Free Divine Design by Mary Kay McComas Page A

position. Not one to be overly concerned with her looks when death was threatening, she splashed cold water on her face and patted it dry. Taking deep, calming breaths, she turned off the shower and moved to the door, wondering how on earth she’d ever explain this to Michael.
    Michael had drawn his own conclusions. Meghan found him sitting on her bed waiting for her.
    “A little under the weather, huh?” he said sympathetically, kindness and concern etched on his face. His gray eyes examined her astutely as she held onto the doorjamb for support. “Must be the flu. It’s that season,” he deduced.
    “Lucy says there’s a lot of it going around,” she muttered, nodding in agreement. It was better than anything her foggy brain had come up with.
    “Poor thing. Come here, and I’ll help you get into bed,” he commiserated. As he stood, she saw he was holding an old flannel nightgown that had been buried so far down in her dresser, she’d forgotten she had it. As she looked from the gown to her dresser, he explained unselfconsciously, “It’ll keep you warmer than the others. Come here.”
    Reluctantly, she went to him. If he brought out his horsewhip now, she’d be too weak to stop him, she thought.
    He turned her away from him and began to draw down the zipper at the back of her neck. She spun around, clutching her dress to her, panic rising to temporarily replace her nausea.
    “Don’t be silly, Meghan,” he said wryly. “I’ve already seen all there is to see.”
    That’s what you think, she said to herself.
    “And I’ve never before attacked a woman on her deathbed,” he finished, turning her again. As he unzipped her dress, he murmured, “Of course, there’s a first time for everything.”
    When she jerked around to face him once again, fear and outrage in her green eyes, he laughed deep and low in his throat and grinned at her charmingly.
    “I’m teasing, Meghan,” he said in a soothing voice as he began to peel her clothes away. He held her flannel gown while she wiggled into it, and when she had finished, he turned her around and buttoned up the opening in back.
    “I’ll do that,” he informed her, as she started to hang up her dress. Ordinarily she wouldn’t have bothered, but she’d paid a small fortune for this bit of designer camouflage and thought it might be worth taking care of.
    With Meghan in bed, Michael placed a cool, damp cloth over her forehead and tucked the blanket up around her neck. He regarded her with concern for several minutes, then started to leave the room. “Be right back,” he said over his shoulder.
    In the kitchen he pondered the tricks one’s mind could play. He had thought he’d remembered her body as well as he knew his own, but his memory hadn’t recalled her being quite so full breasted, and her formerly flat abdomen was in actuality just slightly rounded. Neither error made much difference. She was still as incredibly lovely as she had been in all his dreams.
    Meghan was feeling perfectly well by now, but her heart and mind were racing a mile a minute. She marveled at the way his most casual touch affected her. Her whole body was tingling with excitement. Aside from the fact that she hadn’t gone out with anyone since the night she’d met Michael, no one before that had ever made her feel this way. Actually, it was a little frightening.
    Michael entered the room again. “Would you like me to stay on the couch tonight? In case you need anything?” he offered, placing a glass of water on her bedside table.
    “Oh, no,” she said, alarmed. “I … I just like being left alone when I’m ill. Thank you, anyway. And I’m … sorry about our date.”
    “I’m just sorry I didn’t notice how sick and pale you were,” he confessed.
    “Don’t feel bad, please. It’s my hair.”
    “Your hair?” he repeated stupidly.
    “Uh-huh. Redheads are notoriously pale. And when pale gets paler, it’s still just pale,” she explained, as if it made perfect