"How about breakfast? I know how much you like to eat breakfast out."

"Okay, but it'll have to be early. I open the shop at nine and I like to be there by eight-thirty."

"I'll see you at seven. Do they serve breakfast at that diner?"

"Yes. Good breakfast. I'll see you there."

As she hung up the phone, she wondered where all her common sense had gone. Straight out the window, apparently. But the thought of seeing Rey tomorrow morning over a plate of pancakes made her strangely, warmly happy. It was more than just the arousal, the raw, animal response to him. There was something about him that felt like home, and that was infinitely more dangerous. This was home. She had herself, her business, her log cabin. He was just a distraction, s.e.xy and arousing, and carrying all the baggage of her past.

Crawling into bed, she wondered if she'd responded to him the way she had because she was lonely. She should have gotten herself a dog a long time ago. Then maybe she wouldn't be so vulnerable.

She lay awake for a long time, staring into the empty darkness. Tears p.r.i.c.ked her eyelids and she blinked them back.

They had been so good together, when they'd worked at it. She couldn't help remembering. Couldn't push the images back, of their years together, of how perfect it had seemed, before it had all fallen apart.

The first time they had made love, it had seemed like they'd known each other for years. He had touched her as if he knew everything about her. His hands had coaxed things out of her she'd never known existed. Small, wanton sounds, sensations that made her weak, made her weep. She hadn't been a virgin, but she remembered that moment almost better than she remembered the actual loss of her virginity. The sweet, deep shock of him entering her, sliding inside her. Gentle and eager at the same time, wanting to soothe her but also to possess her. He had taken her deep, physically so, with the long, slim curve of his c.o.c.k, but also emotionally. Nothing in her life had ever felt the way it had felt to be made love to by Reynard Birch.

Without really thinking about it, she lifted her hand from where it rested on the mattress and slid her own palm gently across her belly. Her skin was soft, warm, the ticklish trail of her fingers making her c.u.n.t contract in soft, needy waves, the rising of her arousal catching her almost by surprise.

What the h.e.l.l, she thought. She'd kept herself company more than once in this bed. She brushed her fingertips over the springy, wiry hair, combed into it. Her hand cupped over her mons and held the heat there; she could feel it, a soft, warm cus.h.i.+on of warmth between her palm and her v.u.l.v.a.

Her fingers slid deeper, slipping between her outer l.a.b.i.a. The skin was slick and hot, wetness pooled there already. She caught some of the thick fluid on her fingers and spread it upward, over the more roughly textured skin of her l.a.b.i.a, up around the rising, hooded nub of her c.l.i.t.

G.o.d, it felt good. It occurred to her that she hadn't done this for a long time. Her body had gone taut, her skin tight and s.h.i.+very. And her thoughts had gone to Rey.

He had always known how to touch her. He would move his fingers-like that-sliding them along the insides of her wet, swollen lips, then pus.h.i.+ng inside, two fingers in her v.a.g.i.n.a, sometimes three. She slid her own fingers in, echoing the movement he might have used. She was deep and hot, her body open and ready.

Her fingers were Rey's fingers, moving smoothly up, his forefinger making careful circles around her hardened c.l.i.t. Insistent sensations rose in her body, impossible to ignore. Rey was there in the bed with her, touching her, coaxing her, his fingers rolling her c.l.i.t, invading her body, finding the spot high in her v.a.g.i.n.a that made her back arch, made her cry out involuntarily.

Tension coiled and coiled, rising higher and higher, and suddenly she stilled, holding the tip of one finger against her c.l.i.t as the taut, overpowering heat rose to the crest and tumbled over. She could feel her body contracting, pulsing, under her cupped hand. The o.r.g.a.s.m took her whole body, s.h.i.+vering over every inch of her skin.

It rode high and hot, and finally flowed through all of her, and subsided, leaving her cupping her mons, feeling the soft aftershocks clench and release under her fingers.

She rolled over onto her pillow and cried.

The Sky Mountain Lodge was nicely appointed and comfortable, but it wasn't where Rey wanted to be. He wanted to be with Joely, in her house, even wedged into her too-short couch. Preferably, though, in her bed. Better yet, inside her.

Instead, he was folding back soft sheets in a room with a rack of elk antlers on the wall above the bed. At least, he thought they were elk antlers. His knowledge of Colorado wildlife was sketchy at best.

He stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes, remembering the way Joely had looked when he'd come into her shop. Still the same tall, willowy blonde girl he'd met in college, with her short-cropped, boyish hair and wide blue eyes. Or maybe not the same, because she wasn't a girl anymore.

He'd missed her so much. It seemed stupid now, that he had closed her out of his life over something as inconsequential as a job.

Of course, it hadn't seemed inconsequential then. It was easy, especially in New York, for priorities to get screwed up. He'd let that happen, and he'd paid for it. Dearly.

He'd been stupid, the kind of stupid only pride could drive a man to. He'd focused on all the wrong things. Hopefully he was focused on the right things now. The most important of those being Joely.

They'd always had a special bond. From the day they'd met, sparks had ignited, and even up to the day she'd left him, a single look had been enough to fan the flames. It had been more than just the s.e.x, too. Though the s.e.x had been incredible. Just thinking about it made him hard. Made him want her so much, he could barely think, or see, straight.

He missed the s.e.x, desperately. He missed everything else about her even more.

With a long sigh, he picked up his electronic organizer and turned it on, glancing over the "To Do" list. He could mark one item off-he'd gotten a good look at Joely's pottery. He wondered how hard it would be to get some photos. Probably fairly hard, particularly since he didn't want Joely to know he'd done it. He had to, though, to prove the case he was pursuing. He'd get in touch with his boss in the morning and give him a progress report.

He flipped the organizer closed. He was playing a complicated game here, but he didn't see where he had much choice. As long as Joely didn't figure out what he was up to, he'd be fine. And he'd tell her when he was ready. She'd understand. He was, after all, doing it for her. She stood to benefit a great deal from this case. And maybe it would make up in some ways for the case he'd bungled, the one that had torn them apart.

He set the organizer on the bedside table and turned off the light. As sleep claimed him, he thought not of work, but of Joely. Of her hands on his body, the way she had known how to play him like a fine instrument, fingers, teeth and tongue, her mouth on his c.o.c.k...

In spite of his best intentions, he lay awake for a long time. When he finally did fall asleep, he dreamed of Joely.

Rey woke the next morning with a headache and a weird, weak feeling. Getting up, he shook with chills, and the room spun around him. He swore, staggering to the bathroom. His stomach dipped and rolled.

Flu, he thought. Some lovely virus being circulated through the 747 that had dropped him off in Denver. It figured. He carefully drank a gla.s.s of water, then splashed some on his face. That helped a little.

At least he didn't look too bad, judging by his reflection in the mirror. No way was he going to back out of breakfast over some stupid microorganism. He sat back down in the bed to boot up his laptop. The letters on the screen blurred as he composed an email for his boss, saying that he had access to Joely's boutique, and could make a more detailed report later in the week. By the time he was done, he was sweating.

Pulling up in front of the diner, he wondered if he'd made the wrong decision. He sat a moment, gathering himself. He hadn't felt this bad in a long time. Then he caught sight of Joely, walking into the diner. His stomach lurched again, only this time he was fairly certain it was arousal. It was hard to tell at this point.

"Joely!" he called, opening the car door. "Wait up."

She paused, smiling, but the smile faded into concern as he approached. Apparently, his appearance had degraded since his last look in the mirror.

She peered into his face. "Are you okay, Rey? You don't look so good."

"It's nothing. A bug or something."

She brushed his forehead, his cheek, and he closed his eyes a moment at the touch of her hand. Sparks again, desire attempting to rise, even through his growing misery.

"You don't have a fever."

"I feel like I do."

She took his hand, drawing him through the door. "Let's sit down."

He followed her without question, grateful to get a solid booth under him. She spoke to the waitress in an undertone while he closed his eyes again, wondering how he could be so dizzy and not have a fever.

As he sat down, he realized something seemed odd about Joely. Then it registered-she'd just taken charge. She'd never done that before, not to his knowledge.

A moment later, the waitress deposited a gla.s.s of water on the table.

"Drink up," said Joely. "And keep drinking."

"Water?" He drank obediently, though. "Water for the flu?"

"The good news is, it's not the flu. It's the alt.i.tude."

"Alt.i.tude?"

She gave him a tolerant smile that somehow managed to be affectionate at the same time. "You flew straight out from New York-which is roughly at sea level, by the way-hit 5,280 feet at the airport, then drove straight up the mountain, am I right?"

Rey swallowed water. "More or less."

"We're at a good eight thousand feet here, nine some places. You came up too quickly and now you've got alt.i.tude sickness. It happens all the time."

He made a sceptical face. "You're making this up, right?"

"Of course not. When you climb Everest, you have to stop for weeks for your body to adjust to the alt.i.tude. Here it takes a day or two, sometimes."

"So what do I do?"

"Drink your water. Rest. Chances are you'll be fine tomorrow."

She laid her hand on his and squeezed it gently. He looked into her eyes and wished he felt good enough to kiss her. "Promise?"

"I promise."

"You're sure you're not making this up?"

"Look it up on the Internet if you don't believe me."

He managed a weak smile and drank more water.

By the time she'd finished her pancakes and eggs-over easy, just like he remembered she liked them-and he'd inched his way through two gla.s.ses of water and a piece of dry toast, he was feeling a little better. Not better enough to catch the bill, though. Somehow, she'd paid it and signed the credit card slip before he realized it had hit the table.

"Today's Wednesday," she said. "Business is usually slow on Wednesdays. How about if I call Perry and tell her I'm not coming in?"

"There's no need for that."

"I'd feel better if somebody kept an eye on you today. Alt.i.tude sickness can be fatal, you know." "No way." She had to be making this up. "Usually just for people who decide to ski or hike a fourteener fresh off the plane, but you've been sitting around in an office so long, no telling how out of shape you are these days."

Her eyes twinkled merrily at his expense. He made a face, not quite energetic enough to inform her he

still worked out three times a week. Apparently, that didn't matter up here where there was no air.

"Maybe you should nurse me back to health, then." He had to admit the idea held appeal.

"So we'll leave your car here and I'll drive you back to the hotel."

He agreed, wondering why he was so reluctant to let her take charge, to take care of him, now she had

the chance. Just because it had never been that way before, he supposed. He'd always been the one doing the rescuing. Not that he'd been any good at it. So far, she was proving far better suited to the task than he'd ever been. The thought brought a pall over the more pleasant aspects of the role reversal.

Back at the lodge, Joely followed him up the stairs to his room. She tossed her purse on the dresser and made herself comfortable.

"You're staying?" He sat down on the bed and pressed a hand against his throbbing forehead.

"I thought I said that already. I'm going to keep an eye on you until I'm sure you're all right."

He started to shake his head in protest, then reconsidered, blinking back another wave of dizziness.

"You were serious? I don't think it's necessary."

"I do." She opened her gigantic handbag. Rey was certain he'd never seen a purse that big before. While she sorted through its contents, he sat there, rubbing his head, clueless as to what to do next. Finally, she looked back up at him. "Take a nap. You'll feel better."

"I'm supposed to just sleep while you're sitting there?"

"Don't worry about me. I'll find something to do." She pulled out a big sketchpad and a handful of pencils and began to arrange them on top of the dresser.

"Yeah," he muttered. He wasn't worried about her finding something to do. He was more worried about

himself, sleeping while Joely sat there looking at him. The thought made him feel weird. He couldn't even put words to the sensation. Then it hit him. Vulnerable. He felt vulnerable. That wasn't a good thing. Or was it? Time to let go, maybe. Show Joely he still trusted her. He rubbed his head a few more times, then stripped down to his shorts and climbed back under the covers. "That's it," she said. Her attention had wandered from her sketchpad and now roved over his body. Her eyes would have undressed him if he hadn't been undressed already. His c.o.c.k twitched-he was amazed it was still functioning, as sick as he felt. "You just sleep."

He wished fervently that he was up to full health. Up to grabbing her and kissing her and pus.h.i.+ng her back into the bed, pus.h.i.+ng his hands inside her clothes..."Don't take advantage of me while I'm unconscious."

She smiled. "I'll try not to."

He lay back and closed his eyes. To his own surprise, he immediately forgot Joely was watching him and drifted off, thinking about mysterious mountain-induced ailments and wondering what the h.e.l.l a "fourteener" was.

This was nice, Joely decided after the first half-hour or so of watching Rey sleep. He'd always been the strong one in their relations.h.i.+p, the one with the better job, the one who could bail her out of situations when they arose. Of course, it had been his miserable failure to bail her out of one such situation that had started their marriage down the crumbling slope of doom.

But now it was her turn to take care of him. He was on her turf here, facing things he knew nothing about. A new experience for him, she was sure. It intrigued her that he'd given himself up to her care so willingly. The old Rey would have fought it tooth and nail.

He slept charmingly-except for the vague snoring-his face mushed into the pillow and one hand curled open next to his nose. She studied his profile, memorizing it. She'd never forgotten it, but it seemed different somehow. Her memory had erased the imperfections, made his nose a little shorter and straighter, his chin a little bigger. Her memory had neglected to remind her he drooled in his sleep.

After a moment, she turned a page in the sketchpad, to a blank sheet. Looking at the familiar lines of his sleeping face, she let her pencil drift over the paper, echoing them, bringing them to existence in soft smudges of gray lead against the white paper. She had drawn him before, a long time ago. Once or twice she had drawn him naked. She was tempted to tweak the sheet away from his shoulders, to expose the long, clean lines of his back, but she didn't want to disturb him. So instead, she drew his wide shoulders, the curl of his hair against the back of his neck, his long nose against the dark pillowcase, his slightly open mouth. She decided to leave out the vague drooling. Not at all aesthetically pleasing.

It felt good to draw him, though. Familiar. The movement of the pencil almost as fulfilling as a caress. She sketched his shoulders, the drape of the sheet over his back, the curve of his skull, his mussed hair. The long, straight line of forehead, of nose, the full, soft mouth. It was like touching him. Like making love to him.

Smiling at the thought, she added one last, small tweak to the line of his chin, then laid the sketchpad aside. She looked at the picture for a few moments, then picked up the phone to call Perry.