"I don't like being pushed around, cher.”

"I'm not pushing you, I'm carrying you. Where's your spare key?" he asked as he climbed the stairs. When she said nothing, he shrugged. "Fine. We're going to get arrested for doing what I plan on doing out here on your gallery, but I'm game.”

"Under the pot, second from the left.”

"Good.”

To her shock, he shifted her, slinging her over his shoulder as he crouched down to retrieve the key. She continually underestimated his strength and, she admitted, her reaction to it.

"You've dropped a couple of pounds," he commented and unlocked her door. "Good.”

"I beg your pardon?" she said in her best frigid, southern-belle tone.

"I figure it's because you've been pining for me.”

"You're going to want to get a grip, cher.”

"Got one," he said and reached up to squeeze her butt as he kicked the door closed.

"I can't tell you how flattered I am that you'd take time out of your busy day to come into town for a quickie, but I-was "Excellent idea. It wasn't my first order of business, but why wait?" He hitched her more securely on his shoulder and headed for the bedroom.

"Declan, you're starting to seriously irritate me now. You'd better just put me down and-was She lost the rest-and the air in her lungs-when he flipped her onto the bed. He could see her eyes glittering dangerously behind her hair before she shoved it out of her face. And that, he thought, was perfect. He was in the mood for the fast and the physical, the sweaty and the sexy.

"What the hell's gotten into you? You come marching into my place like you own it, cart me off like I'm spoils of war. If you think I'm here to scratch your itch whenever it suits you, you're about to find out different.”

He merely grinned, yanked off a shoe and tossed it aside.

"Put that back on, or hobble out. Either way, I want you gone.”

He pulled off the other shoe, then his shirt. Her response to that was to scramble to her knees and spit out in Cajun so rapid and thick he caught only about every sixth word.

"Sorry," he said in mild tones as he unbuttoned his jeans. "That was a little quick for me. Did you say I was a pig who should fry in hell, or that I should go to hell and eat fried pig?”

He was ready when she leaped, and laughing as she swiped at him. It was time for a fast tumble, fast and violent, and her clawing nails and bared teeth added the perfect punch.

She slapped, cursed, kicked. Then bucked like a wild mare when he crushed her under him on the bed and covered her snarling mouth with his in a hot, hungry kiss.

"Not what you expect from me, is it?”

Breathless and randy, he tore at her shirt. "Given you too much of what you expect so far.”

"Stop it. Stop it now." Her heart sprinted under his rough hand. No, it wasn't what she expected from him, any more than her electrified response to his dominance was what she expected from herself.

"Look at me." He clamped her hands on either side of her head. "Tell me you don't want me, that you don't want this. Say it and mean it, and I'm gone.”

"Let go of my hands." Though her gaze remained steady, her voice shook. "You let go of my hands.”

He released one. "Say it." His muscles quivered. "You want, or you don't.”

She fisted a hand in his hair and dragged his mouth back to hers. "J'ai besoin.”

I need.

She used her teeth, gnawing restlessly at his lips. Used her legs, wrapping them around to chain him to her.

"Take me," she demanded. "Fast. Fast and rough.”

His hand shot beneath the short, snug skirt, tore away the thin panties beneath. Sweat already slicked his skin and hers as she arched to him.

"Hold on," he warned, and plunged into her.

She cried out as the explosive sensation ripped through her, cried out again as he drove deeper, harder. Filled, invaded, took until needs, frantic, outrageous needs swarmed through her. Her nails scored down his back, pinched into his hips.

De plus en plus. More and more, her mind screamed. "More," she managed. "I want more.”

So did he. He shoved her knees back, opened her and hammered himself inside her.

It burned. His lungs, his heart, his loins. The ferocious heat, the unspeakable pleasure of going wild with her hazed his vision until the world was drenched with it.

White sun beating through the windows, the brassy blast of a trumpet from the street, the mad squeak of springs as slick skin slapped rhythmically against slick skin.

And her eyes, dark and glossy as onyx, locked on his.

I love you. Endlessly.

He didn't know if he spoke, or if the words simply ran a desperate loop in his brain. But he saw her eyes change, watched emotion swirl into them, blind them.

He heard her sob for breath, felt her vise around him as she came. Helpless, half mad, he shattered. And poured into her.

Out of breath, out of his mind, he collapsed onto her. Beneath him she continued to quake, to quiver. And shudder, those aftershocks of eruption. Then she was still.

"Can't move yet," he mumbled. He felt hollowed out, light as a husk that could be happily blown apart by the slightest breeze.

"Don't need to.”

Her lips were against the side of his throat, and their movement there brought him an exquisite tenderness. A rainbow after the storm.

"Would you believe I came in to talk to you?”

"No.”

"Did. Figured we'd get to this after. Change of plans. I owe you a shirt and some underwear.”

"I've got more.”

He'd recovered just enough to prop on his elbows and look down at her. Her cheeks were flushed and glowing. Curls of damp hair clung to her temples, spilled over the rumpled spread.

He wanted to lap her up like a cat with cream.

"Pissing you off got me hot," he told her.

"Me too. Seems like. I wasn't going to do this with you again.”

"Weren't you?”

"No." She laid a hand on his cheek, amazed by the wave of tenderness. "I'd made up my mind about it. Then you come into my place, all sexy and good-looking, scoop me up that way. You mess with my mind, cher. You just go and unmake it for me, time and again.”

"You're everything I want.”

"And nothing that's good for you. Go on." She gave his shoulder a little push. "Get off me. Two of us are a sweaty mess.”

"We'll take a shower, then we'll talk. Talk," he repeated when she raised a brow. "Scout's honor." He held up two fingers.

"I've got to get back to work.”

"Angelina.”

"All right." She waved him away. It was, she knew, no use arguing with him. God knew why she found that mule-headed streak of his so appealing. "Go get yourself cleaned up. I'll call down and make sure everything's covered for the next little while.”

She stepped into the shower just as he got out. He imagined she'd timed it that way, to avoid the intimacy. Giving her room, he went to the kitchen, found the expected pitcher of tea, and poured two glasses.

When she came in, wearing that same sexy skirt and a fresh shirt, he offered her a glass.

She took it into the living room.

In the last few days, she'd resigned herself to what needed to be. Throughout, part of her had indeed pined for him. And every time she'd caught herself glancing toward the bar door, looking for him, or waking up in the night reaching for him, she'd cursed herself for being a weak fool.

Then she'd glanced at the door, and there he was. Her own soaring pleasure, depthless relief, had annoyed her even before he'd nipped at her pride by plucking her out of her own bar.

"Declan," she began. "I wasn't fair to you the other day. I wasn't in the mood to be fair.”

"If you're going to apologize for it, save it. I wanted to make you mad. I'd rather see you angry than sad. She makes you both.”

"I suppose she does. Mostly I hate knowing she's out there with Grandmama, knowing she'll hurt her again. I can't stop it, I can't fix it. That troubles me. But you shouldn't have been brought into it.”

"You didn't bring me into it. It happened." He angled his head. "Correct me if I'm wrong. You've got the impression that since I come from where and who I come from, I'm not equipped to handle the darker, the more difficult, the stickier aspects of life. Your life, in particular.”

"Cher, I'm not saying you're not tough. But this particular aspect of life, my life, is out of your scope. You wouldn't understand someone like her.”

"Since I've been so sheltered." He nodded. "She came to see me today.”

The healthy flush sex and heat had put in Lena's cheeks drained. "What do you mean?”

"Lilibeth paid me a call around noon. I debated whether to tell you about it or not, and decided that I'm not going to keep secrets from you, or tell lies. Not even to spare your feelings. She came by, invited herself in for a cold one. Then she tried to seduce me.”

"I'm sorry." Her lips felt stiff and ice cold as she formed the words. Her throat burned like fire. "It won't happen again; I'll see to it.”

"Shut up. Do I look like I need your protection? And save your outrage until I'm done," he told her. "When she reached for my zipper, I told her not to embarrass herself. Her next tack was to fling herself down on the kitchen table and cry.”

He eased down on the arm of Lena's sofa. The tone of conversation, he thought in some corner of his brain, didn't lend itself to lounging among all those soft, colorful pillows. "She didn't manage to work up many tears along with the noise, but I give her marks for effort. The story was how bad, mean people were after her. They'd hurt her, you, Miss Odette if she didn't give them five thousand dollars. Where could she turn, what could she do?”