Not to mention that your private parts haven't been all that private recently. Sorry, but the mystery is gone."

Liar.

His lips quirked at one corner. "You got an eyeful, have you, cupcake?"

"Believe me, you have more than an eyeful."

Her mouth fell open, and his did, too. Then he laughed even louder. "Now there's the hell on wheels I know. Didn't take more than a few minutes to bring her out of hiding."

"Damn you."

"No doubt I already am," he drawled, his gravelly voice a purr.

His dark eyes flicked down to her mouth then back, before he leaned down and kissed her-though not

on the lips.

His mouth brushed over her forehead, then her temple, before trailing back to her ear. She had never felt such a kiss, intensely sexual despite the fact that he never touched her lips.

He pressed into her with a barely perceptible groan, the hard chiseled length of his body feeling like

granite against her. She forced herself to keep her own hands at her sides, even as she itched to touch

him.

She had kissed a lot of men, but none who possessed this sensual expertise. He had her hot and wanting in seconds, her body shivering and flushed at the same time.

She wanted to give in. Would it really be so bad to touch-just a touch?

Suddenly all the reasons for keeping her distance were clouded and indecipherable. Giving in, she reached up and placed her hands on his chest. His groan deepened as he nipped the shell of her ear.

Seemingly of their own volition, her palms skimmed higher, and Ben slipped his hand between her and the wall, pressing her close.

His mouth continued its magic. She started to feel a frustrated yearning. She gave in completely and

moved her hands to the bare skin between the edges of his unbuttoned shirt. He was hard and hot.

Too hot.

Desire and passion ticked to a jarring halt.

"Ben." She tried to push back.

He pressed closer, holding her secure.

"Ben! You're hot."

His deep, sexually charged chuckle rumbled in his chest. "I am hot-hot for you."

She snorted. "Do men really think lines like that work?"

"You tell me, is it working?" he asked in a gruff whisper against her ear.

With this man, she silently conceded, on another day, it might actually have worked. But not today.

"Ben, I'm telling you, you're hot. Not hot hot. You feel fever hot."

That got his attention, and he stepped back. "I don't have a fever," he stated, as if by simply saying the

words he could make them true.

"Ben-"

"I'm telling you, I'm fine."

She ignored that. "Did you get the bandage changed?"

He glowered at her. "Pretty much."

"What kind of an answer is that? Let me see it."

"I don't need you to see."

She planted her palm on his chest, his hot chest, and backed him up to the bed. "Lie down," she

instructed when he grimaced. "I'll help you with your jeans."

"I can do it."

He did, though barely, the effort sapping him too easily. Then he relaxed against the pillows with a

groan. He hardly moved when she pulled the gauze and tape away, even though it had to hurt like crazy. When it came free, her face darkened.

He craned his neck. "It looks the same to me."

"Really?" She sounded doubtful.

"Really. If you'd just bring the hydrogen peroxide-"

She leaped up and in seconds returned with the bottle, plus more bandages. When he tried to do it himself, she brushed his hands away. With relative quickness, she had the wound cleaned and rebandaged.

"I'm going to get you some cool water and some Advil. Then you've got to rest. Take it easy on that leg. You are not allowed to get worse!"

Before he could protest-not that he looked like he would or could for that matter-she dashed to the kitchen, retrieved some water, then hurried back.

He was lying just as she had left him, but now his eyes were closed.

"Great, just great. I've killed you. Chloe made me swear I wouldn't-and that was just when she thought I'd strangle you."

"Just give me the water."

He gulped it down in one long chug. When he finished, his head fell back. He didn't extend the crystal glass to her, he just dropped his hand, the empty glass hanging loosely in his fingers.

"Ben, let me call the doctor."

"I'm fine," he mumbled. "They said I'd have good days and bad days."

Then his breath sighed out of him and he was asleep.

For the next five hours, Julia wore a trail in the carpet from going back and forth between her room and his. Around nine-thirty that night she fell asleep in the chair next to his bed. A half an hour later a noise jerked her awake.

Disoriented, she pushed up to see Ben on the bed, a cover draped over him as he slept, but he was groaning and muttering.

She went to him. "Ben," she said softly.

But he didn't wake.

"Ben," she said louder.

He thrashed his head to the side, his moans increasing.

"Ben." Louder. Then she placed her hand on his shoulder.

And everything changed.

He sat up in bed like a lightning bolt, a ragged moan ripped from his throat as he grabbed her wrist with deadly force.

Fear raced through her, strangling her as she tried to pull away. But he held on tight, his eyes wild as he stared at her. She could see the moment he realized what had happened. Where he was. What he had done.

"Fuck," he croaked, his face burning with fever.

"Ben, it's okay."

She thought he might yell-or break down. The thought surprised her. He only held her hand so tightly that she felt a strange need to cry. For this man, for something she didn't understand at all.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she forced him to look at her. "We need to go to the hospital."

"I don't-"

"Ben, you're getting worse."

He stared at her forever, and when she pulled the covers off, he didn't stop her.

He was weak, and she knew he'd never get his jeans on. Hurriedly, she fished through underwear and

T-shirts in the suitcase that he still hadn't unpacked until she found what she was looking for. She helped