She had to stand up, to move. She walked over to open the curtains again. “Even as I started to hurt, I was in a studio. My studio, surrounded by my work. I could smell the paint and the turpentine. I had a brush in my hand, and I knew how to use it. I knew all the things I’d always wanted to know. It was powerful, like having the child who had come from me in my arms. And just as false. And he was there.”

“Who was there?”

She drew in a sharp breath, turned back. “His name is Kane. The stealer of souls. He spoke to me. I could have it all—the life, the love, the talent. It could be real. If I just stayed inside it, I’d never have to give it up. We would love each other. We’d have a son. I’d paint. It would all be perfect. Just live inside the dream, and the dream’s real.”

“Did he touch you?” He rushed to her to run his hands over her as if to check for wounds. “Did he hurt you?”

“This world or that,” she said, steady again. “My choice. I wanted to stay, but I couldn’t. I don’t want a dream, Flynn, no matter how perfect it is. If it’s not real, it means nothing. And if I’d stayed, isn’t that just another way of giving him my soul?”

“You were screaming.” Undone, Flynn laid his forehead on hers. “You were screaming.”

“He tried to take it, but I heard you shouting for me. Why did you come here?”

“You were upset, with me. I didn’t want you to be.”

“Annoyed,” she corrected and slid her arms around him. “I still am, but it’s a little hard to get through everything else to my irritation. I want you to stay. I’m afraid to sleep, afraid I might go back and this time I won’t be strong enough to come out again.”

“You’re strong enough. And if you need it, I’ll help pull you out.”

“This might not be real either.” She lifted her mouth to his. “But I need you.”

“It’s real.” He lifted her hands, kissed each one in turn. “That’s the only thing I’m sure of in this whole damn mess. Whatever I’m feeling for you, Malory, it’s real.”

“If you can’t tell me what you feel, then show me.” She drew him to her. “Show me now.”

All the conflicting emotions, the needs and doubts and wants, poured into the kiss. And as she accepted them, accepted him, he felt himself settle. Tenderness spread through him as he picked her up, cradled her in his arms.

“I want to keep you safe. I don’t care if it irritates you.” He carried her to her room and laid her on the bed, began to undress her. “I’ll keep getting in the way, if that’s what it takes.”

“I don’t need someone to look out for me.” She lifted a hand to his cheek. “I just need you to look at me.”

“Malory, I’ve been looking at you from the beginning, even when you’re not around.”

She smiled, arched up so he could slip off her blouse. “That’s a strange thing to say, but it’s nice. Lie down with me.”

They were side by side, faces close. “I feel pretty safe right now, and it’s not particularly irritating.”

“Maybe you’re feeling a little too safe.” He skimmed a fingertip over the swell of her breast.

“Maybe.” She sighed when he began to nuzzle the side of her neck. “That doesn’t scare me a bit. You’re going to have to try a lot harder.”

He rolled over, pinned her, then plundered her mouth with his.

“Oh. Nice work,” she managed.

She was trembling, just enough to arouse him, and her skin was flushing warm. He could steep himself in her, in the tastes and textures. He could lose himself in that low, driving urge to give her pleasure.

He was tied to her. Perhaps he had been even before he’d met her. Could it be that all the mistakes he’d made, all the changes in direction, had been only to lead him to this time, and this woman?

Was there never any choice?

She sensed him drawing back. “Don’t. Don’t go away,” she begged. “Let me love you. I need to love you.”

She wound her arms around him, used her mouth to seduce. For now, she would trade pride for power without a qualm. As her body moved sinuously under his, she felt his quiver.

Hands stroked. Lips took. Breathy moans slid into air that had gone dim and thick. Long, lazy kisses built in intensity and ended on gasps of greed.

He was with her now, locked in a rhythm too primal to resist. The hammer blows of his heart threatened to shatter his chest, and still it wasn’t enough.

He wanted to gorge on the flavors of her, to drown in that sea of needs. One moment she was pliant, yielding; the next, as taut as a bunched fist. When her breath sobbed out his name, he thought he might go mad.

She rose over him. Locking her hands in his, she took him into her, a slow, slow slide that tied his frantic system into knots.

“Malory.”

She shook her head, leaning down to rub her lips over his. “Want me.”

“I do.”

“Let me take you. Watch me take you.”

She arched back, stroking her hands up her torso, over her br**sts, into her hair. And she began to ride.

Heat slapped him back, a furnace blast that had his muscles going to jelly, that scorched his bones. She rose above him, slim and strong, white and gold. She surrounded him, possessed him. Spurred him toward madness.

The power and pleasure consumed her. She drove them both faster, harder, until her vision was a blur of colors. Alive, was all she could think. They were alive. Blood burned in her veins, pumped in her frenzied heart. Good healthy sweat slicked her skin. She could taste him in her mouth, feel him pounding in the very core of her.

This was life.

She clung to it, clung even when the glory climbed toward the unbearable. Until his body plunged, and she let go.

HE made good on the soup, though he could tell it amused her to have him stirring a pot at her stove. He put on music, kept the lights low. Not for seduction, but because he desperately wanted to keep her relaxed.

He had questions, a great many more questions, about her dream. The part of him that felt that asking questions was a human obligation warred with the part that wanted to tuck her up safe and quiet for a while.

“I could run out,” he suggested, “grab some videos. We can veg out.”

“Don’t go anywhere.” She snuggled closer to him on the couch. “You don’t have to distract me, Flynn. We have to talk about it eventually.”