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Increasingly his ego and his groin had been rivals in his search for and conquest of woman. As the years had passed, quantity had countermanded quality; he’d laid anything feminine, indiscriminately and often with little care. He’d used and been used, and the sexual skill in which he’d once taken pride had been reduced to a physical act that was shallow and hurtful. It had reflected the rest of his life too well.
    All that had ended four years ago. When he’d first come to New Hampshire, he’d stayed celibate. He hadn’t yearned, hadn’t wanted. He’d lived within well-defined walls, unsure of himself, distrusting his emotions and motivations. During those early months his sole goal had been to forge out an existence as a human being.
    Gradually, the day to day course of his life had fallen into place. He’d had the occasional woman since then, though not out of any gut-wrenching desire as much as the simple need to assure himself that he was male and normal. Rarely had he seen the same woman twice. Never had he brought one to his home.
    But one was here now. He hadn’t asked for her. In fact, he wanted her gone as soon as possible. Yet even as he studied her, as he watched her stare into the fire, take an occasional sip of coffee, flex her arms around herself protectively, he felt an intense need for human contact.
    He wondered if the need was indicative of a new stage in his redevelopment, if he’d reached the point of being comfortable with himself and was now ready to share himself with others.
    To share. To learn to share. He’d always been self-centered, and to an extent, the life he’d built here reinforced that. He did what he wanted when he wanted. He wasn’t sure if he was capable of changing that, or if he wanted to change it. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to venture into something new.
    Still, there was the small voice of need that cried out when he looked at her.…
    “What’s your name?”
    His voice came so unexpectedly that Leah jumped. Her head shot around, eyes wide as they met his. “Leah Gates.”
    “You’re a friend of Victoria’s?”
    “Yes.”
    He shifted his gaze to the flames. Only when she had absorbed the dismissal and turned back to the fire herself did he look at her again.
    Leah Gates. A friend of Victoria’s. His mind conjured up several possibilities, none of which was entirely reassuring. She could indeed be a friend of Victoria’s, an acquaintance who’d somehow learned of his existence and had decided, for whatever her reasons, to seek him out. On the other hand she could be lying outright, using Victoria’s name to get the story that no one else had been able to get. Or she could be telling the truth, which left the monumental question of why Victoria would have sent her to him.
    Only two facts were clear. The first was that he was stuck with her; she wasn’t going anywhere for a while. The second was that she’d been through a minor ordeal getting here and that, even as she sat before the fire, she’d begun to tremble again.
    Pushing himself from the sofa, he went for the spare quilt that lay neatly folded on the end of the bed. He shook it out as he returned to the fire, then draped it lightly over her shoulders. She sent him a brief but silent word of thanks before tugging it closely around her.
    This time when he sank onto the sofa it was with a vague sense of satisfaction. He ignored it at first, but it lingered, and at length he deigned to consider it. He’d never been one to give. His life—that life—had been ruled by selfishness and egotism. That as small a gesture as offering a quilt should please him was interesting … encouraging … puzzling.
    As the evening passed, the only sounds in the cabin were the crackle of the fire and the echo of the rain. From time to time Garrick added another log to the grate, and after a bit, Leah curled onto her side beneath the quilt. He knew the very moment she fell asleep, for the fingers that clutched the