I showered quickly and climbed into bed. For the first time since we'd arrived, I was aware of how alone we were on the island. Soft rumbles of thunder in the distance made my room seem even lonelier.

Jack was a good man. A finer man than I'd ever met in my life. It would have been so easy for him to exploit my all too obvious feelings for him. Not to mention the situation. This place was made for romance. For real couples… with real feelings…

There wasn't any point in denying it any longer. More and more, I'd been allowing myself to imagine what it would be like… A real marriage. A real family… But I didn't have the genetics for any of that. And Jack had made it clear he wanted only a baby. He was right. The last thing either of us needed were complications.

I let my hands explore my belly. "You're going to be the luckiest little girl," I whispered. "You have a daddy who loves you more than anything… He'll keep you so safe, and he'll make sure you're never sad or lonely…" I rolled onto my side and a tear ran down, soaking the pillow case. I imagined her sweet, innocent face. "And one day, he'll fall in love with a beautiful lady and she'll become your mother. She'll be kind and loving… the best mom in the whole world, Little Speck, because your daddy picked her.

And she'll never, never leave you…"

"What… oh… god!" I sat bolt upright in darkness as the deafening crash hit. Then the room flashed blindingly white with the next one. I climbed out of bed, struggling to close the enormous glass windows. Rain poured in sheets onto the wooden floors. I was drenched in seconds.

"Libby!" The lightning flashed again and I saw him in the doorway. Then I felt him wrap me in something dry and soft, and he pushed me behind him. "Get back from the windows."

I watched from the bed as he closed the shutters and, one by one, fastened the windows. The wind continued to blow, rattling them in their frames. By the time he was done, he was as wet as I was.

"You're all right?" he asked, coming over to me. "I heard you cry out… I thought maybe it was the baby…"

"I'm fine," I said, taking my damp towel and stroking his streaming hair. "We're fine. The thunder woke me, is all. I couldn't get the windows closed."

He headed for the bathroom and came back with dry towels and a pair of thick cotton robes. Another crash of thunder hit, the same instant as the flash. I jumped, clutching at the robe.

He stroked my hair and face, drying me off as well as he could. Then he toweled my legs one at a time. I could feel his thick fingertips grazing my sensitive flesh. He smiled as I jumped again.

"Thunderstorms have frightened me since I was little," I said, shrugging into the robe he held open for me. "It's the noise, I think. The way it sounds when it's so close… like the whole world is being torn to pieces. Like when it's all over, nothing's ever going to be the same."

His outline nodded, but I couldn't see his face. "What was it like, when you were a little girl, Libby? I know you grew up in foster homes…"

Something in me tightened at the question. I was quiet as he dried my feet, and then he took one in his hand, working the tiny muscles and bones gently with his fingers. "Do you know anything about your real parents… or if there was ever any other family out there?" His voice was so gentle and his hands kept moving…

"I never knew who my father was. And only that my mother gave me up when I was only a few months old." I sighed. "She cared enough to name me… and to give me this," I held up the gold locket and a tiny flash of light sparked off its surface. "There must not have been anyone else. No one who wanted to keep me…"

"Did you ever try to find out?" he asked gently, taking my other foot and kneading it slowly. "Did you ever want to know more?"

I was quiet again, thinking about what he'd asked me. I'd never liked talking about it, and I wasn't sure why I was now. It surprised me how natural it felt. "I never tried," I admitted. "It was enough to know she didn't want to raise me. Or that she felt that she couldn't… I had some foster parents who were good people. It just never lasted for very long."

"And you grew up stronger than most… more independent. More driven."

I smiled at the tone in his voice. "More talented too," I added lightly. "I like my life, Jack. I'm not complaining. And I like who I turned out to be."

"I do, too."

There was a bright flash of lightening and I braced for the thunder. I'd seen something on his face in that second… a look… a feeling… Something I couldn't place. But it was gone with the light and I felt him let go of my foot.

He dried himself in the darkness. I could see the outline of his body as he let his wet pajama bottoms drop. The thick chest and arms tapering to the delicious ropes of muscle that led downward from his hips… The artist in me itched to touch him, to run my fingers over him, to learn him by touch alone. He was like a sculpture… only flesh. Perfect. Beautiful. Real.

He slipped into his robe and tied it at the waist. Then he settled onto the bed, leaning back against the heavily carved headboard.

"Here," he said, reaching out for me. He took my hands and drew me up next to him. "Right here," he patted his chest and I slid in close. He wrapped one hand around me and pulled my head to his chest with the other. He left it there, stroking my hair until I relaxed against him. The storm outside was still raging, but my body calmed against his, and I listened to the slow and steady beat of his heart. He had no more questions, and I, no more answers. He just held me close until it was over and the storm had passed on by.

The last thought I had before I fell into a sound and dreamless sleep beside him, was that I'd never in my life felt so safe.