Eye of the Storm by Renee Simons Page B

touched lightly, tantalizing, wooing with slow, languid movements she would have no choice but to join.
    Their breaths came in short, quick gasps. He dragged his mouth from hers, covering her cheeks with kisses. His lips brushed across her spiky lashes and closed eyelids, down along the side of her face and across her throat, and lower still to the warm skin that showed above the rim of the tank top.
    She moaned softly against his hair and clutched at his sleeve. His body ached with need, but when he looked at her he saw in her eyes a hint of fear that turned to resistance and reined in his raging desire to lose himself in her. He pulled away from her.
    "There are fresh towels for you in the bathroom. I'll start breakfast while you clean up."
    At the door, he turned to her one last time. "By the way," he said, "you were dreaming, weren't you?"
    "Yes," she whispered. What she didn't say was that she'd been dreaming about him.
    Beneath the shower of alternating currents of hot and cold water to jumpstart her sluggish system, she waged an internal battle. For a long time after Dar's death, her dreams had been filled with memories of their time together. Eventually, the dreams were replaced by nightmarish reenactments of the night she'd been shot and lately, nothing at all, as if the dream scape of her mind had become a blank slate.
    Last night had been very different. Her dreams had returned, heated, filled with longing and punctuated with the image of Stormwalker's face, with his touch, their passionate embrace and her body's response. What did this change say about her attraction to him and what remained of her feelings for Dar? She still had no answer by the time she'd dried off and dressed in yesterday's clothes.  
    Stormwalker was working at the stove when she entered the kitchen. She looked over his shoulder at the bacon sizzling in one pan and the eggs he scrambled in another. He turned and examined her face, then smiled.
    "Quit looking like that," he said, "or I'll be forced to take you back upstairs, ready or not."
    "Looking like what?"
    "Too damned gorgeous for my peace of mind."
    "Then don't look. I'm too hungry to think about anything but breakfast at the moment. How can I help speed it along?"
    "You can do the toast," he said. "And set the table."
    "Where's your grandmother?"
    "Visiting friends. She hasn't been back here in a while. It's catch-up time."
    Although the width of the table separated them, the space did nothing to protect Zan from the feelings he had aroused. Or the knowledge that by responding to him she had betrayed Dar's memory .   At the first taste of food, her appetite evaporated. She ate because it was necessary, but what had seemed so inviting stuck in her throat. She pushed away the plate and sipped her coffee.
    She knew he watched her but hadn't the strength to meet his eyes. With nowhere else to look, her gaze wandered around the table, to the sugar bowl and creamer, the bud vase filled with straw flowers, his hands as they buttered his toast and raised his cup to his lips.
    How would those hands feel on her bare skin? She shivered, knowing she would come alive at their touch. The thought so unnerved her that, without finishing her second cup of coffee, she rose abruptly from the table and went out onto the porch. Unsure of where to go, she only knew she had to get away.
    He caught up with her at the top step and held her back with a gently restraining hand. "Why are you always running away from me?" he asked quietly. "Tell me the truth, Alexandra."
    His use of her name caught her unawares. His request seemed all the more urgent because of it, as if he wanted no artifice between them, only things as they really were.
    "I've spent the last five years hating you. When I agreed to help Mac, I never expected that to change, but it has, mostly because of the way you treat people here and the way they react to you. Every time I think I can ignore my feelings you do something to prove me wrong. I'm