An hour or so later, bored with the book she’d been reading, Danielle left the confines of her bedroom to look for Tristan. Funny how she considered the guest room at Tristan’s house as her room. When had that started? She wondered. Right after Paul had died and she had left the modeling world to return to Port St. Lucie.

      It was hard to convince the people she’d known all her life that she was no longer Dani, the highly paid fashion model who’d walked numerous runways and been named one of the top models in the world by People.

      And then when half the modeling world, including Tyra, Viva and Heidi, had shown up at Paul’s funeral, her home—the one she and Paul had inherited after their parents’ death—had become an overnight sensation, drawing thousands of people who drove by hoping to see a celebrity. So it had been Tristan’s home where she would escape to whenever she needed to get away and find solace and peace.

      Even after she’d married Marc and they had their little spats, it wasn’t unusual for her to show up here late at night. And since she had her own key, sometimes Tristan wouldn’t even know she was there until he awoke the next morning.

      She smiled, remembering the time he had brought a date home only to find Danielle coming from the kitchen wearing a bathrobe. He’d had a lot of explaining to do, trying to convince Sharon What’s-her-name that their relationship was strictly platonic.

      Danielle rounded the corner and came to a stop. Tristan was stretched out on the sofa sound asleep. Poor baby. She tiptoed quietly over to him, understanding why he was so exhausted. Now that their business had expanded, grown by leaps and bounds, the two of them no longer had to be tied to the office to run things. Tristan, however, was still very much hands-on. Danielle loved her role working in PR and being all over the place. All the contacts she’d made over the years proved to be an asset in bringing new accounts A&T’s way.

      Stooping down, she studied Tristan’s features, seeing how they’d changed over the years. He no longer had that boyish look. He had grown into an extremely handsome man. He had chocolate-colored skin and the most gorgeous dark eyes and lips she had ever seen on a man. His long eyelashes were to die for, but then, she couldn’t discount his blunt nose and chiseled jaw. Both added arrogance to his features, a characteristic Tristan could not claim. He had to be the most humble man she knew.

      His skin looked soft to the touch, and she knew from experience it was. She fought back the temptation to touch him now. She remembered the crush she’d had on him at twelve, until that day she’d seen him kissing Sadie McClelland in the park. It had broken her heart. She had run home crying to her mother, who’d hugged her and explained that it wasn’t real love she felt for Tristan but hero worship, and there was a big difference.

      What her mother said that day had made real good sense at the time, but now Danielle couldn’t help wondering if at one time during her life she had actually loved Tristan. Really loved him.

      She almost gasped when his eyes flickered open and she suddenly felt trapped by his dark gaze. Something stirred within her that almost made her moan. She actually felt herself swaying. Inhaling deeply, she tried thinking of something to say, but he beat her to it.

      “You were staring at me.”

      “Yes,” she answered with a guilty nod. “You were sleeping and I didn’t want to wake you.”

      He held her gaze a little longer and then shifted positions to sit up. He rubbed his hands down his face. “Okay, I’m awake now, Dani. What’s wrong?”

      Dani.

      That had always been his name for her, although Paul and her parents had stuck to Danielle. When she became a model it had been so easy to use the name he’d given her.

      “Nothing’s wrong. I just talked to Alex and Renée a few minutes ago.”

      “And?”

      Danielle dropped down beside him, forcing him to scoot over to make room. “And neither of them seems interested in finding the fourth woman.”

      He took her hand in his, something he’d been doing a lot lately. “Dani, I think they’re interested. They just don’t have the fire about it that you do. I hate to tell you this, but now they have lives. Alexandra is married and Renée will be getting married this month. They have moved beyond what Marc did to them.”

      “And you don’t think I have?”

      He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “I just don’t think it’s as easy for you to let go. Maybe it’s because you were Marc’s first wife. Or it could be because you were married to him the longest. But then, it might be your age.”

      Tristan swallowed, realizing he’d just made a mistake when he saw the narrowing of Danielle’s eyes and the stiffening of her spine. “What about my age, Tris?”

      Looking into her scowling face, he knew he had to smooth things over or get a cold shoulder the rest of the day. “What I mean, Dani, is that you’re a lot more mature than Alexandra and Renée. That’s not a bad thing. You’ve been where they have yet to go. What they are experiencing now is—”

      “Men!”

      He lifted a brow. “Excuse me?”

      “Men,” she said, as if with distaste. “Alex and Renée have a man in their lives. I’m not involved with anyone so I have a lot more personal time on my hands.”

      Tristan took a minute to fully absorb what she had said. “And why do you think that is, Dani? Other than Marc, I’ve never known you to become involved with anyone, at least not seriously.”

      “Yeah, and look where my involvement with Marc got me. The man was a con artist extraordinaire. He caught me at a vulnerable time and swept me off my feet. The next thing I knew I was in Atlanta getting married.”

      “Because you thought you loved him?” he asked quietly, wondering what her answer would be. During the past five years there were times he actually thought she loved Marc, and then there were times he’d been filled with doubt.

      She seemed to think deeply about his question and then she said, “No, because at that time I thought he loved me. I wanted someone to love me. I was hurt. I felt alone. And then Marc appeared and seemed capable of making me feel whole. Not special but whole. There is a difference.”

      He leaned back on the sofa. “And what’s the difference?”

      She leaned back with him. “I felt special as a model. I was used to getting all kinds of attention, even when I didn’t want it. But Marc made me see the importance of moving on after losing Paul, and he was there to help me get beyond my grief.”

      Tristan didn’t say anything for a while. Marc had done for her what he should have done. He, Tristan, had let her down and in the interim left the door wide open for another man to walk in and have her. A part of him would never forgive himself for doing that. For five years he had to endure the pain of knowing the woman he loved had married someone else.

      “Why did you stay with him if you didn’t love him?” he finally asked.

      She curled up by his side. He knew that to her it was a natural thing to do, no big deal. She had no way of knowing how her closeness was making his heart leap in his chest. “You of all people know how things were between me and Marc, Tris. I confided to you about it. We hadn’t been married a year when I noticed he was taking more and more trips out of town and was becoming distant. There were blocks of time—and I mean huge blocks—when we didn’t