Jamey Bryant squirmed in his chair, his eyes focused more often on the falling snow beyond the window than on Tamara or the box in the center of the table.
"Come on, Jamey. Concentrate." She felt guilty ordering the boy to do what she found impossible. All day she'd been unable to get Eric Marquand out of her mind. His face appeared before her each time she closed her eyes. The memory of his touch, the way his lips had felt on hers, the security of being rocked in his arms haunted her without letup. The pain she'd seen in his eyes before he'd vanished haunted her more than anything else.
Then again, she still had a tiny doubt he'd been real. He could have been a figment of her imagination, a delusion, a dream. How else could he have vanished from her balcony so quickly? He couldn't have jumped. At the very least he'd have broken a leg. So maybe he hadn't been real.
But he had. She knew he had, and the way he made her feel had been real, as well. Nothing so intense could be imaginary.
Jamey sighed and fixed his gaze on the cube of cardboard between them. He screwed up his face until it puckered and the furrow between his fine, dark brows became three. He leaned forward and his freckle-smattered face reddened until Tamara thought he was holding his breath. Her suspicion was confirmed a moment later when he released it in a loud whoosh and sank back into his chair. "I can't," he said. "Can I go now?"
Tamara tried to summon an encouraging smile. "You really hate this, don't you?"
He shrugged, glanced toward the window, then back to the box again. "I wish I could be like other kids. I feel weird when I know things. Then when I don't know something I think I should, I feel stupid. And then there are times when I get things that don't make any sense at all. It's like I know something, but I don't know what it means, you know?"
She nodded "I think so."
"So what good is it to be able to know something if you can't make sense out of it?"
"Jamey, you aren't weird and you know you aren't stupid. Everyone has some quality that sets them apart. Some people can sing notes that seem impossible to the rest of us. Some athletes do things that seem supernatural to those who can't do the same. That's exactly what extrasensory perception is, something you do a lot better than most people. It's just not as understood as those other things."
She studied his face, thinking he didn't look much comforted by her pep talk. "Maybe you should tell me what it is that's bothering you."
He blew air through his lips, and shook his head. "You know I'm lousy at this. It's probably nothing. I-I don't want to scare you for no reason."
She frowned. "Scare me? This is about me, Jamey?"
He nodded, avoiding her eyes.
She rose from her seat, walked around the table and dropped to one knee in front of him. Since she'd begun working with Jamey six months ago, they'd formed a tight bond. She couldn't have loved him more if he were her own son. She hated that he was agonizing so much over something involving her. Always, he'd been incredibly sensitive to her feelings. He always knew if she felt upset, or under the weather. He'd known about the nightmares and insomnia, too.
"You are not lousy at this. At least, not where I'm concerned. If you've picked up on something, just tell me. Maybe I can explain it."
His mouth twisted at one side. He looked at her seriously. His intense expression made him look like a miniature adult. "I keep feeling like something's going to happen to you... like someone is going to-to hurt you." He shook his head. "But I don't know who and I don't know what, so what good is it to know anything?"
She smiled softly. "There's been a lot going on with me lately, Jamey. Personal stuff. Stuff that's upset me quite a lot. I think you might be picking up on that."
"You think so?" His dark eyes met hers hopefully, then darkened again with worry. "Is everything okay?"
She nodded hard. "I think so. And, yes, everything is working itself out. The nightmares I'd been having are gone now."
"Good." His frown didn't vanish, though. "But I still get the feeling there are people out to get you." He chewed his lip. "Do you know anyone named Eric?"
Something hard, like a brick, lodged in the center of her chest. She gasped audibly, and rose so fast she nearly lost her balance. "Eric?" she repeated dumbly. "Why? Is there something about him-"
"I dunno. I just keep getting that name floating in at the oddest times. I always feel really sad, or else really worried, when it comes. I think maybe that's what he's feeling like, but like I said, I'm lousy at this. I could be reading it all wrong."
She let the moment of panic recede. She'd thought he might say Eric was the one out to hurt her. She still wondered if it might not be the case, but didn't want to let Jamey sense it. She drew several calming breaths and tried to compose her face before she looked at him again.
"Thanks for the warning, Jamey, but I think you're overreacting to this danger thing. Look, why don't you open the box? At this point I don't even remember what was inside."
After a last cursory glance, as if assuring himself he hadn't frightened her, he leaned forward, swung one arm out and caught the box, drawing it to him on the follow through. When he looked inside his eyes widened, and he pulled the video game cartridge out. "Dungeon Warriors! Mom's been looking all over for this-where'd you find it?"
"Your mom didn't look as hard as you thought. I told her not to."
He examined the colorful package eagerly. "Thanks, Tam." He stood, obviously in a hurry to get home and try out the new game.
"Go ahead, Jamey. Your mom's waiting right downstairs." He nodded and started for the door. "Jamey," she called after him. When he glanced back at her she said, "If you get any more of these weird vibes about me, and if they bother you, just call. You have my number. Okay?"
"Sure, Tam." He gave her a broad, dimpled grin that told her his mind had been eased for the moment, and hustled through the door, leaving Tamara alone to contemplate his warning.
She worked late that evening, trying to use her mundane duties to fill her mind. It didn't work. She finally went home to find the house looking abandoned. Of course, it was past dusk, so Daniel and Curtis had already left on their nightly spying mission. Despite his unfounded accusations against Daniel, Tamara felt a little sorry for Eric Marquand. It must get tiresome looking out his window night after night to see them there.
She bounced in her VW Bug over the curving, rutted driveway. Snowflakes pirouetted over the rambling Victorian mansion, caught in the glow of her headlights. Their pristine whiteness emphasized the age-yellowed paint. Tall, narrow windows stood like sad eyes. Rusty water stains like teardrops beneath each one enhanced that fanciful image. Tamara set the brake and got out to wrench open the stubborn overhead garage door, muttering under her breath. She'd argued for an automatic one every winter for the past three, all without success. Daniel wouldn't budge an inch. What he couldn't do to the old house himself simply wouldn't get done. He didn't want a crew of strangers snooping around and that was final.
She drove her car inside, noting the absence of Daniel's Cadillac. A finger of worry traced a path along her spine. She hoped he wasn't driving tonight. The roads were slippery and, dammit all, she'd never replaced the spare after he'd had that flat two months ago. She imagined Curt was with him, and comforted herself with the thought.
She flicked on lights as she moved through the foyer. The phone began ringing before she'd even sat down to remove her boots. She tracked across the faded carpet to pick it up.
"Tammy, it's about time you got home. Where've you been?"
She bit back the sharp retort that sprang to her lips. "Curtis, are you with Daniel?"
"Yeah, but that doesn't answer the question."
"I came straight home from the office, if you must know. I worked a bit late and the roads are slick. I don't want him driving."
"I'll take care of him. Look, Tam, are you in for the night?"
She frowned hard. "Why?"
He hesitated, started to speak, stopped and started again. "It's just, after that incident with Marquand the other night, Daniel and I both feel it would be best if you, uh, try to stick close to home after sundown. I know how much you resent being told what to do, but it would be for your own-"
"My own good, I know." She sighed and shook her head. " Look, I don't have any plans to leave the house tonight. Besides, I thought you guys were watching Marquand's every move."
"We are, but-"
"Then you don't have anything to worry about, do you? I'm heading for a long soak in a scalding bath, and then straight to bed, if that makes you feel any better."
"It does." He was quiet for a moment. "It's only because we're worried, Tammy."
"Yeah, I know it is. Good night." She replaced the receiver before he could make her any angrier, and headed upstairs to follow her own advice about the hot bath. As for straight to bed, she knew better. At work she'd been on the verge of falling asleep on her feet all day. Now that she was home she felt wide awake and brimming with energy.
She toweled herself dry after a soothing, if not a relaxing, soak, and pulled on a pair of comfortable jeans and a baggy sweater. She wriggled her feet into her heaviest socks and halfheartedly dried her hair, before padding downstairs to hunt for something to fill her empty stomach. She'd just settled on the sofa in the huge living room with a thick bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich sliced diagonally on a paper plate, and a can of cola, when the doorbell chimed.
Tamara rolled her eyes, lowered the sandwich she'd just brought to her lips and went to open the door. Her irritation disappeared when Eric Marquand stepped over the threshold into the foyer. She slammed the door after giving a fear-filled glance down the driveway, and looked at him agape. "You shouldn't be here, Eric. My God, if Daniel saw you here, he'd have a stroke!"
"He won't. He and Rogers will remain on sentry duty outside my front gate until dawn, as they do every night, I promise you. They did not see me leave. I took great pains to assure that."
She stood still, fighting the bubbling sense of joy she felt at seeing him, arguing inwardly that it made no sense to feel so about a stranger. It was there, all the same.
"After my behavior last night, I half expected you to throw me out. Will you, Tamara?"
She tried to tug her gaze free of his, but was unsuccessful. "I. . . no. No, I'm not going to throw you out. Come in. I was about to have a sandwich. Can I make one for you?"
He shook his head. "I've already dined. If I'm interrupting your dinner. . . ."
She shook her head quickly. "No, I mean, you can hardly call a sandwich and a cola dinner." He followed her into the living room and sat beside her on the sofa, despite the fact that she'd waved her arm toward a chair nearby. She reached for the dewy can. "I could get you one."
"Thank you, no." He cleared his throat. "I've come because. . ." He shook his head. "Actually, there is no other reason, except that I couldn't stay away. Tamara, will you come out with me tonight? I give you my word, I will say nothing against your St. Claire. I'll ask you no questions about DPI. I only want your companionship."
She smiled, then stopped herself. Did she dare go out with him? After all the warnings Daniel had given her about him?
Eric took her hand in his, his thumb slowly stroking the tops of her fingers. "If you cannot believe my charges against him, Tamara, you should equally doubt his against me. It is only fair."
She nodded slowly. "I guess you're right. Okay. I'll come with you." She stood quickly, more eager than she wanted him to see. "Should I change? Where are we going?"
"You are beautiful as you are, sweet. Would you mind if we simply went driving until something better occurs to us? I don't wish to share you with a crowd just yet."
"Okay. I'll grab my coat and... Driving? I didn't see a car. How will we-"
"Finish your sandwich, Tamara. It is a surprise."
She couldn't stop herself from smiling fully at that, and for a moment he seemed almost staggered by it. "I'm not hungry, anyway," she told him, rushing past him to the foyer and the closet near the front door. "I was only eating to fill the loneliness."
She tugged on her heaviest coat, a long hounds tooth check, with a black woolly scarf around the collar and matching mittens in the pocket. She stomped into her boots. When she looked up again he was staring at her. "Have you been lonely, then?" he asked softly.
She blinked back the instant moisture that sprang to her eyes at the question. It never occurred to her to lie to him. "I often think I'm the loneliest person I know. Oh, I've got Daniel, and a few friends at work, but..." She looked into his eyes and knew he'd understand. "I'm not like them. I feel set apart, like there's an invisible barrier between us." She frowned. "I don't feel that way with you."
His eyes closed slowly, and opened again. Flustered more than a little bit, she hurried through the room and took the telephone off the hook. Without an explanation she trotted upstairs to her room and spent a few minutes stuffing spare blankets underneath her comforter, to make it look as if she were asleep there. She shut off her bedroom light and closed the door.
When she turned, Eric stood there. One brow lifted as he looked down at her. "For St. Claire's benefit?"
"This way I can relax and enjoy our evening," she said softly, her gaze lingering on his lips for a long moment; she saw his Adam's apple move as he swallowed. When she lifted her gaze to his eyes, she saw they were focused on her lips, and her tongue darted out involuntarily to moisten them.
"I promised myself I wouldn't touch you tonight," he told her in a voice softer than a whisper. "But I don't believe I can prevent myself kissing you."
"You're bound to, sooner or later," she told him, striving to keep her own voice level. "Maybe we ought to get it out of the way now." He stood perfectly still, not a single muscle moving. She stepped forward, tilted her head back and touched his lips with hers. She felt him tremble when she settled her hands on his rock-solid shoulders. She let her eyes fall closed, parted her lips against his and tentatively slid the tip of her tongue over them.
He sighed into her mouth as his arms came around her waist to crush her against him. The pressure of his lips forced hers to part for him, and he tasted every bit of her mouth, even reaching his tongue to the back of her throat in a forceful, thrusting motion that hinted at far greater pleasures to come. His hands moved over her body, one holding her to him while the other tangled in her hair, pulling her head back farther to accommodate that probing tongue more deeply. She felt his hot arousal pressing into her belly, telling her how much he wanted her. She moved her hips against him, to let him know she felt the same mindless need.
When the fire in her blood raged out of control he pulled away, panting. "This is not the way, Tamara. With everything in me, I want to take you right here. I want to lift you to the wall, or take you on the floor, damn-lit. But it is not the way. You might hate me tomorrow, when the fire no longer burns in your eyes." He stroked the hair away from her face. He pressed his lips to each eye in turn. "Agree with me, before I lose control."
Tamara's body was screaming that she wanted him to lose control. Her mind knew he was right. She didn't know him. She had once, she was certain of it now. But she couldn't remember that. It would be like making love to a stranger, and that would make her feel cheap and ashamed. She stepped away from him. "You're right. I-I'm sorry."
"Never apologize for kissing me, for touching me, Tamara. Your caress is a gift worthy of any king... one I will be grateful for whenever you choose to bestow it."
Eric could barely bring himself to stop what she'd started in St Claire's corridor. He'd only just restrained himself in time. The desire she stirred in him was a beast he could hardly subdue. He had to, though. The blood lust in him intertwined with sexual desire. The two were so closely linked among his kind that there was no separating them. If he took her, he'd take her blood as well as her body. She'd know the truth then, and she'd despise him forever.
Or worse. . .
No, he refused to believe she could be party to Daniel St Claire's machinations.
Refusing to believe it does not make it impossible.
If she was plotting his destruction, he'd know, he reminded himself as he descended the stairs beside her. He'd see it in her mind.
Vampires can learn to guard their thoughts. Why not her?
She is no vampire, he thought angrily. I've never known a human to be capable of such a thing.
You've never known a human like Tamara.
At the bottom of the stairway Eric glimpsed a light glowing beyond a doorway at the far side. She'd flicked off every other glaring electric light she'd come to, so he touched her shoulder now, and pointed. "Do you wish to shut that light off, as well?"
She shook her head quickly, opened her mouth to explain, then seemed to think better of it. Not before Eric heard what was in her mind, however. To go through that door was forbidden to her. St. Claire's basement lab lay at the bottom of the staircase there, and he'd deemed it off limits. Eric would have liked to go down there now, to examine the ruthless scientist's files and equipment. But he'd given Tamara his word that he'd come here only to be with her. How could she believe him if he betrayed her trust in such a way?
He'd spoken the truth when he'd spoken those words, yet he could've told her more. He wanted to be with her because he feared for her safety. That St Claire had known of the connection between them from the start was obvious. He'd orchestrated events to gain custody of the child, Eric felt certain of it. Whether to brainwash her into helping him in his plots or to use her as unwitting bait remained to be seen. Either way, though, Tamara was no more to St Claire than a pawn in a high-stakes game. She could not be safe with him. That Eric had to leave her side by day had him at his wits' end, but what choice did he have? He would stay by her side when he could, and he'd try to learn exactly what St. Claire had on his mind. He'd protect Tamara if he had to kill the bastard himself. In the three times Eric had seen her since returning from his travels, he'd learned one thing he hadn't fully realized before. He still adored her.
The emotions had changed, radically. She was no longer the small child in need of bedtime stories and lullabies. She was a woman grown, a woman of incomparable beauty and incredible passion. . . a woman capable of setting his pulse throbbing in his temples, and his blood to boiling for want of her. He knew what he felt for her. He understood it. Constantly he needed to remind himself that she did not. She couldn't, nor could she fathom her own feelings for him. To her, he was a stranger. . . at least until her memory returned, and until she became aware that she could know anything about him simply by searching his mind. Now, though, at this moment, he was a stranger.
He hoped to remedy that to some extent tonight.
She locked the door, pocketed the key and turned toward him. Eric allowed himself the pleasure of encircling her shoulders with his arm. No matter how good his intentions, it seemed he couldn't prevent himself from touching her, holding her close whenever possible. Her coat was too thick for his liking. He could scarcely feel the shape of her beneath it. He urged her down the curving driveway, and felt her start in surprise when she caught sight of the vehicle that awaited her there. One horse's ears pricked forward and his head came up at the sound of their approach.
Tamara stopped walking to turn wide eyes toward Eric. He smiled at the delight he saw in them. "I thought a sleigh would be more enjoyable than any other mode of transportation," he said.
Her smile took his breath away, and she hurried forward, sending a powdery blizzard ahead of her as she plowed through the five inches of new snow on the ground. She stood in front of the black, speaking softly, for the horse's ears only, and stroking his muzzle. He blew in appreciation. Eric joined her there a second later. "This is Max. He's a gelding, and I think he's as enchanted by his first glimpse of you as I was."
She glanced up, meeting his eyes, her own acknowledging the compliment, before Eric continued. "And this-" he moved toward the golden palomino beside Max "-is Melinda, his partner."
Tamara stepped to the side and stroked Melinda's sleek neck.
"She's beautiful-they both are. Are they yours, Eric?"
"Unfortunately, no. I was able to rent them for the night." He watched the emotions in her face and felt those in her mind as she touched and caressed one horse, then the other. "I'm thinking of buying them, though," he added. It was true. The moment he'd seen her joy at the sight of the animals, he'd wanted to own them.
"Oh?" Her attention was, at last, on him again. "Do you have a stable?"
"I'll have one built," he announced. She laughed as he took her arm and led her around the horses, to help her into the sleigh. Eric climbed in beside her and picked up the reins.
"I've always loved horses. When I was a little girl I wanted to own a ranch, where I could raise them by the hundreds."
Eric nodded. He remembered her love of horses. He'd hoped it still existed. He snapped the reins lightly and clicked his tongue. The sleigh jerked into motion, and Tamara settled back against the cushioned seat. He took them off the paved road as soon as possible, onto a snow-coated side road that was barely more than a path. He watched her more often than the road ahead. She remarked on everything with little sighs of pleasure-the full moon glistening on the snow, making it sparkle as if it held tiny diamonds just beneath the surface, the ice-coated branches that made ugly, bare limbs turn into sculpted crystal. The crisp, clean air that touched her face, and the scent of the horses' warm bodies.
Eric nodded in agreement, but in truth he was aware of none of it. It was her scent that enveloped him. It was seeing the way the chill breeze played with her hair and reddened her cheeks and the tip of her nose that entranced him. He felt only the warmth of her body, pressed alongside his own, and saw the moonlight glistening in her eyes, rather than upon the snow. Beyond the rhythmic thudding of the horses' hooves he heard the music in her voice.
Her arm was wrapped around his, and her head rested upon his shoulder. "This is wonderful, Eric. It's the most fun I've had in..." She blinked and considered a moment. "I can't remember when I've enjoyed a night this much."
"Nor I," he whispered, certain it was true. "But you must tell me if you grow tired, or I'll likely keep you out all night."
"I don't get tired at night. Not ever. I haven't slept a night through in over a month... closer to two. So if you want to keep me out all night, I'll be more than willing."
She seemed so exuberant and happy. Yet he worried about this sleeplessness. She'd mentioned it before. "Are you able to sleep by day, then?"
"No, I have to work. I usually catch a few hours in the afternoon, though." She tipped her head up and saw his frown. "Do I look like I'm suffering from exhaustion to you?"
"Quite the opposite," he admitted.
She settled against him again, then straightened, snapping her fingers. "It's French, isn't it?"
"What?"
"Your accent."
"I wasn't aware I had one." God, she was beautiful. Her eyes in the moonlight seemed luminous, and he noticed again the thickness of the lashes surrounding them.
"It's very slight. I barely notice it myself. I've been trying to place it. Am I right?"
He nodded. "I was born in France."
"Where?"
He smiled down at her, amazed that she even cared to ask. "Paris. I haven't been back there in... years."
"You sound as if you'd like to go, though," she said, studying his face. "Why haven't you?"
"Bad memories, I suppose. My father was murdered there. I nearly suffered the same fate, save for the intervention of a good friend." He saw her eyes widen. He'd vowed to be as honest with her as he could without giving away the secret. He wanted her to feel she knew him.
Her hand clutched his upper arm more tightly. "That's horrible."
He nodded. "But a long time past, Tamara. I'm recovered."
"Are you sure?" He met her intense scrutiny. "Have you talked it out with someone, Eric? These things have a way of festering."
He tilted his head, considering his words. "It was... political. and utterly senseless. It left me without any family at all, and if not for Roland, I'd have been without a friend, as well." He looked down to see her listening raptly. "I never had many to begin with, you see. I always felt separate-set apart from my peers."
"You didn't fit in. I know exactly what you mean."
He looked deeply into her eyes. "Yes, I imagine you do."
"Tell me about your friend. Do you still keep in touch?"
He chuckled. "It is sometimes a long time between letters, or visits. But Roland happens to be staying with me at the moment."
Her head came up, eyes eager. "Could I meet him?"
He frowned. "Why would you want to?"
She had to give her answer a long moment's thought before speaking it. "You... said he saved your life. I..." Her gaze fell to her hand, resting on her knee. "I'd like to thank him." Eric closed his eyes at the warmth her words sent through his heart. "He's a recluse. Perhaps I can arrange it, though. Unlike me, he still has a residence in France, though he rarely lives there. He owns a sprawling medieval castle in the Loire Valley. He hid me there for a time after we fled Paris."
When he glanced at her again it was to find her gaze affixed to his face as it had been through most of the ride. "You are a fascinating man," she whispered.
"I am a simple man, with simple tastes."
"I'd love to see your home."
"Another time, perhaps. If I took you there while my reclusive friend was in residence, he'd likely throttle me." He slipped his arm around the back of the seat, and squeezed her to his side. "It is furnished almost exclusively in antiques. Electric lighting is there, of course, but I seldom use it. I prefer the muted glow of oil lamps to the harsh glare of those white bulbs, except in my laboratory."
"You're a scientist?"
"I dabble in a few projects that interest me."
Her lovely eyes narrowed. "You are being modest, I think."
He shrugged, gave a tug on the reins to stop their progress and reached beneath the seat for the thermos he'd brought along. "You told me once, a very long time ago, that your favorite beverage was hot chocolate. Is it still the case?"
For the first time in years Tamara felt completely at ease with another person. The hours of the night flew past almost without her knowledge. They talked incessantly, touching on every subject imaginable, from music and art to politics. He fascinated her, and the more she learned about him the more she wanted to know.
Through it all she was constantly aware of the physical attraction that zapped between them. She'd deliberately sat close to him, so her body touched his. She liked touching him, so much so that she felt cold and alone when they hit a rough spot in the road and she was jarred away from his side. Without hesitation she resumed her former position. He seemed to share her need to feel her close. He touched her often. He kept his hard arm around her, managing the reins with one hand. When they passed beneath an overhanging branch and a handful of snow dusted her, he stopped the sleigh and turned to brush it away from her shoulders and her hair. Their eyes met, and she felt the irresistible pull of him. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers with infinite tenderness. He held himself in check, though. She sensed his forced restraint and knew he was determined to go slowly with her. . . to give her time to adjust to what was happening between them.
She wondered exactly what was happening between them. She knew that it was intense, and that it was real. She knew that she'd never felt this way toward another human being in her life. And she knew that whatever it was, she didn't want it to end. She wanted to tell him so, but didn't quite know how.
He left the sleigh in the same spot near the end of the driveway when they returned to the house. He walked her to the door, and stopped as she fit her key into the lock. Her heart twisted painfully at the thought of leaving him. The lock released, but she didn't open the door. She turned and gazed up at him, wondering if he knew.
"I'd like to see you again," she said, suddenly shy and awkward with him, which seemed strange considering all that had passed between them before.
"I think it would be impossible for me to go a night without seeing you, Tamara," he told her. "I will come to you again. . . do not doubt it." She bit her lower lip, searching his face. "I'm a grown woman. It's silly to have to sneak around this way. You know you could end this foolish notion Daniel has about you, if you wanted to. Just come to the house during the day. He'd have to realize then-"
"He would only assume I had some protection against the daylight, sweet. Nothing can change his opinion of me." He looked away from her briefly. "I have my own schedule-one that is vital to me. Should I alter that to accommodate the whims of a man determined to persecute me?"
"No, I didn't mean it like that!" She sighed, feeling deflated.
"It's just that I hate deceiving him."
"If you tell him you're seeing me, Tamara, he'll find a way to prevent it." She met his gaze again, and saw the hint of impatience vanish as he regarded her. "Let me amend that. He would try to find a way. He would not succeed."
She believed that he meant it. "I'm glad you said that," she admitted.
She knew he would kiss her. She saw the heat come into his luminous eyes in the instant before his arms imprisoned her waist. Her lips parted as his descended. The restraint he'd shown earlier dissolved the instant her arms encircled his corded neck and her body pressed to his. His lips quivered as they covered hers, and she accepted his probing tongue enthusiastically. Even with her heavy coat between them she was aware of the heat of him touching her, as if his hands touched her naked skin. He explored her mouth, and his fingers moved lightly over her nape, sending exquisite shivers down her spine.
She'd experimented with sex. In college, though she'd lived at home at Daniel's insistence, there had been plenty of opportunities and no shortage of eager tutors. Her times with men had been few, though, and inspired more by curiosity than passion. Tonight, with Eric, she wanted it. A hunger like nothing she'd known existed made a cavern inside her a vast emptiness that only he could fill. It gnawed at her mercilessly, and the longing made her groan deep in her throat.
He straightened, and she knew he saw the need in her eyes. His own closed as if he were in pain, and his arms fell away from her. "I must go," he rasped. He reached past her and threw the door wide. There was no tenderness in his touch when he pushed her through it.
She felt tears stinging her eyes when he turned and walked away.
