Smooth, warm flesh slid under her fingers. The once fabric ensconced, muscular thigh now lay displayed beneath her hungry eyes. The rich, charcoal scent of her companion swept through Sam's mind as she bent forward placing small nibbles down a taut stomach. Her passion was escalated by the hushed moans escaping from above her head and she continued her slow, tortured perusal of the creamy flesh before her until her downward movements stilled, beginning a merciless assault on the sensitive skin directly below the blonde's stomach. As her teeth and tongue deftly teased the fragile expanse, her hand slipped beneath. Skillful fingers threaded through fiery-gold curls and she felt her own arousal intensify at the blatant evidence of the younger woman's excitement. She gently stroked the satiny flesh as her head bent to release the blonde's pent up desire.

The loud ring of the telephone brought the brunette's head up and deep blue eyes shot around the room as the lingering fog of sleep quickly evaporated. She stood, causing blood to rush into her legs. The uncomfortable sensation of pins and needles began to mercilessly tickle the soles of her feet and she cursed herself for falling asleep, refreshing the insults when she realized that the unanswered telephone had stopped ringing.

Ericka had only been under her protection for a week, but Ms. Dumont had quickly worked her way into Sam's solitary life and now, much to the brunette's dislike, had won herself a place in Sam's dreams. This wasn't the first time the blonde temptress had danced in her unconscious, but it was definitely one of the most disturbing. She blinked as her body revealed its lingering arousal. She walked purposely to the door, grabbing her hat and strode out into the night to work out her aggressions.

The forced alertness that was a must in the shoddy, godforsaken city, helped keep her mind off the cause of her heated state and gave her time to think over her latest assignment. She hadn't made up her mind whether Ericka was a welcome or unwelcome intrusion into her solitary life, but she was still an intrusion. Sam had always prided herself at keeping a professional detachment between herself and her clients. They hired her to do a job and she did it. She wasn't able to solve every case, though her rate was still exemplary. Only one case had she ever not solved. One case that still baffled her as she continued the investigation; even though, the client was dead. A death that had been beyond her prevention, but she still held herself responsible. She refused any payment from the client's family in spite of her numerous, accumulated hours. She refused to give up even though she had only gathered a small number of clues - clues that only led to more questions. Her reason for refusing to leave the small blotch in the past was beyond pride or even a personal interest or vendetta. She had a feeling that if she ever found the true solution, the source of all the mystery and secrecy, it would lead her down a path that she very much wanted to travel.

Now, with the presence of her guest, all that professionalism and detachment were hanging on by a very thin thread that was ebbing away by fractions every time she heard that sharp, unforgiving voice or looked into emerald eyes that promised so much, held so many emotions behind a stone cold veil. Sam had made a lifetime out of watching, using careful analyses of people and situations to provide insight into whatever goal she was pursuing at the time. Others thought that she made too many assumptions, left too much to chance, but she knew better. But, no amount of prior experience or knowledge had prepared her for this. Sam didn't know whether to hope for or fear the time when that veil would lift, when she would see the true passion and power in those jade eyes. She pulled her wool coat closer as a chill crept down her spine as much from the cold night as the ominous wind surging within her body.

Ericka was reading one of the books she had managed to bring with her. She had kept in mind, as they were making a hasty retreat before their visitors woke up, Sam's repeated requests for mindful urgency as any extra time spent in the house was dangerous. She had packed only a few articles of suitable clothing and was rushing toward the front door when she passed the library and realized she could never forgive herself if all of her books were destroyed. She gathered three, placing them between layers of clothing and raced off behind the brunette.

Her current book of choice was as much a treasure as the words printed on the ancient, weathered pages. She remembered the first time her father had reverently opened the leather clad book and read the words aloud to his young daughter. He had a talent for storytelling, or so it seemed to the innocent beauty. She loved to watch his eyes as he read the words in fanciful voices and interjected sounds to bring the black and white text into bright, colorful life inside Ericka's mind.

The pages were now slightly yellowed and crinkled from the many times hands had turned the pages, but she inhaled the deep scent of tanned leather and it didn't matter if the words were still printed on the pages. Old images of youth sprang up fresh and anew even though they belonged to one who was no longer that young, innocent child.

She drew in a deep breath and blotted at the few tears that escaped from beneath the cold facade that had become as much protection as a dependency. Her mother's continuous coaching still lingered in her head and a small smile greeted wry amusement at the image of Rebeccah Dumont's reaction to her only daughter foregoing protocol and wiping the tears away. Her mother believed that such an action might cause permanent, irreparable damage to the blonde's delicate, pale skin.

She heard the echoed sound of a telephone and waited for the dark, rich voice to answer. She caught her disappointment at the quiet and did her best to crush the growing dependency on the older woman. For many years, she had had only herself to rely on. She learned that to depend on anyone would be giving them the opportunity to hurt her. It was a lonely existence and it caught up with her in small moments of deep depression that she fought hard against. In those moments, she wished only for a pair of strong arms to hold her as she allowed the increasing pressure from a damn of tears to break and flow unstopped down ashen cheeks. At those times, the gross unfairness of her forced situation seemed to tinge everything with shades of despair and self pity. So far, she was able to keep herself separate from others and this seemed a blend of blessing and curse.

She was never attracted to men, most of them she considered a mere nuisance. The few women she had felt anything for, she had not trusted, Now, she was faced with a new challenge, Sam was so blatantly honest that Ericka doubted she kept many secrets. There was no denying that she felt a strong pull and no matter how she fought, the more her emotions threatened to fail her; but, she didn't dare not fight.

Something else that was bothering her was that every time before, when the dark gloom spread over her mind, she had been alone. Now her every move was shadowed by the meticulous PI. No matter what she might feel toward the other woman, she didn't trust her with her unprotected soul. Ericka bent her head as her hands repeated a practiced movement and she found herself on the desired page. She began to reread the story, trying to ignore the nagging fear pestering her from the pit of her stomach.