"Blood Seduction"

As Sara threw out empty pizza boxes, and washed and recycled empty wine and beer bottles, delayed morning after remorse kicked in. Her brain loosed a feverish litany of "Nottingham – Good God – Nottingham! What was I thinking? And now he wants a freakin' relationship! How did I get myself into this?" There was a brief scarlet flash from the vicinity of her hand and an image of Sara stepping naked into the hot tub paraded across her mind's eye. Sara dropped the trash that she was holding into the receptacle, fighting a strong urge to fling her snotty bracelet in after it. She glared at her wrist and said, "Thanks so much for that reminder of my stupidity."

The Witchblade again suddenly flared and Sara was face down on the big bed in the sleeping loft upstairs. The long, hot, smooth-muscled length of him was flush against her back and he was pumping into her deep and slow. Those slender artist's fingers of his were stroking her skillfully and she was drowning in waves of pleasure so intense that it flirted with pain. He nipped her ear lobe, warm breath raising goose bumps on her neck, and whispered her name with the most adorable little hitch in his ragged purr. She melted, more complex feelings mixing with unbridled lust. Then, the bracelet went opaque and Sara was back in her kitchen. She was panting and her knees were weak. She staggered to her new easy chair and collapsed. Sara raised an unsteady hand to wipe rivulets of sweat from her forehead. She was also uncomfortably wet in a more private portion of her anatomy.

Sara studied her bracelet and had the disquieting sensation that it was studying her right back. She squirmed in the chair. Her pants were glued to her body with arousal. "Alright, damn it," she addressed her jewelry, "He's good in bed." She shifted once more in the chair, before adding, "He's very good in bed." Without prompting from the Witchblade, Sara suddenly remembered Ian standing naked under the shower spray, his golden eyes sad and water running down his cheeks like tears. She shut her eyes and heard him say it again, his voice soft as a sigh of regret: "As if that were an option. To simply stop loving you. I wouldn’t even know how to begin." Her chest suddenly felt tight and unshed tears pressed hot and prickly against the back of her eyes.

She opened her eyes and rubbed them with the heels of her hands before giving vent to a deep sigh. "Ah, Shit," she grumbled out loud, "Why can't I ever get involved with an uncomplicated man? What do I get – reincarnated Irish kings; thousand-year old religious icons; and deluded super killers with tortured souls." Her eyes narrowed and fixed on her right hand. "It's all your fault," she said to the Witchblade, "With you on my wrist, my chances of finding someone normal are just about nil." The sentient bracelet erupted in a vivid splash of red and Sara was catapulted into a montage of contradictory images. She sat in a restaurant talking to Andy, leaving him quickly and carelessly when a cell call summoned her. She strained against Ian as he held her balanced on the kitchen counter – head thrown back, lips parted, eyes closed, face rapt with ecstasy. She played pool with Jake in a smoke-filled room, her eyes wandering frequently to the clock on the wall as she listened to his boring stories. She and Ian stood naked in the bathroom, holding each other tightly, eyes closed. She felt his heart beating hard against her cheek and she ached to take his hurt away.

The Witchblade released her and Sara leaned forward in the chair, shaking her head like a punch-drunk boxer. She hissed, pulling the bracelet from her wrist and pitching it across the room. It landed with a soft thump dead center on her futon. She sat very still for a few moments, head down, before she whispered, "Okay. I get it." She pulled herself sluggishly up from the chair and walked slowly to her borrowed bed. Dropping down beside the now quiet Witchblade, Sara curled on her side, drawing her knees to her chest. She shut her eyes and stretched out her arm, allowing her pushy bauble to settle itself back on her right wrist. Just before exhaustion pulled her into sleep, Sara murmured, "But I still don't trust him."

When Sara woke, long shadows were falling across the loft. She drowsed for a moment before her eyes flew wide. Panicked, she scrambled for the alarm clock on the floor beside the futon. It was 6:45. Sara let out a yelp and began digging in the cardboard box beside the bed where she kept her clothes – Ian still had to build her that closet. She was looking for her basic black dress. She’d dug through the pile of clothes three times before she realized that it had been burnt to a crisp. A second later it hit her that she had nothing to wear to dinner at a fancy restaurant. Her post-fire clothes budget had only been able to provide the basic pants and cropped shirts that she favored for work. She pushed her fingers roughly through her hair and came to a decision. She’d just have to go upstairs and tell Ian to forget the fancy restaurant. She would still have dinner with him but they’d have to order in.

When Sara reached her front door, she noticed that a piece of paper had been slipped under it. She picked it up and turned it over. Sara immediately recognized Ian’s bold hand. It said: “Open the door.” She frowned and opened by door. A long, zipped garment bag was hung over the doorknocker. Her eyebrow shot up. Sara unhooked the bag and carried it into the living room, shutting the door behind her. When she unzipped the bag, another slip of paper fell out. When she picked it up, she read: “If you would accept this and wear it to dinner, it would give me great pleasure. Yours, Ian.”

Sara took a deep breath and pulled the black dress free of the bag. It was gorgeous. Sleeveless, with a square neck, it was cut simply and elegantly, and would fall to mid-calf. The dress had clearly cost a fortune. She might not be able to afford it, but Sara knew class when she saw it. “Wow,” she said. When she lifted the bag to hang it behind the bathroom door, she realized there was more. Digging down, she found lacy black underwear, black tinted pantyhose, black heels with a matching purse, and a large, square black velvet jewelry box. She ran her hands over the wispy undies wondering how he’d known her sizes. Sara put them down and skimmed her fingers across the lid of the jewelry box. When she flipped it open, she gasped. It held a simple strand of real pearls about 18” long and matching single pearl earrings. This time, she said, “Hot damn.”

Sara briefly considered packing everything up, carrying it upstairs, and dumping it in front of his door. A moment later, she dismissed that thought because she just didn’t want to do it. She wanted to dress up and go out to dinner with Ian. Suddenly, her eyes went wide and she made a dash back to the alarm clock. It was 7:15. “Shit!” she cried. Gathering everything up in her arms, she rushed to the bathroom. At precisely 8:00, there was a knock at her door. Sara gave her hair in its sophisticated chignon one last pat before she went to answer it. When she opened the door, her breath caught in her throat.

Ian’s black suit was so perfectly cut and fit him so beautifully that she knew that it must be custom made. He’d paired it with a dove gray silk shirt and burgundy silk tie. His hair was pulled back neatly. In his hands, he held a perfect rose that was the exact color of his tie. The overall effect was quite literally breathtaking. Ian was staring back at her; amber eyes wide, sensuous lips parted in a small round oh. He looked mesmerized. Sara recovered first. She tipped her head at the rose and asked, “Is that for me?” His breath left him in a soft sigh and color rushed into his cheeks. “Yes,” he said, handing her the rose, “You look exquisite.” She grinned, lifting the flower to inhale its heady scent. “You can take the credit for that,” she replied, “After all, you dressed me.”

Ian grinned back at her, cocking his head. “Not really,” he said, “But I’d be happy to help you when it’s time to reverse the process.” Her grin got wider. “In your dreams,” she said. He shrugged and said, “Ready?” As he turned his head, there was a quick sparkle and she realized that he’d put a tiny diamond stud in his left ear. It was ridiculously sexy. Disconcerted, Sara nodded and reached behind her to shut the door. Ian caught her hand before she could pull it closed. “Keys?” he asked. She blushed and went back into the loft to grab her keys from the trunk by the chair. Slipping them into her bag, she rejoined him. She was embarrassed. She’d been gawking at him like a lovesick teenager. Apparently, her brain had shut down when the blood rushed lower. Back at his side, Sara pulled the door shut decisively. “Now I’m ready,” she said.

Ian nodded and took her hand in his. “No gloves tonight,” Sara thought. Aloud, she asked, “Where are we going?” He offered her a charming smile as they went down the stairs. “It’s a surprise,” he said, holding open the front door for her to pass through. Her eyebrow lifted when she saw the long, black limousine that idled at the curb. “You’re really pulling out all the stops, aren’t you?” she asked. He brought her hand to his lips for a warm kiss. “I want to convince you that we belong together,” he murmured against her skin. She carefully pulled back her hand. “You’ve got your work cut out for you, pal,” she responded. That killer smile kicked up a notch. “I’m always willing to rise to a challenge,” he assured her slyly.

As Ian opened the door and handed her into the limo, Sara got a good whiff of him and she swayed, dizzy with sudden desire. He smelled incredible. His cologne was subtle but its effect was devastating. A vivid image of slowly stripping him on the back seat of the car tripped through her mind. Once in the limo, she faced front, back straight and hands laced tightly together in her lap. She noticed that the privacy screen was down. She couldn’t see the driver and he or she couldn’t see them. Ian moved close beside her and recaptured her hand. “Is everything alright?” he asked, “You seem a little distant.” She turned her head to look at him. “Not at all,” she replied. Sara couldn’t help it; she leaned closer. “God, you smell good,” she murmured, inhaling deeply. Ian leaned closer too. “Thank you,” he replied.

Their lips were now an inch apart. Sara lost the battle. Her hand snaked out to clutch the back of his neck and pull him to her. Sara sucked on his full lower lip as his arms came around her, pulling her even closer. Ian licked her upper lip slowly. She released his lip and they came together, open mouthed. They kissed deeply, tongues tangling. She wanted to dig her fingers into his curls and she was frustrated by the neat queue at the back of his head. They finally pulled apart, panting. Sara dropped her head to his broad shoulder. She sighed. “I can’t do it,” she said.

Ian tilted his head down to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “Do what?” he asked. Sara sighed again. “Keep my distance,” she replied, “I can’t be close to you and not touch. It has to be all or nothing now.” She turned a little to look up at him. He looked startled. “Nothing isn’t a good option; I don’t want to lose you, Sara.” She lifted her head and looked directly into those wide, golden eyes. “Even if it’s just sex and no more?” she asked. She felt his body tense. There was a long pause. “Yes,” he agreed, voice soft and rigidly under control, “Even then.”

Trying not to show his dismay, Ian added, “You’ve made a decision then. There’s no hope of something deeper between us?” Sara shook her head and said, “No. No decision yet.” She felt his body relax against her ever so slowly. Ian dropped his head back against the seat, closing his eyes. “You scared me,” he whispered. She nuzzled his exposed neck, giving him a soft nip. “I can see that,” she said, voice muffled, “I honestly didn’t mean to do that. I’m sorry.” He lifted his head, forcing her to pull back, and frowned. “That’s alright,” he said in mock sternness, “But don’t do it again. My heart can’t take it.” She leaned forward again to kiss him lightly. “No promises. Remember?” she responded. He pulled her closer to kiss her thoroughly. When they parted, a little breathless, he whispered, “I remember, “ against her lips.

The limousine slowed and then stopped. Ian didn’t wait for the driver to open the door. He got out and held open the door, offering Sara his hand. She took it, allowing him to draw her out of the car easily in spite of the unaccustomed heels and long dress. Sara recognized the marquee of one of the most exclusive and expensive restaurants in New York. Of course, she had never been there; it was way, way out of her league. Ian took her hand and casually led her to the imposing entrance. She realized that she was nervous and she made a conscious effort to settle down. Ian, on the other hand, seemed completely at ease in this rarefied social strata.

Once inside the restaurant, they approached the maitre d’. He smiled and nodded. “Good evening, Mr. Nottingham,” he said, “Your table is ready.” He turned to Sara and inclined his head, saying, “Madam.” Sara nodded back feeling every inch a lady. While they were being led to their table, Sara recognized faces belonging to celebrities, even though the names escaped her. She also felt the weight of many eyes on them. She’d already noticed that Ian’s exotic good looks turned heads, both female and male. She was less used to being the object of so much attention. She didn’t like it and, yet, it was also strangely exciting. When they were seated, she stretched her hand across the table and Ian linked his fingers through hers.

“You’re attracting attention, Mr. Nottingham,” Sara said. Ian lifted one dark brow. “It isn’t me that’s drawing the attention, Ms. Pezzini,” he replied, “It’s my dazzling companion.” Sara snorted. “Yeah, right,” she scoffed. She realized that it shouldn’t surprise her that Ian was so comfortable in this milieu. After all, he must accompany Irons to places like this all the time. Champagne appeared at the table, was poured, and set to chill in a silver bucket. “How did you do that?” Sara asked, sipping, “I didn’t even see you order it.” Ian’s sensuous lips curved in a secret smile. Sara sipped some more – it was very good champagne.

When Sara opened the menu that had been placed in her hands, she realized that it was entirely in French. She glared at the elegant man across from her over the top of the menu. “You did this on purpose,” she growled. He glanced up and met her eyes. “Sorry?” he said. “How the hell do I know what to order?” she asked. Ian smiled. “Why don’t you tell me what you want and I’ll order it for you?” he suggested, “Would that be okay?” Of course, she thought, he would speak French. “Yeah,” she said, “That works. Just a basic steak, potato, and veggie will do.” Ian nodded and turned to the waiter who was now hovering by his left shoulder.

Sara had to admit that Ian was sexy as hell speaking French. She loved the way his lips curved when he formed the foreign words. The waiter left and Ian said, “I thought we’d start with the onion soup. It’s excellent here.” She licked her lips. “That sounds good,” she agreed. This time, he reached across the table to capture her hand. “I’d really like to spend the day with you tomorrow,” he said, “Monday I have to go back to the mansion and I don’t know whether I’ll be leaving town after that or not.” There was a weighty silence before Sara asked, “He’s planning something, isn’t he? He’s coming after me again.” Ian took a deep breath before he answered, “Yes.”

Sara was surprised that he’d given her an honest answer. “How?” she asked. Ian shook his head. “I don’t know that yet,” he replied, “I think I’ll know more after Monday.” Sara studied him for a long time. Ian didn’t flinch under her gaze. “What will you do?” she asked him. He looked right into green eyes that were as hard as emeralds. “I’ll protect you,” he said, “But I have to do it my way and I have to be very, very careful. If he realizes what I’m doing, it will put you in greater danger.” She believed him. “How?” she asked again. Ian sighed, not really wanting to open this can of worms. Still, Sara had a right to know. “He’d neutralize and replace me,” Ian said, “And my replacement would not be honor bound to protect you. In fact, your safety might be the least of his objectives.”

Sara frowned. “How could he replace you, Ian,” she said, “Does Irons think that I’d just get cozy with a stranger? If he does, then he doesn’t know me at all.” Ian stroked her hand, which he still held in his. “He might not seem like a stranger,” Ian replied. Her frown deepened. “What the hell does that mean?” she asked. He shook his head. “I can’t go into more detail right now,” he said, “If I can manage it, my plan is to take those potential replacements out of the equation soon so that they can’t be used against either of us.” Sara looked confused. “I don’t…” she started to say when the waiter brought their onion soup. Ian released her hand and they ate their soup in silence.

After they’d finished and the waiter had cleared their bowls, Ian asked, “More champagne?” Sara nodded. He finished freshening both their glasses, and then said softly, “I need you to trust me, Sara. I’m more than willing to give my life for you but not if it leaves you unprotected.” She studied him for several moments. “And this is the man that you serve and stay with,” she said, “Someone who would sacrifice you without a second thought in yet another harebrained scheme to get the Witchblade.” Ian dropped his eyes to the table. “Don’t,” he said, voice strained. She cleared her throat. “Well, I’m not willing to have you give your life for me,” she said firmly, “That’s not an option. It’s not part of the plan. I won’t go along with anything that puts you in that kind of danger.” Ian shrugged. “What she doesn’t know won't hurt her,” he thought. He’d do whatever was necessary to protect her.

They fell quiet as their entrees were served to them with a bottle of excellent red wine. When they were alone again and they had started to eat in silence, Sara suddenly put down her fork and asked, “What aren’t you telling me?” His eyes begged her for understanding. “There are layers and layers here, Sara,” he said, “There are things that I can’t tell you right now. I know how you would react and it would put you in danger. I can’t take that chance.” She frowned. “You’re asking me to trust you,” she said, “But you aren’t trusting me.” He met her eyes, not backing down. “I know you, Sara,” he said, “I know exactly what you’d do in this situation. I’m sorry if that bothers you. I won’t risk your life to satisfy your curiosity.”

They ate for a while in strained silence. Sara could feel the suppressed tension in Ian. She knew him too. Right now, he was wondering whether his honesty had destroyed whatever chance he’d had for a future with her. Watching his hand clench around his napkin, she acknowledged to herself that it had, in fact, done just the opposite. She believed him and she accepted him as her Protector. “When you find out what he’s planning, will you tell me?” she asked. Ian put down his wine, which he’d drained in a couple of desperate gulps. Again, he looked at her directly. “I’ll tell you as much as I can,” he said carefully, “And I’ll tell you everything as soon as I’m able.”

Sara reached out to stroke his hand. Ian shut his eyes sure that something bad was coming. She smiled and said, “Relax, pal. I believe you.” His eyes flew open and he clutched her hand a little too tightly. “You do?” he asked, surprised. Her eyes narrowed. “Yeah,” she said, “Why? Should I reconsider?” He gripped her hand with both of his. “No. You shouldn’t. I just didn’t expect you to accept this so easily,” he said, “You haven’t shown much inclination to trust my judgment in the past.” Her eyes dropped to his mouth and she licked her lips. “Things have changed,” she agreed, “But my trust is conditional. If we reach a point where I feel that you’re playing me, we’ll have this discussion again.”

Sara wiped her mouth delicately with her napkin. “Dinner was great. Thanks,” she said. Ian smiled. “You’re welcome,” he replied, “This was just the first of many dates, I hope. Dessert?” She dropped her eyes and parted seductive lips. “We’ll see,” she wavered, unwilling to give him quite that much, “Dessert would be good. Why don’t you surprise me?” He sighed. Ian had been hoping for a little more encouragement. He signaled the waiter, and ordered dessert for them both and coffee for Sara. He cleared his throat and Sara looked at him expectantly. “Will you spend the day with me tomorrow?” he asked, then added, “Please?”

“In bed?” Sara countered. Ian grinned. “That wasn’t what I had in mind,” he said, “But if that’s what you want…” He spread his hands to show his acquiescence. She smirked. “Okay, smart ass,” she said, “What did you have in mind?” There was a brief pause while the waiter brought the dessert and Sara’s coffee. She dipped her spoon into the delicacy before her. The Pezzini eyebrow lifted. “Wow,” she said, “What is this?” Ian hid his gratified smile behind his napkin. “Crème Brule,” he said, “Do you like it?” She practically inhaled it. “Are you kidding?” she asked, “What’s not to like?” They finished dessert. Sara took a big sip of her excellent coffee, before she asked, “Tomorrow?” Ian nodded. “I thought we might take a drive into the country, have a picnic,” he said, “What do you think?”

Sara was a city girl through and through. “The country?” she echoed suspiciously. Ian smiled, amused at her reaction. “C’mon, Sara,” he wheedled, “It’ll be fun. Say ‘yes.’” She turned her head toward the back of the restaurant when she suddenly heard music. It sounded like a live band playing soft, romantic tunes. Ian ran one finger across her hand. “Dance with me?” he asked. She looked at him askance. “Here?” she said. He shook his head. “They have an outdoor garden with a dance floor,” he said, “Please?” Ian stood and held out his hand. Sara shrugged, standing and taking his hand. She let him lead her toward a doorway at the back of the room.

When they stepped into the garden, Sara let out a soft gasp. It was enchanting. Arbors twined with blooming white roses covered high brick walls. The rose-covered vines were laden with thousands of twinkling white lights. She was glad that it had rained so hard earlier in the day because it had cleansed the air. The evening was cool and clear, and it seemed like a million stars shone in the sky overhead. A small band was set up at the far end. The oval wooden dance floor was the focal point at the center of the garden. There were small, two-chair café tables situated all around the dance floor on the remaining three sides of the garden. Each table was covered in black cloth and held a white rose in a crystal vase and a large, round white candle.

Although there were several couples dancing to the smooth melodies, the dance floor wasn’t crowded. It was, however, the height of the evening and the tables were filled. Sara squeezed his hand and leaned close to whisper, “I don’t think there are any tables.” Ian squeezed her hand in response and tugged gently, leading her around the perimeter of the floor. He led her to a table that was perfect – close but not too close to the band. She noticed the small “Reserved” sign that rested next to the lighted candle. Ian held her chair and Sara sat, shaking her head. When he was seated, she leaned forward to ask, “Why didn’t we eat out here?” He inclined his head close to hers. “They don’t serve food in the garden,” he said, “Only drinks.”

Within moments, a smiling server had taken the sign from the table and brought them another bottle of champagne. When he left, Sara shook her head again in admiration. “You don’t miss a trick, do you, Nottingham?” she asked. Ian frowned. “Please call me ‘Ian,’” he requested. She studied him, sipping the champagne that had just been poured. “Why?” she asked. He dropped his head. “Because you called me ‘Nottingham’ when I annoyed you and you barely tolerated me,” he murmured, “I tense unconsciously whenever you say it, bracing myself for the verbal slap that used to follow it.” Sara smiled ruefully. “Was it really that bad?” she asked. His head lifted and he met her eyes. His own held remembered pain. “Yes,” he replied, “It was.”

Sara sighed. “Okay, Ian,” she replied pointedly. Ian tipped his head in acknowledgement and said, “Thank you.” He stood and held out his hand. “Dance with me?” he asked. Sara nodded and stood, taking his hand. He led her on to the floor, pulling her into his embrace. Sara looked up at him. His eyes were a dark, glowing amber in the lambent light of the garden. She slipped her hand out of his and stretched her arms up and around his neck, molding her body closer to his. She felt Ian’s arms slide tight around her. He dipped his head and his mouth covered hers, the tip of his tongue sliding teasingly over hers. Sara nipped his bottom lip lightly and deepened the kiss, engaging his tongue more passionately.

Sara finally pulled back breathless, resting her head on his broad shoulder. She smiled as she felt his heart hammering against her. His lips close to her ear, Ian whispered, “This is why I brought you here, Sara. I came here with Mr. Irons not long after they’d opened the garden. As soon as I saw it, I imagined what it would be like to dance with you here, with the roses around us and the stars above us.” Sara lifted her face to brush her lips against his again. “When was this?” she asked. He was quiet for a moment before he said, “A year ago maybe.” She lifted her head and looked into his eyes. “You were optimistic,” she observed, “And very patient.” He nodded, recollecting how Sara was treating him then. “I certainly was,” he agreed.

Sara made a soft sound of frustration. She’d wanted to run her fingers through his hair only to remember that it was bound. “What is it?” he asked, leaning close. Sara snorted. “I wanted to put my fingers in your hair,” she said, “I keep running into this damn knot you’ve got back there.” Ian smiled. He reached up and, in seconds, released his hair into a glorious, shining spill around his shoulders. Sara laughed and dug her fingers avidly into his silky mane. Ian sighed and shut his eyes, enjoying the sensation of her hands in his hair. She suddenly realized that she was really turned on – his hair was so sensual. She loved to fill her hands with it. It smelled wonderful and he looked amazing with those shining curls framing his beautiful face.

Sara inhaled his scent deeply and pushed her pelvis forward, rising up slightly on her toes to connect solidly with Ian. He moaned softly in the back of his throat and arched forward to grind himself against her. The evidence of his arousal was both immediate and gratifying. As they danced, Sara kept rocking against him. Finally, he rasped, “What are you trying to do to me, Sara? Make me come in the middle of the dance floor?” Sara stopped teasing him and raised her head to meet his burning golden gaze. “Nah,” she said, “You have more control than that surely.” He loosed a shaky sigh. “Not really,” he replied, “I’m hanging on by a thread at the moment.”

Sara gave Ian a slow smile. “Sounds like it might be time to head home,” she said, “What do you think?” The smile he gave back to her curled her toes. “I think that I may have to bend you over our table and have my way with you right here,” he replied, his voice a low purr. She felt the heat rising to color her cheeks. “I don’t do public sex,” she said huskily, “But hold that thought.” He still wore that devastating smile. “There’s always the limo,” he said. Sara blinked, thinking that she’d had that very thought at the start of the evening. She felt a sudden gush of wet heat. He wasn’t the only one that was getting aroused.

“Where’s the limo?” Sara asked, voice tight. She heard his startled exhalation. “Right out front waiting for us,” he breathed a little raggedly. Ian suddenly grinned. “Come with me,” he suggested. She grinned back, appreciating his verbal foreplay. “My pleasure?” she said playfully, her inflection turning it into a question. His grin got a little more wicked. “I’ll certainly devote myself to that end,” he assured her. Sara laughed, sliding a carefully hidden hand down between them. She slipped her fingers under his long suit coat to gently stroke his erection. Ian gasped, body arching against her, forcing his rigid shaft further into her hand. Only a couple layers of thin fabric separated them.

“Ready?” Sara asked. Ian took a deep breath. “Ready,” he agreed. She glanced at their table. “My purse,” she said. He moved to the table quickly and was back beside her in two seconds flat. Sara chuckled. “Impatient much?” she asked. He just gave her a look that set her blood bubbling and took her hand, steering her toward the front of the restaurant. “Don’t we have to settle up?” she asked. He didn’t break his stride. “Already done,” he murmured, turning his head to glance at her. When they left the restaurant, the limo was right where it was supposed to be, idling at the curb.

Sara turned to look at Ian. She held two single roses in her hand: one was the burgundy rose that he had given her at her door; the other was the white rose from their table. Ian had offered them to her with her bag. He gave her a dazzling smile. Again, he opened the limo door, held it, and handed her in. Before he was even settled on the seat beside her, Sara had her arms around him and was pulling his mouth to hers. Ian didn’t disappoint her. His response was immediate and passionate. The kiss was deep and hot, mouths wide and tongues wrapped around each other in sinuous, slippery intercourse.

When they pulled apart a fraction to breathe, Sara moved on to Ian’s lap. He recaptured her mouth in a searing kiss as his hand eased carefully under her dress, pushing it higher up her legs. His long fingers sensuously stroked the inside of her thigh, slowly inching higher. She moaned softly as his fingers found their way under her filmy soaked panties. A moment later, he’d managed to slip two fingers inside her while he skillfully rubbed her aching clit with a third. Sara cried out against his mouth, biting his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. She pressed her legs apart to give him more room, straining against his warm hand.

Sara pushed her head between his chin and shoulder. “Oh, Ian, Ian,” she almost sobbed, her face buried deep in his fragrant hair. Ian cuddled her closer to his body; his arm tight around her while the fingers of his other hand increased both the speed and pressure of his touch. Her whole body soon arched as she gave herself over to the orgasm that had been gradually building inside her. It exploded with a delicious burst of sensation all along her nerve endings. She sighed and stretched languorously on his lap, feeling delightfully sated. Ian gently eased his hand out of her panties and out from under her dress, decorously pulling it back down. Eyes locked on hers, he slowly licked each of the fingers that he’d used on her – just like a big, sexy cat. “Oh my,” she whispered, starting to get worked up all over again.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” Ian asked, kissing her neck. His firm lips warm on the sensitive skin sent shivers up her spine. “Yes,” Sara replied, “I will.” He gave her a stunning smile. “Good,” he said, “And tomorrow? Will you spend the day with me?” She smiled back at him. “Let’s take it one step at a time,” she suggested, “Let’s stay together tonight and see how we feel tomorrow.” He dropped his eyes and said softly, “Sure. If that’s what you want. But I know exactly how I’ll feel tomorrow.” Sara stroked his cheek with her fingertips and he turned his face to kiss them. “Then be patient with me,” she said, “Because I need to take it more slowly.” He slanted a quick kiss across her lips. “Of course,” he replied, “Whatever you want.” Ian glanced out the window and, as the limo slowed, added, “We’re home.”

Ian helped Sara out of the limousine. He squeezed her hand and said, “Give me a minute.” She nodded and he went to the driver’s window. Vaguely, Sara realized that she’d never even seen the driver. Her shoulder lifted in a negligent shrug as her eyes devoured Ian, who was leaning casually against the door of the limo talking softly. Sara had other more important things on her mind right now. She stood against the wall next to the front door of the building, hip cocked and eyes half closed. The effects of the lovely orgasm that Ian had just given her were still singing in her blood. She sighed and shivered a little, thinking about what she wanted to do to him when they were alone.

At that moment, his eyes lifted and met hers. Ian must have read some of her thoughts because his lips suddenly curved in a seductive grin. His head immediately dropped again and Sara got the impression that he was cutting short his conversation with the limo driver. Some folded bills quickly changed hands and Ian knocked dismissively on the limo roof. He stepped back as the long car pulled away, moving down the street, and disappearing around the corner. Ian stood where he was, just looking at Sara. His eyes glowed amber in the dim light and that sinful smile still flirted with the corners of his sensuous mouth.

The green flame in Sara’s eyes signaled her own desire. “Do I have to come over there and get you?” she asked. The sexy, little smile blossomed back into a hot, seductive grin as he sauntered to her side. She caught his hand, dragging him into the building and steering him toward the freight elevator. His dark brow lifted and he laughed delightedly. Sara frowned. “You’re testing my notoriously limited patience, Ian,” she grumbled. Emphasis on the “Ian.” Taking the hint, he quickly turned and pressed the button for the top floor. As soon as the door closed and the elevator started moving, Sara swung him around, roughly pinning his shoulders to the wall. Stretching up on her toes, she kissed him passionately.

After one sharp gasp of surprise, Ian recovered quickly and immediately turned the tables. It was Sara’s turn to be surprised when the elevator suddenly stopped between the second and third floor. She had been wrapped around him like a second skin with one of her hands wedged between their bodies, stroking his heavy erection. Now, she pulled back from their torrid kiss, looking dazed, and asked, “What happened?” With blinding speed, he reversed their positions. Sara’s back was now against the elevator wall. “I stopped the elevator,” he responded hoarsely. Ian began sucking and nibbling the delicate skin at the side of her neck while his fingers moved to tease her nipples through the thin material of her dress. “Why?” she managed to ask. “Because I need you right now,” he growled softly. She tipped back her head, shutting her eyes. “Oh,” she sighed.

Sara felt Ian’s hands slide up her legs, bunching her dress around her waist. She was glad now that she’d decided not to wear the pantyhose. As he nipped her ear, his tongue playing with her new pearl earring, his fingers hooked in the waistband of her panties and pushed them down over her hips. They dropped to the floor. She was panting loudly; so ready for him that it was painful. “Hurry,” she hissed. When she heard the sound of his zipper, Sara groaned his name in anticipation and bucked into him where he strained against his briefs. She heard material tear as he got rid of them. That sound weakened her knees and forced a scald of arousal to escape her.

Ian moved closer. He had pushed his suit jacket off, letting it fall to the dusty elevator floor. Both of them were so hot now that she thought steam must have been rising between them. His strong hands cupped her bottom, lifting her up and pinning her to the wall with his body. Gripping his shoulders, Sara locked her muscular legs around him high on his hips. When Ian drove deep inside her with one powerful thrust, Sara let out a loud, inarticulate cry. There was no finesse this time; just wild, desperate need.

If Sara hadn’t been an equal and very willing partner, Ian’s pounding assault might have seemed almost brutal. The empty space inside the elevator echoed his soft, explosive grunts as he rammed himself into her over and over, pulling out almost completely only to slam back into her to the hilt. Sara arched her body, lifting herself higher against him, wanting more, unable to get enough. Completely out of control, she had dragged his tie loose to tangle in a knotted lump halfway down his chest. She’d ripped his shirt open in her quest for bare skin. Sara had scored his cheek and chest with her nails, leaving bleeding furrows of gouged skin in her wake. She’d bitten a tender spot at the juncture of his neck and shoulder hard enough to draw blood, marking him as her own with a livid brand.

They were so enmeshed that they seemed to be trying to crawl inside each other. Sara felt Ian’s heart pounding furiously against hers. It was no longer clear where he ended and she began. She felt his breath hot on her neck as she buried her face in his silky curls, now damp with exertion. Ian gasped, “Oh god, Sara,” his head dropping to rest against her. He was shaking as if gripped by a fever. She clung to him, trying to save herself from drowning in the deluge of sensation. Although neither one of them were thinking coherently, they could both sense the enormity of the climax that was approaching. If they usually came with a glass-shattering explosion, this time they were headed for a nuclear conflagration.

It hit Sara first. Her whole body went rigid, head thrown back, neck straining. Her legs tightened around Ian so hard that, for a moment, he couldn’t breathe. All of her internal muscles convulsed and she let out a guttural cry. When her head fell forward again, Sara bit Ian for the second time in the place where she had already marked him. That bite tipped Ian over the edge. He came with such force it felt like it was ripping him in two; like he was shooting his life’s essence into Sara. He pulled her against him frantically enough to unintentionally leave a perfect set of his fingers bruised into her buttocks. He let out a strangled yell, sounding as if he were being throttled.

Passion spent, reaction set in quickly – especially since someone was repeatedly signaling for the stalled elevator. Ian sagged against Sara. He was panting so loudly that she could barely hear her own ragged gasps. She stiffly unlocked her legs from his hips and eased them back to the floor. They buckled when she tried to put weight on them and she would have fallen if Ian hadn’t grabbed her. The effort to keep them both upright almost toppled him. When she finally found her footing, they came apart with a soft, wet smack. She snorted and weakly said, “Jeez, we better get this elevator moving before they call the fire department.”

Head still down, bracing Sara with one arm and himself against the wall with the other, Ian rasped, “I can’t move yet.” Sara had to smile. She couldn’t believe what they had just done and where they had done it. The buzzer sounded again. They had to move. “Ian,” she said. He lifted his head. His hair was considerably curlier – probably reacting to the steam, she thought. His eyes had a glazed, faraway look to them. His cheeks were flushed. He looked adorable – even with his shirt ripped half off him and his pants down around his ankles. “What just happened?” he asked. His voice was as dazed as his expression. Sara laughed. “You were there, sport,” she said, “You should know.” He shook his head as if to clear it.

“Ian,” she tried again. This time his eyes actually saw her. “We have to pull ourselves together and turn the elevator back on,” she said, “Someone has been trying to call it for the last ten minutes.” Comprehension rushed back into his big, golden eyes. “Oh shit,” he said succinctly. She nodded in agreement. They both went to work on trying to make themselves presentable. They were only moderately successful. Sara fared better. Her dress was hopelessly wrinkled, her hair had come out of its smooth chignon, and the heel of one shoe had snapped off. Other than that, she was relatively unscathed.

Ian, on the other hand, was a mess. His suit coat was both wrinkled and dirty because they had, unaccountably, been standing on it. His tie was knotted so tightly that he had to just pull it over his head and stuff it in his pocket. Buttons were scattered across the elevator floor and his shirt gaped open to display his taut abs. His briefs were a total loss and had disappeared somewhere – probably also into his pocket. The zipper on his pants was stuck and there were some rather obvious stains clearly visible. Fortunately, his suit coat would cover that damage. His hair was a riot of curls. And, last but not least, he had several livid scratches on his face and chest, as well as a truly spectacular bite at the base of his neck.

Sara studied him and sighed. “Well,” she said, resigned, “Let’s hope the entire building isn’t there waiting when the elevator door opens because there’s no way to hide this.” Ian grinned. “They’re probably waiting on the first floor,” he said. She just looked at him a minute before saying, “So?” His grin got broader as he pressed the button to unlock the elevator. “We’re going up,” he said. She laughed before adding, “It’s a temporary reprieve, Not…” she stopped herself, then said, “Ian. They’ll see where the elevator goes. You’re the only one that lives on the top floor.” He shrugged. “Let them see,” he said, “I don’t care what they think.” She sniffed. “And smell,” she thought. The elevator reeked of sex.

Ian was right. When the elevator door opened, no one was there. As they walked to his door, Sara noticed that he was limping slightly. “Why are you limping?” she asked. He dropped his head, blushing as he dug around in his pockets to find his keys. “I pulled a muscle,” he mumbled. She snickered, amused at them both. As soon as Ian opened the door, Hannibal was all over him. Sara shut the door, allowing Ian to get Hannibal under control. As she bent to pick up the keys that Ian had dropped when the big dog welcomed him, Sara felt a sudden draft. She stood abruptly, her face going blank.

Ian turned toward her, smiling. The smile switched to a frown and he asked, “What is it?” Her cheeks flamed scarlet and she ducked her head. “I must have left my panties on the elevator floor,” she murmured, “I should try to find them.” She had her hand on the doorknob when he said, “Wait.” When she looked back at him, Ian was slowly pulling her panties from one of his jacket pockets. Her lips twitched. “Were you going to return those to me?” she asked. The edges of his own lips curved as he shrugged.

Sara forced her face to settle into a serious expression before she asked, “You weren’t thinking about wearing them, were you?” His eyes and mouth went round with shock before he realized that she was teasing him. “They might be a little tight on me,” he countered. She smiled seductively. “What were you planning to do?” she asked. Ian cleared his throat. “Get a quick shower and change before taking Hannibal for a walk,” he said. She caught his hand as he went past her. “You know what I meant, Ian,” she said. He brought her hand to his lips. “I hadn’t really thought about it,” he said, “I just saw them on the floor and picked them up. I hadn’t gotten past that yet.”

Ian took a few more steps, then turned back. “Join me in the shower?” he asked. Sara took another long look at his disheveled state. She wanted to remember him like this. “Nah,” she said, “Thanks but I think I’ll get my shower while you’re walking Hannibal. I’m going to make some coffee. I need another cup.” He nodded. She watched him limp toward the sleeping loft, Hannibal hot on his heels. Sara suddenly grinned as she realized that Ian hadn’t returned her panties. Still grinning, she disappeared into the kitchen to make herself that pot of coffee.

An hour later, they had both showered and Hannibal had been walked. Ian had built a small fire and they sat in the big easy chairs in the library, facing each other. Hannibal was draped across Ian’s bare feet. Clarice was getting settled in Sara’s lap, industriously “making beds” on her thighs. Sara had put on Ian’s white, terry robe after her shower. He had changed into black sweats. She held a big mug of steaming coffee in one hand and absently stroked the cat with the other. Ian watched her drink for a moment before he observed, “You’re going to be up all night, drinking coffee at one o’clock in the morning.” Sara narrowed her eyes. “Are you nagging me?” she asked. Ian held up both hands, palms out, in surrender.

With dreamy eyes, Ian continued to watch Sara sip coffee and pet the cat. The firelight cast her in a soft, warm glow. She looked small, vulnerable, in his too large bathrobe. He felt his heart constrict with emotion. “Sara?” he said. She looked up, her eyes a little unfocused and sleepy. He took a deep breath and rose, crossing the distance between them. He sank to his knees in front of her. Clarice arched her back, annoyed by the intrusion, and jumped off Sara’s lap. Sara met his eyes, her own now wide and startled. Her eyebrow went up. “What?” she asked, putting her mug down on the table. Ian took her hands in his, bending his dark head to press his lips to each of her palms. He kept his head down. His voice was soft but she could hear him quite clearly when he said, “I love you.” For just a moment, she stopped breathing. He finally raised his head again to look at her. “Don’t panic,” he added, trying for a smile, “I know you don’t love me. I don’t expect to hear it back.”

Sara reached out to gently stroke his hair, pushing a loose curl back behind his ear. Ian shut his eyes and sighed. Then, he leaned forward, dropping his head to her lap and slipping his arms around her. He shifted easily from his knees to the floor, leaning his body against her legs. Sara dug one hand deep into his hair, sifting the silky curls through her fingers again and again. She rested her other hand on his back, rubbing it soothingly. “Are you alright?” she whispered. His voice was muffled against her stomach when he replied, “Yeah. I’m fine.” They sat like that for quite a while. Finally, Sara said, “I can’t keep my eyes open. Are you ready for bed?”

Ian nodded. Sara felt the slight motion against her belly, where his head rested. She smiled and ruffled his hair. “You going to get up sometime tonight, sweetie?” she asked. His head lifted. He met her eyes and when he saw she wasn’t teasing him – that the endearment had been genuine – he smiled. He unfolded his long body and rose fluidly, offering her his hand. She took it and he drew her to her feet, pulling her into a quick embrace. Sara snorted as Clarice immediately jumped on the chair to fill the space that she had just vacated. Ian tugged gently on her hand, leading her toward the sleeping loft. When Hannibal started to follow them, he turned his head and commanded, “Stay, boy. Go sleep with your sister in the library.” The big dog gave a soft woof and padded back toward the other room. Sara blinked sleepy eyes and said, “I bet you wish I listened to you that well. Don’t you?” He laughed. “Not at all,” he replied, “If you did, I wouldn’t know who you were.” She dug her nails lightly into his hand.

At the sleeping loft, Sara stopped and stared at the ladder. “Shit,” she said. Ian smiled. “Not a problem,” he assured her. He caught her under the arms and hoisted her to the platform. Sitting with her knees apart and legs dangling over the edge, she leaned forward to grasp his face in her hands. He moved closer, his body between her legs, his hands resting on her hips. “Give us a kiss, big boy,” she demanded. With a fleeting smile, he leaned in to slant his mouth across hers. She slid her arms around his neck to pull him even closer. Their lips parted slowly in a long, languid kiss, tongue tips glancing off of each other to tempt and tease. After she’d had her fill, Sara pulled back a fraction to look in his eyes. “You taste good,” she whispered. He smiled. “You taste addictive,” he replied, “Like coffee.”

“Need a stronger fix?” Sara tempted. Ian’s long eyelashes fluttered and his lanky frame jittered. “Quick,” he gasped, “I’m going into withdrawal.” Sara chuckled. “You ass,” she said fondly, leaning in to capture his lower lip in her teeth. He wasn’t able to cover the slight hiss that escaped him. She released his lip and pulled back. He followed her, eyes shut, murmuring, “No. Don’t stop.” His eyes opened when her finger touched his mouth instead of her lips. She was examining the bite mark she had given him. “Boy, I really got you,” she mumbled. He kissed her finger as she explored the damage. “It’s nothing,” he assured her. Now that she was looking, she began to find the rest of the damage that she had done. The scratches were red, swollen, and looked nasty. He was still bleeding where she had bitten him on the neck.

“Jeez,” Sara said, mortified, “I had no idea that I’d done all this.” In one smooth motion, Ian vaulted up to the sleeping loft to sit beside her. He slipped his arm around her shoulders and hugged her to him. “Don’t give it another thought,” he said, “I view them as marks of possession. I wouldn’t trade them for a fortune in gold.” She snorted, then was silent for quite a while, thinking. He covertly watched her, wondering what was going on in her head. She finally turned slightly to look up into his face. “I’ve never done anything like that with anyone else,” she said very softly. When he didn’t say anything, she added, “You know – what happened in the elevator,” color rising in her cheeks. Ian frowned. “Should I interpret that as good or bad?” he asked. She shrugged. “Don’t know,” she replied, “I guess you should interpret it as ‘different.’”

Sara got up and headed to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. Ian stayed where he was, mulling over what she had said. He finally decided that, considering the course of her previous relationships, maybe ‘different’ wasn’t such a bad thing. The bathroom door opened and Sara stuck out her head. “Come here and let me clean you up, Ian,” she said. He turned his head and raised a dark brow. “Clean me up?” he echoed. She scowled at him, knowing how he hated anyone fussing over his injuries. “Just come here,” she repeated. He rose and joined her in the bathroom.

When he entered the bathroom, Ian saw an impressive array of first aid paraphernalia arranged around the sink. He smoothly swiveled back toward the door but Sara grabbed his arm, dragging him in. She pointed to the lowered toilet seat and ordered, “Sit.” He sighed, resigned, and sat. “Are we going to play doctor?” he asked hopefully, trying to distract her, “Would you like to massage that muscle I pulled?” She had to smile. “I bet I can guess where it is,” she said, “Groin?” He looked amazed. “You must be psychic,” he teased. She frowned. “Take the shirt off, cutie,” she said. He opened his mouth to speak and she held up an admonishing finger. Ian sighed again, shut his mouth, and pulled his shirt over his head.

Sara knelt in front of Ian. Just the tip of her tongue exposed in concentration, she cleaned each scratch that she’d given him and then dabbed them with Mercurochrome. He didn’t protest or stir because he was actually enjoying her attention. Next, she cleaned and sterilized the bites. When she wanted to cover the bite on his neck with a large, gauze pad, Ian finally drew the line. He hated bandages of any kind. “It looks worse than it is,” he argued, “Let the air heal it.” Sara knew that stubborn set of his lips. On this one, she gave in, aware that it was a losing battle. “Well,” she thought, “Irons has marked his back and I’ve marked his neck – near the jugular. Over time, I wonder which brand will fade into insignificance.”

“Are we done?” Ian asked. Sara nodded as she put away the first aid supplies. “Yes,” she said, adding, “In here.” When she turned back to him, she held a tube of Ben-Gay. His eyes went wide. “You really are going to massage the pulled muscle?” he asked. She nodded. “You bet,” she replied. Ian grinned. “Alright!” he said enthusiastically. She shrugged. “I feel responsible,” she explained. Catching her hand and drawing her toward the bed, Ian replied, “I’d dissuade you from that assumption but that would be very foolish.” She flipped off the bathroom light as she passed, letting him lead her to the bed. Surprised, she asked, “When did you change the sheets?” Reaching for the tie on her robe, he responded, “Earlier. The sheets from last night were…” He paused, searching for a word. “Used?” she suggested. He grinned. “To say the least,” he agreed.

Sara lightly slapped away the hand that was trying to disrobe her. “Cut it out,” she said, “Lose the pants.” His lips twitched. “Yes, ma’am,” Ian replied, pushing his sweatpants over his slender hips to drop to the floor. He stood still, watching her, waiting for her next command. Her eyes raked over him, as always spellbound by his physical beauty. Ian watched her watching him. The look on her face melted all the hard edges; excitement coiled in his belly like a somnolent serpent. In his present state of undress, there was nowhere to hide his reaction. Sara’s eyes traveled back up his long body to meet his eyes. A knowing smile touched her lips. After a moment, Ian dropped his head as a sudden flush of color rose in his cheeks. “Such a contradiction,” she thought, “Standing there naked, aroused, and sexy as sin, but still naive enough to be shy about it.”

A great wave of tenderness toward him washed over her without warning. Swamped, Sara struggled to rebuild her defenses; grateful that Ian hadn’t been looking at her, grateful that he hadn’t glimpsed her sudden vulnerability. After all, she wouldn’t want to mislead him, have him misinterpret her feelings for him. By the time he looked up again, Sara had herself back under control. “So,” he said lightly, fidgeting a little, “Are you just going to ogle me all night or were you planning on getting physical?” She frowned. “I’m going to massage your pulled muscle, pal, nothing more,” she said. She inclined her head toward his impressive erection, adding, “So you can put that away. Lie down.” Trying to hide his disappointment and confusion at her abrupt mood change, Ian stretched out on the bed. “What did I do wrong?” he wondered, replaying the last few minutes in his head.

Sara tightened the robe’s tie around her waist and sat on the bed beside him. Ian bent his left knee up, casually tilting his thigh inward to block her view of his genitals. It was an unconscious gesture. He was feeling vulnerable, exposed, and Sara was studying him again. “Right or left,” she said. Both his brows lifted. “Sorry?” he replied. Her lips twitched. “The muscle you pulled,” she clarified, “Is it on the right or the left?” His forehead smoothed out. “Oh,” he said, “Right.” She squeezed salve from the tube into the palm of her hand before replacing the cap and dropping it on the nightstand. She put her other hand on his bent knee and gently pushed his leg flat on the bed.

Sara stroked fingertips over the inside of his right thigh just below where it met his groin. “Here?” she asked. Ian shivered at her touch. A tiny but visible quiver went through his rigid shaft. “Yes,” he responded hoarsely. She slowly rubbed in the salve, her fingers kneading the hard muscle firmly – a bit too firmly. “Ow,” Ian complained, his shoulders coming up off the bed. She raised her head to look at him and said, “Sorry.” He was resting up on bent elbows now, brows knit in confusion, studying her. “Did I do something to make you angry, Sara?” he asked. She dropped her eyes and lightened her touch. She couldn’t exactly tell him that she was pissed off because he’d made her feel something other than annoyance or lust for him, could she?

“No,” she replied, “Why?” Ian shook his head. “It’s sometimes difficult to keep up,” he said. Her eyes shifted back to his groin. “Could have fooled me,” she replied. Ian blushed. But, with the color still high in his cheeks, he boldly reached for and captured her right hand in his. He moved their joined hands to tightly grip his hard-on and began guiding her toward the release he craved. With a soft groan, Ian shut his eyes and dropped flat. His hips began arching rhythmically to push himself into the sheathe of their coupled grasp. It didn’t take long. Close to climax, his body tensed and he moaned, “Ohhhhh, Sara, Sara,” in a tight, husky whisper.

Sara smiled, forcing her hand to slow its motion in Ian’s rigid clasp. “Say ‘please,’” she commanded softly. His hips bucked harder in reaction. He was so close. His eyes opened and fixed on her, unguarded, filled with adoration. “Oh, my lady, my love,” he begged raggedly, “Please touch me. Please want me.” She suddenly felt ashamed for toying with him. Sara tightened her grasp and picked up the pace to bring him to completion. With her free hand, she loosened the terry robe she was wearing and pulled it around to absorb the impending eruption. Ian was utterly oblivious and she had no intention of trying to sleep on soaked sheets. With a soft cry, his body pushing high off the mattress, Ian came into the terry robe that Sara pressed around him.

Sara slipped the robe the rest of the way off her and rolled it into a ball with the large, wet patch on the inside. She dropped the bathrobe to the floor beside the bed and then settled herself under the covers. Sated, Ian curved around her warmly with the limp, boneless grace of a big cat. His angles smoothly met her curves as if they were conjoining pieces of some genetic jigsaw puzzle. He sighed heavily and cuddled closer, nuzzling his face down into her hair. Without another word, he dropped like a stone into a deep sleep. Sara smiled, amused, and affectionately ruffled his damp curls. “Just like a man,” she whispered, shutting her eyes. She soon followed him into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.