“Again?” Ariadne whispered, as Anna’s hands worked their magic. It still amazed her how fingers brushing her throat, even her shoulders, could make her ache all over, setting off a storm of longing. She tried to do the same things to Anna, and sometimes Anna allowed it. She preferred, though, to be in control. Even when Ariadne was touching her, she never quite lost herself.

“Do you mind?” Anna said, in a tone that indicated she knew perfectly well the answer.

“No. We’re making up for lost time.”

Anna smiled and drew Ariadne down. Her hands found Ariadne’s thick, dark, unbound hair, her tongue the hollow of Ariadne’s throat. Her fingers worked music from her body as if it were a violin. Ariadne gasped. This was what she was living for, every long, dark winter day as she waited to see if the invitation from Anna would come in the evening. The folded piece of paper slipped through her window, the message scrawled in Anna’s strong, elegant hand.

Meet me in the Whispering Room.

Her body felt as out of control as a train that had jumped its tracks. She found the buttons on Anna’s shirt, undid them, pressed her bare skin to Anna’s. She knew she was in love with Anna again, just as badly as she had been before, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything but Anna.

When the world had come apart and together again like the fractured glass in a kaleidoscope, they lay before the fire, Ariadne curled against Anna’s side. Anna’s arm was crooked behind her head, her blue eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“Anna,” Ariadne said tentatively. “You do know that what happened with Filomena—even if she was coming home from your party, it wasn’t your fault.”

Anna glanced over. “What brought that thought into your head?”

The way you kissed me. Like you were trying to forget something.

Ariadne shrugged.

“Ari,” said Anna in her low, husky drawl. “I appreciate the effort, but if I have concerns about my feelings, I have many friends to talk to.”

Ariadne sat up, drawing her arms through the straps of her shift. “Are we not even friends?”

Anna put both hands behind her head. In the rose-scented light, the dips and hollows of her slender body were described softly by light and shadow. “I think I was very clear the first time we spoke,” she said calmly. “I choose not to have my emotions bound up in romances. When you give people your heart, you deliver them the opportunity to hurt you, and it leads to bitterness. You would not want us to be bitter with each other, would you?”