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the sensation like a warm fire on a bitter day. He was feeling good. Wrong! He was feeling great. His mood was infectious. He had Karen laughing easily moments after returning to the kitchen.
    “How ’bout a walk?” he asked the minute they’d finished eating.
    “I have work to do!” Karen protested, though not too strongly.
    “Like what?”
    She held up one hand, ticking off fingers as she listed the day’s chores. “Dusting. Laundry. Bed-making.”
    Paul gave her a considering look, then nodded once. “Okay. I’ll help. We’ll cut the chores in half.”
    “But you’re a guest!”
    “Big deal.” He grinned; she melted. “I’ll help you clean these breakfast things away. Then I’ll do the beds while you start the laundry. And then...” He grinned again at her bemused expression. “I’ll call Peter while you do the dusting.” He snapped his fingers. “Nothing to it.”
    “Are you always this organized?” Karen scuffed the toe of her running shoe in the sand, just to break the smooth surface, and slanted a questioning glance at the tall man pacing beside her. It was their second walk of that day. Long rays of afternoon sunlight bounced a glitter off the undulating sea that almost stung the eye. Working together, she and Paul had wiped out her chore list for the entire week, except for the trip to the supermarket in town.
    “It’s atavistic.” Paul laughed down at her. “I come from a long line of fussily neat, well-organized Dutch folk.”
    “Oh, brother!” Karen rolled her eyes.
    “Hey, don’t complain.” His laughter deepened. “The work’s done, isn’t it?”
    “All except dinner, which won’t get done unless I get back to the house pretty quick,” she retorted with her innate New England practicality.
    “I give up.” Paul pivoted on his heel. “Let’s go make dinner.” He walked so fast that Karen could barely breathe, let alone protest his intent. But she dug in her heels the instant they walked into the house.
    “I’ll cook dinner,” she declared, planting her hands on her hips. “You go take a shower or read the paper or, better yet, try your son once more.”
    Paul appeared about to argue until she made the last suggestion. Having made two failed attempts to contact his son, he was feeling a trifle concerned. “Right.” He nodded. “I’ll try Peter again.” He swung away, but paused in the doorway. “It’s been a good day, Karen. Hasn’t it?”
    Karen’s smile was soft, as was her voice. “A very good day, Paul. Thank you for it.”
    “No thanks necessary. The day was free. Ours to take.” He grew still, a frown drawing his dark brows together. Then he smiled. “As all the days are, by damn!” Striding back to her, he grasped her upper arms, drew her to him and kissed her gently on the mouth. When he raised his head, a smile curved his lips. “That was even better than the walk.” Releasing her abruptly, he strode from the room.
    Startled, delighted, Karen stared at the empty doorway, a bemused look on her kiss-softened face. Lifting her hand, she touched the tip of her fingers to her tingling lips.
    “By damn!” she murmured in a tone of wonder.

    Chapter Three
    You are an excellent cook.” Lifting his wineglass, Paul tilted it in a silent salute before drinking the last pale drops. “The broiled scrod was every bit as delicious as last night’s scampi.”
    “Thank you.” Pleasure warmed Karen’s cheeks and glowed from her brown eyes. Flattered out of proportion to the simple compliment, she lowered her gaze to her plate. The meal had been good, she supposed, although she wasn’t as positive as he—she’d been too aware of his presence at the table to really taste any of it. Appalled by the tremor in her fingertips, Karen raised her glass and gulped the last of her wine. Obviously remembering the night before, Paul arched his brows as he hefted the wine bottle. She smiled and nodded. He refilled her glass the instant she set it on the table