Never Sleep With Strangers by Heather Graham Page B

turned, and she knew he was watching her, and she was watching him.
    It was Jon. And standing there, watching him, she wondered if he was in pain, if he was missing his wife, if he was reflecting on her death.
    He lifted a hand, as if saluting her.
    Sabrina backed away, right into the door, and for a moment a scream lodged in her throat as she thought that someone was behind her.
    She felt a moment’s strange fear. She was standing on a balcony. And whatever the situation, Cassandra had fallen to her death from a balcony not far away. She had plummeted into the arms of a statue of Poseidon below. His trident had torn into her, and she had died instantly, even before her husband had come running back to her. Poseidon still stood below that balcony, though the rosebushes surrounding his fountain were no longer in bloom.
    It was so easy to feel that someone was standing behind her now, ready to push….
    But when she spun around, no one was there. She went into her room and discovered that the bolt was still thrown.
    The rooms were all supplied with brandy.
    Sabrina hated brandy, but she poured herself a snifter, wrinkled her nose and swallowed a fairly large portion. “If you’re going to survive this week, you’re going to have to cool your imagination,” she told herself.
    She’d claimed downstairs that she was tired. And she was. Shaky, exhausted from the time change and lack of sleep.
    But she couldn’t seem to get drowsy.
    She stayed awake for hours. She sipped brandy, making faces at the taste, and read some magazine she’d brought for the flight.
    She had V.J.’s latest book, and after she finished the magazines she began to read, until she realized that she just couldn’t concentrate. She finally lay down, determined that she had to get some rest.
    But even when she finally slept, she tossed and turned and began to dream disturbing dreams.
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    In the darkness of the night, he moved down the steps, silent, a wraith. He tried to tell himself that it would all go well, that he didn’t need to be afraid.
    But he was afraid. Because he loved her.
    They had prearranged their meeting, yet even so, he was suddenly, perhaps ridiculously, uneasy. In the ancient dungeon, he suddenly felt as if long-dead murderers had come to life, as if they were mocking him, telling him that he was no better, even if he hadn’t actually performed the deed. The lighting was pale, purplish, seeming to cast a ghoulish fog over the faces of torturers, swordsmen and more. Executioners in their dark masks seemed to move, taunting him, warning him.
    He came to the tableau of Lady Ariana Stuart upon the rack, and for a moment he paused, forgetting both fear and reason. She was the finest of all the pieces. Something in her eyes was real, a touch of the innocence and sincerity that belonged to Sabrina Holloway. Startled anew by the resemblance to the living woman so nearby, he was tempted to reach out and touch her, to rescue the beauty from the beast who threatened her.
    â€œMy love!”
    The whisper drew him back to the present, and he spun around. She had come. She rushed to him, and he wrapped her in his arms. “Why are you so afraid? Why did we have to meet in secret?” he queried gently.
    She shook her head against his chest. “This is all so dangerous. I know that they know. I know that we’re in danger. I just wish…”
    â€œDon’t be so afraid. Don’t create trouble before trouble appears.”
    She shook her head and stepped back. “You don’t know how vicious, how dangerous, they can be!”
    â€œOur game is dangerous, my pet. We mustn’t overreact. We must just wait, listen, watch…and see what comes.”
    She leaned against him. “I’m so afraid. Hold me.”
    He did, feeling the movement of her body against his, her touch. He felt her tugging at his clothing. Felt her hands…finding bare flesh. To his amazement, he