Frankly, it was at times like this that I missed Gabriel’s overprotective caveman tendencies. Even if it insulted my feminist sensibilities, it was sort of nice knowing someone was out there watching my back. Going through this without him made me feel incredibly alone, even though I’d told Dick and Andrea. Going home alone each night, being unsure of what was waiting for me there, was weighing on my nerves.

I muttered, “For a stalker, this chick is all over the place. She’s angry and focused in one letter and erotomanic the next. Or at least, I’m assuming she’s erotomanic for the sake of my pride.”

Dick’s face was blank. “Erotomanic? That sounds sexy in a way that’s … not.”

“It means someone believes they’re in a relationship with someone, but that person usually isn’t aware that their so-called lover exists. You have your basic I-want-to-become-famous-by-killing-someone-famous fellas. And there are the delusionals, the ones who think Ryan Seacrest is sending them secret love messages through the television. The most dangerous ones are the people who actually know you, whom you run across in your everyday routine, because the people around you really don’t know whether you’re lying when you say you’re not involved with your stalker. Hence my confusion. Gabriel could be the victim of a stalker, or he could be a plain old cheater. But since he’s acting more like a cheater than a victim … What?” I asked when I caught the befuddled expression on his face.

“You read up on stalking?”

“I had someone paint ‘Bloodsucking Whore’ on my car a year ago. It merited a Google.”

“I don’t like it,” Dick said, grimacing.

“I think the very word stalking implies that you’re not supposed to like it. Otherwise, it would be called ‘fluffy harmless observation time,’” I said, chewing my lip. “And, considering that this woman might be dangerous, I don’t know whether to warn Gabriel, which would mean I would actually have to talk to him. Or just let whatever’s going to happen happen to him, because a tiny part of me thinks he deserves it.”

“Well, you know my vote, Stretch,” Dick said, turning his attention back to his comic.

I think the stalking talk made Dick uneasy, because he didn’t want to leave the shop that night until I was safely tucked in Big Bertha. But he had what he would only call “special plans” with Andrea, and I needed to stay late to go over some Internet orders, so he had no choice.

Around one A.M., I put the stacks of letters in my purse and headed out the rear staff entrance. As I pushed the key into the deadbolt, I saw a dark male shape reflected behind me in the glass. Even if I hadn’t seen it, I would have felt him. My keenly developed sense of paranoia was a wide-open channel to the towering male presence.

I snaked my hand into my purse and ran my fingers along the leather stun-gun holster. I felt the body behind me advance, so I turned, whipping the stun gun out and proceeding to shock the ever-loving hell out of my ex-boyfriend.

“Gah!” Gabriel screamed as the current shot through his body, dropping him to the concrete like a sack of potatoes.

“What is wrong with you?” I yelled as the current made his torso arch off the ground. I may or may not have held it to his chest a teensy bit longer than absolutely necessary.

“S-stop sh-shocking m-m-me!” Gabriel grunted through chattering teeth.

“Sorry,” I said, pulling the stun gun away to let it cool off.

“Why do you have a stun gun?” he demanded, hefting himself off the ground.

“Because people have been sneaking up behind me,” I said, glaring at him. “Honestly, why would you surprise the most spastic person you know?”

“I knew you’d do something to avoid talking to me if you saw me coming,” he said, dusting himself off. “And what do you mean, people keep sneaking up behind you? Are you all right? Has someone been bothering you?”

“Yes, you. When you know someone will try to evade you if you try to talk to them, that’s called a hint. You need to learn to interpret social cues. And sarcasm, but that’s not exactly urgent to the situation at hand. Why are you here? I haven’t heard from you for weeks, and you show up now? What do you want, Gabriel?”

“I miss you,” he admitted.

Despite the tiny crack that made in the hard cement shell I’d built around my heart, I kept my teeth gritted together, my tone flat and unaffected. “How sad for you.”

“I miss you,” he said again, backing me against the shop door. The cold of the glass and the remaining images of that horrible Victorian corpse dream were the only weapons I had to battle against the smoky comfort of his scent, the weight of his hands on my arms.

I pushed him back, without any real heat. “That’s not really my problem. And you don’t miss me, you’re checking up on me because you don’t trust me to take care of myself.”

“I miss you. I miss your laugh and your voice, and I even miss your insults.” He smiled, wistful, tracing the lines of my fingers with his own, up my arm to stroke the edge of my collarbone.

“Look, about opening night,” I told him. “You said some really hurtful things.”

“So did you,” he countered.

“Well, you’re way better at them.”

“We can talk later. Right now, please, just admit it, you miss me,” he said, pressing me to the glass again, using exactly the right parts to do the pressing. I didn’t answer. Because, frankly, I was doing very well to stay upright and clothed at this point. Bastard.

As his mouth pressed ever so softly against mine, I forced my lips shut to keep from shouting that yes, I missed him. Yes, having his hands on me made me feel more settled than I had in weeks. Yes, his grinding me against the door was absolute heaven, and if he did it slightly to the left, it would mean the end of a disturbingly long waking-orgasm dry spell. Fortunately, Gabriel started biting my lips, which limited my speaking options even further.

Gabriel’s fingers stroked up my throat, trailing the tips along my jaw and into my hair. He ground his mouth down on mine, drinking in my groans as I pulled blindly at his lapels.

This was just not fair.

“Tell me,” he demanded between kisses. “Tell me you miss me.”

I bit my lip. His brows drew together as I felt him slide what I called my “sensible shopkeeper” skirt over my hips. His fingers slid over my panties, drawing little circles against my skin through the damp material. His hand glided over my thighs, to peel away my panties. He tucked them in his pocket.

“Tell me,” he said again, pumping one and then two fingers inside me with aching slowness.

My head slid back against the glass as my vision seemed to blur. Gah! He wasn’t letting me think. If I was about anything, it was the thinking. His thumb glided over my oversensitive flesh, then plucked it like a guitar string, sending a thrumming wave along my nerve endings. I whimpered.

“You can lie to me, Jane, but your body can’t. I can feel how much you’ve missed me, how much you want me right now.” Keeping my eyes locked with his own, he brought his fingers to his lips and tasted me. He smiled. “Just as much as I want you.”

My jaw dropped as I watched him lick his fingers clean. Screw thinking.

“I miss you,” I whispered, hating myself as I felt his lips curve against my neck. I slid my hand between us and fumbled with Gabriel’s belt buckle. Gabriel’s own hand slipped along my rib cage, cupping my breast. He bent his head to press teasing little kisses over the thin fabric of my blouse before closing his mouth over my nipple.

I dropped my bag so I could slip my hands around Gabriel’s neck and pull him closer. The contents spilled around his feet as he cupped his hands under my butt and hitched me higher. His kiss was the center of my universe. Without it, I would go spinning off course into the dark, seeing nothing, feeling nothing.

Through the haze in my head, I heard the faint slide of a zipper and locked my legs around his hips, crossing my ankles at the small of his back.

I grabbed the lowest rung of the fire-escape ladder for leverage as I began the long, slow slide onto him. I threw my head back, gasping, and nearly came right there. I let go of the ladder and twisted my hands in Gabriel’s hair, yanking his head back, claiming his mouth with lips, fangs, and tongue. This was mine. He was mine.

I clutched at his shoulders, arching my hips in time with his. A stream of promises, profanities, and pleas poured from Gabriel’s mouth against my skin. I cupped the back of his head, cradling his face against mine. I closed my eyes, inhaled his scent, and smiled, even when his fangs extended and scraped lightly across my collarbone.

If he kept doing that, keeping his mouth in sync with his movements—

I howled and put my dizzying dream orgasms to shame. I writhed and convulsed around him, pulling him tight against me with all the strength I had. I may, at some point, have said some extremely dirty things in Portuguese.

Gabriel was smiling, a big, goofy grin wreathing his face as he came, as if my muttering anatomically detailed instructions in foreign tongues was some sort of gift. And for some reason, that made me laugh, which resulted in some interesting aftershocks.

Gabriel was triumphant. “And to think you were this sweet, inexperienced librarian when I met you.” He panted, pushing my hair out of my face. “Now look at you, you’re a goddess. You can bring me to my knees with a word.”

I blinked owlishly at him. Something about that sounded familiar and wrong. Something about Gabriel. The letters, in the letters, she’d said that Gabriel had enjoyed educating her from innocent to—

Just as I was able to cobble a coherent thought together, Gabriel glanced down at the contents of my purse and dropped me on my barely covered butt. I would say it was undeserved, but I had just Tased him.

“What is that?” he demanded, pointing to the linen envelopes as I scrambled to my feet.

“You dropped me,” I pointed out.

“What the hell is that?”

“You dropped me!” I repeated. “On my ass, just then. You may not have noticed, which I’m starting to think may be part of our problem as a couple.”

Gabriel dropped to his knees to look at the envelopes. “Jane, answer me. What are these?”

“Letters,” I told him, plucking the papers off the concrete before he could grab them.

“She’s been writing to you?”

And there it was, confirmation. My concerned friend wasn’t just some crazy person with an affection for linen paper. She wasn’t making up her connection to Gabriel. Gabriel knew who she was, and obviously, he didn’t want me getting information from her.

I had two options here: calmly and rationally discuss my feelings of confusion and abandonment and encourage Gabriel to enter couples counseling with me … or pitch a tantrum, demand information, and make a giant ass of myself.

Any guesses about the route I chose?

“Excuse me,” I seethed. “But you don’t get to breeze back into my life, after weeks without a word, pin me to a wall with your penis, and then demand answers.”

“I’m not demanding answers. I just—”

“Who is she, Gabriel? Tell me what’s going on. This would be so much easier if you would just let me in.”

“I can’t. I can’t tell you. What has she— Do you believe what she’s saying?”

“I don’t know what to believe, Gabriel. I mean, she’s saying some things that sound pretty familiar. Her scent is what drew you to her. It’s what kept you close to her. That she was special. That you loved her. That you enjoyed her being so trainable and unpredictable, particularly in the sack. Do you know where I might have heard any of this before?”

“It’s not what you think,” he promised, edging away from me.