Sighing out of either frustration or surrender to the fact he wasn’t ever going to have the answer—he wasn’t sure which—he switched his focus to the sparkling liquid that fizzed in his glass. Unsure how to answer the "life without passion" question, he tipped his glass to his lips, letting the chilled liquid slide down his throat the way only expensive champagne could. He found it tasteless.

That didn’t surprise him. In fact, as he looked around the ballroom, Jack realized that the music had no melody, the twinkling lights no romance. The chattering guests seemed no more than faceless drones. He’d lost his passion and knew to the minute when it had happened.

Placing his empty flute on a passing tray, he considered taking another, but it seemed futile. The next glass would be as tasteless as the last. With a flick of his wrist, he waved off the waiter, then strolled casually through the milling crowd, skirting the side of the room, hoping to avoid...well, everybody, really.

This restless feeling was becoming more of a constant companion, one he was learning to ignore. Tonight, though, it acted like a jealous wife, refusing anything less than his complete attention. So he did what any tired husband would do—he patronized it.

His wandering came to an end in front of the room’s crowning glory, a series of two-story leaded-glass windows, heavily draped in silk and lace, pulled back to reveal the arches along the top. He stood there, back to the room, the immaculate lawns of the country club stretched out before him.

Wishing the evening would end, he ran his fingers through his short-cropped hair, slicked back from his face in a severe manner. He noticed that, even with the carefully-applied gels, it had started to curl. He reminded himself to make an appointment with his stylist in the morning. Facing the ballroom, he deliberately crossed his arms over his chest in what he hoped was a very obvious sign flashing in neon, screaming “Stay Away”.

“Jack, my good man.”

Dane Andrews, the closest thing Jack had ever had to a friend, slapped him cordially on the back before taking a bookend position beside him. Dane’s blond hair and white tux jacket contrasted with Jack’s dark hair and tux as much as their morals and lifestyles contrasted each other. Jack had wondered more than once how they’d ever become friends. Jack’s straight-laced attitudes and lifestyle should by all rights have bored Dane right out of his mind. On the other hand, Jack should not have tolerated Dane’s errant attitudes on sex and marriage, but somehow, somewhere along the way, they’d carved a niche of tolerance for one another that had bred something of a friendship.

“Why on earth is the man of the hour on the sidelines when there are so many lovely ladies around dying for an introduction?”

Jack shifted his weight from right leg to left, then answered blandly, “Claudia’s here. I don’t need more than that.”

From the corner of his eye, Jack caught Dane scanning the ballroom in search of the lady in question. Upon finding her, a roguish smile bloomed across Dane’s face before being covered with the champagne flute. “Ah, yes. The delectable Miss Harris.”

Jack watched as Dane gave Claudia a scorching head-to-toe once-over. The maneuver should have brought some protective, jealous impulse to the surface, considering that, as everyone thought, the woman was one small step away from being his wife. He was ashamed to admit he didn’t care. With a scowl, he returned to looking out the windows.

Passion is for fools.

A level-headed approach to life served far better.

“When are you two going to make it official?”

The question made Jack’s stomach flip, and not in a good way. Jack was a detailed man, or at least he was these days, ever since that one time he’d gone off half-cocked and nearly blown his life to bits. Now he was obsessed with details, with checking and re-checking, with being one-hundred-percent certain about anything before deciding. He’d lost any hint of spontaneity, and along with it any joy, but at least he would never again be the fool. For him, that was compensation enough for any lost joy.

“Soon enough, I suppose.”

The deep, rich timbre of his voice implied a confidence that was as fake as half the breasts in the room and Jack found himself suddenly wishing for that glass of champagne simply so he’d have something to do with his hands. He shoved them in his pockets.

Everyone expected an engagement between himself and Claudia. She certainly expected it, and he couldn’t blame her. After all, they had been dating exclusively for over two years now and she was all but officially living with him.

He ran a hand up over the knotted muscles in his neck and admitted—at least to himself—the reasons for both situations. Dating exclusively was more a situation born out of his lack of desire to date anyone, yet his lifestyle was such that it demanded a partner at times. They were practically living together because he hadn’t cared enough one way or the other to say something when he started noticing her staying over more and more.

Most would never know that Orange County’s most eligible bachelor, corporate shark and CEO of the very successful Sinclaire International—whose subsidiaries ran the gamut from transportation and tourism to investments and not-for-profit foundations and who on the surface had everything—was utterly miserable. Longing to the depths of his soul for something he knew he would never have because all the money in the world couldn’t buy it for him.

As his mother was so fond of saying, at thirty-seven, it was high time to settle down and start a family. Jack wasn’t sure what he was waiting for anyway. Marriage was inevitable and he had wanted to be married from the time he was six, when he decided that husband was his vocation of choice.

In hopes of igniting some passion in his soul, his mind conjured an image of Claudia, rumpled, beside him in bed. Sadly, nothing more than a mild sense of nausea rolled over him. That wasn’t a good sign for a long, happy marriage. It wasn’t Claudia’s fault. She was smart and beautiful, kind and sweet, accommodating to his needs in a way he found...acceptable.

A heavy sigh released on impulse. Acceptable? Was that the best he could do? Somewhere inside his perfectly hidden reckless heart was a hopeless romantic. A part of him he wished dead more than once, but it continued to live on no matter what restriction he put on it. It was a part of him that had always assumed love would be so much more than this. Sure, maybe not Fourth of July, Christmas and springtime all rolled into one, but certainly more sparks, more connectedness. He’d always thought, if nothing else, it would mean being in tune with one another without needing to sync up their PDA’s every morning.

Another long sigh later and he was abruptly reminded of Dane’s presence.

“Oh, good God, man. It’s a marriage, not the end of the world.”

Jack raised a brow at his friend, a knowing smirk playing about his lips.

“No offense, friend, but I don’t intend to run my marriage the way you run yours.”

Dane finished his glass of champagne and slipped the empty flute into a potted palm.

“I always wondered what kind of person did that.”

Jack’s sarcasm duly noted with a nod and a slight eye roll, Dane put an arm around Jack’s shoulder, turning him to face the ballroom once more, gesturing with one arm.

“Look at all the women out there. They come in every shape, size and variety. It’s simply unfair to ask me to commit to only one for the rest of my life.”

“There not ice cream, Dane. They’re women, and this isn’t Baskin Robbins, it’s life.” A hint of disdain colored his tone. “And while it is true that you didn’t have to commit yourself to just one...you did.”

Jack’s attention went to his own empty ring finger as he toyed with it.

“That’s what a marriage is, Dane. A commitment to one woman. A commitment to a life, built side-by-side, facing obstacles and challenges. Children and holidays, love and laughter mixed along the way with the tears and sorrows. There were vows.”

He caught Dane’s pale blue gaze again, acerbity lacing his question as he asked, “You do remember your vows, don’t you?” Before Dane could answer, he continued with, “Because if you’re having trouble, I was there...” Jack pressed one finger against his chin, eyes searching the balcony overhead. “I seem to recall something along the lines of 'in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer...'” He dropped his head and once again met Dane’s unamused stare. “'Forsaking all others, until death you are parted.'”

“Oh, ha ha. Very droll. You know, you could have had an excellent career in stand-up.”

Jack shook his head, part in wonder and part in frustration. “Does Jillian know?”

“Of course. We both married to appease our families. She doesn’t love me any more than I do her. As long as I don’t embarrass her, she doesn’t care.”

Jack grunted. “Sounds like a match made in heaven, then.”

“Yes, well, we’re not all so lucky as Kent there.”

Jack followed Dane’s pointed finger to find Kent Bartholomew and his new bride, Valerie, circling the dance floor as if no one else existed. He wouldn’t let his mind go there. He’d spent most of his youth with that optimistic view of love, but if he hadn’t found that by now, it obviously wasn’t out there for him. Torturing himself what didn’t exist was a fool’s errand. Jack would not be the fool again.

“Besides, Claudia adores you. You’ll have a perfectly lovely existence.” Dane cocked his head to one side as if envisioning Jack’s life. “Yes, perfectly lovely. I think that describes it...well, perfectly.

“Perfectly lovely children in their perfectly lovely private schools. Perfectly lovely dinner parties with perfectly lovely guests. A perfectly lovely home, with stables no doubt, for your one true love—your horses. And perfectly lovely sex. Probably on Tuesdays and Thursdays at nine sharp.”

Jack’s head snapped around until he could see Dane’s face, absolutely serious without a trace of humor. He’d never allow Dane to know how close to his own fears his little diatribe had run, or what was worse, that Claudia and he were already having the foretold “perfectly lovely sex.” Only it was usually on Saturdays and Wednesdays, and occasionally a rare Sunday afternoon.

“What the hell do you mean by that?”

Even to his own ears that was a weak defense. Once again, he reached for his neck.

“You forget, I’ve been on the other side of the boardroom from you a time or two, old friend. I’ve seen you fight for something everyone else in the room thought completely ridiculous, but your passion convinced them, swayed every last one until they all came over to your side. I can’t see how you could ever live happily without it. Passion, my friend—it’s your lifeblood.”

Maybe that was the answer to his question. It wasn’t, however, the one he’d wanted to hear. Jack felt exceedingly uncomfortable with this discussion. After all, he’d tried for love—well, something like it—and it hadn’t worked. Now he would listen to his head, which told him Claudia was a good match. He turned to find her holding court. Surrounded by a half dozen guests, both male and female, she dazzled them with the wit and charm she exuded in abundance. With long, dark hair piled neatly atop her head, several long strands left to curl beside her face, and her strapless gown of long white silk, she looked like a princess. Jack seriously wondered what was wrong with him.

Looking at her should have stirred some emotion. If not overwhelming lust, surely fondness, pride that she’d be going home with him… Something. Sadly, he couldn’t honestly remember the last time a woman had aroused him without physical contact, or if one ever had. There were no memories of a moment when a furtive glance, the sound of her laughter, her scent, had been enough to make him want. Was that sort of thing even plausible or was it a figment of Hollywood’s imagination? One he’d bought into lock stock and barrel. A part of him believed it was possible, but why? He had no proof of it and he was a man that needed proof. At least, he’d become that man.

“Come on.”

Jack shook his head as Dane’s clipped words registered.

“Come on where?”

Dane started pulling Jack along like a lost puppy and admittedly he felt like one more often than not these days, but still, a man had his dignity. He shook off Dane’s hold.

“Come on where?” he asked more forcefully.

“I’m taking you some place where the alcohol’s watered down and the women are easy. You need to get snockered, then laid. Everything will look up in the morning.”

Jack took a step back, not sure what shocked him more, that Dane would suggest such a thing, or that for a half second Jack wished he were someone else. Someone that could have said, “Why the hell not?” But he wasn’t someone else. He was Jack Sinclaire, head of Sinclaire International, host of this party and Claudia Harris’ escort. A sadness washed over him, but he wasn’t sure what exactly he had to be sad about.

“What about the other women, Dane? Do they know?”

“That I’m married?”

A faint blush rose on Dane’s face very unexpectedly and he pressed his mouth to a thin line. Jack figured he wasn’t going to answer, and it wasn’t any of his business, anyway. He’d noticed a change in Dane lately, a sadness that hadn’t been there before, but he wasn’t sure what had prompted him to ask such a personal question.

“Most of the time. But I’ll admit to being dishonest when the lady in question was far too good to pass up.”

“Oh.”

What else was there to say?

“You go on, Dane. I can’t go and you know it.”

Dane took a half step closer, leaning into Jack’s personal space like he had every right to be there.

“Ah, but you were tempted.” Dane’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “If only for a second. Admit it.”

Jack ran a hand over the back of his neck, ashamed to admit it, quite frankly. Finally, he nodded.

Dane lowered his voice even though no one was close enough to hear and poked a finger into Jack’s lapel. “See, old friend. There’s a passionate heart that beats deep inside you. Ignoring it for too long is a recipe for disaster.”

He turned as if to leave, then turned back, his head jerking in the direction of the dance floor. “Marry Claudia or don't, but don't continue to pretend you’re someone you’re not. It’ll ruin you.”

Jack watched him leave the ballroom, riveted by the lightness in him now that had been worlds away only a moment before and the self-confident swagger that drew more than one lady’s head as he went by. Dane was still water and Jack figured he’d never completely understand his friend's motivations. All he knew for sure was that he could never live that way. He looked across the room to find Claudia coming towards him, a pleasant smile spread across her pleasant face and asked himself, How much longer can you continue living like this?

                             ***

Emma laughed. She simply couldn’t resist. Besides, it felt good because she’d had so little to laugh about lately. The little dog, floppy and no bigger than a mop, jumped as high as her waist. Although, since she stood only five-two, she imagined she didn’t provide a very challenging target. Still, the little thing seemed to have springs built into its paws. She crouched down, sticking her fingers in between the chain links and the dog stopped long enough to slobber all over them.

“You’re a sweetheart.”

At the thought of her sister, Emma’s joy dimmed. Her sister never understood why it was so important for Emma to come here week after week. To Shelly, the whole idea seemed depressing. She said the place smelled and the aura of death hung over it like a thick wool blanket, but this was why. This moment of undying love without expectation—well, except maybe that you take them home and away from this horrid place, but seeing as home for her was a motel room rented by the week that she shared with her mother and sister, it really wasn’t possible for her to take one home. But someday.

“Here again, Emma?”

She stood, turning to see the older man moving down the aisle towards her. His large loop of keys jingled loud enough to hear over the constant barking. Dropping her head to one side, she shrugged as she shoved her hands in the pocket of her jeans and replied with a sad little smile. “It’s Tuesday.” As if that explained everything.

Over the loud speaker, cage twenty was announced. Henry shook his keys. “That’s me. Come and say good-bye before you leave. I’ve got fresh coffee and those cream cheese croissants that you like so much.”

“My mouth’s watering.”

He touched her gently on the shoulder as he walked by, making Emma wonder again what it would have been like to have a dad. Would it have made any difference in her life? Or would she still attract every loser west of Santa Fe? Emma pressed her hand against the cage door again, the little dog had gone back to its acrobatics so she gave him a smile, then pushed off the cage and continued down the aisle.

Moving slowly down the row herself, running her hand carelessly along the chain link fronts of each cell, her fingernails clinking against the metal as she passed, she peered into each cage until she found one dog, not barking for attention, but sitting in the back, staring out, seemingly very well aware of his fate. Her heart constricted as she dropped to her knees in front of the kennel.

“Well, hello, sweetheart. Oh, such a pretty baby you are.”

The old black dog looked at her for a while, then slowly and hesitantly made its way towards the front of its prison cell, the big black tongue revealing his ancestry. Though the dog looked quite a bit like a Newfie, somewhere along the way, he’d gotten some chow genes. The dog hedged as she reached her fingers between the openings in the chain links, but soon his need for attention overrode his hesitancy and he leaned into her touch, making her gasp as the unexpected weight of the dog squished her fingers into metal. Recovering quickly, she began to laugh again.

“There’s a good boy.” She looked up at the label on the cage door, eyes skimming the brief information and smiled. “Yeah. Boy.”

She wished she could tell him everything would be all right, that someone would come along any minute and rescue him, but she had learned first-hand over and over that while white knights and rescuers made great fairy tales, most tarnished something fierce in the light of day.

She understood the helplessness these animals felt. She knew what it was to be lost and alone and have all your best choices ripped away. She knew what it felt like to be caged and scared. She empathized greatly and had to wonder if the reason she came to the shelter every week was a reality check of sorts. A reminder that life wasn’t fair, it didn’t like her, and at twenty-six years old she needed to accept her life for what it was. Dogs and picket fences, shining knights and laughing babies, it wasn’t. Nor would it be.

Still technically living at home—be it ever so humble—she had to admit to her terrible track record with the opposite sex. After her last relationship and how he used her and what she’d been forced to give up…

Even now, the pain was so strong her heart seized, her breath locked in her lungs. One thing she’d decided adamantly was that she would never trust another man as long as she lived. Problem was, that in her book, no trust meant no love. No love meant no dreams of happily ever after.

Shaking off the maudlin, she returned focus to the poor creature in front of her.

“I gotta go, sweetheart. Maybe you’ll still be here next week when I come back.”

She gave him another pat. After all, dogs weren’t men, so she could love them all she wanted.

Last aisle .

Most days she skipped this last row. It was the row they kept small dogs and puppies on and it was always crowded and the dogs were always riled up, but today she wasn’t ready to leave.

True to form, all down the aisle, dogs were yapping, jumping and pawing at the cage doors in their bid for attention and hopes for freedom. At least twenty other people milled about the limited space. Spring break allowed for families and college students to gather, whereas normally at this time of the day it was mostly grownups. Today there was an elderly couple checking out a Maltese mix, a young woman with three boys looking at a litter of puppies, each child yelling louder than the last about which dog he wanted, and then there was him.

Emma froze. Moving was beyond her, so when a young girl bumped against her a moment later in her enthusiastic attempt to get near a particular dog, Emma barely noticed. Unresponsive to the mother’s apology a moment later, she just stood there, staring.

The most inane thing happened then. Tears stung the backs of her eyes and all for the stupidest reason—simply because she felt a connectedness with the man at the other end of the aisle. Crazy as it sounded, there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

After the last time, she’d determined never ever to feel again. Never to love, never to hope and the cruelest joke of all was that what she was feeling now, looking at this man, was potent in a way she’d never known. It felt...real. Her heart leapt at the mere sight of him as if they’d been long separated and suddenly reconciled. A part of her was rejoicing at the sight of this man in his expensive, tailored suit, looking completely bewildered and out of place. Another part of her was horrified.

Jack had one arm folded across his chest, the other elbow propped up on it, two fingers resting against his cheek. He knew that by all outward appearances he looked completely at ease with his surroundings. It was all that Sinclaire arrogance; it could easily mask itself as whatever he chose. Right now he needed a nonchalance he didn’t feel. It had absolutely nothing to do with the yapping creatures begging for attention as if their lives depended upon it—and everything to do with the woman at the end of the aisle so blatantly staring at him.

He’d felt her presence the second she rounded the corner as clearly as if she’d touched him. She’d been impossible to ignore. It had gone beyond simple arousal coursing through his veins to a deep-seated primal urge pulsing through his every cell to grab her and mark her as his.

Bloody laughable, considering the vein of his thoughts lately, but also bloody bad timing considering he had his five-year-old nephew with him.

“I like this one, Uncle Jack.”

“What, Alex?”

Jack felt likewise, but doubted he and Alex were speaking of the same thing. He shook his head as Alex’s voice brought him back to reality like a bucket of cold water. Alex was poking his fingers through the bars of a cage, a small white dog seriously trying to lap the skin off them. Jack would have laughed if everything in him hadn’t hurt at that very moment.

“Oh, she’s pretty.”

Hoping he sounded enthused enough for a five-year-old, he glanced out the corner of his eye towards the brunette. She was still watching them.

Get a grip, Jack. Maybe she just has her eye on this particular dog and is guarding her territory .

He ran his hands through his hair, thankful for his appointment that afternoon to have it cut.

Or maybe she wants to rip your clothes off and take you right here against one of these kennels .

He was channeling Dane Andrews, he knew it. Ever since that night at the ball, he hadn’t been able to get Dane’s words out of his head, “Marry Claudia or don't, but don't continue to pretend you’re someone you’re not. It’ll ruin you. Passion, it’s your life’s blood.”

Since that night Jack hadn’t been sleeping, he’d been fretting. It had all led to this moment of complete out-of-character behavior. A psychotic break. Because never in his life had he wanted so badly to posses a woman. There wasn’t a better sentiment for it than that. He suddenly felt unbearably hot and it had nothing to do with the heat wave or the early afternoon sun beating down on them. He loosened the knot in his tie and crouched down beside Alex, sticking his fingers in the cage to be tasted by the cotton puff.

Before he could stop it, the thought occurred. Unimaginable, inexplicable bliss would be him strapped to a bed, silk sheets cooling his fevered skin while the brunette tasted him. Wicked, vivid images filled his mind.

He shook his head, shaking away visual images that had no right being there.

What is the matter with you ?

Jack tried without noticeable success to focus on Alex and his quest for his first dog. It wasn’t easy. Maybe it wasn’t even possible. He began to wonder if some evil spirit had possessed his body the second he walked through the shelter’s gates.

That’s what comes from placing a shelter beside the jail .

He ground his teeth, thinking that stranger things had happened—like the way he was feeling for a woman he did not know. Purposefully, he squelched every erotic image.

“I don’t mean to intrude, but an older dog might be a better choice if this is your first.”

The soft voice wafted to him right along with her arousingly feminine scent that grabbed him and left him on the other side of breathless. He looked up at long, denim-clad legs, then a taut and tanned belly, a sparkling jewel glinting at him from her navel. A pale blue tank covered generously rounded breasts. Jack’s hands fisted in an effort not to touch.

Chestnut hair, shot through with rich whiskey, hung in soft waves to bare, freckled shoulders, framing the face he’d waited his whole life for. Full lips that Jack wanted to taste more than he wanted his next breath. And then the eyes. Deep brown and...wary? Almost fearful.

Realizing he was staring mutely, and had been for some time, he stood.

“Excuse me?”

He watched her swallow and take a deep breath. His hand twitched, a spasm of rebellion against his iron control. It wanted to touch her, to feel every inch of skin, every glorious inch. He wanted to bury his nose in her hair, entwine their legs and bodies until there was no ending and no beginning, they were simply, one.

“I said, ‘a dog’.” She blinked. He jerked his mind back. “An older one. Your son is young...”

Alex giggled, reminding Jack of his presence. He looked down to find the child sitting cross-legged, pressing his cheek against the cage, being licked near to death, completely oblivious to his surroundings.

“Nephew,” he corrected, lifting his eyes back to her.

“Oh. Right.”

She was visibly flustered, but maybe it was simply the heat of the day. Maybe that was his problem as well. It hadn’t been a smart move to wear a Versace suit to the pound, but since he’d never been to the pound before—nor started the day with the faintest notion that he would—the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. He searched her eyes and found that sense of kindredness he’d felt originally and knew the suit and the heat was not his problem.

“Well, a puppy can be a handful for a child...” Closing her eyes, she rubbed a hand over her forehead. “Forget it. It was rude to invade your privacy and act like some kind of authority or something.” She blushed furiously and turned to leave.

Jack knew he couldn’t let her. He reached out and grabbed her arm above her elbow then flinched as pure molten fire arced between them. He released her, staring at his still-tingling hand as if he’d never seen it. Finally he looked up, regaining the infamous Sinclaire composure and catching her shocked expression before she took two steps backward.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice shook.

When her eyes met his, he saw turmoil mirroring every single sensation hunting him at that very moment. Shock. Wonder. Fear. She was leaving him; he could sense it. He needed to decide whether or not to let her, and didn’t have much time to debate it.

In the end, he went with his gut.

“Please.” He said softly. “Please don't go.”