“We were engaged in a very intricate dance of touching without touching, knowing without saying, and feeling without expressing. We were friends walking along a ledge, a very thin ledge - and I was too caught up in my heightened awareness of his existence to realize how close the ledge was to crumbling beneath my feet.”

“Don’t move. I like this ledge of loose diamonds waiting to be spilled into the night. Let’s shine awhile without touching. Sensuality is, after all, a river that is always waiting.”

“I should’ve been a nun, he says, half aloud, as his feet leave the ledge.”

“And now - Plato's words mock me in the shadows on the ledge behind the flames: '...the men of the cave would say of him that up he went and down he came without his eyes.”

“Maybe this is not a come-down-from-the-ledge story. But I tell it with the thought that the woman on the ledge will ask herself a question, the question that occurred to that man in Bogota. He wondered how we know that what happens to us isn't good?”

“Don't be afraid."And then we were gone.Weightless.The ground at my feet suddenly disappeared along with everything else.A scream lodged in my throat, coming out broken and pathetic.And then we were sitting on a wide ledge. High above Jackson Square. Christ, he'd blinked me to - I gazed above me.Not just a ledge. Oh God, oh God, oh God."It helps if you breathe.""I think I might kill you," I said in a near whisper.Sebastian's shoulder bumped mine as he tried to hide a smile. "Well, you've got time, because we'll be up here for an hour or so before I have enough power again to get us down. I didn't think you'd be afraid of heights."I glared at him. "I'm not afraid of heights. I am, apparently, afraid of disappearing from solid ground and then reappearing on a ledge.”