He'd already broken one of his own personal rules by bringing her home with him and letting her stay the entire night in his bed. That had been a huge, unspoken gesture for him, one he hoped would show Liz that he wanted her in his life beyond the brief affair they'd originally agreed upon, and longer than it took to locate her wayward cousin.

"Umm, do I smell coffee?"

Steve turned at the sound of Liz's sleep-husky voice, and his body stirred at the sexy way she filled out his shirt, along with the adorable blush on her cheeks. Oh, yeah, he could get used to having her at his place on a regular basis.

"I just brewed a fresh pot," he said, smiling. "Would you like some?"

"I'd love a cup." She came up to the counter beside him and pushed her fingers through her softly disheveled hair, appearing self-conscious and wary. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to spend the night."

Her tone was reserved, as was her expression, which Steve found too ironic since that should have been his reaction to their intimate morning-after situation.

Bringing down a mug from the cupboard, he filled it with steaming coffee and tried to put her at ease. "I wanted you to stay, and I liked waking up to you. No harm, no foul," he teased.

And just in case she didn't believe him, he slipped his arm around her waist, lowered his mouth to hers, and kissed her with heat and a passion that seemed to grow stronger every time he touched her. Her hands came to rest on his naked chest, and his mouth seduced hers until she finally gave him what he wanted from her-a soft, surrendering sigh, and the tension in her limbs replaced with the lush, feminine press of her curves against his.

Before he gave in to the urge to find out what, if anything at all, she was wearing beneath his shirt, he pulled back and skimmed his thumb along her damp lower lip. "Mmm, you taste minty fresh."

She laughed lightly and moved smoothly out of his embrace, seemingly a bit skittish with all this morning-after intimacy. "Thanks to you." She spooned sugar into her coffee and slanted him a speculative look. "Do you always keep a stash of toothbrushes on hand for overnight guests?"

He'd hoped to ease her misgivings about staying the night, but the glimpse of insecurity he detected in her tone spoke volumes. It also gave him a deeper clue that she was feeling more uncertain about the change in their relationship, and about him.

She was also under the mistaken assumption that he entertained many female guests. He sought to reassure her, to ease the fears and apprehension her deceased husband had no doubt instilled in her.

"I hate shopping, as you'll see by the sorry state of my kitchen cupboards and nearly empty refrigerator, so I tend to buy things in bulk when I can," he told her. "The toothbrushes came five in a pack, and I can show you the other three that are still left if it would make you feel better."

She blushed a furious shade of pink and shook her head. "I apologize. That was uncalled for on my part." She ducked her head and took a quick sip of her sweetened coffee, apparently unable to look him in the eyes now. "You have every right to have women spend the night, and I have no business interrogating you." *

With any other woman, he would have agreed, but Liz wasn't just any woman. Not any longer. He recognized and accepted that fact. And he supposed it was time he offered up a little proof to her of that realization.

Leaning a hip against the counter, he touched his fingers beneath her chin and raised her gaze to his. Her wide eyes flickered with another bout of uncertainty, a vulnerability that wreaked havoc with his insides. A vulnerability he took very seriously.

He drew a deep breath and catered to those shadowed emotions. "Since my divorce, you're the first woman who has slept the entire night in my bed."

She blinked at him, obviously shocked by his confession. Then the significance of his comment sank in, and a quick flash of alarm shimmered in her eyes. Damn, was he going too fast tor her? At this point, he decided he had no choice, because he suspected he only had a handful of days left with her, in which to sway her to his way of thinking. She was more than a temporary lover to him, and he wanted her in his life. Permanently.

Because he loved her.

His heart pounded hard and fast, an adrenaline rush that swept through him as he finally put words to the emotions tumbling around in his chest. He didn't fight the sentiment, didn't deny its existence. Instead, he allowed it to flow through him, and let himself get used to the feeling of knowing that this one special woman complemented him so perfectly, in ways that made him feel whole and complete, physically and emotionally.

He kept his revelation to himself for the time being, because he suspected that if she knew the depth of his feelings for her, she'd panic and withdraw from him more than she already had this morning. And that wasn't a chance he was willing to take with her and their relationship just yet.

"You don't ever have to hesitate to ask me something," he said, filling the silence that had stretched too far and long between them. "If it's a question I can answer, I will."

With that, he crossed the kitchen to the pantry, determined to resume a casual morning routine with her, even though nothing would ever be the same for him as far as Liz was concerned.

He rummaged through the meager contents lining his cupboards and was able to scrounge up a few things to eat. "Looks like you have a choice of Captain Crunch cereal or strawberry Pop-Tarts."

"Breakfasts of champions, huh?" She grinned, her features relaxing once again, which relieved him as well. "Are the Pop-Tarts the frosted kind?"

He heard the hopeful note to her voice and chuckled. It appeared she was a woman after his own heart, in more ways than one. "Yep, sugar-coated for an extra morning kick to go with your caffeine."

She sat down and placed both of their mugs of coffee on the table. "Perfect. I'll take one."

"Good choice, especially since I'm out of milk and you'd have to eat the cereal dry," he added wryly, and set the box within her reach.

She laughed, the sound genuinely lighthearted. Snagging a cellophane wrapper sealing a pair of Pop-Tarts, she ripped it open. "You weren't kidding about hating to shop, were you?"

"Nope." He took the chair next to her and grabbed a pack for himself. "I don't like to cook, either."

She broke off a bite of the strawberry-injected pastry and popped it into her mouth. "Ahh, a true bachelor."

He shrugged. "Fast food works for me just fine, a carryover from my days as a cop, when I worked the swing shift and wasn't home for dinner. And my dad wasn't kidding the other night when he said that my mom is always making up CARE packages of food for us boys. All in all, I eat pretty well." He took a big bite of his Pop-Tart, swallowed, and said, "If you'd like something more nutritious, I've got leftover ribs and chicken from my father's party if you'd like to have that for breakfast."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "No, thanks. I'll stick with the Pop-Tart."

They continued to eat their breakfast, and she cast him a sidelong glance that lingered on the tattoo encircling his arm. It was obvious to him that something was on her mind, and he waited patiently for her to decide whether she wanted to ask the question glimmering in her eyes.

She picked at her second Pop-Tart, and when he met her gaze, she drew a deep breath. "So, I can ask you anything I want, huh?" she asked, taking him up on his earlier comment.

Her tone held a teasing lilt, but his instincts told him her attempt at levity was a cover-up for something far more significant. "Sure. What's on your mind?"

"There's something I've been curious about." She reached out and traced the tribal band encircling his arm. "There's the name Steffie inscripted into your tattoo. Is it your ex-wife's?"

Like many other women who'd asked before her, he almost instinctively evaded the too personal question. But he'd promised Liz that she could ask him anything, and more important, he was ready to let her into that private part of his life-knew it was a huge step in their developing relationship. She knew little about his past, his marriage, and his daughter, and he wanted her to understand who he was really was, beyond the PI she'd hired and the man she shared her fantasies with.

Besides, whatever was happening between them demanded total honesty and complete openness, and he was willing to do his share. "Steffie is my sixteen-year-old daughter, Stephanie."

Liz's soft green eyes widened with astonishment. "Wow, you don't look old enough to have a sixteen-year-old child. I mean, you'd briefly mentioned that you had a daughter, but I thought maybe she was ten years old, tops."

"Thanks for the compliment, but I'm thirty-six, and some days I feel twice as old," he joked.

He watched her mentally do the math in her head as she ate another bite of her breakfast. "Which means you were nineteen when she was born."

He nodded and finished off his coffee. "That's right."

She brushed the pastry crumbs from her fingers, apparently speculating upon that revelation. "So, did you go out and get the tattoo when she was born?"

"No. I decided to get the tribal band after my divorce was finalized. It was one of those spontaneous, rebellious acts I've surprisingly never regretted. As for Steffie's name, at the time I figured she'd be the only woman to forever hold my heart, and I'd never have to worry about having her name erased from the design."

Liz's eyes danced with laughter and something more sentimental. "That's incredibly sweet. She's lucky to have a father like you."

"She's a joy, and I love her very much." Leaning back in his chair, he absently ran his finger around the rim of his empty coffee mug. "Unfortunately, I don't get to see her as often as I'd like, since she lives in Texas with her mother, Janet, and stepfather, Hugh."