Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

I t had to be the longest night of her life, Carly thought.

The party went on, but she and the count were absent, closeted with the inspector in the library. The inspector first questioned a number of the count's servants and dismissed them. Then he wanted to talk to Jon and Carly, Geoffrey, Alexi—and a very irritated Tanya. Poor Tanya wasn't destined to see much of the band, Carly mused.

The inspector was very polite; he didn't want to ruin the party. Tourism was big business in the duchy; he appreciated the financial aspects of Count Vadim's party. But he had to speak to them all, he had to ask questions, he was very sorry, and he hoped that they understood.

It was mainly Carly and the count he talked to. She could dimly hear the band playing as the inspector asked her again and again to tell him about the carriage ride from beginning to end. Jon leaned against his desk with his arms crossed over his chest and listened with a frown, occasionally warning the inspector that he was being rude to an American guest. He assured the inspector that he had hired the village man to drive merely because extra help had been needed for the party and the man had needed the extra money. He had barely known the man.

"All of this over a coachman!" Tanya complained with a sniff. "Inspector, you should see to the village drunks!"

"The village is not full of ignorant drunkards, Miss Bannister," the inspector said irritably.

"But perhaps the man did have enemies among his neighbors," Carly suggested.

"Anything is possible," Jon Vadim murmured.

"Madame Kiernan. I don't suppose you have any enemies in Westphalen," the inspector remarked dryly.

"Please!" Tanya groaned. "Carly has never even been here before!"

The inspector looked at Tanya. "I find it difficult to comprehend the murder of a simple village man. Here we have little in the way of drugs, robbery—or murder. Someone meant to hurt Madame Kiernan, I believe. Or perhaps to hurt someone through her. You, miss? Or the Vadims? One or the other, I am certain."

"I really don't know anyone here," Carly assured him. "I just came in from Vienna this evening."

The inspector nodded, glancing around the room. "Where were you all this evening when the coachman was killed and the carriage burst apart?"

"Oh, no!" Tanya complained. "I don't believe this! Some yokel gets himself killed and the entire party is ruined!"

"We were here at the party," Jon said.

"Well, no, that's not quite true," Alexi said guiltily, looking around at all of them. "Well...we were worried, you see. Jon had told us that he had hired a driver to pick up Jasmine's sister. When she didn't arrive, Jon left on Satan to look for Ms. Kiernan—"

"Jasmine!" Carly whispered suddenly.

"What?" The inspector narrowed his eyes upon her.

"Actually, Inspector, I am concerned," Carly told him. "You see, I came here to meet my sister. I arrived, and she wasn't here."

The inspector looked at Jon. Carly could have sworn that a slight sheen of perspiration broke out on Jon's brow, but he spoke smoothly and with a certain impatience. "Jasmine, Inspector. Jasmine Michaelson is Ms. Kiernan's sister. You've met her."

"And you say that your sister has disappeared?" the inspector asked Carly.

"She isn't here," she replied flatly, staring at Jon Vadim. He returned her stare, then gave her a slow smile.

"I have told Carly that Jasmine just isn't here. I believe that she went on to Paris, but I don't know."

"How can you possibly be worried about Jasmine!" Tanya said with exasperation. "She goes where she likes when she pleases!"

"But she wrote to me!" Carly protested. "She said ‘Please come'! She said that she needed me!"

The inspector sighed. Geoffrey, whose mummy wrappings were peeling by now, came over to Carly and put his arm around her. "Jasmine is incredibly independent, you know," he reassured her.

"Yes, but she was involved in this party—"

"Jasmine involves herself in many things and then leaves them," he said quietly.

Carly bit her lip, wondering if Geoffrey might have been one of those "things" that Jasmine had involved herself with and then left behind.

"You said your sister sent you a letter," the inspector began again. "You don't by any chance have it, do you?"

"Yes!" Carly said. "It's in my little evening bag. I left it upstairs in Tanya's room. Shall I get it?"

"I'll go," Tanya offered, then grimaced. "You don't know the place that well yet. I'll—"

"Never mind," Jon said, interrupting her. "I'll send the maid." He pressed a buzzer on his desk and a moment later a maid appeared. After he spoke to her quickly in French, she bobbed a little curtsy and left them.

"Now, let's get back to the coachman, shall we," the inspector said. "Count Vadim, did you leave here this evening alone to find Madame Kiernan?"

"Alone," Jon responded flatly.

"We followed him quickly," Tanya said indignantly.

"‘We'?"

"Geoffrey and I."

"And you were always together?"

"Well, no, of course not. We were searching," she explained.

"And what about Alexi?"

"I came after the two of them," Alexi himself answered.

"So you were alone, too."

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Which of us would want to kill a coachman!" Tanya protested.

The inspector threw up his arms. "All right. That is all for this evening." He wagged a finger at Tanya. "But something more is going on here than the pathetic murder of a poor servant. I will find out what it is."

"Inspector," Jon Vadim said sharply, "I'm sure Tanya is every bit as distressed as the rest of us."

"Yes, yes, of course," the inspector said wryly.

Tanya flushed. "Well, of course I'm upset. I just don't see where any of us can possibly be involved." She smiled sweetly at the inspector. "Aren't you going to warn us all not to try to leave town?"

"You like American Western movies, too," he said appreciatively. Then he sighed as if he bore the weight of the world on his shoulders. "But yes. That, miss, goes without saying—oh, here we are!"

The young maid had knocked softly and stepped just inside the door, holding out Carly's green velvet purse. "Thank you!" Carly said, stepping forward to accept her bag. She opened it. Her passport was still there, her wallet, her compact, atomizer, lipstick and traveler's checks. The letter was not in her purse.

She stared blankly at the inspector. "It isn't here."

"Are you sure you had it with you?" Jon asked smoothly.

Carly stared at him but found it difficult to read anything in his golden wolf's eyes. Had he taken the letter? she wondered. He hadn't left the room.

But maybe he'd asked the maid to take it. No, he couldn't have done that, either. All of them had been present when he'd sent the maid out.

"I'm sure I had it with me," Carly insisted coolly.

Jon shrugged.

"Perhaps it was lost in the accident," the inspector suggested.

"Yes, perhaps," Carly murmured. She kept staring at Jon Vadim, who smiled in return.

"Well, I will certainly look into your sister's whereabouts," the inspector assured Carly. "And if anyone has information, I am available, and I will appreciate any assistance. Count—" the inspector clicked his heels together and inclined his head "—I will see myself out."

Jon Vadim nodded. The inspector left, and they all remained there, silent. Then Tanya leaped to her feet. "Damn! The band has quit playing."

"It's four a.m.," Geoffrey said. He made a grimace to Carly, who sat beside him on the rich leather sofa. "You throw quite a party, Jon."

"I'm going to bed," Tanya said. She stared around the room, almost as if she challenged them to stop her. Her cat eyes narrowed on Jon, but he wasn't even glancing her way. "A wonderful party!" she sniffed. "I wind up accused of murder!"

"I guess we're all accused of murder," Geoffrey said.

Jon waved a hand in the air dismissively. "No, it's just the inspector's way. Who knows? We are a dramatic people." He smiled at Carly. "This land was English when Henry II owned half of France and a dozen other properties. But we people are more French than anything else. We like passion and a sense of the theatrical. The inspector has to look everywhere. But someone from the village probably did bear the poor coachman a grudge."

Jon himself didn't believe what he was saying, Carly realized. His striking features were drawn into a pensive frown, and she was convinced that he thought that the inspector was right about one thing at least—the coachman had been killed to hurt the Vadims. Seeing the count there, distant, an air of casual command about him, Carly longed to go to him. Primeval instinct threatened to send her over to him to run her fingers over the planes of his face.

She was angry with him, too. She suspected him of somehow having stolen her letter. She wanted to know where her sister was and what he was hiding. She had to remember these things and resist his all-consuming magnetism.

"I need to get back to the hotel," Carly said.

"No!" Tanya protested. "You can't go back to the hotel. It's so late. You must stay here!"

"I'm sure that I'll be perfectly safe—"

"You will be safe," Jon said. "You'll stay right here."

Carly started to shake her head. She couldn't stay here. Being in the same...castle with him, even for a night, had to be dangerous. To her soul.

"I really can't stay," she insisted, "I don't have any of my things—"

"We have everything you might desire for the night," he said. "You must stay."

She wanted to protest just because he was so firmly denying her her wishes. But Geoffrey was up, taking her hand, patting it. "Carly, be reasonable. It's very late, and it's been a traumatic evening."

"Big damned deal!" Tanya said with exasperation. "Come on, and be a good little lamb. Let's get some sleep! I have plenty of things here for both of us."

Carly didn't appreciate the idea of being a "good little lamb," but she didn't want to be obnoxious.

"Carly, please," Jon insisted. "It would be best if you stayed." His amber eyes were upon her. She knew he was trying to be courteous, but it didn't sound as if he was asking her to stay. He was telling her.

"You can take the room right across from mine," Tanya told her, assuming it was all arranged. "I know it's been cleaned; the maids were in there this afternoon."

"Perfect," Jon Vadim agreed softly.

"Well, then..." Geoffrey kissed Carly's cheek. "We can talk tomorrow. I'm going to bed, too. Good night, Tanya, Alexi, Jon."

"I had best go home," Alexi said. He, too, kissed Carly's cheek, and then Tanya's. He winked at Carly. "I will be back."

"We wouldn't dream of forgetting to include you on any excursion," Tanya assured him sweetly. "Right, Jon?"

"Sure."

"Come on." Tanya tugged at Carly's hand. "I'll get you settled. Good night, all." Carly found herself looking back at Jon Vadim. There was a slight self-satisfied smile on his lips now. Their eyes met for a moment. Carly felt as if she should deny something, but he didn't say another word to her; he just watched her as she and Tanya left the library.

The castle was a large place, Carly thought as Tanya led her along. If Tanya weren't with her, she would be lost. Tanya must have been reading her mind, for she said, "It's not so bad. Just get your sense of direction from the mountains, and you'll know what you're doing. The terrace and the stairs are east. See?"

They came back to the terrace. The last of the guests was gone; everything was in disarray. "It will be all picked up by morning," Tanya murmured.

Carly saw the moon, which was still bright and full.

When they reached the stairway and then Tanya's room, she told Carly, "I'll just get you a toothbrush and toothpaste—oh, a nightgown. Then there's tomorrow. Is a denim dress okay?"

"Whatever," Carly said. "Thank you." She watched the beautiful "cat" as she moved around the room. Tanya was such a mass of contradictions. What was her part in all of this?

"Where did you meet Jon Vadim?" Carly asked casually.

"On the Riviera, several years ago," Tanya answered, then offered Carly a grimace. "I thought he was gorgeous at first. But he has a serious streak in him. I met a French wine baron at the same time, and the wine baron seemed the better deal."

"But you're still friends."

Tanya laughed. "Jon tolerates me. I have some money of my own, and I am interested in some of his charities. And he has some fascinating friends."

"Nothing romantic—between the two of you?"

"I thought there might be. But then..."

"But then what?"

Tanya looked at Carly and shook her head. "Nothing."

Carly tried to get her to speak, but Tanya refused to answer. "Nothing, honestly. It just isn't the right chemistry. And he's different lately, anyway. More serious than ever. And hard." She shivered. "He frowns so much now that he even looks different. But he is a good friend. And that inspector had no right giving him such a bad time.... Now, how's this? Do you have everything you might need?"

"Yes, everything," Carly said gratefully. "It's very nice of you to do this for me."

"It isn't anything at all." The other girl smiled. "Jasmine should have been here."

Carly paused. "You do know her, and you really aren't worried about her?"

Tanya shook her head. "You know your sister, too. You shouldn't be worried."

"Do you know why she left?"

Tanya shrugged. "Oh, I think she was mad at Jon. As I said, he's been different lately. Movement is one of Jasmine's fortes—if she was in a bad mood, running off to Paris would have been no big thing for her."

"Maybe," Carly murmured. "Anyway, thank you very much."

"Sure. Now, go to bed. Get some sleep. And please, lock your door, Carly."

"Are you afraid of something?"

"No! Honestly, I'm not. But that poor man was killed, so it would make sense to play it safe, right?"

Tanya led the way again, then opened the door across the hall. It was a beautiful room, but quite Gothic, Carly thought. It was huge, with a fireplace, a canopied bed, a writing desk, and plush chairs before the fire. There was a giant armoire in one corner, and the windows were covered in a soft gauze. "That door leads to the bath," Tanya advised her.

Carly was tired enough to crash headfirst into bed and stay there, but a bath sounded nice, too. The bathroom, which looked as though it had been installed sometime during the twenties or thirties, was beautiful. The big tub and porcelain sink were constructed in a Deco design. The floor was covered with tiny black and white tiles, against the back wall was a full-length mirror. Carly forgot that she was tired, cried out in delight, and started to run a bath.

"Well, I can see you're happy," Tanya said from the doorway. "Just don't forget—lock your door."

Carly nodded to her. "Thanks—very much, for everything. Good night."

Tanya left her. Carly found some bubble bath on a rack at the end of the tub and poured it into the bath, stripped and climbed in. She wrapped her hair above her head and lay back, letting the heat sink in as the bubbles covered her.

It had been one hell of a night, she decided. When she closed her eyes, she could still see Jon Vadim, tall and striking in his swirling black cape, his eyes eclipsing all else. She remembered how he'd held her, and she felt her blood heat up. It was insanity, she chided herself. She'd just met him. Yet maybe it was time she threw all caution to the wind. If her sister had no interest in the man, there was nothing to hold Carly back.

She started suddenly. She hadn't locked the bedroom door as Tanya had urged her to. She could swear that she heard someone out there now, in the bedroom.

She twisted around and stared at the bathroom door, a scream rising in her throat. The crystalline knob was turning....

"Tanya!" she called. "Is that you?"

Silence answered her cry. Carly leaped up, dripping and reaching for a towel. She ran to the door and threw it open. No one was there. She looked around the room. It seemed untouched. She closed her eyes, trying to recall. Had she put her sister's letter back into her purse when she'd been in the carriage? She was so certain she had. Had someone slipped upstairs earlier to steal the letter?

And had someone just been in her room, watching her, looking for...something?

"I'm losing my mind in this place!" she whispered.

She toweled herself dry, then slipped into the aquamarine nightgown and robe Tanya had given her. The set was satin, long and very sexy, with slits up one side of each garment. As she tied the belt, she met her own eyes in the mirror above the dresser. She was pale. Ridiculously pale.

And wide awake. It had to be five a.m. and she was desperately tired. But she would never sleep.

She decided to find the kitchen, or the bar. Hot cocoa or brandy or Scotch—she didn't care which one she found, as long as she could get her hands on something.

Carly left the room and quietly closed her door. She went down to the first floor. The terrace had already been cleaned. The moonlight was waning, and just a hint of the sun could be seen on the horizon. A sunrise here would be beautiful, she thought.

She entered the lower hallway, then discovered that she was hopelessly lost. She turned around to locate the sun. She was certain that Count Vadim would keep something in the library, which had been along the western hallway.

She was proud of herself when she found the right door and threw it open. But then a soft "Oh!" escaped her, for the library was not vacant. Jon Vadim, minus cape and costume, was sitting behind his desk. He was in an elegant smoking jacket, studying some papers. On the desk were a crystal decanter and a shot glass of the honey-colored liquid that filled the decanter.

"Carly," he said, standing, when he saw her. She almost backed away from the door. His gaze was warm, his rueful smile compelling.

"I—I couldn't sleep," she told him.

"Would you like some brandy?"

"Uh—no."

"Oh." He came around and leaned against the desk, idly folding his arms across his chest. "Then you're just prowling around the house?"

"No! Of—of course not."

"Then you were looking for a drink."

She sailed into the room, feeling like a fool. She wasn't afraid of him; it was just that things were just moving too quickly between them. He was very sophisticated. It wasn't that she was naive; he was just so arrogantly confident that she felt she needed to keep her distance. She was just too willing to fall for his charms, when there was every reason for her to mistrust him.

She circled the desk and found a second glass for the brandy upon a tray on a table nearby. She poured herself three fingers of brandy, willing her hands not to tremble, and made a soft sound of annoyance as she spilled a few drops upon the lace mat beneath the tray.

Jon Vadim approached, took the brandy from her fingers and set it down, and mopped up the mess with his handkerchief. "I would have been delighted to pour you a drink."

"Thank you."

She tried to smile, wanting to appear controlled and casual. "You're still up. You're up...very late."

He grinned at her wickedly. "Ah, but I'm a night person. Tell me, Carly. Are you usually up so late?"

"Until morning? No, I'm not."

"But you're adaptable." It was a statement, not a question. The count drew his own conclusions, she saw.

"Adaptable. But not easily led." She spoke with assurance, though she felt very little of it. At that moment, she thought, she would probably follow him anywhere.

"Common sense is a great virtue," he said.

Yes, and she usually had lots of it, she thought. What was happening to her here, she didn't know. He was laughing at her, she realized, but it seemed to be a tender laughter. She smiled. "Yes, it is a great virtue."

"But not much fun." He lifted his glass to hers, stepping in front of her. "Cheers."

"Cheers."

She swallowed the brandy. Her heart was beating a thousand times a minute. She was certain he could see the pulse that raged against her throat. What was this? she wondered in a moment's panic. This hypnotic man could steal souls. She wanted to run, and she wanted to fall into his arms.

"Well..." She smiled, setting down her glass. "I think I could probably sleep now."

From somewhere far away she heard the baying of a dog. Then, too, came the haunting sad, slow strains of a violin playing a waltz.

"How lovely," she murmured, staring into his eyes.

He nodded. "It is beautiful." He put down his glass and reached for her fingers. "We were interrupted this evening. We never finished our dance."

"What?..." Carly whispered in protest. He smiled, took her hand and swiftly led her out of the library. Within moments they were on the terrace. The dying moon was a white orb in the sky, and the muted, misty colors of a new morning fell gently upon them. As if on cue, the dog ceased to howl, and the strains of the distant violin hauntingly floated on the morning air.

Jon bowed low to her, then caught both her hands and swept her into his arms. He held her tightly against him and swirled her around the room as if they danced on clouds.

She looked into his eyes, thinking that the tenderness and fascination she found there could not be a lie. This night was magic—sweet, rough magic. His hand upon her back felt like a brand on her satiny robe. There was so little between them, she thought. She felt the hardness of his chest against her breasts. She felt his hips and the muscles of his thighs and sensed a rich warmth seeping into her, filling her heart. She couldn't draw her eyes from the amber depths of his.

Suddenly they weren't dancing anymore, though they were still touching, her breasts against his chest, hip to hip, legs almost entwined. He cupped her chin with one hand and slowly brought his mouth down upon hers. When she felt the sweet, keen pressure of his lips, she parted hers. The pulse of her heart raced so swiftly that it was agonizing. She gripped his shoulders and played her fingers over his back. She flicked at his lips with her tongue, then fell back into the greedy depths of the kiss again. She felt his hands upon her in a questing touch. With his palms he teased her nipples, then curled his hands around her breasts to explore their fullness. She ached at his touch. New fever rippled through her. The need, the hunger, filled her breasts, then pulsed through her veins to the core of her and erupted like fire in the pit of her abdomen. She wanted to fall against him and let the satin material slide off her to the floor. She wanted to feel his touch more thoroughly, wanted to drown forever in the magic of the kiss.

Jon Vadim wondered at the magic, too, of this night, this woman. He didn't think he'd ever seen anyone quite like her. Her skin was as soft as her satin gown, and as he held her he felt his pulse race, his muscles constrict. From the moment he'd seen her, standing like a lost princess among the wreckage of the carriage, he'd felt a curious ache seep into him. It was a hunger, deep and fervent, like nothing he'd ever felt. He wanted her; at this moment he burned for her. But he knew she would not be easily taken, nor would the hunger be easily appeased.

He wished to God he could tell her the truth. No, he just wished that he could sweep her off the terrace and up into the privacy of his room.

Already, though, he felt her drawing away. Just as the night sky was losing the magic of the moon, he was losing the sweet moment of her trust.

And it was just as well, perhaps, he decided. It was all a lie.

Carly met the question in his eyes with a shake of her head.

"There is something here," he said softly. "I really don't think you can fight it. I don't think I can fight it."

"I—I want to know where Jasmine is," Carly said. "I want to know what is going on here."

"Jasmine is safe. I swear it!" he told her.

"I want to trust you."

"Then trust me."

She had to get away from him. She wanted to hold him again, to feel his touch, and he knew it. There was something there, some rough magic on the mist and in the breeze. And for the life of her, she couldn't deny it or fight it.

She shook her head again, turned away from him and hurried back along the terrace.

The moon had disappeared. The sun was rising, golden and glowing.

She didn't look back. If she had, she knew, she would see that he hadn't moved. He had stayed there and watched her run.

She fled up the stairs as if chased by demons. This time she did lock the door, once she'd entered the room. She slipped off the robe, ran to the bed and slid beneath the covers. She pulled them up to her chest and lay back, breathing hard.

She glanced toward the door, then smiled at herself. She was being a fool. She knew he hadn't followed her. She thought again about the legends of the region.

If the count wanted to reach her, no lock in the world could keep him from doing so.

She almost laughed aloud. One night, and he was all that filled her thoughts. Her heart still beat too rapidly. She had to take care. He was too fascinating. Too powerful, too masculine. And she was being drawn in way too quickly for a woman with good sense.

Hearing footsteps in the hallway, Carly tensed suddenly.

She held her breath.

The inspector had said that whoever had killed the coachman might have wanted to kill her. Perhaps the footsteps moving so stealthily in the hall were those of a killer, coming for her....

She prayed in a whisper and shot out of bed. On her bare feet she hurried across the room, barely breathing as she listened.

She exhaled, slumping against the wall. The footsteps were not coming any closer. They had stopped at Tanya's door across the hall. And no one was breaking in on Tanya. Carly heard a soft rap, Tanya's door was opened. Tanya's voice. "There you are." Tanya giggled. "Come in, love."

A masculine whisper made a reply.

The door was closed. There was silence out in the hallway, then Carly heard a soft moan and a whimper.

Carly felt her cheeks flame. Tanya was meeting a lover, and Carly was spying on her. She had no right....

But she did have a right; she just didn't want Tanya's lover to be Jon Vadim. Tanya had denied any relationship but hinted at something else.

Jasmine... But Jon Vadim had denied a relationship with her sister. It was all so confusing. She was worried silly and was falling beneath a spell, despite it all. A man was dead, she had nearly been killed herself, and all that mattered was Jon Vadim.

She swore out loud and vowed to herself that she would get to the bottom of things.

She walked back to the bed and crawled into it once more. She tried to sleep, but to her horror she kept wondering about the pair behind the other door. At last she pounded her pillow and crashed against it, determined to go to sleep.

She slept at last. But her sleep was filled with dreams. She kept seeing Jon Vadim. He walked to her through fields of mist, smiling at her, and though she knew she should be afraid, she stood still and waited.

He kissed her, and she felt that the clothing covering them both melted into the mist. They lay down together in clouds. He kissed her, the mist swirling around them. Then he rose above her, she saw only his golden glowing eyes and heard laughter, then Jasmine's warning voice.

"He'll steal your soul.... He'll steal your soul...."

Carly knew it but could not stop him. He came to her again, and she stretched out her arms to receive him.

* * *

Carly had no idea what time it was when she awoke. For a long while she remained on the bed, wondering what of the preceding day had been real and what had been imagined.

She groaned as she rose. She still felt so sleepy. She glanced at her watch and saw that it was almost three in the afternoon.

Another bath might help, she decided.

In the tub she mused that she must be losing her mind. She was in Transylvania, so she was creating imaginary demons. She was exhausted, which was why she had nightmares and woke up with a splitting headache. She closed her eyes but trembled even as she did so. Jon Vadim was real. So were her feelings for him. He was devastating, and she was not immune.

"But not stupid, either!" she assured herself. The hot water felt so good. It eased all the tension from her. With the count she would be very strong and somewhat caustic. She wasn't going to fall like putty into his arms anymore.

"Carly."

Her eyes flew open. She faced the mirrored wall, and that was where she saw him first, in the mirror.

He was in black jeans and a black polo shirt. His hair was damp and fell in a wave over his forehead. Where the V of the sweater lay against his chest, little tufts of hair showed, giving him a raw, sexual appeal.

Her eyes met his in the mirror.

At least he had a mirror image, she told herself. Unlike a vampire.

But she couldn't pull her gaze away. She noticed the pulse beating against his throat and saw his features tense. He stood still, but she could feel the vibrant energy within him.

And the hunger.

And she herself felt it sweeping through her body like a storm, making her weak, making her tremble. Something terribly strong leaped between them. She felt him...with all of her naked flesh, with the length of her body. She had never known what it was like to want a man so.

"What are you doing in here?" she demanded.

"You didn't answer the maid's knock on your door. You didn't answer my knock. I was worried."

"You didn't knock," she reproached him.

"I did knock. You didn't hear me."

Her throat was dry. She wanted to offer him total indignation, but could barely whisper. "You shouldn't be here."

"I had to see that you were all right."

"I'm fine."

"Yes, I see that."

You should go now! she wanted to yell, but didn't say it out loud. She said it with her eyes.

He didn't speak out loud, either. Nor did he leave. He continued to watch her, and powerless, she watched him.

She searched desperately for the common sense she was so proud of having. He was in the bathroom, uninvited, while she lay in the tub, ridiculously vulnerable.

She wanted to whirl around to face him. She wanted to accost him, to rail against him. She couldn't seem to move.

He entered the bathroom. Their eyes continued to meet in the mirror as he knelt behind her, as he drew his thumb gently down her cheek.

Then he tilted her chin. Their gazes met now without the aid of the mirror. He kissed her. Lightly at first, then more deeply.

He slipped his arms into the water, cupping her breasts with his hands. He moved his thumbs over her nipples, his fingers splayed over her flesh.

Heedless of the bubbles, he pulled her into his arms and lifted her, dripping, against him. Then he carried her into the bedroom.

Carly stared up at him. She knew she should say something, stop him, but she couldn't speak.

He laid her down and stretched himself beside her. She felt his eyes rake over her, taking in all of her. Then he kissed her again, and she felt the ragged fever of his breath, felt the fire of his touch. He kissed her lips, her throat. He ran his hand from her breast to the curve of her hip. Flaming liquid seemed to skim along her flesh as he stroked from her abdomen to her thigh.

Then his kiss fell to her breast and she felt a sweet explosion of pure desire fill her as he closed his mouth over her nipple and delicately played his teeth against it. She dug her fingers into his hair and tossed and turned in an agony of longing. She arched against his touch as she whispered, "No, please... It's too...fast."

He fell dead still against her. For an eternity he held her. She felt her heart thunder against his, felt the terrible constriction of his muscles.

She wanted him so badly. He must hate her, should probably ignore her, because she should have denied him from the start. She should have railed against him for entering her room, and she should have been indignant....

She shouldn't even be here.

But she was, lying naked beside him, denying him, wanting him. She had never felt such an awful confusion.

He moved at last. Softly he kissed the valley between her breasts, then he rose above her. He studied her without condemnation.

She shook her head. "I'm sorry," she murmured. With a soft cry she reached up and locked her arms around him, burying her head against his neck. She started to shiver, cold and wet where her body wasn't touched by his.

Then she realized that she had turned him away, but was holding him again. She released him, twisting out of his hold. She leaped from the bed and rushed into the bath, where she wrapped a towel around herself. When she returned to the bedroom, he was gone.