Passionate Kisses

Passionate Kisses Denyse Bridger (c) 2007 ISBN 978-1-59578-372-1

Passionate Kisses Denyse Bridger Published 2007 ISBN 978-1-59578-372-1 Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © 2007, Denyse Bridger. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author. Manufactured in the United States of America Liquid Silver Books http://LSbooks.com Email: [email protected] Editor Vikky Bertling Cover Artist April Martinez This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Table of Contents Any Other Way Destiny Met Bound Perdition Dream Sequence 1-900-SURPRISE! The Hunt

Any Other Way The sun rose steadily over the distant horizon, the encroaching radiance of another day slowly spreading fingers of gold and orange fire across the rippling surface of the South Pacific Ocean. The almost palatial villa that overlooked the spectacle shone like a white blaze, tinted with dawn-pink for a few ageless minutes before the color deepened to yellow flame. High above the fine, white-sand beach, the patio doors of a bedroom on the upper floor were open and lace curtains could occasionally be glimpsed in the light ocean-borne breeze. The figure of a man stood on the balcony that ran the full length of the third floor, his hands on the wide, white-washed stone wall, his face turned upward to the sun’s caressing rays. He was a handsome man, something that was readily apparent despite the distance from which she observed him. His dark, curling hair ruffled softly in the currents of warm air and his tall, well-formed body was straight and alert despite the casual pose. He wore white pants and no shirt, giving her a pleasant view of broad chest and sculpted muscles. She waited, wondering if a woman would appear anytime soon. He’d been living on this private island for several months, free and at peace for perhaps the first time in his life. Jade Lazlow-Whinton put aside her binoculars and considered how best to speak to him. When no one else ventured onto the balcony, she shrugged and decided to take the direct approach. She hauled a small mirror out of her bag, smiling at the sun-bronzed face staring back at her. She’d recovered from her last disastrous mission and was finally looking human again. A distinct advantage when dealing with the man she wanted to see. Lifting the canvas beach bag, she began her trek to the front door. **** Half a mile away, Carlos Juan D’Alejandro knew someone was watching him. It wasn’t a welcome awareness by any means. He was a protected federal witness and that meant he usually had plenty of notice if there was someone coming to see him. He turned toward the west, sensing more than seeing the figure that walked hidden behind the rocks that rimmed the private stretch of beach below him. He remained where he was; patience had always been a healthy habit, and he continued to exercise caution and foresight as a matter of survival. Before long, one of his men knocked on the door and informed him that he had a visitor. Smiling, Carlos told Diego to show her out to the balcony. He knew it was a safe request. If the new arrival had posed any kind of threat to him, she never would have been permitted to stay inside the house, let alone be announced to him. A few minutes later, a hand came to rest on his shoulder and he turned, already certain who he’d find next to him. He’d know her touch anywhere. Carlos looked down at her from a six-inch advantage of height, and what he saw made his heart pound hard in his chest. If she’d ever looked more beautiful, he couldn’t remember seeing it. Her light golden-brown hair flowed in a soft fall that fluttered near her waist when the breeze caught it, her dark jade-green eyes were bright and clear, and

she was wearing a snow-white bikini with only a filmy wrap twisted around her waist in parody of a skirt. String sandals completed the outfit, and he saw a canvas bag had been dropped inside the door. “Do you always greet guests in your bedroom, Carlos?” she asked, tone teasing. “I don’t recall you having such suicidal tendencies when we saw each other last.” “At least not such obvious ones,” he retorted with mocking disdain. “Of course, I didn’t know you quite as well then, did I?” He paused and watched her eyes harden at the reminder of their shared past. “How is Brett?” “Fine,” she replied coolly. “Probably comforting Celina over the recent loss of her lover.” The sword swung both ways and they’d always had something of a talent for dissecting each other in the most painful ways possible. Strange, the way they remained devoted to people they’d die for, but who always remained apart from them. They called it love, but Jade had begun to wonder if it wasn’t simply an excuse to avoid what existed between them. Carlos’ mouth tightened and his eyes lost much of their warmth. “What do you want, Jade?” The words were soft, but held no discernible emotion. She peered more intently at him, saw the lines that had settled around his eyes, and the weariness that emanated from him now, blunting the unmistakable aura of sensuality that was a natural part of his being. She moved slightly, stood at his back, and slid her arms around his waist, letting her fingers drift across well-remembered contours, caressing softly as she pressed her cheek to the broad expanse of his back. “What do you want, Jade?” He repeated, holding her hands, but making no movement to dislodge her from her place behind him. “I know this isn’t social. It never was with you. I seem to have that kind of luck with the women I trust.” The last was said with faint bitterness, and she pulled away and took the step back to his side that would allow her to face him. “What if I just wanted to see you, Carlos?” she challenged softly. “It could be as simple as that.” He laughed, and she was enchanted by the low rumble of sound. There was distinct mockery in his voice when he answered. “It could be, but is it?” She debated a lie, then chose the truth. He not only deserved it, he’d gotten to know her so well that she was certain he’d hear the deceit in her voice if she tried to mislead him. “Yes,” she nodded, then added, “and no, as well.” He turned his back to the astonishing view and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m waiting,” he prompted after a few moments passed in silence. “You’re very distracting, Carlos,” she murmured, her eyes drifting over him, drinking in every nuance of his presence. His long legs were slightly spread, and the lightweight cotton of his pants was pulled taut across his hips. She knew there was nothing under the pants but bare skin. That knowledge was creating a disturbing lack of focus in her, as well as a distressing internal trembling. A condition that would soon become an undeniable and visible confirmation of just how deeply his physical presence affected her. And Carlos being Carlos would not overlook the reaction once he’d spotted it. She dragged her eyes from the endless length of his legs and met his thoroughly

amused smile when she faced him again. He reached out and hooked the index finger of his right hand into the strip of material that held her bikini bra together, then he tugged her toward him until she stood between his legs and her eyes were level with his. “You haven’t answered me,” he observed in a low growl of sound. Her eyes dropped to his hands and she stared in helpless fascination as his thumbs glided along the sides of her breasts, while his splayed fingers held her firmly where he wanted her. The circles of motion expanded slowly, sensually, until—finally—the pads of his thumbs brushed a feathery stroke over the rigid, thrusting tips of her nipples, clearly outlined by the thin white nylon of her bikini top. “What was the question?” she murmured, the query disintegrating into a gasp of erotic pleasure when he bent forward and closed his teeth on one hard bud. The pressure of his tongue made the material between them even more irrelevant. She kissed the top of his head, and her arms went around his neck, pressing him tighter to her. “God, Carlos, that feels incredible!” She was talking to him about what was happening as it happened, she thought with a flicker of irony. This was the only man she’d ever known who asked her what she wanted, what she liked, and how she liked it. Then he’d given her everything she needed and more. All the time making her talk to him as they shared their passion. The catch on the bikini top was opened with a careless flick of his fingers, and he smiled as he pulled back to look at her. Until he peeled aside the material, her fully bared skin was still hidden from his sight. He watched her, challenge in his dark eyes. “What do you want,” he purred softly. “That was the question, honey.” She traced the fullness of his lips with her fingertip, and smiled when he sucked the slender digit deep into his mouth and his tongue swirled around it, licking suggestively. “You’re not talking to me, Jade,” he murmured when he’d released her finger. “You’re making it impossible and you damn well know it!” she snapped irritably. She could feel the wetness between her thighs and knew she’d be soaking the tiny strip of cloth that passed as the bottom half of the bikini if this continued much longer. Carlos peeled the bra back and pushed it off her shoulders, his eyes caressing the soft swells of ivory flesh that were her perfect, full breasts. The darkened nipples were puckered and pebble hard, jutting outward as though begging for his attention. He cupped both breasts and began to move from one to the other with his mouth, kissing softly, then sucking hard, then moving away again. She was shaking like a leaf within minutes of the sensual assault on her composure. “What do you want?” he asked again when he eventually drew back and locked his gaze with her dazed stare. “You haven’t said yet.” He smiled, and let his hand slide across her bare midriff to slip the knot on the filmy wrap around her waist. When he delved lower, his fingers encountered the damp bikini between her thighs. He pushed it aside and his finger found the slick entrance and burrowed into her. She spread her legs automatically and her hands on his shoulders shook as her hips pushed forward into his touch. She leaned toward him and caught his mouth with hers, her tongue probing deeply, seeking his as she kissed him with a passion that neither of them had experienced in too long. Her back arched and she moaned softly when he drew back from her mouth and his lips trailed down the side of her neck. The stroke of his tongue against her pulse was matched with the perfect rhythm of his finger moving in and out of her.

“Carlos!” It was a stifled scream as she climaxed violently, and the glide of his fingers went on caressing her. At some point his entire hand had disappeared into the bottom part of her bikini and she pushed her hips harder into his touch. When he pulled away she gasped, a faintly strangled sound of disappointment. It mutated into a groan of pleasure when he took her hand and led her into the huge bedroom that was most of the third floor of this wing of the villa. She barely noticed the luxurious décor. Her gaze was locked on Carlos as he shed his pants and she got her first look at the splendid body she’d enjoyed so often in their past encounters. Making love with Carlos D’Alejandro was a savage, selfish ecstasy, and she’d long ago accepted that she’d never tire of him. He laughed suddenly, and she knew he was reading every thought she had as he watched her. Deliberately, he turned his back and walked to his bed, slipping between the sheets casually and waiting for her to make some kind of move toward him, or away. He probably saw her knees shaking, but he waited for her to make the final move to his bed. “Jade?” “Damn you, Carlos!” she whispered, and the sound of her quivering voice made him laugh again. The sound of that erotic purr of amusement sent another jolt of longing searing through her and she stripped off the bikini bottom and crawled into the bed with him. She tossed aside the sheet, positioned herself astride his hips and took him into her welcoming body. His hands at her hips held her tighter to him and his back arched upward, driving him deeper still. She gasped out a moan of blissful pleasure, causing him to grin up at her. “So much for preliminaries,” he teased, voice ragged with need. “Fuck the preliminaries,” she replied and concentrated on the pure, raw joy his presence inside her created as she began to ride him, their bodies in perfect synch. Carlos watched her writhing sensually above him, her breasts bobbing as she withdrew slowly, losing him almost completely before she drove herself down on him, taking him fully into her body, over and over again. When he felt the clenching of her muscles begin to ripple around him, he pulled her against his chest and rolled with her until she was pinned beneath him. Then he rose over her, only the intimate joining holding them together as he raised himself on his hands and stared down at her. “Talk to me, Jade,” he ordered harshly. “Just do it, Carlos,” she begged, and he knew she was well beyond caring that he did this to her every time they were together. It didn’t matter. All that mattered now was the desperate need they’d awakened yet again. He pushed deeper into her and smiled, fully aware that he was making her mindless with desire and euphoria in equal measure. “Please…” she moaned softly, half sob and half thrilling pleasure. Satisfied, Carlos settled over her and his hips began to thrust in earnest. She was shaking beneath him, and he closed his eyes, let his mind create the face he truly loved as he blocked out everything but the need to find release. Jade was almost choking on the rapture that rocked her repeatedly as he moved, and her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Seconds later, Carlos heard the scream that rasped from her an instant before he shuddered, caught in a familiar onslaught of sensation that went on much longer than it often did as he poured himself into her. Propped on his elbows, which were positioned on either side of her shoulders, Carlos opened his eyes and stared down at her. She was struggling to drag in air, and the flush on her sun-tinted skin made her even more beautiful. He kissed her forehead and watched

as her eyelids fluttered, then the wide green stare ensnared him. In a distant part of his mind he realized they’d just made love with no protection, and on the heels of that thought he laughed at himself. Jade Whinton didn’t sleep with anyone else, not even her husband. At least she hadn’t the last time he’d seen her. “Jade?” The gravelly rasp of his voice made her smile, and she drew his head down so she could kiss him, a soft, stroking caress of infinite joy. “You are as amazing as ever, querida mía,” she murmured thickly. “You’ve been working with Sutherland’s unit, haven’t you?” It was the last question he should have asked, and the perversity of it didn’t escape his somewhat sardonic sense of humor. But it was between them now, and he waited for an answer, the need to know something he preferred not to analyze too closely. “Carlos…” It was hiss of anger, and the blissful fog of happiness vanished from her eyes, leaving only bitterness. Her legs dropped from their lock on his waist and she tried to shove him off her, but he refused to be moved. A tiny shift of his hips reminded her that he was still sheathed inside her. “Did Sutherland finally succumb to your charms, Jade,” he taunted, recognizing that a vague sadism prompted his demand and was fueled by something dangerously close to jealousy. “Or did he reject you? Is that why you’re here again, in my bed?” All of the turmoil came crashing down on her heart again. The rage, the fear and the screams that haunted her nights and now her days as well. For several heartbeats that were measured unconsciously by the steady pulse in Carlos’ chest, she felt the blackness of insanity calling to her, and the urge to drown there had to be forcefully denied. “Jade?” Carlos had watched the wordless war in her eyes, and for a few seconds he also saw the lack of sanity teasing her mind, beckoning to her. The twitch of fear that it created in him quickly grew to concern. “Jade!” “Brett has nothing to do with why I’m here, Carlos,” she finally answered, her voice dull and devoid of emotion. She suddenly looked lifeless and alone, where mere minutes earlier she’d appeared more alive than he’d ever seen her before. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and kissed her again. The lack of response was disconcerting. “No, you’re not, Carlos,” she replied when he pulled back to look at her again. She pushed at him and this time he relented and slid off her. She turned her back to him and stared at the wall. For a long time he watched her, until he knew sleep had drawn her into its deceptive shelter. Carlos stared at the curve of her spine, uncertainty creating an acrid taste in his mouth. For a long time, he listened to her breathing, until she was deep in slumber. Then he rose, hauled on his pants and went down to his study. He had some information to gather, and it would require the redemption of several favors still owed him. **** The nightmare came at her with unexpected vehemence, and Jade tried desperately to escape it, to outrun it. She cried, pain and anguish in the sharp, almost alien sound. She looked across the cell that housed her beaten and abused body, saw Brett Sutherland

lying unconscious, and everything that had been her life before seemed to become irrelevant. All that mattered was finding a way to get Sutherland out alive, and she knew for the first time in her long and shadowy career, she was going to fail. A face loomed before her suddenly, then distorted, pulled and twisted into a parody of humanity. She recognized it as the face of her captors, each and every one of them lacked any true awareness of the lives they took and bartered with, and she’d drawn Brett into this world, however unwittingly. Hands on her body created nausea in her stomach making her heave wildly. She tried to push away the man attempting to crawl over her, and she shuddered in loathing when more fingers began to grope her bruised flesh. The scream rose slowly, then reached outward to blast them with the fury and hatred of her heart, a banshee wail that mixed with the ribald laughter that surrounded her and mocked her pain… **** Two floors below the sleeping intelligence agent who’d arrived at his villa, Carlos was jolted out of his private musings by the keening sound of a scream building into a crescendo of agony. Heart pounding wildly in his chest, he flung himself out of his chair and ran. Several of his men were already coming into the hallways, and he ignored them as he sprinted up the stairs and pushed open the door that led to his bedroom. She was twisted slightly on one side, arms covering her head, and the sobs were horrible to hear. He went to the bed and reached out, barely noticing the shaking in his fingers before he stroked a gentle caress over her hair and bent to speak softly next to her ear. “Jade, it’s all right, honey,” he murmured, drawing her outward slowly, well aware that she was lethal and if he pulled her into alertness too fast it might cost him his life. “Easy, darling,” he whispered again, and kissed her temple. “Come back to me, honey,” he coaxed, and knew he’d reached her the moment her eyes snapped open and she uncurled, lying flat on her back to look at the ceiling. “Jade?” She wasn’t making any sound now and the silence was more unsettling than the sobbing screams had been. Her face was wet with tears, and he touched her cheek to turn her toward him. “Easy, darling,” he repeated when she began to recoil. “Carlos…” He gathered her close to him and kissed the top of her head where it rested under his chin. He rocked her as he would a child, offering the only comfort he could with his physical presence. Before more than two minutes had passed the phone beside the bed rang. He looked at it, then decided he needed to answer it. He grabbed it and spoke curtly: “D’Alejandro!” The news was given succinctly and without emotion. For timeless minutes it drained him of life itself as he listened, numbed and shocked, then dropped the receiver back in the cradle and stared. “Carlos?” The small voice pierced his mental fog and he looked down into storm-washed green eyes, wondered if he’d just discovered why she’d really come to him. She looked exhausted and worn in those precious seconds, and he realized he didn’t want to talk

about what he’d just learned. He smiled, kissed her forehead, and scooped her into his arms. “Where are we going?” she asked, genuinely curious. He didn’t answer, and a few minutes later she was set on her feet in the most luxurious bathroom she’d ever seen. The carpets were ankle deep and everything was in shades of the palest blue and aqua. There was a deeply sunken bathtub in one corner, a full bar next to it, and a panel that would undoubtedly fill the room with music if the right buttons were pushed. The shower stall could comfortably house at least three people, and the glass panels that acted as the walls weren’t frosted but crystal clear. She turned to speak to him and watched in fascination when Carlos shed his clothes and opened the shower door. He walked inside, adjusted the water temperature and turned his back to her. She hesitated only a moment before she followed him into the warm waterfall and put her arms around him. He grabbed her hands from his waist and spun around, facing her with intensity in his eyes that was both unnerving and exciting. Everything about Carlos was like that, some inner voice reminded her. “What’s wrong?” He stared at her, and she knew he was trying to come to a decision that involved her. “Carlos?” He backed her against the wall with his body and before she could do more than sputter in the sudden wash of water that sprayed her, his full-lipped, ruthless mouth descended on hers and she was lost to anything but awareness of him. She could feel the solid, velvet length of his erection pressed to her abdomen, and she was electrified with desire again. Their kiss went on and on, until she was no longer certain where she ended and Carlos began. When he lifted his mouth from hers and boxed her in with his hands on either side of her head, she gazed in entranced wonder at him. His eyes were closed, and his head fell back, the mist of the water caressing his contoured features. She opened her mouth to speak. Before she could utter any query his hand slid into her hair and he guided her forward and down. She knew what he wanted, and she went to her knees in front of him when he took a step back. Her hands glided over his legs and cupped his firm buttocks as she opened her mouth and took him in, quickly finding the rhythm he liked best as she sucked and stroked the hard length. When his hands held her head in place and his hips began to thrust gently, Jade sucked hard on him. Her fingers cupped the heavy weight between his thighs, squeezing gently as she drew harder on him. His moans were soft but deep, and she knew he was on the verge of an intense climax. A few more easy glides of her tongue and she held him tightly between her lips, sucking long and intently. He gasped loudly and she swallowed the stream of warmth that spurted from him in small gushes for several seconds. Carlos let go of her and braced himself against the wall of the shower as he fought to catch his breath. Jade had fallen back against the wall too, and when he glanced down, she was looking up at him. She didn’t need a mirror to know that the glow in his eyes and the distinctly satisfied smile he wore echoed her own expression. When the tremors left his legs, he pushed away from the wall and reached for the soap. She stood next to him and they scrubbed each other without a word being spoken. **** “What’s happened, Carlos?” she asked, once they were dressed and seated at a small

dining table on the ground floor less than an hour later. Carlos had pointed her to a large, filled wardrobe in one of his guest rooms. She laughed with self-deprecating amusement when she’d found an incredible selection of clothes, most of them a perfect fit for her slender curves. “What makes you think anything’s happened?” he countered softly, faint suspicion texturing the rumble of his voice. “I know you too well for you to lie to me, querida,” she murmured softly. “You’re holding something back.” He grinned. “You think so?” he queried with erotic suggestiveness layering the smooth tone. “Carlos?” The seriousness she injected into the single word made his smile disintegrate and he pushed aside his half-eaten dinner. Her eyes never left him as he poured himselfmore wine, refilled her glass, then rose to look out the window that faced the spectacular ocean vista. “Celina and Sutherland are dead, Jade.” He imparted the news with precise, cool words. Then waited for the tidal wave of loss and anger to lash out at him. “What?” He didn’t bother repeating it. “When did you find out?” Not how did they die, or where, just the when did he know about it? “While you were asleep I made some calls.” He turned to look at her, and was genuinely startled by the ashen grey that had stolen the vivacity from her face. “When were you going to tell me?” “I’m telling you now,” he snapped, the response reactionary. The rage was blossoming and he knew it was going to be leveled at him when it was fully roused. “You knew this when you … when we…” She stood and he could see her shaking with the tempest that was churning inside her. “You had me sucking your cock while Brett was lying dead somewhere!” She launched at him, her fists pounding at his chest. He had a difficult time catching her flailing limbs and holding onto them. If she’d been thinking clearly, her training would have kicked in by now and he’d probably be dead or nursing an injury that might have proven near fatal. She glared at him, and for the first time since they’d met, Carlos knew she despised him. “We’ve been fucking each other senseless all night, lady,” he snarled with contempt that was in no way feigned, “It’s what we do when we’re together. They wouldn’t be any less dead if we’d been on opposite ends of the planet, Jade!” The sound of a throat being cleared drew their attention and they looked in unison toward the entrance to the dining room. Just inside the room stood the man Jade had married almost ten years earlier. She’d tried very hard to love Caulder Whinton, but it had been impossible after she’d met another agent named Brett Sutherland. She and Brett were never lovers, but she had loved him. Caulder had just discovered in the most awkward of ways that his wife not only knew a protected federal witness, but had easy access to him when no one was supposed to know where he was hidden. Whinton’s expression now was a vivid combination of shock and rage. “Did Sutherland know about you and him?” Caulder asked, too softly, his dark eyes snapping disgust at Jade.

She yanked her hands free of Carlos’ hold and walked over to her legal husband. Even after they’d accepted the death of their marriage, they’d remained friends. They hadn’t even bothered with a divorce. She owed him her loyalty and Caulder was truly the best friend she’d ever had. She knew it was now in the past—the ice in his eyes was too complete to ever thaw again into the easy warmth and affection that she’d shared with him in recent years. “Did Celina?” He directed the query to Carlos, his tone reflecting the same derision he’d shown when he spoke to Jade. “Carlos and I…” “Yeah, I heard!” Caulder interrupted. “I guess there’s no need to tell you why I’m here. This stop was for Celina, but I guess it’s going to be for Sutherland too.” He looked at her, his gaze sliding over her in insolent scorn. She cringed inside, wounded more deeply that she would have thought possible by his loathing. Caulder had been forced to accept that his wife had fallen in love with a fellow agent, but his admiration and respect for Brett had made it palatable, just. He’d even been able to accept the position of working with them as part of a specialized tactical unit. He’d been their boss, yet it had all worked smoothly despite the personal weirdness. Everything had just been irreparably changed, with a few overheard words. “Don’t bother coming to the funeral. Either of you.” It was a warning and a promise. If they attended the services, Caulder would probably kill them both in his present state of mind. Jade reached out to touch his arm and he flinched away from the attempted comfort. “Don’t, Jade,” he hissed in admonishment. “A few months ago… Christ! A few days ago,” he corrected bitterly, “I would have welcomed your presence. I wanted it! Brett Sutherland loved you,” he didn’t bother to moderate his contempt now, and she bled inwardly again as he went on, “He loved you, and you’ve been D’Alejandro’s whore for … how long has it been, Jade?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned his wrath on Carlos. There was no longer any sign of the grudging respect Jade knew he’d once afforded Carlos. And she knew why, even before he continued his tirade of betrayed anger. “And what about Celina? She loved you until the minute she died, D’Alejandro! Apparently she was as deluded as Sutherland. He thought Jade loved him.” He darted a glance at his former wife and there was so much pain in his face that she turned away from it. But he wasn’t going to relent now that he’d started. “You were the light in his world, Jade. He never stopped believing you’d have a chance together. I think it was all that kept him sane at times. I came here to tell D’Alejandro about Celina. I sure as hell never expected to find you here, especially fresh from his bed!” Words suddenly seemed to fail him, and before she could try to explain the impossible, he left the estate. In the distance, the sound of a waiting helicopter told her how he was making his exit from her life. “I don’t believe this,” Jade sputtered. The fury dropped away, falling off her like the autumn leaves blown from the trees. All that remained was the emptiness and the horrible cold numbness. Carlos finished his wine and crossed the room. When he turned her into his chest and held her close, she offered no objection. It would be the only warmth and comfort she

could hope for now, and she was grateful for it. **** Late into the night, Jade was lying alone in one of Carlos’ guest rooms. There seemed little point in leaving the lovely villa now. She’d known the moment Brett died, she’d seen it happen in some kind of nightmare world, but she hadn’t been there in reality. She’d been here, intent on using Carlos as a conduit of information to get her inside another group of high-powered drug dealers. Instead, she’d ended up in bed with him again and now she was rational enough, or maybe just lonely enough, to begin to understand why this always happened with him. Jade had met D’Alejandro over three years earlier, almost two years before he’d met Celina LaCroix and fallen in love with her. Yet, in spite of that, the affair that had begun between Jade and Carlos had continued, a separate entity in both their lives, apart from the people they each loved more than life. At least that was what they’d always told themselves and each other. Something deep inside her knew it had been a lie, and she was only now seeing what should have been obvious from the minute they’d met. Lust had evolved into love with Carlos. When she sought shelter and safe haven, it wasn’t Brett Sutherland she’d turned to, it was Carlos D’Alejandro. When Carlos had decided to leave the country and settle in his own private paradise, it had been Jade he’d given the coordinates to, in case she needed to find him, not Celina. Celina had left him standing alone at an airport, afraid to take the risk of truly loving him and needing him. Jade simply went to him expecting everything and finding it was within his capability to give it. She sighed heavily. He was alone in his bed too, and she wanted to feel him next to her. They’d lashed out, torn each other to pieces emotionally, and then they’d gone to their beds as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Carlos hadn’t even hinted that she should leave his home—it just wasn’t in the cards. She was where she was supposed to be. Wasn’t she? Jade rose, pulled a silk kimono over her shoulders and went into the corridor. Small, low-watt lights illuminated the upper floor as she crossed the hall and walked over to the doors to the master bedroom. She looked at the pale wood panel, then took a deep breath and walked in, leaving the door partly open. Security wasn’t an issue in this house, and she wasn’t concerned about being seen. She spotted the open patio doors, the lace draperies swaying soundlessly, and peace started to sweep into her heart. She moved to the bed and looked down at him. He was lying on his stomach, dark hair like midnight against the ivory bed linen. The broad, bare expanse of his back was flawless, and she knew if she pulled back the sheets, he’d be naked beneath them. Carlos never wore anything to bed. She dropped her robe, lifted the sheet, and crawled in beside him, kissing his shoulder as she settled next to him. “What took you so long?” It was muffled against the pillow, but the words, and the dark amusement in them, were clear. “Carlos, do you love me?” she asked, and wondered if she’d hear his answer over the sudden roar of her heartbeat in her ears. He turned in the bed, looking at her as though she’d lost her mind.

“What?” “Never mind,” she shook her head and started to leave again. His arm around her waist pulled her back to the mattress, and a moment later she was staring up into the pools of black that were his eyes. “What did you ask me?” “Do you love me?” He grinned, and the laughter came before he could stifle it. Pain, sharp and searing, ripped into her soul and she knew she’d never feel anything as agonizing as the sense of horror and despair that was shredding her dignity and sanity as seconds passed into eternity. She pushed at him and he let her turn her back to him. “Since when does love come into this, Jade?” he asked, and this time there was a thoughtful seriousness in his tone that made her shiver and attempt to bury her face in the pillow. “It doesn’t, Carlos,” she agreed. “I’ll leave if you want me to,” she added. He watched her shoulders tense, anticipating a rejection he’d never give her, regardless of the anger that sometimes made them destroy everything that was good between them. He eased her onto her back and stared down at her, weighing the oddly timed question she’d posed, and the vulnerability it revealed in both of them. “What if all I want is to have you suck my…” She put her hand over his mouth and stopped the crude words she’d thrown at him hours earlier. Tears flooded her eyes and blurred his handsome features for several moments before she was able to swallow the lump in her throat and speak, however strangled the words were. “Please, querida mía,” she begged, “don’t. I’m sorry I said that to you, mi amada.” The endearments didn’t go unnoticed, and he realized as he looked down at her that there was no more fight left in her. Sutherland’s death had taken her spirit from her, and he felt a rage unlike anything he’d ever felt before when he saw the anguish in her wide, jewel-like eyes. The familiar heat was already sizzling between them and Carlos knew if he gave in to need this time, something intrinsic in their relationship would change irrevocably. He accepted it then dismissed it as he bent to cover the trembling lips that were parted and inviting him in. Their kiss was the foreplay of fantasies. Carlos teased and tasted as she wound her arms around his neck and arched upward to press her body against his. He slipped his thigh between hers and deepened the kiss further, gently reassuring her the most powerful way he knew. There was no need for drawn-out intimacies; he knew they both needed the bond that sex forged between them. He shifted over her and lifted her hips as he entered her in a single smooth thrust. Jade’s body shuddered violently at the intrusion, and he began the steady, easy rhythm that would take them to heaven. Jade felt every tiny motion of his body, the silk friction of his chest, the rippling play of muscles under her fingertips as she ran her hands the defined length of his back, and the intoxicating rhythm of his hips, matched thrust for thrust by her own hungry body. No one else made her feel like this, only Carlos. She was dying in his arms and relearning life at the same time, and she knew beyond doubt that this was where she wanted to be for the rest of her life. She kissed him again, a quick, sighing breath of a caress. Then she clung to him, eyes closed, body lost to the ecstasy of his possession. “I love you, Carlos,” she breathed and felt him go still. He held her face between his

hands and she opened her eyes. “Say it again,” he ordered, his voice a rasp of desire. “I love you, Carlos D’Alejandro,” she repeated, and smiled at the disbelief that flitted across his face then disappeared behind happiness. “Say it again!” he demanded and sat back, pulling her with him, never losing their intimate joining. “Again, querida!” he said and held her hips as he pumped into her with almost brutal strength. “I love you,” she breathed into his ear, and went on repeating it with every impassioned push of his hips, until there was finally no way to form more than moans of euphoric rapture. **** “I want you to leave the Agency,” Carlos whispered much later, when they were curled into a spoon beneath the bed covers. “I want to leave the Agency,” she replied and lifted one of his hands to kiss the palm. “I want to stay here, with you. I want to wake up every morning for the rest of my life with you next to me.” “How about inside you?” he asked, nuzzling her neck. “Even better,” she murmured softly. She shivered, felt her body melting with longing while his tongue stroked the soft place where her shoulder and neck met. His hands were already busy at her breasts, squeezing and caressing the sensitive swells of flesh. “Why did it take losing them to make us see each other?” she wondered in a sad whisper. “Any other way would have left too many questions. About us and them,” he reasoned. He eased away enough to turn her onto her back so he could look into her eyes then he kissed her lightly. “I love you, too, Jade,” he whispered, and watched the world light from within her and shine joy into every part of his scarred and battered heart, healing his soul as she found her own.

Destiny Met Summer of 1886 First you must know my name. It is Angelique Devereaux; and I am the advanced age of fifty years as I take pen in hand to write this journal for my daughter, and perhaps, one day, her daughter. It has been my experience in this life that a woman of my maturity is either a notorious creature whom proper ladies shun, or one so pious that all feel inclined to pity her. I am neither—now. I was a scandal when I knew a dashing young Colonel by the name of Clayton Hammond. The War had been over less than a year and life attempted to resume its normal course, though none had been untouched. Here in New Orleans, there were fewer traces of the devastation—if one didn’t look too closely at the faces of the men who were slowly coming back to the South. I had lost loved ones, as so many did. It was not the torment for me that it was for some. How can I make that clear without sounding utterly callous? I lost friends, a brother, even a beau or two. I did not lose the one soul that God had given me life for— the Almighty could not have been that cruel. I had not then met him; therefore he could not have died. It was this stubbornly held, irrational hope that had often kept me sane, and would continue to do so for the rest of my life, though the essence of that hard-held trust would, in fact, alter dramatically over the course of the coming years. I had gone that weekend to celebrate the return of my younger sister’s husband. He was bringing several friends with him, men who had spent much of the past year in a Yankee prison camp. I pleaded to be excused from this pain-filled gathering, but Celesta begged for my company—knowing full well that I could refuse her nothing. It has been this way since we were children. Against every instinct I possessed, I acquiesced, and went to that place. I heard the whispers of younger women the moment we arrived; little did I know that the Fates had conspired to give me my destiny when I least expected it. Nor did I know that the shattered and devastated sorrow in his eyes would ravage my spirit so totally—and for so brief a time. We would have that night then he would vanish from my life shortly thereafter. In spite of the ignominy, and the subsequent loss of respectability, I have never regretted loving him… **** I remember the first time I saw him—he was on the opposite side of a hotel lobby in New Orleans. The Civil War was barely over, but there he stood, laughing and chatting with a group of people I’ve never been able to clearly recall. The only solid memory I have is him—that first breathtaking glance—that whisper of a sudden and irrevocable meeting that would change my soul for an eternity. He was everything in that single moment, and he hadn’t even looked at me. For one of those heart-stopping, infinite seconds where time hangs suspended, I simply stared. No, I drank in the image of perfect masculine beauty that emanated from him. I fell in love without ever once considering

the insanity of it. For it was love that swept me away in those instants of forever. I know this, because my life would never be the same, nor my spirit free again. When he realized I was there, gaping at him with my heart in my eyes, he turned. He has the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen, stormy seas of enchantment with the depth to drown anyone foolish or lucky enough to get caught in their tides. How do I begin to describe this man? The physical terms are meaningless in and of themselves, because his is a presence that is as much a spiritual witchcraft as it is a sensual awareness. He’s tall, and wears his soft, coffee-dark hair long; brushing his shoulders. His features are framed and defined by a close-cut beard and moustache. He’s slender … elegant … dazzling … and exudes casual grace. He truly seems completely at ease with the attention that is lavished on him. To say he’s handsome wouldn’t begin to do him justice. He smiled at me, curiosity and faint recognition in his expression. I was thrilled, and terrified. That mouth, those sensuous lips, curved upward in the merest hint of invitation. I wanted desperately to taste his kiss. I wanted to explore every minute detail of his being. Instead, I looked away, broke the spell, and ran. Not quite literally, but close enough to make me cringe when I look back on it. I’m sure he laughed at me, reading every treacherous thought that filled my panicked mind, although he later assured me that he had no idea how devastating an effect he had on me. He was surrounded by women that weekend. They all wanted him as badly as I did, but they had the nerve to be close to him. I was frightened to death to go near him. And he knew. For three days I watched everyone bestow adoration on him and vie for his favor. He was a hero despite our tragic loss of the war and he was a gentleman of prestige and honor. The few times I dared to be within touching distance, he knew I was there. He made a point of drawing me into his orbit. When he did, there was nothing else, no one else—only him and the absolute joy he taught me in those precious interludes. I also felt his agitation and annoyance more than once in those few days. In spite of the attention, he was very alone. Isolation haunted him as surely as it has always shadowed me. He was looking for something … someone… I don’t really know anymore. I just knew he was unhappy, for all his appearances to the contrary. The clouds lived always in the tumultuous storm-grey of his eyes. His is a complex and fascinating personality. He is equal parts light and dark. Radiant in his charm and true pleasure at the smiles and affection he incites. And just as deeply disdainful of the emptiness of so much of their admiration. He knows what they want better than they themselves understand. His anger is a terrible thing, dangerous as only he can be. He cuts like a knife with his words, his contempt a hurtful and unconscionable weapon, wielded by an expert. He understands real truth in a way that only those who have seen it laid bare and raw can really know it. It’s left him little tolerance for those who hide safely behind illusion and polite contrivances. Pain dominates his world, colors his demolished dreams and reminds him too vividly of the losses he has suffered. His soul is troubled, cast into doubt and fear. He is afraid to share those demons, and I don’t know how to tell him they’ve already become a part of me because I love him so much. Not all the anguish he endures is within his heart. My love has lived a long time with the pain his body forces on him. Yet, he appears perfection. To these eyes, so critical of so many others, he is the most stunning man I have ever seen. A chameleon with more facets than fine Austrian crystal bathed in blazing sunlight.

He is as temperamental and difficult as he is gracious. Cool and aloof, yet welcoming to those he chooses to invite into his world. And false hearts do not enter— those who dare are rarely pleased when he shuts them out without explanation or any trace of gentleness. Patience is a virtue generously accorded to those he accepts and cares for, and denied to all who attempt to win his approbation by deceit. Others sometimes think him a fool. He allows them their mistaken interpretation of his easy-going charm. He knows I see this; the conspiracy of silence passed between us with a room full of people witness to something none saw. I felt I had just been given a gift, and I treasure that trust. Just as I learned to cherish the fleeting, stolen moments that defined our involvement. The first time he touched me, I was so in awe of him that I didn’t truly feel anything—until the dreadful moment when I walked away from him. Then, safely cloistered in my cocoon of feigned composure, I realized I was trembling. That the brief kiss he’d placed on my quivering fingers had shaken me to the core. And, for the first and only time in my life, a man’s touch had reached something I hadn’t known I possessed. My legs felt weak, and I couldn’t explain to anyone, because there simply wasn’t a way to voice the tempest of my thoughts and emotions. And all this time, during this unreal, dreamlike, whirlwind of activity, he knew me too. He sought my presence, caressed my soul from the other side of rooms we found ourselves sharing space in, and he called me by name. We’d never been properly introduced. **** He found me at last on our final day at the hotel, after obligations were met and there was no longer any reason to play a game he’d grown tired of in less time than usual. My friends had gone out for the evening, seeking entertainment that was of no interest to me. I was alone and had been strolling the oddly empty corridors of the old hotel. It is amazing that so much activity can fill a structure, and hours later it becomes a tomb when night falls and reality calls us back to the things our mundane lives dictate are necessary. I felt his hand on my shoulder as I stared out a window, eyes filled with the glitter of endless city lights. This was an alien place to me, my home was a thousand miles away, an entire world apart from this. Yet, I knew it was him. I couldn’t deny the tremor of recognition and delight that brushed my spine. “I thought you’d left, too.” His voice is the breath of air that cools flushed skin on a scorching summer day, the stroke of silk against polished marble. Sweetly accented, perfectly modulated, filled with promises. I closed my eyes, drew in a deep breath; the air around us was faintly scented with his cologne, and his personal presence. I felt as if I breathed in the very essence of him, and after a moment’s hesitation, I finally dared to meet his eyes. “Not for another day or so.” “Would you like to have a drink?” His smile is pure sorcery. “The casino’s filled with people, and I can’t stand the noise. That’s why I stayed in tonight.” He nodded, and stepped closer. He loomed over me, like an angel, and I felt safer than I have ever felt in my life. I’m not accustomed to living in another person’s soul, but

I knew we now shared that elusive part of ourselves, that neither of us would ever truly be complete again—not without each other. For an eternity we simply looked at each other, spoke promises without words, and explored the tenuous yet intractable bond that strengthened with each passing second. Without conscious thought, I took a single step closer to him, and he nodded his approval, and his acceptance. His hands rose and strong, sensitive fingers traced the arch of my eyebrows, then slowly drifted over the curves of my cheeks. He lingered at my mouth, our gazes still locked, mindlessly seeking answers we no longer truly needed. The ball of his thumb teased my bottom lip, opened my mouth to free a tiny gasp of longing. The ghost of a smile played about the generous fullness of his mouth, the expression the most natural one I’d seen him wear all weekend. I adored him, and I saw realization of that knowledge sparkle in the smoky grey of his eyes. “You’ve been hiding from me,” he drawled with sweet Southern charm. “I’ve been hiding from myself.” “And now?” “You don’t intend to let me run away again, do you?” “Do you want to run?” “I want things I can’t even define. You make me want things I can barely recognize.” They were bold words, torn from inside me. He had that effect; he could extract the secrets of a soul with so little effort. Or was it simpler than that? Maybe it was only my soul he could manipulate so easily. Because, of course, he owned it. “Wanting is not something exclusive to your heart, darlin’.” I laughed. His voice was teasing, so terribly perceptive that I felt tears form in my eyes. When I would have stepped away from him, his mouth closed over mine and I was lost. He tasted faintly of whiskey and his tongue was a silken probe that explored the willing warmth of my mouth. The tremor his touch awoke made me cling to him and his arms drew me closer as he deepened our kiss. He coaxed my tongue to duel with his, sucked it into the recesses of his mouth where I tasted his hunger with an intense awareness that shattered my last, weak hope of an escape I hadn’t wanted anyway. Long-fingered hands tangled in my hair, pulled it from the loose style that I’d created earlier. He held my head in those relentless hands and pressed me back to the wall with the lean length of his body. Hips ground into mine, and I returned that eager need with a blatancy that should have horrified me. All my mind would accept was the dream that I held in my arms. “This is madness,” I murmured, then lost the words in a breathy moan of desire. His mouth had moved to my neck, instinctively finding the most sensitive area along my collarbone and his tongue was stroking with insistent pressure. My hands came to life, answering their own need. The smooth muscles of his back tightened against the glide of my fingers over the smooth silk of his shirt. Hidden beneath his jacket, I permitted my hands to memorize his shape and he laughed softly when I pulled his hips more firmly to mine. When I would have reached between us, he caught my questing limb and raised it to his lips. His mouth is so soft, lips warm and gently knowing in their touch. He didn’t speak; the time for words had long passed. He drew me to his side and we walked.

His room was much like mine, except his was littered with the gifts of his admirers. I felt a distinct flare of resentment when I noted that reminder of the others in his life. He saw it, and shook his head as he pushed the door shut behind us. It was strange, surrealistic. The lamp flickered brightly on the desk; he ignored the stack of messages and invitations that awaited his reply. The curtains were partially drawn, the brilliant glare of moonlight muted through sheer white curtains and eerily soft within the room. He sat on the edge of the bed and held out his hands. I knelt before him, enthralled by his beauty. He slipped off the dove-grey jacket he wore, then the burgundy vest, tossing them both into a chair. Next, his tie slipped lose, and pushed the suspenders off his shoulders, followed by the cream-colored silk shirt. It joined the jacket and vest, and he smiled down at me, expectancy in every nuance of his expression. I was terrified again. I felt ugly, unworthy. I staggered to my feet and would have run—he refused to let me. He caught my wrist and rose to stand next to me. The sobs which had lodged in my throat finally burst from me and he drew me close. His voice caressed my tormented spirit, soothed as only he could. While I was still choking back my tears, his lips found mine again. My arms wrapped around his neck, and the smooth warmth of his skin scorched my flesh through the thin cotton barrier of my blouse and chemise. The light fabric eased free of my skirt’s waistband, and I cried out in startled pleasure when his hands found bare skin. There were no stays or corsets to impede our journey of discovery; I’d rarely worn such garments, even before the war had made them a veritable treasure to be owned by women who retained money for their purchase. I was a teacher. I will be one again. My dress has always been simple. Celesta is the real beauty of our family, and she has always been the epitome of style. We separated for an instant. The blouse blinded me as it was pulled over my head, the thin undergarment taken with it; and then he filled my vision again. There was a hint of smile about his lips once more, and he turned me back to the bed. I felt the edge of the mattress against my legs and sat. Then I moved back and opened my arms to him. He placed one knee on the bed and leaned forward. I bit back a cry of profound longing when his weight covered me. His hands moved again, created magic as he pushed my skirt upward over stocking-clad thighs. When his mouth engulfed one of my aching nipples and he began to suckle, my whole body arched upward, shuddered in pure rapture. His fingers weren’t idle, and the steady exploration of his touch left fire in its wake as he searched my body for the points that left me gasping and writhing beneath him. My hips pushed into his, silently begged for the union that would complete my bonding to him. I knew he was as ready as I was, I felt the hard length of his arousal straining against the front of his trousers. Suddenly bold, I let my hands roam freely. His skin was silk beneath my touch, and the texture of smooth fabric was equally exciting as my palms smoothed over the rounded curves of his buttocks. I shifted under him, eased free just enough to push him onto his back. He refused to release me for more than an instant. When his teeth tugged at my other nipple, I climbed across his hips and leaned down into the demand. He eventually drew back and stared up at me. His hands cupped and sensually kneaded my breasts as he awaited my next move. I smiled into those storm-cloud eyes

and began to open the buttons of his pants. I pushed aside the heavy fabric and bent to run my tongue along the straining material that kept me from his naked flesh. The shiver of fervid pleasure that accompanied my quest lower assured me that the passion of the moment was not mine alone. My tongue snaked from between eager lips and he hissed softly when my touch ran the length of him. The fabric rippled in response, and I laughed as I sat back and observed the wet streak I’d left behind. Curious fingers lightly traced the outline of his erection. I slid off the bed and moments later I had removed the last barriers to my enjoyment of his absolute beauty. He shook his head when I would have rejoined him. He leaned on his elbows and one arched, expressive eyebrow rose in silent request. A hint of seductive challenge glimmered in his eyes, and I laughed. Seconds later, the last of my clothes were thrown into the chair that was home to his things now. The groan of hunger that came from him when I began an oral trek up the insides of his legs was intensely satisfying. The soft fur of his thighs was a texture that made me want to snuggle into him the way a cat slithers around her master’s ankles. The scent of him was as intoxicating as the raw sensual splendor of his body. I burrowed closer to that masculine mystery, tasted and caressed with a mindlessness that I’d never felt before. My inquisitive hands smoothed over the warmth of flawless skin, found the gentle slopes of hollowed hipbones as I finally took his rigid length between my lips and drew him inward. His fingers weaved into the heavy waves of my hair and held my head as his hips rose in a slow, gentle rhythm. My mouth matched that careful thrust and shudders of passion melded us into one form. I wanted to cry an objection when he eased free of me and lay gasping but refusing to let me continue. Moments later, he pulled me upward. Our bodies glided against each other, his perfection blending with my flawed and imperfect being. In his arms, I felt lovelier than I have ever felt, free and beautiful as I have never before been. I bent to kiss the soft pulse of his heartbeat, savored the faint taste of his sweat, then he rolled me onto my back. He leaned over me, slate-colored eyes twin fires that burned into my soul and demanded the total surrender of all my fantasies and desires. He kissed me, the caress a feather-like whisper over lips that longed to be crushed beneath his. His index finger traced my quivering mouth before I caught his hand and guided it across the expanse of my body. He laughed, the sound a soft growl of roused hunger, and when his fingers burrowed into my hot, wet flesh he swallowed my groan of eager need as his mouth claimed mine. My thighs parted further as he explored my slick folds, his talented fingers penetrating and searching with a casual slowness that was delightful agony. My hips pushed upward, begged for his possession. His lips released me, and I closed my eyes as my body spasmed against him, exploded with an ecstasy that made me hold his hand firmly in place, pressed tightly to me, fingers buried inside me. His kisses rained down on my face, the feathery touches teasing and loving. Eventually, his hand slipped free of me and seconds later I felt the sticky warmth of his touch smoothing over my breasts. I could feel the swell of my passion subsiding, only to be roused again when he suddenly sucked firmly on one nipple, while gentle fingertips tugged at the other. I drew his head away, stared up at him. I could feel the stain of scarlet that warmed my cheeks when he raised wet fingers to his mouth and tasted the evidence of my

fulfilled passion. His smile was wildly erotic, and my body woke with intense renewed lust. I could feel him against me. The smooth rigid masculinity that I ached to have inside me teased, but still refused to assuage my hunger. His head bent to my neck, rediscovered the sensitive hollow of my collarbone and his tongue again stroked in lingering caresses. My hands slid the length of his back, demanded his body’s surrender to me now. My legs entangled with his, and I brazenly guided him into my ravenous heat. A careful thrust had him fully buried in me, and another spasm of exquisite elation shook me in his arms. My voice was lost, the silent perfection of that moment so sweet that it leaves me breathless each time I allow myself to remember. He rose on his elbows and spread my hair over the sheets as he smiled down at me. My arms locked around his back and my hips moved restlessly against him. “I want you to look at me,” he whispered, his voice rough and gravelly with excitement. I nodded and bit back a cry as he began to move with me, his eyes drowning me as their shifting hues revealed the fierceness of his passion. His body, strong and dominant, found a rhythm that was as fast and furious as the pounding of my heart. I shared his urgency, matched it, and never lost the vision of absolute beauty that transformed his features as we struggled for the ultimate burst of euphoria that would complete our union. I felt the surge of insane bliss peak and my body rose beneath him, hips molded to his as my spine arched off the mattress. I screamed ever so softly, then louder again when I felt the flood of his release fill me with wonder and warmth. His voice was a blur of textures, gasping for air, moaning with pleasure. His lips brushed my temple, and he collapsed against the cushion of my body, tremors of reaction still rippling slowly relaxing muscles. It felt like infinity before his head rose and he smiled at me. He was still within me and I sighed as I held him, content and filled with a peaceful sense of completion I would never have believed possible. My heart had found its home. “I wanted you before we met,” he gradually confessed. “I believe it’s what brought me here and kept me waiting long after I should have gone back to Virginia.” “As it did me.” It was amazing that I should be having this conversation with him. I had dreamed it so often, it no longer seemed unreal, simply the logical end to a fairytale that I’d waited my entire life to experience. “You’re not what I thought you would be.” Fear fluttered to life, cold and painful. “I’m sorry.” Confusion swiftly followed the fright, and I didn’t know what to do, how to escape his disappointment. “Why?” He kissed me, the caress sweet, tender beyond my imaginings. “You are so beautiful,” he murmured next to my ear. “I feel unworthy of you.” I was stunned, then elated. My hands held his head, shaking fingers caressed the thick, curling silk of his hair. My fingers smoothed the softness of his beard and lingered over the sensuous curve of his mouth. My proud and noble Colonel had been humbled by a devotion that was more natural to me than the breaths I drew. “Never,” I assured him. “You are my world. Without you there is nothing. You’ve known that for so very long, now you must learn to believe it.”

“What do you want from me?” “Only what you wish to give. Never more than that.” “You have a right to want more than I can offer you.” He sounded uncertain when he spoke the words, and that made my heart ache with misery, too. “Love dictates its own price.” I assured him with a slow smile. “And you love me?” Disbelief colored the query, made it a rush of air that fluttered and hung between us for several heartbeats of time. Then I nodded, and kissed him very softly. “I believe, sir,” I murmured gently, “that I was born in love with you.” He had no answer to that declaration, but I do know that he cherished it. **** Deep into the night, I woke to find him sitting in a chair by the window. Smoke haloed him as he drew on a cheroot and stared outward. “Clay?” “I can’t marry you, Angel,” he said with soft regret. “I haven’t asked you to marry me,” I replied quietly. “I’ve asked you for nothing more than you want to give, Clay,” I reminded him, heartbroken, and chilled with fear that he was sorry he’d ever met me. That he was rejecting me with his kindness and honor. He stubbed out the cheroot, returned to the bed, and sat on the edge of the mattress, his hand reaching out to caress my hair. “You deserve everything a man has to offer a woman who loves him,” he commented, his eyes solemn and thoughtful. “I have nothing to give you, darlin’. I don’t know that I ever will.” “All I need is whatever time you want to share with me,” I repeated. “I know you’ll leave, Clay,” I said, desperate for him to understand that I would never hold him from the journey he had to take. He would never find peace in the South, and that’s what I wanted for him—peace. Whatever happiness he might find with me would never be enough to make him feel whole again. If there was still hope that he could heal and live as he should, I wanted him to have his freedom to find what he needed. “I think you have to, my love.” “What will you do when you leave New Orleans?” he asked. “Go back to my life,” I whispered, touching his face, holding his eyes with mine as the moonlight bathed us in silver. “Remember the best part of it as this one perfect night.” “When do you leave?” “Tomorrow,” I answered, and saw the darkness of real disappointment shadow his eyes. “Then we’ll have to make tonight last a lifetime, won’t we, Angel?” “Come back to bed, Clay.” I tossed aside the bed linens and slid away, the space next to me an open invitation. He grinned broadly, then shed his robe and climbed back into bed… **** “You’re so beautiful,” Clay murmured as he kissed the curving hollow at the base of

my spine and began to work his way up to my neck. My skin was still hot, a faint film of sweat creating a chill in the air that faded instantly as his lips moved over my back, creating more moisture with wet kisses. I could feel him shaking very slightly against me, his entire body was alive again with desire. That knowledge, its power, shocked me with the sheer force of what burned between us. He pushed my hair to one side and kissed the back of my neck. I smiled, drunk with passion and contentment in equal measures, and sighed. I’ve never felt so totally and utterly at peace. Clay’s hands slid under me and his fingers closed over my breasts. I was lying on my stomach now, and pushed myself up on my elbows, intending to roll over. He nudged my legs apart and covered my back. Answering need and instinct, and his whispered words of encouragement, I raised my hips off the bed and clutched the pillow when he slid into me again. “God! Angelique…” My name on his lips seemed to disintegrate into a moan of pleasure as my body surrounded and accepted him. He covered my hands with his, our fingers entwined as he settled solidly over me. Very slowly, he began to move, his rhythm teasing and sinfully skillful as he took me repeatedly to the edge of ecstasy then held back. Time became infinite, and I was writhing beneath him, his name a plea, when he finally granted us release, sweat slicked bodies moving in near desperation. I am certain now that I actually fainted for an instant when the intensity of our pleasure exploded within me. The romantic part of my nature likes to believe that it was in this moment, this union, that my daughter was conceived, for I have never before or since felt such completion and contentment. Clay collapsed over me, and I felt his chest heaving as he tried to calm his thundering heartbeat and breathe evenly again. When he gradually moved off me, I sighed. Something in that murmur of sound made him smile broadly. When I turned my head, the only motion my body now seemed capable of, I recall smiling at him, whispering his name, then drifting into a sleep that was filled with a blur of memories made, dreams that would sustain me, and the irreversible truth of my destiny met… **** …If you wonder now why I have set down such intimate words, I cannot honestly explain. Perhaps simply a need (hope?) to know that one day someone will understand my lack of shame for those fateful hours. Clayton never knew what he’d given me that night. Now, so many years later, I still wonder if he’s found a place where he can be happy, or at the very least, know peace. He was a tortured man when I met him, and I sensed he would remain so. One cannot lose the most precious part of a life, and remain unchanged. His beloved wife was taken much too soon, and I was never fool enough to think myself someone with whom he could again find that particular joy. His daughter has never known him; his warmth and courage, his unflinching sense of honor. She asks, sometimes. I tell her that her father was the finest man I’ve ever met, and she knows what I speak is truth. I was the shame of my family, but they had the decency not to permit our child to be tainted by their contempt for me. She’s not a foolish girl; she has her father’s quick intelligence and lack of tolerance for that type of hypocrisy. She would probably laugh at them if they disdained her for her parentage, and Clay would rage—if he knew. Colonel Clayton Hammond gave me life, for brief hours. I had always known that my

heart’s happiness would be fleeting, but total. He showed me how true that was, and even in his absence, I have cherished him. It’s enough…

Bound Cinthya Wilton felt her nerves tingling as she made her way into the derelict building. There were legends about this ancient hotel, and the reports of hauntings numbered in the hundreds over the fifty years it had been left empty. No one could remember the reason it was abandoned. If Rick Cudahee found out she’d stepped foot in the place, she’d be hearing about it for days. Rick loved her, but he wasn’t above lecturing her if she did things he classified as idiotic. The problem was she frequently did things that fell into that category. Cinthya’s curiosity was one of her biggest character flaws, and she was fully aware of it. She simply couldn’t quell it often enough. Her smile flickered when she recalled how often Rick had told her that particular trait was going to get her in serious trouble one day. Hopefully not today. But this was another example of that insatiable inquisitiveness overriding good sense. The old Mayfair was a monument to another era, though its grandeur had long ago faded. In spite of that, there was an undeniable ambiance in the place. She swallowed hard and went past the dusty front desk, all senses strained and alert. Her heartbeat grew louder with each step she took toward the staircase that would put her on the third floor, where the room she’d been told to find was located. The old hotel was eerie in the approaching darkness, and she was finding it difficult to hold onto her resolve to do this without calling Rick. There’d been a weird message on the machine when she got home—something about discovering a secret she needed to know. The voice had sounded slightly familiar, although she couldn’t quite pinpoint why. There’d also been just enough mystery in the vague words to arouse her interest. The entire situation—the call and her coming here to this deserted hotel—reminded her of something she’d heard of once, but her efforts to pull it from memory hadn’t been remotely successful. She should know better than this. She couldn’t escape the twinge of conscience that reminded her how often she played out of her league. When her father had retired from the Agency and started his own private investigation business, he’d thought his daughter would be safe from the ghosts of his violent past. More than once, though, Cinthya had paid for the deeds and decisions of Joshua Wilton’s previous career. This could well be another such set up, and here she was walking right into it. All she had in the way of reassurance that she wasn’t about to get herself killed, kidnapped, or worse, was the deeply-rooted intuition that this wasn’t what it appeared. The vague sense of familiarity she felt implied she’d be safe. Her relationship with Rick wasn’t a point of reassurance either in the creaking darkness of the forsaken hotel. There were people who knew him and his reputation, and often it was a point of protection, but here that was irrelevant. It was with Joshua’s very reluctant blessing that his twenty-year-old daughter had stepped into a loving relationship with his business partner, the shadowy, sophisticated, and lethal Rick Cudahee. The ten year age difference was only the first objection her father had voiced when Cinthya had been forced by her own conscience to open up to him—conscience, and the undeniable need to share her happiness with the other important person in her life.

Rick’s recent decision to leave private investigations and re-enter the life of an active Company operative set up an entirely new array of potential dangers for Cinthya. It was a risk she was more than willing to take, but not something that lessened the worry her father and Rick still felt. Cinthya couldn’t help but wonder what either Rick or her dad would have to say about her accepting a cryptic message to meet an unspecified contact—alone—in an abandoned building. She leapt back in fright when something clingy and feather-light brushed against her face. With a cry of disgust, she batted away the filmy cobwebs and peered into the shadowy stairwell. She was on the second floor; only one more flight and then she’d have to find Room 313. Against her will, some of the things she’d heard about this old wreck of a building began to pop into her head. Some people claimed the Mayfair Hotel was haunted, and those who lived in the area could tell endless stories about “sightings” and other mysterious events in the ancient edifice. Another shudder ran the length of her spine when she heard skittering near her feet. Rats! The place had to be infested with rats. She glanced around, her breath held, as she searched the growing darkness for the beady red eyes she was sure she’d find watching her. There was nothing staring at her from the blackness of the corners, and she sagged against the wall as she gasped for air. God! Rick was right, I should never have stayed up all night watching horror movies. He’d consented to sit through the original version of The Phantom Of The Opera— he deemed that particular film “a classic”—but Cinthya had been on her own after that. It had been nearing daybreak when she’d finally crawled into bed—and about another thirty seconds before she flew out again, tripping in the sheets and falling flat on her face. Rick had almost fallen out of bed himself from laughing at her. His unexpected grab had gotten a much better reaction than he’d hoped for. He was still laughing when he left the apartment earlier this afternoon. Cinthya dismissed the monsters and ghouls of the previous night from her mind and concentrated on locating the room where she was supposed to find her mystery caller. A sag in the weathered wood of the floor creaked in the hollow corridor. She bit her bottom lip to prevent any sound from escaping. Her hammering heartbeat gradually subsided, and she felt some of the fear-induced dizziness pass. A chill rippled through her, though, when she realized she was staring up at the shadowy ceiling, her eyes drawn to the vast network of cobwebs that had been woven over the years. It looked like wisps of cotton, stretched to the point of breaking, except that this thready cloak was dulled with years of dust and grime. A distinct thud at the other end of the long hallway had her heading in that direction without taking the time to consider her actions. She was several doors away from the room she was supposed to be looking for when she was grabbed from behind. There was no chance to fight off her attacker, and she cursed herself as she was dragged into a room and flung into a chair. Her hands were tied securely behind the high chair back, and her feet were bound to the legs of the seat. The room was pitch black, and she tried to force her eyes to adjust by keeping them closed. She let out a gasp of protest when she felt a blindfold being tied around her head.

For a moment, the sensation of silk distracted her thoughts; the smooth feel of the material against her skin was actually soothing. Her captor chose not to gag her, but Cinthya knew it would be futile to yell anyway. She’d be considered one of the hotel ghosts, if anyone heard her at all—not much of a chance in this neighborhood. “What’s going on? Who are you?” That was brilliant! she chided herself. There was no reply, and she strained to identify the sound as she caught the distinct rasp of a match being struck. She could smell the hint of burning wood, then the stronger odor of candle wax. Oh, shit! Some nut was setting fire to the crumbling hotel, and she was going to go down with it! She opened her mouth then decided against it when she realized she couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Pleading with whoever was doing this wouldn’t get her very far. Visions of flames running through the old building, devouring it, began to fill her mind with genuine fear. She felt the movement more than she actually heard it, and her heartbeat threatened to deafen her when she felt someone standing over her. “What do you want?” She winced at the unmistakable quiver in her voice then jumped when she felt hands being placed on the back of the chair, close to her shoulders. She opened her mouth again but never uttered a sound as her lips were covered with a warm, gentle kiss. Recognition left her weak and shaking as she answered the thrust of her lover’s tongue. The caress was sensual and provocative, leaving Cinthya breathless and excited when it finally ended minutes later. “What took you so long, honey?” Rick whispered, his breath soft against Cinthya’s lips. “Take the blindfold off and untie me,” Cinthya said, a tiny flare of irritation working into her tone when she realized she’d walked blithely into an elaborate joke. Rick wasn’t going to let her live this one down for some time, of that much she was certain. Rick complied with part of her entreaty. He removed the silk blindfold, took a few steps backward, then settled on the edge of a dusty bed to watch Cinthya’s face. He grinned broadly as she looked around, eyes wide. Candles were the only light in the room, casting flickering shadows over walls that were stained and scarred with age. Rick couldn’t help but think she was getting off easy in not being able to see just how badly decayed the old hotel was. “Are you going to untie me now?” Cinthya asked, once her eyes had made their sweep of the room and come to rest again on him. “It might be more interesting if I didn’t,” he said, unable to hide his amusement. “Rick! C’mon, cut it out. Untie me. Please?” She added the last with a smile—the wide-eyed one that generally got her anything she wanted from him. But tonight he decided to stay immune to this particular ploy. “Why should I?” he countered, smiling with enough humor to guarantee the pretty blonde’s annoyance. “You had no idea what might have been waiting for you in this dump, did you? But you strolled in anyway. Did it ever occur to you that you could easily get yourself killed?” Despite the joking aspects to his “kidnapping,” Rick was genuinely concerned about how easy it had been to lure her into the set-up. Cinthya recognized the edge in his tone and decided to keep her mouth shut. It was difficult to argue with him when he was right, even more so when she was tied to a chair

at his mercy. “Are you going to let me out of this chair now that you’ve made your point?” Rick seemed to consider the idea, then his grin returned. “What makes you think I’ve made my point?” “What?” His smile took on a wickedness that made Cinthya squirm in her restraints. Dropping to his knees in front of his prize, he placed his hands on her thighs. Her eyes locked on his hands, following them as they glided over the smooth silk of her stockings and disappeared beneath her soft, well-worn denim skirt. “You wouldn’t,” she gasped when Rick’s fingers hooked in the waistband of her pantyhose. He tugged them down to her knees. He’d have to untie her later to finish getting rid of them. “Rick!” “Wouldn’t what?” he asked absently, his hands moving to pull her shirt free of the skirt’s waistband. He opened the buttons of Cinthya’s blouse, then pushed the material aside to reveal an enticing expanse of flawless, smooth skin. Her breasts were barely contained within the low-cut cups of her push-up bra. “You’re not…” Cinthya’s protest ended abruptly when he leaned forward to cover her mouth with another deep, probing kiss. Her tongue flicked at his, and the caress became a hungry demand. She eased forward in an effort to increase the persuasive pressure on his lips. Rick released her for a second and smiled into her eyes. “Let me go. I want to … touch you.” Cinthya stumbled on the words—she always tended to shyness when they tried anything new—but his hypnotic dark eyes drew the truth out of her. Rick claimed her trembling mouth again as his hands tangled in the thick gold of her hair, drawing her into another searing kiss. His body was stirring already, her shaky admission creating an undeniable ache that made him realize just how badly he wanted her touch. He let his hands slip through silky hair, then skim over slender shoulders, baring them completely to his exploring caresses as he pushed her jacket and blouse out of his path. When his fingertips whispered over her lace-encased breasts, he felt the shiver in her lithe muscles. He tugged at the edge of the cups, drawing the material down to free the already taut buds of her nipples, teasing them into fully erect hardness. He finally broke the intense kiss and heard the gasp that escaped her. The gasp that quickly became a shuddering moan when he closed his mouth over one pebbled nipple. Cinthya tugged at the bonds that held her immobile in the chair and twitched in a spasm of reaction when Rick’s teeth bit lightly at the tip of her sensitive nipple. He’s not going to do this to me here, she told herself. Not tied to a chair. That’s a little too weird. But, even as she acknowledged the idea, she felt a perverse thrill of excitement bolt through her at the thought. “Rick?” He drew away from his seductive tormenting and looked up into eyes that had gone soft and drowsy, matching the breathless whisper of her voice. He saw the change in her, the tantalizing intrigue of what she was feeling, and his smile became indolent. He caught her soft lips with his and was rewarded with the eager thrust of Cinthya’s tongue plunging into his mouth. After long minutes, he eased back and watched as her chest

heaved in the effort to breathe evenly. The steady rising and falling motion spilled her lush breasts farther out of the bra, inviting him to slip the clasp and let the garment fall away from her. Cinthya had barely recovered her breath when Rick leaned into her again, his lips finding the sensitive curve of her neck. He could feel the tension building in her shoulders as his tongue traced the hard ridge of her collarbone, then stopped to play over the curve of her throat when she tilted her head back in silent request. Her hands unconsciously knotted into fists as she strained against the restriction, her fingers tingling with the desire to touch Rick. She arched closer to him, encouraging his caresses as her entire body flooded with familiar passion. She shuddered when his large, remarkably gentle hands dropped to her hips and eased them toward him. She slid forward as much as her position would allow, her stomach fluttering in anticipation of his touch. Rick stared into her face, enjoying the softness that always came into her smooth features when they made love. The faint flush of longing that colored her pale skin was evident even in the shadowy candlelight. She shivered, her body caught up in the tide of desire. He settled back on his heels and waited for the huge blue eyes to focus on him. “You seem a little breathless, sweetheart,” he observed with a smug smile. She tried to glare at him, but the expression was more like a plea than a wordless retort. Her body shook from the excitement that clearly coursed through her. “Untie me?” she pleaded. Rick considered the request. He could feel responsive ripples of passion in his own body, but he was far from ready to allow her to see it. After a reflective silence, he nodded. Going down on his knees in front of her, he tugged at the scarves he’d used to tie her ankles. She surprised him when she hooked a leg around his waist and pulled him forward. He complied with the demand, a soft chuckle escaping him before he captured her eager mouth another time. He let his hands slide down her sides then traced the denim waistband to the front and gave the snap a tug. The zipper began to slide down and her hips moved toward his hand. “Getting a bit anxious, Cindi?” he teased, his tongue moving to trace the curve of her ear. “Rick, please.” Cinthya heard the tremor in her voice become more pronounced as Rick’s lips brushed soft kisses over her face. “Relax,” he murmured, his hands sliding into the waist of her skirt. He moved her hips forward so she was hardly touching the chair, then he eased the denim off, his fingers hooking into her underwear and taking them, too. The shock of the cool chair against her bare skin sent another shiver through Cinthya. But, before she could recover completely, Rick had most of her clothes off and was halfway through tying her ankles back to the legs of the chair, this time to the back legs, leaving her thighs spread wide. Her heartbeat doubled when his fingers began a slow, barely perceptible pattern of caressing the full length of her legs, starting at the back of her ankles and gradually moving upward. The room actually did a crazy spin on her when Rick bent his head and started following the path of his roaming hands with his lips.

Cinthya squirmed with renewed urgency as she tried to free herself from the surprisingly strong bonds. Rick’s tongue barely touched the wet folds between her legs, but the feather-like contact created a spasm of reaction in her. She shuddered and gasped, the sound becoming a tiny moan when he repeated the gesture with a slow, lingering sensuality. Then he leaned back to look up into her eyes. “Why…” She wasn’t even sure what it was she wanted to ask as the words got caught in another trembling twitch. His fingers were smoothing gentle touches on the inner part of her thighs. “Because I love you, Cindi,” he answered around a huge smile, supplying his own meaning to the gasped query. She looked down to watch his hand brushing over the dark gold thatch of hair between her thighs, and she tried to thrust into the contact. Frustration played through her when he refused to accommodate her. “Rick? Do you think maybe you could love me a little faster?” The words were expelled like a choked breath of air, and her face warmed with the heat of her embarrassment, as well as her passion. “How fast are you thinking, sweetheart?” His grin was on the verge of dissolving into laughter. His finger finally delving deep into her wet heat effectively cut off any attempt at an answer, and her hips again shifted into his touch. He probed deeper into her and started a slow, gentle rhythm, his own breath becoming noticeably strained when her head fell back and her lips parted with a breathy sigh. Rick stilled the motion of his hand after several minutes of slow, steady stroking, and waited for her dazed eyes to find his in the growing shadows of the ancient hotel room. The candles were burning low and in the soft glow of fading light, Cindi’s hair shone like burnished gold. Blue eyes found his and she stared at him, shaking uncontrollably, her expressive features filled with longing. Rick kissed her lips then lowered his head until he was able to push his tongue into the warmth that had been occupied moments before by his finger. He heard the catch in her already too-fast breathing as he let his tongue glide over the swollen folds, then probe into her again. The erotic torture evoked a desperate moan from her. For a couple of minutes he allowed a tentative rhythm to build, then slowly eased away from her again. “R-R-Rick…” Cinthya’s objection to the withdrawal was lost as another shudder shook her entire body. Rick sat back on his heels and watched the agitation and frustration filter through to her stare as she finally made eye contact with him. He smiled and rose to his feet again, feeling a noticeable weakness in his own legs as his eyes swept over the aroused and very excited form of his lover. “You wouldn’t mind if I fixed a drink, would you, Cindi?” Her mouth opened, but nothing came out except a gasp of air. The look of pure astonishment was priceless, and he was certain he’d never forget it. Taking the lack of verbal objection as an affirmative, Rick moved to one of the old dressers and opened the bottle of whiskey he’d placed there. He poured a generous drink, using the time to get his own body back under control, then he went back to the edge of the bed. He sat and cast an inquiring gaze at her. “Can I get you anything, honey?”

Cinthya groaned and glared at him. She tried again to pull out of the restraints that bound her, but once more she was forced to settle back and wait for him to make the next move. He took a long, appreciative swallow of his whiskey, then got to his feet and strolled toward her. He bent down to kiss her parted lips, letting his tongue linger on her lush bottom one before slipping into her mouth. She sucked his tongue deeper, tasting the hint of whiskey on his lips. Rick held her head cupped in one palm as the breath-stealing caress stretched over several minutes. He withdrew slowly, his eyes still locked with hers. He raised the glass to his lips again and took another drink, his expression thoughtful. Stroking her soft golden hair, he bent close to her ear, his voice barely above a whisper, and said, “Y’know, darling, you’re really lucky I planned this so well. You could have walked into something terrible here and gotten yourself into trouble. You didn’t even have a weapon of any kind in case things did get out of hand. Did you?” “All things, considered, Rick, where do you think I might have hidden it?” She looked down at herself, then back up into his dark eyes. “Maybe I’ll have to do a more thorough search?” She wasn’t listening much to the actual words. Rick’s soft, throaty voice was like a rough caress along her spine, and she closed her eyes as she turned her head toward his. He met the mouth that sought his, then let his lips traveled to the inviting curve of her neck when she arched enticingly. “Let me loose, Rick?” she breathed, her words choked and thick with emotion. “I can’t stand much more of this.” He stepped back and finished off the last of his drink. Once he’d deposited the empty glass on the dresser and returned to her, he dropped to his knees again. The smile on his face was still gentle but with an impish tilt. His fingers skimmed over her knees, then whispered up her thighs. Her head fell back and her breath became a choked gasp when his touch drifted once more into the silky hair at her apex, then dipped lower again to burrow into her wetness. The slick sound of his fingers moving in and out of her only heightened Cinthya’s desire, and she grew even wetter. He continued to caress her, but still wouldn’t allow her to climax. Rick saw the sheen of sweat that filmed Cindi’s curvaceous body. The faint candlelight gave her firm, contoured muscles a shimmering glow. He let his gaze wander over her and felt his breath catch in his throat as he saw her struggle to breathe past her desperate passion. He decided he’d deprived himself of her touch long enough. He withdrew his hand and lowered his head to the weeping heat between her legs. Her hips moved closer to him as he began the rhythm that would give her the release she wanted so badly. Her back arched as he sucked long and hard on her throbbing clitoris. Rick felt her tense as the rush of her release crested within her. A moment later, her delayed orgasm shuddered through her with a violence that left her panting, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she fought to breathe through the exquisite torture. He rested his head on her thigh, trying to calm his own breathing. Then, dropping his hands to her ankles, he untied the silk scarves that bound her. He placed a light kiss on her quivering mouth, then reached around her and gave the bonds on her wrists a tug that freed them.

Her arms slipped around him instantly as she buried her head against his shoulder. Rick eased the blonde head back and kissed the corner of each closed eye, the damp salty taste warm on his lips. “You okay, honey?” He pulled back enough to see the glitter of tears in her dazed blue eyes, and felt a twinge of guilt at his prolonged torment. “C’mon, Cindi.” He stood and held out his hand. Cinthya looked up at him, her chest still aching from the passionate tortures Rick had just inflicted on her. Now slightly irritated, she ignored his outstretched hand and got to her feet. To her embarrassment, her knees gave out and she fell into his arms. Rick laughed softly as she nestled into his neck. The room did a weird tilt on her when he picked her up and headed back into the darkened corridor. “Where are we going?” The words were a rasping whisper, and she snuggled closer into his strong shoulder. “Room 313. You have an appointment to keep, remember?” he teased, his own voice a little rougher than usual. Rick gave the door a light kick and carried her into the room, then headed for the bed. He placed her on the soft mattress and stood back to read her reaction to the surroundings. She stared up at the canopy that hung above them, her eyes widening at the wispy film of artificial cob-webbing that stretched from one end of the huge bed to the other. She could see spiders and bats trapped in the cottony blanket. She grinned at Rick, then let her gaze continue to wander, her eyes growing larger with each discovery. The room was alive with candles, long, graceful tapers of orange and black. She laughed when she saw snowy white ghosts with glow-in-the-dark eyes suspended throughout the room. A huge jack-o-lantern leered at her from the top of a dresser, and bats with ruby eyes peered at her from the corners. She brushed a hand over the cool surface of the bed—silk sheets, rich, blood red against the heavy black velvet of the coverlet. The draperies surrounding the monstrous four-poster were of the same luxurious velvet, again in midnight black. She sat in the center of the bed and laughed in sheer delight. On the bedside table was a large crystal and silver bucket held between two hands. Nestled inside the ice-laden container was a bottle of champagne. Black-stemmed flutes stood next to the ornate bucket. “When did you do all this?” Cinthya asked, lifting the bedding so she could snuggle between the silk sheets. She shivered and let out a sigh of pleasure at the cool touch of the material on her bare skin. “The past couple of days,” Rick said with a grin. He began peeling off his own clothes, slowly, as she watched his every movement with eager eyes. The undisguised appreciation in her gaze created a shiver of anticipation in Rick and he felt his stomach tense as he approached her. “I like your idea of Halloween parties,” she murmured as she slid over to the edge of the bed. Rick was standing beside her, working on the champagne cork, and she reached out to give his semi-erect cock a caress. The gasp her touch evoked pleased her, and she closed her fingers around the responsive shaft, feeling it become rigid and ready in her hand. Rick set the bottle of sparkling wine back into the ice and turned to the bed. He raked his fingers through her tousled blonde hair as she stroked him gently. His knees trembled

when she leaned forward and guided the straining shaft into her mouth. “Cinthya?” She released him and let her tongue tease over Rick’s balls, flicking lightly when his breath became quick and shaky. His hands tangled in her hair as her mouth slid over him again. She shifted into a more comfortable position on the edge of the bed, closed her eyes, and glided her tongue over Rick’s erection, each stroking caress getting another shiver of response from him. His hold on her tightened and she felt the careful thrust of his hips. She complied with the request, and drew him deeper into her mouth, slowly increasing the pressure of her sucking. As his release rushed over him, more quickly than he would have anticipated, Rick realized her torment had done its share to keep him in a state of arousal, too. He shuddered into his climax, choking with the desperate need for breath that eluded him. His legs felt as if they were going to buckle, and he leaned forward to grip the edge of the bed. Cinthya ran her hands through the fall of fine, dark brown hair that obscured Rick’s face, and kissed his forehead as she pulled him onto the bed. She lay back on the silk sheets and stroked his hair and shoulders as he stretched out beside her, resting his head in the center of her chest. They stayed that way for a long time. Rick stirred first, raising his head to look into the soft blue of her eyes. She was watching him, her face lit by a gentle smile. “You seemed a little breathless,” she observed with an innocent mischief that never failed to charm him. He grinned, his expression rapidly taking some of the smugness out of her smirk. He moved higher in the bed, then leaned over her, catching both her hands in a loose grip and holding them above her head. “Look around you, honey. This bed has four posts. That could be interesting, don’t you think?” She shook her head and broke the light hold as she squirmed away from her lover and put a couple of feet between them. “No way!” she protested wholeheartedly. “I’m not going through that again.” Rick feigned a hurt expression. “I thought it was fun,” he said, the pretend hurt fading into genuine amusement again. She laughed, still managing to stay out of his grasp. “When did you start getting into this kinky shit?” She backed up a little on the silky sheets and found her back had just met the solid resistance of the headboard. Rick’s grin set her heart racing as she wondered how quickly she could escape the room. “Kinky?” Rick considered the concept as he inched toward her, enjoying the wariness in her wide eyes as she tried to maintain a distance that was closing quickly. He made a lunge for her and had her enfolded in an embrace as he rolled with her. She ended up straddled across his hips, staring down at him. “Maybe I should tie you up and see how you like it?” she suggested. His eyebrows rose in speculative interest. “If you think you can manage it, Cindi…” The challenge was obvious, but she knew better. She started to slide off him and ended up yelping in surprise when he caught her around the waist and reversed their positions. Rick had her hands trapped and he eased them outward toward the posts at the head of the huge bed. She started squirming in earnest, and Rick laughed as the futility of her protest began

to dawn on her. He shifted his hold, and his laughter became more wholehearted when she stared up at him, blue eyes filled with humor and love. “You wouldn’t really do it?” He didn’t miss the note of entreaty in the whispered words and he shook his head, giving in with what he knew was probably suspicious ease. He saw the faint caginess come into her gaze, and he watched as she relaxed beneath him and began to run light caresses over his forearms where they still held her shoulders in a loose grip. “I’m hungry,” she murmured, her tone soft. She glanced around at the elaborately decorated room and her grin widened. “This really is great.” “Watching you in that chair made it more than worthwhile,” Rick noted, thoroughly enjoying the slow spread of scarlet on her features. He released her and slid over to the edge of the bed. He picked up the previously discarded champagne bottle, popped the cork, and poured two glasses. He handed one to her, then reached down to open the door of the bedside table. Her eyes lit up when he handed her the chilled bowl of fruit salad. She settled into a cross-legged seat, placed the bowl in front of her, and promptly plucked a large strawberry from the center of the tempting array of fresh fruit. She decided Rick was forgiven for the bondage routine. “If this is what you do for Halloween, Christmas is going to be wonderful this year!” she remarked, once he’d settled on the bed in front of her. “And what makes you think you’ll get me to go through this much trouble for you a second time in the same year?” he teased, selecting some of the fruit himself. She plucked the grape from his fingers and leaned over to feed it to him. “Because you love me,” she whispered, popping the grape into his mouth. “We’ll talk, sweetheart.” “The only thing you missed was a fog around the floor.” She grinned as she again let her gaze wander over the room. “I can’t stand the smell of dry ice,” he said, turning her face back to his. “I do love you.” He eased her toward him until their lips met and her arms went around him with natural intimacy. Rick could taste the faint hint of strawberries on her tongue as he melted into the kiss. He drew back after a few minutes and he set the bowl of fruit on the table next to the champagne. He pulled back the sheets and settled on the bed next to her, shivering when she draped one long, shapely leg over his hip and arched into his embrace. It was only a second later when she shifted in his arms and said, “We’re not gonna really sleep here, are we?” Rick glanced around at the decorations and renovations that had taken a sizeable chunk out of his gold card. “I don’t see why not. It’s got all the comforts of home. Except, of course, for a television set. Now you can’t watch any more of your spooky shows.” She yawned and nestled closer. “I think I saw all the horror movies I wanted to see last night.” Another yawn, and she turned onto her back, pulling him over on top of her. “Besides, who says we need to sleep anyway?” “You got better ideas?” “You up to it?” “Oh, you have no idea, darling.” Rick grinned down at her, his eyes lit with an

orange glow of reflected candle light. She watched the deep creases awakened around both eyes with the expression. Rick’s features were softened by the gentle lighting. She couldn’t quite suppress the fleeting moment of melancholy as she realized how much she truly loved this man and how often she feared she would lose him. His well-loved face clouded, then concern moved instantly into his dark brown eyes. “You all right?” he asked. She shook herself out of the brooding moment, and pulled him down and into a long, soul-searing kiss. It lasted long enough for both of them to be gasping slightly when they broke contact. He searched her face for just a moment to reassure himself. He straddled her supple body, settling down over her hips. His hands ran the length of her arms, drawing them up over her head in a slow, lazy stretch. He was clearly enjoying both the sensation of his own elastic muscles and the sight of the curvaceous, sinfully sexy body stretched out beneath him. “Remember how I told you this bed had four posts?” The mischievous glint was back in his eyes, and she stirred out of her drowsiness long enough to begin to get suspicious. Too late. She felt, rather than heard, the click of metal on one wrist before she could even begin to react. The second wrist was cuffed to the other bed post in nearly the same, fluid motion. That’s it, she thought, Rick wasn’t going on any more overseas assignments. This was just too fucking weird. It was Japan, she knew it. Rick had been there less than a month ago and she had heard all kinds of stories… Her thoughts were interrupted as he sat up across her hips and smiled. In his best Saturday matinee growl, Rick intoned, “Friday the Thirteenth, Part II.” “Rick, you don’t even look the part. Besides, it’s just not scary with you doing it.” “Oh, don’t worry, honey.” His grin became satisfyingly manic. “I’ll see that it’s scary. The power tools are under the bed.” “Yeah, right!” Cinthya snorted, not the least impressed with the empty threat. She relaxed and tried to appear bored and disinterested, a bit difficult in her vulnerable position. Rick settled back on his heels and remained silent, his eyes locked intently with hers. She waited certain he’d make some kind of move before long. Minutes passed in total silence, and his expression didn’t change in the slightest, his eyes never left hers. She began to stir beneath him, growing restless as she maintained the unflinching stare. Rick’s eyes seemed to change in the flickering light, losing the loving warmth she was so familiar with, to be replaced by a mildly disturbing blankness. “Rick?” She tried to keep her tone steady, but there was an overt thread of uneasiness in the word. He didn’t move or respond, and she shivered when she realized she hadn’t even seen him blink for the past five minutes. His eyes opened a little wider, giving him a slightly demented look, and he turned his head a little but continued to hold her stare. The shift in position revealed more white to his eyes and she felt a tiny flutter begin in her stomach. The prolonged silence and the growing intensity of Rick’s look was beginning to get to her despite her knowing he was only teasing her. “C’mon, enough already. You haven’t got power tools under the bed and you’re not

scaring me…” She stopped speaking abruptly when Rick lunged off the bed and she heard the sound of something creaking above her. Her gaze flew upward and a choked scream escaped her when the cob-webbing rippled and a heavy black bat slipped through a tear in the fine material and landed on her chest with a dull thump. Shit! She shuddered at the feel of the thing, cool and leathery against her skin. She thought the damn things were plastic. “Rick!” Another reactive yelp of surprise came from her when he leaned over her, his face inches from hers, his expression wild with feigned craziness. He scooped up the bat and promptly bit into it. Then his face split into a huge, very familiar grin as he dropped back onto the bed. He held out the bat and offered her a bite. “Licorice,” he laughed when she made a repulsed face at him. “I thought you liked it?” Her heartbeat was still erratic and loud in her ears as she glowered at him in impotent fury. She was equally enraged at her own response to the teasing, mostly because she should have seen it coming. Rick’s laughter earned him another pointed glare, and she did her best to keep the expression firmly in place when he tossed aside the candy bat and crawled back over her hips to stare down at her. “That was pretty fuckin’ stupid!” Cinthya finally snapped when he placed a hand on either side of her and leaned forward. “Yeah, it was,” he agreed with a smug smirk. “But you did react so beautifully.” “Get off me!” she demanded, yanking at one of the restraints that held her. She looked back at Rick, her face reflecting all the anger she was suddenly feeling. “And get these damn things off me while you’re at it.” He considered the request for a few seconds, then shook his head. “No. I think I like you like this—pissed off and mouthy. Makes your eyes light up.” He ran his hands across her midriff until he was cupping her soft breasts in gentle hands. “Fuck you, Cudahee,” she retorted, her anger going up another notch at the prolonged teasing. “We’re getting to that, I promise,” he murmured, bending over to place a light kiss in the center of her chest. His tongue trailed across to one nipple and flicked at the hard tip for several seconds before he nipped at it with his teeth. His hands glided down her sides to brush over the curving ridge of hipbones. He could feel the faint tremor of reaction in her body, the response natural despite her irritation. He reached for the glass of champagne he’d left on the night table. “Are you having a good time, Cindi?” he asked, his smile lazy and amused. He sipped at the chilled champagne and waited for her to stop glaring at him. He could see the softening in her stunning sapphire eyes already. “Yeah, this is great,” she said, giving in with a resigned sigh. She knew better than to think she could stay mad once Rick really started to make love to her. His reputation for being a ladies’ man was well-earned, and he had shown Cindi the brightest part of heaven more than once in their time together. She adored him. “This would be a whole lot more fun if I could do more than lie here.” Her complaint was cut off quickly when Rick slid back on her thighs and bent to trickle warmed champagne from his mouth into the hollow of her hip. She twitched in response when he ran his tongue through the tiny pool of liquid. She watched in fascination when he took a

long swallow of the cold wine and set the glass aside, then she gasped loudly when he bent and sucked one ripe nipple into his mouth. The lingering chill of the champagne was startling against the heat of her flesh. The trapped bud reacted instantly, hardening in Rick’s mouth as another surge of pleasure bolted through her. Cinthya closed her eyes and let herself experience the sensation of Rick’s mouth growing steadily warmer. She sighed softly when he slid up to settle over her. Her legs tangled with his as she pulled him closer the only way she was able to. “Let me go, Rick, please?” She murmured the words into his mouth when he was about to cover her lips, and he drew back for a moment to look closely at her. She could feel the hardness of his erection against her thigh and she wanted desperately to touch him. Rick leaned on his elbows and let his gaze drink in the image before him. The candles were flickering soft, shivering touches of illumination, the muted light catching the glow of gold in her fair hair. Pale skin looked like buffed ivory against the background of ruby red silk and shimmering black velvet. Ocean blue eyes softened at the intensity of his expression, and he brushed a lock of blonde hair aside to kiss first her forehead, then her lips in a gentle caress. “I love you, Cindi,” he breathed, voice soft and throaty with the depth of emotion he felt for the woman in his arms. “Make love to me,” she whispered, straining to touch his lips as she made the request. She smiled when his tongue ran across her mouth in a teasing caress. She moved to put her arms around him, temporarily forgetting the restraints that held her hands. The pull of the handcuffs on her wrists made her wince and she gasped as one of the metal bracelets scraped her skin. “You okay?” Rick whispered into her mouth. “That hurt,” she admitted softly, the hint of an idea coming into her mind as she stared up into the genuine concern of his dark eyes. She shifted her position slightly and felt another twinge of pain run along her arms. “Let me go, please?” Rick moved instantly, snapping open the metal cuffs. He hadn’t bothered to lock the things, fully intending to release her anyway. He hated the idea that she’d been caused even a tiny amount of pain by the antic. When he had both arms free, he was suddenly surprised by the twist in her body. She had him pinned effectively seconds later, and Rick couldn’t miss the triumphant grin on her stunning features. “Gotcha!” “You little shit!” he laughed. She was beyond caring as she began to caress the solid, curving muscles of Rick’s chest. She shivered at her own reaction to the sensation of touching him, and sighed with the realization of how much she truly loved the feel of his body. There was strength and power in the tall, well-built form, and she knew it was no illusion. She knew the taste and feel of every inch of Rick, the exact location of the few scars that marred otherwise smooth skin, and it never ceased to amaze her that her touch could send tremors through him that left him breathless and shaking in her arms. “I love you,” she whispered, then bent her head to his mouth before he could answer. The sudden thrust of his tongue was all the answer she required and she entwined her tongue with his as their kiss deepened. Her hands began moving again, seeking lower to find the straining hardness of Rick’s cock. She felt the gasp in her mouth when her

fingers curled around the rigid shaft and began to stroke slowly. She broke their kiss and her lips immediately closed over the sensitive hollow of his throat, her tongue playing in the smooth curve, enjoying the feel of his soft gasps as her hand moved with greater demand. Rick’s hips rose to answer the easy rhythm of her strokes, and he moaned low in his throat when her mouth trekked after her hands and closed over him. Delicate fingers slipped between his thighs and cupped his balls in a gentle massage, and he thrust into the warm mouth that covered him. He felt the betraying swell of his release beginning, and took a deep breath, then carefully eased her away from him. He was gasping and it took him a couple of minutes to get his breath back. She leaned over him, grin smug and much too cheerful. Rick laughed at the expression and pulled her back to him, shivering again when she met his kiss with an excited hunger that left him searching for breath once more. She shifted to the side and took Rick with her as she rolled onto her back and tangled her legs around his. He thrust his tongue into her mouth and arched into her body with an urgent demand. His mouth released her and he pulled back to kneel between her spread legs. “Pull your knees up, Cindi,” he said, his naturally rough voice now like gravel when he spoke. He moved in closer and braced his thighs against the back of hers then he lifted her hips and slid into the tight, familiar warmth, quickly finding a slow, tantalizing rhythm of movement. She saw the ripple of total rapture that crossed Rick’s face when he moved deeper into her, and she watched in wonder at the shudders that shook him. He leaned in closer, and her spine curved in response to give him freer movement and easier access to her. Another thrust sent him fully into her and she moaned softly as her head fell back and their rhythms blended into a smooth flow of shared motion. Her body tensed minutes later as her orgasm spasmed through her, her hands still gripping Rick’s solid shoulders. The shuddering climax tightened every muscle in her body and he moaned loudly as his own release poured over him in answer to hers. The tremors continued to pulse through him as he spilled into her and she collapsed back against the pillows. She watched the slow relaxation of his features. It was hardly the first time she’d seen his face as they made love, but it still thrilled her to the core of her being to witness his expressive face softened with so much pleasure that she felt a flutter of renewed excitement in her stomach. Rick pulled his arms from under her legs, but he left her limbs draped on either side of him. Her own breath was easing slowly and she let her eyes close as she fought for control of her heartbeat. A small, almost choked cry escaped her a few minutes later when Rick slipped free of her. She opened her eyes and watched him crawl up beside her and, with a heavy sigh, stretch his body the length of hers. She curled into his arms. “Does the shower work?” she asked a short while later. She felt sticky with sweat and the results of their lovemaking. “No, but you’re gonna love the bathtub,” he murmured in her ear, then kissed her cheek before claiming the slightly parted lips in a loving caress. “C’mon,” he directed, getting out of the bed. Rick hadn’t been kidding. The bathtub was ancient, one of the huge, deep things with

clawed feet at the base of it. He went to it and gave the knob a twist. It was already partially filled with lukewarm water, and it didn’t take long for steam and bubbles to rise as hot water poured in a steady stream, with only mild objections from the long unused pipes. When the tub was full, he held out his hand and she stepped into the foamy warmth. He joined her and they settled at either end to stare at each other with matching expressions of bliss. “We forgot the champagne!” she said. Cinthya started to object when he rose and stepped out of the tub, but he cut her off with a firm kiss. She laughed as she watched him walk back into the room, bubbles clinging to his back and sliding down over his butt. He was back in seconds, fresh glasses of sparkling champagne in hand. He passed one to her and climbed back into the tub. “Happy Halloween, honey,” Rick said. “This really is so much nicer than “scary shit,” wouldn’t you say?” “Yeah, but I could do without the bondage bit,” she tossed back with a grin. “Maybe you could,” he teased, “But I wouldn’t have missed it for anything!” “You’re sick, Rick.” “But you love me.” “But I love you.” Rick finished the glass of champagne in a long swallow and smiled at her. “I’m tired, honey. I think I’m going back to bed. You coming, or do you want to ant to stay here for awhile?” Cinthya nestled deeper into the warm water and shook her head. “I’m gonna soak for about an hour. This feels wonderful. Almost as good as you,” she added with a quirky smile. He nodded, got up again, and reached for one of the plush black bath towels that had been placed in the room. He was conscious of her heated gaze watching his every movement as he dried off and tossed the towel onto the vanity. The fire in her eyes when he glanced down at her almost made him haul her out of the tub, but he figured it could wait until later. He bent to kiss her, completely unsurprised by the hunger he felt in the caress as her tongue invaded his mouth to probe deeply. “I’ll be in bed when you’re ready, Cindi,” he whispered. “Rick?” He was almost out of the room and paused to look back. “Where’d you get the idea for this?” “Why?” He leaned on the doorframe, smiling. Cinthya peered at him, then shrugged. “I just had the feeling there was something familiar about the whole setup.” “Did you?” His laughter was genuine, and he shook his head as he tried to stop chuckling in response to her annoyed glare. “Well?” “Your old man would shoot me if he heard this conversation,” Rick said, relenting. “He did something a little bit like this to your mother, a lot of years ago. Since I can’t imagine he’d ever tell you about it, my best guess is you heard them talking at some point.” “Maybe that’s why she divorced him.”

The effect of her glower was lost on him—he merely grinned, then continued out of the room. **** Rick hadn’t been in bed long when he felt the breathy whisper of a caress along his spine. He smiled into his pillow and waited to see how adventurous she was willing to get. He was fully expecting her to make an attempt at retaliation for the handcuffs and the incident in the chair. The silk sheets rustled at his waist and he shivered as another cool breath touched the curving hollow there. He turned his head to look at her and was startled into complete awareness when he discovered she wasn’t in the room with him. He heard the soft sounds of water from the bathroom and realized Cindi was still in the tub. Against his will, he looked around the room, shivering slightly. It was exactly as it had been all night. He shrugged it off as a trick of the wind; these old buildings were filled with weird drafts and odd noises—his precise reason for picking the place when he first planned this little rendezvous. It had atmosphere. The second time he felt a touch stir him from his light sleep, he felt the solid weight of his lover beside him and he turned into her arms. His mouth found the lips that were seeking his and he sighed into the caress as she arched into him, molding their bodies together. When the kiss ended long minutes later, he rolled onto his back and she snuggled into his neck, one arm draped lazily across his waist. Rick was almost asleep again when he felt her stir, then rise. Then he heard the creak of the door swinging inward on rusted hinges. He opened his eyes just in time to see the grin spreading over Cindi’s face. “Hey, that’s cool,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “I thought you said you didn’t like dry ice.” Rick followed her line of vision and saw what had put the animation in her expression. A fog-like mist curled around the floor, swirling indolently in a faint breeze that was making the candles sputter. His eyes opened a little wider and he sat up, taking her with him. A tiny shiver of uneasiness worked its way up his spine. He turned serious eyes to her. “I didn’t have anything to do with this,” he told her. She snorted in disbelief. “Yeah, right.” She pulled up the covers and started to settle into the bed. Rick yanked the sheets back and stared at her. “I didn’t do this, Cinthya. Do you smell dry ice?” She sniffed the air and realized there was no odor she could detect. Then she looked closely at Rick’s still features. “This place is supposed to be haunted,” she murmured, her gaze darting back to the shifting fog that was growing thicker in the room. There was a distinct chilliness in the room now, something that hadn’t been noticeable just minutes earlier. “You don’t really think…?” “Can’t be,” Rick agreed, pretending he didn’t feel his own twitch of fright at the strangeness. He looked into her huge eyes for several seconds, then they nodded in unison. “Time to go home. C’mon, honey.” He was already reaching for his clothes when he realized she wasn’t moving. “In case you’ve forgotten, Rick, my clothes are still in the other room you dragged

me into,” she reminded him. “And I’m sure as hell not walking out of here completely naked.” “Wait here, I’ll go get them.” He made a second attempt to pick up his own things. Her arm jerked him back before he could scoop up the discarded pile of clothes. “You’re not leaving me here with that!” she snapped, eyeing the mist with growing suspicion. He actually managed to laugh at the declaration, and she glared at him. He shivered when he reached down for his pants and the foggy mist closed around his hand and wrist. The touch was cool and cloying, creating a tiny shudder of revulsion in him despite his not really believing it was more than some kind of elaborate illusion. Probably the idiots I hired to set this up in the first place, he bitched silently. However, that thought didn’t keep him from donning his clothes and tossing her his jacket and shirt. “Get up, honey, we’re leaving,” he stated firmly. “We’ll stop for your clothes on the way out.” He ignored the furious look she flung at him and pulled his .45 from the drawer in the bed stand. The clean-up team would take care of the rest of the stuff. When she hadn’t moved off the bed and continued to eye the thickening fog with open dread, Rick leaned over and scooped her up. He carried her out of the room the same way he’d brought her in. They were out of the hotel less than ten minutes later, both breathing easier when they were inside Rick’s Jaguar and heading for their apartment. **** The pounding at the door finally dragged Cinthya from bed for the second time that morning, and she stumbled down the hallway as she ran a hand through her tangled hair. Rick had left a couple of hours earlier, after a rather satisfying start to the day, and she hadn’t missed the opportunity to snatch some extra sleep. She couldn’t figure out who’d be at the door on a Sunday morning. “Yes? What do you want?” she mumbled, once she’d pulled the door open and was gazing at two men, one of them carrying a large box. “Rick told us to drop this stuff off,” the one with the box said. “You’re supposed to pay us.” She had a vague recollection of Rick telling her something about an envelope on the desk, and she left them to go in search of the thing. She found it and was back a minute later. “Are you Eric Damon?” she asked, reading the name on the envelope. “Yeah, and I think this is yours,” Eric replied, handing over the box. Cinthya closed the door after them, locked it again, and went as far as the dining room with the box before she decided to look inside. Her face turned scarlet when she reached in it and picked up the handcuffs sitting on top of the red silk sheets and black velvet from the hotel the previous night. Rick’s clean up crew—what the hell had they thought of this stuff? “I’ll kill him,” she fumed, feeling her face grow even warmer when she realized the two men had probably been responsible for setting up the night as well. Her hands clutched at the handcuffs for several minutes, then an idea began to form. A slow smile spread across her face, and she laughed with delighted wickedness as she began to plot her revenge…

Perdition Egypt 331 B.C. The House of Cambyses was shrouded in uncertainty as both servants and nobility awaited news of the arrival of the first son born to the new rulers of Egypt. The political alliance had been made the previous year, at the end of the Persian Dynasty. The marriage of the former Pharaoh’s daughter had caused equal parts dismay and relief. It was a gesture of faith, and all knew that had she a choice, the girl would never have accepted her present role. But, the King of Macedonia had taken firm hold of Egypt and in deference to that man’s new status, the first-born son of former royalty would carry Alexander’s name as a tribute. **** Heliopolis 315 B.C. Alexander tossed fitfully on his bed. He was vaguely aware of the need to escape his dreams, but somehow he was unable to tear his mind from the vision offered to him. A hazy sense of danger tugged at his consciousness, then vanished as the girl’s familiar, angelic face came into view. She came to him often in this manner, both siren and saint. Tonight, she was an angel… Alexander slipped willingly into peaceful slumber, and allowed the dream to show him a glorious purpose. **** Five Years Later The Temple of Ra was filled with worshippers for the first time in a great number of months. This, the most ancient of the many religions that dominated the history of Egypt, was not the faith of choice within the present nobility. Other lesser cults were in favor. Still, in this historic city, the greatest of the Temples dedicated to the Sun-God, Ra reigned supreme. The young priest who watched stared in respectful benevolence as the gathered devotees offered tribute to the Holiest of the Gods. He’d been initiated only a few years, yet he had already risen in power and influence within the Temple. Ptolemy was mounting a war against the present rulers, and the people were once again living in terror. Inside this tranquil, palatial sanctuary, there was the elusive promise of salvation and redemption. He heard the whisper of an acolyte’s approach and turned to stare at the youth. This boy was new to their inner circle, and had brought great wealth to the Temple in exchange for anonymity. Wide, dark eyes glanced off his, then gazed downward in the expected gesture of humility. “What is it, boy?” he enquired in a voice barely above a whisper.

“Vanessa has arrived,” the young man informed him. “She has been escorted to your private chambers.” He nodded, placed a gentle hand on the youth’s slender shoulder, then turned from the low chants that were slowly filling the sanctuary. **** “Alexander, I was beginning to think you had changed your mind.” The laughing voice greeted the priest as he stepped into the solemn chambers which his position within the Temple had accorded him. He smiled, the shift in expression easing somber features into a radiance that would have charmed any woman he chose, had that been his intention. “You have arrived early,” the tall, fair-haired priest replied quietly. The swish of his robes was the only discernible sound as he poured wine for his guest, then joined the girl. He handed his visitor a gleaming gold goblet and watched with curious eyes as the young woman hardly tasted of the rich wine. One arched eyebrow rose in speculative wonder, but he made no comment. Instead, he took a seat at the table which served to hold countless parchments and scrolls. Alexander never tired of the rich beauty of the illuminated manuscripts and the vast history they revealed to him. “Do you wish to begin our lessons?” The irony, and the near impudence, in Vanessa’s voice drew a sharp look from the priest. She laughed softly and went to sit opposite the blue-eyed elder she had chosen many years earlier. “Why do you wish to learn our history?” Alexander asked. “You are wealthy, and Greek. What can this mean to you?” Vanessa grew serious, and she leaned forward in his gold-trimmed chair. For endless moments, dark blue eyes met pale sapphire, then she touched Alexander’s hand. Only the most fleeting contact was made, yet the intensity of the brush was unmistakable. Alexander moved his hand away. “Perhaps we have things to teach each other?” Vanessa suggested and casually leaned back to watch the effect her words would have on the older man. Alexander weighed the decree, wondered what this mere woman thought she could offer him in exchange for his teachings. It seemed an absurd proposal to a priest of Ra that a girl barely into her womanhood would possess such arrogance that she thought herself more worldly than her elders. But Vanessa was Greek, and her family’s wealth was great—so it was rumored. The priest considered his guest, letting his gaze wander over the fair features. Vanessa accepted his scrutiny without apparent notice. The girl was beautiful, Alexander conceded. Golden blond hair crowned a proud and noble head, deep blue eyes were a reflection of the Mediterranean itself. There was something vaguely cruel in the smooth curve of Vanessa’s generous mouth and the taint of depravity was subtly hidden by charm and laughter. Yet, it was there. Something was disconcertingly familiar about her manner and her presence. The girl was slender, appeared little more than a girl on the verge of becoming a woman, but her manner spoke of a spirit much older. One who had seen things Alexander could not comprehend despite his extensive education and elite background. The inconsistencies of this girl’s personality were a curiosity and a mystery that begged to be explored and explained. “Are you reconsidering our arrangement, Alexander?” Vanessa smiled smugly. “Or

choosing a place to begin?” Alexander’s eyebrow rose at the faint challenge. He smiled without warmth. “Perhaps we should begin with a lesson in humility?” he suggested sardonically. “Then I would fail miserably,” Vanessa assured him. “So why don’t we go to another?” Another silence, this one less contemplative, filled the space between them for several moments. Then, decision made, Alexander nodded and selected a scroll from those littering the tabletop. **** The sun warmed his skin and his spirit as Alexander strolled the tranquil, immaculately groomed Temple gardens. All around him there was a profusion of life, and the scents of the quiet grounds barely registered within his consciousness. The brilliance of the morning light blinded him as he attempted a glance upward. He winced and quickly dropped his gaze to the ground. The night had been extremely long. Vanessa was a demanding and insolent pupil, yet her ability to absorb the most complex teachings was eerie. The priest had wondered more and more frequently if it was he, and not the Greek beauty, who was the true student. The girl’s knowledge was much broader in range than Alexander had suspected. He sighed and sat on one of the marble benches that were scattered throughout the garden. Many of the priests sought the peace and tranquility of this haven, and Alexander had spent many hours here. For the first time, it failed to soothe the ache and confusion that filled him. He was becoming discontent and could not understand why. The dreams that had been with him for so many years remained, but somehow they had changed. In recent months, the face of the girl/angel had become blurred, and he was no longer sure what had ever drawn him into the Temple. A vague, shadowy promise hovered on the edge of his consciousness, but he was unable to reach it and make it clear. **** “This is redundant, Alexander,” Vanessa complained and rose from her seat to pace the spacious splendor of the Temple’s central area of worship. It was late, only a couple of hours away from dawn’s first light, and they had been studying the same material for several hours. Vanessa was bored. “You were the one who wished to learn this history,” the priest reminded his pupil softly. He didn’t entirely object to the break, only the reason for it. It had been an exceptionally long day. Vanessa turned and began to recite in a dull, faintly contemptuous tone: “Ra, the sun, ruler of Earth. Had four children who became the principal deities of your culture. They were the gods Shu and Geb, and the goddesses Tefnut and Nut. Each became a part of the world as we know it. Shu and Tefnut are the atmosphere, Geb has become the earth we walk, and Nut is the sky above us.” She paused for a moment, smiled thinly at the surprise Alexander wasn’t able to fully conceal, then enquired icily. “Am I correct so far, priest?” “Continue,” Alexander ordered, genuinely intrigued by the accuracy of his student’s recital. He had doubted the attention Vanessa was giving the teachings.

Vanessa shrugged off her annoyance, and indulged her would-be mentor. “Geb and Nut eventually had two sons, Set and Osiris, as well as two daughters, Isis and Nephthys.” She paused, then allowed the first sincere interest to surface to her expressive features. “Do you ever wonder about the cult of Osiris? Do you sometimes wish you served the son, and not the father?” Alexander was startled by the enquiry, but paused to give it thought before answering. He eventually shook his head. “The cult of Osiris is like so many others, Vanessa. It will fade into dust. The Temples of Ra have stood for thousands of years.” “Does the darkness frighten you, priest?” She asked with a laugh. “Do you fear that which cannot be illuminated by your Sun-God?” “Ra chose his son to succeed him as god of this earth, Vanessa.” “That’s not an answer, Alexander.” The priest declined further comment. Both knew Vanessa’s observation was simple truth. **** 304 B.C. “You’ve heard the news, of course?” Vanessa said quietly as she watched Alexander’s careful hand at work on a papyrus scroll. “What news might that be?” His voice was distracted, his concentration divided. He’d actually forgotten that Vanessa would be present this evening. “Ptolemy has succeeded in establishing his new government,” Vanessa replied impatiently. “Don’t you deem anything outside this Temple worthy of your notice, Alexander?” Alexander smiled and set aside his task, then turned to gaze at his visitor. “Why do you continue to seek my teachings, Vanessa?” he questioned softly. “You mock my beliefs, yet you can recite the histories more accurately than my best students. You understand the enneads, you can structure the gods hierarchy, but it means nothing to you.” “The favored god of our new ruler is Osiris,” Vanessa began cautiously. “If he proclaims this the official religion, what will you do? Your Temple is already diminished, its wealth nearly gone.” Alexander shrugged. It was a question he had no answer for—and one he had considered repeatedly to no avail. “Would you be willing to travel with me, Alexander?” The query seemed to come from nowhere, and the priest laughed. “I am serious, priest,” Vanessa grinned. “I enjoy your company, even when you are being tedious. I’ve lingered here long enough.” “Where do you wish to go?” To his astonishment, Alexander discovered he was, indeed, considering the request. “Nubia, Palistine, perhaps a lengthy stay in Alexandria. I feel in need of some culture,” the young woman finished with a broad smile. She turned speculative and thoughtful. “Alexandria, I think,” she murmured. “There’s a great deal we can learn there.” Alexander’s expressive eyebrow arched. He made no comment.

**** Alexandria 299 B.C. “I prefer to study The Book Of The Dead, Alexander,” Vanessa complained and tossed aside the scroll she’d been reading at the priest’s request. “The Book Of The Dead is not what you came to me to understand,” Alexander pointed out. His voice lacked conviction, and he felt an increasingly familiar unease settle within him. “How many Ra worshippers have you encountered here, priest?” Vanessa inquired, her tone sardonic, taunting with her knowledge of the truth Alexander would never willingly voice. As expected, the priest refused to comment. He rose and left his pupil. Vanessa smiled in satisfaction. She’d waited long enough, she decided suddenly. Alexander had been her companion for several years, and during that time Vanessa had watched the other man grow increasingly distant. His faith was wearing thin, and the vulnerability was intoxicating. “Sleep, Alexander,” Vanessa murmured to the silent room. Her smile was pure, iniquitous delight. **** Alexander tossed fitfully, his mind a world away from the reality he was living. His frustration bled into his dreams, and he raged in a dark and endless void. The abyss of nothingness mocked him, and he screamed his fury into the blackness. The echo of his cry laughed back at him and filled him with despair. “Alexander?” He knew the voice. It had been many years since he’d heard it, but he recognized the soft resonances instantly. He turned toward the soothing tone, and reached out. A light grew, and he was able to discern the shape of a youthful form approaching him. Everything about the glowing figure was familiar and reassuring. For the first time in too long, Alexander felt an old peace blossom to balm his battered spirit. “Where have you been?” “Waiting for you to see me,” the girl replied gently. Alexander said nothing. He waited. And the girl drew closer. When the radiance grew too overwhelming, the priest closed his eyes and felt tears slowly trail along his cheeks. Emotion wrapped him in a turmoil of warmth and fear. When the touch of a hand brushing aside his tears roused him from his internal struggle, he opened his eyes and stared. “You wish to be an angel, don’t you, Alexander?” The priest nodded, dumbfounded. So much now made sense to him. “I can give you what you wish, Alexander,” the child/woman crooned with an unearthly smile. “But you must trust me.” “I do,” the priest vowed. “You must obey without question, and I will grant what you wish,” the pale figure assured him. “I will make you an angel. And you will be worshipped as you deserve.” The light grew again in intensity until the priest was certain he would be blinded by

it. Then, abruptly, there was only darkness. **** He woke with a startled gasp, and was immediately conscious of another presence in his chambers. When he would have lit a candle, a hand on his wrist prevented the action. “It’s only me, Alexander,” Vanessa laughed quietly. Alexander felt the chill of an icy finger caress his spine as he listened to the soft, mocking sound. He should have recognized it, yet somehow he hadn’t. The girl in the dream, the child who promised him eternity and Holy purpose—it was Vanessa. Silence settled within the darkened room, and Alexander heard nothing but the sound of his own erratic breaths. His mind was filled with confusion and uncertainty, and he knew despite his blindness that Vanessa was smiling in mocking amusement. “You’ve finally recognized me, haven’t you, priest?” The tone was sardonic, indolent with satisfaction. “Why…?” Alexander hesitated, searched for words that would not be found. Indeed, what was it he wanted to ask of this woman/child who had haunted his entire life in some fashion? “You have a greater purpose than this, Alexander,” the girl assured him. “Your fate goes far beyond this fleeting mortality you currently possess. You teach about the Ka, yet you fear the judgment that awaits you in the court of Osiris. What if you never have to face that challenge? I can ensure you live forever, Alexander.” The priest heard the words, was lulled by the hypnotic softness of his young pupil’s voice. And he believed, in spite of the wrongness of it. Vanessa spoke truth. He did fear the demon assistants who presided in the court of Osiris. If their judgment of his life was not favorable, he would be denied the heavenly realm of Yaru. He would be given to the executioners, condemned to whatever damnations the demons desired. Yes, he feared what his life would ask of him at its close. “Do you wish to live forever, Alexander?” the soft, insistent voice purred. “To be the judge of those who will follow you? To be as a god in your own kingdom? I can give you this, priest.” Again, there was silence. For a long time, Alexander contemplated the girl’s promises, the hope they offered. Somewhere inside him, he sensed that what Vanessa offered was not truth, nor was it the beautiful gift she implied. But to live forever… So much could be learned, and taught. So many things preserved within his memory. It was an alluring promise… **** At some point throughout the night, Alexander had fallen into a peaceful sleep. He had never answered Vanessa, and for many months nothing was said of the revelations made that night. The priest began to believe he’d dreamed the girl’s visit. His nights and dreams were haunted by the promises Vanessa made, and the visions that tormented Alexander grew in intensity. Yet, Vanessa never spoke again of the light and hope she had offered. He waited, and the priest grew ever more discontent. ****

Alexandria 296 B.C. The Temple was hushed and tranquil, but there was an undercurrent of elation in the air that was nearly tangible. Alexander felt it as soon as he stepped into the torch-lit halls. It was late, and the summons that brought him to the place of worship had been vague, though insistent of the time. He walked, mildly disconcerted by the lack of people within the hallowed corridors. If there was a service being held in the Temple, some of the priests should have been present. He heard, faintly, a low, murmuring chant. As he allowed himself to be drawn toward the sound, his stomach tightened in anticipatory curiosity and a building tension that he knew was excitement. “They’re waiting for you, Alexander,” a familiar voice beckoned. The priest froze, and peered into the shadows. Vanessa had spoken, but there was a quality to the girl’s tone that was disquieting. As the golden-haired beauty stepped toward him, Alexander shuddered. A trick of the light, he insisted to himself. For an instant, Vanessa’s eyes had appeared golden and glowing. “What is going on, Vanessa?” “Your disciples await you, priest,” the girl grinned. “They have come to meet their god, Alexander. Just as I promised you they would.” **** The ceremony was long, and Alexander basked in the reverence with which his teachings were accepted. Night after night they gathered, and he grew intoxicated with the power he held over each and every one of the faithful followers. Vanessa encouraged and laughed at him in equal measures. “Drink, Alexander,” Vanessa suggested as they walked toward the Temple that night. The priest took the proffered wine and drank deeply. He winced at the bitterness of it and handed it back to the smiling girl. They stood outside the massive entrance to the building, and Alexander was perplexed yet again by the sameness of his young companion. He had been with Vanessa for years, but the girl never changed. She did not grow old, nor did she speak of family. Moonlight glinted off golden hair, and wreathed Vanessa in a silvery halo. She truly looked to be an angel. As if sensing his thoughts, she smiled up into Alexander’s deep sapphire eyes. “You have aged little yourself, priest,” she murmured in response to his thought. “Time had been kind to us both, has it not?” Alexander pondered the observation, both its perceptiveness and its more subtle implications. Something in her tone suggested that Vanessa knew precisely why age had bypassed him and he’d been left young while others withered. Fear kept him silent. “Tonight is going to be special, I can feel it,” Vanessa decreed with a soft laugh. Before the priest could question her words, she led the way into the Temple. **** The wine must have clouded his mind. Alexander’s limbs felt leaden and he was

finding it impossible to concentrate on the words he wanted to speak. The room was filled with people, the same loyal followers who had been coming here nightly. But something about them was different this night. They were bored and restless. He sensed anxiety, then realized it was his own worry that plagued him. Instinctively, he searched for Vanessa among the crowd. The girl felt his gaze and turned. Alexander’s blood became ice in his veins. He tried to back away and remained rooted to the spot. Vanessa smiled. The girl’s blue eyes flared with preternatural light, and the priest grew lethargic and pliant. Through the haze of many voices and the flickering glow of torches, Alexander felt himself lifted to an altar and arranged to Vanessa’s careful instructions. He wanted to call out, to object, but he was unable to utter a sound. Fear bloomed within him, and he closed his eyes, began the ritual of prayers he’d almost forgotten in his arrogant taste of power. “I promised you that you would be an angel, Alexander,” Vanessa whispered close to his ear. “A god. I am going to keep my promise, priest. You and I will be joined eternally, Alexander.” Alexander shook his head, continued the litany that might save his soul. “Look at me, priest!” Despite his desire not to comply, Alexander’s eyes fluttered open and he was snared again by a blue so brilliant it rivaled the sun-brightened skies above the Nile. “No!” It was a hoarse gasp of protest, barely audible. It was ignored. “Your life for eternal power, Alexander,” Vanessa said quietly. “You will never die. You will lead and conquer as you chose. Nothing will be able to destroy you. Isn’t that what you desire more than anything else, priest? You will never have to answer to the demons of Osiris, for you will never be in their court. They judge the dead, Alexander. And you will never truly be dead.” Alexander’s head swam with the words, tried to find some semblance of familiar truth in them. Nothing offered him a respite from his terror. It grew seconds later as the room exploded with voices and laughter. The taunts were jumbled, incoherent surges of sounds, completely without form. Only fear responded within the fallen priest of Ra. Vanessa leaned over him and again her ethereal beauty filled Alexander’s vision. The girl smiled, and the priest screamed from his soul as he saw for the first time the elongated incisors. The fangs of the truest demon he had ever encountered. Blue eyes mutated into searing flames, and he silenced the shriek of terror and denial that rose inside him as Vanessa’s head descended. Pain enveloped Alexander’s body, exploded with the intensity of a thousand suns burning down on his prone body. He felt the hands that held him rigidly to the stone altar, their grips relentless and without compromise or compassion. His stomach roiled against the sensation of cool lips on his neck, the gliding stroke of a tongue caressing his skin, and the low growl from Vanessa as she fed on the spurting blood of her now-unwilling victim. The perceptions and sounds had faded to muffled shadows when Alexander was gagged by the wrist that was placed over his mouth. He gasped, realized too late that the instinctive reaction had opened his mouth to the flow of blood. He tried to twist away

from the forced bonding, but firm hands again held him captive and helpless to fight what he knew was being done to him. His mouth filled with the sticky, metallic liquid of Vanessa’s blood, and he tried desperately not to swallow. Seconds later, he was struck sharply, a solid blow to the side of his head, and the choked response to the pain opened his throat. He felt the shadows deepen and after an endless expanse of time, he was released. He no longer possessed the life to move. **** He woke. Memory was hazy, uncertain. The scents of the night teased at his awareness and he turned toward the whispering breeze that filtered through an open window. The sky was a deep, velvety blue, almost black. Stars were beginning to stud the sky with glittering diamond-bright sparks of light. A crescent moon was slung low in the eastern sky. Hunger gnawed his belly. But there was no familiarity in the impression to identify it for his confused mind. Experimentally, he moved a hand and touched the coolness of his naked skin. He was cold, like a corpse. Very slowly, he raised himself from the pallet and stood. His limbs were weak, and the effort to move made him gasp softly. He realized, in an astounded afterthought, that he didn’t need to breathe the air. He took the few shaky steps that would place him at the window’s edge, then he gazed outward. Against the growing darkness was a greater blackness. Outlined in jagged relief, like a spectral silhouette, rose the Temple of Ra. He knew it immediately. And, he remembered… **** He felt the wetness of her mouth upon his when he stirred into consciousness. Moments later, a familiar, sweet, sticky warmth trickled down his throat and he swallowed eagerly. The taste was exquisite, and he felt his body shudder in pleasant rapture. He wanted more… Hunger gnawed at his insides, and he reached for the delicate hand that had withdrawn to stroke soft touch across his forehead. She understood his need and again pressed her torn wrist to his mouth. Once more the flow of blood wine was carried from her veins to his. “Take what you must,” she encouraged in soothing, low tones. She touched his temple with another cool kiss as he continued to drink… **** Time had long since lost any meaning to him… The falls into nothingness were one of the few constants in his pseudo-existence, and he’d learned to appreciate them. Each time he felt the mental whisper of awareness, he discovered he was stronger. He could move without the tremendous, encompassing agony that had met each of his tentative motions a short time ago. He could not stand or sit, but he could feel life gradually returning to atrophied limbs.

His voice still refused to function… Not that there appeared to be anyone near enough to hear if he had called out. Memories tweaked at his mind, teased and taunted him with the knowledge that his demise had been more a cause for celebration than mourning. He had become hated and feared. “But you live… And they do not…” He wanted to turn toward the gentle warmth of her voice… He could not recall her name, but her happiness seemed to bathe him in a sensation of security. “Soon,” she whispered the promise so close to his mouth that the gentle ripple of air created a brief smile within him. He felt the cool touch of fingers caressing his face, and moist lips brushed his. Sleep tugged at him, and he hadn’t the strength to fight the lure… **** Alexander banished the rage and the despair he felt as he permitted the memories of his life to drift before his mind’s eye. He accepted what had happened, knew he must if he expected to survive what he had become. The foolishness of his thirst for power was painfully clear to him now. Clear as it had never been when the reality of true life was his. The legends had whispered of creatures like Vanessa. He hadn’t believed. So much was lost to him now, he knew. Vanessa had promised eternity, but the priest knew no gift so great came without an equal sacrifice. To maintain his existence, he would destroy other lives. Another rumble deep within him reminded of the need for sustenance. The craving was near pain. He felt repelled by his hunger. The loathing distorted his handsome features for several minutes as he clutched the edge of the window and sought control of his chaotic thoughts. His smile was grim when he heard the faint sound of an approaching footfall. He shouldn’t have been able to detect Vanessa’s nearing, but already his senses were much sharper than the girl would anticipate. **** A tiny flutter of fear made the girl hesitate outside the transformed priest’s room. Vanessa paused, analyzed the aberration with clinical detachment, then dismissed it. She had not felt real fear in several hundred years. She certainly had nothing to fear from a weak fledgling of her own making. She pushed the door inward. **** Alexander’s smile grew as the golden-haired girl stepped into the room. He was pleased to note that he had no trouble discerning Vanessa, each detail of the other vampire’s countenance vivid in its clarity despite the darkness that engulfed them. Vanessa trembled, the reaction beyond her ability to control. She’d sensed the change in him long before she neared the room, the whisper of awakened power and the overwhelming strength of his personality. Alexander was, to her great surprise, in full control of his reawakening to life. Her nerves were drawn tight with anticipation, a

perception that became more enhanced as she caught the distinct scent of lust that filled the air. “You found my gift,” Vanessa observed quietly when she entered the bed chamber and closed the door with a soft push. Alexander watched her approach. He could feel the wariness and the flicker of fear that lingered within her. He smiled. Her gift had been the exquisite silk robe he now wore. Black and silver and luxurious against the body wrapped within its warmth. “How do you feel?” she asked, and handed him the carafe of blood she’d brought with her. “How do I look?” Alexander taunted, his tone mocking and teasing at the same time. Vanessa allowed her gaze to move over him, the shock of his attractiveness like a physical jolt to her nervous system. She opened her mouth but no sound emerged. Alexander’s free hand tangled in her hair and she stared up into his brilliant sapphire eyes as he suddenly loomed over her. “No answer, my pretty pupil?” he murmured before he brushed a light kiss over her quivering lips. “Sometimes,” she managed with hoarse irony, “you defy words.” It wasn’t entirely poetic whimsy, she realized as she drowned in the wash of desire that filled his beautiful gaze. She had always thought Alexander the most extraordinarily stunning man she’d ever seen. For the first time, she was seeing some of her longing reflected back at her, and it thrilled her as nothing had in centuries. She was about to own a priest, some inner voice taunted, and the experience would be incredibly arousing, as well as entertaining. “Drink,” he directed, and passed the blood and wine back to her. “But…” “Drink it, Vanessa.” His tone brooked no argument. She put the carafe to her lips. Vanessa shivered when he reached out and cupped one of her breasts, his thumb lazily brushed over the sensitive nipple until it was rigid beneath his persuasive touch. “All of it.” His intense, glowing gaze locked with hers and dared her to oppose him. She didn’t. Minutes later she set the empty bottle on the bedside stand. Alexander slid the rich heavy robe off his shoulders, tossed it aside and drew her into his arms. The shudder that rippled through her as her body made contact with his brought a sensual smile to Alexander’s austere features. Alexander bent his head to hers, caught her mouth in a caress that had her clinging to him. Minutes later he lifted her in his arms and placed her in the center of the huge bed which he’d been moved after his death in the temple. He didn’t break their kiss as he tugged at the ties of her flowing gown, then pushed it away from her body. Bare skin met bare skin when he settled over her, the sensation created a shiver that was shared. His tongue explored with growing hunger, drank in the taste of her mouth against his, and the faint metallic bitterness of the blood she’d consumed. She pulled back with a gasp and Alexander continued his sensual assault. His lips glided over her cheeks, grazed her mouth again, then moved to the base of her throat. She moaned and arched into him, her arms tightened around his back. When he let her move, she twisted from beneath him, pushed him onto his back, then straddled his thighs. She bit her bottom lip when his hands covered her breasts and

massaged the firm swells of flesh. She positioned the silky bed linen between them, thrilling to the coolness of the material that was like a caress to the insides of her thighs as she moved her restless hips against him. Vanessa guided his mouth to an aching nipple and her back arched in pleasure when his teeth closed on the erect tip. He began sucking and a groan of profound hunger came from her when his hand dipped between them and his fingers slid into her, quickly creating a rhythm that left her gasping and rocking against his touch. Her fangs ached, but she refused to draw his blood. Her forehead rested on his shoulder and she pressed closer to the magic of his fingers moving inside her body. Alexander laughed, the rich tone resonant with satisfaction. He turned her face into his neck, held her mouth against the vein in invitation. One hand traced the curve of her spine, held her tightly in place as his other hand probed deeply and deftly into her warmth. She moaned loudly as her body spasmed in agonized rapture, and Alexander winced for the briefest moment when her fangs penetrated his flesh. Minutes later another shudder shook her in his arms as he tore open her throat and drank. He eased away from her with obvious reluctance. She stared at him and he silently commanded her to strip away the linens between them. The order was sent directly into her mind, something she didn’t appear to notice as she eagerly did as he asked. Alexander moved swiftly and leaned over her, his eyes filled with appreciation and passion. Vanessa traced the fullness of his bottom lip and drew him into another provocative kiss. His hands moved of their own volition, discovered the lush lines of her lithe, strong body and the power his touch had over her. She was shaking uncontrollably when he spoke again, the same soft command that entered her thoughts without passing his lips. Vanessa paused for an instant, then complied when he repeated the directive with more pressure behind it. She visibly shuddered, and rolled onto her stomach. Again, Alexander’s body covered her, and she curled into the bed when his lips trailed kisses along her spine. His hands brushed soft touches over her thighs, parted them to more intimate exploration. He raised her hips off the mattress and entered her swiftly. She cried out and he felt her press back to take him deeper into her. He thrust forward, his hands found hers and their fingers entwined. The smooth rhythm of Alexander’s hips made her writhe under him, and he whispered soothing, deceptively loving and gratitude-filled words to her—all in silence as he moved as deeply into her mind as he did her body. He felt her defenses, and for the first time found a weakness in them. He released her hands and reached under her to pull her upward with him as he sat back on his heels. She tossed her hair to one side; it streamed down his back as her head rested against his shoulder. Razor sharp fangs penetrated her neck in the same instant that he pierced the shielding she’d always had against his complete possession. She screamed in combined fury and lust, and undeniable pain. Alexander drank, and held her immobile while he destroyed her last reserves of strength. He felt the barriers crumble totally as the overload of sensory perceptions defeated her and she slipped into unconsciousness. **** Awareness returned slowly, and she sobbed as she understood what had happened. The dark, brooding intensity of Alexander’s seduction should have warned her. Instead, her hunger for the newly made vampire had made her foolishly blind. She tried to move,

only then realized he was still within her. “Vanessa?” She shivered, an involuntary response to the silkiness of his tone. They were lying on their sides, spooned together, bodies intimately joined. She sighed softly, hated herself for the desire his touch incited even in this situation. He’d just betrayed her, yet all she wanted was to feel him moving within her, taking her over the edge into the insanity they had shared so completely in each other’s arms. “You have used your power well,” he assured her with a velvety stroke of his tongue across her shoulder. He raised her hand and kissed the palm before he finally eased free of her. Long enough to roll her onto her back, then he entered her again. “You’ve taken everything, Alexander,” she whispered. “Not yet,” Alexander smiled. “But very soon, my beautiful witch. Very soon. I promise.” His mouth descended on hers and passion expanded to encompass them both. When she could once again think past lust and hunger, new awareness poured into Vanessa’s mind, and she felt the first true fear she’d know in many, many years. One of Alexander’s hands closed solidly over Vanessa’s throat, the other tangled in the thick mane of golden curls. He snapped the girl’s head back, heard the crack of bones, then tore into exposed flesh with fangs that still ached with hunger. Before the rage and blood lust had receded and left him sane again, Alexander had rent the girl’s body to pieces in his rage and betrayal. He felt nothing as he finally stepped into the night and began the journey that would lead him through the centuries… **** Three Centuries Later (A.D.) The Court of Pontius Pilate A murmur of discontent rippled through the gathered assemblage as the strident tone of Pilate’s judgment rang out. The strangely weary eyes of the prisoner rested briefly on the silent advisor who stood several feet behind the main dais. Alexander, immune to all sense of morality and humanity, felt stripped naked before that sad gaze. His lifeless heart contracted with fear. As it always did, fear translated into anger and hatred. When Pilate gestured him forward to consult, he offered the mortal a punishment in keeping with his own thirst for vengeance. **** He would never know what drew him to the hillside days later. The sun burned low, as if the very heavens were shadowed by grief. Yet, the vampire remained untouched by any of the pain that surrounded him on the bloody front. He stood before the crude cross that was the place of death for the condemned Nazarene. Again, the eyes of this gentle man unnerved and unsettled the implacable vampire. The man was dying. Alexander had a keen sense of encroaching death. He was often the cause of it. ‘Angel of Death.’ He wasn’t sure if the words inside his head were his own, or a whisper from the man

who was near death before him. It was an appropriate name to give him, the most honest of the many he’d taken over the past several centuries. A chill touched his spine. The shadows were growing longer, yet the sun blazed infinitely brighter behind the figure who commanded the former priest’s enraptured attention. “You have damned your kind to a darkness greater than any you have known before.” Again the words whispered softly, sadly, into his barren conscience. As Alexander watched, the sun passed behind the prisoner. He stood immobile, and felt the shadow of the cross settle over him. Pain, a searing, fiery force that drove him to his knees burned into his dead flesh. He was being torn apart from within, and was helpless to move. Ice flooded through him in the fire’s wake. Again, he was paralyzed by the onslaught of terror and anguish. For endless, eternal minutes, Alexander writhed before the cross. His mind screamed in a steady litany of agonized horror and emerging understanding. The darkness grew absolute around him and his pain eclipsed all other awareness. **** He felt the moment of death. With it came a new knowledge of his limitations. The days of invulnerability were past. He didn’t know how he knew, or why, but he was certain. The sun had returned to its placid beam, but Alexander’s skin blistered and smoldered where it touched him. He dragged himself to his feet and ran. **** It was deep into the night before he woke face down on his bed. The day’s madness nudged his consciousness and he shook his head in denial. It changed nothing, and he rose to stand before the shining surface of gleaming gold that showed him his reflection. He gasped in surprise when he saw the man who stared back at him, barely a solid form any longer. His hair was white, silvery pale, like moonlight. His body appeared translucent, insubstantial. His eyes blazed with the golden fire of the now forbidden sun, and he recoiled at the scars that marred his milky skin. Across his chest, angry red welts formed the cursed shape that would forever signify the truest bane of his existence.

Dream Sequence Does the Muse speak to me, or is it simply through me? Where do all the words begin, the images that follow me into the nights and haunt the days? Your face, so unexpectedly real to me now, fills my mind, my heart. The mystery within your eyes calls to me, challenges me to reach for your essence and bring it to life on the page. Is this truly what you want? To have your soul, and mine, so vulnerable to the scrutiny of others? Or, is it our combined knowledge that demands our risks? Twinned folly, perhaps? I can hear your voice when I permit the silence to embrace my spirit. The lyric poetry of your heart, the imagination that so rarely soars and finds true freedom. Is this my place in your world; to be the speaker of your dreams and desires? Is my destiny so entwined with yours that we were born in each other? Talents, dreams, temperaments, fears, passions—all these we know in ourselves and each other—an intimacy given life far beyond our denials. We speak, each defines the other, and we become one voice, one vision. And yet, somehow, through it all we have remained strangers to the world we share… **** The flicker of firelight cast dancing shadows over a room that was serene and filled with peace. She smiled, breathed in the scent of burning pinewood and the hint of chill that lingered despite the warmth emanating from the hearth. She curled closer into the cushioned softness of the sofa and hugged one of the large, overstuffed throw pillows. The enticing aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted out from the kitchen, but she didn’t bother to go and pour a cup. Right now the most pleasant things in the world were the crackling fire in front of her and the sounds of his presence. The shower had been turned off a few minutes earlier, and she could hear him moving around in the cozy master bedroom. She closed her eyes with a breathy sigh and the expression that lit her features spoke eloquently of the love that suffused her. This weekend was a dream come true. The cabin itself was something from a childhood fantasy. Rustic and remote, it was the perfect escape from a life that frequently held them at arm’s length from each other. A successful actor and a struggling writer. They were from different worlds, yet somehow they merged and complemented each other so completely that it was a marvel their affair remained relatively secret. She opened her eyes and leaned back and allowed her gaze to wander. The bedroom was behind her but she had no trouble imagining him in the room, dressing, toweling his hair dry. He’d forget that his watch was on the vanity in the bathroom and would make several turns of the room before he bothered to check. She grinned and shook her head when she heard his footsteps a minute later, headed toward the bathroom. The kitchen was small, functional. Twin stools sat at the bar-like countertop, and on the other side of the barrier was a gleaming, modern kitchenette. There was a full, sixplace dining table left of the kitchen, but it was presently the resting place of a laptop

computer and reams of paper—his work and hers. Overhead, the ceiling appeared to go on forever. Massive pine beams blurred in the blackness of shadows that weren’t banished by the dim lighting bathing the huge living room. This was where she’d spent most of the afternoon, in the room she loved most in the idyllic hideaway. The wooden floors gleamed like the virgin surface of an ice skating rink, and the orange radiance of the leaping fire bounced off the glossy surface and reflected it back at richly paneled walls. “You’re daydreaming again.” She nodded and allowed her head to rest on the back of the sofa. He bent to place a light kiss on her lips before he continued around the couch and handed her one of the steaming mugs of coffee he’d poured. She snuggled up to him, and smiled when his arm looped over her shoulders and pulled her closer. His hand idly stroked her hair and she rested her head against his shoulder. He smelled of soap and aftershave; the dampness of the shower clung to him. He’d donned comfortable, well-worn jeans and a powder blue T-shirt that deepened the brilliance of his ocean-colored eyes. Light brown hair still glistened with moisture. He shifted position just enough to cross long legs and let his feet rest on the low table that was between them and the fireplace. “Did you get any work done?” She took a sip of the coffee and eased back enough to look directly at him. “Another chapter almost finished.” She straightened and sat up, one arm against the back of the sofa cushions. She tucked her feet under her and gazed at him for several moments. He wasn’t the most handsome man she’d ever known, yet he dazzled her. Everything about him left her breathless and aching with a yearning she’d never experienced with any other man. He was beautiful as no one else could ever be to her. The desire to simply look at him was a familiar and pleasant one; she smiled instinctively. Her eyes drifted over well-loved features, catalogued each tiny characteristic of his masculine quintessence. He had soft, fine hair, the light brown flecked with silver. At present it was cut much too close to his head because of the role he played in his television series, which was simply and accurately entitled Mercenary. Equally fine laugh lines framed his large, exquisite eyes. The contour of his cheek smoothed into a strong jaw line, and her tongue slipped between her lips and wet them when her gaze caressed the sensuous fullness of his bottom lip, then the thinner line of his upper lip. Her body quivered to life as she let the recalled feel of his mouth covering hers fill her mind. Her fingertips tingled with the remembered feel of his skin beneath her exploring touch, the gentle slope of his nose, the slight indentation of dimples when he smiled. “Then I’m on the set for a solid week.” “And then you have the second shoot on the other series, and probably another half dozen commitments before the end of the month,” she continued in a tone that was half teasing and half sincerely resentful. “You knew it would be like this,” he reminded her in a quiet voice. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it,” she whispered. “I’ve accepted the limited time we have, and the fact that no one knows about it. That’s fine with me, too. But damn it, don’t expect me to like not seeing you!” One expressive eyebrow rose, and the glitter of annoyance that lit his eyes wasn’t lost on her. She stood up and wandered over to the table. She placed the coffee cup next

to the computer and sat, then turned the machine on and stared at the screen but made no move to work. The eerie greenish light didn’t really register on her brain; she was too conscious of the silence that now seemed cold and vast. She started violently when his hand closed on her shoulder. “Turn it off. You don’t want to work anyway,” he said. “If I didn’t want to work, I wouldn’t have turned the damn thing on.” Why was she being so bitchy all of a sudden, she wondered? Especially when he was right. “Turn it off,” he repeated more firmly. When she refused, he hit the switch and the screen went dark with a blink. She didn’t look up and he sat on the chair opposite her. “Do you mind if I look at what you've done?” It was an unnecessary question—she always asked for his opinion. She finally looked up to meet his gaze in spite of the tears ready to spill from the corners of her eyes. Before he could offer any comment or comfort, she stood and leaned forward. Without a word, she scooped up a folder from the top of the scattered pages that covered the table and handed it to him. He made no effort to stop her when she walked away from him. She felt shaky and weepy as she crossed the living room and headed for one of the windows that overlooked the lake. It was a moderately-sized freshwater lake, something that had been created by thousands of years of rain on the mountain. The cabin wasn't, in truth, all that far from the city but it felt like the middle of nowhere. It had snowed the previous night; the air was still heavy with the freshness and chill of the white blanket. She curled into a seat on the wide ledge of one of the bay windows and stared outward. The only visible signs of human life were their tracks in the snow and the Jeep parked to one side of the cabin. Time, like the reality of their lives, felt suspended and vague in this place. She wished for forever, in spite of herself. “Tell me what’s wrong.” For the second time in a short while, he startled her. She hesitated and felt him stand at her back. The warmth of his presence was enhanced by the gentle fingers that caressed the side of her neck and traced the line of her shoulder. He kissed the top of her head and waited. “Nothing’s wrong.” “You don’t lie particularly well, darling,” he replied quietly. “And you’ve made a habit of being honest about everything else, so why not keep the practice when it comes to the important things?” “I love you.” “I know. Now tell me what’s wrong.” “I’m tired.” “You’re scared,” he corrected. “I want to know why.” “How’s the story coming?” she asked, intentionally avoiding both his inquiry and the gentle reproach she couldn’t find words to deny. “It’s good. Your work is always good.” There was a pause as he waited for some response. When it wasn’t forthcoming, he spoke again. “The newest chapter is certainly suggestive.” The words were murmured, the pitch of his voice deliberately low and insinuating. “And what does it suggest?” She laughed, and finally turned in her seat to look up at him. “It suggests that it’s been too long since we made love,” he whispered with a

seductive smile. Her heartbeat quickened and her stomach lurched with sudden excitement. He always affected her this way. “Too erotic?” “Too tempting.” He grinned. Her breath caught in her throat as his eyes lit with fire and the erotic, sensual hunger she’d been aching to see again. It had been several weeks since they’d spent a night together. Weeks filled with work, holiday shopping, and quick phone calls. They’d managed to have lunch once when he wasn’t due on the set until late in the day, and that had been squeezed in between meetings with her agent and her editor. She’d wanted to meet him at his house, but the time just hadn’t been available. “I am scared,” she confessed when she realized how drawn out the silence had become. “I’ve never been afraid of anything, not really, and now I feel like I’m frightened all the time.” He’d felt the fear, and the flare of temper it incited brought forth an edge to her words that was cutting and in direct opposition to the woman he’d grown to love. “What scares you so much?” He sat and pulled her into his arms. “Disappointing you.” It wasn’t the answer he’d anticipated. He’d expected something simple, like the constant barrage of attention from his fans, or the fact that weeks often passed with little or no real contact between them. She’d adored him for several years, long before they’d actually met, in fact. She’d watched him, from a distance, work through his last divorce, become involved in several disastrous relationships, and eventually accept his personal and professional interest in her. Throughout, he’d always felt her love supporting him and, in a very real fashion, protecting him. “Disappointing me?” He was genuinely confused, and it was evident in his voice. “I need you so much. That can’t be easy for you to deal with on a steady basis.” The words sounded casual, though he sensed the fear she was trying to conceal. “Sometimes, I feel like I create nothing but complications in your life,” she said. “You’re wrong.” “Am I? I don’t feel like I’m wrong.” “You’re not listening to me then. Long before we’d ever actually met, you made a campaign of reminding me that I was an adult and should be treated accordingly. I was … how did you like to put it?” He paused, pulling the contents of her old letters from his memory. “I was ‘more than capable of deciding for myself what was, or wasn’t, good for me!’” He hesitated, fear gripping his heart as he searched for the right way to address what she hadn’t spoken aloud. As always, the words were given life in his sincere love for her. “And I do want every day we have together. I did know what I was walking into, remember? You gave me the choice not to get involved.” “I hate it when you do that.” “No, you hate it when I’m right,” he corrected with a smile. “And I am right. You’re anything but a complication. There are times when you’re the only one who makes sense of all this.” “If that’s true, you’re in real trouble, sweetheart!” “Anything else?” he inquired after a lengthy pause. “The book. It seems to be running around in circles but not going anywhere. I can’t seem to find the story I want to tell and then get to the telling.”

“Maybe you just need a little down time?” he whispered next to her ear. “Or a little fresh inspiration.” He eased aside the collar of her satin shirt, lifted the heavy mane of her waist-length hair, and lowered his lips to the revealed curve of her neck and shoulder. As he began to nuzzle her fair skin, his fingers glided along the smooth material and tugged open the pearl buttons. His name slipped from her as a shaky sigh when his exploration ended with one breast cupped in his palm as his thumb teased the responsive nipple into a hard point. One of her arms went around his back and the other moved to encircle his neck as she caressed his hair. He pushed open the white shirt and bent to suck the exposed rosy nipple into his mouth. She arched with pleasure and twisted farther around to face him. As she climbed off the seat and resettled, knees on either side of his hips, he turned his attention to the second rigid nipple. His teeth closed gently on the erect tip, nibbling as he slid his hands beneath the full skirt she wore. He wasn’t surprised to find nothing but bare skin, and quickly skimmed curving thighs and the smoothness of her backside. When his eager touch moved to the soft tangle of curls between her legs, her murmuring sigh of longing sent a shudder of answering passion through him. He drew away from the soft breasts he’d been suckling and caught her mouth in a kiss that crushed her lips beneath his. While his tongue delved into her mouth, his fingers penetrated the warmth of her body and began a teasing, provocative rhythm she quickly matched with her hips. When he eased free of their kiss minutes later, she was sleepy-eyed and breathing heavily. Dazed green eyes focused on him and she carefully disentangled herself from his embrace. He watched as she walked to the sofa and tossed the cushions onto the floor in front of the fire, then pushed away the table. Moments later, she’d thrown aside the skirt and blouse, and held her arms open to him. She smiled, light-headed and dizzy with the intensity of her need to hold him. She trembled in anticipation as he peeled off his T-shirt, threw it into a chair, then unzipped his jeans and stepped out of them. Seconds later, he stood in front of her, long, lean limbs naked and waiting for her touch. She placed her hands on his shoulders and began to massage smooth, muscular flesh in ever-expanding circles as she moved lower. His eyes closed and the tremors of response her touch evoked were easily matched within her body. She licked at his nipples, tugged at the sensitive tips with her teeth, before his hands in her hair told her what he really wanted. She dropped to her knees and continued her oral trek across his hips and along the front of his thighs. When he whispered her name, voice rough with passion, she caught his hands and tugged until he was on his knees with her. “Lie down, on your stomach,” she requested. He complied after another searing kiss, and she sat astride his thighs again. She bent forward and began a steady, sensuous massage of his back, taking great care to soothe the tiny pockets of tension in his muscles before she continued downward. He moaned when her insistent touch caressed the small of his back with gentle, firm pressure. The everpresent ache that had plagued him throughout the day slowly eased under her knowing touch. She shifted again, knelt next to him and leaned forward to lick light caresses at the back of his knees as she nudged his legs apart, then repositioned herself between them. Her hands slid over the lean curve of his thighs and began to apply massaging strokes to

his buttocks. His low whisper of enjoyment encouraged her further. “Turn over,” she breathed a short while later when she crawled aside and gave him room to move. When he would have pulled her down to him, she shook her head and pushed him back against the scattered pillows. He laughed quietly and tucked one of the cushions beneath his head and shoulders so he could watch her. She slid her hands under his knees, lifted and parted them so she once again sat between his legs. His breath escaped in a hiss of pleasure when her tongue began trailing wet streaks up the insides of his thighs. She repeated the exquisite torture several times, always pulling back before she reached the arousal that ached for her loving attention. He reached for her, indigo eyes alive with heated lust, and she managed to evade him.” His mouth was at her neck, the stroke of his tongue creating shivers of delight that flooded over her and drowned her in his warmth. She wanted him with desperation, and her teeth bit into the smooth muscle of his shoulder as she clung to him. He heard the soft plea through the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears, and he kissed her temple as he moved his arms above her shoulders and leaned on his elbows. Her arms encircled his waist and he thrust into her, burying himself in her wet heat. She arched and cried out her rapture. Their bodies merged, the rhythm precise and wellpracticed. He could feel every tiny spasm of pleasure that shuddered through her while he slowed his body, eased almost free of her, then plunged back into her tight, slick warmth. “Harder…” She writhed under him, eyes closed, head back, her expression wild with abandon. Streams of auburn hair spilled over his hands and long tresses tangled around his fingers as he held her head so he could look at her. Her legs locked around his waist and her arms moved upward so her hands could clutch his shoulders. His name faded into a moan of agonized bliss when he drove his hips into her with a fierceness that bordered on brutal. He felt the spasm of her climax. Her body tightened around him, clutching with the same desperation as her fingers gripping his shoulders. She continued to move with him, each thrust answered with a moan that told him she was experiencing one orgasm after another. He let his body answer its own need and moved faster within her. Her hands glided downward, cupped his buttocks. Her legs came to rest next to his again. She pushed her pelvis upward, and he ground his hips into her a final time as the euphoria of his orgasm began to flow through him. His breaths were rasps of sound and his voice broke on her name and became a groan of ecstatic release. The jolts of heat and hunger that ran through his body gradually relaxed and he slowly raised his head from her shoulder to look down into her sleepy, emerald eyes. “I love you,” she murmured and drew his mouth to hers in a tender, sensual kiss. “God! I love you…” He smoothed damp hair off her forehead, placed a light kiss there, then reclaimed her lips. Their kiss was deep, erotic, a silent communication of their shared passion and pleasure in each other. It was long minutes later before he smiled down at her and slipped free of her body. He stood up and hauled her to her feet with a casual tug, then they headed for the shower. **** Half an hour later, they were again settled on the sofa. Leaning back against the

cushions, he closed his eyes and drew her head to his shoulder. She was a marvel to him in so many ways. Devoted, creative, vivacious, and one of the sexiest lovers he’d ever known. He’d fallen head over heels shortly after he’d allowed himself to examine his feelings with honesty. He kissed the top of her head and let his thoughts wander as she curled closer to him. His body was already caught up in the excitement of their next round of love-making, and he let his heart remind him of exactly how lucky he was. He’d thought his chances at happiness were used up after his divorce. He’d had his shot and blown it, repeatedly. Yet, somehow, this lovely woman had seen something in him that she found worthy. Maybe the same thing that she was never able to see in herself. He saw it. He read it in every word she wrote, he enjoyed it in every touch they exchanged. It was the magic of two hearts attuned in a very special way. It was love in its gentlest and simplest form. Fate? That made him smile. He didn’t believe in that shit, did he? He hadn’t believed he could look at someone and want them with his soul either, he recalled absently. She offered him hope, lost chances that weren’t quite as lost as he’d feared, and mostly she gave him the kind of love he’d always wanted to receive, and to give. No demands or subterfuges, no screwing around with his head, just honest and genuine caring. And a loyalty that was fiercely protective and unshakable. She had a rigid set of ethics when dealing with people she loved, and a generous and open heart with those who disappointed and more than occasionally had betrayed her. “What are you thinking about?” The words were blurred with contentment, and not a little tiredness. He kissed her forehead and eased her head back. “Luck.” “Luck?” “Yeah, mine,” he said with a smile. She laughed. “I could have told you you were lucky, sweetheart.” “But would you have meant it?” She paused and gave the answer more serious consideration than he’d expected. Then she nodded. “Yeah, I do mean it. We’re both lucky, if that’s what you want to call it. I know I’m not awful. I know there’s a lot about me that’s good for you. It’s hard for me to get used to that concept, but I’m not entirely without awareness of it.” “I love it when you get arrogant.” “Yeah, I know. It’s a reflection of your influence, why wouldn’t you like it?” “This is not one-sided,” he insisted firmly. “What we have is something I value more than I ever remember to tell you. You are what I want in my life.” “We deserve to be happy. Both of us. If we are what makes us happy, then we deserve each other for that reason alone.” “Then let me love you the way you love me,” he suggested. “You really want me that much?” she questioned, eyes huge with pleasure. The answer was in his eyes, but she wanted to hear it. The understanding was welcome—it wasn’t need, simply want that asked for the words. “With my soul,” he whispered, using her own words. Words that she’d given him from the start of their relationship.

He smiled, eyes fixed on her face, entranced by the love that softened her features. His heartbeat quickened when her tongue slipped from between her lips and he covered her mouth in a hungry kiss. As always, her response was instantaneous, and he shivered when she leaned back and pulled him down with her. He eased away from the kiss long enough to settle more comfortably on the couch as she nuzzled the side of his neck. Her legs parted to his weight and he caught her lips in another kiss when she looked up at him, her eyes glowing with longing. He sucked her tongue deeper into his mouth, savored the taste of coffee that lingered faintly. His hips pressed her tighter to the cushions and she answered the impatient thrust with an enthusiasm that encouraged him all the more. He’d intended to make this encounter long and seductive, yet his body was once again demanding something more immediate. Their kiss deepened as her hands roamed his back in smooth, caressing strokes. She broke the kiss with a gasp, and shivered visibly when his mouth moved to her throat. A low moan escaped her when his hands glided under the flow of satin and smoothed over her thighs and hips. His hands moved again, fumbled with the belt that hugged the slippery material to her waist. He gave the loosely knotted cord a tug and it slid aside. The second tie was quickly discarded and he pulled the robe open. Naked skin was warm to his exploring touch and he laughed softly when she squirmed under him. “Hey?” “What?” “Can we go to bed now?” He bent his head to her breast, his tongue circling first one ripe nipple then the other. “One of us is still over-dressed, sweetheart,” she whispered and the quiver in her voice made him smile. He climbed off the couch and she struggled into a half-sitting position to watch him. Her expression clouded with suspicion when his jeans remained in place and he knelt next to the sofa. He guided one of her legs to the edge and she moved to sit up properly. He leaned into her and her head fell back against the cushions as he once more lavished erotic attention to her rigid nipples. He eased her hips toward him and she slid with the movement. Curious and dazed green eyes never left him as he knelt back on his heels and stared at her. Long fingers drifted idly over her thighs and still their gazes held each other. Her hands covered his, stopped the distracting caresses, and she bent forward to kiss him. He caught her ankles and lifted her feet to the edge of the cushions and she clutched at his shoulders. He broke the kiss and forced her legs wider, opened her to his vision and touch. Her breathing quickened and was hoarse with excitement. He started at her knee and began an oral trek along the inside of her leg. His name escaped her again, shaken and filled with voracious desire. Unconsciously, her hips moved toward him, asking. His tongue explored, deliberately avoiding the pressure she wanted, and he tasted her passion. When his tongue slid inside her she spasmed and the blissful groan of near-pain was followed by another thrust closer to his questing mouth. Her hands knotted into fists while her head thrashed from side to side. She uncurled her fingers and slid them over the smooth, shorn silk of his hair, pressed him closer, urged without words. When he began to suck, she felt the room spin away on her. Shudder after shudder racked her as pleasure exploded through her body. She felt

dizzy and disoriented when he finally drew away, then pulled her into his arms. Her scent and taste clung to his lips as they crushed hers and his tongue probed her mouth. She met the demand, returned it with a hunger that was greedy and blatant. She wanted him inside her. She released him reluctantly when he pulled back, then laughed with unequivocal pleasure, watching in rapt attention while he unzipped his jeans and stripped out of them. He didn’t bother waiting for her to shed the robe, simply pushed her back to the cushions and entered her. Her arms wrapped around his waist and she murmured with satisfaction when he began to move within her. Their rhythm was familiar and perfectly attuned to each other’s needs. He buried his face in the flow of her hair that streamed over the cushions beneath them as her fingers curled over his shoulders, gripping tightly, almost in desperation. He answered the need for them both, his hips moving rapidly against her as climax took them over the edge. **** When the cabin came back into focus a short while later, he rose and rebuilt the sputtering remnants of the earlier blaze in the fireplace. While he worked, she poured fresh cups of coffee. Then they wrapped up in a blanket together, his arms holding her back to his chest. “What do you want to do tomorrow?” she asked and sipped at the hot coffee. “More of the same?” he suggested, then laughed when she poked him in the ribs with her elbow. “Is the new chapter all right?” She twisted around to stare up at him. “It’s damn good,” he assured her. “Look at it yourself tomorrow. You’ll be pleasantly surprised.” “Did you bring the latest script?” “Yup.” “How is it?” “One of the better ones,” he answered with a smile. “I’d like to stay here forever.” “You’d get bored with me.” “Not bloody likely!” “What do you want to do tomorrow?” he asked after enjoying a mouthful of the rich Brazilian coffee. It had taken awhile, but he’d learned to like the stuff as much as she did. “Nothing,” she replied with a sigh. “For the next three days I just want to look at you, and listen to you, and touch you. Not necessarily in that order.” She grinned. “How about looking at a movie instead?” he asked. “What have you got in mind?” “Take your pick.” He gave her a nudge and they rose, spilling coffee and yelping when it splashed at their bare feet. She won the fight for the blanket and pulled it around her as she let out a low, appreciative wolf whistle and gave his tall, naked body a thorough once-over with her gaze. With a shrug, he took the coffee cups and strolled to the kitchen. He deposited them in the sink and headed to the bedroom. She trailed after him and dropped the blanket on the floor when she reached the

doorway. He was sitting up in the bed and had the sheets tossed back invitingly. There were pillows at his back where it was braced against the dark wooden headboard. The TV was on and several movies were on the end of the bed. She scanned the titles, picked out her favorite classic, and popped it in the DVD player. A moment later she slid into bed and snuggled into his arms again. “How was Christmas?” “The kids loved it.” “I’ll bet,” she said with a grin. “You spoil them rotten.” “I spoil you, too,” he pointed out. “And you love every minute of it.” “Of course I do.” “I missed you.” “Maybe next year we can spend part of the holidays as a family,” she offered. “Maybe sooner than that.” “You want your kids to spend time with us?” “They like you, I want them to learn to love you.” He paused for a moment, the smile coming naturally to his lips, then he finished, “and to accept that I love you.” “Why don’t we bring them with us next time?” “That eliminates making love in the living room,” he teased. “In that case, I want this place just for us.” “You like getting laid anywhere, let’s face it.” “I don’t particularly care where it is, as long as it’s with you,” she agreed. There was a peaceful silence in the room for several minutes, then his velvety voice ruffled the hair that fell over her forehead. “Sweetheart?” She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked into beautiful sapphire eyes. With a soft smile, she traced the enticing curve of his bottom lip with her fingertip, then kissed him gently. “I love you more than anything else in my life,” she whispered with quiet intensity. “And I am so very happy that you want me with you.” “Thank you.” She knew the world of things those simple words encompassed, and sighed in contentment when his lips touched hers before he wrapped her tighter in his arms. He touched the play button on the remote and she smiled as she listened to the sweet, steady beat of his heart next to her ear.

1-900-SURPRISE! Another look at the clock showed less than ten minutes had passed since her last check—Daniella didn’t do waiting well. Martin Fowler was due home any time now, and Daniella couldn’t subdue the flutter of excitement in her stomach when she thought about seeing him walk into the apartment. She stood up and went to the window, staring at the street as if she could will the scarlet-colored Corvette to appear. Martin had been her father’s partner in a private investigations firm that had done extremely well due to the talented men who ran it. He was almost twenty years her senior, but she’d adored him from the moment she’d met him. Persuading him that her teenage crush was actually soul-deep love and adoration hadn’t been easy. By the time she was twenty-one, Martin had been convinced; it had taken more months than she cared to recall to make her father understand and accept it. But, it had finally happened, and she was happier than she’d ever been in her life. Most of the time. Still unable to stop fidgeting, Daniella turned away with a heavy sigh and paced the living room. The two weeks Martin had been in Washington giving testimony at a high level security hearing had felt more like months, and Daniella’s temper kicked in as she cursed the dance rehearsals that had prevented her from going with him. She would have welcomed the opportunity to get away from New York with Martin, but he’d insisted that her upcoming show was too important to just pick up and leave in the middle of preparation for it—she couldn’t even argue wholeheartedly with the reasoning because it was the truth. Despite that, she’d cut out early this evening, fully aware that her concentration would be nonexistent. It was already after nine o’clock, the time Martin was due home, and she had to suppress a sudden urge to pick up the phone and call the hotel in D.C. The glitter of soft lamplight dancing on cut crystal drew her gaze to the bar, and she gave in to this impulse. She poured a healthy dose of the scotch Martin preferred, then tried to settle into an armchair. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the plush cushion in an attempt to relax. A single mouthful of the drink reminded her of the way it tasted on Martin’s lips. She let that image settle in her mind, smiling at the shiver that rippled through her. Martin was a stunning man, and she never tired of looking at him, or listening to him, or being in the same room with him. He was tall, with dark brown hair, and equally dark eyes that dominated a strikingly contoured face. At forty, he was scarred emotionally and physically, but he was beauty incarnate to the woman who loved him. The image of his lean, muscular limbs, and her frequent cataloging of every gorgeous inch of him, made her tremble with longing. She tossed back the remainder of her Scotch and slouched deeper into the chair as erotic memory led her thoughts. The warmth of the liquor coursed through her, creating a flush on her skin that she knew would be visible had Martin been there to see it. She let herself be carried along on the alcohol-edged wave, and felt an undeniable rush of hungry desire when she thought about having Martin beside her in bed. The nights had been the hardest part of the separation—she’d been going to bed later and later over the past week in order to spend as few hours as possible sleeping alone. She was still finding it difficult to believe just how much she missed him. The

apartment was eerily quiet in the morning, and equally so when she came home. The evenings started driving her crazy within a few days. She was always wound up after the extended rehearsals, but that excess energy generally found an outlet in Martin’s arms. Daniella abruptly cut off that train of thought by getting up to fix another drink, this time making it considerably larger than the previous one. A slow stroll back to the window revealed only darkness and an empty street below. It had rained earlier, and the scattered puddles created sporadic mirrors and reflected back the glare of streetlights and passing car headlights. An absent glance at her watch didn’t offer her any reassurance— he was nearly an hour late now. She forced down the threat of panic that wanted to blossom into a full-fledged fear and told herself that he was all right. His identity was protected and all precautions had been taken to ensure his safety. With her father in charge of that, she had no doubts at all about the quality of the security surrounding Fowler at all times. Uncomfortable at the window, Daniella spun on her heel and dropped into the armchair again. About halfway to the bottom of this drink, memory steered her thoughts inexorably back to the bedroom she shared with Martin. The tension knotting her muscles was as much sexual as it was concern for his unexplained lateness, and the sudden ache between her thighs was more than enough to awaken her entire body with anticipation. Another gulp and the second Scotch was gone. Daniella was beginning to feel a bit more relaxed now that alcohol was dulling her perception but there was still an edge of panic lingering within her. She couldn’t help wondering if something had happened to Martin; he was never hours late without calling—a habit he was slowly drilling into Daniella as well. She looked at the glass in her hand, debating whether to refill it a third time. It was now almost ten-thirty, and she decided to have the drink, then go to bed—alone. She couldn’t suppress the flare of anger that shot through her at the prospect of another night in the huge bed without Martin. In her heart, she knew nothing serious had delayed him, which meant he simply hadn’t bothered to call. Twenty minutes and a third drink later, Daniella was staring at the empty glass again, while her head felt pleasantly fuzzy. Disappointment and annoyance kept her on an emotional seesaw. Her irritation didn’t last long when another flash of memory betrayed the passion her body was trying to ignore. A small groan of frustration escaped her when her mind was filled with the remembered feel of Martin’s mouth closing over her nipples, suckling until she was mindless with need. Martin Fowler had been her one and only lover, and his vast sexual experience—part of his past that had been one of the primary reasons for her father’s initial disapproval—had taught her things she could never have imagined on her best days of fantasizing about him. Her high school girlfriends had all been infatuated with him too, and he’d flirted outrageously with them at every opportunity. Until the night he’d found Daniella in tears outside a restaurant where he’d run into her and a group of friends quite unexpectedly. That had been the first time she’d ever declared her love, and he’d been stunned into silence by the shock of it. It took a lot to silence Martin Fowler’s easy charm, and she smiled in spite of her loneliness. The sudden, sharp shrill of the telephone startled her enough that she dropped the glass she held. As it bounced on the carpet, she snatched the phone and turned it on. ****

“Hello.” There was a huskiness to Daniella’s voice that revealed a great deal to the caller, and Fowler’s automatic smile grew. “Hi, babe. How was rehearsal tonight?” “I cut out early,” Daniella replied, losing some of the fogginess that had crept into her mind. “Where are you? You were supposed to be home hours ago.” The tone was mildly accusatory, and vulnerable. Martin’s voice dropped to a soft, low, “I’m sorry, Daniella. I’ve been delayed. This is the first chance I’ve had to call you.” “Delayed?” Martin couldn’t possibly miss the dull, slightly slurred word, nor was the disappointment any less evident than his own feeling about the delay. His mind had been preoccupied with Daniella throughout the entire day—to the point that he’d been decidedly uncomfortable several times. He wasn’t at all reassured to realize Daniella was sitting in their apartment drinking herself senseless. “I’ve missed you, honey. A lot,” he murmured quietly, letting his tone convey a multitude of meanings in the words. “When are you going to be home?” Again, Daniella’s voice was rough with emotion and the effects of the liquor she’d consumed. “Soon,” Martin replied, then after a long pause, he smiled as the idea formed. “What are you wearing, Daniella?” “What?” “You heard me. What are you wearing?” Martin repeated the query, his smile becoming a wicked grin. Daniella stared down at her clothes, carefully selected to entice Martin’s interest as soon as he saw her. “Black satin skirt and ivory tee-shirt.” Martin closed his eyes and enjoyed the image. He could clearly envision every smooth, curving line of his lover’s body, and knew Daniella had chosen the striking contrast for precisely that reason. He couldn’t suppress the tremor that shivered through him and put a breathy shake into his voice. “Go into the bedroom and turn on the speaker phone, Daniella.” “Martin?” “Just do it, okay?” “You still haven’t said when you’ll be home,” Daniella reminded him as she made her way back to the bedroom. Her knees felt a little wobbly and she put her left hand against the wall for support. When she reached the bedroom, she sat on the edge of the bed, turned on the speaker and flicked off the cordless she’d taken from the living room. “When are you—?” “I don’t know yet, Daniella,” Martin interrupted, and before Daniella could pick up her question, he added, “Turn on the stereo, something soft and quiet.” “Why?” Daniella was having a hard time keeping her thoughts clear and Martin wasn’t making it any easier by making these odd requests. “Are you gonna question everything tonight, Dani?” Martin deliberately let some annoyance color the enquiry. “No, but I want to know what’s going on.” Martin heard the music filter through the phone as he flipped the lock on the door and went to settle comfortably on the spacious sofa. “I think I hear someone at the door,” Daniella mumbled, fully prepared to drag

herself up off the bed again. “That was me, Daniella, going into the other room of my suite.” “Oh.” Daniella shrugged and stared at the phone as if looking at it would convey her thoughts to Martin. “I really wish you were here, Martin.” The whispered words were out before she could make a conscious choice to stop them. For a moment Martin hesitated, touched by the loneliness he heard in the softly blurred statement. “Tell me what you’d do if I was beside you.” Startled, Daniella merely stared at the bedside phone. Martin’s gently insistent, “Daniella?” prompted her to reply, “I wouldn’t be going to bed alone!” Her body shook in reactive response to her memory when thoughts of Martin making love to her suddenly flooded in. “Take off your clothes and get into bed, Daniella.” Martin felt a very familiar twitch in his stomach as he envisioned the young woman slipping gracefully out of her clothes and into their large bed. “What are you doing, Martin?” Daniella hadn’t moved yet; her confusion held her where she was, gazing at the phone. “What do you want me to be doing, Daniella?” Silence met the query and Martin could practically see the innocent puzzlement he knew was written on her beautiful, youthful features. The answer to his own question was already evoking a response and his left hand slid to the front of his pants in a slow caress. “Strip and get into bed, honey.” “Why?” Despite the automatic question, Daniella was in the process of undressing. She was just stepping out of her skirt when Martin’s voice stopped her momentarily. “We’re going to make love.” Daniella swallowed the query those words invited and collapsed back onto the bed. When she finished removing her clothes and stretched out on her back, a heavy sigh escaped her. The Scotch-induced haze settled over her again and she relaxed into the soft contours of the bed. “How are you feeling now, Daniella?” “Sleepy.” “Do you want me to let you go to sleep, Dani?” “No.” Martin smiled at the renewed interest he heard in Daniella’s voice. “Close your eyes, Daniella, and take a few deep breaths.” Daniella’s head felt light and she shivered as a hint of breeze stirred the curtains at the windows and whispered across her burning skin. “Put your hands on your hip bones, and slide them up over your breasts, slowly.” “Martin!” “Come on, Daniella—where’s your sense of adventure? I can feel you already. And you feel wonderful, believe me.” At the provocative words, Daniella’s hands seemed to move of their own volition and she shivered involuntarily in response to her own experimental touch. A tiny smile quirked at her mouth as a stronger ripple of excitement woke within her. “I want you to do this, too,” she murmured as her fingers stroked softly at the smooth, firm flesh of her breasts, toying lightly with the hardening buds of her nipples. Martin grinned at the willingness he now heard in Daniella’s voice. “What makes

you think I’m not?” Daniella’s breath caught in her throat as the picture formed in her mind; Martin lying in a strange bed, in another city, wanting her as badly as she wanted him. “Daniella, pull your knees up and run your hands along the insides of your thighs— pretend it’s my tongue you’re feeling.” Martin was genuinely surprised by the quiver that crept into his voice. The combination of Martin’s mildly hoarse voice, and the suggestion itself sent a surge of desire through Daniella. Hesitation vanished as her hands moved in response to his prompting, and Daniella resisted the sudden temptation to bury her fingers between her thighs. She let her fingertips stray to the sensitive folds between her legs and an involuntary gasp escaped her as her touch moved lightly over her clitoris, then, slowly, deeper into the wet heat that pulsed with need. “Martin?” Martin heard the breathless question just as he slipped off the last piece of his own clothing. He leaned back against the cushions as his hand closed around his cock and stroked several times. “Do it, Daniella.” His voice was almost as breathy as Daniella’s now, and the tiny moan that filtered through the phone heightened the aching need in his body. He deliberately stilled the motion of his hand and got to his feet, mildly amazed at the effect listening to his sexy young lover was having on him. Daniella’s fingers burrowed deeper, sliding in and out of her body in a steady, building rhythm. She gasped quietly as her gentle touch moved from the tiny, engorged bud of her clitoris, then back to the weeping entrance of her body. She raised her fingers to her mouth, wet them generously, and returned to the slick wetness between her thighs. Daniella’s hips moved to the steady rhythm of her fingers as they moved with growing urgency. Minutes later, her head pressed deeper into the pillow as her hips rose and her back arched into her climax, shuddering violently at the explosion of pleasure. “M-Martin…” The name was little more than a broken cry, and Daniella fought for breath as she lay shuddering on the bed. “I’m right here with you, baby,” Martin returned, his voice strained but reasonably steady. Something about the sound of Martin’s voice penetrated the pleasant swirl in Daniella’s head and she forced her eyes open when she heard a distinct snap. Martin closed the cell phone with a sharp click and watched as Daniella’s eyes centered on him and grew huge. It only took a few seconds for her stare to wander over Martin’s naked, fully aroused body, then her face turned crimson with embarrassment. Martin tossed the phone onto the dresser as he headed for the young woman sprawled on the bed. Daniella’s cheeks were still flaming and she was struggling for words when Martin’s mouth covered hers with a kiss that left her struggling for air. As Martin settled beside her and pulled her still shivering body close, his tongue plunged the depths of Daniella’s mouth. Without giving his lover time to recover, Martin began a slow, sensual rediscovery of Daniella’s body. Daniella forced herself to resist the reawakening passion and she finally managed to break free of Martin’s embrace. “I thought you were still in Washington.”

“And I thought you’d be happier to see me.” “I am, but…” Daniella’s expression clouded and she jerked back when Martin tried to reclaim her lips. “How long have you been here, Martin?” “Here in the apartment or here in this room?” He couldn’t resist the grin any more than the throb of desire between his legs when he recalled the exquisite blend of nearpain and ecstasy in Daniella’s face minutes earlier. “You watched me…” Nearly choking on her indignation, Daniella pushed away from Martin. Martin’s laughter did nothing to improve his young lover’s mood, and he reached for Daniella, only to be rebuffed again. The flush of embarrassment returned to her face as she contemplated Martin’s eyes, still glittering with undisguised amusement. “Come here, Dani,” he murmured, and this time Daniella no longer resisted the embrace. Martin sighed into Daniella’s neck as she arched against him and thrust her hips into Martin’s. Daniella eased Martin’s head away from her neck and captured his mouth in a searing, intense kiss. Her tongue ran lightly over Martin’s teeth before slipping past them to explore the alluring taste of him. Martin’s soft moan of pleasure encouraged Daniella, who let her hands begin a slow caress over the firm contours of Martin’s chest. Her fingers rubbed teasing circles of touch across smooth muscles, then stopped to flick at the taut nipples. She released her demand on Martin’s lips and lowered her head to one of the sensitive tips. Martin’s hand tangled in Daniella’s blond hair and he gasped when her teeth closed on his nipple, then began a gentle sucking. His hips rose and Daniella’s hands continued their tormenting glide downward to his thighs. He was too caught up in the rapture of Daniella’s touch to monitor the sudden change in her mood. Daniella shifted her position to pin Martin beneath her as she spread his legs. Martin thrust his hips into Daniella and was visibly surprised when she pushed him back to the bed. With a grin, Daniella slipped lower and touched her tongue to Martin’s rigid cock. She kept the contact light and teasing for several long moments, until Martin’s hands in her hair drew her mouth down over the smooth shaft. Daniella sucked hard and released her hold on her lover’s hips as Martin began a gentle rhythm. Minutes later Daniella caught him off guard by pulling away and crawling to the edge of the bed. Disoriented and struggling for breath, Martin stared at her flushed face, seeing a similar fight for air as Daniella looked back at him. He made a grab for her, but Daniella stayed out of reach with a quick shake of her head to punctuate the move. “Turnabout is fair play, Martin,” she said, trying for smart-ass and getting breathless instead. Martin understood the intent, and his eyes narrowed. He reminded himself that he should have been suspicious of Daniella’s change in tactics, then decided to play the game through. “You’re right,” he agreed. He enjoyed the startled surprise Daniella couldn’t quite conceal when her wide blue eyes followed his hand as it closed around his cock and began to stroke slowly. When Martin knew he had his lover’s complete attention, his free hand shot out and he dragged her down to the mattress again. Seconds later he had her effectively pinned. Martin’s tongue traced the line of Daniella’s lips before covering them with a kiss that

was both tender and seductive. “God! I’ve missed you, Daniella,” he breathed next to her ear as his mouth brushed soft caresses along Daniella’s neck to her throat. Daniella shivered beneath him as Martin released his hold, then sighed as Daniella’s arms went around him and their lips met again. There was no resistance at all in the slender body that molded itself to Martin’s, and he tangled his hand in Daniella’s hair as their kiss lengthened. Daniella eventually eased away from him and smiled, her fingertips tracing the curving cheekbone to linger at his jaw. “I am glad you’re home.” Before he could respond to the whispered words, Daniella reached over his shoulder to the bedside table, turned the phone off again, then rolled onto her stomach with a sleepy sigh. He swept aside the thick fall of her blonde hair, then lowered his lips to the back of Daniella’s neck and brushed a trail of light kisses over the expanse of flawless skin along her shoulders and back. Balancing on his knees, he spread her legs and positioned himself between them. Daniella moaned softly when his fingers gently probed the slick entrance to her body. Martin stretched out behind her, pulling her back against his chest as he slid into the warmth of Daniella’s body and she pushed her hips up and back, taking him deep inside her. “I love you.” “I love you, too, Martin,” she answered. Almost immediately their bodies blended together with a familiar flow of motion, broken only by the sounds of their shared passion. **** Less than an hour later, after a warm, leisurely shower, Daniella crawled back into bed ahead of him. Martin slid in beside her and Daniella curled naturally into his arms. “How are you feeling, honey?” He stroked the damp strands of Daniella’s pale, golden hair and kissed her forehead. “Great,” Daniella murmured, and turned her face up to look into his dark eyes. “I’m really glad you’re home, Martin. But next time, I’m going with you, rehearsals be damned.” He smiled at the vaguely sluggish declaration. “You’re going to feel like shit in the morning. How much did you have to drink?” Daniella shrugged, the gesture raising her shoulder just enough to crack him under the chin. At the muffled curse that escaped him, Daniella laughed. “Sorry.” “Somehow I doubt it.” He paused, and for several minutes silence blanketed them as he contemplated the wording of his own apology. He’d pretty much decided on how to phrase it when he noticed she was sound asleep, her breathing deep and peaceful. Martin pulled the sheets up around Daniella’s shoulders and laughed. If the hangover didn’t kill her in the morning, she just might kill him—once her memory cleared. He decided it was still worth her wrath to see her sprawled out on their bed lost in her own passion. Yeah, Daniella was definitely going to be pissed about this one. **** Fowler was just finishing up in the bathroom when Daniella stumbled through the

door and barely made it to the toilet. Martin winced at the retching as he turned to stare at Daniella, who finally managed to lean heavily against the wall. “Good morning,” he said with a deliberately cheerful smile. Daniella glowered, but didn’t move from her slouch. Feeling fine himself made it easy for Martin to maintain his own good humor and he stepped closer to Daniella. Placing a light kiss on her feverish forehead, he whispered, “You know, last night’s performance was much more pleasant.” Daniella aimed a half-hearted swing at him, and succeeded only in having to grab him for support. Almost against her will, Daniella’s arms encircled his waist and her head fell against his chest as she waited for the room to stop its erratic spin. Martin laughed softly and pulled her closer, waiting out the faint tremors that rippled through her body. When he felt the hold loosen and Daniella tried to push away, he let go. “How long were you home last night?” Daniella leaned back and used the vanity as support. Martin resisted the urge to make another quip, the genuine misery he read in her sapphire blue eyes actually causing him a twinge of regret. “Do you remember when you thought somebody was at the door?” “Shit!” It was little more than a heartfelt groan, and it took most of Martin’s concentration not to burst out laughing a second time. “Why?” He considered his answer for several moments, then said honestly, “I thought you’d enjoy it.” As he watched the memory surface in Daniella’s eyes, he grinned. “And you did like it, Daniella.” Silence settled between them until the intensity of his gaze brought another flush of color to her face. Daniella pretended she was oblivious to her blush by turning toward the shower. When she stepped into the warm fall of water a minute later, he’d already left the room. **** “Andrew, you can’t be serious? Get somebody else. I just got in from Washington last night. I’d like to take a couple of days off. Spend some time with Dani.” He offered the last as a way to halt Renault’s citing of reasons for Martin to help him out. Daniella caught the last of the statement as she entered the bedroom, and she smiled in spite of lingering irritation. She came up behind Martin and slipped her arms around his waist, her fingers working through the loosely tied belt of his robe. “Renault! I’m not listening to this, and I’m sure as hell not going to get involved with a…” Martin stopped speaking rather abruptly when Daniella’s hands slid inside his robe and began to roam. He caught the hand that was gliding over his chest, just as the other cupped his balls in a gentle squeeze that sent a bolt of warm pleasure arcing through him. “Martin?” Andrew’s tone was sharp as he waited for some response to his last statement. “Yeah, I’m right here, Andrew.” Martin made a grab for Daniella’s arm as he twisted in the loose embrace. He managed to close his fingers over her wrist and pull the distracting hand away. His glare was wasted on Daniella; she wasn’t remotely deterred by

the expression. She grinned back at him with a look that radiated mischief. “I don’t think you’re taking this seriously enough, Martin,” Andrew Renault commented with forced patience and a large measure of annoyance. “This young woman’s life may be in danger.” “I’m sorry, Andrew, but I really think you should find someone else to handle this, okay? Telephone sex operators should expect this kind of thing.” Daniella’s eyebrows rose and the light in her blue gaze took on a wickedness that was beginning to worry him. “I’ll admit that it’s not much of a way to make a living, Martin,” Renault conceded. “But, that does not change the fact that this girl needs protection, and you are very good at calming frightened young women, as I recall.” “An…” Martin lost his breath midway into the name when Daniella dropped to her knees and took his penis into her mouth. Almost immediately, Martin could feel his cock hardening in response to the steady sucking. A half-hearted swipe at Daniella was intercepted as the pressure of her mouth intensified. “Martin! Is there something wrong?” The concern in Renault’s voice struck him as absurd, and it took tremendous effort not to laugh. Daniella’s fingers moved between his legs to stroke the soft skin there, and Martin stared down at her in open fascination as her tongue flicked over his fully erect cock. “No, Andrew. Everything’s fine.” He finally managed to get the words out without gasping them—barely. “Good. When can I expect you to get here?” Martin hardly heard the question through the pounding of his heartbeat, and his eyes rolled as Daniella took him deeper into her mouth. His knees felt weak, something Daniella was fully aware of when her hands slid over his legs and stroked the smooth skin behind his knees. Martin’s hips began to move and as his head fell back, his free hand tangled in Daniella’s hair. “Fowler?!” Martin swallowed hard and tried to focus on Renault’s voice, at least long enough to find some kind of reply to the demand he heard in the crisp, accented tones. “All right, Renault! I’ll be over in an hour, but I’m not making any promises!” He could hear the strain in his voice, but chose to ignore it, then dropped the receiver back into its cradle. Seconds later, he shuddered into a climax that left him choking for air as well as struggling for balance. He probably would have fallen if Daniella hadn’t stood up and wrapped her arms around him. The young woman’s delighted laughter bubbled out and Martin groaned into the embrace, which succeeded in making Daniella laugh more. “You’re trying to get me killed, aren’t you, sweetheart?” Martin bitched. “In case you hadn’t noticed, that was your father!” “Yeah, I heard,” Daniella noted with a grin that told Martin it was precisely why she’d done it. “Telephone sex, huh? Sounds like your kind of case, Martin.” The sarcasm actually surprised Fowler, but it was the faint hint of bitterness that really bothered him. “I’m sorry about last night, Daniella.” Daniella brushed a strand of fine, ebony hair off Martin’s forehead, and smiled. “No, you’re not. But it’s okay, really.”

“Is that what this little stunt was about?” At the very dry tone, Daniella’s eyes widened with pure innocence. “Of course not, Martin. I thought you’d enjoy it.” The smile graduated to a smirk. “And you did enjoy it, didn’t you, Martin?” “Yeah, Dani. It was great.” Martin relented without a fight; he knew he had some sort of retribution coming, he just hadn’t expected it to emerge quite this soon—or in front, so to speak, of her father. As he dressed, Daniella watched him closely. “Are you going to help Dad with this ‘900’ thing?” Martin sighed heavily. “Look, Daniella, the only thing I know about 900 numbers is that you can’t sit through a decent late-night program without watching the bimbo brigade every time there’s a break!” Daniella shrugged, then a grin spread over her face. She knew Martin would help her father; it was their business. And she also knew it would probably involve surveillance and all night stakeouts. “What are you smirking about now?” “I was just thinking if you want, we can do some research later—maybe while you’re at work?” “Don’t even think it, Daniella!” Martin wasn’t overly reassured by the wide-eyed innocence that came into her expression…

The Hunt The heavy darkness in the sky had been threatening rain all day; now, late in the evening, the promise remained unfulfilled. But it was there. Like so many other threats lurking within the shadows. As she watched, the storm-grey above her deepened, and a gust of wind tore chunks of white cloud to shreds and tossed them carelessly into the emerging maelstrom, until they lost their airborne wildness and settled over the ground in a shroud of fog. Amid the swirl of night-cooling, rain-laden air, she stood, waiting and watching. In time, she smiled, and began to walk … and to soak in all that surrounded her, both the physical and the internal nuances that caressed her heightened mental awareness… Spring was nearing but the chill of winter continued to dominate the air. The Toronto street was expectedly busy, people moved rapidly through the surreal, falsified daylight created by the glowing street-lights. She walked among the crowd, completely at ease with the knowledge that she stood out among the multitude of faces and bodies that populated the busy area. Emerging from the swaths of cottony, damp mist, she felt their thoughts washing over her, heard their unspoken words of praise; she was the kind of woman all people noticed and appreciated. Men gazed at her with longing, women with combined envy and pride for the magnificent creature who embodied the beauty of their gender. She glanced into the bustling crowd and snared the eyes of a staring man. Forging a passing bond with his mind, she laughed silently as she saw herself through his eyes for fleeting instants… Blue-black hair cascaded along the smooth curve of her back, and jetdark eyes glittered as neon and artificial sunlight caught in their inky depths and reflected back. Long, shapely legs were glimpsed with each step she made, the thigh-high slits of her vivid electric blue velvet skirt daring anyone to touch her—to even think about touching her. A lightweight, knee-length black silk jacket fluttered in the whisper of breeze that stirred the air. Beneath it was a snow-white, gauzy blouse that caressed soft, delectable breasts that bobbed enticingly with every precise step she took. Black stiletto heels clicked on the concrete sidewalk and her cultivated arrogance shrouded her in mystery and sensual allure. She released her hold on the stranger’s thoughts as quickly as she’d seized them, then continued her walk. She smiled when several young men eyed her, and she read the calculations their minds made as each decided if they were, indeed, brave enough to attempt an approach. Her laughter as her gaze swept over each of them in turn was all the deterrent they needed to leave her alone. She knew what she wanted tonight, and her heart was perfectly attuned to his presence. Somewhere in this crowded mélange of people, Nicholas deVerieux waited and watched. She paused for a few moments at a dark corner, closed her eyes and reached out to the night. A shudder of rapture softened lovely features as she felt the mental caress of his pleasure. He called her to him, taunting her mind with waves of memory and promises yet to be fulfilled. Their game began in earnest. ****

Mortal heartbeats were an undercurrent to the steady throb of the music that reverberated throughout the noisy club. Youth … wild and insolent with the assurance of their brief mortality. A cool smile curved the thin, vaguely cruel mouth, though none who might have witnessed the expression could ever have understood the source of his macabre humor. He toyed with the glass in his hand, long tapering fingers stroking the smooth surface, remembering her skin. He looked at the young people who drifted through the room, each locked in their own worlds. They played at death and immortality, but the truths would terrify them. A soft, breathless whisper drew his attention outward, and he looked down into the simulated death-masque of a girl who could have been no more than twenty. Her desire was naked in her hazel eyes and he caught her wrist as she reached out to touch him. Amused in his dark, decadent fashion, he lifted the slender limb he’d captured and stroked a caress over the throb of life that pulsed rhythmically beneath the pale surface of her skin. She watched in rapt fascination when he bent over her wrist and he heard, distantly, the gasp of pain and pleasure as razor-edged fangs pierced her vein and he drank. The explosive force of her sudden climax reached him through the taste of her blood, and he licked the tiny wounds he’d made, healing them instantly. “Would you like to dance?” she asked, a glimmer of irritation and shock in her tone now that he refused to look at her further. “No.” It was curt, a dismissal. When she was reluctant to accept the obvious suggestion, he permitted himself the luxury of inciting fear. Ancient, odd-colored eyes flickered with golden fire, and the girl gasped. This time there was no pleasure in the sharp intake of air. He was alone once again seconds later. But she was getting closer. **** Deeper in the underground nightlife of Goths and thrill junkies she strolled in complete ease. It took only a short time to locate the bar Nicholas had named earlier in the evening, and she approached it with mild curiosity. She stopped on the sidewalk, immune to the mutters and curses her abrupt halt caused as people stumbled around her. The sign drew her eyes upward, and her mood transformed and became wickedly delighted as she read the name: Savage Garden. He couldn’t have picked a more appropriate place, she mused. She didn’t doubt for an instant that she would find him inside; his presence was like a flame illuminating the path that would lead her to salvation. Or, more aptly, eternal damnation. Smiling now, a secretive and highly seductive curve to her mouth, she answered the siren-song of her lover’s call. A crowd was standing outside the entrance and she walked past them, ignoring the mutterings of discontent her audacity incited. The young man who stood at the door, selecting the clientele for the night, stared at her. His smile was like so many she’d seen that night, speculative and calculating and absurdly oblivious to the mortal danger he was in as he lusted for her. “What can I do for you, darling?” he asked, his faint British accent adding a pleasant lilt to the overtly insolent query. He was a nice-looking boy, she noted with a sweeping glance: tall, fair and filled with his own importance.

“Let me go in,” she replied sweetly. “Let me go in and you can have whatever you want, sweetheart,” he murmured when he leaned close and his tongue flicked lightly at the lobe of her ear. “Later,” she whispered, locking her gaze with his, penetrating his mind with little effort. “You’re busy at the moment,” she added with a light nip at his bottom lip. She chewed the trapped fullness of his lip and laughed when he pulled back abruptly, a droplet of blood staining the corner of his mouth. She leaned close again and licked at the crimson smear, an electric shock of excitement exploding in her veins when the metallic taste lingered on her tongue. She stepped past him and went inside, laughing quietly as she released her mental hold on him and felt his confusion drifting out of her awareness. Inside the bar was dark and turbid. Her eyes flared for several heartbeats of time, then her preternatural vision sharpened and defined shapes and shadows with vivid clarity. Nicholas had arrived before her. The stairwell echoed weirdly with the hammering beat of the music and she floated up into the dark room. At the top of the stairs she paused again. Unnecessary breaths were quickened with excitement and anticipation. The fiery red light above her head sent tendrils of light spiraling outward, the crimson streaks of bloody color glinting off chrome and being absorbed by the shadows. A powerful strobe turned the dancers into frantic marionettes as they let the madness of the primal music carry them into their own private darkness. A flicker of reddish blond hair caught her eye and she pierced the murky atmosphere without thought, saw him smile at her from across the room. Her body tingled with greater exhilaration and she shivered unconsciously. Already she could feel his hands on her skin, inciting a hunger that no one else could feed. She brushed past the few people who lingered near the top of the stairs, skirted around the metal bars that gave the place such a distinctive look. By the time she reached the spot, he’d vanished. Furious and frustrated, she whirled around and scanned the crowd more closely. Again, his pale presence drew her instantly. One slightly arched eyebrow rose in amused challenge. “Your game is intriguing, love,” she whispered, and knew he’d hear her despite the deafening music. And which role do you prefer to play? Predator or prey? His answer whispered inside her head, and she grinned. What does it matter? It always ends the same and I have never objected. “Can I get you a drink?” The unexpected voice startled her and she reluctantly looked away from her lover. The newcomer was tall and thin, dressed in midnight-colored pants and vest. His shirt was a frothy creation of soft cotton and lace-trimmed cuffs. His hair was shoulder-length chestnut silk, haloing a face that reflected both innocence and sensual knowledge. He was rather exquisite, she conceded silently. She nodded and allowed him to guide her to the bar. She accepted a glass of red wine and strolled toward the central row of tables. As expected, the boy followed her, but they stopped at the half wall that ringed the dance floor instead of moving into the shadows where tables afforded more privacy to the patrons. She leaned on the wide ledge that acted as a counter surface for all who stood there, and peered at the gyrating dancers who turned the area into a roiling sea of color and motion.

“You’re very beautiful,” the young man whispered, almost as if he were afraid to let her hear the words. “Thank you,” she replied into his ear. “What is your name?” “Felix. You are?” “Callandra.” Her response was vague as she searched the room for Nicholas. As before, the pale glow of his presence drew her. The tingle within her began to fan outward, the warmth and longing becoming more intense with each moment that he denied her his touch. Callandra? She closed her eyes and shuddered as her body ached with aroused hunger. Nicholas’ voice inside her head was a caress, a promise of passions and madness to be sated and indulged at their whims. His displeasure at her companion’s attention amused her, but she wasn’t foolish enough to disregard his annoyance. She looked at the boy and smiled. Before she could utter a sound, she felt Nicholas at her back. “My love,” she murmured as he pushed aside the collar of her silk jacket and lowered his lips to the bared curve of her neck. The shiver of warmth rippled her spine and she felt her stomach lurch wildly as she pressed herself back against him. “Go.” Nicholas’ quiet command sent the boy away instantly. Callandra squirmed against him when his hands pulled her hips more snugly to his. “Why did you want to come to this place, Nicholas?” she asked, her voice breathless as their bodies moved in subtle rhythm with the blaring music. She tried to turn, but he refused her movement. Nicholas’ hands shifted, slid under the concealing black silk of her jacket, and quickly covered the soft mounds of her breasts. His fingers teased rigid nipples, tugged the sensitive tips repeatedly as he pressed more tightly to her. He laughed softly when she grabbed his left hand and guided it to her thigh. She raised her leg, rested her foot on the bar that ran beneath the ledge a few inches above the floor, then leaned to the right. Nicholas now had easy access to her. When he hesitated, she covered his hand with hers and moved it between her legs. She wore nothing under the heavy skirt. Nicholas’ right hand splayed across her stomach, held her immobile as he penetrated her moist depths, fingers burrowing into her flesh as she tried not to cry out her pleasure. She trembled violently in his arms, thrilled to his touch as the heat and hunger rose to consume her. “Fuck me, Nicholas.” She wanted him with desperate hunger, mindless of their surroundings and the curious looks that were surreptitiously being cast in their direction. Nicholas’ expert fingers were teasing, gliding over hyper-sensitive flesh as he kissed the side of her neck and his tongue caressed the throbbing vein at the base. “Tell me what you want, slut,” he murmured next to her ear. “I have,” she gasped, then moaned softly when he buried two fingers in her wetness. “Please… Nicholas…” Nicholas’ fangs pierced her neck, and he felt the spasm of euphoria that shook her entire body as he drank. The soft sucking of his feeding was matched by the easy rhythm of his fingers as he kept her on the edge of ecstasy without tumbling her into the release she needed. The low, guttural growl of Callandra’s frustrated lust added to the sweetness of her blood and he kept her in place when she attempted to break his hold. Gradually, Nicholas drew back and turned her to face him. He brought sticky fingers

to his lips, wiped away the droplet of blood that clung to his mouth, and offered the bloodied finger to her. She sucked his finger into her mouth and her eyes closed. He pulled her deeper into the shadows. She was shaking and her breaths were hoarse. Every tremor that passed through her was shared, and he laughed quietly as he sat at a table that was cloistered in darkness. She stood before him, expectant, and, he knew, aching. “What do you want, Callandra?” “You.” “You have me.” “Let’s leave here, Nicholas,” she requested, and managed to keep the plea from her voice. Not that it mattered, he knew precisely what she was thinking. “I want to go home.” “I thought you would enjoy this place, my darling,” he said with a raised eyebrow. “You disappoint me.” “It is not you who has been disappointed,” she snapped, her tone suddenly icy with sarcasm. “Have I disappointed you, dearest?” he mocked. Before she could hiss at him, he grabbed her hand and yanked. She stumbled forward, and he lifted her onto his lap. She straddled his thighs, and he tugged at the heavy flow of her skirt, let it trail over his right hip. His hands rested on her thighs, hidden by the luxurious velvet of the skirt, inches from her tantalizing warmth. Callandra laughed and ran slender fingers over the fine, spiked length of his strawberry-blond hair. The longest strands in the front framed his angular face, brushed his shoulders and shaped to a point near the centre of his back; tonight he had tinted the sculpted top with glittering silver. She cradled his head between her hands and gazed into eyes that continuously seemed to be shifting shades; his right eye, brown, was all the colors of earth, while the blue of his other eye encompassed the endless array of hues in a forbidden summer sky. Her thumbs brushed over the arched eyebrows, drifted downward to skim the slope of his nose, and finally came to rest on either side of the curving mouth that smiled up at her. “I want to make love with you, Nicholas,” she breathed, her eyes locked again with his. “I want you to possess me. To own me as no one else can. I want you to consume me so that I live within you,” she confessed into his ear as she leaned closer to him. “We came here to hunt, darling,” he reminded her without real conviction. “I came here to meet my master,” she corrected. Nicholas smiled, the expression far more gentle than many would have thought him capable of, and he pulled her into a lingering, sensual kiss. He slipped several buttons free, released her from the caress, then lifted one soft, full breast to his mouth. His tongue circled the responsive nipple, flicked at the tip with light strokes before he finally closed his lips over the tempting flesh and began to suck intently. Callandra’s low moan of reawakened desire woke his own passion and he reluctantly eased away. He looked up into eyes that glowed with liquid fire in the darkness, and her fangs gleamed white and deadly when she smiled at him. Callandra glanced down, laughing quietly at the sight of her opened blouse and the twin globes of her breasts partially hidden by the gauzy fabric. Her jacket acted like a cape around her shoulders—only he was witness to her exposed body. She reached lower, caught at the snap of his dark jeans and tugged it open. When he made no objection, she

slid the zipper down and eased the heavy material aside. Her chest heaved with barely contained excitement as she freed his erection from the confines of his pants, and her fingers lovingly caressed his rigid length. “We are in a room filled with people, Callandra,” he reminded her, thoroughly amused. The voices of the club patrons, the roar of the deafening music, the shouted conversations, all were whispers in the background. Callandra’s awareness didn’t extend past him and her insatiable desire for his touch. She ignored Nicholas’ words, and lifted her skirt as she rose slightly, then lowered herself onto him. The joining made her cry out softly, then she bit her bottom lip to prevent further sound from escaping her. Nicholas’ arms wrapped around her waist and he held her as she shuddered in his embrace. “I love you,” she murmured, and kissed his temple. She braced her feet on the floor and her body quickly found the rhythms of the club. The music permeated her, seemed to emanate from within her, and the multitude of mortal heartbeats became a single primal pulse that she matched with her hips as she rocked against him. Nicholas loosened his hold on her, moved his hands to her thrusting hips and created a faster rhythm to her motion. He heard the scream inside her mind an instant before he pulled her head to his neck. The cry of her orgasm was silenced as she bit into his throat with a savagery that caused him a fleeting moment of pain. He held her in a vise-like grip as she drank, knew that had he given her freedom she’d tumble them to the floor with the force of her hunger. When the first wave of maddened euphoria passed, he lifted her away, then pulled her down hard,and triggered his own climax as her body tightened again around him. His fangs sank into the soft mound of her left breast, near her heart, and her fingers brushed over his hair as she whispered words of love. Endless minutes later, Nicholas drew back and smiled up into her dazed eyes. He loved to see her this way, radiant with the sheer delirium of his possession. He owned Callandra as he had few others, and he never tired of her devotion. That she exulted in belonging to him only added to his satisfaction. “Are we going to leave now?” she asked as she straightened and rose slightly. She shivered unconsciously when their bodies separated and remained motionless as Nicholas zipped his jeans, then laughingly closed her blouse for her. She stepped back and sat across from him, her fingers entwined with his on the smooth surface of the table. “Is there nothing here that appeals to your hunger?” he taunted. “Perhaps your young companion, what was his name? Felix?” “I had thought you were the one who sent him to me.” She smiled. “He desires you even now,” Nicholas told her seriously. “He’s been watching you.” “And has he seen all he wanted to see?” she wondered, eyes alive with dark amusement. “I think not,” Nicholas purred, his humor equally lurid. “But he does know I have just had what he covets tonight.” “The boy’s a fool.” “He wants you.” “So he’s a fool with exquisite taste.” She smirked. “That makes him no less a fool.” “And am I a fool as well, dearest?” “No,” she whispered. “Never.” Nicholas’ smile was indulgent, and he cast a glance in the boy’s direction.

“Let’s take him with us,” Nicholas said. He idly raised his hand and beckoned. Felix stepped forward and joined them moments later. The master vampire indicated the chair next to Callandra and she laughed quietly when Felix dropped into the seat and brushed a hand over hers. The gesture was meant to appear accidental; both she and her lover knew it was the boy’s attempt at subtle seductiveness. “Is this who you were waiting for?” Felix asked, his eyes locked on Callandra’s features. “This is Nicholas,” she said, smiling gently. “He is an old friend. It was his suggestion that brought me to this place tonight, Felix.” “Then I’m glad he recommended the Garden.” Felix laughed, and continued to ignore Nicholas’ presence. He was drunk, and it was making him both foolhardy and arrogant. Nicholas smirked at the impudence, then rose. “I’ll leave you to your new friend, Callandra,” he whispered next to her ear as he bent to kiss her cheek. I’ll be close by when you’re ready to leave. She shivered, shifted unconsciously in her chair and nodded. He was gone from the club seconds later and she felt the chill void created by his absence. “Would you like another drink?” Felix questioned as he ordered another beer from the waitress who had stopped at their table. “No,” she shook her head. “I have not finished the first one you so generously supplied.” He smiled and slid his chair closer to hers. “Do you always fuck your lovers in crowded nightclubs?” Felix asked with a polite smile. Callandra stared at him for a moment, measured the intent of his bluntness, then laughed. “Only Nicholas,” she remarked casually. “But Nicholas is an addiction I have suffered from for a very long time.” Felix raised a hand to smooth it over the flowing mane of her hair, then his hand slid beneath the long jacket and sought the soft curve of her breast. “I am not a whore to be groped and fondled by strangers, Felix,” Callandra growled quietly. Her fingers caught his wrist before his hand closed over her flesh. She permitted herself the pleasure of causing him a small amount of pain for his audacity. “I think you are, bitch.” The young man smiled and jerked his wrist free of her grasp. “I think it’s exactly what you came here for.” Anger rose, and with it came the first swift and searing pang of thirst. She cooled her ire and leaned forward, then smiled again when his look dropped to the revealing scoop of her neckline. “And you think you can give me what I want, young Felix?” she purred. Her gaze moved slowly over him, appreciating the silken length of rich chestnut hair that fell about his shoulders, and the equally dark brows that arched gracefully over intense eyes. He was a handsome boy, almost beautiful. Yet totally unlike Nicholas, who was beauty incarnate to the woman who adored him. “Perhaps you’re right,” she nodded thoughtfully. Felix finished the last of his beer and grinned as he moved to sit in Nicholas’ vacant seat. He held his hands out to her, palms upward.

Callandra laughed with dark mirth, and stood. She shook her head and took one of his proffered hands, then tugged him to his feet. “I think not, young one,” she told him. “You are not Nicholas, nor do I wish you to be.” Felix pulled her close to him, and bent his head to hers. She returned his eager kiss casually, without real interest, and gently prodded him toward the exit. **** They said nothing as they left The Savage Garden. Callandra felt Nicholas nearby and she was all but twitching with aroused hunger as she caught the shift of his thoughts and understood the nature of this night’s hunt. Excited, she could concentrate on nothing but the fiercely compelling need to enjoy her lover’s game. Felix, beside her, smiled, thinking her shallow breaths and eager expression were for him. They’d walked only a few doors away from the nightclub when Callandra turned and yanked him into a darkened alley. She knew no one was near and she drew him further into the pitch blackness. He hadn’t uttered a sound, but his eyes widened with surprise and interest as he waited to see what she intended to do. She shoved him back against the solid brick wall. Felix was startled by the force of her attack. The surprise grew when she leaned into him and her hand slithered across his chest, then dipped lower to massage the growing hardness between his thighs. The pressure of her hand grew steadily and he thrust his hips into the demanding caresses. When she began to nuzzle the side of his neck he laughed out loud. “You’ve certainly had a change of heart,” he taunted, with a weak attempt at cavalier dryness. “A change of heart?” She repeated the words with a new inflection, one that implied the concept was absurd. “I want you, Felix. And I don’t intend to wait until you decide I can have you.” As if to emphasize her declaration, Callandra reached for the buckle of his belt and quickly released the clip. Seconds later her hand worked its way into the open front of his jeans. Her lips covered his and her tongue explored his mouth with the same fierce urgency as her fingers moving over his rigid length. “I don’t think I’ve ever been fucked in an alley,” Felix mused when she drew the soft velvet of her skirt up over her hips. His hand never made contact with her skin. It was caught in a grip of steel and he looked over her shoulder to see Nicholas smiling at him. “You shouldn’t toy with him, love,” Nicholas murmured softly, kissing her neck lightly. “He thinks you want him. Do you?” Callandra shook her head and smiled, the expression revealed elongated fangs and her eyes glowed fire. “Show him what you want, pet,” Nicholas suggested. She laughed and spun around to face her lover and master. Unmindful of her actions, she hauled him away from Felix and pushed him to the ground. Nicholas’ eyebrows rose and annoyance sparked to life within him. She felt the shift in emotion as she climbed across his thighs. She didn’t care. She pulled at his jeans until she had exposed only what was necessary to fulfill her immediate need, then she unbuttoned her blouse and leaned over him. Full breasts grazed the silk of his shirt and she shivered at the sensation of touching him and being touched

by the cool fabric. Her hips moved against him, and she enjoyed the feel of the smooth length of his arousal pressed to her moist warmth. She moaned softly and rubbed herself harder against him. Nicholas’ hands closed over the enticing roundness of her breasts and he squeezed with enough pressure to elicit a tiny gasp of pain from his lover. She jerked away from him and tore open his shirt. Before he could anticipate her, Callandra impaled herself on him and began to ride him with an abandon that actually surprised him. Her features were tense with concentration as she trapped his hands with hers and their fingers entwined. Her back arched and her hips moved harder against him. Again, so swiftly he didn’t see the action coming, Callandra’s head descended and her fangs tore into his chest near his heart. Real pain rippled the length of Nicholas’s body. The shock of her assault thrilled and angered him—two might play this game of dominance, but it was Nicholas who would always win the contest of wills. Callandra had been allowed her moment, he decided with aberrant pleasure. He reversed their positions and trapped her beneath him. Nicholas tugged her head from his chest, ignored her whimper of objection, and yanked hard until the curve of her throat was invitingly exposed. He trapped her hands as he lowered his head to her neck. He bit with no more gentleness than she had, and her body convulsed and tightened around him. A hissing growl of fury escaped her and he drove himself deeper into her with brutal force. “Nicholas…” He released her hands and they immediately slid down the length of his back and covered his buttocks. She pulled him harder against her writhing body. Long legs encircled his waist until he pulled back, disentangled her hold and slid his arms under her knees. He leaned forward again and her spine curved to accommodate his shift. The palms of his hands were flat against the chilled asphalt they were oblivious to, and her fingernails dug into his wrists as he carelessly fucked her like the whore she’d become this night. Blood smeared her breasts—his blood—and Nicholas’ smile was filled with triumph when her head fell back and she choked back a strangled scream. Her body twisted in his grasp and her shudders pulled him over the edge into his own frenzied release. Minutes later, he let his arms slip from under her legs and rocked back on his heels as he pulled her up into his embrace. Callandra felt tears stream from her eyes as she nestled into the curve of his neck. Her entire body felt abused but sated in a way she hadn’t known she wanted. If she looked closely at her behavior, she would be horrified at what she’d done to him. Instead, she whispered her love and he soothed the shudders that still wracked her. They each felt the approach of the young mortals long before they were reached. Callandra eased away from her lover, laughed softly as their bodies separated at last. The sticky stream of their pleasure glistened against the pale ivory of her thighs and she ran a finger through the moisture before she slipped the wet tip between her lips and smiled wickedly at him. Nicholas took her hand and sucked her finger deep into his mouth—he felt the hunger stir to new life inside his lover. She was still aroused and her mood unpredictable. He was enjoying tremendously this new side of her nature. She withdrew and looked upward, past his shoulder. “Felix, I’d forgotten about you,” she whispered.

“I noticed,” he said with a sneer. Despite Nicholas’ mental hold on him, he was still able to speak with free will, and he was clearly battling terror and lust with equal fury. Callandra smiled at the impudent tone. The alley that had previously been in complete darkness was now dimly lit by the increased glow of the streetlight near the entrance. She could see two other young men approaching them, the pair as clearly visible as if the sun shone on them. At the moment, perhaps more alluring was the realization that they could see her, and Nicholas, and the unwitting Felix. She tossed back her hair and stood. Nicholas rose as well and she saw him pulling his jeans over his hips and closing them. She slid her skirt down from her waist and partially buttoned her blouse. The entire time, she held the transfixed stare of the nearing boy who watched every tiny action she made. She could feel the heat of his lust even with several feet between them. “You must like it rough, baby,” the new arrival laughed. “Does the sight of blood turn you on?” “Yes,” she breathed, eyes alive with macabre humor. “Maybe we should cut up your boyfriend and see how much you get off on that,” the second boy sneered. She didn’t acknowledge the words. Her eyes remained locked with the first of the two youths. She deliberately eased the buttons loose on her blouse again. Nicholas’ eyebrow rose. He knew she’d never let the boy touch her, but he’d never before seen her incite anyone in quite this manner. She was a deliciously amoral creature tonight, he thought with satisfaction. He kept Felix silent and hidden from the mortals’ vision, his hypnotic control of the newcomers so subtle they were unaware of the other presence in the alley with them. “You want me, don’t you?” Callandra purred quietly. “You want to fuck me in front of him, don’t you?” The first boy had already taken a step closer to her. His eyes were firmly fixed on the bloodstained beauty of her naked breasts. Amused by the situation, Nicholas permitted himself to enjoy the boy’s lusting thoughts. The kid wanted desperately to close his mouth over the erect points that tipped Callandra’s softly rounded curves. The ache in the boy’s groin became painful when her slender fingers teased him by flicking over her nipples and cupping her breasts as she fondled herself. Nicholas laughed whole-heartedly when the boy made a lunge for her. Callandra caught the young man’s wrist and spun him into the wall. Nicholas heard the distinct crack of bones as she jerked her victim’s head back and buried fangs hungrily in his neck as she pressed herself to the hapless boy’s back. The youth’s companion never made it to the mouth of the alley. Nicholas seized him, and minutes later two bodies littered the ground as the vampires smiled at each other. “I’ve never seen you like this, pet,” Nicholas whispered as she stepped over the boy’s body and into his arms. Callandra all but collapsed against her lover and she tried to control the bloodlust that continued to dominate her mood. She hadn’t killed since the first night she’d awakened to her new life. She had sworn it would never happen again. Tonight, still consumed by the madness of Nicholas’ possession, she hadn’t wanted to stop until there was nothing left to take from the boy. Even now, her body craved her master’s touch. “We have to do something with them,” she eventually said.

Nicholas laughed, the sound cold and mocking. “We already have, Callandra,” he murmured as he kissed her bared shoulder. He continued upward until his mouth closed over hers and she twisted fully into his embrace. Her soft body molded to his and she sighed quietly as she returned the oral caress with the first sign of her usual gentleness. “I think this time we will enjoy ourselves at home,” Nicholas promised when he drew back and stared into her wide, dark eyes. “Take our guest,” he laughed, indicating Felix. “I’ll join you very soon. He won’t remember what he’s seen here.” **** “Your home is lovely,” Felix said as he strolled around the antiques and leathercovered furniture that filled the room she’d led him to. The estate was huge, and he wondered idly how many rooms there actually were in the place. And, if Nicholas occupied one of them now. “This room is one of my favorite places,” she told him with sincere enthusiasm. The fire had been lit, and she smiled at the play of dancing flames that cast macabre shadows over the cozy warmth of the library. “Why?” Felix asked when he accepted a drink from her. “You’re not having one?” he enquired when she remained empty-handed. “I prefer to drink the memories this place holds,” she murmured quietly. Knowing he watched every movement she made, Callandra walked slowly to the fireplace. In the flickering light she began to peel away the rich layers of her clothing, her entire manner seemingly oblivious to the ravenous gaze of the young man who stared at her. She tossed the last piece of her outfit onto the sofa and turned to smile at Felix. Her hands smoothed over her hips and glided upward to cup her breasts. She toyed with the erect and sensitive points of her nipples as she dropped to her knees. “I thought you wanted me, Felix,” she said with a breathless sigh. “You’re doing fine without me,” he observed, his voice hoarse with excitement. He turned one of the chairs to face her and sat, drink clutched in hands that trembled uncontrollably. Callandra’s smile softened further and she spread her thighs, the light of the flames turning the dark hair there to enticing shadow. She shook her head and her waist-length mane was tossed back so he could see her clearly. Her hands moved between her parted thighs and she shivered as she delicately probed her already aroused body. “Why don’t you do this for me, Felix?” she suggested with a breathy moan. She closed her eyes and felt the vampire wake, her fingers moved more deftly and she screamed Nicholas’ name silently. Through the pounding of her thirst, she heard Felix hauling at his clothes as he tried to remove them too quickly. Two pairs of hands touched her at once. Callandra’s eyes snapped open and she grinned down at Felix as she slammed him back to the floor. She straddled his thighs and looked down at him. He was fully aroused and the lust in his eyes was unmistakable. Beneath it, equally clear, was fear. She felt the rush of euphoric power engulf her. Her hair was lifted off her shoulders and she shivered at the light touch of Nicholas’ lips on her neck. He hugged her waist and she snuggled back against him. “Do you want to fuck him, darling?” “I want you,” she whispered.

“Then you shall have me,” he murmured. “Quench your thirst, Callandra, while I sate your hunger.” Nicholas’ will ensnared the terrified boy and he yanked Felix up off the floor until he was sitting before them. Felix screamed as Callandra’s fangs sank into his throat. For an instant as he died, he heard a louder scream inside his head. It was the voice of Callandra’s ecstasy as Nicholas took possession of her… The End About the Author: Denysé is a native of Atlantic Canada, born in the country’s Easternmost province, Newfoundland, and raised in Nova Scotia. A lifelong dreamer, she began writing at an early age and can’t recall a time when she wasn’t creating in some artistic form. An active interest in the American West, and to a lesser extent the American Civil War, has been a lifelong obsession. Cowboys have been a love-affair that began at the tender age of three, and eventually expanded to encompass an equally timeless passion for pirates, Greek Gods, and Ancient Egypt. The other side of the Old West intrigue is an affinity for Victorian England, particularly the 1885-1895 part of the century. Denysé’s first fantasy novel, AS FATE DECREES, will be released in the Summer of 2007, from Canadian publisher EDGE Science Fiction and Fantasy. The novel relies heavily on Greek Mythology, and is set in Ancient Greece and modern Athens. If you enjoy a tale of Gods, Destiny, and the battles of an Eternal Champion, this is the book for you! Not surprisingly, there’s a touch of romance throughout, of course! “It’s what I do best, after all!” At this point in her career, Denyse has had published in the vicinity of 400 stories and novellas, in almost any genre you can name. “The only thing I haven’t tried yet is hard-core science fiction, and horror. Since I don’t consider vampires as I write them to be the fodder of horror, I classify those stories as Dark Fantasy.” Many of her vampire stories have appeared in Margaret L. Carter’s anthology, The Vampire’s Crypt, and Night To Dawn, published and edited by Dawn Callahan for the first two years, and now published by author/editor Barbara A. Custer. Denysé’s poetry has been published internationally, as well. She has also been the recipient of numerous awards, most notably the Fan Quality Award, which is given annually for excellence in fan-written fictions based on film and television. As of May 2004, there are four awards in her collection, and no less than a dozen nominations to her credit. Also in 2004, Denysé was chosen as a winner in the Amber Heat Wave, an annual contest held by ePublishing company Amber Quill Press. Since then, AQP has published, over a dozen Erotic Romance short stories and novellas, in various genres. One of these novellas, Mirage, is included in the anthology collection “Suits, Ties, and the Water Cooler”, which was a finalist for the 2006 EPPIE Award, a prestigious award given for excellence in electronic publishing. More recently, Denyse has formed a partnership with actor/producer/singer Branscombe Richmond to create and write a serial that is best described as a modern day

western. (think motorcycles in place of horses!) Installments of the book have begun appearing on the American Motorcycle Company website, the first episode appeared in April 2006. The serial is available for free, and can found at the company’s home page. A new project with Mr. Richmond will be officially announced shortly. It is a second serial story, this one a romance novel posted in chapters, will be featured on the website of Good Morning, Hawaii. Simply The Best is the title of Denysé’s first full-length erotic romance novel, and is her debut title with Liquid Silver Books. Upcoming projects include a new Historical/Western romance, an adventure/fantasy, and possibly a sequel to As Fate Decrees in the near future. In the erotic romance genre there is also lots to look forward to, including the beginning of a Victorian mystery series set in and around the infamous Ripper murders; a set of tales that take place at a Venetian Masquerade Ball; and many other stories set in a variety of genres. The short Action/Thriller Silent Death marks Denysé’s debut with New Concepts Publishing, a new contemporary vampire thriller with Forbidden Publications, and two new titles with Samhain Publishing are also on the books for the coming months. To stay current with all these projects, or to just say hello, please feel free to visit Denysé’s website: http://denysebridger.com Or, sign up for the monthly newsletter Romance and Fantasy. If you prefer to chat with Denysé and other readers, the newsgroup is open to everyone. Denysé Bridger News.

Meet LSB Authors At The House Of Sin Lsbooks.NET We invite you to visit Liquid Silver Books LSbooks.com for other exciting erotic romances. 2007: Terran Realm Urban fantasy world: TerranRealm.com Featured Series: The Zodiac Series: 12 books, 24 stories and authors Two hot stories for each sign, 12 signs The Coven of the Wolf by Rae Morgan Benevolent lusty witches keep evil forces at bay Fallen: by Tiffany Aaron Fallen angels in hot flight to redeem their wings The Max Series by JB Skully Meet Max, her not-absent dead husband, sexy detective Witt, his mother… And many, many more!