"I'm tired," she said. And she looked it. Her gaze skittered toward the bed and then away. There was no couch, no extra bedding. Just the one narrow mattress on a spindly frame, crouched in the corner.

Sean stared at it, too, and then asked the question that had consumed most of the day. Somehow it was more pressing than how they'd come to be here. More urgent than who was or was not the instrument of their journey. He moved until he was standing right behind her. The top of her head reached his chin, the scent of her hair and her skin filled his senses.

Gently, insistently, he turned her. He felt the resistance in her body, in the gaze that climbed to meet his own.

In a voice he barely recognized as his own, he asked, "Did we make love this morning or was that just a different kind of dream?"

Chapter Twenty-two.

IT seemed Sean waited an eternity for her to answer. An eternity with nothing in it but her eyes, as mysterious as the evening fog, thick with silvery mist and wrought with the unknown. He saw his own confusion mirrored in their depths, and he knew that if making love to her had been only a dream, it was one they'd shared.

"It was a dream," she insisted.

"Then how is it we dreamed it together?"

She frowned and shook her head. "We couldn't. We didn't."

"Aye, we could," he said, moving closer. "Aye, we did."

The vulnerability was back in her eyes, but this time he knew-he knew-it came from a different place. She was comparing the passion of that dream to the image she held of herself. Because of the stupid men she'd known, she thought she was lacking. Somewhere along the way, she'd made up her mind that they were right and she was incapable of passion. Sean saw this, saw it as clearly as if it were spelled out in the air between them.

Even now she was withdrawing, battening down hatches, locking passageways. She couldn't see what he knew instinctively. There was nothing cold or reserved about Danni MacGrath. He wanted to prove it to her. But in a moment when he should have been reaching out, he found himself hesitating.

Her hair lay in a swirling mess around her head, her skin glowing like pearl, her face bare and sweet. There was innocence in Danni, but there was also fire and passion. Dream or no, he'd felt it this morning and he wanted to feel it again-wanted desperately to feel it more.

He dropped his gaze to the pulse that beat at her throat. The man's T-shirt clung to her breasts, peaking at hardened nipples. The stretchy pants fit her lean, shapely legs, molding curves and muscle all the way down to the thick white socks, and even those were somehow sexy, somehow intimate. He skimmed back up, imagined catching the hem of her shirt and pulling it over her head, baring those soft shoulders, the curve of her throat, the slope of her breasts.

A train wreck, that's what this was. But the course was set and the outcome inevitable.

She didn't say a word as she watched him, letting her own eyes move from his face to his bare chest to his stomach. His muscles tightened in anticipation, as if her glancing look were a touch that would heat his skin. He wanted her to look lower, to see that just standing this close to her had him thinking of so much more.

Neither spoke, because words would be redundant.

He felt incapable of movement and so he waited for her instead. Waited for the questions in her eyes to become answers, decisions. She swayed closer and the soft scent of her filled him with aching need. He wanted to bury his face in her hair, inhale, taste that scent. Taste every inch of her.

Her hands settled against his chest, light as petals, hot and silky and moving over the taut muscles. Searching, finding. They paused just over his heart, feeling the erratic beat, the labored pounding. He thought she could feel the blood rushing through his veins, urging him to move, to take. He felt hot, hotter than humanly possible. Like he might suddenly combust and melt into something only she could ply with her feather touch.

She stilled, those small hands holding his heart. Then she tipped her head back and he was staring into eyes of winter smoke and midnight slate. They were wide and round and hurt and bewildered. Why didn't he touch her back?

"I'm afraid," he said without meaning to.

Afraid that he'd fall into those eyes and never find his way out again. Afraid that this, which felt so real, could somehow be snatched away if he grasped too tightly. Afraid of returning to that land of numbness that had become his life. Afraid now to chance an escape.

The answer-a self-fulfilling prophecy-made him exhale with twisted humor. Danni bit her lip and then smiled back, slowly, sweetly, sexily.

"Don't be," she said, and it was his undoing.

With a muffled groan, he reached for her, pressed his hands to her hips, swallowing the small curve with his grasp and splaying his fingers across the soft flesh of her behind.

She moved in the wake of his capitulation-with tentative boldness, then with growing confidence that made his head light, his heart thump even faster. Her arms were around his neck now, her hips brushing the unmistakable erection trapped painfully in his jeans. It was the pain, glorious and real, that broke the last tie of his reserve.

He hauled her up hard against him, and the sound she made in her throat was like scented oil on wildfire. It filled every sense and ignited every receptive nerve in his body. Like he'd imagined, he caught the hem of her shirt and tugged it up in one smooth stroke. She lifted her arms in mute acceptance, standing before him like moonlight harnessed in shimmering flesh. Her skin glowed like a rare white opal, pale and alive, soft and warm. Her breasts were small and high, perfect as only God could create. He touched one and then the other, still fearing that she might vanish if he went too far, went too fast. Grasped too greedily.

"It must have been a dream . . ." she murmured against his throat.

She didn't finish the thought. She didn't need to. It was in his head, the remainder of it. It must have been a dream because it couldn't compare to the reality of this moment.

He scooped her off her feet and carried her to the narrow bed, slowly, because now that he'd committed, he wanted every moment, every second of it to last. She pressed soft, wet kisses to his chest and throat as he followed her down to the mattress and braced himself over her. He framed her face with his hands, trembling with the feel of her skin against his, her body beneath him. Slowly he settled his mouth over hers.

Her lips met his with acceptance and demand. She let him touch and tease, sharing the air between them before opening and inviting him in. Her breath was sweet and his tongue brushed against hers, velvet on velvet, sensitive and sensual. The feel of her, the taste of her, it was like a drug shooting through his bloodstream, enhancing every second until his world consisted only of Danni and the sweetness of her surrender, the completeness of his own.

He pulled back, stood so he could slide her pants and panties down her long legs and fling them somewhere behind them, white socks knotted in the mix. His boxers and jeans joined the tangle, leaving them both stripped and vulnerable. Sean breathed deeply, trying to slow his heart, slow the urge that wanted to bury itself deep within her. He saw something flash in her eyes, determination, resolve. For a moment he feared she'd changed her mind, and he wanted to shout, to grab her, to force her. But it wasn't rejection he'd seen.

Naked, she came up on her knees and took him in her hands, paralyzing him with a thousand sensations. The muscles in his stomach clenched and his legs felt wobbly, but she kept him standing as she leaned in, letting her fingers explore his sensitive skin as her other hand stroked up with a firmness just shy of the most exquisite agony.

More roughly than he'd intended, Sean took her face in his hands and kissed her again, using tongue and teeth, and the power of his desire to make her feel him, as he felt her. He pulled her off balance and she fell against him, but her hands continued their wondrous torture even as she kissed him back, tasting him, electrifying him with the feel of her hot response. How long had he been thinking of this? Wanting this? It seemed a lifetime.

He wouldn't last if he didn't stop her. He pulled her tight against him and lowered them both until he spread over her, hip to hip, mouth to mouth. She released him with a tug of reluctance that nearly drove him to release.

She was saying his name, speaking it reverently against his lips, against his throat, the bunched chords of his biceps. She was seducing him, making him feel inexperienced, like it was his first time. Not like this morning when she'd been pliant and obedient, answering his commands with eager acquiescence.

"Do you remember the dream?" she breathed against his ear.

Yes, he remembered it, but it was nothing to this bursting tension and need.

"You said things, you told me to do things. . . ."

"I remember," he said, pulling her higher so he could kiss her breasts, tongue the hard points of her nipples.

She arched against him, her wet heat sprawled low on his belly, just out of reach, just out of touch. He ached to grab her hips and force her down, drive himself deep inside her and watch her beautiful face as he did it. What fool could ever have called her cold?

She was kissing him again, everywhere, humbling and empowering him with her passion. She teased him with the soft wetness of her mouth until he couldn't take it anymore. Then she paused once again.

"Sean?" she said, burying her face in his neck. He felt a flood of heat follow his name and shifted so he could look at her. Her face had turned red and she wouldn't meet his eyes.

"What is it?" he asked as the flush spread to her neck and chest. "Danni, what is it?"

"I want . . ." she began, and then she looked away again in embarrassment.

"Yes," he said with a surprised laugh that was as tight and strained as every other inch of him. "God yes, whatever you want, tell me and I'll do it. Yes."

She peeped up at him with a look that was at once pleased and aghast, as if she couldn't believe she'd had the bollocks to ask. He wanted her to tell him what it was that she wanted, he wanted to give it to her, now. Immediately.

"I want to do . . . what we did in the dream," she whispered.

What they'd done? What hadn't they done in the dream? It had been the mother of all fantasies. Until this.

"I want that, too," he said, because of course he did.

She took a deep breath and then held it. A small sigh seemed to signal something inside her that she was ready. She shifted again so that she straddled him, breasts pressed to his chest in a torment he would happily endure forever. His legs dangled over the edge of the bed, and he pressed the balls of his feet to the floor as her touch charged through every inch of him. Her mouth found his, and she kissed him deeply, her tongue soft and exotic against his own.

And then she began to slide down his body, her touch growing bolder as she moved lower. She nipped at his hip, pressed her lips to the point just below his belly button. Then her hands were around him and her mouth. Holy mother of God, her mouth.

He made a sound of sheer agony and she froze. "I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?" she asked in a horrified voice.

Sean's disbelief was only outweighed by his need. "God no, Danni, you're perfect. You're making me-"

But she'd heard all she needed to hear, and she went back to the task at hand with a renewed fervor. Sean propped himself on his elbows, watching her as she kissed and stroked and licked and, heaven save him, she sucked. He was trembling with the effort to hold back when she seemed determined to break him down.

"Danni, honey," he said, out of breath, out of time. "If you don't-" She raced her tongue over the head in a hot, wet circle. "If you don't-"

"What?" she cried suddenly, her voice filled with frustration. "What am I doing wrong? Why haven't you . . . why aren't you-"

She met his eyes and saw his absolute shock. Saw that he'd been holding back, wanting to please her before he exploded.

"Oh," she said.

He didn't give her a chance to say more. He hauled her up, rolling her onto her back as he slid between her legs, stomach to stomach, heaving chest to heaving chest, mouth to mouth. Every part of him seemed to fit with her body. He trembled as he held her, as he slid into the heat and wetness of her and began to move in slow, torturous strokes. Everything became an isolated sensation, the feel of her fingers in his hair, her mouth against his, her breasts soft and flattened by the hard wall of his chest. He shifted, moved his hand down the flat of her belly to touch her there, where every soft and feminine mystery seemed to exist.

She moaned his name and arched her back, dragging him deeper into the depths of her secrets. He rubbed in tight circles and he moved inside her, focusing on the rhythm of her body, the harsh rush of her breathing, the soft murmur of her voice as he brought her to the same dizzying edge he was poised upon. She came with a cry that took him with her. They held onto one another, as sensations tore through him in unbearable pleasure. It felt like something cracked deep inside him and light spilled out, chasing away shadow and fear, leaving only this moment with Danni seared in his mind.

His heart felt like it might burst from his chest as he braced himself above her and looked into her beautiful face. In just a few days, she'd come to be the centering point of his world. She'd come to mean more to him than life itself. How it had happened, he didn't know. But he couldn't pretend it wasn't true, not even to himself.

And with the acknowledgement, came the fear again. Dark, insidious, solid. If he lost her, he would die. Literally, figuratively. The realization drove him to an edge that he couldn't look over. Wouldn't look down.

He did the only thing he could. He held her tighter, finding sanctuary in her feel, in her scent. He kissed her like his life depended on it, sensing that somehow it did.

Chapter Twenty-three.

THEY lay in silence late into the night, face-to-face, fingers touching, skin pressed to skin. Danni learned of his childhood, listening to the deep flux of his voice as he spoke of growing up in Ballyfionuir, where he'd known most everyone. He talked of his mother and how she'd scrub Sean and his brother within an inch of their lives before marching them to mass each Sunday. She'd carried a flask in her purse and had partaken of more than communion wine during the service. The ebb and flow of his voice was another caress in the darkness and one she fell into, like a dark pool of warm water.

As she watched his mouth forming words, watched memories move through his eyes, she thought him achingly beautiful. At almost the same instance, she was struck by the truth of their situation. It twisted what they'd shared into a few heartrending moments before reality would rip them apart. For whatever reason, Sean was alive in this time, but in her time-the time she knew and wanted to live in again-he was a ghost. The tragedy of it nearly drove her from the bed. A random image came to her then-one of a movie she'd seen in the group home, before Yvonne had taken her in. It was an eighties movie, about a man who'd never known love until a strange woman had suddenly appeared in his life.

She remembered Tom Hanks as the hero, goofy and charming, besotted by the beautiful woman with the long blonde hair and strange ways. He'd brought her home with him, intent on marrying her and living happily ever after-until he'd discovered she was a mermaid. Drunk and disillusioned, Tom Hanks had turned to his brother in hurt bewilderment and told him that all his life he'd been searching for someone to love and now that he'd finally found her, the woman of his dreams was a fish. A fish.

The delivery of the line had been classic and never failed to bring laughter. It didn't make her smile thinking of it now though, because the twisted pain behind the flippant statement was far too real for her. Danni had been looking for someone to love her whole life, too. And Sean was more than everything she'd wished for.

Only in her case, the man of her dreams wasn't a fish. He was dead, or would be by tomorrow's end.

She'd almost told him earlier, should have told him when the opportunity was there, so close. It was almost as if he'd been waiting for her to speak those words. But she couldn't do it. She was afraid of more than being left alone. She was afraid of losing him. Afraid of what the truth would do to this fragile bubble they now lived in.

Sean went on talking, unaware of the turmoil in her heart. Listening to him, she noted the confusion that clouded his eyes as he moved past the years of adolescence into manhood. The vivid details of his recollections dimmed as he struggled to remember life after he'd become an unwitting specter. Overlooked, or noticed only by a few-those sensitive to his energy, those who feared the shadowy image that never quite came into focus.

He'd taken their reactions as aversion. Why would they like and accept him? He was the son of the man who'd killed his own wife and then wiped out another man's young and happy family. He didn't blame them their censure.

Colleen had been the only constant in his life after Fia and the children disappeared, after Niall took his own life in remorse....

After Sean had been killed. Danni pieced together what he didn't say.

Occasionally it seemed he would meet someone with a sixth sense, someone who could really see him, and the details would suddenly appear again. He didn't know how relief filled his eyes then, how these pockets of awareness became confirmation of his existence.

But Danni understood it. She thought of what he'd told her earlier, about the widow he'd gone to in the middle of the night. Dream lover, she'd called him, imagining the lonely woman visited by Sean-solid, muscular, warm Sean. Had she seen him, like Danni did? Or had he been a fantasy she imagined as a dream, like the one they'd shared yesterday morning?

"Hey," he said, tracing a finger over her jaw. "I've put you into a coma with my boring stories, haven't I?"

The very idea of it made her smile. Sean was a lot of things she hadn't expected, but boring wasn't one of them. She could listen to that deep and sexy voice day in and day out and never get tired of it. She leaned closer and kissed him. The feel of his mouth was ad dicting, like the taste of him, the scent of him. They'd made love for hours-hours-until her muscles felt tired and sated, but she still wanted more. A stockpile to last her when he was gone.

The thought sobered her. No. She would find a way to make sure that didn't happen.

IT was several hours before dawn when Danni slipped from bed and dressed. She'd slept a little, but each time she dozed off, the warmth of the man sleeping beside her would wake her again to dwell on the quandary of how and where and who they were. Her thoughts had finally driven her from the bed, from the man who'd aroused feelings in her that couldn't be allowed to take root. At any minute the air could turn again and spit the two of them out of this time and place and back to a future that was pointless.

She couldn't love a dead man.

Restless, she paced the kitchen until she began to feel caged. The sense of being trapped finally coerced her outside, where sounds of the sea pounding relentlessly against the rocks, thundering and receding with steadfast determination, eased her tension. Beneath the black tapestry of sky, she could see lights out on the water. Fishing boats already pushing off, fighting the tide.

Danni breathed in the damp and salty scented air, turning her face to the sliver of moon hovering low on the horizon. Dawn was not far away.

She nearly screamed when a shadow moved to her right and Colleen materialized from a flat boulder where she'd been sitting. As if it was the most natural thing in the world for Danni to take a stroll in the darkest hours and for Colleen to happen upon her.

"You've been waiting for me," Danni said, and it wasn't a question.

"For longer than ye know, child," Colleen answered, taking up her seat again on the boulder. "Sit down, ask me your questions. You'll be having some by now."

"And you'll tell me the truth if I ask them?"

"And why wouldn't I?"

Danni sat down, trying to mask her frustration at Colleen's noncommittal response. Danni wanted to ask about Sean, but she was afraid-afraid that giving her questions a voice might somehow strip away this tentative happiness she'd found. But she knew that was a fool's way of thinking. By tonight they'd both be dead. Still she couldn't start there. Not with Sean.

"What happened to my mother?" she asked instead.

"She went to America," Colleen responded coolly.