"Blood Seduction"

Sara came awake slowly. She quickly realized that the bed she was in was a lot more comfortable than her borrowed futon. Her thought processes lagged behind the vivid sense memory of a warm, hard body curved around her protectively. “Ah yes,” she thought, “Ian.” Since she’d seduced him in the hot tub night before last, she’d spent more time in his bed than her own. “Not to mention the kitchen counter, the floor of the library, and the elevator,” a wicked little voice whispered inside her head. Sara winced, wanting to shy away from such thoughts in the bright light of a Sunday morning.

Suddenly wondering whether the morning was, in fact, bright, Sara opened one eye cautiously. It was. Sunlight streamed in through the skylight above her. Eyes closed again, she stretched carefully in the comfortable bed. Although he was no longer draped against her like a second skin, she sensed another presence in the big bed. She hated morning afters – and they had had one hell of a night before. She felt heat rise in her cheeks as she remembered Ian pounding into her up against the wall of the elevator. The embarrassment was swiftly followed by a hot flush of arousal. She shook her head. “What’s wrong with me?” she thought.

Sara took a deep breath. This was pointless. She couldn’t avoid the inevitable. Cautiously, eyes still shut, she stretched her left hand out on the bed beside her and touched fur. Fur? Opening her eyes, she turned her head to look beside her. Clarice lounged full length on the bed, languidly licking a paw. Ian was gone. She gave a soft snort of laughter, sitting up. The cat paused mid-lick to fix her with enormous blue eyes. “You lookin’ at me? You lookin’ at me?” Sara said, doing an awful imitation of Robert DeNiro in ‘Taxi Driver,’ “Well, I’m the only one here.” Clarice yawned, clearly unimpressed. “I’m looking at you,” Ian said. Sara jumped, letting out a little shriek. Clarice flew off the bed like she’d been launched from a cannon. He was standing at the base of the sleeping loft looking up at her, a tray in his hands.

Sara put a hand on her heaving chest as she studied him sourly. “Jeez,” she gasped, “How do you do that? Between one second and the next, you’re just there. What do you do? Teleport?” Ian put the tray on the loft platform. It held a carafe, two mugs, and a big plate of toast. “Sorry,” he apologized, climbing the ladder to the sleeping loft. “Yeah, well,” she grumbled, “I might have to put a bell on you anyway.” She sulked another moment as he picked up the tray, moving it to the nightstand. “Is that coffee?” she asked. He nodded as he filled a mug from the carafe. He stopped just short of handing it to her. “Can I still have the bell?” he asked. She snorted. “We’ll get you some for your toes since you’ve already got the ring for your finger,” she replied, “Now give me my coffee, sport, or you won’t have the digits left to wear either rings or bells.”

Ian gave Sara the mug. She sighed, taking a careful sip of steaming coffee. Shutting her eyes, she moaned, “Oh man, that’s so good.” Ian sat cross-legged on the bed facing her, holding a mug of tea. He was wearing a pair of loose, black silk workout pants and nothing else. His hair fell in shining waves that he’d tucked behind his ears. Sara noticed a flash and realized that he’d forgotten to remove the diamond stud from his left ear. She suddenly recalled Vicki’s description of him as a pirate and smiled. Ian’s lips curved in response. “What’s so amusing?” he asked. Her smile faded. “Nothing,” she said, “What’s on the plate?” He took the plate from the nightstand, offering it to her with some napkins. “Cinnamon toast and French toast,” he said, “I didn’t know which you’d like. I figured both was a safe bet.”

Sara took a napkin and grabbed a piece of each. She took a few bites and had some more coffee before she said, “I should be going soon.” His face fell. Ian turned away to cover his disappointment. “I thought you might like a swim,” he murmured, face still averted, “It’s a beautiful day. Sunny. Perfect for a picnic in the country.” Sara frowned. “Ian,” she said. He turned back to her, under control again. “I think we need a little break,” she said, “We’ve been together almost constantly since Friday night. We need to slow down. I go back to work tomorrow and there’s stuff I need to do today – errands like laundry, food shopping. Stuff like that.” He nodded slowly. “Alright,” he agreed, “Whatever you want.”

Ian cleared his throat. Her eyes narrowed. “What?” Sara said, annoyed. He dropped his eyes. “Would you like me to build your closet today?” he asked. She bit her lip. She was really sick of digging around in that cardboard box to find something to wear and everything she owned was always wrinkled. She weighed having a closet against having some time to herself to regroup. It was a near thing but the closet won. “Okay,” she said. He managed a weak grin. “If it’s any consolation, you wouldn’t have been rid of me anyway,” he said. Her eyes narrowed again. “Why is that?” she wanted to know. “Laundry,” he replied, “I have the washer and dryer. Remember?” Sara tilted her head, studying him. “Don’t try to box me in too tight, Nottingham,” she warned, “I fight when I’m cornered.” As she’d intended, he winced at her use of his surname.

This time, Ian’s whole head dropped. “It was not my intention to ‘box you in,’ Sara,” he said softly, “I enjoy being with you. Your company gives me great pleasure. It was only my desire to spend time with you while I could. I’m sorry if it seemed as if I was stalking you again.” Shit. Now she felt bad. “Nah,” she said, “I’m just not very good at this clingy, touchy-feely stuff. Don’t take it too personal. I even get sick of myself once in a while.” He lifted his head and gave her a dazzling smile. “From all that I’ve read, building a relationship is quite difficult,” Ian declared, “I imagine that it will take us a while to become truly comfortable with each other.” Sara’s mouth dropped open. She thought about reminding him that they didn’t have a “relationship” but decided that would not just dampen his enthusiasm, it would hurt him again.

Instead, she hid behind her most reliable coping mechanism – sarcasm. “Where did you read that?” she sniped, “’Cosmopolitan’?” He nodded. Her mouth dropped open again. “You read ‘Cosmopolitan’?” she asked. He smiled and said, “I read everything.” She shook her head, studying him, eyes softening. “What the hell,” she thought, “He’s so cute and he smells so good.” She put her coffee on the nightstand. Sara reached out to grasp the back of his neck with her hand, pulling him toward her. “C’mere, big boy,” she whispered, “Give us a kiss.” Startled and off balance, he fell toward her, just catching himself before his full weight landed on her. He barely managed to keep his tea from spilling all over the sheets. Not moving from her embrace, he edged his mug on to the nightstand. Leveraging his weight on his arms, Ian lowered his body to rest gently against hers. He dropped his head to nuzzle her neck, giving her a soft bite. She felt his hot tongue soothe the nip and then slide slowly up her neck, leaving a wet, tingling trail in its wake. Sara shivered.

At his destination, Ian licked the outline of her lips. “I thought you were all kissed out,” he purred. A soft, strangled gasp escaped her. “I guess not,” Sara whispered, “Surprise.” She grabbed a handful of curls at the back of his head and pulled his face to hers, kissing him hard. She felt his tongue stroke her lips again and she opened her mouth to let him in. Ian explored the inside of her mouth, his arms tightening around her, pulling her closer. Her body arched as his tongue drew subtle, sensual circles on the roof of her mouth. By the time they separated to gulp in air, Sara’s whole body was on fire for him. Sensing it, Ian pressed his advantage, wanting her just as badly. Panting, she stopped him with a shaking hand to his chest. “We can’t keep doing this,” she breathed. Eyes half open, amber dark with passion, Ian whispered, “Why?”

“Because it’s unnatural,” Sara said, pulling away from him, trying to create some distance between them, “We’re going at each other like a couple of horny rabbits. Normal people don’t fuck this much.” Ian sucked in a pained breath, staring at her back, which she’d presented to him. “How about people in love, Sara?” he growled, “Maybe people in love have a hard time keeping their hands off each other. Maybe it’s natural for them to make love all the time. Maybe it’s perfectly normal.” She gave a ragged laugh that almost sounded like a sob. Her back was still to him so he couldn’t see her face. The sound of it made his body tense. “Maybe you’re full of shit,” she said flatly. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of one hand. “Yeah, maybe I am,” he agreed. After a long pause, he added, “I’m going to get a shower. Your dress from last night is a mess. If you want to borrow some shorts and a tee shirt, feel free. You know where they are.”

Without another word, Ian disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. In a couple of minutes, Sara heard the sound of the shower. She looked at the closed door and sighed. “Damn it, Pezzini,” she said aloud, “You didn’t have to be that harsh. He’s too open, too vulnerable.” She sighed again and got up to dig some shorts and a tee out of his bureau. Pulling them on, she decided that she should leave now for both their sakes. Sara found some paper and a pen in the kitchen by the phone. In her tight scrawl, she wrote: “Sorry I was such a bitch. Just woke up in a mood today, I guess. I promise to be nicer when you come down to do the closet. Whenever you’re ready is fine. Later, Sara.” She left the note in the middle of the bed and, picking up her rumpled clothes from the night before, headed to the front door. Hannibal followed her, whining softly.

With her hand on the doorknob, Sara stopped and gazed down at the Rottie. Hannibal gave her “the look.” She pointed her finger at the big dog and said, “Don’t you dare try to make me feel guilty too. Go bug your master. That won’t work with me.” He tilted his huge head to the side and fixed her with his shining, mournful orbs. Sara sighed, defeated. She dropped to her haunches and scratched Hannibal behind his ear. He gave her a low rumble of ecstasy. “Okay, Okay,” she mumbled, “I’ll be more careful what I say to him and how I say it. Alright?” He acknowledged her surrender with a muted bark. “Are we cool?” she asked, then added, “What am I doing? Like you have a clue what I’m talking about.” Hannibal responded with another soft woof. Shaking her head, Sara made her exit, closing the door firmly behind her.

When Ian came out of the bathroom, he wasn’t surprised to find her gone. He’d expected it. Sighing, he plucked the note off the bed and read it. Ian sat, still holding the paper in his hand, staring off into space. Upset with himself, he crumbled the note and tossed it toward the basket next to the bureau. “You keep pushing your feelings at her,” he thought disgustedly, “You’ll drive her away.” Before he saw her again, he had to find some emotional distance, get his needs back under control. He stood, dropping his damp towel on the bed. Moving to the center of the sleeping loft, Ian settled his mind and pushed his body through a slow kata series. Half an hour later, his naked body glistening with a light sheen of perspiration, Ian was calmer, more collected. He ran the towel back over him before tossing it in the bathroom hamper.

While he dressed, Ian made a mental list of what he’d need to build Sara her closet. He’d have to take measurements and get the lumber before he could even start. He frowned as he realized that he should probably go to the mansion to pick up the small truck. He’d need it to transport the lumber. Ian had no desire to face his master today – tomorrow was soon enough. He would only go to the mansion if he were sure that he could get in and out unscathed. On his way out of the loft, Ian picked up a pad and pen, the measuring tape, and his Mets cap to keep his hair out of his eyes while he worked. He passed the hall mirror quickly, not wanting to give Irons the chance to corner him. A grim smile touched his lips as he was transported back to his childhood. Here he was avoiding mirrors again, disquiet coiled in his gut.

Just as Ian lifted his fist to knock on Sara’s door, she opened it. They suddenly faced each other, both looking startled. “Hey,” she said. Ian dropped his fisted hand. “Hey, Sara,” he responded, “Going out?” She cleared her throat. “I was just coming to see you,” she said, “C’mon in.” He followed her back into her place, shutting the door behind him. “What’s up?” he asked, automatically scanning the loft. She had straightened up, he thought. The place looked good. “I have another favor to ask,” she said. He smiled. “Sure,” he agreed. She frowned. “Don’t be so quick,” she replied, “You don’t have to do this. I can find another way.” For a moment, they just stood there looking at each other. Then, Ian said, “Do what?” Sara flushed, realizing that she hadn’t even told him what she needed him for now. She was becoming entirely too dependent on Ian Nottingham and she didn’t like it one bit.

Fidgeting, Sara said, “When I got in, there were all these messages from Danny on my machine. He wanted to get the bed that he’s giving me to me today but his plans to borrow a truck fell through. He asked if I might be able to lay hands on one. I also talked with Vicki and I can pick up her spare T.V. on the same trip. Is there any chance at all that you could borrow the truck we used for our estate sale jaunt?” After that verbal burst, she wrung her hands nervously. She hated to ask favors, much preferring to rely on herself to get things done. Ian grinned rakishly. “No problem,” he said easily, “I needed to get the truck anyway to pick up the lumber for the closet.” She studied him carefully. “Really?” she asked. Still grinning, he nodded. “Really,” he confirmed. Not wanting to blindside him, she continued, “Think about this, Ian. Danny will have to help you move the box spring and mattress. And Jake is at Vicki’s today. Are you ready for this?” His golden eyes widened as the implications hit him.

Sara was right. The actual mechanics of her request had been overshadowed by his desire to help her. Still, she needed his help and he couldn’t back out now. “Wonderful,” Ian thought unhappily, “She’s already wanting to distance herself from me and now she’s going to see me through the disapproving eyes of her friends.” He sighed softly and said, “I’ll manage. When is he expecting us?” She gave Ian a quick smile, admiring his bravado. “Just let me give Danny a call to let him know that we’re on our way,” she replied. He nodded, now dreading the whole enterprise. While Sara picked up her cell to call Danny, Ian detoured into the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face. He looked in the mirror over the sink, trying to see himself as her friends would see him. After a moment, Ian shut his eyes, thinking that he was fucked.

“Ian?” Sara called. Taking a deep breath, he dried his face and hung up the towel. “Coming,” he called back. As she watched him glide toward her from the bathroom with that panther prowl of his, Sara thought that at least he looked normal. Planning to spend the day as a carpenter, Ian had dressed in jeans, a short-sleeved, black tee shirt, and boots. The back-turned Mets cap rested atop hair pulled back in a tight tail. Although it was unintentional, the clothes showed off his magnificent body to advantage. Ian was watching Sara’s mobile face change, trying to gauge her thoughts, when her expression suddenly went blank with shock. “Oh my god,” she gasped. Ian tensed and swung around, checking the loft. Nothing. “What is it?” he asked, confused. Her eyes were round as saucers. “Your neck,” she whispered. His hand flew to his neck, his own eyes wide, wondering what was wrong. He winced when his fingertips brushed against the bite that she’d given him in the elevator. He shrugged. “What?” he asked again.

The bite on his mouth could barely be seen, Sara thought, and the scratches on his cheek had healed to faint, red lines. She knew that the scratches on his chest were much deeper, but the tee shirt covered them. The bite at the base of his neck, though, was livid and swollen. You couldn’t miss it. Danny and Jake – not to mention, Vicki – certainly wouldn’t. As soon as they saw it, they’d know exactly what was going on between she and Ian. “I can’t let that happen!” she thought frantically. She frowned, lost in thought, while Ian watched her. Her eyes widened. Ian could almost see the light bulb flash above her head. “Have you got any bandannas?” she asked. His dark brows knit. “Bandannas?” he asked, not following. She moved a little closer, studying the telltale mark. “Yeah, you know,” she explained, “Cotton scarves. Like cowboys wear.” Ian shook his head. “What’s the problem, Sara?” he asked.

Sara lifted her hand as if to touch him, but dropped it again before she did. “We’ve got to cover where I bit you,” she said. Ian suddenly got it. She didn’t want her friends to know what was going on between them. He felt a quick stab of pain and it flared in his golden eyes. “Don’t worry,” he said, an edge to his voice, “If anyone’s rude enough to ask, I’ll tell them that I got it in a bar fight.” Sara's mouth curved in a weak smile. “Good try,” she said, “But it’s not that kind of bite. It’s known as a ‘hickey’ and you’re sporting the most spectacular one I’ve ever seen.” A completely absurd flash of pride swept through him. “There’s no way to mistake what it is or how you got it,” she added, “And since we’re showing up together, it’s going to be pretty obvious who gave it to you.” Ian couldn’t help it. He grinned. Sara’s eyes narrowed. “I’m glad you’re enjoying this,” she noted sarcastically.

“I’m not ashamed to be your lover,” Ian replied, “I don’t care who knows it.” Sara’s mouth opened to reply, but closed again before she did. There was a pause before she said, “I’m just not ready to deal with their reaction right now. Okay? Please help me with this.” Ian sighed. “What do you want me to do?” he said. She tried, unsuccessfully, to hide her relief. “Do you have a turtleneck sweater?” she asked. He studied her face briefly. “I think so,” he said softly, “I’ll go get changed. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” She flashed him a quick, grateful smile. “Yes,” she said, “Thanks.” Ian shrugged listlessly, feeling like Sara’s dirty secret. He headed back upstairs, returning ten minutes later wearing a long-sleeved, black turtleneck sweater over his jeans. She caught his hand in hers and squeezed his fingers. “Are you angry with me?” she asked. He looked directly in her hooded green eyes. He shook his head and said, “But I am hurt that what’s between us embarrasses you.” Her eyes dropped and she pulled back her hand. “It doesn’t exactly,” she waffled, “I’m just not ready to go public with it yet.”

Ian wasn’t mollified by her explanation but he didn’t feel that he could press it. The change in their relationship was still too new and he was afraid that if he pushed too hard too fast, he would lose her entirely. So he just nodded and gave her a guarded smile before saying, “We should get going.” Sara nodded back and headed toward the door. They took Ian’s car, driving to the mansion with the radio drowning out all possibility of conversation. In the mansion’s spacious, well-provisioned garage, they switched to the truck that they’d used to get Sara’s furniture. They managed to get in and out without raising any alarms or seeing another soul. Sara gave Ian directions to Danny’s place. He listened carefully, deciding it was best not to reveal that he knew the route to Danny Woo’s home very well. Ian always did his homework. If someone was important to Sara, they were important to him. They were almost there before she spoke again.

As they sat at a red light, Sara cleared her throat and Ian spared her a quick glance. She was nervously wringing her hands again. “Danny tends to be really protective of me,” she mumbled, “If he seems kind of hostile, don’t take it personally. He just…” Ian interrupted her preemptive apology. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, “I can handle it. I won’t rip off his fingers and tuck them in his ears.” She snorted. “Vivid image,” she said, “And you’d try. My partner’s no pushover.” He lifted one hand off the wheel and sighed. “I wasn’t suggesting that he was,” he replied, “Relax, Sara. I’ll try not to embarrass you too much.” Now, she sighed. “I didn’t mean…” she started. After a pause, she added, “Maybe I should just shut up for a while.” They drove the next five minutes in silence, until Ian asked, “Is this it?” She looked up, surprised. She hadn’t even recognized the street that she had driven down a hundred times. “Yeah,” she said, “Just back into the driveway.”

Sara climbed out of the truck as soon as Ian parked and turned off the ignition. She took a couple of steps toward the house and turned, realizing that he was still sitting in the truck. She walked back and rested her arms on the window frame, looking across at his handsome profile. He sat still as a statue. “You going to get out of the truck?” she asked. “I thought you might want me to stay here until you needed some muscle,” he said, “Might be safer.” He was still staring out through the windshield. “You’re starting to piss me off, Nottingham,” she growled. Now, he did turn to look at her, his sensual lips drawn into a hard line. “Then we’re even,” he replied. Sara fought to rein in her temper. He was doing her a favor, after all. She bit down the nasty retort that she was aching to fling at him. “I’d like you to come in the house with me,” she gritted past clenched teeth, adding, “Please.” His lips twitched. God, he loved her. “How could I resist such a heartfelt request?” he wondered aloud. Her eyes narrowed alarmingly but she held her tongue.

Ian got out of the truck and they walked together to the front door. Sara rang the doorbell, murmuring, “Let the games begin.” Danny’s niece, Mija, opened the door and immediately launched herself into Sara’s arms for a hug. Startled by the teenager’s exuberance, Ian took a step back, eyes wide. “Hey, Sara,” Mija cried, “It’s been forever. How’s it going?” She grinned as, over Sara’s shoulder, her eyes took in Ian from tip to toe. “Who’s the eye candy?” Mija asked. Ian blinked. Sara gave the girl a quick, loving hug and then held her back at arm’s length. She looked into Mija’s dark, dancing eyes. “Behave,” Sara said, “This is Ian. Where are your aunt and uncle?” Mija licked her lips as she still scoped out Ian. “Mija,” Sara said sharply, trying to recapture the girl’s attention.

Mija finally turned back to Sara. Ian had dropped his eyes, his cheeks a little flushed. “Aunt Lee is in the kitchen making coffee,” Mija replied, “Uncle Danny is in the basement getting your bed.” Sara nodded. “Where’s the rug rat?” she asked. Mija’s eyes flicked back over Ian and Sara put a finger on her collarbone. When Mija’s eyes fixed on the finger, Sara zipped it up to land on her nose. Mija laughed and said, “Next door with the neighbor’s kids.” Sara grinned and said, “Stop ogling my friend. You’re making him nervous. We’re going out to the kitchen to have coffee with your aunt. Come see me in my new place. Okay?” Mija grinned back at her. “Okay,” she said, heading back toward her bedroom and its CD player, “He’s really hot,” she threw over her shoulder. “Yeah, I know,” Sara agreed. Ian cleared his throat, the color high in his cheeks. She shook her head at his discomfort. “Sorry,” she said, “Brace yourself for the next Woo.”

Taking Ian’s hand, Sara led him toward the kitchen. When they entered the kitchen, Lee turned from the coffeemaker, a smile on her face. As she walked to Sara, arms open, her sharp eyes appraised Ian. Lee hugged Sara and then turned to Ian, hand outstretched. “I’m Lee Woo,” she said, her small hand swallowed in his. “Ian Nottingham,” he replied softly. Her dark eyes shifted briefly back to Sara. They silently transmitted, “Wow.” Sara smiled. Lee indicated the kitchen table and said, “Please. Sit down while Danny digs out the bed. Would you like some coffee? Or, would you prefer tea?” They sat at the table while Sara said, “I’d love some coffee. Ian takes tea.” Lee moved about the kitchen, pouring and fussing. Her pregnancy was just starting to show.

Ian, perched on the edge of a kitchen chair, looked poised for flight. “Perhaps I should assist Detective Woo in the basement?” he asked hesitantly. Lee turned, waving a hand at him to stay seated. “He’s clearing the general mess out of the way so that he can get to the mattress,” she said, “He’ll call if he needs help. Drink your tea.” Ian dropped his eyes and lifted his cup as Lee sat with them at the table. Sara watched him covertly, smile hidden by her mug. “So,” Lee said, “How do you know Sara?” Huge, startled, golden eyes shifted to Sara, who was reminded of a deer caught in the headlights of a semi. She could sympathize. How could either of them begin to answer that question? “I met Ian while I was working on a case,” Sara said, “He was able to provide some expert information that I needed.”

Lee zoomed back in on her target. “What kind of expert are you, Ian?” she asked. His eyes shifted to Sara again but this time no help was forthcoming. Ian cleared his throat nervously. “I, uh, specialize in security systems,” he replied. Lee studied him over her mug. “You work for that millionaire, Kenneth Irons, don’t you?” she asked. Ian nodded, not trusting his voice. Lee smiled at Sara. “You’ve certainly been keeping him well hidden,” she observed. Sara arched her brow. “I have no idea what you mean,” Sara said, her tone contradicting her words. Lee returned to the weaker link. “How long have you two been dating?” she asked Ian. He blinked twice. “Dating?” he said, eyes frantically signaling Sara for help. Sara grinned. “C’mon, Lee,” she drawled, “Give the poor guy a break. He volunteered to help me move my stuff. That’s all. Put away the rubber hoses. Okay?” Lee’s eyes went wide and innocent. “Why, detective,” she said, “I have no idea what you mean.” Turning back to Ian, she asked, “More tea?”

In the nick of time, Danny called from the basement, “Is that you, Pez?” Sara stood and crossed the kitchen to stand at the basement door. “Yeah, it’s me, partner,” she called down, “Do you need help?” There was a pause before he called back, “Did you bring help?” Sara took a deep breath and called, “Ian’s with me. Do we have to keep shouting back and forth like this?” She tilted her head closer to the door, hearing what might have been laughter. “Bring him down,” Danny called, “I won’t bite. I can’t speak for the mattress though.” Sara snorted, crooking her finger at Ian to join her. “If anything in that mattress bites,” she mumbled, “I don’t want it.” Ian smiled at Lee and said, “Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Woo. It was very good.” As Sara watched, Lee melted. “You’re very welcome,” she said, “And please call me Lee.” His pleasant smile turned devastating. For a moment, both women were caught in its spell. Then, Sara shook her head and said, “Get over here, hot shot.”

Ian followed Sara into the Woo basement. Danny looked up as he finished moving a large box marked “tree ornaments” to the side. It had obviously taken him a while to clear a path to the plastic-wrapped mattress and box spring. The men stood silent, eyes locked on each other. Sara had a brief mental flash to one of those National Geographic specials where two male moose stood heads lowered, poised to crash together in a fight for dominance. She cleared her throat and tense, golden eyes flicked back to her. Danny’s dark eyes stayed fixed on Ian. Gesturing with her hand, Sara performed the introductions. “Danny Woo,” she said, “Ian Nottingham.” Danny stiffly inclined his head, his smile slightly predatory. “I’ve seen you around,” Danny said. Sara’s lips twitched at Danny’s veiled allusion to her stalker. Ian nodded back, mumbling, “Detective.” Caught in the ambient tension, Sara started wringing her hands nervously again only to stop herself when she realized what she was doing. “Enough!” she thought.

“Jeez, guys. Get a grip,” she said, “We’re moving a mattress not filming ‘Yojimbo.’ Lighten up. Okay?” Ian and Danny both turned to Sara. “You’ve seen ‘Yojimbo’?” they said together with identical inflections of surprise, like it was rehearsed. It was enough to make all three of them laugh and break the escalating tension. Sara looked sheepish. “Vicki,” she said, “I owed her a big favor. Payback was spending most of one weekend at a Kurosawa festival at some cheesy art theater in the East Village. Yes, I’ve seen ‘Yojimbo.’” Still smiling, Danny turned to Ian to say, “I’ll get behind and push it out. Can you grab the front?” Ian nodded. Ten minutes later, they had the mattress and box spring in the truck and ready to go. In spite of their shaky start, the men had worked well together, instinctively anticipating each other’s moves.

As they once again stood by the truck, Danny dropped the pleasant demeanor and started to grill Ian about his ownership of her new loft. Sara stepped in. “Sorry to interrupt, partner,” she said, “But Vicki’s expecting us to pick up the T.V. and we’re running late. You’ll have to finish this interrogation another time.” Not missing a beat, Danny responded, “Alright. Why don’t you bring Ian to dinner next Friday night and I will?” Now, Sara looked like a deer caught in the headlights of a semi. “Uh,” she stalled, “You better ask Lee about that first.” Danny’s smile was smug. “Lee suggested it,” he replied. “Shit,” Sara thought. She’d seen the couple’s heads together after they had gotten the mattress up out the basement. She should have guessed what was coming. She felt Ian’s eyes on her. He was as interested as Danny in her response to this challenge. Her eyes shifted to Ian. There was the tiniest touch of malicious glee in his golden gaze. “Ian might have plans,” she tried, mutely begging him to rescue her from this predicament. Ian grinned innocently. “No. I’m free,” he said.

Sara narrowed her eyes. “Okay, pal,” she thought, “You asked for it.” But Ian had already come to the conclusion that Sara would never accept him as part of her life unless her friends also grew to accept him. That prize was worth dinner with the Woos and finding a way to quell Danny’s distrust of his motives. Ian sensed that he had already gained a potential ally in Lee. Sara eyed him before she shrugged, giving in gracelessly. “You got it,” she told Danny, “I’ll bring the suspect back in for questioning on Friday. What time?” Danny rubbed his hands together, already beginning to enjoy the confrontation. “Seven thirty?” he suggested. Sara glanced back at Ian, who nodded quickly. “Seven thirty it is,” she agreed, “We’ll run his prints and hook him up to the ol’ lie detector then.” Ian’s startled response made both detectives laugh. Danny shrugged. “Cop humor,” he told Ian. Sara inclined her head to Ian as she got back into the passenger seat of the truck. “Let’s get going,” she said, “Vicki hates it when I’m late. I’m not up for one of her punctuality lectures right now.” His shoulders tight with tension, Ian got behind the wheel.

They pulled out of the driveway, Ian already beginning to steel himself for the next encounter with Sara’s Scoobies while she waved to Danny through the rear window. Danny watched the truck until it was out of sight. Then, he turned, frowning, and headed toward the kitchen to learn his wife’s impression of Sara’s new landlord. Danny was no fool and he knew Sara almost as well as she knew herself. He had seen small signs, subtle body language between the couple that had set his teeth on edge. He hoped he was wrong, that Sara hadn’t already taken Nottingham to her bed. He shook his head, fearing disaster. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Deadly was so her type. When he entered the kitchen and saw Lee’s face, his worst fears were realized. “I think our Sara’s finally found herself a lover who will last,” Lee trilled, “Want some tea?”

Forty-five minutes later, Ian was pulling the truck into the only parking space he could find. It was a block and a half from Vicki’s condo. When he turned off the ignition, neither he nor Sara moved. He was dreading yet another confrontation with Sara’s intimate circle. She was also dragging her feet. They were almost an hour late and she was bracing herself for the lecture that she knew Vicki would give her. Sara sighed loudly. He turned to look at her and asked, “What?” She glanced again at her watch. “Let me give Vick a quick call just to be sure that everything’s still okay,” she said, “We’re very late.” He nodded. “Traffic was bad,” he murmured, “I’m sorry we’re so late.” She looked surprised by his apology. “It’s not your fault, Ian,” she said, “We got a late start and then spent more time at Danny’s place than I anticipated.” It was Ian’s turn to look surprised. He’d obviously expected her to blame him.

Sara took a deep breath and dialed Vicki’s number. A moment later, she said, “Vick. Sara.” After that, she listened – for a very long time. Finally, Sara said, “Okey-dokey, Vick. I get that you’re pissed because we’re late. Do you still want us to pick up the T.V.?” There was another much briefer silence before Sara said, “Ian’s with me.” During the next silence, Sara’s eyes flicked to her left to glance at Ian who was watching her raptly. “Yes, Vick,” she said with a tiny, gloating smile at him, “Ian drinks wine.” Ian held up his hands and shook his head. Sara’s smile got broader. Payback was sweet. “You should have been busy Friday night, Ian,” she thought maliciously. “Sure,” Sara said into the phone, “We’ll be right there. Bye.” She met pained golden eyes, still smiling. “Why?” he asked. Her eyes dropped as she slipped her phone back in her pocket. “A reward for handling Danny so adeptly,” she replied.

A moment later, Sara looked at Ian again, adding, “Not to mention your new role as my social secretary.” Ian winced. “Ah,” he murmured, “There it is.” Her eyes narrowed. “Yes,” she agreed, “There it is. You could see I didn’t want to get roped into that dinner on Friday and you just ignored it. Why?” He shrugged, dropping his eyes. “I don’t know,” he said softly, “I was hurt that you didn’t want your friends to know about us. I guess I was hitting back – forcing you to be with me in their company again. I was reacting more than thinking. I’m sorry. But, hey, don’t worry. I’m the one that will probably wind up regretting it.” She just looked at him. He sighed, adding, “Hell. I’m regretting it already.” She studied him another minute before saying, “If it’s any consolation, I think the turtleneck was an exercise in futility. I think both Lee and Danny know we’re lovers. Vicki will probably pick it up too.” She had surprised him again. “How?” he asked. Now, she sighed. “Damned if I know,” she said, “I must send out secret signals. Maybe I leak pheromones. I don’t know.”

Ian smiled, trying to commiserate with her frustration. “I’m sorry,” he said. Sara shrugged. “It’s okay,” she said, “It was foolish of me. My friends know me – that’s why they’re my friends. They can tell when I’m getting involved with someone.” Ian sat very still, watching her carefully. His eyes had darkened and his lips had parted. “Are we getting involved?” he whispered, afraid to break the mood. Her eyes softened as she stared back at him. “Yeah,” she whispered, “We are.” A quick surge of pure joy shot through him. Just as he was reaching to pull her into his arms, Sara’s phone rang. She pressed a hand to his forearm, stopping his forward motion. She pulled her cell from her pocket and, flipping it open, automatically said, “Sorry, Vick. We got distracted. We really are on our way.” Sara held the phone away from her ear, wincing. She moved it back and said, “Yeah, Yeah. Five minutes.” After she disconnected the phone and returned it to her pocket, Sara turned back to Ian. “We’ve got to go,” she said.

“We can’t both go,” Ian pointed out. Her brow lifted. “Why not?” Sara asked. The edge of his lip curved up. “I realize that a bed is difficult to steal but there’s probably someone in this neighborhood who could manage it,” he said, “It’s only tied down to the truck. The ropes could be cut fairly easily.” Sara cursed colorfully. He laughed. She pulled out the cell again. Lips thinned, resigned to a tongue-lashing, she redialed Vicki’s number. “Hi,” she said brightly, “It’s me again.” There was a long pause. “I know, I know,” Sara said, eyes shut, “I don’t know where my head is today. Ian pointed out that if we both leave the truck unattended, the bed is likely to be gone when we return.” She listened for a moment and then gave a snort of laughter. “Yeah, he is,” she replied. When Ian raised a questioning brow, Sara added, “Handy.” He smiled. “If I come up to show Jake where the truck is parked, could he lug the T.V. down for me?” she asked.

There was another long pause. “Vick, even on the best of occasions, I have to admit that the double date concept sort of makes my hair stand on end,” she said, hearing Ian gasp softly beside her, “Today, it’s just impossible. We have to get the bed back to the loft and set it up. After that, I have a week’s worth of laundry to do. Can we take a rain check on that?” She listened again. “Thanks, pal,” she said, “Be there in a couple – and, this time, I mean it. See you.” Sara closed the phone and slipped it back into her pocket. She turned to Ian and giggled. “Double date?” he asked, aghast. She nodded. “Yeah,” she said, “That was my reaction too. But, if I know Vick – and I do – she’s not going to let it go. So, you might want to start preparing yourself.” Ian gulped. “How do I do that?” he asked. Sara shrugged and opened the door of the truck. “I can’t say that I really have a clue there,” she admitted, shutting the door and turning back to study him through the open window, “Now, I really do have to go or she’ll have my head.”

While she was gone, Ian pondered the prospect of a double date with the caustic coroner and sneaky surfer boy. He glanced at his arms. Goosebumps had risen on them. It boggled the mind. Ian was pretty sure that he could survive the Friday dinner with the Woos. He thought that he might even be able to make some headway with Danny. He couldn’t picture, however, making it through a double date with Po and McCartey. Just the thought of it made his teeth hurt. He had instinctively loathed Jake from the moment that he’d first laid eyes on him. Vicki was another story. He had nothing against her – other than her choice of a companion. If she insisted on meeting him, Ian would just have to come up with an alternative that didn’t include Jake.

Ian was still turning the problem over in his mind when Sara opened the passenger door. Jake stood just behind her, his arms around a mid-size T.V. She stepped back and said to Jake, “Just slide it over on the front seat there.” He did as she asked, not looking at or acknowledging Ian. As he stood back, getting ready to leave, Sara said, “Hey, Rookie.” He stopped, looking at her petulantly. Catching his shoulder, she turned Jake back to face the interior of the truck. “Jack McCartey, this is Ian Nottingham,” she said, “Ian Nottingham, this is Jake McCartey. Say hello to each other nicely.” Jake scowled at Ian and said, “Hey.” Ian scowled back at Jake and nodded. Sara sighed. “Can I go now?” Jake growled. “Sure,” she said, “Thanks for the help.” Already walking backwards away from the truck, Jake raised a hand to wave goodbye. “No problem,” he called before turning away to hurry back to Vicki.

Sara got in the truck, resting a hand on the television to steady it. “Well, that went better than I expected,” she grumbled, “No one was killed.” Ian grinned. “It was only your calming presence that prevented complete carnage,” he teased. She swung her head toward him; still pissed off, ready to slap him back with sarcasm. Instead, she was caught by his grin, struck by his sheer beauty. The anger fizzled out. “What am I going to do with you,” she asked rhetorically. His smile broadened. “Take me home and let me help you christen the new bed,” he suggested. She smiled back at him. “I’ll consider it,” she said, “Speaking of the bed. How are we going to get it up to the loft?” He glanced at her. “I called the maintenance man at the building,” he replied, “He’s going to help me carry it up.” She shook her head. “That busy little brain of yours is always working, isn’t it?” she said, “When did you call him?” Starting the truck, he replied, “While you were upstairs. We’re not committed to a double date with them, are we?”

Sara laughed at his discomfort. She shook her head but then, realizing that his eyes were on the road, said, “Not yet. Trust me though; Vicki won’t give it up that easily. Now that she knows we’re together, she’ll start in on me again next week. I can only hold her off for so long.” It didn’t matter. Ian had lost his original train of thought from the point where Sara said: “Now that she knows we’re together.” He took a deep breath, trying not to let his hopes soar. Sara was starting to see them as a couple and so were her friends. He wouldn’t have believed that was possible a month ago – even two weeks ago, he would have argued against it. In fact, he had argued against it with Mr. Irons, telling his master that Sara would never accept him as a lover and a confidante. He had been wrong and his master had been right. It was tempting to forget how the miraculous closeness they now shared had been set in motion. It had all started with the fire; the fire that Mr. Irons had ordered. That twisted clockwork was still slowly ticking toward some denouement that he had yet to divine.

“He’s gone quiet again,” Sara thought. “What’s going on in his head when he gets so still?” she wondered. Aloud, she said, “A pizza for your thoughts.” They were waiting for the light to change and Ian had been methodically digging back through what he knew of his master’s machinations to try to find and unravel more threads. This had become his most frequent mental exercise of late. It was a sign of the depth of his distraction that he’d almost forgotten that Sara was there. He turned to her, golden eyes wide and startled. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, “What did you say?” She studied him. “I said: ‘A pizza for your thoughts,’” she repeated, “And the light has changed.” Ian hit the accelerator, saying, “Are you asking me to dinner?” She nodded. “It’s the least I can do for all your help,” she said, “But no hanky panky tonight. Tomorrow is a school day. I need to make it an early night.” And he had an appointment with Mr. Irons at 8:00 A.M. the next morning, Ian thought, lips tightening. He needed some time to gather his wits before then too. He found Sara to be incredibly distracting and he needed to focus.

“I’d love to,” Ian said, “Thanks.” When they pulled the truck into the building’s basement garage, Max – the live-in super – was waiting for them. With Sara going ahead of them to push up the elevator door and unlock her loft, Ian and Max carried up the mattress and box spring. The moment the elevator door came down behind them, Ian and Sara’s eyes met, remembering the last time they’d been inside it. Sara’s cheeks went scarlet and Ian got a faraway look in eyes that had darkened to deep, rich amber. They both started when Max spoke, “Some kids must have gotten in here last night, Mr. Nottingham,” he said, “I got some complaints that they were messing around in the elevator. It was stuck between two and three for quite a while. Didn’t catch them though.” Ian cleared his throat and Sara studied the elevator ceiling. “Doesn’t look like they did any damage,” Ian said.

Sara glanced at Ian, admiring the steadiness of his voice. “No,” Max replied, “I think they were just looking for a place to…” he stopped abruptly, remembering that Sara was with them. “To what, Max?” Ian prompted. Max was obviously searching for a euphemism he could use in mixed company. He finally settled on, “Fool around. I just had to clean up a little mess and air out the elevator.” Ian’s lips twitched wickedly. Sara tried not to look at him. “How did they get in?” Ian asked. Max shrugged. “Uh, you know how it is, sir,” he said, “Some people just automatically hit the release when they get buzzed from downstairs. No way around that except to warn them again to check first. It’s a losing battle.” Ian nodded sagely. “Well, no harm done,” he said. Sara smiled, thinking of her ruined shoes and Ian limping away disheveled, scratched, and bitten. “Well,” she thought, “Not much, anyway.”

After they had set up her bed and Max had left, taking the borrowed futon back to the storage room, Ian went back downstairs to get the television from the truck. As he was placing it on top of her new bookcase and plugging it in, Sara gathered up her laundry. He turned to watch her. “It’s kind of late to start working on the closet now,” he said, “Can you hold out a little longer? I can take the measurements and go get the lumber while you’re doing your laundry, but I’m afraid that I’ll have to build it during the week when you’re at work. That is, unless Mr. Irons sends me out of town.” She stopped what she was doing and stared at him. “Is that likely?” she asked, feeling strangely upset at the thought of him going away. Ian smiled. “Not likely but possible,” he clarified, “Would you miss me?” Her face closed up, hiding what she was feeling. “In your dreams, pal,” she scoffed. He grinned. “And more than that,” he said. Her brow lifted. “Huh?” she said. “In my dreams, you do a lot more than just miss me,” he explained. She smirked. “That’s why they’re called dreams, sport,” she said.

Ian laughed and tossed Sara the keys to his loft. She caught them one-handed. “The washer and dryer are behind the door next to the bath on the main floor,” he said, “There’s detergent in the cabinet under the sink. When you open the door, watch out for Hannibal. He’s due for his walk and likely to be a bit frisky.” In a dog the size of Hannibal, frisky was definitely something to watch out for, she thought. “Want me to take him out?” she asked. He nodded and started to measure the wall next to her new bed. “That would be great,” he agreed, “Thanks.” She waved a negligent hand. “Hey, I owe you after all the help you’ve given me today,” she said. He wrote some numbers down on paper and put away the measuring tape. “You owe me nothing,” he said, “I’d do anything to please you.” Sara snorted. “Like go on a double date with Vicki and Jake?” she asked. There was a long pause while he put his leather jacket back on. “Almost anything,” he amended, blowing her a kiss as he left the loft.

An hour and a half later, Ian was back. Hannibal had been walked and was sleeping with Clarice curled beside him in the library. Sara’s laundry was in the dryer and she’d just called to order their pizza. As she put down the phone, it suddenly struck her how comfortable they were becoming with each other. It was a bit disconcerting how quickly and naturally it had happened. From the kitchen doorway, Sara called, “Where are you, Ian?” He called back, “In the library.” She came into the library, saying, “I called for the pizza.” There was a pause before he mumbled, “Great. Thanks.” He was obviously engrossed in the book that he was reading. He had dragged a footstool over to one of the overstuffed chairs. He was sprawled out with his long legs stretched in front of him, crossed at the ankles. She noticed that he’d taken off the turtleneck sweater that she had insisted he wear. He had changed back into the cooler tee shirt. The eye-catching hickey she had given him was once again plainly visible.

Sara sat on Ian’s lap and he moved the book aside, sticking a finger between the pages to hold his place. “What are you reading?” she asked, turning the book so that she could see the cover. She grinned, shaking her head. It was “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.” “Good story?” she asked. He nodded. “Not as good as some of the others,” he said, “But I’m enjoying it. Want to watch a movie while we eat our pizza?” She glanced at the huge, flat screen T.V. that was mounted to a room divider between the bookshelves. It was a far cry from the little portable that they had just moved into her place. “Sure,” she said, “Do I get to pick?” Ian grabbed a bookmark and put it in the book, which he returned to the table. He slipped his arms around Sara, bringing her closer. “I’ll watch whatever you want,” he said, nuzzling his lips against her neck.

Sara pushed back a curl that had fallen across his forehead. She lifted his chin and leaned down to brush her lips against his. “Thanks for your help today,” she said softly, “You were great.” He smiled. “I didn’t mind,” he said, “I got to spend the day with you after all. And the Woos are nice people.” She noticed that he had avoided mentioning Jake. Sara had definitely sensed the testosterone jumping on both sides in that brief encounter. “Double date, my ass,” she thought. Such an occasion could only lead to mayhem. She’d have to find a way to dissuade Vicki from that bright idea. As if he had read her mind, Ian said, “So, I’ve met your friends now, except for Vicki. Maybe I could come by the precinct some time this week and take you both out to lunch. What do you think?”

Sara pulled out the elastic band holding back his hair. His dark mane tumbled free, with one bright-streaked lock straying across his cheek. Before she answered him, she buried her face in his fragrant curls as she also pushed her fingers through the silky mass of it. “I love your hair,” she murmured, voice muffled. He pushed his head forward into her face and hands. “I love your touch,” he responded. “Mmm,” she breathed, finally raising her head. Her fingers were still deeply entwined in his locks. She pushed his hair back from his face and looked in his eyes. “I think that you’re a glutton for punishment,” she said, “You are also, however, a genius. Vicky wants to meet you. Taking us out to lunch will accomplish that while removing Jake from the equation. It’s the perfect solution to the awful double-date dilemma. Very clever.”

Ian grinned. “Do I get a prize for coming up with it?” he asked. Fingers still playing in his hair, Sara tilted her head. “A prize?” she echoed. He shut his eyes, really getting into what she was doing to him. “Mmmhmm,” he rumbled softly. She smiled, amused by his reaction. “What is it that you want, Mr. Nottingham?” she questioned. Eyes closed, leaning into her stroking fingers, he purred, “How about some of that hanky panky you said that we couldn’t have tonight.” She studied him, her body starting to respond to the pure sensuality that had softened the angular planes of his face. “I have to get up early for work tomorrow,” she said weakly, wavering, “I can’t do a sleepover tonight.” His eyes opened and she was immediately sucked into the erotic suggestion reflected in their burning amber depths. “I have an alarm clock. I have coffee. I have a shower,” he reminded her huskily, “You could bring your clothes up tonight and dress here in the morning. I have to be at the mansion by 8:00 A.M. You won’t be late for work. I promise.”

Sara pulled one hand from his hair to trace the shape of his mouth with an outstretched finger. Ian captured the finger between his lips to suck it sensually. Her eyes dropped to half-mast and she whispered, “You make a convincing argument. Anything to add?” With a final hot lick, he released her finger to rasp, “Yes.” Ian snaked out a hand to grasp the back of her neck and pull her mouth to his. He kissed her hard and deep, ravaging her lips and forcing his tongue between them to give a tingling massage to the sensitive tissues within. She made a low sound in the back of her throat as her head started to swim. At the exact moment that she thought she might pass out, he pulled back. Sara shivered, highly aroused, and shifted on his lap. With that movement, she discovered his mutual arousal. Sara dropped her head to lick the brand she had given him at the base of his neck. Her hand snuck between them to stroke the prominent bulge in his jeans. “Pants a little tight?” she asked slyly.

Jungle-cat eyes raked over her and she thought of a panther primed to mate. “Are you offering to relieve the pressure?” he growled softly. She made a little humming noise, increasing the pressure of her hand instead. “I might be persuaded to help,” she murmured seductively, adding, “If you make it worth my while.” Ian started to squirm when she kept stroking him. The exquisite friction between the rough cloth and sensitive skin was becoming unbearable. He shut his eyes and tilted back his head, groaning hoarsely. When he could manage to speak, he gasped, “What would you like me to do?” He let out a little cry when she slowly dragged her fingernails across the straining fabric at his crotch. “What are you willing to do?” she countered. Without a moment’s hesitation, he gasped, “Anything!” Watching his control slowly slip out of his control had really turned her on. Sara was almost as worked up as he was.

Still rubbing Ian with one hand, Sara unfastened her own jeans with her other hand. The sound of her zipper brought his eyes open wide. They glowed a dark, molten gold in the dim light. She caught his hand in hers and guided his fingers beneath the waistband of her panties. “’O trespass sweetly urged,’” he murmured, taking over now that he knew what she wanted. Ian wormed two long fingers inside her tight jeans to caress her already swollen clit. While she still had some focus, Sara managed to finally unzip his jeans. She reached into his briefs to carefully free him. Ian sighed gratefully when his aching member was finally released. The sigh turned into a low groan as she reacquired her target and stroked him forcefully, pushing the baby-soft foreskin up over the glistening head of his shaft. Sara could feel the erotic tension building in Ian, pulling muscles taut in the long, hard body beneath her. That stress worked its way down to his fingers, which began massaging her hard and fast.

Feeling constrained by her clothing, Sara caught Ian’s hand and said, “Wait.” His eyebrow rose quizzically. As she moved from his lap, Ian managed to extricate his hand from her tightly bunched pants with some difficulty. Clumsy in the grip of her need, Sara stood and pushed her jeans and panties off, leaving them in a crumpled pile on the floor. She straddled Ian, facing him, putting her knees tight against the outside of his thighs. Gripping his broad shoulders, she lifted up to rub her hypersensitive sex against the throbbing length of him. Both of them shuddered at the intimate contact. “Don’t play with me now, Sara,” Ian grated softly, “I can’t…” His words trailed off into a low moan as she ground herself against him again. A moment later, she slipped one hand between them to guide him inside her. Ian immediately moved his hands to her waist, pulling her tighter against him while arching his hips to thrust deeper inside her. They mutually launched into a quick, sharp rhythm, both of them too needy to hold out for a slow, sensual buildup.

Keeping one hand against his shoulder for balance, Sara traced the rigid column of his neck with her other hand, moving on to bury her fingers in his thick hair. “You feel so good,” she breathed in his ear, “Better than anyone else ever has.” He drew his fingers slowly up her body until he brushed them gently across her cheek and lips. “Anyone?” he asked softly, golden eyes wide and smoky. She nodded. Her answer enflamed him. His breathing changed into ragged gasps as he lifted his hips again and again to thrust inside her. Sara countered his parries with her own, surrounding him, sheathing him within her. As they moved toward release, their movements became less fluid and more frenzied. They gripped each other roughly, straining with harsh need Ian dragged his hand back down between their bodies to suddenly stroke her hard with two stiff fingers. Teetering at the edge of orgasm, that unexpected glut of sensation toppled her over the brink.

She threw back her head and let out a piercing cry, again electrifying the confused but fascinated animals raptly watching them from a safe distance. Clarice shot off like a furry bullet for parts unknown. Hannibal stood stiff legged and started to bark. Ian, inches from climax and still pumping into Sara, bellowed “Quiet down.” Hannibal whined and dropped back down on the rug. Through it all, Ian had continued to rub her engorged nub and she came again now with him. His body arched up off the chair, a study of smooth, straining muscle. She moved in tandem with him, as if they were one organism. Ian gasped out her name once, then again, with that sweet catch in his voice that she loved. Then, spent, they collapsed back into the chair, sweaty, tangled, limp. They were both panting loudly in the quiet loft.

At that inopportune moment, the buzzer sounded. In counterpoint to Hannibal’s renewed barking, Sara groaned loudly, “Oh shit, the pizza.” Ian didn’t move a muscle. In a low drawl, he hissed, “Hannibal, if you don’t shut the fuck up, I’m going to have you stuffed.” As if the dog understood his master implicitly, the barking abruptly ceased. Sara snorted and pushed herself to a sitting position by bracing a hand against his damp chest. There was a soft, wet sound as their bodies separated. She looked down at him. He’d slid almost flat in the chair as they coupled. “You go,” she directed, “You’re still wearing pants.” The buzzer sounded again. “Barely,” he replied, “And they’re wet and stained.” She rolled off of his lap. He started tucking himself back in and rearranging his clothes. “Just pull your tee shirt down,” she suggested, “It should cover the damage. Besides, it’s only a pizza guy. He’s probably seen much worse.”

Ian dragged himself out of the chair, swaying for a moment when he straightened up. Sara smirked. “Whoa there, Nelly,” she murmured, steadying him with her hands, one to each firm butt cheek. He made a nice handful. “Can you walk?” she asked. Ian swung around and gripped her to him for a quick, hard kiss, immediately releasing her again. “I can fly,” he replied, “I love you.” Without waiting for any kind of response from her, he disappeared around the bookcases to get the door, Hannibal trailing behind him like a shadow. As Sara put her panties and jeans back on, she could hear voices without distinguishing the words. After she was dressed again, she was surprised to realize that the muted conversation was continuing. When her stomach growled loudly, Sara decided the time had come to intervene. Wanting to scope things out unobserved, she moved toward the front door, hugging the shadows along the side of the loft. As she got closer, she was able to hear them more clearly. Sara realized that the pizza guy was a girl. “Hmmm,” she thought.

Ian was holding a large pizza box in his left hand. As he shifted his body slightly, she could see the pretty teenager that went with the voice. The girl was around college age, Sara guessed, with a long, blonde ponytail. She was crouched down petting a drooling Hannibal, her mouth going a mile a minute; her bright, blue eyes devouring Ian. “Okay,” Sara thought, “That’s just about enough. I’m too hungry for this crap.” She came up behind him. Though he gave no indication, she was sure that he was aware of her presence. He was Ian Nottingham, after all. However, until her arms slid around him from behind, the girl had no idea that Sara was there. Ian’s body had blocked her approach. Sara angled her head out beside his left shoulder to look up at him. She didn’t bother to acknowledge Miss Pizza Delivery. “Problem with the pizza, baby?” she asked him sweetly.

Ian grinned down benignly at Sara. “No. No problem. Just chatting about Rotties. This is Suzie,” he said, adding, “With a ‘z.’” Catching the dangerous green gleam in Sara’s eyes, Suzie with a z stood quickly, nervously clearing her throat. She gave Sara a half-assed wave before turning back to Ian. “Nice meeting you, Ian,” she bubbled, “I guess I better get moving. Here’s your receipt.” His dark brows winged up. “My receipt?” he echoed confused, automatically starting to stretch out his hand. Sara’s hand snaked past his and she snatched the paper out of Suzie with a z’s hand. In the same fluid movement, Sara caught Hannibal’s collar to drag him back into the loft. With her other hand, she pushed closed the door while calling cheerily, “Bye now.” Ian caught one last glimpse of Suzie with a z. She had paled and her eyes and mouth had formed into big, round O’s.

With the distraction removed, Sara tried to study Ian objectively. They had somehow ripped his tee shirt during their sexual gymnastics and his washboard abs were playing peek-a-boo. His gold-streaked, chocolate curls had been mussed by her fingers and artfully cascaded around his face in a sexy snarl. His lips were swollen from her kisses. His face was still flushed from passion. He was an ambulatory wet dream for any woman with a pulse. Sara sighed, turning over the “receipt.” As she’d suspected, Suzie with a z had scrawled “Suzie (pizza)” and her phone number on the back. Sara wasn’t sure whether the pizza in parentheses was there to serve as a reminder or the girl planned to bribe him with it as an added incentive to call. She made a rude sound. Ian was already headed toward the kitchen with the pizza. “What?” he called back over his shoulder. “Receipt, my ass,” Sara scoffed. Ian frowned. “Yeah,” he said, “I gave her cash. Usually I only get a receipt when I use a credit card.” She shook her head fondly at his naiveté. He was truly clueless.

“Suzie with a z wanted to get into those stained jeans of yours, buster,” she explained. Ian shrugged, not interested. “How about you?” he asked, eyes sliding sideways to study her as he grabbed plates and paper napkins, “Want to embellish those stains?” Sara turned and considered that, holding chilled bottles of water that she’d pulled from the refrigerator. “Maybe later,” she said, “Right now I want that pizza. Let’s eat!” They carried everything back into the library. They were stalked by both Hannibal and Clarice, who had been drawn out of hiding by the odor of pizza. “Put two or three pieces on a plate for me while I line up the film. Okay?” she asked. Ian nodded, doing as she’d asked. They had settled together again in one of the big chairs with their plates of pizza just as the movie began to roll on the big T.V. screen.

When Ian realized that they were watching “Seven,” he swallowed a mouthful before he observed, “Interesting choice.” She turned to glance at him. “You mean because we’ve already flirted with lust and gluttony this evening?” she asked. He made a soft sound before he said, “Gluttony is three pizzas, not one. And lust may be mixed with my feelings for you but it’s not what drives me.” When she was silent, he studied her covertly and added, “Maybe it’s different for you though. Maybe that’s all that you feel for me.” Sara tilted her head but didn’t turn to look at him. “On a fishing expedition, are we?” she asked biting into her last piece of pizza, “Maybe we should have watched ‘Jaws.’” He sighed, putting his empty plate on the table beside the chair. Ian stroked her upper arm with one finger. “Way too obvious, huh?” he murmured. Eyes on the screen, chewing pizza, she agreed. “Way,” she said.

As the movie continued, Sara felt Ian squirming beneath her. She dug her tongue against the side of her cheek, kept her mouth shut, and waited. Another few minutes went by before he said, “I can’t stand it. These pants are nasty. I need to go get a shower and change.” She was actually surprised that he’d held out as long as he had. “Do you want me to pause the film?” she asked. He angled his long body out of the chair they were sharing. “Don’t bother,” he replied, “I’ve seen it before. I’ll catch up when I get back.” The movie ended and Ian still hadn’t returned. Sara got her clothes out of the dryer and folded them before venturing toward the sleeping loft to see what was keeping him. As she neared the raised bedroom, she could see that Ian was stretched across the bed. Hannibal guarded the base of the ladder, head on paws. She gave his massive head a quick scratch before she climbed up to the bedroom.

Sara stood by the bed looking down at her sleeping lover. She could picture what had happened. After his shower, Ian had left the bathroom wrapped in a towel. He had sat down on the side of the bed and, then he’d probably decided to just lie back for a minute and rest his eyes. That was it. He had gone out like a light. Since his long body was stretched across the bed horizontally, she would have to wake him if she was going to share the bed with him. She thought about it. A little surprised at herself, Sara realized that she wanted to sleep held in his arms after all. Not wanting to wake him suddenly, she sat carefully on the bed. Conscious that she was dealing with a trained assassin’s hair-trigger reflexes, she gently rubbed his bare belly and softly called his name. She felt his hard stomach muscles tense under her hand and glanced up to find sleepy, golden eyes watching her.

“Hi, cutie,” Sara said. Ian smiled at her slowly and stretched like a big, sexy cat. “Hi,” he purred, “I conked out on you, didn’t I. Sorry.” That grin of his was infectious. She returned it. “You going to move so that I can join you in that bed?” she asked, “Or would you rather sleep alone. I can go back to my place.” Before she finished speaking, Ian swung his body around to a vertical position and got under the covers. He gave an enticing little wiggle and the towel was suddenly in his hand. He dropped it to the floor beside the bed. Sara raised her brow. Ian rolled on his side and lifted the covers. “Are you sure?” she asked. He nodded. “Very,” he replied, “Come to bed, love.” She was still fully dressed – and he was watching her expectantly. As ridiculous as it was, she suddenly felt shy and reached over to turn off the light. Ian caught her hand. “What are you doing?” he asked.

Sara shook off his hand. “What does it look like?” she responded, annoyed, “I’m turning off the light.” Ian studied her curiously. “Why?” he asked. She shrugged, uncomfortable with this conversation. “You’re watching me,” she said, “It just feels weird. Okay?” The last thing Ian wanted was a fight. He immediately backed off. “Okay,” he agreed. Sara turned off the light and stripped down to her panties. She got one of Ian’s clean tee shirts from the bureau and slipped it over her head. She crawled into bed and snuggled into his waiting arms. Ian pulled her closer to his warm, bare body. She nuzzled her face against his neck. He smelled wonderful. Ian pressed his lips to her forehead and buried his face in her thick hair. “I don’t want this weekend to be over,” he whispered, “They’ve been the most wonderful three days of my life. I’m afraid of what will happen when you go back to your ‘real’ life – the one where I don’t fit.”

“Who says that you don’t fit in my life?” Sara asked. She had been dragged back from the sleep that had started to claim her by the subdued stress in his voice. It suddenly hit her that this fear had been simmering just below the surface in Ian for the last two days. It was the reason that he had drawn her close to him again each time she’d tried to go off on her own. He thought he was a flash in the pan; a lost weekend that would be relegated to her memories when she went back to work on Monday. He shifted a bit against her. “Are you saying that I do?” he countered. Sara considered that before she answered. He deserved the truth. “I don’t know if we can make it work,” she finally said, “But I’m willing to give it a try. I know there are obstacles. Irons is the biggest one. We do seem to mesh well together though. Don’t you think?” Ian pulled her closer still, settling her more comfortably in his arms. “You won’t get any argument from me, Sara,” he said, “I love you. I want to be with you in any way that you’ll allow.”

Sara rubbed his muscled back soothingly, dropping her hand to give his bottom a gentle pat. “Good,” she murmured, “Then I guess we just play it by ear. See where it takes us. Okay?” Ian knew that he was losing her to sleep. It wasn’t the right time to pursue this conversation. “Okay,” he whispered, dubious that she heard him or cared. Sara was already asleep. But Ian stayed awake for a long while, thinking. She had offered him a solid chance at a lasting relationship. Although this surely was not what Mr. Irons had intended when he’d set this chain of events into motion, the opportunity was here and Ian did not intend to lose it. Now that his dream of a life with Sara was flirting with reality, he would not allow anyone or anything to take it away from him. So, perhaps, his master has miscalculated. Or, then again, maybe this was all part of his plan. Ian shut his eyes and sighed. He was dreading the meeting that was only a few hours away. Why had his master ordered him to become Sara’s lover? How could such a relationship serve Irons? What did he want? Ian finally drifted off to sleep, his mind a maelstrom of his master’s manipulations. Even in his sleep, Ian could feel Irons watching, could hear him edging closer – click whir, click whir…