LITMIR.BIZ

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had come downstairs. He had pulled a chair next to the counter to climb up and open the cupboard. A carton sat on the table next to a dirty glass, and a puddle of spilled milk had dripped on the floor. He had also tried, it appeared, to take a pitcher of orange juice from the refrigerator, but had sloshed half of it on the floor between the refrigerator and the kitchen table. Apparently he’d ended up settling for a couple of cookies, as evidenced by the lid from the cookie jar shoved across the counter toward the sink and the trail of crumbs on the floor.

      “It looks like you tried to make your own breakfast.” Shane gazed at the boy, not sure whether to be irritated or amused. “Don’t you think we should clean up this mess before we start something new?”

      Bobby stared sheepishly at the floor before looking up at Shane. He answered in a quiet voice, “I guess so.”

      Shane set about cleaning the kitchen with Bobby doing his best to help. As much as he tried to stay neutral in his thoughts, every time he looked at the boy he saw Cynthia. A soft warmth enveloped his heart and spread through his chest. He again wondered about Bobby’s father and what had happened between him and Cynthia. Those same thoughts tried to wander to what might have been, but he refused to play that game.

      As soon as the kitchen was presentable, Shane set about fixing breakfast. He put the various items on a tray and carried it out to the patio, setting it on the table. Bobby followed him, pausing long enough to pick up the fire truck from the den floor. He set the truck on the table, then climbed onto the chair. Shane sipped his coffee and studied Bobby as the boy took a big drink from his glass of milk, then gulped his orange juice.

      A scowl covered Bobby’s face as he stared at his bowl of cereal. He looked up at Shane. “My mommy buys different cereal. I’ve never had this kind before. I don’t like it.”

      “Why don’t you taste it? You might be surprised. You might find a new kind of cereal you like.” Shane offered him an encouraging smile. “If you eat all your cereal, I think I can find a doughnut for you.”

      “I don’t bribe him to eat his breakfast.”

      Shane jerked around in his chair at the stern words. He had been so fixed on Bobby he had not heard Cynthia come up behind him.

      She wore white tailored slacks and a short-sleeved top in a tangerine color. The silky-looking fabric caressed the same breast his hand had grazed last night. A tingling danced across his fingertips in response to the recollection. Her long blond hair was pulled back and fastened with a gold clasp at her nape. Last night she exuded the earthy sexuality he remembered so well. This morning she presented a pristine loveliness, which also lived in his memories. Either way, it caused his blood to rush a little hotter and his heart to beat faster.

      He attempted to hide his thoughts and the very real emotional impact she had on him by adopting a more distant attitude. He may have been all cool control on the outside, but inside he fought off the clearly remembered sensations of the most intense love affair of his life. “I was beginning to wonder if you planned to sleep the morning away.”

      Cynthia ignored his pointed comment, but found it a lot more difficult to ignore his handsome features, his broad shoulders and strong arms, barely contained in the lightweight T-shirt, and his long legs, encased in faded jeans. His hair was shorter than he used to wear it, but the thick raven locks still feathered softly over his ears and across the back of his neck at collar length.

      She took a steadying breath, but it did nothing to calm the conflicting emotions that raced through her body—heated desires and a quick rush of excitement when she saw Shane, followed closely by a sharp stab of alarm when she spotted Bobby with him. She tried to force a casual sound to her words while fighting off the panic that threatened to rob her of her last shreds of composure. “I see the two of you have met.”

      “Oh, yes. Bobby and I have met. We’ve already had a busy morning.” Shane winked at the boy. “We’ve been cleaning up the mess someone left in the kitchen.”

      She nervously cleared her throat as she made her way to the other side of the table, where her son was seated. She placed her hands protectively on his shoulders. “I hope Bobby hasn’t been any trouble. He doesn’t usually wake up this early. It was probably the strange surroundings.”

      “Me and Shane fixed breakfast.” Bobby stared down at his bowl. “But I don’t think I like this kind of cereal.”

      She kissed her son on the forehead, then smoothed back his unruly hair. “I remember when you thought you didn’t like waffles, either, because you thought they looked yucky. Now they’re your favorite breakfast.” She offered him an encouraging smile. “Don’t you think you should taste the cereal before you make up your mind?”

      Bobby looked up at his mother. He scrunched up his face. “I guess so.” He tentatively took a bite. He didn’t say anything, but continued to eat. She smiled when she saw a look on his face she knew well, the one that said he found something new that he liked.

      She turned her attention to Shane, her manner businesslike. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get myself a cup of coffee while Bobby eats his breakfast. We’ll leave as soon as he’s finished.”

      Shane rose from his chair. “I’ll get it for you.”

      She maintained a standoffish attitude, as much for her own sake, in trying to keep her emotional equilibrium, as to send a message to him. “I don’t want to inconvenience you.” She stepped back into the den and started toward the kitchen, with Shane close behind her.

      “Uh, about your leaving...”

      His words cut through her outer show of control straight to her buried anxiety, triggering an angry reaction. She whirled to face him, speaking slowly as she carefully measured each word. “Don’t worry. We’ll be out of your house this morning just as I said we would. I’ve already packed our things.” She glanced at the floor. “Except for these toys. I hadn’t anticipated having breakfast here. I’d planned for us to be out of your house as soon as I got Bobby up.”

      “I’ve, uh, been giving it some thought,” Shane said.

      She busied herself collecting Bobby’s toys. “Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it. I’m not interested.”

      He ignored her comments. “I don’t know why Kate wanted you to stay here, but I’ve found that it’s far easier to go along with what she wants than to try to fight her on anything.”

      Cynthia turned a cool gaze on Shane, one that belied the nervous churning in her stomach. “Well, you shouldn’t have a problem with this one. You can tell Kate that I chose to leave.”

      He awkwardly shifted his weight from one foot to the other and glanced at the floor. “I guess I’m not making myself very clear.”

      His nervousness and uncertainty caught her by surprise. They seemed completely out of character for the analytical, dynamic and confident Shane Fortune she used to know. This strange turn of events left her slightly perplexed. She thought everything had been settled last night. She wanted to move out of his house before things became more awkward than they already were. But mostly she wanted to get Bobby away from Shane. Protecting her son and his true identity was her number-one priority.

      Shane cleared his throat as he took the toy police car from her hand, set the toy on the coffee table and then captured her wary gaze with his own. He fought the desire to reach out and touch her. He forged ahead, uncertain about where he was going. “What I’m trying to say is that you can stay here—you and Bobby—until you settle your father’s estate and find a place of your own. This is a large house. There’s plenty of room for everyone. We don’t have to feel crowded.”

      He wasn’t pleased with the expression on her face or her body language, which both said his logic hadn’t convinced her. He offered a smile as he gestured toward the patio. “And there’s the swimming pool and hot tub.”

      He saw her objections forming, but he adopted his most compelling bedside manner and continued before she had an opportunity to speak. “I can imagine things have been

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