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perfection of his patrician features. Dark brows contrasted sharply with his silver-gray eyes, and his broad nose still had the tiny bump in the center where she’d broken it.
    Glory, but he was scrumptious. Completely and utterly scrumptious, like a rare treat of succulent chocolate after a long abstinence.
    He’d always possessed a powerful, compelling, masculine aura that was downright salacious in nature. An aura that reached out and captured the attention of anything female within its mighty grasp.
    And heaven only knew, she was far from immune to it.
    But the Devil would move his home to Antarctica before she ever let him know that.
    â€œWhat on earth are you doing here?” Catherine asked as she finally found her voice.
    â€œNeeding a doctor,” he said sardonically, shaking his left foot.
    Catherine looked down to see the charred black leather in the bright winter moonlight. A rush of embarrassment filled her.
    â€œWhy is it,” he asked, “every time we meet, I end up needing a doctor?”
    She lifted her chin at his playful tone. Her days of finding him amusing were long past. “Are you trying to charm me?”
    Not even the dark could mask the wickedly warm look in his eyes. “And if I were?”
    I’d probably end up surrendering to it.
    But she had no intention of letting him know that, either. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. She couldn’t afford to let him break her heart again. The first time had been painful enough. And in truth, she wasn’t sure if she could survive losing him again.
    Instead, she sought to protect herself by putting an end to whatever thoughts might be playing through his mind.
    â€œI’m not a girl anymore, Mr. O’Callahan. I no longer dance to your tune.”
    O’Connell took a deep breath as he sized her up. He’d almost forgotten his old alias. But the cold tone of her voice chilled him more than the winter wind at his back.
    Still, it did nothing to daunt the fire in his gut that her presence stirred. She looked even better than he remembered. Gone was the willow-thin frame of her youth and in its place were the luscious curves of a woman full grown.
    She wore her hair in that tight bun he’d always despised. Catherine had such beautiful hair—long, thick, and wavy. He, the man who was wanted in six states, had spent hours brushing her hair at night. Running his hands through it.
    And he wondered if it still smelled like springtime.
    In that instant, he remembered the way he had left her. Without a word, without a note. He had simply gone off to work and had never returned.
    Shame filled him. He should have at least sent a letter. Although, honestly, he had tried to write one a thousand times. But he’d never completed it. What did a man say to a woman he’d been forced to give up against his will?
    Especially when he didn’t want her to know the real reason he’d left?
    Picking his hat up from the porch, he cast a sweeping, hungry look over her body, and wished for the millionth time, that things had been different between them. That he could have had a long life spent by her side, being the husband she deserved to have. “It’s good to see you again.”
    Her look froze him as she untied her apron, then stooped to pick up the broken glass and place it in the cloth. “I wish I could say it’s good to be seen by you, but in this case I think you’ll understand if I’m a bit cool toward you?”
    â€œCool” was a mild term for her demeanor. In truth, he suspected icebergs at the North Pole might be a shade or two warmer.
    He’d expected more anger from her. The Catherine he remembered would have been cursing him like a slow-walking dog for leaving her.
    This Catherine was different. She was composed and serious, not laughing and playful.
    Passionate, he realized with a start. That was what was missing. She’d lost the verve that