She was enjoying the last spoonfuls of the fluffiest cheesecake when a tall glass was placed in front of her. She looked up. The waiter smiled and said confidentially, “The gentleman sitting to your left highly recommends that you try our strawberry daiquiri. He sends you his compliments.”

      Nikki slowly turned to meet those green eyes that glittered back from a hard, proud face. His gaze pierced her and she felt that jolt again, as if he had touched her. He didn’t smile but nodded. She nodded back, searching the expressionless face for…something. He was good at blocking too.

      She thanked the waiter and then returned her gaze to the man. His eyes were still on her. Without looking away, she took a long sip from the straw. The cold nectar filled her mouth. She drew back, savored the fruity flavor with the hint of rum, and swallowed. Strawberries—her favorite fruit.

      Rick didn’t believe in coincidence. Or fate. Or luck. Not that Nikki Taylor cared, one way or another. She sat there seemingly oblivious to everything but the food in front of her.

      Her hair was even longer than he had thought. She had twisted a knot in it around waist-length, to keep it in place. She was the second person he had ever seen who wrapped her hair around her neck like a scarf before she sat down. That solved the problem of having it sweep the floor, of course. He blinked, annoyed with himself. Here he was imagining the feel of her hair when he should be watching her closely. He didn’t hide his interest. She walked in because he was here. What did she want from him?

      Her profile showed small and delicate features, and he wished she had chosen to sit facing him. He wanted to see her without that veil of hair. It distracted him. A woman could possess a man with hair like that. But that was just a faded memory. Just like the lingering dreams that left him unsatisfied this morning.

      Nikki Taylor’s hair could cover his whole body easily. He wondered what it would be like, with that curtain around them, wrapping his limbs with hers. She could hide her nakedness behind it, and he would part its thickness to reveal her secrets, starting from the top.

      Rick’s eyes traveled down her body. Small. Delicate. One couldn’t trust small or delicate. He knew that from the past. What was Nikki Taylor hiding from him? Why did she ask Agent Jones those questions? And why was she following him?

      He kept staring at her, as if his will alone would compel her to turn toward him, but she continued to ignore him, her whole attention on her meal. She was enjoying it with a singular delight that amused even the headwaiter, and Dakkar wasn’t an easily impressed man. Still she ignored him, asking for the dessert cart when she was finished. Watching her made him hungry. He wanted to taste her. He wanted to look into her eyes again, like the night before.

      So he forced her hand, calling the waiter over to send her that daiquiri. Satisfaction welled up inside when she finally gazed at him. Liquid dark eyes. The kind that saw too much. They didn’t flare with recognition, didn’t show any sign of fear at all. He waited for her to accept his offer, to acknowledge him.

      The tip of her tongue teased the corner of her mouth briefly. The merest hint of a smile. Her lips touched the straw. Her hand caressed the chilled glass. And her eyes never left his face as she took her time finishing the whole daiquiri.

      Rick didn’t open his briefcase to read his notes. His lunch didn’t whet his appetite. A man his age shouldn’t get a hard-on by watching a woman suck on a straw. She hadn’t flirted with him. She drank the daiquiri like she ate her meal—with a sensual intentness that bordered on intimacy. He was still hard when he paid his bill. On the way out, Dakkar quietly handed him the paper bag with the glass in it.

#

     “Love me,” she whispered, twining pale sallow arms around his waist. “You promised to love me forever.”

      His hands were lost in her familiar long hair and he parted it, looking for her face. His heart thundered as if he had been running hard, and his breathing came out harsh and uneven. He started pulling the hair out of the way. Nothing. He couldn’t see her.

     “Liar!” he screamed out, and he saw that his hands were bloodstained.

     “You promised! You promised to love me forever!” Her voice accused over and over. “Liar! Traitor!”

      He tore at the hair, looking for her. Her arms lifted, and long strands of hair gathered around him, swallowing him in sensual heat. “Love me,” she demanded again.

     “You’re the one who lied to me. You betrayed me!” He fought the cold hands that seemed to move all over his nakedness, his own limbs tangling with hair that snaked around his body lovingly.

     “Love me again.”

     “Never!” He pushed off as he made the vow, but her hair imprisoned him to her. He had once loved its dark brown thickness so much. Now she hid from him, and her hair mocked his attempts to get away. And still he couldn’t see anything. He roared, “Show yourself!”

      Her laughter, as always, was scornful, derisive. He resisted the pull of her arms this time, roughly tugging the hair away from his body. His breathing was as loud as his heartbeat echoing in his head. The more he fought the thickening need to give in, the more he thought he saw her shadowy face. Gathering fistfuls of hair, he strangled her, and her seductive caresses turned to struggles. She continued laughing even as she choked, and finally, she stopped.

      He looked down. His hands were still bloodstained.

      He slowly parted the curtain of hair, expecting to deal with the usual ending. She would be dead and it would be his fault. But this time, it wasn’t his traitorous wife.

      Nikki Taylor opened her eyes and stared up at him. He drew back on to his haunches in shock, letting go the thick strands of dark hair. She lay there, with a half-smile, those dark brown eyes calm and assessing. His heartbeat thudded into a regular rhythm as she raised her hands to him. And her touch was very warm. Tender. She put his bloody finger in her mouth and sucked.

     “The daiquiri tasted good,” she said, “but now I want to taste you.”

      Rick jerked up with a start, exhaling a long rush of air from his lungs. His heart was racing madly and he ran a hand across his forehead, wiping off the perspiration. He kicked away the bed sheets so the fan overhead could cool him down.

     Crossing his arms behind his head, he broodingly stared at the shadowy moving blades as they went round and round. He would never conquer his ghosts. How long had it been since he had this nightmare? It returned in spurts, and faded for long stretches, until he was lulled into forgetting. Then, it would spring out of its dark prison, like a Jack-in-the-box.

      Only, this time, it wasn’t really a nightmare. It had a different ending. She was in it. He stared downwards in the darkness. It wasn’t fear that had roused him from sleep. A nightmare wouldn’t give a man this kind of reaction; he was too old to deal with waking up like a teenager with raging hormones. He turned over onto his front abruptly.

      The fan was small relief to his heated body, and he knew he wouldn’t be falling back to sleep for a while. He turned to look at the alarm clock. Barely four in the morning. Muttering a sharp expletive, he buried his face in his pillow, trying to block out the image of Nikki Taylor sucking on his finger.

     “I want to taste you.”

      He cursed and turned over again. The semi-darkness reminded him of her. The fan caressed like her hair did. The sheets tangled like her legs were around him. He needed relief.

     “Nikki Taylor,” he said her name out loud. He thought about the way she ate, and the release he sought and received was strangely more satisfying than the past weekend’s excess.