Their eyes met and held. “Yes, I do.”
She fell asleep watching him watch her.
Twenty-One
Avery woke up first. It was very early, and the room was dim, although the night-light still burned. She smiled wistfully when she realized that Mandy’s small hand was resting on her cheek. Her muscles were cramped from lying so long in one position; otherwise, she probably would have gone back to sleep. Needing to stretch, she eased Mandy’s hand off her face and laid it on the pillow. Taking agonizing care not to awaken the child, she got up.
Tate was asleep in the rocker. His head was lying at such an angle to one side that it was almost resting on his shoulder. It looked like a very uncomfortable position, but his abdomen was rising and falling rhythmically, and she could hear his even breathing in the quiet room.
His robe lay parted, revealing his torso and thighs. His right leg was bent at the knee; the left was stretched out in front of him. His calves and feet were well-shaped. His hands were heavily veined and sprinkled with hair. One was dangling from the arm of the chair, the other lay against his stomach.
Sleep had erased the furrow of concern from between his brows. His lashes formed sooty crescents against his cheeks. Relaxed, his mouth looked sensual, capable of giving a woman enormous pleasure. Avery imagined that he would make love intently, passionately, and well, just as he did everything. Emotion brimmed inside Avery’s chest until it ached. She wanted badly to cry.
She loved him.
As much as she wanted to make recompense for her professional failures, she realized now that she had also assumed the role of his wife because she had fallen in love with him before she could even speak his name. She had loved him when she had had to look at him through a veil of bandages and rely only on the sound of his voice to inspire her to fight for her life.
She was playing his wife because she wanted to be his wife. She wanted to protect him. She wanted to heal the hurts inflicted on him by a selfish, spiteful woman. She wanted to sleep with him.
If he claimed his conjugal rights, she would gladly oblige him. That would be her greatest lie yet—one he wouldn’t be able to forgive when her true identity was revealed. He would despise her more than he had Carole because he would think she had tricked him. He would never believe her love was genuine. But it was.
He stirred. When he brought his head upright, he winced. His eyelids fluttered, came open with a start, then focused on her. S
he was standing within touching distance.
“What time is it?” he asked with sleepy huskiness.
“I don’t know. Early. Does your neck hurt?” She ran her hand through his tousled hair, then curved her hand around his neck.
“A little.”
She squeezed the cords of his neck, working the kinks out.
“Hmm.”
After a moment, he yanked his robe together, folding one side over the other. He drew in his extended leg and sat up straighter. She wondered if her tender massage had given him an early morning erection he didn’t want her to see.
“Mandy’s still asleep,” he commented rhetorically.
“Want some breakfast?”
“Coffee’s fine.”
“I’ll make breakfast.”
Dawn was just breaking. Mona wasn’t even up yet and the kitchen was dark. Tate began spooning coffee into the disposable paper filter of a coffeemaker. Avery went to the refrigerator.
“Don’t bother,” he said.
“Aren’t you hungry?”
“I can wait for Mona to get up.”
“I’d like to cook you something.”
Turning his back, he said nonchalantly, “All right. A couple of eggs, I guess.”
She was familiar enough with the kitchen by now to assemble the makings for breakfast. Everything went fine until she started whisking eggs in a bowl.