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isn’t my way of life.”
    â€œFlying somewhere for breakfast?”
    â€œIt’s a mode of transportation. I bet you’ve driven places and met people for meals.”
    He wasn’t going to let this be an issue and she wanted it to be one. She wanted to somehow convince him—and, okay, herself—that it was money that made the difference between them, and not her own fears that were holding her back. Her fears were responsible for that block of ice in her stomach. A block of ice that had started to thaw in his embrace.
    â€œThat’s hardly the same thing,” she said.
    He arched one eyebrow at her. “We’ll talk about this some more after you’ve changed.”
    He gestured toward a canvas structure that was the size of a dressing room. She was amazed at how much he’d accomplished in such a short time. She’d seen him on the phone before they’d boarded the plane, so she knew he’d made a few calls. She tipped her head to the side and studied this man who was able to make things happen so quickly.
    â€œI didn’t bring anything else.”
    â€œI’ve provided everything you’ll need. Go,” he said, putting his hands on her shoulders and urging her toward the changing area.
    She entered the room and saw two boxes from Saks. She opened them both. One held clothes for her,the other clothing for him. She sank down on the wooden bench that was inside the structure and closed her eyes.
    What was she doing? What did this mean? She should be at the casino in the gym working out. She should be trying to claw her way back to where she’d been before Alan had taken her life away from her. She should be more leery of being with Max—but she wasn’t.
    But she was tired of living with the fear that she’d never be fully alive again. Tired of pretending that nothing had changed when everything had. Tired of being scared because she’d never allowed herself to be before.
    She stripped out of her clothing and opened the box. Her new clothes were wrapped in tissue and she pushed it aside, sorting through them. There were a pair of capri pants in signature Burberry plaid that hung low on her hips, bisecting one of her scars. The pants only covered part of it.
    She dug deeper and pulled out the shirt, which was a cute T-shirt trimmed to match her pants. She pulled it on, but the T-shirt ended an inch above the pants. Her hands shook as she realized that her scars would be visible to Max.
    She couldn’t do it. This was just one of many things she didn’t want to let Max see about her. He might be able to ignore the differences between them,but she couldn’t. He was physically perfect—she didn’t have to see his naked body to know it.
    â€œDoes everything fit?”
    She grabbed her silky halter top and held it up to her stomach, trying to make the shirt cover her. But it didn’t.
    The flap opened. Max stood there on the sand, his shoes removed, his shirt collar open and the sea breeze blowing in his hair. There was a slight chill to the morning and she shivered.
    â€œI can’t wear this.”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œI mean, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the gesture but it’s—”
    He put his fingers over her lips again. Rubbed his thumb carefully against them and she closed her eyes, wanting to lean more fully into him. Wanting to pretend that all the things she didn’t like about herself wouldn’t matter to him.
    But she knew they would. Because her scars mattered deeply to her.
    â€œThere should be a sweater in there.”
    She hadn’t looked deeper. She sat on the bench and looked up at Max.
    He came and sat down next to her, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her into the side of his body. She was tempted to rest against him. But didn’t.
    She froze when she felt one finger trace the edgeof her shirt to where the fabric ended and her skin was bare. She knew the