“We’re going to argue.”

Adrian sighed and chewed the inside of her lip, searching for a compromise that wouldn’t rob Rooke of her need to be independent.

She understood that need, at least the need to be seen as a complete and capable person. “How about you lie down on the couch and we’ll talk about my project. If you get tired, you have to promise to close your eyes.”

Rooke regarded the couch speculatively. It was an old-fashioned, plaid fabric couch with rounded arms that would fit three small people, maybe, if they were squished together. She barely fit on it when she slept there.

“Not much room.”

“Come here.” Adrian settled into one corner of the couch and patted her lap. “Put your head here.”

“Just a minute.” Rooke pulled a pad of paper and pencil from among the order forms and drawings on the coffee table and handed the items to Adrian. Then she gingerly settled down and put her head in

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Adrian’s lap. She propped her feet up on the opposite arm of the sofa.

“In case you want to take notes.”

“Thank you.” Adrian shifted so Rooke’s cheek rested against her lower abdomen. “Comfortable?”

Rooke looked up at her, her eyes wide and dark. “Yes. I’m not too heavy or anything?”

No, baby, you’re perfect. Adrian shook her head and contented herself with gently stroking Rooke’s hair. “Not at all. How is your head?”

“A little achy. Not bad.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Not right now.” Rooke didn’t want to admit she was feeling a little queasy, because she figured it would pass and she didn’t want Adrian to worry. She could see the worry lines between her eyebrows and she hated knowing she was the cause. She hated hospitals and doctors and the way Pops always tried to pretend he wasn’t upset when the doctors would talk to him about the tests they’d done on her. Even when she was five she could tell whatever was wrong with her was something they couldn’t fix. She didn’t want Adrian to worry or feel like she had to take care of her. But all the same, she liked the way Adrian’s fingers felt sifting through her hair. She liked the way Adrian’s stomach fluttered against her cheek as she breathed, and the distant reverberation of her heart. She wrapped her arm around Adrian’s waist and turned her face a little more into Adrian’s middle to absorb her scent, a subtle blend of loam and sweet nectar and spring breezes.

“You smell so good,” Rooke mumbled.

Adrian’s hand shook as she continued to caress Rooke’s neck and shoulders. She’d never met anyone so open and untarnished, so beautiful in every way. Adrian’s heart beat so fast, her stomach spasmed with such need, she was sure Rooke must be able to tell what was happening to her. And she didn’t want her to know, not now. This was all wrong. Rooke was so vulnerable. And so trusting. Desperately, Adrian searched for something to distract her from the exquisite torment of Rooke’s breath wafting through her blouse and setting her skin on fire. Her research. She’d talk about her research.

“I’m fascinated by the gargoyles you’ve done,” Adrian said, setting the pad of paper on the arm of the couch and flipping through pages with one hand to find a clean one. “I’ve read a lot—oh my God.”

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“What?” Rooke said, jerking back from the haze of pleasure she’d drifted into.

“Did you do all the drawings in here?” Adrian placed her hand in the center of Rooke’s chest to keep her lying down when she realized she was about to sit up.

“Yes,” Rooke said, perplexed by the ominous note in Adrian’s voice. “That’s how I make sure I get the carvings right. I have to have Pops check the spelling.”

“No. No—this isn’t a gravestone you would be carving.” Adrian waved the pad vigorously above Rooke’s head so she could see it, her recent desire turning to acid fear in the back of her throat.

“Oh, that one. I dreamed it.”

“You dreamed it. What do you mean you dreamed it?”

Rooke flushed, embarrassed. “It was just something I saw in a dream last week and when I woke up, I drew it.”

“Do you always have such vivid dreams?”

“On and off. More lately, it seems.”

“What else was in the dream?” Adrian probed. Ordinarily, she didn’t think much about dreams. She had them. Sometimes she awoke feeling as if the dreams had been memories, and sometimes things would happen in real life that she would swear she had dreamed. Lately, her dreams had been different than anything she’d ever experienced, but then everything about her body and mind was different.

“It was just a dream,” Rooke said evasively. “Why does it matter?”

“I don’t know that it does. It’s just that—Rooke, the name on this gravestone is yours.” Adrian didn’t add that that scared the hell out of her.

Rooke frowned. “Mine.”

“Yes,” Adrian said gently. “You don’t recognize it?”

“No. I can’t…” She sighed in exasperation. It was so hard to explain. “I can copy something that’s right in front of me. I can write my name if I have a copy of it to look at. But I won’t recognize it later and I can’t remember how to do it. The way they explained it is there’s some connection missing between what I see and my brain deciphering it. I can see it, but it doesn’t form a word in my mind—even if I know what it’s supposed to say.”

“It’s kind of like short-term memory loss, only visual,” Adrian

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murmured. “You can see this right now and know it’s your name, but the next time you see it, you won’t recognize it. Right?”

“That’s right.”

“That must be so frustrating.” Adrian stroked her face. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not so bad because I’ve always been that way. I think it would be worse if it was something I used to be able to do and now I can’t.”

Adrian nodded. “Tell me about the dream.”

Rooke averted her face, looking out into the rapidly darkening room. The sun had set. “I dreamed I was lying on a grave and there were people—women—there. They were…touching me. It was cold.

So cold. And I…” She suddenly found it hard to swallow.

“It’s okay.” Adrian wrapped her arms around Rooke’s shoulders, leaning over her, holding her in the curve of her body. “Baby, it’s okay.”

“I asked for help but there wasn’t any. And then I woke up.”

Rooke turned back quickly and Adrian’s face was very close to hers.

She could still feel the ice splintering her bones and Adrian looked so upset. Without thinking, Rooke raised up on her elbow and kissed her.

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ChapTER TwEnTy-TwO

Adrian registered the electric glide of Rooke’s hand over her neck a heartbeat before the satin weight of Rooke’s mouth descended, catapulting her body into overdrive. Rooke’s lips skimmed hers, gentle but firmly inquisitive, and Adrian hungered to open for her, to pull her inside her mouth just as frantically as she longed to have her inside her body. Her skin flushed hot, her limbs quivered like cables snapping in a hurricane, and her insides churned with molten fire. Holding on to her control by a thread, Adrian gripped Rooke’s shoulders, digging her fingers into steel bands of muscle as much to anchor herself as to satisfy the craving to touch her. Never had she felt so much from a kiss, never had every atom of her being been so stirred by such a simple caress, and oh God, how she wanted to let go. How she burned to melt into her and let the mindless blaze of passion take her. But she held on, held back the tide of release, though she ached for it with every cell. She wanted, needed, this moment with Rooke to be more than a means to satisfy her body. She lashed herself to the here and now, focusing every bit of her awareness on Rooke’s diamond-rough fingertips stroking her throat, on the soft whisper of Rooke’s breath against her cheek, on her scent of fresh cut wood and the sharp tang of earth and stone.

Rooke reached behind her and grasped the back of the couch, pulling herself up and pressing Adrian back into the cushions at the same time.

The weight of Rooke’s body against her tense, hypersensitive breasts made Adrian moan, and she felt herself unraveling at her core. Flames licked along her inner thighs and she shuddered, straining against the

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flare of pleasure scorching through her center. She whimpered, on the brink of succumbing to her body’s demand to orgasm.

“What is it?” Rooke whispered, her words choppy and her breathing uneven. “Am I doing something wrong?”

“Oh my God, no. No.” Adrian leaned her forehead against Rooke’s and pressed trembling fingers to Rooke’s mouth. Her chest heaved and every brush of her breasts against Rooke’s was exquisite torture.

“Rooke, you couldn’t be doing anything more perfectly.”

“I want to do everything perfectly for you.” Rooke teased her tongue over Adrian’s lips, dipping in and out of her mouth.

Adrian shot right to the edge again. Quivering, she retreated as far as the sofa at her back would allow. Seeing Rooke’s instant frown of uncertainty, she smiled weakly. “I’m sorry, you just feel so good. God, I need a second here.”

Rooke turned on the couch until she was sitting, facing Adrian.

Adrian’s eyes looked hazy, her full lips swollen and moist. Rooke hungered for her, a pulse pounding between her thighs that beat harder and faster with each passing second. She slid her arm behind Adrian’s back, around her waist, and pulled her close. When their chests and stomachs and legs met, a heaviness pulled at her groin and the muscles in her thighs seized. “You taste even better than you smell. Can I please kiss you again?”

Adrian wondered if it was possible for a heart to truly burst. She framed Rooke’s face with her hands, tracing the frown lines in her forehead with her fingertips. The row of sutures was just visible as a thin dark line under the Steri-strips the surgeon had applied. She brushed her thumbs over Rooke’s wide, strong mouth. The tip of Rooke’s tongue swirled around the pad of her thumb and her clitoris shivered.