Vincent and Catherine reached the threshold between his world and the basement of her apartment building. They linked hands and she looked up into his eyes. She could hardly bear the thought that she wouldn’t see him the next evening. Leaning her head against his shoulder, she sighed.

“I wish I wasn’t going now. I’d rather be here, with you.” She felt him smile against her hair.

“You must continue to taste enjoyment from the world above, Catherine. You cannot live your life in shadows and candlelight.”

“You do.”

“That is different.”

She pulled back to look at him, mentally berating herself for reminding him of the separateness of his life from hers. She touched his cheek with the palm of one hand, leaving the other resting in his.

“But I want to live here with you…you know that, Vincent. All you have to do is say the word. I’m only going out with Jen tomorrow evening because she’s been badgering me and I feel bad that I’ve been neglecting her for months.” 

Vincent bowed his head. “That is exactly my point, Catherine. You have neglected all your friends since our paths crossed. Please, for my sake…enjoy your evening with Jenny and tell me all about it on Friday.” 

Catherine pulled a face. “I’m not sure you’ll really want to hear about it.” 

He tilted his head to one side. “What makes you say that? I am interested in everything you do, Catherine.”

“You haven’t even asked me where I’m going.” 

He shrugged. “I imagine you would tell me, if you wanted me to know.”

“You mean you’re not even curious?”

“I did not say that.”

Catherine smiled and shook her head. It didn’t matter how much she reassured him otherwise, Vincent could never seem to get past the feeling that he had no rights where she was concerned. If the truth be known; and she would rather die than admit such a thing to Jen, she would have loved him to go all macho on her and forbid her to do something. 

She released him and walked a few steps around the passage. “Have you ever heard of ‘The Chippendales’, Vincent?”

“Of course…although I have never heard it referred to as a collection before. Are you attending an auction?” 

Catherine smiled. “No love, I’m not talking about the antique furniture. ‘The Chippendales’ are a male dance troupe. They give concerts all over the States…other countries, too.”

“Oh, I see.” Vincent’s blank look said he didn’t really see at all. “What sort of dance do they perform? Ballet?” 

Catherine fought to suppress a giggle. “Ah, no. Vincent, promise you won’t get mad?”

“Mad? Why should I? Although I confess that now you have managed to arouse my curiosity.”

“They ah…they dance for women.”

“Women?”

“Yes. They take their clothes off…oh, not quite everything…and dance in a sensual kind of way…to music.”  

Vincent blinked and stared at her. “And people…women…attend these concerts? Pay money…to see this kind of…display?”

“Oh sure, yes, their concerts are always a sell-out. They’re very popular, Vincent.”

“Why?”  Vincent had a knack of asking the simplest question and making it monstrously hard to answer truthfully.  She hunched her shoulders, considering her reply.

“Well, ah, because they’re good at what they do. They’re very professional and women like to see hunky men with good bodies.”

“I would have thought that…wish…could be fulfilled at the beach or swimming pool.”

Catherine found herself struggling now, not only to explain, but also to defend thousands of women who she had never even met, against Vincent’s preconceived notions about them. She began to wish she’d never mentioned the subject.

“Well, that’s not quite the same thing. I mean, well, you don’t go to the beach just to look at men. You go to swim and sunbathe and, well…have a good time.” 

Vincent stepped back to lean against the tunnel wall. “But you would go to these concerts with the express purpose of watching men remove their clothing in an overtly sexual manner.” 

Catherine’s mouth fell open. “Well, that’s not exactly how I would have put it.”

“But it is none the less true?”

“I knew you’d be mad.”

“No. I am not mad, Catherine…exactly.”  

Catherine stepped close to Vincent and placed her hands on his waist inside his cloak.

“It’s just a bit of fun, Vincent. I promise you there’s absolutely nothing crude or pornographic about it. Jen and I have been promising ourselves for years that we’d go, and our schedules have always made it impossible until now. When we heard they were appearing in New York this week, she called me and asked if I could make tomorrow evening as she had the chance of some tickets.” 

She slid her hands up to rest on his chest, prodding him gently and forcing him to look her in the eye. “You know I wouldn’t hurt you for the world, and if you’re going to be upset about this then I’ll call Jen and cancel. Your feelings are more important to me than any damn concert, Vincent.”

“No!” He gripped her arms and shook her gently. “You must go, Catherine. I have no right to impose my will on you. What you are sensing from me is not exactly what you think…I feel no threat from you going to this concert…merely…bewilderment I think…and perhaps surprise.”

“And disappointment?” 

His expression softened and became the loving, clear blue beacons that danced through her dreams at night. “No, you never disappoint me. You fill my life with light and laughter. Forgive me if sometimes I do not understand the ways and…pleasures of those who live Above. My life here has protected me in so many ways…sometimes unwisely.” He bent his head to touch his lips to hers. Then he smiled his precious half smile. “Go to your concert, Catherine. I will see you on Friday.”  

Catherine threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. “Thank you, Vincent. I love you so much…and Friday can’t come too soon for me.”

“Nor for me. Goodnight, Catherine.”

“‘’Night, Vincent. Sweet dreams.”

* * *

Catherine and Jenny sat in the darkened theatre which buzzed with the anticipation emanating from an audience of over five hundred women. As the introduction of Tina Turner’s ‘The Best’ suddenly filled the auditorium, the curtain lifted and fifteen bare-chested, bronzed hunks slithered into view, kicking, twisting, and bending in perfect time to the music. The audience reacted loudly, shouting, whistling, and whooping with excitement. 

Jenny laughed happily and glanced at Catherine. “Wow, they’re really something, aren’t they?”

“They sure are.”

“Which one appeals to you?”

Catherine scanned the line of dancers. They were dressed in black slacks, white cuffs, and wore white collars with black bow ties around their necks. All had rippling muscles and broad, powerful looking chests which had been shaved and bronzed to perfection. Every one of them was good-looking in a different way, and Catherine clapped her hands in delight.

“How can I choose? They’re all hunky.” 

Jenny leaned forward and pointed to one man with dark, curly hair and a moustache.

“He’s gorgeous…the one third from right; looks like Tom Selleck. I think I’m in love.”

“So are four hundred other women!” Catherine laughed. 

The song ended and all the lights went out. Suddenly the strains of the Joe Cocker/Jennifer Warnes number, ‘Love Lifts Us Up Where We Belong’ could be heard through the applause. The audience quietened and watched the curtain rise to reveal eight men dressed in pure white naval officers’ uniform. They paraded around the stage very formally and then lined up at the front. They positioned their hats under one arm while slowly unbuttoning their jackets and then tossed the hats into the wings. The jackets were peeled off to reveal snowy white singlets beneath.

Suddenly, the row of dancers divided, leaving an opening in the middle. As they continued their provocative movements, another man strolled from the wings and stood in the center of the stage. Catherine gasped. A few inches taller than the others and even more powerfully built, his impact on the women was to stun them into complete silence. He had beautiful blue eyes…and long, blond wavy hair which reached way past his shoulders.

“Must be the Admiral,” whispered Jenny, as the figure in the middle saluted smartly before proceeding to tantalise the audience by ripping off his singlet and unzipping his slacks. He lowered them on his hips, allowing a tantalising glimpse of his taut stomach and belly button. Then, with one hand on his waistband, he threw back his head and began to stroke the other hand sensually across his glistening chest. The crowd went wild and several indistinguishable comments were shouted from all over the theatre.

“They certainly go for him in a big way,” Jenny observed with a grin. “Personally I don’t like long hair on a man.” 

She turned to Catherine, who felt as if she was impaled on her seat. “How about you?  Cathy?”

“What?”

“Never mind,” her friend laughed. “I think you just answered the question. I guess you like men with long hair.

“Y-yes, I do.” Catherine was watching the man in the centre of the stage but it was not his face she saw…and mentally she had added a covering of golden hair to his upper chest.

* * *

Father had spent so long staring at the chess board that Vincent was rapidly losing concentration. He had been picking up some rather disturbing emotions from Catherine for the last half hour, and his agitation was becoming difficult to conceal.  Eventually, shifting in his chair, Vincent sighed in irritation.

“Father, I believe it is checkmate.”

“Hmm? What?”

“Checkmate, Father…there is nothing else you can do.” 

The old man looked up and rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry Vincent, you’re quite right, of course. I was just hoping some new strategy might suddenly present itself. Another game?”

“Not tonight if you don’t mind, Father. I have some writing to do in my chamber.” As he began to rise, the old man touched his arm.

“Oh, but surely you’ll take some tea with me before retiring?” 

Vincent hesitated for a moment then relented. He could write any time. Father was obviously enjoying his company and it would be churlish to disappear for no good reason. They rarely spent a whole evening together any more. He looked down at the weathered face that was so dear to him. “Of course. Shall I fetch it?”

“Certainly not. It’s not your place to fetch and carry, Vincent. I’ll ask someone in the kitchen if they would be kind enough to send some along.” He rose with difficulty and crossed the room to where a pipe ran from ceiling to floor. With his cane, he rapped out a message and nodded with satisfaction at the reply.

“It will be here in a few minutes.” He limped back to the table and sat down again.

“Something is distracting you this evening, Vincent.” 

The faintly sardonic humour which everyone knew Vincent possessed, was delivered with a tilt of the golden head. “Not sufficiently to prevent me from winning, Father.” 

The old man chuckled. “I supposed I asked for that. But I would still like to know what troubles you. Can I assume it has something to do with Catherine?”

The mood was broken by the arrival of Brooke carrying a tray of tea.

“Here you are, Father, Vincent.”

“Thank you my dear. Is everything all right?”

“Everything’s fine Father. I’m on ironing duty tonight with Jamie, but Mary says we need only do one more sheet each and then finish. There’s more than usual this week for some reason.” 

Vincent squirmed uncomfortably, recalling how he’d added to their burden by upsetting a cup of tea in bed earlier in the week.  “I am partly to blame for that, Brooke. I apologise for my clumsiness.” 

The girl’s face broke into a wide smile. “Oh, that’s all right, Vincent. We don’t mind doing extra work for you.” 

Father raised his eyebrows and glanced at Vincent, who hid a smile behind his hair.

“Thank you, Brooke.  Sleep well.”

“Thanks Vincent. ‘Night. ‘Night Father.”

“Goodnight, Brooke.”

 Father poured tea and handed one cup to Vincent. “If I had been the one to spill tea on the sheets, I would have been subjected to one of Mary’s lectures on how much soap powder is needed in a community like ours, and reminded that it does not grow on trees…or some equally irritating cliché,” he remarked.

“I did apologise, Father. Both at the time to Mary and again just now to Brooke.”

“Hmmm. It seems as far as the women around here are concerned, there is one rule for you and another for the rest of us.”

“You overstate my influence, Father.”

“Do I, indeed? Hrrumph.”

Feeling his cheeks reddening, Vincent was anxious to change the subject and Father capitulated. “So are you going to tell me what is worrying you?”

Vincent took a sip of his tea and replaced it on the table. “It is nothing of importance.  Father, have you ever heard of ‘The Chippendales’?”

“Well, I assume you are not referring to the makers of one of the most exquisite lines of antique furniture ever produced in London by Thomas Chippendale, so it must be something else. I believe there is an animated children’ s show on television with a similar sounding name.” 

Shaking his head impatiently, Vincent stood up and began to pace around the room.

“No, Father.  This is a…troupe of male dancers…who remove their clothing on stage…to the apparent delight of an audience of women!”  

Father tapped his head in sudden understanding. “Oh, those Chippendales; of course, I remember now. I overhead Jamie and one or two of our other young ladies discussing them once. I believe they um…had some sort of calendar over which they were…” He cleared his throat, “…enthusing.”

“Surely you do not approve of such a show?”

“It makes little difference whether I approve or disapprove, Vincent. Why?”

“Well, surely you would not condone Jamie or the others attending such a spectacle?”

“I would prefer that they did not. Although I am assured that nothing harmful occurs during their show.” He looked up and caught Vincent’s eye as the latter came to a halt close by. “Why the sudden interest, Vincent? Could it be…surely not. Is it possible that is where Catherine is tonight…at a Chippendales show?” 

Vincent was a little taken aback, forgetting for a moment, his father’s uncanny perception, especially when that talent was directed towards himself.

“Well…yes.” 

The old man leaned back in his chair and, to Vincent’s irritation, began to chuckle.

 “I see.”

“Father, please!” 

Jacob waved a mittened hand apologetically. “Forgive me, Vincent. I assure you I am not unsympathetic to your feelings. You are shocked that Catherine would wish to see such a performance. You believe it is somehow…unnatural.”

“Not exactly. And, before you ask, no, I do not find it threatening in any way. It is just…oh, I don’t know. Perhaps it is simply that I had the presumption to believe I knew everything there was to know about Catherine and now…” He faltered, raising his hands in a gesture of helplessness.

“She has surprised you. Perhaps you feel she’s let you down by wanting to do something so…trivial?”

“It is foolish, I know Father. Catherine would never deliberately do anything to upset me. She even offered not to go this evening. I suppose it just serves to remind me…as if I ever need reminding…that Catherine could have any man she chooses. She will look at those men on the stage tonight and see some of the most handsome, well formed men in the country. It would not be unnatural for her to compare…and wonder…” He bowed his head and Father touched his arm.

“Can you feel Catherine, now?” 

Vincent raised his head and closed his eyes, reaching for his connection with Catherine. “Mmmm. She is happy…contented.”

“Is she thinking about anyone?” 

Vincent concentrated again. “Yes.”

“Who?”

The reply was softly spoken, with a tinge of embarrassment and the smallest hint of pride. “Me.”

“Well, then.” Father struggled to his feet and Vincent took him in his arms.

“Thank you, Father.”

“Goodnight, Vincent.  Sleep well.”

“I will. Goodnight Father.”

* * *

The following evening Catherine had showered and dressed and was pacing back and forth in her living room waiting for, and worrying about Vincent. A storm had hit around lunchtime, sending the temperature plummeting and ever since then torrential rain and strong winds had been buffeting the city. Catherine knew that only an emergency Below would prevent Vincent from coming to her, and she had been in two minds earlier in the day whether to try and get a message to him, warning him that it was too dangerous to come. She couldn’t bear to think of him risking his safety by scaling any part of her building in such weather. Biting her lip, she cursed herself now for not sending the message. She glanced at the clock. Ten after ten. He rarely told her what time to expect him, but he usually arrived well before ten.

Just as Catherine had decided something must have happened to him and she had to go Below, she heard a knocking on the French doors. Her heart lurching, she ran to open them and found a bedraggled Vincent shivering outside.

“Oh God, Vincent! You poor love, you’re soaked! Get in here!” She grabbed at the front of his cloak with both hands and tugged him inside. He dripped on her carpet and Catherine reached around his shoulders to unfasten his cloak as he struggled to remove his boots. She ran into the bathroom, hanging up his cloak and laying out a huge, fluffy pink towel before returning to the living room, where Vincent hovered uncertainly, obviously trying to decide whether to venture further into the room or whether he should just stay right where he was in order to keep the widening pool of water at his feet, to a minimum.

 Clasping his upper arm between both hands, she dragged him towards the bathroom.

 “Take all your clothes off, Vincent…” She grinned at his blink of astonishment.  “…and have the shower water as hot as you can stand it,” she ordered. “Otherwise you’ll end up with pneumonia.”

“Catherine, I cannot…” he began, but Catherine silenced him with a kiss.

“Oh, yes you can, Sweetheart. I’ll dry your clothes for you and you will stay right here with me until I know it’s safe for you to leave. You are not going out there again until you’re warm and dry and the storm lets up. I’m not going to be responsible for you getting a cold or flu. Okay?” 

He inclined his head with a small smile, allowing her to take charge. “I will do as you wish, Catherine.” He went inside and closed the door. She didn’t hear the lock turn and hugged herself with delight, realising she would have to go in and collect his clothes. You should be ashamed of yourself, Chandler. Think how he’ll feel if you go in there. Even if he doesn’t see you he’ll know by your reaction.

The sound of shower water starting to flow could be heard after a moment or two, and Catherine went into the kitchen to make hot chocolate to warm Vincent’s chilled insides…he would need as much warmth as possible tonight. This thought sent delicious tingling sensations all over her body, imagining how her hands could perform the same service as the hot chocolate…but on the outside. She had been very careful to hide her feelings from him all day. Since seeing the show the previous evening, she had been fantasising about Vincent performing a very slow, sexy dance routine for her alone, in the privacy of his chamber. Nothing to compromise his dignity; just his own naturally elegant, sensual movements that even just thinking about could make her feel as if feathers were caressing her insides.

She crossed to the bathroom door and opened it a crack. The shower was on full and the room had gotten quite steamy. Vincent’s clothes were folded and dripping on the toilet lid so she crept in and stretched out an arm to pick them up, unable to prevent a glance to the left as she hugged the bundle to her. What she saw literally took her breath away. He was standing very straight and tall, facing her, his feet about eighteen inches apart. His head was tilted back and he was obviously enjoying the sensation of tiny jets of hot water washing over his body. The stream, deflected by his throat and neck, trickled downwards over each magnificent, glistening part of him until it swirled around his feet and eventually disappeared into the plughole.

Vincent rubbed the bar of soap over his chest with one hand and then leisurely spread the lather with the other. He began at the base of his neck and then moved his hand downwards across his chest, making slow, wide circles over each prominent pectoral muscle and mussing the darkened swirls of hair. Catherine stood transfixed. She had no right to be watching him this way, but he was so beautiful. So dignified and regal…so sensual in his movements. But then he believed he was alone. Vincent was always so shy with her, that to see him this way was a powerful stimulant.

He looked down, rubbed the soap between his palms and replaced it in the dish.  Then, tossing his head back again, he used both hands to lather his ribcage, stroking the claw-tipped fingers carefully around his flanks. Suddenly he reached around behind him and Catherine had to strain her eyes through the increasing steam.  Vincent had one hand on his rump and the other arm was behind his head, reaching as low as possible with the backbrush. Watching him, back arched, chest thrust forward, Catherine barely managed to restrain herself from dropping her bundle and jumping over the side of the tub to help him. Biting down on her bottom lip, she willed her legs to retreat, but it wasn’t until Vincent allowed one foaming hand to drift around to his belly and downwards to cleanse the most private part of his anatomy that Catherine gasped and finally fled from the room, feeling like the voyeur she was, despite the fact she was in her own apartment. Once outside she sagged against the wall, her heart thundering painfully against her ribs with least six times its normal velocity.

Gathering her strength again, Catherine went into the kitchen and shoved Vincent’s clothes into the tumble drier, switching it on and setting the program. She ran a hand over her face; it was burning with a mixture of shame and desire. Bending over the sink, she splashed a few drops of cold water over her cheeks, dried them, and tried to concentrate on making the hot chocolate. 

Soon she heard the bathroom door open. Peeking around the doorframe, Catherine saw Vincent emerge with only the pink towel around his waist. The spoon clattered into the mug and she hastily mopped up sticky chocolate drips from the counter.   Gingerly, she carried the mugs through to the living room and tried not to show how much the sight of Vincent, before and now, was affecting her. Smiling up at him she handed him his drink. “Hi.”

“Hello.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Come and sit down by the fire.” He followed her and, to her surprise, stretched out on his side on the floor, supporting himself on one elbow. Catherine had assumed she would have to coax him into even sitting down on a couch, but here he was, looking more relaxed than she had ever seen him, clothed only in a fluffy pink towel.  Catherine suppressed a nervous giggle. If only she could take a photograph of him.  He watched her while they drank their chocolate and Catherine was reminded of a cat…an extremely handsome one…poised and elegantly at ease, content but always on the alert for anything amiss.

When their mugs were empty, Catherine took them to the kitchen and returned to stand over Vincent. “May I dry your hair for you?” He looked up at her with the mesmerising clear blue pools that made Catherine feel as if she was drowning…and never wanting to surface.

“Thank you, Catherine. I would enjoy that.” 

She brought her drier from the bedroom and plugged it in. She combed through his freshly washed hair, apologising whenever she pulled too hard, but he didn’t seem to mind. She assumed he probably got so bored with having to do it himself, that he was only too glad to sit back and have her do it for him.

As she knelt beside Vincent, lifting and drying the heavy, red-gold strands of his hair, Catherine was uncomfortably aware of the rest of his body. Peering over his shoulder, she saw that the thick chest hair lay in separate, damp curls against his skin. In what she hoped was a casual manner, she wriggled around to face him, adjusting the setting of the drier to a gentler motion. 

He looked up and blinked. “Is something wrong, Catherine?”

“Ah, no. It’s just that you don’t seem to be drying as quickly as I expected. I really don’t want you to catch cold, Vincent…may I..” 

He hesitated for a moment and then inclined his head. “Go ahead, Catherine…if you believe it is safe.” 

She grinned. “Don’t worry; I won’t burn you, I promise.” He looked apprehensive as Catherine exchanged the conventional nozzle for a round styler which she placed against his chest and wound into a section of damp hair, pulling gently. As the warm air fluffed and dried the curls, his expression relaxed and he shifted around, offering her free access to his upper body. He leaned his head back against the couch and watched through half closed eyes as Catherine continued rolling and blow drying curl after curl.

“Okay?” she smiled, knowing by the rapt look on his face, that it was.

“I have never experienced anything like this sensation before. It…tickles.”

“But you do like it?”

“Yes.”

“I’m so glad, Vincent.”

After a moment or two, he opened his eyes fully and peered up at her. “Do you perform this…ritual on yourself every day?” 

Catherine laughed, pretending to misunderstand him. “Well, I don’t actually do this, Vincent!”

“I did not mean…”  He raised his head and the velvet cheeks reddened, making her immediately sorry for having embarrassed him.

“It’s okay, I was kidding. I know what you meant. Yes, most days I wash my hair and have to go through this. Sometimes, in the summer I sit out on the balcony and let it dry naturally but it takes ages.” 

He gave a soft chuckle. “As our younger members would say, ‘tell me about it’. This is much more practical. I wish we were able to use hair dryers Below.” 

Catherine leaned forward and placed a kiss on the soft, warm hair of his nose.

“Believe me, Vincent, I never knew blow-drying could be so much fun. I guess it depends whose hair you’re drying. Lean back again and relax now.” He did as he was told and as Catherine began again, a tingle of excitement ran through her as she realised he was actually enjoying the sensation as much as she was.

When she had ensured that every single chest hair was bone dry and fluffed to perfection and that there was absolutely no way she could prolong the pleasurable task she had set herself, she switched off the drier and touched Vincent’s shoulder, believing him to be asleep.

“Would you like me to do your back?” He stirred and sat up, leaning forward so that she could reach his back. Catherine needed no further encouragement. Carefully, she stroked the styler downward from his shoulders, smoothing the golden hairs which petered out around his flanks. He shuddered several times as her palms touched him there, and Catherine delighted in the fact that his first ‘blow-dry’ was having such a sensually pleasurable effect on him. Again, she prolonged the action as long as possible.

It wasn’t until she’d finished, that she suddenly realised he’d been sitting around in the same damp towel he’d used in the bathroom. Guilt-ridden that she might have given him pneumonia despite her good intentions she pointed to the offending item.

“Vincent, I’m really sorry; I should’ve gotten you a robe. You shouldn’t be sitting in that wet towel. Please take it off.” 

Vincent’s eyebrows slanted even higher. “I beg your pardon, Catherine.”

“I said take it…oh, look, I’m going to get you a robe, okay? Just take the damn thing off, will you?”

When Catherine returned from the bedroom with a towelling robe her father had kept there for when he visited, she fully expected Vincent to take it and disappear into the bathroom. To her utter amazement, he casually untied the wet towel and handed it to her.  Her mouth dropped open in disbelief. Vincent is standing stark naked in my living room and it’s as though he hasn’t even noticed. And I am making a complete idiot of myself.

“Is something wrong, Catherine?”

She cleared her throat and tried unsuccessfully to sound normal. “No, nothing at all.  I’m just a little surprised at how comfortable you seem to be here…with me. Don’t misunderstand me, Vincent…I’m pleased of course…very pleased.”  Make that thrilled, excited, stimulated to the point of wanting to throw you down and make passionate love to you right this minute! 

Vincent glanced down shyly. “I’m trying to be less inhibited with you, Catherine.  After all, you are not seeing anything you have not seen before.” He looked up and Catherine suddenly realised what he meant.

“You knew!”

“Yes.”

“Oh God. Oh Vincent, I’m so sorry, really. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I just came in to pick up your clothes and I didn’t mean to peek but…you just looked so beautiful standing there in the shower…” Her voice trailed off but she realised he was smiling.

“It is all right, Catherine. I felt your…reaction…to me then and it helped me. It made me realise that no matter how attractive you may have found those men last night, you still love me and still have the same…feeling for me even now that you have seen me naked.” He raised his arms and Catherine stepped into them as her breath left her body in a rush of emotion. The feeling of holding him naked against her was almost too much to bear. She stroked his back with both hands and kissed his chest, inhaling the fresh scent of him.

“How could you ever doubt it? Vincent, you are beautiful…none of those men on stage…no man anywhere in the world can ever compare with you. You have absolutely no idea how much I love you.” 

He nuzzled beneath her hair and whispered into her ear. “Then perhaps it is time you showed me.” 

Catherine felt every muscle and tendon in her legs liquefy. She had no need to ask him if he was sure…pressed against him as she was, she had no need to look down to know that he was already in a state of semi-arousal. Leaning back in his arms, the meeting of sapphire blue and sea green as their eyes locked, was like a lighted taper to gunpowder.

“Shall we return to the fire, Catherine?” he asked.