She dug that serving spoon so far into the chicken, he could have sworn it came out the other side.

God, he hoped she got full quickly.

As Cass lifted her fork, she cocked her eyebrow. She had to keep Alex talking. Learning something, anything, about the man was unexpected. To have him admit to a weakness of sorts was extraordinary.

He took a long drink from his wineglass. "I never know what to say. In social situations. I mean, all that small talk? My mind just shuts down. That's one of the things I love about being on the ocean. No chatting. Plus every time I'm on land, people look at me like I'm some kind of god and it's just too weird."

His hand came up and pulled at the collar of his turtleneck.

Good Lord. Alex Moorehouse was shy.

It was like finding out the earth wasn't round. She had to recalibrate everything she knew.

He was still hard as nails, radiating a kind of male power that was inherently sensual and somewhat dangerous. But the idea that he had a vulnerability made him appealing as well as sexy.

When he shifted in his seat, she realized she was staring. Seriously staring.

She looked down at her plate.

"Reese and I got along," he murmured, "because he understood how I am. He liked all the attention. I couldn't stand the reporters, the fans. The parties. We worked. Together...we worked."

Cass felt an odd stirring in her chest. The parties.

She'd been well aware of how much Reese had liked the parties.

That was how she'd first learned for sure that he was cheating. He'd called her from one in Sydney, Australia. She'd heard the chatting and the music in the background and he'd reassured her it was just another celebration after a successful race. Right after they'd said goodbye and hung up, her phone had rung again. She'd answered it, and before she got to hello, she'd heard him whisper huskily, Meet me upstairs in ten minutes. You know my room. Then the phone had gone dead.

He'd never realized he'd hit Redial instead of whatever number he'd programmed into his cell.

Right after the incident, she'd thought about confronting him, and had agonized over it. But in the end she'd let it go. The status quo had somehow seemed more important than her anger.

Tonight, though, she wished she had put it all out in the open. Preserving the peace and the stability of her life had seemed so important back then. Except now, after the months of chaos following his death, she wondered why she'd protected the lie. An illusion of calm was in fact no peace at all.

The sound of wine clucking into a glass brought her back to the present. Alex put the bottle down and stared at what he had poured.

"You must miss him," she said.

Alex rubbed his eyes. "Yeah. I do. He was my partner and my friend."

"I thought you would come to the funeral. When you didn't, that's how I knew you were really injured."

"I just couldn't be there. I heard it was a beautiful service."

"It was. He would have liked it. All the people. The speeches. He was loved by so many. I can't tell you the number of letters I got from all over the world. He seemed to have friends everywhere."

There was a long silence. Then Alex asked, "How are you getting along without him?"

Cass pushed a piece of chicken around her plate. "Okay. The adjustment is slow."

Alex looked at her strangely.

"Is that the wrong answer?" she murmured.

"No." His navy blue eyes narrowed and he considered her with the full force of his intellect. Which made her feel like she was under a spotlight. "I guess I just expected something different."

"The my-life-is-over response?" she said sadly.

"Yeah. Maybe."

Cass put her fork down and moved her plate away. "Reese meant a lot to me. So of course I miss him."

But her life was not over, and somehow that felt like a betrayal, almost equal to his with the other women.

"You know," Alex said, "he used to talk about you all the time. On the boats. When the work was done and the crew was sacking out, he would sit in the cockpit with me and talk about you."

"Really?"

"Why are you surprised?"

Because if he'd really loved me, he wouldn't have needed the other women, she thought.

God, why was she just figuring this out now, when he was gone?

Then again maybe it did make some sense. Reese had been like a Klieg light, brilliant, distracting, gathering fanfare around him. Between keeping up with him and working, she'd had little time for reflection. And maybe she'd liked that.

"He used to talk about you, too," Cass said. "He used to tell me about all the things you did, how you handled things. He respected no one more than he did you, Alex. He used to say you were the brother he never had, the son he didn't get and the father he lost too soon."

She glanced up. Alex seemed to have retreated into himself, tension suffusing his face, darkening it.

"I am none of those things," he muttered.

"To him you were. And I have to say, I always felt badly for his son, Daniel, because of it."

"How old is D.C. now?"

"He's almost thirty. He's inherited the businesses and I think he's going to do very well. Sean's going out of his way to help him. The three of us had dinner before I came here and it was clear how much D.C. is capable of absorbing. He's very smart."

Alex drained his wineglass and nodded at her plate. "Looks like you're finished."

"What-oh, with the food. Yes, I think I am."

Alex pushed back his chair and got to his feet. When he started to clean up, she said, "I'll get all this. Don't worry about it."

He nodded and flipped open his cell phone. A moment later he said, "Hey, man. Got time for a pickup? Yeah? Thanks."

While she let the dog in and cleared the table, Alex disappeared into the laundry room. Ten minutes later, he came out with a duffel bag. His timing was perfect. A pair of headlights swung around the drive.

"When's Libby getting home?" he asked.

"Later. She said her brother likes to talk."

"You going to be okay here all by yourself?"

"Yes. Yes, thank you."

He lingered for a moment by the door. "Good night, then."

Alex waved Spike off and let himself into the shop. The fire had burned down in the potbellied stove, so it was cold. He restoked the embers and sat on the bed, but a minute later he was outside, carefully walking over the lawn to the lake. The snowstorm had arrived, thick flakes falling in the cold night air. The chilly wind blowing off the water whittled away his clothing and seeped into his skin, going deep into his bones.

Reese meant a lot to me. So of course I miss him.

Alex stepped out onto the dock, moving cautiously so he didn't slip.

Her words had not been those of a heartbroken woman, he thought. And her tone had been flat. Factual.

Somehow he'd assumed she'd be a wreck.

He looked down at the churning water, a cold spray hitting his legs as waves jumped at the dock and splintered.

He told himself he should be impressed that Cassandra was moving on. New lover. New project. Soon, a new home. He was sure Reese would have approved of her making a fresh start.

But that was yet another reason why his friend had deserved her and he didn't. If Alex had been her husband, he would have wanted her to mourn him every day for the rest of her life. He would want her to be as ruined as he'd be if he lost her.

And didn't that make him a real prince.

He stared at the lake until his body grew so cold his large muscle groups started twitching to generate heat. He went back to the shop and shook the snow out of his hair. Then he stripped naked and put on a fresh pair of socks. When he was settled on the bed, he shut his eyes.

Images of Cassandra came to him in the darkness. He pictured her eyes, green as fresh June leaves on a maple tree. He saw her tongue coming out for a little lick after she'd finished drinking. He recalled those black leggings stretched over her thighs and hips as she bent down to pet Ernest.

Alex's body came alive, lust chasing away the lingering chill. He grew heavy and hard between his legs, aching for her.

He rolled over and punched his pillow. The sheets shifting against his arousal made his jaw clench, and when he arched his back to try and release some tension, the heat rose even further. He pictured her lying beneath his naked body, her red hair in a wild tumble over his pillow, her skin so soft against his. He imagined being joined with her, going deep and sliding free only to plunge in again. He felt her grabbing on to his back as he drove his hips, heard his name on her lips as she climaxed.

Afterward, he saw himself holding her and watching her fall asleep.

Alex cursed in the darkness. The bastard in him just refused to let go of her. Even with all his guilt, even with the horrible knowledge of what he'd done, he couldn't control the visions or the hunger.

But he could make himself pay.

Lying in the dark, he opened himself up to the pain of wanting what he couldn't have, knowing he deserved every last bit of what ailed him.

On the twin bed that was too small to hold him, he suffered and was glad for it.

Chapter Seven.

A week later Cassandra parked the Rover at White Caps, grabbed her clipboard and headed for the house. As she passed by the Dumpster, she noted it was time for a pickup. Especially as they were going to tackle the Sheetrock removal in the dining room next.

Just before she went into the house, she looked up at the shop.

A big shape moved out of the picture window.

Alex had been watching her. Again.

He seemed to do that each time she came and went, and he always ducked away when she glanced toward the barn.

After their dinner together, she really wanted to reach out to him, she just wasn't sure how. Though if she was honest, she didn't only want to have him talk more about his grief. She wanted to learn other things about him. The glimpse she'd had of the man underneath the legend had been captivating.

So was the idea that he was warming up to her a little.

As Tim's truck came down the drive, she waved.

"Mornin', boss," he said as he got out. Lee and Greg were right behind him in the Trans Am. Then Bobbie pulled up in his truck.

The morning flew by, and when three-o'clock quitting time got close, Cassandra was exhausted from ripping out all the bathroom mirrors and vanities upstairs. She headed down to the kitchen and found the men clustered around a stubborn cabinet section they'd been trying to get free for the past week. They referred to the thing as Chunk, and when they weren't cursing at it, they were paying respect to its death grip on the house.

Chunk notwithstanding, the crew had done great work, and if they kept up this pace, she could have the plumber and the electrician start ahead of schedule. Re-piping and re-wiring White Caps was going to take some time, and with Christmas and New Year's coming up, they were going to lose a good ten days.

During the holidays everyone was taking a hiatus from the project. She was going back to Manhattan; the men were going to enjoy time off with their families. She told herself it would be good to get away because she'd been working long hours and not sleeping all that well. But she wasn't in a big hurry to leave the lake.

Her first Christmas without Reese, she thought. Her first birthday without him, too.

He'd loved surprising her with extravagant birthday presents on New Year's Eve, always trying to top himself. The culmination had been the year before. For her thirtieth, he'd rented the Metropolitan Museum of Art for the night and they'd strolled around the galleries arm in arm until they'd ended up in front of a table set for two. She'd been thrilled, thinking they'd spend a quiet evening together in front of her favorite Rembrandt, but then people had burst out into the room, friends and business associates of Reese's, all wishing her a happy birthday.

She'd told him that she'd loved it, of course. Because that was what he'd wanted to hear.

God, she'd kept so much from him, hadn't she?

"Ah, boss?"

"Sorry, Tim. What was that?"

"We gotta real problem with Chunk." He pointed to the corner. "The back's bolted into the wall, and we can't open it to get in with wrenches, because the firemen jumped all over the thing. We tried taking the doors off, but the hinges are all bent and the crowbar's not getting us anywhere."

Cass looked the cabinet over. It was directly across from the blown-out window in the alcove.

"Tim, how good's the traction on your truck?"