Okay, let's try this again! This is my revision of the chapters that I didn't like. I hope they sound better ;) Basically, if you read this before, just forget everything because it'll be addressed differently here. This story is very near and dear to me, so I hope you all like it too. I've written this story twice before, the first time being when I was twelve, the second when I was sixteen, so four years later, I decided to try my hand again. Who knows, in another four years, maybe I'll give it another shot. Hmmm . . . okay, now on with the story!!!

An Eternity With You

Chapter One

Reborn

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To live in hearts we leave behind
Is not to die.
--Thomas Campbell, Hallowed Ground

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Heritage, Michigan

October 2005

October in Michigan is the ever clichéd box of chocolate, and not delicious Godiva chocolate, either. You never know what you're going to fucking get. In years past, snow would flurry by the time Halloween rolled around, and in other years, milder weather would push the temperatures into the upper seventies.

This year, chillier temps had stayed steady through the last week of October and it had been rainy for the last several days. The wind whipped around the house, whistling briskly. Leaves fell and were helplessly caught in the wind, and the cold ground was covered in them. People were starting to pull out their warmer clothes and coats and children were playing indoors and hoping that the rain would disappear in time for Halloween.

Abby Coleman huddled under a thick, skull patterned fleece blanket with the television on and the heat in the house tweaked up a few degrees. The soft flicker of the TV fell open on her near-sleeping features, accentuating high cheekbones and pale skin. Silken hair fell past her shoulders in a cascade of red. Her head was leaning back on the backing of the couch and her knees were drawn into her chest with only her purple-tipped toes peaking out.

Friday nights at home were becoming more commonplace. It seemed that somewhere in a combination of poor weather, absent parents, college, and a serious lack of friends, Abby was turning into quite the twenty-year-old homebody.

Reaching over, she grabbed her cell phone and checked the time before sighing and plopping her head back down. A horror movie flashed before her and, as all bad movies go, there was the scene where, if not for well placed sheets and the strategic placement of a feminine thigh, it would be called pornography. The sighs and moans were disgustingly overacted, and Abby rolled her eyes and growled in frustration.

"The fact that you make me watch these movies, knowing full well that there is a sex scene in it, doesn't say a lot about your character," Abby said, turning her eyes to the man next to her. His black eyes never left the screen, and for a moment she didn't think he was going to answer her.

"You know damn well that these B-movies wouldn't be worth a fuck if not for the porn."

She heard the aggravated edge to his voice and turned her whole body so that she was facing him. He hadn't changed at all in their three years of friendship. He was tall and held a lean strength that she had never seen before, or since, she met him. His face was sculpted, pale, and the two focal points were his striking deep-set eyes and his firm, sensual lips. Yet if there was anything to truly notice about him, the one thing that had probably kept many women up at night sighing, it was his hands. They were full and masculine and might well have been carved from alabaster. She had once heard a classmate of hers refer to Reese as "sex incarnate." Abby had to say that she didn't disagree. He definitely had the components of the bad boy, reluctant hero of a romance novel.

"That doesn't mean that I want to see it," she said, making a face and holding a hand up to the left side of her face to prevent her eyes from wandering to the screaming couple onscreen.

"Don't be such a prude," he said, sneering as though that were the worst type of person that one could be. Reaching out, he grabbed her hand and forcefully placed it back in her lap.

"It's not a matter of being prudish; it's a matter of me not being a pervert."

"Pervert or not," he said as his voice went low. "You have to admit . . . ."

Her cell phone rang at that moment. The ring tone churned out Papa Roach and Abby paused a moment to bob her head to the music. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she flipped up the top and placed it to her ear.

"Hello," she said, waiting to hear the voice of one of her vacationing parents. She remembered from checking the phone earlier that it was almost eleven thirty, and she knew that there was a three hour time difference between her and her parents in Sacramento. They tried to call every night before they went out for dinner, but sometimes that didn't happen and she no problem with that, especially since this was their first vacation since their fifteenth anniversary—eight years ago.

"Abigail Coleman?" The voice was soft, gruff and lyrical. A shiver went through her when she heard her name attached to such a voice. It was barely above a whisper, but she could still detect a masculine, lilting British accent.

She remained silent. That voice nagged at the back of her mind to the point where she tried to search her memory for any recollection that accent.

"Miss Coleman, I am afraid you don't know me. At the risk of sounding foreboding, I've known you for many years, yet we have never met. There is a matter of . . . grave importance that I must discuss with you."

"If I don't know you, then the best thing for me to do is hang up," she said, moving her thumb swiftly to hit the 'end' button on her sleek, slim phone.

"You dream of me, Miss Coleman. You dream of a man with dark hair and green eyes, and in that dream you never quite know if you are yourself, or if you are merely the outer shell of another soul."

She stood and let the blanket flutter from her lap. Every fiber in her being came alive, the hair at the back of her neck stood on end, and the shocked, fearful look in her eyes caught Reese's attention as he stood and lifted her chin up with his thumb. Shaking her head, she walked to the other end of the room to a small leather chair and she fell back against the cool material.

"Even if I had these dreams," she started slowly. "You know nothing of me, or of them. And I am not so easily fooled into believing the ravings of a madman that will no-doubt try to weasel money from me in with some sort of psychic hoax. Now, I suggest you hang up before I call the cops."

Deep, throaty laughter floated through the earpiece and she absently lifted a hand to her throat as though the mere sensuality of that sound could harm her. Her eyes darted over to Reese, who was standing in the middle of the room with one fisted hand on his lean, black jean covered waist. He glanced at her with a neatly lifted eyebrow.

"Who the fuck is that?" he asked. However, she only nodded in response, not truly comprehending his question but realizing that he required an answer of some kind.

"You are a sharp one, my dear," the man on her phone said finally. "Such spirit cannot be denied. You are her. You are the one I have been searching for."

"You're insane," she couldn't help but say, as much as it grated her to do so. Several of the bad horror movies that Reese made her watch popped into her mind, and she inwardly cringed at her own behavior. She felt no better than one of the buxom blonde twits that constantly screamed, "Who's there?" even though they were half naked and would be better off locking themselves in a room, calling the police, and putting on some goddamn clothes.

"That's hardly the case, Abigail. My interest in you is one of unlocking the past. You and I are connected. If you feel it, my dear, feel that spark behind your eyes, that darkness that is cloaking the back of your mind, then I know you are indeed curious. I will call you tomorrow night. Until then . . . ." His voice drifted off as the line went dead, and she snapped her phone shut as she swallowed loudly. Dropping the phone to the armrest of the chair, she stood and walked to the window to peer out into the dark night.

Her insides churned as she recalled every syllable that he had uttered. Something about that voice was so familiar, so infinitely surreal, that she was tempted to . . . .

Turning back, she snatched up the phone again and flipped it open. Scrolling down the menu, she located her list of recent calls. Instant disappointment filled her when she saw that there was no name or number, just a marker of 'caller unknown' that served as proof that someone had made that call. She threw it back down in her annoyance.

"Abby!" Reese had said her name three times, ending his string of repetition by finally yelling it at her. She spun around to come face-to-face with him. "Who the fuck was that?"

"Prank caller," she said automatically. When she looked up at him, the set of his face revealed how furious he was.

"If you want to lie to me, that's fine, but don't pretend for one minute that you can fool me."

Reese couldn't be described as an emotional or sensitive man. If anything, he was more inclined to throw out a lewd joke and ignore any situation that was at hand rather than face what it was that required that he act like a legitimate human being. In three years, she had learned that this was who he was, despite the fact that he was an oddly attentive friend who seemed to have nothing better to do with his time than lounge around her house eating her food and watching cartoons with her dog. That's why it hit her between the eyes when she heard the raw emotion and anger behind his words.

"No, you're too smart to take anything at face value, aren't you?" she snapped quickly, glancing up at him.

He crossed his arms over his chest. "Damn right I take nothing at face value and you're not a liar or a bitch, so you need to change your tune real quick."

"Fine. Whatever," she said, shaking her head. "It was some sick whack-job claiming that I'm having dreams about him. How's that for a freak-me-out, Oh Master of the Horror Flick?"

"I'd say that sounds more like the truth," he said, stepping back so that she could move forward. "Are you scared?"

"No," she muttered. "Just creeped out. He sounded as though he knew me." She puffed out her cheeks and pursed her lips. "I just wish I knew how he got my number. The house number is listed, but my cell phone . . . ."

"It's pretty easy to filch numbers online," he said, waving her worries away. "You'd be surprised what you can get on people—social security information, arrest records . . . anything, really—with a credit card and a name out of the phone book."

"That's comforting," she muttered as she wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and flicked off the television. Her dog, a two year old German Sheppard named Brody, jumped up with his tongue out. "It's flattering to know that someone is privy to my vital life information as long as they have the cash for it."

"It's a cold, uncaring world we live in," he said. "Are you done being a bitch now?"

She turned and glared at him. "I guess," she sighed. She shook her head. "I'm calm."

"Good," he said, throwing his arm over her shoulders. "I knew you couldn't stay irritated at me." He shot her a smile that had no-doubt melted many hearts in his young life. Abby rolled her eyes at his quip and walked with him as they made their way to the stairs.

"What can I say, Reese—you are the king of charming your way out of a sticky situation. Like with Haley Bartlette."

An easy smile and a faraway look came into his eyes. "That was a good day."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she muttered. Then she expelled a long, tongue-curling yawn that sent a shiver down her spine. "That's my cue—I'm off to bed."

"So early," he whined in a voice that was both false and unbecoming. "Let's go clubbing."

"Sorry, Casanova, but the bar-scene isn't my thing. I'm chicken soup and a good book on a cold day."

"I suppose that makes me whiskey and sex on a steamy summer night." Reese's voice was smooth and soft in a way that had always fascinated Abby. She glanced up at him with a curious, thoughtful look. For all his banter, for all his crude, rough edges, and for all his philandering ways, he was very considerate of her.

That was why, when they reached the top of the stairs and entered into her bedroom, it was not usual or uncomfortable for them both to climb onto her bed and lay back. Abby turned onto her side to face her poster-covered wall. The black and purple themed room was located at the back corner of the upper level of the house and there were two windows on the adjoining walls that were covered by heavy drapes that prevented the early morning sun from penetrating the room and disturbing the sleep that seemed to be such a rare treat lately.

Pulling the blankets over her shoulders, she tucked her hand next to her cheek and sighed. The cool pillow reminded her how cold it was outside, as did the howling wind and the ping of rain against her window. Her pajama bottoms tangled warmly around her legs while her tank top kept her cool enough to not feel uncomfortable. Behind her, Reese fidgeted and tossed something to the floor. It landed with a clang.

"What was that?"

"Belt," he said as he sat up and drew his shirt over his head, leaving his chest bare. Abby turned and glanced at him in the blue-darkness of the room.

"It's a good thing my parents are away; if my Dad were to catch you half naked and continuing to strip in my presence, he would have had to kick your ass."

"As long as you were naked too, it would be well worth it," he said, and the up-tilt of his grin left a long, appealing dimple at the side of his mouth. However, when he looked down at her, he saw that her breathing was smooth and even, and her eyes had fallen shut as slumber over took her.

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The forest around her showed the early signs of fall as the leaves fell in colors of bronze and gold. The air was crisp, the dampness chilled her skin, and the heavy cloud cover threatened rain. Around her the woodland seemed too silent and still, with only bursts of wind and leaves to distract her from the deathly silence.

Her heart pounded in her chest.

This was so very wrong. If anyone discovered them here . . . . It was unthinkable. They would be ostracized and condemned for it—however innocent it was. A few stolen moments to converse and hold hands seemed more than they should ask for in this world of class and propriety. She realized now that when she had first met him, that day on the street corner surrounded by carriages and small shops, she should have turned and walked away, never to look back. Now . . . though . . . .

She smiled when she thought of him, when she saw his face in her mind's eye. He was devastating in his intellect and his spirit. Heaving out a sigh, she brought a hand up to her chest as it tightened.

"Oh, dear," she whispered to herself. "What have I done?"

She turned her eyes to the sky and breathed deeply of the fresh, cool air. She would make it through this. She would tell him that this was the last time that she would allow him in her company.

"Talking to yourself?" his voice sounded. He was just behind her and she could feel his breath on her neck.

"Always. I'm proficient at keeping my own company. How else was I to stay entertained before I met you?"

"I see," he said on a soft laugh. "And so you are your own best friend, then?"

"Hardly any more," she said, turning to watch him as he leaned back against a tree. "It seems as though the day is too long without a conversation with you."

"Conversation? Is that what you call our disputes?" He flashed her that smile, the one that had won her over that first day, and she found herself walking to him out of sheer magnetism.

"Disputes," she said, looking up at him.

"Quite," he whispered, his eyes raking over her. "We seem to argue as much as we are civil toward each other."

She turned her eyes to the ground as he spoke and a soft smile adorned her lips. It was true. All of their trysts ended in an argument and always with a plan to meet each other again in three days time.

"Have you ever wondered why we meet this way, Christian? Have you ever questioned our friendship?" She turned away and walked a bit before turning back. She wrung her hands together. "We're going to be found out eventually."

He sighed heavily and shook his head. She felt instantly reprimanded, like a small child.

"This isn't a sordid affair," he said, pushing away from the tree. "You are not my mistress. There is no cause for your guilt."

"It doesn't matter," she said, throwing out her hands in frustration. "That is what will be said of me."

"When did you begin to care what society thinks of you?"

Since I met you, she thought to herself.

Iris shrugged her shoulders. She was unable to meet his eyes.

He watched her. She wore a dull, brown dress that was devoid of all personality. Her hair was pulled into a severe bun at the nape of her neck, but her red curls refused to be tamed by pins as they escaped and fell around her face playfully. The delicate blue of her eyes was all the brighter on this dismal day.

"Do you believe that we shouldn't see each other anymore?" he asked, and he closed his eyes upon seeing her hesitant nod.

"How can you not see that this can only end badly?" Iris whispered, finding the courage to say the words that she dreaded. "All it takes is for one person to see us alone, one person with a vindictive spirit to tear us down."

"I'd never allow it."

She smirked. "As if you could stop everyone. There's only so much that the powerful Viscount Blackthorne could do."

"For that you would demand my absence from your life?"

"Yes." She walked forward until she stood toe- to-toe with him. "I would."

His hands shot out and grasped her arms, pulling her forward until she was pressed against the length of his body. She pushed at his chest and sucked in a sharp, angry breath.

His gaze, at that moment, held such a fury as to render her motionless.

"Never did I think that you would be like them, Iris," he spat. "Society does nothing but tear at people and crush their chances of happiness. I will not let them take you from me."

She swallowed loudly as he continued.

"I love you, and I will not let you send me away."

Finding a scrap of strength, she shoved away from him and brought up her hand. It connected severely with his cheek, snapping his head to the side. Turning, she ran through the forest as tears formed and blinded her way.

He was shouting at her. "If you cared for me at all, I'll be awaiting you tonight."

Fear gripped her chest heavily, because she knew that as much as she loved him, she would never be able to see him again . . . .

Okay, that's the new chapter one!!!! Chapter two should be out soon, but school is killing me this semester, but I'll try my best. Don't forget to review!!!