Alan had written that the committee at the Mitchell Art Center had elected to offer her the year-long artist-in-residence grant. He had congratulated her effusively. All she needed to do was sign a document agreeing to the terms and conditions of the grant, and then the official public announcement would be made. “I couldn’t be more pleased,” he had written. “You and Mitchell Art Center are a perfect match.”

Lucy had been mildly amused by that phrase. It wasn’t lost on her that after all her failed relationships, her perfect match had turned out to be an art program. She was going to spend a year in New York. She would have national recognition. Working with other artists, experimenting with new techniques, giving occasional “design performances” in the art center’s public glass lab. She would have her own featured exhibition at the end of the residency. It was the kind of opportunity Lucy had always dreamed of. And nothing stood in her way.

Except Sam.

She had made no promises. Neither had he. The entire point of the arrangement was that either of them could break it off and leave without a backward glance. An offer like the one from Mitchell Art Center wouldn’t come her way often, if ever again. And she knew that Sam would never want her to make such a sacrifice on his behalf.

Why, then, was she filled with such melancholy?

Because she wanted more time with Sam. Because their relationship, even with its limitations, had meant a lot to her.

Too much.

Lucy’s thoughts returned to the present as she watched Maggie’s father claim a dance with his daughter, while Mark went to cut in on Sam and Holly. More couples joined them, dancing to the sweetly yearning music.

Sam returned to Lucy and wordlessly extended his hand.

“I can’t dance,” Lucy protested with a laugh, gesturing to the Aircast brace on her leg.

A slow smile curved his lips. “We’ll fake it.”

She went into Sam’s arms. She breathed in the scent of him, tanned male skin and cedary sweetness, mingled with the hints of summer wool and starched cotton. Since Lucy couldn’t dance in the brace, they merely swayed from side to side, their heads close together.

A tumult gathered inside her, longing tangled with low-level panic. Once she left him, she realized, she could never come back. It would hurt too much, seeing him with other women, watching the path of his future diverge from hers … and remembering the summer when they had been lovers. They had come so close to making a rare and wondrous connection, something beyond the physical. But ultimately all their inner defenses had remained intractable. They had remained separate, never reaching the true intimacy that Lucy had always craved. And yet this might be the closest she would ever get.

“Better not to know,” her father had said. God help her, she was beginning to understand what he meant.

“What is it?” Sam whispered.

She summoned a quick smile. “Nothing.”

But Sam wasn’t deceived. “What are you worrying about?”

“My … my leg’s a little sore,” she lied.

His arms tightened around her. “Let’s go sit somewhere for a while,” he said, and led her from the dance floor.

* * *

The next morning, Lucy woke up later than usual, rich sunlight pouring through the bedroom of her condo. With a long, shivering stretch and a yawn, she turned onto her side, and blinked with surprise at the sight of Sam sleeping beside her.

Combing through her recollections of the previous night, she remembered Sam bringing her back home. She had been cheerfully tipsy after one too many glasses of champagne. He had undressed her and put her to bed, and had laughed quietly as she had tried to seduce him.

“It’s late, Lucy. You need to sleep.”

“You want me,” she had crooned. “You do. I can tell.” She had loosened the knot of his silk tie, and had used it to pull his head down to hers. After a smoldering kiss, she had succeeded in drawing the tie free of his collar, and she had given it to him triumphantly. “Do something wicked,” she said. “Tie me up with this. I dare you.” She lifted her good leg and wrapped it around him. “Unless you’re too tired.”

“I would be dead before I was too tired for that,” Sam had informed her, and he’d kept her busy well into the night.

Apparently after those pleasurable exertions, the temptation of sleep had overridden Sam’s rule about never staying all night with a woman.

Lucy let her gaze travel over the long, powerful limbs, the sleek expanse of his back and shoulders, the tempting disarray of his hair. His face looked younger in sleep, his mouth relaxed, the thick crescents of his lashes flickering infinitesimally as dream images chased through his mind. Seeing the faint notch gather between his brows, Lucy couldn’t stop herself from reaching out to smooth it with a gentle fingertip.

Sam awakened with a quiet sound, disoriented and drowsy. “Lucy,” he said in a sleep-roughened voice, reflexively reaching out to gather her close. She snuggled against him, nuzzling into the light mat of hair on his chest.

But in the next moment, she felt the jolt of alarm that went through him.

“What … where…” Sam’s head shot up, and his breath stopped as he recognized his surroundings. “Jesus,” she heard him mutter. He sprang out of bed as if it had just burst into flames.

“What’s the matter?” Lucy asked, startled by his reaction.

Sam stared at her with an expression of near-horror that she found distinctly unflattering. “I never went home last night. I slept here.”

“It’s okay. Renfield’s at the kennel. Holly is with Mark and Maggie. Nothing to worry about.”

But Sam had started to snatch up his discarded clothes. “Why did you let me fall asleep?”

“I fell asleep too,” Lucy said defensively. “And I wouldn’t have woken you up anyway—you were exhausted, and I didn’t mind sharing the bed, so—”

“I mind,” Sam said forcefully. “I don’t do this. I don’t stay until morning.”

“What are you, a vampire? It’s no big deal, Sam. It means nothing.”

But he wasn’t listening to her. He took his clothes into the bathroom, and in a minute she heard the shower running.

* * *

“… and then he just took off,” Lucy said to Justine and Zoл later that morning, “like a scalded dog. He barely said a word to me on the way out. I couldn’t tell whether he was pissed off or scared shitless, or both. Probably both.”

After Sam had left, Lucy had gone to the inn to see her friends. The three of them sat in the kitchen with mugs of coffee. Lucy wasn’t the only one with problems. Zoл’s usual sunny disposition was dampened with worry about her grandmother, who was having health problems. Justine had just broken up with Duane, and although she was trying to be nonchalant, it was clear that the situation was difficult for her.

When Lucy had asked what had caused the rift between them, Justine had said evasively, “I, er … accidentally scared him.”

“How? Did you have to take a pregnancy test or something?”

“God, no.” Justine waved her hand in an impatient gesture. “I don’t want to talk about my problems. Your problems are way more interesting.”

After telling them about Sam’s behavior, Lucy leaned her chin in her hand and asked with a scowl, “Why would someone freak out over spending one night in a bed? Why is it that Sam has no problem having sex with me, but the idea of literally sleeping with me sends him into a tailspin?”

“Think about what a bed is,” Justine said. “The place where you sleep is where you are most vulnerable. You’re helpless. You’re unconscious. So when two people sleep in one bed in that ultimate state of vulnerability, it’s an enormous act of trust. It’s a different kind of closeness than sex—but just as powerful.”

“And Sam won’t let himself be close to anyone,” Lucy said, swallowing against the needling pain in her throat. “It’s too dangerous for him. Because he and his brothers and sister were hurt repeatedly by the people who were supposed to love them the most.”

Justine nodded. “Our parents teach us how to have relationships. They show us how it’s done. Kind of hard to rewire yourself after that.”

“Maybe you could talk to Sam,” Zoл suggested, laying her hand on Lucy’s tense arm. “Sometimes if you bring something out into the open—”

“No. I promised myself I wouldn’t try to change him or fix him. Sam’s responsible for his own problems. And I’m responsible for mine.” Lucy wasn’t aware of the tears that had slid down her cheeks until Justine handed her a napkin. Sniffling, sighing, she blew her nose and told them about having been awarded the art center grant.

“You’re going to take it, right?” Justine asked.

“Yes. I’m leaving a few days after Alice’s wedding.”

“When are you going to tell Sam?”

“Not until the last minute. I want to make the most of the time we have left. And when I tell him, he’ll say I should go, and that he’ll miss me … but inside he’ll be incredibly relieved. Because he can feel it too, this … thing that’s happening to our relationship. We’re becoming involved. And it has to stop before it goes too far.”

“Why?” Zoл asked softly.

“Because Sam and I both know that he’ll hurt me. He’ll never be able to say ‘I love you’ and surrender his heart to someone.” She blew her nose again. “That last step is a doozy. It leads to a place he has no intention of going.”

“I’m sorry, Lucy,” Justine muttered. “I never would have encouraged you to get together with Sam if I’d known it would make you unhappy. I thought you needed some fun.”