"What do you mean, you can't see me after the show?"

Maurice stared at her, his brow furrowed, his eyes mirroring his confusion.

"I have an appointment," Sara replied.

"An appointment? With whom?"

"An old friend." An exasperated sigh escaped Sara's lips. "If you must know, I'm meeting Gabriel."

Understanding replaced confusion in Maurice's eyes, but only for a moment as jealousy quickly took its place. "So, he's finally come to see you after all these years."

"Yes."

"Do you think it's wise for you to meet with him alone?"

"What do you mean?"

"How will it look, the two of you being alone together in your room?"

Sara felt a blush stain her cheeks. It wasn't proper to entertain a man alone in her apartment. But Gabriel wasn't just any man. He was her benefactor; but, more than that, he was her friend, the closest thing to a family that she had. But it wasn't that thought that brought the flush to her cheeks. It was the knowledge that she wanted to be more to him than a protegee. Much more.

"It will be all right," Sara said, keeping her voice carefully cool and calm. "After all, he's been supporting me for the past five years. I can hardly refuse to see him." She hated lying to Maurice. It wasn't Gabriel who had insisted on seeing her. Quite the opposite, in fact.

"Someone should be there with you," Maurice insisted. "A chaperon, if you will."

"Babette will be there," Sara lied.

Maurice laid his hand on her arm. "I love you, Sara. I only want what's best for you."

"I know." She gazed into his eyes, wishing she could return his affection, but she belonged to Gabriel heart and soul, had been his since the first time she saw him on her veranda.

"Marry me, Sara," Maurice implored. He dropped to one knee and took her hand in his. "I know I'm not nearly good enough for you, but you'll be rich in love if nothing else, I promise you that. Only say yes."

"Maurice..."

"It's him, isn't it?" Maurice rose to his feet, his eyes blazing with anger and jealousy. "You're infatuated with that old man."

"What makes you think he's old?"

"Isn't he?"

Sara frowned. She'd never given any serious thought to Gabriel's age. Thinking of it now, she realized she truly had no idea how old he was. To look at him, one would guess him to be in his late twenties, and yet he seemed much older, much wiser.

"Sara?"

"I don't know how old he is, and I don't care. I'm not running off with him, Maurice. He's only coming by to see how I'm doing."

"Then it won't matter if I'm there."

"I'm afraid it will matter very much."

"Sara..."

"I don't wish to discuss it any further, Maurice. Quick, give me a kiss for luck. There's my music."

She danced that night as never before, certain that Gabriel was somewhere in the audience. Her solo was for him and him alone. When she looked at the prince, it was Gabriel's face that loomed in her mind; it was Gabriel's kiss that awakened her from her enchanted sleep.

She had hoped he would be waiting for her outside the theater, but he was nowhere to be seen. Maurice insisted on walking her home.

She bade him good night at the door, assuring him she would be fine.

She dismissed Babette for the night, bathed quickly, slipped into a modest dark blue velvet dressing gown with a froth of lace at the throat. She lit several candles, filled a bowl with apples and cheese, placed a bottle of wine and two glasses on the table.

She was all aquiver by the time she heard his knock at the door.

Taking a deep breath, she crossed the room and opened the door.

He stood in the shadows as before, his face hidden in a hooded cloak as dark as the night.

"Gabriel," she exclaimed, her voice filled with joy. "Come in." She closed the door behind him, wishing she could keep him there forever. "Let me take your cloak."

"No."

"You needn't hide your face from me."

"Sara..."

She walked toward him, her hand out. "Let me take your cloak, Gabriel. It's warm in here, and you'll be more comfortable without it."

"I was thinking of your comfort."

"Your face doesn't distress me."

With a sigh of resignation, he removed his cloak and handed it to her. He knew how hideous he must look, the skin on his face and arms discolored and puckered by the heat of the sun, yet her smile faltered hardly at all as she looked at him.

Sara carried his cloak into her bedroom. For a moment, she pressed her face to the finely woven wool, breathing in his scent, and then she placed it carefully on the bed, her hands running over the material, pretending it was Gabriel her hand caressed and not his cloak.

When she returned to the parlor, he was sitting on the far end of the sofa, away from the candles that flickered on the table.

"Would you like something to eat?" Sara asked, gesturing toward the bowl of fruit and cheese. "Some wine?"

"A glass of wine," he said.

She filled two glasses, then sat down beside him.

"You were wonderful tonight," Gabriel remarked. "I have never seen anyone dance with such intensity, such joy."

"It was for you," Sara confessed quietly. "I knew you were out there, watching me, and I wanted to make you proud."

"You've done well, Sara Jayne. You are a ballerina without equal, just as you always dreamed."

"I owe it all to you, and I thank you for it with all my heart."

"No, cara. It was always there, within you. So, tell me, where do you go from here?"

"There's talk that the company will go on tour in the fall."

Gabriel nodded. "All the world should see you dance, cara," he said, and then frowned. "What's wrong?"

"I love dancing," Sara said, "but it isn't enough."

"You have the world at your feet. What more do you want?"

"I want you at my side."

As always, he retreated from her at the mention of anything personal between them.

Drawing on her courage, she put her goblet aside and then, taking his untouched glass from his hand and placing it on the table, she slid across the sofa and placed her hand on his shoulder.

"Tell me you don't care," she said, her gaze intent upon his face. "Tell me you don't want me, and I'll never speak of it again."

"You know better than that," Gabriel replied, his voice rough. "I've wanted you, hungered for you, for years."

"Then why are we apart?"

"Because it is for the best."

"For whom?"

"For you, cara. You must trust me in this."

"No! You must trust mein this. It makes no sense for us to be apart."

"It makes more sense than you will ever know. You would do well to forget you ever knew me. Marry your young man. Dance for the world. Have children, and teach them to dance. It's what you were born for."

Sara shook her head. "No, Gabriel," she said fervently. "I was born for you."

With slow deliberation, she moved closer, until only a breath of air separated them.

And then she said the words he could not resist, and he knew he was lost. "Let me hold you."

His resolve melted like warm wax as she drew him into her arms. If he had any weakness besides his need to avoid the sun, it was his need to be held by this woman. She was sunlight to his darkness, eternal life to his infinite damnation.

For a long while, she held him close, and then she kissed him. She didn't close her eyes, nor did he. She saw the flame, bright as molten gold, that leaped into his eyes, felt the raw animal power, the naked hunger, the overwhelming need that engulfed him as her mouth closed on his. He wanted her. Oh, yes, he definitely wanted her.

And she wanted him. She wanted to feel his strength, wanted him to possess her, fully, completely, masterfully. Wanted him to take her with all the power at his command, to show her what it meant to be loved.

She looked into his eyes and she felt herself drowning, sinking down, down, into darkness, into light.

Gabriel moaned her name as he drew her closer, his arms wrapping around her, strong and sure. Her breasts were crushed against his chest, his hands stroked her back, slipped under her gown to caress the curve of her calf.

She gasped, startled by the intimacy of his touch, by the pleasure that shot clear through her.

She was drowning in sensation, helpless to resist the power of his touch, the hunger in his eyes. Eyes that burned fever bright, igniting tiny flames within her heart, her soul, filling her with a warmth that flowed through her veins, making her restless for something she didn't understand.

With a sigh of surrender, she closed her eyes and gave herself up to the magic of his touch.

It was her total lack of fear, her complete trust in him, that was his undoing.

An animal-like growl of pain rose in his throat as he devoured her mouth with his. She was sunshine and light, goodness and hope, the innocence of youth, everything that was forever lost to him. He kissed her deeply, searching for salvation, wishing for humanity. She was soft and supple in his arms, willing, eager, a foolish moth racing toward the flames of destruction, and he didn't have the strength to protect her.

His hands delved beneath her gown to find living flesh and skin softer than velvet, smoother than satin. In moments, her gown was on the floor. In another moment, his clothes joined hers. And then she was in his arms, a study in perfection from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet. And she was his. His for the taking.

He loved her gently, his hands trembling, his voice ragged with the effort to hold back, until his body was on fire for her. He was on the verge of making her his when he heard her soft cry of pain.

Horrified, he froze, his body poised over hers. Only then did he realize that the hunger was also burning through him, that his kisses were no longer gentle, that his fangs had almost pierced the fragile skin at her throat.

Not knowing how close she was to danger, she arched beneath him, seeking fulfillment for the restless wanting of her body.

With a growl, he drew away and turned his back to her.

"Gabriel?"

Her voice was low and uneven, filled with confusion.

"Forgive me," he said gruffly. "I didn't mean..."

"Gabriel." She placed a tentative hand on his back, felt his whole body shudder at her touch. "I want you."

"No, Sara," he replied, his voice ragged. "Don't ask me."

"I don't understand."

"Please let me go." It was a cry of anguish, a plea for her to be strong because his need for her made him weak and vulnerable.

"No!"

"It's for the best."

"It's not!" Embarrassed and hurt by his rejection, she sat up, her arms crossed over her breasts. "I wish I'd never left England," she said, fighting back her tears. "I wish I was still in that awful chair. You loved me then. I know you did."

He closed his eyes, his hands balling into fists, as her unhappiness washed over him. He never should have come here, he thought. Never should have seen her again. He hadn't meant to cause her pain, only to ease his own.

He could wipe it all from her mind. He had only to look into her eyes, to bend her will to his. He could make her forget that he existed... but to do so would be like ending his existence, he thought bleakly, because if he didn't exist for Sara, there was no point in going on.

And because he was basically a selfish man, because he'd been alone for too long, he turned around and took her hand in his.

"Sara?"

She looked up at him, and he cringed before the misery in her eyes.

"Please, Gabriel," she murmured. "Please don't leave me. I need you so."

"And I need you. Tell me, cara, if I stay, will you do as I ask without question?"

"Yes."

"Anything I say? Even if it makes no sense to you?"

A slight frown lined her brow. "I don't understand."

"It's quite simple. I'll stay, but only if you promise to do whatever I ask, without question, no matter how odd it might seem at the time."

"I promise."

"Then you must dismiss your maid from your employ."

"Babette?"

Gabriel nodded.

"Very well, but why?"

"Without question, cara, remember? Now," he said quietly, "put on your gown. It's late, and you need your rest."

"But..." Sara bit off the word. She would do whatever he asked, without question, just as she had promised. But not asking questions was far harder than she had anticipated.

"It's not too late to change your mind," Gabriel remarked.

Sara shook her head, and he turned away to don his own clothing. He heard the soft rustling of her gown as she slipped it on.

Only then did he turn to face her. "You're so young, Sara. I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't..."

He held up his hand, silencing her. "It's late. I want you to go to bed. I'll see you tomorrow night, at the theater."

"All right."

"Good night, cara. Sleep well."

"Good night, my angel. Will you dream of me?"

"As always," he replied, bending to kiss her cheek. "As always."