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Okay then. That was fine. He was ill. She wasn’t. And even though he seemed to feel normal today didn’t mean he would necessarily be up for sex.

He’d been so sick the other day that she’d nearly had a breakdown from fear, helplessness, and empathy. She’d had no idea what to do and had kept falling into tears and then trying to hide them so he wouldn’t notice. She wasn’t used to beingcompletely responsible for someone else, feeling like a man’s life was in her hands.

She’d managed as best she could, and Jude had had no complaints about her actions. At least none that he’d expressed. He’d been touchingly grateful.

But maybe he hadn’t fully recovered yet. Or maybe his feelings for her had changed.

Maybe she’d become a caretaker to him instead of a wife or a woman.

That thought really upset her but then made her guilty. After all, he was dying. She had no business expecting him to make her feel better about anything.

So all in all, her emotions were a tangled mess, and she still wanted sex.

He wouldn’t get out of the shower. He’d been in there for a long time.

To distract herself, she went over to the closet where she’d hung up her new purchases. There were so many that she was going to have to buy a new suitcase to bring them home in.

She stroked one of the gorgeous dresses, recalling how sweet and slightly grumpy Jude had been this afternoon, insisting that he buy them for her. Then he’d kissed her.

Other than their wedding day, he’d never kissed her before.

Surely he wouldn’t have done that if he’d stopped thinking about her as a woman.

None of it made sense at all.

He must simply be tired, didn’t have the energy sex required.

Totally understandable.

She wasn’t so needy that she would make him feel bad about it.

The sound of a throat clearing made her jerk and whirl around.

Jude. In the doorway of the bathroom. Wearing a pair of the light pajama pants he preferred and running his hands over his slightly damp hair.

She flushed, realizing he’d probably seen her stroking her new dress like it was a pet.

One side of his mouth quirked up.

Giggling, she said, “I wasn’t doing anything weird.”

“Did I say you were?”

“You looked like you might be laughing at me. I was just happy about my new stuff.”

“I could see that. And I’m happy that you’re happy.”

She swallowed. “You are?”

His expression changed from warmly amused to slightly confused. “Why are you surprised? You think I don’t want you to be happy?”

When put like that, the question was absurd. Jude was a decent and compassionate person. He’d known her most of their lives, and he liked her. Of course he would want her to be happy.

But there was something about his expression just now that made it feel like more than that. That his pleasure in her happiness was possessive.

Like his responsibility was to make her happy.

Part of her wanted it, but their relationship had never been like that. And the undernote to his tone was so vague and nebulous that it might simply be her imagination.