Suzanna's Surrender

Chapter Nine

It wasn't candlelight and moonbeams, Suzanna thought, but it was a romance. She hadn't believed she would find it again, or want it. Flexing her back as she drove up the curving road to The Towers, she smiled.

Of course, a relationship with Holt Bradford was lined with rough edges, but it had its softer moments. She'd had a lovely time discovering them over the past few days. And nights.

There was the way he'd shown up at the shop once or twice, just before lunchtime. He hadn't said anything about the children, or her missing the routine – just that he'd come into the village for some parts and felt like eating.

Or how he'd come up behind her at odd moments to rub the tension out of her shoulders. The evening he'd surprised her after a particularly grueling day by dragging her and a wicker basket filled with cold chicken into the boat.

He was still demanding, often abrupt, but he never made her feel less than what she wanted to be. When he loved her, he loved her with an urgency and ferocity that left no doubt as to his desire.

No, she hadn't been looking for romance, she thought as she parked the truck behind Holt's car. But she was terribly glad she'd found it.

The moment she opened the door, Lilah pounced. “I've been waiting for you.”

“So I see.” Suzanna lifted a brow. Lilah was still in her park service uniform. Knowing her schedule, Suzanna was sure her sister had been home nearly an hour. As a matter of routine, Lilah should have been in her most comfortable clothes and spread out dozing on the handiest flat surface. “What's up?”

“Can you do anything with that surly hulk you've gotten tangled up with?”

“If you mean Holt, not a great deal.” Suzanna pulled off her cap to run her hands through her hair. “Why?”

“Right now, he's upstairs, taking my room apart inch by inch. I couldn't even change my clothes.” She aimed a narrowed glance up the steps. “I told him we'd already looked there, and that if I'd been sleeping in the same room as the emeralds all these years, I'd know it.”

“And he ignored you.”

“He not only ignored me, he kicked me out of my own bedroom. And Max.” She let out a hiss of breath and sat on the stairs. “Max grinned and said it was a damn good idea.” “Want to gang up tin them?”

A wicked gleam came into Lilah's eyes. “Yeah.” She rose then swung an arm over Suzanna's shoulders as they started up. “You're really serious about him, aren't you?”

“I'm taking it one step at a time.”

“Sometimes when you love someone it's better to take it by leaps and bounds.” Then she yawned and swore. “I missed my nap. It'd be satisfying if I could say I disliked that pushy jerk, but I can't. There's something too solid and steady under the bad manners.”

“You've been looking at his aura again.”

Lilah laughed and stopped at the top of the stairs. “He's a good guy, as much as I'd like to belt him right now. It's good to see you happy again, Suze.”

“I haven't been unhappy.”

“No, just not happy. There's a difference.”

“I suppose there is. Speaking of happy, how are the wedding plans coming?”

“Actually, Aunt Coco and the relative from hell are in the kitchen arguing over them right now.” She turned laughing eyes to her sister. “And having a delightful time. Our Great – Aunt Colleen is pretending she simply wants to make certain the event will live up to the Calhoun reputation, but the fact is, she's getting a big kick out of making guest lists and shooting down Aunt Coco's menus.”

“As long as she's entertained.”

“Wait until she gets hold of you,” Lilah warned. “She has some very creative ideas for floral arrangements.”

“Terrific.” Suzanna stopped in Lilah's doorway. Holt was definitely hard at work. Never particularly ordered, Lilah's room looked as though someone had scooped up every piece of furniture and dropped it down again like pick – up sticks. At the moment, he had his head in the fireplace, and Max was crawling on the floor.

“Having fun, boys?” Lilah said lazily.

Max looked up and grinned. She was mad, alt right, he thought. He'd learned to handle and enjoy her temper. “I found that other sandal you've been looking for. It was under the cushion of the chair.”

“There's good news.” She lifted a brow, noting that Holt was now sitting on

Lilah's hearth, looking at Suzanna. And Suzanna was looking at him. “You need a break, Max.”

“No, I'm fine.”

“You definitely need a break.” She walked in to take his hand and pull him to his feet. “You can come back and help Holt invade my privacy later.”

“I told you she wouldn't like it,” Suzanna said when Lilah dragged Max from the room.

“That's too bad.”

With her hands on her hips she surveyed the damage. “Did you find anything?”

“Not unless you count the two odd earrings and one of those lacy things we found behind the dresser.” He tilted his head. “You got any of those lacy things?”

“Not really.” She looked down at her sweaty T – shirt. “Up until a few days ago, I didn't think I'd need any.”

“You've got a real nice way of wearing denim, babe.” He rose, and since she wasn't coming any closer, moved to her. “And...” He ran his hands over her shoulders, down her back to her hips. “I get a real charge out of taking it off you.” He kissed her hard, in the deep and urgent way she'd come to expect. Then he nipped her bottom lip and grinned.

“But anytime you want to borrow one of those lacy things from Lilah...”

She laughed and gave him a quick, affectionate hug, the kind she gave so freely that never failed to warm him from the inside out. “Maybe I'll surprise you. How long have you been here?”

“I came straight from the site. Did you get the rest of those whatdoyoucallits in?”

“Russian olives, yes.” And her back was still aching. “You were a lot of help on the retaining wall.”

“You were out of your mind to think you could build that thing on your own.”

“I had a part – time laborer when I contracted.”

He shook his head and went back to searching the fireplace. “You may be tough, Suzanna, but you're not equipped to haul around lumber and swing a sledgehammer.”

“I'd have done it –”

“Yeah.” He glanced around. “I know.” He tested another brick. “It did look pretty good.”

“It looked terrific. And since you didn't swear at me more than half a dozen times when you were hefting landscape timbers, why don't I reward you?”

“Oh, yeah?” He lost his interest in the bricks. “I'll go get you a beer.”

“I'd rather have –”

“I know.” She laughed as she walked out. “But you'll have to settle for a beer. For now.”

It felt good, she thought, to be able to joke like that. Not to be embarrassed or edgy. There was no need to feet anything but content, knowing he cared for her. In time, they might have something deeper.

Full of energy and hope, she rounded the last step and turned into the hall. All at once, there was chaos.

She heard the dogs first, Fred and Sadie, barking fiendishly, then the clatter of feet on the porch and two high bellowing shouts.

“Mom!” Both Jenny and Alex yelled the single syllable as they burst into the house.

The rich and fast joy came first as she bent to scoop diem up in her arms. Laughing, she smothered them both with kisses as the dogs dashed in mad circles.

“Oh, I missed you. I missed you both so much. Let me look at you.” When she drew them back arm's length, her smile faltered. They were both on the edge of tears. “Baby?”

“We wanted to come home.” Jenny's voice trembled as she buried her face against her mother's shoulder. “We hate vacation.”

“Shh.” She stroked Jenny's hair as Alex rubbed a fist under his eyes.

“We were unmanageable and bad,” he said in a trembly voice. “And we don't care, either.”

“Just the attitude I've come to expect,” Bax said as he walked through the open front door. Jenny's arms tightened around Suzanna's neck, but Alex turned and threw out his Calhoun chin.

“We didn't like the dumb party, and we don't like you, either.”

“Alex!” Her tone sharp, she dropped a hand on his shoulder. “That's enough. Apologize.”

His lips quivered, but the stubborn gleam remained in his eyes. “We're sorry we don't like you.”

“Take your sister upstairs,” Bax said tightly. “I want to speak with your mother in private.”

“You and Jenny go in the kitchen.” Suzanna brushed a hand over Alex's cheek. “Aunt Coco's there.”

Bax took a careless swipe at Fred with his foot. “And take these damn mutts with you.”

“Cheri?” This from the svelte brunette who continued to hover in the doorway.

“Yvette.” Keeping her arms around the children, Suzanna rose. “I'm sorry, I didn't see you.”

The Frenchwoman waved distracted hands. “I beg your pardon, it's so confusing, I see. I just wondered – Bax, the children's bags?”

“Have the driver bring them in,” he snapped. “Can't you see I'm busy?”

Suzanna sent the frazzled woman a look of sympathy. “He can just leave them here in the hall. If you'd like to come into the parlor...go see Aunt Coco,” she told the children. “She'll be so happy you're back.”

They went, holding each other's hand, with the dogs prancing at their heels.

“If you could spare a moment of your time,” Bax said, then cast a glance up and down her work clothes, “out of your obviously fascinating day.”

“The parlor,” she repeated and turned. She struggled for calm, knowing it was essential. Whatever had caused him to change his plans and bring the children home a full week early was undoubtedly going to fall on her head. That she could handle. But the fact that the children had been upset was a different matter.

“Yvette –” Suzanna gestured to a chair “ – can I get you something?” “Oh, if you would be so kind. A brandy?”

“Of course. Bax?” “Whiskey, a double.”

She went to the liquor cabinet and poured, grateful her hands were steady. As she served Yvette, she thought she caught a glance of apology and embarrassment.

“Well, Bax, would you like to tell me what happened?”

“What happened began years ago when you had the mistaken idea you could be a mother.”

“Bax,” Yvette began, and was rounded on.

“Get out on the terrace. I prefer to do this privately.”

So that hadn't changed, Suzanna thought. She gripped her hands together as Yvette crossed the room and exited through the glass doors.

“At least this little experiment should have rid her of the notion of having a child.”

“Experiment?” Suzanna repeated. “Your visit with the children was an experiment?”

He sipped at the whiskey and watched her. He was still a striking man with a charmingly boyish face and fair hair. But temper, as it always had, added an edge to his looks that was anything but appealing.

“My reasons for taking the children are my concern. Their unforgivable behavior is yours. They haven't any conception of how to act in public and in private. They have the manners and dispositions of heathens and as little control. You've done a poor job, Suzanna, unless it was your intention to raise two miserable brats.”

“Don't think you can stand here and speak about them that way in my house.” Eyes dangerously bright, she walked toward him. “I don't give a damn if they fit your standards or not. I want to know why you've brought them back this way.”

“Then listen,” he suggested, and shoved her into a chair. “Your precious children don't have a clue what's expected of a Dumont. They were loud and unmanageable in restaurants, whiny and fidgety on the drive. When corrected they became defiant or sulky. At the resort, among several of my acquaintances, their behaviour was an embarrassment.

Too incensed for fear, Suzanna pulled herself out of the chair. “In other words, they were children. I'm sorry your plans were upset, Baxter, but it's difficult to expect a five – and six – year – old to present themselves as socially correct on all occasions. Even more difficult when they're thrust into a situation that wasn't any of their doing. They don't know you.”

He swirled whiskey, swallowed. “They're perfectly aware that I'm their father, but you've seen to it that they have no respect for that relationship.”

“No, you've seen to it.”

Deliberately he set the whiskey aside. “Do you think I don't know what you tell them? Sweet, harmless little Suzanna.” She stepped back automatically, pleasing him.

“I don't tell them anything about you,” she said, furious with herself for retreating.

“Oh, no? Then you didn't mention the fact that they had a bastard brother out in Oklahoma?”

So that was it, she realized, struggling to settle. “Megan O'Riley's brother married my sister. There was no way to keep the situation a secret, even if I had wanted to.”

“And you just couldn't wait to sling my name around.” He gave her another shove that sent her stumbling back.

“The boy's their half brother. They accept that, and they're too young to understand what a despicable thing you did.”

“My affairs are mine. Don't you forget it.” Gripping her shoulders, he pushed her up against the wall. “I have no intention of letting you get away with your pitiful plots for revenge.”

“Take your hands off me.” She twisted, but he forced her back again.

“When I'm damn good and ready. Let me warn you, Suzanna. I won't have you spreading my private business around. If even a hint of this gets out, I’ll know where it started, and you know who'll pay for it.”

She kept herself rigid, kept her eyes steady. “You can't hurt me anymore.”

“Don't count on it. You make sure your children keep this business of half brothers to themselves. If it's mentioned again –” he tightened his grip and jerked her up on her toes “ – ever, you'll be very sorry.”

“Take your threats and get out of my house.”

“Yours?” He closed a hand around her throat. “Remember, it's only yours because I didn't want this crumbling anachronism. Push me, and I'll have you back in court in a heartbeat. And I'll have it all this time. Those children might benefit from a nice, Swiss boarding school, which is exactly where they'll be if you don't watch your step.”

He saw her eyes change, but it wasn't the fear he'd expected. It was fury. She lifted a hand, but before she could strike out, he was jerked away and tumbling to the floor. She watched Holt drag him up again by the collar then send him crashing into a Louis Quinze table.

She'd never seen murder in a man's eyes before, but she recognized it in Holt's as he pounded a fist into Baxter's face.

“Holt, don't –”

She started forward only to have her arm gripped with surprising strength. “Let him alone,” Colleen said, her mouth grim, her eyes bright.

He wanted to kill him, and might have, if the man had fought back. But Bax slumped in his hold, nose and mouth seeping blood. “You listen to me, you bastard.” Holt slammed him against the wall. “Put your hands on her again, and you're dead.”

Shaken, hurting, Bax fumbled for a handkerchief. “I can have you arrested for assault.” Holding the cloth to his nose, he looked around and saw his wife standing inside the terrace doors. “I have a witness. You assaulted me and threatened my life.” It was his first taste of humiliation, and he detested it. His glance veered toward Suzanna. “You'll regret this.”

“No, she won't,” Colleen put in before Holt could give in to the satisfaction of smashing his fist into the sneering mouth. “But you will, you miserable, quivering, spineless swine.” She leaned heavily on her cane as she walked toward him. “You'll regret it for what's left of your worthless life if you ever lay hands on any member of my family again. Whatever you think you can do to us, I can do only more viciously to you. If you're unclear about my abilities, my name is Colleen Theresa Calhoun, and I can buy and sell you twice over.”

She studied him, a pitiful man in a rumpled suit, bleeding into a silk handkerchief. “I wonder what the governor of your state – who happens to be my godchild – will have to say if I mention this scene to him.” She gave a slow, satisfied nod when she saw she was understood. “Now get your miserable hide out of my house. Young man –” she inclined her head to Holt “ – you'll be so kind as to show our guest to the door.”

“My pleasure.” Holt dragged him into the hall. The last thing Suzanna saw when she ran from the house was Yvette's fluttering hands.

“Where did she go?” Holt demanded when he found Colleen alone in the parlor.

“To lick her wounds, I suppose. Get me a brandy. Damn it, she'll keep a minute,” she muttered when he hesitated. Colleen eased herself into a chair and waited for her heart rate to settle. “I knew she'd had a difficult time, but I wasn't fully aware of the extent of it. I've had this Dumont looked into since the divorce.” She took the brandy and drank deeply. “Pitiful excuse for a man. I still wasn't aware he had abused her. I should have been, the first time I saw that look in her eyes. My mother had the same look.” She closed her own and leaned back. “Well, if he doesn't want to see his political ambitions go up in smoke, he'll leave her be.” Slowly she opened her eyes and gave Holt a steely look. “You did well for yourself – I admire a man who uses his fists. I only regret I didn't use my cane on him.”

“I think you did better. I just broke his nose, you scared the –”

“I certainly did.” She smiled and drank again. “Damn good feeling, too.” She noted that Holt was staring at the open terrace doors, his hands still fisted. Suzanna could do worse, she thought and swirled the remaining brandy. “My mother used to go to the cliffs. You might find Suzanna there. Tell her the children are having cookies and spoiling their dinner.”

She had gone to the cliffs. She didn't know why when she'd needed to run, that she had run there. Only for a moment, she promised herself. She would only need a moment alone.

She sat on a rock, covered her face and wept out the bitterness and shame.

He found her like that, alone and sobbing, the wind carrying off the sounds of her grief, the sea pounding restlessly below. He didn't know where to begin. His mother had always been a sturdy woman, and whatever tears she had shed, had been shed in private.

Worse, he could still see Suzanna pushed against the wall, Dumont's hand on her throat. She'd looked so fragile, and so brave.

He stepped closer, laid a hesitant hand on her hair. “Suzanna.”

She was up like a shot, choking back tears, wiping them from her damp face. ”I have to get back in. The children –”

“Are in the kitchen stuffing themselves with cookies. Sit down.” “No, I –”

“Please.” He sat, easing her down beside him. “I haven't been here in a long time. My grandfather used to bring me. He used to sit right here and look out to sea. Once he told me a story about a princess in the castle up on the ridge. He must have been talking about Bianca, but later, when I remembered it, I always thought of you.”

“Holt, I'm so sorry.”

“If you apologize, you're only going to make me mad.”

She swallowed another hot ball of tears. “I can't stand that you saw, that anyone saw.”

“What I saw was you standing up to a bully.” He turned her face to his. When he saw the fading red marks on her throat, he had to force back an oath. “He's never going to hurt you again.”

“It was his reputation. The children must have talked about Kevin.” “Are you going to tell me?”

She did, as clearly as she was able. “When Sloan told me,” she finished, “I knew it was important that the children understand they had a brother. What Bax doesn't realize is that I never thought about him, never cared. It was the children who mattered, all of them. The family.”

“No, he wouldn't understand that. Or you.” He brought her hand to his lips to kiss it gently. The stunned look on her face had him scowling out to sea. “I haven't been Mr. Sensitivity myself.”

“You've been wonderful.”

“If I had you wouldn't look like I hit you with a rock when I kiss your hand.”

“It just isn't your style.”

“No.” He shrugged and dug out a cigarette. “I guess it's not.” Then he changed his mind and slipped an arm around her shoulders instead. “Nice view.”

“It's wonderful. I've always come here, to this spot. Sometimes...” “Go ahead.”

“You'll just laugh at me, but sometimes it's as if I can almost see her. Bianca. I can feel her, and I know she's here, waiting.” She rested her head on his shoulder and shut her eyes. “Like right now. It's so warm and real. Up in the tower, her tower, it's bittersweet, more of a longing. But here, it's anticipation. Hope. I know you think I'm crazy.”

“No.” When she started to shift, he pulled her closer so that her head nestled back on his shoulder. “No, I can't. Not when I feel it, too.”

From the west tower, the man who called himself Marshall watched them through field glasses. He didn't worry about being disturbed. The family no longer came above the second floor in the west wing, and the crew had knocked off thirty minutes before. He'd hoped to take advantage of the time that Sloan O'Riley was away with his new bride on his honeymoon to move more freely around the house. The Calhouns were so accustomed to seeing men in tool belts that they rarely gave him a second glance.

And he was interested, very interested in Holt Bradford, finding it fascinating that he was being drawn into this generation of Calhouns. It pleased him that he could continue his work right under the nose of an excop. Such irony added to his vanity.

He would continue to keep tabs, he thought, while the cop completed his search. And he would be there to take what was his the moment the treasure was found. Whoever was in the way would simply be eliminated.

Suzanna spent all evening with her children, soothing ruffled feathers and trying to turn their unhappy experience into a silly misadventure. By the time she got them tucked into bed, Jenny was no longer clinging and Alex had rebounded like a rubber ball.

“We had to ride in the car for hours and hours.” He bounced on his sister's bed while Suzanna smoothed Jenny's sheets. “And they had dumb music on the radio the whole time. People were singing like this.” He opened his mouth wide and let out what he thought passed for an operatic aria. “And you couldn't understand a word.”

“Not like that, like this.” Jenny let out a screech that could have shattered crystal. “And we had to be quiet and appreciate.”

Suzanna held her temper and tweaked her daughter's nose. “Well, you appreciated that it was awful, didn't you?”

That made Jenny giggle and reach up for another kiss. “Yvette said we could play a word game, but he said it gave him a headache, so she went to sleep.”

“And that's what you should do, right now.”

“I liked the hotel,” Alex continued, hoping to postpone the inevitable. “We got to jump on the beds when nobody was looking.”

“You mean like you do in your room?”

He grinned. “They had little bars of soap in the bathroom, and they put candy on your pillow at night.”

Suzanna cocked her head. “You can forget that idea, toadface.”

After Jenny was settled with her nightlight and army of stuffed animals, Suzanna carried Alex to his room. He didn't let her pick him up and cuddle often anymore, but tonight, he seemed to need it as much as she did.

“You've been eating bricks again,” she murmured, and nuzzled his neck.

“I had five bricks for lunch.” He flew out of her arms and onto the bed. She wrestled with him until he was breathless. He flopped back, laughing, then leaped out of bed again.

“Alex –” “I forgot.”

“You've already stretched it tonight, kid. In the bed or I'll have you cooked over a slow fire.”

He pulled something out of the jeans he'd been wearing when he'd come home. “I saved it for you.”

Suzanna took the flattened, broken chocolate wrapped in gold paper. It was more than a little melted, certainly inedible and more precious than diamonds.

“Oh, Alex.”

“Jenny had one, too, but she lost it.”

“That's all right.” She brought him close for a fierce hug. “Thanks. I love you, you little worm.”

“I love you, too.” It didn't embarrass him to say it as it sometimes did, and he cuddled against her a moment longer. When his mother tucked him into bed, he didn't complain when she stroked his hair. “Night,” he said, ready to sleep.

“Good night.” She left him alone, weeping a little over the smashed mint. In her room, she opened the little case that had once held her diamonds, and tucked her son's gift inside.

She undressed then slipped into a thin white nightgown. There was paperwork waiting on her desk in the corner, but she knew her mind and nerves were still too rattled. To soothe herself, she opened the terrace doors and, taking her brush, walked outside to feel the night.

There was an owl hooting, crickets singing, the quiet whoosh of the sea. Tonight the moon was gilded and its light clear as glass. Smiling to herself, she lifted her face to it and skimmed the brush lazily through her hair.

Holt had never seen anything more beautiful than Suzanna brushing her hair in the moonlight. He knew he made a poor Romeo and was deathly afraid he'd make a fool of himself trying, but he had to give her something, to somehow show her what it meant to have her in his life.

He came out of the garden and started up the stone steps. He moved quietly, and she was dreaming. She didn't know he was there until he said her name.

“Suzanna.”

She opened her eyes and saw him standing only a foot away, his hair ruffled by the breeze, his eyes dark in the shimmering light. “I was thinking about you. What are you doing here?”

“I went home, but...I came back.” He wanted her to go on brushing her hair, but was certain the request would sound ridiculous. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine, really.” “The kids?”

“They're fine, too. Sleeping. I didn't even thank you before. Maybe it's petty, but now that I've had a chance to settle, I can admit I really enjoyed seeing Bax's nose bleed.”

“Anytime,” Holt said, and meant it.

“I don't think it'll be necessary again, but I appreciate it.” She reached out to touch his hand, and pricked her finger on a thorn. “Ow.”

“That's a hell of a start,” he mumbled, and thrust the rose at her. “I brought you this.”

“You did?” Absurdly touched, she brushed the petals to her cheek.

“I stole it out of your garden.” He stuck his hands into his pockets and wished for a cigarette. “I don't guess it counts.”

“It certainly does.” She had had two gifts that night, she thought, from the two men she loved. “Thank you.”

He shrugged and wondered what to do next. “You look nice.”

She smiled and glanced down at the simple white gown. “Well, it's not lacy.”

“I watched you brushing your hair.” His hand came out of his pocket of its own volition to touch. “I just stood there, down at the edge of the garden and watched you. I could hardly breathe. You're so beautiful, Suzanna.”

Now it was she who couldn't breathe. He'd never looked at her just this way. His voice had never sounded so quiet. There was a reverence in it, as in the hand that stroked over her hair.

“Don't look at me like that.” His fingers tightened in her hair and he had to force them to relax again. “I know I've been rough with you.”

“No, you haven't.”

“Damn it, I have.” He fought against a welling impatience as she only stared at him. “I've pushed you around and grabbed on. I ripped your blouse.”

A smile touched her lips. “When I sewed the buttons back on I remembered that night, and what it felt like to be needed that way.” More than a little baffled, she shook her head. “I'm not fragile, Holt.”

Couldn't she see how wrong she was? Didn't she know how she looked right now, her hair smooth and shining in the moonlight, the thin white gown flowing down?

“I want to be with you tonight.” He slid his hand down to touch her cheek. “Let me love you tonight.”

She couldn't have denied him anything. When he lifted her to carry her in, she pressed her lips to his throat. But his mouth didn't turn hot and ready to hers. He laid her down carefully, took the brush and rose from her to set it on the nightstand. Then he turned the lights low.

When his mouth came to hers at last, it was soft as a whisper. His hands didn't race to excite, but moved with exquisite patience to seduce.

He felt her confusion, heard it in the unsteady murmur of his name, but he only rubbed his lips over hers, tracing the shape with his tongue. His strong hands moved with an artist's grace over the tensed slope of her shoulders.

“Trust me.” He took his mouth on a slow, quiet journey over her face. “Let go and trust me, Suzanna. There's more than one way.” Over her jaw, down the line of her throat, back to her trembling lips his mouth whispered. “I should have showed you before.”

“I can't...” Then his kiss had her sinking, deep, deeper still into some thick velvet haze. She couldn't right herself. Didn't want to. Surely this endless, echoing tunnel was paradise.

He touched, hardly touching at all, and left her weak. His mouth, gliding like a cool breeze over her flesh was rapture. She could hear him murmur to her, incredible promises, soft, lovely words. There was passion in them, in the fingertips that seemed designed only to bring her pleasure, yet this was a passion to give she had never expected.

He stroked her through the thin cotton, delighting in the liquid movements of her body beneath his hands. He could watch her face in the lamplight, feed on that alone, knowing she was steeped in him, in what he offered her. There was no need to strap down greed, desire was no less, but it had taken a different hue.

When she sighed, he brought his lips back to hers to swallow the flavor of his name.

He undressed her slowly, bringing the gown down inch by inch, wallowing in the delight of wanning newly bared skin. Fascinated with each tremor he brought her, he lingered. Then took her gently over the first crest.

Unbearably sweet. Each movement, each sigh. Exquisitely tender. Every touch, every murmur. He had imprisoned her in a world of silk, gently bringing dozens of pulses to a throbbing ache that was like music. Never had she been more aware of her body than now as he explored it so thoroughly, so patiently.

At last she felt his flesh against hers, the warm, hard body she had come to crave. Opening heavy eyes, she looked. Lifting weighted limbs, she touched.

He hadn't known a need could be so strong yet so quiet. She enfolded him. He slipped into her. For both, it was like coming home.