"It wouldn't interfere if you decide to go to bed with me either. I'm asking for sex, not a lifetime commitment."

"You don't understand. I'm not like you." She bit her lower lip. "I can't just-I've had sex with only two men in my entire life."

"Did you like it?"

"Of course I liked it."

"Then maybe you should try a third. You say Nell Calder is dead. Why are you clinging to her sense of morality?" He smiled recklessly. "Let Eve Billings go to bed with me. She's alive and functioning, and I'm not particular."

She frowned. "Don't be ridiculous. I just wish you hadn't seen fit to tell me, since it's an exercise in futility."

"Not entirely. It made you aware of something about me besides my knack for martial arts." He spread his blanket. "You'll think about it and wonder about how we'd be together." He lay down and closed his eyes. "We'd be very good, Nell. I wasn't raised in a whorehouse without learning how to make damn sure of it."

She felt heat flood her and she instinctively sought to stem it. "You left there when you were eight years old," she said tartly.

He opened one eye. "I was precocious."

She shut her own eyes and drew the blanket over her. "Bull."

"You'll never know unless you try me." She heard the rustle of his blankets as he settled.

Go to sleep, she told herself. Tanek had propositioned her and she had refused. It was done. There was no reason to feel uneasy. He was a civilized man who would take no for an answer.

He was also a man who had fought for everything he wanted from childhood and won. He would not give up easily. He would not force her, but he was not above persuasion.

But you could say no to persuasion, you could refuse anything you didn't want. She didn't want the disturbance and hot mindlessness connected with sex. She wanted to stay cool and focused, to stand outside, apart.

She opened her eyes. Tanek was lying with eyes closed, his lax hand outstretched toward the fire. A strong hand, well shaped, capable, the nails cut short. She knew that hand well. She knew its power and lethal force. A dangerous hand. Yet now it didn't look dangerous. Just strong ... and masculine. She had always loved to paint hands. There was something magical about them. Hands built cities and created great works of art, they could be brutal or gentle, bring pain or pleasure.

Like Tanek.

She felt as if she were melting just looking at the damn man's hand. Why the devil did this have to happen? She wanted her sexuality to stay soundly asleep.

Too late. But not too late for control. Maybe it would go away.

She closed her eyes again. She could smell the evergreens and the burning oak and feel the coldness of the air. Awareness. She was suddenly acutely sensitive to sound and scent, the rough feel of the wool blanket against her bare arms. Nothing had changed. Jill was still dead. Her body had no right to come alive again.

Damn Tanek.

"Sharper," Tanek said. "You're sluggish. I could have put you down twice this morning."

She whirled and kicked him in the stomach.

He staggered back but instantly recovered to grab her arm as she closed in to finish him. He flipped her down and straddled her. "Sluggish."

"Let me up," she panted.

"Maritz wouldn't let you up."

"I was distracted. I wouldn't be distracted with Maritz."

He got off her and pulled her to her feet. "Why are you distracted?"

"I didn't sleep well."

"You never sleep well. You wander around the house like a ghost."

She hadn't realized he knew. "I'm sorry if I disturbed you."

"You do disturb me." He turned his back on her.

"Go take a bath and a nap. Tomorrow I want you alert and razor-sharp."

Like him. Since they had come back from the mesa two days before, he had been razor-sharp and all edges. She did not know what she had expected, but it was not to have him treat her with brusque indifference.

No, not indifference. She knew he was aware of her, that was part of the problem. He exuded awareness beneath that cool, incisive exterior.

And she was aware of Tanek.

Christ, she was aware of him.

"Go to bed." Tanek closed his book and stood up. "It's late."

"In a minute. I want to finish this sketch." She didn't look up. "Good night."

"I thought you were done with the sketches for Michaela."

"Another few won't hurt before I start painting."

She could feel his eyes on her, but she didn't look up.

"Don't be late. You were so groggy, you weren't worth my time this morning."

She flinched. "I'll try not to disappoint you."

"If you do, you'll go a week without a session. I told you I believed in reward and punishment."

She said quietly, "Are you sure you're not looking for an excuse?"

"Maybe. Don't give me one."

She drew a breath of relief as he left the room. When he was with her, she had to fight to keep herself from looking at him. She didn't want to see his lean body lounging in the chair or his hand turning the pages of the book. She didn't want to smell the scent of soap and aftershave that surrounded him.

She traced in the last few strokes of the hairline. Her hand was shaking, she realized. She hated to feel this weak. She didn't want to respond like an animal in heat as she watched the way he moved across the room. It hadn't been like this with Richard, or even Bill. What the hell was wrong with her?

She put down her pencil and studied the sketch of Tanek. She had thought if she used him as a subject it would act as a catharsis. She had caught his likeness very well. The quiet intelligence, the strength, the intensity that lay beneath the surface, the faint hint of sensuality in the curve of his lower lip ...

Sensuality. Had the sensuality been there or had she let her own obsession color the sketch? She didn't know. She knew only that it was there, stark and raw before her.

She jumped up and stuffed the sketchbook into her portfolio. She was hot, her cheeks flushed and feverish. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. She should never have sketched him. It hadn't helped. Where was the control she had been going to exercise? She wasn't a young girl with hormones raging, panting for her first encounter.

But she felt as vulnerable and unsure as that girl. She had thought she'd passed through that valley of uncertainty. What was the use of being confident in other aspects of her life if she let herself be swayed by- Forget it. Go to bed. Go to sleep. Start again tomorrow.

If she could sleep. She had lain there for hours last night, frustrated, wanting- She would sleep.

She was dreaming again.

Tanek stopped in the hall as he heard the soft, whimpering sounds coming from behind Nell's door.

Dreaming. Hurting.

He should go to his room and forget it. It wasn't as if it didn't happen almost every night. He couldn't help her. He didn't want to help her.

To breach those dreams would be to draw closer to her, and he was too close already.

He wanted to screw that strong, lovely body, not soothe her tortured soul.

Hell, he would go to bed and forget her.

Down, down, down, touching the rose ...

Nell fought her way out of the heavy layers of sleep and away from the dream.

She lay there shaking, trying to control the sobs.

I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry, Jill.

She sat up and thrust her feet blindly into her slippers.

Get away from the bed, the room, the dream ...

The living room. Space, fire, windows ...

She moved quickly down the dark hallway. She could see the glow of the firelit walls of the living room ahead. It was going to be all right. She would stay there until she was calm and then go back to bed and- She stopped abruptly in the doorway of the living room.

"Come in." Tanek was sitting on the leather couch before the fire, wrapped in a white terry robe. "I've been waiting for you."

She whispered, "No, I don't ..." She backed away. "I didn't mean-I'll go."

"And leave me to sit here, worrying about you? Why? Do you brood more efficiently alone?"

"I wasn't brooding."

"The hell you-" He broke off and said wearily, "Sorry. I know you weren't. I'm the one who's brooding. You're just trying to survive. Come on in and we'll try to do it together."

She hesitated. Her feelings for him were confused enough, she didn't want to be exposed to him when she was this vulnerable.

He looked up and smiled faintly. "Come on. I won't bite."

No edge. No sharpness. She came slowly toward him.

"Good." He gazed back at the fire, ignoring her.

She perched on the edge of the stool beside the fire.

"You needn't be so tense. I'm not going to jump on you. Neither physically nor verbally. I don't fight dirty with the walking wounded."

"You don't fight dirty at all."

"Sure I do. You just haven't seen me in the right arena." He reached into the pocket of his robe, drew out a handkerchief, and threw it to her. "Wipe your face."

She dabbed at her cheeks. "Thank you."

A silence fell, only the sound of the crackling wood and their breathing in the air. She began to relax. His silent presence was oddly comforting. This was better than being alone to face the demons. He couldn't share the dreams, but he kept them at bay.

"You can't go on like this, you know," he said quietly.

She didn't answer. There was no answer.

"Tania told me about the dreams. Sometimes it helps to talk. Would you like to tell me what they're about?"

"No." She met his gaze and then shrugged. "Medas."

"I know they're about Medas. What else?"

"Jill," she said jerkily. "What else could there be?"

"I can understand sorrow. I can't understand torment."

"Jill is dead and Maritz is still out there."

"Anger, not torment."

She felt cornered. She wasn't in any condition to accept probing. "I told you I didn't want to talk about it."

"I think you do. I think that's why you didn't run away when you saw me here. What happens in your dream, Nell?"

Her hands opened and closed nervously. "What do you think happens?"

"Are you struggling with Maritz?"

"Yes."

"Where is Jill?"

She didn't answer.

"Is she in the bedroom?"