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"Rebecca." Desmond struggled to focus pleasure-glazed eyes on her. "Be careful. You mustn't— "
His words dissolved in a groan as she replaced her hand with her lips. As if she'd pressed them against a newly minted steel bar, his molten heat fused her flesh to his. His pleasure became her pleasure, tremors of sensation rising from a single epicenter to quake through them both. And when the passion raging through them burned too brightly to be contained, they melted into liquid heat together.
Thoughts and images spun dreamlike through Rebecca's mind. She pictured herself, recast as a buxom redhead, dancing a fiery tango with Desmond, the smoke of countless cigarettes screening them from everything but the pulsing beat of the band. The image shifted, and she transformed into a giggling flapper, leaning against a cool plaster wall. Her beads clicked and chattered against the wall as she swayed beneath Desmond's masterfully orchestrated caresses. The picture melted and ran, reforming as two naked bodies tangled in the throes of passion, thrashing back and forth on the jade silk of his bed. Desmond arched back, then bent to bestow another kiss on the soft skin of her neck.
Rebecca snapped back to the present as suddenly as if she'd been doused with cold water. Desmond held her, fitted together like the Tango dancers in her dream, although she didn't remember moving. Her cheek rested against his, a faint hint of stubble proving this time, the contact was real. His breath steamed rhythmically across her neck in the soft pattern of sleep.
She turned and reached for a pillow. When she turned back, Desmond was staring at her with unblinking green eyes that reflected the light like a cat's. The look unnerved her. He didn't seem to move, even to breathe, just watching, waiting for the chance to pounce upon his unwary prey. She chuckled, dismissing the thought as another dream fancy.
"I didn't mean to wake you," she said softly.
"That's all right. I wasn't asleep." He smiled, a long slow smile that gradually transformed his face and kindled the banked embers in his eyes. A flush of heat swept over Rebecca, following the path of Desmond's gaze, until it covered her completely. She knew she looked like a giant candy apple, but he didn't embarrass her further by commenting. Instead, he hooked up a sheet with one foot, then pulled it over them.
"I don't want you to catch cold, on top of everything else," he teased.
"Thank you."
She nestled more comfortably into his embrace, and they lay together in companionable silence, their hearts and breath moving in the same slow rhythm. He trailed a hand through her hair, ploughing idle furrows, while she toyed with the dusting of black hairs that softened his chest.
Still looking at his chest, she asked, "Why did you ask me to marry you?"
His hand stopped in mid-furrow and the muscles that sheathed his ribs tensed. Rebecca held her breath, then let it out when he relaxed with a dry laugh.
"I must remember investigative journalism isn't just what you do. It's who you are. But since you ask," he pushed himself up on one arm so that he looked deep into her eyes, "I asked you to marry me because having met you, having made love to you, I couldn't bear to lose you."
"Like you lost Olivia?" Rebecca wanted to take back the words as soon as she'd said them. She seemed to be going out of her way to provoke him, and she had no idea why.
"No." Cold fire glittered in the depths of his eyes, and honed the edge on his voice. "Not like I lost Olivia. I will not lose someone to that death again."
Rebecca shivered, frightened by his expression. His words suggested denial, but his face hinted at something more sinister.
He forced a smile. "Are you reluctant, Rebecca? I speak of marriage, and you bring up death. Not exactly encouraging."
"No." She tried to return his smile, but the expression felt pasty and false. With a sigh, she turned her face away from his disturbingly perceptive gaze. "I'm afraid. I don't understand what it is I feel for you, and I don't know how you can be so calm. It scares me witless."
He gathered her into his arms and held her, the heat of his body driving out her cold fear. She relaxed beneath his gentle caresses as he stroked her back and whispered soothing murmurs into her ear.
"I guess I'm being silly, huh?" she mumbled into his shoulder.
"No. Just human." He pulled her closer and pressed a soft kiss against her temple. "But you have nothing to fear. No harm will ever come to you through me. I swear it."
"I believe you." A punishing grip she hadn't been aware of released her chest, and her heart began beating at a normal rate again. She turned her head, and met Desmond's lips with her own. She might not have all the answers, but that was all right. She didn't need them. She trusted him, and that was enough for now. The answers would come.
Their lips lingered in a kiss until Desmond broke it off. He pulled back far enough to look at her, his eyes shining with a naked hope he was too proud to voice. She answered him anyway.
"I believe you. And I will marry you."
He grinned and swept down to claim her mouth in a searing consummation. The heat of his passion rose between them, but she no longer tried to analyze the sensations. She committed herself wholly to the flames, and let the conflagration carry her away.
REBECCA TURNED in her sleep, bumping Desmond awake. She slept on, oblivious, as he enjoyed the feeling of waking up with her in his arms. He glanced at the window— the stars had begun to fade, but the sky hadn't started to lighten. Well past midnight, but not yet dawn. Although with that damn meeting at six o'clock to review new procedures, there was no point in going back to sleep.
He shifted his weight to look at the woman still held in his loose embrace, and smiled. Rebecca looked little older than Gillian, holding his arm close as if it were a favorite stuffed animal. He brushed her hair away from her face to study it, amazed at how sleep stole all traces of anxiety or cynicism away from her expression. She had the unlined, guileless face of a child. And could have that face forever.
He pushed the thought aside. He mustn't give credence to Philippe's insidious suggestions. How could Rebecca believe in his curse? He'd barely gotten her to believe he wouldn't leave her.
A chill premonition wiped away his smile. What would she think when she woke to find him gone? Would she believe he'd abandoned her? He'd told her about the meeting this morning, but he'd mentioned it as she drifted off to sleep. She might not remember.
He swore softly under his breath, afraid of waking her. She needed her sleep, to recover from her operation. And to build up her strength. He'd been careful last night, so very careful, not to risk infecting her. But surrounded by her scent, enslaved by her passion, she'd overwhelmed his senses. He hadn't been able to stop himself from taking her blood. At least he'd kept the site free of contamination.
