Standing in the Shadows

Chapter Five

I't was sunset in the woods. She was naked beneath her gauzy dress. Her hair was loose, her breasts swayed beneath the fabric. Currents of warm air caressed her skin. Golden light slanted through the trees. They swayed and shivered in the soft, perfumed breeze.

Connor was following her, with a patient, measured gait through eons of dream time. His eyes were full of longing, and the realization grew so gradually inside her, when she finally understood, it was as if she had always known. He would never close the distance between them as long as her back was turned to him.

She stopped in a circle of trees, fragrant grass below and open sky above, hesitated for one last, trembling moment… and turned around.

His face lit up with triumphant joy. The wind rose as he approached her, whipping her hair around her face. She had solved the riddle, and finally they could claim what had always been theirs.

The air hummed like honeybees. Sweet, shimmering overtones filled the air. He placed his hands on her shoulders, pushed the dress off. It slid over her body to the fragrant grass below. There were no words. It was a ceremonial dance, a magical binding.

Incoherent yearning fountained up inside her, and she reached for him. She offered him all her need, all her secret heat and softness. He kissed her with a rough urgency that mirrored her own, and bore her to the ground. He gave her his heat and his hunger, the sinuous power of his body, the blazing energy that illuminated the dark places inside her, burning away fear and shame as the sun burned away fog. Power rose through her like sap, and thousand-petaled flowers of every hue burst into bloom in her sex, her heart, her head. The grass was their soft, fragrant bed as he surged into ber, deep and desperate—

The alarm shrilled. Erin jolted upright in bed. She slapped the alarm into submission and covered her face with shaking hands. The alarm had cut her off at the good part, and left her high and dry. What rotten, cruel timing. She could hardly breathe, she was so turned on.

She'd been having that dream for years. Connor's garb varied according to what she was researching at the time; sometimes he wore jeans and a T-shirt, sometimes he was a Celtic warrior, sometimes a Roman soldier. The details didn't matter. The dream always left her writhing in bed, quivering thighs clenched tight around a pool of liquid heat. Distracted by lust. The last thing she needed to cope with today.

She tried to be objective, adult. Dreams were messages from the subconscious mind. This was fine and good, and she appreciated the courtesy. But what could this dream indicate, with her life the way it was? She'd never had sex with Connor. She'd barely ever managed to have sex with anybody, at least not successfully, so why should her subconscious mind use sex to make its point? To get her attention?

She hugged her knees to her chest, still shaking. If that was the intent, it had worked. Just a dream, she repeated. Just a dream.

She glanced at the clock. Seven o'clock. Time to make some tea and calm herself down with something busy and constructive, but horror of horrors, there was nothing left to do. The apartment was already painfully tidy. Everything that could be alphabetized was. Every surface that could be scrubbed shone. Her packing was done, her travel clothes laid out, down to the last hairpin. If this went on, she would be reduced to cleaning off the gunk that accumulated on the computer keyboard with cotton swabs and alcohol. Coping mechanisms gone wild.

The intercom buzzed. Her first thought was that it might be Connor, and she stumbled across the room, electrified. "Who is it?"

"It's me, silly. Tonia. Don't tell me Ms. Perfect is still in bed?"

"Oh, hi, Tonia. The elevator's still broken. Take the stairs."

She pulled on some sweats while she waited for Tonia's knock. She opened the door and gave her friend a grateful hug. "You are such a sweetheart for helping me. I hate leaving Edna at the pet hotel."

Tonia tossed her black curls. "No big deal. Sorry I had to bug you so early. Shall I take Edna home with me, or just take your keys?"

"Whatever's more convenient for you," Erin said. "And I am taking you out to dinner as soon as I get back."

"Oh, stop." Tonia rolled her artfully made-up eyes. "I'll take Edna home, then. She can chase some of the neighbor cats around. She's such a warmongering bitch, she must feel stir-crazy in this tiny place."

Erin was all too aware of how the fussy Edna hated being cooped up in an efficiency apartment. But life was tough all around.

"I'm sure it'll be a nice treat for her," she said tightly.

Tonia lifted up a Starbucks bag. "I brought us some sticky buns, plus a couple of double-shot lattes. You need a stiff dose of caffeine."

Erin devoured a gooey bun while Tonia pawed through Erin's suitcase. "You can't go meet an eligible zillionaire dressed like this," Tonia protested. "You don't have a single thing that shows off your chest, and you have a fine chest, girl! What am I going to do with you?"

Erin shrugged. "I'm going for professional, not sexpot."

"The two are not incompatible." Tonia wagged an admonishing finger at her. "When you come back, we are going shopping, and I will personally show you how to reconcile them."

"I'm broke," Erin said. "No shopping until my ship comes in."

Tonia rolled her eyes. "That's what I love about you, Erin. So naive. Let me lay out the plan for you. Step One, borrow my clothes to make that all-important first impression. Step Two, get passionately friendly with the zillionaire. And then, then we will go shopping."

"Oh, stop it. This is a work thing. And besides, I…" Her voice trailed off, and she started to blush.

Tonia blinked. "Don't tell me you're blowing off this opportunity because you're hung up on that guy who ruined your life!"

"My life is not ruined, for your information," Erin snapped. "Connor came to see me yesterday."

"Here?" Tonia's jaw dropped. "In your apartment? What did he do? Did he come on to you? I'll shoot him if he came on to you."

"No! He didn't! He came to tell me that Novak and Georg Luksch broke out of prison. He's worried about my safety. He tried to persuade me not to go on this trip." No need to mention that intense hug, since it had been completely platonic. At least on his part, if not hers. "Actually, I thought it was sweet of him," she said hesitantly. "To warn me."

"Sweet?" Tonia snorted a derisive sound. "He wants into your pants. Sure, he saved you from the evil henchman of the big bad criminal, but you told me yourself that all that Georg did to you was flirt. And McCloud turned him into hamburger right in front of you. Maybe some girls go for that sort of thing, but you're not one of them."

It was painful to hear the facts laid out in Tonia's merciless style, but Erin nodded. "It was horrible."

"Watch out, Erin. This guy is violent, and wild, and dangerous. He's got a grudge against your dad, and he's way, way too interested in you. And you keep making excuses for him, like he's got some weird power over you, or something!"

"That's not true." She laid down the half-eaten sticky bun. Her appetite had faded away. "I don't think he means me any harm."

"No? He's insane if he tries to stop you from going on this trip. Anything that interferes with this client is harmful to you."

"I know." Erin stared out the window at the soot streaks on the wall of the adjoining building with hot, brimming eyes.

Tonia sighed. "I know it's hard. The whole clinic nursing staff was gooey about your devotion. Every single day, there you were to read to him. Like Lassie Come Home, or something. It was adorable."

Tonia's choice of metaphors was an uncomfortable one. "Tonia—"

"It broke our hearts, it was so romantic," Tonia barged on. "But it wasn't meant to be. He's just not good enough for you, Erin."

Erin shook her head. None of her friends or family knew that she'd visited Connor every day that he'd lain in a coma, but there had been no way to hide it from the nursing staff.

Her friendship with Tonia had begun one day when Tonia had found Erin crying in the ladies' room. Tonia had given her a tissue and a hug, and led her down to the cafe outside for coffee. For the first time ever, Erin had let it all pour out, and confessed her unrequited love, her longing and heartache. Her terror that Connor might never wake up.

"Sore subject, isn't it?" Tonia's taunting tone dragged her back to the present. "Truth hurts, don't it?"

Erin breathed through the urge to snarl until it was controllable. "Let's not talk about Connor anymore," she said evenly. "I turned down his offer. I'm going on my trip. I told him to leave me alone. I did all the right things, so there's no reason for you to scold me like this."

Tonia looked abashed. "You're so right. I am such a bitch sometimes. Forgive me?" She fluttered her long lashes.

Erin smiled reluctantly. "Of course."

"OK. Good. Let's move on to your wardrobe. If you take a cab to the station instead of a city bus, you will buy yourself just enough time to come home and raid my wardrobe before you go. Consider it an investment. If you land this guy, you will spend the rest of your days in the lap of luxury, shopping with your good friend Tonia. I have got the perfect suit and blouse for you. Wine-red, short skirt, and a tantalizing hint of that kick-ass cleavage you never take advantage of."

Erin smiled. "Thanks, but the zillionaire will just have to cope with the real me. I've just got to be true to my inner dowdiness."

Tonia made a frustrated sound. "Well, then, I'll be on my way. Help me get that cat of yours into the pet carrier, OK?"

"Remember her ear drops," Erin said anxiously. "It's four drops of vitamins in the wet food, plus one pill crushed up and sprinkled over her dry food, twice a day. She's already eaten this morning's pill."

Tonia rolled her eyes. "Next time you pick up a pet from the pound, try to pick a healthy one, would you?"

"But the healthy ones have a better chance of finding homes," Erin protested. "The sickly ones are doomed. I've got a soft spot for the underdog. Or undercat, as the case may be. Come on, Edna, let's go."

Edna hid under the bed, hissing and spitting. Erin finally managed to push her into the pet carrier and latch the door.

Tonia made a face. "I've got you now, my pretty, and I'm taking you to my lair where I'll make cat soup out of you." She gave Erin a hug. "Don't rule out what our mothers always told us, chica. It's as easy to fall in love with a rich man as an unemployed scumbag. 'Bye!"

Erin closed the door with a sigh. Tonia was the only one who knew about her feelings for Connor, but sometimes it seemed like Tonia enjoyed exploiting that tender spot. As if it gave her special power, to be the only one who knew. She poked at it, just to make Erin jump.

She reminded herself that Tonia was a good friend. It was she who had found her this apartment, it was she who had helped Erin move. Her other friends had drifted away when things got so grim, but Tonia had been right there, like a rock.

In spite of her strange personality quirks.

Connor eased the Cadillac into a parking space on the airport skyway level, and glanced at his watch. Erin's plane wasn't due to land for twenty minutes. It would take ten minutes or so for her to disembark and make her way to the luggage claim, where Mueller's limo driver was supposed to meet her.

Over his dead body.

His eyes fell on the sheaf of info that Davy had gleaned on Claude Mueller, scattered across the passenger seat. He'd memorized every fact. He should be relieved that Erin's mystery client checked out, but the ghost hand was squeezing his throat even harder. His instincts had never played him false before—but he'd never been in such a fucked-up state before, either. Even Sean and Davy thought he was going off the deep end. That made him feel so alone.

But he couldn't let it go. Not if Erin was at stake.

The only plan he'd come up with so far was to spirit her away from the airport without making a scene. A neat trick, considering that the old you-are-in-mortal-danger-and-only-I-can-save-you line had fallen pretty flat last night. He'd never been that smooth with the ladies. That was Sean's special talent, not his.

Thinking about Sean made him glance self-consciously into the rearview mirror. He'd made an effort today, but it hadn't done a whole lot of good. He'd put on the nicest shirt he could find, a rough-weave beige designer thing, a Christmas gift from the ever-hopeful Sean. The shirt still had creases from the packaging, and his chinos were crumpled from their sojourn at the bottom of the clean laundry basket, but that was too bad. There were some lengths to which he would not go, and ironing was one of them.

But he'd shaved. He'd combed his unruly blond mane, forced it to lie as smoothly as possible in a thick ponytail. His hair had always had a mind of its own. He should probably just chop it all off. Problem with cutting your hair, though, was that then you had to keep on cutting it. All the time. Big pain in the ass.

Oh, Christ, enough already. This wasn't a goddamn beauty contest. If he'd come here sporting his usual Clan of the Cave Bear hairdo, the airport National Guardsmen would've hauled him away before he even got in the door. Even decently groomed, dragging a beautiful, protesting young woman through an international airport was a delicate undertaking. The trick would be in that fateful split second that Erin caught sight of him.

He'd be lucky if she didn't scream.

He let his breath out slowly. He felt so damn nervous. He'd looked death in the face plenty of times and kept his cool, but one quiet, self-possessed girl scared him to death. Maybe he really was losing it. Interpol was dead sure that Novak was in Europe. Nick was convinced that Novak was no threat to Erin. Her mystery client checked out. There was no reason he could put his finger on to follow her around and hassle her. So why?

Fuck it. He just had to. It was one of those bone-deep feelings that could not be reasoned with. He shoved the Mueller papers into the glove compartment and got out of the car.

He could torture himself all day, and he would just keep limping along, following marching orders from an authority deep inside himself. His conscience, maybe. Davy and Sean called it his hero complex. He himself sometimes referred to it as dumber than shit, particularly when it almost got him killed.

It didn't really matter what it was called. Fact #1, he was doing a stupid, self-destructive thing that could prove to be dangerous, not to mention embarrassing. Fact #2, there wasn't a damn thing he could do to stop himself. Conclusion?

Go for it.

First he checked out the shuttle carousel in the luggage claim, to see who was waiting for Erin. Sure enough, a big, dark-haired, Spanish-looking guy in a uniform was holding a sign that read "Erin Riggs." Connor scanned the rest of the crowd. His plan would only work if Erin hadn't checked her luggage. Chances were good she just had a carry-on, but with women, you never knew.

And she wouldn't take kindly to being separated from her bag. Hell hath no fury like a woman deprived of her toiletries.

He took the escalator back up. There was a quivery feeling in his belly. He glanced at his watch. Eight minutes. He sauntered over to the Coffee People booth in the mall, bought a cup, drank it down faster than he should. He fingered the bag of tobacco in his pocket. He should have had the presence of mind to have a quick smoke outside. Damn smoke-free environments.

Three more minutes to wait. Coffee had been a big mistake. He studied the people around him. A woman with a baby and a four-year-old boy jumping up and down, waiting for his dad to come home. An elderly couple, their faces creased with smiles as they waited for their grandkids. Finally, the shuttle passengers started trickling out. One minute… two… and there she was, dressed in a deep green suit. Hair swept up, gleaming. Gold earrings dangled beneath her ears. She looked so gorgeous, he wanted to kick himself for not at least attempting to iron the shirt. It wouldn't have killed him to try.

Too late for regrets. She was wheeling a carry-on suitcase behind her, thank God. Time to put his half-assed plan into action.

His heart slammed against his ribs like a jackhammer as she came through the gate. She still hadn't caught sight of him. He chose a diagonal collision course that brought him right up behind her, and grabbed her arm. "Hey, sweetheart."

She spun around. He took full advantage of her shocked confusion and yanked her closer, staring down into wide, startled gold-brown eyes. Her mouth was moist with tinted lip gloss, hanging open in adorable confusion.

"Good to see you again, babe." He scooped her close and tight against his body, and kissed her.

She stiffened, latching onto his upper arms for balance. She made a soft, frightened sound against his mouth.

He deepened the kiss, sliding his arm to the deep flare of her hip, splaying his hand over her beautiful ass. He hadn't planned on kissing her. The impulse had sneaked up on him, but it was perfect. Inspired. It all looked like lovers' play, and that soft, luscious mouth of hers was too busy to complain.

Then her scent rose up around him, like a hot pink cloud, and his mind went blank. It was spring-like and tangy and sweet. Intensely female. A secret weapon that he was unprepared for. He wanted to gasp in huge, gulping lungfuls of it, like a man who'd been trapped underwater and had finally reached air.

Her scent blended with her taste, just as silky sweet, and a confusion of soft, unbelievable textures, the yielding tenderness of her lips, the satiny wisps of hair at the nape of her neck, her baby-smooth skin. His senses were overwhelmed.

She vibrated in his arms, a delicate tremor like a trapped bird. He forgot about Novak, about the airport, about the National Guardsmen. He forgot everything but his own desperate, clawing need to coax her mouth to open, to taste more of her.

She flung her head back, gasping for air. A stain of wild-rose pink was burned into her cheeks, startling against the delicate gold tone of her skin. Her pupils were black wells ringed with jewel-toned agate brown. Sunset, honey, and chocolate. Her dark, curling lashes fluttered with dazed confusion.

She licked her lips. "Connor? What… what are you—"

He shifted to keep her off balance and slanted his mouth across her lips again. He slid his hand down her graceful spine and pressed her against his lower body as he cupped the nape of her neck. He dove deep into one of those waves-crashing-on-the-beach kisses, sweet and devouring and desperate. When he finally released her, he was trembling harder than she was.

She dragged in a deep, hitching breath. He leaned his hot forehead against hers, making a cage of privacy with his cupped hands around their faces. "Shhh," he murmured. He grabbed the suitcase out of her hand. "Let's go."

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her along with him. She had to scurry to keep up. "Go where?" Her voice was still soft and uncertain. Not yet an attention-getting bellow of outrage. "Connor, please. I—"

This time he bent her over backwards so that she had to cling to his neck to stay on her feet. He moved his mouth across her lips, muffling her protests until finally she was just holding on, swaying. He pressed soft kisses over her face, her throat, and nuzzled the perfumed, tickling wisps at her neck.

"Shhh," he urged. "Trust me."

Into those big revolving doors, and he'd be home free.

"Trust you?" Her voice shook as he swept her into movement once again. "About what? Connor, I'm supposed to meet someone at baggage claim! Slow down!"

She was starting to splutter and struggle in his grasp, but they were out the revolving door, and he was hustling her across the skyway. No airport security. Just travelers going about their business, shooting them the occasional curious glance.

Erin dug in her heels and dragged him to a halt. "Wait a goddamn minute, Connor McCloud, and—no! Don't you dare kiss me again!" She shrank away. "That's a dirty trick! That's not fair!"

"I never claimed to be fair." He stared at her tender, reddened lips and realized that he was panting. Openmouthed, like an animal. He grabbed her hand and yanked her along. "Hurry."

"To what? For what? What the hell are you doing here?"

They were in the parking garage elevator well, bells were pinging, doors were about to open, and she was gathering her breath to yell at him again. He wrapped his arms around her and slid his tongue into her mouth.

A tiny squeak, and a speechless gasp, and she went limp.

So far this had gone more smoothly than his wildest hopes. The only trick would be getting himself to stop kissing her. She was so sweet. He could get lost in the sensual world of her moist, yielding mouth. He could get sucked in. Forget his own name.

He waited until the elevators emptied and the people had cleared out before he dared to release her. He cupped her face in his hands, stared into her eyes. Trying to communicate his urgency with all the force of his will. It actually seemed to work. He took her by the arm. She stumbled after him, unresisting.

He popped open his trunk, flung in her stone-heavy suitcase, and slammed it shut. "Let's go."

She wrenched herself out of his grasp. "Wait I'm not going anywhere with you, Connor. Explain yourself to me. Right now."

Whatever spell the kiss had cast was short-lived. He backed her up against the Cadillac and boxed her in with his arms.

"I'm driving you to the coast," he said. "I'm booking us a room in a different hotel. Tomorrow I'll accompany you to that meeting. Afterwards, I'll drive you home. Any questions?"

"Connor, I told you last night I didn't want a bodyguard—"

"Too bad."

She shoved against his chest "I refuse to be pushed around. You have no right. You can't—oh!"

"Watch me." He shoved her back against the car, bending her over backwards. She blinked up at him, her chest heaving.

He knew it wasn't fair to intimidate her with his size and his strength. It didn't work in the long term anyway; it was just a quick and dirty temporary solution, but she was so warm, her tits straining against her blouse. He felt every tremor that rippled through her soft, pliant body. And her scent was a low-down, nasty trick. A drug that went straight to his head and made him stupid.

Her thick eyelashes swept down, veiling her eyes. She wiggled against him, unintentionally sensual. "Connor," she whispered. "Please. This isn't right."

"I'm holding your suitcase hostage, Erin. I mean business."

"I am not your responsibility, Connor." Her voice had a stern, lecturing tone that was strangely at odds with the vulnerable pose of her body. "You have no right. I can decide for myself—"

"I have to do this," he broke in. "You know why?"

He waited to answer his own question until her eyes flicked up to his. "Because this is what your dad would've done," he said flatly. "He had the right to shove you around, but he's not here."

Her mouth opened. Nothing came out. He seized her chin and forced her to meet his eyes again. "You've got no clue, Erin. No clue what Novak is capable of. Do we understand each other?"

She licked her lips, her throat bobbing. "But it's so rude!"

He was totally lost. "Rude? Who? Me?"

Her mouth tightened. "Yes, you, now that you mention it, but I wasn't referring to you. There's a driver waiting for me. It's rude to just not show up without even calling them!"

He was so startled, he laughed out loud. "Is that all? Who cares if Mueller's flunky waits at the airport? He won't get his feelings hurt."

She frowned. "If I had wanted to change the travel arrangements, I should've notified them in advance! I can't just—"

"So call them when we get to the coast. Tell them you had a change of plans. You met someone, you brought someone. Tell them your boyfriend decided to come along at the last minute."

"Boyfriend?" She shrank back.

"Why not?" He couldn't keep his eyes from her breasts, which were straining the buttons of her blouse to their utmost. "Don't you think they'd buy it? A woman like you, and a lowlife like me?"

She shoved him away, clearing just enough space for her to stand up. "Stop acting like a lowlife, Connor McCloud, if you don't want to be taken for one!"

"You're pissed at me because I kissed you?" His voice was dangerously unsteady. "I dared to touch the princess with my rude hands. Is that what's bothering you?"

She made a break for it, trying to duck out from under his arm. He blocked her. She straightened up, adjusted her jacket, tugged her skirt into place. She wasn't up to a physical tussle with him. She couldn't win it, and dignity was more important to her.

"To be perfectly truthful, no," she said stiffly. "That's not what's bothering me at all. It's just not very flattering to have a man kiss you only because he wants to shut you up."

He pulled that statement to pieces in an instant, looking at it from every side. Then he waited until curiosity compelled her eyes to flick up again. He stroked her exquisitely soft cheek with his thumb until the pink stain deepened to wild rose. He looked around. No one to see or hear. No reason at all to shut her up.

He kissed her again.

He wasn't sure what he expected. Maybe for her to stiffen up, shove him away. Anything but the roar of heat swelling inside him, the dazzling explosion of sparks. She clutched his upper arms; for balance, to pull him closer, he couldn't tell, he didn't care. He coaxed her mouth open. He wanted to touch that succulent pink tongue, to dance with it. He didn't mean to stick his hand inside her jacket, he just found his calluses snagging her blouse as he explored the exquisite heft of her tits, the small nipples, tightening under his palm. He had no deliberate intention of pressing the aching bulge of his crotch against her.

Jesus. What was he thinking? They were in an airport parking garage. He'd come down here to protect her.

Fucking her was not part of the plan.

He pulled away, with enormous effort. "I wasn't trying to shut you up that time," he said raggedly. "You feel flattered now?"

Chapter Six

She lifted her hand, touched her swollen mouth. She was lost in Connor's eyes. The pupils were dilated wells of deep, infinite black, bordered with pure mountain water green. She was speechless.

He wrenched the passenger side of the Cadillac open. "Get in."

Her legs weren't holding her up anyhow. She slid into the seat, boneless. The door swung shut with sharp finality. Connor got into the driver's side. He looked at her, looked away, rubbed his face. She panted, short, sharp gasps that were terribly audible in the quiet car.

"Aw, fuck it," he muttered. He slid toward her. She grabbed him and wrapped her arms around his neck so he couldn't change his mind.

They slid down the slippery leather seat, clenched together. Her fantasies didn't even come near to the raw reality of him. He was so strong and hard and solid. His mouth coaxed, then demanded. She opened to him, tasted coffee and smoke and heat. Salty and male. His tongue flicked against hers. Probed. Then thrust.

He hauled her up onto his lap so that she straddled him, and his hands slid up her thighs, shoving her skirt up around her hips. He gripped her waist and pulled her down, so that the hot, soft glow in her crotch was pressed hard against the bulge in his pants. She whimpered with excitement before she could stop herself. She'd never felt anything like this. She was melting between her legs, becoming a pool of hot syrup. A quivering glow that ached and wept for deeper contact.

And he would give it to her, here and now. She read the silent question in his eyes. If she didn't hurry up and answer it, her body would answer for her, and she would find herself having wild, public sex in the middle of a busy airport parking garage.

And maybe even liking it. Dear God.

She pushed at his chest until she was upright, but that was a mistake, because now they could both see her splayed hips, her sensible white panties pressed against his erection. He circled the tip of his finger against her mound, staring into her eyes. "Erin?"

She slid off of him and clambered to the other side of the car. Tugging her skirt down with trembling fingers, straightening her hair.

He flung his head back against the seat, clenched his fists. "I'm sorry," he said. "I swear, I didn't mean to do that."

"It's OK," she whispered. "It's not your fault."

He shot her a puzzled, ironic glance. "Whose fault is it, men?"

She shook her head and stared down at her lap.

He started up the car. "I didn't come down here to take advantage of you," he said roughly. "You need protection, Erin. I don't have any choice, and neither do you. But I promise I won't touch you again."

"There are always choices," Erin said.

"Not this time. Put on your seat belt."

The sharp authority in his voice reminded her of her father. The tone that signaled that there would be no bargaining, no back talk.

It was a mistake to think of her father. She strapped herself in, making herself small on the seat. Her mouth felt puffy. She peeked in the mirror and gasped in dismay. Her hair was falling down, her face was rosy red, and her mouth… it didn't even look like her mouth.

Connor flipped on the radio, turned the dial until he found some classic blues. "Change it if you want."

"This is fine." That was all she managed to say to him.

She just sat there, squeezing her quivering thighs tightly around the hot ache. Her panties were wet. She wanted to stop at the first hotel, drag him into it, and make him finish what he'd started. She wanted to jump out of the car and run screaming. She'd been split into pieces, and each piece wanted something different.

She peeked at his grim profile, and the images that rose up in her mind made her blush again. Herself naked against his long, hard body, limbs entwined. She thought of the unyielding bulk of his erection pressing against her panties. Imagined him penetrating her. Her breath hitched in her chest. She felt almost faint, her heart raced so hard.

She was so sick of celibacy. She was almost twenty-seven, away from home, and climbing the walls. No one would ever know if she did something so crazy as to have sex with Connor McCloud.

At least she wasn't a virgin, although Bradley hardly counted. Ironically enough, the main reason she'd been attracted to Bradley in the first place was because he bore a superficial resemblance to Connor. He was tall, lean, blond. Just graduated from Princeton, already accepted at Harvard Law. He'd been sharp and witty, had made her laugh. And he had persuaded her that he was the perfect stud to relieve her of the crushing burden of her virginity.

The memory unrolled in her mind no matter how she pushed it away. She had felt absolutely nothing when they finally did the deed. Just embarrassment, at the appraising comments he had made about her body, and in bed, an uncomfortable sense of being invaded. A powerful urge to shove him off, which she had controlled. After all, she had agreed to all that intimacy. Bradley didn't deserve to be shoved.

But she had felt so bleak and alone staring up at his face. His eyes squeezed shut, his teeth clenched in a grimace, lost in his own world as his hips pumped into her more or less numb body.

Afterwards he'd been so pleased with himself. Don't worry, he told her. She'd get the hang of it soon, and he'd give her lots of opportunities to practice. First item on the lesson plan: fellatio. Bradley thought it was a huge joke that she'd reached the ripe old age of twenty-one without ever having given head. "It's time, babe, it's definitely time," he'd said. "Let's get some pizza. As soon as I recover you can embark on your maiden voyage. I'm a great teacher, believe me."

She had excused herself and gone home before he recovered, afflicted by lingering sadness. After all the buildup, that was all?

She knew objectively, both from Bradley's own proud assertions as well as what she had read in romance novels and erotica, that Bradley wasn't technically a bad lover. He'd done everything he could think of to give her an orgasm; he'd paid careful attention to her breasts, which just felt irritated and ticklish at his touch, though she had feigned enjoyment. He'd stimulated her between her legs. But he hadn't concealed his impatience when she was slow to respond.

Finally one night, he'd flopped over onto his back and told her that if even he couldn't get her off, then she was one hurting puppy. Sorry, babe. Face the facts. The truth will set you free. She was a lousy lay. A tab of Ecstasy might loosen her up. Did she want to give it a try?

She hadn't. He'd gone off to Harvard and never called her again, to her relief. And her mother's disappointment.

Knowing for a fact that she was bad at sex had made it hard to contemplate trying again. She cringed at the thought of risking that empty, shamed sense of failure again. It was easier to throw herself into her research. That was something she knew for sure she was good at.

She'd almost convinced herself that she was fine alone when she found out about the deadly trap that Connor had fallen into. He and Jesse had been following a lead on Novak. Connor had been boarding a boat when it blew up and flung him into the icy waters of the Sound. He'd been burned, his leg smashed. By the time help arrived and fished him out, he was in a coma. And Jesse had been murdered.

She'd faced the truth, then, in one hard, horrible blow. She loved Connor McCloud. She wanted him, and only him. It had been no hardship to go to the clinic to read to him. The hard part had been to leave him every day, so still and quiet.

When he woke up, she'd been dizzy with joy, but she'd still hesitated to declare herself. It seemed hardly fair to inflict her adolescent yearnings on a man who was dazed with shock and grief, in severe physical pain. Weeks had gone by. Her resolve had faltered. The weeks had turned to months, and then Crystal Mountain had happened. Novak, Georg, Dad, and Connor, and a violent tornado of revenge and betrayal that had blown her whole life to pieces.

She'd been trying ever since to put it behind her, but she hadn't anticipated getting a chance like this, to find out once and for all if her erotic fantasies about Connor had any basis in reality. No one would ever know unless she told them, and she would never tell. She would hug this secret close to herself, precious and painful to the same degree. The one time that busy, sensible, practical Erin Riggs gave in to folly and did something wild and crazy.

She sneaked a glance at his profile again. He caught her doing it, and she looked away, color flaring in her face.

Connor's kisses alone turned her on more than anything that Bradley had ever done.

Her life felt so cold and bleak. His heat was irresistible.

Connor checked the directions before he pulled off the highway. He didn't trust himself at all today, not even his ironclad memory. He wasn't sure what scared him more: losing control and jumping all over a woman uninvited, or her response. She'd grabbed him, kissed him. Melted against him, red-hot and willing, just like his wildest fantasies.

Guarding her, that was what he was signed up for. Seducing her was out of the question. She would end up hating him for it, and he would deserve it. Even he wasn't capable of that much self-delusion. He could see how it would look to Nick's eyes. Connor goes to a lonely, vulnerable girl's apartment at night, tells her the bad guys are out to get her. Then he kidnaps her, bullies her, sequesters her suitcase, sticks his tongue down her throat, gropes her tits, shoves up her skirt. He'd been a heartbeat away from laying her out on the hood of his car and having at her, in front of God and everyone.

What a fucking hero.

She was huddled as far away from him on the seat as she could get, her fingers hiding her rosy, reddened lips. Probably wondering if he was going to leap on her like a wild animal.

"Almost there," he said.

Her face was pale gold again, except for faint rosy stains high on her delicate cheekbones. She nodded and looked swiftly away.

He pulled into the parking lot of the Crow's Nest Inn. It was a rustic place, covered with weathered gray shingles. Each of the rooms had a deck with an ocean view. He'd stayed here a few years back on a road trip, and had liked the place. "It's not as fancy as the millionaire's resort hotel," he told her. "But at least here you're on your own turf."

She got out of the car. "I'm on your turf, Connor. Not mine."

Her uppity tone stung him. "Do you think I'm making this stuff up, Erin?" he demanded.

Somehow she looked down her nose at him even though he was a head taller than she. "It's impossible for me to believe that Claude Mueller could have anything to do with Novak. Four times I've gone out on consulting jobs for him. Every time I've been treated with courtesy and respect. Which is more than I've gotten from anyone else lately."

"Like me?" he demanded.

"Yes, you," she said haughtily. "I didn't ask for your help. The only reason I am allowing you to force it on me is because I genuinely appreciate your concern, and—"

"Gee, thanks," he growled.

"—and I believe that it is sincere, if completely unnecessary—"

"Unnecessary, my ass!"

"—and I insist that you stop yelling. It's embarrassing."

He glanced around. She was right. People were gawking.

The next challenge to his self-control proved to be the check-in clerk, a gangly, pimpled kid who was hot to do his promotional spiel.

"A double room is eighty-five, but the Crow's Nest Suite is available. It's got a king-sized bed and a Jacuzzi," he informed them. "It's ten dollars more than the double, and we offer a complimentary—"

Connor slapped down two fifties. "Give me a room with two double beds," he said curtly. "Non-smoking."

The kid's spotted forehead furrowed in perplexity. "But the Crow's Nest Suite is only ten dollars more. Don't you want the Jacuzzi?"

He pictured Erin in a Jacuzzi, her dark hair spread out like a lily pad. Then, rising out of the water in a soft-focus cloud of steam, her hair clinging to every curve and contour of her flushed body, her skin beaded with drops of water, her breasts—

"No, I do not want the goddamn Jacuzzi," he snarled.

The kid jerked away from the counter at his tone.

Erin followed him to the elevator after he filled out the forms. Her eyes were downcast, her lashes casting fanlike shadows on her cheeks. It drove him nuts that he couldn't tell what she was thinking.

It was a nice room, large and fresh smelling, with a picture window and deck overlooking the beach. He bolted the door behind them, and mounted one of the squealers Seth had given him onto the door. Erin drifted over to the window and stared down at the sea foam pulsing over the gleaming sand. Seagulls strutted on it, as big as geese, leaving delicate tracks that washed away with every wave.

He stared at her back. She had such a proud way of holding her head, her back elegantly straight. Like a princess. Gleaming locks of loosened hair dangled below her chin. His body cramped with lust.

It was hard to believe that mind-blowing kiss in the parking garage had really happened. Here, staring at her upright dark silhouette against the gray ocean, the memory had the feel of a wishful dream.

"Uh, sorry you have to share a room with me," he said gruffly. "But if I'm going to guard you, I have to—"

"Of course," she said, cool as a cucumber.

He floundered on. "Look. I really don't intend to take advantage of the situation. What happened at the airport, I, uh… just lost my head. But it won't happen again."

"It's all right. Please don't give it another thought." She gave him a brief, dismissive smile, the equivalent of a pat on the head to calm down an overeager dog. She turned back to the window.

The subject was definitively closed.

He gritted his teeth. This had seemed so straightforward back in Seattle. Now he felt like he was walking a tightrope over boiling lava.

He needed a smoke. He sat down on a bed and pulled out his stash. When he finished rolling the cigarette, she was watching him, her expression disapproving.

"It's a non-smoking room," she reminded him.

"Yeah, I know. I'll smoke it out on the deck," he told her.

Her dark eyebrows flicked together. "It's raining out there," she said. "And you must know those are terribly bad for you."

He grunted, and flicked open the lock on the sliding door. The wind off the ocean hit him like a slap. His coat billowed and snapped around his legs. The near impossibility of getting a cigarette lit under those conditions was a welcome challenge.

Anything to distract him from the way she had of putting him right in his place. One more of those regal, intergalactic-princess looks from her, and he would be ready to sit, lie down, roll over, and beg.

Don't give it another thought, his ass. He could almost laugh.

Like anything in life was ever that easy.

Erin hugged herself as she stared out the window. Connor cupped his hand against the wind and lit his cigarette after a few tries. He draped himself across the weathered wooden banister as he smoked it, scowling to the right and the left as if expecting attack from every side.

Oh, God, he was handsome. Everything about him was sexy. Even the way he smoked was sexy, and she deplored smoking. She wanted to snoop through the battered duffel he had flung on the bed. She wanted to see what toothpaste he used, to smell his shirts, to peek at the picture on his driver's license. She was out of her mind.

So he didn't intend to take advantage of the situation.

Well, then. Too bad for him. She would just have to take advantage of the situation herself. He was all alone with her. At her mercy. If that kiss in the car was any indication, he probably wouldn't object too strenuously to being used for sex. Her girlfriends had told her that men usually didn't.

Yes. Using him for sex. That was the only way to do this and come out of it intact. She had to use him before he could use her. She had to stay detached, keep the upper hand. Calm, cool, no big deal. Happened every day. Her girlfriends boasted about it.

Oh, God. Her head spun, and she sat down hard on the bed.

How could she be calm? She was scared to death. Bradley had told her she was as frigid as Greenland's icy mountains. But frigid meant that you didn't want sex, and that certainly wasn't her case. She wanted Connor so badly, she was frozen with fear.

But then again, wasn't that what frigid literally meant? Frozen. No matter what the cause, the end result was the same. Maybe they would both be in for a painful disappointment.

The sight of her organizer sticking out of her purse gave her an unpleasant shock. She'd gotten so carried away thinking about sex, she'd forgotten the purpose of her trip. She should take advantage of this moment alone to conduct some damage control. She flipped open her organizer, dialed the Silver Fork Resort and asked for Nigel Dobbs.

"Hello?" came Dobbs's clipped, snooty voice.

"Mr. Dobbs? This is Erin Riggs."

"Ms. Riggs! At last! We were quite worried about you."

"I appreciate your concern, and I'm so sorry I didn't have a chance to call and…" Her voice trailed off. Connor slid the glass door open with a resounding thud and stalked in, leaving it wide open. He stood inches in front of her, glaring. Cold, wet salt air swirled around him.

"Hello? Hello? Ms. Riggs, are you still there?"

"Ah, yes, I am. Excuse me. It must be a bad connection," she said hastily. "Ah, I'm so sorry. I'm, ah…"

"Are you all right? Are you in some kind of trouble?"

Oh, you have no idea. "Not at all," she assured him. "I'm fine."

"Do you need someone to come and pick you up?"

"No, thank you. That's why I called. I wanted to apologize for not notifying you in time to stop the driver from going to the airport in Portland. I had a change of plans and—"

"Tell them your boyfriend came along," Connor said.

She stared up at him, mouth working uselessly.

Dobbs's impatient sigh was audible. "Ms. Riggs? Do you intend to inform me of the nature of your change of plans at some point?"

She swallowed hard. "My… my boyfriend came along."

There was a long silence. "I see."

"He met up with me in Portland, and gave me a ride, and we've already checked into another hotel, so I—"

"Then I take it you will be unable to dine with Mr. Mueller. He will be very disappointed. Mr. Mueller's time is in extremely high demand."

"But I didn't know Mr. Mueller was going to be at the hotel this evening," she faltered. "I thought he was arriving very late tonight!"

"He changed his plans when he received your e-mail." Dobbs's voice was gelid. "He is arriving this afternoon. What a pity, hmm?"

Erin closed her eyes and mouthed a silent curse. "Well, urn… maybe I can—"

"No." Connor's voice was hard and carrying. "No way. No dinner with that guy tonight. Forget it."

Nigel Dobbs coughed. "Ahem. Perhaps it would be for the best if you resolved your personal problems at a safe distance. I will inform Mr. Mueller of your change of plans when he arrives."

"Thank you," she said miserably.

"And should Mr. Mueller risk using your professional services another time, I would consider it a tremendous favor if you would give us prior notice of these changes. Mr. Mueller took an earlier flight from Paris expressly for the purpose of dining with you. If you had called to tell us of your change of plans, I would have advised you of this."

"Oh, God," she murmured. "I'm so sorry."

"I will send the car for you tomorrow. What is your address?"

She groped for the notepad by the phone. "Just a moment. It's on the stationery—"

She squeaked as Connor wrenched the phone out of her hand and blocked the receiver. "Don't give him the address," he said.

"Connor!" She lunged for the phone.

He held it out of her reach. "I will drive you to the resort tomorrow. Start to give him the address, and I rip the phone out of the wall." He wrapped his fingers around the cord and narrowed his eyes. "Nod, Erin. Show me that we understand each other."

She nodded. He handed the phone back. "Mr. Dobbs? I'd rather not put your driver to the trouble—"

"It's no trouble, Ms. Riggs."

"Really, it's fine. We'll drive ourselves to the resort."

"If you insist. When shall we expect you? Would eleven be acceptable? That way Mr. Mueller can rest."

"Eleven would be fine," she said. "And please give my apologies to Mr. Mueller. I truly didn't mean to—"

"Yes, yes, of course," Dobbs snapped. "Good evening."

Erin hung up the phone. She felt sick. Her stomach was clenched up tight with dismay. She pressed her shaking hand against it.

She took a deep, shuddering breath and stood up, facing him down. "Connor," she said. "That was beyond paranoid. That was my most valuable client. Are you deliberately trying to sabotage me?"

He shrugged. "You were about to tell that guy the address. Which cancels out any advantage that coming here might have given you."

She stalked over to the window and slid it violently shut. "And what possessed you to make me say that you were my boyfriend?"

"It draws less attention than saying I'm your bodyguard. It explains why I stick to you like a burr and give dirty looks to any man who gets near you. It's the standard jealous boyfriend act. Most women have dumped at least one of those losers and then put out a restraining order on him."

"I never have," she snapped.

"Don't worry, Erin. I was an undercover cop for nine years. I'm a good actor. You're not required to fuck me to make it convincing."

Her jaw dropped at his crude words. "Oh! Thank you, Connor! I am so comforted and reassured by that thoughtful remark!"

"I'm not aiming to reassure you," he retorted.

"That's pretty damn obvious!" she yelled back. "Do you have any idea how bad this makes me look? Mueller took an earlier flight from Paris specifically to meet with me tonight!"

"Oh, God, no." His face was a caricature of dismay. "The disappointed billionaire, eating his caviar all alone in the flickering candlelight Poor Claude. You're breaking my heart."

She lifted her chin. "That's it." She grabbed her suitcase. "I was wrong to humor you. You have no respect for my work, and you are completely out of your mind. I am leaving—oof!"

He spun her around. "You're not going anywhere."

"Yes, I am." She backed away, but he was gripping her shoulders. "I've had enough of your—Connor!" The world tipped and spun, and she landed on the bed, bouncing. The bouncing stopped when he landed on top of her, pinning her down with his big, hard body.

"No," he said calmly, as if lying on top of her were no big deal. "You're not going anywhere, Erin."

She forced herself to close her mouth. Her heart thudded so hard, she was sure he could feel it against his chest. She struggled beneath his solid weight, and the movement felt… sensual.

She went motionless. "Connor. Don't," she whispered.

He cupped her face in his big hands. "Novak should've been taken out back when we had a chance. Same with Georg. I should've finished him off, but I let the system take care of him. Which was stupid, because the system is rotten with holes. Jesse fell through one of them and died. I fell through another one. I'm alive out of sheer, dumb luck. Novak and Georg escaped out of another hole. Are you following me?"

She gave him a tiny nod.

"I'm not going to let you fall through one of those holes, Erin. I won't leave you alone. I won't disappear. Is that understood?"

She dragged in another tiny breath. "Can't breathe."

He lifted himself up onto his elbows, still pinning her. "Let me tell you something about Kurt Novak."

She shook her head. "Please, don't. I don't want to think about—"

"Tough shit. Look at me."

She winced, and slowly, reluctantly met his gaze.

"His dad is a big guy in the Eastern European mafiya. Hungarian. Probably one of the richest men in the world. He arranged to send his boy to college in the States. I imagine the plan was to groom him to go legit, to broaden the power base, but Kurt, well, he was kind of a funny guy. Weird things started to happen at the dorm. It culminated in a girl getting strangled to death during sex."

Erin squeezed her eyes shut. "Connor, I don't—"

"Lucky for our boy Kurt, this girl wasn't rich, or the daughter of a politician or a general. Her mom was a widowed research librarian who didn't have the resources to fight the big fight. Or maybe it wasn't luck, maybe Kurt thought it through, at the tender age of nineteen. The thing was hushed up and paid off, and Kurt gets whisked back to Europe, to recover from the unpleasantness on the ski slopes of the Alps."

She turned her face away, but his hand forced it back until she met his eyes again. "Look at me when I talk to you, Erin."

How dare he order her. She wanted to say something sharp to put him in his place, but the intensity of his eyes wiped her mind blank.

"Do you know, if a normal, well-behaved dog starts to chase sheep and brings one down, he'll never stop. He can't forget the thrill, the taste of blood in his mouth."

"No. I didn't know that," she whispered.

"Well, why would you? You're a city girl. But anyhow, the dog has an excuse. He's just reverting back to what nature originally programmed him to do. But Novak, he discovered his true passion in life that night. Murdering young women is an expensive vice for him, like fine cocaine. Or collecting priceless Celtic artifacts."

She shook her head. "It's not possible, Connor. Mueller is—"

"Do you see why I'm freaked out by this? Please, Erin. Tell me that at least one person gets it. I'm dangling all alone out here. There's a guy loose who gets off on snuffing beautiful girls, and he knows your name. Tell me I have a right to be nervous for you!"

The desperate appeal in his voice made her want to put her arms around him and agree to anything, if only it would make him feel better. She stopped herself just in time. A nervous giggle escaped her. "I'm not such a prize. Novak could do better than me in the beauty department."

He looked incredulous. "Huh?"

"Cindy's the beauty, Erin's the brain," she babbled. "That's what my mother always says. It never occurs to her that it makes Cindy feel stupid and me feel ugly. But she means well. She always means well."

He frowned. "You are kidding, right? Tell me you're kidding."

She bit her lip. Her eyes slid away from his.

"Jesus," he said. "You are gorgeous. You must know that."

Color flooded into her face. "Please don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not the ridiculous one." He shifted so that his leg lay between hers. Her skirt was shoved up practically to her bottom.

"Connor." She stopped, and tried to calm the quiver in her voice. "Don't tell me any more about Novak. I don't want to dwell on violence and evil. I'm trying to think positively. I don't want to know."

"You can't run away from the truth."

She shoved at his chest. "I've faced enough ugly truths!"

"You don't get to decide when it's enough," he said. "None of us gets to decide. You can't control it. Ever."

"I can try," she snapped.

"Sure, you can try. But you'll just hurt yourself."

The bleak look in his eyes made the words she had wanted to say evaporate. Her chest was heaving, as if she'd been running.

"Please, Erin." His voice was low, impassioned. "I'll try to behave. I won't ruin your life. Just play along with me. Let me do my thing."

All this protective intensity, all for her. Yearning twisted her heart.

Connor had faced a lot of harsh truths, and he was still fighting. Still trying heroically to do the right thing. She wanted to grab him and say, Oh yes. Save me from the big bad world. And while you're at it, kiss me senseless. And for God's sake, don't stop there.

She gathered up every last scrap of her self-control. "Um, maybe I could be more lucid and reasonable about all this if you weren't lying on top of me, squashing me flat and ruining my suit. Do you mind?"

His face tightened. He lifted himself off of her instantly.

She kicked off the shoe that still clung to her foot, sat up, and curled her legs up beneath her. Connor hunched on the edge of the bed with his back to her. Silently waiting.

Her dream flashed through her mind: the way he followed her with such stubborn patience. Never losing sight of her, never giving up. She wanted to drape herself across his broad shoulders and hug him.

The decision made itself, sudden and irrevocable. "OK," she said.

He turned his head, his eyes wary. "OK, what?"

"OK, you can do your thing. If you're serious about trying not to ruin my life, that is. And, urn… thank you for caring."

He stared at her for a moment. "You're welcome."

His eyes flicked down over her body. Heat bloomed between her legs again, and she squeezed her thighs together and tried to smooth her hair back. Her blouse was disheveled. He watched her straighten and button and tuck with intense fascination. The longer the silence stretched, the more fraught with meaning it became.

"So?" She shot for a cheerful, let's-move-on sort of smile, but had no idea if she hit anywhere close to the mark. "Now what?"

He glanced down at his watch. "You hungry?"

She had been too worked up to think food, but all she'd eaten all day was a pecan sticky bun. "I could eat something," she admitted.

"Let's go to the restaurant downstairs. It's got excellent seafood."

"OK. I'll, urn, just pop into the bathroom and freshen up."

She was too flustered to pick out what she needed while he watched. She just grabbed the whole suitcase and lugged it into the bathroom. She closed the lid on the toilet, sat down and doubled over, shaking with a silent combination of laughter and tears.

It was impossible, planning a seduction under these conditions.

Chapter Seven

Connor dropped his face into his hands and listened to the water rushing in the sink. He was in deep trouble. Everything about her challenged and aroused him. He wanted to make that practical facade of hers dissolve into molten heat, to hear that cool, sensible voice sobbing with pleasure. Begging for more.

The bathroom door opened and Erin stepped out. She'd changed into a simple white blouse and a denim skirt that hit her just above her cute, dimpled knees. She laid her suit out on the bed. "This needs to be ironed," she murmured. "I'll, ah, steam it later."

Her face was flushed and dewy. She'd woven her hair into a loose, swinging braid that reached the small of her back, and she'd reapplied some lip gloss that highlighted the shape of her full, sensual lips.

Lip gloss was diabolical stuff, calculated to make a guy think about sex. Moist, lush lips, ready for kissing, for licking, for—

Whoa. Down, boy. He looked away quickly, rubbed his face.

"Are you all right?" she asked. "You look a bit strange."

He transformed a harsh laugh into a cough. "Headache," he lied.

"Would you like a painkiller? I've got Excedrin, Advil, and Tylenol."

"I just need some dinner, that's all."

"You're sure?" She looked disappointed, that she couldn't solve his problem with one of her pills. How innocent. Solving his problem would be a much bigger job than that. It would involve a long, sweaty night in the saddle, taking him from above, from below, from the back. Deep and hard and prolonged.

Come to think of it, it would probably take more than one night.

"Well, then. Let's go get you something to eat," she said briskly. "You probably just have low blood sugar."

"Yeah, that must be it." He stuck his hand in the pocket of his chinos and tented it out to give his boner some privacy as he disabled the squealer. He played it very cool in the elevator, keeping his dick jammed against his thigh. Once they were seated, had checked out the menu and discussed the relative merits of stuffed or deep-fried prawns, and pan-fried oysters versus au gratin, the conversation lagged.

Erin finally took matters into her own hands. "Connor, if I ask you a question, do you promise not to get mad?"

"Nope," he told her. "I can't promise anything of the kind, if I don't know what you're asking."

Her lips tightened. She ripped open a bag of oyster crackers and nibbled on them.

He couldn't stand it any more. "OK, fine. Now I'm curious," he said. "You have to tell me now, whether I get mad or not. Out with it."

"I just wanted to know about Claude Mueller." Her gaze flicked up, delicately cautious. "Did you, um… do a background check?"

"My brother Davy ran a check, yeah," he admitted. He braced himself for the lecture.

She just waited, expectant. "And?"

"And what?"

"Tell me what he found. I don't know much about Mueller, either."

"There's not a lot to tell," he said. "He looks fine on paper. He's got a sickening amount of money. He donates to the arts. He doesn't get out much. He buys lots of museum quality antiquities."

She looked puzzled. "So even though he checks out, you still—"

"On paper is not good enough! You've never seen this guy, Erin!"

"Keep your voice down, please." She reached across the table and touched the back of his hand with her fingertip, light and soothing. Like a kiss. "I was just curious. Please don't get all wound up again."

"I am not all wound up," he snarled.

At that fortuitous moment, his steak and prawns and Erin's pan-fried oysters arrived. He was fascinated with her perfect table manners: dabbity-dab with the napkin after every tidy bite. The quintessential good girl. Out of nowhere, he pictured himself crawling under the table. Spreading her legs wide, and pushing aside the gusset of her white cotton panties. Burying his face between her thighs, his tongue licking, lashing, probing, all while she tried to keep her cool and eat her dinner like nothing was out of the ordinary. Oh, yeah. What a perverse, sicko fantasy. It made his mouth water and his cock throb.

"What's the matter?" she asked. "Don't you like your meal?"

Nah, just want to dip you in drawn butter like a juicy prawn and then lick you all over. "I'm fine," he muttered. "Food's great."

She eyed him as she chewed another careful bite. "So, your brother Davy. Is he in law enforcement as well?"

He sliced off a chunk of steak. "Private investigator," he corrected.

"Older or younger?"

"Two years older."

"Do you have any other brothers or sisters?"

"Another brother, four years younger. Sean is his name."

"And where is your family from?" she inquired politely.

He hesitated, a fried prawn halfway to his mouth. "How much do you know about my family?" he asked. "Did Ed ever talk about me?"

Her eyes slid away from his, and her color deepened. "Sometimes," she said. "He had theories about all of his colleagues, and he talked about them with Mom. But he never talked about them with me. I just overheard. Or eavesdropped, I suppose I should say."

"So what was his theory about me?"

She looked trapped. "Um… once I heard him say that the reason you were so good undercover was because you'd been undercover all your life. But I never knew what he meant by that. And when I asked him, he told me it was none of my damn business."

He started to grin. "You asked him about me?"

Her eyelashes swept down. She cut an oyster into perfect quarters and daintily ate one. "I was curious. What did he mean, anyway?"

He stared down at his steak. "Well, uh, it's a long story."

She popped another oyster quarter into her lush, sexy mouth and gave him an encouraging smile.

He took a swig of beer and groped around for a logical beginning place. "Well… my mom died when I was eight, and Davy was ten—"

Her fork clattered onto her plate. "Oh, my God, I'm sorry," she said. "How awful for you."

"Yeah, it was bad," he admitted. "The twins were only four—"

"Twins?" Her eyes widened. "You didn't mention twins."

"I used to have three brothers," he explained. "Sean had a twin. His name was Kevin. He died ten years ago. Ran his truck off a cliff."

Her eyes widened in horrified dismay. She lifted her napkin to her mouth. "God, Connor. I didn't mean to bring back painful memories."

"And I didn't mean to freak you out with a Shakespearean tragedy, either," he said grimly. "I started out wrong. Sorry. Rewind. Let me try this again. So Dad and the four of us lived way out in the hills behind Endicott Falls. Don't know if you're familiar with the area."

She nodded. "I know Endicott Falls. Cindy goes to college there."

"I see. So anyhow, when Mom died, my dad went kind of nuts. He was a Vietnam vet, and I don't think the war experience did a lot for his mental stability to begin with. But when he lost her, he lost his grip. He home-schooled us, since the school bus didn't get within twenty miles of our place. Dad's curriculum was very… personalized."

He stopped, surprised. Usually he avoided talking about his strange childhood. The inevitable stupid questions and snap judgments irritated him. But the glow of interest in Erin's eyes made it easier.

"Dad was convinced that the end of civilization was at hand," he went on. "He was preparing us for the breakdown of the world order. So, along with reading and writing and math, it was hand-to-hand combat, social and political history, gardening, hunting, tracking. We learned how to build a lethal bomb out of ordinary stuff. How to dry meat, tan skins, eat grubs, sew up a wound. Everything a guy might need to know after the crash. Survival in the midst of anarchy."

"That's amazing," she said.

He dug into his steak. "A social worker came out to check on us once. Dad hid us in the woods, told her he'd sent us to live with his folks in upstate New York. Then he told her what was in store for her after the crash. Traumatized the poor woman. She ran away."

"What did you and your brothers think of all this?"

He shrugged. "Dad was a charismatic guy. Very convincing. And we were so isolated, no TV, no radio. Dad didn't want us brainwashed by mass media. For a long time we bought the whole story. But then Davy decided he wanted to go to high school. Told Dad he was going on a recon mission into enemy territory, but he was just desperate to meet some girls." He smiled at the memory; then his smile faded. "That was close to the end for Dad. He had a stroke later that year."

She reached across the table and placed her hand on his. Electricity sparked, and she jerked her hand back with a soft murmur.

He stared down at his hand, wishing she had left hers on top of it. "That's probably what Ed was referring to," he said. "Blending in, after growing up on another planet. You learn survival skills quick."

"So what happened when your father died?" she asked.

"We buried him out there on the land. I don't think that's legal, but we didn't know that. Davy got a job at the mill. We stuck together until I got through high school, and then Davy joined the Navy and I took over at the mill." He shrugged. "We got on with it."

"How old were you when he died?"

"Davy was eighteen, I was sixteen. Kevin and Sean were twelve."

Erin bit her lip. She was getting teary-eyed. It alarmed him.

"Look, you don't have to feel sorry for me," he assured her. "It was a strange way to grow up, but not a bad one. It was a beautiful place. I had my brothers for company. I don't regret learning what Dad taught us. If Mom hadn't died, I would've called myself lucky."

She mopped her eyes, a quick, furtive gesture, and smiled at him. "What was she like?" she asked.

He thought about it for a moment. "I was really small when she died," he said. "I've lost a lot of details. But I remember her laughing. My dad was a silent, moody type, but she could make him laugh. She was the only one who could. After she died, he never laughed again."

"How did she…" Her voice trailed off. "Uh, sorry," she murmured. "Never mind. I didn't mean to—"

"Tubal pregnancy," he said. "We were too far from the hospital. It was January. Three feet of snow. She bled to death."

She looked down and lifted her napkin to her mouth.

"I'm OK," he said helplessly. Christ, he hadn't meant to make her cry. "Don't get all worked up. It was almost thirty years ago."

She sniffed, and looked up at him with a soggy, embarrassed laugh. Her golden brown eyes were swimming with tears.

He didn't decide to do it, it just happened. He reached out to touch the fine-textured skin of her cheek, capturing the tear on his finger. He lifted his hand to his lips and tasted it.

A salty drop of distilled compassion.

The hunger simmering in his body roared up into something huge. She swayed away from him, her tear-bright eyes wide with feminine caution. There was a clatter, a spreading wetness. His hands had clenched on the tablecloth, knocking over a long-stemmed water glass. "Whoa," he muttered. He threw his napkin on top of the puddle. "Sorry about that."

"It's all right," she whispered.

They took a time-out, concentrating on the food left on their plates. Forks clinking in the heavy silence made him think of his father. Eamon McCloud had not tolerated frivolous chatter at the table. He had believed in keeping your mouth shut unless you had something relevant to say. Davy was almost as taciturn as Dad had been, but that mandatory silence had been pure hell on Sean, the born chatterbox.

But Erin hadn't been raised by Eamon McCloud. She didn't know how to cope with enormous silences like he did. She took a deep breath and tried again. "So, what are your brothers like?" she asked brightly.

Her determination made him smile. "They're unique."

"I don't doubt it," she said fervently. "Are they married?"

"No," he said. "Davy was married once, back when he was in the service. We only knew about it because he got drunk one night and told us in a moment of weakness. She made a big impression on him, though. He doesn't want another wife ever again. Davy never learned how to have fun. He had little brothers to look after when he should've been out raising hell, and as soon as I was old enough to look after Sean and Kevin, he got shipped out to the Persian Gulf. The world according to Davy is a grim, dangerous place."

"And Sean?" she prompted. "What's he like?"

Connor smiled. "The polar opposite of Davy. He's a basket case, but in a good way. He's got a wild streak, and he's too handsome for his own good. A chick magnet since he was thirteen. Incredibly smart, like Davy, but he's got some problems with impulse control. And he gets into serious trouble when he's bored. The world according to Sean is a big playground, and everything in it is a joke. What are you smiling at?"

"You," she said. "I can see how much you love your brothers from the way you describe them."

He stared down at his plate, wondering what the hell a guy was supposed to say after a comment like that.

Erin propped her elbows on the table and steepled her fingers together under her chin. "So if the world according to Davy is grim and dangerous, and the world according to Sean is a playground, then what's the world according to Connor?"

He finished off the last swallow of beer, his eyes fixed on her lush, gleaming lips. "The vote's not in on that yet."

The waitress arrived and started collecting their dishes. "The special dessert tonight is fresh baked Dutch apple pie with homemade vanilla ice cream," she informed them.

They looked at each other. "Go for it," Connor said.

"Only if you do," she replied.

Connor grinned at the waitress. "Two," he said.

The pie proved to be delicious. The apples were tangy and sweet and buttery, the crust was crisp and crumbling, blending with the melting ice cream into a goopy, fabulous mess.

Erin closed her eyes and moaned with pleasure every time she puckered her beautiful lips around the dessert spoon, sucking it so it came out of her mouth hot and shiny clean, polished. Everything about her was turning him on, every little innocuous thing.

And it was going to get worse. He was going to see her in her nightgown. He was going to watch her sleep. See her tousled and sleep-flushed in the morning. He was going to press his face into her sheets when she went into the bathroom. Inhale her scent, absorb her warmth as he pictured the water streaming down over her soft, curvy body.

His head might explode before dawn, to say nothing of his balls.

The only solution was to escape into the shower and spend a minute or two trying to relieve the pressure with his fist.

Erin peeked at him in the elevator, daunted by the grim look on his face. Her decision to seduce Connor McCloud was signed and sealed but the actual execution of the seduction was still a scary question mark. She'd thought to make some progress when he opened up about his family, but when she started bawling like a ninny, he clammed right up again. Just thinking about his mother made her throat tighten up.

He looked tense, almost angry, a muscle pulsing in his jaw. He preceded her to the door, gestured for her to wait, and pulled out a gun from the back of his chinos. He checked the room before he let her come in, and silently reattached the weird devices onto the door and window.

"What are those?" she asked.

"Alarms. I got them from my friend Seth. He calls them squealers."

"What a fortress," she murmured.

His eyes hardened. "They can't hurt." He flipped a switch, and a tiny red light on the device attached to the window began to blink.

She felt so shy. She would never work up the courage to come on to him when he looked so fierce.

He threw his coat on the bed. "Do you need the bathroom for the next few minutes? I want to take a quick shower."

"Go ahead," she said.

He disappeared into the bathroom. She listened to the water run. He hadn't locked the bathroom door. If she really were a bold, naughty seductress, she would just shuck her clothes and join him.

And then? She had all kinds of fantasies, but so little practical experience. The shower pounded, like the rain that pounded against the picture window, the surf that pounded on the beach below. She buried her face in her hands and moaned in frustration. His big, gorgeous body was stark naked and soaking wet in there. And she was sitting out here.

A few minutes later Connor came out, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, his hair tangled around his shoulders. He rummaged through his duffel, pulling out a fine-tooth comb with at least a third of the teeth missing. He dragged it through his hair. Erin flinched in protest at the sound of hairs stretching and snapping. "Ouch! Stop that!"

He looked startled. "Stop what?"

"Stop torturing your hair! You'll ruin it!"

He gave her a doubtful look. "Uh, my hair is used to it, Erin."

She shook her finger at him. "You have dry, split ends because you stretch it and break it with that awful comb. I've had long hair all my life. I know how to treat long hair. And how not to."

"But it's tangled. What am I supposed to do? Leave it in dreads?"

"Have you ever seen a hair conditioner commercial on TV?"

"I never did get into the habit of watching TV" he admitted.

She slid off the bed and unzipped her suitcase. "You need a deep conditioning pack. And you're in luck, because I've got some with me."

His eyes narrowed. "Uh, Erin. I don't know how to tell you this, but I'm really not the deep conditioning pack type."

"Then it stands to reason that you're not the long hair type, either," she said. "Want me to cut it short? I brought my good scissors."

"Oh, God," he muttered.

"Choose," she said briskly. "One or the other."

He took a step back. "You're scaring me."

She pulled her toiletries case out of the suitcase. "Don't be afraid, Connor. Just give in. You can't control everything, remember? You'll just hurt yourself." She pulled the scissors out with a flourish. "Voila!"

"That's not fair. Don't throw my words back in my face."

"Oh, don't be silly." She felt more centered now that she had a goal to accomplish. It let her natural bossiness spring to the fore. "Putting goop on your hair will only make it softer and shinier. It will have no discernible effect upon your virility."

"Promise?" he said.

"Yes," she said rashly. "I promise."

There was a hot flash in his eyes. "Want to put it to the test?"

The scissors dropped from her suddenly numb fingers and thumped onto the bed. Yes, she wanted to say, let's test it right now.

The words wouldn't come out. The silence just got heavier.

He broke eye contact. "Sorry," he said. "Forget I said that."

He sat down on the bed. She stared at his broad back, at the thick, tangled mass of water-darkened blond hair that she'd always dreamed of touching. She wanted so badly to fuss over him and care for him. Just some small, comforting thing, no matter how insignificant.

"Connor. Let me do this," she pleaded. "Let me fix your hair."

He hesitated, and let out a long sigh. "Oh, what the hell."

"Excellent." Erin sprang into action, gathering scissors, shampoo, conditioner, plastic ice bucket, and comb. She kicked off her shoes and flung open the bathroom door. "Come on in here. We'll get started."

He waited in the bathroom doorway while she set the water running to warm it up. She folded a towel and draped it so that the chilly porcelain tub wouldn't touch his back.

"I can do this myself." His voice was tense. "Just tell me how."

"No, I want to," she fussed. "Take your shirt off. It'll just get wet."

He hesitated for so long that she looked up at him, puzzled.

His face was tight and miserable. He was clutching the bottom of his T-shirt like a bashful little boy.

She smoothed the towel into place. "Connor? What's the matter?"

He would not meet her eyes. "I don't look so good right now. The scars. They, uh… look like hell."

Dear God, how ironic. He was insecure about his body. She covered up a rush of startled tears with a forced laugh.

She went over to him, seized the bottom of his T-shirt and tugged it up.

He seized her hands. "Erin, I—"

"Shhh," she soothed. "Up with your arms."

He let her peel the shirt off. Her breath stuck in her lungs. He was incredibly beautiful. Racehorse lean and broad and sinewy, his ropy muscles were thick and tough, every finely cut detail showing beneath his smooth, pale golden skin. The burn scar blazed down over his ribs, left shoulder, arm, and hand. It chilled her to see how close he had come to death. "God, Connor," she whispered.

"Told you." His voice was colorless. "Pretty bad, huh?"

She brushed her fingertips across his shoulder. He jerked away.

"I'm sorry. Does it still hurt?" she asked anxiously.

He shook his head. He still wouldn't meet her eyes.

She wanted to memorize every dip and curve with her hands and mouth. The scar intensified his masculine beauty, by poignant contrast.

She could lean forward right now, press her lips against his hard chest. Nuzzle that whorl of flat, dark blond hair. Take that taut male nipple between her teeth and suckle it. She took an unsteady step backwards. "Sit by the tub and lean your head back." Her voice shook.

He did so, leaning his head back and stretching his long legs out in front of him. She stepped into the tub and sat down next to him.

"I'm going to shampoo your hair first," she told him.

He lifted his eyebrows. "I just washed it."

"Not with my good shampoo you didn't." She picked up the ice bucket and poured hot water slowly over his hair. "Scoot back further so I can hold your head in my hands."

He arched his back with a sigh and closed his eyes.

Shampoo lather foamed, dripping off his head, off her hands. It plopped into the hot water that lapped her ankles and floated there like whipped cream, like cumulus clouds.

Heat and steam and the slick, moist sounds of her hands caressing his hair put her in a sensual trance. She could have gone on caressing his beautifully shaped head forever. Admiring his ears, the thick hair that slid between her fingers, his dark, gold-tipped lashes. His sharp cheekbones, the grim lines that bracketed his mouth. Flinging his head back like that made the tendons stand out in his sinewy neck.

She could lean down and kiss him right now. It would be so easy. A perfect lead-in. The thought circled in her mind, teasing, dancing in almost close enough to spur her into action, then retreating.

She scooped up hot water with the ice bucket, rinsed the lather out of his hair. Squeezed the water out. Connor opened his eyes. His eyebrows lifted, questioning.

She smiled shyly and squeezed conditioner onto her palm. The stuff had cost a fortune, and it was almost used up. She wasn't going to be buying hair-care products with that kind of price tag for a very long time, but what the hell. Connor was worth it. She squeezed until the tube was empty and flung it aside. "I'm going to work this stuff into your hair, and you're going to leave it on for ten minutes."

He looked aggrieved. "Ten minutes?"

"A half hour would be better," she said sternly. "I really should wrap your hair in a hot towel to help it penetrate. But I think that would be pushing my luck." She massaged conditioner into his hair.

Connor seized one of her slippery hands and held it to his face. "Wow," he murmured. "My hair's going to smell like that?"

"Yes, and you will live." She stared at the brutal scarring on his long, graceful hand. "So don't whine."

He stroked her hand, as if the conditioner were a massage oil. "I finally know the secret."

She was half-hypnotized by his caressing hands. "What secret?"

"Why your hair is so pretty." A lazy smile played over his mouth. "I always wondered how you made it so shiny and perfect. So this is how it's done. Hours in the bathroom, and sweet-smelling goop slathered all over you. I could get used to this."

Time warped and slowed even more in that silent, enchanted bathroom. The only sound was the hollow drip of the faucet plopping rhythmically into the bathtub. The room was a blur of fragrant mist.

She stared at his big, caressing hands and tried not to pant.

Connor's eyes flicked up to her face. He grinned. "You're rosy red, Erin. Are you hot? Or are you just blushing?"

"I'm hot," she said in a tiny voice. "I think it's time to rinse."

"Has it been ten minutes? Damn. Feels like ten seconds."

She had absolutely no idea. It could've been ten seconds, it could've been three hours. "At least ten minutes," she murmured.

He dropped his head into her hands with a growl of pleasure. "I feel like a sultan getting pampered by his beautiful bath attendant."

She giggled at the rush of erotic images his words provoked. Her eyes slid down the length of his body—and stopped at his groin.

He had an erection. A large erection. Not that she had much basis for comparison, but it was much larger than she'd expected.

Here it was, proof positive that if she came on to him, he wouldn't object. At least his body wouldn't. She could just reach down and… and what? Stroke him through his jeans, or would it be better to unbutton them? Her hands were goopy and wet. Maybe he would think it was vulgar and crass. Maybe he would be offended.

Or worse, amused. She was so goddamned chicken.

She rinsed his hair carefully and stood up. "Time to comb and trim," she announced. "Sit up on the edge of the tub, please."

He grimaced. "Do I have to?"

"You've come this far. Don't choke at the finish."

He lifted himself up. "You're not going to make me look like a poodle, are you?" he grumbled. "It has to be long enough for a ponytail. And all one length, for God's sake. Otherwise it drives me nuts."

"Don't worry," she said. "Trust me. I'm very good at this."

She eased her comb through his hair and fanned it out over his broad shoulders. "I'll trim it to shoulder length. That'll get rid of the split ends. Where's your part?"

He twisted around, puzzled. "My what?"

"The part in your hair," she explained. "It changes the cut."

"Jesus, this is complicated. It's wherever it happens to be at any given moment that I yank my hair back. I never really noticed."

"Oh, you are hopeless," she snapped.

She trimmed his hair with slow, methodical precision. She drew it out as long as she could, so she could linger close to him, but she finally had to straighten up and run her hands through his hair. "All done," she said. "Now for a blow-dry, and you're all set."

He recoiled. "Like hell. That's where I draw the line."

She brandished her blow dryer. "But Connor, it's just a—"

"Get that thing away from me before you electrocute us both!"

"You are such a baby." She gathered up the cut ends, dropped them in the trash basket, and hurried from the bathroom. She shoved her sticky, hair-covered bottles into her toiletries case with none of her usual anxious neatness. She was so angry at herself. All those openings, and she had just let them go by, one after the other. Idiot. Coward.

"Erin."

She turned. He leaned in the bathroom doorway, still naked to the waist. The slicked back hair accentuated the stark, chiseled beauty of his face. She sank down onto the bed. "What?" she quavered.

"This was really nice of you. Really sweet. Thank you."

"You're welcome," she whispered.

Sweet. He thought she was sweet. And nice. There it was, like an evil enchantment. She tried to swallow it, but it wouldn't go down.

People had called her that all her life. Ever since she'd been an unnaturally well-behaved little girl who tried to be perfect, and make the world harmonious for Mommy and Daddy. Since they couldn't be harmonious on their own and needed all the help they could get.

Sweet and nice. Respectful and polite and studious. Straight As, honor society, squeaky clean, pure as the goddamn driven snow.

She couldn't endure it any longer.

"Uh… Erin? Did I say something wrong?"

She looked up at him wildly. "No, of course not! I, uh, need the bathroom for a while, if you don't mind."

He nodded. The smile he gave her was so sexy, her toes curled up. She snatched her toiletries case and her nightgown, and hustled into the bathroom while she still had partial control of her face.

She squeezed her eyes shut beneath the pounding spray of the shower. She was going to have to do something dramatic to break this awful spell. Worst case scenario, he would just laugh at her.

No. Connor was brusque and hard-edged, but he wasn't cruel. If he didn't want her, it would be so painful for him to have to reject her. But it wouldn't kill them. They would both live through it.

She turned off the shower. Then again, maybe it would kill her. But even the prospect of death by embarrassment was no excuse for cowardice. She toweled off, and put on her nightgown and panties. She put her hand on the doorknob—and stopped.

She'd bought the nightgown because it was like something out of a Regency romance, gauzy and lace-trimmed and romantic. But it was so virginal. Nowhere near sexy enough to make the statement she needed to make. Neither were her white cotton bra and panties. If she wanted to go past the point of no return, she had to be bold. Once she stepped out that door, she was going to be as mute as a statue anyway. If there was a message to be sent, it had better be a nonverbal one.

She pulled off the nightgown and hung it on the hook. Peeled off the panties, folded them and refolded them. Her cold fingers were clutching the door handle when she remembered her hair. She pulled the bun loose, let it tumble around her shoulders.

She stared into the mirror. Naked, with her hair down, she might almost pass for sexy. Too bad she'd left the makeup case out on the bed. No help from that quarter. She would have to do this au naturel.

A better chance to seduce him would never come her way. And she might not be talented, but oh, was she ever motivated. She tried to take a deep, bracing breath, but no air would go into her lungs.

She pushed the door open and walked into the room.

Chapter Eight

Connor turned at the sound of the door.

His shocked silence made her feel both terribly alone and terribly exposed, as if she stood naked on a stage in front of a murmuring crowd, and Connor's burning gaze were a spotlight. The silence went on and on. He opened his mouth. Closed it. His Adam's apple bobbed.

"Holy shit," he said hoarsely. "What the hell are you doing?"

Her lips started trembling, then her whole jaw. "I don't know," she whispered. She had no idea what she was doing. But whatever it was, it was obviously the wrong thing.

Well, here it was. Worse case scenario. Times like these were a girl's opportunity to show her true quality. "I'll just, urn, put my clothes back on," she mumbled. "Excuse me."

Her eyes filled up as she turned. She launched herself in what she sincerely hoped was the direction of the bathroom door.

He grabbed her from behind, spun her around, and shoved her hard against the wall. "Not so fast. Wait a goddamn minute."

His furious face was inches from hers. His naked chest grazed her nipples. She opened her mouth, but nothing intelligible came out. "I—"

"Don't you dare come waltzing out of that bathroom buck naked and then just leave me hanging!"

She gasped. "But I—but I thought—"

"What? You thought what? That strutting around naked in front of me would be good sport? Big joke, huh? Dangle bait in front of me and watch me jump."

His inexplicable fury bewildered her. "Connor, I—"

"Don't you dare tease me like that, Erin. Don't… you… dare."

She finally found her voice. "You got it wrong."

"Wrong how? Say it louder. I can't hear you."

She shoved against his chest, but he would not budge. It was as if he were rooted to the ground. "Do not yell at me!"

"Let's hear it, Erin." His voice was soft, but no less menacing. "How am I wrong?"

She reached to cover her breasts, but his hands flashed out and wrenched hers wide open, pinning them against the wall. He leaned closer. The hard bulge in his jeans pressed hard against her pubic bone. "No way, Erin. This was your idea. Take responsibility for it."

She stared into his eyes. "I just wanted…" Her throat closed, and she tried again. "I wanted to—"

"What? What did you want? What crazy game are you playing with me?"

"Don't swear at me! I am not playing games! I wanted you!"

His face went blank. "Huh?"

"I want you!" Anger gave her the strength to wrench her hands loose. "God, Connor! Is it so hard to get? Could I possibly be more obvious? What do I have to do, send you a singing telegram?"

"Me?" he repeated.

She shoved at his hot chest, and this time he stumbled back. "Yes, you! Idiot! I had no idea you would be so ridiculous about it!" She dove for the bathroom. "Let it go. Never mind. I promise, I will never—"

"Fuck, no." He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her around to face him. "We're not letting this go. No way."

She'd been hoping for a smooth segue into a sensual dance, in which Connor would take the lead and she could follow his cues and hide how awkward and inexpert she was. It wasn't going to be like that.

He was so worked up. Trembling in the grip of some intense emotion. A thrill of delicious, primitive terror went through her. "Ease up, please," she whispered. "Your hands are hurting me."

His hands dropped. "Sorry," he said gruffly.

She rubbed the sore spots his fingers had left. "You scared me."

He shook with a short burst of ironic laughter. "Yeah, well, you scared me, too."

"Dad said you had nerves of steel. I wouldn't have thought that just a naked girl could faze you."

He let out a long, ragged sigh. "It depends on the girl. God. Look at you," he said softly. "Your body is gorgeous."

She blushed. How gallant and sweet of him, to carry on about her perfectly ordinary body. "Um, thank you."

He stared as if he were in a trance. A flush was burned into his high cheekbones. She reached up and touched it with her fingertips. The muscles of his face shifted beneath hot, velvety skin.

She explored his neck, his shoulders, and slid her arms around his waist, sighing as their torsos touched. "I like your body, too," she whispered. She brushed her fingers across the ridges of muscle and bone and scar tissue. Her faintest, touch made him shudder and gasp.

He placed his hands tentatively on her shoulders. "My hands don't know where to land." His voice shook. "You're so soft and warm. And you're naked. Everywhere."

"So touch me everywhere," she said.

He threaded his fingers into her hair and let them slide down its smooth length. "Am I dreaming? Prove to me that I'm not dreaming."

"OK." She slid her hand down over his back and pinched his muscular butt. "How's that?"

He hid his face against her hair, laughing silently. "I'm convinced," he said." My dream Erin would never do a thing like that."

The implications of those words sank in. "Dream Erin?" she whispered. "You mean you've thought about me before?"

"God, yes. I've wanted you for years." His hands were all over her, bold and eager. Circling her waist, caressing her bottom, her hips.

She hid her hot, smiling face against his chest. "I bet your dream Erin would never pinch a man's butt, huh?" She started to shake with helpless laughter. "I bet she's a picture-perfect porcelain doll with shiny black patent leather shoes and ankle socks who never puts a foot wrong, right?"

He frowned, baffled. "Huh?"

"I bet she's a mealy-mouthed twit with an apple for the teacher. I bet she would never scare a guy half to death by jumping out of the bathroom stark naked. But guess what, Connor? Say good-bye to your dream Erin. She's history. No more Ms. Nice Girl. I quit."

"Look out." He looked fascinated. "Are you going to put on a leather miniskirt and five-inch heels and rob banks?"

"No. I'm going to seduce you," she announced.

A delighted grin lit up his face. "I'm cool with that. But if it makes you feel any better, my dream Erin never wore patent leather shoes. She was always bare naked. Wide open while we made love. All that creamy skin damp and rosy."

"Oh, my," she gasped. "Really?"

He nodded. "Turn around."

She was startled at the abrupt command. "What?"

He cupped the curve of her bottom. "Your ass drives me crazy. Turn around, right here. In front of the mirror. I want to look at it."

It was ridiculous, after all the bold lengths she'd gone to, but her face still burned. "I… but it's, ah, too big. Cindy's always giving me Buns of Steel videos for Christmas as a joke, and I—"

"Cindy can weld her scrawny buns into steel if she wants. I like a round, beautiful ass like yours. You're the one who took your clothes off for me, Erin. I've been sneaking guilty peeks at your ass for years. Now's my chance to get a good, long look. So turn around. Now."

She did not miss the command hidden beneath the lazy sensual tone. And he was right. This had been her idea. She turned her back to him.

He clasped her waist, and pushed her forward gently. She swayed and caught herself on the low table. She stared straight into the mirror, back arched, bottom sticking out. Her face was bright pink.

Connor smiled, a hot, predatory smile that made the muscles of her thighs clench. The pose he had put her in was an explicit invitation.

He was testing her. Her arms trembled. She didn't move. She would not chicken out. No way. She'd come this far.

His hands slid lower, worshiping every curve, caressing her inner thighs and brushing boldly over the fuzz of hair that hid her sex. He pulled her up, and back against him, his arm tight around her belly, his erection pressed against her bottom. "You make it so hard to do the right thing," he muttered.

She struggled to concentrate. "The right thing? What is that?"

"To not touch you," he growled. "I bullied you into this whole thing. Seducing you puts me deep into dickhead territory."

"Wait a minute, here. Who is seducing who? Who gets the credit for this, Mr. Connor Do-The-Right-Thing-At-All-Costs McCloud?"

"That's not the point."

She lifted her chin. "I think it is the point. You're pathetically misguided about what the right thing is, Connor."

His lips quirked. "Is that right?"

"The right thing is for you to satisfy my carnal desires," she said. "That is the only honorable response to this situation."

An appreciative grin spread slowly over his face. "Wow. My dream Erin would never have said a thing like that, either."

"Good-bye, dream Erin. Hello, real Erin. Get used to it."

"Oh, I'm adjusting," he assured her. "You took me by surprise at first, but I'm getting used to the hardcore Erin real quick." He cupped her breasts, rolling her nipples between his fingers. "Just look at these tits," he murmured. "Wet dream material. So? Tell me your carnal desires, sweetheart. I stand ready to serve, in any way."

She hesitated, and decided that pretending she knew what she was doing would be too stressful. "I'm not quite sure where I want to go from here," she admitted. "I was hoping you might have some ideas."

He snorted. "Oh, I know exactly where I want to go from here. Only problem is, I've got no condoms."

Her eyes widened. She had completely forgotten that small but essential detail.

"I wasn't looking to score with you when I drove down here," he said roughly. "I didn't even let myself consider it. I cannot believe that I have a chance to make love to you, and I've blown it."

She hesitated, biting her lip. "Couldn't we just… do it anyway?" she asked. "I've heard that if the man stops in time, that—"

"Theoretically, sure."

She rushed on, eager to get the thought out while it was still intact. "My period is as regular as clockwork, and it ended night before last, so I'm probably not—"

"Probably being the key word. Erin, I'm so turned on, I'm lucky if I don't come in my pants right now just looking at you. You can't ask me not to come inside you. Not the first time, anyway, and probably not the second time, either. Because I can't promise it."

Another thought occurred to her. "I'm sorry, I should've said this sooner. If you're thinking about being safe, I can tell you my sexual history in about a minute, and everything I've done has always been with a condom, so—"

"No, Erin. Actually, that was the last thing on my mind," he said gently. "But since we're on the subject, I always made a point of being safe, too. And I tested negative on my last physical, which was before the coma, and all that. And I haven't been with anyone since long before then. So, uh… just so you know."

"Thanks," she murmured. "That's a very long time." Not as long as her own spell of celibacy, of course, but she was a special case. "So, we could do, urn, other things, couldn't we?"

His smile was slow, sexy, merciless. "Oh yeah? What things?"

"Oh, there are lots of possibilities." She tried to sound casual.

"Name them for me," he said softly. "Tell me your favorites."

Her eyes dropped. "I can't," she whispered.

He pulled her against him. "That's about what I figured."

She hid her face against his chest. He didn't feel like he was losing interest just because she was shy and inexpert, judging by the hot bulge pressed against her belly. That was promising.

He wound his hand into the hair at the nape of her neck and tilted her head back. "Would you tell me something, Erin?" he asked. "Because it's driving me crazy, not knowing."

She met his searching gaze. "What?"

"The sex you say you've had, was it with Georg Luksch?"

She wrenched out of his arms. "I never let that horrible man touch me! How could you even ask me that?"

"Don't get pissed off," he soothed. "I wouldn't blame you if you had. Nobody would. A guy who looks like that—"

"Like what?" She lunged for her suitcase, rummaging for some clothes with trembling fingers. "He looked like a gigolo! He didn't interest me in the least!" She found some cotton panties and yanked them on inside out.

"Oh, come on. He looked like a goddamn Calvin Klein ad."

"Not after you were done with him, he didn't!" He winced. "I'm sorry you had to see that. But I'm not sorry I did it."

"Whatever," she snapped. "Think what you want, Connor. I don't care. I was ravished, soiled, dishonored. I did everything there is to do with him. I am absolutely ruined. OK? Now deal with it!"

She wrenched a pair of pants out of her suitcase and sat on the bed to pull them on. Connor yanked them out of her hands, flung them away, and pushed her down onto her back. His hot, half-naked body sprawled heavily over hers. "Bullshit. Look me in the eye, Erin."

She struggled wildly against him. "Get off me!"

"Look me in the eye," he repeated. "That's all I ask."

She glared at him for a moment. "Satisfied?"

He relaxed, and nodded. "Yeah. You never let him touch you."

"Oh yeah? How do you know? Maybe I lied!"

"You can't lie to me," he said calmly. "I can read you."

"Oh! That is so arrogant! You don't know me, Connor! And you think you can look into my eyes and read my mind?" She swatted at his chest. "I can't even read my own goddamn mind!"

"I do know you," he said stubbornly. "And you never let him touch you."

She turned her face away, her throat quivering. "No," she admitted. "He wasn't my type. And he made me nervous."

He rolled off her and propped his head up on his hand. His other hand splayed possessively over the curve of her hip. "Good," he said.

"I don't see how it changes anything."

"It doesn't," he said. "But it does make me feel better. I had nightmares for months about that bastard touching you."

She sat up, startled. "You did?"

His direct, silent gaze was her answer. His hand stroked, settled into the curve of her waist, pulling her until their bodies touched again.

"So did I," she whispered. "It was bad. For a while."

He pressed tender kisses against her neck and jaw. "We were discussing, what was it? Oh, yeah. Sexual possibilities that don't include intercourse," he mused. "Now there's an interesting topic. I think we should get back to it" He plucked at the elastic of her panties and gave her a wistful look. "I liked it better when you were naked."

"That was before you made me mad," she said.

"I could make you forgive me." He covered her face with soft kisses. "Let's get those panties off you, and I'll show you what I mean."

Cold fear tightened in her belly. Face the facts, babe. One hurting puppy. Lousy lay. Bradley's boredom and frustration at how long she took, how difficult she was. She let out a nervous giggle. "Oh, I'd rather concentrate on you first. You're the one who needs to—"

"The rules are real clear," he said. "Ladies first. It's the law."

"But I'm not, ah…" She trailed off, miserable.

He gazed searchingly into her face. "I thought this was what you wanted," he said slowly. "You having second thoughts?"

"Good Lord, no! It's just that I… it's not that simple, to make me have an orgasm. I'm not… very responsive, and I don't want to bore you, and I get so anxious when I'm under pressure, which makes me tense up even more, so I was hoping we could skip that part and try some other things, and that way maybe I'll have a chance to loosen up—"

"Erin. Shhh." He cut off her anxious babbling with a kiss. When he lifted his head, she was dazed and breathless. "No pressure. And I won't get bored. I have a really long attention span. You have no idea."

"But I—"

He covered her mouth with his, and all her doubts and fears melted into a vortex of tender confusion. His lips were velvety, coaxing and insistent. His tongue flicked against hers, and he deepened the kiss, sweet and clinging, like he wanted to draw the soul from her body.

He slid his hand into her panties, his fingertips brushing over her soft thatch of hair. She pressed herself against his hand, and his fingers parted her tenderly.

"Oh, yeah. That's so beautiful," he murmured. "You're already wet and soft. There's nothing wrong with you, sweetheart. You're plenty responsive. Feel this. You're almost there, right now, and all I did was kiss you. I've barely started touching you. You were made for this. You're melting for it, like hot caramel. Feel this, put your hand right here. Feel how this beautiful clit is sticking out, all swollen and tight like it just can't wait for me to suck on it. Feel this?"

He pressed her own fingers against the hot, throbbing glow of pleasure at the top of her cleft while his fingers delved inside her. She hid her face, panting. Her body moved of its own volition. She thrust herself against his hand. Pleasure swelled, unbearably sweet. She trapped his hand between her thighs and pressed her own down on top of it, her muscles clenching and releasing. The feeling grew, cresting.

"Connor. Oh, God. Don't… don't…"

"I won't leave you," he soothed. "I'm right here. Let go."

Something huge was gathering inside her. She panicked, and fought it. "Connor… something strange is happening. I… I'm scared."

"Go with it. It's OK, Erin."

She shook her head. "Please. Stop. I can't. I can't—"

"Go with it." His voice was implacable. He slid his tongue into her mouth, thrust his hand deeper, insisting.

It overtook her. The world dissolved into pulsing black heat.

When she finally opened her eyes, she was surprised to find herself in one piece. Her same old, familiar self.

Connor pulled her face around and smoothed damp hair off her forehead. "Are you all right?" he asked.

She gazed at him, speechless.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?"

She let her face drop to the side and nuzzled the hand that was stroking her cheek. "What… what was that?" she whispered.

He looked alarmed. "Uh… you came, Erin," he said slowly. "You're not telling me that was your first time?"

Her body still thrummed with residual pleasure. She closed her eyes and pressed her thighs together, savoring it. "Ah, no. I mean, yes. I thought that I had, but I've never felt the whole world go away like that. It scared me so much, I think I fainted. I thought I was dying."

She felt his smile against her neck as he nuzzled her. "The little death. The most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

The sweet, rippling shivers slowly gave way to a relaxed glow. She wanted to croon and purr, but when she cuddled closer, she felt the unyielding heat of his erection against her belly, and remembered that there was more to this. "Connor? What about you?" she asked.

His eyebrow quirked. "What about me? I'm in heaven." She reached down, and stroked the long, thick bulge in his jeans. He let out a sharp gasp, and placed his hand over hers. "Not yet."

"Not yet?" She was baffled. "Then when?" He hooked his thumbs into the elastic of her panties, tugged them down, and then slid down the bed. He dragged her along with him, until her legs dangled off the foot of the bed in a tangle of bed coverings. "Connor? What are you—"

"One orgasm is good," he said. "Two are better."

She pushed herself up until she was perched on the edge of the bed, legs clamped together in a paroxysm of shyness. He knelt in front of her, a faint smile touching his lips. "Open up for me." He covered her knees with beseeching kisses, his mouth hot and deliciously ticklish. She giggled and pushed his face away. "Please," he pleaded. "Let me in."

His smile and his sweet, silly kisses made her heart go soft. She dashed the tears away with a murmur of embarrassment. It took some concentration, but slowly the muscles in her thighs loosened. He pushed them wide, his face fascinated. He drew his fingertip down the folds of her labia, parting them, and thrust his finger deep inside her.

She gasped, and she was outside herself, observing her own behavior with a cold, horrified eye. Legs spread, completely at his mercy. Crazy and wanton. That shrill, lecturing voice echoed through her mind, reminding her of betrayal, Dad and Novak, Georg and Crystal Mountain, all the reasons why she shouldn't—"Don't," he said.

She met his sharp gaze, startled. "Don't what?"

"Wherever you were going in your head, don't go there. It's a wrong turn."

The sharpness of his perceptions made her feel transparent. "You can't tell me what thoughts to think," she said.

He slid his finger out of her and licked it, sighing with pleasure. "I can try, can't I?" he asked. "Jesus, you're delicious. All I want you to think about is how it feels when I go down on you. That's it, Erin. No other thoughts are invited. This is a private party."

He swayed forward and put his mouth to her before she could think of a reply, and all thoughts fled. All that remained was the liquid, swirling sensations of his lips and his strong, eager tongue, lapping and laving her, flicking expertly across her most sensitive flesh. She gripped damp, silky handfuls of his hair and pushed herself against his mouth. His growl of satisfaction reverberated through her body.

He shoved her down onto her back and folded her legs up high. She writhed, struggling in his strong grip, but she was struggling toward something, not away. He drove her onward, toward a tantalizing promise that blazed on the horizon of her mind like the fiery glow of sunrise.

That huge, inevitable wave of pleasure that had so terrified her before gathered again. This time she didn't resist it. The explosion throbbed through her entire body, an endless eternity of rippling pleasure. It took a long time to float back. "I'm melting," she whispered.

"Yeah. Like homemade vanilla ice cream scooped over hot Dutch apple pie. Yum." His smile was so sweet, it made her heart hurt. "You want some more? I could do that to you all night long. Easily."

She struggled up onto her knees. "It's your turn, Connor," she said shyly. "Do you want me to, um… go down on you?"

He jerked up onto his elbows, opened his mouth to speak, and closed it, looking shy. "Uh… that's one of those do-bears-shit-in-the-woods and is-the-Pope-Catholic type questions, Erin."

"I take it that's a yes," she said primly.

He flopped down onto his back and put his hand over his face. "You don't have to if you're not comfortable with it," he mumbled.

She leaned over him. "Connor? Are you blushing?"

"No," he snapped. "I just turned red because I'm excited. So shoot me. God, this is embarrassing."

"Don't be embarrassed. I love it. How sweet."

"Sweet," he muttered. "Huh. Great. I'm glad it works for you."

She put her hands on his chest, and petted the flat, silky golden hair. "So tell me what you want me to—"

"No way." He flung his arms wide. "I am at your mercy. Do with me as you will. If you want to go down on me, fine. I'm all for it."

She unbuttoned his jeans. He wore nothing beneath them. His penis sprang out eagerly into her hands. Long and thick, flushed.

"No underwear?" She covered her nervousness with laughter.

"Hate 'em. Never bothered with them when I was a kid. Never got into the habit as an adult, either. They make my dick feel strangled."

His skin was so much softer than she had expected. Living velvet sliding over the thick stalk as she clasped him, squeezed him. The blunt, heart-shaped tip was as large and swollen as a red plum. It wept one gleaming drop of fluid. She touched it with her fingertip, swirling it around his hot, smooth flesh. He cried out, arching off the bed.

She froze, alarmed. "Please tell me if I do anything wrong."

He clutched handfuls of sheet with white-knuckled fists. "Anything, everything, whatever. It's all good. Don't stop."

His low, shaky tone emboldened her, and she dragged his jeans down over his hips. She pulled them off and got her first look at the surgical scars that furrowed his thigh. Long and jagged and puckered.

She ran her hand over his ravaged flesh. An ache swelled inside her for his suffering, bound together with tenderness, and anger, and the urge to give him more pleasure than he had ever dreamed possible.

She clambered over him, letting her hair trail over his chest until she was straddling him. He held up his face to a soft rain of kisses like a man dying of thirst. His body trembled with the effort of staying still. "Oh, God, this is so sweet," he murmured.

She played with him, discovering his body with her hands and her lips. He squeezed his eyes shut and shuddered violently when she took him into her mouth.

She could barely manage it, there was so much of him. He was so big and thick. She loved his warm, salty, sexual taste, his musky male smell. His heartbeat pulsed between her hands, against her caressing tongue. His scarred, beautiful body was a heart-wrenching contradiction of power and vulnerability, of strength and yearning.

He gripped fistfuls of her hair. His tone grew more pleading as she experimented with her tongue, with her hands. The bolder she was, the harder he thrashed. She pulled him deeper, swallowing him whole, suckling him hard, swirling her tongue, milking him with her hands.

His hands tightened in her hair. "It's coming down on me. Oh, God." He convulsed, and exploded.

Pulsing jets of hot liquid spurted into her mouth, and she shuddered at the energy that burst against her face. She braced herself, and rode out the long storm. It faded into stillness.

She swallowed, raised her head, wiped her mouth. She kissed his thigh, the dark blond hair at his groin, the sensitive tip of his penis.

His fingers tightened in her hair. "Oh, Erin."

His voice was rough and shaky. He hid his eyes behind his trembling hand. She pressed her cheek against the hard muscles of his belly, and nuzzled him tenderly. "Are you OK?" she asked him.

He opened his eyes, and laughed "I just had a religious experience."

She pulled herself up onto her knees. "Me, too."

He grinned as he studied her face. "Really? You liked doing that?"

She nodded. His penis was still half-hard, curved across his thigh against its nest of hair. She ran her fingertip slowly along its length, from root to the gleaming tip. He hardened and thickened instantly.

"I loved it," she said. "It made me crazy. Just look at me, Connor. Look at what you've done."

He propped himself up onto his elbows and stared at her. Her fingers curled around his penis and squeezed him. "Whoa," he whispered. "Check you out. You're on fire."

She let her head fall back and trailed her fingertips over her hot face, her lips, her throat. She caressed her breasts, her belly, and slid her hand between her legs, seeking relief from the shimmering tension. "I feel so much, it hurts," she said. "Inside, outside, everywhere. Did you put a spell on me? Did you slip something into my pie when I wasn't looking?"

"Oh, no, sweetheart." He rose up to his knees. "It was all inside you to begin with. The red-hot love goddess. It's what you always were. You shine, Erin. You almost hurt my eyes." He pulled her hard against him, arranging her thighs so that they straddled his. "Oh yeah. Give me some more of that. Right now."

He slanted his mouth over hers in a fierce, devouring kiss. No tenderness or gentleness, just raw, possessive male triumph. She gave herself up to it, quivering with helpless excitement. He thrust his fingers deeply into her slick heat. "Is this what you want?"

But she couldn't reply, she was wailing, convulsing around his hand, and riding a long shuddering wave of ecstacy.

He held her afterwards, murmuring sweet words and rocking her like a child. Her head rested limply on his shoulder. When she could move again, she flung herself backwards, pulling him down on top of her. "Please, Connor," she said. "Make love to me now."

His face was a taut mask of self-control. "Damn, Erin. Have mercy on me. We shouldn't do this, not without latex—"

She pulled him down and clasped her legs around him. "I am a grown-up. I take full responsibility. I promise."

He wrenched her arms from around his neck and pinned them above her head. "Fuck responsibility," he snarled. "It's not that simple, and you know it!"

"Please." She pulled him closer with her thighs, pressing her moist labia against his belly like a hot, pleading kiss. "I need you."

He closed his eyes, panting. "I can't say no to you," he said. "You drive me completely nuts. I'm helpless before you."

"Good," she said. "That's excellent. Helpless works for me."

"I don't know if I can do it without coming inside you, though," he warned. "I've never done it with a red-hot love goddess before."

She rubbed her breasts against his chest. "Then it's time for a challenge. Come on, Connor. Be all that you can be."

He dissolved into silent laughter. "Jesus, that's harsh." He shifted her legs, bending her knees so she was wide open to him.

She struggled up onto her elbows and grabbed for the pillows. "I want to see it," she told him. "I don't want to miss a single thing."

"OK." He tucked the pillows behind her, and poised his body over hers. "I'm so out of my mind, I think I've, uh, forgotten how to do it."

She smiled up at him through her eyelashes. "It'll come back to you," she said. "You certainly had no problem with foreplay."

"You're pretty terrifying in the foreplay department yourself. You practically drove me insane with your hair goop. OK, here goes."

He took himself in hand and pressed the blunt tip of his penis against her. He stroked her, moistening himself. The gentle contact was as sweet as a kiss. His fragrant hair tumbled around her face, and she ran her fingers through it. "Oh, your hair," she whispered.

"What about it? Is it tickling you? Want me to pull it back?"

"No, no," she said. "It's almost dry. It looks beautiful."

He nudged inside, and pressed against her body's resistance. "Oh, God, Erin," he groaned. "You're so tight. You're driving me nuts. This is so dangerous, baby. I'm right on the edge."

"Please, Connor." She would not permit him to leave her with this ache unsatisfied. She grasped his waist, pulled him deeper inside herself, but he was so big and hard and unyielding. "Don't leave me."

"Calm down," he soothed her. "I'm not going anywhere. I just don't want to hurt you. Just a little bit at a time… like this. Arch your back. Oh, God, yes. You squeeze me so tight."

He pushed relentlessly deeper. She was afraid to move, scarcely breathing. Connor arched over her, his thick shaft thrust halfway into her. He worked himself deeper with each short, sliding thrust. "Are you all right?" he asked anxiously. "We can still stop if you—"

"Shut up." She smiled to soften the sharp words.

"Move against me," he commanded her. "That'll make it easier."

She moved her hips, and it all slipped into focus. The gliding movement, the angle, the delicious, throbbing fullness of his thick shaft inside her. The wonderful, marvelous point of it all. He pushed deeper.

She gasped, Connor gazed searchingly into her face. "More?"

She reached up, embracing him. "All."

Chapter Nine

He took her at her word, and drove inside her.

They both cried out. It was like falling off a cliff, the moment of shocked inevitability when he knew that this was too good, he was too turned on. He was going to completely lose control.

He slid his arm beneath the arch of her back, pulling her tighter. Shocked gasps jerked out of her with each heavy thrust. He was riding her too hard; she was too small and tight for this, but he couldn't slow down, couldn't ease off. He was locked into this hard rhythm. She had teased and tempted him into this, and now he was all thundering blood and pumping muscles, no judgment, no wits. He had prided himself on his self-control, and she had blasted it to hell and it was gone.

Erin's face was cherry red. Her mouth was open, her bosom heaving, and her soft thighs clenched around his, and oh, dear God, there she went again. Crying out, arched like a bow, her tight cunt clenching around his cock in yet another shaking-apart, violent orgasm. The woman was un-fucking-believable, white-hot. Burning him alive. No way could he make this last, not at this level of intensity. The big drum roll was getting louder, his orgasm crashing down on him.

He barely managed to wrench himself out in time. He spent himself across her belly in long, scalding spurts.

He collapsed on top of her with a breathless sob. He'd wanted to fuck this girl for years, but he had no idea that it would feel like this.

She murmured, squashed beneath his body. He lifted himself up. They were practically glued together with his come. He wondered if that would disgust her. Then she put her hand to the sticky mess pooled in the soft indentation of her navel. She swirled her fingertips around, until her belly gleamed.

That answered that.

Unbelievably, his cock jerked up to attention, like a helpless marionette. "Don't, for God's sake," he pleaded. "Give me a break. Let me get myself together. I'm destroyed."

She shook her head. Her eyes were solemn and perilously beautiful. She brought her wet, gleaming finger to her mouth and suckled the pearly liquid off of mem, one after the other. Her pink tongue swirled tenderly around each fingertip. She was going to drive him straight out of his fucking mind.

He flung himself facedown and hid his face in the crumpled sheets. "You want me to beg for mercy? I'm begging. Ease off."

"Beg in vain." Her voice was cool. "No mercy for you."

He convulsed in silent laughter, pressing his face harder against the sheets. "You heartless, insatiable bitch."

"Oh, I've only just begun. You have no idea what you're in for, Connor McCloud."

He rolled away and sat on the bed with his back to her, covering his face with his hands. "OK. Do whatever you want, but give me a time-out. Just a few minutes to get myself in hand."

Sheets rustled, the bed shifted. She pressed her hot, silky body against his back, and wrapped her arms around him. She seized his cock with both small hands. "I've already got you in hand, Connor."

He squeezed his eyes shut in another spasm of silent laughter, or maybe he was weeping dry tears. They felt pretty much the same to him. "Hell and damn. I walked right into that one, didn't I?"

"You walked right into this whole thing." Her voice was clear and quiet. "I didn't ask you to follow me. I didn't ask to be guarded. Don't blame me if you got more than you bargained for."

His laughter died away. He stared down at her small, graceful hands, wet with his come. Stroking his stone-hard, aching cock as if he hadn't just had two explosive orgasms in the past twenty minutes. Three in the past hour, if he counted that violent but relatively superficial release he'd given himself in the shower after dinner.

His last, futile effort at self-control.

Erin's fist curled around the head of his cock in a tight, swirling caress. "Jesus, woman. You are something else."

She nuzzled her face against his neck, nibbling his throat. If she kept this up he was going to come again. He blocked her hands with his own. "Erin. For God's sake. What do you want from me?"

She kissed up and down the taut tendons that stood out at his throat. "I want to know you," she said softly. "In the Biblical sense. Everything you are. Good, bad, everything. And I want you to know me the same way. I want it so bad, Connor. I'm tired of feeling so cold."

"You're not cold," he said. "You're burning me to a crisp."

She waited silently. A warm, soft weight against his back.

He picked through her words, feeling around for the snare that had to be there. "You want that? You think you want to know me?"

"I know that I do," she said. "I've always wanted it."

He twisted to look into her eyes. The sensual glow in their honey-brown depths fuddled him, made him forget what he had meant to say. He groped for his train of thought, furious at the casual power she wielded over him. So easy. Like it was nothing to her.

"It's dangerous to really know somebody," he told her. "It's dangerous to rip the masks away. How do you know if you'll like what's underneath? We don't even really know what's underneath our own."

She had the regal, intergalactic princess look on her face again. "I'll risk it," she said quietly.

He seized her arm, yanking her around so that her face was inches from his. "I'm trying to do the right thing, and you pull the rug out from under my feet every way I turn. Maybe ripping my masks off isn't such a bright idea, Erin. You keep this up, and maybe you're going to find yourself fucking some guy you don't even recognize."

She pulled herself out of his grip and slid off the bed until she stood in front of him, her spectacular tits bobbing right at eye level. "Too late," she said. "You already ripped my masks away. How was it for you, Connor? You just had sex with a woman you didn't recognize. Did you enjoy it? I sure did. I'll admit it, I'm not ashamed. I loved it. I didn't even recognize myself, and I… loved it."

"I recognized you," he said. "I've always known you. I've had you in my dreams, a million times."

She gazed down, as serene as a medieval Madonna. She cupped his face in her hands, tipped it up. The exquisitely gentle kiss she pressed against his forehead was like a benediction.

"I show you mine, you show me yours," she said. "It's only fair."

She reached for his hands, placing them at the curve of her waist, and swayed forward until her head was bent over him, her hair swirling around his shoulders, her tits swaying right in his face. He smelled the sharp smell of his come, and the hot, rich scent of her female pleasure mixing with it, a rich, heady sexual spell. His swollen cock bobbed in front of him. At her beck and call.

The invitation was obvious. He pressed his face against her breasts with a ragged sigh of surrender, rubbing her tight, puckered nipples against his cheeks, and then cupped her breasts in both hands and suckled her. He wanted to imprint every detail onto his long-term memory. Every shape and shade and contour, every sigh and shudder, every delicate difference in texture; the translucent gold perfection of her skin, the plump, lush curves and hollows, all of it calculated to drive him to screaming sexual overload.

He lost himself. He could do this forever. He wondered if he could make her come just by sucking her tits. He'd read somewhere that it was possible. Now there was a challenge that he would readily embrace. His mouth moved over her, wallowing in her sweet, generous response, her pleading moans, the nails digging into his shoulders.

She sagged over him, quivering, and embraced his shoulders. Her hair draped across his face, and he pushed the thick, fragrant fall of dark satiny hair out of his eyes, his gaze flicking up to her face.

Tears stood in her shadowy eyes.

A chill shuddered through him. His fingers tightened around her waist until she gasped. This wasn't only to please her and make her hot for him, and she knew it. He saw it in her eyes. The witch was on to him, she'd pulled him so deep into her spell that everything was bared to her. And now she'd ripped away a mask that was so much a part of him, he hadn't even known he was wearing it. Hadn't wanted to know.

Beneath it, he was raw, needy. Famished for her female nurturing. Desperate to assuage a child's ancient grief, a loss so deep and huge, it was part of the landscape of his mind.

Her eyes swam with tears. They spilled over, sliding down her face. He was completely naked to her. Wide open. It was unbearable.

Shame transformed instantly into anger. For a moment, he hated her for witnessing his weakness. He shoved her away from him.

She stumbled back, startled. When he dared to look at her again, her gaze was wide and cautious. She was wiping her eyes, covering her breasts with her hands, backing away. Too late for that. Power welled up inside him, sexual and dangerous. His cock jutted toward her.

He advanced on her. "You want to know me, Erin? I'll show you everything I've got. Let's go into the bathroom and get started."

Her eyes were full of tremulous uncertainty. "Connor? I—"

"I want to wash my come off you. Then I want to fuck you in the shower. And I want to do it now. So move."

Her mouth snapped shut, and she gave him a jerky nod. Her slender back trembled as she preceded him into the bathroom.

He'd scared her. He almost relented, and then he thought of that naked moment at her breast. She had tricked him into this. No masks, no mercy. She showed him hers, he'd show her his.

It wasn't his fault if she didn't like everything she found.

The bathroom was still humid and perfumed from her hair goop. He wrenched aside the shower curtain, set the hot water running, and motioned for her to get into the tub.

She was silent and wide-eyed, hot water pounding down and soaking her curtain of dark hair. He grabbed the shower gel, sudsed up his hands and turned her around, yanking her back against him so his cock was pressed against her ass. He washed his sticky come off her belly, her breasts, touching her with proprietary boldness. She reached down to wash between her legs, but he grabbed her hand.

"No. Don't wash your lube away. It's better than soap or water, and you're really tight and small. You're going to need all of it."

She shivered at his matter-of-fact tone. He covered her soapy hands with his and pressed them against her breasts, glad for any excuse to fondle them. He shoved her legs wider so he could nudge his cock between her thighs and set his teeth against the tender curve between neck and shoulder.

"Still want to know what's under my mask, Erin?" He slid his fingers down to tangle in the curls between her legs. "Still convinced?"

He was taunting her. He couldn't help it. He almost wanted her to chicken out, so they would have to stop. So they wouldn't slide down this slippery slope to God knew what.

She pressed her body back against him, clasping his cock between her clenched thighs, and turned up her wet, flushed face to him. Her eyes glowed with primal female challenge.

"Yes," she said simply.

Water pounded around them. If she had been any less heightened, the look on his face would have terrified her. He pushed her until she tipped forward.

"Brace yourself against the wall." His voice was harsh and breathless. "Spread your legs wider."

"Connor?" She caught herself against the cold, wet tile.

He gripped her hips and bent her over. "You want me to put my mask back on? Just say the word if the real me is too scary for you."

"This does not give you the right to act like a prick!" Her voice choked off when he slid his fingers between her legs.

"Oh, I'm not acting," he said. "I thought that was the whole point."

He nudged the head of his penis between her soft folds, and pushed. He seemed impossibly large from this angle. Her body bore down on him, and he slowed, stroking her hips. "Arch your back," he commanded. "It'll make it easier for you."

"This isn't for me, though," she snapped. "This is all for you."

He shoved himself deeper. "You showed me yours, and I'm showing you mine. I'm just following my instincts. That's all there is under the mask, Erin. Instinct. Appetite. We're all just selfish, hungry animals underneath."

That's not true, she wanted to cry out, but she was too overwhelmed by his body, penetrating and invading her. Her arms trembled with the strain, and her hair hung down like a dripping curtain before her eyes. He thrust into her again, and a blaze of startled heat kindled. She quivered, softened around him.

He made a low, approving sound and gripped her hips, pulsing and pressing himself against that hot spot deep inside, a font of sensation so new, her brain barely knew how to process it She pushed against him, seeking more, but he controlled the rhythm completely.

"See? It's not just for me," he said. "You get it now?"

She reached down to touch herself, but a single trembling arm wasn't strong or stable enough to brace her weight against the wall. She had to use both. He slid his own hand around her hips immediately, and found her clitoris with his fingertip, teasing it tenderly.

"I've got you," he said. "I'll take care of you, Erin."

Then he let himself go and took her deep and hard. She cried out and stumbled closer to the wall, bracing herself with her folded forearms. She gave in to it. Every deep, gliding thrust stoked that secret glow inside her, every seductive stroke was slicker, more liquid.

But Connor was angry with her, and she didn't know why. She felt the barely restrained violence with which he was using her body, and thought of how her father had betrayed him, abandoned him to die. The searing anger that must have caused. Rage that had no outlet.

Until now, a voice in her head whispered. She'd offered herself up on a silver platter. Here she was, naked and bent over for his pleasure.

He felt the fear and shame that clutched her, and stopped. He was shoved so deep inside her, she felt him pressing against her womb.

"Had enough, Erin? Want the mask back?"

"No, I don't want masks! That's not what I want at all, Connor—"

"Then what the fuck do you want?" he panted.

I want you to love me. She stopped the words just in time. "I want to turn around," she said. "I need to see your face. Your eyes."

He pulled out and spun her around, pushing her back against the wall. He wasted no time in scooping her leg up to dangle it over his arm.

He drove inside her once again. Water pounded, steam billowed. Erin gasped for breath and hung onto his shoulders, just as she hung onto the piercing comprehension that had come to her when she had held his head at her breast. The pang of grief and empathy for a bereft, motherless little boy. The longing she ached to soothe.

That was the shining truth beneath all this push and shove. She was in love with him. She wanted all of him, every face, every side: the furious demon lover, the grieving child, the tender seducer, the gallant protector. She loved them all, and if surrendering could prove that to him, then surrender she would. She had no choice anyway; he ravished her senses, he flooded her body with wild heat. She melted around him in an endless, shivering climax that embraced everything he was: his body, his passion, his pain, his anger. She wanted it all.

He wrenched himself out of her with a shout, seizing her hand and wrapping her fingers around his shaft. He erupted. Jets of hot semen welled up and trickled over their interlocked fingers.

They sagged to their knees together in the ankle-deep water. After three tries, Connor finally managed to raise his arm high enough to push down the faucet knob. Silence, and then the hollow drip of the shower. They clung to each other, trembling.

Connor was the first to raise his head. He tried to smooth back the soaked hair that clung to her face. "Erin—"

"No," she said.

He frowned. "No, what?"

"No, you didn't hurt me, so stop worrying. It was fabulous."

He looked mystified. "How did you know what I was going to say?"

"Must've learned the mind-reading trick from you," she said, nuzzling his throat. '"You made me angry, but you didn't hurt me. You couldn't. You don't have it in you. You're too sweet."

He stared down at her, incredulous. "After what just happened here, you still think I'm sweet?"

She kissed the scar on his shoulder. "Oh, yes. You're lots of things, Connor McCloud. And one of them is very, very sweet."

Connor wiped the water off his face and reached for her. "You're nuts, Erin. You trust me more man I trust myself."

"It's scary to lose control," she murmured.

His arms tightened around her. "Tell me about it."

He reached for the shower gel and pulled her up onto her knees, sliding his soapy hand between her legs. She gasped and clutched his shoulders. She wasn't used to being touched at all, let alone this intimately, and his hands made free with her body, laving and rinsing, his fingers sliding tenderly into the folds of her sex. As if to tell her that she was all his, to touch and handle as he pleased.

Two could play that game. She soaped her hand and reached for his penis. He caught her wrist and stopped her.

"No more of your sex goddess tricks," he growled. "I have to chill out now. It's a physiological necessity."

"Don't worry," she assured him. "You're safe, at least for a little while. I need to rest, too."

The haunted look in his eyes gave way to a slow, appreciative smile. The water swirled around them, until the drain swallowed all the water. They were tangled together in an empty tub.

"I don't know if I can move," she confessed. "I'm limp."

He hauled himself up until he sat on the edge of the tub. She barely caught the tightening on his face as he rubbed his scarred leg.

"Does it hurt?" she asked hesitantly.

He shrugged. "It worked better before it got smashed to pieces. I'm just grateful that I can still walk on it."

She brushed her hand down the length of the series of surgical scars. She leaned forward, and tenderly kissed every one of them.

He murmured incoherently, and hid his face against her wet hair.

They stayed that way until Erin started shivering. He helped her to her feet, and they toweled each other off in a shy silence.

The room looked as if a hurricane had struck; blankets on one side of the bed, coverlet on the other, pillows on the floor, sheets torn half off the mattress. Erin's clothes were scattered everywhere. She started making the bed. Connor put his hand on her arm.

"Leave it." He picked up the blankets and pillows and tossed them carelessly onto the ravaged bed. "We'll just sleep on the other one."

It was hard for her to leave it messy, but the nagging, neatnik voice in her mind that usually ruled the roost was muted and faraway. She had bigger things to occupy her mind. An unmade bed was the least of her concerns. Her clothes were another matter, though. She repacked them all, and when she looked up, Connor was stretched out beneath the covers, watching her.

She glanced down at herself. Stark naked in front of him, and she wasn't self-conscious at all. She was transformed.

"You're so beautiful, Erin," he said softly. "You blow my mind."

Self-consciousness rushed back in a big, sweeping whoosh.

She let her tangled hair fall forward over her hot face as she shoved her toiletries case into the space allotted for it. That comment merited a graceful acknowledgment, if her throat would only stop shaking long enough to make one. "Thanks," she whispered.

He turned the covers down on her side of the bed and beckoned to her, baring all the rippling, lean muscles of his gorgeous torso in the process. "Come to bed with me?"

"In a minute. I have to try and get in touch with Cindy. Even though she probably won't talk to me."

"What's with Cindy? She OK?"

"I don't know yet." Erin dug her organizer out of her purse and curled up in the space Connor made for her. She tried the cell phone number first. It rang and rang. Then she tried Cindy's group house. Caitlin, one of Cindy's roommates, picked up. "Hello?"

"Hi, Caitlin, this is Erin, Cindy's sister. Is she there?"

"Uh, no. I haven't seen her in a while. But when she gets back, I'll sure tell her you called, OK?"

"Thanks," Erin said. "Ah, Caitlin, this guy she's seeing, this Billy. Do you know where she met him? Or anything about him at all?"

There was an awkward pause. "Uh… I'm afraid I don't. I've only met him a couple times," Caitlin said. "But he seems real nice to me."

"OK. Thanks. 'Bye, Caitlin." She hung up. The cold lump of anxiety in her belly was back.

"What's up with Cindy, Erin?" Connor's voice had taken on a hard, steely note that she had come to recognize.

She started working the comb through her tangled hair, and the task calmed down her trembling fingers. "She's left college during exam week. She's lost her scholarship. And now she's staying down in the city, God knows where, with a guy named Billy who drives a Jaguar and gives her expensive gifts. I called her new cell phone number yesterday. She told me that college was a stupid waste of time, and that her financial problems were over. She'd found new ways to make money."

He sat up, scowling. "Ouch."

"My sentiments exactly," Erin said fervently.

"Did she sound like she was high?"

She gulped. "Couldn't say. I don't have much experience with that. She sounded giggly and euphoric, but Cindy's always been giggly. And I think she's in love. That could account for the euphoria."

"We need to find out more about this guy Billy."

His casual use of the word "we" made her chest ache with gratitude. Not that anyone could help, but at least he cared. She scooted behind him and started combing his hair. "There's nothing we can do until she answers her phone and tells me more," she said.

Connor winced when she hit a tangle. "Erin, isn't once a night enough for this combing business? You'll comb me bald."

"You can't go to sleep with your hair tangled like that," she fussed. She worked through it till every lock was slicked back from his face. "Her roommates probably think they're protecting Romeo and Juliet by not telling me anything," she said. "Fluff-brained idiots."

He turned around, grinning. "There's more than one way to get information," he said. "I've got an idea."

Connor groped in the pocket of his coat for his cell phone and dialed Sean's number as he slid back into bed, into close contact with Erin's slender, curvy body. Good thing Sean's latest bed toy had mutated into a gigantic bloodsucking insect. Otherwise the chances of getting Sean at this hour would have been next to zilch. Sean's evenings almost always ended up in some woman's bed or other.

"What is it?" Sean's voice sounded breathless and annoyed.

"Jesus, Sean, have you already found a new girlfriend?"

"None of your goddamn business, but if you must know, I'm at the dojo. I just finished teaching my kickboxing class for Davy. What's up? You in trouble yet?"

"Not yet, but I've got a job for you. Urgent. Detective type stuff."

Sean groaned. "Oh, God. You're not unloading one of Davy's duller 'n dirt watehing-the-paint-peel stakeout gigs on me, are you?"

"Nah. I know the exact limits of your attention span. This one's right up your alley. It involves visiting a house full of fresh, juicy, college chicks and prying information out of them."

There was a thoughtful pause. "I'm listening," Sean said.

"I thought that might grab you." Connor related the facts to Sean with blunt concision. "We need to know who this fuckhead with the Jaguar is, and where he's been. And we need to know it now."

"Got it. One thing. The chicks. Are they genuinely cute? Or are you shitting me?"

Connor looked at Erin. "Cindy's roommates. Are they cute? Sean wants to know."

Erin opened and closed her mouth, bewildered. "Uh, I… well, I never thought to… uh—"

"Drop-dead gorgeous, every last one of them," Connor said into the phone. "There's a platinum blonde, and a redhead, and a black chick, and an Asian—"

"Oh, piss off," Sean muttered. "What's the address?"

"Address?" Connor gestured for her organizer, and Erin passed it to him. He read off the address to his brother. "Get on it quick, Sean. I've got a bad feeling about this."

"You've got bad feelings about everything," Sean grumbled. "I'm on it, don't worry. First thing tomorrow."

Connor hung up. "If anybody can charm information out of a houseful of females, Sean can," he told her. "He's a goddamn Adonis. It's cruel to sic him on them during finals weeks, but hey, this is war."

"Doesn't your brother have a job? How is he free on a Monday?"

"Sean's a free agent. Both of my brothers work for themselves. Our upbringing wasn't conducive to fitting easily into hierarchies."

"You fit in, didn't you?" she asked.

"I thought I did." Her question made him feel bleak. "I guess I wasn't cut out for a real job any more than my brothers are."

"One more thing," she said, frowning. "You say your brother Sean is so cute. Is he as good-looking as you?"

He laughed at her. "Hah. Even at my best, Sean leaves me in the dust. And Davy, too, in a different way. Davy's got forty pounds of solid muscle on me. But Sean's the pinup loverboy of the three of us."

She shook her head. "I cannot believe that," she said. "He cannot be cuter than you. It's physically impossible."

Damn. He was going to blush again. The soft look in her eyes made him want to roll around on the bed, as blissed out as a dog whose belly was being rubbed. "Come back to bed," he pleaded.

She crawled under the blankets he held up and nestled close to him. "Thank you for calling your brother," she said gravely. "I feel better already. Just because somebody's doing something."

He fitted her tightly against him. "It's nothing."

"Not to me." She kissed his chest. "My hero."

He stiffened against her. "Oh, God. Not you, too."

She pulled away from him. "What do you mean, not me, too?"

"My brothers, the Cave. And now you. I can't outrun it."

She sat up, and shook her head, bewildered. "Outrun what?"

"The hero crack," he snapped.

Her eyes were large and hurt. "It wasn't a crack. I didn't mean to offend you. I actually meant it as a compliment."

He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling, ashamed of himself. "Sorry," he muttered. "I'm not offended. Just self-conscious."

She kissed his chest. Her soft lips against his skin, her delicious warm weight made his body stir… and then throb.

"Well, whatever," she said briskly. "In any case, thank you. You're a sweetheart, and I appreciate your concern for my little sister."

"I care about Cindy, too," he said. "She's always been my pal."

"I know," she said. "I used to be so jealous that you joked around with her, but never with me."

He gaped at her. "Give me a break. Cindy was just a scrawny kid. But you? The teen dream with the sexy, pinup-girl body? Like I was going to tickle you or arm-wrestle you or so much as touch you with a ten-foot pole in front of your dad. I don't have a goddamn death wish."

"Oh, please," she murmured. "Don't exaggerate."

"Exaggerate, my ass," he muttered. "Besides, your mom was on to me from the start."

"What do you mean? On to what?"

"On to the fact that I liked you," he said. "She always hated my guts, and I'm pretty sure that's why."

"Mom did not hate you!" Erin protested. "That's ridiculous!"

"Sure. I was the only one of your dad's colleagues who called her Mrs. Riggs. In nine years, she never invited me to call her Barbara."

"Oh. Well. Mom's kind of… formal sometimes," Erin faltered.

Connor shot her a dubious glance. "Jesse called her Barb."

"Jesse was different," she said lamely.

"Yeah. Jesse never got busted staring at your tits." Connor pulled her closer and cupped her breast tenderly. Her nipple tightened. "I didn't blame her one bit. I'd feel the exact same way if I caught a man looking at my innocent young daughter the way I was looking at you."

"How… how were you looking at me?" she asked breathlessly.

He reached across her and flipped off the bedside lamp. "Like I wanted to throw you down onto the nearest bed and do… this."

He rolled on top of her and kissed her.

This was no good-night kiss. Connor's tongue deep thrust into her mouth. He nudged her legs apart and settled himself between them. Their dynamic had shifted since that wild scene in the shower. They had crossed over an invisible line, and there was no going back.

He reached between her thighs, bathing his fingers in the liquid pooled in her secret depths with a murmur of discovery. "Jesus," he muttered. "You're red-hot, Erin. You're ready for me right now." He guided his thick shaft to her tender opening.

She flinched as he nudged and prodded his way in and gripped his arms for ballast. "I thought you had to rest," she said breathlessly. "I thought it was a physiological necessity."

"It was," he said. "I rested."

He loomed over her in the darkness, overwhelming her. He'd used her body so hard, but with such terrifying skill. She would never have dreamed that anything so rough could give her pleasure. She was the one who had seduced him, she reminded herself. She had torn their barriers down, and there was no restoring them now.

"Is that all the rest you need?" she whispered.

"I want more of you, Erin. I want to be inside you. I'm not going to come this time, though."

She was startled. "You don't have to? I thought—"

"Nah." He grazed her throat delicately with his teeth. "Not this time. I can make it back off if I stop and concentrate. The next time I come, I want to be shoved inside you as deep as I can get. For that, we need a condom." He withdrew, and thrust heavily back in.

"Oh," she gasped.

"But you're a girl. You don't have to economize on your orgasms," he said. "No spending limits. An invitation to excess." His hips pulsed against her, pressing and circling against her every sensitive point.

"Ah…" Her fingernails dug into the hard muscles of his shoulders. "I… um…"

"I want to feel you come again. I love it when you clench up around me and explode. I want to feast on your pleasure. Will you give me that?" He did something wickedly marvelous, a licking caress up and down her labia with the head of his penis. "Pretty please."

Her moan became a gasp when he thrust again. "But you—"

"One thing to consider, though. If I don't come, that means there's no built-in stopping point. I could fuck you all night long. Literally." He slid inside her a couple of teasing inches, then out, swirling around her clitoris. "So it's up to you to say when you've had enough. Because I'm never going to want to stop. Get that? My job, to make you come. Your job, to tell me when we're done. And don't worry about hurting my feelings. I'm tough. That clear?"

He waited for her signal. She hesitated, sensing yet another point of no return. One out of so many. She hardly noticed them anymore.

She arched back with a sigh, offering herself to him.

He seduced her with a lazy erotic dance, feeling his way into her inner self like a cat burglar stealing into a treasure trove. Once inside, he plundered her, conquered her with pleasure. They surged and writhed together until she was shimmering, liquid, mindless. A lake full of mist and moonlight. She had no borders left at all.

Another wave was building, bigger than any that had come before. She fought it. It was too far, too much. She couldn't control her body, it moved on its own, jerking up to meet him. He was driving her into chaotic madness, his hot mouth fastened on her breasts, his strong hands caressing her, his voice muttering rough encouragement. There was no end to how far he could push her. There were no limits at all.

It frightened her. To tell him to stop would be to admit defeat, but he wasn't tired at all. He was insatiable, triumphant. She lifted her hand and cradled his hot face. "Please," she whispered.

"Please, what? Please, more? Or please, enough?" She could barely move her lips. "Please, enough." He reached over and flipped on the light. "Why?" She blinked in the sudden glare, and shook her head. "Why, enough?" he demanded. "You were right there, on the edge of a big one. I could feel it coming on. Why stop? You still scared?"

"No," she lied.

He slid his arms beneath her, gathering her tightly against him. "Then give it to me," he urged. "Just one more."

"Connor, you promised you would stop if I—"

"Give it to me, Erin," he commanded. "I want it." His voice rang with all the force of his will. It was not just her body he wanted to conquer. He was grasping for a bigger prize.

He drove her ruthlessly onward, and took what he wanted with a shout of triumph. She shattered, and flew to pieces.

She was weeping softly when she finally remembered who she was, and too exhausted even to be embarrassed. Connor turned out the light and pulled her against his chest. She lay in his arms, feeling the deep drum of his heart gradually slow.

Her eyes stung. What an idiot, to think she could control this, or him. Use him for sex, hah. She had thrown herself at him, and now she was all his. He could use her any way he pleased, and he knew it.

She was his, but she had no idea if he was hers.

Chapter Ten

Connor jerked awake when the phone rang. He reached for it, but Erin was closer, and she grabbed it first.

"Hello?" She waited. "Hello? Hello!" She rattled the lever, hung up, and fell back onto the bed. "Must be a glitch in their wake-up call system," she said sleepily. "Did you ask for a wake-up call?"

"At three-seventeen in the morning? Like hell."

Every moment that passed, his eyes picked more details out of the gloom: the curves and contours and lovely shadows of her face. He pulled her close to his body, which sprang to throbbing attention at the contact with her silky, flower-petal heat. He was contemplating whether seducing her again would be overdoing it when she let out a soft snore.

There was his answer. He nuzzled his nose into her hair, and concentrated on the yogic breathing exercises Davy had inflicted on him when he was wrestling with pain management and weaning himself off Percocet. Fill the abdomen, then the chest. Hold it in, one… two… three, then slowly release. Each breath relaxing more deeply, letting the tension melt away, the heart rate slow, each muscle let go—

The phone shrilled again. He sprang for it, and Erin jerked into shocked wakefulness. "Who the fuck is this?" he snarled.

There was a pause, not dead air, but a live line in which he knew someone was listening. Then the person on the other end started to laugh. A low, rasping chuckle. "Hello, McCloud. I understand you are enjoying yourself. Very wise. Who knows what tomorrow may bring?"

"Who is this?" he demanded.

"You know who I am," the man said. "You know my voice, no?"

Erin turned on the light before he could stop her. He turned his face away. He didn't want her to see how scared he was. "What do you want?"

That hideous, theatrical laugh again. "You know what I want, McCloud. You took something from me. I want it back."

"Where are you?" he asked, just for the hell of it.

Click. The phone went dead.

He let the phone drop to the bed. Erin touched his shoulder, and he jerked as if her hand were a live wire.

"Who was that?" she asked.

"Novak," he said.

Her hand dropped. "That's not possible."

"I know," he snarled. "But it was him. I know his voice."

"But how… who knew that we were coming here?"

"No one," he said. "Not even my brothers."

He hung up, and called the front desk. It rang six times before a sleepy, youthful male voice answered. "Uh… uh, good evening, Crow's Nest Inn, can I help—"

"Did you just put through a call to Room 404?"

The kid yawned. "Uh… actually, I was asleep, so no. There haven't been any calls since before midnight."

"Could the call have gone to an automated voice mail system?"

"No, sir, we don't have one of those." The kid was waking up, his voice getting strident and defensive. "If somebody called you, it woulda had to have been from inside the hotel. Room to room."

That would have made his blood run cold, if it had not already been subzero. "Did you give our room number to any other guests?"

"No way!" The kid's voice was shrill with outrage. "That's not allowed! We'll put a call through, but we never give out room numbers!"

He was stupid to alienate the guy, but too freaked out to care. "Then I need a list of all the guests in the hotel. Right now."

"I'm gonna have to talk to the manager about that. I'm not authorized to do that."

"Get him," Connor ordered. "Now."

"I can't." The kid's voice was triumphant. "He won't be in till nine o'clock tomorrow morning, and besides—"

Connor slammed the phone down. Only Erin's big, worried eyes kept him from hurling the fucking thing against the wall.

He was losing it, and Erin was staring at him, clutching the sheet to her chest. Afraid for him. Or worse, of him. He dropped his face into his hands, and groped for a plan. He was tempted to call Nick, but he knew how that would play. Even if Nick believed him, which was doubtful, and even if Nick could get someone out here relatively quickly with a warrant to scour the hotel, Novak would never make it so easy. Connor would end up looking like a bozo with his head up his ass, and matters would be worse. And Erin would end up going to meet this Mueller asshole. Alone.

You have something that I want. He shuddered.

Erin scrambled across the bed and draped her soft, comforting warmth against his shaking shoulders. "There's no way that Novak could know that we're here."

"I heard him, Erin," he said grimly. "I know that guy's voice."

"Voices can be deceiving, particularly on the telephone." she said. "Did he say who he was? Did he actually say the name Kurt Novak?"

He ran the brief conversation through his mind. "No," he admitted reluctantly. "But he called me by name."

"Hmm," she murmured. "And what else did he say?"

"He said, 'You know who I am.' And he said I took something from him, and he wanted it back. I assume he was referring to you. Then he hung up."

"But he did not say who he was," she-repeated.

"Erin, goddamn it—"

"Is there any way at all that you might have dreamed some of it? Projected Novak's voice onto some silly prank call?"

"You saw me talk to him," he snapped. "Did I look like I was dreaming? What are the odds that we would get a call like that tonight?"

She laid her hot cheek against his back. "I'm a deep sleeper," she said. "I've seen and heard strange things while coming out of a dream. You're so worried and stressed, it would be understandable if you—"

"I am not losing it." He bit the words out viciously.

She went very still. "I never said that you were." Her voice was crisp. "Don't you dare get huffy on me, Connor McCloud."

He groped for her hand, which was still resting on her shoulder, and pressed it to his lips. As much of an apology as he could manage.

It seemed to satisfy her. Her hands began to move again, sliding over his chest. "OK. Let's try this from another angle," she said. "Could he have found us by following the trail of your credit card?"

He could tell from her tone that she was just humoring him, but he appreciated the effort. Almost as much as he appreciated her sweet, stroking hands. He shook his head. "I used a fake ID. Complete with Social Security number, credit history, driver's license."

Her hands stopped moving. "Isn't that, urn… against the law?"

"Sure it is. My buddy Seth set it up for me. For my birthday present, believe it or not. Trust Seth, to come up with the perfect gift."

"Oh." Her voice was small and thoughtful.

"I gave him all kinds of moralistic shit about it at the time. He just laughed and said, 'Happy birthday, tight-ass. Your day will come.'"

Her soft lips moved against his neck. He wanted to tell her that he didn't need to be gentled like a skittish horse, but it would be a lie. She scooted around until she was facing him, and put her arms around him. Hugged him, her lush tits pressed against his chest.

His physical reaction was immediate, and predictable. He struggled to focus on his problem through the rising haze of lust. "Maybe… maybe they, uh, tagged my car," he mumbled.

She made a dismissive gesture with her hand. "That's enough of that," she said. "It's three-thirty in the morning, and you need to get some rest, no matter who was on the other end of that phone."

He settled his hands in the curve of her slender waist. "Erin—"

"You've got alarms on the doors and windows. You've got your gun right at your elbow. If you can't relax now, then when can you?"

"Never," he said. "How am I supposed to sleep? I'm as pumped up as a racehorse at the starting gate."

She curled her fingers around his stiff cock, and squeezed him with seductive tenderness. Her siren's smile made his brain melt down to molten lava. "Could you if we, ah…"

"Don't tempt me," he growled. "We've been at it for hours. I don't want to hurt you."

She laughed softly. "That is so sweet of you," she whispered against his mouth. "And so misguided. You are so cute, Connor."

She kissed him. Her lips were so delicate and soft, her tongue flicking against his with shy insistence. She cut through his resistance with no effort at all. He dragged her closer and kissed her back. Frantically, like someone was trying to take her from him.

Someone is, a laconic voice in his mind observed.

He shoved the voice away. This moment was his, and he would allow nothing to diminish it. She flung her thigh over his lap, and her wiggling and writhing almost got him off then and there. He fought the excitement down to a dull, pounding roar in his ears.

Then she seized his cock and attempted to push him inside her. He flung his head back with a startled gasp, and hung on to his self-control. She was too tight to take in much of him in this position, but it was amazing. A hot, suckling kiss, just the head of his cock gripped tightly inside her. She moved against him, tentative and awkward, and his heart practically exploded with tenderness. She was so generous and sexy and gorgeous. All he wanted was to sprawl over backwards on the bed and let her have her wicked way with him, but he didn't dare, not without a condom. He had to be on top, to control the timing and the angle. He was on the brink of exploding inside her right now.

He was still shaking with adrenaline, but Erin had shoved that hellish phone call into another room in his mind and slammed the door on it. It waited for him, grim and patient. It wasn't going anywhere.

Let it wait. He cupped the curves of her ass cheeks, and stood, lifting her with him. Still joined just a couple of wet, tantalizing inches. He turned around and laid her down on the rumpled bed, never once breaking that hot, clinging contact. He stayed on his feet as he sank his full length into her welcoming body.

Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe just the sight of her smiling, holding out her arms to him, but the whole thing flew right out of control. Out of nowhere, he found himself panting and heaving and pumping against her; she was making those soft, sobbing sounds, and the bed was rattling and shaking. He knew he should slow down and make her come first, but it was beyond him. He would make it up to her later a thousand times over. This time was all for him. He craved the oblivion of this hot, slick, mindless thrusting, the deafening crash and roar as his orgasm blasted through him, obliterating thought.

Every instinct screamed to just let go, fill her with his come.

He wrenched out at the last possible instant and spurted across her damp, trembling body.

God, that had been close. More intense every goddamn time.

He sank down to trembling knees and pressed his face against the amazingly soft skin of her inner thigh. The warm, rich sea smell of her sex was intoxicating. He trailed his fingers over her cleft, caressing the soft fuzz of damp ringlets. She was still shaking. Her fingers were tangled in his hair, stroking him. He could lose himself exploring her body, and never get tired of it. He could eat her again right now. Just bury his face in her beautiful, juicy cunt and worship it.

Then it hit him, what was waiting for him, behind that door in his mind. The phone call. He'd been better off in the drugged haze of sex.

He stood up. She started to follow, and he pushed her back down onto the bed. "Stay there," he said.

"But I have to—"

"I'll wash you," he told her. "I just need a minute alone. Please."

He stumbled into the bathroom and winced at the mirror. His eyes looked crazed. He looked like a guy who heard impossible voices in the night, who mixed up dreams with reality. A guy who would kidnap a vulnerable girl, drag her off to a secluded hotel room and fuck her all night long. How many times—nah, no point in counting. One just blended into the next. It was one long fuck session, interrupted by conversation and the odd nap. And the occasional death threat from a homicidal maniac, of course. Just to liven things up.

He choked on his own bitter laughter, and hunched over the sink. He washed his cock and splashed water on his face, then took a deep breath, and put his hand on the doorknob.

He stopped, running over that goddamn phone call in his mind. It was improbable, ridiculous, to think that Novak could have found them here. No one had known. He had only decided himself at the last moment. But the alternative was even scarier—at least to him. That what he'd heard wasn't real. He turned on the water and splashed his face again. He was afraid to go out and face her. Ashamed that she might think that he was…

No. He turned his back on the unthinkable. He couldn't afford to doubt himself. He shook it off, a fierce, angry shudder of refusal.

He had promised to wash her. He ran hot water over one of the washcloths hanging on the rack, and shoved the door open.

Erin was perched on the bed, knees drawn up to her chest. He knelt in front of her and sponged every trace of his come off her belly, her breasts. She stretched and smiled, opening to his touch. He wanted to sponge her between her legs, too, but the washcloth was sticky. He flung it aside. His tongue was warm and wet, and would do just as well.

She gasped as he pushed her legs open and put his mouth to her again. "Connor! For God's sake—"

"Let me." God, she was juicy and sweet.

Erin sagged back onto the bed. She was tugging at his hair, saying something urgent, pleading, but it degenerated into shocked gasps of pleasure soon enough. He owed her an orgasm after his latest caveman performance. It was a matter of pride.

He laved her with his mouth, every precious pink fold, every delicate detail. He fastened his lips and tongue around her clit, and the taut, swollen nub thrummed against his mouth. He suckled and nibbled and insisted until she came, right against his face.

He slid up into her arms and hid his face against her breasts. She pulled the blankets over them, murmuring sweet words that almost untangled the knot of fear in his chest.

The world was getting weirder by the minute, but this, at least, was amazing and sweet. He would take all the comfort he could from it.

He waited until she was fast asleep, and gently untangled himself from her slender limbs. He propped his back against the headboard and stared with hot, suspicious eyes into the ominous shadows. Sleep was a million miles away. His gun was inches from his hand. He monitored the soft rise and fall of her breath with his other hand.

He had come down here to guard her, so by God, he would do it.

Tamara stretched her perfect body, well aware of the effect she made in the rumpled sheets. She smiled through her lashes at the man lying beside her. He was playing with a strand of her fiery hair, his face relaxed and calm, but that could change in an instant. A raised eyebrow, a smile that struck him as false, and the world could explode.

She was well used to living in several different realities at once, but this was the finest line she had ever walked.

She channeled the emotional energy of that rush of fear into a sensual wiggle and a satisfied smile, and struggled to remember why she had decided to do this, why it had seemed so incredibly important at the time. Usually she loved risk, even craved it. But as the days with Novak crawled by, she was loving it less and less.

Stultifying tedium looked very attractive to her right now.

"You were inspired tonight," she murmured. Her voice was throaty and relaxed. Whore's talk had always come easily to her.

"Perhaps Nigel's report inspired me." His lips curved in a dimpled, deceptively sweet smile. "He could hear McCloud halfway down the corridor. Like a wild boar in rut. Poor Erin."

She chuckled. "Surprising. I would have thought that your phone call would put a damper on things."

"Not at all. He reacted just as I would have expected. Fear and anger leads directly to the desire to conquer and punish and control." He wrapped the lock of hair around his finger and tugged it. She winced, and cried out. She had learned, to her cost, that hiding pain was a big mistake. "I studied him, you know," he went on. "I profiled him, just as he has profiled me. We have a great deal in common."

"Really? What?"

He let go of her hair, to her relief, and stared up at the ceiling. "Unusual childhoods, for one thing. We both suffered the traumatic loss of our mothers at an early age, for instance."

She made a soft, distressed sound, but he was not trolling for sympathy. His eyes were remote. "We both had mentally unbalanced fathers. We both have physical defects. His were inflicted by me, and mine, indirectly, by him." He held up his maimed hand, and passed it over the puckered bullet scar that marred his pale thigh.

"Fascinating," she murmured. "I never thought of the symmetry. The matching injuries. Hand and thigh." She leaned over, ran her hand over the scar on his thigh, and took a calculated risk. She drew his hand to her lips and kissed each scarred stump.

He smiled his appreciation of the gesture, and she shuddered with her relief. "What else?" she urged.

"Intensity," he mused. "Inability to compromise. He is a good enemy. I will be sorry to lose him. It will be almost like losing a friend."

Like he knew what it meant to have a friend.

The dangerous thought flitted through her mind before she could suppress it, and fear followed in its wake. She could not afford to let such things float to the surface of her conscious mind. He was supernaturally acute, sniffing out every slightest scent of treachery.

His eyes focused on her with unnerving intensity. "I have always been good at sensing fault lines, exploiting them," he said. "So was Victor. He actually had the gall to try it on me. Remember?"

"Yes," she said quietly. "That was why you killed him."

"I found his weak point, and then tap, tap, crack, and he came apart. That is how I will destroy them all. Tap, tap, Tamara. That's all it takes, and they will fall over their own feet to destroy themselves."

She hoped her smile was not shaking. "Brilliant," she said.

"Erin will be the hardest, but I think I have the key to her now."

"Her weakness is Connor McCloud, obviously," Tamara said.

"Look deeper than the obvious," he snapped. "Erin likes order. Chaos makes her frantic. Her father's disgrace, what happened at Crystal Mountain, it shook her to her foundations. When the rest of her world falls to pieces, we will see what she is really made of."

"Brilliant." Her voice sounded mechanical to her own ears.

"This is moving fast," he said. "We must accelerate things, to keep up with McCloud's and Erin's immoderate lust."

"I spoke to our operative in Marseilles earlier, right before you came to me," she told him.

He seized a lock of her hair and tugged it again, cruelly hard. "You should have told me immediately."

She forced herself to whimper and cringe. Her own nature would have dictated stoic silence, but she did not want to challenge him. Oh, no, no, no. Even she knew when to bend. "I'm sorry," she said. "You were so passionate… it drove it right out of my mind. Please…"

He let go of her hair and backhanded her across the face. "What did he say?"

She touched her throbbing cheek. Another bruise. She was brilliant with paints and powders, but there were limits even to her genius. "Martin Olivier is ready to play his part," she said. "They've coached him carefully. He will be captured by the police, and confess to seeing you and Georg at the rendezvous point outside Marseilles. Whenever you want him to."

"Call them," he said slowly. "It must happen the day after tomorrow. That gives Ingrid and Matthieu time to arrange poor Claude's transport to Marseilles."

"Isn't it dangerous to move a man in a coma?" she asked timidly.

Novak shrugged. "Claude has never disobliged me in his life. He would not dare to die before it is convenient for me. Yes, Tuesday morning would be best. That will also give Erin and McCloud time to generate some titillating X-rated video footage for us when they get back to Seattle. I need it for the grand finale. Speaking of which, Rolf Hauer is in place to take care of Claude? That has to happen shortly after Martin's confession. Preferably the same day."

"He is in Marseilles, awaiting orders," she assured him. "All the pieces are in place. Your choreography is absolutely brilliant."

He stared at her for a long, uncomfortable moment. "You flatter me, Tamara," he said slowly. "I hope very much that you don't ever presume to manipulate me with flattery. I dislike that."

The white-hot glow in his eyes terrified her. "God, no. Really, I—"

"You know, of course, that your knowledge of all these details binds you to me for life. And beyond."

She forced herself to relax against him and smile up into his eyes through her lashes. "Yes," she said softly. "I am honored by your trust."

He parted her legs and thrust his hand inside her. She reminded herself, as she moved sinuously against him, that this couldn't last much longer. And he would pay for every insult to her body, in blood.

He lost interest in touching her very quickly, thank God, and flopped onto his back. "I wish I could have watched them tonight."

"You'll have your chance," she said. "This is just the beginning."

"I've developed quite a taste for video voyeurism. I imagine you did, too, during your time with Victor, hmm? It was his passion."

She covered up her shiver at the mention of Victor's name with a rippling laugh. "Oh, I humored him."

"Did you, my beautiful whore? How? Tell me everything."

She gathered her ragged acting skills together. She'd never felt so alive as during that brief time she had spent in Victor Lazar's bed. He had seen past all her tricks and accepted her for what she was.

And he had wanted her, too, with a searing passion that had shocked emotions to life inside her that she had thought were safely dead. One of the few things she absolutely could not bear would be for her current employer to paw through her memories of Victor.

But then again—her anger and her fear reminded her of why she was doing this in the first place. That was very good. That helped.

"There's not much to tell," she said lightly. "He was more dull and straightforward in bed than one would have thought, to know him. Far less fascinating and challenging than you, for instance."

He kissed her, his long tongue thrusting like a snake into her mouth, and sank his sharp teeth into her lower lip, holding it fast. They sank deeper, almost breaking skin. She went rigid with terror.

He laughed, and released her. "I think you are lying to me."

She rolled onto her back and shook her head. Smiling, smiling, smiling. Like a dog who showed its throat to the head of the pack in hopes of not being ripped to shreds. "I wish that I were," she said. "You know how I hate to be bored. I would make up some kinky stories for you if I didn't know that you prefer the truth, boss. Even if it's less interesting than a juicy lie."

She looked directly into his eyes, projecting with all her considerable strength. Warm, glowing. Oh, so disarmingly sincere.

He stroked her cheek, nodded and smiled. He bought it.

She was so relieved, she had to do something with the rush of emotion, so she rolled up onto her elbow and kissed him, trailing her fingers down the front of his wiry, cruelly strong body. She found him already hard. Good. It was easier for her to cover while fucking than while talking. Men were so much more stupid when they were fucking. Her hand tightened, moving in a swirling, expert caress.

He murmured with pleasure. "What a mysterious creature you are, Tamara," he said. "Intriguing. Full of secrets."

"Not to you," she assured him.

"So strong and fearless. A person's greatest strengths and her greatest weaknesses are one and the same, did you know that?"

"Are they really?" She shimmied down his body and replaced her hand with her skillful mouth.

"Yes. I will exploit both your strength and your weakness."

He was quiet for a few minutes, his fingernails digging painfully into her scalp as she did her best to distract him from this dangerous train of thought. She was skillful enough to do it on total autopilot, and lucky for her, because she couldn't control her thoughts. Her thoughts were thinking her. Crazy thoughts, out of place in this room, with this deadly man. Thoughts of love, of all things. She wondered, inside that barricaded part of herself, if what she had felt for Victor was love. She would kill to avenge him. If that wasn't love, what was?

It didn't matter. It was closer to love than she had ever hoped or wished to come. It had been scary. It had hurt. It had made her feel weak and vulnerable, and then he had died, at Novak's hand. She had been so angry, she'd wanted to lob a nuclear bomb at someone.

A woman like her could not afford to have a heart. It could get her killed, and she still wanted to live. She was not yet that far gone.

All too soon he tired of her efforts. He wrenched her head away from his groin. His eyes were lit up with a phosphorescent glow, a look that always portended danger. "I miss him from time to time, you know."

She wiped her mouth, blinked innocently. "Who?"

"Victor. It's sad, to lose a friend. I have so few, the world being what it is. But he crossed the line, Tamara. He crossed me."

She smiled demurely, still pumping his stiff penis with her hands. "And when have I ever crossed you, boss?"

He stroked her cheek with the stubs of his fingers. A surreal parody of tenderness. "Never, I hope."

He wrenched her up by the hair and flung her facedown onto the bed. He shoved her legs open and drove inside her, so hard and so suddenly that she slid up the bed and hit her head against the headboard before she had a chance to brace herself. She saw stars, put her hand out to cushion her head, and thought about killing him.

Usually, it helped. This time it only maddened her. His defenses were so smooth and impenetrable. She was seldom alone with him, only when she was naked in bed, and he was far more physically powerful than she. He always had whoever served him sip his drinks and taste his food before eating. He was always armed. He never slept. Never, as if he had a supernatural font of energy. Like a perpetual coke high, but he never touched drugs. Which was too bad. She was good with drugs. It would have been so much easier to kill him that way.

His arm snaked around in front of her neck, arching it back and cutting off her air. She gasped, hovering on the brink of fainting.

"So fearless," he crooned, his body pounding into hers. "Never cross me, Tamara. I would be so hurt."

"Never," she choked out. "Never."

Chapter Eleven

Erin's dream was a snarl of erotic images, a volatile mix of pleasure and danger and painful longing. Male voices merged with it, and the click of the door closing pulled her to wakefulness.

A deep, sensual ache permeated her body. Her skin was strangely sensitized. The brush of the sheet against her body made her want to writhe and stretch. She opened her eyes a tiny crack and peeked.

Sure enough. It was the hotel room. Oh, God. It hadn't been a dream. It was real, all of it. Hours of it. A delicious shiver rippled through her. She took a deep breath and rolled over to face him.

Connor stood by the bed, looking down at her. He wore only his jeans, his hair waving loose over his shoulders. His eyes looked somber and shadowed. "Good morning," he said.

"Good morning," she echoed. "Did you sleep well?"

He shook his head. She thought of last night's strange, inexplicable phone call, and how badly it had upset him. Of course he hadn't slept, poor baby, but it was probably better to avoid the subject entirely. He was sure to be twitchy and defensive about it.

She sat up, pulling the sheet up to cover her breasts. "Was someone just here? I thought I heard voices."

He held up his hand. It was full of condoms. "Turns out there's a vending machine in the men's bathroom in the lobby. I was too crazed to think of it last night. The desk clerk brought them up for me."

He was so casual about it, like it was a given that they were going to make love again, again and again. Heated images from the night before raced through her mind, and liquid heat rushed and throbbed between her legs. She blushed and shrank back against the headboard.

His face hardened. He dropped the condoms onto the bedside table. "Don't give me that scared rabbit look. You don't have to be afraid of me. I would never force you."

Oh, good Lord, he was so proud and high-strung, and now she'd hurt his tender feelings. She grabbed his hand as he turned away and tugged at it. "Connor, don't. I'm just shy, and tired, and kind of overwhelmed. It would be too much, to make love again. That's all."

A slow, cautious smile curved his mouth. "That's cool with me," he said. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. "They'll keep."

She stared at him, dazzled at how gorgeous he was. She finally managed to drag her eyes away, and focused on the heap of condoms. "Good heavens," she said blankly. "How many did you ask for?"

"I figured twelve would hold us until we have a chance to get to a drugstore," he said. "Based on how things went last night."

Her eyes widened. "Twelve? Connor, I have to walk past that guy when we check out of here! Twelve? "

"Sorry." He blinked innocently. "Don't worry, Erin. We don't have to use them all this morning. I was just being, you know—prepared."

She drew her knees up to her chest and hid her face against them. "This is a big deal for me," she said. "I don't know how to be cool and casual about it. I'm not quite sure how I'm supposed to act."

He sank down on his knees next to the bed. "Don't act," he urged. "Just be. No masks, right? Didn't we establish that last night? I go for that, Erin. It turns me on. And this is a big deal for me, too. Believe me. Now give me a good-morning kiss."

His warm, teasing smile was magnetic. She swayed toward him, and their lips met. Soft and tentative, for the first nanosecond, anyway.

A blast of sexual energy roared through them. She found herself writhing beneath him, the sheet torn away from her naked body, both her hands buried in his thick hair. His mouth moved over hers in a savage, sensual kiss calculated to lead them straight into another bout of wild sex. He could manipulate her so effortlessly.

It took a huge effort of will to turn her face away. "That's enough," she pleaded. "I have to get ready. I have to concentrate. Don't do this to me, Connor. Please."

He rocked back on his heels. "So concentrate. Be my guest."

"You're distracting me," she snapped. She scrambled out of the other side of the bed. Her nightdress was the quickest way to cover herself. She tugged it out of her suitcase with desperate haste.

"Gee, sorry." His eyes roamed over her body.

She yanked it over her head and let it drift into place. "I have to take a shower, and iron my suit. And I have to do something about your clothes, too. They're in a terrible state."

He looked suspicious. "What's wrong with my clothes?"

She pulled out her travel iron and plugged it in. "The clothes you wore yesterday are all right for the meeting, if I iron them, but you won't be going to the restaurant anyway, so it doesn't matter if—"

"Hold on." His eyes narrowed. "Back up a step. What's this about me not going to the restaurant?"

She heaved her suitcase up onto the bed and braced herself for a struggle. No way could she contemplate having a business lunch with her most valued client while Connor hovered over her, being intense and difficult. "I looked up the restaurant on the Internet before I came," she said. "It has a formal dress code. I don't see a garment bag lying around here, so I assume you didn't bring a jacket and tie."

"You're not going anywhere that I don't go, Erin." His tone was cold and flinty-hard. "I thought we had an understanding."

"Don't be silly." She laid a fresh towel against the desk for an ironing board. "I arranged this lunch with Mueller before you entered the picture. Nothing can happen to me in a crowded four-star restaurant And you promised that you wouldn't disrupt—"

"Wait a minute. Hello. Earth to Erin. Let's just set aside the fact that I'm currently your bodyguard. Let's ignore that phone call we got last night. Let's assume that trifling detail wasn't even an issue. After what has just happened between us, you are still planning to have lunch with your goddamn millionaire while I wait out in the lobby like an asshole?"

She gaped at him, appalled. "Connor, be reasonable. I've never even met the man. There's no reason to be jealous. This is about my work. It isn't about you, or Mueller, or—"

"Like hell it isn't. You played your cards wrong, sweetheart After a night in bed with me, you can forget the romantic, private gourmet lunch with another man. Just… fucking… forget it."

The possessive fury that emanated from him was like a blast of wind in her face. He advanced on her. She backed up. The wall bumped into her back. "Stop, Connor," she said. "You're making me nervous."

"Good. Be nervous. That'll make two of us, and I wouldn't mind some company."

"Connor, I—"

"I'm not letting you out of my sight. If you so much as have to pee, I am following you into the ladies' room. That is how serious I am about this. You reading me? Are we finally communicating?"

He pinned her to the wall, crushing her breasts against his chest. She lifted her chin. "You're acting like a caveman," she informed him.

"I'm not acting," he said. "No masks, remember?"

"That's not fair!" she snapped. "I will not be bullied! Just because we spent the night together does not give you the right to—"

"I'm not bullying you, Erin. I'm just telling you how it is."

He cut off her reply with a hard, marauding kiss. She struggled, but he just swallowed her muffled protests and moved his strong hands over her body. Oh, please. How ridiculous. Trying to stake his claim by brute physical force, the rude, arrogant…

And all at once, her anger betrayed her, lending all its furious heat to the hunger that flared inside her. She shuddered in his arms.

He wrenched the wide, scooped neckline of her nightdress down over her shoulders, exposing her breasts, and trapped her arms behind her in a tight swathe of white cotton and lace. He spun her around, pinned against his chest A brief moment of fruitless struggle, legs pumping in empty space, and he sank down onto the bed with her on his lap, facing the mirror. He yanked the nightgown up over her waist.

Their eyes locked in the mirror. She went very still in his arms. She should be spitting mad. She should tell him straight out that this display of macho, he-man garbage did not impress her in the least. But the words weren't coming. She was speechless, her thighs clamped tight around an embarrassing secret. She was turned on.

No, worse than that. She was extremely turned on. She vibrated in his arms. Her face was red, her breath shallow and labored, her eyes dilated. She couldn't hide it from him. He knew it. She saw it in the triumphant glow in his eyes, the proprietary way he nuzzled her neck. So confident of his power over her.

Dear God, this was awful. She'd been kidnapped by a repressed part of her subconscious, her body taken over by a wanton nympho with no dignity who was sexually aroused by bad behavior.

She shut her eyes to block him out. "Why are you doing this to me?" she demanded. "Why are you torturing me like this?"

"There's torture and there's torture." He shoved the hair away from her neck, and ran his lips over an exquisitely sensitive spot. She jerked and quivered. "And you're torturing me, too, Erin. The virgin bride nightgown is a calculated cocktease, did you know that? I take one look at the thing and in my mind I'm ripping it down the front and throwing you onto a Victorian four-poster." He stroked the tops of her clenched thighs. She thrashed uselessly in the unrelenting circle of his arms. "Open up," he urged. "Let me in."

She bit her lip. "Oh, God. Please, Connor."

"I never know exactly what you're begging me for," he murmured. He kissed his way up her neck, tugged her earlobe between his teeth, and suckled it. "I'm always off balance with you. Always guessing."

"Hah!" She shook with breathless, almost hysterical laughter. "You, off balance? Give me a break. I'm the one who can't move. I'm the one who's being yelled at and pushed around and manhandled!"

His grin flashed. "Open up for me," he pleaded. "Then look in the mirror and watch what I do to you. I promise, it'll be good."

She glared at him in the mirror. "Why are you even asking?" she snapped. "Wouldn't it be more Neanderthal to just make me do it? Shove my legs open, Connor. Go ahead. Doesn't that fit your script better? You'll do whatever you damn well please with me anyway."

His warm, callused hand stroked over her hip with exquisite tenderness. "Nah. It's more satisfying to coax you into opening those beautiful thighs of your own accord." His Voice was low and silky. "The conquest is deeper that way. It's a bigger rush. Way bigger."

She wiggled madly. "Conquest, my butt. This is nothing but a stupid power trip, and I'm not falling for it."

He kissed her neck again, the seductive bastard. "All I want is to make you melt," he crooned. "Go with it, Erin. If giving in to me makes you hot, that's great. I don't think any less of you for it."

"It's bad for your big fat ego!" she flared.

He shook with laughter. "We'll worry about my big fat ego another time. Like, after I make you come. Then you can tell me what a controlling bastard I am. All you want."

She flung her head back against his shoulder. She shook with confusion. "This is not OK with me," she said. "I am not a submissive person."

"Of course you're not," he soothed. "And thank God for it. You're a beautiful, regal intergalactic princess, and you drive me fucking nuts. Now open up, baby. Let me pay tribute to your surpassing beauty."

In your dreams, buddy, she thought. Meanwhile the wanton nympho who had taken over her body obeyed him, spreading her thighs wide. The glistening, flushed folds of her labia pouted out of her thatch of pubic hair, splayed wide for him to see, and touch, and toy with.

She stared into the mirror, astonished. For so long, her sexual life had been limited to solitary experimentation in the safety of her own narrow bed, tinged with shame and loneliness and wistful longing. It was there that she had spun all her romantic dreams of Connor—and tried not to think about Bradley. Whenever Bradley came into her mind, any tension or heat she'd managed to generate drained away, leaving her more depressed and lonely than before.