Abigail rolled onto her back and winced as she became aware of the mild headache throbbing behind her closed eyes. She raised a hand thinking to rub her forehead and hopefully ease the pain, only to blink her eyes open with surprise when something soft brushed her skin before her fingers could reach it.

It was a sheet covering her hand, she saw with amazement. Tugging her hand free of the silky cloth, Abigail sat up and looked around in confusion. She was in a bamboo canopy bed draped with netting in a room that was more windows than walls. What walls there were, were the same white as the ceiling where a bamboo fan turned lazily, moving the cool conditioned air around the room.

Letting her breath out on a little murmur of pleasure, Abigail tossed the soft sheets aside and slipped her feet to the floor. Cold tile met her warm skin, making her smile as she stood and moved to peer out the sliding glass doors. Her eyes moved with awe over tables, chairs, lounge chairs, and a large pool in a private courtyard surrounded by palm trees and flowering bushes.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Abigail sang as she turned away from the terrace, eager to explore the rest of the place.

The next door she opened led into a large bathroom with a big soaker tub, a huge shower, double sinks, and a toilet. It was the bathroom of her dreams, Abigail thought as she entered the room, and then she paused as that thought registered.

The bathroom of her dreams . . .

She was dreaming again, Abigail realized with disappointment. Of course she was. She’d fallen asleep on a beach. What were the chances of waking up here in a magnificent . . . whatever this was?

Zilch, she answered herself. She was as poor as a church mouse, for heaven’s sake, and Tomasso had left the plane naked. Unless he’d had it up his butt, he hadn’t been carrying money or credit cards or even ID. Even if he had, this place looked like a five-star resort. Abigail didn’t think he could afford this kind of luxury any more than she could. No. Staying in a place like this was something she could only dream of.

Abigail looked from the bathtub to the shower and suddenly smiled widely. If this was a dream, she was going to make the most of it, she decided. She was going to enjoy herself before she really woke up back on the beach, hungry, thirsty, and wearing filthy clothes. That thought goading her on, she moved quickly to the tub, dropped the plug, and turned on both taps.

Leaving the water to fill up, Abigail then moved to examine the bottles lined up on the long sink counter. Finding the bubble bath, she snatched it up and dumped the entire small bottle into the slowly filling tub. She paused then to judge how quickly the water was filling. Deciding after a moment that she had the time, Abigail left the taps running and moved back to the counter to grab the bottles labeled shampoo and conditioner, then carried them to the shower with her.

If this were reality, Abigail would have been concerned that turning on the shower would affect the water running into the tub, but since it was a dream, she didn’t worry about it. Besides, in a luxury hotel like this one, that probably wouldn’t be an issue, right?

Within seconds of turning on the shower taps, the water pouring down to the tile floor was warm and tempting. Abigail reached for the hem of her tank top, intending to pull it off, only to find she wasn’t wearing her tank top . . . or her jeans, her panties or her bra. She was completely naked already, and raised her eyebrows at the realization.

She’d been dressed in her last dream and had had to strip, Abigail recalled, but then shrugged. Being naked now in this dream saved her that effort. She stepped under the warm spray and pulled the door closed.

Abigail half expected Tomasso to appear again in her dream at that point as he had the last time. In fact, she’d kind of looked forward to having him there, his body pressing up against her and his hands on her eager skin. But when she’d finished washing her hair and a quick cleanup of her body a couple minutes later, there was still no Tomasso. It seemed this dream was more about being clean than sexual gratification.

Clean was good, Abigail supposed, turning off the taps and stepping out of the shower to cross to the tub. It probably meant she was getting self-conscious about going so long without a proper bath. Swimming in the ocean was nice, but she suspected the lack of drinking water plus the salt from the ocean were combining to dry out her skin. She’d been itchy the last day or so and had noted the beginnings of a rash as she was cooking the fish.

Her stomach rumbled as she stepped carefully into the tub and Abigail recalled that she’d been too tired to eat before lying down to have this dream. It was something she’d no doubt regret when she woke up with an empty, aching tummy. But maybe she could dream up a smorgasbord of all her favorite foods along with her longed-for bubble bath, she thought now. She didn’t know how to do that. Maybe it would just happen naturally when she got out of the tub. Although, in a really good dream it would appear all around her now, she thought. Her favorite foods and a bubble bath sounded even better than a wet dream to her at that moment.

Of course, the best dream would have food, the bath, and Tomasso, Abigail thought wryly as she eased down to sit in the steaming water. God, the temperature was perfect, she decided on a small moan as the bubbles rose up to surround her until only her head from the nose up was above the white foam.

Smiling, Abigail reached out to turn off the taps, then leaned back in the tub. The bubbles immediately made way behind her and closed over her chest and shoulders in front. She’d just closed her eyes when she heard her name called in Tomasso’s deep rumble.

Abigail blinked her eyes open again, but didn’t sit up, even when the door opened and Tomasso glanced in. He paused at once on spotting her, his eyes widening, the silver flecks in his irises almost seeming to glow as he noted her position in the bubble bath.

“I was worried when you were not in bed,” he said, his voice a soft growl.

Abigail looked him over slowly. He was still shirtless, but his long hair looked like it had benefited from a good shampoo and cream rinse. He was also clean-shaven now, the advancing stubble gone, which she didn’t mind at all. He’d looked surprisingly good with it, but it had been prickly against her skin.

Sadly, his leafy loincloth was gone too, Abigail noted. It had been replaced with a pair of tight shorts he never could have worn in reality, at least not with the shape his penis had been in the last time she’d seen it. The real Tomasso would have been in agony in these shorts.

“I brought fruit,” he said suddenly, opening the door wider to reveal the large plate he held in one hand. Strawberries, grapes, melon, and pineapple slices filled one side of the plate, while various cheeses and crackers filled the other side and Abigail sat up with interest as her stomach growled again.

Tomasso grinned at her eager expression and entered the room to bring the plate to her. “I ordered room service. But it will be a while. The fruit plate is to tide us over.”

“Brilliant,” Abigail murmured, reaching out to pluck a piece of cheese off the plate, only to pause before touching it when she saw the bubbles covering her hand.

“Allow me,” Tomasso murmured. He picked up the cheese for her and delivered it to her lips.

Blushing, Abigail opened her mouth and he set it on her tongue. He watched her mouth as she chewed and the moment she swallowed, plucked a slice of strawberry off the plate to offer next. This time he didn’t wait for her to open her mouth, but ran the juicy fruit across her bottom lip. He then leaned in to lick off the juice he’d just applied before straightening and placing the strawberry in her now gaping mouth.

When Abigail didn’t close her mouth but simply stared at him wide-eyed, her mouth still hanging open, he pressed a finger to the bottom of her lower jaw, easing it shut for her.

“Chew,” he instructed in a sexy growl, setting the plate on the marble tub surround at the foot of the tub and standing. “I will get the champagne.”

“Champagne,” Abigail breathed as she watched him slip from the room. She’d never had champagne. How was that going to work in her dream? Would she just dream it was the best thing she’d ever tasted? She supposed she was going to find out.

At least she was if she didn’t suddenly wake from her dream again as she had last time, Abigail thought with a small frown and sincerely hoped that wouldn’t happen. She was enjoying this. Food, a bubble bath, and Tomasso? Gad, she wouldn’t be sorry to never wake up from this dream, she thought, and then glanced to Tomasso as he returned to the room carrying two champagne flutes of sparkling liquid.

After handing her one, he sat on the side of the tub with the other and smiled faintly when she wrinkled her nose as the champagne bubbles tickled it when she raised the flute to her lips. Once she’d taken a curious sip and smiled though, he plucked a grape from the plate and held it in front of her lips until she opened her mouth. He then placed it on her tongue. A slice of pineapple followed, but this he ran along her lips as he had the strawberry.

Abigail remained still as he did, and then closed her eyes and tilted her head eagerly up when he bent to lick the juice away again.

“Nice,” Tomasso murmured against her lips. “But the strawberry was sweeter.”

“You naked and in the tub with me would be sweeter still,” she whispered brazenly back, and then opened her eyes to find he was gone. For one moment she thought it was like the first dream and she would suddenly wake up and open her eyes to the beach where she knew she was presently sleeping. But then Abigail realized Tomasso had just stood up and apparently stripped off his shorts superfast. Like Superman fast, she thought, because he was already naked and raising a foot to step into the tub at the other end.

Abigail had one hell of a view at this angle and her gaze slid over his already semierect penis with interest. Not only was he not bearing the slightly infected wounds he had in real life, but also there were no scabs or scars to suggest they’d ever been there. Dream Tomasso was perfect.

“It is a big tub,” Tomasso commented as he settled across from her, his legs sliding along the sides outside of her own so that they rested on either side of her hips.

“Yes,” Abigail agreed, suddenly shy. Apparently, even in dreams she was only so brazen.

“But you are too far away,” he complained. “Come sit in front of me. I will feed you.”

Abigail felt her face flush and knew it had nothing to do with the hot water. Neither did the sudden heat between her legs, she was sure, or her sudden shortness of breath.

“Come,” Tomasso coaxed, taking the champagne glass from her with one hand. Catching her now free fingers with the other, he then tugged gently.

Abigail swallowed, but allowed him to pull her closer between his legs, then turned in the water so her back was to him. Before she could ease back closer herself though, he’d released her fingers and slid his hand around her waist to pull her back firmly against his body. Her bottom slid up against his erection, trapping it between her bottom and his stomach, and her back pressed against his chest. He then kept that hand at her waist, his fingers gliding up and down over her stomach, dropping a little lower with each pass. Just a little lower each time, not a lot.

“Your champagne,” Tomasso murmured, distracting her from what his other hand was doing as he reached around her shoulder to offer her the champagne flute he’d held while she moved.

“Thank you,” Abigail whispered. She accepted the glass, but didn’t drink from it. It tasted good, but the first sip had seemed to irritate her throat. It had also increased the slight pounding in her head that she’d noticed at the start of the dream and had been trying to ignore. However, when his fingers appeared before her lips with another offering, this time a grape, she did open her mouth to accept that.

Tomasso didn’t just drop it on her tongue this time as he had the last time he’d fed her a grape. He placed it on her tongue. He was also slow about removing his fingers so that when Abigail automatically started to close her mouth, her lips closed around the lingering digits.

Eyes popping open with surprise, Abigail found herself staring at their reflection in a mirror on the wall opposite. To say she was shocked was something of an understatement. She hadn’t even noticed the wall was mirrored before this, and seeing herself reflected with Tomasso at her back, their naked bodies bathed in bubbles, was just not a sight she’d expected to see . . . ever.

His entering the tub and her shifting to sit in front of him had disturbed the bubbles, she noted. They were no longer all the way up to her nose. Some had foamed over onto the marble surround that ran around three sides of the tub, while still more had slipped over the outer edge of the tub and were sliding toward the tile floor. It left fewer bubbles actually in the bath and her bare white shoulders down to just above her breasts were left on view with the duskier olive skin of Tomasso’s chest and wide shoulders behind her. It held Abigail fascinated for a moment and then she shifted her gaze to meet Tomasso’s in the mirror, and found her attention caught by the way the silver flecks in his irises seemed to be growing to overwhelm the dark main color.

Once her eyes locked with his, Tomasso began to slowly retrieve his fingers from her mouth. Abigail had no idea what instinct made her suck on his withdrawing digits, but she did, and was shocked when the action sent a shaft of excitement tingling through her body. Her eyes widened incredulously, while Tomasso’s closed briefly, and then he groaned and lowered his head so that his mouth was by her ear.

“Ah, Dio, Abigail, you ruin me.” His voice was a deep rumble, his breath teasing the sensitive skin under her ear, and then he nipped at the lobe dangling there and lamented, “I had such plans.”

“Plans?” she asked weakly. Her head automatically tilted as he nibbled his way down her throat, but her eyes remained open, watching their reflection. When the hand at her stomach suddenly glided up to cover one breast, she saw as well as felt it, and her body’s response seemed to be twofold.

His own eyes were suddenly on the mirror, watching his fingers pluck and knead her flesh, and then he murmured, “The things I was going to do to you.”

“What things?” Abigail asked breathlessly, her bottom pressing back against him and her back arching as his other hand claimed her untouched breast. Abigail groaned as she watched his hands toy with her body. He squeezed and kneaded, then plucked at the nipples, pinching gently, before covering and squeezing them again. It was so damned erotic to actually see what he was doing. Although the bubbles probably helped with that. They hid some of the features she was less pleased with, leaving only the better bits on view.

Rather than answer her question, Tomasso gave up playing with one breast to move that hand to her chin. He caught it between thumb and forefinger and turned her head gently, tilting it both up and back so that his mouth could descend on hers. The hand still on her breast tightened almost painfully then, and Abigail groaned into his mouth, her body half turning toward him in the water as she kissed him eagerly back.

When Abigail felt the cold splash of liquid down her shoulder and chest, she gasped in surprise. She wasn’t sure what it was until Tomasso broke their kiss and she was able to glance around. Much to her surprise, she was still holding her champagne glass. She’d forgotten all about it until now, and apparently had let it tip, spilling its contents down over herself.

“Perfetto,” Tomasso muttered and Abigail suddenly found herself lifted and turned in the water so that he could lap up the spilled liquid. He caught a droplet just as it slipped off her nipple, paused to suck the rosy bud briefly between his lips, then released it to follow the trail of champagne up the slope of her breast to her clavicle. When he reached the shoulder, Tomasso lifted his head to claim her lips as he set her down straddling him in the water.

Abigail groaned into his mouth as she slid along his erection. She was vaguely aware of his taking the champagne glass from her trembling fingers. Once free of the need to hold it, she immediately slid her fingers into Tomasso’s hair, clutching at the silky strands as she kissed him back.

Her hips were now moving of their own accord, sliding her back and forth over the hard shaft trapped under her as they kissed. The action was ratcheting up her excitement by leaps and bounds instead of just the leaps she’d expected, but before Abigail could make herself too crazy with the action, Tomasso plucked her up out of the water. Just as Abigail blinked her eyes open, Tomasso stopped raising her. He’d lifted her until her breasts were directly in front of his face and now closed his mouth over one nipple and began to suckle earnestly.

It brought on an almost pleasure/pain and Abigail cried out, clutched at his shoulders and squeezed her eyes closed in response. She felt him move in the water, but was still startled when she was set down on something cold.

Opening her eyes she saw that he’d set her on the marble surround along the back of the tub. She couldn’t see their reflection from there, and was glad of that now that she no longer had bubbles to hide her. But she had no idea why she was sitting there. Abigail glanced to Tomasso with confusion just as he finished situating himself in front of where he’d set her. Even as she looked to him, he slid his hands along the inside of her upper legs to grasp her thighs, pushed her legs wide open on the edge of the tub and buried his face between them.

A scream slipped from Abigail’s throat as his tongue lashed her heated flesh. That first one was partially surprise, but the cries and broken screams that followed were wholly a response to what Tomasso was doing as his lips, teeth and tongue suckled, grazed, and laved her eager flesh. Abigail plunged her hands into his hair and held on for dear life as he drove her mad, taking her to the brink and then backing down only to push her to the edge again. Her hands pulled at his hair, and then tried to push his head away in turn and her back was pressing so hard into the wall behind her, she almost feared pushing through it. She tried several times to close her legs to end the torment, but Tomasso held her firmly in place.

Just when Abigail was afraid she’d have a heart attack or something if he didn’t stop, Tomasso lifted his head and dragged her off the side of the tub to straddle his lap again. This time he was on his knees, his erection half out of the water, and this time he didn’t set her down so that his erection was trapped between them. Tomasso lowered her directly over the tip, held her there briefly, and then eased her down until her bottom slapped the top of his legs. He held her there too for a moment, then lifted and lowered her again.

That was all it took. Abigail heard Tomasso’s shout before her own could make its way out of her throat. She opened her eyes to look at him just as her own voice pierced the air, and then felt the darkness claim her.

Tomasso woke up crumpled in the bottom of the tub, with Abigail’s foot in his face. He stared at her cute little toes briefly, thinking it was good he’d thought to push the button to let the water out of the tub near the end of their passionate encounter, and then lifted his head to try to get an idea of just what position they were in.

The last thing Tomasso recalled was kneeling with Abigail on his lap in the receding water. Apparently he’d fallen back and then slid to the side, unfolding his legs as he went so that he lay on his back in the bottom of the tub. Abigail had seemingly done the same. She was still on his lap, sort of, but her upper body had fallen so that her back was on his legs and her own limbs were stretched out, her feet on either side of his head.

It was like a case of that Twister game gone bad, Tomasso thought, recalling the time his cousin Zanipolo had once convinced them to play. He’d thought it a stupid game at the time, but then who wanted to be twisted around his brother and three other male relatives while Zanipolo called out colors and body parts? Now, playing with Abigail might be more interesting, he thought with a sudden smile.

Storing that possibility away in his mind for later, Tomasso turned his attention to disentangling himself from Abigail and getting them both out of the tub. It wasn’t as difficult as he’d feared in the end, and he even managed it without waking her, which he thought was an amazing feat. Until he stood up next to the tub, bent down to scoop her up and felt the heat radiating off of her.

Straightening, Tomasso tightened his arms around her and peered down at her pale face with concern. He’d thought she’d felt a bit warm that last evening on the beach, and her not waking when he’d gone to collect her to take her to the boat for the trip here had worried him. But when he’d returned from using the office phone to call the Rogue Hunter house, she’d been up, in the tub and apparently fine.

Frowning, he turned to carry her out to the bedroom and lay her in the canopy bed. Tomasso then placed the back of his hand against her forehead.

Abigail definitely felt feverish. He was beginning to think it hadn’t been his efforts to be careful that had prevented her waking as he’d shifted her off him and then carried her in here. She was sick. He needed to get her a doctor.

Bending, Tomasso tugged up the sheets and duvet to cover her, and then moved around the bed to the phone on the bedside table. After a quick glance at the labels to the left of the number buttons, he punched in the one for the main desk and waited . . . and waited. Scowling, he hung up, and then tried again. When he got the same results, Tomasso set the phone back with a curse and ran a frustrated hand through his hair as he took in Abigail’s pale face. Then he turned to rush out of the room.

He’d go to the reception area and talk to someone himself. He’d probably get a doctor here faster that way anyway.

Abigail woke up in the canopied bed again. And again, she was alone. She was just starting to think she was going to get to enjoy an instant replay of her last dream, when her stomach lurched rebelliously and tried to crawl up her throat. Slapping her hand over her mouth, Abigail stumbled out of bed and hurried for the bathroom. The floor wobbled alarmingly as she went, but didn’t prevent her making it to the toilet in time.

What followed was a most unpleasant several hours or so. At least it felt like that much time passed, but it probably only took a couple of minutes for her to toss up the meager contents of her stomach. That was followed by another ten minutes or so of dry heaves.

Once her stomach muscles stopped their violent contractions, Abigail sagged against the toilet with a moan, and rested the side of her face on her arm on the toilet seat.

She felt like hell. She was burning up, but shivering with chills. She was nauseous, her head was pounding, there was a terrible pain behind her eyes, and every joint in her body ached. Abigail hadn’t felt this bad since . . . Actually, she couldn’t recall the last time she’d felt this bad.

Abigail considered it briefly, but then shook her head. Nope, she’d had the flu several times, suffered colds, even appendicitis, but Abigail was pretty sure she’d never felt this sick in her life. And she was also sure that this time she wasn’t dreaming. The pain was too intense, the taste of vomit in her mouth too realistic, and her teeth were beginning to chatter. She was awake and sick as a dog.

Oddly enough that didn’t really bother her as much as the fact that she was now quite sure that her first waking in this room hadn’t been a dream either. It couldn’t have been. She’d recognized the bits of food her stomach had tossed out. The grape skin had still been intact, the strawberry recognizable if a little masticated and the cheese had been in smaller chunks but also identifiable.

She really needed to chew better, Abigail thought on a sigh. Grimacing, she raised her head and started to try to get up, but stopped immediately when her stomach shifted threateningly. Apparently, it wished to stay right where it was. Who was she to argue?

Abigail rested her face back on her arm, then wrinkled her nose and straightened enough to sag back against the wall rather than return to her previous position. Closing her eyes, she recalled the interlude with Tomasso that she’d thought was a dream and tried to decide why she was bothered by the fact that it had most likely really happened. It wasn’t the first time she and Tomasso had been intimate . . . or even the second.

It was the first time they’d had full-on sex, though, Abigail acknowledged.

As she’d expected, it had been incredible. Mind-blowing. The best sex she’d ever had.

And almost embarrassingly short, Abigail realized suddenly, her lips twisting wryly. The foreplay hadn’t been, she thought now, but the man had barely got inside her before they were both screaming their heads off and passing out.

Did it matter if it was short if they enjoyed it? She wondered. And they had enjoyed it. At least she had. Last night, when her orgasm had crashed over her, Abigail had seen stars and—

“Fangs?” she muttered with confusion as that memory returned to her. Abigail had been opening her mouth on a cry of passion as her body began to convulse, heard Tomasso cry out with his own release and opened her eyes to look at him. His whole body had been as stiff as a rod, his back arched, his head thrown back, his mouth open on a shout . . . and there had definitely been fangs poking out of his mouth. Tomasso had looked like a big, sexy, mostly naked vampire about to chomp down on some neck.

Abigail gave her head a shake. That couldn’t have been real. It must have been part of a dream. In fact, she decided now, the whole thing had to have been a dream. Because Tomasso’s penis during their interlude had been just fine, and the real one was a ruin. Abigail had seen it. She’d poured antiseptic on it. She’d even rubbed antibiotic on it, and the penis she’d done all of that to was not the one in her dreams last night. Dream Tomasso’s penis had been perfect.

“Definitely a dream,” she muttered with a short laugh, and then shook her head at herself for imagining otherwise.

Abigail caught a glimpse of the contents of the toilet as she shook her head and froze again. The food she’d thrown up was the food Dream Tomasso had fed her.

Everything in Abigail seemed to go quiet for a moment as her brain wrestled with what the contradictory evidence was telling her.

The food she’d thrown up was the food from the dream, therefore if this was real, that had been real too. However, Tomasso’s penis had been fine in the dream, while his real penis was damaged. Therefore the sexual interlude had been a dream.

Abigail was scowling over the two contradictory truths when a little voice piped up inside her head with, But vampires are supposed to heal quickly, aren’t they?

Her eyes closed on a sigh. Of course they did. At least they did in the movies and shows she’d seen with vampires in them. Give them a little blood and they could heal almost anything.

Abigail had barely acknowledged that to herself when the little voice spoke up again, pointing out, Besides, he has fangs. You saw them.

She was beginning to dislike that little voice, Abigail decided.

Do you think he bit you while you were sleeping and that’s why he’s all better now while you’re sick as a dog? the little voice asked next.

Abigail frowned, trying to understand what her subconscious was suggesting. “What?” she muttered finally with confusion. “Like I’m sick because I’m turning into a vampire?”

Oooh, hadn’t thought of that, the voice replied. I was just thinking we were weak from blood loss, but becoming Vampirella makes more sense with the puking and such.

Abigail’s eyes widened incredulously. It did make more sense. Blood loss would make her dizzy, maybe short of breath and tired, definitely pale. It would not, however, cause fever and vomiting.

At least it would make more sense if Tomasso had bitten her, she thought suddenly and was immediately moving. Her stomach protested at once, turning unhappily, but Abigail ignored it and managed to get to her feet to stumble to the counter. Leaning forward she raised her chin and examined her neck in the mirror behind the double sinks.

The air left her lungs on a slow hiss as she spotted two puncture marks next to each other on her throat. Abigail raised one shaky hand to touch them. They were about the right size and distance apart to be from the fangs she’d seen protruding from Tomasso’s upper jaw.

Dammit! He’d bit her! Abigail thought with dismay.

Was that why she’d passed out on the cargo plane? Probably, she decided grimly. And he’d probably bit her again last night too. Loss of blood was probably why she’d fainted again. The man was feeding off of her like a leech. A big, sexy leech instead of a slimy, slug-like leech, but a leech just the same. That probably explained his finding her attractive, she thought. Nice rich chubby-chick blood was probably loads tastier than weak, stringy skinny-chick blood.

Scowling, Abigail leaned closer to get a better look and frowned as she noted the marks weren’t fresh. They had already healed quite a bit. She’d guess they were at least three days old. Maybe four . . . which was about how long it had been since she’d met Tomasso on Jet’s cargo plane. At least she thought it was. The days had sort of begun to blur a bit, and she wasn’t sure of anything at the moment.

Abigail ran a finger over the healing wounds again, recalling Tomasso standing behind her in the cargo section, his arms around her, hands caressing as he nibbled at her neck . . . and the sharp pinching pain followed by the drawing sensation she’d experienced just before she’d blacked out.

This certainly did explain that blacking out business. He must have been feeding on her every time they—

Her thoughts dying, Abigail twisted her head around, trying to see more of her neck and find other puncture wounds. There weren’t any. At least not on her neck or shoulders or chest where she could see them in the mirror. Abigail felt around the back of her neck where she couldn’t see, but didn’t feel anything there either.

Letting her hands drop, she frowned slightly. If he’d only bit her the once, why had she fainted each time they’d been intimate? This last time in the tub she’d passed out like a light being switched off, but she didn’t recall him spending a lot of time around her neck. He’d spent more time—

Abigail glanced down at the apex of her thighs and narrowed her eyes. She needed a flashlight and a handheld mirror. Or a lamp and a mirror, she thought, suspecting she wouldn’t find a flashlight in the hotel suite. She probably wouldn’t find a handheld mirror either, but it was worth a look.

Turning away from the counter, Abigail started for the door, but slowed when the room began to spin. She stopped and reached for the counter to balance herself, but it was too late, the floor was coming up to meet her.