She blinked at the red numbers projected onto her ceiling by the clock on her night stand--4:23 a.m. Plenty of time to go back to sleep and finish the job, but she knew it was useless. She'd only end up dreaming about giving birth to a canned ham or grocery shopping in her pajamas, and Lee's manhood would escape the knife again.

She snuggled against the body pillow occupying his place beside her in bed and got an indignant rowl from the Siamese cat curled up there. Jess smiled at the thought of what Lee would say about letting Ming sleep with her. Maybe she'd tell him he'd been replaced by his feline nemesis when she saw him at the meeting later that morning.

She fell asleep reminding herself of how much better off she was without her two-timing, cat-hating, conceited jerk of a husband, and she dreamed he made love to her on the conference table at work, castration the furthest thing from her mind.

God, she hated him.

Five hours later, she sat across from Lee in the conference room at the Espanola Times and tried to focus on Thad Crandall's weekly lecture about deadlines. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought Lee knew what she'd dreamed about him from the way he kept nudging her with his foot under the table and flashing that damn blond-Adonis smile at her.

She tried to suppress the dream images of his face over hers, but every time she looked at him, her mind became a private movie screen featuring the world premiere of Position: Impossible. Shackled as she was with a redhead's proclivity for blushing, she knew he noticed her agitation and probably thought it was from simply being near him.

As soon as the meeting adjourned, she fled down the hall toward the copyediting room, but Lee waylaid her just before she reached her desk.

"Wait, Jess. Did you get my message about coming over Friday? We need to talk."

She took a step back and tried to walk around him. "Talk to my lawyer. I don't have anything to say to you."

He held on to her arm. "We both know you don't hate me, so quit trying to act like you do."

She smiled, but her eyes were an angry green. "As I've pointed out to you countless times in your copy, it's act as if you do. And you lost all claim to giving me orders when you decided to trade your marriage for a night in Silicone Heaven. Remember?" She freed her arm and pushed past him to sit at her desk.

He leaned over and lowered his voice. "You can't divorce me over one night of drunken stupidity."

"Just watch me. And the stupidity is chronic."

"Damn it, Jess. How many times do I have to say I'm sorry?"

"Nine trillion, seven hundred fifty-three billion--"

"Stop it. I'm trying to fix things and you're making jokes."

She smiled again. "No, I'm completely serious. Your inability to distinguish between humor and sincerity is another reason I'm divorcing you. Now go away. I have work to do."

"Okay, fine." He moved her stapler to the middle of her desk, turned her calendar to the wrong day and shook several paper clips onto her blotter from the magnetic holder. "Here's a few things to keep you busy in case you run out of stuff to nitpick in my articles." He tweaked her chin and winked before walking away.

Jess glared at his infuriatingly broad shoulders and struggled to leave the items askew until he was gone. He paused in the doorway and turned to smile at her.

"Go ahead and put them back. I know it's killing you."

She held up four fingers. "Can you read through camouflage, Lee?"

He laughed and winked again. "See you Friday at seven."