Sloan attempted to hold Jasmine at a decorous distance, her right hand resting lightly at the base of Jasmine's back in the slight hollow just above her very nice little butt. With her other she enfolded Jasmine's hand, which was surprisingly just a bit smaller than her own, and held it lightly against her own chest. The floor was fairly crowded with couples of all gender and combinations, but even so, she didn't think the proximity of the other dancers quite warranted the closeness with which Jasmine moved against her.

"Jasmine," Sloan said softly.

Jasmine tilted her head back and smiled innocently. "Yes?"

"Are you trying to ruin my reputation?" Sloan said, maneuvering them confidently between the other couples nearby. She was an expert dancer, and used to leading. Jasmine, for her part, followed effortlessly, slowly moving her hips against Sloan's pelvis. A little closer than she needed to but just exactly where she wanted to be.

"Whatever do you mean? Ruin your reputation?" she laughed, settling herself more comfortably against the length of Sloan's lean body. She gyrated subtly, but enough to feel Sloan's muscles tighten. Her voice low, she continued, "I don't think you need me to do that."

Sloan was aware of the warmth of Jasmine's body pressed against her chest, her belly, and her thighs. She knew damn well what was underneath that sheer delicate silk of Jasmine dress, and that it wasn't exactly what fulfilled her fantasies, but that contradictory fact didn't quite penetrate through to her autonomic nervous system. The part of her that was physical, and sexual, and totally beyond her rational control, saw and felt a woman in her arms.

There wasn't a single thing about Jasmine that said male. She was soft in all the right places, smooth in just the right places, and curved in precisely the right places. Jasmine fit against Sloan completely naturally, and if that wasn't enough, she knew exactly how to move to inflame every sensitive spot on Sloan's body. Sloan knew damn well her heart was pounding hard enough for Jasmine to feel it, and there was a tremor starting in her legs.

"Damn it, Jasmine," Sloan said through gritted teeth. "This is no place for a display." She glanced over at the table where Michael and Sarah were watching them with faintly amused expressions and felt color rise to her face. She was oddly embarrassed, and hoped Michael didn't know why.

Finally Jasmine took pity on her, and moved away a fraction of an inch. She liked to play with Sloan, and usually Sloan didn't seem to mind, but tonight she sensed not only Sloan's faint desire, but her discomfort. As much as some part of her enjoyed the heady feeling of turning on the handsome and oh so unattainable dark-haired Romeo, she knew enough to stop before things got out of hand – for either of them. Sloan wasn't the only one whose heart was tripping a little faster, or whose belly fluttered with those first whispers of wanting. As much as the sensation was pleasurable, their friendship was more important. One night, one hour even, of mutual exploration, no matter how exciting that might be – and she had no doubt that a roll in the sack with Sloan would be wild beyond her dreams - wouldn't be worth the aftermath. They couldn't have a relationship, let alone a life together, and giving in to their physical attractions would destroy what they did have. Too much to lose, and glancing across the room to where the other women sat watching them, she realized there was another reason now, too. Sarah was smiling at her.

Then Sarah winked, and some long-guarded barrier in Jasmine's soul cracked just a bit. Sarah seemed to understand exactly who she needed to be, and how she needed to feel. No one had ever come close to understanding her before. It was so overwhelming that it frightened her to death. She was afraid that she would get used to how good it made her feel. And then she might begin to dream. Hope and dreams were the narcotics of a lonely heart, lulling one into believing happiness could actually be attained. The despair that followed when the empty promises were revealed was devastating.

As much as she ached to have Sarah know her, she rebelled at the thought of relinquishing her defenses. She had done that once, and her life had been destroyed. If she let another woman close, only to be deserted, her soul would crumble. Anger and fear warred with her desire to believe that Sarah could be different. The old hurts still festered, rejection and humiliation still burned, and she wanted to lash out. Sloan was in the path of her pain, and she said without thinking, "What's the matter, Sloan? Are you afraid that Michael will find out that you have no self-control? I would imagine she already knows that. You must have taken her to bed by now."

Sloan stiffened instantly, her jaw bunching with swift rage. "Michael has absolutely nothing to do with this, Jasmine. This is about you and me, and the fact that you seem to enjoy offering what you won't deliver."

Jasmine stepped completely out of the circle of Sloan's arms, her anger rapidly replaced by hurt. "I've never offered you anything, Sloan. You might find this hard to believe, but one night stands are your specialty, not mine."

Jasmine turned, head held high, and moved sensuously back through the crowd to the table. Sloan stared after her for second, cursing herself under her breath. It hadn't been Jasmine's fault; she knew damn well Jasmine was only playing. It wasn't the first time in their lives that had happened. She had over-reacted badly at the suggestion that she would take Michael to bed like - well, like some of her other dates. Casually, without any real thought to the consequences. It wasn't as if she ever made any promises, or even planned for it to happen. If, in the course of an evening, it seemed like she and whomever she happened to be with chose to continue their conversation in bed, what was the harm? They were adults, and no suggestion of anything long-term was ever implied. Why not share a little mutual pleasure?

Sloan looked at Michael, her face in profile as she leaned close to Sarah to share some thought, her hand resting easily on Sarah's arm. Sloan knew she could never take her to bed for a night. She swallowed and looked away, trying to dispel the lingering image of Michael's aching beauty. One night would never be enough, and that was exactly what the problem was. She hadn't wanted more than a night, or anything beyond that level of commitment, in many years. She certainly didn't want it now.

Damn. She took a deep breath and started toward the table to give Jasmine the apology she deserved. She was almost there when a voice at her elbow stopped her.

"Now I see why you couldn't bring me to this little affair," a tall attractive brunette said loudly enough to catch the attention of everyone at Sloan's table as well as those nearby.

"Hello, Diane," Sloan said calmly, her face revealing nothing. Diane Carson was the woman with whom she had planned to attend the benefit. She had broken the engagement when it became very apparent to her that Diane was beginning to think of them as a couple. They had last had dinner two weeks previously, and Sloan had just barely managed to extract herself from an awkward situation before both of them were embarrassed. Diane had assumed Sloan would be staying the night, an assumption that in retrospect Sloan could hardly blame her for. Diane was a very attractive, intelligent woman, and they got along well. They had also slept together just a week before.

But, at the end of the evening, Sloan realized she didn't want to stay the night, a fact that surprised even her. Diane, however, was under a different impression. As soon as they were inside her apartment, Diane had begun to kiss her passionately, her hands tugging at the belt on Sloan's trousers, her breasts crushed to Sloan's chest. Diane’s nipples were hard points rubbing against her shirt that drew fire to Sloan's skin. It felt good, there was no way Sloan could deny that, but even as her limbs grew heavy with lust, and her hands swept up Diane's sides to cup her breasts, her mind had protested.

"Wait," she had gasped, attempting to step away.

"Why," Diane had murmured, her fingers slipping under Sloan's waistband. Her voice was throaty with desire; her eyes dim with need. "Baby, you are so hot and I am so ready."

Sloan tried to ignore the throbbing just below Diane's fingertips. If she moved an inch, Diane would be stroking her, and no amount of good sense would make her stop then. She had grasped Diane's hand, stilling her explorations.

"I can't do this, I'm sorry."

The look on Diane's face had gone from brief disappointment and hurt to anger. She had stepped back so swiftly that Sloan had nearly stumbled.

"Get out," was all that Diane had managed. Sloan had been happy to oblige, because for an instant, she thought Diane was going to slap her. That was the last time they had spoken until just this moment.

Diane hadn't slapped her then, because she had been stone cold sober. She wasn't at the moment, however. "You bastard," she said quite clearly as her hand whipped across Sloan's cheek.

Sloan absorbed most of the blow with a turn of her head, but still it stung, and she tasted the salty tang of blood on the inside of her lip. She kept both hands firmly at her sides. She motioned 'no' to Sarah when she saw her about to rise out of the corner of her eye.

"Where is your table, Diane?" Sloan asked, aware that Diane was swaying and that her face was slack with too much alcohol.

"I came alone," Diane said sharply. "My date preferred to plow fresher fields for the evening." She looked in Michael's direction as she spoke.

Sloan stepped closer, slipping her hand under her elbow, steadying her. "Why don't you sit down for a minute."

Diane tried to fling off her hold, but only succeeded in nearly losing her balance. She ended up clutching at Sloan's shirtfront instead. Sloan realized that Diane was much more intoxicated than she had first thought, and that there was no way she could send her home alone in a cab.

Sloan guided an unresisting Diane closer to the table, and said quietly to Michael, "I'm sorry, but I need to take Ms. Carson home. Would you mind if Sarah drives you back to your hotel?"

Michael looked into Sloan's cool eyes and could read nothing. They might have been the eyes of a stranger. She answered quietly, "Of course not. Please go ahead."

Sloan nodded goodnight to the others, slipped her arm around Diane Carson's waist and turned to leave. Most of the eyes in the crowd followed their departure as voices speculated on the latest romantic escapades of the somewhat notorious JT Sloan.

Michael Lassiter watched them also. She didn't say a word, but she too wondered just what hold the lovely Ms Carson had on Sloan.

For a moment no one said anything, then Jasmine, in a rare show of restraint, said softly, "Well, Sloan handled that nicely."

Both Sarah and Michael looked at her questioningly.

"Diane Carson was about to fall down drunk and make a spectacle of herself. She would have been humiliated in front of some of the most influential people in the community, and I don't just mean the gay and lesbian community either. There are a lot of political movers and shakers here tonight. Sloan just saved her a lot of embarrassment."

"Who is she?" Michael asked before she could stop herself.

Sarah raised an inquiring eyebrow in Jasmine's direction. She had been wondering the same thing herself. She hadn't seen Sloan with a lover in a lot of years, but there hadn't been anything in Sloan's face that looked like love to her. "An ex?"

Jasmine shrugged delicately. "I suppose you could say that. Diane seems to think she is more of an ex than is probably warranted, but Sloan has that affect on her dates. One night and they want to marry her." She pushed back from the table and stood with a sigh. The festive atmosphere had definitely dissipated. "I think it's time for me to toddle off. I'll send Jason out in a while."

Sarah watched her go, then looked at Michael. "Are you all right?"

"Of course," Michael said a little too quickly. "Just curious."

"Mmm," Sarah agreed. "Sloan does have a tendency to make one wonder." She studied Michael quietly for a moment, then said seriously. "You know, Michael, Sloan is not nearly the lothario people would make her out to be. It's true that I haven't been close to her these last few years, but I knew her very well when she was younger, and people don't change all that much. She may avoid commitments, but she has a good reason for it."

Michael wondered what Sarah was trying to tell her, and why. What JT Sloan did with the women in her life was no concern of hers. Despite the fact that she enjoyed Sloan's company, and thought that the feeling was mutual, she was under no illusions that there was anything else possible between them. She had a company to save, and a marriage to dissolve. The last thing she needed was a sexual identity crisis and an involvement with a woman who obviously didn't care to be involved with anyone.

She sighed and began to gather her things. "I'm sure you're right. I'm going to get a cab. Say goodni—"

Sarah grasped her wrist. "Absolutely not! We'll drive you. I'm sure Jason will be here soon."

"I don't think you need me along on your first date with him, Sarah!" Michael laughed. "I'll be fine."

"Really!" Sarah protested. "It's no trouble. And I have a feeling we'll be calling it an evening, too. Things went pretty well tonight, considering both of them were here. Jason and Jasmine, I mean. But I don't think I'm going to push my luck. Jason's clearly not ready for anything else – and frankly, neither am I."

Michael stopped what she doing, her eyes concerned. "Are you okay?"

Sarah grinned a little shakily. "It's not as simple as I thought it would be. While I was watching Jasmine and Sloan dancing, I pretty much forgot about Jason. Jasmine is so real, you know? I'm not sure how I'd feel alone with her."

"My guess is you won't find that out until you've been with Jason first. That is probably the way he'll feel most comfortable," Michael commented thoughtfully. Watching Sloan and Jasmine together had fascinated her too, but her thoughts had all been of Sloan. How she held Jasmine, so sure, so certain. Their bodies had fit together so well, and for an instant she imagined herself in Sloan's arms. Instead of being strange, that notion seemed somehow completely natural.

She stood abruptly, dispelling the image. "Say good night for me, please. I really need to go."

And then she was gone, leaving Sarah to wonder about the odd expression on Michael's face. She had looked bewildered, and a little sad.

*

"Diane. Hey – Diane," Sloan called softly, shaking the sleeping woman's shoulder lightly. "Time to wake up."

Diane Carson muttered, snuggled a little deeper into the warm leather seat, and tried to curl up on her side.

Sloan got out, walked around the front of the car and opened the passenger side door. She leaned down and slipped an arm behind Diane's back. The other she slid under the smaller woman's knees and swiveled her feet out onto the sidewalk. "Okay, here we go," Sloan said, pulling Diane upright into her arms. "A few steps, a few stairs, and then an elevator – thank god. Piece of cake."

Diane managed to follow Sloan's lead, becoming more alert as she moved. "Where are we?" she asked groggily.

"Your place," Sloan informed her as she pushed the Up button on the elevator. She guided Diane into the elevator and removed her arm from around Diane's waist. When Diane promptly tilted left and looked about to fall, Sloan grabbed her and held on. She didn't try releasing her again until they were inside Diane's bedroom, where Sloan eased her down onto the side of the bed.

"You okay?" Sloan asked, stepping back a foot.

Diane pushed both hands through her hair, blinked up at Sloan and grimaced. "More or less. I really conked out in the car and I'm still fuzzy. What time is it?"

Sloan glanced at the bedside clock. "Just after midnight."

"Thanks for bringing me home," Diane said tiredly. She tried standing and wavered with a sudden surge of dizziness. "Shit."

Sloan reached for her automatically, and the next instant Diane was firmly in her arms, her hands on the back of Sloan's neck, and her lips searching for Sloan's. The kiss caught Sloan by surprise and by the time it registered, Diane's hand had dropped to her thigh and was moving dangerously close to her crotch.

"Mmph," Sloan muttered, pulling her head back and grabbing for Diane's wrist at the same time. "Cut it out."

Diane bit the side of Sloan's neck, harder than she might have if she had been totally aware of what she was doing. "You know damn well it feels good," she breathed against Sloan's neck, pushing her hand a little higher.

It did feel good, but that was hardly the point. She wasn't in the habit of having sex with intoxicated women even when she did want to sleep with them. And despite the fact that the insistently stroking fingers between her legs were doing an excellent job of making her throb, she did not want to sleep with Diane Carson.

"Okay. You're obviously capable of getting yourself to bed," Sloan gasped, pushing Diane gently but firmly back down on the bed. "I'm out of here." She turned on somewhat shaky legs and started for the bedroom door. Her body was in a state of rebellion that she valiantly ignored.

"You don't actually think that that blonde is going to give you what you need, do you?" Diane called angrily.

Sloan didn't reply. They both knew the answer to that question. She let herself quietly out of the apartment, rode the elevator down, and walked slowly across the street to her car. She slid behind the wheel, leaned back, and shut her eyes. When her head stopped pounding and the ache in her belly began to subside, she reached for her cellular phone.

*

Michael tied the pale gray robe around her waist as she hurried toward the door. She peered through the peephole, stared for a second, then pulled the door wide, a question in her eyes.

"I'm sorry it's so late," Sloan began, shrugging slightly as if she weren't certain herself why she was there. She wasn't, exactly. All she knew was that she couldn't go home without seeing her. "I called Sarah, and she said you hadn't left with them –"

"I took a cab," Michael interrupted.

Sloan sighed. "I'm sorry-"

"You said that," Michael said, a soft smile on her face. She reached out and tugged on Sloan's sleeve. "Come in out of the hall."

Sloan followed, then stood in the elegant, impersonal hotel suite, looking around like she had no idea where she was. She pushed a hand through her hair, leaving the dark waves tousled. "Hell, I don't even know why I came." She looked at Michael, who was watching her with quiet patience. "Are you angry?"

Michael was surprised by the question. Should she be? Did she even have any right to be? She turned and walked toward the sofa, one of two that faced a large glass coffee table centered on a plush oriental rug, while she considered the question. She sat at one end, drawing her legs up under her, pulling the hem of the robe down to mid-calf, and motioned for Sloan to join her.

Sloan slumped into the deep cushions, leaned her head against the back, and turned to face Michael. She hadn't known she was going to ask that, but now the answer seemed to matter a great deal.

"No," Michael replied at length, choosing her words carefully as she sorted through the odd assortment of emotions the night had inspired. "I was disappointed at first. I was enjoying the evening so much, and I missed you when you left."

As she spoke the words, she realized how true they were. When Sloan had walked away, the enchanted became ordinary again. The sparkling lights lost their shimmer and the hint of magic in the air grew faint. She laughed shakily at her foolishness. "That wasn't your fault."

Sloan disagreed. "It was my fault, but I needed to take her home. She was a little too impaired to maneuver safely."

"Really?" Michael said dryly, arching a brow. "She couldn't have been too impaired. She managed to bite your neck."

Sloan sat bolt upright, a hand to her neck where she felt a slight sting. "Christ." She looked at Michael, whose face was absolutely expressionless. "Would you believe there is a totally innocent explanation?"

"No explanation is required," Michael said, standing and smoothing the robe about her hips. She fidgeted with the sash for a moment, then looked into Sloan's eyes, who had also stood. Michael thought she looked impossibly attractive standing there, waiting for Michael to damn her, or absolve her. Michael shook her head in frustration. "And no apology is necessary either. I got home fine. I wasn't your date, or your responsibility. Please don't worry about it."

It was suddenly very important to Sloan that Michael understand nothing had happened between her and Diane. She took a step nearer, her voice dark and intense. "I know I don't have to explain. I want to." She rested her hands on Michael's arms, bending just a bit to catch her glance, very aware of the slight tremor in Michael's body. Michael's blue eyes answered hers with a faint expression of uncertainty, and something that might have been desire.

"Oh, hell," Sloan muttered, leaning closer still, her vision tunneling down to pale skin and full moist lips. Those lips parted in surprise, or was it welcome, and then Sloan was kissing her. It was amazing how something so familiar could be so new. Michael's lips were without a doubt the softest she had ever touched, and the warmest, and the sweetest, and – Ohjesusgod

Sloan was lost, senses on overload. She could smell her, fresh from a shower and misted with spring promises. Michael's body, covered only by the technicality of the supple thin silk, was molten under Sloan's hands, flowing hot to her touch. Somebody groaned. Sloan thought dimly it might have been herself. There were fingers in her hair, pulling lightly, sending showers of current directly between her legs. She wavered a bit on her feet, and edged Michael back toward the sofa.

And then what? an irritated voice said from somewhere deep, deep in her unconsciousness. You gonna lay her down on the couch in some hotel room and lift her skirt? Nice, Sloan. Very nice.

Sloan raised her lips from Michael's, a task so difficult it left her weak. Michael's eyes were nearly closed, her mouth swollen with kisses, her breasts rising and falling rapidly against Sloan's chest. Their legs were entwined, and Sloan felt the heat against her thigh. She felt the material of her trousers chaffing against her own damp crotch. Her palms smoothed rhythmically over the round fullness of Michael's buttocks, aching to pull her hard against her leg. She was fully aroused and pulsating painfully and ready to burst and she – could – not - do – this.

"Michael," Sloan gasped, willing her fingers not to stray inside the partially opened robe. The crescent of exposed breast nearly shredded the last remnants of her control.

"Shhh," Michael crooned, leaning into Sloan until there was nothing between them but old fears and secret desires. She wanted Sloan to kiss her again. What a remarkable, glorious kiss that had been. It was the only time in her life when she had been totally without thought. She had known absolutely nothing but the incredible freedom and utter certainty of being in Sloan's embrace. It was a place she never wanted to leave. "Just do that again," she whispered.

Sloan continued to hold her, but she did not lower her head for the kiss. She looked at Michael, saw her undisguised hunger, and understood in that instant how completely without pretense or guile Michael was. If innocence existed anywhere, it was in Michael's simple request. She didn't deserve that trust, didn't even want it.

"We'll both regret this in the morning," Sloan said as lightly as she could manage through a throat tight with need. She sensed Michael stiffen in her arms.

"Do you think so?" Michael asked softly, a cold ache beginning in her chest. "Would you?"

Sloan took a step back, released her hold on the other woman. Steeled herself. "Yes, and so would you when you had a chance to think about it. I apologize for putting you in an awkward position. I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking."

Michael laughed thinly. "Well, I know I certainly wasn't. I should thank you for maintaining some sense." She pulled her robe tightly around herself, shivering suddenly. "Will you excuse me? It's late and I'm more than a little embarrassed."

Sloan wanted to comfort her so badly. She had hurt her, but it was a small hurt compared to the disaster it might have been. She forced her hands into her pockets, afraid she would touch her again otherwise. "I'll let myself out. I'm sorry, Michael."

Michael watched her cross the room, watched the door close soundlessly behind her. She listened for her footsteps in the hall, but heard only silence. The room was very still as she moved about turning off the lights. In the darkness she made her way to the bedroom, where once under the covers, alone, she allowed herself to cry.

The phone rang in Michael's office at 6:45 Monday morning. She glanced at it distractedly, a prospectus in one hand, barely taking her eyes off the columns of figures. Ordinarily, she wouldn't have answered her own phone, but it was too early for Angela to be in.

"Lassiter," she said abruptly.

"Michael, it's Sloan," the now familiar smoky voice announced.

Michael drew a sharp breath, laid down the folder, and stared across the room at her office door as if expecting it to open and Sloan to step through. Her heart quickened with anticipation even as she chided herself for the reaction. It had been nearly thirty-six hours since Sloan had walked out of her hotel room, and Michael had spent most of that time trying to avoid thinking about what had happened between them. Usually, her work was something that could distract her from everything else in her life. She had only to pick up a sketchpad, or doodle on the corner of an envelope, or lean back with her eyes closed and she would be instantly absorbed in constructing something or other out of her imagination. That was the beauty of design -- it could result in a tangible product or merely a concept that someone else brought to fruition. Michael's mind was fluid, yet enormously disciplined. She lived by her thoughts, and they had always been her greatest panacea for worry, uncertainty, and fear.

It hadn't worked the past weekend. Her thoughts were elusive, streaking through her mind like fast-forward images on an old time movie reel. She wasn't able to concentrate, and she wasn't able to stop thinking about the way Sloan's lips had felt against hers. It was true that she had very little experience with anyone other than Jeremy, but she certainly had not been isolated from the realities of physical relationships. What she had experienced with Sloan went far beyond anything she had previously known or even imagined. That such a simple kiss could set every cell in her body tingling defied her understanding. She had no frame of reference for the way she felt in Sloan's embrace, recalling that slight inner trembling that seemed to magnify as it approached the surface of her skin until she feared she might literally shake apart with the excitement of it. Being in Sloan's arms was like watching the sun break through the clouds after a week of gray skies and cold rain. With that first brief flash of golden heat you knew suddenly what it was to be alive, and knew too that until that moment, you had merely existed. She thought she understood the difference now, and dared not contemplate if that sensation was only borne on this woman's kiss.

"Michael?" Sloan said into the silence.

"Yes," Michaels said more sharply than she intended. "I'm sorry, I was working."

"Then I'm sorry to disturb you," Sloan said somewhat stiffly. "I actually intended just to leave a message. I didn't expect you to be there." She hadn't wanted to speak with her, let alone see her, which was why she had taken the rather cowardly route of leaving a message. She didn't trust herself not to betray how affected she had been by her slip the other night. She hadn't lost control of herself like that in years, and it shook her. She cleared her throat which had suddenly grown tight, and continued, "I wanted to let you know that I've decided to drive up to the New York City office to look over things up there. I think we've got the network in fair shape here and you should be secure within reason. I can't do much more to tighten things up until I check out the other facilities. Then I should be able to make the changeovers fairly quickly if I don't run into any surprises."

Michael was silent. She hadn't really listened after Sloan announced that she was leaving for New York. There was nothing she could say, short of asking Sloan if she were going because of what had happened between them. That certainly didn't seem like a very appropriate question. Sloan had made it quite clear that their very brief interlude had been a mistake, and that she had no desire for it to happen again. If Sloan wanted distance between them, it was certainly understandable. Michael saw no point in further embarrassing herself or pursuing what could only make them both more uncomfortable.

"That sounds very reasonable. I'll call up there around nine and let them know you're coming. Shall I have Angela make hotel reservations for you somewhere nearby?"

"No, thanks," Sloan added. "Jason will take care of that for me. An introduction to your administrative manager will be helpful, just don't tell them too much about what I'll be doing. I would rather inform people on a need to know basis, especially given the possibility that some of them may end up being loyal to Jeremy if a split should come about."

"You're right, of course," Michaels said, ignoring the slight twist of anxiety that the mention of Jeremy's name caused. "I'm not actually personally familiar with many of the people there, other than in the design arm. They were pretty much hand picked by me. Nevertheless, it's probably prudent to keep a low profile. Will you call me to keep me informed?"

"Absolutely. In the meantime, if you have any problems or need anything, just call Jason."

There was silence on the line as both of them listened for the other's breathing, as if loath to break the connection and not knowing what else to say. Eventually they murmured light meaningless goodbyes and hung up. Michael went back to work, desperately hoping to occupy her wandering mind, silently hoping that Sloan’s image would not continue to intrude on her thoughts.

Across town Sloan set about packing the single suitcase for her trip. She looked around the loft, finding the solitude that usually gave her such comfort, now merely lonely. The sound of Michael’s voice had stirred her anew, and her body sang with desire. The kiss they had shared was a tangible memory on her lips, and her palms ached with the imprint of Michael’s body pressed to their surface. She was hungry for more of her, and she feared it was for much more than her body. If it had been only that, she might not have hesitated. Michael was an adult, after all, and more than capable of making a decision about whom she might sleep with. It was not her unrelenting desire for Michael that troubled Sloan so much, it was her deep longing to lie down beside her and simply rest. She was weary, and the promise of succor was far too dangerous.

She finished packing a light bag, locked the heavy metal clasp on the sliding double doors to the loft, and prayed for a clear highway all the way to New York. Maybe a fast drive would erase the images of Michael’s softly welcoming smile from her mind. She would just have to live with the constant pulse of need in her belly. That was uncomfortable, but not nearly as frightening.

*

Eventually Michael was able to work, and forgot about Sloan's voice, and the electricity of her touch, and her hauntingly attractive profile. She was startled as the intercom on her desk crackled once, and a voice filled the room.

"Michael, I'm sorry---"

The sentence was lost in a commotion as the office door banged open and Jeremy strode in with Angela close behind him. Michael swiveled on her high drafting stool and stared, a pencil still held in her left hand.

"I'm sorry, he didn't give me a chance to call you," Angela stated, clearly distraught.

"That's all right, Angela," Michael said calmly. "Just close the door and hold my calls."

Angela looked uneasily from Jeremy's stony countenance to Michael's perfectly smooth, expressionless face, and slowly backed out the door. She didn't like it, but she had no choice. She briefly wondered if she should call security. There had been something about the look in Jeremy Lassiter's eyes that frightened her. Were it not for the possibility of embarrassing Michael, she would have.

Michael remained seated, silent. Jeremy strode forward another few steps, his hands clenched at his side. A muscle bunched along the edge of his jaw. When he spoke his voice was tight with the effort to control his anger.

"I met with my attorneys this morning, and reviewed your 'offer'," he said harshly. The way he said 'offer' suggested that she had highly insulted him. "I assume that was some kind of joke."

Michael stepped down from the stool and stood by the side of her drafting table, one hand resting along the edge of the slanted drawing surface. Her face remained still, although there was a very fine tremor in her hand. "Actually, Jeremy, I spent a great deal of time reviewing the situation with my attorneys and several business consultants. The package we offered you contained a generous buy out as well as stock options. It will provide you ongoing security as long as the company continues to thrive, in addition to the moneys up front."

Her attorneys had assured her that the stock options were a reasonable method for providing long-term recompense for Jeremy's loss of potential income from the company. They had actually argued that the cash package was too generous, but she had insisted, hoping to present him with something that he would accept. Nevertheless, she certainly wasn't surprised he didn't. It wasn't like Jeremy to agree to something that he had not orchestrated himself. Her attorneys had warned her that he was likely to reject her initial overtures, and that negotiations could drag on a while. Nevertheless, she had no intention of engaging him in a personal dialogue over the details. That was why she had legal counsel.

He grimaced, moving closer still. "On the surface, your proposal may appear generous to others, but I know damn well that the potential of this company resides in future design plans and those will be your exclusive property under the current stipulations of your plan."

She shrugged slightly, and said quietly, "The design plans have always been mine, Jeremy. You know that."

"Yes, but I have been the one to promote them."

She nodded again, wondering at his point. "Of course I know that, and my attorneys have taken that into account."

"I'm not going to let you do this," he said, his voice low and hard. He stretched an arm out on either side of her, gripping the metal lip that rimmed the desktop, trapping her. The front of his body pressed close, almost touching her. His physical size alone was intimidating enough, but it was more the barely contained rage in his face that made her flinch. He threw each word at her like a weapon. "Without me, you never would have been able to accomplish what you have. You were a naive, unsophisticated emotional misfit when we met. You had no idea how to get along in the world, let alone make a success of business. If I hadn't pampered your sensitivities and supported your fragile ego, none of this would have been possible."

She was shocked at the depth of his rancor, and stunned at his clear and open disdain of her. She was momentarily speechless. He continued as if he expected her to accept his criticism without response.

"I can accept that you want to divorce me, and believe me it will not present any hardship to me. Our marriage was convenient from a professional point of view, but it certainly wasn't anything exceptional in the physical department. I'm well aware that you were simply going through the motions in bed, and if you had been the slightest bit physically challenging or even interesting, I might not have looked elsewhere for my needs."

She was numb, his verbal assault merely reinforcing what she had gradually come to realize over the past weeks. She did not know this man, although she had lived with him for over a decade. If she did not know him, she did not know herself, and that was much more frightening than anything that he could say to her now. Her nerves were exposed - raw, and yet the pain was familiar. She had been living with it for weeks.

"I regret this is happening this way," she said softly, "because I know I had a part in getting us here. I'm sorry for the things that were lacking between us --"

He made an impatient gesture, as if that were of little consequence to him. "I'm warning you, Michael, I expect to maintain a significant voting interest in the company. And there are plenty of people who would support me in replacing you as CEO. I'm not leaving, and if you think I am, I will lobby the board for a vote of no confidence and it will be you who will be looking for a new position. Remember, your position is only as sound as your ability to deliver a product, and the bottom line is what determines success or failure."

He walked toward the door, and as he reached for the handle, he turned and looked at her with dark fury in his eyes. "You may have the vision, Michael, but you don't have the skill to do anything with it. You never have. You're one-dimensional and about as human as a computer. If you were more of a woman, none of this would have happened."

He had regained enough control of himself that when he left he was able to close the door without slamming it. Nevertheless, Michael was aware of his anger still swirling around her with almost malevolent force. She took his threats seriously, because she knew that Jeremy never said anything he didn't intend to do. She wasn't sure exactly how he meant to attack her, but she knew with certainty that an attack was coming. She was vulnerable now, she knew that, because if he forced the Board of Directors to chose between them, it was very possible that she would lose. It was true that the company was founded on her ingenuity and intellect, not to mention her funds, but that was something that might be seen as replaceable. If anything occurred to even suggest that she could not carry the company forward, she would surely lose her bargaining power.

She moved carefully across the room, trying to ignore the quivering in her stomach and the shaking in her limbs. She settled behind her desk and rested her face in her hands. She tried desperately to think of what her next move might be, and wished that there were someone in whom she could confide. Immediately she thought of Sloan. How strange, to find herself at this point in her life with no one that she trusted more than a woman she had met only a few short weeks before. Somehow, that connection, however brief in time, had touched her more deeply than anything in her years with Jeremy. She tried to convince herself that it was only Sloan's reassurance she wanted, and not her touch, as she stared at the telephone.

Michael listened to the phone ring, still silently debating the wisdom of her actions.

"Sloan."

"It's Michael Lassiter," she said quietly.

Sloan sat up straight on the side of hotel room bed where she had been lying, trying rather unsuccessfully to read. She glanced at the digital bedside clock. 7:40 PM. "Michael! Is something wrong?"

"I'm sorry to bother you, but it seemed important," Michael said with uncharacteristic hesitancy. She had debated for hours with her anxiety rising before finally relenting and calling. Part of her reluctance was that she simply wanted to hear Sloan's voice. Even accepting that her concerns about Jeremy were reasonable, she warred with herself over contacting Sloan when she felt so emotionally unsteady. Her encounter with Jeremy had been frightening on several levels. His threats to sabotage her standing within the company were serious, and she knew that he was determined enough and ruthless enough to do that. Even more than that however had been his personal assault on her, and the life they had shared. She willingly admitted that she had not been emotionally cognizant of her own part in the decline of their relationship, and was only now realizing how isolated she had been within the sphere of her own life. But what hurt the most was the ease with which Jeremy had discounted everything about their life together. It had left her shaken and unsure of herself.

Nevertheless, she had waited to reach out to Sloan, first drafting several new proposals to present to the board if Jeremy forced a showdown before she could complete her current projects. She wanted to be certain that she demonstrated her ability to head the company on all fronts. She did not want to turn to Sloan simply as a remedy for her own fears and pain. When she felt she was more in control, she had called.

Michael took a deep breath, determined to steer their conversation onto a purely professional level. "I'm sorry to disturb you," she began again, "but I thought you should know of some developments here."

Sloan was very aware of the prolonged silence and could almost feel Michael's struggle. Her initial surprise at Michael's call, especially after what had happened between them, was quickly replaced by concern. Something was clearly very wrong. Immediately she thought of Jeremy, and her constant fear that he would do something rash tore at her. She forced herself to be calm. "Michael," she said gently, "I'm glad that you called. It's good to hear your voice. Just tell me what's happened. It's all right."

Michael relaxed, instantly reassured by the acceptance and comfort in Sloan's voice. "Jeremy was here late this afternoon. He apparently did not find my attorneys’ proposal to his liking. He made it clear that he would resort to almost any means, including undermining my position in the company and my credibility with the board, to preserve his position. I don't know precisely what he intends, but things seem to be escalating in that regard fairly quickly. I wasn’t certain if it would make any difference with what you need to do up there, but it seemed like I should let you know."

Michael's heart was pounding. The phone call seemed foolish to her now, when she had so little concrete to tell Sloan, but she remembered the cold fury in Jeremy's eyes and shivered. Her hand on the receiver was clenched so tightly her fingers were white.

Sloan listened mostly to the tenor and tone of Michael's words, recognized the fear, and knew that there was more than Michael was letting on. There was a faint tremor in Michael's voice, and her speech was stilted in the way of someone trying hard not to become too emotional.

As quietly as she could, although her pulse was racing, Sloan asked, "Are you all right?" All she really cared about was Michael's safety. The business aspects could wait.

"Yes, it was nasty but it was only words," Michael said swiftly. "Please, you needn't worry. I'm fine."

A hundred miles away, Sloan nodded, wishing desperately that she was there and could see Michael's face. She wanted to assess for herself just how "all right" Michael really was. Instead, she squeezed the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, trying to focus on the issues at hand. And trying even harder to quell the rising surge of anxiety in her chest. She hated even thinking about Michael being frightened and upset, and when she considered what the scene with her husband must have been like, she nearly choked on her anger. It was her turn to take a deep breath and rein in her emotions. Finally, she said, "I've spent the afternoon with the computer people here, and we actually made a fair amount of progress. I don't think there any major problems at this end, and I expect to be finishing up within the next few days. There are always things that are going to need to be tweaked and modified, but I can do most of that by phone. I'll need to sit down with you to go over exactly how I want you to use the new encryption programs, but that can wait till the beginning of the week."

Michael sighed, feeling better already. "Thanks, Sloan. I probably didn't need to call and bother you, but I have two major deadlines coming up, and I need to make final proposals and presentations Monday and Tuesday. These will actually be the first main projects that I've handled with almost no input from Jeremy. He was traveling so much with other ventures that we simply worked around him. It's important that I finish this up without any difficulties. It will solidify my position not only as a theorist but as someone who can actually bring in the final product."

"I understand," Sloan said. "If there's anything I can do, even if it's just to talk, please call me. I'll probably be here through tomorrow afternoon, but Jason can always find me."

Michael laughed, relieved, and she had to admit, simply happy to have talked with Sloan. "I expect to be spending most of this weekend right here in the office, and I doubt that I'll need to bother you again. It was good to hear your voice, though," she added. She hesitated, as if wanting to say more. Then, more softly, she said, "Goodnight, Sloan."

The words seemed too final, but Sloan cherished the warmth in her tone. "Goodnight, Michael," she whispered.

*

When the phone rang again, she was asleep. Sloan croaked hello and glanced once more at the clock. Just after midnight. She sat up, immediately alert, because a phone call at this hour could only be trouble.

"Sloan? It's Jason."

"What's going on Jason? What's the matter?" she said, trying hard to contain her anxiety. Something wasn't right, and she had a feeling it was Michael. Her heart was pounding faster just at the thought.

"Michael just called, and all hell is breaking loose in her office."

By now, Sloan was standing, flipping on lights and tossing her suitcase with one hand onto the bottom of her hotel bed. As she spoke, she pulled open drawers and dumped her clothing into the open bag. "Is she all right?"

For a moment, Jason didn't understand. Hadn't he just told her that there was a major problem? Then he realized she meant was Michael physically all right, and he hurried to answer, "She's fine. I mean, she's not fine, she's practically going out of her mind, but she's not hurt or anything."

"Jason, just tell me what the fuck is wrong, and stop beating around the bush," Sloan swore, tugging off the sweats she had been sleeping in and reaching for the jeans she had tossed over a chair earlier that evening. She cradled the phone between her shoulder and chin as she pulled up the jeans, forsaking underwear, and donned a clean white T-shirt. She slid sockless into her loafers and looked around the room for her leather jacket.

"Michael was apparently working late on some high-profile project of hers and suddenly everything started crashing. She was losing data, couldn't open programs, and finally her hard drive crashed totally."

Sloan stood still for a second, an uneasy feeling starting in her chest. "Did you try to talk her through it over the phone and get her back online?"

"It was just by luck that I happened to get her message," he said, clearly frustrated. "Since you were out of town, I had office calls forwarded to my home number and I checked my answering machine when I got back from a -- date. I called her right away but I can't seem to get things up and running again. I have a bad feeling about it."

Sloan slammed shut the suitcase, tucked her wallet into her right rear pocket and grabbed the plastic hotel room door key off the desk. She scanned quickly around the room for anything she might have left behind. "I've got the same bad feeling you do. I don't believe in coincidences. I'll need you there as soon as I get in. And Jason, pack a bag. I have a feeling it's going to be a very long weekend."

"Hi."

"Hi. I'm so sorry to have to drag you back like this," Michael began. She stood holding the door open, watching the other woman walk in. It was three o'clock in the morning, and she should have looked like hell, but JT Sloan was the best thing Michael had laid eyes on in days. Mixed with her intense relief was a pulse of something visceral that she couldn't quite describe. And it wasn't something she wanted to examine too closely at the moment.

"Forget it," Sloan said, shaking her head, a faint smile lifting her mouth at one corner. She dropped her briefcase on the leather sofa in Michael's office, and shrugged out of her leather jacket. She wasn't aware of Michael's appraising glance gliding over the tight T-shirt and then moving slowly down her jean-clad thighs. She looked automatically toward the computer workstation. "You're not troubling me. This is my job, and what you've been paying me to do. Obviously, I missed something and it's my responsibility to straighten things out." She glanced at her watch, and saw that it was 3:20 AM. "Where is Jason?"

Michael walked to the coffee machine and poured them each some. "He's down the hall in Mayfield's office checking something on the main system. He got here about an hour ago. The last time I saw him, he was mumbling colorfully under his breath."

Sloan appreciated Michael's attempt at levity. It was clear how stressed she was. The fine lines around her eyes seemed deeper, and there was a gaunt pallor to her face that signaled her fatigue. Michael had shed her suit jacket and was wearing only a light silk blouse tucked into her casual slacks. Despite her air of weariness, Sloan thought she was beautiful.

Michael turned with the coffee in her hands to find Sloan staring at her. For a second, she forgot about the disaster threatening her and saw only the appreciative glow in Sloan's violet eyes. She colored slightly, but smiled back. "I think you had better let him know you're here, because he looked about as frazzled as I feel."

Sloan took several steps forward to take the coffee mug from her, nodding. "I'll do that. Then I'm going to come back here and take a look at your machines. Until I see what is down, there's no way to analyze what's going on. Can you tell me exactly what happened?"

With a sigh, Michael sat on one of the sofas and propped her stockinged feet up on the edge of the glass coffee table. She ran a hand through her hair, smoothing the golden strands back from her cheeks. Her voice was flat, nearly defeated, as she began to speak. "I was working with one of the graphics programs, finalizing some details for Tuesday's meeting. I had checked email from several of my techs earlier, too. I think that was still open. First the screen display changed, like pixels were dropping out, and the color faded. It corrected after I rebooted, but then the graphics program froze up -- that's not common, but it happens." She laughed humorlessly. "Usually when I'm in the middle of something crucial. I tried the usual things, but I couldn't get it up again. Then other files simply disappeared, and finally the hard drive crashed. When I had exhausted the few tricks I knew, and it became obvious something major had happened, I called your office and left a message."

"Why didn't you call me in New York?" Sloan asked gently.

Michael looked away. "Because you were in New York." She didn't add that she had already turned to Sloan once that day when she needed help, and she was afraid of what that meant. Because she knew, even if she didn't want to admit it to herself, that she thought of Sloan nearly all the time. Sometimes it was because she wanted to hear Sloan's voice, and sometimes it was because she needed advice, and sometimes it was simply because she couldn't forget the feel of Sloan's hands on her. She bit her lip and remained silent.

Sloan let it go. She could see how upset Michael was, and it was no time for interrogations. "Has anything seemed strange the last few weeks with your system?"

Michael gave it some thought and recounted a few things that in retrospect seemed odd. While she talked, Sloan took a seat on the couch adjoining Michael's and crossed one booted ankle over the opposite knee. She leaned forward intently as Michael spoke, quickly assessing, considering, and discarding possibilities Eventually, Michael halted, shrugging helplessly.

"I just don't know enough to tell the difference between the normal glitches and something really wrong!" She was exhausted, and worried, and emotionally stretched to breaking. She struggled to hold back tears.

"I'm not going to tell you not to worry," Sloan said quietly. "You're much too intelligent to believe that. I'm worried too, but these things are not unheard of and sometimes the solution can be relatively simple. The problem is going to be narrowing down exactly where the system has failed. Once we've identified the cause, hopefully we'll be able to resurrect and reconstruct your hard drive and your critical files. With any luck the encryption program we installed for your personal design portfolio will have protected the information. It may be there, and only temporarily inaccessible."

Michael didn't pretend to understand all of the details, but she took hope from the confidence and certainty in Sloan's voice. "I don't want to put any more pressure on you than there already is, but I have critical deadlines Monday and Tuesday. I might be able to postpone them for a short time, 12 to 24 hours maybe, but after that people are going to know there's a problem. If I miss these deadlines, I'm afraid Jeremy will attempt a major takeover, and I will very likely lose."

Sloan nodded grimly, her intense dislike of Jeremy escalating. The timing was too suspicious to think he didn't have something to do with what was happening. He couldn't have done more damage to Michael unless he had physically assaulted her. Unfortunately, proving computer sabotage was difficult, and at the moment she had little recourse but to attempt to identify and undo the damage.

"Michael, my business is deadlines. Jason and I are here until the problem is solved. I can't give you a time estimate, but if I need to, I'll call in some favors and bring in some techs to help us if we have to do major data retrieval or reprogram the BIOS chip. It will get done, I promise."

Michael leaned over and took Sloan's right hand with her left. She squeezed lightly, and when Sloan slipped her fingers between Michael's, it felt as right as anything she had ever experienced. She looked into Sloan's eyes and found the welcoming warmth she was coming to count on, and for the first time in days, she felt safe.

"I trust you, Sloan," Michael said quietly, and she knew there was more than just her career in Sloan's hands. She was slowly losing her heart to the dark-haired, violet-eyed woman with the tender touch.

*

Sloan found Jason in the network administrator's office, sitting in a swivel chair staring at a monitor, a legal pad next to his right hand covered in shorthand notes to himself.

"Do you think it's a virus?" she asked as soon as she walked in.

He looked up at her over his shoulder, his blue eyes dark with worry. "Don't you?"

Despite the fact that he had not even gotten the few hours sleep that she had managed before driving back from New York, he looked fresh and immaculately groomed as always. He wore casual pants and a polo shirt. The dark blue shirt was tight enough to show off his nicely muscled arms and shoulders. Sloan noted almost unconsciously how attractive he was before her mind returned once again to their problem.

She edged a hip up onto the corner of the long counter and nodded grimly. "That's what I'm afraid of. If it is, I'm willing to bet it's a polymorphic virus that's been hanging around for a while, slowly infiltrating everything on the network. What I'm really afraid of though is that it's some kind of stealth virus or Trojan that was dropped sometime earlier and remotely triggered recently. With the network running all the time and god knows how many people using it, it could be anywhere by now. We're going to have to look at all the backup copies, clean the system thoroughly, and hope there's no permanent damage to critical files."

He had already turned back to what he was doing, but his face was stony with anger. "I can tell you right now it's probably armored, because the TSR you loaded should have picked up most known and in-the-wild species. This has the feel of a malicious infection to me. If some bastard did this intentionally, I'm going to find out how."

Sloan got up, and moved close enough to rest a hand lightly on his shoulder. "First things first, Jason. We need to get Michael back to work. She's got deadlines she needs to meet. Once we can do that safely, we can start backtracking and hopefully find out how this started."

"You got it," he said.

"And Jason," she added, "I appreciate your quick response time."

He turned again to stare at her, surprised. "This is war, Sloan. Someone has taken a shot at our client right in our faces. Besides, I really like Michael. She doesn't deserve this."

Sloan smiled just at the mention of Michael's name, but there was a dark fire simmering in her eyes. "No, she doesn't. Sorry about ruining your weekend, though."

Jason flushed, and looked at a point over her left shoulder. "Not as sorry as you're going to be when I have to break my date with Sarah," he said.

"Oh no," Sloan chided good-naturedly. "Don't get me in the middle of that one. Sarah likes nothing better than an excuse to beat up on me."

He grinned, but he looked uneasy. Finally he said quietly, "You've known her a long time, haven't you?"

Sloan was taken aback by his remark. Despite their long association, Jason almost never talked to her about personal matters other than to reprimand her for what he considered her loose lifestyle. If he was initiating a serious conversation, it must be very important to him. She glanced at her watch, aware of how much they had to do, but she could spare him a few minutes. She sat back down. "Yes, I've known her a very long time. I think she's the only person in my life, other than you, who I trust completely."

He looked at her quickly and this time he was the one who was surprised. Sloan had never said anything that revealing to him before. In fact, she never said much of anything to him. He had learned to trust her because she had always treated him with respect and honesty. With Sloan, her actions were sometimes more revealing than her words. "I've never met anyone like her," he said softly. "She doesn't seem the least bit put off by the fact that I'm a -- transvestite."

Sloan raised an eyebrow. "You know, Jason, I've never thought of you that way. I guess you are, technically, but Jasmine is more than just an invention of clothing and make-up. She's another dimension of you, and sometimes I even forget that she is you or you are her -- or something," she finished with a laugh. It was damn difficult to describe exactly how she perceived the two of them, but she was clear that there were two of them. It wasn't a case of multiple personality, because Jason was well aware of Jasmine, but Jasmine did certainly have an essence all her own.

He lifted a shoulder, grinning himself. "Don't you think I've tried to explain it to myself? The only time I've ever tried to explain it to anyone else, it was a disaster. But you know that," he added bitterly. "But with Sarah, I don't really need to explain it. She doesn't seem to need me to."

"So what's the problem?" Sloan queried.

"I'm afraid she'll change her mind when she gets to know me better."

"You mean you're afraid she'll change her mind if you let her see how much a part of you Jasmine really is?"

He nodded. "It's one thing to see Jasmine as a performer a couple of times a month. It would be a lot different if Sarah realized that Jasmine is always around, more or less."

Sloan thought about that for a few minutes, realizing that she had never thought about Jasmine anywhere other than at the Cabaret. She hadn't imagined that perhaps it was something Jason did even in private. It was personal, and not something she could ask him. "I think if you and Sarah become serious, you're going to have to let her see Jasmine in all those other situations. In fact, maybe it would be a good idea for Jasmine and Sarah to spend some time together outside of the Cabaret."

She thought she could actually see him turn pale. But when he looked at her, there was something like hope in his eyes.

"Do you think that could actually work?"

Sloan shrugged, standing. "I don't honestly know, but I trust Sarah to deal with whatever comes up. I think you can trust her, too."

She left him then, because she was anxious to get back to Michael. Even though the work ahead looked daunting, Sloan was grateful for the excuse to be there. She just wanted to be in the same room with her.

"You need to take a break," Michael said quietly. She came up behind the chair where Sloan sat working, glancing at the monitor and seeing nothing that made sense to her. Without thinking, she placed her hands gently on Sloan's shoulders, her thumbs resting against the back of Sloan's neck. Unconsciously, she softly kneaded the tense muscles under her fingers, enjoying the supple strength she found there.

Sloan leaned back with a groan, her head just touching Michael's abdomen. She closed her eyes, very aware of the heat of Michael's body so near. The touch of Michael’s hands was at once soothing and incredibly exciting. If she weren't careful, she'd have a hard time hiding her arousal. She knew her breathing had taken a quick leap into hyperdrive, and her hands trembled slightly where they lay on her thighs. She silently instructed herself to remember the job she needed to do, which helped, but her voice was husky as she murmured, "God, that feels criminally good. What time is it?"

"Just about noon. You haven't been out of that chair in almost nine hours." Michael looked down at Sloan's face, savoring the opportunity to study the other woman as she rested against her, eyes closed and unaware. God, her face is made for sculpting! Michael had an almost irresistible urge to run her fingers over the dark arch of her brow and along the strong angle of her jaw. Her fingers strayed to Sloan's neck, and she felt Sloan stiffen at the touch. Too much, she thought, you can't do this. She forced herself to step back, dropping her hands to her sides.

Sloan rubbed both hands vigorously over her face, straightening up, ignoring the sudden disappointment at the loss of their connection. She was getting used to the steady throb of unanswered desire whenever Michael was around. At least now she had something to distract her.

"This is that critical time when everything is about to come together," said Sloan, weary but starting to feel the excitement that preceded a breakthrough. "It's not something you can get up and walk away from once you start tracking these things down. Another couple of hours and I think I'll have a real handle on it. Then I can take a break for a bit."

"What about something to eat?" Michael asked.

"Another cup of coffee would be good," Sloan confessed.

Michael frowned. She didn't know what she thought would happen when Sloan showed up in the middle of the night. She had been too glad to see her, and too worried about her work and her deadlines. Now she was starting to worry about her.

"Sloan," Michael began cautiously "if I miss the deadline, it's not the end of the world. I'll manage – "

Sloan swiveled around in the chair, staring up at her in astonishment. "Are you kidding? Another ten – twelve hours, and we'll have this system running better than ever. Once we flush the little bastard and start cleaning, I can finish the security changeovers, too."

Michael looked horrified. "Twelve hours!"

"She's good for a lot more than that," a voice announced from across the room.

Both women turned at the sound.

"Heck, I've seen her go for days on caffeine and junk food. This is a walk in the park," Sarah continued, grinning as she crossed the wide office, then stooping to kiss Sloan lightly on the mouth. "Hi, Michael," she added as she fondly stroked Sloan's arm.

"And you are here how?" Sloan inquired with a grin of her own.

"Jason called me. Told me that our much-anticipated dinner and dancing date was off because you were in the midst of a crisis. I didn't want to miss the fun."

"Some fun," Michael muttered, feeling as if she were slipping down the rabbit hole. These two actually seemed to find this all amusing.

"And," Sarah added, "I brought bagels and cream cheese and assorted sinful chocolate things that are guaranteed to keep you awake."

Sloan groaned again. "Bring them here. I have to get back to this."

Sarah noted the return of Michael's worried frown, and pulled her away by the arm. Michael gave the back of Sloan's head one more concerned glance, then followed Sarah to the sitting area where Sarah had deposited several bags on the coffee table.

Sarah leaned close. "Give her another hour or so, and then we'll gang up on her and make her stop for a nap. I just coerced Jason into stretching out on the couch in that lounge down the hall. He looked like his eyeballs were going to fall out. How about you? Get any sleep?"

As she talked she fixed a plate for Sloan.

"Some," Michael admitted. "I drifted off for a while in here on the sofa. I tried to work on some sketches earlier, but I couldn't concentrate. I feel so damn useless."

Sarah shrugged sympathetically. "I can imagine. But these two know what they're doing. They love this stuff. It'll be okay. Sloan's the best."

Michael watched Sarah as she carried the plate to Sloan, who acknowledged her with a mumble and then a blazing smile. The best? Michael thought. Yes, isn't she.

Sarah turned in time to catch the wistful expression on Michael's face as she stared at Sloan, and knew it for precisely what it was. She wondered if Sloan realized that Michael had fallen in love with her. And she wondered too if Sloan would have the good sense to accept it.

*

"I feel like such a traitor being outside while they're up there struggling," Michael said as she took a deep breath of the crisp, clean air. It was mid-afternoon in early May with the temperatures peaking in the '60s, and everywhere that unique bright spring sun suffused the day in warm welcome.

"Don't worry. If it weren't for times like this, the two of them would be bored to tears. I think both of them miss the fast pace and high tension dramas of Washington."

They were walking across town to Sarah's apartment in what was affectionately known as Society Hill. It was an area ten blocks square replete with brownstone townhouses and historic buildings along narrow streets, many of which still retained their original cobblestones. Sarah had kindly offered to let Michael shower and borrow some of her clothes, since Michael had not been out of her office for over twenty-four hours.

Michael wanted to ask about Sloan's past because she was very aware that neither Sloan nor Sarah ever did more than allude to it. She wanted to know who JT Sloan was. She sensed Sloan's kindness and loyalty and strength, and those were the things that attracted her, but she wondered what had shaped her silences and forged the fleeting whisper of pain in her eyes. Those were the things that made her want to hold her, and more. But she could not ask, understanding it was only Sloan's secret to share. "I'm sorry about disrupting your weekend plans," she said instead.

"Don't even give it a thought. With any luck, it won't be the last time something disrupts my plans with Jason. I only hope we get to that point someday."

Michael glanced at her in mild surprise. "You're really very serious about him are you?"

Sarah nodded. "I really am. It wasn't something I ever expected to happen again, but now that it has, it feels exactly right. We were going to spend the evening together, and I think we both sort of knew it would mean spending the night together. I have to say that if we don't do something pretty soon, I'm likely to implode."

"Well then, I'm doubly sorry," Michael said with a soft laugh. "I don't think I've ever really appreciated that sensation before."

Sarah looked up sharply. "Before?"

Michael colored, suddenly realizing what she had said. Her first instinct was to dismiss it as a meaningless comment, but in the next instant she appreciated that for perhaps the first time in her life she actually had someone she trusted enough to confide in.

"I've never felt that way about anyone, I mean -- the way you feel about Jason. The attraction, and the – wanting," she said finally, hoping her keen embarrassment wasn't obvious.

"Your husband?" Sarah asked gently.

Michael shook her head. "Jeremy was my friend first, and then he was my business partner, and somewhere along the way he became my husband. I didn't have any friends, really, because I was different than most of the people my age. It was a kind of salvation when he seemed to understand what was important to me and shared the things that I loved. But it wasn't a union of the senses; it was an intellectual connection. I was never really aware of -" she stopped, struggling for the words. "Sex."

"Sex," Sarah laughed. "If there is anything more irrational and less explainable than that, I can't imagine what it is. There are a lot of reasons to stay in love, but why we fall in love remains a mystery to me. The best we can hope for is that we fall in love with someone we can continue to love." For a moment, she remembered her last relationship, and she continued sadly, "And sometimes there's nothing we can do except fall and wait for the crash."

"Are you frightened?" Michael asked quietly, suddenly needing very much to know.

Sarah heard the apprehension beneath the question and impulsively took Michael's hand. "A little bit. I try not to think too much about what might happen. It's hard not to, but since we can never really predict, I'm trying to enjoy how alive I feel when I look at him, and how incredibly exciting it is to imagine being with him."

They had come to the stone stairs of the townhouse, and as if prearranged, they'd both sat on a step and leaned back, faces turned to the sky. It was one of those gifted moments when the world seemed to recede, street sounds and sights growing muted, and all that was real was the seductive soothing heat of the sunshine. It was a moment made for confession.

"I'm having a bit of a problem with Sloan," Michael stated, staring up at the soft white clouds in the blue, blue sky. "I can't stop thinking about her."

"Mmm, I noticed," Sarah said, tilting her head back to catch the slanting light against her neck. "I'd be willing to bet she's having a bit of a problem with you, too."

Michael's voice was rough with disappointment. "No, she isn't. She's not interested."

Sarah turned her head, wondering why Michael seemed so certain. "What happened?"

Michael blushed, but continued determinedly. "Last weekend, in my hotel room, we -- well I guess – " She shrugged helplessly, pushing her left hand through her already tousled blond hair. "It sounds like it should be so simple when I say it. She kissed me, but then she made it clear it had been a mistake."

"Ah," Sarah nodded, suddenly understanding. "Not surprising."

Michael turned to her, her eyes questioning. "I'm sorry?"

"Michael, there are things Sloan needs to tell you. Things you need to know to understand her better. She's my oldest friend, and I love her dearly. She's the strongest and most honest person I've ever met. But she's also the most stubborn and she’s been running from something for a long time, and until she stops, she's not going to be able to let anyone close."

Michael didn't understand exactly what Sarah was trying to tell her, but in some ways she thought she did. There had been times when she was with Sloan that she felt so connected, and then in the next instant Sloan would pull away. She didn't know why, but she wanted to.

"Does it bother you, that she's a woman?" Sarah asked quietly.

"I guess it's supposed to," Michael said thoughtfully. She couldn't prevent an image of Sloan from entering her mind. She saw her, in her faded blue jeans and scuffed brown boots and tight white T-shirt, and something turned over deep in her belly. "I think she's gorgeous. In fact," she said with a small tight laugh, very aware of exactly what that heavy pulsating sensation signaled, "if I don't stop thinking about her touching me, I'm going to implode."

Sarah burst out laughing, and after a few seconds, Michael joined her. They leaned close together, shoulders touching, each of them thinking how good it was to share the moment, and each of them hoping that dreams could come true.