LITMIR.BIZ

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of its own accord, placed itself in his.

      His expression remained unchanged as he ushered me into one of the cars beside him. He lowered the bar and locked me in place without a word.

      Suddenly, I felt the car lurch forward. The movement jerked me back to my senses.

      I was in the Death Machine—and I hated roller coasters!

      My stomach jumped up into my throat as the bottom dropped out from under me and I plummeted downward. All the terror from childhood dreams of falling through space clutched at me.

      How in the world had I gotten into this?

      Moments later as the train ground to a halt back at the platform, I was too drained to get out of the car by myself. My knees shook when I tried to move. The man, still with his knowing grin, reached for me. He put a hand around each of my shoulders and lifted me effortlessly to my feet. As I stumbled out of the car, I fell helplessly against him. His arms enclosed me—strong, sure arms. The scent of him filled my head—stirring, and yet, indefinable—mysterious and teasing.

      It made me think of exotic, unknown places where I might’ve lived had I been born into another existence, far from the boring small town in which I’d spent my entire life—in which four generations of my family had lived their entire lives. My nice, safe, incredibly boring town. Why, in this town, people knew who you’d marry before you’d even figured it out yourself. They knew almost from the day you were born. Life here was laid out before me like a seamless, endless carpet, continuing on smoothly, predictably, until it reached the end of my time on earth.

      “Oh, I . . . I’m sorry,” I apologized as I leaned against him, my head still spinning.

      “We shut down at one in the morning. Meet me here,” he whispered in my ear, so softly, I wasn’t sure he’d really said it.

      I pulled back, startled, and peered into his face. His eyes bored into me as I regained my equilibrium and stood alone.

      “One in the morning,” he said again. Then he turned me away from him and propelled me down the exit steps as new riders crowded onto the platform.

      I looked at my watch. It was a few minutes before midnight.

      Don’t be ridiculous, I thought to myself. You shouldn’t even consider meeting a strange man like that! I’d been daring enough to come wander around the carnival alone when none of my friends were available, but I wasn’t a fool.

      Yet, as the night wore on, I found myself unable to leave. The image of his eyes kept forcing itself into my consciousness. And each time it did, I felt that strange, undeniable pull.

      Well, I thought, you came looking for something new, an adventure. Now it’s dangling right in front of you. Do you want to spend the rest of your life remembering that when the one opportunity you ever had for an adventure came along, you just passed right on by—too chicken to even check it out?

      As the lights on the various rides began to blink out, I was still at the carnival, still wandering indecisively around. And when I finally looked up, I found that I’d wandered right back to the Death Machine. There, on the platform, stood the black-eyed man. As he turned from unloading the last riders, his gaze rested once more on me—that “knowing” gaze.

      He motioned me up onto the platform. I found myself climbing the steps almost against my will. He hit a switch and the lights blinked off, leaving me disoriented in the darkness until I felt his hand on my shoulder. It was warm, firm, strong—constraining, somehow. I stood beside him for a while, in silence, until there was no one left that I could see. Then he climbed into the last car on the roller coaster and reached for me. I hesitated, and then followed him into the car. From nowhere, another man appeared on the platform, and as the gate closed on our car, he pressed the start button and then disappeared.

      I tensed as the sudden movement of the roller coaster sent a shiver of fear through me. The black-eyed man put his arms around me and pulled me tight against him. Then, with one hand, he tipped my chin up and pressed his lips gently, softly, against mine. I couldn’t stop myself from responding. His lips pulsed against mine. His tongue sought entrance, stirring my passion.

      My heart lurched as his hand caressed my bare belly beneath my knit shirt, then cupped my breast. An unbidden hunger began to consume me just as the roller coaster topped the first big climb and plummeted over the edge.

      My pulse pounded in my ears as the force of the car rounding a sharp curve flung me harder against him and he lifted me to straddle his lap. All I could do was hang onto him for dear life. I hadn’t bargained on this!

      But from somewhere deep inside of me, a wild, heated passion that I’d never before experienced, arose. I was aware of nothing but motion—the motion of the ride as we circled again and again, and the undulating, pulsing rhythm of plain, raw sex.

      I don’t know how, but the roller coaster ride finally ended. There was nobody in sight as he lifted me from the car and onto the platform. I was in a daze; I’d never done anything like that before in my life! I just wasn’t that kind of girl; as it was, I’d only had sex with two other men in my life—in serious relationships. The last time had been nearly a year ago.

      “Come this afternoon, around two,” he murmured in my ear. “I’ll meet you right here.”

      “I . . . I can’t!” I cried involuntarily.

      “Why not?”

      “I . . . I don’t even know you—”

      “My name’s Rebel,” he said. “Now you know me.”

      He tilted my head up and looked deep into my eyes. The bit of light from the street lamp, several yards away, was swallowed up by the bottomless blackness of his eyes. I felt pulled into those depths. As he tenderly kissed my lips, I knew I could do nothing but follow his bidding.

      Later, I lay in bed in the darkness of my upstairs room, gazing out the curtained window at the full moon shining down on the rooftops and yards, streets and pathways of my little town. I could feel the sameness, the unchangeable stability of the town and its inhabitants—the core of its existence. It felt permanent, right—the very fabric from which came my wonderful family . . . myself.

      And yet all that couldn’t calm the stirring I felt inside of me. I shivered, thinking about what I’d just done . . . what I would do again, as surely as I drew breath. Something “outside” had taken hold of me. Something that scared me, thrilled me, and drew me to it nonetheless.

      The next day, I lingered just out of sight, around the corner of a building, until two-thirty. My gesture of independence—showing him he couldn’t really control me. However, even from there, he had a magnetic effect on me.

      He was something to look at, all right—six feet tall; dark brown hair streaked from the sun that tended to fall in his eyes when he bent his head; a small nose, lush lips, and those midnight-black eyes. He had no shirt on, and his dark, deeply tanned skin shone from sweat and the sun as his muscles rippled.

      Even as I peeked around the corner, watching him, a woman waltzed up to him and began what was obviously a flirtation. I didn’t know her; she wasn’t from around here. When he actually stopped his inspection work and began to talk with her, I couldn’t help myself. I popped out and strolled casually up to the Death Machine. His eyes were on me even as he talked to the other woman. She moved her head, trying to catch his gaze, and then, when that failed, she turned and saw me standing about ten feet away. His eyes twinkled and that knowing grin spread over his handsome face. The woman looked flustered, then angry, but she gave up, turned on her heels, and stalked off, leaving me to face my temptation.

      “Hi,” he murmured, the grin never leaving his face.

      “Hi, yourself,” I answered.

      “Didn’t know if you were going to show,” he said.

      “I thought about it,” I said.

      “And?”

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