Charade by Sandra Brown Page B

one-in-a-million chance you'll get struck by lightning." "I'm serious." "So am I." He softened his tone. "Many transplantees have lived for twenty or more years without any signs of rejection, Cat. Those patients received hearts when the procedure was still experimental. The technology has improved considerably. You stand an excellent chance of living out your normal life expectancy." "And every day of that 'normal life,' you'll be monitoring my vital signs." He looked puzzled. "I was your patient first, Dean, before I became your friend and lover. I think you'll always look upon me as your patient." "Not so," he said firmly. But she knew better. He hovered over her protectively, a continual reminder that she had once been very fragile. He still treated her with utmost care. Even when they made love, he handled her as
    though she might break. His nerve-racking, irritating restraint made her feel cheated rather than cherished and severely curtailed her passion. For fear of damaging his ego, she'd borne her frustration in silence, while yearning to be treated like a woman, without being qualified as a heart transplantee. With Dean, she doubted that would ever be possible. Still, she knew that his overprotectiveness was only a symptom; the real problem was that she wasn't in love with him. Not in the way she should be before entertaining marriage. Life would be much simpler if she were in love with him. At times she fervently wished she could be. She'd always tried to spare his feelings, but now she felt that a more straightforward approach was in order. "I don't want to marry you, Dean. I care about you deeply. If it weren't for you, I'd never have made it." Smiling at him tenderly, she said, "But I'm not head over heels." "I realize that. I don't expect you to be. That's for kids. We're beyond that romantic silliness. On the other hand, we make a good team." "A team," she repeated. "That doesn't really appeal to me, either. I haven't belonged to anyone since I was eight years old, when my parents . . . died." "All the more reason to let me take care of you." "I don't want to be taken care of! I want to be Cat. The new Cat. The well, strong Cat. Every day since my transplant has been a discovery into the new me. I'm still becoming acquainted with this woman who can take the stairs instead of the elevator. Who can shampoo her hair in three minutes when it used to take thirty." She pressed her fists against her chest where her heart was beating strongly. "Time has a new dimension for me, Dean. It's precious. I jealously guard the time I spend with myself. Until I know completely this new Cat Delaney, I'm unwilling to share her with anyone." "I see," he said stiffly, sounding more peeved than heartbroken. She laughed. "Stop sulking. I don't buy it. You won't suffer unduly if we don't marry. What you love most about me is my celebrity. You enjoy sharing the limelight, attending Hollywood premieres, being seen at Spago in the company of a TV star." She struck a starlet's pose, one hand on her hip, the other behind her head.
    He laughed, his sheepish grin as good as a signed confession. But she pressed on. "Admit it, Dean. If I clerked at a supermarket, would you still be pleading for my hand in marriage?" She had him pegged, and they both knew it. "You're a cold woman, Cat Delaney." "I speak the truth." If the nature of Dean's love for her were different, she would have ended their relationship long ago in order to spare him real heartache. As it was, he admitted to loving her only as much as he was capable of loving. He took her in his arms and kissed her forehead. "In my way, Cat, I do love you, and I still intend to marry you, but I'll relent for now. Fair enough?" They hadn't solved anything, but at least she'd been granted another reprieve. "Fair enough." "Good." He hugged her close. "Ready for bed?" "I thought I'd take a swim first." "Want company?" He wasn't particularly fond of swimming, which was a shame since he had a