A/N: This chapter was a little experimental for me. I hope it comes across right. Grace may seem out of character, but she's supposed to, so just roll with it. Enjoy. R&R. Alexandri.

Thanks so much for your reviews. They were encouraging and very helpful. I've made my decision about whether or not Grace is pregnant, but this is not the chapter when you find out what that decision is. In fact, you won't find out for a few chapters. Oh, and I do love critiques. The whole reason I'm doing this, aside from enjoying it, is to improve my writing, so criticism is always welcome if it's constructive.

Chapter Theme Song: Don't Let Me Be Lonely Tonight by James Taylor.

She was there again. Luke opened his eyes and sighed even as a part of him rejoiced to be with her once more. She lay on her side next to him in bed, her head propped in her hand, staring down at him. She was wearing his red and orange plaid button-down as usual. Golden sunlight streamed in through gauzy white curtains, giving her a heavenly aura. Though he didn't look around, he knew that the room they were in was different; the walls were a rich butter-yellow with a soft cream trim, the furniture was all made of warm pine. It was the kind of room he wanted to have when he was older and married—a settled sanctuary of a room. Raising his hand, he stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers, enjoying the warmth of her skin and the coolness of her hair. "Good morning."

She smiled in return.

"I've missed you," he continued. He was used to her silences. "Where have you been hiding?"

Her eyes flickered to his chest and she laid a hand over his heart. She idly traced random patterns on his skin. Prickles of awareness skittered through him. Closing his eyes for a moment, Luke savored the sensation, letting her heat drive back the cold he now realized claimed most of his body. Then she moved closer, her petite body surrounding him. He wrapped his arms around her and smiled when she tucked her head under his chin.

When he was thoroughly warmed, she raised her head and stared down at him again. He pushed her hair off her face and asked the question that had been lingering at the back of his mind since he'd opened his eyes. "Shouldn't I feel something?"

She gave him a slight, sympathetic smile and waited for him to continue.

"Anger or hurt or despair, some deep, painful anguish?" She didn't answer—again, he wasn't surprised—so he decided to confess the worst of his current sins. "I don't. I don't feel anything like that, nothing at all. I'm a little upset that she chose to do it the way she did, but I'm not hurt or anything. Truth is, I'm a little relieved that she realized it, too. Does that make me bad?"

Again she smiled, this time indulgently as if to say he could never be bad.

Luke covered the hand that rested on his chest with his. "You may not think I'm bad, but I don't know. Maybe I didn't try hard enough. Maybe she's the one and I let her slip through my fingers." He raised his eyes to her and frowned cynically. "Maybe I gave up, let go of something real for a fantasy. What sense does that make?"

She squeezed his hand, ever understanding and soft and uncritical, before letting it go and running her fingers through his hair. For a moment, he let her soothe him with her gentle touch then he pushed her hand away.

"Stop it." He stared up at her, the anger, hurt, and despair he didn't feel for Caroline directed at the woman in his arms. "Why do you do this? Why are you here? You don't want me."

And still she said nothing. She merely looked at him like she wanted nothing more than to take his pain, doubt and confusion away for him. She cupped his face in her hands and brought her lips to his. It was a sweet kiss, unhurried and heartfelt. But Luke was aware of the passion simmering underneath. He felt it in his belly, roiling around, slowly scaling it way up his chest into his mouth. Soon he'd clasped her to him, pulling her ever closer, trying to embed her in his skin. She didn't resist; on the contrary, she matched him, drawing him into her even as she pressed against him. When his ardor bested him, he rolled her onto her back. Luke made short work of her buttons and pushed the shirt open. Dragging his mouth from hers, he gawked at the perfection of her body and, with a groan, stroked and sucked and explored her with his hands and lips. She arched beneath him, offering herself to him freely. So freely.

He was kissing a trail from her navel to the springy curls beckoning his touch when he felt her hands plunge into his hair and drag him upward. Staring down into the swirling pools of her eyes, desire blazing in their depths, Luke wrapped her legs around his waist. He was poised above her, ready, eager, almost desperate, and yet he didn't move. She lifted her hips, urging him on, and still he didn't move. Tears formed in her eyes as frustration and confusion warred with her obvious disappointment.

"Why can't I get you out of my head?" he asked quietly. The need to claim her shuddered through him, but his need to understand was greater. "Why do you haunt me, Grace?"

Grace stared up at him, her hands trembling where they touched his face. "Only you know the answer to that," she said in his voice.

Luke's eyes popped open. The clock on his bedside table read 7:56. He shivered in the damp cold of his room and noted the wet, gray Massachusetts morning outside his window. With a sigh, he allowed himself to sink into his mattress and covered his face with his hands. He'd dreamed of her again. Caroline had dumped him not twelve hours ago and he'd come home and dreamed of Grace.

He didn't understand it, this hold she had on him. If he were honest with himself, he knew that he didn't really know Grace well enough to be this devoted to her, this consumed by her. Nothing untoward had occurred between them when he'd gone home for Christmas. There hadn't been any passionate tension or lingering glances or "casual, accidental" touches between them. In fact, there hadn't been any indication that there had ever been the possibility of such behavior. And yet, the dreams persisted. They were intimate dreams, not always sensual, but indicative of a closeness they'd only had once: that week in his apartment. Then she'd left and the dreams took her place.

With another sigh, he put on his glasses and got out of bed to turn on the heat. He'd forgotten to do it when he'd gotten home the night before and he was paying for it now. He went to the kitchen and brewed some coffee while waiting for the furnace to kick in.

It wasn't until he was halfway through his second cup of coffee and the world news section of the Sunday paper that he realized the dream had changed. Grace had spoken, albeit in his voice. There was a time when he would have dismissed this new development as meaningless, but now he wasn't so sure. She said that only he knew why she haunted him. Folding his paper and putting it aside, he settled in to ponder this. He was sure he wouldn't find an answer today but, with little else to do on such a dreary Sunday, he decided there was no time like the present to start figuring it out.