“And from the white pallor of your otherwise glowing complexion I would guess you’re pretty weak.”

Chris sank lower into her pillow. “Nothing two or three days’ worth of solid sleep wouldn’t cure.”

“Do you think you should see a doctor?”

“No!”

He nodded his head. “Okay. How about some tea and toast?”

“I’d rather have coffee and a waffle.”

His eyebrow quirked over one eye in reprimand, and he sauntered from the room.

Sunday morning Chris swung her legs over the side of the bed and reveled in the glorious feeling of being healthy and rested. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee washed over her in warm, tantalizing waves. Her man was in the kitchen. Her man. The phrase almost knocked the wind out of her. She rose from the bed on shaky legs, knowing it wasn’t flu that made her tremble-it was the anticipation of seeing Ken. For two days he’d brought her flowers and books and meals. He’d brought a TV into her room, and he’d gotten movies for the DVD player.

He’d stayed with her, sharing her recuperation in a quiet, comfy way, sitting on the bed or in the club chair, and he kept an atmosphere of companionable silence, allowing her to doze and leaving time for her to think private thoughts-mostly of him. Mostly thoughts she had no business thinking. Thoughts about a man in her future. A man who would be a real father to Lucy, teaching her soccer and softball and grilling prospective suitors. A man Chris could talk to in the privacy of her bedroom. Not sexy talk-just regular talk, like “Vicki Jamison drove me nuts today,” or “Orange juice was half-price at Super-Duper, so I bought twelve gallons.”

It was easy to imagine Ken as such a man. He was the stuff dreams were made of-and she loved him. Lord, how she loved him. It was a bittersweet, lump-in-the-throat sort of love. It was a love she would have to guard closely and keep in her secret heart of hearts because fear of another betrayal knotted her stomach and fluttered wildly in her chest. It was irrational and ungrounded, she told herself, but it was real.

She padded to the top of the stairs and called down to Ken.

Instantly, he appeared at the bottom step with a wooden spoon in his hand and a cookbook stuffed under his arm. This was going to be impossible, Chris thought, grinning. How could any woman resist this guy? She grasped hold of the stair rail to keep from flinging herself into his arms and struggled to assume a cheerful voice.

“Look at me. I’m actually a human being today.”

“So I see,” he murmured, his eyes full of lazy seduction. “And looking very good.”

Ken was peeking up her nightie. She stumbled backward, feeling inexplicably shy. She waited for the rush of excitement to subside in her stomach before speaking. “What are you making?”

“It was supposed to be a surprise. I was going to bring you breakfast in bed.”

“No!” Yesterday he’d made rubber Jell-O that couldn’t be cut with a steak knife. He had permanently fused two inches of cooked, congealed, totally burned oatmeal to the bottom of her best saucepan. And he had cooked a pot roast for three hours before discovering it was wrapped in cellophane.

His face grew quizzical at her adamant “no.”

“I’m feeling better-I’ll make breakfast this morning,” she insisted. “Give me a minute to shower, and I’ll be right down.”

He looked relieved. “That sounds nice. To tell you the truth I was a little nervous about trying to make waffles on my own. Sometimes my first attempts at new recipes don’t turn out so well.”

Chris turned before he could see the look of incredulity on her face. Sometimes his first attempts didn’t turn out so well-what an understatement!

She stripped and jumped into the steaming shower. Five minutes later she was tripping down the stairs in a pair of snug jeans and a white T-shirt that sported a glittery picture of a daisy. Her still-damp hair curled in little ringlets around her face. A slash of shadow and clear lip gloss were her only concessions to makeup. By the time she cleared the last step her heart was skipping beats over the knowledge that she’d purposely neglected to wear a bra under the flimsy T-shirt. She was asking for trouble and enjoying every minute of it.

Ken lounged against a kitchen counter and watched her approach. A small tight smile quirked at his mouth, and his eyes darkened under heavy black lashes. “Hmmmm,” was his only comment, uttered in a low velvet growl.

Chris experienced a moment of searing panic. She had forgotten how fast he could change from adorable puppy to awesome predator. She spread her arms wide and resumed the role of forced gaiety to hide her confusion. “Well, here I am. Ready to make you a great breakfast. What would you like to eat?”

His eyes burned a path from her mouth to her breasts. “What’s on the menu?”

“Waffles?” she asked hopefully, swallowing hard.

“Is that the best you can do?”

“Ah-h-h-h,” she quavered. “Oh, shoot.” Chris stomped across the kitchen, hands on hips, eyes narrowed. “What is it about you that scares the heck out of me? I walked down those stairs filled with confidence and feeling seductive…and all you have to do is look at me and drop your voice an octave and I’m…I’m…”

“Mush?”

“Mush.”

Ken tipped his head back and laughed softly. “I don’t think there’s another woman alive that would come right out and say something like that.” He reached out and pulled her into the circle of his arms. He watched her for a few seconds before drawing her closer. “I don’t want you to be afraid of what you feel for me. We have a special attraction for each other. It should be enjoyed and cherished.” He lowered his lips to hers and kissed her tenderly. “If we take care of this attraction it will grow even stronger, and it will last a long, long time. It’s not just hormones, Chris. It’s a union of minds and hearts and secret dreams.” His cast rested against her hipbone. His right hand flattened over her back, pushing her against him, crushing her breasts into his hard, muscled chest. “Lean on me, Chris,” he coaxed. “Your daisy won’t mind.”

Chris felt the smile creep through her. It tickled her fingertips and surged through her heart. She did as he asked and leaned into him, her thighs sliding suggestively between his, her stomach flat against the snap of his jeans.

He shifted his weight to fit her even more snugly to him and whispered her name in a voice thickened by emotion. His hand impatiently roamed across her back in sensual exploration. It slid to her waist with increasing pressure.

“I want to love you.” His voice was barely audible.

Chris wrapped her arms around him. She kissed the spot on his neck where a few black hairs curled from the open V of his blue buttoned-down shirt. Her panic was gone. It was replaced with a pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. When he held her like this everything was right in the world. They belonged together, and she realized that this moment of affirmation had been as inevitable as April rain. “I want to love you, too,” she whispered as she kissed the pulse point just below his jaw, touching it first with her lips and then with the tip of her tongue.

A gasp escaped from deep in Ken’s throat at the erotic gesture. In an instant his mouth was on hers. The tentative gentleness of his previous kisses was gone, yielding to the overpowering passion that tore through both of them. Chris gave herself up to the black all-encompassing desire that she had hoped to avoid.

He was right. It was special, and it was to be enjoyed and nurtured. She took his hand and led him upstairs to her bedroom, relishing her new-found bravery.

His shirt had been discarded somewhere between kitchen and bedroom, and the rest of his clothes hit the floor just before he joined her on the bed. She wanted to memorize every contour of his body. She watched his eyes blacken as she ran her palm along his skin.