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open. But she didn’t want to get up still in a fog, and risk the chance that she might jump him in her still-sleepy state. “Why don’t you start without me,” she suggested hopefully, holding the sheet up to her chin.
    He gave her a long, thorough look.
    Trisha returned the even gaze, refusing even to think about what she must look like sans makeup, her hair rioting around her face.
    “Start without you? I already did.” Now his lips curved slightly at the edges. “You missed the breakfast peep show.”
    “You mean ...?”
    He nodded. “Yep. Made eggs and toast in the buff and you missed it.”
    She didn’t believe him, of course. He was too proper for that. But a nagging sense of doubt held her, as did the dimple of humor tugging at the corner of his mouth. Could he have? That mouthwatering physique moving in all sorts of interesting ways as he worked a frying pan?
    “Guess you’ll have to find a new hole to watch through,” he said casually. “I think I’ve developed a new habit.”
    Her mouth dropped open as he shut the door.
    It took her hours, hours of fetching and holding and generally being useless before Trisha dared to ask her first question of Hunter. “How come you didn’t just hire a contractor?”
    Plaster dust coated his short hair, but instead of making him look ridiculous and juvenile, the white powder blended like silver hair would have, giving him an elegant air. All the more annoying, because Trisha had no doubts as far as her looks were concerned.
    She looked like a wreck.
    “I didn’t hire one because it wasn’t necessary,” he said patiently, inspecting the box of easy-set linoleum tiles they’d purchased. “I’m perfectly capable of doing this.”
    On his knees in the kitchen, with a leather tool belt slung low on his hips, his T-shirt streaked with flooring compound, he definitely looked capable. But then again, Trisha suspected he would look capable doing just about anything. “Did you really cook eggs in the nude this morning?”
    He didn’t even blink, nor did he stop what he was doing. “I don’t lie, Trisha.”
    Maybe she would have to find a new peephole. “When was the last time you were up in space?”
    “Two months ago.”
    “What did you do up there?” she asked.
    He sighed. “You’re just full of questions this morning, aren’t you?”
    She grinned and shrugged. “I have this mean curiosity streak.”
    “And I wondered how you got yourself into so much trouble.” He shook his head.
    “Well? What did you do up there?”
    He sighed again. “I was the payload specialist for the last space-shuttle mission.”
    “What was the mission?”
    “Mars. Our studies of the Martian analogue samples we obtained led us to some rather critical conclusions concerning meteorological phenomena on that planet.”
    She stared at him and wondered if he’d spoken in English. “When do you go up again?”
    “Maybe next year. I hope.”
    Trisha thought of how wonderfully exciting his life must be. What a thrill it must give him to be doing important work for the space program. And how dangerous it was. “Do you ever get scared?”
    Setting down the box of tiles, he looked at her. His expression was normally intense, focused, whether he was working or just walking, for that matter. But that concentration faded now as he focused on her. “Scared?” he repeated.
    “Yeah. As in for your life.”
    “Sometimes,” he said softly. “Being out there can get a little terrifying.”
    “Being right here on Earth can get a little terrifying too.”
    “I know.”
    It unnerved Trisha that the man she thought of as stern and unbending could feel the same emotions she felt, emotions like fear, loneliness ... need.
    Unsettled and needing some distance, she rose from her stiff knees and crossed the floor to the table where she had set their drinks.
    Hunter, remaining on his knees in front of the refrigerator, picked up the glue for the tile and began to read the directions. Duff