Her teeth were chattering and her whole body had begun to shake. Where he had ripped her dress, the bodice gaped, revealing one of her breasts. She clawed at the material, while she backed away, tears running down her cheeks.

“Phoebe . . .” He rushed toward her.

She leapt back, frantically clutching her torn dress. “Don’t touch me!” she sobbed.

He froze and backed away, holding up his hands. “I’m not going to hurt you. I can explain. It’s all a mistake. I didn’t know it was you. I—I thought you were my ex-wife. She was meeting me here.”

“Is that supposed to make it better?” Her teeth wouldn’t stop chattering, and her chest spasmed as she tried to swallow her sobs.

He took another step, and once again she backed away. He immediately stopped moving. “You don’t understand.”

“You bastard! You perverted bastard!”

“Dan!”

Phoebe froze as she heard the sound of a woman’s voice.

“Dan! Where are you?”

Relief washed through her as she realized they were no longer alone. Then she saw the expression of entreaty in his eyes and watched as he pressed one finger to his lips, commanding her silence.

“Here!” she shouted. “In here!”

He dipped his head. “Shit.”

“Dan?” A slim, attractive woman wearing a simple floral cotton dress stepped into the gazebo. “I heard a—”

She broke off as she saw Phoebe. Her gaze flew to Dan. “What’s going on?”

“What we have here,” he said unhappily, “is a case of mistaken identity.”

The woman took in Phoebe’s torn dress and mussed hair. Her eyes widened in consternation. “Oh, God.”

As Phoebe’s terror began to ease, she realized something was happening here that she didn’t understand.

“It was dark,” he told the woman, “and I thought she was you.”

The woman pressed her fingertips to one temple. “Is she discreet?”

“Discreet, hell! She’s scared to death! Can’t you see what I’ve done to her?”

The woman’s voice grew so cool and businesslike that Phoebe immediately hated her. “Who is she?”

“Phoebe Somerville,” he replied, apparently realizing that Phoebe was in no condition to answer for herself.

“The Stars’ owner?”

“One and the same.” He turned back to Phoebe and, speaking softly, said, “This is Valerie Calebow, Phoebe. My ex-wife. She’s also a member of the United States Congress, but, despite that, you can trust her. Valerie is going to explain to you that I wasn’t trying to hurt you, and she’s going to tell you exactly what you walked into.”

Valerie’s forehead puckered in dismay. “Dan, I can hardly—”

“Do it!” he snapped, his expression murderous. “She’s not in any state to listen to me right now.”

She picked her words carefully, her expression stiff. “Miss Somerville, although Dan I are divorced, we have chosen to continue an intimate relationship. We are both rather adventurous lovers, and—”