Alex knew the moment Cassandra’s eyes left him.

It was a damned relief.

And he did a good job of not staring at her. He kept his head forward, staying focused on his sister.

At least until the minister addressed Gray. “Will you love her and comfort her, honour and keep her…?”

Alex shifted his gaze a little to the left so he could catch sight of Cassandra in his peripheral vision. She was wearing a spectacular dark red jacket and skirt combo that fitted her body as if made for it.

Will you love her…?

I will, he thought. All the days of my worthless life.

And he wanted to comfort her. He just couldn’t do that without dishonouring her and his dead friend. Not knowing how he felt.

Knowing what he’d done…

To Stacy Boyd, with so many thanks

JESSICA BIRD

graduated from college with a degree in history and art history, concentrating on the medieval period. Which meant she was great at discussing anything that happened before the sixteenth century, but not all that employable in the real world. In order to support herself, she went to law school and worked in Boston in healthcare administration for many years.

She now lives in the South with her husband and her beloved golden retriever. As a writer, her commute is a lot better than it was as a lawyer and she’s thrilled that her professional wardrobe includes slippers and tracksuits. She likes to write love stories that feature strong, independent heroines and complex, alpha male heroes. Visit her website at www.JessicaBird.com and e-mail her at Jessica@JessicaBird.com.

Dear Reader,

I have so loved spending time with the Moorehouses and hope you have enjoyed their stories as well. Love and family are the things that make life worth living and I think that Frankie, Joy and Alex each learned how true that is.

Just to let you know, Spike and Madeline are going to run into each other again very soon! And boy…you want to talk about fireworks? The two of them are spectacular together. Oh, and by the way, Sean O’Banyon has a woman in his future, too. (And so do his two handsome brothers, Billy and Mac…)

Thanks so much for reading! And I’d love to hear from you!

Jess

Jessica@JessicaBird.com

From the First Kiss

JESSICA BIRD

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Chapter One

Alex Moorehouse had no intention of answering the knock on the bedroom door. Flat on his back and halfway through a Harry Potter hardcover, he wasn’t in the mood for company.

Not that he ever was, but at this moment he really didn’t want to deal with anybody. He’d actually managed to find a position for the cast on his lower leg that relieved the pain. Or at least dulled it so he could concentrate on something else. Having a measure of peace in his body was so rare he didn’t want it frayed by an intruder.

It had been almost three months since he’d felt strong, able. Himself. Three months, four surgeries, and a post-op infection that had nearly killed him. Enough hell to wipe clean most, but not all, of his transgressions.

There were at least two sins he would have to repay in the real Hades.

The knocking came again. He kept silent.

The way he figured it, the fire department wouldn’t bother with formalities, so nothing was up in flames. If it was an EMT, he was pretty sure they were looking for someone else because he was breathing, so he wasn’t dead. And if it was one of his sisters, they would be back.

God knew, they always came back. Those two women were in and out of the room constantly. Trying to feed him. Coaxing him to come downstairs. Riding him about going to a grief counselor.

He loved them. And he wished they’d leave him the hell alone.

The door opened a crack. Joy, the younger one, stuck her head in.

He watched her eyes go to the liquor bottle on the floor next to the bed. It was a reflex with them both. Open the door. Check the scotch level. Door open. Scotch check.

He thought about dropping a pillow to hide the single malt, but figured that little defensive maneuver would only draw more attention to the damn thing.

So he just stared at her, waiting.

This was going to be good. Joy looked like she was about to jump out of her skin.

“You, ah, you have someone who wants to see you.”

He had to clear his throat before he could speak.

“No, I don’t.” God, he sounded hoarse. That scotch was doing a number on his vocal cords, and he wondered how his liver was faring.

“Yes, you—”

“And I know this because I haven’t invited anyone here.”

The way he saw it, one of the advantages to staying in someone else’s house was that nobody could find you. Friends, colleagues. Reporters. Hell, if you kept your yap shut, you could practically fall off the side of the earth.

Which was a trip he was dying to make.

All things considered, he should be thanking the fire that had made his family’s bed-and-breakfast, White Caps, uninhabitable. In the aftermath, Joy’s fiancé, Gray, had taken all the Moorehouses in, and although Alex hated being a mooch, he was grateful for the anonymity he’d been granted.

Besides, this particular hideout was a classy one.

Gray Bennett’s place in the Adirondacks was a fricking palace and the guest room Alex had been crashing in for the past six weeks was as tricked up as the rest of the mansion. Top-tier everything, from the antiques to the rugs, not that Alex could name the particulars. He was about as far away from the Queer Eye for the Straight Guy types as a man could get. Wouldn’t know an Aubusson from an Audubon.

Bennett, on the other hand, had superb taste. Which explained why he wanted to marry Alex’s little sister.

“Alex—”

He refocused. “There anything else?” He cocked an eyebrow.

Joy pushed a length of hair back, her ruby engagement ring flashing. “It’s Cassandra.”

The sound of the name brought Alex’s eyelids crashing down.

In a relentless stream of flashbacks, he saw the woman he had loved from the first moment he’d met her six years ago. Her dark red hair and pale green eyes. Her flashing smile. Her incomparable elegance.

Her wedding ring.

Guilt hit him like a train, sending him deep into the nightmare.

He was back on the sailboat, back in the storm. Fighting against the wind and the horizontal rain. Holding on to his best friend’s hand. Feeling that grip slip until his partner was lost to the hungry sea. He saw himself screaming into the darkness until his voice was gone. Searching the waves with a spotlight, looking for a man in the ocean.

On that horrible night, the wheel of fate had been spun and everyone had lost. Reese Cutler had died. Cassandra Cutler had become a widow. And Alex had been sealed in a coffin of self-hatred he was never going to get out of.

“Is she staying in this house through your wedding?” he asked tightly.

“Yes.”

Alex pushed his palms into the mattress and hefted his upper body to the vertical. Everything hurt so he lay back down. “Then I’m leaving.”

“Alex, you can’t.”

“Watch me.” He didn’t care if he had to drag himself back onto Moorehouse property. Their father’s old workshop had a potbellied stove and a bathroom. Combined with a total lack of phone lines, the place was good enough for him.

“But you promised you wouldn’t move into the shop until you saw the doctor—”

“I’m meeting with the orthopedist on Monday. Seventy-two hours is close enough.”

Joy’s eyes drifted to the floor.

“Alex, I…I was hoping we could all be under the same roof for my wedding,” she said softly. “You, me and Frankie. It’s been so long since you’ve been home. And after the fire—”

Alex cursed. “Stop. Just stop.”

Damn it, he had a terrible feeling his escape route was getting cut off. As much of a selfish hard-ass as he was, he wasn’t about to be one more disappointment during what should have been a happy time for Joy. After all, White Caps was uninhabitable following the fire in its kitchen. Most of her stuff had been destroyed in the blaze as the family’s rooms were in the old staff quarters in the back. And he had to imagine she was missing both their dead parents more than ever.

God, had it been ten years since the two of them had died out on the lake?

“Alex, please say you’ll stay.”

“If I do,” he said roughly, “I’m not seeing that woman.”

“She just wants to talk with you.”

“Then tell her I’ll call her later.” Like in a decade. Or five.

“You could do that yourself.” There was a long pause. “She’s hurting, just like you are. She needs some support.”

“Not from me, she doesn’t.”

The last thing that widow needed was sympathy from someone who’d lusted after her for years; who’d watched her from the shadows with greed, seeing her as both a miracle and a curse; who’d lain awake wondering what her skin would feel like, what her mouth would taste like.

Hell, she deserved comfort from a man who had more honor than he did, someone who hadn’t fallen in love with his best friend’s wife.

And who just might have… God, he couldn’t even bear the thought of what he’d done.

Alex shut his eyes. Nausea, his constant companion of late, made his empty stomach swell like a trash bag left in the heat.

“Alex—”

“I’ve got nothing to offer her,” he spat. “So tell her to stay away from me.”

Joy recoiled. “How can you be so cruel?”

“Because I’m a bastard, that’s how.”

When the door shut, Alex slowly sat up again. His head spun and his eyes pounded. Using his good arm, he picked up his leg by its cast and moved it off the bed. Then he carefully braced his weight on one of his crutches and cantilevered himself into a standing position. He hobbled over to a mirror.

He looked scary. Bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes with bags under them. Sallow pallor. Sunken cheeks. Whiskers.

He was fading away, he thought.

But then unrelenting guilt, and enough time in an OR so he was almost a surgical resident, would do that to a guy.

He looked down at his leg. In a couple days, he’d know whether he was keeping it or having it amputated below the knee. That shiny new titanium rod they’d used to replace his tibia hadn’t taken after the first implantation, and when the orthopedic surgeon operated again six weeks ago, the woman had made it clear. They’d take one more shot at it and then it was saw time.

Okay, so she hadn’t been that blunt.

Not that the outcome really mattered to him. Either way, with an artificial limb or a reconstructed lower leg, his future wasn’t clear. As a professional America’s Cup sailor, and captain of the best crew in the sport, he needed both his body and his mind in top shape. Neither were there. Not by a long shot. And even if they fixed his leg, it wasn’t as if they were doing cranial transplants.

The knocking started up again.

“I told you I wasn’t going to see her,” he growled.

“So I heard.” Through the door, Cassandra’s voice was low.

Alex shut his eyes. Dear Lord.

Cassandra Cutler put her forehead on the doorjamb.

He sounded exactly the same. Impatient. Commanding. And not at all interested in having anything to do with her.

Alex Moorehouse had never liked her—something that had been horribly awkward considering he’d been her husband’s sailing partner. Best friend. Confidant.

Reese had tried to reassure her that Alex was just a gruff kind of guy, but she knew it was personal. The man had always gone out of his way to avoid her, and whenever that was impossible, he glowered. At first she’d thought he was being territorial over Reese, but as time passed she’d realized that was too petty for someone like Alex. He simply couldn’t stand the sight of her, though what she’d done to offend him she couldn’t guess.

So she shouldn’t be surprised he wouldn’t see her now. And she really wasn’t.

It just hurt. Although exactly why, she wasn’t sure. On so many levels, it didn’t matter that Alex Moorehouse thought she was beneath him. She was never going to run into him again, not anymore. He was nothing in the larger scheme of her life.

Except she’d always hoped the man would come around and see her as more than just an irritating hanger-on. Alex had this way about him that suggested if he liked you, you’d passed some kind of stringent test.

With his discipline and his rigor, his rugged body and his fierce intellect, he was all about high standards, for himself and others. It was obvious why his crew both worshipped and feared him, why even Reese had had stars in his eyes when he’d talked about the great Alex Moorehouse.

Suddenly the door jerked open.

She looked up. And had to cover her mouth with her hand at what she saw. “Oh…my God.”

Alex had always been larger than life. A big, muscular man, with eyes like a dangerous animal and an aura like the sun. She’d been totally intimidated when she’d first met him, this sailing phenomenon her husband had revered, this hard man the international America’s Cup community called The Warrior.

The person standing in front of her in a T-shirt and pajama bottoms was half-dead. Alex’s skin hung off his bones, as if he’d eaten little in the three months since the accident, and he was leaning on a crutch, one leg in a cast. His sunken cheeks were brushed with beard. His thick, sun- streaked hair, always clipped tight like a military man’s, was now shaggy.

But his eyes. His dark blue eyes were what affected her most. They were dull in his harsh face. Flat as stone. Even the color seemed to have dimmed.

“Alex…” she whispered. “My God… Alex.”

“Yeah, I’m gorgeous, aren’t I?”

He hobbled back to the bed, as if he couldn’t hold himself up any longer, and he moved as an old person would, with deliberate thought and anticipation. It seemed as though his body was a house of cards, capable of falling to pieces if he wasn’t careful.

“May I help you?” she asked.

His response was a glare over his shoulder as he put the crutch aside and slowly sank onto the mattress. She watched as he maneuvered his leg up using his arms. When he settled back against the pillow, he was breathing heavily and he closed his eyes.

She had a feeling he’d be cursing from the pain if she hadn’t been in the room.

Good heavens, this was not at all what she’d imagined seeing him would be like.

“I’ve been…worried about you,” she said.

His eyelids flipped open. But he stared at the ceiling, not at her.

The silence that followed was thick and cold as snow.

She came into the room a little. Shut the door quietly. “I have a reason for needing to see you.”

Nothing. No response.

“Ah, did Reese ever tell you about his will?”

“No.”

“He left you—”

“I don’t want money.”

“The boats.”

Alex’s face turned toward her briefly. His lips were tight. “What?”

“All twelve of them. The two America’s Cups, the schooner, his antique four-master. The others…All of them.”

Alex put one hand over his eyes. The muscle in his jaw worked as if he were grinding his molars.

She noted absently that he was still built strong, even with the weight loss. On the arm he had up, his biceps were curled thickly, stretching the short sleeve of his T-shirt, and his solid forearms had a network of veins running down them.

Her eyes drifted to his chest and then on to his taut stomach. The T-shirt had ridden up as he’d lain down, revealing a thin stripe of hair that ran from his belly button into the waistband of the pajama bottoms.

She looked back to his face quickly.

“I thought you should know,” she said. “The estate is being probated, but it’s a large, complicated one so it’ll take some time. My point being, you won’t have to worry about storage fees for a while.”

There was another long silence.

His sisters had warned her that he wasn’t letting anyone inside, and they’d been very right. But when had he ever? She could remember Reese saying he knew his partner’s character like the back of his hand, but the man’s thoughts and feelings were totally off-limits.

“So I guess I’ll… I’m going to go,” she said finally.

When her hand was on the doorknob, she heard Alex clear his throat. “He loved you. You know that, don’t you?”

Tears leaped into her eyes as she glanced back at him. God, he was so still. “Yes.”

Alex’s head turned slowly. And he looked at her.

Agony was in his face. Total, abject despair. The depth of the searing emotion floored her, and she came across the room on impulse.

Which was a bad idea.

He shrank from her. Actually pushed his body away, right to the far edge of the mattress.

Cassandra skidded to a halt next to the bed and fought not to completely break down.

“I will never understand why you’ve hated me all these years,” she said, her voice cracking.

“That was never the problem,” he shot back. “Now, please, just leave. It’s better for us both.”

“Why? You were his best friend. I was his wife.”

“You don’t need to remind me of that.”

Cassandra shook her head and gave up. “The lawyers will be in touch about your inheritance.”

She closed the door behind her and quickly went down the hall to the guest room she’d been given. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she straightened a fold in her Chanel skirt, put her hands in her lap, crossed her legs at the ankles—

And sobbed.

Alex shut his eyes and took deep breaths.

On the backs of his lids, all he could see was long, thick, copper-colored hair. Pale, smooth skin. Lips that were naturally tinted pink. Eyes that were a soft green, like sea glass.

His poor, miserable, beaten-up body started to crank over, like an old engine wheezing to life. In spite of the fact that he was pumped full of drugs, and hung over, and in pain, warmth spread under his skin.

Feeling something, anything, other than suffering should have been a relief. Instead, the flush kicked up regrets that almost had him crying out.

Reese may be dead, but in Alex’s mind, Cassandra was still very much the man’s wife. And she always would be.

Chapter Two

The following afternoon Cassandra scanned the small crowd that had gathered in the living room for Gray and Joy’s marriage ceremony. Gray’s father, still recovering from a stroke, was sitting in a cushioned chair. Nate Walker, who was married to Alex’s sister Frankie, was standing against some windows. Next to him was a handsome, black-haired guy with a tattoo on his neck. Spike? Yes, that was his name. Libby, Gray’s housekeeper, was behind Spike. In her hands, she had the leash of a golden retriever who had a ring of flowers around his neck.

At the head of the room, in front of the fire, there was a collared minister holding a leather book. Flanking him were Gray and his best man, Sean O’Banyon, as well as Alex’s two sisters, Joy and Frankie.

As Cass caught Gray’s eye and waved to him, she thought the man had never looked happier. She’d known him for almost a decade and had watched him grow so hard she’d worried that no one could reach him. But here he was, smiling like a schoolboy, love shining in his eyes as he shifted his weight impatiently.

Cass went over and stood next to the dog. Spike was stroking one of the retriever’s ears, and the man flashed her a smile, his odd yellow eyes crinkling at the corners.

“You want to take Ernest’s other side?” he said quietly, as if he sensed she was nervous.

The dog looked up, clearly seconding the invitation.

She laid a hand on Ernest’s soft head. While patting, she glanced behind her.

“Don’t worry,” Libby whispered. “I just left Joy in the kitchen. She hasn’t forgotten what she’s supposed to do in that gown.”

But the bride wasn’t who Cass was looking for.

Moments later the double doors from the dining room opened and Joy appeared. Dressed in a simple white satin sheath, and holding a small bouquet of cream-colored roses, she walked up to Gray, glowing like a sunrise.

Cass glanced over her shoulder once more. She’d been steeling herself to see Alex all morning, sure that he wouldn’t miss his sister’s wedding. He was in rough shape, but certainly not that rough.

Although, it wasn’t as if she were going to volunteer to check on him.

Just as the minister flipped open the Book of Common Prayer, she caught a movement over to the right.

Cass’s eyes grabbed and held on to Alex as he came in on crutches. He positioned himself in the far corner, leaning back against the wall and kicking out his cast. He’d shaved, and his damp hair was brushed straight back from his forehead. Without any whiskers or bangs, the bones in his face were very clear. His high, carved cheekbones. That hard jawline. The straight nose.

He was wearing a different pair of flannel pajama bottoms, in a Black Watch plaid. One of the legs had been split up the side to accommodate his cast and a couple of safety pins had been used to keep the two halves together above his knee. His button-down shirt was white and pressed, tucked neatly into the waistband.

His eyes were trained on the ceremony. Which was good because she didn’t want to get caught staring at him.

She forced herself to look away.

Alex knew the moment Cassandra’s gaze left him. It was a goddamned relief.

And he did a good job of not staring at her. He kept his head forward, staying focused on his sister.

At least until the minister addressed Gray. “Will you love her and comfort her, honor and keep her…”

Alex shifted his head a little to the left so he could catch sight of Cassandra in his peripheral vision. She was wearing a spectacular dark red jacket-and-skirt combo that fit her body as if made for it. Which the clothes undoubtedly had been.

But it wasn’t the fancy threads that made her beautiful. She was bent to the side in her high heels, stroking the dog’s head. Little blond hairs were getting all over the beautiful suit but she didn’t care. She just urged Ernest closer, smiling at him as he leaned into her.

Will you love her…

I will, he thought. All the days of my worthless life.

And he wanted to comfort her. He just couldn’t do that without dishonoring her and his dead friend. Not knowing how he felt. Knowing what he’d done.

“I will,” Gray said from up front.

After the bride and groom kissed, the couple turned and faced the small assembly. As Joy’s happy eyes met Alex’s, he was glad he’d come down. He nodded at her, gave her a smile and then propped his weight on the crutches. He wasn’t going to stay for the reception and wanted to leave before he got trapped talking to people.

As he made his way out into the hall, he looked up at the grand front staircase. Three flights, two landings. Probably forty or so steps. It was going to take him a good ten minutes to get up them.

“Yo, you need help?” Spike asked casually. The guy had obviously followed him out at a discreet distance.

Spike was a good guy, Alex thought. Calm, steady, even though he looked like a dangerous criminal with the tattoos and piercings. He and Nate were partners in the White Caps kitchen and had catered the wedding at Gray’s house.

“Thanks, man, but I’m good.”

Alex started for the rear of the house. Taking the back stairs to the second floor was better. That way, no one would watch him struggle.

As he pushed open the kitchen’s swinging door, he noticed the place smelled fantastic and was surprised when his stomach checked in with a faded version of hunger pangs. Punching the crutches into the floor and swinging his body along, he paused when he heard his name called out.

He smiled as he looked back at Joy. “Hey, married woman.”

“Thank you so much for coming down.” She ran over and threw her arms around his neck, holding on so tightly he could barely breathe. Unable to return the embrace because of the crutches, he dropped his head down to his sister’s shoulder. He was a little shaken by how much his presence seemed to mean to her.

“Thank you,” she whispered again.

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

There was the sound of laughter and then the flap door was thrown open.

Gray’s best man came barreling into the kitchen. With his arm around Cassandra.

The Wall Street big shot was laughing and smiling. “—so Spike and Nate deserve a break, you and I are it, baby cakes.”

The two pulled up short. And Alex found himself measuring the guy for a fight.

Which was insane.

First of all, Cassandra was allowed to have anyone she wanted touch her.

Secondly, that slick bastard may have been in a suit, but as soon as O’Banyon registered Alex’s expression, he shifted his stance and brought up his free hand as if on reflex. Like he’d been in quite a few physical altercations and had no problem being in another one.

Now ordinarily, Alex wouldn’t have been put off at all by a worthy opponent. Except he knew damn well he’d have trouble taking on anything bigger than a field mouse in his current condition.

And for God’s sake, it was his sister’s wedding day.

Joy, bless her heart, seemed clueless about the aggression swirling around her. “Alex, have you met Sean O’Banyon? He’s one of Gray’s best friends.”

The man dropped his arm from Cassandra’s body, offering the palm that had just been on the top of her hips.

Yeah, right, Alex thought.

“You understand if I don’t shake,” he said, smiling with his lips, but not his eyes.

O’Banyon nodded once, keeping his gaze steady as he dropped his arm. Cassandra looked back and forth between them, as if measuring the antagonism and being confused by it.

Abruptly Joy stepped in front of Alex as if she were trying to distract him. Maybe his little sister did know what was up, after all.

“Would you like me to bring you something to eat?”

“No. It’s your wedding reception. You stay with your husband.” Alex looked across the room and spoke before his brain could shut his mouth. “Cassandra will run something up. Won’t you. Baby cakes.”

Cassandra frowned. “Of course.”

Alex hobbled over to the stairs, aware that he was going to be the topic of conversation the moment he was out of earshot. Not that he gave a damn.

As he braced for the ascent, he cursed himself.

The idea was to keep that woman away from him. Why was he paving her way to his bedroom?

Because, his inner idiot pointed out, at least if she were upstairs with him, she wouldn’t be in the arms of that paleeyed, slick-suited, flashy bastard.

Alex pegged the crutches into the first step and pushed himself up.

Damn it. He should have taken the front stairs when he’d had the chance.

* * *

Cass heard the kitchen door swing shut as Joy went back to the party. She also registered the sounds of people moving around in the dining room on the other side: footsteps, talking, laughter, a bottle of wine being uncorked with a pop.

But what she listened to were the grunts and thudding as Alex dragged himself upstairs.

“So that’s Alex Moorehouse,” Sean drawled. “The Alex Moorehouse. I’ve read about him. Won the America’s Cup how many times?”

Cass tried to remember what she was doing in the kitchen. “We’re bringing in the food,” she murmured.

Sean flashed her an odd look. “Yes, we are.”

She went over to the massive Viking stove and started cracking the doors on the different ovens. There were so many covered dishes warming, she wondered where to start.

“Not exactly the friendly type, is he?” Sean said, leaning against a counter. “Even busted up like that, he was ready to ring my head like a bell.”

Sean didn’t seem offended in the slightest, though why would he be? Given the way O’Banyon lived his life, he was probably most at ease around hard-core men like himself, especially if things were getting aggressive. Wall Street just hadn’t managed to tame the South Boston street thug he’d once been.

“Was he always like that?” Sean prompted.

“He’s been through a lot.” Using a pair of folded dish towels, she drew out a roast beef that rested on a spectacular Royal Crown Derby platter. Her arms strained and she hoped she wouldn’t drop the thing. The plate was worth more than the stove.

“I’ll take that,” Sean said, relieving her of the load like it didn’t weigh more than a potholder.

Working in tandem, the two of them brought in covered dishes of wild rice and minted peas and broccoli au gratin and pearl onions. By the time everyone had drifted in from the living room, the buffet was set up. Cass let the others go through the line first. When the other guests were all sitting down and eating, she picked up a gold-rimmed plate and a damask napkin roll.

She tried to imagine what Alex would want to eat. Did he like his roast beef from the pink center or the more well- done edges? And how much rice? Would he want gravy? When she passed by the basket of freshly made rolls, she put one on the side and then thought of how thin he was. She added another and put a big slab of butter next to them.

“I’ll be right back,” she said to no one in particular.

Silence sucked the party sounds out of the room as every person at the table stopped eating and talking and just watched her go. As if she were heading into a lion’s den.

Why did he pick me? she wondered.

Unless he enjoyed torturing her.

As she walked upstairs, she was anxious even though she told herself to stop making such a big deal about it all. He was just a man. Just another human being.

She paused in front of his door.

No, he wasn’t, she thought. There was something about Alex that was different, and she’d recognized it the moment she’d first met him. He was raw and wild where other men were tame and bland.

No wonder he was drawn to the sea. It was probably the only thing on the planet big and mean enough to challenge him.

She thought about her husband. Reese had loved sailing, but he’d had a thriving business and a home life he’d enjoyed. Though he’d be gone a week at a time or sometimes even more, he’d always returned to her and been glad to be off the yacht. Alex had never stopped. She’d heard that he was on land maybe only four or five weeks a year. The rest of the time he was captaining boats, training crews, fighting the ocean and his competitors to win.

The past three months must have felt like a prison to him, she thought.

“I can’t eat if the food’s in the hall,” Alex said from inside the room.

Cass jumped. Taking a deep breath, she balanced the plate on one hand and opened the door. “How did you know I was—”

“The smell.”

She looked around the room to avoid meeting his eyes. “Where do you want this?”

“Here.” He made space on his bedside table by pushing pill bottles and an empty glass to the side.

“I—ah, I didn’t know what you liked. So I brought you a little bit of everything.” She put the plate and the napkin roll down. “Do you want me to get you some water?”

“Thanks.”

She picked up the glass and went for the bathroom. At the sink, she ran the water until it was cold under her fingertips and then filled the tumbler up. When she came back, she noticed he hadn’t touched the food.

She looked at him. His eyes were hooded as he watched her every movement.

“You should eat it while it’s hot.” She put the glass down.

“Probably.” He shifted his head, regarding her with dis-arming stillness. “So how well do you know that guy?”

“Who?”

“O’Banyon. Wasn’t that his name?”

Talk about out of left field, she thought.

“I, ah, I know him fairly well. He was Reese’s investment banker, but he’s also a dear friend of Gray’s. They went to school together.” She frowned. “Are you going to eat?”

“You sound like my sisters.” But he picked up the napkin, unwrapped the heavy silver and leaned to one side, considering what was on the plate.

He looked about as enthused as someone facing a traffic jam.

After dropping a couple of peas on the way to his mouth, and struggling to cut up the meat, he leaned back against the pillow. He wasn’t giving up, she thought. Just bored and uninterested.

“Here, let me help you.” She snatched the fork from his hand.

“I don’t need—”

Ignoring him, she sat down on the mattress and put the plate in her lap. With a low groan, he deliberately moved his body away. Even though it made him wince.

Trying to ignore his aversion, she made busy work cutting up the roast. Then she loaded the fork and faced off with him.

He glared at her, lips pressed tight.

“Open your mouth,” she said.

“I’m not a child.”

“Then prove it. Accept the help you need and eat.”

Oh, man, he was pissed off. His body was practically vibrating.

But he did what she asked. And as soon as the fork was clean, she piled it high again.

On the fourth trip to his mouth, she made a mistake. She watched his lips as they parted. Watched the bright white of his front teeth clamp down on the silver. Watched the fork emerge, empty. She saw his jaw working as he chewed, the hollows under his cheekbones undulating. Then his Adam’s apple slid up and down in his throat as he swallowed.

She became curiously aware of the width of his shoulders. Of the thick cords of muscle that ran up his neck. Of the way his hair curled over the collar of his shirt.

“Cassandra,” he snapped. As if he’d said her name more than once.

Startled, she looked at his face. His eyes were cold.

“I said, that’s enough. I’ll take it from here.”

He grabbed the fork and the plate.

Cass got off the bed. “I’ll be back for the dishes.”

“Don’t bother.”

“It’s no—”

“Besides, I’m sure you’ll be otherwise occupied at the end of the night.”

“What?”

“Does O’Banyon like to get babied? You cut up his meat for him, too? Mommy love ain’t a turn-on for me, but hey, every man’s different, right?”

It was hard to know whether his tone or his words were more insulting, she thought.

She opened her mouth, but he cut her off.

“Before you tell me I’m a bastard, I already know that. And if you’re thinking of branching out from there, I’ve had bigger, tougher and more creative sailors take a run at my hide. You’re going to have to do a real stand-up job with the curses to come up with anything fresh, sweetheart. Oh, I’m sorry, it’s baby cakes, isn’t it?”

His eyes raked over her with such complete dismissal, she felt as though she was mostly invisible but that what little he saw of her, he despised.

He laughed at her silence. “Not even going to take a try at it? Good call. Because there’s absolutely nothing you can say to me that’ll be a news flash.”

She brushed her hair back, hand trembling. In the space of a minute, he’d driven her to the brink of tears. Again.

“I just don’t understand why I’m so repulsive to you,” she whispered. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve—”

She stopped. Showing more vulnerability was not a smart move.

Cass turned away as the first humiliating tear got stuck in her lashes.

Damn it, she was not going to cry in front of him.

As she bolted across the room, the curse he let out was low and vile.

“Cassandra.”

She grabbed for the door.

“Cassandra.”

When she heard a flurry of activity on the bed and something hit the floor, she looked over her shoulder.

Alex was upright and wildly off balance, trying to lurch toward her after having dropped the crutch. If he went much farther, he was going to fall on his face. She rushed back for him.

Chapter Three

Alex had a feeling he was headed for the floor, but he didn’t care.

Man, he’d been wrong. She had surprised him. Her soft, sad words had ripped through his chest.

As he tumbled forward into thin air, she lunged for him. But the moment before her body met his, he pushed her aside and threw his arms out, bracing himself for impact. Going solo for the thin oriental rug was a no-brainer.

Because however hard the floor was going to be, knowing how she felt against him would be harder.

He took the brunt of the fall on his right shoulder. By some blessing, his fragile leg was spared, though his other knee got twisted in the process. As he rolled over onto his back with a nasty curse, he saw he’d thrown her on the bed. He caught a gorgeous flash of her calf and thigh before she rearranged her skirt and stood up.

He knew damn well he’d better get going with the apology. She was on the express train out of his room and who could blame her?

“I’m sorry,” he said roughly.

She glanced down at him. Her eyes were too shiny.

Ah, hell, he’d made her cry.

“I’m damn sorry.”

There was no real reaction, just a shift of her shoulders. “I’d offer to help you up, but I know you won’t let me.”

“Cassandra, I—” He banged his head back against the floor in frustration. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. And you don’t…repulse me.”

Her laugh was a travesty. Which made sense because in a way, so was his apology. But what was he supposed to say?

I want you until I hurt. Until I sweat.

I love you with a raw, bleeding need that I’ve never understood.

And all I know for sure is that you can never be mine.

“I don’t repulse you,” she repeated slowly. “Is that why you’d rather fall down than have me touch you? God, you are the only person in my adult life who’s ever made me feel dirty.”

He cursed again. “That’s not—”

“Please.” She held her hand out and moved away. “Please, don’t say anything else. I don’t think I can bear any more of your apology. It’s worse than your insults.”

“Damn it, come here,” he commanded.

Her eyes flared. “Screw you.”

When she made a move to step over him, he grabbed her ankle, holding her tight. “Come. Down. Here.”

“Go. To. Hell.”

“Cassandra…please.”

She put her hands on her hips and leaned over, her hair falling forward. As he breathed in, he could smell the herbal shampoo she used.

The scent dragged him right back to the one sailing jaunt he’d taken with her and Reese years ago. Reese had insisted that Alex come along, and it had been clear that the man had hoped to get his wife and his best friend on better terms. That trip had been hell. They were supposed to have been gone for five days. Alex had left the boat after two, hopping off at the first port they’d come to.

He’d tried so hard to find fault with her. He’d been desperate to latch on to annoying habits, turns of phrases that irritated him, small rudenesses that proved she wasn’t even close to the image of perfection he’d created in his mind. Instead, he’d gotten to know the different shades of her laughter. Her offbeat sense of humor. Her capacity to savor the sun setting into the ocean with the same sad reverence that beat in his own chest.

And being in close quarters with her had made him mental. Every time he’d taken a shower, he’d smelled her shampoo as if the stuff had saturated the air just to mock him. He hadn’t been able to use the bar of soap at all because he knew it had been over her skin.

The nights had been…unbearable.

But all that was before she’d walked in and seen him naked. Or rather, he’d come out of the head after a shower, assuming she and Reese were off the boat swimming. He’d heard the sound of indrawn breath and looked over his shoulder. She’d been in the galley kitchen pouring lemonade, and the glass and the pitcher had come unconnected as she’d stared at him. The sound of splashing liquid had been loud in the silence.

He’d covered himself with a towel and leaped back into the head. Gathering himself over the little sink, he’d thanked God that she’d only seen the back of him. Because the front had grown hard and heavy the instant he’d felt her eyes on him.

He’d left the boat within the hour.

Now, as he breathed in again and the scent of her hair tunneled into his nose, he wanted to pull her down on top of him and bury his face in those copper waves. He wanted one of her thighs on either side of his hips. He wanted that skirt of hers up around her waist. He wanted—

“Let go of me,” she said tightly.

“No. Come closer.” He paused and tacked on, “Please.”

He hoped the word would work its magic once again.

As she slowly dropped to her knees, she seemed more confused than angry. He wanted to reach out and take her hand in his. He didn’t dare.

“Look, Cassandra, I’ve spent too much time on the sea with ex-frat boys who are past civil redemption. And my social skills were in the crapper before all that. My temper’s always been sharp, but lately I’ve been godawful to be around. I shouldn’t have asked you to come up here.” He cleared his throat. “So I really am sorry.”

Her clear, green eyes traced over his face. Such intelligent eyes, he thought. Such warm eyes, though their color was pale.

Gradually the tension left her forehead and her mouth, and she stopped blinking so much.

“You can make it up to me.”

“How?” he asked.

“Tell me about your leg. Is it healing?”

Even though the last thing in the world he wanted to talk about was his injury, he figured he owed her an answer.

“No. It’s not getting better. They took out the bone and put in a titanium rod. The damn thing didn’t take, so they installed a different kind six weeks ago. I’ll find out on Monday what happens next.”

“What if it didn’t work again?”

“Then I’m out of options.”

“Out of—” She covered her beautiful mouth with a hand. The pinkie trembled against her jawline. “Oh, Alex.”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. No matter what happens, I’ll deal with it. It’s fine.”

And no more than he deserved for letting a fine man die. Her man die.

He thrust his palms into the floor and pushed his torso upright.

“Will you let me help you up?” she asked.

“No. But you can bring me my crutch.”

He hated the idea of hauling himself off the floor in front of her and was grateful when she didn’t stare. After he was back on the bed, he shut his eyes, suddenly exhausted.

He heard her moving across the room, toward the door.

“Please finish the food. It will help you heal,” she said softly. When he didn’t reply, she pressed. “I’ll be back to pick that plate up. I’m hoping it will be clean.”

The door opened and shut.

Dimly he became aware that his leg was throbbing to the beat of his heart. He waited to see if the shooting agony would go away. The pain got worse.

He knew what that meant. It was going to be a long night.

Alex looked over at his collection of prescription bottles. Reaching past the antibiotics and the anticoagulants and all the other horse pills his doctors wanted him to suck back, he zeroed in on the pain meds. He hated taking the damn things because they put him out, but after that fall, he knew he was going to pay for the hard impact. Popping open the vial, he took two of the knockout specials and then eyed the food.

With a groan, he leaned down toward the floor. And picked up the scotch bottle.

As he unscrewed the top and caught a whiff of oblivion, he thought of Cassandra.

Then looked back over at the plate she’d brought him.

Goddamn it, he was not going to feel guilty because he wanted to get good and wasted. There was nothing wrong about seeking the simple darkness of rest, as opposed to the twisted torture of nightmares.

Okay, so the alcohol didn’t really work. At least not for very long. Somehow the hell of the storm always managed to fight through the scotch fog, chewing him up and spitting him out shaky and sweaty and sick to his stomach.

But the brown stuff did get him a couple hours of sleep.

He brought the mouth of the bottle to his lips.

And found his eyes on the plate of food again.

“Is everything all right up there?” Gray asked as Cass walked into the dining room. “We heard something hit the floor. Something big.”

“Everything’s fine.”

Her friend narrowed his shrewd eyes but let the sub-ject drop.

Cass got some food and headed for the empty seat next to Sean. The man stood up and pulled out her chair.

“Did I tell you I spoke with Mick Rhodes?” Sean asked as he pushed the seat in under her. “He loves what you did to his place in Greenwich. Thinks you’re an architectural genius as well as one hell of a general contractor.”

She smiled, thinking of Rhodes and the antique, six- bedroom Colonial in Greenwich he loved so much. Some people had great love for their houses and he was one of them. The man had been like a mother hen with a chick.

“He was a prince to work for.”

Sean eyed her dryly. “We talking about the same guy? Because Rhodes has been described as a lot of things. Prince usually isn’t one of them.”

“He was fine with me. We had a lot of fun together on that project.”

“Amazing,” Sean muttered as he picked up his wineglass and leaned back in the chair. “So I’ve been meaning to ask you, what kind of projects are you doing now?”

“I haven’t been working much since—” she cleared her throat “—since Reese died.”

She felt a strong hand on her shoulder and glanced over at O’Banyon’s hard face. His gray eyes were always flinty, even when he was in a good mood, but at this moment, they were as close to warm as ice could get.

“How you been doing?” he asked quietly, his Boston accent bleeding into the words.

“Better than I thought.” She smiled. “We were great friends, he and I. Even today I caught myself reaching for the cell phone. I was down by the lake. The waves were choppy and gray and the sky was milky white and the mountains were almost purple, and I thought, I need to call Reese and tell him what this looks like.”

She stared down at her food. Her appetite was gone and she thought of Alex, upstairs. No wonder he had no interest in eating. He’d lost his best friend, his partner. He’d been through multiple operations. And he was now facing the possible amputation of a leg.

“Anything I can do?” Sean said.

She covered his hand with her own. “I’ll get through this. And work’s going to help. In fact, I’d love to find a project I could totally sink into. I think I’m ready.”

“Are you truly looking for something to do?” Joy asked gently from the head of the table.

Cass smiled at the younger woman who had become a friend. “Yes.”

“Would you be willing to take a look at White Caps?”

“Your family’s house?”

Joy nodded. “We’d like to try and repair the fire damage quickly so we can reopen for next season in June. We just don’t know where to start. Or who to trust.”

“You run a B and B out of the mansion, don’t you?”

“Yes. That’s why we want to move fast.”

Cass thought about it for a moment. “We could go tomorrow morning before Sean and I leave for the city.”

“That would be wonderful. I didn’t want to ask you, but we’d really appreciate your guidance.”

“How much did the fire take?”

“The kitchen and the staff quarters got the worst of it, but two guest bedrooms were damaged as well. Fortunately, the insurance company is going to pay up.”

“Well…I’d love to take a look at it.”

When dinner was over, Cass helped Libby clean up in the kitchen. By the time they were finished, all the guests had turned in for the night. As Cass headed upstairs, she told herself there was no reason to go back to Alex’s room.

She was arguing with herself when she realized she was standing in front of his door.

Slowly turning the knob, she put her head in. In the glow from the bedside lamp, she saw that he was still lying on top of the covers. There was a book facedown in his lap and his eyes were squeezed shut. Although he might have technically been asleep, considering the tension in his face, he was not resting.

Stepping inside, she shut the door so light from the outside hall wouldn’t wake him up. She was very quiet as she walked through the dim room, focusing only on the man stretched out so immense and motionless on the bed. When her foot knocked into something, she looked down. It was a scotch bottle that was mostly empty. As she righted the thing, she glanced at the prescription pills by the lamp. She recognized some of the names. They were big-league painkillers.

She watched his breathing. It was very slow.

What if he’d mixed the drugs with alcohol?

She glanced at the plate. At least he’d eaten most of the food she’d brought him.

“Alex?” she said softly.

She touched his forearm. His skin was warm.

“Alex?”

Bending down, she took a sniff through her nose. She couldn’t detect any liquor smell at all, and his breathing was regular.

He’s fine, she thought. Just asleep. So pick up that plate and leave the poor man alone.

Instead, she stared down at his face, thinking about the way he’d lashed out at her and then apologized with such rough honesty.

On a crazy impulse she put her hand out and touched his cheek.

She immediately reeled her arm back in. Boy, he’d have tossed her out on her ass if he’d been awake.

But he wasn’t. And the hard lines of his face drew her like nothing ever had.

She reached out again.

Alex came awake the moment something brushed over his cheek, but he didn’t move, didn’t open his eyes. He couldn’t tell whether he was dreaming or not.

Then the touch came back. This time on the side of his jaw.

He breathed deeply, trying to rouse himself to conscious-ness, but when he caught the scent of herbs, he stopped the fight. He took in another lungful of air just to be sure.

When the smell of rosemary came again, he wanted to weep. His dreams, so horrible, so cruel, had finally brought Cassandra to him.

He shifted his head, trying to get closer to her touch.

“It’s you, Miracle,” he whispered. “It’s truly you….”

The touch disappeared. He made a sound of protest in his throat. He couldn’t have her in the real world, couldn’t bear the shame of betraying his best friend. But in this dream she could be his. At least for a small while. At least in a small way.

“Please,” he begged softly, raggedly. “Please, just once more. Touch me.”

When he felt the sensation return, this time there was more of it, as if she’d laid her palm against his face. He nuzzled her soft hand, rubbing his skin against hers. Then he kissed the pad of her thumb.

He heard an indrawn breath. Not his own.

Alex didn’t think twice about what he did next. In this twilight fantasy, he could be free with the woman he loved. He could know her touch and she could know his and it would be all right. Because dreams weren’t real.

He took her hand and drew it down the side of his throat, until it was under the collar of his shirt. He moved her palm back and forth, stroking himself with her flesh, relishing the knowledge that it was her.

In a wicked rush, he wanted to feel her touch all over him. And he wanted to touch her. With his hands. His mouth. His whole body.

He shifted his head back, pushing his neck up into her caress. His shirt was blocking her access so he popped the buttons free, wondering dimly why in his dream he wasn’t naked.

There was a gasp as he took her hand and moved it down his chest. Had he made the sound? Maybe.

Except as he was taking her touch over his stomach, the swift inhale came again and he thought, no, that wasn’t him. It was her. And the sound told him she liked what his shirt had revealed, that she liked touching him.

But then why did her hand resist when he got to the waistband of his pajama bottoms? Abruptly he became aware of a weight at his hips. A book, he thought. There was a book on top of his hot erection.

Man, he was going to have to work on his fantasies. Clothes. Books. For God’s sake, he should make it easier on them.

He let go of her hand and pushed the hardcover off his body. Arching his back and carrying the movement into his hips, he wanted her to see what her touch did to him. How ready he was for her. And he was hoping that she’d stroke him there. Where he ached for her so badly.

There was a hiss. Followed by something close to a groan.

Alex arched for her again, confused when she still hesitated. He could hear the sex in her voice, the feminine need. And her palm remained on his stomach, her touch like sunlight. She just wasn’t moving.

So he placed his hand over hers and guided her lower. Then lower still.

The moment she made contact with his hard length, the groan was his, the hoarse words pumping through the thick air. He’d meant the intimacy to be just a beginning for them, but his body had different ideas. A mighty release came up on him, fast and hot as lightning, hovering just on the edge of his control. He breathed in harshly, smelled rosemary and moved his hips against her palm.

In an answer to his prayers, her fingers gripped him through the flannel and that was all it took. Ecstasy spilled out of him in surges that racked his body. Carried away, soaring high, shattered and made whole in the same instant, he uttered three words in a voice that cracked from the burden of his long-kept secret.

“I love you….”

The relief of finally speaking the truth ushered in the peace that came as he drifted back into his body.

And it was okay. Here, in his dream, it was all right to let his feelings out. There was no terrible dishonor, no sense of disloyalty. Just a simple truth that had burned him to his soul from the moment he had first seen her.

Darkness reached up and embraced him, pulling him under.

For the first time since the storm the nightmares didn’t come.

Chapter Four

Cass headed to her room on legs that felt really unreliable. Shutting her door, she sagged back against the panels.

She wasn’t sure what shocked her most. What had just happened. Or what Alex had said.

She put her face in her hands. With shocking clarity, she could still hear him crying out. Could picture his body going rigid and then trembling from shock waves until he fell still.

She’d never actually watched a man…well, do that. At least not in that way. Not with that kind of sensual abandon.

She certainly hadn’t meant for things to go that far. From the moment he’d slipped her hand under his shirt, she’d told herself to pull back. But the more she felt of him, the more she heard him speak, the more she watched his body move on that bed, the less able she’d been to turn away. His response to her had been unbelievable, as if he’d waited for years just for her touch. As if he were desperate for the smallest crumbs of her attention.

Except he hadn’t been dreaming of her, Cass told herself. He didn’t ache for her. He didn’t even like her.

Though, at the time, she’d almost believed he’d known whose hands were touching him. She’d been convinced that she was the one he needed so badly when it had been happening.

Or maybe she’d just wanted to be that woman to him.

Now, there was a thought she wasn’t going to dwell on.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to find some equilibrium. Instead, all she saw was Alex’s muscular chest and ribbed stomach…and his bold, demanding erection as it strained against soft flannel. He’d been hot and hard and thick under her hand, and his response to her touch had been explosive. Beyond erotic. She’d gripped him and then he’d moved his hips in a sinuous thrust. His breath had broken. And she’d felt the flesh under her hand jerk and…

“Oh, do yourself a favor and stop going there,” she muttered.

Then he’d spoken those words.

I love you.

Who did he love? she wondered with a strange ache in her chest. What kind of woman had gotten under that hard surface to the man beneath?

Well, whoever she was, she must be extraordinary. She’d have to be. Because someone like him, someone with such high standards, would only love a woman who was flat-out amazing.

And he really loved that lady, with feelings as strong and powerful as the body he lived in. His heartfelt yearning had cracked his voice. All that desire had ripped through him at the mere touch of a hand.

He burned for his woman.

Cass walked into the bathroom and thought of Reese.

She’d respected her husband like no one else. Had valued him as a friend and a business advisor. And she’d owed him a debt she could never have repaid.

But she couldn’t say that she’d ever loved him. At least not the way Alex loved his Miracle woman.

Picking up her toothbrush, she popped the flip top on a tube of Crest and tried to keep the ribbon of chalky blue on the white bristles.

As she brushed, she focused on the past instead of the present. She’d married Reese because he’d asked her and because she’d wanted to, even though he’d been twenty years older than she was and she was to be his third wife. She’d always yearned for a family and a home and a place to feel safe after a childhood of fear and instability. She’d been sure that Reese would always protect her. Would always support her.

Even when he strayed.

She’d suspected he might, eventually. Reese had been a great admirer of beautiful things, and his aggressive nature had driven him to acquire whatever caught his eye. Companies. Art. Jewels. Boats. Houses.

Women.

She’d known what she was getting into when she’d walked down the aisle with him, so what had happened later hadn’t been a big surprise. He’d been discreet about the affairs and it had taken her a while to learn the truth. And when she’d known for sure? She hadn’t confronted him, she’d just kept on going like nothing was wrong.

The reasons she’d had then for staying quiet were ones she didn’t understand now.

Maybe it had just been because…she hadn’t cared as much as she should have.

She missed Reese. She mourned him. She wished she’d conceived the child they had tried for.

But she had never loved him down to her soul.

She thought of Alex again.

What would it be like to have a man who cared that much? she wondered. Who wanted you and only you. Who could see no other woman in a room, who could not imagine holding another female in his arms.

That must be something, she thought, rinsing her mouth out.

That must really be something.

Alex woke up late in the morning with an uneasy feeling.

That dream. That sensual, shattering dream.

He looked down. His shirt was open and pushed off his chest. The book was buried in the comforter at his side. And he needed a quick shower.

His heart started pounding. Had it been real? Had she come to him?

What the hell had come out of his mouth?

Dread pooled in his gut, but then he looked over and saw the plate. Maybe she hadn’t been in his room after all.

Calm down, he told himself. She wasn’t here except in your mind. You’ve wanted that woman for a long time, and she’s in the bedroom down the hall. Of course your subconscious is going to kick something to the surface.

Levering himself up and off the bed, he went carefully to the bathroom where he showered with a plastic bag tied around his leg and then shaved. He was surprised that it felt good to be up and moving around for once, so he decided to head to the kitchen for some breakfast. Fortunately, it sounded as if the coast was clear. The house was quiet and he figured he’d somehow managed to sleep through all the early-morning departures of the guests.

Which meant Cassandra would be gone, as well.

This was good, he told himself.

He pulled on a different set of split pajama bottoms, a worn T-shirt from a Boston Marathon he’d run in years ago and a black fleece. As he went out into the hall, he looked both ways as if it were a busy street. The last thing he needed was to step into someone’s path. He was about as stable as a two-legged table.

Come to think of it, where was the dog? He loved Ernest, but that golden retriever could knock him on his ass in a heartbeat, and muzzle-to-mouth resuscitation was not a treatment option he was looking to explore.

Alex started for the back stairs but changed his mind. The front ones were slightly deeper and could accommodate his feet better. It took him a good ten minutes to actually make it to the first floor, but he felt stupidly pleased with the effort.

Then he thought about his T-shirt. Running 26.2 miles in two and a half hours used to be something he took pride in. Now getting to the kitchen was a big, fat, hairy deal.

Damn, he was pathetic.

He went into the dining room and braced the swinging door in place so it couldn’t open.

“Libby? You in there?” he called out.

“Alex! Are you okay?” The housekeeper sounded worried.

“Grab hold of your boy, will you? I’m coming in.”

“Done.”

Alex pushed open the door and was greeted by whines of affection and a mad, impotent scampering of dog feet. While Libby held Ernest in place, Alex came over and stroked the dog into a relative calm.

“Would you like some breakfast?” the older woman asked. “I can make you some of the dry toast you like.”

He looked up. Her lovely, worn face was so hopeful, he was tempted to put in a special request.

“Actually, I—” He cleared his throat. He didn’t like being waited on, but he had a feeling this flash of energy he was sporting wasn’t going to last long. “I’d like some pancakes. With butter and syrup. And bacon. I want bacon. Coffee, too.”

God, he was hungry. For the first time in so long, he was dying for some food.

Libby’s eyes flared. “Go sit down at the table. I’ll make it right away.”

As he settled into a chair, Ernest snuggled up close, leaning against his good leg.

“Do you take sugar?” Libby asked.

The question made him realize he hadn’t asked for any coffee since he’d come to the mansion.

Hell, how long had it been since he’d had a normal breakfast? Sitting up at a table. Like a real person.

“I like it black, thanks.”

“It’ll be ready in a second. This pot’s almost finished brewing.”

While he watched the woman bustle around, he wished he could help and felt badly that all the activity was just about him.

“Hey, Libby, maybe I’ll scratch that big order,” he said. “A little cereal would be great. I don’t want you going to—”

“Alex Moorehouse, you shut your mouth. And I don’t want it open again until you’re putting a fork in it.”

He had to smile. There weren’t a lot of people who put him in his place on or off the water. Wouldn’t his crew get a kick out of the fact that one of the short-listers was a white-haired grandmother.

Libby brought the coffee over first, and Alex closed his eyes as he took the first sip. The stuff was steaming hot and strong enough to wake the dead.

In a word, divine.

When he started to sweat, he realized he was sitting in a shaft of sunlight. He peeled off the fleece and went back to work on the mug.

As he sipped and stroked Ernest’s ear, the moment sank into him with the pleasurable flush of an unexpected kind word. The dog’s head was a warm weight on his good leg. Libby’s friendly chatter about Saranac Lake’s characters was like the crackle of a cheery fire. The rhythmic hiss of a wire whisk cutting through batter reminded him of happy mornings from his childhood.

He settled back against the chair and closed his eyes again. His leg was throbbing, but it was a dull pump, not the kind of pain that made his skin ache. He took a deep breath and felt his shoulders loosen on the exhale.

“More coffee?” Libby asked gently.

He opened his lids and smiled. “Please.”

She brought over the coffeepot, refilled his mug to the brim and then hurried back to the griddle to flip over the pancakes. When the bacon slices hit the pan, he shut his eyes once more.

Hunger cut through him and he welcomed it.

Minutes later Libby set a heavy plate in front of him along with a stick of butter and a gravy boat full of syrup. He put a slice of bacon in his mouth while he lathered up the pancakes and doused them in maple heaven. Then he tore through the food.

When he put his fork down, he and Libby were both a little surprised at the clean plate. Ernest looked disappointed.

“You want more?” Libby asked.

Alex rubbed his belly. “Ah, yeah. Thanks.”

As a cold November wind gusted up from the lake, Cassandra put her hands on her hips and surveyed the ruins of the White Caps Bed and Breakfast. When she stepped toward the house, she heard the five people behind her move along like a small herd. Frankie and Nate, Joy, Gray and Sean had all come for the tour.

Wow, what a house this is, she thought, measuring the structure’s superb, Federal lines. Sitting regally on a bluff that jutted out into the lake, the place was a real charmer, all white clapboards and shiny black shutters. The fire damage in the back was jarring, like a bruise on the face of a beautiful woman.

“Thomas Crane was the architect, right?” she asked as she walked over to the kitchen where the destruction was the most severe.

“It was one of Crane’s last commissions,” Frankie replied.

“Do you have the original plans?”

“Fortunately, yes. The set has always been kept out in my father’s workshop so it survived the fire.”

Cassandra lifted a sheet of thick plastic and stepped through what had been the kitchen door. Even though the fire had been a month ago, the pungent stench of smoke and ash hung in the air.

“This part of the house wasn’t added on later, was it?”

“No, it’s in the plans,” Frankie said. “When our father converted the mansion into a B and B in the seventies, all he did was bring up the kitchen to restaurant code. He didn’t make any changes to the structure.”

Cass looked around, assessing the load-bearing walls. They seemed mostly solid, though someone had buttressed one with a couple of two-by-fours to make sure it didn’t sag. She glanced upward. The ceiling was burnt through in places so she could see past the joists to the second floor.

She pointed over to the scorched back staircase. “I’d like to go upstairs, but not using those.”

“The ones in front are safe,” Nate replied.

A half hour later, the group was out on the lawn again.

“So what do you think?” Frankie asked as they piled into Sean’s massive Mercedes-Benz.

Cass gathered her thoughts before answering. “I’d have to see the plans and reflect a little before I could give you even the roughest estimate of time and cost.”

“But you don’t think we need to tear the wing down and rebuild it from scratch, right?”

“God, no! Although you will have to go slowly because you should save as much as you can. Given the historic nature of the house, a contractor who has respect for its pedigree will be the best choice for you.” Her voice drifted. “I tell you, the workmanship on the moldings in those front rooms is remarkable. The hours of labor… Thank heavens that balustrade going up the main stairs wasn’t ruined. You just don’t see that kind of curvilinear detail very often. Amazing what the human hand can do with a tool, isn’t it?”

She closed her eyes, savoring the images she’d stored up.

What a house.

When they pulled up to Gray’s, the group unpacked themselves and went through the back door into the kitchen. From around the corner, Ernest came barreling at them, stopping to greet each of the arrivals like he was the official ambassador of the household.

“So will you do it?” Frankie asked.

“Do what?” Cass replied while taking off her coat and stepping into the kitchen.

“Be our architect and general contractor.”

Cass stopped, but not only because of the question. Alex was across the room, sitting at the table.

With a flush, she saw his body arching up under her hand.

She looked down quickly.

Which was actually a good thing. Because she’d just dropped her coat on the dog.

“Well?” Frankie prompted. “We can pay you. The insurance company is going after the manufacturer of the gas stove that started the fire. Money’s not going to be a problem.”

“I, uh—”

Actually, I’d like to go lie down now. Because being in the same room with your brother this morning is making me dizzy and incoherent.

Sean stepped forward. “Cass, are your bags packed? We gotta hit the road, woman.”

She cleared her throat. “Yes. They’re in my room.”

“I’ll get them.” As Sean strode through the kitchen, he nodded at Alex. “Moorehouse.”

“O’Banyon,” Alex shot back.

The sound of the rough, low voice took Cass right back to the man’s bedside. Where she’d touched his body. Where she’d watched him move. Where he’d—

Get a grip.

Well, she’d sure had one last night….

Cass shut her eyes, wondering if anyone else in the room had noticed the floor was weaving underfoot.

“Cassandra, I saw the way you looked at our house,” Frankie said. “You’re perfect for this project.”

Cass shook herself to attention and sensed Alex’s eyes narrowing on her. She had a feeling he wouldn’t appreciate her working on his family’s home.

“Why don’t the three of you talk it over,” she hedged. “I’ll go back to my office, check in with my partners, see what the schedule looks like. I know you’re going to want this project to move fast if you hope to open for the season in—when was it?”

“June,” Frankie said. “If you started around the first of December, you’d have seven months.”

Sean came back, Vuitton duffel bags and suitcases hanging off him like he was a bellboy.

“I still can’t believe how much stuff you pack,” he said as he headed to the back door. “Gray, you sure you know what you’re in for, signing on for one of these fashion types?”

“I’m buying a trolley,” the man said as he tucked his new wife under his arm.

“Good idea. It’s either that or a back brace.” Sean shot Cass a wink as he went on by. “Now let’s do it, beautiful.”

The assembled masses filed outside with Ernest leading the way. Libby went with them, no doubt to catch the dog before he tore off.

Cass stayed behind, swallowing through a dry throat.

She couldn’t leave without one last look at Alex.

Lifting her eyes, she met his own. They were what she expected. Cool. Remote.

“I hope everything goes well for you tomorrow at the doctor’s,” she said.

He nodded once. “Thanks.”

It’s you, Miracle. It’s truly you.

Please. Touch me. Just once more.

I love you ….

Who is your woman, she thought as she stared at him. And where is she when you’re going through this hell? Why are you alone now?

She cleared her throat. “Look, I don’t want you to feel awkward about saying no. You know, about me working on your family’s house. I wanted to give you an out, which was why I suggested—”

“I’m a big boy. If I don’t like something, I’m perfectly capable of letting people know it.”

“Oh, of course.” As if she needed a reminder that he didn’t like women who mothered him.

“Something else on your mind, Cassandra?” he said softly.

The back door opened. Sean put his head inside.

“Yo, Cass. I’ve got a meeting at Rhodes Lewis this afternoon. We’ve got to move.”

“On a Sunday?” she blurted.

“You know me, twenty-four seven. Come on, woman.” The door banged shut.

When she looked back at Alex, she was glad she was leaving. His eyes had turned dangerous.

“Better run along,” he drawled. “Your friend’s obviously the impatient type.”

The word friend was pronounced more like lover, she thought. And his disapproval would have freeze-dried an open flame.

He obviously thought she was seeing Sean, and that it was way too soon after Reese’s death for her to be with another man, but she wasn’t going to waste time correcting the misconception. Given his tight face, she wasn’t going to change his mind without working him over with a chisel and a hammer.

“Goodbye, Alex,” she whispered.

He said nothing.

As she left the house, she was quite convinced she was never going to see him again.

Somehow the pain of the loss was stunning.

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