How had her life come to this? That was the question that ran rampant in her mind as she walked down the corridor. Her heart was tripping with nervousness even as her body thrummed with excitement. The warring emotions within her almost made her turn back, as they always did. Yet as always she surged forward.

He was waiting for her. She shouldn't have been surprised; he always reached their meeting places before she did. Yet when she opened the door and saw him there, his back to her as he looked out at the city, she wondered how he always got there first. She stood in the doorway, taking in the way his large frame blocked out most of the view. The room was dark except for the city lights coming in through the window.

The fact that he booked a second room under an assumed name didn't bother her. The single room on the second floor of the hotel they were staying at for the night was perfect, though. No one had seen her take the elevator. No one would notice that she wasn't in her room for the time being. They were hidden from the world. Their last meeting had taken place in an empty room at the venue. There had been no time to enjoy the warmth of his embrace, no time to be lulled by the softness of his voice against her ear. Though their times together had been frequent over the past year she could recall each one with razor-sharp detail.

That first night, inhibitions lowered with alcohol. She could still feel the roughness of denim against her thighs. She could still hear the surprise in her own voice when she'd questioned his asking her to his room. Months of seemingly harmless flirting and the occasional lingering look had culminated in a passionate explosion against his door.

There had been only a small amount of guilt in the breathless moments that followed. Then he had kissed her. She hadn't looked back sense.

She closed the door behind her with a gentle click. He was already turning around, a smile on his face. That small, tender smile that send the ghosts of worry out of her vision. His arms, which had been folded over his chest, fell to his sides and she was spurred forward. They met halfway and the second his arms wrapped around her she felt all her worries dissipate. The scrape of his facial hair against her cheek sent a shiver down her spine. She grasped at his shirt when their lips met, already stepping out of her shoes.

Time was of the essence. It had been over two weeks since she'd had the pleasure of being intimate with him. His tongue brushed over her lips and she felt her knees grow weak.

He lifted her against him as their tongues dueled for dominance; she gave in when he released a throaty growl. Her back met the mattress and he was over her, their hands scrambling to remove the barriers of clothing. His lips moved to her throat, his breath like molten lava over her skin. Diligent fingers used to the haste of their times together made quick work of buttons and zippers. Her blood roared in her ears as his hands stroked her body, bringing her to a feverish height.

The crinkle of a condom wrapper. The words he always whispered at this moment.

"Are yeh ready love?"

Yes. Her eyes drifted shut, her head fell back, her lips parted in a breathy response. Their bodies joined and she couldn't hold back the soft cry of delight. Trembling fingers slid into his hair. His lips covered hers again.

He was everywhere. Inside her, over her, surrounding her with his warmth, softness and unmasked strength. She yielded to his touch. Submissive to the core when with him, she would have granted him anything. Her fingers clawed at his back, her legs tightened around his waist. Her breathing became little more than ineffectual gasps. His lips slanted over hers and she drank in the taste of him. Tea, mint, his favorite whiskey, and the slightest hint of strawberry ice cream.

"Stephen," she breathed when their lips parted. She tucked her face against his neck, longing to lose herself in him completely. But the ghosts of her life remained, hovering in her peripheral vision. Making it impossible to forget.

"Le Chéile." The huskiness of his voice only intensified his Irish brogue. Though she wasn't quite sure of the meaning, she arched upwards, clutching him, and his next whisper sent her over the edge. "Together."

She was barely aware of his final surge; his shout of delight was faraway as she mentally took flight. The metaphorical explosion seemed all too real. He was too much. This was too much. Letting her head fall back, she gave in to the sensations, the ghosts at last floating away. If only for a moment.

He called to her and she opened her eyes, blinking slowly in the soft glow of the lamp. One corner of his mouth tilted up in a smile. He caught her lips in a tender kiss, not breaking away until he had shifted to lie beside her. The thickly muscled arms drew her close and she let her head fall to his chest, her palm resting over the pound of his heart.

"How long did yeh have?" His voice was barely above a whisper.

She could have ignored the question. She had known it was coming and her intense hatred for it didn't diminish as the words broke the spell of their lovemaking. Frowning because she knew he couldn't see her face, she idly traced an hour over his heart as another question rose in her mind. Was it lovemaking? She supposed it could just be sex, but what about the times they just talked? What about the way he always knew what to say to make her feel better? Had she inadvertently fallen in love with him? Wetting her lips, she whispered, "An hour, give or take. He's meeting with Vince."

The bed shifted as he leaned to glance at the clock on the nightstand. "Forty-five minutes left," he murmured.

She nodded. As though they truly had a full hour. All too soon she would have to leave his arms. The coldness would invade again. The ghosts, having returned to the sideline now, would be front and center. And she would fall asleep, dreaming of him. Wishing she could smell him even as she hoped his scent didn't linger on her skin. Praying that they would be together again soon.

Precious moments passed like seconds. Stephen broke the silence again. "Does he suspect?"

"No," she promised after consideration. It was impossible. He was too caught up in his own life, his own problems. She was sure of it and selfishly hoped he would continue to do so, even though she was certain that everything would come crashing down around her soon.

Soon. Four letters that were always in the back of her mind. I'll be with him soon. I have to leave soon. He'll be back soon. Soon he'll find out. Soon I'll lose either one or both.

"Ná caoin." His hands swept through her hair tilting her head back so he could look into her eyes. "Ah knew yeh were cryin'. Don't cry, love. We'll work everythin' out."

Again she nodded. There was nothing she could say to convince him – or herself – that things would be better. Not when they both knew that everything would become worse before it got better. She didn't resist when his lips found hers again.

The ghosts attempted to shift closer to the center, but with one touch Stephen swept them away. He brought her over him, words she still didn't know rolling off his tongue. This time it was different. There was no hurrying. No rush. Focused only on him, she could forget about the life that awaited her. With his hands stroking her back, his lips trailing down he neck, she could forget everything. Even the ghosts were gone. For now.a

For a few moments. But they would return.

Soon.

A/N: to be continued?