Demon glanced at Flick, then moved to the fireplace. "I may as well get a fire going." They were both damp, just this side of wet through.

"Hmm." Flick shut the door, then, rubbing her upper arms, came farther into the cottage. While Demon crouched before the stone hearth, selecting logs and sticks with which to start his blaze, she studied the furniture. There was only one chair-an old armchair from the manor. Beyond it stood three narrow pallets, each sporting a lumpy, tick mattress. Bending down, Flick grasped the wooden strut at the end of the nearest pallet and tugged until the end of the pallet was positioned before the hearth to one side. Satisfied, she sank down upon it. And sighed as she let her shoulders ease.

Demon glanced back, saw what she'd done, and nodded. The next instant, he had a flame laid in the kindling; busily, he coaxed it into a blaze.

Flick sat and watched the flames grow, watched the bright tendrils writhe, then lick along the dark wood. Patiently, Demon fed the flames, laying branch upon twig until the blaze roared.

Heat billowed out, enveloping her, washing through her, driving away the chill locked in her damp clothes. Contentment rolled through her; she sighed and rotated her shoulders, one, then the other, then settled again to watch Demon's hands, steady and sure, pile logs on the fire.

His hands were like the rest of him-large and lean. His long fingers never fumbled. His grip was strong and sure. His movements, she noted, were economical; he rarely used extraneous flourishes, a fact that enhanced the sense of control, of harnessed power, that invested his every act.

He was, now she considered it, a very controlled man.

Only when the flames were voraciously devouring two huge logs did he stand. He stretched, then turned; large and intensely male, he stood looking down at her.

Her gaze fixed on the flames, Flick knew he was studying her; she felt his gaze on her face, hotter than the heat from the flames. She looked away from the fire, to the nook beside the hearth, gathering strength to look up and meet his eyes.

In the dark corner she saw a flicker of movement, a twitch of a whisker.

A pointy nose and two pink-red eyes.

"Eeeeeehhh!"

Her shrill scream split the stillness.

With another shriek, she leapt up, straight into Demon's arms.

They locked about her. "What is it?"

"A rat!" Eyes glued to the dark cranny, she clung, her fingers sinking into his muscles. She gestured with her chin. "There-by the fireplace." Then she buried her face in his chest. "Make it go away!"

Her plea was a panicked mumble. Demon stared at the small field mouse cowering back against the stones. He stifled a sigh. "Flick -"

"Is it gone?"

This time, he did sigh. "It's only a field mouse attracted to the warmth. It'll leave in a moment."

"Tell me when it does."

He squinted down at her. All he could see was the crown of her curls. Putting his head to the side, he tried to see her face; she had it buried in his chest. She'd somehow insinuated her hands under his coat, and was gripping him, one hand on either side of his back, clinging for dear life.

She was plastered against him, from her forehead to her knees.

And she was trembling.

A faint vibration, the tremor travelled her spine. Instinctively, he tightened his arms about her, then eased his hold to run his hands slowly down and up her back, soothingly stroking.

Bending his head, he murmured into her curls. "It's all right. It'll go in a minute."

He could feel her panicked breathing, her breath hitching in her throat; she didn't answer, but bobbed her head to show she'd heard.

So they stood, locked together before the fire, waiting for the still-petrified mouse to make a move.

Demon had imagined waiting patiently, stoically, but within a minute, stoic was beyond him. The fire, a roaring blaze, had dried him; while Flick had been still chilled when she'd rushed into his arms, his body heat was warming her. Warming her breasts, pressed tight against his chest, warming her hips, plastered to his thighs. She, in turn, was heating him-it wouldn't be long before the largest blaze in the room was not the one in the hearth.

Gritting his teeth, he told himself he could endure it. He doubted she was even aware of his susceptibility; he could manage her easily enough.

The heat between them reached a new high, and her perfume rose to waft about him, to wreathe, then snare, his senses. Making him even more aware of the supple softness in his arms, of the warm breasts crushed to his chest, of the subtle pliancy in her frame that beckoned his hardened senses, of the feminine strength in the arms reaching around him. He snatched a breath-and drew her deep, into his soul. Closing his eyes, locking his jaw, he tried to keep his body from responding.

Entirely unsuccessfully. Hard became harder, tighter, tauter. Inexorably, yet in all innocence, she wound his sensual spring notch after notch.

In desperation, he tried to ease her away-she shook her head frantically and burrowed even deeper into his embrace. Teeth gritted, he used just a little of his strength to shift her, so she was more to his side and no longer in danger of learning, graphically, just how much she was affecting him.

He was in pain and helpless to do anything about it. He was paying for his sins in having dallied with her, teased her, enjoyed her.

But he didn't regret a single moment-then, or now.

The realization puzzled him, momentarily distracted him from the physical plane. Grateful for even such minor relief, he followed the thought, trying to unravel the mystery of why, exactly, Flick so attracted him.

He definitely didn't think of her as just another lady with whom he'd like to dally, no different from those who'd gone before. No other lady had made him feel this protective; none other had tapped the surge of feeling she so effortlessly evoked. That, of all things, was what set her apart-that something she made him feel. She could arouse him effortlessly-in itself a shock-but it was that other emotion that came roaring through him simultaneously with the lust that was so new, so addictive.

It was certainly different-something he'd never felt before. It was as if, in her innocence, she could reach into his soul and touch something innocent there as well-something new, bright, something he'd never known existed within him. Something no other had ever reached, ever touched.

He frowned and tried to shift; she immediately gripped him tighter. Demon inwardly sighed-his protective instincts were well and truly engaged; he couldn't break her hold. Perhaps he should try and think of Flick in the same way he thought of the twins.

That was impossible, yet…

Flick the fearless was afraid of mice. He found the thought endearing. Still, as she was truly frightened, the mouse was as good as a dragon. The question was how best to vanquish it-the fear, not the innocent mouse.

Drawing a difficult breath, he grasped Flick's arm and eased her back from him.

"Flick-sweetheart-just look at the mouse. It's a harmless little mouse-it can't eat you."

"It might try."

"Not while I'm here." He brushed his lips to her temple, nudging her face from his chest. "Come-look at it. It's so small."

Warily, she eased her face from his chest; still pressed hard against him, she glanced at the tiny rodent.

"That's right. We'll just watch it until it goes."

A silent minute passed as they watched the field mouse, still frozen, whiskers twitching nervously. Demon couldn't move to scare it away, not with Flick clinging so tightly-she wouldn't appreciate him moving closer to the mouse-dragon.

Finally, reassured by their stillness and silence, the mouse started to edge forward. Flick stiffened. Out of the nook the mouse came, hugging the shadow of the hearth's edge. It reached the corner and paused-

A log cracked-sparks spat and showered in the hearth.

The mouse leapt, and dashed back into the cranny, straight to a small gap between two stones. It squeezed its way between and was gone.

"Quick!" Flick released him. "Block the hole!"

Demon sincerely doubted the field mouse would return, but, snatching a small branch from the woodbox, he swiftly bent and jammed it in the hole. "There. Now you're safe." Rising, he turned.

Flick was mere inches away. She'd followed him to look over his shoulder, to check he'd sealed the hole; now she stood, breathing quickly, all but against him once more.

His gaze had risen no further than her breasts, rising and falling in heightened excitement. Only excellent reflexes saved him from reacting-he locked every muscle, gripped every rein. And, slowly, lifted his gaze to her face.

Flick met his gaze and quivered-she told herself it was the remnants of her fright. But the glow in his darkened eyes-the sight of the embers smoldering in the blue-cut off her breathing, leaving her light-headed, swaying with the impulse to return to his arms, not for their safety but for the comfort her senses insisted she would find there.

Eyes wide, lips parted, her cheeks lightly flushed, she literally teetered on the brink of indiscretion-

His lids lowered, steel shutters cutting off the heat in his eyes; an excruciating awareness raced over her skin, from her breasts all the way to her toes. Her nerves flickered; a prickling sensation swept her. Heat washed in its wake.

She dragged in a breath-

He half turned and gestured to the pallet and the chair. "Which do you prefer?"