Chapter 9


The sound of Alainna screaming jolted Peter from a sound sleep. Bolting blindly from the bed, eyes still unfocused, he paused in the hallway. He quickly rubbed his hands over his eyes, trying to determine where the screams were coming from. The sound was echoing up the front staircase.
Racing down the stairs, he screeched to a halt at her side in the doorway. Her screams had silenced, but she stood trembling, staring mutely off the front porch into the front yard.
Eyes following her gaze, his own jaw dropped open. A dead cat was impaled on a stake that had been driven into the front yard.

Grabbing Alainna by the arm, he spun her around, effectively shutting out the horrendous view. Peering into her eyes closely, he could see the first signs of emotional shock setting in.
Dragging her into the library, he sat her down on the sofa, sinking to his knees in front of her. "Alainna?" He brushed his hand along her cheek. "Alainna?"
Her voice was choked as she tried to speak. "I…I wrote…a mystery," she stopped, trying to swallow the lump in her throat, "and the…murderer…left dead cats…as a calling card." The trembling in her voice was matched by the trembling of her entire body. "God! It's one thing to imagine something like that." Face ashen, she looked at Peter. "It's quite another to actually see it."
She informed him, "I think I'm gonna be sick!" Bolting from the room, she held her hand over her mouth.

Peter raked his hand through his hair, torn in several different directions at once. He settled for grabbing the portable phone from its base in the hallway, and racing to stand outside the bathroom door. "Alainna?" he called through the door. He got no response.
Peter hit the speed dial button preprogrammed with Doc's number. The old man's voice was thick with sleep when he answered. Speaking in a hushed voice, Peter stepped away from the bathroom door.
"Doc? Yeah, get out here and get out here now. Bring your bag. She needs it. And while you're at it, call our friend, the Sheriff, and get him out here, too. Doc, don't waste time. She's had a shock, and is really shaken up right now."

Hanging up the phone, he rapped on the door to the bathroom again. "Alainna? If you don't answer me, I'm coming in there."
No response. Turning the knob, he discovered that the door was locked. A few good jiggles, and a quick shove, and he had the door opened.
Alainna sat quaking on the floor in front of the toilet, seemingly oblivious to his entry.
"Come on, Alainna. Sitting there's not going to make you feel any better," he informed her. Pulling her to her feet, he guided her into the kitchen, easing her into a chair at the table. His concern increased when she simply sighed and laid her head down on the table.
Pulling a chair close to hers, he sat quietly, stroking her hair, wondering how long it would take Doc to arrive.

It took fifteen long minutes, during which Alainna never stirred. Peter resisted the urge to jump up and pace the kitchen as he sat with her, doing his best to offer some form of comfort.
Doc thundered through the back door, black bag in hand, concern etched into the weary lines on his weathered face that only increased when he saw Alainna sitting with her head on the table. Setting his bag on the table next to her, he raised a questioning eyebrow at Peter.
Peter leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. "Alainna, I've got to talk to Doc for a minute. We'll be right back, okay?" Motioning for the older man to follow, he headed for the hallway.


"Did you see Alainna's little gift when you pulled in the driveway?" Peter asked as they continued walking towards the front of the house.
"Gift?"
Opening the front door, Peter motioned Doc out onto the porch, pointing to the front yard.
"Well, I'll be damned," Doc muttered. "No wonder she looks like that."
Peter reclaimed Doc's attention. "She said something about a mystery she wrote with dead cats in it?"
Doc nodded. "Yep, the first one she wrote, Nine Lives Lost."

Shaking his head, Peter wondered if they were dealing with an unbalanced fan of hers. At present, however, he was concerned about her state of mind. "Doc, she hasn't slept in days. She's been getting harassing phone calls, and now this. She was absolutely exhausted last night, and judging from her appearance, I don't think she slept at all, even though I traded rooms with her."
"Well, we can fix that easy enough, Son. I think right now we'd be doing her a favor if we helped her get some rest, don't you?"
Peter gazed into the old man's eyes. "My thoughts, exactly."

The two men returned to the kitchen, both pleased to discover that Alainna was at least sitting upright in the chair, though her eyes still seemed somewhat glazed and she wore a numb expression on her face. Seeing the two men, she spoke in a flat voice. "Where are the dogs?"
Peter and Doc exchanged a worried glance. Neither of them had noticed the dogs' absence; they had been too focused on Alainna.

When they did not respond, Alainna repeated her question, this time with an edge of panic. "I said, where are my dogs?"
Peter moved to her side while nodding at Doc. "Alainna, I'm sure they're around. Maybe they went for a walk."
Opening his bag, the physician removed a vial and syringe, glancing at Peter. The look they exchanged confirmed that they both agreed to this course of action, regardless of Alainna's response.
She protested loudly when Doc took hold of her arm, and eyed the needle warily. "Doc! What do you think you're doing?"

In an attempt to distract her, Peter grabbed her other hand. "Alainna, you haven't slept in days, have you?" he asked gently. "You need some rest. This whole thing is getting to be a little overwhelming."
"No! I'm fine. I need to find the dogs - OW!" The glare she shot at the doctor as he withdrew the needle from her upper arm lacked its usual fire. "Doc, that wasn't fair! You shouldn't have done that. I did not give permission for that, old man! I think I'll have to have your medical license for that stunt." She rubbed her arm where he had injected the medication. "What the heck was that, anyway, you quack?"
Chuckling at her indignation, he replied, "Valium. Enough of this not sleeping. You're a wreck. I'm just trying to help, 'Lainna."
"Then keep your needles to yourself," she muttered, turning on Peter, accusing him, "And you! You encouraged him, didn't you?"
Peter offered her a sheepish grin by way of apology.

Sighing, she cradled her head in her hands. "That's it. You are both corpses." She winced, shaking her head in response to the idea. "On second thought, no more mysteries." Lifting her head, she stared into Peter's eyes. "Peter, promise me that you'll go look for Molly and Mandy?"
"I promise," he assured her. "Now, let's get you upstairs."
"No, I'm staying down here until Jimmy gets here," she informed him, glancing from one man to the other. "I presume one of you already called him?"
"Yes, we did, and yes, you are going upstairs right now," Peter insisted, scooping her into his arms. He carried her up the back stairs, Doc right behind him. At the top of the stairs, Peter turned into the guest room.
"Hey! Put me down! I want to be in my own room," she protested.
"Too bad. You're staying in here, away from the front of the house." Pulling back the covers, Peter set her gingerly down on the bed. "Now, get under those covers and be quiet for a change."

Shoving at him, she attempted to get out of the bed, only to be stopped in her tracks by a stern glare from her surrogate father. "Young Lady, enough nonsense. Now, you do as Peter tells you and get in that bed. That med is going to be taking effect in about 15 minutes, and I don't need you collapsing downstairs."
Sighing, Alainna sank back into the bed, wearily closing her eyes. "Great. Now you two are tag-teaming me. That's all I need."

Smiling, Peter pulled the covers up over her, smoothing them out gently. "Go to sleep, Miss Writer. Doc and I will handle everything else. And I will stay here with you until you fall asleep."
Opening one eye, she peered at him. "Dressed like that?" she asked with a feeble grin. "You obviously have a tendency towards exhibitionism, Peter. Hmmm, I wonder what you did for a living…" Her words were swallowed up by a yawn and she closed the eye again. "Too bad I don't have the energy to stare right now. You are really feeding my writer's imagination." She giggled.

Peter glanced down at his attire: purple biker-style briefs. "Whoops. See how you distract me, Miss Writer?"
Doc cleared his throat. "I think you might want to put some clothes on before Jimmy gets here. You know how he feels about Alainna, and I don't think he'd be real happy to catch you running around like that."
Faint giggling erupted from Alainna again, a drowsy, giddy sound as she chastised the old man, eyes closed. "Awwww, Doc, you're such a spoil sport."
Blushing, Peter was already pulling on a pair of jeans. "Alainna Anderson, go to sleep."
"'kay, Handsome," she mumbled, doing just that.


A young deputy was the first to arrive. Stalking out the front door, Peter greeted him, "Hi. I'm Peter Walker." The name flowed naturally from his lips as they shook hands.
Deputy Lance Godwin introduced himself to Peter. "Sheriff Sartell asked me to get out here since I was closer than he was." Lance looked at the cat. "Nice. Where's Al?"
"She's upstairs with Doc. He had to sedate her."
The deputy's eyes widened and he raised his eyebrows. "Al? Had to be sedated? Are you sure we're talking about the same Al, Mr.Walker?"
"Yes. After all these phone calls, she hasn't slept in days. She kind of lost it when she saw this cat."

Their conversation was interrupted by Jimmy's arrival in the sheriff's car. Parking in the front of the driveway, he quickly joined them. He whistled when he saw the gift left in the yard. "Very nice." He looked at Peter. "Where's Al?"
Sighing, Peter repeated himself. "She is upstairs with Doc."
Concern was etched on Jimmy's face. "With Doc? Is she okay?"
"No, Sheriff, she is NOT okay. Doc had to sedate her. She kind of lost it with this one," Peter answered, raking his hand through his hair. "What are your plans for catching this guy, Sheriff? Alainna is really starting to get unnerved. Is this Daniel's handiwork or some crazed fan of hers?"
Jimmy glared at Peter. "I will handle this investigation as I see fit, Mr. Walker. Do NOT tell me how to do my job."

Well, somebody ought to, Peter thought, but he held his tongue. "All right. Well, you just go about your investigation. I have to go and find the dogs."
"Find the dogs? Are they missing?" Jimmy asked.
Peter's left hand tightened into a fist. He forced it back open, gritting his teeth as he fought the overwhelming urge to punch the man. Like I'd be looking for them if they weren't missing. "So it seems, Sheriff. If you will excuse me, I will leave you to your investigation." Peter spat the final word out, stalking >from the front yard, leaving Jimmy to glare at his back.
Jimmy turned to the deputy. "Lance, get some photos of this, then bag the damn thing. I'm going upstairs to check on Alainna."


Peter found the dogs locked in the barn, sleeping peacefully. How did they get in there? I don't think I like the implications of this.
Thundering up the stairs to the second floor, the dogs followed Peter as he went to check on Alainna. Striding down the hallway to the guest room, he froze in the doorway. Doc had gone back downstairs and Jimmy was alone with Alainna. Peter watched silently as the man stroked her hair and face.

"Al, I can't believe you let this get to you. It wasn't anything, just a dead cat. You don't let things like that rattle you; you're stronger than that," he murmured.
Clearing his throat, Peter entered the room, causing Jimmy to jump. The dogs raced to Alainna's bedside, nuzzling their unconscious mistress. "All right, dogs, down," he ordered. The dogs obeyed him.

Peter stared at the sheriff, whose face was flushed at being caught caressing Alainna's hair. You are wasting time! Get out there and catch the guy who's hurting her. "Well, I solved my investigation. How's yours going?" he snapped.
Jimmy stood up, grabbing his hat from the night table. He briskly placed it on his head, ran his fingers along the brim, and stalked from the room without so much as a word to Peter.
Peter grinned at the dogs, a smug look of satisfaction on his face. "That got rid of him."

Doc was waiting to leave when Peter returned to the kitchen. Holding up a small vial of pills, he pressed it into Peter's hand. "Just in case she needs them," the physician told him. "Don't let her go three days without sleep again. Just force-feed her one of these, if need be." The old man grinned and winked at him. "I'd probably have to force her. You could probably sweet-talk her into it."
His face suddenly grew somber. "Peter, I don't have to tell you that I was mighty unhappy when I found you here. But now, I think it must have been fate. I am damn glad that you are here to keep an eye on her. She would have never let anyone else stay with her once all this started." Doc extended his hand to Peter.
Peter reached out and shook the old man's hand. "The pleasure is mine, Doc."
For a moment, the man's grip on Peter's hand tightened. "It better not be," he stated warningly, abruptly dropping his hand.

Peter arched his eyebrow at him. "Doc, she's a grown woman. Try to remember that. She can make her own decisions."
Alainna's surrogate father poked him in the chest. "Let me ask you one question. Are you in love with my girl?"
Peter's face betrayed how flustered he felt by the question. He raked his hand through his hair before he answered. "Yeah, Doc, I am," he finally admitted.
Doc sighed and shook his head. "I knew it." He locked gazes with Peter, his dark brown eyes boring intently into the soft, hazel ones. "You are going to break her heart when you leave here, Peter. Keep that in mind before you take this too far." Grabbing his bag from the table, he turned on his heel, leaving Peter standing in the kitchen, pondering his words.


Wandering to the library, he searched the shelf where she kept copies of her books, looking for the one with the cats. If this nutcase has a fixation with this book, then maybe I'd better read it, he thought. That damn sheriff hasn't figured out anything yet. I'll have to do some investigating of my own. Peter let his fingers walk down the spines of the books, reading the titles as he went. "Nine Lives Lost," he muttered triumphantly. "Here it is."
Plucking the book from the shelf, he headed back upstairs, not wanting Alainna to be alone when she woke up. I'll just read this book at her side.


Peter was half finished when she finally woke up. As she stirred, he put the book down, waiting to see what kind of a reception he was going to get after what he and Doc had conspired and done. "Hey," he said softly. "Feel any better now?"
Stretching as she sat up, she pinned him with her glare. "Yes and no. Yes, sleeping was nice. No, because of the way that sleep was obtained. You and Doc had some nerve." She glanced around the room, a panicked look filling her face.

"They're fine Alainna," Peter soothed, knowing what was bothering her. "They were downstairs in the kitchen last I saw them. They were eating their food and preparing to drool all over everything." He offered her a grin.
She smiled back, greatly relieved that her precious friends were safe. "Good. Now, as penance for setting me up with Doc, I think you can wash all of the dog spit off the walls tomorrow."
"Hey, but I'm the one who found them," he protested.
"Right. That's why you are only doing the downstairs walls. Especially the kitchen."

She obviously feels a bit better, he thought with a smile. "Okay, I guess I do deserve it. But you sure look better now."
"What kind of a crack is that? Are you implying that I did not look very good before?" she snapped at him.
He blustered at her, stammering, not knowing quite what to say about that.
Breaking into a grin, she winked at him. "Take it easy, Handsome, I was only kidding." Her grin faded as a piece of reality intruded on their light banter. "Um, is that cat gone?"
"Yes. Jimmy took care of it, you don't have to worry."
"Good." She glanced at the book he had put down. "What are you reading?"
"Nothing."
She grabbed the book anyway. "Oh. Never mind, I'd rather not think about what made you decide to read this particular book right now." She handed it back to him. "I'll be downstairs if you want anything."
"In the library?"
"NO! Definitely NOT in the library." She left Peter pondering the exact meaning of her answer.


Over the next two days, the meaning was made clear to him. His writer-in-residence spent her days anywhere but in the library, succeeding only in showing him how much of a pest a writer who wasn't writing could be. Nerves slowly frayed as the mysterious phone calls ceased, and the pair was left to ponder what was in store for them next.


Chapter 10

Peter planned to be by Alainna's side for her book signing Wednesday. With an unidentified stalker after her, there was no way he'd allow her to go to a strange city by herself.
He had spoken to Jimmy regarding Daniel, but was informed that while there was circumstantial evidence pointing to him, there was nothing solid. Until they had some real evidence, there was nothing he could do.


With a two-hour drive ahead of them, they wanted to get an early start. Wednesday morning's dawn was tinting the sky with lacey fingers of pale pink as they loaded the dogs into the pickup. A warm breeze was blowing, bearing tidings of a lovely day, a day the top could be down on the convertible, but not, Alainna insisted, until the drive home.


Peering out his office window, Daniel Hollinger's eyes followed Peter Walker as he pulled up to Doc's office in the pickup truck. The cold eyes remained trained on their target as the stranger in town opened the tailgate, urging the two mastiffs down out of the bed as Alainna pulled up next to him in the roadster. Running towards the front door, the pair guided the dogs into the doctor's office. Al's up early this morning, too, and it looks like she's going out for the day, Daniel mused. Wonder what she's up to?
Waiting for their exit, he continued watching, rewarded several minutes later when the pair emerged from the office, minus the dogs. Alainna was laughing as the handsome man opened the convertible door for her. Just as she was about to slide into the car, his arms flashed out, pulling her to him, kissing her soundly. Daniel lowered his gaze, recalling a buss from those lips himself.


Lynda Saunders, Alainna's agent, greeted her as she entered the bookstore prior to opening time. "Alainna!" she gushed, hugging her. "It's so good to see you." Stepping back, she evaluated her carefully. "But, then again, I've seen you looking better."
Alainna laughed. "You sure know how to make an author feel good, Lynda. Thanks a heap."
Peter cleared his throat.
She glanced around at him, giving him a wink. "Lynda, I'd like you to meet Peter Walker - my self-appointed bodyguard for the duration of this nightmare my life has become, and the most interesting thing to happen to me in a long time." Her eyes twinkled at Peter as she introduced him, and he was relieved to see the old Alainna coming back to life before his very eyes.

"Peter, this is Lynda Saunders, my agent. She gets the thank-less task of putting up with me at all these kinds of things. Actually, I'm lucky to have her. She goes out of her way for me. Not many agents hold hands with skittish writers."
Lynda shook Peter's hand, appraising him carefully. God, he's gorgeous, she thought. I wonder where Alainna found him and if there are any more? "It's a pleasure, Mr. Walker."
Peter flashed her his heart-melting grin. "Please, call me Peter."

Lynda returned the smile, letting her gaze linger on the hazel eyes and well-built form, then reluctantly turned back to Alainna, tearing her attention from the Adonis and refocusing on her writer. "All right, Al, it's just about time. Let me show you where we've got the table set up." Taking Alainna by the arm, she murmured in her ear, "I want all the details on this one."
Peter followed them, keeping Alainna in close proximity. He scanned the store's set-up as they wandered through it, taking note of exits, firmly entrenching the lay of the land within his mind. Determined to protect her no matter what the day had on-tap for them, he included a stop at the manger's office to inquire about security.

Fortunately there were no surprises. Peter marveled at Alainna's ability to maintain her smile and twinkle throughout the long, slow- moving day.
He hovered protectively nearby, constantly scanning the crowd for potential problems. He had come to realize that he had an almost sixth sense about danger, a nagging itch that would develop below the skin on the back of his neck. Fortunately, the nerves stayed quiet.
When she took a break, he massaged her hand for her, hitting all the pressure points unconsciously. "Ahhh," she sighed, "You are the best thing for writer's cramp I've ever known." She propped her left elbow on the cafe table, cupping her chin in the palm as Peter continued to massage her aching right hand.
He grinned at her. "Well, Miss Writer, I'm glad to know that I have some redeeming value besides mowing your lawn."
"Oh, you're good for lots of things, Peter," she told him brightly. "You can chop wood, pull weeds, fix fences…"

He cut off her list by silencing her with a kiss, and was pleasantly surprised when she allowed herself to get lost in it for a near eternity.
She spoke again as soon as he broke off the kiss, but this time there was a breathy quality in her voice that would have made Peter's knees weak if he had been standing. "And you are an excellent kisser." She slowly brushed the back of her hand over his cheek, lingering there with an expression of longing on her face. It was quickly replaced with a rueful smile. "I really have to get back to the book table now."


Peter continued to watch from his near-by post as Alainna kept up her banter with her fans another few hours.
Lynda slipped alongside of him. "So, how's she really doing?" she asked, never taking her gaze from Alainna.
"Well, this is definitely the best she's been in a while. You know, she hasn't written a sentence since we found the dead cat Sunday morning. She's driving me nuts."
Lynda snapped her head around to look at Peter directly. "Are you serious? Not one sentence in four days?"
Peter nodded his head. "She'll go on the computer to collect and answer e-mail, but that's it. Then she shuts it down and won't even stay in the library."
Lynda sighed and glanced over at Alainna again. "That is very serious, Peter. I don't think Alainna's gone four days without writing since before I met her. I would have never believed it was possible." Suddenly Lynda's face lit up. "Well, I know how to light a fire under her." She turned back to face Peter with a slightly evil grin. "Excuse me, Peter, but I have to go make a call to an editor. You make sure she checks her e-mail as soon as you get home, okay?"
"Okay, whatever you say. I hope your plan works. I'm getting tired of watching her mope around the house. She's not the same when she's not writing."


Peter concocted his own plan to brighten her spirits as he drove home >from the city. She had finally decided that his lack of a driver's license was not a good reason for him not to drive, and had actually allowed him to take control of her sports car. At least this once, she'd said.
The convertible's top had been lowered, since she no longer cared what happened to her hair. He grinned over at her, then chuckled. She was sound asleep and the blond strands were plastered across her face by the wind. His right hand flashed out to brush them >from her eyes, tucking them back behind her ear. Yes, this could definitely be one of our more memorable evenings, if you play your cards right, Peter, he told himself.

To Peter's surprise, the dogs met them as they entered the kitchen. He then realized the pick-up truck had been in the garage, and the keys were hanging on the hook. "How did they get here?" he asked.
"S.O.P., Peter. Standard operating procedure around here. Doc brings them home in the afternoon, though usually he uses his own truck. Natalie probably drove him home from here," she informed him, petting the excited dogs.
"Natalie?"
"Yes, his receptionist." Scanning the kitchen, she heaved a weary sigh.
Peter dropped the first part of his surprise on her. "Why don't you wander off to the library, Alainna? Check your e-mail, write a few sentences," he grinned as she stuck her tongue out at him, "and while you do that, I'll make dinner."
She stared at him in open-mouthed shock for a minute, then burst into laughter. "You?" she asked, incredulously. "You are going to cook dinner? You haven't so much as boiled water since you got here."
Hazel eyes twinkled merrily at her. "Just because I haven't, doesn't mean that I can't. I'm serious, Alainna. Go! I'll take care of it. Don't come back in this kitchen until I call you."
"Okay, Handsome, I'm game if you are." She looked around at the kitchen. "Try not to break anything, okay?"
She strolled down the hallway and Peter could hear her laughter fading as she headed for the library.


He nearly dropped the pot he was holding when he heard her scream from the library. This scream was not the one of terror that had awakened him on Sunday morning. This one was full of anger and rage. He set the pot down and ran, skidding to a stop in the archway.
She was pacing the floor, muttering under her breath, running her hands through her hair.
"What's wrong, Alainna?" he asked.
She turned to him and he could see fire in her eyes. "What's wrong?" she snapped. "I am going to kill this editor, that's what's wrong. And then, I am going to kill Lynda for letting them assign her to me."
Holding back the smile, which threatened to erupt, Peter did his best to maintain an appropriately sympathetic expression. Apparently Lynda's activated her plan to get Alainna writing again. "What exactly is the problem, Miss Writer?" he asked curiously.
Alainna ceased her pacing long enough to regard him for a moment. Her face flushed and she resumed her stalking in front of the fireplace. "Never you mind," she muttered. "Just you never mind."
"Is there anything I can do to help?" he offered.

She stopped her pacing once more and looked at him again, an unusual smile filling her face.
Peter couldn't quite place the emotion that was behind the smile.
Her eyes sparkled at him. "Um, maybe. I'll let you know." She winked at him, and spun on her heel, stalking to the computer. "Call me when dinner's ready."
"Yes, ma'am." Sensing dismissal, he headed back to the kitchen with a soft chuckle. Apparently Lynda knows what she's doing when it comes to motivating stubborn writers.


Lying on the Oriental rug with her arm across her face, she never heard his approach. When his voice spoke from a few feet nearby, she jumped slightly. "Alainna? Is that a new writing technique? I've never seen someone write like that before."
Dragging the arm slowly from her face, she gazed up at him. "Ha. You're funny, Peter. Actually, I was writing, Smarty Pants. I was imagining, if that's okay with you? Is dinner ready?"
"Yes, m'lady, it is," he replied, bowing to her.
"Great. I'm starving. I hope it's edible." He leaned down, hand extended to her, and helped her to her feet.
Peter offered her his arm. Smiling, she linked elbows with him. Leading the way to the formal dining room, he paused in the doorway, carefully appraising her face as she reacted to the sight before her.

The table was set with the good china. Candlelight flickered across the room; a vase of wildflowers was the table centerpiece. Catching her by the chin, he tipped her head up, kissing her gently. "I didn't want this room to be sad anymore." He guided her to the table.
Settling herself in the chair he'd gallantly pulled back for her, she wore a dumbfounded expression on her face. This is certainly NOT what I expected from him, she thought as he served her.
The meal itself was a simple affair - a tossed salad, pasta with red sauce, and some of her homemade bread. It was topped off with a bottle of wine he had managed to find tucked away in one of her cupboards.

He lifted his wineglass, toasting her with a wink. "To your writer's imagination. May it always be well fed."
Laughing, she lifted her own glass. "To my mysterious stranger, who turns out to be a pretty good cook after all." And a true romantic, she thought, cheeks flushing the identical color of the pale pink wine in her glass.
Glasses clinked lightly and they each sipped the wine. "So, tell me," Alainna began, "Have you been talking to my editor?"
Peter sputtered. "What? No! Why would you ask that?"
She blushed again. "Oh, no reason." Scanning the room, she once more absorbed the candles, the flowers, and her handsome dining companion. He may have helped without knowing it. "Peter, this is really lovely. Thank you. This is definitely a good way to make a better memory for this room." She raised her glass to him again in a silent toast.
The meal and quiet, inconsequential discussions ended, Peter stood up and picked up both plates, pausing to lean over and drop a kiss on her head. "Now, go back to your writing while I clean this up. When I come back to that library, I want to find you on that keyboard, not lying on the floor, wasting time."
She snapped him a smart salute. "Yes, Sir."


Forty-five minutes later, Peter had all the dishes washed, dried and returned to their proper places. After drying his hands on a towel, he headed down the hallway.
Pausing at the entrance to the library, Peter stared at the transformation of the place, and his hostess, working as he'd never seen her work before.
The mood he'd set for dinner had spilled over into the library. Soft, romantic music flowed from her computer speakers. Despite the warmth of the night, a fire crackled on the hearth. The room was dark, save for the flickering of the candles on the bookshelves and computer table. The monitor added its own strangely out-of-place glow.
Alainna's face was bathed in the glow of the candles and monitor. Her eyes were closed and Peter knew she was imagining something.

Crossing the room on cat's feet, he made not a sound. Creeping up behind her, he leaned over to read the scene from her novel that sat on the computer screen, awaiting her further attention. He read: With a growl deep in his throat born of long suppressed passion… His breath caught in his own throat.
"What's this?" he whispered.
She jumped, eyes flying open. Realizing that he'd been reading over her shoulder, her hand flashed out to quickly click off the monitor. "I'm just working on a re-write," she told him, blushing furiously. "My editor sent it back to me today." Her cheeks burned crimson, and Peter fought the urge to reach out and touch them to confirm the heat could actually be felt in her face.
"It looked fine to me," he tormented, loving the flustered look on her face. "What did she say was wrong with it?"
Alainna lowered her gaze. "She said it's not steamy enough," she murmured softly.

It seemed pretty steamy to me, he thought with a grin. To her, he said, "Ahh, I see. And so you were using that writer's imagination of yours, since you have little real life experience to draw from, right?"
The blush deepened even further, and she nodded.
Peter took her hand and kissed it. "I can help. Do you trust me?"
"Peter, you're living in my house, a man without a past, yet each night we fall asleep under the same roof. Of course I trust you, don't be ridiculous."
"Good. Then come over here." Pulling her from her chair, he led her to the rug in front of the fire. Settling himself on the floor, he guided her down beside him. Facing the fire, he drew her into his arms so that she also faced the fire, leaning back against his chest.

After several minutes, he whispered in her ear. "Alainna, I'm going to feed that writer's imagination of yours." He began to nuzzle the back of her neck, and the sweet smell of strawberries drifting from her hair filled his nose. He slid his mouth to ear, gently nibbling on it, then ran his tongue along the outer edge.
She began to tremble, and he chuckled deep in his throat. "Alainna, stop thinking, start feeling." Catching her face in his hand, he turned her head until they were nearly nose to nose. Pulling her in close, Peter was delighted by her innocence as she closed her eyes, angling her head, waiting for his kiss.

He brushed his lips gently across hers, hesitantly at first, then becoming bolder. Kissing her harder, he teased her lips until she opened her mouth. Slipping his tongue between her parted lips, he was pleased when she responded in kind.
He knew when the fire began to blaze within her; she began to kiss him hungrily, becoming bolder. He slid his mouth to her neck, kissing, nipping gently.
"Peter," she gasped.
Her gasp ignited a raging flame within his own body and soul, rivaling the one in the fireplace. Gently he lowered them both to a prone position on the Oriental rug, continuing his explorations.

"Peter, I…we…" she stammered several minutes later, breaking her mouth from his and pushing against his chest, "We can't do this."
Peter brushed at her bangs, moving them off her forehead and placing a tender kiss there. He gazed deeply into the blue eyes. "Alainna, I don't have a yesterday that doesn't belong to you. Tomorrow is outside of our grasp. Neither one of us knows what tomorrow will bring. I have finally learned to live in the moment, to cherish today, because really, it's all we ever have." He watched her process his statements, eyes filling with a myriad of emotions.
She bit her lip. "Peter, I…I don't think you quite understand what this means as far as I'm concerned. This is not something I take lightly."

He ran his hand over her cheek, savoring the smooth skin. "I know that, Miss Innocent, better than you think. I'm asking you to sell your soul to me, aren't I?"
Nodding her head, she whispered, "Yes, exactly."
"You already own mine," he admitted, bending over her to kiss her once again. "Take a chance, Miss Writer. You know what they say, 'tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all."
"Oh, really? They say that, do they?"
"Mmmhmm," he answered, nuzzling her neck again.
"Peter, please…"
He silenced her by placing his index finger across her lips. "Alainna Anderson, I love you."
He had to say it, didn't he? "Peter Walker, I…I love you, too." God help me, I do love him!
He responded to her confession with another hungry kiss, melting the little resistance she had left.


The first morning sunbeams floated through the window, glistening on her blond hair that was spread across the pillow. Reaching out, Peter caressed the silky strands, lifting them to his nose to enjoy the fragrance of strawberries. Sweet, just like her.
Wrapping his arm around her still-sleeping form, he pulled her closer, snuggling up behind her like spoons in a drawer. He continued to caress her hair, then leaned over to kiss her on the ear.

Smiling lazily, her eyes fluttered open. Reaching out for the arm around her middle, she clasped his hand in her own. "Good morning, Handsome."
"Good morning, Love," he murmured into her ear. "How did you sleep?"
She rolled over to face him, placing her hand on his cheek. "Very well, thank you." I never felt more secure in my life. "And you?"
Kissing the tip of her nose tenderly, he told her, "I like this bed better than the one in the guest room, especially when you're in it with me."
She blushed, sending roses blooming across her cheeks. "Oh, really? Why is that?"
He grinned at her, lowering his head to her neck. "Are you sure you really want to know?" he whispered against her throat.


I love to see her at this time of the morning, he thought. She always looks so sweet, lying there, just waking up.
Grabbing the laptop from the seat next to him, he flipped it open and connected it to his cell phone. He dialed into his IP, accessing a private website. Typing the necessary passwords, he waited eagerly.
His jaw clenched reflexively and his heart rate increased as he observed the scene displayed on the monitor. Closing his eyes for a moment, he shook his head, then re-opened them to look again. Angry, yet aroused, he watched as Peter ravished the body that had been denied to him.
Now you've done it, he thought. I warned you not to get too cozy. Well, this is pretty damn cozy. You will pay for this.


He set his coffee cup on the computer table and leaned over to kiss the top of her head. She jumped beneath him.
"Peter! I do wish you would learn to make some noise! You walk like a damn cat."
Smiling broadly, he eased himself into the recliner. "You would rather I made as much noise as those two horses you keep in the house?"
She stopped typing and turned to face him. "Yes, that would work." Jumping from her chair into his lap, she plastered a kiss on him.
Peter laughed delightedly. "What's that for?"
"To thank you. I must say, I think my editor will be very happy with the re-write I just sent her." Her eyes twinkled merrily at him.
"Well, that is good news." Grinning back at her, he stroked her face, tracing a path along the side of her face, delighting in the way she pressed her cheek into his palm. As his hand brushed back towards her ear, he slid it behind her head, pulling her to him for a serious kiss.
Breaking from her, he moved his mouth next to her ear, murmuring softly, "It's a new day, Love. Are you glad you seized the day yesterday?"

Capturing his gaze, her blue eyes pierced his hazel. "Yes, Handsome, I'm glad I took a chance and decided to sell my soul to you." At least I am right now. Ask me that in another month or two. Leaning forward, she initiated the next kiss, tracing the outline of his mouth with her tongue, then pressing forward when he parted his lips.
The strident ring of the phone interrupted them. Alainna reluctantly moved back to the computer chair and picked up the receiver.

"Hello? Oh, hi, Doc." The face she made at Peter, rolling her eyes heavenwards, spoke volumes of what she thought about the man's timing. "What am I doing? Oh, I'm just working on some romance."
Peter snickered.
"You want to speak to Peter? Oh, sure, fine. Yeah, he's here. Where else would he be? Hold on." She passed the receiver to Peter, turning back to her keyboard.
"Yeah, Doc, what's up? Yes, I could do that. Sure. I'll be there in about a half an hour, okay? No problem." He handed the receiver back to Alainna.

Gazing at him curiously, she hung up the phone. "Well?" she demanded, "Are you going to tell me, or are you going to leave me in suspense?"
"Doc asked if I could help him out today with a few repair projects around the clinic." He eyed Alainna, scrutinizing her carefully. "I wonder where he got the idea that I'm some sort of a handyman?"
She laughed, shrugging her shoulders. "I have absolutely no idea." Spinning in her chair, she faced the monitors again, placing her hands on the keyboard. "Do you mind? I'm trying to get some work done here, and you are distracting me."
"Well, you know where I'll be if you need me." Rising from the chair, he laid his hands on her shoulders. "Are you sure you'll be all right here by yourself?"

Reaching up, she grabbed his hands in her own, giving them a reassuring squeeze. "Peter, I lived here all by myself for a long time before you staggered out of the woods. I'll be fine. Don't be a worry wart; you're starting to sound like Doc."
"Okay." Letting go of her hands, he pulled lightly on her hair. "Where are the keys?"
"The keys to the pick-up are hanging by the back door, as usual." She chuckled when he groaned in protest. "Hey, you didn't really think I was going to let you take the roadster, did you?"
Bending down to kiss her on the cheek, he whispered into her ear, "A man can always hope. I'll see you later."

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