a haze of sensuality to the room, offered one love song after another. Harps rippled; saxophones moaned; violins wept and sang. It was, Brooke thought as Taylor’s chin drifted across her temple, almost too beautiful to bear.
Gradually, though, the dance floor began to clear, the other couples slipping away like sand emptying through an hourglass. Brooke shut her eyes again, turning her head into Taylor’s jacket and tightening her arm on his shoulder, as if she could close the two of them inside a magic circle and make the evening last forever. She didn’t want to go home, back to reality, back to all the problems that were waiting for her. She didn’t think she could face being alone tonight.
With a sigh, she tucked their clasped hands under her cheek, letting her lips graze the back of his knuckles. His fingers tightened in response, and she felt oddly secure, here with his heart beating against her cheek. Strange, she mused. She’d been alone for years, but now, after spending less than an hour in this man’s arms, she felt as if she had completely lost the knack.
He kissed the top of her head softly, and the flame inside her spread like a blossoming bud of heat. No, she didn’t want to be alone. Not tonight.
“I think the orchestra is winding down,” Taylor said, lifting his head and scanning the nearly empty stage. “It’s getting late.”
Without taking her cheek from his chest, she made a small, dismayed sound. But she didn’t speak, afraid that her intense disappointment might sound fretful, as childish as Justin when he fussed about being sent to bed.
“You probably don’t have a car here—do you want a taxi?” He feathered her hair back from her face and ducked his head lower, as if he were trying to get a glimpse of her expression. “Or would you like me to take you home?”
“Oh,” she said, relief bringing a wide smile to her face as she lifted it toward him. “Oh, yes. Thank you.”
He smiled, then, too, as if amused by her breathless eagerness, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. What did it really matter if he could see how happy she was? What harm if he guessed how his embrace had made her feel?
Besides, even if she had wanted to, she wasn’t sure she could have hidden her emotions. From the minute he’d put his arms around her, she had felt as if she’d been plugged into some vibrant life source.Illogically—especially considering that her problems were still unsolved,and Clarke, to whom she had looked for help, was long gone—she felt great. Better than great. She felt deliciously young and alive. Hot-blooded. And rapturously female.
So why not smile? If she was dwelling in a fool’s paradise, then at least she would make the most of every minute. She’d been cautious every day of her life for the past ten years—and she’d have to be equally circumspect every day for the next ten.
Starting tomorrow.
She straightened, tugging lightly, eagerly, on his hand. “Yes,” she said again, swiveling as she spoke. “Let’s go home.” After the warm cocoon of his arms, the cool air seemed to go straight to her head, and she felt the room tip slightly.
He chuckled, a low rumble that was more vibration than noise, and, pulling her safely back against his chest, kissed the tip of her nose. “Slowly,” he said, steering her gently toward the stairs. “There’s no need to rush.”
But there was. There was. Couldn’t he feel it, too? He kept his hands on her shoulders to steady her, and she tried to walk calmly, but a sense of urgency had suddenly overtaken her, like Cinderella as the clock began to strike midnight. If they didn’t hurry, something could go wrong. The magic could run out. He could change his mind—or, even worse, she could change hers.
A crowd of late leavers clustered around the valet stand, and Brooke could hardly contain a sound of frustration. But Taylor’s hands were still on her shoulders, pressing her back against the wall of his hard-muscled torso, and she leaned against him gratefully, glad that he was so strong, glad that he stood between her and the pushing, chattering crowd. She shut her eyes again, and she let herself imagine what it would be like to have such an ally in life, a partner whose strength and loyalty would be a seawall against the crashing waves of misfortune.
Time blipped erratically, and suddenly the car was there in front of them. It was a sleek steel gray model that she couldn’t put a name to, though she could have made a pretty good guess at the price, which probably was approximately what she was asking for her bungalow. The irony of that struck her as rather funny, and she patted the hood of the car with a smile before letting Taylor guide her into the front seat.
Her cinnamon brown silk skirt made a sound like a sigh as it slid across the leather. Brooke sighed, too, as the air-conditioning blew sweet, cool air onto her cheeks, and when Taylor got in, she smiled at him. He smiled back, but his expression seemed strangely questioning.
“Oh,” she said, suddenly realizing what he needed. “Sorry. I live at 909 Parker Lane.” She peered through the window, trying to get her bearings. She knew downtown Tampa as well as she knew her own reflection in the mirror, but tonight things looked strangely unfamiliar. “Do you know where it is, by any chance?” She knew she sounded dubious, but where exactly were they? She didn’t recognize that huge building. “I can navigate, I suppose, as long as you don’t drive too fast—”
“You rest,” he said, touching her face. He wasn’t smiling anymore, but it sounded somehow as if the smile was tucked inside his voice. He sounded sexy, affectionate... and kind. “I’m sure I can find it.”
“That’s good,” she murmured, shutting her eyes against the bright blur of streetlights as they swept down the nearly deserted boulevard. “I’m a little tired. Look for roses. I have a lot of roses in the front....”
He put his arm across the back of the seat and, closing his palm over her shoulder, nudged her gently.
“Rest,” he said again, and she felt no urge to protest as he eased her toward him. She let herself drift downward slowly, her head seeming to seek the crook of his arm as if it were her own special spot, her assigned place in the universe. She put her hand on his thigh, registering the lean, solid strength of it somewhere in the back of her mind before she closed her eyes again and kept drifting, but this time father and farther, until she was so far away—
“Taylor,” she said suddenly, though she didn’t open her eyes, “we’ve never met before, have we?”
His voice was right next to her ear. Strange, when she’d thought she had floated so very far away. “No,” he said huskily, “we’ve never met before.”
“Are you sure? You feel so... familiar.”
He didn’t answer for a long moment, and when he did she heard a smile in his voice. “I have a rather nutty friend who would say that means our auras are in harmony. Maybe he’s right.”
She smiled, too, still without opening her eyes. “That’s silly.”
He stroked her arm gently. “I always used to think so.”
“Very silly.” She shook her head—or at least she thought she did. Her voice sounded thick, half-asleep. “Still, you’re not really a stranger, Taylor. I know you’re not a stranger.”
CHAPTER THREE
SHE came to consciousness achingly aware of him, of his hand stroking along her temple, into her hair, all the way behind her ear. They were
