There was that pesky feeling again... the warm tingling on her neck. As if someone were breathing softly on it. Only no one was.

Deanna sighed. She lifted her weary eyes from the book she'd been poring over to see those familiar dark eyes boring their way into her soul. Again. Examining, pondering, evaluating her-ruthlessly.

Damn! She felt naked. Not physically naked, but psychologically naked, as if he could see every musing, every speck of pleasure, every fleeting annoyance, even every hesitation she harbored. Everything that was crammed into her groggy brain. She was so damn tired of studying, and those relentless dark eyes just made her feel all the more jaded.

Why did he have to be here just about every time she was? She already knew from past experience that she wouldn't be able to concentrate now. Might as well just give up now instead of spending the next couple of hours reading the same paragraph over and over again, absorbing none of the words.

She would have started going to a different library, although it was inconvenient, being a longer drive, if he were really creeping her out. But amazingly, he wasn't. Besides intruding on her thoughts, he had not approached her at all. She kept telling herself that there was no reason she should have to drive to another library, using up ten extra minutes of her time, just to avoid something she should just be able to ignore, anyway. The problem was, she couldn't. Ignore him, that is.

Derrick slid into the seat beside her, making her startle. He was her friend... sort of. She'd met him at the community college that she attended. They were taking the same creative writing class, and since he sat next to her in class, they'd talked occasionally, gotten along splendidly, and now had sort of an unconfirmed friendship. Derrick knew she came here three or four nights a week to research for a story she was doing for the class, so he sometimes showed up to keep her company. He never bothered her-just sat beside her while doing his own research. She supposed it was because he enjoyed her companionship. They were both the quiet, shy type.

"I see your admirer is here again," said Derrick, being careful not to indicate to the stranger that he'd spied him.

"Yeah, unfortunately. What is it with that guy?" Irritation peppered her voice.

"Like I told you, I think he has a crush on you."

"Derrick, will you stop saying that? He has a book in front of him."

"Yeah, but he's not looking at it most of the time. Nor any other time he's been here."

"Well, I'm about fed up with him. I should go over there and tell him to get lost. If he weren't so damn attractive, I would!"

She'd said it out loud, staggering herself as well as Derrick. She'd known it all along, of course. It was just that she had stubbornly refused to acknowledge it, keeping herself harnessed, and trying to channel her thoughts so she wouldn't stray from her necessary studies.

Derrick's posture straightened noticeably. He took a deep breath. "Ohhhh, so that's it..." Deanna, turning her head and looking at him, saw how wooden he suddenly appeared, could see the realization hitting him, and felt like kicking herself. She hadn't even allowed herself to dwell on the fact that she found the stranger disturbingly handsome, and now she'd just admitted it to Derrick! What a blabbermouth she was!

"I should have known... I couldn't see why you tolerated him for as long as you have. Now I know why," Derrick's voice had taken on a different quality, and Deanna regarded him, assessing him covertly. Were his words and his tone insinuating something? She was so tired, that though normally insightful, she was clueless.

Derrick was a nice guy. Unassuming and very easy to talk to, he was ordinary looking in that he could blend in well with a crowd; he didn't stand out. Light tawny brown hair worn slightly long, as was the style; medium brown eyes and a warm, deep voice made him approachable and likeable, even when he openly admitted he was a book worm, something that was distasteful to some of the other young people in the nineteen sixties. He wore the round Windsor eyeglasses a la John Lennon, and they fit his personality well; the scholarly look became him. He wasn't the type of guy who attracted girls because he wasn't particularly notable, confident or vibrant. He was intelligent though, and Deanna found him very engaging, although she felt no attraction to him other than the fact that he was a challenge to take on in conversation. It was fun to pick his brain. She didn't have to "dumb down" for him. He was up for any discussion, holding his own, usually effortlessly, regardless of the subject.

But as far as the bulk of girls were concerned, sadly, Derrick was rather boring. He didn't lift weights, play sports, and he wasn't taken to dancing or any kind of flamboyance. He just kind of intermixed, never calling attention to himself. Girls were too frivolous to appreciate his mind the way Deanna did. He also had an uncanny way of getting inside people's heads. Listening eagerly, he made you feel like you mattered.

Immediately, she saw a flash of jealousy flicker in his eyes. She was nearly appalled. How could he be jealous? They'd only just become friends a few weeks ago. Guys weren't good at masking that specific emotion. Deanna had come to the conclusion that males displayed jealousy and anger very well, but, for the vast majority of them, other emotions—not so much. Shallow creatures, they were. That was why she didn't have a boyfriend.

To be fair though, Derrick hadn't shown any shallowness until now. It was that primitive male hormone thing that was completely baffling to her. That is, if it really was jealousy she was detecting.

And Derrick didn't have a girlfriend. Unreasonably, she felt distaste. Was that the only reason he showed up at the library? Because he was hoping for something more than friendship from her? She would have liked to be appreciated as a person, a friend, not as someone who might be girlfriend material, or worse, someone to screw casually. She hadn't gotten that impression from him before… but he was a man, after all.

Deanna felt the warmth again, swirling around her like a whisper, and meeting the stranger's eyes for a fraction of a second, it escalated. She had to admit the feeling was enchanting. He sat only a few tables away, facing her. And Derrick saw the whole thing. He saw Deanna's eyes light on the stranger, then flick away. Didn't she know that averting her eyes like that was downright tempting for a guy?

She wasn't trying to flirt, though. In fact, she was getting more and more antagonized by this guy's audacity, even though the enchantment remained. Their eyes had met so many times in the last two weeks that he had to know she was becoming irked by his stares. Yet… he was appealing to her. Terribly. What a contradiction she was!

Something flittered through her belly and spine. That throb, that liquid warmth that she knew could be only one thing. Sexual arousal. She hadn't even dated in about a year. Because of how flakey, arrogant or possessive guys were, she didn't want the complications. They were either too pushy, forward and clumsy, or they were only out to get laid. That was why she had friended—or was in the process of friending, Derrick. He was different… or so she'd thought. But now he was acting strangely affected, and her female intuition told her the green-eyed monster had taken hold of him.

But in the next moment, Derrick was back to normal. His expression belied any trace of resentment. Maybe she'd imagined it.

"How am I ever going to get this story done if he keeps this up?" Deanna implored Derrick.

"The other library…" Derrick began.

"I'm not going to another library that is out of my way! That's giving him too much power!"

"Can't you just not look at him?"

"Well, yes. But every time I look up, I have to be careful where my eyes go. I can't just be myself, and I certainly can't think, knowing he's looking at me."

Derrick nodded his understanding, but who, he wondered, wouldn't notice Deanna? Her fine, naturally honey blonde hair, pretty eyes that were a combination of colors that he'd once read would qualify as "grey," her perfect peaches-and-cream complexion, the sassy way she walked, as if she had all the confidence in the world. But he knew she didn't. She just put on airs sometimes so she could appear to be bold, because that was how she really wanted to be. In reality, she didn't give herself nearly enough credit where her looks or smarts were concerned. He knew that without even asking. It was all there if you cared enough to look for it. And he did.

And he did secretly lust after her. He couldn't help it. She was the type that attracted men like night flying insects to light. She was so indifferent to men—or at least appeared to be, that, at first, they were intrigued, but eventually, when they got nowhere with her, they gave up, figuring she was spoken for, or perhaps they felt they weren't good enough for her. Even though she wasn't beautiful by conventional standards, she was indeed pretty, and she was attractive in so many other ways. Her poise, her personality, once you got to know her, blossomed. He knew she hadn't dated in a long time, because she'd hinted at it. What he didn't know was that she normally wouldn't have given him clues of that bit of information if not for fear he might become interested in dating her himself.

She'd erected a big stop sign. He picked up on a hell of a lot more than she knew. He couldn't help being a bit mesmerized, but she obviously had high standards. That was the vibe she seemed to be giving off, although unconsciously. She was nice enough to him, but he sensed she was off limits to him. There was nothing wrong with that. Either you felt it, or you didn't. You couldn't consciously change it.

Deanna didn't in fact, think much of herself. She wasn't, and never had been, the gorgeous, sexy type that, for instance, cheerleaders or models are made of. She thought those things trivial anyway. Guys did flirt with her now and then, and it mystified her. It was only when she was truly being herself that she noticed men were watching her. She liked to laugh, and she had a unique charm that Derrick had picked up on almost from the moment the two of them had really started talking. He'd not been a threat, and had made her feel comfortable, so she'd let a little of her somewhat repressed carefree temperament peek out when she was with him.

Her friend Cassie knew the "real" Deanna very well, and she often told Deanna that if she'd act natural as she did with her, and not restrained and subdued, she'd have her choice of guys. But having guys who wanted to date her was not what she wanted. She didn't want popularity with men. She had tried to get that across to Cassie, but Cassie didn't seem to digest it. To Cassie, having lots of guy friends to flirt with was the ultimate trip.

When Deanna had had too much, was pushed too far, she did speak up, but not until then. And she was almost to that point now, concerning the guy with the smoldering eyes. If he wasn't so damn cute, she would have been giving him dirty looks by now. Derrick glared, but the guy wouldn't let his eyes settle on Derrick's for a second. He was plainly disregarding Derrick, which got Derrick's dander up.

"Want me to go over and have a talk with him?" Derrick asked Deanna. He itched to tell the wretched degenerate to bug off.

"No! I can handle this myself. It's just that he hasn't done anything, so I, or you, don't really have a right to light into him."

"He's being creepy…"

"He might have a reason. We don't know his story."

"Reason? He's a sicko. Sickos aren't reasonable. You're making excuses. I think you like him, and you like the attention. You just admitted you find him attractive," Derrick knew he was skating on thin ice as he fished for her reaction. He actually thrived on just watching her facial expressions. But he wasn't doing this just to see what her response would be. He was concerned about the guy's possible intentions.

"Good Lord, Derrick. I'll never get my story done, and I'll never become a writer if you don't stop needling me about that guy!"

"You're the one who is freaking out about him," Derrick reminded her.

Davy couldn't quite figure her out. The only thing he knew for sure was that she was skittish. He knew the guy that was often with her at the library was not her boyfriend. Subtle signs were evident. The guy sat next to her, but not in close proximity as a boyfriend would. He'd never seen any signs of affection between them either. Not even any meaningful looks passed between them.

The way she avoided Davy's eyes had him enthralled. She was either very shy, indifferent, or stuck up. She did put on a confident façade that he could see right through. He had experience with women, all types of them. She wasn't fooling him—his gaze was affecting her. How though, he wasn't certain, and because of this, he guessed he could rule out indifference. If she were truly indifferent, she would block him out and pay him no mind, no matter how much he stared. He doubted she was stuck up because of her lack of self-possession. So it had to be shyness.

She didn't seem to be worried that he was some kind of stalker. Even though her eyes would meet his only briefly and rarely, she didn't avoid his gaze altogether. And that told him she probably wasn't afraid. Most girls who liked his type would return his stare, or walk past him purposely, flaunting themselves, or even approach him. She did none of that, and this, coupled with her exotic, unique looks had him entangled in a way he'd never been before. He couldn't seem to get her off his mind. He was, simply, fascinated with her.

Never had Davy lacked for feminine attention. So what was he doing here in the library, at the very least, twice a week, staring at a girl who was obviously only here to study? And one that, in addition, had a guy by her side? And paid him no mind? Davy had picked up the guy's intentions from the very first time he'd seen him. The guy was as taken with her as he was. He was doing a lousy job of hiding it, too. Maybe she didn't recognize it, but to Davy, the guy acted the way Davy felt. A goofy grin, sitting as close as he dared without offending her, stealing sideways glances at her whenever he saw the opportunity. It was pitiful—the guy even stared at her shoe that dangled half- on and half- off her foot as she bounced it, a habit likely caused by her nervous energy. The guy watched her flip her hair over her shoulder when it obstructed her view of the book, whose pages, interestingly, rarely got turned. His eyes wandered to her lips when she spoke. Every great once in a while, his eyes flitted to the front of her blouse, but, knowing this was a risky undertaking, he would rip his eyes away before she could catch him. Davy didn't miss any of it.

The guy had looked at him too, on many occasions. Davy acted as if the guy didn't exist. He wouldn't rise to the bait. The guy was calling his bluff by giving him the badass eye. I'm tough—don't look at her unless you want a piece of me is what the guy was trying to broadcast, but it wasn't working—Davy was not impressed. Davy didn't act guilty either. He was utterly ruthless. Guys like him were a dime a dozen. All dirty looks and no action. The girl didn't belong to him, so she was open season for Davy. He just continued to gaze at her, and to hell with the guy. If he wanted trouble, he could just walk over to Davy, and Davy would slash him to shreds with his tongue. His tongue that could make someone feel as unimportant as a mole. He put obnoxious people in their places. Yeah, in addition to his already sassy, spunky British spice, he'd learned a lot from Mike. It came in handy sometimes. On occasion he would revert to Mike's dry, seemingly lazy method of not suffering fools. He could make people feel as squish-able as a worm under his booted foot. That really made people mad, and Mike would not hesitate to back up his deceivingly languid, but ominous warnings. Davy was just as fearless.

Davy had to be cocky at times, because guys often just assumed he would crumple if threatened because of his height. So he made up for it by being extra insolent, watching his back, and trusting no one until they proved their trustworthiness. But women… well, they were a different story altogether.

He liked to make conquests on a frequent basis. He loved the challenge the difficult ones presented, and he often set his sights on them. If they were too easy, or were all over him, they couldn't be chased, and pursing women was one of his favorite pastimes. So he took joy in breaking down the arrogant, the conceited, the apparently disinterested. Even the apathetic. He knew just what to say, how to flatter, and how to lure them to bed. He wasn't often turned down in the end. It was just a game, really. But he wouldn't pursue a girl who was obviously frightened of him. Only the spirited ones who could handle him. Only the experienced ones who knew how to give as good as they got. After all, he did have compassion and respect for women, even though his actions sometimes seemed to contradict that fact. It was just that the ones with a wild streak got his motor running. Not at the moment, though. This one was anything but wild. Still, she held him firmly enraptured.

What did he have to do, anyway? Keel over on the floor? Bleed all over the place? Start acting like a crazy man by jumping from table to table and dancing on them like a maniac? It was either that, or go up to her and talk to her. Not just talk to her, but sweet talk her. He knew how to do that. But with that cat sitting next to her, things might get uncool. Making eye contact was just not cutting it. It almost always had before, but this time… well, this time he was going to have to work at it. Getting a message across was going to take more than the fractions of seconds he'd actually gotten her to look at him.

Being here in the library had been a mistake to begin with. He'd returned Peter's overdue book, only to find the amount Peter had given him to be fifty cents short. After coughing up the two quarters, he should have just walked out. But then he'd seen some muscle car magazines that caught his interest. From there, he'd gone to the book section, his eyes skimming the shelves. He must have been influenced by Peter and Mike, who were both avid readers. Action, adventure, sports… there was no end to the treasures on those shelves.

Until… until he'd laid eyes on her sitting over at one of the long tables with lots of chairs on both sides, engrossed in a book. Well, she'd looked like she'd been engrossed anyway. That was the precise moment she'd chosen to raise her head, and her eyes hooked his. She'd looked away in a hurry, but it hadn't been fast enough. Now his interest was piqued. Most girls smiled back at him, but this one hadn't even given him a chance to smile at her. Shy? Not used to male attention? He wasn't sure, but there was one thing he hadn't detected, and that was a lack of interest. She'd noticed him alright. He could read girls pretty damn fluently. So now he was determined to see her up closer. That was when he had seen the guy—the same one that was here again tonight, sitting beside her, expectant longing etched on his face. The guy was doing a miserable job at trying to draw her to him. He looked like a puppy who yearned for a bone. You had to use finesse with girls, but you also had to appear confident, sure of yourself. This guy was anything but. He was doing the sloppiest job Davy had ever seen.

God, but he looked hot! A turquoise turtleneck and black jeans, and those sexy boots. Blue and white love beads draped halfway down his chest. A rugged, masculine watch, hair that was so shiny, the harsh library lights glinted off it like bronze. He'd attempted to smile at her, because she'd seen the beginning of it when she had turned her head away from his gaze. How hard it had been not to look at his smile straight on, take it in, enjoy every moment of it. But she hadn't permitted herself to. She'd caught a flash of dazzling teeth, and that was all she had allowed herself.

Davy wanted to walk up to her and gather her hair in his hands, knowing instinctively that it was as soft as it looked. He wanted to slide his fingers lightly along her cleavage that was teasing him mercilessly. Of course, he wouldn't have done that, but just the thought made the blood pool in his groin. Desire stabbed at him, fierce and sharp. A girl hadn't done this to him ever…not this pronounced. He would have had no trouble remembering if it had happened before. She was special, and he was damned if he wouldn't find a way to get past that dork she was sitting with, to have a private word with her.


Things were tense at the Pad. Everyone was touchy. Well, everyone except Peter, who was eternally chipper. Davy didn't know why they were all so testy. Maybe they were somehow picking up on his frustration about the mystery library girl? Nah, things had been getting dicey for a while. They practiced long hours. Mike and Micky were getting on each other's nerves, and Mike had snapped at Davy and Micky for practically squaring off earlier today. Over some stupid little thing.

"What's the matter with you two, man?" Mike was acting as if he weren't guilty of ever being in a mood. He was, in fact, the worst offender. Davy shook his head, not willing to get into a stalemate with Mike, which was usually what happened. Mike meant business when he threatened Micky and Peter, but for whatever reasons—probably because Davy was so much shorter, he never resorted to threatening Davy with bodily harm. He just tried to stare him down—an exercise in futility, as Davy refused to avert his eyes. Just ask the library girl, he thought to himself ruefully.

"I don't even play an instrument most of the time!" complained Davy loudly. "You guys just go and practice without me. You don't need me. I feel like exploding."

"But you sing, and your tambourine and maracas add such a nice feel and rhythm," argued Peter mildly.

"You're a smart ass, David," Mike spoke up in his very frank, cut-to-the-chase way. "Always complaining about your arm getting tired when we practice. You have enough muscles in them that something like that shouldn't be happening."

"You try doing it for hours straight," countered Davy. "Not as much motion and… violence… is needed to play a guitar."

"I like the way you included the word 'violence,'" said Micky sarcastically. "Sounds like you wanna kick someone's ass. Why not just say it out loud?"

"I will, and I do—all of you. Well, except for Peter," was Davy's ready answer.

Peter smiled in his faultless, squeaky clean way. "You can always talk to me about anything, David."

Davy smiled, not able to quell it. Peter could literally change people's frame of mind—even strangers, with just one of his carefree, sunny smiles. No one could get mad at Peter. And if you ever did get mad at him, you couldn't live with the guilt when you saw his crestfallen look. Peter was all about everyone else. He rarely wasted time feeling sorry for himself. He simply wanted everyone happy—peace and love, that was his thing.

"That vacation you won!" Peter suddenly came to life. "It's just what you need! To get away for a couple of weeks. Outasite, man!"

Davy had forgotten all about the vacation. It had slipped his mind entirely. He looked down at the kitchen table, at the two slips of paper that confirmed it. He'd entered a contest he'd seen in a magazine, then had forgotten about it until the call had come, and then the envelope in the mail a week later. Now that he thought about it, it was precisely what he needed. It might help everyone's frayed nerves. But to be gone for two weeks would be deserting the guys.

"I am the best candidate," he said to himself, but still audibly. The others could continue playing their instruments, and Mike and Micky could keep singing with Peter as back-up. They would hardly notice he was gone. A lot of good he did this band. There he went, feeling down again.

"Pete's got a point there, David," said Mike. "Your vocals are coming along so well that two weeks wouldn't even put a dent in the band's progress. We'd just keep practicing, and when you came back, we'd just pick up where we left off. We'd have time to get the instrumentals just right. And we don't have any gigs lined up."

Yeah, thought Davy. Good thing they'd all saved a good chunk from the last few gigs. It would get them by for quite a while.

"Who would I take? It comes with two tickets."

"A chick, of course, silly," said Micky, giggling. "It says 'romantic getaway' on the brochure."

"But what chick? The only one who lights my fire...well, anyway…" he didn't want to reveal his lack of success with the girl at the library.

Peter steered him right out onto the deck and closed the slider so no one would hear. He knew Davy would confide in him because Davy trusted his discretion.

"Tell me, David," Peter's serene voice always had a calming effect, as it did now.

"It's a girl I've seen at the library a few times a week. I haven't even talked to her yet. I just look at her," confessed Davy reluctantly.

"You? You just look at her and don't go up to talk to her? Now you're sounding like me!" Peter was confounded.

"Well, a lot of times, a guy comes with her. He's not her boyfriend, but he wants to be, and I don't want to start any trouble."

"So you've never said a word to her?" Peter just could not envision this scenario.

"No I just try to catch her eye, but she keeps avoiding looking at me."

"But how do you know she'd agree to go if you haven't even talked to her?" Peter's comment made so much sense that it cut into Davy. Of course she wouldn't go with him. She didn't even know him! Except as a creep who stared at her. Why was he even thinking about it? It was ridiculous.

"I never said I'd ask her to go," Davy reminded him.

"Maybe some other girl?" asked Peter.

"I don't dig any other girl right now. I'm hooked on this one," Davy said with a despairing sigh.

"Maybe I can think of a way to stall that guy who sits with her," Peter said, a crease between his brows as he contemplated it.

Davy laughed softly. "Pete, you'd have to stall him forever. I'd have to introduce myself, talk to her, and even then, I'd need a lot more meetings than one to get her to even consider going away with me for two weeks. She'd have to like me, and she'd have to trust me. That takes loads of time and patience."

"The liking wouldn't be a problem," said Peter with a lot more confidence than Davy felt. "But you're right—no chick is gonna go away with a complete stranger, no matter how cute he is." Peter blushed when he said the last sentence. He'd almost given himself away. There was a secret spot in his heart that belonged to Davy. No one knew—not a single soul. And no one ever would know if it were up to him—except Davy…but that would likely never come about, because he doubted Davy would understand, and defining it would be next to insurmountable. Davy might take serious offense too. Well…maybe someday.


If Davy were going to introduce himself to her, not to mention, get to know her, he knew he had to act quickly. He'd hit that library every single night if he had to, until that goofy guy didn't show up, and then he'd go to work laying on the charm. The tickets were only good for another two months. He'd have to apply more caution, diplomacy and finesse than he ever had before with a girl. He'd have to somehow make himself so irresistible that she would end up hooked like he was—not being able to get him out of her mind.

Ah, yes. He was up for a good challenge, and this one ranked right up there with the best. Winning the favor of a very desirable girl always stirred him, amped him up, but this time it was different. There was so much on the line. Not just the vacation, but what she thought of him stood out more than anything else. He wanted her approval. He wanted her to want him. And then he would be able to whisk her away into paradise. Just the two of them. How often did an opportunity like that come up for a young man? One who was in a rock 'n roll band that was trying to gain notoriety, and not really making money hand over fist in the interim. So, this endeavor was of paramount importance to Davy. This vacation could be his ticket to nabbing that girl who had been haunting him for weeks.


The next two times Davy went to the library, the guy was present, and practically clinging to the girl with the blonde hair and gray eyes, devouring her with that look of intense longing that Davy was getting really, really sick of. The girl talked to him on and off, a few words here and there, but she showed none of the classic signs of interest that Davy easily recognized in females. None of the hair twirling, leaning toward the guy of interest, or the almost infallible sign of interest—touching. A girl who casually laid her hand on a guy's arm, hand or shoulder was usually amorous for him. Davy had studied females in detail, and there wasn't a doubt in his mind that the girl might like the guy as a friend, but he didn't stand a chance as big as a grain of sand of getting her romantically interested.

So… the third time, as is sometimes the case, turned out to be the charm. Davy found her alone. Showing up three nights in a row had won him a chance. He knew he had to move quickly. He had to be stealthy and smooth. Not appear to be too smooth though, as that would make the girl more skeptical than she already was. Her manner had indicated she was leery of him. And no wonder…he must have looked half-witted these past weeks. He had to undo that, find just the right combination of confident, friendly, nonthreatening, and then mix it into a perfect blend. It had to be spot-on, cutting edge, or he'd blow everything.

Deanna saw him the moment he entered the library. Every time that damn door opened, she wondered if it was going to be him. Derrick had already told her he wouldn't be here tonight due to a prior commitment. So, when Davy walked in, there was no means of escape. She shouldn't have come here, knowing Derrick wouldn't be here, but she was nearing her deadline, and that had to take precedence.

She tracked him peripherally, even though her head was down, pretending to read. She saw his every step, even saw it slow ever so slightly when he spotted her. Her heart hammered against her ribs, and she sucked in a hearty gulp of air when he sat down right across from her, at the same table she sat at. Shit! He had her. And Derrick wasn't here to protect her.

She was more than afraid. The disquietude he caused made her unable to look up at him. She knew what he could do to her with just a glance, because he'd had her practically gasping for breath the other times she'd seen him, and that was from a few tables away. Up this close… she just couldn't do it.

"Hey…" his voice was soft, and it somehow stroked her, even though he didn't touch her.

"I know you aren't reading. Your eyes aren't moving. Don't be afraid of me."

The British accent caught her completely by surprise, and she went weak and a touch woozy. It was another hazard, as this made him even more attractive to her than he already was. What American girl isn't taken by a positively dazzling man with a British accent?

Her mind swirled with so many thoughts, she was helpless to even put a sentence together. What could she say, anyway? There was not a single thing she could think of that could come out of her mouth, and sound coherent right now.

He had her in his clutches, and she wondered if he knew that…if he did, she was done for.