She had not been herself al week but quiet and contemplative. Final y, last night as I'd tucked her into bed, she'd opened up, confessed her fears, and asked, "What if my Daddy dies too?" It had been one of the hardest things I'd ever discussed with my daughter, the balance of giving her both peace and honesty, the truth that life ultimately ends in death. She'd only been able to fal asleep once I'd lain down next to her and ran my fingers through her hair. I'd whispered for her not to worry and promised that she'd see her father again.

Pushing a hand through my bangs, I steeled myself for the emotion I knew would come. I hesitated at doorway and listened to their greetings.

Even though they were out of view, I could almost feel Christian's relief when Lizzie was final y in his arms again.

When they rounded the corner, Lizzie was attached to her father's hip, clinging to his neck as if she'd never let go.

Christian came to a standstil when he saw me, his breath rushing from his chest as his gaze washed over me.

His eyes swam their deepest blue-midnight-warm but so very tired; his body weary, leaden with obvious exhaustion.

Chaotic shocks of black hair stood up in disaccord, salient circles beneath his eyes, his white, printed T-shirt wrinkled, and his expression hopeful.

I couldn't refrain from taking a step forward and whispering, "Welcome home."

Slowly he approached, each footfal measured, calculated, and purposed. Every step that brought him closer escalated my already rapid breaths. The pieces of my broken heart were at war, tangled and twisted, the smoldering, conflicting emotions threatening to burst.

Inches from me, he stopped and kissed the side of Lizzie's head before he set her down, never taking his penetrating gaze from me.

Frozen, I waited, unable to look away.

Somewhere inside me, I knew I shouldn't reach out when he reached for me; knew I shouldn't wrap my arms around his waist when he wrapped his arms around my shoulders; knew I shouldn't bury my face in his chest at the moment he buried his in my hair.

I just couldn't stop myself.

Christian tugged me closer, his body heavy and perfect against mine, fatigued and seeking support.

"I missed you so much," he whispered against my ear as he pul ed me impossibly closer and breathed me in. The heat of his breath licked at my skin, his nearness setting it aflame.

He clouded every faculty, interrupted reason, tempted me to forget. I closed my eyes against the sensations and tried to block the resurgence of memories, to ignore the familiarity of his touch. I pushed it al aside and focused on what he needed- comfort.

He clung to me as if his life depended on it.

A warning signal flared somewhere deep within my soul.

Dangerous.

For once, I ignored it.

Instead, I crushed my chest to his, al owed the rush of relief to surge through my veins, and savored the heat of his skin and the warmth of his body.

Echoes of our past surfaced in my mind, our happiest moments, the way only he could make me smile, the way only he could make me feel, our most intimate times. I wanted to hold onto them, but they fluttered and flickered and gave way to vivid images so strong I could almost taste them-sick, cold, alone-and I remembered why I could never give into this.

Even then, I didn't want to let go and al owed myself a few moments more before I placed a hand against his few moments more before I placed a hand against his chest and gently pushed him away. He covered my hand with both of his, pressed it over his heart, and smiled at me in a way that chipped away another piece of my armor.

Averting my eyes, I made the mistake of looking down at Lizzie who gazed up at us with the same expression I'd seen Christian wearing the second before-like she'd just been al owed a smal piece of heaven.

What the hel was I doing?

Teasing my daughter?

Giving her false hope, stoking her imagination, painting a picture of things that could never be?

I forced myself to take a step back from Christian, gathered up the emotions that were slowly slipping away, and drew another line.

For Lizzie, I told myself. This was for Lizzie.

I glanced back up at Christian, reminding myself we could only ever be friends- partners. Purging the remnants of my desire from my face, I straightened myself and put back on my mask. I smiled and stood aside. "Go on in.

Dinner's almost ready."

Christian inhaled and threw a grin in my direction, lopsided and achingly cute. "You made spaghetti and meatbal s?" His voice teemed with appreciation, swam in awareness.

My mask fel , so easily penetrable, evidence of my weakness. I felt my face flush, and I ducked my head. I knew how obvious I was in preparing his favorite dinner just as I had prepared his favorite breakfast the morning after Lizzie's fal .

"Yeah, I figured you'd be starved after the long flight," I mumbled toward my bare feet, shrugging to make less of it than we both knew it was.

I looked up in time to see his lopsided smile spread.

"You have no idea how good that sounds. I haven't eaten al day." Turning his attention to Lizzie, he wrapped one of her tiny hands in his and asked, "What about you, princess, are you hungry?"

Overwhelmed, I hung back and tried to convince myself that nothing had changed as he led her inside.

Christian glanced back at me with a lazy grin. "You coming?"

Sighing, I told myself another thousand lies and fol owed him inside.

"Do you want to talk?"

Pointing the remote at the television, I lowered the volume and let the cartoon Lizzie had wanted to watch play out. She'd fal en asleep about fifteen minutes before, curled up in Christian's lap. Her sweet breaths came in soft pants against his chest, rhythmic and soothing in the dimness of the room. He played with the strands of her hair, appearing lost in thought and most likely minutes from sleep.

Glancing at me, he grimaced through a heavy sigh, ran his palm over his weary face, and blinked. "I . . . don't . . .

know." It didn't seem an answer to my question but was more a statement of how he was feeling.

If I were in his place, I wouldn't know what to feel either.

Those unanswered questions formed as lines across his forehead. "I've spent so much of my life resenting my father . . . blaming him for al of my problems . . . for every mistake I've made." His brow furrowed as he left those mistakes unspoken, though many of them were glaringly obvious. He snorted through his nose and shook his head.

"Do you know he left me a quarter of his inheritance?" He focused on his fingers weaving through Lizzie's hair while stil shaking his head. His words dropped in slow disbelief, maybe even hinting at a newfound respect.

"And the rest of it to my mom."

"What?" I couldn't keep my shocked reaction contained.

Christian cut his eyes to mine. In the muted light of the family room, they were dark and mournful.

His mouth twisted and twitched, and he seemed to be struggling to keep his emotions in check. Supporting Lizzie, he leaned forward, wrenched his wal et from his back pocket, and produced a folded up piece of paper from it.

With his head bowed, he passed it over to me.

"He'd kept this in his desk."

Wary of what I'd find inside, I stared at the piece of worn and tattered paper in my palm. I was sure whatever it held had broken a part of Christian's heart.

Gingerly, I unfolded it, smoothed it out on my lap, and gasped at the simple picture.

Christian must have understood my surprise, must have read in the message the same thing I saw now.

"I can't remember drawing it . . . or feeling it. I just wish I could." The words shook as they fel as grief from his trembling mouth. "Damn it," he suddenly spat, raking his hand through his hair. "He wasted his whole life." Again, his expression shifted and the fire behind his words dul ed and eased into pain as if he didn't know whether to revile his father's memory or mourn him. "He knew he was dying, Elizabeth. I know it, and he wanted me to know he cared about me." The sadness poured through him, a mixture of anger and pity and so much regret. "I just wish he would have had the courage to say it to my face." Tracing the lettering, I imagined a little black-haired boy drawing it, the concentration he would have had on his face as he worked on the choppy, misspel ed letters, the pride he'd have had as he'd given it to his father.

I didn't flinch when Christian reached out to do the same.

I closed my eyes as he pried my fingers from the page and wrapped them in his hand. "I don't want to become like him, Elizabeth." His throat bobbed in unspent emotion. "I don't want to waste my life. I don't want to waste this," he stressed as he squeezed my hand.

I laced my fingers through his and blinked back tears.

He fol owed my gaze to Lizzie, and I brought our joined hands to touch the porcelain rosiness of our daughter's cheek before I turned back to face the intent in his eyes.

"You're not."

A sad smile whispered at the corner of his mouth, and he laid his cheek against her head as a heavy breath fel from his tired lips.

In the stil ness, I held his hand, brushed my thumb over his soft skin. I watched as his eyes gradual y faded and closed in exhaustion, listened to his deep breaths even out, felt his muscles twitch as he drifted to sleep.

As quietly as I could, I uncurled myself from the couch, lifted Lizzie into my arms, and carried her upstairs to her bed. I tucked her under her covers and spent a moment adoring the amazing child Christian and I had created before I kissed her on the forehead.

Then I went into my room and dragged a blanket and pil ow from my bed.

I tiptoed back downstairs to find Christian had slouched and sank deeper into the crevices of the couch.

His arms were sprawled out, his body relaxed.

My stomach clenched in both pain and desire.

Why did it have to hurt to love him so much?

Putting the linens aside, I crouched to untie his shoes, pul ed them from his feet, and lifted is legs to lay them across the couch.

He stretched and groaned incoherently as he shifted, pul ing at the twines twisted around my heart.

As gently as I could, I maneuvered the pil ow beneath his head, shook out the blanket, and spread it over his body. I hesitated as I leaned down to pul it to his chin.

So beautiful.

His mouth had dropped open, just enough that he expel ed soft breaths of air against my face, sweet and distinctly man, his long black lashes casting slight shadows across his face.

I leaned in further and let my fingertips wander along the day old stubble along his jaw, ran them tenderly over his lips-wanted what I couldn't have.

So, like a fool, I stole it and pressed my lips to his, knowing he'd only be mine for a few moments.

They were hot, damp, and perfect; they scorched my skin and brought tears to my eyes.

A tremor rol ed through my chest, stuck in my throat, and shook my body.

I took a little more, held his face in my hands and in my desperation, kissed him deeper-tasted my tears and the sweetness of Christian's mouth-flirted with disaster.

Why? I begged him with my thoughts, with my touch as I kissed him again. Why did you have to ruin us? My mouth traveled to his jaw, kissed him there against the rough skin, fire against my lips and torment to my soul, where I mouthed out my deepest secret, "I love you, Christian." Sickened and ashamed, I ripped myself away, escaped upstairs, and wept for a man I'd never al ow myself to have.

Grabbing my things, I sighed in satisfaction, thankful it was Friday and another long workweek had drawn to an end. I shrugged on my jacket, smiling at Selina. "Goodnight." She grinned, and looked at me awry as she dug through her locker. "Night . . . see you tomorrow." She shook her hips, suggestive and slow.

I giggled and waved over my shoulder as I left her in the break room.

Natalie and her parties.

She'd never let a year go by without planning something outrageous. They were always too much and always too fun. She'd invited next to everyone I knew, and I was certain we'd al be paying for it Sunday morning.

Anxious to start my weekend, I rushed across the bank floor as I cal ed goodnight to everyone in the lobby. I came to an abrupt halt two feet from the door when I saw my daughter's face pressed against the glass door, peering inside.

Her huge smile assured me I had no need to worry.

I laughed, returning her excited wave when she noticed me.

Pushing the door open, I poked my head out. She wore a maroon dress with a satin bodice, a skirt of tul e, wrapped at the waist in black ribbon. The outfit had been finished off with white tights, black patent shoes, and a matching maroon bow tied in her hair.

"What are you doing here and al dressed up?" I asked, grinning.

Lizzie grinned back, twirling away from the door as if she were a bal erina, and I stepped the rest of the way out.

Christian's voice hit me from somewhere behind, smooth and warm-intoxicating. "We're celebrating." Jerking around, I found him leaning with a shoulder against the bank wal . He wore an almost cocky look on his face, his mouth twisted in casual confidence. He was dressed in a deep-blue col ared shirt rol ed up to his elbows, the first two buttons undone, and black slacks that looked better than they should.

"I figured since the rest of your family and friends get you tomorrow night on your actual birthday, Lizzie and I get you tonight." A smile pul ed at one side of his mouth, and he pushed from the wal and took a step forward.

Lizzie took my hand and danced beside me as she sang, "Surprise!"

My spirit soared.

This was the birthday I wanted.

Kneeling beside my daughter, I hugged her while I looked up at Christian. "Thank-you."

He smiled so wide it touched his eyes and playful y crinkled at the corners. "Did you real y think we'd let them keep you al to themselves?" He came forward and extended his hand to help me up, once again igniting the flames I futilely fought to squelch. He froze just for a second as a palpable quiver traveled up his arm, and I knew he felt it too.

After I'd kissed him last Friday, I'd felt so ashamed. I was sure he could somehow see the guilt on my face-find in it in my eyes. The next morning he'd seemed to watch me careful y, attentive to my every move. It was if he were counting each breath I took and reading every word I spoke. It had begun then, the timid fingertips across my upper arms as he'd leave the room, gentle brushes of skin, testing, tempting. In spite of my promise to myself, my promise to Lizzie, I'd done the same: furtive fingers, roaming eyes, playing with fire.

Christian tugged on my hand. "Come on. We'l fol ow you home and you can hop in my car."

Forty minutes later, we walked through the parking lot to the restaurant, swinging Lizzie between us. She squealed and begged us to do it again and again.