"Gee, you're really good at this," Matt said. "I guess you do this folding stuff all the time, huh?"

"When I got married I promised to love, honor, and fold. Folding was the only part that survived." Lizabeth stopped for a moment and looked around. The room was neater now. She was able to see parts of the floor and almost all of the dresser. There was a sense of order to the room, but there was also the feeling that no one lived there. There were no pictures on the walls. No photographs of Matt with a kid brother, no trophies from Little League, no souvenirs from his hitch in the Navy. "Have you lived here very long?" she asked.

"Four or five years." He thought about it for a minute. "No, that's not right. I got out of the Navy and roomed with Frank for two years. Then Frank got married, and I moved in here. I guess I've lived here for… ten years." He shook his head in amazement and zipped the gym bag closed. "This was supposed to be temporary. I always intended to build a house for myself, but I just never got around to it. I was always too busy building houses for other people."

"Would you still like to build a house for yourself?"

"I'd like to have a home. A real home. But it's not so important that I build it myself." The people are the important part, Matt thought. He could live in a tent, a tin shack, or the backseat of Elsie's Cadillac, and if Lizabeth was beside him it would be home. He watched her give an involuntary shiver and noticed her lips had turned purple. "Cold?"

"I'm freezing. I've got to get out of these wet clothes."

Matt found a set of clean gray sweats on the bed. "Go take a hot shower. Steam yourself until you're as red as a lobster, and then you can wear my sweats home."

Lizabeth hesitated. "It's only a fifteen-minute drive to my house. I can take a shower there."

"No way. If I bring you home like this Elsie will yell at me."

He had a point. She clamped her teeth together to keep them from chattering and headed for the bathroom. "I'll only be a minute."

Twenty minutes later Matt listened to the whir of his hair drier, and decided he liked the sound of Lizabeth sharing his bathroom. And he liked the way his bedroom looked without three months' worth of clothes and garbage on the floor. He'd put the dirty laundry into a laundry basket and filed the folded clean clothes away in his bureau. He'd taken Lizabeth's wet clothes to the basement and stuffed them into his clothes drier, and then he'd dragged the vacuum up from the cellar and sucked up clots of dust, crushed corn chips, petrified popcorn, and three spiders that had set up housekeeping. He'd put clean sheets on his bed and was fluffing a red-plaid comforter when Lizabeth sauntered out of the bathroom.

"That was an all-time great shower," she said lazily. "I never have enough hot water at home, and there's always a little person waiting for me on the other side of the door, and you have one of those fancy shower-massage things. It was wonderful."

He wasn't sure if it was the pink tinge to her cheeks, or the silky curls that framed her face, or the way his sweats draped over her delicate bones and clung to her soft curves. It might have been her smile. He was always undone by her smile. And it might have been the intimacy of smelling his soap on her warm skin. The exact reason for Matt's discomfort wasn't clear, but the result was fast becoming obvious. His tongue felt thick and useless, his throat dry, his breathing shallow. His heart galloped in his chest so that he could feel the blood coursing through him in hot waves. In his entire body only one part was working efficiently, and he was thankful it was contained by navy briefs that had shrunk in the drier and by a pair of sturdy jeans.

Lizabeth shuffled across the room in her bare feet, flopped on the freshly made bed, and closed her eyes. "I can't remember the last time I was this relaxed."

Matt didn't say a word. Didn't move. Couldn't think beyond wanting her. Food, water, shelter- all seemed trivial compared to his need for Lizabeth. He ached with love, and he burned with desire. He shoved his hands into his pockets and wondered if she'd been serious about holding him responsible for her morals.

Lizabeth was suddenly aware of the silence. She propped herself up on one elbow and looked at him. His face was dark with an undefinable emotion. His blond eyebrows were drawn together. A muscle jumped in his jaw. Her gaze slid downward, and she discovered the source of his dilemma. "Oh, Matt!" She pulled a pillow over her face to muffle a giggle.

"This is no laughing matter."

"I can see that!"

"Listen, Lizabeth, we have a very large problem here…"

She coyly lowered her lashes. "It's not nice to brag."

Matt slowly shook his head and wagged his finger at her. "You're flirting with me and that's very dangerous because, as you may have noticed, we're alone and my self-control is reaching an all-time low."

"Mmmmm," Lizabeth said, smiling, feeling outrageously bold. She wore no underwear, and the borrowed sweats were softly abrasive against her skin. It was a new sensation. Sexy, she thought. Just right for sprawling on Matt's bed. She realized she wanted to make love with him and acknowledged that she'd come a long way in a very short time. She wasn't nervous, or embarrassed, or afraid. For the first time in her life she was deliciously aroused, and she thought it convenient that his self-control was reaching its all-time low just when her own sexuality was beginning to bloom. She watched him crawl across the bed and straddle her, and she willed herself to relax. She knew things would be different with Matt. He knew when to give and when to take, and he honestly enjoyed both.

He kissed her tenderly, fully intending to be a slow, sensitive lover. The kiss deepened. Tongue slid over tongue and hunger took over. In an instant his hands were under her shirt, covering her breasts, gently squeezing, his thumbs teasing across rigid nipples. He put his mouth to her heated skin, trailing kisses from her breasts to below the waistband of the sweatpants. Too fast, he thought, but he couldn't stop. He had to see her. All of her. He had to taste all of her. Clothes were stripped away and he kissed her again. Lower this time. Lord, how he wanted her. The wanting pounded in his groin, and his blood boiled with it. His kisses grew rough. His mouth was relentless as she arched her back and moaned for more. He felt her shudder and cry out and then he was inside her, driven by a need almost frightening in its intensity. Afterward he held her close, afraid to move from her, afraid he'd been all muscle and blind passion and no brain.

Her first thought, when she was finally capable of thought, was that she no longer gave a damn about being a fairy. She'd just been to the top and anything else, fairy wings included, would be cold potatoes. Her second thought was that she loved Matt Hallahan beyond reason. She loved him when he was gentle and when he was fierce, and she loved him most of all when he was naked. He was magnificent when he was naked.

Matt buried his face in her hair, "Liz, I think I got carried away…"

"Mmmmm," Lizabeth said, her voice muffled as she snuggled closer.

"Was it awful?"

"Awful?" She pushed back enough to look at him. "Awful?" She saw he was serious, and his fear prompted a smile.

It was the most radiant smile ever. Filled with love and pride and supreme satisfaction. It was the smile he'd promised himself the first time he saw her. "Hmmm," he said. "So I guess it wasn't awful."

Her smile grew sly and she dallied with a moist curl, wondering how it could be so dark, almost black, when the rest of his hair was so blond. "It was passable," she said.

"You think it could get better if we practiced?"

Lizabeth didn't think she could live through it if it got any better. "Probably it would take a lot of practice," she said, letting a fingertip wander lower, provoking a sharp intake of breath.