"Well, that doesn't mean I can't say it a few more times." He gives me another kiss. "No woman has ever made me feel like this. Not even close. You have no idea what you do to me."

"You keep saying that," I murmur in return, "but I think you're underestimating my emotions, because I have a very, very good idea of what you're feeling."

This time I kiss him, and he groans against my mouth, then breaks away.

"No," he says, "I don't think you can be feeling anything close to this. Half the time I'm around you I have to remind myself to breathe. If you felt for me even half of what I feel for you, we'd both be lost. We'd forget to eat or sleep or do anything but spend every moment we're together devouring each other. Possessing each other."

I go limp in his arms.

"It's f.u.c.king torture," he continues, "being so close to you and not being able to have you whenever I want."

"I want it, too," I promise him. "You can have me whenever you want."

"No," he says. "You mean like back there in the store, when you were looking at the chips and biting your nail?" He moves his lips along my jaw until they reach my ear. "All I could think about was how much I wanted those teeth biting down on my lip. Or sc.r.a.ping against the skin of my c.o.c.k. Or earlier," he says, drawing back slightly. "We got out of the car and you saw something that made you smile, and it was so beautiful that it made my whole body ache. What would you have had me do then? Take you up against the pump?"

"Ward..."

"I've never felt like this," he says. "Like my body isn't even my own anymore." He yanks me against him and kisses me until my lips tingle.

"You can have me now," I say breathlessly when he breaks away. "Anywhere. Any way you like."

He growls and kisses me again. "Don't tempt me, you little siren."

He doesn't take me then, though I wouldn't have resisted if he'd tried. But that night, when we're locked away in a motel on the coast of Connecticut, he shows me exactly what he means.

We travel more slowly after that, taking our time as we drive through Connecticut and Rhode Island and Ma.s.sachusetts. Now that we've put some distance between ourselves and Huntington Manor, I feel a little safer. And Ward and I both seem to want to spend more time exploring each other than sitting in the car.

We go to bed early in the evenings and stay late in the mornings. We make love in motels. In the backseat of Ward's car. On the beach. Wherever we can.

"You taste different," he tells me one night when we're curled up together in a motel somewhere just north of Boston. His fingers are at their favorite pastime, toying with my curls, and my hand drifts lazily back and forth across his bare chest. We're both sweaty and warm, and we've long since kicked the sheets off the bed.

"What do you mean?" I ask him lazily. "How do I taste?"

He twists his thumb around a bit of hair right above my ear. "I'm not sure I can explain it. But f.u.c.k me, I can't get enough of it." As if to prove his point, he begins to kiss my neck, making sure to draw the tip of his tongue across my skin.

It tickles, and I laugh and try to tickle him back. Soon he's laughing, too.

G.o.d, I love that sound. Ward's laugh is deep and rich, and it fills me with such happiness that I'm almost afraid. I want this to last forever. I want to spend the rest of my life right here, with his hands on my bare skin and his laugh in my ear.

Fortunately, the universe is quick to put such a naive, foolish wish to rest.

The following morning, Ward and I stop at a gas station. It's the first time we've had to refuel in three days, and we're also running low on food. While Ward manages the pump, I head into the store.

I spot the magazine rack as soon as I step inside.

Don't look at it, I tell myself. Don't even walk by. If I even glance in that direction, I'll start looking for my face. For Ward's face. I don't want to worry about the press right now. I'm not ready to emerge from the happy little bubble where Ward and I have hidden ourselves these past few days.

And I do pretty well, too. I've almost managed to forget about the magazines completely until Ward comes into the store.

I know from the moment I see his face that something's off. He comes over to where I'm standing.

"What is it?" I ask. "Did something happen?"

He rubs his jaw, then throws a look over his shoulder. "I don't know. But I think someone out there was taking pictures of me with his cell phone."

I almost make a joke about this being the perfect opportunity to deploy some tactical flirting, but I bite back the words as soon as I see his expression.

"Maybe I'm just being paranoid," he says, "but I think he knew who I was."

"Where is he now?"

"I chased him off. But I don't know how long he was there. Or what he saw." He looks pointedly at my cheek, and I raise my fingers to the bruise. It's more greenish-yellow than purple now, but that doesn't make it any less obvious.

"Do you think he got a picture of me?" If that picture makes it onto the internet, if the tabloids see it... I don't even want to think of the rumors they'll spin about Ward.

"I don't think he noticed you, but I don't want to take any chances," he says. "We should go."

I make my purchases quickly, keeping my head down as I hand over my card. The cashier doesn't seem to pay either of us any special attention, but Ward's on edge, and that makes me nervous.

I can't help but glance over at the magazines as we head toward the door, and sure enough, I see almost half a dozen covers featuring Ward's face. This is happening even faster than I expected. I thought we had more time.

"Put on your sungla.s.ses," he says before we step outside. "And keep close to me."

Normally, I might have brushed off his overprotectiveness, but as long as I'm wearing this bruise, I'm not going to take any risks. Ward looks around the parking lot, and when he decides that the coast is clear, we jog to the car.

He's still looking around as he pulls out of the lot. I find myself looking for the amateur photographer as well, but I don't see anyone or anything suspicious.

It doesn't matter if we're being paranoid or not-and for the record, I don't think we are-if this incident has taught me anything, it's that we can never run far enough. We can never escape everything we left behind.

Ward seems to have realized the same thing.

"It's going to get worse from here," he says. It's not even a question.

"Probably. At least for a little while." One amateur paparazzo is nothing. But more will come-ones with nice cameras and digital recorders and contacts at news outlets all over the country-unless some bigger scandal erupts and outshines our little soap opera. But I've been praying to the universe all week, and it hasn't happened yet. I'm not holding out any hope.

Ward looks equally pessimistic. He looks straight ahead through the windshield.

"Maybe we should hole up somewhere for a while," he says. "Find some quiet little motel in a quiet little town and stay there until we run out of money."

Honestly, it's not a bad idea. Maybe we can escape the worst of this mess. At the very least, I need to lay low until this bruise disappears. And I'd much rather spend the next week locked up in a room with Ward than looking over my shoulder for phone-wielding strangers and trying to avoid magazine stands.

"Okay," I say. "Let's do it."

He looks over at me. "You sure?"

I nod. "Yes. Besides, I have a few ideas of how we might pa.s.s the time."

He flashes a wicked smile. "I'm not about to argue with that."

But even though the decision's made-and it seems like a good decision-I don't feel much better. Neither of us will say it out loud, but I know we're both thinking the same thing: this is only a temporary solution.

Maybe we'll escape the worst of the media storm, but we won't escape the long-term effects.

One way or another, no matter how far we run, everything will catch up to us.

Days blur together quickly when you're hiding away.

This is especially true when you spend those days making love over and over again. I thought I knew Ward's body before we checked into the cozy little motel where we're currently staying, but it's amazing what you can discover when you have unlimited time to explore.

Ward has learned new things about me, too, and he seems to enjoy putting that new knowledge to use. He makes me beg for it, and even when I think I'm done, that I can't possibly survive another round of pleasure, he always proves me wrong.

By the third or fourth or fifth day, however, some of our supplies begin to run short. And as much as I love spending entire days lounging naked in his arms, I have to admit that I'm getting stir-crazy.

"Is it Wednesday?" I ask him that afternoon as we lie intertwined on the bed.

"Might be," he says with a chuckle. "Could be Thursday. Or even Tuesday. Does it even matter?"

"No," I tell him. I kiss him on the nose and sit up. "But I think at least one of us should try to keep track so we don't completely forget about the rest of the world."

"I've already forgotten," he says. He tries to grab me and pull me back to him, but I slip out of his arms.

"I need to go to the bathroom," I tell him. "Don't go anywhere."

He grins. "I'll try not to."

I'm still smiling as I slip into the bathroom, but the minute the door closes behind me, something starts tickling my brain.

Wednesday. Wednesday. Wednesday. Is that right? I do the math in my head. If it's Wednesday, that would make it the twenty-first of the month. But that can't be right.

I count it out again-twice, just to make sure-but I keep getting the same answer.

Oh, G.o.d.

If it's the twenty-first, then my period is late. Three-or four?-days late.

My chest starts to tighten, and I lean against the wall for support.

My period is late.

I place my hand against my belly and splay my fingers, even though I know I won't be able to feel anything. I never got the morning-after pill. Ward and I had unprotected s.e.x and we never did anything about it.

You're an idiot, Lou. You're a f.u.c.king idiot.

I'm having trouble breathing. I close my eyes and clutch at the bathroom counter, trying to keep myself steady.

Breathe, I tell myself. Breathe.

Three or four days isn't really that long. Especially considering how much stress I've put myself through these past couple of months. Maybe my body is just freaking out. Or maybe I have my dates confused and my period isn't late after all. I shouldn't panic until I know for sure what's going on.

Which means getting a pregnancy test.

I've never taken one before, so I don't know how they work. Is it too early for a test to be effective? I have no idea.

Either way, I have to do something. If the test is negative, it will give me a little peace of mind. If the test is positive...

I touch my stomach again. And in spite of my initial reaction to the idea, it's almost terrifying how quickly I know my own mind: If I'm pregnant, I want to keep this baby. Ward's baby. I have no idea what I'm going to do. How I'm going to afford this. How I, screwed-up mess that I am, will ever learn how to raise a child. But I'm going to do it, that much I know.

That's all a.s.suming I am pregnant in the first place. I need to find a pregnancy test.

And that means leaving the motel.

I rehea.r.s.e the words in my head as I return to the room. I don't want to tell Ward anything yet, not until I'm a little more certain one way or the other. There's too much hanging on this. I don't want him to freak out over nothing.

And he will freak out, that much I know. Even if he loves me, even if I know he'll never abandon me-he'll blame himself for this. Convince himself that he's no better than his father.

I won't put him through that. Not until I have no other choice.

"Hey," I say as I sink down onto the bed next to him. "I was thinking I might run to that supermarket across the street."

"Do you need something?"

"We're getting low on food." I tug at my hair. "And honestly, I'm getting a little restless cooped up in here. Not that I don't mind the company."

"One quick run to the store shouldn't hurt anything," Ward agrees. "But don't worry-I have plenty of things to do to you when we get back."

"We?"

"I'm going a little crazy, too." He c.o.c.ks his head. "Unless you don't want me to come?"

"No, of course you're welcome to come. I'm sure we can both use some fresh air." I don't want him to think that anything's wrong, but I don't want to lie to him, either. Better to avoid all excuses.

A few minutes later, we're dressed and heading out for the first time in days.

I don't realize how much I missed the sunshine until I feel it on my skin. When we reach the sidewalk, I lean my head back and spread my arms, trying to soak up as much of it as possible. A cool breeze dances through my hair, welcoming me back to the real world.

You'll get through this, I tell myself. Whatever happens.

When I open my eyes again, Ward is watching me, and the look in his eyes sets off b.u.t.terflies in my stomach.

"You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he says, so quietly that I'm not sure he meant to say it out loud at all. I reach out to him, and he takes my hand and kisses my fingers. His mouth is gentle, almost tentative-as if this were the first time his lips have ever touched my skin. I turn my hand, wanting to cup his cheek, and he presses another kiss to my palm.

"I love you," he says.

I should tell him. I should tell him I might be pregnant. But before I can get a word out, he gives my hand a final kiss and straightens again. The moment is over.