*   *   *

EVE SAT UP IN BED AND BRUSHED her hair out of her eyes. “What time is your flight?”

“We’ve got time.” He pulled her back over him. “Ten tonight.”

“An hour before I get off work.” She glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “It’s three now.”

“We’ve got time,” he repeated. “You don’t have to be at work until six. I’m packed and ready to go.”

She stopped arguing. She didn’t want him to leave. Their coming together in the motel room had been hot and frantic, and yet the hunger was still there.

She lay against him, feeling the male hardness and strength of him. She was breathing hard, and she could hear his heartbeat pounding beneath her ear.

His hands were moving over her body. “I know every curve and crevice of you,” he whispered. “I’ve memorized every single part of you. I know your smell, your taste, your texture. If I were blind, I’d be able to recognize you.”

And she’d be able to recognize him, she thought. But she wasn’t sure that she wanted to remember John Gallo once he passed out of her life. The experience had been too intense, and the emotions she had felt had been confusing. Not only passion, but there had been surprising moments when there had been tenderness.

“They’ll probably send me somewhere else after basic training, but I might be able to come back here for a week or so.” He was stroking her hair. “I’ll call and let you know.”

“And after you’re away for a while, you might decide that it’s better to keep your distance. I won’t expect anything from you.”

“Because you don’t want me to expect anything, either.” He tangled his fingers in her hair and lifted her head to meet her eyes. “I’ve got the message. But I’m not sure that I’m going to pay any attention to it. Are you afraid of me, Eve?”

She was afraid. Afraid of the sex, which was a stronger drug than anything Sandra took, afraid of the way she was beginning to reach out to him in ways that weren’t sexual. She liked to watch him, liked his flashes of wry humor, even his silences. “I think we’ve gone too far.”

“Maybe. But that’s not going to stop me.” He was kissing her, rolling her over on the bed. “Tell me that two minutes from now.”

She wasn’t able to talk at all after that two minutes. All she could do was to move with him and try to keep from screaming with pleasure. This time she felt totally powerless. He was controlling the pleasure, demanding the response.

And she was giving it to him, giving whatever he asked. She couldn’t help herself.

It was only later, when she lay panting and shaking from the aftereffect of that storm, that she realized what that helplessness meant. He had made her feel weak, and that was the true danger.

And it was good that John Gallo was leaving that night.

*   *   *

IT WAS ELEVEN THIRTY, EVE realized as she climbed the steps to the apartment. John would have been in the air over an hour and a half. It had been strange not to see his Chevy parked in front of the restaurant when she’d left work. Stranger still to come straight home instead of going with John to the reservoir.

Don’t think of the reservoir and what we did there. She had kept busy and had been fine all evening. She had allowed herself no time to remember all the erotic games they’d played in the motel this afternoon. Only they hadn’t been games. Everything she’d done with John had been done with searing intensity.

She unlocked the apartment door and went inside. She turned on the light and kicked off her shoes. Empty as usual. Her mother hadn’t been home at all that week. She’d shower and go to bed. She hadn’t gotten much sleep in the last month, and she might be able to doze off.

Maybe.

She didn’t feel sleepy. Every nerve was keyed, and the effort to keep from thinking about John Gallo was added stress. Homework? She’d gotten behind in that, too, but there was nothing urgent. She’d get back in the routine now that she had no distractions.

Distractions?

That was a tame word for John Gallo. Oh, yes, he had distracted her and seduced her and taught her a hundred ways to enjoy her body … and his.

But that last time at the motel had revealed that pleasure could be as much a trap as the one she was trying to escape. He was too good, and he had warned her that he would do anything to get what he wanted.

Right now he wanted her.

It might change with time and distance, but that might be too late if he persuaded her to do what he wanted. Even now she could feel her body flush, ready, as she remembered what he had done this—

The doorbell rang, startling her.

No one came to the door at that time of night.

Unless her mother had lost her key again. She misplaced it at least once or twice every few months.

She slid back the viewer in the door. “Again, Sandra? We’re keeping that locksmith—”

It wasn’t Sandra.

John Gallo.

Eve slid back the bolt and threw open the door. “What’s wrong? Why are you—”

She was crushed against him, his mouth on hers, hard, frantic.

And she was frantic, too. Her arms slid around him, and she was making sounds deep in her throat. “Why?” she gasped. “I thought you were gone. Why are—”

“This is why.” His voice was guttural; his hands ripping open the buttons of her shirt. “I was sitting at that gate at the airport, and I couldn’t get you out of my mind. I had to have you one more time.” He was tearing off her bra, his lips on her breast. “Don’t say no, Eve.”

No? She was as wild as he was. The shock of his appearance had sent her hurtling back into the sensual storm she always experienced when she was with him. She could scarcely breathe. Her hands were running up and down his back, bringing him closer as his tongue sent sensation after sensation through her. “The plane…”

“I can catch one at three. I’ll still be there on time.” He’d backed her against the kitchen table and was pulling down her jeans. “I don’t give a damn…”

And she didn’t either. “The couch…”

He wasn’t paying any attention to her. She didn’t know if he even heard her. He’d lifted her onto the kitchen table, and he was suddenly over her, in her, with one movement. She inhaled sharply. Fullness.

Hardness all around her. The table against her buttocks, his belly pressing down on hers, the stroking …

The stroking!

His breath was harsh, his chest rising and falling against her with every thrust. “I knew you … wouldn’t want it here. This is your space, and you don’t want me in it.” Another deep thrust. “You don’t want to … remember me here. You don’t want to remember me at all, do you?” He sank deep and rotated. “Do you?”

She gasped as her hands clutched wildly at his shoulders. “It’s not—” She shuddered as the pace quickened. “You told me—”

“I said a lot of things, didn’t I?” His face above her was flushed, fierce, completely sensual. “But all I can think about right now is that you have—to—remember me. I won’t let you forget me. Every time you look around you, you’re going to remember me here, doing this to you.” He suddenly slid back off the table, taking her with him.

Her legs instinctively curled around his hips.

He was walking, pausing to stroke, then walking again.

Then they were on the couch. “Do you know how many times I thought about doing it with you here?” he whispered. “You liked the reservoir because it was neutral territory, and I’d give you anything you wanted. But toward the end I didn’t want neutral.” He was moving fast, hard. “I wanted this. Because I won’t—be—forgotten, Eve.”

Wildness. Hunger. Heat.

Madness.

She had to have more.

Arching, clasping, taking …

And then there was no more to take.

It was beyond …

She screamed.

He was still moving. “That’s right.” He was gasping, “Again, Eve. You can do it. I’ll just do this…” His eyes were glittering, wild. “More…”