“You were forced to wear the god-awful secondhand clothes your aunt purchased for you. Ugly clothes she purposely bought too big because you matured so early. She needed to make certain you were so unattractive, no one would look twice at you. She was afraid you’d become easy otherwise.” God, the expression on her face killed him. As he thought this she whirled, poised to run.

“It didn’t matter, though,” he said hoarsely to her stiff, proud back. “Because you just stuck out all the more. Moving so constantly didn’t help.”

Trisha froze, so still she could have been a statue.

“When you’d cry at night, your aunt would spray holy water on you and command you to stop being evil and wanting material things.”

Her shoulders hunched defensively, and he longed to hold her, but he couldn’t give in to the urge, not yet. “They stopped giving you a separate bedroom, so you couldn’t escape, making you sleep in the living room where anyone could see you. You never had even a small space you could call your own.”

Until now, he thought, with a sharp pang of regret.

Trisha still didn’t move.

“College was good,” he continued quietly. “You stayed in the dorm, though you had to work night and day to come up with the tuition money since you had no family willing to help. Directly after graduation, you came here, mortgaged yourself to the gills, and bought your store. Your aunt and uncle nearly had heart failure, but you haven’t had to move since.”

“You realize, of course, I’m going to have to kill Celia now,” she said finally, in a voice so low he almost missed it.

Even now, in a moment of deep anguish, she could resort to sarcasm. He guessed it was her only defense. “She was worried sick. Now I know why.”

“Lots of kids have it worse.”

Not many, not even him. “What you’ve done with your life is pretty terrific,” he said, daring to come up close behind her. “Running a successful business -”

She let out a short laugh. “You haven’t seen the books.”

“You’ve made something of your life,” he said softly.

“Stop it.” Slowly, she turned to face him, her dark eyes shimmering with so much pain it stole his breath. “Just stop it. So you know why I’m so attached to this place. Big deal. Doesn’t help much in the face of your plans… and don’t you dare tell me you’re going to change them because of what Celia told you. I wouldn’t believe you.”

He had no idea what to say or do next, and the helpless feeling ate at him.

“I’m going in,” she said quietly, crossing her arms over her middle. “I’m cold and I want to change.” With a quiet dignity that tugged at his heart, she attempted to smooth down her hair as she walked past him, her chin high. The forest-green suit she wore was made of a clingy material that emphasized each graceful swing of her hips. Watching her walk caused the predictable male physical response, but for Hunter it went far deeper than that.

She dressed the way she did because for the first time in her life, she was free to do as she pleased. Free to wear clothes that fit her body, free to pick and choose what she did with her time and with whom. So much about her suddenly made sense now, and for the first time since she’d literally fallen into his arms weeks ago in his bathroom, he felt as if he knew her, understood her.

“Celia’s dead,” she was muttering as she moved. “Dead.” Then: “Gossip with her again, Dr. Adams, and I’ll have to kill you too,” she called over her shoulder.

She already was killing him, but it was a slow death. “I guess our talk is over.”

She lifted a hand and kept going. “Good guess.”

“You can’t avoid me forever,” he said.

“I can try.”

“Trisha -”

“No.” She stopped abruptly, her back still to him. “I… can’t do this,” she whispered.

He moved up behind her, careful not to touch. It was hard, when he yearned to do just that. “Can’t do what?”

“This.” Still not facing him, she gestured wildly, which he took to mean him, this, that, everything.

“I hate what you know about me,” she said, tipping her head way back and studying the sky. The ends of her hair drifted across the small of her back. The smooth white column of her throat drew him. So did the plunging neckline of her trim jacket. And though the last thing she needed at that moment was an aroused male, it was exactly what she got.

“I hate what I know, too, because it makes me ache to go back and fix it all for you. But I can’t, Trisha. It’s done, and you’re grown. But I’m not sorry I know,” he murmured. “I can’t be, when now I can understand so much about you.”

“Don’t you see?” she asked, turning to him. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. You know everything about me and I know next to nothing about you. It makes me feel at a disadvantage.”

Which she also hated. Well, he understood that well enough. He wished he could just do as she obviously wished he would – leave her alone. But for some reason, he couldn’t. He couldn’t let her go. Nor could he draw closer. “I’d never use what I know to hurt you. Never, Trisha.”

Her mouth tightened. “Soft talk won’t get me to break the lease.”

“I didn’t mean -”

She started walking toward the stairs again. Hell. “Trisha, please. Come back.”

“Stay out of my life, Hunter,” she said unevenly. “I mean it.” But she didn’t. Good Lord, she didn’t. More than anything, as irrational as it seemed, she wanted him to hold her, to wrap those wonderful arms around her and never let go.

“Trisha.”

The way he said her name had her eyes stinging. But she didn’t slow down, couldn’t.

She’d gotten to the bottom step when he said, “God, Trisha, you’re tearing me apart.”

That makes two of us, she thought, faltering slightly before regaining her footing. Definitely two of us.

Without another word or glance, she climbed the stairs and went directly to her bedroom, where she stripped down, dove under a blanket, and covered her face with a pillow.

She refused to cry.

The next morning Trisha stretched, but without much satisfaction. She hadn’t slept a wink, and it didn’t take a genius to know why. She’d told Hunter to stay out of her life. Would he listen? Had she meant it?

Of course she had. But goodness, it shouldn’t hurt so much, should it?

Bravely, she checked the front yard. No “For Sale” sign appeared. But she didn’t allow herself a sigh of relief, for it would be short-lived.

It was only a matter of time, she told herself, and tried not to panic. It couldn’t be as bad as it sounded. She might find another place she liked just as much. Maybe she’d get used to the idea.

Then she tried not to think about Hunter, and how her feelings for him complicated everything. And how mortified she felt over what Celia had told him. Celia. She’d managed to avoid her so-called friend’s calls last night because she intended to have it out with her in person.

But she’d never be able to face Hunter again.

Suddenly she wanted to take back those words she’d flung at him. Anger and humiliation had caused her to say something she hadn’t meant. If only he weren’t so perceptive, so startlingly intuitive… such a damn good kisser.

After showering, she headed down the stairs, dressed for work in a purple lamb’s wool sweater and a matching short suede skirt – yet another of Celia’s designs. Because of the sleepless night, she was running later than she would have liked, and she hurried, head down, her shoes clunking noisily on the wooden stairs.

Just her own dumb luck, she supposed, that she should run smack into a set of warm, solid arms.

She squealed in surprise.

Hunter caught her barreling weight with the grace with which he did everything. The tentative, disarming smile he sent her turned her heart to mush.

She barely checked the urge to throw her arms around his neck. Instead, she stepped back and smoothed her skirt. He followed the movement with his gaze, then cleared his throat, his smile fading.

In the time it took her to blink, he’d responded to her coolness and had distanced himself as well. “How are you this morning?” he asked, polite as ever.

Her jangled emotions made it difficult to respond. So did the carefully masked concern on his face. He looked mouthwateringly perfect in his sport jacket and fitted trousers. She’d never seen a man wear clothes quite so well. “How am I?” It wasn’t in her to be less than honest. “Embarrassed,” she admitted, deciding to keep the confused and aroused part to herself.

“Don’t be,” he said softly. “We all have something in our past.”

“Yeah, but we don’t all have that little something aired out in the open.”

“Is that what’s bugging you most?” he asked in astonishment. “That I know?”

“That,” she answered evenly, “and the fact that I don’t know much about your past.”

“It’s really boring,” he said, surprising her by reaching out to touch her cheek softly. “And anyway, I’ve got to go, I’ve got a meeting.”

“Oh, well, then.” Trisha smiled and tried not to be hurt about his lack of interest in revealing a thing about himself. “Have a good day.”

“You too.” He tossed his keys in the air, catching them easily. She recognized the gesture as a nervous one and wondered what the stoic Dr. Adams could possibly be nervous about.

“Could we… get together tonight?” he asked, unusually hesitant.

A date. Well, finally! He’d completely forgiven and forgotten she’d ordered him out of her life. Now, if she could just be so lucky as to have him not discuss her past or sell the house, she was home free. “That would be nice,” she said in a huge understatement, wondering frantically what she would wear, where he would take her, what they would do. If he’d kiss her again. “I’d love that, actually,” she blurted out loud without meaning to.