Sarah woke with a start, the last images of her nightmare clinging like cobwebs to the corners of her mind. It had been a horrible dream, filled with blazing red eyes, fangs dripping blood, and the frantic sounds of her own screams. The kind of nightmare she would have expected to have after seeing Interview with the Vampire. Most shocking of all was that the dream, while frightening in its intensity and realism, had seemed vaguely familiar.

Sitting up, she glanced around at her surroundings. The bedroom was huge, bigger than her own bedroom and living room combined. The walls were papered in a pale rose print. There were heavy damask drapes at the windows. An antique mahogany armoire took up most of one wall. A matching vanity table and chair stood in a corner. She thought it odd that the mirror had been removed. A delicate crystal lamp stood on the nightstand on the left side of the bed. In another corner, two cozy chairs covered in the same rose print as the wallpaper faced each other across a small glass-topped table.

She remembered where she was now. Gabriel had brought her here late last night. Not surprising, then, that it had been his face she had seen in her dreams.

She glanced around, looking for a clock, wondering what time it was.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she stood up. A thick mauve-colored carpet muffled her footsteps as she walked to the window and drew back the drapes. She stared at the crimson sunset for a moment, the flame-colored sky reminding her of blood. Impossible as it seemed, she had slept the day away.

Directly below, she could see a rose garden that had long been neglected. Tree-covered hills rose beyond the high brick walls that circled the mansion. There was an Olympic-size swimming pool to the right, a dark red barn off to the left. A big black horse stood hip-shot in the adjacent corral.

Whoever Gabriel was, he had money. Turning away from the window, she let the curtains fall back into place and came face to face with the man who had haunted her dreams not only last night, but for the past three weeks, as well.

"Good evening," he said formally.

"Hi."

He was dressed in black again, and though he looked roguishly handsome, Sarah couldn't help wondering if he owned anything besides black T-shirts and jeans. Thinking of his attire made her acutely conscious that she had slept in her clothes, that she hadn't brushed her teeth since yesterday morning, that she needed a shower.

"The bathroom's in there," Gabriel said, indicating a closed door to her left.

It was disconcerting, his being able to read her thoughts so easily. She had a childish impulse to stamp her foot and tell him to stop it.

"Enjoy your bath." He left the room on silent feet -  bare feet, she noticed, with some surprise.

For a moment, she stared after him; then she went into the bathroom. It was unlike anything she had ever seen. The last rays of the setting sun filtered through the skylight. The walls were papered in the same print as the bedroom. An oversized pink bathtub, oval in shape, stretched across one wall; the fixtures were gold. There was an enclosed shower, a pale pink toilet, two sinks, also pink. She found a fluffy white towel and a washcloth folded on the marble sink top, along with a bar of scented soap, a tube of toothpaste, and a toothbrush.

After locking the door, she turned on the water, then stripped off her clothes while she waited for the tub to fill. Noticing a jar of bubble bath, she sprinkled some into the water, watching as millions of rainbow-hued bubbles rose to the surface.

Feeling like a queen, she turned off the tap and sank down into the water, sighing as the bubbles surrounded her with a light flowery fragrance.

She thought it strange that were no mirrors in the bathroom, not even on the beautiful carved medicine cabinet. She wondered if he had some kind of phobia about seeing his reflection.

Closing her eyes, she let her thoughts drift. Who was Gabriel? Why was he taking care of her? Did he live here alone? If so, what was he doing with floral bubble bath and scented soap? If not, where was his wife or girlfriend?

She soaked in the tub until the water grew cool, washed quickly, then stepped out of the tub and wrapped herself in the fluffy bath sheet, wishing she had a change of clothing and underwear.

Returning to the bedroom, she saw that her clothes were gone; in their place was a dressing gown of deep rose pink velvet.

She experienced an odd sense of deja vu as she ran her hand over the rich material, thinking it had probably cost more than her entire wardrobe. She looked around and then, unable to resist, she put it on. It felt wonderful against her skin, light and soft. Luxurious and expensive.

She had just zipped it up when there was a knock at the door.

"Sarah?"

"Yes."

"Would you care to come downstairs and have a glass of wine?"

"Yes, thank you."

She opened the door to find him standing in the hall, dressed in the same form-fitting jeans and T-shirt as before. She glanced at his bare feet. There was something incredibly intimate about the fact that neither of them was wearing shoes. The thought brought a quick flush to her face.

An emotion she couldn't put a name to flickered in Gabriel's dark gray eyes before he turned away. Thick white carpet muffled her footsteps as she followed him down the stairs, through another hall, and into a large, high-ceilinged room.

She glanced around the room while he poured two glasses of wine. An enormous marble fireplace took up one entire wall. Flames danced and crackled in the hearth. A huge crystal chandelier reminiscent of one she'd seen in a play hung from the ceiling. The carpet beneath her feet was the same white plush that covered the hallways. White carpeting, she thought, and wondered absently how he kept it clean. Dark green drapes covered the windows.

There was no furniture in the room save for an antique oak side table, one overstuffed easy chair covered in a dark green print, and a big-screen TV.

A graceful archway opened onto an entry hall inlaid with black marble.

Gabriel studied her face as he handed her a glass filled with dark red wine. He sensed her nervousness at being alone with him in the house, and wondered what he could say to put her at ease.

Sarah murmured her thanks as she accepted the wine. She glanced around the room again, wondering why there were no pictures on the walls, no mirrors, no clocks. There was, in fact, nothing of a personal nature in the room. "Have you... have you lived here long?"

"A few months."

"It's a lovely house."

Gabriel shrugged. He had bought the mansion shortly after his arrival in Los Angeles. He had been unimpressed when the real estate agent told him it had once belonged to a very famous but reclusive movie star. He had bought the house on a whim simply because the design and the gardens had reminded him of a villa he had once owned in Italy.

"Are you married?" Sarah asked.

"No."

She didn't miss the deep sadness, the loneliness, that clung to that single word.

"Divorced?"

"No."

"Living with someone?"

He frowned. "No, why do you ask?"

"The bedroom... it seems... I mean... never mind, it's none of my business."

His gaze caught and held hers. "I decorated it for you."

Sarah took a step backward, frightened by the fervor in his eyes, the intensity of his voice. "For me? How? Why?"

"I knew..." He paused a moment. "That is, I hoped, that you would come here one day."

"But we've only known each other a few weeks."

He shrugged. "With enough money, you can accomplish a great deal in a short time. You'll find clothes in the armoire."

Sarah took another step backward, wondering why she felt as though she had been thrust into a strange and alien world. She remembered bits and pieces of an old French movie she'd seen in which a man had sold his daughter to a beast. The girl had lived in luxury, but she had been a prisoner just the same.

She shook the fanciful notion from her mind. Gabriel didn't look like a beast, and she was free to leave whenever she wished. Wasn't she?

She glanced at the oversized door visible at the end of the entry hall. It was at least eight feet high and made of solid oak. To keep the world out, she wondered, or to keep her in? She told herself she was being foolish, that she was letting her imagination run wild, but she couldn't shake the feeling that if she didn't get away now, she never would, that she would be imprisoned, like Belle in Beauty and the Beast except, in this case, the beast was beautiful.

"I want to go home."

He hesitated a moment, as if he meant to argue with her, and then he nodded. "I'll take you."

"No."

"Sarah..."

He took a step toward her, and she whirled around, the glass in her hand forgotten as she darted toward the front door. Wine sloshed over the rim of the delicate crystal goblet, splashing over the white carpet to leave a blood-red stain.

Frantic, she ran down the long marble entryway to the front door. She grabbed the ornate brass knob, twisting it right and left, but nothing happened. Overcome with panic, she dropped the glass, heedless that it shattered into a thousand pieces. She tugged on the door knob, tears of fright and frustration blurring her vision.

And then he was behind her, his hands heavy on her shoulders.

"Sarah. Sarah!" He turned her around and pulled her up against him, his arms imprisoning her as effectively as iron bars. "Listen to me. I'm not going to hurt you, I swear."

He looked down at her, and the sheer unadulterated terror in her eyes stabbed him to the heart. Abruptly, he released her and took several steps backward.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said again. "Please believe me. You're free to go."

"The door... it won't open... I can't get out... please let me go..."

Moving slowly, careful not to touch her in any way, he reached around her and unlocked the door.

"My car is in the driveway," he said.

Sarah blinked up at him. "You'd let me take your car?"

"It's dark out," he said, his voice quiet and devoid of emotion. "I don't want you walking home alone."

"What I do is none of your concern."

He inclined his head, as if agreeing with her, and then he pulled a set of car keys out of his pocket and pressed them into her hand.

He really was the most stubborn, intriguing, handsome man she had ever met, Sarah mused as she slid behind the wheel of the car. A Jaguar. A brand-new Jaguar was worth a small fortune, and he was letting her take it, no questions asked. She thought of the six-year-old station wagon parked in the garage at home. Never had she imagined herself behind the wheel of a car like this.

She turned the key in the ignition and the engine hummed to life.

She drove slowly toward home, wondering what would happen if she just kept on driving, if she left her old life behind and lit out for parts unknown. Montana, maybe, or Colorado. Or maybe Alaska...

For a moment, it was tempting. She could sell the Jag, change her name, start a whole new life... but she was only kidding herself. She couldn't run far enough, couldn't hope to find a place where she could hide from her memories.

When she reached home, she moved the station wagon to the driveway, parked the Jag in the garage, and locked the door.

She thought of Gabriel as she tossed his car keys on the coffee table. What kind of man let a complete stranger borrow a $70,000 car? He hadn't even said anything about her bringing it back.

She glanced down at the dressing gown she still wore. Whom had it belonged to? He'd said he wasn't married or divorced. Did it belong to an old girlfriend, then? She caressed the soft velvet gown.

I decorated it for you.

His voice, soft and sensual, echoed in her mind. He had decorated a room in his house for her. Had he bought the dressing gown with her in mind, as well? How had he known pink was her favorite color?

She sat down on the sofa and switched on the TV. She didn't want to think, not about David and Natalie, not about Gabriel.

But she couldn't concentrate on the late show. It was an amusing romantic comedy starring Gene Wilder, but she was in no mood for romance, or laughter.

Reaching for the remote, she ran through the channels until she came to the country music station. She listened for a while, wondering why country songs were all so sad. It seemed nine out of ten were about love - lost love, unrequited love, old love. Maybe the whole world was unhappy, she thought. Maybe there was no such thing as happy-ever-after, not for her, not for anyone.

She stared at the television, not seeing the picture, not hearing the music. Instead, she saw the sharp planes and angles of Gabriel's face. His countenance was dark and beautiful, reminding her of a painting she had once seen of a fallen angel. Her mind replayed the hours she had spent with him, and she recalled the faint note of sorrow in his voice, the lingering aura of grief in the depths of his eyes. Was he mourning, too? He had told her he wasn't married or divorced. She wondered now if he had been married, if his wife had died, if that was why his eyes mirrored her own misery.

"Gabriel..."

She murmured his name aloud as she pillowed her head on her arm, rubbing her cheek against the velvet of the gown.

"Gabriel..."

Her eyelids fluttered down, and for the first time in six months, she didn't cry herself to sleep.

Filled with an overpowering restlessness, he walked through the spacious rooms of the mansion, imagining Sarah sitting in front of the fireplace in the parlor, bathing in the pale pink tub, sleeping in the bed, reading a book in the library, watering the plants in the garden by the light of the moon, lying naked in his arms...

He pushed the thought aside, remembering the terror he had seen in her eyes the night before. If she looked at him like that now, when she hardly knew him, he could only imagine the horror he would read in her eyes if she discovered what he was. But that would never happen. Never again would he become involved with a mortal woman.

And yet, like it or not, he was already involved. He had been able to think of nothing else since the first night he had seen her sitting on the bench in the park, looking lost and forlorn, her eyes damp with tears.

Except for the color of her hair, there was little physical resemblance to Sara Jayne, and yet there was something about this Sarah that called to him, that begged his attention.

Muttering an oath, he left the house. For a moment, he stood outside, breathing in the cool night air, and then he made his way to the corral, whistling for the stallion.

The big black horse trotted up to him, blowing softly as he nuzzled Gabriel's chest.

Opening the corral gate, Gabriel swung onto the stallion's bare back. He had no need of bridle or bit to control the horse, only the sound of his voice and the pressure of his knees. He patted the horse's neck, then rode out of the yard, heading for the hills behind the mansion.

He rode for an hour, his inner turmoil soothed by the motion of the horse, the wind in his face. He refused to think of the past. He was uneasy with the present; the future was a door that even he couldn't open.

Sounds and sights and smells surrounded him and he sorted them without conscious thought: the distant screech of brakes, the growl of a dog, the soft whirring of wings as an owl hunted the night. He saw the yellow eyes of a cat watching him as he passed by; he caught the combined aroma of cigarettes and perfume and lust as he rode by a parked car. It took little imagination to guess what was going on behind the steamy windows, and he felt a sudden ache in his loins, a need to be held. Sara...

He remembered the night he had knelt at her feet, his head pillowed in her lap, as he begged her to hold him. How long ago that had been!

Heavy-hearted, he turned the black toward home.

He knew she was there even before he rode into the yard. And then he saw her, standing on the veranda that looked out over the gardens, her long blond hair falling over her shoulders, her skin glowing in the light of the moon. Desire flooded through him once more, sharp and painful.

He reined the stallion to a halt beside the corral, then sat there, staring up at Sarah, wondering what she wanted.

His gaze held hers for a long moment, and then she turned away from the rail and descended the stairs that led to the backyard.

He felt his heart beat with anticipation as he watched her approach.

"Pretty horse," she said, stopping well out of reach of the stallion.

Gabriel nodded.

"I've never seen anyone ride without a bridle or saddle."

"He's well trained."

"He must be. What's his name?"

"Necromancer." It had been the name of all his horses.

"Necromancer?" She lifted one finely arched brow. "Funny name for a horse. Doesn't it mean someone who talks to the spirits of the dead?"

Gabriel closed his eyes. For a moment, he was swept back in time, hearing Sara Jayne's voice asking him the same question, remarking that it was a funny name for a horse, and his own reply, Odd, perhaps, but fitting.

He ignored Sarah's question and asked one of his own. "What are you doing here?"

"I brought your car back."

He lifted one skeptical black brow.

Sarah fidgeted under his probing gaze. Maybe he really could read her mind, she thought. And if that was true, then he knew she was lying. He had been in her thoughts constantly since last night; and if she was going to be entirely truthful, then she would have to admit that he had been in and out of her thoughts ever since the first night they met.

Gabriel lifted his right leg over the horse's withers and slid gracefully to the ground. He gave the horse an affectionate pat on the shoulder, and the stallion trotted into the corral.

Without taking his gaze from Sarah's face, Gabriel closed the gate and slid the latch into place.

Sarah clasped her hands together. Gabriel's nearness, the heat in his unblinking stare, made her decidedly nervous. Why hadshe come here? If all she had wanted to do was return his car, she could have brought it back in the morning and left it in the driveway.

Her hands felt clammy, her mouth dry. She could feel her heart beating wildly in her breast, feel the blood pounding in her ears. She stared into his eyes, eyes as gray as a winter day, as hot as the summer sun. His gaze held hers for a long while, then moved down to her lips, to the pulse beating rapidly in her throat.

"Why are you here?" His voice was dark and smooth and soft, like rich black silk.

"I'll see that you get the robe back, too." she replied, wishing she could make herself look away from his eyes.

"Keep it."

"I couldn't. It must have cost a great deal."

"It's yours," he said, sounding angry now. "I bought it for you."

"Like you decorated that room?"

"Yes."

Black, she thought. He was wearing black again. Not jeans and a T-shirt this time, but a heavy black sweater that emphasized the width of his shoulders. Black sweat pants hugged his long, muscular legs. Looking at him, she had the uncomfortable feeling that his constant wearing of black was not merely a fashion statement, but the color of his soul.

He crossed his arms over his chest. "You didn't answer my question."

How could she tell Gabriel why she was here? How could she confess that she had gone to the park hoping to see him there, and when he hadn't shown up, she had come looking for him, needing to see him because he knew why she sought the darkness, because he understood her grief. Because his arms were strong and invincible and his voice was low and soft.

Sarah licked her lips nervously. "I thought you could read my mind."

"I'd rather hear it from you."

"It's like I said, I brought your car back. Thanks for letting me take it."

"Liar." His quiet tone took the sting out of the word.

She glared at him, resenting him because he knew the truth, because he made her feel alive again.

"Why, Sarah?"

"All right, I missed you!" She practically screamed the words at him. "I'm lonely, and I missed you. Is that what you wanted to hear? Does it stroke your male vanity?"

Muttering an oath, he took a step toward her, but she took a hasty step in retreat.

"Thanks for the use of the Jag," she said, and lifting her arm, she threw the car keys at him, then turned and ran for the heavy iron gate that led to the street.

"Sarah."

His voice. Just the sound of his voice speaking her name. But it brought her to an abrupt halt. She didn't turn around, didn't acknowledge that he'd spoken, just stood there, waiting, her heart beating a wild tattoo.

He made no sound, but she knew he was standing behind her, and then she felt his hands, his long fingers curling over her shoulders, sliding down her arms, sending shivers up and down her spine, and he breathed her name.

"No." She shook her head. "I can't. I don't even know you..." She gasped as his arms slid around her waist, drawing her close so that her back was snug against his chest. "It's too soon..."

He drew in a deep, shuddering breath as he rested his chin on the top of her head. His body sprang to life at her nearness; his nostrils filled with the scent of her skin, of scented soap and shampoo. He could hear the rapid beat of her heart, hear the blood thrumming through her veins, warm and sweet with the vitality of life. To his dismay, he felt the blood-lust stir within him, hotter and stronger than his burgeoning desire for her flesh.

"Please," she murmured, "please let me go. I... I don't even know your last name."

"Ognibene." His breath was hot against the side of her neck.

"Is that..." She swallowed against the dryness of her throat. His arms had settled around her waist, holding her firmly against him. She cleared her throat. "Is that Italian?"

"Yes."

"You're from Italy, then?" She was babbling, but she couldn't think clearly, not with his arms around her, not with his breath feathering against her cheek. He smelled of the wind, of musky male sweat, of the night itself.

"Near Vallelunga."

"Never heard of it."

She shifted in his grasp, as though testing the strength of his hold, and he let his arms fall to his sides, though his body was still pressed intimately against hers.

Gabriel held his breath, waiting. He could feel her indecision, knew that she was as aware of the charged atmosphere between them as he was. She wanted him. And he wanted her, wanted her with every fiber of his being.

Sarah worried her lower lip with her teeth, wishing his arms were still holding her because now she had to make the decision whether to remain with her back resting against his chest, or to move away.

Prudence urged her to break all contact with this strange man, to run out the gate and never look back, but every feminine instinct begged her to stay where she was, to rest her head against his shoulder, to let him wrap his arms around her once more and hold her tight.

And then he made the decision for her. Gently but firmly, he gave her a little push.

"Go home, Sarah," he said, his voice harsh, taut with an emotion she did not understand. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a twenty-dollar bill, which he pressed into her hand. "Get a cab and go home while you still can."

"But..."

His eyes burned into hers. "Stay away from the park, Sarah," he whispered savagely. "Stay away from me!"

She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes filled with confusion, and then she turned and ran for the garden gate.

He stood in the moonlight long after she had gone. On this night, he did not worry about her getting safely home. It was not yet late, and she was in far more danger from him than from anyone else she might encounter.

Hands clenched, his body rigid, he closed his eyes while the lust for blood roared through him. He grimaced as his fangs lengthened in anticipation of the hunt.

Sarah...

He knew why she had come to him tonight even if she refused to admit it.

Unbidden to his mind came the memory of Sarah crushed against him, her back pressed to his chest, her buttocks cradled by his thighs. The beating of her heart had sounded like thunder in his ears. Even now, he felt his desire stir to life as he remembered the scent of her blood, the heat of her living flesh.

"Stay away from the park, Sarah," he murmured, repeating the words he'd spoken earlier. "Stay away from me."

But this time the words were a plea, not a warning.