“I never told you to get lost?”

Kim smiled. “Never. I would remember because I’d have been crushed.”

Jax shifted his gaze to the fire. “Apparently I have a high tolerance for awful annoyances.”

“ So you’re okay with me being here?”

He watched the fire without speaking.

“ Jax?” she coaxed. “Did you hear me? Are you okay with me being here?”

“ Sure,” he said quietly. He glanced at her and nodded, his smile brief but as welcome as the fire’s warmth. “Of course.”

“ I’m glad.” She laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

Jax sat motionless, almost not breathing. Kim’s scent coiled around him. Her breasts, pressed against his arm, burned seductively. Steeling himself, he glared unseeing into the fire. She stirred and sighed, the slight, throaty sound piercing his heart. Gritting his teeth on a curse, he distanced himself from her before he did something unforgivably stupid.

Renee Roszel has been writing romance novels since 1983 and simply loves her job. She likes to keep her stories humorous and light, with her heroes gorgeous, sexy and larger-than-life. She says, “Why not spend your days and nights with the very best!” Luckily for Renee, her husband is gorgeous and sexy, too!

Renee Roszel loves to hear from her readers.

Send your letter and SAE to: P.O. Box 700154, Tulsa, Oklahoma 74170, U.S.A. Or visit her Web site at www.ReneeRoszel.com

Books by Renee Roszel

HARLEQUIN ROMANCE®

3682—HER HIRED HUSBAND

3705—THE TYCOON’S TEMPTATION

3725—BRIDEGROOM ON HER DOORSTEP

3752—SURRENDER TO A PLAYBOY

3778—A BRIDE FOR THE HOLIDAYS

Just Friends to…Just Married

Renee Roszel

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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To my mother, Lenore Roszel,

My friend, confidante, sounding board and biggest fan.

I love you and miss you.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

IN A state of shock, Kimberly sank to her knees in the middle of her empty condo. “This can’t be happening. He can’t be gone. I thought…” Her words faded into nothingness. Clearly she thought wrong. Her boyfriend of two years, the man she’d believed to be “the one,” had moved out, taken everything.

From her vantage point on the cold wood floor, in the middle of what once was their living room, she amended the “everything” part. He hadn’t taken quite everything. The gifts she gave him over the past two years lay in a neat pile nearby. The sports shirts, the half-used bottles of cologne, even the silk boxers covered in red hearts she bought one Valentine’s Day when she felt a little wicked.

She noticed absently that he had left the two landscape prints on the wall that she had bought when a local furniture store had closed down. Numb, she scanned the pile of rejected gifts and noticed a folded sheet of paper sticking out from beneath one of the cologne bottles. The handwriting was Perry’s. “If it says you’ve moved out, sweetheart, it was a waste of paper. I get the message.” She swallowed around the lump in her throat, praying there was a good explanation in that note. Foolish, fleeting hope swelled in her heart with the fantasy that it would read, Honey, I’ve been transferred to Paris. Couldn’t reach you. Follow me soonest! Love, Perry. “And I bet there’s a P.S. that says, Didn’t have room in my suitcase for these treasures. Please bring them.” With great reluctance, she unfolded the sheet of notebook paper, muttering to herself, “Dream on, Kimberly.”

She sat on her feet, terribly uncomfortable. But when a person drops to the floor in shock, comfort isn’t the first consideration. Now, with pain shooting through her arches, she shifted her legs out in front of her, her slim skirt not giving her many options. With trembling hands, she smoothed the paper on a thigh. Hesitant to read the words she knew were there, she smoothed it several more times.

She’d come home from her trip so pumped up, so full of good news, with big plans to celebrate. Her fledgling career as a professional meeting planner took a big step forward today. After the unblemished success of the chiropractor’s conference in Las Vegas she’d organized, she’d landed a big client, the owner of a chain of hardware stores. He’d hired her to plan his company’s next corporate confab for January. That left plenty of time for a well-deserved vacation.

So, tonight she’d envisioned a quiet dinner, just the two of them, romantic candlelight, a little wine, and for dessert, making love on the rug in front of a crackling fire.

She glanced at the brick hearth, empty and cold and gray with soot, and blinked back tears. The only thing that would lie naked in front of it tonight would be the bare floor. She forced herself to look at Perry’s note, to focus, read.

“You’ll probably hate me for doing it this way,” it began, “but you shouldn’t be surprised. We’ve had the debate often enough. Face it, Kim, you’re commitment phobic. I wanted marriage, but for two years you put me off. Well, I’ve had it. I’ve found somebody who isn’t afraid to commit. Good luck with your life.” It was signed, simply, “Perry.” He added what looked like a hastily scrawled postscript which read, “Besides, I’ll never measure up.”

Miserable and baffled, Kim murmured, “Never measure up? What do you mean?” Her voice quavered with tears. “Measure up to what—to whom?”

She stared at the cryptic sentence, wiping away tears. After a long, silent struggle to get her mind around the ragged hole that had been shot through her life, she lifted her gaze to take in the gaping void that so suddenly shrouded everything. Perry’s abandonment was a painful lesson of how little she’d given to their life together, at least materially.

“But…but I did care for you!” She picked up her favorite of his colognes and spritzed the air, inhaling. All at once, there Perry stood. Tall, blond, athletic, grinning that smirky grin that made her go gooey inside. Amazing about scents, the way they could conjure up a human being with only a few molecules of biochemical extracts. Suddenly disturbed by the smirking image, she waved her hand through the mist, trying to disperse the scent and erase him from the room. She succeeded only in perfuming her fingers. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stand that smell again,” she muttered, wiping her hand on her linen skirt. “You reek, Perry,” she said. “You lousy coward.”

She didn’t want to believe anything in his note had the slightest ring of truth. Commitment phobic? Not a bit. True, they did discuss marriage several times. She’d patiently explained she wasn’t ready. She didn’t like fighting, and never let one of their marriage discussions escalate to an argument. But even so, each time they “discussed” it, she pulled away a little more. Couldn’t they simply be the compatible couple they were, enjoying the same movies, the same music, the same Chinese restaurant? Why did he have to rock the boat? He knew disagreements upset her.

Anger destroyed.

Hadn’t she seen it enough with her mom, who spent Kim’s formative years committing serial marriage? Her mother brought five husbands into their middle class tract house, interspersed by a few not-quite-so-committed boyfriends. Each of those relationships had been briefly happy, too soon deteriorating to volatile and unsettling. She grew to hate fighting, so the more Perry harried her, the more resistant she became.

She took in a shuddery breath, caught his scent and made a sour face. Glancing back at his note, she reread the postscript. “Besides, I’ll never measure up.”

“Measure up?” she whispered, as though trying to get a handle on what Perry meant. “Measure up?” She shook her head, bewildered. Hunched there, in the gathering darkness, her mind took her back, way back, to her next door neighbor, her best friend for all her growing-up years, Jaxon Gideon. Jax was three years older than Kim. He’d always been tall, even as a youngster. Since she couldn’t count on a loving father in her life, Jax was the guy she ran to, blubbering, when she scraped her knee. And later, in high school, she still ran to him when a boyfriend dumped her, or even when she dumped a boyfriend, and simply felt down and alone.

Jax was also the guy she went to when she won something, like a class spelling bee, or the time she got her picture in the paper for writing the best essay in a city-wide contest on the topic, “Why I love St. Louis’s Gateway Arch.” Her mother was so busy cooing and panting over her latest husband she didn’t even notice. But Jax was genuinely happy for her, even though he’d entered the contest, too. Of course, Jax was a science and math brain, which she never was, so their relationship never got competitive.

Childhood memories filled with Jax flashed by. She experienced a spark of warmth in her cold, desolate heart. Funny, but Jax had such a special place in her life that even thinking of him soothed her tattered spirit. She could hardly believe she’d let herself get out of touch with him over the past decade. Decade? Could it really be that long?

Well, she blamed Jax. After all, didn’t she still live in St. Louis? He was the one who left to attend Northwestern University in Evanston, a suburb of Chicago, where he had stayed. Of course, they were grown-ups now. He had his life to live and she had hers. Their paths inevitably had to diverge. Which, to Kim, was a sad thing. She could use Jax living next door right now.

Back in high school, she’d sensed he had a crush on her. They went on a few dates, but Kim resisted a romance. She didn’t dare put Jax into the “boyfriend” category. A person could lose a boyfriend, and Jax had been the only stable friend and confidant she’d known in her life. Her mother’s many marriages, with all the fighting and the breaking up, scarred her. She hated upheaval so Jax became her rock, her comfort and solace. For that reason, she kept their dating casual and occasional, terrified that upping him to boyfriend status would throw him into the realm of chaos, where she spent too much of her young life. She couldn’t risk it.

“I wonder what Jax is doing these days?” After graduating from Northwestern he started up a dot.com, made a bundle and got out before the bubble burst. She didn’t know what he was doing now. Some kind of consulting, she’d heard, still in Chicago.

The last time she saw him was when her engagement to Bradley ended. Jax was in his third year at Northwestern, and she’d just started at a local junior college. Thinking her life was over, she fled to him and, as usual, he consoled her, told her it was “for the best,” which, in hindsight, couldn’t have been more true. Like magic, Jax got her back on track. After a week of crying on his broad, capable shoulders, she returned to St. Louis, into the chaos that ebbed and flowed through her world, leaving Jax solidly in his essential “friend” status.

She sniffed and swiped at a tear as she scanned the emptiness again. Her misery began to mutate into anger. Sucking in a shuddery breath, she cried, “How could you, Perry? How could you sneak out of our relationship like a thief in the night?”

All of a sudden she had a brainstorm. The shock of finding Perry gone had to be the worst disaster in her life to date. If she ever needed Jax, it was now. “That’s absolutely what I need! My Jax Fix!” Not only would talking to Jax make her feel better, he would be happy for her when he found out about how well her business was doing. They could laugh and talk and…well, it would be like the good old days.

Before she knew she’d even moved, she grabbed her cell phone from her handbag and dialed directory assistance. She cleared her throat, struggling to sound like she wasn’t on the verge of hysteria. “Hello—” Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat again. “I’d—uh—like the phone number of Jaxon Gideon in Chicago.”

When she got it, she dialed. In her anticipation, a little of the ponderous sadness loosened its grip around her heart. The phone rang once, twice, three times, then a message came on. “Jaxon Gideon is unable to come to the phone. Please leave a brief message after the beep and he will return your call.”

She managed a tremulous smile at the comforting familiarity of his baritone voice. His message was short and to the point, too. Nothing frilly or cutesy for Jax. She only hoped she could make it through her message without bursting into tears. “Hi, Jax,” she began, almost in a whisper. “Guess who!” She shook her head at herself for the childish silliness. She laughed out of embarrassment. It sounded odd in her ears, a melancholy, almost a puppy whine of a noise. “Sorry. I won’t make you guess. It’s been way too long,” she said solemnly. “It’s Kim. Look, I—” She broke off, hesitating, unsure of how long her voice would hold out before it broke. “In all honesty, I could use a friend right now.” She stopped, grimaced, facing facts. A phone call simply wouldn’t be enough. “On second thoughts, I’m coming to see you.” She congratulated herself on her brilliant idea. “I’ve gone way too long without my Jax Fix.” She smiled to herself, amazed that she even could. It was Jax. All Jax, making her smile. “Okay, then,” she said, feeling less like her emotional destruction had been total. “I’ll see you soon.”

She hung up and scrambled off the hard floor. “Jax Fix, here I come!” She headed for the entry where she’d dropped her suitcase, then stopped, twisted around and grabbed up the pile of Perry’s cast-off shirts. In a fit of pique, she threw them into the fireplace. “They’ll make perfect kindling for my next fire,” she muttered. Hurrying into the entry she hoisted the suitcase she’d so recently lugged in. “Meanwhile, I’m catching the first flight to Chicago.”

Jax was dog-tired when he got in from his long, tedious client dinner. Sometimes being a business productivity consultant reaped great rewards, both monetary and emotional. Other times, like tonight, it was like pulling teeth to get a company CEO to believe him when he outlined all they needed to do to increase productivity.

“He wants my expertise, but he doesn’t want to hear what I’m saying.” He shrugged out of his suit jacket and tossed it on the muted green suede sofa, then headed upstairs to his bedroom. Loosening his tie, he noticed his answering machine blinking. Strange. Everybody knew his cell number and left voice mail. He didn’t even know why he still had the antiquated answering machine and land line. The truth was, he hadn’t had the time to get rid of them.

Though he figured it was a telemarketer or a solicitation for donations, he pressed the button to hear the message. The instant he heard that voice, he froze in the act of pulling his tie from around his neck.

It was Kim.

After all these years of getting nothing but a few scribbled lines in Christmas and birthday cards—it was Kim. Her voice was so familiar it had become a part of him, a part he both loved and hated. As the message ended, he took a couple of steps backward, staggering slightly, and sat down heavily on his bed. “Hell.”

Jax had only harbored one great passion in his life—Kimberly Norman. As a kid he’d been a distracted geek, way too intense, oblivious to the subtleties of high school social politics. But Kim never seemed to notice his shortcomings. She’d been his friend, laughed at his dumb geek jokes.

She never seemed bored when they were together, even when he went on and on about circuitry or motherboards. She helped build more than one of his Science Fair projects, even though she never knew what he meant when he explained them to her. Or cared, for that matter. He always thought she was terribly cute that way.

He knew about her unsettled home life, so his company was doubtless the lesser of two evils. Even so, she seemed to genuinely like being around him. And he loved having her around. Kim, the freckle-faced day-brightener, girl-next-door. He didn’t think she ever quite understood how lovely she was or how lucky he felt to be on the receiving end of her smiles.

As a youth he adored her quietly. Years passed, years when he hoped for more than a friendship. But after he was kindly—but definitely—shut down following a few fledgling dates, he faced the fact that Kimberly needed him as a friend. She certainly didn’t need him as a suitor. By the time she was seventeen she had plenty of those. Her carrot-red braids had become a flowing, sexy mane of auburn flame. And no matter how much she hated the sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks, in truth they were a charming enrichment to her delicate features.

When she came to him after breakups with boyfriends, he soothed her, grateful for that part of her she gave to him. But having her near, knowing she cared—but not enough—not in the way a man wants a woman to care, wore on him. He’d grown into a man, and a man could only stand so much. Finally, he’d had all he could stomach of her rebounding off him.

That’s why he left St. Louis. That’s why he wrapped himself in his dot.com business. Then, after he sold that and became a consultant, he buried himself in his new enterprise. One day, he hoped to forget Kim, find some other woman who could fill the hole in his heart that he’d wanted her to fill.

Unfortunately, it hadn’t happened.

Not yet.

He glared at the answering machine; the message light no longer blinked. “Why the hell couldn’t you have been a telemarketer.”

He ripped off his tie and threw it to the carpet. “Did it never occur to you that your little ‘Jax Fix’ pop-in might be a problem for me?” He started to unbutton his dress shirt, then stopped, ran both hands through his hair. Moments ago he was bored and weary. Now he blazed with a crazy mixture of bitterness and longing. What was he going to do? “I’ll call her back,” he thought aloud. “Tell her I’m going out of town—on business.” He shoved himself up to stand and headed for the phone to check his caller ID for her phone number. “Better yet, I’m leaving the country, for—for a month.”

He lifted the receiver, began to punch out the numbers. As he did, something strange happened. With each successive button he pushed, he slowed. By the last number, he had gone stock-still, his finger suspended above the number. “What’s wrong with you, man?” he gritted out. “Punch it! Before she leaves!”

He winced at a sudden thought and checked the time she had made the call. Five-thirteen. He flicked a narrowed glance at his wristwatch. Ten-thirty-five. Reality lashed like a whip. Heaving an exhale as raw as a blasphemy, he lowered the phone to the ebony bedside table. If he knew Kimberly at all—and he knew her well—she was on her way.

The doorbell chimed, thundering in the quiet like a tractor-trailer truck barreling through his bedroom. He wheeled toward the sound, resentful, infuriated, yet on fire for her. “Damn it, Kimberly!” he ground out in a burst of frustration and rage. “I refuse to be your rebound man again. If you can’t be my life, I want you out of it!”

He headed for the front door. With every step he repeated his manifesto to resist her.

Could he?

This time?

“Of course you can, you stupid ass.”

Stark, lung-constricting, muscle-cramping doubt twisted his insides.

CHAPTER TWO

THE instant Jax opened his door she leapt at him. Womanly curves registered cruelly on every nerve ending her body touched. Arms encircled his neck and feathery kisses dampened and warmed his tensed jaw. He squeezed his eyes shut, in pain. This wasn’t doing his vow to resist her any favors.

He inhaled, an unfortunate necessity, since her scent further degraded his declaration of resistance. He groaned inwardly, only half focusing on what she said between breezy kisses. With great reluctance, but undeniable desire, he en-folded her in his arms.

“Oh, Jax,” she said in a long sigh, her sweet breath tickling his chin. “It’s been too long.”

She clung, gifted him with light, beguiling jaw kisses as she spoke. “I’ve missed you so much.” She paused, smiled. Her green eyes glistened a bit too much, as though they were teary. Still, Jax found them to be the most breathtaking sight he’d seen in—well, for almost ever. At least since the last time he looked into them. His resistance crumbling, he smiled at her, hating himself but helpless against the depth of his feelings. “Hi, Kim.” He hugged her, fighting the urge to cover those full lips with his, show her exactly what brand of greeting he ached to give her. If she knew the immensity of his restraint, she would blush as brilliant as her auburn hair, dazzling in the porch light. “It’s—good to see you,” he said against her temple, meaning it. Damn him.

“Oh, Jax!” she said, her voice sweet but melancholy. He knew exactly what that meant. Another man had broken her heart. He tensed. “I hope you don’t mind my coming, but I really need you right now.”

Yeah, he thought, you need me right now. I need you every blasted minute of every blasted day. Naturally he didn’t say that aloud. Playing his part as the dutiful friend, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

She loosened her grip on his shoulders and drew far enough away to look into his face. Her smile, though tentative and tremulous, blew him away. If he were a man who cried in the presence of great beauty, he would be in tears. “Oh, Jax…” she whispered again, then bit her lip, the expression sexy as hell, though he knew she had no inkling. “Could we go inside? I—I’d rather not…” She indicated his front porch. Wide and deep, it held a couple of padded chairs on either side of a small table. Late September in Chicago could be nippy, and she wore no coat. “…I mean, it’s rather personal.”

“Sure.” That’s right, idiot. Do exactly what you swore you wouldn’t do. Face it. You have no will of your own where Kim is concerned. He released her and indicated her suitcase. “I’ll take that.”

Thanks.” She preceded him into his three-story condo. “The flight of steps to the porch almost killed me, lugging that bag,” she said.

“That’s the downside of stacking a fourplex of condos on one narrow lot. It makes the first floor the garage.” Kim grasped his hand as they came inside. He felt it too deeply and tugged free to wave toward the staircase, showing her the way to the bedroom floor. “I’ll take your bag to the guest room. You’ll probably want to freshen up.”

She gazed around his luxury condo, the dark granite surround of the fireplace, the earth tones, from the mossy suede couch, rust-dyed drapes, the punches of gold and red in throw pillows and accessories, to the sleek chocolate-glazed accent tables. “You have a nice place.” She faced him and smiled. “Fashionable, yet masculine.”

He shrugged. “I bought it furnished.”

She looked him up and down, then took his hand again. “Well, it’s very put together.” She squeezed his fingers affectionately. “So are you, by the way. I like the suit trousers and dress shirt. I’d call that look ‘casual elegant.’” She grinned. “Did you get all casual elegant for me?”

He shook his head. “I just got home and was changing when I got your message. Another minute and I’d have been a little too casual and a lot less elegant.”

She laughed. The musical lilt sent a sharp pain straight to his heart. “You mean you got my message minutes before I rang the doorbell?”

“‘Fraid so.”

She stuck out her lower lip in a pretend pout. “Then I’m disappointed. I thought you’d prettied up for me.”

He frowned as he always had when she put on a pout. Once again he removed his fingers from hers. “I prettied up for a client dinner.”

“Oh.” She clasped her hands before her and nodded. “I see. Well, I guess I can get over the blow to my ego.”

He scanned her from head to toe, admitting only the smallest fraction of what he thought. “You don’t look so bad yourself.” Raising an eyebrow at her, he asked, “I presume you got all—” he wanted to say adorable, but thought better of it “—chic for me.”

She touched the collar of her pink linen suit jacket. “This thing? I flew from Vegas to St. Louis earlier today. Then when—” She cut herself off, swallowed. “Anyway, then I flew here. If I’m not a wrinkled, grimy mess, it’s a miracle.”

To him she looked like she’d stepped out of a fashion magazine. “Since neither of us prettied up for each other, and our egos are sufficiently crushed, do you want to freshen up or talk first?”

She seemed to give the matter a moment’s thought. When her glance drifted to the staircase, he knew her choice before she spoke. “I think I’d like to take a good soak and get into sweats.” She looked at him, her expression one of hope. “Will you still be up?”

What could he say? He wanted to be asleep. He should be asleep. It had been a very long day. But he knew even if he blew her off and went to bed, he’d get no sleep tonight. Not with her in the next room. “Since when have I not been here for you when you wanted to talk?” he said. Why are you going to be here for her now? Are you that much of a glutton for punishment? he admonished inwardly, but he wasn’t listening to reason. He was too focused on Kimberly’s beautiful eyes.

“I’d have to say you’ve always been there for me.” She smiled, reaching up to pat his cheek. “I’ll be down in a half hour.”

“Would you like something to eat.”

“I’d kill for some of your great pancakes.”

“Pancakes, it is.” He carried her bag up the steps, watching her as she moved ahead of him. Her long, slim legs hypnotized him. The slight sway of her hips transfixed him. The swinging bounce of her hair tormented him. He bit back an oath. When they reached her room he set down her bag. “See you…whenever,” he said, feeling uncharacteristically awkward.

“See ya, Jax.” She hugged his neck and planted a kiss almost—but not quite—on his lips. She and her suitcase had disappeared before he could breathe again.

When he managed to turn away from her door, he ground out, “Blast you, Jax.” He headed downstairs. “You are the world’s heavyweight champion fool.”

Kim lounged in a tub of steamy water, her hair piled in a swirly heap on top of her head. Bubbly jets massaged her from all sides. Such luxury. Jax had come a long way since the days when he lived in the cookie-cutter tract house next door. She loved this bathroom. All marble and mirrors, and the guest room closet was huge. Empty and huge. Well, it was empty before she hung up her stuff. She sighed and inhaled the fragrant air. She could smell Jax’s cologne. Odd. Maybe it was in her hair. She reached up and tugged down a strand and sniffed. “Ah,” she said through a sigh. His scent lingered there. “You smell so good.” She inhaled deeply once more before stuffing the strand back up out of her face.

She closed her eyes and thought about him. How great he looked. Had she ever seen him in a suit before? She couldn’t recall. Though he didn’t have on a tie or suit jacket, he still looked very dashing, very GQ. And she liked his hair. She’d forgotten how shiny and soft and jet-black it was. With just a touch of curl. When it was slightly mussed, and an errant lock fell across his forehead, he gave off appealing, swashbuckling-pirate vibes. For a science geek, it was totally against type, but charming. His hair had been that way tonight. Slightly disheveled with a hint of “rogue pirate.” While the rest of his attire spoke of solidness, reliability and good character, that one curl screamed “sexy bad boy.”

She giggled at the absurd notion. The preoccupied nerd who won Science Fairs, who was valedictorian of his senior class and whose dog never ate his homework, a bad boy ! “Very funny,” she said aloud. She’d purposely dropped the word “sexy” from the “bad boy” image, since long ago she’d placed Jax in a category where sexy and sex and all its ups and downs had no place.

Suddenly restless, she decided she’d soaked long enough. Besides she could smell pancakes. She turned off the stimulating jets and rose from the tub, feeling better, at least physically. The delicious aroma of the pancakes reminded her she hadn’t eaten since breakfast, a cold muffin and bitter airport coffee as she ran for her flight.

“Jax,” she said as she toweled off with the softest, thickest navy terry towel she’d ever seen, “You are my rock. I love you.” She grimaced, stopped, then shrugged it off. “Of course you love him,” she said. “He’s your best friend in the world. You can say ‘I love you’ and not rock any boats.” She hung her towel on its bar and walked into a bedroom decorated in tasteful shades of green and beige. “Naturally, though, you probably shouldn’t say it to him.”

She didn’t know why not, really. It just seemed like going too far. Every man to whom she’d said those three words had eventually walked out of her life. “No,” she said. “That must never happen to me and Jax.”

A few moments later, dressed in comfortable navy sweats and a pair of thick athletic socks, she bounded down the stairs. “It smells good in here,” she called. “Where are you, Jax?”

“In the Lunar Module preparing for landing. Where do you think?”

She laughed, amazed that she could. “In the Lunar Module preparing for landing, of course. I keep up.” Around the corner from the main living area, she headed past a contemporary dining-room table and chairs. Beyond that she spied a door and walked through it into the kitchen where a small, round oak breakfast table and four matching chairs snuggled in an alcove before a floor-to-ceiling bay window.

Outside, Kim could see the light show of downtown Chicago’s high-rises. When she turned away from the scenery, she noticed the table set for one, and looked curiously at Jax. Shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, he stood over a skillet. A platter sat beside the gas range piled high with pancakes. “Hey, how many of those do you think I can eat?”

He turned toward her. “You mean I can stop now?”

“You could have stopped about a dozen pancakes ago.” She plunked her hands on her hips. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m attempting to keep my figure.”

He turned away and flipped the last pancake on the griddle. “Can’t say that I have,” he murmured.

“Gee thanks.” She took an extra minute to gaze at him. He was such a wonderful person, and he’d matured into a very handsome man. She couldn’t recall his shoulders being that broad, or his hips that trim. “Do you work out?” she asked, then registered she’d said it aloud. She snapped her gaze from his buttocks to his face just as he turned to look at her.

“What?”

She shrugged sheepishly. “Making conversation. I asked if you work out.”

“Oh.” He nodded and turned away. “I hit the gym several times a week.”

“See, I can compliment you even if you can’t compliment me,” she teased. “You have a great butt.”

He glanced at her again, this time frowning slightly. “Thanks.”

She walked up behind him and slid her arms around his chest to hug him from behind. He felt solid. My good, solid Jax. She inhaled. My good, solid, great smelling Jax. “Isn’t it weird the way we can be apart for so long, but we get back together and it seems like we just saw each other yesterday? I don’t feel like I’ve been away at all.”

He said nothing for a moment then, “Yeah.” He sounded a little hoarse. After a few more seconds, he gently disengaged her hold on him. “Weird isn’t the word.” He turned off the gas and headed to the refrigerator. “Do you want butter, syrup, whipped cream or all of the above?”

Left alone facing the gas range, she made herself useful by taking the serving platter to the table. “Syrup and butter.” She pulled out the chair where he’d set a plate and silverware, then paused to glance at him. “Do you have any nonfat butter?”

A corner of his mouth lifted, but less with mirth than cynicism. “Yeah, sure.”

She shook her head. “Oh, fine. All my efforts will take a big nosedive if you feed me like I’m a two-hundred-fifty-pound trucker.”

“Your reservations were relatively last minute. Even I need a little time to tend to details like nonfat butter, if there is such a thing.”

“Okay, okay.” She sat down. When he brought the syrup dispenser to the table she took his wrist. “Aren’t you going to join me?”

“I just ate.” He took an adjacent seat. His knee grazed hers but she didn’t move away. When he did, she experienced a stab of deprivation. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but Jax seemed somehow different. Like he wasn’t completely thrilled that she was here. Oh, that’s crazy Kimberly, she told herself. He’s your best friend and you’re his. You’re just super-sensitive right now.

“I’m here to listen, remember?”

His prompt brought her back. She nodded. The reminder of why she’d come to him rushed back full force, almost overwhelming her. She struggled to keep from bursting into tears. She stared at the platter of pancakes for a time, then picked up her fork and stabbed several, sliding them onto her plate. She spread butter over them and doused it all with syrup. With a quick, grateful smile in his direction, she picked up her fork, cut into the stack and took a bite. Delicious. Jax’s pancakes were so light and airy they melted in her mouth. She winked her approval at him, feeling less depressed. Upon finishing the first taste, she said, “You, Mr. Gideon, should be in jail.”

“What?” His brow crinkled. He looked so cute she felt a zing in the pit of her stomach. “Why?” he asked.

“Because, it’s a crime that you didn’t go into the pancake-making business. That’s why.”

He lay a forearm on the table and leaned toward her. “I think you’re stalling.” His expression was gentle, earthy brown eyes direct. “So tell me. What happened to get you up here to doom me to prison in the middle of the night?”

“It isn’t the middle of the night.” He might be right. She probably was stalling. But she didn’t intend to admit it, so she checked the kitchen wall clock and said, “It’s not even midnight.”

“Okay, so what got you up here at ‘not even’ midnight?”

She cut into the pancakes and took another bite. This time she had more trouble swallowing. Not because the food was any less delicious, but because Perry’s desertion loomed so large in her mind. The harsh image of that empty condo and the pile of rejected gifts hurt to think about.

Her meal blurred and she blinked back tears. Realizing putting it off would make the telling no less hurtful, she laid her fork aside, but couldn’t bring herself to look at Jax. “Okay, I thought I’d found Mr. Right. But when I got home from a business trip today, I found our place empty, except for a few shirts and other things I’d given him, in an insulting little lump on the bare floor.” She rushed through the story, not wanting to prolong it with whimpery details. “He left a note. Called me commitment phobic and—and…” She choked back a sob. If she planned to make it through without crying, she’d better hurry. “And…well, his rejection was out of the blue—and his so-called reason for leaving totally untrue. Just because I didn’t want to get married, doesn’t mean I wasn’t committed.”

She stared blankly at her cooling food, forearms on the table, every ounce of her attention attuned to the man whose opinion she held in the highest regard. He said nothing for a long time. So long, in fact, she cast him a sidelong look. He was frowning—thoughtful? Compassionate? Dubious that her argument had a leg to stand on? She couldn’t tell. “Gee, thanks, Jax. I’m all better now,” she quipped with false enthusiasm, hoping to prod him into revealing what hid behind that frown.

“He took your things, too?” he asked.

“My things?”

He nodded. “Your furniture, rugs, whatever.”

“Oh.” Why did he have to zero in on that one tiny inconsistency for her “commitment” argument. “Does my heart count?” she asked, wanting to impress upon him what was important here and what wasn’t.

She got a reaction. He winced a little. “Sure, it matters. I meant did he steal your things?”

“No, nothing like that. He left my clothes, the two framed prints I’d bought and a what-not shelf I took from my room when I left home.”

“That’s all that was yours?”

She didn’t like the direction this conversation was taking. “So what? What are things? It’s the emotions of a relationship that matter, and my emotions were totally—committed.” Why did she falter on that last word? She had been committed to Perry and to their future together.

“Hmmm.” He nodded, his expression solemn. “But you didn’t want to get married?”

“What are you, a prosecuting attorney?” she asked, trying to keep things light so that his probing wouldn’t bug her. She didn’t want to be mad at Jax. “It’s not a felony to say no to a marriage proposal.”

He didn’t smile.

“Come on, Jax. Lighten up. My heart may be broken but I don’t need a transplant. Just tell me it’ll be okay and give me a hug and help me heal like always.”

He cocked his head, watching her. “So you came here for a hug?”

She broke eye contact, embarrassed and unsure why. Antsy, she picked up her fork and toyed with it. “Well…duh.” She ran the fork prongs through the melted butter and syrup, making a curvy row of lines from one edgeof the plate to the other. When she peeked at him again, she was serious. “You know my mother’s story, Jax. Marriage doesn’t guarantee anything. I thought we were fine the way we were. Why rock the boat with meaningless contracts and promises?”

“Apparently they weren’t meaningless to him.”

She hadn’t come here for an inquisition. “Since when did you join the debate team?” she asked, annoyed. “I need a friend—a hug—not a cross-examination.” Slapping her palms to the table, she bolted up. “Look, if you can’t see that he was in the wrong, then I made a mistake coming to you. I thought you were my friend.”

“I am your friend. I’m only trying to get the whole picture.”

“The whole picture is I’m upset and I need you to be on my side. Be my friend. Tell me he’s a beast and I’m well rid of him.”

“Okay, he’s a beast and you’re well rid of him,” he dead-panned.

She crossed her arms and glared. “That’s a good start. Now let’s work on making it sound like you mean it.”

He eyed her silently, then said, “I am your friend, Kim. But a friend tells you the truth. If you want a yes-man then you’ll have to hire one. From me, you get honesty.”

“Is that so?” she asked, “Then how much would you charge to be my yes-man?”

“Stop kidding.”

“I’m not kidding.” She struggled to keep from bursting into tears. She didn’t know why she was so agitated or why she was on her feet. Apparently her relaxing bath with all those yummy bubbly jets were no match for Jax’s disapproval, even if, at this stage, it was only a possibility on the horizon. She patted around on her hips as though searching for pockets. “I don’t have any money on me, but if I run upstairs and get ten bucks, would it buy me a ‘Perry is a big jerk and everything will be all right’?”

“Perry.”

“Huh?”

He seemed to have turned inward for a second. When she spoke, he refocused on her. “Nothing.” Appearing vaguely troubled, he worked his jaw. She wondered what he was thinking. After a second, he indicated her food. “Why don’t you eat, then get a good night’s rest. We can talk when you’re fresher.” He stood. “I think it would be best if I leave you alone for a while.”

She was so surprised and disconcerted by his abrupt decision to go, she couldn’t move or speak. She didn’t want him to leave. The whole point of coming here was to be with him. When she opened her mouth to say so, he stopped her by taking her arm and firmly guiding her back to the chair. “Sit.” With both hands on her shoulders, he coaxed her down. “Eat.”

Once sitting, she stared up at him. “But—”

“You’re tired. I’m tired,” he said, before she could go on. “I can see you’re in no mood to be rational.”

“Rational!” She started to stand, but he foiled her plan by placing a restraining hand on her shoulder.

“Sit.” He shook his head at her. “Stay.”

She made a face. “I am not your dog.”

He exhaled heavily and turned away, mumbling something that sounded like “A dog would be less trouble and more affectionate.”

“What?”

He didn’t turn back, merely shook his head. “I said leave the dishes and turn off the lights as you go to bed.”

“That’s not what it sounded like.”

“Good night, Kim,” he called back, disappearing from view.

She glared at the empty kitchen door, fists balled. After a few seconds, she calmed down enough to realize he was right. She needed time and distance from this afternoon to be totally rational on the subject of Perry’s desertion. Jax was an expert on “totally rational” because if there was one thing Jax was, besides brilliant, it was rational.

She could hear his rapid tread as he jogged up the stairs two at a time. He was really going. “Hey,” she shouted. “What happened to my hug?”

Somewhere in the distance a door slammed.

CHAPTER THREE

FOR Jax the night became an endless roller-coaster ride. He got no rest, tossing, turning, pacing and glaring out of the window, then tossing and turning some more. He couldn’t bear to have Kim around, so near him, her scent driving him to distraction, her soft, radiant hair begging to be stroked. Her blasted need to be hugged, with those “best friend” pecks on his cheeks and jaw driving him crazy. Was it possible she didn’t know what she did to him? Or was she so narcissistic she needed to torture him to get her jollies?

He ground out a blasphemy. Of course, she didn’t know. He blamed his frustration and fatigue for such asinine thinking. Standing before his window, exhausted yet wide-awake, he peered at his watch. Illuminated by the rosy glow of dawn, its silver hands broke the bad news: 5:33 Heaving a weary groan, he decided he might as well go in to work. Yawning between mumbled curses, he went through the motions, his mind clouded by conflicted emotions.

He heard no stirrings from the guest room, so he quietly went downstairs to find the kitchen spotless. Apparently Kim hadn’t left the dishes after all. “Thanks for that, at least,” he grumbled. “You kept me up all night, wanting you, knowing I can never have you, but the dishes are clean.” Resentment spiked in him. The trade-off was light-years away from being even.

By rote he made his usual pot of coffee and filled his insulated travel mug. Before he left he scribbled Kim a note about being back around six, suggesting she relax and promising to bring home the makings for her favorite dinner. Taco salad. A favored meal would set a better tone for a frank discussion. Perhaps she might even be willing to admit her commitment phobia. Maybe she could begin to understand that if she ever wanted to have a lasting relationship with a man, she needed to deal with that first. If he did his job as friend and fixer well, one day Kim would find lasting happiness with some man.

Some other damn man.

He headed down the stairs to his garage, slid into his Jaguar coupe, and fired up the engine. “The irony is,” he muttered, “the one relationship she’s genuinely committed to is ours—so pathetically platonic it’s killing me.”

At six-thirty, he arrived at the high-rise office of Gideon and Ross, Business Productivity Consultants, to find his partner, Tracy Ross, already there. No great shock, since she practically lived in her office. Her door stood open, so as he passed by he crossed her line of sight.

“Hey,” she called, “I didn’t expect you for another hour. What gives? Problem?”

He didn’t want to air his “problem” with Tracy, but knowing her burr-under-the-saddle personality, he might as well come clean, or she’d poke at it until it bled. Tracy was an exceptional businesswoman and an able partner, but she was an equally exceptional snoop with an exceptional snoop’s radar.

He glowered at her. “Is it illegal to come in early?”

She grinned at him from behind her polished steel and Plexiglas desk. Tracy was a handsome woman with a close-cropped cap of naturally platinum hair and features made striking by exquisite bone structure. Designer half glasses perched on her slender nose. In heels she towered nearly as tall as he, which made her an intimidating six-three. She was as no-nonsense in business as she was classy in her choice of attire. Without any long-term, personal relationships and no interest whatsoever in the male sex, her life was her work.

Therefore, their business relationship was simply that, un-complicated by sexuality. They both knew that many of their clients assumed they were lovers. The premise amused them. In actuality, they were a well-oiled machine, moving up fast in their profession, with an outstanding reputation for competence and positive results. He respected Tracy, prized her business acumen, was comfortable with their relationship, except at moments like these, when a male partner would ignore an awareness of a problem or never detect one at all.

“It’s not illegal to come in early, Jax Man.” She removed her reading glasses and set them on the legal-size notepad in front of her. “If it were, I’d be a lifer.” She motioned for him to come in. “I brought muffins.”

He half smiled. Even as all-business as she was, there were times when she reminded him of his grandmother. “Homemade?”

“Naturally.” She shoved the open tin toward him. “These are not only delicious, they’ll add ten years to your lifespan.” As he approached her desk her grin faded. “Man, you look like twenty miles of bad road.”

Here it came. “Only twenty?” he asked, his tone sardonic.

“I was being generous. It’s more like fifty.”

“Ah, the truth,” he said, without smiling. “Doesn’t that feel better?”

“I’ll have to get back to you on that.” She lifted the tin in his direction, as though it was imperative that he benefit from their life-enhancing sustenance. “I bet you haven’t eaten.”

“Wrong.” He lifted his insulated mug.

She wrinkled her nose. To her, caffeine was poison. “You need a muffin. Did you even shave?”

He thought he had but he felt his jaw to verify. Instead of smooth skin he detected definite stubble. “Damn. I guess not.”

She set down the tin. “I’ve never seen you with a 6:30 a.m. shadow before.” Pausing, she assessed his new look, then shook her head. “I have to say, on a scale of one to ten, with ten being fantabulous, I give it a minus one thousand.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow at her barbed assessment. “When you make up your mind about how you really feel, don’t hesitate to tell me.” He picked up a muffin and took a bite. For health-nut food, it was actually good.

“So what brings you here at daybreak with us workaholics? Or are you coming down off an all-night bender? Maybe you spent the night in jail for speeding around in that British playtoy you drive?” She eyed him critically as he finished the muffin and downed the rest of his coffee. “On third thought, after I left you at dinner last night, did our client, Derk, drug your coffee and have his way with you in the alley?”

Jax didn’t have to work hard to show aggravation. Frustrated and tired, he was in no mood for jokes. “A comedienne you’re not.”

She sat back in her jade-green leather chair and clamped her hands on the padded arms. “Okay, you tell me what brought you in here at this hour, looking like a hit-and-run victim?”

She didn’t know how painfully close to the truth her comparison came. Characterizing Kim’s connection to Jax as hit-and-run was horribly precise.

He propped a hip on the corner of Tracy’s desk, and broke eye contact to gaze unseeing out of the window. He glanced down at Lake Shore Drive. Bumper to bumper traffic snaked along as the morning rush hour kicked into gear. His gaze drifted across the greenbelt of parkland and trees to Lake Michigan, sparkling in the morning sun like a placid, inland ocean. “Kim’s here,” he said simply.

A silence filled the room that was so profound it had the effect of a shrill, protracted scream. Tracy remained uncharacteristically mute for a long time. Though their partnership started after he’d last seen Kim, Tracy knew about her—of her acceptance of him when others thought he was weird. Of her generosity, her warmth and her easy laughter that could brighten even the most awkward and alienated geek’s gloom.

Tracy knew being with Kim was like being home, to Jax. She also knew, with every date Jax went on with another woman, he tried to wash a bit more of Kim’s memory from his heart. Kim had been the warmth in his life, a warmth he still struggled to learn to live without.

“Oh,” she finally said. Right now he wished he’d never told Tracy about Kim. Hearing pity in her voice made him cringe. After another drawn-out silence, she asked, “Why now? After all this time when you’d almost…” She didn’t go on, but he knew what she meant. When he’d almost broken free of the hold she had over him.

He returned his attention to her face. She looked so sad for him he felt a tug of compassion and tried to shrug it off. “The usual. Another broken heart.”

“And you’re supposed to fix it,” Tracy said.

He grinned with bitter irony. “When she says she needs her Jax Fix, she’s usually talking about a heart overhaul.”

“Lord!” Tracy bent over and bumped her head on the legal pad, a prime theatrical bit. With her face on her desk, she covered the top of her head with her hands. “Now that I’ve heard everything, I might as well croak.”

He looked out of the window again, then back at his partner, so dramatically overwhelmed. “It’s what she needs,” he said quietly.

Tracy rolled to her cheek and frowned at him from her desktop-view. “What about your needs, Jax?” She sat up and lay her hands flat on the desk. “You’ve told me enough that I know it kills you to be with her, yet—not be…”

He appreciated her loyalty and sensitivity and reached over the muffin tin to lay his hand across hers. “You’re a good friend, Trace. And it is hard, but…” How did he put into words the horror that squeezed his heart at the thought of never seeing her again. Being with her was hell, but all the years he’d been without her had been worse. At a loss, he shrugged. “It’s complicated.”

Tracy snorted. “If I had one measly dollar for every time I’ve heard that pruney old cliché from a friend in a one-sided relationship, my household staff would consist of France. ”

He squeezed her fingers and kidded, “Instead you can only afford to employ the population of little old Nebraska.”

She smirked. “Okay, laugh it off. But clearly the matter of our success doesn’t solve life’s problems because you—who could actually afford to employ all of France—look like you just clocked off a gritty, all-night shift in hell.”

He stood up. “Then I’d better go shave.”

“That would be a start, since looking the way you do, you’d scare the hirelings.” She flicked her wrist over to check her gold watch. “Speaking of whom, a few early birds will be arriving very soon.”

He nodded. “Point taken.”

As he walked away, she said, “I worry that she’s using you.”

“Don’t worry about me, Trace.” He left her office and headed toward his.

More than anything in the world, he wished Tracy’s impassioned misconception of Kim were true. If she really were that selfish, using him to salve her ego, he could make quick work of ridding himself of her. But she wasn’t, and deep down Tracy knew it. She knew Jax well enough to know he didn’t suffer fools or false friends easily.

Kim was one of the most giving people he’d ever known. She simply took their closeness for granted, like breathing. If anybody deserved to be blamed, he did. It wasn’t Kim’s fault that he didn’t have the guts or the heart to tell her how much her visits hurt. Being highly sensitive she would be wounded beyond repair to discover that the faintest touch of her hand could bloody his heart.

Kim heard the garage door open and knew Jax was back. That morning she was disappointed to find him gone. She’d hoped they could chat over breakfast. Last night she spent a lot of pent up energy going through his cabinets, planning a breakfast of veggie omelets, whole wheat muffins and her famous strawberry-banana smoothies. Hopefully tomorrow she could coax him to stay later, let her fix him breakfast, since he obviously consumed nothing this morning but coffee. She knew he had a busy life and she didn’t want to impose. Just because she had a little free time and a broken heart was no excuse.

But he was home now and she planned to make herself useful. He was wonderful to let her show up out of the blue, so she wanted to make her time there as pleasant for him as she could. Tonight they’d have taco salads a la Kim. She checked herself in the mirror over the dining room buffet then fluffed her hair and the neck ruffle of her silk blouse. She was almost as excited to see Jax as she had been to see Perry. For different reasons, of course. Jax wasn’t her lover. He was more important than a lover. He was, well, Jax.

She could hear footfalls on the back stairs that led up from his garage. When he came into the kitchen, she positioned herself in front of the kitchen table, arms wide. “Well, give, Jaxon! I’m starved. Lets get going on those taco salads.”

He carried a brown bag in each arm. “It’s good to see you, too,” he said, his smile half-cast.

She plunked her fists on her hips. “Well, naturally it’s good to see you. That goes without saying. I always adore seeing you.” She took one of the bags from his arms and gave him a smooch on the jaw. “Mmm, you smell good. What is that cologne?”

He walked to the stainless steel countertop and set down the other bag. “I think it’s called Badboy.”

She set her sack next to his. “Badboy?” Hadn’t she used that exact description while thinking about him last night? She noticed the wayward curl that gave him such a roguish quality dangling over his forehead. “‘Badboy is very appropriate.”

He’d begun to empty the groceries. When she made the remark he paused, glanced at her. “It is?”

She laughed at his dubious tone. Clearly he’d never thought of himself as a bad boy. She reached up and ran a finger along the errant lock. “That’s the bad boy look I love, right there. Such a deliciously delinquent curl. It makes you seem so…” She stopped, thought about it. “So…” The word “sexy” almost slipped out but she caught it in time and searched for a substitute word.

“So—what?”

Feeling oddly restless she lowered her hand from his hair and looked away, busying herself with the groceries. “Oh, uh, I don’t know. Like a mobster or something.”

“A mobster?” He sounded doubtful. “A la Al Capone?”

She couldn’t help smiling and glanced his way. “Well, maybe a mobster’s accountant.”

He squinted at her, evidently not flattered by the comparison. Could she blame him? But she dared not admit that the misbehaving curl made him look like a sexy pirate. Such a remark would be blatant flirting, and—well, that’s not why she came to Jax.

He raked his fingers through his hair. “If we’re through discussing my hair, why don’t you finish putting this stuff away while I change.”

“Sure.” She avoided eye contact. “Take your time. Even better, let me fix the salads. You relax. You’ve had a long day.”

“No, I said I’d help. I’ll be right down.”

“Don’t be silly.”

He stilled. She couldn’t help looking at him and experienced a tingle of pleasure at the sight. His attempt at erasing the mobster curl had failed. “I have a secret ingredient,” he said. “Therefore you can’t do it alone.”

She cocked her head in playful challenge. “Oh, really?”

He nodded, appearing serious. “Just grate the cheese. Is that understood, woman?”

Clamping her lips together she fought a grin. When she could manage it without giggling, she said, “My, how masterful you’ve become.”

He indicated the cheddar on the counter. “Just grate. I’ll be right back.”

She elbowed him lightly in the ribs. “Don’t let that mobster accountant thing go to your head.”

He turned away, headed toward the door. “You can’t un-ring a bell, sweetheart.” His voice mimicked the distinctive delivery of an old-time movie tough guy.

“Heaven help me,” she said, laughing. “I’ve created a monster.”

“No, a mobster’s accountant,” he corrected in the same tough-guy voice.

After he disappeared from view, she took up the cheese package and began to open it, grinning to herself. Jax could be so cute. Strange. She had a perfectly awful day, accented by bouts of crying and feeling sorry for herself. Then Jax shows up, and—bam!—sunshine streams in to warm her cold, old soul.

After dinner, Kim insisted they leave the dishes for her to do later. She took Jax by the hand, leading him into the living room to drink their coffee. When they reached the sofa she gently pushed him down, then took a seat, kicked off her sneakers and curled up on the far side. “Can we have a fire?” she asked, feeling better than she had all day. “I love the smell.”

“Sure.” He grabbed a remote off the end table and pressed a button. Instantly fire flared in the hearth.

“Oh—my—heavens!” She giggled, set her coffee on the end table and leaned over to run a hand along his biceps. “What a pioneer type you are. That must have been quite a strain.”

He lay the remote aside. “The wood fairy didn’t carry in that wood, you know.”

She smiled. “I’m kidding. Your place is awesome. Pushbutton fires, yet.” She lounged back, picked up her coffee, but continued to look at him. He’d changed into jeans and a soft, golden sweater that accented his torso nicely. Looking at Jax made her feel better, and she sighed. Then she had an amusing thought. “So your secret taco ingredient is taco seasoning, huh?”

He peered her way. “Yep.”

She laughed. “I hate to tell you, but your secret’s out.”

He frowned, faking shock. “No.”

She nodded, giving him a pitying look. “‘It’s true.”

“Damn. There goes my shot at a show on the cooking channel.”

She laughed, scanned his wayward bad boy lock of hair, his well toned chest, flat belly, solid thighs…” You work out, don’t you?” she said, surprised to hear the remark aloud.

He sat his coffee on the sleek, espresso-brown coffee table. “I told you that last night.”

How embarrassing. Not only because she had asked a second time, but because neither time had she meant to say anything out loud. She crossed her arms before her, pretending to be casual and conversational. “Oh? Must have slipped my mind,” she lied. “Well, it shows.” She winced inwardly. Had she lost the ability to think something without blurting it out?

His brow crinkled, as though he wasn’t sure how to take the remark. “Thanks.”

“Feel free to smile, Jax. I won’t tell.”

That remark provoked a bona fide glower.

She sat up, concerned, and scooted over to him. “What’s the matter? Have I done something to upset you?” She took his hand. “I know I’m a terrible disruption, and I was only thinking of myself when I burst in on you. All through dinner all I did was babble about Perry and my job. It’s been me, me, me, and you’ve been so good, listening and…” The sentence died as she had a distressing thought. “Heavens—it’s a woman, isn’t it?”

“What?” She’d clearly caught him off guard with that question. He stared, looking cautious.

“You have a girlfriend, and you think you have to neglect her while you baby me.” She grasped his hand with both of hers. “That’s it, isn’t it? Well, you don’t have to. I’d love to meet her,” she said. “I don’t want to screw up your social life. But that’s exactly what I’m doing. You want to be with her and you have to babysit me.” She felt terrible guilt. “I’m such a selfish—”

“No,” he interrupted gruffly. “You’re not a selfish anything. And there’s no other woman I’d rather…” He paused, cleared his throat. “I have no one serious in my life at the moment, so don’t beat yourself up for no reason. You know me well enough to know if I didn’t want you around I’d…” He paused, looked as though he had a troubling thought.

“You’d tell me?” she prompted.

He glanced at his coffee cup, picked it up and took a gulp, then set it down heavily. “Yeah—right.” After a second, he returned his attention to her face.

She showed her doubt by narrowing her eyes. “I don’t know that I do know that, Jax. I can’t remember you ever telling me to get lost as a kid. And I must have been an awful annoyance at times. A twelve-year-old kid tagging after a fifteen-year-old teenager.” She cuddled up to him, hugging his arm with both of hers. “You never, ever told me to get lost. How could I know you’d tell me to now?”

“I never told you to get lost?”

She smiled. “Never. I would remember because I’d have been crushed.”

He shifted his gaze to the fire. “Apparently I have a high tolerance for awful annoyances.”

“So you’re okay with me being here?”

He watched the fire without speaking.

“Jax?” she coaxed. “Did you hear me? Are you okay with me being here?”

“Sure,” he said quietly. He glanced at her and nodded, his smile brief but as welcome as the fire’s warmth. “Of course.”

“I’m glad.” She lay her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. “Doesn’t the fire smell nice?”

He didn’t respond. At least Kim wasn’t aware of any response. She was exhausted from the emotionally draining day. Stress had taken a toll, sapped her, and Jax’s nearness felt so comforting. When sleep beckoned, she floated toward it, entirely relaxed for the first time in…too tired…to think…

Jax sat motionless, almost not breathing. Kim’s scent coiled around him like a siren with no regard for the mortal soul damned to eternal loneliness by her flagrant yet innocent cruelty. Her breasts, pressed against his arm, burned seductively. His gut clenched with hot desire.

Steeling himself, he glared unseeing into the fire, its mellow, woody smell a poor second to the sweet essence of the woman cuddled there, unknowingly laying waste to his heart. After a mercifully short time, he could tell she slept by the low, even rhythm of her breathing.

To keep from waking her, he carefully disengaged himself from her grasp and lowered her head to a pillow. He covered her with a cashmere throw and turned off the table lamp. For a moment he couldn’t move, so captivated by the sight of flickering firelight setting her hair aglow. A glossy tendril fell across her cheek. With no capacity or desire to resist, he smoothed it away from her face, then kissed the freckled cheek where the curl had rested.

She stirred, sighed, the slight, throaty sound piercing his heart. Abruptly he straightened and grabbed his cup, then retrieved hers. He had two choices, either clean up the kitchen or ravage the woman he wanted desperately not to love. Gritting his teeth on a curse, he distanced himself from her before he did something unforgivably stupid.

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