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He hadn’t lied to her. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever met and the two things that had attracted him to her in the first place were temporarily flawed—her face and her voice.

“Have you made plans for dinner, Parris?”

A hint of a smile crinkled her eyes. She was tempted to nod yes. The expectant look in his eyes stopped her. She shook her head.

Lowering his head and his lids, he stared down at her. His penetrating gaze was as dark and powerful as he was. “Will you share dinner with me, Parris?” She nodded the affirmative and he pulled her back to rest against his body.

Martin held her, not wanting to move or to let her go. He dared not forget she was with him because she was an invalid. But she wouldn’t remain an invalid for very long. Luis explained that she was young and in excellent health, and that meant she would heal quickly.

How long could he hope to keep her—two weeks? Maybe three at the most.

He studied her delicate bruised face. “Are you familiar with computers?” he questioned. She nodded. “Good,” he continued, “because I brought a laptop home for you. Using the laptop should be easier and faster than your pen and pad method.”

Closing his eyes, Martin tried to shake off the feeling that once Parris left he would never see her again.

He didn’t know why, but as soon as the thought entered his head he recalled the quote from his college newspaper.
‘I’m going to have a piece of everything I want. Some of it may not work out, but I’m still going to have a piece of it anyway.’

Right now his everything was Parris Simmons.

P
arris did not remember the day the swelling in her face went away or when the bruises faded. She had lived with Martin for two weeks and in that time she looked forward to sharing breakfast with him before he left for his office. He usually left the house at seven so that meant she had to wake up early, shower and get dressed by six.

Her breakfast was pureed fruits with wheat germ and a multivitamin while Martin filled his plate with any fresh fruit that was in season, a bowl of Grape Nuts and a cup coffee. On the weekend his menu varied to eggs, with a choice of bacon, ham or sausage or whole wheat or buttermilk pancakes.

Dinners were very different, and what she didn’t know was that Martin left the office before five to be with her.

No one at ColeDiz said anything, at least not to his face, but rumors were circulating about who was she that had him rushing through the front doors before quitting time. His unusual behavior even had Joan Shaw wondering if the rumors were right this time. Wagers were taken that Martin would announce his engagement before Christmas.

Parris heard the sound of Martin’s car and opened the front door at the same time the automatic garage door slid up.

She had never been outside of the West Palm Beach self-contained community of two and three-bedroom town house condominiums but knew everyone entering or leaving the development had to pass through a security checkpoint.

The beautifully landscaped community had its own swimming pools—two for children and two for adults, tennis courts and health club. A recreation hall was available for anyone who wanted to use the facility for any event larger than an intimate dinner party or for family or holiday celebrations.

Martin’s two-bedroom unit contained an expansive living-dining room, a large modern kitchen with a pantry, two full bathrooms, one half-bath, a laundry room, a family room and a patio spanning the length of the rear of the house. Sliding glass and screened doors from each bedroom led out onto a second-story balcony.

Martin explained that he had moved in in March, but hadn’t had time to decorate his home because of the time he spent traveling.

She made suggestions, communicating with him by using the laptop computer he had brought home from his office. They’d sit together “talking” for what seemed like hours until her fingers tired from punching keys on the small power notebook.

Ruby Johnson no longer slept over, but came every day before Martin left in the morning and stayed until he returned in the evening. He still had not felt comfortable leaving her home alone until she could talk.

Dr. Lopez made house calls every other day and examined Parris’s face. His gentle hands moved lightly over the delicate bones along her jaw, pleased that she was healing quickly. His prognosis cheered and saddened her at the same time. She wanted to be able to talk normally and eat solid foods, but she also didn’t want to leave Martin.

She was astonished at the sense of fulfillment he offered her. He had saved her life, protected her and had asked for nothing in return.

Martin saw Parris in the doorway. It was the first time she had ever waited for him to come home, and the sight should’ve pleased
him yet it didn’t. The typed report the private investigator gave him during lunch lessened his enthusiasm. There were questions he had to ask Parris and he wanted answers to those questions.

The garage door closed quietly behind him as he turned and walked toward Parris. He halted, staring down at her upturned face, taking in the pinpoints of green in her clear brown eyes. It was the first time he noticed the green lights in her eyes since he was introduced to her.

His gaze swept quickly over her face, her shampooed hair and her slender body under one of his T-shirts she had paired with her own well-worn faded jeans. Even though he had gone to her apartment and picked up clothes and any other personal item he thought she needed, she continued to favor his oversized T-shirts. Again, he’d decided against having someone associated with ColeDiz run his personal errands.

Parris wiggled her fingers at him. It was her way of greeting him. “Hello back to you too,” he said, curving an arm around her tiny waist. Without warning, he pulled her to his chest and touched her mouth with his. The kiss was only a brushing of the lips but both of them were shocked by the static caused by the casual touch.

Martin wanted to deepen the kiss. He wanted to devour her mouth and…

Shocked at his thoughts, he pulled back. Parris’s eyes were wide, staring at him in disbelief. He opened his mouth to apologize but closed it as quickly. Why the hell should he apologize for something he wanted to do ever since he met her, and at that moment he realized he’d lied to Brittany when he said he didn’t want to sleep with Parris Simmons.

Maybe he hadn’t wanted to sleep with her two weeks ago. However if Brittany asked him now—today he would say yes.

He wanted to do more than sleep with Parris. He wanted to see her—every day
and
every night. He wanted to see her when he woke up in the morning and he wanted her waiting for him when he came home at night, and he wanted her to live with him.

He wouldn’t ask that she give up anything for him except not leave him.

Forcing a smile, he hugged her. “What do you want for dinner?” Parris shrugged her shoulders. “How does fettuccine with a garlic sauce sound?”

She pinched her nose with a thumb and forefinger, then waved her hand in front of her mouth.

Martin laughed easily at her pantomime. It was his first real laugh since he read the P.I.’s report. “Don’t worry about having bad breath. We’ll use a mouthwash.”

Parris stood beside Martin at the cooking island in the kitchen, stirring a pot of creamy garlic sauce while he dropped freshly made fettuccine into a large pot of boiling water.

He handed her a long-handled fork. “Please stir the pasta while I get some bacon.” Registering her glare, he said, “Don’t worry, Parris. I won’t ask you to stir anything else.” She curtsied, smiling at him.

Her gaze lingered on his back as he reached into the refrigerator. She had never met anyone like Martin. He appeared so sure of himself and his rightful place in the world. When, she thought, had he acquired his self-confidence? Or had he been born with it? Did he consider it his god-given privilege because he was who he was?

Straightening, he turned and caught her staring. “Are you stirring, my dear?”

Nodding her head slowly, Parris forced her attention back to the cooking island and stirred the sauce and the pasta.

He placed three strips of bacon on the stove’s grilling surface and within minutes the kitchen was filled with the fragrant aroma of bacon and the savory garlic sauce.

Martin tested the pasta, finding it
al dente
. He removed a portion for himself, but cooked the remaining fettuccine until it was soft and mushy.

“You can stop stirring the sauce, Parris.” She put down the spoon and retrieved the laptop from the countertop. Her fingers
moved quickly over the keys. She positioned the screen for Martin to read what she had typed.

He read her request quickly. “No, Parris. It has to be pureed.”

Her fingers went to the keys.
I’m sick and tired of sipping everything through a straw!

He noted the frown marring her smooth forehead, wanting to lean over and kiss it away. “If I don’t put your food in the blender, how are you going to chew the bacon?”

I won’t eat the bacon
.

Staring down into her clear brown eyes, Martin noted the glassy sheen of unshed tears and something tightened in his chest. He could feel her frustration, her impatience.

Once more he experienced an overwhelming need to take care of her, and he wondered who was she, this woman, who pulled so achingly at his heart?

“Okay. I won’t puree it,” he conceded.

Parris surprised him and herself as she pressed her body to his. His arms went around her waist and he held her close as she buried her face against his throat.

The slim arms around his neck, the fragrant smell of her skin and the soft crush of her firm breasts sent a warming shiver through his body.

Suddenly he was conscious of where his warm flesh touched hers and the differences in their bodies. He was aware that Parris Simmons was a woman, but it was only today that he saw her as wholly female.

Physically she was his counterpart.

Parris registered the subtle changes in Martin’s body—the tightening of his fingers along her rib cage, the quickening of his pulse, the growing hardness against her middle and her own body tingling from the intimate contact.

Her arms slipped from his neck and she pulled out of his embrace, head lowered.

Cradling her chin in his hand, Martin raised her face. His warm breath feathered over her lips. Leaning over, he placed a kiss on either side of her mouth. “Let’s eat,” he whispered.

* * *

Parris left more pasta and sauce on her plate than she swallowed. The creamy noodles slid down the back of her throat without her tasting the fragrant garlic and herbs.

Placing her spoon on the table, she stared over Martin’s head at the towering palms trees in the distance. She enjoyed dining outdoors on the patio.

“Is that all you’re going to eat?” he asked.

She nodded, folding her arms over her chest.

Frowning, Martin put down his fork. He registered an expression of tired sadness pass over her features.

Damn, he thought. He shouldn’t have listened to her. He should have pureed her food. She hadn’t eaten more than four spoonsful of pasta

He knew she had lost weight. Her cheeks were gaunt and the bones of her collarbone were more sharply pronounced.

“Are you ready for dessert?”

Leaning against the back of her chair, Parris shook her head.

“You have to eat something,” Martin insisted.

She shook her head harder, staring intently at him. Reaching for the laptop, she typed,
I don’t want anything else to eat. Thank you for dinner
.

He read her reply. “I don’t need your thanks, Parris. You didn’t eat.”

I did eat
, she typed.

Suddenly his expression was grim. “You didn’t!” he shouted.

Parris was stunned by his outburst. She recovered quickly. Her fingers raced over the keyboard.
Don’t you dare yell at me unless I’m able to yell back! Do you understand me clearly, Mr. Cole?

Martin’s black eyes impaled her after he read the acerbic reprimand. She stiffened as the air between them vibrated with static electricity.

“I understand you quite clearly, Miss Simmons,” he responded after a lengthy silence.

Averting his head, he hid the smile crinkling his eyes. Fragile
and mute, she still challenged him, and when he turned back to her there was a gleam of admiration in his gaze.

Rising to his feet, he moved over and pulled back her chair. “You must be stuffed,” he crooned near her ear. “What do you say we go for a walk to burn off a few calories.”

Her head came up quickly and she stared up at his wide grin. She couldn’t laugh aloud, but her shoulders shook uncontrollably as she laughed until tears streaked her cheeks.

Dusk had fallen by the time they began their stroll around the track surrounding the health center. There were a half-dozen couples also circling the track, some casually and a few jogging at a moderate pace.

Martin held Parris’s hand, pulling her close to his side. He tightened his grip on her slender fingers and she glanced up at him. They shared a secret smile. A smile lovers usually reserved for each other.

They logged a half mile around the track, then walked along the wide avenue back to the house.

He knew he couldn’t put it off any longer. He had to talk to Parris about Owen Lawson.

Parris was surprised when Martin knocked on her bedroom door and walked in, carrying the laptop. The slight arching of his sweeping eyebrows should have warned her that what he wanted to “talk” to her about was serious. She had learned to gauge his facial expressions and body language to monitor his moods.

“I’d like to talk to you about something,” he began, sitting on the chair beside her bed.

Parris nodded, smoothing the sheet out over her knees. Since living in Martin’s house, she had taken to wearing a nightshirt to bed. Normally she slept in the nude. She took the laptop from him, switching it on.

She felt him studying her profile as she stared at the small screen. Tilting her chin, she glanced up at him from under her lashes.

“I want to know why your ex-husband tried to kill you.”

Her eyes widened until he could see fear in their depths. Her lips formed a silent “no.”

Moving quickly, he sat down on the bed, pulling her to his chest. “You have to tell me, Parris. How else can I protect you from him.”

Parris stared out across the bedroom. She catalogued each item in the room as if she had never seen them before.

The furnishings in the bedroom were an eclectic mix of Scandinavian and French provincial. She lay on a queen size sleigh bed in a gleaming mahogany. A double dresser and chest-on-chest were constructed with straight lines reminiscent of the popular Scandinavian styles.

“Parris.”

Martin calling her name pulled her from her reverie.

You don’t have to protect me
.

“Yes I do,” he argued.

No you don’t because you don’t have to get involved
.

“It’s too late for that, Parris. I became involved the moment I hit Owen Lawson to keep him from drowning you. I became involved the second I carried you over the threshold of my home. I am involved because I asked a doctor to compromise his professional ethics and risk losing his license when he put your face back together on a countertop in my kitchen instead of on an operating table at a hospital.”

I am involved because I want you in my life, he said to himself. He was involved because he thought perhaps he was falling in love with her.

He was angry with me
, she typed, countering his tirade.