could always be, enough for him. With him, she would never have to

spend nights wondering, worrying, aching. And she would never, never,

feel that thrill of unity, of rightness, of belonging.

She gave him all she could, arching up to him, opening for him,

accepting, even welcoming him into her. Her body didn't shudder as his

did, her heart didn't threaten to burst through the wall of her chest.

But after a good, clean climax came the peace. And she was grateful.

But she should have known such simple things don't last.

The candles still flickered as he drew her close, to hold her warmth to

him. He loved the serenity that always cloaked her after s.e.x, the

complete and somehow elegant stillness of her body.

Her eyes were half closed, her lips soft and just parted. Her limbs

were pliant. If he rested his head, as he often did, on her breast, he

would hear the strong, steady beat of her heart.

Sometimes they talked like this-as he had never talked with his wife of

seven years. They talked of what had happened to them during the day,

or what had happened to the world. Or they lay and listened to the

radib that had played during their lovemaking. They would drift to

sleep like that, quiet and content. And in the morning he would wake,

dazzled and delighted that she was beside him.

He shifted her so that he could brush his hand through her hair. "The

divorce is going through."

Roused out of a half-doze, she opened her eyes and watched the pattern

of light and shadow on the wall. "I'm glad."

"Are you?"

"Of course. I know how hard it's been on you the last few weeks. You

want it behind you."

"I do. I married Angie for the wrong reasons, Bev. I wanted to settle

down so badly, to have a wife, a home, a family. Of course that monster

in Beverly Hills was never a home, and she always had an excellent

excuse for putting off starting a family. Just as well. I was as poor

a choice for her as she was for me."

She linked her fingers with his. "You're too hard on yourself"

"No, it's true. I was a career choice for Angie. The pity is, she

didn't realize I was fond enough of her once to have helped her there

without marriage. But we jumped in and were both too lazy or too

cautious to jump out again when it went bad." He studied her fingers,

long and slender, tangled with his chunky ones. "Looking back, I can

see every mistake so clearly. I won't make them again, Bev-if you give

me a chance."

"P.M." She moved then, fl.u.s.tered and frightened. His hands came to her

shoulders, surprisingly firm, holding her face-to-face.

"I want you to marry me, Bev, for all the right reasons."

She hesitated, surprising herself. The answer didn't come through her

lips as quickly, as surely, as it had jumped into her head. It was her

heart that stopped it, she realized. Her heart that wanted to give him

what he wanted. She lifted her hands to cover his.

"I can't. I'm so sorry I can't."

He stared at her, watching her eyes, the regret in them-and the trace of

pity that made him want to scream. "Because of Brian."