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I
pools of promise against the creamy oval of her face. The white eyelet of her stand-up collar looked fragile against the curve of her neck. "Jack?"
He tensed. "Yeah?" "I've made a decision." "Should I ask?"
She came toward him. As she got closer, he could see that she was smiling, a soft, beguiling smile that made his breathing speed up even more. "Probably not."
She set her candle on the table in front of him. The metal holder clanked down hard. Light spilled across the scarred wooden surface and cast the area between them in pale gold. Straightening, she stared down at him. For a second, he thought she was going to come closer.
He tensed. But she didn't move. She just stood there, hair cascading in a golden waterfall around her face, hands clasped at her waist, staring down at him.
His throat felt so dry, it was difficult to speak. "W-What do you want?"
"How long have we been married?" Confusion made him stutter. "Thirteen y-years or so." She nodded. "And how long have you been sleeping in another room?"
Jack knew suddenly where this conversation was going. Emotions hurtled through him?fear, excitement, hope. He licked his paper-dry lips and said quietly, "Ever since I got out."
She frowned. Jack saw his mistake instantly. She didn't remember about the hospital or his "injuries." "Out of where?"
He didn't answer, and after a few silent moments, she asked again. "How long on the couch, Jack?" "Almost eight years." She looked down at him again, and the look in her eyes
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was infinitely soft and welcoming. Longing twisted his in-sides into a throbbing knot. "That's a long time." "Yeah."
"Long enough."
Jack froze, swallowed. "What are you saying?" She drew in a deep, shaking breath. He could see that she was nervous, perhaps even afraid, but she was going forward anyway. "I'm saying a husband and wife should sleep together."
Jack moved slowly to a sit "Sleep ... together?"
"Yes,"
Jack didn't move, didn't even breathe. It was closing in on him, stalking him, turning his every rational thought into a pile of imperceptible rubble. Need. Dark, aching, drenching need.
She reached her hand out. It was pale and trembling in the weak candlelight. "Come to bed, Jack." He shook his head slowly. "I don't think?" "Good. Don't."
"Jesus, Lissa." He said her name on a quiet exhalation of breath.
She moved toward him quickly, a flash of white lawn in the candlelight, and dropped to her knees. Jack stared into her eyes and was completely and utterly lost. She was breathtakingly beautiful, so beautiful, it hurt to look at her. Smiling, she touched his face. Her flesh felt warm and solid and right against his cheek. He shivered in response and fell that much further under her spell. "Don't be afraid," she breathed.
Jack sighed and tried to look away, but she wouldn't let him. Her hand held his face firmly in place; her eyes remained fixed on his. "Please ..." she murmured.
Jack looked deeply into her eyes, searching for some hint that it was all a lie, but even as he studied her, he
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knew the truth. This was no act, no game. She wasn't
Amarylis anymore. She was Lissa, and she was reaching
out to him.
God help him, he couldn't turn his back on her. Not even if someday Lissa vanished as quickly as she'd come. She was his wife, had been for almost half his life. He'd loved her since he was a boy. And he loved her now.
She leaned toward him, so close he could feel the whispering threads of her breath against his lips. His groin swelled, tightened uncomfortably. His throat went bone-dry.
