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detached enjoyment as her hair cascaded to the floor.  
    It was easy to think about him rationally from a distance, but when they were face-to-face, it was hopeless. Even a room or two apart was difficult—his long legs ate up the distance between them in just a few strides, and she was then reduced yet again to an accident-prone, incompetent clown.  
    Perhaps she should move out of the house? But she’d promised her parents she’d help, and Nicky was in desperate need of mothering. It was achingly hard to provide the toddler with answers about where Jan had gone. An unfamiliar aunt was no substitute for a devoted mother, but surely better than no other permanent female in her life?  
    Every day she stayed, Nicky trusted her a little more. This morning’s cuddle in the sun had been magic. No doubt the days of confusion and suspicion would run on for ages yet, but Fiona hoped her tiny niece would gradually accept the new status quo.
    For Christian’s sake. Because how hard must it be to have a daughter forever asking for the wife he’d loved so dearly? The wife who would never come home again.
    There was no point in returning to Auckland to drift around her parents’ home for the rest of her leave. She drew in a deep breath of resolve. She’d have to make the current situation work somehow.
    While she waited for her hair coloring to be completed, she again imagined delicious Christian stretched out on the sand for Nicky. Or for her.  
    His T-shirt had outlined broad shoulders, and the summer tan on his olive skin made a glorious contrast to his flashing white smile. But the rest was all guesswork.  
    She pictured him again mending the toaster that morning. She’d been surprised he’d bothered. But he’d been competent. Assertive. Expecting to succeed. His hands belonged to a rich man, but a rich practical man. And his arms were beautiful—with strongly-defined muscles and soft dark hair.
    Would his chest be smooth or hairy. Dark-nippled anyway, because of his olive coloring. She shifted her hips in the chair, trying to relieve the insistent aching pressure in her lower body.
    He’d be long in the torso, she decided—probably with iron-hard abs and a smooth sweep of skin right down to where his swimsuit sat low on his narrow hips. Or would there be a fine trail of dark hair down to his navel and beyond?
    Get him out of your mind, half of her instructed.  
    Imagine how beautiful he must be , the other half insisted .  
    And remember you can’t possibly have him, her guilty conscience added.

CHAPTER FOUR

    Desire started to eat at her again, sharpening her appetite, blunting her resolve. He was Jan’s. Had always been Jan’s. And therefore couldn’t be hers. It was all very well deciding to make the best of the situation; carrying it off was something else again.  
    Only for five and a half weeks though , her churning brain reminded. Until the third week of January. Surely I can manage that?
    A timer dinged and her stylist returned. He poked about in her sticky hair and nodded with satisfaction. Fiona relaxed as his strong hands kneaded her scalp and massaged the shampoo and conditioner through what was left. He might be whippet-thin, but he was certainly no weakling.  
    “You’ll make me purr,” she said, smiling, hoping he’d continue for a little longer. Anything to take her mind off Christian.
    A few minutes later, a shorter-haired blond inspected her from the mirror. Her hair was attractively tousled and casual, feathery with lifting layers on top. She looked like she’d spent summer by the ocean, and the wind and sun had tossed and bleached and relaxed her.
    “Great!” she exclaimed. For it was. Even to herself she looked almost a stranger. She needed a little more eye make-up maybe, but with her brighter new clothes she’d now look so unlike Jan it must surely make things easier for Christian.

    “What the hell have you done to your hair?” he exploded as soon as she returned to the