"Can I ask you something?" I said.

"Of course," he replied.

"What does Hannah look like?"

He gave me a knowing look and laughed slightly before

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he spoke. "She's got long curly blond hair. She's about the same size as Helen or Anna. She's got brown eyes."

"Oh," I said.

"Happy now?" he asked.

"What are you talking about?"

"That she looks nothing like you? That I wasn't trying to replace her with you?"

You had to hand it to him. You couldn't say he wasn't perceptive. I was satisfied that this Hannah was nothing like me. But now I was all jealous because she sounded tiny and beautiful.

Jesus! Was I never satisfied?

I started to laugh. I was being ridiculous. "Yes, Adam, I'm happy that you weren't trying to replace her with me. But right now, you'd better get back to Helen," I said.

I stood up.

Then he stood up, instantly making me feel tiny.

There we stood, not really knowing what to say. I just knew that I didn't want to say good-bye.

"You're a very special woman," he said. And he pulled me to him and tightened his arms around me.

And fool that I was, I let him.

Big mistake. Huge, colossal, enormous mistake.

I hadn't been too bad until we made physical contact. But the minute I was in his arms all hell broke loose on the emotions front. Longing and yearning and lust (yes, even more!) and loss and a warm fuzzy feeling. Being in his arms reminded me of how he had made me feel. I thought I had forgotten how wonderful it was to be with him. But it all came rushing back.

My head was buried against his chest. I could feel his heart beating through the thin material of the T-shirt. The same beautiful him of soap and warm male skin that I remembered.

I wanted to stay there forever, safe, pressed up against his beautiful hard body, his arms holding me tenderly.

I pulled away from him.

"You're not so bad yourself," I replied. For the life of me I couldn't un- derstand why I had tears in my eyes.

"Be happy," he said.

"You too," I replied.

I wriggled out of his arms.

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"Well, good-bye," I sniffed.

"Why good-bye?" he asked, smiling.

"Because I'm going back to London on Sunday, so I probably won't ever see you again," I said. I felt as if I was going to burst into tears. And wondered what the hell he was smiling at. Who gave him the right to look so smug and happy? Had he no sense of occasion? This was no laughing matter! On the contrary.

I couldn't believe how wretched I felt. This was so painful.

I wished he would just go!

"Won't you ever go out again?" he asked. "Can't you get a baby-sitter?"

"Of course I will," I said sadly. "But I still won't be able to see you. Not unless you jet over to London now and then for an evening out. And I can't see you doing that."

"No," he said thoughtfully. "You're right. There would be no point jetting over to London for an evening out when I'm already there."

For a moment I thought I'd misheard him. But I looked at him, at his smiling face, and knew that I hadn't.

Hope rushed through me, such a feeling of something wonderful that I thought I might burst from it.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, barely able to breathe.

I had to sit down.

"Um, I'm, er, moving to London," he said quietly. He sat down beside me on the bed. He was trying to look very serious but a smile kept breaking through.

"Are you?" I squeaked. "But why?"

And then a thought struck me.

"Hey, don't tell me. You've nowhere to stay and you were wondering, just wondering if you could sleep on my floor. Just for a couple of nights, a year max. Is that right?" I said bitterly.

He burst out laughing.

"Claire, you're so funny!" he said.

"Why?" I asked, annoyed. "What are you laughing at?"

"You!" he said, still in hysterics. "I've got somewhere to stay. I'm not stupid enough to be nice to you just so I can ask you if I can stay with you. Do you think I have a death wish? I know you'd kill me."

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"Good," I said, slightly mollified. At least he had a little bit of respect.

"Is that why you think I came up here to talk to you?" he asked, a lot more seriously. "Maybe I'm the stupid one here, but I thought I'd made it clear how much I like you and care for you. Don't you believe me?"

"Well, you can't blame me for being suspicious," I said sulkily.

"No," he sighed. "We'll just have to work on convincing you how won- derful you are and that I have no ulterior motives for wanting to be around you. I don't want you for your child. I don't want you for your apartment. I just want you for you."

"Do you want me?" I whispered, suddenly feeling very alive and sexy. So powerful, so aware that I was a woman and that he was a man and that unavoidable physical attraction pulsed between us. His eyes darkened, the blue almost turned to black, and he looked and sounded very serious.

"I want you very much," he said.

The room suddenly went quiet and still. Even Kate wasn't making a sound. You could have cut the sexual tension with a knife.

I broke the mood before one or both of us combusted spontaneously.

"Let me get this straight," I said, trying to be businesslike. "You're coming to London. What for? Why?"

"I've got a job," he said, as if it was the most reasonable explanation in the world.

"But what about college?" I asked, bewildered. "Are you giving it all up?"

"No," he said, "but it's going to be different. I'll study at night."

"Why?" I asked, still not really understanding. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I've got to work now that I've got a child to support. And there aren't any jobs in Dublin. And my dad was able to get me into some mer- chant bank in London. And I'll still be able to get my degree. It'll just take longer."

"But what about your baby?" I wailed. "You've just gotten

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to know her and now you'll have to leave her again. That's awful!"