"Hank." Charlotte heard her voice grow stern. "I don't want you to grow attached to Mr. Mills. Do you understand?"

Hank shook Her head with conviction. "Joe likes us. He's going to stay forever. Matt agrees with me."

Charlotte frowned-why had she let Joe hang around tonight? The last thing in the world she wanted was to expose her children to more disappointment.

"We talked about it during the pickle game, Mama. Joe likes us. He likes you-a real lot."

"Sweetie, I need to explain something to you." Charlotte smoothed her daughter's curls from her forehead and leaned close, bracing herself on either side of Hank's shoulders. "Remember that night you said that I was going to start loving Mr. Mills? Please don't let that worry you, all right? I don't have plans to love anybody but you and Matt"

In the faint glow of her night-light, Hank's face broke out into a wide grin and her eyes sparkled mischievously. "Whatever you say, Mama."

"Good night, Hank."

Knowing she'd accomplished nothing, Charlotte kissed Hank's forehead again and walked toward the bedroom door.

"Daddy won't mind," Hank whispered to her back.

Charlotte came to a sudden stop in the hallway, those words reverberating in her heart and skittering down her spine. She glanced heavenward, her gaze cut short by the white ceiling, thinking just how wrong Hank was. She pictured Kurt up in heaven, peering down on her, not exactly judging her-he'd never really judged her-but he'd have that disappointed look on his face. He'd be disappointed in her current state of lust, her surrender to the needs of the flesh.

That look on Kurt's face always made Charlotte feel so uncomfortable in her own skin.

She arrived in the kitchen and her eyes immediately were drawn to the double glass doors in the family room and the vision of Joe seated at the wrought-iron table, his long legs stretched out to rest on an unoccupied chair in front of him, his right hand absently dangling down to rub Hoover's ear. The two of them seemed to stand guard, watching the flashlight beams dance inside the tent across the yard.

It was tempting indeed, tempting to look at Joe's silhouette and think of Kurt and everything her husband had been-guardian, provider, father, lover, friend. Charlotte straightened her shoulders and prepared to go outside, telling herself that Joe could never fill the space Kurt once occupied. Joe was her sexual fantasy man, and fantasy men didn't make good husbands and fathers. Everybody knew that.

But Joe had helped clear the table that evening, hadn't he? He'd been so loving and patient with Hank. He'd formed an easy friendship with Bonnie and Ned. He'd been a good sport with a pack of rowdy boys. And those were all things a girl didn't usually expect from her sexual fantasy man.

Right?

She opened the "back doors and Joe looked up and smiled. There was a small lantern on the table, which cast a soft bluish light over his features, making his black eyes that much more mesmerizing. He removed his feet from the chair and sat up quickly, wiping off the cushion, then patting it to indicate he wanted her to sit close.

She wondered what in the world they'd have to talk about. They knew nothing about each other, except for that brief encounter so long ago and the few quick conversations they'd had in the last two weeks. Had it been two weeks? On one hand, she still felt the shock of recognizing him at the punching bag like it was yesterday. On the other, it was difficult to remember a time when he wasn't right next door, when her body wasn't alive with the proximity of him.

She sat down and crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap. Joe just looked into her eyes, silent, a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips.

Charlotte returned his gaze and pondered the mystery of sexual attraction. Why did one man, like Jimmy Bettmyer, make her skin crawl, while another, Joe Mills, made her libido do the Lambada? Sexual attraction had as many layers as organic whole wheat phyllo dough. What she felt for Joe was based in the physical senses, of course, the resonance of his voice, the breadth of his hand, the male scent at the crook of his neck, the black liquid passion of his eyes. But another part of the attraction was intangible. She felt joy in his presence. She felt sensual and alive. She felt like herself.

She couldn't stop her thoughts-they came racing at her too fast and hard to fight back-and Charlotte found herself comparing Joe to Kurt. It was unfair, like comparing a Ferrari to a Volvo, and she knew it.

With Kurt, she felt safe. He was strong and steady and reliable, and when he touched her, it was with the same reserved strength he used to interact with the rest of the world. When they made love, it was pleasant and sweet and usually over too soon. Most often, it was with Charlotte beneath him-that was the way he preferred it-and despite his position, he always left it up to her to control the pace and timing. Her favorite part was when he would hold her afterward and stroke her hair.

That was when the dark thoughts would rush into her, as she hid her face in his chest. That's when she'd admit to herself that she longed for so much more, something elusive and wonderful that she and Kurt just couldn't seem to produce together. She wanted certain physical sensations, yes. She wanted her legs up over her ears. She wanted to ride a man's body hard. Every once in a while, she wanted to be flipped over onto her belly and taken from behind by a man who was blinded by a need much like rage, a force that would propel her into the dark rushing swirl of sex.

But she also wanted something beyond the physical. She wanted that otherworldly sense of connection she'd had with Joe, the way he'd used his mind and words and emotions to push her past the corporeal into oblivion. She wanted to know she was being loved by a man who'd surrendered to his desire for her, who wouldn't hold back, who couldn't stop himself even if he wanted to.

Once, only once, she'd summoned the courage to come right out and ask Kurt for what she wanted. It shocked him. He pulled away from her, paced the bedroom, and told her he respected her too much to degrade her that way*

"What in the world are you thinking over there?" Joe asked.

Charlotte shook her head. Like the grief, the regret could attack her without warning. Tonight, it was relentless. She felt powerless against it.

She thought of her wedding night. She was completely exhausted. Ironic as it was, after all the years of wanting and waiting, she was not at all interested in having sex on her wedding night. By the time the reception was over and the revelers left their hotel suite, it was two in the morning. Her head throbbed from the champagne and the lack of food-she'd been too excited to eat. Her feet hurt from the narrow heels she'd worn with her wedding dress. Her mouth hurt from hours of smiling. She could barely keep her eyes open.

But Kurt had swept her up off the hotel sofa and carried her lovingly to the big king-size bed, where he murmured to her to not be afraid, that he wouldn't hurt her, that he loved her more than anything in the world.

Charlotte's body shook. She was scared to death that at this most sacred moment Kurt would discover that someone had been there before him and she'd be found out- her ruse exposed-and he'd want the marriage annulled. Tears sprang into her eyes. She opened her mouth to tell him everything, her lips forming the first words of the sentence that would spell her doom-"Remember the day I picked you up at National Airport?"-when her new husband's mouth came down on hers and he'd kissed her hard and his hands went to her breasts and she surrendered herself to whatever fate would bring.

Fate brought a pleasing but silent coupling, followed by Kurt apologizing because he knew it must have hurt her. He told her he felt her shaking, saw her tears, and hoped that she could forgive him for being so rough.