With a glance at the sleeping Sara, Cindy took his hand. Without a word she led him from the living room into his kitchen.

Then she looked at him, a quick glance over her shoulder. As she caught him blatantly admiring her, she grinned.

He jerked to a stop.

God, that grin-it reminded him so forcibly of Jenna.

What the hell was wrong with him tonight? Delayed shock? He’d read somewhere that a death sometimes causes heightened sexual desire, which he was most definitely experiencing. But what about this sudden fixation on a woman he hadn’t seen in more than ten years?

Needing something to do, he moved to the counter, filled a kettle with water and put it on to boil. Then, rubbing his hands together, he circled, searching for what he could do next.

“Want dinner?” he asked suddenly.

“Can you cook?”

She sounded so surprised he whipped around to face her. She was standing there with a small teasing smile curving her lips. Her head was tilted to the side, one hip cocked, and again she looked so absolutely stunningly familiar.

Then he blinked and she looked just like herself again, making him shake his head in denial. But something was different, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, and he didn’t like it.

He felt as though Jenna was right here in the room with him, watching, listening, haunting him. It wasn’t physical. It couldn’t be, for Cindy was as different from Jenna as mght to day.

Her hair was short, a natural soft brown that his fingers yearned to run through. Jenna’s hair had been long and icy blond. Dyed, he reminded himself.

Cindy was slender, but the curves beneath the material of her dress were lush and driving him out of his mind, even from across the room.

Jenna had been much thinner, leaner, barely matured, and he had no business comparing them.

Cindy’s eyes were dark. Jenna’s had been light.

And yet…both women’s gazes had stared at him from behind a mask of bravery, full of haunting secrets.

He was losing it, he realized, as she stood waiting for him to answer.

“I can make tea,” he said a bit roughly in the too-quiet kitchen. “And I’m really good at reheating pizza.”

She laughed, and the sound should have thrilled him, for she so rarely let go enough to laugh.

Neither had Jenna.

Shaking his head at himself, he went to his answering machine on the cluttered counter and hit play.

Jenna listened to the messages, watching Stone smile as someone thanked him for agreeing to some upcoming auction. Apparently he was giving away dozens of expensive prototypes, all to needy children centers.

Well he hadn’t changed much. The old Stone would have given a stranger his last penny. This Stone was much the same.

She studied his kitchen. Like the rest of the house, it was large and homey. Slightly messy, which for some reason made her smile. Obviously housekeeping was a low priority here, and she knew what was a high one.

Sara.

“You’re so generous with your time and money,” she said quietly. “The children centers must be thrilled to get your help.”

He gave a noncommittal shrug with those broad shoulders, making her smile again. He’d always hated talking about himself, and apparently that hadn’t changed.

“There’s more takeout in this town than just pizza,” he muttered, flipping through the phone book. “What would you like?”

“Do you always do so much for everyone else?” she pressed, already knowing the answer.

“You wanted to talk to me.”

“You’re avoiding my question.” And she was avoiding the inevitable, she realized. But God, she wanted this last evening to be peaceful, up to the end.

“I’m not a saint,” he warned, the muscles in his back tensing as he handled the heavy phone book. “Don’t look at me with rose-colored glasses.”

“I think I’m seeing the real you.”

Tossing the book aside, he rubbed his eyes, shoved his hands through his hair and sagged back against the counter. His exhaustion was a tangible thing, and it made her long to comfort him in some way.

Instead, she was going to make it worse. “I’ve got a better idea than fast food,” she suggested. “Why don’t you let me cook for you and Sara?”

At the unexpected offer he met her eyes across the room. His intense gaze heated her from the inside out.

“I want to do something for you, Stone. You’re always giving. Let me give back.”

A corner of his mouth quirked. “Haven’t you done that already?”

Again she laughed, surprising herself. “I meant… well, more. ”

His look was hooded. Sensual.

“I’m not talking about sex, you know.”

“That’s a shame, because we’re good at it.” Pushing away from the counter, he strode purposely toward her, making her pulse leap.

“There’s more than sex,” she said quickly.

“Yeah, there’s making love.” Snagging her hips, he drew her closer, then dipped his head and dragged that sexy mouth of his over her jaw, nipping as he went.

“Stone.” She closed her eyes and let her head fall back, allowing his lips to connect with the throbbing pulse in her neck. “Stone, wait,” she moaned. “Sara.”

“I know.” He lifted his head and sighed.

He looked so tired. His face was lined with fatigue. His shoulders were slumped, and she suspected that only sheer willpower kept him on his feet. She placed her hands on his chest. So warm, so hard, she thought, her fingers spreading wide to touch as much of him as possible.

With a husky murmur he leaned on her.

“Go lie down on the other couch,” she said softly. “while I cook.”

“Mmm. My bed sounds better.”

“You’re going alone.”

“That’s not as much fun.”

“I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”

With a tenderness that never failed to surprise her, he stroked her cheek. “There isn’t much to work with,” he warned.

“I’ll figure something out,” she promised, pushing him from the room. “Just go rest.”

She watched him leave, then opened the freezer and realized he wasn’t kidding.

It wouldn’t be too hard, however, to whip up a meal of pasta and cheese bread. Stone’s kitchen wasn’t too stocked, but he had the basics.

She glanced at the breakfast dishes still piled in the sink. It made her smile to picture him and Sara here this morning, rushing out the door together.

A tide of warmth filled her, tinged with bittersweetness for what she’d lost. No, that was wrong. What she’d purposely walked away from.

When she’d set the table, she went out to get Stone.

She found him crashed out on the couch opposite Sara. He was too long for it, and as a result, he looked incredibly uncomfortable. Yet he seemed to sleep soundly. His feet hung off one end, his head the other, and she knew he would have a kink in his neck from that horribly cramped position. One arm was tucked awkwardly beneath him, the other flung wide over the side. His chest rose and fell rhythmically with his breathing.

As she watched, his face tightened, as if even in sleep he could find no peace. Moving closer, she kneeled at his side, gratefully using this time to have her fill of simply looking at him.

He’d changed clothing, and now wore faded jeans on those long muscular legs. Soft snug denim that outlined his every contour and, oh, his contours were nice.

It felt so good just to gaze at him. All those years when she’d had only her dreams, she’d missed him so much.

He was warm to the touch, she discovered, so she didn’t worry about covering him. She kept her hand on his arm, stroking, then ran her fingers up and over his shoulder, over his wide chest. Some of his tension seemed to dissolve at that connection. When she cupped his jaw, he turned his face into her hand, remaining deeply asleep. But his frown faded and the lines in his face softened.

Tenderness nearly choked her.

What was she doing? God, she couldn’t believe it, but she was falling hopelessly irrevocably in love with him for the second time. He was everything she’d ever wanted-and the person she’d hurt most next to her daughter.

He could never forgive her, never, and just the knowledge of that made her want to run away. But she was done running, forever. She would stay this time, stay and prove herself. She would.

Stone rolled slightly, trapping her hand between his warm body and the couch. “Don’t go,” he mumbled.

Though she had no idea who he thought he was talking to, she blinked back tears and shook her head. “I won’t,” she promised, her heart hurting from just watching him. “I won’t leave you ever again.”

But eventually she had to; she was too tired herself to remain upright another second. She took the only remaining piece of furniture left in the room, the chair.

Sighing as she curled her legs beneath her, Jenna relaxed for the first time in far too long and watched the two people she cared about most in the world. There was something so peaceful, so… freeing about watching them as they slept out their exhaustion.

Her own eyes drooped. Just for a minute, while the pasta was cooking, she told herself, giving herself permission to close her heavy eyes. Just for a minute…


The dream was the same as it had been every night since her horrific accident.

Excruciating pain. It insinuated itself into every nerve, throbbing and pounding. The blackness was good, welcome, but it wouldn’t come close enough. It wouldn’t swallow her up and take her away. And she couldn’t move, couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe.

People moved around her, over her. Poking, prodding, causing more pain. More fear. No one spoke to her, or if they did she couldn’t understand.

Alone.

Panic overwhelmed her. She heard her own pathetic whimper, but she couldn’t stop herself.