In fact, he could imagine that getting to his feet would be an impulse easily followed, an uncomplicated, unconscious change of location re- quiring nothing more than a passing thought and a pair of thigh mus- cles that were happy enough" and capable enough" to do the job.

He was not drunk enough to actually give it a try, however"

The sound of a knocking on his door brought his head up.

Well, well, well. Given that he wasnt prepared to try the whole verticality thing, at least this arrival represented another alternative reality he could partake in.

And this one he would not deny.

With a grunt, he tried to sit a little straighter in his chair. There would be no going and opening the way for the woman, and he felt badly about that. A gentleman should always perform such a service for a member of the fairer sex, and he didnt care that his guest was a prostitute" the female deserved to be treated with respect.

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Come in, he called out, slurring his words. Come on in . . .

The door opened slowly . . . and what was on the other side, stand- ing directly under the porch light was"

Edwards heart stopped beating. And then began to hammer.

They got it right, he breathed. Finally, Beau got it right.

The woman blinked. Im sorry? she said roughly. What did you say?

The voice, too. How had they matched the voice?

Come in, he rasped, motioning with his free hand, the one that didnt have the glass in it. Please.

And do not be afraid, he thought to himself.

After all, in his current position, he was sitting in darkness, the il- lumination on the countless trophies in those shelves not quite reaching his face or his body. Which was deliberate, of course. He didnt like looking at his own self" there was no reason to make the whores job harder by forcing her to have a clear picture of him.

Edward? she said.

In his drunken haze, all he could do was close his eyes as he went both limp . . . and hard in a very critical place. You sound . . . as beautiful as I remember.

He hadnt heard Sutton Smythes voice in person since before his trip down way south, and after hed returned, hed been unable to listen to any of her voice mails.

To the point where hed ended up throwing that particular phone and number away.

Oh, Edward . . .

Dear Lord, there was pain in that voice. As if the woman were look- ing into his soul and responding to the tangle of anguish hed carried around with him since hed been told he was, in fact, going to live.

And indeed, it was so close to what Sutton actually sounded like.

Funny, during his captivity, hed lost consciousness three times over the course of the eight days hed been held. Each time he had been in the process of fainting, Sutton had been the last thing hed thought of, envisioned, heard, mourned. It hadnt been his family. Not his beloved busi- { 239 }.

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ness. Not the house hed grown up in, nor the wealth, nor all the things he was going to leave undone.

It had been Sutton Smythe.

And that third time? When hed been unable to see anymore, when hed been unable to tell what was his sweat and what was his blood, when the torture had taken him to a place where the survival switch had been flipped off and he no longer prayed to get free, but for death . . .

Sutton Smythe had, once again, been the only thing on his mind.

Edward"

No. He held up his hand. Dont speak anymore.

She was doing so well already. He didnt want the woman to get ahead of herself and screw it all up.

Come here, he whispered. I want to touch you.

Opening his eyes, he drank in her approach. Oh, what a perfect sil- ver dress that was, the hem of the gown down to the floor, her surpris- ingly tasteful jewels sparkling even when the light was behind her. And she also had the kind of clutch Sutton had always taken with her to formal events, the small, silk- covered square perfectly dyed to the hue of the dress even though, as she herself had always said, matchy- matchy was so fifties.

Edward?

There was both confusion and yearning in his name.

Please, he found himself begging. Just . . . no talking. I only want to touch you. Please.

As her body trembled before him, he felt reality shift and he allowed himself to go with the ruse, falling into a fantasy that it actually was Sutton, that she had come to him, that they were, finally, going to be together.

Even though he was ruined.

God, it was enough to make him teary. But that didnt last long . . .

because she stumbled and her eyes grew impossibly wide.

Which meant she had seen his face.

Dont look too hard, he said. I know Im not as I used to be. Thats why the lights are low.

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Edward reached out and showed her his hands. But these . . . these are unmarred. And unlike many parts of me, they still work just fine.

Let me . . . touch you. Ill be careful" but you have to kneel down. Im not too well on my feet anymore, and I must confess to having imbibed.

The prostitute was shaking from head to toe as she started to lower herself, and he sat forward, offering her his arm as if she were a lady disembarking from a car" as opposed to a working girl who was pre- pared to let a cripple have sex with her body in exchange for a thousand dollars.

When he eased back again, a sudden wave of dizziness came over him, testament that more of the alcohol was pumping into his system.

Like all drunks, however, he knew that that was a temporary glitch that would self- regulate.

Especially given all that he had to focus on: Even with his fuzzy vision, even with the dimness, even being drunk off his ass . . . he was in awe.

This one was so beautiful, almost too beautiful to touch.

Oh, look at you, he whispered, reaching out to brush her cheek.

Her eyes flared again, or at least he thought they did" maybe he was just imagining things because of the way she drew in a quick breath.

It was so hard to know, hard to track what was happening . . . reality was going all wonky on him now, twisting around on itself until he wasnt sure how much the prostitute actually looked like Sutton and how much he was projecting onto her just because she had long dark hair, and arching brows, and a mouth that was Grace Kelly perfect.

The womans hair was down, just as hed asked it to be, and he brushed his hand over the waves until he felt the curve of her shoulder.

You smell so good. Just like I remembered.

And then he was touching more of her, his fingertips traveling across her collarbone, over her diamond necklace, down to the curves of her decollete. In response, she began to breathe harder, the pump of her lungs bringing her breasts close to his palms.

I love this dress, he murmured.

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The gown was just Suttons style: beautifully put together, tailored to the body that filled it out, made from chiffon that was the gray of a dove.

Sitting forward, he brought his meager chest to her spectacular one and reached around to find the carefully hidden zipper. As he drew the thing downward, the sound of the unfastening seemed so very loud.

He could have sworn she gasped as if he had shocked her. And that was oh, so perfect. Exactly what Sutton would have done.

And then yes, oh, yes, the whore returned his exploration, her shak- ing hands going up his thin arms. God, he hated all that trembling on her part, but then he was no doubt hard to have sex with.

At least with the way he was now.

I wish I had done this before, he said in a voice that cracked. My body was once something worth seeing. I should have . . . I should have tried to have you before, but I was too much of a coward. I was an arro- gant coward" but the truth was, I could have withstood anything ex- cept you turning me down.

Edward"

He cut her off by putting his mouth against hers.

Oh, she was good. As good as hed always imagined she would be, the slick feel of his tongue slipping into her and the way she moaned like shed been waiting a lifetime for this making him forget what he had become.

That gown melted away, falling from her body as if it were in on the gig" as if it were perhaps getting a kickback for making the session happen faster. And he took advantage of the skin that now showed, kiss- ing his way down to her perfect breasts, suckling on her nipples, getting greedy fast. Bless the poor womans heart, she managed to fake things so well, her hands threading into his hair just as he wanted them to, her grip bringing him closer to her, even though that couldnt possibly be what the prostitute actually wanted.

He tried not to be rough with her, but God, he was so hungry all of a sudden.

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Get into my lap, he groaned. Youre going to have to get into my lap.

It was the only way he could have sex. Especially as he didnt want to subject either one of them to the embarrassment of her having to help him off the floor after it was over.

Are you sure? she said roughly. Edward"

I have to have you. Ive waited too long. I almost died. I need this.

There was a heartbeats worth of pause. Then she moved with ad- mirable quickness, rising from the floor, kicking the gown free, revealing" sweet Jesus, she had a thong on and nothing else, no stock- ings, no garters. And rather than wasting time to take the thing off, she pushed it to the side as he fumbled with the belt that kept his pants from falling off his jutting hip bones.

In spite of how the rest of him had faded away, his cock was still as hard and long and thick as ever" and he was oddly grateful to that or- gan for being the only thing that wasnt completely humiliating about this for him.

Shoving his arms into the chair, he pushed himself even farther for- ward, and she pretzeled herself, mounting him with enviable coordina- tion"

His arousal penetrated her deeply, and the tight, hot hold she brought to him made him orgasm immediately" but that was not the amazing thing. Apparently the feel of him, by some miracle, did the same for her.

As she called out his name, she seemed to find her own release as well.

Either that or shed missed her calling and should have been an Oscar- caliber actress.

Before Edward knew what he was doing, he began to move. It was weak, and rather pathetic, but she followed the lead, that first release soon getting eclipsed by an even greater orgasm for them both. Shud- dering, rocking, straining, she held on to him for dear life, her hair getting into his face, her breasts pressing in to him, her body taking him on a ride like nothing hed ever had.

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The sex seemed to go on forever.

When it was finally finished, after a third orgasm for him, he col- lapsed back into the chair and panted. Im going to need you again.

Oh, Edward"

Tell Beau . . . next week. Same time, same day.

What?

He let his head loll to the side. Moneys over there. Only you. I only want you again.

Abruptly, probably because hed exerted himself more in the last twenty minutes than he had over the previous twelve months, he began to feel faint" and indeed, it seemed appropriate to pass out and let the prostitute leave on her own.

He could keep the fantasy going more easily that way.

Thousand . . . by the door, he mumbled. Take it. Tip will come . . .

Edward meant to say Tip will come later. Ill have someone drop it off at Beaus or something to that effect. But consciousness became a luxury he could no longer afford . . . and he gave himself up to the oblivion.

Once again, thinking only of Sutton Smythe.

S utton stumbled out of Edwards cottage. Her shoes were off and dangling from their straps, but unlike her earlier trip through the grass around the museum building, the porch boards and then the cobblestone path hurt.