it had to be you by susan elizabeth phillips

Phoebe whipped off her sunglasses to reveal her exotically tilted amber eyes. Like dominoes, one basket tipped against another, until the ground began to look like Merlin Olsen's worst nightmare. The mourners who were standing nearby jumped away in an effort to protect their clothing and knocked into more of the floral tributes. The arrangements were packed so closely together that it was impossible for one to fall without knocking into another, and flowers and water began to fly.

The flowers teetered and toppled backward, knocking into the wreath jammed next to them, which, in turn, upset a massive spray of dahlias. Further hampered by her tight skirt, she couldn't reach the dog in time to prevent disaster.

Phoebe wasn't the most athletic of creatures under the best of circumstances. 'Pooh!' Phoebe cried, taking off after her just as the small white dog bumped against the slender metal legs that supported a towering arrangement of gladiolus. The dog had been restrained too long, and she began a wild dash through the crowd, yapping shrilly, her tail wagging so wildly the pom-pom looked as if it might fly off at any moment and whistle through the air like Oddjob's hat. Pooh gave a yap and leapt free of her arms. Guessing correctly that she wanted Pooh as a distraction device, he stepped forward, but just as she took the animal, a maintenance truck that had entered the cemetery backfired, startling the poodle.

He realized how nervous she was when she turned and held her arms out to him. 'I'm certain he was.' Each prolonged syllable she uttered was a breathlessly delivered promise of sexual debauchery, a promise Viktor knew all too well Phoebe had no intention of keeping. 'Bert surely did love the game,' Calebow continued, 'and he was a good man to work for.'

It had to be you by susan elizabeth phillips