"But you needed money-"

"It wasn't the money, Summer. I was desperate, but I could have left town and kept my job and figured out some other way to take care of my mom and Emma. I wanted to marry you. I've wanted it for a long time."

Summer stared at Billy, her jaw agape. "Why didn't you say something sooner?"

His lips twisted wryly. "If you'll recall, I did."

Summer thought back to the time two years ago when Billy had proposed to her, and she'd refused. And the moment a few weeks later, when she'd been running from who she'd discovered she was, and she'd proposed to him and he'd turned her down. "I suppose timing is everything."

She opened her mouth to tell him that she was glad this time the timing had been right, because she'd discovered that she loved him, but he spoke first.

"We didn't marry for love, Summer. But some of the best marriages happen when people like and respect one another."

Summer felt her heart sink. What about love? She loved Billy and she wanted his love. Was that asking so much? "What are you saying?"

"That I'd like to treat this marriage as something that will last beyond the time we set for it to end."

Summer didn't know what to say. Didn't know how to feel. She shot a surrept.i.tious look in Billy's direction. "I'm not sure I know what you're getting at."

"I'm saying we make a good team. That I like being with you. That I want to keep on spending time in your company. That we ought to plan on staying married for the long haul."

Nothing about love in any of those statements, Summer noticed. Commitment. But not love.

Summer wondered what would happen if she just admitted her feelings to Billy. But what if he didn't-couldn't-love her back the way she loved him? Friendship just wasn't enough anymore. She threaded her fingers together in her lap and focused on them as she said, "I don't think that's a good idea, Billy. I mean, I think it's important to be in love with the person you plan to spend your life with."

The ball was in his court. If he had feelings for her, surely he would declare them now. She'd given him the perfect opening.

But all he said was, "Yeah. I suppose you're right."

Summer gave Billy directions to get to the penthouse on Woodway and exchanged an amused glance with him when the concierge at the desk gave them the key, then glanced at the small gym bag that was all Billy had brought along and asked, "Do you need help with your luggage, sir?"

"I think I can handle it," Billy said, slinging the bag over his shoulder.

A fast ride up the elevator, and they were inside the penthouse, which was filled with memories for Summer.

"Nice place," Billy commented as he dropped his bag on a silk-upholstered chair.

"I'm surprised you didn't put up more of an argument when I suggested it."

Billy shrugged. "It's a lot closer to the offices of De-Witt & Blackthorne than a motel somewhere along the freeway."

Summer headed straight for the pictures on the baby grand piano. "There are so many good times captured here. I want to go back and live them all over again."

"But then you'd have to live the bad times all over again, too," Billy said as he joined her. "Owen and Clay looked a lot more alike in high school." He pointed to a picture of Summer dressed in pink tights, standing between her brothers and said, "I never knew you took ballet lessons."

"Just for the blink of an eye. Which was how long I lasted with the piano and the flute. It seems I had no affinity for instruments either large or small," she said with a grin.

"I guess you needed to find one just the right size," Billy said as he took her hand and placed it over the fly in his jeans.

Summer laughed and slid her palm down to cup him, feeling the length of him grow hard beneath her hand. "Amazing how much fun it can be to play, once you've had a little practice."

When she looked into Billy's eyes, it suddenly wasn't a game anymore. This was serious. She loved him. And though he liked her and admired her and obviously desired her, he didn't love her back. Summer felt a growing sense of desperation.

"Love me, Billy," she whispered. She purposely hadn't said "Make love to me." There was a difference. She wanted Billy to see it. She wanted Billy to feel it.

He kept his gaze focused on her as he lowered his head and touched her lips with his in a gesture of infinite tenderness. Oh. It felt like love.

But his eyes were dark and dangerous. A second later he scooped her up in his arms and said, "Which way?"

She pointed him down the hall toward her penthouse bedroom. He shoved a handful of stuffed animals off the bed, then tore off the bedspread and lay her on the cool sheets, following her down.

He popped the b.u.t.tons on her shirt, and she smiled inwardly as one pinged off the headboard. He shoved her bra straps off her shoulders and dragged the bra out of the way as his mouth latched onto her naked breast. This was the lover she'd wanted, a little rough because he was impatient to touch, impatient to taste.

He stopped long enough to yank off her boots and pull down her jeans and underwear and finally un-snapped her bra when she couldn't get it undone, before throwing it across the room.

Summer laughed as he gave his own clothes the same crude treatment, tearing at cloth and b.u.t.tons until he was as naked as she was. But there was no more foreplay. She gasped as he gripped her hips and drove into her in one swift thrust.

He stopped and stared into her eyes. She thought he was going to speak, but instead, he leaned over and kissed her hard on the mouth, a kiss of claiming, of absolute possession.

His hands moved over her, touching, testing, until she was alive with sensation. She arched her back as his mouth once more claimed a breast, her hands clutching his silky hair as he suckled her.

His lips continued their delicious torment at her throat, and she tasted the salt on his shoulder and nipped at his flesh as she sought to give back the pleasure she took. His love bites became harder, more savage, as his body pumped into hers, but she felt only an exquisite pleasure that pulsed and grew.

He buried his face in her neck, binding her hands on either side of the pillow, giving her no chance of escape. She drove her hips up to meet his, writhing beneath him as they both sought the pinnacle of pleasure. She cried aloud and heard a wrenching groan tear from his throat as they found what they'd sought.

They both lay heaving, their bodies sweat-slick, and for the first time Summer was aware of the ice-cold air-conditioning. She shivered when a blast of air hit her heated flesh. "It's cold in here."

Billy released her hands and started to rise off of her, but Summer slid her arms around his waist and held on, wanting to feel the weight of him, not wanting the closeness to end.

The words I love you were on the tip of her tongue. All she had to do was say them. She didn't think Billy would mind. It was a good thing to love someone.

But not if he didn't love her back.

Summer didn't speak, and when Billy lifted himself and slid to her side, she didn't stop him. He reached down and pulled the sheet up to cover them, then put an arm around her and nestled her close.

"This is nice," she said, as she slid her f.a.n.n.y into the niche created by his thighs.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Nice."

"Are you hungry?" she asked. "We can order something from the concierge downstairs."

He nuzzled her neck. "Not for food," he said.

She opened her eyes and turned to stare at him over her shoulder. "You can't possibly-"

"That was just an appetizer," he said. "Now I'm ready for the main course."

Summer grinned. It seemed there were some things she hadn't known about Billy Coburn. "Have you always been this insatiable?" she asked as she turned in his arms and kissed his throat.

He took her head between his hands and forced her to look at him. "I was never like this with anyone else. Only with you. I'm always hungry for you."

It wasn't love. But it was still a precious feeling. Summer turned her face up for his kiss, felt the gentleness of it, felt his need. She moaned as Billy once more filled her full.

Chapter 17.

EMMA COBURN HADN'T EXPECTED TO FALL IN love with Sam Creed, or she never would've gone to work for him. She hadn't known what to say when he asked her to marry him. She liked Sam well enough, but she didn't trust men. And with good reason. The men in her life hadn't exactly proved trustworthy.

Johnny Ray Coburn hadn't been any girl's dream of a father. He'd only hit her once, but there were other ways of hurting a person without using your fists. Billy had been there to protect her physically, but neither of them had known how to give comfort to one another. And even though she knew Billy had to leave when he did, she'd felt betrayed when he took the TSCRA job and moved to Amarillo.

Then there was the father of her baby. It wasn't his fault he'd used her body and given her nothing in return-except a baby, of course. She hadn't asked for more.

Sam had come into her life at a vulnerable time. Her mother was too wrapped up in her own pain to notice Emma's. And when Billy answered her call and came home, her foolish brother thought that what she needed was help running the C-Bar, when what she'd really hoped for was a strong, sympathetic shoulder to cry on. She'd felt cheated when she saw how easily he shared a hug with his new wife, when he'd never offered her one.

Emma had needed someone to hold her close, to tell her everything would be all right, to remind her she was a good person and would be a good mother. Sam had offered her a job, and in the short time she'd worked for him, proceeded to do all that and more.

How could she not have fallen in love with him?

Although, to be honest, when she'd first interviewed with Sam, what she'd seen was the wheelchair, not the man. He'd seemed so... safe. She'd had no qualms about living in the same house with him, certain that she could simply pull free and outrun him if she ever felt threatened.

Emma smiled. How naive she'd been. Sam Creed was a great deal stronger than he looked sitting in that wheelchair. She'd figured that out when she accidentally caught him with his shirt off, late one night in the kitchen.

Cotton pajamas covered his legs, but his upper body reminded her of sculpted stone, muscle and sinew and bone chiseled out precisely by some master artisan. She'd wanted to touch. She'd leaned across him into the refrigerator to get some cream for her coffee, bracing a hand on one of his shoulders, and felt the warm flesh ripple powerfully beneath her fingertips.

She'd lain in bed that night and wondered about the rest of him, about the part that had been paralyzed since he was eighteen. Wondered how a man in a wheelchair made love.

Tonight she would find out.

"Emma, is it all right if I come in?"

"Yes, Sam."

The door opened and he wheeled himself into the room. Emma sat up straighter in bed. When she'd first come into the house, she leaped to help Sam at every turn. He'd soon made it clear that he could take care of himself and that if he wanted her help, he'd ask for it. She made no move to help him now, simply waited in bed for her lover to come to her.

She'd seen his lower body before, when he'd taken a bath with her, and it was as weak and frail as his upper torso was healthy and strong. When she'd invited him into the bath, it hadn't occurred to her to wonder how he would get in and out. But he'd laid a board across the tub and levered himself out of his wheelchair and onto it, and then levered himself off the board and into the tub, inviting her with a smile to join him.

Emma quivered when she remembered how it had felt to sit before him, enfolded in his arms, to have him caress her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and to have his lips tease her neck and throat. She hadn't done any necking before. She'd just had s.e.x. Once. In the front seat of a Chevy pickup.

She'd been nervous and shy in the tub with Sam, but he'd been infinitely patient. He'd made her feel beautiful, even with a belly sticking five inches out in front of her. His hands had marveled at the shape of her, marveled at the child growing inside her, made her realize what a miracle it was... what a miracle she was.

That had scared her right out of the tub. She'd jumped up dripping water and grabbed for a towel to cover herself. She was poor white trash. Always had been. And she was nothing more in this house than Sam Creed's cook and housekeeper. She had no business listening to such nonsense.

But Sam had repeated his compliments. Often. And made her believe them. She was beautiful. The child growing inside her was a precious gift. She was funny and smart. She was a good cook. She was a kind and loving woman.

She was afraid to believe it would last. She was sure Sam would change his mind about her once he got to know her better. But the more she tried to hide herself from him, the more he'd sought out her innermost fears... and eased them.

He made her believe she was as capable of being loved as she was of loving. Although she wasn't quite sure yet what making love to Sam would be like. She didn't think he could have an erection, but they hadn't talked about it... yet.

She knew he used a Foley catheter to collect urine during the day, and that he wore the bag on the inside of his jeans when he was dressed. He'd tried removing it out of her sight when he'd come into the bathroom to bathe with her, but she'd wanted him to think she wasn't embarra.s.sed by the way he managed his bodily functions.

Of course, she'd been terribly embarra.s.sed, and he'd realized it when her pale skin had blushed a fiery red at his matter-of-fact explanation of what he was doing. But he'd looked at her and grinned and said, "At least you'll never have to worry about me leaving the toilet seat up."

That had made her laugh and eased the tension. She'd noticed he often made jokes when he could see others were uncomfortable with his disability. But the more she'd gotten to know him, the more she'd realized it was a defense mechanism to hide the hurt. It had been hard not to step between him and the rest of the world, but she'd seen that he didn't want or need her protection.

He only needed her to hold him and love him.

And because her need for love and affection was the equal of his, they'd come to a more than satisfactory meeting of the minds. Holding and touching and kissing had become a commonplace part of their daily life. It was time to move on to the next step. To lovemaking.

"I see you're already naked," Sam said.

Emma pulled the sheet a little tighter under her arms. "I thought that would be easier. I see you had the same idea."

Sam was sitting in the wheelchair wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. "Are you nervous?" he asked.

"No."

He tilted his head and looked into her eyes and she felt the telltale flush rising up her throat and admitted, "Yes, a little. All right, a lot."

He smiled crookedly and admitted, "Me, too."

"Have you... done this before?"

"I had a steady girlfriend in high school. We experimented quite a bit. Since then... I tried it once after my accident, but it wasn't too good for either of us."

"I see."

"So we'll both be finding our way," he said as he stripped away the towel and levered his naked body onto the bed beside her. "I think maybe this will work better if I'm in the middle. It'll give us more room to play."

She got out of bed, still holding on to the sheet to keep herself covered. He grinned and tugged it out of her hands and said, "You know I like to look at you."

She stood before him feeling beautiful because his warm brown eyes told her she was.

When he'd shifted himself into the center of the bed, with the pillows she'd been using stacked behind him, she asked, "Where would you like me?"

"How about sitting on my lap facing me?"

It was impossible not to notice the absence of an erection. "Will I be too heavy for you?" she asked, glancing at his legs.

"I'll be fine." When she hesitated, he said in a low, husky voice, "Come here, Emma. I want to kiss you."

That invitation got the desired response. She was on his lap lickety-split, her arms around his neck, her naked b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressed against his powerful chest, her lips pressed to his for the promised kiss. There was a little more of her between them than there had been a month ago. She was six months pregnant.