As she slid in between the sheets and up against him, he let the covers fall over them both. He pulled her body on top of his, tangling his legs in hers, wrapping his arms around her. He kissed her shoulder, her neck, her mouth. With restless, desperate sweeps, he smoothed his hands over her back and her hips and her bottom.

"I want this to be good for you," he said, shoving her hair aside and going for her ear. "But I'm so hungry. I just need...I have to be with you."

She said something in a husky, sexy voice, but he didn't catch the words because he was flipping her over and settling himself on top of her. Lacing his fingers through hers, he held on to both of her hands and squeezed as he kissed her deep enough so he lost his breath. The suffocation increased his pleasure, cranking the heat up so high his whole body, not just his erection, burned. He kissed her harder, feeling as if he was dying and desperately wanting the sweet death she gave him, wanting it until he shook. Raw, wild, unworthy, he needed her, he loved her, in spite of his failings.

And she wanted him, too. He could feel it in the surging feminine body under his hard contours; in the gasp she let out as he moved down to her breast and took her nipple between his lips; in the flush that bloomed over her satin skin.

In a frantic, jerky movement, he reared up onto his knees and threw off all the bedding. Looming over her writhing body, watching her look at him with greed, he was half-mad with the wanting.

But he stopped. "Cassandra..." His voice was little more than a growl. "I'm...sorry."

She arched, throwing her breasts up, knotting the sheet under her in frustration with her hands. Her legs shifted restlessly.

"For what?" she moaned.

"I can't stop. I should, but I can't."

"I don't want you to."

"You will later. You will wish we hadn't done this. Any of it."

She let go of the fists she'd made in the sheets and reached up for his body. "I don't want to think about later. I only want to know now."

Cass stared up at Alex's perfectly beautiful body. His perfectly aroused body.

His need for her looked as if it must have been painful, it was so swollen, so stiff.

But his eyes were haunted. She shook her head.

"Don't police my feelings, Alex. Be with me if you want to, but let me worry about myself, okay?" When he stayed still, her voice turned hard. "What are we doing here, Alex? I'm clear with what I want. Is it yes or no for you?"

He answered by leaning down and running his hands up the inside of her thighs. He coaxed her legs apart, and she arched, ready to have him lie between them.

The sensation of his mouth on her hip was a shock. And so was the way he lowered himself to the mattress, his great arms slipping beneath both her knees, the width of his shoulders lifting her legs, separating them. The sight of his massive torso under her slender thighs made her feel so very small and it turned him into some great male animal, stretched out before her most vulnerable place.

Something chilly fluttered through her. Not fear, because she knew without a doubt that he would never hurt her. It was just...the intimacy seemed a little overwhelming.

As if he sensed her hesitation, he rubbed his head on her belly, his hair soft and silky. She could feel his breath on her skin, hot and moist.

"Will you let me do this, Cassandra? Will you let me know you this way?" He kissed her right below the navel and then licked the spot. "Because I want to. So badly. I'll be gentle, I promise. So very gentle." He nuzzled his face against her. "Please let me do this...nice and slow."

"Yes, Alex..."

His big hands splayed over her stomach, holding her down, as his mouth found her very center. She cried out at the contact of his lips, and he looked up at her, eyes shining out of the low angle of his face. He watched her as he pleasured her, taking her in two ways, with his languorous mouth and his hungry gaze.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered hoarsely. "Oh, sweet heaven...the honey of you..."

A wave of pleasure crested and sank her, throwing her body into contractions that tightened her from head to foot. In the midst of it, a heavy weight came down on top of her and then there was the sweet invasion of him, the awareness that he was sliding deeply within her, the glorious joining.

His head burrowed into the pillow next to hers as his body went through its erotic masculine dance. His breath punched out of him, the roar of it loud in her ear. She savored the slick sweat and the vibrant heat and the pounding power of him. Her hands went to his back and she held on as best she could.

When he reached his pinnacle, he called out her name. And spilled himself into her like wine.

It was sometime later when Alex craned his neck around and looked at the clock. Nearly midnight.

Time for him to go. It wouldn't be a good idea for both Cassandra and him to show up at White Caps in the same car in the morning. Not in front of all those workmen of hers.

He closed his eyes and put his head back down just so he could relish holding her in his arms for a little longer. Then he slipped out of the bed and dressed quietly.

Leaning over her, he kissed her softly on the shoulder. He didn't want to wake her up, not given how exhausted she was.

Downstairs, he called Spike who, bless his heart, was in front of Gray's in ten minutes.

Alex got into the car.

"Thanks-" He frowned, pausing as he went for the seat belt. "'Scuse me, man. But those pants you're sporting. Are those what I think they are? Are those...jammies?"

"I was crashed when you called, okay? And there's nothing wrong with Star Wars."

Alex grinned. "For a twelve-year-old, maybe. I didn't know they even made that kind of thing in man-size. Do they have the little footies on them?"

Spike flipped a choice finger in the air and downshifted.

"Well, do they?"

"No."

"That is such a disappointment."

Spike pulled up to the workshop and Alex glanced at his friend. "Hey, thanks for not asking. You know, about Cassandra."

The man nodded. "No problem. I'm just glad you finally got it together."

Except they weren't really together.

And God knew, they were going to be worlds apart tomorrow, when he told her everything.

In an odd way though, he felt relieved. The hiding had gone on for so long that it had become a permanent condition in his life, like the color of his hair or his eyes. The realization that the end point had arrived was strangely liberating.

He would get over the feeling, he was damn sure of that. Because how Cassandra was going to react when he was through talking was not really an open question. She might have fallen out of love with her husband, but that didn't mean she'd want to keep making love with the guy who'd let him die.

And as for the news that he'd loved her from afar for years? He couldn't imagine that was going to go over any better. He was going to come across as an obsessed, dishonorable lunatic.

But telling her only part of the story wasn't an option. He had to let both halves loose because the two were inextricably linked. His love for her and Reese being lost to the sea were...one and the same in all the ways that mattered.

"Lex? You cool there, buddy?"

"Uh, yeah. See you in the morning."

"You betcha."

Chapter Nineteen.

The trip to Blue Mountain Lake took longer than Alex had expected because the Norwich brothers had been psyched at the prospect of a partnership, and their excitement had been contagious. It was very possible that the three of them could work something out, and Alex was pumped from all the ideas spinning in his head. As the Honda sped south on the Northway, heading back toward Saranac Lake, he found it hard to remember why he couldn't be a sailor and a builder.

Then he shifted his leg under the glove compartment and was even more convinced he could do both. As the pain he now took to be normal sat up and knocked on his nerve endings, the sting made him think about the future.

He couldn't keep going in the sailing racket forever. A professional captain had a longer career horizon than other athletes, sure, but it was still a hard, rough life and his leg was going to be a permanent liability. No matter how much he rehabbed the damn thing, it was always going to be weak, and if he ever injured it again, he could lose the limb below the knee. All it would take was snapping that titanium rod out of place and he was done for.

Spike glanced at him. "You want to stop for eats somewhere on the way home?"

"Actually, I want to go directly to Gray's."

The grin that came back at him was all-knowing. "Am I going to get another one of those midnight calls again?"

Alex winced. "Yeah, about that, I hated dragging you out of bed."

"Come on, Lex, I'm just busting on you for fun. It's no biggie. I just don't want to hear about my intimate apparel, you feel me?"

"They had light sabers on them, buddy."

"So?"

"And R2D2."

"Yeah, and you can kiss my Wookie, dig?"

Alex threw back his head and laughed.

Twenty minutes later they pulled up to Gray's. The Range Rover wasn't there, but a white Chevy Suburban was parked in front.

Alex frowned. "Hold up, Spike, will you?"

He went to the front door and drove the brass knocker home a couple of times. Libby answered. The words they exchanged were polite, friendly.

And killed him. Just laid him out flat until he thought he was bleeding.

He went back and got into the car, hoping he'd numb out soon, praying that shock would set in.

"Take me home, man," he said roughly.

"What's doing?"

"She's gone. Back to New York. She's left the project. Take me home."

Cass opened the door to the Manhattan penthouse and breathed deeply. The place smelled as it always did: lemon wax and old wood. As she put her bag down, and heard the sound echo into the high ceiling of the marble foyer, she decided she was definitely going to sell the place. It was too big for her to live in alone and it had always been Reese's somehow, even though they'd bought it and furnished it together.

Cass shut the door and felt the darkness around her as a tangible thing, like heavy cloth or a thick fog. Drawn by the ambient light ahead of her, she walked through the grand living room, passing by the phenomenal stretch of windows with their sweeping view of Central Park. As she wandered aimlessly, the antiques and the furniture were nothing more than shadows, the extravagant draperies like ghosts, the sound of her footfalls and sighing a muffled fugue.

Absurdly frightened, she turned on all the lights, and not just there, but in every one of the fifteen rooms. Even though she had spent all her nights alone in the place since Reese had died, now she felt unsettled and isolated. Very much alone.

Eventually, she calmed down and had a bite to eat out of the freezer. Before she retired to bed, she went around and turned off the lights. When she got to the library, she stared at the portrait of Reese that hung over the marble fireplace. The painting was a very good one, executed by a master, and the eyes followed you.

Which struck her as appropriate. Because she suddenly had a lot to say and wanted his full attention.

"I love him," she told the portrait. "And, yes, it's more than what I felt for you."

Reese with his competitive nature would have wanted to know that, even if it had hurt him.

"I've finally figured out that I'm angry at you and frustrated with myself. And I've felt this way for a while."

In the silence, she stared at his familiar face, studying the cheeks and the eyes and the forehead and the silver hair.

Then she looked at his left earlobe. Seeing the little gold hoop he'd worn triggered a memory of something that had happened in the beginning of their marriage.

Reese had decided on his fiftieth birthday to get his ear pierced. He'd wanted to get a tattoo, probably because Alex had one, but he'd been smart enough to admit that getting some ink was probably a little too hard-core for him.

The two of them had gone to a suburban mall, to a Claire's boutique. He'd sat down on the stool, acting all macho and flirting with the woman who was going to do the deed. It was all kicks and giggles until she got out the piercing gun. One look at that thing and Reese broke out in a cold sweat. The excuses had started rolling, and before Cass had known what was happening, they were back out in the mall.

As they'd returned to Manhattan, he was unusually quiet in the car, and when they got home, he'd gone into his study. He'd come to bed very late and had woken her up, distraught. He'd wanted to try the piercing again. First thing in the morning.

Calming him down had taken some time and it had taken even longer before he could tell her what was wrong. He'd been worried that she wouldn't think he was strong enough to take care of her. Just because he'd balked at the boutique. She'd tried to reassure him, but he'd had none of it.

The next day they'd gone back to Claire's, and he'd come out of there with a stud in his lobe. Even though he'd trembled all the way through it.

She thought about the will he'd drafted. She was more than taken care of; he'd left her the bulk of his private estate. And he'd set up things so she had total control of the trusts, so she could have whatever she wanted, whenever.

Cass frowned, trying to remember what his last words to her had been. He'd called her before he'd set out with Alex that day of the storm. What had she talked about with him? An upcoming party in the Hamptons. Arrangements for a trip to Rome. But there was something else...

A limerick. He'd given her a limerick. How had it gone?

There once was a man on a boat, Who had the whole ocean to float, He went here and there, to find himself something at which to stare, When all along what he needed was home.

He'd laughed and said he didn't care that the last word didn't rhyme because he was taking poetic license. Then he'd hesitated. He'd told her he loved knowing she was home and safe because it gave him such peace. And then they'd ended the phone call with what had turned out to be their last goodbyes.