Again and again. Her own words, what she'd said to Cade earlier today—about trust and truth—sticking in her brain like a pair of those long, old-fashioned hatpins. After saying them, she'd barely opened her mouth again, because she couldn't come up with anything better to say, or shake the feeling that if she did the wrong thing again, ignored those words, she'd... die, at least inside, no matter how hard she tried to stay safe in her cozy and contained world. She had to tell the truth. Had to. Which meant trusting someone. Her instincts shouted it should be Cade. Trouble was, she wasn't sure which instincts were yelling loudest, the ones she'd honed in the fine art of character assessment or the ones he'd managed to drench in hormones. About to take the biggest risk of her life, she hated to think her decision was based more on her simmering sex drive—and a pair of sexy green eyes—rather than cold, clear logic. So she'd chewed on it all afternoon, thought things through—and painted the whole interior of Cabin Eight while she did it—and her mind always returned to Cade, that warm feeling in her chest when she thought about him.
