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of his purpose for being there, Chris sighed and absently rubbed his stomach. "I'm not feeling too well, and I wondered if you had any¬thing like an antacid or something. I don't think that casserole I ate agreed with me."

Bastien peered more closely at the man, taking in the pallor of his skin and the way he was trembling. Then he breathed in, noting the acrid scent of Chris's breath. "It more than disagreed with you, didn't it?" he asked grimly. "You've been sick."

"A couple of times," the editor admitted.

"Any stomach pains or diarrhea?"

Chris grimaced in answer, and Bastien nodded. It was just as he'd thought. "Go get dressed," he in¬structed, moving past him to the door of his suite.

'I'm not the one undressed," C.K. pointed out dryly.

"In your street clothes," Bastien clarified. He glanced at the editor's boxers and T-shirt, which had obviously been pulled on to come out into the hall. "You're going to the hospital."

"I'm sure I don't need to go to the hospital," C.K. protested.

Bastien arched an eyebrow. "Chris, your symptoms suggest food poisoning. And with the streak of bad luck you've been having lately--not to mention the fact that you only ate two hours ago, yet it's already hitting you hard--I'm guessing it's going to be a seri¬ous case. Go get dressed."

Grumbling under his breath, the editor turned away and moved back toward his bedroom. Bastien waited until he'd stepped inside, then opened the door to his own room and slipped through, not at all surprised to find Terri standing near the door. The sheet from the bed was wrapped around her sarong-style, and there was concern on her face. Chris had obviously woken her with his knocking. She had probably heard most of their conversation.

That was good, he decided. He didn't have to wake her up and explain.

Chapter Thirteen

"Food poisoning."

"Mmm." Bastien nodded solemnly.

"Bloody food poisoning," Vincent repeated, with a combination of disbelief and disgust. "The guy is a walking disaster. This is what? The third time he's been to the hospital in a week?"

Terri stirred in her seat and glanced at the men on either side of her. "Has it only been a week?"

Vincent frowned. "Hasn't it? Kate brought him to the penthouse last Friday. It's Friday again. Really early Friday," he added, scowling at the clock on the emergency room wall.

Terri followed his gaze to see that it was four a.m., definitely early. And apparently Friday morning. She pondered that information. Terri had known some¬where in the back of her mind that it was Friday morning, but it hadn't occurred to her until Bastien's cousin said it, that this meant she'd now been in New York for a week. Only one week. She marveled over that fact for a moment. She had only met Bastien a week ago. It felt as if a lifetime had passed. It was hard to recall what her life had even been like without him. He was so ingrained in her thoughts now, it seemed as if Bastien had always been in her life, or at least had always belonged there.

"Food poisoning," Vincent muttered again with a shake of his head. "How has the guy survived to this age? He'll never make it to thirty."

"I think he is thirty," Terri said.

"Is he?" Bastien asked.

Terri hesitated. Kate had mentioned the editor and his age in an e-mail to her the fall before. It had been his birthday at the time. But she wasn't now sure what age her cousin had said. "I think so. Twenty-nine or thirty."

"Well then, he won't make it to thirty-five," Vin¬cent predicted.

Terri smiled, then merely said, "Kate never men¬tioned him being accident-prone. I think this is just an unlucky streak."

"An unlucky streak?" The actor laughed. "Terri, sprained ankles and stubbed toes make up unlucky streaks. This guy is a walking calamity. Instead of calling him C.K. we should call him C.C.--for Calamity Chris."

Terri smiled wider, then said, "It was probably the casserole that made him sick. All three of us tried every dish that the caterers sent over, but just a bite of each. Chris is the only one who ate a lot of anything, and that was the chicken casserole."

"We ate the trifle. Or shared it, at least," Bastien reminded her, his voice dropping to an intimate tone.

Terri blushed as his words brought memories of the past evening sharply back to mind.

"But you're right--Chris is the only one who re¬ally ate the casserole. We only had a bite each," Bastien remembered with a