He couldn’t remember ever spending a more frantic twenty-four hours. Even after the doctor had checked and treated her, even when Ky had brought her home and she’d been fathoms deep under the drug, his nerves hadn’t eased. He’d been terrified to leave the room for more than five minutes at a time. The fever had raged through her, though she’d been unaware. Most of the night he’d sat beside her, bathing away the sweat and talking to her, though she couldn’t hear.

Through the night he’d existed on coffee and nerves. With a half-laugh he reached for a cup. It looked like that wasn’t going to change for a while yet.

He knew he still wanted her, knew he still felt something for her, under the bitterness and anger. But until he’d seen her lying unconscious on the deck of his boat, with her blood on his hands, he hadn’t realized that he still loved her.

He’d known what to do about the want, even the bitterness, but now, faced with love, Ky hadn’t a clue. It didn’t seem possible for him to love someone so frail, so calm, so…different than he. Yet the emotion he’d once felt for her had grown and ripened into something so solid he couldn’t see any way around it. For now, he’d concentrate on getting her on her feet again. He poured the soup into a bowl and carried it upstairs.

It would have been an easy matter to close her eyes and slide under again. Too easy. Willing herself to stay awake, Kate concentrated on Ky’s room. There were a number of changes here as well, she mused. He’d trimmed the windows in oak, giving them a wide sill where he’d scattered the best of his shells. A piece of satiny driftwood stood, beautiful as a piece of sculpture. There was a paneled closet door with a faceted glass knob where there’d once been a rod, a round-backed rattan chair where there’d been packing crates.

Only the bed was the same, she mused. The wide four-poster had been his mother’s. She knew he’d given the rest of his family’s furniture to Marsh. Ky had told her once he’d felt no need or desire for it, but he kept the bed. He was born there, unexpectedly, during a night in which the island had been racked by a storm.

And they’d made love there, Kate remembered as she ran her fingers over the sheets. The first time, and the last.

Stopping the movement of her fingers, she looked over as Ky came back into the room. Memories had to be pushed aside. “You’ve done a lot of work in here.”

“A bit.” He set the tray over her lap as he sat on the edge of the bed.