Capturing The Millionaire. Marie Ferrarella

first response that came to his lips, because he doubted that the beautiful vet would see it as anything more than a come-on. And maybe it was, but he’d never meant anything more in his life. His pleasure, at the moment, involved some very intimate images of Kayla—sans the green sweater—and himself.

      “Whatever you’re having,” he told her, glancing toward Winchester. The dog was still eyeing him, an unrelenting polygraph machine waiting for a slipup.

      His answer satisfied Kayla. “Eggs and toast it is.” She nodded.

      The choice surprised him. Somehow, he’d just assumed that Kayla would be a vegetarian. Half the women he knew turned their noses up at anything that hadn’t been plucked out of the ground, pulled down from a tree or gotten off a stalk. In addition, he would have thought that the cheerful vet would have been health conscious.

      He watched her face as he said, “Don’t you know eggs are bad for you?”

      She shook her head. “They’ve been much maligned,” Kayla countered. “The FDA says having four eggs a week is perfectly acceptable. Besides, an egg has a lot of nutrients to offer. My great-grandfather ate eggs every day of his life and he lived to be ninety-six.”

      “Might have lived to be ten years older if he’d avoided eggs,” Alain deadpanned.

      His quip was met with a wide grin. Something inside of him responded, lighting up, as well. “You have a sense of humor. Nice,” she said.

      The last word seemed to whisper along his skin, making him warmer. Since the response was something a teenager might experience, Alain hadn’t a clue as to what was going on with him. Maybe it was a reaction to whatever she’d given him last night.

      The way he was looking at her, looking right into her, stirred up a whole host of things inside of Kayla. His smile alone made lightning flash in her veins. She didn’t bother squelching it, because for once, entertaining these kinds of feelings was all right. She wouldn’t act on it, and at the moment, she was willing to bet that he couldn’t. By the time he could, he would be gone.

      She held off going to the kitchen to make breakfast a moment longer. “I almost forgot. I’ve got some good news.”

      He immediately thought of the disabled BMW. “My car’s all right, after all?”

      His car. She hadn’t even looked at it since she’d pulled him free of the wreckage. It was still raining and the power was still out, which meant the phones weren’t working. There was no way to call Mick’s gas station to get someone out to look at the fancy scrap of metal.

      “No, your car’s still embracing my tree,” she told him, “but your clothes are dry, so you don’t have to put on my father’s coveralls.” Her mouth curved into what her mother had once called her wicked grin as she added, “Unless you want to.”

      “If I’m going to get lost inside of someone else’s clothes, I’d rather the clothes belonged to someone of the female persuasion.” Preferably with her still in it, he added silently. “No offense.”

      “None taken,” she assured him.

      Was it her, or was it getting warmer in here? Kayla wondered. The fire certainly hadn’t gotten more intense since she’d lit it earlier this morning.

      Kayla placed the clothes that she had just gotten off the line in her garage on the coffee table in front of him. “You can put them on after breakfast, if you’re up to it. How are you feeling?” she asked, suddenly realizing that she’d only asked about his headache, nothing more.

      Alain quickly took stock of his parts before answering. His ribs were still aching, but not as badly as they had last night. And while there was no headache, he was acutely aware of the gash she must have sewn up on his forehead. It pulsed.

      “Good enough for me to put my clothes on now,” he told her.

      She opened her mouth to say that maybe he should wait until after he ate before he went jumping into his clothes, but then she shut it again. The man should know what he was capable of doing. She wasn’t his mother or his keeper.

      “Okay.” But being distant and removed just wasn’t her way. Kayla came closer to the sofa again.“Why don’t I help you to the bathroom so you can change in private?” she suggested.

      He thought that was a little like closing the barn door after the horse had run off, seeing as how she’d been the one to undress him in the first place. But he didn’t raise the point, since it might sound like a protest. He didn’t have anything against beautiful woman doing whatever they wanted with his clothes and his body. What he didn’t like was the idea of being an invalid and needing help.

      “I can make it on my own,” he informed her.

      If he meant to make her back off, he was in for a surprise, she thought. “How do you know?” Kayla challenged. “You haven’t been on your feet since I brought you in.”

      Instead of answering, he sat up and swung his legs out from under the bedclothes. He meant to stand up and show her that he was all right. Planting his feet on the floor, he pushed himself up off the sofa—and immediately felt the room spin.

      Alain blinked his eyes as if that would help him clear his head. He was feeling as weak as a kitten with a cold. Exasperated, he stole a look in Kayla’s direction.

      “What the hell did you give me last night?” he demanded.