She ejected the Doctors and slipped in the brand-new Sting CD. Damien had a boxful of CDs stashed in the glove compartment. The guy was full of surprises. She didn't know why it felt like some kind of exquisite torture having him do something so wonderful for her. She wasn't sure if it hurt or felt good. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry, to feel ecstatic or depressed. And feeling both was exhausting and confusing.

She knew only that the small car put them close to each other, and the sentimental words flowing from the speakers now in that husky voice filled what little space remained between them. She could smell Damien, feel his warmth. An odd zing of energy, one she only felt when they were close, whirred in her nerve endings. It was electricity and attraction and awareness, and something else. As they drove through the cool autumn night, with fallen leaves shooting up behind them as they passed, she found her gaze on Damien more often than the road. On his strong face, his deep, glittering onyx eyes and his sensual lips with their dramatic color. He didn't have flesh-colored lips like a lot of men. His lips looked like fruit that's ready to be picked. And she thought they'd taste the same way.

His hand shot out to jerk the wheel to the left. She swung her gaze back to the pavement, where it belonged, but knew it wouldn't remain there long. She pulled a U-turn at the first wide spot in the road and headed back toward his house.

If there was one thing she wanted before she died, it was to make love to this man. The only problem with that was that it would end up hurting him. She bit her lip, negating that thought inwardly. As deeply as Damien felt things, she might very well end up destroying him. She didn't want to do that, and it surprised her just how much the thought of causing him pain bothered her. She hadn't cared enough about anyone to give a damn if their feelings got hurt. No one but Tawny, at least.

And to think she'd believed he was a killer.

God, her feelings were all mixed up.

Okay, better to concentrate on her most important goal in life. Finding this killer. Driving around listening to Ten Summoner's Tales on a starry autumn night with this incredible man was wonderful, but it was getting her nowhere.

"You know, he's never going to make a move against me when I'm with you."

She glanced at him as she said it. She'd studiously avoided staring at him for the past few miles, but his eyes were on her, dark and deep and dreamy, when she met his gaze. He blinked, as though she'd distracted him from some deep thinking.

"What?"

"Our killer. He's not likely to attack me when you're at my side. You know that."

He averted his gaze. "Maybe I'm not in as big a hurry to see him try to murder you as you are."

"I'm in a hurry to catch him."

"I'm not going to let you walk around alone with a big bull's-eye painted on your forehead."

"Then you want to let him get away? Because that's what will happen, Damien."

He frowned, his wide sable brows touching. "We'll think of something."

"That's not good enough." She turned slowly into his winding driveway, and he used a remote control he had in his pocket to open the gate.

"After the next performance--"

"The last performance."

"Right. When it's over, we might stage something. Make it seem as if you're alone, when you really aren't. Try to trap him."

"I don't want to wait that long." Mostly because she doubted Damien would go through with it. He was way too protective of her. It should irritate the hell out of her instead of making her want to hug him.

"Shannon, it's risky. It's using you like chum to bait a killer shark. It ought to be a last resort. With any luck he'll tip his hand before then, and we won't have to risk it."

She shut the engine off. She had her own ideas about how much they could and couldn't risk here. To her way of thinking, the biggest risk was the one that the killer would get away. Her life was no risk at all. It was all but over anyway. Where the hell was the risk in that?

"You're tired." He touched her shoulder.

"Hell, Damien, I've slept thirty-six straight hours. How can I be?" She didn't say she wasn't. She was. Drained.

"You're still pale."

She laughed a little. "Maybe this Bachman nut will think I'm a vampire next."

He didn't laugh with her. In fact, he looked pained for a second. She opened her door. "So, you won't let me try my plan tonight. I'm not up to fighting with you about it." She got out and started for the front door, knowing he was right behind her. "So how about we spend the rest of the night going over those notes Eric Marquand brought you? All that stuff about these DPI crazies." She waited at the door while Damien unlocked it, swung it wide and let her walk in before him.

"I've already gone over all that. There's nothing that can be of any help." He closed the door, locked it.

Shannon strolled nonchalantly through the short hall into the round room she was beginning to love. She let herself collapse backward onto the chaise. He didn't want her examining those papers Eric had given him. He'd locked them in the desk as soon as she'd entered the library and started looking at them. Strange.

"So, maybe tomorrow we can visit Bachman at his, hotel, try to get him to answer some questions. What do you think?"

Damien blinked quickly. "I have a few appointments tomorrow. Business stuff. I'll have to be away for most of the day."

"Oh." She hoped her disappointment didn't come through in her voice. She wasn't eager to spend the day alone...

... although, the idea did present her with the perfect opportunity to take a peek at the papers in that locked desk.

He crossed to the hearth, tossed a couple of logs onto coals that never quite died down, then took a seat on the floor, amid the cushions. "Are you tired? You want to rest?"

"I'll be able to rest all I want tomorrow, while you're gone."

"That's a good idea."

She sat up, drawing her knees around underneath her. "So does that thing work?"

He followed her gaze to the wide-screen television. "Yes. I don't use it much. Can't say I'm overly fond of television. Mostly I watch the news and tapes of other magicians. Helps me spot my own flaws."

"If you have any flaws, Damien, believe me, they're invisible to the human eye."

He looked a little startled. She couldn't believe she'd actually done that. Flirted with him. She was a selfish bitch.

"I have them. Shannon."

Oh, why were his eyes drawing her to him like giant super magnets? Why didn't she have enough character to resist? Why in the name of" God was she sliding off the chaise and onto the floor beside him, curling up amid the pillows as if she just wanted to get closer to the fire. She did, and the fire was Damien.

"What are they? Your flaws."

His dark eyes were burning zigzag paths over her hair. "You'd run screaming if I told you."

She shook her head, and she read amazement in his eyes when her hair flew out around her and sealed back to cover her shoulders. "It takes a lot to scare me. I'm not afraid of you."

His hand rose, floated magically upward, and his fingertips touched her hair, hesitant, unsure. "Maybe you should be."

She swayed forward, her mind no longer having any noticeable influence over her body's actions. She closed her eyes, tipped her face up and pressed her lips to his. They trembled a little, nearly pulled away. She pressed harder, parting her mouth in gentle invitation.

His sigh filled her. She drank it, and his hand slid more deeply into her hair, cupping the back of her head, holding her face to his. His lips opened and his tongue slipped between hers to lick at her mouth's interior. She opened wider, giving him all the access he could want. Her arms encircled his neck, and she kissed him with everything in her.

But he pulled away. He got to his feet, turning his back to her. He kept pushing a hand through his hair, and he bowed his head, staring into the fire. The tremors she felt racking her body were mirrored in his unsteady stance, his labored breathing.

"I'm sorry. Shannon."

She stayed where she was. If she got up, she'd go to him, throw herself at him like some desperate, love-starved wanton. She wouldn't do that, to herself or to him. "I'm not." She smoothed her hair a little and fought with her racing heart rate. "I've never been kissed like that before."

"Then the men you've known have been fools."

He still didn't look at her. She smiled at the compliment. A warm flood of pleasure rushed through her veins. "Wouldn't have mattered. I never wanted any of them."

She saw the way his spine stiffened. He couldn't have missed the implication. That she did want him. God, it was unfair of her to put him through this.

He turned slowly, looked at her. "Shannon, believe me, you don't want to waste yourself on me. Especially if you've never been with a man. That's something too precious to--"

"Be honest about it, at least." She got to her feet, frustrated and angry and hurt. She turned away.

He caught her shoulder, turned her around to face him. "Shannon, I'm sorry--"

"Don't be. I'll survive." She shook her head hard, so her hair flew over her face like a curtain. "I never thought I could ever want any man, Damien. Never believed it was possible. Ironic, isn't it, that when I finally do, it's a man who doesn't want me back?" What was wrong with her? Why was she acting this way?

His hands on her shoulders trembled as they tightened, and suddenly she was crushed to his chest. His arms surrounded her, strong and hard, and her breasts pressed against him. His mouth covered hers, captured it, and his tongue delved and drank and stroked. Faster, rougher, deeper. She slid her arms around his neck, threaded her fingers in his raven hair and licked at his tongue with her own. God, he tasted good. She wanted him so much it was a living force inside her. She felt his hips grind against her and she arched toward him in response. His arousal pressed into her belly, rock hard and insistent.

A little tremor raced through her, along with memories she'd rarely allowed her mind to access. Memories of other hands, drunken, clumsy ones. And of fear. He seemed to sense her hesitance, because he lifted his head. "Shannon?" A choked whisper. Gleaming black eyes probed hers.

"Just promise you won't... hurt me." It was the voice of the little girl she'd been. The innocence she hadn't felt in so long.

His eyes fell closed. He levered himself away from her, just a bit, and his arms fell from around her, then rose to stroke her hair. "I won't hurt you. Shannon. Not ever. And that's why this insanity isn't going to go any further."

"Insanity?"

He pushed her away, turned her toward the arched doorway into the big dining room, urged her through it and beyond, past the library doors, to the wide staircase. "Go to bed. Rest. And don't ever make the mistake of thinking that I don't want you. Shannon. I do. Too much."

She turned, searched his face, not understanding. He'd ignited a fire in her blood and she wanted him to put it out. Here, now. She'd go up in flames if he didn't.

He averted his face, closed his eyes. "Go on. Now." Cruel words. Angry tone. Or desperate.

She ran up the stairs, trying not to cry before she reached the bedroom. She didn't want him to see her cry, to hear her frustration. The door flew open at her touch, smashed into the wall behind it, marring the satiny wallpaper. Shannon slammed it closed behind her just as forcefully, and with her back pressed to the cool dark wood, she felt for the lock, turned it without looking. Her eyes squeezed tight against the pain of his rejection. Her teeth grated to hold it back, but the battle was useless. The tears came--bitter, loud, hot tears that blazed their paths into her skin.

He'd said he wanted her. He'd kissed her as if he wanted her. But if he wanted her, he could have had her tonight. She'd humiliated herself, acted like a whore, offered herself as freely as if she did it every day. He couldn't know how much it had taken for her to open herself up to him that way. He couldn't know how much it had cost her.

She sank to the floor, sobs tearing at her chest.

* * * * *

The vase hit the hearth and exploded into a thousand onyx shards, raining down on the marble tiles, the pillows, the Turkish rug nearest the fire. Damien clenched and unclenched his fists, fighting to resist the desire that threatened to overwhelm him. He'd never wanted anyone the way he wanted Shannon. She drove him insane with lust. Desire tore through his brain, roared in his ears like a living thing, like a dragon breathing fire to ignite his soul, to devour his mind.

Inanna herself could never inspire passion like this! Dammit, what Shannon did to him.

"Damien?"

He whirled, his face, he was certain, twisted in a fierce snarl that would frighten the life out of a god. Eric Marquand didn't seem frightened at all, though. He stood there, nodded as if in understanding. "Are you all right?"

"No, dammit, I'm not all right. Do I look all right to you?"

Marquand turned away, as if to warm his hands near the fire. Damien had a sneaking suspicion it was actually to keep his expression hidden. "Are you in love with her yet?"

Damien made a noise halfway between snort and sigh. "That's the stupidest question... Of course not. You think I'm an idiot?"

"I didn't call you an idiot, Damien." Marquand still didn't look at him. It sounded as if there might be a slight smile hiding in his voice.

"It's physical desire. Nothing more. It's only because I'm spending too much time with her." Damien stalked into the entry hall, stopped near the door and snatched a coat from a peg on the wall. "I need to take a walk in the cold air."

"It isn't simple desire, Damien." Marquand stood beside him. "And walking isn't going to make it go away."

He thrust his fists into the coat, jerking it around him. "Oh, no? What is, then?" He injected enough sarcasm in his voice not to have it missed.

"Making love with Shannon."

Damien went utterly still, his back to Marquand. When he spoke, his voice came out as a rasping whisper, hoarse with pain and frustration. "I can't do that. I'm afraid..." He couldn't finish the sentence.

"Afraid you might kill her. I know. A hell of a predicament, my friend."

"I told you not to call me that."

"Keep telling me. I might listen someday." Marquand pulled his own coat on and calmly fastened the buttons, one by one. "Damien, I don't believe you killed those women, and I don't believe you could hurt Shannon even if you wanted to, but I suppose it's best to restrain yourself until we're sure." He clapped a hand to Damien's shoulder. "For now we'll walk, if you think it will help."

Damien turned slowly, searched this stranger's face, and felt, for the first time, the unseen bond between them. They were brothers. Marquand was sincere in wan ting to help him through this hellish torment. That knowledge shook him to the core. For so long, he'd managed to avoid any kind of closeness, the slightest hint of caring. He couldn't imagine how to act, what to say. He swallowed hard, shook his head. It was as if, after wandering in darkness, lost, alone, without hope, someone had joined him. Someone with a candle.

I don't want this. Dammit, I don't want to care for this man... or for Shannon.

"Too late," a voice whispered from somewhere. Had it come from his mind or Marquand's? He glanced at the other man for an answer. Eric only smiled vaguely, and opened the door.

* * * * *

She couldn't have slept even if she'd wanted to, but she feigned sleep when she heard Damien's key in her door just before dawn. She knew he'd come in to stand over her, stare down at her. She felt his fingertips gently smoothing her tearstained cheeks, pushing the tangled hair away from her face. She smelled him, felt his warmth, heard his breathing. She wanted to open her eyes, to reach up to him. God, she wanted to feel those strong arms around her again, crushing her so tightly against him. Making her feel he wanted to be closer, closer than any two people had ever been. She wanted to feel his heart racing in time with hers, but...

She slammed her mind tight against those thoughts, against any thoughts of him. She resisted the urge to move her face against his touch. She could almost imagine his thoughts trying to reach her, his mind telling her to rest today, to stay here until he came back for her, not to wake until he returned.

Strange, the things her mind conjured. She closed it to him, refused to hear the odd things she imagined he was telling her. Refused to think of him at all. A few moments later she felt the satin touch of his lips on her face. And then he was gone.

She stayed in the bed a long time, only rising when the soul of the house screamed its solitude, assuring her that she was alone. She showered, dressed and hurried down the stairs, calling out to Damien just in case. There was no answer.

She'd been a fool. She knew that now. The attraction she felt for the man had distracted her from her purpose, and she'd lost precious time. There was no chance for anything between them. God, she'd known it was wrong even to try. She ought to be glad he'd rejected her. It would save him heartache in the long run. She'd been selfish, thoughtless, to let him know she wanted him. She must have gone temporarily insane.

Not anymore, though. He was keeping things from her, things that had to do with Tawny's murder and with Bachman and this crazy organization, DPI. She had to find out what. How could she hope to track down a killer if she didn't have all the facts?

Shannon went to the library, glanced around the room once before closing the door. She circled the desk, stopping behind it to give the drawer an experimental tug. Locked, as she'd known it would be. She wasn't unprepared. It was nothing to break into a desk drawer. The letter opener on the blotter was all she needed, and the drawer slid open without any further encouragement.

The papers had been arranged neatly in a manila file folder. So he'd looked at them again. They were supposed to be nothing, a bunch of irrelevant information, so why had he felt the need to go through them one more time? And what was Eric Marquand doing with a packet of information on this strange government agency, anyway? He'd said he'd had run-ins with them in the past. What kind of run-ins? she wondered. She shook her head, grimacing. With his dark good looks and antiquated mannerisms, it wouldn't be surprising if the lunatics had accused Eric of being a vampire, too. Crazy.

She removed the folder from the drawer, closed it and carried it with her to the circular living room. It was a comfort room. Damien was right about that. There was something in its shape and the lighting, the warm colors, the odd furniture, even the artifacts lined up on the mantel, that seemed to hug you close, warm your soul.

Only red-orange coals glowed on the grate. Shannon arranged a pair of small logs on top and blew gently until flames licked to life. Resin seeped and snapped and flared, and for a second she remembered the fire in her apartment building, the feeling of being trapped, the fear. But this place was the opposite of that hell. This place was a haven from anything bad. Or maybe it was Damien she was beginning to think of as her haven.

She went to settle down amid the pillows on the floor, but a sharp glimmer reflected the firelight, stopping her. She knelt, and saw one broken piece, then several, of what had once been an onyx vase.

Frowning, she picked up the larger pieces, then gathered the tinier shards by rolling them up in the rug. Then she shook it outside the door. She checked all the pillows carefully, brushing all the glass away before she made herself comfortable on them.

She tried not to imagine how the vase had been broken. Tried not to wonder whether Damien had been angry or frustrated, or just nervous and clumsy. Either way, she had to be at least partly to blame. And she wondered for the first time if maybe he'd been telling the truth when he'd said that he wanted her. Maybe there was some other reason he'd turned her away. But what?

Enough already. She'd come to the conclusion that thinking about Damien only distracted her from her real purpose here, hadn't she? When would she get that through her head? She sank into the pillows, opened the file folder and began reading.