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She wanted him. He could feel it in the way she held him. The fine trembling in her body told him of her gathering excitement. He could not recall the last time a woman had shivered in his arms like this.

He realized his own hands were not completely steady.

Somewhere inside him there was a cloudburst. A hot rain poured down, drenching regions that had been parched and dry for what seemed like forever. Suddenly there was a rain forest where there had been only desert. The raw power, the driving need, and the exquisitely painful anticipation that shafted through him was the pulse of life itself.

He had promised himself that when this moment came he would take his time and savor the experience. He wasn’t a kid with his girlfriend in the backseat of a car. He was a man who had some experience. He knew the risks of rushing things. But the urgent hunger was an ungovernable force that threatened to overwhelm his will.

“Rafe?” Hannah speared her fingers through his hair and then tightened them around his neck. “I never intended…I mean, I didn’t expect to end up like this tonight.”

“Are you going to tell me it’s too soon?” He kissed her throat. “That we don’t know each other well enough?” He counted delicate little vertebrae with his fingertips until he reached the hollow of her back. “Because if you want to stop this, you’d better say something fast.”

“No.”

He froze, his palm on the curve of her hip, and raised his head to look down at her. “No, you don’t want to do this?”

She smiled slowly. “No, I don’t want to stop.”

He shuddered and pulled her close again. “Don’t scare me like that. My heart won’t take the shock.”

Her laugh was tiny and fraught with nervous energy. It sent sparkles of light through him. In the next moment the small sound transmuted into a sweet, anxious murmur. Her kisses became extravagant, quick, eager. Delicious.

He was tight and hard and edgy now. Every muscle straining. He could no longer think clearly. The fragrance of her body was a disturbing, disorienting incense that clouded his brain. He knew that he was swiftly losing control, but he could not seem to work up any real concern about the problem.

She wanted him.

That was all that mattered.

“Upstairs,” he said against her mouth.

“I don’t think I can make it that far.”

She fumbled with his shirt. Somewhere in the shadows a button bounced and pinged on the tile floor. Her fingers spread across his chest, warm and soft.

“Let’s try real hard to make it up the stairs,” he said. Her response was muffled against his bare skin. “Okay.”

He guided her toward the door. Simultaneously he found the zipper of her dress and lowered it the length of her back. The top half of the garment fell to her waist. He saw that the manufacturer of her silky little black bra had skimped on fabric. The garment did not cover the top half of her breasts.

Gathering her against his side, he worked feverishly on the clasp of the bra. At the same time he half carried, half dragged her across the hall. It was an awkward process. What the hell was the matter with him tonight? He usually didn’t have so much trouble doing two things at once.

The bra finally fell away. He had her as far as the stairs now. He heard a soft clatter and realized that one of her high heels had come off.

She lost the second one just as he got them both to the third step.

“Oh, yes.” Her hands gripped his shoulder, small nails tattooing his skin. She kissed him wildly. “Yes.”

Slowly, he worked his way up the stairs with Hannah in his arms. It wasn’t easy. She wasn’t helping him. He missed a step when she sank her teeth lightly into his bicep. She nearly lost her balance when he retaliated by kissing one taut nipple. Both of them grabbed the banister to keep from falling.

Hannah was quicksilver in his grasp. She slipped and slithered around him. He groaned aloud when he felt her hand on the buckle of his belt. Halfway to his goal, he looked up at the landing. It was lost in distant shadows.

“Not much farther,” he said hoarsely. He was lying to both of them, he thought. The top of the stairs was in another universe.

“Close enough.” She had his belt undone now. Her fingers were on his zipper.

“Better wait until we get upstairs,” he whispered.

“Can’t wait.” One nylon-clad foot glided up his leg.

He felt the heat from the inside of her thigh and sucked in his breath. They were never going to make it at this rate. It was time to take unilateral action.

He picked her up, settled her across his shoulder, and clamped one arm across the back of her legs to hold her there.

“Rafe.”

He ignored her breathless, sensual laughter. With total determination he took a firm grip on the banister and hauled them both to the top of the stairs. There he turned right and went down the hall to the bedroom he had chosen the day he arrived. It was a big one, with a sweeping view of the bay.

He went swiftly through the doorway and dumped her onto the quilt that covered the old-fashioned four-poster. She lay there amid the pillows, then reached for him with both arms. He fell on top of her.

He kissed her throat while he rummaged with one hand in the drawer of the nightstand. He knew the box of condoms was in there somewhere. He had put it there this evening before leaving the house. Optimism had been riding high at that point. Probably because he had had several engaging fantasies in the shower and had emerged semi-erect. A man was always at his most optimistic when he had a hard-on.

When he couldn’t immediately locate the condoms, alarm set in.

“What the hell…?”

“What’s wrong?” Hannah’s eyes widened. “Are you all right?”

Mercifully his fingers closed around the box. A sense of victory soared through him. “Yeah, sure. I’m fine. Nothing’s wrong.”

“Good.”

“Very good,” he whispered. “Excellent, in fact.”

She slid her hands inside the wings of his unbuttoned shirt. Her palms were silken on his skin. Breathing took serious effort now.

By the time he was ready, most of their clothing had magically disappeared. He lowered himself between her legs. She raised her knees and tightened her thighs around him.

He cupped her with his hand. She was wet and hot and swollen. When he used the pad of his thumb on the small bud, she quivered violently. His own body nearly exploded in response.

“Now,” she ordered, clutching furiously at him. “Now, please, yes. Do it now.”

He needed no further urging. If he didn’t do it now, it would not get done at all.

He fitted himself to her and started to enter her carefully. She was snug and tight and damp. He tried to take it slow, but when she lifted herself against him, he abandoned all attempt at sophistication and restraint.

There was nothing sophisticated or restrained about how he felt at this moment.

He thrust deeply into her, losing himself in a world of intense sensation. He heard her soft, exultant cry and felt her body grip him with fierce satisfaction. Her head tipped back. Her lips parted in a soundless scream.

She climaxed immediately. He wanted to indulge himself in the pleasure of her release before he surrendered to his own, but he had only a few seconds to enjoy the experience. The small shivers that went through her were more than he could stand. He tried to swallow his own roar of triumph and exultation, but he did not succeed.

She did not doze, but she was vaguely aware of a sense of detachment from time and reality. It was a pleasant interlude that she knew would not last forever. Nevertheless, she was reluctant to emerge from it.

Rafe sprawled on his back beside her, big and warm enough to heat the whole bed to a cozy temperature. He had one arm behind his head, the other around her. She opened her eyes partway and studied him in the shadows. He looked as relaxed as a large cat after a successful hunt. She raised her head for a better look. Her glance fell on the green numbers of the radio clock.

“ Winston .” She sat up quickly.

“Huh?” Rafe slitted his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve got to get home to Winston.” She shoved aside the quilt and scrambled off the bed. “He’ll be worried.”

Rafe looked amused. “You think your dog worries when you’re a little late coming home?”

“Okay, so maybe he won’t be worried, exactly.” She spotted her panties on the floor and dove for them. “‘Concerned’ might be a better word.”

“I doubt it.”

“Well, he’ll certainly need to go outside by now.” She stepped into the panties and looked around for her bra. It was nowhere to be found. “He’s been cooped up in that house for hours.”

“Take it easy.” Rafe thrust aside the quilt and got up from the edge of the bed. “I’m sure Winston is fine. He’s probably sound asleep.”

He was right, she thought. This panicky sensation nibbling at her insides had nothing to do with Winston. She was experiencing some sort of bizarre reaction to what had just happened here in this room. What in the world was wrong with her?

“Have you seen my bra?” she asked. She was glad the lights were still off. She could feel the heat in her cheeks.

He paused in the act of fastening his trousers and reached out to turn on the bedside light. He swept the room with a deliberate look. “Nope. Must have left it back there on the stairs.”

She shot him a suspicious glare, almost certain that he was teasing her. She glanced down and saw the toe of her panty hose sticking out from under the bed. Even from here she could see the massive run in the foot of the stocking. With a sigh she shimmied into her dress and groped wildly for the zipper.

“I’ll get it for you.” Rafe’s voice was softer now. He walked across the room to stand behind her. His fingers caught hold of the zipper tab and raised it straight to the base of her neck in a single motion.

“Thank you.” Her voice sounded stiff and prim, even to her own ears.

“Sure. Anytime.”

She did not dare look at him now. Instead she began to hunt for her shoes.

Rafe shrugged into his shirt. He did not bother to button it. Folding his arms, he lounged against the bedpost and watched her frantic search.

“I don’t think your shoes made it upstairs, either,” he offered eventually.

“Good grief.” She straightened quickly, shoved the hair out of her eyes, and bolted for the door.

He followed her at a more leisurely pace. She ignored him, horrified by the sight of bits and pieces of her clothing strewn on the stairs and in the hall. What had come over her? She didn’t do things like this. She must have lost it, big time.

By the time Rafe got downstairs she had retrieved her shoes and her bra and had the door in sight. Clutching her lingerie in one hand, she focused intently on the only thing that mattered at that moment: escape from the scene of her wild, frenzied, totally uncharacteristic passion.

Rafe’s voice stopped her cold just as she was about to twist the knob.

“You want to tell me what’s wrong, Hannah?”

For a second she could not breathe. She looked down at her trembling fingers. “I think I’m having an anxiety attack.”

“Yeah, I can see that. The question is, why?”

His laconic tone chased away some of the panic. Anger rushed in to fill the empty space. This was all his fault. If he hadn’t fed her that incredible key lime pie, if he hadn’t turned on the music, if he hadn’t danced with her in the darkness…

If…

She whirled around, hands behind her on the knob, and glowered at him.

“Panic attacks happen,” she said grimly. “Not my fault.”

He studied her for a long, brooding moment. “Second thoughts already?” he finally asked.

She drew a deep, steadying breath. A semblance of reason returned. She could not blame any of this on him. She was the one who had gone crazy here. Act like a grown-up .

She cleared her throat. Her fingers tightened on the doorknob. “Sorry. I’m not being real cool, am I?”

“No, but that’s not the problem. Nobody ever said you had to be cool.” He did not move, just stood there in the hall, watching her. “But for the record, I’d really like to know what went wrong.”

“I’m not sure.” She released her death grip on the doorknob and shoved her fingers through her hair. She met his eyes. “No, that’s not right. Rafe, I need to ask you a question, and you have to tell me the truth.”

“What’s the question?”

“This.” She swept out a hand to indicate the searing passion that had begun in the solarium and ended in his bedroom. “What just happened between us. It didn’t have anything to do with Dreamscape, did it?”

His eyes narrowed. “You tell me.”

She flinched. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve had your wicked way with me, and now you’re trying to leave as quickly as you can. Some dumb excuse about a dog, I think. I’ll bet you’re not even going to call me in the morning, are you?”

“Damn it, Rafe—”

“What the hell am I supposed to think?”

She stared at him, stunned. “Do you really believe that I just…I just—” She broke off because her voice was threatening to get lost in a squeaky soprano. She swallowed and tried again. “You think that I just seduced you in order to manipulate you into selling your half of this place to me?”

He let her wait a beat. She felt perspiration between her shoulder blades.

Then he smiled slightly. “No.”

She sagged back against the doorjamb. “I should hope not. Good Lord, I don’t do things like that.”

“Neither do I,” he said simply.

She looked at him for a long time. Gradually the tension inside her began to seep away. She had gone mad, she thought.

“No. No, of course not.” She rubbed her brow. “I don’t know why I freaked. I guess I’m just a little stressed.”

“You’ve had a busy night.”

“You can say that again.” She straightened away from the door, composed herself. “Speaking of which, I think it’s time you took me home.”

“All right.” He fished keys out of a pocket. “On one condition.”

She jerked back around. “What condition?”

He walked past her and opened the door. “You gotta promise to call me in the morning.”

He was gone, out into the night, before she could think of an appropriate response. She heard the less than civilized growl of the Porsche engine. The lights came on, blinding her.

A vivid mental image of a hapless deer paralyzed by the beams of an oncoming car galvanized her into action.

She slammed the front door shut behind herself. Hand held high to shield her eyes from the merciless glare of the lights, she rushed toward the passenger side door.

Winston greeted her with a yawn and his customary good cheer. He bestowed an equally enthusiastic welcome on Rafe. Then he trotted across the porch, went down the front steps, and disappeared into the privacy of the bushes. It was obvious that he was in no great rush to use the facilities.

Rafe looked at her, eyes gleaming. “You’re in luck. He doesn’t look like he’s been worrying too much.”

She felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “You’ve made your point.”

“You think so?”

“I’ve already admitted that my little panic attack back there was an overreaction to stress.”

“Stress, huh? Sounds like another excuse.”

“Good night, Rafe.”

He caught her chin on the heel of his hand and kissed her very deliberately. He stopped just as she felt the breathlessness setting in again.

“Good night,” he said. His eyes were shadowed and intense in the yellow porch light. “You’ve got my number at Dreamscape and my cell phone number. Call me if Winston goes into his alert mode again tonight, okay? I can be here in less than ten minutes.”

“His alert mode?” She had forgotten all about Winston’s nocturnal prowling. “Oh, right. That’s very kind of you, but I really don’t think—”

“I know you’re having trouble thinking tonight. You’ve already explained that.” He went down the steps. “Just call me if he does the sentry thing.”

She held the door open for Winston. Rafe waited until they were both inside the house before he drove away into the darkness.

Twenty minutes later she emerged from the bathroom clad in her primmest nightgown. It was a Victorian number, pure white, with long sleeves, a ribbon-trimmed neckline, and a hem that fell to her ankles. She glanced once at herself in the mirror and was satisfied with the demure gown. It was definitely not the sort of nightwear favored by women who were in the habit of leaving their undergarments strewn on the staircase while they indulged themselves in a mad, passionate fling with the most exciting man in town.

Make that the most exciting man she had ever met.

An aberration. That was what it had been. It had been much too long since she’d had anything resembling a normal sex life. Aberrant behavior was to be expected under such circumstances.

With a sigh, she switched off the lamp. Winston was already in position at the foot of the bed. He raised his head from his paws when she went to the window that overlooked the bay. She could feel him watching her as she opened the drapes.

“Weren’t you even a little bit concerned about the fact that I was so late getting home?” she asked.

He did not dignify that with a response.

“I was afraid of that.”

She padded through the shadows to the side window and pulled the curtains wide. She was about to turn back to the bed when she glimpsed the sheen of moonlight on metal between two trees.

“What in the world?”

She gripped the window ledge and peered more closely at the glint. A closer look verified her first impression. There was a car parked in a stand of trees near the road. In that position, whoever was in the vehicle had a clear view of the house and the entrance of the long drive.

She glanced at Winston. He had his muzzle on his paws. Not in alert mode.

She closed the drapes again, switched on the light, and picked up the phone. She punched in one of the numbers she had jotted down on the pad beside the bed.

Rafe answered on the first ring.

“What are you doing out there in the bushes?” she asked.

“Nothing for which I could get arrested.”

A small thrill of pleasure rippled through her at the sound of his voice; low, sexy, and just rough enough around the edges to bring back some very recent, very heated memories.

She turned off the light again. Carrying the phone, she went back to the window and opened the drapes a second time. She gazed out into the darkness, searching for the metallic gleam of the Porsche’s fender.

“Are you sure about that?” she asked.

“Positive.”

Talking to him now on the phone was a lot easier than facing him after that interlude in his bedroom, she discovered. There was a strange intimacy to the experience, but at the same time the distance allowed her to finally relax.

“You’re keeping watch, aren’t you?” she asked. “Waiting to see if whatever alarmed Winston shows up again.”

Silence hummed briefly on the other end.

“Just thought I’d stick around for a few minutes,” he said.

“That’s not necessary. I told you I’d call if Winston starts prowling. Go home, Rafe. We’ll be fine, honest.”

“I’ll only hang around for a little while. Whatever it is showed up between midnight and two the last couple of times, right?”

“Yes.”

“It’s almost two. I’ll leave soon.”

“Rafe—”

“Go to sleep,” he said softly.

She clutched the phone more tightly. “Rafe, about tonight—”

“What about it?”

“I apologize for acting like a complete idiot. Asking you whether or not what happened between us was all about Dreamscape was inexcusable. I knew better than that.”

“Whatever is going on between you and me, it’s not about the house.”

She hesitated. “A lot of people in town will think it is.”

“Everyone in Eclipse Bay thinks that I seduced you on the beach eight years ago, too.” The dismissive shrug in his voice was loud and clear. “Do you really care what people think?”

She contemplated the question for a long moment. “No.”

“Neither do I.”

“Rafe?”

“Yeah?”

“If what happened tonight wasn’t about Dreamscape, what was it about?”

“Good question. When you figure out the answer, let me know.”

“Rafe?”

“Yeah?”

“Sometimes you remind me an awful lot of Winston when it comes to communicating.”

“Probably a guy thing.”

“Good night, Rafe.”

“Don’t forget to call me in the morning.”

She hung up the phone and climbed into bed. She did not even attempt to close her eyes until she heard the muted purr of his car’s engine recede into the distance sometime later. She glanced at the clock. It was two-fifteen.

At the foot of the bed, Winston was sound asleep.