The flickering light at the window suggested a fire, and the smell of meat mingled with the chimney's smoke. My stomach growled. "Whoa there, Belle," I crooned. "You stay ready, in case this is a bad bet."

The few houses hidden in these foothills were ramshackle, quickly erected by prospectors who'd flocked here when the gold fever broke out. This one appeared more substantial than most, but as I pulled my rain-soaked cloak around me and approached the door, my body tensed. A randy miner with a few drinks in him was the last kind of company I needed. Especially if he recognized me. And when I saw the large, mounted head of a wolf above the entry, its teeth bared and its gaze piercing my cape, I almost turned back to the wagon.

But I pounded on the door, desperately cold and wet and hungry. A gust of wind caught my hood and threw wet snow down my back. Belle whickered impatiently.

Again I pounded, crying, "Please! Is anyone home? It's freezing out here!"

A reply came from far within, and then heavy footfalls. I was prepared to bolt, thinking the dead wolf's head a bad omen--asking God and Mama to protect me from whatever I was getting myself into here--but when the door flew open, I froze. Before me loomed a large, sturdy man whose white shirt strained across his shoulders. After the merest glance at me, he leaned out to assess the weather, the wind whipping his raven hair around a face shadowed with side whiskers and stubble at his chin. Then he peered beneath my hood, riveting me with his ice-blue eyes.

"A woman alone could lose far more than her virtue on such a night.' He shifted his weight, his grin growing suggestive.

"It's a good thing I'm no longer alone then," I quipped, holding those feral eyes with mine. "And a gentleman like yourself looks quite capable of defending my virtue. Is there a place I can shelter Belle?"

The man blinked, but then his chuckle rumbled like the thunder. "I'll see to her."

"Thanks. I knew I could count on you.'

I ducked beneath the arm he'd braced against the door frame, willing myself not to buckle until he'd gone outside. He stood head and shoulders taller than I, and as he slipped into his oilskin slicker he exuded a rugged strength I couldn't possibly subdue--this, coupled with a frightening aura of primal intent, warned me to tread very carefully. Easier to appeal to his best intentions than to allay his baser instincts.

I must have seemed a pathetic figure, draped in sodden wool that dripped on his floor. As he fastened his coat, he looked me over, as though considering whether I was worth going out into the rain. "Take off your clothes."

I sucked air at his abrupt manner, clutching my cloak even closer.

He laughed then, a sound that insinuated itself into the nether regions of my body despite my fear of him. "You'll catch your death if you don't. You can wear the shirt hanging on that peg."

He nodded at it, but I didn't avert my gaze; a proposition was written all over his face, and he was the sort to make good on it. His black hair, splayed with silver, fell untidily around his collar, which gave him a dangerously disreputable air. The sly grin flickering on his lips told me abandoned women rarely appeared on his doorstep, and that he'd take full advantage of this opportunity.

And then there were those eyes. Frosty to the point of establishing distance, yet crystalline...ethereal enough to make me wonder what would thaw them.

"Thank you," I murmured. "You're very thoughtful."

"You won't think so an hour from now."

He stepped out into the rain, and the thump of the door resonated like the closing of a cell. I'd made my own proverbial bed, so I'd have to lie in it--or lie my way out of it, until first light allowed me to travel again. At least I'd chosen a cozy cabin where the fire crackled cheerfully, and the large front room looked clean, and there was food cooking. It was more than my enterprising uncle had left me with.

As I removed my soggy cloak, I knew I should be wrapping myself in my host's shirt before he came back and caught me naked. But a door, slightly ajar, piqued my curiosity. When I peeked into the back room, easily as large as the main one, an acrid, medicinal stench stung my nose. Vile-smelling potions bubbled in beakers, and large jars of specimens I didn't dare speculate about lined the shelves. Mortars and pestles were strewn about a work table, as though some mad scientist were concocting a noxious brew. Jekyll turning into the nefarious Hyde, perhaps?

The photographs on the wall made me hold my breath. Were those human faces, so grossly disfigured? His victims? Some had large areas of skin eaten away, or were so badly scarred, I doubted they ever showed themselves in public. Bile rose up my throat and I had to turn away from the combination of stench and shock--to find my host scrutinizing me, leaning on the door he'd shut against the snow. His hair was plastered to his head and rain ran down his scowl.

"You had your chance, Miss Caine. You either enjoy feeling those cold, soaked clothes against your skin, or you want me to watch you disrobe."

He was a wolf toying with his prey, yet his manner of dress and speech--the evidence of education--set him above the pack who'd been leering at me for years. "So you saw my name on the side of the wagon. That doesn't mean you know me, or have any right to get familiar, Mr.--?"

He shrugged off my question along with his coat. "Ah, but you have the right to poke around in my home, is that it? After appealing to the gentleman in me, it seems you're acting like anything but a lady."

My cheeks prickled. "I--I truly appreciate your hospitality. You could've turned me away, after all."

"And miss this chance to torment a waif waylaid by a storm? I love to make a woman writhe and cry out for mercy."

The quirk of one sharp eyebrow made me shudder. Was he alluding to what he'd done to those poor souls in the photographs? Or did he plan to straddle me without further ado?

"I don't believe you," I stated softly, looking deep into those silver-blue eyes. "You might fancy yourself a--a lady killer, but I see too much pain in your face. Sad secrets that haunt you when you're alone at night. What are you running from?"

"None of your damn business!" he barked, but my arrow had hit its mark. If only for a moment, my host wavered because I'd revealed a truth he didn't want to see. "We'll eat when you're out of those clothes. Be quick about it."

He crossed to the other door and shut himself into the back room. I draped my cloak over a chair, and then ducked behind it with his dry shirt. Despite the warmth from the fire, shivers overtook me as I peeled away the heavy, wet layers of my dress and underthings. I'd seen enough of my host's aura--his very soul--to sense he wasn't innately cruel, but who could say? Perhaps he was indeed like Henry Jekyll, who concocted a tincture that rendered him a different personality altogether. A man of uncontrolled passions.

This was my vivid imagination at work, just as Uncle Ludlow had often chided me. But I could take no chances. Hunkering down to remove my soggy shoes and stockings, I decided to keep my host talking about everyday things, without revealing pertinent details about myself and without falling asleep tonight. The only bed was in the nearest corner, close to the fireplace, but I would insist on making a pallet on the floor. I would lie quietly, letting him sleep, so I could slip away unscathed at dawn. I was already a day late for a private sitting in the Springs, so I couldn't allow this man to play out his fantasies of making me writhe and cry out.

I closed my eyes against a wave of desire. Now that he wasn't taunting me, I could imagine myself succumbing to the animal magnetism that flowed from every pore of his powerful body. His evasive manner and wicked grin were wearing down my defenses. I wanted to slip my fingers into the open neck of his shirt and kiss the smooth column of his neck beneath that wreath of silver-streaked hair.

I wanted to stroke those dark, downy sideburns growing along his jaw, and then run my fingertips over his unshaven chin to feel the contrast in textures. I would tell him how this roguish facial decoration accentuated the unusual blue of his eyes, and that no woman alive could resist this combination of innocence and--

"My God, Caressa, you're flawless," he whispered. "The firelight's making you absolutely luminous."

I let out a sigh--and then clutched the spare shirt against my bare body. This was no fantasy! While I'd been riding high on the magic carpet of imagination, my host had come out to the fireplace and was now gazing down at me with a look as potent and predatory as any I'd ever received. I whimpered, knowing my hair was wet and mussed, and my bare bottom was exposed. I couldn't possibly put on his shirt in this awkward crouch without showing even more of myself.

A deep dimple flickered in his whiskered cheek. The wolf had his lamb.

Yet his words had bespoken awe and wonderment at the sight of me. Flawless, he'd called me. Luminous. Plenty of men had wanted me in this state of undress--would've paid my uncle handsomely to be with me, alone. But this one approached with a lust akin to reverence, and as he knelt in front of me, my heart tried to pound its way out of my chest.

His fingertips separated out a section of my hair. "Spun honey," he mused, "with streaks of wild strawberry. Highlights that dance like flames."

I remained absolutely still, except for the quivering in my straining legs. From this vantage point, only inches away, he looked older than I'd originally guessed--mainly because of the lines etched around his eyes, and the silvery streaks in his hair. But he was a man in his prime, beyond the follies of youth and quite aware of the effect he had on me. No mistake about that.

His fingers followed the shell of my ear. With a knuckle, he gently grazed my jaw, inciting a riot of gooseflesh all over my body. I nipped my lip, wondering if he knew how I throbbed down there where I wasn't supposed to notice.

"You're trembling. But it's not from fear, is it?"

I couldn't answer, because I knew better than to admit how he frightened me, and because my voice would give me away. Like a moth to a flame I was drawn, sensing my own doom yet longing for it, too.

He laughed low in his throat. "You have the face of an angel. A naughty little angel, perhaps, by the way those brows arch and that nose turns up. And your skin--ah, Caressa, your skin...."

When he stroked my neck, I rubbed against his palm like a purring cat, suddenly greedy for the touch of this man who admired me so openly. His thumb rubbed my lower lip. I sighed and sucked it into my mouth before I realized I'd lost all control.

"So responsive," he breathed. "Caressa, I want--"

With a gasp I fell backwards, toppling from legs bent too long. He stretched forward, lithe and catlike, placing his weight on his elbows while he rested his hips between my gaping thighs. I could feel his laughter, and I wanted to slap him for making light of my predicament. I could feel his shirt caught between us, titillating my skin with its friction. I could feel something else, too, rock-solid against my most private part, so I wasn't the only one beset by desire. Which meant I had as much control of this situation as my captor, if I chose to take it.

His cerulean eyes probed my soul. "I want straight answers," he continued in a smoky voice. "You have a face that can't lie, so don't even try it. Have you ever lain with a man?"

Some men collected maidenheads like trophies, in which case a no would be the wrong response. Yet if I feigned experience, he'd take me anyway, thinking I had nothing to lose. "Why do you ask?" I demanded.

He considered this a moment, and then shook with more laughter. "You needn't worry then, Miss Caine. While I crave the thrill of the chase, I much prefer quarry who'll give me a challenge. More sporting that way, don't you agree?"

I was relieved, yet my humiliation prickled like a briar. Why was he taunting me into submission if I wasn't good enough for him? I'd had more than my share of that during the late-night peep shows my uncle had enticed the miners with after my seance s, and I'd be damned if--

The tip of his tongue followed the sensitive shell of my ear, making it tingle with the warmth of his breath. I was damned, all right. My host had momentarily waylaid my anxieties, claiming he wouldn't claim me, but the way he was rubbing against me now told me his body--his baser urges--would mark me no matter what sort of assurances he'd given with his mouth.

And oh my God, that mouth...it was wandering along the column of my neck now, as he inhaled deeply along the line where my hair grew in. As though my scent triggered some irrepressible urge within him, he moaned and ran ravenous kisses along my bare shoulder and into the hollow of my throat. My breath left me in a rush and I writhed involuntarily--which only spurred him on. I swore I caught the hint of a growl as he then lapped at my collarbone, nipping the skin lightly as his lips drifted between my breasts. When his soft, damp sideburns tickled my nipple I giggled, bucking beneath him.

"Ah, so you do enjoy this," he murmured, focusing those feral eyes on me as he teased me with his feathery facial hair. "I'm in an expansive mood, Miss Caine--but don't think I'm letting you off easy. Someone has to teach you the consequences of stopping at strange cabins late at night, and it might as well be me.'

Still gazing raptly, holding me in a sway that sent my pulse skittering, he rasped my nipple with the tip of his rough tongue and then sucked it between his teeth. I cried out, bombarded by sensations that burned all the way into my womb--trying to escape the intensity of his attentions, yet suddenly yearning to learn just how far they would go...how high I might fly if catapulted into that intimate world men and women shared. Pleasures of the flesh I'd been taught by my aunt to avoid and even abhor.

Yet Aunt Margaret's dire threats against my sexual nature were years in my past, and this man was very much present. He speared his fingers into my hair, sucking and lapping at my breast as though driven by a mad passion I couldn't yet comprehend. His shirt abraded my nakedness, until he raised up enough to cast aside the loose garment, baring me completely to his hungry gaze.

"God, Caressa, you're driving me crazy with--and it's more than I can--"

Abruptly he shut his eyes, robbing me of their penetrating power. Yet I sensed it was his last hope against losing himself completely. He kissed my other breast then, laving the nipple into a bead like a berry, and I couldn't pull my eyes away from the sight he created. His hair, nearly dry now, trembled about his face, accentuating the broad forehead and the chiseled features...lips that knew every nuance and a tongue that danced like a pale red devil over my sensitized skin...an angular face feathered with those intriguing sideburns, which rendered him more animal than man, now that his attentions were focused solely on my body.

Lower he kissed, leaving not an inch of my chest and stomach untouched as he alternated between a moist massage and breathing in a way that fanned my internal flames. His hands followed the trail his mouth had blazed, trying to distract me further. But my mind pulsed with the knowledge of where he was going...knowing he wouldn't stop and fearing he would, while very aware that my nether lips were oozing with a wet, scented heat that had nothing to do with getting caught in the rain.

Suddenly he rose onto his knees, prying my legs farther apart to study that secret juncture. His hands slipped lightly toward my slit, rustling in my hair before both thumbs and forefingers propped it open. My gasp made him look at my face, but his grin left nothing to my imagination.

"Your pussy's about to get a licking it'll never forget," he murmured. "We'll start out making her purr, but I guarantee you, Caressa, you'll be yowling and keening like a she-cat in heat before I'm through with you."

There it was again--his using my name without divulging his own, taking advantage of my misfortune on a stormy night. His arrogance goaded me into clapping my thighs together --to show him Caressa Caine was no witless ninny who'd simply give in to him! But when his thumbnail traced the edge of my folds and then circled my hole, I bit back my retort--along with a yelp of excruciating pleasure.

He chuckled, slowly lowering his face. Still his thumb teased at me, edging around parts I'd only touched to wash myself, causing me to shiver in spite of my better intentions.
"'Pussycat, pussycat, where have you been?'" he whispered.

It was another attempt to distract me, that nursery rhyme, but when he stopped, close enough to blow little currents of air against my wet flesh, I struggled against the hands that held me to the floor. "Damn you to--"

"That's not how the poem goes, my dear. The sooner you cooperate, the sooner you'll get your reward." He stuck his tongue out, pink and pointed, waggling it at me before slowly touching down on my hole and then drawing it delicately upward.

I shrieked and cursed him again, because my poor muddled mind couldn't think of anything else to do.

He laughed and did it again, pinning me beneath his strong hands to keep me from writhing away. "I see a bold little clitoris sticking up like a flagpole, Caressa. Just wishing you'd say the rest of the rhyme so I could satisfy her. So try it again. 'Pussycat, pussycat...where have you been?'"

His voice had gone dark and melodious, mesmerizing me with forbidden riddles I knew better than to answer. " 'I--I've been to London, to visit the Queen,'" I replied in a shaky voice.

" 'Pussycat, pussycat, what did you there?'" he went on--and then, before I could reply, he added, "I got me a licking that soaked down my hair!"

With that he attacked, tickling the fringes of my folds with little butterfly lightings, while holding me wide open with his fingers. I squirmed and giggled hysterically and tried to wiggle away from his marauding mouth, but he was a man intent on his task. Around and around my pulsing flesh he circled, stopping now and again to flick my clit into a frenzy.

My insides began to quiver in earnest, down deep where a tightness clenched like a gripping fist. I spread my thighs wider, knowing it was only a matter of time before I surrendered...hoping I could preserve a modicum of dignity, so I could look him in the eye when he was finished.

But then he began lapping at me, like a dog at a trough on a hot day. His tongue flattened against my feverish flesh, starting low and rubbing upward until the tip climbed that flagpole he'd mentioned. If the first lick was a shock to my system, the next ones, quicker, were driving me toward certain insanity.

"Please--please! I can't take any more--I can't--"

With another arrogant laugh, he took up the stroking with his upper and lower lips and then thrust his tongue inside me. I shrieked, squirming against an inner heat that would surely brand me like an iron. My hips were gyrating of their own accord--indeed, my entire body had become a quivering, mindless mass begging for a release I didn't't know how to ask for.

So yes, I heard a tentative yowl--could that have been me making that noise? And then, as he began sucking faster and harder, slurping up my wetness, wild cries rang out until I thought the house had been filled with a gang of randy alley cats. My eyes clenched and my head thumped against the floor, and then my hips headed for the ceiling.

With a final gasp, my eyes flew open. The wolf who'd raided my pen was licking his lips, wiping my liquid from his face, gloating as he watched my recovery. His shirt had come unbuttoned and the ridge behind his fly squirmed with a life of its own. I knew what was there, of course, and I wondered if he'd now plow my furrow with it to satisfy his own desire. As though he'd read my thoughts, he grabbed at the shirt he'd cast aside and tossed it at me.

"Get dressed, Miss Caine. I've done my good deed for the day, and it's best not to test my patience. Or my tolerance for wanton women."

Wanton? I sat up, ready to remind him that this licking hadn't been my idea, but he rose with a grace bespeaking a beast best not meddled with. The door to that back room closed firmly behind him. The lock snicked, and then there was silence.

Still aquiver, I clutched the shirt to me and wondered how I'd face him now. An inner sense warned me not to make the same mistake twice, however: I quickly pulled on the huge, soft shirt and buttoned it over my bare body...a body I was certain this man would be staring at anyway. A body that had betrayed a weakness I'd never guessed at, while teaching me one of the many secrets I'd longed to learn about the mysteries between men and their women.

You're not his woman! my rational mind retorted. And now that I'd come down from my maiden flight, I knew to keep myself busy--to believe the latent threat of this dark man's warnings. While I was draping my soaked clothing over wooden chairs near the fireplace, he stepped out of his room. His hair was slick and wet, as though he'd doused himself with water, and he walked pointedly toward the pot hanging over the fire without looking my way.

After several moments of watching him stir a mixture of beans and meat, my stomach growled loudly. Still he ignored me, as though I weren't standing a mere five feet away.

"I'm not invisible, you know," I muttered. "And I will not be treated like a slut who came strutting in here to despoil your virtue!"

His jaw clenched, but he kept stirring. "Why are you out on such a night?" he demanded. "Where's Ludlow Pratt?"

He'd read the sign painted on the side of my wagon, so this was a logical question. Perhaps an attempt at the civil conversation he should've been offering all along. "My uncle died a few months ago. Ate something that didn't agree with him."

The man crouching at the fire turned so quickly water droplets flew from his hair, and his expression suggested that I'd been the one to taint my uncle's food. "So you're traveling alone? In the Rockies, while it's still winter?"

"I have an...appointment in Colorado Springs," I hedged. "Had I known this storm was brewing, I'd have stayed in Cripple Creek until morning."

Again his rugged face registered disbelief, in me and in what I was saying. Odd way for a man to act after he'd tasted between my legs. "I can't think business is booming this time of year. I'm sure your uncle wouldn't have wanted you to--"

"I can watch out for myself," I declared, fixing my gaze on those probing blue eyes. "He may have turned a tidy profit with his photography--a skill I acquired, too, during our years on the road--but it's my seance s that bring in the customers. You've heard of my abilities as a medium, I gather?"

"I've heard Caressa Caine puts on quite a show, yes--but that she'd be nothing without her tilting tables and spectral effects," he stated coolly. "More like a magician, or a Gypsy fortune teller, than a woman who can truly commune with the dead."

He wasn't the first to call me a fraud. And yes, my sittings included rappings and tambourines floating overhead, because Uncle Ludlow believed my audience came to expose such trickery--or to be so amazed by it as to marvel at my skills while I contacted their dear departed.

But I was no fake. I'd been in touch with the spirit realm since I was five, when my mother died and first came to me in a vision. And I would not let this egotistical bastard berate me!

"Fine!" I said, scowling into his shadowed face. "Since you don't believe in my gift, you won't be expecting your own private sitting. But I'll have you know I've been summoned by a very influential man in the Springs, who's so confident in my abilities he's already paid me!"

"And who might that be?" he drawled, slipping his fingers into my hair.

"Stop that! You've no right to--"

"You're changing the subject, Caressa," he mocked. "I'll find out everything I want to know before morning, so you might as well tell me."

His voice suggested another seduction, while his eyes flickered mysteriously in the firelight. Ghostly pale they looked, and full of dark secrets. "Dr. Ferral Graves," I announced, hoping I sounded more confident than I suddenly felt.

He stilled as he considered this. "I hope you know what you're doing, Miss Caine. They say he killed his wife in a fit of jealous rage."

The neatly-written invitation from Dr. Graves had hinted at nothing of the sort, which gave me pause. The spirits of the slain rarely wished to communicate with their attackers. "Do you believe that story?"

"I believe he's capable of murder, yes," my captor asserted, shifting his grip to my arm as though to drive his point home. "Ferral Graves goes on safari every year, and brings back spectacular trophies. A man who shoots Bengal tigers as a pastime would have no trouble at all offing a defenseless woman."

I considered this, but refused to cave in. "Perhaps he wants to ask his wife's forgiveness. I see no reason to--"

"Forgiveness? Graves?" he said with a snort. "I doubt that."

"--be concerned about his jealousy or rage, because I've done nothing to provoke it."

His frown darkened, accented by the soft hair framing his face. "But what if your seance doesn't give him the answers he wants? He could lock you away in that mausoleum he calls Raven Crest, and no one would ever find you! Or he could leave you to the devices of his Chinese housekeeper. They say she performs barbaric rituals and pagan sex ceremonies--that she wanted Ravenna out of the way so she could claim Graves for herself. What might she do to you, Miss Caine?"

Images were spinning in my head, of a cavernous house and the man of dubious repute who lived there with a female accomplice. Perhaps that's why Dr. Graves specified I should come alone, and that I should tell no one of my visit. Uncle Ludlow would've known about it, of course, because he opened my mail--and he would've plucked the front money from the letter. But now that he was gone, I had the perfect opportunity to live as I pleased. Ten years of his exploitation was enough.

"You can't tell me you're still considering it."

I dodged droplets from his wet hair. During my reverie, he'd leaned closer and my breathing had accelerated to match his. "I've already accepted his money, so--"

"Take the money and run!" he cried. "Get out of the mountains and get on with your life, while you still have one!"

I blinked at this outburst, overstated yet sincere. My years as Ludlow Pratt's assistant had taught me considerable skill at photography, so once I conducted the seance for Dr. Graves, I planned to collect the rest of his fee and set myself up in a studio with my uncle's cameras and darkroom equipment. No more rolling down the road, the object of every miner's desire. No more feeling like a freak in a side show, being taunted as a fraud or called the Devil's spawn. Maybe a decent man could come to love me. Even this desperado with the bottomless blue eyes offered possibilities, if he weren't so damned arrogant.

"Why are you saying these things about Dr. Graves? And why should I believe you?" I challenged.

"Because Graves has a reputation for wooing pretty, naive women--bending their wills, making them slaves to his insatiable desires!" he declared. "And because I don't want you to meet that same fate!"

"Oh, really? That explains why you ordered me to undress, and then licked my snatch until I went senseless! It's all perfectly logical!"

His expression curdled. "You impress me as relatively intelligent, Miss Caine, so let's strike a deal. I'll behave like the gentleman you originally took me for, if you assure me you'll steer clear of Raven Crest--and Graves."

"Why would you do that? And why would I want you to?" I blurted. Something about this man was prompting me to behave as brazenly as he did, to challenge the limits of propriety. "You know damn well I'm interested. I didn't exactly fight you off."

I was immediately appalled by this outburst, and the man beside me realized it. He rose from the fire to remove the bubbling bean pot with a sturdy wooden stick. "Maybe Graves's ghastly act has alerted me to my own potential for evil. Maybe I'd like to think a sliver of my soul is still worthy of redemption."

He stalked across the room to the table then, leaving me chilled by his admission. Perhaps I should've paid closer attention to the blazing, unsettled aura I'd first seen when he opened the door, but outside the storm raged on. I was going nowhere.

After he set plates on the small table and beckoned me to join him, we ate the seasoned beans with corn bread cut into squares. Rain drummed the roof, intensifying our silence. After dinner, he took up an elaborately-carved ivory pipe and tamped in heavily-scented tobacco from his humidor. It was a ritual I knew well.

Try as I might, I couldn't keep from shuddering when the pipe's bowl glowed with fire. He drew deeply, closing his eyes to reveal long, dark lashes, his face alight with the flare of the embers. When he saw my reaction, he raised an eyebrow.

"The smoke stings your eyes? This Turkish tobacco is stronger than most."

"No, no--I--it's your house, after all," I murmured, hugging myself against a chill. "I'll go over by the fire. Shift my clothes, so they'll dry evenly."

I hadn't taken two steps when I heard him behind me. Large hands enfolded my shoulders and his hair, nearly dry now, brushed my face as he leaned close to whisper, "I've been a thoughtless host, Caressa. Please believe I have your safety and best interests in mind when I implore you not to visit Ferral Graves. Will you do as I've asked?"

Wild, wanton sensations tickled my spine as his breath fell upon my skin, scented by that exotic tobacco. I'd been counting on the rest of that income to start my studio, yet this tortured man's warning convinced me he was sincere. He knew things he didn't want me to learn for myself, and I sensed that if I gazed into those enigmatic eyes long enough I'd be in even deeper trouble.

"All right," I breathed. "I'll move on to other sittings. Keep to my own concerns."

"Bless you, Caressa. Rest well in the bed tonight, and as time goes by, think of the stranger who longed for you but let you go."

I turned in his arms to protest, but his kiss erased all inclination to speak. Lips that felt firm and insistent promised a night's journey into a passion I could never forget or regret, but too soon he broke away. Sleep eluded me as I tossed in his bed, lit by lightning strikes until the wee hours, wondering about the man who'd again closed himself into his laboratory. My skin tingled from wanting more of his touch. My fingertips wandered down below my waist, to lips that would be forever branded by his feral heat.

I was so shameless as to knock on his door about an hour before dawn, my body alive with questions only he could answer, and my head filled with images of a man in raven waves with a deliciously wicked glint in his eyes. In my aching need, I went so far as to try the knob-- rejoiced to find it unlocked!

But he was gone.

And in the distance, between ominous rumblings of thunder, I swore I heard the howling of a wolf among the mountains. A wolf whose desperately lonesome soul called to my own.