Книга - No Peeking…

No Peeking...
Stephanie Bond


Take one workaholic woman. Mix with letter to self, detailing fantasies about wild, unbridled sex. Add one dangerously seductive man–and indulge in the delicious, sensual results! When Violet Summerlin receives her old letter, she's intrigued–but too busy to worry about it. It's taking all she's got to battle her lust for her sexy client Dominick Burns. Then Dominick invites her to Miami for a working holiday. And Violet knows she won't be able to withstand his sensual attack for long. She doesn't.The man seems to know just how to please her. Every slow stroke, every breath-stealing adventure takes her to new heights of sexual ecstasy. But mixing business and pleasure can be a dicey combination. Especially when Violet discovers Dominick's been hiding something from her. . .







Three women. Three fantasies.

Years ago Gemma, Zoe and Violet all took the same

college sex-ed class, one they laughingly referred to as

Sex for Beginners. It was an easy credit—not something

they’d ever need in real life. Or so they thought…

Their professor had them each write a letter, outlining

their most private, most outrageous sexual fantasies.

They never dreamed their letters would be returned

to them when they least expected it. Or that their own

words would change their lives forever…

Don’t miss Stephanie Bond’s newest miniseries:

Sex for Beginners

WATCH AND LEARN

(October 2008)

IN A BIND

(November 2008)

NO PEEKING…

(December 2008)

Sex for Beginners

What you don’t know…might turn you on!







Dear Reader,

Have you ever run across an old childhood diary or a note you wrote in high school or college? It can be fun, and even revealing, to see what you were thinking when you were younger, what things were important to you.

The seniors at Women’s Covington College who took the Sexual Psyche class (dubbed by the students as “Sex for Beginners”) were given an assignment to write down their innermost sexual fantasies in the form of a letter to themselves. Their letter was to be cataloged with a code for anonymity and remain sealed for ten years, then mailed to them.

Violet Summerlin, uptight owner of a personal concierge business, receives her letter just before Christmas, her busiest time of year. Yet the naughty words she wrote give her pause—she hasn’t experienced exciting out-of-the-bedroom sex as she’d fantasized. So when her best client, a sexy extreme-sports junkie, invites her to Miami for a working vacation, she accepts—with adrenaline-pumping results!

I hope you enjoy No Peeking…, the third book in the SEX FOR BEGINNERS trilogy. Please tell your friends about the wonderful stories you find between the pages of Harlequin novels! And visit me at www.stephaniebond.com.

Happy endings always,

Stephanie Bond




STEPHANIE BOND

No Peeking…










ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Stephanie Bond thinks the world would be a better place if only more people read romance novels! “My goal,” says Stephanie, “is to leave readers with a smile and a sigh.” To date, Stephanie has written more than forty romance and mystery novels, and doesn’t plan on slowing down anytime soon at what she considers to be “her dream job.” Stephanie lives in midtown Atlanta with her hunky architect/artist/hero husband.




Books by Stephanie Bond


HARLEQUIN BLAZE

2—TWO SEXY!

169—MY FAVORITE MISTAKE

282—JUST DARE ME…

338—SHE DID A BAD, BAD THING

428—WATCH AND LEARN

434—IN A BIND

MIRA BOOKS

BODY MOVERS

BODY MOVERS: 2 BODIES FOR THE PRICE OF 1

BODY MOVERS: 3 MEN AND A BODY

HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

685—MANHUNTING IN MISSISSIPPI

718—CLUB CUPID

751—ABOUT LAST NIGHT…

769—IT TAKES A REBEL

805—SEEKING SINGLE MALE

964—COVER ME


For Chris, who still gets my heart pumping.




Contents


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Epilogue




1


Six days until Christmas

“WHAT YOU NEED IS something warm and cuddly for Christmas.”

Violet Summerlin frowned into the cell phone she juggled on her shoulder, even though her friend Nan couldn’t see her. “I told you, I’m way too busy for a pet.” Then she looked down at the fluffy butterscotch-colored Pekingese she was walking in the park. “My own, anyway.”

Nan’s sigh sounded over the line. “I was talking about a man.”

“No time for one of those, either,” Violet quipped.

“You work way too hard. When are you going to start delegating things to your new assistant? Wasn’t that the idea of hiring her?”

Violet chewed on her lower lip. “I’m still feeling out Lillian. She’s nice, but her working style is different than mine.”

“You mean she isn’t anal retentive? Maybe this Lillian will help you to loosen up.”

“Christmas is one of my busiest times of the year. I can’t afford to loosen up right now.”

“Violet,” Nan said softly, “it might not be such a bad idea to slow down. Since you lost your grandparents…I don’t know. You seem wound even tighter than usual.”

“I miss them terribly,” Violet confessed. “Even with Mom and Dad back in town, sometimes I just feel so…lost.”

“I know, sweetie, but the hours that you work—it’s not healthy. You’re going to wake up one day and wish you’d indulged in a misspent youth.”

Violet stopped abruptly as the pooch came up short on the leash, wrinkling his little pug face. Winslow, the Pekingese, looked up at her and barked, a sharp noise that sounded like fabric ripping.

“Thanks for the advice, Nan, but I have to run. The dog won’t go if I’m on the phone.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No. He’s a spoiled little thing and has to have my undivided attention to…you know.”

“I would laugh except I know old lady Kingsbury is probably paying you a fortune to do her bidding.”

“I’m a personal concierge, Nan. I do whatever my clients need me to do.”

“Especially that yummy Dominick Burns.”

Nan’s favorite subject was Violet’s best customer, who also happened to be the most notorious playboy in Atlanta. She ignored the little spike in her own pulse—she’d harbored a secret crush on the man for almost a year. “Until I’m successful enough to pick and choose my clients, I guess I have to put up with all kinds of animals,” she said lightly.

“Yeah, but no one’s going to get that man on a leash.” Nan was panting harder than Winslow.

“Is that the best you can come up with today?” Violet asked, her voice deadpan.

“No wonder his last name is Burns. The man is positively flammable, a four-alarm fire, burn me up and hose me down—”

“Good grief, woman, go take a cold shower.” Violet disconnected the call, cutting off Nan’s laughter, then squatted down to face Winslow, nose to snout.

“Okay, I’m all yours. Now, will you please do your business?”

The dog emitted a chastising little bark and angled his head.

Violet sighed, then glanced at her watch and caved like a wall of ice cream. Time was money, after all.

“You’re such a good boy,” she cooed in her best baby voice, petting his arrogant little head. “Yes, you are. You’re such a pretty, good boy. Yes, you are.”

Satisfied, Winslow assumed the position and Violet looked away with a wince.

Some days she questioned her decision to open Summerlin at Your Service, and this was one of those days—it had been an unending stream of tedious trips to the dry cleaners to pick up and drop off shirts, to courier offices to pack and send parcels, and to Patricia Kingsbury’s house to walk her contrary pet, Winslow, who pushed the boundaries of his breed’s reputation for willful and jealous behavior.

Luckily, most clients preferred to pay Violet’s premium fees to do things that were more productive, such as setting up a wireless network for their computer or decorating their house for the holidays. Raised by a grandfather who was an electronics and mechanical whiz and a grandmother who could give Martha Stewart a run for her money, Violet had honed her varied abilities with a masters in business administration and five years in the hospitality industry working assorted jobs, from customer service to operations. Since starting her concierge business three years ago, she prided herself on not having yet received a request from a client that she couldn’t fulfill.

Then she frowned. Except the times when the flirtatious Dominick Burns had hinted he wouldn’t mind a little personal attention from Violet.

The devilishly handsome bad boy who’d made a fortune designing and manufacturing extreme sports gear was too busy to handle day-to-day details, but he’d told her he didn’t like the thought of having an entourage of people on the payroll to tend to him. So Violet stopped by his office once a week to pick up a to-do list that might consist of anything from selecting a suit for him to wear to a special occasion, to selecting personal stationery, to buying a gift for his latest girlfriend.

She wondered wryly what his various and sundry women would think if they knew that the man hadn’t walked the aisles of local boutiques to find the perfect gift for their three-date anniversary or whatever the made-up occasion that was no doubt meant to unhinge the women’s legs.

But the man was generous, Violet conceded. And he usually had interesting and challenging assignments for her, many of which had put her on the fringe of his business activities. Her pulse ticked higher as she wondered what she’d discover on his agenda today. With only a week until Christmas, it seemed likely that he would hand over his gift list. Mentally scrolling through the women for whom she’d bought gifts throughout the year, she came up with an estimate of twenty.

A nice, round number, she thought wryly.

She leaned over to bag Winslow’s offering, deposited it in a nearby trash can and urged him in the direction of his home. The air carried a chill and she wondered if by some miracle she would see snow for Christmas. Even in the dead of winter, snow in Atlanta was rare. But she could hope.

Sadly, this would be her first year without her grandparents. But her somewhat elusive parents had taken a break from their world travels to stay in her grandparents’ house for a while and spend the holidays with Violet. She missed Grammy and Gramps desperately, but she’d always dreamed of sharing a magical Christmas with her parents when she was young. Still, it had never been more than a dream. Her mother and father were simply too wrapped up in each other to pay their daughter much mind.

But now that she could orchestrate the holiday herself, she was eagerly anticipating the three of them sipping hot cider around an ornament-laden tree, with the aroma of a ham in the oven, and carols in the background as they exchanged heartfelt, meaningful gifts to express their love for each other. She had made her mother a coverlet out of her grandmother’s house dresses and had bought her father a beautiful set of hand tools for the workshop he’d been talking about setting up in the garage. After years away, flitting around the globe for her father’s job as a translator to diplomats, it seemed as if her parents were finally settling down.

Violet sighed in contentment. It would be the best Christmas ever.

A half block away from the Kingsbury house, a towering brick structure draped with holiday lights that Violet herself had installed, Winslow jutted out his little underbite, then sat down.

And refused to budge.

Irritated, Violet scooped him up and carried him the rest of the way. Which was, she realized as he pressed his cold nose to her shoulder, exactly what he’d wanted her to do, the little beast.

“You’re incorrigible,” she chastised.

Patricia Kingsbury met them at the door to take Winslow into her bejeweled arms. The dog stiffened, but went, even though he looked back at Violet and whined.

“Did he go poo-poo?” Patricia sounded concerned, but her face remained expressionless, which Violet attributed to the woman’s regular BOTOX injections.

“Er…yes.”

Patricia cuddled her poufy dog. “You always seem to know how to make him go, Violet.”

“It’s a gift,” Violet agreed. “If there’s nothing else, Ms. Kingsbury—”

“Violet, you’ve worked for me for two years. Please call me Patricia.”

“Patricia,” Violet amended with a smile, “if there’s nothing else—”

“I put my grocery list on the table. And would you mind taking a few things back to the mall for me, dear?” She pointed to a mound of bags on a settee.

“Not at all.”

“Here’s my credit card. Just have everything reversed and if there are any problems, call me.”

“I’m sure there won’t be any problems,” Violet said pleasantly, then gathered the list and the bags in her arms and waddled toward the door. “I’ll drop off your credit card tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow afternoon is fine, dear, when you come back to walk Winslow. He’ll be ready to toodle again by then.”

Violet maintained her smile. “Great. See you then.”

Being relegated to a dog coach wasn’t so bad, she told herself as she steered her hybrid SUV onto I-75 northbound. Ms. Kingsbury rarely had difficult requests, and she’d given Violet many referrals. With this job, one learned to take the bad with the good.

After battling six lanes of traffic for thirty minutes, Violet reached a subdivision where three empty up-scale houses were for sale. She’d been commissioned to go through and knock down cobwebs, adjust the temperature, put fresh flowers in vases and generally ensure that when an agent stopped by with a potential customer, there were no surprises—such as the bankrupted former owner of the house living in a closet. Or a raccoon in the kitchen. Or a fallen tree sticking through the bedroom ceiling.

She’d seen it all.

Armed with Gerbera daisies, a broom and a Taser, she sped through the houses, opening doors and checking every nook and cranny. After an uneventful sweep, she jumped on I-75 southbound and fought traffic again to reach a tobacco store, where she picked up the box of cigars she’d special-ordered for Dominick Burns last week, then turned her car toward her office in midtown. A few blocks away her cell phone rang. It was Lillian. Hoping nothing was wrong, Violet touched the hands-free microphone on her visor. “Hi, Lillian, what’s up?”

“You have a visitor. Dominick Burns?”

Violet frowned. “I’m scheduled to stop by his office in Buckhead this afternoon for our weekly conference.”

“He said he was in the area and that he’d wait.” Lillian lowered her voice. “He’s rather handsome. And he asked for a vodka tonic.”

Violet rolled her eyes. “I don’t have a bar in my office. Get him a cup of coffee and I’ll be there in five minutes.”

She checked her hair and makeup in the mirror, telling herself she’d do the same for any client. She smoothed a couple of errant hairs that had escaped her standard neat ponytail—the ponytail that Dominick Burns teased her about. Her black pantsuit also was standard, with a white shirt that changed with the season—nice T-shirts for spring, sleeveless shells for summer, three-quarter-length sleeves in fall, and a turtleneck for winter. She had already moved into her turtleneck drawer. Comfortable black loafers completed the look that allowed her to blend in almost anywhere. Her “uniform” wasn’t as glamorous as what Dominick’s girlfriends probably wore, but she looked professional, and that was all that mattered.

It wasn’t as if Dominick was interested in her.

Violet wheeled into the parking garage and pulled into one of the four spots assigned to her live/work condo, with its tiny storefront on the first level that faced Juniper Street and separate living quarters above. Lillian’s VW bug sat in another Summerlin at Your Service spot. Straddling the remaining two spots was a black Porsche convertible parked at a jaunty angle, as if the driver simply couldn’t bother parking straight, or taking only as much space as needed. The front vanity plate read XTREME. Violet climbed out of her car and tamped down irritation.

The man was extremely cocky, that was certain.

Of course, when she walked into her office, she was reminded why.

Dominick Burns was, as her Grammy would say, as fine as frog hair.

He leaned on the edge of her assistant’s desk, his long legs stretched out in front of him. His dark brown hair was ridiculously sun-streaked and wind-tousled for December. His deep blue eyes were surrounded by the longest, darkest lashes imaginable. Ruggedly tanned and dressed in holey jeans, a gray Emory University sweatshirt and worn leather sneakers, he looked more like a carefree student than the thirty-something head of a multimillion-dollar company.

Judging from the way they were laughing, he and Lillian, a petite fortyish woman with a pink streak through her spiky black hair, were sharing a grand joke. They hadn’t even heard the bell on the door that announced her arrival. For some reason, that annoyed Violet. She had the uncomfortable feeling they might be laughing about her.

“Hello, Mr. Burns.” Despite her blasé response to Nan, her heart stuttered in her chest when he turned his smiling indigo eyes in Violet’s direction.

“Vee, how many times have I told you to call me Dominick?”

“And how many times have I asked you not to call me Vee?”

He shrugged. “A couple hundred.” Then he looked at Lillian. “In case you haven’t noticed, your boss is a little uptight—”

“Here are your cigars,” Violet interrupted, handing him the box. “Perhaps we can continue this in my office?”

Dominick grinned at Lillian. “I think I’m in trouble—and I like it.”

Violet didn’t respond, just walked toward her office, mentally shaking her head. The man was a big kid.

He gamboled into her office and she reiterated silently the word big. He took up what little extra space the room had to offer outside of her desk, two chairs and row of file cabinets. “So you work on this level and have a condo above?”

“That’s right. It’s small, but it works for me.”

“Nice location, near Piedmont Park.”

“Another plus,” she agreed, then gave him a wry smile. “And there’s decent parking—as long as clients don’t take up two spaces.”

“I won’t be here long,” he said with a grin, sipping his coffee as he glanced around at the stark decor. He nodded to her desk, which was marred only by a neat stack of manila folders. “It’s so neat. Do you actually work in here?”

“Yes.”

She turned to set aside her bag and when she looked back, the folders were strewn across her desk in disarray. Dominick was looking at the ceiling and whistling like an innocent little boy.

“Nice,” she said dryly.

He laughed. “Come on, Vee, loosen up.”

“Mr. Burns,” she said coolly, “I’m good at my job because I’m a detail-oriented person. Now, what can I do for you today?”

That elicited an eyebrow wag, which she ignored. Then he sighed. “Okay, business it is.” He reached into his jeans pocket and removed a crumpled piece of paper that looked as if it had barely made it through morning recess. “There’s a company in Miami I’m considering buying. I need for you to do some research for me.”

She read the words written on the paper. “Sunpiper Extreme Sports School?”

“Right.”

“What kind of research?”

He shrugged. “Whatever you can find out—check the Internet, or make phone calls…anything.”

“I don’t know much about extreme sports,” she admitted. “Perhaps I’m not the best person to do this….”

“I need someone I can trust, someone outside my office. As soon as word gets out that I’m making inquiries, the picture skews. People get greedy, and I don’t know if I’m getting good advice from my advisors or if they’re working for the other side.”

When he was serious like this, his eyes warm and intuitive, she understood why the man was so successful. Beneath his carefree exterior beat the heart of a fierce competitor. He was…compelling. Violet averted her gaze and cleared her throat. “Okay. I’ll get right on it.”

He stood. “Good. If you find anything interesting, have it couriered to my house.”

She stood and nodded. “Absolutely. Is that all, sir? Do you need any last-minute Christmas gifts?”

Dominick grinned and in a flash, he was back to being an overgrown frat boy. “You know me well. It’s on the other side of that piece of paper.”

She turned over the crumpled note and sure enough, on the back was a handwritten list. Not surprisingly, most of the names on the list were female.

He leaned forward over her desk, invading her space, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. “What do you want for Christmas, Vee?”

Nan’s comment about her needing something warm and cuddly flashed in her mind, but Violet pushed it away, especially since at the moment the turtleneck was feeling warm, if not cuddly. She drew back slightly and murmured, “World peace.”

He laughed and shook his head. “If you were in charge, lady, I have a feeling you could make that happen. Thanks for the cigars.” He pushed on wraparound sunglasses with reflective lenses, then walked out. “See you, Lillian,” he called out as he strode out the front door.

Violet’s new assistant was in her office before the bell on the front door stopped ringing. “What an interesting man.”

Violet gave her a knowing smile. “I see you’ve fallen under Dominick’s spell.”

“You haven’t?” Lillian asked, nodding to Violet’s hand, which had pulled out the collar of the turtleneck and was fanning it open and closed to deliver some much-needed air.

Violet dropped her hand. “No,” she said with more vehemence than she intended, then reached for the bundle of mail Lillian held. “I mean, he is a client, after all. I need his business more than I need his…er…”

Lillian arched an eyebrow, waiting.

Violet’s cheeks warmed. “Were there any calls while I was out?”

The woman handed over a stack of pink slips. “If there’s something I can take the lead on, let me know.”

A proprietary feeling crowded Violet’s chest. “I will,” she murmured, while admitting she wasn’t willing to entrust her clients to her new assistant yet. Maybe after the first of the year, when things slowed down, she could get to know Lillian better and begin delegating more to her desk. “Thanks for bringing in the mail. Do you mind taking Mr. Burns’s coffee cup? And close the door as you leave.”

“No problem,” Lillian said with a smile, backing out.

Violet turned on her laptop, intending to start researching the company for Dominick. While she waited for the machine to boot up, she sifted through her mail, sorting things into neat little piles as she went. Trash, bill, bill, payment, junk, junk, junk—

Her hand stopped when she noticed a return address of Jacksonville, Florida, on a long white envelope. Covington Women’s College, her alma mater? Probably a fund-raiser of some kind, she guessed. She slit open the top and pulled out a cover letter enclosing a pink polka-dotted envelope that tickled a memory chord. Intrigued, she scanned the letter head—Dr. Michelle Alexander.

Violet frowned. Her former college instructor?

Dear Ms. Summerlin,

You were a student in my senior-level class titled Sexual Psyche at Covington Women’s College. You may or may not recall that one of the optional assignments in the class was for each student to record her sexual fantasies and seal them in an envelope, to be mailed to the student in approximately ten years’ time. Enclosed you will find the envelope that you submitted, which was carefully catalogued by a numbered code for the sake of anonymity and has remained sealed. It is my hope that the contents will prove to be emotionally constructive in whatever place and situation you find yourself ten years later. If you have any questions, concerns or feedback, do not hesitate to contact me.

With warm regards,

Dr. Michelle Alexander

Memories pelted her. The Sexual Psyche class had been called Sex for Beginners by all the students. She’d felt very naughty for taking it. She deliberately hadn’t mentioned it to her grandparents and she’d sat on the back row—at first. But as Dr. Alexander lectured on the virtues of becoming a confident lover, Violet had gradually migrated toward the front of the class. She’d been a late bloomer in her teens, shy and self-conscious, her nose buried in books. Thanks to an absent mother and an old-fashioned grandmother, she’d never really had a proper sex talk. The class had been revolutionary for her, stirring up all kinds of…sensations and…urges. She vaguely recalled the assignment to write down her fantasies, remembered struggling to find the right words, but she couldn’t recall what she’d written.

Violet looked back to her laptop, which was running a virus check. Then she pursed her mouth and tentatively picked up the pink envelope. There was only one way to find out.




2


VIOLET REMOVED two sheets of folded stationery from the small envelope, her heart thumping in anticipation at getting a glimpse into her own mind ten years ago. She had been so serious back then. The Sex for Beginners class had jarred her out of her comfort zone, if for only a few weeks.

She glanced at her closed office door, then unfolded the sheets and began to read.

Dear Violet,

I’m having a hard time with this assignment, writing down my sexual fantasies. I’m still getting used to the idea of what’s even supposed to happen during sex. I’ve only done it a couple of times, and both times it was over before I even got my shirt off.

I have to say—if that’s all there is to sex, I’m not impressed. It all seems rather…boring. Doing it in a bed, for instance—it seems like an invitation to go to sleep! Which is exactly what both guys did, by the way. Can’t people have sex in other places besides the bedroom?

Or maybe it’s just me. Maybe I’m not exciting enough to keep a man interested long enough to do it…well. I know that guys think I’m boring and uptight. I think so, too. Sometimes I feel like I’m trapped inside myself. I’m trying to get out, but I can’t. I want to change, I just don’t know how.

Dr. Alexander says she’ll send us these letters in ten years. If you’re reading this, Violet, I hope you’re not boring anymore. I hope you’ve found someone who knows how to make sex exciting. I hope you’ve found a way out of yourself.

A rap on the door made Violet jump. She shoved the letter under a folder on her desk just as Lillian poked her head inside.

“Violet—” The woman stopped. “Are you okay?”

Violet nodded, sitting up straighter and running her hand over her flushed neck. “Yes, I’m…fine. What’s up?”

Lillian grinned and held up a tin. “My weight if the sweets keep rolling in here. Want some fudge?”

“Not right now, thanks,” Violet said, remembering she hadn’t yet had lunch. “Who sent it?”

“Gail’s Gourmet Candy.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s good. I shop there for my clients. You can take it home if you like.”

“Thank you, I will.” Lillian started to leave.

“Lillian?”

“Yes?”

Violet swallowed, then lifted her chin. “Do you think I’m…boring?”

Lillian looked surprised and was quiet for a few seconds. “Violet, I think you’re one of the most talented people I’ve ever met. You can do almost anything.”

“But?”

Lillian moistened her lips. “But…you don’t seem to make room in your life for fun.”

Violet felt her defenses rise. “It’s hard to have fun while running a business.”

“I don’t know. Dominick Burns seems to be having a ball,” Lillian said with a little smile, then closed the door.

Violet chewed on her lip, considering the woman’s words. She did too have fun—all kinds of fun, all the time.

Like the time she…

And sometimes when she…

Violet frowned hard. Fun was overrated. Fun led to…abandon. And recklessness.

And a loss of control.

Dominick Burns’s handsome grin flashed into her head. What do you want for Christmas, Vee?

Now there was a man who’d probably had sex outside the bedroom.

Unbidden desire curled in her stomach and her breasts grew heavy. Dismayed at her reaction, Violet turned her mind to the task at hand—the research he’d asked her to do. Because for all his indiscriminate flirting, Dominick was more interested in her brain than her bod.

For the next couple of hours, she compiled everything she could get her hands on regarding Sunpiper Extreme Sports School—classes, instructors, press releases, videos, capital assets, endorsements, affiliations with sanctioned competitions, lawsuits past and present, as well as background on the two founders. At the school, one could enroll in classes to learn everything from rock climbing to dogsledding, either at the facility or at remote locations all over the world. The company had started small, but had grown steadily and seemed to be poised for either expansion or a new direction. She would keep digging, but on the surface Piedmont looked like a viable acquisition. In fact, Dominick wasn’t the only suitor in the game—less than a month earlier, a company named Cambrian had publicly expressed interest in acquiring the sports school.

She was excited and flattered that Dominick had asked for her help on such an important matter. For all his tomfoolery, the man obviously trusted her, and it felt good to be appreciated for something more than picking up after a spoiled dog.

Violet sorted through the scattered printouts on her desk, wrote a note to Dominick on her company letterhead, informing him that she was still pursuing other avenues of research, and stuffed it all into an envelope. When her mind started creeping back to the letter she’d written in college and to the way Dominick’s backside looked in those holey jeans, she gave herself a stern lecture.

The letter was nothing more than the naive ramblings of a sheltered coed in an all-girls school, whose teacher had made her feel daring for a short while. Sex had gotten better after college….

Some.

At least it wasn’t over as quickly. But the journey from point A to point O was still a little…ho-hum. Or, at least it had been, the last time she checked.

Violet frowned. She hadn’t had a serious date in months, she suddenly realized. She’d been so busy at work, and now with her parents back in town…

Not that she saw them that often, she thought with a pang.

They had an active social life, she reminded herself. Much more active than hers.

Unable to ignore her empty stomach any longer, Violet glanced at her watch and decided that if she left now, she could get ahead of rush-hour traffic, grab a bite at the food court in the Lenox Square mall and return Ms. Kingsbury’s packages. Plus she could get a head start on Dominick’s gift list. And the holiday atmosphere would help to put her in the spirit to celebrate Christmas with her parents.

She grabbed the stack of phone messages to return on the way. As she was leaving, she handed the bulging envelope to Lillian. “I’m taking off for the day. Could you please get this package ready for a courier, arrange for a pickup and have it delivered to Mr. Burns’s home address?”

“Absolutely. Is there anything else I can do?”

Violet hesitated, then spied her cluttered desk through the open door to her office. “You can toss all the papers on my desk that aren’t in a folder.”

“Okay, great,” Lillian said, brightening more than the situation warranted.

Violet set down her bag and fished out three of the phone messages. “And would you handle these clients, please? Call me if you have any questions.”

“I will,” Lillian promised, clearly pleased with the added responsibility.

Violet left, crossing her fingers that the woman didn’t do anything that might jeopardize everything Violet had worked so hard to build.



DOMINICK FROWNED when he realized that the ice in his vodka tonic had melted. “You’re slipping, old man,” he muttered to himself, then poured the drink down the bar sink.

He’d been restless for weeks and in truth, he couldn’t put his finger on the reason why, except for the fact that the holiday season always made him antsy. No longer having family left a gnawing feeling in his gut anytime of the year, but being alone at Christmas was the worst.

A knock sounded at the door. He looked up to see his longtime housekeeper, Sandy, standing there. “I’m heading home unless you need anything else.”

“No, I’m fine,” he said.

She angled her graying head. “Are you, Dominick? You’ve been moping around for months now.”

He gave her a wry smile. Sandy had known him since he’d been a teenager driving his parents crazy with all his extreme sports activities, and she didn’t miss a thing. “Don’t mind me, I’m just bored.”

“And lonely?”

He pursed his lips. “Maybe.”

“You need to stop trying to kill yourself jumping out of airplanes and settle down. I’ve seen a dozen women come through here in the past few months. Aren’t any of them marriage material?”

He walked over and put his arm around her shoulder. “I’m the one who isn’t marriage material.”

“You’re not afraid to jump off a cliff into the ocean, but you’re afraid to walk down the aisle?”

“Sandy, there are some things that are even too scary for me to attempt.”

She made a rueful noise. “One of these days, son, you’re going to meet someone who makes you feel more alive than any of those stunts you pull. When you do, promise me one thing?”

“What?”

She poked him in the arm. “That you’ll jump. Good night.”

“Good night,” he said, planting a kiss on her cheek.

After Sandy left, Dominick reasoned that he’d been cooped up in his office too long, that he needed to plan a getaway and do something fun. The thought perked him up. He hadn’t tried the new wingsuit that research and development had sent to him. After all, nothing said fun like jumping out of plane and riding the wind currents miles above the earth with the ground rushing toward you at breakneck speeds. The sensation was as good as sex.

Lately, even better than sex.

He considered calling Bethany, his current lover, but he was growing weary of her conversation—the woman was obsessed with reality shows. Call him old-fashioned, but he’d rather live life than watch it on a flat screen.

He thought about pouring a fresh drink, but couldn’t work up the enthusiasm. He needed…something. A new challenge. Things were beginning to feel stale in his life. Maybe that’s why the potential acquisition of Sunpiper intrigued him—it would give him something new to throw himself into.

When his doorbell rang he was glad for the diversion.

A courier looked him up and down. “Dominick Burns?”

“That’s me,” he said cheerfully, although he realized that one might not expect the owner of a home in this neighborhood to answer his door barefoot, wearing jeans and a retro Hang Ten T-shirt.

He signed for the package and tipped the guy. When he saw the return address, a smile curved his mouth. So Violet Summerlin had compiled information on Sunpiper already. The woman was a dynamo. He’d tried to steal her away as his personal assistant several times, but she’d turned him down flat. And he respected her for it. No one knew better than he did that the best job in the world was working for oneself.

Besides, if she was on his direct payroll, he couldn’t flirt with her until her cheeks turned that adorable shade of pink.

As he opened the package, the image of Vee came into his head. Between the staid black-and-white uniform she insisted on wearing and that damn ponytail that was so tight the rubber band might blind someone if it snapped off and caught them in the eye, she was perhaps the most prim package he’d ever encountered. Still, he had eyes and the woman was classically beautiful. Her hair was thick and curly and she didn’t miss being a redhead by much—a strawberry blonde he’d heard his secretary describe her as once, with the milky coloring to match. Despite her freckles, he doubted if the woman had ever spent a full day in the sun.

In fact, he thought, chuckling, there were probably parts of her that had yet to see the light of day.

But she had the most incredible blue-green eyes and full coral-colored lips. And he could see the generous curve of breast that she hid underneath her somber jackets. Violet Summerlin was stacked—she just didn’t want anyone to know. He wondered idly if she had a boyfriend or if she spent all her time pleasing people like him.

Furthermore, he wondered if anyone had ever tried to please her. A vision of parting her knees to delve into those unexposed places made his cock twitch unexpectedly.

Dominick pulled his hand down his face and chastised himself for thinking such wicked things about such a sweet person, a person who wanted world peace for Christmas, for heaven’s sake.

He decided to switch to coffee to peruse the information she’d sent, tossing an extra scoop of grounds into the filter for a caffeine kick. While he waited for the coffee to brew, he pulled the stack of papers out of the envelope. Violet’s handwritten note to him was simple and to the point—she had arranged the research starting with high level, moving to more detailed.

More to come, the last line said, then she’d signed her initials.

He liked the way she communicated—quick and to the point. But her handwriting surprised him with its large letters and lots of swoops and curves. It seemed…romantic.

The thought conjured up another image of Violet, nude on pink satin sheets, her hair unbound and fanned around her head, her pale breasts high and full, with puffy pink nipples, her legs long and slender. When his cock hardened, Dominick scoffed at his reaction. He’d had a lot of women in his bed, all of them fit and tan and physical. Violet Summerlin was about as far from his type as he could imagine. She didn’t smile easily, could never be described as bubbly or fun. As intriguing as it might be to try to bed her, she struck him as a lights-off-during-sex kind of girl.

He poured a cup of coffee, settled into a chair in the den and turned on a Hawks basketball game in the background. Over the next couple of hours he alternately read and checked the game score. Working through the material Vee had compiled, he mentally ticked off answers to some of his uppermost concerns. On the surface, Sunpiper looked like a good acquisition.

But things weren’t always what they seemed.

When he turned the page, he frowned at a pink polka-dot envelope that looked incongruous next to the rest of the printed research. Had something been inserted in the package by mistake?

On the outside of the envelope were some kind of doodled numbers and letters…or a code?

He withdrew the pages and unfolded them. From the salutation, he first thought it was a letter to Violet and he started to refold it. Then he recognized the handwriting as hers—the same large letters, the same whorls and loops—and his curiosity intensified.

Noting the date, he soon realized that it was a letter that Violet had written to herself when she was in college. A couple of lines into it, though, his eyebrows flew up. Violet had recorded her sexual fantasies? As he read her words about her uninspiring sexual experiences, he shook his head. College-age boys weren’t the most giving lovers.

But when he read the part where she questioned her own desirability, a pang of remorse barbed through him. These were the words of a lonely woman who felt overlooked and unloved. No wonder she downplayed her beauty—the more men ignored her, the more she probably wanted to be ignored. But in the letter she’d written, it was clear that she’d had hopes and dreams for her future that included exploring her sensuality.

I hope you’ve found someone who knows how to make sex exciting. I hope you’ve found a way out of yourself.

Dominick stood and walked back to the bar, the coffee forgotten as his need for a stiffer drink returned with a vengeance. His pulse pounded in his ears, sending adrenaline racing through his bloodstream. He’d been looking for a challenge and one had literally fallen into his lap.

He poured a vodka tonic and took a healthy gulp.

Quiet little Violet Summerlin with her tight ponytail secretly fantasized about exciting sex?

An energized smile lifted the corners of Dominick’s mouth. This changed everything.




3


Five days until Christmas

WHEN VIOLET’S ALARM went off the next morning, it jarred her from a deep and disturbing dream starring Dominick Burns. The details were foggy, but it had something to do with being dangled from a high place…naked…with him promising to catch her. Her subconscious had managed to take her phobia of heights, as well as her phobia of being attracted to Dominick, and combine them in the most torturous way. Her body still pulsed with adrenaline and desire. She hit the off button on her clock and groaned.

That darn letter had unleashed all kinds of errant thoughts—and she was attaching them to Dominick simply because of his proximity and the work she was doing for him. Not because she was attracted to Dominick. She wasn’t like all those women he dated; she was above the fray. They shared a professional relationship, which was way better than being one of his floozies.

A tremulous sigh escaped her heated body. Wasn’t it?

Knowing she’d feel better after a shower, she pulled herself out of bed to face the day. Except today, the soapy sponge seemed to have fingers—long, tanned fingers that caressed her body in places where no man had ever touched her—her shoulder blades…behind her knees…the arch of her foot. She tried to push Dominick from her mind, but her body was pent up from the words that she’d written long ago and refused to let go of the image. Finally, following her previous advice to Nan, she turned the water full blast on cold. The icy sluice made her gasp, but it effectively drove all illicit thoughts from her mind.

She turned off the water and used a towel to briskly dry and warm her skin. Then she tuned into a radio station of holiday golden oldies to listen to as she got ready for work. “I’ll be Home for Christmas” was her favorite Christmas song of all time. In her opinion, no one sang it like Doris Day, but any version would do. It never failed to make her feel all warm and tingly inside. This year the tune was especially poignant because her parents would be home for Christmas.

From now on, she’d direct all of her excess energy toward the magical holiday she would have with her family this year, not on Dominick Burns.

After Violet dressed, she double-checked the box of Christmas decorations she was taking with her when she had lunch with her mother today—yards and yards of tinsel, old-fashioned bubble lights for the tree and new buildings for a miniature village she and her Grammy had enjoyed adding to each year. She’d wanted to put up the tree weeks ago in the den where it always stood and could be seen from the street, but her mother had suggested that they wait until Christmas Eve—a new family tradition. Violet had agreed, although she missed popping over to enjoy her Grammy’s tree and bringing new ornaments to hang on it every few days leading up to Christmas. She was taking over decorations a little at a time so there wouldn’t be as much to transport Christmas Eve. On impulse, she added the gifts for her parents to the box. Maybe the gaily wrapped packages would persuade her mother to put up the tree early.

She idly wondered what Dominick Burns would do to celebrate the holidays. He’d never mentioned family and she’d never asked. Regardless, he didn’t seem like the type who would want a Norman Rockwell Christmas.

What do you want for Christmas, Vee?

As Violet locked the door to her condo, she banished the memory of his mischievous blue eyes from her mind. Then she lugged the box of decorations, the gifts, her coat and her purse downstairs to the Summerlin at Your Service office while stifling a yawn. At this rate, she’d never make it through the day. One thing was certain, she couldn’t afford to lose another precious night’s sleep to foolish dreams stirred up by a silly letter she’d written in college. After unlocking the front door and turning the sign to Open, she started the coffeepot, then walked into her office, on a mission.

The sooner the letter met the shredder, the better.

But when she glanced at the lone neat stack of manila folders on her desk, panic blipped in her chest. She’d asked Lillian to discard the remnants of her printed research for Dominick—everything on the desk except for the folders. What if the woman had found the letter and read it?

Her cheeks burned. If that was the case, she wasn’t sure she could face Lillian again. She flipped through the folders, but didn’t find the pink envelope containing the letter.

The bell on the front door sounded, along with a happy humming noise, signaling Lillian’s arrival. Violet walked out of her office and gave the woman a tentative smile. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Lillian returned, smiling wide as she hung up her coat and colorful scarf.

Violet bit into her lip, her nerves bundling tighter as her imagination spun out of control. She didn’t know Lillian very well. What if the woman had read her letter and gossiped about its contents? Violet had worked so hard to cultivate a professional reputation in the community. That stupid letter could ruin everything.

“I was just getting some coffee,” Violet ventured. “Would you like some?”

“Sounds good.”

Violet poured two cups, then handed one to Lillian and blew on her own. “Lillian,” she said, trying to sound casual, “I left a small pink envelope on my desk. Did you happen to see it yesterday when you were cleaning up?”

Lillian sipped her coffee. “No. Are you sure it was there?”

“Yes. It had polka dots?” she said, hoping to jog her assistant’s memory.

“I don’t remember seeing it. Did you check underneath the desk? Maybe it fell in the floor.”

Why hadn’t she thought of that? She hurried back into her office and crouched down to search, but didn’t see it.

Lillian’s face creased in concern. “I might have accidentally thrown it away with the other papers. I’m so sorry if I did. Has the garbage been picked up yet?”

Violet nodded and pushed to her feet, feeling oddly conflicted. She didn’t really want the letter—heck, she’d been planning to shred it. But somehow, not having it made her feel as if something had slipped through her fingers. “It’s okay. I was the one who asked you to straighten up. Besides, I don’t need it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” Violet said with a resolute nod.

The office phone rang and Lillian left to answer it. Violet dropped into the chair behind her desk and sighed, feeling restless for no identifiable reason.

Lillian was back in a few seconds, her face animated. “Dominick Burns is on the phone.”

A hot flush climbed Violet’s neck. She wasn’t keen to talk to the man so soon after washing the imagined imprint of his hands off her body, but she couldn’t think of a good reason to put him off. “Thank you,” she murmured, then touched a button to connect the call.

“This is Violet.”

“Vee, hey, it’s Dominick.”

His voice sounded sleepy around the edges, so she guessed he hadn’t been awake for long. But when a creaking noise echoed in the background, she realized with a jolt that he was still in bed. Was he wearing boxers or briefs? Or did he sleep in the nude?

“Are you there?” he asked.

“Uh, yes…I’m here,” she said, swallowing hard. “What can I do for you, Mr. Burns?”

“Thanks for the research on Sunpiper.”

“You’re welcome, sir. But I’d planned to do more.”

“Good. Because I’m going to Miami to see what I can find out locally, and I need some help. I was hoping you’d agree to go with me.”

Her pulse rocketed. A business trip with Dominick? “I…I can’t think…I mean, I don’t think—”

“I’ll double your hourly fees for the duration of the trip.”

Her eyebrows rose, along with visions of making an extra mortgage payment. “Wh-when were you planning to go?”

“I’m flying down tomorrow, returning on the twenty-sixth.”

“Oh, I couldn’t go,” Violet said, exhaling in near relief. “This is the busiest time of the year for my business.”

“Can’t your assistant take over?”

“No.” Violet knew she’d spend the few days before Christmas traveling all over the city wrapping gifts for people who realized they didn’t have time to do it themselves. “Besides, I’m spending Christmas Eve with my parents.”

“Oh.” He sounded disappointed—and a little surprised that she had other plans. “Well, what if I got you back Christmas Eve morning?”

“I…still don’t think that would be possible, sir. I have…commitments. I’m sure you can find someone else to assist you.”

“But I want you, Vee. You agreed to help me with this research.”

“Whatever I could find on the Internet or over the phone,” she reminded him.

“If money is the issue—”

“It isn’t,” she interrupted, looking for a way out, or at least a way to postpone the conversation. “Maybe after the first of the year…”

“That won’t work for me,” he said. “I’m leaving for Brazil in early January, and since another company is interested in buying Sunpiper, I need to move fast. If you’re worried about the sleeping arrangements, we would, of course, have separate rooms.”

Her midsection tightened at the mere mention of beds, proof of just how untenable it would be to travel with Dominick Burns when her mind insisted on spinning fantasies about him. “I’m afraid my answer is still no.”

“Okay,” he said with a sigh. “I’m heartbroken. We would’ve had a blast, Vee.”

“Thanks for the invitation,” she murmured. “Goodbye.” She hung up the handset, tingling all over. I’m heartbroken. We would’ve had a blast.

Apparently he wasn’t planning to spend the holidays with his family. He’d be in Miami, partying with half-naked women in the sun and surf. Violet knew he wouldn’t have any trouble finding someone else to go in her place to “help” him. In fact, if the rumors were to be believed, Dominick didn’t mind being helped by more than one woman at a time.

Lillian appeared at the door again. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” Violet snapped, reaching for her calendar and a diversion. Feeling contrite, she forced a calming note into her voice. “Did anything materialize from the calls you returned yesterday?”

“One didn’t go anywhere, but the other two customers are supposed to stop by this afternoon to drop off gifts to be wrapped. I noticed all the paper and ribbon in the workroom,” she said, gesturing to the room behind her desk. “I have the price lists and I used to wrap gifts at Macy’s. I can take care of the packages and deliver them, too, if you want.”

Violet jotted notes, then stood and shrugged into her coat, already calculating how she could make it back in time to greet the customers herself. “I have to make a few pickups and deliveries this morning, as well as go by Ms. Kingsbury’s, and have lunch with my mother. But I should be back before two.”

“Is there anything I can do while you’re gone?” Lillian looked hopeful.

“No,” Violet said abruptly, then realized she was letting the tossed letter and the call with Dominick make her cranky. Neither situation was Lillian’s fault. She manufactured a smile as she swept through the door. “Just hold down the fort until I get back.”

“What if I happen to find the pink envelope you lost?”

Violet whirled around and leveled her gaze at the woman. “Burn it.”




4


JUGGLING HER COFFEE, her purse, the box of holiday decorations and the gifts, Violet unlocked her car door, her chest clicking with renewed annoyance at herself. She shouldn’t have opened the letter to begin with—it was causing her to get even more out of sorts than she usually did when she thought about Dominick. At least now that the letter was on its way to a landfill, she’d be able to forget the silly words she’d written back when she had been under the delusion that sex played a major role in a person’s life.

That might be true for other people. But since college, she’d come to the conclusion that she just wasn’t a sexual person, not like Nan, who made flirting look easy. Anytime a man talked to Violet, her practical mind skipped ahead to the inevitable disaster the relationship would become and her tongue would tie in knots. She didn’t stand a chance against the swarm of pretty, playful Southern girls that Atlanta had to offer up.

But she had her business, she reminded herself as she stopped to pick up and deliver dry cleaning at four different locations, selected twenty-five perfect poinsettias for a corporate holiday party and picked up six needlepoint stockings customized with the names of a client’s grandchildren.

Besides, she thought wryly while shopping for gourmet items on Ms. Kingsbury’s grocery list, she had more luck with the four-legged male types anyway. On impulse, Violet picked up a bag of treats for Winslow. Maybe if the dog ate more, he wouldn’t be so picky about where and when he did his business.

When she arrived at the gaily decorated brick home, the dog was waiting for her at the door with his leash in his mouth.

“He’s been sitting there all morning,” Ms. Kingsbury said. “I tried to take him out several times, but he wouldn’t go.”

Violet handed over the woman’s credit card from her “returns” shopping trip and set the bag of groceries on a table. “I’ll see what I can do. Is it okay if I give him a treat?”

“Whatever you like, dear. Sometimes I feel as if Winslow is more your dog than mine.”

After clicking the leash onto his collar, Violet retrieved a doggie treat from her pocket and let the popeyed Pekingese gobble it out of her hand. “Are you going to be a good boy today?”

He barked enthusiastically. Maybe she should take treats in her pocket the next time she went to a bar with Nan, Violet mused. On the short walk to the park, she called her friend to say goodbye before Nan left town.

“Nan Wellington.”

Violet could hear the clicking of a keyboard in the background. Nan was a staff writer for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. “Are you busy?”

“Just counting the hours until I leave for Aruba,” Nan sang. “I wish you were going with me, but I know how much you’re looking forward to having Christmas with your folks.”

“Yes, I am.”

“You sound kind of down.”

“Don’t mind me, I’m just in a funk.”

“You’re never in a funk. What’s wrong?”

“Dominick Burns asked me to go with him to Miami over Christmas.”

The clicking stopped. “Are you kidding me?”

“He needed my help, of course. Strictly business.”

“Violet, tell me you said yes.”

“I can’t go, Nan. I’m swamped with clients, and I’m spending Christmas Eve with my folks, remember?”

“Oh, right. Well, can’t you come back early?”

“He offered. But that doesn’t help me take care of all the business I still have between now and then.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that’s what your new assistant is for!”

“I just don’t feel comfortable letting someone else take over.”

“Violet, I know you like to think that you have a special bond with your clients. But all they really want is to have things done for them, right?”

“Right,” Violet admitted.

“So you wouldn’t have hired this woman if she wasn’t qualified. Let her help you.”

“It’s not that simple,” Violet said. “I’ve been trying to delegate things to her, but because I’m not used to working with someone, there’s already been a mishap.”

“What kind of mishap?”

“I think she threw away a letter.”

“So call the sender and have them resend it. Mistakes happen, sweetie.”

“This was a personal letter. A handwritten letter.”

“From whom?” Nan asked, her voice brimming with curiosity.

“From…me. It was a letter I wrote to myself when I was in college.”

“Sounds cool. Did you find it in a yearbook or something?”

“No, the instructor sent it. The assignment was to write down your…thoughts. She promised to track us down and send the letter back to us ten years later.”

“To see how much things have changed?” Nan asked.

“Or not,” Violet murmured, realizing that for the first time, she was conceding she still entertained some of the fantasies she’d written about.

“What class was it for?”

Violet hesitated, then wet her lips. “Sex for Beginners.”

“Come again?”

“The class was called Sexual Psyche, but everyone referred to it as Sex for Beginners.”

“So that’s what goes on in those all-girls schools,” Nan teased.

“It was just one class,” Violet said, tingling with embarrassment.

“So what was in the letter? Your sexual experiences? Your fantasies?”

Violet didn’t respond.

“Oh, my God. You wrote down your sexual fantasies! What were they?”

“Never mind,” Violet said, exasperated. “It was a silly assignment.”

“I think it’s fascinating. In fact, it would make a great story for the paper.”

“No, it wouldn’t.” Violet was in a near panic at the thought of being exposed.

Nan sighed. “Okay. So the letter went into the incinerator by mistake?”

“Looks that way.”

“Did you at least get to read it?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“And…like I said, it was a silly assignment. I only brought it up as an example of why having an assistant isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“You need to give her a chance. You’re never going to grow your company unless you hire people to work for you and delegate stuff to them.”

“I know. And when things slow down after the first of the year…I’ll think about it. I do hate the idea of passing up business. I could’ve earned a lot of extra money on this assignment.”

Nan’s wistful sigh breezed over the line. “But I guess it’s just as well that you didn’t take Dominick Burns up on his offer.”

Violet frowned. “Why?”

“Well, he is a notorious playboy. He’d probably get you down to Miami and try to have his way with you.”

Violet swallowed hard. “Do you think so?” she managed to say, her voice squeaking.

“Oh, sure. You’d probably have spent the entire time fighting off his advances.”

“Yeah, that would’ve been…awful.” Violet glanced down at Winslow, who had planted himself on the sidewalk, whining. “I guess I’d better go. Duty calls. Have a great time in Aruba.”

“I will,” Nan said. “Give your parents my best. I’ll call you when I get back in town.”

Violet said goodbye and disconnected the call, then went through the steps of cajoling Winslow to do his thing. When he was finished, she carried him back to the house to save time. He practically purred in her arms.

“He did great,” she said, handing him over to Patricia. “Merry Christmas, Ms. Kingsbury. Enjoy your time in Birmingham with your son and your grandchildren.”





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