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She swept the floors and vacuumed the carpets； all at doublespeed； all
with every bit of elbow grease she could muster。 Tables； chairs；
countertops； and shelves met similar fates beneath her dustcloth。
Perspiration beaded on her upper lip。 She barely noticed。
The football game offered a different torment； but one that was no less
agonizing。 She was polishing the aged oak banister halfway to the second
floor when the familiar sound waited up； and she sank down on the homey
wool runner in defeat。 The football game…what memories it brought。 That
sound…the excited roar of the crowd； the babble of color mentators；
the endless streams of kickoffs and passes； punts and first downs；
fumbles； tumbles； and pileups…brought back the days in New Orleans when
the men of the family gathered for their weekly fix。 Her brother sit had
been so long since she'd seen them。 Were they watching this same game？
And how was her father feeling？ He wasn't young anymore。 Should she make
the effort to go back before 。。。 ？
〃Chloe？ Are you all right？〃
It wasn't until Ross spoke that she realized he'd even approached。 Nor
had she been aware of the tears in her eyes。 With a hard swallow and a
feeble smile； she willed the sadness away。 〃I'm fine。 I think I'll go
for a run。〃
Leaving Ross where he stood； she pensively covered the last of the steps
to the top landing； disappeared into her room to change into running
wear； then went back down the stairs and outside。 Her sneakers beat
rhythmically down the beach toward the far end of the bay； much as they
had done at roughly the same time the day before。 Had it only been
twenty…four hours since Ross had shown up？ Already he seemed so at home
here。 Worse； at odd times it seemed natural to have him here。
The questions kept pace with her jog。 Was it only that Ross was a face
from her past？ Was he a link to those people who had once meant so much
to her？ Did she crave the warmth of her family？ Was Ross； by
association； an extension of them？
Without answers； she paced herself for another ten minutes before
turning around。 When she reached the house she didn't bother to stop at
the door。 An easy lope carried her into the kitchen； through to the
living room； and up the stairs。 No sign of Ross…so much the better。
Jogging in place with the last of her precious energy； she piled her
arms with fresh towels from a surprisingly low stack in the linen closet
and went to her room for a robe。 There she stopped dead in her tracks。
Where an open expanse of pale lavender quilt had been when she had left；
was a landscape of mate artifacts。 And clothes。 His clothes。 He had made
himself perfectly at home。 This was the limit。
A fit of fury took her to the bathroom door。 Better judgment stopped her
on the threshold。 The sink taps were running。 If she barged in； what
would she find？ The tremble that snaked through her had nothing to do
with fear。 Rather； she conjured up the image of Ross shaving； a coat of
white lather covering his jaw； a towel…her towel over his loins； and
nothing； nothing else； covering or covered。
As she stood rooted there； the shower went on； the curtain clattered
back on its hooks； and 。。。 her mind's eye saw it all。 The towel fell
away。 With total nonchalance； he stepped into the shower。
Mercifully； he couldn't hear her low cry as she whirled back toward her
bedroom； cursing both Ross and her imagination all the way。 But she
couldn't curb her curiosity entirely。 Approaching the bed with an odd
shyness； she studied his things。 There was the leather duffel she had
seen earlier； plus a larger； flatter suit bag； unzipped to reveal a pair
of gray…blue tweed lapels。 There was the smaller canvas case that had
contained his shaving gear； if the travel…sized bottle of cologne left
behind was any indication。 There was a shirt…white； freshly laundered；
lightly starched。 There were a tie； clean socks； shorts 〃Oh； Lord！〃 she
exclaimed softly。 If every stitch of the clothing he intended to put on
was here on her bed； exactly what did he plan to wear for the trip from
the bathroom？
Anticipation constricted her throat； making breathing harder。 The
aftereffects of her jog had faded； this quickening was due to desire。
Ross turned her on。 Part of her wanted nothing more than to give herself
to him。 Give herself？ She would take as well； take as she had been too
the I've to do eleven years before。 She felt suddenly greedy； possessed
with a need to satisfy the gnawing inside。
〃You're back！〃
Chloe whirled around。
Undaunted by her alarm； he grinned。 〃I'd hoped to be out of your way。〃
He gestured in token apology toward her bed。 〃Guess I misjudged the
time。〃 He shot a look at the hall。 〃I helped myself to your supplies。
That okay？〃
That okay？ The towel was draped around his hips with as much panache…and
as little ceremony…as she had earlier imagined。 It hung low on his
stomach and left little to the imagination。 She dragged her eyes upward；
following a narrow line of hair past his navel to his waist and slowly
higher。
〃Chloe；〃 Ross began in husky chiding； 〃do you have any idea what it does
to a man when a woman looks at him that way？〃
It took every ounce of her willpower to keep from lowering her gaze in
curiosity。 〃I'm sorry…〃
〃Oh； don't be sorry。〃 He came closer。 Though he didn't touch her； his
body was no more than a breath away。
And she felt it； felt the need。 She put a hand to his chest to ward it
off； but it was a sorry miscalculation。 Her fingers found a mat of soft；
dark hair that sprang； warm and still moist； from the freshness of
lightly bronzed skin。
The pounding of her pulse frightened her so that she tore her hand from
his chest and thrust it behind her back。 She felt a huge measure of
guilt。 If he did also； it was hidden behind desire。 His amber eyes
smoldered； heating her all the more。 The need； ahhhh； the need。 The ache
to be held and loved 。。。 Ever so slowly； Ross lowered his head until
his lips shadowed hers。 She felt them； wanted them。 Her own parted in
silent invitation。 She closed her eyes to savor the sensation。 But he
never kissed her。 Rather； there was a soft exchange of breath； a wh