Max crouched down and petted as many as he could reach. “You have a delivery.”

“A package? I didn’t order anything.”

“It’s not a package, it’s flowers. Based on the size of them, he must have really screwed up.”

Flowers? She felt herself getting all gooey inside, which was dumb. Yes, the flowers were probably from Simon. He was the only man in her life. But as she had recently learned, theirs was a one-way relationship. While sending flowers was a lovely gesture, it didn’t change reality.

She scrambled to her feet. “What are you talking about? What does size have to do with it?”

Her boss laughed. “Honey, if we’re talking about a guy, size always matters. The bigger the screw up, the bigger the arrangement. Based on the size of these, I would guess he seriously injured a family member.”

“Of course he didn’t,” she said, even as she went through the gate and carefully closed it behind her. She hurried toward the house, which also doubled as Max’s office.

She let herself in the back door. The flowers were in the kitchen. The display was as big as Max had indicated. The vase was at least eighteen inches high with a spray of exotic blossoms reaching toward the ceiling.

She recognized a couple of different kinds of orchids, but after that got completely lost. Her mother would probably know what everything was. The flowers were bright and fresh, with a delicate fragrance that drew her closer. When she spotted the card, she reached for it.

She hesitated before opening the envelope, telling herself there was nothing he could say that would change anything. But she opened it anyway and read the note.

“I’m not very good at this. I’m sorry.”

She frowned at the card, not sure what he meant. He was sorry he wasn’t very good at whatever he was talking about. Or maybe he was saying, “I’m not very good at this and I’m sorry, but it’s over.”

“I would have thought the flowers would’ve made you happy,” Max said.

She held out the card. “You’re a guy, tell me what this means.”

“I don’t have my reading glasses. Tell me what it says and I’ll tell you what it means.”

She read the short message. “And?”

“I haven’t a clue. What did you two fight about?”

“We didn’t fight. It wasn’t like that. I just…” She sighed. “I know he’s leaving. I know this is temporary. I made the mistake of thinking that while he was here, we had an actual relationship. He doesn’t think that.”

“How do you know?”

She told him about the fundraiser and how it had been apparent that Simon had no intention of asking her to accompany him.

“Events like that are exactly what couples go to together. It’s a date thing. If he cared about me at all, he would’ve asked me. I’m an idiot.”

“You’re a lot of things, Montana, but idiot isn’t one of them. From what you’ve told me about this guy, I’d say he has it bad. If he didn’t care about you, why would he apologize? Maybe not asking you to the fundraiser is about him.”

Which was sort of what Nevada had said, she thought, getting irritated at the people around her.

“Why are you taking his side?”

Max walked over to her and put his arm around her, then he kissed the top of her head. “We have officially exceeded my ability to give advice on your love life. I’m not taking his side. I’m suggesting that before you assume he’s a jerk, find out why he didn’t ask you.”

Her boss walked out of the kitchen, leaving her alone with a huge arrangement of flowers and a small, cryptic card. Neither of which offered any answers.


MONTANA WAS FORCED to put the vase of flowers on the floor of her backseat. Even then the very tips of the stems brushed against the ceiling. The flowers dominated her tiny dining alcove as the scent drifted through her small house.

She couldn’t seem to eat much at dinner and spent a restless hour trying to rearrange her closet. A foolish attempt when her mind was elsewhere, wrestling with the problem of Simon.

At seven-thirty, she heard a knock on the door.

She didn’t have to answer it to know who was there. As she approached the door, she still wasn’t sure what she was going to say or how she was going to act.

Simon stood on her porch, dark circles under his eyes. He looked tired. No, that wasn’t right, he looked weary. She found herself wanting to pull him inside and hold him, as if she could somehow pass her strength on to him and heal him.

“I hate events like this,” he began. “They all do it, hold a fundraiser, and I’m the guest of honor. Everyone wants to talk to me. But I’m not the kind of guy who has funny stories appropriate for a cocktail party, and it’s not the kind of place where it’s appropriate for me to discuss the details of my work. I didn’t ask you, because I hate going, not because I wanted to hurt you.”

She stepped back to let him in. He moved past her into the living room, then turned to face her.

“I don’t do this,” he continued. “I don’t get involved. But I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want you. It started out as chemistry, pure sexual attraction. I don’t even know what to call it. But it’s different now. It’s bigger and I can’t control it and I can’t not be with you.”

She stared at him, trying to take in all that he had said. For a powerful man who changed lives with the magic of his hands, he looked surprisingly vulnerable. Exposed. As if she could see all of him and he knew and he worried.

With every romantic relationship she’d ever had, she’d worried about not being enough. Had been told she wasn’t enough, time after time. Here was Simon—wonderful and kind and everything a woman could want—and he worried about the same thing. Not being enough. How was she supposed to keep from loving him?

She crossed to him and put her hands on the lapel of his jacket, before pushing it off his shoulders. Catching it as it fell, she draped the garment on the back of her sofa.

He grabbed her arms. “Say something.”

“Thank you for the flowers.”

She raised herself on tiptoe to kiss him. He bent his head and pressed his mouth to hers.

At the first touch, at the first whisper of his breath, she felt herself relax. She would think about his words later, let them heal her, but for now, all she needed was him.

He reached for her, then drew back.

“Don’t you want to talk about what happened?” he asked.

“No.”

She didn’t need to. Not anymore.

He drew her to him again, this time holding on as if he would never let go. His mouth claimed hers in a deep kiss that stirred her very soul. His hands were everywhere—up and down her back, along her arms, cupping her face. She felt his arousal, but more important, she felt his need and responded in kind.

She touched him, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. Underneath was a T-shirt and she groaned in impatience as she pushed it up so she could touch bare skin. He undid the zipper at the back of her dress, unfastened her bra with a flick of his fingers, then cupped her breasts.

Heat engulfed them. The wanting grew until it was more powerful than the need to breathe. She was already wet and desperate, her legs shaking.

“Take me,” she whispered against his mouth, her fingers tugging at his belt.

He froze, his body stiff, his eyes locked on hers.

“Take me,” she said again, rubbing her hand against his erection.

For a second, he did nothing. Then he grabbed her hand and pulled her into the bedroom. He jerked open the nightstand drawer so hard, it crashed to the floor. Everything in it went flying, but he found the box of condoms in seconds.

While he opened the box, she pulled off her thong and slid onto the bed. He kicked off his shoes, unfastened his slacks, shoved them down, then joined her.

“Montana, I should—”

“No.”

She reached between them, guiding him to her. The tip of him brushed against her opening and she pulsed forward, pushing up as he slid inside.

He filled her spectacularly, stretching, rubbing, exciting. She wrapped her legs around his hips, drawing him in more. His mouth settled on hers, his tongue teasing her to a new level of arousal while his erection did the same to the rest of her body.

Deeper and deeper, faster and faster. She lost herself in the desperate race to her release. She touched him everywhere she could reach, clung to him, pumping her hips as her muscles tightened. He filled her over and over again. With every thrust, her tension rose.

He drew back a little so he could stare into her eyes. She looked back, knowing he saw the pleasure on her face as she saw it on his.

Still watching her, he straightened a little more. Continuing to thrust in and out, he reached a hand between them and rubbed her swollen center. One circle, two, and on the third, she lost herself in her climax, the waves rippling through her, making her shudder and cry out and hang on.

The pleasure went on for what felt like forever, then he gasped and went still, his muscles jerking as he gave himself to her.

Later, when they were both naked and in her bed rather than on it, he stroked her face.

“I don’t understand you,” he said. “You’re not still mad.”

“That’s true.”

“But it’s not the flowers.”

“No. It’s what you said.” Nevada and Max had been right. Simon’s actions had been about him, not her. He hadn’t been making a statement, he’d been trying to protect her.

“I don’t understand.”

She grinned. “You don’t have to.”

“I guess not.” He brushed his fingers across her lips. “It occurs to me that you might not have the same feelings about the fundraiser as I do.”