He didn't answer, and she began to struggle against his grasp. "Let me go, Richard! Emma's crying."

"Mine," he said again, tightening his grip on her.

A moment later his mouth crashed down on hers in a bruising kiss. He ground his lips against hers, forcing them open, shoving his tongue inside. She gagged at the sensation and at the sickly sweet smell of bourbon.

She wrenched her mouth free, heart thundering, Emma's cries ringing in her ears. "Let me go! Richard-"

He brought a hand to the back of her head to hold her immobile as he found her mouth again. This time, as he forced his tongue into her mouth, he ground his pelvis against hers, his erection-and intention-obvious.

Hysteria rose up in her. She struggled, pushing against his chest, twisting and kicking. Dear God, who was this man? What had happened to the loving and gentle man she had been married to for ten years?

She jerked sideways and wedged her arms between them, then brought her heel down hard on his instep. With a grunt, he released her and stumbled backward, the pain seeming to penetrate his liquor-induced frenzy.

He looked at her, his bleary-eyed expression becoming one of dawning horror at his own actions.

She spun around, snatched up Emma and cradled her to her chest, talking softly as much to calm her own fears as Emma's. Tears burned her eyes and throat, choking her.

"Kate?" he murmured brokenly. "Kate?"

She couldn't bring herself to acknowledge the anguish in his voice, couldn't bring herself to even look at him- not now, when her mouth still burned from his brutal attack, when her limbs still trembled from the effort expended fighting him off.

"She's not even ours," he whispered. "And still you love her more than me."

Kate felt as if her world were crumbling around her. She'd never been so angry, so hurt, in her life. She looked at her husband then, acknowledging that he was a total stranger.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked, voice quavering. "How can you say that? She is ours. Parenting is about loving and nurturing. Not about a physical act of copulation." She struggled to speak around her tears. "I thought we both believed that, Richard."

When he said nothing, just simply stared at her, her tears welled and spilled over, her heart hurting so badly she feared it would break. She bent and pressed her head to Emma's. "Get out," she said. "Get out because I don't want you around Emma. And I can't bear to look at you."

Without a word, he turned and left the nursery. A moment later, the sound of the front door slamming echoed through the house.

Emma snuggled safely in her arms, Kate sank onto the rocking chair and sobbed.

Richard found himself at Julianna's front door. For long minutes, he simply stood there, staring at the door, wanting to knock but knowing he shouldn't. It was late. He was her boss. Being here crossed an invisible line, one that separated employer from employee, professional from personal.

Richard told himself to turn away, to head home, tail tucked between his legs. He stood frozen to the spot instead. He closed his eyes, imagining Julianna opening the door, ushering him in. She would gaze up at him in the way she always did, the way that made him feel ten feet tall and invincible. She would listen and understand.

Julianna believed in him. She thought he was special.

The way Kate used to.

He lifted his hand and rapped lightly on the door. The moment he did, twin emotions of exhilaration and panic coursed through him. Panic won, stealing his breath, bringing him to his senses. What the hell was he doing? He was a married man. Julianna was his employee. Forget the moral ramifications of his behavior, what about the legal ones? This could surely be labeled sexual harassment. He was a lawyer, for God's sake. He hoped to be St. Tam-many Parish's next district attorney.

He took a step backward, then swung around and started down the steps, grateful some sense had wormed its way into his booze-fogged brain before it was too late.

Not before it was too late. Her door opened; light spilled out into the night. "Richard? Is that you?" He turned and met her eyes, and she made a sound of surprise. "What in the world are you doing here?"

He flushed, wishing he could think clearly, wishing he had not had so much to drink. "I'm sorry, Julianna. Kate and I…we had a fight, and I didn't know where else to-" He drew in a deep breath. "I feel like a total ass about this. I hope you can forgive me this horrible breach of professional etiquette."

She opened the door a bit wider and stepped more fully into the rectangle of light. "You and Kate had a fight?"

Backlit that way, her gown became nearly transparent. Even as he told himself not to, Richard lowered his gaze. His mouth went dry; the blood began to pound in his head.

"Yes." He dragged his gaze back to hers, both embarrassed and aroused. "I needed someone to talk to, and I…I thought of you."

She pushed the door the rest of the way open. "I'll get my robe."

Her apartment was small and shabbily furnished but neat as a pin. Even exhausted and inebriated, he noticed expensive, elegant touches here and there: a vase of exotic flowers, a shimmery, soft-looking throw on the couch, groupings of scented candles of varying sizes and shapes.

She returned several moments later, wrapped in a white chenille robe and carrying two steaming mugs of coffee.

"Have a seat," she murmured, a smile tugging at her mouth.

Richard realized he hadn't moved from just inside the door and crossed to the couch and sat down. "I shouldn't be here. I feel like a jerk."

"We're friends. I'm glad to be here for you."

She bent and handed him his coffee. As she did, the front of her robe gaped open, giving him a view of her breasts, clear to their tight rosy nipples.

Arousal hit him, taking his breath. He jerked his gaze up to hers. "Thank you."

She straightened; the flaps of her robe fell back into place. "Do you need cream or sugar?"

He looked blankly at the mug in his hand, then back up at her. "Black's fine, thanks."

She took a seat at the opposite end of the couch, curling her legs under her. "Tell me what happened."

He hesitated a moment, then began to speak. "You weren't wrong. She lied about the book." He wrapped his hands around the mug. "She went to see Dallas."

Julianna was silent for a moment, then she made a sound of regret. "I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "Back at Tulane, we were all friends. Or so I thought. Then I discovered Dallas was in love with her. All along, while he pretended to be my friend, he schemed to steal my girl. The bastard."

"Yet you remained his friend?"

"It wasn't until right before graduation that I found out what he'd been up to. He told me, flat out." He looked at Julianna. "That's some balls."

"It is," she murmured. "I'm sure Luke Dallas meant nothing to Kate. After all, she chose you."

Richard thought of his and Kate's fight, of the question he had asked her. Why did you marry me, Kate? For my money?

She had denied it, of course. She had been indignant, incensed. He wanted to believe her, but a voice of doubt buried deep within him taunted that was exactly why she had married him.

"In college, Luke didn't have a pot to piss in. Now look at him, rich and famous. Brushing elbows with celebrities."

Even without family money or connections Luke had bested him, Richard thought angrily. Just like he had always said he would. Cocky bastard, he hated him. Hated him with a fire that burned deep inside him, raging nearly out of control.

"He got lucky," Richard said, setting aside his coffee and launching to his feet. He began to pace. "Lucky," he repeated. "That's all. It could happen to anyone. To hear Kate talk, you'd think he was the second coming. Selling a couple of books certainly doesn't mean he's special. Or that he should be put up on some goddamn pedestal."