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Warning - This story contains scenes of explicit sexual content and is rated NC-17. If you are under 17, go away.

Summary: Nick/Nat. Explicit sex, Unpleasantness

"Nat?"

She froze at the sound of Nick's voice behind her, the phone nearly falling from the precarious balance between her chin and her ear. But she didn't turn to face him, to look at him.

Anger was her first reaction; he hadn't knocked or rung the bell to her apartment. And even if he had, she had the stereo on loud for just that reason--to drown him out, to keep him away for just a little longer.

Still wearing in her blouse and skirt from work, Natalie turned the volume knob on the stereo sharply to the left, then grabbed at the phone again. "Grace? You still there? Have you done the--?"

The phone was taken from her. As Natalie turned, she saw Nick's wary smile as he held the receiver up to his own ear. "Grace? Yes, I'm here. All right, I'll tell her. You're welcome." He met her eyes momentarily and she thought she saw some color in his cheeks as he answered, "Thanks for the suggestion, but I think we can handle it. I'll keep it in mind."

Nick hit the button on the phone and offered it to her. "Sorry. Grace called me and told me I had to get you off the phone. Something about you having been off duty for three hours and still calling her every ten minutes?"

He was so very calm, so very charming . . . so very Nick. Natalie couldn't do anything but grin sheepishly and take the phone from his hand. "I've got a lot of work to make up," she offered, a half-hearted explanation at best. Crossing the living room, she placed the portable phone in its cradle, still keeping her back to him. "Bodies only keep so long, even in cold storage. We've got killers to catch, right?"

She heard him walk across the room, felt him standing behind her--not close enough to touch, thank heavens, but there. "How are you?"

Natalie swallowed. And how to answer that one? Particularly since it had been four weeks to the day that she'd made him take her home after her two week convalescence at his loft, three weeks since she'd been back at work--despite Paula's orders to the contrary--and at least a week since she'd seen him.

"Nat?" he asked softly.

The fear in his voice ripped at her heart. Somehow, she forced a wan smile and turned to face him. "I'm . . . okay."

He took a step closer, eyes very cautious. "Are you?" Another step toward her--

And she turned away again, focusing on the curtain at the window. It was fraying in the corner. She'd need to fix that. How did things like that get damaged, anyway? No one ever touched it and it was too high for Sydney to reach . . . .

"You've been working day shift."

Just a statement. Or an accusation masquerading as a statement. Or a question masquerading as an accusation masquerading as a--

"I thought--" Her voice faltered and stumbled over the word as she felt him draw nearer. Closing her eyes, Natalie fought to keep her tone even. "I thought . . . maybe I needed a change. I've been so tired since . . . easier for my body to catch up with normal hours. Besides, it's been a while since I've seen a corpse in sunlight. Adds a certain cache' to the whole thing, y'know?"

"No. I wouldn't. It's been awhile since I've had that privilege."

She could hear the frustration in his voice, the questions that he wasn't asking--why she hadn't answered his calls, why she'd avoided him even on the few occasions this week when their shifts had crossed--and silently prayed that he'd continue not to ask them.

But the silence was infinitely worse. Another step and he moved closer still--if she turned she'd touch him. And she was determined not to turn. Not now. Not yet . . . .

"I was worried. And . . . I've missed you."

It was so a small thing, his fingers brushing her hair from her shoulder, the lightest touch against her neck . . . and she shuddered. A small, frightened sound escaped her lips before she made the effort to lock them shut.

Physically, he remained close, but as she turned Natalie realized that the distance between them had suddenly grown insurmountable. Panic struck her when she saw the resignation in his eyes, the sad acceptance of that sudden revulsion she'd shown him.

"I'm sorry," Nick whispered. His hand half-raised as if to touch her face, then he pulled it back slowly. The fingers clenched into a fist, which dropped to his side. His expression seemed to dissolve into a mask void of emotion, cold and impenetrable. "I won't bother you again."

And then he was gone, the sound of the front door closing behind him barely echoing in the room before she'd had a chance to move.

It was his eyes that haunted her. No matter how much he'd tried to mask the hurt, how good he was at pretending that she was just another speck of dust in his already filled-to-overflowing hourglass, his eyes betrayed him. She saw the hurt there, the loss, the self-recrimination . . . .

Natalie closed her eyes, her own hands clenching into fists as she faced her own bout of blame. Stupid, stupid, stupid! How could she have done that? It was too soon, that was all. Too soon. She'd felt guilty about holding so tightly to him, wanted to give him some space, give herself some space. If she'd only told him that, if she'd done something else, said something else--

Her eyes shot open in panic. Nick was gone and only God knew where he'd end up. She had to find him. She couldn't let it end like this. She couldn't let him think . . . what the hell could he think? That she hated him? That she loathed him for what he'd done?

It hadn't been his fault. She had to let him know that. Just as she had to keep her own fears bottled deep within her heart. That was the way it always was. If Nick was going to leave her--fine. But not like this. If he left it would be his choice to leave. And if he stayed . . . that had to be his choice as well.

A lump in her throat, she ran to the door, grabbing her purse and car keys on the way. Natalie snatched her coat in reflex, moved out into the hall, then turned to lock the door behind her. Her fingers shook as she fumbled with the key in the lock and she cursed at it, demanding that it fit.

It did, of course, in time. But she didn't have time. She had to go . . . where?

She took the steps out of her apartment building and down to the street more slowly as she considered. By the time she'd reached her car she'd decided on the Raven first, then the loft. The club was on the way, after all. Nick might just go there. He might need something stronger than the cow blood in his refrigerator and much as she valued their relationship, she doubted--or perhaps 'hoped'-- that this setback wouldn't be enough to reawaken the need to kill. The Raven would be a place to find bottled human blood.

The Raven would be the place to find LaCroix.

The thought helped her make it to her car in one piece. That was one confrontation she couldn't let happen. The last thing she wanted was Nick playing knight-errant and confronting LaCroix on her behalf. If she wanted to confront LaCroix, she'd do it on her own, damn it. She didn't need him bruising his ego and breaking glass to protect her . . . especially when he'd done so much more during the past few weeks.

She'd awakened with a groan when the medication had finally worn off. Pain had been a very large part of her immediate reintroduction to reality . . . and so was Nick, suddenly beside her, tapping pills into his palm and coaxing her to swallow them with water.

Having had just enough self-possession to know that one and one still equaled two, Natalie had managed to get across to him that she'd be more than happy to take one pill, but if she took both she'd never make it to the bathroom . . . which was her second priority, right after finding something that would downgrade her agony from a raging inferno to a dull roar. That had led to a brief argument about how, exactly, she would get to the bathroom--which Nick had won when she'd lifted the covers and found that not only was she wearing a large and comfortable flannel nightgown, but that there were certain limbs that hurt too much to move. Nick had resorted to threats about calling Paula before Natalie had relented.

He'd lifted her with such care that she'd slapped him lightly, promising him that she wouldn't break. But the bathroom had led to a second encounter--Nick had placed her on the toilet, but he hadn't left the room.

She'd waited for a few seconds, bladder ready to burst and her nightgown bunched up on the back but falling demurely over her front and legs, before she'd realized that he had no intention of leaving. "Shoo," she'd told him. "You can wait outside. The pill won't kick in for a while. I'll be fine."

Nick had smiled and shaken his head, his refusal adamant. "Dr. Corey said I should stay."

"Paula said--?" She'd contemplated the statement for a moment, then nodded her grudging acceptance as he'd leaned casually against the wall across from her. "Okay. I'd think twice about bucking Paula. But . . . no listening."

He'd raised his eyebrows, then pointedly fixed his complete attention on the shower nozzle as if it suddenly seemed a likely source of impending disaster. That didn't do much to ease the awkwardness of the situation for her, but it did allow her to begin to urinate.

The trickle stopped almost as soon as it started, her muscles cramping and pulling taut to cut off the flow. It burned. And not just that irritating, annoying burn of a casual yeast infection or a scrape. It hurt.

She heard a whimper and wasn't entirely certain that it had come from her until she found Nick was on his knees beside her, his hands on her face, lifting her chin so that she would look at him. "Nat?"

The tears were welling up in her eyes and she couldn't stop them. The drugs had just begun to work and that and the humiliation of the situation broke down what little was left of her reserve. She began to sob, hopelessly embarrassed, and unable to stop. The fullness of her bladder only added to the torment. She wanted to die.

He'd placed his arms around her and held her, so that she cried into his shoulder. Nick had stroked her hair and muttered soothing sounds, which had seemed to help after a little bit. Then he'd very gently pulled back from her and looked into her eyes. "Dr. Corey warned me you might have a problem. There doesn't seem to be any hemorrhaging, does there?"

His voice had been quiet and steady. She'd forced herself to focus on his expression and his eyes and had sniffled slightly as she thought about his question. If she'd started bleeding, Nick would have known it. He was trying to bring her back to a clinical way of thinking, detaching her from her pain.

"No," she'd answered, after a pause, voice shaking. "No. It just . . . hurts."

"Do you want me to give you the other pill?"

After the brief splatter of urine, the pressure on her bladder had begun to feel life-threatening. Natalie shook her head and bit her lip, knowing that she couldn't wait until the pill took effect. "I can't. I can't wait."

"Then you have to go."

It had been simple when he'd said it. The solution had been so very obvious.

And painful.

She'd shaken her head again and closed her eyes, thinking that if she ignored the pressure of her full bladder, it might just go away.

"Nat--"

His voice had been soft, but filled with warning. When she could bring herself to look at him, she'd blurted, "But it hurts!"

Nick's arms had wrapped around her again, protecting her as best he could . . . and comforting her because that was really all he could do. "I know," he'd whispered, as she'd sobbed into his shoulder again. "I know. Trust me. It'll be okay."

After it was over, when she'd cried herself beyond tears and the pain had been offset by the medication, he'd left her for a moment. Natalie had rested her head in a towel bunched over her lap and knees, face still flushed red with humiliation. Distantly, she'd heard running water and looked up.

Nick had run a bath for her. He added something to the water, then he'd leaned in to test the temperature with his hand. When he'd realized she was watching, he'd smiled at her, said, "Dr. Corey's orders," and risen to his feet.

It took her a minute to realize that he was offering her the second pill and she took it this time without any qualms. Nick somehow got her to lift her arms up and removed her nightgown with a deft skill that probably would have alarmed her if she hadn't been zoning on pain killers.

The bath was only a hazy memory--being lifted into a bath chair Nick had placed in the tub, then being gently buoyed by the warm water. Her muscles had relaxed and she'd had enough presence of mind to know that she was missing out on enjoying a wonderful experience. Nick had been expert, careful, and gentle in his treatment of her, expertly washing her hair and rinsing her off as she drowsed. When he'd lifted her from the tub, she'd had less than an instant to feel the chill of the air on her water-soaked skin before she had been wrapped in a large fluffy towel. She'd drifted off into a sound slumber somewhere between being dried and dressed in a fresh nightgown and tucked into bed again.

Two days she'd spent in that blissful nirvana, being cared for and comforted. He'd fed her soup while soft music wafted from a CD player somewhere in the background, and kept her clean and dry and warm.

When she'd finally awakened from her drugged stupor and the pain wasn't quite as bad as it had been, she'd hesitated before moving. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness after a few seconds and she'd looked around, knowing somehow that Nick was nearby.

He'd been asleep in a chair by the bed, head bowed forward and resting on his chest. There had been a book on the floor; it must have fallen out of his hand when he'd fallen asleep. He'd looked utterly and completely exhausted and yet his sleep was uneasy--his head turned, a hand shifted, and he muttered quiet sounds beneath his breath as he dreamed.

She'd watched him for a time, frowning as he twitched. Natalie had known full well that when Nick slept, he didn't suffer from tossing and turning. She'd seen him dead to the world on the couch often enough. When had Nick last had a good night's sleep? He'd been completely out of it immediately after their encounter with LaCroix. And even through the drugged haze of the past few days, she couldn't remember the weight of his body sinking the bed beside her . . . which meant he'd exiled himself to the couch or to the chair, watching her while she'd slept.

Finally, she'd reached out a hand to touch his shoulder--

Nick had jumped from the chair, awake instantly. For a moment she'd thought she'd spotted a hint of gold in his eyes, but that had given way to a concerned blue. "Nat--uh--are you okay? Your pills--"

He'd been close enough to the nightstand to reach it easily. In his haste, he'd knocked over the bottle, spilling the pills.

Natalie had caught his hand, pulling herself to something more resembling a sitting position . . . and found that it didn't hurt quite so much as she'd thought it would. The movement caused him to stop, to meet her eyes . . . and she smiled at him in reassurance. "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"I wasn't sleeping." A light smile had been the answer when she'd raised an eyebrow. "Just resting my eyes." Nick had seated himself on the bed beside her, her hand still holding his. He'd looked down at it in wonder. "You need to take your pills."

"No." The comment had earned her a sharp look from him, but she'd frowned, determined to stand her ground. "I don't need them--at least, I don't need that dosage. Not now. I'm pretty sure I'm through the worst of it."

"I think we should have a second opinion on that--"

"I know what I'm doing. I'm a doctor, all right?"

There'd been an instant of cold in his features, a falling of a mask over his face as he'd turned his head away. Natalie had cleared her throat. "I'll be okay. Really."

She'd squeezed his hand to regain his attention--it worked, because he'd looked back at her, meeting her eyes. His gaze had been careful, exacting, studying her for any sign of pain. After a moment, when he'd seemed to have decided that she was telling him the truth, he'd nodded and then gestured toward the nightstand. "It wouldn't hurt to take one, would it?"

"One would work," she'd agreed. "But only if I can get out of this bed."

Nick had picked up the pill, holding it between his fingers carefully, then had given her a questioning glance. "And go . . . where?"

"Anywhere. Downstairs." Natalie thought for a moment. "TV. I wanna watch TV. And I want ice-cream--pistachio, no nuts. And hot chocolate. And--"

Nick had held the pill up for closer inspection. "It's a good thing you're off these, because I think I'm going to need them."

That had been the first week. They'd survived it with good humor and medication and Nick carrying her until she could walk . . . and then often scooping her off her feet and carrying her anyway when he thought she was straining herself. He'd kept her warm and fed and entertained . . . .

And, by the end of the week, at such an emotional distance, she could have been in the next building instead of seated beside him on the couch. He'd been afraid to touch her, to be too close to her---or that was how it had seemed. His fear for her had driven a wedge between them . . . and then she'd started to succumb to the fear as well.

There was a space across the street from the Raven. Natalie roused herself from her reverie, parked the car, and took the keys with her. She should have locked it, but didn't, in too much of a hurry to get inside, to find Nick to see . . . .

She wasn't quite certain.

The Raven was lighter, brighter than when Janette had owned it, and had acquired the air of a carnival peep show somewhere along the way, with painted ladies and a low scent that spoke of sex and sleaze. She clutched her purse to her side automatically and made her way through the crowd, heading for the bar . . . until she froze when a hand grabbed her elbow.

The move was so reminiscent of Nick that she expected to see him, but found her gaze meeting that of LaCroix instead. He was wearing a black shirt buttoned high, almost to his chin, and an air of authority so thick that you would have needed a search and rescue team to find your way through to the other side. He leaned close to her ear, whispering "Not here. Someplace more private."

Despite the thunder of the music, she heard every word distinctly, as if they'd been alone in an open, empty space. Without showing any hesitation or weakness--or so she hoped--Natalie nodded her agreement. The touch of his hand on her arm seemed less insistent as he guided her through the crowd of dancers, who parted easily for him and, in turn, her. There were a few curious looks as she passed. Not that she cared.

It was apparently his office. He drew her into the darkened room, just inside the door, then left her there. A second later and a light shone above his desk. LaCroix straightened and folded his arms, regarding her with a thoughtful look as he leaned back against the desk. "He's not here."

"Isn't he?" She let just enough challenge slip into her voice.

"I have no reason to lie to you. And it's not my fault you've misplaced him, so don't take that tone of voice with me." Then LaCroix's sharp and cold attitude softened into a slight smile. "Ah, my poor, dear Natalie . . . you haven't misplaced him, have you? You've driven him away."

So quick, so accurate--she shivered slightly at the assessment and looked at the couch against the wall, a filing cabinet, an end table, a chair. "Yes," she admitted, after a pause. And then, "No. It was--"

"A misunderstanding?" LaCroix's voice practically oozed with sympathy and he clasped his hands together as he walked toward her. "There, you see? Didn't I warn you? Nicholas was bound to be unfaithful to you sooner or later. He has two mistresses far older and more seductive for him than you could ever be."

Mistresses? Natalie turned to face him, chin raised defiantly at his words and all too aware that her blouse revealed a bit more of her neck than she would have liked. Janette she knew about. But Janette was gone. Was there someone else--?

"Self-pity and despair," supplied LaCroix with a smile, as if he knew that she'd misread his words. He shook his head sadly. "Did you really think your love for him would keep them at bay?"

Natalie had a sudden flash of memory--Nick's face when she'd turned toward him, the resignation in his eyes. She didn't see LaCroix, couldn't see him for that instant of hurt in Nick's eyes that had then been consumed by that cold, hard mask. "Is he gone?"

"You're asking if he's left . . . what? This city? His current life? You?" LaCroix turned away. "No . . . not yet."

She took a step toward him, then another, following him as he walked over to the desk. "But he is planning on leaving? You know that?"

"If you're asking if he's spoken to me, no. We've only spoken twice since the . . . incident." He reached down to the desk and picked up a watch, a pocket watch, from the blotter. Flipping it open, he added, "Things have not been this strained between us for some time."

"Can you stop him from leaving?"

LaCroix snapped the watch shut, then folded his fingers closed over it. When he looked up at her, his eyes were positively cold. "Why would I want to do that?"

"Our agreement . . . ." Natalie stopped herself, meeting his gaze evenly. "No. Forget I said anything. You're right. You stayed away for a month. You did what I asked you to do. Threatening me wouldn't help either of us right now."

"How perceptive." He took a step toward her, but she stood her ground, even as he raised a hand to her face and ran his finger along the line of her jaw. "What will you do, dear Natalie? How will you keep Nicholas here? Are you willing to, as they say, put it all on the line? Is he really worth that much to you?"

Natalie stared into his eyes. "You tell me."

For a moment, LaCroix's finger lingered on her lips, then he drew back his hand. He carefully placed the watch on the desktop, turning from her. "You'll be certain to let me know of the outcome, won't you?"

"You'll know, one way or the other."

"Yes." She saw his sly smile in profile. "I will, won't I?" But then he turned and fixed her with a warning gaze over his shoulder. "I would advise you to take care. Not for your sake, but for his. If anything happens to Nicholas--"

"Let me guess--fires of hell and all that sort of stuff?" she asked, forcing her tone to be light.

His smile was anything but amused. "You understand."

There was nothing more to say. LaCroix turned his attention from her and back to the watch on his desk blotter, his words a very abrupt dismissal. Natalie paused for a moment, fuming, but then marched to the door. She wandered her way through the crowd in the Raven, no longer protected by LaCroix's commanding presence, but her attitude made more than a few of the patrons clear a space for her as she passed.

At any other time, that would have amused her. Now, she ignored it. Her visit here hadn't been a complete failure. Nick hadn't left yet. Which meant that he was probably at the loft.

Her stomach twisted at the memory of the place. Natalie opened the car door automatically, then seated herself behind the wheel. By the end of the first week at the loft, things had changed between them.

Nick had gone back to work by then and she'd found herself falling into a pattern that she'd grown used to during her night work shifts, her body clock adjusting so that she could sleep through the day. She'd watched television and tapes, listened to the radio--pointedly ignoring the Nightcrawler's broadcast and wishing that she could effectively scratch that marking from the dial on Nick's stereo--perused Nick's bookshelves for something to read, until he realized what she was doing and offered to pick up something more to her taste . . . and was generally bored.

It had been three days into the second week when he'd returned to visit her on his dinner break, as he'd done the two days before that. She'd been stretched on the couch wearing a pair of overly comfortable sweats and skimming a book on some long-ago Franco-Breton conflict, trying to determine whether Nick read about the history he'd lived through simply to get a better overall picture or because it amused him when historians blundered so badly about great movements and epic changes which Nick had understood as a series of misunderstandings, hot tempers, and bloated egos.

Natalie had peeked over the edge of the couch as he'd entered, then shifted herself to a sitting position. She'd folded her arms and rested her chin against the leather, watching him. "You're late."

"Work got a little busy."

His hair had been ruffled and his jacket askew; he'd been holding a brown paper bag awkwardly in the crook of his right arm. Despite the wonderful odors of Chinese cooking that wafted from it, Natalie had risen carefully from the couch--some sudden movements had still caused her pain--and had walked toward Nick as he'd placed the paper bag on the table.

"Hope you don't mind Chinese," he'd said lightly. "I was in the neighborhood and thought you might enjoy a change."

"In the neighborhood, hmn?" Natalie had continued to ignore the bag, concentrating on the way his jacket had been thrown slightly off his shoulders. She'd reached out a hand to adjust it before he'd realized what she was doing . . . and saw the blood stain and hole that he'd been trying to hide. She'd looked up at him--

Nick had merely grinned, almost guiltily. "It's nothing. Small caliber. You can take care of it after you eat."

"I can take care of it now," she'd informed him sharply. Pulling out a chair from the table, she'd pointed to it and said, "Sit!" then turned and headed toward the staircase.

Nick had been there before her. "You're not supposed to be going up there--"

Hands on her hips, Natalie had stared at him, suddenly angry that he was being so protective, that he was fool enough to get himself shot, that he was a vampire and thank God that he was or that bullet might have punctured a lung and she'd have gotten a call that he was in emergency or dead or . . . .

"I've been up there three times tonight," was the best she could manage.

"Then that's three times too many." Nick had taken her arm and tried to lead her to the chair she'd pulled from the table for him. "You know what Dr. Corey said--no exertion--"

"It's not like she knew you were going to get shot." Natalie had wrenched herself free of his grip, turned toward him--and that sudden anger evaporated when she saw the hole in the shirt again. "Stand still," she'd ordered, then she'd pushed aside his jacket and begun to unbutton his shirt.

Nick hadn't stood still. He'd moved back a step as soon as her fingers touched his shirt buttons. She'd been startled by the sudden movement, by the desperate look in his eyes. And then he'd stepped forward again to catch her hands in his, whispered, "I'll get the bandages," and had been gone before she'd been able to blink.

She'd clenched her fists, forced herself to be calm--he knew she hated that--and had seated herself on the chair at the table. Fists resting on the tabletop, Natalie had forced her fingers to unclench, resting her palms flat on the table. The glossy darkness of the table top had made her reflection dark and distorted. It had been hard not to think, not to react, but she'd centered on that nothingness during the time it took him to return.

Ten minutes. Ten minutes to get a roll of bandages and scissors and antiseptic from the bag he'd retrieved from her car last week, when she'd finally convinced him that she'd felt naked and vulnerable without it.

Nick had placed the items on the table silently, almost directly into her hands. The balled up gauze rolled across the table and she caught it--just as his hand reached it, too. She'd looked up at him when their hands had touched . . . .

And he'd pulled his hand away. Slowly.

"You'd better have a seat," she'd warned him. "This may sting a little."

If she'd expected some witty comment, or any comment at all, she'd have been disappointed. The silence was almost frightening as Nick pulled up a chair beside her own. He'd already unbuttoned his shirt--his jacket having been disposed of somewhere upstairs, or so she'd gathered--and slipped one arm from the sleeve so that she had access to the left side of his rib cage.

She'd gotten used to fishing bullets out of him. Over the years, she'd made a careful notation of the different sessions; there were times when he'd felt pain and others when there was no sensation at all. This one had seemed to be the latter, because Nick had merely stared at the far wall as she'd worked, with not even a flicker of an eyelash as she carefully sliced the skin around the wound with a sterilized scalpel in an attempt to find the bullet.

"So," he'd said, in a very ordinary, conversational tone, "how has your day been?"

"About the same. I read. I recuperated." The blade had contacted the metal casing of the bullet and she blindly found then picked up the sterilized incision forceps she had on the table as she'd kept her eyes on the wound. "If I'd known you were going to get shot, I could have spent some time getting my stuff ready."

"I didn't know I was going to get shot."

"Well, that's your excuse for not calling ahead, then." Biting her lip, Natalie had carefully withdrawn the bullet from the wound and dropped it onto the sterilized pad she'd placed on the table. The wound itself hadn't needed any stitching--Nick's wounds seldom did--and once the foreign object had been removed she could almost see the cells begin to regenerate. In two hours time the wound would be nothing more than a memory . . . but she'd swabbed the area with antiseptic and placed a bandage over it anyway, erring on the side of caution.

When she'd looked up, she'd found that Nick had picked up the bloody bullet between his thumb and forefinger, eyeing it carefully. Her hands were still gloved so she plucked it from between his fingers. "Give me that."

"It's evidence."

"And where are you going to say it came from?" When he looked away, she picked up a plastic bag and opened it, then slipped the bullet inside. "I can give you a Forensics run on it when I get back. I'm guessing this guy took a couple of shots at you--?"

"A woman, actually."

"Really?" She'd raised her eyebrows as she swept the soiled disposable items together into a large piece of plastic and walked over to his wastebasket, shedding her gloves in the process. "Equal opportunity gunman. Or is that gun 'person' now?" Before he could answer, she'd returned to the table and gathered her used instruments together on a larger piece of gauze. "In any case, you can probably dig another shell out of a wall somewhere as a cover. Try not to get shot again until I can get these sterilized, okay?"

"Nat?" He'd caught her arm when she'd turned to move away. "What have I done?"

She'd hesitated, dropped the instruments back on the table when she'd decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, then sat down on the chair beside his. "You didn't call." Somehow, she'd managed to look up at him, to meet that earnest--but somehow distant--gaze. "I could have had this stuff ready. A bullet's nothing to you now, but if you become mortal you're going to have to get used to . . . ." Her voice trailed off as he turned his head. "What?"

"Nothing."

"'Nothing,' my ass!" Natalie had leaned forced, placed her hand on his thigh--

She'd felt his leg tense beneath her touch. In fact, his body had seemed to freeze and the room was unnaturally still for an instant. Natalie had lifted her hand from him and rested it on her lap, staring down at it as if it had betrayed her.

"If," he said, almost spitting the word. "If I become mortal . . . not when?" Nick had risen to his feet and taken a step away, his back toward her.

"I meant when," she'd said quickly. "It was a slip." Natalie had placed a hand on the table, all but pushing herself upright. "Nick, I didn't mean--"

His back had straightened, stiffened . . . then his head bowed, turning slightly. She'd followed his gaze to the refrigerator, where he kept the cow blood that he drank. That he'd been trying not to drink, since she'd been here.

No matter how hard he tried to hide it, she'd noticed. Sometimes it was the desperation in his voice, a hint of weariness that couldn't be ascribed to the distance she felt growing between them. A part of her had wanted to walk over to the refrigerator and snatch the bottle from the shelf and hand it to him, demanding that he drink it. But another part of her had known that it would only defeat what they were trying to accomplish.

By the time she'd looked back to him, he'd slipped his arm back into his shirt and had been fastening the buttons. He'd walked the long way around the room and the couch was between them. "I've gotta get back--we've got a perp in holding and I told Tracy to keep him on ice."

His voice had been so normal, then . . . as if he'd been speaking to a stranger. Natalie had turned, her hand still pressing down against the table, knowing that it would support her. Nick had approached her, the slightest smile on his features. "Thanks for the patch-up."

She'd closed her eyes as he'd kissed her forehead lightly and had found that she couldn't open them, even as she heard him walk to the elevator. "You'll be back--?"

"Before sunrise," he'd called, in a light tone of voice.

"Don't cut it so--" She'd heard the elevator door bang closed and opened her eyes. "--Close."

And that had been one of their better nights. She'd tried to slip away from the loft without his knowing twice before she'd finally succeeded in convincing him that it was time she went home. Then it had become a matter of ignoring his phone calls, avoiding him at work. Cruel, but compassionate, she'd decided. She couldn't deal with him. Not yet. Not now.

But if she couldn't deal with Nick now, she'd lose him . . . forever.

Natalie parked beside the Caddie. She turned the engine off, then sat there for a long moment, looking up at the lights in the windows. She wasn't really certain she could do this. There was still time to turn around and go home, to give up, to save what was left of her sanity and her life. If she played her cards right, in three years she could be married with a house and a yard for Sydney to play in, a baby on the way and a husband who worked nine to five (AM to PM) and . . . .

God, just the thought of it scared the hell out of her.

Pulling the keys from the ignition, Natalie decided that there was no use putting it off any longer. As it was, she'd probably pushed her luck.

He hadn't changed the access codes and by the time she pushed aside the elevator door and walked into the loft, she'd only thought about turning tail and running four or five more times. A quick glance around the room was cheering--there weren't any dustcloths to be seen yet. Although he could be in a such a hurry that he wasn't planning to bother with them.

A noise from the second floor caught her attention. She turned and found him leaning against the upstairs railing by the bedroom door, watching her. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a cotton shirt that had soft blue stripes running through it. His expression was . . . guilty, but that was covered up quickly enough by that very proper, emotionless mask.

"Thought I'd say good-bye." Natalie tossed her purse to the couch and pushed her hair back from her face as she walked toward the staircase. "See if I could help you with anything."

There was hesitation on his part--surprise at being caught out? Or that she was being so helpful? Natalie didn't bother to guess but tried to match his mask.

It worked. Something in him seemed to ease. Nick nodded, as if to himself, then headed down the stairs toward her. "I think I've got everything taken care of. I'll send for the rest later on."

"Oh. Well, if you need something packed, I'll take care of it. You know how movers break things." He'd reached the lower landing. Natalie met his gaze with a slight smile. "And . . . I guess there's one more thing."

Nick raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Your promise." When he simply stared, she smiled. "You promised to make love to me one more time before you left."

Nick swallowed and looked away. "I didn't promise--"

"Yes, you did."

"It wasn't a promise. I said--"

"You said--" Natalie took a step toward him and placed her palm on his cheek, turning his face toward her. "You said--"

He caught her hand in his and touched her palm to his lips. "I said that if that happened, I'd never be able to leave you." For a long moment, Nick held her hand in his, staring down at it, his thumb lightly caressing the back of her hand. "We can't."

Dropping her hand, he walked around her, toward the windows. Natalie took a deep breath, but refused to move. "We can. We've made it work. We've proven it will work."

There was pain in his voice as he stopped at the window and leaned his hand against it. "You can't call that 'making love.'"

Natalie hesitated, biting back her immediate response. "Oh . . . no? Granted, there was a certain amount of 'animal' lust involved, but I thought, I felt there was something more." Tears threatened at the corners of her eyes; she wiped her lips with her fingers and cleared her throat aloud. "But if that's what you think, that's all it was to you--" She couldn't finish, even as he looked at her with guilt-stricken eyes. Heading for the elevator at a quick walk, she said, "Have a nice life, Nick."

"Nat--no." He was there before her, folding his arms around her and holding her tightly. "No. That wasn't all it was. You know that." He pulled back from her just enough to look into her eyes, to reassure himself. "You know that."

She fought hard not to respond to his embrace, not to give comfort where no comfort could be expected in return, but it was that desperation in his gaze that battered down all the lies she knew how to tell herself to save herself pain. "I know."

"I hurt you." He pulled her close. "Nat, if I stay, I'll only hurt you again."

She placed an arm against his shoulder and locked her elbow in place, holding him at arm's length. Natalie met his eyes and said evenly, "If you want to leave, I can't stop you. That's your choice. But don't lie to yourself about it. And don't lie to me. Don't you think I deserve better than that?"

Nick pulled back from her slightly, his hands resting on her shoulders. "I'm not lying. I don't want to hurt you again."

"I know that." Her smile was sad as she brushed the corner of his mouth with her fingertips. "Maybe I got hurt, but you got hurt, too. We hurt each other. That's something we have to deal with."

His jaw tightened and his hands dropped from her shoulders as he walked away from her, toward the window again. "I'm fine."

She saw it then when he walked away--a way to get past her own fear, her own terrors. If she concentrated on him, helped him sort out his own demons, maybe it would be enough to help her face her own. It was so obvious a solution and she railed at herself for not having seen it earlier.

Then again, she was here. Maybe she'd known the answer all along and didn't dare admit it to herself because if she'd thought about it, she would have run screaming into the night.

All in all, Natalie decided, her subconscious was damned clever. Perhaps dangerously so.

"Fine?" she echoed, letting him hear the incredulity in her voice. "I pulled a bullet out of you and you couldn't bear being touched."

"You flinched, at your apartment."

There was a note of petulance in his voice. Natalie walked over toward him, careful to keep her distance physically, if not emotionally. "Yeah. I did. I'm sorry. I didn't think I was ready to deal with it, to deal with you, yet." His gaze moved from the window to meet her own--that mask was back in place and it almost broke her heart. "Damn it, don't you shut me out! I made a mistake, okay? I should have told you what was happening with me, what was going on. I thought I could handle it. I couldn't. And I don't think you can, either."

He swallowed again and, for an instant, that carefully controlled expression faltered. The weakness was minor--another second and the mask returned, this time his tone of voice was cold as well. "I'm fine. I've healed."

"Physically, yes. A hell of a lot faster than I did." She took a step toward him, then another when he didn't turn or walk away. "But if you leave now, like this, it's going to be a long time before the rest of you heals." Natalie reached out to take his hand in her own, folded his fingers through hers. "It's all right if you don't love me. I can understand that. What I did was stupid--"

His fingers tightened around her own. "Nat--"

"I made a deal with LaCroix and I never gave you a choice. I made the decision. It's my fault."

It was when her voice broke that he drew her closer into his embrace. He rested her head on his shoulder and she felt the pressure of his hand against her hair. "I don't blame you. And you can't blame yourself. It's not your fault. We've been through this--it's LaCroix. He did this to us." His words whispered against her ear. "And I won't let him win. I won't let him make me hurt you again."

"Then he wins either way, doesn't he?" She pulled back to see his face. "If you stay, you're afraid that you'll hurt me. If you leave, you will hurt me . . . and hurt yourself. Either way, he gets what he wants--he tears us apart."

Nick closed his eyes. "He always wins, Nat."

"Well, not this time." When Nick's eyes opened at the vehemence in her voice, Natalie knew she was on the right track. "You don't know why he did this to us, do you?"

Wrong question--that carefully blank expression returned. "Because I told him what we were doing; I threw it in his face--"

"No. No, not that." Natalie reached up to press her hand against his cheek. "No, that's not all. Nick--he didn't believe you. Because . . . well, because what we did shouldn't have happened."

"Of course it shouldn't have happened." He released her and pushed her back slightly, so that he could walk away. "I shouldn't have let it get that far. I knew the risks--Nat, I could have killed you at any time. Those chains would never have held me--"

She followed him, hurried after so that she could grab his shoulder and turn him toward her. "No--listen! Forget about the chains. Forget about everything except us. We made love. A mortal and a vampire made love . . . but you didn't bite me. You climaxed, but you didn't bite me." She watched his eyes, hoping that it was sinking in. "Paula said that's not supposed to happen."

He stared at her as the words began to make sense, then looked away, nodding thoughtfully. Nick fell back onto the couch, lowering himself down to the seat with one hand. "She's right. It shouldn't happen. That's why I was surprised the first time . . . ."

It was Natalie's turn to feel her way down to the seat of the couch. She suddenly realized exactly what had happened that first time--Nick had tried to please her, all the while expecting absolutely no release for himself. Just the thought of it made her want to cry.

But she closed her eyes and fought back those tears, instead forcing her voice to an even tone as she said, "He wanted proof. That's what LaCroix told me--he didn't believe you. I think--I think he thought you were lying."

"Lying?"

The catch in his voice startled her--Natalie's eyes opened and she met his gaze. If anything, Nick's crooked smile alarmed her even more. "Nick?"

"He put us through that--put you through that--because he thought I was lying?"

There was a note of barely controlled anger in his tone. She reached over and grabbed his hand, which was resting on the back of the couch. "Hey, can you blame him? The only reason Paula believed me was because she saw the evidence for herself. She said--" Natalie took a deep breath and made herself hold his gaze. "She asked me what I'd been doing to your blood chemistry. She said that you're . . . different. That your body isn't behaving the way a vampire's body should."

Nick's fingers tightened over her own. "You mean . . . it's working? I'm becoming mortal?"

There was such hope and, at the same time, incredulity in his voice--she couldn't deal with the contradiction and wondered how on earth she should answer, settling on the truth only after a moment's reflection. "I don't know. Paula thought that if you went back to human blood, it might go away. We're doing something right. At least, I think it's right. I don't know. I can't be sure. But it's possible--" Natalie wasn't ready for it, wasn't prepared for him slipping closer to her on the couch, wrapping his arms around her, and kissing her.

Not that she minded. It was a long, slow kiss, with no malice aforethought. It sucked the wind right out of her lungs, along with her tonsils, and when Nick's lips finally parted from her own for more than a second at a time, she was feeling decidedly light-headed from a lack of oxygen.

He was raining kisses down the side of her neck when reality kicked in. Grabbing his shoulder tightly with one hand, she pushed him back against the upper cushions of the couch with the gentlest of pressures. "We have . . . we have to take this slow," she said breathlessly. "We don't know--"

"I know." He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles, grazing the skin with his teeth.

It sent a shiver through her . . . and not a sign of hesitancy or revulsion on her own part, she was happy to note. That led to another kiss and Nick's fingers fumbling with the buttons on her blouse. When she tried to help him, he brushed her hands aside, so that she started to work on the buttons on his shirt, instead. Then his hands were beneath the cloth, stroking her breasts through her bra, squeezing the flesh lightly between his fingers so that she moaned even in the midst of a kiss, breathing into his mouth.

Her hands explored as well--his chest muscles beneath his T-shirt. There were lines to draw against his skin through the light fabric and the barest scratch of her fingernails against his flesh made his nipples harden.

But then his mouth left her own and his hands caught her fingers. Nick sat back, pulling away from her. "Nat--the chains . . . I couldn't sleep with them in the bedroom. They're gone. We can't--"

"We can." She leaned forward, her fingers interlacing behind his head as she pulled him into another kiss.

But Nick disengaged quickly, his breathing ragged as he turned away from her, as if to free himself from temptation. "We can't. I can't. There aren't any chains. And even if there were--I couldn't do that again."

Natalie tried to regulate her breath, to will away the flush of warmth that had spread throughout her body.

It didn't work.

Concentrating on Nick helped, especially noting the lines of misery that he tried to hide from her when he leaned forward and rested his face in his hands. She could see the tightness in his shoulders through his shirt.

Of course he'd gotten rid of the chains and manacles--she hadn't remembered seeing them when she was convalescing. He'd probably had the good sense to dispose of them when she was out cold, under medication.

Not that they'd do much good. The chains had broken once, which meant they could break again--Nick wasn't about to make any allowance for the fact that he'd thought LaCroix was about to kill her when he'd summoned the superhuman effort needed to free himself from those restraints. They wouldn't work; he didn't trust them anymore.

The question was, would he trust her?

And just how far could she trust him?

Time to act, not to think, to take comfort where comfort could and would be found. He wouldn't deny her that much. And so Natalie moved close to him and placed a hand tentatively on his shoulder as she asked, "Hold me?"

It took Nick a second to respond, to rouse from the latest pit of despair into which he'd thrown himself and their chances for any happiness. He leaned back against the couch and folded his arms around her as she rested her head on his chest. His right hand was on her hair--a steady pressure that fell into a stroking pattern when he leaned his chin against the top of her head.

It was comfortable, being surrounded by the scent of his aftershave, his hand in her hair, his cool flesh beneath her hand. Natalie felt his heart beat--a sound so old and empty that the echo of it seemed to rumble through his chest as if in memory. Her own blouse was open and the apartment was cooler than it had been while she'd been convalescing there, so she wasn't sure whether the temperature or having him so near accounted for the hardening of her nipples. There was always the possibility that the plan forming in her mind was also causing that outward reaction--

He was interested--the fact that Nick had lowered his head and was burying his face in her hair at the moment was a clear sign. But he was afraid. And why not? The last time they'd been together, he'd been treated brutally. She had to deal with that as soon as possible, because if she left it up to him, he'd spend what remained of his existence as a sexually-battered, frustrated, and ill-tempered vampire. She couldn't do that to him. She couldn't do that to the rest of the world.

So she splayed her fingers lightly across his chest. When that didn't seem to provoke a reaction, she let the hand move lower, caressing his skin through the T-shirt carefully, until she reached the noticeable bulge at the crotch of his jeans.

'Reaction' would have been too delicate a word. At only her touch, Nick went absolutely still. She was certain that if his heart had been beating more frequently, it would have stopped. "Nat--?" he whispered hesitantly against her ear. "What--?"

"Sssh." She waited until he raised his head and met her gaze. "I'm taking care of you," she said softly. Then she leaned forward to kiss him.

She'd begun to learn the language of his responses to her and now was the time to put her past lessons into practice. The kiss was careful and cherishing, more maintenance and remembrance than the passionate foreplay he'd backed away from a few moments ago. This kiss was to let him know that he was loved, that she'd take care of him, and even leave him alone if that's what he really wanted.

Nick's response wasn't in the least ambiguous--he didn't want to be left alone. As she continued to stroke the denim, she felt him relax slightly, some of that sudden tension easing from him. This much he could handle. Which meant that it might be time to move things along a little.

Natalie raised her hand to his belt buckle and very carefully began to loosen the clasp. His breathing became a little more ragged, but he continued to kiss her, allowing her to take the lead in this. It wasn't until she actually undid the buckle, unbuttoned the top button of his fly, and began to undo the zipper that he stopped again.

Nick's eyes were closed--she saw that much before he leaned his head against her own, taking a deep breath and releasing it against the open collar of her blouse. "Nat--"

A warning. A worry. But it was the fear she heard from his tone that strengthened her resolve. She reached inside his jeans and his briefs to touch him. Only her fingertips at first, her touch feather-light, but then she grew bold enough to rest her palm against his shaft, cupping it in her hand.

Nick shuddered against her, his arms still around her even though she was the one comforting him. With each subtle stroking touch of her fingers she felt his shaft harden. It seemed as if one tension relieved the other--she could feel some of the fear burning from him, consumed by his increasing lust. His fingers entwined even more tightly within her hair as she wrapped her fist around him and added a light pressure to her movements.

Nick's arms tightened around her--not so tight that she felt uncomfortable and couldn't breath, but a small flicker of fear swept through her at the realization that he might not be in enough control of himself to notice the difference between the two. She kissed his cheek, his neck, his shoulder . . . all that she could reach of him as he hid his face within her hair. She heard him moan, heard his heart beat twice in less than eleven minutes, and fought back her own small terrors, locking them away with the knowledge that this was the right thing for him.

Then his hand moved from her shoulder. He caught her wrist in a tight grip, stopping the movement even as she stroked the length of him.

"I want you," he whispered, his voice rough-edged and deep. "I want you so badly . . . and I can't have you."

Nat released his shaft, turning her hand to entwine her fingers with his. Nick pulled back from her to face her, to look into her eyes, his own blue and so very sad. He darted forward suddenly and kissed her, the crush of his lips against her own telling her just how high his passion had risen, the play of his tongue in her mouth speaking volumes about the depths of his desires.

Cupping his face with her hands, she gently drew back from the kiss, careful not to give him any indication that she might be rejecting him. "You--" Her own voice abandoned her, lost in the sensations that were awakening within her as she'd tended to his arousal. "You can have me."

Again, the sad eyes, an even sadder smile as he reached up with his fingers to trace the line of her nose, the side of her mouth. "No chains."

"We don't need them." She planted a quick kiss against his lips, her hands remaining on either side of his face. "You can do this. We can do this."

His eyes closed and Nick leaned his forehead against her own. "I'll kill you."

"Think a lot of yourself, don't you?"

With a heart-felt sigh, he pulled back from her and placed his hands over her own, pulling them from his face and grasping them tightly. "Nat--"

"Okay. Okay." She grinned--couldn't have done anything but for that moment, when he grinned as well--then sobered when she saw the light in his eyes dim and his smile fade. "We can do this. Just . . . just don't bite me."

"Don't . . . bite you." He nodded once, as if trying to give the idea the consideration it deserved, then looked away from her. "Can't be done."

"It can." She squeezed his fingers hard, making him meet her gaze again. "You can."

"It's never been done," Nick explained, his voice taking on a long-suffering tone. "I've never heard--"

"Just because you've never heard of it happening before doesn't mean it can't be done. Right?" When he looked away from her again, she leaned forward and butted her head against his chest. "Nick! Come on! I told you--Paula said we're unique. Even if no vampire has managed to do this before, you can . . . not that I think no one's done it. You guys aren't all that hot on sharing information, especially that kind of information." When he looked back at her, she saw some small fissures in that obstinate, absolute conviction that they were doomed. It was as if her words had begun to break his resolve, given him some hope. "Besides," she whispered, pulling her hand from his and sliding it down the length of his chest, "we've done something we shouldn't have been able to do--according to Paula. We've just bucked thousands of years of vampire experience. We've done the impossible."

His eyes met hers, searching, as if for some fault or flaw. "You trust me too much."

"I love you too much," she responded, expression serious, even as her hand moved to the opening of his jeans. "It's risky. I know that. But we've made it this far. We've done something that your friends say can't be done." She reached inside his jeans and briefs, running her fingers over his softening erection. Nick shivered noticeably, but his gaze remained locked with her own. "We've made history. Why else would LaCroix--?"

Nick lowered dropped his hand and removed hers from the inside of his jeans. "Do me a favor," he whispered. "When you're doing that--don't mention his name."

"Sorry."

Her light tone let him know that she wasn't all that contrite, but that she understood. Nick leaned forward to kiss her lightly--a brief touch of lips to lips--and his fingers intertwined with her own again. His eyes were shadowed, somewhat sad, as he asked, "Are you sure?"

There was only one answer to that. "I love you."

His lips touched her own again, but less chastely. Mouth met mouth, tongues played, and she wrapped her arms around his neck to hold him to her. It was only as Nick kissed her cheek and began to trail kisses through her hair, pausing to nibble at her ear, that Natalie realized she hadn't thought this far ahead. What if he couldn't do it? What if Nick couldn't break the biological imperative, separate himself from the vampire instinct to feed and procreate through blood? What would she do? What could she do?

Closing her eyes, she shuddered as a memory of their last time together smothered her senses--feeling filled by him, but the pain of that thing as it scraped her raw while simultaneously digging those sharpened barbs into his shaft . . . .

Her fingers dug into the flesh of Nick's arms and she buried her head in his shoulder, trying to silence the small, frightened whimper that rose from within her. Even as he tried to pull away from her, she held him tightly, forcing herself to acknowledge the fact that she wanted him now, desperately. That the fear could be overcome. That she could not hurt him this time. That their first time together he'd agreed to her experiment because he wanted to please her, that he'd intended for her to take her pleasure from him and believed he'd be left frustrated.

Nick's hand stroked her hair and he whispered soothing sounds in her ear as he held her, rocking back and forth slightly. She closed her eyes and reveled in the closeness of him, in the pressure and security of his embrace. This was more than she'd ever thought she have again. Couldn't this be enough?

Despite the fears for himself and for her, despite the memories that gnawed at her to give up and surrender to the realization that what she really wanted was unattainable, some small and quiet part within her couldn't stand the lies. It answered, 'No,' in a whisper.

And she knew that she would be strong enough for this, even if she couldn't be strong enough for both of them any longer. Just as she knew that if it didn't happen now, it would never happen again.

When she opened her eyes, she found that Nick was watching her, concerned. "We don't have to do this," he said softly--and she could see him recognize the lie behind his words.

"I need this." Natalie swallowed, able only to deal with the honesty of it. "I want this. I want you."

He kissed her again with tenderness--yes, she definitely liked that cherishing kiss most of all, because even though it lacked the toe-curling, spine-tingling force of full passion, it warmed places in her soul that passion could never reach. This was the right thing for them. Nothing that felt this right could be wrong.

The kiss changed, deepened into a hungry exploration. Her body pressed along his even though they still remained seated. Nick's kisses left her lips, drifting to her chin, then down along her throat to her chest. There was an audible 'snap' as the front of her bra was torn and she felt the chill of the air on her flesh just before the touch of his fingers, feather-soft, danced across her skin. There was a pause when he discovered the slight scar on her left breast, beside the nipple, where he'd pierced her. And then he began to kiss and suck and pinch and caress in earnest, as if trying to erase the mark and the memory of it from her flesh.

Natalie moaned in answer, kissing his hair, even as her hands felt his chest through his T-shirt. Running her fingernails across his nipples sent a shudder through him and he groaned against the flesh of her breast as she played with him. When her hands traveled further, grasping the waistband of his jeans to push them down, Nick rose slightly, pulling his knees beneath him but not missing a beat as he caressed her breasts and nipples with his lips and fingers. By touch alone, she eased his jeans over the smooth skin of his thighs and his briefs went with them. Her left hand cupped his scrotum, warming him, and rubbing the sacs gently, while her right found his shaft. She'd stroked him to a near-erection before and now he was responding quickly, almost desperately, rising firm and shivering at her touch.

Nick's fingers slipped just inside the waistband of her skirt. For a second she considered helping him, but then he reached around the back to find the zipper. The cloth drifted down over her hips and fell to her knees, her pantyhose and underwear following. His hands were cool against her skin, sliding over her backside, cupping her flesh and pulling her against him tightly as their mouths met in another kiss.

The force of it was frightening, a desperate intensity that both terrified and excited her. Natalie's hands rose to his shoulders and she clasped her fingers together behind his neck, needing to find some connection to reality despite the heady swirl of sensations that engulfed her. She felt Nick's hand slide beneath her, his fingers stroking and caressing her so that she panted against his lips, kissing and breathing mingling together, one reluctantly giving way to the other in turn.

It was when she felt his finger enter her that a sudden chill stole over her, a stillness that dampened her ardor like a bone-drenching November rain. She tensed against and around him. He withdrew his invasion just as quickly and she ducked her head to pull herself closer against him

It was completely understandable, considering what had been done to her. A mental review brought up all sorts of information about dealing with victims of rape and sexual trauma. She knew the questions to be asked and how to ask them, the samples to be taken and how they should be labeled. She knew who to talk to, where information should be sent, what procedures should be done. She knew a half dozen counseling and crisis center numbers.

"Nat?"

Natalie told herself that she wouldn't cry. A few tears gathered and she squeezed her eyes even more tightly closed in an attempt to cut them off. The concern in his voice, though, nearly did her in.

"Just give me . . . a second," she managed, swallowing hard in mid-sentence when the tears threatened again.

"It's all right--"

"No. I can do this," she said sharply. Then, as his arms encircled her tightly, repeated to herself in a quieter, shakier voice, "I can do this."

She knew this was too soon. She needed counseling. She needed hand-holding and caressing and care-taking that didn't involve the pressure of intercourse. Intercourse, hell! Having intercourse with a vampire who was worried about ripping her throat out was way beyond 'pressure.' She was in this so deep she'd need time in a decompression chamber before her equilibrium ever returned.

She wanted him. She wanted him desperately. The touch of him, the scent of him engulfing her, was enough to stir some warmth to life inside her. But the fear was what worried at her, putting out the fires as soon as they'd begun. In theory it was easy enough to handle, but the reality of that one finger entering her, of finding her so taut and tense and tight had brought everything down to basic physicality.

She knew the right word--discomfort. There would be some 'discomfort.' She'd torn a few things last time, enough for Paula to have sewn her up in two spots. It would heal, that's what Paula had told her. No permanent damage. Maybe a little tightness her first time out of the box, what with the internal scarring, the sensitivity of the membrane and tissue and muscles that had been bruised, abused, and battered. Minor discomfort.

Nick shifted, but she held onto him tighter, warning, "If you let me go, I'll never speak to you again."

"I won't hurt you."

"I'm not hurt. I'm scared. There's a big difference." The little voice inside her called her a liar, but she shushed at it and told it to go away. Natalie raised her head to look at him and met his eyes, which were worried and guilty. "I want you. I want this. I just need a second." She raised a hand to his face when she saw the scowl start to form. "Just . . . love me."

There were tears at the corners of her eyes again. Nick hesitated, then brushed them away with his fingertips. "You're so beautiful," he whispered. "So amazingly beautiful."

He knew how to cherish with his words, as well as his kisses. His fingertips ran down her arms, her blouse having been tossed away at some point, and he divested her of the remnants of her bra. He held her breasts in the palms of his hands as he kissed her, fingers splayed and gently teasing. He spoke with warmth and tenderness, with softness, in breaths between kisses, the sounds whispering across her flesh.

The sense of them was less important than the sound and the intent. His words alone could have done such things to her, but his caresses and the touch of his lips drove back many of the cold and shadowy fears that had settled over her. She felt warmed by him, comforted and then excited, as his kisses grew more passionate, his touch more forceful even as it remained gentle.

Natalie yielded to the insistent pressure on her shoulders and Nick pressed her backward, against the cushions of the couch. He drew her skirt from around her knees and threw it aside, then drew off the rest of her hose, his fingers trailing down her calves and ankles, then massaging the soles of each foot. She rested her hands behind her head for a moment, watching him as he stepped to the floor and let his jeans and briefs fall away. His shirt followed and then his T-shirt beneath that.

He stood there, looking down at her with an expression that alternated between awe and concern. Finally, he offered his hand to her. "We'd have more room upstairs--?"

That cold feeling stole through her at the memory of the bedroom and what had occurred there. Natalie shook her head slightly and took his hand, pulling him to sit on the couch beside her. "No. We'll have plenty of room here."

He seemed unconvinced but sat down on the cushion beside her. Suddenly, Nick started. "Almost forgot." He leaned down and picked up his jeans. After rummaging in a pocket for a minute, he withdrew a small foil packet that she recognized as a condom.

Natalie couldn't help but laugh at his look of pride. "You've been carrying one of those around with you?"

The look of pride turned to a guilty smile. "It's been my good luck charm." He tore the package carefully, tossed it aside, then held the condom between his thumb and forefinger.

There was something in the way he looked at it, a reflective expression that she found charming and, at the same time, distressing. "Nick?"

"Just thinking." He held up the condom for her inspection and added, "And I can do this myself."

"I wasn't going to say anything."

His shaft was semi-erect, still hard from her latest attentions. He addressed the problem with such a look of serious concentration that she wanted to laugh--but her smile faded when she realized that he had his own problems to deal with. She wondered if it might be better if she looked away, but she wanted to see him, needed to make sure that he was going to be all right with this. And, once the condom was in place, his mood seemed to lighten somewhat . . . but only until he turned his attention back to her.

His hand rested on her cheek for a moment, then cupped her face. "If you have any second thoughts, about us . . . ."

"No second thoughts." She took his hand between her own and touched it to her lips. "No regrets. I trust you. I love you."

"No more than I love you."

Nick leaned down to kiss her and she could feel his hand shake in her grasp. It actually made her more at ease, knowing that he was nervous about this. This was like the first time between them all over again, but now there seemed so much more at stake, so much more danger involved. The chains had freed them, to some extent. Now it was fear that they had to break and escape.

One kiss and another, they followed with pauses for breath in between. His fingers on her breasts and nipples ignited the feelings that his touch had stirred before and that she'd thought her fear had quelled. Each caress built upon the sensations stirred by the one before, until his head moved lower and his mouth continued what his deft fingers had begun. They, in turn, danced along her ribs, stroked the length of her thighs, then found their way to more sensitive areas.

Again, Natalie wound her fingers in his hair, gasping as Nick played her with a touch as delicate as she'd seen him use on the piano when drifting through a Chopin waltz . . . and with just as much confidence and command. More, perhaps, now that he'd had some experience with her, because there was no false start or error in his movements. If he'd taken notes before, they'd remained engraved in his heart and fingers. She moaned beneath the soft and studied siege of her senses.

If anything, her response seemed to make him bolder--he grazed her breast with his teeth, pressed his fingers into her flesh with such force that she bucked and cried aloud at the sudden bursts of pleasure that sang through her. And then she looked up to find him kneeling between her legs, poised to enter her.

The sudden realization that penetration was imminent sent a chill through her. Natalie shuddered involuntarily and closed her eyes. Discomfort, that was it. Minor discomfort.

"Look at me," said Nick, his voice quiet. "Nat, look at me. I won't hurt you. You know I won't hurt you."

It wasn't hypnosis that he was using, but compassion. Opening her eyes, she met his gaze and smiled, his arm reaching up so that the fingers on his left hand intertwined with her own. He positioned himself to enter her with his right, looked down to make certain, then began to press against her.

She nearly panicked at the first short, stab of pain--for a second she forgot to breathe. Nick stopped instantly, his gaze meeting and staying with her own. But the feeling subsided almost instantly and, after a few alternately deep and shallow breaths, she nodded.

He entered her slowly. It might have been her imagination but she felt the motion within her, pushing forward an inch at a time, his movements careful. There was a little pain, but it wasn't the tearing and scraping of their last encounter. She felt herself adjusting to accommodate him, twinges striking her every few seconds as he rubbed against a scarred area or stretched something that had tightened when she'd healed. Her head fell back against the couch cushions and she forgot to hold her breath as she panted, enjoying the luxury and frustration of his seemingly interminable entry. And then she realized that his shaft was completely inside her, to the hilt.

Nick leaned forward, placing his hands to either side of her, and kissed her slowly and deeply. There were tears at the corners of her eyes, relief and joy combined, and he kissed away those as well. And then he began to withdraw from her, just as slowly as he'd entered, until only the tip of his shaft rested within her. Coherence wasn't a real possibility any longer--she murmured something, pleading with him to keep going, that she was all right. That's when he began to thrust in earnest. His strokes alternated between fast and slow, but it didn't seem to matter. At some point she rode a wave of sensation to its crest . . . and didn't come down, no matter how he varied his technique or rhythm.

Shudders traveled through her, leaving her muscles limp and unresponsive, until a second wave surprised her. If he was still thrusting into her, she was only dimly aware of the sensation, her mind overcome by the bliss experienced by her body. Muscles contracted, relaxed and contracted again and she really didn't care. This was what she'd missed when he'd been chained--yielding control of her body and her pleasure to Nick and his eight hundred years of experience. Every subtle shift, every brush of a hand or press of a fingertip sent a fire racing through her or added to the one that was building up from just a second before. No movement was wasted, no territory unexplored, and just when she thought she'd reached the point where she could take no more, another wave passed through her, leaving her nerve endings raw and alight.

It took a few moments for her to sense the change in him, to realize that Nick's movements were no longer centered on her, but on himself. His forward strokes became more forceful, quick and steady. Nick's eyes were closed and his jaw was clenched as he held himself above her, thrusting with abandon. He was groaning as he pulled back and pushed himself within her so deeply she could have sworn her fillings were about to come lose. Another deep thrust, then a third, and a fourth--

He fell against her, shuddering in climax, and she felt the twitching of his shaft within her. His face was pressed against the side of her neck, pushed tightly against the flesh of her throat and she felt the kiss of his lips. Her heart stopped as she waited for the end, for his teeth to tear into her, to rend her flesh. And no matter how much she feared it, there was a part of her that was excited at the thought of finally experiencing that one, unknowable sensation before she fell into darkness.

It never happened.

There was an insistent pressure against her throat; she could feel the hard sharpness of his teeth even through the softness of his lips. But his mouth remained closed as he growled into her neck, fingers catching and pulling in her hair while the shudders passed through him. She'd wrapped her arms around him the instant he'd fallen upon her and she continued to hold him as her own tremors subsided.

It seemed like an eternity until she saw the tension ease out of the muscles of his shoulder. For some reason, Natalie felt like crying again as she stroked the back of his head and held him close to her. Nick took a long, deep breath as he slipped out of her, then raised himself slightly to look down at her.

His eyes were blue--true blue--and she saw no sign of gold within them. He hadn't bitten her, hadn't killed her.

The realization seemed to strike them both at the same time, because he leaned down to kiss her as she rose to kiss him. It was a soft and easy kiss, then Nick slid down beside her, pushing her away from the inside of the couch. Smiling, he rubbed her right arm and shoulder lightly with his fingertips. "I think we can call that a success."

"Ummm." Natalie stretched her legs and curled her toes appreciatively, gazing up at him with half-lidded eyes. "I'm going have to keep an eye on you from now on. Walking around with a condom in your pocket . . . ."

He grinned and ducked down to kiss her ear. "Well, I wanted to be prepared, just in case the urge struck you at a crime scene or something." The grin disappeared and his eyes narrowed, she felt his finger stroking the skin along her arm. "You're all right?"

"Fine." She stretched again, then gave a groan as a thigh muscle tensed. "No--I'm okay. Just wasn't ready for that work out. God, if I could clone you, box you, and get you in stores by next Christmas, I'd make a mint and drive Stairmasters straight into the ground."

"I'll take that as a compliment." His hand shifted from her arm to her breast, caressing it lightly as he frowned again. "Nat--I smelled blood . . . ."

"Don't panic. I'm fine. Really." She reached up to kiss his nose, then fell back onto the cushions, exhausted by the effort. "Paula said I could expect a little stretching and tearing. 'Minor discomfort.' It wasn't anything I couldn't handle. And, believe me, it didn't last long. What I do have to remember is how strong you are." She closed her eyes and snuggled up against him.

"More bruises?" he asked sympathetically, his fingers still lightly stroking her breast.

"Those I'm getting used to." She opened her eyes and gave him a mock-fierce stare. "But I think the last of it knocked a couple of my fillings loose."

There was a faint tint of pink in his cheeks--what passed for a vampire blush and which she only noticed because they were so close. He leaned down and buried his head in her hair again, murmuring, "Sorry. I guess I . . . uh . . . lost it for a bit there."

Natalie stroked his hair and hugged him. "Hungry?" she whispered.

"Ravenous." His breath brushed her ear lightly, then he raised himself on his elbow again, his expression serious. "But . . . it's under control for now. Not for long, but for now." His hand traced the line of her chin in a distracted sort of way. "I was so worried that I'd kill you, or hurt you."

"I can stand a few bruises and a couple of loose fillings if they're part of the package. Believe me, I'm not complaining." She slapped his shoulder lightly with the flat of her hand. "And speaking of hungry . . . I haven't eaten anything since lunch. Feed me."

"I assume we're eating in--so order what you'd like." Nick raised himself to one knee and vaulted over her, to the floor. She saw him tie off the end of the used condom--she'd never noticed just when he'd removed it--and began picking up his clothes from the floor. "I need to get cleaned up anyway."

Natalie interlaced her fingers and placed her hands behind her head, enjoying the view. "You look fine from here."

He tossed her skirt at her, along with her stockings, both of which she caught. Her blouse followed, but he held the torn bra at arm's length and frowned. "I think I owe you some lingerie."

"We'll call it even, if you get me a bathrobe and pronto." Clutching her rumpled clothing against her, Natalie rose to her feet and shivered. "It's freezing in here."

As she grabbed one end of the bra, Nick tugged at it, drawing her to him. The clothing fell out of both of their arms as he embraced her. "You can have it as hot as you like," he whispered, trailing kisses behind her ear.

She tucked her head down against his neck and blew on the skin of his throat--which brought about a few immediate responses and none of them unpleasant. "I guess we're not talking about stoking the boiler?"

"In a manner of speaking . . . ."

Their lips met, noses touched, and hands began to roam. She let her fingers define the muscles of his back, pressing lightly against the edges and the contours. This didn't have to go any farther than kissing, touching, hugging . . . and with Nick having not fed immediately about their recent round of exercise, anything more detailed than that might be downright dangerous.

It was a passing thought--which passed right out of her head as he began to nibble the edge of her mouth, one hand cupping her buttock and the other pressed flat against her breast, his palm creating a gentle suction against her nipple. She no longer felt chilled by the air, but was warmed inside and out by his touch.

Until Nick went still again, like a statue made of marble. She pulled back to ask him what was the matter, but he held her tightly, whispering one word in her ear--

"LaCroix."

Her heart suddenly felt as hard and as heavy as marble. She clung to Nick for an instant, her legs getting rubbery beneath her and was heartened as his grip around her tightened protectively. "Here?" she asked, in a broken gasp.

"Nearby. Watching." Nick drew back from her and carefully placed a soft kiss on each of her eyelids. "It's all right. He won't interfere--you made sure of that." When she simply stared at him with wide eyes, he smiled and touched his forehead to her own. "He won't break the bargain you made with him," explained Nick quietly. "You made him promise to leave us alone . . . at least on this score. And short of calling vice on us for indecent exposure--" he tilted his head toward the windows, which were open to the night sky, "he can't touch us. He can't touch us because of you."

She ducked her head and let him crush her to him, some of her fear lessening at the physical contact and the sense of his words. LaCroix couldn't hurt them, not now. He'd hope they'd hurt each other, drive one another away, but that hadn't worked. And what would he do, now that they'd made love on their own, without restraints?

Her breath caught in her throat at that thought and she pulled back slightly from Nick, feeling the blood rise to her cheeks. "How long has he been here? I mean, did he see us . . . um . . . ?"

"No." He smiled and lifted a hand to her cheek, as if to take warmth from her blush. "No, he just arrived. He's not very happy."

"That would be an understatement." Natalie rested her head against Nick's chest, wanting to cry. Why did LaCroix always do this to her? Just when they'd gotten everything right and things were working well, he walked in to upset the applecart like a bossy mother-in-law. "I should leave," she added, after taking a deep breath. "I should--"

"You should stay. For the night. With me." Nick kissed the length of her neck lightly, sending shivers down her. Instinctively, Natalie pressed her body against him, her leg curling around his . . . and felt him beginning to harden against her.

"With LaCroix watching?" she squeaked, horrified. Natalie almost choked on the words and pulled out of his embrace completely. "No--I can't do that." She bent down and picked up an armful of clothing--his, hers, it really didn't matter--and turned toward the stairs. "I'll get a pizza on the way home. But first I'd better get dressed."

"But I like you just like this."

She started when Nick appeared in front of her, between her and the staircase. Following through on her first instinct, she tossed the clothes at him and said angrily, "I told you not to do that. It gives me the creeps."

"Sorry." And then he caught hold of her hands and drew her close to him again, his lips touching her own, tickling her ear, then traveling the length of her throat again. "I'll make it up to you," he murmured against her skin.

The hand against her buttocks held him tightly against her, warm flesh to cool, and the knuckles of his other hand skimmed lightly up and down her ribs and flank, stroking and tickling. She felt warm and safe in his arms, no matter how low his body temperature might be. And she wasn't at all surprised that he not only seemed interested in resuming their earlier position on the couch, but was just about ready as well.

"You are an exhibitionist," she whispered sharply, just before the hand cupping her buttocks slipped between her legs . . . and wrung a gasp out of her with a few well-placed finger movements.

"I'm proud of you. I don't want to show off--I want to show you off."

His hand was continuing to work its magic; Natalie felt her knees begin to give way and dug her fingers into the muscles of his shoulders even as he kissed and nuzzled her. "It's too soon," she whispered frantically. "Nick, you haven't fed yet! We've only tried this once--"

The end of the word disappeared in a low moan that started at the tips of his fingers and worked its way up through her chest. Every muscle in her body seemed to come undone at that one moment and she was limp in Nick's arms, panting heavily against his shoulder. When her eyes finally focused again, she glared at his bright eyes and impish smile. "No fa--fair."

"Enough?" he asked, as a second finger slipped into her, beside the first.

Natalie groaned and lowered her head against his chest as the fingers crooked inside her, lightly stroking her inner flesh. And then she realized that she could play this game, too. Her hand darted between them and her fingers curled around his shaft before he realized exactly what was happening. When his thumb began to stroke against her, she tightened her grip on him and moved her fist upward in a sure, smooth movement.

He groaned and she felt his weight leaning against her for a second. Natalie shivered as Nick's fingers slipped out of her and his hand rose to her shoulder. "Truce?" he asked, in a shaky voice.

She grinned. "Truce." But the ball of her thumb brushed the head of his shaft, pressing down lightly, her fingernail scraping against the sensitive skin. Then she stepped away from him, releasing him with one final, firm stroke.

For a moment she thought Nick was going to fall to his knees. He stumbled toward her, staggered, then rushed at her with a growl, catching her in the mid-section. She shrieked as he lifted her from the floor and he'd no sooner dropped her to the couch than his fingers were trailing up and down her ribs in rapid succession, tickling her.

"Bast--stop! Ow--Ohh! Stop, you son-of-a--" But she laughed and giggled even as she tried to fend him off. He was simply too quick for her. And then, when she'd run out of breath, she lay there panting heavily, with Nick leaning over her.

The kiss took what was left of her breath away. Her toes curled of their own accord. When he finally rose above her, looking down at her with serious eyes, Nick whispered, "I want you. I don't care whether or not LaCroix sees us--I want you. But I'll take 'no' for an answer, Nat. If you're scared . . . if you don't want me right now, it's okay. I never want to hurt you again."

He had more than a way with words--when he forgot himself and spoke his heart, he was a master of language. She reached up her hand to touch his hair, to follow the curve of the cheek and stroke the corner of his mouth. She did want him again. And she trusted him.

But Natalie didn't trust the nouns and verbs and adjectives at her command; they were all too weak and feeble, so easily lost or misled. Instead, she placed her arms around his neck and drew him down to her, kissing him thoroughly and letting him know in no uncertain terms with her hands and her mouth and her body how much she wanted him.

It was a few minutes before he broke from her, raising himself over her and locking his elbows. He dropped once to plant a kiss on her nose, then scrambled off the couch with a hushed, "Be right back."

The tension in his voice alarmed her and Natalie sat up quickly, drawing her knees to her chest. She expected him to head directly for the fridge and a bottle of cow blood. They both knew that his control had limits. Much as it saddened her, Natalie bowed her head in resignation, determined not to show him her disappointment or sadness. Better that he be fed than she be dead.

But Nick didn't head for the refrigerator. He was wading through the pile of clothing they'd dropped on the floor, grumbling beneath his breath as he finally extricated his jeans.

She smothered a laugh when she realized exactly what he was doing and placed her hands over her mouth and bowed her head again when she realized that her very eager lover hadn't been content with carrying a single 'good luck charm.' By the time she'd smothered her laughter enough to look up again, he was walking to the couch somewhat sheepishly, confounded by the packaging, which kept slipping out of his hands as he tried to tear it.

"You're laughing at me," he accused, as he sat down on the couch beside her.

"With you," she corrected with mock-severity. "Just how 'lucky' did you think you were going to get?" Natalie took the foil packet from his hand and opened it carefully. She dropped the packaging to the floor, then rolled the latex condom between her fingers. "Actually, I'm proud of you. I think you should be rewarded."

Natalie slipped her legs to one side and leaned against him, her fingers caressing his cheeks as he raised an eyebrow in question. And then she very slowly leaned toward his lap.

There was a sudden tension in him, a stillness, as her hand settled at the base of his shaft, caressing softly. He was hard and almost completely erect--she was still surprised at how easily he could be excited and how quickly his body responded to her. Never mind how he seemed ready for another round before she'd managed to get her breath back. It made her wonder how many mortals involved in sexual relationships with vampires had actually expired of exhaustion. And that's all the world needed--vampirism as the ultimate aphrodisiac.

Natalie stroked him lightly with her fingertips, getting her first chance to really examine him since their last encounter. She was almost surprised to see there were still small angry marks in his flesh . . . but only just. Paula had said something to that effect, that Nick wouldn't and couldn't heal properly on a diet of cow's blood. The fact that the marks were even there, although barely visible, gave her some indication of how badly he'd been wounded by LaCroix's 'toy.' And why he'd been more than a little skittish when she'd touched him earlier.

His breath rattled in his throat; she sneaked a look up at him and saw that his eyes were closed, his neck leaning back against the cushions of the couch. He'd planted his fists deep into the cushions on either side of his body, his elbows locked. His jaw was clenched tightly, so that she could barely hear the deep and growling sounds she was drawing from him.

If she hadn't known better, she would have thought he was in pain. In actuality, he was balancing his pleasure with his control over the killer inside of himself.

The thought gave her pause, but she returned to the task at hand. Tentatively, she kissed the head of his shaft. His body shook and he jerked within her grasp at the light touch of her lips. Natalie opened her mouth a little wider and lightly swirled her tongue around the glans at the tip of his shaft.

The growl that arose from him deafened her. His hand grasped the back of her neck through her hair, drawing her away from him, his other hand moving to her left shoulder and fingers digging into her flesh as if to keep himself from falling. Her breath caught in her throat when she spotted the flash of red when he opened his eyes enough to blink.

And then his hands fell from her and he relaxed, dropping back against the couch. Careful not to let her body rub against his own, she touched the back of her left hand to his cheek--his skin was deathly cold and pale.

"I guess--" he began, voice rough, "I guess I'm just not ready for that yet." His eyes opened--irises gold.

"You need blood." She turned her hand to cup his cheek. "Let's give it a rest, huh? We don't want--"

"No. We can't stop." He pressed his lips against hers forcefully, his arms moving around her. "I won't stop," he whispered in her air. "Not with him here. Not with him watching."

Natalie froze in his arms . . . she'd forgotten about LaCroix. Annoyance fanned the faintest embers of anger within her. When Nick continued to kiss her, to stroke her shoulders and her breasts, she placed her hands against his chest and pushed him away. "No. I refuse to be part of a peep show, especially at my age."

"Nat--?"

There was a pleading tone to his voice that only fueled her anger. "No."

Nick's breathing was ragged. When he drew back from her, his eyes were blue again--which was a major relief. "All right." He let out a long breath, looking away from her. "All right. We'll stop."

She hadn't expected him to give in so easily, especially since it was very evident that Nick was more than ready for her. He wiped his face with his hand as she moved closer to him, snuggled up beside him--he didn't push her away as she thought he might. Instead, his right arm wrapped around her shoulder, drawing her close. It was as she rested against his chest that she realized she still had the condom clutched in her right fist.

Natalie wondered why she'd put a stop to this. Was it really because of LaCroix? Or was it something else? Yes, she was worried about Nick's control slipping--doubly so now--although he'd just proved how careful he was being, reacting to danger signals she'd never even noticed. Okay, so maybe she was still a little hesitant about the physical side of this, which she had more than a right to be. That was something else she could lay squarely at LaCroix's door.

She'd thought she'd never have the chance to get back at him for what he'd put her and Nick through, even though they'd won in the end. If she put Nick off now, LaCroix would get exactly what he wanted--proof that even if he hadn't succeeded in driving them apart, all was not perfect in paradise. Not that she expected any physical relationship with Nick to be without many and varied rough spots, but they deserved a honeymoon, didn't they? She'd been more than willing a few seconds ago. And she did still want him . . . .

Natalie raised her head to the level of his shoulder and ran the fingers of her left hand through the curls of hair behind his ear. "Are you all right?" she asked hesitantly. "Your skin is so cold."

He closed his eyes and let his head fall forward, so that his chin rested on her forehead. "I'm okay. It was just . . . it was too much, all at once. I couldn't handle it. I'm sorry."

"That's all right. I'll give you a raincheck on that."

He grinned and opened his eyes, shifting to plant a kiss on her forehead and draw her onto his hip, so she could rest against his chest easier. "Thanks."

"Well, that just leaves one, small problem."

"I'll take a cold shower."

"Not that." When he looked down at her in concern, she opened her right palm and showed him the condom. "I'd hate to waste this. Think you could put it to good use?"

He picked up the condom from her palm with a look of concentration, lips drawn together tightly in a frown. When he met her gaze almost reproachfully she swallowed.

"'No' means 'no,'" she explained, clasping her hands together and staring down at her linked fingers. "I can't tell you what it means to me that you understand that. But right now, I want--I don't know what I want." Frustrated, she tilted her head to peek at him through a few strands of hair that had fallen in front of her eyes. "I want to make sure that if we do this, it's for us. I want you because I love you."

Her heart thudded insistently in her chest as Nick looked down at the condom between his fingers, his expression still serious and uncertain. "This is getting complicated."

"It is, isn't it?" she asked unhappily. Throwing her arms around his neck, she pressed herself against him, hugging him tightly. "I want you to be happy. And safe. Happy and safe. And mortal. Happy and safe and--"

Nick leaned down his head to kiss her, cutting off her litany. When they parted, he rested his forehead against hers, smiling. "At least we're heading in the same direction. I want to be happy, and safe, and mortal . . . with you." He held up the condom and asked. "So, are you going to help me with this or not?"

"Only if you hold still." She was all but sitting in his lap, now. Natalie shifted so that his shaft was pressing against her inner thigh. As she leaned forward to set the condom in place, his leg spasmed and he moved her. Of course, one hand went around the base of his shaft for support and the other against his chest--but she was pretty certain which one of the two caused him to let out a groan as he threw his head back against the couch cushions. "I told you to hold still," she scolded, lightly stroking the base of the shaft as if in apology.

"Hold still?" Nick's voice was more than a little shaky as he placed one hand firmly on her left shoulder and the other dug down into the cushion on the couch. "How am I supposed to hold still with you wriggling provocatively and grabbing at me?"

Grabbing . . . well, he had a point there. But this other-- "I was not wriggling provocatively," she said defensively. Natalie took great care as she placed the condom against the tip of his shaft and began to roll the latex down over him. "I couldn't 'wriggle provocatively' if I tried."

"Oh, right. Like when you're wearing scr--scrubs--" She was slipping her hand over the latex, setting it in place to her satisfaction . . . and sending very noticeable shivers through Nick. "--And not a whole lot else? You're going to t--t--tell me you haven't wriggled provocatively?"

Natalie sat upright, her immediate task finished with one final stroke along the condom--yep, he was definitely still interested--and met his gaze. "You're kidding, right? Nick, when I wear scrubs, the whole point is not to wear much else. It's protective gear for my work. Like firefighters wear protective gear when they fight fires."

He placed his hands on her shoulders. "Let's just say that I've never been tempted to sneak up behind a firefighter and . . . ."

She widened her eyes as his sentence trailed off. "And--?" Natalie prompted.

There was that grin, mischievous and self-satisfied. "Allow me to demonstrate."

Provocatively or no, she wriggled--or tried to--when he grabbed hold of her buttocks and squeezed. She was startled enough that she fell off his thigh and back against the cushions of the couch and Nick was supporting himself over her before she could blink. "So," she said, after clearing her throat and starting up into those blue eyes, "do you finally have me where you want me?"

"I want you anywhere." He kissed the tip of her nose. "Everywhere. But here is good."

"I'm glad you approve." Natalie pushed herself up to plant a kiss on his lips, but his arm snaked beneath her head, supporting her as he refused to release her mouth, nibbling and gnawing and exploring, while his hand cupped her breast and began to stroke her flesh. She let him support her head because it gave her hands the freedom to roam across the expanse of his chest and before long they were moaning and panting frantically against one another's mouths as if it were a contest to see who might give in first.

If it was a contest, Nick won. She decided that during a brief moment of clarity between waves of tingling and warmth when she found that he'd slipped himself inside her. He was less cautious and more ruthless this time, pounding hard against her from the start. Having already resigned herself to the fact that any continuing sexual relationship with him was going to mean bruises of one sort or another, she was immediately pleased to find that his piston-like thrusting was neither mindless or haphazard. He knew exactly what he was doing, which she realized barely a split second before her nerve endings melted in an onslaught of sensation that left her gasping for air . . . until the second wave hit.

Natalie was almost certain she screamed in utter abandon somewhere along the line--loud and long enough to give him pause, certainly, because he slowed his thrusts down considerably after that. Or it could simply have been that he'd reached his own limits. When Nick threw back his head and yelled, she saw a flash of gold before he clenched his eyes shut and the shine of sharp, white fangs in his mouth. But then he tucked his head down again and buried his face in the skin of her neck and shoulder and her hair. She wrapped her arms and legs around him tightly through the last final thrusts, praying for both their sakes that he had control enough not to surrender to the beast inside him that desired her blood as much as he desired her flesh.

And when Nick lay panting and shuddering against her for a second time that evening, Natalie basked in the warmth of afterglow. Then, and only then, did she remember LaCroix's presence, hearing the howl of frustration that rattled the glass of the skylight and probably every window for three blocks around. As content as she ever thought she would be, Natalie stroked Nick's hair and closed her eyes, measuring the difference of their beating hearts and thankful that love could survive almost anything, given time and care enough.

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