She didn’t sleep that night; she lay awake, feeling the seconds and minutes ticking away, becoming hours. He was right; she was afraid of life, because life had taught her that she would be punished if she asked for too much. She had learned not to ask for anything at all, thereby risking nothing. She had denied herself friends, family, even the basic comfort of her own home, all because she was afraid to risk being hurt again.

It wasn’t in her character to deny the truth, so she looked it in the face. Her mother wasn’t a typical example of motherhood; her husband hadn’t been a typical husband. Both of them had hurt her, but she shouldn’t shut everyone else out because of them. Serena had made an overture of friendship, but Dione had backed away from it, doubting the other woman’s motives. Those doubts were just an excuse for her own instinctive reaction to withdraw whenever anyone got too close to her. She had to take risks, or her life would be just a mockery, no matter how many patients she helped. She needed help just as much as Blake did.

But facing the truth and dealing with it were two very different things. Just the thought of lowering her defenses and letting anyone get close to her gave her a sick feeling. Even the little things were more than she had ever had, and more than she could handle. She’d never giggled with a girl friend far into the night, never gone to a party, never learned how to be with people in the normal manner. She’d had her back to the wall for her entire life, and self-protection was more than a habit: it was a part of her, branded into her cells.

Perhaps she was beyond changing; perhaps the bitter horror of her childhood had altered her psyche so drastically that she’d never be able to rise above the murky pit of her memories. For a moment she had a vision of her future, long and bleak and solitary, and a dry sob wrenched at her insides. But she didn’t cry, though her eyes burned until her lids felt scorched. Why waste tears on years that stretched away emptily for as far as she could see? She was used to being alone, and at least she had her work. She could touch people through her work, giving them hope, helping them; perhaps it wasn’t enough, but surely it was better than the sure destruction that awaited her if she allowed someone to hurt her again.

Suddenly a memory of Scott flashed into her mind and she almost cried out, her hands rising in the dark to push him away. The sickness in her changed to pure nausea, and she had to swallow convulsively to control it. For a moment she wavered on the edge of a black abyss, memories rising like bats from a rancid cave to dart at her; then she clenched her teeth on the wild cry that was welling up in her and reached out a trembling hand to turn on the lamp. The light drove away the horrors, and she lay staring at the shadows.

To combat the memories she deliberately pushed them aside and called up Blake’s face as a sort of talisman against the evils of the past. She saw his blue eyes, burning with despair, and her breath caught. Why was she lying there worrying about herself, when Blake was teetering on the edge of his own abyss? Blake was the important one, not her! If he lost interest now, it would wreck his recovery.

She’d trained herself for years to push her personal interests and problems aside and concentrate entirely on her patient. Her patients had reaped the benefits, and the process had become a part of her inner defenses when things threatened to become too much for her. She used it now, ruthlessly locking out all thoughts except those of Blake, staring at the ceiling so intently that her gaze should have burned a hole in it.

On the surface the problem seemed to be simple: Blake needed to know that he could still respond to a woman, still make love. She didn’t know why he couldn’t now, unless it was because of the commonsense reasons she’d given him just a few hours before. If that were the case, as his health improved and he gained strength, his sexual interest would reawaken naturally, if he had someone to interest him.

That was a problem Dione chewed on her lower lip. Blake obviously wasn’t going to start dating now; his pride wouldn’t allow him to be helped in and out of cars and restaurants, even if Dione would allow him to disrupt his schedule so drastically, which was out of the question. No, he had to stay in therapy, and they were just now getting into the toughest part of it, which would require more time and effort, and pain, from him.

There simply was a shortage of available women in his life right now, a necessary shortage, but there nevertheless. Besides Serena, Alberta and Angela, there was only herself, and she automatically discounted herself. How could she attract anyone? If any man made a move toward her, she reacted like a scalded cat, which wasn’t a good start.

A frown laced her brows together. That was true with all men…except Blake. Blake touched her, and she wasn’t frightened. She had wrestled with him, romped on the floor with him…kissed him.

The idea that bloomed was, for her, so radical that when it first entered her consciousness she dismissed it, only to have it return again and again, boomeranging in her mined. Blake needed help, and she was the only woman available to help him. If she could attract him…

A shudder rose from her toes and flowed upward to shake her entire body, but it wasn’t from revulsion or fear, except perhaps fear at her own daring. Could she do it? How could she do it? How could she possibly manage such a thing? It wouldn’t do Blake any good if he made a pass at her and she ran screaming from the room. She didn’t think she would do that with him, but just the thought of trying to attract a man was so foreign to her that she couldn’t be sure. Could she tempt him enough to prove to him that he was a man?

She couldn’t let the situation progress into anything concrete; she knew that not only was it something she wasn’t ready for, but an affair with a patient was totally against her professional integrity. Besides, she wasn’t Blake’s type, so there was little chance of anything serious happening. She tried to decide if he would find her so lacking in expertise that she wouldn’t appeal to him at all, or if his isolation for the past two years would blind him to her inexperience. He was fast leaving behind his morose preoccupation with his invalidism, and she knew that she wouldn’t be able to fool him for long. Every day he became more himself—the man in the photo that Richard had shown her, with a biting intellect and a driving nature that swept everyone along with him like the force of a tidal wave.

Could she do it?

She trembled at the thought, but she was so shaken by what he’d said that night that she didn’t push the idea away as she would have before. For the first time in her life Dione decided to try to attract a man. It had been so long since she’d cut herself off from sexual contact with anyone that she had no idea if she could do it without looking obvious and silly. She was thirty years old, and she felt as inexperienced and awkward as any young girl just entering her teens. Her brief marriage to Scott didn’t count at all; far from trying to attract Scott, after her wedding night she’d gone out of her way to avoid him. Blake was a mature, sophisticated man, used to having any woman he wanted before the accident had robbed him of the use of his legs. Her only advantage was that she was the only available woman in his life right then.

She just didn’t know how to arouse a man.

That unusual problem, one she’d never thought she’d face, was the reason she was standing hesitantly before the mirror the next morning, long past the time when she usually woke Blake. She hadn’t even dressed; she was staring at herself in the mirror, chewing on her lower lip and frowning. She knew that men usually liked the way she looked, but were looks enough? She wasn’t even blond, as Blake preferred his women to be. Her thick black hair swirled over her shoulders and down her back; she’d been about to braid it out of her way when she’d paused, staring at herself, and she still held the brush in her hand, forgotten, as she intensely surveyed the ripe figure of the woman in the mirror. Her breasts were full and firm, tipped with cherry nipples, but perhaps she was too bosomy for his tastes. Perhaps she was too athletic, too strong; perhaps he liked dainty, ultrafeminine women.

She groaned aloud, twisting around to study herself from the back. So many ifs! Maybe he was a leg man; she had nice legs, long and graceful, smoothly tanned. Or maybe…Her bottom, covered only by wispy, pink silk, was curvy and definitely feminine.

Her clothes were another problem. Her everyday wardrobe consisted mostly of things that were comfortable to work in: jeans, shorts, T-shirts. They were neat and practical, but not enticing. She did have good clothes, but nothing that could be worn while working and be practical, too. Her dresses weren’t sexy, either, and her nightgowns were straight out of a convent, despite Blake’s comment about her “running around in see-through nighties.” She needed new clothes, things that were sexy but not transparently so, and definitely a real see-through nightie.

She was so preoccupied that she hadn’t heard the sounds of Blake in his bedroom; when his rumbling, early-morning voice broke into her thoughts with an ill-tempered, “Lazybones, you overslept this morning!” she whirled to face the door as it swung open and Blake rolled his wheelchair through the doorway.

They both froze. Dione couldn’t even raise her arms to cover her bare breasts; she was stunned by the shock of his entrance, so lost in her thoughts that she was unable to jerk herself back to reality and take any action. Neither did Blake appear capable of moving, though good manners demanded that he leave the room. He didn’t; he sat there with his blue eyes becoming even bluer, a dark, stormy expression heating his gaze as it raked down her almost naked body, then rose to linger over her breasts.

“Good Lord,” he whispered.

Dione’s mouth was dry, her tongue incapable of moving. Blake’s intent look was as warm as a physical touch, and her nipples shrank into tiny points, thrusting out at him. He sucked in an audible breath, then slowly let his eyes dip lower, down the curve of her ribcage, the satiny smoothness of her stomach; his gaze probed the taut little indentation of her navel and finally settled on the juncture of her thighs.

An unfamiliar curling sensation low in her stomach frightened her, and she was finally able to move. She whirled away from him with a low cry, belatedly raising her arms to cover herself. Standing rigidly with her back to him, she said in a voice filled with mortification, “Oh, no! Please, get out!”

There was no obedient whir of an electric motor as he sent the wheelchair into motion, and she knew that he was still sitting there.

“I’ve never seen anyone blush all over before,” he said, his voice deep and filled with an almost tangible male amusement. “Even the backs of your knees are pink.”

“Get out” she cried in a strangled voice.

“Why are you so embarrassed?” he murmured. “You’re beautiful. A body like that just begs for a man to stare at it.”

“Would you please just leave?” she begged. “I can’t stand here like this all day!”

“Don’t hurry on my account,” he replied with maddening satisfaction. “I like the back view as well as I did the front. It’s a work of art, the way those long legs of yours sweep up into that perfect bottom. Is your skin as satiny as it looks?”

Embarrassment finally turned to anger and she stomped her foot, although it was largely a wasted effort, as the thick carpet muffled any sound her bare foot might have made. “Blake Remington, I’ll get back at you for this!” she threatened, her voice trembling with anger.

He laughed, the deep tone vibrating in the quiet morning air. “Don’t be such a sexist,” he taunted. “You’ve seen me in only a pair of undershorts, so why be shy about my seeing you wearing only panties? You don’t have anything to be ashamed of, but you have to know that already.”

He evidently wasn’t going to leave; he was probably enjoying himself, the wretch! She sidled around until she could reach her nightgown, where she had thrown it across the bed. She was careful to keep her back to him, and she was so fiercely preoccupied with reaching that nightgown that she didn’t hear the soft whir of the wheelchair as it came up behind her. Just as she touched the nightgown a much larger hand appeared from behind and anchored the garment to the bed.

“You’re beautiful when you’re angry,” he jibed, returning the teasing compliment she’d given him the day he’d become enraged when he had discovered that she lifted weights.

“Then I must be the world’s most beautiful woman right now,” she fumed, then added, “because I’m getting madder by the minute.”

“Don’t waste your energy,” he crooned, and she jumped as his hard hand suddenly swatted her on the bottom, then lingered to mold the round, firm cheek with his long fingers. He finished with an intimate pat, then removed his hand from the nightgown.

“I’ll be waiting for you at breakfast,” he said smoothly, and she heard him chuckling as he left the room.

She wadded up the nightgown and threw it at the closed door. Her face felt as if it were on fire, and she pressed her cold hands to her cheeks. Furiously she considered ways of paying him back, but she had to stop short of physical harm, and that left out all the most delicious schemes she could imagine. It would probably be impossible to embarrass him in return; since he was in so much better condition now, she doubted if it would bother him if she saw him stark naked. In fact, from the way he’d acted that morning, he’d probably enjoy it and proudly let her look all she wanted!

She was seething, until the thought came to her that her scheme to attract him couldn’t have gotten off to a better start. He hadn’t been thinking about sex, really; he’d been indulging a streak of pure devilry, but the end result was that he’d become aware of her as a woman. There was the added advantage of the entire scene being totally spontaneous without any of the stiffness that would probably result from any effort she deliberately made.

That thought enabled her to get through the day, which was a difficult one. He watched her like a hawk, waiting for her to betray by either action or word that she was still embarrassed by the morning’s incident. She was as cool and impersonal as she knew how to be, deliberately working him as hard as her conscience would allow. He spent more time than the day before at the bars, balancing himself with his hands while his legs bore his weight. He kept up a continuous stream of cursing at the pain he endured, but he didn’t want to stop, even when she decided to go on to other exercises. She moved his feet in the first walking motions they’d made in two years; sweat poured off of him at the pain in his muscles, unaccustomed to such activity.

That night the cramps in his legs kept him awake for hours, and Dione massaged him until she was so weary she could hardly move. There were no intimate discussions in the dark that night; he was in pain, barely getting relaxed after one cramp was relieved before another one would knot in his legs. Finally she took him down and put him in the whirlpool, which relieved the cramps for the night.

She really did oversleep the next morning, but she had been careful to lock her door before she went to bed, so she wasn’t afraid of an interruption. When she did wake, she lay there with a smile on her face as she relished how he would react to the interruption in his route that she planned.

Over breakfast she said casually, “May I borrow one of your cars? I need to do some shopping today.”

Startled, he looked up; his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Are you doing this because of what I said the other night?”

“No, of course not,” she lied with admirable ease. “I do need some things, though. I’m not much on shopping, but like every woman I have necessities.”

“Do you know anything about Phoenix?” he asked, reaching for the glass of milk that he now drank without protest at every meal.

“Nothing,” she admitted cheerfully.

“Do you even know how to get downtown?”

“No, but I can follow signs and directions.”

“No need to do that; let me give Serena a call. She loves shopping, and she’s been at loose ends lately.”

At first the thought of shopping in Serena’s company dampened Dione’s enthusiasm for her project, but she realized that she would probably need another woman’s opinion, so she agreed to his suggestion. Serena did, too; he’d barely mentioned it to her over the phone before he hung up the receiver, a wry smile tugging at his chiseled mouth. “She’s on her way.” Then the smile gave way to a sharply searching look. “You didn’t seem very enthusiastic,” he remarked. “Did you have some other plans?”

What did he mean by that? “No, it’s just that I had something else on my mind. I’m glad you thought of asking Serena; I could use her opinion on some things.”

The searching look disappeared, to be replaced by one of lively curiosity. “What things?”

“Nothing that concerns you,” she replied promptly, knowing that her answer would drive him crazy. He wanted to know the whys and wherefores of everything. He’d probably dismantled every toy he’d received as a child, and now he was trying to do the same thing to her. He probably did it to everyone. It was one of the characteristics that had made him such an innovative engineer.

As she quickly dressed for her shopping trip, she realized that lately Blake had shown signs of becoming more interested in his work again. He talked to Richard on the phone more than he had before, and designing the pulley system at the pool and in the gym had piqued his interest even more. Every night after dinner he made some mysterious doodles on a pad in his study, random drawings that resembled nothing Dione recognized, but Richard had seen the pad one evening and made a comment on it. The two men had then embarked on a highly technical conversation that had lasted until Dione put an end to it by signaling that it was time for Blake to go to bed. Richard had caught the signal and understood it immediately, giving her a quick wink.

The Phoenix heat prompted her to wear the bare minimum of clothing: a white sundress; the necessary underwear, which wasn’t much; and strappy sandals. The weeks had slipped away, taking the summer with it, but the changing season wasn’t yet reflected by any dip in the temperature. When she went downstairs to meet Serena, Blake gave her a quick comprehensive look that seemed to take inventory of every garment she had on. Dione shivered at the fleeting expression in his eyes. He knew what she looked like now, and every time he saw her he was imagining her without any clothes. She should probably be glad, as that was what she wanted, but it still made her uneasy.

Serena drove, as Dione knew absolutely nothing about Scottsdale or Phoenix. The pale blue Cadillac slipped as silently as oiled silk past the array of expensive millionaires’ homes that decorated Mount Camelback. Overhead, a sparkle of silver in the pure blue of the sky, one of the innumerable jets from the air bases in the Phoenix area, painted a white streak directly above their path.

“Blake said you had shopping to do,” Serena said absently. “What sort of shopping? Not that it matters; if it exists, I know a shop that carries it.”

Dione gave her a wry glance. “Everything,” she admitted. “Dresses, underwear, sleepwear, bathing suits.”

Serena arched her slim, dark brows in an astonished movement. “All right,” she said slowly. “You asked for it.”

By the time they’d had lunch several hours later, Dione firmly believed that Serena knew the location of every shop in Arizona. They had been in so many that she couldn’t keep straight just where she had bought what, but that didn’t really matter. What mattered was the steadily growing mound of bags and packages, which they made regular trips to the car to stow in the trunk.

Dione systematically tried on dresses that made the most of her dark coloring and tall, leggy build. She bought skirts that were slit up the side to showcase her long, slender legs; she bought real silk hosiery and delicate shoes. The nightgowns she chose were filmy, flimsy pieces of fabric that were held on her body more by optimism than any other means. She bought sexy lace panties and bras, wickedly seductive teddies, shorts and T-shirts that clung to her body, and a couple of bikinis that stopped just short of illegal.

Serena watched all of this in amazed silence, offering her opinion whenever Dione asked it, which was often. Dione couldn’t quite decide if a garment was sexy without being blatant, so she yielded to Serena’s taste. It was Serena who chose the bikinis, one a delicate shell pink and the other a vibrant blue, both of which glowed like jewels on Dione’s honey-tanned body.

“You know,” Serena mused as she watched Dione choose a skin-toned teddy that, from a distance, made her look as if she had nothing on at all, “this looks like war.”

Dione was feeling a little frantic and out of touch by that time, and she merely gave Serena a blank look.

“I could almost pity Blake for being the target of such firepower,” the other woman continued, laughing a little. “Almost, but not quite. From the effort you’re making, Dione, I think you’re out for unconditional surrender. Are you in love with Blake?”

That got Dione’s attention with the force of a punch in the jaw. In love? Of course not! It was impossible. Blake was her patient; falling in love with him would be against every professional ethic that she had. Not only that, how could she be in love with him? Couldn’t Serena see that it was totally out of the question? she wondered distractedly. It was just that Blake’s was such a demanding case. She’d rebuilt him almost literally, molded him from a basket case into a strong, healthy man; she couldn’t let him give up now, couldn’t let all of that sweat and effort go to waste.

But suddenly, seeing through Serena’s eyes the staggering amount of clothing she’d bought in one day, she realized what a hopeless effort it was. How could she ever have imagined that she’d be able to physically attract Blake Remington? Not only did she not know how to do it, but she’d probably go into screaming hysterics if she succeeded!

She sagged into a chair, crumpling the flesh-colored teddy in her lap. “It’s no use,” she muttered. “It’ll never work.”

Serena eyed the teddy. “If he’s human, it will.”

“All of these props are useless, if the actors can’t perform,” Dione said in self-disgust. “I don’t know how to seduce anyone, least of all a man who’s been around as much as Blake has!”

Serena’s eyes widened. “Are you serious? The way you look, you don’t have to seduce anyone; all you have to do is stand still and let him get to you.”

“Thanks for the pep talk, but it’s not that easy,” Dione hedged, unable to tell Blake’s sister the entire story. “Some men like my looks, but I know that Blake’s always preferred blondes. I’m not his type at all.”

“How you can look in a mirror and still worry about not being blond is more than I can understand,” Serena said impatiently. “You’re…sultry. That’s the only word I can think of to describe the way you look. If he hasn’t made a pass at you yet, it’s because you haven’t given him a go-ahead signal. Those clothes will do it for you. Then just let things develop naturally.”

If only they would! Dione thought as she paid for the teddy and a bottle of heady perfume that the saleswoman had sworn drove her husband mad with lust.

She didn’t want Blake mad with lust, just aroused. What a dilemma for her to be in! Life was just full of little ironies, but she couldn’t find this one very amusing.

Blake wasn’t in evidence when they arrived back at the house, and Dione could only be thankful for that. She didn’t want him to have any idea of the extent of her shopping trip. Angela silently helped Dione and Serena carry all the packages up to Dione’s room, and when asked about Blake’s whereabouts, the woman smiled shyly and murmured, “In the gym,” before quickly walking out.

Serena gave a little laugh after Angela had left the room. “She’s something, isn’t she? I think Blake picked his entire staff on the basis of how much they talk, or rather, don’t talk.” Before Dione could make any comment, Serena changed the subject. “Do you mind if I stay for dinner? I know you probably want to start your campaign, but Richard told me this morning that he’d be late coming home tonight, and I’m at loose ends.”

Far from being anxious to begin her “campaign,” Dione was dreading it, and gladly asked Serena to stay. As she usually had dinner with them, Blake might think something was off if all of a sudden she stopped the practice.

While Serena went to the den to entertain herself, Dione made her way down to the pool and entered the gym. She stopped abruptly. Blake was on the bars, balancing himself with his hands, while Alberta was on her knees, moving his feet in walking motions. From the looks of him, he’d been hard at it since she’d left with Serena that morning, and poor Alberta was frazzled, too. Blake wore only a brief pair of blue gym shorts, and he’d tied his shirt around his forehead to keep the sweat from getting into his eyes. He was literally dripping as he strained, trying to force his muscles to do his bidding. Dione knew that he had to be in a great deal of pain; it was revealed in the rigid set of his jaw, his white lips. The fact that he’d enlisted Alberta’s help instead of waiting for her to return said something about his determination, but she was afraid that he’d tried to do too much. He’d paid for his excesses the night before with agonizing cramps, and she had the feeling that tonight would be a repeat.

“Time for the whirlpool,” she said easily, trying not to sound anxious. Alberta looked up with an expression of acute relief, and achingly got to her feet. Blake, on the other hand, shook his head.

“Not yet,” he muttered. “Another half hour.”

Dione signaled to Alberta, who quietly left the room. Taking a towel from the stack she always kept handy, she went up to him and wiped his face, then his shoulders and chest. “Don’t push it so hard,” she advised. “Not yet. You can do yourself more harm than good at this stage. Come on, into the whirlpool; give your muscles a rest.”

He sagged against the bars, panting, and Dione quickly brought the wheelchair over to him. He levered himself into it; he seldom needed her help moving himself around now, since he was so much stronger. She switched the whirlpool on and turned around to find that he’d been staring at her bottom as she bent over. Wondering how much she’d exposed in the unaccustomed dress, she flushed pink.

He gave her a wicked little smile, then grasped the pulley and swung himself over the pool, letting himself down expertly in the water. He sighed in relief as the pulsing water eased his tired, strained muscles.

“I didn’t expect you to be gone all day,” he said, closing his eyes wearily.

“I only shop once a year.” She lied without compunction. “When I shop, it’s an endurance event.”

“Who won, you or Serena?” he asked, smiling as he lay there, his eyes still closed.

“I think Serena did,” she groaned, stretching her tight muscles. “Shopping uses an entirely different set of muscles than weight lifting does.”

He opened one eye a slit and surveyed her. “Why not join me?” he invited. “As the old saying goes, ‘Come on in, the water’s fine.’”

It was tempting. She looked at the swirling water, then shook her head regretfully as she thought of the many things that she needed to do. She didn’t have time to relax in a whirlpool.

“Not tonight. By the way,” she added, changing the subject, “how did you talk Alberta into helping you with your exercises?”

“A mixture of charm and coercion,” he replied, grinning a little. His gaze slipped over the bodice of her dress; then he closed his eyes again and gave himself up to the bliss of the whirlpool.

Dione moved around the room, putting everything in place and preparing for the massage she’d give him when he left the whirlpool, but her actions were purely automatic. Their conversation had been casual, even trivial, but she sensed an entirely different mood under the cover of their words. He was looking at her, he was seeing her, as a woman, not a therapist. She was both frightened and exhilarated at her success, because she’d expected it to take much longer before she got his attention. The intent way he stared at her was sending messages that she wasn’t trained to interpret. As a therapist, she knew instinctively what her patient needed; as a woman, she was completely in the dark. She wasn’t even completely certain that he wasn’t staring at her with derision.

“All right, that’s enough,” he said huskily, breaking her train of thought. “I hope Alberta’s not going to hold a grudge against me, because I’m hungry. Do you think she’ll feed me?”

“Serena and I will let you have our scraps,” Dione offered generously, earning a wryly appreciative glance from him.

A few minutes later he lay on his stomach on the table with a towel draped over his hips, sighing in contentment as her strong fingers worked their magic on his flesh. He propped his chin on his folded arms, the look on his face both absent and absorbed, a man concentrating on his inner plans. “How long before I’ll be able to walk?” he asked.

Dione continued manipulating his legs as she considered the answer. “Do you mean until you take your first steps, or walk without aid?”

“The first steps.”

“I’ll take a stab and say six weeks, though that’s only a rough guess,” she warned him. “Don’t hold me to it. You could do it in four or five, or it could be two months. It really depends on how well I’ve planned your therapy program. If you push too hard and injure yourself, then it’ll take longer.”

“When will the pain ease?”

“When your muscles are accustomed to your weight and the mechanics of movement. Are your legs still numb?”

“Hell, no,” he growled feelingly. “I can tell when you’re touching me now. But after those cramps last night, I’m not certain I want to feel.”

“The price to pay,” she taunted gently, and slapped him on the bottom. “Time to turn over.”

“I like that dress,” he said when he was lying on his back and could stare at her. Dione didn’t glance up, consciously keeping the flexing of her fingers in an unbroken rhythm. When she failed to comment he pushed a little harder. “You’ve got great legs. I see you every day, dressed in next to nothing, but I hadn’t realized how good your legs are until I saw you in a dress.”

She quirked one eyebrow. That statement alone verified her suspicion that he hadn’t been aware of her as a woman, not really. She half-turned her back to him as she rubbed her hands down the calf of his right leg, hoping that the vigorous massage would lessen any cramps he might have. When the warm touch of his hand rested on her bare thigh, under her skirt, she gave a stifled half scream and jerked up straight.

“Blake!” she yelped, pushing frantically at his hand in an effort to dislodge it from under her dress. “Stop it! What are you doing?”

“You’re playing with my legs,” he retorted calmly. “Turnabout’s fair play.”

His fingers were between her legs while his thumb was on the outside of her thigh, and she flinched from the feel of his hand as her other leg instinctively pressed against him to halt the upward movement. Her face flushed brightly.

“I like that,” he said huskily, his eyes bright. “Your legs are so strong, so sleek. Do you know what you feel like? Cool satin.”

She twisted, trying to loosen his grip, and to her dismay his fingers slid even higher. She sucked in a lungful of air and held it, going still, her eyes wide and alarmed as she tried to still the flare of panic in her stomach. Her heart lurched drunkenly in her chest.

“Let me go, please,” she whispered, hoping that the trembling of her voice wouldn’t be as noticeable if she didn’t try to talk loudly.

“All right,” he agreed, a little smile moving his lips. Just as she began to sag in relief, he added, “If you’ll kiss me.”

Now her heart was slamming so wildly that she pressed her hand to her chest in an effort to calm it. “I…just one kiss?”

“I can’t say,” he drawled, staring at her lips. “Maybe, maybe not. It depends on how well we like it. For God’s sake, Dee, I’ve kissed you before. You won’t be violating any sacred vow not to become involved with a patient. A kiss isn’t what I’d term an involvement.”

Despite her efforts to hold her legs together and trap his wandering hand, he somehow moved a little higher.

“It’s only a kiss,” he cajoled, holding his left hand out to her. “Don’t be shy.”

She wasn’t shy, she was terrified, but she could still hold on to the thought that Blake wasn’t Scott. That alone gave her the courage to lean down and touch her lips to his as lightly, as delicately, as a breath of air. She drew back and stared down at him. His hand remained on her leg.

“You promised,” she reminded him.

“That wasn’t a kiss,” he replied. The expression in his eyes was intent, watchful. “A real kiss is what I want, not a child’s kiss. I’ve been a long time without a woman. I need to feel your tongue on mine.”

Weakly she leaned against the table. I can’t handle this, she thought wildly, then stiffened as the thought formed in her brain. Of course she could; she could handle anything. She’d already been through the worst that could happen to her. This was just a kiss, that was all…

Though her soft, generous mouth trembled against his, she gave him the intimate kiss he’d requested, and she was startled to feel him begin to shake. He removed his hand from her leg and placed both arms around her, but he held her without any real force, only a warm sort of nearness that failed to alarm her. The hair on his bare chest was tickling her above the fabric of her sundress; the faintly musky smell of him filled her lungs. She became aware of the warmth of his skin, the roughness of his chin against her smooth skin, the light play of his tongue against hers. Her eyes had been open, but now they slowly closed, and she became lost in a world of sensation, the light only a redness against her lids, her senses of touch and smell intensified by the narrowing of her concentration.

That was what she wanted, she reminded herself dimly. She hadn’t thought she would enjoy herself in the process, but the excitement that was beginning to course through her veins brought with it a warmth that could only be pleasure.

“God, you smell good,” he breathed, breaking the kiss to nuzzle his face in the soft hollow of her throat. “What perfume is that?”

Giddily she remembered all the perfumes she’d tried. “It’s a mixture of everything,” she admitted in a bemused tone.

He chuckled and turned his head to claim her mouth again. This time the kiss was deeper, harder, but she didn’t protest. Instead she kissed him back as strongly as he kissed her, and he finally fell back onto the table, gasping.

“You’re taking advantage of a starving man,” he groaned, and she gave a spurt of laughter.

“I hope Alberta doesn’t feed you anything,” she told him, and turned away to hide the color that she knew still tinted her cheeks. She fussed over several insignificant details, but when she turned back he wasn’t paying attention to her. She disciplined her face into smoothness and helped him to dress, but there was a sense of determination about him that bothered her. It nagged at her all during dinner, where Serena entertained Blake with a wholly fictitious tale of their shopping trip.

What was he up to? She’d agonized over her scheme, gone to ridiculous lengths to put it into action, but somehow she still had the feeling that he was the one who was scheming, not her.