She had the cab drop her off at the corner market on the way home. For the first time in months, she had an appetite, not for what her mother had called "real food," but to fill a sudden, unaccountable craving for Oreo cookies.

At home, she went into the kitchen and poured a tall glass of milk, then sat down at the table and opened the package, knowing she'd regret her lack of willpower the next time she stepped on a scale.

Relishing every bite, she polished off half the package, drained the glass, and then walked through the house, turning on the lights, the TV.

She dusted the furniture and vacuumed the rugs, cleaned out the refrigerator, wrinkling her nose in distaste as she threw away an unidentified blob of something hard and brown. She scrubbed the kitchen sink, the bathroom sink and the tub, emptied the trash.

But she didn't go into the nursery. She couldn't face that room, shied away from the knowledge that, sooner or later, she'd have to take down the crib, pack Natalie's clothes in boxes, and admit that she was never coming back.

It was near midnight when Sarah treated herself to a long hot bubble bath. She closed her eyes, and into her mind came the memory of a spacious bathroom and a pale pink tub.

She would not think of him, or the room he professed had been decorated solely for her.

Wrapped in a towel, she stared at the velvet dressing gown she had tossed over a chair, vacillating between folding it up and shoving it in a drawer, or putting it on. Finally, with a huff of disdain for her weakness, she slipped it on, her hands gliding over the rich fabric.

Swathed in luxurious velvet, she sat on the sofa and searched the channels until she found an old movie.

Moments later, she was asleep.

And sleeping, began to dream.

Of being confined to a wheelchair.

Of dancing Swan Lakewith a handsome young man.

Of flames licking at her skin.

Of a black-haired man kneeling at her feet, his head buried in her lap. She heard his words, bleak and edged with despair, as if all the sadness in the world was carried in his soul.

Can you hold me, and comfort me, just for tonight?

And a young woman's reply: I don't understand.

And then his voice again, filled with an aching loneliness that tore at her heart: Don't ask questions, cara. Please, just hold me.

She woke with the afternoon sun shining in her face, and tears in her eyes.

And her first thought was for Gabriel.

She supposed she shouldn't be surprised to find that he had invaded her dreams again. He had, after all, been at the center of her thoughts ever since the first night she saw him in the park. But who was the girl in her dreams, the one in the wheelchair?

Her brow furrowed in a frown, she went into the kitchen and prepared breakfast, the first one she'd fixed since the accident.

Sitting down at the table, she ate the French toast, hardly tasting it. Who wasGabriel? It was obvious that he was rich. Filthy rich. He was also the most outrageously handsome man she had ever seen. And the most mysterious.

Last night, his words, the anger in his voice, had frightened her. Go home while you still can, he had said. Stay away from the park. Stay away from me!

And that was just what she intended to do. She had buried herself in her grief long enough. It was time to start living again, time to find a job.

She glanced around the cheery sunlit kitchen, remembering the happy Saturday mornings she had spent here, fixing breakfast for David and Natalie. It had been in this room where she had told David she was pregnant, in this room where Natalie had taken her first steps...

There was no help for it, she mused, she'd have to sell the house. She'd never be able to look ahead while she lived here, surrounded by memories.

A fresh start was what she needed. A new job. A new house. A new life...

Some of her optimism vanished as she considered the possibilities. She hadn't worked in four years. She hated moving. She didn't want a new life; she wanted her old one back again.

She wanted to see Gabriel.

With an effort, she put him from her mind. Rising from the table, she washed her few dishes, took a quick shower, and drove to the mall, telling herself she'd feel better if she got her hair done, had a manicure, and bought something new to wear.

He prowled the silent house, restless, edgy. Hungry. For blood. For the touch of a human hand. The love of a woman.

Sarah...

Over and over again, he paced from room to room. All were empty of furniture, of life, save for the front parlor and the bedroom he had furnished for Sarah.

Why had he bought this place, he wondered. What need had he of a mansion with eight bedrooms when he preferred to sleep in the quiet darkness of the cellar? He had no need of a kitchen or a formal dining room, no opportunity to sit in the glass-enclosed solarium and enjoy the beauty of a summer's day.

He stared out the window at the gardens, imagining Sarah there cutting a bouquet of roses, wandering along the narrow tree-lined paths, sitting in the swing, sunning herself near the goldfish pond.

Sarah.

Swearing softly, he turned away from the window. He wanted her, wanted her as he had wanted his other Sara. But he could not endure the pain of loving again, could not endure the agony of watching another woman die in his arms, her body ravaged by age or disease while he remained forever young, a mockery of life.

With a roar of impotent rage, he dropped to his knees and smashed his fist against the hearth, again and again, welcoming the pain that splintered through his hand and up his arm. Blood spurted from his knuckles, and he cursed himself for the monster he was, cursed the hunger that fed upon his anger, and fueled his unfulfilled desire.

For Sarah...

With an oath, he rose to his feet, needing to get out of the house. She had spent but one night here, and yet the walls whispered her name, the air was tinged with her perfume, his very soul had been branded with her essence.

On swift and silent feet, he walked the moon-dappled streets. Pity any poor human who stumbled across his path tonight, he thought darkly. For there was no compassion within him now, no mercy for those weaker than himself, only a terrible hunger coupled with a seething rage. He wanted to hurt someone as he was hurting, to drain the life out of another as the will to live was being drained from his soul.

For centuries, he had wandered the earth alone, with no one to love, no one to love him. And then he had found Sara Jayne, and she had given meaning to his existence, but, all too soon, death had claimed her. And now he, who had thought never to love again, had found another woman who warmed his heart, who possessed the same strength of spirit as the woman he had lost.

He stalked the darkness, drawn inevitably toward the park. Hoping, all the while, that she'd had the good sense to heed his warning and stay away.

His gaze pierced the darkness as soon as he entered the park. And she was there, a bright beacon in the blackness of the night.

He would leave, he told himself. He would stay just long enough to see her face, to breathe in her scent, and then he would leave.

On silent feet, he drew ever nearer, drawn toward her as though he had no will of his own.

And then he was there beside her, his whole being vibrating with her nearness as he sat down on the bench, warming himself in the welcome of her smile.

She didn't speak, but he read everything she was thinking, feeling, in the depth of her eyes. She was afraid. She was lonely. She needed comfort, the nearness of another being. She wanted him, and that frightened her more than anything else.

"Sarah..."

Trapped in the web of his gaze, she slowly shook her head. "I can't. I'm afraid."

"Of me?"

"Yes."

"I won't hurt you," he promised, and hoped it was a vow he could keep.

"I don't even know you," she retorted, angry with him for making her feel alive again, angry with herself for wanting this man when David was dead.

But he knew her. He looked deep into her eyes, and he knew her. Recognition mingled with shock. The improbability, the possibilities, struck him with the force of a blow. He knew her. She was older than when they'd met before. Her eyes were brown instead of blue. She had known another man. But her heart and soul remained the same.

Sara Jayne.

The wonder of it rocked him to the core of his being.

"What's wrong?" Sarah asked, alarmed by the sudden intensity of his gaze.

Slowly, he shook his head. "Nothing."

"You're scaring me."

"Sara." Her name whispered past his lips, tinged with awe. And then he knelt at her feet, his arms wrapping around her waist as he buried his face in her lap.

"Gabriel!"

"Don't ask questions," he murmured. "Please, just hold me, touch me."

She stared at his bowed head, his words echoing in her mind as she lightly stroked his hair. She'd heard those words before, only last night, in a dream. But it had been another woman's hand stroking his hair...

A cold chill swept through her, and she jerked her hand away from his head. What did it mean?

His arms tightened around her waist. "Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you, I swear it. Just hold me," he pleaded. "Just let me hold you a moment more."

Contentment washed through him as he felt her hand move in his hair again. Ah, the touch of a human hand, warm with compassion, flowing with life. It was the touch of Sara's hand, so welcome, so familiar.

Sara, Sara, can it really be you?

Tears burned her eyes as she lightly stroked his hair, caressed his nape, brushed her fingers across his cheek. She could feel his body trembling, or was it her own?

Sometime later, he raised his head, his gaze meeting hers, and in the dark gray depths of his eyes she saw a hunger so deep, a yearning so painful, that it caused her heart to ache.

Almost without conscious thought, she bent her head to his and kissed him.

And time stood still, trapped in the depths of his eyes.

And then his eyelids fluttered down and he kissed her with all the longing in his heart, with the loneliness born of more than half a century without her. Kissed her with all the love in his heart, a love which would always be hers, only hers.

Passion, need, longing. They swept through Sarah like a forest fire, burning away every doubt. She forgot everything but the need to comfort this man, to take him into herself, to fill all the empty spaces in his heart and soul. She wanted to hold him to her breast and whisper that everything would be all right, that he would never again be alone. And in some deep corner of her mind, she had the strange, overwhelming feeling that she had done it all once before.

After an eternity, he drew back. "Forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive," she replied quietly.

His eyes were deep, dark gray. She had seen those eyes before, she thought, felt their magnetism in childhood dreams.

"Sarah, come home with me."

She started to refuse, angry that he would think she was the kind of woman who would sleep with a man she hardly knew. For, even though he hadn't said the words, she knew that was what he was asking.

Because she wanted it, too.

He stood up, his eyes burning into hers, his stance almost arrogant, but she knew now that he was vulnerable, needy. Hurting. And in that same instant, she knew that he hadn't meant to insult her at all, that he wasn't the type of man to take a woman to bed unless he loved her... but that was impossible. How could he love her?

How could she love him?

And then he put out his hand in silent invitation.

And she stood up and placed her hand in his.

And he felt the darkness evaporate from his soul.

And she felt the loneliness in her heart take wing.

No words were needed now. With a muffled cry, he swept her into his arms and carried her home.

This can't be happening, Sarah thought. She'd never slept with any man except her husband. She had married David right out of high school. He was the first man she had ever known, the only man she had ever wanted. Until now.

Strangely, she didn't feel the slightest bit of guilt or doubt as Gabriel carried her up the winding staircase to the pale pink bedroom.

Very gently, he placed her on her feet, and then he kissed her. And kissed her again. She quivered with anticipation as she felt his hands feather over her shoulders, down her back. His tongue slid over her lower lip and she opened for him instantly, her tongue mating with his. He tasted of wine, and she thought how appropriate that was, for his kisses were intoxicating.

Still kissing, they undressed each other, and then he swept her into his arms and carried her to bed. She drew him down beside her, not wanting to be parted from him for even a moment. His skin was firm and cool beneath her questing fingertips; his mouth was hot as it moved over her. A low groan escaped his lips as his tongue laved her neck, lingering over the rapidly beating pulse in her throat.

"Gabriel... Gabriel..." She moaned his name as his hands caressed her, bringing her body to full, vibrant life. She needed him, wanted him, as she had never wanted anything else.

With bold abandon, her hands explored the broad expanse of his back and chest; her fingertips traced the taut muscles in his arms. She marveled at the strength that lay dormant beneath her hands, the power he held in tight control as if hewere afraid of hurting her.

But she wanted all of him, and she urged him on, nipping at his ear lobe, caressing him, begging him to take her.

And he did. Like a dark angel, he rose over her, his long black hair falling over his shoulders, his whole body quivering as he possessed her.

She gasped as his flesh joined hers. David had always been a gentle lover. Never demanding, often hesitant, he had frequently let her be in control. But there was no hesitation on Gabriel's part. He took her as if she belonged to him, as if it were his right. He made love to her masterfully, skillfully, powerfully, and she gloried in it. Never had she felt more fragile, more feminine, more desired.

She closed her eyes in complete surrender, her heart and soul and mind bound to his...

She was in a blue bedroom, reclining on a blue and rose quilt. Heavy blue drapes hung at the window. Candlelight flickered on the walls. And Gabriel rose above her, whispering words of love to her in French and Italian. Only it wasn't her, she thought, confused. And yet, itwas her. She could hear his voice, touch his skin, smell the sweat of their combined bodies. His hair was like a dark cloud, his eyes turbulent, like the sky before a storm.

His eyes... surely it was a trick of the candlelight that caused them to glow like a bloodred flame...

Sarah opened her eyes, frightened by the images playing in her mind. And Gabriel was there, his dark gray eyes blazing, glowing. Surely it was only a trick of the light, she told herself, and then there was no more time for thought. Ecstasy spiraled through her and she cried his name, her nails clawing his back and shoulders as their bodies merged in perfect unison, the one giving pleasure to the other and finding pleasure in the giving.

Gabriel turned his face away, not wanting her to see the blood-lust that was surely glowing in his eyes. It had taken every ounce of his self-control to contain the hunger that seethed within him, to keep from satisfying his lust for blood as he satisfied his lust for her flesh.

And yet it wasn't lust. He had loved this woman in another lifetime. He loved her now. And he would never let her go.

"Gabriel?"

He took a deep breath and then he turned on his side, drawing her with him, his arms wrapped around her, protectively, possessively.

"Cara?"

Cara. That was what he had called the girl in the blue bedroom. The girl whose emotions and desires Sarah had felt as though they were her own.

Gabriel gazed into Sarah's eyes. "Are you all right?"

"I don't know. I..."

"What is it?"

"I don't know how to explain it," she said, frowning. "But when we were making love, I had the strangest feeling that I was someone else. That wewere somewhere else."

Gabriel swore under his breath. For a moment, his mind had gone back in time, and he had imagined it was Sara Jayne in his arms. But how had Sarah known that?

"And you..."

A muscle worked in Gabriel's jaw. "What about me?"

"I don't know. You were different somehow. Your eyes..." She raised up on one elbow and gazed at him intently, then shook her head. "Never mind."

Gently, he brushed a wisp of hair from her brow, then pulled her down beside him once again.

"Gabriel?"

"Hmmmm?"

"I think I'm falling in love with you." She bit down on her lip when he didn't say anything. "You don't mind, do you?"

"No, Sarah, I don't mind."

She waited, hoping he would tell her he loved her, too, or at least say that he cared, but he only gazed at her, his gray eyes dark with desire. But, deeper than the glow of passion, she saw another emotion blazing in his eyes, one she didn't recognize.

She tried to decipher it, but it was quickly gone, and then he was making love to her again, tenderly this time, carrying her away with him to heights she had never scaled, depths she had never plumbed, ecstasies she had never imagined.

And there, in the midst of rapture beyond anything she had ever dreamed of, she glimpsed the true depths of Gabriel's loneliness, his emptiness, his need to be held, to be loved.

Tears burned her eyes as her soul merged with his. With a sob, she wrapped her arms and legs around him, holding his body close even as she whispered that she loved him, that she would always love him, that he would never be alone again.

And then they came together, hearts and bodies blending together, their tears mingling as they found that one moment of shared perfection that carried them beyond the bounds of time and space.

And for her there was fulfillment and a sense of peace.

And for him there was light and hope and a sense of coming home after a long dark journey.

With a sigh of contentment, she fell asleep in his arms.

He held her throughout the night, his body warmed by her nearness, his fingers threading through the silky softness of her hair, caressing the curve of her shoulder, the side of her breast.

She dreamed of him, and he knew her dreams. They were Sara's dreams, parts of Sara's life. But only the good parts.

He held her until dawn crept over the horizon.

Leaving the bed, he covered her with the quilt, kissed her lips, then gathered up his clothes and left the room.

Never had the cellar seemed so cold, so empty. Never had the hours until dusk seemed so far away.

As he settled down to take his rest, his last thought was of Sarah. Her scent clung to him; the taste of her lingered on his tongue. In his mind's eye, he saw her sleeping in the bedroom above, her lips swollen from his kisses, her hair spread over the pillow like a splash of molten gold.

"Sarah." He whispered her name as the darkness closed in on him, dragging him down into oblivion.