As beautiful as this book is, the ending always makes me upset, as it did when i put the book down for the second time last night. I had to write a sequel, i had to nurture the feelings which had begun to grow between them so i wrote this and there should be more to come. I hope you enjoy it. I mingled my love of Stolen with my love of Opera in this fic. Please R&R :) God Bless xx

Chapter One: Tomatoes and Opera

"Just don't move" I could hear you saying over my rapid breathing. But I couldn't help it. The great diamond head, tongue flicking in and out, tasting the air, tasting me, made me stumble backwards on the rock I was sitting.

I saw it raise its head, ready to strike. I scrunched my eyes up in bitter expectation of the cruel pain of fangs piercing my skin. Then nothing.

I half-opened one eye. You were standing in front of me, one great, brown hand around the neck of the snake - which struggled against your invulnerable grip - and one hand held out to me.

The hand, which reached out towards me seemed to me so safe, so strong and a greater part of me wanted to take it. There was still a part of me that hesitated though. A part that recalled how you had abducted me, drugged me and taken me away from everything I'd ever known. For the first time however, aside from the previous evening spent under the stars, I chose trust over fear and hatred.

Your blue eyes- glowing as they looked into my soul, half-hiding beneath the golden strands, just above the mouth which characteristically wrinkled up at the corner- pulled me towards you. I found my small, pink hand reaching out and holding onto your own. Then I was up and walking, my smaller footprints leaving tracks next to your larger ones in the red sand as we walked back to the house.

As we walked, you had both hands wrapped around the snake, which struggled fiercely and almost had an expression of vengeful embarrassment at having been thwarted by man. My own hand hung by my side, missing the comfort of yours already. I suspected however that like a magnet, it would soon be drawn back to your own.

You disappeared into the outbuilding while I went into the kitchen to try and ruffle up some breakfast. Up until this point, I hadn't been inspired to make my own breakfast, let alone yours. I didn't know where anything was.

I managed to make some sad-looking tomato sandwiches out of some bread and the contents of a container in the pantry labeled 'Bush Tomatoes'. I figured they'd be the same as the real thing but was shocked to see how tiny they were. I hacked them up anyway and put them on the bread, sprinkling them with some salt and pepper. Then I filled two glasses up with water from the tap – brown with black specks floating in it, yum my favourite- and sat, waiting for you to return.

I heard the fly-screen door slam as you entered and subconsciously sat up excitedly. You smiled then tried to withhold a laugh when you spotted our banquet.

"Hey, what have we got here?"

I felt like a small-child the way you said that. The only difference was I knew it was crap and didn't have any feeling of achievement.

"They're supposed to be tomato sandwiches." I prodded mine with my right index finger. "They totally suck though, I've never been able to cook and I can't find anything in this kitchen."

"Gem, they're fine and I can easily show you where everything is in our kitchen."

I glanced up at you then. Our Kitchen? Since when had anything here been mine. It was then that I realized that everything here always had been. I had my room with my double bed in it, which made your tiny camp-bed look pretty inferior. Those thoughts about beds made me blush so I decided to stop thinking about that and let you fill the silence.

"Shall we eat out the front?" I nodded, stood and followed you outside.

Once again I was blown away by the sheer vastness of the desert and of our isolation. You just plonked yourself down on the bench though and started plowing into your sandwich with a ferocity which did give me a hint of pride, if I let myself admit it. Then you sculled your glass of water and only then, looked up at me and realized that I was still standing there, staring at you.

"Come and sit down." You patted the seat next to you.

I suddenly felt the awkwardness of how I was still standing holding my plate and glass, staring open-mouthed at you. I hurriedly hurtled over to sit down on the bench and felt my cheeks grow hot as your heaving stifling gaze hung upon me. I guess you could tell the effect it had upon me and out of the corner of my eye I felt your smile grow broader. The small part of me that still hated you didn't like the idea of granting you the satisfaction of seeing me blush and I similarly hurtled into my sandwich.

You watched me the entire time but I pretended not to notice. When I finished, we just sat and gazed off into the distance, trying to think of something suitable to say.

"That was a lovely breakfast Gem." I felt your large hand working circles out on the back of my own and your warm breath in my ear. "How can I return the favour?"

"I turned and smiled at you and your grimace faltered. You'd probably figured that I'd ask you to take me into town again but I'd begun to give up on that idea, once I realized that you'd take me back in three months time, and had decided to have some fun instead.

"Some music would be nice."

The relief visibly washing over you made me giggle and your smile returned.

You went inside and I could hear you rummaging around. You came outside with an old record player and a vinyl record.

I guess you noticed the way my face fell. "Sorry" you apologized, "It's all I have, I don't listen to music much."

You set the record player down on the verandah, placed the black record down and put the needle upon it.

Immediately, I was blown away by sheer pitch. What followed was something that reminded me of something off a Mercedes advertisement. I figured it was opera and that was about as far as my knowledge extended.

I got used to it after a while though. You'd sat back down next to me and were watching my facial expression. As the muscles in my face relaxed , I felt the muscles in your strong, brown chest also relax.

"So, what is this?" I tried to make conversation.

"This song is called ' Sempre Libera'. It's from the opera La Traviata and this particular version is sung by an Australian opera singer called Joan Sutherland."

I turned to you and smiled. "I wouldn't have picked you as an opera lover."

Your lips upturned as you looked at me "I like the way it makes you feel as though you're flying and the way it echoes, across the land. I think she likes it."

I realized that you meant the red desert, reaching out around us. I tried listening closely to lyrics but eventually realized that they were in another language.

"What is she saying, what is it about?"

You reclined back into the bench. "She's singing about a man called Alfredo. He loves her and she loves him but she tries to fight it."

I recognized the symbolism. "Then what?"

"She accepts the fact that she loves him and goes to live with him out in the country."

That nagging part of me didn't believe that that was actually the true story. It was too similar to your ideal and sadly, my reality. Another part realized however that you probably had heaps of other records and chose that one especially for its relevance.

You reached out and grabbed my hand again, your blue eyes boring into mine with utmost sincerity and I knew what was coming. "Gem, I…"

I looked up at you with an expression which told you not to continue. I wasn't ready to hear those words again. I was afraid of how they might make me react. When I'd hated you, they didn't affect me but now… I wasn't sure. I'd changed and a part of me realized that really, you hadn't. The only thing which had changed about you was the way I saw you.

I squeezed your hand to let you know that I hadn't rejected you and smiled in return at your smile of joy.

Then I turned, as did you and sank back into the bench, my hand still in yours, listening to a song of love and denial.