The Borrowed Bride by Susan Wiggs

teasingly. “Enough nibbles to keep things interesting, but not so many that it starts…to feel…like work.”
    She laughed—a little nervously, he thought—and shifted away from him. “You’re a bad influence, Dan. I don’t think I’ve spent so many hours doing nothing and—” She bit her lip.
    “And loving every minute of it?” he asked in a low voice. “To an outside observer, it might look like not much is going on.” He touched a lock of hair at her temple. “But there’s plenty happening here, Isabel. We’d both be lying if we said otherwise.”
     
    Isabel had no idea how long she had been sleeping. The excitement of fishing again—something she hadn’t done since her father had taught her—must have worn her out. But she hadn’t realized a nap in the fresh air could give her such a sense of renewal. She awoke to blink at the late-afternoon sun, squinting through breeze-blown leaves, listening to the soft lapping of the lake on the shores and to the quiet cadence of Dan’s breathing.
    He had fallen asleep, too. In his faded jeans and plaid shirt and hiking boots, a John Deere cap pulled down over his eyes, he was the consummate woodsman—wholly masculine, with a rugged splendor that made him a part of the forest and mountains.
    Something still existed between them, some magnetic attraction. She could no longer deny that. But for now, she refused to shape the idea into words. She was simply taking the time she needed—
    Needed for what? asked the wary cynic inside her. To rediscover that, yes, Dan Black Horse was still the sexiest, most fascinating man she could ever hope to meet? And to rediscover that he still had the power to break her heart?
    Helping herself to a long drink of lemonade from the thermos, she scowled at him. “You’re not doing me any favors, Dan Black Horse.”
    He awoke with a luxurious, long-bodied stretch that made her hormones jolt into overdrive. “What’s that?” he asked in a sleepy voice, taking the thermos from her.
    “Nothing,” she snapped. “You—” A buzzing sound interrupted her. With reflexes tuned perfectly by instinct, she pounced on her rod and set the hook. Moments later, she reeled in a plump, silvery trout, by far the best catch of the day. Laughing, she said, “I told you I was right about the corn.”
    He laughed with her, and the tension dissolved. They packed up their gear and hiked back to the lodge.
    The eagle snapped up a small fish in her big yellow beak. She scarfed another, then cocked her head, waiting for more.
    “She likes sushi,” Dan said.
    Isabel clutched his arm and nodded. “I think we’re spoiling her. She won’t know how to survive in the wild after this.”
    “She’s a grown bird. I don’t think a few days with us will make her lose her taste for the wild.” His finger traced a shivery line down the side of Isabel’s throat. “Right?”
    Stung, she lurched away. “I need a bath,” she said hastily. “It’s been a long day.”
    He winked at her. “It’s not over yet.”
     
    She luxuriated in the tub, letting the massage jets pummel her muscles. She loved the sense of unreality that enveloped her here at Dan’s lodge. She was remote, detached from the rest of the world.
    Free.
    But free was just a nice word people used instead of lonely, or maybe desperate.
    What Isabel had wanted—had always wanted—was a sense of connectedness. To know that she belonged.
    Anthony was perfect for her. He came fully equipped, a package deal with a large, loving family that surrounded and enveloped her like a hand-stitched quilt. He was what she needed.
    Not Dan Black Horse with the heartbreak in his eyes and a body that promised enough forbidden pleasure to make her legally insane.
    She realized she had been in the tub brooding for far too long. Feeling sheepish, she got out and dressed in her skirt and top and the cardigan sweater Dan had loaned her yesterday.
    She stood in front of the mirror wishing for mousse and a