As if he never expected she'd be such a red-hot mama.

Before dropping off to sleep, she remembered thinking. Damn, I was. I really was.

At least with him.

SWEET, WARM RAIN DRIZZLED down the windows. Horns and sirens heralded the new day below. A child's laughter echoed from the street. Beneath the feather comforter, she couldn't remember feeling snuggled so safely, so securely. Her cheek seemed embedded in Will's shoulder. Her arm was loosely, possessively, draped around his bare waist. His chest hair nuzzled her very warm, very bare breasts.

But none of those things were what woke her up.

Guilt woke her up.

Huge, sharp, ear-drumming, shame-sucking heaps of guilt.

Silent as sin, she inched out from under the covers-praying not to wake Will-and then tiptoed, shivering, into the hall. Her two suitcases and carry-on were still lying in a jumble by the front door, but right then, she only had one thing on her mind and it wasn't remotely her stuff.

Grabbing a towel from the bathroom to cover herself, she hustled into the living room, grabbed the telephone and found a spot to sit upon the carpet behind the couch.

She dialed Jason.

The phone rang.

And rang.

And then rang some more.

She hated using Will's phone, partly because she'd have yet another bill to clock up on Will's balance sheet, and partly because it just seemed the height of wrong. But without her purse or her cell phone or any of her phone cards, there was no other choice. And this call wouldn't wait another minute. Another second.

But there was no answer, even after seven rings. She hung up, bit her lip, then dialed the number all over again.

It was seven hours earlier in South Bend. That meant it was somewhere around two in the morning there. Heaven knows, she didn't want to wake Jason up, but she needed to reach him. Now. And at this hour, he simply had to be in their new apartment, asleep.