass and the remote. On the main menu, Terry recognized a single title in the list: Get Down, Make Love, a cover of an old Queen song. Something from his generation. Interesting.

"This ought to be different," he mused aloud. "From Queen Freddie Mercury to Queen Isis. No one can say she doesn't appreciate her musical history."

When he pressed play, the song began, accompanied by an electronic beat mixed with what sounded like the heavy panting breath and moans from a porno movie. He was at once disturbed and intrigued when he realized that it was Isis' voice making those needful erotic noises. She sounded like a pro.

Terry sipped his Scotch as the scene unfolded. The setting was supposed to be some sort of basement dungeon: dark, wet, and set with an enormous bed dressed in red satin sheets. Isis was prone on the bed in shots that alternated between showing her dressed in a white silk negligee and a black leather corset. Submissive to dominant. The band was placed around the bed, playing out the familiar rock melody in its very new electronic version. When Terry noted the heavy gold chain linking her ankle to the brass footboard, he actually felt his cock move in his trousers.

"Christ, Ice," he muttered in astonishment.

On the HD flat screen, the camera panned into a tight close up and Isis began singing. Then the shot pulled back to give the full view of her performance, the bed her stage.

You take my body, I give you heat
You say you're hungry, I give you meat
I suck your mind, you blow my head
Make love, inside your bed
Everybody get down, make love…

As he'd noted before, Isis put her body on display, though she was never really exposed, always totally in control of her image. The lighting flashed bright off and on, creating deep shadows that hid more than the light revealed. It was a mesmerizing effect, sensual but sophisticated, while at the same time very raw. Writhing on the bed, Isis' poses alternated between submissive and dominant, at once the captive innocent, and the captivating dominatrix.

"Fulfilling every man's fantasy in one fell bloody swoop. Good job, love," he observed intellectually, impressed, while his body responded in natural appreciation. Terry's breath became deep as the ache bloomed in his groin. At first he felt himself drawn in by the helpless ingénue, couldn't help fantasizing about rescuing the innocent from her bonds and imagining the rewards that would follow. The image of white silk against red sheets and so much flesh revealing really nothing at all captivated, demanded his attention. But the dark dominatrix tugged at the edge of his psyche. Why settle for one when you can have both? And Isis Knox played both roles with equal expertise and enthusiasm. Sipping at the cool Scotch, it only heated his blood, and he unbuttoned his white dress shirt, left it open to the cool night air.

On the screen, again in white, Isis strained against the bonds that shackled her wrists. She wore only the chemise that struggled to contain her breasts, swaying gently under the silk. Terry felt himself holding his breath, waiting for that fabric to slip away, willing it to fall, thought it never would. And though she was being physically restrained in the image, her dark lined eyes controlled the audience with her caged frustration. He cupped his groin, felt his long cock growing up against his belly, trapped in the fabric of his slacks.

Every time I get hot, you wanna cool down
Every time I get high, you say you wanna come down
You say its enough, in fact its too much
Every time I get a -
Get down, get down, make love…

"Know the feeling, love," he joked aloud, wondered what might have happened today if Kore had given them another few minutes alone together.

Though he was transfixed, Terry was also conflicted. Watching the music video, he felt like a voyeur, thinking of the young woman and mother he knew, the vulnerable widow. But this was the face that Isis Knox showed to the world: the musician and dancer, the sex symbol, the rock goddess. And somehow, the guilt made it that much more enticing.

Taking a deep breath, he drank again, and savored the deep throb of desire now fully aflame between his legs. Terry's tongue played on the lip of the crystal tumbler as hesitated, then fished his phone from his pocket. Finding Roz's name in the contacts, he took a chance and rang, but there was no answer. He sighed in frustration, didn't bother leaving a message. For a fleeting moment he thought to call Isis herself - but no. That was crossing a line. Thankfully, he wasn't anywhere near that drunk, just comfortably numb. He dropped the phone in his laptop bag to remove temptation, just in case.

"Don't drink and dial, mate."

I can squeeze - you can shake me
I can feel - when you break me
Come on so heavy - when you take me
You make love, you make love, you make love, you make love!

When the music faded away, he hit play again, then found his hand at his belt, heard the clink of the buckle as it fell away. The room was so warm. He tugged at the soft cotton of his shirt, let it fall to the floor in a heap. Watching Isis dance and writhe in the sheer silk made him want nothing more than to be naked, wishing he could feel her soft skin against his. He consoled himself with the cool leather of the sofa instead.

Leaning broad shoulders into the back of the couch, Terry seated himself securely and spread his legs, felt a big hand close over his hot cock. It was already high and hard against his belly, he could see his reflection in the big screen of the TV. He noted strong arms and legs, a thicker middle, but defined. He'd continued to let his hair grow, though he kept his beard trimmed. The extra hair made him feel somewhat animalistic, less civilized than the clean cut profile he was used to, but he liked the convenience. And of course Isis appreciated the scruffy look, and he was happy to oblige her preference, for now.

Putting a foot up on the glass coffee table for purchase, Terry began stroking himself languidly, bicep and forearm flexing with each pull. Loose skin moved over his dark and swollen rod as wetness began to pool at the tip. When it ran, he palmed over the head, smoothing his body's natural lubricant over tight red skin. He smelled his own scent, clean but musky as his whole body heated against the leather, and the sense memory of Isis' perfume in the closet today came back to him. She'd been fresh from her run, her body sheened with perspiration, her groin damp and trapping the sweet aroma of her sex. And he realized that's what had made her so irresistible to him, driven him wild.

Sharp blue eyes dilated with desire scanned the HD screen, wishing for and imagining a view up her negligee. Would he find dark hair in the hidden recesses between her legs, or would her pussy be shaved bare like so many women in Los Angeles? Something in him hoped for dark hair matching the onyx curtain that flowed down her back, thick and fragrant.

You take my body, I give you heat

His breath came hard and fast as his body ached for more, and he remembered the bottle of lubricant in the side table drawer. He'd put it there for Rozzie, for the other women he'd brought home and taken on this leather sofa, though they rarely needed it. Tonight he was thankful for his own consideration. Squeezing a healthy portion into his palm, he caught his breath as the cold lube smoothed over his hot cock, but soon warmed with the gentle stroking of his fist.

"Is this what you want, love?" he spoke to the screen, stroking the long thick bolt like he was brandishing a weapon. Isis sang and writhed, straining against the bonds that held her wrists to the headboard. The camera focused on her parted knees as lighting scanned and flashed, hiding as much as it revealed. "You want this cock, Ice? Not yet," he panted, his voice a low growl. "First I eat out that sweet little pussy. Make you come 'til you scream, 'til you fucking beg me to stop."

Terry's hand was pumping now, while the other cupped his balls protectively, adding to his pleasure while slowing his climb to orgasm. This fantasy was too good to rush.

You say you're hungry, I give you meat…

"Then maybe I'll let you have a taste. You look so hungry for it, woman. Starved…starving…let me feed you, love." He was watching Isis eat at Spago again, imagined those red lips panting and open for him, sucking eagerly as he fed her his aching flesh, swollen so big he though the skin might split. His eyes dipped closed for a moment, his hand gliding effortlessly on the warm lubricant as he imagined her wet lips closing over his girth, taking him deep into her throat, but he forced them open again, forced them to watch Isis' beautiful mouth as she sang.

I suck your mind, you blow my head
Make love, inside your bed
Everybody get down, make love…

"Ah Christ," he muttered under his breath, in the agony of his self-indulgence. "So good. Christ, let me see those tits, baby. Need to see them." But her breasts were another mystery to him. He'd felt them pressed against his chest today, full and firm on her tiny frame, but he could still only imagine what they'd look like. Would her nipples be wide and flat, or tiny and peaked? Dark to match her coloring or flushed pink? Every woman was a unique mystery waiting, begging to be discovered. He only knew they'd be fabulous.

In his mind, Terry saw himself kneeling over her prostrate form in conquest, pressing her generous mounds of flesh together with big hands, and sliding his cock between. His arse flexed as he fucked, creating a pleasurable sensation when he slid on his own sweat against the leather couch. When he watched her tongue flick out like a serpent's to lick hungrily, he gasped, "Jesus…!" feeling his climax nearly overtake him. He slowed his hand instinctively, squeezing hard at the base of his cock, slowing the inevitable to prolong his pleasure.

"Easy, love," he soothed, imagining his writhing hellcat straining against her bonds to get at him. "I've got all you want, all you need, right here."

I can squeeze - you can shake me
I can feel - when you break me

On the screen, Isis twisted in her bonds, turned in the bed with her face on the pillow, pulled fruitlessly at the cuffs on her wrists with her arms crossed over her head. So powerful in her helplessness; her eyes on the camera proved that the submissive is always in control.

Come on so heavy - when you take me
You make love, you make love, you make love, you make love!

He had to give in to her plaintive need, her demand. "You want it that bad, woman? Take it."

In his mind, he knelt behind her, gripped those writhing hips hard enough to bruise and held her fast while he fitted his cock under white silk and hilted to the core with one sure thrust. Terry's fist became her proffered cunt, wet and tight, devouring him as he possessed her, body and soul. He felt his balls press between her legs as he cupped the globes of her perfect arse and kneaded.

"We'll get down, love. Down and dirty."

She looked over her shoulder and gasped, raised her hips to take him deeper, lowered her face to moan into the pillow. He gave her what she wanted, fucked hard and fast. As he rutted, she moved with him, moaned, and begged for more.

"You love it…" he panted. "Love the way I fuck you. Can't get enough. Christ, you beautiful bitch."

He felt the thin hair of his chest as his fingers found a brown nipple, peaked with excitement, and squeezed. Terry imagined her red lips there, her tongue, her teeth. Felt her breath, her heat and wetness, her painful pleasurable bite, and suddenly she was above him, no longer the captive innocent, but his captor, the dominatrix in black leather, demanding her satisfaction and his.

"Ah god, Isis," he moaned. "Yeah, fuck me…fuck me…"

The thick channel under his cock begin to pulse as his climax rushed up to take him. Palming over the sensitive head, Terry's arm flexed and bulged as he jerked a final series of quick strokes. Tugging at his scrotum with the other hand set him off. His vision went dark just before the light flared behind his eyes. His body erupted as his tongue choked on her name. "Fuck, Isis…ah fuck!"

Heated semen shot up his chest with the first spasm of his juddering body, then flowed over his hand to pool on his belly. Gasping, moaning, he kept coming. It seemed to go on forever, his whole body shaking, his mind blown out, fading to a gentle warmth. In the final throes, his hand pumped easily, milking his throbbing cock of the last drops and shuddering with chills of pleasure until it grew too sensitive to touch.

Falling back into the embrace of the leather couch, Terry panted as sparks skittered up and down his spine from cock to brain and back again. The hard muscles in his thighs and legs twitched in the afterglow of his orgasm. When he could touch himself again, he cupped his genitals protectively, massaged at the ache in his testicles, but gently. And then he realized he was still muttering her name: "Fuckin' Ice, fuckin' Ice. Jesusss… Christ, so good."

Terry lay back, let himself drift towards the edge of sleep. In his dreamy haze, the only conscious though he could form was to wonder how much better it might have been if she'd actually been here.

"She might have killed you, mate," he chuckled. "But Christ…but what a way to go."

Fishing for his shirt over the edge of the couch, he mopped the cum off his chest. Terry felt a little guilty as he pulled himself upright with effort, and bent to gather the rest of his clothes for the laundry. He couldn't help wondering what Isis might say if she could see his erotic imaginings.

Her voice echoed in his mind: "I liked the idea of you watching me sleep."

"Yeah? And how about watching that, love?" he asked out loud. "Let someone put on a show for you for once." Something told him she might have enjoyed it quite a bit. Consummate performers love nothing more than a consummate performance. He chuckled to himself. "And that was one hell of a show."

Glancing to the glass coffee table, he realized he had kicked it in his abandon and knocked the dishes off, though they had survived their short fall to the carpet. The maid could get them tomorrow, he decided. He was rooted, literally, and fading fast. Terry gave the TV a last longing look, the screen frozen on a frame of Isis' dark eyes.

"Goodnight, love. See you in the morning, six-thirty sharp," he whispered as he hit the power on the remote. Looking down to his soft cock, it rested comfortably against his thigh after a job well done. "Suppose I'll see you too, mate," he added with a grin.