Chapter Eight

The words hung between them. He's got to be kidding. He began to tremble.

A soft sigh, and he looked straight into the crystal clear eyes as the question resonated in his head.

"You look like you're afraid. Of me?" Faint surprise and amusement tinged the tone, and a slight flush blossomed on the redhead's skin.

"Who are you?" he demanded, the spell broken.

The man raised an eyebrow. "Unless I am mistaken, you –did– refer to me as 'the dancer'."

He gulped, his heart racing. We're alone here. It's late. I shouldn't be here. The thoughts raced around his mind, pounding slightly as he gritted his teeth.

"Yohei said your name was Lincoln."

The man laughed softly, and murmured something under his breath.

"What?" he was furious now, for an inexplicable reason.

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'Lincoln'. That's who I am. Most of the time, anyway.

"What?" the redhead's voice was shaky, but held a undertone of impatience and disregard.

"That's what they call me."

He took another step forward, suddenly noticing that in the pale moonlight that covered his vision with ethereal glows, the other man seemed taller, slimmer, his skin toned a darker, richer shade, his eyes glittering in the semi-dark, his clothes encompassing a frame that hinted of leanness and a definite musculature.

I really was thinking about him wasn't I?

Images were beginning to flash in front of him. Dark brown skin. Alabaster skin. Lithe, slender. Expressive honey eyes. Knowing blue ones. A familiar glimmer. Hair the color of flames. Hair that fell in ebony waves. Softness, like silken waterfalls. Sendoh. He makes me think of Sendoh. They're so different…

Yet they're one and the same.

He looked away briefly, trying to control the direction his thoughts were fleeing in.

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The music was mesmerizing in its irregularity, the pulsing rhythms that pounded into the night and into the sky where they were sitting on cushions on the open-air yard. Fuji sat beside Matsui, and close to the latter the bride-to-be leaned on the fenced picket, entranced. Ayako was on Haruko's left side, and beside her were a few others from Haruko's office and her old friends from high school. Not that it mattered to any of them there. All eyes were focused, with good reason, onto the attraction that captivated them, in the middle of the circle.

He was tall, build straight from shoulder to hip and obviously toned muscled legs encased only by a shimmering pair of tight black pants, the shirt having long been discarded along with the coat and belt. He wore a jeweled mask, plumed with feathers that would have appeared tacky if not for the mysterious grace he carried it with. Lines of rich red brocade, dark velvet, electrifying blue strokes, bold across the front of the costume face-cover. Eyes the sensuous color of sun-washed skies, bedecked with the glimmering make-up that lined the almond-shaped twinkle. Pale skin that looked soft to the touch, and invitingly lean to those who watched, afraid to take their gaze away for want of what next surprise he had in store. The man moved with sinuous beauty, his dancing an expression of want, of need, of natural sensuality.

The hot flush that stained Ayako's cheeks was only mirrored, if not deepened, on the bride-to-be's crimson skin.

I want him…

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"Are you all right?"

The hesitant voice broke through his self-induced state of unawareness. Unable to stop the automatic response, he snapped. "It's none of your concern."

Fire flashed in the redhead's glare.

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He has to be one of the rudest people I've ever met…

And yet the dance that night lingered in his memory, insistently refusing to budge, instead it loomed in front of him almost like it was replaying right there, right then. He clenched his fist and the treacherous thought slammed into him before he could think to block it out.

I want to touch him.

Reflexively, he took a step back, a grimace coming onto his face as he looked away and shut his eyes tightly, willing the urges that were threatening to betray his fantasies of deep, dark down, the illogical longing that warned to burst and give way to action. "You're right. It's none of my concern."