LITMIR.BIZ

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and future. No more jealousy or discussion about...hell.

      He just wanted her. “This is not the time or the place to talk about lawyers. Enjoy your party and your success.” He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs stroking along her cheeks as he stepped closer, the heat of her lithe body reaching to him. “You’ve raised enough seed money for the shelter tonight. They can start their capital campaign for a whole new building. Let’s celebrate.”

      She swayed toward him for an instant, as if she too was caught in that same web of desire. Her gaze fell away from his for a moment, roving his broad-shouldered body, then returned to meet his hungry gaze. There was something there still. He could feel it in the way her lips, slightly parted, seemed to call him to her.

      Stepping back abruptly, she grasped the door latch. “Enjoy?” She shook her head, a curl sliding forward over her shoulder. “I don’t think that’s possible. There’s too much left unsettled for me to think about anything but getting my life in order.”

      In a swirl of French perfume, she walked out the door and raced along the dock back to the party. The forcefulness of her reaction left him wondering what he was missing, but the speed of her departure closed the door on finding out.

      * * *

      She couldn’t go back to the party. Not with her emotions in such a turmoil. She hadn’t expected the brief conversation with Tom Carlson to lead to a showdown with her husband. But Tom had seen her come through the office earlier...and he had asked her for a drink. She’d shut him down hard. Even if she weren’t married, she was not in a place emotionally to be in a relationship right now.

      Life was getting too complicated. She longed for simpler times again.

      Peace.

      Family.

      So she sought out the last remnants. She loaded a plate of party food onto a tray with two glasses of mint iced tea and went upstairs to Grandpa Leon’s suite. His Alzheimer’s had progressed to the point that he required a round-the-clock nurse to keep watch over him so he didn’t wander off. His nighttime nurse’s aide sat in the study area off his bedroom, reading on her phone. A brunette in her midthirties, she had a warm expression on her face at all times. The perfect temperament for at-home care.

      She looked up quickly and set her phone beside her. “Good evening, Mrs. Reynaud. Mr. Leon is on the balcony enjoying the stars over the lake.”

      They’d glassed in the balcony so the temperature could be regulated year-round, and he could safely sit outside without fear of him falling—or climbing down as he’d tried to do one evening.

      “Thank you,” Fiona said. “Please do feel free to join the party while I visit with Gramps.”

      “That sounds lovely. Thank you. I’ll step downstairs for a snack. I’ll be back in a half hour, if that’s all right?”

      “Absolutely. Take your time.” Fiona loved her grandfather-in-law and treasured this time with him. His disease was stealing him away and she would soon be gone. Her heart squeezed tighter as she stepped through the open French doors leading to the enclosed balcony.

      “Grandpa Leon,” she said softly, adjusting the tray and settling it on the wrought-iron table between two chairs. “I’ve brought you a bite to eat.”

      The older man turned, his shock of gray hair whiter every day as if each lost memory stole more of his youth along with the color in the once dark strands. “They don’t like me going to parties anymore. I believe they’re afraid of what I might say.”

      “Everyone loves having you there. I’m sorry you feel that way, though.” The family was just trying to protect him from embarrassment.

      “It’s not your fault my memory’s failing. The boys are just trying to protect me and my pride.” Spearing a bit of shrimp scampi on his fork, he looked up at her gratefully. “This is good, especially for party food. Filling. Not a bunch of those frilly little canapés.”

      “We have plenty of those, too. I just know your preference.”

      “And I appreciate that. My tastes are the only thing not failing in my mind. But I imagine you knew that. You were always a perceptive girl. I am going to miss you.”

      Her head jerked up. What did he know? He couldn’t possibly have guessed about the divorce. “Grandpa Leon, I’m not sure what you mean.”

      He tapped his temple. “When my illness takes over. Even in my fog, I feel the sense of loss. I feel it here.” He tapped his chest. “The people who should be a part of my life. But I can’t recall who belongs to me and who doesn’t.”

      Fiona didn’t even know what to say, so she covered his hand with hers and squeezed. “I do love you and I won’t forget you.”

      “And I love you, too, sister dear.”

      She blinked away a tear. She shouldn’t be surprised any longer at these moments he mistook her for someone else. Still... She shoved to her feet and started for the door.

      Turning to look back at the man who soon wouldn’t be her grandfather anymore, Fiona said, “Do you want seconds on anything?”

      He stared back at her, a confused look in his java-brown eyes. “Seconds?” He stared down at his empty plate. “What did the chef make for dinner? I can’t seem to recall.”

      She struggled for what to say and then realized specifics didn’t matter so much as peace. “Tonight’s menu included your very favorite.”

      He smiled, passing his plate to her. “Of course, my favorite. I would like more. And dessert—pie with ice cream.”

      “Of course.”

      Would he even remember he’d asked for it when she returned? She would bring it all the same and savor her last moments as part of this wonderful family.

      Would she still be welcome here to visit him after the split became known to the rest of the family? Would she even be able to come here without losing her mind? The pain would be...intense. Especially at first. And later? She could barely think into the future. She’d been so afraid to dream years ahead for fear there were no years for her.

      Today had reminded her all too well of those fears.

       Three

      Always hungry—which was the fate of an athlete—Henri pulled open the door to the Sub-Zero fridge, rummaging around shelves big enough to park a car—his personal choice in the kitchen remodel. It was three in the morning and no way would he make it until dawn. Though the food at the party had been decadent, he needed to put proper fuel into his system. In season, he put his body through the wringer and there was a helluva lot at stake.

      He pulled out a carton of eggs and placed them on the granite counter. Running a hand through his hair, his mind drifted back to the fund-raiser.

      From an outside perspective, the event was a complete success. Seven figures had been raised, more than enough seed money to launch a capital campaign to build a new shelter. His wife’s fund-raising goal had been surpassed. And he was damn proud of her. Even if things were difficult right now, he admired her spirit. He’d practically had to drag her out of the fund-raiser as the cleanup crews arrived. Fiona had wanted to make sure that everything was perfect, that things were easy on the housekeeping staff.

      Of course, by the time they’d returned to their house, she’d bolted from his company and retreated to her room. Par for the course these days.

      Opening a cabinet drawer, he pulled out a frying pan and sprayed it with olive oil. He switched on the gas of the massive gourmet cooktop and adjusted the flame. Once the pan began to hiss to life, he cracked two eggs, reveling in the sound and the promise of protein.

      Cooking was one of the things that he actually liked to do for himself. And for Fiona. He’d made them delicious,

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