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First published in 2005, 2005

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Friday's Temptation

Cynthia VanRooy

Crystal Prism Reflections Of Love

An Enamor Book

* * * *

Published by New Age Dimensions, Inc.

Publishing For The World's New Age

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ISBN 1-59611-061-9

FRIDAY'S TEMPTATION

Published by

Crystal Prism Reflections of Love

An Enamor Book

An Imprint and Series of New Age Dimensions

NEW AGE DIMENSIONS, INC.

P.O. Box 14157

North Palm Beach, FL 33408

www.NewAgeDimensionsPublishing.com

Published by arrangement with the author.

First eBook Publication: November 30, 2005.

Cover Design by Melissa Alvarez

All Rights Reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information or retrieval system, is forbidden without the prior written permission of both the publisher and copyright owner of this book. For information address New Age Dimensions.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone, living or dead, bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual, known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention from the author's imagination. All names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Dedication

To Art, again, for the wherewithal ... and so much more.

Acknowledgements

Joan Ahlstrom, aka Joan Eden Gray, for the hours of kayaking that brought me two gifts - a new book and a new friend.

Dr. Maria Roberts DeGennaro, Professor, College of Health and Human Services, San Diego State University, for suggesting the topic of Jill's dissertation.

Sandra Egan, B.S.N, for answering again my many medical questions.

Thea Gurns for the check on canine conduct.

Chapter One

Hungry whimpers sounded in Ursula's throat as Jake pressed her against the stone wall of the ancient jungle ruin and ground his pelvis into her. His hand tightened in her hair and dragged her head back, exposing her throat to his mouth. Ursula clutched at him, her nails raking the skin of his naked back. His name was a desperate prayer she uttered in vain. He was just beginning. By the time he finally allowed them both the relief of burying himself deep in her slick, wet heat Ursula's need would have her sobbing.

* * * *

Oh, my.Jill Fiori came up for air from her reading and resisted the urge to fan herself. She drew a breath almost as shaky as the fictitious Ursula's. Taylor Sloane had done it again. No doubt about it - the man could write hot. Jungle Fever, Sloane's latest, would shoot to the top of the best-seller lists the same way his other books had. The advance copy, on loan from Stan, was a real treat.

Jill checked her watch and groaned. She'd been so engrossed in her reading she hadn't been aware how late it was. She needed to leave immediately for the rehab center. There was no time to finish reading the scene she was in the middle of.

What a place to have to put the book down. She hated to leave Ursula - and herself - poised on the edge until who knew when. If Ursula was only half as tense as she was ... ?

Jill thrust the crayon-decorated bookmark her niece Lucy had made into the book and slapped it shut. As she shoved the book into her brief case, vibrations set up by the pile driver operating outside her balcony door sent another shower of plaster dust sifting over her head.

She had put on her favorite sweater for confidence. Its deep espresso brown matched her shoulder-length hair and set off her peach complexion in what she hoped was a striking way. Not that Sloane would see it, but she felt more assured wearing the sweater. Or she had before the plaster dust made her look like she had a raging case of dandruff.

She brushed her hand through her hair and over her shoulders with an exasperated sigh. Only a Taylor Sloane novel could have distracted her for so long from the bone-rattling racket that had been disrupting her life for the past several weeks and pushing her closer by the day to a padded cell.

Jill fastened her briefcase as another shower of dust contributed to the layer that already coated her furniture. She glared out the balcony door a last time before slinging her purse over her shoulder.

Grabbing her briefcase with one hand and her suitcase with the other she gave the room a cursory glance. If there was anything she was forgetting, she could come back for it. Coronado was less than a thirty-minute drive away.

She made it as far as the door before the phone rang. She hesitated. Reading Jungle Fever she'd lost track of time and was in danger of being late meeting Stan at the rehab center where she was to pick up Sloane.

On the second ring she swore and dropped her luggage. She'd never been able to ignore the urgency of a ringing telephone.

"Yes? she answered impatiently.

"Jill, glad I caught you. I've got a flat tire and it turns out the spare is flat, too. Stan's curt voice telegraphed his frustration.

"By the time the auto club gets here and I'm back on the road, I'll be too late. Sorry to abandon you, but you're on your own. I'll call you at Taylor's to make sure everything went smoothly. Later."

"But - The line went dead.

So Stan wouldn't be there to make the introductions. She had been counting on him to smooth over those first awkward moments, but she could do this.

Sloane was just a man, after all. Well, maybe not just a man, given some of her fantasies, but she could manage a hello-I'm-Jill without Stan's moral support.

She glanced at her watch. Now she really was running late. She hurried to the door and snatched up her bags.

* * * *

If Taylor had been able to see where he was going he'd have paced the confines of the room. Having to feel his way cramped his style. He'd never been good at waiting and now, with nothing to distract him, he discovered it was a particular kind of purgatory.

He couldn't see the clock, but lunch had been over for some time. Surely Stan and Jill Fiori, the woman Stan had said would be his perfect Girl Friday, should have been there by now.

His Girl Friday. The words had such a benign, Cary Grant, Rosalind Russell feel to them, but Taylor knew better. He wasn't embarking on a light-hearted romantic romp. He was undertaking the most threatening experience of his life - relying on another human being. And a woman at that.

Women were all right in their place - fun, nice to have around briefly, and unsurpassed at providing sexual excitement, but don't ask for anything else. Don't count on depth, commitment, or loyalty. A woman would disappoint you every time.

He had managed thus far to avoid allowing any woman to become significant. That way lay danger. He had learned that lesson early at his mother's knee. His mouth twisted at the cliché. More like from the back of her hand, before the foster care system had taken over his upbringing the year he turned seven.

Now he was going to be forced to depend on a woman for everything from preparing his meals to typing the novel whose deadline fast approached. Taylor shook his head. A dependable woman. There was an oxymoron for you. Still, Stan knew what was at stake and he trusted his old college buddy's judgment. Sort of.

Taylor sat in the room's only chair and suppressed the urge to drum his fingers on the arm. Hurried footsteps pattered down the hall, coming toward his room. He raised his head sharply. A woman, but not a nurse. Nurses wore those damn squeaky, soft-soled things that made them sound like they were trying to sneak up on him.

He lifted a hand to make sure the sunglasses he'd asked Stan to bring several days earlier were in place. Before he'd lost his sight, he'd never quite understood why blind people wore them. He understood now.

Being blind made him feel vulnerable in ways he hadn't suspected he could be. One of those ways was knowing others could see his unfocused stare, but he couldn't see them. The sensation was as unsettling as the nightmare of being caught in public naked.

The steps paused at the door of his room and every nerve in his body went on high alert. Before his accident, talk of auras would have had him rolling his eyes at New Age nonsense. At the risk of sounding like one of those people, he might have to rethink that opinion. The effect of the woman's presence could be felt even from the doorway.

He caught the scent of her perfume, at once exotic and as sweet as the girl next door - reminiscent of the wild orchids he'd encountered on his last trip down the Amazon. He just barely prevented himself from sniffing the air like an animal testing the wind.

He hated having to rely on every sense but the one that he needed. How could you size someone up if you couldn't see them - their expression, the look in their eyes, the way they carried themselves - signals he'd depended on his whole life? What about women? How the hell could he assess a woman, predict what she would or wouldn't do?

What about this woman?

He held himself still and tried to absorb the odd charge of energy that reached him along with her perfume.

"Taylor Sloane? The speaker sounded slightly out of breath and definitely female. Her voice was throaty, as though a laugh might come easily. The energy that shimmered in the air took on a sexual edge.

"You've found him."

Chapter Two

"I'm Jill Fiori. I'm sorry to be late. Stan was supposed to be here to introduce us, but he's stuck somewhere with a flat tire. I'm afraid I'm it."

He wished he could see her expression. Did she feel the same sexual tug? Taylor had never been attracted before to a woman he couldn't see. Visuals were important to him. The warmth in the eyes, the faintest flush of the complexion, the slightly parted lips - signals of a woman's interest. For all he knew Jill Fiori was cross-eyed, pale as plaster, and had lips tighter than Scrooge's purse.

And had he detected some nerves in her voice? Taylor hoped not. He had enough of his own to deal with at the moment.

He came to his feet. "You're here now. That's what counts. Let's get out of here."

She was silent a moment. "Nice to meet you, too, she said in a voice tinged with irony.

Hell. What had she expected - Mr. Congeniality? He'd be damned if he'd feel guilty. He wanted desperately to be home, more than he'd wanted anything in a long time, and she was late showing up.

After the years of foster homes, of having nothing and nowhere that was totally his own, he'd vowed that some day he'd have both. Staying at the rehab center surrounded by so many people had brought back too many bad memories.

"I've already taken care of the details, he said. "I'm basically checked out. I've just been waiting for you."

He heard clearly the long breath she drew in and blew out.

"Okay, then, she said, her voice determinedly cheerful. "Let's go. Is the bag on the bed all you have?"

"Yeah, that's it. I'll take it. He reached out a searching hand and banged his knuckles on the railing of the bed before he found his suitcase. He slid his hand over it until he could grasp the handle.

This was the moment he'd been dreading.

"Uh, Mr. Sloane, don't you have a cane or something?"

He ground his teeth. "For God's sake, call me Taylor. And, yes, I have a cane, but it's folded up and in my suitcase. I'm not going to use it right now."

"All right, Taylor," she said with obviously forced patience. "Shall I ring for the nurse to bring a wheelchair?"

"No, he said flatly.

Jill was silent a moment. "Maybe I'm missing something here. How do you intend to find your way downstairs?"

His jaw tightened and he forced himself to ask. "If you'll give me your arm, I'll do fine."

God, he sounded pathetic. Like some old man. It was probably a good thing he couldn't see Jill's face.

He waited agonizing seconds for her reply, then felt more than heard her move to his side. Her hand grasped his free one and he smothered his quick breath at the sudden contact.

The buzz of energy was still there, even stronger with her touch. Jill's hand on his was warm and soft. Taylor started to wrap his fingers around it in male response, but she drew his arm through hers and freed her hand.

"Ready? Her neutral tone gave nothing away, but she had to feel the energy vibrating between them. He couldn't remember being so affected by a touch. And he'd been touched by some of the best.

Jennifer sprang to mind. She'd been great in bed, but when she'd wanted him to "get in touch with his feelings, she had to go. In his experience "getting in touch with your feelings was girlspeak for "let's get engaged, get married, get a white picket fence and have two point three children."

And then he could start worrying about how long it would take her to grow tired of the whole scene and split like his mother had. No, far better, cheaper, and easier to get off before the merry-go-round picked up speed.

"Taylor, are you ready? Jill repeated.

He dismissed Jennifer from his mind. She was history and he needed to pay attention to the present. He drew a breath. "As I'll ever be."

"We're going out the door, Jill said, "and then we'll make a left and go down the hall to the elevators."

He gave a brief nod and they began.

Jill walked slowly at first and Taylor, shuffling unsurely along beside her, felt more like a senile old man than ever. All his concentration was focused on putting one foot in front of the other, expecting at any moment to either run into or trip over something.

After what felt like at least a mile she drew him to a stop.

"The elevator's right here just to your left. She reached across him, presumably to push the button. As they waited he had an opportunity to assess his new employee.

He sensed her voice coming from somewhere near his shoulder. That would put her about a foot shorter than his own six three. The arm he held felt slim, but resilient rather than fragile. This close to her, her perfume was a constant tease.

He wondered what color her hair was, how she wore it. Was it long or short? He wanted to reach up and touch it, but thought better of the urge. He didn't need her quitting amidst a flurry of sexual harassment charges. With that disconcerting attraction between them, at least on his part, touching her was liable to be sexual indeed.

The elevator doors swished open and Jill tugged lightly on his arm. He stepped forward with her into the elevator and released her arm, turning to face the front. And ran head-on into her.

For a second he felt Jill's entire length pressed to him. The hair he had been wondering about brushed his chin. Her breasts, small and soft, flattened against his chest. Jill gasped and the contact was broken abruptly. So, she sensed it too, that whatever-it-was between them.

For the first time since the accident Taylor laughed surprising himself. "Shall we dance?"

"I guess we'll have to work out signals or something. Her throaty voice carried a smile and he wished again that he could see what she looked like.

The elevator stopped and the doors slid open. He looped his arm through Jill's and started to step forward.

"Hunh-unh. She held him back. "This isn't our floor."

Someone pushed past him and exited. Taylor felt stupid and clumsy. He couldn't even manage something as simple as an elevator ride. His brief moment of levity might never have happened.

The next time the elevator stopped he waited until Jill gave his arm a tug. "Okay, she said. "This is our stop."

They walked through more air-conditioned space that he assumed was the lobby, out a set of doors, and into the fresh air. Taylor took a deep, appreciative breath, and turned his face up to the warm September sun.

Jill led him a few feet and laid his hand on something. A wooden bench. "Sit."

Taylor waited, a brow arched sardonically, for the command to stay, but she was already marching off to retrieve her car.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying unsuccessfully to ease the headache that seemed to lurk there full time now. The doctors had assured him his condition was temporary and he hung onto that word like a lifeline.

What he needed was to be home in his own space, behind the high stucco wall that kept the world at bay. He liked his fellow man - more or less - but in small doses and at times of his own choosing. The best thing about having money was the privacy it could buy you.

He had mixed emotions about Jill Fiori. He understood that having another person in the house was a necessary evil. He'd been prepared to put up with it, albeit grudgingly. After meeting Jill, however, the prospect didn't loom quite so unpleasantly.

On the other hand, the very thing that suddenly made the situation more interesting also made it a potential powder keg. He'd have to be careful it didn't blow up in his face.

A car drew up to the curb, the door opened, and he heard her steps on the concrete. Already he recognized them.

The two of them managed to get him into her car without too much trouble. He felt her warm breath on his face as she leaned in to fasten his seat belt. Soft hair fragrant with her perfume brushed his cheek. He reached up and grasped a lock between his fingers.

He sensed Jill's sudden stillness. "Taylor?"

"I was wondering how long it is. He slid his fingers down the length of the strand he held. It felt straight and sleek and silky, and he dropped his hand with regret. "Nice."

She drew a deep breath. "Thank you."

He felt her begin to straighten away from him. "What color is it?"

She paused. "Green."

He gave a surprised laugh. "I don't think so."

"Okay, you caught me. It's really purple."

"My favorite color, he said, amazed that he felt like laughing again. He'd smiled more in the past ten minutes than he had in the past several weeks.

Jill shut his door, walked around the car, and slipped behind the wheel. On the drive home, her car rattled like a tin can full of pebbles. And the covered wagons that had come west probably had better shocks.

"What kind of car is this? he asked.

"A Pontiac Sunbird."

"How old?"

She laughed, a sound he was definitely beginning to like. "Too old."

No argument there.

Taylor tried to identify where they were by the turns Jill took. "How do I get the window down?"

"There's a button on the door, about two inches above your hand."

He felt for it, rocked it to the down position, and sea-scented wind blew in on his face. He knew when they mounted the curving blue boomerang of the Coronado Bridge by the way they climbed, by the sounds of a tugboat far below them on the bay, by the raucous cry of gulls.

On a sunny day like that one, the view from the top of the bridge would be limitless. If he could see it. He frowned and fought the sense of desperation that clawed at the back of his mind.

"I love Coronado, Jill said, "but I don't get over very often. I'm really looking forward to working here."

Taylor latched on to her words, glad to have the distraction. "Stan said you were looking for a quiet place to write your psychology Ph.D. dissertation. Get away from some construction noise?"

"That's right."

"Why did you take on this job with me? Stan told me you have family here in San Diego. They wouldn't let you stay with them?"

"They'd have had me if I was willing. The noise at my parents house might be a different kind than the pounding that's been rattling the pictures on my wall, but it's still noise. Every bit as disruptive. There are always at least three conversations going on at any given time. I need quiet. In spite of her complaints, a smile warmed her voice.

"You'll find it in Coronado."

"I'm counting on that."

"What's your dissertation on?"

"Cultural diversity in relative family systems."

"Excuse me?"

She gave another appealing chuckle. "In plain English, it's the variety of ways families work in different cultures - the mechanics of their relationships with each other. The effect of birth order, that kind of thing."

How tidy and academic she made it all sound - the messy and, in his experience, frequently ugly interaction with people that were supposed to love you. In what system would she classify what he'd shared with his neglectful and alcoholic mother? Or the father who'd deserted the picture before Taylor had even been born?

Dysfunctionalimplied there'd been something there to malfunction in the first place. If his mother has sobered up long enough to realize dumping him was a viable option, he'd probably have wound up in the foster care system even sooner than he had.

He shrugged off the old memories. "Glad you translated. Which one are you?"

"Which one am I what? Her voice still held a smile.

"Where are you in the birth order?"

"I'm the middle child. Had he detected a slight hesitation before she answered? And the smile was definitely absent.

"Of how many?"

"I have an older brother and sister and a younger brother and sister."

"And every man for himself. The way it had been all his life.

"Not at all. There wasn't always enough to go around, but you learn to share."

"Just one big happy family. And fairy tales really did come true. "So what do you plan to do with your doctorate once you have it?"

"I'd like to go into family counseling."

"Why? Talk about your exercises in futility.

"Why?"The word came out on a surprised laugh. "I'd like to help families relate in positive ways. Help them create an environment that nurtures the individual. Her tone implied that her answer should be obvious.

She'd spent way too much time in one of those academic ivory towers. "Sounds good if you say it fast enough."

"What do you mean? She sounded poised to take offense. Spare him the do-gooders.

"That a nurturing environment sounds good in theory, he replied, weary already of the conversation, "but in practice, the reality usually falls far short."

"A cynic, I see. Amusement replaced her umbrage.

"Perhaps. He fell silent. Disillusioning her wasn't his job.

"I have your address from Stan, she said, "but it would help if you gave me some directions."

"Hang a left when you get off the bridge, go through town, and make the first right after the Flower Lady."

She laughed. "The Flower Lady?"

"It's a sidewalk flower stand. You can't miss it. The Flower Lady was one of Caesar's favorite destinations. They kept dog treats under the counter for his visits, but it might be a while before he and Caesar made it there again.

A few minutes later Jill brought the car to a stop in front of his house. Or at least he assumed that was where they were. Having to take everything on trust, hardly his natural state, made relaxing an impossibility.

He couldn't believe how much he looked forward to being in his own home. He could finally, at last, let down some of the guard he'd erected when he'd regained consciousness in a Belize hospital and discovered he couldn't see.

"We can go in the front gate now, he said. "Later, get the remote out of my Jag. Then you can park in the garage."

He shoved open the door and heard Jill go around to the back of the car and open the trunk. He felt for the curb with his foot and stood up. "Give me my bag. I can at least carry my luggage. I imagine you have things of your own to carry."

"I do, but I don't have to do it all in one trip."

"Just ... give me my damn bag. His impatience was making him rude. He flexed his jaw and added, "Please."

"Fine. You're so hot to carry luggage. Here. Take it."

He heard his bag drop on the sidewalk beside him, bent down, and after a couple of false tries, grasped the handle. He straightened and Jill nudged her elbow against his free arm.

"Wait. He reached into his pants pocket and withdrew his key ring. "Here. You'll need to unlock the gate. It's the big brass key with the square top."

He'd taken to keeping the gate locked after the second incident of an overly enthusiastic reader showing up on his doorstep. Taylor knew a locked gate wouldn't keep out really determined intruders, but it would slow them down a little. That and Caesar.

He heard the key scraping in the lock and then Jill looped her arm through his.

The wrought iron gate swung open with only the faintest rasp. He took a step to walk through, but Jill suddenly gasped and went rigid beside him. Her arm clutched his tightly enough to cut off circulation. She pressed against him so closely he could feel her warmth from shoulder to knee.

"What?"he demanded, alarmed. "What is it?"

Chapter Three

Loud barking, the jingle of tags, and a shriek from Jill demanded Taylor's attention all at the same time. Moments later huge paws landed solidly on his chest. He stumbled, then caught himself and took the weight, dropping his bag to affectionately cuff the big German shepherd.

"Caesar! Down, boy. What are you doing here? You're supposed to be next door."

The dog responded with a combination of barks and growls that communicated his joy at having his master back home. Although Taylor wondered why Caesar wasn't over at Bob and Jeanette's, the usual arrangement when he traveled, he was cheered by the welcome. The dog's enthusiastic acceptance was a balm to Taylor's battered psyche.

As he rubbed Caesar's coarse coat one-handed he registered belatedly that Jill still maintained a death grip on his right arm.

"Caesar.Sit. The sound of the dog's tail sweeping the ground in a happy wag informed Taylor of his obedience. He expected nothing less. He had trained the dog from a puppy. Caesar would maintain his position until commanded to do otherwise.

"Jill, it's all right. He won't hurt you."

There was no response and no relaxation of her grasp.

"Jill?"

"I hear you. I just don't believe you."

Taylor blew out his breath in exasperation. "I'm sorry you were met this way. My neighbor was supposed to be taking care of him until I got home."

"Stan didn't say anything about a dog. I don't do dogs, she said, a quaver in her voice. She took a half step behind him, obviously trying to keep him between her and Caesar and straining Taylor's shoulder in the process.

Great. Half the reason he needed someone at the house was to feed and walk Caesar. And Stan had hired an assistant who wouldn't willingly get within a hundred yards of the dog. Apparently his bad luck was holding.

Taylor rubbed the spot on his forehead where the headache had settled in.

"Jill, Caesar won't hurt you. Really. If he knows I've okayed you, you're perfectly safe. Safer probably than you've ever been before. He'll protect you now. He thinks I own you and what I own, he owns. Someone would have to get past Caesar to get to you."

"Well, that's just ... great. This slavering, fanged beast owns me. Oh, goody. Her words carried a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

"He's a friend. Honestly. I'll show you. Hold your hand out so he can get your scent."

There was no movement on Jill's part and Taylor could almost feel her skepticism. He drew her from behind him.

"Come on. Give me your hand. He peeled it off his arm, leaving her little choice. Gripping her wrist, he extended her hand. "I promise you won't lose any fingers."

She gave a choked laugh. "Believe me, if I do, you don't have nearly enough money for the lawsuit I'm going to bring."

He liked the feel of her slim curves pressed against him, but he didn't want her to be afraid of Caesar. "I'm not worried. Come here, Caesar."

He heard the dog's soft, snuffling breath as the animal checked out Jill's scent and knew Caesar was nosing Jill's palm. She trembled faintly, but held her ground in spite of her fear. "Atta girl, Taylor murmured in approval.

Caesar barked and Jill jumped and yanked her hand back. It was progress of a sort. He couldn't expect miracles. Two steps forward, one back was the way they'd have to do this.

Taylor smiled. "It's okay. He felt for the dog's collar and drew Caesar to his side away from Jill. "He's just letting us know he's registered your scent and you've passed muster."

"I'll have to take your word for it. I'm not fluent in dog."

Taylor frowned. The shake was back in her voice. "I'll take Caesar into the TV room with me and keep him there while you finish getting your things out of the car. The guest room you'll be using is at the top of the stairs to the left. He bent and picked up the bag he had dropped. "Let's go in the house."

Jill headed immediately down the sidewalk. With one hand on Caesar's collar and one on his bag, Taylor was left standing.

"Aren't you forgetting something? he asked dryly.

Her steps stopped abruptly. "Oh, God. I'm sorry. She quickly returned and looped her arm through his. "It's going to take me a while to get used to this."

"Yeah. Me, too. His smile was humorless.

At the front door she paused. "There's a note stuck in the doorframe."

"Well, read it. I'm not going to, now am I? He winced at the sarcastic note in his voice. Being blind was not an excuse to behave like a jerk.

There was the rattle of paper before Jill informed him, "It's dated today. Taylor,' she read "'Our daughter had her baby earlier than expected and we have to leave this morning. Stan said you were coming home today, so I took the liberty of locking Caesar in your yard. I left food and water on the back patio for him. Hope it's not a problem. It's signed Jeanette.

"My neighbor. We're not going to let it be a problem. I've already got enough of those."

He directed her through the house to the TV room, the trip awkward with the three of them connected. Taylor was relieved to finally drop to the sofa. He ordered Caesar to lie down and stay.

Jill turned on the television as he yanked off the sunglasses and tossed them on the coffee table. He couldn't wear them twenty-four/seven and she already knew he was blind.

"What channel would you like? she asked.

"It doesn't matter. He laid his head back against the cushion and closed his eyes.

There was silence from her and then the conversation of a talk show.

Jill laid the remote next to his hand. "I'll hurry."

"Take your time. I'm not going anywhere. And shut the door behind you. Caesar's not going anywhere either, but you'll feel better."

There was the soft click of the French door latch and then just Oprah's voice as she interviewed the newest overnight sensation. Taylor's interest was piqued in spite of himself.

After numerous invitations, he'd consented to be her guest the year before. It was either that or continue to endure his publicist's relentless nagging. The experience had been both better and worse than he'd expected.

Better because Oprah had proven to be a warm, lovely woman and a gracious hostess. His publicist had informed her ahead of time that his childhood was an off-limits topic of discussion and she had honored that boundary.

But getting up in front of an audience that numbered more people than he cared to think about and talking about himself, his life - that had been like peeling off a layer of skin. He'd felt vulnerable and exposed. Pretty much the way he was feeling now.

Impatient with the thought, he grabbed the remote and punched a button at random. The sounds of Wiley Coyote pursuing the Roadrunner replaced Oprah's tactful prying. Taylor relaxed again and the program became white noise.

He thought that if his head hadn't hurt so badly he could have dozed. The trip from the rehab center had been exhausting. It was amazing how quickly you could get out of shape. He needed to start exercising again and soon.

He also needed to call Jason. He'd put it off as long as he could, but he still didn't have any idea what he was going to tell the kid. That he was blind? Not hardly. Jason was liable to freak out and there was no reason. He didn't plan on being blind for long.

He'd have to find some way, though, to put the kid off for a while longer. Jason had had so little in his life that was stable, it would do him no good at all to start worrying about his Big Brother.

Although he and Taylor had been matched up for years, ever since Taylor had joined the Big Brother program, Jason kept expecting the worst. He was finally beginning to accept that not everyone was going to abandon him. Taylor wasn't about to give him a reason to start thinking that now. He'd consider the problem later. Worrying about it was making his headache worse.

He didn't know how long he sat there half asleep before there was a soft tap on the glass pane of the French door. Caesar whined softly and started to rise.

"Stay. He grasped the dog's collar, more for Jill's reassurance than a need to control Caesar. "Come, he said, voice raised, and then winced when his head throbbed.

She opened the door, but stayed at the entrance of the room. "I've carried everything upstairs now and settled in enough for the moment. Can I get you anything?"

"Just some aspirin. I've got a blinding headache. He heard his words and gave a humorless laugh. "So to speak."

"Where would I find aspirin?"

He was grateful she refrained from commenting on his self-pitying remark. He was embarrassed it had slipped out. He'd never been a whiner. What was the point?

"There's a bottle in the bathroom across the hall from your room."

She left and returned quickly. "Uh ... Taylor?"

"Yeah?"

"You've got Caesar, right?"

At the sound of his name, the dog sat up and Taylor hooked his fingers around Caesar's collar. "Caesar, lie down. The dog obeyed. "Yeah, I've got him."

Jill approached the sofa and sat on the far side away from the dog. Her perfume, that erotic combination of wild jungle flowers and sweet innocence, reached Taylor, and he focused on the scent, letting it carry him away from the pain to a place where darkness meant a warm, willing woman.

"I have a couple of aspirin tablets and a glass of water here."

Unwillingly he returned to the very different darkness that had become his new reality. "I can't hold Caesar and take those from you at the same time."

She drew a breath. "Do you need to? Hold him, I mean?"

"You tell me. He'll stay where he is whether I hold him or not. I've got my hand on his collar strictly for your benefit."

He waited several seconds before she finally spoke. "Then let go of him."

He did and Caesar behaved exactly as he had expected.

Jill gave a sheepish laugh. "You probably think I'm a total wuss."

"I don't. A lot of people are afraid of dogs. I understand. Although you don't have to be afraid of this one. He's really very gentle."

"Isn't that what dog owners always say just before Fido tears the neighbor's kid limb from limb?"

Taylor smiled. "You're a hard sell."

"Just cautious. Here. Take your pills."

Taylor opened his hand and she dropped the aspirins into his palm. She pressed a glass against his other hand and held it until he had a grasp on it. She obviously understood that even the little things were more complicated and required thought.

He tossed the aspirins into his mouth and washed them down with the water, then held the glass out until she took it from him. "Thanks."

"No problem. She stood as he rubbed the spot on his forehead where the pain seemed to originate. When she cleared her throat, he realized she was still standing in front of him.

"What is it? he asked.

"My mother used to get migraines frequently when I was a teenager. She always said it really helped when I massaged her head. I could do that for you if you wanted. Her voice sounded diffident, as though she were reaching for a casual tone.

Did she expect him to dismiss her offer? Or was the answer more intriguing than that? Was she perhaps using a roundabout way of offering him more?

No. She didn't strike him as the groupie type, the ones who sent him letters that had his brows arching in amused shock.

One woman had even sent him her panties - a leopard-patterned thong. He wondered if Jill wore thong panties. Probably not. She sounded more like pastel lace.

No, he repeated to himself, her offer to massage his head had been just that. He thought about it for a moment. "Sure, why not. It can't make it worse and it might even help."

Chapter Four

There was a quiet thunk as Jill set the glass down on the table. He waited and heard the faint rustle of her clothing as she moved to stand behind him.

She drew his head back down to the sofa cushion. He took a deep breath and let the muscles in his neck relax.

Jill rested her hands briefly across his forehead, her fingers forming a warm, gentle band. The effect was so instantly soothing Taylor almost groaned.

She stroked slowly back toward his temples and repeated the move several times. Each time it felt as though her gentle fingertips drew a little more of the pain away. Then she tunneled her fingers into his hair and massaged in small circles over his scalp.

The aspirin began to kick in and Taylor relaxed further. The woman had great hands. Her perfume scented the air he breathed and as his headache faded, he began to consider what those hands might feel like under other circumstances. And on other parts of his body.

He could hear the soft brush of her clothing. What was she wearing? He thought about asking, but was afraid she'd misunderstand. Or maybe that she'd understand perfectly. He didn't want to scare her off if she were the timid kind.

He knew how tall she was - about. He knew she was slender - sort of. He knew how long her hair was - more or less. And that it was purple. He almost snorted. Yeah, right. Frustration at not knowing what she looked like had his jaw going tight. How was he supposed to work up a good fantasy when her image remained so vague?

Her hands stilled their movements. "Did I hurt you?"

"What? No. Why do you ask?"

"You frowned."

He reminded himself that the darkness he lived in was not an assurance of privacy. Just because he couldn't see her didn't mean she couldn't see him. He'd have to guard against allowing his face - and a certain other telltale part of his anatomy - to reflect every thought he had.

He gave up the effort to imagine her appearance and let her touch lull his mind and body again.

* * * *

Jill continued to work her fingers over Taylor's head, massaging gently at his temples. The pain lines in his face smoothed out and his breathing grew easier. In repose he resembled more closely the author photograph on his books.

What the photo hadn't conveyed was his energy and the sense of connection she'd feel with it. Although not cover-model gorgeous, there was something about his face that drew a person to look twice and then linger.

She combed through his thick, sandy hair noting its healthy texture and the lighter sun-bleached streaks. She knew women who would have killed for hair like Taylor Sloane's - or eyes.

She had stared her fill before he closed them, secure in the knowledge he couldn't catch her at it. Their changeable hazel went from green to gold and back again. She could only imagine what it would be like to have those eyes focused exclusively on her, how powerful their effect would be.

Were they gold or green when he looked at a woman with desire? She envied the women who knew.

She remembered the intent way Brian had focused his light blue eyes on her the first time they'd met at a university mixer. She'd felt fluttery and flattered and female. Later she'd been chagrinned to discover he had lost a contact lens and was too vain to wear his glasses. He'd just been trying to see her.

Brian taught high school political science and was earning a Ph.D. in the subject. She had admired his deep-thinking intellectualism and been thrilled at his attention. That first evening after the mixer they'd adjourned to an all-night coffee shop and talked for hours.

He had made her feel unique and special for the first time in her life - at least for the five months it took her to realize that for Brian Hayward the most special thing about her was the audience she provided for his opinions and accomplishments. He wasn't interested in hers and didn't want the competition.

He hadn't really loved her, just his own reflection. She broke off the engagement, and was stupid enough to be hurt again when Brian appeared more annoyed over the inconvenience her action would cause him than anything else.

Only now did she realize how exhausting their relationship had been. If Brian didn't receive regular doses of devoted attention he sulked. She hardly knew Taylor Sloane, but she doubted he needed a woman's applause to shore up his self-image. He struck her as being very much his own man.

She trailed her fingers along his hairline, behind his ears, to the muscles of his neck. She was glad to observe they were more relaxed than when she had first begun.

Her mind drifted to the love scenes he had written. Any satisfaction she'd found with Brian owed more to Taylor's vivid writing and her own imagination than it did to Brian's mediocre skills in bed.

At least, she thought they were mediocre. She didn't have enough experience to be sure. Maybe that was the way sex was. Maybe Taylor's love scenes were actually science fiction.

She corrected herself. Not love scenes - sex scenes. They hadn't really been love scenes. Jake Milligan didn't give his heart.

She frowned. She was hooked on Taylor's books, on the tales of his character Jake Milligan's adventures, but Jake would have been improved by a little vulnerability. The man's take-no-prisoners attitude toward life was too one-dimensional.

Taylor's breathing had become deep and even, his muscles lax. He had fallen asleep.

Jill lifted her hands gradually, taking care to avoid waking him, then used the remote to turn off the television. Caesar raised his head and watched her. Jill looked at him nervously, but the dog viewed her for a few seconds longer, then dropped his head between his paws again.

Jill backed out of the room cautiously, keeping an eye on the animal, but Caesar seemed to have lost interest in her. She pulled the door shut behind her, but didn't latch it for fear the sound would disturb Taylor.

Beyond carrying the suitcases upstairs and a quick trip to the kitchen for a glass of water, she hadn't yet had a chance to check out the house. She took the opportunity to do so and headed back to the kitchen for a closer look.

The house, a thirties-era California stucco, still retained the architecture of the earlier time, but the kitchen had obviously been recently remodeled. The room matched the house in style, but lacked nothing in the way of modern convenience.

A state-of-the-art microwave was tucked above a large, equally contemporary range. If her job had entailed cooking for the entire San Diego Chargers football team, that stove could have handled it. A huge refrigerator that looked capable of chilling a side of beef occupied one end of the room.

Jill opened a pantry door with the thought of scouting out something she could prepare for dinner. A scan of the shelves left her dazed. Balsamic vinegar, champagne mustard, mint sauce - made with Egyptian leaves, no less - artichoke bottoms, baby corn on the cob, multi-colored pasta in shapes that reminded her of high school geometry.

She lifted a small jar of something that looked like discolored peas. The label informed her they were capers. She'd heard of capers, but didn't think she'd ever actually eaten one. And she wasn't going to start now. She replaced the jar on the shelf.

Surely there had to be some real food in there somewhere. She spotted a familiar red and white label on a can of soup and pounced on it with relief. A further search turned up a can of tuna and she was in business.

A review of the refrigerator's contents revealed that Taylor's housekeeper had thrown out the perishables. The freezer yielded a loaf of bread - whole grain and unsliced but she could probably manage. One of the drawers was bound to hold a bread knife.

After a brief search, the drawers hadn't yielded a knife but they seemed to hold everything else. Jill lifted an unfamiliar gadget and contemplated it. It looked like something the Inquisition might have used to wring a confession. She shrugged and dropped it back into the drawer.

Opening another she finally discovered the knives - a dizzying selection. She picked one that looked likely and laid it on the counter beside the bread already thawing, pleased to have the issue of dinner handled - for one day at least.

She'd have to go shopping the next morning for basics like milk and fresh fruit. She made a note to ask Taylor how he wanted to handle the expenses.

An hour later she had set up her laptop computer on the desk in her room and arranged her reference books and files in the bookcase beside it. She had even managed a little writing, but found it hard to concentrate when she kept listening for sounds from downstairs.

The phone rang and Jill snatched up the receiver of the one on her desk before it could wake Taylor. Stan's voice greeted her, full of apologies for his earlier no-show. She let him go on for a while, enjoying the rare occurrence of an obsequious Stan before finally taking pity on him.

"Stan, it's all right. We've settled in fine. Then she remembered she was annoyed with him. "You didn't tell me he has a dog, she accused. "A big dog."

"Oh, didn't I mention Caesar? I'm sure I did."

Stan Turco was the worst liar in the whole world. "No. You didn't."

"Don't worry about Caesar. He's great. He won't give you any trouble."

"I might give you some, though. Honestly, Stan, you should have warned me. She thought back to the conversation that had landed her at Taylor Sloane's.

The construction on a major condominium development next door to her own apartment complex had made work on her psychology doctoral dissertation all but impossible. Her plan to write at night after the building crews went home had proven to be a killer.

She had to sleep sometime and the pile driver ruled out daytime napping. After two nights, she staggered with exhaustion.

She had vented her frustration to Stan, friend and mentor as well as her university's psychology department head. Beyond commiserating over the hassle of the high-rise construction project, he had little to offer she hadn't thought of and ruled out.

She couldn't afford to rent an office temporarily. Her fellowship barely covered the rent on her studio apartment. She had been taking her laptop and trying to work in the library near her building, but invariably she would be in the middle of something and need a reference or paper that was back at the apartment.

She had been at wit's end when Stan called her into his office. She knocked on his open door and he glanced up from the papers on his desk.

"Jill. His smile made apples of his cheeks and lent his face a deceptively cherubic appearance. "Come on in. He stood, came around his desk, and scooped a stack of file folders from the remaining chair.

His gaze traveled around the small room and after a moment of fruitless search he added the files to the tower of textbooks beside his desk. "Have a seat."

"You wanted to see me?"

"Still having problems with the construction next door?"

"It's worse than ever. She dropped tiredly into the chair Stan had cleared. "I've about decided to postpone trying to finish my dissertation until the damn condominium is finished."

"You've definitely ruled out staying with your family?"

"Oh, yeah, she said with conviction. "It's not that my parents wouldn't welcome me back in with them for the duration, but I'd just be trading one kind of noise for another. I have two siblings still at home and two others that routinely come by and bring their own kids. Plus assorted aunts, uncles, and cousins that move through the place like it's Grand Central."

She sliced the air in front of her, canceling the idea. "No. No way."

If she were honest with herself - and years of psychology classes would allow her to be nothing else - she would have to admit she was reluctant to rejoin the household because of more than just the noise. She would become invisible again.

She didn't doubt her parents love for her, but she was the middle child. She hadn't come early enough to be a trailblazer like her older brother or sister, nor late enough to be an indulged darling like her younger brother or sister.

Growing up she had frequently felt invisible to her busy, harried mother and hard-working father. Her childhood accomplishments had always been overshadowed by the fact that the two who came before had already done them.

Her parents dutifully praised her straight-A report cards, her roles in the school plays, and her few-and-far-between athletic triumphs, but Jill had sensed a certain distraction on their part, as though other things and other people claimed the lion's share of their attention.

The only time she'd felt special had been during her brief engagement to Brian. At least she'd felt special before she felt like a naive fool. But she wasn't going to think about Brian. She was discouraged enough without reminding herself of him.

"If you're not going to take your parents up on their offer, Stan said, "I think I might have an answer to your problem."

Jill brightened. She had asked Stan to see if he could find her some spare office space at the university. She hadn't held out much hope. After all, Stan had boxes of files stacked up around the perimeter of his own office. Space was tight in the historic old buildings of their small, private university. Still, miracles happened every day.

"You found me an office? Oh, bless you! I don't care if it's just a closet, as long as it's a quiet one."

Stan's expression was sympathetic as he shook his head. "Sorry. Do you think if I had a closet to spare, I'd be working in an office that looks like a loading dock?"

Jill huffed out a breath of disappointment. "Damn. Well, I knew it was a long shot. She stared morosely at her foot in the chunky platform sandal. She had painted her toenails a bright fuchsia, a small act of defiance against her too-ordinary academic image.

She remembered Stan's previous statement and rallied. "Wait. You said you might have an answer."

"You know what a good friend of mine Taylor Sloane is?"

How could she not? Stan dropped Sloane's name often enough to qualify for the Guinness Book of Records. She suspected he did it just to taunt her. He knew she was a devoted fan.

She had hinted often about wanting to meet Sloane, but Stan didn't appear to notice. Unlikely. He might look like the affable Pillsbury Dough Boy, but very little got past Stan. Which meant that for some reason he was choosing to ignore her unsubtle suggestions.

"Yes, I know Taylor Sloane is your old school chum, she answered in a long-suffering voice. "So?"

"So Taylor's got a bit of a problem, too. A frown drifted across Stan's round face. "More than a bit, actually. Understand that what I'm about to tell you is not for public consumption."

Jill couldn't imagine what Stan was going to say, but he definitely had her attention.

"Okay, I promise not to tell more than two hundred of my most intimate pals. Honestly, Stan, it's a good thing we're friends or I might take offense."

He grimaced and his expression turned regretful. "Sorry. I know you wouldn't betray a confidence. I just want to be sure you know that's what this is. Taylor's a very private person."

"No kidding. Just how private was demonstrated by the assault charges brought against Sloane the previous year by a paparazzi. The man had been foolish enough to try photographing publishing's bad boy as Sloane was clubbing in Capri with his woman of the moment. Sloane had decked the photographer and smashed his camera.

Stan waved aside the issue. "Anyway, it's not common knowledge, but Taylor was injured in an accident a few weeks ago. He was in Belize doing some on-site research and took a bad fall hiking."

Jill was instantly concerned. Between Stan's frequent comments and Sloane's books, she felt as if she knew the man - or his alter ego and recurring character, soldier-of-fortune Jake Milligan.

Jake was a hopeless chauvinist, of course, but that was part of what made him such naughty fun to read. He was her own private fantasy. What she couldn't, didn't have the nerve to do in real life, she could do with Jake Milligan. When Jake had wild, hot sex with Ursula or Bambi or Erika, he had it with her too.

In her meager experience with sex, the men had been a far cry from Jake, but then Jill acknowledged that she was hardly up to Jake's standard where women were concerned either. She wasn't voluptuous, or even particularly well endowed, and she suspected she was only conventional in bed. Of course, if she'd had a lover like Jake...

And Jake's creator had been hurt. She felt a clutch of worry. "Is he all right now?"

Dumb. Of course he wasn't all right. Hadn't Stan just said he had a problem?

"Probably better than he has a right to expect. A few bruises. Stan shrugged. "But that's minor. The big thing is, Stan paused and his frown was back, "he's blind now."

"What?"

"The doctors have told him it's a temporary condition, but they can't say how temporary - a few weeks, six months, a year. However long it takes for the swelling that's pressing on his optic nerve to go down."

"My God, she breathed, appalled. How could he write? He couldn't even see the computer monitor. "He must be devastated."

"Actually he seems to be taking it well. Stan's frown deepened. "Perhaps too well. I'm not sure the magnitude of the situation has hit him yet. He intends to go home and carry on. Refuses to make allowances beyond what he's absolutely driven to."

"Is he in a hospital right now?"

"No. There's nothing they can do for him there. His own body has to do the rest. He's at a rehab center learning to adjust and compensate for his lack of sight."

Stan shook his head. "He's stood it as long as he can. He wants to go home."

"Understandable."

"I'm glad you feel that way, because that's where you come in. Taylor refuses to have a nurse underfoot, but he can't really be alone. There's too much he'll need help with."

"I can imagine."

"However, Stan continued, "he also refuses to go through an agency and hire a stranger. I told him I knew someone who would be perfect."

He looked at her expectantly.

She held his stare for several seconds before realization sank in.

"Me? The word came out little more than a squeak as she pressed her hand to her chest. "Me? Whatever solutions she might have expected Stan to come up with, having her move in with Taylor Sloane wouldn't have made the list. The implications had her eyes going wide.

Taylor Sloane. He and Jake had been her secret fantasy lovers ever since she'd read Sloane's first novel six years earlier. She alternated between imagining herself with Jake or going right to Sloane, the source.

She had studied his author photo often, looking for a clue to who he was. The picture showed her an attractive, thirty-something man standing alone on a beach. The vastness of sand and water accentuated his solitude and his unsmiling expression said that life was a serious business. It struck her as ironic that he was her vehicle for escape from that very same seriousness.

Aside from his masterful skill with words, creating people and situations that kept her reading until three a.m., Taylor Sloane was clearly a man who understood women - and desires she'd have withstood torture to avoid admitting. She couldn't even read one of his books without breathing hard.

"Me? she repeated.

"Of course, you. Don't flash those big brown eyes at me like you didn't know what I was leading up to."

"But what about Jennifer What's-her-name, that super model he was seeing?"

Stan shook his head. "They split up shortly before Taylor left for Belize."

Jill wasn't really surprised. Taylor's relationships, as reported by the gossip columnists, had shorter life spans than a mayfly's.

"Now think about it for a minute, Stan was urging. "You need a quiet place to work. Taylor's home is on Coronado Island, about as quiet as you can get in San Diego. You'd have your own room, of course. You could take all your papers, spread them out, and leave them that way. No having to pick everything up again like you're doing at the library."

"It does sound attractive," - in more ways than one - "but I'm no nurse. What do I know about taking care of a blind man?"

"Mostly he needs someone to take dictation. You wouldn't have any real work beyond some light cooking, chauffeuring him on his errands, that kind of thing. Sort of a Girl Friday. He has a housekeeper who comes once a week to clean and do laundry."

Her resistance, hardly strong to begin with, weakened.

"Stan, I - "

"It wouldn't be permanent. Just until Taylor's vision returns. A few months at most. And it would give you time to finish your dissertation."

"Stan, stop. She held up her hand, cutting off his sales pitch. "You've convinced me. I'll do it, she said and blinked at her impulsiveness.

She had offered to move in with a man known to change women as often as most men changed socks. Would he think his assistant fair game?

An illicit thrill shot through her at the thought, before she repressed it. She was hardly in Sloane's league. But then again, desperate times called for desperate measures. For sure, these were desperate times for Taylor Sloane.

That had been three days earlier and although she'd had bouts of second thoughts, she hadn't reneged on her agreement. Sloane was counting on her, and it would have been irresponsible of her to back out.

And cowardly,a sly voice whispered.

Shut up.She was here, wasn't she?

"If I had told you about the dog, Stan was saying, bringing her attention back to the situation at hand, "you wouldn't have taken the position. And except for Caesar, it's such a perfect situation. You were both in a bind. I'm just trying to help out two of my best friends."

Her guilt at misjudging him lasted a nanosecond. "You are going to owe me big time for this, Stan."

"Fine, fine. Just don't leave. Taylor does need someone. You know you can call if you have any problems."

"Hah. She ended the conversation, still peeved at him. Deciding she wouldn't get anything more accomplished for the present, she tidied her papers and pushed back her chair. Movement at the corner of her eye captured her gaze and she turned her head quickly to find Caesar padding silently into her room.

Chapter Five

Jill paused and held her breath. He must have pushed open the door of the TV room. He walked right up to her and nudged her hand as though he was looking to be petted. Her breath whooshed out in a nervous laugh and she obliged hesitantly. Rather than biting her hand off as she half feared, he licked it with a moist pink tongue.

She laughed more easily. "Okay, maybe you're not so bad, like Taylor says. Is he awake yet?"

Caesar's tail fanned rapidly.

"Let's go see."

Would the dog let her leave the room? She edged around him, not quite brave enough to push him out of her way. So far so good. He cocked his head, as though puzzled by her behavior, and she wondered if she was being silly. When she started down the stairs, Caesar ran ahead of her. Perhaps that was what he'd wanted her to do.

Sounds of the television reached her before she got to the TV room. She walked in to find Taylor channel surfing, or trying to, his expression annoyed. She thought she'd been quiet, but when she walked in, he lifted his head sharply.

"Jill?"

"Yes."

He held the remote out to her. "Find a news program, will you?"

She took the remote and went through the channels quickly until she found CNN. "There. They should have the headlines soon."

"Thanks. What time is it?"

She took a quick check of her watch, "Almost six o'clock. She remembered something from the research she'd done after she'd agreed to take on this job. "Don't they make watches for blind people that let you feel the numbers?"

"Yeah, but I don't plan on being blind long enough to make it worth the hassle of getting one."

Not sure how to respond, she let the remark pass. "How's your head?"

"Much better, thanks. I'll have to remember how good you are with your hands."

Had Taylor intended the double entendre? After a moment's thought, she decided probably not. She wasn't the type that inspired men to make broad sexual hints.

That didn't prevent her mouth from going dry, however, at the image that flashed through her mind. She was glad he couldn't see the flush warming her cheeks.

Taylor paused and turned toward her. "I think I might owe you an apology for earlier."

"How so? she asked guardedly.

"I was ... rather short with you."

Jill laughed, relieved. "Don't worry about it. In your place I'm afraid I'd be more than just rather short. Believe me, even at your worst you'd probably have Stan beat for good manners hands down."

"Then I'll try to be on my best behavior. Can't pass up another opportunity to beat Stan at something."

"I wish you'd let him win at racquet ball now and then. He's cranky as hell the day after you two play. Jill stopped, appalled at the words that had come out unthinkingly.

Taylor was silent a moment. "I don't think that's going to be a problem for a while, he said quietly.

"I, uh, I'll go fix dinner now. She grasped at the excuse desperately, turned, and beat a retreat for the kitchen.

How could she have been so thoughtless? The man was having a difficult enough time without her reminding him of all the things he couldn't do any longer. She tried to imagine how she'd feel in his place, but suspected she didn't even come close.

She took out her frustrations on the meal preparations, forking tuna from the can as though it was fighting back.

A short while later she had soup and sandwiches prepared and the kitchen table set. She had noted the separate dining room with its mission-style table, but figured eating in the kitchen would be easier, for Taylor and her. No point in setting a precedent she'd have to live up to the whole time she was there.

She walked back to the TV room to find Taylor sitting on the sofa, his elbows braced on his knees, his forehead in his hands. His black knit polo shirt stretched across the width of his shoulders, giving a suggestion of the muscles beneath. The sight distracted her briefly from noticing the dejection of his posture.

"Headache back?"

Why,asked that sly voice. Was she looking for an opportunity to massage it for him again?

Of course not. She hoped she was more mature than that.

"What? He straightened. "Oh. No. Just thinking."

And they were hardly happy thoughts. "Dinner's on."

"Good. Taylor came to his feet. "Put Caesar outside for now. The meal will be easier for you."

She looked unhappily at the dog, now pressed against Taylor's side. She couldn't imagine herself making Caesar do anything. If he didn't want to go outside, then he probably wasn't going to.

As though he'd read her mind, a corner of Taylor's mouth tilted up. "Caesar can be bought. There's a bag of dog treats in the pantry. Get one, let Caesar know you have it, and then call him to the back door. He'll go."

Skeptical, she did as he suggested. She waved the treat in front of Caesar gingerly and then turned and walked out of the room to the door. "Come here, Caesar, she called.

She heard Taylor tell him to go and the sound of Caesar's toenails clicked against the hardwood floor as he rushed toward Jill. She held the door open, cringing behind it, and threw the treat outside. Caesar leaped after it and she shut the door quickly, then leaned against it in relief. When her heartbeat had slowed, she returned to the TV room.

"I am so ready for some decent cooking, Taylor said. "You have no idea. The food at the rehab center was institutional at its worst. They probably eat better in prison."

A fleeting sense of unease disturbed Jill before she dismissed it and turned her attention to getting Taylor to his meal. Or vice versa.

"I can bring dinner to you on a tray, if that would be easier, she offered.

"No. It might be easier, but this is my home. I've got to learn to get around in it. Where are we eating?"

"In the kitchen."

"Fine. He slid his fingertips along the back of the couch, negotiated his way around it, then brushed the wall and doorframe. Jill stepped out of his way and stayed close in case he needed help. Taylor made it halfway down the hall toward the kitchen without mishap, but was approaching a console table.

She started to say something, but he slowed and carefully swept his arm through the space in front of him. The back of his hand knocked against the table edge and he smiled.

"Bet you thought I'd run into this didn't you? He continued to the kitchen, but hesitated when he reached the table.

"I've set your place to the right. She took his hand and placed it on the back of his chair. Taylor pulled the chair out and sat down.

"I'm sorry I can't do the gentlemanly thing and seat you. I don't even know where you are."

She was touched by his unconscious charm. She knew any number of sighted men, Stan included, who would never think about pulling out her chair.

Taylor thrust out a searching hand and his palm connected squarely with her rear end. After one frozen second, he removed his hand.

"Well, I know where you are now, he said dryly. "If I'm going to think about being a gentleman, it appears I have more to worry about than pulling out your chair."

Taylor's hand had felt better than it should have, and Jill strove for a neutral tone as she sat down. "It occurs to me that we're liable to have a lot of moments like that. It would be ridiculous for you to feel like you had to apologize every time you accidentally bumped or touched me."

Taylor smiled, something wholly masculine in his expression and Jill felt an answering flutter in her stomach. "Some men would be tempted to take advantage of the situation, he said.

Jill picked up her sandwich and tilted her head. "Are you one of them?"

He appeared thoughtful. "I don't know. I guess we'll both find out, won't we?"

The question hung in the air as he lightly brushed his fingertips across the edge of his plate and over the spoon beside it. "What are we having?"

Jill put down her sandwich, immediately contrite. "I'm sorry. I should have realized. There are two halves of a tuna sandwich on the left side of the plate and a bowl of soup on the right."

"I'll make a deal with you. I won't apologize every time I run into you, if you won't apologize every time you forget I can't see."

Jill gave a half-laugh, relieved to have the awkwardness smoothed over. "That works for me."

"What kind of soup is it?"

"Mushroom."

"Mm. Sounds good. He picked up his spoon, ladled a small amount, and blew on it before cautiously taking a sip.

He blinked and his brows drew into a frown. "This is canned."

She stared at him nonplused. What did he think? That she'd been standing in the kitchen chopping mushrooms half the afternoon? Or that she carried fresh ones in her purse?

"Of course it's canned."

"Jill, no one actually eats canned mushroom soup. Exasperation was evident in every word. "You just cook with it. You know - sauces, gravy, casseroles."

"No, I don't know. I don't make sauces, gravy, or casseroles."

He set down his spoon, his mouth a thin line. "Stan didn't tell me that you can't cook."

"No? Well, we're even. Stan didn't tell me that you have a dog. And I can, too, cook. More or less."

"That's still open for discussion. The bigger point here is that Stan seems to have pulled a fast one on both of us. He heaved a tired sigh. "Hell. I need an assistant now. God knows how long it would take me to find someone else as suitable as you - familiar with the computer, free to stay here full-time, and willing to walk Caesar."

"Wait. When did I say I was willing to walk to Caesar?"

He continued as though he hadn't heard her. "I assume you still need a quiet place to work on your dissertation. Got any alternatives in mind? His tone told her he knew she didn't.

"Damn that Stan, she muttered. "It would serve him right if I made him come over here and walk your dog."

"Unfortunately, that won't work for the food. It wouldn't do any good to insist he come over and take care of meals. Stan thinks a kitchen is the room where the cold beer is stored."

"That's true."

Stan, divorced for years, usually ate frozen dinners or deli take-out when he couldn't wrangle an invitation to someone's house. He was pretty easy to impress food-wise. Maybe he actually thought she was a terrific cook. Maybe he hadn't really meant to mislead Taylor.

Her eyes narrowed. Unh-hunh. And maybe he'd forgotten about Caesar.

"Look, she said. "I'm not going to give Julia Child any competition, but I can cook well enough to keep body and soul together. It's not like you're going to go hungry. And it's only for a limited amount of time."

"True."

He considered for a moment. "All right. I can probably choke down whatever you fix, but what are we going to do about Caesar? He needs to be fed and exercised. I had expected the assistant Stan found for me to take care of that."

"Hold on a minute. We haven't finished talking about the meal situation. Choke down?

He had the grace to wince. "Sorry. I probably should have been more tactful."

"Oh, don't mince your words on my account."

His brows arched. "Are you being touchy?"

"Touchy? No, I've moved on to seriously annoyed. I believe you told Stan you needed someone to do a little light cooking. I didn't realize that meant preparing food for the New York Times food critic."

His brows lifted again. "Touchy and sarcastic. A bonus."

To think that just minutes earlier she had been reflecting on his charm. She bit back her first response and counted to five. "I will do the best I can with meals. If you don't like my efforts, complaints about them won't accomplish anything."

"I wasn't complaining."

His tone of injured innocence had no effect. He was a piker compared to Stan.

"Weren't you?"

"All right, he admitted. "I was complaining. I'll try to keep it to a minimum. Now, can we move on? I'm more concerned about Caesar."

So was she. "I can feed him, I can clean up after him in the yard, but honestly, I don't think I can walk him."

"Hm. Taylor's brow furrowed for a moment. "I need to get out and get some exercise, too. How about if I walk Caesar and you walk me - so to speak. I'll handle Caesar. You just have to help me with street crossings and that kind of thing."

His voice turned dry and his smile held a bitter edge. "Just think of me as a little old lady."

She couldn't help herself. She laughed. "That good, my imagination isn't."

His smile lost the edge. "I'm relieved. Having a beautiful woman think of me as a little old lady is definitely not what my ego needs right now."

He might be temporarily blind, but he wasn't handicapped when it came to smooth moves. His charm was back in place.

"What makes you think I'm beautiful?"

"I told you, he said, a teasing note in his voice. "Purple is my favorite color."

"Then you're right. I'm gorgeous. An exaggeration, to be sure, but Taylor was in no position to argue.

"I knew it. You have the voice of a beautiful woman."

"And just how does a beautiful woman sound? she asked, amused.

"Assured, comfortable with who she is."

Jill considered his words. "Are you saying an unattractive woman can't be comfortable with who she is?"

"Not at all. You've got it backwards. I'm saying a woman who is comfortable with who she is can't help but be attractive. Self-assurance does more for a woman than the most expensive cosmetic on the market."

"Can I quote you on that?"

The smile abruptly left his face. "No. Not about that or anything else you hear while you're working for me. In case you have any doubts, I take very seriously the statement of confidentiality you signed when you agreed to this job. I guard my privacy closely. I expect you to honor that. I don't want to read in the tabloids later an exclusive story about your experience working for me."

At his harangue, she blinked. She'd been surprised, but not offended, when Stan had presented her with the statement. Taylor's motives had been understandable, and he had a reputation for being a stickler that way. Still, his present reaction struck her as a little extreme.

"Chill. It was just an expression. She picked up her sandwich. "Sheesh. And you called me touchy."

"I guard my privacy."

"Yes, so you said. I heard you the first time."

"Good. Then we don't have to have this conversation again. He picked up his spoon and began eating. A faint grimace flashed momentarily across his face, but he made no further remarks on the food.

"Does the term paranoia strike a chord? she asked. Prudence would dictate she let the subject drop. Had she just discovered a heretofore unsuspected streak of recklessness in herself?

"Is that a professional opinion or are you being sarcastic again? He shrugged. "Sticks and stones."

He picked up one of the sandwich halves. "If you want to call it paranoia that I object to finding fans picnicking on my lawn, that's your choice. Or a woman waiting on my front steps to accost me at seven a.m. when I go out to pick up the newspaper."

Taylor took a bite of his sandwich, chewed and swallowed. "And now some nut-case has started emailing me with offers to assist Jake. Says he wants to help Jake in his quest to bring retribution to international criminals. He signs himself The Vigilante.' Taylor shook his head in disbelief.

Jill paused between bites. "I never realized. People really show up here at your front door?"

"Not any more. Grim satisfaction colored his voice.

"Why not?"

"Caesar."

She could see how that would be effective. The dog would certainly discourage her from doing anything more than peeking through the gate - and from across the street at that. "How long have you had him?"

"Two years."

"Just out of curiosity, what did you do about the picnickers?"

The corner of his mouth twitched in a smile. "Turned on the sprinklers."

Jill laughed. "What happened?"

"Let's just say they're not fans anymore."

"I wouldn't think so, she said and smiled.

Their conversation was relaxed and Jill kept it light, asking Taylor about the history of his house, how long he had lived in Coronado, how he liked the small-town, island atmosphere.

"It's part of the reason I live here, he answered. "Coronado is a popular resort town. It's used to celebrities and public figures. There's a certain refusal here to be impressed by them. That means I can just live my life, go out to eat or shop and not be accosted by someone asking for my autograph. Or worse, asking for help getting their Great American Novel published."

And they had come full circle to the privacy issue again. It was too bad she wasn't doing her dissertation on obsession. The man could have provided a wealth of material.

"I'd think you'd be flattered. People are demonstrating how much they like your writing."

"I don't write for them. I write for me. The best thing they can do to demonstrate their pleasure is spend money on my books."

"Don't you think that attitude is the tiniest bit crass? What was the matter with her? Was she trying to offend him? She should just keep her mouth shut and mind her own business the way he wanted her to.

"'Crass?' He sounded surprised. "Writing is how I keep this roof over my head. I'm trying to make mortgage payments, not friends."

"Good thing, because with that attitude you won't make many. Apparently she was incapable of prudence.

"The price of a book does not include a relationship with me."

"I disagree. I think a writer puts a lot of himself into his work, even if only subconsciously."

On some level she felt she knew Taylor better than she knew most of her acquaintances. After all, she had been privy to some of his deepest thoughts for years. Even if Jake Milligan had been the mouthpiece, the words had originated with Taylor.

She knew Taylor had strong feelings about justice. There was no gray, no situational ethics. For him a thing was either black or white. He believed that when you chose the action, you chose the consequences. And in the worlds Taylor created, the consequences always followed logically and swiftly.

Evil and goodness were rewarded in kind. Jake Milligan was frequently the instrument of delivery, a modern-day knight-errant.

Jill understood something about Taylor that she knew few others grasped. Taylor was an honorable man. His code of honor might be a little skewed, but what he believed he would never violate. In a world where too often the difference between right and wrong was as changeable as the weather, Jill found Taylor's strength of character refreshing.

"I think, she continued, "that a writer and reader have a very intimate relationship."

"Do you? Intimate, huh? Tell me, have you read any of my books?"

"Oh, yes. I've read them all."

"Have you now? His expression grew thoughtful. "Interesting."

Oops. What had she given away? "I simply meant that I know a lot about you from reading your books. She grimaced at the blurted comment. As damage control, it was a poor effort.

"Yeah? What do you think you know about me?"

She remembered the passionate interlude between Jake and Ursula she had read just that morning. She was suddenly sure Taylor was wondering about her reaction to the love scenes in his books. She prayed he wouldn't ask. She wasn't a very good actress and she didn't want Taylor to know how affected she had been. Jill scrambled to come up with a safe answer to his question.

"Well, let's see. I know you believe devoutly in justice, in evil being punished and good rewarded. I know you have a code of honor buried somewhere under that nonchalant exterior. How am I doing so far?"

Taylor shrugged. "Fair."

She was dead center and she knew it. "I also know that you think the only person you can depend on is yourself."

He gave an affirmative nod. "Damn straight."

She considered his present situation and felt a tug of sympathy. "This must all be very difficult for you, she said softly.

His mouth tightened and his expression shut her out. "We won't go there."

Taylor's closed attitude effectively put an end to the conversation between them and Jill finished eating in silence.

She'd had a fantasy relationship with Taylor for so long that she tended to forget Taylor hadn't been privy to it. Now they were dealing with real life and she felt like she was caught in limbo trying not to let the pretend relationship affect the real one. Where was the line?

She noticed Taylor had finished his own dinner. "Can I get you anything else?"

"Isthere anything else? he asked on a hopeful note.

Her short laugh was chagrined. "Sorry."

"In that case ... no, thank you. He came to his feet. "I'd help you clean up the dishes, but... He gestured weakly.

"Don't be ridiculous. She stopped abruptly. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean - "

"Jill. It's all right. Forget it."

He turned, stretched his arm out until his fingertips touched the edge of the counter, and then walked the length of the kitchen toward the office she had peeked into earlier.

"I need to make a phone call, he said reaching for the office doorframe.

"Can I make the call for you?"

His immediate response was curt and definite. "No. Taylor stepped into the room and shut the door with a snap.

Jill stared at the closed door and raised her brows. Had he thought she'd try to eavesdrop or something? She gave a short nod. She'd been right the first time - paranoia.

Ten minutes later as she was finishing the dishes, Taylor emerged from his office, his brows lowered broodingly. Making his way out of the kitchen he paused. "Caesar needs to be fed. The statement came out sounding like an order. "There should be food in the pantry. His dishes are by the back door."

"Yes, I saw them. Having agreed to feed the beast, she wasn't likely to forget. She'd refill the dishes first before she let the dog back in. Logic told her he'd be less inclined to want a bite out of her if his stomach were full.

"I took your bag upstairs, she said. "It's on your bed."

His expression was pained. "Thank you. I'm going up to take a shower."

She vacillated between offering to help and saying nothing. How could she offer to help him shower? And what would she do if he accepted? The potential hardly bore thinking about - Taylor naked, his muscled male body wet and soap-slicked. And where was she in that little scenario? In the shower with him? The thought was exciting enough to frighten her.

But what if he actually did need help? The very real possibility had her finally speaking up.

"Taylor? His name came out a croak.

He stopped at the door. "Yes?"

"Do you need any help?"

His head came up and the creases beside his mouth deepened with his sudden smile. "What kind did you have in mind?"

She closed her eyes and shook her head. "Never mind, she said repressively. "If you call me, you'd better be drowning."

Taylor laughed on his way out of the room.

Chapter Six

Jill came awake with a start and froze, her heart pounding. Had she really heard glass breaking or only dreamed it? She sat up in the dark and held her breath, listening.

She'd left her door open when she'd gone to bed so she could hear Taylor if he needed anything, but the house had remained silent. Until now. If someone were trying to break in, surely Caesar would have raised an alarm.

She heard nothing more and breathed easier. Just a dream.

She started to lie down again when the sound of Taylor swearing reached her clearly. Caesar barked as if in response and then all was quiet. She was not reassured.

She grabbed the short satin robe lying at the foot of the bed, drew it quickly on over her matching pajamas, and shoved her feet into slippers. Outside her room all was dark. Well, it would be, wouldn't it?

She flipped the switch and illuminated the stairs, then hurried down. The sounds had seemed to come from the kitchen so she headed in that direction.

She stopped at the kitchen door and turned on the light.

"Taylor!"

He stood at the counter clad only in pajama bottoms that rode low on his hips. Her gaze was drawn to the hair-dusted muscles of his chest, only hinted at by his polo shirt, before dropping to his lean waist and flat abdomen. The pajamas appeared to stay up only by the grace of God.

Glittering shards of glass and an amber puddle spread across the pale tile floor around Taylor's bare feet. The pungent aroma of scotch stung her nostrils. Caesar whined a greeting and backed away from the liquor on the floor.

She planted her hands on her hips. "And you were going to call me, when?"

His expression was mulish. "I was getting ready to do that."

"Unh-hunh. She surveyed the mess. "Don't move, you'll cut your foot."

"It's too frigging late. Already did that."

She looked closer and saw the rust-colored smudges on a dry island of floor beside him. He held his left foot at an awkward angle obviously trying to keep from putting weight on it.

She'd had plenty of first aid experience with her brothers and sisters. The small amount of blood told her the cut wasn't serious.

"Let me get the glass cleaned up before you do more damage. Then I'll take care of your foot."

She cautiously picked up the largest pieces of glass and deposited them in the trash, then grabbed a wad of paper towels, crouched, and mopped up the scotch and smaller slivers.

"What were you trying to do? she asked. "No, scratch that. It's obvious what you were trying to do. What happened?"

She looked up at Taylor from her position on the floor and her hand slowed. She remembered a scene in one of his books. The female du jour had been kneeling in front of Jake Milligan ... The woman's actions had been a far cry from scooping up broken glass, though.

She'd read that particular passage and paused. Brian had wanted her to perform the same act for him, but she'd hesitated. If he'd been patient, she might have eventually tried it, but he'd behaved as though she owed it to him and she'd balked.

Perhaps with a man like Jake Milligan - or Taylor - it would have been different. Jill cleared her throat and tried with difficulty to dismiss the latest erotic image.

"I was trying to get drunk, Taylor said, oblivious to her heated musings, "and had made a damn good start. I poured a refill and set the bottle down, but I think it must have been on the edge of the counter. It fell off when I let go of it. His voice was ripe with frustration.

"Should you be drinking with your condition?"

"I can't think of a better reason."

She certainly sympathized, but doubted it would do him any good to say so. She squinted at the floor and thought she had all the glass cleaned up, but dampened another paper towel and wiped the floor a last time to be sure.

"All clear now. She brought a chair over from the table. "Sit down so I can look at your foot."

She lifted Taylor's hand and placed it on the back of the chair so he'd know where it was. She brought a second over, sat down across from him, bent, and touched his ankle.

"Lift your foot into my lap."

"I don't want to get blood on whatever you're wearing. Interest sharpened his expression. "What are you wearing?"

A smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. "A long flannel nightgown that buttons under my chin and goes clear to the floor."

"Hm. Pity."

She guided his foot to her thigh. "And you're not bleeding all that much. Don't be melodramatic."

"Heartless wench."

She examined the cut on the ball of his foot. It didn't look particularly deep and was small enough that a large Band-Aid should cover it. His foot twitched slightly and she caught a wink of light from the cut. A closer look revealed a small sliver of glass embedded in the wound. Taylor hissed when she tried to grasp it with her fingernails.

"You have a piece of glass in your foot. I need a pair of tweezers. First aid supplies would be where?"

"The medicine cabinet of my bathroom."

She removed his foot from her lap and stood. "I'll be right back."

He reached out and patted his hand along the edge of the counter.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for my drink. If you're going to perform surgery, I need an anesthetic."

She rolled her eyes and handed him the glass that held two fingers of liquor before going upstairs to hunt for the items she wanted.

In Taylor's room she found his bed a tangled heap, as though he had tossed fitfully before finally giving up on sleep. His sheets, a deep maroon, had come untucked from the foot of the bed. She took a moment to straighten the bedding and turn the covers down tidily.

My, my, hadn't she become domestic?

She justified her actions by telling herself, on her way into the bathroom, that he'd rest easier if he didn't have to wrestle with the bedding.

It felt odd to be pawing through his medicine cabinet - a violation of that privacy he guarded so zealously. She tried to keep her mind on the Band-Aids, tweezers, and antiseptic she was supposed to be searching for, but couldn't help being distracted by the personal items arranged on the counter.

She picked up a bottle of cologne, removed the top, and sniffed. The scent, a combination of green woods and spice that she already associated with Taylor, immediately teased her senses. She replaced the bottle on the counter and reminded herself she was supposed to be on a mission. She found Band-Aids, antiseptic, and cotton balls in the cabinet, but no tweezers.

After a moment's debate, she opened a drawer. The first thing she saw was a box of condoms - ultra-thins of course. Refusing to be sidetracked, she dug further in the drawer. Hairbrush, comb, nail clippers, file ... tweezers.

She gathered her supplies and hurried back to the kitchen.

"Jill? About time you got here. What took you so damn long?"

"Miss me?"

"I could have bled to death by now."

She laughed. If she closed her eyes, Taylor could have been her nephew. "You sound like a petulant ten-year-old."

She sat and lifted his foot to her lap again. The sparkle of the splinter was easy to see. She grasped it with the tweezers and drew it out quickly.

"Ow! You might have warned me."

"Sorry. She doused a cotton ball with antiseptic. "Consider yourself warned. This might sting. She swabbed the cut liberally, while Taylor swore.

"Christ, you're going to kill me."

"Don't be such a baby. I'm almost done. She tore open a Band-Aid, blew on his foot to dry the antiseptic, and stuck the bandage over the cut before giving his foot a final pat. "There."

"Stan never mentioned what a sadist you are. Maybe I should start a list of his omissions."

"Maybe we both should. Stan never mentioned that I'd be taking care of a child."

"Hey, I'm a wounded man here. You might have a little pity."

"Oh, please. Come on, let's go. She took Taylor's hand and tugged him to his feet. "We'll get you back to bed."

He set his empty glass on the counter, his smile wicked. "Now that sounds like a winner."

How much had he had to drink? "You know what I meant, she said, her tone stern.

Taylor took a step and flinched. "I don't think I can do this by myself. Maybe if I lean on you..."

She regarded him suspiciously before giving in and wrapping her arm around his bare waist. In other circumstances she might have savored the feel of the warm, solid muscles under her hand.

Taylor immediately draped his own arm across her shoulders. "Much better."

They stumbled out of the kitchen and into the hall like contestants in a three-legged race. Caesar leaped around them as though they were all playing a game.

"Caesar,down, Taylor commanded.

He took another step, limped, and tripped over her foot, sending them both into the wall. Jill hit it hard, banging her head, before Taylor fell against her and knocked the breath from her lungs.

Her back to the wall, she stood gasping for air. Taylor pinned her to the spot with a forearm braced on the wall over her head.

"You okay? he asked.

She nodded.

"Jill? Concern sharpened his voice.

He couldn't see her. "Yes, she managed to breathe.

He felt her head with his free hand, his fingers searching through her hair, as though checking the truth of her statement for himself. He found the lump forming above her temple and paused.

"God, I'm sorry."

The stars she had first seen were fading, replaced by an awareness of Taylor's half-naked body pressed to her own. Its effect was every bit as disorienting.

"It's ... it's not that bad. Really."

He cupped her cheek. "Good, he murmured.

He slid his hand down to her neck, his thumb spanning her throat, and the breath she had just taken caught there.

She went still and heard her heartbeat in the sudden charged silence. Taylor's scent, his own clean masculinity mixed with the cologne she had tested in the bathroom, surrounded her. She couldn't tell if the heat she felt was his or her own.

He stroked his knuckles along the deep vee neckline of her satin robe and she lost her breath for the second time. A wave of dizziness assailed her. Due to the bump on her head or Taylor? She suspected the latter.

"Liar, liar, pants on fire. His voice was a sultry whisper.

"Wh-what?"

"No flannel nightgown. Shame, shame. Maybe I should spank you. He breathed a laugh and stroked his thumb over her lips. He kept it beside her mouth as though marking the place and leaned closer.

Jill knew the kiss was coming, knew she should push Taylor away, but at the moment couldn't think why. She waited an eternity, praying he wasn't going to kiss her after all, hoping he would. Her lips parted, but she couldn't have said whether in denial or invitation.

He touched his mouth to hers testingly, then brushed across it, the soft slide of his lips over hers only making her want more.

At her small hungry sound, he settled his mouth firmly on hers and teased her lips open wider with his tongue.

She needed no further urging. Her knees went so weak she thought that if the wall hadn't been at her back she might have folded.

Taylor changed the angle of the kiss and slid his tongue deeper into her mouth. His flavor was as dark and rich as sin, as inebriating as the scotch she could taste on him faintly.

Off balance, as though she had been the one drinking, she grasped his waist for stability and felt again the hard muscle under taut skin.

Taylor nipped at her bottom lip and the small pain sent pleasure arrowing to her core. He laved the tiny wound with his tongue and she moaned.

He continued his gentle assault and Jill could do nothing but respond. The thought of protesting crossed her mind only briefly, wiped out when he stroked a hand over her breast and cupped it through the fabric of her robe and thin pajama top. Her nipple immediately tightened and Taylor lightened his pressure, rubbing his palm slowly over the sensitive peak.

She whimpered and Taylor gave a masculine growl of approval.

"Feels good, doesn't it, baby? His words were breathed in her ear, the feel of them shivering through her. His hand stilled, hovered over her breast so close she could feel its heat.

"Want more? he asked knowingly.

Oh, please, yes.Had she spoken the words aloud or only thought them?

Taylor slipped his hand inside her robe and pajama top to her bare skin. The scrape of his callused palm over the nipple he had sensitized had her digging her fingernails into his flesh.

Why did this all seem so familiar - her back to the wall and Taylor staging a very thorough attack on all her senses? She felt as though the two of them had been here before, done this before. Sensual deja vu.

She remembered. Jake Milligan. Jake and Ursula. How had the scene ended? She wished now that she'd taken the time to finish reading it.

Taylor shoved the fabric out of the way, scooped her breast in his hand, and bent his lips to it.

He circled the nipple once with his tongue and drew it into his mouth. Jill dug her fingers into his thick hair, closed her eyes, and dropped her head back against the wall, lost to everything but the desperate need building inside.

Chapter Seven

Taylor closed his eyes and lost himself in the sounds coming from Jill's throat. If he kept his eyes closed he could almost forget the dark that was always there when he opened them.

He blocked out the thought before it could spoil the alcohol-induced amnesia he was fighting to maintain and focused on Jill's perfect breasts.

He hadn't intended to wake her up. He'd planned to get quietly soused and revel in his self-pity. Plan B, however, was shaping up to be a vast improvement over the original.

He took Jill's nipple between his teeth and gnawed gently, her moans exciting something primitive and primeval in his brain.

He moved up and took her mouth in a kiss, swallowing the sounds she made. She held on tighter and pressed herself up against him nestling his erection in the warmth between her thighs.

He slid a hand down to investigate what she was wearing. Soft, short boxer-style bottoms. All he had to do was shove them down, open his pajamas, and she was his.

Upstairs. They had to get upstairs where his condoms were. He broke off the kiss regretfully and dragged his mouth to her ear.

"Jill, baby, I don't have... her tender earlobe distracted him and he drew it into his mouth and sucked, "any protection down here. Come up to my room."

For a moment the only response was Jill's quick, uneven breathing. Then she went still and he could feel her cool by degrees.

She lifted a hand to his chest and pushed. "Taylor."

He frowned. That wasn't the way she was supposed to react.

She pushed harder and he straightened away from her, bracing his hand on the wall beside her head.

"Taylor, no. This is no good. Her words carried a real lack of conviction. There was hope yet.

"Seemed damn good to me, he drawled.

"I mean I can't work for you and sleep with you at the same time."

"Sure you can. I'm an equal opportunity employer."

"No, I - just no."

Hell. He dropped his chin to his chest in defeat as the promise of the night evaporated. "I don't suppose begging would change your mind?"

He heard her smother a laugh. "Sorry, no."

He took a deep, steadying breath in an attempt to rein in his hormones and clear his head. "Maybe in the morning I'll agree with you. Right now I think you're making a big mistake. We were hot together. It would really have been something."

The catch in her breath pleased him. "After what just happened, I'd sound a little foolish trying to argue with that."

"Not too late to change your mind."

She was quiet for too long. "I'm sorry, Taylor. But ... no."

The note of guilt in her voice bothered him. Great. He was blind, horny, and a bastard. Life just got better and better.

"Jill ... Ah, hell. I'd like to blame my behavior on the scotch, but that's a cop out. Without it, I might not have come on to you, but I'd have wanted to, so it amounts to the same thing."

"It's all right. Really. Come on. I'll help you to bed."

His laugh was forced. "Trust me. That's not a good idea. I can find my way to bed. I found my way down here."

He pushed away from the wall, away from the warmth emanating from Jill's body. "You go on up. I'm going to stay down here for a while longer."

"Taylor - "

He was suddenly weary of the whole conversation, the whole damn day for that matter. "Good night, Jill."

* * * *

Taylor dug his paddle deep into the green, sun-dappled water and the canoe glided forward. The sibilant hush of its passage was lost amid the birdcalls and rustlings of the verdant jungle around him.

The humid air, so heavy it was almost mist, had sweat trickling down his temples and his shirt sticking to his back. Brilliant yellow and purple orchids that hung in long stems from the trees scented every breath he took.

He looked closer at the orchids and noted how female they appeared. He reached to touch one and a gunshot cracked across the water.

Taylor's heart lurched and his eyes flew open. Dark. Quick panic squeezed his chest. Only a moment earlier he'd had to squint against the sunlight bouncing off the river.

Awareness returned and he realized he'd been dreaming. God, it had all been so vivid. He scraped a shaking hand over his damp face and willed his heart rate to return to normal. The scent of orchids still seemed to fill his nostrils.

After wrestling his way out of the sheets that had become tangled around him, he sat up and immediately regretted the action. Groaning he dropped his aching head into his hands. Just how much had he had to drink last night?

Too much, obviously. His mouth tasted as dry and sour as an old sock. Taylor tried to remember the last time he'd had that much to drink, but gave up the effort. His soggy brain wasn't ready for that much activity.

He came to his feet carefully and felt his way into the bathroom. At the sink he cupped his hands under the faucet and drank deeply, then straightened, shed his pajama bottoms, and stepped into the shower.

Forty-five minutes later he was dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt that had a one-in-three chance of being chamois-colored. Feeling only marginally better, he paused at the kitchen door before entering. He didn't know how he knew, but he was sure Jill was in the room.

"Taylor?"

"You were expecting someone else? He made his way to the table and sat, gritting his teeth against the throbbing the action set up in his head. "I smell coffee. If there's any left, would you, please God, pour me a cup."

"There's plenty. I figured you might want some when you finally surfaced."

"Very astute of you."

He heard her moving around and a minute later she set his coffee on the table. A faint whiff of her cologne drifted around him and for a brief instant he was back in the jungle. He wrapped his hands carefully around the mug and took a cautious sip. "Ahhh, thank you. I may live after all."

Given the less-than-stellar meal of the previous evening, the delicious flavor of his custom grind was an unexpected blessing. "This is good."

"You don't have to sound quite so surprised. The smile in her voice told him he hadn't offended her. "I take my coffee very seriously. I was glad to find your brew in the cupboard. Food's just food, but coffee - now we're talking important."

"A place here in town grinds it for me. Taylor took a larger sip hoping the caffeine would kick in soon.

"How do you feel? Jill asked, as though reading his mind, or more likely, the greenish tinge he probably sported.

"No worse than I deserve. He set the mug down and turned toward her voice. "Do I owe you an apology?"

A wary silence greeted him. "Don't you remember last night?"

No matter how drunk he might have been, no way would he have forgotten the feel of her body against his, the taste of her hot mouth, or the sweet hungry sounds she'd made.

"Yeah, I do, he answered. "That's why I'm asking."

Jill's silence frustrated him. If he'd been able to read her expression, he might have known better how to play out the scene. He waited for her to give him a clue.

"Why don't we just call it even, she finally said, "and plan to avoid a repeat. I think it's smarter if we keep our relationship strictly business. Things could get awkward otherwise."

Avoid a repeat? Taylor was already wondering how long it would take him to have her mouth under his again, her body pressed to him beseechingly. Jill might think she wanted strictly business, but he'd tasted the fire in her. He didn't think he'd have to wait long to taste it again.

Taylor took a drink of coffee and considered before he replied. "You might be right. There's a better chance you're wrong. But either way, aren't you curious?"

* * * *

So curious she was about dying from it. The heat between them had been instantaneous and her response to it almost overwhelming. She could hardly imagine how shattering actually making love with Taylor would be.

That didn't stop her traitorous mind from trying. One erotic image after another flashed across her mental screen, each more arousing than the one before it.

Unable to sleep after the encounter with Taylor, she'd stayed up reading the rest of the scene between Jake and Ursula. Big mistake. She could think of little else that morning.

But she'd agreed to work as Taylor's assistant, not his good-time girl. She couldn't jump into bed with him just because she was curious. She needed a relationship, a mutual caring. Anything else and she was afraid she'd feel like she was being paid to sleep with him.

"Taylor, don't do this. Please."

"Do what? he asked innocently.

"Make it hard to say no."

His head lifted and his expression brightened. "Is it hard? That sounds promising."

"I don't mean for it to."

"Probably not, but I think I'll reserve judgment. I can be patient when it's called for."

"In the meantime, she said determinedly, "would you like some breakfast? Even I can manage a bowl of corn flakes. You seemed likely to sleep for a while longer, so after I got up, I made a quick run to the local grocery for a few basics like milk."

"Okay, you can have your change of subject. Given the attraction between us, we'll be talking about this again. And soon.

"In the meantime, corn flakes sound fine. My stomach probably couldn't handle much more yet anyway. And how about a refill? He indicated his now empty mug. "Will you sit down and join me?"

"Let me get your corn flakes first. Do you like sugar on them?"

"One teaspoon, thanks."

She quickly dumped the cereal into a bowl, sprinkled it with sugar and poured milk over it.

"What were you doing when I came in? he asked.

"Working on my dissertation. I'll move my stuff so you can eat. My materials tend to take over a surface. Even with all this room I still managed to shove a book off the table earlier. It made a pretty loud noise. I hope it didn't wake you up."

"So that was my gunshot. At least I know I'm not imagining things."

"Gunshot?"

"Just a dream. It's okay. What time is it, anyway?"

"Eleven o'clock. She set his cornflakes in front of him and touched the spoon to his hand.

"Where's Caesar? he asked as he spooned up the cereal. "He's usually hovering at my heels waiting to be fed."

Did she detect a slight accusation in his tone? "Outside. I fed him already."

She was rather proud of herself for that. Caesar had indeed hovered at her heels from the moment she'd come downstairs. She hadn't been able to make a move without having to go around him first, each time expecting him to show the fangs she was sure he had. She'd thought he was trying to guard the kitchen until she'd finally taken a can of dog food from the pantry.

Caesar had given a bark, scaring her silly, until she'd realized what he wanted. She felt stupid for not figuring it out sooner. After scooping half the can into his dish, she'd been able to eat her own breakfast in peace.

Taylor must have heard the satisfaction in her voice because he smiled. "Are you due a medal for bravery?"

An answering smile tickled the corners of her own mouth. "You wouldn't be making fun of me, would you?"

"Only a little. Especially in light of the fact I need you to be really courageous now. Caesar's due for a walk."

"I don't suppose he could just run around in the yard? she asked without much hope.

"He gets as antsy as I do confined for long. And he needs the exercise of a good run. There isn't room in the yard for that. We'll take him to dog beach where we can let him off the leash."

"Dog beach? Already she didn't like the sound of that.

"Yeah, it's the only place in town where dogs are allowed to run free. Everyone takes their dog there."

It was worse than she'd expected. A whole beach full of dogs - out of control and unrestrained. "Uh, Taylor, about that medal..."

"Forget it. You're not going AWOL on me now. It won't be as bad as you think. I'll go with you. I need the walk even more than Caesar does. Maybe the sea air will help clear my head. Can you be ready in fifteen minutes?"

Jill cleaned up the few dirty dishes, grabbed a sweater against the chill in the air, and met Taylor downstairs where he was waiting with an obviously excited Caesar already on a leash. He wore the sunglasses she'd first seen him in.

"I still don't see a cane, she said.

Displeasure flashed briefly across Taylor's face. "I can't hold on to Caesar, a cane, and you. I'd much rather hold on to you. His roguish smile appeared forced. Jill began to suspect he was avoiding what the cane would represent, but it wasn't her place to confront him with that.

At the front gate they paused and Taylor handed her his keys to unlock it. Once outside, after he had insured she'd locked it again, she tried to return the keys.

"Keep them. Later today go have extras for the gate and door cut for yourself."

"Good idea. She slipped the ring into the pocket of her jeans and looped her arm around Taylor's.

She needn't have worried about Caesar. He had no interest in her. There were too many other fascinating trees and bushes to investigate and she and Taylor paused often to indulge him.

At the sight of an older man walking toward them, a cocker spaniel beside him, Jill tensed. Would Caesar behave? What would she do if he didn't?

"What is it? Taylor asked, alarm in his voice.

Before she could answer, the other man spoke. "Hey, Taylor, good to see you back, he greeted heartily as he and his dog drew even with them. "Jeanette mentioned you'd been injured on your last trip, but she didn't elaborate. Hope everything's okay now?"

Caesar and the other dog were sniffing noses politely. Jill's fear that Caesar would turn into Cujo allayed, she turned her attention to the more interesting matter of the way Taylor was handling his acquaintance.

"I'm doing fine, Howard. Just banged my head. It's affected my vision a little, but the medics say I'll be back to normal in no time."

Jill's eyes widened at Taylor's outrageous understatement.

"That's good to hear, Howard replied. The man's remark was addressed to the top of Taylor's head. Taylor had hunkered down to pet the spaniel crowding him for attention.

"Hey, Bouncer, how you doing, boy? Taylor rubbed the dog's head vigorously, neatly avoiding the difficulty of making eye contact with the other man.

"Howard, you haven't met my new assistant, Jill Fiori, he said from his position at her knees. "Jill, this is Howard Adams. He lives a couple streets over from me. Howard's retired navy. He comes in handy when I have research questions."

Jill smiled and stepped forward to shake hands with the man. "Hi, Howard. She could have guessed he'd been in the military. His gray hair was cut regulation short and a command presence sat easily on his squared shoulders.

"You're a lucky man, Taylor. She's better looking than any assistant I ever had. Howard's good-natured smile robbed the remark of potential offense.

"Yeah, I get all the breaks. Taylor straightened and turned toward Jill. "We'd better be moving along. We have a lot of work to do this afternoon."

She didn't need the squeeze of his hand on her arm. She'd already caught his unsubtle hint to help him put an end to the encounter.

"It was nice to have met you, Howard, she said. "I'll probably be running into you again, since I'm going to be working closely with Taylor. Taylor was already tugging on her and she had little choice but to start walking.

"Good seeing you again, Howard, Taylor threw over his shoulder.

A last glance back showed her Howard staring after them, a puzzled frown furrowing his brow. Little wonder.

She gave Taylor her best what-the-hell-do-you-think-you're-doing look, but the effect was lost on him. "'Affected my vision a little?

His face was set in implacable lines. "My condition is no one else's business."

"Howard didn't strike me as a busybody. He sounded more like a concerned friend."

"All the more reason. I don't need every person who thinks he has a passing acquaintance with me calling to express sympathy, making suggestions, or, God help me, offering to pray for me."

She couldn't prevent the laugh that bubbled out. "Obviously that would be redundant."

"What?"

"You said God help you and then - "

Taylor's frown grew more pronounced.

"Never mind. Taylor, you don't really think you're going to be able to keep it a secret that you're - "

"The current situation is temporary. There's no point in upsetting everyone - assuming they would be - over something that would be irrelevant by the time the word got around."

Assuming they would be? Did he really have so few friends, so few people that would care? "Am I supposed to lie if someone asks about you?"

"You're supposed to guard my privacy. Whatever it takes. And that was clearly all that needed to be said as far as Taylor was concerned.

They had reached Ocean Boulevard and across the street beyond the broad, blond beach stretched the Pacific, the water sparkling in the morning sun.

"Taylor, we're at Ocean. Do we cross here?"

"Yeah. He grasped her arm.

Jill looked both ways and made sure it was safe. "The curb is right in front of you. Step down. On the other side she alerted him to the step up. "Don't you think people are going to figure out there's a problem when they see you hanging on to me constantly?"

"I'm possessive of what's mine. They'll just nod to themselves that my behavior is more of the same."

"And think that I'm your what? Do you usually handcuff your assistants when you're out in public?"

"It's none of their business. What they think doesn't matter."

"It matters to me."

"Then handle it however you see fit, but leave my medical history out of it."

If Taylor hadn't been hanging on to her arm, she'd have thrown up her hands in exasperation.

On the beach ahead of them three different dogs cavorted. Two of them splashed in the surf and the third, a short shaggy mutt, carried a piece of driftwood in its jaws as he trotted toward a smiling young man.

Caesar strained at the leash Taylor held.

"I think we're there, Jill said.

Taylor leaned down and unclipped the leash from Caesar's collar, but the dog didn't dash off as she'd expected. "Go ahead, boy, Taylor said. Released, Caesar sprang forward and ran toward the surf line where the two dogs splashed.

Jill was afraid a fight would ensue. Wasn't that what dogs did? However, the other dogs seemed to be acquaintances of Caesar's. After barked greetings the three animals chased each other in and out of the surf like children. None of the dogs on the beach were paying her the slightest attention. She relaxed a little and took a deep breath.

The day was beautiful. The sun had begun to warm the chill from the salt-scented air and shards of light reflected off the incoming waves. Down the beach the Grande Dame Hotel Del Coronado held court looking like something out of a fairy tale.

"Caesar's playing in the waves, right?"

Jill directed her attention back to the dogs and smiled. "Yes. He's found some friends."

A quick frown drew his brows together. "What are they?"

"Dogs."

He made a sound of impatience. "I meant what kind of dogs are they?"

"Oh. She considered the animals romping with Caesar. "A big black one and a shorter brown and black terrier-looking thing."

"The black one a lab?"

She studied the dog in question. "I'm not really an authority, but it could be."

"Damn. He turned toward her, reached his hand up and cupped her cheek.

Startled, she drew back. "What are you - "

"Kiss me."

"Wha - Before she could complete her question Taylor's mouth came down on hers.

Chapter Eight

After a first surprised moment the warmth of his lips and the already-familiar taste of him registered. Jill's heartbeat spiked and her muscles began to soften. Taylor's tongue slicked over her bottom lip and she sighed and grasped his wrist for support. Her head felt too heavy to hold up and she tipped it to give him a better angle.

He took advantage of her offering and deepened the kiss. A quick shaft of desire pierced straight to her core and the kiss shifted from easy to urgent. Taylor drew her closer and she opened her lips wider, craving the taste of him, wanting, needing more than Taylor was giving her.

His tongue went deeper into her mouth and she moaned in pleasure. He touched all the sweet, sensitive spots and Jill began to wish they were anywhere but a public beach. Then something cold and wet pressed against her side. She gasped and flinched away from Taylor.

Caesar stood there dripping from the surf and wagging his tail as though waiting for them notice him. Taylor's unexpected kiss had left her dazed. Jill stared at the dog trying to get her bearings.

Caesar barked and nudged against Taylor.

"Caesar, stop. You're all wet, Taylor ordered, his voice hoarse.

The dog shook himself spraying both of them with water. Jill would have sworn he was grinning.

"Damn it, Caesar, stop. Taylor paused and turned his head toward her. "Although the cold shower's not a bad idea. You're very good at that, you know."

Was she supposed to thank him? "What was that about, anyway? I thought we had agreed to keep our relationship strictly business. Then less than two hours later, you nail me on the beach?"

Now that she'd begun to recover she was disappointed. She'd have sworn Taylor was a man of his word.

"That black lab is Mavis Harbough's dog. If Shadow's here then so is Mavis."

Jill looked beyond him down the beach toward the older woman with tight gray curls she had seen earlier. She tossed a stick for the black dog and cast Jill and Taylor a curious glance. "Short, curly gray hair, a little thick in the waistline?"

"Yeah, that's Mavis, Taylor said in resignation.

"So?"

"Mavis seems harmless, but she's as nosy as they come and the worst gossip in town. Jeanette was in a mild fender-bender last year. By the time Mavis circulated the story it was a three-car pile-up. I don't want to have to deal with her right now. As long as she thinks we're having a private moment she'll leave us alone."

He reached out a searching hand and found her arm. Tugging her closer he said, "Bitch at me all you want, but do it with an intimate look on your face. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and held her close against him.

"This is ridiculous, Taylor. Wouldn't it be easier to just - "

"Why do I get the feeling you're not gazing at me lovingly?"

"I'm not that good an actress."

Taylor took a deep breath and his shoulders sagged. "This isn't going to work, is it? Let's go home. He lifted his head as though listening. "Where's Caesar?"

The dog had run back down to the water and was chasing a sea gull he had no hope of catching. Taylor called him and after the dog raced back up from the water, clipped the leash on again.

They escaped from the beach before the nosy Mavis could accost them and headed back toward the house. The walk home was a quiet one with Taylor maintaining a sullen silence. Jill was too annoyed with him to bother trying to break it. She prayed they wouldn't run into any more of Taylor's acquaintances on the way. They needed to rehearse first.

Halfway home Caesar stopped to investigate the base of a eucalyptus. Taylor paused while the dog satisfied his curiosity and marked the tree.

"I'm going to go check out some roses growing just ahead, Jill said.

Taylor nodded and she walked to the corner a few feet beyond them. She wanted a closer look at the lush pink roses blooming in a garden adjacent to the sidewalk.

She bent down to sniff and a teenaged boy on Rollerblades swung around the corner going fast. Jill dodged hastily to get out of his way.

Taylor, apparently impatient with Caesar's dawdling, pulled him away from the tree and stepped directly into the teenager's path.

"Taylor!"

The boy tried to swerve, but it was too late. He collided hard with Taylor and they both went down on the concrete walk.

* * * *

Shocked and not sure what had happened, Taylor's chest heaved as he tried to regain the breath that had been so abruptly knocked out of him. Over the sound of Caesar's barks, he heard Jill's hurried footsteps.

"My God, are you all right? she asked.

"Yeah, I'm okay, he wheezed.

"I can see that. I wasn't talking to you."

His brows shot up at her dismissive tone, but he was distracted by the need to control Caesar. The animal was setting up a god-awful din and straining hard enough at the leash Taylor still held to nearly pull his arm from its socket.

"Do you need help? Can you stand up? Jill's voice, clearly not meant for him, held considerably more solicitousness than it had a moment earlier. Taylor assumed she was speaking to whoever had run into him.

His own condition was forgotten in quick concern for the other person. Were they hurt badly?

The dog's barks were adding to Taylor's confusion. "Quiet, Caesar!"

"I don't need any help, a surly young male voice said.

Still shaken, Taylor was relieved the boy sounded little more than mad.

"Next time, mister the kid snarled, "watch where you're going. Are you effing blind, or what?"

Taylor went rigid as the sound of Rollerblades wheeling away down the sidewalk faded. The yawning silence the kid left behind begged to be filled, but he had no words. Or none he was prepared to speak.

"I guess that would be a yes, he finally said, forcing a humor into his voice he didn't feel.

"Taylor - "

"Don't. Taylor got to his feet and knew by the twinges in his back that he was going to feel the effects of the fall come morning. "There's not a damn thing you can say that will make me feel better."

"What makes you think I was about to try making you feel better? I was going to point out that if you'd been carrying a cane, the boy would have seen it and given you a wide berth. The accident was entirely your fault, you know."

"Jeez, you're right about one thing. You certainly weren't trying to make me feel better. Are you always this tough? You might consider making allowances for a poor old blind guy."

"Oh, now you're willing to concede blindness. This isn't just about you. If you're going to be out in public, other people who need to make accommodations have a right to know."

"You think I should wear a bell like a leper, warning others to stay out of my path? He struggled to keep the discouragement from his voice.

"Now you're being ridiculous. You're making way too big a deal out of the cane thing."

Miffed that she failed to regard the situation with the gravity he felt it deserved, he answered somewhat churlishly. "A cane is for the handicapped. I don't believe it's healthy for me to think of myself that way."

"Neither do I. I'm just suggesting, she said carefully, speaking as though he were mentally challenged as well as blind, "that for your own safety and convenience it might be a good idea to let others know you can't see them approaching."

Hating to admit she was right, but admiring her for standing up to him he finally nodded. "We'll see."

Hearing his words he paused. He'd never been aware before how much of his vocabulary revolved around his sense of sight. And not just his vocabulary. His first response to anything was what did it look like. He hadn't just lost his vision. He'd lost a larger part of himself. He'd lost the ability to register and react to his world. How could he write about a world he couldn't record?

Jill slipped her arm through his and turned him. "Let's go home, she said quietly. "I'll fix lunch. If you'll direct me, I might even be able to prepare something edible."

He could hear the smile in her voice, the effort to cheer him, and decided he'd been wrong. She was willing to cut the blind guy some slack.

On the walk back to his house he was further cheered by the memory of Jill's immediate response to his kiss. He may have been the one to breach their all-business agreement, but it had taken her only moments to fall into line with him.

When he'd felt her lips soften and part, he'd forgotten his original intent had been to discourage Mavis from approaching them. He couldn't help wondering how far he'd have been able to push Jill if not for Caesar's interruption. The fact that she'd obviously forgotten they were on a public beach went a long way toward improving his disposition.

Once home with the gate locked behind them, he let Caesar off the leash to roam the yard. He was glad Jill was beginning to relax around the dog - given that she might be walking him alone in the future. Taylor wasn't at all sure he was prepared to "come out, to brandish the damn white cane proclaiming to one and all that he was defective.

They went into the kitchen and Taylor left Jill there and proceeded on to his office. He sat at the chair in front of his desk and contemplated the problem of writing. He was going to have to get back to work. Even after all the thought he had given to his very limited options he was unsure about how successful his efforts would be.

"Taylor, Jill said from the doorway, "what would you like for lunch? And before you make any extravagant requests, remember who you're talking to."

He was relieved to be able to put off making a decision about his writing and turn to the problem of keeping body and soul together. After coaching Jill through ham sandwiches made with the canned ham in the refrigerator, he suggested carrying their meal out to the patio to eat.

Taylor settled with her at the outdoor table in the sunshine, grateful again to be out of the rehab center and back in his own home. He didn't have to worry about what was around him or who might be watching him. His sandwich lacked the fresh lettuce and tomato he preferred, but wasn't awful. Even Jill might have trouble screwing up bread, ham, cheese, and mayo.

"This bread is really delicious, she commented.

"Thank you. It's from a batch I made just before my trip to Belize."

"You made this?"

"Yeah."

"Wow. I'm impressed."

"Why?"

"I don't know too many men who can bake bread. Come to think of it, I don't know too many women who can either."

"It's not that hard."

"Neither is rocket science if you happen to be a nuclear physicist. I'm not."

"Honest. It's not that complicated."

"I'll take your word for it."

Taylor heard her voice, but his mind wasn't on what she was saying. He wondered what the soft, warm lips he'd sampled earlier looked like as she formed the words. Was her face animated? Did her eyes carry the smile he heard? And how did she present herself? Clothed in something floaty and feminine, or was she more the sporty type?

"What are you wearing?"

After the briefest hesitation she replied, "A black lace negligée. What else would I wear to walk the dog?"

Taylor's mouth tugged up. "Much as I like the image that conjures up, the question was serious. I'm trying to picture you sitting there, see you in my mind's eye, but there's too much missing. That's the way I write. I see something in my imagination and then just describe to the reader what I'm seeing. I'm having trouble picturing you, because I've got no idea about your clothing. Help me out."

She drew a breath and blew it out. "I'm wearing a yellow cardigan sweater over a matching shell."

He remembered the feel of the knit, soft and fine beneath his fingers. The breeze had been cool. Had her nipples shown erect against the fabric? "Bright or pastel?"

"Kind of in the middle."

"Okay, go on."

"And jeans. That's it."

Not by a long shot. She hadn't told him whether they were loose and baggy - God he hated those - or snug and sexy, showing off the shape of her butt. Were they low-slung, exposing her midriff and navel? He was distracted for a moment wondering if she had an innie or an outie. He imagined discovering which with his tongue and nearly groaned.

"How's your mental image coming? Jill asked brightly.

"Just dandy. And probably not what she thought. "The yellow sweater must look interesting with your purple hair."

"Yes, it sets it off nicely."

He was going to have to call Stan and find out just what color her hair actually was. Trying to picture it spread over a pillow was proving difficult without that piece of information, but he'd be damned if he'd ask her again.

"Now that we've got lunch out of the way, Taylor said, "I need to get to work. This is where you earn the exorbitant fee I'm paying you."

"What do you call feeding you and walking your dog?"

He smiled at the faint outrage in her voice. He'd known that would get a rise out of her. "Perks? He pushed back from the table and stood.

"First I have to clean up the dishes, Jill said. "Another one of those great employee benefits."

"How long will it take? He picked up his plate and started toward the house.

She took the plate from his hand. "Without your help, five minutes. With it ... depending on how much damage you do, could be an hour or more."

"Just remember, I tried."

"Duly noted. I'll be sure and put a gold star next to your name."

Taylor followed her carefully into the house. He heard the water running and the sounds of her putting their few dishes into the dishwasher and then she announced she was finished. "What are you working on? she asked.

"My latest novel. The deadline is looming and now I have to make up for lost time."

"Surely, given the circumstances, your editor would grant you an extension."

"Probably, but I've never missed a deadline yet and I'm not going to start now. I told him the book would be finished on schedule. Period."

"Then I guess we'd better get started. Where are we working?"

"In my office."

Chapter Nine

Jill followed Taylor, noting he found his way easily trailing his fingers along the wall. The fact that he managed so well inside without his cane probably gave him a false sense of his ability to do the same outside.

"You sit at the computer and I'll take the other chair, Taylor said. He walked cautiously to a black leather armchair using the same technique that had gotten him to the office without stumbling. He dropped into it and swung his feet up on the matching ottoman.

Jill studied the room curiously. Taylor's desk spanned one end of the room with head-high bookshelves taking up most of the flanking walls. The chair he occupied sat in a corner just in front of the shelves. Framed copies of Taylor's book covers filled the space between the top of the shelves and the ceiling.

Remembering the hours of escape they represented, she smiled. So this was the birthplace of her favorite fantasies.

Light spilled through French doors that opened onto the patio making the room bright in spite of all the wood and dark leather. The doors also afforded a view of the spa located at the far end of the patio.

Jill stared through the doors at the spa and thought of Dierdre. Had Taylor been sitting in the very chair he currently occupied when he had dreamed up the scene with Jake and Dierdre in a spa? It hadn't taken Jake long to peel her out of her already tiny bathing suit. The ensuing scene had been steamier than the hot water.

Or maybe Taylor had been soaking in his own spa. She envied him the luxury. If she'd packed a bathing suit, she might even have taken a dip herself.

She had shared a hot tub with Brian once, but it had been at a friend's house and there were several other people present. No peeling out of her suit and no steamy sex scene except in her imagination. She suppressed a sigh and took in the rest of the office.

She would like to have perused the shelves, discovered what Taylor kept close for essential reference, what he read for pleasure, but she sensed he was eager to get to work.

"Was this part of the original house?"

"No, I added it after I moved in. I wanted to be close to the kitchen so I could cook when I needed to take a break."

"You cook to relax? What a concept.

"Yeah. Takes all kinds, huh?"

Jill sat down at his desk, feeling very much like an intruder. The surface was neatly organized with several stacked file folders to the left, a bronze lamp immediately in front of her, and a beer mug holding an assortment of pens and pencils. A dark blue Matchbox-style toy van sat incongruously beside the mug. The letters painted on its side proclaimed it a S.W.A.T. team vehicle.

Pinned to a bulletin board on the wall above the desk were photos and magazine clippings of half a dozen people, travel brochures for Belize and Florida, and odd bits of paper and cartoons she would definitely study later.

She turned on the computer, and waited for it to boot up.

"Go into Word, Taylor directed her.

"All right. What's the name of the file? Or do you want to start a new one?"

"No. The file is Tropical Itch Six."

"Tropical Itch? That sounds like one of those drinks that comes with a pineapple spear and paper umbrella."

Taylor waved away her comment. "That's just a working title. I'll come up with something appropriately dramatic later."

Jill opened the file Taylor had indicated and scrolled to the end. "Okay, I'm ready."

"Read the last couple of paragraphs to me, would you."

"'Jake sipped his drink and watched Bethany smile seductively at their host. Not even Hotchner's expensive tailored suit could disguise the corpulence that was a result of his excessive indulgence in the good life. His third cognac was making his fleshy cheeks flushed and accentuating the broken veins in his bulbous nose.

"'Bethany laid her hand on Hotchner's arm and left it there, tipping her head and sending him a come-hither look from the corner of her eyes. She might be an amateur at the game of cat and mouse, but she was proving to be a quick study.

"Hmm. Taylor closed his eyes and sat quietly, his elbows propped on the arms of the chair and his fingertips together.

"Who's Bethany?"

He jerked his head up and opened his eyes, a frown drawing his brows together. "What?"

"Who's Bethany?"

His frown grew more pronounced. "The woman who's hired Jake to find her father. He disappeared on a business trip to Belize. Turns out, her father was involved with some very shady characters who in turn were involved with some heavy-duty off-shore money laundering. Jake and Bethany are in Belize masquerading as a wealthy couple who are interested in becoming more wealthy and are not especially squeamish about the particulars."

"And who's Hotchner?"

"The man Jake believes is directing the operations, Taylor said impatiently. "Now. Please don't interrupt my train of thought. This is only going to work if you just type what I say."

Jill restrained the urge to cringe. "Sorry."

"Read the last paragraph again."

She did so and then remained silent, not wanting to irritate Taylor further.

"Okay. It was almost time for he and Bethany to stage their argument over her attention to Hotchner. Jake would yank Bethany back to his side, she would object, throw a tantrum, and refuse to leave with him.

"Jake would storm out, ostensibly to return to their hotel. In actual fact he would slip back onto the grounds after disarming the guards."

Taylor paused. "I don't hear any typing."

"Oh, was I supposed to type that? I'm sorry, I thought you were explaining the story to me. Let me see if I can remember it all."

She typed rapidly, as embarrassed as Taylor must be annoyed. After typing the last line she tipped her head in thought. "How's Jake going to do that?"

"Do what?"

"Disarm the guards. I mean, there's only one of him and - "

"Would you please just take dictation. Nothing else. Just type."

Gritting her teeth to keep from muttering, she turned her head and shot him a glare. It was one of her best and a damn shame he couldn't see it. She waited, hands on the keys. "Well...? she said when nothing else was forthcoming.

"I'm thinking. After several seconds of silence, he began again. "Jake strode purposefully across the room and grabbed Bethany's upper arm. What the hell do you think you're doing?'

"Bethany yanked her arm free. Don't talk to me that way. She directed a pointed glance at his glass. You've had too much to drink. Her lips formed a moue of disgust and - "

"How do you spell moue?

Taylor closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. "M ... O ... U ... E."

Jill typed it, but it looked funny to her. "Are you sure that's the word you want to use?"

"Yes. His answer was uttered from behind his teeth.

Uh-oh. Vowing to type whatever came out of Taylor's mouth without further question, Jill turned back to the keyboard.

"Read the last sentence to me."

She did and Taylor picked up where he had left off. When Stan had first outlined Taylor's plan, she had been afraid she'd have trouble keeping up with Taylor's dictation, but her worry had been groundless. She was a fast typist and with Taylor's frequent pauses to think, she was able to catch up when she fell behind.

After typing his last phrase she waited while he considered whatever might come next. Her gaze fell on the toy van parked beside the pencil mug. As tidy as Taylor's desk was, he clearly didn't give space to objects casually. She wondered why the toy held such pride of place. Taylor began dictating again and her concentration returned to the keyboard.

They had been at it for almost two hours when Taylor declared a break. "Could you fix us something to drink? All this talking has really dried my throat."

"Certainly."

She stood, glad for the opportunity to stretch. She wondered what Taylor's normal work schedule had been before his accident. Other than clearing his throat a couple of times, he'd shown no signs of flagging. She, on the other hand, had begun to go cross-eyed.

In the kitchen she pondered the problem of what to fix. She could always just take Taylor a glass of water, but that was boring. Besides she wanted something more satisfying than plain water. On inspiration she filled two glasses with ice, poured the cold coffee leftover from breakfast halfway, then topped the glasses up with milk, and sweetened them each with a teaspoon of sugar. She tasted one and pleased with the results, picked up the second glass and carried them both back to the office.

Taylor had opened the French doors and stepped outside to the patio. He stood with his hands on his hips facing into the fresh breeze that brought the scent of sun-warmed grass into the room.

She carried their glasses outside and joined him. He heard her approach and turned toward her.

"Here's your drink."

Taylor raised his hand and she pressed the glass into his palm. He lifted it and sniffed the contents.

"It's café au lait. And I've already tasted it, so I know it's not going to gag you or anything."

He took a cautious sip, seemed to approve, and drank deeper, then lowered the glass and smiled. "Not bad. Not bad at all."

His comment didn't warrant the sense of satisfaction she felt, but she'd already discovered he was a tough critic. "High praise indeed, she said with a smile.

"Actually I'm impressed."

"Careful. If you act like stirring coffee and milk together is a real accomplishment for me, I'm going to take offense."

"I certainly don't want to offend you. He smiled teasingly. "You might try to poison me."

"You mean on purpose."

He laughed and the warm sound had her gazing at him transfixed. Every fantasy she'd ever entertained about him rushed back and she was sure her jaw hung slack in a moment of stupefied desire.

She'd been trying to put the kiss on the beach out of her mind. It hadn't been for real. Taylor had only done it to put off someone he hadn't wanted to deal with. The trouble was it had felt real - his mouth hot on hers, her heart straining to pump blood that had suddenly turned into warm molasses. All it had taken to remind her vividly of the too-real kiss was Taylor's easy, very male laugh.

He lifted his glass to drink and Jill came back to herself, shaking her head to clear it. She gulped her own café au lait, hoping the caffeine would help jar her languorous brain cells back into decorum.

Turning her back on Taylor, she let her gaze drift over the private paradise enclosed by the softly weathered stucco wall. In the shady spot under the jacaranda, ferns and impatiens mounded while an assortment of annuals and late roses bloomed profusely in the sun. Palms formed a lacy screen around the spa.

"Your garden is beautiful."

"It had better be for what my yard people are charging me."

"Whatever it is, you're getting your money's worth."

"I wouldn't know. A bitter edge had replaced the warmth of a moment ago in his voice.

She had done it again - thrown his blindness up in his face. How could she have been so thoughtless? She'd just been searching for a topic that would take her mind off the knee-weakening kiss and had latched on to the first one that presented itself. At the thought she had added to Taylor's distress, a leaden sensation settled in her stomach.

"I'm sorry, she began. "I didn't mean - "

Taylor held up a palm. "I thought we had agreed we weren't going to do this. His mouth slanted in a faint smile inviting her to forgive herself.

Warning sirens should have been going off. The man was gorgeous, sexy, and nice. She was a goner. He was easier to keep at arm's length when he was behaving like a curmudgeon. The idea of keeping their relationship on a business footing was beginning to seem ludicrous. They were only into the second day and all he had to do was smile to have her knees going weak.

She dragged her mind back to the garden searching for peace. Staring at the roses, Jill had a thought. "You know, Taylor, just because you can't see your garden doesn't mean that's the only way to enjoy it."

Chapter Ten

"This is the part where you're going to wax eloquent on the wonderful scents, et cetera, right?"

"So what if I am? It's true. We have five senses - six really, but that's a whole nother discussion. Why limit yourself to only acknowledging and enjoying one? Her voice carried a defensive note and Taylor knew he'd embarrassed her.

Feeling contrite, he decided he had nothing to lose by indulging her. "What do you suggest?"

She was silent for a moment, either in thought or suspicion. "You mean about the garden?"

He considered the way all his senses - the sixth one included - would be stimulated making love with her. "Yeah. That'll do. For starters."

"Well ... we could stroll around and you could smell and feel the different plants, the flowers and leaves."

"You sound doubtful."

"It sounds kind of silly actually, now that I think about it. Just forget it."

"No, no. You've piqued my interest. Let's give it a shot. He felt for the edge of the table, set his drink down, and thrust his elbow out, waiting for her to hook her arm through his.

She put down her own glass and a moment later they were heading into the yard arm-in-arm. Taylor had thought there wasn't one good thing that could be said for his condition, but that wasn't true. He liked hanging onto Jill.

They had taken only three steps when she stopped and said brightly, "Why don't you take your shoes off, Taylor. The lawn looks manicured. Think how nice the grass will feel under your bare feet."

Sure, what the hell. "On one condition."

"What?"

"You have to take yours off, too."

"Why?"

"So that we're kind of having the same experience. I'll feel too self-conscious if I think you're just watching me do this."

"All right. That sounds reasonable. I have to let go of you to untie my tennis shoes. She released him and he stepped out of the loafers he'd shoved his feet into earlier.

The grass did feel good. He wiggled his toes and enjoyed the cool texture against the sole of his foot.

"How's your cut? Jill asked, her voice coming from somewhere in the vicinity of his knees.

"What cut?"

"The one you got last night when you stepped on the broken glass. The scotch bottle, she reminded.

"Oh. That one. He wasn't surprised that he hadn't remembered until just that moment. Very little of the previous evening remained with him but the kiss. And if he let himself dwell on the memory of that, they were going to be feeling the grass with a lot more skin than just the soles of their feet.

"It must be fine. I had forgotten all about it."

"Good. Her voice was back to its normal location at his shoulder, and she looped her arm through his again. "Doesn't that feel great?"

Yeah, but he assumed she wasn't referring to the way her breast was pressed against his arm. "Terrific. Lead on."

He took a few steps and the grass was suddenly cooler by several degrees. Taylor realized they were in the shade of the jacaranda's broad feathery branches. In the spring it would be a mass of lavender blossoms. His mouth tightened. Would he be able to see them?

"Taylor, is everything all right?"

"Just dandy. He extended his hand and felt the rough bark of the tree trunk. "Jacaranda, right?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"Because it's the only tree in the yard big enough to cast this much shade."

"That's pretty good. Let's see what else you can do. Her arm slipped from his and he wondered what she was up to.

A moment later she turned his palm over and dropped something into it. "What is it? she asked.

He gave a grunt of laughter. "That's easy. It's a flower."

"Of course it's a flower. What kind?" she asked archly.

"Ah, a challenge. He lifted the flower to his nose. Not much scent. Entering into the spirit of the game he counted the petals and rubbed them consideringly between his thumb and finger. Five of them and slightly fleshy. The blossom was cool so that meant it had come from a shady area.

He smiled. "An impatiens."

"Well done! Let's try another one."

The second flower she dropped into his hand was warm. Sunny spot. It too had five petals, but they were bigger, broader. He had to struggle to remember the flowers that grew in his own yard. And he had considered himself an astute observer of the world.

He lifted the flower and sniffed. The scent was faint, but distinct. "Pansy."

"Great! And you did it all without seeing anything."

"Jill, stop patronizing me. It wasn't that big a deal."

"If that chip on your shoulder gets any bigger, Taylor, you're going to need help carrying it."

For a brief moment his temper flared, but he quickly quashed it. "I'm paying you to be a general factotum. You can assume that as another of your duties."

"I don't think so. I don't do chip-carrying. She hooked her arm through his again and tugged. "Let's go. You have a large yard and we've just started."

He laughed in defeat and shook his head. Jill insisted on steering him around the yard, picking leaves and insisting he feel the pattern of veins, the shape of the edges. He had to admit he had never realized how varied and subtly rich the scents of leaves could be until that afternoon.

He knew when they approached the glider tucked under an arbor in the corner. The sweet perfume of the climbing roses that blanketed the latticework filled the air.

"Do you know where you are? Jill asked.

"Mm-hm."

"What a perfect spot to curl up with a book. Or just sit. I'll have to come back out here when I have time."

Taylor had been impatient to get back to work, but now the idea of sharing the glider with Jill held more appeal.

"We have time now. Let's sit. He released her and moved forward, his hand extended in front of him.

He barked his shin on the edge of the glider he'd been feeling for and swore.

"If you'd used your cane you probably wouldn't have done that."

He didn't know whether to be irritated or amused at her persistence. "You just don't give up, do you?"

He dropped to the cushioned seat and felt her sit down beside him.

"I was only making an observation, she said. They moved back and forth lazily so she must have given the glider a shove.

"Funny, it sounded like nagging to me. He crossed an ankle over his knee and stretched an arm along the back, getting comfortable.

The ends of Jill's hair brushed his hand and he thought about encircling her shoulders and drawing her closer. He knew she wouldn't be happy about it so he took the thought no farther.

"Can I ask you something? she said.

His brows arched. "Sure, you can ask. I won't necessarily answer, but I don't imagine that's enough to discourage you."

"Don't worry, I wasn't planning on asking anything personal. You've made your feelings in that area crystal clear."

"Seems to me I've made them pretty clear about more than that, but it hasn't discouraged you."

She ignored his comment. "I wanted to ask about your work."

He opened his hand in invitation. "Ask away."

"Where do you get the ideas for your books?"

Taylor laughed. "You took longer than most people."

"What do you mean?"

"That's usually the first question I get asked. Where do you get your ideas? Like there's a store someplace - Ideas-R-Us - and I just go to the Action/Adventure aisle and pull one off the shelf."

"I don't think that at all. Since the same basic plots turn up in books repeatedly, I assumed you writers all got them from a rental center."

He gave a lock of her hair a playful tug. "I might have to hurt you for a remark like that."

"You don't scare me. He could hear the smile in her voice.

"If you were smart, I would. In fact, his voice dropped to a sensual drawl, "maybe I should demonstrate right now why you ought to be scared."

In the moment of quiet that followed, he could almost see her staring at him wide-eyed.

"You know, she said, "you're right. That was an incredibly rude remark on my part. Every one of your ideas is sparklingly original and only a fool would suggest otherwise. Laughter colored her words and Taylor felt her shift her weight and prepare to rise.

He dropped his arm to her shoulders and pinned her to the glider. "I'm sorry, but your apology comes too late. Such blatantly impolite behavior definitely wants disciplining."

The glider was still and he imagined he could feel Jill's waiting in the silence. His hand found her face and he stroked his thumb over her lips. Her breath was warm against his skin and he noticed she offered no resistance. How far could he take her before he got some?

He needed Jill's services as a bona fide assistant too much to risk finding out. If she quit, he'd be in deep trouble.

He dropped his hand and leaned back. "I've decided to postpone your discipline. It'll be more effective if I let you anticipate it. Then some time when you least suspect, when you think I've forgotten and you're safe - bam,I'll lower the boom."

Jill gave a choked laugh. "You know what you are?"

"Commanding, forceful, intimidating?"

"Nuts was the word I had in mind."

"We writers prefer eccentric."

"Not to worry, you're that too. Jill set the glider to swinging back and forth again. "You know, you never did answer my question about where you get your ideas."

"Life. My God, ideas are everywhere."

"Are you saying that you actually encountered the situation that you wrote about in Jungle Fever?"

"Of course not. I don't mean that whole books present themselves neatly tied up like a package. But I watch the news, read the papers, listen to people talk. An article or a comment will spark my interest, get me to thinking. Haven't you ever watched the news and thought what if?

"Sure."

"Well, writers just carry that to a much further end than most people, but the process is the same."

"But what about - She stopped. "Never mind. It's probably not a good idea."

May as well get it out there. It wasn't like they weren't both thinking about it. "You were going to ask about the sex, weren't you?"

Chapter Eleven

Jill looked at Taylor's eyes that appeared to focus on something just behind her and was glad he couldn't see the flush heating her skin. He'd know immediately that discussing the sex in his books was more than just casual conversation on her part. As awkward as she felt, the topic was too important to her personally to lose the opportunity. She forced herself to continue.

"Well, you have to admit that sex is one of the things your books are known for."

"Of course it is. I planned it that way."

"What do you mean?"

"There are a lot of action/adventure books on the market, almost all of them geared to male readers. But market analysis shows women buy more books than men. Women want more than just car chases and explosions; they want relationships in their books. I figured if I wanted real financial success, I should write a book that appealed to men and women both."

"Are you telling me that you think what Jake Milligan has with the female characters in your books are relationships?"

Taylor blinked and frowned. "Are you telling me that you don't?"

"Not even close. Jake doesn't have relationships, he has sex."

"And you disapprove."

"Of course I don't disapprove of sex. Did she? Was there a subconscious distaste she'd been unaware of or hadn't wanted to admit? Perhaps her inhibitions had more to do with prudishness than inexperience. Maybe that was why she was inexperienced. She didn't like to think so.

"No, I don't disapprove of sex, she repeated emphatically.

"Okay, I believe you. Glad to hear it. I hate making love with a woman carrying that kind of baggage."

His dry words distracted her. Did he mean...? She thought of Taylor making love to her in his big bed upstairs and grew a little light-headed.

"Uh, it's just that - She searched her brain for the thread of the conversation. "It's not the sex I object to. It's the way Jake uses women."

"Whoa. Taylor flashed his palm in an order to stop. "Hold it right there. Jake does not use women. He participates in a very pleasurable activity with them. They do it together. Note the key word there. Jake does not pressure women into sleeping with him. They do it because they want to. Some, because they need to."

Taylor's mouth slanted. "But maybe that's something you don't relate to, that kind of need. To connect with another human being on the most basic level."

His tone implied she was too uptight and repressed to understand, much less feel that kind of need. Hurt shimmered through her for a moment. Until she realized that Taylor's argument had been something of an over-reaction. Was he defensive of Jake's behavior?

Taylor was a fine one to talk about connecting with another human being. He didn't even like giving his autograph. What did he know about giving his heart?

She didn't think Taylor would be receptive if she pointed out that satisfying physical needs had little to do with connecting on an emotional level. Men could and did have sex every day with women they didn't even like. Nothing would be gained by confronting him with that however.

"Actually, I didn't intend to get into a discussion about Jake's motives. I was more curious about some of the sex scenes themselves. I don't want to make the mistake again of asking you where you get your ideas, but..."

Taylor laughed, his good humor restored. "But where do I get them? Why don't I give you a demonstration right now."

Surely her heart had just stopped. "Oh, I don't think - "

"Relax, you can keep all your clothes on. Pick a rose for me."

"What?"

"Pick a rose. For your own comfort, better make it one with as few thorns as possible."

Wary as to what Taylor might have in mind, Jill was helpless to prevent the tiny jolt of excitement at wondering. She gingerly grasped the stem of one of the pink blossoms gracing the arbor and broke it off. "All right, I have your rose."

"Any thorns?"

"A couple."

"Scrape them off."

Using her fingernail she did as Taylor asked. "Finished."

Taylor held out his hand. "Let me have it."

She laid the stem in his palm and he drew his other arm from around her shoulders, then searched tentatively until his hand connected with her cheek.

Even though Jill expected the touch, she flinched slightly in reaction.

"Bear with me, Taylor said. "Remember, I can't see what I'm doing. If I don't want to wind up flogging you with the damn flower I need to know exactly where you are. Now close your eyes."

"Why?"

"To even things up a little. Are you always this suspicious?"

"I like to know what I'm getting into."

"Being that cautious you probably don't get into much. Come on, try life on the edge. Close your eyes."

"Oh, all right."

She lowered her lashes and was immediately more aware of Taylor's light touch. She suspected that had been his real intent.

"Did you close them?"

"I said I would, didn't I?"

The pad of his thumb touched her eyelid as though checking.

He left his fingertips against her cheek, and the next thing she felt was the soft, fragrant rose brushing ever so lightly over her forehead.

Taylor drew it across her eyes and down the bridge of her nose. It felt silky and soft and cool and Jill breathed in. Mingled with the sweet fragrance of the rose, she caught the masculine scent of Taylor's aftershave.

He stroked the blossom down her throat and chills danced over her skin. What would his mouth feel like there?

He dragged the rose over her lips and she parted them on a sigh. He followed the flower with his fingertip, sliding it over the fullness of her bottom lip, slipping it along the moist, inner edge.

If she extended her tongue even a little she'd be able to taste the salt on his skin. She resisted the temptation and swallowed to relieve the thickness in her throat.

Taylor drew the rose along her jaw to her ear and she tipped her head. With her eyes closed there were just his touch and the heady combination of scents. Like making love in the dark.

"Getting any ideas? Taylor asked, his voice knowing.

None she was ready to share.

At her silence, Taylor laughed softly. "No? Then I'll help you. Just imagine what we might be able to do under other circumstances. He ran his finger down her neck and followed with the rose, stopped by the edge of her sweater.

"Imagine lying in bed wearing nothing but that sexy perfume. I could stroke this rose over your whole body."

His voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Between and around your breasts. Over nipples that would be tight and erect. He dragged the flower slowly back and forth over her lips, but her nipples felt as swollen as though it was them he actually touched.

"I'd move down to your ankles and work my way up, brushing the backs of your knees, the insides of your thighs. His voice was hypnotic, lulling and exciting her at the same time.

In her mind she lay stretched across Taylor's maroon sheets, arching under his skillful, knowing caresses.

"You'd open your legs wide for me, he said, "begging me to touch you, and I'd stroke the rose between them."

Jill drew a sharp breath and felt her panties growing damp.

"Are you thinking about it? Taylor asked, his voice a sensual rumble in her ear. "Thinking how the rose petals would feel against your hot flesh?"

Dear God, she could think of little else.

"At first I'd only touch you there once. Just a tease. Then I'd move on to your belly, across your hips, maybe turn you on your stomach and brush down your spine, over your butt. You'd be whimpering and pleading for more, but I'd ignore it."

Jill clenched her teeth and squeezed her knees together to keep from squirming on the glider, wanting Taylor to stop. Afraid he might.

"By the time I finally made it back between your legs, you'd be so aroused that you'd come at the first touch."

Her eyes flew open and she nearly shuddered. "I - She stopped, swallowed and tried again. "I don't think so."

"Oh, yes, he challenged. "You do."

Taylor dropped the rose into her lap, leaned back and took a deep breath. "Well, that was a fun little exercise in frustration. I forget, what was the point? Oh, right. Where do I get my ideas."

His laugh was more of a groan. "Now you know. I start with a seed of one and let my imagination take it from there."

Jill's heart rate had only just begun to slow and her edgy nerves left her shaky. "Your imagination is dangerous. Practically a lethal weapon."

"There's an easy way to make us both feel better, he offered, his tone nonchalant.

She looked at him for a moment thinking about what it might be like to go upstairs with him and spend the remainder of the afternoon in his bed. "I don't think so, she said, not without regret. "I'm not one of Jake Milligan's women. I need a real relationship with my sex. That was her story and she was sticking to it.

"Then what was last night about?"

"I don't understand what you mean."

"My memory's a little shaky on the other details, but I remember that kiss. Sweetheart, you kissed me back. With enthusiasm. And I wouldn't say that a few hours acquaintance constitutes much of a relationship."

Actually it did - when the two of them went as far back as Jill and Taylor did. If she tried to explain, though, he'd think she was one of those nut-case fans he had complained about.

"Exactly. Sorry, Taylor, that's why I don't scratch every little itch."

"Little? His arch smile, if annoyingly egotistical, at least assured her they were still on easy terms. But for how long? It was just a matter of time before the sexual sparks between them ignited a blaze. She had no idea how that would affect their working arrangement. And could she have a scorching affair - and she had no doubt it would be - with Taylor and then just walk away when he no longer needed her? Already the thought made her ache.

She checked her watch and saw they had been in the garden longer than she'd realized. "It's getting late. Do you want to work anymore today?"

Taylor's brows immediately lowered. "What time is it?"

"Almost five-thirty."

"No. No more work today. I have to make a phone call. He rose awkwardly and grimaced.

"What's wrong? she asked quickly.

"I'm afraid I'm starting to feel the effects of my encounter with our Rollerblading friend. It's no big deal."

She opened her mouth to remind him about the cane.

"And before you say anything, I know if I'd had the cane the accident might have been avoided."

"I was not going to say that. She mentally crossed her fingers.

"Right, he drawled.

Jill rose beside him. "Do you need any help making your call?"

"No. Taylor must have realized how abrupt his answer sounded. "Just get me back to the house, he added, "and I can take it from there."

She hooked one arm through Taylor's, holding the rose in her other hand. She started to drop it on the glider and hesitated. It would look pretty on her desk upstairs. And be a constant reminder of Taylor's dangerous appeal, that small voice warned. But it wasn't like she was going to forget.

Chapter Twelve

Several days later Taylor stood in his bedroom on the opposite side from the bathroom. He turned in a circle intentionally confusing his bearings before he came to a stop. He had set himself the challenge of finding his way to the bathroom using his cane.

As much as he enjoyed being close to Jill, having her lead him around made him feel feeble and dependent. He didn't like the way the cane made him feel either, but it beat the hell out of helpless. And when he lost his bearings that's just what he was - helpless, feeling his way inefficiently and tripping over furniture.

The day before, Jill had forgotten to put the ottoman back in front of his chair where he expected it to be. He had fallen over it and wound up stretched out flat on the floor of his office. He was just lucky he hadn't cracked his head on the desk.

Jill had felt terrible, of course, and apologized profusely, wisely refraining from suggesting yet again that he use his cane. He'd heard the thought though, loud and clear. And she'd been right.

His objection to the cane was beginning to look illogical, even to him. It was time to set aside the illogical superstition that if he adjusted to his loss of vision the condition would be permanent. If he adjusted to his loss of vision, he might be able to avoid fracturing his skull.

Taylor flexed his fingers on the handle of the cane and swept it in front of him the way they had taught him at the rehab center. Nothing there.

He took two steps, moving the cane ahead of him, and it struck something. He paused and gently sought the identity of the barrier. A wall.

Turning to the left, he tried again. The chest of drawers should be close. Yes! Now he had the trip knocked. Seeing the room's layout in his mind, using the cane only for verification, he quickly arrived at the bathroom door. Piece of cake.

Okay. So he was going to use the damn thing. He hated like hell, though, having to concede to Jill that she'd been right. A corner of his mouth lifted in begrudging smile. The woman could nag without saying a word.

She'd been with him almost a week now and they'd fallen into a rhythm that allowed each of them professional time. Jill, a morning person, woke early, worked on her dissertation and ran errands. Taylor woke late and spent the morning working out. His brain didn't really engage productively until after lunch, so that was when he dictated to Jill.

And after a few fits and starts they had finally managed to agree on the arrangement there as well. He would tell Jill exactly what to type and she would type exactly that - no more, no less, and no different.

Taylor hung his cane on one of the towel hooks outside the shower. Stripping off the shorts he'd worn for his workout, he remembered their session of the previous afternoon.

Jake and Bethany were closing in on the bad guys, collecting evidence of their nefarious activities. Bethany had implied things between her and Jake were rocky and had made it known to Hotchner that she would definitely welcome his attentions. Inside Hotchner's base of operations she'd be in a better position to search for clues to her father's disappearance.

Taylor twisted the taps and set the sharp spray of hot water to massage his back and shoulders. He'd known by Jill's tight-lipped silence that she hadn't liked the direction of the story, but she'd continued to type. During the pauses while he thought out the next development he'd heard the irritated tap of her fingernail on the desk. He had waited for her unwelcome comments, but they'd never come. He'd thought that was the way he wanted it, but knowing she was thinking something she chose not to share perversely annoyed him.

He thrust his head under the spray and wondered what the hell he was going to do about any of it.

Having an assistant underfoot was proving to be both easier and more difficult than he had anticipated. Easier because he hadn't been sure how well dictating would work for him - and his writing had been and was the priority for him. He'd been able to compose with hardly a glitch, something that surprised him.

Not being able to see the monitor, to see what he'd already written, hadn't turned out to be the problem he'd been afraid it would. Having Jill read aloud what she'd just typed was actually helping him with the dialogue. He could tell immediately when something didn't ring true.

Their arrangement didn't roll along without hitting a few potholes, though. Jill wouldn't walk Caesar without him, and he wasn't prepared to deal with the inquisitive people he was bound to encounter if he accompanied her. Jill insisted they were concerned, not nosy, but the effect was the same - other people prying into his private life.

As a result, they walked Caesar after dark. The darkness made no difference to Taylor, but he was feeling a little guilty about depriving Caesar of the opportunity to romp with his buddies.

Another pothole was the food. Jill tried, but the kitchen was clearly not her area of expertise. In the past week he'd had so much canned soup it was a shame he didn't own stock in the company. Soup and sandwiches, soup and salad, soup and box-mix corn muffins.

The fried chicken from the grocery deli they'd had one night had been as welcome as fresh lobster. He wasn't going hungry, just bored. Still, he supposed he'd survive Jill's cooking until his vision returned.

He sluiced off soapsuds and tried not to worry about when that would be. If that would be. As far as he could tell there'd been no improvement. The headaches had stopped, but he dismissed that. He could handle the headaches. Being blind was what threatened to overwhelm him whenever he let himself dwell on the subject.

He hastily switched his thoughts to the sexual tension that vibrated between him and Jill. That represented a greater problem than her cooking.

Lately, other than his writing, the only two topics on his mind had been how soon his vision would return and how soon he could get Jill naked. Hell, he'd settle for half-naked. Whatever would allow him to bury what had become his almost permanent erection up to the hilt in her heat.

Maybe it was wishful thinking on his part, but he'd swear she was feeling the same kind of frustration. She wanted him, he knew she did. He could feel it, hear it in the silences between them. Sometimes he almost thought he could smell it. It was true what they said, the other senses did become more acute when sight was lost.

When he and Jill finally made love, and he had promised himself they would, the experience was going to be wilder than anything he'd known before, for sure. The way the two of them reacted to each other, that would have been the case even if he could see. With his other newly awakened senses, he expected fireworks and then some, an expectation that did not make for a patient wait.

He shut off the taps, reached for a towel, and scrubbed the water off his skin, still with no brilliant insight about how to make the wait any easier.

After getting dressed, he picked up the cane again and headed for the stairs. He wanted to practice in the house finding his way before he had witnesses. And he was beginning to accept that he would have them.

He was getting cabin fever from being cooped up in the house. Inevitably the day would come, and probably not too far in the future, when he'd have to venture out and interact with his neighbors. Leaving his home only after dark was beginning to make him feel like a vampire.

At the top of the stairs Taylor decided hanging on to the banister was permissible. Even sighted people did that. It was just common sense. He wanted to be independent, not stupid.

In the kitchen he paused. He knew in that uncanny way he had stopped questioning that it was empty.

Going in search of Jill, he turned, touched the edge of the counter lightly to establish his location, and then used the cane.

After traveling through the entire downstairs he finally thought to try the patio. As soon as he stepped outside, he felt her presence.

"Here you are. he said. "Good morning."

"Taylor. Pleased surprise colored her voice. "You're using your cane."

He hated how self-conscious he felt about that. "Yeah, yeah. Don't make a big deal out of it."

"Does this mean I'll have to give up impersonating a Boy Scout?"

He smiled. "Let's not be too hasty here. Being that close to you is the best part of walking Caesar. He knew he'd arrived at the table when the cane thumped against an obstacle

"Ouch. I'm happy you've decided to use the cane, but bear in mind it's a cane, not a golf club."

"Sorry. I guess this is a little trickier than I thought it would be. He drew out a chair and sat down.

"Would you like some coffee?"

"I'd love some, but I don't want to interrupt you if you're working."

"That's all right. I quit a few minutes ago. It's such a beautiful day I couldn't resist the temptation to come outside."

She left him and was back in a couple of minutes. He heard her set a mug on the glass top in front of him. He reached for it and brought it to his mouth.

"So why today? Jill asked. "What made you finally decide on using the cane?"

Taylor took a cautious sip of the hot coffee, using the action to give himself time to think. He'd always believed that honesty was the best policy.

"I need to feel like a man again."

Jill was quiet a moment. "What have you been feeling like?"

He started to say a helpless child, but that wasn't quite right. Even stuck in the foster-care system until he finally outgrew it, he'd never felt powerless. His demonstrations of power had gotten him bounced frequently out of one home and into another, but at least he'd known it was by his own actions.

"I'm not sure, he finally said in answer to Jill's question. "But it's not good."

"Let's explore this for a moment. It's important to understand your feelings and what's at the heart of them."

Oh, God. This sounded like just another variation on getting in touch with his feelings. He hadn't been interested in doing it with Jennifer and he was no more eager to with Jill. He hoped they could hurry through the conversation and be done with it.

"Before you can take appropriate action to deal with your feelings, Jill was saying, "you need to know just what they are. So tell me, you think using the cane will help you feel like a man because...?"

"Hell, I don't know. Maybe having to depend so much on you emasculates me. Maybe I feel embarrassed running into things and tripping over cracks in the sidewalk. Maybe I hope the cane can help me not do that."

He set his cup down and raked a hand through his hair. "Or maybe I just like the shape of the thing. You know - phallic symbol and all. If you're going to trot out that how-does-it-make-you-feel psychology bullshit we may as well go all the way."

She gave a short laugh. "Sorry. It's sort of an occupational hazard. I guess it's really only important that using the cane makes you feel better."

"Well, hell, it can't make me feel any worse."

"For what it's worth, I'm glad you've decided to give it a try."

He discovered that her opinion was worth a great deal to him.

"Hungry yet? she asked brightly, and he breathed a sigh of relief that they seemed to have moved on from the topic of feelings.

"I could eat, yeah."

"Breakfast, coming right up."

He heard her stand and was surprised to feel her hand on his shoulder.

"Just so there's no doubt. Her voice carried a teasing note. "You feel like a man to me."

Jill went back in the house leaving him with a smile hovering on his lips.

Elbows braced on his knees, Taylor rolled the cane thoughtfully between his palms. He turned his face to the heat of the sun and tried to determine if he could discern a change in the brightness. He wanted to think so, but it was probably just his imagination. He sighed deeply and turned his gaze away before he damaged his eyes further. He was liable to be using the cane for a long while.

* * * *

Jill shoved the door open with her hip and carried the tray holding Taylor's scrambled eggs and toast to the patio table. At her approach he turned his head toward her. His olive green knit shirt made the green of his eyes more pronounced. She thought again what beautiful eyes they were and prayed the day would come when they sharpened with vision.

"Breakfast is served."

He smiled and propped the cane against the chair beside him. "Great, I've worked up an appetite this morning. What is it?"

"Scrambled eggs, she announced, taking the seat across from him. The eggs were a little scorched, but since he couldn't see them, maybe he wouldn't notice.

Jill noted Taylor's good mood and wondered how much of it could be attributed to his decision to finally start using the cane. She understood that the cane represented a handicap to him, but it also made him less dependent. And for a loner like Taylor that had to be a major improvement.

He picked up his fork and scooped a bite of egg into his mouth. His lingering smiled flattened into a pained expression, but he made no comment and scooped up another fork full.

"Remember the guy you told me about who emailed you wanting to help Jake fight crime? What did he call himself?"

"The Vigilante. Why, has he sent another email?"

"Not exactly."

"What does that mean, not exactly?

"He didn't email, he sent this one snail mail, the old-fashioned way. I picked up the mail about an hour ago and his letter was in it."

Taylor's brows drew together. "Read it to me."

"I'll have to go in the house and get it. She retrieved the letter from where she had left it on Taylor's desk and carried it back to the patio. Taking her chair again she slipped the single sheet of paper from the envelope.

"Ready? Here it is. Jake, you're getting soft. It's time for you to step aside. Turn the job over to someone who has the guts to do what needs to be done with the low-life pigs who crawl out from under rocks. It's signed The Vigilante. Pigs from under rocks? Talk about mixing your metaphors."

"You were expecting literary genius? We already know this guy's gears are missing a few cogs. What's the postmark?"

She checked the envelope and her eyes widened. "San Diego. He mailed it from right here. Should we contact the police?"

"And tell them what? The guy hasn't made any threats, he just doesn't approve of Jake's actions. He's a critic, that's all. Much as I might wish I could put certain critics in jail, disliking my writing was not illegal last time I checked."

"But this person thinks Jake is for real."

"Again not a crime. A lot of people think aliens are for real. Weird, but you can't arrest them for it."

"How did he get your address?"

"He doesn't have my address, he has my post office box. And it's on my website. No big mystery there."

"Oh, right. And people said there was no such thing as a stupid question.

"Still, it might be a good idea to put Caesar out in the yard at night, Taylor added, vindicating her concern, at least a little.

After finishing the eggs, Taylor picked up the toast she had pre-buttered and bit off a large corner. He chewed and swallowed and his mouth thinned in a disapproving line.

"This is more of that Styrofoam from the grocery store."

"Sorry. We finished the last of what you made."

Taylor finished the toast, but clearly ate from hunger, not enjoyment. As soon as he was done, he reached for the cane and stood.

"Come on. We're going to bake some bread."

She blinked up at him and frowned. "Taylor, I've already told you, I don't know the first thing about making bread."

"Maybe not, but I do. All you have to do is follow my directions."

"What about working on your book? I thought you were trying to meet a deadline."

"I am, but given our jerry-rigged arrangement, the project is going better than I had expected. Plus I always build in a safety margin for unexpected problems. And having to eat even one more slice of Wondersponge is definitely a problem."

Taylor cocked his head. "I don't hear you getting up and rushing to the kitchen."

"All right, I'll try, but don't say I didn't warn you."

"A real positive thinker, aren't you? All you have to worry about is doing exactly what I tell you to. His lips tilted in a smile. "Sounds like fun to me."

"Cooking and fun? She shook her head. "That's going too far."

She carried his dishes inside, loaded the dishwasher, and cleared the counter for her foray into baking. "Okay, I'm ready. What do we do first?"

"There are some packages of dry yeast in the third shelf of the refrigerator door. Take one out and check the expiration date."

Jill crossed the room and opened the refrigerator. After a moment's search she found the yellow and red envelopes of yeast and studied the date stamped on the side.

"Still good."

"Great, then we're in business. Get out the things you'll need - a large mixing bowl, wooden spoon, measuring cups and spoons, and two medium loaf pans. And besides one package of yeast, also flour, salt, oil, and sugar."

"Sugar? The delicious bread she'd had earlier hadn't tasted sweet, but maybe Taylor was planning on something different this time.

"Yeah, to feed the yeast."

"Feed the yeast? It sounded like something on the sci-fi channel. A mad scientist - or maybe disgruntled civil servant - nurturing the monster in the basement before unleashing it on the world. "You're putting me on."

"Not at all. The yeast feeds on the sugar and produces carbon dioxide gas. That's what makes the bread rise."

She wrinkled her nose. "Gross. She'd never look at a loaf of bread the same way again.

Taylor smiled. "We'll see if you feel the same way after you taste a slice still warm from the oven."

After a search through the cupboards, Jill had everything Taylor had requested lined up on the counter - no exotic, intimidating ingredients, no elaborate marvels of technology. Perhaps she could do this after all.

"It's all here, she said. "Now what?"

Under Taylor's direction she combined all the ingredients and stirred until it was the rough, elastic mass he described. "It all sticks together now, instead of on the sides of the bowl. What's the next step?"

"Now comes the best part - we knead it. Sprinkle a generous amount of flour on the counter and dump the ball of dough onto it."

She dipped a teaspoon into the flour canister and distributed flour over the counter surface, but decided the coverage looked skimpy. Taylor had said a generous amount. She used her hand to scoop out more. By the time she was finished the counter looked like it had been hit with a freak blizzard. When she turned the bowl upside down the dough landed in the flour with a plop that sent snow flurries in all directions.

She was going to have a bigger mess to clean up later, but refused to let it bother her. She was beginning to enjoy herself.

"Done, she said and waited for Taylor's next directive.

"Now you knead it."

She set the bowl aside and viewed the dough doubtfully before giving it a couple of tentative pokes.

"Are you kneading? Taylor's voice sounded suspicious.

She put her palm over the ball and tried to squish it flat. "I'm not sure."

Taylor muttered something and walked to the sink where he washed his hands. Then he moved down the counter until his hand brushed her arm. She expected him to stop there, but he stepped behind her and reached around in front of her with both arms.

She froze and her mouth went dry. The heat of his body scorched her from her shoulders to her butt. His arms around her, almost sheltering her, felt so exquisite she closed her eyes for a moment to savor the sensations flooding her system. She nearly leaned back against the solid bulk of him.

Seconds later she was grateful she hadn't. Taylor wasn't trying to hold her, he was reaching for the mass of dough. Once he located it, he grasped her hands and placed them on top of it. Then he lay his own hands over hers.

"Okay, now we're going to knead some bread. Using her hands like an extension of his own, Taylor pressed the heels into the dough, flattening it. Then he folded it over, turned it and repeated the motions.

As he worked Jill could see the muscles in his arms flexing, was aware of his latent strength surrounding her. How was she supposed to think about bread when a filmstrip of Demi Moore and Patrick Swayze making pottery, the wet clay oozing between their linked fingers, was running in her mind? The only thing missing was "Unchained Melody playing in the background. Hadn't that scene ended with some awesome sex?

She couldn't remember, but it hardly mattered. The steady rhythm of Taylor's movements as he pushed on the dough made it impossible for her to think of anything else. Each time he pressed down, for a second his chest connected solidly with her back. She found herself waiting for that brief contact, holding her breath in anticipation. She ached to push back against him, to prolong their connection.

Taylor slowed and she wondered if he had read her mind. His movements gradually became more deliberate. Was it only her fevered imagination that he pressed more firmly against her, that his arms imprisoned her more tightly against the counter?

Taylor's hips crowded her and she arched ever-so-slightly into them. The hard erection she felt against the seat of her jeans stopped her breath. Taylor leaned forward again kneading the dough. When he thrust his hips against her butt Jill knew it was no accident. She gave in to her inner urgings and pushed back, the contact with him both satisfying and frustrating in its limitations.

For almost a week she'd walked around in a perpetual state of semi-arousal, fighting her own as well as Taylor's desires. Even in her sleep she found no relief. Taylor was there as well. Her spirit, freed from her daytime inhibitions, reveled in her dreams. She had awakened several times gasping from the intensity of them and aching for relief.

Now. She needed Taylor now. She was so ready she was afraid that if Taylor continued much longer she was going to embarrass herself by climaxing where she stood.

Chapter Thirteen

Taylor felt Jill lean back into him and groaned. He lifted his hands from the dough and spread them over her stomach. The soft underswell of her breasts lay against his thumbs and he could no more prevent himself from sliding his hands up to cup them than he could stop breathing.

Jill covered his hands with her own and for one awful moment he thought it was to stop him. Instead she moaned and pressed his hands more firmly against her soft, yielding curves.

It was all the encouragement Taylor needed. The woman had been driving him crazy with her jungle-flower scent, the soft sounds of her clothing as she moved, her throaty voice with its hint of laughter.

Sexy-looking women had always appealed to him, but he didn't have to see Jill to be aroused by her. All he had to do was feel the energy of her presence - her aura, much as he hated to use the word.

In the same way that he always knew when she was in the room with him, he also knew when she was sexually aware of him, when she wanted him. And at the moment she wanted him big time.

He lowered his head to nuzzle her neck and his mouth brushed across silky, fragrant hair. He pushed it out of the way with his chin and found the warm skin beneath.

Jill tipped her head and laid it back against his chest with a small pleasured moan. Taylor contented himself with nibbling at her ear, tasting the sweetness at the corner of her jaw, sliding his mouth along her delicately corded neck. For a while it was enough.

Until Jill's quiet sounds became whimpers and her fingers wrapped tightly around his own at her breasts urging him to move faster.

Part of him wanted to do just that - bury himself fast and deep in the wonderful female body that has been taunting him ever since she'd arrived. But the part of his brain that made him Taylor Sloane, not just a rutting male, didn't want to hurry.

Jill's nipples had become hard little knobs thrusting against his palms. Taylor drew his fingertips to them and pressed lightly.

Jill gave a soft cry, dropped her hands, and grasped the front of his thighs.

Taylor took her action for the invitation it was and slid his hands down, investigating what she was wearing. He reached the hem of her knit top, untucked over a pair of jeans. The jeans were a slight problem he'd deal with later. The shirt was perfect.

He slipped his hands under it, shoving the fabric up out of the way, and closed his eyes from instinct at the feel of Jill's skin under his fingertips again.

His memory had been true, not an alcohol-fueled fantasy. Her breasts were small, but they fit his palms perfectly, their curves sweet above the lace cups of her bra. He brushed his thumbs over the tops of the small mounds toward the center and discovered delicate cleavage that disappeared beneath the lace.

Did her bra fasten in the front or back? For half a second he considered asking Jill, but from the sounds she was making he doubted he'd get a coherent answer.

His fingertips found the plastic clasp and he almost smiled in triumph. Now he was in familiar territory. Undressing a woman in the dark was not a new experience.

And yet it was. Had a woman's skin always been so exquisitely soft? Had it always felt like warm silk beneath his fingers and had he just never noticed? How could he not?

He undid the clasp of Jill's bra, eager to discover how her nipples would feel with his new awareness.

Breathtaking. He rolled them between his thumbs and fingers marveling at the contrast between their puckered tightness and the smooth skin surrounding them.

"Taylor, Taylor, my God."

He had been so lost in his discoveries that for a few moments he'd actually stopped noticing Jill's reactions.

Her fingers squeezed and flexed on his thighs and he could feel her nails even through the denim of his jeans. Her breathing and her small rhythmic cries told him she was a woman very close to the edge.

"Jill, is the table clear?"

"Wh-what? She drew a halting breath.

"Is there anything on the kitchen table?"

He felt her turn her head to look. "No."

Good. It saved him smashing crockery on the tile floor. "There will be."

He grasped her around the waist, turned her toward the table, and backed her up the three steps it took to reach it. Unsnapping her jeans and jerking the zipper down was a few seconds work, but he still had to get the garment off her. He knelt to discover if she was wearing shoes only to feel her toeing them off, in as big a hurry as he.

Taylor gripped the waistband of her jeans and dragged them down her legs along with her panties. His cheek grazed her belly and he paused, distracted. He turned his head, sliding his face over her stomach and felt the muscles there flutter.

Once her jeans were off he lifted her to the table and urged her to lie back on it. Shoving her top up and out of his way, he encircled one of her breasts with his hand then leaned over her and took the nipple into his mouth.

"Ta-a-y-lor. His name came out a long, aching cry.

He kissed his way down Jill's body and dipped his tongue into her navel, an innie. He reveled in the noises she was making.

He moved lower until feathery hair tickled his chin, then he tipped his head and pressed his mouth to the soft patch, breathing in her fragrance.

"Taylor, she gasped, sounding suddenly panicked. Her thighs tightened and she pressed them closed. "I can't, I don't - "

"Sh, it's okay. I understand. But for sure he was going to introduce her to the joys of oral sex, if not now, then later.

He laid his palm over her mound where only moments before his mouth had been and massaged lightly.

"Taylor, I need you. Now."

"I know, baby. I'm getting there."

"No, she breathed. "I mean now."

He hesitated, then realized how close she was to coming apart. "Now it is."

He straightened and slipped a finger between her legs. When she relaxed for him, he eased it inside and she gave a gasping sob. He slid his finger out, stroking the wetness over her, pushed it back in once, and she climaxed with a sharp cry.

Jill arched against his hand making short mewling noises in rhythm with the spasms shaking her. Taylor held her with one arm to ensure she didn't arch off the table and continued to slide his finger in and out prolonging her orgasm.

When her cries quieted to the occasional hitched breath he was sure he'd drawn as much from her as she could give at the moment. She went limp on the table.

He held her loosely for only a second before he grasped her knees and pushed them wide apart. Jill may have been replete, but he still ached with sexual tension.

Her hands squeezed his wrists. "Taylor, wait. We need to go upstairs and get a condom."

"No, we don't. I've been carrying one in my pocket since the first night you were here."

"Oh. She was quiet as she absorbed the information. "That's good. I think. I mean, it's good that you have one with you, isn't it?"

"Very. He reached into his back pocket for the foil packet and ripped it open with his teeth before unzipping his own jeans. He pushed his briefs out of the way and quickly sheathed himself.

"Okay, baby. My turn. He paused and tried to imagine how she looked lying on his kitchen table, half-naked, well-loved, and ready for more.

The image had him going even harder than he already was. He grasped her hips and scooted her forward onto his throbbing erection, groaning at the pleasure of finally sinking into her.

Jill breathed a soft, surprised, "O-o-oh, and wrapped her legs around his waist.

Taylor leaned into her, bracing his weight on his hands flat on the table on either side of her. Jill immediately grabbed his forearms and hung on. He started to thrust, slow and controlled, concentrating on the way her tight body hugged his hard length, but within seconds he was pounding into her, control lost.

As he found his own release, he was dimly aware of Jill climaxing a second time. "Oh, Jake, she sobbed.

Jake?What the hell was that? He dismissed the thought, too occupied to care what she called him. By the time they both quit shaking it seemed unimportant.

Taylor's heart rate slowly returned to normal and he realized with amazement that for a few precious minutes he had forgotten he couldn't see. That was one way to solve his problem. He would still be blind, he just wouldn't give a damn.

He smiled, too satisfied to be upset about much at the moment. Jill's hands had dropped from his arms and her legs hung lax. She lay so still she might have been asleep. Nothing like a satisfied woman to bolster a man's faltering ego.

"Taylor?"

He tipped his head down. "Hm?"

"Why have you been carrying a condom ever since I got here? Were you that sure of me?"

She may have been exhausted, but she was a long way from being asleep. Could he lie to her even as they were still joined?

"I ought to say no, that I was just hoping real hard, but the truth is that yes, I was that sure of you."

Jill pushed away from him abruptly, forcing him to withdraw, and sat up.

Taylor dragged his jeans up, feeling sharply the loss of her warmth. "I need to clean up. Don't go anywhere. We're going to talk about this before you jump to conclusions. Or at least any more of them than you already have."

He left the kitchen and used the bathroom off his study to dispose of the condom. He didn't know whether Jill would actually wait for him or not, or rather she'd be nursing a sulk in her room.

Back at the kitchen door he paused. She was there, he could feel her presence. "Jill?"

"Yes, I'm over here. Her voice, as cheerfully casual as though the last half-hour might never have happened, came from near the counter where they'd been kneading the bread dough.

He tried to gage her mood by her tone, but he was in the dark in more ways than one on this one.

"Is our bread a total loss? Aside from distress over the potential failure of her baking project, Jill appeared unconcerned.

He considered her uncharacteristic attitude as he approached her. "Not at all. Bread dough is pretty forgiving. It should have risen quite a bit. Just punch it down from the first rising and knead it again briefly."

"Okay. How long?"

"Five minutes should do it."

He listened briefly as she worked. "Jill, when I said I was that sure of you, I didn't mean that I thought you were so easy I'd have you eventually."

"Didn't you? she asked brightly. But around the brightness was a distinct rim of frost.

Ah, he had it now. She was angry. And she was angry because he'd hurt her. Perhaps he should have lied after all.

"No. I didn't. I meant that with the sexual tension, or awareness if you will, that vibrates between us, it was just a matter of time before you finally gave in to it."

"I see, she said in that same artificially bright tone. Just before he heard her fist connect forcefully with the mound of bread dough.

"Hell. I still haven't made you understand."

"Oh, I think you've made yourself perfectly clear. Once again he heard the smack of flesh against dough.

"You know, she said conversationally, "I never realized how therapeutic bread-making could be."

"I think you've kneaded it enough."

"Not nearly, she said through her teeth.

Discretion being the better part of valor, he decided over-kneaded bread was the lesser of two evils. "Well, whenever you feel ready, you can put the dough into an oiled bowl, cover it with a cloth, and leave it to rise again."

He stepped back out of the way and waited as she clattered around digging out a bowl, olive oil, and a clean dish towel and set the dough aside to rise. He heard the water running and then all was quiet.

"What now? she asked.

Good question. Should he indulge her and pretend, as she was trying to, that nothing had changed between them or should he address the elephant in the parlor. Which way to go? He felt like his choices were eggshells or quicksand.

He had never pretended anything in his life and he wasn't inclined to start now. "Jill, sit down, dammit, so we can talk."

"You mean here? At the table? This table? I don't think so."

He closed his eyes in frustration. "Okay. Fine. Not here. We'll go outside."

He fumbled briefly for his cane, but couldn't remember where he had left the damn thing. The hell with it. He reached out, connected with Jill's arm, and wrapped his hand around it. Giving her no choice he towed her out of the kitchen using his earlier method of navigation.

Once outside he stopped. "We can stand right here and do this or you can help me find the glider. I suggest the glider. We're liable to be a while and we might as well be comfortable."

Caesar roused himself from where he'd been lying on the patio and trotted over to check out the activity. When it became obvious they weren't going to play with him, he returned to his original spot under the table.

"The glider's over this way. Jill tugged and Taylor turned and marched in the direction she indicated.

"Stop, she said. "Two more steps and you're there."

He sat down and felt her join him, but sensed she sat as far away from him as space would allow.

Chapter Fourteen

Jill waited for Taylor's next attempt at diplomacy, but didn't hold out much hope that it would be an improvement over what she'd already heard.

What had she expected - proclamations of undying love? Of course not. So why did she feel so disappointed?

"Jill, we're both mature adults here - Taylor stopped. "God, that's awful. Could I get any more hackneyed? What I meant was we're both sexually active and - "

"Speak for yourself."

"Excuse me?"

"Youmay be sexually active, but I'm more the sit-on-the-sidelines type."

Taylor frowned. "What the hell does that mean?"

"The last time I had sex was over a year ago and I was in a relationship at the time. Her mouth twisted in disgust. Apparently she wasn't in one at the moment.

Taylor's expression brightened. "Really? Then I'm seriously flattered."

"Don't be. As you just pointed out, we're both mature adults with a heavy case of the hots. She shrugged nonchalantly, then remembered with annoyance that he couldn't see her. "Sex between us was inevitable."

If she wasn't in a relationship then what was she in? She and Taylor had been together almost twenty-four/seven for nearly a week. She figured they had spent more time in each other's company than some couples did who had been going out for a year.

On the other hand, she and Taylor had had sex and he hadn't even kissed her. Hadn't she read that prostitutes made of point of not kissing their customers because kisses were too personal? Wonderful. Was she comparing one of them to a prostitute now?

Taylor rubbed his forehead as though his headaches had returned. Jill hardened her heart against the quick concern that flared.

"Jill, I certainly didn't intended to hurt you with my remark, but that's obviously what I've done. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply that you were the latest in a long line or that I thought you were available. Neither of those is true."

She waited, unwilling to make his apology easier for him.

"What is true is that I like you very much and I don't want what we just did to affect the friendship that's developed between us."

Why did his words make her want to weep? "I see, she said pleasantly. "We'll have sex, but it won't have anything to do with anything. I think I understand now."

She dropped the patently false tone. "You know Taylor, for a writer you're amazingly inept with words."

"I'm not going to give you an argument there. I seem to be fumbling this badly. I'm sorry. Forgive me for being clumsy and offending you."

She thought about his request in silence.

"Please, he coaxed.

What purpose would it serve to stay angry with him? He was what he was. And she'd had sex with him because she wanted to. He hadn't had to talk her into it. "Oh, all right."

"Thanks. Taylor reached out and patted the glider and then her thigh.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for your hand. He turned his palm up. "Just give it to me before you wind up accusing me of trying to cop a feel."

She laughed begrudgingly and put her hand in his.

His fingers closed in a warm clasp. "You're a very special woman."

"It's the purple hair."

He laughed. "Yeah that's it, I've always been a sucker for purple hair."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Taylor appearing content to relax with the garden sounds and smells. Jill stared at him, at his beautiful green-gold eyes. How could she work with him and not remember every minute of every day the fantastic experience she'd just had with him in the kitchen? How would she even get through a meal at that table without hyperventilating?

The scene in French Kill where Jake had had Miranda on a three hundred-year-old banquet table in a Paris chateau hadn't been as hot. Taylor's kitchen table might not qualify as some historic carpenter's masterpiece, but the sex had certainly been one of Taylor's.

He turned his head toward her. "The guy you had the relationship with? Why don't you have it any more?"

Because among other things, she was discovering how really bad he'd been in bed. "Why do you want to know?"

Taylor's mouth slanted in a slight smile and he lifted a shoulder. "Curiosity. I'm a writer. Everything is fodder."

"This wouldn't be. Your books are exciting. I'm afraid Brian and I were a far cry from that."

"Is that why you're not together any more? Not exciting enough?"

"Actually no. I find excitement vastly overrated. At least she had until an hour ago.

"You're kidding, right?"

"Not at all. I think having interests and goals in common, sharing a friendship, are more important. How dull she sounded! And as it turned out, the major interest she and Brian had shared was Brian.

"Do you really believe that about yourself? Taylor asked.

"Yes, of course. Maybe.

"Then you're wrong."

"What makes you think you know me well enough to say that? she said coolly and withdrew her hand from Taylor's. He seemed amused by her action.

"Baby, I've spent almost every waking moment with you for over a week. Not just waking, for that matter. Some of my recent dreams - he waved a dismissive hand, "The point is, I listen closely when people talk. To what they say and what they don't."

"And?"

"And what you say is that you love and enjoy your family and want everyone to have the positive experience of it that you've had.

"But, he raised a qualifying finger, "what you don't say that I can hear loud and clear, is how restrictive you find it all, how hesitant you are to do anything that might appear unconventional. You're afraid of shocking the people who love you and perhaps losing that love."

His voice gentled. "And I hear how wistful you are sometimes at the thought of what you might be missing."

Jill stared at him, stricken, hoping he didn't realize how affected she was by what he'd said. She hadn't been consciously aware she felt that way, but knew instantly that what Taylor told her about herself was true. Was she really so obvious?

She needed time to consider and gave a derisive laugh. "A shot in the dark."

Taylor's mouth curved in a wry smile at her choice of word. Jill winced at her faux pas, but restrained the urge to apologize.

"But a bull's eye, nevertheless, Taylor said. "If you weren't looking for excitement, you never would have taken this job. I mean, come on, agreeing to work for a blind guy you've never met, who for all you know could have a string of secretaries buried in the cellar? Agreeing to live alone with him in a strange house for an open-ended period of time? What does that sound like to you?"

"Actually, she said weakly, "it makes me sound like an idiot. But remember, you did come with Stan's recommendation. My actions were not quite as rash as they might appear."

Taylor's smile was knowing. "Stan's recommendation was just the rationalization you used to give yourself permission."

Which one of them was supposed to be the authority on psychology here? But Taylor didn't have the situation quite right. She hadn't agreed to work for a guy, she'd agreed to work for Taylor Sloane.

If it had been anyone else, she would have refused without a second thought. But Taylor Sloane? She'd been half in love with Taylor for years. She wasn't about to explain that to him, though.

"And to think, she said, "I just accused you of being inept with words."

"Not only does excitement turn you on, you crave it. Still need convincing? He laid his hand on her knee and slid it up her leg until his fingertips were tucked in the warmth between her thighs.

Her heart rate spiked and her gasp at the quick clench in her stomach was clearly audible.

Taylor leaned over and nipped at her ear. "Pick another rose, baby."

Chapter Fifteen

Jill's heart leaped before she squelched her reaction. She grasped Taylor's hand, pointedly lifted it off her thigh, and dropped it beside him. "Isn't it time to put the bread in the oven or something?"

Taylor laughed and Jill bit back a growl. Was it ethical to hit a blind man?

"I'll give you a rain check, he said.

Oh, my. Now she wouldn't be able to stop thinking about Taylor stroking one of the fragrant blossoms over her naked skin. As if she could forget. The first one, dried now, still lay on her dresser as a reminder.

Jill stood. "If you don't come with me and tell me what to do with the dough, I'll hold you solely responsible if this bread is a failure."

Taylor came to his feet. "Can't have that. I'm too sick of that supermarket crap."

In the kitchen he directed while she divided the dough, patted it into two loaf pans, and slid it into the oven.

"That wasn't so tricky, Jill said surprised.

"Told you. Let's get some work done while it bakes."

She followed him into his office and took her usual chair. Apparently making mind-blowing love to his assistant was all in a day's work. Bake bread, boink Jill, write book.

It had been so much more to her. Exciting, yes. She accepted that Taylor had been right about that. But she was afraid she was more than just half in love with him. She suspected she was all the way there.

When had that happened? She looked up from the keyboard at Taylor as she waited for him to begin and wondered forlornly what she was going to do about it.

"Read the last paragraph we wrote to me, would you?"

She did as he asked, then began typing as he picked up the story. He hadn't gotten very far before she had to say something.

"Taylor, Bethany has fallen in love with Jake. She wouldn't have sex with Hotchner just to extract information about her father."

"Of course she would. She's desperate to find him. Now where was I?"

"No. She wouldn't."

"What is this, mutiny? You're only supposed to type."

"You're making a big mistake. You must have Jake rescue her before she has to sleep with Hotchner. Let them both plan it that way. Otherwise Jake is just pimping her out. That's not really something you want your hero doing."

"Hm. He rubbed the spot between his brows again. "Hell. I hate to admit it, but you're right. Let me think a minute."

Jill waited, fingers poised over the keys.

Taylor took a deep breath. "Okay, we'll try again. I'll go back and fix the set up in revisions. Delete the last paragraph."

She did, gladly.

Taylor began again, a version Jill was much happier with. Finally Taylor paused and began talking softly to himself working out some problem with the plot. She had worked with him long enough to recognize that he didn't want her typing his mutterings. He'd let her know when he was ready for her to take his words down again.

She lifted her hands from the keyboard and leaned back, using the opportunity to massage the tight muscles in her hands. The little blue S.W.A.T. van on Taylor's desk caught her eye again. The out-of place item was something that would have appealed to her ten-year-old nephew. He owned a number of similar toys.

She smiled and picked up the van to study it. Its deep blue was accented by the crisp detail of the orange and white shield painted on its side. She replaced the van on the desk and pushed it along, circling the lamp and pencil cup. She smiled, thinking her nephew wasn't the only one the toy appealed to.

"Taylor, why is there a toy S.W.A.T. team van on your desk?"

She pushed it back to the other side of the desk and glanced up when he didn't answer immediately. He sat with his elbows on the arms of his chair, his fingertips together, exactly as he had been, but there was a stillness that hadn't been present before.

"Because I lusted after one mightily when I was nine years old, he finally said with a self-deprecating smile.

"And you've kept it all these years?"

"Not that one, no. I didn't buy one then. I didn't have the seventy-five cents it cost at the time."

"Where did this one come from?"

"I bought it when my first book came out. I keep it on my desk as a reminder of the power of goal-setting."

Jill picked it up again, noted the places where the paint was worn off slightly, and smiled. "You've been playing with it."

Taylor's brows rose. "Not at all. It's too valuable. It was old when I bought it. It's a collector's item. Made me feel damn ancient to discover that, I can tell you. It cost me a hundred and twenty-five dollars, considerably more than its original price."

Jill's eyes widened and she replaced the van gently on the desk. Thank God Taylor hadn't seen her pushing it back and forth. She eyed it with new respect and awe that someone would pay so much for it.

"What goal is it reminding you of?"

"Don't want anything bad enough that you'll hurt without it."

Jill arched her brows at the bleak philosophy. Had Taylor wanted a lot of things he hadn't been able to have?

"If you're through playing, he said, "maybe we can get back to work now?"

Caught. "How did you know?"

He tapped his ear. "It's true what they say. When you lose your sight, your other senses do become more acute."

He smiled. "And I've pushed it around myself enough to recognize the sound."

Jill laughed in relief. "I didn't hurt it."

"I'm sure you didn't. It was designed to take a little boy's heavy use. It can survive a pansy girl nudging it along a couple of feet."

"What a sexist young thing you must have been."

"Guilty. Most little boys are."

What kind of child had Taylor been? She thought of her own upbringing, of her indulged nieces and nephew. Why had no one bought Taylor the van for a birthday or Christmas present? She wanted to ask, but didn't know how.

Taylor pointedly sniffed the air. "Unless I'm very much mistaken, our bread is ready to come out of the oven."

Jill suddenly became aware herself of the delicious aroma that filled the office. "Oh my gosh, you're right. An immediate rush of saliva had her swallowing. The room smelled like her favorite French bakery.

She shoved back her chair, came to her feet, and hurried from the office. Behind her she heard Taylor say dryly, "I guess we're breaking."

"I don't want it to burn, she called as she dashed into the kitchen.

She grabbed oven mitts, slid them on her hands, and opened the oven door. A heavenly cloud of fragrance rolled out to greet her. She heard Taylor come into the room behind her.

"How do they look?"

She carefully slid first one pan and then the other out of the oven and set them on the racks Taylor had told her to lay on the counter. The tops of the loaves were as rounded and golden-brown as a California hilltop.

"Oh, my God, she breathed reverently, "they're beautiful. What do I do now?"

"Turn the loaves out of the pans and leave them to cool on the racks."

Keeping the mitts on so the hot bread wouldn't burn her hands Jill managed awkwardly to follow Taylor's directions. When she had both loaves on the racks she pulled the mitts off and admired the perfectly formed bread.

"I did it, she said in wonder. "I really did it. I actually baked bread."

"Like I said, never had a doubt."

"Let's slice one now, she said impulsively.

"It's customary to wait until the bread has cooled."

"I don't give a damn about what's customary. For the first time in my life I made a loaf of bread. I want to taste it. She was already opening the drawer that held the bread knife. She plunked the knife on the counter and pulled out the cutting board.

"Careful, the bread's going to be hot when you cut into it."

"I'll watch it."

Jill grabbed one of the loaves and dropped it on the cutting board, then shook her hand to cool her fingertips. After putting a mitt on the hand that anchored the loaf she sawed the knife through the perfect crust. Steam rose from the soft, white inside carrying with it a mouth-watering aroma.

The bread was too warm and soft to slice cleanly, but that fact didn't keep the chunk Jill stuffed into her mouth from tasting fabulous. "Heaven, she mumbled around the bread.

"What?"

She swallowed the mouthful and tried again. "It tastes absolutely heavenly. I'll get the butter out and fix us both a slice."

She cut two more ragged slices and spread butter on them generously. "Figures you'd have the real thing. You're one of the few people I know who actually eats real butter."

"I don't care for imitations. In anything."

"That sounds pretentious as hell, but I forgive you. My bread deserves the very best. Here, hold out your hand. She placed a slice on it and waited anxiously while Taylor took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. "Well?"

* * * *

He heard the anxious anticipation in her voice and smiled. "Congratulations. That's the best thing you've cooked since you got here."

"Yes!"

"Unless you've been tippling and not telling me, there should be a bottle of champagne in the refrigerator. Open it. This is truly a moment worth celebrating."

Jill laughed. "I think there's an insult in there somewhere, but I'm too pleased with myself to take offense. You're on."

He heard her open the refrigerator and then the cupboard where the flutes were stored. "Stand back, she warned. "I haven't opened too many of these. Wouldn't want to hit you with the cork."

"Put a towel over the top of the bottle before you pry the cork out and you'll be fine."

"Good idea."

The next sound was the quiet pop as the top came loose. "Oops. Almost wasted some, but not to worry, I caught all of it. Here you go. She handed him a flute, cool against his fingertips from its chilled contents.

"I want to propose a toast, he said holding up his glass. "To ... great starts."

"I'll drink to that. You may have created a baking fool."

She clinked her glass against his, but he didn't immediately take a sip. "I meant more than just the bread, Jill."

From her cough, her champagne must have gone down the wrong way. "Well, she said when she had recovered, "that was direct."

"Today, in here earlier, was not a one-time deal. I want a lot more of you than that."

Her "oh was an encouraging, breathy little whisper.

"I want to make love to you in a bed, both of us naked and sprawled across the sheets. A cliche, I know, but sometimes the old ways are the best ones. And I definitely want to do things with you in the best way I can."

"Things?"

He smiled at the combination of excitement and apprehension in her voice. "You can fill in the blanks."

Satisfied he had her thinking in the right direction, he finally lifted his own glass and sipped. The wine tasted dry and fruity on his tongue, the bubbles fizzing pleasantly before he swallowed.

Taylor didn't drink champagne as a routine, but he was a big believer in ceremony. There had been no celebrations, large or small, in his childhood. Now he took every opportunity to recognize accomplishment in whatever form it took. And having great sex with Jill on his kitchen table was an accomplishment extraordinaire. He couldn't think of a better reason to celebrate.

Plus he now had the added bonus of decent food. Why hadn't it occurred to him before to just teach her to cook something palatable? She was obviously an apt pupil.

He heard her slicing more bread. At that rate, there would be little left.

"Would you like another piece? she asked.

"Is this dinner?"

"Could it be? she asked hopefully.

"It's a little early, but sure, why not? We can always have a bowl of cereal later if we get hungry. Why don't you break out some fruit and cheese to go with the bread and we'll call it a balanced meal."

"Works for me. He heard Jill refill their glasses and set the bottle down again. "My mother would frown over the lack of veggies. Anti-oxidants and all that. She's big on eating your veggies. If I never eat parsnips again, it could only be a good thing. Is your mother like that?"

"My mother's dead, he said flatly. "Her favorite food group was gin."

He could sense Jill's shock, wondered why in the hell he had said anything. It was more information than he'd shared with anyone but Jason.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Jill said, subdued. "About her being dead and about her drinking. How old were you when she died?"

"Twenty-two. And before you ask, pneumonia."

"How did you know I was going to ask?"

"I'm psychic. He tipped up his glass and drained its contents. "This is supposed to be a celebration. Let's not discuss my mother. Believe me, there was nothing there to celebrate. Ever. Let's talk about the great bread you baked."

Jill was quiet a moment, then obviously decided to let him lead the conversation. "Yeah, it is good, isn't it?"

He heard the refrigerator door open again. "I think there's still a pear left from my last run to the grocery store, she said.

Two minutes later she lifted his hand and lay a pear slice topped with cheese in it. "Cheddar. And I refilled your glass."

"Thanks. He ate the pear in two bites. "Nice combination. Slice another piece of bread for me, will you?"

"I'd be happy to. It's such a novelty having you actually want to eat something I fixed."

The note of pride in her voice had him aching to be able to see her, to see the pleasure reflected in her features, the warmth in her eyes. He tried to imagine her lips shiny with butter and curved in a smile.

There was a whole level of communication, a connection he hadn't been consciously aware of that without his vision was denied him. He had always prided himself on needing no one else. He didn't like to think that perhaps that hadn't been completely true.

"What do you look like, Jill?"

He hadn't meant to ask. The question surprised him as much as it apparently did her.

"I thought we'd already established that. I'm gorgeous."

He smiled. "I'm sure you are, but I'm serious. Really. He'd never gotten around to asking Stan about her appearance, but wanted, needed, suddenly to know.

"What color are your eyes?"

"Brown."

"What kind of brown?"

"Just brown. You know."

No, he didn't know. Were they chocolate brown, golden brown, what? He swallowed his frustration along with a sip of champagne.

"Can I touch you?"

A laugh bubbled beneath her words. "Isn't it a little late to be asking that?"

"Is that a yes?"

He put down his glass, reached out, and found her shoulder. Her hair brushed the back of his hand and he grasped a lock. "What about this? What color is it?"

"Pur - "

He gave the lock a chastising tug. "No. Tell me the truth. What color?"

Her shoulders lifted on a sigh. "It's brown, too. Kind of dark. Kind of boring."

Taylor set down his champagne and bracketed her shoulders between his hands. "Baby, I can't see you, but I know that the last thing you look is boring."

"Taylor, if you get your sight back - "

"When."

"What?"

"WhenI get my sight back."

"Oh, right. Anyway, when you get your sight back, I'm afraid you're going to be very disillusioned. I'm pretty ordinary looking."

"Jill, no one with your enthusiasm, your sense of humor, your upbeat personality could possibly be ordinary looking."

"You sound like you're trying to set me up as a blind date. She gave a quick laugh. "No pun intended. Honestly, would you want to go out with someone described as being funny and with a great personality?"

He hesitated a moment too long.

"Ah-hah! I'm right. You immediately thought a real dog didn't you?"

He gave her shoulders a slight shake. "No, I did not. I didn't answer immediately because I was trying to think how to tell you what you've done for me."

"There's a four-letter word that describes it pretty well, she said, her voice touched with irony.

At the change in tone his brows drew together. "Dammit, that is not what I was referring to."

He realized he was holding her too tightly, digging his fingers into her shoulders with the intensity of his feelings, and forced himself to relax his grip.

"You don't know at all, do you? What an example you've been for me? Okay, you're working on a Ph.D. in psychology. Let's go with the concept of role model."

Chapter Sixteen

Jill could imagine Taylor calling her a lot of things, but role model? She didn't see it.

"Isn't that laying it on just a little thick? It's not like you have to talk me into bed. Well, technically we didn't actually go to bed, but you know - "

Her head jerked with the shake Taylor gave her shoulders. "Jill! Pay attention. We are not talking about sex. You're a role model by the way you handle life. You don't let anything throw you for long. You're a terrible cook - no offense - but you keep trying. And Caesar. You think I don't realize how frightened you were of him? I know you're relaxed with him now, but - "

"Honestly compels me to admit I still don't particularly - "

"Hush. My point is that even if he never becomes your favorite animal, you don't let that fact keep you from taking care of him, from handling the responsibility that was thrust on you. I can't tell you how much I admire that kind of quiet, no-big-deal courage."

Jill was at a loss for words. She'd been with him long enough to know he didn't hand out compliments lightly. In fact, he said nothing he didn't mean.

She tried to remember the last time anyone had made a big deal over her for any reason, the last time anyone had pointed out a quality they admired in her in something other than a faintly absent-minded mention. Maybe when she'd graduated from college?

Of course at the same time her parents had congratulated her, they had also mentioned the graduation ceremonies they had attended for both her older siblings. And her older brother had beaten her to a master's degree. Her parched soul drank up Taylor's words and blossomed like the desert after rain.

"You're the reason I'm using the stupid cane, he continued. "You shamed me into it."

"I didn't mean - "

"Will you let me finish?"

Jill made a face and murmured, "Sorry."

"As I was saying, if you've got guts enough to handle Caesar, I ought to have guts enough to risk looking inept."

"Inept? That's why you haven't been using the cane? Of course. As private as Taylor was, he wouldn't want others to see his struggles while he learned.

"Yeah. Pretty stupid reason, huh?"

Jill smiled in understanding. "Maybe not stupid, exactly. Let's say silly."

Taylor laughed. "I think I prefer stupid."

"All right then, you're right. It was a stupid reason. I'm glad you're not going to let it stop you."

"Like I said, you're why. Taylor's smile eased into something more serious and Jill remained where she was, his hands still on her shoulders. Neither spoke and in the silence Taylor began to slowly rub small circles with his thumbs almost absentmindedly, as though his mind were on something else.

She looked up at his mouth and thought again about the fact that he hadn't kissed her. They had made love so fast, so hot, there'd been no time. The only kisses they'd shared had been the first night when Taylor was half-drunk and on the beach when he'd been acting.

His top lip was long and rather narrow, but the bottom one was fuller, the sensuality of it belying the sternness of the top one. Jill stared up at his lips and ached to feel them on hers.

What would it be like to have Taylor kiss her? Kiss her with all his wits about him, not just because in the middle of a bender it had seemed like a good idea or because he had been trying to put off an old woman?

Taylor's hand left her shoulder and he cupped her cheek gently, his thumb tracing the outline of her mouth as though he had read her thoughts. "Jill?"

"Yes, she answered softly and lifted her face to meet him halfway.

Devastating. She'd wondered what it would be like to have Taylor really kiss her. She had her answer. Taylor's assault was subtle, but thorough.

He didn't immediately draw her closer, didn't move his hands from her shoulder or cheek. He didn't need to. His lips gently urging hers to open swept her mind clean of anything but the awareness of him - his scent, his heat, his nearness.

Even after she opened her mouth, Taylor didn't thrust his tongue inside. He slipped it along the moist inner edges of her lips, giving her a taste of him, waiting for her to invite him to take more.

Although Taylor kept the kiss a slow, lazy exploration of her mouth, Jill's response was an immediate and urgent demand for more. The firestorm of their earlier sex had left hot embers and Taylor's easy kiss blew them back to a blaze.

She reached up and grasped his wrists, held on as she lost her bearings. The strong tendons and hair-dusted skin under her fingers, the mouth doing wonderful and exciting things to her own became the focus of her entire existence.

Taylor deepened the kiss in answer to her impatience, or perhaps his own. She released his wrists and slipped her arms around his waist, afraid her passion might sweep her away.

At first she thought the insistent ringing was in her own head, but Taylor broke off the kiss, swore, and lifted his head.

"What is that? she asked, shaken by the abrupt halt.

"The gate buzzer. Taylor was clearly annoyed by the interruption.

Jill inhaled, trying to draw in enough air to support her pounding heart. "Maybe they'll go away."

The bell began to ring continuously, as though whoever it was held their finger on the button.

"Doesn't sound like it, Taylor said, his voice ripe with disgust. "Hell, you'd better answer it. Get rid of them. Fast. The intercom panel is next to the front door."

Jill walked on shaky legs to the door and pressed the talk button. This was the first time anyone had come since she'd been there.

Taylor had been thorough in discouraging callers. Although the timing was lousy, she was curious about anyone who had the nerve to try. "Yes?"

There was a brief silence and then a young male voice said, "I want to see Taylor."

"I, uh.... "She heard Taylor come into the hall behind her and turned to take her cue from him.

"Who is it? he demanded.

She shook her head and pressed the talk button again. "Who shall I tell him is here?"

"Jason, the disembodied voice said and Jill wondered at the note of hostility. "He knows me."

She turned back to Taylor and was surprised at the distressed expression on his face. "Taylor?"

He closed his eyes and his shoulders dropped with the resigned sigh he heaved. "Let him in."

"What about Caesar?"

"It'll be all right."

Jill pressed the buzzer to unlock the gate and opened the door. The sight of Caesar, tail sweeping back and forth in response as Taylor's guest petted him explained why the dog hadn't barked. Apparently the two were acquainted.

The young man coming up the walk was garbed in the teenage uniform of baggy jeans and a baggier shirt, but both were clean. His buzz cut was so short his dark hair was little more than a shadow covering his head. The stud in his left ear gleamed dully in the bright sun.

When he reached the door she saw he couldn't be older than fifteen. His eyes held the experience, though, of many more years. "Hi, I'm Jill, Taylor's assistant."

Jason's suspicious gaze dropped to her chest for several seconds. She knew nature hadn't blessed her with enough to warrant the interest and she glanced down uncertainly. Two perfect, white-floured handprints covered her breasts.

She stifled a groan and brushed at the flour hastily. "We were baking bread."

"Huh. Never heard it called that before."

"Watch your mouth, Jason. Jill's a lady."

Jason squinted, as though trying to see Taylor in the dim hallway. "Uh-huh, he said, the sarcasm impossible to miss. "So's my mama."

Taylor went rigid behind her. "Do not ever speak that way about Jill again, he said, his words more threatening for their softness. "Do you understand me?"

Jason jerked a shoulder up in a belligerent shrug. "Whatever."

"Why are you here? Taylor asked.

"Because, man, every time I talk to you, you put me off with some stupid reason that only a moron would buy. Jason stepped around Jill and into the hall. "If you don't want - He stopped short.

Jill realized he had only just then gotten a good view of Taylor.

"Taylor? She saw Jason take in the white cane and Taylor's unfocused stare. "Oh, man, he said on a groan. "Tell me you're not blind. Please."

"I'd like to accommodate you, but, Taylor motioned nonchalantly, "sorry. No can do."

"What happened?"

"Just a temporary side-effect from the fall I told you about. It's no big deal. I'll be back up to speed shortly. How did you get here? he asked, clearly wanting to change the subject.

"I took the bus."

"You figured out which one by yourself?"

"I asked a driver. He told me. Then when I got to town, I couldn't remember how to get to your house. I went in a store and asked if they knew where you lived. You're famous here, man. He seemed surprised by the discovery.

Taylor must have sensed Jill's own surprise at Jason's reaction. He smiled. "Jason's not much of a reader. He's more into movies."

"I understand. Maybe you two would be more comfortable in the living room. Go on in and sit down and I'll bring you drinks. Jason, iced tea or a Coke?"

"Coke, thanks. His eyes sent her an apology for his previous attitude.

In the kitchen, along with drinks, Jill quickly assembled sandwiches. If Jason, whoever he was, had taken a bus to get to Coronado, he probably hadn't had a chance to eat lunch. She sensed a hunger that food couldn't fill, but food was all she had to offer.

Her fresh bread was still too warm to slice well for sandwiches. She used the supermarket bread. She suspected Jason wasn't as picky as Taylor.

Jill put everything on a tray and carried it into the living room in time to hear Taylor say, "Today is Thursday. Aren't you supposed to be in school?"

Jason's expression was bored. "They'll never miss me."

"Haven't we talked about this before? Taylor's stern voice would have intimidated her, but Jason only smiled slightly.

"I thought it was more important to find out why you didn't want to get together with me any more."

Jill couldn't stand it any longer and it didn't look as though Taylor were going to volunteer any information. "How do you and Taylor know each other, Jason? she asked as she set Jason's Coke beside him and offered him a sandwich.

Jason nodded thanks as he chose a sandwich from the plate and took a big bite. "He's my Big Brother, he said around the sandwich in his mouth.

Jill blinked and looked from one to the other. The little bit of hair remaining on Jason's skull was clearly much darker than Taylor's and Jason's eyes were a clear blue. She could see no resemblance between them, in spite of trying. "I beg your pardon."

Jason swallowed the hefty bite of turkey sandwich. "Big Brother. You know, that program that pairs up disadvantaged kids, he rolled his eyes, "with older guys. Kind of like a big brother."

"Yes, of course. I'm familiar with it."

"This would probably be a good time to make official introductions. Jill, this dangerous-looking character is Jason Seiger. Jason, Jill Fiori is the woman I hired to help me with things until I get my sight back. And I think you owe her an apology."

"Hi. Jill smiled and extended her hand, willing to try again.

Jason set aside his plate and scrambled to his feet. After hastily scraping his palm on his pant leg, he clasped Jill's outstretched hand. "Uh, hi. Yeah, I'm sorry. You know, for what I said before."

She still wasn't sure what that had been about, but forgave him for it anyway. "It's okay. She moved to take a chair, determined to discover more about this unexpected side of Taylor.

"Thanks. Clearly relieved, Jason sat down and picked up the sandwich again.

"Have you and Taylor known each other long? Jill asked, ignoring Taylor's frown at her question.

Jason looked up from the sandwich he'd been about to finish off. "Oh, yeah, years. Me and Taylor are a lot alike, you know. On account of both of us being foster kids and all."

Chapter Seventeen

A foster kid. She'd had no idea. Jill stared at Taylor understanding now so much about him - why he never talked about his childhood, why he was so guarded, even why he lived behind a wall.

She was not about to pass up this God-given opportunity to learn more. Taylor wasn't likely to suddenly turn chatty about his background, and who knew when or if she'd see Jason again.

"No, Jason, I wasn't aware that Taylor had been in the foster care program. He doesn't speak much about it. Try not at all. "I can see where that would give you something of a bond. Is that how you two met?"

"Jill, I don't think - Taylor began, but was cut off by Jason's laugh.

"Hell, no. Oh, sorry. No, we met in jail."

Jill's brows arched beneath her bangs. "Really? How did you both come to be in jail?"

There was a disgusted snort from Taylor, but he seemed to have resigned himself to letting the scene play out.

"Well, actually, Jason said, "I was the only one in jail. Taylor was just there talking to one of his police buddies when the cops brought me in."

"Why were you arrested?"

Jason's gaze shifted away from hers briefly. "I got caught trying to jack a forty of Captain Morgan, he answered, not quite pulling off the nonchalance he was going for.

"You what?"

"Shoplifting a fifth of rum, Taylor interpreted dryly.

"Oh. Hadn't Jason just said he and Taylor had been friends for years? "How old were you then?"

"Twelve."

"Twelve?"

"Yeah, so anyway, he continued, as though the age question were immaterial, "Taylor saw me and asked the cops why I was brought in. He shrugged. "He's been my Big Brother ever since."

"It was a little more complicated than that, Taylor said, "but that's basically the gist of the story."

"Taylor says he saw potential in me. Although Jason imbued the word with heavy sarcasm, it was obvious he was pleased. "He said I reminded him of himself. He got an earlier start than me, but - "

"An earlier start?"

"Yeah. Jason stuffed the last of the sandwich into his mouth and spoke around it. "His mother unloaded him when he was seven. She was a drinker, and Taylor said seeing me trying to steal booze made him so mad he had to step in. So he did. Jason gave another shrug over the mystery of the whole situation.

"I see. Or at least she was beginning to. She pictured Taylor as a child of seven abandoned by his mother and becoming a ward of the court.

Had he had anyone who looked out for him, someone who mentored him and assured him life could be better? Had there been a special person who made him believe that he had the potential within himself to make it so? She hoped devoutly that that had been the case.

"Jason, Jill's not interested in my old history. Why don't you tell her about what you've been doing in schools for the past year."

On the contrary, she was very interested, but doubted Jason would be allowed to spill any more beans. Unbelievably the boy blushed.

"Well, see I'm in this program where a bunch of us go around to the different schools and just kind of tell our stories."

"A bunch of you?"

"You know, other kids that have gotten into trouble and stuff, and we talk about not joining gangs, or doing drugs. That kind of thing."

Jill looked across the room at Taylor, listening to Jason with a faint smile slanting the mouth she had kissed so passionately a short time earlier. Did he realize his pride in the boy shone so obviously?

At that moment she ached for the child Taylor had been and fell completely and irrevocably in love with the man he had made of himself. Her heart hungered for the lost opportunity to comfort the long-ago Taylor as much as it lusted for the Taylor of today.

"That's a very constructive thing to do with your experiences, she told Jason. "I imagine talking to other teens at risk helps motivate you to stay out of trouble."

Jason laughed. "That and Taylor. He can be a real hard-ass, you know."

Jill smiled. "I'll just bet he can."

"And speaking of that, Taylor said, "does your foster mom know where you are, Jason?"

"Probably not."

"You mean not at all. Taylor seemed unsurprised. "Are you and I square? You understand now I was not avoiding you? Well, I was, but only because I didn't want you worrying. I'm going to be fine."

Jason turned to Jill and raised his brows in worried question. What could she tell him? She prayed that what Taylor had just said would prove to be true, but she had no guarantees for Jason. She put on her most confident smile and nodded. At her assurance, Jason's expression eased.

"Jason?"

"Yeah, man, everything's cool between us."

"Good. Then Jill and I will drive you home before your foster mother gets any more annoyed with you than she already is."

"Thanks, man. It takes too long on the bus. We're going in your Jag, right? Hope lit his eyes.

Taylor smiled. "Right. It's either that or Jill's car, and I refuse to ride in that buckboard."

"Hey, she said on a laugh, "it's not that bad."

"Okay, if you really don't want to drive the Jag we can - "

"Did I say that? Let's not be hasty."

They went through the house to the garage. Taylor opened the side door of the garage and called Caesar from the yard. "He loves to ride in the car and hasn't had the chance for quite a while."

"The more the merrier. Jill retrieved the remote from her own car and waited to be sure Taylor didn't need any help.

Jason opened the back door of the car for a clearly overjoyed Caesar and climbed in after him. Taylor slid into the front passenger seat, managed to settle his cane out of his way, and Jill slipped behind the wheel next to him.

He grasped the seat belt buckle and drew it across him, but couldn't find the latch. Jill took the buckle from him and at the contact of her hand with his they both paused. A tiny smile pulled at the corner of Taylor's mouth. Was he remembering their interrupted passion in the kitchen? She was.

Very aware of Jason in the backseat, she said nothing as she fastened Taylor's seatbelt. "Where do you live, Jason?"

He gave her quick directions to the middle-class neighborhood forty-five minutes away. Jill was worried she might somehow damage Taylor's Jag, but they made the trip through rush-hour traffic without mishap. She turned onto Jason's street feeling more confident.

"The house is the third one on the left, white with blue trim, Jason told her. "You can pull into the driveway and let me out."

After he climbed out of the car and shut the door, he leaned down and shot Taylor a look through her window. "Take care of yourself, man."

"You too, Jason."

"Thanks. The boy sketched her a quick salute and disappeared into the house.

On the drive back Jill considered what she had learned about Taylor from Jason. All in all, it had been quite an afternoon.

She remembered something she still didn't understand. "Taylor, when Jason first arrived he said something about his mother being a lady like me. You came down pretty hard on him. What was going on?"

Taylor was silent a moment. "Jason's mother is a hooker. It supports her drug habit."

"Oh. How terrible for Jason. Thinking of Taylor's fast reaction, though, she had to smile. "Thank you for defending my honor. Old-fashioned, but sweet."

He made a noncommittal sound.

"Tell me about his mother. Does he ever see her?"

"Yeah, she periodically makes a half-hearted attempt to clean up her act. She takes Jason back and it lasts anywhere from a few weeks to a few months. Then... He lifted his hand and let it fall. "She's never been able to make it stick. It's all just so damn sad."

"Jason is very fortunate to have you for a friend. Sometimes all it takes to keep a kid out of trouble is just one person who believes in them. I think you must be Jason's one person."

"That's me, Saint Taylor. The sardonic note in his voice didn't quite disguise his discomfort with the turn of the conversation. "Let's talk about something else."

"Fine. They were crossing the bridge back to Coronado and there was something Jill wanted to broach with him anyway. "We need to stop at the grocery store. We're low on milk."

"Okay. Caesar and I can wait in the car. Just don't take too long."

"Can't Caesar wait by himself? I was thinking you should come in the store with me."

Taylor swung his head around and she knew if he'd been able to see, he'd have been glaring at her. "Where did you get a dumb idea like that?"

"It's not a dumb idea. Taylor, you have to go out in public eventually. You can't stay holed up in your house like some groundhog that comes out, sees his shadow, and then scurries back into his hole for another six weeks. What if you're blind longer than that?"

"A groundhog? Faint outrage tinged his voice.

She lifted a shoulder. "It was the first comparison that came to mind."

"But a groundhog? Why not a lion crouched in his lair, or a grizzly hulking in a cave?"

"It's not going to work, you know."

"What's not?"

"Your attempt to derail the conversation. We're talking about a simple trip to the grocery store. I'll park the car, we'll go into the store together, pick out what we need, pay for it, and get back in the car. Not a big deal."

Actually it was. She understood how difficult Taylor would find walking into the store with his cane, waiting for someone to comment. She had challenged him, though, so he couldn't complain about it without sounding whiny. And she knew he'd rather brave his fellow shoppers than be accused of that.

She drew the car into the lot of the grocery store, shut off the engine, and waited.

"Oh, all right, let's get this over with. He climbed out of the car and shoved the door shut.

Jill hurried around the car to steer him in the right direction. She took his arm and he hauled her against his side.

"I'm doing this because you've pretty much forced it on me, but let me warn you, I will exact revenge. I expect deciding just how and when will keep me happily occupied for quite some time."

Chapter Eighteen

Hell. He didn't even have his sunglasses. He'd left them at home. They hadn't been in the store five minutes when he had to endure his first encounter.

A light touch on his arm accompanied the voice of Marian Schwartz, one of the local librarians. "Taylor, how are you doing? We heard you'd had an accident. Howard Adams told me he'd seen you. He said you were having a little problem with your eyesight?"

"Some, yeah, but it's getting better."

"I'm so glad to hear that. We've missed you at the library. You take care now."

"Thanks. You too, Marian, he said, but from the sound of her steps moving away from him sensed he was speaking to her back.

"There, see. That wasn't so bad. Jill said as he allowed her to steer him toward the dairy section. "Oh, they're having a special on strawberries. Wait, let me pick some up."

Taylor couldn't be sure, but thought that several of the low-voiced conversations he heard as they traveled through the store concerned him. Although he was braced for further interaction, no one else accosted them.

For an errand that was supposed to involve little more that grabbing a carton of milk, the trip seemed to be taking an inordinate amount of time. Surely they had traveled up and down every aisle of the store. Jill insisted that since they were there they might as well pick up fried chicken and cole slaw for dinner, so that necessitated a stop in the deli department as well.

Taylor breathed a sigh of relief when they finally moved to take their place in the checkout line. Almost done. He felt more conspicuous just standing there, could feel the curious stares, but no one bothered them.

"Good evening, Mr. Sloane. It's good to see you out and about again."

He frowned and tried to place the voice. "Who - "

"It's Danny, the checker."

"Of course. How are you, Danny?"

"I'm fine, thanks. There was a rustle of plastic. "There you go. You have a nice evening. Do you need help outside?"

Taylor stiffened and opened his mouth to tell young Danny just how much he did not need or want any help whatsoever.

"Thank you, we can manage, Jill said, a smile in her voice. "It's only one bag."

Taylor realized the question had been routine. The store checkers had asked him the same thing when he could see. Jill had saved him from embarrassing himself and everyone else.

She took his arm and guided him toward the exit. "What do you know, you survived. The whole experience went much better than you expected, didn't it?"

"Okay, I'll grant you that no one gave me the third degree, he acknowledged grudgingly.

"Everyone has their own life to worry about. Beyond polite interest, no one has the time or energy to obsess over yours."

"Ouch. Are you accusing me of being self-involved?"

"You said it, I didn't."

"You know, for an employee, you've got a pretty smart mouth on you. One he intended to kiss thoroughly as soon as they got home. It seemed like days, not a couple of short hours since Jason had interrupted him doing just that.

"Just because your little shopping trip wasn't as bad as it could have been, doesn't mean you're off the hook for payback. His voice dropped to a sensual murmur. "I've got a couple of things in mind already."

"Oh, please don't throw me in that briar patch."

Taylor laughed. She had caught him off guard with her candor.

As they stepped outside he turned to speak to her and winced at the sudden glare that struck clear to the back of his eyeballs.

"Taylor?"

"It's ... nothing. Just a slight headache."

"Maybe I can make it all better when we get home. The smile in her voice promised that and more.

"What time is it?"

"What?"

"What time is it? he asked feeling an urgency about the answer.

"Six o'clock. Clearly Jill was mystified as to why it should matter, but Taylor wasn't ready to enlighten her.

Six o'clock. The sun would be low in the western sky. Just the position to hit him squarely in the eyes. But maybe it had been a fluke, a nerve twinge or something.

He turned his head, afraid to hope he'd sense again that bright, painful light.

There it was! He hadn't imagined it. He blinked rapidly to clear the sudden moisture from his eyes. He was going to see again. Maybe not tomorrow, but he would see and soon.

"Headache bad?"

"No. He smiled. "No, it's not bad at all. Already gone, in fact."

He walked to the car with a new confidence in his step. As he dropped into the passenger seat he realized he had missed the moment when he should have told Jill about the experience.

How could he even put it into words? How did he say that for the first time in his life he felt like dropping to his knees and thanking a God he wasn't sure he believed in? How did he tell another human being, especially one who already knew too much about him, how truly afraid he'd been, or how knee-buckling the relief was. Answer - he didn't.

Besides, there really wasn't all that much to tell, not yet. He'd tell Jill later, when he really had something solid to report. A happy Caesar greeted him and he brushed off the niggling suspicion he was rationalizing. If he said nothing he wouldn't have to admit to such weak feelings.

After a dinner of the deli fried chicken and cole slaw, Taylor excused himself and went into his office. It had been a day that needed thinking about.

* * * *

Jill set the plastic wineglass down on the edge of the spa and let the robe slide from her shoulders. She tossed it over the chair she had dragged close and stepped down carefully into the hot, bubbling water. When she was hip deep she paused to adjust to the temperature before immersing herself up to her shoulders.

The past two days Taylor had worked her like she was a slave, not an employee. She needed this time to herself to soak in the soothing water and think about nothing. She sipped her wine, lay her head back against the tiled edge, and took in the star-sprinkled night sky.

It had been a strange two days. After they'd returned from taking Jason home and stopping at the grocery store, Taylor appeared to have completely forgotten their sensual banter. He seemed almost to have forgotten her, at least in any capacity other than typist and erstwhile cook.

Taylor had decided he wasn't far enough along in the book after all and had dictated almost nonstop. Although the work was hard, it did help smooth over the new awkwardness between them.

After making love with Taylor in the kitchen, she was having trouble establishing a footing for interacting. Were they now lovers, or just real friendly business associates? Or maybe not friendly at all. At the thought a cold hand seemed to squeeze her heart.

So much for thinking about nothing. Learning about Jason, and from Jason about Taylor's past had forced her to reconsider everything she thought she'd known about him.

He wasn't the hard, unfeeling man she'd first believed him to be. He was like a hermit crab. The shell wasn't really a part of him, it was just where he felt safe. Outside his shell he was defenseless and vulnerable, or at least thought he was. How could she teach him otherwise? Her tired brain wasn't going to figure that out tonight.

After she finished Taylor's work, there was still her own to do. The night before, she'd fallen asleep at the desk in her room.

She had met Taylor's housekeeper, or rather, housekeepers, Lori and Angelo, a young couple who cleaned houses part-time to help fund their educations. They had come the day before and Jill had asked Angelo to check the Jacuzzi while they were there.

He had cleaned it, adjusted the chemicals, and then shown her how to do it herself. She'd been planning on getting into it ever since, but this was the first moment she'd had time.

She'd still been at her desk tonight when she'd heard Taylor turn in. She had worked for only a while longer and then decided she deserved a glass of wine and the treat of a long soak.

Jill took a sip of the chilled Chardonnay and let her gaze travel over the secluded garden. The spa and surrounding area were lit by only the softest of cleverly disguised indirect lights, set on a timer to go on at sunset. The place was beautiful, restful, and romantic, and she let out a tired sigh.

On the still night air the sound of the surf reached her clearly from the ocean a couple of blocks away, but her peace was undisturbed by any other noise. Coronado went to bed early.

Caesar, outside at night now, came to lie close by on the patio. He appeared happy to have her company.

"Just you and me still stirring at this hour, huh, boy?"

"Not quite, said Taylor as he made his way through the French doors.

Jill gasped in surprise and instinctively ducked lower in the water. She'd thought she was safe using the spa without a suit. The garden was private, the hour was late, and she was the only one awake - or so she'd thought.

Then she remembered Taylor couldn't see her. It didn't matter whether she wore a suit or not.

Taylor had become so accomplished with his cane she hadn't heard him approach. He took off the towel slung around his neck, but tapped with the cane until he found the edge of the spa before dropping the towel on the pavement.

"Good idea getting Angelo to service this while he and Lori were here, Taylor said, leaving his cane within reach at the edge and lowering himself into the water. He settled back with a groan and closed his eyes.

"Couldn't sleep? Jill asked scooting a safe distance away.

"Nah. Maybe the hot water will help. How about you?"

"I haven't given insomnia a chance yet. I just finished a stint on my dissertation."

"After typing all day for me? Taylor frowned. "I hadn't realized you were putting in such long hours. Have you been doing that since you got here?"

"It hasn't been too bad. It's just the past couple of nights that I've worked so late."

"And so hard. I'm sorry. I'll try to remember you have your own project that requires attention too."

She didn't want him to be so nice about it. She wanted him to be a thoughtless, is-there-anyone-but-me bastard. It would make leaving him easier when inevitably their time together was over.

"Don't worry about it. So far I've managed to juggle my dissertation around your schedule. It's not really a problem. She wished he would go back in the house and leave her to the questionable peace she'd found before he arrived.

Just looking at him made her ache. His arms stretched out along the edge on either side of him and she longed to move into his lap, lay her head against his bare chest, and feel those arms wrap around her. She didn't need or want the pull of attraction he created, not when her feelings about him were so unsettled.

"Just remind me occasionally that we're working too long, he said.

"Will do. Fine. Now go. Please.

Taylor stretched and sank deeper. He didn't appear ready to leave anytime soon. Getting out before he did would necessitate clambering over him. She appeared to be stuck. The last thing she wanted was for Taylor to discover she was naked.

Although it was much too late for modesty, she was afraid he would think she'd done it on purpose, shown up sans bathing suit in the very hope that he would discover her. With the preoccupied, standoffish air he'd had the past couple of days she was likely to embarrass them both - Taylor when he was put on the spot and her when he turned her down.

She squeezed her eyes shut. She'd die from the humiliation.

"You were right, you know, Taylor said.

Her eyes flew open. He was getting good at reading her mind. She swallowed and gathered her courage. "About what?"

"The book is much better with your suggestions."

She sagged with relief. "Does that mean there's a possibility Jake's going to finally settle down with one woman?"

"Certainly not! At least not in the foreseeable future. He still has a reputation to uphold."

Much like Taylor. A heaviness settled in Jill's chest. Taylor was best admired from afar. She tossed back the last of her wine and reflected that it was much too late for that.

She had been better off when all she had was a fun, harmless crush on a man she knew only as words on paper. The feelings she had for the flesh and blood version were only going to bring her pain.

Chapter Nineteen

Taylor used his forearm to mop the sweat off his brow, shoving back the spike of sandy hair that had fallen over it. The heat had brought out twin slashes of color over his sharply cut cheekbones and his hazel eyes looked bronze in the soft light. The dusting of hair across his chest matted damply to his well-defined pecs. Jill all but drooled. Her fingertips itched with the urge to skim over all that beautiful muscle, but she had no idea what to do about the situation.

"Feeling sleepy yet? Taylor asked.

She almost laughed. It was either that or cry. Sleep was the farthest thing from her mind. "Not really."

"Me, neither. What do you think we ought to do about that? His mouth slanted in a wicked smile.

Be still my heart."Uh ... count sheep?"

Taylor shook his head slowly. "I've got a better idea. Come here."

He swept his hand through the water until it connected with her arm, then grasped her elbow and drew her to him. He released her elbow and started to slip his arm around her. His hand brushed across her back where the strap of her suit top should have been and he stopped short

"Hel-lo. He stroked down her side from just under her arm to below her hip. "Mm. My favorite outfit."

She drew in a sharp breath at the quick clenching in her stomach. "Taylor, I don't think - "

His laugh was low and knowing. "Oh, yes, you do. You think about this as much as I do. You remember how it felt to have me buried deep inside you and you wonder if it would feel as good again."

He bent his head and nuzzled her ear. "Let's find out, shall we?"

Why not? If she refused, what would she be protecting herself from? She was already going to be haunted by the first time they'd made love. Doing it again would just give her more, maybe even better memories.

The wine she'd had, or maybe plain need, gave her courage. She turned, swung a leg over Taylor's lap, and straddled him. She leaned forward letting the tips of her breasts brush his chest and nipped at his bottom lip.

"Yes, let's, she whispered against his mouth.

He seemed taken aback by her blatant response, but recovered quickly. "Good answer, he murmured tunneling his fingers through her hair and holding her head as he kissed her in return. He played with her mouth, gnawing gently on her lips, slicking his tongue over them, slipping inside to tangle with her own tongue.

At first she followed with the same teasing caresses, but she then began to want more. When she attempted to capture Taylor's mouth for a longer kiss, to hold him closer, he drew back.

"We rushed this the last time. Good sex, like good wine, ought to be savored a sip at a time, not gulped like soda pop."

"But I'm thirsty."

Taylor's mouth tipped in a provocative smile. "I'm glad, but we're still going to do this my way. We've got all night."

Jill traced her fingertip around Taylor's lips. "All night, huh? Don't make promises you can't keep."

Taylor captured her fingertip between his teeth and bit lightly. "What makes you think I can't? He gave a cocky laugh. "Better not plan on getting much sleep, baby."

His hands rested on either side of her just above her hips. Taylor drew small circles as though enjoying the feel of her hipbones nestled in his palms. He slid his hands down further until his fingers splayed over the outside of her thighs and his thumbs lay lightly over the tops. With her legs open across Taylor's lap she felt exposed and daring and vulnerable, her very position arousing.

He brushed lightly over the curls shielding sensitive female flesh and Jill gasped. She hoped he'd take further advantage of her accessibility, but he slid his hands back up her body to her breasts and cupped them.

"I like you this way, he said as his thumbs stroked over nipples that puckered in immediate response.

She didn't know if he meant aroused, naked, or sitting on his lap. It didn't matter. She loved them all. The slightly abrasive feel of the fabric of his suit against the insides of her thighs was a sexy reminder of how open she was to him. With her position, she couldn't have closed her legs even if she'd wanted to. And she didn't.

Jill stroked her hands over Taylor's face, skimming his brows, his cheekbones, the fine bridge of his nose, the lips that pressed a kiss on her fingers. She loved him so much her heart threatened to burst with it.

The way she felt about Taylor taught her that she hadn't really cared for Brian, not in any meaningful way. It was too bad for her that she had to learn about real love from a man who didn't know the first thing about it. If he was hers for only a short while, she intended to make the most of the time she had.

She leaned forward and lay her lips against Taylor's throat, flicking the tip of her tongue on his skin and tasting salt. Sex with him wasn't just fine wine, it was the most expensive of champagne, rare and precious and intoxicating.

She pressed closer to him, arching her pelvis against the erection she could feel through his suit.

She had the satisfaction of hearing Taylor groan before he grasped her hips and eased her back toward his knees.

"I promised all night. You keep that up and this will be the shortest night on record."

His hands slipped back up to her breasts and he cupped them again lifting them high as he bent his mouth to one.

He toyed with the nipple, holding it lightly between his lips, flicking his tongue over it. Jill dug her fingernails into Taylor's shoulders loving the easy caresses, dying for him to take more.

Taylor closed his teeth gently over the sensitive tip and tugged, and Jill whimpered. He did the same to the other breast, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out with pleasure.

Taylor kept it up until she abandoned her attempt at silence. With the unbelievable pleasure he was giving her, her lips would have been bloody.

Taylor planted a kiss between her breasts and slid his hands down her sides to her thighs again until his thumbs were nestled between them. He brushed over the bud between them, and Jill moaned and tipped her pelvis, hoping he'd take the hint to go further.

"What's my name?"

Taylor held his thumbs teasingly close to her throbbing flesh, but still not close enough.

It took a moment for Jill's desire-fogged brain to register his question.

"Your name? What kind of game was he playing? He had created such an ache in her she could barely sit still and now he was asking silly questions? "I don't understand. Why are you asking me this?"

"Humor me. What's my name?"

"Rumplestilskin."

Taylor laughed, but still didn't make a move. "Jill. His tone made it clear they would go no further until she gave him the right answer.

It wasn't funny anymore. "Oh, for - Taylor Sloane. Happy now?"

"Very."

"What was that all about?"

"Just checking. I wanted to be sure you knew exactly who it was that was about to make the earth move for you."

Make the earth move? Then she remembered the first part of his sentence. Had he really said that? Like she had so many men she might have lost track? "You wanted to make sure of what?"

"Nothing. Just forget it."

He brushed his lips over hers and settled until her mouth softened again. His thumbs stroked over her exactly as she had hoped earlier.

Jill moaned and went weak, her annoyance forgotten. He parted her and at the exquisite sensations, she sucked in a breath and her eyelids fluttered closed. Taylor sucked on her earlobe as he eased a finger inside her and she whimpered. He eased it out again and she whimpered louder. "Please."

He covered her mouth with his, swallowing her cry, and slipped just the tip of his finger back in. She tried to press closer and bring it deeper, but he drew it away.

"Oh, God, ple-e-ase, Taylor."

He flicked his thumb over her, wringing another cry from her, but he still didn't let her have what she wanted. She clutched at Taylor's shoulders, her fingers kneading the hard muscles there in her frustration.

"Feeling brave, baby?"

A thrill of excitement shivered through her. "Why? she asked breathlessly.

"I want to taste you. Knowing that no one else has done that for you is driving me crazy."

And thinking about Taylor doing it, just the way Jake had with Dierdre, was driving her crazy.

"Let me please you that way. You won't believe how good you can feel. How good I can make you feel, he said, his voice husky.

When sudden shyness prevented her from formulating an answer, Taylor appeared to take her silence for acquiescence. He lifted her off his lap and moved away from the underwater bench, holding her from beneath so that she floated.

"Just lie back, stretch your arms out, and let the water support you."

If she were going to protest, she'd better do it fast. But she didn't want to protest. She wanted to be daring and experimental and wildly sexual. Feeling just that way, she did as Taylor directed. The warm water cradled her, bubbling around her decadently.

Still holding her up, Taylor gently parted her legs and moved between them. Any chance for second thoughts was gone as he grasped her thighs and drew them wider apart.

The water bubbled over and around her exposed flesh feeling startlingly sensual. Reflex had her trying to squeeze her legs together again. "Taylor, I - "

He held her thighs firmly open, refusing to let her close them. "Huh-uh. Brave, remember. You can do this. Ready baby?"

Chapter Twenty

This was Taylor. Jill let go of her inhibitions and gave herself up to the man she loved.

The tip of his tongue slid over her tender flesh. At the jolt of pleasure, she jerked as though touched by a live wire. Her muscles tightened, and water surged over her. If Taylor hadn't had such a fierce grip on her, she'd have gone under. She was liable to drown before he was through, but what a way to go.

"Easy, he said before he repeated the caress, making it impossible to comply.

She trusted Taylor not to let her sink and lost herself completely in pleasure so exquisite she thought she might faint. When Taylor dipped his tongue into her, she was sure she would.

She had never known the kind of feelings he was arousing in her. She wanted them to go on and on and on. All too soon she could feel her body gathering, tightening in preparation for an orgasm she was powerless to stave off.

Taylor continued to use his mouth and tongue on her, driving every thought from her head but wild pleasure. He was wringing sounds from her she'd never thought to make.

Jill's climax slammed into her with the force of a lightening strike, and she screamed with the intensity of it. When it was finally over, she thought she might have passed out for a few seconds.

She dragged her eyes open to see the stars twinkling in the night sky above her. Surely they hadn't been that bright earlier?

Taylor moved to cradle her loosely in the water, one arm under her knees and the other behind her shoulders. "You okay?"

She turned her head tiredly and kissed his chest. "You mean as opposed to dead? My God, Taylor, that felt so good it should be illegal."

"I think it is in several states."

"Then you've just introduced me to a life of crime, because I am definitely going to be a repeat offender."

She dropped her head against his chest, too enervated to do more than breathe. Poor Dierdre. Taylor was a much better lover than Jake. Dierdre's experience in the spa paled compared to her own.

"Let's move this party upstairs, Taylor said. "I don't have any condoms down here with me."

Jill moaned. "You mean I have to walk? I'm not sure I have the energy."

"You only have to make it to my bed. Not so far, really."

"And then I intend to collapse."

"You can lie down, but don't count on getting a lot of rest. Taylor's voice dropped to a husky murmur. "All night, remember?"

Jill smiled. "I can if you can."

They climbed out of the Jacuzzi and Jill picked up her towel, then handed Taylor his. The night air had chilled and she rubbed herself briskly before donning her robe and wrapping up her wet hair. Taylor was right behind her as they hurried into the warm house.

"Brr. Jill pulled her robe tighter around her. "I hadn't realized how much it had cooled off."

"You hurry upstairs and we'll have you warm again fast enough."

She didn't doubt he was capable and in fact he lived up to his boast. Upstairs in his wide bed, Taylor made love to her again, taking his own satisfaction after at last entering her. Exhausted, Jill fell asleep with her head tucked into the hollow of his shoulder.

Taylor made good on his promise though, waking her several times with a kiss or caress. By the time she was fully awake she was already aroused and needy. The sex alternated between lazy, leisurely journeys and hot, desperate coupling.

The last time they made love Jill was the one to wake Taylor, breathing in his ear and scattering kisses over his chest. She nipped at his flat male nipple, and he growled and flipped her over, pinning her hands to the mattress on either side of her.

"So, you want to play rough? You should have told me, sweetheart. I can accommodate you."

She wasn't worried. She'd heard the laughter beneath his words.

He dragged her arms over her head and captured both wrists, then held them in one hand while he reached for a condom packet on the nightstand. He tore it open with his teeth and rolled the condom on without releasing her, but then she hadn't been trying very hard to escape. It was too exciting looking forward to being ravished.

"Spread your legs, Taylor ordered.

"Make me, she challenged archly. Jill tugged on her arms, but he held them fast.

"I'll bet you played with matches when you were a little girl. He settled his weight on her and pushed a hard knee between the legs she tried to clamp together.

She bucked, attempting to throw him off, but her actions had little effect.

"Give it up, baby. I'm bigger than you, stronger than you, and you want me so bad already you can hardly wait for me to win."

"Hah. Not even in your dreams."

He laughed. "What a liar you are. Shall we prove it? With his knee wedging her thighs open, he reached down and thrust a finger into her. "You're so wet you'll probably come before I even take you."

She squirmed, not sure if she were trying to escape his finger or taunt him into doing more. He pushed his finger in deeper, and she bit back a moan at the pleasure that shimmered through her. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of hearing her.

"Let's shift this into a higher gear. I'm getting impatient. Still holding her prisoner he bent his head and took one of her nipples in his mouth. When he sucked hard, she arched into a bow. He gnawed gently, rolling the nipple between his teeth, and she could no longer hold back the cry that escaped.

"That's it, baby. Tell me again how much you don't want this. He slid his finger out, then pushed in two, stretching her, and she whimpered and pressed against him.

He drew his fingers out slowly then thrust them back in hard, almost, but not quite hurting her. He kept up the maddening rhythm for several minutes. Jill didn't know which stroke was more exciting, the tantalizingly slow withdrawal of his fingers that slicked over every nerve end or the aggressive, masculine thrust that left no doubt who was in charge.

She cried and whimpered and arched and finally, when she couldn't stand the edge he held her on any longer, begged Taylor for release.

He made no move to grant her plea. "I'm going to tell you one more time, he said, voice stern. "Spread your legs. Wide."

She obeyed immediately, opening them eagerly for him.

"That's better. I do love a submissive woman."

Quick annoyance at his chauvinistic remark had Jill trying to close her legs again, but Taylor was already between them, his knees bracing them apart.

He chuckled, the sadistic bastard. "I thought that would get to you."

He maintained his grip on her wrists, still holding them above her head. "Let's get down to business. Brace yourself, sweetheart. This one's going to be a hard ride."

True to his words he took her fast, shoving into her in a thrust that reached so deeply she cried out at the painful pleasure of it. Taylor paused for a moment and she knew he was waiting to assure himself she was all right. A wave of love washed over her, more intense than any of the sexual feelings he had aroused.

Jill hooked her legs around Taylor's and tipped her hips up, letting him know without words that she was fine and wanted more.

It was all the signal he needed. Taylor thrust again as deep and hard as the first time, and Jill clenched her teeth at the unbearable tension drawing her muscles tight. With Taylor's third thrust she climaxed on a sob and wept with exquisite relief as the spasms went on and on.

Taylor stiffened above her and groaned, the hand holding her wrists in bondage squeezing tight for a moment. Her last memory before falling asleep in the predawn light was of him pressing a kiss on her temple.

* * * *

Taylor squinted at the bright square of light and realized it was sunshine coming through his bedroom window. But what was the similar square across the room? He frowned for a moment trying to remember what he had last seen there. Of course. His brow cleared. It was the mirror over his dresser, reflecting the window.

A surge of pleasure had him almost waking Jill, sleeping soundly snuggled against his side, but he hesitated. She'd clearly been exhausted by their night. He smiled at the memory. She'd surprised him by her relative lack of inhibition, but she'd surprised herself more. His smile grew wider as he thought about her surprised cry when she'd climaxed the last time. No, he wouldn't wake her just yet.

He directed his gaze around the room trying to see more, but only the brightest areas were visible. There seemed to be a glowing red triangle across the foot of the bed. He touched it and found it warm. Of course. Elation made him breathless. The sun was shining across his maroon comforter, highlighting a patch of it.

Taylor took heart from the fact that he was beginning to distinguish color as well as light and dark. Every day his vision was marginally better than the one before it.

He decided to wait until he could see well enough to look into Jill's eyes before saying anything to her about it. That way he'd know for sure his vision was back to normal and not just a brief aberration.

Taylor felt better than he had in months and he knew who was responsible for that. He stroked a hand over Jill's hip, but she only murmured and snuggled deeper into the blankets. He let her sleep, easing out of bed carefully to avoid waking her.

When he returned to the bedroom from taking a shower he stood beside the bed a moment and heard her soft, even breathing. Still sleeping. He smiled indulgently. Maybe they'd overdone things a bit. He'd obviously worn her out. He picked up his shoes and left the room softly.

He was sitting at the table sipping his orange juice when he heard Jill's steps on the stairs. Thank God. He had managed a bowl of cereal and glass of juice on his own, but the coffee maker defeated him.

"Good morning, he said when he heard her walk into the kitchen.

"Good morning. You've already eaten? You should have waked me up. He caught the note of reserve in her voice, as though she might be embarrassed. He'd straighten her out on that immediately.

"Nothing tricky about pouring corn flakes into a bowl. Besides, I thought it was important you get all the rest you need. For tonight, you know."

Jill gave short laugh, the awkwardness gone "I'd better take a nap then, as well."

"Might be a good idea. For the moment, though, what I really want is a cup of coffee. The coffee maker wasn't designed with a blind person in mind."

"Not to worry. I'll have you fixed up in no time."

The rich smell of his custom grind filled the air before she spoke again. "Taylor what was that about last night, that what's-my-name business?"

He sucked in his cheeks. "The first time we had sex you called me Jake."

"I didn't." Sheer horror filled her voice.

He tipped his head. The morning had suddenly become very interesting. "Yeah, you did."

"Oh, God, I'm sorry. I, I - It's just that when I - "

She stopped abruptly, and he thought he might know how she would have ended the sentence. A corner of his mouth tugged in a smile. "Are you blushing?"

She groaned. "In Technicolor."

"Don't. I'm pleased I was able to create a character that lives that vividly for you."

"You have no idea."

He chuckled. "I'm beginning to."

There was a thump on the table in front of him. "Here. Drink your coffee and give me some peace."

They spent a surprisingly productive day. The work went quickly, as though they were thinking with one mind. Taylor had a suspicion that fact ought to make him nervous, but the work was so easy he wasn't going to look for reasons to complain.

The next few days followed the same pattern, work during the day and share hot sex with Jill at night, a schedule that suited him just fine. She still maintained her stuff in the guestroom, but she slept in his room wrapped in his arms.

Taylor was quite happy with the pleasant routine until Caesar's vicious barking woke him from a deep sleep. He opened his eyes and found the square of window dark. Still night.

Caesar continued to bark, setting up a din loud enough to wake neighbors on the entire block.

Taylor climbed out of bed and reached for his jeans.

"What's going on? Jill asked nervously.

"I don't know, but I'm going to find out."

"Not by yourself, you're not."

Much as he'd like to order her to stay where she was, the unfortunate truth was that he needed her eyes. "All right, but stay beside me. Don't go charging out on your own."

Downstairs Taylor opened the back door and called the dog. Caesar immediately ran to him, the timbre of his bark changing from threatening to communicative. His dog was obviously trying to tell him something.

Taylor hit the switch beside the door that controlled the floodlights. "Jill, do you see anything?"

She slipped around him at the door and he caught her before she could go any further. "From here. Do you see anything?"

"Not really."

Caesar had calmed down and stopped barking. "Let's go check."

He and Jill, accompanied by the dog, made a circuit of the garden and failed to find anything that would account for Caesar's fit of barking. They turned and started back for the house.

"Wait a minute, Jill said. She let go of Taylor's arm, but was back in a few seconds. "I found this."

She placed a soft scrap of fabric in his hand. He rubbed it between his thumb and fingers and felt the ragged edges.

"Feels like a piece torn off a sweatshirt."

"That's what it looks like, too. It's black, kind of faded. Do you think Caesar tore this off someone trying to come over the wall?"

"I think that's exactly what happened. Taylor bent down and rewarded the dog with a vigorous rub. "Good boy, Caesar."

"Should we call the police?"

He thought about it for a moment and shook his head. "Whoever it was is long gone by now. There's not much the police can do at this point. Let's go back to bed."

The next morning Taylor sat in his usual chair, fingers steepled, considering the incident. It might have been a random prowler, or it might have been the fan with the shaky grasp on reality. He hadn't really thought the guy was a physical threat before now, but there was Jill to worry about. He couldn't let his career endanger her.

He heard the soft click of keys as she checked his email and sorted through his business correspondence, then silence. "Taylor, as strongly as you feel about your privacy, why don't you have a security system?"

The events of the night before were obviously on her mind, too.

"I do. Caesar. With him, I don't have to worry about setting off an alarm by mistake, or trying to remember if I armed it in the first place. And Caesar can discriminate. Compare the way he greeted Jason to his treatment of last night's caller."

"I see your point. She returned to her task at hand. "Uh-oh."

Taylor lifted his head. "What is it?"

"Another message from the president of your fan club."

"Read it to me."

"'Jake, call off your dog. He's jeopardizing our mission. I'll be back. The dog had better be gone when I am. It's signed The Vigilante.

"Okay, Taylor said, voice grim. "Now we call the police."

Two hours later Taylor heard Jill escort the visiting police officer to the door and gripped his cane in frustration. The police department could offer little that was reassuring.

They would include his house in their regular patrols, keep a close eye on it, whatever that meant, and use their authority to discover where the email was sent from. However, with all the Internet cafés and services that were available, the officer didn't think that was going to yield much in the way of useful information.

All Taylor could do was remain alert and keep Jill close to him. His hand flexed on the cane with the desire to beat the individual bloody who had had the gall to threaten what was his.

Chapter Twenty-One

Jill forked up the last bite of her chicken and popped it into her mouth. The late meal of baked chicken breasts, seasoned rice, and green salad was actually good. She couldn't help surveying the empty platter and bowls with satisfaction. She and Taylor had worked into the evening and then she had prepared dinner according to his directions.

"This was delicious, Taylor said, as though following her thoughts. "You're a quick learner. You've turned into a decent cook."

Jill laughed. "You don't have to sound quite so surprised."

"Want to try banana-coconut pancakes for breakfast?"

"Ooh, let's. That sounds yummy. With Taylor's coaching, the pancakes would be no problem and she could almost smell the mouth-watering, tropical aroma of them already. Then disappoint squelched her pleasure.

"Oh, we can't. We're all out of bananas."

"What time is it?"

"Eight-thirty."

"Coronado rolls up its sidewalks early, but the grocery store is still open. Let's go get some."

The decision was an easy one. "Great idea. She jumped up and quickly cleared their dishes and loaded the dishwasher. "Ready."

When they started for the garage door, Caesar, who'd been lying under the table, sprang to life and reached it ahead of them, his tail wagging with enthusiasm.

"I think he wants to go along, she said.

"What gave you that idea?"

Jill had discovered Caesar loved riding in the car, any car. Caesar's obvious pleasure as he alternated between thrusting his head between her and Taylor or out an open window soon overcame any objections she had to taking him with them.

As soon as Jill opened the door Caesar slipped through in front of them and waited by the Jag's back door. She let him into the car, dropped her purse on the floor in back, and slipped behind the wheel. Driving the car was pure pleasure and she still couldn't believe Taylor really didn't mind.

They wheeled into the almost empty parking lot of the store and Jill shut off the engine.

"Stay, Caesar, Taylor ordered as he unfolded his length from the car.

Jill pocketed the keys and walked at Taylor's side, watching to be sure that he could manage all right with his cane. In the store she picked up a basket and looped her free hand around Taylor's elbow. He was always afraid of knocking something off a shelf in the small, overcrowded grocery.

In the produce department she picked out a healthy-looking bunch.

"What do they look like? Taylor asked.

Her brows rose. Surely he hadn't been blind long enough to have forgotten. "Uh, yellow, long..."

"No. If they're totally yellow, they're not the best. Find some that are already spotted with brown. They'll be sweeter."

Against her better judgment, Jill put back the ones she had selected and picked out a bunch with brown freckles. "Okay, we've got bananas. What else do we need?"

Taylor listed the ingredients in the recipe while Jill mentally checked off the items that she knew they had in the pantry at home.

The only other customer in the department was a large matron with permed curls eavesdropping not very subtly on their conversation. Jill's gaze was drawn to the woman's hot-pink, oversized straw purse and realized she had left her own in the back of the Jag.

"Taylor, I forgot my purse in the car. Wait here, I'll be right back."

"I'll come with you."

"No, no, it'll only take me a minute. You guard these quality bananas, while I get some money to pay for them."

She hurried through the store to the exit and out to the parking lot, digging the keys from her jeans pocket as she went.

Approaching the car, she hit the remote on the key ring to unlock the door and reached for the handle. A male hand suddenly appeared from behind her and snatched the ring of keys.

Jill felt something hard and cold jammed into her side. She looked down in disbelief at the barrel of a small, lethal-looking pistol.

"Jake's car and Jake's woman in one handy, convenient package. I'm commandeering both. Jake is hereby relieved from duty. The man was clearly deranged. His eminently sane, rational tone sent a slither of dread down Jill's spine.

"Here's what we're going to do. I'll get in first and slide across. Then you'll get in and drive. I'll tell you where. Remember, I'll have this pointed at you the whole time. Do you understand?"

She nodded woodenly, afraid to even breathe. Her gaze slid to her assailant's face, but in the dim light of the parking lot she could make out few details beyond the fact he was slight and balding.

Fear froze her in place. What could she do? She mustn't let him take her from the parking lot. Cold sweat sprang out on her skin as she struggled to think.

The man grasped her arm tightly and jerked open the car door. Caesar erupted from the back seat, the vicious snarl that issued from his throat baring his sharp fangs.

Acting on instinct, her heart hammering so hard it threatened to choke her, Jill flung herself sideways out of the way.

* * * *

Taylor occupied himself as he waited for Jill by squinting at the brightly colored produce and trying to guess what was what. Identifying the display of bananas didn't count. He could smell them. The pile of kelly green was probably bell peppers. And for sure, the red was tomatoes. He touched them to check. Yup.

His vision was returning quickly, every day bringing measurable improvement. At first he'd been afraid to hope, afraid that he only imagined it because he wanted it so badly. He still hadn't said anything to Jill. How could he put that kind of need into words? And what if he'd been wrong? He couldn't bear the thought of her pity. He was sure now that he'd soon be back to his pre-accident shape, but the right moment for telling her hadn't come up yet.

Something else he'd been trying to ignore was the fact that as soon as his vision returned, Jill would have no reason to stay. In the beginning he'd hated the thought of having someone else in the house with him. Now he hated the thought of not having her there. Was that love? Love made you needy, something he'd spent most of his life avoiding. Besides, if you had to ask...

"Is everything all right? Can I help you?"

He swung his gaze toward a woman who appeared to take up a lot of the space in front of him. A bright splash of pink seemed to be part of her.

"No, I'm fine. I'm just waiting for my - What the hell was she? "My girlfriend. How juvenile. Nothing nailed down his mixed emotions as plainly as his inability to identify Jill's role in his life.

"Well, if you're sure..."

"Yes, I'm - "

The unmistakable sound of a gunshot popped loudly and Jill's scream knifed the air a half-second later.

"My goodness, what - "

Taylor pushed past the woman, desperate to reach Jill. "Gunfire. Tell the manager to call 911, he ordered over his shoulder. He maneuvered impatiently around the dark shapes of people, heedless of those he bumped into.

Customers and clerks rushed toward the same door Taylor was trying to get through. Frustration at the difficulty of getting around them had him grinding his teeth. He tried to tamp down the panic tightening his chest.

Outside, the overhead lights cast the parking lot into a confusing mix of shadows and glaring reflections.

"Jill! Jill,where are you?"

He turned toward the area where they had parked the car, swinging his cane ruthlessly and daring anyone to be in his way. Three other people ran past him from the store, and he followed in their direction. He felt as though he was moving in the slow motion of a nightmare.

Approaching the silvery shape of the Jag and the knot of people huddled in front of it, he prayed one of them was Jill. He needed to find her soon, and find her all in one piece so he could breathe again.

"Jill?"

"Oh, thank God she responded. "Here, Taylor. Her voice broke.

The crowd separated enough to allow him a glimpse of a woman sitting on the pavement beside of the car. Something or someone else sprawled next to her, but he couldn't make out who or what.

He dropped to his knee in front of Jill and skimmed his fingers over her face. Her skin felt cold and clammy. Shock.

"My God, what happened? Are you all right? He was dimly aware of the sound of sirens, but too concerned with Jill to pay attention.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine, she said, teeth chattering.

Momentary relief washed over Taylor that Jill was unhurt, even if her mental state needed work.

"It's Caesar. He shot Caesar. A sob choked off her voice and Taylor realized she was cradling the dog in her lap.

He stroked over the animal's shape and was rewarded with a faint whimper as Caesar lifted his head from Jill's leg. He could make out a darker patch spreading over the vicinity of Caesar's haunch.

The sound of sirens grew deafening as two police cars pulled into the lot, red and blue lights flashing like strobes. With the arrival of the police, the melee separated itself into orderly segments. Jill reported to the two interviewing officers about the man who had tried to steal the Jaguar and kidnap her.

Taylor went still at that. Across the parking lot, two other officers arrested Jill's attacker, tackled by a witness. He narrowed his eyes. In the harsh glare of the patrol cars lights he could make out shapes as the officers hauled the man to his feet.

Before his accident he might have meted out immediate justice himself. It was probably fortunate he was temporarily handicapped. He thought it was a damn shame, though, that the local force wasn't into police brutality.

Jill described for the officers how Caesar had attacked her assailant, foiling the theft and protecting her. Taylor vowed if Caesar lived, he was going to have steak every night of his life.

"Can you help us? he asked the police officers. "My dog needs to get to a vet right away."

Taylor couldn't have asked for more efficient action. An officer contacted Caesar's usual veterinarian at home and in minutes had arranged for the vet to meet them at her office. After Taylor slid into the backseat of the Jag, the police officers gently lifted Caesar and laid him on the seat with his head on Taylor's leg. Jill took her place behind the wheel, and they pulled out of the parking lot accompanied by a police escort with the siren wailing.

"You should have seen him, Taylor. He was magnificent. He has to be all right. Her voice thinned and Taylor could hear her swallow even from the backseat.

"Amy Evers is a great vet. She'll have him patched up and back in shape in no time. Taylor knew no such thing but Jill didn't need his worry too now.

At the clinic Amy and her assistant were ready for them. Taylor and Jill were soon relegated to the waiting area while Amy worked over Caesar in the operating room.

Taylor sat elbows on his knees, hands gripping the cane to keep them from shaking. He had almost lost her. He hadn't known he could be so afraid until he'd heard Jill scream. His hands flexed with the barely suppressed urge to clutch her to him and never, ever let her get further than an arm's length away again.

Just thinking about Jill going anywhere alone again made him panicky. How would he be able to stand not knowing every minute of the day that she was safe from the kind of delusional lunatic that had threatened her that evening?

Taylor had been able to make out little about the man, but the fact he was short and slight. Perhaps in his twisted mind a relationship with Jake Milligan was some kind of compensation for insignificance.

Taylor couldn't dig deep enough to feel anything but intense anger. Let the shrinks worry about compassion. With Jill's ready sympathy she'd probably be full of it.

Even in his anger a faint smile tugged at a corner of his mouth. What was he going to do about her? Tonight had changed their relationship. They'd never be able to return to their earlier whatever-will-be-will-be arrangement. He had discovered he cared too much to let fate decide for him.

Preoccupied with his troubled thoughts, he rolled the cane slowly between his palms watching the tip turn first one way and then the other on the speckled brown vinyl. Awareness that he was actually watching the cane tip on the floor, that he could see it suddenly penetrated his worry. He stared at the floor intently, not quite able to believe he was really looking at it.

"She seems to be taking a long time."

Jill's voice jerked Taylor from his trance. He lifted his head and realized he was seeing her face for the first time.

Wonder held him motionless. Copper. Her eyes were the same warm shade as antique, well-rubbed copper. Just brown? Not hardly.

His gaze drifted to her sleek hair, rich and sable-dark, the ends turned under where they brushed her shoulders. His focus shifted to the body his hands knew so well. It looked trim and lithe, her breasts gently outlined by the soft green sweater she wore. Who had convinced this woman she was anything but stunning?

"Taylor? Her eyes searched his. "You can see me, can't you? Her voice reflected the same wonder he felt.

"Yeah. I can."

"Just now? Did this just happen? How long have you been able to see?"

"Well?"

She frowned. "What do you mean well?"

"Today is the first time I've been able to see any kind of detail, but for a couple of weeks now I've been seeing light and dark and blocks of color."

* * * *

She looked into Taylor's hazel eyes focused on her for the first time.

"A couple of weeks, she repeated, numb with disbelief. "You didn't think I'd be interested? You didn't think to mention in passing, by the way, my vision has returned'?"

"I didn't want to jump the gun and say anything until I was sure my sight was permanent. His expression turned mulish. "And my physical condition is really no one's business but my own."

Jill's numbness began to wear off, replaced by a spreading pain almost too sharp to bear. His physical condition was none of her business? She had thought they were so much more than that to each other. She'd been so foolish, so naive, as to even entertain the notion of soul mates. She loved Taylor.

He'd never used the word love, but she'd discovered he was only verbal on paper. She'd have bet her life, though, that he did love her. It was a good thing, she reflected bleakly, that she hadn't been called on that bet. She'd be dead meat now.

The enormity of the gulf between them left her at a loss for a reply. They should be sharing joy at his regained sight, but he had shut her out completely. As if it would be presumptuous of her to even be happy for him. As Jill searched for words, Dr. Evers walked out of the operating room.

Taylor leaped to his feet, obviously as grateful for the interruption as for news of Caesar's condition. "How is he?"

Dr. Evers smiled. "He's still asleep now, but he's going to be just fine. The bullet grazed his hipbone, but passed clear through, missing anything vital. I removed a small bone chip, and sewed him up. I'll keep him here for a couple of days, but then he should be able to go home no problem."

Jill closed her eyes in relief. "I'm so glad. He's a wonderful animal."

"Thank you, Amy, Taylor said. "I'll call you in the morning for a progress report."

"Do that."

Jill stood up to leave and a wave of dizziness assailed her. She promptly sat down again and put her head on her knees.

"Jill? Taylor's immediate concern was all she might have hoped for five minutes earlier.

"Just give me a minute. She straightened and his eyes darkened as he regarded her.

"This has been a god-awful evening for you. Let's get you home. You want to try that again slower? He grasped her elbow and put a supporting arm around her waist as she stood.

"Everything okay? Dr. Evers asked.

"Not quite, Taylor said, "but it will be."

No, it wouldn't, not ever. Jill allowed Taylor to help her outside only because arguing would have prolonged the process. The sooner they got home, the sooner she could pack and be out of there. Staying was impossible. How could she bear for him to look at her, see her with those beautiful eyes and not see her with love. She already felt as though she were dying with every heartbeat.

Taylor didn't need her anymore, not for anything. He had never really needed her to be any more than his personal assistant. If she had thought their relationship went deeper - well, that was her mistake.

Outside, Taylor walked her to the passenger side of the car, opened the door, and waited.

She shot him a questioning look. "You intend to drive?"

"Yeah. Of the two of us, I'm in better shape. Let me have the keys."

She gave a fatalistic shrug, dug them out of her purse, and dropped them into his hand. It was a short trip down deserted streets. Taylor could probably manage. After tonight he'd have to anyway.

The trip home was uneventful and Taylor drove as though he'd never taken a break. They didn't speak, Taylor because he was probably concentrating on his driving and Jill because there was nothing she could say.

Once inside she walked straight upstairs to her room and hauled her suitcase out of the closet. When she marched back down thirty minutes later Taylor was in the kitchen she had to go through to get to the garage where her car was parked.

Taylor stood at the counter, his back to her, as he poured wine into two glasses.

"You're just in time to join me in a drink to celebrate. He picked up the glasses and turned toward her.

His gaze took in the suitcase she held in one hand and the briefcase in the other, and his brows slammed together. "Where are you going?"

"If your restored vision is none of my business, then where I'm going is none of yours. The tears welling in her eyes spoiled the haughty effect she was going for. "I'm leaving. That's all you need to know. You can manage fine now without me."

He stared at her, his expression as baffled as though she'd been speaking Urdu. "I don't understand."

She sniffed, set down the suitcase, and swiped at the tears that had spilled over her lashes. Maybe she could spare the next woman some heartache.

"I know you don't. That's the problem. Taylor, you're so afraid to let anybody in, you've built that damn wall so high and so wide that you can't even see over it. I love you, but I'm not going to spend the rest of my life - if that was ever an option - trying to climb it. I don't think that can be done. You've got to tear it down yourself."

She swallowed, took another swipe at her tears, then bent and picked up her suitcase. At the door she cast him a last glance. He stood where she'd left him, still holding the two glasses of wine and frowning at her.

"You may have your vision back, Taylor, but you're still blind."

Chapter Twenty-Two

At the sound of a woman's laugh, Taylor paused in his writing and lifted his head. The soft murmur of her voice faded as she and her companion moved away down the sidewalk beyond his wall. The silence she left behind seemed even emptier for the brief moment of warmth she'd unknowingly shared.

Caesar, lying on the floor of the office, had perked his ears up and brightened. He dropped his nose back between his paws and regarded Taylor with doleful eyes.

Taylor shifted uneasily in his chair. "Well, what am I supposed to do? I didn't throw her out. Leaving was her idea."

Caesar cocked a brow as though expressing his doubt.

Jill had been gone two weeks. Taylor had thought time dragged when he was blind, but compared to the long days - and longer nights - since Jill had left, time had moved at warp speed in his sightless days.

Even with Jill in the house he had spent hours alone, but there had been a difference he couldn't define. Always there had been an awareness of her, an essential essence of her presence. He had known she was within reach of his voice, he had only to call.

His home, his refuge and sanctuary prior to Jill, felt as lonely and stark as a bombed out building. How could rooms that had been peacefully private have turned so damned empty? What had Jill taken with her when she left?

Laughter,came the answer on the heels of his question. Prior to Jill, laughter hadn't figured prominently in his life. He'd been satisfied simply not to hurt. Happiness had been an extravagant luxury even his money couldn't buy, so he'd convinced himself that what he did have was more than enough.

Jill had shown him the poverty of his thoughts. She laughed often, and drew the same from him even when it was at his own expense. Her voice usually held a smile, one he found impossible to resist.

Even when he didn't require her assistance, he'd begun seeking her out just for the pleasure of her company. When had he wanted to be with a woman just to hear her speak, unless what she had to say was yes'?

Jill had been the first. Taylor's mouth twisted in irony. She'd taken his virginity and he'd never be the same again.

He sighed heavily and returned his attention to the monitor in front of him. The work wasn't going well. He couldn't seem to make the plot threads tie up in a tidy bundle. The mess was turning out to be more of a Gordian knot. Jake was having as much trouble with his woman as Taylor.

He felt eyes on him and looked up to find Caesar still watching him with the same accusing stare. Taylor shrugged it off and reread what he had just written. Awful.

He looked back at Caesar and frowned, before throwing up his hands in defeat. "All right, dammit, I give up."

He hit the delete key, effectively erasing a morning's work, and picked up the telephone.

* * * *

Jill checked her watch again to see if she could justify breaking for lunch, and then held it to her ear to assure herself it was still running. Surely more than five minutes had passed since the last time she had looked at it.

The fact that she had almost finished her dissertation was a mixed blessing. A lot of hard work had gone into it and she'd be relieved when she saw the end of that. On the other hand, when she saw the end of the work, what then would she fill her time and her thoughts with?

She'd already babysat her nieces and nephews so often in the past month her siblings complained she saw more of their kids than they did. She couldn't use the children indefinitely, and she had discovered that although they might occupy her time, they didn't come close to occupying her mind. At least not enough to keep it from straying to Taylor.

It was still too early for lunch. She wasn't hungry, just depressed. She reached across the table and snagged the reference book the librarian had hunted out for her, determined to concentrate on the task at hand. Assembling her formal bibliography was a tedious chore, one that didn't mix well with what-might-have-beens.

Just what those might-have-beens might have been she didn't know. Taylor obviously couldn't imagine settling down with one woman and she couldn't imagine being part of a harem. She didn't mind not being his only woman, but she did demand to be the last. She smiled sadly. Talk about imagination.

The sound of footsteps approaching with a forceful stride interrupted her thoughts. Jill looked up from her work to see who was violating the hushed confines of the library.

The sight of Taylor marching toward her had her eyes going wide and her heart stuttering. She watched him approach, her gaze all but eating him. She'd been wrong. She was hungry, desperately so - hungry for his touch, his voice, his smile. From his expression, it didn't seem likely that she'd be seeing that last any time soon.

If she'd had doubts about his vision being permanent, they were laid to rest. His eyes were focused on her like lasers above a mouth drawn in a hard, angry line.

Taylor stopped at her table and plunked a package down in front of her. "This is yours now."

The librarian sitting at the desk Taylor had passed looked up from her own work, then went back to studying the computer monitor in front of her.

Jill opened her mouth to speak, then realized she had no idea what to say. She finally blurted the first thing that came to mind. "How did you know I was here?"

"Stan. Go on, open it, Taylor ordered.

Jill looked from his gaze that was boring holes in her to the small cardboard box held closed by a rubber band. Taylor obviously didn't believe in fancy gift-wrapping.

Jill picked up the box warily, glanced up at the impatiently waiting Taylor, and slipped off the rubber band. Stealing herself as though the package might contain a bomb she opened the flaps to find a wad of white tissue. The rustle of the paper as she took the bundle out drew another glance from the librarian, but Jill had other things to worry about.

What was Taylor doing there? Was his presence a reason for hope?

She lifted off the last of the tissue and stared in surprise at what he had brought her. Stark against the white paper sat the toy S.W.A.T. van.

She looked up at Taylor and shook her head. "I don't understand. Why are you giving me this?"

"Because it doesn't work anymore. You've spoiled it for me. It doesn't remind me not to want something. It just reminds me that I don't have the most important thing I've ever wanted."

She wouldn't ask, she wouldn't ask. The wrong answer would devastate her. "What is it you want? She closed her eyes in despair. Did she have no will power at all?

"You."

Her eyes flew open and her heart took a giant leap. "Me? The word was a tentative whisper.

"Got it in one. Nothing works without you. You have to come back."

Her heart hit the ground with a solid thud. All he needed was an assistant. "Why should I?"

"My dog misses you."

"Your dog misses me? she echoed faintly.

"Yeah. And so - "

"Excuse me, sir, but you'll have to keep your voice down."

Taylor turned and scowled at the librarian who had had the temerity to interrupt him. "I'm in the middle of something here."

"I can see that, but you're disturbing the other patrons."

Jill glanced around and realized they had become the center of attention. Their drama was the focus of several interested stares. People six tables deep watched them openly for the next development. Whatever happened between them would be played out for an audience.

Apparently Taylor came to the same conclusion. "Give me your bag, he demanded.

She stood and passed her briefcase over, deciding that on that at least they agreed. It was wiser to have this argument outside.

He shoveled all of her books and papers into a pile before haphazardly stuffing them into her briefcase. She rescued the reference book just in time and passed it with an apologetic look to the librarian.

Before Taylor could subject the valuable toy van to the same casual treatment she snatched it up and returned it to its box, then handed it to him. When Taylor had everything gathered and packed up, he grasped her arm and towed her toward the hall.

"I'm coming, you don't have to drag me, she hissed trying to keep her voice down.

"Sorry. He eased his grip, but didn't release her. They reached the hall, but Taylor kept moving. They went past the stairs to the elevator just beyond and he jabbed the call button.

"This elevator is supposed to be for handicapped only, Jill informed him.

"I am handicapped, he said. The elevator arrived and he ushered her inside. "I've been handicapped ever since you left."

He punched the down button and the doors slid closed. Before Jill could utter another word, Taylor dropped her briefcase, yanked her against his chest, and planted his mouth on hers.

For half a second she stood motionless. She ought to make him stop, but he felt wonderful, fabulous, his lips laying claim to hers in no uncertain terms. She had missed this so much, had lain awake at night remembering his touch and taste and feeling achy and empty. Helplessly she opened her mouth and clutched at his waist.

Taylor walked her backwards to the wall of the elevator and leaned into her, raising the temperature of the kiss by several degrees.

He was a master at arousing her and he knew it. Why was he doing this? Just so she'd agree to come back and help him? Anger shored up joints that had begun to go soft, and she shoved Taylor away from her.

"I must say, this is a novel twist on a job interview. She scraped her hair back with a shaky hand, making no effort to curb her temper.

Taylor's gaze was hot on her. "A job interview'? What the hell does that mean?"

"You need an assistant, don't you? To help you finish your book. Isn't that why you're here?"

Taylor stared at her, an expression of disbelief drawing his brows together. "God, no. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them and squared his shoulders. "I'm here because - "

The elevator had reached the ground floor and the doors opened. Taylor cursed, hit the up button, and the doors slid closed. The elevator started to climb, but Taylor punched his fist on the emergency stop and they jarred to a halt.

Jill looked at him in shock. "What are you doing?"

"We - Ineed some privacy."

That sounded like the Taylor she had come to know and love. "We won't have it for long. An alarm will go off in the security office."

"At least until they figure it out we'll be alone. I'm having a hard time here. I don't need spectators."

So many emotions were battling for dominance Jill was becoming dizzy. Love, anger, need, frustration, despair, and hope. With every heartbeat, one replaced the other in a confusing kaleidoscope of feeling. She was finally left stunned into a kind of calm.

"Well? she asked when Taylor continued to frown at her. "You're using up a lot of your precious privacy."

"I finished the book."

That'swhat he needed to tell her? Her heart felt leaden with disappointment. "Congratulations, she said, her smile a weak attempt.

"I wound up having to call my editor and ask for an extension on my deadline after all. There were some changes I needed to make."

"Oh? She couldn't work up the energy to care. She didn't give a damn if Jake took a flying leap into a live volcano.

"Yeah. Jake's taking on a partner."

Maybe she'd been a little hasty. "A partner?"

"He and Bethany are getting married."

"Married?But you said Jake wasn't even going to settle down anytime soon."

He lifted a shoulder. "He changed his mind. It just took meeting the right woman."

Hope elbowed its way to the front through the other feelings rioting in her mind and refused to budge. It gave her the courage to ask, "Does that have anything to do with why you're here?"

He looked relieved at the segue. "It has everything to do with it. Jake's not the only one who's changed his mind. I need you, Jill. He waved his hand in dismissal. "And not as an assistant. Although I've found my writing is better for your input.

"I need you because you remind me I'm a human being. You make me want to be a human being. You laugh and you see the funny side of even the bad stuff and you care about people. You care about me."

Jill listened to Taylor and swallowed past the tears that suddenly clogged her throat. "You see me."

He frowned. "Of course I see you. My eyes are fine now."

"No, I mean you really see me, who I am. I'm not invisible to you. She sniffed and a tremulous smile hovered on her lips.

Taylor's expression softened. "Baby, even when I was blind, you were never invisible to me.

"You were right about that wall. I'm working hard to dismantle it, but it's been there for a long time. Tearing it down is going to take some getting used to."

Taylor cast his eyes upward as though seeking guidance. When he lowered his gaze he met hers with a look of aching vulnerability.

"I love you, Jill. I don't expect you to reach all the way across the wall, but until it's down would you be willing to meet me halfway?"

Jill smiled up at Taylor through the tears swimming in her eyes and had to swallow again before she could speak.

"I'll race you there, she whispered and drew his head down for her kiss.

The elevator abruptly started back down, reached ground level, and came to a stop. Jill removed her arms with regret from around Taylor's neck as the doors opened to reveal two men in uniform.

Taylor bent and picked up Jill's briefcase, looped his arm around her waist, and escorted her out. "You really need to get this thing checked, he said to the security personnel. "We could have been stuck here all day."

Taylor brushed his lips against Jill's temple. "Come on, baby, let's go home. We've got some important demolition work to get started on."

* * * *

Cynthia Van Rooy

BIO

* * * *

Between growing up the daughter of an army officer and then marrying a naval officer, Cynthia VanRooy has moved often enough to have no problem coming up with settings for her novels. Home has been in places as diverse as Scotland, Turkey, Japan, Hawaii, Oklahoma, Rhode Island, Virginia, North Carolina, and California. The frequent moves were responsible for her love of reading. "No matter how many friends I was forced to leave behind, my favorite authors were always there waiting for me at the next library."

Her travel experiences and curiosity about other cultures led her to acquire a degree in cultural anthropology. Although her husband teases her about her somewhat impractical major, pointing out the lack of a crying demand for practicing anthropologists, she has never regretted choosing that field of study. The knowledge of people has helped enormously in her writing. She was able to use her degree more directly in one of her books. Her hero in Everything That Glitters was an anthropology professor!

She discovered romance novels when a houseguest left one behind. Desperate for something new to read, she picked it up. By the end of the book she was hooked. It wasn't long before she got the bug to write her own. "I love being able to daydream and call it work!"

Her favorite reading material? - How-to books on almost any subject. They are great for research and story ideas.

Cynthia is a three-time finalist for the San Diego Book Award, a finalist for the PASIC Book of Your Heart Contest judged by booksellers, and a finalist for the Independent eBook Award for Romance. She currently lives in Southern California. For more information about Cynthia, her books, or her popular how-to column "Writing Romance with a Passion check out her website at www.cynthiavanrooy.com.

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