It doesn't mean I'm leaving him, Vikki Meyers told herself again, hoisting the tote bag up on her shoulder more securely as she followed a line of people up the boarding ramp to the plane.

She'd never been in an airplane before. No urge compelled her to look back at all she was leaving behind her, yet her chest felt strangely expanded. Until she stowed her bag over the seat, she wasn't aware of holding her breath. As she sat in her seat near the window, she exhaled deeply, feeling like it'd been years since the air was so clear and clean.

She could breathe again.

God, how could a person go through five years of their life without knowing they were suffocating? Until yesterday morning, Vikki had never felt such a desperate need to escape everything her life had become.

That one phone call wasn't much different from any other she'd received from her foster sister since Mallory moved to Los Angeles following high school graduation. Yet that call became all the incentive Vikki needed to create an elaborate fabrication to convince her fiancé to let her go.

The worst part was facing that yesterday wasn't the first time she'd lied to Bryan. It was simply the first time she'd done it deliberately. When she thought now of how calculated her plan had been, how persuasively unwavering she'd played the part... She had to wonder if she knew herself any better than Bryan. She hadn't been his sweet, submissive, loving Vikki yesterday.

The independence was inappropriately erotic, and she shivered as breathtaking power rippled beneath her skin.

It doesn't mean I'm leaving him, she repeated firmly again. I'm just... getting my priorities in line. Just visiting my sister indefinitely. Nothing wrong with that.

Unselfconsciously, she found herself smiling. She'd cried her tears last night and felt the guilt mingled with regret. They would return. Later, when the relief wasn't so profound, they'd return undeniably.

Wisconsin became a speck as the plane rose above it, gliding effortlessly south. Though she assured herself she wasn't leaving the man she was engaged to, she was leaving Vikki behind. Vikki, the woman Bryan Larson could manipulate with his gentleness, the woman who'd needed to belong to someone, the woman who'd given up trying to make him see her for who she really was -- that woman was not coming along. Because that woman wasn't real and never had been, despite the years she'd tried to believe in her too. She'd known it for a while, but Bryan always got his way.

Except this one time.

After deboarding at O'Hare, Vikki waited in line ten minutes to use a payphone, then dialed her sister's work phone number using her charge card.

"Rain, please don't tell me tight-ass talked you out of it," were Mallory's first words.

The nickname 'Rain' had become as familiar to Vikki as the name on her birth certificate. Mallory started calling her Rain only a few days after Vikki had been placed in the Novak home when she was sixteen. Mallory's reason for the nickname was: "You know when it rains -- one of those warm summer showers? They're so quiet, but the air is heavier? Like it's charged? Like it's restless for more? That's what you're like. You're like the rain." She'd called her Rain ever since.

"I'm in Chicago. My flight to L.A. is supposedly on schedule. So I'll be there at 2:15." The words came out breathlessly, as if she'd run around in circles for ten minutes instead of waiting patiently in a line to use the phone.

"I can't wait to see you, hon. I'm sorry I've got that meeting I mentioned last night, but you have to meet Carmen anyway. I really want you to like each other."

Carmen Saxon was a man Mallory had met about two months ago, yet hadn't called to tell Vikki about until yesterday. From the little her sister revealed on the phone, Carmen was the man of her dreams.

"How will I know him?" Vikki asked, glancing around when she heard an impatient sigh plainly in the airport cacophony. The woman behind her stood so close she could have been a parachute strapped to Vikki's back.

"Oh... Well, he looks like a wild man. But don't worry. I gave him a picture of you. He'll find you."

Vikki heard another, more exaggerated sigh behind her. "Mallory, what did you tell him about me?" She bit her lip, trying to ignore any impression she was being sent that she had to rush through the phone call.

"The usual," Mallory said, sounding a little confused. "Who you are, your name, what you mean to me."

"Nothing else? You didn't tell him about Bryan or what I do?"

Mallory made a 'hah!' noise. "Why would I mention old tight-ass? I want to forget he exists, and I think you should to."

Bryan and Mallory's dislike of one another had been immediate and total. As opposites to the nth degree, they'd both wanted to draw Vikki away from the other.

"And I didn't tell him that you're a songwriter or anything about how you want to team up with Justin."

One thing made the decision for Vikki to go to California. When Mallory mentioned in her phone call yesterday morning that Carmen's best friend was a songwriter and was looking for a partner, there'd no longer been any question of if she could leave Bryan temporarily. It'd become a matter of how to do it. Mallory knew the casual bit of information was as tempting to her as the forbidden apple to Eve.

Vikki's creativity had begun as a way to escape her bitter childhood. Music had been her hiding place. Nothing had changed since then. As hard as Bryan tried to suppress it over the years, her need to create hadn't gone away. He'd become a roadblock she'd finally hurdled instead of allowing to defeat her.

The woman behind her muttered, "Well, it's about time!" when Vikki ended her phone call.

Vikki smiled at her as she picked up her suitcase. Nothing could get her down today. Soon she'd be with her sister, her best friend, and she'd be free. To be herself again. To have a future other than the one Bryan had planned to the letter, without bothering to ask her if it met with her approval.

Cinching her tote bag tighter over her shoulder, she made her way to the ladies' restroom. All she'd brought with her was her music -- stuffed into the large case -- a change of clothes and make-up in the tote.

As she waited for a stall, she looked at herself in the full-length mirror only inches from her. Bryan's Vikki. He chose her clothes. He dictated how she wore her hair and make-up. She'd never felt comfortable with any of it because, when she looked at herself, she saw Bryan's mother Neve. The utterly feminine, subservient shadow of her husband.

Oh, what people allowed themselves to believe. When Bryan had given her a dress for the first time, she'd been flattered. It was a gift. His sweet demand that she tone down her make-up and tame her dark hair had been male possessiveness. He hadn't wanted any other man to look at her because she belonged to him. She'd wanted to belong to him. No one had ever told her she could no longer belong to herself if she surrendered. Actually, someone had -- Mallory. But Vikki had been too infatuated to realize what she was getting into.

The way she left had been deceitful, but all that mattered was she was free. She was in control of her life again, even if only temporarily.

When a stall opened up, she pushed inside. The lock was broke, so she set her large case against it to keep it closed. Then she opened her tote.

The change of clothes was something she'd gone through boxes and boxes in the storage bedroom of Bryan's house to find. A simple pair of jeans and a top from her teenage years. She still fit in the old jeans. They were torn, faded, but so comfortable compared to the dress she'd had to wear to get out of the house that morning.

She removed her shoes and dress, reaching for the jeans but realized she didn't want to wear any of the clothes Bryan bought her. Quickly, she slipped the white cotton underwear down her legs and released her breasts from the strangling bra. Yes, now she could truly breathe.

She rolled the undergarments inside the dress, then eased into the jeans and top in the cramped space the stall offered. The shirt was scoop necked and tighter than it'd been five years before. She stared down at her breasts, wondering if she should put the bra back on.

The top would have sent Bryan into a panic. It stretched tightly over her front and left a few inches of her stomach bare to compensate for a bust that hadn't ripened yet at eighteen.

The thought of putting that torture device on again was pure agony. Who would be looking at her anyway?

She sat on the toilet lid to put on the suede boots she'd unburied yesterday too. When she leaned forward, she saw how lascivious the top was as it gaped open. Her embarrassment was twofold as she thought how her breasts might actually be considered appealing. It wasn't a new thought. During the times she couldn't refuse Bryan's overtures, she had watched his hands cup her breasts in the moonlight. His touch only made her feel more unfulfilled. So many times she wished he'd never touch her again, she no longer felt guilty for it. She no longer held any hope that this time would be different. In the end, they'd turn away from each other, both knowing she couldn't forgive him, he couldn't forgive her; he couldn't blame her and she couldn't blame him.

With the stain of all-too-tangible memories in her cheeks, she gathered her things into the tote and gave up the stall to the next in line. She had plenty of time to apply a little more make-up than she usually wore and to let her hair out of one of the many decorative bows she kept it back in to please Bryan.

The women coming and going watched her curiously, some without an ounce of self-consciousness, others suspiciously, as if she was a prostitute getting ready to do business. Their stares didn't bother her. She was used to being under the scrutinizing eye of Bryan's mother. After that, this was a piece of cake.

While she worked on her face, she thought of all the things she and Mallory would be doing soon. Staying up all night, talking, shopping, cooking, exercising, lounging out on the beach, listening to music. It sounded like heaven for all its ordinary packaging. She hadn't done any of those things with someone in years.

At last she achieved the look she'd strived for. A stranger to Vikki, this was Rain. This was the woman no one except Mallory would recognize in California. No one knew anything about her, only what she chose to reveal.

As she reloaded her cosmetics in her tote, her gaze was drawn to the engagement ring Bryan gave her.

Very little existed that Vikki could argue with Bryan over, but he hadn't railroaded her into marriage. He'd tried repeatedly, but she'd never been able to give in to him, just as she hadn't allowed him to get her pregnant and force her into marriage. She hadn't stopped taking the pill three years ago at his demand.

Her reasons were unknown even to her. Why she couldn't marry him yet. Why she didn't want to get pregnant. She just couldn't. Sometimes it seemed like the only freedom she owned.

Allowing someone else to take her place at the mirror, she moved back against the wall, opened her pocketbook and placed the ring inside the coin purse.

She was temporarily free.

Justin Pascal didn't know what annoyed him more: that he'd been conned into picking up his best friend's girlfriend's sister... or that the skinny blond waiting a few feet away from him was coming on to him with all the finesse of a ten-dollar hooker.

He was going to kill Carmen when he got back to the club with his charge.

Justin watched the blond lick her lips in -- what he supposed was intended to be -- a seductive gesture. Without a word, he told her it wasn't going to happen and looked away.

The photograph Carmen showed Justin was the opposite of Mallory's claims. Her sister was not a "knockout." The photo revealed a mouse: standard brown eyes, black hair, uptight clothes. No doubt about it -- Carmen had been trying to fix him up again. And Justin wasn't interested in the mouse any more than he was in the easy blond. He'd bring Mallory's sister to Carmen, ending his part of the bargain for good.

The flight Rain was supposed to be on arrived on time. When the terminal cleared enough to point out those who were still waiting, he was left with two possibilities. One of the women looking around anxiously had short black hair, couldn't tell about the eyes, and she wore a seriously uptight sundress. This one was definitely a mouse.

The other woman was a knockout. Dressed in a little top and a pair of jeans that were sexier than the mini skirt the skinny blond wore, she turned around and spotted him. Nothing mousy about this lady. Her eyes were so dark and beautiful, he could see them just fine from where he stood. The lust rising in him was corroded from inactivity, but familiar all the same.

He wanted to get her under him the way a landlubber wanted to get solid ground under his feet.

But he was here to pick up that mouse in the sundress. Propelling himself off the wall he leaned against, he was surprised to see the knockout headed dead-on in his direction.

He almost groaned out loud when she stood in front of him. Her face was the most exquisite array of features he'd ever seen. On anyone else, those eyes would have been too black, too exotically shaped to be so soft and beautiful. Her nose was unusually small, her mouth unusually large and shapely. Lush, that was the word for it.

Aw hell, the places he wanted to see that mouth flashed through his mind in quick succession.

She adjusted the strap of her tote bag on her shoulder. "Carmen?"

Her voice was erotic sandpaper to his senses, husky yet smoothly melodic. It took him almost a full minute to acknowledge what she'd said. This was the one. The knockout/mouse. She didn't look anything like that photograph.

"Rain?"

She smiled suddenly, in relief, and he knew he'd have to forget any ideas he had about a one-time quickie in his truck. What the hell had he been thinking anyway? He hadn't had -- or wanted -- a woman in two years. Not even for a meaningless, don't-look-her-in-the-eyes quickie.

"I'm a friend of Carmen's. Justin Pascal," he said, pulling his sunglasses out of the collar of his tanktop to cover his eyes.

"You're the songwriter?" she asked, her expression resembling an excited little kid's.

"Depends on who you're asking, but I'd have to say you've got the right tiger by the tail."

She laughed, and it did nothing to relieve his response to her. "Well, tiger, I just need to get my suitcase and then hopefully I've seen my last airport for a while."

"First plane trip?" he guessed.

"First time I've ever been out of Wisconsin period. I'm a hick. I admit it."

The word 'hick' conjured many impressions. Overalls, red handkerchief hanging out a back pocket, chewing tobacco. This woman was the exact opposite. She made worn and torn jeans sophisticated. Oh hell, he thought as he walked side by side with her to baggage claim, where they had to wait.

"What made you think I was Carmen?" he asked, studying her profile. She didn't wear enough make-up to turn him off to the idea of running his tongue over the curve of her cheek. Her skin looked like rich satin. He wondered what it smelled like. What it'd taste like.

"Oh. Well, the only thing Mallory gave me to go by was that he looked like a wild man. You're the only one nearby who looked like a wild man."

The sweep of her gaze over him was electric. At thirty, he'd had enough women interested in him to know the signs. The only difference this time was that most of the women had no shame in letting him know it. Rain liked what she saw, but the dull red in her cheeks told him she didn't feel comfortable checking him out and liking what she saw.

"So what happened to Carmen?" she asked. The luggage started coming through.

"Last minute change." Yeah, last minute change called 'Hey, it's been two years. Maybe you're getting so desperate it doesn't matter who.' Carmen didn't try to "fix" him up often. Most of the time, he lectured and made him see how great it was to have a steady woman. Justin had had a steady woman. Letting her go had been so easy, his biggest regret was wondering if something was wrong with him.

When Rain made a grab at her suitcase, the need to touch her overwhelmed him. His opportunity came when she straightened and the tote bag on her shoulder slid down her arm. Automatically, his hand was there, easing it back where it belonged.

The glide of his fingers over her skin fueled his need to touch her even more. But the look on her face -- shock, arousal -- warned him not to step over the line. She was Mallory's sister. Chances were, he'd run into her often enough to make it hell if he gave into temptation.

"Here, let me get that for you." His hand covered hers on the large suitcase she'd retrieved. When she didn't let go, he glanced at her. The red in her cheeks blazed, as obvious as the desire in her eyes. She was an open book, and the shock of that slammed him in the gut. How could anyone exist without walls? Hell, he'd known a single person in his life who didn't have the natural guards that protected a person from getting hurt. He'd shoved Tracey out of his life trying to escape her sympathy. He didn't want anything to do with that kind of vulnerability again.

"I've got it. It's not heavy," Rain said, trying to smile reassuringly.

While he wanted to do anything to escape the tension, he'd been raised to be a gentleman, despite what he looked like. "Did I mention I'm being paid for this?"

Her expression was wry. "I'm sure. But I'm quite capable of carrying my own luggage."

She was, maybe, two inches shorter than him. No doubt she was capable of anything she set her mind to.

"You could do me one favor though. I hope it doesn't offend you. Just say no if it does."

Justin straightened, letting go of his need to be chivalrous. The idea of anything about this woman offending him... No way. "What do you need?"

Sheepishly, she admitted, "If we get separated in this airport, I might as well head back to Wisconsin because I don't know my way to a restroom in L.A." She brushed back the wild fall of her hair. "Would you mind holding my hand? Just until we get outside?"

What she expected, he couldn't guess. Did she think she was admitting her attraction to him by asking him to hold her hand?

Hell, she was right if she thought it meant more now than it should. When he offered her his hand, he had the feeling he was giving her more than reassurance. She took more than that too. He watched her place her palm against his the way a man would watch his own hand on a woman's breast. Their fingers laced, locking together and closing to form an unbreakable bond.