Awkwardly, trying to his growing erection, Brad lowered himself to the bed beside her. His hip close to hers, he hitched his knee onto the bed, being careful not to let his jeans brush against her bare flesh. "See there. That wasn't hard," she teased. "Now pour a little of the oil on your hand—" She paused, watching him carefully as he followed her directions. "There. That's enough. Now rub your hands together to warm the oil. Then just rub it into my skin." Following her instructions, he brusquely rubbed his hands together. The minty scent of the oil wafted up to him and flooded his senses. Her fresh floral scent mixed with the peppermint and the simple combination seemed more erotic than any of Ginger's expensive perfumes. Closing his eyes, he drew in a deep breath and gave himself free rein to do what his body had been urging him to do ever since he saw Mattie wrapped in the lemon-yellow towel. He touched her. Trailing his hands across her naked flesh, he explored the velvety sk

"Have you ever been alone, Mattie?" His gaze skittered away from hers and he rounded the coffee table and lowered himself to the sofa. He sagged against it, like a wounded man shifting his weight from a crutch. "Well, sure." "I mean really alone. Cut off from everyone you know. Powerless." As he assessed her, she could only shake her head. "No. I suppose not." He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and focusing on a spot on the floor between his shoes. "When I was a kid--maybe fifteen or sixteen--and my parents went out of town, they'd leave me alone. Jessica would always stay at your house--with you and your dad and your grandparents--but they'd leave me alone. In that crypt of a house." He laughed, but it was a bitter sound. "They thought it was a privilege." "Brad, you could have stayed with--" He held up a hand, effectively silencing her. "No, I couldn't. Not after my dad made such a deal out of letting me stay alone. He thought it was an honor. A sign I was a m

Brad never slept late. In fact he hadn't slept past nine in the morning since he'd gotten drunk his freshman year of college, slept till noon the next day, and missed his economics exam. So he was more than a little surprised to roll over, crack open his eyes, and see a tepid ray of late morning sun creeping through the gap in Mattie's curtains. He blinked sleepily before rubbing the grit from his eyes with the back of his hand. He knew without looking that Mattie no longer lay beside him in bed. She'd slept curled against him for most of the night, and he missed the warmth of having her near. Missed waking up beside her and making slow, sleepy love to her first thing in the morning. But the solitude did give him a chance to think. All this time, he'd been saying he didn't want another wife. Mattie hadn't believed him. Well, it turned out, she was right. He did want another wife. He wanted her. Why hadn’t he seen it before?All his life, he’d wanted a family like the one she’d gr

“You made her cry.”Brad looked up to see Lucy standing in the doorway to the office, flanked on either side by Edith and Abigail. Collectively, they looked ready to lynch him. The image of being hung by a quilted noose flashed through his mind. He laughed grimly at the visual.They didn’t see the humor he did. As one, they stepped into the room, fists propped on hips, narrowed in defensive anger.He held up his hands surrender. “Wait. I didn’t mean to. She’s just upset about the—“ He racked his brain for suitable lie, but couldn’t construct one. “About the books. She’s worried about the shop.”Infinitesimally the three women relaxed.“Well, hang it all,” Edith said. “We know that. But we don’t know what to do to help.”“No, we don’t,” added Lucy. “We offered to take pay cuts, but she wouldn’t listen.”“Oh, dear,” Abigail murmured. “We had hoped things were picking up. After all, a strong woman knows her own mind and her own limits.”Brad nodded as if he understood. He’d spent most of

When she woke up to an empty bed the next morning, she wasn’t surprised. Brad rose early every morning— except for the morning she made him apple pie— to do situps and other torturous exercises. Given how much she’d appreciated those stomach muscles last night, she could hardly complain now.She stretched and yarned, smiling as she remembered the previous night. When they’d made love the night before, he’d been not just passionate, but surprisingly tender. And today was his birthday. She’d have to do something special for him.Mattie rolled over, burying her nose in the pillow, where he’d slept. The pillowcase still held his scent. It smelled like him and—she grinned as she recognized the scent—her bath gel.Only when she started to climb out of bed did she see him, sitting in her bedroom's only chair, half-hidden by the early-morning gloom. He sat, elbows on his knees, fingers templed, staring at her.And that's when she knew something was wrong. The relaxed, sexy Brad of last night