Edge Of Midnight. Shannon McKenna

she knew that. But who cared? If the trick worked, she would use it.

      She stumbled in the dark room, tripping over her suitcase, but hesitated before flipping on the bedside light. She had no desire to announce to any malevolent presence outside that someone was in the bedroom. She flipped on the light in the internal connecting bathroom and left the door a few inches open. A fine sliver of light was enough.

      She perched on the bed, and doubled over, pressing her face against those ugly, baggy pajama pants. How pathetically lame, that she hadn’t grown out of this lingering obsession. After thousands of dollars’ worth of head shrinkage, she and her therapist had concluded that she badly needed to transgress against her family’s control. Well and good. She still needed to transgress, evidently.

      What better way to distract herself from all this crap than to drag out her fantasy man, with his gorgeous body, his warm lips, his clever hands? Watch Liv forget the past, her pride, her own goddamn name.

      It was ironic. Their affair had lasted one month. They’d never even had sex. He’d just worked her into a hot, sweaty fever on the phone, telling her how it would be when they finally did the deed. What he would do with his hands, his tongue. And all the rest of his manly stuff.

      Her on her bed, beet red and speechless with longing. Him, slouched in the phone booth, slipping in quarter after quarter so he could keep on stroking her, touching her. Torturing her with words.

      In the hindsight of sexual experience, she knew how improbable his promises were. They’d done nothing but spoil her for the real thing.

      She’d been almost eighteen that summer. She hadn’t known anyone her own age in town, after being shuffled from one elite private school to another. She was shy, withdrawn. The only constant in her life were books. They had been her refuge—until she met Sean.

      It started with that summer school course. She’d gotten a C+ in chemistry her senior year, trashing her perfect four point average. Her mother’s response had been to bully the school into letting Liv retake a summer school equivalent with the hopes of adjusting her grade.

      It was a waste of time, since she was already accepted into the college she wanted, and had no further interest in chemistry. But no. That C+ was a moral failing, to be corrected by wholesome discipline.

      Her mother never imagined what kind of trouble was going to saunter into Schaeffer Auditorium. So much for wholesome discipline.

      The lecture hall had been nearly empty. Most of the students were swimming at the Falls. Liv had been there, though, dutifully scribbling notes. It was surprisingly interesting. The grad student lecturing was great. Kev McCloud was his name, a tall, skinny guy with blond hair that stuck out all over his head. When he talked about chemistry, his eyes lit up like green flashlights. That enthusiasm was contagious.

      Then the door to the hall creaked open. She turned to look, and bye bye, carbon structures. That was the last note she ever took.

      The guy in the doorway looked as out of place as a wild panther. Luxurious blond hair. Sleeves ripped off a denim work shirt, showing off thick, ropy arms, broad shoulders. The lecturer, who she learned later was his twin, said “Don’t come to my class late, you furry little punk.”

      Shocked murmurs and giggles swept the room. The pantherlike apparition was unfazed. “Lighten up, you tight-assed geek,” he replied.

      The guy lecturing rolled his eyes and launched back into his lecture. The panther turned, scanned the hall. His eyes lit on her.

      She looked down, face hot, heart tripping, as he paced to the back of the auditorium. He found her aisle and began slithering towards her between rows of seats. She was hiding in the back behind her hair, the hall was nearly empty, and he was coming to sit with her. She’d entered a parallel universe. The sky had fallen. Time ran backwards. Pigs flew.

      “Is this chair free?” His voice had been so low and soft.

      This one, plus ninety others exactly like it is what she should have said, to spare herself a decade and a half of obsession and regret. But she hadn’t.

      She’d jerked her head yes. Sealed her own fate.

      His body lowered itself with sinuous, catlike grace into the chair. His shoulders were so broad, he exceeded the space alotted to him.

      His bare arm touched her own. Oh. He was so…so hot.

      His arm was thick with sinewy muscles, glinting with sun-bleached hair. She was frantically conscious of that scorching contact between his arm and hers. It was connected to every nerve in her body.

      He smelled like herbal shampoo. His hands, resting on jeans-clad thighs, were long and battered, covered with scratches, ink stains.

      Things like this never happened to her. She let her hair fall across her face and vibrated with emotion, studying whatever she could without turning her head. The holes in his jeans, the split tops of his boots, mended with silver duct tape. The class ended. People rustled and murmured. It made no sense that such a gorgeous guy should single her out. There had to be a punch line. She braced herself for it.

      Then he brushed her hair to one side and looked behind it.

      She made a squeaking sound that only a dog could hear. Every strand of her hair transformed into an exquisitely receptive sensory organ. Hot-cool ripples of excitement chased themselves over her skin.

      He looked into her face, his eyes full of intense curiosity. She was immobile, open-mouthed. Vibrating. Seconds passed.

      “Wow,” he whispered.

      And that was all it took. She was his. Heart and soul. Lost.

      Liv dashed the tears out of her eyes and heaved herself up off the bed. She tossed her smoky, nasty clothes into a pile and plucked her cream silk robe out of her suitcase with the tips of her fingers, hoping not to smudge it. Which reminded her of the greasy handprint on Sean’s T-shirt.

      Of course. True to form. Everything referred right back to Sean, in an endless, obsessive feedback loop. Seeing him had brought back so vividly the way he’d made her feel that summer. Strong and connected, so aware of the grace around her. Certain that all her dreams could come true, because Sean’s very existence was proof of that.

      How unbelievably innocent she’d been. How stupid.

      The closest she’d come to that feeling, post-Sean, was when she finally decided to open her bookstore. Well, hell. So much for that. Maybe it was just a mirage. An ephemeral cocktail of endorphins.

      She stared at her pale, pinched face, the hell-hag snarl of hair. She must have looked like such horrific crap when he’d seen her today.

      And it did…not…matter. Goddamnit. Let it go. Forever. Let a hot shower wash it away.

      Done, purified, she wrapped a towel around herself, opened the door—and would have screamed, if her lungs had been capable of sucking in air.

      Sean McCloud was sitting on her bed.