When he'd put on the protection, he slowly pushed into her. She was hot and wet. As he filled her, her muscles contracted around his erection, testing his control. He forced himself to hold back. He wanted her to come again.

Still kneeling, he shifted his weight off his arms so he could reach out to touch her breasts. They were always exquisitely sensitive after her first release. Just lightly brushing her nipples was usually enough to get her going again. He wanted to feel her rippling contractions and watch her face as she experienced wave after wave of orgasm. Her mouth would part slightly, her eyes would widen as she tried to keep looking at him. Sometimes he would swear he could see down to her soul.

Sure enough, with the first touch of his fingers, she gasped. He felt the tight clenching of her body. He thrust into her again and contractions massaged him. Blood surged into his arousal, pressure built in his groin, and still he held back.

Their gazes locked. With each rhythmic release, she sucked in a breath and whispered his name. Over and over, as if in prayer. He was getting closer, too, but he wanted this to go on as long as they both could stand it.

In and out, in and out. He got harder and harder. Deep inside everything collected for the surging release that was as inevitable as the tide. She continued to climax, massaging him, drawing him in deeper. Her breathing increased. He surged in faster and faster. They were both gasping.

At last he had to release her breasts and grasp her hips. He held onto her as he pumped in and out. She half raised off the bed. Her head dropped back as one massive contraction clenched around him…and he was lost.

His release exploded in a vortex of heat that forced the air out of his body. He pushed in deeper, wanting her to take all of him. Her dampness continued to convulse around him, drawing out the bliss until there was nothing left for either of them but to fall together in a tangle of arms and legs.

Stephanie woke with a sense of contentment. She rolled onto her back and smiled. Last night had been amazing. More amazing than usual, which was saying something. But her feeling of happiness didn't just come from a night of great lovemaking. It also came from the recent changes in her life.

She liked Nash. Okay, she liked him a lot. She liked being around him and talking to him. She liked his parents and his brothers and their families. She liked the impact he'd made on her world. She liked how he was with her sons. Man, oh man, did she have it bad. Because liking him wasn't the problem.

She wanted more.

Stephanie sat up and tossed off the covers. "Don't be ridiculous," she said aloud. "There is no `more' in this situation. You knew that when you started the affair." But knowing and believing were two different things, at least in her world. She could list all the reasons it would never work-distance, her reluctance to trust a man to act like a partner and not a child, his emotional withdrawal from life since the death of his wife. Those were really big problems to get through. While they could be solved if both of them worked at it, so far she hadn't seen any indication that Nash wanted to change the status of things. Nor was she going to.

In a few days, when his vacation was over, hewould leave, and she would let him. No matter what, she wouldn't make a scene. It wasn't right to change the rules at this late date.

Not that she wanted to, she reminded herself. When Nash left, she would go on with her life and she would do just fine. Sure she would miss him, but she would get over it… wouldn't she? Stephanie didn't want to think about any of that. She stretched and swung around to put her feet on the floor. As she did so she glanced at the clock. And actually screamed.

It was eight-thirty. In the morning. Her alarm had been set for six-thirty. What had happened? Even as she fumbled for the switch and realized she'd forgotten to turn it on, adrenaline rushed through her body, galvanizing her into action. She raced into the bathroom where she quickly washed her face and brushed her teeth. A shower was going to have to wait. She had guests to feed.

In less than six minutes she was relatively groomed, dressed and racing down the stairs. The boys were already up-their doors were standing open-and she could hear voices from downstairs. Wincing at what Nash's parents must think of her, she jogged toward the kitchen and burst inside.

“Hey, Mom," Brett said from the table.

“Mommy!" the twins said together.

They were also at the table. They were eating breakfast. Pancakes and bacon from the looks of it. She stared around the room and saw Nash standing at the stove. The man was cooking!

“Morning," he said with a smile.

While it wasn't as unbelievable as having aliens land on her roof, it was darned close. Helping out was one thing, but cooking? Marty had always acted as if she were threatening to cut off his right arm if she ever suggested he prepare a meal himself.

She felt numb with shock. "I, ah, overslept," she said. "I forgot to set my alarm." Nash's expression didn't change, but his eyes brightened with amusement. "You probably had other things on your mind." That was true. She'd been so concerned about setting her travel clock so that she could get back to her own bed, that she'd forgotten about her regular alarm.

“My folks are in the dining room," he continued. "They have coffee, fruit and the newspaper. Howard wanted oatmeal which I've already fixed. Mom is raving about your scones and complaining about the weight she's going to put on. I have another batch in the oven." He nodded at the stove. "I was fixing some eggs for myself. Do you want any?" She'd slipped into an alternative universe. "Um, thanks."

“Okay. Oh, when I took the uncooked scones out of the freezer, I didn't know which to use, so I took a bag off the top shelf. I hope that's okay."

“It's fine."

“Brett told me what oven temperature to use." She glanced at her oldest. "Thanks, honey." He shrugged. "Nash said you were tired and we should let you sleep." She could feel her cheeks getting hot. Nash was the reason she needed her rest.

“Coffee?" the man in question asked.

She nodded. He poured her a cup, then added milk and sugar, just the way she liked it.

Her throat was tight and her eyes burned. She had a bad feeling she was way too close to tears for comfort. Which made no sense. So he'd been nice-was that a reason to cry? Sense or not, Nash's actions touched her in a way nothing had for years. Maybe ever. He'd taken care of her. Just like that, with no expectation of getting something back. She hadn't known that men like him existed. He made her feel she could count on him.

“You okay?" he asked.

She nodded again, knowing it was impossible to speak.

Just then she heard the sound of several cars pulling up.

“What's that?" Jason asked and got down from his seat. He ran toward the front of the house. "They're all here," he called.

“Who?" Adam asked as he, too, left the kitchen. Brett was on his heels.

“Right on time," Nash said, glancing at the clock.

“On time for what?" she asked, her voice only a little scratchy.

Nash grinned. "You'll see." Howard came through the swinging door. "Seems that the gang has all arrived. Ready to assign chores?"

“Sure." Nash slid the scrambled eggs onto a plate, along with a couple of pieces of bacon. "Eat up," he said.

“You're going to need your strength. I'll be right back." He walked out of the kitchen, heading toward the front door. Howard followed. Stephanie glanced from the plate to the door, and decided to see what was going on.

What she found stunned her nearly as much as seeing Nash cooking. Most of the Haynes clan had descended. All the brothers were there, along with Austin and several of the wives. There weren't as many children as usual. Instead of carrying food or drinks, this time everyone had gallons of paint, toolboxes, ladders and other building supplies. They gathered by the gatehouse, as if waiting for instructions. Nash stood in the center of the group.

As she approached, she saw that he held a list in his hand and was assigning tasks.

“Upstairs in the master, there's some ugly wallpaper in the bathroom. Did anyone bring the steamer?"

“Sure." Kyle patted the machine he'd set on the driveway. "I'll have that off by noon. Then we can put up the new paper."

“We'll do that," Elizabeth said as she put her arm around Hannah. "It's a floral pattern and we're going to care more about getting it right." Travis groaned. "Any of us could do just as good a job."

“Sure you could, but do you want to?" He kissed her. "Not on a bet." Several people laughed. Stephanie felt as if her feet were nailed to the grass. She couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't protest what was happening. She watched as everyone trooped into her gatehouse and began to work. Nash finally noticed her and walked over.

“You okay?" he asked.

“No. What are you doing?" He stood facing her. "You'd ordered the paint and wallpaper already," he said. “I didn't pick it out."

“I know, but why are they here?"

“They're helping out because I asked. I know you've been working on the gatehouse for a long time. You want to move in there so you can get the rest of the house renovated. I want to help. I'm leaving in a few days and I would like the gatehouse done before I go. I guess I want to know that you're going to be okay." He spoke the last bit defiantly, as if he expected her to be furious. She supposed she should be-he'd been high-handed in arranging all this. But the truth was, she was even closer to crying than before.

No one had ever wanted to take care of her before. No one had ever worried about her. They all assumed she was so damn competent that she didn't have doubts, didn't get tired, didn't sweat that it was going to come out right.

She ached down to her bones. Not just because he was being so sweet and nice and making her want to beg him to never leave, but because what he was doing was proof that he was leaving. If he'd considered changing his mind and staying, he wouldn't want to have the gatehouse finished.

“You mad?" he asked.

She shook her head because she couldn't speak. "Is it okay that I'm doing this?" She managed a slightly strangled, "Yes."

“Will you be okay if I go help out?"

“Sure." He touched her cheek, then walked toward the gatehouse.

Stephanie stood alone on her lawn and listened to the sound of people working and talking and laughing. She knew that she had to help out the others. It wasn't fair to leave everything to them. But first she had to get herself under control.

In that moment, when she'd realized what he was doing, something inside her had given way. It was as if some protective wall had crumbled to dust, leaving her exposed and vulnerable.

How could she help loving him? He wasn't even everything she'd ever wanted-he was more. A partner, a friend, a warm, caring lover who was as solid as a rock. He was her hero. A one-in-a-million kind of man.

A man who was leaving. And she didn't have a single right to ask him to stay.

By midafternoon, most of the rooms had been painted. Stephanie walked through the downstairs carrying cans of soda and bottles of water. The twins were circulating with granola bars and cookies.

The transformation of the dark old house into something bright and charming amazed her, as did everyone's friendliness. These people might be a part of Nash's family, but they made her feel welcome.

She handed Craig a bottle of water and started toward the kitchen. On the way she found Brett carefully sanding a baseboard in the hall.

“You're doing a great job," she said as shestopped and crouched next to him. "That's pretty detailed work." Her twelve-year-old looked up at her. His blue eyes were dark and troubled. "Nash got his whole family to help."

“I know. That was really nice of him, huh?" Brett didn't answer. Instead he folded the sandpaper in half and twisted it in his hands. "He's still leaving, right?" As much as Stephanie wished she could say otherwise, she had to agree. "Of course he is, honey. He has a life in Chicago, remember?"

“He's not so bad, you know?" Brett's voice sounded small. "He's not Dad, but that's okay." Her stomach dove for her toes. When had her son let go of his resentment of Nash and why hadn't she seen it happening? She hadn't wanted any of her children to connect too closely with Nash because she hadn't wanted them hurt by his leaving.

“Brett, Nash is a really great guy. He's been fun to have around, but it was always temporary. You knew that." She winced at her own words. Of course he knew. Reminding him wasn't going to make Nash's leaving easier.