"We're underground?" Her frightened gaze darted from side to side, as if she expected the earth to knock through the walls at any moment. He nodded. He hated himself for raising the specter of her fear to torment her, but he refused to be separated from her simply because she wanted to a.s.sert her independence. His need for her overcame such trivial concerns.

She picked up her shirt, and he helped her struggle into it. When she'd fastened it, she lay down and stared at the ceiling.

"In that case, I'd like to leave as soon as the doctor says I may," she said.

"If that's what you want, that's what we'll do."

The silence between them hadn't quite reached the point of being painful, when Doctor Laurence knocked and entered the room. He hesitated when he spotted Desmond's protective position by Rebecca's side. When Desmond did not comment on Rebecca's long sleep, or accuse him of any medical mistakes, the doctor advanced and picked up Rebecca's hand to take her pulse.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fine. When I don't move too quickly."

"Any throbbing, pulsing or burning sensations?"

Rebecca flushed, and shook her head, "No. Just a sharp twinge if I sit up or turn to the side."

Doctor Laurence nodded, and turned to include Desmond in his answer. "That's normal. Move slowly, and try to avoid bending too far. Especially, avoid any twisting motion. You need to immobilize those muscles over your hip as much as possible."

"For how long?" Desmond asked.

"You can add movement gradually, a little more each day. If it hurts, stop. Within a week or so, you should be able to resume your regular routine."

"So there's no reason I can't leave the hospital?"

"Leave?"

"She means leave the hospital room," Desmond clarified. "I thought she'd be more comfortable upstairs."

"Of course. As long as she stays quiet and someone looks in on her every so often, there's no problem." He turned to face Rebecca. "I'll give you some tablets, in case the pain gets to be too much for you."

Doctor Laurence fetched the wheelchair they'd used to transport Rebecca to the hospital room, whileDesmond helped her finish dressing. The wheelchair arrived just as he finished, and Desmond carefully transferred her from the bed to the chair. Doctor Laurence fussed and frittered over Rebecca, until she slapped her hand against the armrest on the wheelchair and snarled, "Enough already! In case you didn't realize it, this isnot a comfortable position. Get the h.e.l.l out of my way so I can lie down someplace!"

The doctor leaped aside, leaving the door clear for Desmond to push Rebecca out in a grand exit. He rolled her through the Inst.i.tute's wide corridors, blessing his foresight in having Evan clear the route. They saw no one.

He parked her wheelchair in the miniature park nearest the stairs to his apartment.

"Why are we stopping?" she asked.

"My apartment is not handicapped accessible."

"But you promised." Her plaintive tone wasn't quite a whine.

"I know. And you'll be able to stay there. It just means I'll have to carry you upstairs." He wished he could dwell on the erotic possibilities of having her captive in his arms. But the possibilities for jostling or b.u.mping her and aggravating her injury loomed too darkly.

"Carry me? Up all those stairs?"

"Yes," he said, wounded pride making him brusque. Did she think he was a weakling, incapable of carrying her?

He reached into his pocket and yanked out his keycard. "Here. I'll have my hands full, so you'll have to open the doors. Just run the card through, top to bottom, with the magnetic strip on the left. Think you can do that?"

He handed her the card, distracting her for the crucial moment while he lifted her into his arms and shifted her hip muscles. She continued to turn the card over in her fingers, examining it, as he carried her to the door.

"Any time now," he reminded her. "You aren't exactly a bag of feathers, you know."

She held the keycard just above the scanner. "If you're trying to say I'm too heavy for you, maybe you should put me down and ask for Evan's help. I'm sure he wouldn't have a problem."

"That's not what I meant at all. I doubt you're more than a hundred pounds, sopping wet." He'd forgotten how touchy women could be about their weight. Especially since Olivia had needed to be rea.s.sured she wasn't too thin.

His arms tightened around Rebecca. He wasn't going to lose her, too. He couldn't.

REBECCA TRIED to ignore the feel of Desmond's arms around her, behind her back and beneath her legs. She tried to pretend the arm she'd wrapped around his shoulders encircled nothing more exciting than a fence post. But no post ever felt so warm and alive, or sent electric charges through her at their contact. Even something as inconsequential as his hair, brushing back and forth across the skin of her arm as he turned his head, tickled her with ripples of desire.

His heart beat steadily beneath her. Each strong thump vibrated her skin, echoing along her ribs where they rested against his chest. No, her weight didn't inconvenience him in the least. She was having more trouble breathing normally than he was.

They came out onto the landing in front of his door, and Rebecca placed the keycard into the scanner.

But she couldn't bring herself to trigger the door. When the door opened, Desmond would carry her inside. He'd carry her across the threshold. Even though he'd promised to go along with her wishes and forget she'd agreed to marry him, the action seemed too symbolic.

Had he really said he'd forget about the marriage proposal? She replayed their conversation in her head. No. He'd agreed to respect her decision, then steered the conversation until her decision had been whether or not she wanted him to leave the hospital room. She'd naturally a.s.sumed he'd carry over respect for her decision to include the whole situation, but experience was making her cautious where Desmond was concerned. He probably still meant to hold her to her acceptance.

She pulled the keycard away from the scanner.

"Put me down. I want to walk in."

"What?" "You heard me. I want to walk."

"Rebecca." She recognized that tone. Her demand had caught him by surprise, but now he was going to try and reason with her. Well, she had her reasons, and she was going to walk. "You heard the doctor.

You're supposed to rest."

"He said rest as much as possible. That's different. If you want, you can carry me again once we're inside. But I want to enter the apartment under my own power."

He studied her face, then asked softly, "This is important to you, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"All right, then. But as soon as you're through that door, you stop and let me carry you again.

Agreed?"

"Agreed." She didn't want to walk the rest of the way. Her painkillers must be wearing off, because getting dressed had been painful enough. Walking would be agony. But she could manage a few steps.

That's all she'd need.

Desmond set her down, careful not to jostle her or move too quickly. Then he plucked the keycard out of her fingers, and triggered the door.

"I'll go in first, in case-"

"Daddy!" Gillian yelled as soon as Desmond pushed open the door, running across the living room.

When she saw Rebecca she stopped, her eyes going wide, and ducked behind the couch. She poked her face around the arm of the couch and stared at Rebecca. "Is she gonna die, Daddy?"

"No, honey." Desmond shot a worried look at Rebecca, as if his daughter might have picked up on something he'd missed. Then he hurried over to comfort Gillian, kneeling beside her. "She's just hurt. She had to have a shot."

Gillian nodded with a wisdom beyond her years. "Shots hurt."

"But after yesterday's shot, you won't need any more for a long, long time."

Gillian smiled. Rebecca took advantage of the distraction to make her way inside the apartment. She felt like a sailor who hadn't quite gotten his land legs back, and the fewer people who watched her shuffling walk, the better.

Desmond whispered something, and Gillian turned and ran back into the kitchen. Desmond smiled as the swinging door wafted the scent of chocolate chip cookies into the living room. He opened Rebecca's bedroom door and turned on the light before returning to her.

He scooped her off her feet smoothly, cradling her against his chest as he carried her to the bedroom.

His action called to mind a variety of her fantasies, and she slanted a glance up at him. He grinned.

"This isn't the bedroom I'd like to be carrying you to. And I can think of much more pleasant activities to do in bed than rest." His grin faded, and his voice became earnest. "But you need to get well. That's the important thing. Can you grab the covers?"

She looked down. He held her over the bed, but if he put her down, she'd be on top of the covers.

She reached out and flicked them aside, revealing clean sheets in a new striped pattern. Desmond lowered her into the bed without so much as a twinge of pain, and pulled the sheet and blanket over her.

"Do you want more pillows, so you can sit up a little?"

"No. I'm tired." The operation, followed by their enthusiastic lovemaking, had worn her out. By the time she managed to get ready for bed, she'd be exhausted. "Just hand me my nightshirt. I left it hanging in the closet."

He opened the closet, revealing only empty s.p.a.ce.

"It's not there." He looked around, and pointed to the suitcase leaning against wall. "You must have packed it with the rest of your things."

She hadn't. And she'd left the suitcase in the closet, too. Mrs. Waters must have done it. The woman couldn't wait to be rid of her.

"Could you get it out, then?"

He ruffled through her clothing until he found the nightshirt. "Here it is."

She almost asked how he knew which T-shirt it was, until she remembered he'd come in to wake her up. Was it only yesterday morning? It seemed so long ago. "Thank you."

"Rest well." He stroked a light caress along her jaw, trailing it down along her arm. Then he walked out and shut the door behind him.

She stared at the ceiling, her skin tingling where he'd touched her. How had she gotten herself into this predicament? And how on earth was she going to get herself back out?

She liked Desmond. She really did. Oh, he could be infuriatingly self-confident and arrogant. But he was also the sweetest, most considerate man she'd ever known. Except she didn't know him. Not really.

And that was the problem.

Rebecca sighed, and wished she could turn over and plump up the pillow. Lying in bed was going to get old quickly. Her cheeks heated as she remembered Desmond's comments, and their earlier lovemaking. There was no denying her attraction for him, or his for her. They made sparks like flint and steel whenever they touched. But that was no basis for an enduring relationship.

Her mother had proved how foolish pinning your hopes to a dream could be. She'd had two years to get to know Rebecca's father, and still hadn't known him well enough to predict he'd desert her.

Rebecca recalled how devastated she'd felt, when she'd finally discovered the absent father she'd idolized all those years was nothing more than a figment of her mother's imagination. She could forgive her father for leaving, and her mother for inventing a new reality to replace the one that had treated her so poorly. But that didn't mean Rebecca wanted to go through that nightmare of heartbreak again. Not when she could avoid it by thinking with her head instead of her emotions.

Satisfied, she started to undo her shirt.Desmond's not like that. He'd sacrifice anything for his family . She stopped with the shirt half unb.u.t.toned. Where had that thought come from? It had just appeared in her head, without warning, fully formed. Like her hunches when she was working on a story.

Rebecca closed her eyes and concentrated. Her hunches were usually the product of her subconscious, sifting through clues and facts to produce theories. If she followed the threads of her thoughts, she could usually piece together enough supporting evidence to warrant trusting her hunch. So what had triggered this hunch?

Gillian, obviously. Desmond's devotion to his daughter needed no clarification. But that wasn't enough.

How had she made the leap fromdaughter tofamily , and fromdevotion tosacrifice ? Something more.

Something she was missing.

Had Desmond mentioned any family? No, it was something else. She remembered Dr. Chen's mention of the changed research. That must have been what triggered her hunch.

But now that she considered it, she wondered what research they had been doing originally. What disease did Desmond suffer from? And most importantly, how did he come to be the director of a secret research facility that specialized in that condition?

Chapter 10.

PHILIPPE WAITED until Desmond closed the study door before asking, "How's Gillian?"

"She's doing well. I'm watching for signs that her health is improving, even though I know it's too early for the transplant to have taken effect." Anxious father that he was, he'd even imagined evidence. But he knew better than to tell Philippe that. He leaned against the edge of his desk, and tried to look casual.

"The transplant itself went smoothly. For Gillian, at least."

"I heard." Philippe settled into one of the leather chairs and crossed his leg comfortably. "How's Rebecca doing?"

"As well as can be expected, given the circ.u.mstances."

"Which means?"

Desmond chuckled. "It means she's as obstinate and strong-willed as ever, and likely to drive herself and everyone around her insane if she has to remain in bed for too long. Other than that, she's recovering nicely."

"If she'll be bedridden for at least a few more days, why do you want Evan and me to fetch her car tonight?" "I don't just want the car retrieved. Bring it to the airport and leave the keys in the all-night drop box."

"Take the car to the airport?" Philippe uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. "Why not just bring it here?"

Desmond frowned. Philippe didn't question his judgment this much on other matters. But when it concerned Rebecca, Philippe doubted Desmond's every decision.

When Desmond didn't answer, Philippe prodded, "Won't it be easier to let her return it when she gets her flight out? It will only be a few more days."

"No, it won't. She's decided to stay."