Crimson Hours

A Cerridwen Press Publication www.cerridwenpress .com

Crimson Hours ISBN #9781419909092 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Crimson Hours Copyright© 2007 Susan Phelan Edited by Helen Woodall. Cover art by Syneca. Electronic book Publication: February 2007

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Cerridwen Press, 1056 Home Avenue, Akron, OH 44310-3502. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously. Cerridwen Press is an imprint of Ellora’s

g, Inc.®

Cave Publishin

Crimson Hours Susan Phelan Dedication/Acknowledgement For Raelene and Helen-my patient publisher and eagle-

eyed editor-without whom this book would never have been brought to life.

Trademarks Acknowledgement The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Beretta: Berben Corporation Camaro: General Motors Corporation Chip ‘n Peppers: Foster, Chip U.S. Corningware: Corning Incorporated Corporation Corvette: General Motors Corporation Glock: Glock Inc. Corporation Honda: Honda Giken Kogyo Kabushiki Kaisha Jeep Cherokee: Daimlerchrysler Corporation Maserati: Officine Alfieri Maserati S.P.A. Corporation Mazda: Toyo Kogyo Co., Ltd. Mercedes: Daimler-Motoren-Gesellschaft Corporation Miss Manners: United Feature Syndicate, Inc. Porsche: Dr. Ing. H. C. F. Porsche K. G. Company Porsche Spyder: Dr. Ing. H.

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zeneca AB Ltd Contents Dusk Dawn Midnight Dusk

Chapter One

With the last rays of the day having fallen securely beneath the horizon and the frosty humidity of the early winter evening hanging heavily in the air, Seth’s dark eyes automatically opened. Staring blankly he momentarily struggled to comprehend the darkness that engulfed him. Reaching a pale slender hand up as he did every night when he awoke, he felt the cold smoothness of the metal container’s lid not two feet above him. As always, the conscious realization of the enclosed space sent a remembered human reaction of fear through him and he held his breath as his fingers fumbled for the interior sliding latch that served to lock the coffin from the inside. Somewhere within the deep recesses of his mind, he chided himself for the persistent trepidation. For a hundred and thirty-three years he had prowled the face of the earth doing exactly what he wanted to whomever he pleased. He’d loved and even on the rare occasion lost, laughed and cried, fought and almost always won and, in short, overcome his many mortal issues to live one hell of a fine existence. To say he was a being in control of his life and destiny was a gross and quite ridiculous understatement. But his tendency toward claustrophobia? Now that was something he just couldn’t seem to shake. Snapping the slick handle sharply to the right, he then put both hands against the hard closure atop him and,

with a slight push, the lid to his purple velvet-lined, vampire hide-a-bed flopped open. In a single, swift movement he leapt to the ground, his bare feet touching down on the wooden floor without a sound. Crossing over to the opposite side, he made his way to the only other two items in the small room-a tall lamp that served to shroud the space in a soft, warm glow and a large armoire that stood open to reveal its expensive contents. The envy of any clotheshorse, within was a vast assortment of garments, including a rainbow of cotton, linen and silk shirts in sharp solid colors or elegant stripes and prints. There were also pants and suits from fine Italian designers in muted shades of gray and beige, exotically colored Indian silks or cool American cottons, myriad jeans that ran the gamut from faded and torn Levis to dark and dangerous Chip n’ Peppers. Naked, he stood perusing his options, his hard white body and short fair hair gleaming in the lamp’s gentle radiance. He shot a glance at the full-length mirror inside the closet door. He was young, in his sexual prime, unbelievably hot and with powers most men and a few women would kill for. Both sexes wanted him with a desperation and need that most can only dream of inducing and yet the only emotion Seth could feel or identify these days was boredom. A sudden rush of restlessness overcame him as it had been doing each night when he awoke for some time

now and he found himself pensive and nearly sulking at the night that sprawled before him. It was the last night of the week and Conchita would be conducting her usual Friday-night lessons. He was off until Monday and, faced with that knowledge, pondered what he was to do. Would it be the same as all the other empty weekends in which he prowled, stalked, supped and then slunk back to his friend’s new house-turnedstudio? Only a short time ago, in the hopes of injecting a littlepardon the pun-life into his dead existence, Seth had agreed to exercise his formidable talents on the floordance floor, that is-to work and stand in for one of Conchita’s teachers for a few months but even that had very quickly lost its appeal. With no one to share his passion for the dance and no talented and committed student to excite him, Seth could find no innovation in his work nor a thrilling new take on his life’s greatest zeal. After a lifetime of casting new spins on old things, was there no longer any newness available to him? Had he used up all his chances? Caught somewhere between being starved for something novel and not having the energy to go looking for it, Seth decided to once again give in to the nagging monotony that had been haunting him as of late. Why force himself to go out into a world that he was bored to death with? With a resigned smirk, he concluded he would just stay in and order Chinese, so

to speak. Yin’s Massage would be more than happy to send him another couple of Asian beauties and with a little hypnotic prowess on his part, the lovely duopreferably a guy and a girl to address the duality of his tastes-would never remember that they had been his main course for the night. Then again, he wasn’t even remotely hungry. Maybe a little exercise would take care of that-the movement of his body serving to not only draw out his reluctant appetite but also soothe his restless spirit. Moving to music had been his lifelong panacea and for whatever reason Seth had been blessed with a chameleon-like ability to transform his body and style to be able to master literally any kind of dance he came across. And what an assortment of styles he had amassed down through the ages. Back in his twenties in Salzburg, right around the time he was turned, Seth had first experienced the pull of the floor with the dances of the late 1800s-those preferred promenade-like prances of the royal court such as the minuet and the allemande. Elegant, reserved, eternally proper and demanding very little effort, they had absolutely nothing to do with physical ability, creativity or self-expression. Rather, their mandate was pompous posturing and feigned sexual disinterest and restraintthe latter a well-known but generally accepted social lie. In actuality men and women were literally tearing the frilled and ruffled clothing off each other in opulently decorated hidden passageways, tall hedged gardens

and even occasionally in the stables, yards of taffeta and silk and lace spreading out atop the haystacks to cushion their dirty but always secret deeds. While the air of grace that defined the courtly dances of the time had initially appealed to Seth’s artistic flair, this mode of movement, he very quickly determined, was far too conservative and stuffy for his own wildly ingenious personality. His many travels throughout Europe and the British Isles with lengthy stays in places like Scotland, Spain and Russia would develop and hone his incomparable skills and talent in Highland dancing, flamenco and ballet, each offering a different outlet for his diverse and complex character. Where Highland struck him as a boisterous combination of regality and jubilation all steeped in a couple of good shots of fine scotch, flamenco was pure fire and anger tinged with a healthy dose of arrogance and passion. Not without an element of passion but a more latent one, ballet exercised, in a word, perfection-visual perfection. Poise and beauty united in absolute precision to create the tightest, most flawless pirouettes, the highest leaps, the straightest, longest extensions be they of arms, legs or sometimes a combination of both-and all done, always, always, always, without error. There was a nearly militant attitude toward achieving this perfection in the company Seth performed with for a time, but when the lights went down and the curtain came up, all the

endless drilling and practicing into the wee hours of the morning on swollen bloodied feet paid off. It was a phenomenal experience for a born dancer such as Seth but in all of it, at least as far as he was concerned, there seemed to be something lacking. There was ability, there was creativity, there was even a kind of wispy spirituality at times but in all his dance journeying overseas there didn’t seem to be a lot of joy-real joy-that slaphappy kick-up-your-heels kind of moving. That is, until his many voyages brought him to North America. Some fifty years after he first donned a powdered white wig, golden buckled shoes and dazzling brocade overcoat atop snug britches and white tights to dance the minuet, Seth was thrilled to be there when the pure pleasure and fun of dance was really ushered in and cut loose onto the dance floor via the golden age of the 1920s. Not only were the sparkling, shimmering costumes of the flappers and crisp white suits of the men that accompanied them a physical embodiment of this glittering time, but the music and dances like the Charleston that went with it conveyed the freedom, the exhilaration and the innocence of the pre-Depression times. Each decade from there on in brought its own take on let-the-good-times-roll dances that were incidentally social reflections of the emotional state of the country at the time. As Seth’s hand moved over the selection of shirts before him, his mind wandered back through the years and all the kinds of dance he had

witnessed the dawn of. The Thirties introduced Swing to the masses. A variation of this emerged in the Forties and Fifties, trying to first anaesthetize the reality of, then celebrate the end of the second world war, via the jump, shout and boogie mood of the jive and the jitterbug and such in-a-row dances as the conga and the bunny hop. The Sixties, which embraced love, peace and the mantra of the flower child, saw the birth of the twist, the locomotion and more whimsical dances like the mashed potato. The Seventies-like a revitalized version of the Twenties-had the glittering world of disco. Here were fast movements done to uptempo bright music, either danced individually, in couples or oftentimes in a straight line of bodies like the hustle. From there the mood turned again as a new wave of interpretative dances were being embraced and explored in the Eighties-movements becoming either incredibly fluid, sharp and jerky, or a spiraling succession of floor acrobatics as seen in the moonwalk, the fine art of poppin’ and lockin’ and break dancing, respectively. The Nineties firmly entrenched the new form of hiphop, introducing the sidewinder and the butterfly. Today, in the twenty-first century, the dance world was full of variations of all of the above and one need only choose one’s passion. For Seth, it changed daily. He never really knew what he felt like until he heard the music and felt that fire in

his belly forcing his body to respond. But first things first, he had to get dressed. Bypassing the cool periwinkle Indian cotton shirt with mauve embroidery around the collarless neckline that was in his line of vision, he opted for a white tank and a pair of ripped worn jeans, before unlatching the series of inner deadbolts to the room and heading out into the main loft. Placing a well-formed, lean hand on the banister, he walked down the long winding staircase to the main floor that housed a small compact kitchen, an office, a lavatory and two dance studios. Already he could hear the heavy driving bass of music-the entire area flooded with the sound of warm and exotic Spanish rhythms. The voice of a lone male singer, fresh from the cobbled streets of Madrid, rose high above the strumming guitars and swirling violin arcs and even louder above it came Conchita’s shouted directions, a hint of irritation registering in the sharp voice. “One, two, three, turn! One, two, no-hold it. Hold it! Brian, you’re on the wrong foot.” Seth couldn’t contain a slight smile. Conchita’s impatience was legendary but fortunately for her and her business, so was her knowledge. Born and raised in Barcelona, the sixty-seven-year-old spitfire of a woman was a force to be reckoned with. With a rolling dynamic accent, an animated personality that made most others appear totally listless by comparison and a poker-

straight backbone that put any classically trained ballerina to absolute shame, Conchita was the personification of the charming but fiery Spaniard. Seth had met her at a dance recital one night some time back and so began their friendship and working arrangement-namely he taught a few classes here and there in exchange for a private, never to be disturbed or entered room in her windowless attic and absolutely no questions. As he had done so many times before, he headed for the other dance studio, hoping for that singular connection and release. It would be there, it always was, his one and only reliable love. But it was a selfish endeavor and time in all its passing had left Seth with a st

unning desire to step outside himself and do something for someone else. But who and what? Chapter Two “Mom, let’s go! We’re gonna be late!” came the urgent, disembodied plea from somewhere downstairs. “I’ll be right there,” hollered Maddie over the blare of a CD player in the next room. Hurriedly she unbuttoned her starched white blouse,

unzipped her solid black skirt and peeled off her pantyhose and bra, heaving a heartfelt sigh as she did so. Good Lord, but she hated the tight unyielding confines of business attire. Shooting a cursory glance at the full-length mirror opposite her, she frowned as she registered the soft waistline and less than perfect bustline, all embossed with those deep red indent tracks and ridges compliments of wearing undergarments that were just a tad too tight. Couple that with elastics, wires and other equally unyielding devices present in women’s lingerie and she was forced to endure a kind of self-imposed underwear torture zone. “Were women’s bodies really meant to be pushed, pulled, prodded and packaged into such tightly constricted forms? Did women of all shapes and sizes really have to suffer to be beautiful?” she sighed. With another audible exhalation, Maddie replaced the stiff office-proper garments with a soft teal t-shirt and sweatpants. Ahhhh. Her at-home uniform. Moving closer to the revealing glass of the bureau, she took a brush from atop the tall wooden structure situated to her left and gave her short brown hair a few quick strokes, all the while envisioning Amanda from whence the previous and impassioned declaration had come. Filled with a good bit of teenage impatience, her fifteen-year-old daughter was no doubt waiting at the base of the stairs, one foot resting on the bottom step as

she drummed her decaled fingernails on the smooth wood of the banister. Weeknights were always a nightmare given the fact that Maddie normally just got in the door from work when she had to start chauffeuring the kids around to their various commitments. However tonight being Friday night added a heightened sense of urgency and excitement to their already hectic pace and all the more so as an accident on the freeway had rendered her late and therefore behind schedule. It was probably a good thing the kids had all but forgotten what day it was. With teenage hormones being what they were, the added obligatory pressure of recognizing such an event could send them clean over the edge. Lacing up a pair of white running shoes and grabbing her purse, Maddie sped out into the hallway, stopping to rap strongly on the partially closed door of her son’s room-the smooth light wood adorned with a black and red poster that read I’m so gothic, I’m dead. “What?” came the yelled monosyllabic response from within, the heavy metal music threatening to drown out the recently deepened, thanks to the emergence of puberty, male voice. Ever since he turned thirteen Tyler’s sentences had been confined to one-word questions and answers, that is, at least with her. Entering his completely disheveled private space that was littered with a collection of dirty clothes strewn on the bed, floor and where at all possible, walls, partially

eaten, and in some cases decomposing, food and an assortment of entertainment paraphernalia like several remotes and a cell phone, Maddie’s sensitive nasal passages were immediately assaulted by the strong scent of aftershave as it wafted past her. Only one month shy of the big fourteen and her beloved but decidedly brooding boy already had a girlfriend. Things were sure different nowadays then when she was a teenager. Back then, in what her friend Sally now referred to as the sensational Seventies, you just started going on boy-girl outings at the age of sixteen. Today, some kids had one foot on the altar by that age! Still, Maddie was eternally grateful for whatever fleeting bits of control she retained, namely that her son “allowed” her to drive the two young lovebirds to and from their movie and mall dates. “Ty, I’m dropping Amanda at the Parkers. I’ll be back to take you to Tracy’s,” she nearly shouted to his seemingly headless form-the top of his slender body lost in the tangles of a stripped fabric as he worked to pull the t-shirt on. “’Kay.” Racing down the stairs, Maddie patted Dobey’s head absentmindedly as she flicked off the lights in the entranceway, the four-year-old golden retriever responding with a wag of his tail and a hopeful look. Eyeing the critter affectionately, she softened and reaching for his leash, motioned for him to join them.

“Ah Mom, nooooo,” Amanda whined. “He’ll get hair all over the place!” “That’s what lint brushes are for, my darling.” Inside the minivan, Amanda’s chronic complaints continued as she and Dobey were forced to jockey for a spot amid Ty’s sports gear that littered the backseat. Turning to back out of the garage, Maddie just about blinded herself when she whirled around face first into the angular jutting edge of a hockey stick. Pulling out of the long driveway, she glanced at the clock on the dashboard, quickly going into multitasking mode. After she dropped Amanda at her friend’s, there was the weekly grocery trip, which might have to wait until the next day as she had to pick up the drycleaning for work on Monday before the cleaners closed at six for the weekend. The little boardwalk business down on Ninth was run by a young bohemian couple that quite literally kept the most inconvenient-not to mention shortest-hours imaginable. Open for a mere three hours midday during the week, exactly how they managed to turn a buck was anybody’s guess. Maddie assumed it had something to do with their inexpensive rates and the exceptional quality of their work which no doubt ensured them a good number of clients. Certainly there was no other place in the city she would personally trust with her fine silk shirts and as it stood, she had just under a half-hour to pick them up. From there, it would be back to the house to get Ty for half

past six. All in all a tight schedule but, at least on paper, it should work out. That was until fate intervened, seeming to have other plans for Maddie’s tightly timed schedule. For no sooner had their vehicle arrived at the first intersection out of the crescent, then the minivan sputtered, coughed and died right there on the street, Amanda’s melodramatic wail following directly thereafter. “Oh great! Now what are we going to do?” For a split second, Maddie thought of responding with “you could actually take a bus for a change” but very quickly squelched the temptation. Instead and without missing a beat, Maddie pulled out her cell and hit one of the numbers on the phone’s speed dial. “Neil’s Auto Body,” a gravelly tone announced, barely audible over the noise of a particularly ill-sounding engine revving in the background. “Hey, hon,” she said, feeling an immediate sense of relief at the familiar voice just before a burst of static crackled down the length of the line. “You still there?” “I’m always here,” came the reply, bearing just a trace of weariness that she and she alone could detect. Running your own business often made for plenty of overtime. “Long day?” “Yep and it’s going to get longer. Some fancy-dancy entrepreneur-type guy dropped off his Jag at five p.m. just as we were closing. It needs a complete overhaul of

the engine and transmission by first thing in the morning, so looks like I’m pulling an all-nighter.” Maddie’s heart stopped, her first reaction to Neil’s last word resulting in a heavy sinking fear that fell like a ton of bricks to land in the pit of her stomach with an almost audible thud. This, in part, due to Sally, who had quite unintentionally planted a seed during a recent conversation over their weekly coffee date. When responding to the news that Neil was working late again, Sally taking a deep swig of her double latte shrugged before replying with an attempted nonchalant, “Oh? He sure does that a lot.” Not that the declaration was news. Maddie had asked herself the unspoken question that lurked within the statement more than once. But when the insinuating words were spoken out loud, it somehow added a weight and reality to the situation. It didn’t exactly take a brain surgeon to suppose that maybe Neil hadn’t been working late all those nights and often weekends to boot, when he said he was. If Maddie was the devious suspicious type she could try to confirm his whereabouts by calling the garage, that is, if it weren’t for the fact that the after-hours answering machine picked up after five-thirty. Of course, she could always drive down and “surprise” him but being the diehard faithful romantic and trusting soul that she was, Maddie wasn’t quite at the point where she wanted to start spying on her husband. Not yet anyway.

Whatever the situation-whether or not Neil was straying, was overworked, or possibly had become just too darn comfortable with her, one thing was for certain…something was going on. The latest indication was painfully evident in the fact that, of all the people in her life, Maddie would have expected her husband to remember what day it was. In the beginning for such a noteworthy annual occasion, he had always managed to bring home a bouquet of flowers or a bottle of perfume, maybe even treat her to a night out. But over the course of the past couple of years, his memory had thinned a little and now the celebration of said events was a few-and-farbetween happening. Nope, the recollection of important dates just didn’t seem to be Neil’s forte anymore. Allowing herself an uncharacteristic internal pout for a few seconds, Maddie inwardly wondered if she hadn’t given him reason to potentially lose interest. After all, she was pretty much consumed with the combination of work, motherhood and running a house-the upshot of it being that she had precious little time to give to him as her husband, her man. Too tired, busy or both, they usually fell into bed and drifted off to sleep without so much as a goodnight kiss. Certainly, their love life was a far cry from the old days, when, newly married and pre-children, they couldn’t wait to get home from their respective jobs so they could tear each other’s clothing off and make love, often not even making it up to the

bedroom. Maddie could hardly remember the last time they had been intimate-really intimate in one of those knock-‘em-down-drag-‘em-out all-night passionate sessions that lasted to the early hours of the morning and left them both absolutely drained but fabulously glowing the following day. Maybe, she posed, it had nothing to do with their schedules and more to do with their, namely her, physical reality. While Maddie did her very best to look absolutely fabulous all the time, going to the gym three times a week, walking and doing stairs at lunchtime, trying to buy the most flattering clothing for her size and age and always moisturizing, the reality was she was the middle-aged mother of two and no amount of sit-ups, cosmetics or faddish clothing was going to make her look twenty. While Neil had never been the superficial type, he was a man and maybe he just couldn’t help but want something younger, smaller and ultimately, hotter. Shaking herself free from the futile self-bashing session, Maddie abruptly switched gears and resolutely reminded herself of the positive side of their relationship. She and Neil had been married for nearly eighteen years-an astounding record according to her older and divorce-happy siblings that routinely spewed envytinged comments of “I don’t know how you do it” and “What is your secret?” at the much-dreaded family get-

togethers. Religiously held at her mother’s west end home every Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter, the relative reunions consisting of her uptight, prissy sister and her alcoholic brother equipped with his girlfriend du jour indubitably ended up in some sort of drunken argument between some, if not all, of those present. For his part, Neil managed not to take the bait but his real preference was not to attend at all. Ever the good guy though, he was always there at her side. Even apart from the “fun-filled” family fiascos, he was always there when she needed him and deep down, they both loved each other very much. He was a trusted friend and confidante as well as supportive and loving father. It’s just that their once Maserati-of-a-romance was now more along the lines of old station wagonreliable, comfortable and functional but not pretty, fast or exciting. Was there some way to rev up the passion between them once more? “Maddie?” Neil’s voice nudged her back to the present. “Yeah. You’ll never guess,” she began as she spoke clearly into the receiver, “the van’s crapped out on me again and I have to get Amanda over to that sleepover.” “Where are you?” he asked without the slightest hesitation. “The corner of Fourth and Tremayne.” “I’ll be right there.” “Dad will be along shortly,” she offered over her

shoulder to Amanda who not so surprisingly didn’t answer. When Maddie glanced in the rearview mirror she could see Amanda’s head bobbing in time to music that streamed directly into her ears via her MP3 player’s miniature earphones. Ten minutes later, Neil pulled up in his battered red Cherokee, his salt-and-pepper hair blowing back from his face as he leapt from the Jeep and came around to the driver’s side of the van. Leaning down, he peered in, a slight frown crinkling his brow and playing across his tanned face that was streaked on one side with what looked like motor oil, the khaki-colored overalls serving to pick up the green in his hazel eyes. “Is it the alternator again?” Maddie stifled a sigh as she brushed back a few errant strands from her forehead. “I don’t know. It was fine and then all of a sudden, nothing.” “All of a sudden, nothing,” he muttered as he moved around to the front of the vehicle and lifted the hood, the repeated statement bringing a faint smile to Maddie’s lips. Throughout their time together, Neil had always poked fun at her less-than-mechanically sound descriptions of car trouble. If it wasn’t making a tinkatinka-tinka noise, it was stopping with a loud kapunk! or whining with a sort of eeeeeee sound. To Maddie, these were alarmingly accurate recreations of the various mechanical utterances she had encountered from time to time, but according to Neil, they were

nothing more than a reason to tease her-albeit lovingly and in good spirit. After a bit of tinkering, he suggested she try starting it. With a vrooooom!-that was precisely the noise it made!the engine directly roared up and all seemed well with the world once again. “The alternator’s going but it should be okay for a bit.” He nodded as he slammed the hood down. “I’ll take a look at it this weekend. Won’t be much longer until one day she bites the biscuit and leaves you stranded somewhere.” Sticking his head in through the driver’s side window, he planted a quick kiss on her cheek before bounding back to his own vehicle. “See you at the house later.” He might and he might not, Maddie thought dismally to herself as she pulled away.

Depending on h ow much time his late-arriving, rush elite job on the Jaguar took, she could find herself spending her fortieth birthday alone. Chapter Three Having just dropped Ty and his girlfriend off at the City Center Mall and picked up the dry-cleaning, Maddie took Manner Avenue that would run through

the downtown core before connecting with Riverside Drive-the long sloping hill that would curve around and eventually lead to the freeway that, in turn, led to the city’s south side and their cozy residential home. When they had first moved here, Neil and Maddie had seriously considered living along Riverside Drive. The houses were magnificent and the view of the farreaching river valley was nothing short of breathtakingmost especially in the fall when the massive hills that flanked the snaking river came alive in luscious shades of orange, rust and yellow. A popular scenic spot for nature lovers, it attracted a good assortment of seniors, dog walkers-with leashed dogs-jogging health nuts and everyone in between. And for those wanting to feel the pulse and artistic flavor of the city, there was no place better as the Drive was within walking distance of the city’s core arts district. Still there were negatives to living so close to the downtown core. Noise, pollution and an increase in nightly activity may not be factors for some but a young married couple with a family had other things to consider. With that in mind, Maddie and Neil had moved away from the city’s heartbeat. Things were quiet in their neck of the woods and the location allowed for a hushed, almost peaceful existence, well removed from the hustle and bustle of the pulsing metropolis’ center, while still being just a fifteen-minute drive away from all the action and amenities of the big

city. It was a compromise but all in all, a good if not overly exciting one. Stopped for a lengthy spell at a red light on the avenue, Maddie utilized the brief break to soak in her surroundings. The early evening sky had transitioned from the bright citrus shades of day to the smoky, muted hues of dusk and with that came the night’s mysterious, melancholy mood. Scores of bodies passed by the front of her idling car and lapsing into a contemplative state, Maddie found herself momentarily entertained by the age-old pastime of people watching. Some were in small boisterous groups, laughing and gesturing in animated fashions as they shared their outrageous tales. Others paired off, walking arm in arm or strolling solo in a far quieter passage, the city’s glittering lights serving as a neon backdrop to their assorted pilgrimages. Maddie couldn’t help but wonder where they were all going. What were their lives like? Were they happy on this chilly overcast Friday evening that smacked of a kind of surrealistic solitude? When the light turned green, Maddie turned her attention back to the road and continued on through myriad neon lights that stretched out before and wrapped around either side of the avenue like some sort of futuristic hi-tech cocoon. Wanting a departure from the main drag’s heavy traffic and suddenly struck with a rare burst of spontaneity, Maddie abruptly decided to take a shortcut and quickly

veered off onto a side street. The unannounced, not signaled turn drew a series of angry beeps from the little yellow Mazda that had been behind her. She never took these side paths that also connected with Riverside Drive-well, almost never. For that occasional must-have fix for her closet chocolate addiction, Maddie had ventured down this very street a few times to the fabulous little single-origin chocolatier at the end of the road. But tonight it wasn’t the need for chocolate so much as a latent desire for something new bubbling to the surface and blossoming into a curiosity that left her hungering for a new direction. Straight down the noticeably darker and less inhabited boulevard she proceeded for eleven or twelve blocks. Peppered along each side of the hushed roadway were quaint little shops that catered to the weekday downtown business crowd. There were funky little art houses that sold everything from ceramics, porcelain sculptures and paintings to woodcarvings and metal works. A tiny florist shop with a reputation for stocking some of the city’s most exotic flowers was bookended by a local designer’s natural fiber clothing store and a fragrance-free bath product store. A hybrid Chinese herb and homeopathic outlet stood alongside a New Age bookstore. Through the assortment of paned glass windows and CLOSED signs dangling, oftentimes at a lopsided angle, Maddie quickly deduced that each of the stores’ interiors were dark. Being after six on a

Friday evening none of these businesses located in the heart of the city would be open. Nearly all of the stores had also turned off their exterior signs and lights as well, leaving the path a quiet, dark contrast to the boulevard she had just come from. That was with one exception. Farther down the way beside the chocolatier and just a block or so before the turnoff to Riverside Drive on the right side of the road, a bright marquee breaking the dimness of the street caught her attention. Completely surrounded in a series of stark white bulbs the gaudy sign merely read Conchita’s. As she drove past, Maddie slowed down, hoping to peer into the muted center of the shop that stood out like a sore thumb, compliments of its bold exterior lighting, but solid wooden shutters covered the windows, preventing a peek into the store’s interior. Odd. She hadn’t noticed this shop before. Reaching the end of the road, Maddie turned right on the Drive, her vehicle naturally accelerating as the steep incline of the hillside slope pulled the van forward. Not thirty seconds into her downward journey, the vehicle began to shudder, uttering another succession of sputters and coughs just like earlier in the evening, only this time, the patient was definitely terminal. With one loud gasp and a spew of white smoke, Daisy, the twelve-year-old family transport vehicle grew slower and slower until, sadly, she just passed away, leaving this world with a loud hiss.

Barely managing to pull over to the curb so that any traffic behind her could continue past, Maddie threw the stick into park and withdrew the key from the ignition. Grabbing her purse, she retrieved her cell and saw that she had missed a call. Playing it back she listened to the comical strains of “Happy Birthday” as sung to her by a slightly inebriated Sally. Switching out of the saved message she automatically hit the speed dial button that would call Neil, forgetting that by now, the service station’s after-hours machine would pick up. With him working late, Maddie would be unable to reach him by phone and the notion of him being accessible via cell was not a possibility. Being the antitechy person that he was, Neil had long ago insisted that he would never carry a mobile phone, a policy she herself would have adopted for she absolutely hated being reachable 24/7. However the position of mother was an on-call one so as soon as Tyler was born Maddie invested in what she liked to call a porto-phone. She hadn’t been without one since. The constant contact aside, the transportable conversational devices were ideal for emergency situations and as the passing infrequent traffic changed from infrequent to nonexistent, leaving her stranded on a deserted roadway, Maddie officially classified this as an emergency. For a second she just sat there, attempting to reason her way out of the mess. No hubby or kids available, her blood family lived three states away and Sally was in

the Bahamas for a month. Things could have been worse. It wasn’t the dead of winter, she wasn’t out in the desert and she had on a good pair of running shoes. Directly spying the most logical course of action, she secured the wheel with a theft-proof device, got out, locked all the doors and began hoofing back up the hill she had just come down. Reaching the crest of the Drive, Maddie walked up to the supposedly open business on the quiet street. The relatively safe assumption came from the fact that the building possessed the only lit sign in the otherwise shadowy street. The other indication that this Conchita’s-whatever kind of shop it was-was open for business came in the form of the sound of muffled music that Maddie could hear on the other side of the door. If she still had reservations, the plaque on the door stating the hours of operation that went until ten p.m. Friday nights gave her the go-ahead to enter. Turning the brass knob, she stepped into the gloomy space. Immediately her ears were assaulted by conflicting songs as the music spilled out into the dimly lit reception area from two different origins. Closing the door behind her, Maddie tentatively entered, the enticing music enveloping and distracting her as she went. While one song was a slow emotional take on a well-known ballad, the other was the kind of sound that made you want to move in any one of a number of

ways and not all of them appropriate-most especially in the possible presence of strangers. Shaking free of the desire to let the erotic ambient noise take control of her body, Maddie glanced around. The high vaulted off-white ceiling had wonderfully ornate curved edges and intricately detailed sculpted borders, all of which were offset by the rich dark cherry wood beams that encompassed the space. Light walls and soft flowing sheers around the reception area’s perimeter gave way to two rooms further down. With a set of sliding doors leading into each compartment, both areas were equally outfitted with mirrored walls lined with a horizontal wooden bar running down one side and light-colored hardwood floors. In the room on the right Maddie occasionally caught sight of a petite, darkhaired woman in a white bodysuit and flowing black chiffon skirt that nearly reached to the floor as she paced back and forth, her little feet decked out in a pair of black character dancing shoes. Where Maddie stood, framed pictures of every hoofer down through the ages, complete with brass name plates underneath each photo, graced the walls from the likes of Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly and Mikhail Baryshnikov to John Travolta in the trademark Saturday Night Fever pose. Among them was a sprinkling of unfamiliar names and faces, one, in particular, drawing her attention. The portrait of a golden-haired, dark-eyed lad whose stern expression

seemed older and out of sync with his obvious youth gripped her, her gaze dropping to the gold name plate underneath that read Seth Travers. Seth-an unusual name to be sure. In fact, the only other time Maddie remembered hearing it in recent history was in the movie City of Angels. Returning her gaze to the picture, she had to smilingly admit to herself that the young man did have a sort of angelic quality. Reluctantly pulling her attention away, Maddie noted that the doors to the room on the right had been pulled across so she could no longer see in, but from the ardent feminine voice hollering strong directives that were coming from within, undoubtedly someone inside was getting a tongue-lashing for something. Conversely, the other room’s doorway was still open, allowing her a glimpse in and thankfully, this room was, at least at the present, shout-free. The entire back wall was lined with mirrors and except for a gleaming hardwood floor looked to be empty. Maddie toyed with the idea of announcing her presence by calling out with a feeble little “Hello” but over the volume of the music, strongly suspected she wouldn’t be heard. That realized she slowly walked toward the open room, the gentle folksy tune coming from within, growing louder as she approached. Popping her head around the entrance to the room, Maddie where she saw a young man dancing near the far end of the dimly lit space, his back for the most part,

to her. Even farther down, the extreme left side of the room was equipped with full-length windows that would afford a gorgeous view of the river valley far below during the day, but in the darkness of night little could be seen through the glass wall. Even though only a couple of the lights in the room had been turned on, casting the figure in semidarkness, Maddie was still able to make out a few obvious details by watching him in the mirror that covered the entire center wall that faced her. He was young, really young, maybe twenty. He was handsome-that glowing fresh-faced look of youth accentuated by his spiky blond hair. He was built-not like a bodybuilder with bulging veinridden biceps and ridiculously knotted thighs, but rather, toned and well-shaped, everything exactly where and how it should be from his arms down to his bare feet, his fine shape clearly touting his masculinity without going overboard. And then the most obvious of all-he was a dancer. This wasn’t just a guy who was dancing. This guy was a dancer. He moved his body to the soft sad song that poured from the overhead speakers, his arms, legs and torso shifting effortlessly from fluid waves of interpretation to extend in flawless and endless lines, arching his back and tilting his head in just the right way at just the right moment to perfectly portray the feeling of the music. Watching the dancer, Maddie felt

as if the expression “poetry in motion” had been penned with him in mind. For a time she stood observing him in silence, totally absorbed and overwhelmed by the intensity of the expression that gushed out of him. Watertight pirouettes gave way to wild open-armed reaches that rolled into sensual body waves that pulled him down to the floor and on his back. Splits and arches led to a rollup that, turning into a superhuman leap, led to his collapse in a dynamic and dramatic heap on the floorthe beauty and ability of the young man’s performance managing to take Maddie’s breath away and fill her eyes with tears. Seth was sprawled on the floor, panting with his eyes closed when he was unexpectedly overwhelmed by the scent of human blood, more precisely, female human blood. She was close, very close, in fact, if his senses did not deceive him, something that rarely if ever happened, the woman was only a matter of feet from him. He could hear the heavy beating of the woman’s heart now that was, strangely enough beating almost in time to the sound of Conchita’s music next door-the only other music that now played. She was excited, titillated, quivering emotionally-his dance having impacted her tremendously. Through her thoughts and feelings which flooded him telepathically, he could tell that she had felt his movements and was touched beyond words by his performance. While her heart still

pounded with sheer exhilaration, beneath that was a second layer of fear-no, check that, worry-something was troubling her. On any other night, Seth might have allowed himself to be mesmerized by the sound of the woman’s heart and seduced into a nice light snack, but experiencing an unusual streak of inquisitiveness at that potential camaraderie that eclipsed his nightly need for nourishment, Seth opened his eyes and turned his head toward the doorway. Before him stood a middle-aged woman, slightly breathless, her face lightly flushed and glowing with that sublime special shine that comes from human physical exertion. She was a beauty, he quickly noted, with dark hair and large dark eyes and a full soft body that he immediately sensed would feel great pressed full against the jutting angles and planes of his own ripped physique. The notion surprised him. Seldom did he feel any attraction, physical or otherwise, to the human species other than, of course, for culinary purposes. However, every once in a while-a very long while, Seth did encounter that rare mortal who would strangely pique his curiosity in one way or another and that very definitely and very quickly appeared to be the case with the woman standing before him. Only with this one, he wanted to hold her, not so much in a sexual way, but close and tight and confident within his dancer’s embrace. “I’m so sorry to interrupt you.”

Seth got up, walked toward her and without purposely deciding to do so, allowed the full force of his vampiric charm to flow from him to penetrate her as their eyes met, a grin breaking across his face at the woman’s startled expression as she felt the impact of the energy directed her way. “You know I have to tell you, you’re really fantastic,” she stammered, struggling to maintain some semblance of control as she motioned at the floor behind him. “Thanks.” He just nodded, hooking his thumbs in his jeans’ belt loops and fixing her with an open but direct stare. While straightforward, it was in no way threatening or overwhelming but rather contained a disarming mix of sincerity and curiosity. In that one-minute, first impression flash that we all unconsciously utilize to size up others, Maddie saw that the young man was of medium height, possibly fivefoot ten at the tallest, but his carriage and squared shoulders gave him the impression of greater height. And his glittering eyes were nothing short of mesmerizing. An extraordinary rich shade of brown, that was contrasted by his fair complexion and pale tresses, his steady gaze beheld her from beneath the fringe of his dark lashes, in such a direct and piercing manner that she actually found herself at a loss for words and feeling more than just a little lightheaded, no doubt from the jaunt up the hill. But that was not all she determined, noting the ultra-fair hair, the dark

penetrating gaze and the charming youthful face equipped with an upturned button nose. Maddie soon realized she was looking at one of the subjects of one of the framed photos. “Oh! Are you Seth? That Seth from the photos?” “Yeah,” he replied, not alternating his stance or expression one iota but continuing to regard her in that totally charming manner. Glancing down, Maddie’s attention was drawn to the intricately designed tattoo that graced his left biceps-that of a wolf biting down on a Sgian Dubh-a Scottish dagger. When she next looked up, Seth was smiling at her. Slowly stretching an index finger up and over her left shoulder, Maddie pointed in the direction of the Drive. Seth’s line of vision followed the movement to thankfully releasing her from the force of his stare. “Anyway, like I said, I’m very sorry to disturb you but my vehicle broke down just down the hill and I need to call a taxi but I don’t know the number. Have you a phone book I could use?” Her request appeared to have left him a little unsure for he simply continued to regard her as he had been without so much as a movement or word, leaving Maddie to wonder if he hadn’t for some reason understood her. “A phone book?” Maddie tried again, motioning toward her ear with her hand that she formed into the shape of a receiver. Still smiling, he finally answered,

the expression in his dark eyes shifting from serious to amused, his voice gentle and low as he stepped forward. “Sure. Follow me.” Stepping around her, Seth brushed past her, the heat from his body touching her as he walked into the main portion of the former house and around the corner into yet another room. Maddie hesitated. With the body and sleek movement of a professional dancer crossed with a seasoned runway model in possession of that enticing nuance of danger and sexuality, Maddie couldn’t decide if she should stay put, follow him or run in the opposite direction. Naturally, she knew what Sally would say-follow him in and then jump him!-only to protest Maddie’s shocked response by saying in that morally challenged, carpe diem way of hers, “You may be married but you’re not dead!” Unfortunately-or possibly fortunately-Maddie had absolutely no inkling that Seth was. Glancing around the still deserted lobby, Maddie tried to reason her way into a decision. It was a dark shop on a dark night on a dark street and there didn’t seem to be anyone else around, that is apart from the music and mystery voices on the other side of the accordion door studio but who knows? They could be a band of jolly ax murderers who enjoy a couple of tunes before they slice and dice their next victim. In this day and age, one couldn’t be too careful. Sure, the kid, as she began to

think of him, seemed harmless enough but despite that, she wasn’t about to follow some strange guy anywhereregardless of how attractive and talented he was. Sally may be disappointed with her choice but you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. Maddie grimaced. She certainly wasn’t an old dog but the sentiment was no less true. When Seth sensed Maddie wasn’t following, he came back around the corner with phone book in hand and handed it to her, immediately smelling her fear. Mortals could be such babies but then again, the woman had every right to be cautious. Halfheartedly he mused what her reaction would be if she knew what he was. Through the decades he often wondered if it would ever be possible for a human to accept his kind. Especially now that vampires could coexist with their meal tickets without harming or killing them. It could work but unfortunately mortal fear would, as it had down through the ages, remain the primary roadblock and from fear could spring all sorts of disastrous scenarios. That is why since the dawn of time, things have remained the same with vampires living among, but never revealing themselves to, their human counterparts, he reminded himself. “Sorry,” he offered, flicking on a switch on the wall to flood the area with light from the fluorescent bulbs overhead. “I keep the lights out after hours to keep the costs down,” he lied. If he told her the truth, that he

could actually see better in the dark than in the light, it would certainly raise her eyebrows, not to mention her heart rate. Finding the number of an all-night towing service, Maddie phoned and giving the approximate address of her vehicle, was disheartened to hear that it would be over an hour before the service truck arrived. Disconnecting from her cell, she inwardly pondered what she should do until the serviceman arrived. Glancing past her gallant host, she motioned to the studios beyond. “Are you a teacher here?” “Sometimes.” “What kind of dancing do you teach?” “All kinds. What’s your pleasure?” “Excuse me?” “Do you dance?” “Me? Oh not for ages. I used to study when I was a kid but that was a long time ago.” “You miss it,” Seth stated matter-of-factly, a slight intonation present in certain words indicating he was a foreigner, but precisely from where, Maddie couldn’t readily ascertain. She looked at him directly then, feeling only a slight rush of color to her cheeks as his unwavering gaze met hers. Mildly alarmed by the perceptiveness of his statement, she felt no need to disagree. “I do,” she admitted openly without missing a beat, the utterance

that she had never verbalized to another soul bringing on a sudden and unexpected wave of remorse. Dancing had been an absolute obsession of hers for most of her life growing up but somewhere along the way as she had moved from youth to adulthood, she had minimized its importance and downgraded it to the dirtiest of all words-a hobby. In the adult world filled with careers, commitments, obligations and responsibilities, pleasurable pastimes had long since become nothing more than self-indulgent, selfish frittering-aways of time, never mind that they were good for the soul and provided an invaluable outlet for emotion, creativity and passion that simply couldn’t be released through any other means. Stealing the words of the grumpiest, most dispassionate and arguably most unfulfilled literary characters of them all, Ebenezer Scrooge, hobbies were “Humbug!” “You should start again.” “Heavens no! I’m…” What? she internally prodded as she let the sentence fade away. Too old? Too fat? Too reserved? While it was true that arguments could be made for the former two objections, the latter, sadly was an accurate description of her personality lately. Long gone was her devil-may-care attitude and enthusiasm. Now in its place were the more mature qualities of reliability, responsibility and dare she even think it? Composure. Ick. Terrible words for any artiste. Right on cue, Seth’s

voice interrupted her thoughts. “It’s never too late to start again,” he said with a strange smile. “Trust me. Your body will remember.” Maddie’s response to his words took on the form of a little shiver that ran down the length of her back and there was something in the intonation, indeed in his indefinable manner all along, that hinted at a substitute sexuality as Sally would call it. Maybe it was strictly a chemical and hormonal matter of the body wanting what it can’t have but what was it about some gay guys-not the flaming ones granted-but the others that made the vast majority of the female heterosexual population want to have a go at converting them? Mulling it over, Maddie studied Seth closely for a moment only to decide that he was far too masculine and in possession of that certain male heterosexual vibe to be fully gay, which only left one alternative-he was bisexual. Blessed with a pretty impeccable “gaydar”, she was yet to be wrong when it came down to who went down on whom. At the presumably positive assumption, a flood of irrelevant disappointment coursed through her-irrelevant only because even if he had been as straight as an arrow, married Maddie wouldn’t have touched him with a ten-foot pole, Sally yes, but never Maddie. Angry, hurt and maybe even a little bored with her own handsome hubby, she wouldn’t swing at any incoming pitches even if she were a baseball bat.

Still, for some unknown reason, Maddie always found it a little disheartening to discover the most gorgeous, talented and appealing guys out there were often unavailable in the truest sense of the word. But then remembering that she had decided he was only partially off the market, she brightened, knowing that some lucky female out there would at least have a 50% chance of attracting his attention and if Maddie were fortunate enough to know about it, could live vicariously through said girl without breaking the sacred bonds of matrimony. Everyone would be happy! In response to his previous statement, she skeptically looked down at the bumps and curves of her soft shapely form as evident under the cozy fabric of her sweatsuit. “Ah…I don’t know about that.” “I do. Let me show you.” “What?” The astonished tone in her voice was indisputable but Seth seemed to take no notice. “Let’s go,” he replied, courteously holding out his hand to her. “But my car…” “The service man won’t be here for a while and from the sounds of it, you have denied yourself for far too long.” “I have?”

“Besides, tonight is a special night.” Maddie could feel her eyebrows arch way up as she silently regarded Seth who had let his extended hand drift back down to his side. She hadn’t told him that it was her birthday. Regardless, she had to secretly admit that while he was a literal stranger, she was intrigued by both the invitation and his apparent insight. “What makes you say that?” He shrugged, looking down for a moment before returning his gaze to her face. “I don’t know. I just feel it. Why? Am I wrong?” Maddie nodded, feeling that stab of sadness permeate through her once again as she answered him. “No, you’re not. It’s my birthday.” “See?” he said with a slow sexy grin. “Now you can’t argue. A beautiful woman such as yourself should give herself this gift.” Beautiful woman? Who was this guy kidding? Was he trying to make some time or perhaps was merely nearsighted and forgot to pop in his contacts? After all it was Friday night. She was tired and could mentally envision the smears of day-old mascara starting to appear underneath and at the outer corner of her eyes. Her foundation would have long since disintegrated into her skin as did her lipstick, sinking into those ageoccurring little lines on her lips making her mouth look like a kind of colorful road map and let’s not forget about her fabulous weekend attire.

Seth must have been a mind reader for as these very thoughts flitted through her head, immediately and secretly contesting his comment, he spoke. “Yes, beautiful. And one with not only a great passion for the dance but also a little free time right now in which to indulge it. So what do you say?” Part of Maddie felt a little uneasy at Seth’s forthright manner but yet another part of her-a stronger part-was curious beyond belief and wanted to see what it felt like to move again, feel the pulse of the music dictate and play puppet master to her body. And of course there was the other thing that, up until now, she had refused to acknowledge. Married or not, it had been a long time since a member of the opposite sex had paid her any attention-welcome or not. To have the likes of this handsome hottie opposite her dish out such a compliment was very flattering and more than likely because of that, Maddie wasn’t even remotely surprised to feel her interest seriously spoke. Clearly he was a young man, but while his conversational style was laid-back and informal, there was this old-world charm to him that stood out like a sore thumb. Enticed to give it a go-the dancing, that is-Maddie naturally wavered at the possibility that her long-time absence from dance would result in disaster. What if she left his feet bruised and bloodied from her lack of recent feet-on experience? Would his charming persona

hold or would he erupt into a series of shouted criticisms really designed to make her leave? While she seriously doubted the latter, in the end, Maddie decided it was just too ridiculous a proposal for her. “Thank you, Seth. You’re very sweet but honest to God, I’d really just prefer to watch you dance.” “Ah, a voyeur. A woman after my own heart.” Maddie laughed. And blushed. Then laughed some more. This kid had a gift-he was beautiful, a talented dancer and had enough charisma to stop an elephant. “I wouldn’t want to hurt you.” He shrugged in a beguilingly boyish way. “I wouldn’t worry about it. I’m impervious to pain.” “Well, I’m not impervious to embarrassment so how ‘bout I just sit this one out?” “Okay. This time.” “Okay.” Seth motioned for her to enter the dance studio and with him bringing up the rear, he slid the door behind them. “So what can I do for you?” “Pardon me?” “What kind of dance would you like me to do?” “Oh. I don’t know. Whatever you like.” “I like lots of things.” Rotten little flirt! “Don’t you have a favorite kind of dance?” “Not really. Besides, it’s your birthday. Consider it my gift to you.”

The thought of asking the hard-bodied young thang to do a striptease crossed her mind but she quickly pushed the notion away with a secret smile. “Lemme think. Umm…” She thought back to a show she saw last spring at the provincial museum and the raven-haired dancer from Madrid who effortlessly raised the pulses of the predominantly female members of the audience. “Do you know flamenco?” “Do I know it? I practically invented it. But for that, I’m going to need shoes. And,” he paused, his dark eyes twinkling, “a better shirt.” Slipping into a change room to the right, Seth reemerged shortly after and in a flash of white, disappeared behind the long counter on the opposite side of the space. Looking like a makeshift bar, in actuality it housed the studio’s sound system. Gone from view for a mere moment Seth literally popped up only to reappear at Maddie’s side a matter of seconds later, the dramatic opening slow-motion strumming of a Spanish guitar number bursting out into the quiet room. “Oh! Speedy Gonzales.” “Actually, Travers.” “Huh?” “My last name? Never mind. But you know what? Flamenco is a lot more fun with a partner. Isn’t there any way I can persuade you to join me?” Oh probably. Somewhere in her head she could hear

Sally’s eager whisper encouraging her to “go for it!” “It’s tempting. Why don’t you start and who knows? I just might.” “Deal.” In place of his tight undershirt, Seth now wore a billowing white cotton pirate shirt. Unlike some of the more traditional versions that even came equipped with a lace-up front, this one was of the button-down variety but complete with drop shoulder seams and a gorgeous excess of fabric, it provided the perfect feel for flamenco. Backing up toward the door they had just come through, Maddie leaned against the wall and crossing one foot over the other, prepared herself for the performance to come. “Want a chair?” Seth asked. “Nope. I can see more if I’m standing.” He grinned again, a terrific boyish smile that consisted of flirtation and for some, the sexiest quality of all, sincerity. With his back to her, Seth struck a theatrical pose that had him lunged forward on one knee, his upper body curved and his torso was twisted around to face her, one graceful hand arching skyward with the other placed on his hip. “Ready for me?” What a tease. “Ready.” In one grand movement, Seth pulled his extended leg

up and stamped his foot down sharply in complete precision with a double clap of his hands. Spinning on the ball of that foot he whirled around to face her fully, stopping the turn with an exaggerated forward lunge, both hands making inward circling motions at his waist. A fast, razor-sharp leap brought him straight again, feet side by side, one arm high overhead, the other curled around his waist, palm out in a classic toreador stance. Watching him, she immediately determined that he had that certain and rare quality that only the occasional male dancer possessed-the undeniable presence of grace and elegance but not at the expense of an alluring and strong sense of masculinity. There was a pause in the music and Seth waited, his eyes locked on hers. This was going to be good. The song continued then, the tempo double time to what it was and even double time to that came the clicking of Seth’s heels on the floor-first in perfect rhythm with the meter of the music, then breaking off into a syncopated cadence that left Maddie dizzy trying to follow it. With a powerful leap and accentuated step to the side, he reversed directions so that once more his back was to her-not a bad view at all. From there, tiny little nibbling heel drops done at warp speed, brought him circling around toward her, his arms rising slowly from his

hips until they were once more over his head. The final RA-ta-ta-ta-DA-DA with his feet prefaced his last spin and one-legged lunge to the floor, his head thrown back, his arms once more split-one overhead, one curled around his waist. There he remained, frozen at her feet in a kind of marriage-proposal-meets-Carmen pose. Eyes wide and mouth dry, Maddie let out her breath. She didn’t realize she had been holding it. “Oh my God, Seth. You really are fabulous. I know I already said that but you’re just so…” Seth immediately dropped his assumed bullfighter persona and rose to both feet, that bright, boyish look once more lighting up his face. “Thanks. That’s nice to hear, especially from you.” “What do you mean?” He shrugged. “I know what dance means to you. And it’s good to finally meet someone in the know.” “Well, I appreciate that but I’m not sure that I know that much.” “How ‘bout we find out?” “I beg your pardon?” “Yeah, c’mon. Let’s trip the light fantastic.” He held his hands out to her in the most endearing of gestures and the sentiment along with the sweet warm look on her face broke Maddie’s heart. But life, not to mention her car, was waiting…

“Actually, Seth, thank you for all of this. It has been a real hoot.” “A hoot?” Maybe he was much younger than twenty-five. “Yeah, you know, a blast, a good time, but I really should go.” He eyed her hard then and Maddie began to squirm under the weight of his perceptive stare-a blatant disappointment followed by an unnerving awareness flashing in the black depths. Hidden somewhere within the blazing dark pupils appeared to lurk the knowledge of her life, her feelings and her dreams and she suddenly felt vulnerable, ashamed and alone. For a split second, she was even tempted to spill the beans to her Spanish Fred Astaire-come clean with the sad truth that nothing and no one was probably waiting at home for her, but directly she squelched the enticement. After all, Seth was just a nice stranger who had elevated her spirit for a few heavenly minutes on her birthday and it had been wonderful, truly wonderful, to feel that one-of-a-kind floating sensation that only dancing or watching a great dancer could bring. But now it was time to get back to reality. Releasing her from his nearly sympathetic expression, he nodded as they started walking toward the door. “I understand. Your birthday. You have plans.” “Yes. Big plans,” she lied. “It’s been a real pleasure.”

“For me too. It meant a lot.” “I know it did.” His words once again accompanied by that all-knowing expression. “That’s why I hope you will return.” “Oh thanks, Seth, I would love to, but I just don’t think that will be possible.” “Why not?” “My schedule is very busy, what with my family and all.” “Are you married?” “Happily,” she almost blurted out, flushing at the probably unnecessary clarification. “With two children.” “That’s terrific. It must be very comforting to have a family.” He let the sentence trail off for a moment before resuming with a purposeful zest. “But you have to take care of yourself first, otherwise you are of no use to anyone else.” “I suppose for some that’s true.” “It’s true for everyone. In your soul you are a danceralways have been and always will be. For you, dancing is a passion and for your overall health, you must indulge and unleash it regularly. To deny this, is to deny who you are.” Wow-dancer extraordinaire and Zen master. “How do you know all this about me? We just met.” He shrugged. “I feel it.”

Maddie stopped and turned, her eyes twinkling as she regarded the encouraging figure before her. “Indulge and unleash your passion”, seductive words to be sure. Devoted wife or not, she had to admit that she liked the notion that a gorgeous talented younger man had invited her to unleash her passion with him-even if he didn’t mean it in the way it sounded. Noting the grin on her face, Seth smiled too. “That’s better. Something tells me you don’t smile enough and with such a lovely smile, you are depriving the world of your beauty. Now, go and enjoy your special day, embrace the beautiful woman that you are and revel in that knowledge. For me, I will spend the week hoping to see you again next Friday.” Holy macaroni. Who was this guy-a closet poet? He had the nicest way of saying the simplest things and in addition to his spin around the floor, he had indeed given her a terrific birthday present, with his words and invitation he had, whether sincere or not, managed to do something no one had done for Maddie in a very long time, put a little spring in her step. Leaving the studio, she headed down the slope to her vehicle, surprised to see the rotating amber lights of the tow truck illuminating the drive as she rounded the corner. It had arrived earlier than anticipated. Walking on the sidewalk toward the location of her abandoned van, Maddie

couldn’t resis t doing a little chasse and lunge to announce her arrival. “Arribe!” she said with a flourishing sweep of her hand to the startled serviceman who looked up from the hood of her van. “Lady, you okay?” Maddie couldn’t contain the grin that spread across her face from ear to ear. “Never better, amigo!” Chapter Four The following week came and went without incident. There was an after-the-fact birthday make-up dinner with Neil and the kids on Sunday when he realized they had missed the big event complete with a series of sincere “sorrys” and “shouldas” before and afterwards. Utilizing his exceptional culinary skills Neil cooked them a fabulous meal of homemade cannelloni, Caesar salad and garlic bread before they all settled in to watch a couple of movies together, all in all a nice compensation. Neil even promised he would give her a special present later-wink, wink, nudge, nudge-but of course, after several glasses of red wine, he fell asleep long before Maddie came out of the bathroom fresh from her usual bedtime routine of cleaning and flossing

her teeth, removing her makeup and giving her hair no less than one hundred strokes with a hairbrush. Climbing into bed beside him, she raised his one arm and snuck in under it, curling up against him to lay her head on his chest. His slow even breathing caused his warm chest with its sparse sprinkling of soft dark down to rise and fall with a steady soothing rhythm that soon lulled Maddie to sleep too. Thursday and Friday were incredibly hectic days at the office with Maddie having to participate in a latebreaking emergency managerial meeting Friday afternoon at four p.m. After a quick call to Neil to see if he could give the kids dinner and shuttle them around to their assorted social commitments, she entered into the unexpected discussion that ended up running through until nearly seven p.m. Closing up the office and literally being the last one out, Maddie headed across the parking lot and spying the sleek black sports car, got in and began making her way home. Since the death of Daisy, the family’s white minivan, the week before, Maddie had been driving Nick-Neil’s souped-up ‘79 black Corvette-and probably would be for a while. Arguing that it was an embarrassment for a woman her age to be driving such a car, Maddie was resigned to the fact that she had no other choice. Tom, the sedan, had been lent to a family friend for a little road trip to Canada and wouldn’t be back for another

two weeks. Meanwhile Neil had been carpooling with a coworker. By now, all family and most close friends knew that all the vehicles in Maddie and Neil’s household were named after characters in one of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s most popular novels, compliments of Maddie’s absolute obsession with the book. The family’s fleet of vehicles had evolved over the past few years thanks to Neil’s tinkering ways and the couple had an arrangement that any time Neil, the eternal mechanic, saw an abandoned, abused or otherwise down-on-its-luck car or truck, he would adopt it and bring it home, like the equivalent of a vehicular animal shelter rescuer. And for her part Maddie got to name them. Hope sprang eternal that one day they would find and acquire a vehicle worthy of being called Gatsby. So Maddie was buzzing along Manner in Nick, heading straight through the downtown core, when she came upon the street that would lead her to Conchita’s. Stopped at a red light, Maddie ignored the late-model Camaro that pulled up beside her and revved its engine, two teenagers anxiously awaiting her response. Ignoring the invitation to drag, Maddie stared straight ahead-Seth’s words the week before drifting back to her. In your soul you are a dancer-always have been and always will be. For you, dancing is a passion and for your overall health, you must indulge and unleash it regularly. To deny this, is to deny who you are.

Without intending to do so, Maddie found she had turned onto the boulevard that would lead to the studio, the car slowing as she drove down the quiet passageway. After a quick glance at the car clock that read seven thirty, Maddie abruptly turned into the alley beside the studio and turned the car off before she had even decided to stop. Sitting in the darkness with her hands still clutched on the wheel, she momentarily questioned her decision and its repercussions. Did this have the potential to get out of hand? Was this the beginning of something she didn’t intend to follow through on? And yet to each internalized query, she felt a resounding no well up inside her. True, she couldn’t speak for Seth nor predict his personal objectives or motivations but as for her, despite enjoying the attention from an attractive male, the real truth behind her return visit was she simply wanted to feel the rush of moving to music with a partner again. All that decided, Maddie jumped out and, grabbing her gym bag from the trunk that contained her workout clothes, bounded up to the entrance and went in. This time, the studio on the left was in use, the right one apparently free. Walking over to the uninhabited room, Maddie peered into the dark area, her eyes straining to decipher the shape of four thin floor-to-ceiling structures dotted along far side. Equally spaced out with plenty of room in between each one, they looked to

be circular-shaped support beams. Odd to build a dance studio around such intrusive formations. “I was hoping you’d make it.” Startled by the soft voice behind her, Maddie jerked around to see Seth’s glowing, smiling face. “Oh. Yeah. Well. You know.” “I know.” He smiled. “Come on. We’re in here tonight.” Flicking on the lights, he headed over to the sound system which, like the other studio, was situated on the far south side of the room. Only this time, there were no full-length windows but rather a solid wall literally covered with pictures and posters from Broadway musicals. Seth motioned to the artwork. “Conchita’s a bit of a fan of musical theater.” “And you?” “Ah, I could take it or leave it. But you know me. Anything that gets me moving…” “I hear ya. Hey, where can I change?” She held up her gym bag. “Over there,” he said, pointing toward a small room in the opposite corner. Heading toward it, Maddie was surprised to discover that the support beams she had recently spied were actually steel poles. After changing, she walked back into the center of the studio, motioning to the tall shafts behind her. “What are those for?”

When Seth didn’t answer, she turned around to regard him. He was watching her with a funny little smile on his face. “You’re pulling my leg.” “No. Not at all.” “They’re poles.” Maddie rolled her eyes. “Yes, I know. What are they for?” “Pole dancing.” “Oh.” Now she probably should have known that and even if she didn’t, if she’d given it any thought at all, she probably could have figured it out on her own. But the truth was, she hadn’t been thinking at all, fully enjoying being in a dance studio again-the second time in just over a week. “Have you ever done it?” “Done what?” “Pole danced.” Maddie erupted into a fit of laughter. “Oh yeah. All the time, in between my bungee jumping and skydiving.” “Funny you include it among two of the most dangerous sports out there.” “It’s out there, all right.” “Does that mean you don’t want to give it a try?” “Ah, thank you, no.” “Chicken,” he muttered under his breath.

“What did you say to me?” “Ah, nothing. We’ll just put on something more your speed. What am I looking for…oh, here it is. ‘The Old Timer’s Waltz’.” Maddie laughed again. “Listen, you little brat!” she said affectionately, her eyes twinkling in delight. “Watch it or I’ll…” “Put me over your knee?” he asked hopefully, bringing on another boisterous chuckle from Maddie. “Why don’t I teach you a few moves? Bet you love it.” “You know how to pole dance? I thought that was a female stripper thing.” “A stripper thing, yes. Strictly, female? No.” “Oh.” “Shocked?” “No. “Yes you are.” “No I’m not. Not really. “You have that wild child way about you.” “Wild child huh? Is that good or bad?” “Definitely good. It’s part of your charm.” Seth rolled his eyes and Maddie couldn’t be entirely sure but she thought he was blushing a little. “All right, enough of this. Are we gonna pole it or no?” “I don’t know…” “Come on! You only live once.” Again the appeal of his words inspired her into action. “You’re right. Let’s do it!”

“Walk this way.” Affecting the slinky sexual hip-forward gait of a stripper but comically exaggerated, Seth led her over the poles, Maddie breaking into laughter as she followed him. “Okay, first things, first. Come around the back side and grab hold with one hand.” Watching him closely, Maddie followed his instruction carefully, her eyebrows knitting together in deep concentration as she awaited further direction. “Your legs are too close together. Spread ‘em.” Maddie grimaced, a doubtful expression crossing her rosy face. “Just pretend you’re getting frisked. For some people it’s a lot easier if you don’t think sexually to begin with.” “Okay.” Maddie nodded seriously. “Getting frisked.” “That’s right. Now bend your knees and swivel your hips from side to side.” Maddie complied, moving from one leg to the other in a kind of high-speed shimmy. “No, no, not so fast. It’s slower and more of a slide and pop action, like this.” Maddie stopped and watched Seth slither and shift in a deliberate and seductive manner that was the farthest thing away from any kind of police search she’d ever heard of. “That looks…good.”

“You can do it too. Here, let me put on some aural stimulation.” “Some what?” Seth burst out laughing. “I knew that would get you. I’m just going to put on a tune.” Sprinting across the floor, he selected a CD, snapped it into the player and fast-forwarded to his song of choice, then jogged back to take his place at the pole to the left of Maddie. Seconds later a slow sensual melody reminiscent of the old Barry White songs weaved its way across the room, the driving suggestive pulse of the bass the obvious motion motivation. “Hear the beat?” “Hard to miss it.” “Do you feel it?” “Oh yeah.” “Then just match the move to the beat, swivel-pop right, swivel-pop left, then swivel, swivel, swivel-pop right.” Maddie followed Seth word for word, move for move, her self-consciousness at the sex kitten-esque motions slowly receding as the song played on. Soon Seth had her doing spread-legged knee bends with bottom pushed up, exaggerated roll-ups and saucy spins with one leg looped around the pole, each new maneuver emphasized by Maddie’s gleeful giggle. “This is fun!” “I told you you’d like it.”

After the class, winded, warm and completely spent, Maddie felt like she used to feel after Neil and she had made love in those early days and the comparison sent a pang of something lost, maybe even permanently

, through her, Seth’s words shaking her back to the present. “Now you can take this home and surprise your husband with it.” “But we don’t have a pole in the bedroom.” Immediately coloring at the stupidity of the words, Seth’s sarcastic and racy reply set Maddie giggling and back in an upbeat mood as she headed for her car. “Listen, you do a few of these moves for him and I guarantee you, one will spring up.” Chapter Five The following Friday, Seth awoke to the usual sounds of music below on the main floor, his thoughts immediately turning to his new apprentice Maddie. Never had he seen a student so enthused, so receptive to his instruction and so impassioned by the dance. To say she was an absolute pleasure to teach didn’t begin to describe the life her mere presence and eagerness had breathed into him. The drudgery of trying to excite and educate the untalented had drained and bored him

and it wasn’t until he had been visited by a warm and willing body from the far end of the spectrum, did he realize what a toll his work had taken on him. Robbing him of everything he had loved about dance in the first place, teaching those unworthy-for a variety of reasonsof his instruction, had sucked dry all the ardor he had once felt. Speaking of sucking dry, Seth was surprised to realize that, for the first time in a long while, he was starving. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he had a decent appetite. Rising with a vigor and zest he hadn’t felt in decades, Seth quickly clothed himself in a primarily dark ensemble. His elevated mood and rare culinary craving called for a savory celebration so tonight, he was going to dine out. It was early yet and he would have plenty of time to grab a bite before Maddie came for her lesson. Making his way across the lobby of the studio and out the front door, he headed down the Drive on foot and en route to the river valley region. Always peppered with bodies, he was sure to find someone there worth nibbling on. Through the years he had honed his hunger and supernatural skills to the point that those he became orally interested in not only survived his kiss but had little memory of it-a far cry from his method of operation in the old days. Thankfully that was all behind him. No longer wanting to cause his

quarry any harm, at least not permanently, he even found himself aspiring to maybe one day, doing one of them some good. Perhaps that was what Maddie really was to him-a chance to help someone, to do something right for a change. With a light whistle, Seth sailed over the guardrail that edged the hillside road. Skipping down the embankment to the water’s edge, he walked for a time, passing the odd opportunity that crossed his path. There was a young couple, which from their thoughts, were heading toward an early picture show at the movie theater. A homeless fellow dragging a big green garbage bag rattling with the unmistakable sound of tin cans and bottles trudged past him, not making eye contact while a young woman clad in a fashionable running outfit sped past the two of them almost at the same time. Seth could smell both of their blood, fragrant, rich and enticing in their unique subnotes and individual nuances. While human blood had a constant element present in all subjects, like a fingerprint, there was that singular distinctiveness that set one apart from the other, apparent in both the scent and the taste. Nothing grabbed his attention so Seth just continued on strolling. A short time later he came upon a trio of youths laughing, shoving each other and generally goofing around. The tallest one, a lean, gangly-looking darkhaired entrée took his leave from his buddies, waving

and veering off along a narrow footpath that wove back up the hill and into the trees that flanked either side of the river, his tantalizing flavorful aroma that smacked of an exotic background, an earthy existence and cleanliving diet following him as he went. With his vampire teeth reacting to the scent, lengthening and poking down to stab into his lower lip, Seth silently gave chase to his prey, catching up to him not thirty seconds after he disappeared from his friends’ view into the woods. The guy didn’t hear his soundless footsteps, but pretty well tuned for a mortal, he sensed Seth’s presence behind him and turned around. “Hi,” Seth said, speaking in such a way as to hide his canines. “Hi.” “Wanna do something for me?” A long moment passed, a silent vibe of sexuality coursing between the two before the guy smiled a fearless open grin. Walking over to Seth and

very slow ly leaning in, he pressed a soft hand against the front of Seth’s pants. “Whatcha have in mind?” The guy was so close now that Seth could actually see the blood pulsing in the vein in his throat. Pushing the guy’s hand away, Seth drew him close in an embrace. His lips now perfectly aligned with the guy’s neck, he

whispered into his ear, feeling the shudder that ricocheted through both their bodies. “Close your eyes.” ***** Maddie pulled up to a stop in front of Conchita’s, trying to look into the shuttered windows as she had done that first night but like before, all she could see was the bold marquee sign out front. The thought of parking and going in for another whirl around the dance floor with Seth was surely a seductive idea but to what end? she silently wondered. What was the point? She’d had her fun and it had managed to put a smile on her face for a week or two but she was a wife and a mother with a whole pile of responsibilities and obligations. Despite what Seth had said about putting herself first and the tremendous sense of liberation she had experienced the past two weeks, the truth was it just wasn’t practical. Shaking her head, Maddie stepped on the gas and drove past, turning onto the downward hill where she had been stranded on that fateful night. Naturally accelerating down the steep decline of the road, she glanced down to turn on the radio before returning her eyes to the path ahead. The sight of a dark figure standing no more than ten feet ahead of her caused her to slam on the brakes. A high-pitched squealing sound broke the silence of the night, the little sports car bucking and swerving as the scent of burnt rubber filled the air in her valiant effort to keep from hitting the

form in front of her. Coming to a sudden stop only inches away from the guardrail, Maddie automatically looked in the rearview mirror but there was no sign of the individual who had barricaded her way only seconds earlier. Throwing the car in park, Maddie jumped out and walked back over the path the car had just taken, tracing her steps along the streaks of black that marked the pavement. Doubtful that she had managed to stop in time, she was nevertheless perplexed at the fact that she had felt no impact and yet the person in question appeared to have vanished. Standing in the middle of the deserted road, she looked up and down for a sign of anyone. One side of the slope gave way to a sharp cliff while the other was filled with a series of tall trees and thick wide-spreading bushes that, compliments of a series of burnt-out bulbs in the overhead streetlamps, shrouded the roadside walkway in darkness. Then out of the shadows emerged a shape, the sight of the figure alarming Maddie so much so that she let out a high shriek, until she recognized the identity of the individual. It was Seth. “Oh my God,” she half yelled, clasping one hand to her chest. “You little shit! You scared me half to death! What the hell were you doing?” “Walking. I’ve been waiting for you. Where were you going? The studio’s back that way.” Maddie ignored most, but not all of what he said.

“Walking? On the road?” “I was in the river valley and came up the embankment so just cut over.” “I could’ve killed you.” “No, you couldn’t.” “I’m telling you, Seth, I came this close to hitting you.” Seth grinned that annoyingly charming smile of his. “I can move pretty fast.” While she was certainly aware that his heel-heavy flamenco routine was capable of leaving a few skid marks of its own, she was in no mood to play verbal footsie. “Yeah, well, if I hadn’t swerved I doubt you could have flamenco-ed your ass out of the way in time. Besides, what about me? Only a few more feet and I could’ve gone clean over the edge.” Seth shrugged. “I would have caught you.” Cute and chivalrous but not entirely accurate. “And spun me into a deep dip, tango-style, I suppose?” “Precisely.” While looking like an absolute dream in his dark pants, leather jacket and white shirt, Seth’s nearly flippant attitude was starting to make Maddie really annoyed. “I’m glad that one of us finds this all so amusing.” “That’s good. I feel it. Now if you can just hold that anger for a couple of steps up the hill, I’ll know we could put it to good use on the dance floor.”

Maddie glared at him incredulously, somewhat shocked by the sudden closeness of his body. She hadn’t recalled him walking across the road toward her. “You have got to be joking.” “Why? It’s Friday, we’re both free…” “I’m not free,” she corrected hotly. “You know what I mean. By the look on your face, you could use it. Bet it makes you feel better.” “Are you crazy? I can’t possibly think of dancing at a time like this.” “Yes and why not?” Stymied for an answer, Maddie let out a huff and spinning on her heel headed for Nick but the soft warm feel of Seth’s hand in hers turned her back around to face him. “Maddie,” he said softly, his tone lightly scolding her. “Don’t be like that. You’re okay, I’m okay, your car’s okay. It’s Friday and we both want to dance. Now let’s get turned around and pick up where we left off last week. I promise I’ll make you forget all about this.” “The near-death experience, you mean?” Trying to still her fluttering heart, she turned away from him. It was the only way she could think. What the hell was the matter with her anyway? Why was she feeling guilty about the idea of a few spins around the floor with some kid-granted, a gorgeous kid who made her feel like a woman again? Did she have the

strength to resist and was there even any reason to try? Feeling as though she was in a fog, Maddie slowly nodded and they got into the car. After making a Uturn, they headed back up the hill to Conchita’s. It wasn’t until she was in the studio, coat off, nervously pacing back and forth while Seth selected the appropriate music for whatever he was about to teach her that it hit her-unbelievably she had never introduced herself to him. How did Seth know her name? ***** Neil dialed Maddie’s cell phone again, the sound of her recorded voice on the other end of the receiver causing him to slam down the phone’s receiver in irritation. Damn it! Where was she? The kids had been taken to their Friday night happenings, after dinner, which, incidentally, was now cold as a stone. He’d even had time to clear the dishes, wash the pots and skillet and tidy up the kitchen and still no Maddie. For the tenth time in the past half-hour, he shot a worried look at the big floral clock over the fridge. Ten past eight. With no messages left at the garage or at home, Neil was worried. It was not like her to be late and not call. Maybe she had decided to meet Sally for a drink.

Looking down the list of names and numbers posted by the phone, he quickly found Maddie’s best friend and quite frantically dialed her number. Three rings in, Sally’s nasal high-pitched voice came on the line. “Hello?” “Sally?” She sounded distant. “Yeah.” “Sally, it’s Neil.” “Oh my God, Neil! What’s wrong?” “Nothing, nothing. I just was wondering if Maddie was with you.” “Ah, nooooo. She would have had to catch a flight to be with me.” Shit. He’d forgotten she was on vacation. “Oh that’s right. Sorry. Never mind.” “No, wait a minute, Neil. What’s going on?” “It’s probably nothing. She must have gotten tied up.” “Why? What’s happening?” “She hasn’t come home yet. Maybe she had to work late again.” An audible silence drifted down the line. “Isn’t that one of your tricks?” The sound of her voice along with the words needling Neil. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Aren’t you the one who usually is working late on Friday nights and weekends?” “Yeah.”

“Then I’m sure that’s all I meant.” “What are you implying, Sally?” “I’m not implying anything, Neil, just stating the cold, hard facts.” “Just the facts, huh?” he replied, feeling the knot in his stomach shift from a nervousness at not knowing Maddie’s whereabouts to a defensive anger at Sally’s insinuations. “Well, before you go jumping to any conclusions, would you like to know exactly what I’ve been doing on those Friday nights and weekends?” “I think it’s about time someone knew.” “Not that it’s any of your goddamned business but I bought Maddie her Gatsby.” “Her what?” “It’s an 1930s Beauford Tourer and I have been spending my free time-yes, on Friday nights and the weekends-trying to fix it up for her birthday.” “Oh.” Sally felt like an idiot. Here she was ragging on this guy for doing what could possibly be the nicest, sweetest, most romantic…wait a minute. Maddie’s birthday was two weeks ago. “Her birthday, huh? Well, I hate to break it to you, Casanova, but you missed it.” “Postponed it, or at least intended to postpone until I had the car finished but it didn’t work that way.” “You forgot?” “Yeah.”

He sounded sincerely regretful, a long silence following before he started in again. “What do you mean it’s about time someone knew?” “What?” “You said it’s about time someone knew what I was doing on my Friday nights and weekends. I told Maddie I was working at the shop, which is precisely what I was doing. What did she think I was doing?” “Honey, you don’t want to know.” Another silence. “No way.” “Way.” “Uh-uh. Maddie couldn’t possibly think I’d…” “Listen, sugar, all it takes are a few late nights and I’mnot-in-the-moods to set those alarm bells ringing.” “When I have ever not been in the mood?” “Now how in the hell would I know that? I’m just telling you what’s on her mind.” “I don’t believe it.” “Well, believe it. She’s been feeling more than a little neglected these days and from what I hear, with plenty of good reason.” Another silence. “You don’t think she’d…” “Return the favor in kind? Not our girl. She has too many morals and loves you too much.” “Thanks, Sal. Fuck, this is all my fault. I feel bad.” “And so you should but enough with the self-

flagellating. For now, your priority should be to get out there and find her.” “Any ideas?” “Mmmm. Well, knowing her like I do and having

endured more than a few egocentric males in my time, I would suggest she has sought the solace of one of two locations-both having excellent reputations for healing the brokenhearted female.” “That’s right, Sally. Kick a guy when he’s down.” “Do you want to find her or not?” “Where is she?” “I’d put my money either on the mall downtown…” “She’s gone shopping?” “Trust me, it has its own soothing spirituality.” “What’s the second possibility?” “That little chocolate shop downtown. You know the one by that new dance studio?” Chapter Six Turning to face her, Seth smiled that killer grin and sauntered toward her. They were back in the room on the left with the full-length windows where she had first met him two weeks earlier. “Ready to burn a hole in the carpet?”

Maddie looked down at the hardwood flooring and then back up at Seth, who held up a hand to silence her. “Don’t say it.” “Ah, I’m not sure. It’s been a while. I don’t think I will be any good.” “Nonsense, once a dancer, always a dancer.” “It’s in my blood-right?” Seth looked out her in an odd way, his gorgeous dark eyes holding and absorbing her gaze in a most intoxicating stare. “Right.” Then he extended his hand toward her, palm up, in an invitation to dance. Struck with an afterthought, Maddie opened her mouth to dispute the once-a-dancer-always-a-dancer statement but after closer consideration, found she didn’t disagree. While her life with all its many interests had blossomed and expanded into many other fields, some related to dance, some not, Maddie had always considered dancing her first love. With that internally decided on, Maddie delicately placed her hand into his. Her footwork fate sealed, at least for the next hour, Maddie nodded as Seth gave her hand a light squeeze. “Shall we, senorita?” He smiled. “We shall.” Leaning down, he planted a light kiss on her knuckles before releasing her fingers. “Great. Let me take your coat.”

Seth directly left her side, placing Maddie’s jacket on a coat rack located on the far side of the studio then headed to where an impressive sound system and music collection stretched along the length of the far wall. Switching on the music, he put on a similarflavored selection to the one Conchita had been using that first night they met except for the fact that the new sounds carried a slightly faster tempo and a little more passionate arrangement. “You seemed to like the whole Spanish thing so how ‘bout we try a little paso doble?” Mortified, Maddie was still determined to save her nimble-footed host any discomfort and herself any embarrassment. Besides she was more dressed for a boardroom conference than a sizzling circle around the room. “In this?” “Why not?” “My skirt is too tight,” she replied, glancing down at the pencil-straight item. “So take it off.” “What?” “In the change room over there, you’ll find some clothes that are looser and more flowing.” “I couldn’t just wear someone else’s clothes.” “They’re actually costumes on loan to whoever needs them. You’d be surprised how many people come to dance class wearing the wrong thing. Go ahead. Find

something you like.” Entering into the cubicle of a fitting room that had benches lining three of the walls, Maddie flipped through the array of items hanging from the portable clothing rack that sat against the one unbenched wall. There was everything there from slinky one-shouldered red dresses with thigh-high slits and uneven tattered hems, or dramatic full-length gowns in rich shades of rust and burgundy overlaid with black lace, to full offthe-shoulder blouses and ruffled peasant skirts. For the men there was less to choose from, mostly high-waisted black pants and cummerbunds and a handful of white pirate shirts complete with billowing drop-shoulder seams and lace-up fronts. While tempted by the more sensational dresses, Maddie choose to be understated and put on a simple white peasant shirt with a ruffled red skirt that floated around her knees as she turned. When she exited the room and walked toward Seth, he emitted a long, low whistle of appreciation. “Wow. You look fabulous.” “Oh stop it, Seth. I do not.” In a comical dramatic feigned injury, he clutched his chest and, falling backward onto the floor, played dead. “Oh! You wound me.” “Just wait ‘til we start dancing.” Then unobtrusively he rose from his fake death and embraced her in a traditional pose, looking down into

her mildly alarmed face at the sudden closeness of their bodies. “I don’t know how,” she offered, speaking the absolute truth. Through the years, before her self-imposed exile from her soul-satisfying foray into dance, she had ventured into many foreign forms including Hawaiian and Tahitian-lots of hip movement slow and fast and graceful arm flutterings that supposedly tell a story-and belly-dancing, a surprisingly sensual and spiritual art form that similarly helped “release the inner goddess”. But now she was inwardly kicking herself for not taking that flamenco class she saw advertised in the Journal several years ago. The picture of a slender woman in a flowing long dress with her hair pulled back and a large flower embellishing her painted face had first attracted Maddie’s eye. For a long time, she had loved the sound of the music and had always been curious to see what new way she could learn to move to it but had never taken the next step. Now, she was about to. “That’s okay.” “But I don’t know how to do it.” And if one went by physical appearances, surely Seth didn’t know either for his overtly pale complexion looked more albino than Andalusian. “Sure you do. You just haven’t been given the chance yet.” With that he took a sudden sharp step forward, the

movement punctuated by a flamboyant guitar riff, the sound accentuated by an accompanying shake of the tambourine. Lowly he spoke, giving her directives as they moved. “Walk back, back, now side-side. Reverse!” His body pressing against hers, he forced her to take a step back within the strong and unyielding framework of his arms. Two long backward strides were quickly followed by two short side-by-side steps-the whole collection repeated once more beginning on the other foot before completing with a fast big-finish ending of sorts, ball-heel on one foot and a dramatic double stamp on the other. “Redoble!” he said, with a light stallion-like toss of his fair head. “What was that?” “Redoble-it’s an ending, a refrain where a handful of beats, usually four or five, or compressed into one or two, ba-ba-BA-BA! Very dramatic. Now again!” Swirling her about, Seth then repeated the entire segment going in the other direction, lightly coaching her as they went, his soothing tone a direct contrast to his starched and strong carriage. “Very good, you see? You pick up very quickly but don’t hold me so close and keep your frame. You are carrying yourself like a wet noodle. Shoulders back, chin up, arch your back. Remember, flamenco is a fiery dance, all hard and fast. There’s nothing limp or soft

here.” Boy, you could say that again, Maddie mused as she felt Seth’s hard torso pressing against her. A light heat rose from his body carrying with it a soft musky scent that was more than a little distracting. Fixing her gaze on the wall behind Seth’s head, she tried to concentrate and digest the last words he spoke. What he was saying was absolutely correct and moreover it was something she remembered from her brief foray into couples dancing back in high school. For most women, it is very difficult to maintain your individual albeit feminine frame when up against such a strong muscular one. The natural tendency was to “cave” and go rather spaghettilike as Seth had recently and so poetically pointed out, melting into the steel-like constraints that your male partner’s arms produced. But in all couples dancing, especially something as posture-driven as flamenco, it is essential to keep that rigid, nearly arrogant stance. As if to support her inner thoughts, Seth gave her a little visualization assistance. “Sometimes it helps if you get a little hot.” “Excuse me?” Maddie croaked, wincing at the sound of her voice cracking as her eyes met up with Seth’s. Directly she fumbled and stepped on his foot, hard. She abruptly stopped dancing and pulled away. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” Seth didn’t bat an eye but in one easy movement reached for her, turned in the other direction and kept

going. “Sorry for what?” He grinned. “Now think of starting a fire.” Maddie wasn’t entirely sure what the hunky hoofer was getting at but one thing was for certain. If she was a single woman who was some twenty years younger, she would absolutely love to start a fire with this guy. However when Seth next spoke, he had a very different motivation in mind to quicken her pulse. “Yeah. Heat things up. Think of someone or something that makes you angry.” “Angry?” “Yeah, a person or happening that really pissed you off.” At Seth’s suggestion, Maddie had immediately recalled the snooty young woman in a little red convertible that undoubtedly her rich Daddy had bought for her, cutting in Maddie’s lane of traffic earlier in the week, only to honk loudly, before flashing Maddie the finger in the rearview mirror in a particularly animated fashion. At the recollection of the obscene hand gesture Maddie thought there were probably more than a few people whom she, in turn, would like to flip the birdnamely Neil for forgetting her birthday and never making good on his promise to give her a gift later. It took her a few moments with Seth practicing their one four-step-plus-chorus maneuver all around the floor, but when she latched onto the suggested

emotional aid, miraculously Maddie could feel her backbone straighten into a rigid, tall line that resulted in the false appearance that she had grown a good couple of inches. “That’s it. See?” Seth said, looking down into her face, his steel-like arms gently nudging at her forearms that had begun to fall and relax on his shoulders. “Look at the difference! Your back is now straight as an arrow. You must be really mad.” “Incensed.” Seth smiled then, his lovely puppy-dog eyes twinkling in the sexiest of ways. “Makes you even more beautiful.” Again Maddie stumbled, this time her Keystone-Kop footwork landing a good swift kick to Seth’s shins, and this one he felt. Stopping, he merely looked down at their feet for a second before glancing back up at Maddie. “Don’t get ahead of me. We haven’t learned any kicks yet.” Maddie laughed, the light chuckle inducing the same from Seth. “I’m sorry. I told you I was no good.” Seth leaned in close, his breath brushing against her ear as he spoke. “You’re very good.” “See, now if you keep making comments like that, I’m going to keep stepping on your feet.”

“Accidentally, of course.” “Of course.” They first exchanged a light grin before without warning, Seth abruptly executed a particularly dramatic turn that left her off balance and clinging to him slightly dazed. “Cambio!” “Huh?” “Change. Turn on the ball of the foot, heel off the floor and then presto! Change directions. Then away we go again.” “Prego.” “That’s Italian.” “Isn’t flamenco Italian?” she asked, all wide-eyed and attempting ignorance. Seth laughed and wagged a finger at her. “You’re just pushing my buttons.” “Yes, I am.” “What a tease.” Struggling to keep her frame rigid against the imposing and alluring figure of his body, Maddie wondered if her deliciously daring dance instructor meant that literally. While she was feeling miraculously elevated in spirit, was tremendously enjoying her first flit around a dance floor in ages and consequently was enjoying a little light banter with her hunky host, in no way, shape or form had she any intentions of their little journey around the dance floor actually going anywhere and

she really hoped that Seth didn’t either. Swooping her around to the right, Seth stopped then so they stood hip to hip, one arm around the front of her waist the other raised high overhead. “And stop! Now hold this position.” Starting at her arm in the air, he lightly cupped her fingers so her hand was slightly curled. Placing a slight bow in the curve of her arm, he pressed one hand against the small of her back as he said “Arch” and then touched his fingers to her chin and said “Up”. Moving to her hips and legs, he made minor adjustments, tilting her right hip back and drawing out her left leg a little, he posed her foot in a half-step not far from her standing foot. “There,” he said, standing back to admire his handiwork. “In flamenco, you must remember that you are the most beautiful woman in the world. You bring to the dance this knowledge along with all the confidence it entails. Then from there, you add in passion.” “Passion?” “Yes. Fire. Start with anger but let it flare into something more-a desire, a need, a lust for another.” Despite his obvious capability for exuding and inducing passion, all this talk of it contrarily left Maddie feeling cold, deflated and not in the mood to dance anymore. Having had the fire in her belly awakened at the hands, or should she say at the feet, of

this fine specimen of a man, Maddie was saddened at the realization that she quite frankly couldn’t remember the last time she felt anything even remotely similar to lust for the man she loved. More than that, she wished she could share this feeling that she was experiencing with Seth, with Neil. Suddenly Maddie felt very tired, worn out and much older than her forty years and with a heavy sigh she twisted around to face Seth. “Can I put my arms down now?” Leaving her side, Seth walked over and changed the music. “Sure. Why don’t we try something a little slower and not so…” “Passionate?” she offered hopefully. “Oh no. This has plenty of passion.” “What does?” Grabbing an artificial rose from a vase full of them on the sound system table, he walked over to her and intertwined the flower amongst her dark tresses, wedging it firmly behind her left ear. Then he took her once more in his arms, pulling her close in a dramatic gesture as he threw his head back with flourish. “The tango!” “Oh noooo…” But her protest was lost in the forward rushing movement of Seth’s left leg as he moved it ahead, effectively pushing her backward. “I don’t know this dance either.”

“Yet.” Again, Maddie followed his vocal directives, embodying them as best she could. Well acquainted with what the tango looked like, she tried to realize her mental recollections and images of the dance with the reputation of being the dance of love. Slow, sinuous, sliding and with a flurry of sweeping footwork patterns, Maddie had a hard time reconciling this with the ultra-theatrical head-snapping tango she had seen in many a movie. “This is the tango?” “The Argentinean tango-yes. Unlike the American version, it is more authentic and deep down, more satisfying.” Truer words were never spoken. Holding Seth in her arms and feeling their bodies shift and search, slide and slither with rarely a sharp step nor spare inch between them, she could indeed believe this was more appropriate as the dance for lovers. All the more so when he reached up and, taking the rose from behind her ear, put it in his mouth. As the song came to a crescendo, the strings spiraling down into a dramatic end, he dipped her backward into a long arching lunge. “Extend your right foot and your left hand,” he said between clenched teeth. It took Maddie a second or two to digest but she did, relaxing into his arms that supported her back bend over his bent knee.

“Now take the rose.” Maddie went to retrieve it with the fingers she had stretched back over her head but Seth’s voice stopped her. “No. Not with your hands.” Another pause. But then it struck her what he meant for her to do. Looking up into his dark eyes twinkling with a camaraderie and innocent intent and in the spirit of the dance, she leaned forward and opening her mo

uth, gently cla sped the stem of the rose, a mere inch from his lips-at the same moment he released it. To the observer it appeared they had kissed when in fact she had merely liberated the rose from his possession in a most creative manner. Bringing her to an upright position, Seth smiled before heading over to the sound system again. Invigorated, Maddie jumped up and down and, whipping the rose from her mouth, flung it across the floor and whirled about, a resounding “Ole!” leaping from her lips. “That’s for the paso doble.” “Whatever!” she laughed, her grin fading directly at the sight of Neil watching them through the full-length windows.

Chapter Seven Seth knew his time with Maddie was limited, he’d known it all along. If he was lucky, he had figured they might get four maybe five nights together before she would have some reason why she couldn’t continue, but he had hoped that whatever time they had would be enough for them both. From the first moment he saw her and felt her heart responding to his dance, he knew he had found a kindred spirit-a soul who knew what it felt like to be driven to move, feel that connection that you couldn’t find with anything or anyone else, that is, unless you find someone else who shares that experience. And yet where could it go? What future did they have? He was, well, what he was and she was a committed, middle-aged woman, futilely in love with her husband and family and determined to always do the right thing. Seth admired that. He only wished that things were different. Tonight, when her husband had appea

red, Seth knew it was the beginning of the end. He couldn’t blame the man if he didn’t want the two of them to continue dancing, even if that’s all they were doing. There was an intimacy there and no red-blooded male

in his right mind would ever want his wife to share that sort of connection with another man. There simply was no way his lessons with Maddie could continue. Unless… Going into the office he leafed through the phone book until the came across the number. Picking up the receiver, he dialed the seven-digit number, waiting as the second ring dingled down the line. A slight click interrupted it followed by a low voice. “Hello?” “Is this Neil?” ***** Maddie entered the house quietly, hoping she had beat Neil home. By the time she had run out onto the street after seeing him peering in through the studio windows, he was gone, presumably en route to their south side residence. Following suit, she jumped in her car, still in the clothes from the studio and raced home. Now there, she needed a couple of minutes to pull her thoughts together but that breathing space just wasn’t meant to be. As she kicked off the studio’s character shoes and rounded the corner to the kitchen, she saw Neil sitting at the table, a beer in one hand. He looked up at her as she entered. “Neil,” Maddie began, “I know things looked kind of incriminating back there.” “Kind of, yeah.” “But honest, honey, there’s nothing going on.”

“I know.” “It all started when a few…” she stopped abruptly, his last words registering with her. “You know?” “Yeah, I know you would never do something like that, Maddie. I also know what you were really doing with that guy at the dance studio.” “You do?” She was surprised. “Oh, you do. Good. Because I wouldn’t.” “I know,” he said again. “And you also know the same of me, right?” “What?” She was confused. “You know, Maddie, that I love you and would never cheat on you, right?” Maddie opened her mouth to agree but found herself hesitating. While she really didn’t believe Neil would do anything of the sort, she was leery of being one of those blind fools who just didn’t think anything like that would ever happen to them. “Maddie?” “Yeah, right, Neil, but…” “But what?” “Well…” Was now the time to bring up her suspicions of his late nights and weekend work? Before she could decide, Neil beat her to punch and addressed her innermost fears. “Before you say anything, I think you should come see

something.” Standing, Neil moved behind her to clasp her gently by the shoulders, lightly pushing her toward the door that would lead to the attached garage. Guiding her through it, he flicked on the overhead light of the garage, the chilly area flooding with brightness to reveal the 1930s Beauford Tourner-its elegant cream and soft yellow paint almost glowing in the light. “What’s this?” “It’s your Gatsby. It took me ages to find it and even longer to fix it up but I finally got it done. Happy birthday, baby.” Maddie turned to look at him and back at the antique car again, her mouth agape as Neil went on, making her feel like a total and absolute heel. “This is what I’ve been spending all my time on, all those Fridays and weekends. I wanted to find you a car you would be happy to name Gatsby and when I came across her here, I just couldn’t resist. I’m sorry I didn’t get it finished in time but…” Tears welling up, Maddie whirled about and flinging her arms around Neil’s neck, hugged him ferociously. All of a sudden, she felt guilty, guilty for not telling him the truth about Seth, guilty for suspecting him of anything other than bei

ng a saint

, guilty of being an insecure middle-aged housewife who wasn’t worthy of such a great guy. “I’m sorry,” she wailed into his shoulder. “For what?” “I was dancing, only dancing. It was an accident. I stumbled into that place by accident but I don’t have to go back. I mean, I’m not going to go back-” “Forget it, Maddie. I know all about it. Seth told me.” “I don’t really-he, what?” “Seth called me before you got home and explained everything. Don’t worry, we’re cool. Better than cool.” “You’re not mad at me?” “No.” Maddie watched him closely. “You’re not mad at him?” “No. In fact, I’m glad he called. Apart from clearing everything up, he gave me a great idea.” “What’s that?” ***** The moon was just starting to peek up over the top of the downtown skyscrapers as the Friday night air grew even more chilly than it had been in the afternoon, frosty, clouds of mist vaporizing around the street and traffic lights. Seth awoke stretching, his fingers once again, touching the interior of the coffin only this time, he didn’t feel caged in. Instead, he felt comfortable and safe. Remembering it was the last night of the week, he

threw open the lid and after changing, ran downstairs and foregoing dinner, went into the studio on the left. He had a new student tonight and thanks to the recent jumpstarting of his educational eagerness, he was really looking forward to this class. Choosing a spicy salsa selection, he slid the CD into the player, the heavy bass-ed song spilling out into the quiet room. “So we’re going for the Latin lover routine?” Turning, his expression brightened at the familiar face that beamed at him from across the room. “Yeah, I thought we’d start things off nice and easy.” “You think salsa is easy?” Maddie asked, walking toward him in the outfit she had borrowed and worn home the last time they had met. They embraced lightly. “It is. A couple of steps with a little hip action. Pretty much foolproof.” “Hey, who are you calling a fool?” Seth looked beyond Maddie’s approaching form at Neil who, following behind her, looked only slightly nervous. “Not you!” Seth grinned, holding his hands up in a mock stick-’em-up pose. “Well, maybe you should reserve your judgment until you’ve seen me dance. I haven’t done much of it.” “That’s true,” Maddie said, lacing an arm around his waist and giving him a little squeeze once he had

caught up to her. “But I will attest to the fact that he sure has rhythm,” she giggled. “Maddie,” Neil said under his breath with a smile, giving her backside a little pat that didn’t quite manage to slip past Seth who laughed at the warm vibe of love and desire that radiated between the couple. “I wouldn’t worry,” he said, motioning for them to come to the center of the floor. “You’ve got a great teacher and a great partner.” “And a great car!” Maddie beamed, pointing outside the tall windows to where Gatsby, gleaming gorgeously in the moonlight, was parked outside in plain view. “Wow! Great wheels,” Seth said. Maddie’s eyes brimmed with warmth as she proudly eyed her hubby. “Neil did it for

my birthday.” Seth l ooked at Neil and nodding in appreciation, extended his hand to him. “Good going.” The two exchanged a warm handshake. “Thanks. You too.” Seth looked surprised. “What did I do?” “You’ve made Maddie happy.”

“No, man, you have.” “You both have, now can we get started?” With that, Maddie escorted her two leading men over to the center of the floor, excited that all three of them were jazzed on being there and ready to give in to the thrill of the dance. Seth would teach, she and Neil would learn and all would be right with the world once more. Best of all, in the most unexpected turn of events, this unlikely trio that had such an uncertain beginning, ended up getting what they each wanted most.

Dawn

Chapter One Detective Samantha Lowe watched the vampire from across the dimly lit area of The Place. Not once had he cast his gaze in her direction and yet she knew, with an unshakeable, absolute certainty that he was aware she was watching his every move…of which there were precious few. Fabulously immobile, his relaxed posture insinuated a quiet confidence as he lazed nonchalantly against the peeling and faded countertop of the oak bar, watching the goings-on of the vampire haven’s latenight patrons in the mirror behind the bartender.

Containing a colorful assortment of humans, immortals and those lingering somewhere in between, the lounge was a small, intimate space that could barely hold sixty souls. Dark alcoves and high-backed booths hid more than half of the spot’s residents as they talked, drank or drank. Why they came here was anybody’s guess-some sought the obvious such as nourishment, excitement, danger, even death, others hungered for darker, deeper and ultimately more daring reasons. All kinds of scenarios played out in the cold dark damp of night, from those craving the refuge that only immortality could bring, to the good old-fashioned tradition of humans being hunted, drained dry and sometimes even turned against their will. While there were other, more commercialized vampire havens that were glitzy, gleaming and quite frankly overdone in a modern décor of black and red, stereotypically giving themselves over to a Draculian castle chic look complete with cobwebs, candelabras and mortar walls, this backdoor hideaway had a plain grittiness that could have been right at home in any li’l Midwestern town in the States. Wooden planks for flooring, mismatched, often torn upholstery on the worn oak barstools and scratched metal tables spoke of the lack of pretense present-all of which suited Samantha just fine. Throughout the course of her life she’d had her fair share of shellacked, pristine and pretentious places and people, including those from the

dark side-the latter prancing their immortal and oh-sobeautiful bodies around to hypnotize, mystify and basically render the human populace inferior by comparison. What she wanted was a true-blue immortal who hearkened back to another time, had lived the equivalent of umpteen dozen lives and had so much more to offer than just a drop-dead gorgeous form and the tantalizing experience of being sucked silly. Granted, any one of the undead could technically speaking do the deed, but if she was going to become one of these bloodsucking bastards herself she wanted it at the hands-or should she say at the fangs-of the real thing. Not that she had ever been very good at differentiating between human and immortal. Through the years, the undead had become exceptionally skilled at feigning the mannerisms and appearance of their human counterparts, but she would have bet her life that the being across the room was all vampire. Of course that was cheating because she knew him. Well, kinda. He was elusive but Samantha had finally come across the bona fide blood taker after hitting every vampire hangout known to mankind and even a few not so much known. As fate would have it, it was to be the last place, The Place to be exact, where she would find him. Only moments earlier he had walked in and leaned against the bar, looking quite ordinary, quite human,

except for his total and utter serenity. Perhaps that was what had really caught her attention. Then again, his chestnut brown hair and warm amber eyes didn’t hurt either. His face, though completely devoid of any emotion, was striking, what with his smooth olive skin, angular features and full, fleshy mouth. But in the end, it was the eyes that got her. She remembered those eyes. When they fell upon her they seemed to hold the promise of something. She couldn’t even identify what it was. Whether it was hope, love or a regaining of that innocence that is stolen from us all-the potential for that indefinable something shone so strongly in the depths of his beautiful gaze that in that single, solitary moment Samantha knew she had found her dark facilitator. And his name was Morgan. Glancing down at her watch she saw that it was nearly three a.m., not even close to closing time for the clandestine after-hours lounge. Actually, it didn’t feel as if she had been there for the past three hours, slowly nursing the same scotch and water, waiting, while people in various states of inebriation and titillation had come, loitered and left. Indeed, save for a lone figure pressed into a corner by the exit and a particularly infatuated human male who was doing his absolute best to woo a gorgeous but obviously disinterested vampire femme fatale at a circular table by the kitchen, they were alone. Carpe diem.

The phrase whispered in her head, urging her to ignore her fear and approach the object of her resolution. Seize the day. Okay, well, it didn’t matter that it was actually nighttime. The time was now-now or never. Rising, she heaved a deep sigh and, squaring her slender shoulders, approached the vampire’s back. The cotton fabric of his dark shirt stretched across his broad shoulders as he looked down into the golden liquid in his glass. Just before she reached his side, his eyes lifted to lock with hers in the mirror. She froze just a few feet away from him. “Hi,” she tried to sound casual. He looked up at her reflection but didn’t answer. “Can I…buy you a drink?” Samantha inwardly kicked herself. She knew he never drank drink-drinks. His kind couldn’t metabolize the stuff. He just ordered the port for show. The vampire looked at her mirror image a long moment before turning around in his seat to regard her face-toface. A hint of recognition flashed in his eyes but apart from that, there was no visible sign of life on the striking face. To be precise, a statue would have been more animated. “No.” “Oh.” Okay, this was awkward. When she’d fantasized about this moment as she had done several hundred times,

Samantha had envisioned something quite different from this. “Okay then.” For a split second the thought of giving up flashed in her mind but was just as quickly extinguished by a burning necessity. As she pondered her next move the smooth voice that had so monosyllabically rejected her just seconds earlier stopped her in her tracks. “But I could buy you one.” Samantha slowly lifted her downcast eyes to his and despite her firmly entrenched suspicion, she couldn’t stop the premonition of something good that washed over her. Goddamn it, he was handsome. Out of nowhere the notion struck her with a force that took her breath away and with it came the sad-tinged recollection that it had been far too long since she’d had sex. Momentarily bewildering her, a seductive possibility whispered to her as she looked at him, adding another and completely unanticipated layer to the reason for their meeting. If she could convince the vampire to turn her, the whole experience could end up killing two birds with one stone. Annoyed with herself for entertaining the concept, she did her best to assume a direct and steady gaze. “Would you?” He smiled then and oovay! it was the mother of all grins, set to buckle her knees and worth selling her soul, not to mention everything and everyone she knew, for.

“I would.” With an almost courtly wave of his hand, he indicated the barstool beside him. “Please.” Just the single utterance of the word set a shiver down Samantha’s spine. Although it wasn’t always so, he and his kind had become her forevermore enemies. Clearing her throat she climbed up on the barstool beside the vampire, a sideways glance taking in his most obvious physical attributes. He had a great body, a devastatingly beautiful face, a staggering smile and-oh, what was that sensational scent?-a sexy cologne that registered, in the most wonderful way, in the pit of her stomach. However, despite all these delicious distractions, Samantha didn’t have to work too hard at reminding herself that va-va-va-voooooooom! vampire was nothing more than a means to an end. That sounded awfully dismal, she thought to herself, even if it was the truth. Still, there had to be another way of reframing this life-altering decision. The vampire beside her was-how should she put it?-a starting point, a catalyst, a springboard perhaps, into a new future filled with sweet resolution. The word springboard immediately conjured up all kinds of unintentional, erotic images centered around the luscious immortal. Damn it, what the hell was wrong with her? Letting out an exasperated sigh, she resolutely forced the thoughts from her mind’s eye.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. Samantha was certain he already knew for among the many gifts of the undead was the ability to read minds. “I need a drink.” The vampire smiled again-damn him!-and flagged down the barkeep. “What’ll it be?” the immortal tender asked, ignoring her and addressing his kinsman directly. “I don’t know,” he replied, shooting a knowing glance in her direction, “but I’m guessing she needs a stiff one.” Bastard. Samantha wondered if a note of glibness was present in the statement but she could be imagining it. In spite of the fact that she didn’t know a whole helluva lot about her neighborhood nibbler, somehow he just didn’t strike her as the smug kind. “Scotch and water,” she replied to the bartender’s inquiring look. “So what can I do for you, Detective?” “Don’t you already know?” Morgan nodded. “I do. What I really want to know is why.” “Does that matter?” Samantha hated how this conversation was starting to sound like a bad B-movie from the Forties but she was damned if she was going to spill her guts to some bloodsucker. “Will you do it or not?”

“Wow,” Morgan replied, the modern word sounding odd on his ancient lips, “you don’t believe in wasting any time, do you?” “Enough time has been wasted already.” Morgan regarded her for a long, still moment before responding. “Give me one good reason why I should.” “Because you owe me.” Morgan scoffed at her answer before glancing down at his drink but Samantha knew she had him. Not quite ten years had come and gone since they’d last met but the memory was as fresh to her as if it happened yesterday. She’d been working the beat back then, strolling the godforsaken streets of derelict-ridden neighborhoods in the City of Angels. It was late November and in that cold gray part of the morning just before the sun comes up, the air was frosty and damp, causing her fingers to tingle and her breath to come out in warm white bursts of condensation. As she was sprinting back to the police cruiser along the hushed empty road, the sight of a defaced car stripped clean with several smashed windows along the curb barely registered. Signs of poverty and vandalism were everywhere in this particular part of Los Angeles but at the moment with her partner giving chase to a robbery suspect, Samantha had to radio in their position. Dispatch had said there were five

individuals involved in the bloody holdup which quickly translated into the fact that the duo was going to need backup. After making the call she set out to catch up with her partner. As she raced past an alley, a rumbling clatter near a dumpster located within it stopped her in her tracks, her already accelerated heartbeat further rising. Pulling her gun, she yelled in the direction of the noise. “LAPD. Come out from behind there.” Again the sound came but no one appeared from around the side of the worn metal garbage container. She slowly inched toward it with her Beretta cocked and aimed. The standard police issue was the plastic Glock, but Samantha far preferred the more substantial weight of the Beretta in her hands. “This is the Los Angeles Police Department,” she tried again. “Come out with your hands up.” Nothing. By now, Samantha was within a couple of feet of the large structure. Sucking in a quick breath of courage, she leapt around the side with the weapon pointed. There, hunched against the corner created by the building’s brick wall and the dumpster, Morgan lay in a crumpled heap. He was panting, his face contorted in a pained grimace that revealed his long, hard fangs. As the report on the wire had stated that all the potential perps were humans, this clearly wasn’t one of the feisty five that had held up the liquor store.

“LAPD,” she said more softly, still keeping her pistol firmly directed at the vampire. Many of her colleagues had a heightened distrust of the species overall, seeking to frame, catch or kill members of the vampiric community at any cost. There were even unauthorized witch-hunt-flavored outings that saw, with the aid of certain turncoat immortals, groups of policemen utilize their off-duty hours to track and dispose of the undead. However, Samantha had always felt an inexplicable and inherent empathy with the undead-drawn to them not as some humans were by their beauty and promise of immortality, but by something else she couldn’t readily define. To say this created a pronounced division between her and other officers was a gross understatement, so Sam had learned a long time ago to keep her feelings for the blood seekers hidden. “What’s the problem here?” A tortured grunt was her response as Morgan struggled to get to his knees, his arms wrapped around his midsection. Samantha instinctively took a step backward. Despite her compassion, she knew that in his current state of arousal, whether brought on by pleasure or pain, need or desire, the vampire was at his most dangerous. “What’s wrong?” she asked again. “Toxic blood.” He panted out the words in a winded groan clearly communicating the serious implication. While

immortals were indeed, well, immortal save for the fatal rays of the sun, they still could feel the effects of certain things like drugs. Chances were Morgan’s late-night sip from an alley-dweller’s blood had contained a narcotic cocktail such as the “Cocinzee”-a lethal combination of cocaine, heroin and the popular teenage popper, ecstasy. Repeatedly retching, he suddenly vomited, ridding his body of the contaminated liquid in a violent flood of crimson. “Damn junkie,” he spat out, wiping the back of his mouth on his shirtsleeve. “Maybe you should watch where you dine from here on in.” Morgan looked up at her, the look of irritation within his eyes melting into a fleeting flicker of amusement. “Yeah, maybe.” Just then the wail of sirens speared through the quiet surrounding of the alleyway as two police cruisers sped down its length, coming to an abrupt halt. No less than four uniformed officers jumped from the vehicles with guns drawn, the rotating orbs of their roof-mounted sirens sending circular shots of blue and red around the dawn-lit lane. A sudden flash of panic ripped through Samantha and for a moment she looked once more into Morgan’s eyes. A grave awareness of the situation reflected in his steady, amber gaze. They both knew if the police saw the vampire, especially in his current

weakened state, they could easily capture him. Shooting a glance down the length of the passageway at the horizon she could see the first rays of morning light were but minutes away. Overeager to “rid the planet of another fanged fucker” the four cops could easily subdue him until the sun came up and then just watch him burn to a crisp. Could and would. Without so much as a conscious decision Samantha’s mind was made up. “Jesus, I’m losing it!” she feigned annoyance, turning toward the quickly approaching cops and waving in the opposite direction. “They headed that way. I heard something here but it’s just a cat. Let’s go!” She didn’t even look back but she and Morgan both knew she’d given him his life. It was a definitive debt and as she ran away from the alley, Samantha made a mental note that it was debt that one day she would collect. And now here she was-collecting. “If you think I’m going to do this, no questions asked, you’re wrong,” he said, studying her closely. “And what? You get to decide whether or not my reason for wanting to become a vampire is a good one?” He didn’t reply but only watched her with that uncanny stillness that was so typical of his species. She could feel him inside her, gently probing her mind and her heart for the answers he sought and she fought

against him but it was no use. The images finally appeared to him, though blurred, disjointed and jagged-edged, as if she had struggled to keep them suppressed a long while and yet they fought, time and time again, to the surface, refusing to be forgotten. Anguished mental recollections of Samantha being the first to a crime scene weeks earlier flooded over him. There lay the body of a teenage girl by a riverbank-her face though fuller and more childlike but nevertheless bearing a distinct likeness to Samantha’s in the upturned nose, the gently arched brows and even the single dimple that existed in the folds of a smile on the left cheek. Only the face wasn’t smiling. Rather, her mouth was agape, frozen open in an expression of terror and pain. Cut into this picture were visions of sleepless nights, sorrowful days, crying jags that lasted for hours and Samantha seeking, but never finding, solace in the arms of a significant other. The throbbing force field of anguish and torment that hovered around the memories present in Samantha’s mind overwhelmed the vampire and shaking his head, he closed his eyes briefly, stunned by the emotional assault. Feelings were something he rarely experienced but the strength of the sensations bombarded him, leaving him momentarily breathless and in that moment, he understood. “It won’t bring her back,” he said as softly as he was

capable of. “No,” she agreed, looking down at her hands, the glimmer of tears glinting through the fringe of her eyelashes. “But I’ll be able to kill the son of a bitch who did it.” “You know who it is?” “Not yet.” “So when you do, go blow his head off.” “Won’t work.” Before the explanation arrived, Morgan knew what was coming and the reason for her request became clear. “Bullets won’t kill him,” she replied, lifting a defiant gaze to meet his once more. “He’s a vampire.” “So you think becoming like him will enable you to kill him?” “I’ll be able to infiltrate his world, blend in, perhaps even befriend him.” “Vampires don’t have friends.” “Well, get close to him.” Morgan opened his mouth to respond but Samantha silenced him with an expression that clearly said Shut up. “At the very least, I think I’ll have a better chance than I do now, don’t you?” “Yes. A better chance of getting killed.” A cynical expression crossed Samantha’s brow. “How do you figure that?” “You think he doesn’t know who you are?” That one stopped her for a second. “I don’t see how he could.”

“He would have seen you in your daughter’s mind when he…” Morgan tactfully left the sentence hanging but Samantha knew where he was going with it. As well as being telepathic, vampires had the ability to retrieve visual recollections through the blood of their victims. While it was a valid point, becoming a vampire herself was her only shot. Determined to proceed come what may, Samantha’s lips pursed into a thin unrelenting line. “I don’t care. I’m not going to be talked out of this.” “I can see that.” “So you’ll do it, then?” “No.” Samantha could only stare at him, not even caring if the anger and hatred she felt was evident on her face. “You owe me,” she said once more, all but whispering the verbal guilt-trip but Morgan, in his calm, nonemotional way, stuck to his guns. “I’m not going to turn you.” “You’re not?” “No.” A long silence passed between them. Then

with as much composure as she could collect, Samantha stood up and pushed the stool in.

“Fine,” she offered as she turned to go. “Then fuck you!” With that she walked across the planked floor and pushed on the door to the street, although once outside she couldn’t even remember making the trip from the bar to the exit. Overcome with frustration and physically exhausted-too deprived of sleep for too longshe erupted into sobs as she stood shivering in the chilled early morning air heavy with the hint of rain along the deserted avenue. She was so ensconced in emotion that she didn’t even hear the bang of the door behind her. “Samantha?” The sound of her name made her jump and she whirled about to face Morgan, her tearstreaked cheeks glistening in the light from a nearby streetlamp. “I said I wouldn’t turn you. I didn’t say I wouldn’t help.” Chapter Two Samantha didn’t have much to go on except that, according to the coroner’s report, her daughter Becky had very clearly been the victim of a vampire, or more specifically, a virgin vampire. Combined elements of human and vampire saliva found on the body could only mean one thing-the girl had been the vampire’s initiating prey, leaving a slight residue of some lingering homo sapiens DNA on the wounds. However,

that revealing trace from their former human existence would completely disappear after their first kill. The only other clue was an opening night ticket stub from the last ballet production at the famed opera house near the river. Having arrived first on the scene, Samantha had quickly snatched up the piece of evidence before her partner turned up, determined to run her one-woman investigation without the knowledge or assistance of the department. Because of her relationship to the deceased, they would automatically take her off the case. Pursuing what she believed to be a hot lead, her exploration into the owner of the ticket had revealed that it belonged to an A. Smith-address, phone number and any other possible means of determining the killer’s identity unknown, leading to a dead end. The person had made the purchase by cash thereby eliminating the prospect of tracing a credit card. However it had been a substantial purchase. It would appear A. Smith was a culture enthusiast, as not one single show was purchased but rather a set of season tickets which gave Samantha an opening. With Morgan brought up to speed on the details, they decided to attend the next ballet posing as a couple. Granted, coupledom between humans and vampires remained rare, with society sticking to the traditions of their forefathers and for the most part sternly shunning th

e undead-t hat’s if they could recognize them. Regardless, such pairs could be spotted every now and again amid the people, oftentimes by vampires themselves and even the occasional well-trained humans. The generally adopted protocol when such a sighting occurred was to play the “ignorance is bliss” card and just look the other way. It was this unspoken rule of total disregard that Morgan and Samantha would rely on to gain access to the ballet. Once in, they would fix their sights literally on the box seats belonging to the mysterious murderer, where they would most certainly catch a glimpse of the killer. That was Step One of the plan. What precisely they would do with the enigmatic A. Smith once found was still up for grabs, but Morgan assured Samantha in that oh-sosmooth-and-soothing way, that with his supernatural aid, she would see justice done. ***** Looking out the darkened window of Morgan’s silver Corvette, Samantha watched the city speed past in a blur as they drove to the opening performance of Swan Lake. The night was surprisingly warm for a fall evening and despite the fact that she was wearing a sleeveless gown, Samantha found herself perspiring, flushed and overheated, even within the cool quiet confines of the car. Taking a lacy handkerchief from the

beaded clutch bag that rested on her lap, she dabbed lightly at the top of her lip as well as the hollow at her throat. The car rolling to a stop near the front of the auditorium, Samantha got out, releasing the hand Morgan had offered in assistance to smooth the taffeta folds of her full-length gown as she stood. It was the most luscious shade of rust entirely covered with a gold-dusted organza that caught the moonlight and twinkled magnificently as she moved. Her long dark hair, normally down around her shoulders or pulled back in a devil-may-care ponytail, had been gathered and twisted into an elegant bun that was held at the base of her neck by an ornate pearl- and diamondcrusted comb. Apart from the telltale bags under her eyes, Samantha was a vision. Looking equally resplendent in a black tuxedo, his dark hair slicked back, Morgan flipped the keys to the young valet who stood hovering nearby before offering Samantha his arm. Together they navigated the flight of steps that led up to the impressive structure’s entrance. En route Morgan gave a barely perceptible nod to a long, lithe vampire couple that was intently watching their approach. They were sitting on the two-foot-high stone border that surrounded a gorgeous statue-filled fountain that shot sprays of water skyward at random points between the alabaster figurines. Underwater floodlights in a multitude of hues had been directed at

the sprinkling waters turning the nighttime exhibit into a spirited dance of color and light. Once inside, the cultured horde politely milled about, chatting quietly and sipping champagne from tall, frosted flutes and nibbling on sugar-sprinkled strawberries. Although controlled and serene, the mass of bodies was exceedingly dense and as they made their way through the throng, the looming possibility of being separated caused Morgan to drop his arm and take a firm hold of Samantha’s hand as they headed toward the cocktail table fronted by a lavish sparkling wine display. Handing Samantha a glass of bubbly and keeping one for himself, Morgan gently took her elbow with his free hand and steered her toward a less populated space. Pretending to take a taste, he watched her as she took a real sip of the fizzling liquid, her eyes moving around the crowded lobby before drifting up to the gilded pillars and sculptured ceilings. “Have you been here before?” “Yes.” She nodded, her attention drawn back to him. “My husband and I used to bring Becky all the time.” Morgan raised an eyebrow in question to which Samantha merely nodded. “I was married.” “Was?” “We had our problems, I guess like any other couple, but I really believed we could work them out.” She

sighed deeply and took another swallow of champagne while Morgan watched her closely, seeing the images of the man he had glimpsed in her mind earlier-a tall, dark figure with serious blue eyes. Samantha regarded her immortal collaborator, once again noting his still patient manner and how it was beginning to translate into a kind of comforting strength for her. Without urging she carried the story through to its conclusion. “Even prior to Becky’s death, I could feel he was pulling away, I don’t know why but in the end, I guess the strain of Becky’s death was too much. He was like a completely different man. Things just went downhill from there. Soon he was just… gone.” Morgan almost missed the flicker of a frown that crossed her brow, a wave of sadness emanating from her directly thereafter. Up through the torrent of emotions that welled within her, Morgan could plainly feel that Samantha mourned the loss of her husband almost as much as she mourned the loss of her daughter. “I’m sorry.” She looked at him directly then. “Me too.” The announcement that the production would begin in five minutes created a slight murmur through the welldressed mass. Drinks were downed, napkins were disposed of into tall, shining containers with flip tops

and last-minute visits to the restrooms took place. Moving through the central entrance into the hall, Morgan and Samantha took their seats, the burgundy plush velvet chairs of the old auditorium squeaking noisily as they sat down. “Do you have the ticket stub from the crime scene?” Samantha pulled it from her evening purse. Together they eyed the slightly crinkled piece of evidence, silently counting off the sections and rows until they could ascertain its location. High above where they sat and on both sides of the auditorium was a series of eight private boxes, positioned diagonally toward the stage. The box closest to the front of the hall, situated within a hairsbreadth of the stage’s gold lamé curtain, was at an angle that completely hid its residents from view. Only a small portion of the person seated on the outside chair of the box could be glimpsed. Unfortunately, the furthest front box seat was the one belonging to A. Smith. “It’s the one on the far right,” Samantha said, resisting the temptation to point. Squinting to counteract her astigmatism, Samantha focused on the individual in question and couldn’t contain a soft gasp. Although the distance was great she could clearly see that the person sitting in the box was a female, the long blonde hair trailing down over bare shoulders. “It’s a woman.” “Did you bring opera glasses?” Morgan asked in a low

tone, the warmth of his breath brushing her side of her neck. “Yes but I don’t need them to determine gender.” Morgan shot her a look that under different circumstances would have been comical. “Give them to me.” “I thought vampires had twenty-twenty vision?” “The glasses?” Squelching an irritated huff, Samantha retrieved the jeweled mini-binoculars from her bag and handed them to her eternal escort for the evening. Just then the lights went down and the opening overture of the Tchaikovsky masterpiece filled the auditorium via the live ensemble nestled away out of sight in the orchestra pit. “What are you looking at?” Samantha whispered, watching Morgan intently as he continued to peer into the tiny lenses. When he didn’t respond, she asked him again, only to be sharply reprimanded by the jewelryladen and obviously wealthy senior behind them. “Shhh!” the woman crossly hissed, her blue-white hair almost glowing in the subdued lighting. Morgan handed Samantha the glasses and cocking his head to one side, brought his lips so close to her ear that she could feel his mouth moving as he spoke. “Look for yourself.” Bringing the visual aid up to her eyes, Samantha examined the individual in question. It was indeed a

woman although now more details were evident thanks to the high-powered lenses. While her hair was long and blonde, Samantha could now clearly detect shiny strands of red and platinum in the highlighted mane which was tucked behind one ear. A lacy, long earring, reminiscent in style of a Spanish tiara, was attached to her lobe and hung down to just skim her collarbone. A silky black ruffle on the front of her dress could be seen over the curve of her pale arm as it rested on the side of the booth, a gargantuan jewel glittering on the slender white hand, made all the more pale by her blood-red fingernails. “She’s a fashion victim with a great manicure. So what?” “What’s in her hand?” Samantha looked again. “Nothing, unless you’re talking about the edge of the balcony.” “The other hand.” Samantha returned her gaze to the box. By now, the White Swan had already won the heart of the Prince and the first act was drawing to a close. “I don’t see her other hand.” “Look more closely.” Again Samantha strained her eyes, peering tirelessly into the darkness of the dim and distant booth. Narrowing her eyes, she finally saw the woman’s right hand resting lightly on a dark shape. After staring at

the object until her vision blurred, Samantha blinked a few times until it gradually cleared and the form took a definite shape-specifically, the shape of a gentleman’s jacketed forearm. “She’s with someone.” “Yes.” “But which one’s A. Smith?” “I couldn’t say for sure.” Samantha lowered the jewel-encrusted binoculars and turning her head toward Morgan, looked at him intently. “Can’t you sense which one is the vampire?” “Normally yes, but there are so many present here tonight that the airwaves are full of vibes.” “Cultured killers.” Who knew. “What should we do?” “I need to get closer.” By the time the lights came on, signaling the production’s first intermission, Samantha was on her feet. “Let’s go.” Pushing past Morgan she took off in the direction of the winding stairwell that led to the upper level and access to the box seats. “Wait a minute.” Ignoring him Samantha practically ran across the congested reception area, the outline of her gun in her clutch bag as it pressed against her abdomen giving her courage. Although she knew it would be of no use

against the vampire, at the very least it would feel good to unload more than a few rounds into her daughter’s murderer. “Hold up,” Morgan’s whispered warning followed her. Bounding up the north end stairs, she was amazed that she didn’t take a nosedive, given the height of her glitzy gold sandals that supplied neither support nor traction. Rounding a corner at the top, she almost collided with a white-coated waiter carrying a tray of champagne, the near-incident slowing her enough for Morgan to catch up to her. Grabbing her firmly by the shoulders, he pulled her back against him and holding her close so she could not bolt, spoke lowly so none of the swarm around them would hear. “You can’t just go blazing in there. I know how badly you want it but you have to remember a vampire could snap your neck more easily than you could kill a fly.” Gasping for air, Samantha sank back against his hard, solid shape-the rush of adrenaline that had coursed through her body leaving her suddenly shaking and weak-kneed. “It’s okay,” he murmured against her cheek, sensing her unsteady emotional state. “It will happen. You just have to be patient.” “I need to see the face.” “I know. But slow down and follow my lead or you’re going to blow it.” “Okay, okay,” she breathed heavily, straightening as he

released his restraining hold on her. As he had done when they first entered the atrium, he took her hand, only this time, he curled his arm up and against the front of his body in such a way that her hand was now snugly cradled up by his chest. He casually put his free hand in his pants pocket and they strolled toward the box seat access area looking very much like a young couple stretching their legs between acts. Taking a narrow hallway that veered off to their left they strode down the passageway that held the box seats, each one closed off from the carpeted lane by a heavy velvet curtain. As Morgan and Samantha walked past the first one, Samantha looked down along the hall’s length to the remaining suites, noticing that some of the boxes’ fabric dividers were parted, allowing a glimpse into the cozy viewing compartments. Well over half were empty, their residents apparently making use of the brief break to get a drink, mingle or freshen up. However, the seventh and third cubicles were occupied. The former, which they came upon first, contained two middle-aged women embroiled in an animated dissection of the ballet’s first scene. Box seat three, closer to the front, held a particularly amorous young couple who, with hands intertwined, passionately conversed in hushed tones. As they ambled on past, Samantha found herself wondering what exactly the young man was saying for his words

were creating a flushed and breathless appearance in his female companion who hung on, not only his arm, but his every word as well. Three more steps and they were at box seat one and the location of its as yet unknown tenant. The heavy opaque curtain was drawn, shielding the viewing nook and its occupants from sight. Fueled with anger, fear and a whole lot more emotions, Samantha reached forward and clasping the plush material in her hand, jerked back the drape. “Stop!” came Morgan’s grave command, arriving a heartbeat too late for Samantha had already thrown open the textile entranceway to what was arguably the best seat in the house. Both she and Morgan exhaled sharply at the sight before them, she in exasperation and he in relief. The box was empty. Reeling, she proceeded to stomp back up the hallway but Morgan’s nearly scolding tone made her freeze. “What did I just tell you?” Pivoting around to face him, Samantha glared at Morgan whose glowing amber eyes sought out hers with a sternness she’d not yet seen in him. Incensed and riding a wave of irrationality, Samantha turned her disappointment and aggravation on her vampiric colleague in crime. “Let’s get something straight. You don’t get to tell me anything.”

Cocking his head to one side, Morgan looked as surprised as an unemotional vampire can look at the verbal tongue-lashing. “Is that right?” “Yeah, that’s right. In fact, let me tell you something. Just because you’ve agreed to help don’t think that makes you a good guy. Or that I’m going to do whatever you say!” Try as she might, Samantha couldn’t keep her voice from rising in pitch. It was beyond her control now. Adding to her inconsolable grief and the effects of the rampant insomnia that had plagued her since Becky’s death was the recollection of every dominating male she had ever encountered and there were more than a couple. In fact, for as long as she could remember, she’d been pushed around by various men all throughout her thirty-nine years-from her father to the arrogant police chief-and now she’d be damned if she was going to let some heartbeatchallenged blood-drinker jump on the bandwagon too. “You’re all alike.” “I see.” The silken quality of his voice contrasted strongly with the high, sharp edge present in hers. “And you’ve known so many of us.” The note of sarcasm in his voice couldn’t be more obvious but Samantha completely discounted it to speed on in an emotional outpouring. “I’m not referring to vampires. I’m talking about men. I don’t care if you’re mortal, immortal or from another

fucking planet, which is, in reality, redundant because as far as I’m concerned, you’re all out there like Pluto. The point is you’re all the same-selfish, self-serving, conceited and…” She stopped herself short as she realized Morgan wasn’t even looking at her but had directly his gaze to something behind her, probably some hot babe with big boobs. Her heart rate went through the roof. “And I would really appreciate it if you would at least look at me when I’m talking to-” Without warning Morgan stepped up and wrapping one arm around her waist, pulled her close. Tilting his head to the left, he brought his mouth down on hers, at the same time pivoting her body to push it gently against the wall. Encircling her shoulders with his free arm, his unexpected and intense kiss worked to demand her response. Stunned and infuriated Samantha struggled within the sensual but tight confines of Morgan’s embrace. However her own arms were pinned by his and movement of any kind was impossible. She tried to turn her head away from the insistent and very skilled workings of his lips on hers but he had moved one hand up to cradle and hold the back of neck, completely eliminating any chance for escape from his ardent endeavor. Never ceasing the continuous and rhythmic assault on her lips, Morgan shifted his head to the right now, his

nose brushing hers as he went. The motion served to part her lips which had been rigidly resisting his titillating attempt. In a languorous but purposeful manner his tongue entered her mouth in slow, everdeepening circles, sending a blaze of fire through her. Melting, she allowed her lips to open even farther welcoming the feel of him as she similarly explored the warm recesses of his mouth. All the while she marveled at the long-forgotten sensation of desire as it snaked down from her chest, through the pit of her stomach to pool and flutter even lower. Hot and urgent their kiss went on, a no-holds-barred devouring of each other that left Samantha to acknowledge, somewhere up through the recesses of fire and need, that if it wasn’t for Morgan’s strong embrace she would certainly slither down and fall in a panting and sexually shaken heap at his feet. And then just like that, he stopped. Drawing back, Morgan pulled his lips from hers, maybe even a little reluctantly. Glancing at her, his eyes were filled with something she couldn’t quite characterize but it was an expression that bore an unnerving resemblance to pity. Good God, was the fact that she could really use a good lay that obvious? Clearing his throat as he took a step back, Morgan’s arms loosened their grip to slide down her back and drop at his sides. Still, he stood close enough that she could smell the soft, seductive scent of his musky

aftershave and feel the warmth emanating from of his body. Both were a sensual shock to her for everything she had ever heard about his kind included the rumor that they were scentless and ice-cold-not balmy and aromatic. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he mumbled, taking her elbow and starting to lead her back downstairs, evading Samantha’s questioning look as they went. “The ‘Smiths’ had come up the south stairwell and I didn’t want him to see you.” Samantha looked back over her shoulder. “But I was facing the other way.” “It doesn’t matter. He would have picked up on your aura and recovered residual self-images of your appearance. I had to do something to blur your thoughts.” “And that’s why you kissed me?” If so, mission accomplished, Samantha thought to herself. She hadn’t been taken out of herself like that in a long time and to tell the truth, the fact that he could do it to her was sort of distressing. Even more alarming was the tiny shred of hope that flickered somewhere inside her at the possibility that maybe, just maybe, Morgan had locked lips with her for some other reason than her protection. Despite the still-shaky sensation in her knees produced by the magic of Morgan’s mouth on hers, her train of thought did an abrupt about-face as one of the words

within his statement suddenly registered. “You said ‘He’.” “What?” “You said he would have picked up on my aura.” “That’s right,” Morgan agreed as they headed down the stairway to the lobby once more. “Mrs. Smith is a human but the man with her is not. He’s the vampire who killed Becky.” Once more Samantha thought she detected a momentary sympathetic air to his manner and this time, she literally stopped and called him on it. “What?” He looked at her blankly. “What?” “You’re acting funny.” Morgan stifled a laugh. “Acco

rding to y our recent tirade, all men act funny all the time.” “I’m being serious.” “So am I.” She implored him with her eyes and setting his evasiveness aside, his wondrous pupils grew large and serious. “Samantha,” he began but as had occurred earlier, the start of the production was heralded by a nasal voice spilling out over the intercom. “We’d better go. C’mon.” Samantha remained rooted. There was more here than

met the eye and she would have to investigate this macabre mood of his at a later date. But more importantly, she still had her daughter’s murder to solve. “What do you mean? I’m not going anywhere. You know what this asshole looks like but we’re just going to walk away?” “There’s nothing more we can do here. It’s only ten p.m. and his power is at its peak.” “I don’t give a rat’s ass what time it is. I want him dead.” “And he will be.” “When? How?” “We’ll follow him to where he sleeps and wait for the dawn. Then you’ll be able to kill him.” ***** It was just after midnight but the streets were pulsing with traffic. Morgan had difficulty keeping up with the black Porsche as it skirted around corners and skidded down alleys, almost as if the driver knew he was being pursued. While the vampire had the ability to smell others of his kind, Morgan’s scent had been masked by the multitude present at the auditorium and on the roadway, he had done an impressive job of staying far enough back not to be detected either visually or otherwise. Astounded by Morgan’s ultra-keen senses, Samantha marveled at how one moment they were standing amid the horde in the lobby, hopelessly searching for a

glimpse of their quarry, the next they had hotfooted it down the steps and were giving chase in Morgan’s lowseated sports car. “How did you even know he was leaving?” Samantha asked, clutching frantically at one of the “holy shit!” interior handles on the car’s roof as the vehicle burned around yet another corner, flawlessly executing the tight turn. “Nothing fancy,” Morgan replied. “I saw him leave through the east exit.” On they followed the speeding vehicle, past tall buildings sporting huge neon billboards and the lacy branches of the tall palm trees until it pulled into the first of several nightclubs. Always just a step behind, Morgan and Samantha spent the next several hours playing out the same aggravating game of cat and mouse, first arriving at the location of the parked and empty Porsche, entering the adjacent club, discovering the “Smiths” were nowhere to be found and then exiting just in time to see the black coupe zooming away to another locale. “He’s toying with us,” Morgan announced from between tightly clenched teeth as the wee hour of four a.m. quickly approached. “No shit.” Tracking the vehicle from yet another club, both Morgan and Samantha were surprised when the Porsche headed south to a residential area, coming to a

screeching halt in front of a sleek white apartment complex. With the motor running, it sat for several minutes with no sign of movement from either of its occupants. Then the passenger door opened and the woman got out and went into the building. Revving once, the Porsche then took off in a cloud of smoke with Morgan hot on his heels, heading all the way down the Strip to the long and winding coastal highway. For miles they drove, separated only by a white Mercedes and a sporty orange Honda, following the car as it finally swerved down into a steep, boulderedged trail that led to a quiet, cloistered district just north of the ocean known as The Flats. Back in the city’s early days, the area had nearly been a ghetto filled with poor immigrants and those just barely getting by, but over the course of time it had evolved into an elite and clandestine district. Zooming along the snaking roadway filled with luscious foliage-some growing up along the walls of the residences to serve as a sort of natural cloaking device. Samantha wistfully recalled how as a young married couple she and her husband used to dream of one day living in the exclusive quarter. “Damn it,” Morgan’s low curse snapped her back to the present. “What is it?” “I lost him.” Samantha wasn’t surprised. Although the faint glow of

the streetlamps that were dotted on either side of the tranquil boulevard threw a degree of light, she still had great difficulty seeing through the dimness. Add to the cover of night a small, black automobile and it was no wonder he had evaded them. “There!” Morgan exclaimed, his golden gaze glued to the rearview mirror. Twisting around in her seat, Samantha looked out the back window, just catching the final flicker of red from a pair of brake lights appearing to be nestled deep in a driveway as they drove past. Zipping round a bend, Morgan brought the Corvette to a halt and cut the engine. Before Morgan withdrew the key from the ignition, Samantha’s hand was on the door handle but his tentative touch on her forearm delayed her opening the door. “Samantha, there’s something you should know…” She turned to face Morgan, gasping promptly at the face that appeared just over his shoulder, peering into the car’s interior. It was a young woman, her smooth, unlined face looking startled and earnest. Morgan depressed the automatic window control and the glass slid down. “I’m sorry to bother you but did you see a

dog come by her e?” “No,” Morgan answered.

“He’s a German Shepherd dog, well, a pup really,” the woman ignored him, breathlessly racing on at a rapidfire rate as if she hadn’t heard his response. “We were going for our evening walk and we passed this big orange tabby down by the neighbors so naturally he started pulling on the leash.” She shrugged, quickly adding the footnote,” I haven’t had him to obedience training yet. You have to wait until they’re six months old and he’s only four and a half.” Shooting an entreating look at Samantha she continued on. “Anyway, he started pulling and I guess the hook to his collar was loose but it just broke and he took off after the cat.” “Sorry,” Morgan said a little firmer this time. “We haven’t seen him. Good luck.” Edging up the window, he turned back to Samantha but she was already on the sidewalk. Getting out of the car, he eyed her, resisting the temptation to shake his head at the words that met him. “So how are we going to do this?” Chapter Three The one-level Spanish-style hacienda was a throwback to the villas of yesterday with its ornate wrought iron embellishments and salmon-colored plaster. Old and neglected, the estate showed a kind of old-world style and hinted at an as-yet-to-be realized potential.

Sneaking around to the back of the sprawling property, Samantha and Morgan skirted the shallow rectangular concrete wading pool surrounded with potted flowers, approaching the stuccoed patio area and connecting glass doors that led to the home’s center. “Are you sure this is going to work?” Samantha whispered as they crouched down behind a whitewashed trellis swathed in a combination of overgrown ivy and sweet peas. “Trust me.” Entering the darkened dwelling, Morgan led the way, his footsteps on the thin carpet not making a sound. Morgan had flat-out insisted he single-handedly would take out the killer as it was the only viable option. As a mortal, Samantha didn’t have a snowball’s hope in hell of killing of the undead, but an immortal? That was a whole ‘nuther story. Samantha’s fingers lightly clasped the fabric on the back of Morgan’s jacket as they went, a heightened state of fear and anticipation leaving her breathless and drymouthed. Her Beretta firmly clasped in the other hand, she was ready for anything. Or so she thought. As her eyes grew accustomed to the dark she made out the vague outline of a figure standing before them. “I’ve been waiting for you,” the familiar voice said, stopping her cold. “I knew it would only be a matter of time.” Morgan moved away from her and seconds later, the

overhead lights flicked on. Blinking at the sudden brightness, her mouth fell open at the sight of the individual before her. “What are you doing here?” Samantha shrieked. “I live here,” her husband said. “But we’re…” she halted, casting a bewildered look at Morgan. There was that compassionate expression again and as she recognized it, a cold chill ran down her spine, her husband confirming the terrible thought that had just developed in her mind. “I know. You’re after Becky’s killer,” he agreed, his voice cracking slightly as he spoke his daughter’s name. “And you’ve found him.” Samantha could only glare at him, her eyes filling with tears, her fingers tightening around the gun at her side. “What the hell are you talking about?” Her husband stared at her unblinkingly as the story that led to this moment unraveled. “It happened one night when I was coming home late. It was at a bar in the valley. The entire office had gone out for Ted’s retirement-remember?” Samantha tried to nod but her entire body was frozen in place. “I was heading back to the car and he jumped me. I didn’t even hear him coming.” He made an offhanded gesture that very closely resembled a shrug. “Course, I now know that you won’t hear a vampire unless he wants you to.”

“Why didn’t he kill you?” Morgan asked, a hint of suspicion present in the question. “I don’t know. I’ve never known. But drained to the point of death I was in no position to refuse his lifesaving blood. It is a decision I have regretted ever since but at the time, I had no choice. The next thing I knew I was struggling. I mean thrashing around, denying my new existence, trying to hide it from you and-” “Hide it from me?” Samantha all but screamed. “Why didn’t you tell me?” “And say what?” The volume in his voice rose. “Oh by the way, you know how I’ve been acting kind of funny lately? Well, you’ll never guess the reason why.” “And Becky found out, so you killed her!! Your own daughter discovered you were a lousy bloodsucking son of a bitch and you, you…” She had now raised the gun to chest level where she pointed it directly at her spouse, the weapon shaking violently in her hands as she tried to take aim. “No, that’s not how it happened, Sam. I swear.” He shook his head vehemently, a pronounced frown crinkling the smooth skin around his eyes and creating a deep crease along the length of his forehead. “I was running from the truth, denying my body the blood it needed. For weeks I suffered, determined not to give into the revolting need. I intentionally distanced myself from everyone, including you and Becky. I did it to

protect you because the scent of your blood was driving me mad.” “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?” “No, but I want you to know the truth. I want to give you some peace of mind. After everything that’s happened, you deserve it.” Although the concept of ever regaining any degree of serenity seemed a complete and utter impossibility to Samantha, the sincerity within the statement silenced her and she allowed him to continue. “I kept away from you both, hiding out in a motel in Hollywood. I was sleeping days and venturing out during the night to raid the blood bank at a nearby medi-center. I just didn’t know what else to do and for a time, it seemed to be a semi-solution. That is, until the night that I ran directly into Becky.” Samantha cringed, tears spilling over her lashes to streak down her cheeks. Her voice was deceptively quiet when she next spoke. “So you murdered her to keep your secret.” “Not on purpose.” The disbelieving look on Samantha’s face urged further explanation. “It’s the truth. It was an accident. You got to believe me,” he persisted, a quiet desperation inching its way into the steady tone. “She was all over mecrying and pleading with me to come home, wrapping her arms around me and trying to hug me. I tried to push her away but I was weak, so weak and…” His

voice trailed off as his tears, glistening an odd shade of silver in the light, coursed down his pale face. “Hungry,” Morgan finished for him, nodding in understanding. Samantha’s head snapped around in his direction, her face filled with fury. “That makes it okay?” “Not at all,” Morgan quietly conceded. “But I’ve been there myself. Unfortunately, the reality is that when you’re in that state, you have no control.” Her husband’s supernatural eyes then glazed over with the fog of recollection and he diverted his gaze as he related the last few moments of their encounter. “She didn’t suffer, Sam. Not for a second. It all happened too fast for her to know, to understand. Her last conscious thought was that…” He stopped then, snuffling with emotion and took a deep breath before finishing, “That she had found her father and they were hugging.” An odd, strangled sound erupted from him and he quickly turned his back to her. Staring at the line of his shoulders evident beneath the dark jacket, Samantha hoped that the shred of sympathy that she felt for him would be enough

to overpo wer the crushing force of hatred that vied for supremacy within her, but it just wasn’t to be-at least,

not for a very long time. “I hate you,” she said quietly. He slowly revolved to face her once more. “I know. And I’m so sorry, Sam. I want to make it right. I just wish there was a way.” “Samantha?” She turned in the direction of Morgan’s voice as he watched her with his characteristic somberness before motioning toward the full-length patio doors. Glancing over her shoulder, she literally saw the light-those first few rays of sunshine peeking through the feathery leaves of the backyard trees, signaling the imminent approach of dawn. Giving her husband one hard final look, she spoke the last words she would ever say to him, heavy with suggestion. “If you’re half the man I thought you were, you’ll find a way.” With that, she walked out of the house, leaving the sliding glass doors open as she went. Knowing him as she did, she knew he’d follow her, the light of day putting an end to both his struggle and his life. ***** The mad dash back to the Corvette had been adrenaline-charged as Morgan used his tuxedo jacket to shield his body from the early morning beams of light streaming down from the heavens. Once inside, the darkened windows protected him from the lethal rays, as they did now, in the sports car parked outside

Samantha’s residence. They had been sitting for a time in silence, each one digesting the night’s events and maybe even contemplating a number of possible futures. “Will you be okay?” he asked quietly. “I don’t know. I guess eventually, yes. Will you?” Morgan’s eyebrows shot up. “I mean, get home safely today, what with the sun and all.” “Oh yeah.” He half smiled. “I have underground parking.” “You knew all along, didn’t you?” Morgan held her gaze. “Not the whole time.” “When then?” “At the ballet, when we went up to the box seats.” “Ah.” That explained everything-why he had kissed her, why he had looked so sad, why he tried to warn her in the car. Reading her thoughts, he slightly amended her take on the situation. “I wanted to protect you from the truth-true, but I also kissed you because…” now it was Samantha’s turn to raise an eyebrow in question, “because I wanted to kiss you.” She smiled at him, wondering when they would enjoy that kin

d of closeness again. R

ight now, she was emotionally and physically exhausted, wanting nothing more than to go to bed, alone. Sensing this, he took her hand and slowly raising it to his lips, placed a fleeting kiss on her knuckles. Then, with that gorgeous grin of his, he left the ball in her court. “If you ever need anything and even if you don’t, come for a visit. You know where to find me.” Samantha wordlessly observed him for a long time, taking in the silken hair and serious warm eyes, before leaning forward to kiss him gently on the lips-a soft, brief touch that held both a world of gratitude and the promise of a romantic storyline that was, most definitely, to be continued. “Count on it,” she whispered before dashing from the car and out of sight. Inside she peeled off her clothes and carelessly tossing them on a chair, climbed into bed. As the golden beams of dawn spilled into her room, hinting at the start of a new day and indeed a new beginning, Samantha closed her weary eyes and for the first time in a long time, she slept soundly. Midnight Chapter One The highway stretched out endlessly in front of the

luxury silver sedan, the center yellow line and periodic roadside white markers the only color on the otherwise dark road. Not even the horizon, that existed somewhere over the crest of the next hill, served to shed any light on the deserted interstate that would eventually lead home. It had been two weeks and as biannual business trips went, the first of this year’s series of regional reviews and client calls to this particular section of Texas had gone well. That was except for the pouring rain that had been falling nonstop for the past four hours. Drenching everything and everyone within a two hundred-mile radius, this unseasonal rainfall was pissing off more than a few people, including Regional Sales Manager of Santec, Inc., Alison Winterthall. In all her fifteen years with the high-powered Dallasbased marketing conglomerate, Alison had never seen anything quite like it. Usually this yearly thirteen-stop itinerary afforded her a pleasant little jaunt along the well-populated highways and through a handful of local back roads of Texas including a spell along the Gulf Coast, with the nicest leg of the tour saved for the afternoon trip home-a meandering stretch up through the state’s center right region. Ever since her very first “milk run” as she liked to call it, with the company seven years ago, Alison’s personal assistant Louis-a prissy but fabulously efficient and loyal employee-tried to convince her to fly from place to

place. While it would cost the company more in airfare, he reasoned it would save her both time and energy, but his efforts, although well intentioned, remained fruitless. Little did he know that his control freak/workaholic/tigress of a boss would never trade in her car for a plane but not because, as he suspected, she was afraid to fly. Rather and much to her own surprise, Alison secretly relished the liberty of the open road and the peaceful stillness of the world outside the city limits. Well, she usually did, but not right at this very moment. Even with the windshield wipers working overtime, she had to fight to see the rain-slick pavement ahead, her consequently slower pace having added several hours to her ETA. Adding insult to injury she had the plummeting feeling that somewhere along the way thanks to the poor visibility she had taken a wrong turn and was most decidedly heading in the wrong direction. Now, at nearly ten p.m., she had no idea where she was and by her last estimation was still nearly two and a half hours from the nearest city, her hotel reservation and her last scheduled appointment in San Antonio, which was to take place the following morning. To boot, she hadn’t seen hide nor hair of another vehicle for the past forty-some minutes and didn’t recognize the area at all. The sky suddenly lit up in a blinding flash of white only to return just as quickly to black. Alison gripped

the wheel even tighter, subconsciously bracing for the deafening crack of thunder that would surely follow. And it did, blasting so loudly that she jumped, the abrupt movement causing the car to swerve slightly before returning on the straight and narrow, as it were. Mentally scolding herself for being skittish, Alison inwardly reasoned that, despite its booming introduction, she shouldn’t have been surprised by the sudden noise. After all, for the past hour and a half she’d been listening to the telltale low rumble of distant thunder, the sound like a bowling ball rolling down the lane, ominously ever growing closer. Squinting her weary blue eyes, she tried even harder to clear her vision that was being blurred by both exhaustion and the never-ending rainfall on the windshield. Keeping her gaze locked on the road ahead, she tried to rotate her head from side to side to ease the increased tension in her neck and shoulders. Logic would dictate that with her quickly escalating fatigue, poor visibility and the late hour, she had best pull into the first inn she spotted flashing a vacancy along the rain-ridden route. That is, if she found one. Not that the thought of staying in some flea-bitten, roadside truck-stop-turned-motel appealed to her in the least. Accustomed to dining and lodging in the very best five-star establishments across the country, Alison was a very decidedly biased patron. Why, on this trip alone she had racked up more than $3,000 on

accommodations, meals and client and staff meetings. To be forced to sleep in one of the many little hellholes that dotted the sometimes barren throughways that connected the state’s great cities was, in her mind, cruel and unusual punishment. Still, ever one to buck up and get the job done, Alison concluded that an overnight stay at the next possible place was a necessary game plan. Turning on the radio, she then depressed one preset radio station dial after another, her long French manicured nails clicking as she searched for some music that would help make this late-night journey just a little more bearable. First the interior of the car filled with the rockin’ rhythms of Elvis’ “All Shook Up”. The next station was hot and heavy into a Def Leppard tune from the Eighties while the third selection dished out a particularly twangy version of some tried-and-true ol’ country classic about a love gone wrong with the singer whining like a lost pup. Finally she gave up and settled on a surprisingly soulful version of “The Yellow Rose of Texas” by a relative raspy-voiced newcomer. Texas. While she had long since come to appreciate some of the Lone Star State’s greater attributes including its natural beauty, economic prowess and of course, sheer size-“everything’s bigger in Texas!”-as a faithful transplanted New Yorker, Alison still had the odd moment when she wondered “what in the Sam Hill?”

she was doing here. Given her socialite upbringing and stuffy persona compliments of her Manhattan-made parents, she’d never fully been able to embrace the whole rancher rodeo ride ‘em high thing. In fact, snuff, straw and all things cowboy often left a bad taste in her mouth. Sure, there was a certain serenity to the country but at the end of the day, her view of the great outdoors was much the same as what her grandmother used to say about utilizing hot toddies for a cold, “Best taken in small doses”. Away in the distance and off to the left a soft glow of blue and pink caught her attention. Straining to determine the indecipherable object, Alison finally made out that the colorful contraption was a neon sign. As she got closer, she could just barely read the fuzzy words “Bud’s Diner”. Flicking on her left signal indicator, she shot one final glance in her rearview mirror before turning into the roadside watering hole. Immediately after leaving the relatively smooth asphalt surface of the highway, she both heard and felt the unmistakable noise and feel of gravel beneath the car’s tires. Sounding as if she were walking on a really big pile of granola, she steered her sleek, brand-new executive ride through the nearly abandoned parking lot and brought it to rest right opposite the diner’s door, between a shiny red pickup truck and a worn and clearly abused late-model jeep. Cutting the engine, she flipped the sun visor down and

slid the attached mirror’s cover to one side. Inching her bottom forward to yield a better look, she peered intently at her own reflection. Despite the fact she had been driving for several hours, was more than a little road weary and was just this side of thirty-five, Alison thought she looked pretty damn good. The gentle curve of her dark brown blunt cut framed her pale face in a most flattering way, seemingly creating a softness to offset the hard edge in her alert, ever inquisitive eyes. Her expensive makeup was worth every cent, not flaking, fading or settling at day’s end into those tiny little lines that were just begin to form at the corners of her eyes and on either side of her lips. A little touch-up of her lipstick was all she needed. Grabbing her designer handbag from the adjacent passenger seat, she riffled through the oversized purse’s interior looking for the diamond-studded container that held her mouth’s constant hue-sizzling cider. The first quick search uncovered everything but what she was looking for. In no particular order there was the case for her sunglasses, her wallet, her ventilator, an ornate pillbox that held a couple of aspirin and a couple antacids, another fancy cylinder that contained several tampons, a bottle of a very expensive French perfume, a hairbrush, a comb, a mini bottle of hairspray, another eyeglass case, only these were for reading-which she refused to wear in the company of others-a leather-bound day planner, a cell phone and of

course, a map of Texas. Digging deeper into one of the many side pockets located in the bag’s interior, she also uncovered a small change purse, some mints, a pen, a compact and eureka! finally, her elusive lipstick container. After applying a fresh coat of the shimmering rust shade, Alison looked down and tried to smooth the jacket and skirt of her navy designer suit. Although amazingly not that wrinkled, it was mildly rumbled in spots compliments of the long drive and could, no doubt, use a good steaming. Halfheartedly, she wondered if there was a dry cleaners nearby. Shrugging off the thought, she mentally prepared herself to enter the diner. Glancing through the windshield into the brightly lit restaurant just beyond, the rain prevented her from making out any more than a couple of dark shapes inside. The building itself was a two-story structure that clearly had seen better days but at least, there were people and she was hoping, some information about lodging for the night within. Heaving a deep sigh, she got out of the car and shielding her head with her hands from the rain that had, by this time, turned into sleet, ran for the cover of the diner’s overhead canopy and flung open the door. All eyes in the place turned to her, which wasn’t saying much as only two people, including the waitress were in the joint. “Howdy,” the latter called out, an overweight jovial-

looking young woman with a rosy-cheeked complexion and mousy brown hair. “Kinda miserable out there, ain’t it? Take a wrong turn?” Feeling suddenly a little miserable herself, Alison resisted the temptation to fire a sarcastic response back at the keen observer. Instead, she just smiled and approached the woman, ignoring the stares of the man that sat on a barstool along the green-speckled café countertop, a white Corningware mug of steaming coffee in front of him. Before Alison could get a word out, the waitress raised the pot in her hand and motioned in her direction. “Can I fix you up with a cup, honey?” “No, thank you. Actually, I’m just looking for directions.” “You lost?” Another one with a talent for stating the obvious, this time, it was the man posing the question and therefore Alison had no choice but to make eye contact with him. What a mistake. Looking like some kind of reject from the movie Deliverance-rejected because he was too damn freakythis guy was the quintessential movie villain, countrybumpkin-turned-serial killer, if ever there was one. He was decked out in a blue-and-black-checkered plaid shirt, filthy torn tan cords and a pair of what used to be white sneakers with one foot of them separating from the sole. His greasy hair-was it blond? Under all that

dirt, who could tell?-chipped yellow teeth and leering, sneering expression made him one more than a little unpleasant to look at. Unconsciously, Alison took a step back and directed her response to the waitress. She’d be damned if she was going to let Texas chainsaw murderer man over there know that she was alone and unaware of her whereabouts. “Not exactly,” she lied. “I was just wondering where the nearest motel is.” “Around here? Gosh, honey, you’re outta luck. The closest thing to something like that is Bakers’ B & B about one hundred miles up the road. Course, if you’re done for the day and just can’t go no further, you’re more than welcome to bunk with us.” Alison’s quizzical expression must have brought on the following explanation. “Me and my brother. I’m Missy and this here is Marty. We run Bud’s. Got an apartment overhead.” She knew she shouldn’t do it-mark it up to some latent masochistic tendencies-but for some reason completely unknown to her, Alison’s gaze drifted over to the man who was aiming his disgusted one-sided smirk of his chapped, encrusted mouth at her. “Love to have ya.” Fat chance of that. With a shudder, Ashton suppressed the mental image that ran through her head. A loud boom overhead caused Alison to start as the sound ricocheted through the near-empty eatery. With

no intention of staying with the sibling duo or driving for another hour plus in this rain, Alison hesitated unsure of what to do and in the split second she paused to search for alternative options the door to the diner slammed behind her. Turning, she watched as the denim-clad figure entered without looking at any of them and sauntered over to the cash register that sat kitty-corner from the door. There he stood in perfect profile to them in front of the glass-enclosed cabinet that held gum, chocolate bars and chips, as well as a good selection of cigarettes. Seizing the opportunity, Alison gave him the once-over, very quickly noticing how his skintight faded jeans, well worn and even fashionably ripped here and there, hugged him in all the right places, the soft color was dotted with dark blotches where the quarter-sized raindrops had landed. His jacket was the same shade of denim and pretty much covered the cotton shirt underneath, much the way his ivory cowboy hat concealed his face as he looked down at the floor, knocking the heel of one cowboy-booted foot against the toe of the other in a sort of kill-time manner. Picking up on the subtle movement, Missy hurried herself over to the cash register, pulling at the bottom of her apron and smoothing her hair back as she went. “Evening, mister. What can I do you for?” The cowboy looked up at her, his gaze apparently something else for with one look he effortlessly

managed to further unnerve the waitress/owner of Bud’s who giggled girlishly as she awaited his response. His voice, when at last he spoke, was so low, Alison couldn’t hear his reply, but clearly Missy had. Glancing down at the items in the case, she first frowned, reached in and flipped through a few items and then abruptly stopped, brightening as she withdrew her hand. “Oh! You know what?” she nearly shouted. “I just remembered we got another carton of those in the back. Wait right here.” Hotfooting it past Alison and Marty, Missy disappeared through a saloon-type door at the back of the café, leaving the three strangers in the wake of her hasty departure. Not wanting to be caught scrutinizing him, Alison diverted her gaze from the cowboy to slowly taking in the interior of the dingy café. The walls throughout the compact space were covered with a peeling peach paint that just barely concealed the more subdued albeit boring original shade of white underneath. A series of booths with tattered upholstery in a gaudy peach and green floral print that covered the seats ran down the right side of the diner, each one equipped with an individual mini jukebox that didn’t work. Cheaply framed photos of movie stars from the Fifties and Sixties lined the cracked walls, the blackand-white tiled floor trying, but failing, to add an Art Deco feel to the shabby spot. The opposite side of the

rectangular restaurant was outfitted with a full-length counter that was dotted with steel-framed barstools. The kitchen, the restrooms and the mystery back room that Misty had vanished into were somehow squeezed into the rear part of the diner’s narrow space. When her view accidentally fell upon Marty who was, big surprise, staring at her, Alison quickly turned back in the direction of the cowboy, their eyes meeting for the first time. Serious, even stern but still exuding an undeniable trace of interest, the cowboy regarded her for a long moment before he dipped his head in a nearly indecipherable gesture of greeting. “Hello,” Alison cautiously replied to his silent salutation. “Lost?” Alison’s growing tiredness got the better of her and when coupled with her legendary lack of patience, she grappled to keep her temper in tow, but in the end, lost the fight. “No, I am not lost. I know exactly where I am. Will someone please tell me why everyone keeps asking me that?” Silence stretched out for a time and Alison felt an uncharacteristic flush of embarrassment color her cheeks, which in turn, further fueled her irritation. “You don’t look like you belong around here,” the cowboy finally offered, his curiosity at Alison’s little

hissy fit registering in the slight arch of his left eyebrow. “Is that right? And where exactly would you surmise I belong?” When he didn’t answer, Alison assumed he had not understood the question. “Where would you guess…” “I know what surmise means, lady,” he interrupted her just a little sharply, revealing his annoyance at the presumption that he was just this side of illiterate. “In answer to your question, I’d say you’re from some high-falutin’ place like L.A. or New York, where the most important thing in the world is who made your shoes, what kind of car you drive and who you next have to screw to keep at the top of the corporate heap.” Just as another thunderous crack filled the diner and shook the room, he turned to face her full on now and this time Alison was the one who had to work at keeping her eyebrows from shooting up into her hairline. Bristling at the irreverent words that had been hurled her way by the abrasive drifter type she still couldn’t help but be aware of his contradictory wholesome good looks. Strawberry blond, a handsome chiseled face and crystal-like hazel eyes, the only thing that was not present on this picture-perfect cowboy was a golden brown tan. “Here we are,” Misty’s cheerful decree rung out from the back of the diner as she burst out onto the scene, the

two wooden doors flying open to accommodate her stout form, only to swing wildly behind her upon her passage through. Clutched in her right hand and held high overhead was a black and gold pack of cigarettes. “Knew we had ‘em.” Hustling back up to the front, she quickly rang up the sale, stopping mid-transaction to interact further with the attractive stranger. “Say, you don’t happen to know where a person can hunker on down for the night around here, do ya?” “Nope. Who’s asking?” “Well, this lady…” “Never mind,” Alison said sharply as she headed for the door, the click of her navy leather pumps telecasting her imminent departure. She had no idea where she was going but she sure as hell wasn’t going to stand around the assorted bunch of losers, polyester princesses and pompous pricks one second longer. “Wouldn’t head out in that storm if I were you,” the cowboy offered over his shoulder without looking at her. In a similar fashion, Alison shot him a quick retort before stepping out into the pouring rain. “Well, you’re not me.” One hour later, Alison was fervently kicking herself for not taking the arrogant cowboy’s advice. Heading what she thought had been south on some dirt road, somewhere, in the middle of nowhere, she’d been driving in what she feared were circles. The smooth

slick texture of the state’s main highways had long since given way to dirt and gravel while the distant flanking tree lines had closed in on either side of her vehicle so much so that the overstretching branches nearly met above in a dark, foreboding arch. No less than three times she had nearly driven off the “road” into the ditch and even with her high beams on she struggled to see more than five feet ahead. Twice she had tried to get in touch with Louis but was unable to get a signal on her cell. Now as the witching hour was quickly approaching and the pummeling sleet had completely crossed over to big white fluffy flakes of snow, Alison grew more certain that she would just have to pull over to the side of the road and rest until the break of day. Slowing her vehicle down to a measly ten miles an hour and inching its nose over to the right side of the path, Alison slowly eased her car’s front right wheel over the curve of the embankment, gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles ached. But despite her caution and slow speed, the rain-soaked earth sunk and shifted under the weight of the car and the solid silver shape that glistened in the moonlight slid sideways down the steep muddy mound. Although the decline was a slanting slope of possibly only five or six feet, to Alison it felt as if she were falling indefinitely. A high-pitched scream ripped from her lungs as she automatically squeezed her eyes shut,

pushing hard against the steering wheel, her arms locking into rigid sticks as her right foot wildly pumped the brake. Whether it was the intense braking action or the twisting downward slide, the vehicle managed to make an almost ninety-degree turn to the right before finally coming to a sharp rest at the bottom of the ravine. The abrupt stop caused Alison to lurch forward, her head connecting rather forcibly with the windshield. Bouncing back from the collision, she sat there frozen in shock for a long moment, trying to catch her breath before very hesitantly opening her eyes. Save for the narrow rays of her headlights intermittently visible straight ahead through the rhythmical slapping of her wipers on the windshield, darkness closed in on her on every side. Begrudgingly she found herself wishing for the return of the thunderstorm a couple hours earlier, for at least then the occasional blast of lightning overhead offered the possibility of momentarily illuminating her surroundings enough to reveal that her car was wedged in a thicket of tall trees and dense brushwood. Out of habit, she shakily moved the gearshift into reverse and easing off the brake, tentatively stepped on the accelerator. The sound of spinning tires coupled with a literal sinking sensation told her that she was only digging herself deeper into the soggy muck underneath. A quick look at the fuel gauge revealed she had less than a quarter of a tank of gas left, possibly not

enough to keep the car running throughout the chilly night. Chances were she wouldn’t freeze to death without heat, but it would surely get damn cold. Dressed only in a silk suit, shirt and pantyhose, she should really access her suitcase in the trunk where a couple of sweaters, socks and a pair of jeans would be better attire for a night out in the forest. Getting out and back without getting wet would be an impossibility, she knew, but once in the sanctuary of the car, she could dry off and change. Ignoring her pounding head, Alison opened the driver’s side door and reaching her left leg out, hoisted herself up and out of the vehicle, directly sinking about six inches, or halfway up her shin, into mud. While a couple inches of snow had already managed to coat the ground, underneath the drifts of white that were steadily accumulating, the earth was still soundly soaked by the preceding rainfall. Holding onto the car door, she pulled as hard as she could, trying to dislodge her foot from the quicksand-like suction of the wet earth. After two more tries, her foot, minus the pump, came free with a god-awful sucking sound, the sudden shift in balance sending her crashing backward and landing flush on her butt before falling flat into a bunch of knee-high thorny thistles that poked up through the freshly fallen snow. Situated on a bit of decline, the momentum from the fall carried on and set her on a couple of downward rolls through the prickly bushes

before coming to a complete stop on her back. Ignoring the sting of the lacerations across her face and hands, Alison struggled up to a sitting position and, glancing around, tried to assess her situation. The moonlight peeking through the overhead branches did little to shed some light in the otherwise gloomy spot. Not that she had a big backside but partially due to the fact that her body weight was now distributed over a larger area than last time, Alison didn’t sink into the gooey snow-covered ground nearly as much. Rather, she only submerged a couple of inches into the soggy soil, but it was enough to thoroughly coat the back of her skirt. “Fuck!!!” “Now that’s no way for a lady to talk.” Whirling around-as much as she could whirl with her ass partially lodged in mud, both legs in the air and sprawled backward on her elbows in a position more appropriate for birthing a baby-Alison turned in the direction of the voice. From her greatly disadvantaged location, all she could see was a dark silhouette against a flood of strong light just beyond near the top of the gorge. Fear mixing with a certain element of relief, Alison couldn’t decide what to do. If this guy was an ax murderer, best not to ask him for a hand, she smugly inwardly reasoned. Then again, if he were the friendly sort, she would really use a little help. Before she could make up her mind however, the dark figure started

down the slope toward her. With her heart pounding in her chest, Alison automatically fell back on what she knew to be her two best defenses, the power of persuasion and her professionally honed people skills. Having made an impressive career out of making arguments, changing people’s minds and overall talking folks into things, she set on a rapid-fire explanation of the situation at hand, liberally seasoning her banter with a good dose of charm. “You know I feel so silly. I guess I must have taken a wrong turn and I was just trying to pull over to the side of the road to take a closer look at the map and…” Stopping short, she stared at the man before her. “Oh God.” “Nope. Kyle. Kyle Cassidy.” In an unexpected and not even remotely comical twist of fate, the man standing over her was none other than the cowboy from the diner. The lights from his SUV shone down from the roadside, serving as a kind of luminous backdrop to his fabulous shape as he stood in a relaxed casual stance, looking down at her less than elegant figure. “Cassidy? As in Hopalong?” He motioned to her shoeless foot. “Maybe I should call you that.” “Funny. Look, are we just going to verbally spar all night or are you going to help me?” she snapped. “Well, that all depends.”

“On what?” “On you and whether or not you ask nicely.” There it was again, that irrefutable trace of ego that, even when delivered with a sort of “Aw shucks” intonation, clearly managed to reveal the speaker’s pronounced air of superiority. But if anyone should be feeling superior, regardless of her current indiscreet physical position, it was her. “Oh, go to hell!!” “Okay.” Turning, he started back up the slippery bank, nearly reaching the front of his vehicle, when Alison’s voice stopped him. “Wait!” Taking his own sweet time, Kyle turned around and stared hard at her. Swallowing her pride, something she couldn’t remember doing before, Alison put on her most charming smile. “Look, I’m sorry. Please, I need your help. Would you be so kind as to give me a hand?” Without a single word, Kyle headed down the slope once again and in one movement reached down and roughly yanked her up and into his arms as easily as lifting up a doll from the floor. The strength and speed of the movement shocked her. When she softly exclaimed, Kyle shot her a sizzling look that told her in a flash she was not to question his decision to carry her.

Once he restored her safe and sound to the roadside, he motioned back to her sidelined means of transportation. “Anything in there you need?” “Huh?” “It’s stuck in there pretty deep and I haven’t got the equipment with me to haul it out tonight, so you’re going to have to leave it and return in the morning.” “Leave it? And go where?” “I got a place not far up the road.” Her expression must have betrayed her for Kyle’s easygoing manner quickly eroded and gave way to irritation for the second time since they’d met. “Listen, lady, I’m not a rapist, a murderer or any other kind of threat that you can dream up. What I am is cold, wet, tired and now pissed off. And in case you haven’t quite figured it out just yet your options are pretty limited right now. So if you want a place to stay lemme know what you need out of your goddamned car and we’ll get the hell out of this snowstorm.” As if to drive home the po

int, a perky little drop of rainwater flicked off the brim of his dripping hat and landed on the bridge of his long straight nose. Trickling down it teetered, almost seductively, on the curve of his top lip. Without so

much as a second thought, he licked at the moisture, the sensuality of the movement catching Alison’s attention before he wiped at the rest of his moist face with the back of his shirtsleeve. “So what’s it going to be?” Turning her thoughts back to the situation at hand, Alison suddenly realized that, hothead or not, Kyle was speaking the truth. Her options were limited. Nodding, she reluctantly pointed toward her now mud-covered car. “Just my purse out of the front and my suitcase in the trunk. The keys are still in the ignition.” Breathing a tentative sigh of relief, she felt confident she was making the right decision. Apart from not having any other choice to speak of other than to go back down and wait in the car, her intuition about people had become pretty much foolproof through the years and she really didn’t think this guy was a predator. An asshole maybe, but not a cold-blooded killer. Boy, was she in for a heck of a surprise. Chapter Two Louis drummed his long bony fingers endlessly on the silver-topped end table as he waited for the number he’d just dialed to connect. “Good evening, Crestwood Inn. How may I direct your call?”

“Yes, I need to be connected with one of your guests. Her name is Alison Winterthall and she would have checked in this afternoon sometime.” “One moment please.” Some elevator music that was doing an absolutely hideous rendition of a current pop tune came down the line as Louis was put on hold. Rolling his eyes, he expelled a particularly impatient huff and crossed his long gangly legs as he lounged on the tangerine couch in his one-bedroom loft. Cinnamon, his eight-year-old cat, chose that very moment to jump up and demand an ear massage and distractedly, Louis complied. It was far and away beyond the call of duty to be trying to track down his employer from his home after hours but he knew himself well enough to know that he wouldn’t sleep a wink if he couldn’t confirm that Alison had reached her next destination. As she always called in every day just before closing to check messages and allay his nearly mater

nal concer ns for her safety, Louis was more than a little alarmed that he had not heard from her yet. As the abrupt discontinuation of the music on the other end of the phone line cut into his thoughts, Louis had no way of knowing that his concerns were about to be validated. “Thank you for holding,” the hotel receptionist began.

“What name did you say again?” “Alison Winterthall.” “I’m sorry, sir, but Ms. Winterthall hasn’t checked in yet.” “But she was to be there at six p.m., seven at the latest.” “I’m sorry, sir, but she’s not here. Is it possible she may have checked in under a different name?” Louis began to nervously bite at the thumbnail on his left hand. No, it was not possible his boss would use an alias. “Well, could you please leave a message for her to contact Louis in Dallas as soon as she gets in? She has the number.” Without waiting for the woman to respond, Louis hung up the receiver, stunned and shaken. If there was no record of Alison checking in at the Crestwood, it meant only one very obvious and very concerning fact. Something was wrong. Suppressing the urge to start crying, Louis picked up the receiver again. This time he dialed nine-one-one. ***** Kyle’s place was indeed just up the road only a short five- or ten-minute drive from where Alison’s car lay deserted in the ditch. The ride in his glistening black SUV had been uneventful and exceedingly quiet, at least on the part of her cowboy knight in shining armor, for while Alison chattered on about nothing in particular, Kyle drove in silence, eyes straight ahead,

only occasionally responding with a low “Yeah” or “No”. As they pulled up through a break in the high wooden fence that appeared, at first glance, to surround the entire property, Alison was immediately reminded of Fort Knox. Additionally rimmed with a veritable forest of Carolina Sapphire and Virginia Pine trees, it sent out a clear KEEP OUT message. “Do you get many unwanted visitors out here?” “No.” “You must really enjoy your privacy.” “Yeah.” Bringing the SUV to a stop in front of a large log cabin, Kyle literally disappeared from beside Alison so quickly and quietly that she actually let out a little eeek! at the sight of him through her passenger window. Opening the door, he extended his hand to her. “C’mon.” “Thanks, but I’m okay.” Disregarding his offer for assistance, she stepped out and past his outstretched arm. Much to her relief the ground, unlike that at what she had come to think of as the crash site, was only slightly spongy but certainly solid. She, on the other hand, was not. The bump on the head she had sustained earlier was taking its toll and after a couple of steps toward the lamp-lit veranda, the nausea and dizziness she had been pushing back throughout their drive to the cabin suddenly reared up

and Alison collapsed in a heap on the cold snowcovered lawn. “The hell you are.” Once more swooping down to pick her up in his arms, Kyle lifted and carried Alison into the darkened space of his home. This time, she didn’t even think of protesting. Placing her in what felt like a wooden rocker, he moved away from her, the bang of the screen door slamming behind him, leaving her alone to listen to the sound of her raspy breathing. Damn it. Her asthma was kicking in and her meds were in the car. The reduced airflow combined with the alarm of a possible full-blown asthma attack conspired to send her heart rate into overdrive and just as she was about to call out to him the familiar weight of her purse as it was dropped in her lap alleviated her worst fears. “Thought you might need this.” She next sensed more than heard a movement to the right and reaching down felt the outline of her suitcase as it was laid at her feet-and all done in the flash of an eye and as quiet as a mouse in little to no light. Peering about her, Alison found herself wondering how in the hell could her all-of-a-sudden benevolent cowboy see so well in the dark? As if to address the unspoken question, the scratching sound of a match followed by a flash of warm amber light directly after flared up across the room. Retrieving her inhaler, Alison took a good hit of the Symbicort as

Kyle went around lighting a series of oil lamps and candles. Immediately feeling relief, Alison took the opportunity to observe her surroundings through vision blurred by an ever-increasing headache. The warmly decorated living room had a high vaulted ceiling that added even more space and height to the already large area. The walls and floors of oak were very masterfully and lovingly handcrafted as was all the furniture. Inuit and Western art existed everywhere from the large area rug and the cozy throws slung over the edge of the couch to the tasseled lampshades and oil paintings. A large bronze statue of a rearing stallion stood in one corner of the room while a larger-than-life Inukshuk-an aesthetically pleasing arrangement of stones that some believe can harmonize and balance a room-stood in the other. As Kyle bent down to light the fire in the room’s massive stone fireplace, Alison noted his intent concentration of the task at hand. Very systematically and resolutely he placed each one of the logs and underlying kindling in the right position so that when he struck another match and touched it in just so, a spark ignited and then a bright orange flame licked up and spread to create a very fast and very hot fire. But that wasn’t all that had caught her attention. Once again, this guy’s time continuum seemed out of whack. Somewhere along the way from the time he had deposited her in the chair, got her belongings from

outside and lit the match, Kyle had apparently removed his hat and taken off his jacket, boots and socks and now as he crouched in front of the toasty fire barefoot, his cotton burgundy shirt hung loose and easy over his jeans. “Has anyone ever told you that you move exceptionally fast?” Alison murmured, fighting the temptation to add for a cowboy. After all, wasn’t the country type known for their moseying manner? To this, Kyle only smiled before disappearing around the corner. Seconds later he was back at her side again with a towel and a water-filled basin in hand. He crouched down at her feet and began dabbing the facecloth in the warm water. “What are you going to do with that?” “You’re cut up pretty bad.” “I am?” Shocked Alison brought a shaky hand up to her forehead and dabbed at the sticky liquid that was matting in her hair on one side, sucking in painful breaths as her fingers, also scratched and bloodied, felt along the scored planes of her face and neck. Confused and upset, she pushed down the rising tide of panic as the reality of things started to overwhelm her. Here she was, injured, exhausted and stranded alone with a stranger in a remote area. Given her compromised physical state at this very moment, this man could do anything to her and there would be very little she could

do about it. Once more, her breathing started to grow more rapid, more faint and strained to the point where she was very soon gasping for air. “Whoa,” Kyle said, guiding the inhaler still clasped in her right hand to her mouth. While Alison was about to protest that she resented being spoken to as if she were a horse, wordlessly she complied, taking another lengthy drag on the inhaler, her eyes filling with tears and squeezing shut as she willed herself to calm down and breathe. “Just relax.” The soft gentle tone in Kyle’s voice caused her to open her eyes and as she stared into his, melting into the warm expression within, Alison indeed started to unwind. Slowly, surely, she could feel her heartbeat reduce speed, her breathing slow down and deepen and even her aching headache lessen. “That’s it,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving hers. “Slow down.” Alison felt her eyelids growing heavy but a slight sharper change in Kyle’s voice jerked her back from wherever it was she had been going. “No. Stay with me.” “I’m tired,” she protested groggily. “You might have a bit of a concussion, so I want you to stay awake for a while.” Alison nodded, directly grimacing at the pain in her head that the movement produced. Seconds later, the

sound of splashing water in the vicinity of her feet drew her attention downward where Kyle was squeezing out the wet washcloth with one hand. “I’m going to do this now.” Alison only stared at him. Who was this guy and what was his story? One moment he is acting like he’s the greatest thing since sliced bread, the next, he is exuding the manners, kindness and know-how of Dr. Kildare. Talk about Jekyll and Hyde. And how precisely had he found her on the road? It seemed an absolute impossibility, not to mention, quite the coincidence, that he just happened to be passing by. Had he been following her? The thought made her heart flutter but she had to know. Opening her mouth to ask, another stabbing shot of pain in her head made her pause. Instead, she started to nod her head in response to his statement but recalling her previous experience with movement, very quickly stopped herself and instead, gave her verbal consent. “Okay.” Gently he began by taking one of her hands in his. At the icy feel of his touch Alison let out a little cry. “Oh! You’re cold!” Ignoring her comment, he looked at her directly. “Close your eyes and keep them closed.” “Why?” “Just do it.” The command, though spoken so softly she could

barely hear him, was somehow forceful in intent and without hesitation or understanding, Alison reluctantly complied. Shortly after, she felt a light dabbing at the nicks and scrapes on her flesh with the washcloth, the warm moisture working to soften and remove the hardened scabs that had sealed the wounds. With the blood free to flow now, Alison felt an even warmer, almost moist pressure applied to each of the cuts in turn. Once he was “done” with both of her nicked hands, Kyle moved to her face. The feel of his hands lightly clasping either side of her head, holding her steady, drummed up a panic-like response in Alison, most especially when, for some unknown reason, she was unable to open her eyes. She started to tremble in a fast, steady vibration that infiltrated every inch of her body as an ever-increasing fear once more took hold of her. “I can’t…” “Forget about that,” Kyle interrupted in a soothing hushed tone that managed to still her quaking form. “Tell me something.” “What?” she croaked out, trying to keep her voice calm. “Anything, your name, what do you do, what brought you here…” Despite her intention of keeping alert and focused, Alison felt her whole body slacken and be lulled into a loose and lazy complacency by Kyle’s voice.

“Go on…” he quietly prodded. Breathing a deep sigh, Alison began rattling off all the requested information, once again feeling the warm washcloth followed by that marvelously moist and balmy rhythmical pressure on her forehead and the numerous nicks scattered across her cheeks, the bridge of her nose and even one very nasty gash at the corner of her lip-the latter sending a lick of fire through her body and unconsciously she opened her mouth to receive the persistent probing pressure. Distracted and drifting into a sweet delirium compliments of the sensual feel of the hot suction-like weight, Alison stopped talking, halting somewhere between the reason for a description of her job and the reason for her trip and much to her disappointment, the precious force directly discontinued too. “Keep going.” “You too,” she murmured sinking back in the chair only to feel Kyle’s arm curl around her shoulders and ease her even farther back. The sweet sucking sensation resumed, this time on her neck and somewhere up from the wave of exquisite feelings that it produced Alison became aware of a soft, muffled moan escaping her lips. “Talk,” he urged, his lips moving against her throat as he spoke, the very distant confirmation of her suspicions that he was using his mouth on her skin hazily registering. And yet, ever so strangely, this

realization did not bring about the kind of repulsion she would have expected. Was she being drugged? she sleepily wondered. Under normal conditions she would have expected any one of a number of feelings at the thought of a perfect stranger, even a gorgeous one, giving her a tongue bath including shock, horror and disgust, but in the wonderfully mellow nearly hypnotic state she was in, all she could do or even really wanted to do for that matter was lie back and enjoy the ride. Throughout it all, Kyle used his fingers, now far less chilly than before, to continually press in and massage her temples in pacifying pleasurable circles. At one point, he had placed the palm of one hand directly on the contusion on Alison’s forehead, the other hand dropping back to massage the back of her neck, as his lips moved to massage the front. Gasping at the unexpected surge of sexual response his mouth on her throat produced, Alison’s arms automatically reached up to encircle his shoulders, her fingers clutching at his shirt as an exciting wave of pleasure shot through her. Without thinking, she threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled his head closer to her, the physical encouragement disappointingly creating the exact opposite reaction in Kyle. Stiffening, he abruptly pulled away, his face looking oddly strained and tense as if he were trying to hold back some overwhelming emotion or desire. “There,” Kyle said, holding her now at arm’s length. “I

think you’re good.” No, I think you’re good, Alison fuzzily thought to herself as she gazed into his greeny-beige eyes that were now glistening with a strange fire that she couldn’t quite define, a blazing light that danced somewhere between need and want. At this close and intimate distance, Alison took in his smooth marble-like skin, flawless but unusually pale-the fair hue dramatically emphasized by the dark eyelashes and eyebrows that in turn, complemented the light olive shade of his eyes. Experiencing little or no trace of her former dizziness, disorientation or nausea, Alison was surprised at the abnormal frisky feeling that welled up deep inside her as her gaze dropped to Kyle’s mouth which, full and parted, seemed to beckon her. As if reading her mind, Kyle’s voice brought her back around, his words making her pulse react. “Let’s get you out of those clothes.” “What?” she squeaked, the blatant suggestion simultaneously alluring and daunting. “You’re going to catch pneumonia if you don’t change into something drier.” A deep disappointment when coupled with the amazing word shucks echoed in her head caused her to smile as she diverted her gaze to the floor. What on earth was wrong with her? Mentally retracing her steps for the past hour, Alison was only mildly alarmed to discover that she was acting like a completely different

person. No longer was she the overbearing, anal, controlling dragon lady who had to constantly be in charge, run at warp speed and only accept the outcomes that she desired. Rather, she was someone who took risks, surrendered herself to the situation and was at peace with whatever should unfold and yet, as surprising as this emotional turnabout was, she had never felt more comfortable and more true to who she really was. Had she finally flipped her lid? Maybe Kyle had slipped her something when she wasn’t looking. Better yet, maybe he was still planning to slip her something. Blushing, she looked up, the soft pink color in her cheeks deepening at the sight of Kyle’s sexy grin. Please God, don’t let him know what I was just thinking. Whether or not he did was anyone’s guess but standing up, Kyle offered her his hand and this time, Alison didn’t refuse it but rather clasped it firmly as she went to stand up, her purse held in the other. She softly exclaimed as their flesh touched for where but a matter of minutes ago, his skin was hard and cold, now it was soft and warm, no doubt due to the intense heat of the fire that had filled the room. Getting to her feet, Alison looked up into Kyle’s face, noticing for the first time how absolutely serene and still his expression could be. It was almost hypnotic how his eyes could hold, absorb and almost suspend her and for a second Alison felt that woozy wave of her

equilibrium shifting. A quiet easy serenity seemed to ooze from his every pore and in a moment of complete and utterly mind-boggling irrationality, Alison had the fleeting feeling that she could stay here with this quiet man, with his soulful earthen eyes and warm wooden room forever. Reaching down and picking up her suitcase, Kyle then turned and led her into another room, her hand still clutched in his. As they moved under the archway, he escorted her into a well-lit bedroom at the back of the house. Decorated in warm shades of rust and tan it was as inviting and cozy as the living room they had just left. Setting her bag down on the hardwood floor, he backed out of the room and after a brief “There you go”, closed the door. Given its size and shape and considering the fact that it came equipped with an adjoining bathroom, Alison assumed this was the master bedroom of the house. Homey accessories scattered about the L-sized space included a stunning arrangement of pussy willows, bulrushes and what appeared to be dried heather that stood on the large bureau opposite the queen-sized bed. The patchwork quilt of autumn shades covering the large mattress would keep the room from being defined as elegant and yet there was a most appealing aspect to the wood-laden sleeping area. Framed pictures of barns, dilapidated shacks in the woods and endlessly rolling cornfields were capture

d in a ser ies of needlepoint works that were hung on the log walls. In addition to the bed, bureau and nightstand, an antique roll-up desk stood in the far corner of the room along with a hand-carved chair. Throwing her purse on the bed, Alison peeled off her now only damp but definitely wrinkled suit, shirt and nylons and wiggled out of her pantyhose and underwear, only to put on a fresh pair of panties and socks, a pair of jeans and a cozy navy blue pullover, thinking, “Screw the bra”. Grabbing a brush, she headed for the bathroom. She could just imagine what she looked like. Undoubtedly her face would have the look of a road map thanks to her tumble in the thistles and her hair would be a matted mess. Flicking on the light, Alison stared in disbelief at her reflection in the mirror. While indeed her hair looked like the proverbial beehive, there wasn’t a single mark on her face, nor, as she examined them, her trembling hands. All of a sudden the effects of all that had transpired that day registered and a deep overwhelming exhaustion set in. Making her way back to the bedroom, Alison curled up on a ball in the center of the bed and almost immediately the world around her fell away as she entered into the surrounding sanctuary of dreamland.

***** Even from the living room, Kyle could hear Alison’s breathing, noting how it had slowed and deepened considerably. She was sleeping. While he had removed the excess of blood that had formed in her head from the crash including a small segment that had accumulated around her brain, therein virtually eliminating the possibility of a concussion or related complications, he would still go in periodically throughout the night and awaken her, just to make sure she was okay. After all, he wasn’t a doctor. What he was, was famished. Heading into the kitchen he opened the fridge and removed one of the plastic bags-the dark red liquid within looking almost black in the dim light of the darkened space. As he did each night, he silently thanked God or whoever was responsible for the arrangement he had managed to swing with one of the night staff at the county hospital. The individual, a young struggling student, got extra money for tuition and other must-haves for a twenty-year-old and in return, Kyle got his daily fix. Without it, he would never have been able to live as he had wanted to for so long-a quiet life far removed from the hustle, bustle, noise and bullshit of the city, but more importantly, a life free of any violence, pain and best of all, guilt. Here, in this secluded refuge, he could survive without hurting, or for that matter, ever seeing, another living

soul and that suited him just fine. Or it had, until that moment he had locked eyes with Alison in the diner only a couple hours earlier. Within the fiery blue gaze and buried deep beneath the indignation and feigned superiority, he could feel her soul and much to his surprise, it was not unlike his own. In fact, weeding through the mental images and emotions from her that were washing over him, layering one atop the other like an ultra-fluffy pastry shell, he suspected that this sharply dressed, bright and beautiful woman was, at that moment, exactly at the point that he had been some fifty years ago-a point that drove him to swapping his swanky downtown loft in Chicago and ‘55 silver Porsche Spyder for an isolated ranch in the middle of nowhere in Texas and a fleet of pickup trucks and SUVs. In that one moment, he could tell in a flash that Alison-obviously repressed, anxious and desperately needing a change of lifestyle-was ripe for something new. And he was just the man to give it to her. More than that, he wanted to give it to her. Reaching up into the cupboard, he pulled out a large black mug and set it on the counter before pulling at the safety tab that sealed one end of the bag. Pouring the liquid in, he next set the cup in the microwave and nuked it for thirty seconds, just enough to render the liquid within warm without bringing it to the boiling point. Running a hand through his sandy curls, he exhaled

sharply, recalling how hard it had been cleaning Alison up earlier. The smell of her nearly drove him wild with need and desire, the feel of her heartbeat under his fingers and the warmth of her body threatening to push him into an action he had sworn off decades earlier. In fact, Kyle couldn’t remember when he had last taken someone but he had come pretty damn close with Alison and that reality surprised him a bit. Through the years, he had come to believe that he had his addiction pretty much licked, but now, as he brought the cup to his lips and took a lengthy draught of the tepid fluid, shuddering at the sensations the taste produced in him, he wondered who exactly it was he was trying to kid. It would never be over. All he could do was what he had been doing-hide out and hold on. Swigging back the remainder of the mug’s contents, he thought of Alison again and felt another flush of arousal course through him, this one more persistent and determined than the one before. Tensing, he sensed himself starting to change. That was part of the hell of it all-you never knew when an attack would come on or what precisely would trigger it, sometimes the drink would do it, sometimes a thought, sometimes a scent. Slamming the cup down, Kyle gripped the edge of the counter, grimacing as he fell down on one knee, fighting the inevitable. When he was alone, it didn’t matter if it happened but with a person in the house, he could not afford to allow his urges to get the best of

him. Ironically he could tell that Alison was starting to trust him and for a split second, he had the ridiculous notion that he might, just might, be able to trust her right back with his dilly of a dirty secret, but right now, at this particular moment, he was not a man to be trusted. Grunting, he collapsed on the floor, arms squeezed around his midsection as the hunger in his belly roared for food, real food, not that crap in the plastic bag. His body grew hot almost as if his blood were boilingwhich was not far from the truth. His eye color oddly intensified while conversely his pupils shrunk down to nearly nonexistent and he could taste his own blood, thanks to the tips of his eyeteeth that pressed down hard into his flesh as he bit his lower lip. Maybe another drink would help-sometimes it did. Crawling on his hands and knees over to the fridge he pulled out another bag and ripping it open, sucking at the torn package. The crimson fluid slid down his throat and pouring out over his chin, spilled down the front of his shirt. Squeezing his eyes shut, he gulped hungrily, literally forcing himself to swallow down the icy coldness. He hated it cold, it was so artificial-tasting, but this was an emergency, he had to feed the need before he turned to other sources, or in this case, Alison-the only other source available to him right now. Draining the second packet, he fell back against the

lower row of cupboards, dazed but appeased, at least temporarily. Panting he waited until the tremors in his body subsided. This had been a bad one, probably because of the woman and her close proximity. Cleaning up the area and disposing of all indications of his late-night snack, he went down the hall in the opposite direction from where Alison slept into a second, smaller room, also equipped with an attached bath. Peeling off his scarlet-soaked shirt, he threw that and his only other piece of clothing, his pair of jeans, in the laundry chute. Turning on the shower, he caught sight of his reflection in the large mirror that hung over the sink just opposite. Despite his noticeably pale complexion, the twisted raised scar on the left side of his chest that snaked around and down to his rib cage still stood out and caught the eye. Fucking doctors. One time, one time, he had sought help for his condition and what did the guy do? Heeding some ridiculous myth from way back that had been preserved down through the ages and wrapped in such legendary hocus-pocus that many today still believed it, the fool had damn near killed him, trying to “free his inner demon”. Horseshit. Course, had the twitchy little bastard succeeded, it would have definitively put an end to Kyle’s addiction and every once in a blue moon and an even more rare blue mood, Kyle wondered if that wasn’t the answer. But quitting was not part of his vocabulary. He had this

thing and come hell or high water, he was just going to have to live with it. Stepping into the narrow shower stall, he shut the glass door behind

him. The hot w ater felt good on his skin that was still sizzling from his recent attack. Sighing, he let it slide down over his head and face, the thought of Alison rising up like the very steam that made his sight hazy and served to fog the mirrors in the room. God she was beautiful, wasn’t she? It wasn’t just the need talking, she was a beautiful woman, a total pain in the ass with more than a thing or two to learn, but beautiful nevertheless. Needless to say, he wanted to possess her physically in every single way possible, taste her, drink in her precious scent, feel every part of her and be so deep inside her, fulfilling her every need while fulfilling his own. But more than that, Kyle was blindsided by another desire that ached deep within him. More than all the corporal elements of a relationship, he was surprised to realize that he wanted to know this woman, really know her. He hadn’t known a personinside and out-for a very, very long time, certainly not since he had become addicted and the mere possibility brought on another hard-hitting pang. Only this time the overwhelming want didn’t come with a flood of

frustration. This time it came with a flood of silent tears that, along with his hopes and the water from the showerhead, went down the drain. Chapter Three The next day Alison hesitantly stepped into the empty living room, sending out a tentative “Hello?” to the apparently abandoned space. She had no idea what time it was, but one thing was for certain, she could use a strong cup of coffee. Glancing around, she made her way through a nearby archway into the kitchen. The light coming in from the windows over the sink was muted, the sky beyond overcast with heavy gray clouds and almost completely whited out by a continuous steady snowfall. In one corner stood a little oak table equipped with two chairs set opposite each other. On top was a note propped up against a tall, thick unlit candle. Moving over to it Alison picked up and read the note. Gone to get your car. Be back soon. Help yourself to whatever you want. The night had been a long one filled with tossing and turning and dreams of Kyle, looking serious and seductive, leaning over her, gently shaking her awake. Somewhere along the way he had picked her up and placed her under the covers, turned off the night light in the room and moved her suitcase out of line to the

bathroom. Regardless, she felt relatively well rested and a little more solid-footed, not to mention a little hungrier than she usually was before lunch so the invitation to chow down on whatever she could find was right on par. Stepping over to the fridge, Alison pulled open the door, bending down to inspect its contents, or should she say content. There was nothing there except a large grocery bag that had been put in without being unpacked. Pulling out the brown paper parcel, she set it on the countertop and began sorting through the items within. Fully stocked for a grand slam breakfast, there was tea, coffee, cream, sugar, bacon, eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms, onions, three kinds of cheese, bread, butter, a good assortment of fruit including an orange, a cantaloupe and a mixed container of berries and box of fresh, fluffy pastries filled with cream and even more fruit combinations. At the bottom of the bag was a receipt which, when she looked at it, revealed the items had been just purchased that very day. A closer inspection of the slip showed the checkout time to be two forty-five a.m. Surely, Kyle hadn’t gone in the middle of the night to pick up all this stuff? Sloughing it off, she set out to make herself a hearty breakfast. With the bacon sizzling in the pan on low and the kettle on for coffee, she treated herself to a little tour through the house. The living room, kitchen and master bedroom she had

already seen but there was a hallway, another room on the main floor and a set of stairs at the far end that beckoned. The other room was just another bedroom with an attached bathroom, both smaller than those she was using. Up the stairs the second floor revealed a little bit about the man behind the cowboy hat. Here, for all intents and purposes, was an artist-turned-carpenter’s studio. The entire floor was one giant workspace filled with various tools for woodworking and equipped with a work corner that included a number of different-sized saws, hammers, auger bits, chisels, drills, screwdrivers and planes. Scattered about was evidence of several carpentry works in progress such as an old-fashioned rocking chair, an ornate round table and set of six chairs, a whimsical coffee table whose legs were sculpted into horse heads and the restoration of an antique armoire. At the opposite end of the room a series of easels, paints, brushes, palettes and paint-covered rags torn from old white sheets littered the colorful section. Larger-than-life portraits of horses-either in solo shots or running in large wild herds-were the primary focus of the artwork. Just off to the left, there was another door. Making her way over to it, Alison found it to be locked. Curiosity needled at her but just then the squeal of the kettle

reminded her that she had a breakfast to prepare. Her inquisitiveness would have to wait. Bounding back down the steps she attended to her appetite. After a sizeable breakfast, or what would turn out to be brunch, more suited to a linebacker than a petite female, Alison did the dishes and tidied up the kitchen before heading back into the bedroom where she had slept the night before. Surely by now she would be able to get a signal on her cell. Knowing Louis as she did, she could just imagine the state he would be in not having heard from her the previous day. Loveable, faithful but excessively finicky to a fault, Alison was certain that he would have called every possible law enforcement agency able and willing to search for her. But unfortunately Louis was just going to have to wait a little longer to hear from his boss, the series of dashes across the screen of her cell indicated she still could not get a signal out. One hour after her meal turned into two and then three and with each passing minute Alison only became more anxious. Not only had she not heard from Kyle and was unable to call out herself, but the steady unrelenting snowfall that had started late last night had apparently continued on throughout the night and the morning for now, as she tried to look out one of the living room’s main windows, she couldn’t see more than a foot or so in the all-encompassing white of the blizzard. That coupled with the fact that the sun was

starting to go down conspired to unnerve her completely. Trying to calm her quickly fraying nerves, she went about the living room and kitchen, lighting the candles and turning on the overhead kitchen light to brighten up the darkening space. Spying a little radio that was wedged in a tight shelf over the stove, she quickly turned the dial, eager for a sound, any sound-a thin line of crackling static breaking into the suddenly overwhelming silence of the house, before the faint sound of a strumming guitar replaced it. Slowly she walked back into the living room and sat down on a long chocolate brown suede couch that was pushed flush against one wall. With no television and no books or reading material to speak of, Alison, growing ever restless and bored, found her thoughts once more returning to the locked room upstairs. It did beg investigation, did it not? After all, why in the world would anyone, living on their own, lock a door with their house? Standing up, she resolutely headed for the second floor. There must be some way to get in. Now she didn’t want to invade Kyle’s privacy, she reasoned as she headed down the hallway and she wasn’t going to break into the spot in question but what harm could there be in accidentally finding a way in? At the very least, it would give her something to take her mind off the fact that she was stranded and seemingly deserted in the middle of

nowhere. Rounding the slight curve at the hall’s end that led to the stairwell, Alison abruptly collided with Kyle, her sharp startled scream piercing the quietness of the house. “Jesus, what’s got into you?” Kyle asked in obvious annoyance, his hands still resting on either side of Alison’s forearms where he had reflexively grabbed hold of her when they had crashed into one another. “What’s got into me? You just scared the hell out of me!” “Sorry.” Lightly moving her aside, he stepped down off the last step and headed into the kitchen, Alison hot on his heels. “Wait a minute. Where’d you come from?” Kyle turned to regard her in amusement, his smiling response bearing a trace of sarcasm. “Ah, from upstairs.” “Yes, I could see that. I meant, when did you get back?” “But you didn’t ask me that, you asked me where I came from.” “Kyle!” Alison’s aggravation was mounting fast, her heart still not having returned to its normal tempo since the sudden shock of her life moments earlier in the stairwell and she was not in the mood to dance around

what was a bloody perplexing turn of events. Even so, she inwardly reasoned, it would do no good to lash out at-what should she call him-her host? Taking a deep breath, she tried again. “What I am trying to determine is when you got back. I didn’t hear you arrive and you startled the bejeebers out of me.” “The what?” “Never mind. When did you arrive?” “A few minutes back.” “And you entered the house through the upstairs?” Kyle gave her another look, this one nowhere near amusing. “No, through the back door. I went upstairs to look for an extension cord.” Jumping ahead to address her questioning expression, he added, “Your battery’s dead.” “Did you haul it here?” “Couldn’t,” he replied, turning and heading to the other side of the kitchen where he pulled out one of the chairs from the either side of the table and sat down. “Why not?” Reaching into the breast pocket of his shirt-this one, a crisp, white linen-Kyle pulled out a pack of cigarettes and handed one to Alison. Waving off the offer with a curt “No thanks, I quit”, she impatiently waited for his response. In that annoying leisurely way of his, Kyle withdrew a single

smoke and placed it between his lips. Leaning back in the chair, his legs, crossed at the ankles one over the other, stretching out before him, he dug down into the front of his jeans’ left pocket. Pulling his hand back out, he flicked the lighter that he had retrieved, tilting his head to one side and squinting his eyes as the flame ignited the cigarette and a thin trail of smoke drifted up past his face. “She’s snowed in pretty good.” A long lazy silence followed this last little bit of news and Alison felt like getting information of any kind from this guy was like pulling teeth-hard, painful and not without a whole bunch of attempts. “So what? We’re just going to leave it there?” “For now.” Alison looked around the kitchen with a sort of “can you believe this?” expression on her face. She was certain that, given Kyle’s obvious preference for minimalistic dialogue, she must sound like an absolute chatterbox but there was a lot happening here and she needed to know what was going on. Maybe she should adopt his “man of few words” routine and see how he liked it. “’Til when?” “This blizzard blows over.” “How long?” “Don’t know. Maybe a couple days, maybe a week.” Alison couldn’t suppress the soft exclamation that

followed his last statement. A week? What in the name of God was she going to do here, with him, for a week? “Maybe I will have one of those cigarettes.” “But I thought…” “Just…” She flickered her fingers at him intolerantly. Taking the smoke from his hand, she leaned over to accept a light, slowly drawing in a breath and closing her eyes as she did so. Oh boy, that felt good. Almost immediately she could feel her simmering nerves start to slacken and the tension in her chest and head minimize. A nonsmoker for nearly three years, Alison had never evolved into one of those dreaded ex-smokers who, suddenly detested the taste, smell, sight or even mere mention of anything cigarette-related. No, Alison had always been a true-blue fan of tobacco and was a staunch believer in that statement she had read in some medical health journal somewhere along the way that had claimed a nicotine addiction was on par with a cocaine addiction. Having smoked for the majority of her adult life, Alison surely knew a thing or two about addiction both firstand second-hand and for a fleeting moment, she inwardly kicked herself for falling off the wagon, but damn it! The news here was just going from bad to worse and she had to find some way, any way, to cope. When she opened her eyes, she saw that Kyle was watching her with an expression that, if she didn’t know any better, was bordering on concern.

“You okay?” “Not exactly.” “Want a drink?” Not much of a drinker thanks to an alcoholic mother, Alison had, nevertheless throughout her life recognized a handful of key occasions when taking a good stiff drink was not only an excellent idea, but really the only idea. There was the time she had her heart broken as a teenager, had been mugged in college, the death of her father, surviving a potentially fatal car wreck a few years back and the night her fiancé left. While not nearly as devastating an event as any of those, right now Alison was eager for the soothing sensation that alcohol could induce. “Love one.” “Scotch okay?” Alison hesitated. She’d actually never had scotch. Her “usual” drink had been wine and one particularly memorable experience with vodka paralyzers but hey, she thought, “Beggars can’t be choosers”. “Fine.” “Sit down.” Obeying him, Alison took the chair opposite his and happily puffed away as he went to get two glasses and a bottle of single malt Glenfiddich. Setting the crystal tumblers on the table, Kyle poured a small amount of the light amber fluid from the black and gold bottle into first hers and then his. Lifting the drink to his lips, he

motioned toward her as he sat down again. “Cheers.” “Cheers.” Mimicking his movement, she raised her glass in his direction before cautiously dipping the tip of her nose inside the rim of the glass and sniffing lightly, her face immediately screwing up as her head jerked back. “Strong,” she offered to Kyle’s amused expression. “Just wait.” Despite his disclaimer and maybe because she heard a bit of a taunting challenge within his words, Alison straightened her shoulders and shot the entire drink back, downing the mouthful in one quick swallow. Only seconds later she exploded into a series of coughs, splutters and wheezes brought on by the intense burning feeling in her mouth, throat, esophagus, windpipe and all the way down. She could feel it even now, through her chest and landing with a warm thud in the vicinity of her stomach. Above the ruckus Alison could hear Kyle’s laughter, low and throaty as he stood and coming around behind her, patted her firmly on the back. With his free hand he poured her another shot. “What? No way,” Alison gasped between still-strained mouthfuls of air as she held one hand up to stop him. “Are you trying to kill me?” “The second one goes down easier.” It would have to, couldn’t go down any harder.

“Try again,” Kyle said, handing her the glass, “only this time sip it.” “Sip it,” she murmured under her breath as she brought the glass to her lips once more. Already she was starting to feel that delicious toasty glow of the alcohol hitting her bloodstream. A second shot of the strong drink probably wasn’t necessary to relax her but seeing as he had offered… Taking it as he had suggested, a little taste of the prettycolored drink-well, it was pretty, she thought privatelyAlison managed much better this time. No coughing attack or shortness of breath followed, only a slight sizzling sensation on her lips and tongue that she found kind of appealing. Feeling warm and relaxed and even a little bit frisky, she eyed Kyle through a soft fuzzy glow, smiling as she leaned forward to put her elbow on the table, cupping her chin in one hand. “So, what do you do all day out here by yourself?” “Always something to do on a ranch.” “Ah-uh. Like what?” “Like chores. Which reminds me…” Kyle abruptly got up and left the room, only to return a few seconds later decked out in his boots and hat and now adorned in a heavy sheepskin jacket and leather gloves. “Where are you going?” “Got to do the chores.” “Now? But it’s dark out.”

Kyle shrugged. “I’m kind of a night owl.” No shit. He nodded toward the potbellied stove complete with a healthy stack of firewood that stood on a small tile section of the room and the pantry that existed just beyond. “There’s some beans and canned meat back there. Why don’t you rustle up something to eat? I won’t be long.” Beans and canned meat? Was he joking? Besides, she didn’t feel hungry at all after that gi-normous late morning meal. What she felt was…adventurous. For years to come, Alison would wonder precisely what drove her to say what she said next. Maybe it was simply the scotch talking-but what she would always recall was that her request came out as automatically and without thought as any breath she ever took. “Can I help?” Kyle stopped and turned, looking at her hard for a long moment before answering, his gorgeous light eyes twinkling with that peculiar kind of intent attention that he had shown when he had first looked at her in the diner. “You feeling okay?” “Yeah,” Alison said, noting the sound of wonder in her own voice. “Yeah, I do.” “No, I meant your head. No more dizziness?” “Nope,” Alison replied, drawing an imaginary cross on

her chest with her right forefinger. “Scout’s honor. It’s true. I don’t know what you did to me last night but it worked like a charm.” To this, Kyle only smiled that sexy grin of his that was making a little magic of its own. His response when it came bore a trace of wariness. “Well, okay, c’mon then. Best put these on, though.” Retrieving a heavy parka from the coat rack that stood like some sort of lanky vertical spider by the back door, Kyle handed the warm outerwear to Alison, along with a pair of fur-lined knee-high boots that in Alison’s case came up mid-thigh. Struggling into the footwear was more of a task than she would’ve imagined and more than once Alison lost her balance trying to pull the heavy rubber-soled boots on, only to be firmly steadied by Kyle’s hand as he stood nearby watching her. When she got the parka on and zipped up, she flapped her arms, amused by what she was sure she looked like, no doubt something along the lines of a little kid bundled up in a snowsuit. Now all she needed was a pair of mittens on a string. Still smiling, Kyle moved over to her, pulling the hood up onto her head and zipping up the front zipper a little farther so she would be toasty warm. His arms moved around her and for a second, Alison caught her breath as their bodies were drawn ultra-close in a near embrace. Digging his hands down into the parka’s low-lying pockets located on either side, he pulled out a glove with each hand and handed

them to her. “Let’s go.” Outside the world had completely changed since they had arrived the night before. Now in place of the muddy brown terrain that was nothing if not a dismal reminder of the imminent approach of winter was the glittering pure white coat of the region’s first big snowfall. As they walked from the house toward the barn, Alison marveled at how the glow of the moon overhead shone off the newly fallen snow to create a twinkling diamond-like wonderland. Similarly, the glittering unusually large snowflakes that fell from the sky took their own sweet time in making their way to the earth, floating and drifting down from the heavens like sparkling flakes of stardust. “Oh my God, it’s beautiful out here.” Trudging through the foot-high drifts, they headed, not toward the barn as Alison suspected, but rather over toward a barbed wire fence that ran down the length of the yard’s right side. Pulling the top and middle strands apart, Kyle motioned for her to go through the space he created. Alison’s eyes widened. “You want me to crawl through?” “Yeah.” For a moment she just stared at him before casting her gaze about the property. “Isn’t there a gate somewhere?” “No.”

She was tempted to back down and hotfoot it back to the house but then remembered she was the one who had asked to join him. Well, she thought, with an internal shrug, when in Rome… “Okay,” she said under her breath, lifting one leg through and stepping onto the other side, ducking her head down and through, shifting her weight and torso before following with her straggling leg. Standing up on the other side, she let out a sharp breath of relief. Actually, she hadn’t done too badly at all. She had managed to do it without getting caught up on any of the barbed wire or falling onto her butt, both of which she had secretly been worried about. However it had taken her about three full minutes, not that long by her own standards until she saw the way Kyle sailed through without anyone holding the wires apart for him. Mentally shrugging, she inwardly branded herself an official city slicker. “Guess you’ve had a little practice at this.” “A little.” “So,” she puffed slightly as they stood on the other side of the fence, facing a distant tree line. “What are we doing?” “Getting the horses.” Alison looked from side to side, seeing nothing but the stretch of white capped off with the brownish-green hue of the outlying forest. “What horses?”

A sharp strong sound assaulted her ears and flinching, she looked at Kyle who, with the middle finger and thumb of his right hand circled and placed in between his lips, was making the shrill whistle. Stopping, he put his glove back on. Scanning the horizon, Alison strained to see something, anything, besides the farreaching pale expanse and the dense woodland area beyond but her eyes registered no movement of any kind. “Where are they?” “There,” Kyle replied, pointing toward an area somewhere off to the right. Squinting, Alison peered in the direction of Kyle’s extended hand but to no avail. Was he messing with her mind or had she gone blind? “I don’t see anything. Where?” Wordlessly Kyle walked around behind her, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders as he twisted her a tad to the right. Then with one gloved hand, he caught the crook of her chin and directed it gently even farther to the right. Leaning in, his body pressing into hers, he moved his head in such a way so to maneuver past her hood’s fur lining and whisper directly in her ear, his warm breath falling flush against her skin as his arms dropped down to lightly close around her. “Right, there.” Holding her breath, Alison stared hard at what she believed to be the area he was pointing her at. For a

time nothing seemed to move but the hazy snowflakes that drifted vertically across her line of vision as she stood in his half embrace, leaning back into his strong form, waiting. The air had taken on a misty nearly magical quality, with ever-increasing foggy patches spreading along the outlying areas. It was getting harder and harder to see clearly and yet his low insistent tone had insisted she should be seeing something that she just wasn’t seeing. Not that it mattered. Once again, Alison found herself drifting into a lazy contented state of mind, living in and just enjoying the magic of the moment. She felt as if they were smack-dab in the middle of one of those decorative snow globes-two little figurines standing with a barn on one side, a log cabin on the other, gazing off into the horizon in the midst of an exquisite and allencompassing snowstorm. Even better, the feel of Kyle’s strong arms around her gave her a sense of security and protection she had never known. Hell, if things could just remain like this, she didn’t care if she ever saw the horses. Then suddenly something caught her eye-it was the snow on the horizon farther off in the distance, a large drift of white that seemed to be shifting, spreading, growing larger. Blinking, she leaned forward, her brow creasing in curiosity, while still conscious of Kyle’s arms wrapping in her safety. In a gradual visual realization that could only be compared to looking at

those 3D holograms-the ones that had you staring blankly at a series of dots only to suddenly exclaim when a shape within surfaced-the shape of three white horses emerged from the snowdrift, only they weren’t coming out of the snowdrift, they were the snowdrift. With long flowing manes and tails of white that would reach to the ground when they were still, the trio of ethereal-like equines appeared out of the woods like ghosts and galloped toward them. The sound of their hoofbeats on the snow created a muted, far-off thudding-a pounding that steadily increased in volume until they arrived not a hundred feet from where Kyle and Alison stood. Even at that distance, Alison saw that they were massive, beautiful animals, with rippling powerful muscles and strong intelligent faces. As the three slowed their pace and sauntered toward their master and his friend, Alison took a fearful step backward, the encouraging squeeze of Kyle’s hands on her forearms doing little to reassure her. “They won’t hurt you.” “You sure?” “Positive. C’mon,” he said, releasing her, only to take one of her hands in his and begin leading her toward the pale trio that stood watching them. As they approached the group, one of the horses walked slowly forward, his luscious white mane blowing softly in the gentle wind. His brown eyes, large and expressive, moved from Kyle to Alison and

back again before he blew out his breath in a soft rumble of sound, the warm air creating a burst of steamy condensation when it hit the night’s coldness. “This is Gabriel. Say hello, Gabriel.” In an incredibly gallant gesture, the horse pawed at the ground with his left front foot twice before lowering the front half of his body down in a bow. Remaining prone for a couple of seconds, he straightened and then looked at Kyle expectantly. Rewarding him with a warm pat on the front of his chest, Kyle turned to Alison. “Wanna touch him?” “Oh I don’t know. I mean, we don’t really know each other.” At this, Kyle laughed, his white teeth glinting in the moonlight and it was a really remarkable sound-throaty and low like the roll of thunder-that set the three horses whinnying in unison. “What better way to get acquainted?” He looked so handsome and appealing at that moment with not a trace of his former conceited self that for a split second Alison inwardly wondered if the same premise and invitation might apply to Kyle, the sexual connotation within the mental query shocking her. Sure, it had been some time since she’d broken things off with her stockbroker fiancé and therefore been intimately involved with anyone, but truth be told, she missed his social connections more than she missed the

sex. All throughout their six years together, the physical aspect of their relationship had always been more important to him then it was to her. Certainly, she had loved him, in her own distant afraid-to-commit way, but it just seemed that every time she turned around he was prodding her to do it, slithering up behind her and pawing and pressing into her like a dog in heat. Even so, when push came to shove, so to speak, their bedroom was duller than watching paint dry, at least for Alison it was. Oh, she had tried all the tricks-slinky underwear, candlelight and champagne, even one particularly memorable night that involved a couple of doobies and a rented porno video all of which apparently worked for him, but for Alison? It was merely a matter of more strategizing and maneuvering to please a client. Try as she might, she just couldn’t get into it and maybe he had been right when, the night he left all angry and resentful, he tossed out the zinger that she was one helluva cold bitch who only got off on her job. In retrospect she wondered if he was right because although she had never told him as much, Alison had never known what it was like to “get off” as he so crudely put it-not with him or anyone else. And now after all this time to actually desire someone, no matter how wrong and different and crazy and absurd it may be, Alison found it near impossible to resist mulling over the prospect.

“So?” Kyle’s voice cut into her thoughts. “Wanna give it a go?” Oy vay. “Huh?” “C’mon,” he said, taking her hand and reaching it up, placed it on Gabriel’s broad neck. “I’ll show you how.” With his hand covering hers, he started moving in slow circles over the warm, moist flesh of the horse, his fingers digging in every so often to knead the taut muscles before changing to a deliberate steady up-anddown stroking of the animal’s chest. Given her recent train of thought, Alison found the movements exceedingly sensuous and without meaning to, she turned to look at Kyle, her heart skipping a beat as their eyes locked. “That’s it,” he said. “Nice and slow.” Oh yeah. Jealousy or fear of exclusion or some combination of both reared its ugly head for just then, the other two horses verbally protested with a series of fevered whinnies. Pressing in on Kyle and Alison and Gabriel, they tried to nudge their heads into the action, Kyle chuckling as the smallest of the three lightly headbutted him in an effort to get some loving. “I know, I know,” he cooed, tousling the hair between the horse’s ears. “This here is Ramona and that is Sterling.” The third of the equine trio had walked around the

group and now stopped directly behind Alison as if he were patiently waiting in line at the supermarket. Turning, Alison gave a little start at the closeness of the animal. Almost as big as Gabriel, Sterling had the same white body and mane, the former only slightly finerboned, but his face similarly exuded the same cleverness and serene countenance with eyes a paler softer shade of brown. Reaching forward, he lightly grabbed the edge of her hood with his teeth, starting to walk toward the barn as he did. When the fabric pulled free, he repeated the movement again, grabbing her and moving in the opposite direction from where they had just come. “What’s he doing?” “He wants you to go with him.” “Go with him? Where?” “To get his bit and rein. He wants to take you for a ride.” “Ride? But I don’t know how.” Kyle regarded her for a long moment, that killer grin once again gracing his handsome face. “Wanna learn?” The walk to the barn, although only a matter of a couple hundred yards, felt like forever for Sterling was literally nudging Alison from behind every second step. Talk about an eager beaver. Entering through the huge double doors of the stable that exclusively accessed the field and outlying bush, Alison took off her hood,

stomped her snow-covered boots on the sawdustcovered floor and brushed a few flakes from the front of her parka. Kyle put Gabriel and Ramona in separate stalls, ensuring their feed and water was well within reach and slapping a multicolored blanket over each broad back, tucked them in for the night. Grabbing a bit, bridle and reins from a hook on the wall, he slipped the gear over Sterling’s head, placed the bit in his mouth and slung the reins over his shoulders. “Ready?” “What about a saddle?” “Sterling isn’t a fan of saddles.” “But how do I stay on?” “Just hang on to me.” Excellent. Grabbing the reins, Kyle flung a leg up and over Sterling’s, landing squarely and effortlessly in the center of the horse’s back. Reaching down, he extended his hand to Alison. Her eyes widening in disbelief, she spread her hands out before her in the universal gesture of “Oh no!” “You’re not going to say ‘c’mon’, are you? There is no way I can lift myself that high.” From where she was standing, Alison felt as if the horse was about fifteen feet tall. Actually Sterling was only six feet high. “I’ll pull you up.”

“Yeah and my arm out of the socket!” “No, I won’t, not from where I’m going to grab you.” Hmmm. Sounded interesting, but she wasn’t convinced. Fear easily eclipsing her piqued interest, Alison stood firmly rooted, ignoring Kyle’s outstretched hand. “Don’t you trust me?” Now that was a question. Clearly she had sailed over several hurdles in the trust department since she met the original Midnight Cowboy here so why was this any different? Because in this case, she silently reasoned, she could get injured. But somehow in Kyle’s presence, her safety seemed always to be assured. Echoing this, Kyle spoke. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Alison.” It was the first time Kyle had used her name and the sound of it on his lips, stopped her cold. She looked up at him then and as had happened earlier, found herself lost in the light greenish-brown hue of his serious gaze. “I’m scared,” she whispered. Kyle smiled then and with that warm grin, all her fears vanished. “You don’t have to be. Now, c’mon.” Reaching her hand out she was a little surprised when Kyle leaned down a little farther to extend past her hand and clasp her firmly high up on her biceps. “Raise your right leg up on Sterling.” “Like this?”

Alison felt like a complete idiot as she stretched her leg out over the horse’s backside, her foot sticking straight up in the air. Thanks to her absolute addiction to a good stretching session every night before bed, she was very limber. “Good. Now when you come over, grab hold of me.” “Oh no problem. I will.” Realizing that Kyle was the only thing preventing her from sailing clean over Sterling and landing with an undignified thud on the other side, Alison was determined to latch onto him and hang on with a death grip until she was convinced of her safety. He eyed her then with the slightest twinkle in his eyes. “Ready?” Alison grinned a shaky little smile. “Yep.” Before she had barely finished the single-syllable word, Kyle pulled her up and over to land, spread-legged and with a definitive rough thump behind him. Her hands automatically reaching out to brace her jerky arrival against Kyle’s back, Alison breathed a sigh of relief, lessening her grip. “Okay?” Kyle asked over his shoulder. “Yeah, thanks.” With a soft clucking sound, Kyle lightly took hold of the reins, Sterling’s head immediately raising and responding to the subtle movement. “Let’s go, boy.”

Out the barn door and into the world of white that awaited them, they went. The snow continued to fall as it had been for over twenty-four hours now and for a moment, Alison wondered about the prudence of going for a ride on a night like this. But the wind that had so brutally whipped through the barren trees earlier in the day, driving the snowflakes in a million different directions at breakneck speed, had all but died down. Now it was as if they were taking a leisurely stroll through a field of cotton batting with mini fluffs of white lazily spiraling down from overhead. Kyle guided Sterling forward, steadily heading toward the far-off tree line. “Want to pick it up a bit?” While she wasn’t entirely sure what he had in mind, she was certain he wouldn’t intentionally blow her off the back of the horse. “Sure.” With a quick flick of the reins, Sterling started to trot, the hard bouncing causing Alison to shift, with each bounce, slightly to the left. Tightening her light grip on Kyle’s waist, she righted herself, enjoying the power and warmth of Sterling beneath her. However, it wasn’t too long before the constant pounding of this choppy gait started to wear on her joints, not to mention her backside. “Bouncy little guy, isn’t he?” “Up for something a little faster?”

“And maybe smoother?” she replied hopefully. “Definitely.” “Count me in.” “Best hold on a little tighter then.” Alison wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, immediately aware of how hard and muscled his body was. Locking her hands together in front of him, she struggled a couple of times when her hands slipped down lower than she had intended them to. Finally, she found just the right niche around his hips that would allow her to feel securely anchored without accidentally copping a feel of Kyle’s crotch. Not that that would be the worst thing ever, she thought to herself, a light giggle shaking her slender frame. “What?” “Nothing.” After that, Kyle lightly urged Sterling forward and their excessively jerky pace changed easily and without incident into a smooth rolling canter. An easy backand-forth movement of Alison’s hips fell in line with Sterling, the routine forward action slowing inching her closer to Kyle where the front of her thighs pressed in snugly against the back of his, his body cradled between her legs. Squeezing her arms a little tighter around him, Alison laid her cheek against the side of his shoulder and closed her eyes. The warmth wafting up from Sterling, the steady, nearly rocking rhythm of his cantering tempo and the closeness and strength of

Kyle’s body all combined to make Alison feel safe and content. All the problems of the world and, more pointedly her own life, seemed a million miles away. Right now, here in this moment, there was nothing but the soft sound of Sterling’s muffled steps in the snow, punctuated every now and again by a sharp snort as he blew out a frosty breath of air. “I see why you like it out here.” “I knew you would.” Alison raised her head from his shoulder. “What do you mean?” “I don’t know. I just thought you might like it.” “Well, you were right,” she replied, snuggling back in. “I’m glad you asked me.” “Me too.” She couldn’t be entirely sure but Alison thought she could feel Kyle’s free hand moving over to rest atop hers as they clutched together in front of him. They rode on for a time, alternating walking and cantering before heading back to the barn in silence, Sterling slowing to a lazy walk about a quarter of a mile in. Where the scotch had made her relaxed and even a little sleepy, the night air and evening ride had invigorated and awakened her. Even though she felt warm and loose, Alison couldn’t remember ever feeling more alive and aware. Once inside the barn, Kyle brought Sterling to a halt before swinging his right leg over the horse’s head and

dropping silently to the ground. Turning, he faced Alison and reached his arms out. “C’mon.” Mimicking his moves, Alison swept her right leg over Sterling’s shoulders so she was sitting sidesaddle and then, reaching out her arms, her hands braced on Kyle’s shoulders, lowered herself slowly down. When she reached the ground, she was closely wedged in between Kyle and Sterling and yet, she couldn’t help but notice that Kyle didn’t step back to increase the space between them. Rather, he stepped forward, his body now pressing in and down the length of hers even more. Looking up into Kyle’s face, she sucked in a light breath at the intense look in his eyes as he stared down at her. While she had suspected something had transpired between them out on the ride-something unspoken but nevertheless real and strong-Alison had not known, until this very moment, that Kyle had felt it too. Leaning into him, Alison tilted her head to one side, a slow grin spreading her lips as she maneuvered under the brim of his hat to kiss him lightly on the mouth. He hesitantly, almost shyly, returned the kiss, watching her intently as she pulled away. Dropping her hands down, she reached for one of his as she started to walk out of the barn and toward the house. “C’mon,” she said with a shy smile, playfully picking up on his routine use of the word.

Feeling a slight pull, Alison turned around to see that Kyle remained rooted. He gave her hand a light squeeze. “I have to tend to the horses first but you go on ahead. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Soon was right. No more than fifteen minutes later they were both inside facing each other in the kitchen. Kyle silently peeled off his outerwear, soon standing still fully clothed, only a few feet from Alison. For her part, Alison couldn’t remember wanting a man as much as she wanted Kyle at that moment and it was a wonderful, fully liberating feeling. Her life and all its many experiences faded away as she stood looking at him, knowing that the world would be a completely different place if he would only reach over and take her in his arms like they both wanted him to do. “Alison.” “Yes,” she replied in a low seductive voice, reveling in the pounding of her heart and the rising heat in her body. “There’s something I need to tell you.” There were probably a number of things that they could or should talk about before doing what they were undoubtedly about to do, but Alison was not in the mood to talk. Stepping even closer to him, she put her arms around his shoulders. “Later.” Touching her lips to his gently a couple of times, teasing

him with the tentative moist pressure of her mouth on his, she slowly increased the weight. Sighing, Alison could feel his lips respond beneath hers, opening slightly and matching her steady increase of force and intensity. At the feel of her tongue licking almost playfully at his teeth and entering, tormentingly slowly into his mouth, Alison felt Kyle’s body tense, his arms moving fast to encompass her and pull her close. All restraint and uncertainty vanished for them both then, only to be replaced by a hungry, passionate and everincreasing lust. Wrapping her arms tightly around him, Alison kissed him with a ferocity and passion she had never felt or released on another, her hands writhing up and down his back, soaking in the tactile details of his warm flesh and hard rippling muscles. Similarly, Kyle’s hands had moved up from their original position around her backone to caress her hair, the other heading south to caress her backside and pull her close against the swell of his hardness. Tearing her lips away from his burning kiss, Alison threw her head back, moaning at the feel of his lips and tongue on her throat, the sound drowned out by the deep low groan that erupted from Kyle. Burying his head in her shoulder, he squeezed her tight. “Alison…I…” “Don’t talk, not now,” she panted, drawing his face up to plant little kisses across his neck, cheek and the

bridge of his nose and finally over his lips. “Let’s just make love.” Just make love. Like it was no big deal, when in fact, for Alison, it was a big deal because it had never been a big deal. Now, here, with this man whom she admittedly knew nothing about, she wanted to be with him like none before, sensing it would be an experience like no other. How they got to the bedroom, she didn’t know, only distantly recalling them kissing and holding and stroking their way down the hallway until they fell in a tangled heap on the bed, the pressure of his erection so perfectly aligned with her that she could not suppress the breathy gasp that escaped her lips. Driving her crazy, Kyle pressed his hips forward as he nuzzled her neck, the surging pressure between her legs arousing Alison in a way she had never been before. Kissing his way down the front of her chest, Kyle pushed up her sweater, the warm moist pressure of his lips enclosing over the taut almost painfully sensitive tip of one nipple. Using his hands to skillfully caress the other breast and unbutton her jeans, Alison marveled at the softness of his hair, the taste and warmth of his skin and mouth and the absolute wonder of the pleasure he was urging her body to release. When one of his hands dipped down under her jeans to press and stroke at the wet satin of her panties, Alison almost swooned, her fingers digging hard into Kyle’s

back. It had to be an impossibility that she, who had never been sexually fulfilled at the hands of another, even through far more strenuous and invasive means and attempts, was about to explode at his mere touch outside her underwear. But explode she did, arching her back and hips toward his divine touch, a series of gasps trumpeting her climax. Dizzy and breathless, she opened her eyes as the spasms subsided, only now aware that Kyle had stood up and standing over her, was peeling off his shirt. He was smiling one hell of a smile. “That was a pretty good start to things.” “Yeah, good,” she echoed in a daze, Kyle’s next words nearly bringing on another pleasurable plunge into the world of the sexually fulfilled. “Nothing to what it’s gonna be, though.” Reaching down, he pulled her up and yanked her sweater over her head. With one hand he drew her close to his torso, his fingers making magic along the back of her neck and up through her dark tresses. Grabbing his torso lightly on either side, Alison began kissing and licking his stomach, getting particular pleasure out of flicking her tongue at the little hairs on his stomach that disappeared down in a line under the band of his jeans. Glancing up the length of his body as she ravished Kyle’s belly button, she saw that his head was stretched back and with eyes closed, he grimaced, in the sexiest look of pleasure she had ever seen.

With one hand she rubbed against the front of his pants, her lips following after, pressing firmly and enticingly through the denim. He was watching her now, with heavy-hooded eyes that along with the quick rise and fall of his chest, spoke of his burgeoning desire. Fueled by his expression and her virginal craving to love and be loved, Alison reached in and pulled him out of his pants, her hands and lips slowly working up and down his rigid length to draw out soft sighs and low moans from between his clenched lips. With a sudden change of mood, Kyle pushed her back on the bed, his hard body falling on top of her. Shifting his weight, his legs expertly parted hers, one of his knees thrusting in between hers to rub seductively where she wanted his hands, lips and other key appendages to be. Again they kissed, roughly, sloppily and just plain fantastically, their hands exploring every part of each other’s body they could reach. With Kyle once more kissing and licking her neck Alison grabbed his hair and pushed him harder against her skin, smiling at the muffled groan that erupted from him as a slight tremor coursed through his body. Riding the wave of passion, all she could do was hang on as she felt that fire in her belly snake lower, growing warmer and she held her breath, waiting for that delicious warm rush of pleasure to flood through her once more.

So caught up in the moment was she that the sharp stabbing sting on her throat almost didn’t register…but up somewhere through the valley of rapture, it did finally connect. “Ouch.” Apparently ignoring her, Kyle didn’t flinch or stop, but merely continued kissing her neck, that little pinch along the one side of her neck steadily growing until it had blossomed into a full-fledged pain, the ache increasingly irritated by the pressure and heat of his lips. “Kyle, stop,” Alison said, pushing him back from her, the sight of the red drops on his lips eliciting a shocked gasp from her. Confused, she couldn’t quite digest the possibility of what he had seemingly done. “What the hell are you doing?” she yelled, one tremulous hand rising to dab at her neck. Pulling it back to inspect it, she frowned at the red liquid on her fingers “Did you… did you bite me?” Breathless and unable to speak just then, Kyle returned her gaze, his pained and dazed expression carrying the unmistakable undercurrent of a blazing need. The only question was, need for what? Pleading with his eyes, he pulled even farther away, far enough that they weren’t touching but close enough that he could if he wanted to. “I tried to tell you.” “Tell me what?” she asked incredulously, not allowing

him time to answer. “No, never mind, I don’t want to hear it. Just get out.” “Alison…” “Get out!!” Kyle reached for her then, a slow gentle movement toward her hand, intending to be a show of compassion and comfort, but mistaking his motive, Alison jumped back, harshly swatting his hand away. “Get away from me, you, you freak!” Staring hard at him, Alison bit her lip, a rush of emotion threatening to turn into tears. She knew this was his house an

d technically speaking, she had no right to ask him to leave but given the situation, she just wanted him as far away as possible from her. The situation could easily have gone any one of a number of ways but amazingly, Kyle obeyed her, standing wordlessly to leave the bedroom, shutting the bedroom door quietly behind him as he went. Rising up, Alison leapt off the bed and running to the door, locked it behind him. Looking around the room frantically, she ran over and grabbing the chair from the desk, braced the door with it. Going into the bathroom, she turned on the cold water faucet and grabbed a washcloth from the adjoining

towel rack. Patting at the two bloodied marks on her throat she experienced a momentary flashback to when Kyle had so gently tended to her cuts but she resolutely pushed that from her head. Anything that had transpired between them up to now didn’t matter, everything had changed and she had to adapt to the new situation. She had heard of his kind but, like everyone else in the free world, she had never really believed it. There was probably a lesson to be learned here but she’d be damned if she knew what it was. For now, all she could think about was getting through the night. Taking the cold compress with her into the bedroom, Alison sat on the edge of the bed, inching herself up against the headboard where she sat, clutching the chilly fabric to her throat. The pain subsided, her heart rate slowed and it took a couple of hours but in time, Alison relaxed and even, despite her best efforts, fell asleep. Chapter Four The next day Alison woke with a start, curled in the fetal position on the left side of the bed, traces of red smears dried on the white facecloth still clutched in her hand. With the events of the previous night washing over her and after a couple of minutes of willing herself to move, fearfully she made her way to the door and

after removing the wedged chair from underneath the doorknob, she unfastened the lock and very slowly opened the door, wincing as it creaked. Peering into the hallway, she could see light streaming through the living room archway, the fact that it was at least daylight only minimally reducing her fears. Taking slow tentative steps, she made her way into the main section of the house, easing around corners and peering into rooms until she had deduced that Kyle was not on the main floor. Making her way through the kitchen, she halted abruptly at the sight of her car keys on the kitchen table. Picking them up, she headed to the bedroom, only to be stopped in her tracks by the sight of her vehicle through the living room windows. Walking over to peer out the panes of glass, she could now clearly see, thanks to the ceased snowfall, that her car looked no worse for wear. Moreover, the yard and driveway had been plowed to allow her easy escape, as it were. Kyle must have worked half the night to pull this off. While Alison wouldn’t know until she got into the car and actually tried it if he had also managed to charge up her battery, from where she was standing the message was pretty clear-here’s your ride, there’s the road, now get out. A sting of hurt flashed through her and Alison had to fight to keep the nice memories of the last forty-eight hours, the previous night notwithstanding, from eclipsing the opportunity to get back on track. Ignoring

the little voice inside her that wanted to see Kyle once more to say “goodbye”, “thanks” and maybe even “I’m sorry”, Alison went back to the bedroom. Grabbing her now dry business clothes that hung over the bathroom rail and stuffing them into her suitcase, she hoisted u

p the bag and her purse and headed out. With one final look around the warm wooden room, she stepped out and headed across the shoveled pathway to her car. Once inside, Alison locked all the doors before inserting the key into the ice-cold ignition, tremendously relieved to hear the roar of the engine kick up without so much as a sputter or hesitation, which is more than she could say for herself. Now officially outside and safe, Alison faltered, her gaze slowly taking in the log cabin. She knew she should slam the sedan in reverse and get the hell out of there, but the thought of leaving a note had been nagging at her since she had realized she could leave. Internally arguing with herself, she battled with what she should do and what was the right thing to do but the truth was there just weren’t any manuals or Miss Manners books on the correct protocol for such a situation. So sick at heart she went with what was the easiest and with a deep sense of regret, pulled the gearshift down a notch and began her slow retreat. Backing up a couple of feet, she resolutely put the car in

drive and very slowly drove out of the large tree-lined yard, as well as Kyle’s life, once and for all. Not five minutes into her meandering journey back to what she hoped would be a main highway of some sort, Alison’s cell phone started ringing. Jumping, she quickly located the tiny silver phone within her purse, the effeminate male voice of her beloved secretary snottily scolding her on the other end of the line. “Good God, girl! Where in the hell have you been?” ***** Three-plus weeks later, Alison sat staring out the window of her thirteenth-floor office, her thin, shapely legs crossed as she agitatedly tapped one foot on the carpeted floor. Clear-skied and pleasant, the Friday afternoon was bright and sunny with not so much as a touch of snow or rain in the air. In fact, that record snowfall that had felled her nearly a month ago had been some sort of freak storm for not a single drop of rain or snow had fallen since then. At the thought of the word freak, Alison winced, remembering it was quite literally the very last word she had said to Kyle. Damn it. Since she had arrived back in Dallas she had been nothing if not haunted by images of their two days together. Regardless of what he had revealed to her in their last few moments, which she had to begrudgingly acknowledge must have taken a tremendous amount of courage and certainly was a

clear indication of just how much he had trusted her, she had to admit she had never felt more peaceful and more herself than when she was with him. Interrupting that thought with a rather loud clatter was Louis, who, looking especially flustered, dropped a pile of folders on her desk. “Here are the new client documents for you to go over this weekend, along with all those you haven’t touched since you came back.” “Watch it.” “Hey, don’t bite my head off. I’m just telling it like it is.” “Oh yeah? And how is it, Louis?” Alison said, squinting her eyes in simulated interest. “Do tell, all knowing one.” “Me-ow! Kitty alert! No need to scratch my eyes out, honey, I’m just stating the obvious so you just go on and retract those claws. Far be it from me to tell anyone their business…” “Not you.” Louis shot her a pursed pout before carrying on. “But seeing as you asked,” he began with an exaggerated flamboyance as he pushed the pyramid of paperwork he had just presented her with to one side and edged one hip up onto the

corner of

the desk, “from what I can see someone came back from their business trip, no longer all business.” “Meaning?” “Meaning that you left here an uptight RSM and came back CIL.” “What’s CIL?” “Crazy in love.” “Look who’s calling who crazy.” Louis actually looked a little hurt. “Hey, I may be a tad flashy…” “A tad??” “But I am not crazy and I am nowhere near blind. I’m telling you, chickee-you got it bad.” Alison sighed and looked away. What was the point of denying it? “Tell me something I don’t know.” “Ahhh, so the ice princess does have a heart.” “Piss off.” After faking extreme shock, his plucked eyebrows arching up in an embellished and comical manner, Louis’ face softened, the expression in his large lightcolored eyes growing serious. “Listen, whether you want to admit it or not, I know you probably better than anyone. Mind if I give you a little free advice?” “Have I a hope in hell of stopping you?” “If you’ve found someone or something that quickens your heart and makes you feel alive, really alive, then

you owe it to yourself to pursue that person or thing.” “Thank you, Dr. Phil.” “I’m serious.” “So am I. Thanks,” Alison said, the edge in her voice lessening to nonexistent. “I just don’t see the point in abandoning a life that I’ve spent twenty years to create for someone and something I don’t know. I mean, there are some many uncertainties, some many questions. What if it doesn’t work?” Louis’ response concluded the conversation and hung in the air long after he got up and silently walked out of the office. “Ah-huh. And what if it does?” ***** The drive back to Kyle’s place went surprisingly smoothly and with very little effort thanks to Alison making mental notes of landmarks on her way out of the tree-lined estate less than four weeks earlier. Maybe it was that, or maybe it was fate, a sign that she and Kyle were preordained to come together and remain so for the rest of their lives. What a pile of bullshit. Never given to such ridiculous notions as fate or providence, Alison refused to relinquish control to something as shaky as chance, but the power of love? That might be another matter. Having left the office early to make a pit stop at home only to change into a pair of jeans and a turtleneck and grab a couple of things in an overnight bag, Alison sped

out of town. A series of turns so many clicks past this roadside gas station, at that fence or that tree soon brought her to the line of pines and spruces that fronted Kyle’s property just a few minutes before midnight. The long circular drive that looped around in front of the cabin in one swoop brought Alison flush with her future. Not having experienced a second of uncertainty on the drive up, now, suddenly, Alison was overcome with doubts and fears. What if he were still mad at her? What if he didn’t want her? Had she imagined the connection between them? As tempting as it was to analyze the situation to death and not move a muscle, Alison willed herself into mobility and action. Walking up to the outside screen entrance, Alison rapped on the door and waited. Nothing. A couple more taps, slightly louder, still brought no reaction from inside. Stepping down off the veranda, she made her way around back, the overhead glow on the exterior of the barn the only light in the dark space, except, for the constant and brilliant shine from the moon high overhead. Peeking around the wide-open side barn door, she peered into the stable, immediately recognizing Gabriel and Sterling. Warmed by the sight of the latter, Alison walked over and began stroking the horse’s nose, her gloved fingers working periodically behind his ear. “Hiya, Sterling. Remember me? Glad to see me?”

As if in response, the white stallion emitted a long low whinny and tossed his head before leaning forward for another bit of loving. “Where’s your dad? Think he’ll be glad to see me too?” Then under her breath she whispered, “Will he be able to forgive me for leaving in such a terrible way?” “That all depends.” The low voice from behind caused Alison to start and whirling about, she took a deep breath at the sight of Kyle standing in the doorway, Ramona paused behind him. “On what?” “On whether or not you ask nicely.” Alison smiled. Not a month ago he had said those very words to her when she, stranded and stuck in a ditch, had asked for his help. In that moment, she wanted to blurt out an apology, admit she had not graciously thanked him but rather flipped out at his, well, how should she say it? Problem? Addiction? Whatever the issue was, whatever he was, he had helped her and she had behaved badly in return. She wanted to drop all this terrible pretense and rush toward him but her pride wouldn’t allow it. Not just yet. Taking his last words into consideration, she tested the waters. “I think I owe you-” “You don’t owe me anything.” “No, I do, I-I left…badly.” “Yeah.”

A long pause followed. “Well, you’re here now and that kinda says it all.” Alison smiled, knowing in that second that she had made the right decision

to return. “Sort of like ‘you had me at hello’?” “Huh?” “Never mind,” she laughed, waving off the reference to the movie Jerry Maguire. Glowing, she watched Kyle as he led Ramona over to her stall and as was his wonderful way, took his sweet time before he strolled slowly over to Alison. Reaching a leather-gloved hand up to touch her face, he tipped his head to one side and bending down, this time, made the first move. Seduced into the magic of moment, Alison almost let the kiss happen when suddenly the remembrance of the unresolved matter that had separated them, struck her and raising a hand, she laid i t against his chest to stop his forward momentum. “Wait a minute there, cowboy.” “What?” “What?” she mocked, eyeing him a

ffectionately. “Don’t we have a few

d etails to work out here before we hop into the haystack? I mean, I have a couple of questions.” Talk about the mother of all understatements. To this, Kyle only smiled, his first grin since she had walked back into his life. “I know you do. But I got this feeling that together, we can find the answers.” “Just like that?” she whispered as he pulled her close. “Yeah,” he like that.” As she leaned in and kissed him full on the lips, her body immediately warming and relaxing at his touch, Alison sent up a secret thank-you to Louis for nudging her back to this man, this life and-dare she think it?-the most dreaded of all words, this surrender. Come what may she was here, she was his and in a startling moment of revelation, Alison realized she was happy, truly happy. And at the end of the day, what more can anyone hope for? whispered back, “just

About the Author Susan Phelan began writing poetry and short stories as a child, always intrigued by both the fantastic and the romantic. Several years ago she began work as an entertainment and travel freelance writer. Today, she is the editor of international tourist magazine WHERE. In addition to writing, Susan has studied and taught classical piano and various forms of dance including tap, jazz and flamenco. She lives in Edmonton, AB, Canada, with her collie, Sadie. Susan welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.cerridwenpress.com.

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