“Then how come other people can’t seem to do it? I know you won’t believe this, but everyone who knows me thinks I’m the most patient guy this side of the Atlantic.”
“You’ve fooled all of them?” she said with surprise, and made him grin. But not for long.
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“I’ll do your program. But this is the deal. First, I’m going to pay you by the hour.” He mentioned a sum.
“I don’t need to be rolling in diamonds, slugger. This is what I charge—”
“I don’t care what you charge. That’s what I’m paying you. And another thing—”
“What?”
He motioned to the far archway, where the hall led down to the business part of house. “I’ll build your waterfall.”
“I don’t think you’re up for that kind of heavy work—”
“If I can’t, I can’t. But I’ll try. When my dad died, he left my mom financially secure enough, but she was still determined that we’d all know how to do things, not be dependent on others. So I know some plumbing and carpentry. Depending on how my body holds out, I can do the work. And that’ll be part of my payment to you. Money. But the waterfall, too.”
When he left, she found herself standing naked in the dark window, watching the lights of his vehicle pull out and then disappear into the night. All that extraordinary postsex euphoria and closeness seemed to vanish faster than a light switched off…and a sick feeling of fear replaced it.
Mop moaned next to her ankles, until Phoebe picked up the disgraceful whiner and cuddled him under her chin. Still, she stared out the dark window, thinking fiercely that she felt good about making love with Fox. Shedid. Totally good. Really. It was just…
Vague memories zipped through Phoebe’s mind, of her childhood. Her mother had been a hard-core earth mom and emotional hedonist. Her dad had adored those qualities in her and valued her in every way. It was so easy to grow up believing that sensuality was healthy and a wonderful part of being a woman. Her dad called her pure female, and meant it as the warmest of compliments.
And every media source in the universe taught a girl that men wanted a sensual woman. A hot, willing, uninhibited woman who freely expressed her sexuality was the ideal, right? Every man’s dream, right?
Wrong.
At her feet, Duster suddenly yipped, clearly miffed that Mop was being held and she was being ignored, so Phoebe had to scoop her up and cuddle her, too…but that sick, wary feeling inside kept turning in her stomach. Men wanted a “hot” woman, all right. But only to sleep with, not to keep. Something in a man distrusted a woman who was too open with her sexuality. They feared she wouldn’t be faithful. Feared they couldn’t trust her. Something deep inside just didn’t respect a woman like that.
Phoebe had learned it all the hard way from Alan. The part that really bit was his accusing her of being a hedonist and sensualist—because she couldn’t defend those charges. She very definitely was those things. He’d made her feel so dirty that she’d started to think of herself the same way…until she switched her career from PT to massage work with babies.
She hadn’t thought of Alan in months…until Fox entered her life. She knew the men were completely unalike. But she still feared ever falling for someone again who didn’t, or couldn’t, completely respect her.
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Abruptly she turned around and aimed for the back door so she could let the pups out one last time before bed. The cool draft of air on her bare skin made her shiver, helped her face more reality.
She refused to regret making love with him. Helping Fox regain his life really mattered to her—no matter what she had to do, no matter what the emotional cost to herself. She just had to remember how this night had ended.
He hadn’t wanted to stay all night with her after making love.
And he’d pretty damn violently been insistent on paying her—hugely—for her services.
She got it. If she could heal his wounded soul, she wanted to. She just couldn’t kid herself that he valued her as more than the hired help. For a few hours, there, she’d felt such an extraordinary connection to him.… She’d felt like a soft, fragile rose, petals opening inside her that had been sealed shut for so long…but she knew better. Really.
To Fox she was a masseuse. As long as she guarded her heart from wanting to be more in his life, there was no problem.
And she wasn’t about to forget that again.
Seven
In a single week, nature had blown off winter and poured in spring. Bright-yellow azaleas bloomed everywhere. The sun shone through sassy-green fresh leaves. Sleepy, sneaky breezes teased the senses.
The earth and grass smelled pungent, as if every spore and root under the surface was having sex and about to burst into life.
Except for him, Fox thought glumly.
Just because he’d had heart-destroying sex with Phoebe once, of course, was no reason to assume they’d have it again. There were compelling reasons why they shouldn’t, besides. Only…
Only, he wanted to have sex with her.
Immediately. Regularly. Preferably on the hour. For several weeks nonstop.
Right or wrong had nothing to do with it. His hormones only understood that issues of values were inconsequential. Having had her, he wanted more. He wanted. Her. No one else. Nothing else. And his hormones kept beating that same drum, day after day after day.
“What in God’s name are you doing?” Bear asked dryly.
Fox glanced up. It was a Bear day—which meant, according to Phoebe’s ridiculous recovery program—that he was supposed to be fishing. For the cause—and fishing was always Bear’s favorite cause—he’d dragged him across the border into South Carolina. Any other time, Fox wouldn’t have minded. Lake Jocassee was a serious piece of paradise—one of those God’s-country kinds of places.
The reservoir of cold, clear water was backdropped by sunlit knolls and mountains,
