AHILL LAY HEAVILY ON HER, HIS BIG BODY TREMBLING IN the aftermath of orgasm. They were in his bed, the room cool and dark around them. Sarah had no idea what time it was; she could have lifted her head to peer at the digital alarm clock on the bedside table, but she didn’t have the energy. Nor did the time matter; what mattered was the shattering realization that she was in trouble.

She couldn’t say she hadn’t known what she was doing. She had walked into the situation with her eyes open, knowing that she was already way too vulnerable to him, too close to falling in love, and that making love with him would only increase her vulnerability.

She had known, and she’d done it anyway.

It wasn’t the sex—though God knows the word that best described it was too: too hot, too raunchy, too powerful. This wasn’t just sex, this was mating... at least on her part. And that was the problem.

She hadn’t wanted to love him. She’d thought—hoped—that she could keep that core part of herself separate, and inviolate. She’d failed miserably, or maybe spectacularly, because she hadn’t been prepared for the inescapable fact that on every level he was her match. Not just physically, but emotionally, even in their personalities, they came together as equals. She might never in her lifetime find another man who matched her as well as Cahill did, and if this didn’t work out, it was going to hurt her for a long, long time.

Her arms were still looped around his neck, her legs still hugged him close. Since the moment they had come upstairs and fallen into bed, and that had to be hours ago, she didn’t think they had been out of physical contact with each other for more than five minutes, total. They had cuddled and stroked and kissed, dozed in a tangle of legs and arms, and made love with an almost savage hunger. This wasn’t just the result of sexual deprivation, though it had been a long time for her; nor was it that first fascination with a new love. This was different. This was more.

As they rested, their heartbeats had slowed, become synchronized. Cahill nuzzled her neck, then gently pulled out of her body and fell on his side. “God, I’m hungry.”

Just like that he banished her malaise, and she sputtered with laughter. “You’re supposed to say something romantic and loverlike, Cahill. What happened to, at least, ‘That was great’?”

He yawned and stretched. “It fell by the wayside somewhere around the fourth time.” Reaching out one long arm, he switched on the bedside lamp and propped up on one elbow, looking down at her with a sleepy, sated gaze. “If you listen hard, I think you’ll hear a chocolate chip cookie calling you, too.”

“Chocolate chip? Why didn’t you say so?” She scrambled out of bed and headed toward the bathroom. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

“Do you like ’em hot or cold?” he called as he pulled on a pair of black boxers.

“Gooey.”

“Hot it is.”

She entered the kitchen just as he was pouring two glasses of milk. The microwave dinged, and he removed a plate piled high with chocolate chip cookies.

“I borrowed a T-shirt,” she said as she sat down. “I hope you don’t mind.” The shirt came almost to mid-thigh, covering all the important parts.

He eyed her. “It looks better on you than it does on me.” He sat down across from her, and put the plate between them. “Dig in.”

She did. The cookies were warm and soft, the chocolate chips melted just enough to be gooey, the way she preferred. Midway through the second one she asked, “What time is it?”

“Almost four.”

She groaned. “It’s almost dawn and we haven’t had any sleep. Or much, anyway.”

“What difference does it make? It’s Saturday. We can sleep as long as we like.”

“No, I can’t. I need to go home.”

“Why?”

She stared at the cookie, at the crumbs that fell when she pinched off a bite. “Do you mean other than that’s where my birth control pills are?”

He watched her over the rim of the glass as he downed a healthy slug of milk. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Other than that. Not that the pills aren’t important.”

“You know the saying: Miss one and you’re an idiot. Miss two, and you’re a mommy.” She took a deep breath. She had been honest with herself, and he deserved no less. “And I need to regroup.”

“Regroup from what?”

“From this. You. Sex. This is... this is—”

“—pretty powerful stuff,” he said, completing the sentence. “For me, too. So why is it making you run?”

“I’m not running, just retreating a little.” She circled the top of her glass with her finger, then looked up at him, sitting there watching her with his cop’s eyes, his jaw darkened with a day’s growth of beard. “I think this is more powerful stuff to me than it is to you, and that’s a big risk for me to take.”

“You aren’t in this alone, Sarah. You can’t talk degrees of feeling like you’re comparing thermometers.”

“I can when I’m the one registering the high number.”

“You don’t know that for certain.”

She blinked at him as he continued eating a cookie. “What are you saying?”

“Is this confession time?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Shit, I’m no good at this kind of talk at any time, much less at four in the morning. Okay, here it is: I don’t know exactly what we have, but I know we have something. I know I don’t want you to leave. I know I want you in a way I’ve never wanted anyone else, and I know you’re not a woman who plays games. This isn’t a game to me, either. You can pull back from me because you’re afraid of taking a risk, or we can see where this goes.”

She stared at him, feeling the quiet unfurling of happiness inside, like a flower blooming. She had expected him to retreat when she confessed to being emotionally involved. She hadn’t said the “L” word, but she might as well have; he couldn’t have missed her meaning. Not that the basic situation had changed—he hadn’t said the “L” word, either. But he hadn’t got that uncomfortable expression guys got when a woman started clinging and all they really wanted was to get the hell away from her.

Cahill had been burned; she, on the other hand, was relatively free of scars. Maybe the fact that this was uncharted territory for her was why she was frightened she’d get hurt. If Cahill could risk it, then so could she.

“All right,” she said calmly. “So now what happens?”

“I suggest we finish our milk and cookies, and go back to bed.”

“And then what?”

The look he gave her was faintly exasperated. “Are you going to write this down in an appointment book or something?”

“I’m big on organization. Humor me.”

“All right. I know you have your job to do. I have mine. Some days I won’t have much free time, some days you won’t. Unless you want to move in with me—No?” he asked when she shook her head. “I didn’t think so. Not yet, anyway. But failing that, then we continue as we have this week, together in our free time. We probably won’t get much cosmic bowling done—”

“But I so enjoyed it,” she murmured, earning an appreciative grin from him.

“—but I can promise I’ll do my best to keep you entertained. How does that sound?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. What do you have in mind?”

“Well, for starters I thought I’d fuck your brains out. Then, as an encore, I thought I’d fuck your brains out.”

“Just what I like,” she said. “Variety.”

He set the plate of cookies on the counter and put the empty milk glasses in the sink. “If it’s variety you want,” he said, turning to pull her to her feet, “what do you think about the table?”

Her heart began hammering at the expression on his face, that heavy-lidded, intent look that meant he was aroused. “It’s a very nice table.”

“Glad you like it,” he said, and lifted her onto it.

They spent the weekend together. She insisted on spending some time at the Judge’s house, working on the packing and inventory, so he helped her. Because the house wasn’t hers, she didn’t feel free to invite him to stay the night, so she packed a few clothes and toiletries and drove herself back to his house with him, where they spent the rest of the day in bed. Sunday was pretty much a rerun of Saturday, to her delight. She put her worries on hold and let things between them develop as they would. What else could she do, other than run? Caution was in her nature, but running wasn’t.

Early Monday morning, she drove back home and determinedly set to work. Barbara called at ten, pulling her from the chore of folding and packing more towels and washcloths than a small army could use.

“I’ve talked to a realtor,” Barbara said. “He’ll be there sometime today to put up a sign, so don’t be surprised if you see someone in the front yard. Actually, I’ve already had a couple of people call me here at home—you know, acquaintances who know someone who’s looking for a house in Mountain Brook, so maybe it won’t be a problem to sell.”

“I don’t think it will,” Sarah replied, thinking that she might not have a full month here after all.

“I’m flying in this weekend to help you pack up Daddy’s clothes and personal things.” Her voice wobbled a little. “I’m not looking forward to it, but I need to do it. This still doesn’t seem real, and maybe... maybe putting his things away will help.”

“Do you want me to pick you up at the airport?”

“No, I’ll rent a car so I can come and go without bothering you. And would you book a room at the Wynfrey for me? I don’t think I can stay in the house.”

“I’ll be glad to. Do you want a suite?”

“Just a room will do, since I’ll be alone. Sarah, you know how long it takes a will to go through probate. I’ve talked to Randall and Jon about this, and we all agree. If you need the money Daddy left you, we’ll go ahead and give it to you now out of our accounts, and take it back out of the estate when everything is settled.”

“Oh, no, don’t do that,” Sarah said, shocked. “I don’t need the money, and I really wish you wouldn’t—”

“Don’t argue,” Barbara said firmly. “Daddy left you the money, and that’s that.”

There was nothing Sarah could do but say, “Thank you. Truly, though, I don’t need the money now.”

“All right, but if you change your mind, all you have to do is tell me. Oh, by the way, I’ve written a letter of recommendation for you, too; I’m bringing it with me, so don’t let me forget to give it to you. You’ve been wonderful; I don’t know what we would have done without you.”

“It’s been my pleasure,” Sarah said sadly, because it truly had been a pleasure to serve the Judge and his family.

There was another job offer in the mail that day. She read it and put it with the others. This one didn’t require her to start immediately, so it was a possibility. She made a mental note to call later, to set up an appointment for an interview.

To her astonishment, every day there was another job offer in the mail, and a couple of offers were made by phone. She disregarded those immediately, preferring the more formal approach. Still, she was amazed at the number of offers coming in; her salary wasn’t cheap, so she hadn’t expected what was almost a cornucopia of opportunities.

“It’s that television spot,” Cahill said when she told him about it Thursday night. They were watching television, sitting together in his big recliner with her in his lap. She was proud they were actually watching television; this was the first night they hadn’t gone straight to bed after eating dinner. “You’re a celebrity, of sorts, so some people will want to hire you whether they really need you or not.”

“That isn’t the type of job I want, just to be someone’s status symbol. Judge Roberts needed someone to organize and run the household for him. He was elderly, he lived alone, he had some health problems, and he simply didn’t want to be bothered by the details.”

“Plus he needed your bodyguard skills.”

Sarah fell silent, because her skills hadn’t done any good. When the Judge had needed her, she hadn’t been there.

“Hey,” Cahill said softly. “It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have stopped it. There would have been no reason for you to be suspicious of this guy, whoever he is, because the Judge knew him, asked him to come in. Would you have stayed in the room with them while they talked?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then how could you have stopped it? The guy probably used a silencer; you wouldn’t even have heard the shot.”

“At least I could have identified him—” She stopped, thinking it through. “He’d have killed me, too.”

Cahill’s arms tightened around her. “He’d have to, because you’d know his name, what he looked like. Thank God you went to a movie.” He kissed her forehead, then tilted her head back and kissed her mouth, lingering until she began to think they wouldn’t be watching television much longer.

“When did you say Mrs. Pearson is flying in?” he asked, lifting his head.

“Tomorrow night.”

“Does this mean you won’t be sleeping here?”

“I can’t,” she said, regretfully.

“Then why are we wasting time?”

Later, when he’d turned out the light and they were lying drowsily together, he said, “If you don’t mind, let me check out the people who sent you those job offers.”

“Why?” she asked, startled into lifting her head. “Do you think something’s wrong?” She didn’t see how anything could be.

“No, nothing in particular. It’s just a precaution. Humor me.”

“Okay, if you want.”

“I do,” he said firmly.