“Can’t wait. We’re meeting everyone for breakfast in the gazebo, and I have to talk to you.” She picked up a second mug from the floor and held it out. “Something to ease the pain of reentry.”

He needed to be alert for this, but he felt like the bottom of a dirty ashtray, and all he wanted was to avoid this discussion by rolling over and going back to sleep. But he owed her better than that, so he propped himself on one elbow, took the coffee, and tried to will the cobwebs from his brain.

Her eyes followed the sheet as it slipped to his waist, and he wanted her all over again. He moved his arm to conceal the evidence. How was he going to break the news that she was a friend, not a candidate for a long-term relationship, without tearing her apart?

“First,” she said, “last night meant more to me than you can imagine.”

Exactly what he didn’t want to hear. She looked so damned sweet. It took a real shithead to hurt someone like this. If only Annabelle were the woman he’d always dreamed about—sophisticated, elegant, with impeccable taste and a family that traced its roots back to a nineteenth-century robber baron. He needed someone worldly enough to survive life’s bumps, a woman who saw life as he did—a competition to be won, not a perpetual invitation to come out and play.

“At the same time…” Her voice shifted to a lower, more serious note. “We can’t ever do that again. It was a serious breach of professional conduct on my part, although not quite the problem I’d imagined.” A smile he could only describe as impish broke through. “Now I can recommend you with complete enthusiasm.” The smile faded. “No, the bigger problem is how manipulative I was.”

Coffee slopped over the edge of the mug. What the hell was this?

She dashed into the kitchen for a paper towel and handed it over so he could mop up. “Back to business,” she said. “You have to understand I’m truly grateful for what you did. The whole thing with Rob really messed with my head. Ever since we broke up, well…I’ve been running from sex. The brutal truth is, I’ve been pretty screwed up about it.” She dabbed at some drips he’d missed. “Thanks to you, I’m past that.”

He took a cautious sip and waited, no longer sure where any of this was heading. She touched his arm in a gesture that felt annoyingly maternal. “I feel healthy again, and I owe that to you. Well, and to Krystal’s movie. But, Heath…” The tiny scatter of freckles on her forehead met as she frowned. “I can’t stand this feeling that I—I sort of used you.”

His coffee mug stalled midair. “Used me?”

“That’s what we need to talk about. I consider you a friend, in addition to being a client, and I don’t use my friends. At least I haven’t until now. I know it’s different with men—maybe you don’t feel taken advantage of. Maybe I’m making too big a deal out of this. But my conscience tells me I need to be totally honest about my motivations.”