LITMIR.BIZ

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was mounted to the dresser, and she held the teddy to her chest and stared at her reflection.

      “You sure that won’t send him running back to White Plains at the speed of sound, Max?”

      Max frowned and licked her lips. “I can’t have him thinking what he’s thinking.”

      Stormy slid off the bed, came behind her and put a firm hand on her shoulder. “I have my doubts he really believes any of that crap, anyway. Deep down, I mean.”

      “Then why would he…?”

      “Maybe it’s just easier that way,” Stormy said. “Telling you to stop teasing him is way easier than telling you to stop wanting him, don’t you think?”

      Max turned slowly. “You think he knows I’m serious, and just … isn’t interested?”

      “I know it’s a possibility you’ve never considered, hon, but don’t you think you have to?”

      “But … but how could he not want me?” She blinked away the stupid, ridiculous moisture that had gathered in her eyes.

      Stormy squeezed her shoulder. “Might not be about you. Might be about him.”

      “Now you sound like a goddamn man.” Maxie crammed the teddy back into the drawer, then slammed it closed.

      “Look, Max, you know the age difference bugs him.”

      “That’s an excuse, not a reason. It’s only eighteen years.”

      Stormy shrugged. “He’s been married before. Maybe he was burned so bad he’s sworn off women forever.”

      Max paced the bedroom. “Okay, that could be a possibility. At least that’s within the realm of reason.”

      Stormy nodded. “You know anything about the wife? What went wrong? “

      Max shook her head. “He never talks about it. If I ask, he changes the subject.” “See? Doesn’t that sort of prove it was bad?” “Maybe it just proves he doesn’t want to talk about it. The question is, what am I supposed to do next?” Max stopped pacing, spun to face Stormy. “How can I overcome whatever it is that’s keeping him from even thinking about me as a—a love interest?”

      Stormy blinked slowly. “Because giving up is not an option, right, Max? “

      “Of course it’s not an option. Lou is mine.” Max paced across the room in one direction, then turned and started back again. “He’s meant for me. I’m certainly not going to let a little thing like his unwillingness to cooperate get in the way of that.” She stood still and smiled then. “Now that I think about it, he basically admitted to wanting me, too. He said I had to stop because he was a normal red-blooded man, and that his body reacts to my flirting.”

      Stormy sighed. “I suppose he might really believe you aren’t serious about him, and that would make him feel guilty for having feelings for you.”

      “Well, I’ll get that out of the way first and proceed from there.”

      “Have you decided how you’re going to get it out of the way?”

      Max eyed the dresser drawer. “I suppose the teddy’s out of the question?”

      “I think if you show up in his bedroom wearing that teddy, he’ll be gone when we get up in the morning. The man’s gun-shy.”

      Max sighed. “I suppose I could just tell him.”

      “That might be best.”

      The vampire’s mind was his most powerful tool. He knew that others of his kind shared many of the same abilities—to control the mind of another, to communicate without speaking, to hear private thoughts, to invade dreams, to enslave. But none, to his knowledge, had honed those skills to the degree he had.

      The woman, for example.

      She wasn’t even here, not yet. She was somewhere to the north, asleep in her bed. But he could reach her, even there. He would reach her…

      He stared at the photograph on the glossy flyer. Stared into the eyes that were, he reminded himself, the wrong color. He probed and sought, and, eventually, he felt her. She was there, far away, but he could touch her.

      He slipped inside her mind. She felt him there, stirred in her sleep.

      Who are you? he whispered, and his mind searched hers for answers. Tell me who you are.

      He didn’t expect the question to generate the violent response it did. He felt a struggle as she searched her mind for the correct reply. There was a tearing, a tug-of-war going on, as if for control.

       I am—

       No! I am—

       Get out. Leave me alone, dammit!

       Never!

       Help me. God, Jesus, help me—what’s happening to me?

      Tears. He heard and felt them. Racking her. Quaking through her.

       Just let go. Let go and let me—

       “Nooooooo!”

      The shriek was so pain-filled, so desperate, he withdrew immediately, then sat very still, holding his head in his hands. Maybe he had made a terrible mistake in seeing to it the woman came to him here. She was not, he realized, entirely sane.

      Lou felt like slime. He’d hurt Max’s feelings, he knew that. And he’d probably convinced her he was just like every other man she’d ever known in the process. He’d always loved that she saw him differently. That she trusted him when she didn’t trust many of the others. That she felt safe around him.

      He hoped he hadn’t blown that.

      He couldn’t sleep. He’d tried a cold shower, then a hot one. He’d stripped down to his shorts and T-shirt, and pulled on a robe over them just in case she came wandering in wanting to talk to him. Though he doubted she would. He didn’t want to sleep. He wanted to make things okay between them again.

      He was still pacing the floor when he heard the scream.

       Max!

      He flung his bedroom door open and ran to hers, whipped it open as well without knocking, and strode inside, ready to do battle.

      Max wasn’t in her bed. The bathroom door was open, and a light shone and music wafted from within, so he lunged inside.

      Maxine lay in the giant sunken tub that sat at the top of a dais in the room’s center, with three ceramic-tiled steps going up to it on each of the four sides. He’d come to a stop on the second step, his eyes riveted to the tub. It was full of steaming water. And Max was sound asleep inside. The water was clear. Not cloudy, no bubbles. She lay there, knees bent slightly and rocked over to one side. He couldn’t stop his eyes from drinking their fill. Her breasts, small, round, perfect, just beneath the water. Her smooth torso and soft belly, and the sleek curve of her hip and rounded buttocks.

      The sight of her crawled into every crevice of his mind, burning her image there. He felt as if his muscles had turned molten. God, she was beautiful.

      Then the scream came again, louder this time, jerking him out of his trancelike state. Not Max, his mind told him. Stormy.

      Max’s eyes flew open at the sound, met his, widened.

      He ran down the steps, snatched the robe that hung from the back of the door and tossed it in her direction. “It’s Stormy. Something’s wrong.” Then he turned and ran from the room and down the hall to Stormy’s.

      Max sprinted down the hall, damn near slipping because of her wet feet. She tied the robe as she ran and burst into Stormy’s room to see Lou leaning over her bed, his hands on her shoulders.

      “What happened?

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