Sanctuary

of brown hair. She wanted a yard, a little garden, a kitchen where she could practice cooking the gourmet dishes she’d taken classes for.
    But all she got out of Tom was one day. One day. Well, when was one day going to get here?
    Disgusted, she plopped down on the beach, slipping off her shoes so she could dig her toes in the sand while she stared out at the quiet water that lapped and lapped against the hull of the little outboard they’d rented.
    He didn’t have any problems spending money on a silly boat so he could go fishing every stupid day they were on Desire.
    They had enough for a down payment. She propped her elbow on her knee and watched sulkily as the moon floated overhead. She’d done all the research on financing and balloon payments and interest rates. She wanted that sweet little house on Peach Blossom Lane.
    Sure, it would be tight for the first couple of years, but they could manage. She’d been so positive that when she talked to him about building equity and breaking out of the endless cycle of renting month after month, he would come around.
    And, oh, it was just about killing her that Mary Alice and Jim were about to settle on that pretty place in the development. A magnolia tree in the front yard and a little patio off the kitchen.
    She sighed and wished she’d waited until they’d gotten back home to start working on Tom again. That would have been smarter. She knew how important timing was when dealing with her husband. But she’d gotten so damned upset, she hadn’t been able to stop herself.
    When they got back to Atlanta, Tom was going to look at that house on Peach Blossom if she had to drag him by the ear.
    She heard the footsteps behind her and stared straight ahead. “No point in coming down here to try to make up, Tom Peters. I’m not nearly finished being mad at you yet. I may never be.”
    Furious that he didn’t attempt to talk her out of it, she wrapped her arms around her knees. “You just go on back up and balance your checkbook, since money is all you want. I don’t have another thing to say to you.”
    As the silence dragged on, she gritted her teeth and turned her head. “Listen here, Tom—Oh.” Embarrassment heated her cheeks as she looked up into a stranger’s face. “I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else.”
    He smiled, charmingly, and with a gleam of laughter in his eyes. “That’s all right. I’m going to think of you as someone else, too.”
    Even as the first streak of alarm sent a scream toward her throat, he struck.
    It wasn’t going to be perfect, he decided, studying her as she lay crumpled at his feet. He hadn’t planned on this impromptu practice session, but he hadn’t been able to sleep. His mind was so full of Jo, and the sexual need was unexpectedly sharp tonight.
    He was very, very annoyed with her. And that only made him want her more.
    Then the pretty brunette had just been there, like a gift, sitting all alone by the water under the shifting light of the moon.
    A wise man didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. So to speak, he thought with a chuckle as he hauled her up into his arms. They would just move off a bit, he decided. In case old Tom—whoever he might be—wandered down to the cove.
    She was a light load, and he didn’t mind the exercise. He whistled tunelessly as he carried her over the sand and up through a narrow break in the dunes. He would need the moonlight, so he settled on the verges of the swale. It was picturesque, with the moon-silvered bushes, he thought, as he laid her down.
    And it was deserted.
    He used his belt to tie her hands and one of the silk scarves he always carried to gag her. He stripped her first, pleased to find that her body was trim and athletic. She moaned a little as he pulled off his jeans.
    “Don’t worry, darling, you look very pretty, very sexy. And the moonlight flatters you.”
    He took out his camera—the Pentax single-lens reflex he liked for portraits—pleased that he’d loaded it with slow film. He wanted fine detail now, knife-edged sharpness. Likely he’d have to do some burning in and dodging in the darkroom to get the contrasts and textures just so.
    He would look forward to that, to perfecting the prints.
    Whistling under his breath, he fixed his flash and ran off three shots before her eyelids fluttered.
    “That’s right, that’s right, I want you to come around now. Slow. A few nice close-ups of that pretty face. The eyes are the best. They always