The contact was broken abruptly. Freya let out her breath slowly, all too aware that she should be feeling relief, not feeling bereft. There was seduction in his hypnotic voice, his masculine laughter, in their very conversation. She ached with the same loneliness as he did. She didn't allow herself to think of the way her body had come alive at the touch of his fingers. Burned. Wanted. Needed. And he had only touched her with his mind.
The seduction was far more than physical; it was some deep, elemental thing she could not precisely put her finger on. He touched her inside her soul. His need. His darkness. His terrible, haunting loneliness. She needed, too. Someone to understand what it was like being so alone, so afraid to have an intimate relationship with another being, afraid to be too close. She liked his voice, the Old World elegance, the silly male arrogance. She wanted his knowledge, his abilities.
