Brogan was silent for so long, with his head bowed and his eyes closed, that she had almost fallen asleep, when she felt herself being gently lifted in his arms . . .
She awoke hours later. It was still dark outside. Her head was still on Brogan's shoulder, but she was no longer sitting on the chair. Remembering where she was, she caressed the hair of his chest with her palm. His breathing was deep and regular. She sighed and snuggled closer. He stirred and kissed her forehead.
"Are you going to regret this now?" he said, his breath warm against her temple.
"My only regret," she replied, "is that we waited so long."
"Are you still drunk?" he chided.
She smiled privately to herself. "A little, I suppose. You'd better take advantage while it lasts."
"And what of tomorrow?" he said.
"Tomorrow?" she said, and sighed. "This IS tomorrow."
It was early in the morning. Brogan awoke with the fragrance of Dorain's hair in his nostrils. She was still asleep, yet she clung to him fervently. He sighed and stroked her back, feeling wonder at the emotions she brought out in him . . . a warm feeling of protectiveness mixed with a deep sense of foreboding.
`I'm going to lose you.' The thought was as a sharp pain in his chest.