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the front of the bra.
    There was a small plastic oval at the bottom center of the bra where the cups came together. He tested it gingerly, then slipped his forefinger underneath it and felt the two interlocking sections give way. Ingenious, he thought, applying pressure, a front opening. The bra clicked open, and he smiled, pleased with himself. Mission accomplished.
    It didn’t hit him for a moment what he’d done. He’d become so engrossed in the mechanics of the brassiere that he hadn’t thought about the fact that he was baring her breasts. A nerve twitched in his jaw as he surveyed the results of his handiwork. Lush was the word that came to mind. Lord, yes. Her breasts were fuller than he’d imagined, almost voluptuously heavy.
    There was only one problem. The long S-shaped gash had caught the underside of her right breast. In order to clean away the encrusted blood, he would have to cup her, lift her— An angry sound hissed through his clenched teeth . Feeling a woman up. Wasn’t that what they called it?
    A moment later he was gingerly cleaning the long gash, and praying to heaven that she wouldn’t shift or sigh or do anything else that would push him over the edge. As he worked his way down from her armpit, he cupped her breast with one hand and dabbed at the injury with the other. It was a nasty cut, and he didn’t want to hurt her, but that concern did nothing to alleviate the massive fisting in his groin.
    Stephen Gage was in pain.
    The silky weight of her in his palm was devastating. She was soft beyond belief, and her nipples were slightly budded. From the cold, he hoped. To a man in his extreme state of deprivation, she represented more than a sexual release. At that moment she was everything he’d ever dreamed of in those lost years of ice and eternal darkness.
    By the time he’d finished with her, he was sheened in sweat and his breathing was shallow. He actually felt a wave of dizziness wash over him as he covered her with a blanket.
    As he rose and stood back he caught his reflection in the mirror across the room. He was a frightening sight, his eyes wild and lonely, his features gaunt. He stared at himself, struck by the raw pain he saw....
    The image unlocked a memory. Another time. Another woman. Another world. It ripped through his mind, uncoiling like a demon storm, shrieking of tragedy, of darkness and death. It reminded him of what he’d done—of who he was. It warned him that he was an exiled man, forever marked.
    “ No ,” he breathed, fisting his hands, driving the memory away with a massive force of will. In its aftermath he could feel the pain coming, but he was powerless to stop it. His strength was gone. It began as it always did, with a blinding flash of white light, and then several crimson flares burned into his focus like laser beams, searing his brain. He caught the web of his hand between his thumb and forefinger, gripping himself brutally, applying enough pressure to snap bones. The man in the mirror was disintegrating before his eyes, dissolving in a pale, fiery light.
    In his total concentration he didn’t see that Lise’s eyes had fluttered open, and she was watching him.

Three
    L ISE’S FIRST SEMICONSCIOUS thought was that she must still be dreaming. Through the misty veil of her half-closed eyes, she saw what appeared to be a great golden lion hovering over her.
    She might have screamed if she hadn’t felt so drugged and stuporous. Lethargy dragged at her as she tried to move, and a dull pain throbbed near her right breast. The question floating vaguely in her mind was. Where am I? The only sound she heard in the utter stillness was the soft rasp of her own breathing.
    Her eyes were heavy-lidded and burning with exhaustion. Fighting to stay conscious, she let them droop shut. For several seconds she sank back into dreamy oblivion, drifting in darkness, telling herself she mustn’t let go completely. When she forced her eyes open again, the form above her had