Dead to the World

it. On the other hand, he had amnesia. Anything should be new to him.)
    But as I went down the hall, I heard some small movement. I pushed open the door of my old room gently, not wanting to make a big noise if my guest wasn’t yet up. Oh, but he was. Eric was pulling on his jeans, with his back to me. He hadn’t bothered with underwear, not even the itty-bitty red ones. My breath stuck in my throat. I made a sound like “Guck,” and made myself close my eyes tight. I clenched my fists.
    If there were an international butt competition, Eric would win, hands down—or cheeks up. He would get a large, large trophy. I had never realized a woman could have to struggle to keep her hands off a man, but here I was, digging my nails into my palms, staring at the inside of my eyelids as though I could maybe see through them if I peered hard enough.
    It was somehow degrading, craving someone so . . . so voraciously —another good calendar word—just because he was physically beautiful. I hadn’t thought that was something women did, either.
    “Sookie, are you all right?” Eric asked. I floundered my way back to sanity through a swamp of lust. He was standing right in front of me, his hands resting on my shoulders. I looked up into his blue eyes, now focused on me and apparently full of nothing but concern. I was right on a level with his hard nipples. They were the size of pencil erasers. I bit the inside of my lip. I would not lean over those few inches.
    “Excuse me,” I said, speaking very softly. I was scared to speak loudly, or move at all. If I did, I might knock him down. “I didn’t mean to walk in on you. I should have knocked.”
    “You have seen all of me before.”
    Not the rear view, bare. “Yes, but intruding wasn’t polite.”
    “I don’t mind. You look upset.”
    You think? “Well, I have had a very bad day,” I said, through clenched teeth. “My brother is missing, and the Were witches in Shreveport killed the—the vice president of the Were pack there, and her hand was in the flowerbed. Well, someone’s was. Belinda’s in the hospital. Ginger is dead. I think I’ll take a shower.” I turned on my heel and marched into my room. I went in the bathroom and shucked my clothes, tossing them into the hamper. I bit my lip until I could smile at my own streak of wildness, and then I climbed into the spray of hot water.
    I know cold showers are more traditional, but I was enjoying the warmth and relaxation the heat brought. I got my hair wet and groped for the soap.
    “I’ll do that for you,” Eric said, pulling back the curtain to step into the shower with me.
    I gasped, just short of a shriek. He had discarded the jeans. He was also in the mood, the same mood I was in. You could really tell, with Eric. His fangs were out some, too. I was embarrassed, horrified, and absolutely ready to jump him. While I stood stock-still, paralyzed by conflicting waves of emotion, Eric took the soap out of my hands and lathered up his own, set the soap back in its little niche, and began to wash my arms, raising each in turn to stroke my armpit, down my side, never touching my breasts, which were practically quivering like puppies who wanted to be petted.
    “Have we ever made love?” he asked.
    I shook my head, still unable to speak.
    “Then I was a fool,” he said, moving one hand in a circular motion over my stomach. “Turn around, lover.”
    I turned my back to him, and he began to work on that. His fingers were very strong and very clever, and I had the most relaxed and cleanest set of shoulder blades in Louisiana by the time Eric got through.
    My shoulder blades were the only thing at ease. My libido was hopping up and down. Was I really going to do this? It seemed more and more likely that I was, I thought nervously. If the man in my shower had been the real Eric, I would have had the strength to back off. I would have ordered him out the minute he stepped in. The real Eric came with a whole package of power and politics, something of which I had limited understanding and interest. This was a different Eric—without the personality that I’d grown fond of, in a perverse way—but it was beautiful Eric, who desired me, who was hungry for me, in a world that often let me know it could do very well without me. My mind was about to switch off and my body was about to take over. I could feel part of Eric pressed against my back, and he wasn’t standing that close. Yikes. Yahoo. Yum.
    He shampooed