Melinda grinned up at them and reached for Rico's hand. "I'm so glad you guys stayed. But you must be exhausted."

"You're the one who did all the work," Teresa pointed out.

"Hey, I was here too, you know," Sean chimed in.

His wife gave him a smile usually reserved for heroes. "You were, sweetie, and you were great." Then she sighed and leaned back into her pillow. "I am tired, but I'm so wired right now there's no way I could sleep, you know?"

"Well, if you are not tired, I'm willing to bet that you are at least hungry," Rico said.

"Oh, G.o.d." Melinda laughed. "I'm so hungry if I had any chocolate syrup to drown them in, I'd eat the sheets right off the bed."

Teresa laughed.

"But the nurse tells me that breakfast isn't served for another couple of hours..." She glanced at her husband. "I'm going to get Sean to go home and bring me a nutrition bar. Or a bag of cookies. Or both."

"I think we can do better than that." Rico leaned over the metal bed rail and kissed Melinda's forehead. Then he straightened and looked at Sean. "I will have our chef prepare something and it will be here within a half an hour."

"Oh, boy! You are a G.o.d among men, Rico," Melinda said on a sigh of grat.i.tude.

"That has been said," he allowed.

"That's breakfast for two, right?" Sean put in hopefully.

"Of course."

"Feel better already." Sean grinned. "Of course, making himself the hero here, there'll be no living with him now. Good luck to you, Teresa."

A strained silence erupted suddenly as everyone in the room remembered at once that Teresa was on Tesoro only temporarily. Taking a breath, she swallowed hard and said, "Congratulations again, Melinda. Your baby is gorgeous."

"Thanks." She took Teresa's hand and held it for a second or two, offering silent support. "Once I get out of here, come to the house. I'll tell you all of my horror stories."

"Can't wait." Teresa smiled, then walked around the end of the bed to join Rico.

"We will see you soon." Rico lifted one hand to Sean and slipped out the door, drawing Teresa with him.

As they walked down the hall and pa.s.sed the nurses' station for the last time, Teresa said, "That was nice of you. Sending them breakfast, I mean."

"It is a small enough thing to do." He tried to shrug it off and hit the elevator b.u.t.ton for the ground floor. In moments the doors had opened again and they were striding out of the hospital into the cool of early morning.

"You really don't like being told you're nice, do you?" She studied his profile.

"Only because I'm not. And you would have said the same yesterday."

Her steps faltered a bit, but she caught herself and hurried on. True, after he'd climbed out of bed the day before and looked at her with ice in his eyes, she wouldn't have called him nice. But he had a heart, she knew he did. She'd just seen evidence of it. And five years ago he had offered that heart to her.

Was she solely to blame for the changes in Rico? And if so, how could she undo it?

Once they were in his car and buckled up, she asked, "How will Sean get home? We brought him here."

"I'll have someone bring his car to the hospital for him."

Teresa smiled. "Nice again."

He blew out a breath and glanced at her. "Expedient."

"You can't convince me, Rico." She shook her head and relaxed back against her seat, giving in to the fatigue that had suddenly begun to drag at her. "You're a nice guy and that's not a bad thing."

"Don't make me what I'm not, Teresa," he warned and fired up the engine. "It won't serve either of us."

Sunrise streaked the sky with soft colors that grew bolder nearer the horizon. The ever-present wind sighed through the opened car windows.

She understood what Rico was trying to tell her. But in the soft light of the breaking dawn, she looked at him and saw him for exactly what he was.

The love of her life.

Eight.

A week later, Rico stood in his office at the hotel, staring out the window at the sprawling view beyond the gla.s.s. From here he could see most of the village, the harbor and all the way to the horizon. He wasn't noticing the inherent beauty of the view at the moment though. Instead, he was trying to focus on the myriad problems facing him.

Running a luxury resort such as Castello Tesoro meant that there were small crises in the making at all times. Usually he accepted them as simply a part of his world. But with Teresa back in his life, he was less focused and so, less prepared to handle it all.

In the last few days, he had already dealt with a small fire caused by a candle left burning in one of the bungalows. No injuries, thank G.o.d, but a chaise and several throw pillows were toast. Then there was the tourist who broke an ankle jumping from the top of a waterfall on the property. He was in pain but he was lucky he hadn't broken his neck instead. Naturally, the hotel would pay for his hospital bills and Rico was arranging for private transport back to the States.

There were the small, everyday problems, as well: sunburns, jellyfish stings, drunks and the occasional brawls between guests. It was the sort of thing you expected to deal with as a hotelier. What you didn't normally come up against was an executive chef with appendicitis.

Rico turned his back on the window and faced his general manager, standing on the opposite side of his desk. "How long will Louis be out of commission?"

"According to the doctor, at least a week." Janine Julien, a woman of about sixty with the organizational skills of a general, tapped her computer tablet. Janine had been with him since Cancn. She'd chosen to leave her home in Mexico for the island of Tesoro and Rico had been pleased by the decision. The woman kept her finger on the pulse of the hotel and was often able to antic.i.p.ate and prevent problems before they happened.

"Louis will be fine," she added. "But with him out of commission for a while, I'm more concerned about what's going to happen here. As you know, the hotel is booked solid for the foreseeable future. There's a wedding scheduled this weekend and I can't stress enough how much time Louis spent with the bride's mother going over the selected menu. She is not going to be happy."

"We have other chefs." Rico shrugged. "They are more than capable."

"Sure they are," Janine agreed. "But Louis keeps the kitchen running. He's more than a chef. He's the one voice amid the chaos that people listen to. We've got a problem, Rico."

He had more than one, he told himself grimly. But at the moment, straightening out the mess in the hotel kitchen took precedence over Teresa.

"And I think I've found the solution."

"What?" Rico came around his desk and perched on the front edge. Folding his arms over his chest, he asked, "A solution already?"

The woman met his gaze and said, "Your wife."

Since she had been here on the island, Teresa had become known to everyone. If they'd been surprised to discover he was married, no one had mentioned it. Rico only hoped they were as discreet when the marriage was over and Teresa was gone from the island and his life.

That thought made him frown, so he pushed it aside and turned his focus back to the older woman.

"What about Teresa?"

"She was in the kitchen helping the staff prepare when Louis collapsed." Shaking her head, Janine said, "I happened to be there, too, to discuss the individual cakes for the upcoming wedding. I saw how she took charge." Shaking her head, she continued, "I was fl.u.s.tered, I'll admit it. But Teresa? She checked on Louis, had someone call the hotel doctor, then had another chef drive him to the hospital. And while all of this was going on, she got the kitchen moving again."

Janine shook her head, still clearly impressed with what she'd witnessed. "Everyone was shaken, but Teresa just stepped up and took charge. No one questioned her. They got back to work, and in spite of what had happened to Louis, the staff never missed a step. She's still down there now, running things. I thought you should know."

Rico didn't know whether to be grateful or furious. Once again Teresa had proven herself to him and to his staff. She wasn't cowering in his room, as a proper hostage should be. Instead, she was making herself a part of the fabric of Castello Tesoro. He knew, too, that the fabric would unravel once she was gone.

And she would be gone.

He couldn't risk believing in her again. Couldn't take the chance of keeping her here with him, knowing that her thieving family might show up at any time. But that wasn't the truth at all. He didn't give a d.a.m.n about Teresa's family and knew he could handle them if they ever showed up on Tesoro again.

This was about her. The woman he'd once married. The woman he had trusted. Believed in. Only to be betrayed.

Well, if she was trying to ingratiate herself with him now, it wouldn't work. Of course he'd allow her to help; he wasn't an idiot and a talented chef didn't fall out of the sky when needed. But her help was all he was interested in.

Pushing up from the desk, he barked out orders. "Contact the hospital. Take care of Louis's bill and get him whatever he wants. I'll go see him later."

"Right." Her gaze tracked him as he stalked across the room toward the office door. "Where are you going?"

"To the kitchen." He glanced over his shoulder at her. "I'll see for myself if Teresa is working out as head chef or not."

A few minutes later Rico stood in a doorway, watching the ch.o.r.eographed confusion in the gigantic kitchen and couldn't help but be impressed. The first thing he noticed was that the cla.s.sical music Louis insisted on piping through the room had been replaced by rock, with a beat that kept the entire staff moving from station to station at a busy pace. The pastry chefs worked at a mound of dough, the salads were being prepared at a long marble counter and the prep chefs were busily preparing tonight's soup selections, as well as setting up the ingredients for the rest of the menu.

And in the middle of the chaos stood Teresa. Her black hair was pulled back and tucked up under a chef's hat. She wore a white coat over her street clothes and directed traffic in the big room like a traffic cop at a particularly busy corner.

She paused to take a sip of a sauce, then directed the chef to add something else. She inspected the pastry chefs' work and grinned at them in approval. Someone shouted a question and before they'd finished speaking, she was there, lending a hand.

Rico shook his head as he watched her. Sunlight poured in from the skylights in the roof and that golden light seemed to follow Teresa wherever she went. She shone, plain and simple. He was impressed. He didn't want to be, but there it was. Teresa had stepped in when she was most needed and was taking charge of what could have been a disastrous situation.

Everyone knew that the chefs in any big kitchen had rivalries and jealousies driving them. Without Teresa, there would have been a power play with several of the chefs making a bid to step into Louis's position. With her, the kitchen was running as well as or better than it had before.

Frowning to himself, he had to admit that there was much more to this woman than he had long believed. She wasn't here of her own free will. He had practically kidnapped her, blackmailed her, holding the freedom of her family over her head. Yet instead of standing by and watching disaster strike his hotel, she had jumped in, unasked, to save the day. Why? He had to wonder.

Unnoticed, he watched her and as he did, something within him stirred. Not the heat of desire that was a continuous, overwhelming pulse tearing through him. This was something else. There was warmth beneath the heat and a rush of feelings that he'd been denying for five long years.

As soon as he sensed that warmth settling around his heart, he bit off an oath and walked away.

It had been great to be back in a big kitchen.

Teresa had told Melinda that she'd spent the last five years working in a series of different restaurants around the world. And it was true. But they were small places-mom-and-pop diners, coffee shops and bakeries. She'd worked in a patisserie in Paris, a bakery in Gstaad and a pretzel shop in Berlin. She'd spent time in Italian restaurants in Florence and tea shops in London.

But not since she left Rico in Mexico had she worked for a five-star restaurant. Truthfully, when she had first disappeared from his hotel in Mexico, Teresa had worried that he would track her down and find her, so she'd hidden away in small eateries that most people overlooked. But after some time, she had simply gravitated to those places as if she were punishing herself by refusing the opportunity to do what she did best-run a big kitchen.

But today that had changed. She felt terrible that Louis had taken ill, but she also had to admit that she had loved the challenge of stepping into his shoes, however temporarily. She'd worked tirelessly for hours and when the guests had all been served and the ovens shut down, she'd stayed late to supervise the ma.s.sive cleanup required.

By the time she was ready to go back to Rico's house and her gilded cage, Teresa was exhausted. And felt better than she had in far too long. She let herself in through the front door and quietly shut it behind her. A smile was still on her face as she headed down the long, slate-tiled hallway toward Rico's bedroom. As she pa.s.sed the shadow-filled living room, his voice stopped her.

"Why did you do it?"

"Rico?" The room was dark, save for the pale, watery light spilling in from the night beyond the wide windows. "Why are you sitting down here in the dark?"

She heard a click and instantly, a fire blossomed to life in the gas hearth. Multicolored slate tiles in shades of blues and grays made up the fireplace insert. Leaping flames and fiery light jumped around the room, highlighting the man who stood before it. "I want to know why you helped out in the kitchen, Teresa. You didn't have to. It wasn't up to you to prevent a disaster."

She walked into the room, hardly noticing the brightly patterned throw rugs scattered over the floor. She paid no attention to the oversize brown leather couches and chairs or to the gleaming oak tables between them. She barely glanced through the wide window providing a spectacular view of his yard that swept down to an ocean that frothed with phosph.o.r.escent light.

"I wanted to help."

"I know that. What I don't know," he repeated, "what I need to know, is why?"

"Is it really so hard to understand, Rico?" she asked, walking close enough to him to stare up into eyes that were shadowed in the low light, yet danced with the reflections of the flames.

"Yes," he whispered, gaze locked on her, moving over her features as if he'd never seen her before. "You had no reason to. I forced you to stay here on the island when you had no wish to. I've threatened your family with imprisonment and have made you a hostage. So yes, it is hard for me to understand why you would step in during a crisis at my hotel."

Teresa shook her head sadly. He couldn't see how much she loved him. Or if he did, he chose to not recognize it. So how could she explain that for her, there hadn't been a choice at all? "I wanted to help you, Rico. Louis got sick and I was right there, so I helped."

"What are you trying to do to me?" His voice was low, deep and rough. As if every word had to scratch its way past his throat.

"Do to you?" She huffed an impatient breath. "Nothing, Rico. I'm here for a month. Would it be easier on you if I sat in a corner and cried over being trapped here by a man who clearly can't stand to be around me unless I'm in his bed?"

"Maybe," he muttered thickly as he shoved one hand through his hair. "I don't know anymore."

Teresa didn't even know what she was feeling now. Impatience, irritation, a swell of love that was so rich and deep it filled her entire body and throbbed in her heart.

"Rico, would you rather I just sit on your bed naked, awaiting your pleasure? Would that be hostage-like enough for you?"

"Yes. No. Yes," he ground out, then continued in a ragged voice, "if you behaved as if you were frightened or worried, that would make more sense to me. Instead you make yourself a part of things here, even knowing you won't be staying."

"If it would help, I could whimper for a while."

He snorted. "You wouldn't know the first thing about whimpering."

A small smile curved her mouth. "At least you know me that well."

All trace of amus.e.m.e.nt drained from his features and his eyes flashed in the firelight. "Once I thought I knew you better than anyone I have ever known."

Her heart ached at the wistful tone in his voice. How much she had destroyed when she'd left. How much she'd given up, never to find again. How much they had both missed in the last five years because of a twist of fate. If Gianni hadn't stolen that dagger... If she had told Rico the truth about her family when she first met him...

But ifs were nebulous creatures and changed nothing.

"You did know me, Rico."

"No." He shook his head and reached for her, dropping his hands onto her shoulders and pulling her up close. "I thought I did, but you weren't real. You weren't mine."