Twilight Phantasies. Maggie Shayne

and too much stress.

      But he knew my name….

      Simple enough to answer that one. He’d done a little research on the man who’d been harassing him. Daniel was her legal guardian. It was a matter of public record.

      Then why did he seem so surprised when I told him that?

      Good acting. He must have known. He just assumed I’d be the easiest, most effective way to get his point across.

      She frowned at her reflection, not liking the look of disappointment she saw there. She tried to erase it. “He only wanted to scare Daniel into laying off, so he followed me to the rink for that little performance. Imagine him going so far as to actually…”

      She pressed her palm to the mark on her throat, and turned from the mirror. She’d failed to convince herself that was all there had been to it. So many things about the man defied explanation. Why did he seem so familiar to her? How had he made her feel as if he were reading her thoughts? What about the way she’d seemed to hear what he said, when he hadn’t even spoken? And what about this…this longing?

      Blood flooded her cheeks and a fist poked into her stomach. Desire. She recognized the feeling for what it was. Foolish though it was, Tamara was lusting after a man she didn’t know—a man she felt as if she’d known forever. She had to admit, at least to herself, that the man they called Marquand stirred reactions in her as no other man ever had.

      As she stood she slowly became aware of a peculiar light-headedness stealing over her. Not dizziness, but rather a floating sensation, though her bare feet still connected her to the floor. A warm whirlwind stirred around her ankles, twisting up her legs, swishing the hem of the robe so the satin brushed over her calves.

      She blinked slowly, pressing her palm to her forehead, waiting for the feeling to pass. The French doors blew open all at once, as if from a great gust, and the wind that surged through felt warm, heady…. It smelled faintly of bay rum.

      Impossible. It’s twenty degrees out there.

      Yet it lingered; the warmth and the scent. She felt a pull—a mental magnet she was powerless to resist. She faced the heated blast, even as it picked up force. The scarlet satin sailed behind her. It twisted around her legs like a twining serpent.

      Like the mist in my dream.

      Her hair billowed around her face. The robe’s sash snapped against her thighs. She moved toward the doors even as she told herself not to. She resisted, but the pull was stronger than her own will. Her feet scuffed over the soft carpet, then scraped over the cold, wet wood floor of the balcony. The whirlwind surrounded her, propelled her to the rail. She heard the doors slam behind her, and didn’t even turn. Her eyes probed the darkness below. Would this unseen hand pull her right over? She didn’t think she’d be able to stop it if it wanted to.

      God, what is happening to me?

      She resisted and the wind stiffened. The sash whipped loose and the robe blew back. No part of her went untouched by this tempest. Like invisible hands it swirled around her thighs, between them. Her breasts quivered. Her nipples stood erect and pulsing. She throbbed with heightened awareness, her flesh hypersensitive to the touch of the wind as it mercilessly stroked her body. Her heart raced, and before she could stop herself she’d let her head fall back, closed her eyes and moaned softly at the intensity of the sensations.

      All at once it simply stopped. The warmth and the essence of bay rum lingered, but that intimate whirlwind died slowly, giving her control of her body once more. She didn’t know what it had been. A near breakdown? A mental lapse of some sort? Whatever, it was over.

      Shaken, she pushed her hands through her hair, uncaring that her robe still hung gaping, having been driven down, baring one shoulder. She turned to go back inside.

      He stood so close she nearly bumped into his massive chest. Her head came up fast and her breath caught in her throat. His black eyes seemed molten as they raked her. The mystery wind stirred gently. She could see silver glints behind those onyx eyes, and she felt their heat touch her as the wind had when his gaze moved slowly upward from her bare feet. She felt it scorching her as it lifted, over her legs. The hot gaze paused at the mound of black curls at the apex of her thighs and she thought she’d go up in flames. Finally it moved again, with deliberate slowness over her stomach. She commanded her arms to come to life—to pull her robe together. They did not respond. His eyes seemed to devour her breasts, and she knew her nipples stiffened under that heated stare. The man licked his lips and she very nearly groaned aloud. She closed her eyes, but they refused to stay that way. They opened again, against her will. They focused on his, though she didn’t want to see the lust in his eyes. Finally he looked at her throat. The bruise he’d put on her there seemed to come alive with his gaze. It tingled, and she felt the muscle beneath the skin twitch spasmodically. She saw his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed. He closed his eyes briefly, and when they opened again they locked with hers, refusing to allow her to look away.

      Her arms regained feeling and she jerked the robe together in a move that showed her anger. “You,” she whispered. She felt fear and confusion. More than that, she felt sheer joy to see him again. She refused to let him see it. “What are you doing here?”