THE PERFECT TEN (Boxed Set)

felt none of the usual waking-in-a-strange-room confusion. She knew instantly where she was. And she knew he was there.
    “Dr. Bowen?”
    A soft laugh. “You have extremely keen night vision, Ms. Crawford.”
    She angled her head in the direction of his voice. There. A shadow, to the left of the door. “I don’t know about that. Pretty average, I’d say. But I could sense you in the room.”
    He stepped into the light, or at least his black-clad legs did. Rather long legs, she noticed.
    “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just wanted to check on you.”
    “I’m feeling much better. Stronger.”
    “So Eli told me.”
    Another step carried him further into the circle of light. Lean hips, the gleam of a belt buckle, the first two buttons on a black shirt, hands hanging loosely at his sides.
    His hands…
    A memory flickered in her brain, shrouded and diffused like sheet lightning pulsing behind a bank of clouds. Those hands … she’d felt them cradling her head, lifting her torso, felt his lips pressed hotly to her throat…
    God, what was wrong with her? Fantasizing about her rescuer again, for pity’s sake. It was that damned dream. It had been so vivid.
    He took a seat beside her bed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. The light spilled over his face then. A sharp thrill — half fear, half fascination — shot through her. Oh, man!
    A few strands of wet hair fell forward from that widow’s peak she’d admired before, suggesting he was fresh from the shower. But his jaw was still darkened by the shadow of beard stubble. Had he had that earlier tonight?
    Yes. She’d felt it when he’d carried her. Or at least, she thought she remembered it. And his eyes still burned with all the intensity she remembered. She found herself wishing he’d take off the glasses.
    A panther. That’s what he reminded her of. Powerful, glossy, breathtakingly vital. And extremely dangerous.
    She swallowed to moisten her mouth. “The vampire?”
    “He won’t trouble you again.”
    She couldn’t quite suppress a shiver. “He’s dead?”
    A slight pause, but no flicker of expression. “He’s dead.”
    She digested that, or rather, she tried to.
    Her first reaction was profound relief. It flooded every available brain receptor like a blast of narcotics. Relief that the beast who’d come so close to taking her life had paid with his own life, damn him. Relief that the creature that might have infected her — goddamn him again! — would infect no one else.
    But her relief was followed immediately by horror. Horror at her own reactions. Horror at the actions of the dark Dr. Bowen. If he were right, if vampirism was a blood-borne pathogen, then her attacker was just a man. Granted, he’d treated her as though she were little more than a walking Tetra Pak, but he was nonetheless afflicted and in need of curative treatment.
    And what of her? What if she were to develop this mutation? Would Dr. Bowen dispense with her as easily as he had her assailant? Would his brow be just as unruffled afterward? God, she’d seen Botoxed newscasters with more expression in their foreheads than this man was displaying. And this after admitting to a kill. Or at least, not denying it.
    A kill .
    She wet her lips. “I was thinking, if I’m feeling this good tomorrow, I’d like to go home.”
    His eyebrows shot up. Expression at last.
    “Impossible.”
    Impossible? The single word caused a fist of tension to close around her stomach. Impossible because he didn’t judge her well enough, or impossible because he refused to let her go?
    “What, am I a prisoner here or something?”
    “Of course not.”
    Another jolt of relief. “Then I want to go home.”
    “Have you forgotten you may be infected? I’ll have to monitor you. We’ll need frequent blood checks. No, you must stay here.”
    She propped herself up higher in the bed. “Of course I haven’t forgotten my exposure, Dr. Bowen. But I don’t see why I can’t go home. Send Mr. Grayson over as often as you like. Or send him over to stay with me. I just need to go home.”
    “Why?” He leaned closer as though he genuinely wanted to know the answer. “There’s no one waiting for you there. No husband, no children, no pets, no dependents. Why do you need to go home?”  
    Pain, raw and unexpected, sliced through her. Is that how he saw her, alone, lonely?
    “Thank you for highlighting so succinctly what you consider the barren nature of my life. But