Her blond hair was sleek and clean, and the dark circles that had hollowed out her eyes looked lighter. She still needed a couple of weeks of rest and good nutrition, but she looked worlds better than she had yesterday.

She stood close enough that he could feel her body heat. He leaned closer, narrowing his eyes. “Are you wearing makeup?”

“As it so happens, yes, I am.” Frowning, she leaned backward and pivoted in one neat, fluid movement, heading down the stairs to the basement. “I wanted to see if I could make the last of the bruises disappear.”

“Good. I need to take some photos.”

“Why?” She put the carafe back in the coffee maker and stepped out of the way as he approached the fridge.

He knelt to put away the new food—two Cobb salads, garlic and butter dinner rolls, containers of yogurt, more sandwiches, and a bottle of wine along with an opener. As he straightened, he noticed a few wrappers from the chocolate bars in the small wastebin nearby and smiled to himself. “For your new passport and driver’s license. Do you have a preference for your new name?”

“Let me think about it.” She regarded the wine bottle with obvious yearning. “From the country store?”

“Yes.” He regarded the bottle too and said drily, “They didn’t have the best selection.”

“I don’t care.” She sighed.

“Let’s get business out of the way first. Afterward, we can open the wine and eat some supper.” He frowned at how the neck of his T-shirt gaped on her and then looked down at himself. He still wore his work clothes, a dark suit with a blue dress shirt. “But first I think we should change shirts. What I’m wearing will still be too big for you, but I think we can arrange the collar so it doesn’t show.”

She hesitated. “Okay.”

He stripped off his jacket and shirt. The cool air licked his bare chest and arms as he held them out. Looking steadily into his gaze, her fingers brushed against his as she took the clothes.

Something electric and raw hovered between them.

He almost moved forward, almost reached to pull her into his arms, but then she spun to walk rapidly into the bedroom and slam the door.

He rubbed a hand over his face. His body felt like it had caught fire.

She’s a new widow. You need to stay on track.

This can’t happen.

A few minutes later she walked out again, wearing his shirt and dark jacket, and waited expressionlessly while he stared at her.

His suits and shirts were tailored to his frame, but she had rolled up the sleeves and her long, leggy body carried the look far better than he had anticipated. He was unprepared for how the sight of her in his clothes would hit. The electric, raw tension vibrated higher.

Finally she asked, “Well? Will it do?”