No Love Lost

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This story is set at the time period of Ill Wind.

She was made of light, and silk, and he could not stop touching her. Fingertips traveling over the delicate arch of her collarbone, as fine as a bird's wing. Skimming over the curve of her shoulder to trace the long, elegant line of her arm.

She stopped. She stopped for me. It was an odd source of wonder to him. She could have waved him aside and pulled her car back on the road. She could have simply asked if he was all right, and left him in her dust once she was sure he wasn't hurt.

But she'd asked him, Need a ride?, and he had made a choice. The kind of choice that altered the course of his life, of hers, of everything they would ever touch.

He had chosen to love. She wouldn't know it yet -- and maybe she would never know it -- but what he had done was irrevocable. Possibly even unforgivable.

She murmured in her sleep, arching into his warmth. She'd intended some great sexual adventure out of this

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