She turned her focus back to the lake. "Vinnie took me to Paris once, just for a few days. We were walking across one of the bridges near the Notre Dame, and there was this line of artists, all sketching the great cathedral. I looked at their canvases. They were all different, every one. As if the artists were seeing completely different scenes. But they were all painting the Notre Dame." The wind picked up a few tendrils of her dark hair and blew it in her face. She combed it back. "Nobody really knows what anything looks like." She looked out at the water and chuckled. "Carlita would say only God knows."

"Do you believe in God?"

She turned and looked up at him. "I believe... I believe in Ana. I believe in you and your friends and Garrison. The way you've all helped me. I believe in the way I feel about my daughter. I believe... I believe in love."

He hadn't planned to pull her into his arms, but a moment later, there she was. He paused an instant to memorize her wide eyes, her slightly opened mouth. And then he brushed his lips against hers.

He knew she'd pull away. Of course she would. But she didn't, so he drew her closer and deepened the kiss, allowing his heart to lead. He slid his fingers over her silky braid, which he'd longed to touch for a week. When Marisa touched his own curly strands, his body nearly exploded with desire. He never wanted to let her go.

She tensed, and he ended the kiss, but he didn't release her. He leaned back to study her face, but she looked down. "Hey. You okay?"

When she looked up, tears filled her eyes. "What kind of mother—?"

"No." With all his will power, he let her go. "What kind of man takes advantage like that? I'm sorry."

"It's not..." She turned toward the cabin, seemed to falter. Poor thing had nowhere to go to get away from him and his mauling mitts.

"I'm sorry," Nate repeated. "It won't happen again."

He expected to see anger in her eyes, though she hadn't fought the kiss, and if he had any instincts at all, he'd say she might have even enjoyed it. But when she finally met his gaze, it wasn't anger he saw. Only sadness. "I hope..."

Her words trailed off. Nate desperately wanted to know what she'd been about to say.

"Hey." She held his hand, and her soft skin felt perfect there. "We're okay, right?"

"Of course." Nate leaned against the railing and tried to calm himself. Every nerve seemed on fire, ever synapse begging for answers. For her. He took a deep breath and tried to remember what they'd been talking about. Art. Right. "Do you remember the picture you gave me?"

She nodded. "This was the lake you described? The place you'd escape to, if you had to?"