"I used to ask myself the same question. I still don't have an answer. Partly it was for the children. I remembered what it was like having only one parent, and not a very good one at that. I wanted more for them. Maybe it was also that I didn't want to admit failure." She sighed. "I guess the truth is, I was afraid. If I left, I would be on my own. I didn't want to risk it."

"You're alone now," he said. "I think you're doing a hell of a good job."

"Thanks. Some days I think it's going to be fine. Other days I don't think I can make it. Then I remember I don't get a choice. They're depending on me. I have to make it."

He brushed his thumb against the back of her hand. Her skin was soft and smooth. He turned her hand over and rested his fingertips on her palm.

"You could get married again," he said, staring at the shape of her wrist and the clasp of her watchband. "It's not as if you're mourning the love of your life."

"I've already made one mistake. I don't want to make another one."

"What makes you think it would be a mistake?"

"The odds are not in my favor."

He glanced at her. Her eyes were wide and flickering with emotion. He thought he might have seen a spark of desire there, as well, but he wasn't sure. Or maybe he was sure, but he wasn't ready to act.

"What's the worst that could happen?" he asked.

"I'd end up with another child. And I'm not talking about an infant. Actually, I wouldn't mind another baby." Her expression became dreamy. "I like babies."

"Me, too."

She blinked and looked away. "I wouldn't want another Thomas. Someone who only pretended to be grownup. If I ever get involved again, it's going to be with someone responsible, who understands life is serious business and we don't always get to have our way. I want a partner, not a playmate."

He chose not to take offense at her words, mostly because he knew she wasn't directing them specifically at him. She'd recited her list of requirements as if she'd spoken them before. They were, he realized, a talisman to keep away all that she was afraid of.

"You're putting up barriers to keep people from getting close to you," he said, "and calling those barriers 'responsibility.' I suspect that if you found a responsible man who was everything you wanted him to be, you'd get so scared, you'd take off running in the opposite direction."

"That's not true at all."

She tried to pull her hand free, but he wouldn't let her. "I also think that you'd come up with another list of excuses to keep from getting close. You don't trust what you can't control, and you can't control love. Or passion. You blame your failed marriage on Thomas, but how much of it was your fault?"

"Mine? He's the one who was always gone."

"You let him go. It takes two to fight, Sandy. You let him leave because you were afraid."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I? You're still afraid. Look at me and tell me the thought of making love with me doesn't make you tremble with fear."

She stared at him, then, and he saw her confusion. "I'm not afraid," she whispered.

"Then why are you shaking?"

Because she always reacted that way when she was close to him, Sandy thought. Because he made her think of things she wanted to forget. She didn't want her problems with Thomas to be her fault. She'd been a good wife. He was the one who-

She shook off the memories. She didn't want to remember any of this now. "I thought we were supposed to be having fun," she said.

His dark eyes flared with the fire of arousal. "Be careful what you ask for," he warned.

She looked at him and allowed the flames to burn away her doubts. She swayed closer to him. She could feel tremors racing up her legs and arms, and the fluttering of her heart, the sharp cadence of her breathing. She could lose herself in him, in the passion.

He swore under his breath and moved close to her. Before she could react or say anything, he gathered her in his arms and kissed her.

His mouth was hot and firm, the taste of his lips wonderfully familiar. She clung to him, angling her body toward him, trying to get closer and closer still, as if she could dissolve into him. He moved one arm to her shoulders, supporting her upper body, then scooted her nearer, so her hip nestled between his thighs. His free hand rested on her belly.

Even as she parted her lips to urge him inside, she willed his hand to move higher. Since she'd ridden on the back of his motorcycle, she'd been in a state of arousal. He'd been hard and unyielding to her curves, steady to her shaking. All male, designed with the sole purpose of making her forget herself. And around him, she did forget. Her responsibilities and sensibilities disappeared, until there was nothing but sensation-a world of heat and desire, where she at last understood the true beauty in the differences between male and female.

His mouth angled over hers as his tongue plunged inside. He swept around and over, searching out her secrets, making her tingle and gasp, making her clutch at him and no longer need to breathe.

She raised her hands to his head, tracing the shape of his ears, burying her fingers in his short hair. She wiggled her butt slightly and felt the hardness of him surge against her hip. In her mind's eye, she saw him popping open the buttons of his fly one by one. She saw him springing free, then imagined herself touching his silky length. Her fingers curled toward her palm in anticipation and she whimpered.

His free hand slipped up her midsection. Yes, her mind screamed. She arched forward, thrusting her chest toward him. His palm moved over her breasts, circling against her nipples. Electricity raced to her female place. She tightened her thighs together, but it did nothing to alleviate the tension there.

Around and around he moved, teasing her through the layers of clothing. She wanted more. She wanted to touch flesh.

She moved her hand down his shoulder toward his waistband. Without stopping to think or let herself get scared, she tugged his T-shirt free of his jeans, then pressed her hand against his bare belly. His muscles jumped at the contact. Curly hair tickled her palm.

He raised his head and stared down at her. Passion had darkened his eyes to the color of midnight. "Sandy? What are you doing?"

"I would have thought it was obvious." She slipped her hand higher. He clenched his jaw and swallowed. "You feel great. Hot and hard." She realized what she'd said and flushed.

He grimaced. "I could show you hot and hard, but I won't. We're in a public park."

She'd forgotten. She glanced around. There was no one else there but a duck family and none of them looked very interested in what was going on. There wasn't any traffic on the road.

She pulled his shirt higher until she could see as well as touch. "There's no one here."

"That doesn't mean there might not be."

"I don't care."

That was the amazing part. She didn't care. With him, there was no controlling the passion. She wanted it all. She wanted to feel everything, do everything with him. She didn't care about convention or practicalities. Her body was on fire and she was learning to enjoy the heat of the flames.

"Then I have to care for both of us," he told her.

"I know you want this," she whispered.

"Of course I do, but not here. Not like this."

She reached up and nipped his chin. "Exactly like this. Wild." She kissed him from his lower lip down to the neck of his T-shirt. He tasted salty and sweet. She could dine on him.

"Sandy-"

"No," she said, cutting him off. "Stop thinking. If I think, I'll have to be responsible. I'll get all embarrassed and we'll have to stop. Don't you see? Don't let me think."

She continued to stare at him, willing him to understand. She'd spoken the truth. Her reaction to his touch was as foreign to her as riding the motorcycle had been. But she didn't question it. She loved how he made her feel. She loved being able to forget. For once in her life, she was being swept away.

He glanced over his shoulder as if to make sure they were still alone, then he lowered his mouth to hers. This time, his kiss was impassioned, as if he was determined to have her be consumed by desire. They clung to each other-hungry, inflamed. Then, as she prepared to give herself up to him, he straightened.

"We can't do this here," he said regretfully.

"But, I-"

He placed his index finger on her mouth. "You know we can't. Not only are we in a public place, but I'm not convinced it's what you want."

She stared at him uncomprehendingly. "Do I look like I'm not interested in this?"

"Let's just say I want to wait until we can make love slowly. I don't want you getting lost in the moment. I don't want you having regrets." His expression was determined.

"I can't believe you're stopping this now," she grumbled.

He stood up and winced. "Parts of me can't believe it, either."

As she rose to her feet, she pressed on the picnic table. "It would have worked fine."

"What about the audience?" he asked.

She looked at the ducks. "They aren't impressed."

"They weren't the audience I meant," he said, pointing to the road. At that moment, a car drove by.

She thought about the state they'd been in a moment before. What had happened to her? She didn't usually lose control like that. Was it him, the passion, or was it her? She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

Kyle walked to the bike. "We'd better head back."

She stepped closer, then paused. "Are you mad at me?"

He touched her face. His eyes were serious, the flames of passion banked, but not extinguished. "No. Never." He handed her a helmet.