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you, chérie . I do not remember taking you to bed last night.” He yawned and stretched and sat back down on the mattress. “Though I cannot say I regret it. Noisy though you may be, you felt most pleasing curled beside me.”
    He chuckled, a low sound that did an odd little dance down Celine’s back and made her suddenly, uncomfortably aware of the warm spot on her shoulder where he had kissed her.
    “You did not take me to bed!” she corrected.
    “Truly, ma petite? It was you who seduced me, then?”
    “No! I—”
    “Come seduce me again.” He fell back on the pillows.
    “Absolutely not! ” Celine groped her way along the wall, trying to feel her way to the door. “Look, whoever you are, it sounds like you had too much to drink at the party. Maybe there was a power failure or something and you wandered into the wrong room by mistake.”
    A power failure. That made sense. It would explain why there wasn’t a speck of light. Or heat. The air was so cold, it gave her goose bumps and stung her throat every time she inhaled. The furnace must have gone out.
    He sighed and yawned again. “As I told you before, demoiselle, the chamber is mine.”
    It took Celine a moment to realize that the wall felt strange: her hand encountered nothing but cold, clammy, bare stone. The paintings and tapestries that had hung in her room were missing. She tried to find the light switch. It wasn’t where it was supposed to be, either.
    Suddenly her cheeks heated with an embarrassing thought: maybe he was right about this chamber being his. Maybe she was the one who had stumbled into the wrong room!
    She didn’t remember getting into bed. In fact, the last thing she remembered was looking through her purse for an aspirin, then stepping toward the window as the moon went black. Rays of silver-white light had glanced off the glass and blinded her, sent her reeling, then ...
    She couldn’t remember anything after that. It was entirely possible that she had staggered out of her room, into the maze of corridors—and into the room of another party guest.
    She turned back toward the stranger she couldn’t see in the darkness. “Monsieur,” she said tentatively, a bit chastened. “Perhaps I’m the one who made a mistake. I-I don’t remember—”
    “Nay, protest no more, little one,” he interrupted, his voice easing into a low, coaxing tone. “Does it matter how we came to be together? You are here, I am here, the bed is here. You felt warm and soft beside me.”
    He paused, and she could almost feel him remembering—because she was remembering, too: what it felt like to lie snuggled against him.
    He spoke again, his voice even deeper, softer, just a notch above a whisper. “Come back to bed, chérie . I will seduce you this time.”
    “No!” Celine squeaked, not sure whether she was objecting to his command or to her body’s reaction. She was shivering, and not because the room was so cold. That tone he was using sent an unexpected electricity through her, tingly currents that ran from her fingertips to her bare toes and back again in a heartbeat. It left her trembling. It also made her vividly aware of just how little she was wearing: nothing but her silk-and-lace teddy.
    She backed away a step, only to come up against the cold stone wall. “Monsieur, I’m—I’m afraid you don’t understand. One of us has made a mistake—”
    “The only mistake, ma petite , would be for us to waste the hours left until dawn.”
    That confident voice reached out to Celine through the shadows and cold, wrapping around her, warm and rich and dark as sable. She swallowed on a dry throat. Who the heck was this guy? A voice like that should belong to a hypnotist. To a deejay whispering above love songs on late-night radio.
    To a suave playboy who could easily seduce unseen women in the darkness.
    Celine froze at that thought, remembering her conversation with her sister earlier. Maybe this man wasn’t here by mistake after all! “Oh,