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  Stephen’s brow lifted again as he studied the woman being buffeted by the breeze—the short red silk robe, the tousled hair.

  “Soon after her death—I don’t know if it was days or a week—something just snapped. I looked at myself, at my life, and I hated it.” She dragged her hair back, only to have the wind catch it again. “I was a good employee, just like my aunt, a good credit risk, a dependable friend. Law-abiding, conservative and boring. Suddenly I could see myself ten, twenty, thirty years down the road, with nothing more than I had at that moment. I couldn’t stand it.”

  She turned around. The breeze caught at the hem of her robe and sent it dancing around her legs. “I quit my job, and I sold everything.”

  “Sold?”

  “Everything I owned—car, apartment, furniture, books, absolutely everything. I turned all the cash into traveler’s checks, even the small inheritance from my aunt. Thousands of dollars. I know it might not sound like a lot to you, but it was more than I’d ever imagined having at once.”

  “Wait.” He held up a hand, wanting to be certain he understood everything. “You’re telling me that you sold your possessions, all your possessions?”

  She couldn’t remember ever having felt more foolish, and she straightened her shoulders defensively. “Right down to my coffeepot.”

  “Amazing,” he murmured.

  “I bought new clothes, new luggage, and flew to London. First-class. I’d never been on a plane before in my life.”

  “You’d never flown, but took your first trip across the Atlantic.”

  She didn’t hear the admiration in his voice, only the amusement. “I wanted to see something different. To be something different. I stayed at the Ritz and took pictures of the changing of the guard. I flew to Paris and had my hair cut.” Self-consciously she lifted a hand to it.

  Because he could see that she was overwrought, he was careful not to smile. “You flew to Paris for a haircut.”

  “I’d heard some women discussing this stylist, and I— Never mind.” It was no use trying to explain that she’d gone to the same hairdresser, to the same shops, for years. The same everything. “Right after Paris, I came here,” she went on. “I met you. Things happened. I let them happen.” Tears threatened. She could only pray he didn’t see them. “You were exciting, and attracted to me. Or attracted to who you thought I was. I’d never had a romance. No one had ever looked at me the way you did.”

  Once more he chose his words carefully. “Are you saying that being with me was different? An adventure, like flying to a Paris salon?”

  She would never be able to explain what being with him had meant to her. “Apologies and explanations really don’t make any difference now. But I am sorry, Stephen. I’m sorry for everything.”

  He didn’t see the tears, but he heard the regret in her voice. His eyes narrowed. His muscles tensed. “Are you apologizing for making love with me, Rebecca?”

  “I’m apologizing for whatever you like. I’d make it up to you if I could, but I don’t know how, unless I jump out the window.”

  He paused, as if he were considering it. “I don’t think this requires anything quite that drastic. Perhaps if you’d sit down calmly?”

  She shook her head and stayed where she was. “I can’t handle any more of this tonight, Stephen. I’m sorry. You’ve every right to be angry.”

  He rose, the familiar impatience building. But she was so pale, looked so fragile, sounded so weary. He hadn’t treated her gently before. At least he could do so now.

  “All right. Tomorrow, then, after you’ve rested.” He started to go to her, then checked himself. It would take time to show her that there were other ways to love. Time to convince her that love was more, much more than an adventure. “I want you to know that I regret what happened tonight. But that, too, will wait until tomorrow.” Though he wanted to touch a hand to her cheek, he kept it fisted in his pocket. “Get some rest.”

  She had thought her heart was already broken. Now it shattered. Not trusting her voice, she nodded.

  He left her alone. The door scraped against the splintered jamb as he secured it. She supposed there might have been a woman somewhere who’d made a bigger fool of herself. At the moment, it didn’t seem to matter.

  At least there was something she could do for both of them. Disappear.

  Chapter Ten

  It was her own fault, she supposed. There were at least half a dozen promising accounting positions in the want ads. Not one of them interested her. Rebecca circled them moodily. How could she be interested in dental plans and profit sharing? All she could think about, all she’d been able to think about for two weeks, was Stephen.

  What had he thought when he’d found her gone? Relief? Perhaps a vague annoyance at business left unfinished? Pen in hand, Rebecca stared out of the window of the garden apartment she’d rented. In her fantasies she imagined him searching furiously for her, determined to find her, whatever the cost. Reality, she thought with a sigh, wasn’t quite so romantic. He would have been relieved. Perhaps she wasn’t sophisticated, but at least she’d stepped out of his life with no fuss.

  Now it was time to get her own life in order.

  First things first. She had an apartment, and the little square of lawn outside the glass doors was going to make her happy. That in itself was a challenge. Her old condo had been centrally located on the fifth floor of a fully maintained modern building.

  This charming and older development was a good thirty miles from downtown, but she could hear the birds in the morning. She would be able to look out at old oaks and sweeping maples and flowers she would plant herself. Perhaps it wasn’t as big a change as a flight to Paris, but for Rebecca it was a statement.

  She’d bought some furniture. Some was the operative word. Thus far she’d picked out a bed, one antique table and a single chair.

  Not logical, Rebecca thought with a faint smile. No proper and economical living room suite, no tidy curtains. Even the single set of towels she’d bought was frivolous. And exactly what she’d wanted. She would do what she’d secretly wanted to do for years—buy a piece here, a piece there. Not because it was a good buy or durable, but because she wanted it.

  She wondered how many people would really understand the satisfaction of making decisions not because they were sensible but because they were desirable.

  She’d done it with her home, her wardrobe. Even with her hair, she thought, running a hand through it. Outward changes had led to inner changes. Or vice versa. Either way, she would never again be the woman she’d been before.

  Or perhaps she would be the woman she’d always been but had refused to acknowledge.

  Then why was she circling ads in the classifieds? Rebecca asked herself. Why was she sitting here on a beautiful morning planning a future she had no interest in? Perhaps it was true that she would never have the one thing, the one person, she really wanted. There would be no more picnics or walks in the moonlight or frantic nights in bed. Still, she had the memories, she had the moments, she had the dreams. There would be no regrets where Stephen was concerned. Not now, and not ever. And if she was now more the woman she had been with him, it had taken more than a change in hairstyle.

  She was stronger. She was surer. She was freer. And she’d done it herself.

  She could think of nothing she wanted less than to go back into someone else’s firm, tallying figures, calculating profit and loss. So she wouldn’t. Rebecca sank into the chair as the thought struck home.

  She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t go job hunting, carrying her resume, rinsing sweaty palms in the rest room, putting her career and life in someone else’s hands again. She’d open her own firm. A small one, certainly. Personalized. Exclusive, she decided, savoring the word. Why not? She had the skill, the experience, and—finally—she had the courage.

  It wouldn’t be easy. In fact, it would be risky. The money she had left would have to go toward renting office space, equipment, a phone system, advertising.
With a bubbling laugh, she sprang up and searched for a legal pad and a pencil. She had to make lists—not only of things to do but of people to call. She had enough contacts from her McDowell, Jableki and Kline days. Maybe, just maybe, she could persuade some of her former clients to give her a try.

  “Just a minute,” she called out when she heard the knock on the door. She scribbled a reminder to look for file cabinets as she went to answer. She’d much rather have some good solid oak file cabinets than a living room sofa.

  She knew better than to open the door without checking the security peephole, but she was much too involved with her plans to think about such things. When she opened the door, she found herself face-to-face with Stephen.

  Even if she could have spoken, he wasn’t in the mood to let her. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded as he slammed the door behind him. “Do you deliberately try to drive me mad, or does it come naturally to you?”

  “I— I don’t—” But he was already yanking her against him. Whatever words she might have spoken dissolved into a moan against his lips. Her pad fell to the floor with a slap. Even as her arms came up around him he was thrusting her away.

  “What kind of game are you playing, Rebecca?” When she just shook her head, he dug his hands into his pockets and paced the wide, nearly empty room. He was unshaven, disheveled and absolutely gorgeous. “It’s taken me two weeks and a great deal of trouble to find you. I believe we’d agreed to talk again. I was surprised to discover you’d not only left Athens, but Europe.” He swung back and pinned her with a look. “Why?”

  Still reeling from his entrance, she struggled not to babble. “I thought it best that I leave.”

  “You thought?” He took a step toward her, his fury so palatable that she braced herself. “You thought it best,” he repeated. “For whom?”

  “For you. For both of us.” She caught herself fiddling with the lapels of her robe and dropped her hands. “I knew you were angry with me for lying to you and that you regretted what had happened between us. I felt it would be better for both of us if I—”

  “Ran away?”

  Her chin came up fractionally. “Went away.”

  “You said you loved me.”

  She swallowed. “I know.”

  “Was that another lie?”

  “Please don’t.” She turned away, but there was nowhere to go. “Stephen, I never expected to see you again. I’m trying to make some sense out of my life, to do things in a way that’s not only right but makes me happy. In Greece, I guess, I did what made me happy, but I didn’t think about what was right. The time with you was …”

  “Was what?”

  Dragging both hands through her hair, she turned to him again. It was as if the two weeks had never been. She was facing him again, trying to explain what she feared she could never explain. “It was the best thing that ever happened to me, the most important, the most unforgettable, the most precious. I’ll always be grateful for those few days.”

  “Grateful.” He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or murder her. Stepping forward, he surprised them both by slipping his hands lightly around her throat. “For what? For my giving you your first fling? A fast, anonymous romance with no consequences?”

  “No.” She lifted a hand to his wrist but made no attempt to struggle. “Did you come all this way to make me feel more guilty?”

  “I came all this way because I finish what I begin. We’d far from finished, Rebecca.”

  “All right.” Be calm, she told herself. When a man was this close to the edge, a woman’s best defense was serenity. “If you’ll let me go, we’ll talk. Would you like some coffee?”

  His fingers tightened reflexively, then slowly relaxed. “You’ve bought a new pot.”

  “Yes.” Was that humor in his eyes? she wondered. “There’s only one chair. Why don’t you use it while I go into the kitchen?”

  He took her arm. “I don’t want coffee, or a chair, or a pleasant conversation.”

  It seemed serenity wouldn’t work. “All right, Stephen. What do you want?”

  “You. I’d thought I’d made that fairly obvious.” When she frowned, he glanced around the apartment. “Now tell me, Rebecca, is this what you want? A handful of rooms to be alone in?”

  “I want to make the best of the rest of my life. I’ve already apologized for deceiving you. I realize that—”

  “Deceiving me.” He held up a finger to stop her. “I’ve wanted to clear that point up myself. How did you deceive me?”

  “By letting you think that I was something I’m not.”

  “You’re not a beautiful, interesting woman? A passionate woman?” He lifted a brow as he studied her. “Rebecca, I have too much pride to ever believe you could deceive me that completely.”

  He was confusing her—deliberately, she was sure. “I told you what I’d done.”

  “What you’d done,” he agreed. “And how you’d done it.” He brought his hand to her throat again, this time in a caress. His anger hadn’t made her knees weak. She felt them tremble now at his tenderness. “Selling your possessions and flying to Paris for a new hairstyle. Quitting your job and grabbing life with both hands. You fascinate me.” Her eyes stayed open wide when he brushed his lips over hers. “I think the time is nearly over when you’ll be so easily flattered. It’s almost a pity.” He drew her closer, slowly, while his mouth touched hers. Relief coursed through him as he felt her melt and give. “Do you think it was your background that attracted me?”

  “You were angry,” she managed.

  “Yes, angry at the idea that I had been part of your experiment. Furious,” he added before he deepened the kiss. “Furious that I had been of only passing interest.” She was heating in his arms, just as he remembered, just as he needed, softening, strengthening. “Shall I tell you how angry? Shall I tell you that for two weeks I couldn’t work, couldn’t think, couldn’t function, because you were everywhere I looked and nowhere to be found?”

  “I had to go.” She was already tugging at his shirt to find the flesh beneath. To touch him again, just for a moment. To be touched by him. “When you said you regretted making love …” Her own words brought her back. Quickly she dropped her hands and stepped away.

  He stared at her for a moment, then abruptly swore and began to pace. “I’ve never thought myself this big a fool. I hurt you that night in a much different way than I’d believed. Then I handled it with less finesse than I might the most unimportant business transaction.” He paused, sighing. For the first time she saw clearly how incredibly weary he was.

  “You’re tired. Please, sit down. Let me fix you something.”

  He took a moment to press his fingers to his eyes. Again he wanted to laugh—while he strangled her. She was exactly what he needed, what he understood. Yet at the same time she baffled him.

  “You weaken me, Rebecca, and bring out the fool I’d forgotten I could be. I’m surprised you allowed me to set foot into your home. You should have—” As quickly as the anger had come, it faded. As quickly as the tension had formed, it eased. Everything he’d needed to see was in her eyes. Carefully now, he drew a deep breath. A man wasn’t always handed so many chances at happiness.

  “Rebecca, I never regretted making love with you.” He stopped her from turning with the lightest of touches on her shoulder. “I regretted only the way it happened. Too much need and too little care. I regret, I’ll always regret, that for your first time there was fire but no warmth.” He took her hands in his and brought them to his lips.

  “It was beautiful.”

  “In its way.” His fingers tightened on hers. Still so innocent, he thought. Still so generous. “It was not kind or patient or tender, as love should be the first time.”

  She felt hope rise in her heart again. “None of that mattered.”

  “It mattered, more than I can ever tell you. After, when you told me everything, it only mattered more. If I had done what my instincts told me to do that nig
ht you would never have left me. But I thought you needed time before you could bear to have me touch you again.” Slowly, gently, he drew the tip of her finger into his mouth and watched her eyes cloud over. “Let me show you what I should have shown you then.” With her hands locked in his, he looked into her eyes. “Do you want me?”

  It was time for the truth. “Yes.”

  He lifted her into his arms and heard her breath catch. “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes.”

  When he smiled, her heart turned over. “Rebecca, I must ask you one more thing.”

  “What is it?”

  “Do you have a bed?”

  She felt her cheeks heat even as she laughed. “In there.”

  She was trembling. It reminded him how careful he had to be, how precious this moment was to both of them. The sun washed over the bed, over them, as he lay beside her. And kissed her—only kissed her, softly, deeply, thoroughly, until her arms slipped from around him to fall bonelessly to her sides. She trembled still as he murmured to her, as his lips brushed over her cheeks, her throat.

  He had shown her the desperation love could cause, the sharp-edged pleasure, the speed and the fury. Now he showed her that love could mean serenity and sweetness.

  And she showed him.

  He had thought to teach her, not to learn, to reassure her but not to be comforted. But he learned, and he was comforted. The need was there, as strong as it had been the first time. But strength was tempered with patience. As he slipped his hands down her robe to part it, to slide it away from her skin, he felt no need to hurry. He could delight in the way the sun slanted across her body, in the way her flesh warmed to his touch.

  Her breath was as unsteady as her hands as she undressed him. But not from nerves. She understood that now. She felt strong and capable and certain. Anticipation made her tremble. Pleasure made her shudder. She gave a sigh that purred out of her lips as she arched against his seeking hands. Then he nipped lightly at her breast and she bounded from serenity to passion in one breathless leap.

  Still he moved slowly, guiding her into a kind of heated torment she’d never experienced. Desire boiled in her, and his name sprang to her lips and her body coiled like a spring. Chaining down his own need, he set hers free and watched as she flew over the first peak.