Grace leaned down slightly, right hand resting lightly over his heart. She could feel the faint rasp of his chest hairs against her breasts, his nipple centered against her palm, the steely muscles under her hand striated with muscle and deep down, the solid, regular, calm beats of his heart.

She bent her head until her nose almost touched his, her hair a curtain around them, as if shielding them from a world that meant them terrible harm.

He kept his hands light, barely touching her.

He was now highly aroused, she could feel him, hard and hot, between the lips of her sex. Each time she moved, it seemed to trigger a surge of blood through him, and he thickened and lengthened. Each movement of his penis was mirrored by an answering movement of her inner muscles, which he felt, too. She was growing wetter by the second.

But what she wanted to say had to be said without sex clouding the issue.

She looked him straight in the eyes, his question still echoing in the room.

Can you do it?

“I can do it,” she said softly. “I know you think I’m giving up a lot, but really, I’m not. I don’t have that many friends and their lives will go on without me. I have no family. My connection with the working world was exclusively through Harold and that is now severed. And I’ve been painting only for you for the past year, anyway. But there’s one more reason why I can do it.”

She paused, breathed slowly, trying to find a way to say words she had never said to another human being in her life.

“I can do it for another reason, not just because I’m not leaving much behind. I don’t know how and I don’t know why, Drake, but there is a connection between us. I have been dreaming of you for a long time, without even knowing you existed. I hardly know you…and yet I know you down to your soul. To an outside person, I probably sound insane, but Drake—I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth…because I love you.”

He stiffened under her, his eyes slitted, muscles clenched. A sound escaped him, a hissing moan, almost as if in pain. He brought her to his mouth again, big hands cupping her head, and kissed her deeply, wildly, as if he would never get a chance to kiss again in this lifetime. It called up an answering wildness in her as she opened everything wide to him—mouth, sex, heart.

His hips beneath her began pumping up and down, sliding along her. She was so wet, his penis slid easily between the lips of her sex, as exciting as if he had penetrated. Clinging to Drake’s shoulders to keep her balance, Grace kissed him as if she would die if they were separated. His movements were fast and rough, creating a hot friction against her vulva, her breasts rubbing against the hard planes of his chest. Heat blossomed, welling up fast, and it was impossible to resist. With a wild cry, she began coming, clenching against him, feeling the surge of blood in his penis with each contraction.

He wasn’t slowing down. He was keeping her climax going for what felt like forever, while another orgasm, riding hard on the waves of the first, caught her by surprise.

He was close, muscles bunched hard, movements jerky, uncontrolled. He gave a deep moan in her mouth and with one last upward thrust started coming again in hot spurts that covered his stomach and hers.

Oh God, it was so intense.

Grace felt like she was leaking emotions that came out of her as moisture. Somehow her eyes were full of tears, though she wasn’t crying. It was as if the emotion in her simply had to find a way out and had opted for her eyes. She was sweating from every pore, shaking and trembling, holding on tightly to Drake, as if she’d drifted far out to sea and he was a lifeline.

They lay together holding each other tightly for a long time, long enough for the sky outside to turn a light shade of pewter. Her trembling muscles slowly relaxed and their breathing evened out.

Grace was sliding into sleep when Drake turned his head to kiss her ear, then whispered into it, “I love you, too, Grace.”

It jolted her awake. She lifted her head to look at him, at this man who had become her lover. Who had become her beloved. Each feature of his face was exotic, fascinating, new yet familiar.

Who knew? She didn’t believe in past lives, but there had to be something that could explain the deep, intense and immediate connection with this man.

She meant what she’d said and so did he. Neither of them took love lightly.

“There’s so much to say.” Grace ran a finger over his eyebrows, down that high, broad cheekbone, over his full mouth. “I don’t know where to start.”

His head dipped in agreement. “Yes, there is much to say, my love, but we have the rest of our lives to say it. And if we want the rest of our lives to be more than a day or two, we must plan carefully. A man will be coming with new documents for you. He will be here by noon, unless all this…beautiful snow—” his hard mouth quirked upward in a smile, “slows his progress.”

On a long sigh, Grace rolled out of bed and stretched, naked. She lifted her arms to the ceiling and rose on her toes. She felt so…good.

“Where will this meeting be, Drake?”

“Good question, dushka.” One hand reached out from under the covers to stroke her hip. Grace smiled at his touch. “Not my study. That is too…personal, with all your paintings there. No, I think we will meet in the living room.”

Thirteen

I have news…

The message came over Rutskoi’s BlackBerry, which he’d parked in full sight. He ground his teeth together. When this was all over, he was going to comb Drake’s personnel files and find the fucker who was fucking with him.

Whatever the news was, the man, or woman—nothing like a woman for betrayal, in his experience—wasn’t talking until the next installment was transferred. And Rutskoi had to take it on faith that the news was going to be worth a hundred thousand dollars.

Rutskoi took his eye off the scope and texted his Caribbean bank. His Caribbean bank lived for this. The transfer was made immediately. A quarter of an hour later, his informant texted:

Target will be in living room at noon. Living room is five rooms from southern end, tenth and eleventh windows. He ordered food and might stay in the room for a while.

Yes! Drake finally in the living room, in a straight line from his Barrett, staying there for a while—if Rutskoi didn’t make this shot, he might as well hang up his rifle.

All of a sudden, Rutskoi could feel a huge surge of power running through his body. He had only catnapped over the past days, but suddenly the fatigue disappeared as if it had never been. He felt alert, refreshed. Ready. This would work, he could feel it in his bones. He was going to get Drake, and become rich and, in the right circles, famous.

He settled back over his rifle, feeling a preternatural clarity. His destiny was awaiting him.

Drake would go down and he would go up.

It was the way of the world.

They had a leisurely breakfast, left outside the door by the phalanx of good fairies that apparently ran Drake’s household. The fairies were excellent at what they did. Strong Indian tea, homemade yogurt, homemade croissants, fresh blueberries.

Drake said he would offer a light lunch to the mystery man coming at noon, so she ate sparingly.

The atmosphere between them had changed, sharpened. Grace no longer felt any shyness at all around Drake. They spoke naturally, as a couple, making their plans. He asked her where she wanted to end up and she said far away, in a place with palm trees.

He’d been quiet for a long moment, then nodded.

“It will take a few steps, duschka,” he said, “but so be it.”

Grace caught his hand and brought it to her face. “Together, though.” She kissed his hand lightly. “We will do it together.”