Thank god she had just gotten a bikini wax.

Hey—only in case she wanted to go swimming in Jason’s pool.

Of course.

TAYLOR FOLLOWED JASON up the grand three-story staircase that led to the upstairs bedrooms. Halfway up, she stopped to rest on the landing. The doctor had warned her that, in the next twenty-four hours, she might experience drowsiness, confusion, fuzzy thoughts, and even potential changes in her personality. Taylor’s symptoms could possibly be more extreme, he had said, considering that she had been so sleep-deprived prior to the accident.

“What, doesn’t everybody get by on four hours of sleep nowadays?” she had innocently inquired. The doctor had given her another one of his looks. No, indeed they did not.

By now a few steps ahead of her on the staircase, Jason looked back when he realized Taylor had stopped.

“Why are there so many stairs in this place?” she pouted, leaning against the wall for support. She suddenly felt so tired. At least she wasn’t experegiging any fuggy thofts.

In two bounds, Jason crossed the steps between them. “Look at me.” With a firm grip on her chin, he peered intently into Taylor’s eyes.

“What are you doing?” She tried swatting his hand away.

Jason’s gaze fixated first on her right eye, then her left. “Checking to make sure your pupils are even.” He pulled back. “How do you feel?”

“I’m tired,” she complained. “Can’t you just get me to a bed?”

Damn. Even through her fuggy thofts, Taylor knew how that sounded.

Never one to miss an opportunity, Jason grinned. “Well, Ms. Donovan . . . all you had to do was ask.”

Taylor rolled her eyes. She sure had set herself up for that one all right.

Stupic conprussion.

JASON OPENED THE door to the guest suite, carefully watching Taylor to make sure she didn’t stumble or anything as she stepped in. He’d tried to help her up the stairs, but after several cranky “I got it, I got its,” he figured it was best to simply leave her be. Not that he didn’t find the whole thing pretty darn amusing, seeing her acting so un-Taylor-like.

Jason walked through the room, making sure everything had been properly set up for her arrival. He had designed his guest suite to have the feel of a luxury hotel. Lush cream damask silk bedding adorned the king-size four-poster bed. The adjoining sitting room boasted a chaise lounge that stretched before a crackling fireplace. He realized that the fireplace was a little unnecessary and flashy, but then again, so were a lot of things in Beverly Hills.

One look at the sitting room was apparently all Taylor needed.

“Ooh . . . a fire,” she said, wide-eyed.

Jason carried her suitcase into the bedroom, keeping an eye out to make sure she didn’t trip headfirst into said fire. Thankfully, she settled safely onto the chaise and leaned back against its pillows.

“Oh, excuse me? Mr. Andrews?”

She called out to him through sleepy eyes. Tired though she was, she still managed to have that devious little grin of hers.

“What time is the turndown service at this establishment?”

Jason headed into the sitting room to join her. “Anytime you’d like. Do you have any special requests for the turndown service this evening?”

Taylor curled up, tucking her feet under the cashmere throw blanket that rested at the foot of the chaise.

“I do,” she said coyly.

Jason knelt down in front of the chaise lounge so that they were eye level. “And what might that request be?” he asked huskily.

With her head on the pillow, all snuggled in, Taylor smiled up at him.

“Warm cookies. Chocolate chip, preferably.” Then she closed her eyes and fell peacefully asleep.

Jason sighed. He’d been hoping she might say something else . . . Oh well.

He pulled the blanket up, draping it over her shoulders. He stood up to leave and had just made it to the door when—

“Jason?”

He turned around to see Taylor peeking up at him, her eyes barely open. He wondered whether she was talking in her sleep.

“You know . . . if you like warm cookies, too, you could always join me later tonight.” She winked coyly at him.

Then she conked out, fast asleep.

JASON PACED IN his bedroom.

Okay.

So.

This was an interesting predicament.

She wasn’t herself this evening, he told himself. She didn’t know what she was saying.

The doctor had warned them about fuzzy thoughts, confusion, and possible changes to her personality. This was all part of the concussion.

Or was it . . . Jason slyly mused this over.

All right, all right. He pulled himself together. He may have been a lot of things, but he was not the kind of guy who would seduce a helpless woman.

Well, at least lately he wasn’t that kind of guy. Truth be told, until about a month ago, he didn’t have much of what some people liked to call “scruples.” And the sans-scruples Jason would’ve known exactly what to do in this situation.

As he continued to pace in front of his bed, Jason ran through several points of fact he believed to be highly relevant.

Fact one: Taylor Donovan was hardly any sort of “helpless” woman. In fact, she’d probably consider it an affront to her feminist sensibilities just to be thought of that way.

Fact two: Was it really seducing, per se, if the woman initiated things?

Fact three . . .

Jason drew a blank. Wait—there had to be a three. There was always a three.