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helpfully.
    She gave him that pouting frown again. “I was going to say approval.”
    His snort wasn’t nearly as elegant as hers. “If that’s what you want to call it, Izzy.”
    “Huh.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Now I know why Bryce says he’s the romantic brother in the family.”
    Owen wondered just what the hell his brother was doing talking himself up to Owen’s wife. “Was he flirting with you?”
    “You don’t have to look like it’s such a shock.”
    “No. I—”

    “He called me a chocolate-and-apricot fairy.”
    Chocolate-and-apricot fairy? Owen blinked. “My brother Bryce said that? He was flirting with you.”
    Izzy crossed her arms over her chest. “What? I don’t strike you as a tasty fairy?”
    No. He looked at her full mouth, the sparks in her brown eyes, the warm flush along her cheekbones. She struck him as…she just struck him. Right in the gut.
    And then lower.
    He curled his right hand into a fist to keep from reaching out for her. Even then, and even in the left hand that was casted, he could remember the texture of her soft, warm skin against his palms. He could remember sliding his hand down her neck and the thrum of her heartbeat against the pad of his thumb. His hands knew her, the sleek curve of her body from ribcage to hips, the dip at the small of her back, the resilient, round pillows of her behind when he urged her closer as they danced.
    If he closed his eyes, he could feel her warm breath against his face.
    He opened them, then jerked as he realized it really was her warm breath against his face. She was leaning over him to take away the tray. “You’re sleepy,” she said. “You need to rest.”
    With the view of her pretty breasts pushing against the clinging fabric of her shirt in his sight lines, he didn’t think there was a chance in hell he’d be resting anytime soon. Sleep would be out of the questionunless it was to dream about kissing her mouth, cupping those breasts and rubbing his thumbs over her nipples to bring them from soft blossom to tight buds.
    In Las Vegas, she’d danced so close to him he’d felt the hard little berries brush against his shirt front and had barely stopped himself from hauling her, he-man style, over his shoulder and into his hotel room. After their marriage, though, she’d run off before they’d had a chance to share in any connubial bliss. No wonder she was still stirring up his libido, now that he was so close to her—and lying in a bed. Lucky he was temporarily incapacitated.
    Though, hell, was he? What did a man need to make love? Not his ankle or his foot, anyway. And obviously, he thought, shifting on his mattress, the most relevant portion of him was working just fine.
    Shifting again, he watched her walk toward the door with the tray. Did Izzy know about that cute little sway of her behind?
    “Why did you offer to do this?” he suddenly asked. He knew why he’d taken her up on it. If he lost sight of her again, who knew how long it might be before he could track her down in order to end their farce of a marriage? And more, he wanted a chance to dissect exactly why they’d followed Will and Emily’s crazy idea and gotten married five minutes after their friends. He hoped that by breaking down that decision, the attraction he’d felt for the woman wouldn’t have a chance to ever come together again.

    She shrugged. “Would you accept it seemed like a good idea at the time?”
    Like his notion that bringing her into his everyday life would prove there was nothing left of the attraction he’d felt for her in the land of lust and lost wages, he thought. They said whatever happened in Vegas was supposed to stay in Vegas, after all.
    His gaze tracked the sensual roll of her hips as she kept on walking, and the sexiness of it gave another undeniable tug to his libido. Which just went to prove there was no damn truth in advertising.

Chapter Three
    O wen ignored his mother’s long-suffering sigh and watched Izzy