This prologue has been composed of select excerpts from the last few chapters of Desire.

disclaimer: I own nothing.

"The need for devotion to something outside ourselves is even more profound than the need for companionship...for no man can live for himself alone." – Ross Parmenter

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prologue

He stopped when he saw her, her hair a river of pure moonlight as she paced the floor. She sighed, then sat rather abruptly at a desk in the corner and began scribbling away at something.

He watched her, for the first time in his life feeling awkward about it. That can't be a good sign, he thought, and smirked.

Some unseen force must have alerted her to his presence, for she dropped the pen and stiffened. "Who's there?" she called, trying to seem imposing, he knew, but her voice was trembling.

"I knew there was a reason you chose dance over acting," he said, stepping from the shadows. She spun around to face him, and he continued, "That attempt at bravado could not have fooled anyone. Least of all me."

Her blue eyes were wide, but she did not look as if she were about to scream. "You came back," she murmured, stepping hesitantly towards him.

"Yes."

"But…but why? You were supposed to leave—Erik, you could have been killed—"

"Well, I haven't…unless, of course, you intend on raising the alarm on me right now."

Her expression hardened, defiant, bold. "I would never do a thing like that."

"'Never say never.'"

She smiled wickedly, moving steadily closer. "Well, I did. And what are you going to do about it?"

He raked his predatory glance over her, causing her to visibly shiver. "It doesn't look like I can do anything about it, Meg," he replied, his voice a lulling whisper. He reached out, bringing his fingers of ice to her delicate cheek, something—not quite love, yet not quite lust—coursing through his veins. And then, as she slowly brought her lips to meet his, he thought of the correct term.

Desire.

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"Are you sure this is what you want?" he whispered, musical, yet strained.

"Yes," she breathed, and, taking one of his hands in her own, led him in the general direction of her bed.

They stood there, facing each other, in silence, comfortable, tense. She watched his features, the way the moonlight played on his face, the grace and pure musical rhythm of his breathing. "You're beautiful," she whispered, overwhelmed, bringing her hand to rest on his hollow cheek.

He smiled, seemingly amused. "As are you…infinitely more so," he replied, and kissed her, folding her into a gentle, demanding embrace.

After several minutes, Meg, overwhelmed, pulled him closer to the bed, but Erik, seeing the direction she was headed, balked, pulling her to the floor instead. Not expecting the sharp tug of resistance, she fell heavily on top of him, breathless and embarrassed. "Erik…" she began, apologetic, curious, and desperate all at once, but he stopped her, placing his hand over her mouth softly, before teasing it lazily down her neck and arm, lingering tantalizingly at the soft curve of her breast.

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He came to crisis first, she immediately following, and she was shocked to discover an incredible warmth, a glow, coming from him and settling itself deep within her, flooding her being and completing her. It was the most amazing thing she had ever experienced, and she felt it, on her expression, in her body language, even reverberating from the depths of her very soul.

He relaxed, resting his full weight against her, burying his face in her neck. "Thank you," he murmured, his lips brushing lightly against her skin. "Thank you, thank you, thank you…"

She sighed, content, and closed her eyes, concentrating all of her available will-power on holding his now-soft form inside of her, but to no avail; he slipped out of her, at the same time rolling off of her and onto the floor next to her. "Hold me," she whispered, and, to her surprise and delight, he did just that, scooting closer to her and enveloping her in his arms as they lay together in comfortable silence, broken only by their breathing.

He disentangled himself from her and stood after a few blissful moments, but she remained on the floor, basking in the warm afterglow of their lovemaking and the cold, impartial light of the moon, her eyes closed, her lips parted slightly, ruby red, a stark contrast to the milky-softness of her bare skin. "You look like Diana," he observed quietly, pausing for a moment in his quest to locate his trousers.

"Who?" she asked, nothing moving but her lips and her chest as she uttered the word.

"Diana…the goddess of the moon."

"Oh." She sat up, looked at him. "But, isn't she a virgin?"

His single, fluid movement of pulling on the aforementioned trousers split into two as he paused slightly, caught off-guard by her forwardness. "Venus, then," he amended.

"That's better." She smiled. "No one's ever called me a goddess before, you know."

"There's a first for everything," he said, stooping down to collect his shirt and pulling it on.

She stood, stretching, arching her back and throwing her arms over her head, exposing her naked breasts. "Tonight's full of firsts, isn't it? For both of us."

He looked up at her, previously consumed with buttoning his shirt, but quickly turned his head, thinking she would want some measure of privacy, and not have him ogling her. "Yes. I suppose so." He sat at the edge of the bed, staring at his feet, waiting until she got dressed to look up; this being the case, he was startled when the weight center of the mattress shifted, and he felt a lingering kiss on one of his horrific cheeks. He whipped his head around, met her eyes…she was sitting beside him, still naked, now resting her head against his shoulder. He looked at her, merely sitting there, content, and his heart swelled with wonder. How was it that she could be so comfortable with him? How was it that she could tolerate him, could bear to have him touch her…? "Meg?" he said, his voice a little hoarse.

"Yes?"

He kissed the top of her head. "Come away with me."

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"I'm ready," she said, picking up her bag and turning to face him.

"You're absolutely sure about all of this? There's no turning back, once we leave this room."

"So somber," she remarked with a smile. "Yes, I'm sure. I wouldn't have given myself to you, had I not been."

"Very well," he replied, feeling somewhat pleased with himself. His expression softening a little as he looked at her, he continued, "But, I warn you, I cannot promise you a pleasant life."

"I understand."

He nodded, and made his way silently through the house, Meg on his heels. He paused by the front door, waiting for her to put on her shoes.

"Erik?"

He turned around to look at her in the darkness. "Yes?"

"I love you."