Mac opened a bottle of shampoo and breathed in the scent of summer flowers that had captured his attention each time he’d been close to Maddie. Immersed in the fragrance, he imagined her reclined in a field of wildflowers with a daisy tucked behind her ear and a come-hither smile directed at him. In his fantasy scenario, she was relaxed and untroubled. She gazed at him with none of the usual bitterness. He’d like to see her like that—carefree, happy, content.

Just the idea of it sent a surge of desire darting through him that settled in his groin. “Why her?” he whispered urgently into the shower’s steady flow. “Why now?” Nothing in his past history with women had prepared him for the day he’d meet one who made him want to step off the treadmill for a closer look, to find out what might be possible.

Maybe it was because the women he usually dated always wanted something from him. When they discovered he’d never been married and had enjoyed a successful professional life, he became doubly appealing to them. Roseanne had been the latest in a long string of women who’d used him to gain a leg up. They used him, he used them and no one got hurt. The hassle-free arrangements had always been just fine with him.

Now he’d found one who needed everything but wanted nothing from him. Yet he wanted more of her, especially now that he’d experienced the soft sweetness of her kisses. He wanted to do things for her because she’d never ask him to the way others always did. The more he gave, the more Maddie would protest, and the idea of fighting with her filled him with anticipation rather than the usual dread of the unfortunate confrontations that ended the arrangement du jour.

When it came right down to it, she wasn’t even his type. He tended to go for women who were confident in their sexuality, who gave as good as they got in bed and walked away when it was over without pretending they’d fallen in love. None of those qualities applied to Maddie. Thanks to her remarkable figure, she’d no doubt had a difficult time with men and sex, and if Janey was to be believed, guys had taken advantage of her and then blabbed about it.

The thought of what she must’ve endured filled Mac with white-hot rage that would’ve frightened him if he’d been in his right mind. Thanks to fatigue that lingered like a wet blanket, he clearly wasn’t thinking straight. Mac McCarthy didn’t get “involved.” The word wasn’t even in his vocabulary. So what was he doing in her shower? Or bathing her son? Or tending to her every need? What the hell was wrong with him?