Yawning, Catherine dragged herself off the couch and turned dejectedly to the kitchen.  The wine bottle and two glasses carefully laid on her silver tray and adorned with a single red rose seemed to beckon her and she turned. “Oh, Vincent,” she whispered, blinking back a tear, “you promised.” Stooping, she picked up the tray and went miserably into the kitchen. The now horribly warm Chablis was returned to its place in the refrigerator and the unused glasses to the cabinet.

Vincent had said he would be with her by nine-thirty. They had planned to spend as long as possible together, and Catherine had set out her photograph albums since Vincent had expressed the desire to see every single snapshot ever taken of her. She had laughed at the time and told him he must be a masochist, and although he would most certainly regret asking, she would indeed show him every photo she possessed. She had added, sadly, that one of her biggest regrets was that she would never be able to see one of him; not as the child he had once been, the man he was now, or the elderly man he would one day become. He had smiled his gentle half-smile and ducked his head, bewildered that she should wish to see his image in any such way.

That had been the plan, but Vincent simply hadn’t shown. Catherine looked at the clock for what must have been the fiftieth time that night…one twenty-five. There was no way he would come now, and she couldn’t keep awake any longer. She wasn’t worried that he might have had an accident. During the time she had known him, she had experienced occasional flashes of the bond that was so strong within him. And each time it had been because he had been in deadly danger. More than once she had saved his life, and this had been a great comfort to them both. Vincent had risked everything many times to save her; now Catherine at least felt she had been able to be of some use to him.  Pausing as she began to undress, she felt tentatively along the thread of their unique connection, trying to submerge herself in Vincent’s emotions. But it wasn’t as easy as that. It seemed unless he was actually severely hurt or in some life threatening situation, she just wasn’t able to pick up very much. All she felt was some disquiet; and that could just as easily be coming from her.

She bit her lip and swallowed down on the sobs which rose painfully in her throat.

“Pull yourself together, dammit; you’re not a child. Something stopped him from coming and you ought to be concerned for him about the reason…not wanting to bawl your eyes out and wallow in self-pity!” The self-admonition didn’t help at all, and she was just about to fling herself face down on the bed and give vent to all the selfish resentment she felt towards Vincent’s demanding family Below, when she suddenly heard the sound she’d been listening for all night. Yes, there it was…the urgent tapping of a beloved clawed hand on the French doors.

“Vincent!”

In her desperation to open the doors, she forgot she’d locked them. Cursing under her breath, Catherine scrabbled around for the key. “Vincent, I’m coming! Don’t go away!” 

Eventually the lock turned and she yanked open the doors, launching herself into his arms without even truly seeing him. But she didn’t need to see him to know that it was Vincent. No other man in the whole world would have felt like him, smelled like him,  or nuzzled the top of her head with his nose as he whispered, “I’m sorry, Catherine …forgive me.”

“Nothing matters except you’re here,” she breathed, her nose pressed against the suede lacings of his tunic. Catherine was just beginning to feel she’d die if she ever had to leave the warmth and comfort of his arms when he suddenly thrust her from him and stepped back so quickly he almost stumbled as his heels connected with the terrace wall.

“No, keep away from me, Catherine…I should never have held you. What possessed me to touch you, tonight of all nights!” he muttered, lurching away from the wall and beginning to pace the length of the balcony.

“Vincent, what is it…what’s wrong?” Catherine felt as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over her and she wrapped her arms around herself to stop the sudden shivering.

At first he didn’t answer, just kept up a continual movement back and forth across the  terrace, turning at each end and making his cloak swirl around his ankles.

“Vincent, please…I’m freezing. Come inside and tell me what’s bothering you.” Her reference to the discomfort she was enduring because of him seemed to stop him in his tracks…literally. He whirled around and sucked in a lungful of air, holding his breath for a few seconds as if considering what he should do, before exhaling again.

“I cannot come inside.  The reason I stayed away tonight…the reason I should have kept far away from you tonight,” he amended, “is b-because I believe I have contracted some…terrible disease.”

“What!”

“Look! Look at me, Catherine!” Vincent stepped closer to the light and, completely baffled, she peered up at his face. As she studied him, her panic abated and was replaced by fond amusement.  She reached for his hand but he jumped back.

“Vincent, come inside immediately.”

“No! Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said? Can you not see!”

“I can see you have a little rash on your face. If you come inside where I can look at you properly, I bet I’ll be able to put your mind at rest.” 

He shook his head vigorously. “No! This deadly disease is likely to be contagious…it could even be…plague. Catherine I must leave…”

“Oh, no you don’t!” Catherine sprang forward and gripped his arms with all her strength.   “Vincent, for Heaven’s sake, you don’t have the plague or some dreadful disease, I guarantee it. Now please, Sweetheart, if you don’t come inside right now I swear I won’t be responsible for what I might do.”  

Vincent blinked and looked about agitatedly, clearly wondering what he should do. He put a hand to his forehead and when he took it away he looked at it for a moment before rubbing it against his leg.

“You look awfully flushed; are you feeling okay?” 

He nodded. “Yes. I’m just a little warm. Perhaps that is the first symptom of plague.” 

Catherine sighed in exasperation and hauled on his arms. “You are being ridiculous, Vincent. Inside!” she ordered, not at all sure if he would obey and relieved when, after a few seconds hesitation, he stepped inside.

Shivering with the cold, Catherine closed the doors and pulled the drapes, effectively sealing off the hostile, outside world. “Take off your cloak and come over here under the light where I can see your face better.” 

Clearly uncomfortable, Vincent shrugged off his cloak and moved to where Catherine was indicating. He hated being the object of discussion and scrutiny at any time, and Catherine was making him feel like an organism under a biochemist’s microscope.

“Mmm, there’s definitely a rash, yet there was no sign of it last night.”

“I – I discovered it when I bathed this morning.”

“Do you have spots anywhere else, Vincent?” 

He dropped his head and the husky voice was even lower when he replied. “Yes.” 

Catherine folded her arms and adopted a confrontational stance. “Well? Are you going to tell me where, or is that a State Secret?”

“This is not easy for me, Catherine. Apart from anything else, I had hoped to avoid contact with you tonight for your own safety.”

“What changed your mind?”

“I…missed you. I thought that if I…”

“Don’t spoil it,” she broke in, her voice softening. “Let’s just leave it that you missed me, okay?” He nodded. “So tell me, where else do you have these spots?”  

He took a deep breath, convinced now he had made a bad mistake in coming. “On my chest…and my arms. I suspect they may be on my back also, but I cannot see.”

“Didn’t you show Father?” 

Vincent shook his head.

“Well,  you have to show me.”

“No!” He backed up again and found the fireplace behind him. He was trapped.

“Don’t be silly, Sweetheart. I’m sure you’re worrying about nothing. Come on, I’ve had the measles and German measles and I’ll bet that’s all it is, but unless you let me take a look, I won’t be able to put your mind at rest and you’ll go on thinking you’re going to die of this ‘plague’.”

“I did not say I was dying.”

“Well, you would, if it was the plague.” 

Vincent glanced at her sharply. “You make it sound as if you would not be overly concerned.”

Catherine raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Vincent, my beloved, I think you know exactly how I would feel if you were dying, but I promise you that’s not going to happen. At least, not tonight,” she added mischievously. “Now, are you going to roll up your sleeve for me or do I have to wrestle you to the floor?” 

Making a small sound of irritation in his throat, Vincent pulled up the sleeve of his sweater and offered his arm to Catherine for examination. She held his wrist with one hand and probed the golden hairs on his arm with the other, searching for the pots.

“Yes, I see them. Let me see your chest.” 

Vincent’s head shot up; he blinked in amazement and the look he gave her couldn’t have been more horrified if she’d asked him to drop his pants in the middle of a literature appreciation class. “Catherine, I really do not think…”

“Listen to me…you’ve gotten yourself into such a state over this, I have to see all the spots so that I can put your mind at rest.”

“Forgive me, Catherine, but you are not a doctor.”

“Then why did you come to me? There’s a doctor Below.”

“I told you. I just wanted to see you. Truly, I did not mean to knock.” He whirled around and strode about the room like a caged tiger, clearly at a loss to know if he should leave now before things became any worse. On the other hand, he really was worried, and for some reason he trusted Catherine’s judgement despite his accusation. If he was suffering from some disease common in the world Above, then in all probability she would recognise it and know what to do. After huffing and puffing for several seconds while she waited patiently, he turned his back on her and, with shaking fingers, undid the first two buttons on his sweater. Taking a deep breath, he faced Catherine and went back to stand before her under the light.

“You are right. I would be very grateful if you are able to reassure me, Catherine.  Please forgive my bad humour.” 

She grinned and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

“Catherine, please, we don’t know yet…”

“Yes we do. Don’t worry.” She stared at him standing before her, still wearing his quilted vest and holding the neck of his sweater open to expose about two inches below the base of his neck. Shaking her head fondly, Catherine pushed his hands away and untied the laces of his vest, slipping it off his shoulders before he could stop her. “You said the spots were on your chest, Vincent, pull it up.” 

Ducking his head, he pulled it up a few inches and looked at her beseechingly, his usually golden cheeks an adorable shade of pink. Catherine pretended to lose patience with him, believing he’d feel more comfortable with that than if he knew how watching him really made her feel.

“For Heaven’s sake, Vincent, let me do it or we’ll be here all night.” Almost roughly, she grabbed the bottom of his sweater and pushed upwards until he relented and shrugged it off. Catherine stared at his bare chest. She’d fantasised about how he would look and feel, and although she’d planned that when this moment finally came, it would be somewhat more romantic, it didn’t lessen the impact of the sight. He stood very still, looking straight ahead and obviously squirming inwardly at having to expose a part of him that he preferred to keep covered. And the beauty of him took her breath away.

The top of his chest was very broad and covered with a golden, silky layer of hair which gradually thinned as his body tapered in to his waist. His pectoral muscles were prominent and the power Vincent exuded fully clothed was enhanced considerably by all of his upper body being exposed. Catherine wanted desperately to touch him, not in the cool detached manner required to ease his mind right now, but to stroke and caress those muscles in the heat of a passion that she was fighting to quell even at this moment.

Finding her voice at last, she placed one palm flat on his chest and worked her fingers through the hair in order to locate the spots. Sure enough they were there in abundance;  tiny, angry lumps marring the perfection of his torso. His skin was very warm, and as she tentatively brought her other hand to his chest, Catherine felt it swell against her fingers at his swift intake of breath. She wasn’t sure if he was uncomfortable merely at being in a situation more intimate than they had ever been previously, or whether her less than chaste feelings towards him were reaching him through the bond and causing him added distress. She could feel the throb of his heart beneath her fingers and his breathing faster than usual. Catherine felt an overwhelming desire to press her lips against the silky hardness and hold him tightly, but she fought to resist and eventually her concern for his feelings overcame those other emotions, and, taking a step backwards, she removed her hands.

“I think you have German Measles, Vincent.” She looked up to meet his shocked gaze.

“Are you certain?”

“Not a hundred per cent, but reasonably so, yes.”

“But that is an illness contracted by children!”

“True, but if you don’t catch it in childhood, you can still get it when you’re grown.  Don’t worry, Vincent, you may feel a little rough for a couple of days because I think you probably have a temperature, but after that you’ll be as good as new.” 

Vincent hung his head. “I feel foolish.”  

Smiling sympathetically, Catherine took his arm and led him to the couch, where they sat down side by side. “There’s no need. Plenty of adults get it. Sometimes they catch it from their kids. Are any of the children sick?” 

He shook his head. “Not to my knowledge.” Suddenly his head shot up and he glared at Catherine in alarm. “Coral is pregnant. Is it not dangerous for her to be in the proximity of someone with German Measles?” 

Catherine frowned and chewed her lip. “Yes, it is. The effects on an unborn baby can be very serious indeed. Vincent, you can’t go back to the tunnels until we know the infection is past.” 

He blinked in confusion. “But what can I do? Where can I go?”  

Catherine slipped an arm around his shoulders and hugged him. “Well, you’ll stay here with me, silly. We’ll send a message to Father and tell him what’s happened, and then he can send someone up with some clothes for you. You’ll be perfectly safe and it will only be for two or three days at most.”  

Vincent stood up and again began to pace around the room. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.” 

Catherine watched him for a moment or two, understanding his dilemma, then held out her hand to him. “It will be all right, Vincent. Do you honestly think I’d ask you to stay if I thought there was any chance of you being discovered?”

“I wasn’t thinking of myself. I was thinking of you…and Coral.”

“Have you been close to Coral in the last couple of days?”

“No. She and Greg have been Above visiting her elderly father in Connecticut. They returned to the tunnels last night, but I have not seen them.”

“Good, then she’ll be fine. And you certainly needn’t worry about me because I had German Measles as a kid. And I’m definitely not pregnant.” She grinned, standing up and taking his hand. Vincent looked at her sharply, unsure how to respond to this last comment, so he said nothing. Catherine put her arms around his waist and leaned against his bare chest. She could feel his heart thundering, and every muscle which touched her, was rigid with tension. The poor love’s having a hard time with this, she thought.  First he suffers in silence because he’s afraid he’s got the plague; now he comes to me and finds himself locked out of his home. Well, I’ll just have to make him as happy and comfortable as possible.  Smiling, she slid her arms up his back and began to rub his shoulder blades. Far from relaxing, he began to fidget.

“What is it, love?” she asked, pulling back to look up into his worried face.

“These spots are irritating me, Catherine,” he replied, stepping back and running his claws over his chest and arms.

“No! Don’t do that, you’ll hurt yourself and they may leave a scar. Come with me.” She led him into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet, scanning the shelf for the antihistamine gel. “Here, this is what you need.” She took down a tube from the shelf. “Sit down, Vincent.” 

He only hesitated a moment, then sat down on the edge of the bath. “What is that?”

“It’s wonderfully soothing for irritation and sunburn. Haven’t you ever used it before?” 

Vincent raised his eyebrows. “I have never had sunburn, Catherine.”

“But you can be very irritating.” She felt his eyes on her questioningly and couldn’t suppress the bubble of laughter. Thank Heaven he was finally learning to understand and accept her humour. She squeezed out some of the gel and stepped between Vincent’s legs. “This is going to take a while, Vincent, because I have to put some of this on every single spot. If we do it in the bedroom, it will be more comfortable because you can lie down while I do it. Or, if you prefer, we can stay here, although there’s not much room.” 

Vincent hesitated, then as she moved her hand towards his chest, gently took the tube from her. “I believe perhaps I should do this myself…in here.”

“Oh. Well, okay, whatever you want.” Feeling deflated, Catherine turned and walked away. In the kitchen she smiled. You won’t be able to reach your back, my love.

“Coffee or juice, Vincent?”

“Juice please.”

Catherine poured two long glasses of chilled orange juice, then, knowing how Vincent would hate being bare-chested for longer than absolutely necessary, went through to the bedroom and rifled through her closet. She found a brand new, oversized blue and white striped shirt she’d bought on a whim, yanked off the price tag and took it back to the sitting room. She called out to Vincent that his drink was waiting for him and settled down to sip her own. After several minutes he emerged from the bathroom.

“Here,” she said, holding out the shirt to him, “don’t try to button it but it’s cotton and will be less scratchy on those spots than your sweater.”

He slipped his arms in and Catherine undid the cuffs and turned them back once,  so that his forearms were bare. “Thank you, Catherine. This looks new.”

She grinned. “It is.  It was a bit big for me but I never found the time to take it back to the store. Anyway it looks much better on you so it’s yours now.”

Vincent fingered the soft cotton lawn reverently. “I’m not sure I ever had anything new before” he said softly. Taking a seat beside her, he picked up his glass, drank half of it in one go and leaned back. “That is much better.  Thank you.”

“For what? The drink, the shirt or the gel?”

“All three. I feel more comfortable now. My skin was beginning to feel as if it was on fire.”

“How about your back?”

“I…managed.”

Liar. Well, I’ll be here, my love, when you can’t stand the itching any longer.

“You want to watch TV? Listen to music?”

“What do you usually do at two-thirty in the morning?”  

Catherine blinked, remembering. “I’d forgotten it was so late! We must go to bed.  Uh…I mean, we should get some sleep.” 

He smiled. “May I take the couch?”

“Of course. I’ll get you pillows and stuff.” Catherine jumped up and went into the bedroom again. Opening the closet, she pulled down spare bedding and, as she turned, looked longingly at her own bed, imagining Vincent there, splendidly naked and sprawled sensually on his back waiting for her to join him. Something revolved in the pit of her stomach and she gasped aloud. This would never do. He wasn’t ready for those kind of thoughts, and if he experienced them with her he’d probably take off into the night like a frightened stag. And this time he had nowhere to go. She had to be very careful tonight.

Returning to the sitting room, she looked down at the couch, pulling a face. “It’s much too small for you, Vincent. You’ll end up with backache, neck ache, and Heaven knows what other aches by morning.”

“I can always sleep on the floor if it gets too uncomfortable,” he commented, getting up and throwing the duvet over the cushions.

“I’m smaller than you. I wish you’d take my bed and let me sleep here.” His look told her exactly what he thought of that idea. “Vincent, you’re sick,” she protested vainly.

“I’m fine. Goodnight, Catherine, and thank you…for everything.”

“‘Night.” She reached up and pressed a small, tender kiss lightly against his lips, leaving him looking completely non-plussed when she walked away.

When the alarm went off at six-thirty, Catherine’s arm shot out furiously to thump it into submission. She’d remembered she wasn’t working today and cursed herself for forgetting to reset it to a more respectable time. She threw herself backwards and was just about to pull the covers up over her head again when she remembered. Vincent!   That was the best reason in the world for getting up.

Springing out of bed, she opened the door a crack and peeped through. Vincent was curled up on the floor, and Catherine’s heart spun as he suddenly rolled over on to his back and shoved the duvet below his waist. He was still fast asleep in his clothes. Only his boots had been removed and these stood neatly to attention by the French doors.  Vincent looked hot and uncomfortable as he fidgeted about. He scratched abstractedly at his arms and chest through the shirt.

Catherine grabbed a robe which she tightened about her for his sake more than her own.  She knelt down beside him and took his hands between hers to stop him scratching.

“Vincent, wake up.”

“Mmm?” He moved restlessly and she had to speak again before he finally opened his eyes. “Catherine?” He was up on his elbows in an instant, his eyes registering anxiety for a few seconds as he blinked and looked around, confused. Then he apparently remembered where he was and why he was here, relaxing slightly, lying back again.

“Are you okay? You seemed to be having a bad dream or something.” 

Vincent rubbed a hand over his eyes. “No, I – I’m just hot. And these spots are itching.”  

Catherine reached forward and laid her hand on his forehead. It was hot and damp. He started to scratch at his chest again but Catherine grabbed his hand. “Why don’t you take a cool shower, Sweetheart? It will take some of the heat out of your skin and make you feel more comfortable. When you’re through, I’ll put some more gel on.”

“All right.” He made an irritated sound and got to his feet, ignoring the hand she held out to help him. Catherine raised her eyebrows and looked after him as he stalked to the bathroom. His innate good manners surfaced as he reached the door, but he barely turned his head as he spoke. “Forgive me, Catherine…would you care to use the bathroom first?”

“No, it’s okay. You go ahead. I’ll make us some breakfast.”

Catherine busied herself in the kitchen, humming as she prepared coffee, toast, and orange juice for two. It unsettled him being here like this and she understood why, knowing it wasn’t a reflection on her, but she was delighted by the situation and was determined to make him as happy and comfortable as possible. Smiling to herself, she spread a thick layer of blueberry preserve on his hot, buttered toast. Vincent had an unusually sweet tooth for a man.

“Breakfast’s ready,” she called. She arranged everything on a tray and carried it through to the sitting room. The shower water had stopped and she could hear Vincent moving about in the bathroom. “Did you hear me? Toast will be cold if you don’t hurry.” 

The door opened and he emerged. He was wearing his jeans and had slipped the shirt on, although it wasn’t buttoned, and Catherine could see he had applied gel to his chest.  The ends of his hair were damp and he looked flushed, although she couldn’t be sure if this was because of the rash, his slight fever, or if he hadn’t managed to adjust the water temperature properly. She held out her hand to him as he came around to join her on the couch. “Are you okay?”

“I suppose so.”

“What do you mean…you suppose so? Are you okay or aren’t you?” 

Vincent shrugged and reached for his orange juice. He took a few swallows, then put it back on the table, setting it down too heavily and some of the liquid sloshed over the edge. “I’m sorry. That was clumsy of me.” He started to get up. “I’ll get a cloth.”

“No,” Catherine put a hand on his arm and rose. “It’s okay, I’ll get it. Relax.”

In the kitchen she frowned. Vincent certainly wasn’t himself. She had hardly ever seen him irritable, but it was hardly surprising that he felt like that today. Knowing how upset he was only compounded her determination to pamper and cosset him. Snatching at the kitchen roll, she pulled off three sheets and went back to mop up the small puddle of juice. Vincent was staring without enthusiasm at his toast, but looked guiltily at the table top as she wiped it. Feeling his gaze, Catherine leaned forward and squeezed his shoulder. “It’s no problem, Vincent. It’s a washable surface.”

“Still…” He looked back at his uneaten toast and Catherine sat down beside him again.

“Are you going to eat that or just look at it?”  

Vincent didn’t smile like she’d hoped he would, but instead lifted one piece and took a bite, chewing slowly. 

Catherine dived into hers, only marginally less heaped with preserve than Vincent’s.

“Mmm,” she said, appreciatively, “there’s only one thing I enjoy more for breakfast than blueberry toast and that’s croissants. Shall I get us some for tomorrow?”

“I may not be here tomorrow.”

“I think you will, Sweetheart,” she replied gently, trying not to let him see her disappointment at his lack of interest at being with her. “Incubation for German Measles is anything from three days to a week.” 

His eyes widened and he glared at her. “A week? I cannot remain here for a week!”

“No? Well, three days will probably do it, but really, Vincent, you have to be very careful. How far along is Coral?”

“She announced that she and Kenneth were expecting a child just before they left for Connecticut a week ago.”

“Then she’s probably only about three months. It’s very risky, Vincent. The longer you stay here, the better. Can’t you try and relax and just enjoy being here with me?”  

He sighed and put down his plate.  Only one and a half pieces of toast had gone. “It is not that I don’t want to be with you, Catherine.” Vincent stood up and walked towards the French doors, looking out onto the terrace bathed in early morning sun. The sound of traffic from the city wafted up as he opened the door a little.

Catherine watched him for a moment, then rose and walked up behind him, slipping her arm through his. “Would you like to have coffee out there if it’s not too chilly?” He nodded.

“Go on then. I’ll bring the tray.” The fact that Vincent allowed her to carry it out while he settled himself in a chair close to the doorway, only served to establish more firmly in Catherine’s mind that he was definitely out of sorts. He did at least drink all his coffee when she put it in front of him.

“You weren’t very hungry.”

“No. Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I finished your other piece of toast.” 

At first this produced a slight smile, but was soon followed by an anxious look. “That was unwise, in the circumstances.”

“It’s okay. I told you, I had German Measles when I was little. You can’t catch it twice.  I’m surprised you didn’t have it too. I bet Devin and the other kids did.”

“Perhaps it was my ‘differentness’ that protected me.”  

Catherine wasn’t sure if that was self-pity or merely an observation. She’d never known Vincent to feel sorry for himself, but decided that maybe it was his turn. She rubbed his shoulder. “Well, you have it now. Perhaps you’re not so different after all.”

Vincent leaned his head back against the brick wall and closed his eyes. The breeze parted the edges of his shirt, exposing his chest, but to Catherine’s surprise, he didn’t move to cover himself. Rather, he seemed to welcome the cool air on his skin.  Catherine stared at him and swallowed hard. He looked unbelievably beautiful and made such a sensuous picture, that it was hard to suppress the emotions he stirred in her.  Fortunately, concern for his well-being overcame her lascivious thoughts and she rose, laying a hand beneath his bangs.

“You’re very warm, Vincent. I’m not so sure it’s a good idea for you to be out here in this wind.”

“It feels wonderful.”

“Yes, but you have a temperature. Let’s go inside and check it out, okay?” He sighed and stood up, clearly preferring to remain where he was. This time when she reached for the tray, he stopped her. “I should do this.”

“It’s not necessary. It’s really not heavy.” But she pushed the door open anyway and he stepped inside, carrying the tray through to the kitchen and setting it down on the counter.

“I will help you,” he offered, but she shook her head.

“The dishwasher will do that. Come on.” 

He followed her through the sitting room into the bathroom and the door swung closed behind them.  Catherine opened the medicine cabinet and took out her thermometer.  “Open your mouth, Vincent, and be careful not to bite the glass.”

“This is not necessary,” he snapped, but she shoved the instrument under his tongue anyway and placed a finger against his lips. He rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically, sitting down on the edge of the bath. Catherine looked at her watch. The sixty seconds required to establish a person’s correct body temperature seemed to go on forever as they sat close together in the tiny bathroom. Vincent looked at her once, and as the vivid blue eyes met hers, something intense sparked between them, forcing him to glance away quickly and focus on anything and everything else in turn around the room.   Catherine felt it, too, and wondered what it meant; and might mean in the future. The sexual attraction he tried always to ignore, sizzled between them like a bolt of electricity and for either one of them to deny it would have been futile. Fortunately, Catherine decided, Vincent was in no position to deny anything, since his mouth was firmly clamped over the thermometer.

His fidgeting increased and, as the long seconds ticked by, he appeared to find breathing through his nose uncomfortable. Catherine was afraid he might just bolt from the room and was relieved when the time was up. She touched his shoulder and he glanced at her, opening his mouth immediately to let her take the thermometer.

“Hmm,” she observed, peering at the reading.

“What does ‘hmm’ mean?”

“It means, Vincent, that you have a temperature of just over one hundred and one degrees. Nothing to be overly concerned about, but high enough to make you feel cranky and out of sorts. Do you need any gel on your back?”

“I am not…cranky.” He stood up and stalked out of the bathroom to prowl around the sitting room instead.  

No, my love, of course you’re not.

Catherine rinsed and dried the thermometer and shook it down before replacing it in the cabinet. She opened the window to allow the slight condensation caused by Vincent’s shower to dry; and to get a little cool air on her face after their recent shared experience.  She knew Vincent would welcome a few minutes to himself and busied herself re-folding towels and putting out new ones. Finally, she splashed a little cold water on her face, patting it dry before joining Vincent in the living room.

“Well,” she said, brightly. “What would you like to do? We could watch some TV or a video if you prefer…very decadent in the morning. Or play Scrabble or something. Or we could read. Your choice. Hey, we were going to look at my old photo albums!” 

Vincent was again looking out through the French doors, much as a prisoner might peer through the window of his cell. He was clearly wishing he was anywhere but trapped above, even with Catherine. It was hardly encouraging. He didn’t even turn his head when he answered. “I really don’t care.”  

That did it.

“Well, dammit, Vincent, perhaps you should!” He started at the anger in her voice and she felt immediately ashamed. After all, despite what he said, it was obvious by his attitude that he wasn’t feeling particularly well. How could he be, with a temperature of 101°? She hadn’t meant to lose patience with him, but for Heaven’s sake; here she was, providing him with a loving haven while he was unable to go home; giving him every comfort she could think of; trying to think of things to make him happy and all he could say was: ‘I don’t care.’

“Catherine, forgive me. You were right.  I am…cranky, after all.”  

She grinned at his use of the unfamiliar word, and they met in the middle of the room to embrace. It was wonderful for a moment, but then they both became very much aware that Catherine was pressed close to Vincent’s bare chest, her breasts flattened against his midriff, feeling each other breathe. She’d only have to nose the edge of his shirt aside and move her lips a fraction and they would be around his nipple. Simultaneously, shakily, they broke apart. Vincent began to try and button his shirt and Catherine backed up a few steps.

“It’s not just the fact you can’t go home, is it? I mean, it bothers you, being here like this…alone together.”

“It bothers me…yes. But for reasons I would prefer not to explain. It does not mean I am not happy to be with you, Catherine. You must know that.”  

She shrugged and looked down at her hands, examining them. “I was beginning to wonder.” Then she brightened. “As long as you love me, Vincent, that’s all that matters.  Those reasons you mentioned…” He immediately ducked his head, but she stepped up to him and took both his hands in hers. “I think I understand very well what they are.  Look, I’m not going to pressure you into anything you’re not ready for. But we both know that what passed between us in the bathroom just now, isn’t going to go away…however much you might want it to.”

“I don’t want it to. Oh, I don’t know what I want. But no, I can’t deny what I feel for you, Catherine, but…”

“What we feel, Vincent. We love and desire each other. I want to make love with you the same as any other woman does with the man she plans to spend the rest of her life with.” He glanced up at this, and his eyes were filled with so many doubts and fears, that all Catherine wanted to do was put her arms around him, hold him tight and protect him from ever being hurt or upset again for the rest of his life. Instead, she settled for drawing him towards the couch.

“I don’t know why you look so surprised. Do you honestly think that after knowing and loving you, there could ever be anyone else for me? Whatever you say, Vincent, you won’t get rid of me. Now, so that you can get used to that idea slowly, why don’t you sit down and relax. We’ll read some poetry and listen to some of our favourite music.  You’re here for a few days, and I think we should start to enjoy the time together instead of worrying about the future, don’t you?”  

He nodded and offered one of his all too rare shy smiles. He sat down and watched her intently as she loaded the CD player and ferreted about in her bookcase. When she joined him on the couch, she was holding an anthology of works by a variety of poets.

“You want to choose one or shall I just let the book fall open and see what comes up?”

“I have never been one for taking chances…well, at least, not since childhood,” he answered with a tilt of his golden head. “But I imagine even I can risk a poem without getting into trouble.” Catherine smiled and touched his cheek with her palm.

Catherine made lunch about one-thirty and Vincent ate some soup and a croissant from a supply she had popped out to buy during the morning in order to tempt his appetite.  She suspected that he only ate to please her, however, and when she pressed him further, he admitted he had woken with a headache which hadn’t lifted.

He slept for much of the afternoon with his head in her lap while she massaged his temples with gentle fingers and watched two episodes of Bonanza and an Oprah Winfrey show about the types of men that appeal to women. Catherine smiled smugly at the various hunks who sauntered across the stage to the screams and whistles of the studio audience. They were conventionally good-looking, certainly, and all had great physiques, but, as she’d hinted to Vincent earlier, once you’d smelled the finest red rose, you’d never settle for daisies.

She looked down at him sprawled over her and the couch. She’d stroked his hair away from his face, and it tumbled over his shoulders and her thighs. His beloved face and neck were blotchy with the rash, but it made not the slightest difference to his magnetism. The long, golden eyelashes matched the velvet which peppered his nose, and she stroked it lightly, tracing the wide, arched eyebrows which disappeared under his hair. How lucky she was, she thought. If those women in the audience could see Vincent, they’d know in an instant what appealed to them. How could he not appeal to any woman whose hormones were functioning as The Almighty intended when he created woman.

Selfishly, she wished he’d wake up, but he was quite obviously under the weather and needed to rest. She stared down at him, wanting so badly to kiss him. What if she did, Catherine speculated. Would he wake and kiss her back with the same fervour andpassion that rose so swiftly inside her now? Would he take that kiss a step further?  She leaned back and closed her eyes, imagining that step she had fantasised about a thousand times…

His lips would be soft and warm, and as his need for her manifested itself physically, he’d press closer…and closer. His hand would find its way inside her blouse to her breasts and he’d stroke the top of each one gently, first with the backs of his fingers so that she could feel the hair and the smooth hardness of his claws; then he’d lift each one in his palms. She deliberately wouldn’t be wearing underwear so he wouldn’t have to struggle with unfamiliar fastenings. His hand would simply caress and massage with growing pressure until she was panting and digging her fingers in his neck to stop herself from shoving his head downwards and forcing her tightened nipples between his lips.

It was a fairly innocent fantasy. There were others that went far beyond that one, but those she only indulged in when she was alone in her bed in the early hours after he’d left her.

Vincent stirred restlessly and opened his eyes. He blinked twice and stared up at her.

“Did you forget where you were?” Catherine asked softly.

“Only for a moment.” He sat up slowly, swivelling to put his feet to the floor. He looked dishevelled, overly warm, and utterly adorable.

“How do you feel?”

“My head still aches, but other than that I just feel hot. How long did I sleep?”

“Almost three hours.”

“Three hours! Catherine, forgive me…why did you not wake me?”  

She put an arm around his shoulders and stroked his hair, trying to straighten it out with her fingers. “Why ever would I do that? You’re here to relax and take it easy. Are you thirsty?” 

He stared at her as if she’d read his mind. “Actually, yes I am. How did you know?”  

Catherine grinned, kissing his cheek as she got to her feet. “Well, it wasn’t the bond, Vincent; you’re bound to be thirsty with a high temperature. I’ll get you some juice;  unless you’d prefer tea or coffee?”

“No, juice will be fine. Thank you, Catherine.”

After a light supper of salmon quiche and salad, most of which Vincent ate, they had a game of Scrabble, although Catherine declared herself a masochist by having invited Vincent to play. He had studied all forms of reading and literature for over thirty years, and was the archetypal ‘wordsmith’. Her excellent education at Radcliffe College was no match for his swift, agile mind even if he wasn’t one hundred per cent fit.

“Do you have a chess set, Catherine?” he enquired, a trace of his usual humour emerging. “I could instruct you in the rudimentary strategies while I’m here. Who knows, you may enjoy it and wish to challenge Father eventually.”

“I have a better idea,” Catherine responded, jumping up and leaving Vincent to pack away the Scrabble. She dived into the bureau, made a triumphant noise and brandished a box under Vincent’s nose.

“Dingbats,” he read. “I don’t believe I am familiar with the name.”

“Well, I am, Vincent. Jenny and I, and Nancy when the three of us get together, we always have at least one game of Dingbats, and guess who always wins?”

“I do not think I need to guess,” he smiled fondly. “Very well, I shall be happy to learn.”

Four games later, when Catherine had been obliged to pin the, ‘I Won The Dingbats Challenge’  button to Vincent’s shirt each time, she admitted defeat gracefully, conceding that Vincent was indeed the champion games player. He gallantly repacked the box, put it away, and offered to make tea for them both.

“I should do it,” Catherine protested, starting to rise, but he laid a restraining hand on her shoulder.

“No, let me. I have done absolutely nothing all day. If I don’t get off this couch soon, I think it may become a part of me.” 

Catherine giggled and followed him to the kitchen anyway. “Well, I’ll come with you.  You don’t know where all the stuff is and I want you to.”

They chatted companionably while they waited for the kettle to boil, and when the tea was made, Vincent suggested taking it out onto the terrace. Catherine readily agreed, knowing Vincent craved fresh air whenever possible, and especially when he was in an environment that caused him stress. Perhaps it would ease his headache, too. She pulled on her warm duffel coat and picked up Vincent’s cloak. He was already outside, holding a chair out for her to sit on. She smiled her thanks and handed him his cloak.

“I came out here to cool down, Catherine,” he said, tilting his head in the way she found infuriatingly persuasive.

“Vincent, you already have a touch of fever. Please, for me…put the cloak on.” With a sigh, he slung it around his shoulders and sat down, sipping his tea appreciatively.

After a few moments of studying him as he looked out over the city of which he was a part, yet would always be apart from, Catherine reached over and stroked his hand on the table. “You’re looking tired.” 

He turned to look at her. “Am I? Yes, I suppose I am a little, although I cannot imagine why. You have waited on me hand and foot all day, and I spent most of it asleep. I am not the sort of guest that people would invite to stay more than once.” 

Catherine chuckled softly and leaned nearer so that she could rest her head on his shoulder. “Silly. I wish you could stay forever. I love to take care of you.”

“I am not exactly at death’s door, Catherine. If I were Below, I expect I would still be performing all my duties or Father would want to know the reason why.”

“If you were Below, he’d know the reason why. If you’d shown him your rash, he’d have diagnosed German Measles immediately and made you take a few days rest. I’m glad you didn’t though,” she added, “otherwise I probably wouldn’t have you all to myself like this, and I’m loving every minute of it.” Catherine looked up into his face and saw the wonder and gratitude in his eyes. Then she noticed Vincent surreptitiously scratching his chest again through his shirt. “Looks to me like you need some more gel.”

“Mmm. I think so. If you will excuse me, Catherine, I will go inside and apply some more. I think it is the irritation that makes me…cranky…as you put it, and I do not want to incur the wrath of my hostess in case I am evicted.” 

Catherine chuckled affectionately. “Actually it was kind of fun seeing you that way this morning. I can’t imagine what you could possibly ever do to make me kick you out.  And if I ever did, I’d be so scared about what might happen to you that I’d rush out and haul you right back in.”

“Like Lucy,” Vincent recalled thoughtfully.

“Lucy?”

“The night The Silks captured me. It was Lucy who found me and took me in, but when she saw my face, she was so afraid, that I had to leave. Then she must have had second thoughts, because I had hardly reached the first step when she hurried out and insisted I return inside with her.”

“Of course. How could I possibly have forgotten. I owe that lady an awful lot. I hope we see her again one day.”

“I hope so, too. And now…” he said, rising to his feet, “…if you will forgive me, Catherine?”

“Of course. Want me to help you?”

“No. I can manage. Are you staying out here?”

“Just until I finish my tea. I’ll see you inside.” 

Vincent nodded and disappeared through the French doors.

Catherine finished her tea and carried the mugs back inside, stacking them in the dishwasher and switching on the machine. She was back in the living room when Vincent came out of the bathroom, and again, she wondered how he was managing to gel his back, because he hadn’t once asked for her assistance.

“I’ll wash your sweater for you tomorrow and find you a clean one,” she said. “I have one I use as a night-shirt sometimes, but it’s clean and pressed and will fit you.”

Vincent looked immediately grateful. “Thank you. I don’t think I will be very pleasant to be around tomorrow if I have to wear this beautiful new shirt again.”

“I’ll ah, wash anything else for you too, Vincent. But since I don’t have any mens’ underwear in the apartment, I’ll do your socks or…whatever, by hand for you tonight and put them on the radiator. They’ll be dry by morning.” 

At that, his rash deepened in colour and he ducked his head. “Thank you, Catherine, but I will do that myself before retiring. Although that means I – I will have nothing to wear to sleep in tonight.”

“I understand that makes you uncomfortable, Vincent, but there’s nothing to worry about, you know. You can sleep naked here; I promise to behave. Hey, I have a robe you can wear all night if you prefer.”

“Is it made of satin, with roses on?”

“Why? You prefer lilacs?” Her teasing remark at least brought a twitch to those unique lips.

“I will…think about it. Thank you.”

“Maybe you should get some sleep now. I’ll get the bedding in.”

“Can I help?”

“No, it’s not heavy. I won’t be a moment.” Catherine slipped into her bedroom and pulled out the sheet, duvet, and pillow Vincent had used the previous night. She paused and lifted the bundle to her nose, breathing in the faint scent of him. How she would love to have that same scent beside her for real tonight…in her own bed. Shaking her head to dispel the vision this thought spawned before it reached Vincent through bond and disturbed him, she opened the closet again. Scanning the rails, she took down a full length black, satin robe and smiled when she thought of Vincent trying to stretch it across his chest. She returned to the living room and between them they arranged the cushions from the couch on the floor and made up the makeshift bed.

He smiled at the robe. “No flowers.”

“I was teasing. I don’t know how much of you it will cover though, it’s not as big as that shirt. See you in the morning, Sweetheart,” Catherine promised, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Call me if you need me.”

“Thank you for today, Catherine…and for everything. Goodnight.”

She heard him in the bathroom for several minutes and,lying on her back in bed, tried to imagine exactly what he was doing at each moment.  When she reached the point where she thought he would probably be undressing, she found a treacherous dampness between her legs and rolled over onto her side. Cool it, Chandler, she chided mentally.

Finally she heard the bathroom door open and the lights in both rooms were turned off.  She smiled fondly as she imagined Vincent making his way silently through the darkened room in the too-small robe, trying not to stub his toes on the furniture before his eyes adjusted. What she’d have given to hear his reaction if he had. Would he actually swear? Or would he think a bad word but be too gentlemanly to verbalise it?  Probably the latter. Surely even Vincent wouldn’t be able to respond with a wimpish:  My, that certainly hurt. Catherine spent the next several minutes before drifting off to sleep, absurdly speculating about which particular word Vincent would use, even if only in his head.

Something disturbed her almost four hours later. She opened her eyes and listened.  Raising her head from the pillow, she saw a crack of light beyond the door that came from the bathroom. Was Vincent all right? Not moving a muscle, she listened attentively. All was quiet. What should she do, she wondered? It was reasonable to assume he simply needed to use the bathroom, but she couldn’t rest until she was certain he was okay. Climbing out of bed, she shrugged on a robe and padded to the door just as the light went out. Suddenly unsure what to do, Catherine froze. She couldn’t hear a thing. It was no use; she had to find out. Catherine opened the door a crack and peeped out. What she saw made her heart hammer against her ribs.

Vincent must have opened the drapes a little to see…so much for theorising…and a shaft of light from the full moon now intruded into the room, illuminating him in the doorway between the living room and the bathroom. Her black robe, which on her, brushed the tops of her slippers, reached just below his knees and he hadn’t even attempted to tie the sash, so much of the front of his body was exposed, albeit partly shadowed. With one palm pressed flat on the wall and one on the bathroom door, he leaned against the doorframe grinding his back against the sharp edges. Eyes closed and teeth gritted, his expression was that of intense frustration. The sight he presented was the most sensual thing Catherine had ever seen in her life.

“Vincent!” 

He jerked and gasped, clutching the robe and trying frantically to cover himself as she hurried towards him.  

“What is it, Sweetheart? What’s wrong?”

“This rash,” he rasped. “The irritation is driving me to the point of insanity.”

“You poor love. Look, go into my bedroom and lie face down on the bed. No, don’t argue, Vincent, please. Just do as I say. I’ll be right back.”  

Without giving him a chance to protest, she marched into the bathroom, snapped on the light, and snatched the tube of gel from the cabinet. When she turned, Vincent wasn’t where she’d left him; she hoped that was a good sign. Hurrying into her bedroom, she switched on her bedside lamp which bathed the room in a gentle blue glow and enabled her to see him properly. Vincent was lying on his stomach on her bed. The black robe was covering him from the waist down, but there was a pillow under his chest and he was supporting his head on clenched fists, breathing hard as if he was having trouble controlling himself. Her heart turned over to see him in such obvious distress.

Worse still, his back was inflamed and angry-looking, his skin hot to the touch. There were even a few long scratches between his shoulder blades;  not serious ones, but the skin was broken and tiny spots of blood were visible where he’d obviously become so frustrated with the itching that he’d used his claws to try and obtain relief. Thankfully, he’d exercised tremendous restraint or he could have injured himself badly.

“Oh God, your beautiful back,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. “I’ll need to bathe it with cold water. Just hold on a second, Vincent.” Catherine sped into the kitchen and ran water into a basin. On impulse she grabbed some ice cubes from the icebox, threw them into a plastic bag, and tied the neck. Moving swiftly, she carried both back to the bedroom and sat down beside Vincent. His face was obscured by his long, dishevelled hair, but every muscle and sinew in his shoulders and arms were rigid and clearly visible with tension. Gently, Catherine touched the icepack to his back and he growled in shock, jerking around sharply to see what she was doing to him.  Recognising her foolishness, Catherine put her hands on his shoulders and pushed his hair out of the way.

“I’m sorry, I should have warned you. It’s just ice, Vincent, I thought it would help.”

“Yes,” he breathed, his voice becoming muffled as he slumped down again over the pillow. “It does. Sorry.” Catherine moved the bag around all over his back, never leaving it in one spot for more than a second or two. To her profound relief, it seemed to have the anaesthetizing effect she’d hoped for, stunning his inflamed skin into numbness. He groaned and shifted the pillow under his cheek and encircling it with his arms. He released a long, cleansing breath.

As he calmed, Catherine carefully patted his back dry with a towel and began to apply the gel liberally. She was very gentle, dabbing the swollen red skin to soothe and heal it with the cooling compound. When she’d finished, she touched his cheek with the backs of her fingers. “All done. How do you feel now?”

“Better,” he sighed, gratefully. “How can I thank you?”

“By letting me do it for you next time instead of pretending you could reach it yourself,” she scolded gently.

“It was extremely foolish of me,” he conceded, beginning to rise, but Catherine restrained him gently.

“Let it dry completely before you move, Vincent. It only takes a moment or two. Then I’ll do your chest. But first…”  she added before he could object, “…I’ll get you a towel, since that robe of mine is useless. Okay?” Without waiting for a reply, she left the bedroom and went in search of a large bath towel that would indulge Vincent’s inherent shyness. She returned with a beautiful, fluffy white one she’d bought only recently, and laid it beside his head.

“Here…I’m going to get you a cold drink.” It was as much an excuse to leave him in private for a few minutes so he could put the towel around himself, but she knew he’d appreciate a drink.

When she returned with two glasses of sparkling water, he was sitting on the side of the bed, legs apart and staring down at his hands. The towel was fixed tightly around his middle and covered his thighs practically to his knees. Her black robe was neatly folded at the end of the bed. Catherine had to force herself to keep walking towards him, all the while photographing him mentally, yet knowing she would never forget the sight of him at this moment. The patchy rash over his chest and arms did nothing to detract from the sheer power and masculinity of his semi-naked body. He looked up at her and the blue eyes blinked once, reflecting the gentle light in the room. They were calmer now. The man had more magnetism seated innocently on her bed, Catherine thought, than a whole troupe of Chippendales dancers going through their sexiest routine.

She handed him his drink and sat down close beside him. Suddenly she wasn’t quite sure what to say, so she said nothing and they drank in silence. Vincent drained his glass, waited a moment, then rose and walked over to the balcony doors, looking out onto the silent terrace. Following him with her eyes, Catherine wondered what he was thinking. When he didn’t speak after almost five minutes, she stood up and walked slowly up behind him. Lightly, she touched his waist and he tensed instantly. “Vincent?  Tell me what you’re thinking?”

“That I should not be here…like this…for many reasons.”

“Name one.” 

He raised both arms against the glass door and leaned his forehead on them. “Don’t torture me, Catherine.”

“Oh, Vincent, that’s the very last thing I’d ever want to do.” Impulsively, she slipped her arms around him, sliding her hands upwards over the silky hardness of his chest, caressing him as she had done a thousand times in her dreams. He gasped and straightened, letting his head roll backwards. It aroused Catherine to feel the way his chest lifted under her palms as he inhaled, and she rubbed his sensitive nipples with the tips of her fingers, feeling them tighten immediately. Unused as he was to being touched anywhere other than his face or hands, Vincent was deliciously responsive to even the smallest caress. His hair fell down his back and tickled her face as she pressed her cheek against his arched spine.

“It’s only torturous if the desire is one-sided, Sweetheart. And that’s not how it is with us…is it? Is it, Vincent?”

“No, but…”

“You know how much I want to love you properly.”

“I – I know but…” Still he hesitated, but Catherine sensed his faltering self-control by his breathing and the quickening rise and fall of his chest against her arms. Without giving him time to protest, she lowered her hands until she encountered the soft pile of the towel around his waist…then lower still. With her cheek pressed tight against his back, she was stunned to find she could actually feel the rapid, muffled beat of his heart as he struggled to come to terms with what was happening. Her hand rubbed gently at the prominent shape of his masculinity, then closed around it; that part of him no woman had ever touched, and which had begun to swell the instant Catherine had laid cool, fingers on his back;  the part that now throbbed painfully, pleading for release… something both Vincent and Catherine had imagined so many times in the quiet hours before dawn as each lay alone in bed.

Vincent found he couldn’t speak; couldn’t seem to move, in fact. Even breathing was becoming harder, and all he could do was groan softly as Catherine’s hands gently squeezed and fondled him through the towel. He knew he should stop this now before he lost control completely, but just as he thought he might find enough air in his lungs to say something coherent, he felt her hand moving between the layers of the towel to clasp him properly and he knew he was lost.

A sound came from his throat that even he didn’t recognise, but Catherine seemed to welcome it and held him tighter, stroking harder and faster until he thought his heart was going to explode. He climaxed swiftly,shatteringly,  a myriad of images and sensations bombarding him until he was sure he was floating. It was almost like the reversal of his Dark Side; as if everything bright and wonderful had coalesced into one glorious moment and he was lost in it.

He didn’t know how he came to be on his knees leaning back against Catherine with her arms still around him, but he was, and as his breath gradually returned and the world he had always believed was forbidden to him, slowly settled and reality came back into focus, he turned to take her in his arms, holding her as if she was a newborn baby he’d vowed to care for.

“Catherine…” he began, “I cannot believe what just happened. It was…”

“Beautiful. Believe it, my love. Understand and believe, finally, how very much I love you. How much I need to share with you. Share, Vincent…” 

Despite his innocence, he understood.

The strength he thought had fled, returned; flowing through his limbs and genitalia far swifter than would have been considered normal for an ordinary man. Vincent had so many questions, but they would have to wait until a more appropriate time. Catherine’s eyes were misty and her moist lips parted in an expression he had never thought to see on the face of a woman looking at him. She clung to him, kneading his shoulders and nipping at the flesh on his back and chest as he began to peel away her thin robe and night-gown. The silky garments slid from her shoulders at his slightest probing and they both rose to their knees to allow him to lift Catherine away from their gentle confines.

“May I take you to the bed, Catherine?” he murmured.

“Oh, I wish you would.” Her voice sounded different, deeper,  huskier. Vincent stood, sweeping her up into his arms, and crossed the few steps to the bed. Somehow his towel had gotten away from him, but he had no need for it now. What secrets could he possibly keep from her any more? And in another moment or two she would have none from him. Laying her carefully on her back, he lowered himself over her and allowed the length of his body to rub sensually against every part of her. They both moaned at the feel of their naked bodies pressing lightly together;  their individual shapes moulding beautifully and erotically.

Later, it surprised Vincent how naturally it came to him to bury his nose in the satin softness of her breasts; and to take the rosebud tips she thrust upwards into his mouth as he revelled in the feel of their exquisite weight in his palms.

The throbbing heaviness that had filled his head for the last two days, had shifted to lodge for the second time between his thighs, but he knew that any moment now it would evaporate in an excitement and ecstasy even greater than that experienced a few minutes earlier, eased away by Catherine’s secret warmth as he sheathed himself inside her far more easily and smoothly than he would have imagined possible. She cried out for him, clutching at his hair, his shoulders, his back. Any and every part of him that she could reach, drawing him deeper as if she was trying to fuse their bodies together for ever.

They moved as one, giving and receiving the final part of the love they held for each other; the physical culmination they had both craved, yet were fearful would never be reached if Vincent’s doubts and insecurities could not be overcome.

Catherine felt as if she was flying, soaring on a cloud of sunshine and sensuality. There was only Vincent. His hair was the sun that radiated and warmed her; his body was the light of her world and the mountains that gave it magnificence and strength.

Vincent’s delicate senses could only detect one sight, one sound and one scent, and its name was…Catherine. She was all around him, in every breath, within every thundering beat of his heart. He could feel her under his hands, his tongue and around the part of him which defined, beyond doubt, his humanity and masculinity. Her movements were drawing forth his life-force; he could feel it coming, travelling the same route again, only this time he had no thought whatever of trying to prevent it. He felt finally free, and with his next thrust, he gave her what they both craved. He felt the force of its expulsion inside her; branding her for ever with his love and making her his own.

Catherine’s climax was simultaneous, but unlike Vincent, she hadn’t the same control over her actions. She began to cry out, verbalising her release and he held her lips fast against his breast to smother her cries. When she quietened finally, they both slumped, with Vincent rolling on to his back and drawing Catherine to sprawl half on the bed and half across his chest. For several seconds neither could speak. It was as much as they could do to breathe. Catherine was the first to recover. She managed to raise her head and ran a hand through her hair, pushing it back off her face, a face flushed and swollen with Vincent’s kisses. Her skin tingled everywhere he’d loved her, which was pretty much everywhere. The only parts he seemed to have missed were the soles of her feet.  She’d have to make sure he did the job more thoroughly next time, she thought, with tender amusement.

She shifted her position slightly in order to have a better view of him. During their lovemaking, the pillows and sheets had been kicked and tossed about, and she could see that he was lying on at least one pillow. It was at an angle under his shoulders and neck, so his head was tilted back. She wasn’t sure if he was comfortable or not, but he looked impossibly sexy.  Catherine lay her hand on the hollow below his ribcage and stroked it gently, feeling a tiny pulse there.

“I don’t know what to say, Vincent,” she said softly. “‘I love you’ doesn’t even begin to cover what I feel for you.”

“Don’t struggle, Catherine,” he reassured her, lifting a hand to stroke her hair. “Your feelings at this moment are very powerful and clear to me. You have no need to speak what is in your heart. I only wish you could feel what is in mind.”

“Let me try.” Leaning over him, she moved her hand up his chest and lay her ear over his heart. In truth, all she could hear was its powerful thumping as it gradually recovered from their shared experience and continued its more familiar job of pumping his blood around his splendid body. But even if she couldn’t actually feel what was there, she knew it. She knew Vincent as well as she knew herself. She raised her head for a moment.

“You feel as I do. I know that.”

“My love for you is overwhelming, Catherine. You fill my life.” 

She gazed down at him. His face was damp with perspiration, the rash still quite obvious on his forehead and cheeks. She looked down at the rest of his body. It was less apparent on his chest and arms now. She smiled to herself. It hardly seemed likely that the German Measles had affected his capacity or sexual prowess. Heaven help her if it had.

“How do you feel, Sweetheart?” 

He inhaled and released the breath slowly. “Free…light.” He lay a hand on the region of his solar plexus. “As if something heavy that I have been carrying in here, all my adult life has suddenly been lifted. You did that, Catherine.” He raised his head, took her face between his hands and kissed her deeply. Releasing her after a moment or two, he relaxed backwards again, stretching luxuriously, spreading his legs and arching his back in the process. He looked exactly as he always did in Catherine’s fantasy where he waited for her in her bed. His sexuality seemed to have blossomed and made him the sexiest man in the world. She leaned over and kissed his throat, her hair falling over his neck and her hand trailed softly down his body.

Vincent watched her tenderly for several minutes, then closed his eyes and breathed deeply, enjoying the feel of what she was doing to him. It stimulated him and made his heart beat faster without quite the intensity and force that hardened him too quickly.  When she’d come up behind him at the glass doors she’d taken him completely by surprise when she’d clasped him so intimately. But if she hadn’t, he probably wouldn’t have let the situation develop the way it had. He’d been so upset and distressed that he’d probably have turned away from her and hurt them both. What had actually occurred between them had been an exquisite shock to his system but it had paved the way for what followed.

This was wonderful, what she was doing now. When she caressed and fondled him like this, the arousal was slower and infinitely more sensual. It made him feel cherished. It made him feel…sexy. Should he tell her, he wondered? Would she think him odd if the other men she’d known felt differently? Perhaps she would laugh at him. No, she’d never do that. He decided to trust in the love he felt from her heart that was so totally open to him, and risk it.

“Catherine…”

“Mmm?” She sounded completely engrossed in what she was doing; as if she really didn’t want to be disturbed. That, at least, was encouraging.

“How much…how long do other men like to be…touched before…I mean where do they…” 

Catherine looked up. “Why are you asking me, Vincent? I’m hardly an expert!”

“But do you have experience. Certainly more than I.”

“I suppose so.” She frowned. “I wish I didn’t. I wish there had only ever been you.” 

He smiled gently and touched her cheek. “Thank you for that.”

“I’m sorry…you were asking me something.” 

Suddenly shy again, he swallowed hard. “It was not important.”

“Yes it was. You were concerned about something. Now tell me, Vincent. You wanted to know how long other men like to be touched and caressed; do you mean before the man actually enters the woman?”

“Yes. ”  

Catherine leaned both arms on his chest and rested her chin. “Well, I certainly can’t speak for most men, Vincent, but of the ones I have been close to, I’d say pretty much the same as women if they‘re in love. Does that help?”  

They clutched each other until the exploding lights and colours of their mutual orgasm gradually faded and settled, leaving them both shattered and breathless. Catherine released Vincent and collapsed on his heaving chest to recover.  When she found the strength, she rolled over on to her back until her head and shoulders lay on his stomach.  He brought one knee up for her to lean on and she rested her cheek against his thigh.

Vincent flung his arms out wide as he waited for his heartbeat to return to normal.  Would it, he wondered, ever feel normal again after what he’d experienced today? He could feel Catherine’s hair tickling his belly. It felt like a light, silken blanket and he knew he would always feel cold now without it there.

“Are you all right, Catherine?” he asked eventually.

“If you can call, completely drained and exhausted by your lovemaking…’all right’,” she replied, a satisfied smile in her voice. “How about you?”

“I feel wonderful. Revitalised. Better than I have in years.”

Catherine raised herself and scooted up the bed to be close to him. “You still have German Measles.” 

Vincent waved a dismissive hand, then paused and frowned. “Something very serious just occurred to me, Catherine. What if I have impregnated you?” 

They both fell silent for a moment, considering the possible implications.

“I guess,” Catherine replied eventually, “we will have to cross that bridge if and when we come to it. No point in worrying about something that may never happen.”

“I suppose not, but…” Vincent said quietly, but he was worried all the same.

“Look, Sweetheart, there are some things about you that are different. You didn’t catch this from Devin and the others when you were children and yet you somehow picked it up now, when no one around you seems to have it. Maybe it’s something indigenous to you.” He looked doubtful and Catherine desperately wanted to ease his mind before he associated their first joining with something potentially difficult. “My period is due any day now,” she continued. “It’s highly unlikely that I’d get pregnant. Promise me you won’t let this upset you and ruin the most beautiful day of our lives.” 

He looked at her and all the love in her heart flowed into his, strengthening him. She loved him so much. How could he allow himself to cast a shadow on this time together?  She was right. It did seem unlikely, given the circumstances. And, if they were wrong, then they’d face it together, the way they’d face everything in their lives from now on.

“No other woman would understand me like you do, Catherine.”

“No other woman is ever going to get the chance, Vincent,” she teased, kissing him.  “Now, do you want breakfast, a shower, or what?”

“Well, we have had the what…so maybe a shower?”

Catherine beamed. “A shower it is.”

* * *

The next day, to their mutual relief, Catherine discovered she wasn’t pregnant, although privately they each suspected that one day she might really carry his child. A child who would be the product of a unique union and a very special love.