Within seconds she was sobbing. She leaned back against the refrigerator, bowed her head, and cried like a baby. The release felt good. She could have kept it up for at least another half hour if someone hadn't intruded. She heard a knock on the door, grabbed a paper towel to wipe the tears from her face, and stood frozen hoping whoever it was would go away.

No such luck. Another knock, more insistent this time. She did not want company. Barefoot, she crept to the door and looked through the peephole. Her heart dropped.

There stood Dylan Buchanan, the bane of her existence. God, he looked good. She shook herself. Stop that. He wore a pale blue shirt neatly tucked into his jeans. The shirt was just fitted enough to show off his broad chest and thick biceps. His dark hair was short, and as usual not a strand was out of place.

All of the Buchanan boys were ruggedly good-looking, but Dylan had a little extra something going for him. She thought maybe it was his slow, sexy smile. She only knew one thing for certain. When he turned on the charm, he could melt the most frigid of hearts. Jordan referred to her older brother as the sex machine. Kate thought he had earned the dubious nickname because of all the women he had dated-and no doubt taken to bed-while he was in college. She didn't think he had slowed down much since then, except maybe for a couple of weeks after he'd been shot. The bullet might have slowed him a little.

He looked tired, she thought.

He pushed the doorbell again and leaned against the wall behind him balancing a pizza box and a six-pack of beer on one hand.

Had he heard the floorboard squeak when she'd stepped on that loose one? She moved away from the door, waited a couple of seconds, and then peeked again. Her heart began to pound. It was an instantaneous reaction and one she couldn't seem to control. The conditioned response stemmed from the night he had walked in on her in the shower. He'd had a mighty fine time teasing her about it ever since. She simply wasn't up to sparring with him tonight. In her vulnerable state, he'd eat her alive.

When he winked, she knew he was perfectly aware that she was standing on the other side of the door.

She was going to have to be grown up about this. She would simply open the door and tell him to go away. She looked through the peephole one last time.

The man was a force to be reckoned with, and she was not in the mood tonight. She needed to finish crying and go to bed.

Get it over with, she told herself. She unlocked the double deadbolts and pulled the door open as she said, "Jordan's not-"

"It's about time. The pizza's getting cold and the beer's getting warm. Move out of the way. Come on, Pickle. Move."

The silly name he called her had always gotten under her skin.

He was already over the threshold and about to step on her toes.

The pizza smelled wonderful and so did he. She got a tiny whiff of his cologne when he strode past her on his way to the kitchen. She followed him and got trapped behind the refrigerator when he opened the door to put the beer inside. He popped the tab on one can and offered it to her. She shook her head. He shut the refrigerator, stepped closer, and pinned her to the counter as he slowly reached over her to get to the pizza.

He was deliberately trying to get a reaction, and from the sparkle in his eyes, she knew he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

"I'll be happy to move."

"No need."

His chest rubbed against hers, and it was then that she remembered what she was wearing.

"Jordan's not here," she told him.

"I noticed."

"You should have called first and saved yourself a trip. I'm not dressed for company."

"Yeah, I noticed that, too. You've got great legs, Pickle."

"Dylan…"

"I'm not company."

She pushed against his shoulder to get him to step back. When he winced, she realized what she had done. "Oh, Dylan," she whis-pered as she jerked her hand back. She'd forgotten about his injury. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to…"

"It's okay."

He left the pizza but took his beer into the living room and dropped down on the sofa. Kate followed him.

"I hurt you, didn't I?"

"Let it go," he said. He knew he'd sounded irritated and softened his tone when he added, "I'm fine."

He didn't look fine. He looked ready to pass out. His complexion had turned gray, but if he wanted her to let it go, then that's what she would do. She went into the kitchen, grabbed the pizza, some napkins, and her bottled water, and then decided to take him another beer as a peace offering of sorts.

There were newspapers spread on the coffee table. Kate put the box down on top and then excused herself and went into Jordan's bedroom to borrow one of her robes. Her friend was taller than Kate, and the pink robe dragged on the floor. It was missing a belt.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the sink as she walked past and inwardly groaned. She'd forgotten she'd clipped her hair into a ponytail that was more out than in, and there were mascara smudges under her eyes. "Lovely," she muttered.

She grabbed a washcloth and started scrubbing. By the time she came back to the living room Dylan had finished his third slice of pizza and was reaching for a fourth. He'd also emptied her bottle of water and gotten her another one.

She shook her head. "I wasn't gone that long."

"You snooze, you lose. At least in the Buchanan family you do. Come sit." She must have looked wary. "I won't bite, unless you want me to."

He was smiling at her, and oh, Lord, he was something. Good thing she wasn't interested, she reminded herself. Like the big bad wolf, he'd devour her. No, thank you.

He was sitting in the center of the sofa and took up a fair amount of space, but she didn't ask him to move over. She shoved several pillows out of the way and sat down.

"I was wondering…" he began.

She stacked the pillows neatly between them. "Yes?"

He was smiling at her again. She wanted to tell him to stop it, that when he smiled, she lost her ability to concentrate. Wouldn't he love hearing that? He'd have something more to tease her about.

"Where's the remote?"

The question jarred her. "The remote?"

"Uh-huh," he drawled. "The remote."

"You mean the remote for the television. Let me guess. Sports channel."

"I'm that predictable?"

"Afraid so. You're a Buchanan male."

She threw a couple of pillows on the floor and dug between the sofa cushions. She fished out the remote and handed it to him.

"It was nice of you to bring Jordan a pizza. I'll save this for her," she said.

"I didn't bring it for her. It's for you."

"How did you know I was here?"

"Jordan told me." She shook her head. He nodded. "She also told me to keep you company tonight."

Kate was taken aback. "When did she tell you?"

"About an hour ago." She didn't look like she believed him, and so he added, "In the hospital."

"You were there… in the hospital?"

"Sure was."

"But… but how did you find out she was there?" She didn't give him time to answer but said, "She didn't call you. Did she call you?"

"No, she didn't call me. She didn't call any of us," he added, referring to his brothers, "and I'll be discussing that with her as soon as she's feeling better. We're her family and she shouldn't have-"

She interrupted him before he got all wound up. He was well on his way.

"You still haven't told me how you found out."

"A friend of Nick's works in outpatient and just happened to notice the name on the surgical schedule."

"And called Nick?" She was outraged by the possibility.

He shrugged. "Something like that. She didn't know Nick had gotten married."

"That's unethical."

"What is? Getting married or…"

She was going to argue with him about confidentiality and realized he was trying to get a rise out of her.