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She didn't turn out her lamp until she heard his Jeep pulling into his driveway. Convincing herself that the sleepiness that suddenly overtook her was a coincidence, she snuggled beneath the covers.

But moments later, she threw them off, swearing beneath her breath. She remembered that she'd left the lawn sprinkler on. She'd turned it on early that afternoon and it had been running ever since. Great for the water bill, she thought as she padded through the dark house, down the stairs, and across the kitchen to the back door.

The concrete porch was cold on her bare feet. The night air made her shiver because she hadn't taken time to pull on a robe over her nightgown. Holding up the hem of her long nightgown so it wouldn't trail in the wet grass, she tiptoed toward the water hydrant built into the foundation of the house. It took her a moment to find it in the darkness, but she finally did, and, bending at the waist, turned it off. She gave it one final twist to make certain it was completely shut off before she straightened up and turned around.

The gasp of surprise froze in her throat. She flattened her hand against her chest to still her drumming heartbeat. Then she recognized the form emerging from the impenetrable shadows as Thad Randolph. His features were obscured by the darkness, but the moonlight shining on his hair and turning it silver made him immediately identifiable.

She didn't blurt out the question "What are you doing here?" because she already knew. She didn't know how she knew; she just knew.

She wasn't surprised and therefore didn't flinch when he raised his hand and took a strand of her hair between his fingers. He rubbed it slowly, letting it sift through his fingers sensuously. Then he closed his hand around her throat, and, as though the warmth of his fingers melted the vertebrae in her neck, her head obligingly tipped to one side.

He pressed his lips against that vulnerable curve, giving it a long kiss. Then, gazing down into her face, he touched her lips with his thumb and traced their shape. Responding to his touch, her lips became so pliant they parted slightly. He ran the pad of his thumb over her teeth.

Emboldened, she laid her hands on his chest. Moving aside his unbuttoned shirt, she caressed bare skin, crisp hair, his nipples.

He made a hissing sound and, with one sudden movement, lightly slammed her back into the wall of the house. She saw his head descending toward hers. Her eyes slid closed a second before his lips covered hers. He tilted his head, adjusted the angle, then sank his tongue into the heat of her mouth.

Elizabeth slumped bonelessly, glad that the wall was there to help support her while she surrendered to Thad's mastery and expertise. She'd never been kissed this thoroughly. Never. Even in her fantasies. His kiss seemed to draw the very life out of her and yet at the same time to imbue her with new fire.

His tongue plumbed her mouth with sleek thrusts that suspended her breathing. Then he imbedded it snugly inside and stroked the roof of her mouth. Her body and heart and soul exploded. Splinters of light scattered through her.

His mouth gently ate its way down her neck. His tongue playfully batted against her earlobe before his teeth clamped down on it in a love bite. He kissed her throat, her chest, his mouth open and hot and hungry. When it closed around her nipple, her back reflexively arched and all ten of her fingers clutched his hair. He drew the ripe tip into his mouth, nightgown and all, and sucked it with passionate need.

Clasping her around the waist, he held her steady and in place while he angled his hips forward and let her know the extent of his desire. She moved her body against him. Pressing harder and higher, he sandwiched her face between his hands and kissed her fiercely.

An instant later, he was gone, swallowed by the darkness.

The only sounds Elizabeth heard were those of her own pounding heart and raspy breathing. And the dripping water hydrant. Those splashing drops landing in the muddy puddle beneath the hydrant were her only remaining link with reality, the only clue that let her know that what had happened was real and not one of her fantasies.

She stumbled back into her house, up the stairs, and into her bedroom. She closed the door, leaning against it weakly and gulping for breath. She lifted a hand to her lips. They were still warm and damp. They stung slightly. She could feel that they were swollen and beard-abraded.

It had been real. It had happened. But how? Why? Why had she permitted it?

Because she was human. She was a woman who had known passion. Her needs hadn't died with John Burke. Her natural, physical desires hadn't been sealed in the coffin with him. In and of themselves they weren't shameful. But the manner in which she chose to satisfy them could be. Trysts with a neighbor in the backyard in the middle of the night weren't a proper means by which to cool her blood. If it was going to run this hot, this unpredictably, she'd have to find an outlet.

As though driven by the muses — or the devil — she crossed to her small wicker desk and took out a notebook and pen. The ink flowed from the ballpoint like blood from an open vein. The room grew cold, but she didn't stop long enough even to put on her robe. She didn't cease her frantic writing until her stable fantasy and the one about the faceless stranger had been converted from images in her mind to words on paper.

Afterward she slept soundly and dreamlessly. In the morning, she called Lilah before she could change her mind.

* * *

Only after she had had several hours to think about it did she begin to have doubts. Lilah, to be sure, had been delighted with Elizabeth's decision to submit her fantasies for publication. She had driven over immediately to pick up the pages Elizabeth had written the night before.

She snatched them from her sister's hand. "I'm not going to give you time to change your mind. What made you decide to do it?"

Elizabeth was glad that the Monday-morning rush back into routine prevented an in-depth discussion of her motivations. Not that she would share with anyone what had happened in the backyard last night. She would go to her grave with that secret intact.

"I can use the extra money," she told Lilah by way of explanation. "If you think they're publishable, send them off. But you won't hurt my feelings by telling me they're not."

"I can't wait to read them," Lilah said, licking her lips as though anticipating a feast.

All morning, Elizabeth expected to get a phone call from her sister. When lunchtime arrived and she still hadn't heard from her, she reasoned that her writing had been terrible and that Lilah was trying to think of a tactful way to tell her.

There was little going on in the hotel, so her business was slow. After she'd eaten her fruit and cheese lunch, she began thumbing through order catalogues. When the small bell over her door tinkled, finally announcing a customer, she glanced up with a ready smile.

It congealed on her lips when she saw Thad Randolph standing inside her shop. She almost fell off her high stool, which she sat on behind the counter between customers. For endless moments they stared at each other.

At last, he said, "Hi."

Her feet touched the floor, but she still didn't trust herself to stand. Her knees were actually trembling. She smoothed down her skirt with damp palms. Her cheeks were hot. Her earlobes began to throb. "Hello."

After another tense silence, he dragged his eyes away from her and took in his surroundings. "I've window-shopped through the glass, but I've never been inside your store. It's nice."

"Thank you."

"It smells good."

"I sell potpourri and sachets." She indicated a basket filled with little lace pillows stuffed with dried flowers and spices.