Clawing her way free of the chaos that raged inside her, tearing her apart, she made one last desperate attempt to reach the sanctuary of the stone. Her grasp fell short.

At the moment darkness claimed her, Rooke's eyes flew open. She was still in darkness, but she was no longer cold, and no stranger's body hovered over her. Her skin was coated with sweat. Her heart hammered in her ears, in her chest, in her s.e.x. Ignoring the aching throb of blood pulsing in her center, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and turned on the bedside lamp. She padded into the living room in the sleeveless gray T-shirt and loose sweatpants she'd worn to bed. She found a pencil and pulled a pad of paper from a haphazard pile on the low table in front of the couch. Bending forward, she rapidly sketched the gravestone from her dream, including as many of the symbols as she could remember. When she was done, she stared at the name she couldn't read.

v The wall phone in Rooke's shop rang just as she was putting away her tools. She'd been working since four, too disturbed by the distorted dream-collage of figures twisting on a snow-covered grave to sleep again. She'd put the women and their icy touch out of her mind as she drew warmth and strength from the figure emerging from the stone. She could almost see her clearly now-a woman standing with legs spread wide, one arm raised, her head thrown back in victory. A warrior, perhaps, or a savior.

Rooke gave the figure one last look, wishing she could see her face, and answered the phone. "h.e.l.lo."

"There's someone here to see you," Pops said. "We're in the kitchen. Come on over."

Rooke didn't have time for questions before the call was disconnected. She hurried upstairs to wash her hands and change into clothes that weren't covered with stone dust. Tucking the tails of a black b.u.t.ton-down-collar shirt into her jeans, she hustled downstairs a 155 a and headed for the house, not even bothering with a sweatshirt. She never had visitors. A familiar ache stirred in her chest, but this time she felt only fire. Maybe Adrian had come.

She didn't see the Jeep or any other car in the driveway, but she was in too much of a hurry to consider what that meant. She barged into the kitchen and then stopped abruptly. Melinda sat at the table with her grandfather. Unlike Adrian, who had fit as naturally into the comfortable kitchen as Rooke and her grandfather, Melinda looked completely out of place, as if she had taken a wrong turn on her way to a c.o.c.ktail party.

She wore wide-legged, black silk slacks, black heels, and a royal blue sweater that caressed more than covered her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Her blond hair was loose and artfully mussed, as if she'd just gotten out of bed.

When she turned toward Rooke, her eyes slowly traversed every inch of Rooke's body. Her mouth lifted into a pleased smile.

"Please tell me I didn't drag you away from your work," Melinda said, her voice intimately low.

Rooke resisted the urge to push her fists into her pockets, as if hiding her hands could somehow safeguard what she created with them.

Instead, she crossed to the counter and poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot her grandfather had already made. The clock over the stove showed it was almost nine. She'd missed breakfast. After taking a sip, she turned back and met Melinda's mildly amused gaze.

"You aren't interrupting. I was just finishing up."

"Good, because I would hate to disturb an artist while in the midst of creative pa.s.sion."

Rooke averted her gaze, but she knew it was already too late to hide what Melinda must have seen in her eyes. Her work was her pa.s.sion, the most intense experience of her life, touching her in ways no human being ever had. Liberating the figures from the stone both aroused and satisfied her, physically and emotionally. She'd managed to live without the same kind of intimacy with anyone, without seeking a connection even when her need was so sharp she bled from it, because she was waiting. Waiting for the moment when she would experience with a woman the perfect union, the total harmony, she shared with stone.

"Is it always enough?" Melinda asked softly.

"I don't know." Rooke glanced at her grandfather, who was leaning back in his aluminum-legged kitchen chair, observing them with casual a 156 a curiosity. "I guess Melinda explained about her gallery in New York City."

"A little."

"I told Mr. Tyler that you are an exceptional artist, but obviously, he doesn't need my opinion to know that." Melinda opened a briefcase and extracted a folder that she laid in the center of the kitchen table.

"I brought a contract for you to review. I've already purchased the sculpture that was part of the estate auction. Mr. Barnes delivered it last night. It's even more beautiful than I expected. As it happens, I had a solo showing scheduled later this month and the artist is unfortunately unable to appear due to a sudden illness. I want your work to fill that slot."

"You haven't even seen the rest of my sculptures." Rooke was having trouble grasping Melinda's offer. She'd never really thought about what she was eventually going to do with her sculptures. It had been enough to create them. While she was absorbed with the work, her mind was clear and her body at peace. When she was finished, she could gaze upon the embodiment of her dreams and desires. That had been enough.

"I was hoping we could rectify that this morning. Why don't you show me?" Melinda stood, placing her hand on Rooke's arm. "I'll leave the paperwork for you to review later. You'll want your attorney to look at it, of course."

Rooke shot a glance at her grandfather, who lifted his shoulder, telegraphing that it was her call. She could say no and he would never bring it up again. Melinda regarded her expectantly and when she looked into her eyes, she caught fleeting glimpses of tall buildings, bright lights, and intimate, shadowed recesses with women pressed close around her. For just an instant she saw herself in the center of a crimson-draped bed, naked, a woman beneath her whose face, like the woman in the stone, was hidden from her. Startled, Rooke blinked and then there was only the swirling green-gold of Melinda's eyes.

"How many?" Rooke's throat was dry and her voice came out husky. "How many would you want?"

Melinda's expression became avid, intense. She curled her fingers around Rooke's arm and leaned into her. "Why, all of them."

"I can't." Rooke braced herself, feeling as if she were suddenly under attack. She had the almost overwhelming urge to lash out, to a 157 a defend herself against some danger she couldn't fully perceive. A wave of sorrow and loss threatened to choke her. "I...not all at once."

"All right," Melinda said quickly, stroking Rooke's arm. "Six, then. Take me to them. You can choose." She glanced over her shoulder at Rooke's grandfather. "You won't mind, will you?"

"It's up to Rooke." Pops regarded Rooke steadily. "I'll be happy if you stay right here, the way things are, for as long as you want. But I always thought..." He paused and cleared his throat. "I always thought there was more out there for you."

"I'm not leaving," Rooke said to Melinda. "This is where I live.

Where I work. I need to be here."

"Of course. We can talk about all that later." Melinda slipped into her long leather coat and took Rooke's hand. "Come on, now. No more teasing."

Rooke led Melinda along the icy path to the garage, still uncertain as to what she should do. Melinda had a way of making her want things she'd never thought she wanted. The idea of bringing her sculptures out of hiding so that others could see them, own them, was both frightening and exciting. All her life she'd been dismissed. Laughed at. Pitied.

What would it be like to be respected, to have what she did, who she was, mean something?

"You have nothing to be afraid of," Melinda said, as if divining Rooke's indecision. "I know who you are, what you are. When people see your work, they'll know it too. They'll want more. They'll want you."

"That's not why I sculpt. I'm not interested in being wanted that way."

Melinda laughed. "All right, then. I promise to keep you safe from the clamoring crowds. I'd rather prefer to keep you all to myself anyhow."

"In here." Rooke slipped her arm from Melinda's grasp and opened the side door, reaching inside to flip on the light. When Melinda followed her inside, she said, "Wait here. I'll get them."

"No." Melinda stopped her by tugging on her arm.

Rooke turned and was taken aback to find Melinda very close to her. So close that Melinda's b.r.e.a.s.t.s brushed her chest. "What?"

"I want to see," Melinda murmured, resting her palm flat against Rooke's chest, just above her heart. "I want to see them. I want to see a 158 a where you work. I want to see you touch them." As she spoke, she leaned closer until her pelvis almost rested against Rooke's.

Melinda's hand was hot, hot enough to kindle the fire simmering in Rooke's belly. Sweat trickled down her throat and onto her chest, her barriers melting, her defenses crumbling. A pulse beat madly in her throat and Melinda brought her fingers up to trace it.

"You have so much power, so much life." She brought her mouth close to Rooke's. "I saw it in the sculpture. I felt it last night when I held it. I felt you. "

Rooke saw Melinda's lips part, felt a rush of heat flash from beneath Melinda's fingers and settle deep inside her. She instantly tightened, stiffened, engorged. In another second, she would taste Melinda's desire and Melinda would know hers. Rooke backed up until Melinda's hand fell away. Her stomach was tight and she recognized it for what it was. She'd walked away from arousal before. Many times.

But never had it been this difficult.

Melinda's b.r.e.a.s.t.s rose and fell rapidly as her breath came in short, hard gasps. "Nothing makes business more satisfying than when it's mixed with pleasure."

"I wouldn't know."

"Not yet." Melinda folded her arms beneath her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "There'll be time for that later. Let me see what you've been hiding."

Rooke paused a moment longer, knowing without quite understanding how, that she was about to take a step that would change her life forever. Melinda waited, her gaze burning hot on Rooke's face.

Rooke unlocked the door to her sanctuary, but she did not bid Melinda to enter. She would not give her everything.

She chose a series of four female nudes, each almost three feet square and weighing close to seventy-five pounds. One figure reclined on her back, the other on her side, one sat with a leg drawn up, and the last knelt, neck arched. With each there was a sense of another woman close by, perhaps having just touched her. A kiss, an intimate caress, lingered in their smiles, in the thrust of their b.r.e.a.s.t.s, in the languid pose of their limbs. These were women who had loved and been loved well.

Melinda's expression went from excitement to supreme satisfaction as Rooke carried them out and placed them one by one on the rough wood surface of her workbench. Melinda extended her hand.

a 159 a "May I touch them?" Melinda's eyes seemed almost feverish.

Rooke said gruffly, "Go ahead."

Melinda skimmed her fingertips along the curve of a breast, down the long plane of an abdomen, over a gently rounded thigh. Her breath escaped in a long, sensuous sigh. "Oh yes. These are exquisite. So powerful. You have such power."

"I've only uncovered what was already there."

"You know there's more," Melinda whispered. "The pleasure, the pa.s.sion, you carved from this stone is just waiting to be called in the flesh. Waiting for you."

"I haven't decided what I'm going to do yet." Rooke fought down the excitement that shot through her while watching Melinda caress the figures only she had ever touched.

"I know. I'm leaving this afternoon. I'll wait." Melinda lifted her hand, warm from the stone, and stroked the edge of Rooke's jaw. "I've waited a long time already."

a 160 a

ChapTER EighTEEn.

Adrian stopped in the midst of sweeping the newly fallen snow from the front porch to watch the red truck pull up her driveway. Rooke. She hadn't expected to see her until later in the week when Rooke was scheduled to start work on the roof, and a warm buzz of antic.i.p.ation fluttered in her depths. d.a.m.n, and here she was in ratty old sweatpants and a shapeless flannel shirt. As soon as she caught herself having that uncharacteristic concern, she laughed to herself. What was she, fifteen with her first crush on the center of the basketball team? Rooke climbed out of the truck, and Adrian forgot all about Marcie Fitzgerald and high school basketball. The real thing was so much better.

Rooke looked tight and tough in her black jeans, black hooded sweatshirt, and work boots, and the flutter turned to something hotter and more urgent, deep down inside. Adrian didn't want to think about the whys or the wherefores of her reaction. She'd spent enough time doing that the day before and hadn't found any answers. Leaning her broom against the wall, she started to wave and then halted, frowning as Rooke circled around the front of the truck to open the pa.s.senger-side door.

Adrian's euphoria shattered like thin ice over black water as Melinda gingerly stepped out onto the snow-covered drive. When Rooke reached out to steady her, Melinda casually looped her arm through Rooke's as if she'd done it a thousand times before. Even from a distance, Melinda looked hot, her every movement a study in seduction.

Melinda's proprietary claim on Rooke drifted on the air with the feral scent of ownership. If Adrian had hackles, they'd be standing up like a 161 a a ridge of razor blades down her back. Folding her arms beneath her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and planting her legs at the top of the stairs, she watched them approach. Rooke's gaze was fixed somewhere to the left of Adrian's face, but Melinda's eyes were on hers, alight with amused laughter and sultry challenge. Adrian's mood wasn't helped by the fact that they looked stunning together-Rooke's dark good looks were the perfect contrast to Melinda's shimmering gold hair and glinting emerald gaze.

Pheromones twisted through the bitter cold air and Adrian's temper lashed when an unwelcome heat blazed between her thighs.

"I'm sorry, darling," Melinda said, smiling up at her from the path.

"We've taken you by surprise. We should have called."

We. Since when was there a we attached to Melinda and Rooke?

And what were they doing together at nine in the morning? For one mind-burning moment, Adrian envisioned Melinda arched in ecstasy, Rooke's sensuous mouth at her breast and Rooke's wide, strong hand buried inside her. Fury like none she'd ever known surged through her, and she screamed in silent protest. No, you won't have her. She's mine!

Just as quickly, the image shattered and Adrian jerked, nearly gasping in shock. She was aware of Rooke regarding her with a worried expression, and she could only imagine how she must look, because she'd felt as if she were about to launch herself off the porch and tear Melinda in two.

Desperately, she took a shuddering breath and struggled for calm. This wasn't her. She didn't crave this way, she didn't hunger this irrationally.

And she never, ever wanted so completely.

"No need to call," Adrian said, inwardly ecstatic that her voice sounded cool and composed. "I was just trying to get ahead of the storm while there's a break in the action. Come inside."

As she led them back to the kitchen, she noted Rooke easing her arm free of Melinda's grasp and a tiny bit of the tension gathered in the center of her chest relented. A small victory, but she enjoyed it.

"Please, have a seat. I'm afraid the parlor isn't habitable right now." Adrian gestured to the coffeemaker. "Coffee? Tea? m.u.f.fins?

Fresh baked."

"No, but thank you," Melinda purred as she removed her coat and settled next to Rooke at the table. She crossed her legs and draped one arm along the back of Rooke's chair. "I have to catch the train shortly, but before I do, I needed to ask you a favor."

a 162 a "Really?" Adrian hoped her pleasure at Melinda's imminent departure wasn't obvious. "What do you need?"

Melinda's gaze flicked from Rooke to Adrian and she laughed softly. "Nothing very complicated, not right now. I need you to help me convince Rooke to let me have her wonderful sculptures for a show at the end of the month." She fanned her crimson nails over the back of Rooke's neck. "They're every bit as brilliant as I antic.i.p.ated."

"You've seen them." A cold hard weight settled in the pit of Adrian's stomach. Foolish as it might be, the idea of Rooke having shared something so personal with Melinda was almost as devastating as the thought of them sleeping together. Adrian turned away, knowing she couldn't mask the hurt in her eyes, and bought herself time to regain her composure by stacking blueberry m.u.f.fins on a plate. She set them on the table along with plates.

"Not all of them." Rooke answered before Melinda could respond, unsettled by the distance she'd sensed from Adrian the moment she'd started up the snow-covered driveway from the truck. Now Adrian's hands were trembling. She'd done something to upset her, and she wasn't sure what. "Just the four that go with the one she already purchased. They're a series."

"A magnificent one," Melinda interjected. "And it so happens I've got an opening for a new artist launch in several weeks. I want Rooke for it. The event is part of our regular calendar, so it's already had significant promotion, and I'm sure it will have an excellent turnout."

She leaned closer to Rooke, one hand on Rooke's thigh. "Believe me, love, you won't be sorry."

"How do you feel about it?" Adrian said quietly, watching Rooke and ruthlessly blocking the sound of Melinda's murmured love. She wouldn't let her uncharacteristic jealousy get in the way of something Rooke wanted. Melinda was aggressive, professionally and personally, but her reputation was well deserved. This kind of opportunity might never come along again for Rooke.

"I..." Rooke struggled for clarity, reminded of the twisting chaos of the dream the night before and momentarily swamped by conflicting emotions and foreign sensations. Adrian's unhappiness, Melinda's persistent desire, a lifetime of being discounted washed over her, drowning her in uncertainty. She shuddered.

a 163 a "It's all right, no matter what you want," Adrian whispered, torn by the misery she read in Rooke's eyes. Rooke needed her friendship right now, and wasn't friendship about putting personal needs second?

Had she just been lying to herself when she'd told Jude that's what she wanted between them? Since when was she afraid to face reality? If Rooke wanted Melinda and what Melinda could offer her, then better to know that now. Better that all of them know. "You can always change your mind later. Either way."

Are you stupid? Are you stupid, or just crazy? As a child Rooke had been wounded by the taunts, as an adult she'd learned to ignore them. She wondered if she kept her work a secret because she was afraid of hearing the same words again. What would it matter even if she did? She knew the truth, didn't she? She thought about Melinda and Adrian, two women who made their way in the world in a way she had never been able to, choosing their own paths, fearless and brave. What had she ever done except hide? What did she have to offer...anyone?

"I want to do it," Rooke said firmly.

"You won't be sorry." Melinda kissed her cheek. "Trust me."

Rooke tensed as warm, moist lips moved over her skin and Melinda's fingers played along the muscles in her thigh. Emma had kissed her on the cheek, now and then, but as if by unspoken agreement, Emma had never touched her intimately anywhere on her body. No one had ever touched her that way. Even as Melinda's soft kiss and faint caress stirred unfamiliar responses, she searched Adrian's face for a reaction. But Adrian's eyes were shadowed, her expression closed. The distance she'd felt earlier yawned even greater between them now.

"You must come down to the city early next week," Melinda p.r.o.nounced, rising and collecting her coat. "We'll need a photo shoot and I'll arrange some interviews and launch parties." She skimmed her fingers through Rooke's hair. "Believe me, love, you're going to enjoy this."

"I can't come so soon," Rooke protested. She wasn't ready, but she couldn't admit to these women why. She'd never been to New York City. She'd never been on the train by herself. She'd never stayed in a hotel. "I have work to finish here-" She pointed upward. "Adrian's roof and her chimney. Plus, I've got markers to carve."

Melinda laughed. "Oh, if I hadn't met you in person, I'd never believe you were for real. I'm going to have a hard time keeping people a 164 a from fighting over you." She glanced at Adrian. "Tell her those things will keep for a while. She listens to you."

Rooke frowned, feeling as if there was a conversation going on that she couldn't hear. "I can decide for myself."

"You can," Adrian said, refusing to play Melinda's game. Even though she was hurt that Rooke trusted Melinda enough to share her sculptures and a little bit crazy with Melinda fawning over Rooke, she wouldn't deliver Rooke to Melinda as if she were simply a piece on a chessboard. She'd spent enough time with Rooke to recognize an undercurrent of unease in her voice. Guessing what bothered Rooke about this seismic change in her world landscape wasn't much of a leap, and she doubted that Melinda knew of Rooke's reading challenge.