He stares back at me with intense eyes that seem to study my private thoughts as though they were written across the pages of an open book. I can feel the sudden rush of heat spreading across my cheeks as I begin to blush uncontrollably, trying without success to make myself think of something - anything - that isn't his bare skin against mine. I know that I can't hide my desire from him, he knows me too well.

"You always were easy to read." he says, the words slipping through a playful smile as his hand lightly strokes my cheek.

He takes a step closer to me, his strong hands gently hold my face as though it were crafted from the most delicate porcelain, their coarse fingertips lightly scratching its surface. The warmth of his body mingles with that of my own as my hands move instinctively to his waist, pulling him closer to me. His scent is reminiscent of black suede and nutmeg, both familiar and comforting. I am gazing back into the warm, brown eyes that draw me in so deeply, silently wishing that this moment could go on forever - that we could go on forever just as we are.

I could never tell you how much you mean to me. I memorize every detail of his face so that I might be able to recall it at will. I wish I could put it into words, but I can't find the right ones to say.

"I know." His words pull me out of my internal monologue and back into his arms. "You don't have to say it out loud, Alison."

I don't know how much longer I can do this. I can't pretend that I'm okay living three thousand miles away from you. I'm in love with you, I can't help it. My heart is breaking. If you need me half as much as I need you -

He silences those chaotic thoughts with a brush of his lips against mine. The desire to taste him urges me on; I return his kiss, gently parting his lips with my tongue and slowly teasing him with it. The kiss deepens as our tongues passionately dance together; every delicious movement is followed by a torrid wave of arousal that washes over my body, leaving it wet with a longing for his touch. I feel lightheaded and euphoric, almost becoming disoriented in such an exquisite state of lust. As if he could sense it, he slips one arm around my waist to steady me, pulling my body tightly against his own.

His other hand moves carefully, deliberately. A soft moan escapes my lips as I feel it slip beneath my blouse to caress the bare skin of my abdomen, my back arching in a primal response to his touch. My breasts struggle against constrictive lace, their nipples hardening beneath the finespun material. His hand settles at the bottom of their valley for a moment before deftly gripping and releasing the front-closure of my bra. Freed from their restraint, he takes one naked breast into his hand, gently kneading it as I press my hips suggestively against his, teasing the part of him that is aching for my attention.

My lips abandon his mouth, leaving a trail of velvet kisses as they follow the broad lines of his jaw, his neck. Eager hands make quick work of removing his shirt, my mouth ravenously taking its place as it falls to the floor. I love his smell, the taste of his skin. The heart inside his chest is pounding against his ribcage as fiercely as my own, its pulse quickening as our desire reaches the point of no return.

I feel him shudder when my lips and tongue reach his navel, my agile fingers swiftly removing his belt before they linger to trace the contour of engorged flesh held captive by the unforgiving denim of his jeans. The worn, metal button slips through its stitched loop with ease. I guide the zipper down a rigid track to release the intense pressure inside, only for it to be further denied by a layer of cotton beneath. As if I could stop them, my lips brush against the soft-spun material. I smile not-quite innocently as his eyes, now bright with lust, meet my own.

His expression is one of adoration and overwhelming desire, yet it masks a sorrowful undertone. Slowly kneeling down beside me, he is gazing into my eyes and I realize in that same instant that all of the thoughts and feelings in my mind and heart are right there in his. There is nothing more that needs to be said.

He leans toward me until his cheek is caressing my own. "You will not ever forget this," he whispers into my ear before we take each other one last time.

The voices in the bar stilled for a moment, then came back louder than ever. A flash of red appeared in the bar mirror, weaving in and out of the bottles in a seductive dance. If the distorted reflection he saw in the mirror was any guide, the lady in red was the source of the sudden hush.

The bartender silently put another cold beer in front of him. Before he could grab it, pale fingers tipped with blood-red nails wrapped around it.

“My favorite. How did you know?” a husky voice whispered in his ear.

He watched as she lifted the bottle to her mouth. She looked him in the eye as she deliberately licked her full, red lips. He felt his gut tighten as her tongue moved to the bottle, slowly circling the rim. Then she took a slow sip, her pleasure obvious.

He wasn’t surprised that the mostly-male bar patrons had noticed her entrance – she was the type of woman who could stop traffic. Literally. Silky blonde hair gleamed in the dim light of the bar, hiding and then revealing eyes full of mystery. The short red dress she wore left little to the imagination, but he still wanted to see more. A lot more. One look at her long legs had him wondering how they’d feel wrapped around him. If that skirt was just a little shorter…

“Like what you see?” she asked.

He grabbed the bottle from the bar and lifted it to his lips. Her eyes widened slightly as his tongue mimicked her move, briefly touching the rim before he took a drink. He held the bottle out to her.

Her hands wrapped around his as she lifted the bottle to her face. The hair that brushed against his hand was cook, a sharp contrast to the heat of her cheek. Soft lips caressed his hand as she let go of the bottle.

“Yeah, I like,” he replied, his voice low and rough.

She took the bottle out of his hand and leaned forward to place it on the bar. Her soft flesh pressed against him and the deep neckline of her dress plunged a little deeper, teasing him with its shadows. Suddenly she stumbled and beer splashed out of the bottle and onto his pants.

“I’m sorry. Let me help you with that.”

Before he could react, she swept the bar napkin off the counter and started to dab at his pants. He could feel his body tighten as she worked at the spot, then slowly explored a little higher. He looked around, wondering if anybody was watching. She laughed softly and pulled away.

“Go wash it off in the Men’s room, then we’ll…talk.” Taking his hand, she slowly pulled him towards the back of the bar. He watched as she disappeared down the darkened hall into the Ladies’ room, then he went into the door marked Men.

As he suspected, what she had been doing had little to do with the stains on his pants. He wondered what would happen if he spilled a drink on that little red dress…

He stepped from the fluorescent lights of the restroom into the dark hall and was quickly pulled even further into the shadows.

“What took you so long?” she asked. He wrapped his arms around her as she pressed her body into his. He lowered his head and their lips met. The kiss wasn’t the tame kind that's seen on TV, but deep and passionate, demanding everything the other had to offer – and more. He felt her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. Her lips parted and he took the invitation, claiming her mouth. He pressed his knee between her legs and was rewarded by her soft groan. His hands drifted down her body and gripped her gently rounded bottom. She pushed tighter against him. The little red dress climbed higher and his hands caressed the satin softness of her skin, gently exploring. Her hands left his hair and began a bold exploration of their own. Their surroundings faded as they became lost in each other.

“Hey, whatcha doing? Can I get some?” The drunken leer pulled them back to reality. She stepped away and started to straighten her dress while he adjusted his too-tight pants.

“We were just leaving,” he said. He took her hand and walked her back through the bar. He was conscious of other men staring. He glanced at her. Her blonde hair was tousled and her face was flushed. Was it possible that the neckline was even lower? He felt a wave of possessiveness and he quickened their pace.

As soon as they reached the darkness of the parking lot, he took her back in his arms. Long minutes later, the sound of voices broke their embrace.

“Would you like to follow me home?” she asked softly.

“What about….” he let his question trail off into the night.

“The kids?” she asked. “They’re at your parents’.” She paused. “All night.”

“Excellent,” he said. “I’ve got some big plans for that little red dress…”

Julian escorted her out of the throng to a semi-quiet place by one of the windows. “Sorry to take you away, but it looked like you were about to be crushed to death by your own admirers.”

“I'd kiss you, Julian, but we're in public,” Claire laughed.

“Well.” Julian looked away for a long moment, and Claire wondered if the joke had somehow offended him. Then he looked back, and what she saw in his gaze took her breath away. “If you're serious about that offer,” he said finally, “I know some place more private.”

Claire's eyes widened, and she quickly took a drink to stall for time. But her suddenly dry throat had a hard time swallowing. During their pursuit of the saboteur who had almost ruined the company, she'd seen his contempt for her change into something almost like admiration. And the revelation that his playboy act was just a way to keep people at arm's length had changed her perception of the security chief as well. But the one kiss they'd shared had been in the midst of peril, adrenaline and danger mixing a heady cocktail of runaway emotions, not to be trusted.

He could read the doubt on her face. “Claire, I know it's hard to trust me. Deception and betrayal come with my job. But after what we've been through... You've been inside my defenses, seen parts of the real me I've never shown anyone. You know I mean it when I say that the thought of us going back to our old lives, never seeing each other except for an occasional hello in the hallways and interdepartmental memos, tears me up inside. I don't know if you feel the same way – God knows I haven't exactly been very romantic – but if there's even a possibility...”

“Shut up,” Claire said gently. “If you don't give me that kiss soon, and I mean soon, I'm quitting the company and joining a nunnery.”

Julian grinned. “I keep telling you, black is not your color.”

He took her hand and led her across the party to the elevators, which was good, because she couldn't navigate with so many tears in her eyes.

She gasped when he unlocked a boardroom and let her in. “Private? Julian, these rooms are full of cameras! You're crazy...”

“You've got that right. Crazy about you.” Suddenly big arms were around her, holding her so wonderfully tightly. She looked up into an oh-so-familiar grin. And then his lips were on hers and her eyes closed, and all thoughts fled.

His kiss was at first light, almost chaste, a hesitant question. She answered it with passion, kissing him in return longer and more deeply, urging him to respond in kind. He did, and their tongues met, caressed each other. She tasted the sweetness of the wine from downstairs inside his mouth. His hands began to move across her back, stroking. At this, she tried to pull her mouth away from his. “Julian,” she said, trying to catch her breath. He buried his face in her neck, rained kisses along the soft length of it. She moaned as his tongue traced lightly along the curve. “No...”

“No?” Julian said, raising his head in sudden fear.

“Not here,” Claire hissed. “Someone will see us!”

“What good is being a security chief if not for moments like these?” Julian teased her. “The cameras in here are off tonight. Though I could turn them back on, if you were hoping for a souvenir...”

Claire blushed like a schoolgirl at the thought. “Looks like you haven't changed as much as I thought,” she told him.

“I am who I am,” Julian answered, running her hair through his fingers. “A man in love.”

“I don't know where you get these lines, but keep 'em coming.” She leaned in for another of his glorious kisses.

But even the knowledge that they were safe from prying eyes couldn't keep another blush from her cheeks as Julian slowly slid the zipper of her dress down and slipped it off her shoulders. The silk puddled at her feet, but she kicked it away, heedless of the damage she might be doing in her attempt to find the catch to his belt.

On the floor, he stroked her body from head to foot, caressing her in the most exquisite ways. He held her face and kissed her as she moved under him with gentle sighs. And finally the security chief's hand wandered down, down, tracing the contours of her belly and hips and her thighs until coming at last to rest between them. Julian's touch sent ripples through her, ripples of pleasure and excitement. Claire arched her back with a gasp. She moved her hips, grinding against his fingers, encouraging him to exploration.

When he finally entered, Claire was more than ready. She ached for him, and she twined her arms around his neck and moved in rhythm with him. Her breath came shorter and shorter as she clenched her teeth against the rising tide. Finally, the moment of release, and despite her private vow to keep her voice down to keep anyone from hearing them, she let all inhibitions go and cried out again and again. In that moment what anyone else might think was the farthest thing from her mind.

“Much better than an interdepartmental memo,” Claire admitted some time later, as the two lay side by side. “But next time at my place. Yours needs vacuuming.” And she basked in the sound of Julian's laughter, a sound she was looking forward to hearing again and again, quite possibly for the rest of her life.

The old man pushed his walker down the hall of the Happy Acres Rest Home. Harry reached his usual spot and sat down. Pulling a deck of cards from his pocket he dealt out a game of solitaire. It had been solitaire for him ever since his pal George had died in his sleep.

He was losing – as usual.

“You're losing,” said the new woman. She parked her hot pink walker and plunked herself down in George's chair. Harry grunted and gathered the cards in.

“Do you know how to play Cribbage?” The woman pulled a wood board out of the basket of her walker. “I found this in the drawer of the bedside table.” She pushed it across the table. Harry recognized it. It had been George's. The vultures must have missed it. She kept a finger on it when Harry reached for it. “My name is Janet.” she said.

“Hello, Janet,” replied Harry. She moved her hand and he quickly set up the pegs and dealt out the cards. They played until supper time. She was four games ahead of him by then. She was even more cutthroat than George.

After supper they walked back to their rooms. He got a glimpse into her room. It had flowers on the dresser and pictures of laughing children on the wall. George would have hated it.

He went into his room and turned on the hockey game.

The next few days were the same.

Then one day she didn't come out of her room, not the next day either. Harry played solitaire and tried to pretend that he didn't miss their fiery games. On the third day he knocked on her door. He heard a faint “Come in.” and pushed the door open.

Janet lay on the bed with a quilt wrapped around her feet. She didn't look sick. She looked sad. She looked at him and smiled tremulously.

Harry sat down in the chair beside the bed. He had no idea what to say next. He didn't want to just sit there like a lump so he took her hand and patted it; like the nurses did with some of the more childlike residents. Janet's hand was warm and soft. He couldn't feel the wrinkles that gave it so much character.

“My youngest had a heart attack,” said Janet finally. She sat up in the bed, but quickly reclaimed Harry's hand. In fact she pulled him over to sit beside her. “I don't know what is worse, that my child is sick, or that I can't go and take care of him.” She leaned her head on Harry's shoulder. Her hair smelled of flowers. He liked that. They sat like that until supper time.

“Thank you.” Janet said, and kissed him on the cheek. Her lips were warm and dry on his skin.

For the next few days they played cards, but they also spent time sitting beside each other on her bed, and Harry would forget for a while that he lived in a place that smelled of old pee and bleach.

One of the other residents turned one hundred. There was a big party and her family filled the cafeteria. There were speeches and cake. Harry went to bed. In the morning he stayed there. After lunch there was a knock on the door. He almost didn't say anything, but maybe a visit would help explain why the world seemed so grey.

Janet came in and sat on his bed and held his hand. After a bit he sat up and slid over so she could sit beside him and lean against the wall. She put her head on his shoulder and he smelled the flowers; for some reason it brought tears to his eyes.

He looked at his room. There were no flowers, no cards, no pictures. If he turned one hundred no one would celebrate, if he died tomorrow no one would care.

He was an orphan. He had never known his parents. He never got married. He had no children, no close friends until he met George, and now George was gone. He was tired of being alone. He found that he was talking out loud, explaining everything to Janet. He stopped talking and they sat in silence for a long time.

Janet looked up, her eyes bright with tears. She kissed his lips and he tasted her tears. She ran her fingers through his hair and kissed him again. She unbuttoned his shirt and ran her fingers across his chest. They felt warm and silky.

“It's never too late to learn about love, Harry.” She said as he reached for her.

Somehow, it never got old. She never tired of the feeling, the place, or the man. All she had now were her memories of their life together, but it was enough till she could be with him again.

The funeral was a quiet affair, though her husband had been a well-liked man. Their son and daughter had come with their families. With them, a few old acquaintances and a good friend that her husband had been through the first World War with were all that were in attendance.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

Binyon's oft-repeated words came back to her as she recalled the ceremony. The famous poem had been read by their first grandson and it seemed so apt for Jack, who had never lost his child-like spirit.

The pain of grief was never so bad as it was in the morning, for it was in these hours when her most vivid memories of him took place, when the not-so-long-gone touch of his hand ghosted her body and awakened the dormant passion inside.

---- ---- ---- ---- ----

A young woman of nineteen is wandering in the streets of a desolate town in southern France. The area was cleared of the enemy soldiers only a few hours ago by the advance of the Brits. Her face and ragged clothes smeared with soot, she looks the part of a beggar. She is looking for her young brother, who was lost amidst the panic of the blasts and rat-tat-tats of rifles.

A small group of soldiers patrolling the newly won territory see her and call out. Her face is pure terror as she freezes midstep, her eyes wide and vacant. One of the soldiers breaks apart from the group and moves towards the stricken woman. He kneels and extends his hand, speaking softly and calmly to her in her own language.

The hand that eventually takes hold of his is small but strong. She collapses into his arms when he tells her that she is the only one left alive.

----

The sounds of firefight erupt in the silence of the night and she instantly rolls off her cot to the ground. Cpl Jack Staten rushes into her tent telling her that the order has been given for rapid retreat.

They move as fast as possible through the unfamiliar countryside, but the sounds of firefight never seem any farther away. She is terrified, having heard terrible stories of women who were taken prisoner and made to do awful, humiliating things. She does not want to loose her virginity by force.

Jack looks back at her, the desperation on Elise's face making him pause. She tells him what she fears and what she wants from him. He tries to argue but she pleads with him, asking only for one good memory before she dies at the hands of enemy soldiers.

Her eyes tell him that her mind is clear and that she is sure, so he bends his head to hers, his arms supporting her tired body. He can sense her surprise at the heat of him and he suspects that he is the first man to touch her in this way, even if it is only a kiss.

Only a kiss.

A kiss that goes on and on and on and sets fire to every nerve ending that Elise has and to all the ones she never even dreamt of. Her knees no longer support her and Jack lowers her to the ground, his hands burning her skin through the thin fabric of her dilapidated dress. He makes a noise low in his throat as she pushes her hands under his shirt to stroke his broad chest.

As he kisses his way down her body, her hands find his buckle and make quick work of it. He groans as her cold hands find their way inside and suddenly her back arches and her eyes are wide open as his deft fingers find the warm, throbbing centre of her body.

She never imagined. Blind to anything but the stars she spirals up and up. She laces her hands through his hair drawing his mouth up to hers, devouring his lips as he pushes her thighs apart with his knee.

The hot, alien feeling of him against her opening makes her hesitate, and he stops for worry of pain, his body shuddering with effort. She presses against him and he is lost. Her sharp intake of breath makes him stop again, but it was not in pain and she is no longer hesitant. The dark passion and trust in her eyes humbles him and that is the last thought that goes through his mind for a long time.

---- ---- ---- ---- ----

They were the lucky ones that night, her and Jack. They were able to stay hidden long enough for the British reinforcements to beat back the enemy forces once again.

Lucky in another way as well. Her family dead, Jack had sent her back home to stay with his family. They had married after he returned and had had many, many happy years together.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

Elise would wake at the exact hour for months after Jack's death, and the first night that her body did not spasm in its sleep and her eyes open, dark with passion in those early hours, she never awoke at all. Their love had not been wearied by age, and it had carried her to him at last.

Shawna stared out the window, trying to concentrate on the passing countryside as she struggled to ignore the rising feeling of sickness that gripped her belly. The bumping and jolting of the carriage did little to assist her in this battle, but she would not vomit until they were clear of Darby and the surrounding villages.

She knew that the town would be awash in gossip about her hasty departure. And, despite her father’s liberal bribes, a goodly bit of the truth would leak out to mingle with the rumors. The sight of her heaving on the side of the road would simply confirm the humiliating fact that she had been pregnant when she fled.

Unbidden, her mind returned to the night of conception. She marveled at what a fool she had been to trust the flattering words of the young duke. She had snuck out in the middle of the night expecting a proposal followed by a few fleeting kisses in the stable. Instead, she had been forced and then abandoned. Shawna did not know that she would ever be able to forget his sneering eyes.

Initially, she had hoped that her impropriety would remain a secret, but soon it became apparent that she was with child. She shuddered to remember her parents’ reaction. Her mother had cried and her father had raged, but in the end they could not change the past. She had expected to be cloistered away, but instead her father had found another solution.

In a flurry of secretive correspondence, he had located a suitor from a far away village who was willing to turn a blind eye to her “indiscretion,” in return for the inducement of an extra large dowry. Shawna trembled at the thought of him. What type of man would want a sullied woman who was coming to him carrying another man’s child? She imagined a lecherous old man pawing at her bosom and was nauseous anew.

Shawna’s thoughts continued to tumble loosely in her head until she finally fell into a fitful sleep. The next few days passed in a blur and she was again sleeping when the carriage came to an abrupt stop in front of a large manor house.

She gasped in horror as she glimpsed a wizened old man coming to greet her, but then breathed a sigh of relief, as he got closer. “Good day, milady. Master John will receive you in the drawing room,” he said as he helped her from the carriage.

Shawna felt her heart pounding in her chest as she entered through the large double doors. She glanced toward her betrothed as she began her courtesy, but then discovered that she could not look away. The young man’s jet black hair and piercing blue eyes entranced her in a way that made her forget all else. As he looked at her, she felt herself flush.

For his part, John was equally smitten. He had not expected one so young or so beautiful. Her pert lips and wide-eyed innocence gave him pause, but he steeled himself against any rising feelings. “I hope you’ll excuse me if I don’t rise to greet you,” he said gesturing pointedly.

His words had a harsh quality that jerked Shawna out of her daze. She dragged her gaze from his handsome face and gasped when she realized that his twisted legs were dangling uselessly from his torso. John’s features rearranged themselves into a sneer. “It seems that our predicaments are mutually beneficial to each other. I am in need of an heir, but can no longer sire one. You are in need of a husband who will support you and your child, but will not require your intimacy.”

Shawna nodded mutely as he continued. “As far as anyone knows, you’ve been my mistress for quite a while and we were intimate before my unfortunate accident. Now, I’ve brought you home to become my wife and the mother of my child. The Bishop will be here to perform the ceremony in a fortnight.”

……..

John had insisted that they share a bed for the sake of keeping up appearances. After some initial discomfort, she had to admit that she enjoyed his companionship and the warmth that he provided. Moreover, she had discovered that she liked and respected him. All in all, Shawna was content with her odd marriage of convenience.

That night, they had retired to their bedroom and had soon fallen asleep. A bit past midnight, however, John was awakened by her thrashing and moaning. Deep within the clutches of a nightmare, Shawna cried out, “No. Don’t. Stop.”

She jerked awake with a start, and then burst into tears. Without thinking, John gathered her into his arms, and she lay sobbing against his chest. As he stroked her hair and offered comfort, she gradually calmed down until at last she was at peace. She did not, however, move out of his embrace. Turning towards him, she attempted to speak, but he quieted her with his lips against hers.

They kissed passionately for several seconds, during which time John gradually became aware of the slightest hint of a familiar stirring. Perhaps the doctors had been wrong after all about the full extent of his injuries. His initial surprise turned quickly into a resolution not to startle his recently traumatized bride. John turned his attention back toward the woman in his arms, gripping her tightly. He would move slowly and cautiously, but when the time was right, he might just find that he was able to consummate his marriage after all.

Prince Gilgamesh watched his mistress come into the room from his lofty place in the center of the silk-sheeted bed. She was, most unfortunately, not alone. The woman had forgotten again who she truly belonged to.

She pulled the man into the room and shut the door behind him. She pushed him down on the couch and straddle his legs. It was several minutes before the Prince could get a good look at the man's face. When he did, Gilgamesh had to admit that his mistress had chosen a fine specimen. His eyes were a clear warm blue. In spite of an understandable redness, his face was strong and even. A broad smile showed even white teeth. His mistress ran her fingers through hair that the Prince was sure was longer than hers.

They played on the couch for a while and it quickly became clear that her paramour was no stranger to these games. Their hands were busy exploring each other's faces. Fingers and lips played with delicate earlobes and covered eyelids with gentle kisses. After a while she suddenly stood up. She laughed as he reached for her, putting her finger on her lips and then to his.

She poured each of them a glass from the strong red wine that had been breathing exotic fumes all through the time that she had been out. He took a moment while her back was turned to arrange himself more comfortably on the couch. When she handed him his glass he slid his fingers along her hand before taking the glass with his other hand. In a moment he had pulled her down beside him and without relinquishing her hand took a sip of the wine.

His fingers played with hers, entwining and weaving, finding a sensitive spot on the inside of her wrist that made her breath in sharply. His fingers explored further up her arm under the loose sleeve of her blouse, finding more places that caused that little gasp. Each time he heard it he smiled and let his fingers move away before coming back to that magical place again. Now her eyes closed and she put her glass down before her unsteady hand let it slip.

The fingers of her free hand played around his face then dropped to undo the buttons at the top of his shirt. Soon her hand slipped into the opening to explore the well defined muscles of his chest. Now it was his turn to gasp as she played with him, one moment rubbing him with soft hand and the next dragging nails across sensitive skin. He responded by bringing her wrist to his lips. Alternately kissing and nibbling all those precious places that he had discovered with his fingers he had her gasping and clutching at him.

The last few buttons of his shirt gave way and her fingers strayed across his taut stomach. He groaned as her lips followed the course mapped by her fingers. His hands and lips climbed her arms to play with the fastening of her blouse. He seemed to hesitate a brief second before pulling the zipper down just enough to allow his fingers and lips to explore the softness that was the complement to the sculpted muscle of his chest.

Her hand strayed below his belt, and the man's eye's widened. He picked her up and carried her to the bed and Prince Gilgamesh was unceremoniously swept from his place.

As the Prince took shelter under the bed, the blouse fell to the floor in front of him. It was followed by the interloper's heavier clothes, her skirt, and a last couple of wisps of silk. Gilgamesh could hear them above him, whispering and moaning as they danced their way to becoming one.

"Humans," thought the cat in disgust. It was going to be a long night.

She looked down at her evening dress, hardly able to believe her luck. She’d told everybody that she wouldn’t be going, that she had to work. The truth was that she hadn’t had anything to wear. But that had changed suddenly, and now she’d be going the The Event of the decade.

The dress had been made just for her – and it looked it. A deep emerald green that matched her eyes set off her creamy skin and blonde tresses. The fitted bodice emphasized her tiny waist, while accentuating her generous curves. Light sparkled off the dainty stilettos that looked like glass but wore like the finest leather.

Within minutes, she was walking into the ballroom. The dance was already in full swing and her entrance went unnoticed. Cindy was fine with that; just being there was enough. The way her luck was going, she wouldn’t get to another event like this again, unless she went as a servant. She slipped into a corner of the room, watching everything and storing up memories.

The couples on the dance floor were amazing. Long formal dresses swirled as the women were swept around the floor by men in tuxedos. Music filled the air. A familiar dress caught her eye and she stepped back into the shadows as she recognized her step-sister. Belinda had spent a fortune on her dress; unfortunately, money doesn’t buy everything, and she was as homely as ever. Cindy’s gaze shifted to the man dancing with her – and forgot everything.

He was dressed like all of the other men in the room, yet he stood apart. His black tux fit him perfectly emphasizing his broad shoulders and narrow waist. Although Belinda was anything but petite, Cindy watched as he effortlessly spun her around the dance floor as if she weighed no more than a feather. His hair was dark except for a streak of white running back from one temple and he had the tanned and weathered features of an outdoorsman. She almost laughed at the look on his face; even from a distance, she could tell that he was counting the seconds until the dance was over.

When the music ended, he and Belinda were almost directly in front of Cindy. She crossed her fingers and hoped that they wouldn’t notice her. Belinda, true to form, only focused on Belinda and walked by her. But her dance partner stopped short at the sight of Cindy.

“Good evening,” he said. His voice set off a strange flutter in her stomach. It wasn’t smooth or seductive, like the voice in her secret dreams. Instead it was deep and rough, like a powerful river tumbling over boulders. A dangerous voice.

“Cindy. What are you doing here?” Belinda’s shrill voice cut off her response.

“Belinda, will you introduce us?” he asked. Belinda gave an unladylike snort that he cut off with a sharp glance.

“This is my step-sister, Cindy.” No sooner had the words left her mouth then she turned her back in an obvious shun.

But the man ignored her, instead taking Cindy’s hand in his.

“I’m charmed to meet you. May I have this dance?”

Before she could respond, he guided her onto the dance floor. He pulled her into his arms and they danced in silence. As they moved around the floor, she could feel the power in his body, his muscles rippling under his shirt. She moved her hand slightly off his shoulder and enjoyed the feel of his hard body under her hand.

“Do I pass inspection?” he asked softly. She blushed as she realized she was gently squeezing his arm. His rock hard, sexy arm. Her blush deepened.

“Is that a yes?” he asked, his eyes laughing. She finally met his glance and was startled to see that his eyes were a vivid blue that reminded her of a summer sky.

“Sorry, I don’t get out much,” she mumbled.

“I’m glad,” he said softly. His arm tightened around her.

Disappointment swept over Cindy as the dance came to an end. It felt so right, so natural in his arms. But now her five minutes of happiness were coming to an end and Mr. Perfect, as she called him, would move on to his next dance partner. But he didn’t move on. Instead, as the last bars of music echoed across the room he swept her out the open French doors and into the garden.

Like two teenagers, they ran to the darkest corner. Without a word he took her in his arms, crushing her mouth with his. She eagerly responded. She ran her hands over his body, satisfying the curiosity that the dance had raised. His body was, indeed, as hard as she suspected. She gasped when she realized how true that was.

“Look what you do to me,” he said gruffly. “I barely know you, yet I never want to let you go.” The cool breeze touched her hot skin as he slid the dress off her shoulder. She stifled a groan as he kissed his way down her neck to the sensitive flesh of her shoulder.

A clock inside struck the hour and he started nipping her in time to its rhythm. One…two…three… each small bite was a little lower. Four…five…six…she could feel the tension in her building. Seven…eight…nine…her hands dug into his back, leaving tiny marks as revenge for his teasing. Ten…eleven…

She broke away when she realized what time it was. Pulling her dress back on her shoulders, she ran from the garden, desperate to get away before the clock struck twelve. He ran after her, calling her name. Hampered by the heels, she kicked out of them and ran.

…twelve.

I had about written off men. When I was younger, I had married one, found out he was using me and fooling around behind my back, and gave him his walking papers. Now, in my mid-thirties, all the good men seemed to be either married, in long term relationships, or gay. The bad ones were one of the first two, just like my ex Nick, and seemed to temporarily forget that wedding ring they were wearing. The real skunks took it off.

Then one day Kevin asked me out after work. It came completely out of the blue. I liked him, knew he wasn’t attached to anybody, but he just didn’t seem like the dating kind. He was kind of cute about it. We always stopped by each other’s cubicles to joke, but nothing ever came of it.

But there he was, my age, and for pity’s sake stammering as he asked me out. Standard fare, movie and a dinner. Well it could be interesting, and I certainly didn’t have any better offers outstanding, so I accepted. We made a date for the coming Friday. Since we lived in opposite directions, and I took a car pool, we decided to go in his car, and I would cancel my car ride home.

The debate over the movie to watch was rather predictable. We settled it with one person got to pick the movie, while the other picked the restaurant. I got the honors for the movie, and I picked a chick-flick I wanted to see. Friday arrived, and I called the theater about show times, only to be told they sold out. Figures, that kind of movie never sold out, except this time. I went to Kevin’s desk with the ‘bad’ news.

“No problem,” he said. “I picked up tickets to it on Wednesday as soon as you told me what movie you wanted to see. I made the restaurant reservations also. Things still get busy on Fridays, or have you not noticed?” he grinned.

Well I hadn’t but I wasn’t about to let him know why. “So did you do all this on your cell phone?”

Kevin made a face. “I hate those things. I carry one because I have to, but I use it as little as possible. I took care of both via their web sites.”

We got to the movie, I loved it, Kevin was polite about it. I could tell it would be a while before I could drag him into another. We went to dinner, and it was a nice restaurant. It was Greek, not part of a chain, and the food was wonderful. I had fish of some sort, Kevin had a salad and a wrapped-shrimp appetizer, which surprised me. I usually don’t think of that as guy food. We also had a chance to talk some more.

“That is an unusual meal for a guy to order. Didn’t you want the lamb?”

“No, I tend to limit my meat intake. Usually I get off work, spend a half an hour at the Y, then go to the grocers to pick up some fresh vegetables. I cook it all in one pan, onions, garlic, peppers, yams, broccoli, peas, carrots, or whatever I feel like and looks good that day.”

“You cook?” I asked, not quite believing what I was hearing.

“I work at a desk all day. I don’t want to look like a weeble, so I exercise and cook, the vegetables with a bit of pork or chicken thrown in, and sometimes some rice or noodles. Depends on how I feel that day.”

“Weebles?” I asked.

“They wobble but they don’t fall down.”

I giggled. We had more than one of those at work. We left the restaurant, and drove to my apartment. “Would you like to stop in for a night cap?” I asked.

“Sure”

We went in. He actually looked interested in the decor. “What can I get you to drink?” I asked.

“Ginger ale, 7-Up, Fruit Juice, anything like that. I still have to drive.”

“You don’t have to drive anywhere you know.”

He sort of gave me a funny look. Moment of truth I guess. “Get what you want to drink and we will talk,” he said, heading over to my couch. I sat down beside him and handed him his glass. “Welsh’s, good vintage too,” he said. Small talk.

“So Kevin, what is happening at home tonight? Hot Internet chat line?”

He laughed. I liked the sound of it. “No, nothing like that. I am 37, I have been in a number of relationships now, and I have always found the ones that start with a one night stand never work. You can’t look at the other person the same way after that. Or did you mean something different and I read you wrong?”

“I need to change into something more comfortable,” I said. The look on his face was priceless. I went to my room, put down my hair, and changed into sweat pants and shirt. I walked back out, and he started laughing, somewhat relieved.

“Well, that has to be more comfortable I have to admit.”

I sat down beside him. “The answer to your question is that I knew you would refuse, I just wanted to hear why. Good answer by the way.” Then I leaned over and kissed him. Strangely, there was no holding back, no indecisiveness on his part. And it was a heck of a kiss. The kind that something usually comes after, except made even better by the fact this time there wasn’t.

The drive to the airport was almost unbearable. The carefully selected pod-casts and all her favorite music were soon forgotten as the seemingly endless road stretched out on front of her car- and the worries crept into her mind.

The isolation of the trip was something quite rare for her. Having this solitude, the time to seriously consider what she was about to do, had her feeling overwhelmed. The past six months were a whirlwind in her mind, she could barely comprehend what had happened- what was happening. Being away from the demands of her household, her children, her job... her husband- only made this seem more surreal. She was on her way to meet the man that she loved, to gaze into his eyes for the first time without a computer monitor between them.

She had been driving for hours, and still had some time before she reached her destination. It didn't matter how hard she pressed the accelerator, she was still so far away- too far away.

She still could not believe what had happened. Falling in love with a man who lives halfway around the world was the last thing on her mind. Sadly, within the last 10 years her life had been reduced to making sure the bills got paid and the kids stayed out of trouble. If she was lucky she could manage to get her husband to smile once in a while, but he seemed so wrapped up in his own little world that she had stopped trying to break through his shell years ago. She hadn't even realized how much she was hurting, how much was missing from her life, how horribly lonely she was- then she met him.

She was not looking for love- maybe just someone to talk to. Maybe without her even realizing she was starving for that- just to know she had someone to talk to, someone to listen to her- to understand. That is exactly what he became to her- and so much more. She never felt so tender and loving toward someone and at the same time had someone make her so hot.

Chat rooms and online games had become so common that she didn't think anything of joining one herself. She appreciated the social interaction and the distraction from what had become of her life. There were so many people to talk to, but one man caught her attention more than the rest- from the very beginning.

He seemed to have a genuine interest in her life, and a level of understanding that she never expected to find. During the hours that they spent talking it seemed like all the miles, the oceans, the time seemed to disappear. Seeing that he was online when she logged in made her feel instantly warm and secure. The security came from a genuine feeling that he could and did accept her for who she was- not for who he expected her to become- and that was the most amazing feeling she had ever known. As the hours passed into days, weeks, months...she felt herself falling in love. Then he sent her a picture.

She never dreamed that this kind, sweet, gentle man could look so incredibly hot. The idea that she would actually have her hands on him so soon made her close her eyes and moan softly without even realizing. She shook her head and took a look at her surroundings and realized somehow she had finally made it to the airport. There was no turning back now, she waited months for this and had driven for hours. It was time to go inside and face her future.

She waited and watched, nowhere near patiently, as the swarms of people filed past her. She knew his face well, she knew his voice- the web cams and headsets had been a godsend. There was no need to stand around with a sign in her hand, she knew as soon as their eyes met they would know each other instantly.

She looked up and he was there. The emotions going through her mind, the pressure of the blood pouring though her veins, nearly caused her to faint. There he was. All she had to do was reach out her arms...

Time stood still. The airport ceased to exist. There was absolutely nothing but these two. Six months, 4,000 miles and then this. The heat, the security of being held warmly...tightly. Smelling him, feeling him, burying her face in his neck needing to taste him.

The sounds of the airport eventually brought them back to reality, but it still felt like a dream. She watched him move...walk...simply amazed that this man was truly real. Better than that he was here. Somehow they managed to make their way to her car, both eager to be somewhere quiet- and alone.

When they were finally seated in the car she turned her head to gaze deeply into his eyes. Tenderly he put his hand on the back of her head and pulled her lips toward his. When their lips finally met she felt her entire body melt into his, and she let out a sigh she must have held for years. She could not get enough of his mouth, his lips, his tongue- and she wanted more. She had spent the past six months telling him how much he meant to her, now it was time to show him.