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about Dylan. He’s done so much for me since the accident, but I can hardly recall anything about him after I was about twelve years old. I just have all these feelings I can’t explain.”
    Turning silent, Kate and Amy looked at her with concern. Kate sat down beside Alisa and gave her a quick squeeze. “You’ve been through a lot. Give yourself time. No matter what you remember or don’t remember, there are people who care for you deeply,and we’re all relieved that you’re getting better. And if you need anything at all, you are to call me.”
    “Or me,” Amy said.
    Alisa sighed, taking comfort in Kate’s words and the support both women offered her. At the same time, however, she knew she wouldn’t rest until her memory filled in some very important gaps.
    Nick and Jeremy raced to stand in front of her. Cookie crumbs dotted their chins. “So far, we think the cookies are good,” Nick said.
    “But we need to eat some more to make sure,” Jeremy said with a craftiness beyond his four years.
    Amy intervened. “How many cookies have you eaten?”
    “Not many,” Jeremy said.
    Emily walked up behind them. “Four cookies each,” she said.
    The boys glared at her.
    “You’ve had enough. I don’t want you getting sick in Justin’s car again.” She winced in Alisa’s direction. “The joys of fatherhood.”
    Alisa glanced at Justin. Her attention naturally shifted to the man beside him—Dylan. She wondered what his children would look like. She wondered what kind of father he might be. She wondered what kind of wife he might choose, and immediately felt a twist of something very close to envy. Uncomfortable with the direction of her thoughts, she turned her attention to Amy and her children. “Feel free to take some cookies home.”
    Dylan strolled to her side and whispered in her ear, “See, I told you all the boys want your cookies.”
    His playful, seductive tone heated her blood. “You never answered me. Does that include you?”
    Dylan paused. “Sometimes we want what we can’t have.”
    She felt a dart of impatience. “Why does this sound like forbidden cookies?”
     
    Later that night Alisa dreamed of Dylan again. He kissed her lips and touched her body. His arousal made her burn. She wanted more, so much more. She wanted him closer than close. He touched her intimately and just as she drew close to ecstasy, his image faded.
    “No! Don’t go!” she yelled, waking herself. She sat up breathing heavily, her breasts heavy with arousal, her skin warm, and between her legs she was swollen with need.
    Frustrated beyond belief, she tossed off her covers and could not withhold a shriek. She would have preferred to scream at the top of her lungs, but she didn’t want to wake Dylan.
    Forgoing the lamp on her bedside table for cool air, she padded across the floor to the balcony and threw open the French doors.
    A second passed before Dylan burst into her room. “What’s wrong? Another bad dream?”
    She glared at the cause of her restless nights. His bare chest gleamed in the moonlight, his black slackshad been hastily drawn on. They were unbuttoned. She suspected he was naked beneath them. “In a manner of speaking,” she said.
    He stepped closer and touched her face. “Your skin is warm. Are you sick?”
    “Probably,” Alisa said with irony and tilted her head away from him. “I’m fine,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest and looking away from him. “You can go back to bed.”
    “What’s going on?”
    She was unbearably frustrated. What did she have to lose by telling the truth? “I’ve been having bad dreams about you,” she said.
    “Bad? How?”
    She paused a second, then shrugged. “Erotic dreams.”
    A long, thick silence followed. “Oh.”
    “I keep dreaming you’re kissing me and making love to me, and we get closer and closer. Just when I want you most, you fade away.” She took a breath and closed her eyes, willing her heart rate to slow. “Why do I keep