By

Prologue

“If you run out of gas or you get a flat tire, just stay in the car, and wait ‘til morning,” is the consensus of the locals.

“It isn’t safe to venture outside your car, especially on a moonless night,” they warn. “Things have been known to happen out that way.”

Bad things, they whisper.

Things that can’t be explained even in the light of day.

“Things you don’t want no part of,” the old folks hint.

They tell the tale of a hostile apparition who appears to unwary motorists along that lonely stretch of highway. They say his eyes reflect the fires of hell and the sound of his laughter has the ability to chill the blood in your veins. One moment you might see him standing at the roadside, then, if your door isn’t locked, you could find him sitting in the seat beside you, his fearsome grin predatory and filled with lethal intent.

“You can not escape him once he sets his sights on you and once you have become a victim, you will never be the same. You will see his fiery eyes glowing from every deepening shadow and you will hear his taunting laughter to your grave ….”

But some say he isn't the evil thing of which the old folks tell.

Some say he is a godsend and lies in wait for just the right person ….

Chapter One

Cathleen Kaisand was tired. She had been driving all day and the headache piercing her forehead just above her right eye was agonizing. Every passing car light served to exacerbate the pain, the brightness seeming to stab into her skull. It didn’t help that a heavy rain was falling against the windshield and reflecting the oncoming lights, intensifying their brightness.

She rolled her shoulders, twisted in the cramped seat in an effort to relieve the tightness bunched in her upper body. A dull burning sensation had settled at the base of her neck and her right knee felt as though a sharp needle was being driven into it. The long day of driving was beginning to take its toll.

"I wish I could find someone to take care of me for a change and I didn't have to work," she mumbled. "Wouldn't that be nice?"

The warm air from the defroster was beginning to make her sleepy and she was vaguely aware of a dangerous lassitude setting in. Between the monotonous sweeps of the wipers swishing away the pouring rain pelting the windshield and the bone-deep fatigue crying out for relief, she felt herself starting to drift off and jerked upright in the seat, opening her eyes wide to stave off the drowsiness.

"You'd better find a place to pull off, woman," she said aloud.

Glancing down at the radio faceplate, she winced, for it was close to midnight and she was still at least two hours from her destination. Yawning, she almost missed the rest area road sign.

Thankful she didn't have to relieve herself, she was nevertheless annoyed the rest area contained No Facilities. Being able to get out and stretch, get a soda, and wash her face would have been nice. When the turnoff came into view, though, she felt a wash of relief flow over her. Just to be able to close her eyes for awhile, to get the migraine somewhat under control, was a godsend.

The arcing curve of the rest area was barren as her headlights swept over the tall trees, encroaching shrubs, and three dented green litter barrels beyond the gravel drive. No other vehicles had claimed the rest area this wild, stormy night and that was both unsettling and reassuring. Cathleen sat there with the engine idling for a moment—chewing her bottom lip, trying to decide whether or not to stop—but at last her weariness outweighed any disquiet she felt so she turned off the engine. Upon dowsing her headlights, Cathleen found herself enclosed in pitch darkness with not even the shimmer of the pounding rain to break the ebon scenery beyond. She felt as though she were cocooned within her $45,000 vehicle and that, too, was both comforting and disturbing.

Even knowing the power locks were engaged and all doors and hatchback secure, Cathleen nevertheless pressed the button on the door before unbuckling her seat belt. She felt as safe as possible and let out a long breath.

After reaching down to adjust the power seat away from the steering wheel and to recline it, the new regional manager of WindGenInc Power twisted around and snagged the blanket from the backseat. Tucking the blanket around her, she stretched out as comfortably as the seat would allow and closed her eyes.

"What I need is a sexy man who thinks only of me," she said. "Someone who could make all the decisions for me. Someone who would do it all. I'd be one happy camper."

Outside, the wind howled and rocked the luxury car slightly, the drumming of the rain upon the roof mesmerizing. Warm beneath the soft wool blanket, relaxed in the plush leather of the seat, Cathleen sighed as sleep reached out to take her gently in its protective arms.

Held safe within those strong, shielding arms Cathleen traveled deeper into the Realm of Morpheus. Her breathing slowed, her body became weightless and pliant. Now and again she would moan lightly as her incorporeal self flew through time and space, her eyes looking down upon lush emerald green fields sparkling with bright golden sunflowers and serpentine sapphire streams running down from the jagged diamond peaks of snowcapped mountains. The air smelled of gardenia and a soft breeze swept beneath her toes.

When that first tentative caress pressed softly, fleetingly across her cheek, she turned her face to locate again that velvety touch. Finding it, she nestled into a warm palm and smiled as a soothing thumb arched across the sweep of her closed lids. She sighed as fingers trailed down her jaw line and her lips were stroked by that heated thumb. She opened her mouth as the pad of the slightly rough appendage delicately pulled her lower lip down to trace the curve. Strong fingers spanned the column of her neck—the thumb soothing lazy figure-eights along one side as the hand moved lower.

"Umm," Cathleen said in her sleep and writhed in her seat.

The fingers splayed out over her upper chest and massaged gently. Heat radiated from a firm palm and was absorbed by the sleeping one's flesh. Spirals of warmth fanned out and swept along her nerve endings until they found the hollow of her womb and settled there with a rippling little squeeze.

A face formed in Cathleen's somnolent brain, topaz eyes, jet hair, smoky quartz flesh that glistened, a handsome, mysterious face with straight teeth white as pearl. The suggestion of imposing height and well-defined muscles settled over her and she sighed again.

Knowing hands peeled away the blanket. Demanding fingers slowly worked the buttons of her blouse until the silk was folded away and cool air washed over the flesh of her bare midriff. Hot knuckles grazed her breastbone as the front closure of her bra released and the pendulous weight of her breasts became unbound.

"Beautiful. So very, very beautiful."

His voice was deep, melodic and as his hands cupped the mass of breasts, Cathleen drew in a quick breath, groaning as those phantom thumbs found the peaks of her globes and eased slowly across them from side to side.

Firm lips drew one straining nipple deep into a hot, moist mouth and the little bud became engorged with blood and pulsing desire. Cathleen arched her back, offering herself up to the dark god suckling her. She lifted her arms and threaded her hand through soft, curly hair and pressed that questing mouth closer to her chest.

A hand trailed along her side then dipped beneath the elastic waistband of her slacks. Fingers swept from her side to her abdomen—a heated palm causing ripples of lust to flare through her belly. One curly spiral of nether hair was touched and Cathleen cried out.

"Shush, milady," her phantom lover whispered against her breast. A hot tongue lathed over her nipple and drew a pathway up her neck until warm breath invaded her ear. "Let me love you as you deserve to be loved."

Shivering as those delicious words wound their way through her auditory canal Cathleen became boneless, weak, and completely unable to resist the fingers that speared through her pubic curls. As the tip of one finger touched her clitoris, she held her breath.

Rolling that swollen nubbin between middle finger and thumb, her lover peeled the hood back with his index finger.

"Please," she begged.

A fleeting touch—gossamer soft yet as hard as steel—ran across her clit then a strong, purposeful finger drove deep inside her moistness. It withdrew, probed deeper, and then settled, joined by two of its neighbors as a wicked tongue wriggled into her ear.

"Feel me, milady," he whispered to her. "Know your man."

He found that wondrous spot where all sensation is gathered, where lust and passion and desire is fathered. That hidden concave structure deep within her warm, moist cavern was pressed with authority and her juices began to heat.

In and out he worked his fingers, striving always to make contact with that glorious spot before pulling out and thrusting in once more. His palm cupped her pelvic bone and slid along the wiry curls each time, causing an intoxicating friction that brought panting to Cathleen's lips. Slickness formed between her thighs, overflowed, and trickled along the curve of her bottom. She wriggled against his invasion, yet silently begged for more.

Cold air spread over Cathleen and she knew he was no longer hindered by the covering of her clothing. She could feel the roughness of his male flesh sliding along the softness of her female flesh and the combination was a heady experience that increased the speed of her pulse and sent shivers of delight through her body.

His lips traced intricate patterns over her breasts. His teeth nibbled gently at her distended nipples. The weight of his masculine body pressed against hers to push blood into her lower region. She felt swollen down there and ultra-sensitive as a heavy cock leapt lazily along her opened thighs.

"Do you want me, Cathleen?" he asked, his breath hot against her ear.

"Yes," she eagerly agreed.

"Will you accept me as I am?"

"Yes!" she answered and wrapped him tightly in her arms, reveling in the hard muscles of his back that rippled beneath her questing palms.

"Of your own freewill do you accept me?" he pressed.

"Yes," she replied with a heavy sigh. She ran her hands over the heat of his back as his lips trailed soft kisses along her neck.

"Do you offer yourself to me of your own accord?"

"Yes."

There was a slight stinging sensation that was quickly followed by the lathing of his tongue. A deeper lassitude set in and her arms slid from his shoulders to lie weightless beside her. She could feel his mouth pressed tightly to her throat for what seemed an eternity and yet she lay there in complete surrender to his need.

His mouth moved from her neck to her chest to her belly then lower still until those firm questing lips locked onto the very core of her and drew upon the salty sweetness that oozed there. His tongue slid inside her then flicked repeatedly at the erect nub of her clit until she whimpered.

She heard his low chuckle, then gasped as he slid his body over hers and the heaviness of his cock pressed at her aching opening.

"Are you ready for me, Sweeting?" he queried.

"Aye," she said and marveled at the use of such an arcane agreement.

His cock was hard and long and slid slowly past her nether lips with purpose—like a snake gliding sensuously through tall grass. He wriggled into her and took up residence deep within her velvety folds. Seated there in her warm moistness, he began a pressing rhythm that rocked her up and down the car's plush seat. The squeak of the leather was hypnotic as he thrust into her.

"Mine," he whispered. "And no other's."

Spirals of passion were slithering through Cathleen's belly. Heat was building up inside her veins, her mind, along her thighs. The first faint ripple was forming somewhere deep within her, causing sweat to break out on her upper lip and beneath her arms. She dragged her tongue around the outside perimeter of her mouth, tasting the saltiness of her perspiration.

He was pushing into her with just the slightest degree of pain but it was a throbbing ache that was more pleasure than hurt. It pressed possessively against her womb as though striving to enter her there, to leave a mark, the irrevocable seed of his being that claimed her entirely his. So hard was he, so thick and steely that Cathleen felt completely filled with his shaft. She imagined herself impaled upon his fleshy weapon, a sacrifice to his wanton desire.

In and out he drilled that meaty piston into her. His cock slid unerringly within her and drew from her cunt more moistness to lubricate his passage. He pressed deeper, pushed harder, their bodies slapping against one another as his rhythm increased.

Cathleen was lost to the sensations that were rocketing through her body. Her breasts felt heavy and her nipples ached with the need to be suckled. Barely had the thought entered her mind before unseen lips latched onto a nipple and drew upon that throbbing flesh.

"Ahh," she moaned.

Hands were everywhere on her body—touching, stroking, lightly scratching, and plucking. Something small yet firm entered her anus then began moving in and out with purpose. A tongue drove into each ear, then pressed between her lips to duel with her own tongue. That stiff, unrelenting cock was sliding faster, harder, more deeply.

It was a dream, but what a dream, she thought as she gave herself up to the beginnings of a crashing fulfillment she could feel was but a thrust or two away. She was tingling from head to toe—even her scalp as tickly as the hairs stirring on her upper thighs. Sensation after sensation was bombarding her, enveloping her and as the wind outside skirled to an eardrum-shattering volume, the first wave of pleasure rippled through her.

"Oh!" Cathleen cried out, her nails digging deep furrows into the leather of the car seat.

Wave after wave after wave of supreme satisfaction flowed through her, washed over and around her until she was floating on a cloud of pure carnal gratification. Every pore of her skin was alive and felt like a tiny mouth gasping with enjoyment. Nerve endings sang. Muscles tensed and released and tensed again only to stretch out and unravel in one unending skein of fulfillment. Juices overflowed. Her womb quickened and she shuddered long and hard as a mind-altering climax reached up to shake her very foundation.

He was in her. He was atop her. He was surrounding her with strong, possessive arms that held her tight and kept her entirely to him. His staff had claimed her, branded her, and his mark was now upon her, deep inside her for all time. She was his.

"And mine you will stay, Cathleen Kaisand," he vowed.

Lightning speared through the night just as his cock had driven through her and Cathleen flinched, her eyes coming open as the afterglow of the glare washed away from the rain-soaked night sky. The wind was yowling and thunder rumbled, shaking the car beneath her.

Panting, her heart pounding, and blood racing through her arteries, she sat up and threw the blanket aside. She was trembling, sweating. She swallowed hard and wished she had something to quench the parched dryness of her mouth. Running the back of a quaking hand across her mouth she tried to get her emotions under control. So loud was her heart thundering she could hear it over the slash of the rain overhead.

"What a dream," she said, fanning her hot face. She pressed her hand to her chest and strove hard to slow her breathing.

The car's windows were fogged and when another flash of lightning stair-stepped from the heavens, she squinted against the glare formed on the windshield's glass, turning her head away from the harsh intrusion.

There was a strange smell permeating the car and it overpowered Cathleen. Risking rain blowing in through the passenger window, she thumbed the control on her door and lowered the glass a few inches. Almost immediately cold air blew through the cockpit, but brought with it the clean smell of ozone.

Though she felt as weak as a newborn kitten, Cathleen was wide awake and refreshed from her nap. She twisted the key in the ignition until the dashboard lights came on and was amazed to see it was only half-passed midnight.

"Talk about a power nap," she mumbled.

Adjusting the seat back to driving mode, she cranked the car and turned on the defroster to clear the windshield. She switched on the headlights and flipped on the wipers, then sat there listening to the swish of the blades across the glass until her view was no longer obscured. Though the rain continued to fall in lashing sheets, she could make out the rest area fairly well. There were no cars out on Route 44, no bead of headlights in the distance either way. With one last wipe of her face with the palm of her right hand, she put the vehicle into gear and pulled back onto the road.

Chapter Two

The motel clerk looked oddly at her as Cathleen filled in the registration card.

"Ma'am, are you all right?" he asked.

Cathleen looked up. "Yes. Why?" she queried as she pushed the card under the slot of his window.

"Well, you look a mite pale," the older man answered. He checked the registration, took Cathleen's money, and then turned to unhook a key from a pegboard beside his desk. "Room 126. To the right and down half-way."

"Could I leave a wakeup call for 8 a.m.?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'll make a note of it." Once more the night clerk gave Cathleen a puzzled look. "You didn't pick up no hitchhikers, did you, lady?"

Cathleen laughed. "That's something I never do."

"Ain't good to do so," the man stated. "Especially not along Route 44."

Incomprehension drew Cathleen's dark brows together. "Why is that?"

"You never heard the legends about these parts?"

Shaking her head, Cathleen picked up the key. "I'm not from around here. I'm on my way to Bridgewater to work for WindGenInc."

"Good company to work for, I hear," the clerk told her. "Hope you do right well there."

Smiling, Cathleen pocketed the key. "What kind of legend were you talking about?"

The clerk shrugged. "There's an old tale about a red-headed man what gets into people's cars on lonely dark nights. He terrorizes them and has been known to do some really frightening stuff."

"I think every state has such legends," Cathleen said with a chuckle. "I'm originally from Florida and there were several tales like that about ghostly hitchhikers on the Sunshine Skyway Bridge. I took that bridge many a night when I lived in Tampa and I can tell you I had neither a male nor a female ghost hitch a ride with me."

"Well, you are doing right by not picking up anyone you don't know," the clerk said. "In this day and age, ain't nothing safe."

Thanking the man for his concern, Cathleen left the motel office. It was still pouring rain and she was tired of fighting driving in such inclement conditions. She drove down to the room she'd been assigned and parked. Deciding not to bother with her bags until morning, she ventured out into the slashing deluge and ducked under the overhang.

The motel room smelled musty and damp, the air chilly but already the heater—controlled from the office—was ticking as it came to life. The twin full-sized beds were draped with garish quilted bedspreads that had seen far too many washings and the curtains didn't match the pattern on the spreads. A lone chair sat beside a small round table scarred with water rings. An older model television set perched atop a long, low dresser with a slightly askew mirror.

"Beggars can't be choosers," Cathleen said as she turned to double lock the door and pull the curtains closed. She tossed her purse on the bed closest to the door, deciding she could have done worse in accommodations.

The first thing she'd done upon entering the motel office was purchase two soda pops, both surprisingly cold, from the vending machine and had downed one can as she spoke to the clerk. She placed the second one on the nightstand between the two beds.

"I'll bring you down some ice and the remote control," the clerk had promised.

"Don't bother," Cathleen had replied. "I won't be watching TV tonight."

When she turned on the light in the bathroom, she was pleasantly surprised to find it was clean even though the tile surrounding the tub area was cracked in several places. A black residue of mold sketched along some of the grout lines. Rust ran from the spout to the pop-up drain in a wavering line and the remains of what had once been gaily-colored blue butterfly decals still clung tenaciously to the tub bottom. On a small triangular shelf beneath and to the right of the crooked shower head, was a bar of guest soap in its plain beige wrapper.

At least the towels and washcloths smelled fresh and clean. The fixtures—though having seen much better days—were pitted and chipped, scratched and dented, but they were clean and brightly polished. The normal provisions of facial and body soaps, toilet paper, tissue, and shampoo/conditioner sat forlornly in a frayed wicker basket atop a threadbare washcloth on the vanity top.

"The No Frills Motel," Cathleen allowed, thinking that finding the motel soon after leaving the rest stop had been a godsend. She laid the room key on top of the television set so the maid could find it easily the next morning.

The shower had looked inviting and Cathleen felt grimy. Her clothes—pullover and tailored slacks—seemed to be sticking to her flesh from the dampness. After a longing look at the bed, she decided she'd fetch her bag after all. Fishing in the pocket of her trousers, she took out her keys and headed for the trunk of her car.

Coming back in from the downpour that showed no signs of letting up, her bare feet stinging from the cold of the concrete walkway out side, Cathleen re-locked the twin security devices and swung her bag onto the bed she wouldn't be sleeping in. She took out her nightgown and tossed it on the foot of the bed in which she'd sleep, the one closest to the bathroom. Her travel kit she carried to the bathroom, laying her brush and comb and hair dryer on the chipped counter top. Her razor, toothbrush holder, and toothpaste she placed on the triangular shelf in the tub.

A shower, a quick run of the razor over her legs and under her arms, a thorough brushing of her teeth as the water cascaded down on her and she'd be primed for a good six hour nap.

Going back into the sleeping area, she took off her clothes and hung them up in the little open closet area, folding her bra over one of the metal hangers as well. Her soiled panties, she took to the laundry bag she kept in her overnight bag, removing a fresh pair to drape them beside her bra for the morning. She went over to drop the car keys she'd removed from her pant pocket into her purse on the other bed.

Naked, she padded into the bathroom and shut the door, flinging the shower curtain shut and twisting on the water, adjusting its temperature from the faucet before turning the handle on the shower and stepping back to wait for the stream to pulse from the cockeyed head. When she was satisfied the water was just as she liked it, she slipped behind the curtain and beneath the warm onslaught of pleasure that cascaded in a very surprising, satisfying stream from the lime-coated head of the shower.

Steam quickly filled the bathtub as Cathleen lathered one of the thick washcloths with the soap she'd unwrapped, snaking her hand out from behind the curtain to drop the wrapper into the little wastebasket beside the toilet.

She closed her eyes as she ran the rag over her face and for a moment just stood there as the warmth enveloped her face. She sighed with pleasure and then felt herself drifting on the thick, humid waves shifting over her ….

His hands were all over her body again—touching her in places she could not reach. Fingernails grazed down her spine, over her buttocks and down her thighs, tickled at the fragile skin behind her knees.

The washcloth magically left her hands to move down her throat, along her shoulders, sliding its sweet-smelling suds down her arms. One arm lifted and the cloth moved into her arm pit to stroke her before dragging down her side and then up and over her chest, circling each breast—sliding beneath first one heavy globe and then the other, streaking between them and onto her upper abdomen, across her belly—pausing for a moment to gently dip into her navel.

"So beautiful," he said to her on a breath of sound as the rag curved over her hips and slid between her legs to lave her thighs then her calves.

One foot came away from the bottom of the tub and seemed to rest on a thick, strong thigh as the washcloth trailed over the instep and around the ankle. That foot touched the broken wings of the butterfly tub decals again and the other foot was raised.

That done, the washcloth glided once more between her legs and she could feel firm fingers dragging its abrasiveness along her silken folds and over the sensitive pucker of her ass before moving on to the mounds of her ass.

The wet plop of the washcloth hitting the tub floor made her jump, but she didn't—couldn't open her eyes—and his hands were like satin clutching her hips, pushing her against the wall beneath the onslaught of the water.

He held her there for a moment then she was lifted so she straddled his strong thighs, his hands molded to her waist.

"Do you want me, Cathleen?" he asked in her ear, his breath sending shivers through the canal.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Are you ready for me?"

"Oh, yes."

She felt her legs part and her thighs were draped around sturdy hips. She clung to him there in the steaming mist as his shaft drove unerringly through her sheath to claim her.

She rode him—her back sliding rhythmically up and down the shower wall with each of his long, deep strokes. When she came, she cried out, digging her nails into his sturdy back, raking her fingers down that glorious length.

When she opened her eyes, she was standing with the washcloth in her hand, the water streaming over her head, plastering her hair to her cheeks. Dazedly, she looked at her toothbrush, at the razor—neither of which had been touched.

"You're losing it, lady," she said to herself and squeezed out the washcloth then flung it over the shower curtain bar.

Clean and shaved, brushed, and clothed in the soft flannel of her long nightgown, Cathleen threw the covers back and crawled beneath the cool, starched sheets. She popped the top on the second soda and drained it as though she hadn't had anything to drink all day. Although she was still thirsty, she snuggled down in the bed. The room was pleasantly warm now and the pillow upon which she laid her head felt heavenly. Within a few moments, she was fast asleep.

And dreaming once more of strong, authoritative hands that peeled away the covers, slid the fabric of her nightgown up her thighs, parted her legs then molded themselves around the orbs of her aching breasts.

"'Tis only me, Cathleen," her dream lover whispered as he took possession of her body, her nightgown dissolving.

His hands were so knowledgeable, his kisses trailing liquid fire down her neck and along her shoulder, across her chest, his tongue flicking briefly in the hollow at the base of her throat before sliding lower to encircle one engorged nipple.

"Ah …," Cathleen breathed.

Firm, velvet soft lips suckled her peak and drew from her ragged pants as her body writhed of its own accord beneath the passionate onslaught. Everywhere upon her body, she felt fleeing touches that were warm and promising sweet ecstasy—along her abdomen, down her spine, across her hips, beneath her knees.

Gentle teeth raked, nibbled, worried first one nipple then the other until she was nothing more than one whimpering mass of expectation.

"Mine," she heard his phantom voice whisper in her ear and his warm breath sent shivers down her side moments before his tongue flicked inside the sensitive folds.

He moved lower in the bed. It dipped beneath him as he planted darting kisses down her chest and over her belly. He moved possessively between her legs, elbowing her thighs farther apart and she could feel his chin dragging across her wiry curls.

"You smell heavenly," he said and a low chuckle came from his wide chest—she could feel it reverberating along the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs.

Knowing lips closed over her sex to draw upon her silky folds. His tongue lapped hungrily, dragging upward, probing so delicately along each groove indenting her inner lips. As that firm muscle flicked across her clitoris, she slammed her hands down to thread her fingers through silken hair that was thick and full, gossamer soft in her hands.

She felt his fingers move to the clitoral hood and ease it aside so he could sweep his tongue along that slick surface. Her moan was loud, her hips arching up to meet his brazen suckle as his lips closed around her clit.

"Oh my God!" she whispered.

"Not even close," he said with a laugh.

For a moment Cathleen remembered a horror novel she'd read—the words identical to those of the sensual demon hero—and she tried to wake but the press of her phantom lovers lips dragged her deeper down into her erotic dream and all thoughts of the incubus from the novel fled her thoughts.

Cool fingers stroked down and around her sex then one firm finger pushed against her opening, causing her to jackknife off the mattress with need.

"Please," she whimpered, wanting to be filled, wanting to be loved, wanting to be claimed.

"In time, my Cathleen," he soothed her and it felt like a dozen hands roaming freely over her fevered flesh to make her squirm and whine.

For what seemed an eternity he laved her vagina and his strong finger probed just at the entrance of her channel but did not go in, did nothing more than tease her. She writhed. She moaned. Her head whipped back and forth on the pillow as her hands gripped his silken curls.

By the time he finally slipped his finger deep inside her and twisted it slowly back and forth, she was mindless with passion and lost in the throes of a lust so acute her body burned. Her sheath was slick around his warm flesh and oozing from between her legs. She could smell her own essence as it eased from her and it was a heady scent that added to her desire.

"So soft," he whispered. "So hot."

He pushed her legs as far apart as they could go then slid his hands beneath her knees to crook them upward, planting the soles of her feet firmly on the mattress. His weight was so delicious as he slithered up her, the hairs on his chest tickling her straining nipples, his sleek abdomen pressing into her belly to flood her clit with blood.

"Are you ready for me, Sweeting?" he queried.

"Yes!" she hissed, her hands fluttering at his broad shoulders, gripping his smooth skin, reveling in the feel of her palms dragging over his hard muscles.

"Then feel me, my Cathleen. Know my flesh!"

His stiff cock pressed at the entrance to her vaginal sheath then thrust inside—deep and full and stretching her to capacity as he filled her. She could feel that giant member throbbing, grazing her very womb and he seated it as far inside her as it would go.

"Oh …," Cathleen moaned for it was pleasure/pain that wracked her needful flesh and she encircled his shoulders in her arms, felt his cheek against her shoulder, and enfolded his hips tightly within the perimeter of her long legs, locking her heels behind his back.

In and out—deep and pressing—his cock moved within her velvety channel. He pushed and pulled, thrust and withdrew slowly, the size of his shaft almost more than her body could accept. Slowly then with a firmer resolve, an increase in the thrust, he took her, carrying her along with him to heights to which she had never dared venture before.

She felt his tongue flicking on the side of her neck, reveled in his soft kiss along the column. She could feel his lips suckling the vein in her throat and smiled, his warm breath fanning the hair at the back of her neck.

Though lightning flared wickedly beyond the motel's windows and loud thunder shook the glass panes in its wake, Cathleen lay writhing beneath the forceful ministrations of her phantom lover, reveling in his ownership. She barely flinched at the little sting but was soon quivering like a leaf in the wind as her lover carried her to heights she had never known she could reach. When the last tremor of satiation coursed through her, she sank into a deep, untroubled sleep that lasted until the shrill ring of the bedside phone awakened her.

"Thank you," Cathleen said, hanging up. She glanced at the clock and was amazed to find it was five minutes past eight in the morning.

The dream lingered in her mind, lulling her and she lay there staring up at the ceiling and reliving the delights she had experienced in sleep. Her lower body felt heavy, a bit sore and when she started to reach down to touch herself between the thighs, blushed deeply and thought better of it. Such things were unseemly. Only bad girls touched themselves there.

Thoughts of the phantom man of her heated dreams would not leave her, though. When she closed her eyes, she could see that amber gaze as clearly as though he were hovering over her bed. Quickly opening her lids, she felt her heart racing, for she almost believed he would be there bent over her. She even thought she could smell the essence of him—pungent and salty—wafting over the room.

"Get a grip, woman!" she chastised her wayward spirit.

She listened and was relieved to hear no rain pelting the roof. The day seemed overcast, but at least the wind had laid and no thunder rumbled ominously to herald more bad weather.

Tossing the cover aside, she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Almost immediately, a wave of dizziness overtook her and she put a trembling hand up to her forehead. She felt weak, almost giddy, and it was all she could do to find her feet. Sluggishly, she made her way to the bathroom and hooked a hand inside to flip on the light. After emptying her bladder, she walked to the sink and turned on the cold water. She felt hot, flushed, and there was a trickle of sweat beneath her armpits. Hanging onto the rim of the sink, she lifted her head tiredly and looked into the mirror.

Her eyes grew wide.

Her breath caught in her constricting throat.

She was extremely pale with dark circles etched beneath her blood-shot eyes. Her lips were swollen and there was a dark red line—similar to the rust line from the tub's spout to the drain—wavering from a midway point on her throat to the neckline of her flannel gown. Putting a hand to the line, she moved her fingers to its beginning and winced at the pain centered there. The line felt brittle and as she rubbed at it, dark flakes peeled way. Turning her head slightly, she was stunned to find two puncture wounds red and puckered against her white flesh.

"What the hell is that?" she breathed, her eyes shifting from side to side as though searching for an answer … or a way out.

She snatched a washcloth from the rack over the toilet and turned the hot water on full blast. Wincing, she soaked the rag under the too-hot water then reached up to scrub at her neck. The pristine white washcloth turned dark with the residue from her neck and the puncture wounds opened, seeping crimson liquid down her starkly white skin.

"No," Cathleen denied. "No, this isn't happening."

Something had bitten her during the night, something with fangs that left puncture wounds and she began to shiver. What if it was poisonous? A brown recluse spider? A Black Widow or—her heart thudded so hard against her ribcage she nearly passed out—some variety of venomous snake?

Slowly she turned to face the door into the bedroom, her eyes wide, lips parted, breath barely able to squeeze past her constricting lungs. The tile beneath her bare feet felt colder than the plains of the Arctic. Her gaze fell to the floor, to the threadbare carpet, half expecting to see something slimy come slithering toward her. Her body was quivering with fear, the hem of her nightgown fluttering against her legs.

She stood there trembling violently for a long time before she took a step toward the doorway. Her lungs felt compressed, barely able to drag in air. What if she was so far gone with toxins invading her system she could not make it to the phone to call for help? What if she collapsed on the way to the bed and whatever had bitten her leapt or slithered over her body to have another taste?

Moaning deep in her throat, tears filled Cathleen's and trickled down her ashen cheeks. She didn't want to die. She had too much to live for. Her future was ahead of her—bright and waiting.

"The phone," she whispered. "You must get to the phone."

She took another step and nothing jumped out at her. Nothing moved in the other room. She heard nothing save the faint roar of cars and trucks out on the highway, a door opening and closing somewhere along the row of rooms, a car engine turning over.

Another step and she was in the doorway, holding her breath as her eyes swept across the gaudy carpeting, seeking something that should not be there. She whined as her bare feet moved onto the carpet but that fabric felt no warmer than the chipped, stained tile upon which she'd been standing in the bathroom. If anything, the material felt slimy on her soles.

She lifted her attention reluctantly from the floor and scanned the tousled bed covers. The top sheet and blanket and spread had been thrown back to reveal the bottom fitted sheet—the elasticized corner having come away from the mattress during the night. Nothing was coiled or sat perched on the white material. Neither pillow was indented with the body of a coiled serpent.

Once more she looked at the floor, but there was nothing moving, nothing lying in wait—that she could see.

Her scrutiny homed in on the slice of darkness beneath the bed. Anything could be lurking there. Along with dust bunnies and bed mites and God only knew what else, a viper could be twisted around itself, its triangular head up, forked tongue flicking the air.

Slowly, her vision shifted to the shoes she had so unthinkingly abandoned. One lay on its side. Had something crawled inside it? Was some eight-legged horror now making it his new home? Or was that poisonous thing hunched down inside that shoe's mate?

Her clothes were hanging there in the closet where she hoped nothing had crawled or hopped up to invade them. Taking a quick step, she snatched those clothes from the hangars and struggled into them, panting with each movement she made. Once dressed, she stood there indecisively, wanting to pick up her shoes and shake them, but afraid something would shoot out at her.

There was nothing in the room she could use to poke at her shoes and she had no desire to cross the carpet between the bathroom and the bedside phone barefoot.

Did she really need to call 911? Had her body actually been invaded by something deadly?

She tested the way she felt like someone would poke at a sore tooth.

She didn't feel queasy, just very tired. She didn't hurt anywhere although the puncture wounds on her neck were tender to the touch. Her head didn't ache, but her eyes seemed very sensitive to the slit of morning light coming in from between the garish draperies. She wasn't weak, wasn't lightheaded—just tired.

Backing up, she entered the bathroom again and quickly swept her travel bag from the vanity and stuffed her hair dryer, brush and comb inside. She reached to the shelf in the bathtub to retrieve her toothbrush, paste and razor and added them to the travel bag, continuously turning her gaze to the opened doorway to watch the threshold as she worked. Zipping the bag closed, she retraced her steps to the doorway and once more peered cautiously at the floor surrounding the bed. She would have to slip between the two beds to get her overnight bag. The thought made her tremble. What if the thing that had taken a bite out of her was under one of those beds and lying in wait for her?

Her gaze fell to her shoes again. She really needed her feet protected and she would need the shoes to drive.

She whined, her fears having escalated to such a point she was sure the thing that had attacked her was inside one of those shoes. Clutching the travel bag to her chest with one hand, she ran the other over her lips, surprised to feel sweat beneath her palm.

Did she have a fever? Was the poison galloping through her system, heading for her heart to stop its beat? To her lungs to cease their ability to draw in air? To her brain to shut down all bodily functions at once?

Fear permeated every pore in Cathleen's body and dried up the saliva in her mouth. She couldn't swallow past the lump in her throat anyway. Standing there feeling as though something unseen was crawling all over her, she was beginning to think she'd start screaming and be unable to stop.

"Get yourself together!" she hissed.

The longer she stared at her shoes, the more convinced she was something was hiding there. One way or another, she had to know. Standing there frustrated with her dread building in increments was solving nothing.

She glanced at the open closet. Cheap wire hangers hung there and if she could unbend two or three and twist them together, she would have something to poke at the shoes. Putting the travel bag on the vanity, she eased over to unhook a trio of the hangers and began unbending the spiraled wire on the neck of the hanger, straightening each one as best she could before twisting the three together to make a flimsy, crooked prod of sorts.

It took her two tries to snare the shoe that was right side up with the hook of her prod. She managed to lift the shoe, shake it then drop it, turning it over in case something lurked inside. Satisfied nothing did, she pulled it toward her, stopped, then thrust the prod down into the toe. When nothing scurried or slithered out, she breathed a sigh of relief, dragging the shoe to her. Just to be on the safe side, she repeatedly poked the wire into the shoe several times. Feeling nothing, she bent down and picked it up, her heart in her throat as she gave it a vigorous shake.

Though relieved the shoe appeared empty, she nevertheless looked down into it before dropping it to the floor and slipping her cold foot inside. Even then she thought she could feel something wriggling over her instep though that part of her foot wasn't even in the shoe to begin with.

Stabbing the prod at the other shoe, turning it over, she waited to see if something came out before rocking it back and forth on the floor then running the wire shaft into the toe. She could feel nothing there and nothing came running up the wire to attach itself to her face and send eggs down her gullet. After being just as careful—if not more so—with that shoe as she'd been with the first, she finally had it on her foot, though she was still reluctant to get near the bed.

Once more trying to decide if she was feeling sick, she decided she was more scared than anything else. Whatever had bitten her had to still be in the room, but apparently it wasn't lethal. Not knowing how long ago the bite had occurred, she knew she needed to get a medical evaluation as soon as possible. The only way to do that was to leave her room or call 911.

Standing there chewing on her lip, Cathleen finally managed to get herself in hand and picked up her travel bag again, holding it to her chest. She started skirting the bed in which she'd slept, eyes glued to the floor around the beds. Her purse and overnight bag were at the foot of the bed she'd not slept in but she hated getting close to the bed, for the spread ran all the way to the floor and if something was hiding behind it, it could leap out at her. Taking a deep breath, she hurried to the door, disengaged the lock, and opened it, pushing the portal wide. After taking another deep, ragged breath, she ran to her purse and overnighter, threw the purse and travel bag into the opened overnighter, slammed the top down and plucked it up to tear out of the room, nearly breaking her ankle when she stepped off the concrete walkway, wincing as the bright morning light stabbed brutally into her suddenly sensitive eyes.

The key to her car was inside her purse that was inside the overnight so she slung the bag on the hood of her car and opened the lid. It wasn't until she took the purse out that she realized that whatever had bitten her could have wriggled or slithered into the bag. She shot backward as though she'd been yanked by invisible hands, staring with wide eyes at the opened suitcase on the hood of her car.

Another minute or so passed before she could put a trembling hand into her purse to retrieve her key. At least her purse had been shut all night so nothing could have gotten inside it. Pushing the trunk release on the key fob, she somehow found the courage to get close enough to the overnighter to shut the lid, scooping it up again to carry it to the back of the car where she dumped the contents into the maw of the trunk, straining to see if anything moved among her possessions. When nothing did, she let out another harsh breath and carefully rearranged her clothes in the overnighter, grateful the two expensive suits from which she would choose to wear to her first meeting with her boss at WindGenInc hung unwrinkled and unsoiled in their plastic sheaths on the hook in the backseat. Her only concern was finding a rest area at which to change before reaching her destination.

Shutting the trunk lid, she left the car and headed for the motel office, intending to tell whoever was on duty what had happened, but she'd taken no more than four steps when all thought suddenly evaporated from her mind and she forgot whatever it was she'd been about to do. She stood there staring at the motel office—her brows drawn together—then calmly turned around and went back to her car, punching the key fob to unlock the driver door.

"Must not be late for my first day," she said as she opened the door and got inside.

By the time she had a pair of sunglasses in place on her face and drove away from the hotel, all thought of the time she'd spent agonizing over what had bitten her was completely forgotten and the twin puncture wounds had faded away.

Chapter Three

Melissa VanPelt kept up a steady stream of chatter as she ushered Cathleen down the corridor and into the presence of the owner of WindGenInc, Anthony Boudreaux. The cheery secretary introduced them, then with a bright smile backed out of the Boudreaux's office, closing the door softly behind her.

"Did you have a good trip up, Cathy?" Boudreaux inquired. He was sitting at the largest, most expensive looking desk Cathleen had ever seen. "Or would you prefer I call you Cathleen?"

"Cathy is fine," she said, looking into a pair of sky blue eyes that were sharp and appeared to miss nothing. "It rained all the way."

"That makes driving tiring, doesn't it?" he asked, steepling his fingers as he gazed at her.

"I've never cared for bad weather," she admitted.

"Neither have I," he agreed.

After almost an hour of discussion concerning her new job, what was expected of her, and various and sundry other important matters, Boudreaux suggested Cathleen settle in to the company owned apartment that was being provided for her as part of the hiring packet and then report to work the following day.

"You look a bit tired to me. I was going to suggest we have lunch since it's a bit late in the morning for breakfast, but I think you need to rest," he said. "Why not get a good night's sleep and be fresh and ready for your first day in the morning?"

That sounded good to her and she thanked Boudreaux for his thoughtfulness. Upon leaving his office, she was shown her own and was quite taken with its spaciousness and genuinely liked the young woman who would be her personal assistant right from the beginning.

"If you need anything, just ask," Anita Price said. "I'm here to make your job as easy as I can. When you're ready, I'll take you to your apartment. Oh, may I have your car keys? I'll have someone bring in your bag and put it in your apartment."

Cathleen handed over her keys. "Could we take a stroll through the building so I can acquaint myself before we do that?" she asked.

"Of course," Anita replied and Cathleen's first personal assistant led the way.

"Mr. Boudreaux said if you didn't feel up to going to the cafeteria for lunch, to remind you that you can have room service bring you up a tray," Anita said.

"There is room service?" Cathleen asked, eyes wide.

"Oh yes," Anita replied. "Twenty-four hours a day. Just dial 7 on your phone."

Those she met on the pocket-size tour of the facility all appeared to be friendly, helpful individuals and Cathleen knew immediately that she was going to enjoy her job at WindGenInc. As soon as she saw the furnished apartment that would be her home, she knew she'd lucked into the position of a lifetime.

Her luxurious and well-appointed apartment was on the fifth floor along with three other apartments—that of the Director of Research, the Comptroller, and WindGenInc's husband and wife legal team. The sixth floor belonged entirely to Boudreaux.

"The first floor is, of course, the business offices," Anita told her. "Second floor is where the cafeteria, gymnasium, a small convenience store, and pool/spar areas are located. There's also a barber shop, beauty salon, dry cleaners, and nurse's office on that floor. We even have a small theater where the latest movies are shown and a very pleasant little pub if you need a little fortification at the end of a tiring day. Mr. Boudreaux has tried to make the facility as self-efficient as possible so his employees have very little in the way of wants and needs that aren't provided for them."

"What about the research center, itself?" Cathleen asked. "Where is it housed?"

"The third floor is entirely dedicated to the research for our turbines and wind generators. Fourth floor is a state of the art lab that is off limits to all but the scientists who work there. You just about have to have a PhD in nuclear physics to get in there! Oh, and there is a helo pad above the sixth floor."

"Did I see a golf course on the way in?" Cathleen asked.

"Yes, and there are tennis courts, biking and jogging paths, squash and handball courts as well as a large outdoor pool," Anita replied. "The dormitories for those who wish to live on site are at the far end of the property."

"Very impressive," Cathleen said.

"There is maid service, by the way, and if there is something you want from town, Max Guthrie, our jack of all trades, makes a trip in at least once a day in the van so just give him your list and he'll procure whatever it is you need if you don't have the time or the inclination to go into Etheridge, that's the closest decent sized town."

The more she learned about WindGenInc the better Cathleen liked it and when she was told there were clubs among the workers where chess players, electronic gamers, card and board game enthusiasts and various other hobbyists met, she felt very good about her change of employment.

When Anita left her with the news that Cathleen's personal belongings from her old apartment would be arriving later in the day, Cathleen took off her shoes and flopped down on the plush corduroy sofa that looked out over the elegantly coiffed gardens edging a spectacular crescent-shaped pond upon which swans and geese lazily glided.

"I am really going to like it here," she said, tucking her legs under her. She lay her head on the sofa's back and closed her tired eyes. The sunlight—though not as intense as it had been when she was outside for all the windows in the facility had been deeply tinted to keep out intrusive glare, still bothered her and made her very sleepy. It wasn't long before she floated away on a soft, fleecy cloud, deep in REM sleep.

* * * *

"Come to me, Cathleen," he said and his sensual voice made her ache in all the right places.

He was waiting there in the darkening shadows of the deep afternoon with his hand outstretched to her. His handsome face held just a hint of a smile and those brilliant amber eyes were glowing with unrepentant desire. The soft silk shirt he wore tucked into a pair of black leather pants was as white as snow and billowed at the sleeve as the wind plucked at it. It was opened halfway down his broad chest so she could see the dark hair that matted his upper body. Over him were the sweeping arms of a tall, majestic oak, the leaves of which rustled gently in the breeze. Behind him, the waters of the pond glistened in the dying light from the scarlet sun.

She moved toward him on bare feet, keenly aware of the swish of the long white cotton skirt that flowed around her legs, the white peasant's blouse that left her shoulders bare to the air caressing them. With every step she took, she could feel the impression of the lush green grass beneath the soles of her feet and the coolness of the blades tickling her ankles.

A sweet scent of gardenia drifted on the breeze and swirled around her to drape her in its precious perfume. She inhaled deeply, drawing that wonderful fragrance deep into her soul.

She held her hand out to him as she drew nearer and their fingertips touched. He threaded his fingers through hers and pulled her gently to him.

"I have waited all day for this," he told her. His free hand went to her hair and he plowed his fingers through the dark tresses then reached down to capture her other hand, pulling her arms behind her so her breasts were hard against his chest, his hands imprisoning hers at the small of her back. "I could not rest wanting you as I do."

"Who are you?" she asked, looking up into his beautiful eyes.

"Whoever you want me to be," he answered. "Whatever you wish me to be."

She smiled softly. "I need a name."

His full lips—the lower just a bit larger than the upper—moved into a lazy grin. "You can call me Syn," he said in a husky voice.

"My Syn," she said.

His smile widened. "Aye, my Cathleen. That is precisely what I am."

She opened her lips to him as he lowered his mouth to hers. His kiss stole her breath as he pressed her to him with such heat, such firm but gentle force, she felt every inch of his body from chest to thigh against her.

"Do you want me, Cathleen?" he whispered against her lips.

"With all my heart," she answered.

His tongue slid between her lips to claim her, thrusting smoothly, hungrily against her own, sweeping across her teeth, along the pallet of her mouth, at the corners of her lips. As he kissed her, he molded his lower body to hers, allowing her to feel the thick, hard erection that pushed at his pants.

"Do you want all I have to offer you?"

"Yes," she said on a long sigh.

She felt him release her hands, but before she could protest he had swept an arm under her knees, behind her back and hefted her up high against his wide chest, carrying her easily to a large blanket that came out of nowhere to flutter lightly to the thick carpet of grass beneath the spreading branches of the oak.

He lay her down and stretched out beside her, his topaz eyes filled with passion. He trailed a finger across her forehead, pushing aside a strand of hair, then lowered his lips to hers, claiming her in a kiss that sent waves of desire pulsing through her lower body.

It was a sweet kiss, filled with a gentleness that made her sigh when his mouth left hers. His muscular body was pressed along hers, one heavy leg thrown casually across her thigh, the hard, thick probe of his erection thrusting against her hip.

"Do you feel how much I want you?" he asked in that sultry tone that brought shivers to her. "He aches to slip inside you, my beloved."

She reached up to cup his cheek, to lay her palm on his warm skin and he turned his face to place a kiss upon her flesh.

"I need you," he said.

"I am here," she said softly.

"Are you ready for me?"

She took his hand and placed it on her breast. "Feel my heart pounding for you, the blood rushing through my veins?"

There was something chilling about the way his eyes flared at her words, something possessive about the way his hand closed over her tender flesh.

"Aye, my beloved," he said, his voice gruff. "I do indeed."

He hooked his fingers in the elastic neckline of her peasant blouse and pulled it down to expose her breast. His mouth went to the creamy mound and he drew her nipple deep into his mouth, swirling his tongue over the aching point. Lowering his hand to her skirt, he inched it up until his palm was on the soft inside of her thigh and sliding higher until his fingers snagged the wispy thong between her legs, ripping it as easily as if it had been tissue paper.

With his mouth working her breast, he moved over her, the heat of his erection suddenly freed from his pants and in the space of one breath, he had impaled her on his shaft—going deep, thrusting hard, claiming her.

Cathleen dug her fingers into his dark hair and held his head to her as he suckled. His hips were moving rhythmically against her lower body, his cock hard and full. She arched her body up and circled him within the cage of her long legs, grinding her sex against his velvet invasion.

His mouth moved from her breast and as the first trickle of pleasure began to undulate through her sheath, she felt the bite on her neck and an explosion of light burst over the darkening day.

Wild fireflies of color danced in the air around her as she looked up through the old oak's branches at the midnight blue sky. Twittering, flitting with fiery afterimages streaking among the leaves, the lights entranced her and only added to the intensity of her climax. The colors burst like vibrant blooms as her body clenched and throbbed, her spasms of delight rocking through her with such vibrancy and force it brought tears to her eyes. Her entire body convulsed around his—her legs tightening more around his lean hips as he drove hard into her one last time and the pain from his bite began to fade.

Sated in a way that left her completely depleted, she lay there on the soft blanket as he lifted his head and looked down at her, his handsome face in deep shadow now. But his eyes were glowing a soft shade of crimson.

"Mine," he said then ran his tongue across her neck.

"Yours," she agreed and closed her eyes, drifting into a calming, soothing sleep.

* * * *

Cathleen woke on the sofa just as the doorbell of her new apartment chimed. She sat up—disoriented for a moment—and felt lightheaded. Putting a hand to her forehead, she was a bit dazed as the doorbell sounded again.

"Coming!" she called out and struggled to get off the sofa.

Her legs felt wobbly, weak, and as she walked to the door, her world seemed a bit off-kilter, her body encased in cotton batting. Opening the door, she was for a moment completely baffled at the sight of two men in brown coveralls who stood there—one with a clipboard in hand and the other with a bored, annoyed look on his beefy face.

"Miss Kaisand?" clipboard man inquired.

"Yes," she answered.

"We have your stuff," he told her.

"Oh," she said. "Right."

"I'll start bringing it in," bored man mumbled after giving her a look of disdain.

Clipboard man asked her where she wanted everything put and considering her belongings—her entire arsenal of possessions—were in cardboard boxes, she asked him to stack them in the dining room.

"Okay," he said and handed her the clipboard. "Just check off the box numbers as we give them to you and initial it on the form. I'll go help Hank."

Cathleen nodded, too out of it to do anything else. Taking the clipboard to the sofa, she sat down heavily, running a hand through her hair, and wishing she could crawl up on the sofa and go back to sleep.

It took all of her energy reserve to tick off the box numbers as the moving men brought them in. Just writing the little CK beside the numbers seem to take every bit of concentration she had. The form wavered before her eyes and by the time clipboard man came over to get the clipboard, she was yawning and striving valiantly to keep her eyes open.

"You ought to get to bed, ma'am," clipboard man said as he handed her the carbon copy of the form. "You look kinda done in."

Cathleen had difficulty lifting her head to look up at him. "I will. Thanks."

She asked him to hand her her purse so she could tip him, but he said that had already been taken care of. Tapping a finger to the side of his head in salute, he left, closing the door gently behind him.

For a long moment Cathleen just sat there with no vigor left in her to get up. Her copy of the form was clutched in her hand and she gazed down at it as though she had no idea what it was. Finally dredging up enough energy to lay the form aside and push herself up, she stumbled into the bathroom, thinking a cool washcloth would help revive her.

The bathroom was the loveliest thing about the apartment to her. Done in soft shades of mauve and celadon green, it was soothing to the eyes and yet opulent in a way that made her feel good. Dark green towels and washcloths had been provided for her and she took one cloth from the wicker shelf wall unit beside the vanity and turned on the water in the sink to wet it.

Gazing up at her reflection in the mirror, Cathleen was shocked to see how fuzzy her vision had become. Her face appeared a bit hazy, slightly unclear and she blinked several times to try to clear her eyes. Yet still there was a wavering outline around her and her image was not as distinct as it normally was. It looked muted, the edges too blurry.

"You need a good night's rest, lady," she muttered to herself as she wrung out the washcloth to run its cooling surface over her face.

The water felt invigorating and it helped to revive her a bit. She still stumbled as she made her way into the bedroom. She was relieved to see her overnight bag lying on the bed and made her way over to it, opening it to retrieve her night gown.

After removing her rumpled suit, donning the gown and laying her overnighter on the overstuffed wing chair beside the closet, Cathleen checked to make sure her other suit was hanging in the closet. Relieved that it was, she pulled the covers back and crawled into her new bed, scooting down beneath the cool sheets.

She was deeply asleep before the clock somewhere in her new apartment chimed two in the afternoon.

Chapter Four

Cathleen slept like the dead all through the afternoon and night and early morning, waking just after four a.m. with a splitting headache she knew was a result of hunger. She'd had no food at all the day before and her stomach rumbled as she flung the covers back and got up, her head spinning.

Reaching for the phone, she picked up the receiver and punched in the number seven. A pleasant voice answered right away.

"Good morning, Miss Kaisand. What may I prepare for you?"

"Good morning," Cathleen said. "Could I get breakfast, please?"

"You sure can. What would you like?"

After ordering scrambled eggs—and being surprised to know grits were available on the menu—patty sausage, cottage fries, toast and jam, a large glass of orange juice with pulp, and a pot of coffee, Cathleen began to feel a bit less disembodied.

"We'll bring it right up," the man at the other end of the phone told her.

Hanging up, Cathleen staggered into the bathroom to relieve herself, wincing as she sat down on the toilet, feeling as though every muscle in her body had been pummeled with a rubber hose. She leaned forward and buried her face in her hands, grunting.

Washing her hands and face, slipping into a plush terrycloth robe she'd found hanging on a hook behind the bathroom door, Cathleen went back through the bedroom and into the living area, turning on a lamp that made her gasp as the bright light invaded her eyes.

"Holy shit!" Cathleen said, the light stabbing into her brain. She fumbled for her purse and the migraine tablets she was never without.

After going into the kitchen for a glass of water, she was walking back into the living room when the doorbell chimed.

"That was fast," she told the man standing on the other side when she opened the door.

"We aim to please," he said cheerfully, coming in as she stepped aside. He rolled the room service cart into the dining area and began arranging the food on the table. He shook his head at her offer of a tip. "Everything is included in your employment package, ma'am."

Sitting down to the meal after the man left, Cathleen sighed with sheer pleasure. The aroma of the food made her mouth water and she dug into it as though she was starving, washing it down with three cups of coffee as well as the orange juice. After three or four bites, she began to feel human again and the queasy, lightheadedness slowly began to disappear. By the time she had consumed every last crumb of the meal, she felt like her old self again and had the energy at last to head for the bathroom and her morning shower. Picking up her travel bag from her overnighter, she carried it to the bathroom.

After her bath, she dried off and wrapped the towel around her body. The glass over the vanity was fogged and though she wiped away the steam, her image in the mirror still didn't look all that clear. Frowning, she made a mental note as she applied her underarm deodorant to find out about local optometrists, reasoning she might well have reached that time in her life that she was beginning to need glasses.

Drying her hair, applying the minimal makeup that was her habit to wear, she unwrapped the towel and hung it over the shower door to dry. Padding into the bedroom, she rummaged through her overnighter for clean underwear, put it on, and then headed to the closet to retrieve the suit that hung there.

Once dressed, she started to tidy the bed but then remembered Anita telling her the maid came in every day to straighten. Shrugging, she turned away, sighing with contentment. After one final look at her apartment, she picked up her purse and headed to work.

* * * *

"Would you like the maid to unpack your things?" Anita asked her as the two of them walked toward Cathleen's new office.

"That would be great," Cathleen said and wondered why she'd agreed. Normally she wouldn't want strangers to be touching her things but Anita's suggestion just seemed to be the right thing to do.

All day long, her work went so smoothly, so professionally, she was amazed when she looked down at her watch to find it was nearing five o'clock. Where had the day gone, she wondered? Everyone had been supportive, helpful, and jovial—which hadn't always been her experience with fellow workers. She felt like singing as she made her way back to her apartment.

"This is heaven," she said as she opened her door and saw some of her personal belongings adorning the tables and walls.

Everything was exactly as she, herself, would have arranged them. Even the clothing in the closest and drawers were hung as she would have hung them and folded as she would have folded them. It seemed almost too good to be true and it was with pure elation Cathleen kicked off her pumps and flopped down on the bed, arms outstretched with a smile on her face.

"I am in heaven," she said on a long sigh.

"I am afraid not, Beloved …."

Cathleen sat up as though she'd been jerked, her eyes wide. The voice had come from close by and she swung her head from side to side, seeking the speaker but there was no one there. The room was empty.

Trembling, she went timidly to the bathroom door, hastily flicked on the switch but that room, too, was devoid of visitors. Turning, she stared back through the bedroom and, with her heart pounding, blood rushing in her ears, minced her way to the bedroom door and peaked into the hall.

"You're hearing things," she finally decided and turned around to find him standing right behind her, a knowing smile on his beautiful face.

Before she could scream his arm snaked out to slide around her back, pulling her to him. She came up hard against his all-too solid chest, the warmth of his body invading hers as he molded her to him—his free hand plastered to her rump.

"I have been waiting all day," he said and his lips went to the hollow at the base of her throat.

In his arms, her entire world tilted to one side and she felt herself falling. She knew she should push him away, should fight him, and cry out but she found she could not. He was a stranger and yet she knew him as well as she knew herself. His arms felt right around her. His body felt familiar. The heated hardness pressing against her stomach was known to her.

"Do you want me, Cathleen?" he whispered as his cheek pressed against hers, his breath fanned over her ear.

"I don't ...."

"Aye, but you do," he said and his voice was a sultry, sensuous purr in her ear.

His hand cupped her ass, his fingers slipping wickedly against the cleft, pressing the silk of her suit into the valley there. He moved so she was walking backward until her back was against the wall and he was crowding against her with his muscular flesh.

"I'm not …."

"You are mine," he interrupted her. "I have claimed you over and over again. Do you not remember?"

Vague, erotic images flitted across her mind and made her womb clench with memory. She knew these arms that held her, these hands that touched her, this body that pushed against her. She knew these lips that were trailing kisses down the side of her neck, the warm breath, the very smell of his brawny body.

He removed his arm from behind her and used both hands to ruck her skirt upward, exposing her legs and lower body to him. His stony erection was tight and hard against her belly as the fabric of her skirt was moved aside.

"Are you ready for me, Sweeting?"

"Please," she begged. Her head was swimming and faint speckles of light were exploding at the periphery of her vision. The perfume of gardenia wafted beneath her nose to mingle with his male scent and it made her giddy, made her lower body ooze with need.

His fingers made quick work of her panties, ripping them from her with a satisfying sound that made her sigh with lust.

"Are you ready for me, Sweeting?" he asked again, the tips of his strong fingers playing along the wet folds of her sex, one dipping just a centimeter into her channel.

"Oh, yes!" she breathed, trembling now. She ached to feel him inside her. Her breasts tingled, wanting him to crush them to his chest, her nipples hard as little pebbles as he leaned into her.

"Then take what I am, Beloved."

He thrust into her and Cathleen cried out, completely filled by his massive shaft, the very head of it spreading her vaginal walls wide.

"Take all that I am, Beloved!"

She felt his bite spreading heated tremors down her neck and the suckling sounds he made only added to the increasing arousal that had her panting as he pumped into her cunt. He was rock-hard and stretching her to the point of pain as he thrust deep and like a piston between her legs.

Her hands were on his broad shoulders as he pushed her up the wall. Her legs locked around him and his thrust went so far up inside her she screamed, but it was not so much the pain of his solid invasion as it was the purely lustful lunge that had caused it.

She felt him spurt inside her—his cum thick and almost too hot to bear. His lips were buried against the column of her throat and he was drawing not only one hell of an orgasm from between her legs, but the most erotic, intense sensations she'd ever known from the very soul of her.

"Mine!" he bellowed and with one final brutal arch of his hips, Cathleen sank into merciful oblivion, the darkening of the dropping sun outside shutting off all light to her world.

Epilogue

It was all she could do to drag herself out of bed the following morning. She was so dizzy, so sick to her stomach, she could barely walk. Between her legs she felt a soreness that made her wince when she peed. She felt raw, abraded, her insides bruised and battered.

She nearly passed out when she got up from the toilet and had to grab at the towel bar to keep from doing so. She stood there panting, her head swimming, her eyes aching abysmally from the brightness of the bathroom lights. Her head hurt so badly she could hear the rush of her blood through her ears, every beat of her heart, every breath she took.

Going to the vanity mirror, she stared at herself and was stunned to see how pale she was. She couldn't make out her facial features for they looked blurred, but her paleness, the luminosity of her flesh alarmed her.

"What's wrong with me?" she whispered, putting a hand to her throat.

There was pain there and she traced her fingertips to it until she felt the burning area that pebbled beneath her touch. Two distinct holes were on the side of her throat, but though she bent close to the mirror, she could not see them. Even up close, her features were blurred, indistinct.

Fumbling for a washcloth, she wet it and passed it over her face without bothering to wring it out. The coldness of the water did little to revive her and when she ran the cloth over the wounds on her throat, she whimpered.

"Doctor," she said. "I've got to see a doctor."

From far, far away, she heard his sensual voice:

"You need only me, Beloved for I will care for you as you need to be cared for."

She dropped the cloth into the sink and spun around—nearly falling as her aching, dizzy head spun even more—but there was no one in the room with her.

"Do you want me, Cathleen?"

The voice had come from behind her—from the mirror—but when she jerked around again, she saw only herself in the mirror, but the image seemed to be fading. She pressed up against the sink, her face only inches from the glass. There was now a very hazy outline around her—like a mirage in the desert—and it was undulating.

"Do you want only me, Cathleen?"

"Yes, but what's happening to me?" she asked for even as she stared into the glass, her image was wavering, turning less substantial.

"Are you ready for me, Sweeting?"

She stepped closer to the mirror for there in the glass was her handsome lover.

"Are you ready to join me? To let me take care of you for all time?"

"I want to be with you," she said, tears gathering in her eyes. "But if you are stuck in the mirror …."

His hand came out of the mirror.

The End