Sebastian

safely hidden by his arm, he grimaced at the prim tone in her voice . She'd been sounding like that since they woke up—as if they'd slept on opposite sides of the bed instead of being twined around each other.
    And did she appreciate the fact that he had untwined himself instead of rolling that little bit necessary to bring her under him and feed the hunger she stirred in him? No, apparently she did not.
    And the way she'd pulled his underwear out of the pack, with thumb and forefinger, as if it were encrusted with who knew what instead of being clean—and then calling it his "unmentionables." When he pointed out it was called underwear, she told him it wasn't made out of enough material to mention.
    He'd never had any complaints. In fact, most women liked that next-to-nothing he wore under his pants.
    And she wouldn't have said anything either if you'd made love to her last night instead of acting like some prissy frig human. "I can't," you said. As if being a virgin meant the country girl couldn't figure out what was making that lump in your pants. And you let her curl up on her side of the bed without explaining that it wasn't your body that was having trouble where she was concerned. Not that you're ever going to explain that — for both your sokes .
    She'd gotten back at him, even if she didn't know it. After she'd fallen asleep and he'd cuddled up against her, her dreams had shifted to a sweet erotica that didn't go nearly far enough to satisfy the hunger in him
    —and left him panting with the effort to remain a passive participant instead of sliding deeper into the dream, as he'd done with so many other women, and taking her to the limits of his experience rather than remaining confined by the limits of hers.
    But he hadn't done that. Being so close to her physically, he couldn't resist the lure of her dreams, but he'd held himself at the edge. Because she was innocent. Because she belonged in a landscape that saw the sun rise and set.
    Because he was scared to death that if he had her once he wouldn't be able to let her go.
    "Are you still mad at me?" he asked, lowering his arm the rest of the way now that he could squint at the light without feeling like his eyeballs would cook.
    "I'm not mad at you."
    The words said one thing; the tone of voice said something else. Definitely still mad at him. And it was funny, in a tear-your-hair-out kind of way. For all his experience with women, he'd never had to deal with moods. When the woman got moody, it was time to leave and become someone else's fantasy lover.
    But human men lived with female moods day after day, month after month, year after year.
    They were out of their minds.
    And he envied every one of them.
    He looked around the clearing. In Sanctuary, the bridge that crossed over to this landscape was a simple wooden bridge that spanned a piece of a water garden. Lee had called it a one-way stationary bridge, which he hadn't understood at the time. Now he did.

    In this landscape, the bridge was just the space between two large stones set in the middle of the clearing
    —a space wide enough for a handcart but nothing bigger. And on this side, it was a resonating bridge.
    Since he'd never heard of a bridge being stationary on one side and resonating on the other, he wondered if this was another unique aspect of Lee's gift.
    "Lee said to take the right-hand path when it forks," Sebastian said, taking Lynnea's stiff hand and leading her toward the edge of the clearing. "That will take us to Aunt Nadia's house. She'll be up by now." He hoped.
    The path out of the clearing was plain to see, but he wasn't sure he would have found the fork if it hadn't been for the sign nailed to a tree—a plain piece of wood with a bird etched into it.
    "Don't you ever visit your auntie?" Lynnea asked, censure now added to that prim tone.
    "Three or four times a year," Sebastian replied, feeling testy as they followed the barely visible path. "But I've never come here from that particular bridge."
    They walked in silence until the path ended at a break in the stone wall that separated the woodland from Nadia's lawn and gardens. Releasing Lynnea's hand, Sebastian stepped over the knee-high stones, then watched to make sure she didn't stumble when she stepped through the break.
    "Did something damage the wall?" Lynnea asked, sounding worried.
    "Not as far as I know," Sebastian replied, taking her hand again as he walked toward the house. "It's been like that for as long as I