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she had her answer a moment later when he took a step back from the mirror and began to drop his belt. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched him undress, pulling the long tunic over his head, and she sucked in a breath when his naked torso was revealed.
    Long scars covered his torso, one or two the bright red of a new wound, more of them the white trace of injuries several years old. He had a massive span to his shoulders, almost like a wrestler, the thick triangle of his shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist with no fat on it, only ripples of muscle. She could see his ribs—perhaps he was a little too thin, the result of his return from the Crusades?—and a dark tan covered his body, striping his skin between neck and waist.
    The drawstring of his leggings hung loose, dipping below his navel and revealing a dark trail of hair that led downward, down to a rather explicitly large bulge in his leggings.
    Oh my. Her eyes felt scalded from the sight, her blush rising. She should turn away but…she wanted to see more.
    She wanted to see everything.
    His lips moved again as he spoke, and he moved back toward the mirror, laying one of his palms flat against the spot where she’d brushed her nipple moments before. She leaned forward as well, pressing the full globes of her breasts against the mirror’s chilly surface, and flattened her own palms against the mirror as well. Her face close to the mirror’s surface, her breath left soft, sultry clouds on the surface.
    Aric closed his eyes, as if the sight of her naked body pressed against the mirror was almost too much to bear. His palm remained anchored in place, and she could almost swear that she felt the heat of his hand through the mirror once more. Almost.
    His hand slid down to the waist of his trousers, then inside as he ran his hand over the length of his cock. Her gaze slid there as well. “Oh,” she breathed as he adjusted the long, hard length of it. Granted, she couldn’t see the full length, but she could tell that it was a rather magnificent cock, thick and long and filling his breeches quite admirably. He seemed to be perfect, this man in the mirror.
    Too bad he wasn’t real.
    The thought struck her like a fist and she flinched backward. Who was she kidding?
    This was a sweet misery—to be able to see this beautiful, doomed man and do nothing to help him, or touch him the way she wanted to touch him, to have him touch her the way she wanted to be touched.
    It was beyond cruel. Cora shook her head and blinked back tears. “I can’t do this,” she whispered hoarsely, straightening. She pulled away from the mirror and gave him a sad smile. “I’m sorry.”
    With that, she leaned over and picked up her towel again, wrapping it around her body once more and tucking her nudity safely away. Once again, she went for a relationship that was just too difficult, had too many obstacles. She couldn’t do this.
    Unhappy, she glanced back at the mirror. He was still there, the sad look returning to his face, as if he understood her own miserable state. Aric raised his palm as she watched, the same flat-hand gesture that they had been using to greet one another, his fingers slightly spread against the glass. With a faint smile touching her mouth—whether of sadness or apology she couldn’t say—Cora moved forward and placed her palm against his, matching her hand to his, fixing her fingers so they would slide through his own, if they were able to touch. Her eyes met his again, sad and apologetic.
    Light flared. Then the glass melted away beneath their hands, and it wasn’t hard surface that she touched anymore, but the rough, warm callus of his hands. Startled, her gaze flew to her hand, and before she could react, his fingers curled around her own, locking them.
    Through the mirror.

    With a frightened gasp, Cora jerked backward, ripping her hand from his. Just as quickly as it had happened, the mirrorlight faded, and she watched his fingers sink back