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  I saw an angry fire dancing behind his eyes, and something else that I couldn't name. If I could touch him again, maybe ... No. I had never tried to read Alfred, and now was not the time to start. I didn't know what was up his ass, but I refused to invade his private thoughts. That was one of the reasons that I rarely touched him. I looked at Alfred then, his full mouth, and tousled hair. I gazed into his soulful brown eyes, eyes which blazed with the intensity of emotions that went beyond anger, and realized that I regretted not touching him.

  "I saw your sketches while you were gone,” he blurted out.

  "You went through my things?” I was shocked. I'd never expected this behavior from Alfred.

  "I knocked it off of your table. But, once it was open, yes, I looked."

  I knew what he was mad about. There were at least a dozen sketches of Marco in that book, many of them nude. I suppose that finding nude drawings of the bad guy in your partner's room would be enough to get anyone worked up. In my defense, I did not have carnal knowledge of Marco. They were purely from my imagination, and it was quite active.

  He must have guessed by my reaction that I now understood the problem.

  "You hunt the bad guys, Lilith. You don't fuck them."

  My hand reacted to the accusation before I could think of what to say. The sound of slapping his face was shockingly loud. He didn't even flinch. He just stared at me with the accusation now clear on his face. A small red right hand began to appear across the smooth olive skin of his left cheek. That had to sting, but Alfred didn't let on.

  I stood there, stunned, not knowing what to say. All the years that I had known him, and I had only then realized how badly I wanted to touch this man. Even the smack of my hand across his face had been exciting. I felt a flush creeping up my neck and abruptly turned my back on him. To my surprise, I realized that not only did I want to touch him, but I felt feverish at the thought. If he had seen me blush, I hoped he mistook it for embarrassment.

  Alfred knew that I was rarely, if ever embarrassed, but we had never been in this situation before. Maybe he wouldn't think about it too hard. For that matter, maybe I could stop thinking about it hard, if you know what I mean. I had been cracked in the head with a bat twice in as many days. I should not have been thinking about sex.

  I started walking toward the stairs. I had to get out of there before I made a worse fool of myself. As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I realized that I'd never really thought of Alfred that way, even after we'd spent the night together.

  I'd flirted with him in a joking way, it's just my personality. But before that night, I'd never really thought of Alfred as a woman thinks of a man. I cared for him, and I'd certainly felt affection, but there was another word to describe what I'd felt only moments before, lust.

  The fact that I now wanted to do things to Alfred that I couldn't even pronounce left me speechless. That was quite a novelty for me. I never knew when to shut up.

  "Where are you going?"

  I was halfway up the stairs.

  "To bed,” I answered, trying not to reveal my thoughts.

  "You can't."

  "Excuse me?"

  "Elijah's in your room."

  I'd forgotten about Elijah. I must have been hit harder than I'd thought. How awful of me to have not asked about him.

  "Is he alright?"

  "He will be. He has a slight concussion, and he's pretty banged up, but he'll live."

  "Why my bed?” I couldn't resist asking.

  "Because the man has a head injury and your bed is more comfortable."

  I couldn't help but wonder if that was a sneaky way of getting me to spend the night with him, or just an evil reminder that he knew how comfortable my bed was. Slowly, I walked back down the stairs, not because I was reluctant to return, but if I moved too quickly, I still felt very dizzy.

  "Where should I sleep?” I asked wearily.

  Alfred smiled with an expression that I'd never seen him wear before, but it suited him somehow. It was the look of a man who knew exactly what he wanted.

  "You can stay in my room,” he said with a flirtatious grin.

  I stared at him blankly, waiting for more of an explanation. Finally, he looked back at me and said, “Don't worry. I'll be staying down here."

  I think I was actually upset more at the thoughts of him avoiding me than if he had deliberately planned to get me alone.

  "What's really bothering you, Alfred?” I sighed. “We can't live like this. Whether we ... feel anything for each other or not, we still have to work with one another."

  He turned around and leaned back against his desk, crossing his arms in a gesture of obvious frustration. As he tried to find the right words, he began to run his fingers through his hair, which told me more than anything how frustrated he really was. It was a nervous gesture that I'd seen Alfred use for years when he and my father occasionally butted heads.

  "It's just that—” He took a deep breath and started over. “Before Kathryn came by ... I thought we had something.” He ran his fingers through his hair again as he said, “I felt something ... I thought the feeling was mutual."

  It was. But, that's not what I said. There was something that I needed to know first. “I came downstairs that night. You were asleep on the couch."

  "Why didn't you wake me?"

  I couldn't keep the anger out of my voice as I answered, “I wouldn't want to disturb your dreams."

  He looked confused. “My what?"

  "Why were you on the couch anyway?” I pressed, ignoring his bewildered look.

  "Wasn't it obvious?!” He sounded irritated again. “I fell asleep waiting for you to come downstairs."

  It felt like someone had thrown cold water in my face. He had fallen asleep waiting for me. I felt like a fool. We had so obviously been on the same page that night. Why didn't I wake him? That reminded me, “If you were waiting for me, then why were you calling Marcy's name in your sleep?"

  He looked thunderstruck. “I was having a nightmare!” Alfred looked as if something had just occurred to him. “What were you doing downstairs?"

  "It doesn't matter."

  "The hell it doesn't.” His next words were spoken more softly. “You came back for me, didn't you? You came back for me, heard me say her name, and left.” He'd come to his own conclusion.

  I just looked at him for a moment, my head beginning to pound again. “What would you have done?” I asked.

  "I probably would have woke you up and had a fit, like I just did about the pictures, that you never explained, by the way.” His words were still accusatory, but the anger was gone from his voice.

  "You know I'm not sleeping with him."

  "Yes, but your not sleeping with me either, and quite frankly, I'm jealous."

  "That I'm not sleeping with you?"

  "That I'm not the one you think about when you're alone at night."

  I must have looked as surprised as I felt.

  "I'm not jealous that I'm not in your bed. I'm jealous because I'm not in your heart."

  Those softly spoken words melted me in ways the hot Florida sun never could.

  "Marco isn't in my heart,” I almost whispered as I moved closer to Alfred.

  "Then where is he?” He added more softly, “Where am I?"

  I decided to be honest. “I'm not sure where you are, but Marco's not a part of the picture."

  "Not even in the background?” he smiled as I ran my hands inside his coat, leaning into him.

  "Not even the ugly brown paper on the back of the frame,” I said.

  He cradled the back of my aching head in his hand and I went limp in his arms.

  "Lilith,” he said. His voice sounded far away. “Lilith, you need to stay conscious. You've been hit too hard too many times."

  He pulled me more tightly against his chest, and I felt the blanket slide down my back. I had overexerted myself when I lost my temper. I was tough, but I wasn't invincible. Maybe one day I'd get that through my gratefully thi
ck skull. I felt my legs growing weaker and knew that I couldn't stand on my own. Unfortunately, when I get hit that hard in the head it seems to bring out the comedian in me. But, it wasn't like Alfred hasn't experienced my twisted humor before.

  "What can I say?” I looked up into his eyes and smiled. “You make me weak in the knees."

  He laughed, but his eyes looked sad. “If you hadn't been nearly bludgeoned to death, I might be able to take that seriously."

  "I haven't been bludgeoned."

  He smiled kindly at my slurred words. “Yeah,” he said, “I think you have."

  "What should I do to stay awake?” This would have been the perfect opportunity to suggest something inappropriate, but because he is a gentleman, Alfred said, “You could start by letting me wash the blood out of your hair."

  "I've got blood in my hair?"

  He nodded, still smiling at the confused look on my face.

  "Is it mine?” I asked, horrified.

  "Not all of it."

  I wrinkled my nose at the thought of spending the night with blood in my hair.

  "But, I can't stand up to take a shower."

  Yet again, this would have been the perfect opportunity to suggest something naughty. Alfred kissed my forehead as he said, “Let me help you.” Ah, perhaps there was hope for him yet. He leaned forward and pulled the blanket back around me. Alfred knew that I was far from modest, but I appreciated the gesture. He swept me gracefully into his arms and carried me toward the stairs.

  "You're in luck,” he teased, “My back just started feeling better."

  Alfred's downstairs bedroom was the second largest in the house. It connected to another bathroom that, though not as big as mine, was quite nice. The bathroom also connected to a guest bedroom that was rarely, if ever used. I wondered why Alfred hadn't put Elijah in the guest room, because I wasn't buying that my bed was just more comfortable. Like the bathroom upstairs, this one also had a garden tub, but what it had that mine did not was Jacuzzi jets. Just the thought of all that warm water massaging against my aching body made me feel even weaker.

  Alfred laid me across his bed, walked to the bathroom, and started running water in the tub. I liked Alfred's room, though I rarely saw it. His room was decorated in shades of brown and cream, with the occasional dark chocolate or white appearing here and there. A large stone fireplace sat against one wall, it was connected by a central chimney to the smaller fireplace in my bedroom upstairs. The only thing that was missing was a bear skin rug. I tried to sit up, but found that the room spun in a way that was not at all pleasant.

  I groaned.

  "I know you're not trying to get up,” Alfred's voice scolded through the open door.

  I lay back against the sheets, defeated.

  "How come I could walk halfway up the stairs on my own, and now I can't even lift my head?"

  "Adrenaline,” he answered simply.

  "Adrenaline?"

  "Yes,” he said, walking back into the room to stand over me. “About how pissed off would you say that you were when you got up off the couch?"

  I considered this for a moment and decided to accept his explanation.

  "I was livid."

  "Come here,” he said soothingly as he swept me into his arms.

  Alfred carried me into the bathroom, my long blanket dragging the floor like a cape. My head didn't hurt as badly, but I seemed to be incapable of standing without support. He helped me to sit on the side of the tub before looking at me with a mischievous smile as he knelt before me.

  "You'll need to lose this,” he said, tugging gently on the blanket.

  I braced myself against his shoulders and stood shakily, letting the blanket slide the length of my body to pool around my feet. I'm normally very self conscious about my scars, but it wasn't as if Alfred hadn't seen them before. He had seen the vicious injury first hand and compared to that, the scars were nothing.

  "Better?” I asked.

  "Much,” he smiled.

  I sat back down and slid my feet into the water, moaning as the heat soothed my aching calf muscles. Alfred wrapped his arms around me, holding me tightly against his chest, but careful not to touch my breasts.

  "Do you think you could sit up long enough for me to get undressed?"

  I tried to turn my head to look at him, but a sharp pain near my temple changed my mind.

  "Undressed? You're getting in with me?"

  "How else do you expect me to wash your hair? You can't sit up on your own. You're barely conscious."

  He did have a point. I wasn't entirely sure that I could sit up long enough for him to get in. So, I decided not to argue.

  "Alright,” I slid slowly down into the water and propped my arms on the side of the tub, leaning my cheek against my forearm. It was the only way that I could keep from sliding all the way under. I watched Alfred begin to unbutton his deep purple shirt that I'd only then noticed went every well with his olive skin. Never had I had such a craving for caramel and been so helpless to do anything about it.

  "Are you going to watch?” he inquired softly.

  "I can't turn my head without getting dizzy,” I answered honestly, but with a smirk that I couldn't seem to control.

  He walked around behind me with a smile, and I heard his clothes fall to the floor. As I felt Alfred slide in the tub behind me, my heart beat faster, causing my head to throb. He reached around my ribs and pulled me back against him with a splash. Drifting in and out of consciousness, I took pleasure in the feel of his long fingers as they massaged their way through my short hair with an expert tenderness that I had not expected.

  When the last of the blood had been washed away, I half turned in his arms, laying my face against his chest.

  "I'm I clean?” I sighed.

  "You're hair is, but I'm afraid I can't do anything about your mind."

  I laughed softly, careful not to move my head.

  "I can barely move, Alfred. I think you can safely assume that I'm not going to molest you."

  "Some days, you take the fun out of living,” he teased as he ran his fingers through my wet hair and began to massage my scalp.

  "Mmmm,” I breathed.

  "Stop, you're turning me on,” he smiled.

  As I looked into his handsome face, I realized that my eyes were beginning to lose focus. There was something that I wanted to tell him while I most likely would not be held accountable for whatever I might say.

  I rested my cheek back against his chest as I said, “I had a dream about you."

  Alfred knew about my dream journal. I had mentioned to him before, though not in any great detail how most of my dreams had a way of coming true, whether literally, or symbolically, and I'd always been fascinated by dream interpretation. He was very still as I told him about the dream, especially the part where he went into the water, knowing that he would sink, but thought that wouldn't be so terrible a fate, if he were only closer to me when he went under. Deciding not to skip the details, I also told him how I had seen myself through his eyes. I also let slip how I had told Kat about the dream and she said that it was only further proof that he wanted me. Her exact words were, “If he knew he had a chance you wouldn't be able to beat him loose with a stick."

  He laughed at that last part, “She's right. If I thought I had a snowball's chance in Hell, I'd have been waiting outside your door the other night, instead of on the couch. Although, that might have been the most profoundly stupid thing I've done to gain a woman's attention thus far."

  "There are so many reasons why I shouldn't get involved with you,” I said.

  "Name one."

  I couldn't. Maybe it was the head injury, or maybe I just didn't have a good enough reason to not notice how great he looked, wet and naked, and right in front of me. I was beginning to ramble and went on to say things that I probably shouldn't have.

  "I'm sorry that I never touch you,” I apologized sincerely, running my wet fingers through his hair.

  "Why is that?” he ask
ed softly.

  "It's not that I've never wanted to touch you,” I went on when I should have stopped. “I have very much wanted to know what it feels like to touch you ... But I was afraid that if I knew, I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off..."

  I felt slightly embarrassed by this confession, but only until I heard his response, “I would very much like to know what you taste like, but I'm afraid if I knew ... I might eat you alive."

  Damn, he was good. Where was this man three and a half years ago when I'd met Bradley? I was struck with a profound sense of loss as I realized, he was right here. The whole time I'd spent my love and my time on some jerk that didn't deserve the effort, here was a nice man who seemed to genuinely care for me. Stupid is too mild of a word for what I had been.

  Alfred cradled my head in his hand as he leaned in to kiss me. He paused, hovering above my lips for a few seconds. I think somehow both of us knew that with that contact, things would change. His lips were warm and tender as they brushed gently against mine. I heard myself sigh and leaned into his embrace. For the first time, I understood how much I had wanted, no needed for Alfred to hold me like this. My hands seemed to move of their own accord from his chest to his shoulders, pulling him closer to me. My arms had been the only thing keeping my bare breasts from touching him. With that obstacle removed I pressed myself against him, my nipples hardening against the roughness of the hair on his chest.

  The kiss deepened, causing him to press slightly harder against the back of my head. I moaned, but not in the way he had expected, I'm sure.

  "What's wrong?” he asked, the pupils of his dark eyes dilated with desire.

  I offered him a weak smile as I said, “Don't take this as rejection, but I've got a headache."

  He laughed, a deep and knowledgeable sound that seemed a foreign thing coming from Alfred. It was the sort of laugh that says, “I know you want me."

  "Don't worry,” he whispered as he kissed my lips more softly. “I'm not going to jump you."

  "You're not?” I pulled back to see his reaction.

  "No,” he smiled. “As long as I've waited, I'd prefer you to be up to the task."