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  He'd left his hand against her cheek when he turned her face. Now he started stroking her jaw with a feather light touch, and dusting around her ear with soft caresses. He stared into her eyes, and she watched as passion darkened his eyes from a light jade to a fiery emerald. Her lips seemed to go dry under the heat of his stare.

  She moistened her lips. The quick movement attracted his attention, the way a hawk is attracted by the movement of a hare that breaks and runs. The weight of his gaze settled on her lips, and he traced their contours with his thumb. She closed her eyes, concentrating on the ripples of pleasure set off by his touch. But it couldn't last. She had to get back to her interview, to discovering his secret.

  She opened her mouth to tell him so, the movement giving him access to the tender inside surface of her lips as well. He glided the tip of one finger across the moist lining, sweeping back across the edge of her lower teeth, again and again, until she abandoned all thoughts of an interview. She stopped his relentless caress by closing her mouth and wrapping her tongue around his finger. She tasted traces of her own shampoo, the citrus flavor almost masking Desmond's subtle musk, and drew his finger deeper.

  He groaned. "Rebecca, we can't."

  "Can't what?" She kept his finger lightly imprisoned between her teeth, and flicked the edge with her tongue as she spoke. He twisted on the bed, but made no effort to break away.

  "I dare not risk your health," he protested.

  "We'll go easy. After all, last night didn't hurt me any."

  He jerked his hand free so quickly her teeth snapped together. She pushed herself up and glared at him.

  "What is your problem?"

  He ignored her, his head bent and eyes closed in an internal struggle for control. When his eyes opened, he kept his expression carefully neutral.

  "I told you, I don't want to endanger your health."

  "One little kiss is no risk to my recovery," she snapped. He looked at her lips, and smoldering passion flickered in his eyes as he trailed his gaze lower, skimming her breasts and hips with palpable heat.

  "Do you honestly believe it would stop there?"

  She swallowed, thrown by the husky catch in his voice, and allowed her gaze to drift downward from his face. He might be able to school his features to show no emotion, but his body betrayed him. He wanted her. Very much. At the sight, an answering need flared to life within her.

  "Would it be so bad if we didn't stop?" she whispered.

  "I don't want to hurt you."

  "You won't." She smiled, a knowing, predatory grin, and reached for his pants. The zip rasped open, freeing him, and her hand closed around him. He pressed forward, sliding through her fingers in a soft caress that left him trembling. Echoes of his pleasure rippled back through her, tightening her own tension and quickening her pulse.

  "Rebecca." Desmond struggled to focus pleasure-glazed eyes on her. "Be careful. You mustn't— "

  His words dissolved in a groan as she replaced her hand with her lips. As if she'd pressed them against a newly minted steel bar, his molten heat fused her flesh to his. His pleasure became her pleasure, tremors of sensation rising from a single epicenter to quake through them both. And when the passion raging through them burned too brightly to be contained, they melted into liquid heat together.

  Thoughts and images spun dreamlike through Rebecca's mind. She pictured herself, recast as a buxom redhead, dancing a fiery tango with Desmond, the smoke of countless cigarettes screening them from everything but the pulsing beat of the band. The image shifted, and she transformed into a giggling flapper, leaning against a cool plaster wall. Her beads clicked and chattered against the wall as she swayed beneath Desmond's masterfully orchestrated caresses. The picture melted and ran, reforming as two naked bodies tangled in the throes of passion, thrashing back and forth on the jade silk of his bed. Desmond arched back, then bent to bestow another kiss on the soft skin of her neck.

  Rebecca snapped back to the present as suddenly as if she'd been doused with cold water. Desmond held her, fitted together like the Tango dancers in her dream, although she didn't remember moving. Her cheek rested against his, a faint hint of stubble proving this time, the contact was real. His breath steamed rhythmically across her neck in the soft pattern of sleep.

  She turned and reached for a pillow. When she turned back, Desmond was staring at her with unblinking green eyes that reflected the light like a cat's. The look unnerved her. He didn't seem to move, even to breathe, just watching, waiting for the chance to pounce upon his unwary prey. She chuckled, dismissing the thought as another dream fancy.

  "I didn't mean to wake you," she said softly.

  "That's all right. I wasn't asleep." He smiled, a long slow smile that gradually transformed his face and kindled the banked embers in his eyes. A flush of heat swept over Rebecca, following the path of Desmond's gaze, until it covered her completely. She knew she looked like a giant candy apple, but he didn't embarrass her further by commenting. Instead, he hooked up a sheet with one foot, then pulled it over them.

  "I don't want you to catch cold, on top of everything else," he teased.

  "Thank you."

  She nestled more comfortably into his embrace, and they lay together in companionable silence, their hearts and breath moving in the same slow rhythm. He trailed a hand through her hair, ploughing idle furrows, while she toyed with the dusting of black hairs that softened his chest.

  Still looking at his chest, she asked, "Why did you ask me to marry you?"

  His hand stopped in mid-furrow and the muscles that sheathed his ribs tensed. Rebecca held her breath, then let it out when he relaxed with a dry laugh.

  "I must remember investigative journalism isn't just what you do. It's who you are. But since you ask," he pushed himself up on one arm so that he looked deep into her eyes, "I asked you to marry me because having met you, having made love to you, I couldn't bear to lose you."

  "Like you lost Olivia?" Rebecca wanted to take back the words as soon as she'd said them. She seemed to be going out of her way to provoke him, and she had no idea why.

  "No." Cold fire glittered in the depths of his eyes, and honed the edge on his voice. "Not like I lost Olivia. I will not lose someone to that death again."

  Rebecca shivered, frightened by his expression. His words suggested denial, but his face hinted at something more sinister.

  He forced a smile. "Are you reluctant, Rebecca? I speak of marriage, and you bring up death. Not exactly encouraging."

  "No." She tried to return his smile, but the expression felt pasty and false. With a sigh, she turned her face away from his disturbingly perceptive gaze. "I'm afraid. I don't understand what it is I feel for you, and I don't know how you can be so calm. It scares me witless."

  He gathered her into his arms and held her, the heat of his body driving out her cold fear. She relaxed beneath his gentle caresses as he stroked her back and whispered soothing murmurs into her ear.

  "I guess I'm being silly, huh?" she mumbled into his shoulder.

  "No. Just human." He pulled her closer and pressed a soft kiss against her temple. "But you have nothing to fear. No harm will ever come to you through me. I swear it."

  "I believe you." A punishing grip she hadn't been aware of released her chest, and her heart began beating at a normal rate again. She turned her head, and met Desmond's lips with her own. She might not have all the answers, but that was all right. She didn't need them. She trusted him, and that was enough for now. The answers would come.

  Their lips lingered in a kiss until Desmond broke it off. He pulled back far enough to look at her, his eyes shining with a naked hope he was too proud to voice. She answered him anyway.

  "I believe you. And I will marry you."

  He grinned and swept down to claim her mouth in a searing consummation. The heat of his passion rose between them, but she no longer tried to analyze the sensations. She committed herself wholly to the flames, and let the conflagration carry her away.


  REBECCA TURNED in her sleep, bumping Desmond awake. She slept on, oblivious, as he enjoyed the feeling of waking up with her in his arms. He glanced at the window— the stars had begun to fade, but the sky hadn't started to lighten. Well past midnight, but not yet dawn. Although with that damn meeting at six o'clock to review new procedures, there was no point in going back to sleep.

  He shifted his weight to look at the woman still held in his loose embrace, and smiled. Rebecca looked little older than Gillian, holding his arm close as if it were a favorite stuffed animal. He brushed her hair away from her face to study it, amazed at how sleep stole all traces of anxiety or cynicism away from her expression. She had the unlined, guileless face of a child. And could have that face forever.

  He pushed the thought aside. He mustn't give credence to Philippe's insidious suggestions. How could Rebecca believe in his curse? He'd barely gotten her to believe he wouldn't leave her.

  A chill premonition wiped away his smile. What would she think when she woke to find him gone? Would she believe he'd abandoned her? He'd told her about the meeting this morning, but he'd mentioned it as she drifted off to sleep. She might not remember.

  He swore softly under his breath, afraid of waking her. She needed her sleep, to recover from her operation. And to build up her strength. He'd been careful last night, so very careful, not to risk infecting her. But surrounded by her scent, enslaved by her passion, she'd overwhelmed his senses. He hadn't been able to stop himself from taking her blood. At least he'd kept the site free of contamination.

  Bunching up the covers, he leaned over to check again. The wound, too small to notice unless you were looking for it, had already closed up. He needn't worry about more mundane forms of infection, either.

  That was a relief. But it didn't address his other problem. He needed to convince her that his thoughts were still with her, even if he was not. A note, perhaps?

  He shook his head. No. Aside from being hopelessly passé, a sample of his handwriting would only give her another thing to question. His penmanship had changed over the years, the more elaborate flourishes dropping away as he adapted to the faster pace of the world around him. But it still bore more resemblance to the engraved inside of a greeting card than contemporary script. No, he needed a way to give her his message without words.

  Flowers. He'd say it with flowers. He grinned, certain that he'd solved the dilemma. A bouquet of hand-picked flowers, left on the pillow, would convince her of his feelings. All he had to do was go out and pick them before the sun came up.

  He slid his arm gently out of her grasp. Rebecca mumbled in her sleep and reached for him, but seemed content with the corner of her pillow she'd grabbed. He dropped a light kiss at her temple.

  "Sleep well. I'll be back before you know I'm gone."

  Moving silently, he eased out of bed, then located and put on yesterday's clothes. He didn't have time to shower and find the suit he wanted to wear to the meeting. He'd do that when he got back.

  The door opened with a faint click, and he slipped into the living room. Gillian was sound asleep, burrowed under her covers, but he left her door open so that Rebecca could hear her if she cried out.

  He held his breath as he triggered the front door lock, but either it was too far away or Rebecca had grown too accustomed to the noise for it to disturb her. He stepped out into the hallway and guided the door closed. Then he turned and ran for the stairwell. Few wildflowers bloomed on the Institute property, and he didn't have much time to find them. The sun would be coming up soon.

  He laughed, appreciating the irony. His gesture proved how important she was to him, but because she was so important to him, he couldn't risk driving her away in order to explain the reason why.

  Chapter 12

  DESMOND CUT the timing close, waiting until the sky began to grow light before he returned. He'd hoped to find something better for Rebecca, but aside from the flowering cacti whose prickers seemed to send the wrong message, he'd seen only flowering weeds. He'd gathered a big bouquet of the prettiest blossoms, a double handful, yet still lingered outside in case the pre-dawn light revealed another flower he'd missed.

  It didn't. He shut himself safely away bare minutes before the distinct glow of sunrise gilded the eastern horizon.

  Gillian was still fast asleep, although she'd kicked her quilt onto the floor. Desmond picked it up with his free hand and settled it over his sleeping daughter. She mumbled something around the thumb in her mouth, and tightened her stranglehold on her beloved Pooh. He watched her sleep for a moment longer, then eased her door shut and slipped into Rebecca's room.

  He intended to leave the flowers on the pillow beside her, but while he'd been outside she'd preempted his pillow, and now held it tucked tight against her chest. He pushed the blankets down to clear a spot beside her, and piled the flowers there. She didn't seem to have moved much while he'd been gone, except to steal his pillow. She probably wouldn't roll over on the flowers.

  He considered the tableau a few minutes longer, then plumped the covers beside her to form a gentle ridge. That should be enough to discourage her from turning over. Satisfied that his gift would remain safe, he left her and went to take his shower and get dressed.

  Half an hour later, he strolled into the kitchen, a towel slung around his neck to protect the raw silk of his jacket from his still damp hair. He put a pot of water on to boil, and took one of his medicine bottles out of the refrigerator. The liquid needed to be kept in cold storage, but he preferred to warm it before drinking it if he could.

  He caught the refrigerator door with his elbow before it could close. He'd stayed out late. Very late. How much sunlight had he absorbed? Enough to damage his skin? He pulled out a second bottle, just to be on the safe side, and put them both in the pot of warm water. While he waited for the medicine to heat up, he busied himself making coffee.

  By the time Mrs. Waters arrived promptly at five forty-five, he'd already drained both bottles, rinsed them, and stacked them to be returned and refilled. Sipping his second cup of coffee, he walked into the living room to greet her when she buzzed herself in.

  "Good morning, Mrs. Waters. Thank you for coming early."

  "Pish." She dismissed his thanks with a wave, and set her knitting supplies on the couch. "You know I'm more than happy to look after Gillian any time you need me. I love that child like she was my own daughter."

  Desmond glanced at his daughter's room, fighting the urge to push open the door and check on her again. He'd looked in on her less than ten minutes before.

  "I hate not being here when she wakes. The mornings and evenings are our special time together."

  "It's only once a month."

  "I know." He sighed. "And it's the only hour all the doctors can fit into their schedules. I'll make it up to her, though. I'll be home for lunch today."

  "I'll have it ready for you when you arrive." Mrs. Waters paused, then asked, "Will it be just the two of you?"

  "No, Rebecca will join us. I expect her to be tired this morning, but I think she'll manage to get up by noon." He smiled, remembering how enjoyably they'd tired each other out. Then he recalled how cranky she'd been the other morning when he'd woken her for the operation. "You'd better keep the coffee warm for her. She'll be needing it. And put off anything noisy, like laundry or vacuuming, until after she wakes up."

  "Whatever you say. What about Gillian?" Her face showed no expression, and her surface thoughts only repeated the same question in an endless loop.

  "What about her?" he asked.

  "I just wondered if you wanted me to keep her quiet, too?"

  "Of course not! I mean, don't encourage her to be noisy, but this is her home. Rebecca may as well start getting used to that."

  "But surely she won't be staying with us that long?"

  Desmond smiled, his hands curling around his coffee mug to embrace the last of its heat. She would be staying. She'd accepted his proposal last night. And he'd destroyed the only possible reason
for sending her away when he proved that they could make love safely. He could send her over the maddened edge of pleasure again and again with no fear, so long as he withheld his own release.

  "Oh, yes, she'll be staying. I hope forever." He turned his attention back on Mrs. Waters. "Of course, things will be different after she's recovered from her operation."

  "Of course."

  Desmond frowned at her icy tone, but he didn't have the time to pursue her comment further. He was already running late.

  He swallowed the last of his coffee, and placed the mug on the glass-topped table. "I've got to go. Remember, tell Gillian I'll be home for lunch."

  "I will, Mr. Lacroix."

  REBECCA WOKE slowly, aware first of the sheets resting against her bare skin, then of the circle of warmth created by the overhead light. She stretched languorously, arching her back and rippling her muscles like a cat. A satisfied smile pulled at the corners of her mouth, and she turned toward Desmond. He was gone.

  She surged into full wakefulness. He'd mentioned something last night about a morning meeting, but she couldn't recall what. She never could think clearly before her first cup of coffee.

  She glanced at the clock— quarter after nine. She'd slept late. The satisfied smile crept back onto her face as she remembered what had tired her. Desmond had refused to do anything that might aggravate her injury. But he was an inventive lover, and that prohibition hadn't stopped him from giving her a night of passion unlike anything she'd ever known. He'd taken her to the heights of ecstasy, only waiting until she started her descent before lifting her to an even higher peak.

  Still smiling, she tossed the covers aside. The motion uncovered a bouquet of wildflowers. Broad green centers, bristling with rolled purple-pink petals, topped spindly stalks and dagger leaves. Rebecca had never seen more beautiful flowers. Wondering if they had an aroma as distinctive as their shape, she held them to her nose. Lingering traces of Desmond's cologne overpowered any scent the flowers normally had. Rebecca inhaled deeply, savoring the reminder.