Dominic sent her red roses every day for the next two weeks, took her out every night. They went to the theater to seeThe Phantom of the Opera .Tracy cried unashamedly at the end, moved to tears by the sad plight of the Phantom, at the soul-deep note of despair in his voice as he bid farewell to Christine, and then watched her go away with Raoul to live a life of ease and luxury that he could never give her.

They went to the moviesagain, he took her dancing at a swanky nightclub in the city, to the opening of an art gallery. They walked along the beach a few times. A couple of nights they stayed at home and watched videos or played chess, a game she thought she played rather well until she played against Dominic. He beat her every time.

Tonight, because she had loved it so much the first time, he had taken her to seeThe Phantom again. She cried just as hard the second time, her heart aching for the Phantom's loneliness.

"Would you have stayed with him?" Dominic asked as they made their way to the parking lot.

She started to say yes, of course,then paused. "I don't know. I'd like to think so."

"And could you live with his ugliness and his foul moods?" he asked, his gaze intent upon her face. "Could you be happy living with a man who had committed murder?A man who could never share all of your life?"

She thought about it a moment. "I don't know. But I think I would have tried. He loved her so much, loved her in a way that that wimp, Raoul , never would.Loved her enough to give her up."

"Indeed," Dominic murmured. His life paralleled that of the Phantom in many ways, he thought. He dwelled in an underground lair and lived in the shadows. Those who saw him for what he was shrank from him in fear. He had killed to preserve his life. He had given up the woman he adored countless times. But she was here now, and he had another chance to win her love.

He thought about that as they drove home. Perhaps this time, he thought, perhaps this time she would be his.

And now they were standing in the entryway of Nightingale House and Dominic was holding her in his arms, his gaze burning into hers.

She closed her eyes as his mouth claimed her own in a searing kiss that seemed to last forever and end too soon.

Releasing her, he turned toward the door. "I should go."

"So soon?"She placed her hand on his back. His muscles were tense, his stance rigid.

"It is for the best." His voice was gruff and unsteady.

"One morekiss ?" she begged shamelessly.

Turning, he pulled her quickly into his arms and kissed her, his lips hard and demanding, bruising hers. His tongue plundered her mouth. His hands delved into her hair, loving the touch of it, alive and silky against his skin.

With a hoarse cry, he let her go and left the house, not bothering to close the door behind him.

Tracyfollowed him. Standing in the doorway, she stared after him, bemused. His footsteps made no sound on the pavement. He seemed almost to float above the ground as he made his way to his car. He slid behind the wheel; a moment later, the car growled to life, the headlights cutting through the darkness as he gunned the engine and raced away.

Tracyfrowned, puzzled by his abrupt departure and then, overcome with a sudden, overwhelming need to paint, she ran up the stairs.

In her bedroom, she threw off her chic black dress, kicked off her heels, and peeled off her nylons. Slipping on a pair of faded jeans and an old T-shirt, she walked down the hallway to her studio, tying her hair back in a ponytail as she went.

She grabbed her smock and put it on, then took a fresh canvas out of the closet and placed it on an easel.

She had intended to start the Old English castle one of her clients had requested but her hand refused to paint the image in her mind. Instead of rough-hewn stones and parapets, her brush strokes took on the shape of a man - a tall man with hair as black as a midnight sky and mysterious gray eyes.A man whose full lips were drawn back to reveal sharp white fangs. Clad all in black, he stood alone on a high cliff that looked very much like the one upon which Nightingale House now stood. A long black cloak billowed from his broad shoulders. The ocean stretched away behind him, the waves tossed by a cold winter wind. Overhead, turbulent clouds chased each other across an indigo sky.

She worked like a woman possessed throughout the rest of the night, never stopping for rest or refreshment. The first faint light of dawn was brightening the eastern sky when she stepped away from the canvas.

It was easily the most unsettling piece she had ever done. The image in the painting looked frighteningly alive as it stared back at her, his face half in shadow, half in winter-cold moonlight. His eyes, as turbulent as the clouds overhead, held a wealth of closely guarded secrets and a whisper of eternity.

She took a step to the left and felt a chill run down her spine when his eyes seemed to follow her.

Overcome with a sudden sense of uneasiness, she quickly cleaned her brushes and threw off her smock.

Hurrying out of the room, she slammed the door behind her,then stood in the hallway, one hand pressed over her heart, feeling utterly foolish. It was only a painting, after all.

There was nothing to be afraid of.

He moved through the dark of the night, silent as a shadow, more deadly than the weapon his prey carried concealed inside his jacket.

The man he pursued knew something was wrong. He turned his head this way and that constantly, his hooded gaze searching the darkness, looking for the danger he sensed but could not see. Panic rose within him and he began to walk faster and faster, until he was running down the street, his heart pounding with terror. The stink of his sweat and fear trailed behind him like smoke.

A sob rose in the man's throat as he turned down a narrow alley, only to discover it was a dead end. Turning around, his back pressed against the wall, he reached inside his jacket.

"Who's there?" He withdrew his weapon, held it out in front of him in hands that trembled. Eyes narrowed, his gaze swept the darkness, widened in terror as a dark shape materialized out of the shadows. "Go away!" He cocked the pistol in his hand. "Don't make me shoot!"

"Do as you wish." There was a hint of amusement in the deep voice, but none in the deep gray eyes that regarded him without blinking.

Beyond panic, the man fired. He knew a fleeting moment of relief as the bullet struck his pursuer full in the chest. But his pursuer did not fall, and he did not stop. Relentless as death, the other glided toward him on soundless feet.

Frozen with horror, the man made no move to resist as the other plucked the weapon from his fist and carelessly tossed it aside.

"Who... who... ?"He shrieked as the other's hand closed over his shoulder, the fingers grasping his arm in a vise-like hold. "What are you?"

"Does it matter?"

The man was shaking so badly now, he could scarcely speak. "Are you... going to... to... kill me?"

"It depends." He had not killed in years yet some perverse devil made him tease his prey, like a cat with a mouse. He smiled, revealing long white fangs. "On how thirsty I am."