Suddenly realizing the compromising position she was in, Buffy slid off of Angel's lap and out of his arms. She sat on the edge of the bed beside the vampire, her arms wrapped tightly around her abdomen. Desperately, Buffy tried to fight the feelings welling up inside; she didn't want to admit it, but for the first time in months, she felt safe. Cared for.

Loved.

Scooting farther away from Angel, Buffy tugged at the silk shirt, uncomfortably aware of how much of her figure it revealed. Despite the fact that the voluminous garment hung nearly to her knees and the cuffs were rolled three times, the thin, white silk clung jealously to the curves she normally kept hidden beneath shapeless, colorless clothing. "Um. . . I should probably be going home. . . " she whispered.

Angel watched the tiny Slayer, wanting to be amused by the sweet combination of girlish modesty and defiant sensuality. "You don't have to. In fact, it would be better if you stayed. . . " When Buffy looked up at him with a wary expression, the vampire held up his hands. "To rest and heal. I promise. You need to sleep, Buffy, you took quite a bump on the head."

"I'm fine." And, as if to prove it, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up.

She promptly squeaked in pain as her lacerated feet protested. Catching her around the waist, Angel lifted her back onto the bed. Tenderly, he lay her in the middle of the huge mattress. "Can't you behave for just a minute? Relax, you deserve it."

Angel tucked Buffy under the covers, pulling the satin sheets up to her chin. She was gazing up at him, a guarded look in her eyes. He smiled and reached down to smooth away a strand of golden hair. His fingers trailed over her cheek and he marveled at the heated softness of it, like sunwarmed velvet warmed.

"You are so lovely, Buffy. Don't ever forget that, okay?"

He turned away as her green eyes began to fill with tears. Reaching forward, he turned off the table lamp, then moved away.

Almost to the door, Angel heard Buffy's voice call out in the darkness, sounding so young and vulnerable.

"Angel?"

Pausing with his hand on the doorknob, the vampire turned to look at her, his night vision easily picking out her figure. "Yeah?"

"Why are you so nice to me? Why do you do this?"

"Because I love you. I always have."

Buffy waited until the door shut softly behind him before giving into the sobs choking her throat.

Angel pressed his forehead to the door, listening to Buffy cry herself to sleep, his own tears running unchecked down his face.

The day dawned overcast and drizzly and when Buffy awoke in Angel's bed, she found herself forgetting, for just a moment, that she wasn't at home in her own bed, the homey sounds of her mother doing housework or cooking breakfast just on the other side of the door.

Opening her eyes, Buffy pushed the painful memory into the deepest recesses of her mind.

To her surprise, she felt good, better than she had in a long time. She felt for the lump on the back of her head, only to find it had disappeared. Her feet still hurt a little, but, when she looked, she saw that the cuts had healed over nicely.

After using the bathroom and washing her tear-stained face, Buffy carefully opened the door into the hallway, listening for any sound that would give away Angel's presence. Hearing nothing, she followed the dim corridor into a large room. A fire burned merrily in the huge grate and she could see Angel laying on a couch facing the hearth, a light blanket draped over his legs. A book lay open on the floor beside his hand, obviously dropped there when he fell asleep.

Buffy crept closer, her eyes falling to the vampire's bare chest and stomach, as smooth and pale as alabaster. The faint shadows of the scars inflicted by the vampire Willow had finally faded, no longer marring the perfection. The Slayer could see that, from the position of the blanket, he was either naked or barely dressed. To her horror, a languid heat filled her belly, making her knees quiver and her heart pound.

He was beautiful.

And he wants me. . .she thought to herself.

Kneeling beside the couch, hardly daring to breathe for fear of waking him, she studied him, taking in the ebony sweep of his impossibly long eyelashes laying against his cheeks; his sculpted lips, softened in sleep.

He's a vampire, Summers! The thing that you spend your nights killing!

He lay so still, his sleep mimicking death; only the movement of his closed eyes betraying his life. Carefully, Buffy extended her hand, palm down, holding it centimeters above his chest. No heat radiated from his skin; only the stolen warmth from the fire.

He loves me. . .

Her gaze traveled from his face to his chest, skipping over the small, rose-colored nipples and moving farther down. A faint line of hair, black against his pale, flat stomach, traced a line beneath the blanket. She wanted to touch it, let it curl around her fingers. She wanted to touch him, feel for herself the cool silk of his skin.

Crazy. . .you are certifiably nuts. . .

"Did you sleep well ?"

With a startled gasp, Buffy pulled her hand away and looked up to find Angel gazing at her, an amused smile curving his lips. "Oh! Oh, God, I'm sorry. . .I was. . . I was just. . ." She felt her face flame as she was caught red-handed.

Completely mortified, Buffy jumped to her feet, wincing at the sharp little prickles of pain. "Um. . . I need to go. . .I was just going to tell you that. . . " she babbled as she started to back away. Angel raised up on one elbow and reached out for her hand.

"When are you going to let me kiss you?"

Buffy gaped at him. "K-kiss. . .me?"

He smiled, his eyes warm and drowsy. "I've been wanting to kiss you since the day you rescued me."

Buffy tried to pull away, but Angel tightened his grip. "I. . . you can't. . . it isn't. . ."

"Normal? Natural? Why don't we find out?"

"N-no. . . I don't think. . ." Buffy protested, tugging on her hand, but he held her fast.

With a single pull, Buffy found herself in Angel's arms. He gathered her close until he was eye level with her silk-covered stomach. He smiled up at her, a sly gleam reflected in his gaze.

Buffy gasped as he pressed his lips to her stomach, low down, near her navel. His large hands spanned her slender waist as he held her close.

Her clenched fists gathered handfuls of white silk, unknowingly drawing the shirt higher on her thighs. Her mind blanking as Angel's lips slid over the thin shield of fabric covering her torso, Buffy felt her knees tremble and start to give way. Feeling her weakness, Angel pulled her onto the sofa with him, straddling his lap, her firm thighs sandwiching his.

Bending her backwards so that he could reach her stomach, Angel smoothed the silk higher, baring her flushed skin to his gaze. Buffy tried to push him away, but her resolve was fading with every soft kiss, every tiny sweep of his tongue as he tasted her. Slowly, she lifted one hand from his shoulder to tentatively sink into his thick, dark hair.

Angel lifted his head to look up at the girl on his lap. Buffy's eyes were closed and the expression on her face was one of wonder. Lips parted, her breath coming in soft gasps, she arched into his touch, like a kitten eager for the affection of its master. His passion for her was raging and he wanted, more than anything, for her to feel the same way. He wanted to lavish her with kisses, fill his hands with her tender flesh.

He wanted her to love him as much as he loved her.

Buffy opened her eyes slowly as she felt Angel's fingers slip the buttons of her shirt open, his cool hands pushing the silk off her shoulders, leaving her completely exposed. Although embarrassed, she let him pull the shirt from her arms, dropping it on the floor beside the sofa. She was confused by the emotions rampaging through her; she didn't know what word to give to the fiery heat beginning to spread through her belly, making her damp and trembly. With the one hand still tangled in Angel's hair, she pulled his head back, her bewildered eyes searching his face for any sign of duplicity.

All she saw was lust, raw and hungry, reflected in his chocolate-brown gaze.

It terrified her.

Tearing herself out of his grasp, Buffy retrieved the shirt, frantically buttoning it over her nudity, her fingers clumsy. "I-I'm sorry! Really, I don't know what came over me. . . I d-don't, well, I never. . . you know. . . "

Angel rose to his feet, catching the blanket around his waist. Buffy stumbled back a step, catching her heel on the hearth steps. As he reached out to break her fall, she jerked back from him with a soft cry.

"No! No, please, don't. . . I-I just can't. . . I'm sorry!" With a last longing glance at the vampire, Buffy turned and ran back into the bedroom.

"Where are my damned clothes?" she muttered to herself. The grey cargo pants and black tank were nowhere to be found and she couldn't very well walk home barefooted and dressed in a white silk shirt that barely left anything to the imagination. She threw open the door to the armoire, but saw only Angel's neatly-folded clothes.

"Here. I rinsed out your things."

Buffy whirled around at the sound of Angel's voice. He was standing in the doorway, her tank and pants in one hand, black combat boots in the other. She glared at him. "You can put them on the bed and then get out."

Even as she said the words, her tone sharp and childish, she regretted them. Angel's eyes darkened, his mouth tightening in hurt. He walked over to the bed and lay the clothing on the rumpled bedding. Buffy flushed when he put her white cotton panties on top of the pile.

With neither a word nor glance, he left the room, shutting the door behind him. The tears that had become commonplace in Buffy's life ever since she had come to Sunnydale welled up in her eyes.

She despised her weakness, the endless craving for affection that ate at her dying soul. She wanted to feel nothing, be nothing, until it was time to die. She hadn't bargained on Rupert Giles and she sure as hell hadn't bargained on Angel.

With a shriek of rage, Buffy picked up one of her heavy boots and threw it at the door.