Gasping, he rolled us both to our sides. I heard my name carried on a taut breath. For a long time he held me to him. His hands compressed my body at slow intervals, molding me closer.

Resting my head in the crook of his arm, I slept for a little while. It was still dark when I awoke. I felt from the tension in Hardy's body that he was awake too. I rocked slowly against the insistent throb of his erection, my temperature rising. His mouth came to my neck and shoulder, kissing the soft skin, tasting.

I pushed at his shoulders, and he went over easily, letting me straddle him. Gripping his sex, I positioned him and sank down. I heard the faint whistle of his breath through his teeth. He steadied my h*ps with his hands, letting me find a rhythm. He belonged to me absolutely . . . I knew it, I felt it in that moment of masculine surrender. I was riding him, giving it to him, and he groaned and arched his h*ps to meet every downward pump. His hands slid up my thighs to the center, caressing with his thumbs until I came, and that set him off too. He stiffened beneath me, the pleasure spiking. His hand closed behind the nape of my neck as he pulled me down to kiss him. A forceful kiss, flavored with desperation. "It's okay," I whispered afterward in the quiet room, feeling the need to comfort him. "It's okay."

Morning was nearly over by the time I awoke. The covers had been drawn up carefully around me, and my discarded clothes had been retrieved and draped neatly over the back of a chair. I called out sleepily for Hardy, wanting him to come back to bed. But as I was greeted with silence, I realized he'd left me alone in his apartment.

I rolled to my stomach, wincing a little as I felt an accumulation of tiny strains and pulls. An embarrassed grin spread across my face as I remembered the previous night. I might have thought it had been a long erotic dream, except that my body was letting me know it had definitely happened.

I felt curiously light and buoyant, almost feverish with happiness.

The night had been different from anything I had ever experienced before. Sex on a new level . . . deeper, more intense, opening me emotionally as well as physically. And it had affected Hardy the same way, which had probably scared the crap out of him.

I realized Nick had always regarded sex as a kind of annexation. I had never been an individual to him, certainly not someone whose thoughts or feelings mattered. Which meant that when Nick had sex with me, it had really been nothing more than a form of mast***ation.

Whereas Hardy, even in his wildness, had made love to my mind and body, to me. And he had let me in past his defenses, however unwillingly.

I no longer believed in the idea of soul mates, or love at first sight. But I was beginning to believe that a very few times in your life, if you were lucky, you might meet someone who was exactly right for you. Not because he was perfect, or because you were, but because your combined flaws were arranged in a way that allowed two separate beings to hinge together.

Hardy would never be the easiest man to have a relationship with. He was complex and strong-willed and rough-edged. But I loved those qualities about him. I was more than willing to take him exactly as he was. And it didn't hurt that he seemed equally game to take me on my own terms.

Yawning, I went to the bathroom, found Hardy's robe, and tugged it on. The coffeemaker was all set up in the kitchen, with a mug and a clean spoon laid out. I pushed a button, and the air filled with the cheerful gurgle of brewing coffee.

I picked up Hardy's phone and dialed his cell number.

No answer.

I hung up the phone. "Coward," I said without heat. "You can run, Hardy Cates, but you can't hide forever."

But Hardy managed to avoid me all Saturday. And while I wanted badly to talk to him, pride wouldn't let me chase after him like a lovestruck skink, a Texas lizard which was known to lunge and circle around the male it was interested in. I figured I could afford to be patient with Hardy. So I left a couple of casual messages on his machine, and decided to wait him out.

Meanwhile, I got an e-mail from Nick.

CHAPTER NINTEEN

The whole thing is crazy," I said when Susan had finished reading Nick's e-mail. I had printed it out and asked her to take a look at it during our Saturday therapy session. "He's turned everything backward. Upside down. It's like Alice in Wonderland."It was ten pages long and filled with accusations and lies. I had felt dirty and tainted after reading it, but most of all, outraged. Nick had recast our entire marriage, with himself as the victim and me as the villain. According to Nick, I had been an insane, histrionic, and unfaithful wife, and he had tried in vain to pacify me and my moods and rages. And in the end, when he had lost his temper with me, it was because I had pushed him to the edge, by rejecting his honest efforts to fix our relationship.

"What pisses me off the most," I continued heatedly, "is how detailed and convincing it is . . . like Nick believes his own crap. But he doesn't, does he? And why would he write this to me? Does he actually think I'm going to buy any of this?"

Susan's brow was furrowed. "Pathological lying is the MO for a narcissist . . . they're not interested in the truth, only in what gets them what they want. Which is attention. Supply. So basically Nick is trying to get a reaction from you. Any kind of reaction."

"Like, me hating him is just as good a supply as me loving him?"

"Exactly. Attention is attention. The only thing Nick can't tolerate is indifference. That creates what's called 'narcissistic injury' . . . and unfortunately this e-mail is sending strong signals in that direction."