She was waiting for him to say it, to admit it. Those big green eyes demanded it. When he did so, it was with great reluctance. “It felt as though someone put a hand over ours.”

“Yes.” Eyes closed, she brought his hands to her curved lips. “Yes, exactly.”

“Shared hallucination,” he began, but she cut him off with a laugh.

“I don't want to hear that. No rational explanations.” She pressed his hand to her cheek. “I'm not a fanciful person, but I know it meant something, something important. I know. ”

“The necklace?”

“Only a part of it—and not this part. All the rest—the necklace, the legend, we'll figure it out sooner or later. I think we'll have to because it's meant. But this, this was like a blessing.”

“C.C.—”

“I love you.” Eyes dark and brilliant, she touched his cheek. “I love you, and nothing in my life has ever felt so right.”

He was speechless. Part of him wanted to step back, smile kindly and tell her she was letting the moment run away with her. Love didn't happen in a matter of days. If it happened at all, which was rare, it took years.

Another part, buried deep, wanted to hold her close so that the moment would never end.

“Catherine—”

But she was already moving into his arms. They seemed to be waiting for her. As if he had no control over them, they wrapped around her. The warmth, her warmth, seeped into him like a drug.

“I think I knew the first time you kissed me.” She pressed her cheek to his. “I didn't want it, didn't ask for it, but it's never been like that for me before. I don't think I ever expected it to be. The,re you were, so suddenly, so completely in my life. Kiss me again, Trent. Kiss me now.”

He was helpless to do otherwise. His lips were already burning for hers. When they met, the fire only sparked hotter. She was molten in his arms, sending white licks of flame shooting through his system. When he couldn't prevent his demand from increasing, she didn't hesitate, but strained against him, offering everything.

She slid her hands under his shirt, delighted to feel his quick, involuntary tremor. His muscles bunched under her fingers with the kind of strength she wanted, needed.

The wind sighed outside the windows as she sighed in his arms.

He couldn't get enough. He found himself wanting to devour her as his lips raced crazily over her face, down her throat where his teeth scraped lightly over her skin. The scent of honeysuckle wheeled in his head. She arched back, her low whimpers of pleasure pounding in his blood.

He had to touch her. He would go mad if he didn't. Mad if he did. When he parted her robe, he groaned, discovering she was naked for him beneath. Desperate, he filled his hand with her.

Now she knew what it was to have the blood swim. She could all but feel it racing under her skin, beating hot wherever he touched. There was a weakness here, a glorious one, mixed with a kind of manic strength. She wanted to give him both somehow and found the way when his mouth came frantically back to hers.

She trembled even as she answered. She surrendered even as she heated. As her head fell back and her fingers dug hard into his shoulders, he felt something move through him that was more than desire, deeper than passion.

Happiness. Hope. Love. As he recognized the feelings, terror joined them. Breath heaving, he pulled away.

Her robe had fallen off one shoulder, baring it. Already his mouth had supped there. Her eyes were as brilliant as the emeralds she had imagined. Smiling, she lifted a trembling hand to his cheek.

“Do you want me to stay tonight?”

“Yes—no.” Holding her at arm's length was the hardest thing he'd ever done. “Catherine...” He did want her to stay, he realized. Not just tonight, and not simply because of that glorious body of hers. The fact that he did made it all the more important to set things right. “I don't—I haven't been fair with you, and this has gotten out of hand so quickly.” A long, unsteady breath escaped him. “Lord, you're beautiful. No,” he said quickly when she smiled and started to step forward. “We need to talk. Just talk.”

“I thought we had.”

If she continued to look at him that way, he'd stop giving a damn about fairness. Or his own survival. “I haven't made myself clear,” he began slowly. “If I had known—if I had realized how completely innocent you are, I wouldn't—well, I hope I would have been more careful. Now I can only try to make up for it.”

“I don't understand.”

“No, that's the problem.” Needing some distance, he walked away. “I said I was attracted to you, very attracted. And that's obviously true. But I would never have taken advantage of you if I had known.”

Suddenly cold, she drew the robe around her. “You're upset because I haven't been with a man before?”

“Not upset.” Frustrated, he turned back. “'Upset' isn't the word. I can't seem to find one. There are rules, you see.” But she only continued to stare at him. “Catherine, a woman like you expects—deserves—more than I can give you.”

She lowered her gaze to her hands as she carefully fastened the belt to her robe. “What is that?”

“Commitment. A future.” “Marriage.”

“Yes.”

Her knuckles were turning white. “I suppose you think this—what I saidis part of Aunt Coco's plans.”

“No.” He would have gone to her then if he'd dared. “No, of course I don't.”

“Well.” She struggled to make her fingers relax. “That's something, I suppose.”

“I know your feelings are honest—exaggerated perhaps—but honest. And it's completely my fault. If this hadn't happened so quickly, I would have explained to you from the first that I have no intention of marrying, ever. I don't believe that two people can be loyal to each other, much less happy together for a lifetime.”

“Why?”

“Why?” He stared at her. “Because it simply doesn't work. I've watched my father go from marriage to divorce to marriage. It's like watching a tennis match. The last time I heard from my mother, she was on her third marriage. It simply isn't practical to make vows knowing they'll only be broken.”

“Practical,” she repeated with a slow nod. “You won't let yourself feel anything for me because it would be impractical.”

“The problem is I do feel something for you.”

“Not enough.” Only enough to cut out her heart. “Well, I'm glad we got that sorted out.” Blindly she turned for the door. “Good night.”

“C.C.” He laid a hand on her shoulder before she could find the knob.

“Don't apologize,” she said, praying her control would hold a few more minutes. “It isn't necessary. You've explained it all perfectly.”

“Damn it, why don't you yell at me? Call me a few of the names I'm sure I deserve.” He'd have preferred that to the quiet desolation he'd seen in her eyes.

“Yell at you?” She made herself turn and face him. “For being fair and honest? Call you names? How can I call you names, Trent, when I feel so terribly sorry for you?”

His hand slipped away from her. She held her head up. Under the hurt, just under it, was pride.

“You're throwing away something—no, not throwing,” she corrected. “You're politely handing back something you'll never have again. What you've turned out of your life, Trent, would have been the best part of it.”

She left him alone with the uneasy feeling that she was absolutely right.

There was a party tonight. I thought it would be good for me to fill the house with people and lights and flowers. I know that Fergus was pleased that I supervised all the details so carefully. I had wondered if he had noticed my distraction, or how often I walked along the cliffs these afternoons, or how many hours I have begun to spend in the tower, dreaming my dreams. But it does not seem so.

The Greenbaums were here, and the McAllisters and the Prentises. Everyone who summers on the island, that Fergus feels we should take note of, attended. The ballroom was banked with gardenias and red roses. Fergus had hired an orchestra from New York, and the music was both lovely and lively. I believe Sarah McAllister drank too much champagne, for her laugh began to grate on my nerves long before supper was served.

My new gold dress suited very well, I think, for it gathered many compliments. Yet when I danced with Ira Greenbaum, his eyes were on my emeralds. They hung like a shackle around my neck.

How unfair I am! They are beautiful, and mine only because Ethan is mine.

During the evening, I slipped up to the nursery to check on the children, though I know how doting Nanny is to all of them. Ethan woke and sleepily asked iffhad brought him any cake.

He looks like an angel as he sleeps, he, and my other sweet babies. My love for them is so rich, so deep, that I wonder why it is my heart cannot transfer any of that sweetfeeling to the man who fathered them.

Perhaps the fault is in me. Surely that must be so. When I kissed them good-night and stepped out into the hall again, ! wished so desperately that rather than go back to the ballroom to laugh and dance, I could run to the cliffs. To stand at the cliffs with the wind in my hair and the sound and smells of the sea everywhere.

Would he come to me then, ifI dared such a thing? Would he come so that we would stand there together in the shadows, reaching out for something we have no business wanting, much less taking?

I did not go to the cliffs. My duty is my husband, and it was to him I went. Dancing with him, my heart felt as cold as the jewels around my neck. Yet I smiled when he complimented me on my skill as a hostess. His hand at my waist was so aloof, but so possessive. As we moved to the music, his eyes scanned the room, approving what was his, studying his guests to be certain they were impressed.