"Just the basics. A few casseroles, pasta, stew. I can roast a chicken."

"Can you do meat loaf?"

"Yep."

"Marry me, Ella."

I looked into his wicked dark eyes, and even though I knew he was joking, I felt a wild pulse inside, and my hands trembled. "Sure," I said lightly. "Want some bread?"

After dinner, Jack was back on the floor, putting together the crib with a deftness born of vast experience. He was good with his hands, confident and capable. I had to admit, I enjoyed watching as he rolled up his sleeves over hair-dusted forearms and knelt in front of the wooden frame, his body athletic and superbly conditioned. I sat nearby with a glass of wine and handed screws to him. Every now and then he got close enough that I caught the scent of him, a sexual incense of male sweat and clean skin. He swore a couple of times as a couple of screws were stripped, the fluent profanity immediately followed by a beg-pardon.

Jack Travis was a novelty in my experience, an old-fashioned man's man. None of the boys I had gone to college with had been anything more than that, just boys trying to figure out who they were and what their place in the world was. Dane and his friends were sensitive, environmentally aware guys who rode bikes and had Facebook accounts. I couldn't imagine Jack Travis ever blogging or worrying about finding himself, and it was pretty certain that he didn't give a damn about whether or not his clothes were sustainably produced.

"Jack," I said thoughtfully, "do you think of women as equals?"

He fitted a support bar against the frame. "Yes."

"Do you ever let a woman pay for dinner?"

"No."

"Is that why the room-service meal wasn't on my hotel bill?"

"I never let a woman pay for my food. I just said dinner was on you because I knew it was the only way you'd let me stay."

"If you think of women as equals, why didn't you let me buy you dinner?"

"Because I'm the man."

"If you had a choice between hiring a man or a woman to manage one of your projects, but you knew the woman was childbearing age, would you choose the man over her?"

"No. I'd choose the best person."

"If they were equal in every way . . . ?"

"I wouldn't hold the potential for pregnancy against her." Jack gave me a quizzical smile. "What are you trying to find out?"

"I'm wondering where to put you on the evolutionary scale."

He tapped a screw into place. "How high have I gotten so far?"

"I haven't decided yet. What's your stand on political correctness?"

"I'm not against it. But a little goes a long way. Hold on a minute—" The drill whirred and screeched as Jack attached a frame bracket. He paused and looked up at me with an expectant grin. "What else?"

"What are you looking for in a woman?"

"Someone who's loyal. Loving. Likes to spend time together, especially outdoors. And I sure wouldn't mind if she hunts."

"Are you sure you wouldn't be happier with a Labrador retriever?" I asked.

It seemed to take Jack no time at all to finish the crib. I helped to hold the large sections together while he attached them and even added extra reinforcing. "I think a baby elephant could sleep in that crib without breaking it," I said.

"Want it here or in the bedroom?" Jack asked.

"The bedroom's so small, I'd rather keep it in here. Is that weird, having a crib in the main room?"

"Not at all. It's Luke's apartment, too."

With Jack's help, I moved the crib beside the sofa and put a sheet over the mattress. Gently, I lowered the drowsy baby into the crib and covered him with a blanket, and started a mobile playing overhead. Bears and honeypots circled slowly, accompanied by a gentle lullaby. "Looks comfortable," Jack whispered.

"Doesn't it?" Seeing how cozy Luke was, how safe, I felt a rush of gratitude. The dark city was seething outside, scored with traffic, people swarming, drinking, dancing, while the ground slowly released the heat of the day. But we were tucked away in this cool, protected place, everything as it should be.

I needed to fill Luke's bottles, and get ready for the night. We had a routine. I found something deeply comforting in the rituals of bath and bedtime.

"It's been a long time since I was in the habit of taking care of a child," I said, barely aware I was speaking aloud. My hand gripped the top of the crib rail. "Not since I was a child."

For reply, Jack slid his hand over mine, engulfing it with warm pressure. Before I could look up at him, he let go and went to pack up his tools. Methodically, he dumped all the scraps of cardboard and plastic into the flat rectangular box the crib had come in. Lifting the box with one hand, he carried it to the door. "I'll take this out for you."

"Thank you." Smiling, I went to see him out. "I appreciate this, Jack. Everything. I—"

The wine must have eradicated every last atom of common sense I possessed, because I reached up to give him a hug in the same way I would have done with Tom or one of Dane's other friends. A buddy hug. But every nerve from head to toe screamed "Mistake!" as soon as the front of my body met his, adhering like wet cottonwood leaves.

Jack's arms went around me, clasping me against a wall of muscle, and he was so big and warm, and it felt so scary-good that I stiffened all over. The hot drift of his breath against my cheek made my heartbeat go crazy, and instant arousal filled the space between every thump. I gasped, ducking away, my face crammed against his shoulder.