shadow. “He personified the revolution, from the beginning to the last battle. Passionate and irreverent, and determined. Always ready to die for his beliefs. He was Lazar’s best friend. It’s his grief I cannot bear because it reminds me… because everything rushes—”
He broke off with an almost angry shake of his head. With quick sympathy, she stepped closer and threw her arms around his neck, drawing his head down and pressing her cheek against his.
He shuddered once and stood perfectly still. Only when she began to draw back did he bring his arms up to hold her. A rush of awareness flooded her. Suddenly, he was too large, too…physical. His arms were strong and firm, his body lean and hard against hers, forcing her to recognize the powerful attraction that had always been there.
His cheek, warm and slightly rough, moved against hers. His lips trailed across her jaw, setting every nerve tingling in wonder. To be kissed by such a man, this man with the haunted, beautiful face and the strong, urgent body of a soldier…
He dragged his parted lips over hers, making her gasp, and then his mouth fastened on hers and her world exploded.
In her past, a couple of desperate suitors had attempted to persuade her with kisses that had left her quite unmoved. She had never experienced, never truly imagined passion like this—searing, raw, powerful. His mouth moved hungrily on hers, strong and invasive and entirely wonderful. Without conscious thought, she kissed him back, pressing herself against him, seizing and caressing the soft, thick hair at the back of his neck. Desire, sheer emotion, battered at her, blotting out everything else. There was only Dragan.
He swung her around, trapping her between the cold, stone wall and his warm body. A soft moan of pleasure and need escaped her. He cupped her face with his hands, gentle now, softly caressing as he slowly detached his mouth from hers.
Stricken, she opened her dazed eyes to meet his, hot and clouded, devouring her.
“Why are you so kind to me?” he whispered.
She drew a shaky breath. “I’m kind to everyone.” She paused, then added, in the interests of honesty, “Nearly everyone.”
A breath of laughter shook him. His gaze dropped to her lips, and her stomach plunged once more in a way that was curiously exciting. Her desire and the recognition of his still overwhelmed her.
“Will you dance with me?” he asked huskily.
For an instant, she was confused before she picked up the strains of violin music inside. Even so, she frowned with incomprehension. “Why?”
“Because I don’t trust myself alone with you out here any longer.” Very slowly, he peeled himself back from her, and her hands fell back to her sides. Her body seemed to scream with loss, but at the same time, the real world and sanity began to seep back.
She swallowed. “I suppose this is hardly discreet.” Her hands trembled as she ran them over her miraculously still pinned hair.
“Sorry,” he murmured, brushing stray dirt from the wall off her back. She shivered at his touch. Every nerve was wildly sensitive.
He opened the door and bowed her inside before him. When he placed her hand on his arm, everything in her leapt once more.
With a hint of desperation, she blurted, “I wanted to tell you what I learned this afternoon.”
She was still talking about her discoveries at the soup kitchen as they reentered the hall, his head inclined toward her as he refocused his attention. Was she relieved or piqued that it seemed to be so easy for him? For her, the subject felt curiously like a lifeline to a drowning victim.
“Apparently,” she finished, “this Goddard who was arrested was a bit of a dandy, so perhaps he really did fool Nancy into believing he was a gentleman, especially if he was inclined toward her cause.”
“Yes, but why would he kill her?” Dragan demanded.
Griz, distracted by the music, took a moment to answer. The fiddler was playing a slow, beguiling tune, and the couple in Hungarian costume were dancing, sedately turning together, separating, advancing and retreating, and turning once more. Then, suddenly, the music’s rhythm sped up, and the dancers were spinning, almost flying through the steps.
Griz blinked, forcing herself back to the reasons why Goddard might have killed Nancy. “Because she had found out about him and told the police? After all, he and his people were all arrested the next day. Is that the famous czardas?”
“Yes,” he answered, sparing the dancers a mere glance. “But none of