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the questions that had plagued his soul for years past counting.
    And in the next two days he would take Laura Fitzpatrick. He would take her innocence, her virginity, her body—and her soul.
    He would take her love, because he knew he could have it. She was ready to offer it to him, though she didn't know it, and nothing would make him turn down that precious gift.
    And in the end, when he was ready to leave, he would take her life, as well.

    H e made her nervous. Laura hated to admit that fact, but she'd never been one to shy away from the truth, and there was no denying that his presence unnerved her in ways that weren't entirely unpleasant.
    She couldn't see his eyes behind the mirrored sunglasses, but she suspected she was better off that way. She hadn't touched him, hadn't even come close enough to feel his body heat. And yet she felt alert, alive, aware of him in every cell of her body, and that knowledge made her restless and uneasy.
    She forced a friendly smile to her face. She was imagining things, imagining the strange, taut feelings that seemed to stretch between them. He was a ski bum, someone who'd happened upon her at an opportune time, a charming, attractive man.
    A man with a strong, elegant body, an elegant, clever face, and a mouth that seemed both sensuous and heartless at the same time.
    She laughed, half to herself, and went to draw the curtains against the stormy night.
    "What amuses you?" he murmured.
    "I'm becoming fanciful in my old age," she admitted, hoping to defuse the strange feelings that were assaulting her. "I don't usually indulge myself."
    "What kind of fantasies were you indulging in?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral.
    In another man she might have thought it was a come-on, leading up to some smarmy sexual innuendo that she would have to parry. But not with Alex. For some reason, she knew he wasn't some hormone-laden male, looking to score. He was simply curious.
    She looked up at him, and suddenly she wanted to touch him. She wasn't certain why—something told her it would be very dangerous indeed if she put her hands on him, and that very warning made her all the more determined to follow through.
    "About you," she said flatly. "You're very mysterious, you know."
    He seemed to freeze. It was an amazing feat for a man who always seemed unnaturally still. "Do you like that?"
    It was a reasonable question. She shook her head, crossing the room, oddly aware of the big bed behind her, oddly aware of the big man in front of her. "Not particularly." She lifted her hand, and he didn't move, watching her, watching her outstretched hand, like a snake coiled and ready to strike. "Would you like me to see about dinner for you?"
    "No."
    "No, you're not hungry?"
    "No, I don't want you to see about anything for me. I don't wish to be a bother."
    She managed a faint smile. "Trust me, I enjoy being allowed to do things for other people. It's not often that I get the chance."
    "No," he said again. "Are you going to touch me?"
    It was a simple question, oddly phrased. She dropped her hand, embarrassed. "I wasn't planning to. I think I'll go downstairs and make sure my father's all right. That might have been his last lucid moment before he..."
    "He won't die tonight."
    She felt her mouth curve in a faint smile. "Is that a promise?"
    "It is."
    "I believe you." And before he knew what she was planning, she'd reached up and enveloped him in a brief, sexless hug.
    A moment later she was gone without a backward glance.

 
    CHAPTER THREE

     
    H e felt her embrace in every cell of his body. It shook him, more than he'd thought he could be shaken. She'd smiled, backed away, looking neither shocked nor dead. She'd simply kept that calm, tranquil expression on her face, and then she was gone.
    She'd left the door open behind her, and he could hear her footsteps as she moved quickly back down the hallway. She'd put her arms around him and nothing had happened.
    He moved to the French doors, opening the