'Nothing.' He detached her quite gently, dumped a brown paper bag onto the table and pulled out a bottle of rye whisky.'But there must be something. Please—let me help you.''You? Help me?' It wasn't the unconscious cruelty of his words but the parody of a laugh that followed which chilled her bones.'I'd like to,' she whispered. 'If you would please tell me what's the matter . . .''You want to know what's the matter? All right, I'll tell you what's the matter. I lost my pilot's licence, that's all.' He unscrewed the top of the bottle and stood up. 'And that, my privileged little wife, apart from depriving me of the only work I know, means that you and I may soon be unable to live in this luxury to which we've become accustomed.'He waved an arm at the cracked walls and the dilapidated fixtures and went to the cupboard to pull out a glass.Isabella moved slowly across to the table and sat down. What was he talking about, this man who was her rock of security in a strange land? He co

She returned the smile warily. 'Women have more freedom here. In my country we have to do exactly as men tell us. Well—most of the time. If I went back now, my father would think I'd given in to him. He'd still want me to marry Jose Velasquez once my marriage to you was annulled.''Annulled?' The fridge stopped humming abruptly.'It would be arranged.''I see. Therefore, mean and boring as I am, I'm the lesser of two evils? Is that it?'Did he think this situation was funny? And no, that wasn't it. Wouldn't he ever understand that her feelings for him were anything but shallow? That they were not merely the feelings of a child who was used to getting her own way? She sighed. Probably her constant complaints about his lateness and lack of attention hadn't helped much to change his opinion. But it was too late to do anything about that now. Somehow she would have to think of a way to make him see her as a woman. A desirable woman.But first she must convince him not to send her home. He

Isabella didn't answer him, only smiled wistfully and got up to stir the big pot bubbling on the stove.Was her plan working? she wondered. It was impossible to tell. Brand hadn't seemed to mind her flirting with Gary. Next time she would have to be more obvious. Then maybe he would remember she was his wife and do something to make sure she remained his. In her country no man would stand by and allow his wife to make eyes at another man. Isabella squashed a potato viciously against the side of the pot. The problem was^ this wasn^t her country—and Brand hadn't seemed to notice she was flirting. It was very puzzling.Over the next five days the temperature outside rose steadily, and one afternoon, when the heat in the basement became unbearable, Gary knocked on the door and asked if Isabella would like to come out for a drive.'We could go to Queen Elizabeth Park,' he suggested. 'It'll be cooler on the grass under the trees. Smell a lot better too. It's stuffy down here.'He was right.

Abruptly the room came into focus, and Isabella looked up to see the wide, black-coated shoulders of the man whose existence had lured her back to Vancouver as inevitably as the swallows returned to Capistrano. She raised her eyes higher, and her gaze fastened on full lips that exposed a bare glimpse of white teeth. From the corners of those well-remembered lips thin grooves made a line to flared nostrils. Finally she tilted her head back to stare boldly into deep, furious black eyes.Brand had changed. He looked older, and maturity made him even more savagely attractive than she remembered.His dark hair was longer now too, hiding the unusual shape of his ears and curling enticingly on the back of his neck. But from the rage she could see him battling to control Isabella knew that enticing her was not what the president of Ryder Airlines had in mind.Nor had it ever been, really, she remembered with a sharp pang of regret.'I have changed. Brand,' she said quietly.'I doubt it.' The

Isabella noted that this time he pronounced her last name without emphasis, as if it meant nothing to him. She put a hand to her head, wondering why it seemed to be revolving. It couldn't be the fall. All that had hurt was her dignity. So of course it had to be Brand. He had always had the power to make her feel light-headed. But at least he wasn't blazing mad at her today. Obviously the shock of her reappearance had worn off. That was something. His casual mockery she could cope with and even laugh at.She shifted slightly on the sofa, wishing he had warned her he was coming. Because she had another, more shattering revelation in store for Brand. And how could she explain to him about Connie with the child standing there all big-eyed and listening—the child who had been told that the father who loved her was far away, but that he would one day come back to meet his cherished daughter?She had been so sure Brand would love his daughter. He was good with children and genuinely liked th