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stood, he had at least the illusion of perfection. Did she dare jeopardize the vision? No, some dreams were better left untouched. But the thought of that saddened her even more. She did want to touch Mark Birmingham … and that was the least of it!
    It seemed it wasn’t to be. Deanna had barely begun to sip her coffee when Mark rose from his table, sent her a last soulful stare and, to her disappointment, left the dining room. Her pleasure in her evening suddenly faded. Within minutes she followed his example, graciously thanking and complimenting the dining-room staff, then walking to the elevator, head down in thought
    She wasn’t quite sure of the moment when he approached because there were other people quietly milling about. But something drew her head up and she found herself face-to-face with him. Her breath caught in a quiet gasp. At close range he was that much taller, that much more handsome, that much more intense. And his effect on her was staggering, the reality of him something to behold.
    For the first time his features were near enough to study and know. His nose was strong, with a faint crook at its bridge, his lips firm and masculine, his jaw square and clean-shaven. The eyes she had only known to be dark now revealed themselves as a deep charcoal brown, and they were studying her just as intently as she was studying him. His hair was thick and rich and entirely his own, his chest broad enough to fill his jacket on its own sinewed merit. And when his lips curved in the hint of a smile she saw that his teeth had just enough of an
irregularity to vouch for their authenticity. He was every bit the real thing. And she couldn’t restrain a sigh.
    At that moment the elevator arrived, demanding their immediate attention. But when Deanna felt a hand lightly take her elbow she knew it was Mark’s. He held her back to let several others enter, then gently guided her aboard. Though his hand fell away she stayed by his side as the car whirred upward.
    At the tenth floor one couple disembarked, at the eighteenth floor another. By the time the elevator left the twenty-seventh floor Deanna and Mark were alone. She stared expectantly at the lighted panel above the doors, watching the floors pass. Thirty. Thirty-one. Had she even pressed her own? Thirty-three. Thirty-four. Thirty-five. The car hummed to a halt and its doors slid back. As she held her breath she felt her hand taken by a larger, warmer, surer one. Taking courage from it, she met Mark’s gaze. It held every bit of her own need and want, plus a sense of promise she hadn’t seen before. His eyes silently offered the same invitation conveyed by his hand as, still holding hers, he stepped tentatively forward. Deanna hesitated for a final moment. Then, seized by an overpowering urgency, she followed him.

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    W hen the door to his suite quietly and irrevocably shut out the rest of the world, Mark drew her around to face him. He stood no more than a gasp away, tall and dark and silently demanding. In a fleeting moment of panic Deanna wondered where she was, why she was there, whether she could even begin to give this man what she knew he wanted. He was so real now. For the first time in her life she felt totally inadequate.
    Reading the fear in her large fawn eyes, Mark moved to ease it. He raised his hands to touch her face, framing it with long, adoring fingers that wove lightly into her hair and tipped her features back for his tender exploration. His melting gaze transmitted wordless reassurance that she was everything he wanted and more. Gaining courage, Deanna held her breath in anticipation of the moment
    Release came with the slow lowering of his head and the soft touch of his lips against hers. She closed her eyes,
timidly yielding to a new realm of sensation that bridged the gap between fantasy and reality. His mouth moved so lightly at first that she wondered on which side of that chasm she remained. But as the