“I’m starving,” he lied. “And something smells really good.”

“Beef bourguignon. It’s Derek’s favorite.” Her voice caught as she crossed the room. Nate still stood in the door, so he stepped inside to move out of her way. Their bodies brushed together. “Sorry.”

She flicked her eyes at him, then away. “You can wash up if you like, your bathroom is right there.” She nodded at the door on one wall. “I’ll go get dinner. Come on down to the kitchen when you’re ready.”

He watched her leave, long, sleek bare legs, her cute little ass moving under the white shorts. Whoa. He should not be looking at Derek’s wife like that. Strangely, he hadn’t looked at any woman like that for a long time.

There had been women. He’d had sex. Mindless, physical release. He got horny, he found someone. It was never difficult. The only difficult part was making the women understand he wasn’t interested in anything more than a quick fuck.

Why had Derek pulled a disappearing act? Krissa seemed so upset, although she was trying to hide it. You’d think if they’d gotten some kind of bad news Derek would want to be home with her. Or was there something else going on? Derek better not be screwing around on Krissa. He’d kick his ass if he was.

He used the bathroom, didn’t bother to change out of the worn jeans he’d traveled in from Costa Rica, but did put on a clean T-shirt. Then he found his way back to the kitchen where Krissa was lifting the lid on a steaming pot.

“Hi,” she said. “Everything’s ready. I’m afraid the potatoes are overdone. They were supposed to have been eaten a couple of hours ago.”

“Did you try Derek’s cell phone again?” He sat down on a stool at the long granite counter.

“No.” She dished up plates for them and slid his across the counter to him. “What can I get you to drink? Beer? Cola? Juice?”

“I’d love a beer.”

She went to the big stainless-steel refrigerator with double doors and retrieved a beer for him. After what appeared to be a second thought, she pulled another out for herself.

He nodded, speared a piece of meat with his fork. It melted on his tongue, the tang of spices and red wine exploding against his taste buds. “Wow, this is good, Krissa.” He took another bite.

“Thanks.”

He hadn’t had much appetite since he’d been sick. He’d lost a shitload of weight, and although he’d gained some back, and had been working out to try to regain some muscle, he hadn’t been interested in food. But this was fabulous.

“You’re a great cook.”

She smiled. “I like cooking for people.”

“Perfect. I like eating.” Well, it used to be the truth.

“You look like you lost weight.”

“Yeah. I couldn’t eat for a few weeks. I was on an IV for a while.”

“Oh God.” Her green eyes were full of sympathy. “The hospital in Costa Rica…was it okay?”

“Yeah. It was a decent place in San José.”

“I’m glad you came here to recover.”

“I don’t want to get in your way.”

Their eyes met across the counter. Her smile trembled.

“What’s going on, Krissa?”

Krissa lowered her eyes and pushed food around on her plate with her fork. “I think Derek should tell you.”

He was screwing around, the asshole. Nate gritted his teeth.

“Let’s talk about you,” Krissa said, fake cheerfulness in her tone. “Your photographs have been doing great.”

“Yeah.” His success still amazed him. “After I made that first big sale, things just took off.”

“I hear they’re selling for ten thousand dollars.”

He laughed. “Yeah, now they are. But remember? I sold my first one for two hundred dollars.”

“And didn’t you win an award last year?”

“Fine Art photographer of the Year at the International Fine Art Competition in Tokyo.” He made a face.

“Wow. You’ve come a long way from renting bikes on the beach and selling your photographs at the Sunday Arts and Crafts Show.”

“Yeah. Those were fun times, though.”

She tipped her head. “You were never totally satisfied being a beach bum.”

He nodded, realized he’d almost cleaned his plate. That was the first time that had happened in quite a while.

“Would you like more?” She motioned to his empty plate.

He hesitated. “Sure.” What did he care if Krissa thought he was a pig?

But she seemed pleased as she took his plate and filled it again.

“I heard you also got a book deal.”

His gut clenched. He stared down at the plate, appetite suddenly gone again. “Yeah. Had a book deal. I can’t do it now.”

She slid onto her stool, eyes watching him. “Because of your eyes?”

“Yeah.” His throat tightened. “They gave me a deadline. I couldn’t do it now even if my eyes were better tomorrow.” He picked up his fork.

“I’m sure they would make another offer. Once you’re better. If they wanted you to do a book before, they’ll still want you in a few months.”

“Maybe.” If his eyes got better.

“Tell me what happened.” Her voice was soft, and the caring in it squeezed his chest. “Derek didn’t know much.”

“I was shooting in Costa Rica. I ate some bad fish and got food poisoning. Botulism. I was lucky, because one of the guys I was with was a doctor and he knew immediately what it was. He had it, too. So we both got treatment right away, thank God. But for some reason, one of the side effects is this goddamn light sensitivity.” He shook his head. “It’s apparently a pretty rare side effect, the doctors down there had to look it up on the Internet. And of course, it didn’t affect Mike. Just me.” Bitterness burned inside him. It was the worst fucking thing that could happen to a photographer.

“But you can see?”

“Yeah, I can see, but I can’t take off these damn glasses except inside with the curtains drawn. Makes it pretty hard to take pictures.” It was like constantly looking at everything through a neutral density filter.

“Oh, Nate.” She looked at him with distressed eyes. “It must have been awful. Botulism can be fatal, can’t it?”

“It can be, especially if it’s not treated right away. Often, they don’t realize what’s wrong until it’s too late, so, like I said, I was lucky.”

He grimaced, ate some beef, not wanting to offend Krissa by turning away the food she’d just served him.

He looked up at her. “Derek said you’ve started your own business.”

“That’s right. Consulting. I am now Inspired Solutions.”

“So have you finally found what you want to do?”

She met his eyes—although she probably couldn’t see his behind the damn glasses—and smiled faintly. “I think so.”

“Took you long enough.”

Krissa’s job hopping had been a source of teasing since he’d met her. In her ten years since college, she’d probably worked for ten different companies, ranging from a brewery to a pharmaceutical manufacturer to an insurance company. There was always something wrong with every place she worked, yet her employers always loved her and she never had trouble finding another job.

She laughed. “I know, I know. Luckily Derek’s been doing well, so we could afford for me not to have steady income coming in. But as it turns out, I’ve been really busy.”

“All those companies you worked for probably hire you. They want you back.”

She grinned. “Actually, that’s true. A lot of my clients are former employers. Hey, I know what they need.”

“Good for you.”

“I love it. I don’t have people bossing me around. I get to tell them what to do, and if they don’t listen to me—no problem. I don’t have to work there but I still get the money. It’s perfect.”

“So what do you do for them?”

“Mostly human resource issues—employee rewards and incentive programs, talent acquisition and management, employee health plans. One of my clients is in the process of merging with another company so I’m helping them blend the two cultures. I help companies survey employees about attitudes, satisfaction, engagement and other employee behaviors, and then come up with a plan to deal with whatever issues come to light. I also do retirement counseling. Lots of different things.”