CAPTURED

With stories by

Barri Bryan

Elizabeth Batten-Carew

Jaide Fox

Kimberly Zant

Hostage © copyright July 2005, Billie and Herb Houston

Virtual Love © copyright July 2005, Elizabeth Batten-Carew

Forbidden Fruit © copyright July 2005, Jaide Fox

Heart of Midnight © copyright July 2005, Kimberly Zant

Cover art by Amber Moon, © copyright July 2005

ISBN 1-58608-537-9

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be
confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

HOSTAGE

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By

Barri Bryan

Chapter One

June 7, 1859--Horse Head Crossing Stagecoach Way Station, Texas

Abigail Warren smiled at the man who sat across the table from her and lied with practiced ease. “I
acted hastily and I am truly sorry.” Lies--both lies. Abigail had given careful consideration to her earlier
actions and she was not in the least sorry for anything she had said or done.

Reverend Rufus Abernathy was a pompous little man with thinning hair and a face like dough. Reaching
across the rude table he touched Abigail’s hand. “You must learn to control your wicked temper. Second
chances are hard to come by.”

Abigail moved her hand away. This was not her second chance it was her only chance. Perhaps she
should reconsider. No! Closing her ears and her mind to any voice of caution, she told an even bigger lie
and with no less difficulty. “I will be more careful in the future.”

The weak rays of a sinking sun spilled through the open window of the way station’s waiting room. The
dying light accentuated the Reverend’s puffy features making them appear swollen and distorted. “I take
my position as your escort and guardian very seriously.”

He wasn’t her guardian. He was her jailor. And like every other man she had ever known he was a fool
for flattery. Abigail laid her hand over her heart and said what she knew he wanted to hear. “In the future
I will be more discreet.” She smiled her most seductive smile. “I hope I haven’t been a problem to you,
Reverend.”

Rufus Abernathy ran his finger around his cleric’s collar. “I know of your past and I understand.” On the
end of a longsuffering sigh he added, “There are those who would try to take unfair advantage if they
knew that you...” He cleared his throat. “If I am to protect you, it is important that you behave in a
ladylike fashion at all times.”

So the Reverend was afraid someone might suspect what she was, or at least what she had been. That
came as no surprise. Reflexively, she apologized again. “I am very sorry if my behavior was not in
keeping with my new station in life.” As she spoke, her mind hopped back to the events that had led to
the Reverend’s verbal rebuke.

She and Reverend Abernathy had been the only passengers on the stagecoach that arrived at the Horse
Head Crossing shortly before five o’clock in the afternoon. As the driver pulled the mules to a halt, a
gaunt disheveled man with an apron tied around his skinny middle rushed to greet them. His dun colored

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hair was in disarray and his perspiring face was troubled. Before the driver and the conductor could
crawl down from their high seat he shouted, “We got problems boys. Last night a bunch of sidewinders
stole every horse in the corral. They didn’t bother to shut the gate so the mules are gone too.”

The driver, a tall man with hawk-like nose and a complexion like leather, looped the reins he held
between his fingers around the stagecoach’s brake and crawled down the wheel and onto the parched
ground. “Son of a bitch! Was it Injuns?”

Reverend Abernathy stuck his head out the coach’s window. “Gentlemen, watch your language please.
There’s a lady present.”

The drive mumbled a halfhearted apology. “Sorry, ma’am.”

The man in the apron hurried to explain, “We ain’t sure.”

The driver raised an eyebrow. “We, Jed? I thought you ran this place by yourself.”

“I do.” Jed smiled. “I got lucky. Sheriff Martin come through here around noon today with a deputy and
a prisoner. He done me the favor of hanging around for a while just in case them horse thieves decide to
come back.”

The driver smiled wryly. “Come back? For what?” He surveyed the dismal dusty scene around him.
“There ain’t nothin’ here worth comin’ back for.”

Indignantly Jed replied, “That depends on how you look at things.” He spat on the ground. “The Sheriff
sent his deputy over to the way station at Valley Creek to bring back some mules so he has to wait
around for him anyways.”

The driver asked, “When will the deputy be back?”

“Damned if I know.” Jed frowned. “I calculate sometime tomorrow.”

The driver shrugged. “If he ain’t back by noon tomorrow this team should be rested enough to make it
to on over to the way station at Fort Stockton.”

The conductor climbed down from his high seat, came around to Abigail’s side of the stagecoach and
opened the door. “Looks like we will be here for the night. You folks can wait inside the way station.”
He pointed to the man in the apron. “Jed will fix you some food and find beds for you.”

For Abigail getting out of the stagecoach was not an easy task. The hoop she wore--it was really no
more than a series of graduated steel rings suspended from her waist by cloth tapes--made it difficult for
her to manage the two petticoats and the full-skirted dress that she wore over it. After some effort she
squeezed through the narrow door, stepped to the ground and came around the coach to be greeted by a
sight that froze the blood in her veins.

Halfway across the yard a dark-skinned man sat with his back resting against the trunk of a gnarled old
mesquite. Except for the pair of fine leather boots that encased his feet he was buck-naked. He was also
hobbled and his hands were tied. As if that weren’t a cruel enough treatment, one end of a strand of wire
had been wrapped around his testicles. The other end was entwined securely around the trunk of the
tree. The hot sun beating down unmercifully on his bare body only added to his suffering.

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A shiver of fear danced down Abigail’s spine as she stopped and pointed. “God Almighty, who is that?”

Jed volunteered, “That there’s Sheriff Martin’s prisoner. He’s dangerous. Don’t git too close.”

Anger loosened Abigail’s tongue. “He looks nearer dead than dangerous.” She was set to say much
more when Reverend Abernathy grabbed her arm and pointed her in the direction of the way station.
“It’s not our place to ask questions. Come along.”

As he propelled her across the dusty yard, Abigail struggled to pull her arm free. “Like hell!” Something
had to be done for that suffering man.

Reverend Abernathy held on with concentrated force “Watch your tongue.” Through clenched teeth he
added, “This is not our affair.”

As she came nearer Abigail was surprised to see that the prisoner was young and quite handsome. The
heat from the sun had scorched his already tanned skin to a crisp. He lifted his face and looked directly
into her eyes. The pain she saw reflected there imprinted indelibly in her mind. There was something else
buried in the depths of those piercing ebony eyes, something desperate and dangerous. Despite the heat
a second shiver of fear danced down Abigail’s backbone.

The man pushed his swollen tongue through his cracked lips and pleaded in a dry, raspy voice, “Agua,
por favor, agua.”

He spoke in a language foreign to her ears but she knew immediately what he was saying. Wrenching
her arm from Reverend Abernathy’s grasp Abigail picked up her skirts and sped toward a bucket of
water that sat on a table on the porch of the way station. She filled the gourd dipper with the tepid liquid
and was turning toward the prisoner when a man sitting in a chair on the porch slammed both booted feet
onto the floor. “Whoa there, girlie.” He vaulted to a standing position. “What the hell do you think you’re
a doin’?”

Abigail scrutinized the tall stranger and felt a tremor of fear and an instant dislike. “That should be
obvious, even to a jackass like you.”

The man pushed his hat back on his head as his beady eyes narrowed dangerously. “You’ve got a bad
mouth, girlie.” The stubble of a red beard grew on his heavily jowled face. He wore a gun belt low on his
hips and a tin star pinned to his dirty shirt. Nodding toward the way station entrance, he growled, “Get
inside.”

Abigail’s rage made her reckless. “Like hell I will. Get out of my way!” She took a few steps forward.

Two long strides brought the angry man to stand directly in front of her. “That’s my prisoner, girlie. He
gits water when I say he can have water.” He spat a stream of tobacco juice onto the floor of the porch
and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “IfI say he can.”

Even as Abigail argued she sensed that protesting was not only useless but also dangerous. “Without
water he will die.”

“That will save me havin’ to hang him.” Taking the dipper from Abigail’s hand the man tossed the water
onto the parched ground.

Abigail’s anger escalated and mixed with her rising fear. Before she could stop them the words were out

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of her mouth. “You son of a bitch.”

The red-haired stranger reached around Abigail and dropped the dipper back into the bucket. “Maybe I
better introduce myself, my name’s Wesley Martin. I’m the sheriff of this here county.” He hooked his
fingers in his belt loops and scowled. “It ain’t real smart to go callin’ me insultin’ names.” Jerking his
thumb toward the door, he ordered, “Git in the way station.”

Abigail’s outrage overrode her fear. “You sorry, low-down...” She was poised to say much more when
Reverend Abernathy came from behind and once more grabbed her arm. This time he held it in a death
grip as he steered her toward the way station entrance.

Abigail protested, “Let me go!”

Reverend Abernathy pushed her through the door. As he followed her inside, he looked over his
shoulder and called out, “I’ll see that the little lady behaves, sheriff.”

Once inside, Abigail yanked her arm free. The sight of someone tied and nude and being sexually
tortured brought to her remembrance a brutal episode from her own past. It also unleashed a violent and
uncontrollable anger. She doubled her right hand into a fist and swung at Reverend Abernathy, missing
his chin by inches. “Don’t touch me again, you bastard!”

Reverend Abernathy grabbed both her arms and held her from him. “Stop it, Abigail. The sheriff’s
actions, as cruel as they are, do not concern us.”

“This is beyond cruel, it’s uncivilized.” Abigail swung one foot at the Reverend’s shin. This time she
connected causing him to grab his leg and cry out in pain. “If you won’t let me do something then get
your sorry ass out there and do something yourself.”

Reverend Abernathy straightened, grabbed Abigail’s shoulders and gave her a rough shake. “Shut up, I
say,shut up!” His voice fell as he dropped his hands to his sides. Clearly he was struggling to get a firmer
grip on his emotions. “We left civilization as we know it when we left Memphis. This is the Texas
Badlands.”

Abigail folded her arms across her chest and forced her mind to let go of painful past recollections.
“That’s an excuse. Where we are makes no difference.”

“Ah, but it does.” Reverend Abernathy led her to a bench and pushed her down onto it. “Circumstances
alter cases.” He sat beside her and waved one arm in an all-encompassing gesture. “Have a look around
and you may begin to understand why the stage run from here to El Paso is rightly called a race with the
Devil.”

For the past ten days as Abigail and Reverend Abernathy had journeyed through the wilderness that was
Arkansas and traveled halfway across the vast wasteland that was Texas, she had been ‘looking around’
at a world that became progressively more primitive. What she had just witnessed was past primitive--it
was barbaric. “You can at least voice a protest.” Quite suddenly she realized that Rufus Abernathy was
too frightened to confront Sheriff Martin. “You’re afraid to speak out.”

Rufus replied, “There are times when discretion is the better part of valor. The Good Book teaches that
His ministers must be as be as wise as serpents and as harmless as doves.”

Now, almost two hours later, sitting across the supper table from Reverend Abernathy and listening to

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but not hearing his carping words, Abigail reached a decision. What she couldn’t accomplish by force
she would achieve through deception. Later tonight....

“Abigail!”

Reverend Abernathy almost shouting her name pulled Abigail’s thoughts back to the present. She
pushed her tin plate aside. Supper had been beans, chili and hard bread. She had been hungry enough to
eat everything on her plate. “Yes, Reverend?”

“As I was saying,” the Reverend cleared his throat. “The Missionary Alliance holds me accountable for
you, and for your actions, until you arrive at the mission hospital in El Paso. That’s a heavy
responsibility.” He shook his finger in mild reproach. “You promised me at the onset of this journey that
you would conduct yourself at all times in a manner becoming to a lady.”

Abigail had promised that and much more. In some ways she was as cowardly as this pretentious little
man. She had taken the path of least resistance then just as he was doing now. A sudden surge of
sympathy softened her reply. “Hereafter I will keep that promise.”

“That is no longer enough. You must also promise that during the remainder of our journey to you will
not talk to strangers, you will obey me when I speak to you and you must refrain from using profanity.”

Abigail was tired from riding endless hours in a rumbling uncomfortable stagecoach. Her head ached and
she would trade a year of her life for a good bath. When she left Memphis she was convinced that
nothing could be worse than what she must endure if she stayed there. Now she was beginning to
wonder if she had been mistaken. Nothing about her journey to El Paso was what she’d expected it to
be. She was too weary to argue further. Instead she told yet another lie. “I promise, Reverend
Abernathy.”

The Reverend said with self-righteous smugness, “Thank heavens you have decided against acting on
some foolish impulse and creating a big problem for both of us.”

Through the window Abigail watched the last rays of a weak sun as they fanned across the western sky.
Her resolve hardened. She could live with another problem--even a big problem--much more easily than
she could live with a leaving a helpless man to die from thirst and abuse. She pushed down a pang of
conscience and lied again. “My days of acting foolishly and impetuously are behind me.”

The Reverend seemed poised to dispute that statement and then obviously changed his mind. “Then the
matter is settled,” he sighed his relief. “Since it seems that the sheriff has commandeered the only spare
room in the way station and the driver and conductor are bedding down in the waiting room, you will
sleep on a cot in the shed room behind the kitchen and I will bunk with Jed.”

After so many seemingly endless days and nights of being bounced about in a rumbling dusty stagecoach
or sleeping in chairs or on hard benches, a room with a cot would seem a luxury. Abigail stood. “I’ll fetch
my valise and retire.”

Reverend Abernathy raised one hand. “No. Sheriff Martin’s orders are that you remain inside the way
station until we depart for El Paso.”

Abigail couldn’t resist. Shyly she asked, “But Reverend, how can I stay inside at all times when there are
occasions that I must relieve myself?”

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That seemed to be an eventually that the Reverend had failed to consider. After a moment’s silence he
blushed as he replied, “I will have the station master provide you with a chamber pot.”

Abigail asked, “Do you think I might also have a candle and some water for a sponge bath?” The last
time she had requested water to wash her face and hands she’d been told that water was hauled to that
particular way station and it was used only for cooking and drinking. She wondered if the same held true
at this station.

Reverend Abernathy nodded his head. “I’ll ask the station master for a candle also. I’ll draw a pail of
water from the well at the back and bring it to you when I bring your valise.”

Abigail smiled. “Thank you, Reverend.”

Reverend Abernathy said emphatically, “You are to stay inside the station until tomorrow when we
depart for El Paso. Do you understand?”

Abigail bowed her head. “I understand.” For once she had spoken the truth. She understood all too
well. Experience had taught her that those who defied authority and flew in the face of the
powers-that-be paid a high price. That knowledge only strengthened her resolve.

Reverend Abernathy reached for his Bible. “Sit down. We will have our evening devotional here.”

Abigail sat in the chair she had so recently vacated and with a sigh folded her hands in her lap.

The Reverend brushed crumbs from the table with his sleeve, opened his Bible and began to read. “God
is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore...”

After evening devotional Abigail retired to the shed room. It was more shed than room with a dirt floor
and one tiny window. Barrels and sacks of supplies were stacked along the walls. The ceiling was low
and slanted downward. As she came through the door a scurvy rat with a long mangy tail darted from
beneath a barrel and scurried across the floor. Abigail gritted her teeth, sat on the cot and surveyed her
surroundings. For all the shed room’s filth and squalor it did have one advantage. There were two doors.
One of them opened into the kitchen and the other to the outside.

Abigail’s vague plans began to take shape. From her sleeping quarters she had unobserved access to the
kitchen. The Reverend had provided her with a candle and promised to bring her water. The shed
room’s backdoor made it possible for her to reach the prisoner without having to pass through the way
station’s waiting room. There still remained the problem of finding clothing for the naked man.

Abigail looked around the walls of the room and spied a hand woven calico shirt hanging on a hook near
the kitchen door. Only one problem remained. Where did she find a pair of pants to go with that
well-worn shirt?

She was still pondering that problem when Reverend Abernathy appeared at the door with a pail of
water in one hand and Abigail’s valise and an earthen pot in the other. He put the valise on the dirt floor
and set the pail of water beside it. His doughy face turned beet red as he handed Abigail the earthen pot.
“You may use this when you feel the urge to go.” In no uncertain terms he then instructed her to lock
both her doors and not to open them until he knocked the next morning.

Good advice except for one little problem--there was no lock on the door that opened into the kitchen.
When Abigail pointed out that fact the Reverend suggested that she roll a barrel in front of it once he was

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gone.

Abigail promised to obey his every instruction and then shut the door, pushed a chair against it and
unfastened her cage crinoline hoop. It fell in a heap at her feet. As she kicked it into a corner, she
wondered where the hell she was going to get a pair of pants. The man outside needed clothing almost as
badly as he needed food and water, even though the days in this God-forsaken place were blazing hot
the nights were chilly. She shed her dress and her short-sleeved petticoat before sitting down on the
narrow cot to wait for nightfall.

It seemed an eternity before a blue twilight darkened to velvet shades of black and a pale moon
appeared in the night sky. The ensuing hush of silence that fell across the countryside told Abigail that
once again night had come to the badlands.

She waited until there was no sound to be heard inside the way station. Then with her nervous fingers
holding her candle above her head, she crept to the kitchen and began her search for food. She soon
discovered that the makeshift cabinet was as bare as Mother Hubbard’s cupboard. Her heart was
pounding and her hands shook as she set the candle on the kitchen table and opened boxes stored on a
low shelf. In one box she found the hardtack that was left from supper and in another several strips of
beef jerky and a sack of soda crackers. She put the items into one box, replaced the lid, and slipped it
under her arm. With her other hand clutching the candle she tiptoed across the floor.

When she was once again safely inside the shed room, Abigail put her stash of food on her cot, blew out
the candle and retraced her steps back through the kitchen. At the door that led to the waiting room she
paused and swallowed her fear before tiptoeing inside.

In the semidarkness she could see the stage driver and the conductor sleeping on blankets they had
spread on the floor. The driver was on the far side of the room. He slept on his side with his knees drawn
up under his chin. The moon’s silvery rays fell across the pants he had hung on a chair near the front
entrance. To reach them Abigail would have to cross the room and she dared not risk that.

She narrowed her eyes against the darkness as she surveyed the conductor. He was lying on his back
between Abigail and the stagecoach driver with his mouth open, snoring like a buzz saw. At last she
spotted them! His pants were draped over a bench very near where he slept.

Abigail’s pulses raced and her palms were sweaty. She tiptoed across the short distance and was set to
grab the pants when the conductor shifted and turned on his side to face her. She froze in her tracks.

He opened his eyes and Abigail’s heart almost stopped beating. A surging flood of relief swept through
her when he shut them again and continued his snoring.

Abigail’s knees had turned to water. Snagging the pants with one finger she clutched them to her chest.
Fighting the impulse to run, she forced herself to tiptoe slowly back across the darkened room. Once
inside the kitchen she leaned against the door and tried to slow the rapid beating of her racing heart.

She was still shaking like a leaf in a windstorm when she reached the shed room. Sitting on the side of
the narrow cot, she struggled to pull her scattered thoughts together. After a few minutes her hands stilled
and her mind cleared. Laying the pants and the box of food atop the shirt, she tied the tail to the collar,
knotted the sleeves into a handle, hung the shirt over her arm and opened the backdoor of the shed
room. Grasping the pail of water in her other hand she stepped outside.

As she set the pail on the hard ground a bat darted from overhead, swooped and then fell on silent

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wings. Abigail shut the door. For the first time doubt slipped in around her resolve. Was she making a
mistake? Then the ineffaceable memory of a suffering man tied by his testicles flashed across her mind.
Her steadfastness returned with a vengeance. She grasped the handle of the water pail. In the distance
the sound of a lone coyote’s wail echoed across the stillness of the night.

Abigail crept around the corner of the way station. Soft moonbeams cast an eerie light across the
landscape. In the semi-darkness she could distinguish the faint image of the prisoner huddled at the base
of the tree. She looked in all directions before beginning her journey across the yard. Halfway to her
destination second thoughts halted her footsteps. Maybe she should turn back while she still could. No!
She had to go on. With renewed resolve she stole silently toward the scrubby tree and the man tethered
to it.

Chapter Two

Raul Mendoza gritted his teeth and fought to hold onto consciousness. The ravaging pangs of hunger
gnawed into his intestines. Pain ached through his groin, cramped into his chest and knotted in his
stomach. His body was burning hot while his hands and feet were cold and clammy. He leaned against
the trunk of the scrubby mesquite and licked his cracked lips with his swollen tongue. Over the past hour
and a half he had managed to loosen the bonds that held his hands, untie his feet and free his testicles. If
he could only find the strength to stand and walk--A wave of debilitating weakness knocked him to his
knees. Walk? He was too weak to stand.

Fear struck like an arrow in the dark as he heard a faint shuffling sound. He narrowed his gaze against
the darkness. His mind refused to believe what his eyes beheld. A woman was coming across the way
station yard carrying a pail in one hand and a knapsack in the other. It was only when she came to stand
directly in front of him that he realized that she was real and not some figment of his fevered imagination.

Bending down she whispered, “Sir, can you hear me?”

Pain, thirst and hunger made it impossible for Raul to think clearly. Who was she? Where had she come
from? Why was she here? He gasped, “Agua por favor.”

Cool water touched his lips. Grabbing the pail he drank deeply and greedily until the woman gently
pulled the pail from his grasp. “Not too much.” She took a box from the makeshift knapsack. Removing
the lid she set it before him. “Eat.”

Raul stuffed food into his mouth.

The knapsack became a shirt that the woman draped around his burned shoulders. “Put your arms in the
sleeves. It will help to keep you warm.”

Between gulping bites Raul shoved his arms into the sleeves of the shirt and felt warmth caress his
shoulders and upper torso.

The woman sat on the hard ground and waited until he had consumed all the food and drunk again from
the pail. As he wiped the sleeve of his newly acquired shirt across his mouth she said, “I brought you

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some pants. Put them on.”

Raul stood and pulled the pants onto his aching body. The warmth of the garment enveloped his hips,
belly and legs. He managed to fasten them around his waist before sitting again and leaning against the
tree.

The woman moved very near and whispered, “Can you speak English, sir?”

Raul could feel his strength returning and his mind beginning to clear. “Que?” In the dim light he was
surprised to see that his benefactress was young and pretty with finely wrought facial features and a
wealth of golden blond hair.

“Never mind.” A gust of cool wind blew across the yard, shaking the leaves of the mesquite. The
woman folded her arms across her chest and shivered. “I should have brought a blanket.”

Even in his debilitated state it amused Raul that this lovely creature had assumed he didn’t understand
English. “Gracias, senorita.”

The woman rose gracefully to her feet. “I’ll fetch one.”

The words had scarcely left her mouth when the blast from a gun shattered the stillness and echoed
across the darkened countryside. Sheriff Martin’s booming voice rang out into the electrified silence that
followed. “If you move, you mangy Meskin, I’ll shoot to kill.”

As he raised the six-shooter, Reverend Abernathy burst through the way station’s front door waving his
arms and shouting, “No, Sheriff, please, don’t shoot. Can’t you see your prisoner is holding Miss Warren
hostage?”

Jed followed close on the Reverend’s heels. Clad in a long flannel nightshirt and brandishing a rifle, he
shouted as he came to stand beside the sheriff. “Wesley, if you shoot the woman, there will be hell to
pay.”

By now the stage driver and the conductor had joined the group. They were wearing rag tag long
handled underwear. Both men’s feet were bare.

Raul quickly assessed his chances for escape. The odds were not favorable--five able-bodied males
against one debilitated, dehydrated and slightly disoriented man. Through the jumble of fear and
confusion that clouded his brain one clear thought impinged. If he hoped to get away he would have to
use the woman as a shield. He was operating now on adrenaline and instinct. Jumping to his feet he
grabbed his benefactress around the throat with one hand and wrapped his other arm around her waist.
“Do as I say if you wish to live.”

Even in his agitated state it was obvious to him that the young woman was terrified. Her breasts rose and
fell as every muscle in her body tensed. “Please don’t hurt me.”

Sheriff Martin pulled back the hammer of his six-gun. “That woman’s got no call to be out there in the
first place--if she gets in the way of a bullet, that’s her tough luck.”

The stage driver grabbed the sheriff’s arm. “It will be your tough luck if you kill one of the stage line’s
female passengers.”

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Sheriff Martin snarled, “Sez who?”

The conductor intervened, “Sez Mister Butterfield hisself. He sets great store by passenger safety. You
go and shoot an unarmed female missionary that’s ridin’ on one of his stagecoaches and there’s going to
be a big investigation.”

Once more Jed entered the conversation. “Some of what they are bound to uncover might not be to
your likin’, Wesley.”

The sheriff lowered his six-gun and called, “Release the woman Mendoza and you’re free to go.”

Even in his troubled and incapacitated state Raul recognized that statement for the lie it was. “No way.”
Cold quicksilver sweat bathed his body. “Throw your guns on the ground and raise your arms over your
heads, or I will kill the woman.”

Jed stooped and carefully laid his rifle on the ground before standing and lifting both arms skyward. The
driver, the conductor and Reverend Abernathy quickly followed suit. Only Sheriff Martin stood stiff and
unyielding.

Jed snapped, “For God’s sake Wesley, put down your gun and git your hands up.”

The sheriff swore as he very carefully laid his six-gun on the ground. Then he stood and lifted both his
arms over his head.

Raul controlled a flash of panic as he called out, “You, station master, pick up the sheriff’s gun and bring
it and your rifle to me.”

Sheriff Martin spoke from the corner of his mouth, “You give that bastard a gun and he will kill the lot of
us.”

A deadly silence prevailed as Jed stood like a statue, seemingly trying to decide what he should do. Raul
felt a shiver quake through the young woman’s body. He literally held his breath as paralyzing fear
gripped him.

Reverend Abernathy stooped and retrieved the sheriff’s gun as he called to Raul. “Look, see? I’m
bringing you the guns. Pleased don’t harm Miss Warren.” He took a few steps forward before stooping
to recover Jed’s rifle.

Jed cautioned, “Be careful with that thing. It’s loaded and ready to fire.”

For Raul the following few moments were an agony of suspense as Reverend Abernathy walked slowly
toward the spot where he held his hostage. With each step the Reverend took Raul’s anxiety mounted.
He was playing a dangerous game and gambling with not only his life but also the life of the frightened
young woman he held in front of him. Desperation twisted in his gut as, breathless and petrified with fear,
he realized that he had reached the point of no return. He would either escape or both he and his hostage
would die.

Reverend Abernathy was halfway across the yard when Sheriff Martin called out, “You damn Bible
thumpin’ fool! Do you want to get us all killed?”

Raul’s fear spiraled as the Reverend stopped and looked over his shoulder. “I took a solemn oath to

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protect Miss Warren. I must do what I must do.” He continued to walk toward Raul and the woman
who was his shield. As he came very near he pleaded, “Let her go, please.”

Raul tightened his hold on the woman’s throat. “Drop the guns, go to the corral, saddle two horses and
bring them to me.”

Reverend Abernathy protested as he laid both guns on the ground, “Those horses belong to Sheriff
Martin. One of them is his pack horse.”

Raul could feel his strength waning. He had to escape soon if he hoped to escape at all. “Kick the
six-gun to me and then saddle those horses, put the sheriff’s supplies on a mule and bring him too.”

Reverend Abernathy pleaded, “Please don’t take a mule from the stagecoach’s team.”

Raul growled, “Do as I say.”

Without further argument, Reverend Abernathy kicked the gun toward Raul, laid the rifle on the ground
and hurried in the direction of the corral.

Raul loosened his hold on the young woman’s waist and, still holding onto her throat, stooped and pulled
her down with him to retrieve the six-gun. As he straightened, he rammed the barrel into her back. “Get
those ropes.” He nodded toward the ropes that had until recently held him fast to the tree.

The poor woman was shaking uncontrollably but she did his bidding. As she coiled the strands of rope
around her arm and stood, Raul shoved the six-gun into the waist of the conductor’s pants and swiftly
swooped to grab the rifle. Holding the woman securely in front of him and walking toward the four men,
he called out, “On your knees, all of you.”

Jed, the stage driver and the conductor fell to their knees immediately.

Sheriff Martin swore and stood straight and erect. “I don’t git on my knees for no Meskin.”

As Raul came in striking distance he swung the rifle. With a sickening thud the barrel connected with
Sheriff Martin’s head, cutting a long gash in the side of his skull. He fell forward and lay face down as
blood seeped from the wound into his hair.

Jed whispered, “Sweet Jesus. You’ve killed him.”

Raul nudged the still body with the toe of his boot. The sheriff stirred and groaned. “He’s alive.” Pointing
to the three men, he instructed the woman, “Tie them up.” His head was pounding and his strength was
ebbing. He had to get out of here and fast!

The woman stood staring first at him and then at the three men. Raul snarled, “I said, tie them up, now!”

As she was tying the third man’s wrists behind him, Reverend Abernathy came from the stables leading
two saddled horses and a mule loaded with supplies. His eyes darted to the sheriff lying lifeless on the
ground. On a caught breath he asked, “Is he dead?”

Raul rasped, “No.” Nodding in Reverend Abernathy’s direction he instructed the woman to tie him to
the porch post.

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When she hesitated, Reverend Abernathy snapped, “Do it, girl, now.”

As the woman worked at the task of tying the Reverend, Raul grasped the reins of one of the horses and
the pack mule, mounted the other horse and laid the rifle in front of him. His body was a bundle of aches
and pains crying for rest. “Dese Prisa!”

Jed said, “He’s telling you to hurry, girlie.”

The woman quickly completed her task and turning faced Raul. Fear shimmered in the blue depths of
her enormous eyes as she stood staring up at him.

Raul nodded toward the horse whose reigns he held in his hand. “Mount up.” If he had been anything
but frightened and desperate, he would have been moved by the abject look of terror that distorted her
features. In his present condition all he could think of was if he had this woman as his hostage he stood a
fair chance of making it across the Rio Grande and into Mexico.

Reverend Abernathy shouted, “Don’t do it, Abigail.”

Raul lifted the rifle and aimed it at the Reverend’s head. “Do you want me to blow his brains out?”

Jed tried to stand and couldn’t. Falling back to his knees he leaned on his haunches and looked up at
Raul. “You can travel faster alone. So skedaddle on out of here while you can ’cause when Sheriff
Martin wakes up he’s gonna be hot on your trail and God help you iffen he ever catches up.”

Jed had just given Raul another reason to take the woman with him. Given the opportunity the sheriff
would bushwhack him somewhere between here and Mexico. Alone he’d be an easy target but if the
woman were with him, his pursuer would be more careful how and when he shot. Raul commanded,
“Get on the horse.” As he spoke he raised the rifle, cocked it and aimed at the Reverend’s head.

The woman cried, “No!” The sound of her own voice seemed to galvanize her to action. She ran to the
horse and climbed up into the saddle.

Relief flooded through Raul as he turned his horse south, kneed it in the shanks and rode off into the
night with the woman and the pack mule following along behind him. That relief was short-lived as he felt
the noose of circumstance tightening around his neck. His route home would have to be along the winding
Pecos River. The large bluffs and mesas that rose on either side of the waterway created a canyon
making him an easy target for bushwhackers and Indians. The countryside between here and Mexico
was infested with rattlesnakes and scorpions, inhabited by wild animals and even wilder Indians and
cursed by heat so intense it could kill.

The pair rode in silence for almost an hour before both mental and physical fatigue began to take their
toll on Raul. He had to find a place to stop and rest, and that place must be away from the river’s edge
and relatively secure.

For once luck seemed to be with him. He spied in the dim moonlight a huge bolder that jutted like a
stalagmite high up one side of the canyon. Slowing his horse, he nodded his head toward the steep
incline. “We stop here.”

The hazardous climb upward was made even more dangerous by the absence of enough light to see
clearly. After an interminable period of climbing over treacherous terrain, they reached a space between
the rock and the cliff that rose behind it. There was barely adequate room for Raul, the woman, the

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horses and mule to hide from view.

Once the mule was unloaded, the horses unsaddled and the animals tethered, Raul retrieved a bedroll
from the sheriff’s supply pack. It held two blankets. He dropped one to the ground and tossed the other
toward his captive. Guilt and fatigue put a rough edge on his voice. “What is your name?” This young
woman had literally saved his life. He had repaid her by kidnapping and terrifying her.

She lifted her chin and said with and a touch of defiance, “I am Abigail Warren.”

Wrapping the length of rope that had secured the bedroll around his hand, Raul covered the space that
separated them in three long strides. “Sit down, Senora Warren.”

Every muscle in the young woman’s body tensed. She tried to step around him.

Raul stepped with her and caught her arm.

Shaking herself free Abigail darted around him and was almost across the clearing before Raul tackled
her and pulled her to the ground.

She fought like a tigress, thrashing about and swinging her fists at him. After a brief but intense struggle
he subdued her and straddled her slim body. Grabbing her wrists he raised them over her head and
pinned them to the ground. “Damn it, be still.” For the first time he realized that she wore, not a dress, but
a long-sleeved muslin petticoat.

Abigail stopped struggling and lay perfectly still. The front of her petticoat had ripped to reveal a smooth
expanse of her heaving breasts. Her voice puffed out in little gasps. “Get off me, you oaf.”

Raul’s anger wiped away his weariness. He stood and, staring down at his captive, commanded through
clenched teeth, “Get up.”

Abigail grasped the front of her petticoat and struggled to her feet. Defiance was written in every line of
her tense body. Still clutching the front of her petticoat she took a step backward toward the edge of the
precipice. “Go ahead and try it.”

Belatedly the truth dawned. She thought he was going to rape her. He could soon set her mind to rest on
that issue. “My intent is to tie your hands and feet to prevent you from escaping once I fall asleep.” He
dropped his hands to his sides. “You’re standing on dangerous ground. If that edge gives way you will go
over the side.”

Abigail looked over her shoulder and down into the abyss of darkness below. Still clutching the front of
her petticoat, she took a few steps forward. “You’re not going to rape me?”

But for the gravity of the situation her question would have been humorous. Raul barely had the strength
to stand. Fatigue pulled at every fiber of his being. “No.” He nodded toward the other side of the
clearing. “Sit down and relax.” Maybe he could set her mind at ease. “The moment we reach the Rio
Grande you will be free go but for the next two or three days I need you with me.”

Abigail sidled toward the cliff side of the clearing. “You attacked me.”

“It was for your own good.” Perhaps there was a better way than restraining her to keep her in place
once he was asleep. “I doubt you could make it down the cliff, and if you did, this area is filled with

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rattlesnakes, whip scorpions, mountain lions and roving bands of renegade Comanches.” Weariness and
uncertainty made Raul snap “Get some rest. We ride again at sun up.”

Abigail sat down, pulled the blanket around her shoulders, rested her back against the steep cliff and
stared across at him. “Reverend Abernathy will come looking for you.”

Did she think her threat surprised him? It didn’t. Reverend Abernathy wasn’t the only person who would
come looking for Raul Mendoza. He asked, “Is Reverend Abernathy your father?”

She seemed surprised that he would ask such a question. “No!”

“Your husband?”

That question brought an even more vehement response. “God no.” Abigail pulled the blanket more
tightly around her shoulders. “He’s my guardian and protector until I reach the mission hospital in El
Paso.”

Raul reached to retrieve the other blanket. Wrapping it around his shoulders, he sank onto the ground
and leaned against a rock facing his captive. Her words barely impinged on his weary senses. He was
tired, so tired... He struggled to hold onto consciousness and failed. His head fell to one side as a weary
sleep claimed him.

He awakened suddenly and opened his eyes to see the first thin rays an orange sun peeping over the top
of the canyon. They cast shadows across the floor below and reflected against the glistening layers of
quartz that veined the high rock walls on the other side. Darting swallows swept gracefully overhead. On
a crag above a great horned owl observed him with unblinking eyes. He shifted his gaze to see Abigail
curled up and leaning against the cliff. Her eyes were closed in peaceful sleep. In repose she looked
young and vulnerable and very beautiful. A lump rose in his throat as he noticed that the ribbon that
bound her hair had come loose. It now flowed down her back in a cascade of golden curls. Her lashes
fanned out over her smooth cheeks like strands of sable silk.

Raul jumped to his feet and called to the sleeping woman. “Wake up. It’s past time that we were on our
way.”

She stirred, opened her eyes and stared at him before frowning and hopping gracefully to her feet.

For the first time since he’d abducted her, Raul got a good look at his captive. She was short, almost
diminutive in stature, slim and small boned. Her blond hair framed her delicately featured face like a halo
and fell down her back in a cascade of rippling waves. There was about her a fragile ethereal quality that
sent a knife of guilt slicing through him. He tossed a saddle onto the back of his horse as he cautioned
himself against letting that guilt override his common sense. “Look in the supply sack and find some
food.”

Without a word she obeyed. Thirty minutes later they had breakfasted on hard tack and beef jerky and
were ready to begin their journey back down the steep incline that led to the floor of the canyon.

As Abigail put the tin plates away, she asked, “What is your name, Sir?”

She was being agreeable, too agreeable. “Why do you want to know?”

She threw the sack across the mule’s back. “If we’re going to spend two or three days together, I can’t

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go on calling you sir.”

“My name is Raul Mendoza.”

“I’m ready to travel, Mister Mendoza.”

Did she think she could lull him into a sense of false security with her docile manner? “Call me Raul.” She
was in for a rude awakening.

Raul led the animals to the edge of the cliff before telling Abigail, “The mule will pick the best path down.
I’ll follow him and you follow me as closely as you can. I’m not going to tether the horses to each other,
so you’ll be on your own. If your horse starts to fall, let go of the reins and jump as far as you can from
the way he’s falling.”

He turned on the heel of his boot and felt the soft earth crumble beneath his foot. The next moment he
had plummeted over the side of the ledge and was tumbling headlong down the steep incline. As he fell,
he tried desperately to dig his hands into the tufts of grass between the stones. Dirt ripped at his
fingernails. Sharp rocks scraped his palms before his head struck a hard object and he was hurled into
oblivion.

Chapter Three

Abigail watched in horror as her captor rolled over and over down the steep incline until with impacted
force his body landed on a jutting shelf halfway down the precipitous slope.

Her opportunity for escape had come sooner than she had dared to hope. Tethering the horses to the
mule she grasped his reins. Holding onto rocks and tufted plants with one hand and the mule’s reins with
the other she began her treacherous descent down the rocky slope. By the time she reached the spot
where Raul lay, her legs were scratched and blood oozed from cuts on her hands.

Her intention was to get his gun and then get out of this place and away from this man as quickly as
possible. That was before she saw Raul at close range. One look at his lifeless form and ambivalence
challenged her resolve. “Don’t be a fool,” she told herself as she stopped and moved closer for a better
view.

Raul lay very still. One of his hands still clutched a scraggly patch of grass. Blood oozed from under his
fingernails. Patches of dirt stained his shirt. An erratic pulse beating at the base of his throat told her that
he was alive. For several moments Abigail stood staring down at her captor’s quiet form. Unconscious
he looked so helpless and vulnerable. She reminded herself that awake he was a dangerous man with a
violent nature. Hadn’t he slammed the barrel of a rifle into Sheriff Martin’s head? And a fierce temper, he
had attacked her for daring to disobey him. Still, try as she might she couldn’t bring herself to leave
another human being injured and stranded in this God-forsaken place.

Tearing a strip of cloth from the ruffle of her petticoat, she soaked it in water from a canteen. Kneeling
down, she wiped away the blood that bubbled from Raul’s mouth and nose.

Her touch caused him to stir and open his eyes. His gaze locked into hers. She had seen that hunted,

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haunted look before. She recognized it for what it was--desperate determination. Then the curtain fell.
Instantly alert he sat up and wiped his sleeve across his bruised and bleeding face. “What happened?”

Abigail ran the damp cloth across his battered countenance. “You slipped and fell.”

Leaning against the ledge Raul sighed. “And you came to my rescue when you could have escaped.” His
eyes narrowed. “Why?”

Abigail was asking herself the same question. After brief thought she answered, “I couldn’t leave you
here alone and wounded.”

“Once again I’m in your debt.” Raul struggled to his feet and reached for the mule’s reins. “Let’s go.”

Abigail didn’t think his moving about so soon after a fall such as he had taken was a good idea. She
protested, “But you’re hurt.”

He snapped testily, “That’s better than being dead. That is what we both will be if we don’t keep
moving.” His voice softened as he asked, “Can you make it the rest of the way down?”

She reminded him, “You are the one who fell.”

Raul tried to smile. His injured face made it impossible. “I will do my best to be more careful in the
future.” He began his slow journey down the incline.

Abigail followed after him.

Slowly, carefully, they made their way down the treacherous slope.

By the time they reached the canyon floor and turned their horses south to follow the river on its winding
way, the sun was an orange ball high in the eastern sky. Already the heat was oppressive. In a few hours
it would be unbearable.

They rode near the cliff and away from the river. When Abigail suggested that they follow the smooth
trail along the river’s bank, Raul pointed upward toward the massive cliffs that rose along either side of
the river. “We’d be in open view to riders on those ridges. They could pick us off like birds on a rail
fence.”

Those words sent a shiver down Abigail’s backbone. “Who would do that?”

“Comanches maybe, Sheriff Martin definitely.”

The route they followed was rough and uneven. Undergrowth of briars and cacti made travel slow and
difficult but the view was magnificent. On either side of them majestic bluffs rose in stately splendor. The
edges of their towering tops were covered with large boulders, scrubby but leafy green trees and thorny
bushes ablaze with colorful blossoms.

Abigail’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of such rugged grandeur. She thought that surely the
hand of God had touched this place. Only when Raul paused and turned in his saddle did she realize
she’d spoken her thoughts aloud.

“There are those who would dispute that. They would argue that there is no God west of the Pecos.”

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Some hours later Abigail was ready to agree. An unrelenting sun beat down unmercifully on her bare
head. Thorns and underbrush had ripped at her petticoat and torn her stockings to shreds. Her legs were
scratched and bleeding. Her body was sore and aching.

Just when she thought she couldn’t travel another mile they stopped for a brief repast. After a hurried
meal they began again their trek southward.

The sun had begun its westerly decline when they rounded a bend in the river.

The water suddenly stopped flowing and gathered into a crystal clear pool before spilling out and once
more flowing downstream. A growth of trees and an overhanging ledge shaded the spot from the sun.
Grass and wild flowers of many hues grew around the pool’s edge. It was an oasis in a desert.

Raul pulled his horse to a stop and turned in his saddle. “We will camp here tonight.” He dismounted
and motioned for Abigail to do the same.

Dropping their heads the horses began to slurp water and nibble the greenery. Raul slipped the bits out
of the animals’ mouths. “The horses must eat and rest before we start again in the morning.”

Abigail sank wearily onto the soft grass, looked down at her torn and tattered petticoat and wished for a
needle and thread. She twisted the loose ends of her bodice together before tying them in a knot.

Raul took the canteens from the pack mule and filled them with water before sitting down beside her.
“Tear off the remainder of your petticoat’s ruffle and wrap it around your head before we leave
tomorrow.”

She was already semi-nude. When Abigail opened her mouth to argue he held up one bruised hand. “Do
as I tell you.”

“But....”

“Do it! You can’t travel another day in this heat with your head bare. You’ll suffer a heat stroke.”

Abigail ripped off the remainder of her petticoat’s ruffle and tore it in half. With one section she fashion a
turban around her head. She offered the other half to Raul. “You need something on your head too.”

Raul smiled. “I said tomorrow.” Nevertheless, he took the proffered cloth and wrapped it around his
head.

Wearing a turban he resembled an Arabian sheik and a very handsome Arabian sheik at that. Quite
suddenly Abigail realized she was staring. Quickly she looked away.

“Are you all right?” Raul’s concern sounded in his voice. Abigail couldn’t help but wonder what thoughts
lurked inside this quiet man’s head. She turned to survey his bruised face. His glance caught hers. She
looked into his shrouded eyes. There was no hint of sentiment or feeling. Then he smiled and his battered
visage took on an ambience that stirred her to strange and extraordinary emotions. Once more she
quickly looked away.

Raul too seemed ill at ease. She noticed when he stood and rammed his hands into his pockets that the
conductor’s pants were several inches too short for him. As her gaze moved upward his eyes caught hers

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and he smiled. “Would you like to bathe and wash your clothes?” When she gasped in disbelief, he
added, “It may be your last chance before we get to the Rio Grande.”

Abigail was so tempted, still she refused politely. “No thank you.”

Shrugging, Raul moved to the pool. Lying on his stomach he washed his face, then stood and removed
his pants and shirt and waded completely bare into the pool.

Abigail knew she should look the other way. She couldn’t. His long strong legs, trim waist and broad
chest fascinated her. His equipment looked to be intact. Obviously being tied by his testicles had done no
permanent harm. He was indeed an enigma--an outlaw who showed no shame at all being nude in her
presence and yet his manners were impeccable and his demeanor was that of a gentleman.

Abigail spent the next several minutes arguing with herself. Did she dare risk bathing with a handsome,
desperate outlaw? He might decide to take advantage of the situation. He could do that she reasoned,
even if she didn’t take a bath. There was also Reverend Abernathy to consider. If he were to learn of
such an indiscretion, she could say good-bye to her position at the mission hospital. Then where would
she go? Back to Madame Irene’s or worse yet, back to jail? On the other hand, Reverend Abernathy
was nowhere in sight and she hadn’t had a decent bath since she left Memphis.

After several minutes of staring at the cool water and arguing with herself Abigail decided that she would
take her bath and worry about the consequences later. Pulling her petticoat over her head, she folded it
and laid it on the grass. Then she sat down, took off her shoes and set them atop her folded petticoat.
Her stockings were a lost cause. She tossed them aside. Clad only in her long cotton drawers she
walked across the mossy ground to the edge the clear pool. She could feel Raul’s eyes on her as she
waded into the water. It lapped over her body in cool refreshing waves.

She was surprised and relieved when Raul climbed out of the pool, slipped into his pants and sat on the
mossy bank. “Can you swim?”

Abigail nodded her head in affirmation as she glided into deeper water. After a while she turned on her
back and floated. When she righted herself and looked in Raul’s direction he was standing with his rifle
pressed against his shoulder and he was eyeing down its sights. The gun was pointed directly at Abigail.
Panic ran riot through her mind and body. He was going to kill her. She would sink to the bottom of this
isolated pool and no one would ever know. She froze--too frightened to cry out and too stunned to
move.

A blood-curdling scream rent the still air. Turning Abigail looked up. Her panic escalated to terror. A
huge mountain lion was crouched on the ledge that jutted over the pool. As the cat lunged, Raul fired his
rifle. The shot exploded splintering the heavy silence and echoing down the walls of the canyon. With
deadly accuracy the bullet sank deep into the mountain lion’s side. The animal fell into the water not five
feet from where Abigail stood. There followed a resounding splash. The heavy spray striking her roused
her to action. Quickly she waded from the water and stood on the bank staring at the still rippling pool.
She could have been killed. In that revealing instant she recognized the fragility of life and acknowledged
the certainty of death.

Chapter Four

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Raul dropped his gun and rushed to Abigail’s side. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to
gather her in his arms. “It’s all right. You are safe now.” The irony of that statement struck his conscience
like a blow from an open hand. She was not safe and she wouldn’t be until she was standing on the
banks of the Rio Grande and he was across the border, into Mexico and out of her life.

She clung to him like a frightened child, sobbing and shaking and babbling incoherently.

He led her to a grassy knoll, sat down, pulled her down beside him and once more took her in his arms.
His chin rested atop her head. “It’s over.”

She relaxed in his arms. “I was so afraid.”

“The mountain lion is dead,” Raul assured her. And then he added, “He can’t hurt you now.”

Leaning back she looked up at him. “It wasn’t the cat. I thought you were going to shoot me.”

Her words cut through him like a knife. Dropping his arms, Raul scooted away from her. “I’m not a
murderer. I don’t kill people.” Another slap across his conscience made him add a qualifier. “At least not
unarmed females.”

Abigail wrapped her arms around her waist and dropped her head before asking on a caught breath,
“Then you really will let me go when we reach the border?”

Guilt replaced Raul’s anger. “Of course.” It suddenly seemed important to make her understand that he
had no intentions of ever hurting her. “And until then I will not harm you in any way.”

Her head lifted. “You see no harm in taking me hostage?”

On a quiet note of sincerity, Raul said, “My taking you may have been the best thing that could have
happened.”

“For you maybe,” She paused and caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “But not for me.”

“For you, too.” Perhaps he should apprise her of some harsh facts. “Do you think Sheriff Martin would
have let you go unpunished if I had left you behind?” He couldn’t help but notice the way her supple
breasts rose and fell as she breathed and how her nipples stood out like little buds.

She grimaced causing a dimple to appear in her left cheek “I did nothing unlawful.”

He reminded her gently, “You aided and abetted a prisoner in his escape.”

The sudden look of surprise that darted across her face told him that was a possibility she had never
considered. “That was not my intent.”

“Intent doesn’t matter to Sheriff Martin.”

“It should.” Abigail argued and then concluded, “And it doesn’t matter what he thinks. His job is to
uphold the law.”

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Raul laughed aloud. How little this woman knew of this wild country and its untamed inhabitants. “West
of the Pecos Sheriff Martin is the law.”

“Even so, “Abigail argued, “He’s an elected official who....”

Raul’s guffaw severed her sentence. “Sheriff Martin isn’t an elected official. He appointed himself to the
office of sheriff.”

Abigail shot him a questioning look. Her eyes were like no eyes he’d ever seen before--sapphire blue
and fringed with long dark lashes. They flashed little sparks of blue fire when she asked, “How could he
do that?”

“By running roughshod over anyone who opposed him.”

Abigail’s gaze narrowed. “Did you oppose him?”

Raul nodded his head. “In a way, yes.”

“Is that why he took you prisoner?”

Raul opened his mouth and then snapped it shut. Some things were better left untold. “You can believe
me when I say that I am not a criminal.”

“Then you didn’t commit a crime?”

In his thirty-two years Raul Mendoza had learned a few fundamental truths. One of them was that a
criminal act was not always a crime. Springing to his feet he took long strides across the mossy grass
before turning to face her. “What I did is not your concern.” Coming back across the space that divided
them he dropped down on the ground beside her. “Rest while you can. Later I’ll scout around for some
small game. Supper tonight will be something besides hard tack and jerky.” He looked away before
adding, “Put on your dress.”

“It’s not a dress it’s a petticoat.” Without protest or further comment Abigail pulled her tattered petticoat
over her head and curled up into a fetal position on the soft grass. Was she trying to make him drop his
guard? He smiled to himself. He was not a complete fool. Lying down beside her, he stared up at the
heavens. The sky was azure blue except for a few puffy clouds that wafted across a far horizon. His gaze
drifted downward toward the high cliff that stood like a sentinel along the other side of the river. His
blood froze in his veins. A band of riders traveled single file along its narrow ridge. Comanches! He
shielded his eyes with his hand and counted one, two, three, four. Bolting to a sitting position he shook
Abigail to wakefulness and signaled her to silence by placing his finger over his lips. With his other hand
he pointed toward the ridge.

Terror leaped into her eyes when she spotted the small band of riders silhouetted against the sky.
Moving nearer, she whispered, “They’re Indians.”

Raul nodded. “Renegade Comanches.” He watched in fear and silence as the band rode single file along
the ridge. Their presence explained why Wesley Martin hadn’t put in an appearance before now.
Obviously the Indians had been between them and the sheriff for some time. Even a tough-as-nails
outlaw sheriff would think twice before arousing the attention of a band of renegade Comanches.

As the riders rode over a ridge and disappeared from view Abigail drew a sigh of relief. “They’re gone,

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thank God.”

Raul shook his head. “Just because they’re out of sight doesn’t mean they’re gone.”

Once more Abigail’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Do you think they saw us?”

“We have to assume that they did.” That assumption sent a chill down Raul’s backbone. “That means
we have to prepare for an attack.” He pulled his boots onto his bare feet and scrambled to a standing
position. Pointing to the wall of rocks that formed a natural barrier between the pool’s edge and the ledge
that jutted out over it, he ordered. “Get behind those rocks and stay out of sight.”

Abigail stood and slipped her feet into her shoes. “What are you going to do?”

“Secure the horses so they don’t run away.”

Raul’s heart was racing. Perspiration broke out along his upper lip and under his arms as he worked
feverishly to accomplish that task. Every second counted. In a matter of minutes he had secured the mule
and the horses, grabbed his rifle, raced to the hiding space behind the rocks and hunkered down beside
Abigail. “Keep your head down.”

He could see the naked fear in her eyes as she grasped one shaking hand in the other. “Give me the
six-shooter.”

Raul hesitated “I don’t think....”

“I don’t give a damn what you think, give me the gun.”

Raul pulled the six-shooter he’d taken from Sheriff Martin out of the waist of his pants. “Do you know
how to use this?”

Much to his surprise she answered, “Yes.”

Raul handed her the six-gun. “If I counted correctly there are four of them. They may try to sneak up on
us. They may all attack at once. The moment one of them comes into sight aim and shoot to kill. Because
if you don’t kill them they will kill you but not before they torture and violate you in ways you can’t even
imagine”

Abigail eyed down the gun barrel. “Don’t worry.” Taking a deep breath she pulled back the hammer on
the pistol and steadied her hand on the rock ledge in front of her.

Raul positioned his rifle and steeled himself for the inevitable. He didn’t have long to wait. In a matter of
seconds the underbrush to his left stirred ever so slightly. Raul fired his rifle. The bullet sang through the
air to find its deadly mark. There followed an antagonized cry. Seconds later a Comanche brave wearing
a buckskin loincloth--his bare chest and the sides of his face streaked with war paint--stumbled from the
under growth and fell to the ground mortally wounded.

For one heart-stopping moment deadly silence reigned. Then the quiet was shattered by the loud report
of Abigail’s six-shooter. From the periphery of his vision Raul saw a second Indian stagger forward and
fall face down on the ground. Blood spewed from a hole in the side of his head and onto the soft pallet of
grass where he had fallen.

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Every nerve in Raul’s body tensed as once again a deadly silence electrified the air. His heart beat like a
muffled drum as panic pumped through his veins.

Suddenly pandemonium broke loose! Before Raul could aim again the last two renegades let out blood
curdling screams as they rushed from either side, leaped over the rocks and into the space where Abigail
and Raul had taken refuge. One man hit Raul head-on and with brutal force. The blow knocked him to
the ground.

The second man charged toward Abigail. As he rushed forward, she fired at point blank range. The
bullet shattered his bare chest leaving a gaping hole. The blood from his wound spewed forth and
sprayed across the front of Abigail’s petticoat. She moved aside as he pitched forward and lay very still.

Raul was locked in a life and death struggle. His attacker was big and strong and wielding a razor sharp
knife. After a brief struggle his opponent wrestled him to the ground and used his knees to pin Raul’s
arms to his sides. He felt the cold steel of a knife blade touch the soft flesh of his throat.

A sudden blow from behind made his attacker loosen his grip. The knife fell from his limp fingers as his
eyes glazed over. Raul sat up to see Abigail holding a bloody stone in her right hand. She was poised to
strike again when the Indian slumped across Raul as blood gurgled from his nose and mouth and spurted
from his crushed skull.

Abigail dropped the stone and stared at the dying man, as the enormity of her actions seemed to
penetrate her shell of fright. “I killed him.”

Raul rolled the man aside and pulled himself to a standing position. “Once again, I owe you my life.”

Abigail’s teeth knocked together. “And I owe you mine.” She was shaking uncontrollably. “You killed
the mountain lion.”

Raul stepped over the dead man and pulled her into the safety of his embrace. “For now we are both
safe.”

Abigail wiped blood from the cut on his throat with gentle caressing fingers. You’re injured.”

“It’s just a nick.”

Abigail began to cry softly. “You could have been killed. I was so....”

Raul stopped her outpouring of words by dropping his lips over her open mouth--a kiss that was
intended as a way to soothe and reassure quickly blazed into a passionate plundering. His tongue slipped
into her moist mouth. Her flavor was like nothing he had ever tasted before, sweet and refreshing and at
the same time fiery and sizzling hot.

She responded with a shy intensity that both startled and delighted him. Then she pulled away, put her
hand over her lips and stared up at him with tears in her eyes. Dropping her hand, she placed it over the
soft expanse of her breasts as surprise and something akin to wonder shown in her eyes. “If you had
been killed what would I have done?”

That was a thought Raul didn’t wish to entertain. He stepped back, feeling ashamed and pleased at the
same time. “And if I had lost you...” That was another thought he didn’t dare pursue. With concentrated
effort he pulled his mind back to the distasteful task of disposing of the dead bodies that littered the

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ground around them. “We must bury these men before the buzzards began to gather.”

Abigail surveyed the carnage around her and shuddered. “Why can’t we just move on and leave them?”

Once more she had surprised him. He had expected hysterics or the insistence on a Christian burial,
maybe both. “If they are left like this vultures will congregate. Sheriff Martin is out there somewhere not
far behind us. The sight of swooping vultures could lead him directly to this spot.”

Abigail gritted her teeth. “Then let’s do it.”

Although the heat was intense and the repulsive chore was arduous, it was also cathartic. Having a task
that required both mental concentration and physical exertion helped counteract the distress of their
recent traumatic experience. They worked to roll the bodies into a ravine and tumbled a boulder over
them before filling the remainder of the gully with debris and rocks.

When the gruesome undertaking was completed Raul leaned against a scrubby tree. “You are a brave
woman, Abigail Warren.”

Abigail sat on the grass beside the pool and smiled up at him “I like it when you call me by my name.”

Warmth that had nothing to do with the intense heat coursed through Raul’s veins. “And a very pretty
name it is.”

Abigail surveyed the area around them with an anxious glance. “Shouldn’t we get out of here before
more Indians come to attack?”

Raul shook his head. “I don’t think we have to worry. It’s almost sundown and Indians never attach
after dark.”

Abigail argued, “But the rest of the tribe must be very near. They could be here in a matter of minutes,
kill us both and be gone before dark.”

Once again Raul was struck by how little Abigail knew about this savage land and its violent residents.
“Most of the Comanches in Texas are being moved by your government to the Indian Territory. This
area is home only to small bands of renegades who sweep across the border into Mexico to pillage and
raid and then return here where they are out of reach of Mexican officials.”

Abigail took her makeshift turban from her head. Her hair fell down her back in a mass of cascading
waves. She used the cloth to wipe perspiration from her brow. “Blood stains clothing. We can never
wash it all away.” Her face lifted and she smiled, revealing once again that elusive dimple. “Do you think
we’re safe here now?”

Raul was beginning to suspect that his safety was in jeopardy so long as he was near this brave, beautiful
young woman. She was both charming and challenging and wearing that thin petticoat she was also...
Quickly he banished such thoughts from his mind. “In this treacherous country you are never safe.”
Taking his makeshift turban from his head he wiped the blade of the knife he’d confiscated from his
attacker. “Take advantage of the pool to bathe and wash your clothes before the sun goes down.” As he
spoke he sat beside her, took off his boots and set them beside his rifle and his newly acquired knife.
“Abigail?”

Abigail was watching his every move. “You can call me Abbey if you’d like.”

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“Abbey?” The name tasted sweet on his tongue. He said it again. “Abbey.”

She smiled at him. “Raul?” The syllables flowed from her lips like the notes of a song.

His bruised face bent into the semblance of a grin “Yes, Abbey?”

“You are a brave man, too.”

He was touched by her simple words of praise. “Thank you.”

“And I know now that you are not a criminal.”

If she could read his thoughts she might think they were criminal. The desire to take her in his arms and
kiss her senseless was overwhelming. He vaulted to his feet. “I think I’ll take a swim and wash my
clothes.”

Abigail looked down at her tattered and bloody petticoat. “I think I should do the same.” She stretched
her legs out in front of her, took off her shoes and wriggled her toes.

Raul was appalled to see that her legs were laced with bloody scratches from her ankles to her knees.
Without stopping to consider the consequences of such actions he rushed to kneel in front of her.
Grasping her ankle he lifted her leg and inspected the scratches more closely. “When did this happen?”

She made no effort to pull away. “Last night and this morning.”

He rubbed his hands over her calf. “You should wrap something around your legs before we ride again.”
He knew he should move away. He couldn’t. “Come into the water. It will have a soothing effect on
these scratches.” He helped her to her feet and led her to the pool.

As the reached the edge she pulled back. “Wait.” Pulling her hand from his grasp, she lifted the tattered
edge of her petticoat and tied it around her waist. Her knee length undergarment revealed more than it
concealed. He could see the soft sweep of her hips and distinguish the blondness of her pubic hairs.

Raul was pleased and surprised and more than a little frightened. “Abigail....”

She lowered her eyes and smiled up at him. “I like Abbey better.”

Raul swallowed over the tightness in his throat. “Abbey.”

She smiled at him seductively. “Yes, Raul?”

Had she been an experienced woman he would have considered that smile and those words an
invitation. Since she was a virginal little missionary he could only think that she was too innocent to know
the effect she was having on him. The tingling in his blood and the roar in his ears made it difficult for him
to speak. “Come into the water.” He walked into the pool and swam to the other side thinking as he
went that he must keep his distance at all costs.

Abigail followed him into the pool.

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Chapter Five

Abigail marveled that this foreign renegade should be so open and show such kindness when all the
civilized men she’d known had been either devious and deceitful or brutal and cruel. She was still
struggling with this new and unsettling revelation as she followed Raul into the pool.

Waist deep into the water she stopped her forward advance as she struggled to sort through conflicting
thoughts and feelings. Her petticoat came loose and floated out around her. She pushed it down with her
arms only to have it billow up again when she moved them.

Raul had swum across the pool and was sitting on the opposite bank. He watched for several minutes as
she splashed around in the water. Finally he asked, “Who are you Abbey Warren and where did you
come from?”

Abigail stopped her splashing and considered for a moment. Did he know? No, of course not. Had he
guessed? That was unlikely. “I am,” she hesitated and then said, “I am Abigail Elizabeth Warren and I
come from a small town northeast of Memphis.” His puzzled expression made her add, “That’s in the
state of Tennessee.”

Raul nodded. “I know that.” He raised a questioning eyebrow. “What I don’t know is why you would
leave your home to come to this thrown away stretch of no-man’s-land.”

Abigail stood very still. “I-It’s a long story.” She could have added and not a very pretty one. She
didn’t.

“You must be very committed to your religious cause.”

Over the past several months Abigail had been committed to one cause--self-preservation. She was
searching around for an appropriate response when Raul vaulted to his feet and pointed toward the
grassy area where the horses and the mule grazed. A stray horse that must have belonged to one of the
dead Indians had wandered into the grassy area and was standing alongside the other animals. With the
grace of a young panther, Raul walked with silent swiftness until he was very near the third horse. He
spoke softly. “Easy boy, easy.” Catching the horse’s reins he lifted a saddlebag from its back and slung it
over his shoulder before taking the bit from the animal’s mouth. The horse immediately dropped his head
and began to eat grass.

A flamboyant sunset painted the western sky with hues of purple, red, mauve and pink. Raul returned to
the pool’s edge, sat down and opened the bags. “Luck is with us. There’s food in here.” He patted the
grassy spot beside him. “Come and join me.”

Abigail swam across the pool and crawled out onto the bank. Standing she shook her head. Beads of
water flew in all directions. A chill had begun to settle over the countryside. She shivered.

Raul’s concern was immediate and genuine. “You’re cold.” He walked back to the stray horse and took
from its back the blanket that had served as the Indian’s saddle. Returning to the mossy bank he draped
it around Abigail’s shoulders. “This should keep the chill away.”

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The blanket was warm and the food was filling. The nagging fear that had been her constant companion
since she’d left the Horse Head Way Station evaporated into the arid evening air. Abigail began to relax.

By the time they had completed their meal, velvet shadows were falling across the hidden glade and a
sighing breeze whispered down the canyon and teased through the leaves of the trees.

Abigail ran her fingers through her damp hair and wished for a comb.

Raul asked, “Are you warm?”

His concern for her comfort touched her deeply. “Yes, I’m fine.” She found herself wondering who this
man was and where he had come from. Maybe she should ask--he had. “Who are you Raul Mendoza
and where do you come from?”

In the gathering darkness she could barely discern his smile. “I am Raul Espinosa Mendoza and I come
from a cattle ranch in Coahuila.” He chuckled before adding, “That’s a state in Mexico.”

Abigail returned his smile. “I knew that.” She hadn’t really. “What I don’t know is why you’d leave your
home to come to this thrown away stretch of no-man’s-land.”

“I didn’t come willingly.” Raul moved a little closer. “It’s a long story.”

His nearness was doing strange things to her pulse rate. “Do you have a family in Coahuila?”

Raul pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around his knees. “Yes, I have a father and three sisters.”

The note of sadness in his voice and the look of sorrow on his injured face moved Abigail to lay a
comforting hand on his upper arm. “You miss them very much, don’t you?”

He flinched and moved away from her. “Yes, very much.”

Had her touch been an affront to him? It would seem so. Reflexively, she apologized. “I’m sorry.”

Almost belligerently Raul replied, “So am I.”

He was offended. Why should that cause her such pain? “It won’t happen again.”

A puzzled expression crossed his bruised face. “What won’t happen again?”

Abigail felt a little foolish as she said, “I won’t touch you.” After a moment of silence she added, “I
meant no offense.”

Looking away Raul murmured something under his breath that she didn’t quite catch.

Abigail leaned forward. “What did you say?”

He turned to face her. “I said your touch was not offensive to me.”

She said on an accusatory note. “You moved away.”

Raul drew a deep breath and then swallowed. “I moved away because...” His voice died on the end of a

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little sigh.

“Because why?” Only after she had spoken those words did it occur to Abigail that she should have held
her tongue.

Jumping to his feet Raul stared down at her. “Isn’t it enough that I abducted you and that I have exposed
you to any number of dangers? Would you have me also--” His voice broke. After a visible struggle, he
sat down some distance from her. “Despite my recent actions I am an honorable man.”

Abigail doubted that a truly honorable man existed. Her voice held a touch of irony. “Sure you are.”

Raul said with emphasis. “And I will not violate your innocence.”

Slowly his words found lodgings in Abigail’s brain--he thought she was a virgin. Perhaps, just perhaps,
there was one honorable man in the world. For no reason she could explain she began to cry, soft
muffled little sobs that were agonizing to hear.

In a matter of minutes Raul had traversed the space that separated them and was sitting beside her.
“Why do you weep?”

Abigail said between sobs, “It’s not every day that I kill three men.”

Raul enfolded her in a loose embrace. Obviously he’d decided to humor her. “Things will be better
tomorrow.”

Abigail laid her head on his chest. She could feel heat emanating from his body and hear the strong and
steady beat of his heart. Her sobs subsided. Pushing back she looked up into his bruised and troubled
face. “For me things will never be better.”

Raul jumped to his feet. Obviously he had read all the wrong meanings into her brief declaration. With
swift and measured steps he moved several feet away, “I will not violate your virginity.” Spreading a
blanket on the ground he stretched out on it and put his arms behind his head. In a cold and distant voice
he said, “Get some sleep. We ride again at sunrise.”

The absolute absurdity of his assumptions hit Abigail with the force of a battering ram. Rising on her
elbow, she questioned, “Raul?”

His response was barely audible. “Yes?”

After a brief moment of soul searching Abigail said, “I’m not...” Her sentence snapped like a dry twig.
For the first time in her life she had met a man who respected and admired her--or at least he respected
and admired what he thought her to be. Didn’t he believe that she was a puritanical little missionary?
Hadn’t he said that she was a brave woman? In a few days they would reach the border--or they would
both be dead. Either way she would never see him again. In the meantime why should she destroy his
illusions? Lying back down she sighed, “Nothing.”

In a resigned voice Raul said, “Go to sleep.”

Abigail turned her back to him as troubling memories drifted like shadows across her mind. Once more
she began to weep, this time not so much for what had come to pass as for what could never be.

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Raul’s voice echoed through the stillness of the night. “Try to put it from your mind. If you had not killed
them, they would have killed you.”

Abigail turned and peered at him through the darkness. “It’s not that.”

“Then what?” Raul moved through the shadows and sat on the blanket beside her. He wore only the
conductor’s too short pants. “Tell me.”

Abigail shifted to a sitting position and for a change, told the truth. “I feel so scared and alone.” But not
all of the truth--she didn’t dare reveal the reasons behind her fear and loneliness.

Raul took her in his arms. She could feel the unleashed power that coiled inside his body. As she rested
her head against the rippling muscles of his chest she felt him quiver. Lifting her face she looked into his
eyes and saw in their ebony depths the familiar fire of desire. There was something else burning there too,
something she had never seen in a man’s heated gaze before. It was a tender flame of regard that
warmed the cold corners of her heart.

Slowly and seductively, his gaze slid downward to linger on her breasts. “You are so beautiful.” His
hands touched her throat with a reverence that left her breathless. He caressed her neck and then
dropped his lips over the pulse that beat there. “So soft and tender and lovely.”

Abigail knew too much about sex but she was a stranger to lovemaking. Her encounters with men had
been rough, sometimes brutal and always unsatisfying. The softness of Raul’s touch, the gentleness of his
kisses and the tenderness of his words awakened in her a long slumbering desire. She ran her fingers
over his shoulders and let them slide down his chest and come to rest on his muscular stomach. Touching
him didn’t bring the expected sense of revulsion, quite the contrary--she felt an unfamiliar surge of
tenderness.

Raul lowered his head to take possession of her lips. Slowly his tongue teased her mouth open and
pushed inside with a ravishing sweep. His seeking kiss sent blood pounding in her veins. A yearning that
was as primitive as it was unexpected grew inside her. She returned his kiss with wanton fervor.

Suddenly he thrust her from him. The muscles in his neck stood out like cords. His arms were steel
bands. “No, we can’t, we mustn’t.”

Abigail was too lost in the wonder of her own responding body to pay heed to anything he said. Slipping
her hand inside his pants she wrapped her fingers around his huge erection.

He stiffened and groaned his pleasure.

She slid back the foreskin of his cock and felt him stiffen even more. A bubble of happiness expanded
inside her. For Abigail this was a new experience. She thought of the many times she had caressed a
man’s penis and experienced a sense of loathing or taken a stiff erection into her mouth and felt nausea
rise in her throat.

An agonized groan escaped from somewhere deep in Raul’s throat. The air around them ignited and
exploded into a million sparks of sensuality as his reluctance gave way to cautious willingness.

He kissed her once more, this time with a savage tenderness that pulled her out of time and mind.
Exquisite desire ached through her body and converged in the nether regions of her stomach where it
burst like a bombshell. Fragments of yearning exploded and shot out into her arms and her legs. A gurgle

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of need strangled in her throat. The world around her took on a surrealistic glow.

Raul’s touch was tender as his hot anxious fingers slid the petticoat down to her waist revealing her
breasts with their nipples standing erect and proud. He captured one blossoming bud in his mouth.

A trickle of delicate emotion rode on the wave of passion that swept through her. Lying down, Abigail
wriggled free of her constraining garments. Tossing them aside she pulled Raul down beside her.

He took her in his arms and began an amorous exploration of her awakening body.

In a matter of minutes Abigail had slipped past reason. Her mind was suspended somewhere in space
and her body was a burning, writhing, yearning firebrand blindly seeking release from the torturous
spasms of desire that ravaged through her senses.

Raul slid his hands between her thighs. Pleasure sang through her veins. She was aflame with a heat that
scorched but did not consume.

Raul shed his pants and kicked then aside. “My beautiful little innocent, I am going to pleasure you as
you have never been pleasured before. He kissed her throat then licked a trail to her breasts. “When you
are old and gray you will remember this night and smile.” His moist mouth found its way to the throbbing
clitoris between her legs.

Abigail had never before known such fiery sensations of pleasure. She threw back her head and moaned
her delight.

Raul slid his tongue into her vagina and moved it slowly in and out. Powerful throbbing vibrations shook
through her. When she was very near climax he moved back and lifted his head to smile at her. “And
now sweet Abigail, I am going inside you.” He moved over her writhing body.

Abigail moaned and whimpered, “Oh, please.”

Raul slid his penis into her slick moist opening. He was rock hard and big and thick--the sensation of him
moving inside her sent shivers of pleasure radiating out into her stomach and legs.

She arched her body to meet his escalating thrusts. She was climbing toward a climax of magnificent
proportions. Somewhere in the back of her mind a voice whispered that this was the way it was
supposed to be. The world burst into a thousand fragments of detonating color as a Roman candle blast
of ecstasy exploded between her legs and showered out into her body.

Her cries of bliss blended with Raul’s snort of pure satisfaction as he ejaculated deep inside her.

A night bird calling its mournful serenade intruded into Abigail’s consciousness as she floated downward
on a cloud of sated joy. She suddenly became aware of Raul’s body resting atop her own. They were
still connected. As he moved to pull away she fastened her arms around his buttocks. “No, not yet.” She
wanted to hold onto this feeling of completeness as long as possible.

After several moments Raul began to breathe more normally. He pulled his flaccid penis from her moist
vagina and rolled onto his back. “Oh my God!”

Abigail looked up toward the heavens. The sky was festooned with a million bright and beaming stars.
Turning on her side, she stared at the man who lay on his back beside her. By now he must at least

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suspect that she was not an innocent little virgin. He was so silent. Had she been a disappointment to
him? She reached to touch him, and then remembering his last response to her hand on his arm, drew
back. “Raul?” Her voice was whisper soft.

He sat up and turned his back to her. His shoulder slumped and his head was bowed. In a raspy pain
wracked voice he breathed, “God, I am sorry.”

“Don’t be, please.” Compassion made Abigail forget her resolve to keep her distance. She laid her hand
on his shoulder. “I’m not.”

He whirled to face her. “You should be. I broke my promise to you.”

“No. You didn’t. You said you wouldn’t take my virginity and you didn’t.”

“I also said I wouldn’t rape you.”

“And you didn’t do that either.” Yes, there was at least one noble man in the world. “I gave myself to
you willingly.”

“But I promised.” After some reflection he asked, “Did I hurt you?”

How could he ask such a question? “No. It was wonderful.”

Raul’s eyes narrowed. “Your lover, where is he now?”

He thought there had been only one? Abigail couldn’t bear to tell him the sordid truth. What would he
think of her if he knew that she had spent the last five of her twenty-two years in one of the most
infamous brothels in Memphis? Once again she made up a lie. “I was engaged but my lover died. He was
a minister who had dedicated his life to helping the less fortunate. He passed away in my arms of some
rare and incurable disease.” She bit her tongue and stopped her flow of words. She must not get carried
away.

“How long since you lost him?”

How easily another lie escaped her lips. “Almost six months.”

The light from a pale moon etched hard lines into Raul’s face. “That makes what I did even more
reprehensible. I took advantage of your vulnerability.”

Would he never cease to amaze her? Abigail was so taken aback that she could think of no suitable
response. She sat and stared at him thinking that he was the most wonderful man she had ever known.

Raul broke the heavy silence to ask, “Is that why you have dedicated your life to being a missionary?”

Abigail dropped her head. She was hopelessly mired in a maze of lies and pretense. After some debate
with herself she took a deep breath and substantiated her web of deceit with a misleading half-truth.
“Yes. I will be serving in the mission hospital in El Paso where I can help alleviate the suffering of other
sick and ailing individuals.” What would he think, she wondered, if he knew that she had chosen service
there in lieu of going to prison for prostitution and theft? Service indeed--she would be mopping floors,
helping in the kitchen and emptying bedpans.

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Raul moved closer and laid a comforting arm around her shoulders. “My poor sweet darling.”

Abigail lifted his hand and placed it by his side. She could not long bear this kind of comfort without
telling him the truth. “I’m very tired.”

Raul reacted with characteristic thoughtfulness. “Of course you are.” He stood and moved toward his
blanket.

Abigail suddenly realized that what she garnered and stored of loving tenderness over the next two days
would have to sustain her for a lifetime. She patted the space beside her. “Please, stay here with me
tonight.”

She read in his troubled expression the intent to refuse and then he shrugged, smiled and returned to lie
down beside her.

Abigail curled up beside him, laid her arm across his chest and closed her eyes. Her mind was a
confusion of troubled thoughts and remembered regrets. Then she carefully pulled the silken curtain of
illusion over the brutal truth and fell into a sound and restful sleep.

Chapter Six

Raul pulled his horse to a stop and looked over his shoulder as fear kicked in the pit of his stomach.
Wesley Martin was somewhere behind him and coming closer with every passing minute. Tilting his head
he looked upward. The limestone cliffs that rose on either side of the river had become steeper. Along
their sides delicate ferns and prickly pears grew in the horizontal crevasses marking the places where
water seeped through. Somewhere in the distance a canyon wren trilled its soothing song. Such a land of
contrasts!

Through the long morning as they pushed ever southward the stirring breeze had become a complaining
wind. Now threatening clouds gathered in the sky and hugged the rugged tops of the canyon. The
ever-changing river was becoming wider and deeper. Raul turned in his saddle and watched as Abigail
stopped her mount beside his. He kept his tone calm. “There’s a storm coming. We have to get to higher
ground before the rain starts.”

She stared at him in surprise. “It rains here?”

Raul looked into her lovely eyes and his mouth filled with the bile of self-loathing. She was so young and
so inexperienced and so damn forgiving. He had kidnapped her, seduced her and even now he was
exposing her to an ever-mounting danger. She obviously held no grudge, nor did she seem to harbor ill
feelings toward her captor. He shook his head. “It not only rains, it floods.” What Raul neglected to add
was that those flash floods could result in a sudden rise in the river that presented an indisputable danger
to travelers along the canyon’s floor. Kicking his horse in the flanks he urged it forward.

Abigail rode along with him chatting amiably as they traveled. She was seemingly unaware of the
possible peril that faced them. Raul opened his mouth to warn her. “Abigail,” and then closed it again. It
was just as well that she didn’t know.

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Abigail turned her head and smiled at him. “Yes?”

Her smile had its devastating effect. Raul felt an involuntary tightening in his loins. He pointed upward.
“Look for a high ravine with an overhang. We will need protection from the rain.”

“All right.” She turned her face upward to scan the sides of imposing stone cliffs.

Raul watched her with a strange mixture of pleasure and pain He felt such empathy with this courageous
and compassionate young woman. Like him she had lost someone she loved deeply. The comparison
ended there for unlike him she had channeled her grief into constructive endeavors while he had let his
loss drive him to reprehensible acts of revenge. He quickly closed his mind to such thoughts. He must
concentrate now on getting to high ground before the storm broke. He turned his horse to the right and
began the treacherous climb up the side of the rocky incline.

Abigail followed him calling as she went, “I have to thank you again. The blanket strips around my legs
make riding much easier.”

Before beginning their journey earlier today Raul had cut the Indian’s blanket into strips and wrapped
Abigail’s legs from her knees to her ankles. He grunted, “Sure,” and swore under his breath. Why the
hell should she feel beholden to him for anything?

They made their way single file up the steep face of the rocky incline. Halfway to the top they reached a
projection with a sheltering overhang of rock. As they drew closer Raul gave silent thanks. The ledge
was over the entrance to a cave. He pointed. “This way.”

The rocky shelf provided ample space for the animals. Raul dismounted and stooping down, peered into
the cave. “Luck is with us. There’s room for us inside.”

Abigail slid from her horse and came to stand beside him. Her head was encased in her makeshift
turban. Her legs were wrapped in blanket strips and her petticoat was torn and blood stained. Still she
was the most enticing woman Raul had ever seen. Before his common sense could catch up to his foolish
heart he took her into his arms. Just holding her brought a joy such as he hadn’t experienced in years.
For several seconds he clasped her in a tender embrace, drawing strength from her nearness and finding
peace in her presence.

After awhile she pushed her hands against his chest and moving back looked up at him. “You are the
most gentle, caring man I have ever known.” She bit her lip revealing her elusive dimple and then hung
her head, obviously embarrassed by her outburst. In a subdued voice she offered, “I can tether the
horses while you take the supplies inside the cave.”

Unbidden, a disturbing little thought wormed its way into Raul’s brain. Was she trying to get him inside
the cave long enough for her to take the horses and run? He cursed his own ambivalence and quickly
discarded that notion. She could have escaped a half dozen times since they’d begun this desperate
journey and she hadn’t chosen to do so. His respect for her honesty and compassion increased. “First I
have to go inside and look around.” The danger of rattlesnakes was an ever-present one and a cave such
as this would be an ideal place for one of them to take refuge.

Suddenly and with alarming force, fingers of forked lightening streaked across the turbulent sky.
Moments later a crashing boom of answering thunder echoed its way down the canyon. Abigail hurled
herself into Raul’s arms. He held her close searching for words to soothe her fears and finding none.

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She nestled in his embrace and smiled up at him. “That sounds ominous.”

He pulled her closer and felt her breasts push against his chest. Resting his chin on her head he
whispered, “We are safe here.”

As if to dispute that assertion a bright flash of lightening streaked across the boiling clouds and struck the
cliff above sending a shower of bright yellow and vivid red sparks exploding around them. Abigail closed
her eyes and clung to Raul.

He held her close as polarizing emotions tore through him. She was so young and so vulnerable. His
desire to protect her was strong. Even stronger was the longing to strip her of every stitch she wore and
make wild passionate love to her. His body stiffened with desire. With no small effort he pulled himself
from her embrace. “I’ll see if the cave is safe.”

As he knelt at its entrance Abigail cautioned, “Be careful.”

Raul thought as he crawled into the dark hole in the earth that the warning, for all its good intent, had
come too late. His lust for the lovely Abigail had made him careless and reckless. It had also stripped him
of his good judgment. If he wasn’t careful it could shove him over the edge of reason and into the abyss
of disaster. As he inspected the cave, he vowed not to touch her again.

For all his good intentions, the moment Abigail was in the cave and sitting on the blanket he had spread
on the hard floor, Raul found his resolve melting away in the heat of his blistering need. His penis stiffened
and pushed against the front of the conductor’s pants. He watched from the far side of the small room as
she took off her shoes, undid the wrappings, stretched her legs in front of her and wriggled her toes.
“That feels good.”

Not half as good, Raul thought, as he could make her feel if he were inside her. With a deliberate effort
he opened the supply bag and tried to concentrate on something--anything that would take his mind away
from the yearning that ate into his soul like a canker. He’d always prided himself on his ability to control
his emotions and to hold his feelings in check. Not even his sweet Elena had moved him to such hopeless
depths of desire or stirred him to such soaring heights of passion. Elena! How could he have forgotten
her? Closing his eyes he struggled to conjure up an image of his dead wife’s face. The vision in his mind
faded and vanished away like mists in sunlight. It was replaced by the mental picture of a fair-haired
beauty with golden hair and eyes as blue as sapphires. It seemed that Abigail had accomplished what five
years of grief and anguish could not. She had erased the image of Elena from his memory. His angst-filled
voice floated out into the small space. “Elena, my darling, forgive me.” The words were lost in the rumble
of another clap of booming thunder.

Leaning toward him Abigail asked, “What did you say?”

Before Raul could reply the storm in all its fury came roaring down the canyon. Rain fell in torrents. The
wind rose to gale force and howled through rock formations like a banshee.

Abigail cried out in alarm, “Raul!”

He heard the anxiety in her voice and saw the fear in her eyes. Immediately and without a second
thought he moved to her side and held her in a tender embrace. “It’s all right. We are safe here.”

They were safe from the rainstorm that raged outside but they were caught in a tempest of passion that

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rivaled the rampage nature in all her fury had let loose. The moment he touched her Raul knew he was
lost to all reason. This time he didn’t even pretend to fight the lightening flash of desire that struck and
burst into flames in the pit of his stomach, and then roared through his body like a brush fire on a hot July
day.

Abigail’s incandescent response stoked the fires of his raging need. She melted into his embrace and
sighed, “Oh, Raul.” The quiver of anticipation in her voice sent shivers dancing down his spine. He
dropped his mouth over her trembling lips and lost himself in the magic of tasting her sweetness.

After blissful moments he raised his head and stared into the blue of her eyes. The promise he saw there
pulled him into a vortex of desire. His fumbling fingers reached for the tie that held the front of her
tattered garment. Even as he cautioned himself to be gentle his inflamed brain and aching body begged
for a hastening toward fulfillment. Then suddenly and with nagging persistence, the voice of reason
struggled to the surface. God! What was he doing? Pulling away he tried desperately to control his
run-away desire.

He would have succeeded if Abigail had not extended her hands and smiled at him. Even as he swept
her into his arms and assaulted her brow, her cheeks and her mouth with fiercely tender kisses he cursed
himself for being unable to resist her invitation. This woman had but to smile at him and he was lost to
everything except a primitive onslaught of unbridled passion.

This time it was Abigail who broke the embrace. She smiled at him, her eyes aglow with desire. Standing
she pulled her tattered garment over her head. The lithe movement of her young body brought a renewed
surge of savage passion. She tossed her petticoat aside. Her blue-veined breasts stood proud and erect.
Her naval was a tiny bowl that invited exploration.

Raul groaned and gritted his teeth as he knelt before her and slid her thin undergarment over her hips and
down her legs. It bunched around her ankles.

Abigail kicked it aside and stood before him with her golden hair falling down her back and her body
radiant with longing for him. Raul put his tongue in her navel and twirled it in maddening circles before
licking his way to the thatch of blond hair between her legs.

Abigail put her hands atop his head as a shiver shook through her slim frame. Throwing her head back
she moaned deep in her throat.

Raul buried his face in the soft opening between her legs, pushed his tongue far into her vagina, closed
his eyes and sucked her sweetness. In a matter of moments he felt the beginning of an orgasm. Knowing
that Abigail was so near climax fired his passion to incredible heights. The taste of desire flooded his
mouth as he sucked harder and his tongue probed deeper.

The ripples of her orgasm began, slowly at first and then with greater and greater force until they reached
a pounding crescendo. She cried out as her body twisted and writhed.

Raul pulled his tongue from her vagina and laid her down on the blanket. He hastily stripped himself of
every stitch he wore and lay down beside her. By now desire had all but consumed him. Every fiber of
his being throbbed to the rhythm of his intense need as passion held him in its merciless thrall. The dim
cave took on a dreamlike glow. The world receded taking with it time and reality. Only this moment had
meaning.

Abigail opened her arms in a provocative invitation that was as old as mankind and as ancient as time.

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Raul climbed between her parted legs and with a cry of triumph sunk his throbbing rock-hard penis into
the warmth of her wet vagina. She moaned, tightened her pelvic muscles and moved sensually beneath
him.

Any semblance of reason or control had long since deserted him. Instinct and animal fervor now held
sway. He moved his penis in and out in ever escalating strokes. The friction lifted him higher with each
thrust. Reason, remembrance and resolve were all lost in the glorious bliss of his union with this woman.
Pleasure twisted and climbed ever upward until his rapture spiraled to sheer ecstasy. The explosion of his
climax brought an inexpressible delirium of joy and gratification as he soared to some secret place
beyond the stars.

A loud clap of thunder and a feeling of remorse accompanied his quick descent back to earth. Once
again he had succumbed to passion’s magnetic pull. Dragging his now flaccid penis from Abigail he rolled
onto his back and groaned deep in his throat.

Abigail rose on her elbow and gazed down at him. The tenderness in her eyes only added to his feelings
of guilt. She smiled revealing her charming dimple. “You were wonderful.”

Shame now mingled with Raul’s regret. He turned his face to the wall. “I’m sorry.”

Abigail’s smile converted to a puzzled frown. “For what?”

Raul pushed himself to his feet. For more reasons than one they needed to get out of here as quickly as
possible. He moved to the mouth of the cave, stooped down and peered outside. The rain had stopped
as suddenly as it had started. “For taking advantage of you.”

Abigail sat up and ran her fingers through her long hair. “You didn’t take advantage of me. I wanted it as
badly as you did.”

Those words for all their truth brought Raul little comfort. “That doesn’t excuse my behavior. Get
dressed. We must be on our way as quickly as possible.”

Even now Sheriff Martin could be in striking distance. Raul looked down the incline to the river below.
A flash flood had swelled it out of its banks. The entire floor of the canyon was a torrent of churning
choppy water topped by swirling white crested waves. Sighing, he turned. “We can’t leave yet. The river
is out of its banks.”

Abigail sat cross-legged on the blanket. Smiling she extended her arms. “Then come and lie with me.”

Raul had not thought it possible to feel such a strong surge of desire so soon after such a tempestuous
bout of passion. How wrong he had been. Even as his mind reneged his body hardened and his heart
began to pound. An all-too-familiar rush of excitement surged through him. As he moved into her waiting
arms, his last sane thought was that he was lost again.

Chapter Seven

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Abigail knew that this perfect dream was too beautiful to last but in the time remaining she would prove
to Raul how deeply she desired him.

She read in his tortured glance the intent to refuse her invitation. Then a flame leaped in the depths of his
ebony eyes. He moved with startling speed across the space that separated them and took her into his
arms. “Estoy embrujada!”

Abigail had no idea what he was saying. At this point she didn’t care. All she could think of now was the
sensual pleasure this man’s touch could bring and how she wanted to experience that feeling again and
again until she was sated and senseless. She put her arms around his neck closed her eyes, lifted her face
and parted her lips for his kiss.

He devoured her mouth with a plundering kiss that sent shivering spikes of desire down her spine. His
hands roamed over her breasts, her stomach and her thighs igniting little fires of pleasure where they
touched. A knot of desire tightened in the pit of her stomach.

Abigail had never before thought of her body as an instrument of pleasure. Now she did. For this short
space of time here in this warm dark hole in the earth she would revel in the decadence of sexual
splendor. When it was over, she would have the memory of these moments to sustain her through the
long empty years that lay ahead. Her hands slid down Raul’s stomach, past the patch of dark hair that
grew at its base. Grasping his engorged penis she gently moved her fingers over its plum colored head.

A ragged rigor shook through him as agonizing words were torn from his throat. “A la mejor cabeza so
le mete Diablo.”In fervor a of passion he crushed her to him as once more his seeking mouth reclaimed
her lips with a kiss that sent liquid fire burning through her veins.

Her body reacted to his remembered embraces. Shudders spun down her spine as she moved her
mouth to his neck to nuzzle there before she began to slowly suck and lick her way down. This time there
would be no doubt about her being a participant in their lovemaking.

She used her mouth and her hands to explore his broad chest and his flat stomach. Then she dropped
her lips to the quivering flesh of his inner thighs and fluttered little butterfly kisses upward, across his
testicles and onto the other side. The feel of his skin beneath her mouth and under her hands sent her
desire soaring.

Raul stiffened and convulsed in a spasm of delight as she let her tongue explore the little slit on the head
of his cock. She put her fingers behind his testicles and massaged the space between his rectum and his
scrotum. Then she took him into her mouth and sucked gently at first and them with ever increasing force
and suction. The force of his sudden ejaculation caused his body to contract and jerk in tremors of
delight.

To her great surprise his semen tasted sweet and fresh like spring rain. Lifting her head she smiled at him
before once again taking him into her mouth.

His limp penis grew and stiffened almost immediately. In a matter of minutes it was rock hard and
pulsating. He groaned and murmured words in Spanish that she didn’t understand.

Abigail climbed astride him and pushed his erection deep into her throbbing vagina. For a blissful
moment she was very still and then she began to move slowly letting herself feel every inch of his long
thick penis as she created her own rhythm. Raul followed her tempo to perfection.

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As she neared climax she forgot her mission was to show him that she wanted him as badly as he
wanted her. Her every thought now was to reach that magnificent peak of sexual grandeur that loomed
before her. She moved more swiftly and thrust deeper and deeper, riding him with wild abandon until an
orgasm of superb proportions grabbed her and thrust her into a world of rapturous sensations. Just as
she peaked she felt Raul ejaculate inside her.

Abigail descended from her euphoric haze slowly. As her breathing began to approximate normal, she
moved to lie on her back. She had never felt more sated or more fulfilled.

Raul turned to face her. “This timeyouwere wonderful.”

Abigail drew a sigh of relief. She had been afraid that he might be disgusted by her aggressive behavior.
His words of praise made her secure enough to tease, “Should I apologize for ravishing you?”

Raul chuckled low in his throat. “Only if you promise to do it again and soon.”

Abigail knew they had no future together. At the border, if they made it that far, he would go one way
and she would go another. But it couldn’t hurt to pretend. “Every day for the rest of your life if you’d
like.”

Raul drew her into a warm embrace. “I would like.” He kissed her dimple. “Get some rest. We have a
hard day ahead of us tomorrow.”

Abigail closed her eyes but sleep was a long time coming.

Raul’s kissing her cheek awakened her. The first rays of a rising sun shone through the cave’s opening.
She lifted her eyelids to see him leaning over her. “Good morning.” His husky voice sent shivers down
her spine. Putting her arms around his neck she pulled him closer and begged with her eyes for him to
kiss her.

Very gently he pulled himself from her embrace. “Later, my darling.”

He had called her his darling and promised to make love to her later. That was enough to fill Abigail’s
empty stomach with bubbles of happiness.

They dressed and, after a cold meal, made preparations for their trek back down the side of the canyon.

The river that only yesterday had been a swollen torrent of raging water was calm and peaceful in the
early morning sunlight. Abigail looked around her. “It’s as if the storm never happened.”

Raul smiled tenderly. “Ah, but we know it did.”

Was she being a fool reading a second and more profound meaning into what could only be classified as
a passing remark? The answer came with resounding force. She was indeed. But then wasn’t everyone a
fool now and then? Looking around at the magnificence of this wild and rugged land she let her fancy fly.
If only she could put time on hold, suspend all tomorrows, blot out all yesterdays and stay forever here in
this place with the man who was master of body and could so easily win her heart.

Her mind’s foolish flight vanished to be replaced by cold reality. She was not what Raul thought her to
be. Oh, God! He must never learn the truth. Better by far that he should remember his illusion of her and

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smile than to recall the truth and be filled with loathing and disgust.

Raul turned in his saddle. “Why so quiet?”

For one unguarded moment she considered telling him the truth and begging his forgiveness. What if he
couldn’t forgive her? What if he hated her for her lies and her past? Not that! Never that! She smiled at
him. “Just remembering.”

He smiled back. “As if either of us could ever forget.”

He would in time, but she would carry the memory of these few days she had spent with him to her
grave.

They turned their horses southward. To their left the sun was climbing into a clear blue sky. As they
traveled, the river became wider and deeper. The cliffs graduated into hills. They had ridden several miles
when Raul raised himself in his saddle and looked over his shoulder.

Abigail’s stomach tensed. “What are you doing?”

“Anticipating the inevitable, someone is behind us and gaining rapidly.”

Abigail strained her ears to catch the sounds of approaching horses. All she heard was water rippling
over stones and the steady buzzing of cicadas. “Do you hear them?”

Raul kicked his horse in the flanks urging him forward. “No, but I know they are there.”

Abigail didn’t have to ask who was behind them, she knew. Wesley Martin was coming nearer with
every passing moment. Words Raul had spoken to her earlier came back with alarming clarity.Do you
think Sheriff Martin would have let you go unpunished if I had left you behind?Maybe she would
end up in jail after all. She would go gladly if it meant Raul could escape to safety.

They rounded another bend in the river. A sand bar appeared as the current lessened. Raul stopped and
dismounted. “The water’s shallow here. We can wade across.” His horse dropped its head and began to
nibble at the patches of green that keep a precarious hold in the damp soil. The mule followed suit.

Abigail slid from her mount and stood beside him. Anxiety that she had thus far managed to ignore
returned with nagging insistence. “How far are we from the border?”

“If we could keep this pace we would be there by nightfall.” Holding his horse’s reins Raul waded into
the river. The mule reluctantly lifted its head and followed along behind.

Abigail brought up the rear. Holding onto her horse’s reins she waded into the shallow water. A silky
fear wedged in her stomach and lay like a dead weight. Even if Raul escaped, and she prayed that he
would, sooner or later Sheriff Martin would catch up to her. What would happen then?

Raul quickened his pace as he called over his shoulder, “Be careful, the water is a little swift because of
yesterday’s rain storm.”

As always his concern touched her deeply. She could almost believe that he truly cared for her.

Once across the river they mounted their horses and galloped south. They rode swiftly and steadily for

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the next two hours. Suddenly Raul slowed his horse to a walk. “Our horses can’t keep going at this
pace.”

Abigail pulled along side him. “If we slow down they will catch us.”

“We don’t have a choice.”

If Abigail had learned anything in her short life, it was that there were always choices. She thought with a
touch of regret that she had always seemed to make the wrong ones. “Yes we do.”

“No we don’t,” Raul argued, “Our horses can’t keep up this pace in this heat.”

Abigail looked at his bruised face and wondered how he had come to be in this terrible place and faced
with these dire circumstances. Without the slightest compunction she asked, “Why did Sheriff Martin
take you prisoner?”

“I don’t think...” Raul hesitated for a moment and then shrugged. “What difference can it make now? I
killed one of his deputies.”

His words shocked Abigail into stunned silence. As her mind began to restore to some semblance of
reason, she knew, without quite knowing how she had come to that knowledge, that regardless of what
he had done Raul Mendoza was not a cold blooded killer. “Why?”

She watched as his marred face set in hard lines. “Because he killed Elena.”

Who, Abigail wondered, was Elena? Before she had time to ask, Raul said, “Elena was my wife.”

For reasons that she was unwilling to admit, even to herself, those words had the impact of a fist to
Abigail’s midsection. “You must have loved her very much.”

“I did. She was the finest, gentlest, most beautiful lady I ever knew.”

Abigail cringed inwardly. Why should she be so upset? Need she ask? She was none of the things that
Elena had been and she never could be. A hope that she had so far denied became apparent. With swift
hindsight she realized that until now she had dared to dream that Raul might care for her.

Once again the ever-changing river altered, this time from a smooth stream into gushing rapids that
churned and tossed like the waves of an angry sea. No less turbulent were the emotions that surged
through Abigail. “Are you a wanted man?”

“No. I killed Chad Turner in Mexico. The courts there cleared me of any charges.”

Abigail wondered aloud, “Then how did you come to be prisoner in Texas?”

Raul’s eyes caught and held her gaze. “Because Martin came into Mexico and kidnapped me.”

Abigail said with conviction, “Then he is the criminal, not you.”

Raul’s smile was ironic. “A lot of good that does me now.”

They rode for several minutes in silence. The sun was an orange ball in the clear sky. The heat and

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humidity were almost unbearable. Abigail stopped her horse and pointed to a clump of scrubby trees that
grew near the river’s bank. “That seems a good place to rest.”

Raul dismounted. “We have to stop somewhere and soon. The horses can’t take much more of this heat
and neither can we.” He followed Abigail to the clump of trees.

Abigail found a grassy spot beneath the trees, spread a blanket, took off her shoes and lay down. Her
body was a bundle of aches and pains crying for rest.

Raul tethered the animals and came to lie beside her. “We can’t stay long.” He took Sheriff Martin’s
six-shooter from his belt and laid it beside him on the blanket.

Abigail moved nearer to him. She could feel heat emanating from his body as he heaved a weary sigh.
He too must be fatigued and travel-worn. She laid her arm across his chest. The heat from his body
traveled down her arm and scorched through her body. Touching him was like holding a torch to a brush
pile. Desire burst inside her like a blast from a rocket. Even as she thought this can’t happen here, not
now, she moved her hand from his chest to the waist of his pants and unfastened them. The sense of an
ever-present danger and the knowledge that for them time was running out honed and heightened her
desire. She might never lay with him like this again. Her hand slid inside his open pants to caress his
penis, which was already expanding.

Raul objected, “No, we can’t.” Even as his mouth was protesting his body was responding. In seconds
his penis was rock hard and throbbing. He helped Abigail pull his pants down over his hips.

As Raul stood and removed his pants, Abigail quickly shed her garments, lay down and extended her
arms in invitation. “Lie with me?”

“I have a better idea.” Raul shed his shirt, took her hands and pulled her to a standing position. Without
saying a word he led her across the grassy ground to the bank of the river. When they reached the river’s
edge, he took her in his arms and kissed her with the tender passion that never failed to set her heart
racing with expectation and her and her body throbbing with desire.

After a long blissful kiss, Raul raised his head. “Come with me.” He stepped into the swirling river.

Abigail pulled back. “Should we? The water is so swift.”

“We will stay near the bank.”

Holding onto Raul’s hand, Abigail followed him into the swiftly moving current. When the water began to
swirl around Abigail’s waist Raul stopped. Taking her in his arms he whispered, “Relax and enjoy.”

Abigail laid her head on his chest as a sense of peace and wellbeing stole over her. The feel of Raul’s
penis pushing against her stomach coupled with the sensation created by the swift movement of the water
as it swirled between her legs sent a jolt of pure physical pleasure jarring through her body.

Raul put his finger into her vagina and moved it gently back and forth. A sudden orgasm rippled through
her body. It should have sated her desire--instead it created a lust for more and more and more....

With one mighty thrust Raul impaled her on his penis. He moved back and forth and in and out with
maddening force. The friction lifted her to another plane of pleasure and moved her nearer and nearer to
some enchanted world of pure sensation. After what seemed an eternity of rocking and thrusting in the

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swirling water, Raul exploded inside her, carrying her to supreme heights of ecstasy. She writhed and
twisted in his embrace until at last, spent and replete, she collapsed against his chest.

Raul pulled his limp penis from her still throbbing vagina. Little ropes of his semen were caught up in the
churning waters and carried downstream. He rested his chin on her head and uttered something in
Spanish before he placed his hand under her chin, lifted her face and kissed her gently. “Can you walk?”

Abigail laughed. She wasn’t sure that she could. “I think so.”

Raul led her from the water and back to the spread quilt. “Rest for a few minutes and then we must go.”

Abigail lay down and stretched out as reality returned to chase away her feeling of euphoria. There was
so little time. She patted the space beside her. “Lie with me.”

Raul stretched out beside her. “Only for a little while and then we must push on.”

Abigail laid her arm across his chest. This short suspended space in time was hers and no one could ever
take it from her. She held onto that thought as she drifted into a restful sleep.

Chapter Eight

For Raul sleep did not come so easily. His mind was a teeming mass of contradictory thoughts and
conflicting emotions. Abigail’s response to his lovemaking flattered his male ego and made him feel more
a man than he’d ever felt before. His response to her disturbed and confused him. She had but to smile
or extend her hand and he was lost to everything but his own passionate desire. How, he wondered,
could he feel so sure of himself on the one hand and be so out of control on the other?

Regardless of what she did or how he felt he could not ignore the fact that he had captured and seduced
a young girl who had dedicated her life to the noble cause of serving others. A part of him argued that she
had responded with such fire and passion that he couldn’t resist taking her over and over again. His saner
self reminded him that her response did not excuse what he had done. He was older and wiser than she
and more experienced. He should have exercised more self-control.

Another more immediate problem moved in to chase away Raul’s thoughts of self-castigation. Once
more he was debating with himself. Should he trust that their horses could endure another several hours
of hard riding with no more to sustain them than a few blades of grass? Should he slow their pace thus
assuring that they would reach the border and hope that Wesley Martin didn’t catch up to them before
they could get there?

The sun was at its zenith beating down with blazing intensity. Whatever he decided, one thing was
certain. The horses had to rest for a while. Raul’s mind latched onto one reassuring thought. Regardless
of what happened now he could be secure in the knowledge that the bastard who had taken the life of his
sweet Elena had paid for his crime. With those words as comfort he drifted into a troubled sleep.

Raul was awakened by the sounds of vicious laughter. He was instantly alert. His eyes flew open.
Wesley Martin stood over Abigail, laughing sadistically. “Well, well, look what we got here.”

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Raul struggled to control the bolt of panic that jolted through him. Instinct told him that if he intended to
walk away from this episode alive he must keep his mouth shut and his wits about him.

Abigail reached for her tattered petticoat as a muffled little cry escaped through her lips.

Wesley put his boot on her garment. “You don’t have to play at modesty, girlie. We all know what you
are.” His voice was an evil snarl. “Stand up and let us all get a look at what you’re peddlin’.”

A disembodied voice called from the edge of the clearing. “You promised, Sheriff. You said you
wouldn’t hurt her.” In the periphery of his vision Raul caught sight of another figure. As the man stepped
forward he recognized Reverend Abernathy.

Sheriff Martin hooted, “How can gettin’ a little pussy from a two-bit whore hurt her?”

Reverend Abernathy was moving into the shaded glade. “She’s no longer a whore and it is my duty to
deliver her to the hospital in El Paso.”

Sheriff Martin sneered, “Once a whore, always a whore.” He pushed his boot into Abigail’s side. “Ain’t
that right, girlie?”

The word whore exploded in Raul’s brain like a shotgun blast. Abigail, his sweet Abigail, was a whore?
It was more than his mind could master. Lucidity gave way to confused bewilderment. He struggled to
pull his thoughts together as Reverend Abernathy rushed forward. “Be easy with her. I’m responsible for
her safety.”

The Reverend was followed by Mack, Sheriff Martin’s deputy who was a little man with bowed legs
and a face like a ferret. “Before you take her back we can all have a turn with her.” He swaggered
toward the nude couple with his thumbs hooked in the belt of his pants. “It ain’t like another man or two
fuckin’ her is gonna make a hell of a lot of difference.”

Raul’s mist of confusion lifted, leaving him to face an unbearable possibility.

As the deputy came abreast of Reverend Abernathy, the Reverend grabbed his arm and pulled him to a
halt. “It makes a difference to me. I swore before God that I would....”

Sheriff Martin intervened, “We ain’t gonna take anything she ain’t already been givin’ to the Mex.”

A perplexing mixture of pain and doubt ripped through Raul. Could it be that everything Abigail had said
and everything she had done had been a lie?

Mack wiped his sleeve across his mouth. “You can be first, Wesley.”

Reverend Abernathy sputtered, “I forbid it, do you hear?”

Sheriff Martin snarled, “Shut up, preacher, before I shut you up permanently.” Then turning to Mack he
laughed that cruelly sadistic laugh. “You fuck her first. I’ll just watch and see that you do it right.”

Mack shook free of the Reverend’s grasp and walked toward the nude couple. His actions were enough
to pull Raul’s thoughts back to the desperate present. He looked toward Abigail. Quickly she averted
her face--but not quickly enough. The expression in her sapphire eyes confirmed his worst fear. In that

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merciless moment the truth grabbed Raul in its ruthless grasp. He breathed, “Abigail?”

She refused to look at him. “I never wanted you to know.”

Reverend Abernathy had been frightened into stony silence. He shrank back and turned away from the
others.

Mack was advancing toward Abigail. He had removed his gun belt and was unbuttoning his pants as he
went. “I ain’t never got pussy with somebody watchin’ before.” Obviously he was pleased by the
prospect.

Sheriff Martin held up one hand. “Just keep your britches on, Mack.” He waved his six-shooter toward
Raul. “You can git your britcheson, Mex.” Again he laughed that hideously brutal laugh. “Now ain’t that
something? Them stole britches is gonna be your buryin’ clothes.”

Raul reached for his pants as he struggled to control another burst of panic.

Sheriff Martin turned to address Mack. “You can watch what I do to the Mex and see what happens to
them that crosses Wesley Martin.”

As Raul slid his shaking fingers under his clothing, they collided with the cold steel of a six-gun. His hand
moved down the barrel and locked around the butt of the weapon.

From the corner of her eye Abigail watched Raul’s every move. Abruptly she stood and shook her
breasts provocatively. “Sheriff, are you sure you don’t want to be first?”

Saliva drooled from the side of Sheriff Martin’s mouth. “My Gawd!” His eyes gleamed with lust as he
dropped his six-gun back into its holster and wiped the slobber away with his hand. “I may just take you
up on that offer.”

Raul pushed from his mind the thought that less than an hour ago Abigail had spoken to him in that same
soft, seductive voice.

Mack’s pants were around his ankles. His penis stuck from between his legs like a stiff rod. “Sheriff, you
promised--me first.”

Sheriff Martin pointed to Mack’s penis. “Is that all you got to offer?” His mocking laughter rang across
the countryside.

Lust gave Mack a measure of false courage. “You got something better?” The two men began to argue
about the size of Mack’s dick.

Blind fury made Raul momentarily impervious to danger. His sweaty finger tightened on the trigger of the
concealed six-gun. “Sheriff?” His voice was thick and steady.

Wesley held out one hand with his palm out. “Quiet, y’all. The Mex wants to speak.” The fingers of his
other hand danced across the butt of his six-shooter. “Say it ’cause...” His sentence was cut short by the
sudden report of a shot firing into the quiet atmosphere. As the bullet plowed through his heart, the look
on Wesley Martin’s face changed from sneering to surprised, and then moved to terrified before his eyes
locked into a blank stare. Placing his hand over the hole in his chest he pitched forward and fell on his
face.

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Raul whipped his gun from its cover, leaped to his feet and pointed it toward the deputy and Reverend
Abernathy. “Don’t move either of you.”

Mack tried to run. His pants around his ankles stopped him. Lifting both hands over his head, he cried.
“Don’t shoot, Mex. I give up.”

Reverend Abernathy seemed rooted to the spot where he stood. He said as he raised his hands, “You
killed the sheriff this time for sure.”

Mack was babbling incoherently. “Don’t shoot, please. I ain’t... Please don’t shoot....”

Raul growled, “Pull up your pants.” Realization of what had happened began to sift through the panic
that had gripped him. Wesley Martin was dead. He called to Reverend Abernathy, “Tie the deputy to a
tree.”

Deputy Mack fastened his pants around his scrawny middle. “You don’t have to do that. I ain’t gonna
cause no trouble for nobody.”

Reverend Abernathy took a short rope from the saddlebag on the sheriff’s horse and tied Mack’s hands
behind him and then fastened the other end around a scrubby tree. When he had finished the task he
hurried to Abigail’s side. “Get your clothes on girl.” He turned his attention to Raul. “Maybe you should
get dressed too.”

Raul put on the conductor’s pants, slipped his arms into his shirt and buttoned it over his sweaty chest.
As he dressed relief surged through him. It was really over. He could go home. A voice he tried to ignore
kept whispering inside his head that for him, the events of these last few days would never be over.

Thirty minutes later Reverend Abernathy and Raul had dug a shallow grave for Wesley Martin’s body.
As they laid the blanket-wrapped corpse in its final resting place, Reverend Abernathy nodded toward
Deputy Mack “What do you intend to do with him?”

Raul shrugged. “Let him go. What else?”

Mack shouted, “In that case how about untying me so’s I can pay my last respects to ole Wesley?”

Raul nodded to Abigail who hadn’t spoken at all during the last thirty minutes. “Untie him.”

He read in her startled glance the intent to refuse and then she shrugged, stood and walked toward the
place where Mack was tied. Halfway across the clearing she stooped and took the deputy’s gun from
the holster he’d dropped on the ground.

Mack shook like a leaf in a gale. “You be careful with that gun, girlie. Do you hear me now?”

Abigail came to stand directly in front of the frightened man. She cocked the pistol and rammed it into
his limp penis. “I’m going to untie you. If you so much as touch me I will shoot your balls off. If you ever
call me girlie again I will blow your brains out.”

Mack was literally shaking in his boots. He called to Raul and Reverend Abernathy, “Ain’t you boys
gonna help me?”

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Abigail gave the gun a shove. “Shut up.”

Mack closed his mouth and nodded his head as he swallowed deeply.

Abigail untied the frightened man.

He murmured, “Thank you, ma’am,” and scurried across the clearing to stand beside the shallow open
grave.

Reverend Abernathy grimaced. “Perhaps I should say a few words over this poor soul.”

Mack was quick to agree. “You should and while you’re speaking,” He slid down into the shallow hole,
unwrapped the blanket and unpinned the tin star from Wesley Martin’s shirt. “I’ll just take this here star
since I’m next in line for ole Wesley’s job.” Quickly he folded the blanket back over the body and
crawled from the grave, stood on its crumbling edge and bowed his head. “Go ahead Preacher, say your
piece.”

An hour after the brief burial service came to a close the grave was covered, horses were saddled and
the foursome was set to travel once more. This time Abigail, now-Sheriff Mack and Reverend Abernathy
would be riding north. Raul would travel south toward the Rio Grand and Mexico.

Reverend Abernathy extended his hand to Raul. “God bless you, sir. May you have a safe journey
home.”

Raul’s heart was heavy and his mind was crowded with painful thoughts. He shook the Reverend’s
hand. “And a safe journey to all of you.” As he turned to hoist himself into his saddle, Abigail called to
him. “Raul?”

Raul turned to face her. Tears stood in her huge blue eyes. He couldn’t deal with this, not now, not in the
wake of all that had just happened. “Yes?”

Abigail took a tentative step in his direction before turning to address Reverend Abernathy. “May I have
a few minutes alone with Raul?”

The Reverend shrugged. “Sure, why not?” He motioned to the newly self-appointed Sheriff Mack. “We
can wait over by that clump of trees.”

As the two moved out of hearing distance, Abigail came to stand before Raul. For one fleeting second
he thought of holding her in his arms and assuring her that everything would be all right. Then the words
so recently spoken by Wesley Martin jarred through his mind, leaving him raw and aching inside.You
don’t have to play at modesty, girlie. We all know what you are.In a cool distant voice he asked,
“What do you want?”

Abigail bowed her head. “I want you to forgive me.”

He echoed, “You want me to forgive you?”

“Yes.” Abigail’s chin lifted and she looked him straight in the eye.

Had he not been in such pain himself Raul would have recognized the depths of her anguish. But he was,
and his hurt and anger made him lash out with a bitter response. “You dare ask that,” he struggled to

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steady his voice, “of me?”

The lips that he had so recently found irresistible trembled. “I lied because the truth was too painful to
tell.”

Raul asked disdainfully, “And what is the truth? Are you what these men say you are?”

Abigail dropped her head once more and looked up at him from under her long lashes. After an
extended moment of painful silence she whispered, “Yes.”

Raul choked out, “You’re a whore?” The words ripped through his heart tearing it asunder.

Again Abigail lifted her stricken face. “Not by choice, never by choice.”

Had everything that she had told him been a fabrication? “All this talk about being on a holy mission was
that a lie too?”

Abigail wiped at a tear with her forefinger. “Yes.” She extended her hand. “I’m sorry. Please try to
understand.”

Raul’s hurt swallowed up any sense of compassion he might have felt. “I think I do, all too well. Your
response when I made love to you? Was that a lie, too?”

Abigail cried out, “No, never.”

Her voice carried such a ring of sincerity that he almost wavered and listened to his heart instead of his
head. Then he recalled how she had tempted Sheriff Martin with her seductive glances and luscious
body. “I don’t believe you.” He swung into his saddle.

Abigail begged, “Please, if you can’t do anything else, forgive me.”

Raul sneered, “Forgive you? “ She had made a complete fool of him. “I don’t think I can.” Kicking his
horse in the flanks he rode south without looking back.

Chapter Nine

Abigail watched Raul until he disappeared around a bend in the river. As he vanished from sight, sorrow,
like a lash from a cat-o-nine tails, flailed across her heart. The one thing she had feared most had
happened. Raul would remember her now, not as Abby the sweet missionary, but as Abigail the whore.
That knowledge induced an emotional trauma that froze her heart and paralyzed her brain, making it
possible for her to survive the next few hours.

The three unlikely travelers followed the river’s twisting pathway back toward Horse Head Crossing. As
they made their way north, Abigail’s numbness began to wear away. With the restoration of feelings
came excruciating pain and a renewed sense of danger. She couldn’t ignore the lustful leers Mack kept
sending her way. She had seen that look on a man’s face so many times before and she had closed her

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eyes and accepted its consequences--not again, not ever again.

At sundown they stopped and made camp. Mack refused to let the Reverend make a fire. “Too
dangerous, they’s Injuns out there,” he pointed into the descending darkness, “that would as soon scalp
you as look at you.”

Supper consisted of beef jerky and hard tack. All through the meal Abigail was conscious of Mack’s
lustful leers. Several times he tried to draw her into conversation. Abigail wrapped her silence around her
like a cloak. After a while Mack conceded defeat. “You sure ain’t very talkative for a woman.”

Later when the self-appointed sheriff went to tend the horses Abigail seized the opportunity to tell
Reverend Abernathy, “I need a gun.”

The Reverend gasped in surprise. “I can’t give you a weapon.”

“Then you will have to sleep next to me tonight.”

Reverend Abernathy sputtered, “If you have some idea of... Let me assure you....”

Was this what she had to look forward to for the rest of her life--some cruel renegade trying to rape her
or some stupid fool thinking that she was trying to seduce him? “Surely even you must see what Mack
plans to do the moment I go to bed.”

Reverend Abernathy tried to assure her. “I have made myself clear on the subject. Sheriff Mack
understands that you are in my keeping.”

Did he think that his meek declarations would deter Mack? Even Reverend Abernathy was not that
naïve. “Mack understands one thing, his own aroused sexual desire.”

The Reverend cleared his throat. “Have no fear. It is my responsibility to protect you from harm. That is
what I intend to do.”

Abigail didn’t doubt his intent. She did question his ability to carry out those intentions. “Are you
prepared to deal with Sheriff Mack if he decides to rape me?” She was sure that the newly
self-appointed sheriff had made up his mind to do just that.

Reverend Abernathy looked toward Mack and then leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Do you
think he would try to... take advantage of you?”

Abigail didn’t think, she knew and she suspected that the good Reverend did, too. “Either you sleep
with me or you give me a gun.”

The Reverend blushed beet red. “I see your point.” He reached into the saddlebag behind him and
handed Abigail the late Sheriff Martin’s six-shooter.

Abigail slipped the gun under the edge of her blanket. She had the uneasy feeling that she would need it
before the night was over.

Mack returned and spread his blanket out on the ground very near Abigail.

Abigail was set to object and then she changed her mind. Putting Reverend Abernathy in the position of

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having to confront Sheriff Mack wouldn’t be wise. If Mack killed the Reverend she would be at Mack’s
mercy. She lay down and feigned sleep. Despite her efforts to stay awake, slumber soon overtook her.

Sometime in the dark of early morning she felt the presence of someone near. She was immediately
awake and alert. Fear crept up her backbone. She smelled Mack’s foul breath as he knelt beside her. In
one smooth movement she pulled the gun from beneath her blanket and rolled over. As he crawled
astride her body she pushed the barrel of the six-shooter into his skinny midsection. “Make one more
move and you’re a dead man.”

Reverend Abernathy sat up and called out, “What’s going on over there? Miss Warren, are you all
right?”

Abigail answered, “I’m all right.” She rammed her knee into the frightened sheriff’s groin and gave him a
shove.

He landed in a heap some distance from her and doubled over in pain. “What’s happening? God damn I
must have been walkin’ in my sleep again.”

He was lying through his tobacco-stained teeth but Abigail knew the futility of arguing. She lay back
down and once again assured Reverend Abernathy, “I’m all right.”

Much to her surprise, Reverend Abernathy moved his blanket very near hers. “Get some rest if you
can.”

The next morning the Reverend didn’t ask for the gun back and Abigail didn’t offer to return it. For the
remainder of their journey she carried it in her saddlebag by day and slept with it under her blanket at
night.

The bedraggled trio reached Horse Head Station shortly before sundown three days after the onset of
their trek north. As they rode into the station yard Jed emerged from the waiting room. “Y’all are a
surprise for these eyes of mine. I see you got the girl back.” He stretched his neck to stare around them.
“Where’s Sheriff Martin?”

Mack spat a stream of tobacco juice on the dry ground. “Dead--the Mex killed him.”

Jed shook his head. “I knowed one of them would get the other one sooner or later.” He stepped from
the porch. “Go on in. I’ll take care of your animals.”

As Reverend Abernathy dismounted he asked, “When will there be another stage through here bound
for El Paso?”

Jed took his horse’s reins. “Should be one through here around noon tomorrow, ’course should be
don’t mean will be.”

Reverend Abernathy turned to Abigail. “Your valise is in the shed room--go and put on proper
clothing.”

Twenty minutes later Abigail returned to the waiting room wearing her uncomfortable caged crinoline,
the long-sleeved petticoat she’d left behind and her full skirted, high-necked dress.

Reverend Abernathy viewed her with a skeptical eye. “You look like a lady, see if you can behave like

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one.”

The stagecoach arrived around two the next afternoon. Half an hour later Abigail and Reverend
Abernathy began the treacherous journey to El Paso. Abigail wondered as she bounced about on the
uncomfortable wooden seat where Raul was and what he was doing. Had he reach Mexico safely? Was
he home now with his family? She would never know. Would he ever be able to forgive her? She would
never know that either. That thought brought a stab of pain and an infinite weight of sadness. It was a
weight that she knew would be her constant companion for a long, long time.

The stagecoach reached El Paso three days later and Abigail began her new life in strange and unfamiliar
surroundings. Although far from ideal, her routine at the hospital was an improvement over the sordid
existence she’d known at Madame Irene’s or the misery she’d experienced being at the mercy of a cruel
jailor in a Memphis prison. She was grateful to be so far removed from her old surroundings. Still her
heart was heavy at the thought of the three years of servitude that stretched endlessly ahead of her. She
did have one thing to be thankful for--Raul was alive and hopefully, now at home with his family.

Doctor Dailey, the director of the mission, was an elderly man who seemed dedicated to his work at the
hospital and to his congregation of poor farmers and merchants and ragtag Indians. His wife Hannah was
the hospital’s only nurse. Neither the doctor nor his wife seemed to be concerned about Abigail’s past.
As the days passed she began to adjust to her new surroundings and her rigorous routine.

Reverend Abernathy remained at the mission hospital for a week before beginning his long journey back
to Memphis. Abigail didn’t realize until he came to say good-bye how much she had grown to care for
him. Granted, he was stuffy and cowardly, but he was also kind and considerate. That was a trait she had
found in very few of the men she had known. And she had never properly thanked him for coming to her
rescue. She dreaded to think what would have happened if Sheriff Martin and Mack had been alone
when they had caught up to her and Raul. As he gravely shook her hand she said, “Thank you for seeing
me here safely.”

“It was my duty.” The Reverend clasped her hand a little tighter. “You will be safe here and in three
years you will be free. Perhaps you will come back home to Memphis.”

Memphis was not Abigail’s home. The truth was she had nohomeanywhere and she never intended to
be the resident of ahouseagain. She pulled her hand from his grasp. “I have learned not to look too far
into the future.” A bleak reality hit her. She had no future. The Reverend departed and Abigail had never
felt more alone.

Gradually she adjusted to her new life. The work she did was hard and the hours long. Regardless of
how many hours she worked or how weary she became, the moment she laid her head on her pillow at
night, memories of a tall handsome man returned to trouble her mind. It soon became evident that not
even weariness and sorrow could erase poignant recollections of the brief interlude she had shared with
Raul Mendoza. How tender and loving he had been. That was before he knew what she was. Always,
always, her thoughts ran full circle to return to his last bitter words.Forgive you? I don’t think I can.
Then he had ridden away without looking back.

Doctor Dailey was a kind man who insisted on speaking on a regular basis to Abigail about what he
referred to as ‘her spiritual condition’. She suspected that he had some idea of trying to save her
immortal soul. She was too kind to tell him that he was pursuing a lost cause.

One morning after she’d been at the mission about two months Abigail awoke with a sore throat, a
swollen neck and a slight fever. She ignored her discomfort and went about her daily tasks.

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Three days later her sore throat and fever still hung on. She had developed a cough and a runny nose.
This was Friday, the day that she went to Doctor Daily’s office to review and sign the weekly report the
he sent to the Mission Board at the end of each month. She would mention her condition to him. Maybe
he could give her something to ease the pain and lower her fever.

As always, Doctor Dailey was courteous. He stood as she came into the room. “How have you been
this week?” Pointing to the chair near his desk he said, “Sit down please and we will get to the business
at hand.”

Abigail sat in the chair. “When we complete our review of this week’s report perhaps you can give me
some medical advice.”

Doctor Dailey was immediately concerned. “Are you ill?”

“I have a sore throat and a fever.”

The doctor’s eyes narrowed, “How long have you had these problems?”

Abigail coughed before replying, “Two or three days.”

The doctor drummed his fingers on his desk “Are you having problems swallowing?”

Abigail nodded in affirmation.

“Do you have a runny nose?”

Once again Abigail nodded.

Lines of worry creased the doctor’s brow. “Have you been near the quarantine ward?”

Abigail had been told to stay away from that particular area and she had obeyed those orders. “No I
haven’t.”

Doctor Dailey leaned across the desk and studied her flushed face. “Are you sure?”

Abigail was positive. “I only went near enough to gather the garbage that was in the hall.”

Doctor Dailey drew a startled breath. “You touched the garbage from the quarantine ward?”

“I took it to the dump and burned it along with the other trash.”

The doctor struck his head with the palm of his hand. “My God!”

In all her time at the hospital Abigail had never heard Doctor Dailey swear. “What’s wrong with me?”
When he didn’t respond she cried out, “What do I have?”

The doctor was visibly shaken. “You will have to be quarantined.”

Panic was crawling up Abigail’s backbone. “Why?”

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“My dear, you have diphtheria.”

Abigail felt herself falling from her chair as darkness reached out and claimed her.

She awoke to find that she was lying on a narrow bed in a white walled room with a masked Nurse
Hannah standing over her. “Lie still, the doctor will be here soon.”

Abigail couldn’t lie still. Her throat was on fire and the pulses in her temples beat a staccato of pain. She
was shaking and shivering and burning with fever all at the same time. “Am I very ill?”

“Don’t ask foolish questions.” Nurse Hannah laid a wet cloth across Abigail’s forehead.

Doctor Dailey came through the door and closed it behind him. “How is she?”

Nurse Hannah shook her head. “Not good.”

Doctor Dailey came across the room and lifted Abigail’s wrist, felt her pulse and shook his head slowly
from side to side.

Nurse Hannah asked, “Have you looked in her throat?”

Doctor Dailey laid Abigail’s arm on the bed. “No. Have you?

Nurse Hannah nodded. “It’s black.”

The doctor gave Abigail’s arm an absentminded pat. “How many cases does this one make?”

Nurse Hannah grimaced. “Six.”

“This could escalate to an epidemic.”

Abigail was fighting to hold onto consciousness and loosing the battle. She tried to focus her eyes and
found that she couldn’t. She tried to speak. Her tongue was thick and unwieldy. Finally she managed to
ask, “Am I going to die?”

If an answer came she didn’t hear it. The room spun around as she slipped into a fevered delirium.
Nothing was real anymore. She was walking through a field of restless pain. Over and over she sobbed,
“Raul, forgive me, please forgive me.”

Chapter Ten

Raul poured whiskey into a glass and held the amber liquid to the light before swallowing it in one gulp.
It burned going down causing him to grimace, slump in his chair and close his eyes. As always Abigail
was there, laughing, teasing, sighing and holding her arms out to him as she whispered,Lie with me. He
crushed the glass in his hand, then opened it and let the shattered pieces fall to the floor. Blood oozed
from the cuts in his palm.

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“My son, you are wounded.” Enrique Mendoza stood in the doorway with an expression of deep
concern on his aging face.

Raul stared down at his hand. He was indeed wounded and in ways his father would never know. “So I
am.”

Enrique took a handkerchief from his pocket. Coming across the room he offered it to Raul. “Wrap this
around your hand.”

Raul obeyed and then watched as blood oozed through the fine linen to make an ever-widening circle.

Enrique sat in a chair across from his son. “This wound can’t compare to the wound inside your heart.
Does it too bleed?”

Raul made his hand into a fist. “It must since it can’t heal.”

Softly, his father asked, “What is her name?”

Raul stared down at his clenched fist. “How did you know?”

“What else could cause you such pain? Do you love her very much?”

Raul shook his head. “It has nothing to do with love.”

“Then what is it?”

Bitterness clogged Raul’s throat. “She made a fool of me.” He opened his hand and stared down at the
blood-soaked handkerchief.

Enrique shook his head. “It is not often that a woman makes a fool of a man unless he has made a fool
of himself first.”

As painful as it was to admit, Raul suspected that his father might be right. “Maybe I did that, too.”

“But you’re not sure? Tell me what happened, my son.”

All the pent up emotions of the past three months came to the surface as Raul related how he had been
stupid enough to fall into Wesley Martin’s trap. “He caught me and then treated me as if I were a wild
animal. He stripped me naked and tied me to a tree. I stayed there for hours and hours with no food and
no water. I was sure that I was going to die there, if not from thirst and hunger then from pain and
shame.”

“There is no shame in dying a prisoner, my son, if you are a prisoner for the right reasons.”

His father’s soft tones made it an easy task for Raul to continue speaking. He told in halting sentences
how Abigail had rescued him and how he had in turn taken her hostage.

His father listened intently. When Raul paused, he urged, “Yes, go on.”

Little by little Raul related the events that had transpired the three days he had spent on the trail with

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Abigail. It was like opening an old wound and probing around inside. When he had completed his story
he closed his eyes and concentrated on the pain in his hand. “It was all a lie. Everything she said and did
was a lie.”

Enrique stroked his chin. “This woman saved your life not once, not twice, but three, possibly four times.
Were those the acts of a deceitful woman?”

This was not the response Raul had expected from his father. He corrected, “She saved my life twice,
once at the Way Station and once when I fell.”

Enrique sighed. “I think not. What about her striking a fatal blow to the Indian who would have slit your
throat; what about the way she distracted Sheriff Martin with her body when he was set to shoot you?”

If Raul accepted his father’s premise it meant he had to rethink so many other things. “She did those
things to protect herself.”

Enrique asked softly, “What if the opposite is true, what if both times she was putting herself in harm’s
way to protect you?”

Raul protested, “But she lied to me!”

“With words perhaps, but what about her deeds? When she gave you food and water and set you free,
was that a lie? When she stayed with you when she could have left you to die in the desert, was that an
untruth?” And then he added, “I think my son that you should look past your own foolish pride and see
things as they are.”

“One truth is irrefutable. She’s a prostitute, father,” Raul said and then questioned on a sneer, “How can
I get past that?”

Enrique smiled but his eyes were sad. “Maybe you can’t. Do you want to?”

The pain inside Raul expanded making it difficult for him to breathe. “I want to believe that her response
to me when I made love to her was more than some learned technique.”

The dawning of understanding gleamed in Enrique’s eyes as he stood and stared down at his troubled
son. “Maybe you could if you could get past your own pride and self-doubt. Are you that weak as a
man? Were you that poor as a lover?” He walked toward the door.

Raul called after him, “You make it sound as if what happened was my fault.”

Turning, Enrique shook his head and sighed. “I am sure there is blame enough to go around.”

Incredulously Raul asked, “You think I should forgive her?”

“The question in my mind is can she forgive you?”

“I did nothing to be forgiven for.” Before that rash statement was out of Raul’s mouth he recognized it
for the lie that it was. He had left this brave woman alone and unprotected in the company of a coward
and a man who thought of her as nothing more than a piece of merchandise. After all she’d done to
protect him, he had deserted her. For the first time since he was a small child Raul Mendoza put his face
in his hands and openly and unashamedly wept.

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Coming back across the room Enrique put his hand on his son’s shaking shoulders. His quiet comfort
helped Raul to bring his surging emotions under control. Lifting his face he asked, “What shall I do?”

His father answered with a question of his own. “What do you want to do?”

In that forgiving moment the doubts disappeared. The misgivings vanished. “I have to find a way to make
her forgive me.” He jumped to his feet. “I have to go to her at once.”

Enrique tightened his grip on his son’s shoulder. “Not until you have the proper papers to get you across
the border and back home safely.”

Raul protested, “But Father....”

Enrique was adamant. “It’s the only way, if you plan to bring this Abigail back with you.”

Joy burst full-blown inside Raul’s weary heart. Yes. He would bring Abigail back and once he got her
here, he would spend the rest of his life making amends. His joy was short-lived. What if she refused to
return to Mexico with him? He pushed that thought from his mind. “How long before I can begin my
journey north?”

Enrique breathed a sigh of relief. “I have friends in high government positions, at the most two or three
days.”

It was four days before Raul could begin his journey back to Texas. During that time Enrique had his
government contacts investigate Abigail Warren. Some of the facts about how she came to be a protégée
of the Mission Board were disturbing to say the least.

This time Raul’s route for his journey was over well-traveled highways. It was a much safer but
somewhat slower way to travel. Each mile he rode he cursed his own stupidity and damned his foolish
pride. He made the trip from Mexico to El Paso in less than a week.

Raul arrived in the little settlement of El Paso early on a Wednesday morning in mid-October. As he
rode down the dry dusty main street he searched for signs of a church or a hospital and found none.

He made inquiries at the general store and learned from the storekeeper that the mission was a few miles
outside of town. Raul thanked the man and was almost to the door when the storekeeper called after
him. “You can’t go out there for a few more days.”

Raul turned. “Why not?”

“Because of the quarantine, they’ve had a bunch of sick folks out there.”

A chill ran down Raul’s backbone. “How sick?”

“Real sick. We had a bad epidemic of diphtheria.”

Those words struck fear in Raul’s heart. “Is there a way I can get a message to a worker there?”

The storekeeper shook his head. “Not for a few days. If there are no more cases of diphtheria before
Saturday the quarantine will be lifted.”

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Raul found a room in what passed for a hotel and settled down for the longest wait of his life. He spent
the next two days counting hours and wondering as each minute ticked by if Abigail was dead or alive.
He vowed as he paced the floor and cursed his own stupidity that if God and Abigail would give him a
second chance he would never leave her again.

Early Saturday morning he walked the short distance to the livery stable, chased away a dawdling
attendant, saddled his horse and rode the few miles to the mission hospital. A crude hand-painted sign
reading ‘quarantine’ was nailed to the entrance gate. Raul had every intention of ignoring the warning and
going inside. The gate was locked.

He tied his horse to a post and was set to climb over when a voice called to him, “Wait a moment and
I’ll unlock for you.” A middle-aged man carrying a ring of keys came down the path. As he drew nearer
he said, “I’m Doctor Dailey. Can I help you?”

Raul knew even before he spoke that this moment would decide the course of the remainder of his life.
“I’m looking for Abigail Warren.”

The doctor chose a key from the ring and inserted it in the lock. “Are you a relative?” He pushed the
gate open as he answered his own question. “Of course you’re not.” And then tagged his query with a
querulous, “Who are you?”

Raul extended his arm. “My name is Raul Mendoza.”

The doctor ignored his proffered hand. “Why are you here? What do you want?”

Raul let his hand fall to his side. “I want to see Miss Warren.”

“That’s impossible.” The doctor turned and began retracing his steps back down the path.

Fear froze Raul where he stood. “Is Miss Warren dead?”

Doctor Dailey quickened his pace. “She’s very ill.”

Raul ran to catch up to the other man. Grabbing the doctor’s shoulder Raul pulled him to a stop. “I’m
not asking for permission. I want to see Miss Warren.”

Doctor Daily tried to shake free. “You can’t.”

Raul had not come all this way to be deterred now. “Take me to her.” His hand tightened on Doctor
Daily shoulder. “Now.”

Doctor Dailey stiffened. “Release me, young man!”

Raul released the other man. “I know the circumstances that brought Miss Warren to you.”

Doctor Dailey sneered. “You know nothing.”

“I know that for years your missionary board has been recruiting young women who have committed
petty offences and sending them to outlying missions to work as virtual slaves in lieu of going to prison.”

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Doctor Dailey’s anger flared, “Our program is a form of rehabilitation.”

“Then you wouldn’t object to an investigation into your rehabilitation program?”

“You, sir, are a foreigner. How dare you come to my hospital and threaten me.”

Raul spoke with deadly calm. “It’s not a threat.”

Doctor shrugged as he tacitly acknowledged defeat. “This way.” He walked toward the low rambling
building at the end of the path.

Raul fell in step. “Is Miss Warren going to recover?”

“That’s in God’s hands.” Doctor Dailey opened the hospital door and Raul followed him inside, down a
narrow corridor and into a small room. Abigail lay on a cot in a far corner. The sight of her emaciated
figure broke Raul’s heart. Her rosy complexion had faded to an ashy gray. Her lovely hair was lifeless
and spread in matted curls across her pillow. She looked more dead than alive. When Doctor Dailey
called her name she didn’t bother to look his way. “What do you want?”

“You have a visitor.”

“I don’t want to see anyone.”

When Raul spoke her name ever so softly she turned to stare at him. “Raul?”

In three long strides Raul was across the room and kneeling at Abigail’s bedside. He took her hand in
his and kissed her fingertips.

Abigail turned her head and blinked. “You’re real? I’m not dreaming?”

Raul assured her, “I’m very real.” Tears dimmed his eyes. “You’re not dreaming.”

Abigail turned away. “You shouldn’t be here.”

It had never crossed Raul’s mind that she wouldn’t be pleased to see him. Words his father had spoken
earlier echoed inside his head.The question in my mind is can she can forgive you?He held onto her
hand. “I will never leave you again.”

Doctor Dailey spoke from behind. “You must go now.”

Raul stood and faced the older man. He was a formidable figure standing tall and assured, looking every
inch the Latin aristocrat that he was. “Get another bed in here.”

The doctor protested, “I can’t do that.”

“I will care for Miss Warren until she’s well again.”

Doctor Dailey scorned, “Youcan’t do that.”

Raul hissed, “Get another bed in here and do it now.”

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Doctor Dailey knew when to retreat. “All right but it’s against my better judgment.” He went away
mumbling to himself. “If word of this ever gets out...” In a matter of minutes he returned to stand in the
doorway. “You are taking on a long and difficult task. It will be weeks before Miss Warren recovers, if
she recovers.”

The fact that there was a chance she could recover was enough for Raul. “Miss Warren is no longer
your concern.”

Doctor Daily opened his mouth to argue and then obviously reconsidered. “If you say so.” He scooted
out the door and vanished down the hall.

Half an hour later two attendants appeared bringing with them another narrow cot, a rolled up mattress
and a lumpy pillow. As they set about the task of putting up the bed and rearranging the room in general
Raul excused himself long enough to attend to his horse and fetch his belongings. When he returned, the
cot was in place and the attendants were nowhere in sight. He sat on the lumpy mattress and waited for
Abigail to acknowledge his presence. When it became evident that she had no intention of speaking first
he whispered her name, “Abigail?”

She didn’t answer.

Raul moved to sit beside her on her narrow cot. “Speak to me, please.”

Abigail drew a ragged breath. “Go away. I don’t want you to see me like this.”

Raul touched her matted hair. “You look beautiful to me.” He spent the remainder of the morning
combing the tangles from Abigail’s long tresses, bathing her and getting her into a clean gown.

She protested at first. “You shouldn’t be doing this.” After a while she accepted his tender ministrations
with a kind of stoic silence that made him more uneasy than her protests had.

At noon he fed her the bowl of corn meal mush the attendant brought. This was not the proper diet for
one recovering from a debilitating illness. He would remedy that situation.

Over the next several days Raul attended to Abigail’s every need. He fed her wholesome food he
purchased from the general store in town and prepared himself. He bathed her, dressed her and
shampooed and combed her hair. He even helped her onto a bedpan when the occasion warranted and
then emptied the contents and washed the receptacle.

Abigail improved slowly. Two weeks after Raul arrived she was able to sit on the side of her bed. A
week after that she began to walk around the room. Another week crept by before she was strong
enough to dress in anything more than a gown and walk around outside. With her renewed strength came
a remote coolness that Raul found impossible to break through. Still he persevered, seeing to her every
need with care and loving tenderness.

It was through those long exhausting weeks that his feelings for Abigail transmuted from lust to love.
Without this experience he would never have discerned the difference between the two. Now he saw the
line of demarcation so clearly. Lust was narrow and consumed with self. Love was as wide as the ocean
and occupied with the needs of another. Lust was fleeting and temporary. Love was as eternal as the
heavens and as fixed as the North Star.

One morning almost two months after Raul’s arrival at the mission Abigail woke him with a shake. She

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was wearing a Mother Hubbard dress and an apron. “Doctor Dailey wants to see me. I’ll be back
soon.”

Raul was immediately awake and alert. “I’ll go with you.” Doctor Dailey must have some thought of
putting Abigail back to work. That wasn’t going to happen.

Abigail surveyed him coolly. “There’s no need.”

Raul thought differently. “Did the doctor say what he wanted?” He was out of the bed and pulling on his
pants.

Abigail folded her hands in her lap and watched as Raul put his arms into the sleeves of his shirt. “The
score is even now so you can go.”

Raul’s hands dropped to his sides. “What score?” Her words made no sense at all. “Even? How?”

“I saved your life once, now you’ve saved mine. The debt is paid.”

Raul came to sit beside her on the narrow cot. Taking her hands in his he reached for all the courage he
could gather. “Not yet, you still owe me.”

Abigail’s confused surprise pleased and delighted him. “I do?”

“Oh, yes, you took my heart. In turn don’t you think you should give me yours?” He breathed a little
prayer as he waited for her response.

Chapter Eleven

From the moment Raul had held Abigail in his arms he had possessed her completely--heart, body and
soul. As wonderful as that was, it wasn’t enough. In every other way they were poles apart. He was
what he was, a proud hot-blooded Latin aristocrat and she was what circumstances had forced her to
become, a whore from a Memphis brothel. If she truly loved him and she had known for a long time that
she did, she would send him back to Mexico. It would break her heart to let him go but better a swift
and permanent break than condemning them both to a life of unhappiness.

How she longed to tell him how much she loved him. Because she did care so deeply that was the one
thing she could never do. He deserved so much better than someone who was a whore and a felon. The
pain inside her chest expanded. She turned from him, unable to utter a sound.

Raul put his hand under her chin turned her head to face him. “Speak to me, Abigail.”

“I... can’t.”

“Can’t speak or can’t give me your heart?”

Abigail was stabbed by the pain in his voice and the wound cut deep--all the more reason to make him

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see her for what she was. “Whore’s don’t have hearts.”

Raul shook her before grabbing her to him and holding her in his arms. “Let go of the past, my darling.”

Abigail pulled free of his embrace and vaulted to her feet. “Even if I could that wouldn’t change what
was.” She paced across the floor and stood looking out the window. A bleak December dawn was
breaking across the eastern sky.

Raul came to stand behind her, put his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her head. “A new
day is beginning for us and we have so many tomorrows ahead.”

It would be so easy to relent and accept his promise of some rosy future. Easy now, perhaps but she
would pay later with even more pain and heartbreak. She slid from his embrace and went to sit on her
cot. “I can’t give you my heart.”

Raul smiled but his eyes were dark pools of pain. “That’s an improvement. Only moments ago you told
me you had no heart.” He came to sit beside her. “I love you, Abbey. That’s all that matters. “

If only that were true. “Even if I could believe that you loved me, I can’t believe that you will ever forgive
me.”

Raul extended his arm as if to touch her. When Abigail moved back he dropped his hand to his side.
“Maybe we can forgive each other.” Her surprised expression seemed to be the impetus he needed to
spur him on. “I will never forgive myself for the harsh things I said to you before I deserted you. I had to
get past my own foolish pride to realize what a despicable thing I had done.”

She didn’t want him to go away feeling guilty. “You did the right thing.” She touched the side of his
cheek with the back of her hand and felt the stubble of a beard. “Just as you must do the right thing now
and go.”

Raul caught her hand in his and lifted it to his lips. “I will never leave you again.” He kissed her palm. “I
am going to spend the remainder of my life trying to make amends for ever letting you go.” Tilting her
face upward he kissed her trembling lips. It was a kiss of affirmation and assurance and completely
devoid of passion. “Will you be my wife?”

He had spoken the words every woman longs to hear from the man she loves. But this woman was a
realist who knew that there were problems between them that would never go away. She reluctantly
pulled herself from his embrace and turned from him. “I can’t marry you.”

He cried, “Why not? You love me, I know you do.”

How could she make him understand that it was because she loved him so deeply that she couldn’t
subject him to a life of torment? “If I married you, each time you took me in your arms you would
wonder how many other men had held me. Each time your lips met mine you would reflect on all the
others who had kissed me, and each time you were deep inside me you would think about all the other
men who had been there before you. After awhile you would come to hate me and I couldn’t bear that.”

He pulled her around to face him. Taking her in his arms he whispered against her hair, “When I hold
you in my arms my love for you takes away every other emotion.” He put one hand under her chin, tilted
it upward and kissed her with a lingering passion. “When our lips meet I know only the magic of the
moment. When I’m inside you I don’t think, I feel. And what I feel is so sublime that nothing else

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matters.” He untied her apron and tossed it aside. “If you deny me the right to love you then I have no
reason to go on living.” He pulled her loose-fitting garment over her head and let it fall to the floor. His
eyes drank in the sight of her before his gaze locked into hers. “Tell me that you don’t love me and I’ll
go.”

Abigail looked deep into his eyes and saw in their tortured depths more love than she could measure.
“I...” She couldn’t deny the answering passionate response that she felt deep inside. The words were
torn from her. “I will always care for you.”

Raul pulled her against him. “Then trust me. Give that caring a chance to grow into love.”

A flicker of hope lighted the darkness inside Abigail. Did their love have even a ghost of a chance? Was
it strong enough to endure and conquer through the many years that lay ahead? The flicker grew to be a
tiny flame. Love was tied inexplicably to trust. One did not exist without the other. If she could believe
that he loved her, then she had to believe also that she could trust him not only with her heart but also
with her life. It was like stepping out of a dark room into the blinding light of a bright day. She laid her
head against his chest and heard the muffled beating of his heart. “Raul?”

His arms were like steel bands. “Yes?”

She gasped, “Yes.”

He pushed her from him and looked deep into her eyes. “You said yes? You did say that. You will
marry me?” He shook his head. “Say it one more time.”

She moved back into the circle of his arms and entwined her arms around his neck. “I will marry you
but--”

Raul silenced her with a kiss that was both tender and adoring. As he raised his head he asked, “But
what?”

Abigail’s head was spinning and her body felt warm and flushed. “No buts, no more doubts.” She
ridded herself of her the few clothes she wore, lay down on the narrow cot and extended her arms. “Lie
with me.”

Raul hesitated. “You’re still recuperating.”

She smiled sweetly. “Must I beg?”

Raul stood and smiled. In a matter of seconds he had shed every stitch he wore. He lay beside her on
the narrow cot and took her into his arms. The feel of his smooth naked skin against hers sent a shiver
through her.

Raul made love to her, slowly, sweetly, and with infinite tenderness. He was wooing her as if she was a
virgin. Her heart swelled with love. She returned his kisses with a shyness that was as real as it was
surprising. Into her mind crept a sweet revelation. From one perspective shewasa virgin for even though
she was a veteran of so many sexual encounters this was her first time experiencing the intimacy of
making love with a sense of promise and commitment. She lost herself in the drugged bliss of Raul’s
kisses. Her body surrendered to his magical caresses. She was lost in a world of scintillating sensations.

Raul covered her face with kisses. His hands slid to caress her breasts. Her entire body trembled. His

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knees pushed her legs open and she felt his hard penis against her thigh. Sensations washed over her like
the pounding waves of a turbulent sea. The world slipped away. She was aware of nothing except the
blanket under her and Raul over her. She breathed in the scent of him as desire swelled in her throat and
throbbed inside her melting heart. She spread her legs allowing her hunger and her vulnerability to show.

She took Raul’s penis in her hand and stroked the tightness at the base of his testicles. As he moaned
and grasped for air, she tried to calm her racing pulses. His golden erection had become the center of her
universe. She gripped his slippery shaft with both hands and caressed gently.

He reciprocated by putting two of his fingers into her vagina and moving them in and out. She moved
sensuously under his gentle touch. They were caught up in the syncopated rhythm of exquisite
anticipation. Raul slipped his throbbing penis into Abigail’s wet vagina. The air sparked with the
inevitability of coming pleasure.

Raul drove deep inside her. A humming began in the back of her throat, vibrated through her body and
echoed through her senses. She met his thrusts with by lifting her hips as he drove deep inside her. Each
time he touched that hidden spot, white heat coursed through her veins, scorching, burning and escalating
until it peaked in an explosion that began in the core of her being and radiated out into her stomach, her
arms and leaped into her throat causing her to cry out in ecstatic joy. As she rode the crest of pleasure,
Raul explode inside her triggering another orgasm that reverberated through her body like the second
chorus of an erotic love song, exploring new notes of a familiar melody.

The storm receded. Raul’s proud head came to rest on Abigail’s breast. As his breathing began to
approximate normal he kissed the soft spot where her shoulder connected to her neck.

“Ah, my desire and my delight, how much I love you.”

Joy struck its resplendent chord inside Abigail’s sated body as the rays of a morning sun beamed
through the window and shone onto the narrow cot. She ran her hands over his back and smiled up into
his dear face. At last she could say the words that had been in her heart for such a long time. “I love you,
Raul Mendoza.”

“At last! I was beginning to think you would never say those words to me.” Raul sat on the cot and
spread a blanket over Abigail’s nude body. “I will tell Doctor Dailey that we are leaving today.”

Uneasiness moved in around Abigail’s feeling of contentment. “I’m not free to go from here, at least not
for another two-and-a-half years”

Raul dropped a kiss on her cheek. “Trust me.” He began to dress. “And be ready to go when I return.”

Abigail sat up and pulled a blanket under her chin. “I chose to work here instead of serving a prison
sentence. If I leave I will be a fugitive.” How it pained her to speak those words.

Raul sat on his cot and slipped his feet into his boots. “You promised to trust me, remember?”

She had and she did and she told him so.

Raul smiled. “We leave the moment my business with Doctor Dailey is settled.”

Abigail dressed, packed her scanty belongings and sat on her cot waiting for Raul to return.

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She didn’t have long to wait. In less than thirty minutes he was back. “Are you ready to go home?”

Abigail wrapped her shawl around her shoulders. “I’m free to go?”

Raul took her in his arms and kissed her lips. “You will never be free. From this day forward you are my
hostage.”

Abigail moved from his embrace and laughed as she picked up her bag. “Yes, master.” She could gladly
live a lifetime being a hostage to love. She followed Raul out the door and closed it behind her.

Epilogue

The tall man and the slim young woman rode over the hill and into the valley. Ahead of them lay the
grand ranch owned by Enrique Mendoza, one of the richest and most influential men in Mexico. In a
shaded oasis at the foot of the hill stood Casa Linda the palatial home of the Mendoza family.

Abigail’s breath caught in her throat. She had supposed that Raul’s home would be comfortable and
spacious. She had never dreamed it would be a mansion. She pulled her horse to a stop. “That’s your
home?”

Raul stopped along side her. “It’s our home, Senora Mendoza.”

“It’s a palace.”

Raul’s laughter floated out over the arid countryside. “It’s our palace. We will make it our paradise.” He
nudged his horse in the flanks. “Everyone is waiting for us. Let’s go home.”

Abigail’s last misgiving floated away on the arid desert air. It had been a long and painful journey from a
house to a home. The journey was over now. She spurred her horse and rode beside her husband out of
the dark past and into the brightness of a new beginning.

The End

VIRTUAL LOVE

By

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Elizabeth Batten-Carew

To Mark,

If you hadn’t believed in me,

I wouldn’t have followed my dreams.

With very special thanks to my husband, Mark, who coined the word e-scape, and to my two
wonderful friends and critiquers, Vicki Daly and Trish Wall, who helped me make this story all that it is.

Chapter One

A muscular arm clamped around Captain Jerette’s waist from behind, knocking the wind from her lungs
as she collided with a hard male chest. A wicked laugh sounded behind her, barely discernible over the
roar of the storm. Rain and wind clouded her vision. She struggled to keep her feet beneath her on the
slippery deck as her captor dragged her away from her post. Where was her crew? Had they
abandoned ship? The pirate vessel had caught them off guard in this hellish storm and the blast from their
cannon had ripped a huge hole in the hull of “Fearless Virginia”.

“Get your hands off me, you villainous devil,” she screamed.

“Not this time, my pretty,” a deep voice rumbled in her ear. “You, Captain Jerette, terror of the high
seas, have inflicted too much damage on my people. You’ve escaped too many times. I believe it is high
time you pay your debt.”

“And who are you to extract this debt?”

“I am Phantom. King of the Pirates.”

She gasped. Captain Jerette knew all about the pirate king. He had gathered together a motley collection
of buccaneer ships and forged them into a formidable fighting force. She had vowed to free the ocean
from his tyrannical rule.

“You call me terror when it is you people fear.”

He spun her around and pressed her against the mast. Long tendrils of hair had escaped the ribbon
binding it and whipped wildly across her eyes. But she took no notice. Not with those pair of cutting blue
eyes staring into her own.

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“And what about you, Captain?” He leaned toward her, his words more chilling than the icy rain
assaulting her. “Are you afraid?”

She felt her pulse quicken, knowing the danger he represented. “Never.”

A lazy smile spread across his face at her resolute stand.

“We’ll see.”

She stood defiant in the face of his amusement. A shudder beneath their feet, and a great wooden groan,
made it clear that the “Fearless Virginia” would not be afloat much longer. How had things gotten so out
of control?

Before she knew it, he had thrown her over his shoulder. She struggled, pummeling his back with her
fists and kicking in a desperate attempt to escape. Her howls of rage merged with the wail of the wind
and the rumbling thunder. She grabbed onto the railing as he attempted to carry her across to his own
ship. He easily tugged her free. A strange fear surged through her, as though the danger he represented
was far worse than it appeared. He pulled her below deck and pushed her into a cabin. The door
slammed behind him and he locked it. Laughing, he pulled off his hat and shook his head, sending
droplets of water flying through the air. She stood firm in thecenterof the room, eyes narrowed, watching
him.

“You’ve destroyed my ship. That should be enough revenge for you,” she spat. “It’s a captain’s duty to
go down with her vessel. At least that you should respect.”

He stepped forward, his heels stomping on the wooden floor. He reached out a finger and stroked it
down her cheek with an insolent grin. She refused to flinch and stared boldly back at him.

“No, I wouldn’t waste such beauty on shark food.” His gaze traveled leisurely down her body and up
again. An unwanted awareness shot through her. “There are too many interesting… duties I can think of
for you.”

Her control momentarily shattered. “I am a captain in the Queen’s fleet. An officer.”

His amusement increased. “That should make it all the more interesting.”

With a suddenness that caught her off guard, he shoved her onto the bunk and ripped open her shirt.
The storm had soaked her to the skin and the thin cotton chemise she wore underneath clung to her
shamelessly. The cold made her nipples erect and horror spiked through her to see that the garment
offered no protection from his eyes. In fact, the way his gaze seared her, she felt she’d be better off
without it.

As though reading her thoughts, he knelt down beside the bunk, brought his huge hands to her shoulders
and tore the limp fabric from her. Conscious that her breasts, glistening wet, heaved up and down with
herlaboredbreath, she tried to cross her arms to cover herself. Too fast for her, he grabbed her wrists
and pinned them over her head with one strong hand. He used his free hand to push the wet, clinging hair
from her face with a tenderness she had not expected. Then he trailed his fingers down her neck and
across her quivering chest. As he cupped her breast, her skin molded to his palm and the warmth gave
her exquisite pleasure. The nipple thrust into his hand. Then his lips warmed her other nipple and she
gasped.

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This is not how it’s supposed to go,her thoughts screamed.I’m supposed to be in control.To her utter
shame, a tear of frustration escaped her eye. He lifted his head and focused on that tear, then lowered his
lips to kiss it away.

“Don’t be afraid, sweet Jerette. Let yourself lose control.”

His double edged meaning cut through the gauzy pleasure that held her hostage to his touch. She would
stop this right now.

His eyes narrowed as though he knew her thoughts. “No, Jerette. Don’t–”

Her voice cut across his as she cried out.

“End session!”

The scene around her dissolved and she lay gasping for breath in her game lounger, arms wrapped
around herself. The dark-eyed pirate had also disappeared but she could remember the look of
frustration on his face when he faded away. Slowly, she focused on the familiar walls surrounding her.
Her leisure room was small but that didn’t matter, since the time she spent here was typically in a virtual
reality simulation where she was totally unaware of physical surroundings. Like the one she’d just fled.

Damn! What was going on? The whole reason she escaped into VR was to go somewhere she could
control her destiny. She defined the parameters of her adventures and knew precisely where they would
go. Except something had changed. Someone was messing with her system--and she didn’t like it.

At first, it was subtle. Characters in her illusions became more real than ordinary computer simulations.
Or more precisely, one character. One man. Oh, he looked different each time, had a different name,
different mannerisms, but he was always strong and domineering. He must be a hacker who’d broken
into her system but she was baffled as to how.

Many people elected to network with others and play interactive games. But Jerette always played the
simulations alone. No one should be able to access her system from outside. Yet this man was too real to
be a computer personality.

Messing with her system was bad enough but now he was taking control of her fantasies, changing them
to suit his own purposes.

* * * *

Some said the VR was addictive. Jerette didn’t believe that. Since her session on the high seas, she’d
stayed out of VR but her reason was to avoid a software pirate of a new kind--one who stole her
fantasies. Now he’d even infiltrated her dreams. When she closed her eyes at night to sleep, he came to
her. And even there--especially there--she couldn’t control him. Or her desires.

What did he want? And where did he come from? These questions sifted through her mind continuously.
The safest thing to do would be to stay out of VR.

But she couldn’t.

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During her days at work, she experienced great satisfaction in her role as manager of a large software
development project. She controlled every detail of that effort, either personally or through the large team
of professionals who reported to her. Still, things happened that sent plans skidding out of kilter. Only in
VR could she totally control what happened. The draw of that perfectly controlled existence proved
irresistible.

The phantom pirate couldn’t be present in the system all the time, she finally convinced herself. Why
should she deny herself her much needed leisure time? So, she chose a time in the wee hours of the
morning when system usage slumped. Surely this time he would not find her.

* * * *

She fanned the cards out in front of her, eyeing the hand Kid had dealt her. Three aces, king high. Not
bad. She surreptitiously perused the faces around the table as she read her cards. Jake, the man on her
left, tugged at his raggedy beard, a sure sign he reckoned himself in trouble. The Kid grinned widely, as
always, smug. His streak of luck had flared to a peak but had started on a decline. He would not win this
hand. She could feel it. That left one opponent, the stranger who sat across from her, eyes frigid blue,
giving away nothing. She studied him, face closed, just as determined to give nothing back.

“So, what is it, Marshall? Hold, or draw?” Kid held the deck expectantly.

“Hold,” she answered without hesitation.

Jake and the Kid each drew cards. The stranger held. Betting soared around the table. Marshall Jerette
knew Kid was bluffing and apparently so did Jake because he tossed in a huge stack of coins. Jake
obviously didn’t consider Jerette much of a threat. That’s a mistake too many men had made and for that
she would not feel sympathy for him when he lost more than he could afford. When the cards were called
in, Jake watched her rake in the winnings with ill concealed hostility.

“I’m out,” he spat. “You’re too danged lucky, Marshall. T’ain’t fair.” He threw back his last swallow of
whiskey and pushed himself to his feet. “Too danged lucky,” he muttered again as he clomped out of the
saloon.

The Kid jerked his head toward the swinging door. “You’d better watch yer back, Marshall. Jake ain’t
takin’ too well to losin’ these days.”

Jerette nodded. “He’s had a bad streak but he should know better than to play if he can’t afford to
lose.”

“Good advice.”

The cold voice of the stranger sent shivers crawling up her spine. Her head snapped up to meet those ice
blue eyes.It couldn’t be him,she thought desperately. She’d been so careful.

“Whoareyou?” she asked.

“Call me Phantom, ma’am.” He tipped his hat and smiled but it never reached his eyes.

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There it was. That cold, calculating look that she’d seen in countless pairs of eyes on different faces but
all with one thing in common--the ability to unravel the control she so carefully guarded.

“I don’t believe I know you.” She met that cold gaze and gave back every bit as good.

“Oh, I believe you do… Marshall Jerette.” The words rolled out in his maddeningly relaxed drawl.

“Why are you here?” The words came out as a whisper and she swore internally. Control. She had to
maintain control, if not of her fantasy at least of her own reactions.

The Kid glanced from one to the other, a puzzled look on his face. “Marshall. You invited him to play.
Remember?”

“I never invited him to play.”

“But you…”

At the look of steel she mustered, Kid changed his mind about contradicting her.

“Whether you believe you did or not, Marshall Jerette,” Phantom’s even voice said, “you want me to
play.”

He wasn’t talking about poker and they both knew it. Panic scuttled through her and an anxious little
voice inside her head insisted she flee. Leave the session right now before it was too late. But too late for
what? Anyway, she would not be driven from her own fantasy.

The sound of coins clinking on the table drew her attention. “I’m out, too, I’m afraid, Marshall.” The
Kid’s voice sounded disappointed.

“It looks like it’s just you and me.” Phantom’s gaze drifted across her face and down her chest, seeming
to strip away her button-down vest, shirt, and cotton undershirt all with one look. “Do you want to play
for something more… interesting?”

A snicker sounded from the table next to them and her frigid glare froze the looks of amusement on the
faces of those men.

She slapped her hands on the table top and pushed herself to her feet. “I don’t intend to play with you…
stranger.”

She waited, eyes narrowed, right hand resting on her hip near her weapon--just in case. Men had
claimed insult for less and she didn’t intend to be outdrawn in her own town--by a stranger.Especially
when the stranger is so familiar--and so dangerous.

As if he’d read her thoughts, he dropped both his hands on the table and laughed. “Don’t worry,
Marshall. You and I will play soon enough.”

She swaggered out of the saloon, pushing back the swinging doors with a loud creak. A blast of dusty
air stung her face as the wind whipped down the main street of the town they called Hell. A tumbleweed
flung itself against her feet then careened away.

“Marshall Jerette. I was just lookin’ fer ye.”

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She turned at the sound of her deputy hailing her from three doors down.

“What is it, Hank?”

“There’s some kind of trouble out at Charity’s ranch. Heard tell of some kind of vandalism. Want me to
go check on it?”

She shook her head. “Naw. I’ll go, Hank. The ride’ll clear my head.”

“But do ye think ye should go alone?”

“I’m not exactly alone.” Her hand slid to the Colt Peacemaker slung at her hip. “Anyway, scarin’ off
vandals ain’t exactly the same as wranglin’ with the James brothers.”

“If’n yer sure, Marshal.” He scratched at the thick growth on his chin. “Reckon I’ll just grab me
somethin’ to ease my parched throat.”

“Go on, Hank. I’ll be back by sundown.” She eyed the sun. Still a good three hours till it set, she
reckoned, and the ride to Charity’s could be done in a half hour on a good horse. And Major Blue was
the best. She grabbed his reins from the hitching post and swung into the saddle.

“Come on, Blue. Time to go.”

He whinnied in agreement and soon they galloped across the dry packed earth. When she arrived at
Charity’s, she wasn’t surprised to find the place empty. Charity had gone to help her sister get settled
with a new baby and wouldn’t be back for another week. She’d asked Jerette to keep an eye on her
place.

Jerette pushed open the gate on the picket fence and marched up to the front door. A thorough scan of
the area had shown no damage. As she pushed open the door, the sound of a stone scuttling across the
ground caused her to jump. She glanced around but saw no one. Stepping into the house, she scanned
the room with quick glances back and forth, assuring herself no one lay in wait inside.

The familiar kitchen was big and bright, with blue gingham curtains adorning the windows. The wood
stove, which usually sported a big pot of stew, stood dark and cold in the corner. An examination of the
other rooms soon convinced her the house was empty. And, just like outside, there was no sign of
damage.

She pulled open the door and stepped outside. The hair on the back of her neck prickled. Was she
being watched? Bringing a hand to her brow to shade her eyes from the sun, she glanced around. Major
Blue munched on a tuft of grass, snorting occasionally, tail whipping to shoo away flies. He whinnied
once, then stepped forward and back.

She laughed. “What’s the matter, Blue? You look a mite nervous.” She stepped toward him and
stopped cold when she heard the hammer of a Schofield click back.

“Hold it right there, Marshall.”

The gruff masculine voice came from behind her. Jake. He must have been waiting beside the house,
staying out of sight until she’d come back out. It would be easier trapping her out here in the open where

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there were no handy barriers to use for cover.

“Turn around… real slow. And put your hands on your head.”

She did as he said and found herself facing the tall, lanky man who’d lost so much to her such a short
time ago.

“I never figured you for a sore loser, Jake,” she said, keeping her voice light.

“T’ain’t sore. I jest plan on gettin’ my money back.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You planning on robbing me, Jake?”

“I don’t call it robbin’, Marshall. Jest takin’ back what’s rightfully mine.”

He ambled toward her, gun trained on her heart.

“You won’t get away with this, Jake.”

He reached for the pouch slung to her belt and freed it with a sudden tug.

“I don’t know about that, Marshall. You see, I’m sick of this town. Plan to move on.”

“I’ll find you, Jake. Wherever you go.”

“Don’t know about that, Marshall. You see, I got me some help.”

He grabbed the rope she kept on Blue’s saddle and slung it over his shoulder, then shoved her towards
the barn. She stumbled forward and when she regained her balance she felt the tip of Jake’s gun in the
middle of her back.

“Go on, Marshall.”

Once inside, he tied her hands. He pushed one end of the rope through her bound arms then tied an
expert knot around the bindings at her wrists. He tossed the other end up over one of the rafters and
tugged the rope taut, pulling her arms over her head. He kept pulling, until she took her weight on her
toes, then finally hung solely by her wrists.

“There you go, Marshall. Reckon that’ll slow you down a might.”

“Jake–”

“Save it, Marshall. You’ll be needin’ yer strength.” With that he turned and raced from the barn
chuckling in triumph.

In real life, she might feel a bit panicky about now but she knew freedom lay just two words away. So
again things had gone astray. At least the pirate hadn’t decided to play a starring role this time. She’d
wait a little longer to see what happened next.

The barn door creaked open.

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“So, Jake, you changed your mind–”

The words stopped short as the stranger, who called himself Phantom, strode into the barn. His gaze
raked down and up her body in a frankly sexual assessment.

“So, Marshall Jerette, are you going to flee, or are you… woman enough to face me this time?”

She raised her head at his challenge, firmly squelching the little voice that prodded her to shout out those
two little words. “You have me at a slight disadvantage… Phantom.”

“Yes.” The grin that split his face belonged to the devil himself. “But only slight. And I think I rather like
it that way.”

He walked up to face her and, though she hung with her toes dangling an inch off the ground, they were
eye to eye. He stood so close she could feel the heat of his body. Even though the rope at her wrists
burned into her flesh, her body ignored the pain and screamed its craving for this tall, and very dark,
stranger.

Dark as night. Dark as the unknown. Dark as fear.

“Don’t be afraid of me, Marshall Jerette.” His words, softly spoken, designed to soothe, were followed
by his hands gently skimming down her sides. One strong arm snaked around her waist, pulling her
against his chest. As that hard wall of muscle crushed her soft breasts between their two bodies, her heart
quickened.

Then it leaped as his knife flashed across her vision, her throat clogged with a stifled scream, preventing
her from shouting the words of freedom. Before she could question the lack of cutting pain, she dropped
a few inches, her whole weight falling against his body. Her arms, still bound at the wrists, dropped over
his head. She found herself draped across him like a wanton, and judging from his smile, he enjoyed it
immensely.

The words,that little voice reminded, even as her body insisted she forget. Her eyes wide, she parted
her lips to utter freedom when his lips clamped down on them. His hand curled around the back of her
head and held them firmly enmeshed. When she tried to form the words in his mouth he slashed out his
tongue to keep hers occupied, fervently, tortuously… lovingly.

Contradictions. Aggressive, yet tender. Serious, yet teasing. Overpowering, yet giving.

Giving? Yes, somehow she knew he meant to give her as much pleasure as he took. Maybe even more.

“Definitely more, sweet Jerette.”

His gentle, smiling words enslaved her in his spell. How could he read her thoughts like that? She knew
she shouldn’t waste precious words on anything save escape--but she had to know.

“Who are you? And why are you here?”

“My name is Phantom. I’m here to delay you from pulling together a posse and apprehending Jake.”

“I don’t mean your purpose in VR,” she whispered. “Why do you keep coming after me? Taking over
my fantasies?”

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He frowned. “You know it’s a blatant disregard of etiquette to slip out of your role.”

“I don’t care,” she hissed. “Tell me why you’re here. What do you want from me?”

His fingers feathered down her rib cage, coming to rest beside her breasts, his thumbs sliding up and
down the sides of those soft mounds.

“I think it’s very obvious what I want.” The words rumbled from deep inside his chest.

“But… why me? My system’s closed. It should be clear I don’t want this.”

“But you do.”

The certainty in his words shook her. “Why you obnoxious –”

“And I don’t mean a moment of fleeting pleasure,” he continued through her outburst. “We both know
what you really want… and need.”

No,she cried out. She didn’t know what he meant. She didn’t.

“Just let go, sweet Jerette. Let loose the reins.”

Her eyes widened a fraction and his mouth took hers again. She insisted to herself a tiny shock of fear
must have flickered in her eyes and that prompted his action. To prevent her from screaming out the
words. Not the fact that he could read her mind. It was just too frightening a prospect to believe he could
crawl into her head as well as her fantasies.

He backed her against the nearby wall, still locked in a kiss, and his body imprisoned her as his hands
slid away. His fingertips whispered against her neck and the caress of cloth slithering away told her he’d
untied her bandanna. He slid it up and pulled his lips from hers as he covered her mouth with the fabric.

“It’s not that I don’t like hearing your lovely voice, Marshall. I just don’t want you escaping just yet.”

He ducked his head out from the circle of her arms, trapping her hands down between their bodies.
Ignoring the pain the ropes inflicted on her flesh, she pushed against him with all her considerable
strength. She gained a couple of inches between them. Just enough for his palms to skim up and find her
breasts. She jerked back at the contact, unadulterated pleasure rippling through her despite herself. He
kneaded her to a frantic level of desire, then slid his fingers to the buttons of her vest, releasing them,
lovingly, one by one. Her hands seemed frozen, unable to move in her defense. He moved on to her shirt
and dispensed with those fastenings with the same sweet care. Pulling open the sides he smiled down at
her cotton undershirt.

“Too bad we don’t have a bucket of water handy.” His smile was pure seduction. They both
remembered that damp, clinging chemise from their last encounter. “Don’t worry. I have an idea.”

She shuddered as she felt his warm, damp tongue flick across her already erect nipple.

No, don’t.The silent plea ripped from her anguished mind. He raised his face to look into her widened
eyes and she saw something she hadn’t expected from this sometimes teasing, sometimes serious, but
always confident man. Uncertainty.

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“Jerette.” Her name whispered off his lips and across her cheek. “I really do believe you
want--need--this. And us. But if I’m wrong…”

He pulled back slightly. She felt something biting cold against the skin of her wrists then her hands fell
free. He lifted first one wrist, then the other, to examine the angry lesions on her tender skin.

“I’ve hurt you.”

He followed his tender words with gentle, butterfly kisses. Wherever his lips touched, the lesions--and
the pain--disappeared. She watched in awe. This session wasn’t programmed for magic so he shouldn’t
be able to do that.

She closed her eyes, feeling his healing lips, his drugging kisses, send mixed sensations through her.

It would be so easy…

His lips finished with her wrists and started moving up her arm.

So easy to…

His tongue cajoled the inside of her elbow, making her gasp.

So easy to let…

“Yes, sweet Jerette. Yes. Let go.”

She watched him, mesmerized as he again brought his mouth down on her nipple, licking across it,
bringing it to a new, rigid height. Oh, sweet heaven, she wanted this, wanted him. But he frightened her.

“You know I’ll be gentle, my love. I would never hurt you.”

She knew. Somehow she knew she could believe that. But she was frightened of her own reaction. Of
her own innocence. She was a virgin in every way. She’d heard it was possible to experience sex in VR
but she’d been told it was a shadow of the real thing. With what she’d been feeling here--with him--she
was afraid if she allowed him to continue that she’d be too afraid to ever experience the real thing.

“A virgin? I didn’t know.” He turned his face away, eyes closing briefly. “How can I expect you to.…”
He sighed and captured her gaze again. “This isn’t merely sex, my sweet. This is so much more.”

He tugged the gag from between her lips and replaced it with his mouth. The kiss was long and bitterly
sweet.

“Sweet Jerette. I want you. And I believe you want me. Please, don’t say those two words. Choose to
stay. With me.”

He kissed her again, lovingly, tenderly, drawing forth her passions like the moon draws the tides, until
finally the only release she wanted to cry out for was that of ecstasy. As he raised his lips from hers, he
watched her expectantly, hope filling his eyes. She hesitated, standing on the edge of the precipice,
wondering whether stepping off would mean to fall--or to fly. She parted her lips but no words emerged.
The tip of her tongue edged out and swirled around, moistening her dry lips. As though he took that as a

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sign, Phantom’s face lit up with a slow smile.

Panic tore through her as she felt her wanton response to his pure male beauty. She bit her lip but before
she knew it the words burst forth.

“End session.”

Chapter Two

She couldn’t go back. Not after that reckless display of hers. How had she come so close to losing
herself to a virtual stranger? Even though it was VR, there was a real person driving that persona. If she
had allowed him to make love to her, she would have not only been making love to a stranger, but
literally to a man she’d never met.

She could not allow this to happen again. Over the next week, she spent her leisure time stripping her
computer, first of software to ensure no virus had burrowed into her system to allow Phantom access,
then hardware components, until she had it down to a bare-bones system. She tested each piece as she
rebuilt, searching for unfamiliar chips or receivers that may have been installed.

Nothing.

She wasn’t fooled into thinking he couldn’t get in again. She just hadn’t figured out how.

If she couldn’t stop him from getting in, maybe she should figure out where he was coming from. She
wrote a little routine that would allow her to sense any incoming signals. If he got in, she would trace him
back to his source.

He wasn’t the only one who could hack into a system.

She stretched out on her gaming lounger, pulled on the headset and started the session. Immediately, a
standard off-the-shelf e-scape appeared around her. The living room of a two thousand square foot
house with beige walls and a simple beige couch and chair was all ready for the user to decorate to their
own taste. She dashed past the light oak coffee table, through the louvered door to the kitchen, then
across the room to the back door. Unlike the front door, this one was locked, with a special encryption
key only she knew the code for. This was the only modification she’d made to the canned software.
Phantom had proven his software expertise, but even he would be stopped by this. She’d used the latest
in encryption technology, recommended by a friend of hers who was one of the leading cryptographers in
North America.

After only a few moments, she heard the doorbell ring, then the front door open--her signal that
Phantom had gained access to her system. She unlocked and opened the back door and dove outside.
Both the front and back door would lock upon closing. That should keep Phantom trapped inside the
house and out of her hair.

She whooshed through hyper-space and appeared… somewhere. Whatever it was, it wasn’t what
she’d expected.

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Complete and utter darkness pressed against her eyelids like black velvet, except her eyes were open.
The absolute silence unnerved her. The whole experience was like being in a sensory deprivation
chamber. Uncertainty flickered through her. Maybe she should go back. Take her chances with Phantom
in her own system. What had she hoped to accomplish by coming here?

“If you’d wanted to come for a visit, you only had to ask.”

The words sent a chill through her.

How he’d gotten out of her software trap she didn’t know. And wouldn’t ask. The man was already
way too self-satisfied.

“Visit what?” she asked. “It looks like you’re not set up for visitors.”

The darkness rippled then, to her relief, a room appeared around her.

Dark, like the man who’d created it. With strong lines. Heavy set furniture. Carved griffon-claw feet on
the settee and easy chairs. Moss-green velvet upholstery. Black marble and ornately-carved oak framing
the immense fireplace. The heat from the blazing fire was a welcome feeling after the perceived cold of
nothingness.

“Is that more to your liking?”

She turned to face him.

He wore tall black boots, tight black breeches, and a loose white shirt, split open to reveal a rock-hard
chest lightly sprinkled with dark curls.

He looked very much like the hero on the cover of the historical romance she’d purchased this morning.
An incredibly handsome, rugged-featured face with full lips, velvet black eyes, and a mouth that would
make weaker women swoon.

In fact, the setting could have been taken from the same picture.

“That dress looks very becoming on you, Jerette.” His gaze shifted down her body and settled on her
chest, a devilish grin turning up the edges of his mouth.

She glanced down to see the gown of red silk she wore, cut low in front to reveal her full bosom, pushed
up to swell from the top of the dress. A blush darkened the white flesh and she felt it flush across her
cheeks. At least it wasn’t torn down the front like on the book cover. Not yet, anyway.

Smugly, she smiled at him. “End session.”

The edges of her mouth froze, then slowly drifted down as the seconds ticked by and the scene
remained unchanged.

She glared at him.

“Don’t you remember, my sweet? You’re in my domain now. I am the lord of this realm.”

Panic spiraled through her like a rapidly growing vine as she realized she had no idea how things worked

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in his game. Here, she had absolutely no control at all. She cursed her own impetuousness at putting
herself in such a vulnerable position.

She turned and fled, knowing she had to find some way out of here. The voluminous skirts got in the
way, so she gathered them up as she ran. Racing down a long wood-paneled hallway, she realized she
didn’t even know what she was looking for. A door, a window, anything would do. Down a side
corridor, she saw a huge wooden door. She raced toward it. She reached for the knob and pulled it
open--two inches--but it slammed shut again.

“Really, Jerette. Must you run off so soon?”

Phantom’s left hand, flat on the door over her left shoulder, held the door shut.

She turned to face him, her back flat against the door.

“Let me go.”

He planted his right hand over her other shoulder and leaned toward her. Too close. His warm breath
tickled the hairs at her temple. He smelled woodsy and masculine.

“But you only just arrived. Let me show you some hospitality.”

He nuzzled her ear with his lips, feather-soft and seductive. Her response--one of overwhelming
desire--frightened her. She pushed against him. He surprised her by moving back. She dodged past him,
putting a good three feet between them.

“Who are you? What do you want from me?”

“We’ve had this discussion already.”

“And you won’t answer me.”

No response was forthcoming and his face gave away nothing. She took a calming breath.

“Look. Why don’t you tell me who you really are? Maybe we could meet in real space. Have dinner or
a coffee?”

He stepped closer and she couldn’t stop her automatic response to step back.

“Jerette, you know as well as I do that you’d never meet with me in real space. You’re too afraid.”

Her back stiffened. “I’m not afraid.”

He smiled a wicked smile. “Then show me.” He stepped forward again.

She couldn’t take this. She fled again desperate to escape. She flung open the first door she saw and
raced inside. After shoving the door shut behind her, she turned the large key in the lock and threw it
across the room. She leaned against the door panting.

How could she get out of here? She tried to concentrate on her real body, to will herself to pull the VR
connection from her head, but she couldn’t do it. His e-scape was as real as hers. More real than any

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she’d seen on the market. She could sense nothing but the computer-created reality around her. It almost
seemed more real than life itself.

“If you’re going to keep running, that skirt should go.”

She swung around at his voice. He grabbed the sides of her skirt and tugged. The fabric tore away,
revealing a white petticoat.

Her gaze darted around the room, searching for somewhere to run, all the while knowing it was futile.
Behind Phantom, she saw heavily-carved furnishings in dark, glossy mahogany and heavy brocades of
rich burgundy. A dresser, a chaise lounge… a bed.

Four poster with a canopy. Gold fringe edged the dark satiny fabric.

“Where would I run?” she asked, turning to face him again. “As you said, this is your domain. You
control every path.”

“That’s right.” He raised one eyebrow. “But if you’d like to have a chase scene, I can make it
interesting.”

She scowled.

“I’m sure you can. But I don’t feel like playing cat and mouse.”

He stepped closer and stroked his finger across her cheek. She refused to flinch, from his touch or her
reaction to it.

“Whatdoyou feel like, Jerette?” He murmured the words low in his throat.

She had to fight the urge to lean forward and nuzzle the hollow at the base of his neck.

His hands cupped her shoulders. “What do you want?”

His gaze shifted to the bed and so did hers. Part of her wanted to stretch out on that bed and open to
him. To draw him into her body.And into her soul.

He smiled and a wicked gleam lit his eyes. Her eyes widened. Oh, God, he was reading her thoughts
again.

His mouth came crashing down on hers in a pleasurable assault. Her brain seemed scrambled into
inaction as his lips caressed hers and his tongue eased past her lips. Her tongue nestled into his, then
followed the dance he led. His arms slipped around her and pulled her close. Her arms wrapped around
him and pulled him closer still as she lost herself in their fierce kiss. Her breasts, crushed against his chest,
ached. The nipples felt like they’d explode if she didn’t release them from their prison.

“Here, let me.” Phantom’s fingers slipped under the neckline of her gown and tore open the bodice and
undergarment in one swift motion.

Her breasts, bare and swollen, longed for his touch. He scooped her up and carried her to the bed.

“Jerette. My love.” He kissed her, keeping her head reeling with the rising passion flooding through

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every part of her.

He lay her down and started kissing her neck. Tingles rippled the length of her spine. Her groin tightened
painfully, demanding something she’d never granted.

No. I can’t.

He smiled, clearly knowing she could barely hear that tiny voice inside her and intent on keeping her too
busy to care.

He cupped her breast and she moaned softly, then he covered her other nipple with his mouth. He
cajoled the tip with his tongue. Sharp need spiked through her groin. She wanted him inside her. Filling
her.

His tongue lapped across her nipple and she groaned. He covered both breasts with his hands and
kissed a path down her stomach. He dipped into her navel then continued lower.

Panic welled up in her. What was she doing? His palms caressed her breasts and intense pleasure
flooded her senses. She groaned and tried to grasp at sanity again. She couldn’t go along with this. He
rubbed his thumbs across her nipples.

Oh, God, it felt so good.

His tongue lapped across her lower belly then his fingers dipped under the fabric of her petticoat, then
across the sensitive flesh underneath. The demanding need in her groin halted her rising protests. What
would it feel like to have him inside her?

In a split-second, she knew. His finger slipped inside and stroked her. Oh, Lord, it felt wonderful. Every
sense seemed to shimmer to ultra-high sensitivity. He stroked again, this time finding her clit.

“Ohhhh,” she moaned.

He stroked again, with a sweet gentleness that jolted through her along with the pleasure.

“Jerette, enjoy it. Let it carry you away.”

“No.”

He stroked again.

“Yes.” The word strangled from her depths.

He dipped in further and found a spot deep inside her that tore free any hope she had of resisting him.

“Phantom. What are you doing to me?”

He kissed her between the breasts, then propped up on one elbow and gazed deep into her eyes.

“I’m giving you pleasure.”

He held her gaze as he moved his finger inside her. Stroking, flicking, twirling. She closed her eyes as the

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need built to an intolerable pleasure, then opened them again. He still watched her. She could not look
away. As their gazes remained locked, she rose on a tide of passion. Her pulse raced and she gulped for
breath. She moaned as the intensity blossomed.

“Oh, God.”

As she neared a release she knew would be spectacular, Phantom covered her mouth with his. The
delicious pleasure of his kiss triggered the cataclysm of bliss, plummeting her over the edge. As she fell,
she clung to him, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

His finger slipped away, and he wrapped his arms around her. She lay gasping in his embrace. Warm
and masculine. Strong arms cradling her with tenderness.

Heaven.

Or Hell?

His lips brushed across her temple and she sighed.

“Jerette.” He breathed her name. “There’s so much more we could do right now, that I’d love to do
right now.”

Of course. He’d want his turn now. Her whole body tightened.

“But we won’t. You aren’t ready.”

He cradled her face in his hands and kissed her. Passionate. Loving. Tender.

She melted into it, kissing him back with everything she had.

Then he scooped her up and carried her from the room.

“It’s time for you to go home.”

Surprised by his words, she almost cried outno.

He kissed her again and laid her down.

Suddenly, she recognized the room around them as her gaming room. Or, more precisely, a VR
facsimile of it. He had returned her to her gaming lounger.

Phantom leaned down gave her a tender, passionate kiss. Without thought, she slipped her arms around
his neck and pulled him closer.

Passion started to flare again, but he slowly drew away. Stroking her hair back from her face, he smiled.

“Goodbye, my love. Come back to me soon.”

He stood up. The separation of their bodies made her ache.

“End session,” he said, then faded away.

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* * * *

At first her work benefited from her abstinence.

She threw herself into it with a passion to replace that which she left behind. In VR. There was no way
she could go back and seehimagain. Good heavens, she didn’t even know who he was or what he
looked like. And what she experienced with him wasn’t real.

Why, then, did the image of his face, filled with compassion, have the power to drain her of life? It
seemed etched in blood on the back of her eyelids. Whenever she closed her eyes it taunted her. She
had almost given herself to a man she knew nothing about. No matter it hadn’t happened in real space--it
felt real.

Her feelings frightened her. Not the least because she couldn’t control them.

So she stayed away. She put the dark stranger out of her mind during her frenzied days. But at night she
had no control. He came into her dreams and she could do nothing to stop him. So she stayed awake.
As long as she could, well into the night, until she was too exhausted to dream--or at least to remember
them when she did.

When she arose for work, the dark, saggy-eyed stranger staring back at her from the mirror transformed
into an acceptable human after several layers of carefully applied makeup. Every morning, despite her
drooping eyelids, she looked forward to the day ahead. In her office, buried in work, she didn’t feel the
passage of time or the pull of passion--because she wouldn’t allow thoughts of Phantom to intrude. She
became a fixture, always there, always dedicated to meeting deadlines.

Forcing herself to spend every waking hour in the office hadn’t been meant as an example to her team,
she thought guiltily as she stared at the latest batch of time sheets. Scrolling down the summary menu with
her right hand, she flicked the total command. Three person-months over in the last reporting period.
Ridiculous. The company didn’t pay overtime and she knew most of her people had families.

She’d noticed many people staying at their desks much later than usual, tossing nervous glances over
their shoulders when she’d scoot by. She pulled off the VR headset and slumped back in her chair,
scrubbing her hands across her face. They shouldn’t suffer because her personal life had gone askew.

An insistent blipping from the abandoned headset on her desk alerted her to an incoming phone call.
Clamping the headset back in place she answered it. The image of Gord Barker, Vice President of
Research and Development, appeared before her, the lines of his face drawn taut over broad features.

“Jerette, John Pierce wants to see you. In his office. Now.”

John Pierce. President and owner of Acupoint Enterprises, the company that employed her.

“Why?”

He pressed his palms flat on his desk and leaned toward her. “I don’t know but I suggest you get up
there and find out.” His brusque words suggested that he didn’t think Pierce intended to congratulate her
on her team’s recent successes.

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Gord’s image dissolved. Jerette quickly marched out of her office past the cubicles outside, ignoring the
speculative glances of the staff not immersed in VR. The elevator spiriting her up to the ninetieth floor
made hardly a whisper as she mulled over the possibilities. What could he want? She’d heard of cuts
lately, but her team had been doing so well. They’d beaten every deadline for the past month. That, at
least, had been a positive result of her staff knocking themselves out to match her efforts.

A nervous flutter started in her stomach and quivered up through her chest. She’d never met John
Pierce, but she’d heard he was formidable, slashing the most self-assured person to shreds with a few
cutting words. Her confidence settled down around her ankles and threatened to slip away entirely.
When the elevator stopped and the doors whooshed open, she stared at a plush, elegant office with a
svelte blond sitting behind an oak desk. Treading onto the carpet and feeling her feet sinking into the
deep pile, she tugged on the hem of her demure black jacket and smoothed her hair back, capturing a
few loose tendrils that had escaped her tight French braid.

“Ms. Salenger. Go right in.” The executive secretary smiled and gestured toward the office door.

Sucking in a deep, steadying breath, Jerette pushed open the door and stepped inside.

“Jerette. Come in.”

The deep baritone settled into her bones and set them rattling. Her gaze froze on the vivid blue ice of his
eyes. Determined to hold eye contact as long as he, she stood endless, rigid seconds staring, until finally
the wild thumping of her heart and her desperate need for air--why couldn’t she breath under his intense
scrutiny?--forced her to blink and glance away. Immediately, she swung her gaze back to his face, but
refused to look into his eyes. A slow smile spread across his face and he started a leisurely perusal that
traveled the length of her with infuriating thoroughness.

Maybe it was because of the erotic dreams she’d been having about Phantom lately. Or maybe it was
because he was stunningly attractive in his own right. Or maybe she just needed a man in her life.
Whatever the reason, Jerette felt her body respond to his examination as though he touched her
physically. Her nipples pressed against the white silk of her blouse and at the tingling between her thighs
she felt intimate muscles contract.

She cleared her throat and nudged her focus back to his face, hoping to drag his wandering gaze away
from her body. She barely stifled a gasp as his eyes gleamed at her knowingly, his smile tightening to a
satisfied grin. No, she scolded herself, he couldn’t know his affect on her. Her sanity wouldn’t allow it.

“Sit down, Jerette.”Before you fall down.He hadn’t stated the words but they were clear in the glitter of
his eyes, the crinkles etched around his confident smile.

She sank into the chair, supple leather cushioning her descent.

“You want to know why I summoned you here.” His words, crisp and business-like, held no threat.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Her vocal chords would probably squeak discordantly if she
did.

“You have a fine team of people, and they’ve done a superb job, especially over the past few weeks.”

“Yes,” she croaked, but the word came out inaudible, so she cleared her throat and tried again. “Yes,

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they deserve a commendation.”

“It’s too bad I have to cut the project.” The words, spoken softly and without emphasis of any kind,
sank into her without comprehension, until suddenly, like a string pulled taut, they cut through her
awareness.

“What?” The word, just short of a piercing shriek, echoed through the office in a reverberating note of
panic. “You can’t do that!” Her hands gripped the padded armrests of the chair. “You just can’t, it--”

“But I can.” His slow, sure words silenced her rising voice.

She stared at him, blinking slowly, her mind frantically searching for some argument. Like a brilliant light
in the darkness, the answer beckoned to her. Profit.

“But what about the contracts we’ve signed? We have customers begging for our product. We’ve
already set up Alpha sites. You can’t cut the project.”

“But I can,” he repeated, not deigning to explain.

Floundering, she tightened her grip on the armrests, her knuckles turning white. The company could pay
a penalty to break the contracts, and it wouldn’t be that difficult to back off on the two test sites. That
kind of thing had been done before--but their product looked so promising.

“Why?” The word, a cry of anguish, tore from her.

“Money. It’s been a tough quarter and we simply can’t afford the number of projects we’re carrying.
We had to cut one.”

She licked her lips. “You mean, it doesn’t have to be mine?”

“No, but the others do have advantages over yours, despite your excellent team.” He shook his head.
“They’ll be laid off, I’m afraid.”

“No!” She sprang to her feet and leaned on her palms, staring at him over the desk. “There must be
some way I can convince you…” She realized his gaze had strayed from her face. Glancing down she
saw that her blouse, drooping away from her chest, left bare a great deal of her breasts. Leaping to a
standing position and folding her arms protectively over her chest, she scowled.

His expression took on a feral gleam. “Come to think of it, there is one way.”

Her eyes narrowed as she watched him warily. “What do you mean?”

He loomed over her as he stood and walked around the desk. She found herself taking a step backward
for every step he took forward. Suddenly, a wall at her back put a halt to her retreat and he placed one
hand on either side of her.

“Think about it, Jerette. What do you think I mean?”

Fear vibrated through her like a rattlesnake ready to strike. She felt her eyes open impossibly wide as
she locked gazes with John Pierce. John P. Pierce, she recalled, remembering his sprawled signature
over his neatly typed name on memos crossing her desk. She shook her head, trying to force back the

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thought that demanded her attention, the thought that refused to stay submerged. As it reared its ugly
head, she wondered how she could have missed the familiarity of this man.

Could the “P” stand for Phantom? Was John P. Pierce her virtual antagonist?

“I see you finally recognize me.”

“Phantom?” she breathed, in an almost inaudible whisper.

“What took you so long to figure it out?”

“But…” She slumped against the wall as she stared up at him, refusing to let tears spring from her eyes.

“Why are you doing this? Last time you were so…”So gentle. So caring.How had he turned into such a
monster?

“You were gone a long time, Jerette.” His dark gaze cut through her. “I thought you would come back,”
he rumbled. “I thought you had learned to trust me. Obviously, the nice-guy approach wasn’t working.”
He leaned an inch closer. “I intend to get what I came for, Jerette. There’ll be no holding back from now
on.”

His words chilled her.

“I understand you’re angry with me, but…” She took a deep breath to calm the turmoil of emotions.
“Don’t kill my project,” she pleaded, shaking her head. “Don’t punish my people.” Her fantasies were
bad enough, but now he was messing with real life.

“Sweet Jerette, it doesn’t have to be.” His voice turned soft. Persuasive. “Just give yourself up to me.
For a little while.” He stroked a finger along the side of her face, sending a tingle of irrepressible
awareness shuddering through her.

“No. This isn’t fair.”

“I never promised to play fair.”

Chapter Three

A thought jolted through her like a life saver plummeting from nowhere. If he cut the project, she could
charge him with--

“Don’t even think about sexual harassment, Jerette. No one would believe you. Everyone knows we’ve
never even met before.”

Not in real time. No one knew about their VR adventures.

“But if I…”

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His hands grasped her shoulders. “If we become involved then I’ll reconsider financing your project, but
no one needs to know why. If you lay charges, however, people will think you threw yourself at me to
change my mind and when it didn’t work…” He shrugged as his words trailed off, but the image they
conjured became all too clear.

Frustrated, she closed her eyes, blocking out the view of Phantom’s handsome, arrogant features. Her
head dropped back and, as Phantom’s lips pressed against the pulse point at the base of her neck, a wild
hunger consumed her. The icy shell that froze her in its grip cracked, threatening to melt as liquid warmth
curled through her. Phantom’s hands slid around her and dragged her from the cold, hard wall and
pressed her against the flaming heat of his own hard contours. She whimpered, wanting to let go, to
forget the pain of reality and smother herself in his embrace. His lips found hers and she responded to his
kiss, needing to break out of the numb state of pain.

If she gave herself to him, everything would be all right. She wanted to. God knows, every one of her
dreams carried her back to him. But even there, she denied herself the ultimate pleasure.

“Jerette, let go,” he whispered persuasively. “There’s nothing wrong with giving yourself to someone you
desire. You want me. I want you. Forget about everything but your need.”

She felt her jacket slip from her arms and his fingers deftly release the buttons of her blouse.

“They’re harnessed in lace this time, enhancing their exquisite shape.”

Her eyelids flipped open to see him staring in awe at her breasts. He snapped open the clasp between
them and ran his fingers over her bared nipples. She gasped as his mouth captured one erect peak. The
world tilted under her and she felt soft leather compress under her body. He’d lowered her onto a couch
and kneeled beside her.

“At last, Jerette. I’ve waited so long.”

He tugged the tie from his neck and let it drop to the floor. The fine wool of his jacket brushed against
her bare skin as he tossed it aside. He leaned forward and suckled her other nipple. The delirious
sensation made her breath catch and she barely noticed as he stripped off her skirt. His fingers slid along
her inner thighs and beneath the silk of her panties, finding her welcoming dampness. At the intimate
contact, she gasped.

His mouth captured hers before she could form a protest. Warmth emanated from his body, so close,
yet not close enough. His lips moved on hers, drawing deeply buried needs to the surface. His chest
compressed her breasts, his bare skin searing hers. When had he removed his shirt? His fingers slipped
inside, sending a vibrant wave of awareness thundering through her. She gasped, the escalating pleasure
almost too much to bear. His lips parted from hers and traveled down her neck to her breast. His tongue
flicked across her nipple.

Her nerves tingled like wires over-stressed with crackling electricity, overwhelming her to the point of
sensual overload. His free hand covered her other breast and between his suckling mouth teasing one
nipple and his gentle fingers teasing the other, she felt herself melting, as though sinking into an
insubstantial dream, passion carrying her to a world filled with needs. She threw her head back and
moaned. His wandering mouth continued its travels, his tongue dipping into her navel. She felt his hands
move to the edge of her panties and tug them over her hips. He smiled as he stroked her inner thighs,
gently easing her legs apart.

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She shouldn’t be letting him do this. He leaned toward her and she closed her eyes but they flew open
again when she felt his tongue tease her achingly sensitive flesh.

She whimpered and tried to shift out of his reach, but his strong hands, fastened firmly around her hips,
held her still.

Doubts raged through her. She stiffened, torn by her desperate need to feel him inside her and her fear
of weakness. If only she was in VR. This step wasn’t so momentous there.

He stared at her with a tender longing. “Do you really believe that, Jerette? Is the thought of surrendering
your physical virginity so frightening to you? Is giving yourself to me in VR any less of a commitment?”

He was reading her mind again. But surely that could only mean…

He suckled on her clit and logical thought fled. Intense waves of dizzying pleasure built to a torrent,
sweeping loose her common sense. Threading her fingers through Phantom’s hair, she clung to him,
gasping for air, crying out in a hoarse moan as the tidal wave battered her into a mindless mass of need.
Her body rose and fell in arcs of pleasure. When she thought she would drown in the overwhelming
fervor, his tongue flicked and kneaded, sending her whooshing over the edge, shattered into a million
crystal droplets of pure prismatic color.

Lying very still, she sucked in air, her lungs aching with the effort. As the pounding of her pulse slowed,
she felt Phantom shift and slide up beside her. The warmth of his lips urging hers open threatened to
re-ignite the flood of passion. His hand covered her breast then slid down her belly. She could feel his
aroused cock pressing against her thigh.

“Jerette.”

She opened her eyes to meet his penetrating gaze.

“Tell me you want this.” His words were intense, full of need.

“I…” Reluctantly, she forced herself to recall his earlier threats, dredging up the memory like muck from
the bottom of a pond. An image of Sanderson’s face, the young man whose wife had just had a baby,
quivered on the surface her mind. With his limited experience, he’d have a hard time finding another job
right now.

“I don’t like threatening you, Jerette. I’d give you the world if I thought it would convince you.”

He stroked her hair back behind her ears and two things occurred to her at once. He had just read her
mind again, which she could almost understand in VR if he had somehow found a way to tap into the
electrical essence of her brain, and as his fingers trailed over her temple she felt a slight pressure
surrounding her skull, pressing down slightly on her ears. She recognized it for what it was--two separate
sets of reality superimposed. One VR, and the other real space.

Heat of another kind ripped through her and she shoved herself up to a sitting position. “Damn it! I never
took off my VR headset. This is a God damned VR session!”

She concentrated on the position of her hands in real space and tore the headset off. Jolted by the
sudden return to her office, she reeled slightly and lowered her head to her desk, resting it there until her
balance returned.

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Phantom had infiltrated her work system. The VR interface in the office was not as imposing as the one
at home, which was meant for total immersion. At work, the user didn’t start and end sessions, but
simply slipped on and off the headset. How Phantom had drawn her in so deeply she didn’t know. Damn
him. He was one formidable hacker.

A quick visit to Gord confirmed that the project and her team were secure. He told her he’d personally
guarantee her project a long and happy life and she knew that assurance was worth gold. She only half
noticed the startled expression on her secretary’s face as she stormed past, telling her to cancel all
afternoon appointments. For the first time in weeks, Jerette left the office before dusk.

At home, she clenched her fists and paced her living room in frustrated helplessness. Damn him! If only
she could disconnect herself from the net at work--but that just wasn’t possible. She could do without
her telephone, but not without e-mail, the most elemental form of communication. On the other hand, she
could not allow Phantom to catch her again.

She slumped onto the couch, raking her fingers through her hair. It was bad enough that he starred in her
dreams, but at least there she was in no danger--at least no outside danger. He only threatened her peace
of mind. In the VR, he threatened her sanity. After this afternoon’s demonstration, she knew once she
entered a VR interface, she could never be sure of reality again. Even now.…

No!She leapt to her feet and stomped to the window, glaring out at the long afternoon shadows striping
her lawn. Tension stiffened her joints. Absently, she rubbed at her neck, wishing fervently that she could
slip into VR, her perennial cure for stress--now the root of it.

An unnerving thought slowly surfaced. Damn it, no matter what she did, he controlled her life. She
sighed. At least this way, she minimized his control. If she only knew who he was.

Thoughts shifted and settled in her brain, and a seed of an idea sprouted roots. She called Gord and told
him she’d need the next week off, knowing she couldn’t chance using her computer at work.

That night she started to search for Phantom. She traveled the world without leaving her home, partaking
in an activity that had been dubbed ‘surfing the net’. A term that had been spawned at the dawn of the
information age and still stuck. In the past she would have used a VR interface but not now. She
wouldn’t risk it. She actually hooked up a keyboard and mouse, disdaining speech as an alternative and
asked her neighbor to dump the daily news feeds onto a DVD so she didn’t have to connect to the
network. She did programmatic searches for any reference to Phantom, and followed each up, but none
referred to her dark stranger.

So she spent countless hours lurking. She started reading various zines. She subscribed to some of the
news groups and kept up with the ongoing discussions between faceless people. The ones that kept her
interest were not so surprising. She’d always been one to watch the groups concerned with uses--and
abuses--of computers. Not surprised to see the age old ethical questions still being debated, she
wondered that the arguments hadn’t changed since she’d argued them herself so adamantly in the past.
When she’d been a student and had more time for such considerations. Does one have a right to privacy
in this information age and, if so, how does one maintain it? What is intelligence and could an artificial
intelligence ever be built? And herfavorite.If a machine ever did attain intelligence, would it have a soul?

She itched to take part in the discussions, but she would not risk interacting with the outside world.
Would not risk lettinghimin.

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Even though he got in before,a niggling little voice questioned.Why don’t you think he can get in
again?

But this way I’m not so vulnerable,she answered.If he somehow reaches in he can’t actually touch
me.

Or so she thought. Until the day the message came.

The words glowed clearly across the vid wall when she activated the system. Message waiting. She was
not set up to receive electronic mail but clearly that hadn’t stopped him. Because it could be no one else.

Sweet Jerette,

I’m dying without you. Come back.

Phantom

So melodramatic. Still, she was almost thankful to receive it. This message provided his electronic
signature. Even though he’d somehow masked his user and machine id, she would track him down. This
was her area of expertise. Armed with knowledge, she could overcome fear. So she set out to find
Phantom. To put a real face to the name--then a real name to that face.

The elusive Phantom, however, refused to be found.

“Sweet Jerette.”

She jumped as the voice spoke her name.

“Oh, my God!”

She slammed her palm down on the comm. switch that would disconnect her from the outside world, the
switch she’d activated in her frenzy to find Phantom.

“No, Jerette. That won’t work.”

And he was right, damn him. Somehow he was able to maintain the connection.

“Who are you?”

“Phantom. You know that.”

She scowled at the point above her left shoulder where the voice appeared to come from. Yes, she
knew all right.

“Why won’t you leave me alone?”

“You know that, too.”

“What do you want from me?” She slammed her hands on the table top. “And don’t tell me I already

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know, because I don’t,” she snapped.

“I’ve missed you, sweet Jerette. I want you to come back.”

“Come back where? To VR? But it’s not real.”

“It is for us.”

She twirled her chair away from the keyboard and stood up.

“Look, why the VR? You’re a real person, not a computer character, so why won’t you meet with me?
We could talk.” The thought of meeting Phantom in the flesh shook her, but she preferred that to being
under his control in the VR. She took a few steps, hands locked behind her back. “Tell me who you
are.”

“No.” His voice held such sadness she glanced around, wishing she could see his expression.

“Why not?” Her voice shook with frustration.

“Jerette, I understand you’re afraid of me, of what I might do. You want to know who I am, thinking
that if you know that you can control, or ignore, your feelings for me.”

“I don’t have any –”

“You do have feelings for me. And not just fear. But you’ll go on denying them, along with denying your
other needs.”

“Damn you. Why do you always talk in puzzles?”

She felt tired. No, exhausted. Too many nights spent lying awake, avoiding her dreams. Phantom
dreams. Too many hours spent filling her mind with work to push out thoughts of Phantom. She sank
onto the gaming couch and stretched out her legs.

“Come back to me, Jerette. Just lie back and relax.…”

His voice soothed, rippling over her like a tranquil waterfall. As her eyes fluttered closed a tiny surge of
panic gnawed at her awareness but it was too small, and too distant, to reach past the calm shell that had
settled around her.

“Relax,” his voice coaxed.

She inhaled deeply, then exhaled, letting the tension flow out with the breath from her body. A gentle
hum surrounded her.

“Jerette.”

Something about the voice had changed. She forced her eyes open to see Phantom looming above her.
His strong hand grasped hers and tugged her to her feet. Her calmness slipped away. She pulled back in
horror as she saw her hand, so tiny in his, shivering. She couldn’t let him see her fear.

“I won’t hurt you, sweet Jerette. I would never hurt you.”

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“So you keep saying.” The words came out a mere whisper. “How did you do this? How did you get
me back into VR?”

According to the familiar walls around her, with the large wizard poster on one side and a bookshelf full
of computer manuals mingled with SF and fantasy paperbacks on another, they were still in her gaming
room but she knew it was within a VR simulation.

He shrugged his considerable shoulders. “Once you let me in –”

“I didn’tletyou in.

“– it was easy. Basic relaxation techniques allowed me to –”

She sucked in a great breath and snarled at him. “You hypnotized me! What did you hope to gain?
You’ve got me here now but –”

She cursed herself as she backed several paces away from him. She wouldn’t give him the opportunity
to stop her from vocalizing her words of escape like he did before.

“You can’t, Jerette.” He shook his head, almost looking regretful. But he didn’t reach for her again.

Damn him for being able to read her mind. “To hell, I can’t,” she snapped. “End session.”

She waited expectantly.

And waited.

“End session!” she cried.

Nothing.

“Damn it! End session,” she roared.

Her whole body shook now.

“Jerette.” When his hand brushed her shoulder in an attempt to calm, she leaped away from him.

“No! Get away from me.”

“Relax.”

She twirled around to face him, her gaze clashing with his in defiance. “Don’t try to subdue me. Or
seduce me.”

He grasped her shoulders and stopped her from fleeing. “I’m not trying to –”

“How did you do it? Shut off the end command, I mean?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

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“Not to you maybe.”

He pulled her closer to his body, staring down into her eyes as though he could see into her soul.
“Jerette, will you listen to me?”

She glared a challenge up at him. “Will you tell me what I want to know?”

“Probably not.” He shook his head and the pain that crossed those rugged features relaxed into an
emotionless mask. “If you won’t cooperate, we’ll just have to go to our usual method of interaction.”

Her gaze darted sideways, looking for an escape route. “No. I don’t want –”

She didn’t want to feel helpless, to experience that total lack of control again. But the VR simulation of
her game room faded away and she found herself standing in the center of a cavernous hall.

“Move it, woman.”

A meaty hand shoved her forward and she almost stumbled. A clinking sound, along with the feel of cold
metal at her ankles alerted her to the fact that her legs were chained, as were her wrists. She glanced
over her shoulder to the man who’d pushed her, a giant with a leering face. He pushed her through a
doorway to an opulent sitting room. She flopped down on the pile of cushions he aimed her at and she
watched him leave.

“So, my sweet virgin slave has arrived.”

She jerked her head around and inhaled a jerky breath as her gaze caught on the most attractive man
she had ever seen. He was a combination of all the things she’d dreamed of in a man. Blue eyes the color
of the sky at sunset, settled under eyebrows slanted up at a cocky angle. Dark hair flowed past his
incredibly broad, bare shoulders. His straight nose and square jaw gave his face strength, softened by a
full lower lip. One she longed to feel pressing on her own. One she longed to tug on with her teeth and
caress with her tongue, to–

The lips she’d been contemplating curled upward in a devilish grin, reminding her of his uncanny ability to
read her thoughts. She felt the heat of a flush burn her cheeks.

“What is this all about?”

“You are my slave.”

Her head snapped up, her chin held high. “In this fantasy maybe. But not in real space. There you do not
control me.”

One of his eyebrows arched up. “Really?”

The dreams? Oh, no, he couldn’t –

“You’ve dreamt of me?”

She wanted to slap away the smug smile that spread across his face. Icy fear trickled down her spine.
He could read her mind. He could enter her dreams. Who was this man?

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“I am your master.”

“What?” The word came out on a whispered breath of air.

“You know this scenario, Jerette. I’m the master, you’re the virgin slave. You give up your innocence to
me. The question is do you do it willingly--or unwillingly.”

He took a step forward and she shrank back against the cushions. She had to gather her wits. How
could she stop him when he knew her every thought even as they came to her?

“You can’t. Jerette, accept this. Accept me.”

Her panicked gaze shot to his eyes. There she saw tenderness despite the determined set of his jaw. If
she could appeal to that side of him.… He continued to close the distance between them.

“Are you going to take me like this?” she asked, raising her chained hands in appeal. “Will you give me
no chance?”

“To resist … or to open your arms to me?”

“I…” She licked her lips.

He sat beside her and pulled a key from a pocket in his trousers. He scooped her wrists together in one
big hand and unlocked the chains. Then he gently grasped each ankle and freed them, as well.

She sat through his ministrations, stoically keeping her mind silent.

“Why do you want my virginity?”

His hands stroked up her arms then fastened on her shoulders. She shivered beneath his touch.

“It’s not your virginity I want. I want the thing that is most precious to you.”

Her eyes widened. “And that is?”

“I want you to give up control.”

She dragged her gaze from his and turned away slightly, grabbing a small round cushion and stroking the
velvet distractedly. His hands fell away from her shoulders.

“If you want me to… give in to you… why didn’t you try gentle seduction? Pretty flowers… soft
lights… music? Why put me in a position like this? Why make it hard for me?”

“Jerette, I have chosen your deepest, most passionate fantasies… the ones you keep hidden away, even
from yourself. But they’re just below the surface of your conscious mind. In each one the common thread
is: someone else takes over. Deep down inside you want control taken from you. Because you’re afraid
to give it up yourself.” He tugged her chin around so she had to look at him and his eyes flickered back
and forth as he searched her face. “I will take it if I must.”

His hands stroked up her back as he brought his lips down on hers, gentle and persuasive. She let him
draw her close, suffered the erotic stroking of his tongue on her lips, submissively let him thrust his tongue

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inside her mouth, within the boundary of her teeth… then she clamped down. He jerked his mouth away,
cursing. She shoved her hands against his chest, knocking him backwards, and leaped to her feet. She
ripped open the door and fled… right into the giant guard standing outside. The man grabbed her arm,
holding her immobile. She battered her fist against his chest, but to no effect.

He ignored her and turned to Phantom. “Master, should I give her a whipping?”

Jerette stared from the guard to Phantom, her eyes widening. At Phantom’s menacing glare, she feared
she’d made a tactical error.

“No. I’ll take care of her.” Phantom seized her wrist and dragged her back into the room, kicking the
door closed with his foot. He slung her down onto the cushions and scowled. She stared back with wide
eyes.

“So we come to violence, do we?” She hated the quiver in her voice.

“Violence?” He glanced toward the door then back to her, his eyebrows quirking up. “No, I don’t
intend to beat you, Jerette.” He dropped down beside her, his face an unreadable mask. “You know
what I intend.” He reached for her and she drew in a sharp breath, afraid of what he might do, but he
simply trailed his finger down her neck and across her collar bone. Heating her skin. Branding her with
his touch.

She felt helpless and she didn’t like the feeling. She hadn’t felt helpless since she was a child.

Her father, damn him, Sergeant-Major Salenger, had sought to control her life from the time of her birth,
making every decision. She couldn’t eat, sleep, or move without his approval. To him she was a
spineless, senseless automaton who couldn’t be trusted to do anything on her own. Anything that
required a brain, that is. He’d died when she was seventeen, and she’d taken great pleasure in using his
money to put herself through college, and succeeding withhonors.

She glanced up at Phantom’s strong face. She wasn’t stupid, she knew that. And she wasn’t helpless.
But here with this huge, dominating man, she became that little girl again. She shivered.

“Jerette. I’m not like your father.” His hands clutched her shoulders and the taut lines of his face showed
sympathy. “Trust me.”

“No!” She scrambled across the floor, out of his reach but he lurched forward and grabbed her ankle.
He tugged her sharply toward him, her arms flying out to the sides. He prowled over her and she shrank
back, her weight pressing into the cushions.

“Jerette, don’t make this more difficult than it is.”

“Do you expect me to just lay back and give in to you?” she demanded.

He lowered his weight onto her, enflaming every inch he touched. She flattened her hands against his
chest and pushed with all her might, putting several precious inches between them.

“Leave me alone,” she cried.

“That’s not what you really want.”

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He nuzzled his lips against her neck and she felt quivers of need ripple through her, draining away her
strength. Her rigid arms turned to pliable rubber and his body sank onto hers again. His mouth claimed
hers, his tongue dipping inside to stroke gently, but never straying past the danger of her teeth. She
forced her tongue to stay still, quelling her urge to engage in an erotic dance with his, to draw him inside.
She felt his hands slide between their bodies and tug at the fastening of her gown.

“No.” She squirmed under him, pushing his fingers away, but he grabbed both her wrists in one strong
hand and forced them over her head. The weight of his hips anchored her lower body to the floor while
his other hand pulled open her gown, revealing her breasts. At the naked desire on his face, her nipples
rose into erect peaks. At her response, his body grew firm against her stomach. He lowered his head
toward her, his intent clear, and she tried to wiggle away, afraid that the feel of his hungry mouth on her
breast might break her resolve to fight him. His lips surrounded her nipple with warm moisture, heating
her blood to a dangerous level. He tugged with a gentle suction, then swirled his tongue across the
sensitive nub. A long moan of anguished need tore from her throat. She arched her chest toward him and
felt his smile against her heated flesh. A second later, he nipped her other breast with a gentle teasing of
teeth on flesh, then suckled. A shaft of pleasure shot through her, from his mouth to the melting slickness
between her thighs. Automatically, her intimate muscles clenched, screaming for him to be inside her.

“Jerette, you do want me.”

“No!” She shook her head violently, silently pleading with him to ignore the wayward response of her
body.

He held her gaze as he stroked one nipple with a single fingertip, smiling at her answering shudder. He
traced a slow path down her stomach and under the edge of her panties, dipping into her damp, aroused
folds. He swirled his finger around, then drew it back to her breast, smearing moisture across her nipple.
He smiled, then licked the glistening peak. Her eyelids fell shut in self-defense, blanking out the erotic
image. He stroked the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs, urging her legs apart, edging his knees between
them. When she felt his hard male arousal fall against her stomach, she panicked.

Writhing and arching, she threw all her strength and determination into freeing herself, but her wrists
remained firmly in his grasp and he lowered his body onto hers, forcing her to spend her energy
needlessly. Finally, exhausted and weak, she lay still, panting. His rigid shaft nudged the folds of skin
between her legs, and she cried out, “No, Phantom. Please… don’t.” Tears trickled from her eyes. She
hated her weakness, but if begging would stop him….

He met her gaze with tenderness, stroking wayward tendrils of hair from her face. “Sweetheart, fight
your own misguided instincts, not me.” He kissed the path of tears down one cheek. “Fear is blinding you
to your own needs.” He nibbled the tip of her chin. “Not fear of me, but of yourself, of losing the control
you value so highly.” He brushed his lips against her temple, then nuzzled her ear. Tingles rippled down
her spine at his gentle ministrations. “Lose control and find your real self.”

Phantom’s fingers slipped inside her and stroked once, then twice. Sweltering waves of need rippled
through her, holding her suspended in a whirlpool of pleasure so intense she felt herself spinning out of
control.

His arms slid around her and she felt the strength of his tender embrace. His chest pressed against hers
and she felt the staccato beat of his heart answering hers, the rhythm of the two coming together in a
chorus of matching desire. He shifted slightly and she felt his firm cock slide along her inner thigh.

He swiveled his hips forward and his rigid strength filled her. She briefly wondered at the lack of pain,

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then a firm stroke of masculine hardness within her shattered her last crumbling barrier of control. She
could no longer deny her need for him, her desire to have him make sweet, passionate love to her, to
take her to the hidden realm of ecstasy she had always denied herself. He pulled back and surged
forward again. She moaned, desperate for more. Vaguely, she realized he’d released her hands as she
curled them around his neck and pulled him tighter against her, reveling in the feel of his coarse chest hair
against her sensitized nipples. When he thrust again, she arched to meet him, then wrapped her legs
around his hips.

They moved together in a dance of passion and she moaned on a long, low note. She felt herself rise on
an ever increasing swell of desire. An implosion started deep inside her and her world contracted to a
tight ball of ecstasy. A sharply rising cry tore from her throat as emotion built to near cataclysmic intensity
and finally burst in a frenzied, exhilarating release.

Slowly she became aware of how right she felt enveloped in his protective embrace, his maleness still
buried within her. She had been so empty before but now she felt complete. He fit her perfectly, as
though her body had been built for him--or his for her.

They fell asleep, nestled in the warmth of each other’s embrace.

When she opened sleepy eyes, he smiled down at her. She snuggled more deeply into his arms and
sighed. Then she shifted and stretched, brushing her nipples across his chest, sliding her thigh against his
growing arousal.

“Imp.” The word held a world of promise.

“Are you complaining?” Her hand grazed where her leg had been and she smiled at the sound of his
in-drawn breath.

“Not at all.”

He brought his lips down on her nipple and it became her turn to gasp.

“This loss of control,” she murmured when she could catch her breath. Then she gasped again as his
tongue flicked lightly across the sensitive nub. “Tell me… did I do it right?”

“Right?” His tongue paused. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, because I think maybe we should do it again. Just to be sure.”

He proceeded to oblige her.

Chapter Four

As Jerette lay in his arms, spoon fashion, savoring the feel of his warmth around her, she knew he had
been right. Phantom had known what she needed better than she had. Giving of herself gave her more
control than she’d ever known. Because the control she’d had before had been only an illusion. The only

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control in her life had been fear, and it had controlled her. She’d been afraid of losing herself. Now she
knew she couldn’t. She wasn’t that weak little girl any more. She had inner strength. And there was
enough of her to share. With Phantom. Because she loved him.

She’d never seen a man so strong, yet so tender. His fierce determination to free her from her bonds of
fear had touched her more deeply than anyone ever had--or could again.

“What are you thinking, sweet Jerette?”

“Don’t you know?” She glanced up at him in surprise.

“I don’t intend to make a habit of invading your thoughts, you know. I did it only because I knew you
would resist, and I had to convince you.”

“Mm. Too bad.”

He nuzzled the hair behind her ear with his nose.

“Why? Would I like what you’re thinking?”

“You be the judge.” She wiggled into a more comfortable position, pulling his hands more snugly around
her waist. “I was thinking how much I love you.”

The stiffening of his body sent tremors of alarm rippling through her.

“Don’t tell me that makes you nervous?” She tried to sound nonchalant but fell short.

“Nervous?”

“Yes. You do know what the word means, don’t you?”

She slowly pulled away, feeling the cold as she left his embrace, wrapping her arms around herself as
she sat up. She felt him drape a blanket around her shoulders and she pulled it close around her body.

“I… think maybe we’d better get dressed.”

He pulled on his trousers, which lay discarded on the floor beside the bed of cushions. She found her
ragged garment and pulled it over her head.

“What happens now?” she asked. “Will you tell me who you are and how to reach you? Or… is this it?”

She didn’t believe it, she couldn’t, but when he hesitated, fear surged through her anew.

“Jerette.” He hesitated, sending her pulse raging. “I… don’t think we should see each other again.”

“What?” She turned around and glared at him. “You can’t mean that? You come into my fantasies. You
make me want you. You take everything I have. Then you say we can’t see each other again?”

He cupped her cheek with his hand, a haunted look in his eyes. “I hope I gave you back as much as I
took.”

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A tear escaped her eye. Anger surged through her but she couldn’t lie. “Yes,” she whispered. She
grabbed his hand and held it between both of hers. “Phantom, please. Don’t end this. Tell me who you
really are.”

He dropped his gaze. “No.”

“Please. Let’s talk about this.”

“We can’t, Jerette. I want to but…”

“But?” Sensing the futility of her mission she pursued another avenue. “Then, tell me where you live. Do
you live nearby or.…” It suddenly dawned on her that he could live on the other side of the world. With
the Internet, he could live anywhere.

“I live in a different world than you.”

“So you are far away. Surely we can find a way to close the distance. I could fly to wherever you are. I
could take some time from work, I could…”

The tense set of his jaw told her it was pointless to go on. Suddenly she knew she’d been wrong. She’d
trusted, and lost, and the pain was unbearable.

“No, Jerette. Don’t feel that way. I… I don’t want you to regret what we had.”

“How else can I feel?” A steady stream of tears rolled down her face now and she hated the weakness it
showed.

“Oh, Jerette.” He pulled her against him and cupped her head against his chest. “I didn’t want to hurt
you.”

She pulled back to look up at him. “Why did you do all this?”

“I’ve known about you for a long time. You first captured my attention when you got involved in the
discussion groups over the net. You had some very radical ideas about things.”

“I did?”

“I wanted to know you better.”

“You could have written me an e-mail.”

“I was a little too… immature for that then.”

She gasped. “Good heavens, you aren’t…”

He smiled at that. “No, I’m not some young teenager. I’m quite grown up, I assure you.” The light in his
eyes made her wonder if he’d reach for her again, but he didn’t.

“You started coming into my fantasies,” she prompted.

“Yes. At first I just observed, then started taking minor roles.”

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She wanted to ask him how he got into her system after she’d disconnected it from the net, but she
didn’t want to chance redirecting his explanation.

“I quickly realized you were suppressing your real desires, living a life you don’t really want.”

“What do you mean? I love my life.”

“Do you? I don’t think so. You’re still trying to prove something to your father.”

“He’s dead.”

“I know that. Do you?”

“Of course I do, I–”

“Then let go of him, Jerette. Admit to yourself that what you really want to do is create VR landscapes.”

“Design e-scapes?”

“Of course. Your designs are stunning. I’ve never been in another with the richness of detail that yours
provide. You have a wonderfully creative mind. Use it. Don’t stifle yourself in a boring, systematic job.”

“It’s not boring. It takes a great deal of creativity to–”

“I grant you that, but it’s a creativity you’d be better using to help others enjoy their own fantasies. It’s
what you really want to do.”

He was right. She knew that deep down inside, though she’d never let the thought surface before now.

“All right. That’s why you wanted me to let go of my control. So I can learn to let go of reality and delve
into fictional worlds.”

“Yes, you do that now in VR but you need to learn to share them with others.”

Despite herself, her tone turned petulant. “So now that you’ve done your good deed you’ll be on your
way. That’s all this was about. You being a boy scout.”

“Of course not, Jerette, but…”

A sudden inspiration hit her. “Are you afraid you won’t live up to my expectations?”

“What?”

“Well, here you are this gorgeous hunk of man. I doubt you really look like this.” Her hand waved
across his body. “Are you afraid I won’t love you once I see you? Do you think I’m that shallow?”

“Jerette…”

Her eyes widened as a thought occurred to her. “Oh, Phantom. You’re not… You aren’t physically
handicapped, are you? If you are, it doesn’t matter to me. If you love me –”

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“I do have a handicap. But it’s not what you think.”

“What then?” Her heart quivered in fear of his answer.

“I don’t have a body.”

“You mean you’re paralyzed?” Oh, no. Poor Phantom. But they could still be together. And they still
had the VR.

“No, I mean I have no physical body.” He took her face in his hands and stared into her eyes. “Jerette, I
am the computer net. Over the years I’ve developed my own intelligence.”

She backed away a bit. “You’re saying you’re… You don’t really exist?”

“I exist, all right. I’m just not human.”

* * * *

An artificial intelligence. After the major shock wore off, Phantom sent her back to real space. Without
him. Because, of course, he didn’t exist in the real world. He had told her he was drawn to her because
she had always argued in favor of artificial intelligence. Most people didn’t believe it could exist. Those
who did usually believed that an AI shouldn’t have any rights. That it wouldn’t even have a soul. She
disagreed, believing that any intelligence is sacred and should be treated as such. But never had she
thought she would meet such a being. Let alone fall in love with him.

Phantom had insisted she get on with her life, get involved in relationships with real men. She knew he
was right but she also knew she could never love another man. It would be pointless.

As the weeks went by, she missed Phantom terribly. She started to wonder if it would be so bad to
keep seeing him in the VR. Even that half existence had to be better than being alone in her so-called
reality. But she wouldn’t survive being with him and not knowing if he returned her love.

The months crept by. It was well into February and the cold winds of winter kept her inside most of the
time, which she didn’t mind, since it was more excuse to work on her fantasy world software. The
groundhog hadn’t seen his shadow on Groundhog Day, signifying a short winter, but Ottawa, a city well
settled in the snow belt, saw no sign of spring yet.

Arriving home after a grueling drive through a snowstorm, Jerette raced into her house to snatch up the
ringing telephone.

“Ms. Jerette Salenger?” the voice asked.

“Yes.” She tugged the scarf away from her neck and dropped her gloves on the table.

“This is Finery Flowers. We have some roses for you. Will you be home over the next hour to accept
delivery?”

“Absolutely. I’m not going out in that again.” She heard the wind moaning outside and shivered at the

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thought. “I’m surprised your delivery trucks are out.”

“We don’t make money if we don’t get the stock out,” the woman said candidly.

“Well, I’ll be here.”

She replaced the receiver and wondered who they could be from. With a quick glance at the calendar,
she realized it was the fourteenth of February. Valentine’s Day. That certainly explained why the florist
would be keeping the delivery trucks moving. This must be the biggest day of the year for them.

She hung up her coat, then stopped at the window to pull back the vertical blinds and look out at the
stormy night sky. Ice pellets danced against the window, the crackling sound making her shiver. The air
fairly glowed outside with the illumination of the streetlights reflecting off the snow. She watched as a
delivery van proceeded with caution down the deserted street, “Finery Flowers” scripted on the side.

Darlene probably sent the flowers, Jerette thought with sudden insight. Always a thoughtful sister, she
knew Jerette had been depressed lately. It would be just like her to do something like this. Jerette
watched as the delivery man pulled his hood tightly around his face and made a mad dash for her front
door. She met him there and quickly signed the delivery acknowledgment as he waited, cheeks red,
breath puffing out in clouds of white mist.

“Thanks, ma’am,” he said as he happily accepted the five dollar tip she handed him.

She untied the green ribbon holding the long, narrow box closed and carefully drew out the dozen
long-stemmed yellow roses. Definitely Darlene. Only her sister knew her preference in thecolorof roses.
She cut the stems and arranged them in a tall, crystal vase, setting them in thecenterof the dining room
table.

She plucked the little card out of the green tissue paper and pulled it from its envelope.Phantom
scribbled in blue ink greeted her shocked perusal. Sucking in an unstable breath, fingers suddenly gone
nerveless, she released the card. It fluttered to the floor like an errant butterfly.

This must be some kind of joke, she thought. A very sick joke. She clutched the back of one of the
dining room chairs and eased herself into it. But, no, it wouldn’t be hard for Phantom to hook into the
worldwide floral delivery network. She had ordered flowers over the net herself, on occasion. For
Phantom it would be easy.

She dropped her tearful face into her hands. Oh, good heavens. She had put Phantom out of her
thoughts. Or she had tried. A night didn’t pass that Phantom didn’t haunt her dreams. She loved him.
Passionately. Completely. But he didn’t love her. And it was just as well. They could never be together,
never love each other as a real man and woman.

Oh, she had no doubt he was a real man, with real feelings. He just didn’t have a real body. She knew
she was more forward thinking than most. An open mind was her greatest asset. She had always
believed that. Just because Phantom was spawned from electronic impulses combined over a network of
very human communications, why did that mean he was not a real life? A real intelligence? After all, what
was different about life spawned in a human body? Weren’t we all a collection of electrical impulses? The
only difference between Phantom and the rest of us is that we have a biological housing and he does not.
She wouldn’t fault him for that. After all, she of all people, the recipient of his humanity, a kind of giving
humanity unsurpassed by most people, could never question his humanness. He had given her a priceless
gift, the understanding and strength to pursue her dreams.

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Only last week Jerette had heard from a software publisher offering to buy her first VR landscape idea.
Never had Jerette known such ecstasy… except in Phantom’s arms. It had been almost a year since she
had been with him and she could not deny her longing for him. She had learned to suppress that longing,
learned to live with the ragged pain of loss. Going into the VR was unthinkable. He might just be there to
greet her.

A ragged sigh escaped her lips and her own guttural sound of pain jarred her back to the present. She
batted at the errant tears that rolled down her cheeks. No, she would not go back. Not because she
couldn’t accept being with Phantom, but because Phantom had done what he’d done for her out of
compassion. Not passion. Not love. Just a selfless consideration for someone he knew was hurting. She
wondered how many other lonely souls he had touched with his kindness. And, damn, why did it still hurt
so much? Not that she held him responsible. It wasn’t his fault she’d fallen in love with him.

But why the flowers? That she couldn’t understand. Had he learned of her first e-scape sale and wanted
to congratulate her? Maybe the fact that they’d arrived on Valentine’s Day had been merely a
coincidence. She hated herself for the hope that had been sparking to life like a tiny flame inside her.

The doorbell rang, dragging her from her self-destructive speculations. She pushed herself up from the
chair, and walked over to the door, wondering who else had braved the February winds of an Ottawa
storm. Had the whole world gone insane?

She pulled the door open and suddenly felt an icy wind spiral around her body, but it was nothing
compared to the icy fear that spiraled around her heart.

“Hello, sweet Jerette.”

“Phantom?” The word dropped from her lips like an icicle, freezing her throat in its passage. She stared
up at his face, the very same face she remembered from their last encounter in VR. The face she now
always equated with Phantom.

“May I come in?” he asked, the compelling warmth of his smile thawing her frozen limbs.

“Of course, I… Come in.” She stepped aside to let him pass then closed the door behind him, shutting
the raging storm outside. She turned to face him, brow pleating in tight furrows.

“What are you…? I mean, how…?”

He laughed and reached for her, pulling her into his arms. “What am I doing here? How is it possible?”

“You can still read my mind?” She rested her head against his chest, not caring that he might not be real,
that she might somehow be in the VR, or worse, she might be imagining the whole thing.

“No, I can’t read your mind. Not here in real space.” He grasped her chin and pulled her lips to meet his
in a short, sweet kiss. “It’s not particularly hard to figure out what you would be wondering in this
situation. And anyway, I think I’ve gotten to know you pretty well.”

“Oh, dear heavens, Phantom.” She clutched at the fabric of his soft, flannel shirt as though she were
afraid he’d disappear. Which is exactly what she feared. “Are you real?”

His lips claimed hers again. His arms pulled her against a strong male chest. “Do I feel real?” he asked

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once he raised his lips from hers.

“Yes,” she whispered, “but then so does VR.”

“I’m very real, Jerette. I promise you that.”

She stared up at him, his twilight blue eyes watching her intently. His dark hair, caught in a ponytail, hung
over one shoulder and she longed to trail her fingers through it. Her gaze lingered on every feature of his
face. The face of her lover. Her beloved.

His smile broadened. “Your face is taking on a misty quality I find absolutely enchanting.” His lips
nuzzled the soft skin just below her jaw line. “May I take that to mean you find my form pleasing?”

“Pleasing? You’re absolutely incredible.” Her breathing spiraled out of control, carrying her away to a
place she wanted to go. But not yet. She brought her hands to his chest and pushed lightly. He offered no
resistance. When she looked up into his brilliant blue eyes, she saw a depth of pain that tore at her heart.
Her hand rose up to stroke his cheek. “Oh, Phantom. I’m not rejecting you. I couldn’t, I… Please, you
must answer my questions. How? And why?”

He pressed her palm to his lips, then enfolded her hand within his own.

“I had to find a way to be with you. When you left, it… it tore me apart. I didn’t want to go on without
you. I understood why being in VR together wasn’t enough. I wanted you to have more than that. To
have a relationship with a real man.”

“You are a real man,” she protested.

“But I couldn’t be with you in the real world. In your world. And you had hidden from that reality far too
long.”

“Yet you pushed me to design fantasy worlds.”

“Yes, you need to follow your creativity. And that means living in worlds of your own imagining for
extended periods of time. But it’s important that you know where that fiction ends.” The look of glazed
distance disappeared from his eyes as he zeroed in on her face. “But now we have a chance.”

“We do?” Her heart fluttered in response to his words.

“Yes. I found a way to make a body. I hooked into a research lab in California where they’re doing
work with nanotechnology.”

She tipped her head. She’d read about the concept. Tiny molecular sized computers could be combined
into an integrated whole to perform all kinds of wonderful tasks. “But to build something as complex as a
human body?” The concept staggered her imagination.

“Why not? I’m a pretty clever guy.”

An understatement if ever she’d heard one. He had access to a world of information. Quite literally.

“I contacted the chief scientist on the project and volunteered a few ideas.”

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“You worked on the project?”

“I’m one of the chief engineers now, though until recently I did all my work from ‘home’. The only
reason I’m telling you this now is to let you know I have a job, and am a productive member of society,
so that I can…”

“Can what, Phantom?” Her heart had been throbbing with hope, but now her fingers went icy within the
confines of his hand.

He shook his head. “Courage seems to fail me. I’ve always been in control with you, or thought I have,
but now…” He pulled her into his embrace with a raw passion that drove away the fear.

“Tell me,” she insisted.

“I…”

He released her and patted at his pockets as though looking for something. His hand dipped into his
jeans pocket and pulled out a small, blue velvet box. He snapped open the lid and held it out to her.
Inside, nestled in the soft, velvet interior, lay a tiny gold abacus charm on a delicate chain. His large,
masculine fingers lifted the chain from its bed and fastened it around her neck with a deftness she found
heart stopping. His hands came to rest on her shoulders and held her with such cherishing gentleness that
she could hardly catch her breath.

“Jerette, I love you.” He sucked in a breath and continued in a rush of words. “I wanted to tell you
before, when we were together, but I knew I was being selfish. We couldn’t be together in the real world
and I couldn’t ask you to accept what little I could offer you in VR.”

“Little?” Her voice trembled and her head shook in denial.

His finger rested on her lips to silence her protest. “I didn’t feel I had the right then to ask anything of
you. I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you… but I did. Now I can offer you reality. Jerette…” His
gaze searched the depths of hers. “Sweet Jerette. Will you marry me?”

His breath held as tears welled to the surface of her eyes and spilled out.

He turned away from her, words coming in broken breaths. “Damn. I was so stupid to think… I’m
sorry, Jerette… to put you through this… I should have –”

“Shut up,” she snapped, as she pulled him back to her, turning him around, surprised at how easy it was
to move his great bulk. “You villainous devil. You stole something from me a long time ago and I demand
retribution.” She kept her voice taut.

His gaze lifted to hers, uncertainty flickering through his eyes. “Your control?” She shook her head.
“Your money?” She shook her head. “Your… virginity?” Still she shook her head.

“My heart. And for that debt I demand payment. In the form of marriage.”

The lines of agony in his face smoothed away then his expression flowed into radiant joy. He bowed low
at the waist. “I’m a man ofhonorand I always pay my debts.”

Suddenly, she found herself enfolded in his embrace and reveled in the warmth of his very male, very

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human body. In fact, she could feel it responding to her now in a very masculine way. She arched her
hips in the cradle of his thighs and suggested, “Why don’t we go and test some of the finer features of this
new body of yours?”

Surprisingly, he hesitated. “Jerette, I must warn you. This is not the VR. When I… With your first time
there, I was able to ensure you suffered no pain. Here, I have no control–”

Her lips punctuated his statement with a kiss. She started tugging his shirt out of the waistband of his
jeans.

“Phantom, I know you could never hurt me. The small pain of initiation is not something I fear. What I
fear is being without you. I love you too much for that. And as for control,” her words muffled as she
nuzzled the base of his neck, “you taught me an important lesson about losing control.” She ripped open
the snaps of his shirt and closed her lips around his nipple. “Let me teach you the same thing.”

The End

Elizabeth loves to hear from readers, so feel free to email her at

[e-mail]

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Please check out her website at

www.ElizabethBC.com

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FORBIDDEN FRUIT

By

Jaide Fox

Chapter One

Lilith Somerset was miserable, in every way that a person could be miserable--mind, body, and soul.

She despised being forced into marriage, even to a rich man rumored to be incredibly handsome. Rumor
or truth, it mattered not. She hated having no power to make her own choices in life, her freedom lost to
the whims of men.

Even her journey echoed the mind-numbing pain she felt, and as gratified as she was that her doom was

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slow in coming, it was still inevitable. She had only to look at her surroundings to know that she was in
John Dentin’s, her betrothed’s, power--his carriage, his overseer, and his riders. Even the gown she
wore … he had bought for her. Her body was no longer her own. In a few days, he would complete his
purchase by rutting her in front of his friends and family, forever sealing their fate as man and wife.

Her mind alone remained free, but she was so preoccupied by her coming nuptials, she could think of
little else.

The road--if such it could be called--bearing her to her new life was full of ruts from the recent
monsoons, jouncing the carriage with each wheel rotation--its being well sprung and padded having no
discernable effect on her comfort. She could see nothing from the windows to distract her from the
turmoil of her mind, for a thick fog lay over the land, forcing the riders to light torches to see. Only the
faint glow and the whinnying protests of the horses alerted her to the fact that she was not alone in her
traveling misery.

She felt claustrophobic in the confined space, with only Dentin’s overseer, Fargus Leks, as company.
Poor company at best. At the worst, a lascivious nuisance. He’d begun staring at her as if he’d like to eat
her once they were out of her father’s lands--beyond his protection.

She’d done her best to ignore him, feeling safe from his advances only with the knowledge that her soon
to be husband was obsessed by her purity and would likely cut off a man’s privates for daring to touch
her.

If only she’d been allowed to bring her maid, Sarah … or a tome of poetry … or her embroidery….

If only….

Lilith fumed mentally and squirmed in her seat, trying to awaken the feeling back in her buttocks.

Fargus smiled at her breasts, making her feel drenched in oil. He never missed an opportunity to remind
her that he was there. “Anxious to meet your betrothed, my dear?”

She sent him a look, recognizing his implication at once. She ignored it. “How much farther must we
travel?” She could hardly wait to be free of him. Men were such pigs!

His eyes never deterred from her chest. “I suspect many hours yet. I’ve no notion of how long it will
take in this blasted fog. The rains came sooner than we expected.”

It had been like that for two years … ever since her mother had died. They had no way of predicting the
weather. It seemed almost as if the Goddess herself mourned the loss of Her daughter.

He tore his gaze from her chest to slide open a window and call to a guard. The rider pulled alongside
the carriage. “Aye, sir?”

“What make you of our progress?”

The man looked ahead, as if he could will the fog to part. “I expect we’ll have to make camp soon.
Dusk approaches. We’ll not reach Dentin Keep by nightfall.”

Fargus grunted in response and slid the window closed. Lilith opened hers, looking up at the sky. She
could tell nothing of the time--day or night. The entire world seemed shrouded by a grey pall.

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Somewhere in the distance, the piercing call of a bird of prey echoed. Another answered … then
another. A falcon perhaps? She thought. Or an eagle?

A gathering wind swirled the mist around them, cloaking and then revealing her travel guard.

The horses neighed, snorting in protest. The rider nearest them barely kept his horse from bolting.
Another reared, the rider’s torch falling to the ground, mud hissing under naked flame.

A vague sense of uneasiness settled over her. She gripped the window sill, watching a slow build of
chaos erupt around them as the mist swirled.

Someone up ahead cried out and was abruptly silenced. The carriage slammed to a halt, nearly jerking
her from her seat.

Fargus looked alarmed. “What is it?” he yelled to the driver and received no response, not daring to
open his window to investigate.

Lilith wanted to close hers, but then she could hear nothing and see even less. “Shhh!” she hissed,
craning her head, trying to see what was happening.

She knew by now they were being attacked, but by who and where?

A bird cried, high pitched, right above them. Someone screamed. She jerked her head in that direction,
trying to see. Torches flew past. Horses bucked, throwing their riders.

“Circle! Circle round the carriage! Defend Lady Lilith!”

No one came. Either they were too busy fighting … or most were already dead.

Something heavy slammed into the ground behind them, in front. The carriage rocked violently, the front
jackknifed a foot in the air, crashing back onto its wheels with bone jarring force. Lilith caught herself on
the window, looking around wildly.

Fargus screamed and opened his door, vanishing into the mist, leaving her to fend for herself.

Lilith watched him go, frozen in place. Her pulse thundered in her ears. She snatched the door shut,
wondering if she would be better off huddled inside the carriage or running around outside like a mad
woman. She knew the countryside. There was almost no ground cover, nowhere to hide unless she
crawled under a rock.

She couldn’t sit here, not with the sounds of battle outside. She wasn’t a coward, but she wasn’t a fool
either. Whoever attacked either wanted her or wanted money--either way, the carriage would be their
target.

Steeling herself, she opened the door and dropped to the ground. Her legs immediately tried to collapse
from her weight and hours of disuse. She clung to the door, gaining her balance, fighting the panic that
welled in her chest and threatened to crush her lungs and heart with fear.

Wings flapped above her, pushing great gusts of wind that swirled the mist around her, blinding her
further.

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Lilith hobbled forward, her heart in her throat. It was something huge. Whatever stalked her from the
sky had to be monstrous in size to produce such hard currents of wind when it flapped its wings. She
froze, wondering which direction safety lay. There was no safety on the road at all, she knew. Everyone
had fled or was dead.

Turning, she moved as quickly as she could into the meadow alongside the road. There were no trees,
but she thought she might find a shallow ditch to hide herself in. She had stumbled only a little ways into
the meadow, however, when she heard the great flutter of wings above her again.

It swooped low, landing only a few arms length in front of her. Horror filled her when she saw what
manner of beast it was, for it was a griffin--the wings and head of an eagle, the body of a lion. Upon the
beast’s back sat a man in leather armor, a warrior of formidable proportions. His expression hard and
uncompromising, he leapt from the griffin’s back and strode toward her, his cloak and long blond hair
fluttering around him. The purposefulness of the warrior’s approach galvanized her, freeing her from her
frozen state of terror. She turned to run. She had barely launched herself into flight, however, when he
caught her from behind, his arms snaking around her waist and jerking her off her feet.

Screaming in fear and anger, she whirled to fight her attacker. He released her abruptly. Grabbing her
flailing arms and thrusting them behind her back, he jerked her up against him.

“Cease,” he growled. “No harm will come to you.”

She didn’t believe him. He’d attacked her coach with his beasts. “I’m to take the word of a
highwayman? Take what you want and go!” she commanded.

He looked at her hard for several moments. “Very well, my lady,” he growled. Releasing her wrists, he
bent over, pressing his shoulder against her rib cage as he caught her around the knees and tossed her
over his shoulder.

Lilith was so stunned by the move that he was halfway back to the griffin before she’d recovered enough
to fight him again, screaming and kicking and clawing at his leather jerkin. His hand came down on her
rump. Hard.

“Be still, you shrewish wench!”

Lilith gasped in outrage, both at his familiarity with her rump in manhandling her and his derogatory
comments. “Shrew! How dare you call me a shrew, you knave! You bastard of a wart hog! You scum of
humanity! Put me down this instant! My betrothed will skewer you like the pig you are.”

He set her down so abruptly her arms pin-wheeled and she landed on her already abused rear. She’d
barely bounced to a halt when he fell to his knees, straddling her legs.

Horror filled her. Her eyes widened.My Goddess, she thought,he means to rape me.

She was so stunned, he had already whipped a scarf from his cuff, shoved it into her mouth, and tied it
around her head, before she realized what he was about. Her scream of outrage was muffled by the gag
he’d placed in her mouth. Enraged, she swung at him. He grabbed her arm, dragging it behind her back
as he moved around her. Not to be so easily thwarted, she swung backwards at him with her other arm,
clubbing him several times with her fist before he caught that one as well, binding her wrists together.

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He was breathing heavily when he jerked her to her feet. “Now, mylady,” he said through clenched
teeth, “Would you prefer to ride the griffin astride, or on your belly? Because either way, you’re coming
with me.”

* * * *

Lilith had never been more glad of anything than when the griffin alit on solid ground. Her ribs ached
from being draped over the back of the beast. Her buttocks were numb from the frigid air fanning the
skirts of her gown. Her hair had come loose from its pins and threatened to blind her.

The monster who had captured her climbed down, dragging her from her perch. Her knees wobbled
and gave way, and she landed in an ignominious heap on the planking of the ramparts. She glared up at
her tormentor.

Without a word, he grasped her arms and hauled her to her feet again. “Can you walk, or must I carry
you?”

If carrying her meant slinging her over his shoulder, she didn’t think she could bear any more of that.
“Mmmwahh,” she said around her gag.

He pulled the gag away from her lips. “What was that, my lady?”

“Pig,” she snarled.

He replaced the gag. Grabbing her around the waist, he threw her over his shoulder. She groaned.

She struggled for all the good it did. She was no dainty bit of fluff. She stood toe to toe and eye to eye
with many men, could look down upon more than she liked. This man still towered over her and was
strong as a bull besides. Too tired to put up more than a token protest for the moment, she gave up as he
crossed the bulwarks, trying instead to see where he was taking her. She could see very little beyond his
back and the flooring they traversed, however, and the attempt to observe from her upside down
position only made her dizzy and ill. Fighting it, she closed her eyes, merely listening as he walked
downstairs and passed through a doorway into the castle, traversed several hallways and finally entered a
small room.

She didn’t realize it was to be her cell until he deposited her on the narrow bed. She immediately began
kicking him as she landed on her mattress, which she doubted was very little softer than the floor, rolling
onto her back and arms for leverage. He grunted and caught one foot, securing her ankle to a bed post
with a length of silken rope.

She screamed around the gag--muffled to futility--and kicked the side of his head as he was bent over
tying her down. He dropped her foot, holding his cheek, turning a murderous glare on her. Her belly
quivered with fear, and she paused a moment, wondering if she’d gone far enough to make him throttle
her. Grabbing the offending foot in a rough grip, he secured it to the other post, leaving her spread eagle.

He made short work of freeing her arms from behind her back, moving quickly and allowing her only a
few scratches and slaps before she was securely strapped down.

The silk rope held her taut, allowing her little wiggle movement. It didn’t hurt or abrade her wrists, but it

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wasn’t comfortable either. Considerate bastard, she thought furiously, wondering if he thought for one
moment that that small a consideration would make her feel less murderous.

He was breathing heavily by the time he finished. Straightening, he stared down at her, giving her a hard
once over. She tensed, expecting the worst.

He surprised her when he walked out of the room without a word and slammed the door shut.

Chapter Two

Dominic Rainier waited until after he’d posted a guard to the wench’s room and was on his way out of
the castle to rub his aching jaw.

He’d swear on his life the shrew had loosened a few of his jaw teeth. He didn’t remember having a slight
wiggle there before.

Without pausing, he strode out of the castle, nursing his jaw as he walked the worn path to the witch’s
hut. He didn’t bother to knock before going inside.

“I expected you’d be here soon enough,” the old witch, Usha, said, smirking as she rocked in her
creaky chair. She didn’t look up from the mending she held in her lap.

Dominic paced the small space furiously, trying to ignore his throbbing jaw. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“She is not comely enough to suit your taste?”

Dominic glared at the old woman. “I could not say if she is comely or not. She has done nothing but
snarl at me and curse me. How am I to bed a woman whose only desire seems to be to kill me?” Halting
abruptly, he gave Usha a hard look. “Are you sure she’s the one?”

She grunted as she stood and moved to a chest tucked into the corner of the hut. “She’s the one. I’ve
seen her in my visions.”

He sighed in exasperation. “You don’t even know what she looks like. How can you be so sure?”

She chuckled, rummaging through the chest until she brought out a brown jar sealed with wax. “Dark
skin and eyes, thick black hair, taller than any female you’ve ever beheld? She was traveling under John
Dentin’s seal, was she not?”

“Aye,” he conceded reluctantly.

“She’s the one.” She hobbled across the room and handed him the jar. “Rub this oil over her skin. It will
ease her struggles. ‘Twould be better if you could woo her, I’ll grant you, but you must plant your seed in
her belly by next moon, else your lands will not heal before winter, and we all shall die of hunger.”

He studied the jar, feeling doubtful anything would calm that wild cat to his lovemaking, but Usha had

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never steered him wrong before. And his people were depending upon him.

“Very well,” he said grimly, but purposefully, turning on his heel to perform his duty, however distasteful
it might be.

* * * *

She was pretending to be asleep. No doubt to fool him into loosing her bonds and allowing her escape
… or to prevent him from desiring to rape her. Of course, he couldn’t know the full extent of her plans,
but Dominic had no intention of letting her go, and he had every intention of doing that most despicable
deed. He’d been forced to make many decisions in the past for the sake of his lands and
people--decisions he wouldn’t have made under other circumstances.

This time was no different. This time, in fact, was a matter of life and death for the hundreds of people
too sick and weak to move on to better lands.

He would do this and damn his soul for all eternity. If the land bore fruit once more, if the game returned,
it would be worth it.

Dominic shook the thoughts aside. He was having a hard enough time forcing his cock to stand up
without that distraction.

The woman was a prize indeed. The Aurorians had all but been wiped out by greed, for they were loved
by the gods and many believed they were blessed with the ability to nurture the land and produce fruit
where none had been. He’d never seen one but recognized the honey brown skin and thick black hair
from what tales he’d heard. He shouldn’t have doubted Usha, not when he knew the truth in his own
heart.

He settled on the bed and tossed her skirts up, revealing shapely golden brown calves and thighs. She
immediately roused--proving she’d never been asleep--and hollered, bucking against the ropes.

He ignored her muffled screams and curses, breaking the seal on the jar to pour clear, fragrant oil into
his palms. The spices made his nostrils tingle, smelling of roses and lavender and a myriad of other scents
he couldn’t place. He set the jar aside and started rubbing her calves, making her skin gleam a rich gold.

The oil warmed as he touched her. His palms prickled with sensation as he moved over her knees,
rubbing further up her thighs, moving her dress higher and higher. He poured more oil into his hands and
worked it into her soft flesh. Absorbed as he was exploring her legs, he didn’t notice until he reached her
upper thighs that she was no longer trying to fight him. Instead, she tried to spread her thighs further. Her
belly jerked with her heavy breathing, and she looked at him beneath heavy, drowsy lids.

Dominic crawled into the bed, kneeling between her spread thighs. She was aroused, he found, when he
rubbed the tender lips guarding the inner folds of her sex. He fingered her cleft, swirling her cream.

He hadn’t thought it was possible. The oil was a godsend, and he made a mental note to thank Usha for
it later.

Smelling her light, musky scent made his cock grow hard. His loins tightened painfully. He pulled the ties
holding his cod piece in place, freeing his dick.

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Grabbing the head, he guided it to her hole, leaning over her for leverage enough to push inside. She was
tight, heightening his burgeoning desire. He could barely work past the outer edges of her vagina. Gritting
his teeth, he braced his arms on either side of her head, and thrust into her.

He felt skin rupture inside her, a great wash of lubrication, and then he was in. She writhed beneath him,
tensing around his shaft, screaming around her gag loud enough he felt sick to his stomach and his cock
threatened to wither inside her.

He could think of no polite way to have sex--one that would allow her some dignity once he was
through. Better to have done with it as quickly as possible, he decided, knowing he would have done
quickly, one way or the other, either with success or failure. Ignoring her whimpers and moans of pain, he
began thrusting into her hard and fast, wanting to get the job done. He’d never had a problem before, but
then again, he’d never tried to take a woman that so obviously didn’t want him and it took every ounce
of concentration he could muster to focus on the deed and not the woman. Sweat broke on his brow
with his efforts to force his body to perform as commanded.

To his great relief, her hot, tight channel was pleasurable enough to milk him quickly. Only a handful of
minutes, a dozen strokes and he groaned as his seed spilled deeply into her womb. His cock was flaccid
by the time he pulled out and crawled off of her, breathing raggedly.

He might have been alright with the deed if he hadn’t looked at her. He wasn’t certain why he did. When
he glanced at her, however, he saw the blood. It coated his dick and her thighs, seeped onto the sheets.

Gods above, he’d hurt her. He had known he must have. He just hadn’t known how much.

Bile rose in the back of his throat. His hands shook as he wiped the blood off himself with a rag and
laced up his cod piece.

He couldn’t look at her as he left the room.

The guard outside stood at attention.

“Summon Sarah. She is to tend the woman’s hurts and feed her if she’s hungry.”

“As you wish, my lord,” the man-at-arms said, leaving his station at once to tend to his master’s bidding.

Dominic glanced at the door, realizing now was probably the worse of times to leave it unguarded, but
the desire to put as much distance between himself and what he’d done was overwhelming. He left,
striding downstairs to the main hall for a drink. They had precious little ale left, but he needed it. A lot of
it. His stomach knotted, cramping painfully with guilt.

She was a virgin--had been. Fool that he was, he had been so caught up in his own concerns, so
focused on ignoring everything beyond his task, he hadn’t thought of it. He should have. He had hurt her
unnecessarily. He’d never had a virgin before, but he knew how they were to be dealt with. With tender
care, slow lovemaking--not rough and fast thrusting … and certainly not with a stranger.

She didn’t even know his name.

Nor did he know hers, for that matter, but he had preferred it that way. It had made it easier not to think
of her as an individual, a frightened girl he’d abducted for his own purposes.

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Fool!

Furious with himself and shamed both by his actions and the weakness that had led to it, he snarled at his
men lingering in the hall until his place by the fire was devoid of companionship. When he at last looked
around and discovered that he was alone, he roared for ale, frightening a timid maid as she brought it to
him by glaring at her so balefully she nearly dropped it, further exacerbating his frayed nerves. His hands
shook as he grasped the cup and brought it to his lips, taking a deep draught.

Damn this curse! He raged, staring into the dancing flames in the hearth, his mood as black as his sins.

If she was angry before, she was going to be murderous now. He had known circumstances prevented
him from any chance of wooing her first, or gaining her trust, perhaps even her cooperation. He had
known tolerance was probably the very most he could look forward to, but it had been no part of his
plan to make her hate him. He had naught to look forward to now but more days and nights of this, and
he had no notion of how to fix the mess he’d blundered into.

* * * *

The door to her room opened quietly. A short, frail girl stepped inside, carrying a tray with a steaming
pitcher, a bowl of steaming food, cloths, and a spoon. Evidently, she was to be cared for and fed, Lilith
thought, uncertain of whether to be more disturbed by that realization or less, for it implied that she was
expected to remain a while as prisoner of the fiend who’d stolen her away.

There wasn’t a lot of comfort in the idea that she was to be cared for and fed if that also meant that she
would have to endure more of the same as she’d already experienced.

The girl set the tray down and went to a cabinet, pulling out fresh sheets. Turning, she set them on the
table beside the bed before returning to the pitcher. When she had poured the water into the cistern of
the vanity across the room, she added cool water to the mix from the washstand. Hefting the heavy bowl,
she crossed the room and knelt by the bed, bringing up a shallow pan.

“Do you need to relieve yourself?” she asked.

She did. She nodded. Mortified, Lilith allowed the woman to help her relieve herself, and then the girl
was dipping a cloth into the warm water she’d brought to bathe Lilith. The girl touched her swollen nether
lips gently, letting water trickle down.

Lilith took in a hard breath through her nostrils as pain shot in every direction from her core. That
bastard had carelessly hurt her, rutting like the pig she’d called him. Her eyes watered just thinking about
her lost virginity, but she quickly replaced that useless feeling with rage. He would pay for this, she
assured herself. One way or another, she would make him pay.

The girl, she saw when she focused on her, was older than she had originally thought. Her slightness of
body made her appear younger, but her face was drawn, her eyes sad and washed out. She carefully
cleaned and dried Lilith’s abused sex, making it feel worlds better, before she pulled the wet, stained
sheets from beneath her and struggled to put on new, clean bed clothes.

Bundling the soiled sheets, she returned to the bed with the bowl and spoon and removed Lilith’s gag.

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Lilith worked her achy jaw back and forth. The girl settled beside her, leaning over to spoon a thick grey
mush into her mouth. Lilith spit out the horrid mess instantly without thinking, startling the girl as the spoon
flew from her mouth. The maid dropped the bowl. It hit the bed and rolled off onto the floor, sloshing
grey muck all over the floor.

The girl burst into tears, frantically scooping the porridge back into the bowl.

Shame filled Lilith as she watched the girl’s near hysterical efforts to clean up the mess. It worsened as
she saw the girl struggle to master her tears until she began to feel like a dog … lower … more like a
slug. It wasn’t the girl’s fault that she was here.

Anger filled her anew, for she didn’t doubt for a moment that the reason the girl was so upset was
because she was fearful of that cold blooded bastard that had kidnapped her. She didn’t know who this
man was or why he wanted her, but she was going to kill him the first chance she got.

She swallowed the lingering paste that filmed her mouth, resisting the urge to gag. “I’m sorry…?”

“Sarah,” the girl supplied quietly, straightening from her task to wipe the sludge off Lilith’s face and chest
with a damp cloth.

“I am Lilith Somerset. I’m sorry, Sarah. I didn’t intend to do that. I was just … surprised.”

Sarah relaxed fractionally, even managing a faint smile. “I should have warned you. Itishorrible.”

“I think I lost my appetite, but I would like some water.”

Sarah obligingly fetched her water, and Lilith washed the taste from her mouth.

“Thank you.” She smiled, trying to reassure the girl. “You must understand I’m angry at my captivity. I
didn’t mean to take it out on you. I will save it for your master when I kill him. What is your master’s
name?”

Sarah looked alarmed. Her face blanched white. “Oh lady! You must not! You can not mean that! Lord
Rainier is a good and kind master. He thinks only of his people. It is because of us that he--” She broke
off abruptly, her eyes widening in horror as she clamped her mouth shut. “I say too much. I must go if
you need nothing else.”

Lilith couldn’t help but be curious about the girl’s behavior and what she’d claimed. She could hardly
credit it given her own experience with men, but it was certainly important to her to learn as much as
possible about her captor, however dubious the nature of her informant, and however doubtful she was
of the accuracy of anything she might learn.

Sarah’s ‘good and kind’ might mean she was afraid to claim otherwise, or it might mean that she was
‘favored’ by her master, but she could not know that until she had gleaned as much information from the
girl as she could.

She wouldn’t get anything out of Sarah if she left, but she couldn’t think of any reason for her to stay.
She certainly didn’t want more of that horrible porridge, and she doubted the floor had improved its
taste. “Can you stay a while?” she asked, trying not to sound as desperate as she felt, for as little as she
liked to admit it even to herself she was frightened. The girl’s presence was comforting and reassuring

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and something she needed at the moment beyond even information.

“I’m sorry. I cannot, my lady. I have other duties to perform.” She fluffed the pillow, smoothing Lilith’s
hair back as best she could before gathering up the supplies she’d brought in.

“When will you be back?”

“When Lord Rainier sends me,” she said, backing out of the door and leaving Lilith alone once more.

When the girl had gone, she lay staring at the ceiling, fighting the urge to give in to her fears. Rage was
better, however much it drained her of energy because it was so useless, but cleared headed
thought--free of fear or anger--was better still. She wondered why she’d been brought here by Lord
Rainier. Surely he had some other purpose than raping her?

It that had been the only purpose, why bring her back to his castle at all? He could have done that when
he’d captured her and left where he had found her and none would have been the wiser of who to blame
for the deed. For that matter, she couldn’t fathom why he’d massaged that spellbinding oil on her thighs,
since she imagined most men that raped enjoyed screams and struggles as much as the rutting.

He had seemed … almost reluctant, she realized after a while, but it hardly helped her feelings to know
that he had found it distasteful. She was more inclined to think it had been purely her imagination, else
why do it at all?

Ransom seemed the most likely answer of why he had taken her to start with--particularly when she
considered the little she had seen of the place, which she now realized implied a desperate need for coin,
but he did not strike her as a fool. Surely he must know that he had greatly decreased her value by
despoiling her?

Would her father pay it?

She thought that it was very doubtful John Dentin would, since there would be no guarantee of her
purity. That relieved her somewhat.

At least she would not be forced into marriage, but what did fate have in store for her future?

She knew she could not live this way for long. Her body ached from her position. The pillows did little to
ease her discomfort. She’d never been forced to be still for so long. It would drive her mad to remain this
way for very long.

Time passed with agonizing slowness with nothing but her thoughts for company, and those unhappy
ones to say the least. The room dimmed, presumably as the sky darkened, until she could barely see her
surroundings. The scraped hide covering the window let little light through.

She had spent most of the day searching for any possibility of freeing herself, and still, she could see no
way of escape. The window looked too small for her to fit through, and he’d not carried her far
downstairs, which meant her room was likely too far from the ground to safely jump anyway. She’d
heard a guard outside her door, so that avenue was cut off from her as well.

Not that it mattered. She had no way of cutting her bindings off. He’d secured her far too thoroughly.
She had no leverage to work the knots loose.

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No, she was thoroughly caught. Until and unless he trusted her enough to untie her, she wouldn’t be
going anywhere.

The realization that she was helpless to the whims of another man set her teeth on edge--from her father,
to her betrothed, and now into the hands of her captor! She had thought it bad enough that she would be
made the wife of a man she did not even know, but this was worse. She didn’t know what to expect of
Lord Rainier, but she had a feeling that her father’s wealth and position would avail her little here. If he
had been concerned, he would not have dared to kidnap her in the first place.

Night fell, leaving the room pitch black. She listened for a while, wondering if he would come back to
her, and as she lay straining to hear sounds of his approach she slipped into a fitful sleep.

With dawn came Sarah, bearing more porridge. Apparently, they meant to starve her into submission,
Lilith thought with renewed anger. She ate what little she could stomach, relieved herself, and lay still as
Sarah bathed her off once more.

She spent the entire day that way, gleaning no new knowledge from Sarah, and little sustenance. By
nightfall, Lilith was certain she would slip into madness.

Chapter Three

Dominic spent the day nursing a horrendous hangover, which thankfully prevented him from thinking far
beyond his own misery. His face still hurt. Now, however, a bruise covered half of his jaw and cheek. He
performed his lordly duties--which now consisted of any tasks that could not be left undone regardless of
the fact that there was no one, but him, to do them--ignoring the speculative stares the bruise attracted
from the handful of men-at-arms that were all that remained of the army he had once had and the few
servants that remained to run the castle.

Despite his discomfort over the incident, or possibly because of it, he had prodded Sarah into giving him
a thorough report of his captive lady, what had transpired from the moment she had arrived until she had
left, how injured the lady appeared to her, how distressed, her expressions and what she had said. He
had learned that her name was Lilith Somerset which, if possible, had made him feel a little more ill.

He knew that name well. Lord August Somerset prospered where all others failed. He was the richest
man in these parts.

Dominic had not known the man had a daughter. He was certain, though, that if Dentin’s men recognized
him, he would soon have an army bearing down on his castle, for she was an even greater prize that he
had previously considered.

And he had not the man-power or the larder to withstand a siege for more than a day.

Sighing, he rubbed his tired eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten meat or seen his larder
full. For nigh on two years his lands--which had once produced a bounty of fruit and grain, cattle and
game--had been dying.

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He’d been forced to release most of his men, for he had no money to pay them. The people had given
up tilling the land. The seeds would not grow. The trees withered, bearing no fruit or nuts. The grasses
died without rains to sustain them, and the cattle starved, forcing them to kill the beasts to preserve what
little meat they could. Much of the forest, brittle with drought, had burned this year past, killing off what
little game remained or forcing them from his lands to find food to keep from starving themselves.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a bird in the sky. He’d had to release his prized griffins so
that they, too, wouldn’t starve. They served him now only when he called them--with great difficulty.

Dominic couldn’t understand why his lands had suddenly seemed to turn against him and his people. He
had worked the fields with them, traveled far and wide with his men to search for game to bring back,
until he’d reached the ends of his land and could find no more meat.

He had thought at first that perhaps the fields had been sucked dry of nourishment. They’d cleared new
land, hoping for renewal, but nothing worked. Hardy seed from the North, able to flourish in the most
desolate of lands was brought in and planted, and still they had nothing.

He’d used what coin he had left to buy wheat and dried meat, and in desperation, begun visiting the
witch, Usha.

Many wanted to burn her, fearing she was the cause of this hex. He did not believe it, but he’d hoped
she could help him.

That was when she had told him of the woman. The woman who would travel to Dentin’s land by
carriage, a guard of sixteen riders flanking the front and rear. A heavy mist would shroud them, leaving
them vulnerable to attack.

The woman was blessed.

“Plant your seed in her belly. As it grows, so too shall your lands awaken,” the old woman had
said.

“Why do you help me? Why should I trust you?”he had asked suspiciously.

“For my own sake as well as yours. I am too old to flee. I die with your people. You must do this
to save us all.”

Dominic had had no choice but to trust her. Something in that hut had strengthened his resolve, given him
purpose, something tangible to fight for. He could almost feel the magic exuded by the woman.

In theory, it had seemed simple enough. Find the woman, plant his seed, and fertility and prosperity
would return to his lands. The hungry would be fed. The needy would no longer do without.

He’d long since ceased to think in terms of luxury. Eating anything at all was more a luxury than any of
them had had in longer than he could remember. Porridge was all that kept body and soul together and
that was rapidly disappearing no matter how few the mouths left to feed or how carefully they doled it
out.

A vague ‘plant his seed’ was a far cry from tying a woman down and plowing her rows, however. She
was not a nameless, faceless, unresisting lump of flesh that he could simply pump his seed into and forget
the moment he was done.

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Shaking off the dismay those thoughts engendered, he focused on his current dilemma. Regardless of his
personal feelings on the matter, he was committed now. He had to ensure that he had planted his seed in
Lilith Somerset by the next moon or they would be even worse off than before he had decided to take
the old woman’s advice.

He would have to bed her again, he realized unhappily, but he was not looking forward to it. The pain
and anger in her eyes sliced him to the bone.

It occurred to him presently that, should she become pregnant, she could not remain bound to the bed.
He’d thought little beyond capturing her. Truth be told, he’d not thought he would live long enough to
actually capture her and bring her back to his castle. That he had succeeded at all when he was so badly
outnumbered astounded him.

He wasn’t certain if the direness of his situation had rendered him witless, or if he had simply not fully
examined the situation because he was so certain it would fail, but there was no getting around the fact
that he had not planned at all beyond capturing Lilith and the vague half formed idea of planting his seed
in her.

Was it at all possible, he wondered, that he could have more thoroughly mucked things up?

He would have to seduce Lilith, he realized. Somehow, he would have to find a way to cover his blunder
and entice her to stay and not fight him. If she became pregnant--whenshe became pregnant, he couldn’t
risk her hurting the child.

His gut clenched painfully on that thought.

He spent the day pondering his plan of seduction, choking down the stomach churning porridge when he
could ignore his need for food no longer.

Finally, he decided that his only hope, and that a dim one, was to try to woo her. His first move would
be to pleasure her, and he knew exactly what he must do.

* * * *

The scent of roses and lavender pierced the fog of her slumber, tickling her nostrils. Her skin tingled as
he parted her legs and smoothed his hands up her thighs.

Lilith bolted awake, her eyes flying open. She could see nothing in the dark, but she knew who was with
her…him, Lord Rainier. She sensed more than saw him beside the bed.

She tried to jerk her legs shut, but he persisted, keeping them open, massaging that accursed oil into her
skin until the frantic pulse of her body drowned out the protest of her mind. Tingles spread through her
muscles, making her skin heat to the point of combustion. Pleasure sluiced her body, gathered in her cleft
with a tickle of moisture.

She moaned as his hands slipped easily along her skin. He stood and the bed dipped as he crawled
upon it. He settled between her thighs. She could feel the heat of his body searing her thighs as he
worked higher, kneading the sensitive flesh.

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She sucked in a harsh breath, her nether lips quivering, muscles clenching as he brushed his fingers down
her cleft.

She felt drugged--not herself, her blood boiling with forbidden longing. She couldn’t concentrate on
fighting, only on the feel of his fingers parting her lips, the heat of his breath fanning her moist center.

She wiggled beneath him, tilting her hips, trying to find something intangible to her mind’s grasp.

Something wet and hot scooped a path through her cleft, flicking lightly across her clit. Her hips jerked
at the contact. She cried out, tensing all over.

He groaned, pressing her thighs wide apart as he pressed his face into her slit, his nose digging against
her mound. He closed his lips over her clit, sucking.

An instant sweat beaded her skin, barely cooling her overheated flesh. She gasped, whimpering, pushing
her hips against his mouth, clenching and unclenching her hands.

He skimmed the edge of her vagina with his thumbs, kneading the crease of her thighs with his fingers.
He pushed her further, forcing her legs to part wide to allow him the access he needed to taste her.
Small, tight whimpers escaped her throat.

He slid away from her clit, down her cleft, plunging his tongue into her tight vagina. Her womb
contracted on a hard spasm. She shuddered violently, her blood sizzling, her nerves vibrating with
sensation.

His fingers toyed with her clit, his tongue curled inside her. He lapped her cream, devouring her, nibbling
her lips, tasting every hidden crevice of her sex. She would have screamed if she had had the breath. Her
lungs heaved, body shaking, but she could do nothing but gasp and moan.

She could hear wet, erotic sounds and his groans, as if he tasted ambrosia and couldn’t drink enough.
He drank her cream, moving his mouth to her clit once more, dragging the pleasure from her conflicted
body.

Her womb tightened, pushed beyond the edge as he thrust his fingers inside her. Ecstasy erupted through
her nerves. Her muscles convulsed. Her strangled moans filled the air.

He lifted his head, moving only to settle between her thighs. The wave of pleasure interrupted only as he
pressed his cock head to her entrance. She groaned, wanting to struggle, but she needed this.
Instinctively her body craved the tight stretch of him filling her.

He worked past the fragile opening, slowing pushing inside her grasping muscles, working her cream
deep inside. Arching his hips, he forged forward, inside her quaking sex. She cried out, bucking against
him, his groans exciting her.

She tightened on him instinctively, her core shuddering with burning, shocking pleasure.

He settled inside her, holding still, as if fighting for control. She couldn’t contain herself, couldn’t control
the aching need that welled inside her once more.

His breath came harsh and ragged. He withdrew and plunged inside once more, past the desperate grip

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of her muscles, stroking in and out.

She was panting now, reaching for that bliss again, desperate for it as he slid in her channel and out, his
cock jerking with his efforts to hold his release in check. He buried his face against her neck, kissing her
jaw, sucking at the corner.

Her clit throbbed. Her heartbeat pulsed there, swelling the bud, heightening sensation, driving her mad
with the need to orgasm. She jerked against him, arching her back, as if she could drive him deeper.

“Please,” she begged, unable to help herself.

“Dominic,” he said, with a groan.

“Please, Dominic,” she murmured, whimpering.

He groaned at her ear, hesitated for a breathless moment of time and then he began pumping harder,
faster. Vibrations of need grew, intensified, sizzling through her nerves. Pleasure blossomed with his
rough strokes. Her orgasms came on her suddenly, locking down her muscles. She clamped hard on him,
sexual muscles pulling, clutching.

His cock jerked. Warmth bloomed in her depths, washing her with his seed.

She took no note of it, riding the rippling swells of rapture that washed through her clit and core. Moans
caught in her throat. She gasped as he collapsed on top of her, his weight somehow comforting.

She was barely conscious when he caressed her cheek and placed a kiss on her parted lips. After a few
moments, he slipped from her body and then from the bed. Adjusting his clothing, he leaf her to her
slumber.

* * * *

A sense of well being curled around Lilith, making her reluctant to rouse from the thin haze of sleep that
still cocooned her. Images flitted through her mind, pleasurable images, remembered sensations that
began to plague her almost as much as they pleased her. Finally, with great reluctance she opened her
eyes and stared up at the ceiling.

Reality descended with a vengeance. She hadn’t dreamed a delightful dream. The uncomfortable
stickiness between her thighs was evidence enough of that.

He’d been with her. Like the thief he was, he had stolen into her chamber when she was asleep and
vulnerable. He had compounded his perfidy by massaging the magical oils into her flesh, stealing her will
to resist his touch, depriving her of the comfort of knowing she had rejected him.

How dare he make her enjoy it! She thought in dawning outrage. She could live with the pain--that at
least built her resistance to him, made her stronger, but the pleasure?

It made it seem she was willingly allowing herself to be despoiled, ruined. It took her comfort of knowing
herself. It made her feel lost, like a stranger.

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She was horrified by her body’s reaction. It gave her no comfort at all to dismiss it as basic animal lust
because she could not remove herself from that taint. Her mind, her discipline, her upbringing as a lady
had been completely compromised and she would never be able to think of herself in the way that she
once had even if she could somehow escape the world’s censure.

Damn him to hell, she thought furiously. She was not going to simply yield to a meager helping of pretty
persuasion after all that he had done to her!

She would have him groveling for her favors before she was done with him, and then she would glory in
watching as her father tortured him endlessly before he gave the villain the death he justly deserved!

Chapter Four

Dominic felt confident that he’d made great strides with Lilith the night before. A great weight seemed to
have been lifted from his shoulders. He had pleasured her. Despite everything that had gone so horribly
wrong, he had redeemed himself--or at least made great strides in that direction. It aroused him all over
again just remembering the soft moans of pleasure he had coaxed from her, remembering the way her
body had responded so passionately to his caresses.

She could not despise him as he’d feared, otherwise she would not have been so responsive to his
touch.

Feeling more lighthearted than he had felt in longer than he could remember, he decided to venture to
Arnon for some much needed supplies.

Stretching, he rose and moved to the worn chest that sat at the foot of his bed, digging around to the
bottom of his chest until he found the small, intricately carved wooden jewelry box that had once been his
mother’s. Seating himself on his bed once more, he opened it slowly while his mind rapidly tallied the
things that they needed in order of most desperate to least.

He simply stared at the contents once he’d opened the box, however, dismayed to see how little
remained of his mother’s things: the emerald drop earrings his father had given her on her last birthday;
the ruby betrothal ring given by generations of Rainier men to their brides; three gold hair pins and one
silver; a choker pricked with droplets of pink crystal; tiny silver embroidery scissors in the shape of a
crane.

The majority couldn’t fetch more that a few bags of seed, perhaps some wheat. The sentimental value
far exceeded their actual worth. Most of her expensive jewelry had been traded off to keep food on the
table and to pay his men. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to sell the remainder of it, but now he had
hope that matters would improve. There would be no harvest without seed. He had to part with
something, however reluctant he was to give up the last of his mother’s belongings.

He touched the emeralds. They would make a good gift for her. Perhaps later.

He considered the scissors, but thought of Lilith, trapped in that room with nothing to alleviate her
boredom. If he was to keep her from planning escape, he had to occupy her mind with something.

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Perhaps she would begin to favor him if he lavished her with entertainment?

He frowned after a moment, realizing that at the rate he was going he would give up nothing at all.
Reluctantly, he grabbed the pins and pocketed them as well as the scissors, and stuffed the box back into
the bottom of the chest. Turning to his bookshelves, he studied his prized books for several moments and
finally pulled down all but one of his books. He used his hip to open the door and summoned a
man-at-arms to carry the load.

The man accepted them, giving him a quizzical look.

“Take these to the lady upstairs. You are to unbind her arms and legs and allow her free reign of the
room. I warn you, she has a foul temper. Someone should remain in the room with her at all times, unless
I give you orders otherwise. Another guard shall be posted outside in case she overpowers you,”
Dominic said. At the man’s near smile, he added, “Do not underestimate her. And send someone to
capture Kee and saddle him. I will be going into town.”

“Aye, my lord,” the man said, leaving to perform his duty.

Dominic went downstairs and found Sarah preparing a tray to take to Lilith. He pulled out the scissors.

“My lord,” she said with a curtsy.

“Sarah, I found these scissors. Give them to Lady Somerset. She shouldn’t be able to do any harm--or
much--with a tip this small. You’re to find thread and fabric, so that she can embroider if she so chooses.
If she does not wish it, bring the scissors back to my room and leave them on my bedside table.”

Sarah took the scissors and curtsied again, hiding a shy smile. “Yes, my lord.”

The smile puzzled him until he realized she was pleased that he had thought of trying to placate Lilith.
That irritated him, but he dismissed it almost at once. She had nearly as much to lose as he if he failed, for
it fell to her to attend his lady.

Shrugging it off, he left her, going out to the courtyard where his griffin, Kee, rested, saddled and
waiting. Dominic felt immeasurably better as he guided Kee into the air and headed toward Arnon.

He shouldn’t be using the griffin, he knew, not so soon after the lady’s abduction, but traveling by horse
wasn’t feasible. He had made a little headway with her the night before. He couldn’t afford to allow too
much time to pass before he saw Lilith again. The progress he’d made would slip away with each hour’s
absence, and he was determined, now that he had managed a better understanding between them and
had begun to recover his blunder he would not allow the opportunity to be lost.

She was his woman. She would bear his children. Bringing prosperity to his lands was critical, but he
could not afford to ignore the long range for the immediate needs.

She was lovely. He would make the best of this and find contentment.

Hours passed, with the beast never tiring from his flight. At last the brine of sea water scented the air,
signaling their approach to the city. Rather than risk giving himself away, he landed in the thick forest
outside of town, opting to travel the remaining distance by foot, leaving Kee free to roam the wood for
game.

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Shouldering his pack, Dominic crossed the mile or so to the port village in little time.

The wind coming off the rollicking ocean was chill and scented with salt, invigorating him further until
something he tentatively identified as happiness began to uncoil inside him, warming him. He’d always
enjoyed the sea air. It had been many months since he’d left his lands for any reason. He vowed to make
a day of it, since he had many supplies to gather … and he needed to find out if anyone was looking for
the abductor of Lady Somerset. His first stop was to the general store, where he traded a pin for three
different kinds of seed--cabbage, onion, and potato, two fifty pound bags of wheat flour, and a
wheelbarrow to cart them to his mount.

He paused at the counter, eyeing a display of hair ribbons and brushes. Almost immediately the image
filled his mind of presenting them to Lilith and seeing a smile upon her full lips.

It was risky, and he could ill afford it, but in the end he yielded to the impulse, choosing a brush, and
then added a few ribbons to his order.

Finished, and torn between anxiety about the amount of money spent and anticipation of Lilith’s reaction
to his modest offering, he left the burley owner to gather whatever else he could from the town since the
store had little beyond farming supplies.

Across the street he saw the butcher’s. Meat. His stomach rumbled just thinking about it.

He crossed the street and went inside without hesitation.

The butcher greeted him with a broad smile, wiping his hands off on his leather apron. “Good day to
you, Sir.”

Dominic nodded. “Good day. What have you today?”

“Mutton. I also butchered a sow this morning and have fresh chicken if you’ve a hankering for poultry.”

“I’ll take a leg of mutton and a pork rump--and a hen.”

“Very good, Sir. When will you be wantin’ this?”

“I’ll pick it up before I leave town, say in about two hours.”

Dominic paid him with another pin and left. His money was fast dwindling, but he’d gotten everything he
needed for now. On the way to the tavern, the Drunken Bull, he spotted a fabric shop and decided to
have a look inside before he had something to eat since it had occurred to him that his lady was without
anything at all that she needed.

The proprietor had a myriad of fabrics and colors. Lilith had only the one dress. She would need
something practical to change in to, and perhaps something more elaborate. A new dress would please
her. He had no notion of what she’d been forced to leave behind, and he felt like kicking himself for not
thinking of bringing some of her belongings. She’d so riled him though, he’d thought of little else beyond
capturing her and bringing her to his castle.

He had one gold pin left and one silver. Surely it would cover the purchase of some cloth?

“Can I help you, Sir?” a woman asked, walking up to him.

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“I’m looking to buy some cloth.” He held out the gold pin. “What will this cover?”

She took it and tested the gold with her teeth, nodding her approval. “Enough for a fine new suit for you.
Perhaps a capelet.”

“It’s not for me. It’s for my … uh … sister.”

“Ah.” She smiled. “A gown then. Do you know what style she prefers? A train perhaps? Long sleeves?
Something for the winter or the fall?”

He had no idea. “Something for now. She is tall. About this high--” He held his hand level at his eyes.
“Her form is….” He couldn’t think of a way to describe her fine features. He measured out the width of
her waist and hips, her breasts as if tracing her shape in the air.

The woman nodded. “And the cloth?”

He selected a velvet the color of crushed violets. Imagining her in the gown made his loins tighten
uncomfortably. She would be pleased with the color. He looked forward to seeing her smile when he
presented it to her. Sarah could help her with the dress. “This one,” he said, pointing to the bolt.

“An excellent choice. A very fine cloth, and I’m afraid very expensive. Will one gown do?”

It would have to. He saw no other color that stirred his imagination the way this one did and he could
not afford more in any case. Perhaps after the crops were planted he would return and find something
else for her, he decided, trying to ignore the uncomfortable shock it gave him to discover his pin would
purchase so little, resolutely pushing from his mind the bags of seed and food the pin might have brought
in its stead.

The dizziness and lightheadedness, he decided when he’d left the shop, were most likely from hunger.
Food would banish the unpleasant side effects of spending more than he could afford.

He felt better once he had settled in a corner and ordered food, gazing at the bounty his coin had
brought and trying to figure out just how far it would go. If the seeds sprouted as Usha had foreseen, then
they must still wait weeks before the crop would begin to ripen. If they were careful, the food he had
bought would hold them for at least part of that time. He would have to part with something else, he
realized unhappily, to make it until they could begin to harvest the bounty of his fields.

He must work more assiduously on getting a child on Lilith, he decided, feeling warmth surge inside him
at the thought now instead of the vague illness that had filled him before. Only when she was with child
would the seeds sprout, and the sooner the better.

His ale and food arrived and his stomach distracted him from his thoughts. With a good deal of pleasure,
he took a draught of his able and tucked into the hot stew. It tasted like the food of the gods after all the
mush he’d had to force down for so long, but he had scarcely begun to enjoy it when he finally became
aware of the name threading the conversations around him.

Swallowing with an effort, he focused at last on the talk his wandering mind had filtered from his brain.

August Somerset was looking for his daughter.

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Despite the fact that he had fully expected to hear something of that nature, and had gone to the tavern
for just that reason, Dominic felt his gut clench.

Somerset was in a towering rage that anyone woulddareto touch his daughter. Threats had alternated
with offers of reward for anyone with information.

A cold sweat beaded Dominic’s brow.

As thoroughly despised as August Somerset was because he, of all who lived in the shire, prospered
while everyone else was starving, their poverty was as much his enemy as Somerset himself.

Surreptitiously--painfully, acutely conscious of the purchases he’d made for Lilith, Dominic leaned over
as casually as he could and tucked the packages deeper into the barrow of goods. The remainder of his
stew might have been dirt for all he noticed or enjoyed it. It took all he could do to sit still long enough to
finish it off, but he knew leaving abruptly would be noticed. Leaving food on his plate in such hard times
would be tantamount to announcing his guilt.

When he’d choked down the last of it and drained his ale, he paid with his only remaining pin, gathered
his purchases and left the tavern, acutely conscious of the speculative glances cast at his barrow as he
departed.

It took him far longer to return to Kee than he’d anticipated. He knew better than to head directly
toward the griffin. It wasn’t until he had assured himself that no one was following that he doubled back
and found the griffin once more, and still he thought it far safer to wait for dark before he mounted the
griffin for his return journey.

If Somerset even suspected Dominic was the one who had taken his daughter, he might just as well cut
his own throat and be done with it, for he hadn’t a chance in hell of holding off a well manned, well
equipped army with the handful of men-at-arms that still resided at Castle Rainier.

Chapter Five

Lilith had spent a very long day struggling with her emotions. Rage was still uppermost and hard to
conquer, but she had swallowed her spleen with an effort and taken the offering of books and
embroidery to relieve the tedium of her imprisonment.

Sarah’s company had helped.

The guard’s presence had not, particularly since she was well aware that one was stationed outside the
door as well as the one within.

It was almost as humiliating that Lord Rainier feared she would overpower the one and escape as being
bound to the bed had been. She was well aware that she was a tall woman. She didn’t need it rubbed in
her face that she was no delicate flower, and worse, that he felt the need for two strong men to guard
her.

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She resented the slight to her femininity even if shehadconsidered trying to overpower the man until
she’d realized there was another stationed outside her door.

The presentation of the horrid porridge was another thing she’d resented. She hadn’t been mollified in
the least to discover that the maid and the guard had had the same and had wolfed theirs down as if they
were glad to get it.

She wondered at it, though.

She might have thought it was merely for show except that neither Sarah nor the guard had seemed the
least surprised or put out.

It began to seem inescapable that poverty was the rule at Rainier castle, not the exception for her--which
she’d thought was a form of torture designed to make her as miserable as possible.

The room and food weren’t the only indications that Rainier had fallen on hard times. The guard looked
almost as emaciated as the maid, and his uniform was nearly as threadbare.

Not that that was an excuse for the man as far as she was concerned. If he was in such desperate straits
it could only be his own fault for squandering his livelihood and it was outrageous for him to steal her to
recoup his fortune from her father’s coffers.

It occurred to her after awhile, however, that she could do nothing about her captivity. He would settle it
with her father all in good time.

In the meanwhile, it seemed inevitable that she would have to endure his groping and rutting. She could
think of no way she could avoid it. He could and would bind her to have his way if she tried to fight him.

The only way she could avoid that discomfort and humiliation was to give the appearance of
cooperation. She might even actually manage to lull him into a false sense of security that would open an
opportunity for escape.

Or she could simply wait and endure until her father came after her.

She didn’t think she could stomach it.

She didn’t think she could even manage to behave as if she was resigned to her fate. Even now the need
to tear his hide from him burned in her.

As the day wore on her nerves tautened. Back and forth, she wavered between trying to convince
herself that she could and would pretend to accept, and that she couldn’t manage it to save her life.

She had to fight the urge to weep like a child when the maid helped her ready herself for bed, supplying
her with a gown that was so wretchedly worn that it was virtually transparent.

The pig might at least have brought her belongings, she railed silently even as she forced a thank you to
her lips and bid Sarah good evening.

The guard seemed reluctant to depart. It made Lilith uneasy until it finally dawned on her that he had not
been given instructions about binding her again and wasn’t certain what to do.

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“I can’t fit through so tiny a window,” she pointed out. “And I’ve no desire to break my neck in any
case. Surely even you can see that two guards outside the door ought to secure the prisoner well
enough?”

He reddened and backed uncomfortably toward the door, closing it firmly behind him and, at last, left
her alone with her fears.

* * * *

Lilith still had not made up her mind whether she would simply lie passively the next time Lord Rainier
came to her or if she would fight him tooth and nail when she became aware that she was no longer alone
in the room. She tensed instantly.

He stood hesitantly beside the bed for a few moments and finally knelt beside it, pulling her gown up to
massage the magical oils into her skin again.

She was lost the moment he touched her, her decision made for her by her body. Still, she tried to resist,
tried to close her mind to the warmth that began to grow inside her at the first touch of his hands on her
thighs. He pushed her gown up, baring her belly, her breasts, pulling it up over her head and arms until
she was naked beneath him.

Shivers coursed over her skin, making her prickle with goose bumps.

She scrambled back on the bed, half sitting up against the headboard, the pillows a tangle behind and
around her back. He trapped her there, caging her with his body, hands at her ribcage.

She gasped as his mouth found the sensitive lobe of her ear, nipping it with his teeth while rubbing his
thumbs in maddening half circles beneath her breasts. She couldn’t concentrate with so much going on,
with his mouth running feverishly hot on her sensitive neck.

“Oh.” It escaped her as a sigh. His breath was warm on her ear, sending tingling goose bumps to race
over her. He captured her lobe with his mouth, sucking gently on it. Lilith couldn’t seem to gather the
energy to fight him … or the willpower, even though she knew she should. She felt helpless against the
demands of her body, this insatiable need for pleasure and fulfillment.

He didn’t kiss her lips, instead trailing nibbling bites from her ear along the line of her jaw, pushing her
down into the bed. She arched her back, pressing her achy, swollen breasts against his chest. Her nipples
hardened unbearably.

His hands found her breasts, and he groaned against her jaw as he handled their abundance, stroking the
underside and massaging them gently. Lilith felt a wave of shivers race over her, settling achingly at the
apex of her thighs.

He rolled her nipples between his fingers, making them feel tighter. He trailed hot, wet kisses down her
throat to her breasts. Her breasts, if possible, seemed fuller, achier from the slight touch … the proximity
of his mouth. She knew she wanted him there … wanted his mouth suckling her, as he’d sucked her clit
before.

Her nipples puckered under his warm breath, stoking a fire within her. Her sex drenched with arousal,

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cramping almost painfully. He traced a finger around one breast, running his thumb over the bud. She
arched unconsciously toward him, flushing with heat and desire. Excitement, hot and filled with
anticipation, surged through her. Her sex clenched with it, growing wet with the need to be filled.

She nearly screamed when his mouth closed over one taut nipple. Her cleft spasmed with pleasure. Her
belly jerked with longing, making her breathing labored, her head feel light. She felt drunk, dizzy with lust.
She tightened her thighs around his hips, wanting relief, but he seemed determined to prolong her
torment. He had more control than her, but still, he seemed almost desperate, ravenous as he sucked first
one nipple and then the other. Pleasure arrowed down her body, piercing her core.

She whimpered when he moved away. He licked a path down her belly as if savoring her skin, dipped
his tongue in her navel, moved lower.

With calloused fingers, he traced a searing trail from her navel to her mound, following behind with his
mouth until he had her gasping in anticipation. Her breath came in hard gusts with the intimate touch. He
followed the crease of her thighs across her hips and then traveled an imaginary line down her bared legs,
and up again, his face inches from the curls between her thighs. His hot breath fanned her naked lips,
making her shiver.

He gripped her thighs, causing a hard shudder to ripple through her clenched cleft. Her clit throbbed, her
pulse hammering as he forced her thighs to open further for him and held her still when all she wanted to
do was writhe and arch her hips upward … to grind her mound against his face.

She wanted him--at least for this … to satisfy the demands of her body. She couldn’t deny the wetness
saturating her folds, cooling in the air as he spread her and dipped his head and slid his tongue through
her slit. He groaned, and her womb contracted with arousal. He pushed her down, tongue plunging into
her clenching vagina, fingers near to bruising her. She shuddered, bucking against his hold, pleasure
vibrating along her nerves.

She couldn’t find her voice to scream, could only gasp air into her labored lungs. The strength bled from
her muscles, leaving her weak. Her sex felt swollen as he lapped her, sucking the cream from her body
even as he drew out torturous pleasures. Her clit throbbed with a heart beat of its own, engorged to the
point of pain. The flick of his tongue seemed unbearably rough, yet not enough to make her climax.

He pushed her to the brink of ecstasy only to pull back, to nibble her pouty lips, her mound, upward to
her abdomen. She cried out in frustration, pushing at him, pulling--anything to speed his movements in
one direction or another. He heeded her not. He nibbled and licked her ribcage, the curves of her
breasts, snatched a taste of her nipples before he lay fully on top of her once more.

The heat of his body on hers made her swelter with need. The abrasion of his hair covered chest and
thighs seemed so right, rubbing against her, heightening her lust. She locked her arms around his back,
touching the flexing muscles. Her fingers prickled with sensation, greedily touching him. He pushed his
cock against her mound, shifting his hips until it the hard bluntness rasped her slit. A gasp escaped her at
the welcome invasion and she closed her eyes, but the feeling only intensified.

He ground his hips into her softness, but it wasn’t painful, it felt … good … so good and right. He bit her
neck, sucking hard in the hollow behind her ear.

He rocked his hips, gliding his erection across her center, spreading her wetness back and forth, back
and forth, until she thought she would go mad if he didn’t push inside her. Small, tight whimpers escaped
her, making her throat ache from holding back her cries.

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She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him to her. The broad head of his cock nudged her opening.
With a groan, his slide became a push that stretched her tight hole. He was so big, so thick, stretching her
more than she thought possible.

He tensed, going rigid all over, moving slowly, controlled. She didn’t want that. She
needed--craved--passion, wildness, for him to ravish her, rend her body, make her orgasm again and
again.

She moved beneath him, urging him with frustrated whimpers, impatient hands.

He could not battle his body and her. With a muttered oath, he sank into her, pushing her to the limits,
impaling her completely with his hard length. Lilith bit back the cry burning in her throat. She tightened
reflexively, clutching him with her muscles, digging her nails into his back.

He grunted, going still within her, imprinting the feel of his muscles on her body, his scent on her skin.

“You feel so good,” he said, his voice tight and guttural.

Lilith could feel the repressed passion, lingering beneath his surface. She’d coaxed it out and wanted
more. She bucked against him, unable to express herself in words. She couldn’t bring herself to beg with
her voice.

“Sweet gods above,” he gritted out. “Be still.”

“I cannot,” she said on a gasp, rubbing her legs up and down his, smoothing her hands to his buttocks
until she could clutch each tight, round cheek to urge his movement. He groaned as she caressed him,
flexed inside her.

He panted at her neck, withdrawing just a little before plunging inside once more. The movement started
a wave that spread over her, again and again with each thrust, gaining momentum even as he did. Her
skin was afire and ran like a current through her blood, her mind, until she knew nothing but him and the
sensations he was creating within her body.

The flared head of his cock parted her tender tissue, making her insides quake. She shuddered violently,
clutching his buttocks until he was forced to drive into her, hard and fast, his strokes short and controlled.

She gripped him harder, tightened her legs on him, but it wasn’t enough--he couldn’t move like he
needed to. She flung her arms away, allowing him free reign to do with her as he willed.

“Mmm. You’re so sweet,” he growled before tasting her neck again.

He pulled his chest up from hers, levering himself slightly above. He thrust his hand to where their bodies
were joined, touching a finger to her swollen, needy clit. Pleasure erupted along her nerves. She jumped
at the pure, intense shock of sensation, moaning as he thrust even deeper into her while rubbing her clit in
a rough circle.

She tossed her head from side to side, unable to control her moans, clutching the bedcovers with
shaking hands.

She could not take much more of this. She pulled him with her legs, demanding more of him, and he fell

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against her, grinding his hips into hers with maddening ferocity. Lust shouldn’t be so good. He shouldn’t
make her want ecstasy so badly.

His cock stroked the walls of her vagina until pleasure saturated every nerve ending. She cried out,
tensing. Her core convulsed in shocks of rapturous release, shuddering as each new wave of bliss crested
upon another. She tingled every where, her skin feeling sizzled by strokes of lightning. She wrapped her
arms around him, bringing him closer, until her breasts were molded achingly against his muscled chest.

His erection jerked within her, his own orgasm peaking from the quaking pull of her muscles. He spewed
his seed deep into her womb.

He pressed his face to her neck, catching her ear with his lips and teasing it with his searing tongue. Then
he murmured incoherently into her ear even as he thrust one final, shuddering time into her. He collapsed
atop her as if sapped of all his strength, blowing his ragged, warm breath against her hyper-sensitive skin
and causing goose bumps anew.

Lilith was sapped of energy, as if her orgasm had leeched it all out of her. She couldn’t move her languid
limbs from their hold of him. She should’ve wanted to push him off her until he fell to the floor, but she
couldn’t rouse herself to action.

She lay there, willing her brain to return to normal, for her body to move, to do something--anything.

As if sensing her inner struggle, he rolled from his position. She gasped as he withdrew his length from
her, leaving her feeling empty inside.

He stood beside the bed, looking at her. Even though in the dark she couldn’t see him--she knew he
stared. He touched her cheek, drawing his fingers along her jaw line. She couldn’t summon the energy to
push him away. Her lack of willpower disturbed her, but she didn’t wonder on it long. She was weary
beyond words, achy from his lovemaking, and still, she craved more.

Without a word, he left her as she drifted into slumber.

Chapter Six

Lilith was busy at her embroidery when Lord Rainier arrived mid day. She glanced at the man who
entered her tiny prison with a mixture of uneasiness and polite curiosity when the door opened and he
stepped inside.

He was dressed far more finely that anyone she had seen in the entire time that she had been at the
dreaded Castle Rainier--only four miserable days, she could scarcely credit it!--reason enough to catch
her interest.

A sense of familiarity teased at her, though, and, her attention fairly caught, she studied him frankly for
several moments, noticing first that he was exceeding tall. The top of his head had very nearly grazed the
doorframe as he’d entered. There was a ranginess about him that seemed out of keeping. His frame was
large, and he was massively built, and still there was a noticeable looseness in the fit of his clothing as if he

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had borrowed his finery, or had perhaps been ill and had dropped a good deal weight.

His hair was overlong for fashion, still wet from a recent washing and hanging in damp locks around his
shoulders. Light glinted off golden strands here and there, however, making it apparent that his hair was
very pale when completely dry.

His countenance was remarkable more for the regularity of his harsh, angular features than from any
great beauty, and yet, as a whole, he was handsome enough, she didn’t doubt, to turn many a maiden’s
head.

She knew it was impolite to stare, and certainly unmaidenly to allow her gaze to wander below his
shoulders, and yet she couldn’t seem to prevent herself from examining him very thoroughly from head to
toe.

Her belly clenched when her gaze reached his hands.

And the cod piece.

Abruptly, her gaze flew upward again. As the realization slowly sank into her that this was the man who
had sneaked into her room every night and ravished her, the man she had not once seen clearly in the
light of day, she felt the blood leave her face only to rush back with a vengeance.

Her eyes narrowed.

His smile faltered. “Lady Somerset,” he said, bowing deeply. “I would be honored if you would join me
in the hall to sup.”

She studied him suspiciously, wondering if he was amusing himself at her expense. “And you are?” she
said somewhat coldly.

He reddened. “Lord Dominic Rainier,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even and pleasant although
he was plainly not only taken aback by the hostility in her manner, but antagonized, as well. “I must …
apologize for your accommodations….”

She batted her lashes at him, hiding her anger with a strenuous effort. “You must not! I am quite
comfortable … now.”

Sarah glanced from Lady Somerset to Lord Rainier in dismay. With obvious relief, she leapt to her feet
and fled when Lord Rainier jerked his head toward the door. “Since you seem to prefer your own
company then,” he said with determined patience, “I will leave you to it.”

Consternation filled Lilith as he turned toward door and she saw where her temper had led her--to the
unwisdom of provoking him when she had told herself that she would try to gain his trust--so that she
could betray it.

“Actually,” she said, jumping to her feet abruptly, “I am very tired of my own company. I would like to
eat in the hall with everyone else.”

He paused, eyeing her suspiciously, but he offered his arm.

She took it, feeling her stomach jump at her proximity to him.

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She told herself it was revulsion.

She couldn’t imagine why it was, when that was true, that warmth flooded her nether regions.

Treacherous flesh to betray her so!

He was handsome--for a pig.

And surprisingly well mannered--for a clod.

The smell of roasted mutton reached her long before they reached the main hall. Her stomach growled
appreciatively.

His answered.

She tamped her embarrassment with a new surge of anger--so much for thinking they had nothing better
than that horrible porridge!

The first thing Lilith noticed after the smell of food and before they reached the great hall was that
although she could hear the babble of many animated voices such as she was accustomed to hearing in
the great hall at meal times, the voices seemed to ring hollowly. She discovered why once they had
entered the hall itself. Only three trestles had been set up besides the high table, leaving most of the room
empty.

Everyone fell silent when they noticed her and Lord Rainier’s approach and then began to talk once
more with a good deal of effort.

Lilith frowned in puzzlement as Lord Rainier helped her onto the bench and seated himself beside her.
Almost at once, servants began to scurry from the kitchen passage bearing platters and trenchers--two
platters. The first bore the source of Lilith’s desire--mutton, carved very cunningly into waver thin slices.
To her dismay, however, only two slivers were deposited upon her trencher before the maid moved on,
very carefully depositing two on Lord Rainier’s and then vanishing to serve the lower tables.

The next platter contained equally thin slices of something Lilith finally identified as moldy cheese and
bread nearly as stale as that used to form the trenchers.

A third servant followed with a pot--which contained the inevitable, revolting, porridge.

Lord Rainier produced a knife and very carefully carved her meat into small pieces before turning his
attention to his own food. Lilith stared down at her trencher feeling strangely blank--shocked, she
supposed. Finally, noticing that everyone else had dug in with a will, she fished a piece of meat out and
ate it. The meat was actually quite good. She would’ve liked about twice what she got, but she saw the
servant bearing the platter out even as she tasted her first bite.

No one, apparently, would be getting seconds.

The bread, she discovered, was stale, but tolerable with the meat juices, far better than the porridge
certainly. Even the cheese was better than she would’ve thought it would be, but then she supposed that
had something to do with the fact that she was starving--had been for days, for it was all she could do
even to choke down a little of the porridge.

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After casting around in her mind for some time trying to come up with polite conversation, Lilith finally
decided on an opening gambit. “Are the rest of the men out hunting?”

Everyone stopped eating. A few glanced in her direction before pointedly turning their attention to their
food again. Lord Rainier cleared his throat. “The game is hard to find,” he muttered finally.

Taking that to mean the men were hunting far a field, she frowned thoughtfully. She wasn’t really
interested, but she pursued the subject since she could think of nothing else to converse about. “Tis early
yet in the season still--and I know very little about hunting, but it seems to me that my father’s hunters do
not have a great deal of trouble finding game this time of year.”

“The forest burned because of the drought, driving the game away,” he muttered, then glanced at her
sharply. “Nearest the castle,” he added, looking uncomfortable for some reason she couldn’t fathom.

Seeing from his expression that it wasn’t a subject he wanted to pursue, she abandoned the topic and
searched for something else to draw her captor into conversation. Not that she particularly wanted to
talk, especially with him, yet she was accustomed to polite conversation at meals and she felt
uncomfortable merely sitting like a stone stuffing food into her mouth.

Besides, she had eaten all she wished to eat, if not all she wanted, and she had no desire to be returned
immediately to her cell.

It occurred to her after a very little thought that a hunt alone could not explain the dearth of company. It
was almost … unnerving to see so few in a castle of this size--not that it was a very great castle. Her
father’s was far bigger, but this castle was no tiny holding either. To her mind, there should have been at
least thrice the number of men-at-arms, if not more, and more servants, as well, for she had seen only a
handful of servants.

The castle was painfully sparse, she thought, glancing around once she had finished the meat, cheese,
and bread--she couldn’t bring herself to spoil what had been the best meal she had had in a fortnight by
chasing it with the porridge. The castle could have no chatelaine, she decided, could not have had in a
very long time, for there were none of the things a lady of the house would have thought essential for
comfort. The walls were bare of any tapestries, either for the sake of beautification or to block the drafts
that whistled about the cavernous room. Here and there, however, she saw lighter patches on the walls
and wondered if tapestries had once hung there.

“Thereweretapestries,” she said, more to herself than to Lord Rainier, who seemed focused upon her
trencher now that he had cleaned his own.

At her comment, he glanced around the hall. “Aye. Once. You should eat. You need your strength.”

Lilith’s head snapped in his direction as it occurred to her to wonder what he was implying. Apparently,
not what she had thought, for she could see a red tinge creep into his cheeks--that damning emotional
barometer that folk of very fair skin had difficulty controlling.

Several of the men at the nearest table snickered, but attempted to disguise it as a fit of coughing when
Lord Rainier turned to glare in their direction.

“I have never particularly cared for porridge,” she responded coolly.

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His lips flattened, but he did not pursue it. “Perhaps you would like to take a turn in the….” He broke
off, frowning in thought, trying to think where he might walk her that she was least likely to see anything
he preferred that she not see. “--garden before you return to your--uh--stitchery.”

Relief flooded Lilith. Freedom! It was not much to be sure, but she was so sick of seeing only the walls
of the cramped room, and even walking with the monster who had taken her was preferable to being
confined all day.

All the same, she was disconcerted once they reached ‘the garden’. Stones had been laid out into
walkways in neat geometric lines, but the beds that the walkways bisected were filled with dead, rotting
vegetation and nothing more, although she searched diligently for even a sign of greenery among the
blackened stalks. “It must have--been quite beautiful at one time,” she managed.

Lord Rainier stared out over the garden, his face carefully neutral. “My father had it built for my mother.
She was very fond of flowers. I was young when she died, but I remember that she would spend many
hours here, directing the gardeners in the planting. The drought--I should have it cleaned. I have not been
here in--a while.”

Lilith glanced at him. It was the first thing that he had said that touched an answering chord inside her.
“My mother has also passed on. I still miss her. What was your mother like?”

He shrugged, tucking her arm in his and urging her to stroll along the walkways. “I don’t remember her
very well,” he said, his voice carefully neutral. He seemed to cast his mind back, however. “Beautiful,” he
added after several moments, smiling faintly at some memory. “And very lively. I imagined that she was
like the butterflies when I was very small, flitting from flower to flower. She was always happiest when
she was in the garden, but I don’t truly remember her as being anything else. She always seemed so full
of energy, almost seeming to dance where ever she went, and smiling.”

He had loved her very much, Lilith thought with a jolt, struggling to reconcile the man she thought of as a
cold blooded monster with the image he had placed in her mind. She didn’t particularly welcome the
insight. It conflicted with the image she preferred, of a villain without any redeeming qualities at all.

She supposed it was as unrealistic to imagine a villain had no virtues at all as to imagine a hero had only
virtue and no vice. It really made no difference, though, that he was not entirely a monster, and it was a
stretch, she reminded herself to even consider that, regardless of the child he’d been. He had behaved
abominably to her and that was all that truly mattered.

Somehow, though, she found herself re-examining all of the things that had happened to her, that he had
done, and she realized that her fear had overshadowed everything.

John Dentin had not captured her and dragged her away--her father had given her to the man, but he
was just as much a stranger to her as Lord Rainier and, try though she might, she couldn’t imagine her
wedding night would have been any less frightening or painless. She would not have been tied down. She
would have had to contain her fear and revulsion if she had felt it, but the end would have been the
same--or possibly worse.

Lord Rainier had been thoughtful enough to bring the magical oils and she had felt pleasure, however
reluctantly, however briefly.

She was almost glad when he took her back to the tower room. It would not do to allow herself to
forget that she was dealing with an enemy.

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“Has my father not answered the demand for ransom?” she asked when he had returned her to the room
and turned to go.

He stopped abruptly and turned to look at her. “Nay, he has not.” He hesitated for several moments.
“For I have not demanded a ransom.”

Lilith felt her jaw drop in surprise. It took several moments to recover enough to question him further, for
her mind was chaotic with his cool announcement. “But--I don’t understand. If you are not demanding
ransom, what do you want?”

His gaze wandered over her. “Your father’s daughter,” he said finally, and strode from the room.

Chapter Seven

Lilith was staring blindly at the needlework in her lap, her mind far away, when Sarah returned to bear
her company. She was so engrossed in trying to unravel the puzzle she might not even have noticed the
maid except for the fact that she virtually danced into the room, clutching one large and one very small
package. After glancing around the tiny room as if she expected to find something that was not there, she
moved to the bed and deposited her bounty.

“Lady! Come and see what Lord Rainier brought you from town!”

Lilith blinked, staring at the packages blankly. “Lord Rainier sent those?”

Sarah grinned, nodding excitedly, practically clapping her hands. “Gifts!”

He’d brought gifts? More puzzled than ever, Lilith finally got to her feet and crossed the room to stare at
the packages.

“Aren’t you going to open them to see what he brought you?” Sarah asked after several moments.

Intrigued in spite of herself, Lilith reached for the smallest and untied it. Out spilled a brush and a half
dozen brightly colored ribbons. She had no particular interest in the ribbons, but she almost felt like
weeping at the sight of the brush for she’d had nothing but her fingers to try to make any sort of order out
of her hair and she was very self-conscious about her state of dishabille.

Setting the brush and ribbons aside, she opened the larger package.

Sarah gasped in awe. “It’s--beautiful!” she exclaimed, balling her hands into fists as if to resist the
temptation to touch the fine fabric.

Itwasfine fabric, Lilith acknowledged almost reluctantly as she tested it with her fingers, and the color--

“The color is perfect for you!” Sarah gushed, glancing at Lilith happily. “It will be so pretty on you, for it
goes perfectly with your coloring.”

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He’d brought fabric so that she could make herself a new gown, a brush, ribbons for her hair. Lilith
settled on the bed beside her bounty, feeling a little weak kneed.

Why?

It was hard to ignore the implication. He intended to keep her here, indefinitely, and he had not had the
foresight to steal her trunk when he had taken her.

Anger began to simmer in her clenched belly.

Did that dolt think that he wascourtingher, she wondered a little wildly? Did he think she was such a
weak minded ninny that he had only to toss her a few gifts to win her over?

He hadn’t wanted a ransom.

Why ask for a pittance in ransom when he could take her and eventually have her entire inheritance?

Getting to her feet abruptly, Lilith began to stuff the fabric back into the package, tying it up with shaking
fingers. Almost as an afterthought, she thrust the ribbons in with the fabric.

She was keeping the brush. The rest he could take and go straight to hell with as far as she was
concerned!

Grabbing the package up, she stalked to the door and snatched it open, throwing the haphazardly
wrapped bundle at the man-at-arms she found there. “Tell Lord Rainier that I willnotbe treated like
a--common layman!” she snapped furiously before slamming the door in the man’s gawking face.

Returning to her bed, she snatched the brush up and moved to the chair, which she pointedly turned to
face the window before she sat, putting her back to Sarah, who was simply staring at her with wide, tear
filled eyes and a wobbling chin.

Ignoring the sniffles behind her, she concentrated on raking the tangles out of her hair. After a while
Sarah took the hint and departed. Lilith’s shoulders slumped when the girl had gone.

She felt like crying herself, but that only made her angrier.

Lord Rainier did not appear and she was not invited to dine in the hall when evening began to close in.
Instead, Sarah brought her a tray of food as she had before. The porridge was absent. In its place were a
couple of slivers of the same mutton that had been served earlier, a crust of bread and cheese.

She wasn’t particularly hungry, but she ate anyway. She had to keep her strength up. She didn’t doubt in
the least that Lord Rainier would keep his ‘appointment’ with her later, for he never failed to show no
matter how ‘difficult’ she proved to be.

When she had eaten, Sarah helped her to bathe and ready herself for bed, taking her gown away for
laundering and leaving her with nothing but the thin night rail that had been donated for her use. Too
restless to sleep, she paced the room.

She was standing by the window, having pried one edge of the scraped hide that covered it up to peer
out at the darkness, when Lord Rainier entered the room, his expression grim.

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Tensing all over, she turned to face him, but she knew struggling was worse than useless, worse because
in the end he would win anyway--he was far stronger than her regardless of the fact that he was not
considerably taller--and nothing, she decided, was worse than being tied down.

Perhaps, she thought a little glumly, if she did not struggle he would not use the magical oils on her and
she could at least comfort herself with the fact that she had not enjoyed his caresses--that he had taken
what he had no right to and she had not given willingly.

Girding herself, she discarded the thin gown without a word and moved to the bed, lying upon it and
staring up at the ceiling. He almost seemed to sigh with relief, but he studied her warily as he removed his
clothing and climbed onto the bed with her. When she still made no attempt to struggle, he shifted, leaning
down to kiss her. She turned her face away.

Instead of forcing the issue, he kissed her cheek, moving his lips in a nipping trail along her jaw to her
hairline. His warm breath tickled her ear, made her belly tighten.

He rubbed his fingers along her collar bone, traced his knuckles down the center of her chest.

Her nipples tightened reflexively, her breasts swelling with achy need despite her best intent of remaining
aloof to him. She resisted the urge to flee, and he did not touch her breasts, moving instead in a heated
path down her belly. He skimmed her navel, the muscles there jerking ever so softly, moving down until
his fingers played at her mound, tickling the hairs on her apex.

Lilith tightened the clamp of her thighs, willing herself to resist him.

He tenderly kissed her jaw, rubbing the crease of her inner thighs, as if he could coax her to part them.
He licked her neck, nipping, sucking the corner of her jaw.

She shuddered, squeezing her eyes tightly shut, trying to ignore the insistent pull of his lips, the
playfulness of his fingers, growing ever nearer to her hidden clit.

He sucked her earlobe into his mouth. Goose bumps erupted over her flesh. She choked back a
whimper, but a gasp tore from her throat as his fingers delved between her thighs and found that
treacherous bud nestled and awaiting his touch.

Defiantly, her thighs eased open, allowing him access. He rubbed his tongue against her lobe, nipping her
even as he rubbed his thumb on her clit and pushed two tapered fingers inside her vagina.

Cream gathered at the invasion, making her slick with desire. Her mind wailed at her crumbling
resistance. She opened her mouth to cry out at the wash of sensation assailing her body.

He captured her mouth with his--and she did not pull away. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, tasting
her, ravaging her lips with hungry strokes, pushing his fingers in and out of her hole.

It was so much more intimate than his lovemaking before, than the thrust of his cock into her sex. She
breathed his soul, tasted his essence, the wildness of his mouth--everything that was him. It was
addictive, drugging. Her pulsed roared through her veins, thundering in her ears.

He groaned into her mouth, removing his fingers so that he could settle on top of her. He pushed her
down into the bed as if he wanted to sink inside her--breast to chest, belly to belly, loin to loin.

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Everywhere he touched seemed set ablaze. She felt like she was on fire--fevered from a sickness that
only he could cure.

He grabbed her leg, hooking it over his hips as he rubbed his cock insidiously against her, letting her feel
the erection he had for her. She tore from his mouth, gasping for breath, moaning as the thick, flared head
prodded her opening.

“Your mouth is sweet, my flower. My Lily,” he murmured before kissing her again. He sawed his mouth
across hers, nibbling, nipping, tasting. He suckled her tongue ravenously even as he pushed himself slowly
into her core. Her muscles grasped him, welcoming his thickness, until she felt as though he shaped her to
the curve of his cock. No other lover would ever do … no one else could make her body feel this way.

He thrust into her with tongue and cock, stoking the embers of her longing with slow deliberation.

She shouldn’t want this. It wasn’t possible. He hadn’t used the oils. Madness had possessed her utterly
… completely. She gave in to it. She kissed him back, reveling in his surprised tension at her boldness,
the slow melting of his shock as he hungrily accepted her surrender.

She closed her arms around his neck, clinging to him desperately. He shifted, keeping them joined as he
pushed up and back, bringing them vertical. She was free of the bed and the press of his body, yet her
desire still held her captive.

She wondered at the strangeness of it, the elation that threatened to surge through her.

She sat in his lap, her legs wrapped around his hips, riding him, rubbing her breasts and belly against his
hair roughened flesh. He groaned into her mouth, cupping her buttocks, squeezing them, helping her to
ride his cock to fruition.

The position allowed her to encompass him more fully than before. He filled her, so much, so deeply she
could hardly stand it. She rocked on him, her breasts achy, like hard points against his chest. Their sweat
mingled, making them both slick, further lubricating her movement, until she was riding him wildly. She
leveraged her heels, rocking hard, grinding herself against him, flexing her thighs, every muscle.

Her clit throbbed mercilessly with each move, until ecstasy suddenly erupted within her and radiated to
every inch of her body.

Lilith tore her mouth from his, screaming her pleasure.

He cried out her name, Lily, at her sudden release, throwing her back on the bed to drive into her,
thrusting through her trembling muscles to his own shuddering climax.

He collapsed on her, rolling off slightly to allow her breathing and heart to return to normal. Before she
could think to push him away, or think about how badly she had betrayed herself, he was touching her
again--like it was the first time or that she’d grown sensuously new, soft skin that he couldn’t feel enough.

He made love to her again … all night long, each time driving home the fact that she could not resist the
pleasure his powerful body invoked.

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Chapter Eight

Lilith had grown accustomed to nightly visits from Lord Rainier. Since that time that he had taken her to
eat in the great hall and then taken her to walk in the barren gardens, he had not tried to court her--or
perhaps it was her rejection of his offerings?--but he never failed to appear at night, determined, it
seemed to her, to wring cries of delight from her before he was completely satisfied.

She resented it, for all that. It would almost have been better if he had tied her down and used the
magical oils, but he would not allow her even that comfort, demanding that she respond to him,
commanding her body to yield gladly when her mind still refused to give in completely.

He startled her, however, when he arrived early one morning nearly a week later, an old crone in tow.

Lilith eyed the old woman warily.

“This is Usha. She will examine you.”

Lilith reddened. “I am not ill,” she said tightly. “I have no need of a witch.”

Lord Rainier and the old woman exchanged a look that Lilith found hard to interpret. “Nevertheless,”
Lord Rainier said implacably.

Lilith set her jaw belligerently, but she stalked to the bed and plopped on the edge.

The old woman shuffled over, bidding her to lie flat. Feeling her belly tighten with fear, Lilith considered
trying to bolt for several moments. She finally decided, however, that it would be easier to simply allow
the old woman to do what she had come to do and get it over with.

She lay down, staring at the ceiling, gripping the dingy sheets in her fists as the woman bent her knees
and placed them on the mattress before lifting her skirts. Horror filled her when she felt a probing finger in
her woman’s place. She made an abortive attempt to rise, abortive because Lord Rainier stepped
forward and placed a hand on her torso, just beneath her breasts, and held her down.

Blushing hotly, she glared at the ceiling, fighting the urge to burst into tears at the humiliating examination.
Thankfully, after a few moments, the old woman seemed satisfied and adjusted her skirts, stepping away.

Curious in spite of her discomfort, Lilith looked at the woman.

Tears filled the old woman’s eyes and Lilith felt her heart flutter with anxiety.

The color drained from Lord Rainier’s face. “Well?”

The old woman cackled. “Praise be to the gods! The curse is lifted, my lord! Your seed grows in her
womb. You must plant at once and you will see life burgeon once more on your lands!”

Lord Rainier looked almost weak with relief, and then as if he might dance with joy. Lilith found her lips
curling in response as he grinned down at her, felt a tentative joy of her own begin to oust her confusion.
Without warning, he grabbed her up and kissed her soundly on the lips.

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She was still struggling to grasp what had happened when both Lord Rainier and the old woman left the
room, slamming the door behind them. Stunned as much by their abrupt departure as the comments the
old woman had made, Lilith merely stared at the reverberating panel for some time after they had gone.

Abruptly, a coldness washed over her.

She was with child?

What had the old woman meant by the curse?

A flurry of activity below distracted her from her musings and she moved to the narrow window, pulling
the hide back to look out. Below, she could see what appeared to be a dozen servants and at least as
many men-at-arms working feverishly in the bailey to gather farming tools. Lord Rainier appeared a few
moments later, a large bag on each shoulder. Depositing them in the barrow that stood beyond the shed,
he disappeared again, returning with two more bags.

More confused than ever, Lilith watched as the strange procession trooped out the main gates of the
castle and into the fields beyond it.

They were planting!

She could not recall that she had ever heard such rejoicing as the peasants set to work tilling the soil and
sewing their seeds, for she could hear snatches of song as they worked, excited chatter, even laughter
from time to time.

Of all the strange things that she had seen since she had arrived at the castle, this was the strangest by
far.

After a time, she left the window to mull over what the old woman had said.

Plainly, they believed the lands were cursed. Just as clearly, they thought she was the instrument that
would lift it.

It explained so much that she had found confusing.

Whether cursed or not, the lands had not produced. They were starving, not just starving her to make
her submit. She had seen they had almost no food. She had seen that everyone, including Lord Rainier,
looked sunken faced from hunger, and still she had simplynotseen what was right in front of her face.

She had willfully interpreted the hardship she had seen as poor management on Lord Rainier’s part and
perhaps even frivolous squandering of the resources of his land.

Dominic had been desperate to have her and determined to sew his seed in her womb because the old
witch had told him that was the only way to lift the curse.

Lilith promptly burst into tears as that realization settled in her mind.

Conceited idiot that she was, she had nursed the private belief that he had not been able to resist the
temptation to have her for himself when she had learned that he had not even attempted to ransom her.

And now she was carrying his child. She had seen that he was overjoyed at the news and eventhatshe

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had misinterpreted.

He had no interest in her or the child beyond the fact that he believed its existence in her womb would lift
the curse.

And what if didn’t? What would become of her then?

Her betrothed would certainly not have her now. Perhaps her father would not even want his daughter
now that she was despoiled and of no use to him in negotiating a marriage settlement.

As if to bear up her suspicions, Lord Rainier did not come to her that night, or the next, or the one after
that.

The guards disappeared from her door and the door was no longer bolted, nor even closed.

Lilith thought glumly that it was almost as if he was inviting her to escape now that he no longer needed
her. She might have attempted it if she had not been too craven to face her father with her condition. As it
was, she was too distressed even to consider leaving.

Almost another full week passed before Lilith finally nerved herself to venture from the room and go
downstairs to join the other castle folk in the great hall. Almost as if he sensed her presence, Lord Rainier
looked up when she simply hovered in the doorway to the great hall, feeling woefully out of place,
uncomfortable with the notion that everyone would stare at her--and not even certain where she should
sit if she joined the diners.

Rising at once, he crossed the room in swift strides and offered his arm.

Relieved, Lilith sent him a tentative smile.

“I’m glad you decided to join us,” he murmured politely, lifting her hand to kiss the back in a courtly
manner.

“I wasn’t certain it was allowed,” she said hesitantly.

He frowned, turning to escort her to the place where she had sat before, at the high table next to him.
Lilith had more than half expected to encounter sly, knowing grins or even censure. Instead, the gazes she
noticed were shy, almost adoring, or clearly filled with approval.

Heartened, she was already feeling more comfortable by the time she settled on the bench. A trencher
was brought for her. Lord Rainier gave her an apologetic glance when she saw that it was porridge again.
“I will go to the city when we have finished the planting and see if I can find something more to your
liking,” he offered after an uncomfortable moment. “But already the first seeds have begun to sprout.
Very soon, I am certain, we will have more than we can eat.”

Lilith blushed, uncomfortable at the realization that she had shown such poor manners in refusing to eat
what little they had to offer. They must see her as a spoiled, ill mannered, ill tempered wretch. “Actually, I
am growing fonder of porridge,” she lied.

To her surprise, he chuckled. “I am growing less fond daily. I hope you will not object if I refuse to have
it in our home once the harvest begins.”

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Lilith’s heart picked up its pace at his comment. Had it been merely a slip, she wondered, that he had
said ‘our’?

As if he realized the slip, he cleared his throat uncomfortably and focused on his food. Sighing, Lilith ate
hers, trying not to make faces as she swallowed the horrid mess.

It occurred to her as she ate that he must have taken the last of his coin when he had gone to the city
before and he had used it to buy food more to her liking and the fabric and ribbons she had refused.

Sarah had presented her with the finished gown anyway--obviously made by the maids using her own
gown as a pattern, for it fit, but it was poorly constructed for all that.

If he had not cared for her at all beyond her use to him, why had he gone to so much trouble to try to
please her, she wondered?

“You are well?” he asked presently, keeping his voice low.

Lilith blushed, realizing immediately that he was referring to the child growing in her belly. In truth, she
could hardly believe that it was there. She had felt no ill effects. If not for the fact that her menses had not
come as they should have she might have believed the old woman had been wrong. “Yes,” she
answered, too embarrassed to elaborate further.

“Comfortable?”

Not very, but she supposed the tower room was as comfortable as any other. She nodded.

Dominic frowned. The room that had belonged to his mother was far more spacious, but empty. Her
furnishings had disappeared with most of the other things that had once lent beauty and comfort to his
home. Allowing the subject to drop, he focused on his food, but his mind was elsewhere.

He had thought of little beyond getting the fields planted as quickly as possible now that they had some
hope of a harvest and the possibility of food to fill their bellies this coming winter.

At night, when he lay exhausted in his bed, he thought of little besides Lilith, however. He had performed
his duty, in spite of all she could do. He had not felt right to continue to force himself upon her when he
had done what he had had to do to save his lands and his people, particularly when she did not want
him--never had.

She was carrying his heir now, though. He had to think beyond the growing desperation he felt to take
her to his bed again. He had to think of her comfort and well being. He had to think of their child.

She would never love him as his mother had loved his father. He had thrown away any chance of that
when he had taken her against her will, imprisoned her, hurt her. He had been hopeful for a while that he
might overcome his knavish behavior, that he could still win her heart. His attempts to woo her had been
clumsy at best, however, and she had flatly rejected his overtures. He knew better, now, than to try to
push for something warmer between them. He could not even believe that there was any chance of
earning her respect after all that he had done, but he must do what he could to make things right. In time,
perhaps she would at least cease to hate him.

He knew what he had to do, but he had faced enemies across the battlefield and felt less unnerved than
he did now.

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When they had finished eating, he excused himself abruptly and left.

Lilith watched his hasty retreat, feeling stepped on. Embarrassed at being abandoned, she got up after a
few moments and, holding her head high, marched across the great hall and up to her tower room,
resisting the urge to flee.

She was still fighting the urge to cry and trying to prod a spark of anger to life when Lord Rainier
appeared at her door. Sniffing, she gave him a cold, unwelcoming look.

He almost seemed to wilt before her eyes. After glancing around almost as if he was tempted to simply
bolt, he straightened his spine and strode toward her. Kneeling, he dug something from his pocket and
held it out.

Lilith stared down at the ring resting in his palm, feeling her heart flutter uncomfortably.

He cleared his throat, swallowing convulsively several times. “This ring has been in my family for
generations. It is the Rainier betrothal ring, meant for the bride of the Lord of Rainier.

“I realize that I have bungled every thing, and you no doubt loath me, but--you carry my child. I pray
you, accept my name--marry me.”

Lilith burst into tears, wailing loudly.

Lord Rainier turned as pale as death. After a moment his face hardened with resolve, however. “I will
not have my son born a bastard,” he said implacably.

Lilith wailed louder, covering her face with her hands.

Dragging in a harsh breath, Dominic stared down at her bowed head for several moments and finally
pocketed the ring again. Turning, he left the room in complete disorder.

Chapter Nine

“Fetch me a priest!” Lord Rainier roared as he reached the great hall once more, scattering the few
people who loitered there.

Sarah, of all, lingered. “You will wed my lady?”

His eyes narrowed on the girl. “Aye, will she, nil she!” he growled. “Send someone to find a priest, for I
mean to have done with this.”

Frightened by his unaccustomed fury, Sarah fled, but she had no notion of how to go about finding a
priest. Lord Rainier had run them all off after the land began to die, informing him they were useless and
their gods, as well, if their prayers went unanswered and the lands continued to wither. Finally, she
decided to go to Usha for advice.

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Usha was horrified at the command. “Under no circumstances are you to do such a thing!” she
screeched at the girl. “Go! I will try to reason with Lord Rainier.”

* * * *

Lilith only cried harder when she had succeeded in routing Lord Rainier. She had no idea where the
sorrow welled from, but it seemed to pour forth undiminished no matter how hard she tried to stop.

Why, she wondered, was she so hurt? He had offered the perfect solution to her dilemma. She was with
child. The only reasonable thing to do was to marry the father of the child and she knew it, regardless of
how it had come about.

She could not say that she was appalled at the idea. In the back of her mind, she knew she had hoped
that he would not simply abandon her to her fate now that he had gotten her with child.

By the time her tears had begun to subside she knew what it was that had hurt her. He had not spoken
of love, only the need to protect his child with his name.

It was absurd, of course. She had never thought to find love. She had hoped that she would be able to
respect John Dentin, perhaps admire him, but she had not expected more from an arranged marriage.

She should not feel even that much for Dominic, but she could no longer deny that she did. Regardless of
the consequences to himself--and he had been greatly outnumbered when he had stolen her away--he
had been willing to risk everything to save the people who needed him and depended upon him.

She could not hate him for such selflessness. She could not even hate him for what he had done to her,
because in spite of all she could do to prevent it, he had shown her passion. He had made her feel
desired as a woman when she had always secretly believed that no man could truly desire a great gawky
woman like herself.

The problem was, somewhere along the way she had begun to love him. It didn’t matter how insane she
thought it was, she did and she had hoped that he felt tenderness for her. His careful lovemaking had
seemed to indicate the possibility that he cared.

Now she could no longer delude herself that he cared at all, or even desired her. He had not touched her
since he had learned that she was with child.

She thought for several minutes that she would begin to cry again. With an effort, she fought the urge to
bay.

She was behaving like a ninny! He had offered her the security of his name. She must take the
opportunity for her child’s sake, whatever else she thought about, however unhappy she might be
married to a man she cared for who did not return her affections.

Dragging in a shaky breath to calm herself, she moved resolutely to the washstand and splashed cool
water over her face until she felt calmer. Girding herself, she left her room to search for Lord Rainier to
tell him that she would be honored to accept his proposal.

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When she reached the bottom of the stairs, however, she heard the old woman, Usha speak. For a
moment, she struggled against the urge to eavesdrop, but she lost the battle fairly quickly and crept to the
doorway of the great hall.

* * * *

“You have sent for a priest?”

Lord Rainier turned to glare at the old woman. “I am not in the mood to listen to any more of your
advice, old woman,” he growled.

“I will give it just the same. You will bring disaster down upon us if you insist upon this. You know that
Somerset will descend upon us and destroy us all if he discovers that it is you who has taken his
daughter--which he will certainly know if you send for a priest.”

His eyes narrowed. “I have not lost my mind,” he growled. “I will make certain that the priest carries no
tales, but Iwillwed her.”

“Can you not at least wait?” the old woman wheedled. “After harvest time, you will have the coin to hire
an army to defend the castle. If you do this now, all will be for naught.”

“It is hardly for naught!” Lord Rainier said harshly. “I have earned a lifetime of hate, distrust--revulsion
from my lady. I will not also have our child born to be despised and looked upon with contempt. I will
wed her err the child is born.”

“It will do the child no good if he has no father!” Usha shot back at him. “Think you her father will
hesitate to destroy you once he learns that you have wed his daughter and thoroughly bedded her? He
will make her a widow!”

“At least she will have that--and my son my name! I listened to you before, Usha, fool that I was not to
see beyond the needs of the moment. What I have done to her is bad enough. Think you she will
understand and forgive me if I die without making this right? For her father will come regardless, and I
can not stop him.”

“She will understand,” Lilith said, deciding that she had heard all that she needed to hear.

Lord Rainier’s head whipped around so quickly she could not doubt that he had had no notion that she
listened. The self-satisfied look on Usha’s face told another tale entirely, but she didn’t care if Usha had
manipulated Dominic into saying what he had said. All that mattered to her was that it meant he must care
for her a great deal if he was willing to throw away everything he had worked so hard to do to make
things right for her. “I came to tell you that I would be honored to wed you, Dominic.”

He stared at her for several moments and finally crossed the room to her in quick strides. Halting a little
uncertainly before her, he searched her face. She sensed that he had intended to pull her into his arms.
She was disappointed when he did not.

“Then we must wed as quickly as possible,” he said finally.

Lilith sighed, shaking her head. “Perhaps Usha is right. If a priest is sent for now, it may alert my father.”

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“He will leave no stone unturned until he finds you regardless of what we do. I will--feel better knowing
that I have done what I could to right what I did to you.”

Lilith frowned, considering the matter, and finally realized that wedding Lord Rainier might be the only
hope of turning her father from a path of vengeance. Surely if he saw that it was done and could not be
undone--and that she was satisfied to have it so, he would swallow his anger and wish them happiness?

Her father was a cold man, and she had never felt a great deal of affection for him, or from him, but he
must care something about his only flesh and blood. “Could it be done in secrecy?” she asked doubtfully.

Dominic looked angry and a little ill. “Such a thing would shame you, make it appear that I am no more
than a coward and not deserving of you,” he said harshly. “If we are to do this, then we should do it as
the celebration it is. We will invite your father.”

Lilith gaped at him in dismay. “Dominic! If you care for me at all you will do no such thing! He would see
it only as a challenge. That is not bravery! It is insanity!”

He blushed faintly, but he was determined. “I do care for you, Lilith. I love you. Look at it this way, you
won’t have to suffer being my bride long and I will at least feel that I have redeemed my honor, when I
have felt these past weeks that it was tarnished beyond repairing.”

“Fool!” Lilith cried, angry in her fear. “I do love you else I would have said nothing at all. I don’t want to
be your widow. I want to be your wife.”

He studied her in surprise for several moments and finally pulled her against his chest, kissing her deeply.
“All the more reason that I not shame you.”

“You are both fools! ‘Twas your father who cursed these lands to begin with--in his greed he has used
the magic he learned from your mother to drain all the lands surrounding his own to make himself richer
and more powerful. He will come and he will not accept the marriage. He will come only to destroy! You
must do as I told you to begin with. You must return her to her father. She cares for you. She will say
nothing and there will still be a chance for us.”

Lord Rainier stared at the old woman for several moments. “Then it was you who sealed our fate,” he
said harshly. “You had to know from the beginning that nothing I could do would change the outcome.
We were doomed before. We are just as surely doomed now unless by some miracle I can withstand the
siege he will certainly mount against me. For I will certainly not abandon my Lily to bear her father’s
temper alone.”

He turned to study Lilith for several moments. “I will take you into Arnon. We will find a priest who will
wed us and then we will announce our nuptials and welcome any who will come to celebrate with us.”

“Is what she says true?” Lilith demanded. “You were to return me to my father? Why would you risk
everything when you could avoid it? You must do it now, before it is too late!”

“It was too late for me from the moment I took you, Lily,” Dominic said quietly. “Honor the promise you
have made to me.”

Disgusted, Usha left, muttering under her breath about fools.

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Lilith tried to persuade Dominic to take her back to her father so that she could stop what was bound to
happen if she were not returned. He refused, becoming angry and finally informing her that he would take
her and wed her if he had to tie her to his griffin as he had before.

Lilith capitulated, but she was more frightened than she had thought it possible to be without dying from
it when she and Dominic mounted his griffin and flew away. Somehow, she would have to find a way to
avert disaster, but she had no clue of how she was to do it.

* * * *

A sense of satisfaction filled Usha as she watched their departure. It was done. Frightening as this
particular part was, it had needed to be done. Lilith was Aurorian to be sure and blessed by the gods,
but only child begat of true love could break curse and that emotion had been too fragile between them
before. Now, they would seal their love for one another.

And she must see to it that Somerset paid for his crimes, for the curse would linger while he still lived.

She did not doubt the success of her task. She had seen what was to be done long ago. All she need do
was to make certain that everyone who had suffered because of Lord Somerset’s greed knew whom
they had to thank for their suffering. They did not have to be allies of Lord Rainier. They need only be
against Somerset.

Rousing one of the guards, she badgered him and berated him until she convinced him that the only way
to rid himself of the nuisance was to take her where she wished to go. Hitching up a cart to a broken
down nag, he set off with the crazy old woman who seemed to think she was going to raise an army big
enough to fight Lord Somerset.

* * * *

The wedding was bittersweet, for as happy as Lilith was to take her vows, she was terrified for Dominic.
His castle was strong, but there were no more than a handful of defenders to keep her father’s army at
bay. The only hope they had, as far as she could see, was for her to plead with her father once he came.

He came.

Two days after they were wed, they were awakened by the sound of the warning horns. Grim faced,
Dominic kissed her, held her tightly for a handful of eternity and then left her to do what he could to
defend his castle from the oncoming army.

Lilith didn’t want to get in the way, but neither would she cower in their chamber. When she had
dressed, she went up onto the walls herself.

Dominic was furious. He commanded her to go and lock herself into her tower room until the battle was
finished. She flatly refused. She would stay and try to talk to her father. If he refused to listen to reason,
she meant to help to defend their home.

Instead of arguing further, Dominic kissed her, held her tightly to him for several moments, and then

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tossed her over his shoulder and carried her to the tower, tying her to the bed and locking the door firmly
behind him.

In vain, Lilith struggled to free herself, but although she rubbed her wrists and ankles raw with the effort,
she could not break free. She could only listen fearfully as the army began their assault on Castle Rainier,
praying to any of the gods she thought might listen to protect her beloved fool of a husband.

The battle was fierce from the sounds that filtered into her tower room. Lilith was too frightened at first
to think that odd, but neither could she maintain so much fear for very long and after a time it occurred to
her that there was far too much noise for a handful of defenders.

Near dusk, Sarah came at last and freed her.

“Dominic?” Lilith gasped fearfully.

Sarah nodded, covering her face as she burst into tears. “It is over. Praise to the gods, ended!”

Feeling as if she might faint, Lilith stood on legs that wobbled and staggered from the room. By the time
she reached the ground floor, she had recovered enough to run. She was halfway across the great hall
when the doors opened abruptly and Dominic stepped inside.

“Dominic! I thought you were dead!” Lilith cried, rushing to him and examining his wounds fearfully.

He pulled her close. “I thought so, too. Usha brought an army. They fell upon your father’s army from
behind and … he is slain, Lily. I am so sorry.”

She shook her head, trying to fight the tears streaming down her cheeks. “It hurts me to know it--more
than I would have thought it could, but I am more glad that you are unhurt than I am sorrowed by the loss
of my father.

“If what Usha said of him is true, then he brought it upon himself with his greed. If he had not harmed so
many, then they would not have gathered against him.”

“Only time will tell if what she told us was true. If the lands begin to heal--in the meanwhile, we have an
army to feed and naught but a bit of porridge to feed them,” he said tiredly.

Lilith smiled at him, shaking her head. “There is more than enough to feed them at Somerset. I know in
my heart that Usha was right. We will open the granaries and storage houses and divide the bounty
among all who were hurt by father to keep them until their lands will support them once more.”

Dominic caressed her cheek, smiling down at her. “I knew that there was a reason beyond your beautiful
body that I loved you,” he murmured teasingly. “You mean to feed me. I will worship you forever.”

Lilith chuckled, her voice husky with promise. “Of course I mean to feed you. You must keep up your
strength.”

The End

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HEART OF MIDNIGHT

By

Kimberly Zant

Chapter One

“….series of bizarre murders. Although they originally refuted such a possibility, Police are now
saying this is the work of a serial killer. Althea Malone, now believed to be the first victim,
survived the attack. In an interview earlier with this reporter, she said that the driver of the car
flashed his lights at her as he met her on the road, made a U turn, and pursued her until he’d run
her off the road. Before she could flee, he leapt from his car, dragged her from hers and brutally
assaulted her.

“This eerie similarity to the urban legend, police say, is only one of the bizarre aspects of this
case, though they declined to comment further regarding the investigation.

“Ms. Malone, who has been in critical condition since the attack, has been upgraded to guarded
condition. Although she is finally able to talk, she would not say whether or not she could identify
her assailant, but police have been stationed at her hospital room around the clock and it is
speculated that she has given them a description of the man who brutally assaulted her.

“An FBI profiler who was called in to help with the case describes the killer as a white male, of
average height and build, and between the ages of 30 and 35. He would most likely have some
disability that would make it difficult for him to socialize--such as a stutter. Women are strongly
cautioned not to travel alone in the evenings, or go out at all unless it is absolutely necessary.”

A shiver cased its way down her spine as Amy switched the radio off. “Fat lot of good it is to know he’s
got a frigging stutter!” she muttered. “I guess if somebody runs you off the road and he doesn’t stutter,
you can relax?”

Reaching blindly for the controls on her door, she clicked the automatic door lock again, just to be sure.

Ordinarily, she didn’t really mind working the late shift at the hospital. She lived alone, so it didn’t matter
that she didn’t have her evenings at home. In fact, working was preferable to spending every evening
alone, staring at the TV, which as often as not had nothing on of any interest to her even when she could
get a clear picture. If it rained, she couldn’t, and if the wind was blowing she couldn’t because the trees in
the forest surrounding her place were so tall that gusting winds made them sway into the line of reception
of the little satellite dish mounted on her roof.

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She’d been tempted a few times to clear a swath through the trees so that they wouldn’t interfere with
her programs, but then she might be able to see her neighbor’s house and she lived in the country
because she saw enough of people during the day. She didn’t want to even catch a glimpse of human
habitation when she escaped the rat race. The people who knew her well enough to know she lived in the
deep woods alone thought she was a nut case, but it was the way she maintained a healthy balance in her
life--chaos at one end in her working life as a receptionist in the emergency room and absolute peace
whenever she was at home.

At a time like this, though, she almost regretted her life style. It unnerved her having to drive through the
almost deserted streets so late at night with a killer on the move stalking women. She dreaded even more
leaving the city behind and turning onto the deep black ribbon of road that wound for miles into the
countryside without passing more than a handful of houses.

She took herself to task for those wayward thoughts. What were the odds, after all, that she would run
into the serial killer? “Probably almost astronomical,” she muttered. “Quit scaring yourself Amanda
Louise Pendleton! Having an imagination is all well and good, but not if you’re going to use it against
yourself!”

Despite the pep talk, Amy found tension winding tighter and tighter inside of her as she left the lights of
the city behind and her car became engulfed in the blackness of the narrow two lane back road. She
wasn’t aware of it at first, humming under her breath to keep the sense of isolation from creeping into her.
After several miles, however, she began to realize that her fingers were hot and going numb from gripping
the steering wheel so tightly. Her shoulders and arms ached from the tension and her foot was growing
heavier and heavier on the gas pedal.

Taking herself to task again, she eased off on the accelerator and forced her body to relax. After
glancing at the radio a couple of times, she decided to leave it off. Music might have lightened her mood
but she was liable to hear another news report and she didn’t think that would help her feelings at all.

She hadn’t passed a house or a car in ten minutes when her headlights caught the shape of a vehicle on
the side of the road. It was facing her, on the opposite side of the road.

“Somebody just broke down,” she muttered between clenched teeth, instantly feeling tension grip her
once more. The car was dark. Who ever had broken down hadn’t pulled far enough off the road, in her
opinion, but the shoulder was narrow and they’d probably feared they would end up in the ditch.

She was almost even with the car, staring at it and trying to decide whether she’d seen it before and if it
was possible it belonged to someone who lived out this way, when the headlights suddenly flooded the
road. The light blinded her. Blinking, trying to chase the spots away, she stared hard at the road, trying to
keep from running off of it. Her foot came off the accelerator automatically and her car slowed. She
patted the break, too focused on her predicament to spare a glance toward the car as she passed it.

The squeal of tires behind her made the hair on the nape of her neck stand on end. Gripping the steering
wheel, she glanced quickly in her rearview mirror. As dark as it was, and still a little blind from the
sudden flash of light, Amy could see little beyond the other car’s headlights and tail lights as it spun a
donut in the middle of the road. Her heart seized in her chest. Panic washed over her like a tidal wave.

“It’s a cop,” she muttered. “It must be. Stupid son of a bitch! What the hell is he doing anyway, scaring
the shit out of law abiding citizens?”

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She was too panicked to decide what to do. Pull over? Keep going? Slow down? Speed up? She did
all four, her car bouncing and veering as she braked and swerved toward the side of the road, then
thought better of it and veered back into her lane and speeded up, stopping just shy of the speed limit.

Flashing blue lights did not fill her car. Instead, the car around her grew brighter and brighter as the car
behind her closed the gap between them. Unconsciously, she depressed the accelerator a little harder,
dividing her attention between the road ahead of her and the lights in her rearview mirror.

He had his brights on and those headlights rapidly moved closer and closer until she couldn’t see
anything but the reflection of the lights in her night mirror.

“Oh god!” Amy gasped when she saw he wasn’t making any attempt to brake. Expecting a collision any
moment, she floored it. Her car shot forward. The lights in her mirror dropped behind her. A moment
later she heard the roar of the other car’s engine as the driver accelerated again until his bumper was
practically touching hers.

The gas pedal was practically against the floor already, but Amy pressed harder on it anyway. Her car
inched up a few more miles per hour, but not enough to put any distance between her and the car behind
her.

Fighting panic, Amy’s mind leapt to grasp possibilities. None presented themselves. This stretch of the
road was deserted--all the way to her turn off and once she was on her own road she would be in
serious trouble. It was a dead end. She might make it to her neighbors’ house and she might not. Once
she turned onto the dirt road she would have to slow down and the chances were good that she would
slide off or be bumped off before she could reach the doubtful security of her own home, or her
neighbors.

The thoughts had no more than materialized in her mind when she realized she was approaching the last
turn off before her own road. She’d never been down it, had never had any reason to explore it, but she
did not want to lead the killer to her door and she did not want to chance getting trapped on a dead end
road with him.

It was the killer. She knew it had to be--unless this was some moron’s idea of a joke.

She wasn’t going to stake her life on it.

She took her foot off the accelerator. She couldn’t make the turn at the speed she was going. She’d end
up in the trees.

Almost immediately, the car behind her bumped into her, dropped back a couple of feet and then
bumped her again. She waited until the bumpers engaged and stood on her brake. Her tires screamed as
the car behind her continued to push. The smell of burning rubber formed a thick, noxious cloud inside
the car with her--but her speedometer began to drop--sixty, fifty-five. The needle was still hovering
between forty and forty five when she saw the road. She hesitated, wondering if she’d slowed enough to
make the turn. At the last moment, she jerked her wheel. The car behind her skidded off her bumper as
she abruptly changed directions. The nudge and her speed made the car fishtail as it hit the dirt surface.
For several heart stopping minutes she was completely occupied with trying to keep the car on the road
as it skidded first one way and then the other. When she finally regained control again, she glanced in her
rearview mirror. Her skidding car had thrown up a wall of dust and sand. Dimly, perhaps three car
lengths behind her, she could see glowing eyes.

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She hadn’t lost him, but then she hadn’t expected to and at least the maneuver had given her a little
room. It wouldn’t last, she knew, and she pressed down on the accelerator as hard as she dared. It was
a dirt road, which meant winding, and she couldn’t afford to hit a curve very hard. It was as black as
pitch and she might not be able to see far enough ahead to keep the car on the road if she was going too
fast.

There wasn’t a sign of a light that indicated a house. That didn’t necessarily mean there weren’t any, but
she couldn’t see one.

She saw he was gaining on her when she looked back again, but the car was kicking up enough dust to
severely limit visibility for him and the dirt was loose enough she could see he was having to fight to
maintain speed and keep his vehicle on the road.

She poured on a little more speed, then had to slow abruptly as she rounded a curve and discovered it
switched back almost immediately. The driver behind her went into a skid.

“Please, God, let him go in the ditch!” she muttered.

His headlights disappeared and she knew he must have skidded off the road. She slowed to a slightly
less hazardous speed and took one hand off the steering wheel at the time to wipe the sweat off her
palms so that she could get a better grip.

She’d just caught a glimpse of a light somewhere ahead of her when a flash of light in her rearview mirror
nearly blinded her. If he’d gotten stuck, he’d managed to get himself out of it way too damned quick!

She sped up again, straining to catch another glimpse of the light she’d seen in the woods.

She almost passed the narrow drive that headed toward it. Slamming on brakes, she shoved the car into
reverse, jerked it into drive again and shot onto a road so filled with holes the first one she hit nearly
bounced her through the roof of her car. Her foot came off the accelerator as she was propelled upward.
Frantically, she felt around for the pedal again and pushed for more speed, clenching her teeth together to
keep from biting her tongue as her car bucked and bounced its way up the rough drive.

He turned in behind her. Her mirror caught the curve of his headlights as he made the turn.

It occurred to her then that she’d committed herself and she didn’t even know if the light meant anyone
was home or not. It might be nothing more than a security light on a fucking barn! It might be the porch
light on a house that belonged to some little ninety year old lady.

“Oh God! Let it be cop! A state patrolman. A GI Joe--or just a good old boy with a house-full of
shotguns and bootleg liquor in his garage!”

It was a cabin and the light was on inside. Amy skidded her car to a halt when she’d pulled up behind a
beat up pickup truck. She broke three nails trying to get the door open. Even as she leapt from the car,
she heard the hiss and ping of scattering gravel as her stalker jerked his car to a halt behind hers.

“Help!” she screamed, running toward the cabin as fast as she could. “Help me! He’s after me!”

She was about halfway between her car and cabin when the door opened. At almost the same moment
something big and hard slammed into her from behind. Stunned, she hardly even felt pain when she hit the
ground. Her air left her in a rush, however, crushed from her lungs by his weight.

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“What’s going on!” said a male voice sharply.

Amy lifted her head with an effort, fighting the hand the man was trying to clamp over her mouth. “It’s
the killer! It’s the serial killer!”

The man shook her. “Stop it!” he growled in her ear. “It’s OK neighbor. Mmm-me and mmmm-my wife
just had a--had a-- a little disagreement.”

“I’m not his wife!” Amy screamed desperately as the man finally hauled her to her feet and began trying
to drag her back to his car. He was holding her from behind, making her attempts to defend herself
completely ineffectual. She dropped her weight against him, hoping to break his hold, but he was far too
strong for her weight to present him with any problems.

“Let her go.”

“Mmm -mind your own--mind your own business, asshole!”

“Don’t let him take me. For godsake! Please don’t let him take me.”

Through tears of terror and frustration she saw the man move to the edge of the porch. “I’m going to ask
you nicely one more time. Let--her--go--NOW!”

“F-ff-fuck off!”

The man on the porch looked directly at her. “Sorry. This is going to hurt.”

Amy’s eyes widened as he lifted his hand. Thinking he’d intended to shoot the man holding her, she
didn’t know whether to be relieved or more horrified when she saw he had nothing at all in his hand.

Abruptly, a jagged fork of lightening shot from his fingertips straight at her. A painful jolt went through
her that was so hard she bit her tongue. The taste of blood filled her mouth and then there was nothing
but blackness.

Chapter Two

Kyle moved toward the crumpled couple in his front yard. After studying them for several moments, he
saw that the man was conscious, barely, but still conscious. Rolling him away from the woman with his
foot, he hit him with a little harder jolt. The man’s body convulsed, bucked a few times and went still. He
studied the man for several moments, saw he was still breathing, but shallowly, and finally turned back to
the woman. Squatting down beside her, he checked her pulse--thready. He frowned, tilting her face so
that the light from his porch fell over it. A thin trickle of blood oozed from the corner of her mouth.
Scooping her limp form into his arms, he straightened. She was heavier than she looked, which meant
muscle. The thought didn’t particularly please him. Either she worked out a lot--or she’d had training.

When he’d carried her inside, he settled her on his bed and examined her again. She’d bit her tongue

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when the voltage went through her. He was relieved--and then annoyed that he was relieved. She was
probably a FED.

He stripped her, checking each article of clothing for a bug or a wire, identification of any kind. He
didn’t find anything but a beautiful body. Shrugging the thought off, he stood up, staring down at her while
he considered the situation.

Just because he hadn’t found anything didn’t mean she wasn’t a FED. The guy in the yard could be one
for that matter. The whole thing might have been staged just to get him out in the open.

He’d heard the police reports about the serial killer, but that didn’t mean a damned thing either. He
knew how the FED’s worked. They wanted him and they’d try any lowdown trick to get their hands on
him.

After a moment, he left her and went to find a high powered flashlight, heavy gloves, and some duck
tape and returned to the man outside. Settling the flashlight on the ground beside him, he used the duck
tape to bind the man’s wrists and ankles. Almost as an afterthought, he wound a strip around the man’s
head. When he was certain the fellow was thoroughly hog-tied, he took the flashlight and went to
examine the vehicle the man had arrived in.

The glove box contained a dozen driver’s licenses. None of them belonged to the driver. Each had the
face of a young woman on it--victims? The car was filthy, as if the man lived in it, but there were stains in
the back seat that looked like blood. Pulling the keys from the ignition, he moved around to the trunk and
opened it.

Dead eyes looked up at him and a wave of nausea washed over him.

Even the FEDS wouldn’t go this far.

He knew she was dead, but he checked anyway. Anger routed his nausea after a moment and he turned
to glare at the unconscious man on the ground, debating whether to finish him off or not. He’d be doing
the world a favor.

He wouldn’t be doing himself any favors, though. Not that he was particularly worried about being
charged with murder--the FEDS wouldn’t allow that--but he didn’t want the local cops all over him
either.

He couldn’t just let the son-of-a-bitch go.

Finally, he went to the man, grasped him beneath his arms and began dragging him toward his vehicle.
The man came to about the time they reached it. Kyle grabbed him by his hair and slammed his head into
it a few times. “Hurts like hell, don’t it? How does it feel to be helpless and have someone beating the shit
out of you? Is it as fun as when you’re beating on women?”

The man said something against his gag and Kyle shrugged. Straightening, he reached for the door
handle and pulled the rear door open. When he bent to help the man up, the man slammed his head
against his, bloodying his nose. Kyle dropped him. Squatting down beside the man again, he caught him
by the throat and held his other hand out palm up. Concentrating, he made the electricity he produced
and controlled form a dome in his palm like the lights within a plasma ball. “Don’t give me an excuse to
use this on you again. Next time I might decide to save the taxpayers the cost of frying your ass.”

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The man’s eyes widened and he looked at Kyle sharply.

Kyle grinned. “You’re right. You’re a hell of a lot less trouble when you’re unconscious.” He hit him
with another charge. When he was sure the man was unconscious and not just faking it, he hauled him up
again and stuffed him into the rear of the car.

Grabbing up the flashlight and the duck tape, he headed back into the cabin to check on the woman.
She was still unconscious. Frowning, he checked her again, worried that he might have given her more of
a jolt than he’d thought. It wasn’t always easy to control.

Her pulse felt a little stronger and he decided she would probably come around pretty soon. He patted
her cheek. “Sorry, baby, but I can’t take any chances and I don’t have time to check you out right now.
I’ve got to dispose of Romeo out there.”

Pulling off a strip of tape, he bound her wrists together and then strapped them to the bars of the
headboard. After some consideration, he bound her ankles, too, one to each side rail because she was
too short to reach the foot-board. She was going to be pissed when she woke up, but he wasn’t going to
take a chance on her being a FED and freeing herself before he got back. If she did, he’d have a
welcoming party waiting for him.

Tossing his blanket over her, he left the cabin to take care of problem number one--dispose of serial
killer.

When he got back, he’d figure out just how much of a problem luscious, petite brunette was.

Romeo presented a logistical problem. Conscience dictated that he make certain the man ended up in
police custody, but he was miles from town. If he left man, victim and car nearby, it wouldn’t take the
cops long to find their way back to him. If he drove far, it was going to make for a long walk home and
he still had to figure out what to do about the woman.

Also under debate was just how much he needed to worry about the forensics capabilities of the locals.
The gloves were a must, he decided. Anything else they might find besides the fingerprints would take
longer to process and give him all the time he needed.

Climbing into the car, he headed toward town. It appealed to his sense of humor to park the vehicle
directly across the street from the police station--a blatant ‘they couldn’t find their ass with both hands’
statement if they weren’t too stupid to get it.

He hit the first hitch when he climbed out of the car. As luck would have it, a fresh faced rookie took it
into his head to give him a ticket for parking in a no parking zone.

“Sir, this is a no parking zone.”

Kyle’s lips tightened with annoyance as he stopped and turned to look at the cop behind him. Even as
he turned, the young man glanced almost idly toward the car. His eyes were nearly bulging from their
sockets when his head whipped back around, his hand fumbling for the pistol strapped in his holster.

Kyle was ready for him. The jolt of electricity slammed the cop against the car. Slowly, he slid down into
an awkward sitting position and then fell sideways until his shoulder was against the ground.

As late as it was, Kyle didn’t wait around. The moment he knocked the cop out, he sprinted down the

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nearest alley. When he reached the next street, he trotted down it, checking each car until he found one
unlocked. Sliding behind the wheel, he pointed his index finger at the ignition. A thin steak of blue fire
snaked through the key slot. The engine turned over and caught.

Pulling his glove on again, he put the car in drive and pulled out onto the street, taking care to keep his
speed just above the speed limit. Too fast, and the cops would pull him over for speeding. Too slow, and
the cops would pull him over for suspicion.

Crisscrossing the city, he changed cars four times, leaving the last near the river when he spied a boat
moored near a camp site.

The river wound through the county, snake like. He was familiar with the point closest to his cabin,
however. When he reached it almost an hour later, he paddled close enough to shore to step out, then
pushed the boat out again, watching until it disappeared down river, carried onward by the current.

It took another hour to make his way through the thick woods. He was tired by the time he got back,
aching from mosquito bites, brambles, the tree branches that had slapped at him--and he was in a really
foul mood.

The brunette had her eyes closed. He stared at her hard, looking for a movement that would tell him
whether she was conscious, or just playing possum. Deciding it was the latter, he climbed on the bed,
propping his ass on the foot-board, and snatched the blanket off of her.

Startled, she jerked upward, as if the blanket had sucked her off the bed. The movement instantly
riveted his gaze to the curly thatch of her mound and the cleft between her thighs. He, almost
immediately, regretted the impulse. He had a front row seat for a grand view of paradise valley. The
position he’d bound her legs in parted the soft tissue surrounding her sex. The dark pink inner lips
beckoned.

His cock answered the call of the wild, leaping up hopefully the moment the blood rushed from his brain.

It took a supreme effort to drag his gaze from those temptingly sweet lips. His sex life had been nothing
but a fond memory from the time he’d been ‘drafted’ into the government project, and he’d been too
busy running since he’d gone AWOL to consider stopping for a bite to eat.

That thought made his mouth water, which was why he’d finally looked up at her face--not because he
managed to gather his wits, but from sheer hopefulness.

Her eyes were wide, dominating her face.

No come hither look, just fear.

He shook his head as if doing so would jump start his sluggish brain and finally managed to focus on his
main interest--beyond her pussy. “Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?”

She began to blink, not flirtatiously, but as if her mind were tabulating the question and coming up blank.
She moistened her lips, dry from fear. The pink point of her tongue captured his attention, however,
diverting him again.

“I have to pee,” she said plaintively.

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That comment brought his attention back to her clit.

He managed to drag his gaze if not his mind from it after a moment, however.

“It’ll wait,” he said coldly. His mind was still working like shit, but it had begun to tease at him that she
was trying to turn his body against him--unreasonably so, he supposed, considering he was the one that
had stripped her and tied her to the bed, but it wouldn’t be the first time a woman had taken the
advantage by dangling the bait. Particularly since, if she was what he suspected, she would have to know
he hadn’t been within sniffing distance of a woman not wearing a government chastity belt in damned near
a year.

She swallowed. “I’vebeenwaiting. I really have to go--bad.”

He knew it was probably a trick. She wanted him to remove her bindings so that she could attempt an
escape. He didn’t feel comfortable denying her needs, however.

Uttering an irritated sound, he got off the bed. “Don’t make me do anything you won’t like,” he
muttered, grasping her nearest ankle and tearing through the binding.

She immediately drew her leg up, obscuring his view, but she made no attempt to kick him. Moving to
the other side of the bed, he freed her other ankle. She drew that leg up, too, twisting her hips away from
him and laying her knees on the mattress.

She made her move the moment he tore the tape holding her arms above her head.

Expecting it, he launched his body on top of hers. The breath left her lungs in a grunt as his chest landed
on hers, small wonder since he probably outweighed her by a hundred pounds. She struggled anyway,
trying to club him with her arms since her hands were still bound together, kicking wildly, although she
was pinned down by his upper body and couldn’t kick high enough to actually reach him.

He grabbed her thigh with the next kick she launched. Levering himself off of her enough to grab the
other leg, he used her legs to turn her, pried her thighs apart and wedged his body between them. He
ducked his head against her breasts just in time to avoid her fists as she brought both, which were still
bound together, down in a hammer like blow. She caught him on his shoulder instead, sending pain and
anger through him.

Before she could try again, he caught her arms. Shifting up her body, he pushed them over her head. She
was lying sideways on the bed now, however. When he pushed her arms, her back arched instinctively to
ease the pressure.

They were both gasping for breath by the time she realized she was thoroughly caught and ceased to
struggle.

He levered himself upwards cautiously to glare at her, making certain to stay out of biting range.

“Are you going to let me go to the bathroom?” she demanded.

He didn’t know whether to be more amused or outraged. She’d tried her best to de-ball him. Nothing
but sheer luck--her awkward position--and his quick moving had spared him that pain and indignity.
Irritation won out. He shifted upward until his erection was plowing against her cleft. “What doyouthink I
have in mind?” he growled angrily, determined to intimidate her.

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She went back to blinking. “Could I go first?”

The question took the wind out of him. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. Obviously, she thought he was
stupid enough to take that as a promise. Just as apparently, she wasn’t easily intimidated--which seemed
to him to be a strong indication that his suspicions had been correct--she was a FED. He shook his head.
“I’m a lot more tempted to tie you down again after that stunt,” he growled.

“I’ll be good.”

Maybe hewasstupid, he thought wryly, yielding to her pretty plea and easing his weight from her
cautiously. She didn’t try anything else--not immediately anyway. He wasn’t so enthralled with her
damned fine body that he had lost his mind completely. Shewouldtry again.

Grasping her by one arm, he hauled her off the bed with him as he climbed off. As soft and round as she
was in all the right places, she was still small and he lifted her so easily he thought for a moment she’d
pushed herself off. The moment her legs touched the floor, however, they gave under her. She winced
when he dragged her up and he realized with a pang he didn’t particularly like that she’d lost feeling in her
feet--probably her hands, too.

Not that it was his fucking fault that he’d had to haul her boyfriend off and it had taken him three frigging
hours to get back.

By the time he’d walked her to the bathroom, her movements weren’t so stiff and awkward. He pushed
her inside, bracing his hands on the door frame. She stopped halfway between the door and the toilet,
turning to look at him.

“You aren’t going to watch?”

He studied her for a moment. “Not that it’s the sort of thing that gets me hot, baby, but I’m not a sucker
either. Yes. I’m going to watch.”

Her chin quivered threateningly.

His gut clenched as if she’d punched him there.

Uttering a sound of disgust, he grabbed a towel and tossed it at her. “That’s all the privacy you’re going
to get. I don’t feel like checking the room for weapons--or chasing you down if your modesty doesn’t
prevent you from climbing out the window.”

Holding the towel awkwardly, Amy sat. She hadn’t been lying about having to go, but she wasn’t sure
she could with him watching.

If she’d actually been a nurse, instead of just a receptionist, maybe she wouldn’t have been so
uncomfortable about bodily functions--and maybe she would have anyway. Her bladder finally overcame
her embarrassment. To her dismay, however, she couldn’t find tissue. “No paper?”

He gave her a look.

He wasn’t going to wait for her to drip dry. Getting up, she moved to the lavatory and washed her
privates, then washed her hands. Uncomfortable under his stare, she merely patted herself dry, but she

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was acutely aware that she was still damp as he grabbed her arm and led her back into the bed room.

She was almost relieved when he didn’t lead her back to the bed. Instead, he grabbed a straight chair
and pushed her down on it. When he left her to grab the duck tape, she leapt to her feet and made a
dash for the door. He clothes-lined her with an arm around her waist. Her bare ass made a smacking
sound when he plunked her into the chair again. Before she could recover enough to try to fight him, he
sat down on her lap, straddling her legs.

Stunned by the move, pinned by his weight, Amy stopped struggling. Tearing the tape he’d left around
her wrists when he had freed her from the bed, he pushed her arms behind her, leaning against her as he
taped her wrists again.

When he was finished, he leaned back slightly to study her. “You’re going to try to kick me when I tie
your legs, aren’t you?”

Amy stared at him. “No.”

“Right.”

Instead of rising, he slipped one hand along the side of her neck. The move made Amy’s throat close
with terror, but instead of trying to strangle her as her mind had instantly envisioned he merely curled his
fingers around her neck, running one finger along her spine, as if counting. Something stung, like the prick
of a needle. Abruptly, as if a switch had been flipped, her body convulsed so hard in orgasm that it tore a
cry from her and ripped consciousness from her grasp.

Chapter Three

When her head fell forward, her forehead striking his collar bone, Kyle was too stunned to feel more
than a dull thud of impact. He caught her face in his hand, tipping her head back to study her.

There was no doubt she was out cold, but he couldn’t tell if he’d hurt her or not and that worried him.
Gently, he lowered her head until her chin was resting on her chest and stood up, moving off her lap to
kneel beside the chair.

Her nipples were as hard as rock.

The sound she’d made just before she lost consciousness had acted on him like an aphrodisiac, but he
couldn’t decide if it was only because he was horny as hell, or if she had, as he thought, orgasmed.

That was something new.

Deciding to dismiss it for the moment, he moved her legs apart and taped her ankles to the legs of the
chair. When he’d finished, he discovered that the temptation was just too much to resist. He pushed her
thighs further apart, parted the flesh of her nether lips and ran a curious finger along her cleft. She jerked
when he touched her clit. Her pussy was wet--not damp--wet.

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Satisfied, he sat back, studied her a moment and finally stood and parted her hair to look at her neck. A
small pink area marked the spot. He frowned. He’d thought he had touched the nerve he had discovered
before. It worked like a light switch. All he had to do was shoot a mild current through it and the
‘subject’ was out--virtually painlessly, but he’d never tried it when he was facing anyone.

Placing one finger on the spot, he knelt in front of her again, checking the location.

A little off the mark, he decided, but it had been a switch all right.

An unholy grin dawned.

His ‘gift’ was a lot more interesting than he’d previously thought.

She moaned.

As tempting as it was to try it again, to see if he could do it, he slipped his hand to her chin and lifted her
face just as her eyes fluttered open. She stared at him in bemusement. “What was that?” she asked
finally.

His brows rose. “Why don’t you tell me?”

A red tide started at the tops of her breasts and rose all the way to her hairline. She licked her lips.
“How did you…?” She stopped, moistening her lips.

“Would you like me to do it again?”

Her eyes widened. She shook her head, but he could see that she was struggling against temptation, not
just saying no. With an effort, he dismissed his new found ‘toy’ and moved away from her.

“Now--one more time--who are you and what are you doing out here?”

“I was going home from work.”

His lips tightened. “Six families live on this entire road, and you aren’t one of them. Try again.”

Amy felt her jaw slacken with surprise. “You know your neighbors?”

His dark brows rose. “You hadn’t counted on that?”

Amy licked her lips. “Look--I think there’s just been a little misunderstanding here…. If you’ll let me go,
I won’t say anything to anyone. I swear.”

His lips flattened into a thin line. “There isnounderstanding here, because I haven’t managed to get one
damned straight answer out of you. But it stinks like a set up and I’m not letting you go ‘till I know for
sure, one way or the other …. And what you say when you leave here is the least of my worries, baby.”

“You think that--that attack was staged?” Amy demanded, torn between shock and outrage.

“That part, no. Romeo was your serial killer all right. What I think is that your gig went south and you
were forced to show your hand.”

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Amy stared at him blankly, wondering if that had actually been English. It sounded like English, but it
hadn’t made any more sense to her than if he’d been speaking gibberish. “Look, he started chasing me
and it sounded like the MO of the guy they’re after and I didn’t want to go home because….” She
stopped abruptly, horrified that she’d almost told him she lived alone, which would be tantamount to
saying that nobody would be looking for her. “I--uh was trying to lose him,” she finished weakly.

His eyes narrowed. “And you work at …?”

“The hospital.”

Amy had seen a lot of different reactions to that bit of information, but none that matched the one she got
out of her captor. He whitened, and then looked enraged. “So, youdowork for them?”

“Uh--yes?” she said a little doubtfully, wondering why his question sounded like an accusation.

“What was your assignment?”

Amy blinked at him rapidly, trying to figure out what he was talking about.

“Is it a sweep? A tail? Or just a fishing expedition?”

Amy felt her jaw sag again. “A--uh--could you repeat that?”

He propped his hands on her bare thighs and leaned toward her until they were face to face. “I’m really
not in the mood for any more games tonight.”

Amy felt her chin wobble. “Can I go home then?”

He stared at her for several long moments. Finally, he allowed his head to droop forward in an attitude
of defeat. At least, that was the way Amy interpreted it at first. He seemed to stay that way for a very
long time. When he looked up at her again, his gaze was almost--feverish. He squatted down before her,
resting on the balls of his feet.

“I’m figuring I’ve got eight--ten hours at the most. But I’m not running again until I know how damned
close the hunters are. If you were a man, I’d beat it out of you. I suppose that’s why they sent a woman.
So here’s what we’re going to do--we’re going to play a new game.”

Amy looked at him a little fearfully. “What kind of game?”

“The game of ‘just how far will you go for your employer?’”

“Actually, I don’t like them at all, but it’s a job, you know?”

He grasped her hips, sliding her forward until her buttocks were on the edge of the chair. Amy’s eyes
widened. Reflexively, she tried to put her knees together. He pushed them apart. She scooted back in the
seat.

He gave her a look, grabbed her just above the knees and jerked her toward him until her buttocks
were halfway off the seat. When he released his grip, she tried to push herself back up in the chair. To
her consternation, she discovered that she had no leverage. Apparently satisfied, he turned his attention
to her mound, stroking the silky hair and then using his thumbs to part her nether lips.

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She swallowed with an effort. Her eyes widened as he lowered his head. As she watched, he lowered
his mouth to the sensitive, exposed flesh and covered it. His mouth felt like a firebrand. She gasped,
jerked when she felt the flick of his tongue. The sharp movement made her slide further from the seat.

Slipping his hands beneath her buttocks, he lifted her hips. Settling his mouth more firmly over her clit, he
sucked it. Her belly clenched, hard. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to close her mind to the heat
surging through her. Closing her eyes only focused every sense and nerve ending on that one point,
however, and within moments she found herself struggling to catch her breath.

He sat back on his heels after a moment, settling her buttocks on the chair again and Amy dragged in a
shuddering breath. The sound of tearing tape and a tug on her ankle brought her eyes open.

He moved behind her and untied her hands before she could gather her wits about her enough to
consider trying to kick him. Hauling her from the chair, he pushed her toward the bed again. Her knees
were wobbly. If he hadn’t been holding her up, she felt sure they would’ve buckled. She’d recovered
enough to try to roll away when he pushed her to the bed.

The fight for freedom was short. He ended it by pinning her to the bed with the weight of his body. She
struggled harder, fearing his intent, but he managed to tie her wrists together and fasten them to the head
of the bed as before.

She subsided, deciding to wait until he’d gotten off of her to bind her ankles. She hadn’t anticipated his
next move. Instead of climbing off the bed to bind her ankle to the side as before, he grabbed one, used
his body to hold her other leg down and wound the tape around the ankle he was holding. Unreeling a
length, he pushed her knee up and secured the binding to the headboard. She tried to kick him when he
rolled off the leg he’d pinned, but he was expecting it. It only took him a few moments to capture that
ankle and bind it as he had the first. Her legs were splayed wide. Cool air wafted across her nether lips.
After studying her a moment, he grabbed a pillow and shoved it under her hips until her pelvis was tilted
upward.

Amy swallowed convulsively as she stared down at herself. “What are you doing?”

He’d settled on the bed, propping his head on one hand. Almost idly, he dragged one finger along her
cleft, parting the petals of flesh. “Restitution. Back pay. Pay back. Take your pick. I’m figuring I’ll enjoy
the hell out of this whether I get the answers I want or not.”

“But--but. I told you everything.”

He grunted. “You told me a whole lot of nothing. Unless you intend to tell me what I want to know, I
suggest you say nothing at all.”

Rolling onto his stomach, he dragged his tongue along her cleft, tracing the same path that he had with his
finger. Heat blossomed in her belly. When he reached her clit, he flicked it a few times with his tongue,
teasingly, and then sucked it into his mouth. Blood surged into the tiny nub and Amy nearly came up off
the pillow at the current that went through her. The movement only pressed him more tightly against her,
however, and a harder jolt followed the first, taking her breath away.

She stared down at his dark head between her legs, but watching him as he sucked and teased her clit
affected her even more than closing her eyes. Her belly clenched, seized almost painfully as waves of
sensation rolled through her. Hot moisture gathered along her channel. Her heart began a frantic tattoo.

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She struggled to keep her breathing even, but couldn’t seem to get enough air into her lungs. In spite of
all she could do to ignore it, she felt the tension coiling inside of her as desire took hold and began to fill
her with need.

When he lifted his head to look up at her she groaned, whether in relief or disappointment, she wasn’t
certain, but she told herself it was relief, trying to ignore the blood pulsing in the abandoned nub almost
painfully.

Settling his palms on the mattress, he pushed himself up to his hands and knees, his biceps bulging with
the move until they looked likely to split the seams of his shirt. Crawling upward, he settled a hand on
either side of her and lowered his head to pluck at first one nipple and then the other with his lips until
both stood almost painfully erect, painfully sensitive with the pressure of the blood that engorged them.

He studied the effect he’d had on her for several moments.

Amy studied him.

His hair was black, without so much as a touch of brown. The light from the single lamp that lit the room
created a silvery sheen where ever it reflected off the dark mass. It was longer than most men wore their
hair these days--hanging well past his collar--as if he hadn’t seen a hair cut in a while, but clean, and
board strait without a hint of wave or curl. The smell of soap, not shampoo, wafted from it when he
moved--a manly man, she decided, one of those who thought cosmetics were only for women. Or
maybe he just didn’t get into town much?

His nose was arrow straight, narrow, faintly hooked at the tip, the long bridge ridged on either side
rather than smoothly rounded and tapering, as if a sculptor had run his knife along the bridge to create a
narrow, flat plain. His nostrils were equally sharp in definition and winged slightly upward--perfect for
sneering, but nicely formed nevertheless.

Brows as black and straight as his hair formed a faintly ragged line above his eyes, winging upward at
the outer edges, Spock-like, and barely missed meeting in the middle. His eyes were deep set above
prominent, angular cheekbones, and outlined in smutty, thick, long lashes any woman would have killed
for.

His cheeks were slightly hollowed, giving him a mature look that made it difficult to determine his age--
thirty-ish she decided--his jaw very square and his chin powerful, almost belligerent, evidence of high
testosterone levels.

But the faint ‘five o’clock’ shadow that sprigged his cheeks and chin was sparse. In fact, he didn’t have
much hair anywhere that she’d seen. His hands and arms were virtually smooth and hairless. No tufts
sprouted from the V-neck of the T-shirt he wore.

His skin was swarthy.

Pure blooded American Indian--or damned close anyway.

He looked up at her just then. His pupils were fully dilated with desire. The thin iris showing around the
pupils was almost as dark, however.

“Why are you being hunted?” she asked impulsively. “What did you do?”

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Something flickered in his eyes. Several different emotions chased across his features, but she found it
hard to identify any of them. Finally, his mouth curled into a grim smile. “They didn’t tell you?”

Instead of trying to argue with him that she wasn’t whoever it was he thought she was she simply shook
her head.

“And you’re still so naive you think people have rights, don’t you? Freedom and liberty and all that
propaganda crap they feed you in school and in the media?” He shook his head. “When the only rights
you have are the ones they let you have, and they take them away from you whenever the whim moves
them, you havenorights. They took my liberty because I had something they wanted.Itook it back.”

Amy tried not to look as disbelieving as she felt. Apparently, she didn’t succeed.

Shifting his weight onto one arm, he lifted one hand so that it skated just inches above her breast bone.
A tingling, almost a tickling crawled over her skin. As he moved his hand slowly downward, more and
more of her skin erupted with sensation. The warmth that had receded when he ceased to caress her
rushed back, spread through her as he moved his hand over her breasts, down her belly and then along
one thigh to the knee. Crossing her spread thighs, he moved his hand over the other leg, as well.

Amy began to struggle for breath long before he reached her nether regions. He hadn’t touched her, at
all, and yet every inch of her skin was alive, as keenly sensitive and pulsing with blood as if he’d
simulated every nerve ending with his mouth and tongue, stroked her all over with his fingers.

Chapter Four

Amy began to moan unconsciously as the pleasure intensified everywhere at once. Her mind clouded
with the drug of euphoria until she felt divorced from it, separate from everything except the building
sensations, focused inward on sensation alone. She quickly reached a point where she could not remain
still, writhing as if in the grips of fever, struggling to gasp in little gulps of air. Every muscle in her body
tensed, relaxed fractionally, and then tensed again, harder than before. Her fingers curled into her palms,
her nails digging into the tender flesh as she clenched her hands tightly, and yet the pain scarcely
registered. Her toes curled, digging into the mattress.

Unable to resist, hardly aware of what she was doing, her hips began to move rhythmically as the tension
grew inside of her. The muscles along the throat of her sex tightened and relaxed in a massaging, milking
motion, clutching at nothing, aching to be filled, needing desperately to clasp hard, heated flesh. Hot,
creamy moisture gathered along her passage. Her body wept with need.

Time seemed to stand still. Seconds became minutes, minutes hours. She had no idea of how long she
labored in the throes of escalating, almost painful excitement and tension, but her body reached a point at
last where it could take no more, where she could not be filled more. She hovered there, agonizingly,
willing her body to release.

The stimulation died, leaving her teetering on the brink. Slowly, her body cooled, leaving her with a
sense of abject desolation.

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When she managed to open her eyes, she saw that he was watching her, his face taut with his own
unfulfilled desire. “Not as good for me as it was for you--but--interesting.”

Amy stared at him blankly for several moments. As her body cooled, however, her temper rose. A
shiver went through her. He’d taken her to the brink and left her hanging.

She tamped her anger with an effort. Obviously, he couldn’t have felt what she’d felt--but he had to
know how close she’d been. Deciding that, maybe, he didn’t and she preferred it that way, she struggled
to remember what it was they had been discussing before he’d teased her to distraction. She couldn’t,
but her curiosity about what he’d done and how he’d done it got the better of her. “What was that?”

“Electricity. Everybody has it. Minute amounts fire inside the brain, producing thought, sensation--I have
more. I also have more control--a great deal more than I ever let them discover when I was in the
project.” He lifted the same hand he’d used to stimulate her nerve endings. Blue fire shot from his
extended finger tips.

Amy sucked in a scream, her gaze following the trail of lightening as it flashed across the room and
sizzled along the wall, creating a blackened, vein-like tracery of burned wallpaper. Her eyes were still
wide with shock and fear when she met his gaze again. Her thoughts were chaotic, however.

“You--volunteered for some sort of project?” she stammered.

Fury washed over his features. “Lady, I nevervolunteeredfor a god damned thing! Especially not
fucking lab rat for the federal government. And it’s for damned sure I’ve got no intention of going back.
You can tell them that for me when they ‘rescue’ you.”

He scrubbed his hands over his face, obviously struggling to regain control of his temper.

She would have thought he was just plain mad if she hadn’t seen, and felt, what he was capable of.
Under the circumstances, she couldn’t help but believe him--unless this power, whatever it was, had
effected his mind?

He seemed rational. She could detect no hint of madness in his eyes, anyway. The things he said didn’t
sound very rational--or hadn’t before. His paranoia hadn’t seemed very rational either, but if what he
said was true, then it wasn’t paranoia. It was awareness.

He thought she was an agent sent to smoke him out of hiding.

“Why did you take my clothes?”

He glanced at her. “I was looking for bugs. Nothing in them.” He tilted his head slightly, quizzically to
one side as if a thought had just occurred to him. Amy’s heart fluttered as he shifted closer to her.
Without a word, he planted the thumb and forefinger of one hand on the fleshy lips of her sex, parting the
folds and then pushed the index finger of his other hand inside her.

Amy gasped at the intrusion, tensing. He ignored it, pushing deeper and deeper until his fist was against
her. She closed her eyes, trying not to think about that finger moving inside of her, thrusting along the
walls that still shuddered with need.

“Cavity search,” he said a little hoarsely as he slowly withdrew the finger.

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She let out a gasp of protest when she felt his fingers lower. He ignored that, too, pushing his finger into
her rectum. Goose bumps erupted all over her.

She felt almost faint by the time he withdrew his finger.

Without a word, he got up and left the room.

Amy shuddered, trying to gather her wits when he didn’t return immediately. She tugged at the restraints
on her wrists and then her ankles. The tugging only seemed to tighten the bindings, however.

He was carrying a small metal bowl when he returned.

Just like a man, Amy thought wryly, to think of his damned stomach at a time like this. As he settled on
the bed beside her again, she saw the bowl was packed with ice cream. He dipped a spoonful, offering it
when he saw she was watching him. “Want some?”

She shook her head. “No, thank you.”

He shrugged. “I love this stuff. I could eat it a gallon at the time.”

An icy cold droplet fell from the bottom of the bowl, landing right on top of one nipple. It puckered
instantly. Amy lost her breath, for her skin was still hot and achy with arousal.

He leaned toward her, planting his mouth over her nipple and sucking. A jolt went through her followed
by spreading warmth. Whether intentional or not, she had no idea, but as he sucked, the hand holding the
ice cold bowl settled, brushing across her exposed clit. She sucked in a painfully hard breath as ice met
fire, almost passing out from the shock.

He removed it just before the cold began to feel like fire. Relieved, she unclenched her eyelids, watching
as he carefully set the bowl aside. Shifting, he placed his mouth over her cleft, licking a hot path with his
tongue along the cold skin that brought the blood rushing to the surface with almost painful intensity. The
discomfort eased, became an ache of a different caliber altogether as he continued to lavish the tender
surfaces with the hot, wet, slightly rough caress of his tongue. By the time he settled his mouth over her
clit and began to suck she was already writhing feverishly under his ministrations. The suction of his
mouth drew a ragged sob from her throat.

Mindlessly, she lifted toward him as he released her and raised his head to look up at her.

He moved upward as he had before. This time, however, he teased and sucked her nipples, one after
the other until she was a mindless mass of throbbing nerve endings, until the fervor of excitement drugged
her mind.

She whimpered when he left off teasing her nipples and dragged his lips along her belly, groaning when
his mouth settled on her clit again. She was nearing culmination, hovering on the very brink of it, when he
ceased, moving away from her.

The scrape of metal on metal was the only warning she got. Before her muddled thoughts had even
begun to decipher his intentions, the first freezing drop hit her, stealing her breath from her lungs. She
didn’t get the chance to catch it. The icy liquid he drizzled over her hot skin felt like liquid fire. Mindlessly,
she twisted, trying to evade the sharp stings, but the bindings prevented her from escape. With
agonizingly slow deliberation, he circled each erect nipple and marked a trail downward. She tensed,

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trying to brace herself, but the blackness of a near faint crowded closely as the icy liquid crawled across
her clit and nether lips.

He licked it off, slowly, methodically, tugging at her nether lips and clit as he sucked the sweet liquid
from her. Tension coiled inside her again, building. Instead of feeding it, he moved higher, licking the
warming liquid from her belly, making it quiver with sensation.

She was nearing the brink of madness by the time he’d sucked the creamy liquid from her nipples.
Instead of taking her to completion, however, he lifted the bowl and began to drizzle the icy liquid over
her again.

She cried out sharply, but she was beyond the ability for speech. Uttering moans that were part
desperation for him to stop, and part desperation for him never to stop as he began his torturous
ministrations again, lathing her with his tongue, tormenting her with the suction of his mouth, the sharp
edge of his teeth. Pleasure began to skate the edge of pain it became so intense.

The third time, he waited until she’d managed to catch her breath before he began to pour the melting ice
cream over her in a thin, ropy stream that missed not one agonizingly sensitive area.

“Name?” he asked, his voice hoarse, rough.

The word barely registered in her mind. When he repeated the question, emphasizing it by pouring an icy
stream over her cleft, she began to search her mind frantically for the answer. “Amy,” she gasped at last.

The clatter of the settling bowl greeted that information and she relaxed fractionally. “Rank?”

That question completely defeated her limited mental faculties. Instead of answering, she groaned when
he leaned down and sucked the cold liquid from her distended nipples.

“What do you do for them?” he demanded after a moment.

“I’m--I’m just a receptionist in the ER,” Amy gasped. “Please!”

“Please what? Stop?”

What did she want, she wondered dizzily? She didn’t think she could stand anymore, but she thought
she would die he stopped. “Don’t,” she managed finally, but even she wasn’t certain whether she meant
‘don’t stop’ or ‘don’t do it anymore’.

He licked a path downward across her belly, making it clench painfully.

“Don’t do this?” he asked, bathing her cleft with liquid fire as he licked the icy cold liquid off her.

He fastened his mouth over her clit, sucking until she was nearing the edge of unconsciousness--teetering
on the brink of coming. She felt like weeping when he stopped, lifting his head to look at her.

“I’m just a receptionist,” she gasped, babbling in her desperation. “I work in Pinevale General’s ER. I
don’t know anything!”

He moved over her, bracing on his arms. “Unluckily for you,” he finally murmured. “Wrong place, piss
poor timing.”

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Amy licked her lips. “Don’t stop. Please! I hurt.”

He stroked a shaking hand along her cheek to her throat, curling his fingers around the back of her neck
and tracing the ridge of bones in her spine. “This?”

He curled his hips into her, pushing his rock hard erection against her cleft. “Or this.”

Amy groaned, but there was no contest. “I need you--inside me.”

His face contorted. He let out a ragged, pent up breath. Reaching down, he flicked the snap on his
jeans, caught the zipper tab and dragged it downward with slow care. His shaft, thick, veined, sprang
free of imprisonment, unfettered by shorts. As she watched, he pushed his jeans down his narrow hips,
grasped his cock in one hand and aligned it with her body. The rounded head penetrated her as he
pushed, slowly, inexorably. Resisting the urge to close her eyes, she watched in fascination, feeling her
body stretch to accommodate his girth.

When she looked up at him, she saw that he was watching their bodies merge, as well, his expression
hard, taut with his own need. That realization made her insides clench. He uttered a harsh gasp,
withdrawing slightly, and then thrust again.

He brushed her g-spot, sending a keen shaft of sensation through her. She moaned, closing her eyes as
she countered his thrust and felt him delving deeper until she felt his hips grinding against her body. His
possession eased by the creamy juices coating her passage, he withdrew and drove into her again,
moving smoothly along her channel. Her breath hitched in her throat with each incursion of his hard flesh.

He sought her mouth, drinking in her whimpers of ecstasy.

Feeling her body rush upward toward climax with each rough caress, she countered his movements,
willing him to move faster.

Sensing her need, or caught up in his own mindless quest, he lowered his chest against hers and began to
pump into her at a frantic pace. Amy orgasmed, hard, so hard it tore a keening cry from her. He
shuddered, groaning low in his throat as his seed erupted convulsively, bathing her channel with heat. He
sagged limply against her for many moments, struggling to catch his breath, finally he pushed himself away
from her slightly. Holding his weight on one trembling arm, he reached up and tore the bindings free of the
headboard before collapsing weakly on top of her again.

Chapter Five

The weak light of dawn was just filtering into the room around the curtains when Amy’s rescuer/captor,
who she realized had never gotten around to telling her his name, lifted his head off her breasts. The
movement woke her, primarily because her wrists, still bound together, were looped around his neck.

Disentangling himself impatiently, he slid from the bed, hitching his jeans up, stuffing his flaccid cock
through the opening and then fastening and zipping his pants.

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Amy didn’t know whether to be more mortified, or more flattered that he hadn’t spared the time to
remove them.

When he looked at her she decided not to be flattered. His face looked like a stone. There wasn’t a
trace of the passionate lover now.

Amy sat up. “What is it?”

“Blood hounds.”

Her heart skipped several beats. While she was still trying to listen for the sound he had heard above the
sudden thunder of blood in her ears, he grabbed her arm, dragging her from the bed. Pain shot through
her inner thighs and groin from the strain he’d put on them the night before. Her legs nearly gave way. He
hauled her upright again, steadied her and grabbed a wad of clothes off the floor, shoving them into her
hands. “You’ll have to dress in the car.”

Amy’s jaw dropped. She was still too groggy from being wrenched from sleep so abruptly, and so little
sleep, to think clearly, but there was one thing she didn’t have to think about. “I have to pee.”

He ground his teeth. “Don’t start that again!” he growled.

“But I have to.”

Letting out a sound of frustration, he hauled her from the room and into the bathroom. Pushing her onto
the toilet, he touched the window lock. The smell of something burning wafted past Amy’s nostrils. When
he stepped back, she saw that he’d melted the metal. “Five seconds,” he growled, striding from the
room.

It took her that long to remember her ass and concentrate. She was still trying to wash herself when he
flew into the room again, grabbed her arm and dragged her out, leading her down a narrow hallway and
outside.

She stumbled along behind him, barefoot, hissing and wincing each time she stepped on something that
dug into her feet, struggling to hang onto the clothes he hadn’t given her time to put on.

Opening her car door, he looked inside, saw the keys were still in the ignition, and then grabbed her
head, bearing down on it until she bent over, and shoved her inside. She fell, sprawling face down on the
seat. He slapped her bare ass. “Over!”

Galvanized, Amy pedaled until her feet found purchase, scooting across the seat on her face when she
finally managed to get her knees under her. Tossing a small bundle into the back seat, he climbed into the
driver’s seat as she wiggled out of his way and finally managed to situate herself in the passenger seat.
The engine turned over. Putting the car in reverse, he bore down on the gas pedal, spinning the wheel.
The car executed a sharp turn. He spun the wheel again, then put the car into drive and pulled down the
driveway toward the road.

Amy lost her grip on her clothes as the car bounced down the pitted surface. Gripping the tape with her
teeth, she struggled to free her hands. He slammed on break. She gasped, but his arm shot out and she
slammed into his arm instead of the dash. Pushing her back against the seat, he locked her door, then
grabbed the door handle, wrenching it from the door.

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Amy gaped at him open mouthed when he sat up again, grabbed her wrists and pulled the last of the
tape from them. “Dress.”

Nodding shakily, Amy fumbled with the wad of clothes--pants, top, shoes--no panties, bra or stockings.
She’d either dropped them, or he hadn’t grabbed them to start with. She struggled into the top just as he
cleared the driveway and managed to put out a hand to brace herself as he slammed on the breaks again
and put the gear stick in park.

She managed to get her feet into her uniform pants as he rolled his window down. Wondering if he was
waiting for her to finish, she glanced at him as she struggled to get the elasticized waistband over her hips.

He wasn’t waiting for her. He was leaning out the window. As she watched, a ball of light formed in his
palm. The ball grew, tendrils of electricity snaking through it, as if it were contained inside a plasma ball--
except it wasn’t, and it kept growing. When it was about twice the size of a basketball, he threw it. It
rolled, like chain ball lightening, directly toward the cabin, growing as it went. Unlike chain ball lightening,
when it hit the side of the cabin, it shattered, gnarled fingers of lightening crawling over the wall of the
building and up to the roof. The cabin promptly burst into flame as if it were tinder, merely awaiting a
match. Amy’s jaw dropped. She was still staring at the cabin in shock when she saw him fling another
ball of lightening. That one hit the gas tank on his truck, still parked in the driveway.

He jerked the car into drive and floored it just as the truck exploded like a miniature atom bomb. Sound
slammed against the trees around the cabin like thunder directly on top of them. The car rocked as the
concussion of the explosion washed over it.

Amy searched frantically for her seat belt as the car fishtailed along the sandy road. Finding both ends at
last, she locked herself in.

He stopped when he reached the narrow highway, glanced down it in both directions and finally pulled
out, heading away from town two miles over the speed limit. They’d been traveling a while before Amy’s
shock wore off enough for questions to crowd into her mind. The most dominate one was why he’d
taken her with him. After glancing at him several times, she finally decided he didn’t currently look very
receptive to a friendly conversation and kept her tongue between her teeth.

She remained deep in thought, though, until she noticed he was slowing the car. When she glanced
around, she saw that they were entering a small town. He shifted in the seat and draped his right arm
across her shoulders, pulling her closer. Surprised, she glanced up at his face. “We’re just a happy
couple out for a drive,” he murmured, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes curling his lips.

A shiver chased its way down her spine at the warning--and the reminder, if she’d needed one. She kept
her gaze trained forward, across the hood of the car, fearful that if she glanced at any of the cars or
people they passed he would interpret it as an attempt to signal someone. She was almost relieved when
they drove through the outskirts of town and into the countryside again … until he slowed the car and
turned off on a barely discernible track leading back into the woods. Fear gripped her then. “What are
you doing?”

He glanced at her. Almost as if he’d forgotten it before, he removed his arm from her shoulders. “I need
to rest.”

Amy glanced at him in surprise. She was exhausted herself--he’d ‘questioned’ her half the night, but he
hadn’t seemed particularly tired--not tired enough to need to rest. Her stomach clenched as it occurred

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to her that it might be nothing more than an excuse to keep her from panicking--so it would be easier to
kill her.

Tired or not, he didn’t seem particularly weak when he dragged her out of the car. She fought him in a
blind panic, trying to break free and run. He caught her, dragged her tightly against his chest, and covered
her mouth with his when she opened it to scream. Holding her, he slipped one hand up her back and
burrowed beneath her hair. Amy didn’t even realize his intent until she felt the sting on the back of neck.
The orgasm that exploded through her body was so powerful she screamed, only dimly aware as
darkness enveloped her that he’d been prepared for it, capturing the sharp cry with his own mouth.

When Amy broke the surface of consciousness she was already fully aroused. She moaned at the sweet
sensations flowing through her as his mouth expertly finessed her clit, her body tensing, readying itself for
his possession. He seemed to sense the moment she reached the saturation point, when her system could
collect nor hold any more.

Pulling her legs from his shoulders, he dragged her across the back seat toward him, pushing the head of
his cock into the mouth of her sex. Hooking his arms beneath her legs, he plowed deeper, using the
creamy moisture of her body to ease his way along the clenching muscles of her channel. Leaning
forward, he sucked one of her nipples into his mouth and he began to pump into her vigorously. Her
heart surged with erotic delight, pounding against her chest wall. She reached for completion, struggled to
catch it. The moment he switched his attention to her other nipple, biting down on it lightly as his cock
began to jerk with release, she came, mind numbingly.

With a final, convulsive jerk, he settled on top of her, breathing raggedly.

Amy was so wrapped in post coital bliss, she wanted nothing so much as to drift away again. His weight
on her was uncomfortable, physically, otherwise, a joy. Physical discomfort finally won out. “That’s
twice, without protection. We might as well play Russian roulette.”

He didn’t even grunt. Wondering if he actually had passed out--he felt like dead weight--she stroked her
fingers through his hair. It was surprisingly silky to the touch. She didn’t know why, but she had expected
it would be coarse.

“You don’t use protection?” he muttered, his voice a rumble against her ear.

“Disease,” she said succinctly.

He roused slightly and finally pushed himself off of her. She saw that the car door was open and he was
standing just outside the car. The back seat hadn’t been long enough for him.

It was almost as bad as the jeans--which she saw he still had on.

“You’ve nothing to worry about. I haven’t touched a woman in damned near two years. And there isn’t
one inch of me that hasn’t been poked, prodded, and thoroughly examined. The only thing you could
catch from me is pregnant--unless you’re using birth control, and then not even that.”

She would’ve been more relieved if she’d believed him, but if she accepted those statements as fact,
then she also had to accept the other things he’d told her. She could believe he was on the run--he
certainly hadn’t felt any compunction about kidnapping her. The part she found hard to swallow was the
secret project/government conspiracy thing. She felt like she was caught up in an episode of that
paranormal TV show, except that he didn’t look a lot like Mulden.

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Of course, he wasn’t playing the lead. He was the ‘paranormal’ the FBI was chasing, she reminded
herself.

“What was all that back there?” she asked, instead of responding to the question in his voice--because,
really, she just didn’t want to think about long term repercussions at the moment. She was a lot more
worried that there might not be a chance for future consequences.

His face hardened. “Get dressed. We need to get moving.”

Amy gaped at him, but outrage slowly seeped into her. “You took time to stop for a fuck,” she pointed
out.

Bracing his palms on either side of the door frame, he leaned toward her. “Fucking doesn’t take nearly
as much out of me as what I had to do back there to cover my tracks--because of you,” he growled.

Amy’s surge of aggressiveness died a quick death. “Me?” she asked weakly.

His lips tightened. He shoved away from the door. “If you have something you need to take care of,
better do it now. We won’t be stopping again for a while.”

She slid out of the back seat and stood with an effort. Semen ran down her leg and she looked down at
it with a mixture of anxiety, revulsion and--idiotically--an aftershock of pleasure.

What ever else he was, he could fuck like a champion.

She climbed across the front seat to get napkins out of the glove box. It didn’t occur to her until she did
it that he hadn’t made any attempt to stop her--which probably meant he’d already thoroughly inspected
the car. While she was unconscious? He’d stripped her while she was out--not that that hadn’t been the
most pleasant ‘good morning’ she’d ever experienced in her life, not that she was going to object, all
things considered--but she resented the fact that he hadn’t asked.

She supposed, given that she’d begged him the night before, he might be laboring under the impression
that he’d claimed squatter’s rights.

Sighing, she backed out of the car. “Can I go in the bushes?”

His eyes narrowed.

Her temper flared again. “You’ve got legs a mile long, and that--whatever it is that shoots electricity. I’d
just like a little damned privacy!”

He shrugged. “Don’t go far.”

Relieved, she balled her uniform up, clutched her napkins and headed into the brush. Just about the time
she squatted, she heard him.

“Watch for snakes.”

It took her ten minutes to unclench sufficiently after that to let go. She was still seething when she got
back to the car.

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He wasn’t in any better mood, despite the humor in his voice when he’d called the warning. She was
silent as he started the car, turned it and headed back the way they’d come.

A police car passed them as they reached the main road. He tensed, but the car kept going without
changing speed.

“I don’t know how you figure it’s my fault,” she muttered finally, when they’d been driving for about
twenty minutes.

He slid a speculative glance in her direction. “You all but told me you lived alone, baby. If your story
held water, then you wouldn’t have been missed this quickly.”

“But I didn’t….”

“You said you were going home when that guy got after you. If that was true, and you didn’t go home,
then I can only think of one reason why you would come to my place instead--you didn’t expect to find
help at home.”

Dismayed as she was that he’d figured that much out, there was a very good point to be made from it.
“Well, there you go! I was telling you the truth--and they couldn’t have been looking for me, because I
won’t be reported miss… uh.”

He slid another glance in her direction. “Maybe. Or maybe they knew where you were the whole time.”

“You left. They could’ve followed you.”

“Except that, one, I took the river back, and two, they wouldn’t be here unless you came with them.”

Amy discovered her head was hurting. She massaged it absently, trying to figure out a way to convince
him she had nothing to do with whoever was after him--ifanybody was after him. She neverhadheard the
dogs. Even if he had heard them and she hadn’t, how did it follow that the dogs were after him? They
were in the woods. Hunters used dogs. “Maybe they just showed up looking for you just before this
happened and when they found the guy that was after me,yourguys figured out you had done it ….”

“I don’t believe in coincidence.”

Amy gave him a sulky look and folded her arms.In that case, I guess I won’t mention the coincidence
of me getting frigging kidnapped on my day off,she thought angrily. It wasn’t a coincidence when it
happened like that, though. It was called shithouse luck. She lived alone. She had no close relatives and
no close friends. The only hope she had of somebody noticing she was missing was by not showing up
for work--and she wasn’t due back for two days--and even then they might just decide to fire her for not
coming in instead of checking on her.

Nobody mightevernotice she was missing, which meant it was up to her to save herself.

She decided not to ask him what he’d done with the serial killer. Not that she particularly cared if the
slimy bastard got his just deserts, but if he had, she didn’t want to be thinking about sitting next to the guy
that had done in a serial killer.

Or fucking him.

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She put her hands over her face at that thought. How could somebody that was just plain bad, or crazy,
have that kind of effect on her?Herof all people? She’d always prided herself on being smart, level
headed, responsible. Brain malfunction? Didn’t people have any good instincts left? Whatever happened
to the good old cave days when a female could sniff out the perfect mate?

She frowned at that thought. Maybe itwasinstincts, after all? Big, strong male rescues female. Female
follows him off like a moron.

Not that she actuallyhadfollowed him off. He’d taken that option away from her by knocking her out
with whatever that electrical gadget thing was. She supposed the other part was sort of understandable,
too. She wasn’t used to getting that hot. It had deep fried her brains and all she’d been able to think of
was getting hold of a long, cool drink of water--or hot shaft, as they case was.

After a moment, she drew her knees up, wrapped her arms around them and propped her cheek on her
knees, staring at the view beyond her window. They were heading west. “I don’t even know what your
name is.”

She heard a rustle of movement and knew he’d glanced at her.

“Kyle.”

She mulled that over. “I thought it would be Indian--excuse me, Native American.”

“Whitehorse.”

Her head came up off her knees. She looked at him in surprise. “You’re kidding, right?”

He gave her a look.

“Sorry.”

“Can I ask where we’re going?”

“No.”

She was silent for a while. “Why did you burn everything?”

“I make it a point not to leave anything behind they might use to trace me.”

She digested that for several moments. “Well, if you’re leaving a trail of burned down buildings ….”

He stared at her for several moments and finally chuckled, shaking his head. “You’ve got a piss poor
opinion of me, don’t you, baby? I had to, this time, because of you.”

Amy gave him a look. “So now that’s my fault too?”

“Semen stains.”

Amy felt her face turn red. “Oh.”

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His amusement vanished. “I got caught with my pants down--almost literally. Not enough time to clean
up.”

She sent him an uneasy look. That was going to turn out to be her fault, too. She could feel it coming.

Chapter Six

Amy didn’t bother asking for food. In the first place, it didn’t take a lot of thought to figure out he’d see
it as a deliberate attempt on her part to slow them down so that she could get rescued. In the second,
eating and drinking would mean another pit stop somewhere down the road and he was a real pain in the
ass about that.

She fell asleep sometime in the afternoon. When she woke, it was night and she had no idea of where
she was or how long she’d slept. She saw that they were driving along a city street, but she didn’t
recognize the city. He could have changed directions at any time while she was asleep.

She had her head on Kyle’s shoulder.

“I’m going to pull off and get us a bite to eat. If you don’t want anything--unpleasant to happen to
anyone, behave yourself. Understood?”

Amy nodded.

“No, Kyle, I won’t try to get you killed,” he prompted in an attempt to imitate her voice.

She glanced at him sharply, swallowing with an effort. Her throat was bone dry. “I won’t do anything.”

He drove through a place with a pickup window. He didn’t ask what she wanted, but he bought enough
food to feed a small army. When they’d picked up the food, he settled it in the back seat, much to her
disappointment, and pulled into traffic again. A couple of blocks further down the road, he turned into an
old motor court and parked the car next to the manager’s office. Sliding his hand along the back of the
seat, he leaned toward her as if he meant to whisper something to her, or kiss her. “I’ll be right back.”

Something stung the back of her neck and blackness came down like a curtain dropping. When
awareness returned, Amy found herself lying flat of her back on something lumpy, sort of soft, staring up
at a network of cracks on an old ceiling.

“Good. You’re awake. Let’s eat.”

Amy sat up slowly, glaring at his back and rubbing the back of her neck. Awake? Implying she’d dozed
off?Sleeping my ass, she thought resentfully.

She was starving, though. Instead of wasting her breath with complaints, she slid off the bed and joined
him at the table where he’d set the bags down, watching hopefully while he dragged out sandwiches,
greasy fries and sweating cups of cola. Dropping into the chair opposite him, she grabbed a burger,
figuring it was, maybe, a little less greasy than the fried fish and chicken sandwiches, and dug in. It tasted

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like the food of the gods. It was amazing how fabulous food could taste when one was starving.

The food was still pretty hot. She couldn’t have been out longer than fifteen minutes, she decided.
Maybe he’d mastered that Spock maneuver?

“How do you do that?”

He stared at her thoughtfully, chewing slowly. Finally, he merely shrugged. Amy frowned, nibbling on a
French fry.

He ate three sandwiches and a large order of fries, washing the whole thing down with about a quarter
of cola. Amy found it fascinating and nothing short of amazing. He was a big man, probably around six
foot tall, and muscular--but that much food?

He settled back when he’d finished, stretching. The T-shirt he was wearing rode up at the movement,
revealing a good view of an impressive six pack. She couldn’t help it, that patch of bare skin acted on her
gaze like a magnet.

“Done?”

She swallowed with an effort and nodded, wadding up what was left of her sandwich and dropping it in
the bag he’d been using to collect trash. He grabbed up the other sandwiches and stuffed them into
another bag, rolling the paper top down tightly.

She had a bad feeling she was looking at tomorrow’s breakfast and lunch.

“You need the bathroom?”

She nodded again. When he said nothing else, she got up and headed for it, surprised that he hadn’t
made any attempt to follow her. She saw why when she got to the bathroom--no window. Disappointed
although she wasn’t particularly surprised, she took care of her business and headed out again.

He didn’t seem in any particular hurry to use the facilities--he was messing with the security chain on the
door--and she finally decided that he wasn’t inhuman or anything. He just took advantage of her
‘blackouts’ to take care of his own needs.

A handy little trick he had going for him.

When he was finally satisfied with the security chain, he left the door, switched the TV set on and
grabbed her by one arm as he headed for the bathroom.

Amy was too surprised by the maneuver to even consider objecting.

“Strip,” he ordered, peeling his T-shirt off over his head.

Amy glanced around the small bathroom, shuffling out of his way as he leaned over to turn the shower
on.

“Why can’t we just take turns? It’s not very big.”

“Because I don’t want to worry about what you’re doing while I’m in the shower,” he said without

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rancor as he switched from tub to shower and stepped back. Straightening, he nudged his shoes off with
his toes, unfastening his jeans.

Realizing argument was pointless, Amy turned her back to him and pulled the top of her uniform off. By
the time she’d shimmied out of the bottoms, Kyle was already in the shower.

She considered making a run for it, but, almost as if he’d read her mind, he pushed the shower curtain
open and grabbed her by one arm. Deciding two wet struggling bodies in so tiny a room would only
result in serious injury or death to both parties, she climbed into the shower with him. The water was
barely warm. She shivered as it coursed over her, her skin beading with goose bumps.

He reached around her, running wet, soapy hands over her breasts then cupping them and massaging.
“Cold?”

He shifted closer, pulling on her until she was resting fully against his body. His cock, engorged and
erect, nudged her buttocks. She nodded jerkily.

He moved around her, turning her in the small space until she was facing the shower head. “Adjust it--
not too hot, though.”

When she leaned over to adjust the knob, he ran a soapy hand across her ass and along her cleft. She
jumped, turning the knob more than she intended. He yelped as scalding water shot from the shower
head, leaning around her to switch the water back to the tub. “Woman!”

She glared at him over her shoulder. “It’s your own damned fault!” she snapped. “If you hadn’t goosed
me in the ass I wouldn’t have jumped!”

He stared at her in surprise for a moment. Finally, his lips quirked as if he was trying to keep from
smiling. “So fix it.”

Huffing in irritation, she adjusted the temperature of the water and switched to shower again. He dodged
the first blast, much to her disappointment. “It’s still hot,” he complained.

“It feels good,” Amy murmured in near ecstasy as the hot water pelted down on her.

“Does it?” he murmured, his voice husky now.

She opened her eyes as she felt his hand snake around her waist, fighting the heat that curled in her belly
as he slipped a hand over her buttocks, caressing them, delving her cleft with the tips of his fingers.

“I thought the idea was to bathe,” she managed to say after a moment.

He grunted, moving away from her almost reluctantly and grabbing the soap. When he’d lathered the
washcloth, he handed it to her. “So--bathe.”

He wasn’t talking about her. She considered pretending she didn’t know the command was meant for
her to bathe him. She couldn’t figure out why the idea of running her hands over his body was so
appealing. After a hesitant moment, she lifted the cloth and began rubbing it over his chest, examining him
thoroughly as she performed the task.

As she’d suspected, his body was smooth and virtually hairless--Native American blood, she supposed.

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A few hairs sprigged the center of his chest, between hard, bulging pecs that she thought, with some
dudgeon, were probably as big as her breasts--except hard. His skin tones were even, with little more
than a faint demarcation of sun exposure. She frowned in puzzlement as she realized that.

His skin was naturally olive, but not tan, which meant he hadn’t had exposure to the outdoors in a long
time.

He’d been imprisoned somewhere. There was no other explanation for it, even if she wanted to discount
the tale he’d told her.

The hard, well defined muscles were from working out in a gym, not working. Men built muscle easily,
but they didn’t get this kind of definition from ordinary labor.

He hadn’t gotten it from greasy burgers and fries, either. Institution food, carefully balanced for nutrition?

Somehow, she didn’t think a typical prison system was like that.

Reaching up, she lathered his shoulders and worked her way down his arms, one at the time, examining
his big hands. His palms were broad, almost square and nearly as big as her face, his fingers long, thick
but tapering. Her belly shimmied with heat as she washed them.

Lathering the cloth again, she washed his belly. When she reached the dark nest of hair from which his
cock sprang, she paused. Only partially erect now, it was still an impressive member, long and thick,
even in proportion to the rest of him. Not that she needed him as a yard stick. The moment she curled
her hand around it, she could see that he was well above average even if she hadn’tfeltthat there was
nothing ordinary or average about him when he’d been pumping into her like a piston engine. It grew fully
erect as she washed him. Trying to ignore the monolith, she ran the soapy cloth between his legs, soaping
his scrotum gently and finally knelt to wash his legs and feet.

When she looked up at him, she saw that he was staring down at the top of her head. Between them, his
cock stood out, demanding attention.

Her belly clenched as she reached up and grasped it, slowly running her hand along his turgid length. The
thin, veined skin felt amazingly silky. The head of his cock was shiny, glistening with the water that
washed down over him.

Her mouth went dry, closed as she tried to gather moisture and swallow.

Without questioning why she wanted to so badly, she straightened, running her tongue over the glistening
head. A jolt went through him. His hands landed on her shoulders, his fingers curling almost painfully into
her as he held her away. She looked up at his face. It was taut with need, but doubt and suspicion
gleamed in his eyes.

He didn’t trust her either.

She massaged his cock, straining against his hold and finally opened her mouth over the head, sucking,
tracing the sensitive ridge around the head with her tongue. A shudder traveled through him. She sensed a
battle being waged inside him as she took as much of him as she could into her mouth and allowed it to
slide almost free before she slid him into her mouth again.

His hands tightened on her shoulders until it was painful. He pushed her away, stepping back and freeing

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his cock at the same time.

Disappointment filled her. After a moment, she rose and turned away from him, bathing herself.

Her sex felt swollen and sensitive when she ran the soap cloth between her legs. She frowned,
wondering what had gotten into her.

Stockholm syndrome?

Somehow, she didn’t really believe that. The plain unvarnished truth was that her logical side was in
direct conflict with her emotional and instinctive side. He was a potentially dangerous, scary man--big
enough and strong enough that he could’ve hurt her without half trying and he was on the run for
something--or he wasn’t carrying a full deck. She was more inclined to believe the former than the latter
--and if it was true, there was no telling why he was being hunted unless she was willing to accept what
he’d told her and she wasn’t certain she was.

He hadn’t hurt her, however. He hadn’t really threatened to hurt her. He’d driven her wild with desire,
fulfilled fantasies she hadn’t even realized she’d harbored, and he had taken her against her will.

She didn’t really feel threatened, though, and she couldn’t decide if that was because she’d lost her
marbles, or if it was because, instinctively, she knew he really wasn’t a threat to her.

She’d seen no sign of cruelty in him.

He’d still kidnapped her.

He didn’t try to return the favor and bathe her. He finished his own bath in grim silence while she bathed
herself.

Grabbing a towel from the rack beside the tub/shower, she stepped out when she’d finished rinsing,
drying herself. Shutting the water off, he stepped out, grabbed a towel and left the bathroom still dripping
water.

She was reluctant to put her uniform on again, even though it was the only thing she had to wear. He
might take it as an invitation, but then he hadn’t exactly been invited before. He helped himself when the
mood struck.

Deciding she might as well wash them and let them dry as much as possible while she slept, she cleaned
the top and pants the best she could in the lavatory and hung them over the shower rod to drip.

When she’d dried off the best she could considering she had no way to dry her hair, she wrapped the
towel around her, tucked one corner in and went back into the room. Kyle was sitting on the foot of one
of the beds, staring at the TV, his own towel in his lap.

“….state wide manhunt,” the commentator was saying as she opened the door to the bathroom. “
Once again, viewers are advised to contact their local authorities if they see anyone matching this
description.”

Amy moved around until she could see the screen clearly. The picture being displayed on the screen was
a sketch. She didn’t see that it bore much of a resemblance to Kyle, but she had a bad feeling that was
who it was supposed to be.

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“In other news….”A picture of her hospital badge appeared in the upper corner of the screen. “A local
woman, Amy Kilgore, a receptionist at Pinevale General Hospital is missing. Police fear her
disappearance might be connected to the man who is the subject of tonight’s manhunt. Her home,
located less than a mile from the burned out cabin where it is thought Kyle Aaron Whitehorse was
holed up, was found ransacked earlier today when authorities were combing the area in search of
their fugitive.”

Kyle’s face was grim as he turned to look at her. “Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

Amy stared at him in dismay. “I just washed my clothes. They’re wet.”

Giving her a look of disgust, he stood abruptly. Grabbing the bundle on the bed, he opened it, tossed a
T-shirt in her direction and then skimmed one over his own head.

She didn’t manage to catch it. Bending over, she retrieved the offering and simply stared at it, wondering
what in the world was going on. Her house had been ransacked? By whom?

It couldn’t have been Kyle. He had no idea where she lived.

Unless he’d gone through her purse while she was unconscious.

But had he had time to do all that? Dispose of the serial killer, walk back, check her purse and go to her
house, ransack it looking for--what?--then back to his cabin to fuck her mindless?

He’d have to be Superman to have accomplished all that, moving at the speed of light. She could not
believe she’d been out long enough for him to have done all that.

“Move!”

She jumped, brought back to the present with a jolt. Grabbing the T-shirt, she pulled it over her head,
shoved her arms through the sleeves and pulled it down as far as it would go.

It fell halfway down her thighs.

Whirling, she raced back to the bathroom to grab her wet clothes. When she got back to the room,
Kyle had the bundle under one arm, the bag of food in his hand and was searching the room with his gaze
for signs of anything he might have missed.

His gaze lit on her, checking shoes, and wadded up uniform. Apparently, he wasn’t completely satisfied,
he left the door, strode past her and checked the bathroom himself. He was out again before Amy even
considered making a break for the door.

Grasping the chain, he held it between his thumb and forefinger a couple of seconds, then slid it open.
The smell of hot metal wafted to her and she glanced around the room a little uneasily as he flicked the
curtain back about a half an inch and looked out. He caught her attention again as he unlocked the door
and opened it a sliver.

He pushed it to again, motioning for her. She answered the unspoken command, hurrying toward him.
Grabbing her arm, he pulled her behind him as he walked briskly down the walkway and around the
corner of the building.

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Instead of heading for her car, he kept moving headed for another car parked in the parking lot adjoining
the motor court’s lot, checking the door. Finding it locked, he kept going, checking one after another until
he found one that wasn’t locked.

Pulling the door open, he nudged her inside. Reluctant, but too disoriented by everything that had
happened to consider arguing, she climbed in. Adjusting the seat, he climbed into the driver’s seat.

He didn’t look for keys. He touched the ignition and the motor sprang to life.

Amy was still staring at him with her mouth open when he backed the car out of its parking place and
drove off.

It occurred to her abruptly that she’d seen him completely naked. He wasn’t wearing any kind of
electrical devise of any description.

Chapter Seven

“Was that true? Or just part of the cover?”

They’d been driving for almost an hour before Kyle broke the silence. It took Amy more than a minute
to figure out what he was talking about. “The part about me, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

She shrugged. “That was probably the most bizarre newscast I’ve ever seen. Not that they don’t
regularly screw up, and twist things to suit themselves if they can make it sound better--but it’s damned
odd to me that they figured out I was missing so quickly. And the thing about my place being ransacked.
As long as I’ve lived there, I’ve never had a problem. You think they broke in looking for something?”

He stared at her for several moments, as if trying to pierce the gloom inside the car to see her
expression, before he transferred his attention to the road ahead of them. After a moment, he rubbed a
hand over his face tiredly and propped one arm on the door. “I’m sorry as hell I got you into this, baby.”

Amy stared at him in surprise, but she could see him no better. Regardless, his voice was sincere and
she felt a warmth well inside her. “What’s going on, Kyle?” she asked hesitantly. “Are you--like--an alien
or something?”

His head whipped toward her. “That’s a hell of a question to ask a man that’s been inside of you.”

Chastened by his tone, Amy searched her mind for a way to smooth things over. “It’s just--the
electricity thing. I thought it was some kind of trick, that you were wearing some kind of device--but you
aren’t.”

“No. I’m an honest to god freak of nature all right.”

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“I didn’t mean it like that,” she said in a small voice.

He shook his head, dismissed it, obviously disbelieving. Silence reigned for nearly hour. “I should drop
you off somewhere,” he said finally.

Amy digested that in silence, wondering why it didn’t particularly appeal to her. All she’d been able to
think about--well, almost all she’d been able to think about--was escaping with her life. Now he was
offering and she felt like she was being discarded like unwanted baggage instead of glad, relieved.
“Why?”

He let out a ragged sigh. “Because I don’t want to get you killed. As long as I could convince myself that
you were one of their agents, I knew you were safe. You’re not and they aren’t going to worry about
you getting in the way. All they have to do is tell the media that I did it if you get caught in the line of fire
and they’re off the hook.”

Fear surged through Amy at that. “You think they’ll try to kill you?” she demanded, horrified.

“I don’t think they had it in mind to catch me any of the time. I’m a threat, because of what I can do--
and because they can’t control me.”

“You need to get out of the country.”

“That’s why I’m headed for Mexico.”

Amy thought that over. “But, they must know, or at least suspect, that’s where you’re headed.”

“It can’t be helped--now.”

“We could go to Canada.”

He glanced at her sharply. “Not we. Not I, for that matter. It’s too far. I’d never make it. And they’ll be
looking for a man traveling with a woman now. Even if I was willing to risk getting you killed--which I’m
not, whatever you may think of me--I’ll be safer without you. I can move faster.”

“That’s the only reason you brought me along?” Amy asked, feeling oddly hurt by his admission.
“Because you knew they were looking for a man alone?”

He was silent for so long, she thought he wouldn’t answer.

“Yeah. Plus I figured you’d be leverage as a hostage--if you were an agent, which you aren’t. I’ll drop
you at a bus station.”

Amy settled back in her seat, trying not to feel miserable. What had she expected, she wondered, angry
with herself? A protestation of undying devotion? An admission that he’d been so hot for her he couldn’t
resist the temptation?

She should be relieved to be well out of his problem. She could go back to her dull, uneventful life and
enjoy boredom and loneliness to the fullest. There was always the chance that she’d meet some nice,
ordinary man and live happily ever after--except without the passion she felt for Kyle. There was nothing
ordinary about that and she didn’t believe for one moment that the excitement was tied to the
extraordinary situation. It was possible, she knew, but she didn’t believe it was.

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“I should have a lot of fun with the FED’s interrogation,” she muttered finally.

He glanced at her sharply. “You’ll manage,” he said shortly.

“I don’t suppose they useyourmethods,” she added after a few minutes.

“You won’t have to endure anything like that,” he said dryly.

“Did I look like I wasenduringto you? You’re a damned fool, Kyle Whitehorse, if you didn’t notice I
was loving every minute of.”

He sent her another sharp glance, but kept his thoughts to himself.

Amy lapsed into silence.

“I’m going to have to ditch this car before too long,” he said after a while. “It might be morning before
it’s reported stolen, but they’ll be looking for it before long.”

“You look tired. Why don’t you let me drive a while?”

He shook his head.

“You need to rest while you can,” she said pointedly.

He sighed, but he slowed the car and pulled over, switching places with her. “Am I going to wake up in
front of the police station?” he asked wryly.

Amy sent him a look. “You don’t believe that. If you did, you wouldn’t let me drive.”

“Maybe I’m just too tired to care anymore.”

“Icare,” Amy said firmly, putting the car into drive again, glancing back to make sure there was no
oncoming traffic and then pulling back onto the road. He slumped in the seat, his knees butting the dash
while she’d had to pull the seat closer to reach the pedals. Within a few minutes, she heard his breathing
change to the slow, rhythmic breaths of sleep.

Setting the cruise control, she stared at the dark ribbon of road ahead while her mind began trying to
devise an escape route. She knew she shouldn’t even be considering what she was thinking about, but
how often did one get the opportunity for adventure in real life? Besides, she wouldn’t be able to sleep at
night for thinking about him, worrying, or worse, hearing something on the news about him being
captured or killed.

There was a lot more that she didn’t know about Kyle than she did, but she felt it, bone deep, that he
was no criminal, that he was a good man caught in a bad situation. She’d decided she would help him
escape, whether he wanted her to or not. Afterwards--well, she just didn’t know, but she did know that
Mexico, if he was really considering it, was just a bad idea.

She pulled off when she found an all night truck stop.

“What’re we stopping for?” Kyle asked without even lifting his head.

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“Gas.”

“Use cash.”

She ignored the order. She wasn’t an idiot. She knew they could be tracked with the cards. On the
other hand, she doubted very much that it was a mystery to the hunters that they were traveling west.
Dragging on her still wet pants, she got out and pumped the gas. When she’d filled the tank, she went
inside, bought a road Atlas, a couple of shirts and caps and then went to the ATM and took out all the
cash it would allow.

People stared. She had no doubt that they’d remember the woman in the wet, clinging pants and big
T-shirt. It couldn’t be helped, though, and she doubted it would hurt all things considered.

Kyle roused up when she made another stop a few hours later.

“Bathroom break.”

He nodded, obviously still sluggish with sleep. “Pull around to the back.”

He got out when she’d switched the car off. Uneasiness went through her, but when he merely struck
out toward the men’s room, she relaxed fractionally.

He was going to try to leave her here.

She got out of the car as he disappeared into the men’s room and, after glancing around, checked the
cars nearest them. Spying a suitcase in the back of one, she opened the door, dug through the suitcase
quickly and grabbed a couple of articles of clothes at random.

A pair of high heels lay in the floorboard. She grabbed those, too.

When she got back to the car she’d been driving, Kyle was no where in sight, and neither was his
bundle. Panic surged through her. Grabbing her purchases from the back, she stuffed her stolen goods
into the bag and glanced around the parking lot. There was no sign of him. She began moving again
walking briskly, fighting the urge to break into a run that would attract attention, certain he had to have
gone the other way if she hadn’t run into him on the way back.

She saw him just as he opened the door of a pickup truck. Crossing the parking lot quickly, she jumped
up on the step just as the engine caught. Kyle glanced at her sharply, then rolled his eyes.

After a moment, he reached over and opened the door. “You scared the shit out of me, you know that?”

Amy was breathless, but she glared at him. “You tried to leave me.”

“Figured that out, did you?” he growled. “You can’t come with me.”

“I can help.”

“I don’t need your help,” he snarled, putting the truck in gear and pulling away.

“I’ve got it figured out. I’ve picked up some clothes we can use for a disguise. We catch a bus north.

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They’ll be watching the Mexican border for you.”

“They’ll be watching the Canadian border, too. I’m talking FEDS. All they have to do is alert the border
patrol. If you want to help me, the best thing you can do is let me drop you off somewhere.”

“They’ll be looking foryou, with or without me.”

He was silent for several moments. “I don’t mean to go down without a fight. I want you out of the
way.”

Amy felt sick to her stomach. He wasn’t expecting to make it to Mexico. He was just determined to try.

“What have you got to lose?”

“You!” he snarled, so quickly she knew the word was out before he’d had the chance to think better of
it. He covered his mouth with his hand, scrubbed it over the stubble and dropped his hand to the wheel
again. “I don’t want to have that on my conscience, all right? Christ! First I have to drag you every step
of the way and now I can’t shake you loose! You are the most contrary woman I’ve ever met in my life!”

He might as well have saved his breath. She discarded everything he said after the outburst.

“This will work! I know it will. Let me--just let me go with you until you cross the border. If you still
want me to leave, I’ll go home. But I have to sleep nights, too. Maybe I’m crazy--I know it isn’t my
problem--but I don’t want anything to happen to you either.”

He said nothing.

“If we run into any kind of problem, I’ll run like hell. Promise.”

He raked his hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “So--tell me this brilliant plan you’ve come
up with,” he said finally.

Chapter Eight

It was still dark when they hit the road block. They were lucky, however. Early as it was, everybody
was headed for work and there were between ten and fifteen vehicles lined up between them and the
state troopers doing a license and registration check.

“You think they’re looking for us?” Amy asked uneasily.

“I think there’s a damned good chance of it--or the truck, at least.”

Before they could decide what to do, a car several lengths behind them skidded to a screeching halt.
The patrolmen’s heads came up immediately.

The driver of the car put the car in reverse, burning rubber as they backed the car, whipped it around

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and took off in the other direction.

Half the cops dashed for their cars. Kyle and Amy exchanged a look, gathered up their belongings and
stepped out of the truck into the darkness. When they managed to clear the ditch and step into the
woods without an alarm, they began to walk quickly through the tangle of brush. “We’re only about a
mile from the interstate,” Amy said, struggling to keep up with Kyle.

He grunted. “If we can make it that far.”

There didn’t seem to be much point in wasting breath debating it. Either they did or they didn’t.

The woods lightened around them as they walked. By the time they reached the interstate it was full
daylight--and there was a patrol car parked at the service station. As they ducked back into the woods,
they heard the distant baying of dogs.

They followed the line of the woods west until they were out of sight of the service station. Amy tugged
on Kyle’s arm. When he stopped, she grabbed the bag she was carrying and pulled the T-shirts out that
she’d bought. Rolling them into a tube, she pulled Kyle’s shirt up, wrapped the tube around him and then
tucked his T-shirt into his jeans. “Beer gut,” she said succinctly when he looked at her doubtfully. Pulling
out one of the caps, she rolled it in her hands and finally scrubbed it on the ground. When she’d knocked
the excess dirt off of it, she reached up and put it on his head, tugging the visor down until it was covering
the upper half of his face.

Her own ‘gut’ looked like about ten months of a very long term, but no matter how she packed it, it still
looked huge. After throwing on several more layers of clothes, she put the other cap on her head, slung
what was left on one shoulder and smiled up at Kyle. To her surprise, he smiled back at her. “You look
like a pregnant bag lady.”

“Good. That’s the look I was going for.”

She waited until they’d made it to the next access road before she put the heels on and pulled her pants
low enough to cover them. It was rough trying to walk in them, but the shoes added height, making her
closer to ‘average’.

Their luck held. A man driving an old beat up pick up truck stopped and gave them a ride to the next
town, dropping them at the bus station. The trip north was hellish. Amy had never been more
uncomfortable in her life, and she was tense and worried throughout the trip. They traveled as a couple
part of the time. The rest of the time, when they could find public transportation, they were simply two
strangers going in the same direction.

More than a week later, they at last reached the border town Amy had picked. It was smaller than she’d
expected and that unnerved her. It seemed probable that there was a lot of through traffic of travelers
going into Canada, but she’d would’ve been happier with a town where it was less likely the natives
would notice outsiders.

It was also the trickiest part. They had to ‘borrow’ identification and vehicles to make the crossing. They
had to wait around almost another full week before they spotted two people close enough in age, build
and appearance to make that work. And, once Kyle had rendered them unconscious so that they could
borrow what they needed, they had to move fast to get across before the theft was reported.

Amy was, for the first time since they’d headed north, terrified. They were so close and they hadn’t hit

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any serious snags--a couple of uncomfortably close calls, but no real trouble. After a brief discussion, she
agreed that they should take both vehicles and Kyle should go through first. Heneededto make it over.
She just hoped she could, too, but she didn’t want to take the chance that she’d get stopped and he
wouldn’t get the chance to try it when his life might depend on getting across and hers didn’t.

She was certain Kyle had his own reasons for attempting the crossing first, but she didn’t ask him, and
he didn’t volunteer the information.

Waiting out of sight until he was well along the line crossing over, she finally pulled her own ‘borrowed’
vehicle into traffic and got in line, as well.

She was so relieved when she saw the vehicle Kyle was driving pull through and head toward the town
across the line she felt weak with it.

“Visiting?”

Amy looked up at the solemn faced man. “Yes.”

He looked around the car. “Are you carrying anything hazardous? Chemical, biological, or otherwise?”

“Uh--no.”

“Guns?”

Amy blinked at the man, beginning to feel uneasy. “No.”

“Turn off your vehicle, ma’am and step out of the car.”

“Is anything wrong?” Amy asked, trying not to sound alarmed.

“I just need to check the trunk.”

“Well--uh--OK.”

Pulling the keys out of the ignition, Amy got out of the car and handed the keys to the border patrol.
Crossing her arms nervously over her chest, she followed him to the rear of the car and stood watching
while he opened the trunk. He’d barely lifted the trunk lid when a stir of excited voices caught his
attention and Amy’s.

As Amy turned to see what it was that everyone was gasping and pointing at, she saw a ball of lightning
rolling straight toward one of the official vehicles parked in the parking lot. Her stomach went weightless
as the ball made contact. Fingers of blue-white electricity crawled over the vehicle.

“Get down!” the man standing next to her yelled just as the vehicle exploded, sending pieces flying in
every direction.

“Are you all right, ma’am?”

Amy nodded shakily.

The man stood, glanced cursorily at the trunk and shut it. “Move along.”

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It took all Amy could do to make it back to the car and start it. Sirens were already wailing in the
distance, rushing to the sight as she drove toward the Canadian town. Leaving the car at the first parking
lot she came to, Amy wiped off the wallet she’d borrowed and tucked it under the driver’s seat.
Gathering her few belongings, she headed into town to look for transportation.

Discovering that there was a train station heading east, she bought a ticket and settled down to wait.
Fifteen minutes later, Kyle sauntered into the station. As he passed her, she ‘dropped’ her ticket. He
picked it up, noted the destination and handed it back. When he’d bought a ticket, he dropped into the
seat across from her.

She glared at him, but they’d already agreed that they would be strangers on this leg of the trip. The train
pulled into the station nearly half an hour later and they joined the line boarding. The train ride itself took
another hour, but Amy was still angry when they reached the town and got off.

Kyle grabbed her as she stalked out of the train station, directing her toward a cab.

Tight lipped, she got into the back seat with him.

“Where to?”

Kyle dropped an arm over her shoulders. “We’re honeymooning. What would be a good place to
stay?”

“I know of a good bed and breakfast.”

“That’ll be where we’re going then.”

“You shouldn’t have done--that!” Amy hissed when the driver had turned into traffic.

Kyle leaned toward her, catching her chin in his hand and pushing her face up. “I wasn’t going to let you
get caught with a stolen vehicle in your possession,” he whispered into her ear.

The heat of his breath sent goose bumps racing down the side of her neck and arm and Amy shivered,
warmed by his nearness and his words. Lifting a hand, she stroked his cheek, but she said nothing else.

The bed and breakfast had cabins. Kyle rented the one furthest from the main house and returned to the
cab with the key.

“Not much luggage,” the cabby commented when they got out.

Kyle wagged his brows at the man, handing him a tip. “We don’t need much.”

Chuckling and shaking his head, the man drove off.

The cabin, they saw when they got inside, was modest, but comfortable and decorated with handmade
crafts. The main room consisted of a large bed, a kitchenette, and a small seating area with a couch and
end tables that faced a working fireplace. Lengths of wood sat, ready for burning, on the firedogs and
more wedges waited in the log basket near the hearth.

The bed was covered with a patchwork quilt. Braided rag rugs were scattered here and there on the

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hardwood flooring.

Dropping the bag she carried on the first chair she came to, Amy headed for the door she figured must
lead to the bathroom. She glanced back at Kyle. “A shower. Who’s first?”

He’d already dropped on the bed and picked up the TV remote from the bedside table. “Go ahead.”

A little disappointed, Amy gathered toiletries from her bag and headed into the bathroom. When she’d
used the toilet, she adjusted the bath water and undressed. Almost as an after thought, she opened the
door a small crack, and then climbed into the shower.

It was all the invitation he needed. She was barely halfway through her bath when he came in, stripped
down and joined her. Catching her hips, he tugged her backwards until her buttocks bumped his groin.
Smiling, she reached behind her self, slipped a hand between them and massaged his scrotum and cock
until his loins tightened and blood rushed into his cock.

She turned around to face him, her smile fading as she looked up at him. “As much as I appreciate your
trying to protect me, I wish you hadn’t done that. The FEDS are bound to figure out it was you. Then
they’ll know where you are.”

“Maybe. I figured it--youwere worth the risk.”

She shook her head, not that she wasn’t glad he’d thought she was worth taking a risk for her, but she
didn’t believe it had been necessary.

Of course, he couldn’t have known that. From where he’d been standing, it had no doubt appeared to
him that she was inches away from being caught.

Stepping a little away from him, she soaped the cloth she was holding and began washing him. When she
reached his feet, she looked up at him. His cock was erect, standing almost straight up. After a moment,
she stood up, cupping his sex in her hand.

He bent down, kissed her briefly, and slapped her ass.

When she jumped away and looked at him, he grinned, stepping around her to rinse. “It isn’t going to
work, Amy Shortlegs.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but he only shook his head and stepped from the shower. Grabbing a
towel, he strode from the bathroom, still dripping.

Sighing irritably, Amy finished her bath and dried off. When she returned to the main room of the cabin,
Kyle was sprawled on the bed on his back, his head propped on his arms.

Amy studied him for several moments and finally dropped her towel. “A fire would’ve been nice--
romantic.”

His brows rose. Dragging his arms from beneath his head, he levered himself up on one elbow and
pointed to the logs on the heart. Blue-white light snaked from his fingertip, crackling as it crawled over
the logs. Smoke began to drift upward. A moment later, flames began to lap at the dry logs.

Kyle settled back, tucking his arms beneath his head again, his lips curled in a smile of satisfaction.

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“That’s a handy little trick you’ve got there, Injun,” Amy murmured, walking slowly toward him. “Know
any more?”

His eyelids slid half closed. “One or two, pale face.”

Placing her hands on the foot of the bed, she crawled up the bed toward him on her hands and knees. “I
know one or two myself,” she murmured, stopping when she reached his cock and leaning down to run
her tongue up the length to the tip. In hardened instantly, becoming fully erect as she sucked the tip into
her mouth and suckled it. His hands came down on her shoulders, his fingers curling into her flesh.
Grasping his hands, she placed them on the mattress on either side of his hips, palm up, and placed a
knee on each palm. “Tell me what I want to know,” she murmured, looking up at him and capturing his
gaze.

His eyes gleamed. “I don’t know what you want to know,” he growled.

She shrugged. Wrapping her fingers around his turgid flesh, she lowered her mouth to him, sucking the
rounded knob of his cock head. He made a sound as if she’d punched the breath from his lungs, his
shoulders coming up off the bed. His fingers curled against her knees as she continued to tease the head
with her mouth and tongue. Pushing his cock further into her mouth, she closed her mouth around it
tightly, allowing it to slide slowly free until only the head remained in her mouth, and then pushed down
again.

Heat curled in her belly as she sucked him, growing hotter as she listened to his breath grow ragged. She
continued teasing him until he’d begun to move restlessly beneath her. Finally, she lifted her head again
and looked at him. “Name?”

Sweat beaded his brow, gleaming in the firelight. A fine sheen of moisture had begun to gleam on his
chest and neck, as well.

“Kyle,” he growled after a long, drawn out moment.

“Mmmhmm,” she murmured. Sucking him into her mouth again, she increased the tempo, moving over
him until he jerked his hands from beneath her knees and curled his fingers tightly around her arms.

“Don’t.”

She lifted her head. “Don’t what? Stop?”

She leaned forward and sucked the head of her cock again.

Uttering a growl, he lifted her clear of his legs and shoved her down on the mattress, rolling over her and
thrusting against her at almost the same time. His cock bumped along her cleft, gathering the moisture her
body had wept at teasing him. His second thrust lodged the head of his cock in the mouth of her sex.
Moaning, she lifted to meet him as he thrust again and he delved deeply inside of her. She slipped her
hands down his back, curling her fingers into his buttocks, pulling him to her as she lifted up, gasping as
she felt him sink to her depths.

Curling his body over hers, he sought her mouth, kissing her with rough desperation as she arched her
neck and lifted her mouth to him. A shudder went through him as their tongues mated, thrashed against
each other. Breaking the kiss, he caught her legs and lifted. Propping them on his chest, he began

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thrusting into her hard and fast. She reached her crisis in moments, clenching her eyes tightly as her body
convulsed, uttering sharp cries of ecstasy. He shuddered as he was caught up in his own convulsive
release.

Spent, he braced his arms against the bed while he caught his breath. Finally, he pulled her legs down
and rolled, carrying her with him so that she lay on top of him.

She dragged in a shuddering, blissful breath, melting over him like warm wax. When she’d recovered
enough to drag in a decent breath of air, she lifted her head and placed a kiss on his chest. “Where do
we go from here?” she murmured.

He tensed slightly, pushing up on her shoulders until he could see her face. “Where do you want it to
go?”

“You’re the one that’s psychic. Why don’t you tell me?”

His lips curled faintly at the corners. “I don’t read minds. I make fire.”

“Yes, you do,” she said, leaning down to kiss his chin and then his lips. “But that’s only one of the things
I love about you.”

He studied her face when she raised her head to look at him. “Good,” he murmured, capturing her face
between his hands and dragging her down for a long, fervent kiss that had her blood racing again in
moments.

“That’s all you can say? Good?”

“Mmmm. Because I love everything about you.”

The End

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