The darkening sky cast gray shadows over Carson's face, but the clarity of his gaze never wavered. The rain plastered his hair to his head, sluiced smoothly over his torso and washed away the accumulated sweat and dirt. His muscles flexed and slowly he advanced; his movements sleek, stealthy, with a jungle cat's grace. Eva held her breath.

He stopped. Inches separated their rain-soaked bodies. The air swirled close, the moisture thickened. The fog of Carson's body heat scented the air. Droplets caught in Eva's lashes and she raised determined eyes.

He meant nothing to her any more; he was no longer a part of her life. But her thighs quivered, and her breasts tightened. And she knew the lie had run its course.

Carson lifted a finger, hesitated, then flicked a raindrop from the end of her nose. A second kissed her lip, slipped down her chin, ran the length of her neck and soaked into the neckband of her T-shirt. Carson's gaze followed, then traveled lower. His eyelids grew heavy, his breathing sharp and ragged. And Eva pressed back against the fence.

The distance was no deterrent. Carson stepped into her space. He traced the path of the raindrop with the pad of his index finger. His rough skin pulled at the pillow of her lower lip. She opened, allowed him to dip inside and leave a tempting hint of his taste. A taste she remembered too clearly. A taste that made her hungry again.

She tilted her head against the rough cedar board, giving him access to her neck. She wanted him. Dark secrets from the past pulled them apart, yet this white-hot electricity arced between them, spanning the years as well as the lies of omission. Making a mockery of the life she'd built for herself and her son.

His touch drifted feather light, drawing a single line down her neck. Her breath caught in the back of her throat; her erratic pulse pounded beneath his touch. His finger slipped lower, grew bolder, tickling a line between the valley of her breasts.

She shivered from the cool touch of the rain, from the hot touch of his finger. In a minute she'd stop him. For just one more minute she'd soak up his touch and let the rain wash away the years. For one second longer she'd pretend this was real and dream all those fantasies one more time. Make believe their differences didn't matter. Fool herself into believing they had a chance.

"Eva." Her name escaped his lips in a grating whisper.

LOVE IN BLOOM

Alison Kent

A big thank you to Diana C for catching what I couldn't see!

Praise for LOVE IN BLOOM

"... always delivers a good story with characters who make you care, and LOVE IN BLOOM is no exception. Whether she is writing under Michaila Callan or Alison Kent, this author never disappoints. Good characters, good story, good plot. That unique writing voice always stands out."
-~ReaderToReader.com

"She was a picture-perfect memory. But when he meets her again seventeen years later, he realizes that time has not dimmed his passion for her. But will their newly re-awakened feelings survive when she reveals the secret she has kept all those years, the secret he has every right to know?
LOVE IN BLOOM (4) ... is a beautiful love story filled with sensual delight."
~Romantic Times

For Walt, who allows me to bloom

Chapter One

Carson Brandt checked his watch for the second time in as many minutes.

Disgusted with time for creeping by, with himself for keeping track, he scrunched down in the burgundy velvet theater seat, propped his one black dress shoe on the opposite knee, and wedged the cast on his foot up under the seat in front of him.

He was not a happy man.

Bailey, Carson's assignment editor, had stuck him on a society shoot any kid with a Polaroid could handle. And to top off the indignity, he had to drag around a cubic foot of fiberglass cast, a bottle of Vicodin, and a back-up photographer cut from six feet, three inches of comic relief in tennis shoes.

The worst part was admitting he had no one to blame but himself.

He was the one who'd pitched the therapist's exercise schedule into the whirlpool, the one who'd refused to take sick leave, the one who'd ordered Bailey to send him somewhere, anywhere, just send him.

And Bailey had done just as Carson demanded, pulling the cushion of sick leave out from under him and sending him to New York to cover the first stop on the U.S. leg of the International Summit, a Worldwide Symposium in the Arts.

The Arts. Right. Must be the big one I spent all those months in Fallujah prepping for.

Uncrossing his leg, Carson scooted forward, stuck his index finger in the collar of his shirt, and tugged. It was useless. The collar was in cahoots with the cuffs and the cummerbund. They intended to clothe him to death.

"Man, would you, like, chill?"

Carson answered with a low growl. "Chill? In this friggin' oven? I'm trussed up like a Butterball, kid. Chillin' ain't gonna happen."

Sprawled in the aisle seat, his hair a slash of surfer cut blond, Jamison snickered. "Guess that means you and the show'll be done 'bout the same time."

"Funny. Very funny." Carson pressed the same index finger against the atomic pressure mushrooming behind the bridge of his nose. Yeah, Jamison needed to work on his hair. And his sense of humor could use a lotta help. But his observations and recommendations were dead on.

Carson did need a change. Of attitude. Of pace. Of scenery. Of mind. Hell, a change of clothes sounded like the answer to his prayers, he groused, yanking down his cuffs. Whatever the change he needed to make, he needed to make it soon.

Because now, with his broken ankle forcing him to slow down, he found himself studying the world with his eyes, instead of through a lens. The world whose introduction he'd made through postcards. Snapshots. Photographic studies.

He'd become acquainted with Sicily and Cyprus, gotten to know the Taj Mahal and Buckingham Palace—all more intimately than he'd ever known the parents who'd chronicled their travels on film for the son they'd left behind.

But now the reality of focusing and framing, studying and sizing up without a safety net supplied by Nikon or Canon was getting to him, forcing him to confront the fact, the truth, that life—his life—did not exist in pixels.

Neither was it as easily touched up.

Still, until he could smooth the waters with Bailey, chillin' would have to wait—though a sandy beach, cool seas, and a month of oblivion sounded like a plan. Early retirement sounded even better.

He might just be thirty-nine, but he figured he could afford it. From what his accountant told him, he made good money. He didn't know how good because he didn't make it a habit to whip out his net worth and see how he measured up. His only possessions besides his clothes were his cameras. He'd relied on taxis and rental cars since selling his 300ZX turbo seventeen years ago.

Home was where he dropped his camera bag and, depending on the country, might be a hotel room, tar paper lean-to, or bamboo hut. The inconveniences didn't bother him as long as they didn't interfere with his work. Like now. Knowing he wouldn't be stuck with a broken ankle if he'd listened to Bailey and returned to the states a day sooner didn't help his frame of mind.

He ground his jaw, and jerking again on both his collar and his cuffs, mentally counted to ten. Then to twenty. And for good measure to fifty-five.

Tuxedos sucked lemons. Who was he supposed to impress? Prokofiev and Mozart were dead. They'd never know if he wore dress black or jungle fatigues. Now, the Rolling Stones were a different matter. He'd slip into a straight jacket for the chance to hear Mick scream for satisfaction, 'cause he knew better than most where Mick was coming from.

He glanced at the offending face of his watch again. Seven fifty. About damn time. He shifted sideways in his seat, bumped his walking cast against his camera bag, and bit off a curse.

"What's with you, man?"

Carson gave a one-shouldered shrug in Jamison's direction and glanced toward the door. He didn't have the words to define what was with him. Describing his fidgeting as uncontrollable sounded lame.

And making any attempt to explain the obsession that fueled his nervous energy would take hours. If he could figure it out first for himself.

The seconds ticked by as he scanned the last- minute stragglers, waiting, watching. He started to give up, to return his attention to center stage, then stopped. In one quick, electric jolt, his heart zapped the hair off his chest.

She was right on time. Five minutes to curtain as he'd expected. And, as hoped for, she was once again alone.

He'd yet to see her closer than the width of an auditorium; he wanted to see her up close. But each evening she disappeared into the crowds before he and his cast and his ton of equipment could make their way through the throng.

His gaze followed the woman as she made her way down the far aisle. She slipped into an empty seat and tilted her head in apology to the older woman beside her. The lights dimmed and the orchestra struck up the overture.

Carson's gaze stayed on the woman; the woman who'd haunted him since he'd first laid eyes on her last week at the ballet.

She was the only reason he hadn't told Bailey to take this entire frou-frou assignment and shove it down a tube. For the first time in a lot of years, he actually wondered more about a woman than how her body would fit to his.

The woman intrigued him.

The reason was simple.

She reminded him of Eva.

At seventeen, Eva Channing had been the Montclair Agency's teen modeling sensation—and Carson had been Judith Montclair's twenty-year-old golden boy photographer. Judith hadn't any intention of investing time and money in the unknown model from America's heartland without a guaranteed return. She'd given Carson the job of turning Eva into a household name and walked away from her worries.

Carson grimaced with the annoyance of discomfort and settled deeper in his seat. Funny thing about time. This woman looked enough like Eva to bring back those two years as if seventeen hadn't rolled by in between.

Even her short spiky hair was the same reddish brown, though Eva, like Cindy Crawford, had worn hers in shoulder-length waves. He remembered the way she'd fingered a strand over her ear when agitated, when he couldn't get the lighting right or the camera angle he wanted.

He'd gotten it right more often than not. The pictures had sold millions in fashions and cosmetics. Eva's eyes had become the stuff of teenage male fantasies. Carson had raked in his fair share of the profit and convinced himself nothing else mattered. That once again the perfection of his art had paid off.

He stared off into space; the music served as a backdrop to his musings. His gaze slid back across the crowded hall.

This woman was even the same height, yet her bearing ... She was tall and willowy, yes, but she possessed an elegance, a confidence Eva had been too young to have developed. The mystery female's body was that of a woman, tightly muscled, enticingly curved, with none of a model's gaunt lines.

But then Eva had been on the cusp of eighteen when he'd met her. When he'd lost himself in her. If lost even covered the way he'd known nothing during their two years together but the way she'd made him feel. Oh, how she'd made him feel.

Eva had been a natural, treated the camera as a friend, seduced it as a lover. Flirted with it, pouted at it, laughed as she danced around it. But more than anything, she'd made love to it with her eyes, knowing all the time he was the man behind the lens.

The shoots had become impossible to finish in public. They'd ended them privately, in cramped trailers or bathroom stalls, splitting zippers, popping buttons, never bothering with more clothing than necessary for hard flesh to find soft.

But as much as she'd made him feel, she'd made him think. About things like forever after and having her in his bed every night of his life. She'd been more family than he'd ever had, more home than he'd ever known, more woman than he'd ever encountered.

Then one day she didn't show. No word. No goodbye. Nothing. His pride hadn't let him look for her, but had grabbed his cocky, twenty-two-year-old balls and squeezed. A real man didn't chase what came free and easy.

And he certainly didn't run after an emotion found only in chick flicks and fairy tales.

He'd let her walk away. He'd spent the next seventeen years working in the field, using film and flash and a telephoto lens to strip humanity to its basest of roots. And he'd forgotten the beauty he'd once created. And the woman he'd made into a household name.

"Yo, Brandt," Jamison whispered, leaning against Carson's shoulder and into his memories. "We gotta split. This gig's up in fifteen. We don't go now, you don't get pictures on tomorrow's society page."

Carson blinked. He'd sat through the concert without registering a note.

"Yeah, let's go," he muttered. Not that he gave a damn about tomorrow's society page, but he knew Bailey would chew his backside raw and doom him to the bowels of photographic hell if he didn't get the job done.

He struggled to his feet, gripped the back of a chair for balance, and hefted his camera bag over one shoulder. With a final glance across the theater, he hobbled up the aisle behind Jamison.

He'd lost his last chance to meet her, along with a chance to prove to himself that given the right time, the right place, any woman would do. That Eva hadn't been so special. That the return to New York and his idle mind were embellishing the long-ago past.

It had been a hell of a fantasy while it lasted. Damn if Mick Jagger didn't know what he was talking about. Satisfaction sure seemed hard to come by these days.

Eva closed her eyes against the rising lights and the final, haunting strains of Prokofiev's Piano Concerto No. 3. Anticipation, odd yet strangely familiar, fluttered around and settled in her soul like a long lost friend coming home.

This music, the glitzy, bustling New York ambience, the past two harried weeks posing for THE Magazine's "Where Are They Now?" reunion shoot. Each brought back bits and pieces of earlier years.

One memory more than any other refused to stay buried, insisting she remember. Eva wasn't surprised. Losing one's virginity was not an event easily forgotten.

Neither was Carson Brandt.

"Eva." Judith Montclair nudged her arm, easing her back to the present. "Show's over."

"Sorry." Eva forced an appropriate smile and turned to her friend. "Guess I drifted away." Too far away. To a tiny loft apartment full of memories. Memories she hadn't dredged up for a very long time.

Eva sighed. She couldn't wait to get home.

"Let me guess," Judith interrupted again. "You're thinking about going home."

"Am I that obvious?" Eva asked.

"For the first time in too many years you're finally back in a place you never should have left, and all you've done is talk about Texas, your son, and that nursery of yours." Judith paused for a deep, dramatic breath. "My word, Eva. How can you stand living in that heathen country?"

Eva grinned, wrapped one arm around the older woman's fashionably gaunt shoulder, and hugged. "You make it sound like the wilds of Africa."

Judith studied one wine-colored nail and clicked her tongue. "Might as well be. What kind of culture can you get in a city full of'—" she affected a repulsed shudder "—pickup trucks and cowboy boots? I'll bet you haven't gone to a concert in years."

"Now that's a bet you'd lose. I went to one two months ago with Zack."

"The Houston Symphony, I hope? I hear Hans Graf is divine."

"No," Eva admitted, a rush of pure deviltry sending the corners of her mouth upward. "The Beastie Boys."

Judith stared in wordless answer, then completely changed the subject. "Why don't you postpone your trip home? Stay with me for a while. We can do the town the way it needs to be done. You could even lend your expert hand at the agency." She smoothed the black taffeta of her ruffled skirt, playing the trump card Eva'd been expecting. "The girls would love to have an icon in their presence."

"Yesterday you were complaining about the calluses on my hands and now I'm an icon," Eva said teasingly, though seeing Judith's pained expression, measured her next words carefully. She owed Judith so much. "You know I'd stay if I could, but I've already been away too long. I'm sure Zack's pulled out what hair he hasn't already shaved off. Besides, I can't stand the hustle bustle anymore."

"Is that why you hide yourself out in the sticks instead of living in town?"

"Partially, I suppose. I've grown to like the quiet life of suburbia."

"Suburbia. Hmph. And working like you do," Judith admonished, her posture finishing-school correct and as stiff as her views on refinement. "I didn't think we'd ever find anything to fit you for the shoot. I don't care what the fitness experts say. Muscles are not chic."

Eva had to chuckle. In Judith's line of work, work that a lifetime ago had been her own, a body had to be thin enough to wear any fashion. These days she sported curves best suited for spandex. "Chic or not, I need my muscles. And my jeans, work boots, and flannels fit fine."

Judith's gaze skated across Eva's head. "I guess this primitive lifestyle has something to do with your absence of hair as well. I almost fainted when you got off the plane, though, I must admit ..." Her gaze took in the rest of Eva as well. "Overall, the buff look suits you."

Eva ran a hand through her feathered locks. "I've had it short for so long I'd forgotten you hadn't seen it. I wonder how the pictures will turn out."

"Exactly as they always turned out. Perfect."

Perfect. The only thing Carson had ever accepted.

No matter how many rolls of film he'd had to shoot.

No matter how many hours she posed under the blistering lights.

No matter that any other photographer would have been satisfied with just plain good. Or even excellent.

Not Carson. He had to have perfect.

Time after time she'd given him her all. And not until she'd given him herself did she finally discover that only on the surface was she the one he'd been dissatisfied with. The one he'd been breaking his back to make over.

That realization made her eventual decision to leave easier. The only one who could satisfy Carson was Carson. He had no time for anyone who didn't measure up in his personal viewfinder of perfection. And he wouldn't have, until he figured out that he needed to turn his camera on himself.

She stared at her hands, seeing them through Judith's critical eyes. Eva had grown used to the blisters and calluses, the blunt nails, cropped hair, and muscles. Her physical appearance showed the toll taken by years of manual labor.

It was the picture of her soul that seemed more complex, sparks of contentment woven in and around shadows of sad confusion. A part of her would always wonder if she'd done the right thing in leaving when she had. The way she had.

The part that knew she couldn't have done things any differently and lived with herself straightened in her seat and squared her shoulders with firm conviction. "Well, the buff look comes with the job. Shoveling fertilizer and pushing wheelbarrows of mulch around the nursery hardly compares to lifting my eyebrow a quarter inch."

Judith patted Eva's hand with her own exquisitely manicured one. "If you ask me, you quit years too soon. You could've made enough money to retire by now. Carson certainly has." She shook her head, her ruffled boa a fluff of pink feathers beneath her ears and chin. "I never could understand what you saw in that man besides, of course, the magic he worked with his camera."

Eva forced her gaze straight ahead and laced her fingers tightly in her lap. Yes, his camera worked magic. So did his mouth, his hands, and everything else he'd used to touch her. She slicked her tongue across her dry lips.

Carson had been her first love. One she knew she'd never match. One she'd never gotten over. Yet one she'd betrayed.

Damn this reunion shoot and the memories. Along with the top models from the last twenty years, she'd returned to New York for a special layout celebrating the history of the fashion industry.

It was the first time she'd been in front of any camera except her son's since leaving the Montclair Agency three months after her nineteenth birthday. It was also the first time she'd been back to the city where the map of her life had been drawn.

She stood then, the slimming lines of her sequined black sheath falling into place. The theater had nearly emptied. She smiled stiffly down at Judith. "Let's go before they lock us in."

Judith didn't answer Eva's smile. The solemn look she wore demanded attention. "If Carson's the reason you won't stay, you're making a mistake. He's never in the city."

Eva stared through her friend. She knew all too well where Carson Brandt spent his time. She'd searched the papers over the years for the wire photos, the ones bearing his name. The ones taken natural disasters, hostage crises, military invasions, kidnapping negotiations.

No longer did he photograph the beautiful people. He studied death, hopelessness, the helplessness of those struggling to survive.

"Eva?" Judith stood, gripping Eva's upper arm.

A shiver of remorse stole into Eva's heart. Was she at all responsible for the direction Carson had taken his life? She paused and looked to the older woman for understanding. "I can't stay. I've got too much waiting for me at home. And Carson has nothing to do with it."

Judith placed both hands on Eva's shoulders. "You'll have to tell him someday."

She shook her head, knowing the lie she was about to tell was the biggest one of all because, in addition to lying to her friend, her mentor, she was lying to herself. "I've learned to live with what happened. I don't think about it … or about him … anymore."

She shrugged off Judith's hands. "Please, understand. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be where I am today. You helped me at the roughest, loneliest time of my life. I value your friendship more than I can say. And I don't want to offend you, but Carson is off limits. He hasn't been a part of my life for a very long time."

Judith cradled Eva's face in her palms, gently insisting she listen. The lines in her face made her appear incredibly wise. And old.

"That's where you're wrong, Eva. Carson will always be a part of your life. And whether he needs to know has nothing to do with it. He has a right to know. Until you come to realize that, you won't be as happy as you claim to be."

Leaving Eva with a gentle smile, Judith bent to retrieve her beaded evening bag from her chair. "Let's get out of here. I'm starved."

Carson limped from the shadows of the building, advancing the film to the first frame. Loading in the dark presented no problem. In fact, blindfolded suited him just fine. Anything for a challenge these days.

He glanced over to where Jamison leaned against the corner of the brick structure, sucking on the dregs of a cigarette. His tuxedo appeared to have been slept in and looked totally out of place with his shaggy sun-bleached hair and the Nike Air Flights on his size-thirteen feet.

Carson frowned, wondering if Jamison was his first or last name. Whatever, the kid was a good sport.

Turning at Carson's approach, Jamison quickly dropped the smoldering butt, and retrieved Carson's camera bag from the ground. He pushed his wire-rimmed glasses back onto the bridge of his nose, hoisted the strap over his bony shoulder, and dusted his hands together. "Where to, Boss?"

"There." Carson indicated the corner where the sidewalk met the theater walkway. "That'll give me a clear view of the door and get me out of the way of any more bungling amateurs." He grimaced. "Sorry, kid."

Jamison raised his hands, warding off the apology. "Hey, man, no offense taken. I may be an amateur but I am quickly learnin' from the best. Just wish they'd sent me along on your last gig in Afghanistan. Those shots were—" he blew across the tips of his fingers "—hot."

Carson acknowledged the offhanded compliment with a shrug. "Not as hot as this damned penguin getup. At least Bailey pulled those strings and got us inside." He loosened the button behind his tie. "I appreciate you tagging along. Just sorry the circumstances stink."

Jamison shook his head in disbelief. "An apology and a thank-you in the same sentence. From the great Carson Brandt no less. What gives, man?"

"Mortality must be catching up with me."

"You mean the rumors aren't true? You really are human?"

" 'Fraid so." Carson flashed a grin. "Disappointed?"

"Nah. Gives the rest of us a fighting chance."

"As far as I'm concerned, you can have your chance right now. I had all of this city I could stomach years ago."

Jamison snapped his fingers. "That's right. You started out with the Montclair Agency. You're the one who did that chick ... What's her name?"

"Channing. Eva Channing." Carson ground his jaw and kept his voice level, his words as smooth as a tigers eye. The same color as Eva's.

"I remember now. She was, like, smokin'. Wonder whatever happened to her." Jamison adjusted his glasses. "Why'd you give up all that?"

His temple throbbing, Carson checked the settings on his camera, using the distraction to distance himself from Jamison's chatter. He couldn't let the kid know how many times he'd wondered the same thing.

He couldn't tell him how he'd tried to continue at the agency. How he'd sent one young model after another running away, tears streaming down their flawless faces. How Judith Montclair had finally ordered him out.

The story he gave Jamison was the one he gave himself. A glossed-over version bordering on a lie.

"I got sick of temper tantrums thrown over chipped fingernail polish. I needed a challenge." Carson glanced up and gave a derisive snort. "Some challenge."

"Yeah. I was hoping for a little more action." Jamison staked out the corner behind Carson, preventing the gathering journalists from hedging on their territory.

Carson visually measured the distance from his position to the door and double checked his equipment. "I doubt I'll be seeing any more action for a while. Bailey got ticked off about my fight in D.C. and decided I needed to cool down."

Jamison sucked in a long whistle. "I heard about that fight. Heard you told that guy from the WaPo to go shove—"

"Close enough." Carson cut off Jamison's recital. "The jerk should've seen the situation escalating. But no, he stands around playing with himself, then panics when the riot breaks out. I was doing my job and I end up with the broken ankle."

He glanced up as the doormen locked the glass doors in their open position. "Okay. Grab that other camera and let's see what you can do."

"Bailey ain't gonna like me doing your job, man."

"Look, Jamison. This is kid stuff. Bailey won't know the difference unless you really screw around."

"Sure thing. But I get half the dough."

Carson slapped Jamison on the back. "You can have it all."

The first group of rich and famous filed out the door, smiling their plastic smiles at the rapid-fire camera flashes. The reporters and photographers hovered like vultures, jockeying for choice positions and meaty interviews.

Jamison joined the mad throng, and Carson rolled his eyes at the kid's exuberance, wondering if he himself had ever had that much enthusiasm and, if he had, where it had gone.

He raised his Nikon, deciding the mob scene might be worth shooting after all. Such fine, upstanding citizens represented an elite group, a clique as closed and exclusive as the meanest street gang in L.A.

Their codes were just as rigid, their membership equally exclusive. They wore their pretentious colors with snobbish pride.

He knew the routine. He'd grown up a member of the group, had turned his back on it the minute he'd been old enough to realize no one would fight his battles for him because no one gave a damn.

With his eye at the viewfinder, he squinted, focusing in the dim light. He swung the camera over the profile of a woman with gray hair. She turned toward him as she stepped out the door and down the first step.

Judith Montclair! What was she doing here? He snapped his fingers. Yeah. THE Magazine's reunion shoot. That had to be it. He started to turn away, then stopped as if hit by a train.

Judith had been sitting with the woman who looked so much like Eva. He stared, dumbfounded. If Judith was here …

Where was she? He scooted along the edge of the wall, craning his neck to see over the crowd at the door. Finally the throng dispersed, allowing Judith to step down the stairs.

The woman in black stood behind her, framed in the open doorway, the dim rectangle of light from behind casting shadows across her face and contouring a figure that made Carson swallow. She turned and spoke to the man at her side.

Transfixed, Carson leaned against the wall. He couldn't believe this was happening. Not here. Not after all these years. She came through the door, following Judith into the lighted alcove. His gaze never left her face.

He twisted the lens, focusing it in sharp relief, clicking the shutter in staccato succession. The film whirred under his panic. He saw nothing, registered nothing but the woman in black.

The crowd parted like the Red Sea, easing the way for the exiting mob to reach the row of waiting limos. Held in place by his own shock and the rush of people, Carson remained crushed against the wall.

Judith turned and spoke to the younger woman. She answered with a laugh, looking straight into his camera, piercing seventeen years of hard denial with her eyes.

Eyes he didn't need the creased picture in his wallet to remember.

Eyes that had sold millions in clothing and cosmetics, that he'd captured at every angle, in every light.

Eyes that had laughed at him, cried with him, and shown him the only love he'd ever known.

Eva.

Chapter Two

"Out here, Zack."

Eva double-checked the root ball on the last of the peach trees, then sat back on her heels, tucked her forehead into the crease of her elbow, and waited for her son. When the lanky teen's crepe-soled steps sounded on the pebbled walk, she looked up and smiled.

Zack's white T-shirt pulled taut across his shoulders and chest and clung to his lean torso. The hem ended a good inch above the tattered waistband of his jeans, showing too much hard teenage male belly.

Eva marked extra-large T-shirts on her mental shopping list—right next to teenage girl repellent.

"What 'cha need?" she asked.

"Pete and Miguel just pulled up at the barn with a load of mulch." Head down in exhaustion, Zack rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "Mr. Jackson's waiting for the forklift so he can unload the new shipment of photinias."

"Where's the forklift?"

"David's using it to help Texas Turf clear space for the extra pallets of grass you ordered. And now, Mrs. Appleton is at the front counter. The hibiscus plants she bought last week clash with her bougainvilleas." Zack managed a tired grin as he tucked a long shock of sandy blond hair into the bandanna tied around his forehead. "She's asking to see Miss Channing personally."

Eva groaned, running her gloved hands down her thighs. "You sure you can't help her?"

"I would, but there's at least a mile of mulch out there with my name on it. I gotta help Pete and Miguel get the bags into the barn."

"Zachary, please?"

"Sorry, Mom. She's your number one fan." Zack jogged off, then turned back. "You might want to wash your face before you go in. Don't want Mrs. A to have heart failure."

"Wicked boy." Using the spindly tree trunk for leverage, Eva reluctantly gained her feet.

If one more thing went wrong today, she was calling Judith Montclair and taking her up on her open offer. On certain days, modeling held the same appeal as a hot fudge sundae. This was one of those days.

She tugged off her work gloves and swiped at her dirt-streaked face. Wishing for a mirror, and a minor miracle to save the rest of the day, she fluffed up her flat hair and approached the counter in the anteroom of her greenhouse.

The president of the Lake City Garden Club stood waiting, a lace handkerchief clutched in one hand, a tiny beaded bag in the other. Her yellow dress seemed to swallow her whole, as did the bright yellow shoes on her feet.

Eva couldn't help a wry smile at the picture the diminutive woman presented; that of a bantam hen in canary drag. "Mrs. Appleton, hello. What can I do for you?"

Mrs. Appleton glanced up from beneath the brim of a straw sunbonnet bigger than she was. Her sharp little eyes darted about before she turned them down guiltily at the corners. "Well, dear. You remember the hibiscus plants your young man delivered last week?"

Hours and hours of traipsing through the gardens. How could Eva forget? "Yes. Is there a problem?"

"The flowers have bloomed. And they're all the wrong color." Mrs. Appleton wrung her hands at her tiny bosom. "My color scheme is pink and white. Pink, dear. Not orange. The hibiscus simply won't do."

"Then they'll have to be replaced, won't they?" Eva said, biting her tongue. No need at this point to remind the woman that she had adamantly demanded the very plants she'd purchased, wanting to be the first member of the Lake City Garden Club to own the new hybrid. "Why don't we walk out back and see what we can find?"

"Do you think you can have the new ones delivered by Monday morning? I'm having the Garden Club tea at two. Marguerite Sinclair is determined to sway the membership to replace me as president. If she gets it in her head that I don't have an eye for color—" Mrs. Appleton shook her head, released a tragic sigh "—there's no telling what might happen with your contract. And now that your young man will be doing the photographs for our calendar ..."

Bantam hen. Ha! The woman had the talons of a chicken hawk. Silently smoldering, Eva pictured the current chaos unfolding out back like a bad movie. As president of the Garden Club, Mrs. Appleton had thrown a lot of early business Eva's way. Business Eva depended on.

Especially the Garden Club contract.

But that thinly veiled threat came nowhere as close to cutting out her heart as the threat against Zack. He'd worked damned hard for this opportunity. Since the calendar job was in conjunction with his photography class, Eva knew the contract was secure.

But nothing, nothing, was worth the risk of the assignment being awarded to another student whose mother curtsied on command.

She pasted on her best entrepreneurial smile. "No problem. One of my men will pick up the hybrids when they deliver the replacements."

"Thank you, dear," Mrs. Appleton twittered cheerfully. "I knew I could count on you."

Before Eva had even stepped around the counter, the front door opened. Three more customers. Great. Time to reassess the personnel budget. Katie Crenshaw, Zack's girlfriend, often stopped by to help out after school and any Saturdays when she had the time. Today she'd had weekend cheerleading practice, and naturally everything was falling down around Eva's ears.

She didn't have a choice. "Mrs. Appleton, why don't you step out into the garden and find Zachary? He'll be glad to show you the selection of hibiscus. I'll be right out as soon as I take care of these customers."

"Fine, dear," Mrs. Appleton said, taking tiny steps toward the door and waving her handkerchief all the way there. "Zachary!"

Eva grimaced. It looked like she was going to have to spring for whatever piece of photographic equipment her son couldn't live without on top of his pay.

She blew out a puff of steam and looked around. Two of the customers had walked outside to the garden. She'd take care of the couple after she finished with the third.

She found him, or at least heard him, clinking bottles of liquid Diazinon on the back shelf. She came around the corner and stopped.

"Can I hel—"

"Hello, Eva," said Carson Brandt.

Oh … my … God.

He was as beautiful as she remembered, as gorgeous as any man had the right to be. Eva's legs went numb; her feet, her knees and every muscle from ankle to hip. How she remained standing, she didn't know. Especially when the paralysis spread up her spine, radiated across her shoulders and down her arms, freezing the tips of her fingers.

"Carson. What the ... why are ... how did you find me?" she finally managed. She squeezed her fingers to get the blood moving. It didn't help— even with a heart rate near detonation.

He shrugged, the ends of his honeyed hair catching in the open collar of his white oxford shirt. His smile was a curl of lip that reminded her of his taste. "Find you? I didn't know you were hiding."

"I'm not. Hiding, that is. I'm just surprised to see you here." And why in the world are you here? she mentally screamed, then calmly added, "I didn't think Lake City, Texas had any reason to warrant a photojournalist from the API."

"I'm on assignment in Houston. The International Summit." Glittering eyes narrowed, he studied the interior of the shop and, as if he suddenly needed space, took a step back and limped to the far end of the aisle.

Glancing down to see his left foot shod in a brown leather sandal and his right in a walking cast, Eva followed. "What happened?"

Carson stopped, turned, and caught the direction of her gaze. "Just some trouble in the trenches."

"The trenches. Of course." His arrogance still amazed her, but she could beat him at nonchalance—even if her heart had skipped a beat at the mention of danger. "Which war was it this time?"

"Urban America."

"Oh, well. There's no place like home," she inanely remarked. He was standing too close, blocking her forward motion, leaving her no option but to stand her ground. Or to do the unthinkable— about which she was thinking—and retreat.

She reminded herself that she'd gotten over him years ago. "So, are you on your way back to Houston?"

"I'll head back later. Tomorrow, maybe. A colleague of mine is covering tonight's festivities."

"You're kidding, right? You're actually working with someone?" Eva's eyes widened.

Carson was silent for a long, intimate moment, and Eva's heartbeat fluttered. His blue-green eyes, so at odds with the rest of his fiery coloring, had always brought to mind an oasis. A cool respite from the heat of his passion.

This time she thought of blue flame, feeling the sizzle on her skin.

Then he blinked, breaking the spell. As Eva struggled with the mechanics of breathing, Carson shoved his fists in the front pockets of his khaki slacks. He pulled out a film canister and bounced it in his palm. His smile, when it came, was self-deprecating.

"Hard to believe, huh? That I'm working with someone."

Unbelievable didn't begin to cover her shock. This man who had to have imminent control and product perfection had turned over his assignment to another? "Actually, yes. It is."

He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck, the veins in his forearm dark against his tanned skin. His smile vanished. "Almost as unbelievable as finding one of the top fashion models from nearly two decades ago wearing mud and manure."

Of course. New York. He'd seen her in New York. And Judith had insisted that he never spent time in the city. "The fashion shoot. That's how you found me."

"It was easy enough. After I saw you with Judith, I knew why you were there."

"I'm surprised Judith told you where to find me."

"Judith didn't. It was the receptionist at the Montclair Agency."

She wanted so badly to roll her eyes, but the truth was the truth. He'd been an obsessive perfectionist about his craft and a bear of a grouch to boot, but he could've talked a beggar out of his tin can full of change. "The Carson Brandt charm, no doubt."

He shrugged and shoved the film canister down in his pocket. Picking up another brown bottle, he read the label, then set it back in place.

The clink of glass slid down Eva's spine like ice cubes. She rubbed her hands over her arms. The chill remained. It was shock, she told herself. And maybe a remnant of attraction. Both were understandable reactions. She'd shared incredible passion with this man, a knowledge that ran in her blood.

Okay. She'd catalogued the response. Now to play it cool. Carson would never know of his effect on her—as long as her teeth didn't start chattering.

Aligning the bottles on the shelf, Carson finally stepped back and looked Eva straight in the eye. A million and one thoughts walked through his expression before he exhaled sharply and turned toward the door to the attached storehouse where bags of fertilizer and lawn food were stored.

Eva glanced wildly around the shop for a reason not to follow, knowing all the while that she would. The door swung shut behind them and the immediate silence was encompassing. The earthy and chemical smells swirled close, as did the scent of Carson.

"So, can I help you select something?" she asked, determined to lighten the moment and get him out of her shop so she could settle the uproar that until minutes ago had been her life. "I can offer you the best in mulch, or the newest hybrid hibiscus."

Stopping short, he brought his fist down on a stack of burlap bags. He stood straight; his eyes glittered in the shadows, blue lights on green. "Doesn't look like you've done much in career advancement. I see you're still specializing in bullshit."

Well, now. That hadn't taken long. He'd deftly reached into the ugly past and pulled it into the present. This was the part she'd been waiting for since she'd rounded the corner into the aisle where he'd been standing.

The same part that, for seventeen years, she'd known would come back to haunt her. "You think what I did all those years ago was bullshit?"

"It certainly wasn't real, was it? Any of it?"

The accusations in his eyes were clear, and Eva bristled. "New York was a long time ago, Carson. We've both come a long way since then."

"You don't miss the fame and fortune?"

"Well, maybe the fortune. But the fame ..." She shook her head. "I wasn't ready for that at eighteen." Neither had she been at nineteen.

"How about now?"

Eva laughed. "Judith practically had to drag me to New York for the reunion shoot. I wasn't cut out to be a big name star. Unlike you."

That brought his eyebrows up. "I'm only a star if you know where to look for my name."

Nice, Eva. "Okay. So I look."

"And?"

And what did he expect her to say? That she remembered his hands on her waist? His mouth on her body? "It looks like you got tired of the agency, too. I wondered how long you'd stay after I left."

"What was the point?" He propped both elbows on the stack of bags behind him and leaned back.

Was he trying to hurt her or was he truly being honest? "I wasn't the only model you photographed, Carson."

"No, but you were the only one with the magic."

And the only one who'd put up with his legendary temper. She shook her head. "That was the camera."

"No, Eva," he said, his gaze potent and provocative, as hot as the steam in the room. "It was your eyes."

Eva rubbed at the tiny pain blossoming in her temples. She did not need this. Not now. Not today. Not ever, as a matter of fact. "Funny how things happen to us when we're too young to know what to do with them."

"You mean success?"

That, and love, she thought to herself, then glanced up. "Success, yes, and talent. But, then, you went on to make quite a name for yourself."

"And what about you? What about your talent?"

"I guess you could say I've turned my knack for beauty in another direction." She had mud on her hands, mud on her knees, and more than likely mud on her face. "I realize it's hard to believe looking at me, but once you walk out in the garden you'll see—"

'I didn't come here to see your garden." The dizziness began again. The cold, the frantic heartbeat. She couldn't take any more avoidance. "Then why did you come here? To relive old times? To talk?"

Carson straightened, towering over her. "What do two old lovers talk about, Eva? New lovers?"

The man had intimidation down to an art, but Eva was no longer nineteen. "I don't know, Carson. Why don't you tell me? You're the one with the worldwide experience. I'm just a small town girl."

The upward curve of his mouth was less inquisitive than cynical. "Is that why you left New York? The call of the hometown roots?"

Sadly, Eva shook her head. "I can't believe it took you seventeen years to ask."

"I didn't know where you were," he said.

"You could have found me," she challenged.

"Is that what you wanted?"

"I didn't stop you from looking."

"I don't know, Eva. Sounds to me—"

Eyes squeezed shut, Eva shook her head and waved both hands before raising them as twin stop signs. "Stop it. Just stop it. Seventeen years ago we both made a mistake. Let's admit it and go on."

"You're right. I really don't know why I came."

She took a deep breath. "Look. Let's get a cup of coffee. We've shared a lot, Carson. The least we could do is catch up on one another's lives."

"You mean like old friends?"

"Like friends, period."

"Do you really think we can be friends?" he asked, his voice vibrant with that intensity she knew so well.

During the brief seconds while Eva searched for the best response, the door to the storehouse slammed open.

"Mom?"

Carson's eyebrow lifted an instant before his head whipped toward the doorway.

"Mom," Zack called again, stripping the red bandanna from his head and mopping sweat at the base of his throat. He stopped when he saw Carson, and glanced at Eva, then Carson, then back again. "You want I should handle the other customers or finish up with Mrs. A?"

"No. I'll be right out, Zack. Take care of Mrs. Appleton and I'll catch up with the others."

Zack hovered protectively, a small fact Eva considered a blessing. Carson's mind was racing to a dozen different and wrong conclusions, she knew, but right now she didn't care.

"I've really got to get back to work," she said, edging toward the door.

Carson looked down at her, let his eyes move once more to Zack's retreating back before returning to hers. "Do you want to talk about new lovers now? Or should we stick with the old ones?"

The chaos unfolding outside in the gardens of Blooms, Eva's thriving nursery, was nothing compared to the chaos that had insidiously found and pulled the one loose thread in the tightly woven fabric of her life in Lake City.

Her staff would have to muddle along without her for the rest of the afternoon. Zack would be fine. He could get a ride to his game with Aaron or Ben. She'd make it up to him later. Wasn't she always making it up to him later? Her eyes burned. Her throat constricted. What kind of mother was she that she was always making it up to him later?

She couldn't think about that now. Now all she could think about was getting away from the shop where her old life had so brutally intruded on her new. Jan would know what Eva should do. Jan always knew what to do.

Jan and Gerald Holling had been living across the street from Eva since she'd moved to Lake City ten years ago. Jan was a stay-at-home mom, as her son, David, and her daughter, Stephanie, proudly told anyone who asked what their mommy did for a living. Jan had trained the two well even though after twelve years of trying to conceive, she so easily could've given in and allowed the precious two to run the house.

Before the twins had been born, Jan had also been a godsend in helping Eva with Zack while she was still adjusting to life as a widow and a single parent. From baby-sitting to dinners shared in the Holling household to late-night gab sessions as the two had solved the woes of women around the world and their own woes in particular, Jan had been a constant source of support and the truest friend to bless Eva's life.

But she'd never told Jan about Carson.

Eva didn't even bother with parking in her own driveway. Instead, she stopped her van at the curb in front of the Hollings' two-story colonial.

Jan pushed up from grass-stained, denim-covered knees and had shrugged off her weed pulling gloves before the engine of the minivan had completely died. Leaving tools scattered along the length of the flower bed tucked beneath a boxy bay window, she crossed the lawn as Eva rounded the front of the van.

"What're you doing here?" Jan asked breezily before her welcoming expression sobered at seeing Eva's no doubt white-as-a-sheet complexion. "Is it Zack? Is something wrong? What, Eva? Tell me."

Jan was doing all the talking and Eva was the one out of breath. She waved a hand to circulate the still air. "Can we go in? Maybe get a drink? I can't breathe."

"Sure thing." Jan wrapped an arm around Eva's shoulders and guided her up the path of pebbled stepping stones set in a lawn of lush green. "I've got Coke and iced tea. Or I can make a pot of coffee."

Eva's chill reached bone deep. Heat was definitely in order. "I was thinking more along the lines of tequila shots. With beer chasers."

"Oh. Oh, my." Jan quickly lead the way through the spacious house to the kitchen where she put on a pot of coffee. While waiting for the brew to drip, she chattered on about the trouble she was having with a bed of pansies.

Eva used the time to catch her breath. Jan's voice registered, but all Eva heard were Carson's words. Do you want to talk about new lovers now? Or should we stick with the old ones?

She hadn't been able to answer. She'd looked into his eyes, seen anger and hurt and ageless humiliation as well as his intention to inflict the same in return.

At that, she'd turned and walked out of the storeroom, through the back door into the gardens, and toward her minivan parked along the side of the building. She'd waved at Zack's frown and "What's up?" shrug, and driven away without a backward glance.

For the last twenty minutes, she'd been operating on autopilot. But now the shock was setting in and her hands were beginning to shake. Tucking her fingers beneath her thighs and between warm denim and the cool oak seat of the chair, she rocked her body back and forth. She pulled in slow, deep breaths, blowing them out through pursed lips to the motion of her body and the sound track repetitively running through her mind.

What was he doing here? What was he doing here? What was he doing here?

By the time the coffee had finished, Jan had set out cups, saucers, cream, sugar, and a bottle of scotch whiskey. She sat at the oval table, pulling her chair around to face the one in which Eva sat, and poured—coffee first, followed by a double splash of scotch.

"Now," Jan said, as Eva lifted the warm mug with icy fingers and sipped, grimaced, sipped again. "Booze in the afternoon has man trouble written all over it. But in ten years I haven't known you to have more than a casual date or two or three." Jan frowned. "If that many."

"Sad state of affairs, isn't it?" Eva waited for the spiked coffee to get busy.

"Affairs? What affairs? No men means no affairs. At least no love affairs."

"True," Eva said because it was. True.

Jan sat back and nodded as she thought. "Hmm. I suppose it could be a business affair that's sent you running for your life in the middle of the afternoon. Or health affairs. Maybe Zack affairs." She pressed tight lips together. "It's Zack, isn't it? And that Katie Crenshaw. Is she preg—"

"No, she's not." Good grief. Like Eva needed that worry to escalate. Zack and Katie's relationship was never far from her motherly mind. "You're right about the man trouble. My man trouble. Or trouble from a man who was mine. Once. A long time ago."

"I knew it." Jan slapped her palm on her thigh. Her brown eyes widened, then narrowed, and she got to her feet, transferring the cups and saucers and cream and sugar and scotch to a bamboo serving tray. "Grab the carafe, will ya? This story calls for feet up and hair down."

They moved to the Hollings' den. Jan set the serving tray on the kid proof coffee table, pushing aside a PS3 controller and a stack of WIRED magazines.

Eva followed her hostess's signal and plopped onto one end of the cushy brown sofa. Jan plopped onto the other and the two friends sat facing each another, their legs side by side on the center cushion.

Jan lightly fortified both coffees before settling back to wait. Mug in hand, she studied Eva's face across the rim as she sipped. The look in her eyes was one that let Eva know she wouldn't be leaving without baring her soul.

"So?"

Eva sighed. "It started in New York."

"When you were there last week?"

"Yes. And no. The first time it started was nineteen years ago."

"I don't know about this first time, do I?"

Eva shook her head. "I don't think anyone knew about New York. Except my mother and Judith."

"Judith?"

"Judith Montclair. I modeled for her agency. She was as much of a mentor as my career manager." Eva sighed. She truly thought she'd put this episode of her life behind her, that reliving the time she'd spent with Carson would never be a necessity.

His appearance in Blooms had caused the past to tumble like an avalanche, burying her up to her ears in sensory memories, the scents and the sounds and even the tastes of the times they'd had together.

Two years out of a lifetime. Two years that were a lifetime unto themselves.

"Eva?"

Eva looked up, shook her head, sipped her coffee, and shuddered at the light burn to her throat. Then she smiled. "He was my photographer."

"Good grief. You were what, seventeen?"

"Almost eighteen. And he was twenty when we started working together, so get your dirty mind out of the gutter."

Jan pressed a hand to her chest and opened widely offended eyes. "Me? Dirty mind? I am shocked. Absolutely shocked you would think something like that of me."

"I don't think it. I know it. You forget who had her fortieth birthday bash at LaBare's." Eva raised her brows, reminding Jan of their girls' night out last year at Houston's male strip club.

Jan lifted a haughty nose. "The human body is a work of art. So there."

"And a genius photographer can turn that work of art into millions."

"You have millions?"

Eva chuckled, shook her head. "The companies whose products I sold have the millions. But I did make enough during those two years to support my mother for the rest of her life."

"When did she die? I don't think you've ever told me."

"I married Bobby when I was twenty-four. Zack was four. Bobby died the next year. My mother the year after that. So the money I made modeling went to settle a lot of debts." Eva looked into her coffee mug and frowned. "This is empty and I'm talking way too much. I wonder if there's any correlation?"

Jan leaned forward, adding another splash of scotch to the coffee refill Eva poured. "Keep talking. I'm fascinated."

"How can you be fascinated? You've known me for ten years."

"But you've never talked about Eva Channing, Supermodel."

"Two years in the industry does not a supermodel make." She lifted one hand in front of her face. "No supermodel would be caught dead with these hands. Calluses. Chipped nails. Cuticles. Yuck."

"Why'd you leave Kansas for Lake City? After Bobby died? No, wait." Jan erased her question with a wave of her hand. "Why'd you return to Kansas from New York in the first place? Don't tell me it was a Dorothy thing. There's no place like home and all that."

Eva shook her head. Funny that Carson had thought much the same thing. "No. Nothing to do with Oz."

"But everything to do with a man." Jan narrowed an eye. "There's a reason they put men in menstruation and menopause, you know. All female problems begin with men."

Eva giggled, pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle the noise, and giggled again. She worked hard to pull a straight face, but her tongue was oh-so-loose and seemed to have taken on a life of its own. "Oh, Jan. He's here."

"He? The photographer? In Lake City?"

"Actually, he might still be standing in the storeroom at Blooms."

"He walked into your shop? Out of nowhere?"

Eva nodded. "The proverbial blast from the past."

"Oh, honey. How're you doing?"

Eva raised a brow.

"Right. Forget I asked. You're here and that tells me exactly how you're doing. So tell me."

It only took those three words. Suddenly, Eva heard herself spilling the details of her affair with Carson—details she'd never shared with anyone, details she thought she'd forgotten, details she'd hoped the years had erased, but now found to be painfully fresh.

Her heart ached and the damn burst and with her friend first holding her hand, then holding her head while she cried, Eva related the story of the only man she'd ever loved.

Later that evening, sitting on her sofa with a novel in her lap, her aching body wrapped tightly in a thick terry robe, Eva tucked up her feet and thought of Carson. Though she'd tried to read, to put him out of her mind, her memory taunted her with vivid images of the days when they'd been lovers.

To celebrate her eighteenth birthday Carson had lit eighteen pillar candles, the flickering light a fiery reflection of the love in her heart. The scent of vanilla sweetened the drafty loft's stale air. The scent of desire erased all doubt from her mind.

She had loved him. Enough to give him the most precious gift a woman could give a man. Even enough to overlook the fact that he'd never voiced his feelings. In her own naive way, she'd loved enough for both of them.

She remembered more, the little things. A cassette tape slurring Aerosmith over two tinny pawnshop speakers. The lumpy, oversized mattress crammed on the sofa-bed frame. The red light glowing in the bathroom-cum-darkroom. The tripod holding the camera, hot bodies, sweaty sheets, the click-click-click of the lens chronicling her transformation from girl to woman.

The next night they'd spread the pictures out on the mattress and celebrated again, passion fueled by the visual exhibition of their love. Afterward, they'd burned the negatives and watched the prints flame.

All but one.

Carson had kept a single two-by-three-inch copy and locked it up with his darkroom equipment. When she'd left New York, barely a year later, she'd torn apart the apartment looking for that damning evidence of her weakness, needing the reminder to ensure she would not repeat the mistake of thinking one-sided love enough.

She'd ended up leaving the print behind along with everything else that had made up her life with Carson Brandt.

Young, pregnant, and scared, she'd known Carson was not willing to take on the responsibility of a child. He had plans to see the world, plans with which a family would interfere. His photography provided a means to that end, and Eva had loved him enough not to hold him back. Right or wrong, she'd gone home, keeping her secret from all but Judith.

Now that she was older, and presumably wiser, she questioned her actions. Maybe Judith was right. Maybe Carson did have a right to know.

But judging by what she'd seen of him today, he hadn't changed. He was still arrogant and demanding. Seventeen years ago she'd walked out on him, torn his ego, wounded his pride. And in her heart she knew his being here today was not about her actions, but his reactions. Their relationship had always been about Carson.

She hadn't missed his questioning look when he'd seen Zack. Let him draw his own conclusions. She didn't care. He meant nothing to her anymore.

And if she said it to herself a thousand times a day, she might just begin to believe it. She had to, or fall victim to Carson Brandt once again. It was a matter of survival. And if nothing else, she was a survivor.

The front door opened, and she pushed away thoughts of the past and smiled at her son.

"Hey, Mom." Zack dropped down in the navy plaid club chair near the sofa and draped his long legs over the arm. Pulling off his cap, he raked both hands through the long hair on top of his head, then jerked his cap on backwards, leaving only the shaved sides of his scalp exposed.

Eva still hadn't gotten used to the look. "Hey, yourself. You don't look quite as tired as you did today at the shop."

"Adrenaline. I'm a baseball junkie." Zack took a swing at an imaginary ball. "How about you? You looked a little pale this afternoon."

"I did? When?"

"In the storehouse. With that guy." Zack paused, his teenage mind obviously putting two and two together. "And then you took off like a bat outta hell."

"Well, I'm fine now." Eva was in no frame of mind to discuss Carson Brandt with her son. Maybe someday, but not tonight. "So, tell me. Who won?"

"We kicked ass. Nine zip." Frowning, he scuttled around and leaned forward in the chair. "You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine. Just sorry I missed your game. I had a killer headache." And no wonder, the way she'd cried while Jan plied her with scotch. Eva rubbed her forehead, then closed her book on her lap. "Did you manage to get rid of Mrs. Appleton?"

"Speaking of headaches, you mean? Yeah. Pete said he'll deliver the stuff first thing Monday morning." For a minute Zack stared at her as if trying to decide whether to pursue another thought.

Finally, he sighed, slapped his knees with his palms, and stood. "Well, whoever that dude was, he drove one bad ass Jeep. Keep one of those in mind for my birthday, will ya?" he said with a sly wink. "I'm going to take a shower and turn in. Good night."

"Night, Zachary. See you in the morning. And don't hold your breath over the Jeep."

"Yeah, right."

Eva watched him walk away, and breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the bathroom door close. He was growing up. Tall for his age, wide-shouldered, lean-hipped. Tawny hair—the hair that hadn't seen the clippers. Scotch-and-water eyes that took in everything and had seen too much. Wise beyond his years. A good boy who would be a fine man. Was a fine man.

A man his father would have been proud of.

"Bartender, another."

The burly man answering the call strolled to the end of the counter and leaned his weight into the slab of a forearm he plopped on the bar. He picked up Carson's empty shot glass, upended it, and slammed it down..

"Last call was thirty minutes ago, bub."

Carson focused on the face looming above him. That tiny bit of concentrated effort sent him perilously close to slipping from the bar stool to the concrete floor. He wobbled to the right and gripped the stool beside him.

Snickering, the bartender retrieved the empty shot glass and made his way back down the bar. "Lemme know when you're ready for a cab."

Carson pulled the stool firmly beneath him and leaned his forehead against the counter's red vinyl padding.

When was the last time he'd gotten drunk over a woman? Easy answer, Brandt. The night Eva walked out. He'd tried for a week, two weeks, three, to wash her from his mind, until he'd awakened in a parking lot, slumped in the front seat of his car without a clue.

She wouldn't do it to him this time. Now that he'd seen her, he could leave. Put her memory to rest. Hop on the first plane to nowhere, anywhere. Just go.

Where he was going was straight to the bottom for the second time in his life. He'd looked down at her there in her storeroom and drowned. Without saying a word, without making a move, she'd stood there and let him sink.

The boy. What had she called him? Zack. More importantly, what had he called her? Mom. Even if by chance Carson walked away from Eva, he couldn't walk away from Zack. Not until he'd gotten some answers about the kid with the golden hair and eyes. "Bartender."

"Look, bub, I done told you once—"

"I know. I know. Just give me change for the phone, will ya?" Having no idea what he'd done with his cell, Carson pulled his wallet from his pocket and slapped what he hoped was a dollar bill on the bar. "I'll get my own cab."

"Sure thing, bub." He fished in the cash register and spun quarters and dimes and one lone nickel in Carson's direction.

Carson slid off the stool and wobbled to the pay phone. Dropping in the change, he called a cab, still lucid enough to know he needed to sleep it off before he climbed behind the wheel of his rented Jeep. And before he called Bailey.

What a shock his call would be to the older man. Bailey had been hounding him for months to take a break, to use some of the vacation he'd accumulated before they went belly-up paying him for it. Lake City, Texas, seemed as good a place as any to spend a bit of time. He pulled the remnants of a dog-eared snapshot from his wallet while he listened to the ring of the phone.

Especially when the small Texas town seemed to hold more than a few pieces of Carson's past.

Chapter Three

The staccato click of Eva's heels against the tiled hallway of Lake City High kept cadence with the pounding in her head. The echo of her steps she could ignore. The headache wasn't as forgiving.

A sleepless night, the conference with Zack's photography instructor, the work waiting at the shop ... if it wasn't one thing it was another.

And then there was Carson Brandt.

The school's heavy front door latched shut behind her. Eva glanced at the darkening sky. Great. If she didn't get back to the shop pronto, Mrs. Appleton's potting soil would be potting mud and wouldn't be bagged in time to deliver to the woman's gardener.

The Lake City Garden Club might be Eva's meat and potatoes, but the individual members provided the gravy. Specifically, Zack's new digital Canon Rebel and his account at Flash Foto—at least what balance he couldn't cover with the meager salary Eva managed to pay him.

She couldn't afford to have her funds spread any thinner, especially after the strong urging she'd just received from Zack's instructor that she provide her talented son with all the support—and equipment— he needed. The support was a given. The equipment, well, somehow she'd manage.

But she absolutely, positively could not afford to have Zack find out about Carson Brandt, photographer extraordinaire. She knew Carson well. He didn't take his profession lightly, didn't take to hobbyists at all. He didn't have the patience to deal with Zack's particular brand of teenage enthusiasm.

And she would not have Zack hurt.

With a quick glance to the right, Eva eased out of the school parking lot and maneuvered her minivan into the far lane of traffic. Her son had his baseball, his buddies, his girlfriend, Katie. He also had a gift, that elusive photographer's eye that allowed him to produce and perfect the same magic as Carson.

Why, oh, why did it have to be photography that demanded Zack's creative energy? Why not auto mechanics or rock and roll? Why not skydiving or raising rabbits? Eva smiled inwardly, trying to picture Zack caring for an animal of any kind.

Zack, who had never wanted a pet, who hadn't wanted to love anything else that might be taken from him. He'd lost so much as a child and, damn it, he would not lose photography. Not if it was in her power. Not if she chewed her fingernails to the quick each time he told her, "Pucker up and say mozzarella."

As much as she loved her son, she only tolerated his passion. The click of the shutter brought flashbacks. Bright, Technicolor bursts of the days she'd spent in front of Carson's camera, the nights she'd spent in his arms.

Confronted with such images of the past, she examined them with a critical eye, seeking a measure of detachment, distance, deeming herself a casual observer. She failed each time on all three counts.

If only distance were possible, or detachment anywhere near the truth. But until she'd seen him again, she hadn't realized the memories were a symptom of a much larger problem. Her inability to let go and put closure to the past.

Exasperated as much with herself as with the spatter of raindrops, Eva signaled, turned right onto River Drive, and right again into the private parking area along the side of Blooms. Grabbing her purse, she slammed the van door and hurried down the walkway to the side entrance.

The bell chime jangled as the wind whipped the glass door from her hand. The frame bounced off the wall, rattling the fragile panes. A shaft of lightning illuminated the shop's interior. Standing in the open doorway, Eva cringed at the deafening crack of thunder.

"Crap." The bad weather punctuated her bad mood. She hated bad moods. She didn't have time for bad moods. And she had no time for bad weather, either.

She closed her eyes and inhaled the stinging smell of fertilizer, the earthy aroma of watered plants. Humid and cloying, the pungent odors of the shop calmed her as nothing else. This was hearth and home, the familiarity even Carson Brandt's appearance could not destroy.

"Hi, Ms. Channing."

Eva opened her eyes. Katie Crenshaw sat at the checkout counter behind a mountain of textbooks and notepads, a pen caught between her teeth.

"Hi, yourself, Katie-did. I see Zack drafted you into service again."

Katie laid the pen in the crease of her open book. "Yeah. I stopped by to remind him of the school paper's staff meeting at my house tonight. He said he wasn't going to make it if the potting soil didn't get bagged. I said I'd help for a while."

She arched her back in a youthful catlike stretch, then propped her elbows on the counter, her chin on her palms. "It's been slow so I thought I'd get this English assignment out of the way."

Eva held back her smile. She doubted the girl had stopped by to remind Zack of anything as much as she'd stopped by just because. Young love had always been and would always be young love. Dumping her purse to the floor, Eva shrugged out of her cream linen blazer. "I wish Zack showed half your interest in his own college prep courses. Sometimes I think aliens replaced his brain with a baseball."

"Or a roll of film." Katie sighed, settling her dimpled chin heavier into her hands. "Did he tell you the prom committee asked him about doing the portraits?"

Prom portraits. What next? Eva rubbed away her building headache. "No. He didn't."

"He probably hasn't had a chance to mention it. He only found out yesterday. I think the prom committee was impressed that the Garden Club chose him to do this year's calendar."

Eva folded her blazer over her arm and retrieved her purse from the floor. "So much for his grades. He was barely managing between baseball, the paper, and working here after school. Now with the calendar assignment and this prom thing, I don't know when he'll find time to study."

She reached out and tugged on a strand of Katie's corn-silk hair. "Thank goodness he has you for a tutor."

Frowning, Katie picked up her pen. "I don't mind. We have fun. Studying, I mean."

Watching the blush crawl up Katie's neck, Eva inwardly smiled. She'd missed so much teen fun growing up the way she had, at the rate she had, and wanted to provide Zack an all-American family life— even if this cute female part of the package was more than her mother's psyche was ready to deal with.

"Listen, Katie-did, if you don't mind hanging around a while longer, I'm going to run into my office and change into something a little grungier and get out there with Zack and Miguel before the bottom falls out."

"Sure. I just hope Zack gets finished in time for the meeting." Katie sighed heavily and glanced down at her book.

"Well, three sets of hands are faster than two, even if mine aren't quite as big."

"There are three of them out there already."

Eva's fingers tightened around the strap of her purse. "Three?"

Katie nodded. "A man stopped by to see you. I told him you weren't here and he asked for Zack, so I sent him out back."

"A man?" A man who asked for Zack. Eva didn't even need one guess.

"Yeah. Tall, blond. Pretty cute, for an old guy." Katie grinned, a smile that Eva forced herself to return.

"Hey, you'd better watch it with those old remarks. If he's who I think he is, age has only fine-tuned the muscles he earned at Zack's age."

"Yeah, I noticed." Katie blushed.

"Well, you've got good taste, Katie-did. And don't worry." She leaned forward to whisper. "I won't tell Zack."

Leaving Katie at a loss for words, Eva hurried to her office. Crap. She didn't need the aggravation of Carson Brandt, no matter how much he improved the scenery.

Shoving the door shut, she kicked off her heels and padded in her stocking feet to the window behind her desk. Lifting a mini-blind slat, she peered out into the garden area.

He stood there bare-chested and knee deep—cast deep—in rich black soil. Holding open a burlap sack, Zack hunkered down while Carson shoveled the humus mix into the bag. His shoulders bunched. His biceps flexed. And he was much too tan for early spring.

His skin glowed bright with the kiss of summer sun. She wondered where he'd been. An equatorial climate. Maybe Egypt or Ethiopia. Somewhere where he wouldn't mind the lack of provisions. Food had never mattered to him. So weight had never been a problem.

But what had once been a body gangly with youth was now the lean strength of prime man. His skin was smooth, seasoned, his chest dusted with sun bleached fuzz. His hair had streaks of red gold over streaks of honey. He'd let it grow and she liked it.

The overall picture put her on edge. She could appreciate the hair and admire the skin. But the five-percent body fat was too much for her latent hormones.

She couldn't help herself. Wetting her lips, she released her imagination, called up the past, and remembered the feel of his body. A familiar tingle crept through her limbs.

She clenched her thighs and forced her breathing to slow. Her eyes drifted shut. A lethargic weight rooted her to the floor. Seventeen years hadn't changed her physical response to the man who'd taught her the joys of making love.

"Traitor," she grumbled down to her disloyal body before lifting her lashes to look outside once more.

Carson's pullover sports shirt hung carelessly over the cedar fence. So typical. The shirt was no doubt a designer label and cost a fortune, but money and the luxuries it could buy had never meant anything to Carson.

No matter how much he earned for each assignment, no matter how much he increased his retainer, the money didn't matter. Only the challenge of bettering himself, besting himself, beating himself time after time carried weight with Carson Brandt.

He was a paragon of perfection. Just like Zack.

The intruding realization returned Eva to the moment. She'd been determined to relegate these two men to their proper places in her life, places separate and apart from one another.

Now they stood working side by side ... and looking mighty chummy, she noted with a grimace. Amazing, the number of similarities in them. The long, lanky build. Tawny hair and tanned skin. Different-colored eyes, but similar expressions. The same intensity. The same inner fire.

Funny things, coincidences.

With a puff of breath, Eva dropped the mini-blind in place and stripped off her suit, hanging it in her office closet. She pulled on a pair of faded jeans and a loose white T-shirt. After tying on a pair of scuffed leather work boots, she stood and took a deep breath. This wouldn't be so bad.

Wrong, she amended seconds after she stepped outside, because someone had forgotten to tell her body she was immune to Carson Brandt.

He was oh-so-cool, his stance indifferent, deceptively lazy, like he owned both the world and the time. His long-fingered hands were stacked casually on the shovel handle, his ocean blue gaze keen and alert—and trained on Zack.

Slowly, Eva approached, pushing away the last few minutes of fantastic lust to concentrate on the moment. And the fact that she had to get Zack away from Carson, before he twisted her son's passion for excellence into his own obsessive drive.

Tying up the full bag of soil, Zack slung the load to Miguel who hefted it onto his shoulder and carried it to the waiting truck. As Miguel climbed in and drove away, Zack dusted his hands together, grabbed another bag from the pile by the fence, and squatted beside Carson.

"Hey, Mom," he called, as Carson dropped the first shovelful of soil into the open bag. "What did Mr. Grant have to say about his star pupil?"

Acknowledging Carson with a tight smile, Eva relaxed her fists and glared down at her son. "Not as much as Katie did. She told me about the prom."

Zack thumped the bag against the ground to settle the soil. Eva felt the thud-thud in her empty stomach. She shouldn't have skipped lunch, she ruefully thought, knowing the lack of food had nothing to do with the burning sensation that would no doubt get worse before it got any better.

"I guess I should've told you yesterday," Zack said. "But it's something I wanted to think about for a while."

Eva plowed her hands into her hair and sighed. "Zack, don't apologize. I'm just worried that you're taking on more than you can handle."

"I know. That's why I didn't give them an answer right away." He looked up with eyes too old to be on the verge of seventeen.

Eva's heart broke. "If you want to talk about it, we can make it an early evening."

Zack shook his head. "Not tonight. I've got a paper meeting in a couple of hours."

Eva opened her hands in offering. "That's why I'm here. Katie told me about the meeting. I thought I'd lend a hand so you can get out of here." She finally glanced at Carson. "Looks like you've got plenty of help already."

"Yeah, Mr. Brandt wouldn't take no for an answer even though I told him Miguel and I could manage."

Carson knocked the shovel head against the sole of his single boot. "How are you, Eva?"

Aggravated. Frustrated. Annoyed. Strangely disturbed. She looked up at the sky. "Fine. But we're all going to be wet if we don't get this order filled in the next thirty minutes."

"Hey, Mom," Zack said, twisting the mouth of the bag closed. "Why didn't you ever tell me that you knew Mr. Brandt?"

Bending down, Eva held the mouth of the bag closed while Zack secured it with a length of rope. She shrugged noncommittally. "It's never come up. You knew I modeled years ago, but Carson and I haven't kept in touch.

"Between you and Blooms," she said, tugging playfully on a lock of Zack's hair, "I don't have time to keep up with photographers and fashion anymore." Straightening, she glanced at Carson, and heard yesterday's conversation verbatim.

I'm only a star if you know where to look for my name.

Okay. So I look.

His eyes were as fiery now as they'd been then, his expression condemning and righteous. She really had to quit lying to the man. She was a total failure at making it work.

"Sounds like Mr. Brandt helped make you famous." Zack rolled fluidly to his feet and nudged her shoulder with his.

She snagged her heel on a chunk of rock, but caught her balance before falling into Carson. She glowered at her son, wondering at Carson's version of the story. How much had he told Zack? "Thanks bunches, Zack. And I'm not famous."

"Then you've got this town fooled."

"Very funny," Eva grumbled, then took a deep breath. It was time to get her son out of there. "Listen. Why don't you go home and get cleaned up? Grab some money from the register and order a pizza to take to Katie's. Just leave me a note of the amount."

"What about the rest of Mrs. A's mud?"

"Soil, Zachary. Specially formulated to meet her garden's every need." Eva grinned as Zack rolled his eyes. "I imagine Mr. Brandt won't mind helping me finish up this last bag. That's all that's left—" Eva arched one brow Carson's direction "—and he looks like he's wearing most of it."

"Just adding my own special touch," Carson said with a too dazzling smile.

Pretending not to be dazzled, Eva crossed her arms. "I'm sure Mrs. Appleton's prize-winning begonias will wilt in abject horror."

Zack pulled his shirt from the fence and shrugged it on. He pushed the long locks of hair from his face as his gaze cut from Eva to Carson and back. "Hey, I'm outta here. You two can fight this out alone. I'm gonna grab that pizza money and Katie. Just not necessarily in that order."

"Zachary!"

"Bye, Mom." He leaned down and bussed her on the cheek, then extended his hand to Carson. "Mr. Brandt. Thanks for your help. I just hope you didn't screw up your leg."

"No problem, Zack. And the leg's more a nuisance than anything." Carson propped the shovel handle against his hip and took Zack's hand.

Eva glanced from her son to the bare-chested man who once was her lover. A streak of dark blond hair delineated the musculature of Carson's torso before disappearing behind the waistband of his low-slung khaki pants.

She remembered the feel of his skin against her tongue. She remembered his taste, his smell, the wiry brush of hair against her cheek. The thunder rumbled. And she moved her gaze to Zack. Breathlessly, she said, "I'll see you later tonight, okay? Have a good meeting."

Zack jogged off, then turned, gave her a thumbs up, and disappeared through the door. Eva whooshed out a long breath and turned back to Carson. She'd gotten rid of Zack. Now to get rid of Carson. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm working." He glanced at the shovel in his hand and back as if the answer were obvious.

"Not here, as in here in my garden, but here as in what are you doing in my hometown? I thought you had an assignment in Houston. And, now that you mention it, what are you doing in my garden?"

Using the shovel for leverage, Carson eased down to the ground. Leaning back on both elbows, he stretched out his casted foot and groaned. "I volunteered to help when I saw how your son was busting his butt out here."

"The Carson Brandt I knew wouldn't volunteer to help do anything." Eva frowned down at him. "But he'd have no qualms about ruining a perfectly good pair of pants. Or a cast. Are you supposed to be working in that thing?"

"You mean should I walk in my walking cast?"

"Smart mouth." She offered her hand. "Get up. You're getting filthy."

He shook his head, his gaze speculative, interested, and way too familiar. "I don't think so. I like the view from down here."

Why did he always make her think of sex? Ignoring what that look, those words, did to her already jittery stomach, Eva shrugged. "Suit yourself."

"I always do."

And didn't he, though. Stepping closer, she picked up the shovel and grabbed the last bag. "Thanks for helping Zack, but I can manage from here. You probably need to be getting back to Houston."

"Nope. I took myself off the assignment. I'm on vacation," he said, tugging the bag from her hands.

After that remark, she didn't have the strength to hold on. Dread seeping into her bones, she watched as he tossed the bag back on the pile. "A vacation. And you're spending it here?"

"Why not? Nice quiet town. Nice people. Nice place for secrets." Carson hoisted himself to his feet and dusted off his seat before grabbing the shovel from Eva's hands. "Tell me about your son, Eva."

The question didn't surprise her. In fact she'd expected it sooner. First there was the timing of her past shared with Carson. Then there was Zack's age, not to mention the uncanny similarities in looks between the two. And she couldn't forget Carson's arrogance and reluctance to admit he'd made a mistake. Of course he would think Zack was his son.

Eva glanced in the direction her son had disappeared, but Carson's broad chest, muddy and inches away, blocked her view. Shoving agitated fingers through her hair, she stepped back.

"Look, Carson. I've really got to finish this order." She gestured toward the stack of burlap bags. "Do you mind?"

A raindrop pelted the end of her nose. Carson took a step forward. She backed into the fence. He leaned toward her, braced the shovel against the cedar picket, then straightened and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Tell me about Zack."

Fine. She knew a no-win situation when she saw one. Laying her palms against the fence, she rested her backside against her hands and met Carson's relentless gaze through the steady drizzle.

"Let's see. He plays shortstop for Lake City High. They're having a great season, so between games, practice, and working as photographer on the school paper, he doesn't get in a lot of study time. That's where Katie comes in. You met her earlier?" she asked. When he nodded she went on.

"She's a shoo-in for valedictorian next year and is a big help tutoring Zack. His grades could be better, but I'm pleased. And right now he's still mulling over his college choices." There now. That wasn't so bad.

"He's a junior, then?"

Eva nodded.

"That would make him how old?"

"His seventeenth birthday is next month." And seventeen years ago she'd run from New York. Showdown time.

Long quiet moments hung thick in the air, enveloping the rhythm of nature and the heartbeat of man. The pattering rain spawned a vaporous haze redolent with earth and new growth. The cool mist bathed Eva's skin, and blurred her view beyond this one small, intimate corner of the garden.

The darkening sky cast gray shadows over Carson's face, but the clarity of his gaze never wavered. The rain plastered his hair to his head, sluiced smoothly over his torso, and washed away the accumulated sweat and dirt. His muscles flexed and slowly he advanced; his movements sleek, stealthy, with a jungle cat's grace. Eva held her breath.

He stopped. Inches separated their rain-soaked bodies. The air swirled close, the moisture thickened. The fog of Carson's body heat scented the air. Droplets caught in Eva's lashes and she raised determined eyes.

He meant nothing to her anymore; he was no longer a part of her life. But her thighs quivered, and her breasts tightened. And she knew the lie had run its course.

Carson lifted a finger, hesitated, then flicked a raindrop from the end of her nose. A second raindrop kissed her lip, slipped down her chin, ran the length of her neck, and soaked into the neckband of her T-shirt. Carson's gaze followed, then traveled lower. His eyelids grew heavy, his breathing sharp and ragged. And Eva pressed back against the fence.

The distance was no deterrent. Carson stepped into her space. He traced the path of the raindrop with the pad of his index finger. His rough skin pulled at the pillow of her lower lip. She opened her mouth, allowed him to dip inside and leave a tempting hint of his taste. A taste she remembered too clearly. A taste that made her hungry again.

She tilted her head against the rough cedar board, giving him access to her neck. She wanted him. Dark secrets from the past pulled them apart, yet this white-hot electricity arced between them, spanning the years as well as the lies of omission. Making a mockery of the life she'd built for herself and her son.

His touch drifted feather-light, drawing a single line down her neck. Her breath caught in the back of her throat; her erratic pulse pounded beneath his touch. His finger slipped lower, grew bolder, tickling a line between the valley of her breasts.

She shivered from the cool touch of the rain, from the hot touch of his finger. In a minute she'd stop him. For just one more minute she'd soak up his touch and let the rain wash away the years. For one second longer she'd pretend this was real and dream all those fantasies one more time. Make believe their differences didn't matter. Fool herself into believing they had a chance.

"Eva." Her name escaped his lips in a grating whisper.

She opened her eyes to find his heated gaze on her chest. Her nipples tightened under his intense perusal with the same ease they once had for his mouth. Using his thumb, he traced the upper curve of one breast, then the other, and she whimpered. Shamelessly, she strained toward him.

"You're so incredibly beautiful. More so now than years ago. And your body ..." He shook his head, his chest rising and falling rapidly now. "I wish I'd seen you pregnant. It's so hard to believe of this body."

The words he spoke woke her from the world of pretend and thrust her deep into the madness of the moment. Swirling and whirling and spinning out of control. She dropped her gaze to the ground, looking for stability, solidity, finding nothing but water that eddied in the mud around her feet.

Pulling in a stilted breath, she whispered her answer. An answer that was only a part of the truth. "Well, I have been pregnant, Carson."

She lifted her gaze enough to see the lean strength in his fingers as they flexed at his sides. She looked higher, at the indentation of his navel and the flat nipples hidden in a whorl of blond chest hair. Water ran over and around the sculpted ridges of his torso like a river fighting formations of nature.

Finally, she braved his eyes. For a fraction of a second his need burned so sharply, she wanted to claw her way through the fence behind her and run for shelter. Seventeen years later and the emotional threat of his sensuality hadn't diminished. Why? Why now? Oh, God, why now?

She ground the back of her hand against her mouth to stifle a moan. "Damn you, Carson Brandt. He's not your son."

His eyes lost none of their brilliance, but his stance shifted imperceptibly. That telltale sign told her he'd been hit. That he wanted Zack to be his son and irrationally hated her because of that truth. Because he wanted to believe the lie he'd been living since he'd laid eyes on Zack four days ago.

Carson leaned closer and she sucked in a breath, sucking in with it the very taste of him, the sweat, the earthiness, and the man. She waited. And waited. Wanting his touch and hating herself for the weakness.

He lifted his arm above her head and jerked his shirt from the fence. After struggling into the wet material, he turned on his heel without a word and limped through the gate. The motor of his Jeep roared to life. He spun his tires on the wet pavement and drove away.

When the world returned to the present, to the sweet smell of nature, pine bark and earthy soil, Eva dropped to her knees. Lifting her face to the spray of cleansing rain, she damned herself for once being young and foolish, and for ever loving Carson Brand in the first place.

Zack pulled the Blooms minivan to a stop in the Crenshaws' driveway behind Katie's sporty Mustang. The car was white and it shone in the sun as bright as Katie's hair.

Corn-silk, he'd heard his mom call that color of blond. He liked Katie's hair. He liked her eyes, how they were as blue as a summer sky in the morning. But, man, he really, really liked her car. He didn't go out with her because of the Mustang, but he never said no when she handed him the keys and asked him to drive. He liked the way she did that, without making him feel bad that he didn't have a car of his own, that all he had to drive was his mom's minivan.

It wasn't like he didn't save the money he made. He did. Okay. He spent a few bucks on Katie when they went out. And once in a while he'd find a jersey or a ball cap he had to have—things he didn't want to ask his mom to buy. She'd only tell him that her responsibility stopped at jocks and blue jeans, that brand-name labels were in his court. After all, he had a job, didn't he?

But most of the money he made went into his savings account. He knew his college fund was in trust. But his mom had said that he'd better be ready to take care of what she couldn't cover with his own student loans and as many scholarships and grants as he qualified for.

She was practical like that. But then she always had been, moving them from Kansas City to start over in Texas after his father had died. Even though she wasn't his real mom and his birth mom had died when he was three, he guessed he'd inherited a lot of her gutsy attitude.

Hey, it had taken balls to ask Katie if they could drive her car to the junior prom instead of hiring a limo like so many of their friends were doing. Sure, he could pull the money from savings and chip in for a group ride. But the tux and the flowers and the dinner before were already costing a fortune. Not that Katie wasn't worth it; she was. But they still had their senior year to go. They could do the limo thing next year—when he wasn't desperate for a new telephoto lens.

Two hands slamming against the hood of the van brought his head up. He switched off the engine, which had been running all this time, and smiled at the girl he'd come to see.

Wide-eyed, Katie walked around the front of the van to his window. Her legs were long and tan between her Keds and white slouch socks and her white denim shorts. "Are you planning to sit in the driveway all night? My dad won't like that, you know."

Zack knew exactly the lines Jim Crenshaw had drawn when it came to dating his daughter. "Is your dad home?"

She shook her head. Blond hair swung around her shoulders. "Nope."

"Okay, then." He stuffed the keys in his pocket, scooted around, and leaned both forearms on the open driver's-side window, trapping Katie's fingers where she'd cupped her hands over the edge.

Katie was extra cute close-up where he could see her eyes flash and see the tiny scar where she'd pierced one eyebrow before her dad had pitched a fit. Zack figured a little teasing wouldn't hurt. "I'll get out as soon as you give me a good reason to."

She blushed, and her near white eyebrows stood out against her pink skin. "So you can pay for the pizza when it gets here?"

He released her hands, handed her the twenty he'd grabbed from the Blooms register, and shook his head.

Holding the bill by two corners, Katie lifted both brows and stared at the face of Andrew Jackson. "Because if you don't study for your trig test before the meeting you're not even going to pass?"

Zack frowned, considered if that was incentive enough. It was, but he wasn't through playing with Katie. "I've got an eighty-eight average in trig. One test won't kill me."

"No, it won't. Because I'm going to kill you first." Katie glared and let out a loud grr. "Get. Out. Of. The. Van."

"You still haven't given me a good reason."

She looked him over for a long minute, then took a step back. With the twenty waving between two fingers, she arched her arms over head, lifted up, and spun a circle on one toe. Even wearing Keds, Katie looked like a ballerina.

She came to a stop, and held both arms out to the side as if presenting herself as an offering. "Well?"

Zack's stomach knotted. No guy in his right mind would need any other reason than this girl to get moving. And right now Zack's mind wasn't the only thing he had working right.

Grabbing his backpack from the passenger seat, he jumped from the van and slung an arm around Katie's neck. As they headed toward her front door, he dropped a kiss to her temple, drawing in the clean soft scent of her hair and her skin. He was rewarded with an arm slipped around his waist.

For now, that was plenty.

Chapter Four

The sun had set, leaving the empty parking lot at Blooms safely bathed in a halogen glow. The security lamps on the building's four corners provided Eva more than enough light to walk by, while the traffic light in front of the shop scattered prisms of red, yellow, and green across the hood of her van.

Tossing her purse on the passenger floor, she climbed behind the wheel and thought of Carson. She slammed the van door, turned the key, gunned the engine, and thought of Carson. Shifting into reverse, she sent the minivan shooting backwards and nearly sideswiped her own delivery truck because she was thinking of Carson.

If he hadn't been the death of her years ago, he no doubt would be this time around.

Slowly, she shifted into drive and eased forward. Yesterday she'd told him she'd been pregnant. She'd also told him Zack was not his son. But how would she manage to tell Carson Brandt that seventeen years ago when she'd left New York she'd been pregnant with his child—a child she'd later miscarried?

She had to tell him.

Didn't she?

She rolled her minivan to a stop in the center of the parking lot and idled there. She'd done nothing for the past three days but try to figure out how to tell Carson the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Even her long conversation with Jan hadn't resulted in a concrete solution.

But she'd never, until this exact moment, stopped to consider that she really didn't have to tell him anything at all.

He wasn't a permanent fixture in her life. The whole situation would be different if he were. Nothing would be accomplished by confessing to the miscarriage this late in the game. If Carson had found her years sooner, they could have jointly mourned their loss.

But the loss was hers, as had been the suffering. The only truth she owed Carson now regarded Zack. She'd told him that Zack was not his son. That was the truth. And that was the end of the story.

Satisfied with that bit of logic, Eva turned her thoughts from Carson to Zack's father. She wondered if Carson would have liked Bobby Shelton. The two men could've been brothers, they looked that much alike. Both tall, blond, and ruggedly lean. But the similarities ended with the physical. Spiritually and emotionally, the two men were nothing alike.

While both possessed a passion for their work, Bobby's had been fueled by family expectations—an obligation to an inherited business and to the future of his wife and son. He'd been easygoing, a constant source of sustenance, a friend she'd depended on at the lowest point in her life.

Carson's inner fire had been demon-driven. He'd had a past to exorcise and a Faustian ambition for the future. He'd never been selfish in his search for perfection, but totally honest. He'd broken no promises because he'd made none to break. She'd gone into their relationship with her eyes wide open and he'd provided her an education in bliss.

She'd loved him unconditionally. And she'd married someone else.

A car horn from the street beyond brought her around. She glanced up, lifted her foot from the brake, and headed home. She had so much work to do once she got there and so much to consider about what to do with Carson.

One thing was still certain. She had to keep Zack out of Carson's way.

Carson had no business in Lake City now that he knew Zack was not his son. She would've preferred a more graceful segue into that confession, but the time and the place and the dynamics of the situation had overruled her common sense.

Signaling to turn onto her street, Eva sighed with resignation. No, her body had overruled her common sense—which led her to a second irrefutable certainty. She had to keep Carson out of her life as well as out of Zack's.

She'd been a long time without a man. Ten years, in fact, since Bobby's death. Ten years since she'd been embraced in loving arms. She missed the physical closeness, the comfort in being held. She missed a man's body. Strong arms wrapped around her. A broad chest above. Hair-dusted legs tangled with her own.

And she knew the wonder of Carson's body well.

Vacation or not, he had no reason to stay in Lake City.

And she'd tell him that right now, she grumbled, slamming her van to a stop alongside Carson's Jeep in her driveway. He might argue that he had reason to be in Lake City, but she'd sure like to hear him come up with a good reason to be in her house.

She pulled into the garage, yanked the keys from the ignition and her purse from the floor, then reached for the flat of marigold seedlings in the passenger seat.

Voices drifted through the closed washroom door. Deep and resonant, the sound vibrated with a double dose of male excitement and vitality—a mix she'd forgotten. Oh, how she'd forgotten. Warmth spiraled through her and feeling betrayed by her memories, she closed her eyes, wondering how one single person could throw her perfect life for such a loop.

Leaving the seedlings on the soil-dusted worktable in the garage, she eased open the door into the washroom. The accordion doors leading to the kitchen were closed. Thank God. Now she could snoop in private.

"You know," Zack was saying, "I have the feeling that what I want to do isn't going to fly with the powers that be. But every year the calendar is the same thing. Mrs. A's begonias. Mrs. Sinclair's azaleas. It's like the whole project is a popularity contest."

An irrepressible smile twisted Eva's lips. Her son had the Garden Club ladies pegged.

"What do you want to do?" Carson's question was simple, smoothly direct, and way too interested.

Eva's smile vanished and she squeezed both hands into fists. Butt out, Carson. This isn't your business.

"I want to shoot at the Botanical Gardens," Zack said. "There's a lot more to work with there, and Mom helped landscape the layout. It would be great advertising for her."

"Not to mention you couldn't be accused of playing favorites with the ladies."

Eva's hands ached. She flexed her fingers and inhaled. Butt out, Carson. This isn't your business.

Zack laughed. "Right?"

"So, use the Botanical Gardens. What kind of shots do you have planned?"

Zack sighed, and Eva could picture him threading his fingers through the long strands of hair on the top of his head. "Man, I'm dying to do some stuff in black and white. The shadows and bits of light in the gardens are incredible. But I think black and white defeats the whole purpose of the calendar."

"Not necessarily. I can show you how to make it work."

Butt out, Carson. This isn't your business.

Chair legs scooted across the floor, then Carson said, "Why don't you give me a tour of the gardens after school tomorrow? You know, show me what you're thinking about."

"For reals?"

"Yeah. For reals."

Eva felt her stomach hit her feet and go squish.

Zack groaned. "Oh, man. I can't. We've got a ball game tomorrow."

"How 'bout Saturday?"

"You'll still be here then?"

That was all the cue Eva needed. She pushed open the accordion doors to find Carson and Zack in the breakfast nook. Carson's back was to her and Zack sat across the table, slumped back in his chair, his blue-jeaned legs spread wide, and a stack of schoolbooks held tight on one thigh.

And Carson, well, she'd look at him later. After she got to the bottom of the yellow legal tablet in his hand. The one with scratches and drawings that looked a lot like shot angles.

But first she wanted to know about the camera with the circular flash unit sitting on the kitchen table. It didn't matter if the camera was Carson's. Zack knew better. Cameras were to be kept out of sight unless in use.

"Hi, guys. What's up?" Hi, guys. What's up? She sounded like June Cleaver.

Zack gave her an Eddie Haskell grin. "Not much."

"Not much?" Her gaze cut pointedly from Zack to the camera and back.

Zack grimaced and glanced at Carson. "She really hates cameras, you know."

"Zachary," Eva warned.

"C'mon, Mom. It's the truth." Zack's tone rode the line between banter and sarcasm, a tone out of character for her well-mannered son.

Eva bit her tongue and examined the dirt under her short nails. She was not going to get into a discussion of house rules in front of Carson. She and Zack would hash this out later—once the steam rising from her ears had evaporated.

As if sensing the impending contest of wills, Carson reached for the camera and set it in the chair behind the table.

"Photography's a fickle mistress, Zack. It's a love-hate relationship, depending which side of the camera you're on." He glanced over his shoulder at Eva then, a wealth of intimate knowledge wrapped up in his gaze. "I figure anyone can get tired of being coaxed to smile."

C'mon, Eva. C'mon, baby. Smile for me. Smile. For me, baby. For me. Smile. Once more. Smile.

Reluctantly, Eva held his gaze. It was bad enough to hear those words in her mind every time Zack told her to smile, but to hear them now while looking at Carson ... She shivered.

"Cold?" asked the bane of her existence.

"Chilly." She rubbed her palms up and down her arms. "The day was warm enough, but the sun caught me working outside. I can feel the dampness in my bones."

Carson's know-it-all look said he saw beyond her lie. "Sounds like we're talking about the weather."

"Maybe we ought to be talking about what you two are talking about. And what exactly brings you here."

"Actually, Zack and I were talking about ring lights."

"Ring lights?" she echoed.

"Yeah, I told Mr. Brandt about the calendar project yesterday while we were shoveling mud." Zack shook back his hair and shrugged. "We got to talking about exposure and the best way to shoot close-ups with the equipment I have."

"I see." And, oh, boy, did she. Carson had been here less than a week and the tug-of-war for Zack's attention was on already.

Carson had pinpointed her weakness—Zack's hobby—and no doubt found her lack of involvement unnatural, curious. No doubt considered her less than a paragon of motherhood. No doubt still found her wanting. Imperfect.

"Anyway," Zack was saying. "He said he'd like to give me some help on the calendar."

Eva's focus immediately sharpened. "He can't help."

Both men stared at her, expectant, wary, no doubt sure she'd lost her mind.

"What I mean is—" she struggled to come up with something, anything to prove them wrong "—Carson's on vacation. I doubt he really wants to spend his time off in Lake City. I would think there might be some of the world he has yet to see."

Carson didn't miss a beat. He shook his head. "No, Eva. I've pretty much seen it all."

"Yeah?" Zack asked, shifting forward in his chair. "So who has the best food?"

Eva rolled her eyes. "The boy doesn't ask about Asian culture or European history or the Scandinavian countryside. No. He picks the lowest common denominator. Food."

Carson chuckled, twisting around to straighten and stretch his cast-encumbered leg. "Let's see. I gained ten pounds on cheese-stuffed, cheese-covered pasta in Italy, then lost the same ten pounds in India because I wasn't about to order from the mystery menu. I lived on dried beans in Ethiopia, but made up for that depravation later on French sauces and British fish and chips."

Rubbing his belly, Zack groaned. "Oh, man, I'm starving."

Great. The break she'd been looking for. Eva rubbed her palms together. "Then I'd better get dinner started so you can get to your homework. What'll it be? Chicken stir-fry? Chili? Last time I looked there was still a bowl in the freezer."

Carson and Zack glanced back and forth, and finally Zack fessed up. "Uh, we already ate, Mom."

Frowning, Eva said, "You just said you were starving."

"I'm always starving." Zack shrugged. "Anyway, Mr. Brandt came by the school. I showed him the photography lab. We got to talking and it got late and I knew you were working, so we stopped by Crenshaw's Diner and had meat loaf. Thursday night special, you know."

Eva pursed her lips to keep from screaming. "Good. Now you can hit the books. That looks like at least a couple hours' worth of work sitting on your lap."

"Well," Zack began, his face scrunched up in a sheepish grin, "I was kinda hoping you'd let me use the van tonight. Katie has a National Honor Society meeting until eight. I told her I'd try to pick her up so we can study."

"Hmm. What time will you be home?"

"Ten. Ten-thirty."

"All right." Eva sighed with resignation, dug in her purse, and tossed him the keys.

"Awesome." Zack snagged the keys with one hand and grabbed up his books with the other. "I'll see you Saturday, then, Mr. Brandt."

"Saturday. And call me Carson."

Eva clenched her fists. This chumminess was getting out of hand. Zack headed for the door, stopped, and dropped a kiss on top of Eva's head.

"See ya later, short-stuff."

"Same to you, shortstop," Eva countered, swatting him on the backside. "Hey, what time is your game tomorrow night?"

"Six-thirty. I figured I'd just stay after school. I've got a roll of film to develop, anyway."

"You want me to pack you a snack to eat before the game?"

"Nah, I'll just grab some fruit in the locker room."

"Okay, then. If I miss you in the morning, I'll catch up with you at the game."

"Love you, Mom. Bye, Mr. Bra ... Carson."

"Take it easy, Zack."

Eva didn't move. Five feet of red-bricked tile floor lay between her feet and Carson's chair. In silence, she listened to Zack leave, heard the garage door come down. And then the silence turned uncomfortable.

"Well," she began. "I guess I'll scrounge up a bowl of cereal."

The chair scuffed the floor as Carson got to his feet. The sleeves of his olive and purple striped crewneck were pushed up to his elbows. The tail of the shirt bunched carelessly at his hips.

His jeans weren't tight; one leg hung extra loose around his cast. But everywhere else the bagginess was suggestive, hinting at the reason and rhyme for the excess room.

He had a black Nike sandal on one foot, a black-banded watch around one wrist. The ends of his hair curled slightly at his neck. Light from the chandelier glinted off the darkest strands, suffusing his hair with the suggestion of fire.

The combination was devastating.

"C'mon, Eva." he finally said. "I'll buy you a plate of meat loaf. Thursday night special, you know."

The food was tempting, Carson more so, but the small-town gossip wasn't. She ruffled her hand over her hair and grimaced. "I'm a little too grubby for Crenshaw's."

"I'll wait while you clean up."

Like she was going to take a shower with him in her house? "I don't think so, Carson. It's been a long day."

"Then wash your hands and I'll take you out for a hamburger. I noticed a drive-through down the street from Blooms. You don't even have to get out of the Jeep."

That she could probably handle, two seats and a console between. And she really did need to talk to him about why he was messing in Zack's life. That conversation she'd rather not get into in the intimate privacy of her home. Neutral territory was best for wartime arbitration.

Carson cocked one brow. Obviously she'd been thinking about it too long for his liking. She sighed. "You don't have to do this. I'll be fine with a bowl of cereal."

"I know I don't have to. I want to."

Eva stopped herself from asking why. She circled the bar into the kitchen, and squirted a dab of liquid soap into her palm. The warm water felt good to her chilled skin, and it was so much simpler to concentrate on washing her hands than to analyze the best way to get Carson out of her life.

Some days she didn't even have it in her to turn life's lemons into something to drink.

She'd left the kitchen light off, so when he moved in behind her his body blocked the illumination thrown by the breakfast nook's fixture. The bar bordered her right, appliances flanked her left.

From behind, Carson's shadow covered her, surrounded her, painted the kitchen wall above her in shades of dove and gunmetal gray. Her bare arms tingled, her breasts tightened. And the room, cast in Carson's shade, grew strangely cold.

Slowly, she shut off the faucet, grabbed two paper towels, and turned. He filled her kitchen. And he still smelled the same. It was a subconscious recollection, but the years hadn't dimmed the accuracy.

He smelled like tenderness and sweet nights. And made her think of the promises he'd never made. She struggled to breathe, struggled to remain impassive, when every part of her wanted to strike out.

Why was he here? What did he want? And why couldn't he have left well enough alone?

Because there isn't anything well enough about it. Neither of us has let go of the past.

Carson leaned one shoulder against the freezer door. She crossed her arms over her chest. The counter edge cut into her back, but it wasn't as sharp as the sense of expectation humming in the air. "What do you want, Carson?"

"I want to take you to dinner."

Eva bit down on her lower lip. Funny how familiar exasperation felt. "No, I mean why are you still here. In Texas. In Lake City. In my house."

"Why shouldn't I be?"

"Lake City is not a vacation paradise."

"It's as good a place as any other."

"It's a small town, Carson. There are a lot of secrets and lies, but none of them are in this house." She squirmed when she said it, but lifted her chin anyway. "I told you yesterday that Zack is not your son. That's the truth."

"And I believe you." He said it without a hint of hesitation or doubt. "But I can't stop thinking how easily he could have been."

Eva refused to move. She was afraid if she started shaking she'd never stop. She was equally afraid she wasn't going to be able to keep her voice steady. "What do you mean?"

Carson straightened and advanced into the kitchen. One step, one limp. One step, one limp. He stopped.

A baby-fine buzz of nerve endings prickled along Eva's nape; her mouth grew dry, her heartbeat frantic. The dampness on her skin smelled sharp and metallic, redolent with the first stirrings of psychological fear.

This time his smile was up close and personal. "We weren't very careful, Eva. Ever."

"We were young."

"We were irresponsible and stupid."

Her neck ached from the combination of a tight jaw and tighter spine. She couldn't move when he stood so close. "Yeah. You're right."

"Bitter?" he asked.

"Then? Or now?"

"Either one. Both."

"No," she answered honestly. "You made it clear that your plans did not include having a family. I should have insisted we use protection every time."

He moved closer, his body large, his presence larger, his aura an insidious fog seeping into her judgment. His gaze burned like blue ice. Or green fire. Eva couldn't decide which. She tilted her head to look up. The color was kaleidoscopic, a hypnotizing whirl of untamed heat.

"Do you really think we could have stopped, Eva? All those times in dressing rooms. Bathrooms. Any room with a door ... and a few without." His laugh was wicked, sinful, laced with erotic images, but not a bit of humor. "Yeah, we were young and stupid, but what was between us was old. And went a lot deeper than bodily hunger."

The room had grown too small. The air too precious. The hum of energy attuned to the rough rhythm of her heart. It was a wonder she could still talk. "Getting rather philosophical with age, aren't you?"

Hands stuffed in his pockets, he lifted one shoulder. "Maybe I'm finally old enough to realize that what you and I had wasn't an average affair."

Eva swallowed past the lump growing to the size of a baseball in her throat. "An affair?"

"Affair. Involvement. Relationship. Whatever you want to call it."

"Funny, all I remember us calling it was great sex." Oh, how it hurt to say that. Yet, Carson seemed to take it in stride.

"Be honest, Eva. Tell me you had it as good with Zack's dad. Shelton, right? Bobby Shelton? And yet you still go by Channing."

Eva bristled. "Leave Bobby out of this. He is not your business. Neither are my reasons for using my maiden name."

Carson took a deep breath, and his chest expanded to fill her view. "Did Bobby make your body burn from the inside out?"

Blood rushed from her head, to her head, back and forth, in and out. "Stop it, Carson."

He moved in closer, trapping her against the L of the countertop. He brushed his nose through the hair over her ear. "You smell like peat moss. I like it."

All she could see were the stripes on his shirt. All she could feel was the tickle of his breath. And his heat. "I'm surprised."

"That I noticed? Or that I like it?" The clearance space between their bodies was decidedly slim. There was no room for the slightest error in movement. Or in judgment. "That you like it. As I recall, the perfect blend of patchouli was more your style."

"Patchouli. Now, that brings back memories." His lips moved over the upper curve of her ear. "It always reminds me of you. Patchouli and vanilla. Do you remember the vanilla, Eva? The candles? The camera?"

"Stop it, Carson." She jerked back. There was nowhere to go. His hands were braced against the countertop on either side of her. She shoved, but he refused to budge. "This is insane. What do you want?"

"What do I want?" He moved against her in the dark, shadowy room. His chest grazed hers, a static touch of cloth-covered skin. "What do you want?"

It was the past all over again. What she wanted had never been a match for his indomitable will. He'd molded her, shaped her, made her into Eva Channing.

But she wasn't nineteen anymore.

She lifted her head. "What I want is for you to leave. My house. Lake City. Texas. Zack and I have a wonderful life here. I don't need the past coming back to haunt me."

"Do I haunt you, Eva? Do you think about what we had when you go to bed alone?"

She parked her fists at her waist. Her extended elbows brushed his encircling forearms. "Whether or not I go to bed alone is none of your business."

"No, but it's the right thing. And Eva always did the right thing." His lips lifted, a curious smile of satisfaction. "Going to bed any way but alone wouldn't be appropriate with a teenager in the house. And Zack told me you don't date."

"You asked Zack about me?" Eva straightened, stiffened, and dropped her arms to her sides. "You questioned my son? How dare you. How dare—"

He dared with his body … his chest pressed to her breasts, his hands at her wrists, his thighs against her hips. He dared with his mouth … his lips on her cheekbone, his teeth at her jaw, his tongue circling her ear.

Finally, he dared with his eyes, with a look that spoke of pleasures of the past—a past and a pleasure she hadn't forgotten.

If absence made the heart grow fonder, it made her body a maniac. It turned her brain to mush. She was in her kitchen, swaying toward the very same man she'd just asked to leave the state.

His mouth was everywhere ... eyebrows, eyelids, temple, the slope of her neck to her shoulder, the strip of her collarbone, the hollow of her throat.

She wanted his mouth on her mouth.

And finally he obliged.

His tongue slid against hers, slightly rough, decidedly adept, curling and stroking and coaxing and hot. She pulled her hands free of his and threaded her fingers through the length of his hair.

The silken strands filtered over her wrists. His evening beard abraded the tender skin of her forearms. The contrast exhilarated, excited, heightened her awareness of male and female, and took her worlds beyond the moment into a realm of pure sensation.

He tugged her T-shirt free from her jeans. Then it was skin on skin, his hands on her back, stroking, roaming, counting her ribs, measuring her spine, creeping down over her jeans to cup her bottom and squeeze.

She moaned into his mouth, whimpered, moved her hands to his shoulders, his biceps, to his chest and the hard nipples beaded there. He freed the clasp on her bra and caressed her back.

Her hands found their way back to his waist and beneath his shirt. The muscles of his belly were flat and hard, the skin warm, taut, and dusted with more hair than she remembered. He tore his mouth from hers with a growl and lifted the hem of her top.

Reality hit with the brush of cool air on her skin. It was just like before. No thinking. Bodies acting. Crazy. Insane. Stupid. So very stupid. She wasn't nineteen. She had no excuse. This was sex. Nothing more.

With both fists on his chest, she pushed him back and cried out. "Damn it, Carson. What do you want?"

Breathing hard, he swiped both hands down his face, then braced his arms on either side of her. His eyes demanded. His body trembled. Wave after wave of male sexuality heated her overheated skin.

"One question. One answer." He blew the words against her forehead.

"What?" she bit off, defiantly lifting a shaking chin.

"How do you know for sure Zack is not my son?"

Chapter Five

Parked in Eva's driveway, Carson twisted uncomfortably behind the wheel of his Jeep. He'd been way outta line. He should've pursued his question differently, approached the subject from a more analytical angle instead of attacking Eva's honesty. She deserved respect; he'd offered none. He'd known that even as the words left his mouth.

But he'd never thought of having a son until Zack had walked into the storeroom that morning and called Eva "Mom." If there was the slightest chance Zack was his, he wanted to know. So he'd asked. Eva had answered. And here he sat, his cheek stinging, the pain on his face doing nothing to take his mind off the one in his pants.

He'd been so close to her, so close, and touching her had seemed the most natural move to make. When she'd run her hands through his hair, held him against her mouth, he'd come undone. The ache had begun like a hum in his blood and then the fever had risen.

He'd absorbed her, taking more than she offered, reaching into his memories of Eva and the past and imprinting them on the present. Carson rubbed his cheek. Eva had seemed to realize they were reliving their foolishness about the same time he did.

Damn it to hell, but she'd done it again. Proved for the third time in less than a week that he'd never be rid of her. His life was inextricably linked to a ginger-eyed, russet-haired woman-child.

He'd always thought of her that way because of her slender build. At five feet eight, she'd been the shortest of Judith Montclair's models. Her long limbs and fluid movements had added the appearance of height. But it was her eyes, innocently seductive, childishly beguiling, that had convinced the world to buy what she was selling.

Her eyes had convinced him, too. Convinced him that he might have a chance at happily ever after. Carson blew out a disgusted breath. He'd been so young and stupid. Now he was just old and stupid.

"Damn." He lifted his cast across the console, leaving enough room to shift from "P" to "R" to "D." Driving left-footed was a pain in the butt, but it relieved the boredom of the automatic transmission. He bit off a self-deprecating laugh. So far, the transmission was definitely the only part of this assignment-turned-quest that qualified as boring.

What do you want, Carson?

How many times since he'd seen her had Eva asked him that question?

Easy answer, Brandt. Almost as many times as you've changed your answer.

Seeing Eva at the concert in New York had been the catalyst in a decision a long time coming. This trip to Lake City had started out as a ritual exorcism. He'd traveled to the ends of the earth without managing to expel her from his thoughts.

As much as he needed a change of pace, he needed to free himself of the dangerous distraction, the sick fascination with a woman he had known for two years out of the thirty-nine he'd been alive.

In that instant in Blooms, when she'd turned the corner into the aisle where he'd stood, the tails of her flannel shirt flapping behind her, the cuffs of her jeans bunched over tan work boots, the smoldering obsession had ignited.

Jolted, he'd turned and walked away, into the humid storeroom that smelled of earth and nature, of all things unpretentious and pure. And surrounded by life's elemental basics, his fixation with Eva had come into focus.

Because he'd never learned why she'd left him, she would always, always be a part of his life. Plain and simple. Black and white. The connection had been easy to index once simplified and defined.

So, leaning back against bags of compost, breathing deep of humid, still air that smelled of flannel and leather and sun-warmed skin, he'd ignored the pull of Eva's eyes, and decided to walk away and live with the reality.

Until he'd seen Zack.

He'd been stunned, strangely excited, and so damned sure Zack was his son. Even after he'd accepted the truth, some small part of him ached to believe the lie. Zack was a great kid. Eva had done a good job, and she sure as hell had more to show for the past seventeen years than Carson did.

Now he wanted the rest of the truth. Why she had walked. What had happened during their two years together to turn her away from a life she'd loved. And why she still took him apart with her touch.

Carson tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Part of him hoped she ached with half of the fierceness burning in his gut. Part of him wished he'd thought before he'd opened his mouth and challenged Eva about her son's paternity.

He believed her. He knew her well enough to be certain that she was telling the truth. Zack was not his son. Still, Carson wasn't satisfied. He had other questions. And the answers weren't ones he could discover from a distance of three thousand miles. He had to be on the scene—even if that meant vacation time spent observing a kid shoot still lifes for a calendar.

He didn't like to tutor beginners. But Zack had a good grasp of the art. Better than good. He knew more about photography than a few of the paid professionals Carson ran up against. Zack possessed a brash sort of arrogance that came from knowing he was good at what he did, while still acknowledging that he had more to learn. He reminded Carson a lot of himself.

And he wouldn't really be tutoring Zack; Zack had his instructor for that. But maybe Carson could pass on experience, tidbits of knowledge Zack would eventually discover on his own but might find helpful knowing years sooner.

Now to figure out how to involve Eva so he could clear up the final details. With his history tied up in a nice neat package, he could fax his resignation to Bailey, then head across the Atlantic.

He couldn't put off his book, his own personal photographic study of the world, much longer. He'd always known he'd go back on terms of his own making, to the countries where life depended on bread crumbs and charity, to capture the images of the people who survived. And those who smiled.

He wanted to know how they endured. He wanted to know why. The pictures would tell him their stories, and maybe help him figure out what it was inside him that kept him going. If there really was a human factor, a mutant cell that kicked in when even stubbornness and gut determination were no longer enough.

He'd start his photo essay in Iceland, work his way across the world. And maybe somewhere between the North Sea and North Vietnam, he'd find a reason to stop examining the world through a camera lens and start living his own life.

The score was tied at two in the top of the ninth when Carson arrived at Zack's game. The Lake City Hornets were on the field. Zack hovered in the pocket between second and third. Parked along the first base line, Carson hung back from the bleachers and watched the action from the hood of his Jeep.

Not that he was trying to avoid Eva; he hadn't seen her now for four days since that well-deserved slap in her kitchen, but there was no need to delay the inevitable. Still, she deserved this undivided time to focus on her son. Zack deserved the same. Besides, Carson wasn't exactly dying to drag his cast up those flimsy-looking metal stands.

The umpire called the final batter out on a low strike, and Lake City headed for the dugout. Carson knew the moment Zack spotted him by the acknowledging lift of the teen's chin. Answering with a brief wave, Carson watched Zack jockey his way into the cyclone-fenced cage.

The trainer handed Zack a plastic bottle. Stuffing his ball cap in his back pocket, he squirted a stream of water down his throat, then grabbed up a bat and settled a batting helmet on his head. With a grin and a quick thumbs-up aimed in Carson's direction, Zack made his way to the on-deck circle.

Seconds later, Carson sensed Eva's searching gaze. She was no doubt wondering who dared interrupt her son's concentration at such a crucial point in the game. The thought caused a wicked grin as well as a quickening in Carson's gut, but he refused to glance toward the stands.

If she caught him looking, she'd be on the ground and in his face. He didn't want to see her alone. She provoked him, and he couldn't afford to let that thing between them flare up again. Especially now that they were going to be spending a lot of time together—even if she didn't know that yet.

Carson dug the film canister from the pocket of his jeans and bounced it on his palm. No, what he had to tell Eva would work best with the three of them together. And with Zack doing the talking, now that Carson thought back on their earlier conversation.

He'd stopped by the photography lab that afternoon to talk to Zack about the calendar. When Carson had casually asked if Eva ever worked on Zack's projects, Zack had explained the deal with his mother. She'd agreed to act as model anytime he needed a human guinea pig, as long as the shoots were straight and to the point.

And as long as the prints were for his eyes only.

Zack defended his mother brilliantly, going on to say that Eva showed a great deal of pride in his process and awards, but seemed more open and approachable when it came to cheering at his baseball games and encouraging him in his lessons.

Carson doubted Zack realized how much he'd revealed while he'd talked, how much of Eva's reticence to remember her past had filtered through the conversation. Zack's disclosure had increased Carson's curiosity and doubled his determination to get to the bottom of Eva Channing.

"Batter up!"

At the ump's call, Carson refocused his gaze on the field. The visiting team's pitcher threw the first pitch of the final round of at bats and the Hornet slugger cracked a shot just left of the third base foul line.

The ball sailed over the fence and out of the park, where at least six youngsters fought over the right to the prize. The winner, a dark-haired kid with baggy jeans, boat-sized athletic shoes, and a ball cap worn in reverse, headed to the concession stand.

Carson's gaze followed, and he couldn't help but grab a quick breath when, from the corner of his eye, he caught the flash and flurry of the descending woman headed his way.

God, but she had some kind of fire. The late evening sun burnished her hair; the red tips shone as bright as her anger. He had no doubt her eyes glittered wildly. She'd never been good at hiding her emotions. Denying them, yes. But this time she wasn't holding anything back.

He shoved the film canister back in his pocket and turned toward her, braced for the explosion. Her purposeful stride ate up the grass. Her jeans were worn, her black T-shirt faded, the yellow and black flannel she wore on top ruffled like the feathers of a mother hen.

Carson allowed himself a moment of appreciation. She really did have long legs.

Skidding to a stop before him, she planted her fists at her waist. "What are you doing here?"

If she ground her jaw any tighter, he had no doubt it would splinter. And he'd been right about her eyes. He just hadn't remembered the ferocity with which that tiger-bright stare tied a knot in his stomach.

Bracing his good foot on the bumper of the jeep, Carson crossed his forearms on his thigh and forced himself to relax. "Thought I'd spend a few minutes of my vacation enjoying America's favorite pastime."

She shoved both hands through her short, sassy hair and pulled. "You said you were going to leave."

"No. You said I was going to leave. All I said was that you had one hell of a power forehand."

Eva turned her back on him, muttering under her breath.

He was not about to let her off the hook. One way or another, she would face what happened between them four nights ago. "What's that?"

Whirling around, she pinned him in place with a belligerent glare. "I said, I did not mean to hit you."

"I think you did mean to hit me." He shrugged as carelessly as he could. "Things got too hot and you cooled 'em down."

The shock on her face was priceless. "You think I slapped you to cool things down?"

Carson's foot slipped from the bumper. His heel hit the ground with a bone-jarring thud that ricocheted through his control. He shoved his shaking hands in the pockets of his jeans and fixed her with a steady gaze. "Don't play games with me, Eva. If you didn't want me to leave, you should have said so."

"I did want you to leave. I slapped you for what you said." Lifting her chin, she dared him to defend himself. "You had no right to be so rude."

"Rude?" Carson bit off a gruff noise. "It was an honest question, Eva. Considering the timing of the past, I have a right to know. And now I do."

Her glare could have blistered film. "I told you Zack isn't your son. You didn't have a right to badger me."

He shrugged, strangely regretful about the certainty of her claim. "What can I say? You bring out the animal in me."

"Exactly my point." She paused, pulled in a deep breath, and advanced with precise, measured steps. "We've barely spoken a civil word and you've been here less than two weeks. I don't need the grief, Carson. I told you before there was no point in spending your vacation in Lake City."

She'd reached him now and, standing toe to toe. shook an imperious finger in his face. "If you looked me up expecting to resume our relationship, it's not going to happen. What we had is over. I won't—"

Crack! The crowd erupted in a rousing cheer. Eva spun back to the game.

And Carson took the moment to study the woman he was no longer sure he wanted to forget.

She was right. Animal instincts aside, that kiss last Thursday night was a big mistake. What they'd done in her kitchen was going to get in the way of his plans.

But she was wrong if she thought it was over. Or that he had no reason to be in Lake City. And because of the scene in her kitchen, he was more determined than ever to stay.

"Did you see that? Did you see that?" Eva pointed at the runner on second base dusting the dirt and baseline chalk from his jersey. "Zack's up next. One more run and this game's history."

Carson watched Eva watch her son. A spectrum of emotion crossed her face before her features settled into a look of expectation. Both fists clenched tight to her chest, she held her breath and cringed when Zack swung at the first pitch and missed.

"C'mon. baby. Hang in there. You can do it. You can do it." She murmured the words quietly, then let out a whooping, "Let's go Hornets!"

Ah. what the hell. Carson cupped his hands into a bullhorn. "C'mon, Zack."

"Okay, baby. Watch it. Watch it. Watch it. Oh, no," she groaned, when Zack took the second strike.

Zack tapped the plate with his bat, resettled his helmet, and readied his swing. He connected with the third pitch and Eva went ballistic, jumping and screaming and cheering him on as he stretched the outfield grounder into a double. The first runner held at third.

"Way to sting that ball, Zack," she yelled, following up with a loud "Woo-woo-woo" while circling her arm overhead. "One more hit, guys. Let's get it and go home."

A slow grin spread over Carson's face. Sometimes life was so sweet. Why he'd never seen it before, he didn't stop to consider. All he knew was he'd found his way in with Eva.

Zack was Eva's life. She would do anything to make him happy. Carson planned to make the boy delirious.

The next batter put the game to bed with a homer in dead centerfield. The Hornets high-fived, and congratulated the members of the other team, then sprinted to the dugout, where they fished jugs of sports drink from the team coolers. Eva's eyes glistened and Carson had no doubt the tears were those of a mother's pride.

He glanced down, scuffing a clod of grass with the toe of his shoe. Like he'd know a mother's pride if it bit him in the butt. Zack was a lucky kid. And Carson knew exactly how lucky. Eva ran a knuckle under each eye, then seemed to realize he was still standing there. She swiped both palms on the tail of her flannel shirt.

"What a game, huh?" When he didn't answer, she put on that assertive Eva Channing face and took up as much space as she could with her five feet, eight inches. Back to business.

"Look, Carson. I appreciate your offer to help Zack with his calendar project. But, believe me, he'll do fine on his own. I think it would be best if you leave before he gets used to having you around. That way you'll save Zack, and yourself," she added with an open-handed gesture, "a lot of resentment and aggravation."

"Zack doesn't aggravate me, Eva."

"No, but—"

"But he'll come to resent me?" He arched one brow.

She blew out a breath, looked away then back. "I don't want Zack hurt."

"You don't think you're being overprotective here? Hell, you've cut and printed before the film even rolled," Carson argued, knowing by the pale cast to her face he'd hit a nerve.

Eva pulled both sides of her shirtfront tight and crossed her arms over her chest. "Zack was five when he saw his father burn to death in the family's greenhouse. If I'm overprotective, I have my reasons."

Carson couldn't manage a response. He barely managed to breathe. He hadn't wanted to know about Bobby, but now recognized the other man would always be a part of Eva's life. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"There's no reason you would have. And I'm not booking for sympathy. That's the last thing either Zack or I need."

"Why did you tell me?"

"So you would understand why you can't stay."

Carson turned his gaze to the exuberant players. God, had he ever been that young? Had he ever been that carefree? Would his life have been different if he'd lost his father at five instead of never having a father around to lose?

Answer the question, Brandt. It's not like it requires a lot of thought. "Seventeen's tough. A man one minute, a kid the next. And no idea, or example, of how the hell to figure it out. It's a wonder—" He stopped in mid-sentence when she looked at him askance. "What?"

She hid her smile with two fingers. "Such depth. I'm impressed."

"Didn't know I had it in me?" he offered candidly.

"No. I didn't."

"Well, I'm not seventeen anymore. Or even twenty- two." Carson took a deep breath. What was a little honesty between friends? Correction, ex-lovers. "It's been a lot of years since you walked out. And I'm not the man you left."

"Carson, I—"

He cut her off with a wave of his hand. "Look Eva. I like Zack. I respect him. How could I not respect a kid his age who knows exactly what he wants?"

"He told you what he wants?" she asked, her eyes large and somber, her voice cool and collected and forcibly so.

"We talked a lot before you got home. He bounced some ideas off me." At her look of alarm, he added, "I'm sure it's nothing you and he haven't discussed."

Jaws ground tight, she answered, "Yes. I'm sure you're right."

"Don't worry. I didn't give him any off-the-wall advice or lead him into temptation. He's got a good head on his shoulders." Carson swallowed hard. "And he loves you. He loves you a lot."

Eva glanced over at her son, who now had one arm slung tight around Katie's neck. "I know he has questions he won't ask me. He talks to his coach and to Katie's dad sometimes, but there's a bit of a conflict of interest there." She added the last with a wry grin. "It would be great for him to have someone—"

She stopped herself as if realizing what she'd just said, then turned back to Carson. "Which is my whole point. If you don't leave before he gets attached to your words of wisdom, then what's going to happen when he needs some heavy duty advice and has nowhere to go? You'll be gone. Zack will be hurt. And I'll hate you for that."

"More than you hate me now?" The question was rhetorical. He hadn't meant to say it aloud. He certainly didn't want to hear her answer, and was doubly grateful when Zack and Katie appeared in his line of vision.

"Hey, Mom," Zack said, throwing his arm around Eva's shoulders in a group hug. "Did that game kick some awesome ass or what?"

"Awesome game, awesome fielding, awesome grounder there in the bottom of the ninth." Pulling her gaze from Carson, she punched her son playfully in the ribs. "You did great."

"You're just saying that because I pay you the big bucks." Zack turned to Carson and offered a hand. "Glad you could make it."

"I didn't see much, but it was enough. You've got quite a swing there, Zack."

"Yep. I'm a man of many talents. Just ask short stuff here."

Carson looked from Zack to Eva. Now seemed as good a time as any. "So, did you tell your mom what we talked about this afternoon?"

Eva grew still, then shrugged out from beneath Zack's arm and turned her gaze on her son. "Actually, he didn't even tell me he'd seen you this afternoon."

Zack jerked his cap from his head and ran a hand through his hair. "Carson came by the lab and we got the calendar angle figured out. Instead of black and white, I'm going to work with shadows. You know those diamond commercials? Where you see a silhouette of the model? And only the jewelry's in focus?"

Eva nodded. "Sounds intriguing."

"That's the approach I'm taking. Carson's going to help me out with the finer points." Resettling his cap, Zack cocked his hip and planted both hands at his waist.

"And you're going to be my model."

Eva wanted to slap herself as hard as she'd slapped Carson in her kitchen a week ago Thursday night. Now it was Saturday morning. And she wanted to slap herself harder. Twice as hard. Three times as hard. She deserved the pain.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, she leaned forward and buried her face in her hands. God, why had she not seen this coming? Zack knew she'd never turn him down, but this time she felt manipulated, used. Cheaply used. She bit off a panicked laugh. How much did a shadow make anyway?

Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined she would once again be facing Carson from the business end of a camera. Okay, Zack would be taking the pictures. Not Carson. But he'd be there. He'd be there.

Carson, who still made her blood pool languid and thick, then run fevered and fast and hot. Carson, who had touched her with magic, who had caused her pain, who had given her more joy than she'd thought to find in one lifetime.

Carson, who was no longer the boy she'd left behind. Who was now a man she wanted to know.

"Mom? You ready?" Zack rapped on her bedroom door.

"Be out in a minute," she called, shoving her feet into leather flats. Shoes were such a nuisance. There was nothing to separate this Saturday morning from any other. Her boots would have worked just as well and wouldn't have pinched her toes.

Zack had insisted her clothing didn't matter; he only intended to use her shadow. So why had she be bothered with makeup? She'd chosen to wear jeans, though these were black and trim, not white with repeated wear.

She stood and tugged the straight legs down, then scowled. Her Levi's fit much more comfortably. She ought to change. But the black did look better with the earth-tone stripes in the form-fitting pullover she'd bought last night.

Too form-fitting, she realized as she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror hanging on the back of her bedroom door. She pulled on the complementary pine green big shirt, and had the sleeves pushed to the elbows when Zack knocked again.

"Mom, let's go. The sun's going to be at the angle I need in just over an hour. I want to try the shot at the lily pond without lights, so we gotta go."

Such charming impatience she'd taught this kid. "On my way."

She pulled open her bedroom door and, eyes wide, Zack fell back in an exaggerated display of theatrics. Eva scowled. "Very funny."

"You look great. Carson's gonna be impressed. "

And no doubt think she'd dressed for that reason "I'm going to change."

"You don't have time," Zack argued, grabbing her arm and tugging her down the hall. "I've got the van loaded and running. Carson's gonna meet us there."

"You mean if we're lucky we might miss him?"

Zack just rolled his eyes. Eva followed her son through the house. Once in the van, she fastened her seat belt and pulled it tight, strapping herself into her own personal electric chair and waiting for the execution to come.

Chapter Six

Zack had chosen the lily pond for his first set of calendar shots. Surrounded by rough stone walls, crisscrossed by wooden footbridges, and bordered on one side by a bamboo grove, the low lying area captured the flavor of the Orient with simple perfection.

Still waters reflected the bright blue morning sky. A canopy of leafy green shielded pebbled walkways. A secluded gazebo offered solitude, privacy, a soothing sanctuary for the senses.

The lily pond was Eva's favorite spot in the park. She was proud of the work she had done here. Winning the Botanical Gardens' contract had been an iffy proposition. Though well established, Blooms was a small operation. The Lake City Garden Club board could have negotiated with a larger nursery in Houston or Austin to outfit the gardens.

That they'd had faith enough in Eva to choose Blooms was a kernel of professional victory she nurtured. Her certification as Master Gardener had helped. But none of that wondrous feeling matched the pride she felt that Zack had chosen to honor her by featuring her work in the Garden Club calendar.

Carrying one camera bag while Zack carried a second and a tripod, Eva followed her son down a hard packed trail scattered with pine needles and fallen pods and leaves. He'd pulled his hair back with a thick red rubber band, and wore his standard uniform of white T-shirt, faded jeans, and tan work boots turned brown with use.

Eva wasn't sure if he had inherited his work ethic from her, if she had passed on a subliminal message about idle hands, or if he was truly the prince she knew him to be. And he was. Understanding their financial situation and pitching in far beyond what she'd ever thought to expect.

The only child of a widowed mother and now a widow herself, Eva had experienced both sides of the money-worries coin. She didn't know which was harder, wanting and being denied as a teen, or wanting to say yes and having to deny as a mother. She didn't have to tell Zack no very often.

And fortunately for the both of them, Bobby's will had left a good chunk of Zack's college fund in trust. Zack didn't have to earn the bulk of his college money, but one wouldn't know it from watching him work.

He began the day with homework left unfinished from the night before, or he headed to school early to put in time in the photography lab. His evening hours varied; with spring baseball in full swing, practice and games took a big bite from the day. Five out of seven afternoons, though, he put in time at Blooms, and somehow still found time to take up slack at home.

Oh, Bobby. I hope you're able to see what's become of your son. I hope you've watched him grow and haven't cringed too often at the choices I've made.

Eva smiled and blinked a burst of mixed emotion from her eyes. It saddened her that Bobby hadn't had the chance to see his son cross the threshold from boy to man. But she couldn't deny any of her own joy and mother's pride at the result.

Every parent should be so lucky as to have a son like Zack. And every woman should be equally lucky in her choice of a man, she added, then sighed. She had a feeling Katie Crenshaw knew exactly how lucky she was.

And the fact that Katie was the same age now as Eva had been when introduced to Carson Brandt ... Eva sighed again. Suffice it to say, she knew enough about young love to be a bit concerned when Zack ran late after a night out with Katie.

The hardest part of being a single mother of a teenage son was being the single mother of a teenage son. Talking about sex with Zack hadn't been difficult, but those initial talks had happened before Zack was old enough to experiment with his newfound knowledge.

Now he was more than old enough and, though they had an open line of communication, Eva doubted her son would come to her with questions. Even if he did, she doubted she could dispense objective advice without grounding him until he was thirty-five.

When Zack stopped on the trail in front of her, Eva had to sidestep to avoid plowing into his back. She stepped around and glared up at him, only to have Zack throw her that loving-son-to-mother look that said, "I told you we were going to be late."

Her nemesis had arrived first, and when Eva glanced over Zack's right shoulder to get a better view, she wished she hadn't. Carson wore a snug black T-shirt and khaki Dockers, a black-banded wristwatch, a black Nike sandal, and his cast. As a fashion statement, it wasn't much to write home about. But on Carson the simplicity devastated.

He stood with his hands braced at his hips, the pose utterly male and suggestive. The rising sun lit the fire in his hair, gilded the hair dusting his arms, and gave a bronze cast to the early morning beard he hadn't bothered to shave. His shoulders were broad, his hands large and capable, his forearms corded with the sensual strength of a pagan god.

Electricity buzzed over Eva's skin, swelling her breasts, flowing through her belly with heavy expectation. She hugged the lapels of her over shirt tighter. Sex and Carson were intrinsically linked in her mind. She couldn't see him, think about him, without remembering their passion, remembering he'd made no promises.

Remembering he'd given her all he had to give. Which wasn't enough. She'd wanted, needed him to love her. The way that she'd loved him.

She groaned. She did not need this complication in her life. She had a business to run, a son to raise and ground until he was at least thirty-five, and no emotion to spare from either. She wouldn't deny she and Carson generated an intense physical chemistry; how could she after that night last week?

But the spontaneous combustion that occurred in her kitchen would never happen again. She wouldn't let it. Zack was her life. Blooms was her life. Carson was ... a distraction, a reminder of a past she'd long forgotten.

"Uh, Mom? Anytime you're ready."

Eva looked around to find Zack staring. She forced a casual shrug. "Sorry. I always forget how beautiful it is here. Guess I got lost for a minute."

Seemingly oblivious to her internal upheaval, Carson limped forward. He took the tripod and the camera bag from Zack, barely sparing Eva a glance as he said, "Zack tells me you did the landscaping here."

Handing Zack the bag she carried, Eva finger-combed self consciously at one side of her hair. "A landscape architect designed the gardens. I did the easy part and followed his plans."

"It wasn't all that easy," Zack grumbled, attaching his camera to the tripod as Carson looked on.

"What do you know?" Eva teased, tugging at a lock of his hair. "You were only twelve."

"Old enough to know I was being used as slave labor. Cheap slave labor."

"You weren't that cheap, kiddo." Eva crossed her arms over her chest and stood back to watch her son work. "You cost me a 35mm camera."

"And some of the pictures I took during the park's construction are hanging in the information center. Not bad for a twelve year old." He stuck out his tongue and blew a loud raspberry. "So there."

Eva just rolled her eyes. "You weren't the one buying film. And film. And more film."

Legs spread wide, Zack got to work. He peered through the viewfinder, adjusting the settings as he studied the pond. "I'll bet Carson was probably just like me. Running around taking pictures of anything that didn't move. Chasing down anything that did."

Zack's comment fell among the three of them with a deafening thud Eva was sure she wasn't the only one to hear. It hadn't occurred to her to tell her son—she'd had no reason to tell him—that Carson never talked about his childhood.

She'd known he hadn't been a particularly happy child. He hadn't been a particularly happy adult when she'd met him, at least compared to the state of mind in which he'd been when she'd left.

During their years together in New York, he'd never revealed anything from which she could draw conclusions about the home in which he'd been raised, and had redirected all questions or comments she'd made in that direction onto his definition of safer ground.

She waited for him to do the same to Zack now. But Carson's only visible sign of reaction was the measured tic in his strong, square jaw. Eva waited for the brewing storm, not knowing whether to expect ice or heated fury. Curiously enough, she received neither. Hmm. Maybe Zack had found a way to ferret out answers Carson hadn't revealed to Eva during their time together.

And maybe with those years now so far behind, he'd finally mellowed enough to talk about them. He certainly hadn't turned out to be the ogre she'd imagined two weeks ago when she'd rounded that aisle in Blooms. And that had come as a definite surprise. Equally surprising was his tenacity in staying where he wasn't wanted, especially when she hadn't been shy in asking him to leave.

"My first camera was a Leica," he said, looking out across the pond, his profile taut. "My parents gave it to me when I was ten."

"Gave it to you? You mean you didn't have to earn it?" Zack queried, looking up from the viewfinder to arch one eyebrow in Eva's direction.

She arched one right back. "Don't start with me, Zack Shelton. We've had the money discussion before."

"Don't worry, Zack. I earned it," Carson answered, his face rather grim. He glanced briefly Zack's way before turning back to gaze across the pond. "I kept out of their way like they wanted. Pretty hard at first for a kid as clumsy as I was. I got better with practice."

The tense human silence that followed was filled by the buzz of insects, the rustle of wind through tall trees, and the lap of breeze on water, until Zack finally said, "Speaking as someone born with two dyslexic left feet ... been there, done that."

"Zack! Good grief." Eva was going to throttle her loudmouthed son. How could he be so flippant about what Carson had just disclosed? And what in the world had been wrong with Carson's parents? To treat an innocent young child like ... like ... Eva couldn't even fathom a response.

"So you were ten, huh? What did you take pictures of?"

With a focusing shake of his head, Carson scrubbed both hands through his hair, then stepped towards Zack, peering over his shoulder at the camera's settings. "I guess I started with shots of the estate."

"The estate?" Eva was vaguely aware he'd been an only child of well-to-do parents, but this was one of those details she'd wanted to know but had never heard before.

Carson shrugged as if estates were nothing. "We had a sunken pond, not quite as elaborately landscaped as the one here. But the professional setup— the slate and red rock masonry and the waterfalls especially—was tempting to a kid with a new camera."

"A Leica. I can't believe it." Zack shook his head, straightened, and made a final round of adjustments to his settings. "How old were you when you started developing your own film?"

"My parents hired a private instructor. I was eleven or twelve then, I guess. We set up a studio in one of the suites in the guest quarters and developed the shots they took while traveling. Used the bathroom for a darkroom. My parents were never home long enough to have any guests so they never missed the space."

"Oh, no." Eva shook a warning finger in Zack's direction. "Don't be getting any ideas. We need both of our bathrooms."

"Hey, I'm easy. I don't mind sharing yours."

"Not a chance."

"Somehow I knew you'd say that." Zack turned his attention back to Carson. "Did you always want to be a photographer?"

He shook his head. "I always wanted to travel. To see the world. And I knew that photography was one way to make sure that happened."

"What about the trips your folks took when you were a kid? You never went along?" Zack asked, and again Eva cringed.

But Carson took the question in stride. "Are you kidding? I couldn't walk through the kitchen at the house without leaving behind a break, a burn, or a spill. Imagine what I would've done to Europe."

"Got it. The two-left-feet thing."

Carson nodded. "My parents would've forfeited security deposits from Italian villas to Swiss chalets if they'd taken me. They used to promise that when I got older ..." He stopped and frowned, as if self-conscious, then forced a laugh. "By the time they could trust me with Limoges, I'd already photographed my way across France as an exchange student."

And with that one revelation, so much of Carson's personality, his struggle for perfection, his refusal to accept less from those he worked with or from himself, fell into place. He'd grown up equating excellence with acceptance. And in all their time together, Eva hadn't been able to convince him that he didn't have to be perfect to win her love.

"Zack, why don't you tell your mom what you have in mind here so you can get started?"

Carson's words jarred Eva from her deeper musings, returning her to the present a wiser woman than minutes ago when she'd stepped into the past.

Zack pointed across the pond, directing Eva's gaze in that direction. "I want to do several shots while the sun's coming up across the water. Depending on the angle, your shadow will be on the pond and it will look like you're picking the flowers."

Eva couldn't resist. "Which one do you want me to pick? The Appleton?"

"She deserves it," Zack said with a laugh. "I lost ten pounds changing out those suckers."

Good grief. She'd forgotten to ask about the hibiscus. "Did it work out okay?"

"Yeah, Pete and I got 'em delivered on time. She even had us in for tea."

"I figured if she was going to pull you off the calendar project, she would have done it by now."

"I don't think she can. My name is on the contract. Anyway, look. The sun isn't going to wait. We have about five minutes before it's at the angle I need. Do you mind if I tell you what I want you to do, Mom?"

Eva raised both arms as if giving herself up in offering. "I'm all yours."

"I want you to stand on the footbridge over there," Zack instructed, pointing to the corner of the pond opposite the. gazebo. "That should leave your shadow the only one on the pond."

"And where are you going to be?"

"I have a couple of places scouted out, but until you get in position I won't know the best one to use."

"I'm going. I'm going." She'd loved Zack's passion for his art, until she realized how much his intensity reminded her of a young Carson Brandt.

Praying that Zack's vastly different upbringing would keep him from becoming the unforgiving perfectionist Carson was, or at least had been, Eva headed across the footbridge Zack had indicated.

"Okay. That's good. Stop right there," Zack yelled.

Eva stopped. Zack checked the Nikon's settings yet again, turning once to ask Carson a question. Her ex-lover was only a few inches taller than her son, his hair only one shade of blond darker. They shared a width of shoulders, breadth of chest, and leanness of hips. They also shared a remarkable talent, as well as her heart.

She leaned against the railing of the footbridge, pressing her stomach against the supporting rail. The baby she'd lost, the baby that had been Carson's, would've been so close to Zack's age now. Had she borne a son, genetics would no doubt have given him the height Zack and Carson shared.

He might've had a head full of her darker reddish hair and skin as fair, but he so easily could've had Carson's fiery coloring. Like Zack did. And Carson's sexy killer smile. Like Zack did. And Carson's passion and intensity. Like Zack did. Oh, God. She hadn't thought about their baby. For so long, she hadn't thought about their baby. Why now did she have to remember?

"Hey, Mom. That's great. Perfect. Stay right there. Don't move."

Perfect. She couldn't have moved if her life had depended on it.

Once the sharp shadows of noon began to lengthen and grow fuzzy edges, Zack reluctantly wrapped the shoot. "I guess that's it for today. I want to get these developed, anyway, before we do any more. I need to make sure I'm getting the results I want."

Carson handed Zack the camera bag that was just out of the teen's lengthy reach. "With the equipment and settings you used, not to mention having the sun on your side and a world-famous model to work with, what could go wrong?"

"I'm pretty sure I'm no longer world-famous." Eva shoved impatient hands to hips in a gesture that was universally female and patently Eva. Carson couldn't help but grin, which caused her to shove harder.

Zack saved the moment if not the day. "Well, you were plenty famous in Kansas."

"I was not." Eva stopped short of stomping a foot.

She was so indignant, Carson had to press. He turned to Zack. "This I've got to hear."

"I was probably about five or six when I realized that no one pointed and stared at the other kids' mothers the way they did at mine. I was pretty clueless until I started school," Zack reminded his mother. "Even though Dad had framed a lot of your old ad photos, I'd never really thought about the woman in those pictures being the mom who made me oatmeal and cinnamon toast for breakfast."

Cinnamon toast. Man, did that bring back memories. Carson remembered Eva burning as many slices as she got right because the kitchen was the last place he wanted her to be in the mornings. He avoided looking at her now, knowing she would know what he was thinking. Making her uncomfortable would reverse any steps forward he'd made so far.

He needed to gain her trust if he hoped to learn why she'd left all those years ago. And that meant moving slowly, keeping those slow movements steady—without a camera to make sure he got it right.

Zack grabbed up all his equipment and, with camera bags and lens cases hanging from both shoulders, turned to his mother, who, to avoid looking at Carson while he'd avoiding looking at her, had stooped to examine the foliage of a low-growing shrub at the gazebo's edge.

"Mom? You ready? I gotta hustle to get to the game by four."

Carson took note of Eva's hesitation before she got to her feet, dusting her hands together.

He kept a wary eye on her as he spoke. "I'll be glad to give your mother a ride home, Zack."

"Could you—"

"You don't need—"

Mother and son spoke on top of one another, and shared a bit of exasperation realizing their responses were at odds over Carson's offer.

Eva gracefully—if reluctantly—gave in. "If you're in a rush, then go. I'm sure I can get Carson to drop me at Blooms. I've got that rush shipment from Texas Turf coming in this afternoon. I can catch a ride with Aaron's folks to the game later."

"Thanks, Mom. I promised Aaron and Ben I'd haul them to the game if I got finished early enough." When Eva arched a brow, Zack grinned. "And if it was okay with you."

Carson doubted Eva had said no to that grin very often in her life. Just often enough to have turned out as fine a kid as she had. He wondered if he would have been able to do the same with a son of his own. Or if he would have expected more than a child was able to give.

Good grief. What was he thinking? And why? He wasn't a father, wasn't going to be a father. He was almost forty, for cryin' out loud. At this stage in life, he doubted he had it in him to go the distance. No, if he'd been going to start a family, he should've done it years ago.

Like Eva had.

Right about the same time Zack had been born.

Nine months or so after she'd left New York.

Carson's stomach clenched hard. Eva had told him more than once that Zack was not his son. He'd convinced himself to believe her.

So why was he wishing the truth wasn't the truth?

"Uh, Carson? Is that okay with you?"

He nodded in answer to Eva's question, but ignored her questioning look. "Drive you to Blooms. Right. Not a problem."

"All right!" Zack made a victory fist. "That would be great. Mom? You sure?" He reined in his enthusiasm. "I mean, if you need the van, then maybe Mr. Brandt could drive me and the guys up to the field house."

"No. I mean, no. You go ahead." Eva hurriedly moved on, color rising in her cheeks. "I want to see if I can find Ming Lo. He's the gardener," she explained at Carson's lifted brow while gesturing toward the gazebo's shrubbery. "Leaf miners. I really ought to let him know."

"Great. Okay." Zack headed toward the footbridge back the way he and Eva had arrived. "I'll see ya at the game."

"We'll be there," Carson answered, answering Zack's wave with a lift of one hand. Then he looked down into Eva's tiger-bright eyes.

"We'll be there?" Her eyes grew brighter.

He grinned. Hey, the strategy had worked for Zack. Might as well give it a try. But Eva wasn't buying. Once Zack was out of earshot she advanced.

"I thought we agreed you'd seen the last of Zack's games."

So this was the way it was going to be. Carson shook his head in resignation. "I don't remember any sort of agreement. I do remember you telling me I had no business watching the boy play ball. But the only thing we agreed on is that your son has a hell of a swing."

Eva's gaze cut to where Zack had crossed the footbridge and headed to the park's entrance. "He really does, doesn't he? Not many kids have as much going for them as that one does." Her sigh was weighty with misgivings. "Or as much on their plate."

"And you worry about that?"

"Of course I worry. I'm a mother. It's my job."

"I'd say you have a lot on your plate as well," Carson said, falling into step beside Eva as she headed down one of the park's shaded, dirt-packed trails. Dappled sunlight picked up the yellow in the fallen leaves and the red in Eva's hair.

"I suppose so. I don't think about it like that. It's just ... what I do. Balancing work and family." She lifted one palm, then the other in a leveling sort of gesture. "Isn't that the way it is for most parents?"

Carson didn't know about most. He knew about his. And the scales had been wildly tipped toward anything but family. "I wouldn't know. I'm not a parent."

Eva pulled in a sudden breath, then let it out. "True. Guess that limits your balancing act to work and, well, knowing you, work. No PTA and not much of a personal life."

"Appears we have that in common." Silence, then, "Why haven't you remarried? It can't have been easy raising Zack alone."

"Remarrying to give Zack a stepfather is not exactly the most romantic of reasons."

"No. But it seems like a practical one."

"You think it's better to bring up a child with both a mother and a father? Even though one loving parent might actually provide a more stable home?"

"Like I said, I'm not a parent." Not only that, he'd had no example of how parenting should work in a perfect world. But then, was any child's world perfect? Or any adult's, for that matter—no matter how hard one strove to make it so?

"What happened to Zack's father?"

Eva kept walking and, for what seemed like an eternity of several minutes but was probably no more than half of one, Carson wondered if he'd gone too far, if thinking of Zack's father was more than Eva could bear—even this many years later.

He was curious, though, and interested. About the man who'd won Eva's hand—and her heart. Eva talked often about Zack's losses, but she never focused on her own. She'd been alone for ten years. Her life couldn't have been easy, raising a young son on her own.

Yet there wasn't a sense of bitterness about her. The realization failed to surprise him, but it did raise his esteem and appreciation for the woman Eva had become.

Finally, she stopped, and gestured toward a wooden bench with enough room for three people. She sat to the left and Carson made sure to take the seat to the far right, leaving enough room for their past in between.

"It was such a freak accident," she began, smoothing her palms over the thighs of her black jeans. "Bobby and his dad had a wholesale greenhouse operation. A dozen employees. Enough equipment to run an operation twice the size."

"Sounds like a profitable venture."

Eva nodded and her smile was tender with memories. "Bobby had the greenest thumb I've ever seen. He grew exotics for a hobby. Incredible hothouse flowers."

A lot like the one he'd married, Carson thought, but said nothing. Being a man and knowing the truth of a man's thinking, well, unless Eva's husband had been blind, Carson couldn't help but wonder whether Bobby's passion for exotics extended beyond the greenhouse.

"The fire marshal never did determine a definite cause of the fire. But the part of the greenhouse where Bobby worked with the exotics was older than the rest of the building. There were all those chemicals. And it was a first-class obstacle course inside. Bobby kept meaning to clean it up."

Her voice broke before she went on. "The smoke was so thick. He couldn't find his way out. Out of a room he'd spent so many hours working in. And then he couldn't breathe to keep trying." Her voice grew soft. "Or at least that's the best we could figure."

"And Zack was only five?"

"Yes. Still such a baby."

A breeze kicked up through the trees surrounding the alcove where they sat, sending pine needles and seed pods fluttering down and the scent of fertile earth and new growth to follow. Carson wasn't sure what to say. Etiquette demanded platitudes. But this was Eva, and what he felt for her suffering needed more than a simple, "I'm sorry."

"I am sorry, Eva," he said anyway, because his tongue was tangled and if he wanted to come up with something more they'd be there for the rest of the day. "I'm sure it helped to have your mother close."

Eva nodded, raised her chin, and Carson saw that her eyes, her beautiful eyes, were watery and sad. "I had her for another eight months. She'd been sick a long time, you know."

Damn. He had known. He'd known as well that the cancer her mother had battled had had a lot to do with Eva being in New York at seventeen years old.

As much as other girls of seventeen had longed to win the Montclair Agency's model search, Eva had needed to win. The income would've been impossible for a teen to earn by babysitting or checking groceries. It had kept both mother and daughter from losing all that they had.

They'd needed the money. And suddenly he was sorry he hadn't made sure the two women had been well provided for. That they hadn't wanted for anything once Eva had left New York. He shook his head in self-disgust. As if he'd been able to think of anything but himself once Eva had left New York. He'd really been a first-class jerk.

"I'm sorry," he said a second time, because nothing more brilliant came to mind and he truly felt regret. "You shouldn't have had to go through all that alone."

"Oh, I was never alone," she hurried on to say. "I always had Zack. And Bobby's family."

"Yeah. I hadn't thought about that." He hadn't been thinking much of anything except that he should've been there for her. But he'd never been anywhere for anyone in his life.

Until now.

Because now he was going to be there for Zack. He saw too much of himself in the boy who wasn't, but could so easily have been, his son. He knew the type of nurturing Zack's talent needed. And, yes, arrogantly felt he could provide what Eva couldn't.

So what if he took a year out of his life to devote to this boy, see him off to college. The idea was no crazier than many of the wild assignments that had sent him trotting across the globe.

He wanted Eva to see that the man he was now was not the boy she'd left behind. And then maybe, just maybe, once Eva had forgiven him for not being the man he should've been, he could forgive himself.

Chapter Seven

The Hornets walked away with Saturday night's game. The win had been such a no-brainer, Zack gloated. Three up and three down through all nine innings. Piece o' cake. At least for Lake City High. The opposing team hadn't had it quite so easy.

But, hey. What did they expect, going up against a team on its way to the state playoffs?

Zack loved this part of the night almost more than fielding at shortstop for Lake City High. Chowing down on pizza after a game was as much a tradition as the food fight to come. The baseball season and the pizza parties had been even more fun this year because he had Katie cheering him on during the first and hanging out with him during the second.

Win or lose she was always there. She helped make the losses easier to take and made winning that much sweeter. Of course, he wasn't about to admit any of that to Katie. Or to Aaron or Ben or any of the guys.

He didn't even mention it to his mom, though she'd always been real big on talking about feelings and all that stuff. Lately, though, the things he'd been feeling—about Katie especially—weren't exactly things he wanted to tell his mom.

Right. He could just see that conversation. Talking to his mother about sex.

And he didn't mean talking in a general birds- and-bees sort of way, like how she'd told him about sex when he'd been eight and he'd asked her what a condom was. Or in the teasing way she ragged on him and the guys when she'd catch them snickering during Victoria's Secret commercials.

No, he meant real talk. About sex. And about Katie. He wanted to talk to someone, even while his thoughts were so private that he didn't want to share them at all. He wasn't even sure he wanted Katie to know what he was thinking.

"Zack?"

"Hmm?" He glanced from the untouched slice of pizza in his hand to the side and into Katie's blue eyes.

"You all right?" she asked, and smiled up at him like she really wanted an answer. Like she cared whether or not he was okay. "You're staring at that pizza like you can't decide whether or not to eat it."

Zack growled and gnawed off half the slice. He got most of it down, enough of it anyway, then said, "There. That make you feel better?"

Katie nodded, and brushed flyaway strands of hair from her face. "It's more like you, anyway. I've never known you to meet a pizza you didn't like."

The uproar around them rose considerably as a player at the other end of the huge group sloshed his Coke across the table in a tide of fizz and ice.

Chairs upended. Pads of napkins blotted. Soggy pizza slices were dumped into the bucket the passing bus boy provided.

"Way to go, TJ!"

"Smooth move, moron!"

"Next time see if you can hit the ball that hard." Zack knew he really oughta keep his mouth shut, considering his history with the other kid, but TJ had screwed around enough during tonight's game that if it had been a real contest, he could've cost the team the win.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Very funny." TJ took most of the ribbing in stride, blowing off his harassers with a mocking bow. He was such a conceited prick. But he wasn't playing with Zack. "Hey, Shelton. Next time I'll be sure to call my swing. And I'll aim it your way."

A loud playful chorus of "Ooh!" went up as the table of ballplayers and friends settled down to watch. Heads turned left to right, right to left, like a crowd following a tennis match instead of staring at the two teens squaring off.

"Whatever." Zack lobbed a pizza crust down the length of the table. It bounced off TJ's chest and onto his plate. More noises followed as the group of twenty-plus kids waited for the food play to escalate into a fight.

A real fight.

Zack wasn't going to let it happen. It wasn't a secret around the halls of Lake City High that Katie had dumped TJ last summer. And that TJ'd been working all year to make Zack look like an idiot.

No way was he going to get into it with TJ. Not here. Not tonight. Not in front of the team and their friends and Katie. Not when they were here to have fun and celebrate. Not when their problem was personal. Katie deserved better. And Zack didn't want her to think she'd made a bad choice. The wrong choice.

"Zack?"

He looked down into Katie's worried face. God, she was so pretty.

"Don't fight with TJ. Please?" she whispered as the noise around them settled back into a more normal roar of teens intent on overloading on pizza, sugar, and caffeine.

"What? And ruin this fielding hand?" He held up his left. Then held up his right. "Or this throwing hand? No way. Not when we're ten wins from the playoffs."

Katie's expression changed from pleading to piqued. She picked up her own pizza crust and lobbed it sideways into the center of Zack's chest.

Unfortunately, her pizza still had pepperoni and cheese and tomato sauce attached, and Zack was still wearing his white baseball jersey, so right beneath the black and yellow hornet and the number eleven on the left, the food splattered red sauce and yellow grease in the shape of Australia.

"Hey!" Zack yelled, looking down at his shirt. "What was that for?"

"Because you are so clueless sometimes. I can think of a lot of things you need those hands for besides baseball." She tossed a second, drier crust.

"Oh," Zack said, feeling more than a little bit sheepish.

"Go, Katie!" Courtney Gates cheered on her friend.

TJ leaned against Courtney and draped an arm over her shoulder. He picked at the slices of pepperoni the vegetarian cheerleader had left on her plate. Then he flicked them, one, two, three, four across the table.

Heads ducked and bodies twisted. One piece flew off to the side. The other red disks struck randomly: a cheek, a shoulder, and even a nose. The food fight was on, but Zack wasn't staying. He grabbed Katie's hand in one of his, threw several folded bills on the table for their share, and headed out to the parking lot.

Katie didn't have time to object. Zack didn't give her time to say much of anything before they reached the van. And then all she got out was, "What are you do—" before he cut her off with a kiss.

He'd kissed her before, of course. They always made sure to head home before curfew so she wouldn't have to rush right in, so she could spend a few extra minutes in his company, in his arms, talking, teasing, making out.

But this kiss was different because of all Zack had been feeling tonight. Before tonight too, though the last few hours had seemed to be the most confusing.

She was so soft and sweet, and he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. She seemed to decide that he hadn't gone off the deep end after all, and slowly inched her arms up around his neck.

Her mouth opened beneath his and he pressed her back against the side of the van with his body, holding the back of her head and running his fingers through her hair, which was the silkiest hair there could possibly be.

She touched her tongue to his and he groaned deep in his throat. He'd never known a kiss could be so hot, that it could make his mind feel like mush at the same time his body felt like a baseball bat, stiff and hard and ready to swing. This was about to get out of hand. He needed to get Katie home. And if he didn't show up at home pretty soon himself, his mom would probably ground him from going to the lake tonight with Aaron and his folks.

But Zack didn't want to let Katie go. He wanted to stand there forever and hold her, which sounded like such a lame thing to be thinking when she was pressing up against him and her fingers were walking up and down his spine.

He should be thinking about getting in her pants ... and, yeah, he was thinking about that because, well, how could he not be thinking about it when she was doing what she was doing with her hands and her mouth?

But he wasn't thinking about doing it with Katie in the same way he'd thought about other girls. And as much as he wanted to stand there all night, he didn't want to be standing there when the rest of the guys came out. He didn't want to do that to Katie.

He pulled away and she held him closer. He tried to move his mouth from hers and she whimpered. Finally, he broke the kiss, coming back for several quick touches of his lips to hers, then holding her head in the crook of his shoulder while both their racing hearts calmed.

"We need to go," he whispered against the top of her head. He couldn't think of anything he wanted to do less than let her go and leave. He couldn't think of anything he wanted to do more than open the back of the van and follow Katie inside. What he did was repeat, "We need to go."

"I know." She breathed the words against his neck, and it was all he could do not to kiss her sweet mouth again.

Instead, he reached behind her to open the van's passenger side door, then put his hands at her waist and lifted her into the seat. She leaned forward, took his face in her hands, and pressed her forehead to his.

And then, with their noses close and their mouths sharing the same breath, she whispered, "I love you, Zack Shelton."

Zack thought he was going to die.

It was going to be a long drive home.

Carson was sprawled out on Eva's couch when Zack walked in from his post game night out. The boy didn't look like a kid who'd won a game and partied with his friends. He looked like a kid who'd been dragged through hell and back.

In fact, he didn't even seem aware of Carson's presence until Carson laid an arm along the back of the couch and swung into a sitting position. "You look like you lost. But I was there. And I know you won."

Zack dropped down to slouch in the big chair facing the couch. "Where's Mom?"

"She took the Jeep to Blooms. I was dropping her off after the game when she got a call. That shipment she'd needed to check on today never made it."

"Texas Turf? Huh. Wonder what happened."

"Delivery truck broke an axle or something. Anyway, I told her to take the Jeep and go."

The corner of Zack's mouth quirked upward. "I'm surprised she trusted you to hang out here. You know. By yourself. Considering how she's always trying to get rid of you."

Carson chuckled. "So you've noticed."

"You kidding?" Zack arched a brow beneath the baseball cap he wore in reverse. "What's up with you two, anyway?"

Hmm. Elbows braced on knees, hands laced together, Carson stared at the toe of his cast. How was he supposed to talk to Zack about his mother? She'd never talked to him about her time in New York. Which meant she didn't want him to know about her affair with Carson.

But that didn't mean Carson had to remain silent about his part of their past.

He'd probably get his head bit off for this but ... He looked up at Zack and put into words what he'd needed to put into words for a very long time. "I was in love with your mom once. Years ago."

"For real?" Zack straightened in his chair. "What, when she was modeling?" He frowned, thinking. "She was, like, a teenager then, right?"

"Right." Teens in love. Carson was going to have to tread lightly here. He'd seen Zack with Katie. "She was seventeen when we first began working together."

"How old were you?"

"Twenty. But barely."

"Huh." Zack slumped back again. "Did y'all, like, date and stuff?"

Did the things they'd done together count as dates? Or as ... stuff? "We worked a lot of hours. And your mom couldn't exactly go out on regular dates."

"I guess she was pretty famous."

Carson nodded. "Think Giselle Bündchen. Or Heidi Klum. But your mom was also under the constraints of her age. For a while ... anyway."

"Until she turned eighteen?"

Carson remembered Eva turning eighteen. Remembered as well the gift she'd given him on her birthday. All he could do was nod in answer to Zack's query.

Why had he thought talking about his past with Eva would be simple? Or casual? When nothing about their relationship had been either? When their two years together had been so complicated he hadn't known how much of it was real, how much imagined, or if any of it would mean anything once she'd completed her contract with Judith Montclair?

He hadn't wanted to hear that answer. So he'd never put what he'd felt for Eva into words, never given her a standard to hold him to since he wasn't sure he could ever live up to her ideals, her desire for home and family.

"I guess it's gotta be weird seeing her again after so long. I wondered why she's been so jumpy since you showed up." Zack pulled his cap from his head, and frowned while he flexed the curve of the brim with both thumbs. "She's pretty much calm and ... motherly most of the time. Not all wigged out like she's been the last few days."

"Wigged out?"

"Yeah. You know. Wigged out." He shrugged, looking for a better definition, finding none, and changing the subject. "So, what was it like dating a supermodel?"

"A supermodel? Who? Oh. You mean your mom?" Carson laughed. "She doesn't like to admit it, does she?"

"She doesn't even like to talk about it. And she hardly wants to have anything to do with my photography." Zack slumped even lower in the chair.

Carson wanted to respond, but had a feeling the best thing he could do was say nothing at all. A wise move, he decided as Zack went on.

"She won't tell me why. Which bugs me more than anything. Best I can figure, she doesn't want to remember that part of her life, or something. I guess I can respect that, but I'd like to have a reason. It would make it a lot easier to deal with."

All of the answers Zack was seeking Carson could easily supply. He knew exactly why Eva didn't want to remember New York, why she had such an aversion to cameras and Zack's hobby. And Carson himself, his overbearing demand for perfection, his refusal to believe in the truth, the strength, the power of her love, was the reason.

That wasn't what he wanted to tell Zack, however.

He liked the kid. He saw a potential that deserved to be nourished. And if he wanted to make any sort of impression or impact on Zack's life, or to a lesser extent on his love of photography, Carson had to have the teen's respect.

Funny, he had the respect of journalists worldwide, and he was worried about respect from one boy who looked enough like his younger self to be his son.

Carson settled back into the corner of the couch, and used the remote to lower the volume on the news documentary he'd been watching when Zack came in. "New York was an interesting time in your mom's life. She was your age when she won the talent search. Put yourself in her shoes. Seventeen, or nearly. Away from family and friends. In an industry that makes an open book out of the lives of everyone involved."

"Yeah. Watching Lindsay Lohan, I can see how that would really suck."

"No privacy. No normalcy. Nothing like the Midwest, where she'd come from. No ball games or pizza parties with friends afterward." Carson waited, watching the play of emotions in Zack's changing expression. Nodding toward the teen, he added, "No food fights."

Zack tugged his jersey from his chest and examined the tomato-and-cheese stains. "Man, Mom's gonna kill me. This grease'll stain my jersey for sure."

"Maybe not. Moms are usually good about that stuff."

"I guess it could've been worse. I could've been wearing that jerk TJ's Coke in my lap."

Something in the low tone of Zack's comment gave Carson pause. This sounded personal. "And what sort of stain is TJ's mom going to have to worry about getting out?"

"None, unfortunately." Zack slumped back. "I only hit him with a crust."

Carson held back a smile. "A crust, huh? Hard and dried enough to do any damage?"

"Nah. I got in my one lick and jetted before things got outta hand. I needed to get Katie home anyway."

"Her parents fairly strict about that?"

"Yeah. But that's okay. It's sorta like, since I've proved I can get her home when they want, then they don't mind that I hang out with her."

"Hang out, huh?" Carson hadn't been a teenager for a lotta years. He definitely needed to update his vocabulary. "Is that what we used to call going steady?"

Zack laughed. "You mean, going out? Like when you don't date anyone else?"

"Going out. Got it." And here he'd thought going out meant … going out. Like on a date. "Is that what you and Katie have? An exclusive relationship?"

"She's my girlfriend, yeah. Which doesn't make TJ very happy." Zack squared one ankle on the opposite knee and tugged at the laces of his athletic shoes. He'd started on the other shoe when he added, "She dumped him last summer."

Interesting that Zack didn't seem the least bit deterred by the roadblocks his mother had tossed up at every turn to keep him from confiding in Carson. "She dumped him, huh. To go out with you? Or because of his table manners?"

"Both, I guess," Zack said, and laughed. "We'd been friends for a while, me and Katie. And TJ can be a real creep." Zack stripped off his socks, and piled them on top of his discarded shoes. "I knew things between them pretty much sucked. And I really liked her."

"I guess that made it hard to see them together."

"TJ doesn't know shit about how to treat girls. He doesn't know shit about how to treat anyone, really. He's got a lot of money and thinks that's all he needs."

"God's gift to women?"

"God's gift to baseball, maybe. But that's it. And his attitude makes it hard to want to play on the same team with him, even when he's as good as he is."

"It's tough to suffer fools lightly."

"Especially when you're stuck with them and don't have any choice."

"At least Katie had the good sense to see him for what he is." Carson hoped he was doing justice to this conversation. "Or maybe she just had the good sense to see you for what you are."

"What's that?"

"Your mother's son."

Zack seemed thoughtful. "I guess. It's just ..."

"Just what?" Carson prompted, not sure where he would take Zack's answer, but certain by the teen's fidgeting movements that Zack was nowhere close to being ready to settle in for the night. He was as wound up as the Hornets' winning pitcher had been through those amazing nine innings.

Zack shoved his hands back through the long hair on the top of his head. "It's just hard to say much to Mom about everything that's happened with me and Katie and TJ."

Yeah. Carson could see Eva's protective hackles rising at news of the conflict among the three kids. "You seem to have a great relationship with your mom. I'd think you could talk to her about anything."

"Anything except—"

"Girls?"

Reluctantly, Zack nodded, then hurried on to say, "Not that there's anything to talk about. With me and Katie. We don't do much but—"

"Hang out?"

"Yeah. It's just that ..." Zack snagged his ball cap from the floor and tugged it on in reverse. "Sometimes I get … frustrated, I guess, with … ya know … just … hanging out."

Carson took a deep breath, hoping to quell the urge he had to get up and pace the length of the room and out the front door. He was supposed to be the adult here. The one with the answers, the advice. Right now all he knew was that he was in trouble. Big trouble.

And if this conversation wasn't heading toward sex—premarital, teenage sex—then he didn't know his head from a hole in the ground. If Eva objected to him advising her son on photography, she'd toss him out on his ear if she found out he'd been talking to her son about sex.

He sat up a bit straighter, and straightened his expression as well. And hoped to hell he looked like he knew what he was talking about. "So, that's all you've been doing then. Hanging out?"

"Yeah," Zack said, and seemed to collapse with relief. "It's been a busy year between my baseball and her cheerleading and both of us on the yearbook staff and working on the school paper—"

"Not to mention studying, I hope."

Zack laughed. "That, too. Though not enough of that, according to my mom. It's just that when we get together to study, it's usually just Katie and me and, well, it gets sorta hard to concentrate on the books, if you know what I mean."

As hard as he was trying to do this in a way to which Eva couldn't object, beating around the bush just wasn't in Carson's nature. "I know what you mean. Most guys would know what you mean. We're all horn dogs, you know."

At that, Zack grinned. "It's just that sometimes ... what I feel for Katie. It's different. God, that probably sounds so totally bogus."

"Why? Nothing is bogus about caring for someone."

"You cared for my mom like that, right? And you were both pretty young, too."

"I told you. I was in love with your mom. A long time ago." But how much caring had been a part of their relationship, Carson couldn't say. Caring had almost been tossed aside to make room for emotions more intense.

"She told me that tonight. Katie did. That she loves me. She'd never said it before. It was really mind-blowing. To hear that." By now, Zack was so low in the chair he was sitting on his spine. "But I didn't say it back. And I think she wanted me to."

"Did you want to say it back?"

He shrugged.

"Then don't. If you don't know, don't say it. Especially if Katie's that important to you."

"She is."

"Then protect what you have," Carson said, thinking more about Eva than about Katie and Zack. "Don't say anything or do anything to screw it up."

"Like sex."

"Like sex." Out in the open at last. "Sex can be the best thing for a relationship or it can be the worst."

"Is that what happened with you and my mom?" Color rose in Zack's face and he hurried on. "I mean, it sorta makes sense that she wouldn't want to talk about New York if it was something like that. If she didn't want to remember because she'd been hurt."

Carson found himself grinding his jaw, and forced himself to relax. "What happened between me and your mom on a personal level needs to remain personal."

"And sex is about as personal as it gets."

"Good. Glad to see you've got your head on straight about that."

"It's hard not to when sex education starts in fourth grade and every year it seems they come up with more ways sex can ruin a guy's life." Zack leaned forward and grabbed up his shoes and his socks. "Sorta makes ya think about becoming a monk. Or a priest."

Carson laughed. "Better yet, a shepherd on the slopes of the Alps. I'm not sure religion offers much protection anymore."

"Neither does shepherding. Think about all those poor nervous sheep." Zack paused. "Uh, never mind. I'm not gonna go there."

"Good idea." Carson had to say it. They'd come this far. "Another good idea. Condoms."

"Yeah. I know all about condoms."

"If you've had sex education for half your life, I'm sure you do. Just be sure to use them when the time comes. And using them means having them with you. All the time."

"Like a Boy Scout, huh? Be prepared?"

Carson nodded. "Even if you never need it and it wears an impression in the leather of your wallet."

"You got one of those impressions in your wallet?"

"Nope. Tore right through the leather, it was there so long."

Zack laughed. "Better take your own advice and replace it. You never know when you might run into an old girlfriend."

"Ah. Very funny," Carson said.

Zack popped up out of the chair. "Hey, I gotta run and get cleaned up. Me and Ben are heading out to Aaron's lake house with his folks tonight."

"Your mom know where you'll be?"

"Yeah. I told her after the game. I think you'd already headed to the Jeep."

"Okay. Then have a good time." Carson slumped back on the couch and picked up the remote.

"Are you kidding? I'm gonna swim my butt off. And, yes. I have sunscreen," he added before Carson could act like a parent and remind him.

Even after Zack had showered and headed out with his friends, Carson still hadn't shaken the remnants of their earlier conversation. He got up from the couch and rummaged through Eva's collection of videos, looking for anything to distract his subconscious from Zack's joking remarks about condoms and old girlfriends.

Linking his mother to Carson in an obviously sexual way hadn't seemed to faze Zack in the least, giving Carson the impression that he'd been given the teen's blessing. So now all he could think about was Eva. Trying again with Eva. Winning back Eva. Did he even stand a chance with Eva?

He hadn't come here to resume a relationship that had lost all focus seventeen years ago. It didn't matter that he remembered the first time he'd seen her that day in the Montclair studio. Nor did it matter that the last time they'd been together had been filled with heated words in a cliché of a bad television drama.

They'd been everything to each other. But everything hadn't held them together. He had nothing to offer her now.

Nothing but the truth.

And the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth was, he still loved her.

Chapter Eight

Arriving home to find a gorgeous man half asleep on the sofa in her darkened living room sent a totally inappropriate thrill shimmying down Eva's spine.

She was used to walking in and finding Zack in a similar position, one arm thrown above his head, one foot dragging the floor. But this was Carson. And his were arms that had held her. His were legs that had tangled with hers.

Zack was gone for the rest of the weekend. And Eva was in trouble.

As much as she wanted to push Carson out of her life ... as hard as she was trying not to notice him as the man he now was ... as often as she reminded herself that any awareness she felt was aggravation and not arousal ... none of her efforts were paying off. He'd been on her mind constantly, working his way under her skin, chipping away at the clasp on her heart as if determined to steal it a second time.

And the fact that he'd loaded The Last of the Mohicans into the DVD player, and Hawkeye and Cora were lying romantically close in the dark beneath a canopy of stars, didn't help Eva to stand firm in her determination to resist the irresistible.

And then there was the added seduction of the open bottle of Merlot ... and the two inviting wineglasses on the coffee table. Carson had not only made himself at home in her home on her sofa with her movie and her wine, the thief had obviously settled in for the evening.

And he'd been waiting for her.

If she didn't move from where she stood in the entryway from the kitchen to the living area, and demand Carson get off his duff and leave for wherever it was he was staying these days, she feared she'd give in to weakness and loneliness and female longing for a satisfying man and ask him, no, beg him to stay the night.

But it was too late. Because he stirred and he shifted and he sat up straight, sensed her presence, and smiled. He smiled before he turned and saw her. And knowing he was so in tune to her, that he knew she was in the room though she hadn't made a sound, was almost Eva's undoing.

She wrapped her arms tightly beneath her breasts in a rib-crushing, bracing grip. Right now, with tension running on live wires beneath the barest surface of her skin, any word he said, any move he made, could cause her to lose the precarious hold she had on her resolve. If she wasn't careful.

Careful, Eva. Careful.

Approaching the back of the sofa that sat in the center of the large room, she leaned forward only far enough to drop the key to the rented Jeep in Carson's lap. It bounced off his taut thigh and landed on the floor. He looked from the key to Eva, then repeated the process.

"Well, now. This is an interesting dilemma." His voice was husky with half sleep, and suggestive because she knew him so well. "I can't decide if you're telling me to leave or asking me to stay."

He made no move to retrieve the key. He made no move toward the door. What he did do was turn and brace his back against the sofa's overstuffed arm, one knee angled in front of him on the cushion, his foot in the cast still on the ground.

With his hands laced behind his head, he studied her with audacious regard. The flicker and flash of the television screen cast light and shadow across his face. His lashes feather-dusted his cheeks when he blinked, and the oasis of his eyes was parched of true color.

Still, she felt the pull, the invitation, the draw of his gaze no less than she felt the allure of his mouth. The smile he offered was one of shared memories, one of shared anticipation. Which was why she had to be careful.

Careful, Eva. Careful.

Intent on being just that, on watching each step she took around him, on second guessing the purpose behind his every move, she set her purse on the butterfly table beneath one of the living room's three narrow windows and circled the opposite end of the sofa.

Carson sat back like he owned the joint. The man may have lost much of his youthful impatience, but not an iota of his arrogance. Or any of his commanding presence, which made being careful a difficult task.

Keeping as much distance between them as possible, her arm stretching out and her body blocking Carson's view of Hawkeye and Cora's trek to Fort William Henry, Eva retrieved the key from the floor and held it out, waiting for Carson to extend an accepting hand. Which he did. Finally. Though he purposely drew out her excruciating wait.

It didn't matter that she knew all there was to know about his affinity for mind games. Her heart still skipped a beat in expectation as the key fell into his palm. His fingers closed around the ring. And her throat closed around the air she needed so badly to breathe.

Would she never grow immune to this man and his charms, which at times weren't in the least bit charming?

Careful, Eva. Careful.

"There," she said. "Now you have your answer. Feel free to go at any time." She crossed her arms over her chest, pressed her lips together in a line of disapproval, and waited.

Shoving the key into the pocket of his khakis, Carson looked beyond her to the TV and waved her out of his line of vision. "I want to see this part."

Eva moved to the side a bit and glanced back at the flickering screen. Big guns and battle. She rolled her eyes.

"Sit down here and watch." He patted the middle cushion of the sofa. Way too close to where he sat. When she made no move, he gestured toward the coffee table and cajoled, "I have wine."

Eva continued to stand, continued to appear put out with his supposed subtleties. "You have wine, darkness, and an empty house. Not to mention a sexy romantic movie playing. I'm surprised you're not already undressed."

And even as she said it, she knew she'd set in motion the beginnings of a very male and female game.

Carson's gaze moved from the French and Indian War on the screen to Eva's knees, then to her thighs, where he lingered, taking his time moving upward and causing her to hold in her stomach once he'd made it that high. He tarried too long on her breasts, and she regretted having been so clumsy earlier at the shop and splattering mud on the hem of her over shirt.

She'd shrugged off the extra layer, which left her in the decidedly too tight pullover she'd worn for Zack's shoot today. At least it was dark and Carson wouldn't notice how tight the shirt had grown beneath his gaze, a gaze all the more intoxicating for appearing otherworldly under the flickering lights from the television screen and the shadows shifting through the room.

Eva's standing vantage point caused Carson to continue to look up, and his eyes reflected the motion of the movie playing against her back. By this time his gaze had reached her face, and he blinked slowly, lazily, seductively, before saying, "I was waiting for you to undress me."

She was not going to get into this with him. She refused to get into this with him. No matter how much she wanted to get into this with him, she wouldn't.

He didn't wait for a response, but straightened from his reclining position and poured the Merlot into both glasses. "Time out, Eva. Sit. Drink with me. Watch the movie. Let's call a truce. Pretend we're old friends."

"I doubt we can do that."

"We can give it the old college try."

"Hmph." Eva reached for the wineglass, turned around, and sat on the edge of the sofa, not close enough to Carson to appear to be offering him any sort of invitation, but not far enough away to be rude.

They could do this. Drink together. Watch the movie together. Call a truce and pretend.

Of course she'd barely managed one sip before Carson scooted closer. She gave him a sideways glare, ignoring the tingle where his thigh brushed her thigh. Ignoring as well his hip nudged to her hip.

"What happened to the old college try?" she asked.

"What? Two friends can't sit close and watch a movie together?" His arm went around her shoulder then, and he pulled her into his side, leaning them both back into the huge cushions. "Besides. I walked out in the middle of my second year."

She knew she should be fighting harder against Carson's hold, but was it such a bad fate, really? This temporary weakness of being held by a man who'd known her half a lifetime ago? Whose chest was strong and warm and supportive? Whose hip cradled the curve of hers? Whose thigh was solid beneath the length of her leg?

Oh, he felt so good. He felt so incredibly good.

This sitting with him here in her home on her sofa, even after so many years, seemed so right. And though she knew she needed to straighten her backbone, she slumped against Carson in the pure physical enjoyment of being with a man, savoring the textures, the strength and resiliency of his body so different from hers.

In silence they watched the movie for several minutes more. Or at least Carson watched as Hawkeye saved the life of a lone runner with his long rifle. Between the wine and the warmth, however, Eva was too relaxed to watch anything, or to notice much at all beyond how comfortable she'd become with the same man she'd slapped in her kitchen not long ago.

Eyes closed, she gave herself permission to enjoy this time with Carson, to take full advantage of these stolen moments, to not analyze the feelings and look for meaning and depth where none would be found. But no matter how loudly repetitive were her mental admonishments to feel and not to think, she couldn't rid her mind of the words proclaiming a thin line between love and hate.

What exactly did she feel for this man? What was she doing here with him, anyway? Were they friends? Or only old lovers who'd never learned to let go? And what did that say about either of them if the latter was true? How could two well-adjusted successful adults be so hung up, so caught up, so wrapped up in the past?

A part of Eva's subconscious realized that Carson had grown still—not that he'd been overtly moving, but now he'd almost ceased to breathe. His body had grown tense. A different tension from the stiff supportive effort of sitting beneath her weight. This tension was bone deep, pore deep, and it seeped into Eva's relaxed state of body and mind.

She lifted her wineglass for a thoughtful sip, her gaze caught by the picture displayed on the television screen. It was Hawkeye. Heading for the hospital in search of Cora. One-hundred-percent-pure-male intent darkening his expression. He found his woman. And Cora went with him willingly, placing her hand in his, welcoming him as his one-hundred-percent- female counterpart, his mate, his love.

Eva watched the on-screen lovers kiss and touch. Watched life flare between soul mates. Watched love weave golden ribbons in and out of their hair and sprinkle stars in their eyes. Watched as they took emotion to the end of the line while fiddles and soft flutes and deep bass tones spun a musical web of romance.

Eva wasn't stupid. Nor was she unaffected.

So while the two lovers embraced, she leaned forward and set her wineglass on the table. Slowly, she eased back, fully aware that she was tossing caution to the wind. That she was taking a chance and reaching for whatever this night might bring.

Tucking her shoulder into the cove of Carson's, she shifted on her hip to the side just enough to enable her to look into his eyes. What she saw there ... oh, what she saw there. Her hands began to tremble. She held them still, lacing her fingers together. The look in his eyes promised rapture and Eva could hardly breathe.

He emptied his wineglass with their gazes locked, but didn't bother with the coffee table. Instead, his glass disappeared between the sofa cushions behind him. The arm supporting Eva's shoulders drew her closer. And then his mouth was on hers. His eyes remained opened. And while he kissed her, he watched her.

He tasted of Carson and he tasted of wine, dark and mysterious and rich and seductively warm. He was not gentle with his body when he turned and pressed her into the back of the sofa. He was not gentle with his eyes when he refused to release his hold on her gaze. He was not gentle with his tongue when he demanded she open her mouth.

She opened willingly. Tears rose in her eyes, tears that sprang from the sob lodged in a hard ball above her heart. Oh, Carson. He had never had to demand. He would never have to demand. She'd given him her all years before. And now she gave him even more.

She had never stopped loving him. She had never put her life on hold. She had never shut herself off from emotion.

The love she felt for Carson had continued all these years to reside in the deepest secret part of her heart. And in her mind as well, letting her know now exactly how strong a hold he had on her. As strong as the hold she had on him.

Whether fate or luck had brought them together this night, whether tonight was only a moment out of time or the beginning of a second chance, Eva wouldn't take time to examine. That would come later. Much much later. After his hands had finished testing the elasticity of her pullover, after seeing for himself exactly how the fabric fit her rib cage and the not-so-flat flat of her stomach.

He didn't bother checking to see how the material molded to her breasts—the one place she most wanted him to explore. He obviously found that endeavor a waste of time, moving instead straight to her hem and wiggling his big fingers underneath until he had the whole of his hand on her skin. The heel of his palm settled above the dent of her navel; the tips of his fingers grazed the cups of her bra.

He levered himself above her, moving his knees to either side of her hips, bracing himself with one arm behind her head along the back of the sofa. His weight, she had forgotten. But she had known him at a different time. With a different body, yet a body that was still the same. His taste was the same as well. But his kiss was not one of memories. It was of the moment. And she felt that they were making love for the very first time.

The hand beneath her shirt made quick work of the clasp of her bra, and Eva quivered at the teasing flutter of his fingers. And then his palm was measuring her fullness, her weightiness, his fingers drawing her nipple into a peak. A peak that invited his mouth. He lifted her shirt hem to her shoulders, but that wasn't enough for he was impatient.

He groaned and he growled. "Sit up." Again demanding. Again there was no need. She even helped him strip off both the pullover and the bra he found to be such a nuisance.

And then he had her flat on her back, and he settled his knees deep in the sofa cushions on either side of her thighs, hovering over her and alternately kissing, suckling, licking, and learning the changes to the curves of the body he'd introduced to passion.

Her breasts were going on thirty-seven, not barely eighteen. They showed the effects of age and gravity and too many uncomfortably hot Texas summer days spent without a bra. He didn't care. He didn't care about anything but filling himself with her. He hummed and growled, panted and blew, the noises and the brush of his breath as arousing to her as they were a release to him.

"I wasn't lying, you know," he said, dragging his tongue from one nipple, between her breasts, and taking the other peak into his mouth.

She arched her back. "Lying?"

"In the rain, at Blooms." He dropped a line of soft kisses up the length of her neck to her chin. "When I told you how beautiful you are. That you're more beautiful now than you were when we were lovers."

"You're just horny." She laughed. It had to be nervous excitement. Then she swooped in a sharp breath as he pulled hard on her skin with his lips. "Don't. You're going to leave a mark."

"I've had a hard-on since I walked into your shop, Eva." He'd moved lower on her body and he mumbled the words against her rib cage, but she heard them clearly enough. "Don't tell me. Don't."

Hours ago, days ago, she would've taken offense. Now she knew the nature of the beast that was this attraction between them. A beast with long legs and strong arms. A beast that fed on lust and drank of romance and cultivated a feeling strong enough to have lasted for so many years.

She wasn't offended.

Only equally aroused.

And determined to take her equal rights.

She crawled out from beneath him, until her head hit the arm of the sofa. She used the heels of her palms to push herself into a sitting position, used the same two hands to push Carson down flat on his back.

He didn't argue or complain. At least he didn't after he had untangled his legs from hers and from the sofa cushions and returned his cast to the floor. She planted her knees over his in a mirror of his earlier position. She splayed her hands over his pectoral muscles, and regretted not stripping him bare before getting him where she wanted him.

He seemed to feel the same, because he quickly shed his black T-shirt and threw it over the back of the couch. Then he took her hands and returned them to their previous position on his chest. And he circled his arms around her waist, resting his wrists on her hipbones.

"Much better," he said, and Eva nodded her agreement. How could she not agree when her skin was on his skin? Her hands, which were no longer a model's hands, on the chest of the man who was no longer a boy?

The fuzz of hair on his chest was thicker but not too dense, just enough to tickle her palms and the pads of her fingers. Using only her fingertips, she gently massaged her way to his collarbone and his shoulders, then back down his chest to his flat belly and the softer, longer whorls of hair bisecting the ridge of muscle below.

"This is better, isn't it?" She continued to explore and indulge in the tactile feast beneath her. She'd forgotten he felt this good. He'd never felt this good. This man's body rising beneath her, the pressure of his erection hard and straining upward in the cradle of her bottom, was at the same moment new and as old as time.

Carson reached behind her, moving his hands from her waist to her backside and lower, his fingers exploring, pressing, kneading, squeezing. Eva ground against him because he'd managed to find— or had he remembered?—that incredibly erogenous spot between her legs where her inner thigh met the curve of her pelvic bone.

She lifted her chin, tossed back her head, allowed him to work his magic. With her hands flexing into his shoulders, Eva's frustration grew, climbing until she let out a near agonized cry.

"You know, this would be a lot better if you'd take off your pants."

A thrill raced from Eva's fingers twined in Carson's soft hair down to that part of her beneath the black denim he wanted to remove. It was a tempting proposition, getting naked with this tempting man, and probably not the wisest move for her to make at this time in her life.

But she didn't care. Not about wisdom and caution. Or about what was right and what she needed. Because this was what she wanted. This man, this night, all of the here and now for as long as it lasted.

She'd been alone for too long.

Pushing against Carson's body for leverage, she got to her feet and there in her living room, with the renewed sounds of battle raging on the screen behind her, she stood half naked in the darkness and allowed Carson to watch while she worked open the button, worked down the zipper of her jeans.

And then she stopped and smiled down at Carson where he lay on the sofa, hands stacked beneath his head, watching her, waiting for her to finish. She could see by the hot gleam in his eyes that he was anxious for her to finish, way beyond ready for her to finish.

But she preferred more even odds in this game. I suppose you're just going to watch."

He rocked his head in a thoughtful sort of nod. I was thinking about it."

"You were thinking wrong." Bare-breasted, she planted her hands at her hips and dipped her chin toward the lower half of his body. "Your pants have to go."

"I was thinking about that, too. Thinking you could help with that." His hands went to his fly and he made quick work of his fastenings, giving Eva the barest glimpse of white cotton before he swung to a sudden sitting position. "Right after I help you get out of yours."

Ah. Finally. The full contact participation she'd been waiting for. Carson settled his hand on her hipbones, his fingers grazing the bare skin just above the loosened waistband of her jeans. He pulled her forward one step, then another, made sure that she faced him directly, then buried his face in the open V of her unzipped jeans.

His breath was warm and his lips pliant as he kissed and nipped at her skin, healing the tiny love bites he took with the press of his tongue. Eva held his head, threading her fingers into his thick hair and closing her eyes to the unraveling going on deep in her core.

When Carson moved his hands around to her back, hooked fingers into her waistband, and began working down her jeans, she couldn't hold back a whimper. He heard and was obviously pleased, the arrogant beast, because he chuckled against her skin and dipped his tongue under the elastic band of her practical athletic gray panties.

"Don't stop," she gasped. He could be as arrogant as he wanted as long as he didn't stop. She blew out a breath of longing. Nothing had felt this good, this right for a very long time in her life. And nothing had ever felt like Carson Brandt.

His teasing had never been fair. Had always brought her to the edge long before she was ready to go over. He knew that now because he'd known that then. And that was why he was doing what he was doing with his tongue. Moving from hipbone to hipbone while his hands worked her jeans over her backside to her knees, where his fingers stayed to tickle.

The touch brought her close to falling. She moved her hands to his shoulders, bracing herself to kick out of the jeans, leaving her in panties damp from his mouth as well as from her response. She might as well have been naked. She felt that bare, that exposed.

"Carson." She moaned, wanting to bare more, to expose more.

"Eva," he replied, drawing his palms up the backs of her thighs, sending his fingers upward into the leg openings of her panties and urging her apart.

She felt the press of each fingertip between her legs and wiggled, wanting his touch deeper. He shook his head, knowing what she'd asked though she hadn't said a word. He gripped her elastic waistband with his teeth, snapped it gently against her belly, then gathered the fabric of her panties and pulled them to her feet.

He settled his mouth where she wanted his mouth, where she wanted his fingers, where she wanted his tongue. His tongue was smooth, it was sandpaper rough, it was hard as an erection, it was soft. It was all she could do not to come in his mouth.

But holding on and holding back was even more arousing. She allowed him to play for a couple of minutes more. Then she had to stop him because it was time to turn the tables.

She stepped back, and watched Carson's frown deepen as the television images flickered over his face. "Time to take your clothes off, big boy. Time to rise and shine."

She said that because she knew how he would look. How full his penis would be. How slick the shaft. How taut the head. And he did not disappoint, removing everything he wore until he stood before her in his cast and in the dark, the room and his skin lit by only the movie.

He was gorgeous, beautiful, incredibly male, broad in the shoulders where he needed to be broad. Wide in the chest, strong in the biceps, narrow and lean where it counted on a man, in his hips and his stomach. His legs were a runner's legs, no, a sprinter's legs, with the muscle required for power rather than for endurance.

His endurance was evident elsewhere. Oh, so evident as he propped his hands at his hips and said. "I'm waiting."

"And so you are," she answered, then sat where he'd been sitting, while he stood where she'd been standing. She intended to return every long licking inch of the torture he'd inflicted on her.

But Carson had other plans. "Later," he said, and shook his head, reaching for her hand and drawing her to her feet. "I need to feel you. All of you."

She moved into his embrace, wrapped her arms beneath his and around his back, stepping as close as she could, running her hands from his shoulder blades to his backside and settling her palms at the dip in his lower spine, a mirror image of where his hands had settled on her body.

They stood entwined for a long moment, full of so many memories and so many years gone by and so many "what ifs" and "what might have beens." And then Carson throbbed, once, twice. Pressed as his erection was between their bodies, Eva couldn't help but notice the way he pulsed. And then he pulsed again, and she knew he'd done so for her benefit.

She smiled against his chest and breathed deeply of his scent, so close to the one she remembered. She touched her tongue to the center of his chest. His taste she remembered as well. And then her feet left the carpet and she had time to blink once before she was flat on her back on the couch.

Carson rose above her once more, nudging her legs apart with one knee. Their position was so familiar, yet the hands braced on the cushion above her shoulders were stronger, the chest hovering over hers broader. The hips lowering into the cradle of her thighs, settling between hers, more powerful than she remembered.

But the feelings of energy and expectation, the need to lift her hips in invitation ... these things had been a part of every coming together with Carson. She dug her heels into the backs of his thighs, wrapped her arms around his waist, splayed her hands on his taut backside, and urged him to enter her body.

He did, slowly, easing deep inside and stopping to lower the rest of his weight and hold her close. He shuddered with the effort of halting. She shuddered with the effort to remain still. And then she shuddered because she couldn't help it. Because the small wave of ripples rolling through her demanded she do no less.

"Stop that," Carson said, his voice gruff.

"I would if I could." She took a deep breath. "And it's your fault, anyway."

"Don't be blaming this on me." He thrust deeper, once, twice.

"You're the one poking me. I think that makes it your fault."

"But I wouldn't be poking you if you hadn't taken off your pants."

"And whose idea was that?" She gripped his backside. Pulled him harder to her.

He groaned. Growled. Grunted. "I want to make love to you, Eva. But if you keep that up this is going to be about sex."

She had to smile. She couldn't help but smile. "Haven't you figured it out by now, Carson? It's always been about sex. And it's never been about sex."

"You're not making any sense."

"Is there anything about what we're doing here that makes sense?"

He propped his weight on the elbows squared above her shoulders and looked into her eyes. "I wanted it to be nice and long and slow."

"It is nice and long." She wiggled, pressed upward, wiggled again. "But it doesn't have to be slow. It won't mean any less if it's not slow. And it can always be slow later."

"Promise?" he asked.

"Promise," she answered, glad the question required no more because he had started to move. Slowly. Like he'd wanted, like she'd told him he didn't have to do this time. Slowly. Like he'd promised for later. But slowly was doomed to fail. And it only took a minute or two or three at the most then Carson picked up the tempo.

The rhythm was Eva's undoing. How could she hold on, hold out? How could she wait when reaching for what Carson offered was the only thing that mattered, that counted, that existed?

She let go, cried out, and fell apart within seconds. Carson urged her on with words for a lover's ears only, noises and sounds drawn from his throat, pulled from his chest in response to her sobs of release.

And then he followed her down, the cords in his neck straining, his body tightrope-taut as he reached deeper and deeper into the core of his body and found his hot rush of satisfaction.

Eva felt the flow of his heat and shuddered again, spent and complete and exhausted. Carson collapsed on top of her, his weight a welcomed comfort. She'd forgotten, somehow she'd forgotten how nothing else came close to this feeling.

Carson stirred and mumbled, "It was too fast. I'm sorry."

"No, it wasn't. It was perfect," she said.

And she meant it.

Chapter Nine

Wearing nothing but her pullover and her panties, Eva returned to the living room from the kitchen. She'd thrown together a huge omelet filled with cheese, mushrooms, tomatoes, onions, and bacon while Carson had slept off his after sex man disease on the couch.

The smells of coffee and onions roused him from his near comatose state. Sex and sleep and food. Not to mention a beautiful woman. A beautiful woman he happened to be in love with. Did life get any better than this?

He scooted up to a sitting position, making room for Eva to sit between his spread legs. He'd slipped back into his khakis, but nothing more. And only that much at Eva's request. He'd have preferred to remain naked. Or to sit around in his skivvies. But this thing with Eva had come out of the blue and he wanted her to be comfortable.

She cut into the omelet and fed him the first bite. He watched her while he chewed. Looked into her eyes, still glassy and spent. Watched the movement of her hand as she guided the fork to her mouth. Studied her lips as they closed over the tines.

Then he remembered. The feel of her mouth on his skin. The softness of her lips, her taste. Remembered that he hadn't allowed her the time she'd wanted to take using her mouth on his body. Remembered using his mouth on her. And the way she'd quivered so beautifully.

He decided then that it was a good thing he'd pulled on his khakis, because with the way Eva was sitting, her crossed knees nestled on his thighs, her ankles tucked to his hips, the center of her body more or less in his lap, he knew she couldn't be unaware of the effect his recollections were having.

She wiggled against him, nudging the part of him growing so hard. "What's that all about?"

He might be ready to get started on the rest of the night, but he wanted to give her time to recover. And so he changed the subject before they got into it again. "I went to Ireland last year. Did I tell you?"

This"—she pressed a shin against him—"is about Ireland?"

He laughed at her wide-eyed, raised-brow incredulity. "No, honey. This is all about you. But—" He accepted the bite of omelet she offered. He chewed. He swallowed. He continued. "I couldn't remember if I'd told you about the trip."

"And exactly when would you have told me?" With a frown of concentration, she picked up stray bits of cheese and tomato with the back of her fork. "We haven't done much talking since you've been here."

"What do you mean we haven't talked? We've talked."

"When have we talked?" She fed him another bite.

Once he'd downed it, he answered. "Today, for example. We talked in the Jeep on the way to Zack's game this afternoon. And on the way home afterward."

"But you can't remember what about?" She slanted up a teasing glance. "You're getting old, Carson."

Old? Ha! "Tell that to Mr. Happy-to-See-You, Miss Smarty Pants. I remember every word. We talked about the Jeep. You told me Zack has a birthday coming up and has a set of wheels on his wish list."

"One of many items on his list he knows we can't afford." Eva shook her head. "It was a lot easier when he did his wishing out of the Sears catalog and not out of Road and Track or Photography Today."

Carson could easily afford to buy a Jeep. Or any equipment Zack wanted. "What day is his birthday?" he asked as Eva shoveled another fork of omelet into his mouth.

She looked at him closely, narrowing those tiger eyes that saw way too much, saw beyond the innocent intent of the question to the not-so-innocent thoughts he'd had before he asked. Then she blew out a piqued huff and started to move.

He grabbed her ankle and held her still. "Where're you going?"

She stared at him like he had a third eye in the center of his forehead. "You ask me about the date of my son's birthday during the same conversation in which I mention not being able to afford the things he'd like to have. Where do you think I'm going?"

"To the kitchen for coffee?" He released her because he didn't have a choice.

She popped up from the couch, kitten turned lioness, and waved her fork his direction. "Don't be swooping in here from Ireland or India or Urban America thinking to give my son what he knows I can't afford for him to have."

"That wasn't what I was thinking, Eva." He forgave himself the small lie because he wasn't sure what she intended to do with that fork. "But you're right. My timing sucked."

"Yes. It did." She perched on the very edge of the couch, and retracted her claws.

Carson pressed forward. "It was a natural question, asking about the date since we were talking about his birthday. I only asked out of curiosity." He took a deep breath. "And because I need to apologize."

"Apologize? What do you have to apologize for?" What had been a frown of confusion dissolved into a teasing grin. "I mean, what specific thing are you apologizing for?"

Carson plunged right in. "For giving you such a hard time."

"About?"

"About Zack being my son."

"Oh. That. Well," she stammered, turning her attention to the plate she still held. She cut off one bite of omelet, then another, and finally a morsel too small to be used to polish strings of melted cheese from her plate though she was making quite the concentrated effort. "I guess with the way I left ... and the timing of, well, Zack's age and everything ... I can see why you might think the way you thought."

"But I kept on thinking that way. Even after you'd set me straight more than once." He opened his mouth for the bit of egg and cheese she'd scooped onto the fork and now raised with a less than steady hand.

Making her nervous, upsetting her with this line of conversation hadn't been a part of his plan. He wanted to share some of what had been going on in his mind. See if he stood a chance, or if she'd say he was crazy, that he needed to get beyond their past, that second times around only came true in romance novels and fairy tales.

Hell, he didn't feel old. He felt reborn. Unless she told him to hit the road and not to come back no more, he was going to stay. And this time he was going to do all he could to earn happily ever after. This time he wasn't going to let his ego and his arrogance get in the way of love.

He carefully took the plate from Eva's hand and set it on the floor. When an objection rose in her throat, he countered with an X crossed over his heart and; "I'll do the dishes. All of them. Promise."

"I'm going to hold you to that."

"You can hold me to anything you want. As long as you let me hold you now."

Her expression softened. She crawled up into his lap, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pillowed her head on his cheek. He folded himself around her. She snuggled closer still. Then she sighed and splayed one hand on his bare chest.

"Nice," she said.

Nice wasn't even the half of it. She felt so small n his arms. "Why didn't we do any of this years ago?"

Her laughter was silent. He felt it as a vibration and a release of breath on his neck. "Because years ago we were too young. Years ago we thought intimacy was all about sex."

Carson's mouth pulled into a private smile. "You mean intimacy isn't all about sex?"

"Of course it is. But it's about so much more." She looked up at him—he swore her eyes were a trap, one he fell into every time—and placed the very tips of her fingers along the line of his jaw.

"It's about tenderness, and words of praise that make us feel beautiful and invincible." She ran her index finger over his top lip, down across his lower. His tongue flicked out and caught but a hint of her taste.

"It's about emotion too powerful for words, spoken straight from our hearts with only our eyes." She traced the line of his socket, then his lid and his lashes as well. He blinked, but the sensation of pressure remained.

"And, yes, it's also about this," she said, and laid the flat of her hand on his lap where beneath his khakis his erection had once again sprung to life.

"Okay," he ground out, amazed he'd managed to drive the one word past the pressure in his chest. He hadn't known his heart could beat so hard and so fast. "So long as we're straight on all that."

Eva's fingers traced his hard length, and the pressure in his chest became nothing compared to the one building deep between his legs.

"I'm not sure we're exactly straight." She was not the least bit shy about pointing out his directional challenge. "I think there's a slight bend to the left here."

It occurred to Carson that love play beat foreplay hands down—so to speak. "That's my secret weapon. Enables me to locate spots you didn't even know you had."

She pushed an elbow into his chest for leverage and sat halfway up to look in him the eye. "I'm very familiar with all of my ... spots, G and otherwise, thank you very much."

He raised one brow. Then the other. "You don't say."

"Yes. I do say."

Her conviction gave rise to all sorts of questions Carson wasn't sure he wanted to have answered. "Well, then. What about your H spot?" He tickled a finger beneath the lobe of one ear to her hairline where he rubbed tiny circles. "Or your I spot?" He dropped a kiss to the corner of her eyelid, then nuzzled his way to her temple.

She responded with the low throaty moan he'd wanted so badly to hear. "You found both of those without a weapon of any kind."

He'd let her continue to think that. No reason to reveal his entire arsenal. A man had to keep a few of his specialties to himself. He slowed his tender assault, moved his lips closer to her ear, trailed his finger down her neck, between her breasts, past her navel, to the waistband of her panties.

Once there, he whispered, "But what about your L-M-N-O-P spot?"

For a moment she was still, processing what he'd said. Then she punched him in the shoulder and his straight face dissolved. She was so easy. And so much fun to tease.

" L-M-N-O-P spot. Where do you come up with these things?" She rolled her eyes, gave in to a grin, and settled back.

Carson settled back as well. "It's good to hear you laugh, you know."

"What are you talking about? I laugh all the time." She dismissed his comment at the same time she answered her own rhetorical question.

But he wasn't letting her off the hook that easily. "You didn't laugh much seventeen years ago."

"I couldn't," she said, tapping a fingertip to her temple. "Crows feet. Laugh lines. I had to protect Judith's investment. Now, you, on the other hand ..." She poked the same finger in the center of his chest. "You didn't have such an excuse."

He grabbed her hand before she poked and prodded and probed any further. "I didn't need an excuse. I didn't have a sense of humor."

"I'm glad to see that's changed."

"I'm glad to see you've noticed." Good. He was making progress.

She nodded. "I have noticed."

But then she gave him a look, a lift of brows over all-knowing eyes, and his cocky analysis made a swift about face. She was the one making headway. And he was the one left to feel more than physically exposed.

"I've also listened and learned, you know," she said.

Hmm. He wasn't sure he liked being such an open book. He thought he'd done a fairly good job of keeping himself to himself. "Learned what?"

She twirled fingers through the hair on his chest. "I don't think you had much to laugh about back then."

"I laughed some," he said, and when her look required proof he added, "When I was with you." He stroked a finger over her ear, tucking back the short strands of her hair the way he'd so often seen her do when her hair had been long.

Eyes closed, she lifted her chin at his touch. "You didn't laugh very often. I would've remembered. I've always liked what your laugh makes me feel."

Carson drew in a slow deep breath. His finger slowed as well. "Is that why you left? Because I didn't make you laugh? Because I wasn't any fun to be around?"

"Of course not. I enjoyed being around you. It didn't matter if we were working or playing or doing nothing at all." Like a cat wanting more, she rubbed her head against his hand. "You knew that. I know you knew that."

He had known that. But he'd been too serious then, too intense, too wrapped up in a work world of his own making to realize what an emotionally lopsided relationship theirs had been when she left.

And how emotionally upside down he'd been since.

"I need to know why, Eva. Why you left." Rigidity seeped into her limbs. Her features, so relaxed moments ago, grew tense and moody, and he hurried to take a slightly different tack. "I screwed up. I know I screwed up. But I didn't know what to do with you then. I didn't recognize the gift I'd been given. You were precious and you were beautiful."

"I was young and naive and awestruck."

Her smile was precious and beautiful, and he felt it where he thought he'd stopped feeling. "You made me feel like I was infallible. That I could do no wrong. You never tried to change me."

"Oh, Carson. Why would I have wanted to change you?"

"If I name every reason, we'll be here all night." And if they stayed there all night, he didn't want it be because of his numerous faults.

"Okay. So, you were a crabby grouch."

"Ouch."

She laughed. "Hey, if you can't take the heat, don't start the fire." And then she sighed and her voice grew tender. "I loved all of you, Carson. Even the crabby grouch. I knew that was only a part of the whole. I accepted it. I accepted your impatience. Your ego. Your demand for perfection in an imperfect world."

"But you'd've liked to have changed it all."

"No, I didn't say that." She shook her head. "In the long run, Carson, the only person you have to please is yourself. Because you're the one you have to live with. Every day."

"But I wasn't the one you could live with."

She laughed sadly, and stroked his shoulder with tender touches while tucking her head up under his chin. "You're right. I couldn't. I tried. I really did try."

From a distance of half of his lifetime, Carson knew that she had. He hadn't known it then. But now ... now ... now he could hardly breathe. "Do you want to try again?"

Her fingers stopped. "Now?"

"Yeah. Now."

Eva sat up straighter. "Did you really come here to see if we could start over?"

"Honestly?" And it was long past time to be honest. He shook his head. "No. I didn't. I came here to see if I could make you suffer."

"Why?"

The look on her face, in her eyes, the sadness and the confusion showed that now, when he no longer wanted to hurt her, he'd done just that. Now, when he'd grown beyond the need for the selfish satisfaction of striking back ... Now, of all the goddamn times in the world ... Now, he had to hurt her.

Didn't say much for the man he thought he was. For the man he wanted Eva to know.

He had to explain. To see if he was even capable of putting into words the changes this time in her company had made. "Why? Because when I saw you in New York with Judith, you looked so pulled together. So self-confident. Like being back in New York for the shoot meant nothing. That years ago you'd walked away, you'd ... really walked away. From me. The city. The memories. And I wanted you to pay. Because I'd never been able to do that. Everywhere I've gone, I've taken you with me."

She started to move off his lap. "It's been seventeen years, Carson. Why would you want to make me pay now for what happened then?"

"To see if I could?" The reason hadn't changed, the motivation. Once, he'd wanted to make her share his misery. But now ... now—

"And?" Eva's question halted his thoughts. "Did get your answer?"

"I think I did."

She looked at him, but did so down her cynical nose. "Oh, really. I'm fascinated. Please." She motioned for him to continue.

The knot in his gut told him he'd better get this right or he could damn well forget growing old with this woman. "It's not fascinating, Eva. It's simple. You're here with me. We just made incredible love. This wasn't about sex and we both know it. So, yeah I'd say there're still feelings here. And that means I could hurt you. If—" He held up one finger to stay her interruption. "If I still wanted to."

"I see. So, now that we've had sex—"

"Made love." He wasn't going to let her make less of their coming together than it was.

"Now that we've … made love, you've changed your mind? About wanting to hurt me?"

He shook his head. "I changed my mind the first night I was here. I was sitting on a bar stool, in fact. Barely sitting, but still upright."

She huffed. "Epiphanies reached while under the influence don't count."

Her pique amused him. As did her efforts to extricate herself from his octopus hold. She slipped free of one arm, but only long enough for him to move his other into place. She wanted distance for the very reason he wanted her close.

He wanted to see her eyes, see how close he was to hitting the head on the nail of her feelings. "Actually, the epiphany happened earlier that day. In the storeroom. Of your shop. And trust me, I was totally sober. It just took me a while to sort it out."

"You're talking about Zack," she said, and pressed her lips together to keep from saying anything more.

Frustration had him blowing out a long breath when it would've felt so good to yell. "Eva, Zack walked in on us and called you Mom. All I could think was that... my God." He rubbed a hand over his forehead. "My God. My son was standing in front of me. A son I'd never known I had. And then. Right then I stopped wanting to hurt you. I stopped because I didn't want you to have to feel any of what I was feeling."

"What were you feeling?"

He laughed harshly. The sound grated in his throat. "Like you'd ripped my guts out. You had my son and I had nothing. After all those years of working my ass off to prove ... whatever. That I was good enough. That I had measured up to your standards. That the mistakes I made didn't matter."

He shrugged off the thought because the reasons were no longer important. "But all I proved was that I'd been right. You really hadn't loved me. How could you have loved me and kept me from my son for almost seventeen years?"

Tears filled her eyes, hung on her lashes. "But he's not your son, Carson."

"I know that now." He reached for her hand and she gave it. "But I didn't know it then. The first time you told me was that day in the rain. And I wanted to call you a liar."

Why?" she whispered, and he barely heard her.

"I wanted something to show for the time we spent together. I wanted to believe what we had had been real. That I'd given you something good, left you with something tangible and worthwhile, despite my selfishness."

"Selfish? No. Self-involved? Yes. Self-critical? Yes. Self-demanding? Definitely." He rolled his eyes and she laughed softly. "Carson, you couldn't even please yourself. How was I supposed to make you happy when you weren't even happy with you?"

He remained quiet for several moments, realizing how accurately Eva had had him pegged. "Was I that obvious?"

"Not to everyone." Her mouth quirked with her failed effort to contain a grin. "Most people just thought you were a prima donna."

"I was a prima donna."

"Okay. You were. But you were so much more. And if you were a bit ... well, uppity, it was part of your artistic temperament."

"You give me too much credit." He slipped a finger beneath her chin and lifted. Right now he needed to see her eyes. To see the truth, the reality. "No one has ever believed in me. Not the way you believed in me."

"Of course I believed in you, Carson. I loved you," she said, and her smile nearly took him apart.

"God, I was so stupid," he said, his voice catching on a raw splinter of that realization.

"Aren't we all at that age? I was years too young to appreciate what we had. And too young to handle it. I don't think we would've lasted." She sighed, and seemed to grow smaller, shrinking into nothing in his lap. "It's best, you know. That we never had a child together."

His nod wasn't agreement as much as acknowledgment that she'd spoken. "He'd've looked a lot like Zack, don't you think? I mean, the age is right. And the coloring."

"Unless she would've looked like me." Her voice was sad. almost regretful. Or … Oh, shit. "Uh, Eva?"

"Hmm?"

He didn't want to ask because he feared the answer. "Are you still able to conceive?"

For a moment she was motionless. And then she nodded. He felt the movement against his chest.

Carson leaned his head back and stared at the vaulted ceiling. How could he be so stupid? Again. How could he be so stupid? "Christ, Eva. Why didn't you stop me? Why didn't I stop myself? I'm so sorry."

She sat up. Pushed her way out of his lap and his legs. Her face was pinched, strained. The picture of resignation. "We have a real problem, Carson."

He didn't want to hear this. He really didn't want to hear this.

She tugged the hem of her top snug to her waist. "Every time we're together we get caught up in all this grand passion and forget to use our brains. We let emotions drive us. And that can't be healthy." She punctuated the couch cushion with one finger. "That isn't healthy."

He didn't like her tone. Or her succinct stating of the obvious. "I guess that's a problem we need to work on."

"I'm not so sure we have anything to work on. Listen, Carson"—Eva reached for her jeans—"I wanted what just happened to happen. I wanted to make love with you and I have no regrets."

"But," he prompted when she stood to button and zip.

"But I don't see things changing. Ever." She blew short feathered locks from her face and looked down. "We are who we are. We may be older and I hope we're wiser. But just because we recognize what we have between us doesn't mean we can handle it any better."

"Maybe not." He sat up. Stood up. Kept his distance. "But we have made progress. At least now you'll know to kick my ass when I'm too self-involved. And I'll know to—" He laughed when she lifted both brows. "I'll know to pull you into my arms and kiss you senseless when you let me get away with too much."

She looked at him for several moments. Hundreds of thoughts chased one another through her eyes. Denials pushed aside possibilities to dog the heels of fear. "We're crazy to even be thinking about it," she finally said.

"Aha. But we are thinking," he said, and knew he'd scored a big point.

At least he thought he had until she came back with, "We're thinking long after the fact, after the deed has been done, after the horse has left the barn."

He moved closer. He wanted to be sure she heard him. "We don't have to think all the time, Eva. Passion doesn't have to stop and think. This connection, this bond we have. It's unique. It's rare. Totally one of a kind."

"It had better be one of a kind."

His heart flipped. That was almost a declaration exclusivity. "So does that mean you'll think about, you know, going out with me?"

"Going out?" She frowned. "Like on a date?"

It was nice to know he wasn't alone in his vernacular confusion. "No. Going out. Like Zack and Katie."

"Oh. That kind of going out." She laughed. Then stopped as quickly as she'd started. "What do you know about Zack and Katie?"

"Besides the fact that their eyes are all over each other? Which means—"

She cut him off with a wave of both hands, then crossed the room to turn off both the TV and the DVD player. "No. Don't say it. I don't want to know what it means. Because I do know what it means. And I'm not sure I'm ready for whatever else it is they have all over each other."

"I wouldn't worry about it too much." Carson leaned across the back of the couch and snagged his shirt from the floor. "Zack's got a good head on his shoulders."

She stopped in the process of returning the DVD to its case. "You've been talking to Zack? When did you talk to Zack?"

Way to go, Meathead. "We talked awhile this evening. Before he left for the lake with his friends."

"And you talked to him about having his hands all over Katie?"

"Actually, no. I talked to him about not having his hands all over Katie. Until the time was right. And then to be prepared."

Eva returned the movie to its slot in the entertainment center, sliding the drawer shut with a control that was eerily silent. She had yet to look Carson's way. "You talked to Zack about condoms? And sex?"

"We talked about a lot of things." Carson struggled into the shirt, figuring it wouldn't hurt to be dressed since it looked like he was about to be asked to hit the road. "And we only talked about sex in the context of responsibility."

"I see," was all she said, and she turned to face his way. She took a very deep breath, then blew it out. "Thank you."

Carson decided to see if he could salvage what was left of the night. "Zack's a good kid, Eva. He's intelligent. And he uses those smarts. He's not going to do anything stupid with Katie."

"Oh. Right." She tossed both arms expansively. "Easy for you to say. You're not his parent."

"No. I'm not." He worked on tucking his T-shirt into his khakis. Then he stopped and made sure Eva was listening, really listening, when he said, "But there's no reason I can't be a friend."

She looked like she was going to explode, the way she buried her face in her hands and shook her head. "This is all way too complicated. I don't know, Carson. I don't know about any of this. I'm happy here. I have a great life. My business is thriving. My son is thriving ... maybe too much." She let the thought drift unfinished.

"What about you?" he asked softly. "Are you thriving? Are you living life the way it was meant to be lived?" When she remained silent, he went on. "You don't have to say anything. What just happened on the couch is answer enough."

Her head popped up. She glared. "You're talking about sex again."

He hadn't meant to go there, but she'd made the accusation. And he wasn't going to back down. "I'm talking about Eva Channing. Not Zack's mother. Not the owner of Blooms."

He stepped closer. "I'm talking about your needs. Simple, basic needs." He took another step toward her. "Having your neck rubbed at the end of a stressful day. Celebrating a big landscaping project." He stepped closer still. "And, yes. Sex."

The word hung in the air, sizzling and popping and hot. With her eyes fiercely bright and her breathing borne on rapid gasps, she retreated. The heel of her boot hit the base of the TV cabinet.

Carson stopped, leaving her only inches of personal space. "Sex, Eva. Making love. Being brought to the point where you want to crawl out of your skin. To the point where you can't help but scream."

Her glare grew heated. "I do not scream."

He wasn't going to argue, though they both knew the truth. But he did move to stand behind the room's only chair, planting both hands on the headrest. "Sex is a part of life, Eva. And a big part of what we had ... what we have ... together. I'm not stupid. I know it's not everything. But you can't shrug it off as nothing. If it was nothing, it would be just as good with anyone else. For me, it never has been."

He took the plunge. "I don't think it has been for you either. But this is about more than sex. This is about you and me." Frustration fought with fear. Both grabbed hard at his gut, twisted his nerves into knots. He tightened his hold on the back of the chair to keep from punching through the padded ticking.

He was only going to say this one time. Once was all he could manage. "I'm not asking you to compare. I'm only asking you to think, truly think about what we have. Don't throw it away without giving it a chance. Because this time I won't be back."

Chapter Ten

"He talked to Zack, Jan. He talked to Zack about sex." Eva jerked at the tab on her Diet Coke. The cold soda fizzed through the opening in the aluminum can. She wished she had her own tab to pull. Such a practical way to release pent-up fizz. Hers was burning a hole in her stomach.

"So they talked." Sitting at the Hollings' breakfast table with Eva in the Sunday morning quiet, Jan readied ten more wooden craft sticks to glue onto David's Texas history project. "This is a bad thing because?"

"Because Zack is my son. Not Carson's." And guiding Zack through life's adult lessons was her responsibility. Not that of some interloper, even one who claimed good intentions. Why was this so hard to understand? And since when was Jan on Carson's team?

Traitor.

The traitor snapped a stick in half lengthwise. "I'm assuming Carson has accepted the fact that he's not Zack's father."

"Yes. He knows."

"But—" Jan gestured with one of the split sticks. "He doesn't know about your miscarriage."

"No. He doesn't know." Eva wrapped cold fingers around an even colder can and groaned at the mess she'd made of her life. "I just wish that was the worst of it."

"It gets worse? Wait." Jan put both hands on the edge of the kitchen table and pushed back. "This calls for more than Diet Coke."

Eva choked on the sip of soda she'd just swallowed. She waved a frantic hand. "Absolutely not. Alcohol has done nothing but get me in trouble lately."

"Who said anything about alcohol? Good grief. It's not even noon." Jan rummaged through the contents of the cabinet beneath the kitchen bar, and emerged with a blender. "I was thinking more along the lines of coffee. And chocolate. Something smooth and creamy and cold."

"Oh," Eva answered, wondering what the combination of acid and sugar and caffeine would do to the ulcer on her ulcer. "I thought you were trying to get me drunk again."

Jan delivered an arched look Eva's way. "Excuse me? Who used my scotch to drown her troubles, sorrow, worries, and woes? Which, by the way, you should've shared with me years ago without benefit of alcohol because I'm your friend."

"I know. I know. I should've shared a lot of things with a lot of people," Eva mumbled. Her eyes hurt. Her temples were aching, and she'd had nothing to drink but the soda. The pressure of the truths she'd kept from Carson had inflated her head beyond the fill line. She closed her eyes and collapsed.

"Okay. That's it." Leaving the blender on the counter for the moment and relegating the Popsicle sticks and Play-Doh model of the Alamo to the far end of the table, Jan turned her full attention in Eva's direction. "What big bad secret haven't you told me?"

"When have I had time to talk to you about anything?" Stress rose to balance on the edge of hysteria. She really did need that pull tab. "If I'm not at Blooms, or at Zack's ball games, I'm stuck working on his calendar shoots." Slumping back in her chair, Eva added, "And every time I turn around, I run into the blight of Carson Brandt."

"You know," Jan began, sliding a knowing glance from beneath long tawny lashes. "You say his name like a woman with a hankering for his brand of blight."

"Ha." Eva slammed the soda can to the table, apologized, and mopped at the sloshed puddles with the paper towel her friend extended. "Hankering? Hardly. Like I need anything from that man."

"Hmm. Judging by that color in your face, you don't only need what that man has to offer, you've had what that man has to offer. And you want more."

"Just goes to show that you shouldn't judge a face by its color," Eva bluffed, even as the blush of heat crawling up her throat blossomed into what was no doubt a shade of bright crimson.

"So. tell me." Jan twisted a craft stick between forefinger and thumb, the movement mimicking her prurient smirk. "Is he as good as he used to be?"

"No." Liar, liar. Pants on fire.

"No? You've got to be kidding. I've seen the man. You can't tell me he doesn't know how to use the motion of the ocean." The craft stick undulated sensuously over imaginary waves.

Seasick. Eva would think about being seasick. That would keep her from thinking about Carson Brandt in bed. "What do you mean, you've seen him? When have you seen him?"

"I give up." Jan tossed up the stick in frustration. It shipwrecked somewhere on her spotless ocean of blue floor tiles. "He's been at your house every day for, what? Two weeks at the least."

"Has not." Eva cringed. Nice grade-school comeback. "It hasn't been that long."

"Not only that," Jan continued, ignoring Eva's denial and digging again into the bag of crafts for fresh supplies, "I saw him backing out of your driveway at the crack of dawn this morning. I said hello, waved. Asked him how he was enjoying our mild Texas spring weather."

Well, crap. How many other neighbors had witnessed Carson's covert departure? Eva narrowed both eyes. "What were you doing snooping around my driveway at the crack of dawn on a Sunday morning?

"Getting the paper. Gerald wasn't up yet. At least he wasn't out of bed yet. He was, uh, sleeping it off, so to speak."

"Welcome to the club," Eva mumbled. She'd spent half the morning recovering from her own after sex euphoric exhaustion.

"Aha!" Jan's hand came down against the tabletop. "So he is better than he was before. I knew it."

"Better than the twenty-one-year-old stud I knew in New York?" Parking both elbows on the table, Eva cradled her chin dreamily in her palms and gave all pretense of innocence. "Damn straight he is. Who needs a young stud when there are seasoned nearly forty-something studs to be had?"

Jan sighed and mirrored Eva's pose. "It's great, isn't it? To have reached our peak and actually have a man who can perform and not just show up?"

Even in his earlier days, Carson had done more than just show up. Eva'd been too young to know that then. She knew it now and knew it well. He'd been right about the physical between them reaching spiritual heights.

"To dazzling performances," she said, lifting her Diet Coke in a toast.

Shaking off her dreamy daze, Jan got back to work counting out sticks, using one as a pointer as she talked. "So, if he's as good as you say he is, will you remind me again why you're over here whining."

Oh, yeah. Back to that. "Because he's butting into my son's life."

"I see. He's telling Zack things you'd rather Zack not be told? Is that it?"

"No. That's not it." Eva was beginning to regret running to her friend. Jan always made too much sense. "I mean, I wasn't there for the conversation, so I don't know exactly what was said."

"But he told you what they talked about? When they talked about sex?"

"Only in the most general of terms." What was the point of whining when her entire whine defense was being picked apart? Eva felt like a hot-air balloon with a leak.

"Sheesh. I shoulda been a dentist. At least I'd've been paid for pulling teeth."

"Okay. Okay." Restless, Eva rose to make the coffee. She needed to stay busy, stay focused, stay sane. "They talked about Katie. And about responsibility. And about condoms."

"Wow. I'm impressed. A man who knows how and when to best use his mouth. What on earth is the problem?"

Whoosh! Eva totally deflated. "I'm the one Zack's supposed to talk to."

"Eva. Just because you wiped his runny nose and taught him to tie his shoes doesn't mean he's going to talk to you about sex."

Eva jammed the coffee scoop down in the can. "We've always been able to talk about anything."

"But he's not a little boy anymore. And you're his mother." Jan concentrated on beading a line of glue the length of one craft stick. "I don't think either one of you would be very comfortable discussing his physical relationship with Katie."

"He's too young to have a physical relationship with Katie." And even as she said it, Eva recognized the mother's lie for the wishful thinking that it was.

"Face facts, Eva. As much as you may want to believe otherwise, he's not too young. And you should be glad Zack has a man to talk to. Especially since Carson seems to be saying all the right things."

"It's not that what he's saying is wrong. It's just ..."

"It's just what?"

Eva wasn't sure she could put her thoughts into words that would make sense to Jan. Or to anyone who didn't know Carson like she did. "Okay. He sees what he thinks is a problem? He tries to fix it."

"So far, so good."

Shaking her head, Eva pressed on. "Not so good. It's like talking with Zack. He didn't stop to think that I, me, Zack's mother," she emphasized, tapping fingers to her chest. "That I might approach my son's problems differently. This time our beliefs coincided. But next time …"

The coffeemaker gurgled and steamed. Eva inhaled deeply of the aromatic brew. "Carson has this need to make things right. To make things perfect. He's hard enough on himself as it is. I don't need him filling Zack's head with expectations so high they're inhumanly possible to meet.

Yes, his advice to Zack was needed. And appreciated. But quite frankly, I can't live through the sort of upheaval Carson would bring to my life. Not again." Not when she wasn't sure of his feelings. She had to be sure of his feelings. This time she had to be sure.

"Then don't. Don't get that involved." Jan shrugged. "Call it a vacation fling and then be done with it."

Leaning her elbows on the counter, Eva buried her face in her hands. It was too late and she knew it. When had her life become so complicated? "I can't have a vacation fling. I can't have him hanging around here getting closer to Zack."

"I hate to say this, Eva. But Carson sounds like he could be a very good thing for Zack." Jan gave up on the Alamo and turned in her chair to concentrate on Eva. "And good for you as well."

"Zack doesn't know about my past with Carson."

"Why not go ahead and tell him? Not about the miscarriage, but the fact that you two were involved. What could it hurt for Zack to know?"

"Because he likes Carson. Because he talks to Carson. And because he doesn't know not to tell Carson that I'm not his real mother." There. The crux of the problem she'd danced around since entering the kitchen. She crossed her arms on the counter- top, beat her head against the X of her wrists, and groaned. Oh, what a tangled web we weave.

"This is where I'm lost," Jan said. "Tell me again what house of cards would come tumbling down if Carson knew that you weren't Zack's mother."

"Carson knows I've been pregnant. And if Zack's not my son, then ..." At Jan's lifted brow, Eva added, "It was a small slip of the tongue and, trust me, I've been regretting my big mouth ever since."

"Telling him you've been pregnant was not a lie."

"Semantics. I definitely left him with the impression that I carried the pregnancy to term and then gave birth to Zack."

"So tell him the truth."

"And say what?" She gestured theatrically with one hand. "'Oh, Carson, by the way. When I told you that I'd been pregnant? What I meant to say was that I'd been pregnant when I left New York, pregnant with your child, which I later miscarried. And oh, yeah, Zack is not my biological son.'"

Jan gave a considering nod. "It needs a little fine-tuning, but you've got the facts straight."

"Oh, get real, Jan. I can't say that to him."

"Why not?"

"It's been seventeen years. What good is it going to do to tell him now?"

"Have you enjoyed seeing him again? Have you even once, once, "Jan emphasized, "during the time he's been here thought what it might be like if he stayed?"

"Yes," Eva whispered, admitting the elemental truth at last. Along with familiar anxiety, she experienced an overwhelming sense of rightness.

"Then that's why you have to tell him. Face it, Eva. You're still in love with the man. You're too honest to go forward with this relationship without telling him. And you're too gutsy to give up on him again."

"I'm not gutsy. I'm flat out scared." An understatement if she'd ever uttered one.

"Then consider your options." Jan held up one finger. "You have the vacation fling and cross every appendage you have that Zack doesn't say anything to Carson."

"That would mean dogging the two of them every minute. I don't have the time or the energy to do that."

"Okay. Option number two." A second finger went up. "You don't see him again. You tell him you've given the matter some thought but you don't see any way you two can make a go of this relationship. And then you tell him good-bye."

"Won't work." Thank God.

"Because?"

"Because he won't leave. Because he's Carson. Which means he'll make it his mission to convince me that there's no way we can fail." She sighed. "And because I'm not strong enough to deny him that chance."

"Which means you love him."

"I love him."

The gentle look Jan bestowed might've been directed at a toddler owning up to a crayon mark on the wall. "Finally. Was that so hard?"

A smile tugged Eva's mouth. She shrugged.

Jan rolled her eyes. "So, you ask him to stay. And agree to give it a try. A no-brainer decision, right?"

"I can't," she wailed miserably. "Don't you see? To do that I have to tell him about the miscarriage. I have to tell him that Zack is not my son. He'll hate me for being dishonest. And then I'll lose him forever. Oh, Jan. What am I going to do?"

Jan took Eva by the shoulders and guided her back to her chair. "You're going to sit there and come to your senses. And then you're going to make the only sensible choice. Straight coffee? Or should I add an extra strong, extra rich dose of chocolate?"

Two nights later, Eva was as undecided as ever. I tell him. I tell him not. I stay with him. I stay with him not. I love him. I love him not.

The last wasn't even a question. Days ago, Eva had accepted what she'd known all along to be true. There was no man in the world for her but Carson Brandt.

She had loved Zack's father. Bobby Shelton had been a wonderful husband, a caring and attentive father. a tenderly passionate lover, a compassionate friend. Never, not once, had she questioned his love for her. Nor her love for him.

But he hadn't caused her heart to beat faster, her skin to sing with the song of anticipation. He hadn't made her smile at the sound of a car door slammed in the driveway. Or been the cause of a night wasted on bad TV for the chance to cuddle away the uninterrupted hours.

Carson did all these things and more. It was like they'd never been apart, they were so in tune with each other. Yet it was like they'd never known one before that day he'd walked into Blooms. And here all this time she'd thought her life had been so simple. So settled. When what it had been was staid and stale.

She slammed the door of the minivan and hit the electronic control panel, lowering the door and plunging the garage into a darkness redolent with strong chemicals and stronger exhaust. This was her home, where she was happy. Where she would remain happy if it killed her. She grounded herself in that reality before going inside.

Walking into her house to find Carson Brandt camped out on her sofa in front of the television, or stir-frying chicken in a wok on her stove, or sitting at the kitchen table going over studies with Zack had become so commonplace and so ... comfortable, Eva would've been surprised to arrive home and find her house empty.

This evening it was only half empty. Carson sat alone behind the table in the breakfast nook. The only evidence of her son to be seen was his backpack weighted with textbooks sitting on the end of the kitchen counter. "What have you done with Zack?"

Carson looked up from the yellow legal pad and the outline of notes he'd penciled in a grid across the page. He gestured with his pencil toward the street. "You just missed him. He left with Katie and her mother. Something about a cheerleading tournament in San Antonio tomorrow."

Eva set her purse on the counter next to the backpack and frowned. "I didn't think they were leaving until later tonight."

In fact, she knew the chaperones and the kids— both the competitors and their personal cheering sections, aka boyfriends—had plans to leave this evening and arrive in San Antonio around ten. Zack would be going with Katie and her parents even later, once Jim Crenshaw closed his diner at eleven.

"Seems there was a change of plans," Carson said. "Katie called and wanted Zack to go early. I guess the Lake City squad isn't competing until tomorrow afternoon, so the kids wanted to get in a night at Six Flags." He erased the contents of one square. "l told Zack I didn't think you'd mind if he went ahead."

Standing at the kitchen sink, Eva stopped in the middle of washing her hands. "He asked you about going early?"

Carson stopped in the middle of jotting a note and raised his eyes from the tablet. "If I'd thought for a minute that you'd object, I'd've told him he'd have to ask you. But we both know that whether he left at three or at eleven wasn't going to make a hill of beans."

She reached for a towel to dry her hands. "It doesn't. It won't. But he knows to ask me for that sort of permission."

"He asked if I thought you would mind. I told him no."

"Which he took as scripture instead of double checking with me himself," Eva said and, even as the words left her mouth, she reached out to grab them back. To the outside world looking in, her efforts to separate Carson and Zack were unreasonable, raising suspicions she didn't want raised. Suspicions based in truths she needed to deal with.

"Tell you what, Eva." Carson tossed his mechanical pencil onto the tablet, crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, stopping short of his head hitting the yellow and white and fruit patterned wallpaper. "Next time Zack asks me anything, I'll tell him to ping you. How's that?"

Eva sighed, turned off the kitchen's overhead light, and returned to the breakfast nook. "He may have tried. Until I checked to see what time it was, I didn't know my phone was dead."

"So? No harm, no foul, right?"

"I guess not." She pulled out a chair from beneath the table and dropped into it, feeling like she weighed four thousand pounds.

"You guess not." Carson shook a weary head. "We've been through this a dozen times now, Eva. I'm not trying to win away Zack's loyalty or his affection. I just happened to be convenient."

"I know. I know. Feel free to ignore me." She waved a hand. "I'm just feeling sorry for myself."

"Sorry for yourself about what?"

She shrugged off the importance of her feelings. Because they weren't important. They were pathetic. She didn't want to look at Carson, but his gaze compelled her. Her smile felt tired and a little bit sad. "He's getting older. And the apron strings are getting looser."

"Why would that make you feel sorry for yourself? Because you've raised a son to seventeen years old? A son who's able to think for himself and has a maturity that's impressed even a hard bitten cynic like me?"

She shook her head, then nodded. But the web of mixed emotions only tightened as she struggled in its hold. "Because I've raised a son who's going to quit needing me long before I quit needing him. And because I'm really pathetic for even saying that."

Carson chuckled. He pushed his chair back as far as he could, and banged his cast against the table as he got up and changed seats, sitting beside her and turning her chair so it backed up to his. Then he settled his hands on her shoulders.

When he started kneading, working his thumbs over the tendons in her shoulders, loosening the muscles drawn tight at the base of her neck, she decided there was a lot to be said for being female and giving in to a male's physical strength.

It wasn't so bad having him around for other things, either. But she'd never been able to think straight when he touched her. And she was feeling too weak and too vulnerable and too needy right now when she wanted nothing more than to feel independent and strong. She slipped away, feigning the need for a cold soda. He declined her offer for one of his own. From the safety of the kitchen, she sipped then nodded toward the yellow legal pad.

"What have you been working on?"

Carson frowned as if he'd never understand women. Warm one minute, cold the next. "My book."

"Your book?" This was the first she'd heard of this. Interesting.

"I've been wanting to put it together for a while now." He picked up his pencil and doodled a circle on the tablet's spine. "I've just never taken the time to work out any concrete ideas. This seemed like the perfect opportunity."

"I can't believe you're writing a book." She returned to her chair. "What's it about?"

He looked at her like he was insulted that she'd had to ask. "I'm not writing a book."

"But then what ... Oh, duh." She smacked her palm to her forehead. "Photography. A book about the craft? Or a coffee table book? Wait, no. I've got it. A candid behind-the-scenes look at the early world of modeling. I bet you'll make a mint."

Carson moved the tablet out of Eva's reach and range of vision. "This isn't about money. Or about modeling. It's a photo essay."

She looked across the arm he'd braced protectively over his work. The squares had the names of different countries penciled in. She saw India and Israel, Afghanistan and Argentina. She pointed at the square that said New Zealand. "I thought this was a book about photography."

"You assumed this was a book about photography. I told you what it is."

She flinched at his clipped tone. "A photo essay."

"Right."

"But not about the modeling industry."

"No."

O ... kay. Not modeling. Obviously traveling, touring. This was related to the countries he'd finally visited. Hmm. Surely he wasn't putting together anything as basic as a travelogue. "So, tell me about it."

He frowned. "I'm not sure I want to."

"Carson, please. I'm very interested. It's about the countries you've seen, isn't it?"

"In a way." He doodled more, scratching Xs on the four corners of the grid. Finally he said, "It's about life. It's about living."

And when he said that, she knew it wasn't about the best way to see Bangkok on a budget. But it still seemed she was going to have to pry out anything wanted to know. Life. Living. Hmm. "People. It's about the people of the countries?"

He gave a single brief nod, obviously unwilling to reveal much of anything at all. She didn't blame him, what with the way she'd made no bones about not letting him in on the details of her own life. So, what about life and living would he want to say with his photos?

The Carson of years ago would've been easier to pin. He'd've been impressed by the genius of Italian masters. Captured by the voluptuous sensuality of women. But this Carson, sitting beside her today would find beauty in simplicity, art in innocence, dignity in austerity.

He'd know the value of a winning out snagged by an all-American shortstop. Or the symmetry in a lily christened after a woman with no family to share her name.

Eva tapped her finger in one of the squares. She'd start in the uppermost left-hand square. "Tell me what you saw in Ireland."

When Katie'd told her mom she wasn't feeling well enough to go to Six Flags with their friends and had begged Zack to stay with her at the hotel, he'd known something screwy was up.

Especially since it had been Katie's idea to talk Bonnie and Ben and Holly and Aaron into coming to San Antonio earlier than planned so they could all hang out at the amusement park.

Mrs. Crenshaw was one of the chaperones, and Zack doubted she was supposed to go off and leave any of the kids without supervision. But since it was her own daughter staying behind, and since Linda Crenshaw trusted Zack, he'd kept his mouth shut, and she'd gone on ahead.

Katie'd told her mom they were going to order in a pizza and watch Star Wars. Zack had decided then that parents were much too trusting—even if it was true that he was a Star Wars freak and that Mrs. Crenshaw knew that.

And when, five minutes after the two vans full of kids pulled out of the motel parking lot and Katie had jumped up and headed for the bathroom, Zack figured she really was sick. Figured as well it was rather lame to order a pizza if she was just going to yak it up after she ate.

But he'd realized what she was up to a few minutes later when she came out of the bathroom wearing a bathing suit. It was a two-piece, but not really a bikini, because the waistband was pretty high and because the legs were cut ... He'd swallowed hard, then, almost swallowed his tongue because the legs were cut all the way up to the waistband on the sides.

But now that he'd made it into the pool and Katie was staying under water, things had pretty much cooled down. And spending the time in the pool with Katie sure was a lot of fun. More fun than he'd've had standing in crowded roller-coaster lines.

Water splashed into his face caught him unawares. He sputtered, shook back his hair, and grinned at Katie treading water in front of him where he'd hooked an arm around the railing of the ladder hanging in the water at the pool's deep end. "What was that for?"

She slapped the surface of the water again. "I didn't fake out my mom to stay here and swim laps, you know."

"I didn't think you were sick. And I can't believe your mom bought it. Especially when you said you were gonna order a pizza." He rolled his eyes.

"Yeah. I almost blew it there." Katie dunked her head to smooth back her hair. "But I never said I was sick to my stomach. Only that I didn't feel good."

"You liar," he said, and couldn't help but smile.

"It wasn't really a lie." She brushed closer as she swam, and Zack knew exactly why she'd lied. "I didn't feel like going."

"That's not quite the same as being sick."

"All right, then. How's this?" She moved in closer, balanced the balls of both feet on the ladder's bottom rung and held fast to the opposite railing. "I'm sick of never getting a chance to be alone with you."

That was what he'd been afraid of. That was what he'd been thrilled by. "What are you talking about? We're alone a lot."

She threatened to splash him again. "I mean alone alone. Without my mom or dad being in the next room. Or without Aaron and Ben in the backseat of the car. I wanted to be here." Her feet still on the ladder, she swished to one side, swished to the other. "With you. Alone."

And then she kissed him.

A quick but thorough mouth-on-mouth kiss, and then she swam away. He had to follow. She'd started it, and he wasn't going to let her get away so easy. In fact, he thought, and grinned to himself, he was going to enjoy making her pay.

He knew he was faster and stronger, but Katie sure didn't make much of an effort. But then that was pretty much the point. He was supposed to catch her. And once he caught her ... well, then. "Gotcha!"

She giggled and screeched. But they were the only two in the pool and the noises didn't reach much beyond his ears anyway. They tussled and splashed and dunked each other, then wrestled away.

She reached for him and he took off, stroking his way back to the deep end of the pool. She followed but she was out of breath, and by the time she reached him he'd had several minutes to do nothing but watch her body move through the water.

Holding onto the edge of the pool with one hand she dunked her head back to smooth her hair, laughed, and wiped the water from her face with the other hand. And then Zack grabbed her, pulled her close to his body, and wrapped his legs around hers beneath her hips to capture her legs.

"Zack!" She laughed with an edge of hysteria. "What're you doing?"

"What you've been wanting me to do all night," he said, gripping the edge of the pool with one arm, wrapping the other around her. He splayed his hand on her back, and slipped it up her wet skin beneath the band of her top.

Her hands were small and gentle and cold, but they warmed up quickly, flat against his chest like they were. He pulled her forward, wanting a kiss, wanting to feel her body.

They'd swum together before, but not like this. Not in the dark. Not alone in deep water. Not when what they were doing now wasn’t teasing or playing but as close to doing it as they'd ever come.

Her hands slid down his sides to his waist, and he arched away from the side of the pool, wanting to feel her hands at the base of his spine, wanting her to pull him forward.

She did. And he knew she felt his hard-on by the way her mouth trembled, by the way her breathing quickened, by the way she pressed against him so hard that her nipples felt like pebbles.

He wanted to touch her. He wanted—

"Katie! Zack!"

Katie spun away from Zack like an Olympic swimmer. She surfaced at the side of the pool near her mother's feet. "Mom! What're you doing here?"

Linda Crenshaw crossed her arms over her chest and glared down at her daughter. "Making sure the pizza you ordered didn't disagree with you."

"Pizza never disagrees with me. I'm fine." Katie laughed and flipped back her wet hair.

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far. I don't think you're as fine as you seem to think you are," Mrs. Crenshaw said, and Zack knew he was sunk. "I called the room and got worried when you didn't answer."

Zack had pushed out of the pool now, and sat quietly on the edge, his feet dangling in the water, his chin dangling to his chest. He was in deep shit. Katie's mom, no, Katie's dad was gonna kill him. His coach was gonna kill him. His mom was gonna kill him worse.

"I thought I'd feel better if I got some fresh air." Katie's voice trembled.

Mrs. Crenshaw had moved her hands to her hips and the glare she'd trained on Katie shifted in Zack's direction. "And Zack. I can't believe you're a party to this. No. Wait. I can. I can believe just about anything right now."

He hooked one heel on the edge of the pool and levered his way to stand. Water ran off his arms and legs and pooled around his feet. He felt like a whipped dog. A wet, pathetic, whipped dog.

"Katie. Go inside and get dressed." Mrs. Crenshaw pointed toward the hotel. "Zack, you, too. When Mrs. Gates gets back, I'll take you two home."

"Mom!" Katie hopped out of the pool. "We can't go home. Tomorrow's the competition."

"And according to the district's conduct policy, you just forfeited your right to compete."

"We weren't doing anything! Mom, please!"

Zack walked around the diving board to where Katie stood with her mother. He kept his distance when he said, "We really weren't doing anything, Mrs. Crenshaw."

"Thank you, Zack. But I saw exactly what you weren't doing. And I doubt Coach Walters would be as generous as I'm being."

"Oh, Mom. No!" Katie had both fists pressed to her chest. Her eyes were wide and teary. "You can't do that to Zack. Playoffs start next week."

Mrs. Crenshaw lifted her chin. "It doesn't seem you were too concerned with playoffs or tomorrow's competition a few minutes ago."

"Mom!" Katie stomped a foot. "You are being so unfair."

"Unfair? You think I'm being unfair? Well, let me tell you what I think, Katherine Crenshaw." Katie's mom stepped closer, got right into Katie's face. "I think you're being unfair. To your squad members, who're counting on you. To Zack, who has playoffs at stake. To me and to your father, who believed better of you. And to yourself. Because your lack of honesty and your selfishness has just jeopardized almost every relationship you have."

"But Mom ..." Katie gulped down a huge sob.

Zack hung his head. "I knew better, too, Mrs. Crenshaw. I'm as much at fault as Katie is."

"Don't think I don't know that. And don't think this is just a violation of school conduct policy. This is a violation of the trust Jim and I have put in you."

Uh-oh. He'd really done it now. Screwed up worse than he'd already figured.

"Both of you get dressed. I've changed my mind. We're going back to the amusement park. You see, it's unfair of me to leave Mrs. Gates there alone to keep up with the rest of your classmates." Katie's mom stepped back and waited for Katie and Zack to get moving. "I'll decide later about going home."

"Please. Mom. I'll do anything. Don't make me drop out. Please! We've been practicing this routine so long. It's not fa ..." Katie looked down at her feet. "It's not right that I've screwed things up for the others."

"It's a little late, Katie. Now go get dressed."

Her spirits dragging the ground behind her, Katie headed toward the room. Zack followed, wondering what his own mom was going to say. One thing was for sure.

He was toast.

Chapter Eleven

Carson was fascinating to listen to.

Part of it, of course, was his voice. The deep timbre rolled over her with the warmth of a salty Gulf wave. The more passion he felt for his subject, the lower the intensity and the pitch.

He talked slowly when deep in thought, measuring the import of every word. When he was wound up, however, his excitement spilled out in a flurry of adjectives and exclamations.

He was talking about the countries he'd seen. The countries penciled into the grid he'd drawn on the pad while making himself at home at her breakfast nook table.

He could've been talking about the rusty water pipes beneath her kitchen sink and her attention would've been equally rapt. Yes, she was listening.

But her attention was less captivated by the subject than by the man. By the way he gestured with his big broad hands. And the way he formed words with the mouth that had kissed her senseless.

Senseless to be the word of the day, because it took several moments for her to realize he'd stopped speaking in English. She frowned and focused. Opened her mouth.

He cut off her thoughts before they reached her tongue. "You're not listening to a damn word I'm saying."

"I am listening." She pretended to pout, but it was hard because his eyes shone with mirth. "It's just that I don't happen to speak whatever it was you were speaking."

"Pig Latin." His shining eyes narrowed. "And you'd've noticed if you were paying any attention."

"Okay, okay." Why was she trying to fight the obvious? "So shoot me if I'm more interested in how you say what you say than what you're actually saying."

He crossed his arms and sat back in his chair. His lips curved upward and she watched his ego soar. "So you like my voice."

With her chin propped in her palm, her elbow propped on the table, she nodded dreamily. "I like your mouth."

"I see," he said, and his grin gave a new dimension to the devastation he'd wreaked on her heart.

She nodded again. "I like the way you talk to me. I like the way you kiss me."

"And the way I—"

The ring of the phone cut him off.

"Hold that nasty thought," he said, and jumped up to grab the handset off the kitchen counter.

Eva didn't even think to object. At this time the night it was more than likely a telemarketer. If it was from the shop or from Zack, Carson would let her know ... otherwise, he could handle it. She was tired from the day at work behind her, tired from the night of work ahead.

And more than a little bit drowsy and dazed from Carson's mouth.

It wasn't until several moments later when she heard Carson's tone of voice drop, heard him say, "Let me talk to him," that she even bothered to lift her head from her arms crossed on the table and look his direction.

"Hey, dude. What happened?" he asked, and Eva rocketed out of her chair.

He paused. "Yeah?" He paused. "Hey, your mom's right here."

Finally. She'd been flagging him down like an Indy starter to hand her the phone.

"Okay. Okay." Still, he held the handset. "You are? Yeah, I got it," he said, ignoring Eva's insistence that he let her talk to her son.

In seconds he was going to find her work boot grinding down on the top of his broken foot. But in the same seconds, Carson said, "All right. We'll see you tomorrow. Bye." And then he hung up the phone.

She couldn't believe he'd hung up the phone! "That was Zack, right?" she demanded, knowing full well that it was. "Why didn't you let me talk to him?"

Obviously thinking she had no mind of her own, Carson took hold of her upper arm and tried to herd her back to the table. She jerked out of his reach. "What is going on? You don't have any right to keep me from my son."

Carson ran one hand down his face. "Zack's fine. He was in a hurry. He didn't want to get caught breaking curfew. He said he'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Talk to me about what tomorrow?" And then the rest of what Carson said registered. "And what do you mean curfew? I've never chaperoned a trip where kids worried about curfew. Zack included."

"He's plenty worried now."

"Since when?"

Carson's brows went up. "Since he and Katie skipped the trip to Six Flags and got caught making out in the swimming pool."

"What? What?" She couldn't think of anything else to say because her mind was filled with the picture Carson had just painted ... and with the appropriate torture she planned to inflict on her son. "I thought the whole purpose of going early was to go to Six Flags."

"Seems Katie had other ideas."

"Katie! That sneaky—"

Carson clamped a hand over her mouth before she said something she didn't really mean. "She wasn't feeling well. Or so she told her mother."

"Let me guess. She convinced Zack to stay behind knowing full well the trouble they could get into And with Zack's playoffs coming up." Eva closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her temples. "He could she do this? Why would she do this? And Zack. How … why … what was he thinking doing something so stupid?"

"I doubt he was doing much thinking at all. Nothing about young love makes much sense."

She didn't want to hear that. She really didn't want to hear that. "What did Katie's mother say?"

"Just that she hasn't decided yet what to do since she was responsible for letting the kids stay alone. She thought it best if the two of you talk when they get back tomorrow."

"I suppose she blames Zack for this."

"Not any more than she's blaming Katie. Or herself."

Damn her dead cell phone. "You shouldn't have let him go early. This wouldn't have happened if he'd gone later tonight as originally planned."

"Uh-uh. Wait a minute." He cut her off with a hand slammed on the countertop. "Don't be blaming this on me, Eva. This ball's in Zack's court. And there's nothing more we"—he paused, ground his jaw, amended his pronoun—"nothing more you can do about it. I'm sorry it happened. But it's over now."

"No, it's not. It's not over now." This was serious enough to mar Zack's record. "He should've called me before he left. I'd've reminded him to stay out of trouble."

"And you think that would've made a difference? You don't remember much about being seventeen, do you?"

Oh, she remembered. She remembered. The memories made it easy to be mad at Zack. She didn't have trouble at all being mad at Carson. And that was trouble in itself. Because she knew she'd have let Zack go early to San Antonio, just like Carson said.

Her son had a lot to answer for.

She took a deep breath, more disappointed in her son than she'd been at any time in his life. Thoughts of placing blame battled with the logic that said Carson was right. Zack was going to have to deal with this on his own. This was a weight Eva wasn't going to be able to shoulder for him, the way she'd shouldered problems in the past, wanting to spare him hurt.

He'd lost so much, more than any child should lose so early in life. And, admittedly, she'd overcompensated, expending her emotional energy in the only outlet she had. Yes. Carson was right. Win or lose, this was Zack's ball to field.

Carson was also waiting. "Well?"

She released a heavy sigh. "Well, there's nothing I can do about it tonight."

She doubted there was much she could do with the books either considering her state of mind. Oh, wouldn't it be nice to have a big broad shoulder to lean on?

So what's stopping you?

One thing was certain. At this very moment, she wasn't anywhere close to thriving. In fact, at this very moment, wilted better described her state of mind and heart.

"It's late. I'm tired. And I must be getting old because it's Friday night and all I can think about is going to bed." Really, really needing that shoulder, she took a deep breath and a big leap of faith. "Would you stay?"

Carson's only answer was to hook an elbow around her neck and take her to bed.

Eva was standing behind the checkout counter in Blooms the next evening when Carson walked through the front door. He sensed her immediate relief, her immediate withdrawal, followed by a quickening of his own heart. One of these days she was going to have to do a real consolidation of her feelings.

When he'd driven up and parked the Jeep next to her minivan, he'd seen Zack working in the back of the gardens. He probably hadn't been home from San Antonio for more than an hour, but had already started in on his penance.

Carson hadn't known Zack long at all, but wasn't a bit surprised by the teen's actions. This was the boy Eva had raised, the boy whom she'd feared losing. Carson could guarantee from experience that was one thing that wouldn't happen.

He hadn't seen much of Eva today. He'd come awake in her bed this morning. She'd slept restlessly through the night, then agitated, she'd woken. He'd whispered a soft "Good morning." And she'd mumbled something about the hell of a day she had ahead.

While she'd showered, he'd made the pot of coffee for the kick she so depended on each morning. Leaving her all but one small cup, he'd scrounged for a pencil and notepad to let her know he'd see her later in the day, and left the note propped against the carafe.

Now he saw her. And now she saw him.

He knew it was close to closing time. And ... to hell with it. He locked the door behind him and flipped the sign to closed. Zack was helping a young couple out back, but there weren't any customers in the store to be seen.

Carson limped up to the counter. "You need any help finishing up?"

Eva shook her head. "I'm just waiting for Zack to make his sale. Then we're going home."

Hmm. Was her we all-encompassing? Or limited to her and her son? "Why don't I take you guys out for dinner?"

"I don't know." She shrugged. "Zack and I still have a lot to sort out."

"You've talked to him?"

"Briefly. He apologized. He apparently ended up spending the night in the same room with Katie's father. Just the two of them."

Carson worked to hide his grin. "Not a bad start to his punishment."

Eva rolled her eyes on a long exhaled breath. "I seemed to have some impact. He's been fairly subdued."

"Any fallout yet?"

"No. Linda, Katie's mom, feels more than a little responsible. She shouldn't have left them alone and admits it."

That was true enough. "How'd the cheerleading competition go?"

"Apparently not well. Katie was rather ... distracted."

"Self-inflicted punishment. Oftentimes the most effective."

Eva pulled a rather pained expression. "Zack won't be seeing Katie for a while. Or at least that to be the outcome of his night spent with Jim Crenshaw."

Carson shook his head. "He had to be glad to wake up from that nightmare."

"He did tell me one thing," she said with seeming reluctance. And though she'd been looking at him, she averted her gaze.

Interesting reaction. Carson was all ears. "And that was?"

"That all he could think about afterward was the talk he'd had with you. And the fact that he wasn't"—she grimaced—"prepared."

Carson avoided patting himself on the back. "I told you he's got a good head on his shoulders."

"Thank you." Eva dipped her head in grateful acknowledgement. "Not just for the compliment. But for caring."

At last she was getting it. "You're welcome. But it really is my pleasure."

"So." She hesitated. Stalled. Finally found the pencil she'd been searching for when he'd walked up to Blooms' counter.

"What?" he prompted when she didn't pick up her train of thought.

"Have you decided anything about when you're going back?" She lifted a receipt book, a catalog. Avoided making eye contact. "To New York?"

He fought to keep from smiling. He'd wondered when she'd ask how long he planned to stay in town. "Is there a reason I'd be going back to New York?"

"Your work." She found the pencil, but lost the legitimate distraction. "Don't you have to report in or something?"

He shook his head and leaned an unconcerned elbow on the counter. "I told you. I'm on vacation. And when I get ready to go back to work, all I do is make a phone call. Bailey sends me out."

"What about your apartment?" She frowned.

"What apartment?"

"Your home. Where you live." She frowned deeper.

Carson shrugged. This was one thing they hadn't talked about. The fact that he didn't have any place he called home. "I live wherever I happen to be."

She paused for a moment, smiled to herself, then said, "So you could write a travelogue."

"Yeah. If I wanted to." He was curious about her private thoughts. "I've stayed in the finest and the worst places every country has to offer."

"The best way to do Bangkok on a budget."

"You've lost me."

She shook her head, indicating he really hadn't lost anything at all. "That's okay. I was talking out loud but thinking to myself. Don't you get tired of living like that?"

He shrugged and leaned a second elbow counter. "I'd never really thought much about it till I got here. But now, yeah. I'm getting tired."

"Maybe you're just getting old," she said, and poked the eraser end of the pencil into his shoulder.

He grabbed the pencil. "Maybe you're not old enough to play with pointed objects. Anyway. I'll figure it out soon. I'm staying through next weekend for sure."

"Why's that?" she asked, and stole the pencil from his fingers.

Uh-oh. "I guess Zack hasn't told you."

The pencil stilled, then fell from her fingers to the floor. "Now what hasn't he told me?"

"He made a decision about taking the prom portraits."

"He did?"

Oh, man. This was going to be good. "He's not going to do them."

"Good. Good for him. Maybe he does have that head on his shoulders after all." She stacked the receipt book and the seed catalogs. "Of course, now he probably wishes he'd decided to take them. I doubt he'll be doing much dancing with Katie. Or not without being scrutinized by my eagle eyes, and that of her parents."

"I'll be there, too."

"You?" She frowned. "Why?"

"I'm doing the portraits."

Eva had never had a real prom night. She was as giddy and excited as the members of Lake City High's junior class. The dress she'd decided to wear she'd thought too sophisticated for high school. But then she'd seen Katie's and Courtney's formals and had to change her mind.

In comparison to the ankle-length, sequined, backless, sideless, and in Courtney's case, very near frontless gowns the teenagers had chosen, Eva felt completely overdressed.

Giving into Judith's urging on the recent and fateful trip to New York, Eva had splurged on the sale of the designer label. The dress was simple, a gorgeous, straight and slimming cherry-red silk that skimmed her knees.

The neckline was a standard collarless minimal scoop, and it had no sleeves to speak of. She'd found a pair of red heels in a shade so close to perfect she couldn't pass them up, and had finished off the look with sheer red stockings.

The bright red set off her dark hair, hair over which she'd primped and fussed like she hadn't primped and fussed since her modeling days. She had to say the result was sexy and hot, with a crown of spiky tips and ends slicked to her nape.

For the first time in their history, Carson was picking her up. Like a real date. Standing in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, Eva laughed. Arms spread wide, head back, she spun in a circle and laughed. She looked good. She looked hot. And she was going to the prom.

A knock on her bedroom door had her stumbling for balance and nearly spraining an ankle in the process. She was way too used to work boots. "Come in."

"Uh, hi." Zack glanced around the room. "I was looking for my mom."

She smacked his shoulder, then straightened the lapels on his tux. "You are a funny boy."

"And you ..." He stood back, taking her in with a wolf whistle and a disbelieving shake of his head. "You are all that. You're the one who's going to need a chaperone tonight. No. You're going to need a bodyguard."

"Why, thank you very much, kind sir." She started to curtsy, then decided she'd better master standing in one place first. "And you look totally ... I don't even know the word. Hot just doesn't seem like a thing a mother should be saying to her son."

"I don't think a son should be saying it or even thinking it about his mother, but man." Zack shook his head again. "You look like nothing I've ever seen. You look like the model in those pictures Dad had hanging in the hallway. But you look even better because I know you're the mom who made me cinnamon toast for breakfast when I was a kid."

She needed to make him cinnamon toast again. Soon. "That was so long ago, wasn't it? It's hard to believe it's been ten years since we left Kansas."

"I hated it here at first, you know," he said, tossing back lanky strands of hair. "I kept waiting for the Wizard to come with his hot-air balloon and take me back with Dorothy and Toto."

Eva's smile was tender. "Oh, Zack."

He shrugged off her concern. "But things have worked out. And now I have a mom who doesn't burn my butt when I screw up the way I did last week. I'm really sorry for all of that."

"You were really fortunate, you know." They'd been through and rehashed the San Antonio episode more than once already. "Mrs. Crenshaw would've been well within her rights to go to your principal. Or to Coach Walters."

"I know. She called this my second and last chance. If I mess up after this, I won't be seeing Katie again ever."

Eva gave her son a hug. "This won't be the only mistake you make in your life. Just make sure you learn from it. Now," she said, and stepped back. "Are you ready to go?"

Zack was taking the minivan to Katie's. From there they'd head to the prom in her car. "Yeah." He shuffled from foot to foot. "But I have something to give you first."

Eva grinned. "It must be good if it's making you that nervous."

Zack rolled his eyes. Then he thrust out the hand in which he held a florist's box.

"What's that?"

"It's for you. I figured Carson would buy you flowers, but I asked him if I could."

"Oh, Zack." Eva's eyes misted. "I might just have to keep you." The wrist corsage of red-tipped white carnations and rosebuds in both colors was perfect. A simple gift from son to mother.

He shuffled again. "I knew your dress was red. I just hope it matches okay."

"It matches perfectly. Here. Help me tie it on." She slipped her wrist through the elastic band and Zack's big broad hands fumbled with the ribbons, managing a clunky bow. Eva wouldn't have retied it for the world.

He stepped back and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "I guess I better be going."

"All right. I'll see you later."

"Oh, yeah. You'll see me." He rolled his eyes. "Every chaperone will see me."

"Try to have a good time."

"I'll have the best time I can considering my mother's going to be there."

"Ha Ha. Ha," she said, waving him away.

He left her in her room, where she made one more critical check of her dress, the evenness of the hem in the back, the flatness of her tummy in the front. She pulled and fluffed at the spikes of her hair, wiped a smudge of shadow from beneath her lower lashes, ran her tongue over her teeth and blotted her lips. The package was as good as it was going to get.

Hmm. Except for an aggravating wisp of hair. She really did need to find a pair of scissors and even up the section of bangs. But she'd have to do with a spritz of hair spray at the roots for now.

She turned toward the bathroom and stopped, heart rising into her throat when she saw Carson leaning negligently against her door frame.

She hadn’t been sure what he would wear. He was the photographer for the evening, after all. But he'd gone all out. The tux was black, the shirt crisp and white. The elegant simplicity wasn't as easy to pull off as it might've seemed.

Most men didn't have that elusive sense of presence that hovered around Carson. He looked like the spin of the earth waited for his command, like the sands shifted with a snap of his fingers, like the moon pulled at the tides when he gave the word.

She'd made love with this man. She loved this man. And this man loved her. Which was why before the end of this magical night she would tell him the truth of their history. Her feelings. The events. Everything she'd left out up to this point. Everything she wanted him to know.

"Are you just going to stand there and undress me with your eyes? Or are you going to fix that piece of hair that's bothering you?"

Arrogant man. She stuck out her tongue. "How did you know it was bothering me?"

"Because I know you. You were contemplating scissors, but didn't want the clipped hair to ruin your dress."

She narrowed her eyes in his direction. "You're uncanny, you know that?"

"No. You're just practical. Even when you modeled you hated messing with your hair."

She couldn't believe he remembered. How many times had he taken the scissors out of her hands? "I was only going to make a little snip. But, in deference to the dress, I've opted for hair spray instead."

He pushed off the door and walked into her bedroom and in a circle around her, studying her from all angles. The look in his eyes once he finished the tour made her glad she'd gone to so much trouble. That look, that appreciative devouring gleam was worth anything.

"Is the dress new?"

She nodded. "I bought it in New York."

"Nobody else has seen you wearing it?"

She shook her head slowly. What was he up to? "Only Zack."

"Good. Because every time you wear this dress," he said, dipping a finger into the hollow of her throat just above her neckline, "you're going to think about me."

"I am?" Her breathing quickened, her knees trembled.

He gave one lazy nod. "You're going to think about this."

She'd expected his finger to move lower. Instead, it rose. Slowly, slowly, upward, his touch following the line of her neck, stopping at the point of her chin which he lifted, demanding she look into his eyes.

"You're going to think about how much I want you. How much I want to see you standing there in nothing but your heels and your stockings." His nostrils flared, his eves flashed. "How much I want to lay you down and move into your body and lie still until we can't lie still anymore. When you wear this dress, I want you to think about me."

Eva couldn't think about anything else. Inside the dress, her body had melted. She'd have to be peeled out of the silk.

"Now. Let's go take some pictures and dance."

Chapter Twelve

Carson couldn't take his eyes off Eva. He'd finished with the portraits an hour ago and once he'd packed away his gear, had stayed as a volunteer chaperone. He shouldn't have bothered. He had no idea what the kids were getting away with right under his nose because Eva had his full attention.

She, on the other hand, was checking up on her young charges, deftly separating those who stood too close to one another, rounding up those who stood too far away from the crowd. But it was the way she accomplished both tasks that had Carson's face aching from the grin that wouldn't quit.

Like a nymph, a sprite nipping in and out of a field of flowers, she flitted and flirted her way through Lake City High's darkened cafeteria decorated in silver and blue. The kids either laughed or dropped their jaws in awe. This age group was too young to have known who Eva had been during her two years in the industry. But word was circling like a wagon train.

Eva was in her element. As much as she hated any reminders of her days in New York, she had survived and gone on to build this life here with her son. She had survived worse times as well: the loss of her mother, the loss of the man to whom she'd been married—the man who'd been the father of her child.

Eva had told Carson she didn't know if they stood a chance of making this thing work the second time around. She was wrong. Having been with her here the last month, he knew without a doubt she was wrong. They might not have been able to make a go of the relationship they'd had in their younger years. But now they had what it took.

Standing just inside the cafeteria door watching her, he was suddenly stuck with an overwhelming sense of all that he was feeling. The emotional and the physical had long since ceased to be two separate entities.

What he felt for Eva was love, complete with all the emotion's complexities and simplicities. He couldn't concentrate on any one aspect without the rest coming away attached. And the power of what he was feeling was something he needed to share with her. Now.

He moved into the room, hugging the perimeter as he began his advance and seduction. After a moment of reconnaissance, he found where she had landed. The poppy-red butterfly had found her offspring and was gettin' down with an energy that rivaled Zack's and Katie's. He recognized several of the teens' friends. Holly and Aaron. Bonnie and Ben.

Hands stuffed in his pockets, Carson ventured forth into unfamiliar territory. He acknowledged Katie's wave, the lift of Zack's chin, but had no real attention for anyone but Eva.

He wanted to lick away the bead of sweat rolling from her temple to her neck. He wanted to make quick work of her dress, even if it was with the scissors she'd been contemplating earlier. None of those were possible with an audience, or even practical from any point of view.

He had to get her out of here. He took hold of her upper arm. She glanced his way and asked him a question with her eyes. He inclined his head with a silent, "Let's go."

She smiled and answered, "Were you looking for me?"

Had there been a time in his life when he hadn't been looking for her? Hadn't half his travels around the globe been in search of what he'd found here in Lake City, Texas?

"I can't decide who's having more fun. The kids or the chaperone who thinks she's a kid," he said, as she walked beside him off the dance floor.

"I never had a prom," she reminded him. "I finished high school with a tutor's help and graduated by correspondence. I missed Homecoming and Valentine's and Sadie Hawkin's. So don't give me a hard time."

The hard time he had in mind for her had nothing to do with the prom. He glanced back over his shoulder, a furtive check to see if they were being watched. And then he propelled Eva out of the school cafeteria.

The hallway was empty and quieter, though not silent. Eva's heels clicked against the tiled floor. The bass from the band playing in the cafeteria boomed and rattled the walls. He heard as well the beat of his heart in his ears. And the cadence of his labored breathing.

Finally they reached the door to the gymnasium. He put a hand flat on the sign that said, "No Admittance—Photographic Equipment in Use," and pushed. The cavernous room, dimly lit and darkly shadowed, echoed the sound of Eva's laughter.

"What are we doing in here, besides breaking more than a few rules?"

"We're adults. The rules are for the kids."

"We're chaperones."

'Most of the kids are gone. The chaperone ratio won't be undermined if you slip out for a quickie."

A quickie?" she asked, and her eyes flashed. Even in the dimly lit room, her eyes flashed.

He placed his hands on her shoulders. His palms skimmed both red silk and flesh. "I've wanted to get my hands on this dress since I walked into your bedroom."

"You have?"

He nodded, skated his fingers down the line of her spine and dragged his palms to her sides. He measured both the strength and the muscles of her back, and the decidedly female indentation of her waist. "I've wanted to get you out of this dress since I walked into your bedroom."

"I don't think this is the time or place."

Her voice quivered, and he knew she was only giving lip service. His hands had reached her stomach now. He opened his fingers wide and pressed upward, cupped the fullness of her breasts. "I'm going to get beneath this dress and I'm not going to wait until we get back to your bedroom."

"Here? Now?"

Her unbound nipples pebbled in the center of his palms, and she pulled in a thready breath when he tugged. "Now? Yes. Here?" He glanced around. "Not exactly."

He took her hand and drew her forward, past the doorway to the weight room, the dressing room, and then around the corner and down the narrow aisle that separated the gymnasium bleachers from the wall.

And there in the darkest corner, he blocked her body with the bulk of his, reached behind her, and tugged up the hem of her dress to expose her bare bottom and her garters.

"Carson. I don't think we should be here."

He didn't care what she thought. He grabbed her bottom and squeezed. "Unzip my pants."

She did, lowering his zipper and lifting him free from the confines of his shorts. She had him in her hands and his pulse pounded into her fingers. She licked her lips, and it was all he could do not to ask her to drop to her knees.

"You're wet already," he said, and his nostrils flared. "I can smell you."

"Then what are you waiting for?" she asked, and he didn't wait any longer.

He cupped the backs of her thighs and lifted her upward, positioning himself to drive home. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck. He held her still, but she squirmed, seeking to draw him in deeper.

He warned her to be still with a gentle, "Shh." But she couldn't be stopped. With her heels digging into his backside, she rode up and down against him. He had a hand on her back to brace her, a hand on the wall to brace himself.

He felt the hardness of her desire with the desire of his hardness. He couldn't wait any longer, not with her words urging him to completion. Not with her body pulsing around his. And when he came, he knew with utmost certainty that he held the rest of his life in his hands.

It was near dawn and Carson sat on the floor of Lake City High's cafeteria amidst blue and silver glitter, confetti, and crepe-paper streamers. He'd spread the jacket of his tux on the floor beneath Eva, who was asleep with her head in his lap. Zack's jacket served as a makeshift blanket. Carson couldn't have been more content.

He'd had a lot of unanswered questions when he'd come here so many days ago. He knew now why she'd left him, and had no one to blame but his own youthful self. He and Eva would be leaving this school an hour from now. Once they stepped out into the morning sun, they'd be stepping into the future together.

If the past month of living and working with Eva and Zack hadn't proved that to the three of them ... well, he couldn't think of a more convincing argument that he had changed, that he and Eva belonged together, than the fact that he was sitting here on the floor of a high school cafeteria after a night spent chaperoning a junior class of wild and crazy teens.

Carson Brandt and teenagers. Wouldn't Bailey bust a gut laughing over this one? Carson Brandt who, for seventeen years and until he'd broken his ankle, had not taken any job where he had to work with anyone, interact with anyone, be responsible for anyone but himself. He chuckled lightly. Judith Montclair would think he'd gone off the deep end.

He knew Eva couldn't be blind to the differences, the changes, in the man he was today. He loved her, knew that she loved him. It was time to go home and finalize this relationship once and for all. He was ready to settle down.

Zack walked up then, caught Carson in his musings, and lifted a hand in greeting so as not to disturb Eva's sleep. He hunkered down and wrapped his arms around his bent knees. "How's it going?"

Carson had never smoked in his life, but had the strange urge for an after epiphany cigarette. "Doing great. Your mom went down for the count about thirty minutes ago."

Zack grinned. "All that dancing got to her, I guess."

"Got to quite a few, I'd say."

Zack's gaze followed the direction of Carson's around the room, where teens sprawled exhausted and spent. "Yep. And everybody's safe. Nobody's out being stupid."

"We all have our stupid moments. But I have a feeling you haven't had too many in your life."

"Guess I've just never been the rebel type. I grew up watching my mom bust her butt to provide for the both of us. And I knew that giving her a hard time wasn't going to win me any points. She's always been pretty no nonsense about stuff like that."

Carson glanced down at Eva. He wanted to brush back the feathered hair that had shifted in her sleep to settle over the shell of her ear. But he didn't want to wake her. "Your mom had to grow up pretty fast, too. The modeling she did was more to help out her mother than anything she did for herself."

Zack looked down at his mom. "I guess she's been working all of her life, hasn't she?"

Carson nodded. She had. And she deserved a break. He planned to see that she got one.

"I remember when my dad died." Zack drew in a deep breath, pushed it out slowly. "I was so scared. I was only five and didn't really understand about death and all that. But I knew that dying meant a person didn't come back. My mom had died a couple of years before and I'd never seen her again. "I knew she'd be happy to have my dad with her. But I was so scared I was going to be left alone. Thing was, I wasn't. Mom was always there."

Zack's expression grew tender as he watched Eva sleep. "That's probably even the last time I thought about Mom not being my real mom, ya know? It's just like she's always been there. And been the only mom I've ever known."

Carson had stopped breathing about five sentences back in Zack's speech. He swallowed hard to find his voice. "What do you mean, your real mom?"

Zack lifted his head, his gaze moving up to meet Carson's. "I was about three when my real mom died. It was cancer, but I didn't know that at the time. I guess Mom married my dad about a year later. It must've been my granddad she went to work for when she came back from New York. I didn't know anything about that either, but it sorta makes sense now."

There was nothing that made sense now. Absolutely nothing.

You're so incredibly beautiful, he'd said. I wish I'd seen you pregnant. It's so hard to believe of this body. Well, I have been pregnant, Carson, she'd answered.

"Yeah." Carson nodded. "That does make sense. I guess your dad and your mom never had any other kids, huh?"

"Nope. Just me." Zack's grin widened with memories. "I remember bugging them to give me a little brother. I wanted someone at home who I could practice beating up. So I'd already know how to fight when I got to school. Dad would wrestle with me and tease me that the Virgin Mary had been the only one to pull off an immaculate conception. Like I knew what that meant."

Carson inserted a smile. Hoped it was convincing.

Zack went on. "I found out later that he'd been, uh, snipped, ya know, before he'd even married Mom. I guess that was because of my real mom getting sick and all. So they wouldn't ever have to worry about her getting pregnant.

"Anyway," Zack said, running both hands down his tired face, "I'd better get back to Katie. I told her mom I'd have her home at seven. And I definitely want to be early."

"Got it. Good idea," Carson said, hoping his response made some sort of sense, because his brain was still stuck in the same gear. He watched Zack walk off. Zack, who was not Eva's son. Eva, who had never been able to become pregnant with Bobby Shelton's child.

I have been pregnant, Carson.

I have been pregnant, Carson.

I have been pregnant, Carson.

Eva couldn't have slept more than an hour on the cafeteria floor before the lights came on and the after prom party was over. Her mind craved another eight hours of shut-eye, her body demanded ten or twelve. What had she been thinking, dancing like she was sixteen?

Carson had to be exhausted as well. He'd been unusually quiet on the drive home. No doubt his fatigue accounted for the strained set of his jaw and the bloodshot whites of his eyes, as well as his continued silence.

She hadn't been asleep long enough for anything to have gone wrong between them, but she couldn't shake the worry that Carson's mood was due to more than exhaustion. He had to be hungry, for one thing. Food and then sleep. And then things would be better.

Later this afternoon, with her mind rested and her thought processes fresh, she'd tell him about the baby she'd lost. Their baby, with which she'd been pregnant when she left New York.

She'd tell him how she'd gone home to sort out her thoughts and her feelings. How she'd never expected to see him again and had seen no point in looking him up to tell him about their joint loss. She'd loved him. She'd wished him nothing but success in his life. And so she'd borne the burden alone.

To this day, she stood by her decision as being the right one. But now that their situation had changed, she owed him honesty, owed honesty to herself most of all. And if this truth was going to come between them, let it come between them now before either of them had invested more emotion, more of themselves in the other.

Carson had traded his rental Jeep for a Lincoln, and he pulled the luxury car into the driveway. She was tired and didn't think to wait for him to come around and open her door, so she got out under the last little fizzle of her own steam. She was halfway up the front walk before she heard his door slam.

The toes of her shoes hooked over the fingers of one hand, she dug in her purse for her keys with the other, and didn't bother to shut the front door behind her. Once inside the living room, she tossed both shoes and purse onto the sofa and leaned against the tufted back to wait for Carson.

He still wore his tux jacket, but his tie hung loose and his shirt was unbuttoned and rumpled. His hair needed a good combing, the circles under his eyes a good night's sleep, but she couldn't have loved him any more than she did in that moment.

She shoved fingers back through her own wilted hair and smiled, so full of the love she was feeling. He hadn't shut the door, but stood in the tiled entryway. She didn't think he was waiting for an invitation, but she offered one anyway. "You've got to be hungry. What sounds good?"

Hands stuffed in his pockets, he leaned a shoulder into the jamb of the still open door and shook his head.

"You want some juice? There should be some orange in the fridge. If not, I'll check the freezer."

Still he didn't say anything, still he stood unmoving.

Eva started to worry. "Are you ready for bed? You're welcome to use the shower first."

This time at least he answered. "No. Thanks."

She'd offered him food and shelter. She wasn't sure what else to say. "Do you want to go?" Or for some reason did he not want anything? She laced her fingers in a tight web together. "Carson. You're scaring me."

"Scaring you wasn't my intent."

Finally. "Then what is your intent?"

He shrugged. "I'm not sure anymore."

Something had happened. "What's wrong?"

"I just need a couple of answers."

Eva's heart fluttered in her throat. "Sure. Answers to what?"

"Nothing too difficult." His cynicism nipped the bud of Eva's joy. His eyes glittered. "You should be able to help me out since it's about your pregnancy and Zack's parentage."

Slowly, Eva's eyes closed. Oh, God. Oh, God. Okay. Okay. She would open her eyes and glance toward the door and realize this was all a bad dream. That she was in her bed. Or on the Lake City High cafeteria floor.

But when she looked again he was still there. The lines across his forehead were etched deep. And the shadows beneath his eyes appeared as dark as the blue black of his lapels.

She sank down to the floor, tucked her heels to her bottom, and buried her face in the hands she'd propped on her knees. "How did you find out?"

"How do you think I found out?"

"From Zack, obviously. But—"

"You want to know how the subject came up?"

She nodded. Her head still tucked to her knees, she nodded.

Carson snorted. "It was so classic. Hearing it from Zack when he was talking about you. How great you are. How you've always been there for him. How for years he hasn't even thought about the fact that you're not his real mother.

Oh, God. "I was going to tell you—"

"I'm sure you were. I'm sure as soon as I found out you were going to tell me."

She shook her head. "No. I'd already decided to tell you tonight. This morning. Whatever time it is. I wanted to wait until after we'd slept. I wanted to be able to get the words out without stumbling over my tongue."

He didn't respond, so Eva went on. "I never meant to leave you with the impression that I had given birth to Zack. But when we had the conversation about my pregnancy that day in the gardens, I never thought I'd see you again. I certainly didn't expect anything like what's happened."

"What has happened, Eva?"

"I think that we've fallen in love again." She raised her head, and met his eyes in time to see him flinch. In time to see him look away. And she held on to that one seed of knowledge. That one root of truth.

He loved her. And they could get through anything if he loved her.

When he looked back, he was again in control, his features taut, his jaw set, his lips a grim line. "So you moved back to Kansas after leaving New York and went to work for Zack's grandfather?"

She nodded. "The wholesale greenhouse. I told you about it? That's where I met Bobby. His wife died three years after I went to work there. Bobby and I married a year later. Zack was almost five. And then there was ... the fire."

Carson shook his head. "Poor kid."

Eva barely heard the muttered words. But they added to the tiny bloom of her hope. "I've been overprotective of Zack his whole life and I know that. But with everything he's gone through and everything he's lost ..." She shook her head. "I did what I thought I had to do."

"You thought you had to lie to me?"

"No. I never intentionally lied to you, Carson. But, yes, I should've corrected the misunderstanding long before now. It's just that I never knew if there would be a need for you to know I hadn't given birth to Zack. He is my son. And that's the only fact that mattered."

"Right. Your son. But not mine."

She nodded again. But this time she wasn't sure what to say.

Carson finally closed the front door. He stayed in the entryway and leaned back. "And what about my son, Eva?"

She didn't say anything. For a long minute she didn't say anything at all. She couldn't think about the baby she'd lost. Their baby. Not with Carson standing here, knowing. Finally knowing.

"What about my baby, Eva? Tell me. You were pregnant when you left New York."

She nodded.

"And Judith knew, didn't she? That's why she wouldn't tell me where you'd gone."

Eva nodded again. "Judith knew. And she knew how much I wanted our baby. So she let me out of my contract."

"I'm going to ask you one more time." Carson blew out a long breath. "What happened to my baby?"

Oh, God. Her stomach churned and she couldn't breathe, and she pressed the back of her hand over her mouth.

"So help me, Eva. If you—"

"I lost the baby," she shouted.

"What?"

"I lost the baby." Breathe in. Breathe out. "I had a miscarriage."

"When?"

"About three weeks after I got home. There was nothing I could've done, the doctor said. It wasn't my fault. It wasn't anyone's fault. There was just a problem with the baby." She pushed to her feet then, wanting to be on his level to say the things she'd planned to say.

"Carson, think about it." Breathe in. Breathe out. "The entire time we were together in New York, you talked about seeing the world." The countries his parents had seen without him. "You didn't want a family. I knew that. If I'd ever had a hint that you were ready to settle down, don't you think I would've stayed?"

She walked toward the entryway where he stood with both hands braced in fists against the wall shoulder-high. His head hung low between. "I couldn't tell you then. Back in New York. So I went home to sort out my feelings. I thought that maybe later ... that maybe we could try again. That you'd ready to make a home with me and your child.

"But we never had that chance," she said, and laid a hand in the center of his back.

He jerked out from beneath her touch, raising his hands to ward off any further approach. "You never gave us a chance," he said.

Arms crossed defensively over her chest, Eva stepped back. "Look, Carson—"

"No. You look, Eva. Did it ever once occur to you that that kind of responsibility, that chance at stability might've been exactly what I needed? That whatever wanderlust I had was a survival tactic? That it was easier to talk up the excitement of travel than to admit I had nothing to keep me in New York?"

No. No. She didn't want to hear this even though she'd known it all along. "You had me."

"Did I? When did I have you, Eva?"

"We lived together—"

"We played house. We never talked about our future. You couldn't wait to get back to Kansas. I couldn't wait to see the world. We never talked about doing either of those things together. As a couple."

"You knew I couldn't go with you," she pleaded. "That I had to go home and take care of my mother."

"Why didn't you ask for my help? Why didn't you ever once ask me if I wanted to leave New York with you instead of taking off on my own?"

"Because I was too young to know that leaving wasn't really what you wanted."

Humorless laughter rang out. "But that's where you're wrong. Leaving has always been what I've wanted."

His face shut down, his voice shut down. His body stood in the entryway, but he was no longer there in spirit. "You were right not to tell me. Just think of all I would've missed. The countries I might never have seen. The past seventeen years I might've spent with you making babies instead of making a name that means nothing."

He reached behind him for the knob and pulled open the door.

"Carson, wait." Eva reached out with one hand.

"What do I have to wait for, Eva?" he asked, and then he was gone.

In the middle of her living room, Eva stood alone. And in her red silk prom dress and red stocking feet, she cried.

Chapter Thirteen

Carson sat in the rubble-strewn alley, his shoulders pressed back against the factory's rough wall. What in the devil had possessed him to come to Belfast with his foot in a cast? He could've been stateside, covering the Preakness and the Belmont Stakes. He was getting too old and worn out for Northern Ireland.

Using the sharp end of a broken jar and the ragged edge of a pipe that resembled shrapnel, he sliced and sawed and chewed his way through the fiberglass, then busted more than one knuckle tearing the thing in half.

Once he'd freed his foot, he stretched the muscles, flexed the tendons, and leaned back, waiting for Sean Teer, the Irish journalist and Carson's escort through the city, to return. Sean had promised to rustle up a pair of boots. And now that the cast was fodder, Carson would be in deep trouble if his colleague didn't come through.

The story the press had been sent to cover had yet to break. Now he and three of his American colleagues were stuck here another night. Transportation back to London wouldn't arrive until tomorrow.

He really didn't need any more downtime. He'd already had hours to think. And all his thoughts had been of Eva. Eva and their baby, which she'd lost.

That morning after the prom, when they'd stood so distant in her living room and he'd seen the tears in her eyes, he'd known the emotion was real and not manufactured for his benefit.

As furious as he'd been at her sin of omission, his overwhelming emotional need at that moment had been to draw her into his arms and hold her close. To console her, to shoulder what he could of the weight of her loss. Her loss. Because he hadn't lived with the sadness for half of his life.

Eva had.

He flung the shard of glass across the alley, and watched it bounce off the rubbish heap piled across the way to shatter on the ground. Deception. He rolled the word around in his mind. Yes, he'd been deceived. But he'd never been maliciously betrayed. And there lay a chasm of difference.

He knew Eva well enough to believe her when she'd said she'd seen no reason to tell him of her miscarriage. It wasn't like his knowing would've made any difference. And at that age? Hell. He'd have countered with nothing but accusations of blame.

If she hadn't been so thin, she might've carried the baby to term. If she hadn't run, she might've given him a chance to be a father.

But she'd been thin because his camera demanded it. And she'd run because he'd given her no choice.

At nearly twenty-three years old and with travel on his agenda, he wasn't sure he'd have stayed in New York even if he'd known. Not when he'd planned for years to strike out.

Then he'd called it wanderlust. Now he knew he'd been searching: for acceptance and belonging and a place to call home—when Eva had been standing on the other side of his camera for two years, offering him everything he wanted.

Youth was certainly blind and hardheaded.

Sean ducked into the alley, tossed Carson a pair of ragged boots, then shot back out into the street with a parting call to hurry, the echo of which reached Carson's ears.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm coming."

He dug in his backpack for an extra sock, then managed to shove his weak-as-a-noodle size-twelve foot into the size-ten boot. He grabbed the split length of a crate slat to use for a crutch, and hobbled after Sean Teer.

He was going home.

"Are you holding yourself responsible for my fluid intake or something?" Eva glanced down at the quart of iced tea Jan had set on the counter at Blooms. "All you've done recently is ply me with liquids."

"I'd ply you with food, but you never stop to eat. You need to keep up your strength." Jan sipped her own tea through a straw.

"I'm as strong as an ox." Eva flexed a bicep. "Okay. A very small, very thin ox. But thanks. I need it. It's way too hot out there for May."

"If we could hook up a direct IV, you could monitor your own fluid intake." Jan feigned a piteous expression. "But then, you wouldn't need me to look after you."

Silly woman. Eva laughed. "Of course I need you to look after me! What kind of friend do you think I am?"

"One I am damn proud to know." Jan grabbed Eva's hand and squeezed. "You have been a pillar. A rock. I would've fallen apart days ago if I'd been in your shoes."

Carson was still a sore subject with Jan. Eva had come to terms with his departure, though her friend was probably interviewing hit men.

"My shoes would fit you just fine," Eva reassured the other woman. "You know I love Carson. I'll probably love him forever, but life does go on. Anyway"— Eva made a quick change of subject—"look how strong you were, waiting all those years to conceive, now you have the twins. You never gave up."

Jan's hand went to her hip and she frowned. "Well, what fun would that have been?"

Eva laughed, and circled the counter to give her friend the hug she deserved. "I'll be fine. I have you and Gerald. I have Zack. And I don't have man trouble."

"Hmm." Jan gave Eva's back a final pat, then pointed toward the glass wall looking out over the gardens. "I'd say that's exactly what you have, girlfriend. The very nerve of some men."

Eva looked back through the same window. Her heart stopped, then started, then thudded a wild drumbeat she felt all the way to the roots of her hair.

Carson.

Eva's gaze was captured by the movement of the man. His walk was powerfully determined. Stylish pewter frames shaded his eyes, but the rest of his face—the set of his jaw and the lift of his chin— broadcast his intention.

He was here for her. And Eva's breathing caught, then quickened.

"Uh, Eva."

"Hmm?"

"Don't be too easy on him. It never hurts a man to grovel."

"Easy? Not a chance. He's going to have to work for this one," Eva said, though she knew he wasn't going to have to work hard at all. Not with the way she loved him. And not with what she saw in his face, even with the shield of the tinted shades.

"Good girl," Jan said, giving Eva's hand a final squeeze. "If you need me later, I'll be at home. I'm checking into the logistics of that IV. For Carson. I think he's gonna need it."

"I think I can handle this one. Thanks, Jan. For everything. You're the best. Oh, and turn the sign to closed on your way out, would you?"

Once Jan left, and the door was pulled shut, Carson had Eva's full attention. The first thing she noticed, after she noticed the three weeks' added growth to his collar-length hair, and the way the sun glinted through the strands of honey and gold, was that his cast was gone.

He wore brown deck shoes—sans socks—on both feet and khaki-colored safari fatigues that showed off the strength in his legs. He wore a black-banded wristwatch and a chocolate-brown T-shirt stretched over chest and shoulders so beautifully wide.

He'd reached the door to the interior of the shop, and now he pulled it open, pulled off his shades, and met her anxious gaze. Then he smiled. Joy suffused his eyes, and the laugh lines fanned out like spread fingers. He looked happy and settled and more content than she'd seen him look at any time in his life.

She pressed a palm to her fast-beating heart as the first stirrings of hope fluttered near. And then the door shut behind him and he moved into the store without stopping or looking away. He had his mind made up and his goal in sight, and Eva retreated a step, then two, then three—not in trepidation, but because she wanted to watch him, to anticipate his purpose, thrill at his approach just a few seconds more.

But then he reached her, hooked one arm around her neck, and drew her close. She felt the warmth of his breath, the heat in his eyes, and then his mouth descended. He kissed her wildly. He kissed her senseless. He kissed her until she had to come up for air. She laughed. With both palms flat on his chest, she laughed. His answering chuckle and sigh veiled her fingers.

"Let's make a baby," he said.

"What?" Was he out of his mind? "Where did that come from?"

He pressed her hand to his heart. "From here. Where I love you. Where I want you. Where I'd die for you."

She closed her eyes, then opened them slowly. He was still there. "Oh, Carson. I love you."

His face was a mixture of desire and innocence. "Then will you think about it?"

"About a baby?" Carrying Carson's child. Oh, how that thrilled her. And Zack, Eva thought, and laughed. He'd so wanted a little brother to beat up on. "Why a baby?"

"I love you. I want a home and a family with you." He frowned. "You don't think I'm too old, do you?"

He was just too cute. She grinned. "Too old for which part of that?"

"Any of it. All of it. Do you think I've lost my mind?"

She shook her head. "No. I think you've found it."

He threaded his fingers into the hair behind her ear, and settled his broad palm against her scalp. "I've found more than that. I've found everything I've been searching for all of my life. And I've found it here. I've found you."

He'd done more than that. He'd found himself.

"Welcome home, Carson Brandt," she said. Then she stepped into his arms. And into the rest of her life.

###

Read on for more about the author and her books, plus a sneak peek at LOVE ME TENDER.

Copyright

LOVE IN BLOOM

Alison Kent

Kindle Edition

Originally published by Zebra Books, Kensington Publishing Corp.

Copyright 2000 Alison Kent. All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

About The Author

Alison Kent was a born reader, but it wasn't until she reached 30 that she knew she wanted to be a writer when she grew up. Five years later, she made her first sale. Two years after that, she accepted an offer issued by the senior editor of Harlequin Temptation live on the "Isn't It Romantic?" episode of CBS 48 Hours. The resulting book, CALL ME, was a Romantic Times finalist for Best First Series Book.

With her first three Temptations on the shelf, she took a break from writing romance novels and spent a few months living one, finding her own hero and practicing every technique she'd learned from a lifetime of reading the best "how-to" manuals around! She currently lives in Houston, Texas with her petroleum geologist husband and two rescue dogs, one a Hurricane Katrina survivor.

Alison's 2009 Harlequin Blaze, A LONG, HARD RIDE, part of Harlequin's 60th Anniversary celebration, was nominated for a 2009 RT Reviewer's Choice Award for Best Harlequin Blaze of 2009. STRIPTEASE, a 2003 release from Harlequin Blaze and part of her popular gIRL-gEAR series, was also an RT Reviewer's Choice Award nominee. NO LIMITS, book nine in her Smithson Group series from Kensington Brava, was excerpted in the October 2009 issue of COSMOPOLITAN as a Red-Hot Read.

Her 2005 Kensington Brava release, THE BEACH ALIBI, book four in her Smithson Group series, was a nominee for the national Quill Awards, sponsored by Reed Business Information. Alison is also the author of THE COMPLETE IDIOT'S GUIDE TO WRITING EROTIC ROMANCE and a partner in the Access Romance author community (http://www.accessromance.com) and in DreamForge Media (http://www.dreamforgemedia.com) as a website designer.

Also by the Author

from Kensington Brava

With Extreme Pleasure
No Limits
Maximum Exposure
The Perfect Stranger
Beyond A Shadow
Deep Breath
Larger Than Life
The Bane Affair

from Harlequin Blaze

One Good Man
A Long, Hard Ride
Indiscreet
Kiss & Tell
The Sweetest Taboo
Kiss & Makeup
Goes Down Easy
Infatuation

a sneak peek at Love Me Tender

Jace didn't come for chili that night, and though he arrived in a standoffish mood at daybreak, he didn't refuse Eden's offer of scrambled eggs and biscuits. Two nights later he stayed for a hurried meal of stuffed baked potatoes and picked up a dozen kolaches from Molly's the morning after.

The routine continued through the weekend. But Jace never looked at her again the way he'd looked at her in the doorway of his shed. After spending the past six days with the man, Eden felt they were more in tune than many married couples.

Still, nothing she'd learned went deeper than the surface. Since that one brief confrontation, Jace had deflected her every effort to pry. What she knew was to pass the cream for his coffee; he, never to butter her toast.

She knew more, as well. That he'd want a quart of iced tea by three, then nothing but beer with supper. And since lunch wasn't her best time of day, he managed to have an extra sandwich in his lunchbox, even when he didn't eat.

When she slipped her shoes off her swollen feet one afternoon, he teased her about her size eight Jumbo the Elephants. And her woman's intuition told her he wore an extra large--in everything.

Monday morning she woke late with a headache, a backache and a heartache that defied explanation. Broody and bloated from head to toe, she wanted to stay in bed and wallow in her misery. Even better, to soak in a tub of apricot-scented bubbles, eat a pan of butter brownies and reread her favorite romance novel.

Unfit company for man, beast or even herself, she slipped into a huge shapeless T-shirt dress and padded barefoot to the kitchen for a muffin and tea. Why had she thought relocating and changing careers had been a smart move?

And why in the world did she think she'd be a good mother? She couldn't even take care of herself. How was she supposed to take care of a business and a family when she couldn't get beyond the need for a good cry?

It was an eat-a-worm day all around.

So, when Jace knocked on her kitchen door at ten, she purposefully kept her outward reaction to one of surprise, even though deep inside she welcomed him home. The screen door creaked as she pulled it open. "I hate you, you know."

Two steps brought him up her stairs and into her kitchen. Three more took him the width of the room. Arms crossed over his chest, he leaned back against the refrigerator and gave her that sexy Jace Morgan grin. "Good morning to you, too."

Prying her gaze from the suede tunic sheathing his wide shoulders, Eden swallowed hard and pushed the door shut behind her. "What I mean is, do you never take a day off? No one who puts in the hours you do has a right to look so ..." Gorgeous, her brain supplied, "... rested," she forced herself to say.

Jace shrugged, stretching the fabric even tighter. "I don't take many days off. Not scheduled anyway."

"What do you mean?" She stacked her hands on the door behind her and leaned back, her protruding stomach protruding even more.

Jace's gaze slid away. He ran one finger over the porcelain knob of the cabinet door beside him. "I work at my own pace. I don't punch a clock. When I'm tired, I stop. It's that simple."

"So, what are you doing here today? You're certainly not dressed for work."

"I have a delivery to make in Farmersville." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "But I was hoping we could do some business first."

Eden pushed off the door, determined to finish her breakfast dishes, equally determined to ignore the way Jace Morgan filled her kitchen. And the way she felt less blue when he was around. "I don't know, Morgan. I can't afford to do much more business with you."

"It'll only cost you time."

She turned, soap suds clinging to her hands. "Time?"

"Yep. It's called bartering."

"What could I possibly have to barter with that would interest you?" she asked, then wished she hadn't. His heated look flared between them, wordlessly answering her question. Finally, he turned. The back seam of his shirt gaped open, revealing taut muscles and smooth skin.

Too much skin to Eden's way of thinking. With unsteady hands, she rinsed her tea cup and pulled the stopper from the drain. "Bartering, huh? Like, in exchange for my services as a seamstress, you'll knock a couple bucks off your estimate to redo my kitchen?"

Lifting the cheesecloth covering the basket on her stove, Jace helped himself to a cinnamon roll. "If that's what you want."

What she wanted right now was best not put into words. She watched the final swirl of bubbles vanish down the drain, wiped down the lip of the sink and dried her hands. "No. What I want is to ride into Farmersville with you. I've got an order to pick up at Calico Corners."

He looked up, half the roll in his mouth. "That's it?"

"C'mon, Jace. Ten minutes of my time isn't worth much more than a ride." She tossed the towel on the countertop.

"Sounds like a helluva deal to me."

"Then let's take a look at the damage."

Jace licked cinnamon glaze from his fingers, braced his palms on a chair back and bent at an angle that gave Eden a clear, close view of his back. Her fingers trembled for no good reason. At least none she allowed herself to consider.

Skimming the buckskin with a light touch, she tested the strength of the seam's worn edges. Heat from Jace's skin breathed over her hands, a seductive invitation to slip her fingers inside the shirt.

She closed her eyes. The scent of leather and man seeped into her loneliness. Then Benjamin kicked, reminding her not to be stupid again and she backed a step away. "Fabric looks tough enough. I think the thread just gave up the ghost."

Jace glanced back. "So, can you fix it?"

"Sure."

"Now?"

"Now?" she repeated.

He nodded. "The bed of my truck's loaded. I need to get over to Farmersville before it rains." The sunlight shining through her kitchen window dimmed on cue.

"I don't think I have time to drive home and change." When she only stared, he went on to say, "I can go like this if you don't have time."

Eden shook off her trance. How bad could it actually be to have Jace undress in her house? She'd seen him shirtless just last week. Then they'd been outdoors, with acres of breathing room. Now they were in her house. Alone. With gloomy skies increasing the intimacy.

"I have time," she assured him, then held out her hand and held her breath. He slipped out of the shirt and, before she allowed herself more than the briefest glimpse of male belly dusted with black hair, she headed for her workroom.

His moccasins whispered over the hardwood floor behind her, the sound a gentle coaxing of her senses, a sweet song to her ears. She felt his presence like a wildness inside her. His shirt grew warm in her hands.

Shoving back the curtained partition, she tossed the shirt on her sewing table, gestured for Jace to sit in the rattan side chair and headed for the cherry cupboard in the corner.

The top drawer held hundreds of spools of thread and, in her state of klutz and nerves and hormonal melancholy, she nearly toppled the contents to the floor.

Especially when she sensed Jace move to the window behind her. Eyes closed, she took a small backwards step his direction, close enough to indulge herself in the warmth of his bare skin, the scent of naked man and the subtle need to be near another human being.

It was crazy, this weakness shifting through her. Crazy. Insane. A gut awareness she hadn't counted on. She'd never expected to come up against a man who'd make her want this way again.

Be honest, Eden. A man who makes you want in a way you've never wanted before.

"How far away is the rain?" she asked, hating the way her voice shook.

"Storm's coming from the west. It won't hit for another hour."

His voice wrapped around her, safety and security rolled up into one. The intensity of her desire deepened. Oh God, she didn't need this. Taking a deep breath, she slammed the thread drawer in punctuation.

"Great. Give me ten minutes and you're on your way." Ten minutes was no time. Her mood would probably swing again in the next five. She grabbed her glasses from her sewing basket and settled in the chair.

"There's hot tea and more cinnamon rolls in the kitchen if you'd like to wait in there," she offered, hoping he'd accept.

"No, thanks." The window seat cushion rustled beneath his weight. "I like this room."

Rust-colored thread aimed through the eye of the needle, Eden adjusted the machine's tension and reached for her pin cushion. "It's my favorite room in the house." She aligned the edges of the shirt seam. "Well, besides the bathroom. The clawfoot tub upstairs is big enough to swim in."

"There was a room with a window seat like this in the house I grew up in. It was supposed to be a formal sort of living area, but nothing about my family was formal.

"My sister and I had a lot of friends and the room ended up being a hang-out." The latch clicked and Jace up pushed the window. The old wood frame creaked and groaned in protest.

"Problem was, my mother tossed so many pillow onto the window seat that no one could sit there. We ended up sprawled everywhere else, though. Sofa, chairs, floor, coffee table," he said with a laugh.

"Sounds like my kind of room. And my kind of family," Eden ventured, wondering more than she should have--and for no logical reason--about what Jace had been like as a child. If he saw his family often.

And why he'd traded a life teeming with friends for the one he lived alone. "Do you miss that? Having friends around all the time?"

Silence filled the room. Leaves whispered and swished against the window screen. Tires rolled over the joints in the road, a synchronized click to the tick of clock. The window seat groaned beneath Jace's shifting weight. And Eden waited.

"Yeah. I do," he finally said but said no more and his tone left no room for questions.

As curious as she was, Eden knew when to leave well enough alone. She'd pry again another time. Flipping off the machine, she stashed her glasses back in her sewing basket. "Let's see if this is going to hold," she said, then made the mistake of looking his way.

Jace lounged like a man who made a living at it. His moccasin clad feet, crossed at the ankles, extended a foot off the seat. His legs filled his jeans with symmetrical perfection. A braided belt of leather and turquoise circled his waist.

The thumbs he'd hooked through his beltloops tugged at his waistband, drawing her gaze to the whorl of hair growing low on his belly. And to his zipper, and the pure male magic outlined beneath.

She caught her breath.

He turned his head. His glance snagged hers and pulled.

A gust of breeze kicked the clouds across the sky and sunlight bathed the room. Jace rolled to his feet and Eden's gaze searched out what she couldn't get enough of. Corded muscle and skin kissed copper by the sun. The breadth of his chest amazed her, especially as his belly below was sleek and spare. His build was that of a hard-working man.

Soft spring breezes brought wisteria, jasmine and honeysuckle inside. Jace's hair ruffled at his neck. His scent reached her, too. She drowned in the smells and accepted the truth. The man in Jace beckoned the woman in her.

"Here." She handed him the shirt.

"Thanks." He took it from her and pulled it on.

She clenched her hands. The need to touch him sizzled in the tips of her fingers, screamed in the hollow of her heart. His hair caught in the neckline of the tunic. Desire won out over reason. She reached up to free the strands.

Black satin slid over her fingers. The stubble on his jaw grazed her wrist. She touched his cheek, ignoring the sirens in her mind. Wrong or right, this connection mattered more than her next breath.

Jace's eyes grew sleepy, seductive. He mirrored her action, his palm rough against her cheek. So easy. So natural. So simple to move the one short step into his arms.

Thunder rumbled low. The sky darkened, breaking the spell. As much as she longed to do otherwise, She moved back. "Sounds like your hour's been cut short."

Jace seemed indecisive, hesitant even, like what had just passed between them had confused him as much as it had her. Like he couldn't put a name to the thick tension in the room without calling it what neither of them wanted. Involvement, attraction, the beginning of attachment.

Lightning flashed. Jace blinked, stepped back. "We'd better get going. Water damaged furniture isn't likely to bring the price I have hanging on those pieces."

If they were going now, she needed to get dressed. She headed for the stairs. "What pieces are you delivering today?"

"I've got a shaker table and six chairs. Plus, the cradle."

Eden stopped on the first step. The cradle? He was selling the cradle? Of course he was selling the cradle. This was business, after all. Still she didn't think she could bear to see that particular piece sold. Why, she couldn't say. But since when did hormones think with logic?

Turning, she pressed her fists against the small of her back. "On second thought Jace, I don't think I'm up to the trip. Maybe you could stop by and pick up my order?"

He frowned. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Let me get the list." They walked into the shop. Eden grabbed the slip of paper and handed it to Jace. "Marian can double check the items, but she should have them ready. You don't have to stop by on your way back. Just bring them over tomorrow." She pulled open the front door but didn't step out.

"If you're sure."

She nodded.

"Okay. Thanks." Jace jogged to his truck, climbed into the cab and was off with a wave.

Eden gripped the door. She watched the Ford as it turned from Main onto Highway 37. Then she went back inside to spend the rest of her day feeling sorry for herself.

It was definitely an eat-a-worm day.

Table of Contents

LOVE IN BLOOM

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Copyright

About The Author

Also by the Author