New Orleans, Saturday, May 22, 2004
7:10 p.m.

The evening's cooler air flittered in gentle waves around me. I looked along the building's façade and got that same thrill I did every single time I came to the French Opera House. Inside, I knew, I would find the ornate gilded balconies and sconces, the plush rusty red-bronze walls and the deep blood burgundy brocades of the curtains. But I never wanted to rush inside. I always wanted to linger and enjoy this scene.

From the sidewalk, I could see the fancy moldings on the building uplit with infinite and carefree grandeur. And sweeping my eyes down toward street level, I saw opulent marble columns and sweeping edges of the porticos. I watched the people arriving for this performance. Dressed in formals ... tuxes, long dresses, jewels. It was like they glittered in their finery.

And then there was me. Standing there all alone awaiting an assignation. Dressed in simplicity that had cost me a fortune. Isn't that the way it always is? The simpler the dress, the better the cut, the finer the fabric ... the dearer the price? The only jewelry I wore ... earrings. Emeralds that dangled demurely from my lobes.

I left an envelope containing his ticket at the 'will call' window. And then I wove myself into the people making their leisurely way inside the historic building that was almost atypical in New Orleans. There was none of the signature lacy iron balconies and the building itself was almost stolid in comparison with the others around it. But inside there ... it held mysteries.

When I was a child, my mother believed every young woman of any semblance of good breeding must attend at least one opera each season. My father hated them. So they became one of the few occasions when it was just my mother and I out on the town. But we had never, in all those years, come to the opening night gala. It was only when I moved back to this city as an adult that I first attended this traditional crème de la crème event. The opening night gala every season was a masquerade ball wrapped around the opera. It began with a champagne reception, went into the opera's performance, led to a gala of orchestral music and dancing within the building's huge ballroom. At midnight, in the traditional manner, the masks came off. If there is any city in the States that appreciates the art of masking ... it is my genteel, gentle, genuinely generous New Orleans.

Masks. They give you freedom when they afford you total anonymity courtesy of a few inches of opacity covering your cheeks to forehead. While you wear a mask at such an event, there is a romantic abandon in feeling as if you are invisible.

As I reached the heavy doors, I paused like everyone else did ... and slipped a refined mask over my face. It was black, just like my dress. It was enhanced with black lace and the subtle glittering of scattered black sequins that outlined the eyes. The mask's look was completed by three strands of faceted black beads hanging in long loops down the front. The loops draped under my chin but not so low they came near to interfering with the ability of an observer seeing the full scope of my cleavage. Oh ... did I fail to mention that about the dress? There was cleavage. It was the dress's best feature.

I so rarely dressed in an overtly sensual manner. Not in public, anyway. Short skirts, tight jeans, skimpy shorts ... well, yeah. But something that put my wares on pretty obvious display like this? Yikes. I had dressed this way for him because he made me feel bold in my femininity.

Inside, I looked around ... nervous suddenly. Self-conscious and wondering if others were curious why I was alone at such an event. Everyone else was in couples or groups. I wished I was carrying a sign that said, 'I'm not a pathetic loser, my date is meeting me here ... honestly.'

He was flying into town just in time for that night's event. It had taken my breath away that he'd agreed to come because I could never have pictured him really wanting to go to an opera. So I knew ... he was doing this just for me ... just to take make me feel special. I am not sure I slept much ever since he said, "Date and time? Or is that part of the mystery?"

A passing waiter brought me champagne. Another offered canapés. I wandered around with the flute and tried to look nonchalant. A man in a wholly classic if ill-fitting tuxedo hit on me. I couldn't help noticing how his eyes could not stay away from the soft mound of my breasts that were poised there at the opening of my dress as if waiting on any strong breeze to come tumbling out. Maybe he was waiting for a gust of tropical air and hung around hoping to catch sight of them bared in their entirety. Maybe he felt emboldened hiding behind his own mask ... as if hidden there, he could be ruder than he would have been facing me in a more conventional social setting. But those eyes of his ... my kingdom for a shawl to wrap around me to disinvite his interest in my body.

Nervous hands ... if one knows me well enough, a telltale sign is watching how my hands play with the wisps of hair that filter down the back of my neck whenever I have my hair up ... I cannot keep from twirling it and playing with it ... as if it serves no other purpose than to be a tic. As this man hovered, I twirled my hair and kept an eye on the door, hoping to soon see the form of the man I really want to be with; no mask could have hidden him from me. Please, won't he just show up and save me!

The only way I ditched the unwelcome twerp hovering about was to latch on to this older couple who were standing near the original oil I always studied when I was there. It was of the Pontalba, the historic apartment buildings that flanked St. Louis Cathedral and Jackson Square. My not-so-smooth admirer excused himself to go to the bathroom as I was discussing the painting with the elderly couple. They were terribly amused by my relief when he left. The gentleman suggested I find my seat and that he'd waylay the guy when he reappeared.

How fitting it was that we had been standing there admiring this painting. That night's opera was The Pontalba, an original piece about the woman who'd built the buildings now bearing her title. A stormy life, filled with sex and intrigue and triumph over her dead husband's father who tried to steal first her fortune, then her good name and then her life.

Leaving them, I wandered around the hushed foyer, scanning the crowd for Maximus. When the lights dimmed twice to discreetly move the crowd to their seats for the curtain's rise, I felt my body drop away into this well of disappointment.

God.

He hadn't been able to make it after all. I had known he'd been off on some mission in Central America and had been half joking when I asked him to come to the opera with me after he made some off-handed comment about relishing his memories of our last time together. So I'd said that he might prefer to relive the past but that I would instead dream of new experiences we might create together ... and then just something devilish inside me made me invite him to the opera. When he asked for more information, it gave me pause because I could hear it in his voice ... he would consider doing this for me. I admitted to him that I knew this wasn't an event he'd enjoy but that I'd just ... just wanted to see him. The emotion I felt for him, that intangible love so powerful yet elusive, it just hung there between us ... as if it traveled down the phone line to him and then bounced back to me so I could hear it. I don't know what I expected him to do about that and I had felt bad for saying it -- he was a busy man now, and he held other people's lives in his hands in this new career. I knew better than to disturb him with such childish greedy needs to see him when he was off on a mission. There was no more pretending that my actions weren't much more than interfering with his work, were there? Was it okay to do it just because I missed him and would have given so much just to see him for one small evening?

Oh, but Max! He had responded back saying he'd meet me here. That a public arena suited him as the setting for a date with me.

But, after all was said and done, the vagaries of his job had obviously kept him away that night. I was determined to be an adult about this. Obviously, whatever had kept him away was important, I was sure. He would never have blown me off without a reason that mattered. Still ... I was so ... I don't know ... one moment I was high with the thrill of his nearness and the next I felt crushed at his absence.

Like I was on remote control, I just moved in the direction everyone else was going until an usher pointed out the side stairs I would need to take to get to the box where I'd reserved us two seats. The box was one of those semi-private ones and held room for six people. Had wanted to treat Max to the real indulgence that such a privileged seating would be for something like this.

But any joy or expectation I'd had about arranging for such a special seating just evaporated as the disappointment washed over me. God, but I had really needed to be with him. I simply cannot explain it better than that. I was tired of being tough about this.

There was this moment when I almost left because I was just too ... oh ... close to tears. Christ, why had I gotten my hopes up? I paused at the foot of the carpeted staircase that swept up in a crescent moon to the next floor. My hand hesitated after it reached down and pulled up slightly on my dress's hem so I could climb without tripping. The other hand clutched a glass of champagne. I looked down at the black straps of my shoe as it hovered over the bottom step. And just that quickly, I made the decision to leave.

A breath on my neck. Warm.

A presence behind me. Definitively male.

"Do not turn round," his voice commanded. I didn't mean to challenge him but I made this half motion to turn to greet him and his chest grazed my back in a subtle emphasis to his order. "Not a word. Proceed to your seat and I will join you shortly."

Still ... I lingered there. Just overwhelmed at the emotional onslaught of being near him again. And for him to approach me in this manner left me weak with desire to touch him, to taste him, to see him. And the change in my emotions was too swift, too drastic - from abject disappointment to absolute relief in the space of maybe two seconds.

And just like that, everything bad evaporated away and I was consumed in the fire that was Max. He was there with me! He had come to me after all. But ... whatever did he have in mind? Was he really going to employ the evening's masquerade theme in a bit of a challenge of my mind?

Mystery.

Would we add that to the mix then? 

He simply waited on my obedience, on my acceptance. When I made the decision, it was so easy. Whatever he was up to, I was game for it. Oh, God. Just to be in his presence again. Just to be near him.

And so, I climbed the stairs ... head held high ... waiting on a chance to disobey his orders when he'd assume I was giving in. It came just as I reached the door to the box ... an usher there to check my ticket and I took a furtive look to the side, over my shoulder ...

He stood at the top of the stairs. Subtle lighting caressed him. He was framed in shades of reds and bronzes, from the carpet to the brocade wallpaper. Dressed in a tux of fine wool that fit his body to perfection. Watching me. A silent sentinel. Not twenty feet from me and I felt like he was in another world where men like this lived lives of adventure and daring.

Watching me.

I could see the concentration in his body language. But his face was shrouded in mystery.

Wearing a plain black mask of elegant leather that leant a touch to the scene I least expected. How Maximus ... never quite what I expect. I stood there looking at him, not able to hide my examination. He walked toward me. His ticket out for the usher's scrutiny. Max not taking his eyes from me. Just this way he had of dismissing everyone else who happened to be near as if they were of no significance.

"Take your seat, Anna," he said in a low voice that was tinged with hardness. Pitching it to me low enough that only I could hear him clearly. "And in this night, you will learn to heed me, mistress."

Shaken by my instant adoration of the way he'd made me feel his power, I turned in this startled reaction and simply entered the box. Knowing he was looming there behind me.

My sentinel. My guardian. My companion.

Inside, the low lighting made it difficult for me to see and I hesitated after entering. But Maximus had a hand on my elbow and I simply moved as he directed. No words. Just firmly guiding me down two steps to the remaining empty seat at the rail.

As I sat, his hand on the back of the chair grazed my shoulders and then his warmth receded. I smiled demurely at the other occupants of the box. The two couples obviously knew each other as their chairs were pulled very close together. The two women, like me, were at the rail and their men were seated behind them. Their easy banter filled the spaces of the box and I pretended well that I was at ease with the entire company.

Something ... I had been without Max for so long and I would have thought that his proximity would have bade me to turn and talk with him ... Hey, Max, how's it hanging? ... but that wasn't going to work in this setting. He wanted me to heed him? Was this another challenge to me?

Was it some version of Basilinda? I remembered him explaining that game to me and how one example he gave was the challenge of whether or not you could continue to concentrate on the play if his fingers touched your neck or if his lips ...

Jesus.

I gave this sigh as the thought of his lips played in my mind. And then I became aware of nothing so much as the fact that I did not know what he was doing back there behind me.

Was he watching me? He had to be. Was he examining how I'd coiled my hair up and let gentle curls escape at random from the simple twist? The cool air of the reception hall vibrated against my bare neck and I felt wisps of stray hairs swish around. I wondered if he saw them and wanted to touch them. Was he looking at them now?

What did my back look like in this dress? Were my shoulders erect? Did he wish to kiss the skin there? Was he even then bending toward me to speak to me or to brush his fingertips across my skin?

I shifted in my seat and adjusted my dress. My fingers played with the tendrils along the side of my neck.

And then the hall went black as the curtain rose.

As the lights came up on stage and the opera's opening score swelled from the orchestra pit, I anticipated some movement from Maximus. Surely this would be his moment to say something?

When he didn't, I tried to lock him out of my awareness, to lose myself in the performance. I tried. So hard. But his silence was overwhelming. It was like it palpated the air around me. By the time intermission was signaled, I felt weak and dizzy ... and it was all because I was on point, waiting for him to make a move and knowing finally that he wasn't going to. Not yet. Not until I was least expecting it. Which meant I was fully expecting it and ... Damn him!

Rising from my seat, I resisted the urge to turn and face him full on. For some very odd reason, I felt ... was that intimidation? My eyes lingered on the floor. I waited as the other men assisted their women toward the box's door. Only then did I glance at Max, to see if he was proffering a hand.

He made that slight bow he does; the way his head comes down and it's almost as if you miss that he's bending slightly from the waist. But just that subtle movement ... how it spoke the essence of him to me. This was not so much courtesy; this was a subtle dominant move ... as if he honored my place in his life but we both knew he was the superior.

And then his small smile ... that one he does while he is on guard ... directed at the two couples filing past him ... I noticed one of the women give him the once over ... done with discretion and taste ... but done nonetheless. Even polite women cannot help but check out a man this manly.

His face turned toward me and the smile evaporated. Lips slightly parted. A tongue touching at the bottom lip. Hands locked behind him. Chin down to regard me.

Alone with each other. Apart for too long. Together for too short.

"Maximus." Out on a breath. "I've so missed you."

I moved ... edging toward him, my hand out to take his ... letting him pull it up toward his lips ... letting my body shift in closer to his ... taking a deep breath through my nose to see if I could catch his intoxicating scent ... his lips on my knuckles.

Drawing me toward him only to let me go abruptly and indicate that I should exit before him.

But just steps before I reached the door, his hand on my elbow drew me to an abrupt stop.

"Hold, mistress," he said low and predatory. "Wait a moment ... should we not ascertain if we are indeed who we believe it is under the masks?"

I half turned and my eyes sought his in the gloom. I heard the rustle of people moving in the hallway outside the open door. I caught the cacophony of those below us in the large hall as they moved toward the foyer. I wondered what he had in mind ... did he know that we had maybe 15 minutes if he was up to a quick bang?

Ah. But then again ... he wasn't after a quick bang and I knew it even before that indecent thought came across my brain cells.

"It's only me, Maximus," I told him. "In the flesh. Just me."

"Your flesh," he began and I noted how his eyes dropped to the soft mounds of my cleavage. "How would I know it's yours without tasting it?"

"You could touch me."

"In these surroundings?" he asked me as he led me back down the two steps toward the railing. His hand swept out and I looked where he indicated. People below us, only a small portion of the audience remained, but they were there, lingering as if unwilling to go far from their assigned seats. I noticed a few looking up at the boxes even as we looked down at the loge area. His body turned to mine. I felt his chest along my elbow. His mouth came near my ear. His breath raced across my cheek only to linger along a bare shoulder. "I would not dishonor you by touching you in such a place as this, Anna."

"No one would see."

"But they would know. Could you hide it from them if I touched you?" I swallowed hard and I swear I could feel his satisfaction at having planted the image of the way he touched me. God, the way he touched me! He could demand everything from me in one rough, abiding, uncompromising touch of my body.

"Are you daring me?" I didn't look at him. "Go on. Touch me and see if you can make me react so visibly that a casual observer would understand what you were up to."

Lewd chuckle. "I wouldn't even have to touch you to make you react to me."

"You think I'm that much a pansy? You say things like that to piss me off, don't you?"

I felt this one finger of his as it meandered down my nape and then wandered haltingly down my spine. The tremble it produced in me made him take in this satisfied sigh. "Your body gives you away. You flatter me with such an easy reaction," he whispered. "It's good to know you feel this way about me, Anna."

"You have no idea," I responded and this time I didn't look at him because I couldn't, not because I wouldn't.

"Imagine what I would wish to be doing with you right now were we alone. It's been so many weeks since I've touched you. I can hold off for a while yet. But I will ask you to remember one thing. Remember that when I am giving in to my needs after such long times of self-denial, I am merciless with you."

"Oh God. Don't, Max, you know what that idea does to me ..." Barely able to breathe and see how easy I have become for him?

"You can feel me touching you, can you not?" Now ... not touching me with anything but his breath and his words. But touching me as solidly as if he were fucking me with pure wanton lust. "Imagine me as I would wish to be right now. On my knees before you, hidden by this little wall here. I desire nothing so much as to bury my nose inside the aroma you exude in your arousal. Do you feel me there?"

I nodded and closed my eyes but at his brusque order, I looked down at the people below.

"Can they see the flush of your skin as you realize that once I smell to my heart's content, I will be adamant in sucking down all your honey as it drips onto my tongue?"

"No, Max. Don't ... I can't ..."

"You can. You will. Stand tall and be silent. Or do you wish to embarrass me before this social gathering?"

A challenge. I would not give in to him. I would not. He would not defeat me. He must have seen the new set to my jaw but he would have had to guess at the new defiant gleam in my eyes for I resolutely refused to turn and look at him as he stood at my side.

"My fingers part the damp petals of your secret flower and I look my fill of you. Do you know what I see?" he asks these things at a deliberate pace and I shake my head slightly. "Red. Wet. Greedy. Want. Lips that seek to be filled, stroked ... and above them? Beautiful pearl that blooms to full ripe ... Careful, mistress. No sound to alert any watcher that my tongue is burrowing deep within your dark channel."

I am about to sink down so far and fly so high but I yank myself awake. But it's not enough for he's got me in a firm grip and he's not even touching me. But I swear ... I can feel him down there ... on his knees, his big, rough but knowing fingers opening my slit to his examination ... his mouth hovering and then ...

And then he describes in intimate, harsh detail exactly what he is doing ... this sexual phantom at my own personal opera. He tells me how he loves the taste of me as I drip my essence onto his tongue. His voice is like rough ambrosia and it must certainly be that voice that every woman must hear when she comes shaking and out of control against any man capable of making her come harder than hard. I can feel the coming and it's so close and I'm fighting it but I know I'm losing so I'm desperate. He must see, he must, what I'm fighting because he is relentless. He describes how he pushes two fingers up into me and how my body simply clutches them ... so he knows I'm coming because he can feel the spasms ...

And he asks me ... do I feel his mouth as it begins to suck upon my bundle of raw nerves that have been waiting for just that one extra element before I melt away into the oblivion of this coming. He curses, like he does sometimes when he is buried deep inside me and he's getting caught up in what he's capable of making me feel ... and he tells me that making me lose control makes him lose his own modicum of control. He says to me: I can feel you coming ...

My hand reaches out of its own volition and clutches his bicep ... it's all that keeps me upright even as my knees shake and I allow them to buckle from the force of what he's done to me ... coming in total silence and my mouth opens so I turn to him and place just the outer cells of my lips upon the rough fabric of his jacket. A round 'o' but no sound.

He can feel my weakness ... feels my capitulation to his power. It's a way of showing my own strength ... to have had just enough control to turn to him for help in this moment when he's captured me. One arm braces around my waist and keeps me upright. "You grow more beautiful to me, Anna," he whispers to me. "Is it any wonder a man has no sadness to fall under your spell?"

I sway in his hold but I will not speak for if my vocal cords go into action, I will gasp and cry out. A fragile moment passes before he helps me to my seat and asks me if he can get me anything. It is that remark, delivered in this sanctimonious, superior manner, that zaps my will. I glare at him, unable to speak coherently. He excuses himself just after giving me this smug, tiny smidgeon of a grin and says he'll get us each a glass of champagne.

What is he doing to me? What is this insanity? I close my eyes and smile ruefully. Oh, Max. What you do to me is so good.

When the other couples return, one of the women worries over my high color. But then Maximus is there and he's handing me a flute of wheat-colored champagne. He assures them that I am simply a bit worn out from some earlier excitement that day.

And the second half continues as the first. He is behind me. Silent. Powerful. Exuding the hold we both know he has on me. But we also know this ... I have a hold on him as well. And I think on this the entire next half.

We entered the huge reception hall as a half dozen friends. Somehow, sharing that box has made us intimates of a sort. The older men were quick to find chairs for their wives and Max was quick to look with some trepidation as dancers entered into the first waltz.

One of the older women with us said, "You two don't mind us old fuddy duddies. Go on and dance."

I glanced up through my lashes at Max's resigned yet stony face. He hates to dance. It's not the Roman way or something. Maybe it's against his religion ... I know Uma's warned me often enough not to expect Max to ever want to dance.

"Actually, Mrs. Lebron, Max was telling me how much he wanted to dance but my shoes are just killing me. He said if I wouldn't dance with him, he was going to make me jealous by asking you and Mrs. Silvers to join him on the dance floor all evening. That is ... if your husbands don't mind?" I said, all sweetness and innocence.

The two older men looked at each other with vainly disguised relief. They gave Max their undying permission to dance with their wives ... 'if he insisted.' With this one withering glance at me, he so insisted. And before you could say 'payback is hell, Max,' he was leading Mrs. Lebron to the dance floor. After his following dance with Mrs. Silvers, he looked over at me and I knew he thought he was going to do something smart like ask me to dance so he could get me away from them in order to promise retribution ... but I noted to Max how much he was enjoying the chance to dance with women who really could do him proud ... and off he went with Mrs. Lebron and one more murderous smile at me.

I went off in search of champagne. I also went off in search of privacy to release the laugh that had been wanting out for some time. Ah, Max! How will you get me back for this outlandish bit of sass?

And just that fast, my not-so-welcome admirer was back to harassing me. The guy from before ... from the foyer ... the one I'd ditched only with some help. And here I was ... away from help because I'd found this alcove where he was able to hem me in. I need to go, I told him, my date will be looking for me ...

Ah, but ... he thought I was lying about being with a date for he'd not seen me with anyone ... I hadn't been dancing or he would have seen me out there. Was he always this pushy, I wondered, or was it the mask giving him this sheer boldness unwarranted by his personality?

I was escaping but just barely. And there to bear witness was Max. I asked him later ... really I should have known without even asking him that there would never have been a chance that Max would ever have been off guard, ever not watching over any woman under his aegis.

Of course, he had seen ... not just this one, but the first encounter as well. I accused him later of having been excited to watch a man come on hard to a woman he knew would wait for him forever because not only did no man measure up to him in her eyes, but she simply was the loyal sort.

When I said, "I bet you were half hard," he gave me his 'tsk' and I admit up front that I was holding his more-than-half hard cock when I said it to him.

Later, he said from what seemed like nowhere only I always knew he'd not let such a challenge go ... he said that he'd seen the man follow me out of the reception hall and of course he would not allow the man to take further liberties with me.

So I thought I'd been dealing with it only I guess I wasn't ... but then there was Max and he wasn't so much looking at me as looking out for me. It still floors me to grasp this fundamental ... that I don't just mean that much to him - that I mean a whole hell of a lot more.

Do all men know this? Do they sense it in other men? Can they just somehow see another man and know the woman's his property, in a sense? Is that why this man bothering me was so quick to apologize to Max?

It's me you should give that apology to, I told him. He looked at Max. "I'm over here, you jerk. The one with the boobs," I said. "You couldn't take your eyes off them just a minute ago."

But Max put a hand on my waist and that look at the guy ... no way would that guy ever address me as long as Max was around.

"He's smarter than he looks," I grumbled to Max as the guy retreated. Max said not a word to me. Just took me in hand. Big hand. Massaging my upper arm. First time he'd really held any part of me in that big hand the whole night.

Max ... leading me away and so silent. So all consuming. He'd had me wet all night and I wondered if I had had any impact on him except to irritate him.

I asked him later ... that very question. No 'tsk' from him in response. Just a look. And then the two quick nods he gives sometimes. And that was when he'd pressed me hard down into the mattress and I wondered how he knew that I'd needed such an answer. That somewhere deep inside, a woman like me ... she needs to know such things.

But we're talking now about the bal masque and Max leading me back away from my encounter with that jerk. He edged me down an empty hall that ran next to the ballroom and I could hear the strings inside and their music was so fine and delicate.

Like his touch.

Bringing me around his body until I was facing him rather than being led. And his hands were then on my jaw and his touch quieted my thoughts until all I knew was ...

"I'm so glad you're here."

"As I am pleased to be with you, Anna."

A kiss. I'd say I'd been dying for a kiss from Max except the truth was ... I'd been living for it. Each breath, heartbeat, day after day, dream upon dream ... living just for this.

What's happening?

When we left the opera shortly before midnight, we were still masked and we hadn't danced at all during the ball ... and Max hadn't said one thing to me about me being so sassy as to have made him dance with those women.

Of course, I also had not actually voiced a complaint over his little manipulation of my desires for his touch, had I?

I did make some crack about the dancing as we made the sidewalk, though ... not having the courage to then look at him as I lead him to the left so we could go get my car from the garage where I'd parked it ... except his hand gripped mine and he turned me to the right even as his mouth at my ear whispered all husky, "I shall make you dance under me before too long, mistress, and then you may speak to me of my sense of rhythm. If you are capable of speech at that moment."

And I could barely breathe at the impact this had on me. A block went by before I had the will to pull on his hand and tell him we were going in the wrong direction.

"We are not. We're going just where I want us to go. Have you the courage to come along with me?"

"But my car is this way..."

"I didn't say I was taking you to your car." Pausing to look at me. "Did I?"

"But I planned for us to ..."

"Perhaps I have other plans for us."

I peered up at him and saw this self-satisfied look on his mouth to have surprised me. "You planned something? For us? For tonight?" I giggled in delight at the slight blush on his cheeks. But I knew ... he was pleased to have turned the tables on me. And I have to admit ... I was pleased to find that he was in control.

I put a second hand in the grip that had been holding only one of my hands. He squeezed in and I let him pull me along with him.

"You can't really hide behind that mask," I teased him. "Not from me. I can see you thinking you'll have your way with me tonight."

"You read me wrong then, mistress. I was only sure you'd have your way with me tonight."

I wish he hadn't told me in almost the next breath ... with his eyes down at me ... that all we had was that one night ... that all he'd been able to wring from his schedule was one night away from his current mission in Santa Rosa de Copán, Honduras.

He had come all this way from some small mountain city ... just for me ... just to have one night with me. Who would have thought it?

Inside the hotel, I looked at us in the elevator's smoky topaz glassy sides. "You captivate me in that mask," I told him.

"I shall do more than that in this night, Anna," he said and just like that, I knew he was toying with me but it was in a good way. It was in a way that would allow me to be whatever I wanted that night. I pressed up into his chest and the kiss he gave me was deep and full of so much of him.

And love.

It held love inside its depth and I know it wasn't because I was searching for it. It was because he wanted me to have it - like a gift. The awareness of love.

I had had visions of making love to him that night. I had wanted to do it just so and only after I had carefully removed each item of clothing from his body, leaving nothing but the leather mask.

But he had his own visions. They were the reverse of mine.

He took off his mask after we got in the room. I was about to protest but then I got mesmerized as he came into view. I would have told him yet again that I'd missed him but I realized that I was sounding pathetic and clingy.

"I have missed you so very much, Anna," he told me. "May I?"

His fingers turned me from him and I felt the zipper at the back of my bodice lower. His lips kissed in along the trail between my shoulder blades that the unzipping revealed. Gentle shushes from him and this was how I knew I was trembling to feel him with me. He stood tall behind me and kissed at the side of my neck as he let the dress fall from me. His hands examined the lace and spandex underneath.

"I've never seen you wear something like this," he said in a hoarse voice. "Turn around."

When I turned, he had backed up and was sitting on the edge of the suite's couch. God. How could a man look that good?

"Don't. I will remove it when I am ready," he said as my fingers went to undo my mask's bindings. "Come to me."

I cannot begin to do justice to what it felt like to watch his eyes examine my body on display in a bustier and to see hunger grow deeper as I neared him. Nor can I do justice to the flaming tongue of lust that leapt through me when his fingers touched firmly at the tops of the hose ... silky tops midway up my thighs that were kept up by the grip of a garter's tendrils.

"Such finery for one such as me," he finally pronounced even as he stroked over the sensitive backs of silky hose-covered knees.

I bent to kiss him and his lips came to mine as if summoned. Lord. Helpless in his arms and glad for it. Oh. The way he touched me ... I crawled into his lap as his fingers inside me guided me to where he wished me. I knew he was hard but not because I could feel him. His big hand was in the way but I was not blind to the bulge.

His fingers inside me and his thumb rubbing over my clit made me come and I swear, he was more pleased than me as I bucked and he had to hold me in place against his chest. Perhaps he was also pleased when, after catching my breath, I asked if I might undress him.

He did not make it easy on me. He stood to give me access after I'd wriggled his jacket and shirt off his shoulders even as he was shoving each breast, one at a time, into his mouth. He stood so I might have at his pants ... but then interrupted my progress by diverting my attention to what his mouth was doing to my neck and shoulders ... then just after I finally got the snap open ... he asked if I would fix him a drink. My fingers stopped at the apex of his zipper.

"Jesus. The anticipation is killing me here, Max. Are you sure you're worth it?" I sassed him in this grumbly voice as I stomped off to the mini-bar.

"Quite sure," he pronounced so quick, so perfect. It made me grin as I bent over to take a look inside the bar. "You've got doubts about me now?"

"None." Glancing back at him over my shoulder and his eyes were blinking rapidly so I gave a little wiggle. After a deep swallow, he retaliated by slowly lowering his zipper and letting his pants glide down his legs.

"Then bring me the glass."

He sipped cognac from a snifter while his free hand stroked across my breasts ... they were open to his touch above the bustier because he'd already pulled them slowly one at a time from the tiny scallops of lace that had helped restrain them earlier from flailing through the dress's cleavage. His hand dropped to my elbow to yank me closer. His lips dropped over a nipple and I felt the bite of cognac against my excited flesh.

My curse ... unbidden, rough Cajun expression ... seemed to do something to us both. I think I had both hands inside his underwear and then I was just working so hard to get the damned undies down his hips ... I don't know; sometimes my memory's a-flutter when I'm in Max's grip. I do know it was like nothing so much as a whirlwind and then I was being bent backwards over the back of a big overstuffed chair and he was all hands and...

And in my ear, he poured words as he entered me below. Max words. Just for me. By then, I knew he meant them even when he hid emotions behind Latin ... especially when he took comfort in his more familiar language patterns.

But then he did this thing ... I thought we were both so far inside this tiny romantic fantasy of masks and mysteries and hiding ... but he was not. Maybe he never had been. Maybe he thought I'd needed a mask that evening and that this whole thing of the masks had been what had inspired me to ask him to join me for the opera. But just on the crescendo of those words he gave to me, just as I knew he was inside the deepest part of some scrap of a poem and I was so sure he was well on his way to giving me one of those bruising fucks ... he stopped moving inside me and his hands gentled the mask from my face.

He held me safe inside his gaze. Like I'd never been safer than when he saw me as I really could be if I'd just trust in him and let myself not need any mask with him. Like he knew it was a choice I had been making and he was showing me that he appreciated the choice I'd made. To hide no longer. To not need to pretend anymore.

We didn't really sleep that night. For the longest time, we lay on the bed and held each other and it seemed a time of such easy intimacy. Later, I ordered him some food from room service because he hadn't eaten dinner except this lousy meal on a plane ... and after, we lounged on the bed ... him sitting up leaning against the headboard and me draped lazily down at the foot of the mattress ... opposite sides and our minds meeting in the middle ... and we talked of so many things that didn't matter but mattered for their "smallness." Just trading bits of ourselves when we were unguarded and trusting each other.

Honestly, I think we were in the same mood that night ... needing to touch and be touched. Needing some further proof that what was happening between us was happening. That our needs might not have been mirror images but they were at least complimentary. 

But what happened next seemed important but I didn't get the full import for much later. 

I was flat on my back, looking up at a nondescript ceiling and listening to Maximus talk about the Celaque mountain near the small city in Honduras where his current mission was. He was talking about the eerie way the foggy clouds would roll in during the middle of the day and how wetness would begin to drip from all the leaves. And he spoke of seeing a black and white owl fly down the path before him just that week as he hiked on recon duty.

It took me a moment to realize that he hadn't just paused but that he'd stopped speaking. His voice had mesmerized me to this great level of where I felt like I'd been walking that path with him in the damp quiet of the primal forest. When I glanced over to see if he'd fallen asleep or was waiting on me to respond to some question I must have missed, I found him looking out of the French doors near the bed that led to the balcony.

"Max? Y'okay?" I asked ... suddenly aware of the set to his chin ... the way it jutted up into the air as if he was facing some affront to his honor.

I turned over on my side and waited on him, intrigued. And then he turned his head to gaze at me ... the oddest look there. It made me swallow hard to be caught in the laser beam of his intense concentration on me.

"Have I been unfair to you, Anna? Perhaps pressured you in some way?"

"No, never. I don't understand ... what's ..."

"Forgive me, mistress." His eyes dropped from me for this fraction of a second and then came back. "Let us talk of more pleasant things. Memories of ..."

He sat there almost Indian fashion at the head of the bed. I reached out to stroke his knee and then lazed back where I had been ... hoping my ease would ease his way in this conversation. "No, let's talk about whatever it is that's brought this question out. Why would you think you'd ever been unfair to me or ..."

"We have so little time together, Anna. I don't wish this to be something you might not have ..."

"Max."

His chin jutted up again but he held my eyes this time. "We are not pretending anymore, Anna. You agree?" When I nodded, he lowered his chin and I caught that nervous blink he does when he's unsure. I gave him a smile of encouragement. "There are times when a man feels perhaps it is best to be selfish."

"Whatever it is you want from me, I will do my best to give you, Maximus. Ask me ... if you are unsure how I will feel, ask anyway. Or show me? Anything. Just the chance to feel useful to you ... I would like that. Very much."

"A man may wish for a woman who would cling to him when life brings challenges."

His voice was plain. Bald. Bold. Did he really seek that ... with me? Or was he telling me that of all the things he sought in a woman, my independence was now a liability between us? Was he giving me this option of changing to better suit him if I was to have a place near the center of his life?

"And a woman who finds a man she can cling to? What can she offer that man, Max?"

No hesitation and that told me more than I realized. "A sense of home. Strong arms that shelter him from the rest of the world when he is in need of tender mercies."

"Are you in need of tender mercies, Maximus?" I whispered to him. "I have an embrace that would shelter you."

Our eyes watched each other so carefully. His head tilted to the side and he gave me the toughest look. "Who do you go to for shelter?"

I wanted to look away but I couldn't. "Would I cling to you? Is that what you're asking me? Would you want that?"

"What kind of man would I be if I did not wish it? Anna, surely you realize a man ... a man worth having will not be there only at your convenience?"

This other-worldly sense hung in the air. I knew the message ... I just didn't know there was more to it. "I didn't realize you felt I only wanted to see you when I needed you. Tell me ... does it work the other way? How about when I don't need you? Is it okay to ask to see you then? Or must I wait on you to ask me? Shouldn't we both be able to ask to see the other even when it's just ... just because?"

"Anytime you ask to see me, I will do all I can to be here," he said softly but there were dark currents rising in his voice. "Would you do the same for me?"

I looked out those French doors that had earlier drawn his attention to the lights outside. "Men just seem to pass through my life, Max. Will you always be there for me?"

"Count on me."

My eyes swept back to him. I felt the weight of the battle ... I felt the balance of power tilting ... I felt the shift of alliances. I felt bare before him.

This look came over him ... like the wolf whose spirit had infused his legions in ancient Rome. I had an involuntary reaction ... excitement that came from the pit of my stomach, recognition that I was unsafe here. A heart-stopping wish to both go to him and run from him. I sat up but he was already on all fours, stalking toward me in a slow, measured crawl down the bed to where I was. I fell back on my elbows and watched, entranced, as he reached me.

This small noise of masculine pride. His face coming in close to mine but then lazily sweeping to the side of my neck. His nose sniffing my scent and obviously finding it was overpowered by the lingering odor of his body's fluids that were in me and on me still. Like he was leading the assault with a recon of my body ... he roamed my breasts with his nose and his tongue came along behind as a preliminary testing of the solidity of my defenses.

There were times in the past with Maximus when I felt this kind of challenge had to be met with defiance and a resolute determination not to be an easy prey. But I thought about his words ... about being a woman he might have seen lurking somewhere in me ... a woman of strength who clung to a man by choice when it made life better for them both ... but also a woman of tenderness who would open up the very pit of herself so that he could find a place just for him.

And this I knew ... I would have given a lot to find that he was right about me. But more than that, I would have given so much more than that, in point of fact, to find that he would turn to me to be the strong woman who could give and who could receive.

My reaction to his advance, to his need, to his ability to show me this minimal side to him ... it came without hesitation and it came with purpose.

I fell back on the mattress under him ... his body looming over mine ... his big hands on either side of my ribs ... his mouth suddenly losing contact with my breast ...

And I simply looked at him in softness. I moved beneath him in gentle invitation to possess me in this night. "I'm counting on you, Maximus," I whispered to him. "You'll never let me down."

Tuesday, May 25, 2004
5:05 a.m.

Habits of an earlier time in my life when news mattered above all else ...

I was listening to the radio even as I ran through CNN's overnight headlines on my computer ...

My heart lurched when I saw the dateline of Santa Rosa de Copán, Honduras, and the headline's body count ... and ... Oh God. It took more time to find my cell than to punch in the code for Max's cell on speed dial. No answer. Left a voice message but I am not such a good waiter if I'm in need of information so I zipped to Dino's cell and he answered.

"There's a story on the wire," I began. He knew it was me calling ... I was sure my name had come up in his window so I never bothered with hello.

He'd have known why I was calling if the story concerned their operation and the fact that he said ... "Don't believe everything you read. Thought you of all people knew that ..." rather than saying 'what story?' told me I was right. The story was about their operation. It would have been too big a coincidence for it not to be ... a story set in the same place I knew Max's mission was, and a story about a rescue of two kidnapped missionaries ... but also a story about ...

"Someone on your team was killed?" I asked Dino and tried to keep my mind from running ahead.

His soft voice of absolute assurance. "No. We had two people wounded. One of the kidnappers was killed but none of our people."

And since he didn't tell me who was not wounded, I rather knew who one of the wounded was. "Where is he?"

"He who?"

And, do you know, I really hadn't expected that. That meant both men who worked with Dino that I knew well were on that mission. And he wasn't sure which one was of most concern to me. I played it straight. "Max. He mentioned to me that he was down there on a job. I didn't know anyone else was with him ... I had no idea y'all were going in yesterday ... I wasn't sure what stage it was at."

But as those words came out ... I realized that maybe Max had actually told me in his own way that the mission was reaching the 'go' point or whatever they called it when they made the big move. Maybe ... no, I didn't want to think about how I just then re-heard some of his words but also his emotions and I just knew so clearly now that his visit to me hadn't only been about my need to see him.

"He's in Miami. It's not bad, Annie. He'll be on crutches for a few weeks ..."

Took one for the team, as it turned out. Going back for someone in trouble because they never leave anyone behind. Oh, and the other one on the team that I knew? He was fine. And it wasn't that I didn't care, because I definitely did, but it was Max who needed my attention because it was Max who'd found a way to make me realize he was in need. And it was Max who was injured, after all.

That's why later that day I'm on a small jet that is parked on a runway awaiting take-off. Sitting in the back section ... this area that doubles as a bedroom because the people who normally use the plane like the luxury. But this other passenger on board doesn't typically look for such touches as a prerequisite for a useful tool. It's indulgence enough to him that Dino arranged for a private jet to take him from Miami after he was discharged from a hospital.

I would have been here sooner but the law of nature says I can't turn the clock back. And by the time I had the news, he was already in Miami getting patched up. But here I am now and I know I may be the last person he expects but I hope I'm one of the first people he'd be glad to see just now.

That rolling gait the plane takes as it launches off from the runway always makes me question the sanity of flight. I rest back on the bed and count to a hundred. The plane levels off with such smoothness and I feel my heart smooth into a steady pace along with it.

He's up there. In the passenger seating area. I can picture him. That cautious look upon his face. His body held just so ... not really tense or uptight, but not really as relaxed as you'd think if you didn't know him a bit. I still don't know him that well, but I do know him a bit.

As I go through the door, I am aided from detection by the natural noises of a jet in flight. The creaks and groans ... I already know he tunes in even as he works to tune them out, unwilling to fear modern transport because it is a necessary part of his duty now.

I take the seat behind him and am rewarded with fleeting glimpses of his hand as he turns the pages of a book he's reading. It takes me a while to decide how I will approach him.

"Don't turn around," I say finally and I see his head jolt sideways. "Not a word."

But I don't make him wait like he made me wait at the opera. I'm cruel but even I know that's not fair considering his condition. So I walk around to stand before him and our eyes meet long before I sink to my knees before him. I touch along the cast that covers from his toes to below his knee. I touch his knee.

Should I be surprised that he does not speak? If it were me and he'd done this ... come all this way for me ... at least a dozen questions would be off my lips and wanting an answer but he just smiles at me, soft and warm.

"Are you okay?" I ask him and my voice is all tender mercies just for him.

He nods at me. I wonder if he cannot or will not speak. Either way is interesting but I wish I knew because one would mean one thing and one would mean another.

"I'm here to take care of you, Max. I understand you're going to be laid up with this injury for a few weeks and I rather thought you might like having someone at your beck and call ... but I warn you, don't get used to it."

Earning this deep chuckle from him even as his eyes grow serious on me. His hand touches my jaw and in this instant, I realize it's not just a matter of choice for him ... he will not speak just then because he cannot trust himself with the words that want to come out. I edge in toward him, sliding in between his knees that widen as far as they can so I will come as close as possible to him. My hands are now on his thighs ... now his wrists ... now his shoulders ... and now my fingertips on his nape, feeling the gentle hair there. Even as I nestle in and gather him into my hold, I am taking shallow breaths of Max. My lips press in gently along his jaw and I linger there.

"How did you know?" he finally asks me in that low, deep voice of utter masculinity as he decisively returns this hug of union. And now, I see, he feels strong and safe ... he feels my spirit is sheltering his for a moment.

"You told me," I say to him, because I know what he really wants to know is not how I found out about his injury but how I knew to come to him like this and how I knew he needed me to come to him like this. To come to him not when I needed him, but when he needed me. Without him having to even ask.

"I did not," he replies ... unsure if he wants me to have read him this well but sure I care this much now.

"There are many ways of saying something," I say to him and feel his lips smile against my neck. "I just listened better this time."

He had come to me in that last visit because I'd asked him to. But he'd also come because it was the one thing he would have asked if he'd felt he could have. He's always been afraid that if he asks too much, I will bolt from him like a frightened, injured animal. That I won't recognize he's not just trying to help me, but that he needs me in ways that I have to understand even when he doesn't. He hadn't wanted to worry me about the danger in the mission he was on yet he'd still wanted to, as he'd once said, set his affairs in order before heading off into battle. There's a frailty in Max that he hates to show and when he gives me these glimpses of it, he must have no idea of how he makes me admire and trust him all the more.

We are a pair. Both wounded by past loves lost in cruel ways. Both certain love is only given to us to be taken away. Both resolutely unwilling to give up the conflicting dream that somewhere out there is another love that is ours to keep and ours to enjoy ... and now rewarded with this most unlikely of all loves we're sharing.

This may not be the love either of us envisioned nor is it likely to be the love either of us would have chosen. And for sure, I believe, we neither of us quite know what exactly it is we are supposed to do about or with this love. But then, I think neither of us choose easy paths in life so perhaps this is fitting that we have found ourselves here ... staking out new ground and trusting each other in ways we'd least expected would end up feeling right.