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regretful. “Then that’s too bad for you. Because without it, you’re dead.”
    Then he was gone.
    Legs suddenly too wobbly to support herself, she slid down the wall in a boneless pile. Her entire body shook. Yet strangely enough, not from fear. Her body thrummed for sexual release. She ached in places that had never experienced sensation before. Another second and she would have torn off her robe and pounced on him, wrested off his clothes, and investigated to her complete satisfaction that throbbing erection she had felt at her backside. What the hell was wrong with her?
    With only one past lover, she didn’t feel those sensations any longer. Didn’t have those needs. Right? She didn’t indulge in primitive urges. They were things other women felt. Not her. Those urges were too wild, too primitive, too beastly. Especially to feel for a self-professed killer who broke in to her apartment and spouted insane allegations.
    His smell swirled around her as if he were still in the room. She even thought she heard the echo of his steps well past her apartment door now.
    She rose and moved toward the phone sitting on her bedside table, thinking she would call the police. Her hand hovered over it for a moment before pulling back. What would she tell them? Some guy returned her purse and warned her that she was going to turn into a werewolf on the next full moon? They’d lock her away in the same insane asylum as Gideon March, and then where would she be?
    Besides, Claire had other problems. Like finding out what had happened to Lenny. No way did she accept that he was dead. He probably just took to the streets to get away from his foster father. And she needed to come up with an explanation for missing Sunday dinner. The flu seemed the easiest excuse. The way her body ached and throbbed, she certainly felt as though she were recovering from some malady.
    She opened her nightstand drawer and pulled out a little blue booklet. Monday was off to an ominous start and she wasn’t taking any chances. Picking up the phone, she dialed the automated substitute system and reported her absence for the day.
    She hung up the phone and made her way back to the mirror. The stranger with the wild, silver eyes was still there, waiting for her, preventing her from hiding and pretending everything was okay. As much as she longed to crawl back into bed, pull the covers over her head, and forget Gideon March, her desire-flushed face and tingling body wouldn’t let her.
    She could, however, take care of one nagging ache, even if it wasn’t the one between her legs. Grabbing her purse off the bed, she headed for the nearest Krispy Kreme.

Chapter Four
    Self-grooming is an instinctive trait for many species, most often employed when trying to attract a mate.
    â€”Man’s Best Friend:
An Essential Guide to Dogs
    S tanding in her closet, Claire tapped her lip and contemplated her wardrobe. Lounging in her bathrobe and stuffing her face had been the perfect therapy yesterday—preceded, of course, by a cold shower to wash away the aberrant yearnings that had plagued her body long after Gideon March’s departure.
    Krispy Kreme had been only the start. Her hunger couldn’t be sated. It was an insistent pull on her stomach, demanding satisfaction. Almost as demanding as the sudden, inexplicable ache of her body for a green-eyed nutcase.
    After Krispy Kreme, she decided to stay inside. For some reason the smells and sounds of the city overwhelmed her, made her head spin. The early morning streetlights shone brighter, the horns and blares of rush hour traffic rang raucously in her sensitive ears.
    She’d ordered takeout three times: Ding Lung’s, Domino’s, and KFC. She almost ordered a fourth time from her favorite Italian place, Angelo’s, but they always screwed up the order. The elderly woman who answered the phone never got it right. Yet Claire never complained—just paid for her