I shuddered, and sighed instinctively as he began working his way with soft kisses downward, then moved slowly forward to my throat. When he got to the place between my collarbones, he paused and said, “Or maybe here . . . ,” and I felt him carefully touch the tip of his tongue to the soft skin in its hollow.

I moaned and reached my arms around his neck. He pulled me closer and, maintaining his torturously slow pace, began kissing up the front of my neck in little steps, until he reached my chin. My head fell back, and he cupped it with one hand, supporting me as his lips worked the short way from my chin to my mouth.

“Or here,” he said, pausing before he brushed his lips against my own so lightly that my body tingled in anticipation. I waited, but nothing else came. Forcing my eyes open, I saw that his were closed, a look of concentration and willpower creasing his brow. He began to draw back, and his grip on me loosened.

I let a second pass. And then in desperation I grabbed his face and pulled him back to me. As our lips met, I crushed myself against him and threw my arms around his neck. He stumbled forward slightly and lifted his hand to the wall for support. I felt the bookcase press behind my shoulders and leaned backward against it, pulling him toward me.

“Whoa!” he said finally, managing to extricate himself from my grip. He took a step back, panting and holding me away from him. “Kate, I’m not going anywhere,” he said with a mock look of reproof on his face. “I have to warn you that my bedroom isn’t the best place to stage an assault on me. It’s where I’m at my weakest, with my bed a mere twenty feet away.”

I tried to focus on his words, but I couldn’t quite pull myself back into the real world. “And you look so tempting,” he said, his ragged breath slowing, “that I find it very hard to resist taking you to bed here and now.”

He turned and quickly walked away from me, throwing his curtains aside and opening the window to let in the cold November air. I felt its icy fingers clear the fog in my head, and slid down the bookcase into a sitting position.

“You might be more comfortable over here,” Vincent said, scooping me up into his strong arms and depositing me onto the couch. He set a glass of water in front of me. “Something to cool your ardor, mademoiselle?” he murmured, with an amused smile.

I nodded gratefully and drank deeply from the glass. Then, handing it back to him, I rolled over toward the back of the couch, in an attempt to bury my face. Oh my God. What have I done? I thought, cringing at the memory of leaping on him and practically devouring his face, just when he had made it clear that he was done.

“What, Kate?” Vincent chuckled, pulling my hands away from my reddening face.

“Sorry,” I said, with a broken voice. I cleared my throat. “Sorry for . . . um . . . jumping on you in your own room. I’m not usually . . .”

“It’s okay,” Vincent said, hushing me, with a look on his face like he was about to crack up.

“No, it’s not. I don’t usually throw myself on people. I mean, I’ve only kissed about three guys in my life, and that’s the first time I’ve ever lost myself like that. I’m just a bit . . . embarrassed. And surprised.”

Vincent stopped trying to control himself and burst out laughing. Then, leaning over and kissing me on the forehead, he said, “Well, it’s a good surprise, then, Kate. I can’t wait to get another chance. But not here. Somewhere very safe. Like on the Eiffel Tower with a hundred Japanese tourists standing around us.”

I nodded, secretly relieved that he wanted to go slowly, but at the same time wondering why.

Vincent read my thoughts. “It’s not that I don’t want to take things . . . further. Trust me. I do.” His eyes were smoldering. My heartbeat accelerated accordingly. “Just not quite yet. I want to enjoy getting to know you without rushing into . . . the main event.” He ran his finger along my jawline and down my neck. “The wait will be fun, but it’s not going to be easy.”

As he leaned in to brush his lips lightly against mine, I felt like I had officially won the Perfect Boyfriend Contest. Hands down. Although at the moment I can’t help wishing he wasn’t quite so perfect, I thought, my temperature rising at his touch as he finished kissing me and pulled back. Trying to distract myself and avoid spontaneous combustion, I straightened my clothes and smoothed down my messed-up hair.

“We better get out of here before I ignore everything I just said. I’ll walk you home,” he said, picking up our coats and my bag. He opened the door and waited for me.

“I must say, I had my suspicions,” he said cryptically.

“Suspicions of what?” I asked.

“That there was a savage beast hiding behind that good old-fashioned demeanor of yours,” he laughed.

Biting my lip, I walked past him and into the hallway.

Chapter Thirty-One

GOING HOME THAT NIGHT WAS LIKE AWAKING from a long sleep. When I was with Vincent I occasionally forgot about all the weird revenant stuff, but still felt like I was wandering through a Salvador Dalí dreamscape. Mamie and Papy’s world felt amazingly comforting after twenty-four hours in a surrealist painting.

“So?” said Georgia as we sat down to dinner. “What is the status of this ‘thing’ with Vincent? Did your little pajama party give you two enough time to work out your problems?” She grinned wickedly at me and popped a piece of bread into her mouth.

Mamie tapped her on the arm reprovingly and said, “Katya will tell us what she wants us to know when she wants us to know it.”

“That’s okay, Mamie,” I offered. “Georgia can’t help herself from living vicariously through me, since she has no life of her own to speak of!”

“Ha!” said Georgia.

Papy rolled his eyes, obviously wondering how his peaceful home had so quickly transformed into a sorority house.

“So?” asked Georgia, wheedling now.

“We seem to have worked things out,” I said, and turning to Mamie, asked, “Is it okay if he comes to dinner tomorrow night?”

“Of course,” she responded with a broad smile.

“Woo-hoo!” crowed Georgia. “No more Kate pining away in her bedroom. I should go over to his house and thank him myself.”

“That’s enough now, Georgia,” said Papy.

“You can thank him tomorrow night,” I said, and quickly changed the subject.

At seven thirty the next night I got a text from Vincent: Good evening, ma belle. Could I please have your digicode?

I sent him the four-number and two-letter code, and a minute later our doorbell rang. I pushed the interphone, buzzing open the door to the stairwell. “Third floor, left,” I said through the speakerphone.

My pulse sped up as I opened our front door and stood in the hallway waiting for him. He was up the three flights of stairs in no time, carrying a huge bouquet of flowers in one hand and a bag in the other. “These are for your Mamie,” he said, leaning over to give me a quick, soft kiss on the lips.

The pounding of my heart went into overdrive. Vincent lifted his eyebrows suggestively. “Are you going to ask me in, or were you testing to see if I could cross your threshold without the invitation?” Then he whispered, “I’m a revenant, not a vampire, chérie.” His teasing expression made me forget my nerves, and taking a deep breath to compose myself, I reached for his hand and led him through the doorway.

“Mamie’s right here,” I said as she walked out of the kitchen toward us. She had gone to her salon that morning and was looking stunningly elegant in a black-and-white wool dress and four-inch heels.

“You must be Vincent,” she said, leaning over to kiss his cheeks, her gardenia-scented perfume enveloping us like a grandmotherly hug. She backed up a step to get a look at him. She seemed to be grading him, and from her expression he was getting an A.