Maggie was at the base of the steps before he caught up with her. When she looked over her shoulder, he saw the fury in her eyes. The moment he took her arm, he felt the tension. This, he discovered, was what he wanted. He didn’t want her cool, emotionless agreement or a careless acquiescence. He wanted to build that fury and tension until the passion that spawned them broke through. Before the night was over, he’d draw it all from her and purge himself, as well.

In silence, they climbed the stairs to the second floor.

The rain fell, strong and steady, against the windows and the newly seeded earth below. The sound made Maggie think of the subtle rhythmic percussion she’d imagined in the arrangement of the song she’d just completed. There was no moon to guide the way, so she moved from memory. Darkness was deep and without shadows. She didn’t look when she entered the bedroom, but she knew Cliff was still beside her.

What now? she thought with sudden panic. What was she doing, bringing him here, to the single spot she considered purely private? He might learn more than she wanted before he left again, yet she might learn nothing more than she already knew. They wanted each other; it was unexplainable. It was undeniable.

As her nerves stretched tighter, Maggie was grateful for the dark. She didn’t want him to see the doubts that would be clear on her face. As the need grew stronger, she knew she wouldn’t have been able to conceal that, either. Darkness was better, she told herself, because it was anonymous. When he touched her, her body went rigid with a dozen conflicting emotions.

Feeling it, Cliff ran his hands over the slope of her shoulders, down to her lower back. He found he didn’t want her to be too relaxed, to be too yielding. Not yet. He wanted to know she struggled against something deeper, something unnamed, even as he did.

“You don’t want to give in to this,” Cliff said quietly. “Or to me.”

“No.” Yet she felt the tremor, not fear but pleasure, course through her body when he slipped his hands under her thin wool sweater. “No, I don’t.”

“What choice is there?”

She could see his face through the gloom of darkness, close, very close, to hers. “Damn you,” she whispered. “There’s none at all.”

He slid his hands up her naked back, through the neck opening of her sweater, until his fingers found her hair. “No, not for either of us.”

His body was firm against hers. His voice, soft and low, was faintly edged with anger. She caught the scent of soap, sharp, unrepentantly male, that lingered on his skin. His face was mysterious, indistinct in the darkness. He might’ve been anyone. As Maggie felt the next fierce pull of desire, she almost wished he was.