Tombstone studied her. She had slender legs with ankle high boots and shorts that hugged well shaped thighs. Her breasts were heaving nervously, stretching her tee shirt so her cropped jacket opened. Her fingers left the door and threaded through her spiked black hair, and she slowly turned to face him.

Felicity sensed him standing in the darkness, though she could not see him. Her nerves were tingling with warning, but the fear merely served to excite her. Something drew her towards him, though she was certain it could not be her own power. That was gone, banished to the back of her mind and sealing tightly behind banging, locking doors with each step she took.

Her hand reached into the shadows and he struck like a snake. He gripped her wrist and slammed her into the wall, crushing her into the rough planks, clasping his hand around her throat and forcing her to look into his incredible eyes. Felicity only gasped in helpless surprise, an yet she felt a deep arousal as he held her.

Tombstone knew that she would not scream. Something within him told him she would not struggle. He looked into her eyes and saw fear, but it was an excited fear, dripping with desire. He released her and drew back his hands as if he had been scalded, but his body kept pressing her into the wall. Breasts heaved, panting against his chest, and their eyes remained locked.

Tombstone heard footsteps behind him, and then Jude said quietly, “We need to go. There was a bar on the back door, but someone forgot to put it back.”

“Me,” Felicity whispered. She left that way at dawn, as soon as she knew that the maintenance workers had disarmed the security system. Over the years, she figured Ike replaced it to cover for her.

Tombstone grabbed her wrist, and Felicity followed them on stiff legs. Tears began sliding silently down her cheeks, and the empty hollow feeling from years of waiting seemed to disappear. No matter what the man had planned for her, she knew that it was for him she had waited. Felicity had finally recognized his eyes.

When they were in the cool air of the ally, she stared at the opened trunk of the black car. She felt something jab into her arm and her mind began to fog. The steel grip was still on her wrist, and as her legs began to buckle an arm wrapped under her breasts. She looked up into the man’s eyes. “Jerald Fry,” she murmured.

As her eyes closed, she heard a deep voice whisper, “Tombstone.”