It could have been minutes, or hours. Taylor stared at the ceiling until her eyelids drooped shut. The headache began to dissipate, and her body relaxed into the sheets. She heard a noise, like fingers scratching at her door. Not again. She couldn’t open her eyes, wouldn’t open her eyes. If she ignored it, it would go away.

The door opened. Her lids colored from the dim light of the hallway sconces. Then everything was dark again. Her heart began to race.

“Taylor.” The voice was deep, and strong.

Not a ghost.

Memphis.

He’d brought the chill in from the night sky. She could feel him shivering. She kept her eyes tightly shut. She didn’t want to see.

“I’m afraid,” she whispered.

“Don’t be. I’ll keep you safe.”

His hand cupped her cheek, the flesh cold, but warming as it touched hers. She didn’t move, didn’t dare. Soft, light touches on her face, her neck, followed by his lips. He kissed her scars, flicked his tongue against her earlobe, slid his mouth slowly down her neck to her collarbone. She began to squirm, and he said, “Be still.” She forced herself to stop moving. The exquisite agony continued, her breasts, her stomach. She was suddenly unclothed, naked in the bed, the crisp sheets cool against her bare skin. The heat from his body was enough to warm her.

He ducked his head between her legs and worked her into a frenzy. She couldn’t help herself. She arched to meet his mouth, dug her fingers in his hair. At the moment she was about to lose herself, as if he knew, he pulled back, left her panting, dying for more. He rose up above her, slid his hands up her rib cage, around to her back, down under her ass, and let his body move up the length of her, his mouth finding her lips as he lifted her slightly off the bed and entered her, fast and hard, with one thrust.

She moaned into his mouth. He didn’t move. They were touching from head to toe, connected, joined, him deep inside of her, and the thought, the feeling was too much. She felt the waves of her orgasm begin. He let her finish before he started to move, slowly, barely a whisper, pulling nearly all the way out before sliding back inside her, so deep, deeper than anything she’d ever felt, faster now, the rhythm she’d sensed in their earlier kiss building, and he was whispering to her, words she couldn’t understand, didn’t want to understand, she just wanted more of him, wanted him to go faster, and the orgasm built again.

The whispering grew louder, he was telling her how much he loved her, how special she was, how he’d never felt anything like this before, and as he finally reached the end, losing all of himself into her, his mouth sought hers again for a last kiss, and she felt like their souls were on fire.

She was lost.

Lost in the sensations—of being loved, of being touched, of the newness, of feeling his hard, tight body in her arms. She didn’t want him to stop. She wanted this to go on forever.

He rose, the weight of his body no longer pinning her to the bed.

“Sleep now. I must go. I love you.”

She rolled, catching the pillow, pulled it to her as if it were her lover. Drew her legs up until she was fetal, the pulsing of her desire still coursing through her veins, making her muscles twitch.

Dear God, she had no idea it would be like that with him.

She was so tired.

“Why were you outside?”

He didn’t answer, and the words died on her lips.

Sleep took her.