Liz was in the kitchen dressed in a T-shirt and what appeared to be the bottoms of a skimpy bikini. Jonas wasn’t a man who normally awoke with all batteries charged, but he didn’t miss a pair of long, honey-toned legs. Liz finished buttering a piece of toast.

“Coffee’s on the stove,” she said without turning around. “There’re some eggs in the refrigerator. I don’t stock cereal when Faith’s away.”

“Eggs are fine,” he mumbled, but headed for the coffee.

“Use what you want, as long as you replace it.” She turned up the radio to listen to the weather forecast. “I leave in a half hour, so if you want a ride to your hotel, you’ll have to be ready.”

Jonas let the first hot taste of coffee seep into his system. “My car’s in San Miguel.”

Liz sat down at the table to go over that day’s schedule. “I can drop you by the El Presidente or one of the other hotels on the beach. You’ll have to take a cab from there.”

Jonas took another sip of coffee and focused on her fully. She was still pale, he realized, so that the marks on her neck stood out in dark relief. The smudges under her eyes made him decide she’d slept no better than he had. He tossed off his first cup of coffee and poured another.

“Ever consider taking a day off?”

She looked at him for the first time. “No,” she said simply and lowered her gaze to her list again.

So they were back to business, all business, and don’t cross the line. “Don’t you believe in giving yourself a break, Liz?”

“I’ve got work to do. You’d better fix those eggs if you want to have time to eat them. The frying pan’s in the cupboard next to the stove.”

He studied her for another minute, then with a restless movement of his shoulders prepared to cook his breakfast. Liz waited until she was sure his back was to her before she looked up again.

She’d made a fool of herself the night before. She could almost accept the fact that she’d broken down in front of him because he’d taken it so matter-of-factly. But when she added the moments she’d stood in his arms, submissive, willing, hoping, she couldn’t forgive herself. Or him.

He’d made her feel something she hadn’t felt in a decade. Arousal. He’d made her want what she’d been convinced she didn’t want from a man. Affection. She hadn’t backed away or brushed him aside as she’d done with any other man who’d approached her. She hadn’t even tried. He’d made her feel soft again, then he’d shrugged her away.